My favorite form of punctuation is the ellipse. Because so...much can happen betwixt those three little dots...
Friday, November 30, 2007
Closing Time
My show closes this weekend. Sniff sniff. Brace yourselves for Post Show Depression (PSD) next week. I think I'm already experiencing some signs of PSD which is odd because we have 3 more shows left.
I feel like I haven't really talked that much about the play since we opened. I'm not sure why that is. I guess because it's working, it's clicking, we're getting audiences and nothing major has gone wrong and I don't have anything major to complain about or freak out about.
I have learned a lot during this run, playing these characters.
I've learned a lot about voice control and movement control. What with all the flinging around of my body and the physical demands this show has, it has been challenging to figure out how to balance that with coming back on stage and saying a bunch of stuff over blaring club music so that I can be heard and then rushing back off stage and running to a microphone in the booth and speaking in calm, low, soothing NPR tones. It's neat what my voice is capable of. I should really bust into the voice over business. I keep saying that. I should though. People tell me that all the time.
The movement control is more subtle, but... I've figured out that it can be really powerful to do a simple physical activity very slowly on stage, with calculated control. Like closing a pen for instance. I've also figured out that if you are doing a simple activity like closing a pen or accepting a wad of cash, if you maintain eye contact with the other actor on stage with you while they are talking and you are doing this calculated activity, it's creepy! And it gives you alllllll the control you need. You should try it. Just in your normal lives probably, not on stage, but. OK, next time someone you don't like comes up to you and starts blabbing or something, keep eye contact with them while you slllloooooooowly close your book you're reading or your pen or whatever. See what happens. It will make you feel very powerful, I promise.
My characters are so unlike me. They sound differently, they move differently and it IS called acting, but... I would like to play a character who is closer to myself again sometime. I mean, I think I have created "natural" for these characters, or close to it, but when you're playing someone who is closer to your own physicality or vocal quality, then of course "natural" comes more easily, does that make sense? It just seems like as an actor, you're able to focus more on other things instead of posture and gesture and sounding like a posh British lady. But, of course it's fun to allow myself to step into these other skins and give myself over to them so completely. And I enjoy being a bad ass loud dyke bitch and pushing people around. I never get to do that in my normal life. It's nice to have permission to act like such a horrible person.
Then, I've rediscovered the joy of back stage dressing room fun. The last several casts I've been in have been much smaller and there are ....(counting)...8 of us? We all pile on the couch in the dressing room and crack each other up. It is enjoyable. It's also that interesting actor dynamic that happens though where you're best friends for the run of the show and then you never see each other again unless you run into each other at an audition or a show or something. I'll miss my best friends. They are funny. Apparently I talk about sex all the time too, because the lead, who is on stage the whole time, comes back during intermission and looks around at us all either doubled over with laughter or everyone is sitting agape looking horrified in silence at me and there is a pause... And then she says, "Are you guys talking about sex again?" Ha. Yes. Yes we are.
So, tell me to break my last three legs this weekend.
Sentence of the Day 11/29
"I think you'll be a great addition to my project."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Full Service
There is something inspiring about a full service gas station in New England. I'd never been to a full service gas station before moving here. I was very hesitant to go as I enjoy pumping my own gas. I wasn't sure of the etiquette, it just felt so frivolous and snooty.
I've gotten over that.
I love how timeless they seem, like these little pockets of history where time doesn't change how they conduct business. I love the air brushed signs telling you that there is a mechanic on duty and the rusty sign next to that telling you that "We sell cigarettes" in a western font. I love the attendant that is not quite flirting with you and not quite not. The way he stoops and frames his face in your passenger side window and says "hi" with that delicious accent that could be Turkish or Egyptian, but it's there and it's as charming as the whiteness of his teeth and the gentle caramel of his skin. Those dark eyebrows. That hint of a dimple. And while he's filling up, taking that moment to lean against the car and think about...whatever it is he wants to think about, you glance to the "store" portion, that structure, which nobody ever has any need to enter unless you're getting some work done on your car or you happen to work there. The history on those walls, my goodness. The certificates and state inspection stickers, the receipts and yellowed sheafs of who-knows-what tacked on there. A wall calendar from 1981, bottle caps, pages torn from a coloring book (the child surely grown by now), the layers of it all. Such a dignified clutter.
And then, of course, there's the smell. Gasoline. Mmm.
Then there's the moment when the pump clicks the attendant out of his reverie and he twist snaps your cap back on with the panache of an artist and you pay him and he gives you one last grin and you drive away while he gives a quick scan of the traffic to see if anyone else is pulling in and then a turn on his heel and hands stuffed in pockets, he walks back to the office and opens the door to warm up for a bit before the next customer.
I think I could live in a full service gas station for the rest of my days and be happy. They could just stick me on the wall next to the Chinese menus and the Drink Coke sign. I could stay there as well preserved as all the rest and smell that gasoline and see that hint of a dimple and white teeth until my heart is full from it all.
Sentence of the Day 11/28
"No, that's your Dad and that's your father's wife."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Particular
If I could find someone that I would rather spend time with than spend time with myself, well then, I think that would be something... Wouldn't it? Because I really love spending time by myself. So, that would have to be a very particular person. But I think that sums things up nicely. I am suspicious that such a particular person exists, but it's neat to think about. What that would be like...
Sentence of the Day 11/27
"That is a great monologue."
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Dear Internet,
Should I accept a free haircut from the Internet? I need a haircut. It's so long and scraggly, but I can't get it cut until my show closes (this weekend). So, over in picture land, they have seen my hair, right? Well, this one person wants to give me a free haircut. He goes by something very similar to SanDiego1775. I'm sure he has a real name. His use of punctuation leaves much to be desired, but... It's a free haircut and I'm poor.
SanDiego1775 knows this guy at a salon that would do it. I said, yes, I would much rather meet at a salon than at some stranger's house. He said he'd take before and after pictures and that's it. Oh and he said he'd color it for free too if I wanted which I don't, but that's nice of him to offer.
I don't know, Internet... It seems kind of odd accepting a free haircut from you.
I suppose I've gone camping out in the wilderness with a blogger named Itchy before, so... Accepting a free haircut doesn't sound quite as dangerous as that could have turned out, but...
I don't know. What do you think? Should I trust you to cut my hair?
Snip snip.
Why does this suddenly seem like the set up to a suspense thriller type film?
Sentence of the Day 11/26
"Set includes labels for 44 spices including: Allspice (whole), Allspice (ground), Anise, basil, bay, cumin, coriander, caraway, curry, cayenne, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves (whole), cloves (ground), celery salt, chervil, chili powder, dill weed, dill seed, fennel seed, ginger, garam masala, horseradish, Italian, parsley, lemongrass, mace, marjoram, mustard seed, nutmeg, oregano, paprika, rosemary, red pepper (crushed), sage, saffron, savory, tarragon, thyme, turmeric, wasabi, Chinese 5 spice, and 3 blank labels."
Labels: sentence
Monday, November 26, 2007
Pee
Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I happened to lose control of my bladder and just peed myself.
I've had the opportunity to hang out with some old people lately and this happens to them all the time. They smell like pee, many of them.
I was watching the game last night on my friend's couch, for instance. And I'm sitting there, wrapped in their blanket and they're talking about the last play and I think... What would happen if I just sat here and peed? They wouldn't know for a little while, I bet. Unless it stunk. But it would probably just be my warm secret until I got up. How embarrassing! Wow. I'm so fortunate that I DO have control over my bladder....for now. I bet I won't in a few years. I need to start getting used to that idea, peeing in public. Oh dear. Did some pee just come out? I think I just let some pee out! Wait. NO. That's insane. Maybe I'm insane. Who sits around being paranoid about accidentally peeing on people's couches?
And then they scream, "Pass interference!!!" and I realize that I need to be paying more attention to the game.
My brain sometimes.... Man. Sometimes it startles even me.
Sentences of the past several days
11/21
"I never had biscuits until I met you."
11/22
"Your hair smells good."
11/23
"Well, we know you're not a virgin because you told us all about the time you had sex with a gay black man."
11/24
"No, I didn't have imaginary friends, I just had personalities for each of my hands."
11/25
"Are you giving birth to a food baby?"
Labels: sentence
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Live Blogging the Hitchcock Marathon
I seem to find myself in a large house with three dogs and cable television. Overwhelmed with choice, I've come to rest on the AMC Hitchcock Marathon. Mother of Pearl, I love me some Hitchcock.
Rear Window:
I love me a good well-rustled rustledy dress. I just caught the end, but gracious, there are such small details to appreciate here. The fact that they're whispering in his apartment as though that matters. The detail of the camera instead of a telescope. The moment when the man across the apartment complex checks his door to make sure it's locked. The stakes are just so high and yet they cope with them with such aplomb. Gracious, I love Hitchcock.
The Birds:
Do you know? I'm not certain I've seen this film from the beginning. I'm not sure how that's possible, but it seems to be the case. What an opening. Such screeching. Best opening to a Hitchcock film ever, I think. That scene in the pet store. What a great opening scene. The assumed identity, the secrets. And then, this woman. She has such chutzpah. And when she goes to the school teacher with the red mailbox. I just love all the unanswered questions. And what a great scene between those two women. Makes me want to smoke a cigarette. And the way she just gets in that boat and speeds across the bay with those two squeaking love birds. Oh! I think the commercial break is over. I have to go see what happens...
Holding a tissue on a head wound and having a conversation = a better conversation.
Favorite lines so far:
"A gull hit me, Mrs. Brenner, that's all."
"Dont they ever stop migrating?"
"Reasonably." This is the response to the question, "Are you hungry?" I plan to answer most questions thusly from here on out. Reasonably.
"No, they're not fussy chickens."
Jack Daniels commercial. Yay.
"Yes. I want to go through life jumping into fountains naked. Goodnight."
I wish I had a rewind button.
They're drinking brandy!
That bookshelf. I want a cigarette too.
"That adds up to a jealous, posessive woman."
I'd be cast as the bitter teacher.
Such a severe phone ring! That curly tail!
Oh my god, a bird just flew into the front door and killed itself. Thunk!
That first bird attack at the birthday party is fucking AWESOME!!! That kid in the blue dress on her belly on the ground and just kicking is my favorite so far.
Those balloons are rather suggestive.
"Cover your faces! Cover your eyes!"
How in the hell did they film this? Those have to be real birds, right?
Why is a younger actress in a bunch of old age make-up playing his mother. They've already mentioned Oedipus. Odd.
...
Dang, this is a long film.
Ha, that camera shot from the bird's perspective way up in the sky is priceless.
Oops, I fell asleep.
Psycho:
That wall paper.
Oh, the humor with the bird references and the writing!
Eee hee! The blood down the drain and then the swirling into her lifeless eyeball, that's fun.
That moment when the car burbles and you don't know if it's going to sink anymore and how on earth are you going to explain THAT, half a sunk dead lady's car?
The relief on his face when it does sink.
I love Hitchcock, but I think I'm going to have to go to bed.
There are few things in life...
that quite compare
to a glass of scotch
and a decent cigar
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Come, Ye Thankful People, Come
Hold onto your hats, folks, I'm about to quote a hymn.*
Before I get to that, I have to tell you a little bit about what Thanksgivings were like growing up in Middle Tennessee.
Well, we'd go to church. Yes, on a Thursday. My mom was the organist, so she never got to sit with us in our pew. We totally had a Plimo pew. There wasn't an engraved name plate on it or anything, but there may as well have been. It was the third pew back on the right side of the church in front of the pulpit. They were wooden pews and slippery to sit on. My Dad would sit with all three of his girls and we'd sing along with mom as she played hymns on the organ up behind us in the choir loft.
Every Thanksgiving we sang my favorite hymn of all time ever. Come, Ye Thankful People, Come. Thanksgiving was the only time all year we got to sing it. The reason I loved this hymn so much is because of this line:
First the blade and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear
That Henry Alford certainly had a knack with lyrics.
I just love that part of the song. It's like a magic trick. A little bit of this.... A little bit of that...... POOF! Corn! Oh me, it makes me laugh. And the way the music goes in that part is so anticipatory and great. Dr. J and I would laugh our heads off when we sang that part and could barely finish the song and everyone always wondered what in the world was so funny about a nice hymn.
I was reading the rest of that hymn this morning and...I don't think I really paid attention to the rest of that stanza, but it about broke my heart:
All the world is God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown
Unto joy or sorrow grown.
First the blade and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear;
Lord of harvest, grant that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.
Something about that joy and sorrow growing together like that. It's just really beautiful. And true.
The anniversary of my grandmother's death was yesterday. My mom's mom. She died of ovarian cancer. My great aunt died a couple days after Thanksgiving a few years ago. My mom's aunt. My mom says November is a really hard month for her (Did Grandpa die in November too?). Full of sad memories, but so many happy ones too...all intertwined.
In church on Thanksgiving in Tennessee, there would always be this little insert into the bulletin that said, "I am thankful for....", and then it would have all these blanks for you to fill in. I would usually fill up the whole page, I'd run out of the blanks with my list. I'd list stars and fish and water and air and laughter and sisters and theatre and words and poetry and music and health and fingers and toes and...
This year, though I am not going to Tennessee (or to church for that matter), if I were to fill out that bulletin insert I would just say that I am thankful for all the joy and all the sorrow. Intertwined.
*It's nice that one can be an atheist and still have the harvest. We all have the harvest.
Sentence of the Day 11/20
"Celia A. Plimco, especially..."
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Obligatory coffee stain
Every script I have at some point, usually early on in the rehearsal process, receives the obligatory coffee stain. This is usually in the form of a driblet or a ring from a mug. The brown crustiness usually becomes fairly familiar to me as I go through rehearsing, recording blocking, memorizing lines. I'll fondly doodle ears and a tail on my coffee stain, we'll go on long walks together hand in hand.
With this current play I'm working on, I started to get worried. We were about ready to open and I had no coffee stain! I started thinking that it was a sign, that I should just throw in the old acting towel, call it a day. How could I go on with no coffee stain on my packet of stage words?
Then one morning as I was going through and marking intentions, I spilled an entire mug off coffee over the sucker. SPLOOSH! I laughed and shouted at the gods, THERE IT IS! THERE! IT! IS! I had to put it in the oven. There was a scary few minutes where I wasn't sure if I could salvage it.
It dried all crusty and brown and wrinkledy and resembling sheets of skin more so than others.
Gracious, I just love looking at it. 
It looks like a vampire attacked it or something. Like all the life has just been SQUEEEEEEEEEZED out of it, like I've pumped it for everything its got. I think it's beautiful. Oh, script. I love you.
Sentence of the day 11/19
"I am picky in so far as I do not waste my time with things I am not
sure I want."
Honorable mention:
"We could have made a Pilgrim too, but I wanted to make an Indian. See? It's the middle of a roll of toilet paper!"
Labels: sentence
Monday, November 19, 2007
Two strange things I saw yesterday
I saw this woman painting a fire hydrant red and green. I don't think she had permission to be doing such a thing. It was early Sunday morning, no one was around. She had the speed and essence of someone who was trying to get away with something. I continued driving down the street and do you know what? That entire block sported red and green fire hydrants. Sneaky holiday painter.
Upon exiting the liquor store with my red wine yesterday afternoon, I came upon an entire family, mother, father, sons, daughters, aunts, uncles, smiling baby cousins held high on shoulders, posing... For a family portrait. Outside the liquor store. In the parking lot. Now what do you make of that?
Sentences of Plimco's Weekend
11/16
"Wait. Did you say his name was Snoo?"
11/17
"I feel like guys are either like... Selfish assholes or like.... Stupid."
11/18
"Will you be our witness?"
Labels: sentence
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Beverage surprises
People keep fucking with me in the stage beverage department and it's starting to piss me off.
The first time, it was kind of funny. There's this flask that three of us drink out of throughout the show. It is large and silver and dented. We just put water in it and swig that.
During the brush up rehearsal last week, I grabbed the flask from another actor in the scene as usual, took a large swig as usual...and got a surprise. White wine. Not water. Very much not water. I had a huge gulp of it in my mouth and had to swallow. I'm not particularly fond of white wine, I prefer red. (A nice Riesling on a hot day is pleasant though.) Even if you enjoy white wine, it is not meant to be enjoyed in a huge gulping fashion. Because this was a brush up and we were just kind of marking everything and doing a speed through of the lines, it was funny. I took a huge sip, they both look to me for a reaction....and bust out laughing.
Ha ha, very funny. Very very funny.
That was beverage surprise one.
Beverage surprise two happened last night.
In one scene, I drink from a vodka bottle. We're thinking that my character dumped some juice in the vodka, so the beverage is bright red. It is Hawaiian Punch. You may remember my nostalgic yummy yummy Hawaiian Punch post of a week or so ago. Now, there's no reason for me to go out and buy Hawaiian Punch on my own accord, but boy I tell you. I'm growing rather fond of the stuff on stage. I kind of missed it, not doing the show for a few days. So, all last night in the dressing room I'm getting excited and literally singing, oh! It's almost Hawaiian Punch time! It's almost Hawaiian Punch time! I had checked my precious bottle and everything. Bright red beverage. Yummy yummy.
I drink half the bottle in that very brief scene. Gulpy gulpy. I actually start the scene by taking a large gulp and then saying a line. Last night, I walk out center stage as usual, take a huge gulp....and almost barf. Cranberry juice. SURPRISE! People, if there is one beverage I hate in this world it is cranberry juice. Ugh. Hate. It literally makes me gag.
I was so cross.
I somehow got out my line, but I was making horrible faces that I don't normally make. There has to be a certain level of trust when you are putting substances others have prepared for you into your body on stage. You need to trust that that substance is what you expect it to be and that it is approved to go into my body. I did not approve cranberry juice. I don't think I'm being a diva about this, it's just common courtesy, isn't it? That's not a nice thing to do to me. Red liquids are not interchangeable.
What's going to be next? Piss? Surprise! You're drinking piss. But, oh! There's nothing you can do about it, you must pretend that it is tasty and say your lines as usual and not let that take you out of the moment or anything, this nasty nasty wretched liquid that you have just ingested publically.
I would not like anymore stage beverage surprises please. It is not fun.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Sentence of the Day 11/15
"You keep your smart mouth off of Jolene."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Urges in the dark
I went and saw a play last night. I know this is shocking news for all of you. Hold onto your hats.
This play was particularly bloody and violent. Yay! I love me some stage gore. Seriously. Slop some livers around and goop it all up. I can't get enough of it. This stage gore was done particularly well too, where you couldn't see the retracting of the knives or the bursting of the blood packs. The blood was a little too red though. That's always tricky for the blood maker, I bet. Getting that accurate shade of red. Oof, something about that violence though, there in the same room with you... It's more intense than watching a film. Don't get me wrong, I still wince and scream with films. I'm all empathetic that way, but last night I was inhaling quickly through clinched teeth and raising my knees up to my chest in my chair and looking away and looking back and making all manner of noises in the face of those stabbings, those deaths.
It was delicious.
There were no women in the cast, in the play. No fair. I want to be in a play like that. I have the stage combat training... Somebody write a play where women go crazy and stab each other and bleed and die and cast me in it please.
The writing was entirely mediocre for the play of last night, but was totally forgivable because the acting was so good. Dang. I just sat their and watched their technique in awe, I got lost in it, their work. It's interesting because I went to the play with three other more academic theatre goers, I was the only actor. They all kind of hated it because of the story, the writing, all the mediocrity of that, but as an actor... It was just hard for me to separate from the amazing work everyone was doing on stage. Does that make sense? They were so brilliant, I didn't care that the script was kind of shit and there were holes in the story. Just to be able to watch them work... I think I learned a lot last night.
So, there's this moment in the play after killing and stabbing and screaming and crying and fighting and breaking of glass and all sorts of general hubbub where everything just screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeches to a halt and....There is silence. Most plays do this, they churn to a particular moment where the stakes have become so high and the shit has hit the fan that the people involved just have to take a moment to process and allow the audience to process. Quiet. No one has any lines to say. No one has any movement. The audience is afraid to breath...
It is during this moment in the dark quiet of the theatre that I have the urge to scream something inappropriate.
I never do, but it really is the perfect moment to scream something inappropriate in public. I'm not sure what, precisely, I would choose to scream, but I'd make it good, like....
FUCK YOU AND YOUR HOT DOG BUNS!!!!
or perhaps...
YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF COMMUNISTS!
or maybe simply
HIPPOPOTAMUS PANTS!!!
I'd scream it loud and clear. It would be magnificent.
See, I've been an actor on stage during these moments of quiet processing. I've had the control of how pregnant to make the pause, had the next thing to say to break it. It's a very special kind of power, kind of control.
I know how to be a good audience member, I do, but... Dang. Wouldn't that be great? Just once. To scream something entirely bizarre from the balcony during the heaviest silence in the play.
I think about things such as these in the dark.
Sentence of the Day 11/14
"I think that's a very sympathetic way of looking at it, but..."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Robitussin Coffee
I ran out of coffee yesterday. I don't get paid until tomorrow. I was given a 2$ tip last night for my...services. I decided to buy a cup of medium black coffee at the coffee store this morning.
I usually go with hazelnut. This morning, at a last second change of heart, I went with cinnamon.
You guys? It tastes like Robitussin flavored coffee. It is the nastiest substance I have ever tried to drink. Of course, I drove away and let it cool, as one tends to do with hot beverages such as these, before I had that first sip, so I was unable to go back to the coffee merchant and voice my disappointment with their "cinnamon" flavored coffee.
This is what I think happened.
Blueberry sauce. I think the cinnamon holder of mid-November is the very same blueberry holder of yestersummer. That blueberry juice coagulated and festered in there and made a nice blueberry crust and then someone threw the cinnamon in there when it was cinnamon spicy time and oh! I'm just so upset. It is so nasty.
The real shame here is that.... Well. I have to drink it, don't I? I cannot simply pour it out. I payed my 2$ tip for this coffee and it's my morning coffee and I only got however many hours of sleep last night and this day has many things to do laid out before me like a trinket selection and and and...
Let me take another sip. Maybe it isn't so bad. Maybe it is my imagination. Maybe it just needs to cool off a bit more.
...
Here I go...
...
Ugh. It's so fucking nasty. I am cross.
There must be repercussions for this. SOMEONE MUST PAY!!! Oh yes. Someone must pay...
Sentence of the Day 11/13
"Would Miss Like a Cinnamon Roll?"
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The story of my life
We were jabbering in the dressing room the other night about....Whitney Houston? That can't be right. Oh, someone said that the first CD they bought was The Bodyguard soundtrack and I said that I slow danced with Stan Burke to that one song at band banquet.
God, remember how much they played that song that year?
And IIIIIIIIIIII.....eeeeee eye.....will always.....loooove you....ooooooooo
Stan Burke had a girlfriend. Of course.
He would write me poems though, and pass notes to me surreptitiously in the halls. He was such a horrible poet, but... It was sweet. The sentiment was sweet. I'd re-read those shitty poems over and over.
You see, we all played saxophone. Me, Stan Burke and his girlfriend. She was older though, a senior, and he was younger and then I was younger than him. She was in a different band class, concert band or something, the fancy advanced band for seniors. Stan and I sat in the same section. She never suspected a thing.
He used to call me when she took a shower.
When I said that in the dressing room the other night, this was met with some confusion.
No, they didn't live together in high school. They'd just talk on the phone all the time and the only time that he knew she would be occupied for an extended period of time was when she told him she had to get off the phone and take a shower.
That's when he would call me.
I don't even remember what we talked about. Mostly, there was just the naughty aspect of getting away with it.
Anyhow, so band banquet rolled around and my best friend, Linda Snotz and I, decided to wear semi-matching outfits and go together since neither of us had a date. We wore similar doily ruffledy white shirts that I think were only popular in Tennessee during that time. Come to think of it, they still are. Anyhow, we wore those and then I wore my hot pink suede mini-skirt and she wore her purple suede one. Matching flats. We got our picture made together in front of the holiday backdrop. We kind of clashed. I still have that picture somewhere.
Clearly, Stan Burke and I had to play it cool when his girlfriend was around, of course. In fact, I don't think I told another single soul about our secret affair. Not even Linda Snotz, and I told Linda Snotz just about everything. But our clandestine poetry exchanges remained our own and no one else's.
The only time we ever displayed any amount of public affection was that night at the holiday band banquet.
Conveniently enough, his girlfriend had to go to the bathroom (what was she DOING in there?) at the precise moment Whitney began to sing...
Our eyes locked across a crowded dance floor.
It was as though we were the only two that existed in that moment.
And we danced. Oh! How we swayed to that song. Oh! To be in his arms! Finally. So warm, so...
And then she emerged from the bathroom and we parted before she could see our brief dance.
He finished the song with her in his arms.
I stood in the corner of the room watching them.
Eventually I had to let him go. I mean, that's what the song says, right?
Oh, Stan Burke. Such bittersweet memories.
Last I heard they were married and she had gained 50 pounds and was working on their 3rd kid. Good for them.
When I got to the conclusion of this tale in the dressing room the other night, I stated, "Story of my life."
Fuck that.
I need a new story.
Sentence of the Day 11/12
"I'm home."
Labels: sentence
Monday, November 12, 2007
Story telling
One of the things I love about actors is that they know how to tell a good story. There are many many things I hate about actors, hanging out with actors all the time, but the ability to tell a good story is something I love.
With this cast, we reached a point the other night after our brush up rehearsal and after we had been given notes where we were all just lounging around on the set, drinking the beer and wine left over from an event at the theatre and... Somebody started telling stories.
I love it when actors get enough wine in them and they start telling a story and they have to stand up. That's when you know it's going to be good, when they have to stand up to tell it. Heh.
I told a couple myself.
I know I know. Shocking.
I began my rash story with, "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but..." A fellow actor responded with, "I love stories that begin that way."
Then, of course, the evening concluded with me talking about midget porn. Midget porn. Always a show stopper.
It's important for me to remind myself occasionally what makes actors cool people to hang out with instead of focusing on their annoying qualities so much. I mean, what other profession allows you to hang out with some of the best story tellers in town, you know? Except, ummm... Maybe the Society of Story Tellers or something.
Sentences of my weekend
11/9
"Well, Celia, I think it may be time to turn the heat on."
11/10
"You don't get too much face time with Colin Powell."
11/11
"You can just stand there and listen to Prince while it sucks."
Labels: sentence
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Sunday Morning Dreams
I drempt of my friend being shot from a cannon at the circus. She was wearing a pink ball gown and stoic. I panned out and saw the shot from behind the audience like a child on tiptoe, the carnival in a pit of sorts and everyone peeping in around the rim. POW! A flash of light, bodies hurled up in the air and backwards.
Then there was the dream of the modern dancer that began in the sky somehow and we were free falling, but maybe I was only a live streaming video and I was interviewing her and asking her to try different tricks in her astronaut suit as she fell. Eventually, I said maybe it was time for her to pull the cord and release the parachute as the earth came closer and closer beneath us.
Then the dancer performed on the banks of the Hudson, the most beautiful modern deance routine. I remember she found a nest, she tried one out which didn't work, then tried another one and curled up with her back to us in the sun and I remember the realization of what it was and whispering, "a nest!". Then she bounded out with this athletic leap that when I think of it now, a real human could never possibly succeed at a leap like that and then she went to these port-o-potties and opening and closing doors while a ship roared by and all of this "dancing", this movement was to the soundtrack of far away music and traffic, the distorted sounds of a concert across the river in New York and it was all so spontaneous and beautiful.
Then I was spun into an anxiety dream with finding a parking spot (they were all handicapped), finding my script, late for a rehearsal for a play I'd never heard of...rehearsing a scene I'd never read, lost in a maze of uneven cement stairs that just went up..... and down.... and up again on a campus of some sort trying to remember lines highlighted somewhere that I'd never said.
And I woke and it's as though I've been crying all night.
My eyes are so puffy, it's tender to blink.
And I know that I really must try to see more modern dance.
That dancer and her nest...
Friday, November 09, 2007
Sentence of the Day 11/8
"Keys please."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Mike Citrus
Mike Citrus and I dated in High School. He was also a genius, but more like a current events, social/political genius. I always thought he should run for office.
Our song, and I haven't historically had many songs with boys, but we had a song. Our song was Bizarre Love Triangle. The Frente! version, not the New Order one.
Mike Citrus went to Dr. J's first college graduation with me (she's had about 7 other graduations since then). I remember feeling very cool because Dr. J let us sleep on her living room floor together in her apartment and have sex while my parents stayed in a hotel down the street.
Mike Citrus got a yellow VW microbus that summer after graduation and we drove that thing all over. It was so bad ass. We were so bad ass. We took a huge road trip down the Natchez Trace and went shrooming in Mississippi somewhere. It was me and 5 guys. We got shot at on this farm. We had jumped the fence into the cow field, I remember seeing that cap just...growing so pert and tall on that pile of cow shit...I looked at the shroom, I looked at my friend, we looked back at the shroom... He said, "Pick it. Eat it right now." As soon as I popped it in my mouth, I heard gun shots and screaming... We ran back through the field, over the fence, and into the microbus and sped away.
We met some witches who invited us into their kitchen and allowed us to make tea.
They had this giant panther of a cat that jumped up on the table freaked me out and told me to "Take the boys and leave this house." And so that is what I did.
We camped that night, "camped", slept in the microbus, in Witch Dance, appropriately enough. That morning we all jumped in the lake with a bar of soap to freshen up.
That fall I went to college.
Mike stayed and started classes at the community college.
I got a phone call my second week of college from Mike's Dad. There had been a horrible accident. Could I come home as soon as possible? Mike was in the hospital. He had totaled his microbus, shattered his pelvis, they weren't sure if he would ever be able to walk again.
I had my first auditions of my college career, auditions that we were required to attend for my major, that next day. I skipped them and got a ride home.
I hugged his mom, his dad, we cried some. I would sit by his bedside and press his morphine button, even when he was sleeping, so that he wouldn't have to experience too much pain.
Our friends all came to visit.
He was so upset about his bus. That bus. It was such a great vehicle.
A tractor trailer had been exiting from the interstate and couldn't slow down and rammed into him, driver's side. It was a wonder he was alive.
I decided to take a semester off of college, maybe a year. Mike needed me. I would help him heal, read him books, help him with his physical therapy, keep him company, make him laugh. College could wait.
I decided all of this while my parents were on vacation somewhere. I had been staying at the house by myself. They called at some point, found out I had come home, found out what happened and cut their vacation short.
My mom went to see him at the hospital with me.
I was a wreck, I hadn't slept, I wasn't eating, I was emotionally just drained.
I told my mom my plan to take a semester off from college. She said "No. You're not. I'm taking you back."
I remember this highly cinematic scene of an early morning in Tennessee, me screaming, "NooooOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You can't MAKE MEEEEEE!!!" And running to the back fence, climbing the fence, running through the dew in the horse's field and collapsing somewhere back there. My mom followed me. She must have dragged me to the car. I was so exhausted. I fell asleep. I woke to her cool palm on my forehead...and heard her praying. For me. She was praying for me. I kept my eyes closed.
We pulled into the Cracker Barrel parking lot. We sat there in silence. She turned the engine off. We sat there a bit longer, both facing forward. I forget who opened their door first, but I was a vegetarian at the time and there are few meals that outrank the fried egg breakfast sandwich with cheese and tomato on Texas toast for a vegetarian. And hashbrown casserole.
Mike walked again. He stayed in town a while longer, had a brief stint where he was addicted to crystal meth. Last time I talked to him, he had been to prison and was living with his parents again.
I still thank my mother for dragging me out of that field and into that car and making me go back to college. To this day.
I just found out that Mike Citrus got married this past spring. He's put on a little weight, but they look really happy together, he and his bride. Mrs. Citrus.
What the hell is going on? Marriage. It's an epidemic.
Sentence of the Day 11/7
"I think she was a midget... Maybe she was just really short. How short do you have to be to be a midget? No, she was a midget."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
And then I broke his heart
I forgot to mention that I broke David Mill's heart.
The bulk of our relationship was spent all misty eyed across the ocean from each other in England. I cheated on him there as described in detail in this post. That's not how I broke his heart though. He forgave me. He still came to visit me. We still traveled Europe together.
I got back to America and lived with him and my cat, he'd been taking care of my cat for me, sleeping in my bed. He had moved all my stuff into his house. That cat was the Bald Monkey actually. Wow. The Bald Monkey has been through some shit with me. David Mill had cats too. I remember him constructing this "Kitten Kaboodle" thing that allowed them to climb up a tube and out the window and poop in this small, fenced in grassy area outside so that we could eliminate the litter pan all together.
What the hell am I talking about?
I get back to America, find another place to live ASAP (my parents were not to keen on the idea of me living with my boyfriend in his house), and dump David Mill.
I did it at this martini bar. We got martinis outside on the patio and I told him that we should get matching "Go Platonic!" T-shirts, that we were best as friends. I am smooth. He was so upset, but he had to sit there and finish drinking his martini while trying not to cry in public.
I'm sorry, David Mill. That was a lame way to dump you. You deserved better than that.
We attempted the friend thing, but he was still very clearly in love with me. He kind of made me sick to my stomach after a while, just hanging out with him, seeing that love in his eyes and ... just his physicality became repulsive all the time spinning around and walking on his tiptoes when he got excited. My roommates made fun of him behind his back. I made fun of him behind his back.
When I left Memphis, he was still working as a cook at this divey pizza joint downtown.
David Mill was a genius, god he was so smart. He taught me almost everything I know about jazz music and French film. He was all about being self taught though and refused to get a degree saying that the actual KNOWLEDGE is what mattered, not a stupid piece of paper and blah blah blah. I told him to suck it up and go back to college and get a freaking degree. He was too smart to be working at a pizza place. Way too smart. When I left town, he was really enjoying his anthropology class at the university.
He sent me this dadaist letter in Newport that was beautiful and delicate and artistic. I didn't respond to it.
I just found out that he got married last spring to a beautiful Antrhopologist and they're living happily in Manhattan together.
I'm so happy for him. I am.
I'm also... Something else.
I mean, I certainly didn't want to marry him.
I saw pictures from their wedding and... (The Internet, man. What you can find if you poke around on the Internet...) They look so happy. There he is in a tuxedo with a haircut kissing his bride...on tiptoe.
I guess you think about your life, your friends, your peers of the past and... You can't help but compare where they're at and where you're at and... I cannot tell you how glad I am that he got out of that pizza kitchen in Memphis, it's just...
I guess it's jealousy.
And being slapped in the face with the fact that... I haven't found that. And I don't know if I ever will and... He has, so...
There you go.
Sentence of the Day 11/6
"I .... you too"
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
David Mill's Mom's bra
Probably my most successful long-term relationship with an un-married man was in college with David Mill. We were together for 9 months. 5 of those I lived in England far away from him. Ha.
David Mill and I traveled Europe together. All of my Europe stories involve David Mill. (Except the ones from University.)
This is not a post about Europe.
This is a post about David Mill's Mom's bra. (Since we're supporting a bra theme here lately. Ha. "Supporting".)
David Mill was (is, he's still alive) one of the most effeminate boys I have ever dated. Not so much effeminate as... sprite-like. He was like a tall, stretched out leprechaun. The way he moved through the world was just so... prancy. And he'd get tickled or excited and just spin in circles. My roommates in Memphis used to call him "Tulips" because... He always looked as though he was tiptoeing through them.
That being said, we had really amazing sex. I remember he had a fuzzy butt. I'd never met a boy with a fuzzy butt before. At first I was alarmed, but then that fuzzy butt became rather charming.
So, David Mill and I were taking care of his parent's dogs one weekend, right? We spent the night there one night and had to take them for a walk in the morning. The night before I had been wearing some kind of... preposterous outfit. I used to dress very ...strangely. I still do sometimes, but I was a particularly strange dresser in college. It was the 90s, it was a crazy time. Anyhow, the evening before I had been wearing an outfit sans bra. Now, anyone with a dog will tell you that it is in your best interest to wear a bra when walking said dog. I was braless. David Mill said I could just wear one of his mom's bras. That seemed strange and odd and oogy and Oedipal and just wrong, but I had no other options. David Mill's mother, Carrie had a twin sister named Perry. She was red headed and petite and she and her husband were just thrilled that their oldest son was dating an actual female for he had seemed very asexual up until that point.
I go into Carrie's bedroom... I pull open the top drawer... I'm faced with my boyfriend's mom's bras. It was an interesting moment.
I chose some grey cotton playtex contraption.
Her boobs were just a little bigger than mine.
Another weird moment.
The bra did the trick and we took the dog for a walk without too much excessive or uncomfortable bouncing.
I decided I liked that bra and wore it for the rest of the day.
He may have taken it off me later that night.
Yet another...very odd moment.
Do you know something? I still have that bra. I still wear it, in fact. It's not so weird anymore, it just seems like mine, but sometimes I remember that... It isn't. I stole it. From David Mill's mom.
Sentence of the Day 11/5
"Can one be nostalgic for something that happened two days ago? Well, I was."
Labels: sentence
Monday, November 05, 2007
Stage Boobs
I swear I'm using almost every bra I own in this play. I don't own very many bras, so when a couple become costume pieces, I notice.
I have sacrificed one of my white sports bras for my spa lady. The one that most of the elastic is shot on. I don't wear it to jog anymore, I guess all that bouncy stretched it out. Anyhow, it works under the see through white of that costume. Then, for my dominatrix business lady, I sacrificed my push up bra. This was a bigger sacrifice as it is pleasant to pretend that my breasts are big enough to produce cleavage and some amount of voluptuousness on occasion. Not only do I use my push up bra in that scene, I also stuff in shoulder pads on the side of the bra for extra...cleave. It is quite a wonder the different states my boobs go through in this play.
Then, for my dyke I wear the only theatre-provided red sports bra. Squish them flat again.
My other characters just keep on the bra of the character immediately before or after.
So, Friday night after the show, I wanted to pretend like I had real life boobs and wear my push-em-up bra out for Opening Night drinks, right?
I get to the theatre Saturday night and realize I forgot that bra at home. Oops.
It was such a difference, it was embarrassing. I just wore the tank top with the shelf bra thing built in and helplessly stuffed the shoulder pads in the side of that. The effect was ... not the same.
Sigh.
The scene went fine, I just like doing it better with cleavage. Cleavage is like that character's super power, I think.
They were just so sad and... insufficient.
Anyhow, it's interesting thinking about boobs and character, how much my boobs change over the course of the show.
Boobie boobie boobie boobie.
It makes sense that my characters would all wear different bras, I just... Wish they didn't have to be MINE, you know? Some day, when I'm a real actor, they'll PROVIDE my brassieres. What a grand day that shall be...
Sentences of the Weekend
11/2
"I HOPE YOU SHATTER YOUR SPLEEN!!!!"
11/3
"I thought I had to poop, so I pushed really hard, but it was a fart instead. I felt kind of bad for that woman in the stall next to me..."
11/4
"From what I understand that's what actors do: Personal devastation is a marvelous tool for the artist, when used wisely."
Labels: sentence
Friday, November 02, 2007
Why do we always come here?
Sing with me, my beauties, the opening night song:
Doot doo doot do doot
Doot doo doot do doot
Doot doo doot do doot
Doot! (doot)
It's a hard opening. I don't like hard openings. I prefer soft ones. EEEeeeease you in there. Oh well, what can you do? There was still software to download and the set wasn't quite painted and the theatre needs to be cleaned, so a hard one it is. Grunt.
I'm thinking of emailing my breast friend, the playwright again and asking her to wish all our legs special playwright ill harm. I am such a dork-o-ramus.
And guess what. Dr. J is coming to my hard opening!!! How exciting. That kind of makes me nervous. As soon as I finish this cup of coffee, I'm cleaning the bathroom for you, Dr. J. Promise.
In the club scene, we really have to scream our dialogue at one another like, you know... A real club. The music has to be loud enough for the bass to make this little twisty light go. Apparently no one can understand me in this scene. And I have some really great lines then. Fuck. I'm belting the hell out of them, I'm screaming my head off. I guess I just have to scream harder... And safely so that I can say other things in other parts of the show. Sometimes it's like being an opera singer.
I also have not won my foofy dress battle if anyone cares. I'm just going to have to suck it up. The director hasn't even mentioned it...
A wheel fell off a table last night, so I hope that doesn't happen again.
And there's this point in the spa where the other spa lady and I have to lift up this other lady and we haven't been lifting her high enough, so it's looked all ungraceful. We practiced more. I can get her higher, I lift weights, I have me some guns, it's just... You have to bend your knees and... Ow.
It should be fine. I hope it's fine.
(Eep!)
So, tell me to break some shit tonight, my bloglings. Onetwothreego!
Labels: opening night
Sentence of the Day 11/1
"It's the robot. For some reason I want to do the robot slowly."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Thoughts from off stage
-This is the most technologically difficult show I think I have ever been involved in. There are about 500 light and sound cues, there are only 3 parts in the play where there is silence, otherwise there is constant sound. Jackhammers, club music, voice overs, opera, you name it. I don't think there's ever darkness either. We have strobe lights and crazy saturated colors and spinney lights. Then there are the projections. We have all sorts of projected text on stage, internal thoughts, instant messages, text telling us where we are and what time it is. Then there are the animations. The disco ball shattering, the taxi back drop flying into the sky the online magazine spinning logos. It's out of control. It surprisingly looks really professional though. For a theatre that is in a historic building that used to be a post office a hundred years ago, what we've accomplished is admirable. That being said, you know what's strange? I deliver a baby off stage at one point in the play, right? During rehearsal, I'd always just make the baby noise. Waaaaah (hiccough) waaaaa! (hiccough) WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Now, don't get me wrong, I do a pretty incredible baby impression. But I always thought I was just standing in for the sound cue. You know, like saying "Ding dong!" for the door bell. YOu know the actual door bell is coming at some point, you're just saying "Ding Dong!" to let everyone know that there is sound there. Guess who is still doing a baby impression at that point. Me. It's so strange. The thing is, I go right on stage after the cue. I have the next line. So, it seems like the audience could hear the "Waaaaa!" move from around the flat and then, it suspiciously and abruptly stops right when I step on stage and start talking. It's an odd thing. It's kind of cool though, that MY sound cue trumped the actual sound.
-Handwriting. One of my characters has to sign a ton of paper work and write checks out to people in this one scene. It has me thinking about handwriting. I'm signing my character's name, obviously. She just had a first name, I had to give her a last one. I do that anyway, but I especially had to think about it because I have to sign things as her. And I'm certain that her handwriting is not like my own and... It's not like the audience is going to be able to read what I'm writing or even see how I'm writing it, but... I mean, I could be writing Potato Potato McShoopie for all they know. I just... I want to be able to sign things AS she would. For some reason that is important to me. And it's proving difficult. It's one of those very very subtle things where it doesn't even matter that much and several actors probably wouldn't even care and the audience won't even notice, but... I just want to figure out how she swirls her signature. And do that. As her. Get that right. Just so that it's not one of those things where the actors all know we're fooling everybody, one of those stage secrets where we're "pretending". I mean, of course we are pretending, but. I'm not explaining this well. I just think it is an unnecessary distraction if I were to just be lazy and sign Celia Plimco like I sign my own name. I have to drink Hawaiian punch and water later in a vodka bottle. This is obviously not vodka and juice, I'm drinking. That's a necessary tomfoolery. But I should figure out how my other lady signs her checks, I think.
-I can't remember the last time I drank Hawaiian punch. The whole Hawaiian punch experience brings back so many memories. They have it in plastic bottles now instead of cans. Remember how it always had that slight metallic taste coming from the can? It's kind of nasty. And what even makes it "Hawaiian"? It makes me feel like a kid though, getting my tongue stained all red like that. What was the catch phrase that big pitcher man would say when he busted through a wall? It wasn't "Hey hey hey!", that was Fat Albert, right? Shoot. What was it that giant pitcher of Hawaiian Punch with the smiley face on it and the tropical shorts would say when he busted through the brick wall?
-Seems like I always have one battle with the director for each show I do, one teensy piece of a production that I feel strongly about being one way and they feel strongly about being another way or just don't have it a priority to change things to my way. In this production it is the gown. There's this part in the play that is a dream. The main character falls asleep and her dream, the text part is projected beside her while the other actors, myself included, perform what she's dreaming. In this dream, her husband appears briefly in a dress. It's literally only a few seconds. The dress we are using for this is totally wrong. Being as how this is a dream and a bit absurd, wouldn't you think that we could take advantage of the permission to BE absurd and find a huge foofy and bright gown? It's a dream! It could be a really cool moment. Men in dresses are funny, but men in giant poofy gaudy prom dresses are funnier. That's what I say. What we are currently using? It's black. And get this. It's not even a dress, it's a pants suit. The legs are really wide like... gauchos, I guess, so it looks like a gown, but it's pants and it's just black and boring. I found a poofy dress to practice with the other night, the director conceded me this, but that dress didn't work so well, so we went back to the stupid black one. Ugh! I wish I could just drop it, but I don't think we're taking advantage of that moment, you know? It could be big! It could be crazy! It could be absurd! It's a DREAM for goodness sakes. Anyhow, someone agree with me and tell me I'm right so that I can move on with my life and deal with that stupid boring black dress for the entire month of November and not allow it to be like sticking my tongue in a mouth sore every time we get to that point in the play.
Sentence of the Day 10/31
"I'm going to take a picture of THE WHOLE WORLD!!!"
Labels: sentence