I Know. I Question Why I Do It Too.

This is exciting. (Love mussels, love Belgian beer.)

The more I walk around my neighborhood, the more I am aware that getting to the further east portion of H Street (which is developing quicker than my side) is cake.

What else is exciting? I've been going running. I half dread the possibility of running into Mr. Fortier each time, knowing that he will torment me for my out-of-breathedness and ruddy face for months to come if I do, but I don't let that stop me. I am feeling the shin splints however, which is not enough to stop me but may indeed slow me down.

Advice on that anyone? New sneakers? Run only on the grass? Or just suffer it out?

I'm feeling a twinge of home-sickness these days. Not exactly "home"-sick I suppose, but family-sick-ness. My parents came down for each of my shows last season so I saw quite a bit of them. Like a visit a month. It was a bit excessive, I mean exhausting, I mean, it was great...

But now it's been two months and I'm like, hello? You got a daughter down here you know?

That's not meant to be a guilt trip, seriously, at all.

And my brother? I can't remember when I last saw my brother. Last fall, I think? When I was rehearsing for NYMF? Maybe?

This is all inspired, I am sure, by a visit with the family of the equestrian out in the VA 'burbs again last night--an even more complete crew than before with the addition of a sister and her two wee ones and the brother who was out of town before.

We made it all the way this time without incident.

I dunno. Detecting the behaviors and inflections that reveal two people to be related--be they tendencies that came via nature or nurture--made me miss my biological other half quite a bit. (I know it, a bit of aw shucks sentimentality there). I never got it when people would say, "You and your brother, you don't really look that much alike, but there is something very similar in the way you speak and converse with people..." But I have to say, watching the little Youtube video on the Fringe Blog I did see it. It's something in the way we look up to conjure our next thought, something in the furrowed brow (the damned furrowed brow).

Siblings. Bound by blood and forehead wrinkles.

On the "It-Is-Possible-To-Share-Too-Much-And-Be-Too-Honest-Oh-Shit-It-Surely-Is" and "Why-Does-Everyone-Get-So-Friggin'-Worked-Up-By-The-Mention-Of-A-Pulitzer?" fronts, I finally caught up with this little literary scandal (do you think that anyone outside of NY and the college towns that both of these writers have worked in are even following this thing?)

I used a play by Elizabeth Dewberry for my Junior Year directing thesis which at the time I truly loved. It was a dark-comedy, very Southern Gothic. I was very Northern-Great Lakes myself.

I liked that it was a lot of things I was not. Loads of Tammy Wynette in the sound design.

One of my professors at school had directed a couple of her plays in Baton Rouge at LSU (actually, I think, at the Regional Theater based there) and he spoke quite highly of her.

What a mess it all is. Just. Stop. Writing. About. It. Why. Do. You. Think. We. Care. I'm tired of the over-sharing out there.

And yes, I recognize the irony here. Aren't I just as guilty of sharing too much? Who the fuck cares that I miss my brother? I know. I get it. Blogs are innately and inevitably ego driven vehicles for all of us to share too much. So be it.

And finally--one of the funniest reviews I have ever read. It's for real, right?