And Another Thing

P.S. Belated thanks to DCist for the mention.

P.P.S. This story made me snort orange juice out of my nose when I was home for thanksgiving.

He Wears Tiny Little Shoes

I was a surrogate nanny this morning for a newish mom in the theater community, filling in for the regular nanny - another member of the theater community. The bundle of loveliness is four months old. Momma was in a play I directed last spring, during which she was progressively more pregnant (hence, progressively more layered) as the run went on. She was fabulous. And it is no surprise that her small one is fabulous too.

Surely, it takes a village. Or at least, it takes a theater community. I like that about DC.

It was, dare I say, fun. Made my ovaries ache a little bit.

I dunno. I dunno if I ever want one. This morning I thought, wow, I really do. Then I thought, wow, I am not doing anything at all that would line up my ducks for that one. Not heading towards financial stability. Not even trying to date with purpose (someone once told me there is a yiddish term for that - specifically "dating with purpose" - does anyone know what that is?). Anyway, I'm so not doing that.

Should I be? How would I do any of these things? Do I really want to do any of these things? Will it be too late by the time I decide?

That's the tricky thing about having kids. You have to find someone you want to have them with first. Or you have to be so financially secure that you could find a way to make it work on your own. Which I completely understand would be very, very, very tricky and perhaps not fair to the children. Although I will say, there are all sorts of family units out there now.

So anyway. That's what I'm thinking about today.

Babe's Mouths

This morning on the metro there was a small blond child, maybe one and a half, reaching out to the world from her double decker stroller (older brother was in the larger carriage underneath) - arms outstretched, fingers spread - repeating over and over:

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!"

Of course, her subtext was "Notice me! Pay attention to me! Smile at me! Love me!"

Her nanny took advantage of the moment of rest and sat on the bench and zoned. I'm sure I would have done the same - zoned, that is.

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!"

And it occurred to me, I'm constantly doing what the child was trying for. Broader vocabulary, same thing. Do we ever get to stop?

"Notice me! Pay attention to me! Smile at me! Love me!"

A Way With Words

The party's over
The candles flicker and dim
You danced and dreamed through the night
It seemed to be right
Just being with him

Later, I'll track down the lyrics to my favorite Comden and Green song (from the flop A Doll's House).

But for today - a quick moment in memory for a trailblazer amongst female theater artists and lyricists in general.

The Trees Ache

I sleep with lots of plays.

And I try very hard not to sleep with playwrights.
(Mom, Dad - that's a joke.)

Seriously though. Half of my bed is covered with plays right now. Mostly printed out plays, some plays in books, some only half a play, some earlier drafts of plays, some pdfs of music to accompany plays, some short plays written by twelve-year-olds from the Jewish Day School that I said I'd help mount readings of, some linear plays, some plays steeped in magical realism, some long plays, some short plays, some really small font so they'd be lighter in my bag plays, some plays that I will work on some day, some plays that I will never see again, some plays that I promised so-and-so and whoosie-whatsit that I would read as soon as I got a chance which took a back seat to the dozens of plays that I really WANT to read, so many plays I WANT to read.

These plays pile up next to me where a person should be. In lieu of a person, a play isn't so bad.

I hope these plays feel loved. Not everyone makes it into this bed. Really.

*Tart One*

You Are The Cranberry Sauce

A little sweet, a little sour - you've got the flava! Though, you do tend to squish in people's mouths...

What Part of Thanksgiving Are You?

Most Boring Post Ever

It occurred to me this morning that I really need to start taking better care of myself.

I think because I have never crossed over the lines of complete self abuse I've given myself a get out of jail free card. I mean, I never developed a heroin habit, right?

Seriously though, the little abuses add up. At this age they do. The chronic lack of sleep. The complete chaos of my living space. The stress of always feeling a little bit behind on... everything. The unpredictable alternating between skipped meals and somewhat healthy meals and baskets of french fries too late at night. The drinks, too often.

Does everyone live their life this way?

Technically - I've had the last two months off. As far as theatrical pursuits. But I haven't felt like there has been an actual break. Somehow that's my doing.

Things are only going to get more complex over the next three months. There will be decisions to make, shows to mount, day jobs to endure, schedules to juggle, rent to pay, exes to run into, friendships to maintain. Don't get me wrong - some of that stuff is great stuff. Some of it, not so much. But it is all going to co-exist, inevitably, often awkwardly, sometimes painfully - crammed together in this hodgepodge that is life.

Explore Man-Shark Love

If you are looking for somewhere to gather this evening:

It's a hoot - I promise you.
***********************************************************************
NEW PLAY READING
Monday, November 20 @ 7:30pm Capitol Hill Arts Workshop
545 7th Street, SE
Swimming in the Shallows by Adam Bock

Sex, spirituality and a mysteriously compelling shark.

In Adam Bock's quirky and playful comedy, a group of friends question the commitments and expectations of their eclectic love lives:

Barb, inspired by Buddhist monks in Thailand who own only eight things, starts giving away her possessions. But her husband, Bob, keeps buying her new ones.

Donna really wants Carla Carla to marry her but Carla Carla doesn't like that Donna smokes. Donna tries really hard to quit. Honestly.

Nick tends to fall in love too hard and too fast with men who disappear the next morning. Then he meets a mako shark at the local aquarium. This time, he thinks, it's really love.

Oh dear.

Directed by: Me!*

Featuring: Patrick Bussink, Jim Jorgensen, Eric Messner, Helen Pafumi, Elizabeth Richards* and Ellen Young*

*Catalyst company member

Wanderlusting

My brother is in Santa Barbara right now, where according to Weather.com it is 70 degrees and sunny. Tomorrow, they are predicting that it will be 76 degrees. And sunny. Sunday? 79 degrees. Sunny.

I'm trying not to get jealous.

There is a little part of me that keeps thinking - go ahead - fly out to Santa Barbara and visit him.

You know what the most irresponsible thing I could possibly do right now would be?

You got it.

It would be one thing if it were just the flight. But it is never just the flight.

Meanwhile, how cute is he in these pictures?

Never Speaking of Rodents Again

Okay, something else to post about. Quick.

The amazing and talented Joseph Price has updated the Bouncing Ball Website. If you go to the "Past Shows" tab and click on any one of the entry way photos it takes you to slide shows of images from the productions. It's pretty cool.

In other news - yet another snafu about copyright issues for directors brewing around Urinetown. I'd be very curious to know just how similar the Chicago and Ohio productions were to the New York one. Anyone know anything more about this?

Other stuff: I directed a reading of Timberlake Wertenbaker's THE LOVE OF THE NIGHTINGALE on Monday for WSC. I didn't really advertise it, which is my bad, but I kind of ran out of time. It was great fun to work on and I think my cast did a fabulous job at picking up on both the humor and the poignancy of this play in a very, very short time. Yeah for them.

This is good news. A nice little win in the realm of reproductive rights.

Also - they've added another New York show for the Damien Rice tour (which I swear sold out in an hour - as I was on my way from home to work). Why don't they add one here? Please? Pretty please?

They Squeak Like You Wouldn't Believe

In the Express today there was an ad for the "Metropolitan Guinea Pig Rescue".

I thought it might be a joke.

I mean, is there actually an problem with packs of wild guinea pigs running wild through the greater DC area?

Apparently that is not quite their mission and it is very much a real thing.

Watch the little animated guinea pig dance.

Dance pig, dance.

Sometimes Smiling Makes My Cheeks Hurt

Remember the famous quote during the Rodney King trials?

People, I just want to say, you know, can we all get along?

Yeah, well, maybe we can't.

I've been thinking about this lately.

Why am I expected to like everybody? Doesn't that discount the individuality that we all bring to the planet as human beings? Doesn't it devalue the distinction between people I REALLY DO like and the people I TRY TO like? If there are circumstances that make me uncomfortable around a person why do I have to pretend that those circumstances don't exist for the sake of show?

I resent that I am forced to put such dishonest energy out into the world. I believe that eventually those little lies will gather and congeal into a big sticky mess of insincerity. I don't want my feet to get stuck in that insincerity.

Maybe we should all let each other off the hook. If it works, it works. If it doesn't - then accept that and move on. None of us have a whole lot of spare time. Let's save the time we have for the people and pursuits we really want to spend that time with. Yes?

Okay. Next.

Roar.

It's been a really glowing week. Happy election results, an exciting first production meeting for my next show, and good times with friends - old and new alike.

La.

Thanks to DCBlogs for the nod. I love the Mouse/Lion reference.

For your viewing pleasure - the fable of the mouse and the lion. Cute, huh?

Just goes to show you, good things can come in small packages.

I think that's why I have always had an affinity for mice. They are little and soft and they burrow their way through things. That's often my approach to life. I mean, I'm not actually that little but I've certainly never had size as an advantage and was pretty small as a child. So I tended to scurry around things or crawl through small holes as a means to deal with obstacles. And I mean that metaphorically as well as literally.

And I've certainly got the roar down pat. Small in stature, big in voice.

So here's to the weekend and to the rare but appreciated non-snarky non-jaded blog post. Didn't know I was capable of it.

Flesh Wounds

I find myself walking around Capitol Hill with a new found confidence.

After the last election I was convinced that everyone I passed was a smug Republican staffer (indeed, many of them surely were) looking at me thinking "Ha, ha - crazy liberal freak, nobody likes you, everybody hates you, why don't you go sit and eat some worms..."

Now I want to root out the right wingers and sing it to them.

But really - I know we all need to get along now, absolutely. But can we just be smug for one quick moment?

*i told you so*

Okay, done.

Thanks to Damian for this fabulous link in relation to the short skirt saga. I'm a little curious as to how Damian found the site in the first place (something you are not telling us Damian?) and also not sure who exactly the alleged "Christian Guys" are who penned said letter, but it's a trip.

Clearly these guys have been doing a great deal of thinking about this:

If you are wearing a blouse that barely meets the waist of your slacks and some of your skin shows while you are moving around, or simply while you are walking, sitting, or kneeling....When you wear low-cut tops ... or when you bend over, and they are revealing ... Or if the back is out of your top, we automatically think that you do not have the undergarment on ... Or when we see any glimpse of your undergarments, such as straps and the like ... too tight ... too short ... too low ... or too revealing...

Any other examples Christian Guys? Come on, while you've got our ear - might as well get it off my chest. I mean - off YOUR chest. I mean, shit, I'm sorry, did I mention my chest? My bad. It won't happen again.

Before Our Eyes

How is everybody feeling? Tired? I know. Me too.

I sent my last text message at 2:34am. (Beware - turn your phone off if you don't ever want to get early morning texts from me - I do not regard texts as I do phone calls and I probably cross all sorts of boundaries as a result.)

Slept through the alarm this morning. Had the excuse in my head: "But I stayed up watching the returns! I have a right to sleep in! I was participating in the workings of our great nation!"

Notice I didn't use scare quotes (alternatively, sneer quotes - I learned that terminology from GRAMMAR GIRL - my new favorite podcast after THIS AMERICAN LIFE and DEMOCRACY NOW) around Great Nation. Because I am trying for optimism this time around.

I stayed late at my day job because MB, my returns date, had rehearsal until 10:30. And not much was going to be solid earlier than that anyhow. I followed CNN and the blogs for those first few hours between 6pm and 9pm, careful not to get too optimistic about anything. I am still smarting from 2004 when I fostered a premature sense of elation based on early poll results only to be battered down over several hours of electoral returns.

On the train I texted the former speech writer:
CM: What does VA look like?
FSW: Unclear. But Dems doing well otherwise. Lieberman won.
FSW: (Re: VA) Would you have voted for the bigot or the misogynist?
CM: I'd have to go with the misogynist. I'm all about the lesser of two evils.

Which pretty much sums up this election. We support a misogynist in Virginia because that is better than a racist asshole clutching his party line with a death grip. We support a pro-lifer in Pennsylvania because that is better than a homophobic fundamentalist (I will miss the running Dan Savage commentary on Santorum, though I am sure he will be resourceful and find a new target).

And on some level I am okay with that. I am an idealist at heart but a realist by necessity.

On my way to meet MB I stopped at the CVS near Dupont to kill a little time by reading bad magazines. I opened up PEOPLE expecting to read about Nicole Richi’s “mysterious illness” (there are the sneer quotes) and instead happened on an article about an American soldier in Iraq who had his entire face burned off and lost an arm and several fingers from his remaining hand as a result of a car bomb. His twenty year old fiancé and family nursed him back to health and proceeded with the wedding as planned. I’m looking at these wedding pictures, this man who is not at all recognizable as the man who left for service, tears streaming in the CVS and thinking “What the fuck did we allow to happen?” and he is quoted saying he wants to go back into the service. That’s all he ever wanted to do.

And so we send our young men and women into the fire. Literally.

Continued walking. Listened to my THIS AMERICAN LIFE. They are following a man who is trying to get an “official” Iraqi death toll calculated (sneer quotes again). An Iraqi tells him that they are worse off now than when Hussein was in power. That was bad too but “Then there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Now, we do not even have a tunnel”.

Made it to Playbill to watch and drink and drink and watch.

A random drunk man with facial hair kept trying to chat us up. He was from Cleveland. He told us so. He reminded me of “Buddy” from Ohio at the bar two weeks ago. Silly Ohio boys.

The talented Mr. Gallu was with us and he commented on how trying it must me to be a woman at a bar. Yeah, sometimes.

Eventually CNN declared that Dems had taken the house. Cheers all around. Then Santorum conceded. More cheers (especially resonant at a place like Playbill).

MB gave the quote of the night. “Now we can really ROCK THE HOUSE.”

It’s cuter when she says it.

Gallu learned I have a blog when I told her I’d quote that. That maybe made him a little bit nervous.

Then we imagined Nancy Pelosi doing outrageous things as speaker of the house. Oh so much political fun!

12:36 am:
FSW: Webb is ahead but it’s unresolved. Allen speaking now.
CM: I just watched it. I would be happy if Virginia went blue.

You set these little goals. Just let Virginia go blue! I would be happy if that at least happened!

And then you wait and drink and drink and wait for days and weeks before you actually know.

I’m practicing cautious optimism (ha! that was a term from TWO ROOMS.) I think this all is a sign that America is looking for change. And that cheers me. I am not going to go immediately negative like so many liberals are wont to do “Just wait until we screw it all up…” Sucks that the marriage proposal passed resoundingly in VA. Still lots of work to do. But let’s look upward and onward, shall we?

DCeiver says it all better than I ever could (can I quote you DCeiver? Is that okay?):

"That said, can the Democrats build on this? Man, I have no idea. No idea. Their post-election talking points though, are much more sensible: don't swagger, preach ethics, plan on connecting with the opposition to find workable bills that can pass with big majorities, play ball from the middle. But they better have a plan, otherwise history WILL look back on this as a win by default."

Cautious Optimism.

Anyway - important things are happening. Rumsfeld just quit. I can't keep up. Go watch CNN.

The District Of

I love being in DC for elections.

I mean, on the one hand my last two election experiences here have been pretty depressing, especially 2004. Yeah. Bad.

But everyone cares here about politics. At least it feels that way. Much more so than when I lived in NY. I think the fact that everyone falls pretty much along the same party lines in New York (city) breeds some complacency.

And of course, with the heated races in Virginia and Maryland those of us nestled here in the middle feel the spark from both sides.

Ironically, we can't actually DO anything about either of them. It's the only time I feel a little bit bummed about living in the city.

Except these folks are. DOING something. Very cool.

The rest of us sit, and watch, and wait, and hope.

Fervently.

And I Will Find a Crowd, And Blend in for a Minute

I was supposed to direct a reading of Sarah Kane's BLASTED in about a week and a half for WSC's "Best of Brits" reading series and it looks now like we are not going to get the rights. I should have anticipated this - I've heard her estate is very tight with rights, I sort of don't blame them - but now we're kind of stuck.

Anyone have any other favorite plays by contemporary British women? Probably not Churchill. Maybe something in the same "in your face" spirit as Kane. It can be a Scottish or Irish writer as well, I think.

Ideas?

Aslo - great Friedman column about the ridiculousness that was the John Kerry fiasco.

I'm headed up to NY this weekend to meet with the playwright of the next show I'm working on, as well as with the scenic designer. I'm very, very excited. It's an excellent team. And a stunning play. More on that to come.

Happy Friday all.

Short Fucking Skirt

This is one of those posts I probably should not write. But I'm going to throw it out there. I'm not sure if it will stay.

I had an experience last night that is still bothering me a little bit.

I went to see the opening of EQUUS. Thanks to those who got me tickets and congrats to all involved for very committed and specific work. Good to see LS back from up north, and theaterboy, and to chat a bit over mounds of boiled shrimp.

But that's not what this is about.

Last night I happened to be wearing a skirt. A skirt that was, yeah, a little on the short side. I didn't really think about whether or not it was appropriate in a "professional" setting (whatever the hell that means). I like the skirt. It was really warm out. I wanted to appreciate the final dregs of nice weather with bare legs and sandals. It wasn't ridiculously short. I mean, it was still me.

The set up of the theater for the show has the first row of seats on the floor. Interspersed amongst audience chairs are actor chairs, so if you sit in the front row you are literally something of a silent scene partner during a few moments in the play. The lovely Ms Lawton and I waited a bit too long to get into the theater so we ended up in that first row, despite fair warning from dear Adrienne about what exactly that would mean.

I did have a flicker of a thought: if I knew I was going to be beneath stage lighting tonight I probably would have worn a longer skirt.

Or at least painted my toenails.

Anyway, we watch the show, I don't worry about it, I enjoy the performances. And I figure - at least I'm not sitting in the first row and nodding off like the woman in red across the theater from me (not a reflection on the intensity or engaging nature of the show).

We head out to the reception afterwards and I head for the sushi.

In a bit, I am introduced to one of the actors, an actor I've never met, an actor who has no idea that I am a member of this theater community. He starts talking about my skirt. About how he noticed the skirt during the show. About how the skirt was distracting - in the first row.

Yeah.

So I'm mortified but also amazed that this guy keeps going on. Pushing it further. I sort of chuckle and say, "Some day you are going to come in and audition for me and you are going to regret saying these things." But he goes on. He continues to make inappropriate comments under the guise of "I'm just kidding! I'm just an inappropriate guy, everybody knows I say what I think!"

I will allow that he thought he was "just joking" with me. Except - and this is key - it's hard to assume that intimacy with me when I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU.

I will assume that he was trying to flatter me.

But fuck that.

Because suddenly I am extremely self-conscious. I am wondering if I jeopardized my sense of professionalism by wearing a short skirt. How can I expect to be taken seriously if I show up at an opening in a short skirt? Further - I question - have I been "asking for this" because I am, indeed, friendly and flirtatious with my male friends?

But wasn't that one of the tenants of third wave feminism? Recognizing my right to be a feminine feminist? Reclaiming my desire to look like a female without that implying that I should not be taken seriously? Not having to dress like a man - boxy suits, clunky shoes, all the neutering options worn by generations that preceded us - in order to be listened to? Not having to swath myself in extra weight or extra clothes or to starve myself so that my hips and breasts and curves fall away and I can reach some sort of asexuality?

Because god knows, I've tried all those other options. I don't want to do it anymore.

It all made me think of Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, and the piece MY SHORT SKIRT. I saw Calista Flockhart perform it when they did a celebrity studded version in Madison Square Garden several years ago.

It was written by Chi-Chi Nwaizu.

My short skirt
is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.
...

My short skirt, believe it or not
has nothing to do with you.

My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.

My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make me afraid
My short skirt is not showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.

...

My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town
my short skirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is
initiation
appreciation
excitation.

But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is Mine.
Mine.
Mine.

Yeah, so, that's my little diatribe for today.

Now read this doozy and think about all of those people who say that we as women have "arrived". Wonder how many other sick fucks are out there doing this to their daughters within our own borders?

Boo.

Okay so you all know this already but I do love Miss Fritzky. She always knows exactly the right thing to say and she usually says it with a healthy dosage of completely vulgar words and images. I loves me some of that.

More about the weekend.

It was packed pretty solid - my friend and favorite Mexican of all time (and I like a lot of Mexicans so to be my favorite really is a coveted slot) - Mr. Alvarado was in town starting work on his play that opens here in DC tomorrow. He had a fundraising event to attend and this past week his cast and director (Mr. Escamilla, whom I also love more than words can express) were in town teching into the space.

Go see their show. The actors are great and the creative team is wonderful. I haven't seen a version of the script since its very first reading but I can't wait to see what they have done with it. Lots of talent and heart here. Do it. See it.

I was his surrogate date for the event which translates to: lots of free wine, which translates to: woman who drinks too much says too much.

Yeah, another one of those nights.

The original fundraiser was at Indiebleu. I'd never been. It was quite lovely, I felt under-dressed, but told myself that my kick--ass boots made up for that.

Afterwards: La Tasca for some food and more drink, Another Irish Bar for, ummm, more drink, and then a halloween party? Did we actually make it to a halloween party?

We did, for sure, I was not dressed up (I did dress up the night before as a bleached blond moll on the arm of Hpmelon's dashing gangster something or other) but my how I did chatter.

The Red Light Winter guys were there (oh! I saw Red Light Winter on Thursday!) and I gave them my dramaturgical assessment on what worked and what didn't in Rapp's play, because, you know, he was nominated for a Pulitzer so he clearly needs MY thoughts about consistency and the number of objects endowed with special "meaning" that one should write into a play (I thought that a dress, a snow globe, a tape recorder and song were at least one too many - whether they stood for different things or not - and wait, there was something else in there wasn't there?) and I am sure they were both like "Who does she think she is?" but, eh, what are you going to do.

A side note: I thought the performances, direction and design were pretty flawless in that show. Such wonderful talking and listening happening. And they'd been living with the show for a while so the timing and pace was so good, really, really spot on. And finally a designer who creates a new york "studio" apartment that is actually shaped and sized and decorated like a real new york "studio" apartment.

And a lot of the writing was, I dare say, sublime. Really. Which made the few false notes almost painful for me. It was so close... so why?... and with such uber realism... false rings out.

The night concluded with a visit to Top Of the Hill where we all danced with a guy named Buddy from Ohio (or did Mando just call him Buddy? Was his name actually Buddy?).

The rest of the weekend I rehearsed with my Extreme Exchange group. Which was great fun. They are all a bunch of young whipper-snappers from University of Maryland, and they were talented and bold and eager and sweet, so I had a great time.

And Gwen took me to Target and to College Perk so life was looking pretty sweet, I dare say.

The event on Monday was successful I think. Interesting work being done, and even more interesting was the discussion afterwards. The XX crew did a fabulous job pulling the whole thing off. I was impressed.

And there's more. There's more?

Saw Monster last night. Extremely spooky in the very best way possible. Many interesting ideas about god creating man creating god creating man. Stuff to think about and creepy sexual and familial scenes. Again, what more can one ask for?

Creepy facial hair too. On everyone, including Getman, who isn't even in the damn show, and Randy, who I think just didn't bother to shave. Lots of fun people there. And halloween candy goody bags to boot.

Also made my once every six months sojourn to Wonderland during which I inevitably think "Wow, this place is really cool" and "I am so friggin' glad that I live on the hill."