The Sound of One Hand Counting

My Year in Numbers

I was musing on this entry on the Metro this morning, then noticed that I was not the only one with the idea--several bloggers have documented their facts and figures of 2006...

Here Goes:

ALL WORK
Number of full plays directed: 3 and a 1/2
Number of short plays: 2
Number of staged readings: 8 (I think?)
Number of actors I wouldn't want to work with again: 0 (really!)
Number of great stage managers: 4
Number of not-so-great stage managers: 1
Number of bad reviews: 3
Number of good reviews: 10
Number of mediocre reviews: 1
Number of companies started: 1
Number of companies joined: 1
Number of day jobs still required: 2
Number of months I worried about money: 12
Number of actors auditioned: 250 or thereabouts

SOME PLAY
Number of evenings spent at Tunnicliff's: Maybe--60?
Number of thai dinners: 13
Number of sushi dinners: 5
Number of indian dinners: 2
Number of steak dinners: 0
Number of evite invites: 57
Number of evite yes's: 36
Number of evite yes's attended: 28
Number of first kisses: 5
Number of realized crushes: 2
Number of unrealized crushes: 4
Number of awful dates: 1
Number of mediocre dates: 2
Number of weird is-this-a-dates?: 5
Number of keep-it-in-the-memoirs dates: 2

MAKES JANE A YEAR OLDER
Number of states visited (other than MD or VA): 6
Number of countries visited: 0
Number of friendships gained: too hard to quanitify
Number of friendships lost: 2
Number of plane rides: 6
Number of train rides: 8
Number of blog posts: 217
Number of blog posts I published then deleted: 3
Number of blog posts I thought about but never wrote: 12

Number of hours to the new year: 51

And with that--best to you and yours dear world. May baby new year grant all of your 2007 wishes.

Happy One

This was a nice holiday.

I should really call my parents and let them know I got home okay. They were up when I left just-outside-of-Flemington-New-Jersey to head to the Trenton Amtrak station at 6:15 am (which meant getting up at... wait for it... 5:30am) but we were all a little bit groggy.

But it was a very nice holiday.

I headed to Downingtown, Pennsylvania on Xmas Eve morn, where my parents were staying with my Aunt K and Uncle J. Aunt K is my mom's second to youngest sister--number five of six. For those of you following, this is the Italian-Catholic side of the family, hence the six kids.

The train left an hour-and-a-half late, but I am not going to complain because the man sitting two seats behind me complained long and loud enough for the entire north-bound train. There was engine trouble, they tried to replace it, it didn't work, they tried to replace it again, we backed into Union Station, they replaced it a third time and finally we were off, a mere ninety minutes behind schedule. Fortunately, I wasn't really in a hurry. Pity the folks on their way to BWI.

As a result I got into the Wilmington, DE station with just enough time to head to my Aunt's house, change, and get ready for guests to start arriving.

I told my mother this weekend that her family is, at times, Shakespearean in its rivalries. Imagine Lear, but with six kids, Rochester accents, and lasagna once a week.

But I won't get into that, because not everything is ripe for public consumption. Suffice it to say, we discussed many of the issues between her brothers and sisters this weekend, some of them present, some not, and my final word is--it is much simpler when there are only two siblings to manage. Furthermore--two siblings who felt equally loved and respected by their parents.

So we started snacking and drinking and watching movies on the big plasma screen TV. This combination of activities pretty much describes the next twenty-six hours, with brief breaks for sleep, church, and presents.

My dad and I started with brandy snifters of Goldschlaggers. There is no good explanation for this.

The movie that was on was John Tucker Must Die. There is no good explanation for this either.

The rest is a blur of red wine, crab dip, manicotti and tiramisu. My Uncle C and Aunt P came in from Easton, PA (C is the second-born, after my mom) and it was nice to see them, though some snarky comments were made by my uber-conservative, downright-grumpy uncle, that I only later thought of worthy responses to. The wine must have dulled my reflexes. The best I got out was--as they were leaving--a half hearted "So, you guys missing Santorum yet?"

Politics are pretty much off limits at these family gatherings. But he deserved it.

The night wound down with a public showing of Invincible during which I fell into a deep, trance-like, food and alcohol induced sleep.

The next morning my mother found me hiding under the covers of the trundle bed in my high school-aged cousin's room.

"Honey, do you want to keep sleeping?"

Naw. But I'm a night dweller. Bright light burns my skin.

"We have to open presents so we can get ready for church. Are you going to church?"

I AM going to church because it is the first opportunity to step out of the house for a few hours and it will be an enforced pause to the never-ending eat fest.

We open presents, shower, dress, and embark. To mass, to mass--a jew, a half jew/agnostic, an excommunicated Catholic, a lapsed Catholic, and two impressionable youth who have known only Catholic schools--we go. My aunt is not part of this equation. She is watching the roast, roast.

Church is fine, the singing is bad, no one is counting and they keep skipping the first rest in "Oh Come all Ye Faithful". The organ player is stubbornly playing it as written instead of following the Pennsylvania suburbanites.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Soon dinner--quiche, caviar, perogis, asparagus, carrots, the roast (which alas, is NOT vegetarian), salad, more drink--kir royales with pomegranate seeds (ummm, yum). Another nap, and then off to my Uncle P's outside of Flemington, NJ. I love my Uncle P's house--it is as comfortable as my own and My Uncle P and Aunt K are my closest relatives beyond my immediate family. There we snacked and gossiped and watched Friends re-runs.

5:30 am, my phone alarm went off--stretch, shower, dress, kiss, hug--and my cousin and I are sent on our way with breakfast bags and travel mugs of coffee. My Uncle assuredly drives us to Trenton though the thickest fog I have ever seen--down the hill that they live on, into the Valley, over hill over dale, and we silently watch the world wake up on December 26, 2006.

Good Morning World.

Use Your Nog-gin

Is it better to blog about what I have been doing or what I have been thinking?

That's the question. I think I tend to lean towards thinking.

That said--a doing entry. HPMelon and family had a rocking holiday gathering last night. Aptly titled "Come to the 'Burbs!" we ventured out to Sterling, VA amidst sub-divisions and twinkling lights and glowing electric reindeer. I was the very thankful car guest of other city dwellers, and after a few bouts of traffic and a wrong turn or two we found ourselves at the lovely Melon home. There we feasted on latkes, stuffed mushrooms, and lots of rum-based beverages. I'd spent the day thinking about Silk Soy Eggnog, which I then purchased at Whole Foods and immediately realized--"Who in God's name is going to want to drink Soy Egg Nog other than me?!" Well, you'd be surprised. I don't know if I'd quite call it a HIT, but it was definitely consumed. And it was tasty, in that vanilla soymilk kind of way. Plus anything is good when mixed with Captain Morgan's.

Other highlights included:
- A concert featuring the Melon clan: seven-year-old on drums, five-year-old on harmonica, papa-Melon on guitar and vocals, and mama-Melon on vocals. And the three-year-old princess of the house gave new meaning to doing the twist.
- Me spouting my mouth off to Miss Ghill about the holidays. Sometimes I like arguing so much that I forget what my point was in the first place. Just hand me a stuffed mushroom, will you?
- A landslide win by the All-women-except-Gwenergy-team in Taboo. Gwenergy, let it be known, was the star player on her team laden with testosterone. Mr. HPMelon kept finding reasons why the women were, really, wiping up the floor with the fellas in this game, and despite his cries of Girl stuff! Women talk! and Jew stuff! we won it fair and square.

All in all, a fantastic evening.

Well then. What else have I done this week since over-reacting about my possible sickness?

A production meeting on Tuesday night. Things are shaping up. It's very exciting.

A holiday themed Tunni's on Wednesday night. And by holiday I mean we drank jack and coke. In honor of the holidays.

The Folger Concert with classical-music-fan on Thursday. It was really peaceful and transporting, actually. I have not watched an entire Consort performance in several years--for no reason other than it hasn't occurred to me to do so--and I am very glad that I made it this time.

Eat Me

Eat eat eat, Eat eat eat, Eat eat all the way,

Eat eat drink eat eat eat drink eat eat drink eatin' sleigh

Hey!

Eat eat drink, Eat drink eat, Eat eat all the way,

Eat drink eat eat eat drink drink eat eat eat eat eatin' sleigh.

My stomach. Hates the holidays. Non-stop abuse.

Paisano

This morning I woke up with a funny feeling at the back of my throat. My sinuses feel a bit... thick. And I swear I got a chill a moment ago.

But I will face this as I face every issue in my life I don't want to deal with.

Complete and total denial.

I. Am. Not. Getting. Sick.

That said, better now than two weeks from now.

The reading went well. It was a fun day, and people found some really nice moments.

Today is the best day of the year at my day-desk job. It's our holiday celebration, so we all get twenty minute massages and then go out for Thai food for lunch. At the lunch we do a gift exchange, which I of course did not deal with until this morning. I knew what I was going to get my receptor--the attorney I work with the most so I actually know something about, which is good--but didn't bother to go get it until about forty minutes ago.

She has raved about this Italian Deli/Mom&Pop restaurant down the street from the office a few times now. I've never been inside, but I figured I'd get her a gift certificate there, since I know she likes it and I am a huge advocate of gifts that people will actually USE. Why have I not been inside this place? The subs looked amazing, real Italian subs, they had a great selection of Italian imports--candies and cookies and the like--and the actual dinner menu looked authentic and reasonable.

The guy in the article--Marco--helped me out and his beautiful son kept talking to me in small person speak, which I don't really understand. Though maybe he was actually speaking in Italian. He came up to me and encircled my legs, which I have to say was damn cute and made me feel very loved. Thank you small cute Italian child with the big brown eyes.

And I started thinking, why don't I ever try to find a nice Italian boy? Goodness knows, that's what I grew up with. Maybe I should go back to Greece (that's Greece, NY) find a nice Italian boy, open up an Italian deli, or bread bakery, or ummm... restaurant and, well, breed I guess.

Whatta ya think about that mom? (And no, this has nothing to do with the fight that we got in when you admitted that you do indeed pray that I find a boyfriend. I decided I wouldn't write about that on the, umm... well, on my blog. Right.)

If You Need Plans for Tonight

One more notice, about one more reading, tonight!

If you are not already committed, I encourage you to join us at 8pm in the LIBRARY of THEATER J for a reading of Anna Ziegler's play NOVEL--a funny and probing look at love, death, gene theory, and the ways in which we frame our life stories.

NOVEL has been developed at New Georges, Catalyst Theater, the PlayLabs Festival 2006 at the Playwrights' Center, and Clubbed Thumb. Anna recently had the opportunity to workshop the play at the 2006 Old Vic New Voices program in London, one of only two American playwrights selected for the program.

More info here: http://www.theaterj.org/arts/theaterj/newish.htm.

The reading features: Dan Manning, Michael John Casey, Grady Weatherford, Alexander Strain, Casie Platt, Mike Glenn, Hannah Hessel, Bill Hamlin and Annie Houston.

Join us if you can.

An Acknowledgment

A few people have mentioned to me that my posts have been increasingly negative lately. Scrolling back, I see they're right. I'm not sure why that is--as it is not an altogether accurate representation of how I feel these days.

I feel pretty good. I am thrilled about the series of projects I have coming up this winter, beginning with a reading I am directing this monday at Theater J, of a moving, funny, probing play.

If anything, I have been extremely impatient lately--with everyone, including myself. Some stuff snapped inside when I had this falling out with my longtime friend last week. She is someone whom I have struggled to please for years and when faced with the fact that for all my trying I was still unable to live up to her expectations, I was forced to admit how ridiculously important it has always been for me to please people. And how ultimately, it is a waste of time. Mine and theirs.

Perhaps that is what I am working through these days.

In other news, there is a fascinating discussion about new play development going on over at Mr. Excitement News. Read the comments too--Christopher Shin's second long entry is quite beautiful--a love letter of sorts to what theater should aspire to be.

Revisions

You all know what I am going to write about today, don't you?

Like, about how the Holocaust didn't happen. Of course, silly.

What is so totally, like annoying, is the fact that I am working on this play right now ALL ABOUT THE HOLOCAUST. And now I come to find out, it never even happened. Sheesh.

In the play, a woman whose mother was a holocaust survivor visits Poland and tracks her mother's journey from her hometown to the first Ghetto where she was kept. During that time her father was shot by Nazis (oh reallllllly?). She then went to the second Ghetto where her mother was kept, working in a sweat shop run by a jew who was pushing child labor in order to save the lives of the children working there. Which apparently was totally unnecessary since the holocaust never happened.

She then goes to Auschwitz where her mother lived out the last half year of the war, sleeping in a barracks amongst the dead and dying, nearly destroyed by typhus herself, until she decided one day to pull herself out of the sickness and exhaustion, eat the tiny bits of lice infested food still being given to them, and drink the water swimming with disease and human waste. When she totally could have gone out and eaten like, a cheese sandwich. Because remember? The holocaust never happened.

Right.

Working on this play has made me a little bit obsessed with the question of what would have happened to me during the holocaust. One could surmise that had my father's father not left Russia when he did (I believe in the 1910s-1920s) he would have likely died and the generation chain that led to me would never have happened in the first place. So there's that.

But what about me? Would I have been Jew enough for Hitler?

Apparently I would have been a "Mischling of the first degree" (with two Jewish grandparents). If I was known to attend synagogue or was married to a jew I would have immediately been bumped up to "Jew". If not--I may have been okay--but would probably have been sterilized had everything gone as planned.

Not so bad, right?

P.S. The press is loving the pictures of the black hats at this conference. Which just goes to show--loonies come in all shapes and faiths. And people with a cause will lay with the strangest of bed-fellows to make a point.

P.P.S. Why is David Duke still alive? Can someone do something about that?

In Which I Pretend to be a Cool Music Chick

I just finished listening to the All Songs Considered podcast with host Bob Boilen and four music critics from around the country tracking NPR Listener's Top Ten albums of the year--and also sharing their own lists. Actually putting together my own list would be much more than my up-way-too-late-at-Fox-and-Hound's brain could handle right now, so I'll just discuss the reader list. As if what I think matters.

That said--my own biggest musical disappointment of the year was the extremely low number of concerts I made it to this year. Many of my current favorite artists (several on this list, actually) came through DC but I was either too behind the ball to get tickets, lacking in concert friends to go with, too busy with shows and rehearsals, or just too friggin' broke. I like going to live shows. Good ones harness an energy and passion that I rarely experience in the theater. I need to do it more often. Maybe I should get over my going to concerts alone neurosis. Or I need to find more concert friends. Let me know folks--you need a date, I'm there.

And with that:

#10--This one was a tie between Regina Spektor's BEGIN TO HOPE, The Hold Steady's BOYS AND GIRLS IN AMERICA and Beck's THE INFORMATION. Throughout the show listeners called in to vote for which of the three should officially be in the top ten. I have never been a Beck fan. I don't dislike him, but he's never done much for me. So he was off the table. Initially I thought I'd vote for The Hold Steady which is just a fun, balls out album that is brash and straight-forward and makes me want to move. But then I relistened to Spektor. There are some songs on that album that I can barely listen to (That Time) but then there are others that I can listen to over and over again because they are fun and pop-y (Radio Song) and others that intrigue me more each time I listen to them (Apres Moi and Lady). So ultimately I'd have to go with Spektor. Incidentally- Spektor won the listeners poll as well.

#9--Tom Waits' ORPHANS. I haven't listened to the album. I should. I've heard a lot about it. I do love Tom Waits. But he is so tied up in memories and associations with certain times and people in my life that it is hard for me to take him on his own terms. Fifty-four songs here. Maybe I should itune one a week for the next year. It can be my official reclaiming of Waits.

#8--Jenny Lewis' RABBIT FUR COAT. I don't know her at all. I liked what they played of the album though. That's why I dig the end of the year review. New music, good times.

#7--Cat Power's THE GREATEST. One of the few concerts I saw this year. She didn't freak out but she wasn't impressive enough to try for another concert. She's great on my Ipod though. I love the album. I love the title song. I love "Lived in Bars" (too true), shimmy to "Living Proof", and weep just a bit to "Where is My Love" (of course I do.)

#6--Joanna Newsom's Ys. I have listened to her a bit, but nothing from this album. Should I? She seems a bit too quirky for my tastes.

#5--TV on the Radio's RETURN TO COOKIE MOUNTAIN. Like The Hold Steady these guys are good for me. They get me out of mellow sad weepy mode that I tend to fall into with music. They are so musically unique and each song ventures into it's own unpredictable territory. I've heard them compared to Sigur Ros. Bah. The comparison is a disservice. They are much more interesting, less pretentious and more fun. Standouts: "I Was a Lover" and "Hours".

#4--M. Ward's POST WAR. Again, I've not listened to him. But I like what they played.

#3--Bob Dylan's MODERN TIMES. Simply not a Dylan fan. I appreciate his relevance but am not driven to listen to his music.

#2--Neko Case's FOX CONFESSOR BRINGS THE FLOOD. Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Will you be my friend Neko Case? Probably my personal #1 album of the year.

#1--The Decembrist's THE CRANE WIFE. Here's the thing. I LIKE The Decembrist's. But I have not been that excited by what I have heard of the album. Admittedly--I have only heard portions. I'll give it another try. They are just feeling kind of contrived to me these days. Less connected. A bit overwrought.

But We Were Blood Sisters...

My best friend of twenty-four years broke up with me yesterday.

There is nothing fun to be said about this, no blogger spin that makes me feel any better.

It is a loaded relationship and a complicated story that merits a book not a post.

This may be one of those things that I will still be unpacking with a therapist twenty years from now. Do we all have that list? The traumas, big and small, that shape how we view the world.

The tricky challenge, as with any break-up, is honoring what we had and what it has meant to me and how it has shaped me for the good, instead of fixating solely on the pain of the past two days.

Busy is as Busy Does

My not very busy month before my busy months has somehow become very busy so posting is likely to be sparse.

Funny how that happens.

I am helping a playwright/performer get her one woman show up on its feet. It's a funny, wry, moving story about her trip to Poland to visit the village that her mother was born in and then her journey to the several ghettos and camps where her mother was interned before ultimately, miraculously, unbelievably, surviving the holocaust. It is an amazing story.

Working on it is making me think about all of the family stories I have never heard--on both sides. It is making me think about the trip to Poland and Hungary that the rest of my immediate family will take in April that I cannot go on because we simply don't get to do everything we want to do in life. And it is making me think about my first adult boyfriend--who wrote a book about Eastern Europe and who was so smart and so kind and I was just so very young.

I saw a reading last night that was a purely enjoyable time. Applause to Solas Nua for putting together an entertaining and enlightening reading series and to everyone involved in The Drunkard last night. I went on the spur of the moment, which I rarely do anymore, and was immensely glad that I did.

I did, however, end up in a couple of these conversations last night (thanks DCepticon for a great post). As always DCeiver says it way better than I ever could in his wrap up comment. It does seem so very silly to me. Last night when someone who was in the reading asked, "So what are you working on right now?" I went with "Well, I just finished watching your reading and now I am working on ordering a beer." Maybe super-literal is the way to go. I will say that I sometimes ask this question myself to see if someone has free time to do a reading or something of the like. But otherwise--everyone is right, it's boring, it's repetitive and it's tiresome.

I also do have issues with "How are you?" I know it's necessary but who really wants to know the truth? And except for very close friends, I am never going to tell the whole truth. Which leaves us at--what is safe to ask?

Oh. And I got my hair cut. The verdict is not quite out yet on that one.

On Repeat

I decided last Thursday that The Animals Were Gone is the saddest song ever and thus I absolutely had to learn every lyric in it. I spent the afternoon listening to it sixteen times in a row - crying my way through the aisles of the Silver Spring Whole Foods.

And now? I can't get it out of my head. Try as I might.

Why do my little moments of obsessive compulsiveness manifest themselves in such useless ways? Why don't I ever decide that I really need to clean my apartment or sort my mail or organize my bookshelves?

"I love your depression and I love your double chin."

As someone who has never found the person who loves my depression and loves my double chin I tend to doubt that there is such a being out there. We're taught that there is - someone who will accept and adore us in our entirety.

I'm not so sure.

Anyway - pleasant weekend. Had a hot date with HPMelon to Midsummer's on Friday, drank exotic holiday beers and roamed the quaint streets of Georgetown on Saturday, and started work on a new project tonight.

Crashed hard, slept late, and dreamed long, strange, involved yet forgettable dreams.

"'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup."

Damn you Damien Rice.