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{This entry was orgininally written in 2004. I found it in my old files. I think it is very fitting for the season}
Summer Jog
I believe the best way to acclimate oneself to summer is to take a jog around. People look strangely on walkers. They feel their privacy is being invaded by your extended presence. Running requires too much concentration, and after many knee problems it is simply out of the question.
So, rejuvenated by knowing I do not have to return to work for two whole days, I slip my orthopedic inlays into my gym shoes, shimmy/wrestle into my out of fashion, but supported sports bra, cover my insecurities with an old t-shirt, store my house key, in the safest place I have, and take off.
I have moved to an area called Wicker Park. I felt it was high time I investigated the namesake park. Across and down a busy street, the ‘park’ comes into view. The path curves around the swings; closed for repairs. It seems like poor planning by the Park District to close a playground at the start of summer. But I continue.
The park itself is resembles the ideal campus quad. There are stone tables with chess boards painted on them. There are picnic tables and shady trees. Everyone who wants a seat has one and everyone who wants a piece of grass has that. In the center of the park is a fountain, which with the right about of wind can spray a mist just when you need it. I quickly learn, the park is not large at all. All that is left is a field where a game I cannot decipher is wrapping up (Frisbee, golf, golf Frisbee – is that something?) and a basketball court, where the evening games are just beginning.
I turn right out of the part. I have no real idea where I am going, but know I want to stay off the main streets. It is amazing how quickly I leave my financial bracket and jog into the big times. I don’t notice this by the gates around the houses, or the fact that yesterday’s newspaper is not strewn across the sidewalk. It is the smell. The smell of Lillys, Black Eyed Susans, and all those other plants my mother spends the summers tending back home. The two foot squared manicured lawns also remind me of rent brake I get for living so close to the el, instead of this urban nirvana hidden from all but the jogger’s view.
I cross a street and the lights change to reveal a new citified haven. These homes come with noise, families, people, and events as I jog by. A family is playing in a slightly larger yard – maybe even 5x5. Bikes are everywhere. Two men, possibly father and son, are working on a car in the street as the kids, too big to enjoy riding bikes on the sideway watch on. My pace is slowed to a crawl; not by a cramp, but the overwhelming aroma of fried chicken. It is not KFC or any other pseudo-fried chicken. It is the real thing. I consider pretending to tie my shoe so I can enjoy the moment of summer a bit longer. But I know even a small pause will intrude on their blissful summer evening. At supper, instead of thanking the cook for the wonderful fried chicken, they will speak of the strange woman who was jogging, and then tied her shoes for twenty minutes, drooling.
I turn right. I know where I am. I am disappointed with this realization. Is there anyway my mind can forget where I am? Is there anyway I can turn off my sense of planning? Is there anyway I can just jog until I turn a corner and find myself at home without knowing it two blocks before?
No. Okay, well at least I know my limits. But I will not let this ruin my first summer evening spying on my neighbors. I remap out my route in my head and cross another busy street. I find the Aldi. It is always good to know were the closest one is.
It is getting harder to figure out the status of the homes I go by now. I jog by what seems like blocks of wooden fencing and see glimpses of beautiful homes. Why would someone want to keep all that beauty to themselves? Where is the joy in denying aesthetic value to another person? But not all the houses are caged. There is a wonderful stone home on the other side of the street. On my next trip, I will jog on that side of the street.
Following my route, I turn right. I see the busy street I must take ahead and dread the ending of this first time out. But the end is postponed by actual human interaction. A woman asks me if this is my dog. At first I think she means the rat-like dog in her arms. Though I am pleased she correctly identified me as a dog person, I was somewhat appalled by the thought of owning what was now licking her strawberry ice-pop. No, she meant the dog by the truck half way down the street. We approach the dog together. We share a feeling of responsibility, but do not want to intrude. We see we are close to a busy street and if the situation was reversed, would like someone to look out for our dog.
Oh, if I had a dog. I wish I had a dog.
We spot tags. We talk to him. He sets off at a nice trot. In my opinion, he knows where he is and since he is heading in the opposite direction of the busy street, I believe he will be okay. The woman and I depart, crisis averted, and I begin the final leg of my journey.
But wait - one more smell of summer - barbequed chicken - on the grill. Since the diners are behind the wooden fence, I take the opportunity to walk by very slowly. I smell the corn on the cob and yellow rice; a side dish combo that accompanied many Sunday meals back home.
I see my apartment, next to the el tracks. I see the grass my landlord is trying to grow in the sunless area between two buildings. I love the summer time in the city.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
and now for something terrible
I love the fact that there are still pirates. In a world where everything is being renamed and civil protest can be called an act of terrorism, I love that there are still pirates - more specifically the fact that they are called pirates.
It is terrible what is going on in Somalia and I do not mean to make light of it. But when I see a blip on the TV in the office elevator and the only word I catch is pirate and they aren't talking about Johnny Depp or the latest rendition of Peter Pan - it cracks my shit up.
In a sick and twisted way, the use of the word pirate makes me feel better. Life hasn't changed all that much since swashbucklers and the uncertain life upon the high seas.
On a serious note - these pirates are focusing their pillaging on UN Food Program and Relief cargo ships. They are waiting until the larger vessel is anchored just off the coast and the cargo is put into small boats to be taken ashore. These areas are notorious for pirates and the work of these UN and other aid organizations is heroic.
It is terrible what is going on in Somalia and I do not mean to make light of it. But when I see a blip on the TV in the office elevator and the only word I catch is pirate and they aren't talking about Johnny Depp or the latest rendition of Peter Pan - it cracks my shit up.
In a sick and twisted way, the use of the word pirate makes me feel better. Life hasn't changed all that much since swashbucklers and the uncertain life upon the high seas.
On a serious note - these pirates are focusing their pillaging on UN Food Program and Relief cargo ships. They are waiting until the larger vessel is anchored just off the coast and the cargo is put into small boats to be taken ashore. These areas are notorious for pirates and the work of these UN and other aid organizations is heroic.
Monday, May 26, 2008
1/4 life crisis; 1 cup hogwash?
Is a 1/4 life crisis a real thing? The mid-life-crisis has been around long enough for people to consider it a reality. But the emergence of the quarter-life-crisis needs to be acknowledged. But why is the 1/4 life crisis just starting now? Well, I have a few thoughts.
I am sure Stephen Hawkins could prove that life is moving at least twice as fast as it was 50 years ago. So it would make perfect sense that a life crisis of any sort will happen in half the time it once took. How often do you check your email? How often do you check your cell for a missed call? How far (in feet) can you be comfortably a way from your cell phone?
My answers:
At least 20 times a day
At least 100 times a day
No more than 10 feet.
What other generation has had this type of constant contact? What other generation has such pressure to produce, communicate, and show results in such a microcosm? Under such scrutiny? Or am I just a 20-something bitching?
I am sure Stephen Hawkins could prove that life is moving at least twice as fast as it was 50 years ago. So it would make perfect sense that a life crisis of any sort will happen in half the time it once took. How often do you check your email? How often do you check your cell for a missed call? How far (in feet) can you be comfortably a way from your cell phone?
My answers:
At least 20 times a day
At least 100 times a day
No more than 10 feet.
What other generation has had this type of constant contact? What other generation has such pressure to produce, communicate, and show results in such a microcosm? Under such scrutiny? Or am I just a 20-something bitching?
ebb and flow
Ebb and flow is the foundation of the earth. The tides ebb and flow. Emotions ebb and flow. People ebb and flow. Is there anything that is so certain and so set that it does not ebb, then flow?
Give and take is the foundation of life. Sometimes you give before you take. Other times you take before you give. But the exchange of giving and taking occurs every minute of everyday. I can only hope I give as much as I take and ebb as much as I flow, before my life ebbs and flows for the last time.
Give and take is the foundation of life. Sometimes you give before you take. Other times you take before you give. But the exchange of giving and taking occurs every minute of everyday. I can only hope I give as much as I take and ebb as much as I flow, before my life ebbs and flows for the last time.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
How fine is the line between civic duty and being a narc?
Tonight I am not sure if I did my civic duty or was a narc. I am in my apartment about 10 minutes ago blogging. It is rare that I am up this late, but I have had a few days off in a row and have been sleeping in and my schedule is totally screwed up.
Anywho...I am blogging and watch crappy network late night TV and the usual din of bar noise gets louder. And then I realize it has been loud for about 5 minutes. I peak out my window and see a largish group of men and women are screaming and confronting each other on the corner of Bissell and Armitage. Do I call 911? The only other time I called 911 was when there was a fire on the CTA train I was on. That was clearly civic duty, but was this?
Was the fight just a verbal spar - frat boys slinging ridiculous insults about the other's girlfriend or mother? Or was it something larger? So, I called 911. After news stories of poor 911 operators and CPD response, my expectations were not very high. But, I was impressed with the operator's direct questions and her earnest concern. And, I was impressed that the CPD showed up within 2 minutes of my call.
I am not ready to start up a neighborhood watch or run for ward representative. And hopefully, I did the right thing tonight. At least it has quited down - maybe I will get some sleep now. One thing is for sure, I really created a traffic jam - 3 cop cars blocking all of Armitage.
ps - Mom, Dad - I really do live in a safe neighborhood. I was not in danger at any point. I love the city!
Anywho...I am blogging and watch crappy network late night TV and the usual din of bar noise gets louder. And then I realize it has been loud for about 5 minutes. I peak out my window and see a largish group of men and women are screaming and confronting each other on the corner of Bissell and Armitage. Do I call 911? The only other time I called 911 was when there was a fire on the CTA train I was on. That was clearly civic duty, but was this?
Was the fight just a verbal spar - frat boys slinging ridiculous insults about the other's girlfriend or mother? Or was it something larger? So, I called 911. After news stories of poor 911 operators and CPD response, my expectations were not very high. But, I was impressed with the operator's direct questions and her earnest concern. And, I was impressed that the CPD showed up within 2 minutes of my call.
I am not ready to start up a neighborhood watch or run for ward representative. And hopefully, I did the right thing tonight. At least it has quited down - maybe I will get some sleep now. One thing is for sure, I really created a traffic jam - 3 cop cars blocking all of Armitage.
ps - Mom, Dad - I really do live in a safe neighborhood. I was not in danger at any point. I love the city!
I am a knee person
A good friend asked me the other day, "What type of person are you? Are you a gut person, a head person, or a heart person?" He was trying to ask what I follow when I have no idea what to do. At the time, I had no answer. But after noodling it for a few days, I have realized I am a knee person.
My heart is often unreliable. It isn't worn on my sleeve. It is an unchangeable secret decoder ring locked in a suitcase chained to my sleeve. Once you are in, there is very little chance of you getting out; very few people have the key that opens that suitcase. I often do not have the key. Therefore, important decision should not be based on a heart that can be so removed from the actual events happening. Having a heart under such security means I am terribly loyal - to a fault. But that is a fault I am okay with having.
My head is judgemental and rash. I don't think I use my head much at all when in flight/fight decision making events. If I don't have time to make a list of the pros and cons, my head is pretty much useless. And my heart seems to have line item veto over my head. Even if my head comes up with a rational response, my heart will 86 it.
My gut is often nauseous, there for a bit preoccupied to really chime in.
So that brings me to my knees. When I need to make a decision that is hard and I am torn between all sides of it, I follow my knees. When am I weak-kneed? When am I standing strong? When do they ache? When do they need to be propped up? When have I taken this metaphor too far? I follow my knees - it isn't easy to explain things to my heart and head (and my gut once it has brushed its teeth). But my knees are the ones who have to help me stand up and move forward. What better to help me through the rough patches of life?
My knees can tell me when it is going to rain, why shouldn't it help me with the tough decisions in my life.
My heart is often unreliable. It isn't worn on my sleeve. It is an unchangeable secret decoder ring locked in a suitcase chained to my sleeve. Once you are in, there is very little chance of you getting out; very few people have the key that opens that suitcase. I often do not have the key. Therefore, important decision should not be based on a heart that can be so removed from the actual events happening. Having a heart under such security means I am terribly loyal - to a fault. But that is a fault I am okay with having.
My head is judgemental and rash. I don't think I use my head much at all when in flight/fight decision making events. If I don't have time to make a list of the pros and cons, my head is pretty much useless. And my heart seems to have line item veto over my head. Even if my head comes up with a rational response, my heart will 86 it.
My gut is often nauseous, there for a bit preoccupied to really chime in.
So that brings me to my knees. When I need to make a decision that is hard and I am torn between all sides of it, I follow my knees. When am I weak-kneed? When am I standing strong? When do they ache? When do they need to be propped up? When have I taken this metaphor too far? I follow my knees - it isn't easy to explain things to my heart and head (and my gut once it has brushed its teeth). But my knees are the ones who have to help me stand up and move forward. What better to help me through the rough patches of life?
My knees can tell me when it is going to rain, why shouldn't it help me with the tough decisions in my life.
striking gold
Today I experienced the city-dweller's equivalent of striking gold. I found my thought lost 30-day CTA pass. For those who are not familiar with the CTA 30-day pass, it is a $75 pass to all of the Chicago buses and trains. I have unlimited rides for 30 straight days, instead of the $2 per ride; which gets stupid expensive really fast.
I thought I had left my 30-day pass in my coat I dropped off at the dry cleaners Wednesday. I finally decided I was going to dress for spring even if it wasn't spring weather outside. I was going to put my winter clothes away and dress in only summer and spring fashions, even if it meant hypothermia while waiting for the train. I usually keep my pass in my pocket. I thought I check both pockets before I dropped the coat off, but lets be honest, I have never been good at details like that.
But, today as I was cleaning of my kitchen/dinning/crap table, I flipped through a book I have been trying to read for about 3 months. A few days back, Wednesday I guess, I was really committed to trying to read it and must have had it handy when I got on the train. I had stuck my CTA pass in the book as a place holder (pg 2).
At 11am today, I struck city gold! I found my pass. I no longer have to be sure I have 2 singles or jump the turnstile. (I have never done that, I am not nearly that cool.)
I thought I had left my 30-day pass in my coat I dropped off at the dry cleaners Wednesday. I finally decided I was going to dress for spring even if it wasn't spring weather outside. I was going to put my winter clothes away and dress in only summer and spring fashions, even if it meant hypothermia while waiting for the train. I usually keep my pass in my pocket. I thought I check both pockets before I dropped the coat off, but lets be honest, I have never been good at details like that.
But, today as I was cleaning of my kitchen/dinning/crap table, I flipped through a book I have been trying to read for about 3 months. A few days back, Wednesday I guess, I was really committed to trying to read it and must have had it handy when I got on the train. I had stuck my CTA pass in the book as a place holder (pg 2).
At 11am today, I struck city gold! I found my pass. I no longer have to be sure I have 2 singles or jump the turnstile. (I have never done that, I am not nearly that cool.)
The unexpected
Life can, and does, throw curve balls at you. Rarely does one expect these curve balls; so often they turn into a football in your face a la Marsha Brady. I know, I mixed my sports metaphors, my apologies.
These curve balls or footballs, whatever works for you, really f-ing hurt. First you don't even know you got hit. It is just not in the realm of possible things that could happen to you. Then you have the shock of getting hit, "Wow, I just got hit. How f-ed up is that?" Then you feel the pain. The throbbing, aching, constant pain that you think will never, ever end. Then you try to deny the pain and push through. Some would call this "sucking it up." I would say it just sucks. You soon realize that you can't push through it, but you hope you can survive it.
Chances are, you can survive it. There are very few things in life that are unsurvivable. But there are a lot of things in life that you can learn, grow, and become stronger from. Is it time that shows the difference? I hope so.
These curve balls or footballs, whatever works for you, really f-ing hurt. First you don't even know you got hit. It is just not in the realm of possible things that could happen to you. Then you have the shock of getting hit, "Wow, I just got hit. How f-ed up is that?" Then you feel the pain. The throbbing, aching, constant pain that you think will never, ever end. Then you try to deny the pain and push through. Some would call this "sucking it up." I would say it just sucks. You soon realize that you can't push through it, but you hope you can survive it.
Chances are, you can survive it. There are very few things in life that are unsurvivable. But there are a lot of things in life that you can learn, grow, and become stronger from. Is it time that shows the difference? I hope so.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
If I could rule the world
I am in paradise. I am in my bed, sipping tea, eating oatmeal, listening to the BBC on NPR, casually (but diligently) working from home, and managing my auditions for the upcoming weekend. Paradise.
If I ruled the world, I would do this at least on a weekly basis. Telecommuting rules. If this turned into something I did on a consistent basis, I would have to make a few sacrifices - I would have to get actual an Internet connection (instead of picking up my neighbor's). I would have to start working out again, because there would be no excuse now. But those are all things I think I could handle. I wouldn't want to work from home all of the time. I would want to work most Fridays so I could go to happy hour. I like attending meetings and having toys on my desk. Birthdays are awesome because there is usually cake. One or two days a week would work for me. If I ruled the world...
If I ruled the world, I would do this at least on a weekly basis. Telecommuting rules. If this turned into something I did on a consistent basis, I would have to make a few sacrifices - I would have to get actual an Internet connection (instead of picking up my neighbor's). I would have to start working out again, because there would be no excuse now. But those are all things I think I could handle. I wouldn't want to work from home all of the time. I would want to work most Fridays so I could go to happy hour. I like attending meetings and having toys on my desk. Birthdays are awesome because there is usually cake. One or two days a week would work for me. If I ruled the world...
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
office funny
I have a craving. A burning desire. A intense painful longing, to be funny. I need people to think I am funny.
I am, if I say so myself, the funniest person in the office. Grant you, that is not the highest bar to judge myself against. But office funny is very different from any other type of funny. I would say that office funny is harder than regular funny.
By actor-standards, I am fairly funny. But a lot of my funny comes from the fact that I am saying/doing it. If anyone else did my Johnny Carson or Christopher Walken impression it wouldn't be funny. It would just be sad and pathetic. But, because it is coming out of this little, mousy, brown-haired, quite girl - it is hilarious. I recently added "hilariously terrible impressions" to my special skills list.
I am also quite well versed in mom-funny. Mom-funny is an art that comes naturally to me, even though I am not a mom. Mom-funny is mostly rhymed phrases with pop references that the mom does not fully understand. Often mom-funny is followed by a cute face, a shrug of the shoulders and "Uh? Am I right?" True-mom funny is not intended, which makes it even better. I can't define mom-humor, but I know it when I see it.* I think some mom-funny would really help Hilary's campaign.
Real live office-funny is NOT the same thing as a joke in the hit show (and one of my personal favs) The Office. In office funny you have to first go through a list of questions
The hard thing about being naturally funny, like myself, is when the funny isn't acknowledged. For being as funny as I am, I run into this fairly often. My hilarious obsession with the difference between "theatre" and "theater" is often ignored. My consent need to ask "Did you want caramel (phonetically kar-mel) or caramel (phonetically kar-ra-mel) on your ice cream?" is overlooked completely.
The most heart-breaking thing is when people don't know it is a joke. I know that the political commentator's name is George Stephanopoulos, but it is much more funny to call him George Snuffleupagus. Seriously folks. Give me a little credit.
Acknowledge my humor! Please!
*this was an example of funny. If you got it, kudos! If you didn't wikipedia it.
I am, if I say so myself, the funniest person in the office. Grant you, that is not the highest bar to judge myself against. But office funny is very different from any other type of funny. I would say that office funny is harder than regular funny.
By actor-standards, I am fairly funny. But a lot of my funny comes from the fact that I am saying/doing it. If anyone else did my Johnny Carson or Christopher Walken impression it wouldn't be funny. It would just be sad and pathetic. But, because it is coming out of this little, mousy, brown-haired, quite girl - it is hilarious. I recently added "hilariously terrible impressions" to my special skills list.
I am also quite well versed in mom-funny. Mom-funny is an art that comes naturally to me, even though I am not a mom. Mom-funny is mostly rhymed phrases with pop references that the mom does not fully understand. Often mom-funny is followed by a cute face, a shrug of the shoulders and "Uh? Am I right?" True-mom funny is not intended, which makes it even better. I can't define mom-humor, but I know it when I see it.* I think some mom-funny would really help Hilary's campaign.
Real live office-funny is NOT the same thing as a joke in the hit show (and one of my personal favs) The Office. In office funny you have to first go through a list of questions
- Will this get me fired?
- Will this offend anyone within earshot?
- Is there ANY chance of me accidentally sending this to the entire company?
The hard thing about being naturally funny, like myself, is when the funny isn't acknowledged. For being as funny as I am, I run into this fairly often. My hilarious obsession with the difference between "theatre" and "theater" is often ignored. My consent need to ask "Did you want caramel (phonetically kar-mel) or caramel (phonetically kar-ra-mel) on your ice cream?" is overlooked completely.
The most heart-breaking thing is when people don't know it is a joke. I know that the political commentator's name is George Stephanopoulos, but it is much more funny to call him George Snuffleupagus. Seriously folks. Give me a little credit.
Acknowledge my humor! Please!
*this was an example of funny. If you got it, kudos! If you didn't wikipedia it.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
communication blows
Someday, a nerd in a basement will invent a chip that can be implanted into the brain that allows humans to communicate. You may say, "Al - humans already communicate. Actually, it has been proven that all forms of mammals, fish, birds - well let us say conscious life - communicate."
Yes, that is true. We have found a way to express ourselves through audible and written words and physical signals. But how correctly do we interpret these three forms of communication?
The interpretation of a communicative experience is based on our own knowledge of the words/signals used, our preconceived ideas about the motives of the person we are communicating with, and our goals for the outcome of the communication. It is all an interpretation. There is no way to 100% know what the other person's intentions are with the communication. Therefore, the probability that true/accurate communication exists is suspect.
And this, well, blows.
How many problems are created by miscommunication? How much heartache is related to two people trying to say the same things but each hearing the other differently.
Godspeed to all nerds.
Yes, that is true. We have found a way to express ourselves through audible and written words and physical signals. But how correctly do we interpret these three forms of communication?
The interpretation of a communicative experience is based on our own knowledge of the words/signals used, our preconceived ideas about the motives of the person we are communicating with, and our goals for the outcome of the communication. It is all an interpretation. There is no way to 100% know what the other person's intentions are with the communication. Therefore, the probability that true/accurate communication exists is suspect.
And this, well, blows.
How many problems are created by miscommunication? How much heartache is related to two people trying to say the same things but each hearing the other differently.
Godspeed to all nerds.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Don't say I never try anything new
I will admit to it, I am a creature of habit. I enjoy consistency and repetition. However, today I did two new things.
1. I wore jeans and heels. Know, since the mid 80's I have thought it was an atrocity to wear jeans and high heeled shoes. And, I am afraid to admit it, in recent years I have not so subtly commented on others in restaurants wearing heels and jeans. (I was simply asking a question - When did it become to wear jeans and heels?) But I have recently seen more and more women whose style I admire wear jeans and heels. And today, I wore my new Lucky Brand Jeans (just cut the tags off today!) and my cutest brown heels. Though the train ride was a little rougher than usual (my center of gravity was off because of the heels) I think it was a very successful outfit day.
2. I went to the Billy Goat Tavern for lunch. I have lived in Chicago for almost 5 years now. And there are many 'touristy' things I have done: Navy Pier, Signature Room, Aquarium. But I have never been to the Billy Goat Tavern, made famous in Bill Murray's SNL skit...until today. I had a single cheezeburger, fries, and a coke. But then I chatted up the cook and got a double. It was awesome.
I am very proud of myself. Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf - trying new things, new styles, new foods. But, then again, maybe not.
1. I wore jeans and heels. Know, since the mid 80's I have thought it was an atrocity to wear jeans and high heeled shoes. And, I am afraid to admit it, in recent years I have not so subtly commented on others in restaurants wearing heels and jeans. (I was simply asking a question - When did it become to wear jeans and heels?) But I have recently seen more and more women whose style I admire wear jeans and heels. And today, I wore my new Lucky Brand Jeans (just cut the tags off today!) and my cutest brown heels. Though the train ride was a little rougher than usual (my center of gravity was off because of the heels) I think it was a very successful outfit day.
2. I went to the Billy Goat Tavern for lunch. I have lived in Chicago for almost 5 years now. And there are many 'touristy' things I have done: Navy Pier, Signature Room, Aquarium. But I have never been to the Billy Goat Tavern, made famous in Bill Murray's SNL skit...until today. I had a single cheezeburger, fries, and a coke. But then I chatted up the cook and got a double. It was awesome.
I am very proud of myself. Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf - trying new things, new styles, new foods. But, then again, maybe not.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
pressure cooker
It is unbelievable what can happen under pressure. Some people thrive on it; some freak out with it. But with the right mix of thriving and freaking, great theater happens.
I often feel outside the norm of the theatre world because I don't like the last minute, procrastination, "we'll just wing it" attitude. But really good theatre (and really good actors) can handle the last minute changes, but maintain consistency for the well being of others involved. It is this happy medium that the cast of On the Verge has reached, and I am amazed by it.
Last night was a final tech, and tonight was the final dress - the progress made in this 24 hour period is amazing. The beauty of theater and acting is living in a world where such change is possible. This possibility of participating in the community of work is what makes being an actor so compelling.
I may just be spit-ballin' here. It is late a night and I am a bit flummoxed.
From Terra Incognita to Terra Haute.
Al
I often feel outside the norm of the theatre world because I don't like the last minute, procrastination, "we'll just wing it" attitude. But really good theatre (and really good actors) can handle the last minute changes, but maintain consistency for the well being of others involved. It is this happy medium that the cast of On the Verge has reached, and I am amazed by it.
Last night was a final tech, and tonight was the final dress - the progress made in this 24 hour period is amazing. The beauty of theater and acting is living in a world where such change is possible. This possibility of participating in the community of work is what makes being an actor so compelling.
I may just be spit-ballin' here. It is late a night and I am a bit flummoxed.
From Terra Incognita to Terra Haute.
Al
please sir, no more
I have had oatmeal for breakfast for the past four days. It is good oatmeal, but I now look on it as gruel. The oatmeal is leftover from Mother's Day breakfast. It is a great recipe that my sister shared. Apples (my fav) cranberries, walnuts, brown sugar - oh my! But now, I am done with it.
But, I still have 1/2 a container of it left. I brought it to work (because that is where I eat breakfast) and I think my co-workers actually think it is gruel. I was a freak of nature to them when I was on the Skinny Bitch diet, now it is even worse.
Pleas sir, no more oatmeal. Give me my apples and earl grey back. No more healthy fibrous breakfast meals.
But, I still have 1/2 a container of it left. I brought it to work (because that is where I eat breakfast) and I think my co-workers actually think it is gruel. I was a freak of nature to them when I was on the Skinny Bitch diet, now it is even worse.
Pleas sir, no more oatmeal. Give me my apples and earl grey back. No more healthy fibrous breakfast meals.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I'm in a smelly cab of emotion
Yes, the theater is only a 15 minute walk from my house. But it was raining, and after 9pm, and I can justify taking a $7 cab because I spent 7.5 hours today sitting behind a desk 'working'. So, on the corner of Lincoln and Beldon, I hailed a cab.
I sit. I smell. I regret.
It smells in the cab like wet 3 day old cigarette butts. At first I think the smell is from the last passenger. But as it does not dissipate, only permeates, I realize it is the driver. Ok, I can handle this. It is only a five minute cab ride to my place. But then, he wants to talk.
Now I am all for chatting up cab drivers. I have found cab drivers some of the most informed people in the city. I wish I could be that informed - and if I listened to NPR for 12 hours a day, I would be. But instead of NPR, this cab driver is listening to far right wing talk radio. Awesome.
So he starts in on the West Virginia primary today. I have not checked any of his facts, so if I misrepresent anything, please let me know.
Apparently Hillary won WV by 80%. All of this, according Cabbie McSmelly, to the lack of focus on the white, heterosexual, male. (His words.) I contemplated jumping out of the cab at this point. I can deal with smelly cabs. I can deal with chatty cab drivers. But both - with radical right wing conservatism - I just can't handle.
So screw it - just because he is in the driver seat of the cab doesn't mean he is the driver of the conversation. I challenge him, "Don't you think that election have solely focused on the white, heterosexual, male vote for quite a while?" I try to counter his arguments, but how do you form an intelligent rebuttal to a crack-pipe regurgitation of politico talk. So I give up.
I am calculating the crappy tip I am going to give this cab driver; but then I see that he is just an old man trying to make a living. He didn't charge me the $1 surcharge for high gas like he is supposed to. Once I stopped talking to him, he started to back peddle. He wished me a good night. I wimp out, tipped him fully and added the extra buck surcharge.
I don't think this means that I don't stand on my principles. It means I acknowledge the time and place to get on the soapbox. Maybe I am wishy-washy, but I like to think of it as compassionate. Has anyone coined "compassionate elitist"? If not, you heard it here first. Obama is a friend of mine on Linked In. Maybe I will pass it on to him.
I sit. I smell. I regret.
It smells in the cab like wet 3 day old cigarette butts. At first I think the smell is from the last passenger. But as it does not dissipate, only permeates, I realize it is the driver. Ok, I can handle this. It is only a five minute cab ride to my place. But then, he wants to talk.
Now I am all for chatting up cab drivers. I have found cab drivers some of the most informed people in the city. I wish I could be that informed - and if I listened to NPR for 12 hours a day, I would be. But instead of NPR, this cab driver is listening to far right wing talk radio. Awesome.
So he starts in on the West Virginia primary today. I have not checked any of his facts, so if I misrepresent anything, please let me know.
Apparently Hillary won WV by 80%. All of this, according Cabbie McSmelly, to the lack of focus on the white, heterosexual, male. (His words.) I contemplated jumping out of the cab at this point. I can deal with smelly cabs. I can deal with chatty cab drivers. But both - with radical right wing conservatism - I just can't handle.
So screw it - just because he is in the driver seat of the cab doesn't mean he is the driver of the conversation. I challenge him, "Don't you think that election have solely focused on the white, heterosexual, male vote for quite a while?" I try to counter his arguments, but how do you form an intelligent rebuttal to a crack-pipe regurgitation of politico talk. So I give up.
I am calculating the crappy tip I am going to give this cab driver; but then I see that he is just an old man trying to make a living. He didn't charge me the $1 surcharge for high gas like he is supposed to. Once I stopped talking to him, he started to back peddle. He wished me a good night. I wimp out, tipped him fully and added the extra buck surcharge.
I don't think this means that I don't stand on my principles. It means I acknowledge the time and place to get on the soapbox. Maybe I am wishy-washy, but I like to think of it as compassionate. Has anyone coined "compassionate elitist"? If not, you heard it here first. Obama is a friend of mine on Linked In. Maybe I will pass it on to him.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
things were much easier when King Louis VXI reigned
Back in the day, and I mean way way back in the day, things were easier. You didn't have to take a bath, you just put on more perfume. You didn't need a bathroom, you just had a bucket by your bed. You didn't need to worry about your hair - you just wore a wig. I am going to try to bring powdered wigs back.
A few months back, I discovered by first 2 gray hairs. The next day, I got my hair colored. It worked, no more grays. And my hair stylist says I can go up to 6 months before my next coloring because the color I went with is so natural. Also, it is a semi-permanent dye, which means it will lightly fade over time all over my head, instead of a permanent dye which gives you roots.
Today, at work, with not even a comb to part my hair on the other side, I found one, short, stubby gray hair coming right out of my part. At first I thought it was a trick of the lights. These bad poorly light office bathrooms. Then I thought I just had something stuck in my hair - maybe a stray bit of guacamole from the lunch taco bar today at work. But no, it was said gray hair.
But if I just had a powdered wig I could plop on, I wouldn't have to worry about any of this. In reality, I would probably buzz my hair a la GI Jane and just wig-it-up all the time.
So, who is with me? Lets truly go retro - powdered wigs and throwing our 'waste' out the window. Men wearing high-heels would be good too.
A few months back, I discovered by first 2 gray hairs. The next day, I got my hair colored. It worked, no more grays. And my hair stylist says I can go up to 6 months before my next coloring because the color I went with is so natural. Also, it is a semi-permanent dye, which means it will lightly fade over time all over my head, instead of a permanent dye which gives you roots.
Today, at work, with not even a comb to part my hair on the other side, I found one, short, stubby gray hair coming right out of my part. At first I thought it was a trick of the lights. These bad poorly light office bathrooms. Then I thought I just had something stuck in my hair - maybe a stray bit of guacamole from the lunch taco bar today at work. But no, it was said gray hair.
But if I just had a powdered wig I could plop on, I wouldn't have to worry about any of this. In reality, I would probably buzz my hair a la GI Jane and just wig-it-up all the time.
So, who is with me? Lets truly go retro - powdered wigs and throwing our 'waste' out the window. Men wearing high-heels would be good too.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
disappointed
I didn't expect this. I knew things were 'off' but I never thought this would happen. I don't even know how to react.
As of today, a mentor of mine has left my place of business to pursue other opportunities. I didn't even get to say goodbye.
I call him a mentor, but nothing was ever formalized. I had occasional large group meetings and felt encouraged, challenged, and respected. In smaller settings he was very personable. He talked to me about professional and personal growth. He talked to me like a peer, even though he was a SVP and I was a coordinator.
I will miss his philosophical views on work and life. I will miss his encouragement of radical ideas. I will miss him. I am disappointed that I will not learn from him anymore. All that I can do is to continue to learn and think in the ways he showed me.
As of today, a mentor of mine has left my place of business to pursue other opportunities. I didn't even get to say goodbye.
I call him a mentor, but nothing was ever formalized. I had occasional large group meetings and felt encouraged, challenged, and respected. In smaller settings he was very personable. He talked to me about professional and personal growth. He talked to me like a peer, even though he was a SVP and I was a coordinator.
I will miss his philosophical views on work and life. I will miss his encouragement of radical ideas. I will miss him. I am disappointed that I will not learn from him anymore. All that I can do is to continue to learn and think in the ways he showed me.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Who do I hate more?
Some people just rub me the wrong way. I know instantly, within the first 10 seconds, if I will:
1) Be friendly with the person and will forget about after my next drink
2) Be friendly with the person and recognize the face when I see him/her in Trader Joe's next weekend, but I can't place the person and I have no idea what their name is because I wasn't really paying attention when they were introduced to me.
3) Hate them.
I was at a party tonight. There were dirty hippies (who didn't smell, but looked dirty), but I am sort of a dirty hippie. There were artist snobs who talk like the love child of a valley girl and Tom Watts. They talk on vocal fry a lot and then go up at the end so everything sounds like a question.* But I am snobby about my art. Some people were just watching paint dry boring. And sometimes, this is me as well.
So what I learned tonight was that I hate myself. I had to go to a party to learn this?
Couldn't I have stayed home and watched Numbers and figured this out on my own? Okay, I don't hate myself. But when you take one aspect of me (hippie, snob, ect) and make an entire person out of it - it drives me a little crazy. I kind of hate them/me.
I need to turn this into a positive. I am working on my karma.
Variety is the spice of life. When you limit your experiences to only one spice, you become over powering and you turn people off. Like Mr. Clean lemon. Too much. The diverse spices in me are what makes me unique and keeps me from hating myself. Is it that I judge others too quickly? I am too hasty when I perform the mental equation of "Do I like this person"?
Yes. But, isn't this snap judgement one of the spices? Tarragon maybe? But is this tarragon overpowering the tortellini soup of my life? Perhaps...
*This sounds so funny in my head - maybe I should podcast instead of blog.
1) Be friendly with the person and will forget about after my next drink
2) Be friendly with the person and recognize the face when I see him/her in Trader Joe's next weekend, but I can't place the person and I have no idea what their name is because I wasn't really paying attention when they were introduced to me.
3) Hate them.
I was at a party tonight. There were dirty hippies (who didn't smell, but looked dirty), but I am sort of a dirty hippie. There were artist snobs who talk like the love child of a valley girl and Tom Watts. They talk on vocal fry a lot and then go up at the end so everything sounds like a question.* But I am snobby about my art. Some people were just watching paint dry boring. And sometimes, this is me as well.
So what I learned tonight was that I hate myself. I had to go to a party to learn this?
Couldn't I have stayed home and watched Numbers and figured this out on my own? Okay, I don't hate myself. But when you take one aspect of me (hippie, snob, ect) and make an entire person out of it - it drives me a little crazy. I kind of hate them/me.
I need to turn this into a positive. I am working on my karma.
Variety is the spice of life. When you limit your experiences to only one spice, you become over powering and you turn people off. Like Mr. Clean lemon. Too much. The diverse spices in me are what makes me unique and keeps me from hating myself. Is it that I judge others too quickly? I am too hasty when I perform the mental equation of "Do I like this person"?
Yes. But, isn't this snap judgement one of the spices? Tarragon maybe? But is this tarragon overpowering the tortellini soup of my life? Perhaps...
*This sounds so funny in my head - maybe I should podcast instead of blog.
Friday, May 2, 2008
I'll tell you where you can stick that fork
I am done. It is 3:34pm and I have an hour of work left. But stick a fork in me - I am done! I usually limit myself to only doing as many things in one week that fit on my numbered list in my spiral bound notebook, but this week, I had to create a second column and - god forbid - not continue to number! I am still recovering.
But good news is I am an overachiever. Not only did I finish all the things on my list, I started my list for next week, AND did one thing already.
I love to cross things off.
Okay, I am done gloating. I am going to go BS around the office. My nose will be back to the grindstone Monday.
But good news is I am an overachiever. Not only did I finish all the things on my list, I started my list for next week, AND did one thing already.
I love to cross things off.
Okay, I am done gloating. I am going to go BS around the office. My nose will be back to the grindstone Monday.
appleholic?
My name is Al, and I am an appleholic.
In January I went on the Skinny Bitch Diet. It consisted of eating not much more than fruit, veggies, tofu, and water. It worked, I lost weight. But I also developed and unhealthy obsession with apples. If I could follow the trail of Johnny Appleseed and eat from each apple tree he planted, I would. I am eating an apple right now.
Why am I eating an apple?
I was hungry, but it is too early for dinner and second lunches are frowned upon at work.
How do I know I have a problem?
My computer screen has specks on it where the juice of an apple has squirted out. My keyboard keys sometimes stick because they are caked with dried apple juice from my fingers. Also, I have been known to have a half eaten apple in my mouth like a roasting pig for up to 5 minutes while I type an email.
So, how many is too many?
From those who I have talked to about this the answer is 4. 1 apple a day will keep the doctor away, but 4 will have your friends calling a different doctor for you.
In the time it took me to write this post, I have eaten two apples. My first two of the day. I just need to take this one day at a time.
In January I went on the Skinny Bitch Diet. It consisted of eating not much more than fruit, veggies, tofu, and water. It worked, I lost weight. But I also developed and unhealthy obsession with apples. If I could follow the trail of Johnny Appleseed and eat from each apple tree he planted, I would. I am eating an apple right now.
Why am I eating an apple?
I was hungry, but it is too early for dinner and second lunches are frowned upon at work.
How do I know I have a problem?
My computer screen has specks on it where the juice of an apple has squirted out. My keyboard keys sometimes stick because they are caked with dried apple juice from my fingers. Also, I have been known to have a half eaten apple in my mouth like a roasting pig for up to 5 minutes while I type an email.
So, how many is too many?
From those who I have talked to about this the answer is 4. 1 apple a day will keep the doctor away, but 4 will have your friends calling a different doctor for you.
In the time it took me to write this post, I have eaten two apples. My first two of the day. I just need to take this one day at a time.
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