Tag Archives: party

For The Oscar

24 Feb

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This one is a last minute post to m’peeps who won tonight. (As seen in tape delay with a bevy of friends.)

…Of course, we knew Adele would win, that was never a question up for debate with real people…of which I am proud and roared loudly upon acceptance speech.  In the mean time though, can we get a “hollah” for Shirely Bassey at 110, singing with the same chutzpah and vibrato as her original self a zillion years ago?

…Also, I’d like to openly shed a tear for Streisand’s Hamlish tribute (the same year I saw him live at the Seattle Symphony), and get an “Amen” for Annie Hathaway’s Best Supporting win.

…My only major upset for the night was effing Jennifer Lawrence, who at age twelve has absolutley no reason to be winning an Best Actress catagory Oscar when people like Kate Winslet had to spend over a decade and six nominations to finally win…especially when going up against Juilliard-trained Jessica Chastain and her hotel room of mugshots and engrossing meta homework on “Zero Dark Thirty” like a fucking GROWN UP actor.

…But I’m not bitter or anything.

Congrats to m’peeps, 12 of whom won of the ones I wished to…which ain’t bad, when you consider how political Hollywood is.

…Also, Charliz Theron should keep the hair, Seth MacFarlan should be my other boyfriend, Catherine Zeta-Jones is a physical wizard, Daniel Radcliffe, should always randomly Broadway-dance, George Clooney still makes the best Cary Grant,  Daniel Day-Lewis should maybe be retired from award-winning…just to be fair…and Les Mis peeps were all on the same stage at the same time, singing…and it was of awesome. 

…So there.

Until tomorrow:

~D

…And Then The Alcohol Punched Them In The Face

1 Jan

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Listen: it became the tiniest of gatherings, ringing in the New Year…after a rehearsal, straight to food buying, straight to cooking, straight to eating. 

In the end, it had been deemed the better idea, allowing us to dress in clothes of our preference with zero pomp and circumstance, while getting as embarrassingly drunk as we wanted to, with zero reputation-slaughtering repercussions.

…Marty n’ I were well into the champagne, laughing at “Legally Blond,” tripped out in various pj attire and shoving eleven kinds of food in our faces like Hoover vacs…mostly getting it in our mouths…when a call came in from one of our most beloved “Twelfth Night-ers.” So we whooped loudly, everyone talking at once over speaker phone, while cackling dirty laughter with our mouths full of chewed up food bits, when our “Joe” arrived, fresh from Party #1, in his three piece suit, bow tie and fedora. 

…The slobs embraced him thoroughly, and provided him with his own bottle of alcohol, and he, in turn, popped the cap, immediately proceeding to make out with said bottle mouth for the rest of the night…like those couples who can’t keep their hands off each other, only getting worse the drunker they get.

…But because, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” I cannot disclose the full beauty of what happened afterward…having nothing at all to do with sex, but everything in the world to do with the greatest hits of being totally trashed with people who you trust.

It was magical.

…And upon command of, ” We have to DO something when the clock strikes…a gesture…something to really punch it and make it matter,” an idea was put out on the floor to do a symbolic slaughter. Something of the past year, or an idea, or a thing that has haunted us that we want to start the New Year totally free of: write it down, then all rush outside, light the New Year stogie (saved for just this occasion), and pass it amongst ourselves as we light and watch disintegrate, that crappy whats-it from our past.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

…In a cold cloud of relief.

…Then back to the drinking as regularly scheduled…”Galaxy Quest” and “Back to the Future” tag teaming the TV in the background.

It was a night of a thousand giggles and guffaws, with tons of surprising moments of delighted “yay.” I may never know how long it truly lasted, as I peeled away at ’round 6 a.m…to pound water and pass out on a soft surface.

…To bed and to rise, with this crazy bright New Year sun screaming at me, and liquor corpses in the living room…which I should really do something with, but I figured they are well preserved, so can prob’ly wait at least as long as the length of a blog.

For reasons that don’t at all add up, I haven’t got the faintest tummy oots, or brain pain. It’s prob’ly that whole side of cow I ate that soaked up all the toxins, so I’ll have to remember to light a candle for it later…before confession.

…Keeping to tradition, Marty will bounce up with eyes round as saucers, blink a couple times and ask, “what’s happening, what’s next?” Cuz she’s the only human being I know who can get totally blitzed…not ONLY without repercussion, but can get by on 2 hours of sleep after it, waking up with the innocents of an infant, ready to start the day.

Our “Joe” being a new team member, still has the Jury out in debates.

…But either way, we had a helluva time…able to be the most basic us-like us’s, with complete freedom of safety, in a warm little house, stocked full of goodies to imbibe on, and beds and pillows to swallow us up afterwards.

A Happy New Year to you all! Hope your Alka Seltzer breakfasts and bed-buddies treated yuh well.

…And so off I go, to administer to the dead.

~D

Waving Goodbye, From A Speeding Train

31 Dec

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So little time to spend looking backwards today, as I have so much planning, cleaning, shopping,  errands, lines and rehearsal time to focus on instead. 

…Have been burning the midnight oil a lot this week, and have learned through the experience that leaving the daily post for end-of-the-night, poses a number of problems stemming mostly from sheer exhaustion, and residual libation levels. I thought I’d try the more sober attack by forcing the keys beneath my fingers BEFORE all the madness begins…even while my eyes dart around the room noting all the hundred little things I need to clean and prepare for tonight. Trying m’best not to get sidetracked. Also: I really could use coffee. Am beanless and trying to tell myself that black English tea will work just as well. We’ve already had this discussion ten or eleven million times and know that it won’t.

…Meanwhile, as all this shit goes rushing through my brain, and the “to do” list of the day grows even while I’m just sitting here, I wanna take a second, make a quick glance back at the 2012 calendar to appreciate the places I’ve been along its life travels. A year of time has earned it’s place in the spotlight I guess. If for nothing else, than just the fact that the Mayan’s were wrong: we’re still here…and its up to us now to write the future that they clearly got too tired (or bored with) to keep working at.

For one, SWAL was born in June: a new blogging platform, in a new community of creative thinkers and doers…and I enjoyed being a part of it so much that five months ago I pledged the Blog-a-Day challenge, even though I hate doing things in odds, or mid-way through. 

…Every time I see the badge on m’blog I still have to fight the discomfort of knowing I joined part way into a thing, so my full year of achievement doesn’t fall on everyone else’s…that I still have well over half a year to go before my achievement is complete, and will then have the most anti-climatic ticker tape parade-for-one, in all of time. 

Should I have waited to join up with the circus at the stroke of midnight tonight?  I dunno.  Maybe. My little OCD buddy would have preferred it that way. But somehow it just seems wrong to plan that far in advance to run off and join a circus.  One doesn’t really “plan” it, one just becomes suddenly (without explanation) consumed with the community, art and wonder of it, and never looks back.  Which is what I did.  So points to me for being brave and all.  But then sometimes, realizing what a shit-ton of work being in one means, is sorta a pain in the ass.  Like for instance, when it’s four in the morning and I still haven’t done my post for the day. Or when talking about finding a penny on the sidewalk is about the level of excitement I have to offer the SWAL universe at-large.  I’ll try to do better…which isn’t to insinuate I don’t try the other times.  But it is true, I prob’ly could be a little more self-aware of free topic matter floating around me day-to-day.

…So, I will.

Next: A short season for theatre after a bustling one the year before.  Much longer breaks in between gigs, as nothing seemed pressing me to invest what it takes to do a show, at the level I’ve come to enjoy and expect.  The roles mean more to me now than they used to…not just grabbing at shows to fill the space, with hope that I will come ’round to actually be emotionally “in” them.  First of all: theatre is a lot of goddamn work. And at the level I invest in it: it’s the kind of work equal to birthing a new baby every two-to-three months…a lot of times painful, and messy, and frustrating, but ultimately joyful with mad amounts of pride in the end result that all we birth-partners have achieved.  Of course, sometimes you have a total dud too.  But mostly…mostly its been a year of happy family time, with new friends, new lessons, and new realizations. 

…As I carry on with rehearsals for the first show of 2013 (opening in less than two weeks time), I can tell this’ll be a year of upping the stakes again, pushing harder and going further than the usual casting and comfort levels.  Which is a phenomenal “starting” point, not to be wasted.  So I won’t.  Which means I’ve got some serious show scouting and auditions to hit this year…prob’ly further out of town than I prefer…but it’s a thing I’m totally prepared, at this point, to do.

In Other News: This was the year when The BFF took flight again, gallivanting to the melting pot of L.A. for reasons that I intellectually totally understand, but still emotionally find completely and woefully fucked up.  I miss her all the time. Yet by some kind of magic, when she visits, it’s like she never left at all.  She’s learning things all the time, and changing, but not changing in the ways that matter most, (and what I secretly feared), knowing what a soul-sucking enterprise that that town is and will always be. 

…One need not worry about that with The BFF. 

…She was born at the age of 35, and only gained personal strength, purpose, insight, intensity and integrity since then.  She’s fine.  She will always be fine.  Even if her BFF is sitting here freaking out about the 20,000 ways of possible scenarios in which she might possibly NOT be.

…I fucking HATE it how she’s always right about shit.  (‘Cept when she’s wrong…which happens too, upon occasion…but only sometimes.)

2012 was also The Year Of The Marty. 

…This is in reference to a once in a lifetime event that occurs, which has great significance. Like seeing Halleys Comet. The last occurrence on this scale of magnificent glory happened during the original Year Of The BFF. It just means that fate said, “You don’t know it yet, but this person has mad power to consume your interest, beat the shit out of your wall-building defenses, will challenge you often, and bring you tons of joy.” All my friend soul mates and family in the past, have added a new most important member to the clan this year. For which I am ecstatically thankful and always will be. Which is as sappy at I’m gonna get about that. So shut up, and pass me the french fries…

…And in closing: This was the year of re-evaluations.

Acknowledging that palettes change several times within a lifetime, I spent several solid tracks of the year, exploring and re-visiting things that have never been my particular taste or track of enjoyment, but felt was time to revisit again, never-the-less. Where one or two new tastes were found having been acquired…there were definitely those of solid disgust which HAVE NOT altered in the least. I know now, that they just never will be my cup of tea. And with that comes a kind of guiltless freedom, as the proof that “I tried it” was there…oh, so very embarrassingly obvious for all to see, in some cases.

…So there was that.

…Several “theres” and several “thats.”

…And though I continue to struggle with one specific highly palatable, yet pro’bly still glutton-filled-fest of a bad idea, which seems to haunt me, going on years…at the moment, I’m able to be reasonable about it. Which means, “I win. For now.”

…And that’s something.

Happy last of the year, all!

…May your day of past reflection and happy expectation be an exploding cork from a good bottle of bubbly, to you all!

~D

…And The Footie Pajamas

25 Nov

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We are in pajamas, post show (and first read), decorating cookies (part 2), eating cheese plates and doing a “White Christmas” sing-along.

…It’s our thing.

The BFF and I are in sweats, but The Fella is wearing full-out long underwear footie pjs.  With the escape hatch.  He looks phenomenal.  I honestly didn’t know they made them for full grown people.

…Also, by time of blog writing, The Fella is drunk.  He’s now in the prone position, with said butt flap open, airing his pirate underwear and threatening to fart us into oblivion.  He’s now to the point of drunk where you lay in dead weight and grin at things…like the air…and have whole conversations with your eyes closed, your voice in falsetto.

I’m totally writing this whole night off on “character study” at tax time.   

***

The Fella is now splayed out in the farty chair, and “White Christmas” at it’s end, has led onto “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.” 

…They are worried about me having to work tomorrow…which with only two days left of BFF-dome, before she escapes back to Tinsel Town, is just erroneous.  Tomorrow will come as it always does, and I will crawl from the bed like a Darwinian evolutionary sludge, as I always do…be it on six hours or three. It is far more important to be building these memories.

…Unless someone pukes. 

I call the kibosh at that point.

***

So here we all sit…a small pile of humanity across all of the general couch area.  The Christmas tree lights on, the heater humming busily…our decorated cookies that look like a five-year-old baked and decorated them (though that is totally unintentional), on the table in front of us with little bottles of sprinkles and candy pieces, and wine bottles growing around us. 

…We begin deep philosophical discussions, like people do when they are buzzed after a long day…such as the political significance of the Lesba-whos, that are The Grinch’s parents…and if being green is a commentary on race relations…

…In between, we giggle, till it starts to get quiet and we get sucked into the movie.

The wine starts to mix in our tummies, the sugar cookies, soaking it up…our eyelids start to get heavy.

…Just like kids, we fight the sleep fairy and insist we are wide awake and ready to party.

…But we ain’t.

It’s late. Our tummies are full. The bottles are empty. And even Jim Carey in ten pounds of green fur and prosthetic can only seduce us so far. Not gonna lie, m’pillow sounds pretty amazing. But we are captivated with brilliance…in both what’s happening on the screen, and in the room right now. We are our own ultimate family…the kind that people can build if all the best of circumstances align…and at least one of the people are really bossy.

…As The BFF just stated, “Lookit this! If we were all siblings growing up, we woulda been awesome!”

…To which I replied, “Well yeah, but then you can’t have sex with your brother, so, maybe it’s gooder this way.”

“Also, she’d have been the bully,” The Fella pipes up through his wine-haze, before going back to grinning at the atmosphere.

“I would not!,” she insists, ironically punctuating it with a punch.

Touche. And stuff.

(Yawn)

“He’s out, ” The BFF sighs, leaning over The Fella, some minutes later. “Hey babe, wanna stay here on the futon or go home?”

“Mmfubbbub,” The Fella replies.

We take that for “home.”

…They stuff themselves into boots and scarves and coats and start on their journey…all of two city blocks away.

I watch them, lit by street lights on their early morning quest, before finishing with my typing.

…Night, friends. May you pass out well into noon. For me: I’m lookin’ at six hours. So I guess I’d better get at it…

~D

First Dress

4 Nov

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Hello civilians, and welcome to first dress rehearsal. 

…Our call is late, due to blocking of the the theatre’s follow-up Holiday show taking place on the same stage, directly before our call.  In short: the December show is running about on our stage right now, (as we once did to “Sherlock”)…and will continue until 4:30…at which time we begin arriving in shifts in various states of makeup and hair, to tag-team, sort out some adjustment fittings, and ship things directly out into the makeshift on-site alteration and stitching department currently holding state in the lobby. 

…As of yesterday’s costume parade, I had nothing to wear but my corset, shoes, and stockings. They are still piecing my blacks together, built in copy pattern to a gray dress I tried on a little over a week ago, whose color was veto’d but style and fitting was approved.  Will be doing my hair and makeup at home, to avoid time-crunch and also have a slew of my own outlets for various curlers and irons, as I invent the styles to begin with. Plenty of elbow room, music, and pictorial inspiration on the internet, ready on my computer, at click-command.

…Also, right now: a stew is cooking in the crockpot.

Got up this morning to make a cup of coffee, and feed meat and veg into the slow-cooker, before surveying the damage of last night’s spur-of-the-moment mini party. 

A couple of casties, (post eats, post cue-to-cue), didn’t want to give up the ghost quite yet…so I rushed home to prep their arrival, and make sure we had enough mixers.  Many talks on many subjects, with “Anonymous” on in the background, a shared stogie on the back patio, a trip planning thrown out there, and YouTube vomits of the most ridiculous videos we know of, that we feel compelled to force other people to watch and thus be forever equally scarred from, for life.

…Marty, I think, wins for that South African husband and wife freak-team.  And you can wonder at all it’s wrongs here, should you choose. (Their “Ninja” one is as least as horrifying.)

I need more coffee, but the last bag of beans has been killed, and I mourned it, even before this one cup was done perking. Thus, I am forced into tea…which is lovely when you want tea, but when you want “coffee” there is no solace to that desire unless you feed it what it demands.

Coffee is very S&M that way.

4 hours and 24 minutes left on the stew clock, and a sink-and-a-half of dirty dishes to see to.

…But first: heat some water, pop in some “Shakespeare In Love” or “Stage Beauty” or “Henry V” or “Richard III”…or any of the eleven-hundred others keeping to the current theme…take a walk, take a shower, and set my hair to begin the regime.

This is one of those days where you spend almost all of it, just prepping for the end-game…as first dresses always have, and always will be.

~D

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