City Mouse

Hiatus

2008-10-01T18:08:00.002-04:00

I'd almost forgotten how to log on to Blogspot.

As some folks have commented, yes--the blog is shut down for the time being. I'm not quite ready to commit to officially shutting it down, but right now--and probably for the rest of the fall--I simply do not have the time or mental space to keep up with the writing.

The simplest answer is this: I started the blog to keep in practice with putting thoughts into words. I now write A LOT for my job. That need no longer exists. When another need arises, perhaps I will start writing here again. But right now, it's just not possible.

Things are good, they really are. But they have to be good somewhere else for a while.

Best to everyone.

Power House (the bad guys)

2008-07-11T22:08:00.002-04:00

All tickets for the CapFringe Festival are $15 and can be purchased online at www.capfringe.org, by telephone at 866-811-4111, or at the Fringe Box Office, 607 New York Ave., NW, WDC 20001

Power House (the good guys)

2008-07-11T22:07:00.003-04:00

All tickets for the CapFringe Festival are $15 and can be purchased online at www.capfringe.org, by telephone at 866-811-4111, or at the Fringe Box Office, 607 New York Ave., NW, WDC 20001

Garter Frisbee? (for realz)

2008-07-11T21:35:00.003-04:00

I've had an unexpected completely free night and I'm kind of digging it.

I'm searching for Bridal Shower games. I googled "Bridal shower games not lame" and one of the ones that came up is this:
"Put the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies out on a table with some bowls and spoons but no recipe. Have the bride try to make the cookies without a recipe. This is really fun for everyone else to watch."

Ummm. Really? This is really fun? Because why, we get to laugh at our soon-to-be-wedded friend/cousin who has a graduate degree from Columbia and undergrad degree from Brown and travels around the world helping third world countries but maybe because she can't MAKE COOKIE DOUGH we think--ha! better raise that dowry because this guys getting a non-domestic DUD!? And then what, we all get salmonella poisoning from eating the cookie dough? Seriously, WTF is this?

(I promise I'll get off the salmonella kick soon).

Then I googled "bridal shower games not cheesy" and got a recipe for baked brie.

So, anyone, truly--do non-cheesy bridal shower games exist? We will be in a restaurant, so no scavenger hunts or video travelogues. And maybe we go the non-game route. I just thought I'd look because then I could veto any really terrible or misogynistic games.

Help?

Share and Tell

2008-07-08T17:40:00.002-04:00

Two Tidbits

Italy gave us DaVinci and Puccini and we give them...

cheesy bacon nuggets!

One possible solution to the salmonella scare:
DALLAS -- While the FDA has now issued a warning for salsa and guacamole in connection to the tomato salmonella scare, many people are putting their appetites over the advisories. Mario Herrera, a diner at La Calle Doce in Dallas, says, "We don't have to be concerned about what they say. It's about the food." La Calle Doce, a Mexican restaurant located in Dallas, has remained very busy. Despite the FDA advisory, the restaurant has not stopped serving tomatoes. Jesus Sanchez, the restaurant's owner, said, "We're making sure that everything we serve is thoroughly washed."

Even though the FDA has expanded the salmonella warning, Sanchez said they aren't taking pico de gallo or guacamole off the menu, stating, "I think the FDA really needs to pinpoint the source because they go from one thing to another to another. … If they stop all the shipments of fruits and vegetables coming from Mexico, can you imagine what's going to happen to the price?" Anita Bivens, another diner at the restaurant, said, "As a Christian, you just pray over your food and you just trust that God is going to provide and take care of you."

Fitting that the restaurant owner's name is Jesus. Dad must be hanging around, right?

Dear Universe

2008-07-03T12:46:00.001-04:00

4,000 Danes are likely to have salmonella poisoning and we still don't know what caused our own salmonella outbreak and the beef recall is expanding and have you ever read about the scalding tank that is used to process plucked chickens?

I swear, too much time at this place and I'd never want to eat again.

Fringe rehearsals are going well. I think it's going to be a blast, and hopefully, unlike anything else playing at the festival. Perhaps somewhat unlike any recent theater experience had by audiences. Which I think will be cool. It's not any single element that is going to sell this one, rather very much the sum of its parts. We were already singled out by the going-out-gurus. So get your tickets. (At our first fringe I tried to stalk Fritz Hahn when I saw we had reserved a press ticket for him to see LUNCH. I was unsuccessful. I am much less of a GOG groupie now, but still manage to read their column every now and then, though it was Ms. Grastorf who pointed out this one.)

Other news. Most of you know this but I start a new *real* job next week. More about that to come but keep your eyes peeled on the Theater J blog for lots of fun news.

Speaking of. My shows next year. Three first-timers. I'm very excited.

In October: AS AMERICAN AS by Ken Prestininzi with Journeymen Theater Ensemble
In April: THE RISE AND FALL OF ANNIE HALL by Sam Forman with Theater J
In May: BRUISE EASY by Dan LeFranc with Catalyst Theater Company

So many things to be jazzed about right now.

But first, a break. We're going up to Massachusetts for two days to celebrate the holidays with C's family. I have been assured that I will be allowed to sleep late even if no one else does. I plan to take advantage of this.

And a question, briefly, for the universe. Why can't I just let things go? Why do I still think about the people who have made me feel shitty over the years, and why do I do this when it only makes me feel shitty all over again? This is what I don't understand. This is what I'd like to stop doing. And I need a hair cut.

Food Police

2008-06-27T17:15:00.001-04:00

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 my perusing today I found this article.

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.

End of the Line

2008-06-18T15:58:00.003-04:00

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.)

Heat Induced

2008-06-11T00:25:00.003-04:00

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.

Check, Please?

2008-06-06T14:13:00.000-04:00

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?

Basically, is there chemistry?

Totally a first date, right?

One is Silver, and the Other Gold

2008-06-02T17:31:00.001-04:00

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?

Where Ponies Fear to Tread

2008-05-28T16:32:00.001-04:00

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

2008-05-23T14:59:00.000-04:00

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

2008-05-22T17:27:00.002-04:00

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.
----------------------------------------------------------------

‘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

2008-05-16T11:53:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-12T17:29:00.001-04:00

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

2008-05-09T16:44:00.001-04:00

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

2008-05-05T14:54:00.005-04:00

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

2008-05-02T11:05:00.001-04:00

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.

Grateful

2008-04-28T01:06:00.002-04:00

I got the ole what-for tonight from Gwen about not blogging.

I explained that my temp job won't have it, I'm all restricted from certain parts of the internet and stuff. Plus I'm enjoying the job, so I'd rather do well by them.

It's at the paper of note in town, and it means I get to have lunch with Mr. Guadamuz on a regular basis. Pretty cool, right?

In other news, CRUMBLE is going well. Except that today the room sounded like a TB ward. The plague seems to have stricken the ladies of the team, while the men breeze through in top form. Who ever heard of a gender biased respiratory infection? But we're doing near-runs now, incorporating some of the more unusual props (petroleum jelly and watercolors), and putting the final touches on the production numbers. Sort of. I'm having a blast, truth be told.

Tomorrow is, indeed, the Helen Hayes awards. I haven't had time to get excited, spent too much time being stressed about dresses and shoes. I lost my silver shoes. I can't imagine where I left them (are they are your apartment Aaron?) so I got all frustrated having to re-conceive my dress with my black heels. But now I've wrapped my brain around it and I think I'm good. I think I like my dress. It's sparkly and should be good to dance in.

But that all isn't saying much.

Here's the thing, you know when you get low and life seems like a trial and you think "Good things will happen, good things will happen soon I know it"? Well all the good things are happening now. I am so amazingly fortunate to have so many good things in my life. Friends, love, exciting work, supportive family. I want to take a moment and step away from it all and recognize it and enjoy it. I want everyone to know how much they mean to me.

What a life. What a world.

Can't Even

2008-04-22T00:19:00.002-04:00

It's not going to happen.

I promised myself I would stay up as late tonight as was necessary to do my laundry for the first time in weeks, put away the clean laundry from three weeks ago, read the six plays I'd promised to read by last weekend, and update my blog.

These things are not going to happen.

But these things are true:

I have a temp job that keeps me off the internet but that I like alright. It might end tomorrow.

I bought a dress. It is sparkly and pretty and fancy and special. Hannah was a great shopping partner and I thank her for her positivity.

Judas Iscariot was a worthy "only show to see this month" and everyone involved should be very proud.

I also bought $17 lip gloss. I never thought I'd say this, but it was worth it.

CRUMBLE goes well. Very, very well.

That's it folks. My eyes burn with exhaustion and allergies and my lids droop by the light of the screen. Be well.

An Era Ends

2008-04-11T14:35:00.001-04:00

Thank you to everyone for their notes, emails, text messages and calls offering condolences for my grandmother's death. It has been nice to get them.

My grandma's passing was rather unexpected, although when someone is months away from ninety I guess these things are never completely out of the blue. There was a part of me that thought grandma would live to be at least ninety-five. Health issues aside, she seemed remarkably sturdy. When my mother described the last few minutes at her bedside (where she was, thankfully, surrounded by her five surviving children and--depending on what you believe--perhaps my Aunt Nancy who died in October as well) she marveled at the strength of her heart. Even as the breaths came further and further apart, the heart kept beating. Indeed, after the final exhalation settled, a nurse still detected a heart beat.

My grandma had a lot of heart.

She had a condition that accelerated her decline, something that neither her family nor her doctors had anticipated. But it seems her final moments were peaceful. She did not have a long drawn out illness. Her pain was brief and manageable.

But who wants to hear about THAT stuff.

I love the pictures that I posted earlier this week. They give me a lens into her life before and soon after her marriage to my grandfather--before the six kids and eleven grandchildren and two great-granchildren--a time that is hard for me to imagine. She was a fashionable woman, always. She loved shopping. She got her GED around the time she turned seventy--because she'd had to drop out of high school in her senior year when her mother fell ill. She was very social at the senior community where she lived, which was decidedly NOT assisted living. She had her group of friends with whom she had dinner every night. Many of them were there at her mass yesterday--the walking wounded, all women of course, navigating their way through their twilight years. My grandmother experienced macular degeneration for about five years now, to the point that she was nearly blind at her death. Everything blurry in the center--only clear on the very periphery. Her handwriting was shaky and slow, but still she signed and addressed every Christmas and Birthday card.

Several years ago she took to writing "I love you" on every correspondence. She was not a hugely expressive woman. But it felt like this message had become very important for her to share.

Thanks Grandma. I love you too.

For Grandmother

2008-04-09T11:28:00.005-04:00

images of a city girl,
living in Brooklyn before Brooklyn was a hipster zone,
donning her curls and a smile.

memories, and stories, so many stories.
a crowded sewing room; new dresses for holidays.
manicotti and homemade sauce;
italian cookies: meatball cookies, lemon bars, perfect napoleans.
A house full of knick-knacks and memories.

r.i.p. grandma

From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge,

on this fine morning, please come flying.

In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals, please come flying,

to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums

descending out of the mackerel sky

over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,

please come flying.

Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing.

The ships are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags

rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.

Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing

countless little pellucid jellies

in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.

The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.

The waves are running in verses this fine morning.

Please come flying.

Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe

trailing a sapphire highlight,

with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,

with heaven knows how many angels all riding

on the broad black brim of your hat,

please come flying.

We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,

or play at a game of constantly being wrong

with a priceless set of vocabularies,

or we can bravely deplore, but please

please come flying.

Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,

come like a daytime comet

with a long unnebulous train of words,

from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,

please come flying.

-Elizabeth Bishop

Snapshot II

2008-04-01T17:43:00.005-04:00

Speaking of photographs...

So, earlier this week the good people at DCTheatrescene wrote an email saying they needed a picture to accompany this little interview blurb thing they are posting for each of the Helen Hayes nominees. And I ask "A picture of me, or one from the show?" hoping they will say the latter, but suspecting that they meant the former, since they already would have several press images from the show.

Yes, me. They need a picture of me.

And I think, yeesh, but, okay, I have some snapshots of myself that I like okay and have on facebook and whatever that I can submit for this. I am not the most photogenic individual ever but I don't hate the way I look in all pictures, so this seems like it will be a not-formidable task.

Ha.

I opened a bunch of the images on my lap-top. I showed my "favorite" picture to a friend.

What do you think of this one?

It doesn't look like you.

What do you mean it doesn't look like me?

I don't know. I would look at that and not know it was you.

This revelation is a little unsettling since this photo has been, for about two years, one of the most flattering shots I have of myself. Or so I thought. Now I realize I liked it because it apparently doesn't look like me at all.

This continues with the next several photos.

That one looks weird because the angle your neck is at is funny.

That one's kind of washed out.

Wait, show me that last one again? Can you make it bigger?

At about this point I have a minor meltdown. All of the photos I planned to use have now been nixed. I start looking at more images in Iphoto. Except now none of them look like me at all. Now they all look like a swarthy-skinned, shiny-faced alien with a big throbbing vein pulsing and swelling in the middle of its forehead.
Ahh. Positive self-image. I knew you when.

My point is. My job doesn't require me to be photogenic. My career is not dependant on me looking good. Thankfully. But even so, the eyes start to play funny tricks. The world is full of shiny images of beautiful people wearing thick layers of makeup and I will never look that perfect. Never, never, never, never. And most of the time I don't care. Most of the time I'd rather spend the time it would take to apply eyeliner doing something else. But then, suddenly, you become hyper aware of how you look for some unexpected reason. You have to wrap your brain around the idea of putting a picture out there for the world to see, and suddenly your face is... well, your face is hard to look at. Your face makes you turn away.

Mothers, your work is cut out for you. Our daughters are worth more than this. So she smiles a big, genuine, joyous smile, and reveals a gap in her teeth. So be it. Isn't it the smile that we should notice, not the gap?

Snapshots

2008-03-31T17:33:00.002-04:00

So much to catch up on.

But first, a memory. This one flooded over me this morning while walking from judiciary square to metro center in the drizzle. My npr story of the day podcast was about the demise of the poloroid camera--how the company had to declare bankruptcy and they have now pretty much stopped making the cameras and the film, so that soon, the polaroid camera will once and for all be added to the crowded graveyard of extinct consumer electronics.

Polaroids are another one of those things that seperate someone like me from the very fresh faces I sometimes work with. Some of whom are now a full decade younger than I am. Playdoh Golem had a twenty-year-old in it. That's more than a decade.

Late-80s babies probably never had a polaroid unless it was for the retro value. They also wouldn't remember a time before the internet and would never have purchased a record album.

That said--the five years that seperate me and C establish him as someone who owned 8-tracks (inherited from an older brother, but still...) and me as someone who only remembers them from garage sales.

Anyhow. Polaroids.

We didn't have a polaroid camera though I am sure I wanted one. I remember knowing that the film was very expensive so you couldn't waste it playing around. But there was a day, on my grandma's lawn, the house on candy lane, and we are taking pictures with a polaroid. I think it must be my aunt's camera. It's a special day and I sort of remember that she is graduating. From highschool? My aunt was about thirteen years older than me, so it's possible. As I remember this the image creates itself in my head and now I am convinced that she is in a graduation gown. This would make me and my brother about five. And maybe they took pictures of us, with our aunt, her in cap and gown. And maybe it was sunny? And we are close to but not underneath the big tree that sat at the foot of my grandma's front lawn.

This is my aunt who passed away in the fall.

Somewhere there are polaroids of her and two smiling five-year-olds in 1980s summer threads.

Hooomana

2008-03-27T22:48:00.005-04:00

Heading to Louisville tomorrow for a weekend visit. It's a little bit disappointing to realize my most exciting trip since the fall will be to Kentucky. Nothing against Kentucky. But. You know.

I am very much looking forward to a couple of days out of town however.

And marathon theater, and socializing, and hanging with Jen-Men and Jeremy. I'm excited. I'd be more excited if I was packed.

It's been a draining week which is strange since I am essentially unemployed.

But. But. But...

With gigs here and there. Did a day's work with YPT on an updated version of The Tortoise and the Hare. After we staged the piece the sixteen-year-old playwright came in and took notes. She had a legal pad that the YPT boys gave her and I saw her writing stuff down and I got a little nervous like I do whenever a playwright comes in and sees the work I've done on their play.

And then she said at the end, "I loved *this*, and I liked how you did *this*, and I thought *this* was good. Oh, and I meant to say that I liked *this* as well".

It was pretty great. She was super articulate and centered. I love meeting cool, well-adjusted girls.

My Hebrew School Boyfriend

2008-03-25T16:44:00.004-04:00

Gwenergy has done a fabulous play-by-play of Saturday night. If you squint your eyes a little bit while flipping through the pictures, it's almost as good as actually being there.

Almost.

Thanks to all who made it possible. Hannah and Shawn and Andy and Theater J. And everyone else too.

Sunday night I caught up on sleep and Monday night I caught up with friends--eating Ethiopian food with Laura and her new fellow and C at Meskereem. Which was lovely. We devoured the equivalent of two veggies and one meat feast, until all that was left was one sad hard-boiled egg covered in berbere. No one could figure out how to eat it with the injera without making a mess.

Walking down 18th Street I was baffled to see at least three establishments that were new to me. I think the last time I was over there was a good six months ago, so it's possible. Oh Ad-Mo, we knew you when.

Speaking of rapid development, I just read that a Harris Teeter is indeed slated to break ground up the street from us. Granted, we waited three years for the Harris Teeter in Hill East to actually emerge, but I can dream anyway.

We Love You Hadassah

2008-03-21T17:43:00.004-04:00

I didn't eat anything after 3pm yesterday so I have been ravenous all day.

Do I have a valid excuse for this or is it all psychosomatic?

Egg and cheese on a bagel. Thai food for lunch (that I dribbled down my jeans). Now whoppers and m&m's from the Folger BOB stash.

Mmmm.

All is well. The week 'o readings has been so far successful, and the final one is shaping up nicely.

Come celebrate Purim with us:

Saturday, March 22 at 9:00 pm

J on Demand and Theater J present

A Purim Party featuring a workshop production of

The Playdoh Golem

by Shawn Northip

directed by Shirley

Featuring Daniel Eichner, Gwen Grastorf, Jewel Greenberg, Michelle Hessel, Tom Howley, Sam Ludwig, Adam Minton, Casie Platt, Rachael Saltzman, Tyler Sonnichsen, Mike Grew and Bryant Sullivan.

Celebrate Purim with drinks, music and laughs as Theater J presents a staged reading of THE PLAYDOH GOLEM the newest play from the twisted mind of Shawn Northrip (TITUS X, LUNCH and last year’s Cap Fringe “Pick of Fringe,” CAUTIONARY TALES FOR ADULTS and THE MANY ADVENTURES OF TRIXIE TICKLES).

Leah Goldstein, Rebecca Goldman and Abby Goldberg plot to win their Hebrew school crushes by destroying their non-Jewish competition. When their plot to make a female Golem succeeds they must stop her before she destroys the entire neighborhood. This fun rock musical will take you back to your high school days when your crushes were deep, your friends were shallow and Hebrew school was just an excuse to flirt. Featuring the Shuligans, the world’s worst post-punk Bar Mitzvah band.

In the Gym of the Washington DCJCC. Doors open at 9:00 pm. Show starts at 9:30 pm. $10 Ticket includes one free drink.

To purchase tickets visit http://ga6.org/thejat16thandq/events/golem/details.tcl

Painstaking Work

2008-03-19T16:08:00.002-04:00

I've been getting more immersed in preparations for my show at Catalyst.

And by that I mean watching Justin Timberlake videos and renting the Indiana Jones trilogy.

Callaghan. Putting the sexy back in background research.

Anyhow, last night C and I watched Raiders of the Lost Arc, which I totally had to twist his arm to sit down and watch with me (ha. right.) And I had the same moment of confusion that I had with Star Wars.

I was six when this movie came out. And yet, I swear I saw it in the theater. My parents would not have taken me to see this when I was six. How did this all come to be?

Same with Star Wars, which came out when I was only two.

Unless we saw them all on TV. And the sequels in the theater.

I'm wracking my brain for an in-the-moment image of where and when I saw these movies. I'm usually pretty good with that--my memory, while not always great with dates and times--can usually recall enough images and pictures to remember where I was and how I felt when I was doing something. But I'm having trouble here.

Family members--do you remember when we saw these movies?

I also was struck by the heat of the ship cabin sex scene, and wondered how I felt when I was a pre-pubescent who still thought that only married people had sex, watching it. I probably didn't get that that's what happened.

It's pretty hot though. And Harrison Ford? Yeah. Ummm. Really.

Couches

2008-03-16T16:40:00.000-04:00

Had a long day of wandering with Gwen and Messner yesterday and almost felt like a day of vacation since we were never actually wandering to get somewhere.

It's a week of readings.

Rehearsed one of them yesterday afternoon. I walked into the room on a bit of a high knowing I was going to spend four hours working with some of my favorite people in the world. Indeed, it was a rehearsal full of laughs, hopefully not to the detriment of the work. I don't think so. I am also experiencing what might be the draining of a deep well of anger/bitterness/frustration in my life and it makes me feel lighter and stronger just knowing that this is a possibility. For many years, I have thought it would never happen, even to the slightest degree.

It's a good thing.

So afterwards several of us went to eat Ella's pizzas with the playwright and then Gwen, Eric and I sat on a couch in Ollsen's, where we depressed Gwen with thirty-something talk. We then moved to another couch up at Bedrock Billiards. There we rang in the day of birth of one Mr. Randy Baker, artistic director extraordinaire. It was a fun time. Eric and I played Maggie and Randy in a mean game of foosball that made me all sweaty and nervous and loud. And I talked with Rahaleh about the first time we met. And I patted Casie's back a lot. And talked with McCormick about the Pogues and love. And got all misty-eyed chatting with Andrew and Gabriella.

Good times.

March, March, March

2008-03-13T12:09:00.004-04:00

I have been without a temp job since Monday of this week, which is good for my social life but bad for my bank account. I am trying to treat this fact with just the right amount of anxiety, and not a dollop more. Though this morning it's getting a heaping spoon full.

Shit.

I'm going to go sit and read in the cute coffee shop around the corner from my second DC apartment. The area was much more of a wasteland back then, just the 7-11 and Kenny's Smokehouse. During the significant snow fall we had in 2003 (and I say significant as a former rochestarian) we existed for nearly a week on oddly constructed 7-11 meals... macaroni and cheese, canned soup with added frozen vegetables, cereal and milk until all of the milk was gone... But Jacob's is charming, and they make a mean smoked salmon panini.

Mmmm.

Quick updates before I am off.

Due to my un-employed-ness I was able to go up to NY for the night on Tuesday and see my brother go on in the show he has been understudying since December, AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY. It is THE play this season, the play to end all plays, the new american masterpiece, buzz-garnering and noteworthy, and yes--it was very, very good. Amy Morton rocked my world. And my brother? A superstar. So good. Of course.

I also got to meet briefly with the playwright of CRUMBLE. Lovely, glowing, fascinating Sheila. It was helpful and fun to be eating tiny tasty crostini in Carroll Gardens in the middle of a tuesday. This should happen every week!

And lest I neglect to do so, I've been meaning to post a brag about Benjamin's cabaret break-out. He has now done his show three times, to great acclaim. If he does it again--I'm telling you, see it.

And we saw the Pogues last night. It was a fun venture out to Baltimore and Shane McGowan seemed not so much of a mess as just a bit done with it all. Kind of a mess, but not even enough of a mess to be a spectacle. He just seemed kind of... tired. And ready to be... finished. Interpret that as you will.

Okay. Life beckons.

Photo Essay

2008-03-05T20:22:00.002-05:00

where things are at right now.

a pile of clean laundry on my floor.

the amount of reading i need to get done before book club on friday.

holden-the-cat who likes his bag lately more than he likes me.

my sad, lifeless, much-missed broken ipod.

Red Carpets

2008-02-26T22:55:00.002-05:00

I was nominated for a Helen Hayes award.

Isn't that totally insane?

I'll do a play-by-play of the evening when I'm not so tired. Celebrating too late and temping too early makes Jane a very tired and cranky girl.

Leap Year

2008-02-26T22:31:00.002-05:00

This wants to be a long-ish update. We'll see how that goes.

I am exhausted.

Do I have to update on everything? No, right? I can make my own rules?

I'm at a different temp job. The last one ended rather unceremoniously with a phone call mid-week at 4pm one day from my temp agency announcing that it would be my last day there, that the organization I was working at had decided to completely phase out that position.

Really?

Yes.

Really, really?

That's what they said...

I still think it had something to do with my hussy wardrobe.

This new job is truly temporary, which is good, and remarkably mindless, which is also kind of good.

Did I ever talk about SWIMMING IN THE SHALLOWS? The show opened, reviews were great, there are two weekends left so buy your tickets now if you want to see it.

Swim, swim, swim, swim, swim.

FIVE FLIGHTS also opened, and I think has been a good experience for everyone involved. It is a tricky little piece, but complex and delicate and funny and beautiful. Come see that as well. It's somewhere between workshop production/fully produced as far as design and whatnot, but that works well for the piece.

My parents were in town this weekend. They had planned a visit a while ago, when this was supposed to be my completely free month thinking we'd finally have a visit where I wasn't running from one place to the next the whole time. Not so much. But we had a great time, they saw SWIMMING, THE HOSTAGE and FIVE FLIGHTS (they swore they wanted to see a show each night) and we had some fabulous meals. Highlights were Heritage India and the new Napa 1015 on H Street. We also strolled through Old Town and they hit up the National Gallery.

Oh, and it's silly that I didn't give the big news to start with. I'll put it in its own post. It seems wrong to bury it.

Don't get excited. It's not any of that kind of news.

Where I Become Catholic for a Moment

2008-02-20T08:16:00.000-05:00

Dear St. Anthony,

Your help for a moment? My charger? I know I had it Monday, surely I did. Where now? Vanished from me? I know the charm wears off to the world, my friends, my colleagues when I've lost my charger AGAIN.

And perhaps while you're at it: the eighteen single earrings gone missing in the past five years? The time to get through the show multiple times before people come to see it? My sanity? The ability of my ipod to function normally?

That's it. Hail Mary etc. etc.

Yours truy,
Me

Purple

2008-02-14T22:01:00.003-05:00

In honor of Valentine's Day I have a huge heart shaped bruise on my ass.

That's dedication.

Three nights ago I tried to go downstairs to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, and in an attempt to step over the cat who was folded into the little stair landing, I over shot my mark and slid down the last eight stairs.

Ow.

This is the problem with not putting my glasses on. Lousy depth perception.

Anyway, happy day to you and yours. Here's to friends, loved-ones, and everything in between. More updates soon, I hope.

Monday and Tuesday

2008-02-10T23:51:00.000-05:00

From Saturday's Washington Post "Style on the Go" p.C-12

Monday and Tuesday [February 11-12]
Theater J is hosting readings of Atlanta playwright Janece Shaffer's "Brownie Points," which follows the difficult interactions among high-strung mothers who take their daughters on a retreat for Girl Scouts. Race, class, and personalities come to a head on the trip.

Brownie Points
by Janece Shaffer
Featuring Jen Plants, Aakhu Freeman, Carolyn Michelle Smith, Nanna Ingvarsson and Allyson Currin
7:30 PM - February 11-12

Theater J performances at the Washington DC Jewish Community Center in the
Aaron and Cecile Goldman Theater
1529 16th Street, NW
Washington, DC
Parking: There is a lot next to the center ($5) and at 1616 P Street, between 16th and 17th ($4 with validation at front desk)

RSVP a reservation at 202-777-3210
Tix also available the night of the staged readings at the box office.
Discussions with the playwright, director and cast will follow.

Tell them you are my friend and the tickets (normally $15) are free.

Jew-Day-Ism

2008-02-06T13:18:00.000-05:00

I got to Farragut North yesterday morning and realized that I had a picture of Ari Roth prominently displayed on my lapel.

No wonder people were looking at me like that.

Alas, I was only able to stay for 2/3rds of Ari’s roast, which it too bad because what I saw was really very entertaining. My favorite quote? From Ari’s daughter: “I mean, where would Theater J be without the use of child labor?”

Someday we’ll be able to put Skye to work. Maybe she can start writing grants next year. Maybe she’d do a better job.

I then bolted over to the hill to watch a run through of SWIMMING IN THE SHALLOWS. Which opens this weekend.

Tonight and tomorrow: rehearsal for FIVE FLIGHTS.

Then over the weekend I’ll be rehearsing a reading for Theater J: BROWNIE POINTS. Come see it next Monday or Tuesday if you can.

Anyway--I guess because of the roast and because I was catching up on EV’s comics over at Jewcy last night--I’ve been thinking a lot about “jewish humor”. Whatever that means.

I am so impressed by Eli’s artistic and writing prowess; always have been. And for that alone his comics are fun to look at. But I’m also fascinated by the comment threads that most of them incite. For one, unless you are some degree of an insider in that community it is nearly impossible to tell who is being serious and who is being sarcastic in their reactions. Some of the responses drip so heavily with urban-hipster-cooler-than-thou irony that it’s like they’re written in code. But the ones that do, sometimes, I think, seem serious—what riles them up? Usually it’s Israel. Almost always it’s Israel. Even the Holocaust is becoming less off-limits. Not Israel.

Transition: is Jewish humor an outsider art? Sometimes. Certainly not always. Jewish comics have for decades traversed the boundaries of faith to reach non-Jewish and secular audiences. But this made me laugh: several members of my cast attended the roast as well. When we were discussing the separate skits one of them asked about the “Jews-having-more-mucus” joke.

Me: “Huh?”
Him: “Well, the song about ‘You Got Some Phlegm”…?’”
Me: “Yeah. I thought it was just a joke about Ari being a hippy-folk-singer type in his college days. And an excuse for Steve to wear a big Jew-fro wig.”
Him: “Hmmm. I thought maybe there was a stereotype that Jews have a lot more mucus than non-jews. I figured I’d just never heard it.”

Not that I know of. Anyone?

This got me thinking about how easy it is to misinterpret an idea or a word or a concept that exists in one culture/language/identity, especially when trying to apply it to another culture/language/identity. It made me think again about the whole “shiksa” discussion I had with Callie about a year ago. Her interpretation of the word gives it an unquestionably negative, offensive tone. However, many people in this country—Jews and non-Jews alike—don’t put that weight on it, as evidenced by the many innocuous uses we find of the word in pop-culture and the media. Then it is interpreted to mean, simply, “non-Jew”. If it takes on a negative tone, it is usually because of the context in which it is used as in, “I can’t believe my son is dating a shiksa!” In this context, many words can take on a negative quality: Substitute “Blonde”, “Libertarian”, or “West Virginian”. None of these things are innately bad things--they are undesirable, potentially, only in the eyes of the beholder.

The blogger 40-Questions has an interesting discussion on the matter over here.

Actually, what I find most relevant about his argument is the very fact that Shiksa is a Yiddish word. 40-Questions’ tribulations of hunting down words in his Yiddish dictionary speak volumes: Yiddish is a language pieced together from many languages, cultures, and locales. It is passed from one generation to the next. It has evolved and changed and grown and shifted, like any language, but perhaps even more so since for so much of its history there was no one purporting to be a definitive expert on the language. So what means one thing in one household may mean something rather different in the home next door. Such is the nature of an inherited language. And that is the beautiful, amazing, and wonderful thing about Yiddish.

His other examples made me laugh though. I am quite sure I have misused “putz” once or twice myself. Which kind of makes me one.

Skin

2008-02-01T17:13:00.000-05:00

So, this isn’t working out too well. This whole keeping-up-with-everything and continuing to blog about it. I’m thinking it’s becoming too much. Or it has already become too much.

What, what, what, what, what. So much.

Highlights:

*Saw LIFE’S A DREAM. Lovely work all around.

*Saw the INKWELL project, OK. Really beautiful writing and so many interesting things going on. It generated a lot of provocative conversations, which to me is a great compliment to a theatrical piece. Also got to spend a little time with CP and HPMelon, though everyone was a little bit too sick and a little bit too tired. Seems to be the trend these days.

*That night I was sitting on a bench at H Street talking with Jackie and I told her about my recent WHAT NOT TO WEAR obsession. I also told her that I thought I’d be a perfect candidate but C wouldn’t nominate me because he doesn’t believe in TLC Television like I do. So she said “I’ll nominate you” and I said, “Really, really, do!” and then when I saw her three days later I said, “Remember the other night I tried to get you to nominate me for WHAT NOT TO WEAR” and she said “I did nominate you. You wanted me to. Did you not want me to?” And I think it is truly amazing and wonderful that she really did it. I am keeping my eyes peeled for random market researchers now, really I am.

*I had dinner again at Café 8 on Barrack’s Row. The joint was jumping. Hurrah.

*Saw a run through of SWIMMING IN THE SHALLOWS before they head into tech over at Catalyst. Seriously, this is going to be very funny stuff folks. Do not miss it.

*Have been working on another Adam Bock project (Yes this qualifies as a minor obsession. What can I say. He rocks.) The folks finishing the honor’s year over at the Theater Lab have arranged to put together a showcase project so we will be presenting two weekends of FIVE FLIGHTS. More information on that to come.

*Saw Sweeney Todd. Was surprised that Tobias was a child, but apparently that was the original intent of the story. I enjoyed it, though I have to say I missed the effect that truly rich, full vocal tones bring to this music. The actor-singers weren’t BAD singers; they just weren’t singers, so you get that thin, tinny vocal effect like in Moulin Rouge. It’s not bad it’s just different. Some of the different I liked, some I did not.

*Went up to NY for a quick 10 hours (no joke). Saw Benjamin make his NYC Cabaret debut. It was fabulous. He is fabulous. Tears. Laughter. Tears. Laughter. Hellos. Catch-ups. Memories. Good-byes. Ben’s tiny white kitty. Alarm clocks. Travel. Back to dc.

Lowlights:

*Have been locked out of the house for two days. Remedying that tonight. Our enormous mottled kitty is going to be really pissed off.

*Was informed by one of my “supervisors” at this new “temp job” that she had been asked to talk to me about their “dress code”:
Me: Am I not dressy enough?
(I’d been digging through my closet to resurrect my temp clothes circa 1998, which are pretty awful but really quite conservative. And they seemed to fit in with everyone else’s choices.)
Her: No, it’s not about dressiness…
Me: …?
Her: It was reported that at some time yesterday there was a line of skin showing between your pants and the bottom of your shirt.
Me: …?
Her: We are a conservative organization. We can’t show skin. No shirts with sleeves above the elbow. Nothing low cut. No exposed midriffs.
(Let it be known that I had worn two shirts that day, one layered over the other to assure that nothing would ride up or down. Two shirts. I checked. Nothing was exposed.)
Me: Hmmm. I must have been stretching to reach for something. And a line of skin showed, huh. Like for a minute. And someone reported me. Huh.
Next week I’m wearing a burqua.

Growing Fonder

2008-01-18T19:19:00.000-05:00

It's not you, it's me.

Really.

I started a temp job this week and I don't feel like I should be on the internet for non-work related tasks. I know, I know. But with the law firm, I didn't feel guilt about it because I could tell myself they were doing awful things to people and deserved kharmic justice. Where I am right now is a non-profit that is doing good things and in some way actually inspires me to want to impress them. Maybe it was the fact that I had four interviews before they hired me (yes, as a temp, crazy). Anyway, blogging is going to be a bit light for a while.

I also started rehearsing a new project that came out of the blue and is shaping up to be a good challenge and a fun time.

So I'm beat--early mornings and late nights all over again--but I feel productive and activated.

Other randon updates:

1. Saw Juno. Worried for a moment at the start that it was going to be Napolean Dynamite all over again (which I enjoyed, but don't need two of) but soon my fears were assuaged. I really enjoyed it. Although it also made me think that maybe the best time to fall in love is before you reach the voting age and certainly before you reach the run-for-president age (which I am dangerously close to) because it'll catch you when your heart is still open and your bitterness unripe. I mean, really, I don't really think that, but some moments kinda made me think.

2. (literary spoilers here, if you care about that kind of thing) Finished THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER. Last night. Just about reached part three and gasped. C looked over my shoulder "Put a bullet in his chest?" I threw the book down. "The mute! The one you really care about! The guy everybody needs to survive. And now he killed himself over a sloppy, ingrateful greek man. What?!" Anyway--if anyone has read this book and wants to engage in conversation about it, I'd love to do so.

3. Did eXtreme eXchange, saw late night environmental theater, saw the Neo-Futurists, and watched about eight episodes of Extras. I am glad people are doing political theater, I am glad people are doing site-specific theater, I am glad Woolly brought TMLMTBGB to DC, and I am glad that we can now watch TV shows on DVD.

4. Got my hair cut. Really happy with it. Nothing radical, just a good haircut. David at VSL rocks. CP said so, but I thought she was blinded by the Alabama thing. Not so. He's really good.

5. C found a parking space to rent near his place. Who would've thought, when we were all living out in the suburbs with our yards and our driveways and our garages and our cul-de-sacs that someday we would be scouring Craig's List to find a parking space that we could pay someone money to use. A tiny little piece of land, for a car. Silly, but totally necessary where he lives. This was very good news though it sounds kind of inconsequential now that I've written it out.

6. This American Life is all in re-runs, but it meant I got to hear the weight-lifting snowman all over again. The whole Superintendant-Episode rocks.

7. This temp job is kind of near Java Green. Every time lunch rolls around I feel the magnetic pull. I do so love it. I think maybe meat eaters can't quite understand the wonder a veggie has when they walk into a place like that. When, on average you go into a restaurant (especially a sandwich place) and have maybe three options out of twenty (even a fish eater like me) and then to go to this place where you can eat anything on the menu. Anything, everything, one of each, a new choice every day. it's overwhelming. And it is all so good. I'm blowing my budget on spicy soy chicken.This could get out of hand.

Retired

2008-01-10T14:02:00.001-05:00

I’m stewing a bit. I got an email this morning reminding me once again that I am a bad friend and a terrible person and that I hate babies and sunshine and all that is good and sweet and pure in the world. At least, this was the subtext. I think.

It’s a question I’ve mulled over here before, instigated by similar happenings in the past with the same person that this always comes up with. And I wonder--when do you just let a friendship go? When is it no longer worth fighting for?

This time I think I am pretty much done with it.

I am so tired of apologizing. I am so tired of navigating the emotional minefield. I am tired of trying to guess what is the right way, the best way, the only way to be a friend to my friend.

It makes me sad because we have been friends for over twenty-five years. That’s a long time. And I know, knowing her, that if the friendship ends I will never hear from her again. I will never see her, I will never know how her family is, I will never see her toddler or the one on the way make their way into childhood then adolescence then adulthood. I will be cleanly and systematically eliminated from her life. I’ve watched her do it to others.

She’s very good at it.

Starbucks Haikus

2008-01-08T11:49:00.001-05:00

You in your tall boots
A vente frappucino?
So much for resolve.

Icy drinks line up.
Weather-dot-com says sunny--
You’d think it was spring.

Spinach feta wrap.
Where have you been all my life?
Warm processed goodness.

Holidays have passed,
Now pockets full of gift cards.
Starbucks every meal.

Once Bitten

2008-01-07T16:10:00.000-05:00

I’m having all sorts of anxiety-related sleeping issues lately. This doesn’t mean that I want to sleep any less it just means that I toss and turn and have weird dreams. Awesome.

I’m working on getting the dramaturgical packet together for SWIMMING by Tuesday’s first read, which has been great fun but also rather challenging. There is a lot of information out there. Too much information. And I am doing my best to model dramaturge (and playwright extraordinaire) Miss Lawton with her beautifully laid out packets and tables of contents and fun pictures and reader-friendly information and lack of dependence on wikipedia. And I am learning all sorts of interesting things like the difference between sharks and fish (fish have bones, sharks only have cartilage) and about the history of hummels (Sister Maria Innocentia Hummel, who created the first hummels, died at the tender age of thirty-seven from tuberculosis) but it’s of no use until I put it all together.

Something Fishy

2008-01-04T11:14:00.000-05:00

I made this yesterday. Myself.

It was tasty.

It was easy.

I used pre-prepared pesto sauce and made a side dish of packaged couscous that already had stuff thrown into it, to which I added re-constituted sundried tomatoes. And it was quick and easy and tasty and relatively wholesome. Best of all, making this got me over my fish phobia. I did cook on a somewhat regular basis, many years ago (like, 1994-1996) but at the time I cooked only veggie food because I wasn’t eating seafood yet. So my window of cooking confidence includes no meat or fish, which is fine for me but a bit limited when you want to share dinner with someone else.

C and I had a sort of unspoken new year’s resolution to eat at home more often, schedules allowing. Eating out is such a drain of money and it allows for so little control over what we are putting into out bodies. We’ve had some time; it seemed like a good thing to start doing.

The other night C improvised a fabulous meal of salmon, sautéed mushrooms, and roasted sweet potatoes. I am not one to improvise, especially when it involves a part of the meal that was once alive, so I followed the Cooking Light recipe for my turn at bat.

And I am telling you, it was really, really good!

And I am only repeating this over and over again because I am completely lacking in confidence when it comes to any of my domestic skills. In another day and age, when women were valued for their abilities to maintain an orderly home, cook a well-balanced meal, and keep the laundry clean and the socks darned--I would have been a lost cause. Sometimes I think I still am.

Anyway, still more to say about the holidays and the new year, anon.

Seven Hours To Go

2007-12-31T16:37:00.000-05:00

I am conflicted about what to write in the realm of end-of-the-year wrap-ups. I just looked back at my entries from the final days of 2005 and 2006 and had to cringe at how maudlin and emotional they are. Blah, blah, heartbreak, blah, blah, rejection, blah, blah, angst.

It makes me wonder again if I have out-grown this blog. I find myself conflicted over how much to share and what is appropriate to write about. Not to mention the question of: “who cares?” The fact is, the stuff that I have the strongest feelings about and would probably engage some spark behind my writing are the subjects I usually decide should not be shared with the world. So be it.

Anyway: 2007. I could certainly do a list-type retrospective, which works well for people. Hanvnah and Gwen both have fun ones (incidentally, I am honored to be amongst Hanvnah’s top portraits of 2007--red wine and cleavage, indeed!) But my mind and words are not lined up and orderly like that.

General impressions, thoughts and reflections are sure to work better for me. If I can manage that.

So I sat in a room the other night at an awful touristy bar in metro center eating a veggie burger and surrounded by James Brown’s spangled jacket and signed albums of Michael Jackson’s Thriller and I was a little bit too loud and a little bit too uncomfortable because at some point I realized that in this one room sat the three people who probably know me better than anyone else in this city. Sort of. I mean, friends know me well too. Maybe friends know me better. Maybe that’s been the problem with my relationships all along. Anyway, one of those people hates me, and one of those people has snatched up my heart, and one of these people seems generally unsettled around me and that’s my fault because I have made everything awkward with that when it could have been easy. And I thought, hmmm, DC, right?

Already, too much. Go back. Think again.

People, people, people. Relationships, friendships, partners, lovers, collaborators, family. People.

I had a great year. I had a tricky year. I had a busy year. I had an important year.

I had a year.

The year started off shitty. How’s that for a place to start. My new year’s plans to ring in 2007 were thwarted when the friend I was to be hanging out with called to tell me he was too stoned to make plans right now but that he’d get back to me in about an hour and we could talk then. I ended up hanging out with my cousin (whom I love), her boyfriend (whom I adore), and the back-rubber (two out of three isn’t bad).

Then several days of surprising emails and sleepless nights and too many tears and news that had absolutely nothing to do with me and finally I retreated into the cozy arms of my first show of 2007--WE ARE NOT THESE HANDS--where I got to spend hours on end with some of my favorite people in the world. From there I spent the next four month cocooned in my work. This was partly by choice but mostly out of necessity. AFTER DARWIN was on the heels of HANDS, and DALI came following close behind. The work was my love, my love was my work. I wanted to see only my actors and designers, I wanted to talk script and choices and research and design. As I recall, I had a few crushes on the young-uns here and there in the meantime, but for the most part I stayed guarded and content.

I am glad I had this time. I loved the work I was doing, and was glad to be a part of these creations.

I listened to a lot of This American Life’s. I watched Youtubes. I saw friends, magnificent friends. I made new friends, I saw old friends, I further developed friendships that were not quite young or old. I appreciated more and more my professional families: both with Shawn and with Catalyst. My parents visited many times. They saw my shows and we saw shows and exhibits together. I staged a sex scene. I learned about evolution. I learned about the Gulf War. I learned about China. I took a few trips to NY. I went to Kentucky for a few days for the Humana Festival.

April was eventful for the world. Terrible things happened at Virginia Tech and Eastern Market. We all dressed up and attended the Helen Hayes awards. And I successfully opened my third show in four months. I’d survived. I got a little sick. I caught up on sleep.

May was eventful for me. I moved, rather suddenly, that was a big thing. I worked with the Keegan folk and had a blast. And I went on a date for the first time in about five months. It went very well. It is at about this time that my blog entries started sounding uncharacteristically optimistic.

After that, summer hit. I went to the beach to celebrate friendships old and new. I had a birthday that I was late for. I met C’s family. We started Trixie and suddenly everything was “F-H” and “Fringe-y”. We returned to the Source and created funny moments. July was a fringe-alicious whirl. Then August came and I readied for weddings and travel. There were bridal showers and engagement parties, there were passports to get and bags to pack, and there were practical shoes to buy and time away to plan for. We produced Zidney for page-to-stage and then I was off to Ireland and Connecticut and things were good and bad and wonderful and complex and lonely and beautiful and filled with aches and smiles. Everyone and everything was going through a growing period. We grew, we did.

Then October and home and a beautiful wedding and a homecoming and lots of readings and workshops and then ohmigod is it November already? And pirates and an untimely death and thanksgiving and then December and holidays and parties and food and family and fun and love.

Geez-oh-pete’s 2007, I hardly knew you!

And with that, XXOO, to a year ended and a new one about to begin. Joy and peace and comfort to all of you.

Weighing In

2007-12-28T11:58:00.000-05:00

Pakistan has moved up to the top of my list of “places-I-wouldn’t-want-to-be-right-now”. It’s awful and harrowing, thinking about what has happened and what is currently unfolding there. The worst part it--It feels like Bhutto’s assassination was inevitable. She had missed the bullet (literally) several times and her father and brothers were all slain by oppositional forces; she must have known that it was only a matter of time. And I wonder--what is it like to live with that knowledge? To know that there are hordes of people plotting your death? And to continue on nonetheless?

I wouldn’t have known anything about Pakistani politics had it not been for the readings of Dr. Ahmed’s play that I worked on in July and November. Bhutto had returned to Pakistan during the time between these two events, and Ahmed was cautiously hopeful about her presence there—stress on the word “cautious”. His editorial in the Forward from just about three weeks ago seems eerily prophetic in its warnings.

This editorial in the Post refers to Bhutto as, possibly, “the only answer” to the current backsliding into the morass of “violence and Islamic extremism” happening in Pakistan. That strikes me as a dangerous idea to posit. If one person is the “only answer” they take on a savior-like quality. And then when they are gone—what next?

As for our part now in the West? We watch. We wait.

Anyway—HPMelon has a much better statement posted that celebrates Bhutto’s gumption rather than wallowing in uncertainty like I do. Read it here.

Update: Everyone's writing about Bhutto. Hanvnah saw her speak.

Happy Sighs

2007-12-26T16:51:00.000-05:00

For someone who tends to be pretty darn cynical when it comes to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it is kind of hard for me to say this straight: my holiday was pretty fucking wonderful.

I mean, like Hallmark great. Like happy faces, all over the living rooms of both houses, on both days, great. Like eager golden retriever and ridiculously cute kitten great. Glowing smiles. Loving touches. One tearful moment that made all the smiles all the more worthwhile. Talking and remembering and holding and eating and introducing.

Being happy can be tricky for me. I worry that it might end. It might. But right now I just want to be happy.

We were virtually traffic-free on the journeys up and back from parts north of here. The time was pleasantly filled with episodes of This American Life, David Sedaris, and a generous helping of road-trip rambling about family, philosophy, and religion. On the eve we played pool, ate escarole and stuffed shells and cannoli (it was a very Italian Holiday) and then my parents headed off to midnight mass while C and I retreated to the hotel. The next day we added my brother and his girlfriend to the mix, who both looked stunning and happy. We did our own immediate family thing in the front room of my uncle’s home (after hastily wrapping gifts in the guest room) then dined on lasagna and antipasto and some sort of roast and asparagus and so many cookies and desserts. And everything was extremely… comfortable. Things felt just right. Like goldilocks.

I know, I know. It’s so sweet it’s cloying. I’ll find something to be bitter about soon, I promise. Until then: I wish everyone an end to their year that is filled with delight and wonder and peace. You all deserve it.

Road Trip

2007-12-23T15:58:00.000-05:00

I will have to do my final book club assessment after the holidays. Just in time for all y’all to be redeeming your Amazon and B&N gift cards, right?

For now we’re in the final 24-hour stretch before heading up to a Pennsylvania/Jersey holiday. I just did a bit of online gifting and will pick up the few remaining things I need to get between 5pm today and 3pm tomorrow. C has to stay at the show he is understudying for until after the first big group scene, and then (presumably) we will hit the road. Unless someone is out. But we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.

I had a great day and a half in NY. Wednesday was pretty well packed—I met my brother at Manhattan Theater Club, saw THE RECEPTIONIST (which I really dug), went with him and his director friend to Vinyl and ate veggie dumplings, then darted downtown for beer and ridiculous amounts of fried bar food with my friend Josh, then back up to Playwright’s to see DORIS TO DARLENE. It was a lovely, sparkling, touching play, but I found myself getting very frustrated with the turntable-dependant staging. That said, PH’s seats remain the most comfortable I’ve ever experienced, and I do so enjoy that space. Afterwards I ate green beans and caught up with dear Laura, then headed back to Queens. The next day I went out to Brooklyn to visit T, who is unfortunately assigned to bed rest (actually, home rest) as she waits out the last month of her pregnancy. We got super cheap manicures around the corner from her brownstone, and ate generous portions of Middle Eastern food. The place we got out nails done also offered $5 eyebrow waxes and a $10 bikini wax. As I sat with my hands underneath the dryer, my male Korean manicurist shouting into his cell phone at the front of the store all the while, I had to think, *There are some things where cheaper is not necessarily better. I think that bikini waxes fit into that category.*

In what other cases am I suspect of ridiculously cheap prices? Haircuts. Ceviche. Umbrellas. Motel Rooms.

Anyhow, the holiday will hopefully be a pleasant and peaceful one, and I wish the same for all of you. It will be an en masse gathering of my mother’s family on Xmas Eve, and most of those folks plus my brother and his girlfriend on Xmas day. C will be meeting everyone for the very first time, parental units included. He seems much less daunted by this plan than I am. It will also be the first large gathering of family since my aunt’s death. I believe all of the brothers and sisters save for one will be at dinner on the 24th. Here’s hoping we are able to find the joy in this reunion.

So. Happy Holidays. To everyone. And to all a good night!

Blah, Blah, Blah Books II

2007-12-18T15:07:00.000-05:00

Going on:

Okay, so the rest of the books on this list are all books I would whole-heartedly recommend. They are worth the time and effort and each one moved/impressed/awed/amused/intrigued me in its own right.

I’ve still sort of ranked them in a countdown-to-my-favorite like order, but that’s kind of silly since they are such different works, and all notable in their respective genres.

KAFKA ON THE SHORE by Haruki Murakami
I want to read more of his stuff. The book was wildly fantastic and wholly unpredictable. This book was early on in our year, and thinking back I have myriad vivid images that remain, all jumbled up together in my brain: the precocious Kafka, the special library, the cat killer, the cat-whisperer, random sex scenes, the house in the woods, the left-behind time-warping soldiers, the alternate universe of past and regret and memories and desires. This book is unlike any other book you have read (unless you’re already into Murakami). Start it, let go of linear expectations, and enjoy the view.

MOTHER NIGHT by Kurt Vonnegut
I felt horrible when Vonnegut died and I realized I’d never actually read any of his work. I have two of his books on my shelf (not MOTHER NIGHT) but they’d just never made it to my bedside table. So I was really glad when this made it into the rotation. And it’s a pretty easy read, but deceptively straightforward. Vonnegut writes with such a removed quality that it forces the reader to do a lot of the work themselves. Which is a good thing. He is so unsentimental, so hands off, so objective in his story-telling, that you almost wonder if he has a point of view at all. And then, somewhere along the way, you realize that this IS the point. Especially with this book. Who are we. What do we stand up for. What do we allow to happen: to the world, to us, to our loved ones. When do we take a stand. When do we just sit down and let life take us where it will. What are the consequences of that. This is a book that you read in a short time, and then think about for a long time.

ON BEAUTY by Zadie Smith
I was blown away by Zadie Smith’s first book: WHITE TEETH. Her ability to maintain intersecting plots, the vividness with which she wrote her characters, and her attention to detail are remarkable. Those factors are all at work in this one as well, but there is something more elusive to it, deeper, and more subversive, that at once makes it less immediately impressive and ultimately more satisfying. Identity, race, gender, class—all of these play into a story that is both recognizable and totally unique (incidentally, it is based on HOWARD’S END, which I haven’t read). Synchronistic timing had an effect on my read of this one too, for better and for worse. At the time I was reading and/or watching films with stories about middle aged men who cheat on their wives with much younger women. And when it happened here too, I was just like, “Come on! Can’t you all figure out another way to fuck up your lives!? Do you have to be so predictable?” But then, the way the emotional impact of these choices is depicted--impact on children, wife and offending party--is so moving and specific, that it doesn't seem like the same old thing at all.

WEIGHT by Jeanette Winterson
Short and sweet, this is a little slip of a book with some of the most stunning prose I have read in a long time. I think Jeanette Winterson is wonderful; no one had to sell me on that. This one is much more straight-forward than some of her other work, but no less intriguing. I don’t know my mythology well; somehow we missed that lesson in school—which is a shame as it marks a big gaping hole in my cultural literacy—indeed, I should catch up on that on my own. But that did not in any way hinder my enjoyment of this book. The humor and humanity that she brings to this myth are refreshing, her depictions of Atlas and Heracles are relevant and honest, and the image of Laika the Russian dog floating through space will stay with me for a long time.

Speaking of long time—this is taking longer than I expected. The countdown of the final three will happen later this week—tomorrow I’m up to NY to see THE RECEPTIONIST and DORIS TO DARLEEN and to catch up with friends, do a little holiday shopping, and maybe see a Macy’s window or two. More when I return.

Blah, Blah, Blah, Books

2007-12-17T12:29:00.000-05:00

And then there were three.

Saturday was book club and due to moving plans and feverish foreheads, our band of five had dwindled down to three literary pals and one cookie-loving four-year-old. I’ve been meaning to do a retrospective of the year’s book club selections for a while now; I’m going to do a version of that today. These are the titles we’ve read, roughly in order from my least favorite to my choice of bestest-bookclub-book ever.

To start: the one book I completely missed was AMERICAN GODS by Neil Gaimon. I skipped this one because I knew that I could not make the book club meeting--but to be honest, with any of the others I probably would have read them anyway, meeting or no meeting. I just couldn't make myself excited about this one. I did go out and buy it. But it made me kind of uncomfortable to step into the science fiction section of the Borders.

The fact is, I am rarely one to get into anything resembling science fiction, crime fiction, historical romance, dragon stories, or any other books that are published exclusively in the pocket-size editions. My tastes are specific and tend to be a bit narrow: I like contemporary fiction by writers with some edge of cynicism or wariness about the world. I tend to like books that don’t make you feel very happy. I like Philip Roth. I like John Irving. I like Michael Chabon. I like Zadie Smith. I like Jhumpa Lahari. But I need to branch out.

That’s why I am in a book club. It encourages me to read books that I would not have otherwise chosen (and to drink wine and eat cheese and chat and gossip and debate with four lovely ladies on a regular basis).

Unless I get snooty and skip it. Anyhow, back to the task at hand.

And remember—these are quick-shot impressions of these books--often months and months after I actually read them. But it is what has stayed with me over time.

GHOSTS by John Banville
Simply put: this book was boring. The text was dense but with little payoff. Blah, blah, blah prison. Blah, blah, blah island. Very little actually happened so we spent a lot of time examining the mental landscapes of the characters, and after page upon page of re-visiting, they just weren’t interesting enough to hold my attention.

AHAB’S WIFE by Sena Jeter Naslund
The story was all over the place and the writing was a bit too frilly and adorned for me. One highlight of the book is the continued snicker HPMelon and I get from exclaiming “Let friends increase!” and “It’s okay that you slept with your dwarf sister, because I ate people”. See-you gotta read the book to understand that! Now maybe you want to? That said I did enjoy the history that came with the story, which painted a vivid picture of pre-civil war America. And cannibalism. And anal rape. Right? Who knew.

RATS: OBSERVATIONS ON THE HISTORY AND HABITAT OF THE CITY’S MOST UNWANTED INHABITANTS by Robert Sullivan
This has been out only non-fiction book of the bunch. It was engaging, though I think I had a different experience than the other bc members. I loved the extensive footnotes while the others found them tiresome. It was in the footnotes where a lot of the more obscure NY city history was elaborated on, and since I am fascinated by the history of NYC, I would eat it up in any form. The actual task that Sullivan set out for himself—to examine and analyze a particular alley and the rat hierarchy that existed there—felt a little bit forced. Like he’d put it in his proposal and then had to write about it, even though there weren’t any huge revelations that came out of it. That said, there are a lot of great tidbits about the rodents themselves and the city they lord over here.

TERRORISM by John Updike
This was our latest book. It’s an easy read, extremely digestible and for the most part it kept me hooked. I read it when I had several different stimuli teaching me all about Islam (this book included) which felt both synchronistic and a bit overwhelming. I did sense at times that the book couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a pulpy kind of action/crime/political story or a more serious examination of character and faith. There is some beautiful, sparkling passages of writing and then there are sections that feel undercooked and contrived. Worthwhile, not flawless.

Okay, bored yet? I’m going to take a break here and do the remaining seven books tomorrow. The rest of the list are all books I would recommend without caveat. They too have their strengths and weaknesses, but they were all magnificent examples of writing within their respective genres. So stay tuned for that.

Right now I’m looking up our next selection on Amazon.com: The Savage Detectives, by Roberto Bolano. I’m excited about it. And I read THE GOLDEN COMPASS this weekend and loved it. This was surprising to me as I’ve always been that person to say “I don’t have enough time in my life to read the books I really feel I should read before I leave this planet, so I will not spend that time reading children’s books” which basically translated to: “I don’t want to read HARRY POTTER and nothing you can say will make me want to.” But THE GOLDEN COMPASS was so exquisite and complex in its examination of life and relationships and growing up, against a backdrop of fabulous action and imagery and magic, that I was hooked for several days. And, ummm, crying at several points. It is a dark and beautiful book and I was so jazzed to follow along with a female heroine.

Deck the Halls

2007-12-12T12:29:00.001-05:00

I rarely chat up the day job because, well, it’s a day job. But when necessary, I spend several hours a week selling tickets for the Folger Box Office. I love the people there and find it to be, for the most part, a pretty painless way to pay the bills.

But the patrons? Sometimes? Oy, the patrons.

Of course at the holidays everyone and their brother decide to go to the theater. And they randomly set their cultural compass down on the Guide to Lively Arts and let it point them the way to something festive. But often, oh fair rare-to-go-to-the-theater folks, have no idea what to do next.

So they call someone, anyone. And when they call the Folger, but really want to go to see Tamburlaine, and I offer to give them the phone number for the Shakespeare Theater, they say “*Sigh* Well can’t you just TRANSFER me?”

Do people think there is one big switchboard that connects all cultural institutions? There isn’t, by the way.

It’s like that rumor about the Indian restaurants on 6th Street in the East Village. That they all share the same kitchen?

Or the guy who called this morning asking about the nutcracker. And I told him we are not doing the nutcracker at the small 250-seat Elizabethan-replica theater that fits about twelve people total on stage at one time. No ballerinas here. And he said, “Do you know where they are doing it? Can you help me contact the place that they are doing the nutcracker? You work in a theater--you must know these things, right”

Nut.

Crack.

Errrrrrr.

Media Outlets

2007-12-07T16:35:00.000-05:00

Went to see BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOUR DEAD last weekend, the first film I’ve seen in the theater in about six months (not counting my trip to the cinema in Ireland). While the work was excellent all around, be warned: it is a movie that makes you want to shower afterwards, in some attempt to wash away the despair and degradation you have just witnessed. Shower with a loofah. And some fully concentrated Dr. Bronner’s soap.

The Times review is apt in describing it as “a chronicle of destruction — physical, spiritual and moral” for it is a chronicle, not a lesson, an objective reveal, not a morality tale. It tells you the story and forces you to fill in the blanks, to find the “why”--the catalyst for the downfall. Which of course I tried desperately to do. “The American Dream gone wrong… a story about poison spreading through the family…” I kept trying to find the words to explain it away, because without a specific reason, without an explanation for the self-destruction, I have to accept that sometimes people just sink. Deeper and deeper and without an excuse. I also have to accept that this could happen to any of us.

If I don’t find a reason then I have to admit that anyone has the potential to totally fuck up their life and the lives of the people around them. Perhaps in lesser ways than these characters manage to do (I don’t really fear that I will some day find myself swathed in too much pink flesh lying on my back in a heroin den while a transvestite pumps drugs into my arm) but in our own small ways, in our own less cinema-worthy versions of self-destructiveness.

I don’t like thinking about that.

Other things I’m listening to and watching:

I did indeed make it to the silent film JEWISH LUCK, with an original score provided live by ONE RING ZERO. Such a cool event. Hanvnah encouraged us to sit down near the band so we had the opportunity to watch both the movie (which was a trip) and the band making their merry music. They had a wide range of instruments, some recognizable, others looking like strange 1950s sci-fi equipment (see the theremin, and others, here) plus the band members themselves were adorable—total Brooklyn-dorky-cute-hipster types. The movie was fascinating because it was filmed in the Soviet Union during a short window of time when people actually embraced cultural differences, including Jewish culture. Most of the film is set in Berdichev, a city that was alternately part of Poland, then the USSR, and now the Ukraine. At one point they travel to Odessa. The city where my father’s father’s family is apparently from is about an equal distance to the north, than Berdichev is from Odessa to the South. Bialystok has a similar identity crises: having been passed from Poland to Prussia to Russia and now back to Poland.

Anyway, my point is—there were times during the movie when my brain would go to the place where it would think, “Wow. Those actors really look like Russian jewish peasants. Missing teeth and all.” And then I’d have to remind myself, “Oh. Wait. They really are Russian Jewish peasants.” They looked a bit like the pictures I’ve seen of our extended family. Deep set eyes. Wide foreheads. Dark hair.

And really… sturdy.

I just finished Terrorism, by John Updike. It was our latest book club pick. More on that and my many recent lessons about Islam to come, as well as a “book-club-in-review” post: a breakdown of what I liked vs. what I could have passed 0n.

Stay tuned.

Let it Snow

2007-12-05T16:22:00.000-05:00

The snow—I dig. The cold? Not so much.

It feels like sacrilege to me, being from Rochester and complaining about the cold. But understand that I left the cold climates in 1995 and never went back. I shed my sweaters when I moved to North Carolina and refused to re-stock.

Here’s the thing: the snow reminds me of all good stuff--sledding in Durand Eastman park, fancy hot chocolate drinks at Tivoli Restaurant downtown, tromping through the snow to get to Midtown Mall and ride the monorail, and of course, the possibility of snow days--but only when the drifts reached the top of my ten-year-old-four-foot-three-inch-stature. Which happened at least once a year.

The cold, on the other hand, reminds me of being chilled and lonely and isolated during my first year at Michigan. It was the first time I’d experienced the season in a place where I had to walk everywhere instead of driving, where we’d wait for thirty minutes for a shuttle bus to take us from North Campus to Central Campus: toes freezing, skin puckering, fingers numbing, begging for the bus to come. I was all waif-ish at the time, so I was cold in any temperature and ridiculously cold as the winter set in. I’d wear layers of long johns and tights and turtlenecks and sweaters. I stopped going out at night. There were days when I felt like I’d never get warm.

The year passed, I got happier and healthier, and after one more winter in the snow belt I headed down to Winston-Salem. I didn’t swear off cold weather for ever with the move. Indeed, I have always said that climate will never figure into a decision about where I live (unlike many this is not my reason for ruling out the possibility of living in Chicago—that decision has always been based on the fact that it is too far away from New York). But I did shed my winter skins when I moved down south. Literally and metaphorically. I got rid of all my layers. And I started reveling in December sunshine.

So now we get both: a dusting of snow (hurrah) and cold numbing toes (boo). As Long John Silver says at the end of Treasure Island: “The good and the bad… the good and the bad… “sometimes it’s hard to separate the two.

Aint that the truth?

In other news. The holidays: I bought Hanukkah gelt at Trader Joe’s last night. And tonight I will accompany Hanvnah to see JEWISH LUCK, a silent film based on a story by Sholem Aleichem. When I told C about it he assumed it was about a jewish guy who gets lucky all the time (interpret that as you will). I explained that Aleichem typically wrote about lovable schlimazels, rarely about those at the top of their game. My guess is that the title is ironic. We’ll see. Live music accompanies it, props to Hanvnah for always getting me out to do interesting things I would never think to do on my own.

Next week I’ll probably see Christmas Carol, thereby completing my multi-culti celebration of the holidays. Unless anyone has any ideas for the Winter Solstice, in which case, count me in.

Stuff to Do

2007-12-03T13:23:00.000-05:00

I don’t have much to report. I’m feeling oddly peaceful, despite shifts in the tectonic plates all around me and being sort of kind of unemployed, there’s a stillness to my center that hasn’t been there for a long time. It’s… refreshing.

Treasure Island is pretty much up and running. Matey. It’s a fun show. Go see it.

Various and sundry readings are coming up:

First Up:

The New Musical Fund Under the direction of Charlie Fink and Matt Wolf Presents a Staged Reading of:

The Wonderful World of Zidney
A new musical comedy by Shawn Northrip and Mike Pettry
Directed by Me
Featuring Toni Rae Brotons, Michael John Casey, John Dow, Michael Grew, Jillian Locklear, Jennie Lutz, Alessandra Migliaccio, Joe Pindelski, Casie Platt, Kelly Tighe and Bobby Smith, as Ike Meisner

The tragic fall of the most powerful man in show business unleashes boardroom savagery of legendary proportions, as the mighty never fall alone.

Monday, December 10, at 7:30 pm.
MetroStage
1201 N. Royal St.
Alexandria, VA
(703) 548-9044

RSVP to charlie@newmusicalfund.org
The New Musical Development Fund is a 501c3 tax-exempt foundation whose mission is to support the creation of new musicals through commissions, readings, and workshop productions. All rights are retained by the artists.

Ample parking is available. It's a twenty minute hike from Braddock Metro.
Directions: http://www.metrostage.org/html/visitus.html
There is a good restaurant next door. http://www.bastillerestaurant.com/

Soon afterwards:

The next week we have an encore performance of Titus! The Musical at the Black Cat. “Not again?!” you say? But wait! Marybeth Fritzky and Jason Stiles will be reprising the roles that made them hot stuff and furthermore made them hot for each other. Or so I like to say. I mean, really? They were meant to be together and the forces aligning them were far greater than mere mortals can claim to know, but I like to think that Titus helped things along somehow. One way or the other, the show was the start of many great things for me: my collaborations with Shawn, my undying love for Joe Pindelski, and friendships with MB and Stiles that have gotten me through many a rough spell. Booyah.

Here’s the scoop:

TITUS! THE MUSICAL. (a concert performance)

General Performance Information:

When:
Dec 18th at 9:00pm

Where:
The Black Cat
1811 14th ST NW
Washington DC 20009

Ticket information:
All shows are all ages
All tickets are $8.00
Tickets at the door or online
www.ticketmaster.com

ProductionTeam:

Adaptor and Composer: Shawn Northrip
Director: Me
Production Manager: Colin Hovde

Featuring:

Jason Stiles
Marybeth Fritzky
Joe Pindelski
Jacob Jackovich
Casie Platt
Cesar Guadamuz
Andrew Honeycutt
Nathan Bonfiglio
Billy Bob Bonson

Time Drain

2007-11-30T10:26:00.000-05:00

I cannot beleive you people got me started on Facebook. Seriously. I said I wasn't going to do it. Ever.

Curse you all.

Then Some

2007-11-28T01:39:00.000-05:00

I am eating a Balance Bar and combos for dinner. At midnight.

Awesome.

The weekend was really, really long. Two ten-of-twelves, and while this continues to be a great experience (truly), two ten-of-twelve still drains one dry. Here's the thing--tech is what it is, it is what it has to be, but it is inevitably so much sitting around and waiting for everyone, that even though you are sitting around most of the day--it is exhausting. Because you switch in and out of "pay attention mode" so much that by the 11pm end of day you don't know which side of the switch your brain should be on.

That said, the show looks great. I think audiences will have a blast.

Did I do anything else this weekend? Not really. C met me on my break for dinner on Saturday and we had a great meal at that Indian place in the Bethesda la-la-land shopping area. I brought up inappropriate dinner topics as I am wont to do and we ate aloo gobi and nan. Monday we had a production meeting for the next Catalyst show and we drank beer and ate various fried things at Marty's afterwards.

Wait a minute, did I write about thanksgiving? I didn't. We had thanksgiving. Out in the 'burbs of Northern Virginia. Things were decidedly low key for most of the day. We snacked on cheese and crackers, we drank the holiday beer from anchor steam (love it), then had dinner with C's brother and sister-in-law and two nephews and one niece. They are good kids, the oldest is fourteen and all into the Ramones and the Clash and has this great dry sense of humor that makes him seem wise for his age. The middle brother is quiet, probably stricken with middle-child syndrome, but has a gentle sweetness about him. He carries the weight of a human who is about to emerge and hasn't quite found his way yet. The littlest is the girl, all blond and smiles and lanky limbs and darting eyes. She knows what she wants and she's learning how to get it. Whether everyone agrees that she is doing the right things to get it, is up for some debate.

When we were on our way over there C said, "J (the niece) will like seeing you. Because you're a girl. You can play girl things". I kind of looked at him funny. I'm not so good at the girlie things. I never really was.

I did my best. The one girlie-play moment we had was when J showed me her Disney Princess kitchen set. It's this big plastic oven/stovetop/sink thing that makes appropriate noises when you do appropriate things (cooking noise, sink noise) and comes with plastic food, and plastic dishes, that sort of thing. I tried to get excited by the whole thing, but I have to admit, I was pretty confused. For one, it doesn't actually DO anything. At least with our easy-bake ovens we got a consumable to show for our playtime efforts. Secondly, why the fuck would a princess have to cook?! I think that's what bothered me the most. If we are going to glorify this idea of a privileged, elitist, blue-blooded role model for girls (and this featured all of them: Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel, Jasmine) do we also have to enforce the idea that she embraces traditional gender roles? I mean, she's a princess for god's sake, can't she afford to hire someone to cook FOR HER??!!!

If I were a princess, I would totally hire a cook. Or I'd eat out all the time. I'm not a princess. And I eat out all the time.

Or else I eat Balance Bars and combos. And we've come full circle.

Dinner was great, everyone was super cool about making sure there was plenty for the vegetarian, and after dinner we went to the neighbors house for a "dessert gathering". The "dessert gathering" descended into a wide and generous variety of drinks, so C and I ate some pie, had a glass of Romanian liquor (C's brother's wife is Romanian) and headed back to the city while it still seemed like a good idea.

Cheers.

Sweet and Savory Things

2007-11-20T16:29:00.000-05:00

It is morning in November and I am riding a bus from Glover Park to Dupont Circle. My commutes lately are inconsistent: now to Bethesda, now to Tenleytown, now to Capitol Hill. This is good because it means I have not had to return to the wasteland of a day job that my paralegal job was, in the wasteland of a neighborhood that is Silver Spring (sorry Silver Spring-ers, I love all of you but I just can’t stand the Astroturf). It is bad because sometimes I forget where I am actually headed.

This morning I am marveling at the differences between a bus ride in my neighborhood (exhibit A: the infamous 90 “party bus”) and in C’s neighborhood (Exhibit B: the very low key D2). On the D2 there are students and out of town visitors and non-profit types who are lucky like me and don’t have to be at work until 10am. It almost seems like a tour bus—the view is lovely, all autumn and Georgetown and colorful leaves and well kept buildings—when we pass the statue of Gandhi the white woman across from me nudges her South East Asian guests (“Look—Gandhi! You all like Gandhi!”) There is not a bottle being passed around the bus, no one is smoking out of the back windows, and I don’t have someone preaching to me that Jesus will save my soul.

But it’s boring, The D2 is boring. The 90 is many things, but the 90 is never boring.

I am listening to This American Life, a live edition from seven years back commemorating their fifth birthday, and I am thinking about family. The episode celebrates special days: anniversaries, holidays, birthdays, even funerals. Sarah Vowell is telling the story of her parents coming to spend Thanksgiving at her home in New York City from their home in Montana and it is funny and touching and her cute little girl voice grows on me. The story is part fish out of water (country mice in the big city), part coming of age (Sarah makes the full T-day dinner for the first time). I think about how I can never really tell funny stories about spending time with my parents in New York because my father grew up there which forever makes him more of a New York-er than my brother or I will ever be, even though the city has changed immensely since he actually lived there. New York will always be my father’s city. And DC doesn’t lend itself to fish out of water stories. As long as you don’t lose your metro card (mom), as long as you know to walk on the left and stand on the right, you can fit into this city regardless of where you last called home.

My parents are in Florida for the holidays at their timeshare. I still smirk a bit when I say that. My parents have never struck me as *timeshare* people. I will spend the holidays with C and his brother’s family in Northern Virginia.

I realized the other day that, with as many random orphan thanksgivings as I’ve had, I have never spent thanksgiving (or any actual holiday for that matter) with a boyfriend’s family. I have had several beaus spend thanksgiving with my family (always at Uncle Pete’s for some reason) but never made the reciprocal visit. I think this has something to do with the duration of most of my relationships. These visits have always gone quite well, regardless of the eventual fate of the significant other. There was the remarkable moment when my Uncle Pete realized that he’d lived downstairs from super-mover-man’s oldest brother when they were both at Niagara University. The world is strange and small and sometimes a little bit magical. Everyone went to another place in that instant, into foggy far-off memories, my Uncle Pete thinking about the crazy days of his youth and s-m-m thinking about his brother.

Then we ate pie.

This year I will be sharing in someone else’s family history.

It occurred to me suddenly that every thanksgiving I’ve taken part in since I’ve been an adult has been with other vegetarians or with my family who is super-aware of my eating habits. I freaked out momentarily, worrying that I would awkwardly be in the position of having to turn down stuffing with sausage in it or sweet potatoes with ham or some other almost veggie-but-not-quite dish. C assured me that even people from the south know what a vegetarian is.

And speaking of vegetables (errr, Cookie Monster’s carrots) this article is kind of amazing. Who knew?

Wordless

2007-11-19T10:36:00.000-05:00

I don't even know how to start blog posts anymore.

I am listening to arabian flute music on Itunes. It all kind of sounds the same.

I had a strange weekend filled with push button emotions. Explain: we went to Galaxy Billiards on Saturday night to celebrate a special birthday. There, if you need the attention of a waiter, you push a little button on the pool table. It's like getting the attention of a flight attendant with the little button on the remote. You wait a few minutes and they appear. It's pretty cool.

So this weekend my emotions worked in a similar manner. Something would push a button, and within a few seconds: tears. This can be very inconvenient in a professional setting. But it happens. I think my body and mind are simply craving a day off. Which they will get thursday, all in due time.

And it wasn't only human interaction pushing the buttons. Last night I promised myself I would not do work, that the sound design and logistics for this reading could all be taken care of this morning (as is happening right now, with me, and itunes, and three pillows propping me up in a lame attempt to convert my bed into a space where *work* can be done) and I started reading the cover features from the last several sunday's washington post's. The one about the non-traditional older army recruit leaving his son and wife to start basic training, and the one about the family at odds about how to deal with the loss of their daughter/sister who was killed last year at the Virginia Tech massacre. Remember that awful day? Anyway, both well written stories, and both more than capable at pulling the heart strings.

Ouch. Leggo my heart strings.

Scorpios

2007-11-15T13:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday mon pere.

Other stuff: Hannah is my new hero. She introduced me to Project Runway yesterday and I think I am smitten. She also introduced me to her friend who cuts hair so last night visions of snipper scissors danced in my head. I know. I’m such a tease. When will said haircut actually happen? Will it simply be the same haircut I get over and over and over again every few months? No! Resist. Try something NEW.

Mebbe.

The show goes well. I am actually having a blast, which is something I very rarely say about AD’ing. It has always seemed like a necessary step to other things, and indeed a great way to learn different approaches to directing, but it is rarely actually FUN. This time it is. I am being well utilized, I feel completely respected by everyone, AND I get to send vulgar text messages to MB on our breaks.

Speaking of birthdays… happy, happy to Skids and MB and all the other November babies. Yes, CP, you too, but not until next week.

Did you all know that next week is Thanksgiving? Crazy, right? Sweet Ben will be in town to see his fella, so I think we will see Edward II the night before turkey day. It’s been a while since I saw Ben. Maybe even June. Too long.

C and I crashed the Edward II party last weekend on the recommendation of superstar matinee idol Josh Lefkowitz. I can use his whole name now because he has become worthy of name dropping. Josh, Josh, Josh—see now I have total downtown hipster theater street cred, right? Would it were so easy.

I’m kidding. What I should be saying is that his newest solo show Now What? Over at Woolly is spectacular, just extended two weeks, really go see it—I laughed AND I cried this time around, and that doesn’t happen for me in the theater all that often. I also saw a reading of Mark Schultz’s The Gingerbread House as part of the New Play Network reading extravaganza at Woolly last weekend. I like his writing quite a lot, loved reading Helen of Troy, wished I had seen it, would love to keep reading his stuff. Will do so. The reading was very well executed, and I got a little nervous and fluttery and clammy when Stiles and Scott had a stage kiss. A very sweet stage kiss. Now you all wish you’d seen it, right?

Speaking of new plays, Jon Robin Baitz has published a riveting response to Charles Isherwood’s strike piece . I don't get snarky when I hear about playwrights heading out to LA to try their hand there, I just get sad. Less great words for me to work with, you know? And not to say that once in that world there is no turning back, it just seems to me that writing for TV is a pretty full time job. I don't blame those who make the shift, we just may miss you here on the other side.

Trim

2007-11-12T17:44:00.000-05:00

I am totally jonesing for a haircut. I love getting my hair cut. It is a simple, quick, relatively painless way of feeling just a little bit re-born.

I dreamed last night that I went in to get a haircut and the woman just started cutting without me saying what I wanted. But I didn’t say anything to her. I didn’t stop her. I looked around the salon to see if there was someone nearby whom I could say something to, or if anyone else had noticed that the woman had just started cutting sans consultation. But no one was around. She was giving me a pixie cut with very short bangs. I haven’t had bangs since I was in seventh grade, but I think about getting them all the time. So I was watching her and it actually looked really good. But then I realized that the face on my head was not actually mine. It was a face that would look good with a pixie cut, with small and defined features, not all soft and round like my actual face.

Hmmm.

Then I woke up all uneasy feeling and I realized the alarm had not been set. And that I had to be at a meeting in an hour.

I’m working on taking leaps of faith right now—with everything: employment, relationships, and artistic projects. I’m trying not to second guess. I’m tempering my skepticism. Trying to. At least.

Shucks-A-Do

2007-11-08T16:35:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone for the thoughtful shout outs of “cheer up” from friends and family alike. And especially for the fart noise maker from MB. Because how can you be blue when you are making fart noises with your fingers in a tub of goo?

Treasure Island is going well. It’s a really fun group of people and is presenting some new lessons for me--namely how to approach a show with near complete integration of stage combat and about the process of staging for a turn table—double turn table actually. Not so sure when in my work I’ll have the chance to work on a double turn table, but you never know.

Still feeling a bit wonky, but I am trying not to beat myself up about it. Things are a bit better focused now--just NOOR and the assisting gig to focus on this month--and then another reading of ZIDNEY early in December.

I’m hoping I’ll have more fervor to write as I get through this funk. My mom thinks it’s seasonal. That’s possible. I do love the fall in theory, but the actual diminishing of the light does seem to get under my skin in a very unnamable way.

I also got my cell phone bill for September. Badness. Too much Connecticut chatter because I was lonely and wanted to talk a lot. And the 147 extra text messages didn't help.

Meh

2007-11-05T12:25:00.000-05:00

Week two of terrible mood. Can’t really say why. Just feeling general crappiness. October was tough—the most tangible event being my aunt’s death—but many other small losses, happening, some to me some to people I love which made it feel like a weighty, heavy month. It also meant figuring out what I was actually doing once back in DC after the great simplicity of Connecticut. And money woes, and health insurance, and changing weather (finally, actually) and now it’s November, and November should be better.

I am busy, my fault, classic over-booking where I think I can say yes to everything and then end up feeling like I am letting everyone down as a result. I stew on the feeling, I feel scattered and incompetent, no one gets the best part of me, and it’s grand, just grand.

I can’t find half of my winter clothes. Has anyone seen my winter clothes? Did I leave them somewhere?

That said--the work I am doing I am happy about. Happy to have worked with a great bunch of folks last night on a reading for Solas Nua happening at Playbill Café tonight. Cool female playwright, great bunch of actors. 7pm, come by if you can.

And then later in the month we will be doing another reading of NOOR at American University. I’m glad to revisit that, Mr. Ahmed has made some well-chosen adjustments, and again—the folks at the J have amassed a great team of actors.

But mostly—mostly, I’m hanging out with a bunch of pirates. (Hold for pre-requisite "Arggghs".) I’m assisting over at Roundhouse on a project that is proving to be great fun. It’s a fabulous group of familiar Washington faces, all wielding swords and daggers and parrots and scars and the swashbuckling ways of “men of fortune”. This one will be great fun to watch, truly.

So, really, why the funk? I dunno. Dunno how to get out of it. Drugs? No—drugs are bad, which we learn from Hannah’s link to crack-motivated-alley-sex here. Watch at your own risk.

Anyway, I guess that’s my long-winded way of saying, I’m off the blog lately because I am off in general lately. Seriously, only so much sighing and shrugging that I want to share with the world.

Snarl

2007-11-02T19:56:00.000-04:00

I'm in a terrible mood and I'm cranky and ornery and tired and blue. No singular reason--a little bit sleep-deprived, suddenly cold in the chilly weather, screwing up my schedule left and right and feeling like I am constantly letting people down and then uselessly apologizing for it--some combination of these creating oppressive melancholy.

I hate this feeling.

It will be better tomorrow after a good night's sleep.

Pink

2007-10-27T11:16:00.000-04:00

I got a manicure from a special lady last night.

Tiny fingers clutching the bottle, brows furrowed, completely intent on getting as much polish as possible out of the bottle and on to each nail. Stay in the lines, stay in the lines, the human lines of skin and nail and finger. White overalls, so close, don’t tip, don’t tip, death grip on the bottle, “Let’s save some for next time, maybe, maybe, don’t you think? Maybe daddy will want his toenails done.” Successful. Moving on to crayons. Crayons are excellent.

Crayons can’t spill.

Such a Perfect Day, I'm Glad I Spent it With You

2007-10-25T12:57:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was, like, the most perfect-est lovely day ever. And I don’t mean weather-wise, I know the weather was dreary and soggy and mushy and grey. But the day? The day!

I had a weekday off. I shouldn’t have weekdays off but I am sort of between work-work and have an inconsistent schedule and I am trying not to stress about that. So let’s not talk about it. But we live in this city? With lots of free things to do. And so C and I had a day to spend as tourists in our own city and it was great. (Yes, so, I think we are all tired of the cryptic nickname and it makes people all confused about the horse thing so for now on it’s just “C”.) Anyway, we went to the Hopper exhibit at the National Gallery, but first brief stops at the Jasper Johns exhibit and to see the Matisse cut outs. I told C about my mother calling a set of underwear I had when I was eight my “Matisse underwear” because the print on them resembled a Matisse painting--colors, abstracted flowers--all that. I am sure that the good folk at Fruit of the Loom had no idea that there was a little girl running around upstate New York proudly proclaiming about her Matisse panties, but there I was and you can blame the Ceil’s for that. I hadn’t thought about that for a long time. It made me smile.

The Hopper exhibit was well worth the little bit of crowd battling necessary at any of these big showings. In retrospect though, knowing we had a limited amount of time because of parking and meters and such, I would have spent a little less time on the early stuff and focused more on the latter part of his career, which really is where he hits his Hopper stride. Nighthawks was surrounded (a la Mona Lisa) so we kind of breezed past that one, but the figures he did towards the end of his career are subtly moving and quite stunning.

Afterwards we headed north and had a surprisingly tasty lunch at one of the random Indian restaurants in Woodley Park. It was late for lunch and really quiet, but they had a great vegetarian thali option which I love because it means I don’t have to make a decision and I get to try a little of a lot of things. Mmmm. So much food though. Ridiculous.

An afternoon nap (did I not say this was the greatest day ever?) some emailing, then over to Shirlington to say hello to the rest of the returning Ireland tour. Yes, the fellas stepped off the plane at Dulles then headed over to Cap City for a Jameson and a toast, troupers, all of them. Finally over to Tunnicliff’s to say hello to that crew, which was a nice mix of regulars and sort-of newbies, then once and for all off to bed for crazy deep sleep which is a nice change from the bizarre dream-laden sleep I have been having lately.

Other things, besides a wonderful weekday, worth celebrating this morning:

Miss Callaghan won a big prize. It makes me happy when deserving people win prizes.

And ummm, hello? (Is this objectifying? If it’s objectifying I’ll take it down.) But that’s really something, right? Boast, boast, brag, brag.

Accidents

2007-10-22T17:04:00.000-04:00

Weekend, weekend, weekend, weekend, WEEKEND!

Wednesday: Box Office at the Folger and Tunni’s afterwards. Thursday: THE TRIAL at Catalyst and Tunni’s afterwards. Friday: Box Office at the Folger. Saturday: Box Office for both shows at Catalyst and Tunni’s afterwards.

And you wonder why I don’t write more about my thrilling, unpredictable life?

Oh, wait. I did go to another Burlesque show at Palace of Wonders with Shawn and producer-man as *research* for a show. And I put that in irony asterisks because it sounds like it wants to be a joke, but it isn’t. It actually was research.

The burlesque show was not all that great. I don’t know if I would know the difference between good burlesque and bad burlesque, but based on the two shows I have now seen at Palace of Wonders “Burlesque” basically means a less sexy strip show that uses some humor and only gets down to pasties and bottoms. No full nudity. And some irony. And a greater acceptance of varied body types.

If anyone out there can give me a better definition, bring it on.

It was an interesting evening, capped off by a terrible event. Shawn and I left the bar and were sorting some things out with producer-man when we heard a dog get hit by a car. It was, truly, the most harrowing noise I have ever heard. That dog’s cries will stay with me for years. Maybe a lifetime. Several people carried him out of the street and placed him on the corner. He was collared and so small and sweet, please people keep an eye on your dogs, don’t let this happen to them, and we had to walk by the terrified broken pup, Shawn was very protective, “Don’t look that way, you don’t want to look, please don’t look Citymouse”. So I didn’t. And I’m glad. But the sound. The awful sound.

When I got home I showered Holden with love. He was all confused. “Large cold woman why are you letting me crawl all over you? Why are you cradling me? Why aren’t you kicking me out of your room yet?” I needed to give a creature some love after that experience. Holden was the lucky receiver. Take it while you can get it, furry one.

Spoooooky

2007-10-21T14:23:00.000-04:00

Standing Room

2007-10-19T15:38:00.000-04:00

Listen to this week’s THIS AMERICAN LIFE. Hamlet in prison. Great episode. Life affirming and all.

So much theater this week. I got back from Connecticut and was all like, “I am just not in the mood to see theater right now.” So I saw five shows in seven days and my eyes bled and my bum fell asleep and I patted myself on the back for being cultured and in the know.

Actually, it’s just that everything is opening right now. And it’s good to see theater and people. And all of it has really been good stuff, very different stuff, all sorts of theater, but nothing that I wouldn’t whole-heartedly recommend.

So:
MADE IN CHINA, AMBITION FACING WEST, THE ARABIAN NIGHTS, CALIGULA and THE TRIAL.

Consider yourselves recommended.

Go forth and enjoy.

Celebrate

2007-10-16T16:13:00.000-04:00

I’m waking up every morning feeling like I have a cold. But I don’t think I do. I think I am mildly allergic to the cat, or at least my body is not used to having a warm heavy breathing furry thing perch itself on my chest for hours on end while I try to read. He doesn’t sleep in my room but I let him hang out there quite a bit. I’m wondering if we need to take a little break.

Find ourselves.

Remember why we got into this in the first place.

We don’t have to split up.

I just need to be able to breathe again.

Literally, cat, I need to breathe.

So the wedding. The wedding!

Most. Amazing. Wedding.

The best man gave a very quick toast before dinner and said, “There is so much love in this room…!” And that’s the best way to say it. So much love at this wedding. So much love amongst friends, family, colleagues. It just felt like, we have all been through so much together—at different times in our lives, for different reasons, with different end results—but we have been there for each other, and now we get to revel in the joys of life for one whole night. And by “we” I mean the universal “we”. Everyone, whether I know their story or not, seemed driven to celebrate what life is because it had taken so much to get there.

The humanity was uber present.

So we ate, we drank, we dressed up pretty, we listened to words carefully chosen and eloquently executed, we were surrounded in songs so perfect for this couple, we reveled in the sunshine and in the dusk as it fell around us, we stood beneath the leaves and trees and migrating ducks and we danced, we danced, oh how we danced.

So many mention-worthy highlights: the stunning vows that MB and Jason wrote and committed to heart and presented to each other, the remarkable beauty of the bride, the perfect-ness of every wedding element from sunflower bouquets to the oysters at the raw bar to the selection of the readings to the martini luge (yes, look it up), J-Lo on the dance floor singing EVERY SINGLE WORD to Ice, Ice, Baby, J-Church on the dance floor doing things with his body that I had no idea could be done (not like that silly), great music—the Pogues, the Proclaimers, James Brown, G & R—not a cheesy choice in the bunch, slow dancing with my fake-date Joey P., Papa Fritzky literally dancing the night away, smiles, hugs and laughter everywhere.

Good times. Let’s all do it again some time, shall we?

Punk Heebs

2007-10-15T12:09:00.000-04:00

The last seven days have been a divine mix of joy and melancholy.

I did not go up for my aunt’s funereal. The cousins were not encouraged to--no one wanted anyone to turn their lives around for it and so we didn’t.

The whole thing still feels a little surreal to me. I found out she had died when I checked my email on my phone while in line outside of the Black Cat. I was waiting to attend a panel discussion on a book about the connections between the punk movement and Judaism (The Heebie-Jeebies at CBGB's, by Steven Lee Beeber).

I know--WTF, Citymouse! What two groups could have less in common?

If you clear the picture of white-skinhead-neo-nazi-youth-punks from your mind it actually starts to make sense.

Jews have been involved in nearly every fringe movement this nation has experienced. Mr. Beeber spoke much more eloquently than I ever could about a history of questioning and examination, or being an outsider population, of the drive to make the planet a better place, that are important values to both punks and jews. Sometimes it felt a little bit like an outing ceremony (two of the Ramones? Jewish. Lou Reed? Jewish. The guy who founded CBGB’s? Jewish.)

In the review of the book on Beliefnet, Saul Austerlitz explains, “According to Beeber, the common thread for many of these Jewish punks was a desire to overturn the stereotype of the feeble, brainy Jew, the yeshiva student or the bespectacled clerk, replacing him with a brawny Jew in closer touch with his inner beast, and intent on shocking society out of its narcotized comfort.”

Anyway—I read the aforementioned email on my phone, and then spun into a “what do I do now? Should I go home?” spiral. I spoke briefly with my dad, who’d emailed me because my voicemail had been out of commission ALL DAY (fuck you Sprint networks) and so, he sent it in print. Weird, weird.

I stayed. I was already there. Hanvnah was introducing the event, and I was looking forward to catching up with her, something that doesn’t happen nearly often enough. And the discussion was interesting. At times the connections between jews and punks felt a little bit forced, but as Hanvnah said, I like jews and I like punks, so how could it not, in some way, be an engaging evening? It inspired me to take another crack at Lipstick Traces, a book I started when we were first working on Titus!. I couldn’t get through it, my mind was all over the place then and the book is written in a somewhat slapdash, pastiche style—that mirrors the movement it examines—but that I just couldn’t get in to. I’m still working on ULYSSES, and will now take a break from that for October’s Book Club pick, MOTHER NIGHT, but after that maybe I’ll look back at the Marcus book.

And it was wonderful catching up with Hanvnah, let that be said. I am very glad I stayed.

The rest of the week felt like it needed to be life as usual. I wasted no time in jumping back into my social life here, and was very happy to see people, and theater, and friends, and cats, and cousins, and all sorts of welcome sights again.

The wedding? The wedding will have to wait until the next post. I am trying to get back on a more consistent schedule of posting. We’ll see how that goes.

Processing

2007-10-10T01:29:00.000-04:00

My aunt passed away today. Yesterday. Tuesday. Whenever that was. Maybe I shouldn't write about it. Anyway, I'm not good at dealing with these things. Who is.

The truth of it is, I am terrified of death. Always have been. As a child I was scared of the dark, but really, I was scared of death. Imagining that someone was once here and with us, and is then gone, and will never be with us again, is an overwhelming and fearful idea to me.

I sound selfish. I sound like I am making this about me. It's not about me.

I am trying desperately to find the thing that we take away from an event like this to make the world, our lives, someone else's life--better off. Be well. Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.

That's all I've got right now.

Mainstream Economics

2007-10-09T16:32:00.000-04:00

Okay, so for me to go to the SWELL SEASON show in November it will cost me $50. If I buy a ticket for a friend, that’s $100. Goodness. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of concert that would set me back $100.

Tickets to see Maroon 5 at the MCI Center are $50. To see Springsteen? $70. Those aren’t so surprising. But Swell Season seems like it would be a lower profile show.

And I am head over heels now for Glen Hansard, and all the while walking around Grafton Street I was like, he’s here, I’m going to see him busking (I didn’t of course—‘cause that was a movie and this is real life, and in real life he's not a street performer/vacuum repairman) but I have grown content with the fact that the shows I want to see will rarely cost more than $30. So there you have it. I don’t like paying mainstream prices for my not entirely mainstream tastes.

Speaking of bargains: Sunday’s Post had a great feature about Catalyst’s $10 ticket policy. The guys look and sound great. Here’s hoping this will be another publicity boost for the season.

In other news, I have taken to reading the corresponding Cliffs Notes' chapter with each chapter I read in Ulysses. The notes can be annoying—they get way too much into the symbolism of every nook and cranny of language in a way that I think completely distracts from the actual story-telling—but nonetheless, they are helping to keep me on track.

For Real This Time

2007-10-08T14:47:00.001-04:00

I’m back. Feeling a bit overwhelmed playing catch up, so I’m still not altogether present.

But the show in Connecticut shaped up quite well. The owner of the company—in from Boca Raton—got all teary after watching it. It is such a moving story, that much of the work was done for us. I was sad to say good bye to my sweet company of actors. They were a delightful bunch and I do hope we all cross paths again.

My parents drove up to Milford on Friday night for a bit of a visit. We actually had a pretty wonderful dinner at a restaurant in the marina in Milford (Connecticut, by the way, as I think I have failed to mention). Then back to the Ho Jo where they stayed the night, a brief once through of my Ireland photos, finally to bed, then up at 6:30am to get breakfast and head into the city where they dropped me off at Port Authority for my trip back to DC. Easy ride home--quick, quick shower and change—then off to a bachelorette bar crawl along the H Street corridor.

Which went very well, I’d say. We started at Dr. Granville’s, which has worked out any of the service/logistical issues that we experienced when we went soon after its opening. The mussels and fries were divine, our waiter was helpful and prompt, and we beat the crowds by starting at 5:30. Go—but go early. Then to Martini Lounge, which was a complete hit, again nicest staff ever. And best yet: $5 martinis until 9pm. Things, ummm, got a little fuzzy after that. Literally and metaphorically. I looked at my pictures yesterday and sometime during our next stop (Palace of Wonders) my camera settings were shifted so I have a series of photos, taken, I think, without the flash on. So they are all kind of hazy looking: blurry, sort of over-exposed, as I assume my camera tried desperately to find enough light to process the image. Or something. But it kind of seems appropriate. Me and MB and a woman with bat shaped pasties. Fiona and Kate warily eyeing the woman in pasties. An image or two of a penis pen (our one bit of traditional bachelorette memorabilia—thanks to Schwartz). Did it all really happen? I think so…

We finished out the evening at Rock and Roll Hotel. Where my shoe broke. Perfect. The more resourceful types in the group helped tape my foot into it so I made it home safely, but looking only a smidge better than my shoe.

Pretty much slept the day away Sunday. A little pathetic, but necessary. The last six weeks have kind of done me in. Wonderful, wonderful: page to stage, Ireland, DC for a day, Connecticut, New York, Connecticut, New York, and finally home for a spell. But the sleep was necessary and rejuvenating.

And I love getting away because it actually makes me glad to be back. The hill looks glorious today, and I am so content to be in a city where I have myriad of dining, shopping, viewing options available for my choosing, all accessible by foot or metro. The things we start to take for granted, right?

And I look forward to catching up with friends. You hear that? So call me, do.

Despite This, I Still Plan to Head to Forever 21 Tomorrow

2007-09-29T19:55:00.000-04:00

I am sitting in my hotel room in Milford, CT eating triscuits and hummus and watching back-to-back episodes of Sex and the City.

The equestrian just spent two days in London. He heads to Paris in the morning.

Yeah.

I am so glad to be working one job. It is great to be employed as a director. I am happy with the progress of the show, pleased with the work being done, and invested in the story.

You know what I really wish? I wish I was in London and leaving for Paris in the morning.

Life, right?

It's funny to watch SATC reruns and know which relationships are going to work out. This was the one where Carrie first connected with Berger. Bad news, right? It's as frustrating as watching people in horror movies go down dark alleys or enter scary houses when we all know they shouldn't. Walk away! Post-it note!!!

We start a prolonged tech process tomorrow.

Two nights ago we went for karaoke. I actually sang, which I haven't done in forever. My cast is a fun group to hang out with as long as I don't fixate on the fact that I am at least six years older than any of my actors. A fellow in one of the other casts was, I think, trying to chat me up. At some point he said, "I mean, I really like older women. I think someone who is older has so much more to say about life--they have stronger opinions because they've had like, more life experience. I mean, a woman who is twenty-five or twenty-six has just established more of an identity than the women who are my age--twenty-two. You know?"

I wish I was making this up. I wish he hadn't said it all with a completely straight face.

But he did.

Now, it's possible that someone in my cast set him up. "Go over to Citymouse and refer to twenty-six year olds as *older women*" But I actually think he was sincere. I tried not to laugh. I actually just wanted him to stop talking. I wanted to talk to someone with stronger opinions. Someone with more life experience.

Someone who wasn’t twenty-two.

Almost President

2007-09-26T22:14:00.000-04:00

I went for a two-hour walk around Milford this evening. I needed to find space, to move, to walk, and it was the perfect remedy. My rehearsal space is in the hotel we are staying in, literally twenty feet from my room. It tends to get a bit... claustrophobic.

I walked through residential neighborhoods first. Very small town America. Not tract homes, but a town laid out at least a century ago (maybe longer) with homes along once quiet streets that now experience pretty heavy traffic, interspersed with small shopping plazas. Some of the houses look like they might date from the turn of the century, others, more contemporary. Maybe the next walk I'll take pictures to post.

I then wandered to the town center, which I thought was much further away based on my cab ride last night. It's not. It's only about a twenty-minute walk. I think my cabbie took the scenic route.

The town square is like many other New England town squares--a center green space with some sort of war memorial statue in the middle, a flagpole, with small shops and restaurants lining the square. It's charming. Head east and you hit the marina, which I am so glad I found. Fishing boats, sailboats, another memorial kind of relic with children playing around it, nice. The people here are very friendly. I turned around along my walk to head back and a tall man with a Connecticut accent said, "You see what you are turning away from?" There was a gigantic rust colored moon floating in the sky. I was embarrassed to admit he was right. I hadn't even noticed it. A big, beautiful, low-lying moon. Unreal.

And New York? New York was great. I had thai food with my brother and his girlfriend on Monday night and heard about their housing woes, which are frustrating and awful, and so horribly typical of the city. On Tuesday I did some banking I needed to do, browsed the Drama Book Store (didn't buy--plays are ridiculously expensive these days), then met my friend T for lunch. T is expecting her second child. It's very exciting.

We met at Columbus Circle and ventured down into the overwhelming depths of the Whole Foods in the Time Warner building (Remember the New York Coliseum? I used to walk by that building every day.)

The Whole Foods in Columbus Circle is an experience that is at once magnificent and horrifying. While all other Whole Foods have one or two salad bars, this one has about twelve.

After putting together an assortment of salad/middle eastern/indian/comfort food and paying my $20 for three pounds of a "light lunch" we found a spot at the edge of Central Park to eat and chat. It was a beautiful day and a lovely, leisurely meal. From there we wandered around Borders, taking advantage of T's slow day at work. I then headed down to the Holocaust Museum in Lower Manhattan. Because what does one do on their day off from rehearsing a holocaust play? Uh, duh, go to a holocaust museum! I know, pathetic.

It was a worthwhile visit. I'd gone specifically to see an exhibit on forms of resistance during the German occupation and then in the camps, and it was inspiring and helped solidify a lot of the thoughts I'd been mulling over about this play.

When I left the museum they'd closed off several streets in the area. I was all in oppressed mode, and when a cop gently stopped me from walking down a street I was all like "Why? Why can't I walk down that street? (*You going to pin a gold star on me next...?!*) " He didn't know why. He just said I had to walk a different way. I talked myself down. Silly paranoid me.

In retrospect, it probably had something to do with the UN meeting going on. Someone important heading downtown, I'm sure.

I headed uptown to wander The Strand for an hour, and then met Miss Heisler for dinner. It was great to see her, she was all jazzed about a financial planning class she is taking at the Actor's Fund (does everyone know about the Actor's Fund? It's an amazing thing.)

On the walk to another healthy, crunchy salad bar place we were stopped (twice in one day!) from walking down a certain street. Again I was like, "What? Why" because it was sudden and unexpected--two plainclothes guys from out of nowhere stopping us. Heis said, "Look Citymouse!" and pointed to the man crossing our paths not five feet from my reach.

Al Gore. It was Al Gore! Heading in the back entrance to the Hard Rock Cafe for a show. Heis gave a little gasp, and applauded a little. He looked right at us but we were both at a loss for words for some better tribute than that. The people behind us joined in the quiet cheer.

We tried.

Afterwards we debated what else we might have said. "We love you... Al?" which would have sounded kind of lame. Funny how you sort of freeze up in that kind of situation.

Dinner was filled with more great conversation, too short, as always. We closed down the place and then I headed for my train at Grand Central. Where my phone died.

But you already know the rest of this.

Milford Cab Company

2007-09-26T01:57:00.000-04:00

We had a very good run through on Monday afternoon, followed by a lovely chat with the artistic director or the theater and her husband--a university professor and playwright--who actually wrote this adaptation of ANNE FRANK. The play is based on an interview they conducted with Miep Gies in the early 90s, and a book by Gies and a co-writer about the experience of living in Amsterdam during the occupation and helping to hide the Frank's. It was great listening to their stories about Miep--truly a fantastic and inspiring woman.

After that a rush to the train station and a visit to NY. It was a great day. Too short. More on that later.

I'm back at the Ho Jo now after a minor getting home ordeal. In my rush to make the train the night before I'd left all my chargers at home. Consequently, my phone died just as I was boarding the metro north at Grand Central, so I couldn't call for a ride or a cab from the train. I walked around the corner from the station into "downtown Milford" (which is actually rather charming) and couldn't find a pay phone. I ended up borrowing a cell phone from a construction guy doing a late night street paving job and calling information for a cab number, which I know requires a charge. I tried to offer him a few dollars in return and he wouldn't hear of it saying, "I have a daughter about your age, I'd want someone to help her out".

Now, the guy couldn't have been older than late 40s, maybe. I thought "Yeah, I doubt you have a daughter my age". But it was sweet--both the phone lending and the assumption that I was young enough to have been conceived by him.

The War

2007-09-23T23:45:00.000-04:00

I am watching the Ken Burn's WWII documentary on Connecticut public television. It is riveting. And terrifying.

The War: A Necessary War.

I can't argue with the subtitle.

They just told the story of the Bataan Death March, following the US surrender in the Philippines. I'd never even heard of it.

Bad history student. Bad.

This all happened about sixty-five years ago. So recent.

Now, Japanese internment camps in the States. They didn't imprison the Italian-Americans. Or the German-Americans.

Italy was an axis power. With Germany and Japan. Doesn't that seem strange? Like bedfellows we couldn't even imagine now? How things change.

Working on a story like this (Anne Frank) you want to focus on the triumph of the human spirit, the relationships, the life that can endure impossible conditions. But let that hope flag for a moment, drop the pursuit of the positive, and it is so easy to sink. This all happened. This really happened. It can really get to you. Seriously, the images? The stories? Devastating.

Maybe I should go back to watching bad tv.

Homesick

2007-09-22T23:08:00.000-04:00

Working out of town can be kind of lonely. I'd forgotten that.

It's not necessarily a bad thing. To a degree, I think it's a good thing for me. It focuses me. I catch up on reading, on thinking, on emails, on me. I also get to do the work I want to do for eight hours a day and for me that trumps everything.

But it is lonely.

I don't spend a lot of time by myself when I am at home. I just don't.

Here I work, I will get dinner with the cast, but then I just want to go back to my room. Maybe it's because I'm old.

The cast is young, most of them between twenty-three and twenty-six. Maybe I just feel a little bit old. Maybe it would be different if everyone was my age.

Or maybe not. Maybe it is just the nature of the beast.

Anyway, I'm very glad to be here, but I'll be so glad to see you all when I get back.

The Constitution State

2007-09-20T21:22:00.000-04:00

I'm watching BEAUTY AND THE GEEK. It is terrible. Absolutely, positively awful. Have you watched this show? Brilliant men, who I bet they make look worse than they normally do, paired with completely idiotic women, who I want to believe are brighter than they seem...wait they're giving them an intelligence test...and yes, these women are truly dumb...anyway they then have to do tasks together or something. And the men all humor and flirt and compliment the women, oh it's sickening, it's awful, it really is. And then you find out several of the men have never been in a relationship. And you feel really awful about reverse lookism. Because I think, in cases like this, it is actually harder for the men.

Last night I watched three episodes of Bridezilla. In a row.

So, here's the problem with not having TV in my real life. When I have it? And I have cable?

I watch the worst TV possible. Awful, horrible, brain-rotting TV.

And I love it.

I'm having a good time in Connecticut. We're at a Ho Jo's that is attached to a Friendly's, there's a diner next door and about 3,000 box stores and chain restaurants within a five mile radius. It's fun. The actors are enthusiastic and bright. The story is worthy and important. And I get to watch bad TV. Every. Single. Night.

So easy to please sometimes.

Miep

2007-09-17T23:33:00.000-04:00

It's really all about Miep.

I'm watching Youtube videos about Anne Frank and Miep Gies. Miep was the Austrian born Dutch woman who, along with her husband and another Dutch woman, aided the Frank and Van Daan families in keeping their attic hideout a secret. (Right--these names are not the actual names; rather the pseudonyms Anne gave them.)

It was a very cute moment at a pub in Thurles, Ireland, I am telling the lovely Ms. Rhea about the play I will be doing in Connecticut and she tells me about her sister's brief foray into acting--when she played Miep. How she really wanted to play Anne but then came to realize the importance of Miep.

"It's really all about Miep!" SR tells me "Miep should get her due".

And she does! In this version--which I believe was based in part on interviews the playwright conducted with Miep--one gets an equal perspective of what it was like for the people hiding the refugees as they do of what it was like to be doing the hiding. It's really a remarkable story all around. Ultimately tragic, but still innately hopeful. It kind of gets under your skin.

Miep is still alive! Did you know that? She's almost one hundred now.

It occurred to me today that I should re-read the book (since I last read it about 20 years ago--no exaggeration) so I stopped by Riverby Books and picked up a copy, along with a copy of her additional writing (stuff that didn't make it into the Diary).

And (drum roll) I finished THE GROUND BENEATH HER FEET about twenty minutes ago. Man. That Rushdie. It's great, it really is, and feels like an accomplishment, but truly--I don't remember half of what happened in the first half of the book. And that is partly because I spread out my reading it over so much time, but also because so friggin' much happens. But really, his use of language, breathtaking.

I am embarrassed to admit however, that book took the front burner in part to avoid my Ireland project, ULYSSES. Which I WILL FINISH. And it was going so well--but then I thumbed ahead to the final third of the book and realized that at some point Joyce STOPPED PUNCTUATING ANYTHING.

Come the fuck on, really?

Images from Ireland

2007-09-17T21:45:00.001-04:00

1. The theater in Dun Loughrie, the town about fifteen minutes from Dublin where they performed the show.
2. The beach at Dun Loughrie. Around the corner is the swimming hole (Forty-Foot) that James Joyce wrote about in Ulysses.
3. Trinity College in Dublin.
4. The library that holds The Book of Kells.
5. A flower seller on Grafton Street.
6. Musicians on Grafton Street.
(Click on the image for a larger version.)
More to come...

Home

2007-09-16T15:24:00.000-04:00

Nothing like twenty-two hours of travel to finish out a trip. Yeeeeeaaaah. And this was from Western Europe. I really don’t see how people do Asia or Australia.

7:30am: Walk from the Hotel to the Kilkenny Train station (with help from the equestrian)
8:00am: Train from Kilkenny to Dublin
10:45am: Shuttle Bus to Dublin Airport
1:30pm: Aer Lingus flight to Heathrow
5:30pm: Virgin Atlantic flight to Dulles (after a minor luggage snafu at Heathrow)
10:30pm (3:30am my time): cab from Dulles to East Falls Church Metro
11:15pm (4:15am my time): Metro from East Falls Church to New York Avenue
12:00am (5:00 am my time): Home again, Home again, Jiggity-Jig

It is, of course, that last part of the journey that should be easiest since it is the most familiar. In truth it was the worst leg since I was so exhausted and travel weary and already settling into a post-trip depression. Waiting to transfer trains at Metro center made me bitter and angry at all the hootchies dressed up for a night on the town simply because I was here and not there. Trust me, there were plenty of hootchies in Ireland as well, it is just easier to tolerate there with a pint and a smile when surrounded by people you love, whereas here—sweaty, sticky, and covered with the hair gel that I discovered had leaked all over one of my bags—well, it grates a bit.

That said—what a great trip. I should write more about it, maybe I will over the next few days, sort of an Ireland retrospective, although I don’t know if any of it is even interesting to anyone but me. Maybe I’ll do a day-by-day, or break it down into categories. We’ll see.

Overall, I had a fabulous time. It was a great combination of oppositionals: urban/rural, alone-time/group-time, small towns/cities, visits with old friends/visits with new friends, high brow/low brow, planned outings/random wandering. Ireland is a really easy place to get used to, save for the price of everything (high) and the food options (tricky still for someone like me). Culturally, sure there are differences, but I have to say—a night out there didn’t feel all that different than a night out in DC (granted, I did not spend time in any very rural areas and I was hanging out with mostly Americans).

But this was actually a good thing. Trips where you face a huge cultural adjustment are fun to take and wonderful learning experiences but can also be very stressful. This trip was virtually stress-free. Which for me-after a very busy last year-was a good thing. The Irish are very friendly and helpful and it never felt like an imposition to ask for help or for directions (unlike in other parts of Europe). And they genuinely seem to like Americans. It is also interesting that, wandering the big cities, there were many people who lived there who seemed more like an outsider culturally and linguistically than I did (the huge influx of Poles and Eastern Europeans in the metropolitan areas). They live there, but they don’t speak the language. We don’t live there, but we do. And culturally and religiously we have many more similarities with the Irish. So, that was interesting.

Tonight I am going to try to see the show at Woolly (if I can get a ticket) and tomorrow will be here, then Tuesday I head up to New York so that Wednesday morning I can take the train to Milford, Connecticut where I’ll be directing a version of The Diary of Anne Frank for a high school tour for two-and-a-half weeks. Keeping busy at this point can only be a good thing. Then I have to figure out that whole day job/earning my keep thing come October. Yeah. Fun.

Happy belated jew new year to all and here’s to the wonder of new places and the comfort of dear friends.

Kilkenny City

2007-09-14T13:07:00.000-04:00

Kilkenny is great.

Castles, Cathedrals and Cobblestones, oh my!

I leave for home tomorrow morning. Trying not to sink into post-trip depression before the journey even ends.

Thurles!

2007-09-11T14:42:00.000-04:00

All is well. We are in Thurles (yes Messner--Durliss!) I am in the library next door to the arts center where they are performing the show. Tonight however I am not going to see GLENGARRY. On the contrary, I am walking all the way down the one main street of Thules (Durliss!) to go to the movie theater to see KNOCKED UP.

Guilty pleasures.

We stayed up way too late last night and, actually, did a whole lot of nothing today.

It was great.

The accomodations here are beautiful, a huge Georgian style house converted to a B&B. The eq and I have this super luxurious room. It's very nice.

Counting my blessings.

Slept through breakfast this morning and headed into town with that feeling in my stomach like it is eating itself away from the inside out. Looked at a few menus then wandered into a place that had a "Carvery Lunch" which is like a cafeteria style buffet thing. The one veggie option was "deep fried vegetables". I kid you not.
Not so tasty.

The eq got the plate of the roast beef which came with cabbage--boiled beyond flavor, and carrots--cooked until tasteless.

Yeah. Food? Not so happening here.

Though Ray took me to the most impressive sushi-conveyor-belt type place I have been to on Sunday. And his wife made fabulous veggie lasagna for us that night. So I ate well there.

Shoulda stored in up in my cheeks like a squirrel.

More stories later. If all goes well we will do a castle and a big rock tomorrow.

Brief Update

2007-09-08T10:25:00.000-04:00

Quick update from the front. Sorry Gallu. I tried.

(To those who received an email much like this, sorry, lame, I know.)

I am here, safe and sound. The flight was without incident, there were empty seats so I was able to sprawl over two seats, which was great. Transfer at Heathrow was a pain in my butt, but that's the way it always is. Lots of long narrow unmarked hallways trying to get to the right terminal and gate, all filled with long serpentine lines of people from many far away places. One line, I swear, consisted of an entire small village from Africa. Anyway, it was a really long line and I was glad I didn't have to get to the end of it.

Highschool friend Ray (see earlier entries) picked me up at the airport and the equestrian met us there, so it was an easy trip back to Dun Lougherie where we are staying (a small beach town about 15 minutes outside of Dublin) despite my increasing exhaustion at that point. It just isn't a long enough flight to really get good sleep, and by the time I landed it was like, 6am my time. In the airport in London I picked up an Irish Times and was very proud to see a review of the show (positive) and praise for the eq's performance. Plus a little picture. I sat munching my jelly babies and licorice all-sorts and smiled.

I love British candy.

We had a bite to eat and a pint, then bid Ray farewell and I went back to crash. The B&B we are staying at here is great--they gave us the "chalet" which is this tiny little cottage in back of the main house. We keep saying that one morning we will come out to breakfast and will have grown hair on our feet--well on our way to full hobbit transformation. Let's hope not. Anyway, it's close quarters but cozy and very well kept.

The weather has been phenomenal. Today is actually the first day that looks at all like Ireland should (grey) after several superbly sunny days.

After a long nap I met the Keegan folk after the show, we hung out at the bar next door (which is actually a very chi-chi tapas place--not at all a traditional pub and last night got to feeling a bit too much like Adam's Morgan for my tastes) but they have a great outdoor patio with a view of the sea so--save the drunk girls in small clothing--it works as a post show hang out.

Anyway, I'm jumping all over the place. Let's see.

Yesterday we spent the morning roaming Dun Lougherie and seeing James Joyce stuff then the guys had rehearsal and I went into Dublin. Went to Trinity College, saw the book of Kells, roamed the campus, then walked around Grafton Street, Saint Stevens Park and the Temple Bar area, then walked back to the train via the canal. It's a great city, vital and brewing (no pun intended) with life.

Ray met me back in Dun Lougherie and was my date to see the show. It was great--Skids did a fabulous job, I was completely engaged and taken in by the play--really, committed, honest work all around. The crowd was great, quiet at first as they warmed to the American idioms (like "fuck you, fuck you, fuck, fuck, cunt, cunt, you cunt" or something along those lines. Love Mamet. But then they got into it and were, literally, on the edge of their seats.

Afterwards we hung out at the tapas place, then Ray took the eq and me into Dublin to a few big pubs, filled with some Irish people and a shitload of Brits, and finally we headed home somewhere into the wee hours.

Ooof.

Taking lots of great pictures. Digital cameras are fun.

I'm back in Dublin now as the crew rehearses for Kevin's put in tonight. In a very hot internet cafe before raoming the city a bit more and heading to the Abbey for the last night of THE BIG HOUSE tongight. I wasn't going to do any moe theater, but then I walked by and it was the last night of the show and figured, "Ahhh, it's the Abbey, I should" We'll see how that goes.

Emerald Isle

2007-09-05T01:47:00.001-04:00

The cat peed on my clean laundry tonight.

Excellent.

I'm, ummm, packing now.

It's 2:00 am.

I head out tomorrow. Probably won't be checking in much. Maybe once or twice, then lots of pretty pictures when I get back.

Or maybe not at all (I told Gallu I wouldn't and I think maybe he has the right idea.)

I'll drink a pint for all of you.

Musing and Important Announcement

2007-08-30T15:27:00.000-04:00

You are 65% Rorschach!

Now we are talking. You obviously get what we are doing. Not completely, otherwise you would have scored better, but well enough that we don't pity you.

How Rorschach are you?
Make a Quiz

What's up with that? They should have been essay questions. I had good, well thought out justifications for each answer. I was robbed.

I wonder how Catalytic I am. Or how Bouncy.

Shush you.

Stressing out a bit about money and tickets and readings and Owen Wilson and airports and jobs and money and future and life and career and stuff. Again. Gets old, doesn't it?

Reading, reading is good. I started and finished EVERYMAN (see my updated sidebar) over the weekend. It is an elegantly crafted, moving, succinct book that I kind of wish I hadn't read. Don't get me wrong. It is an exquisite little book. And worth it for the grave-digger scene alone. But I don't like thinking about death. I mean, who does, but really, I mean I really really don't like thinking about death.

I do love Philip Roth. I have all these other books I need to read and I saw it at the book store and I was like, "I need a Philip Roth fix!!" this perhaps was not the one I should have chosen.

I am now reading The Handmaid's Tale which seems to be one of those books that everyone else has already read but I missed somehow.

Okay--so the most important thing you should know about right now is:

On Sunday at 8pm in the Terrace Theater at the Kennedy Center:
Bouncing Ball Theatrical Productions and Charlie Fink present:
THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF ZIDNEY
Words by Shawn Northrip
Music by Mike Pettry
This musical adaptation of the fable The Scorpion and Frog is set in the fictitious Zidney Corporation. Ike Mizner attempts to simultaneously deal with his need for Jacob Fishberger to advance the company and his own scorpion-like nature.

Featuring:
Toni Rae Brotons
Stephen Cupo
Chris Dinulfo
John Dow
Michael Grew
Jillian Locklear
Jennie Lutz
Alessandra Migliaccio
Casie Platt
Bobby Smith
Kelly Tighe

We are behind on our website updates--but Shawn has updated the Myspace page.

It's a different kind of show then our norm, in a good, stretching-us, challenging kind of way.

Come see it. It's free. And funny. And it sounds great.

Blame Ira Glass

2007-08-28T17:56:00.000-04:00

I had a little forced walk down memory lane today. In a bout of good/bad timing (I'm really not sure which it is) I find that I am leaving my day job at precisely the time that my department is moving locations. And not like, down the hall, but to a building around the corner from here.

So the whole "cleaning up and cleaning out" process is happening not only at my desk but everywhere around me. Which does allow me to slip away a bit less noticeably. I like that.

Anyway, today I set out to email all of the word documents, jpgs, pdfs and emails that I have saved on my work computer since spring of 2005 (yes, I've been here too long, I know) to my personal email account. I probably shouldn't have saved these on a work computer in the first place, but I did, so be it.

A lot of them conjure up good memories. Especially the ones that are show related and have happened in the past two years. I have had some great theatrical experiences over the past two years.

Of course the negative side to that is it has sunk me into a place of "What now?" thinking. A place of "How can I top this?" thinking. An "I am not as far along as I should be by now" mindset rather than a "Celebrating what has come so far" mindset.

Shit.

Ehhh, maybe it's not the clean out that's doing this, maybe it was just time to come around to that again. It happens, it happens, it is sure to keep happening.

Be gone dismal bitter thoughts. Deep dark pit of disgust, indeed.

And of course, reading the old relationship emails that can now be viewed with the knowing lens of retrospect are delightful. Finding an email that was exchanged a month before everything started to go wrong, reading my "Should I meet you in XXXX? Or at XXXXX? Or just call when I get out and see where you are?" which really meant, "I want to see you all the time and you don't seem to want to see me any of the time but just throw me a life line, please, because I don't know when this started happening and I don't know why I didn't notice it."

Yeaahhhh.

This is all Ira Glass' fault. He got me thinking about all of this.

Right. So, listening to This American Life yesterday one quote which stuck with me, more than the actual stories about break-ups, was in the introduction. Ira Glass is speaking to a young woman who is in her fourth week or so after a break-up. She's raw, you can tell, but articulate and perceptive.

Ira is talking about how aware Recent Break Up Girl is that everything she is experiencing is exactly what you expect to go through in a break-up, and how that still doesn't make it feel any better:

Ira: ...Everything she was going through was a cliché. A cliché that she was forced to go through.

Recent Break Up Girl: That's the crazy thing about it is, breaking up with someone is literally the most common thing. Like everyone you know, broke up with everyone they ever dated, until maybe the person they're with right now, if they're with someone right now. But when it happens to you it feels so specific. Like, I don't want to say I can't get over it in like a flippant way but, you kind of can't get over it, you're like, "What? This is what's happening? It's so shocking."

Ira goes on to talk about the complicated math that RBUG has done to compute exactly when she will be completely over the break up. I would argue that we don't ever completely get over a break up. We adjust to it, we put it into perspective, we move on and leave it behind. But it is a part of us, just as the actual relationship will always be a part of us. Until we find a way to erase all memories of the beginning, middle or end of a relationship from our minds (ala Eternal Sunshine) then we don't ever altogether "get over it".

Maybe I'm just talking semantics here.

Anyway, tomorrow we move on to another topic. I promise.

(P.S. My last post was number 500. Mercy!)

Against All Odds, Indeed

2007-08-27T17:28:00.000-04:00

Sometimes the universe sends you all sorts of synchronistic ideas and thoughts and it's kind of beautiful and I enjoy it.

I have been thinking about relationships and love and heartache a lot. I've seen movies about relationships and love and heartache, I've read books about relationships and love and heartache. I've had conversations about relationships and love and heartache. I've listened to songs about love and relationships and heartache.

Have I ever, listened to songs about love and relationships and heartache.

Yeah, I can't stop listening to the Glen Hansard album. It's kind of ridiculous, the obsession, really.

And I can't help but think when I am listening to it that this would make a fabulous break up album.

I am very much not in the market for a break-up, mind you. Quite the opposite really.

But this is also what I have been thinking about lately. Break-ups come without warning. Usually. Or they come with warnings that we don't see, or don't want to see. And we can have that experience over and over again--that experience of a break-up happening and pulling the ground out from beneath our feet--and still, STILL, we have to jump into the next relationship full out! With both feet! No hesitation. Or else we are surely doomed for that hesitation.

Even if we recognize that "I've been here before and it eventually hurt. It has hurt every time before. It has hurt, say, eight times before. Eight times I have had my heart broken or broken a heart, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, and still, when I try to again I have to forget that all happened."

This is something different than selective memory. This is some version of selective amnesia.

I think it is tricky.

It would seem, by the basic principles of behavior modification, that once we fall in love, or some version of love, and we love and then are hurt--that we wouldn't ever do it again. Or perhaps that resolve wouldn't happen the first time, but by the second or third time it would seem almost self-abusive to knowingly enter this situation again.

And yet we do it over and over as if it were the first time. Or we have to aspire to do this or guarantee certain failure. What is that all about?

Again, synchronistically, This American Life is all about break-ups. I just listened to the segment on Break-Up Songs. It's great, and it totally makes me think--I should have done this every time I have gone through a break-up. I should have written a song, and then by now I'd have an entire album of songs. I just need someone to help me write the music. And then maybe I'd have to learn how to play the guitar. Because the best break-up songs are played on the guitar and not on the piano.

Do you remember where you were for every break up you've ever been through? I think I remember the ones where I was broken up with better than when I was doing the breaking. What's that all about?

I saw Eurydice on Saturday night. It was also about relationships and love and heartache. I am glad I saw it, though when all was said and done I was a touch underwhelmed. It might have been the circumstances--I had to spend more than I wanted to spend on a "General Admission" ticket--which ended up meaning sitting on a stool behind the last row of audience. Second Stage is a great space, and succeeds in making most of the house feel pretty intimate, but that far back I still felt a bit.... removed, I guess. And the play itself has a slight distancing quality, so the two combined did not help.

Now that I think about it, that play also has something to do with breakup songs. Because Orpheus' songs of loss are in one respect just that. Break up songs--right? So this has been going on for ages. Even the Greeks knew about break-up songs, they just didn't have Phil Collins to write them.

Otherwise, I spent a delightful weekend in Poughkeepsie where I got to sleep a lot and shop at malls. There was a little culture sprinkled in when we visited DIA: Beacon, which was really pretty great.

It's Your Right

2007-08-23T15:05:00.000-04:00

DC Theatre Scene is holding their own version of the People's Choice Awards.

And as the Rorschach Blog excitedly announces: "Well, Rorschach is up in two categories, thank you very much Ronnie Ruff, Best Play - References to Salvador Dali Make Me Hot and Best Actress - Gabriella Fernandez-Coffey for References . . ."

As always, vote your heart. But if your heart says "References to Salvador Dali Make Me Hot" featuring "Gabriella Fernandez-Coffey" then by all means, VOTE FOR THEM!

(And if Dali is the only show you saw of these, and Gabriella the only actress you viewed--yeah, that's you mom and dad--then by all means, VOTE FOR THEM!)

Addendum: I didn't look closely, but I realize now that my loyalties are somewhat split. So--if German epic theatre is more your thing, by all means VOTE ARTURO UI!

What About the People in Toledo?

2007-08-23T14:02:00.000-04:00

I am listening to Glen Hansard sing his heart out. It's kind of addictive, no?

As my brother said, "Either he inspired Damien Rice or vice versa, right? They've both got that thing where they kind of build to a wail by the end of the song."

It must be an Irish thing.

Here is my Glen Hansard story. I listened to the All Songs Considered podcast from about a week or two ago which broadcast the concert of The Swell Season album, from the 9:30 club. It was the first time I'd listened to an entire concert podcast for a band I'd not heard of. It was one of those rare, instant, musical epiphanies where you say "I have to listen more of this." I looked them up and realized the connection to The Frames (whom I'd never actually listened to), and remembered something about an indie movie, but pretty much just wanted to download songs from the album the two of them recorded. Listened to it all the way up to New York (I went up to NY yesterday for a meeting about the reading we are doing at page-to-stage), had the meeting, met up with my brother and Shanz, looked at movie listings, and decided to see Once. Which I kind of knew had something to do with the music I'd listened to all morning, but was more of a draw because it was set in Ireland and I wanted to see that on screen. So then the movie starts and it's Glen Hansard, all Glen Hansard, all the time.

He's very charismatic on film.

It's a really lovely film. Very honest. Very simple. And his music is stunning.

Backing up a bit, I had a very festive weekend. Saturday night we honored a birthday. Sunday afternoon we celebrated the end of summer. Good friends and good food and good conversation all around. On Monday the equestrian headed off to Ireland and I readjusted to having all sorts of solo time. In my mind I imagined a sudden burst of productiveness. It hasn't happened quite yet.

But the New York meeting was useful and productive and it was great to hang out with my brother and the Shanz. They showed my their new hood--Astoria, Queens--and we had fabulous paninis and crostini at a neighborhood place (Go! It's really good, and cheap, and BYOB). I crashed on their brand new fancy-shmancy air mattress and was so sad to have my alarm go off at 5:10, so that I could leave the house at 5:45 and make my 7:00 am train. It felt like I'd never slept, like I'd just lay my head down, when the phone alarm started beeping. I hate that.

I did sleep pretty steadily on the train ride back, awakened each time by the conductor's announcements: Newark Airport! Philadelphia! Wilmington! Baltimore! and then readjust, sip my vitamin water, curl back up, sleep again.

I am both amazed and horrified by my ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time. Someday it might not be a good thing. Ironic because, as a young person, I was riddled with insomnia. Still am, sometimes. And yet--give me a train, a plane, a bus, a back seat? And I am out.

I have such mixed feelings being up in NY. Part of me is always like, "Why did I leave here? Why don't I live here?" but then going to the Sunshine movie theater down in the Lower East Side I look around, and I get so overwhelmed by all the little hipsters in their skinny jeans and scrunchy boots and greasy looking hair that it's like eating too much frosting and having to pucker up your mouth because it is just so much of the exact same flavor. I know that it's not like this everywhere in New York, and is certainly better in some of the boroughs, but I just want to see like--a normal pasty person from the mid-west in an outfit they bought from Kohl's. Like, an every day person. And then sitting down to previews and each indie film is about a person/couple/family/single-girl who is just that much quirkier than the one that came before them.

Seriously.

We're idiosyncratic! We're quirky! We're not well shaven! We behave in unpredictable ways in relationships! We say things that are inappropriate, to people we shouldn't say them to!

The preview for the new Ethan Hawke movie came on and I had to gulp my diet coke just to clear my palette.

And I bet I'd enjoy these movies. It just feels like urban-hipter-angst overdose sometimes.

Beautiful Misfits

2007-08-17T16:50:00.000-04:00

So, despite the fact that I have eight dozen things to deal with before I actually go on this trip to Ireland, I am finding that I am spending all of my free time reading and researching... what? Yes. Ireland. I love planning trips. Love, love, love, love it. And I haven't done it in so long.

I am also spending time gathering our troops for the Bouncing Ball contribution to the Page-to-stage festival. But more on that to come.

While in Ireland I hope to visit my childhood friend Ray. He lives in Dublin (near Dublin?) with his French wife and new-born babe. I haven't seen him in, maybe ten years? At least ten years.

Thinking about seeing him has caused an onslaught of middle and high-school memories.

Ray was, Ray is, Ray now and forever will be--a truly unique and indescribable individual. Any stories I try to tell about that time would be completely lost in the translation. But when has that ever stopped me before?

Ray and I met in seventh grade. His last name started with an "Si", mine with an "Se" so I think we were in homeroom together? Funny how little random things like that can determine so much. He and my brother became friends--Ray did choir and was involved in the theater department--though I don't remember when we all transitioned from being acquaintances to being friends. Another friend of mine, Kim ("Sv") had an intense crush on him. I think she was in our homeroom too.

In eighth grade Ray was in my Global Studies class with Ms. Mclean (why do I remember these things when I can't remember the name of an actor I worked with three months ago??!!!) He sat behind me and would clicker spit on my back for an entire class period. Little tiny spit balls that he would launch through his teeth with his tongue. I never could figure out how to do it myself.

I remember leaving class one day and looking at my back in the girl's bathroom mirror. Little spit spots all over. I can picture the exact shade of yellow of that embroidered Gap shirt, and what it felt like against my skin. I was so angry at him.

In retrospect I realize that this was probably a playing out of very unrefined 12-year-old flirtations, but at the time I was just really pissed off.

The real heart of the Ray stories came during high school, emerging from the pressure cooker of friendship that was our High school Theater Department and Show Choir. Yeah, I said it. Show Choir.

When we were juniors Ray started this, like, club? Society? I think? Called the "Jerk-Nerds". Again, remembering this all it baffles me--what did our parents think? What did other student think? What did our teachers think? We literally gave our little clique of theater dorks and beautiful misfits a name, a password, a theme song (lyrics included: "Do you walk to work, or carry, a lunch?"--is that from something?), and an accessory (these big plastic rings, I'm not kidding you). And then we were shocked when people said we were being exclusive. The Mormon guy in choir felt like we were shutting him out. The techies thought we were excluding them so they started their own clique-with-a-name. I think we really thought "Only the group of us really GET each other, why would anyone else WANT to be included?"

But it seems they did.

Very, very funny to remember all of this.

Incidentally--at the end of the night of my Junior Prom it was Ray that I made out with, not my date. I'd gone with Paul the trumpet player who I really liked but who was very shy. Ray was with Sarah M., sister of the first boy I ever kissed, Scotty M. (my parents ran into him a few years ago and reported back with some glee that his wife was kind of dumpy) and we had all been drinking red wine at Kim's house (see above, Kim "Sv"). Ray and I somehow ended up on the sidewalk in front of her house kissing.

Hmmm.

The next year he dated my best friend Beth. I was jealous, not happy, for them. I was not very happy at all that year. Things kind of fell apart.

In the midst of everything falling apart I took a trip with Beth and her family to Myrtle Beach. The second or third day we were there a car pulled up in front of our hotel and Ray and our friend Brian (my senior-year-gay-prom date) rolled out, exhausted and sweaty and smiling. They'd driven down from Rochester to hang out with us. Their parents didn't know they were there. I wonder if they ever found out.

It was a time in my life when I felt completely incapable of any bold or meaningful action. I had lost my sense of the grand gesture. And I thought "Brian and Ray can do anything. They can just appear and make things better." I was so glad to know them.

Brian has since vanished, I'm afraid. But now I think I will get to see Ray again.

And in Dublin of all places.

What I'm Eating and Thinking

2007-08-16T11:23:00.000-04:00

This was the email I sent my family this morning:

So, I gave notice at the law firm yesterday. I needed to figure out what would happen with me being away in September, and after the manager I don't like and I butted heads yet again I realized I needed to stop putting it off and just bite the bullet.

The other news is--I got a job directing for an educational theater program that will have me in Milford, CT in late-September and early-October. I knew I might get the job, I should have told you that earlier, but I didn't want to jinx it (I guess I get my superstitious side from mom). That's only about 70 miles from Poughkeepsie! What fun, right?!

I'm looking forward to it. It'll give me a chance to focus for two weeks and assess my next move. Anyone got any ideas?

Other random thoughts:

* I wanted to write something about the wedding DJ who hosted my cousin's party in Lawrence, NJ but I can't remember what his name was or even the hotel where we had the party. I do remember his purple suit and gel-slicked hair, his non-stop patter and his fun for all ages party games. I remember that we played name-that-tune. The rest has been repressed. Maybe this is a good thing.

* I had to return a tap out in College Park today (as in "tap a keg") and we stopped for lunch here. I was in heaven. Or, errr, Nirvana. So good. So much food. Like $8 for this amazing vegetarian buffet AND they bring you a dosai as well. Seriously, all I want to do now is curl up and sink into a lentil and potato induced coma, but that isn't an option right now. This means I've had Indian food twice in three days which is strange since before that it had been about a year. Monday was Northern Indian though, and this is Southern, which I actually prefer. Perhaps this is the universe's way of celebrating my near conclusion of the Rushdie book. Yeah, remember that? Still going. Almost done. I started that in April. Pretty lame of me, right?

* I've been listening to Ani all morning (no particular reason). That woman, by far, has the market cornered on breakup/you've cheated/I'm cheating songs. Be they angry: "...Vicariously I have her in me, I want to peel off my skin, let the water wash in"; sad: "You are a china shop, and I am a bull, you are really good food, and I am full, I guess everything is timing, I guess everything's been said, so I am coming home with an empty head"; or determined: "I'm singing now because my tear ducts are too tired and my brain is disconnected but my heart is wired"

Ow, ow, ow, ow.

And you have to wonder, are these all about the same break up? Multiple break ups? Multiple, painful, messy, complicated, break ups? And you just want to reach out and hold Ani's hand. Because you know she's a trouper and all that, but it just sucks that any one person has been screwed over that much. Or maybe she's just particularly good at expressing it.

She and Fiona Apple should like, start a book club. Ever try to find a hopeful Fiona Apple song to put on someone's not-too-depressing-mix-cd? Nearly impossible.

* Watched Hot Fuzz last night. Loved it. So funny. Great writing. And I was actually rather moved by the relationship between the two lead men. Early on I said "Oh, he's reluctantly in this small town now so of course he'll meet a small town girl and fall in love and be won over from big city life". And the eq said "You saw Shaun of the Dead, right? Could you predict how that one went? No, right?" He was correct, of course, and the truest love that emerged was between man-friends/partners. Watch it.

* YES--received the passport. AND-bought the plane tickets. And guess what airline covers a leg of the trip? Of course it does. Hopefully everything will have blown over by then.

Useless Ranting

2007-08-14T19:17:00.000-04:00

I'm in a shitty mood, rather inexplicably.

The weekend wore me out. Really--it was great, everything went smoothly with both wedding-related parties I attended--but Sunday just put me over the edge. Essentially, eight hours total of travel for a four hour party. My own planning, I know, but I wouldn't do that again. Clinched by the two hour wait in the Newark train station, since apparently if you buy the $111 ticket from Newark to DC as opposed to the $140 Acela ticket, they have every right to inform you that your train is delayed 2 hours and fifteen minutes and you CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. Unless you are me, who decides that a livid white girl screaming and cursing about the failure of the Sherman Laws and the supposed anti-trust rulings when it comes to Amtrak and the general state of rail travel in this country is going to be a high priority in Newark, New Jersey, a city with considerably bigger fish to fry. Seriously though, stupid white girl or no stupid white girl, it is outrageous.

Blahty-blahty-blah. I'll get over it, the mood will pass, the rest of the week will be better, I'm sure.

I'm also having a "must-get-up-to-NY-before-september" urge. Is there any way to get cheaper than $50-odd tickets for EURYDICE? Anyone know? Is it still selling out?

Ah! And I got my passport yesterday. Not that I need that to get up to NY. But, you know, sigh of relief and all.

A Two-Second Favor

2007-08-13T12:42:00.000-04:00

Sign this petition.

Even if it is just to make me happy.

I know the world has many larger issues worth signing petitions for. But if we can get a Trader Joe's just up the street, I promise I'll cook you all, ahh, heat up for you all, ummm defrost for you all dinner along with a bottle of two-buck Chuck.

Rockets

2007-08-10T18:07:00.000-04:00

Interesting.

I found this through this blog entry, which I found when I googled:

"cleavage how much is too much appropriateness"

Because frankly? I have no idea. I just don't know. I'm not entirely sure that I care either, but I suppose I should.

In other news, I went with CP and Shawn to Dr. Granville Moore's last night. I love the atmosphere and the beer selection. The mussels were good but I realized by the time I was halfway through the bowl that I usually get mussels as an appetizer to share with someone. As a meal? That's a whole lot of mussels. I also liked the curry dipping sauce much more than the "spicy ketchup". Next time I'd try one of the vinegar based sauces. As a self-proclaimed condiment fanatic, that's a major part of the meal for me.

In the future? Share the mussels. Share the frites. Leave more room for the beer.

Live It

2007-08-10T16:37:00.000-04:00

Thanks to everyone who has expressed concern about my aunt. She is alive, she pulled through that night and now it is very much a wait and see situation. We have an (unrelated) family event happening this Sunday, which we are going through with--so hopefully everyone will have a chance to be together for a joyous event to take some of the edge off of the sad one preceding it.

Joy and sorrow, birth and death, love and loss--never one without the other. The sweet and sour cocktail of life.

Enough platitudes. Go out and have a festive weekend. I will too, I promise, while enjoying the scenic wonders of New Jersey.

30-Love

2007-08-07T18:02:00.000-04:00

So, on Saturday and Sunday I experienced this phenomenal thing called a "weekend". It's like, a couple of days where you get to do fun things--things that you really want to do--and then you can sleep a little bit late the next morning. It's a really cool idea, I'm glad someone came up with it.

While I did still log in some hours at the day job (sound of wheels grinding, grinding, creaking, stopping) I did manage to:

Play Tennis

Yes, I did. Sort of. Okay, so, the equestrian (I know, I know, I am sick of the moniker too and kind of sick of dwelling on all the things we do to pass our time. I'm sorry. But this is my life and I haven't yet determined if no longer being single should mean no longer blogging as it does for some bloggers. When I started this blog I wasn't single. So, we'll see. I'll wait it out, if it all gets too cloying let me know.) Anyway, he was at one time a tennis instructor (yeah, that too, jack of many I guess). I was, at one time, a tennis pupil. A lousy tennis pupil.

I played on my Junior Varsity high school tennis team my sophomore year. I was second string doubles. Which basically meant I was the lowest category possible where the matches actually counted. But I did enjoy playing.

My brother was, of course, very good at tennis. My brother was very good at many sports. I was not very good at any sports. I still joined my fair share of teams--five years of soccer, five years of gymnastics, two summers of tennis lessons, one summer of softball--note, I was not very good at any of these sports. I was particularly bad at softball.

I suppose in the long run it is good that I still tried, both for the sake of humility and for the sake of physical well-being. Sports forced me to be active and to be social. Most of my friends were very athletic. They were smart girls who also did sports. I was a smart girl who also did music and theater. I wanted to be around them more so I tried to do sports. They always tolerated my efforts. I was glad for that (even if I did lose the relay for us on field day in fifth grade).

Anyway, for some reason in high school I decided I wanted to join a team again and tennis seemed like the best option. My brother had played for a year, I was friends with the cool alternative chicks who played on the women's team, so for once in my life I got past the fact that I was *bad* at something and did it anyway.

I was reminded of this on Saturday.

For the weeks leading up to it, a tennis date seemed like a good idea. It would be a fun way to be active. The weather had been consistently nice, not crazy hot (as it is now, curses) and I was totally jazzed about trying to conjure up any skill I once had and better yet--to improve! To be able to play a game sometime! Right? Maybe.

We drove up to the courts in Georgetown and I started having second thoughts. No, actually, I got on the metro to head to Georgetown in the first place, and I started having second thoughts. People would see my racket and think "What is she doing going to play tennis? She is so clearly not an athlete. Impostor. Who does she think she is?"

I seriously thought this. It's what comes of growing up in a town that values athletic ability above nearly anything else and knowing full well that this was never, ever going to be my forte. I suddenly recede to the nervous ten-year-old in sweaty shin guards half-heartedly playing halfback (no pun intended) while the crowds cheered on my goal-scoring friends with their long legs and speedy gaits. And so when we actually get to the court I am a little relieved that they are occupied.

"Another time, maybe?" Ah. He knows of another court.

Right.

We go, it is empty, I actually start feeling clammy, like this was a bad idea, I suck at tennis and I get defensive when people try to teach me things and why did I think this would be fun?

The long and short of it was: the eq is a great teacher, patient but persistent, and he managed to make me feel like I didn't totally suck while also acknowledging that I definitely play a version of "push tennis"--meaning I never actually complete a swing, just kind of shove the ball as close to where I think it needs to be as I can manage. We worked on what a swing feels like and where I need to be in relation to the ball to make that swing work. Bottom line is, I get in too close to the ball. Need to fight that instinct.

I also need tennis shoes because my running shoes stick to the court. Although I may also need new running shoes, so, eh--all of this is still cheaper than a gym but at this point I definitely need to stick to one shoe investment at a time. And since I don't foresee the next time we will have a chance to hit the courts, the running shoes are probably the better bet.

Relax on a Patio

Two patios, actually. Following the tennis we had dinner at a restaurant patio and then beers on a patio with friends. Both were lovely, and once I got over my Glover Park prejudice I was actually able to acknowledge the fact that the restaurant we went to was not pretentious at all (though it must be said--I was surrounded by madras) and was actually more reasonably priced than similar places on the hill. The privately owned patio was even better--great company and great conversation, the only drawback there being that I didn't load up on the bug spray and now have constellation-like formations of mosquito bites on both of my legs.

Next time I see you, ask, and I'll totally show you Orion.

Visit Costco

I think this is fun anyway. We were there on a mission--party-planning and the like, but I still like marvelling at the four gallon tubs of ketchup and wondering about the people who purchase them.

Attended Meetings

A-ha, very important, blahty-blah, important meeting, yes, of course, lots of important stuff talked about...

Right? I mean, kind of. Right?

And, well, that's about it. All in all pretty lovely. So nice to start seeing the world and all the people in it once again.

I Know. I Question Why I Do It Too.

2007-08-04T15:00:00.000-04:00

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?

Enough Already

2007-08-03T17:12:00.000-04:00

Interesting discussion both on-topic and off regarding ON BEAUTY last night. I am sad to say I ended up having to skim/speed read the last 50 pages or so to finish in time. I'll do them justice this weekend, I promise.

I did have to read and re-read the ending several times. Did I miss something? I rather agree with Ms.Hannah that it peters out a bit. My best guess was that maybe he finally "liked the tomato". Heck, maybe he even loved the tomato.

That said, I did very much enjoy the book. I am sure that someone more thoroughly ensconced in the world in which it's set(Northeast Academia) would *get it* on a deeper level, but it succeeds on many levels, so this doesn't seem to matter or limit it.

So says I.

Many interesting questions about identity and race. Revelations about marriage and relationships. And one rather disturbing sex scene.

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it. Shit. They did it.

That kind of thing.

A somewhat off-topic discussion about the way we (universal we) have a tendency to romanticize pain and oppression. On topic because the character of Levi, the youngest sibling in the family felt a need to hide the privilege and opportunity that was his birthright to better "fit in" with the company he wanted to keep. He was an upper middle class kid who wanted more than anything to be *street*. Kid was never actually going to be *street*.

I think as artists we tend to do a version of this. But instead of poverty we glorify pain (which can indeed include poverty) and rename it "truth" and "meaning" and "significance". But really? It's just pain.

Someone else's pain? Nothing compared to our pain. Someone without pain? Useless. Worthless. Why should they even try? They have nothing to create! They have nothing to say!

They (gasp) had a happy childhood.

A hurrah to "happy childhoods".

And if you didn't have one--make your own, now. Go climb a tree. Walk barefoot in the grass. Sing a song. Hug a furry thing. Confess a secret to your best girlfriend. Giggle.

Angst is so totally over-rated.

Speaking of re-living childhood, plan is to go play tennis on Saturday (weather allowing). I'll let you know how that turns out.