Tag Archives: Politics

Thoughts, (10 Days Before London) 

11 Oct

Um,  I dunno if you know it (International Friends), but there’s this whole thing where Americans wishing to look less ridiculous (or wanting to more easily blend in) will often pretend to be Canadians , whilst visiting abroad. It’s not exactly like we’re ashamed of being “American,” it’s that we are embarrassed by the general casting-type. 
…Look,  I have to say that by and large,  we earn it. Having been abroad before, I was never more aware of our loud,  braying, overly-enthusiastic,  self- entitlement than quietly sitting in corners of tubes and restaurants and buses…watching us being giant low-class dicks,  en mass. We dress horribly.  We push to run every room and tourist guiding,  we chew gum in ancient cathedrals, scream at one another across silent museum lobbies, we complain about food portions, bitch about the size of the showers, and how everyone doesn’t bathe twice a day,  and strangely like to infringe on , (and advertise),  our private business to any and everyone who doesn’t (and won’t ever care)…cuz that shit is embarrassing. 

…But then Brexit happened,  and I was all,  “Woa,  for once we aren’t the biggest idiots”

…But then this election happened and now I’m all, ” Well, fuck. I gotta pretend to be British-Columbian from Vancouver,  again.”

The deal is: I don’t talk political shit on my Facebook, I’m sure as hell not gonna want to “live,”  on a tube platform with a random Italian. (Let’s be real,  the English don’t talk in tubes.) 

…Though,  to be off the International Shit-List,  they might just break precedent.And the French always have hated us (and always will), because of our hard-“R’s,” designer-knock-offs, and wearing T-shirts with vacation locations on them. 

Americans are like the class clowns of the world. Right now: we are specializing in scaring the shit out of everyone–even ourselves. And frankly,  I am not comfortable being a “representative abroad. ”

I’m not super proud of us right now. And I don’t wanna talk about it. Cuz the world I come back to, (the week of the election), scares the living shit out of me.  If I could,  I’d fucking just stay there.

…And I would always have said that. (But would have literally never meant it, more.) Than right now

…And you know what?  That kinda sucks. 

 …Because, though I unreasonably love Britain like it is in my blood (cuz it is)… I have great grandfathers who fled from those bitches,  (on the Irish and Pilgrim side.) Like:legit. I’ve an ancestor who signed the Mayflower Compact, and we’ve fought in every single American war.INCLUDING against the Brits. 

I *want* to be proud. 


…As I prepare to cross the pond for a place I adore and identify with (prob’ly because it is in my blood) …and even though I really, really, REALLY, don’t want to get political…I just don’t know how I’ll be able to prevent it. 

I don’t know what to say. 

I don’t know how to excuse us.
…Because, I know a LOT of very, very very smart people. 

…And they don’t seem to either. 

And on an International level:  on planes,  busses, trains and week-long workshops… I dunno how the hell I’m gonna duck or explain it. 

…And with ALL the weird shit on my brain right now…ten days before I leave to study abroad…why is THAT the main thing on my freak-out list?


Bipolar Weather & Causes For Affect

2 Apr


Our spring here can’t seem to make up it’s mind what the hell is going on. 

…It’s confusing the hell out of the blooming plant life that I’ve been taking walks past, while either in bluster winds on a sunny day or in pissing down rain.  One doesn’t let rain stop you from doing things here, else you’d never get anything done…but the point is: it’s sunny for five seconds today and was yesterday too, and both are cock teases.

Yesterday was down for the count thanks to a particularly suicidal Joan Crawford visit beginning at 4 a.m., with alllllll her bag of upset tummy-curling-into-a-ball-while-crying awesomeness.  The only up side was doing month-end from my laptop in bed…at 5:30 in the morning…only cuz it meant that when I finally DID fall back asleep, I could tell the alarm to go fuck itself, take another fist full of pain meds, roll over, and drift back to sleep again. Fitfully.

…Today’s repercussion of paperwork, and the forest of trees waiting to slaughter, has kept me too busy to even look out the window until about five minutes ago.  Roughly about the time I realized I hadn’t so much as gone pee yet, I’d been so busy today.

…Anyway…a bank of clouds is ominously starting this way, blowing north-bound, and bringing shadows in it’s wake since my first look out the window for the day.  This means that by 4, It’ll be dark clouds and cold with zero vitamin D’s left for me to soak up.  And rain, rain, rain projected for days now to follow.

Of course.

In Other News: I did survive the detox-from-hell…celebrating at midnight on the 21st day, with some 16 year-old Redbreast whiskey…which was the most decedent thing from my bar.  A fitting “fuck you” to the odds and celebration of WINNING!

…So now onto the six days on, one day off, trend until the rest of the weight is dumped. And may I never so over-indulge as to have to go through that whole nonsense ever, ever again.

I’d ONLY wish it on my worst enemy.  Really.  Not even a Nagging Irritant deserves to go through something like that, on purpose.


…We are three days to tech week, in a show which the jury will prob’ly still be out on till the second we open, or possibly even after.

…The Gnome has reached 13 weeks, and 20 lbs of weight gain…so she no longer looks like a starving waif-child who could blow away in a stiff wind…she looks like a waif child who swallowed a softball, and might bounce along instead.

…WHS Pimp has fucked up his back so badly, the MRI techs are talking a fusing…which he’s taken fairly well considering he won’t be able to tie his own shoes anymore and he’s only 33…but apparently that’s what kids are for, anyway…he says.

…And…after a couple weeks of deliberation, I decided to join my first organized group since brownies and the theatre. Mama be kickin’ it now with the HRC…only not just passively. I’m actually volunteering to do things and stuff. Which’ll be weird. Cuz I’m socially awkward as fuck and super shy. But, this comes from reflections, via lots of sources, telling me if I want the world to be a better place for a lot of my favorite humans, (and the rest of us), I gotta put my actions where my mouth is. So I’m gonna. By and large, politics piss me the hell off, but equality ain’t a policy it’s a right, and that I can get behind. So, P.S. prob’ly expect to hear about those shenanigans here, too.

…And so goes life.

Hope you find your second of sun and play and joy on this spring day. Go chase it down if you have to. Cuz I’m gonna. Just as soon as I can hit the freeway 🙂



11 Jul


Played tug-o-war back and forth with a migraine across roughly half the day, most of which was spent trying not to puke across all my office reports. 

…My kit-bag of drugs and Pepto was depleted by Contractor early-morning-hangovers over the past two months, leaving me now with nothing at the office to battle with. Pissed that I didn’t have what I needed to get rid of the pain and pukeage when I needed it, I wrapped the day around 10:30, said a very decided, “fuck this shit, I’m going home” to the office in general, and did just that.

…About an hour or so later, the light stopped wigging my eyes, my temple stopped pounding, and I was on the couch, all nested up under a mountain of blankets (still fighting that body-shock-chill factor, acting as the migraine’s hangover), and entered Netflixia.

…Such a wonder of a place.

Mind-boggling options of subject matter, things that you love, things that you hate, things that you wouldn’t ever think of buying or renting, but when it’s “free,” then why the hell NOT imbibe?

…Today was mostly dedicated to Documentaries.  Ken Burn’s “Prohibition,” (tons of well researched history, awesome footage and the influence of War, Racketeering, Women’s Lib, Political and Religious factors), followed by “Park Avenue,” (TEA Party, food wars, the 1% of the 1% of the richest, the vastly growing demographic of poor, the dying middle class, Hedge Funds, Bank bailouts, tax cuts and more), followed by “That Guy Whose In That Thing” (a Marty recommendation featuring a small handful of those guys you know the face of who seem to be in everything, and what it is like to live the roller coaster life as a character actor in feast-or-famine Hollywood.)  From there, the dark side possessed me and for reasons I’ll never know, I selected, “The Pianist,” (shatters me), directly afterward attempting to counter-act the gaping face of horrified woe by following it up with “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” (a longtime fav, for oh so many reasons.)

…All these genres, and random worlds, contained within Netflixia…all waiting for their command performances by the swipe of my finger tip…all feeding my quirky little brain that thinks politics, booze, acting, religion, taxes, Nazis, the Warsaw ghetto, and 1940’s cartoon-enhanced detective stories naturally somehow go together.

…I can’t imagine what algorithm their software uses to compare and contrast my viewing habits in order to achieve it’s “recommended” list, but I’m pretty sure that today, I prob’ly broke it.

…So if the next time you log on, your recommended stream lineup says something like: “The Land Before Time,” “Where Your Fast Food Really Comes From: An Expose,” “Mary Kate and Ashley Do Paris,” “Superbad,” “Saw XXXV,” and “Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella”…??

…That was my bad. 



Kids. Theatre. Art.

14 Mar


Stumbled on a Tumblr last night, linking to others that, all-collected, formed most of a young cast and their experiences of putting on this show.

…Totally fascinating…reading their processes in raw-thought form, thrown out there with zero editing of  their emotions and frustrations as they fought to balance out school schedules, homework, dating, rehearsals, finals and wrapping their heads around the history of the piece.

Written in 2006, these back-and-forth tagged Tumblrs and blogs are free-formed by High School students, who by now have most likely graduated College and gotten married, and started having children of their own.  Which is kinda mind-blowing, even not having known the kids personally…only because of the knowledge that they have this forever-record of that point in their lives, written down (much like Anne), which others can read and experience, further mirroring the book and show itself.

Really intriguing thoughts, actually. 

…Some in simple questioned innocents, some with down-and-dirty sleeves-rolled-up research, some likening their own personal experiences to Anne and their own characters…and some just excited by the whole process.

The thing that really got to me though, was the point…totally individual to each…when they “got it.”  The point where the full weight of what the show and this girl’s experiences were all about, actually sunk into them…and how each of them dealt with it.

Personal. Raw. Specific.

…These kids, through ART, were given a new way to access and view something from history that they already knew about since middle-school.  That restriction of: “this is a book about a teenage girl, in Amsterdam, in WWII,” was suddenly (and in some cases emotionally violently) altered for them once the process of physical “empathy” was put into place.

To read about a girl from the far-past, in a place they could not recognize, and had no tangible relateable association with at first glance…had limited a lot of them at the book’s first reading. Some were embarrassed by it’s pubescent topics, some shut off by the distant time frame in which it was written, some by the country they didn’t recognize…or the Politics they couldn’t understand…while some did actually take it personally and to heart. But the range there was wide.

…Through the process of ownership in their roles, though…you can actually SEE that begin to change…and the kids changing with it.

What they start out writing about in an off-hand remarks, early in the rehearsal process, begins to change to a kind of hungry obsession over time. They begin pulling out quotes from the script, and matching it to the diary…they write mini-bios, and suck up European political history like sponges. They become in awe of the magnitude in the numbers…which are no longer just “numbers,” but for the first time begin to represent actual “people” to them, now that they are actually portraying one of them…each with lives and families and homes and dreams of their own. They begin to question, and get angry, and become activists for a cause which now has become as real to them as anything they may have to deal with in their current day-to-day lives. They build genuine affection for their “characters”…defending their deeds in posts, and against Anne’s words…and explaining WHY they think and act and say the things they do.

…They become totally engrossed, as the posts move along…building not only on their own, but commenting on one another’s in debate, and agreement, and camaraderie.

And it is fucking FANTASTIC.

You see: THIS is what “Art” does.

THIS is why it is so essential, and why it’s disappearance from our Schools is so completely devastating.

“Art” is not just a “hobby.” “Art” isn’t an “extracurricular activity.” “Art” is “Humanity.” Straight-up. It is our one point of access to all that it is (and ever was) to be human. And without it, we are sorely damaging our future potential…and in severe danger of repeating our greatest mistakes.

And HERE is a prime example.

…Written by school children, grown now into adults, who BECAUSE of “art” experienced something so palpable that “History” became alive to them, “Politics” became important, “Numbers” meant more than mere addition and subtraction, the “Written Word” jumped off the pages at them, and “Science” in the research, reason and attempt to understand why and what it all meant, became totally essential to them.

…And yet, with all of that put together, it STILL could not hold the realization of the emotional strength and repercussions that actual “embodiment” had on each of them. The power of empathy…of PUTTING YOURSELF into another’s place…of FEELING the fear, and hunger, and pain, and sadness…of MAKING IT PERSONAL…it changed them, not just as “children” or “students,” but as HUMAN BEINGS.

…Once taught empathy, education, the difference between right and wrong…passion for history and learning…you can’t un-teach it. You can try, attempt to mind-wash and assault the brain all you like. But if given a good, strong, root to grow…early on…I don’t believe there is anything that can break that. Or the spirit it infuses, like Anne’s, to fight for your right to it.

“There are no walls, there are no bolts, no locks that anyone can put on your mind.”

…It was something Mr. Frank once told Anne, and something she often went back to as a form of solace, a comfort, an outlet…a form of expression.

…Because any form of educated obsession, release, curiosity, excitement, empathy…is a kind of art.

Because SHE was encouraged to release herself in it, we have her diary today. Because those kids were encouraged to release themselves in it, their lives were changed. The same way that mine constantly is. And Meryl Streep. And Picasso’s was. And Steven Spielberg. And Maria Callas. And Leonard da Vinci, and Stephen King, and Gertrude Stein, and Albert Einstein, Billie Jean King, and Stephen Hawking.

…So really, what I’m saying is: people learn and become inspired in so many different ways…going on to inspire and educate others, likewise. I’d like to assume you’d want every opportunity you can grasp onto, to make sure your kids get every option to become the best that they can be…as people and parents of their own children someday.

If you already practice an art of your own, there’s no need to tell you this, but if not: Listen up. I promise…it isn’t just a flippant accessory to life. It is a necessity. It’s brought us our greatest humanitarians, and thinkers, and doers we have ever produced as a human race. It breeds intelligence. It fosters hope. It counters depression, and fear, and anger.

It belongs in our schools.

…If only, to dust off the tired words in old textbook pages, and make all the other academics and political concepts and histories and numbers and sciences more real to the people who will be running this planet some day.

Think about it.


A Little Script Soapboxing

19 Dec


Now onto scene breakdowns and work-throughs. 

…Ran lines today, several times then hit the books again in more research.  Mostly picking apart reviews of other performances and seeing if there is any info there to help me…better than popping in the film, but still informative in opening up your options. 

I don’t want to accidentally ape another person’s work, so never like watching other versions while working on a show.  Sometimes the critics come in handy though…not necessarily for their specific opinion on what works where, but more HOW they write about the piece, the theme, and what they think the underlying tones are at any given moment.  Essentially what the Director has shown them as a whole, is what I wanna see.

…Lots of layers in this one, so lots of room to make a lot of different choices.

…My favorite argument they all seem to be throwing around is “Why now? What keeps this 30’s show relevant to today?”

Apparently in a world where gay marriages are now taking place with welcome, and it’s “okay” to live a life of your choosing, this show is supposed to be in some way out-dated. I say, “Pardon me?!” for a variety of reasons…pointing to not only all the OTHER states in the Nation wherein your private life choices are NOT sanctioned as “acceptable” by the majority of the population, but I ALSO point to the rampant rash of social networking,bullying and ostracising, pushing people to the point of mental incapacities with violent reactions.

…There are parts of the script (mostly the language) that are dated, sure. But there is nothing outdated about the theme or content. I keep going over and over it again, reminding myself of it, and why this was written. The message needs to be clear at all times. And it doesn’t get any more clear than in a directly quoted monologue from the end of Act III. Still gives me chills every time I hear Marty say it. The weight the words carry, and the ripple of it’s truth at that point, should make people legitimately shiver, every night:

“…You told us that night that you had to do what you did. Now you have to do this. A public apology and money paid and you can sleep again. You and all those who always know how right they are. What’s somebody else’s life to you? A way to show your righteousness. And if you happen to be wrong, then you can always put it right some other day. Get out of here and be noble on the street.”

…If you take them, not just as words printed on a page, but say them…out loud…with all the conviction you can light underneath them…it is a devastating truth. Doing without thinking. Condemning without license. My convictions outweigh yours. Safer to assume the worst. Difference is a sin. You are clearly sick. My beliefs are more Holy than yours, And IF…IF I am wrong…IF it isn’t so…IF enough people think it’s more humane to deal with this another way…well then, an apology will suffice, because we are (after all) only human. Better to be safe than sorry. No harm, no foul.


We’ve all seen what happens. And we’ve seen it enough time to know the price paid when these seeds of hate and judgement take root and begin to grow.

Hypocrisy is a plague, which has only one cure: a conscious decision to stop it. We all do it to some capacity. We all have the power to eliminate the weed before it starts to grow. But for some reason…especially today…we feel it a special privilege to scream our conviction at full vocal capacity and never mind about the people we may hurt, or the devastation left in our wake. Who the hell gives us these rights? A Constitution, some would say. Legal tape.

I get it.

…But how do you explain those actions (and their repercussions) to a child coming home crying from another bullying and bout of rampant rumors…who may (at some point) become so ostracised because of them, that tragic consequences seem their only way of getting out of it?

Maybe it’s just me, but I love when art puts a new emphasis on an old idea. I love the immediacy of the moment of live performance. I love that every night we will perform this script and people will squirm in their seats in uncomfortable inability to turn the channel, or press pause, or take a bathroom break to help ease the intensity of the situation.

They will have to sit there.

They will have to watch and listen to it.

They will have to deal with how the words touch them personally…whether as victims or as persecutors.

And, they will have to witness what comes of it.

…Maybe that is what is really needed, here. In a world where attention spans last five seconds, and nobody “has the time to deal with this right now,” we’re gonna force you to. I’m betting, personally, there won’t be a dry eye in the place.

Just embrace it, guys. We’ll be a hot mess too. You won’t be alone.


The Hating Of Politics

19 Aug


Listen, it’s election time again.  And I hate it. 

…I hate the pander, I hate the smacks, the “he said, she said,” the always negative bent.

It really bums me the hell out to see this Country relegated to a half-assed season of “Survivor,” every time an office opens up; To be forced to watch the High School ridiculousness of lying, cheating, reputation-killing antics from our collective nominees. It’s a kind of frustration requiring far better political writing technique than I have at my immediate disposal.  So, “It sucks a lot,” is just gonna have to do it for you.

…Ads are everywhere. We’re absolutely flooded with them from cell phones, internet, radio, TV, mailings and people with clipboards outside of every major shopping center.  And they’re never positive ones about changing the world for the better, preserving rights, fixing the economy, boosting education, or solving world hunger. Why not?!  Politics in this country has turned into some freak-show Darwinian shit-sling-a-thon, where the candidate who throws the most wads of feces and gets them to stick, wins. (Thus rendering all others virtually extinct.)

Its like: survival of the shittiest.

…You know what I wish?

I wish politics could be like an Aaron Sorkin show. 

I would TOTALLY get behind that. 

Smart.  Educational. Forward-thinking, with the best of intent. And willing to admit the occasional fuck up.

…It isn’t about “talking points,” weaving eternal riddles, and participating in endless debates.

…It’s not about “waiting for the right moment” to break down prejudices and fight for equal rights.

…It’s not just a bunch of burocrats stirring up shit, and standing around yelling things. 

Nobody just stood still in, “The West Wing!” 

Not ever!

…Those people couldn’t even eat a sandwich or drink a cup of coffee at their desk in good conscience! There was this whole thing invented about it, even, called “the walk and talk.”  They’d start in the Roosevelt room, bypass the cubical farms, turn left at the second hallway, cross the foyer and BAM! be in the press room within fifty seconds; (and would have prevented three wars and eradicated two epidemics while they did it.)

…Maybe Tommy Shlamme and Sorkin could go to DC and give lectures on how to do that.

…Maybe they could get everyone to stop wasting our time and just ACCOMPLISH something.  It’s why we put them there.  How can they not get that?!

The power is present.  They’re kitted out with more resources than a Boy Scout troop on a camping trip. That’s the frustrating part.  Those people we have elected could actually do a “solid” in repairing things, right now, and prevent more evils from turning up in their place.  They can do more to heal the world before lunch each day, than any other collection of people on the entire face of the planet.

Think about that. 

It could happen. 

It COULD happen.

…But it almost never does.

There IS no President Bartlet, you guys.  And we just have to live with that. Leo won’t be in the sit-room to help strategize or calm down political fevers…nobody is as cutely arrogant with the smarts and political savy of Josh,  or stone-sober tough love of Toby…and inspirational speeches to the masses with soaring symphonies played underneath them, are a thing of the past.

…There are no witty and smart Republicans that pop up from time to time with valid points and sensible solutions, anymore. Democrats will always be wishy-washy, too worried about pissing someone off with their actual principles. And the two major political parties are NEVER gonna agree on ANYTHING. At all. Ever.

It sucks, but it’s the truth.

So deal with that. 

Then go line up at the polls.

…Sorta anti-climatic, ain’t it?

Really wish there was a way to fix that.


Dame Wars

7 Aug


First of all, I work with dudes.  On purpose.

…I have had many a previous position wherein I have been planted in a cubical farm-from-hell with what feels like 150 clucking hens undertaking more day-to-day dramas than Telemundo. Basic fact is (whether you like it or not) the fellas are all upstairs in private offices, leaving a barrage of women and interns manning the open floors, swarming the place like flies. I don’t like office politics.  I don’t give a shit who is having an affair with whom, where you went on vacation or your particular marital difficulties.  I am not interested in swapping recipes at the water cooler, or flirting with the copy guy.  I do not want to socialize and B.S. the day away…I just want to show up, do my job and get the hell outta here.

That is all.

I have a life to live and it ain’t “here.”

…Now, I realize that for many, their day-to-day job is actually their “career” and main social hub of existence…that they prize it, invest in it and want to make it grow via networking, schmoozing, back stabbing, ladder climbing, et al.  I understand.  And I do not blame them for it…it is what they have and need and want, so: yay for them.  However, I also understand that being in that kind of environment, makes me want to punch people in the face.  It reminds me of High School, with its vicious little clicks and popularity contests…with it’s constant political scheming, power-plays and melodrama. (Far more in fact, than I’ve been privy to in most of the theatre’s I’ve been in.) So I quite simply do not work in those kind of places. Because I prefer my drama ON stage…not OFF.

…Which is why my current day-job is full of “gigalos”  who work “away.”  Because, by and large, I find that contractors of this type are only interested in doing what I do: their jobs.  And when it’s done, they go home.  End of story.  What with the type of Boss I work under (of course) there are some obvious  “hitches” in my ultimate scheme of “leave me to my work and all is well” perfection…but one cannot have everything.  This too: I accept.

…What really chaps my hide, makes me wanna reach for a Midol gun and start shooting it like pepper spray, though…is the occasional run of “Wife” interference.  This almost always occurs after paychecks arrive, and the Gigalos scoot back to the corners while their Pimps show up to play.

Strong women.(I get it.)  Who take no bullshit. (I’m right there.)  Showing up on my turf, wanting to get into a scratching-fight. (I will win.)

I just don’t play well with other dames…is (I think) what it ultimately comes down to.

“Where is this thing?!” 

“Why is that less?!”

“Why not this bonus?!”

“Where is that pay?!”

…With the Gigalos, I have them trained to write down their questions, and pop ’em in my in box where I can get to them and research when able. Once I have prepared the info and go over it with them, they nod, take the proof and walk away.  There’s no “hysterics”…no “wild threats” against all of humanity.  Even if they’re pissed, they “deal” with it, and we move on. With the Wife-Pimps it never works out this way. They will burst through my office door, whether I’m on the phone or not, automatically barraging with demands and updates.

…Which, (have me met?) just doesn’t fly with me.

First of all, they are not my contractors.  Second, “get the hell out of my office, and wait your ass in the lobby, thank you.”  Thirdly, there is 99.9% of the time,  a perfectly good reason for every “error” they think they find, and 96% of it is because the Gigalos missed the deadline, or didn’t document their shit.  The rest of the percentage has to do with Corporate.  Because I only pass on payroll records, I don’t do final edits and cut the actual checks. And I can prove these things, because I keep more records, than the average Attorney’s office.

…You’d think, (after the first few hysterical run-ins), the Wife-Pimps would understand this.  But they don’t.  It is always someone else’s fault that they don’t have their Gigalo’s full paycheck in hand.  The Gigalos certainly aren’t gonna take the hit, so they pass it onto me.

…And Mama don’t play that.

By 9:20 this morning I had a particular favorite Wife-Pimp, standing in my doorway (she’s finally been trained to stay “outside”), flipping out about a job sheet for yesterday.  Regardless of how I explained the specifics of the month-end process and it’s direct influence on said order, she was having none of it.  The paper looked different.  What did it mean?  She wanted the other page…the one I couldn’t get.  She didn’t care “why!” And she wasn’t leaving till she got it!

Needless to say, there were “words.” 

…She is no longer in my office and was given no paper, so I will leave you to determine just how this particular run-in ended.

…What I do know is that the hyper-ridiculousness of said situation (before I’d even had my first cup of coffee) slammed me right back to six years ago…where magnified by twenty other “such persons,” I was in a misery most foul…emotionally wretching at the thought of having to go into work every day and face that specific atmosphere. 

It sorta made me glad to be here right now, truth be told. Which is kind of a horrible realization.

It could, in fact, be “worse.”


…So when the next Gigalo entered my office with an, “I don’t understand.” And I said, “Because, that’s just how it is.” And he said, “Okay,” and walked out…? I sorta just wanted to kiss him.

…And he’s a three-hundred pound, walrus look-alike, who smells perpetually of fish and stale sweat.

That’s how glad I was to be here right now.

Man.  I need a vacation.


Wine, Women & Other Delights

7 Jul


Thursday night, over a spread of summer berries, breads, salad, cheese, wine, chocolate, coffee and Perrier, seven women sat down to feast on a script, and one another’s company.

…Literally at-table, with scripts in-hand, tween fork fulls, we ate and drank and laughed. Restroom breaks at intervals or when reader not in-play, wine corkings and pour-outs at natural segues in topic…we were exhausted with food and our efforts, as coffee was poured out casually during the final scene.  In the end, a tour-de-force and three-course meal was had, and we were each so supremely impressed with the success of it all, that a production of the piece by right of blood-determination and pinky swears, was insisted.

This script must be shared, but the formula was a delicate beast.

…We agreed (all) that the delectable intimacy we had shared over the evening was the same way it should be presented for the audience .  Very limited seating…sometime late summer…wherin everyone partake in food and wine in casual corners, as the audience plays at voyeurism, outside of normal theatrical patronism.  No stage to separate the one from the other, no blocking to suggest “presentation.”  Just a collection of women, living their lives in History, in their houses, in their offices, in their time…which some will secretly have view-access to.

The script: “Top Girls.” Caryl Churchill’s 1982 tribute to feminist power struggles, and their rise and fall of ideals across History and into the future.

The cast: Seven savvy dames who’ve lived the lives of many of the characters…which, if you knew us, would be all but painfully obvious.

The process:  We change nothing from that evening’s presentation of share, sauce, laugh, pick, pour, wink, wine, taste, wit, crunch, smack, tease and play.  Only this time, people will be standing and sitting around the space like patrons at an art gallery, free to view the work from any angle they please.

The rules: Delight in the extraordinary work of truth. Celebrate what it is to be a woman in these (and in any) times, rough though it may often be. Enjoy an unusual evening of theatre that will make you howl, hiss, laugh, sob and say to yourself end-of-the-night: “we really are remarkable creatures, ain’t we?”

Simple.  True.  Real.  Just like the piece.

…I had never read or done any Churchill previous to this, though had heard much talk of her “Cloud Nine” (a sex-politics play of the first degree.)  Mdm. Director of the evening’s festivities, brilliantly likened Churchill’s style of work to that of a female Mamet…in content, topic, politics and most especially beat-work.  Her dialogues follow the true form of conversation, outside of polite society, “we all wait our turn to have our say” dogma.  No one “waits” here.  No one “minds their tongue,” or “keeps it close”…no one holds back their thoughts for a moment’s pause.  Sentences wrap, envelope, cut-off, cut-out, usurp, entangle and define one another continually.  Yet the joke (and truth) lies in the fact that with a room full of women, this is merely the kind of multi-tasking we relish in: we are able to do it all while also listening and responding to one another, throughout.  As opposed to Mamet’s work’s denying completion of thought, information and (often) actual conversation.  The beats are insanity and completely superb when achieved correctly.  The comedy is crisp, tart, acidic and jolly by turn.  The drama is jaw-dropping, in its insistence of righteous self-expression, earnest regret, and truthful grudging.

It’s frustrating.

It’s enlightening.

It’s humiliating.

It’s enticing.

It’s truthful.

It’s a mind-trip.

…After two months away from scripts and stages, lines, and study…the whole evening and it’s process was like that first taste of water following a drought.  You walk around knowing you’re thirsty all the time, but the minute your lips finally touch a water glass, it’s like the most wondrous element of delicious existence you can even fathom.

It’s been a long time.

…And I thought: if you wanna swig of refreshment, you should keep your eyes peeled for our “Save-the-Date.”  I guarantee, it’ll be wondrous.


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