Where Ponies Fear to Tread

Really, truly, I had a great time camping.

Unfortunately, I think everyone else on the trip thinks I’m lying when I say that.

I think this because:

-As we were packing up to go Mark asked “Did you have a good time at all this weekend?” which maybe means I wasn’t smiling.
-Jen apologized for the weather three times on our last day there.
-Susan hugged me and said she was deeply sorry for telling stories about the possible maniacal killer well into the evening on our last night there and promised me she would never do it again.

On the contrary! All of these things only made the trip MORE memorable!

It’s true. Camping does not come naturally to me. Mostly because I never did it. Not growing up, not in college, and not since becoming an adult. I spent one night in a tent my first year at NCSA and it was a MISERABLE EXPERIENCE for several reasons including 30 degree temperatures, a lack of preparation, and an over-abundance of pot (this was a long time ago mom, don’t worry). We didn’t camp when I was growing up because family trips were very much about DOING THINGS and rarely about DOING NOTHING. I am not always so good at DOING NOTHING. But I am learning. I am learning to appreciate a lazy afternoon in the sun with a book and a beer (don’t worry about the beer either, mom.)

And sun tan lotion.

I’ll post my couple of pony pictures in the next couple of days. As promised, ponies roam wild on Assateaugue and it is both very cool and slightly disarming the first time you encounter them. Our first morning there just as we were waking up one came moseying up near our tent, then nosed around at our site mates’ tent, finally settling down on the ground slightly downhill of the two tents and promptly falling asleep.

Like a cat. Only it was a pony.

Things we did on Assateague Island:

1. Set up a tent. And an air mattress. This still counts as roughing it as far as I am concerned.
2. Went a long time without showers. Like two days. Sticky.
3. Ate marshmallows around a campfire.
4. Drank beer around said campfire.
5. Played games where we came up with funny answers having to do with sex and poop. But not together.
6. Digested a lot of sand.
7. Survived a wind storm. Seriously. Considerably high winds Monday night—the rangers came around and warned everybody. All night I wondered whether the tent would blow away and what would happen if it did.
8. Saw furry and feathered wildlife: deer, rabbits, ponies, birds and Mark Rhea.
9. Wondered how our scenario would work for a low-budget horror flick. Susan made it all sound quite possible, which was fabulous for my over-active imagination.
10. Ate ridiculous amounts of food: fajitas, grilled burgers, smores, cookies, chips, dips—veggie options as well.

Seriously, I had a great time. And I have a very pink nose to show for it. I almost didn’t want to come home. Almost.

The State of the Arts

Tonight and Saturday are now technically sold out—there’s a chance you can get a ticket at the door, but no guarantees. If you want to see the show, do buy a ticket ahead of time; remember we only have 49 seats in that theater so when we fill up, we really, truly are jam-packed-full.

A couple more reviews. City Paper is a bit odd, not bad but not great. Strange that he seems to imply that the fabulous design work acts against the play, even though he also writes about how much it helped in story-telling. And that somehow, it was my mistake to “allow” the design to help with the story-telling. When all of that is in Sheila’s script. Sheila’s smart and specific script--which does a magnificent job in creating a world. He makes it sound like we were all working in our own little rooms: director, writer, designers—and that the sum of the parts (which ultimately he seems to like) is in spite of, not because of that work together.

Anyway, I’m in no place to complain. In a period of a few weeks where it seems like every reviewer in town was tasting piss in their cornflakes, we have had a wonderful reception.

This one from Metro Weekly is super. And nicely written, which is always a bonus.

That said—there is a whole lot of other theater going on in which you all should partake. I will too—as soon as I make it home from, ummm, camping this weekend. (But that’s a story for another post. I keep thinking of a line from a reading I did at Theater J earlier this year “Jews don’t go camping”. Maybe some do. But this half-jew certainly never did.)

You have two more weekends to see Jackie Lawton’s play MAD BREED produced by Active Cultures Theater in Mount Rainier, MD. I know sometimes going to Maryland (or Virginia for that matter) can seem as trying to a trip to Delaware, but I’ve done this journey (via bus—WMATA Ride Guide it) and it wasn’t bad at all. I saw a reading of Jackie’s play months ago and it was a sparkling gem—funny, touching, smart, literate—I cannot wait to see it fully realized.

Go.

And in the realm of wonderfully ambitious ventures: DAVID IN SHADOW AND LIGHT and THE ORESTEIA. I have not seen either of these yet, but will. The idea of such gutsy risk-taking being punished by dismissive reviews and then sparse house is devastating to this theater community and the future of what we will be able to create. I mean that.

Go.

oh let the rain fall down and wash this world away

Okay—this blog entry has literally taken me since Monday to finish. And it is so, so, so not worth it. Sorry folks, lacking any and all inspiration. So read about my food. Awesome.
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‘Twas a weekend of eating.

Ridiculous.

At stages of CRUMBLE rehearsals I was living on the 7-Eleven carrot, cheese and ranch dip snack packets (which I have to admit I kind of love--they got me through DALI as well) and gummy sour lifesavers, so the availability of time now to sit down for real meals is kind of overwhelming me.

Friday I went to Skewers for the first time for a script meeting and catch-up time with Jackie. It was really quite good, and I was pleased with the foul mudammas. We got the kind that tops a bowl of normal hummus in case Jackie was not a fan. Warm and garlicky goodness. We also got falafel to start, which we totally realized we didn’t need once the entrée we were splitting arrived. We’d had some confusion explaining to the waitress that we were sharing the veggie kabob, though she eventually assured us—while insistent that it was a single skewer—that it was large enough for two. The thing comes out with like, an entire head of broccoli and cauliflower on one skewer, and some more reasonably-sized squash, onions and tomatoes on another. Which we guessed maybe had been split for us. Though if it had been one full skewer the thing would have extended over into our neighbor’s table. Which would have been ugly. Because the place gets crowded. Quickly. And there is a general air of not-so-much caring about personal space boundaries. Which very much reminded me of being in the middle east.

We then headed over to Church Street to see TRANSLATIONS, which was lovely and beautiful. C broke my heart a little bit. Actually, everyone broke my heart a little bit, but with C I wanted to be like “Hey, yeah, I’ll go to the island with you! I like the idea of living on an island!”

I guess it would depend on what the island looked like. And what kind of food they had.

Saturday I went to see HISTORY BOYS which was very good and very well done, and disappointing to me only in the fact that my energy level for matinees is ridiculously and embarrassingly low. I shouldn’t see them, but if it’s the only chance I have, I’ll do it. As I was sitting down I saw someone on the other side of the theater waving in my direction. I couldn’t tell who it was so I assumed they were waving to the people next to me and I pointedly ignored them.

Sorry Hanvnah.

Closer up, I was much friendlier. I then proceeded to invite myself along for all remaining plans in Hanvnah’s day. This included:
A stroll to Dupont Circle
Drinks outdoors at Trios with several of her real-people friends
A walk to Chinatown
Feasting on Chinese Food at Szcehuan House with other of her real-people friends
A walk back to Dupont Circle
Another brief stint at Trios

It was a great, great, unexpected afternoon-evening. The Chinese meal was actually a part of a two year odyssey that Hanvnah and her friend James have taken on—in an attempt to try every Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. Which would be nearly impossible in NY but is totally do-able here in dc. Their original intention was to go to Li-Ho, one of the final restaurants on their list but when we went inside their was a woman sitting at the one large round table and shouting out things about fried rice in her high-on-something stupor. When they started to seat us there, at the only table large enough for five, she shouted louder. We headed in the direction of a four-top instead but as we sat down I was suddenly really nervous. “Do we have to stay here?”

I totally imposed on their plans and then got all needy and difficult when we went through with them.

I can sort of explain my reaction. It wasn’t just that it was a dive, I’m okay with dives. But the menu at a quick glance looked like a Yum’s—none of the special dishes you can usually find only in Chinatown. Plus my elbows stuck to the table.

So we headed down the street to Szechuan House, where they’d had Dim Sum but not a full meal, and had a really delicious Chinese feast: scallops in a white sauce that were scrumptious; braised tofu and vegetables made spicy by request; veggie dumplings; meat dumplings; spicy, crispy beef; and a noodle dish with straw mushrooms. I obviously avoided the meat dishes but gorged myself on everything else. So good. And the service was great. I haven’t eaten in Chinatown in years—I think once with Ben and Wally—and I thought, really, I should do this more often, while there still IS a Chinatown.

Sunday I went to Artomatic with HPMelon, which was actually pretty cool and as far as I recall a great improvement quality-wise over the only other one I’d been to—the first year it happened. Then C and I ate at Bar Pilar to commemorate one of the first dates we had after our first-first date one year ago Sunday. There we had slightly over-priced but delicious and quite authentic tapas: white anchovy crostini, seared scallops and risotto, grilled calamari, tortilla espana, wild mushrooms and leeks, and roasted beets and goat cheese. The calamari was a little daunting—good chunks of tentacles and of course, grilled not fried, and as C sliced into his a chalky black substance pooled in his plate. They’d missed an ink sac. He remained undeterred, but that kind of put me off the calamari.

Afterwards we headed next door to Black Cat to see Bishop Allen play. They were really fabulous--tight, funny, hip, together--but the opening act right before them was regrettably cringe-worthy. Wall of sound type stuff.

But I am really liking Bishop Allen now. And chinatown. And scallops. And artomatic with HP. And ful. And Hanvnah. And C.

The Skinny

Reason #116 to love temping: No one tells you that it’s dress down day. So you show up in an annoying dry-clean only skirt when the rest of the building is wearing jeans. And you know if you are still there next week? You still can’t wear jeans. Because no one told you it was okay. And you can’t do it unless someone explicitly tells you too.

The press for CRUMBLE has been blissfully good—both in terms of overall coverage and as far as positive reviews. I’m thrilled and hoping that we get full, responsive houses for the rest of the run, everyone deserves it. The Post review was great particularly for the fact that Celia managed to mention every designer AND our choreographer in the write-up, which doesn’t always happen, even when an artistic team totally deserves mention. As is the case here.

The reviews that are out so far are:

The Washington Post

DCTheatreScene

Potomac Stages

It’s a slightly bittersweet experience getting such positive notices for this show. Because, and I know I will never be completely clear-eyed about HANDS because I loved the show so much, but it’s kind of hard not to think--how can they all like this one so much after having ripped HANDS apart? Maybe it was the language thing, maybe that was just too distracting/confusing or—maybe we just didn’t quite *get it*. Nevertheless, I will go down advocating for that show and production. It is an entirely different line up of reviewers, and generally women critics tend to get my stuff better than men do, so maybe that has something to do with it.

But so be it.

Get tickets if you want to see it. Many of you know CHAW is a very small space, so as sales pick up the theater will start filling up and we can’t do anything to fit you in if it does sell out, nor can we help you if you are late. All evening shows are 7:30 pm. And all tickets, $10, all the time.

Shed the Things

Welcome back to the world of the living, Citymouse.

We opened CRUMBLE on Saturday night. From what I have heard, the show went well (I no longer watch openings, for a number of reasons) despite some technical problems. They were issues that we couldn’t have foreseen, nor could anything be done about them once the show started, so I am trying not to obsess about that too much.

It really is a beautiful, unique, quirky show, and I encourage you all to go see it. Everyone has done fabulous work. I am proud of it.

The rest of the weekend, in some ways, resembled a “normal weekend”, which is something I haven’t had in a while. My parents were down for a quick visit so I had a late night meal with them on Friday night, then brunch Saturday, a visit to the Newseum (totally overwhelming but worth the $20 ticket price), my show Saturday night (which I genuinely believe they liked), and then brunch again on Sunday for Mom’s day.

Sunday brunch was at Café Odeon—one of these places that I’ve walked by a hundred times but never actually stepped inside. It was lovely--tasty crepes and eggs benedict—but even better was the company. My cousin and her fiancé (!) joined us and we all caught up a bit on family and non-family life. I do fear we were a bit brutal to my mother (and on all days) in teasing her about her continued Reiki training. Sorry mom. It isn’t that I don’t believe in the IDEA or CONCEPT of reiki, and I totally respect the under-lying principal of reiki, but long-distance reiki and reiki on rats and squirrels does set off my skeptic-meter. That said, if mom wants to distribute my jpeg to her reiki friends and have them all generate energy that specifically addresses the question of my financial security—heck, I’m all for it. I’ll be reiki-energy-zapped if it will help me pay off my credit cards, ‘kay?

After brunch the parents headed home, I crashed and took a nap (glorious!!) and waited for C to get out of his matinee. After that we went for clam chowder and crabcakes (WE) then to a movie (ARE) where we had sour candy (REAL) and finally home for an early night (PEOPLE). It was wonderful.

I don’t know if people with other jobs feel this way. Maybe certain jobs. But theater folks go for very long stretches without a single night free. Weeks and weeks sometimes. And so the simplest pleasures, like dinner and a movie, can be these enormous rewards. And that’s what it felt like last night. We saw FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL, which was even better because it was a relatively mindless movie (usually I push for heavy E Street fare). Funny and just touching enough, but pretty darn easy.

So I’ve been mulling over some ideas for future posts that will hopefully extend beyond gazing at my very own navel. One thing I’ve been meaning to do is to include some posts about the books/people/articles/influences that have been helpful in guiding me through doing what I do. Not to imply that I am in any position to be giving *advice*, quite the opposite I often feel, but I do want to work some of this out as I recently have had a few instances of folks in the community sending their younger students/interns/assistants to chat with me about “finding work as a director”. My fear is that I’ll sit down with some hopeful, idealistic young soul and start bellowing about being under-paid and over-worked finally culminating with a grand “get out while you can”. Which isn’t really how I feel at all. Maybe sometimes. So I want to work out my thoughts here ahead of time. And maybe you all can help me to do that.

Title Me

The show really became the show last night. That’s not to say that things won’t continue to evolve and gel and work themselves out, but I truly felt for the first time like we were doing THE PLAY.

Which is good. Because when I get there (and it took a longer time for me to get there this go around) I worry less about things like reviews and audience feedback. That’s up to them. This is up to us. And they can’t take this away from us, no matter what. Sometimes I never get to the place where I feel like we are really doing the play. And sometimes those shows get better reviews than the ones where I am absolutely sure we’ve got it.

It’s a subjective thing. There’s no telling.

But to use the whole birthing metaphor, as of last night I was confident this kiddy could walk.

Do come see it. I’m very proud of the work everyone is doing.

In other news, my cousin got engaged last weekend. Her boyfriend (fiancé!) did a bang-up job of surprising, amazing, impressing, and sweeping her away with the proposal which involved all the things a proposal should have: intrigue, subterfuge, a public setting, and the pacific ocean. Well done sir.

This does, at some point, mean yet another move (this is the cousin I live with) but there will be time enough to think about all of that as it comes.

My parents are in town for the weekend. Thinking of taking them tonight to the funky looking projection show at the Cathedral and tomorrow to the Newseum.

In other news, we discovered that with C’s cable he gets Showtime on demand. Which includes every episode of the first season of the TV version of This American Life.

I am very excited.

If It Was Easy Everybody Would Be Doing It

Theater is hard. Maybe that’s the point.

I wonder if lawyers constantly worry, “What if I’m a bad lawyer?”. Or surgeons. Do surgeons wonder “Wow, I wonder if I am going to be able to fix that?” every time they get towards the end of a procedure?

On a sunnier note: we got some great pre-press in The Washington Post.

And in honor of my sixth grade crush, here it is. Andie (Molly Ringwald) reams out Blane (Andrew Mcarthy) when he backs out of prom:

Andie: I waited for you this morning.
Blane: Yeah? Where?
Andie: Parking lot. I saw you and I thought you saw me.
Blane: No.
Andie: What about prom, Blane?
Blane: Andie, I'm having a bad day. Can we talk later?
Andie: No. What about prom?
Blane: Why don't we meet after school?
Andie: No! What about prom?
Blane: Andie, come on.
Andie: Just say it.
Blane: What?
Andie: Just say it. I wanna hear you say it.
Blane: Andie, please, all right?
Andie: I wanna hear you say it.
Blane: A month ago, I asked somebody else and I forgot.
Andie: You're a liar! You're a filthy, fucking, no-good liar. You don't have the guts to tell me the truth. Just say it!
Blane: I'm not lying.
Andie: Tell me!
Blane: What do you want to hear?
Andie: Tell me!
Blane: What?
Andie: You're ashamed to be seen with me.
Blane: No, I am not!
Andie: You're ashamed to go out with me. You're terrified that you're goddamn rich friends won't approve.
Andie: Just say it!
Andie: Just tell me the truth!
Blane: You don't understand that it has nothing at all do with you.

Blane: Andie!

Festering

Instead of writing director’s notes I owe I am writing a blog entry. Awesome.

It is amazing the speed with which Helen Hayes photos have popped up on the internet. Facebook, Flicker, Kodak Gallery… My own set has been loaded onto my laptop perhaps to be shared with the world in some nearish future. But not too near. We got a show to tech.

The illness that has plagued this cast for the past two weeks is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Great big waves of infection crashing down on one person, then lapping up against their scene partner, ebbing and flowing so that the minute someone declares that they better they then spend the next night hacking into their pillow. Why us theater karma gods? Why now?

It is as if the despair that everyone in this play is choking on has planted itself in our throats and blossomed into a real life infection. Maybe that’s it. Maybe the play itself decided to show us what this feels like.

Other than that it is going well. Everyone is doing the right kind of work. And it is work—this isn’t one of those “Oh my god! It just popped off of the page and all of the answers were right there!” kind of plays. It’s mysterious and elusive and tricky and inappropriate and gratifying and funny and misbehaved. I am very glad we are doing it.

That’s about all I have to report. I am splendidly behind in everything else in my life. If I owe you an email, a call, a coffee date, a drink, an answer, a question, it will probably not emerge until after we open. Be patient with me. We got a play to deliver.