Archive | March, 2013

Continual Search Of…

31 Mar

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Trying to find comfort from cramping all day.

…Heating pads, countless cups of tea, a walk…sitting, standing, laying…pills, fizzy waters…nothing has helped. 

Perpetual discomfort all day, and it’s ramping.

…So am off to bed, in desperate need of sleep.

Tomorrow: month-end completion, and weekend sells hit.

I already just wanna cry.

…But I could take it, if I could just get some sleep.

~D

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Censored

30 Mar

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In lieu of the blog I want to write right now, I’m going out into the sunshine.

…I’ll take in all the different colors…count them, name them…whatever occurs to me at the time…so I can collect them up and bring them with me across the day and keep them with me tonight when I have trouble sleeping.

…Deep breathes of clean sea air.

…Crunch of footsteps on rock and sand.

…Maybe I’ll sit at a picnic table and watch a single solitary ant, weaving back and forth across the wood grains…with whatever busy ant-like thoughts and projects it seems to be compelled to do today.

…I’ll pick some wildflowers and bring them home with me.

…Watch some kids play…

…Take my shoes and socks off to feel green grass between my toes.

…Consume the day with all my senses like a poet…with every taste, texture, touch, and sound, expressed in specific, heightened detail.

I’m taking a day to be grateful for all the things that I have…none of which can be bought or sold in a store, achieved with hard work and determination, or negotiated with a contract.

Today is about all the things that have just been gifted to me.

(and you too, by the way.)

…For free.

It’s free.

…And I can’t, with good conscience, ignore that today.

~D

Never-Ending

29 Mar

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This work day has been for-shit since it first began. 

…The sun has been screaming at me from outside, all day…and knowing that I’ll eventually be joining it, has been all that has kept me going. 

That they can slow down, but not “add” hours to the day…is the only way everyone is making it out alive, in the end.  I swear, a couple of times, the clock was even trying to move backwards, but I’m totally onto that asshole’s games.  I slapped it around a little, and it finally stopped dragging it’s feet by about 2pm, and continued in a forward-reaching trajectory at last.

…Not quickly, mind you, but at least with steady, constant, motion.

With days like this, who needs enemies?

All I know is that now, we are at T-minus 11 minutes to shutting this whole place down and getting the hell out of here.  This is all that matters to me.  Not even that my entire paycheck I got today, has been spent on rent and gas-cards. All of it.  I’m not joking.  Not even a little bit.

…But who cares?

Screw paychecks!

I’m going to not be here in — now — 9 minutes!

This is all that matters, my friends!!

…This is all!!!

~D 

Traffic Hell

28 Mar

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Am bumper-to-bumper, in southbound 5pm traffic. Enroute to the family farm, where some of the California us’s are staying the night…a surprise visit from outta nowhere.

…It is without a doubt the worst possible time to be on the freeway. Wiith the possible exception of this time tomorrow. But it is a total freak coincidence that I don’t have rehearsal tonight. I can’t pass up on free fam BBQs the one time of ever that I’m actually open to go to one.

…So here I sit.

…Killing time.

…Sandwiched tween a guy in an Audi who keeps picking his nose, a Subaru sedan with 11 people packed into it like a clown car, and a semi.

Along we crawl.

At this rate, I’ll get there in about 8 hours.

…At which point, there better be potato salad left. Or there will be words!

There will be words.

~D

Fooding

27 Mar

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Am fooding badly tonight.

…Post-rehearsal starvation is unbelievable.  Our Miep was eating a beautiful Qdoba burrito, Peter was tossing back brownies…I sat while running lines, crocheting like a fucking maniac just to try keeping myself as side-tracked as possible.  During break, I drank more tea, went pee, and started right back up where I had left off. 

…Rehearsal is turning into the mega-challenge of fooding, possibly of all time.

Mr. Krahler is a frequent customer of the Southern Fried Chicken place next door.  The Franks come straight from work, so are always unveiling new tupperware full of this’s and that’s…Mr. Director is a fan of sushi, someone keeps bringing in community muffins and breads, leaving them on the concessions counter, free for the taking. They have bins of chocolates, and redvines. Miep bought the brownies. Mr. Frank takes hot cocoa ‘tween breaks…and I sit there…with my fucking tumbler of plain Lipton’s bag tea, hating my life more, with each new smell, and food offer.

WHY?!

…I passed no less than 8 fast food light signs on the freeway on the way home tonight.  Each one, a seperate stab in an already salted wound.  Right now, I want grease and sauced meats and salt so bad, I can almost taste the smell of it, left over from that damn burrito.  I want chocolate-dipped pastry and pie crusts baked with five pounds of butter.  And pickles.  And some peppered salami, with Tillamook sharp on a club cracker.  I want the WORLD of every craving that has prob’ly ever been invented…and ten or twelve others besides,

…It’s actually, gnawing at me.  Like a conscience-driven hunger.

…Compounded (no doubt) with double intensity as my hormones shift into PMS overdrive, so ramped…I feel like I could easily put my fist through a brick wall to get at a cream puff on the other side. 

…And I don’t even LIKE cream puffs in real life! 

It is only “desire.”

Passionatedevastatinggnawingpainful…”desire.” 

It is horrible.

…And the only way around it…

…Is to go to bed.

Now.

…And pull up something from Netflix onto my computer…

…Something TOTALLY distracting, and nothing AT ALL about “food” in any way.

…Like a National Geographic on Mummies or some shit.

…So that AT SOME POINT, I will mercilessly just fall asleep.

And forget I even have a stomach.

…Or human feelings.

…And taste buds.

I WANT! 

Ohhhh I WANT!!!

…Ohhhh….

I cocking HATE you: BMI chart. 

I really, really hate you.

For reals.

~D

Crash

26 Mar

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Someday, a very important computer server is going to crash.  It is inevitable.  There is no way around it.  And it will be totally devastating. 

…It might be a world bank, or all of the America-hosted internet, or the system that keeps track of all the air traffic routes and locations, or the tracker that keeps everyone’s SS# and personal info stats. It could be anything. Because odds are odds, and math is math, and nothing is constant.

Nothing.

…Which is kind of terrifying if you let yourself really think on it.

…So I try not to.

…But then a super-small-scale crash (in comparison) like today’s at work, will happen…and you can’t help but be reminded that someday we are all truly going to be good and fucked. 

By computers.

Our entire system crashed today. Crashed hard.

Corporate send out red flags via every backdoor communication source they had, freaking everyone out and leaving us that way for the better part of the day.

…This is bad timing to be freaking people out, what with multiple National road shows and stats and contracts flying thought the cloud network in batch numbers almost not to be believed. My own valuations were just above $52k and 35 contracts strong from the last 24 hours alone, before they lost the final connection with our server, and all died in front of our eyes.

Death.

…With so many numbers.

…And no way to know if that would be just today’s batches, or the weeks, or our entire Open Order Reports.

“Sit tight. We don’t know how bad it is yet,” was all we got for 4 and a half hours.

…And then a few updates managing to confirm our individual reports were safe, “for the most part.” And then an update on what, “for the most part” actually meant.

…So that by 5 hours in, we were told the worst of it, being that there was no salvage of anything going back to the latest full Corporate backup.

…Which by freak coincidence (being a Monday) was yesterday.

…So everything I’d done, or the Sales Reps, or the Customer Service Department, Accounting, Order Entry…since 5pm EST yesterday…was toast.

…Which means worse than “none of the things we did today ever existed.”

…Because server crash or not, we have contract deadlines to make.

…And from the Corporate level, we have 32 branches.

…All of whose orders need to be re-entered, reprinted, reprocessed.

From the beginning.

…Meanwhile today’s orders will be backlogged while they play “catch up.” Which screws with those contract dates as well. In a large-scale trickle effect that already slammed, will mean manic overtime hours to achieve.

…Which no one seems willing to pay for.

…Because these bastards are fucking cheap.

Case in point: we are still using an old server that can’t run up to speed, thus crashes, thus causes all of this shit-panic to begin with.

As for me: I am going to be packing up at 4 pm, as I do every day. Because that is what I signed up for. There is very little I can do until the contracts are reinserted into our network, and resent to me, to begin with. That will have to wait until I come in and start this circus all over again tomorrow, at 8am.

…And I’m taking a lunch like a normal person too. Today’s black coffee and gummy bear brunch, while hand-drawing up contracts from scratch, forgetting even to take a pee when I needed it, will not be the norm for the week.

I just refuse.

I said it.

~D

The Star

25 Mar

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Having done a touring show of a Holocaust piece before, I’d already been through the creepy-real feel of being surrounded by Nazi uniforms, in a barbed-wire concentration camp.  But I had played a Christian “protector” (therefore, a political enemy), not a person of Jewish descent.

…Those uniforms. Very, very pristine copies, rented from a company who let them out to film costume departments, so that the authenticity of the weight of the material, and all the patches and insignia were exact…was a hell of a thing to be on stage with.  I can’t even imagine having to be one of the actors having to put them on.

…Put it this way: there was very little “acting” involved while being screamed at in German, surrounded by these uniforms and barking dogs and people weeping to the right and left of me.  The awesome realization that this was 6 million people’s reality, 70 years ago, hits an entirely new level when your senses are slammed into it, knowing that this terror you actually, ACTUALLY feel is NOTHING compared to what they lived with every single day.

…And the HATE for those pieces of cloth.  That one patch I would stare at through that one scene, on the arm just resting on a desk…a pen in the hand, writing out my fate in ink for all of time.  The actual metal skull pin of the S.S.  The meaning behind it, and the audacity and total disgust of seeing a human wearing it with pride and purpose as an achievement in rank and standing. 

…And the Swastika.  Black spider on white, backed in blood red. 

…Close up.

…Close enough to see the stitches, hand-sewn to the arm bands and tacked to place.  Hand-sewn like they would have been hand-sewn.  Only then it was by a prideful wife, or mother, or sweetheart.  Now it was by a team of seamstresses in a costume department. 

And what must it have felt like to them, to do it? 

It is impossible to be even in the presence of the thing and not feel the distinct darkness of evil come off it.

…And what if one of those seamstresses was Jewish?

…Or one of the actors who had to wear it?

These are things you don’t really think about with intense detail, until you’re playing a scene with a person you’ve rehearsed with for a month, whom you trust and respect as a friend, and who you now can very easily look at with such loathing hatred…draped in this disgust…for all that what they are wearing means, and how well they do their jobs in being totally sick bastards toward you.

Props and costumes have POWER. Especially when they’ve history behind them.

…And this is the truth.

Tonight, for photos, I stood as the costumer affixed a beat up, well-used, yellow Star of David onto my sweater…just here…over my heart.

Not to assume that in any way I am sharing equal pains with the spirits who came before me, who have worn it, but tonight…I think it was the first time that the power of it hit me. The power of that star. The word “Jude” inked upon it.

Because I was wearing it now.

Above my left breast.

As she would have.

As millions of them did.

…A marking of a people. A religion. A death sentence. Something people looked at and knew as a branding, every day, on the streets, in the shops. Something that was so much a part of day-to-day life, that people became accustomed to it. As if it was nothing. As if it was no more than the patch of a favorite sports team, walking down the street. Which is outrageous to me. But what other possible explanation could there be? And then the mixed emotion of pride as well as shame of being of the blood and religion to be told to wear it. It is your faith…so how can one shun it and be true to oneself? Yet it is a mark of distrust and segregation and politics and abuse. How does one live with the balance of both loving and hating it?

…On every piece of clothing.

…Staring at you from every mirror.

…Every reflection of yourself in a window.

…Marked to indicate where you can and cannot go…

…Whom you may and may not marry…

…Be friends with…

…Do business with…

…Speak with…

…Every single day.

After getting the Director’s approval, I slipped off stage, and beat it to the front lobby, to get a breather for a bit. Because putting on that yellow piece of cloth had such an immediate tie with me.

A bond.

I could feel it.

A costume piece, is all it is meant for. But it isn’t. And it won’t ever be.

…Sometimes you undertake a thing that means more than you can quite grasp or put into words. It’s haunting. It’s vital. It’s physical. It is tangible. Even if it is only an ” emotional feeling.”

I took a breather in the ladies suite, and just stared at the mirror. For quite a while. I don’t know how long.

…And all I could really come up with, that sorted out into anything at all, was what a horrible honor it was to wear it. This star. And tell this story.

…For Anne and all the others.

…Surrounding an audience with a feeling they will never get from just reading about it in a book.

They may think they know these people already. Their names, their reputations…they even know how the story ends. But what they won’t be prepared for is that now, they will have heard their voices…know what their laugh sounds like. They’ll watch the jealousies build, and the fights erupt in full force, and witness total seized terror as boots march by, a bomber drops it’s payload overhead…a machine gun sounds…or children can be heard in the distance, playing in the street, while a little girl, wearing no shoes, speaking no words, sits in total silence. Listening. Because her life and everyone elses depends on it.

…The audience will live through all of this. In the same room as us. Live. Now. With no escaping it.

…And without even realizing it, that same audience will become our friends and allies, and will get angered and hurt for us, and pick sides, and find favorites,and will soon find themselves rooting for an ending alteration that can’t be fixed or changed, any more than the history that it came from.

…And when that realization actually hits…it will destroy their emotions, from seemingly out of nowhere.

Not because of “slight of hand,” or any kind of “manipulation.”

Because of Truth.

History.

Horror.

Theatre is an awesome thing.

A constant teacher. And a humanitarian.

…I just (for the 1,000th time) was reminded of it.

Thought I’d pass it on.

~D

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