"That thing is a trap," said City Mouse. "The minute you touch the cheese something comes down on your head and you're dead." The little Country Mouse looked at the trap, and at the little City Mouse. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "I think I will go home. I'd rather have barley and grain to eat in peace than have sugar and dried prunes and cheese and be frightened to death all the time!" So the little Country Mouse went back to his home, and there he stayed all the rest of his life.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Food Police
Hi.
I had parts two and three to the Fairfax debacle, but they're locked away on a computer I won't see for several days. I got all frustrated about this fact and stopped writing. So be it.
Right now I am part-time at what should be my last temp job for a while. I start a full-time position in July, but more on that later. In the meantime I am working in the legal affairs department at the nonprofit organization that serves as a watchdog to the food and drink industry. These are the folks who publish statistics yearly about some food that turns out to have like, 70 grams of fat and 3,000 calories per serving. They did it with fettuccini Alfredo once, and movie popcorn. I am helping research the effects of drinking soda (on tooth erosion, kidney function, and bone density) for a campaign they are waging against soft drink companies. I agree with most of what they do, though the ideology and tactics they use are pretty intense even for a healthy-veggie-believe-in-government-involvement-to-help-the-well-being-of-our-citizens-type like me. I definitely agree with the work they are doing to improve what is offered in our schools and to regulate how food and drink is marketed to young people. Because childhood obesity? Definitely a problem. But I am not allowed to have "junk food" at my desk, and that's freaking me out a bit. I tend to think I'm pretty healthy. But I am well aware that some of my staples would get a thumbs down from these folks.
Vitamin water? Lots of sugar. Fructose. Citric Acid. Bad. And a power bar? Fructose. Pretty processed stuff. Not so good.
In college I had a movement teacher from Russia who sometimes talked about the health benefits of drinking your own urine. At least I think that's what he was talking about. Felix wasn't always so easy to understand.
And here's the thing. Diet Coke? I'm a fan. And I have always said that if artificial sweeteners turn out to be as bad as some people think, I'll be SOL. And it starts to feel like everything, EVERYTHING is suspected of doing something bad to you. Throw in food safety issues, and even super-healthy-good-for-you things like tomatoes and spinach become death traps of e.coli and other bacteria. Eventually you get to the point where it's like "Ahh! Food! Scary!"
In other news, we've started rehearsals for our Fringe show, which right now exists as a great big wild card in my mind. But I like the people we've amassed to work with us. So that's a good start.
And the next three months are shaping up to be wedding-o-rama. Starting tonight when I drive with Skids to a wedding in NJ, which actually sounds like it will be an exceedingly chill one. Which is wonderful.
So I've been meaning to do the Fairfax Travel Guide for everyone, after my week at George Mason.
Firstly, let me say the group running the First Light Festival for TFA was wonderful, and couldn't possibly be a lovelier bunch. The slightly bizarre moments in our week spent out yonder had nothing to do with them, all to do with some version of Jackie-Shirley karma that we must have stirred up. We had indeed encouraged them to put us together on a project so that we would be metro and bussing it out there together. This meant we weren't alone when passing through the mysterious land of Dunn Loring. It also meant, however, that our combined energies opened up a door to another dimension and shot us through before we knew what had happened. (Many moons ago DCeiver had the best post ever about the land of Dunn Loring. Indeed, I thought of the magical sleeping village every time we passed by the station.) But no! We were headed to further lands. We were going to the end of the line, the Vienna Station. We were going where few DC dwellers have gone before. We were going to ... Fairfax.
Day One
A train jumped the tracks on the orange line. We do not know this at first though, we only know that our train is holding in Metro Center. We switch to another car and both recognize Gwenergy from behind--her puckish pigtails give her away. We talk G's ear off as she frets about risking missing an audition. After about 10 minutes she heads above ground to get a cab, and we soldier on. The train starts up again and we think we are in the clear. When we hit Rosslyn, we exit to switch to the orange from the blue. There we realize that they are evacuating the train. It is impossible to go beyond Ballston. We head to where the Charlie Brown intercom "Wha-Wha" voice tells us to pick up a shuttle. The entire state of Virginia is waiting for the shuttle. We get scared. Jackie's stage manager friend emerges from the station. She tells us about a bus we can take. We plan to do this but first I have to get cash. And dinner. Quickly. I buy an odd combination of food at a stand called the "Tummy Station". Then we see that there is a storefront dedicated completely to commuter information. We go in and ask the young man about getting to Fairfax. His eyes widen. Jackie calls the theater. They tell us to take a cab, we'll get reimbursed. The commuter store man predicts it will cost $70. It is an expensive first day getting to George Mason. It does not cost $70, it does cost $45, and we arrive at rehearsal about an hour late. Because she is afraid we might never come back after this first day, the production manager gives us a ride to the Pentagon City metro at the end of the day. We are content. We are in Arlington. We are nearly home.
Day Two
We hold our breath at Metro Center, but everything seems fine on the orange line. Indeed we make it to Vienna with 45 minutes before our rehearsal, and set out for the "CUE" bus everyone has told us to take to the campus. But alas, there are three CUE busses. Green 1, Gold 1, and Gold 2. We ask several people which one goes to GMU. Apparently they all do, but one of them is the fastest. And one of them has just pulled in to the lot. It is not the "fast one" but it is here, and it is hot, so we get on it. We wait a bit, and pull out with thirty minutes to get to the rehearsal. It takes 45. At one point, in our tour of the greater Fairfax area I turn to Jackie and say, "Look that way. It's a appears to be a coal mine." Indeed, we have headed for George Mason with a stop off in West Virginia. That night, we are 15 minutes late. You all want to hire us again, don't you?
(To be continued. Tomorrow, the Secret Shuttle Driver and shady dealings. Stay tuned.)
I have an intense case of the hiccups right now. Almost painful. Par the course for this week.
What I keep trying to explain to people without managing to quite be clear is this. My body, which has been amazingly resilient for its 32 and 11/12ths years, may be rebelling against me. I don't understand it. The cough I had a month ago came back and is lingering. I had insomnia last week worse than I've had since my mid-twenties. And I had a heightened emotional experience on sunday that had me throwing up in the bathroom of a Glover Park deli three hours later while C placed sandwich orders.
Weird.
I have to believe that this too will pass.
C posited that I might be emerging as a late bloomer hypochondriac. I worried that I was suddenly one of those mystery illness women like I read about last week in Carolyn Hax.
Or maybe it's the heat.
The heat makes people do bizarro things. Today, for me, it somehow improved everyones customer service. I was given free copies at Kinkos when their printer malfunctioned. Then the cashier at Chop't gave me a free cookie. Then Jackie and I found our savior-shuttle-man to take us back and forth from the Vienna Metro while we work on a play with Theater for the First Amendment out at George Mason University. But that's a story for another post. This week has already been an adventure and a half, and I kind of think it will only get weirder.
Speaking of weird, my newly sort-of blogging brother has a story about heat-induced foibles over here at his shiny new website.
And from the land where it is never too hot: I found someone on facebook yesterday who I haven't had contact with in about eight years--since she moved to the west coast. I remember her as being a relatively bright and well-read human being. And I have to say, her profile made her sound mind-blowingly shallow, with mentions of her newly emerging celebrity friends and a list of every element of her workout routine. And not much else. And I started to wonder, does LA make you stupid?
Careful LA friends. Don't let the sunshine melt your brains.
CRUMBLE closes this weekend. It’s been a great run. I get to see it Saturday night. I haven’t seen it since final preview. I’m excited.
Lots of stuff going on, auditions up the wazoo. I’ll have official stuff to announce about everything for my next year soon, but will wait until things are, well, official to do that. In the meantime.
It’s interesting. What I do know will be on my plate next year are several first productions of new plays with writers I don’t personally know. In the past week or so I have gotten to know one of them better in person, did some introductory chats with a potential one, and have been gearing up to start talking with the third.
I said to a friend the other day, “I feel like I have been going on a series of first and second dates”.
Because there is some element of that in a playwright/director relationship--especially and most essentially with a new play.
Will we like the same things? Will he/she get my sense of humor? Will I get his/hers? Do we listen to the same music, watch the same movies, read the same books? Will he/she think I am smart enough/cool enough/sane enough/articulate enough to trust with their proverbial baby?
I am baffled by the fact that when I have “down time” things seem even crazier than when I am actually directing a show.
I think it’s because those are the times when I try to fit in all the things that I usually put at the bottom of my priority list while immersed in a show. It’s the understandable ebb and flow of it all—so laundry piles up, so the room gets messy, so be it.
What happens though, when those things you are putting off are friendships? I really don’t know. Will I lose friends? Yes, eventually, maybe. I guess it depends on how much my friends are willing to tolerate. I have resolved over and over again to be a better phone-caller, emailer, writer, texter. But I don’t know that this will ever change. Honestly. It’s something I am realizing lately. I will try, I will try, I will try to get back to people quickly, I will try to call/touch base/email/facebook on a regular basis, but the thing is, unless I sleep less I do not know when this will happen.
It makes me feel shitty, actually. I feel really shitty about it a lot of the time. And I am not putting this out there to make anyone else feel shitty about joking about this trait with me, or trying to martyr myself, or… what. What then am I doing? I guess I’m asking, how does anyone else find the time to fit all of this in? Giving the time that is required to keep all of your relationships healthy: the one with the capital R, plus family, plus professional relationships, also being able to pay the bills, and all the while maintaining friendships?
I fear I am failing. I know in some respects I am failing.
This is the email I got last week from “best friend” T. It was a follow up to a final “what’s up?” from me after she’d expressed anger at me in January for asking via email whether she’d had her baby yet (apparently I should have called instead) and then given me the silent treatment for two months.
"It's been quite a while that I've been unhappy with the friendship you seem interested in offering me. I wouldn't be surprised if you felt the same. I do not see any reason to elaborate, and I will not pursue further discussion of this. " T and I were friends for twenty-five years. And yet, this should not come as a surprise. I’ve seen her do it to other people. But she didn’t know those other people for as long. I guess I believed I was important to her. That I was worth keeping around.
Clearly not.
Anyhow, that’s the question. Do people have a system for being a good friend? Is it some natural ability that I simply lack? Is there a way to fit more things into one day? What if I keep losing people like this?
