Inside the artist's head - more scraps of paper

So here are some more scraps of paper. Most of them probably won't make sense to anybody but me (they're not supposed to) - and they are all extremely unrefined thoughts. But I thought they were interesting. Anytime there's a page break it means that we have moved on to a different scrap of paper. Some of these will be used as future full length actually thought out blogs:

Things from my family – I wish that I had my Aunt Susan’s gumption. That ability to have never met a stranger. To make friends with anyone. I don’t usually have trouble making friends – but she has the ability for instant friend rapport with anybody.

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Be Aggressive, B. E. Aggressive!
Or really, be assertive should be the title, but not as catchy as the well known cheer.
So I want to have a little talk about confidence and self-esteem and the way it manifests in women as well as me as an individual.
Where to start . . . hmmm . . . me. The me I am in my established environment and the me I am in new environments.
So I’ve known for years now, through my various psychology, sociology, cognitive perception, human communication, and theatre training classes – that women largely walk through life feeling as if they have to apologize for being assertive/aggressive, or even sometimes for existing. We must be quiet and small, we must (there’s where I stopped).

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Now I have nothing to write. Weird.

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Not only am I, for the first time, just barely, on my own and supporting myself, BUT this is my first time living away from home. Everyone else went away for college, I stayed. A lot of people went away after college. I stayed. Sure I’ve been away before, 3 months at the most, but I’ve never actually moved away from home and lived in a different state before. Technically I’m in a whole different part of the country. South to the North, baby. (All though some people might argue whether or not NC is truly southern. It may not be DEEP south like Mississippi, but it is still very much The South.)

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Working Halloween has been my favorite day so far at Wicked because I got to wear the witch hat.

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Idea – washerwomen
Lyrical
Rhythm of labor
Being same/similar to lyrical – “simplest verbal vesture of an instant of emotion” – pg.216 A Portrait of The Artist
We start with a cry that projects as mood – the mood of one person “the artist” in “the artist’s” imagination we see them create other worlds and we see the personality of the artist reflected in the rhythms of the world or the cries of individuals with in the world.

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Now the joy begins
I feel a sudden movement
From deep with in
A sudden jolt
A frantic stirring
To struggle off
Shuffle off this
Sloth
This
Leprous
Leisure
This stillness
This unquiet peace
This violent stillness
I want
Suddenly
On a whim
To be done with
And stretch out of this
Husk of sedentary life
I have been sedate

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New favorite Stacey Jaxx quote – “Everybody says Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, but I’d rather Come On Ilene.”

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I was listening to Billie Holiday just now and heard the song “strange fruit” for the first time and I got really angry. I’m not sure why. Well, yes I am. Because the fact that such things really happened is just . . . just appalling. The thought of it alone brings me to the brink of tears. And then my thoughts went on to the fact that there are people in the world who would think that I would not be able to fully feel the outrageousness of the situation or couldn’t possibly be truly outraged because I couldn’t identify with the victims because I myself am not a minority. So then I got into a fictional fight in my head with a fictional person in a fictional situation. It went something like this:
People say I cannot be as outraged, I cannot understand because I am not, I have not experienced life as a –
But I am outraged as a human being – and on behalf of human beings. How dare you say that I cannot identify? I identify with all of humanity regardless of what that humanity looks like, and esp. regardless of what that humanity looks like in comparison to me.
Just as the equality of women will not be found in the subjugation of men, just as the objectification of women will not end with the objectification of men, so too will outrages against humanity not end if we only allow certain parts of humanity feel outraged.
These are not the kinds of level playing fields I want to tread, for fear of tripping on the rudimentary straw patches in the road.

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Slipping verses under doors, sentences, letters – real and fictional, scraps of thought – idea from Portrait of the Artist

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Need to write about weekend with girls – magic.
Hanging out with Adam – setting up the rest of Backstage.

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That stuff you saved on your computer.


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Write about tour and decision making process.

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Ask who that chick with the ukulele and the video was


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Write about music – lack of
Plenty of “Got to get out of Raleigh music”, but haven’t found my happy to be in NY music.

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(This one is about the version of Orpheus and Eurydice I’m currently toying with)
Need to make Orpheus’ fall into love more difficult? Make him oblivious? Moody at his not achieving her? Or should his sending of songs on the wind continue to be hopeful and innocent.
Perfect love? Is there such a thing? How do we identify if it’s not HUMAN love? Imperfect – or perfect in its imperfections.

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I feel like I need to revisit HERO. There’s something brewing there.

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This is a letter I started to write to Stephanie during Eleemosynary rehearsals.

Dear Stephanie,
You know the saying “the more things change – the more things stay the same”? Boy, am I ever feeling it these days.
In life there are setbacks, there are always going to be. I have suffered some setbacks lately. Which is interesting when you feel like you’re only inching forward. But none the less – setbacks. Some of them were in my control and some weren’t, such as SETC-a setback both in and out of my control. No jobs – through SETC or otherwise. I could probably do more in the “otherwise” category, but none the less, once you put yourself out there, once you fill out the application or send your resume, it’s out of your hands. My hands. But that’s the stuff you know.
I’ve thought about you a lot after SETC. About loving the word “NO” about thriving on rejection. Its times like that when I am glad I have such an insightful friend in my life.
Regardless it’s my reaction to these setbacks that are interesting to me. The initial reaction is always panic. But it used to be that I would live in that panic, every second of every day feeling like the world was going to end. People wonder why depressives (meaning people who are depressed – is that a word?) Sleep all day. It’s because it’s exhausting.
So I still feel the initial panic, I think everyone does, but now it’s followed by a calm. The world keeps going. Isn’t that amazing? There are always more options, there are always more opportunities. The end has not come.
I WILL SURVIE (commence singing here)
So I think this means I am . . . getting better, growing up . . . I don’t know, but I think it’s a good thing.
Then, last night, the strangest thing happened. I’m in rehearsal for this show called Eleemosynary. Maggie Rasnick is playing my grandmother which is awesome, and this wonderful woman named Susannah Hough is playing my mother. Last night Susannah was having a bad night, and things got a little teary, so I gave her a big hug and told her, honestly, that I thought she was a truly fantastic woman. She said she felt the same way about me and THEN she said “You’re just so poised and . . . perfect. I wasn’t at your age.” And I laughed and said it was all a façade. Because it is. On the inside I feel like I’m filled with panic and consuming fire (not good fire). The more I thought about it the more I was astounded that she chose those 2 words. The last 2 words I would EVER use to describe myself. Poised is the exact opposite of what I feel I am and Perfect is something I try very hard NOT to be. I spent too many years trying to be perfect. What a waste. It’s an impossible endeavor that can never fulfill a human being. I revoke it – no, I reject it - with both hands.
But still – I am absolutely touched that this is how she sees me. I don’t know what this means I just felt like sharing.
This show – these past 2 nights of (and here is where it ended. But I picked it back up with a different thought on a different page)

I’ve been doing things lately that I have a huge fear of doing. I stand there before and during thinking “why the hell am I doing this?” and I have fully realized visuals in my head of saying “screw this. No, no, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I can’t.” and leaving with smoke behind me. But I do them. I face them. And afterwards I am left with this ridiculous calm. Very Zen, like I could face anything.
And I can.
I can play a crazy, cruel, half naked woman. I can play a 16 year old. I can stand that close to Sean, and I can sing in front of all those people.
So it stands to reason that if I can do all of those things then I can get a job, save money, and move to NY. I can do that. Watch me.


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To Do-
• Apply to grad schools – which ones, how much does it cost and how do I get there
• How much would winter stint at Shakes and Co. cost? How long?

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Ideas – Cabaret for this generation fighting on the front lines more to life than just surviving – we’re having fun but we’re getting tired - that Patty Griffin song.

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Show for Jesse – trapped in the basement

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Research busking license in NYC.

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New York Visitor
Paint the town Red, White, and Blue
Best Bagels H&H
Zabars Deli
Dakota’s 3rd Ave.
Circle line 3 hour tour
TBI Actors Studio.com

Thanks for setting us back 50 years! #2

Just some stuff that's been on my mind lately - another back up blog

This time last year I was helping build an exhibit at the North Carolina State Fair for Bill Brown. This guy Andy (not Hayworth) was my boss, in charge of the building and everything. He’s a nice guy but within the first day or two it became very clear to me that he was a sexist. I don’t think he knew it or did it intentionally, and it’s not like he was a pig, there were just these little things. Like this guy, who is a large guy, a little bit taller than me and a lot . . . rounder than me, looks at me on the first day and says that he doesn’t think I should be the one to shimmy underneath the platforms and toenail them together.

“Why not?” I asked, and he – red faced – said “how do I put this delicately, I think that your bosom might get in the way”. This coming from a man with terrible knees and back whose belly protrudes much farther than my “bosom”. After listening to him complain for ten minutes I asked to please, please, be the one to shimmy under the platforms and I did just fine. Well, I got stumped for a moment because the cordless drill was on reverse and he swore to me that this particular screw gun did not have a reverse button, but that was so not my fault. Later he started giggling at me after I muttered “righty tight-y, lefty loose-y” under my breath. Once again I asked him Why, and his response was that men never used that saying, it was just and instinctual thing. Uh-huh. I have since overheard things that have proven this theory untrue. In fact I hadn’t thought about any of this until just now when I saw a man on TV use the saying and got suddenly angry all over again.

Once again I was watching TV today and saw a washing machine commercial and a better homes and gardens commercial that once again pushed us back 50 years.
Last summer at my internship my boss, Gabe, asked me on one of my first days if I would make a sign for him. I said “sure, but I have terrible handwriting” Deborah, his boss, laughed and said that was everyone in the office, and Gabe had this adorable moment where he went “that was really wrong of me. I guess I shouldn’t assume you have pretty handwriting just because you’re a girl” and I was just blown away. Sexism for handwriting - it can get us in the smallest ways.

I don’t know what got a hold of me that I wanted to write about this all of a sudden, but I all of the sudden felt the need to get this out. I’m used to men not thinking I can pick things up, and being surprised because I am, in fact, freakishly strong. But I also went to an all women’s college where no one would have dared question my skills with a screw gun and no one was surprised that I have the handwriting of a serial killer.

I have no ending for this blog.

backup blog #1

I have a lot to write about, another whole Backstage Blog and lots of updates on how I'm running my actor life as well as my personal life (the latter won't entail much as I'm broke so mostly I'm not doing anything).

But while I'm gathering the rest of my thoughts and doing the rest of my research on these things I thought I'd give you all a few back-up blogs to entartain you while you wait.

This first one is about the subway (again) -
Good Subway/Bad Subway

Good Subway – Sometimes it feels magical, my very own TARDIS. I sit down, I read a book, a little while later I look up and am at my destination, the doors open magically and I simply step off and I am where I need to be.

Bad Subway – It’s ridiculous that I have to leave an hour and a half early to make sure I get to my job on time when we only travel about 8 miles. 8 miles! If I were driving in Raleigh 8 miles would take me 8 minutes! And the MTA is ridiculous when it comes to construction. There is always some construction somewhere, there is always some train not running when you need it, or running on the wrong line. And nothing ever actually seems to get fixed. I have heard several people say on several occasions that it’s not the terrorist that are going to blow up the subways in NY, it’s some poor soul who lives and works here and has been so screwed over by the MTA that they just . . . Can’t . . . TAKE IT ANYMORE!

Good Subway – Where else but a NYC subway can a train pull up next to you, the doors open, and in the frame of the doorway on the train a beautiful boy sits on a little stool playing the cello, on the train, beautifully? And then a few minutes later when you’re on the train and the doors open and people walk in, probably going to or coming from an early Halloween party, dressed as a dead bride with a fake baby hanging out of her stomach? Or on Halloween itself sitting back with your roommate while riding home on the train delighted to find out who or what would be getting on the train next! (I don't want to talk about the gramatical mistakes made in the previous senteces. Or how some of them aren't even actaully sentences.)

Bad Subway – I was walking out the other day and in the corner a giant person was sitting, asleep, with their pant legs rolled up. I look at the legs and they literally looked as if they were rotting off. And I didn’t know what to do. What do I do in that situation? Is there someone I should call? Surely there must be someone I can call, someone to report this to so they can get this person some help! Limbs should not be rotting off in the subway!

tour the apartment

Backstage.com pt 2

So I just finished posting my resume on Backstage. Yes, I went through the entire 10 page process, and it's up. I really don't know what that means - I think casting directors can now see me in a search. Which is cool. I didn't upload a head shot, though. The ones Maureen took are too large to upload to the website and I can make them smaller but I would have to download this thing, and it just seems like a lot - especially since Curtis has promised that my headshots will be in the mail any day now and his come along with smaller versions so . . . yes - celebrating each accomplishment, no matter how small - I finished posting my resume on Backstage.com. YAY!

I still have to fill out a cover letter and a bunch of other stuff, as well as setting up my own search guidelines so they will automatically tell me which auditions are up for my "type" (ugh, I hate that word, I refuse to be hemmed in by "type", my talent exceeds any "type"). And then, you know, comes the actually looking and setting up auditions and you know, actually going to them. But man oh man, I am making my way there. Even if I'm crawling, I will make my way there.

So, wide eyed young actor tip # twenty something (I'm sure it's twenty something by now) - Do all this before you get here.
But if you're like me and it takes all you have in you just to get here, so you don't do it before hand - I would suggest finding someone who has done this already, looking at their set up, and have them sit with you and walk you through it. There are things on there like "put a short (2 sentence) discription of yourself" for the resume portion. Now, they have an example for that one, but mine seems awfully similar to the example and it would be nice to look at some other people's to see what they said. I'm sure you can do that on the site - and I will eventually and tell you all about it. But also there are things you have to do like label your pictures with concise, accurate discriptions. I mean, other than "headshot" how would you describe these pictures? I have no idea. But once again, I will find out and tell you all about it.

Also, there is some information on the site that helps walk you through what to do, but man they don't make it easy to find.

Once again, let us celebrate each accomplishment, each time we cross something off of the to do list. I, Laura Bess Jernigan, now have an official resume on Backstage.com. I am an actor in New York City looking for work, and now people that are hiring actors in NYC can find me. That is ridiculously cool.

overwhelming

okay so finally subscribed to Backstage (thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful mother for getting me a 6 months subscription as an early Christmas present), but, man, let me tell you, the online site is overwhelming. I think they need to get a new web designer or something because there is so much going on just on the home page that I don't know what to look at or where to go first.
They should have a very clean home page with very clear and concise choices as to what you want to view. And also there should really be an entire section merely called "getting started" which lists the first thing you should do - like the first thing you should do is fill out the resume form so your info is online and then check out the listings for the things you're interested in and then . . .
That at least is the path that I am going to try. Although the whole overwhelming aspect of it had me terrified and just staring at the page for like 15 minutes at least. And I started filling out the resume portion and - gah! - it's like 10 pages of all the stuff that you, and I, and everyone else HATES filling out. I mean just HATE. If it was just, you know: name, age, height - and then cut and paste your resume info. that would be fine. Simple. Easy. No, I have to come up with all new and creative ways to describe myself to the theatrical community, and that's just the 3rd question!
Gah!
I know, it's not really that big of a thing and really not that hard and I should just bite the bullet and get it over with, but - well, maybe I'll just whine a few more minutes . . .

How to Find Audition Info

9/30/09

Wide Eyed Young Person Tips – WEYP Tips

When trying to find audition info –

You cannot just get on Backstage.com. You have to have a subscription. There are three different options. One is the premium package that includes all access to everything employers could post, everything you can post, and lots of other important info along with receiving a hard copy of the magazine delivered to you weekly. The 2nd option is to just have all of the online stuff. The 3rd option is to have all of the online stuff minus direct links to agents and agencies info.

See this is important information to have.

Actors Access – while not as useful – is free.

NY Casting is good for TV and commercial stuff.

Those last 2 tips were from Adam, I haven’t actually checked them out yet. I’ll let you know when I do.

Also, this means I have to wait till Thursday at least to do more research on Backstage.com. That’s when we get paid and that’s when I will have to make a decision as to which of the three options listed above I will choose. But I must subscribe and so subscribe I will.

The 23rd Annual Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids Flea Market regularly scheduled in Shubert Alley will now take place at Roseland Ballroom

Written 9/29/09

So Sunday night I came home feeling like absolute crap. My feet were in excruciating pain, my legs were in about as bad a shape, my shoulders were up to my ears, stiff and aching. I was exhausted. When I was planning on moving here and I was picturing the glamorous, fabulous life that I was going to live here, I did not picture me walking home from the subway wearing my mother’s giant Duke Medicine rain slicker poncho thing and carrying a bunch of plastic bags full of crap and my giant messenger bag with my lunch box full of my uneaten dinner, my hair a mess, my body stinking, and not a lick of makeup left on my face. I looked and felt like a mean cranky bag lady. This was not how I pictured my life.

But then again I was picturing this life from my room where I lived in Raleigh, North Carolina with my parents and unemployed. So I decided on my painful walk home from my subway stop to my apartment to take stock of things in the midst of my grumpiness. I had started the day early – yes – but it was for a good cause. We helped out the Araca booth at the annual Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids Flea Market. It was at the Roseland ballroom this year because of the rain (apparently it was the first time ever) and that meant squeezing a lot of people with a lot of merchandise and a lot of people wanting to buy a lot of merchandise into one place. It was crazy, crazy, crazy. But then again, Christopher Sieber was standing two tables behind us, that gorgeous Indian chick from Royal Pains was at the table across from me, and we raised what felt like a ton of money for a good cause. Also I met the guy who played Youth in Passing Strange. Now he wasn’t actually at the Flea Market but Shrek is literally right beside the Roseland and this guy is playing Donkey. So at one point amidst all the screaming and hawking of things, Matty yells over at me that Robin has more swag for us to sell at Rock of Ages. So I run out to go pick it up. I pass buy the stage door for Shrek and there’s this guy squatting against the side of the building, in the rain, listening to headphones. I think to myself – that looks like the guy who played Youth in Passing Strange. Then I round the corner and realize that I am in front of Shrek and that probably really was the guy who played Youth in Passing Strange. I take a few more steps and finally say – Screw it, you only live once, go meat the guy. So I did. I met him and talked to him for a second, told him how wonderful I thought Passing Strange was, thanked him for his performance and told him to break a leg for his matinee. Then off I went to get more stuff signed by the cast of Rock of Ages to sell for charity.

Then after several hours of selling in this ridiculously crowded “ballroom” Byron and I leave to go work the Wicked Matinee. There was a little bit of employee bonding done, I continue to think that Nicole is possibly one of the coolest chicks around, and then I have to hurry out of there to Next to Normal. I didn’t get out of Wicked till 6:30 and N2N starts at 7:30, which means walk up starts at 7:00, and I’ve never been to this theatre and I haven’t worked the show and I don’t know what all is entailed. So I hurry over like a crazy person thinking – was all this worth it just so I could watch this show? Turns out it was. N2N is by far the simplest show I’ve worked. It’s completely laid back - and you literally just stand at the top of the stairs and watch the show. It’s awesome. I got to hear Alice Ripley do her sound check . I got to hear Aaron warm up to Rufus Wainwright. I basically got paid to watch a Broadway show, and it was wonderful. I loved it. It’s just a beautiful show. Not a very happy show, but beautiful.

So – yes, I was sore and stinky and tired, but really, what did I have to complain about? Why was I grumpy? What a fantastic day. I mean really – what a wonderful fantastic day! So there’s this fine line between the glamorous side of this business and this city and the unglamorous. Maybe I am right now on the unglamorous side. But compared to where I was – I think that Sunday proved that I am just one step closer to that line. Just a step closer.

Good day.

Catching Up Pt 2

My last car dances in Poison Ivy

Scraps of Paper Pt 2

Wrote this in San Francisco

It’s interesting, this whole being adult thing.

There are thousands of things that I wanted to write about my first few weeks in New York city. About the first time I was in mid town and it rained, and how beautiful it was. About the rain last Sunday, how there was hardly a cloud in the sky and hot as Hades, but it rained anyway, and we sat outside eating in the sunshine while holding our umbrellas above us. Also I am kind of looking at this blog as a guide, a future guide to all young women who – just like me- would like to move to NY and “make it” in New York and like me have no idea how to go about doing. Really people who know nothing about it at all. Just like me. So that – unlike me, people will have some clues, some guidelines, some do’s and don’ts of which there are none out there now. At least none all written down in one central place. That I know of, anyway.

And now there are thousands of things that I want to write about this wedding. Not the least of which is, I miss my friends. Being with in their reach again, forging new levels in our friendships, new stories, and closer bonds, in this short time period is just both wonderful and heart breaking. I’m glad I came as early as I did and got to do as many wedding party stuff as possible.

Catching Up

This was from before I left - This is my car hitting it's big milestone on my way to visit Ginger in Florida.

Wheat Grass Shots

Tip # Whatever

Try new things

Such as wheat grass shots.

On the day of the Broadway street fair Byron Dement (my fellow Merchkin at Wicked) talked me into my first wheat grass shot ~

Get One Thing Done

9/23/09
On the D train crossing Brooklyn to Manhattan
More Wide Eyed Young Person tips:

- Get one thing done every day

Transferring your whole life someplace new is overwhelming. Sometimes it feels like there are a million things to do and you can’t begin to think where to begin and sometimes it feels like there is nothing to do. Or sometimes you just don’t feel like doing anything.

To understand more about why I feel certain tips are super important you need to know more about me. I am formerly a perfectionist. Okay, I still am, but a different type. It used to be if I didn’t get everything done and get it done perfectly then I would beat myself up (mentally, of course). Upon entering college and realizing that it was not only impossible to do everything but almost completely impossible to do any of it perfectly - my standard berating of myself sent me spiraling into a depression where I didn’t do anything – where I couldn’t do anything for several years.

So now instead of getting down on myself for what I didn’t do I champion myself for each thing I have done. I’ve never been one of those people that go ape shit for lists and crossing things off of them. Don’t get me wrong, I get that it feels good to cross things off of the lists – it’s just that usually when I make a to do list it just gets lost. So I have become very good at keeping track of lists in my head. And I constantly try to come up with the best place to keep a list (my phone has become the best place for my calendar, so I’m hoping it’s going to prove just as useful for my lists).

So in order not to beat myself up for becoming immediately immersed in “the business” I make myself get one thing done each day. So that eventually (and I mean any day now) my list of “finish putting pictures up” and “spray that last cabinet in the kitchen” will be gone and I will have no choice but to get the lists of “contact all those people you’re supposed to” and “look up some damn auditions already”.

Also, since having my eye opening magical night thanks to Jodi Monday night, I have decided to pick which list I get my one thing done off of. So last night I redoubled my blogging effort and tried to make a date with Jodi (she counts under contacts). Tonight my goal is to contact 1 other person and at least look up the backstage website so at least I know I can find the audition info.

So that’s my tip on how to keep from spiraling into despair once you get here and realize just because you’ve changed locations doesn’t mean you’ve changed your problems. Get one thing done every day – and champion yourself – celebrate yourself – for that one thing.

Congratulations, good job, you deserve a beer (even if you can’t afford to buy one).

What else . . .

- Did I mention there’s no air conditioning anywhere? There’s AC on the trains but the train platforms are one of the most miserable things you will experience – bring a hankie (if you’re from the south), some tissue, hell, even a hand towel – because you will be dripping with sweat in the summer. Something to fan yourself with is always good, too. I was using the post card from Kat’s play, now I bring the fan from Stephanie’s wedding with me everywhere.

- Bring your umbrella with you everywhere, too. That’s good advice wherever you are. And a pashmina in September because the minute you step inside a place that is air conditioned you’re sweaty little body will start to shiver.

- Germ X

What else . . . mid September weather goes up and down from high 50’s to low 80’s. This means that they have begun turning the air conditioning off in some of the trains. Sometimes you’ll get stuck on a hot train.

I have it in me to be passive aggressive. I come by it honestly – it had been passed to me from one generation of southern women to the next. I don’t like this in myself. There’s never a worse feeling than realizing you’ve been walked all over, it’s your own dam fault, and the only thing you know to result to is petty jabs that you give with a smile on your face. So I try to weigh very carefully the moments when I’m angry to see if they are petty or if I actually need to stand up for something. When living in an apartment with 3 boys where I do all of the cleaning (most of it, anyway) and do most of the buying of things to improve life in the apartment it’s a constant battle inside me.

They were obviously fine living in unorganized squalor before I got here. Yes, I’m the one who is keeping it clean but I’m also the only one who is unwilling to live with it messy. At which point do I get angry and at which point am I being a busy body pushing myself on other people’s lives?

Yeah I bought the fan for the bathroom but do I ask them for money for it when apparently they were fine with the stinky, stuffy, pre-fan bathroom?

I believe the bath mat will stop smelling bad if we hang it over the side of the tub when not using it. I’m not their mother; I can’t make them put the bath mat up.

Where is the line?

Anyway, gotta get off the train now. More later.

D Train Memoirs

These were written on scraps of paper during my first two weeks here -

It’s hard to get a chance to collect your thoughts here. Scratch that – it’s hard to get a chance to collect your thoughts when sharing room with MRL. He’s wonderful but we do a lot of talking and laughing and singing so it’s hard to stop and take a moment. So where as last summer I did all of my writing late at night alone in my room, here I find I do most of it waiting for the D train, which has become my new best friend.

It also makes it hard because I end up writing it all down in these mini notebooks instead of in my big journal or directly onto my computer.

Currently I’m waiting to go to the East Village. Ashley Lewis is living there for the moment and I said I’d go out to visit her so I could explore this new part of town (well new to me) and if it wasn’t so late (9:35) I would be taking the directions that Hop Stop gave me and gotten on a bus for the last leg of the journey. I’m not brave enough to try the bus yet. Not this late at night.
Also, as I just got on the train there is a strange noise being admitted from the train itself and the man behind me is listening to his IPOD loud enough for the whole train to hear.

So, let’s review. Mom left a week ago today (feels like longer somehow). After she left MRL went to work and then – magically Holly came over. That was wonderful. She helped me clean some things up and then she and I went to the Pizza place down the street, and then off to a different part of Brooklyn to watch Adam Patterson’s open rehearsal. It was my 1st time on the subway as a resident. We found the place all right, hot as Hades and air conditioning (nobody has air conditioning here). It was a very interesting show. A movement based piece about Elephant psychology. That’s right I said elephant psychology. The movement part was awesome – Anne Bogart and Tina Landau would be proud. But I feel the music often didn’t fit well w/the work being done (which Adam says was the point). Adam was of course, amazing.

We went and had a beer with Adam and the people from his show and then Holly and I went back to my place for a sleep over with MRL.

Wednesday night MRL took me to see Julie and Julia midnight showing and I made it into the city for the first time by myself. Wait – that doesn’t track. I don’t know what we did Wed. night. That must have been – yes – Wed. I had my job interview and then I think that’s when we got our wireless router – so all 4 roommates were home and we all sat around like great lumps and stared at out computer screens. Ah – the wonder of technology.

THURDAY night Matty took me to see Julie and Julia at midnight. The next night I went into the city late again to have drinks with MRL and Saturday night was my Welcome to NYC party at Greg’s where I got to meet all of Kat’s friends that she’s been talking about forever but the only people of mine who came were MRL and my new roommate Ray. However we had a great time playing apples to apples and trivial pursuit. We managed to break my camera when Greg broke a bottle of sweet tea vodka he had bought especially for the occasion.

That’s the end of that scrap of paper.

Next scrap of paper

This morning I woke up disgruntled and un-amused. I got on the train worrying about being late and was lost in thought until we went over the bridge, back into gorgeous sunlight and I saw those rays hit the city and all I could think is “another beautiful day in the city” and it is beautiful – despite the heat. I was looking over it thinking how it felt like one giant amusement park or a circus – and it was with this thought of circuses in my head that my eyes landed on a billboard on the side of a tall building across from the bridge with nothing but the word DUMBO written in large colorful letters. I’ll take that, I thought. I’ll take that.

Would have given myself a dollar to call number under it, too. But then we were back underground and in the dark.

And then it pleases me to know that no matter how disgruntled and un-amused I am when I get on the train back to Brooklyn at night there will always be a moment when I can look across the bridge and see the city all lit up and spread out in front of me – and that thought makes me smile.

Next scrap of paper -

I went to Kat's fundraiser for her fringe show - then left early and went to hang out with Matty at Rock of Ages for the 2nd act. First night there.

"What a releif to end the night in the theatre. A feeling of home no matter how many people I do or don't know.It would have been better had they put me to work at Kat's thing. I must have a purpose."

It's A Magical World I Live In

So last night I went to see Love, Loss, and What I Wore off Broadway at the Westside Theatre. Jodi Schoenbrun Carter, who was the managing director when I was interning at The Westport Playhouse last summer, is now the associate managing director of the Daryl Roth theatre who put on the show. Also Amy Claussen, who interned with me, is currently the directing intern there. Jodi and I have been trying to get together since I moved to NYC and she had sent out an e-mail saying that she could get a few of us people whom she loved tickets to see the show. Which is a big deal considering it’s a cast full of famous people – Tyne Daly, Rosie O’Donnell, Natasha Lyonne, Samantha Bee (whom you might know from The Daily Show), and Katie Finneran (who has a slew of Broadway credits, as well as TV shows – and I must have seen her on one of them because she seems awfully familiar to me. It could also be because she bears an uncanny resemblance to Mary Kathryn Walston).

So I went. And can I just say what a wonderful night it was. Not just because the show was great – which it was. I mean I laughed, teared up a little bit, and laughed some more. Beyond that – I was absolutely charmed. The show is vaguely Vagina Monologue-esque but has a little bit more of a – charming quality to it. Charming is the best word I can come up for. Just leaves you grinning. And wanting to hug all the women around you. And all of the women on that stage.

However it was also a wonderful night because I went by myself. This might seem odd, but I live in an apartment with 3 other people, until recently 4 other people. And most of the stuff I did out and about was either at work or hanging out with some of those same people (or occasionally with Adam). So it was nice, no it was wonderful, to go out into my new city on my own and find my way on my own and enjoy a night on my own. I was able to think my own thoughts, form my own opinions, without any one else putting their two cents in. Don’t get me wrong – I love Matthew Ryan – but I am remembering why it was nice to be able to get away from him and now I can’t. That still sounds bad. MRL has a strong personality that I admire him for. But in any relationship with two people of strong personalities it’s nice (not to mention good for the relationship) to spend time apart.

Also I got to explore a part of NYC that I hadn’t yet since moving here. This sounds crazy since the Westside Theatre is only a few blocks and avenues away from where I work, but honestly – I never go to 42nd street. Ever. Rock of Ages is on 47th and Wicked is b/t 50th and 51st. I never go down there. 42nd street is awesome! It’s full of glitz and glamour, even the subway stops are all glitzed up with neon and color. It was a lovely walk down the four and half avenues from the 42nd street subway station to the Westside Theatre. Not just that – but apparently last night was the opening at the Met so when I got out at the subway station and walked over Times Square all of the big screens were playing the opera and the music was coming through the big loud speakers. The whole of time square was filled with opera music. Everyone was stopped and staring up at the screens. Absolutely magical! Where else does that happen? This is the city I live in, and it’s wonderful. And it’s huge. And it’s filled with people and moments and happenings and magic. All you have to do is look for it. Not even that, all you have to do is go out your front door and be open to it happening. All you have to do is walk out your front door and be there. All you have to do is show up.

I’ve been here for a month and a half now. If I compare that to my three months in Westport and what I had accomplished in the same amount of time, not to mention what I had written, I get a little sad. I haven’t written much. It is my intention to take this blog and make it into some sort of informative guide for all of the young women who come after me who have no idea what they are doing. So that they might then have some idea what to do. But I haven’t written the things that I’ve learned, and I’ve become a bit blasé about learning them. A slump is bound to happen after this big of a change – a lethargy if you will. I’ve got Kat and Adam telling me not to feel pressured or rush into the audition scene to make sure I don’t get overwhelmed while still adjusting to my new life. On the other hand I have my Mom, Adam (on a different night) and this fabulous guy at work Chris C. saying what the hell am I waiting for? Or as Chris says – you didn’t move all the way up here to sell t-shirts. Which is true. I didn’t. But it took everything I had in me just to get here. The next step is going to take a whole lot of inspiration. And last night I think I got it. Being around Jodi and Amy and seeing people doing this thing that I love to do away from the influence of the people I am usually around inspired me. I want more. I want to know what’s going on. I want to know what I’m doing. I want to love my life. I want to live that life with no regrets. One of the reasons I moved here is so I would never have to wonder. Well I’m going to keep on wondering if all I did was move here and not really try anything.

That being said – not getting too overwhelmed is good advice. It will do me no good to go to auditions overwhelmed, and I don’t make good impressions when making contacts if I am overwhelmed. So starting yes – but still taking it slow. I’m not going anywhere. I live here now. Opportunities don’t stop next week. But they start all the time!

So here we are – Laura’s tips for those planning to hop on board the NYC theatrical dream –

· In NYC there is no such thing as separate checks. I learned this the night my mom left, when out with Adam and Holly. Asking your server for separate checks at a bar or restaurant is taboo. If you all have cards – what you do is take the bill and write on the back of it how much money you want to put on each card and then give your server all of the cards. Basically – do it for them and tip them well.

· While you’re at it, make sure that the bar, restaurant, bodega you are at takes cards. Some of them only take cash.

· At all of your local bodega’s there is the visitor price (or as Amy calls it – the rich white girl price) and the local price. If you plan on frequenting a bodega – pick one, go to it often (everyday – buy a $1.00 coke – with cash!) be nice, flash a smile. Within a week or two you will get the local price, as well as a friendly relationship with your local bodega owner who can give you the skinny on the best deals around. And if you’re lucky you will get the bodega’s business card and they will then deliver directly to your apartment anything you want anytime you want for no delivery charge. I haven’t actually used this magical delivery number (mostly because I never have cash) but I have the card on the fridge like a badge of honor. Matthew Ryan and Ray have been here for over a year and had no clue that these guys delivered. Hehehehehehe – it pays to be cute (which is what Salah the bodega guy calls me when I come in – Hi, Cute!)

· If you happen to know someone who is an assistant for someone relatively famous and they invite you to that relatively famous person’s birthday party and say dress up – make sure you ask what kind of place you are going to, what kind of dressed up you should be, and what the best time to get there is. That way you don’t end up like me in front of a posh club that only lets in the hot girls (yes, these places actually exist – the doormen will say “let me see the girls” and the girls will line up and the ones most scantily clad or the ones that get in) dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a nice pink cardigan. The thinking behind this outfit being when you were told to dress nice that meant the kind of nice you could go out with your parents in. Not the kind of nice you could get picked up on the corner in. Also – if this is something you are interested in (which I’m not really, but it would have been an interesting experience) make sure you come with clothes you could get into a posh club wearing. As I stood in line for an hour and a half repeatedly telling them who I was with and that my friends were inside it occurred to me not only that I was not dressed for this type of place but that I don’t actually own any clothing that would be appropriate for this type of place.

· Dishwashers do not exist. Private washing machines and dryers do not exist.

· Roaches do exist. They are a part of life. If you live in NY you live with roaches. However if you do your dishes as soon as you are done with them, wipe the counters down and take the trash out before you go to sleep and keep all of your food stuffs in some sort of plastic container or large sandwich bags the roaches will not be tempted to come out of the walls at night. Their numbers might be overwhelming, but if you put in just a little bit of time and effort and use a Raid type spray, roach traps, boric acid, and a homemade remedy of sugar and baking soda, they will lessen to almost a point of disappearing.

· Having stuff from home and pictures of the people you love helps.

· Skype helps.

· Snail mail helps.

· Take everything you hear about the industry with a grain of salt.

· When entering a new situation, keep your mouth shut till you learn the politics.

· Yes, there are plenty of straight play auditions as well as musical auditions.

· That’s all for now – but believe me there is more. Stay tuned for more videos and several interrupted thoughts that I got half written in the past month and a half.

Adventure! (pt 2) Debacle

The tenses in this one are all screwed up. Didn't feel like editing!

So Mom is supposed to fly out to Boston on Friday morning (the day before we’re supposed to leave), and fly back in Friday night. She and I would then pick up the U-Haul truck around 10am Saturday morning and start loading everything up. As soon as we are done we are supposed to get in the truck and drive to Philadelphia and stay with a friend of mom’s for the night. Sunday we were supposed to get back in the truck and be in Brooklyn by lunch time. EZ PZ.

This was the plan. Well – as Lormarev likes to say – we plan, God laughs.

So Mom flies out on Friday morning. Then Friday night as Jesse is picking me up for my “last night in town” we find out that because of the storms all up and down the east coast her flight home has been cancelled. She has to find a hotel for the night and the only way she can get back on Saturday at all is if she flies to MIAMI and then to Greensboro where my Step-Dad would pick her up. It is now extremely unlikely that we will be leaving on Saturday at all.

So Jesse and I go see Turn of The Screw at Hot Summer Nights (which was fabulous) and then go to the Burough for my last hurrah in Raleigh as a resident. Blasty-Blast. Total Debauchery. Raucousness ensued (you can see the pictures on Facebook). I get a little tipsy (to say the least) and as I no longer have a car Taylor and Jesse drive me home (we stop at Cookout), I drink a ton of water and go to sleep.

Brilliant me.

Wake up next morning around 8am, pack a few more things, then Terry and I go to pick up the U-Haul. We ordered a 10ft truck, they only have a 14ft truck. Fine. I reach in my wallet for my debit card to pay for the truck and . . . it’s not there. No debit card. Gone. So embarrassing. Terry has to pay. We go back home with the truck then I immediately hop into my mom’s car and drive back to the Burough on the off chance that someone will be there and they would have found my card. No one’s there – silly girl – they don’t open until 4pm! I call Taylor to see if by some chance it is in the back of his car, leave a ton of messages at the Burough telling them my plight, and go back home.

Of course, of course, this is something that I never do – have never done! And the one time I lose my debit card is the night before I move and because I sold my car there is more money in my account than there has ever been ever. Of course!

Mom has managed to get a flight through D.C. to RDU and gets home around 3pm, after Terry and I load the whole truck by ourselves (I think I sweated off 14 pounds), and shortly after that I get a call from both Taylor and The Burough saying my card was nowhere to be found. Had to call and freeze it. But no one had charged anything so it wasn’t stolen. Just disappeared from the face of the earth. I finished packing, because despite the fact that I had finished packing almost everything 2 weeks ago there was still a pile of crap in the middle of my floor that I had no clue how to pack.

So I finished that, went to sleep, then Mom and I leave at 4am on Sunday morning. This should have put us into Brooklyn around 2:30.

Nuh-uh. Nothing doing.

The 1st half of the drive was great – and mom drove the whole way (I don’t think she trusted me to drive the thing). So I slept most of it. But just outside of Delaware (or was it Baltimore?) we hit wall to wall traffic and lots of rain. Same on the Jersey turnpike – wall to wall – crawling along. Apparently the weekend is when it has the most traffic. And if you need gas on the Jersey turnpike – forget it. You can’t pump your own gas in New Jersey, someone HAS to pump it for you, and that plus the traffic means the line to the pump is around the corner.

So what should have taken us 9 hours took us 12. We didn’t get there till 4pm.

Not to mention the fact that anytime I was awake there was a HUGE part of me thinking “What in the world am I effing doing? This is absolutely the crazy. Turn around! Take me back to my house and my room and my friends and green, green North Carolina and the lake! Turn around! Maybe Andy will sell me my car back!” And this is made ten times worse when we get to Brooklyn and have to deal with Brooklyn traffic and crazy Brooklyn drivers, and the GPS was very confused and kept giving us conflicting directions. All I could think was “No, no I don’t like this. I HATE this. I’ve always hated this, why on earth did I think I wanted to come here?”

And then we couldn’t find a place to park the monster truck in reasonable distance to my building, and then we did find one but it was in front of a fire hydrant (non-working MRL assured us). There are fire hydrants effing everywhere, by the way. Every five feet, it feels like. But we give up and park there anyway. Then we have to unload. Thank God it had stopped raining and there was a cool breeze blowing – but it was just me and MRL as mom had to stay and guard the truck.

But then, about half way through, something WONDERFUL happened. People came! Kat showed up, my new roommate Joey came down to help, and Amy Claussen came. Poor Amy, had so much to do but came anyway, got all sweaty moving stuff in, and then had to leave without dinner because we couldn’t find a place to sit down and eat. And we got everything in! And ate really good Chinese food!

And then mom and I left to go to the B&B she was staying at so we could get some sleep and take a shower. We called a cab and on the way over I had a mini breakdown. Then we get there and it’s lovely – everyone coming to visit Brooklyn should stay there – BB’s bed and breakfast.

But about 4:30am mom wakes up and starts freaking out convinced that the U-Haul (which she calls a U-Haul It) has been towed because of the broken hydrant and we will never find it. And she can’t get back to sleep. So finally I call MRL at 5:30am so he can check and see if it is still there. It is. But we have to move it by 8:30am anyway because we’re in a loading zone.

But the next day was better. After we got rid of the U-Haul everything was a lot better. Then it was all cabs and public transport and a lot less stressful.

The unpacking part I’m okay with – I like it – it makes me feel like . . . I’m starting something new and making it my own. The going shopping with mom part I like – we get to pick out little things we need in the apartment.

(I’m skipping over the semi-disastrous but successful Target run in the U-Haul to get a microwave where mom just went around and around the block wile MRL and I were inside because there’s no place to park the monster truck.)

And there are all of these fantastic ( at least I think they are) 99 cent stores all around the apartment. They are these cash only, Asian owned places a block away from me where I can get anything – ANYTHING – I could possibly need for super cheap. If they had air conditioning I could spend all day there.

The rest of the time is spent cleaning and unpacking and mom cleaning the kitchen (there are roaches) and back at BB’s then back to the apartment and more shopping and unpacking and then mom has to leave. And oh, oh, oh I love my mother. I am under no illusions that without my mother I would not be here, that I am a spoiled brat who doesn’t deserve – that most people don’t have the mother that I have to help them get here.

And I hug her goodbye as she gets in the cab to JFK.

And I almost cry. Almost. I’m almost crying now – writing this.

Part of me wanted to grab her and say “Don’t go! You don’t have to go! Just move in with me here!”

Because in the end, no matter how much I want to be independent, no matter how many tiff’s we have over the difference between mayonnaise, miracle whip, and actual salad dressing – I am still, and always will be, a little girl at heart and I want my mother with me always.

I wish I knew better words than thank you. But Mom, Mamma, Mommy, Mother of mine – Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.

So – a debacle filled few days to be sure, and at the time not funny. But looking back it gets funnier, and every day it will be funnier still.

Next – stay tuned for MRL and I’s adventures in decorating and traversing the big city. MRL’s getting a big “Thank You” from me as well. He’s gotten me an apt, a job, and has babied me through big city transportation. Talk about a God send.

I swear he’s going to get real sick of me real soon.

First trip from Brooklyn to the City

Adventure! (pt 1)

There are many things that seem, well, trying at the time that they happen. But if you have a sense of humor (and I like to think that I do) you know while they are happening that when you look back on it, it’s going to be really funny.

About a month or so before I left (maybe more like 2 months) I had one of these trying times. I went out on a Friday with Andy and Lizzie and Maureen. We went to the Raleigh Times and then to the Borough, and I ended up drinking more than I had expected, or being affected by the drinking more than I had expected, and I decided I shouldn’t drive home. Except I wasn’t going home, I was cat sitting for Maggie so I was going to Maggie’s. I called Lormarev who very graciously came out to pick me up and dropped me at Maggie’s. The next day I was even more affected by the drink than I had figured on and spent the majority of the day hugging Maggie’s toilet. By the time I was well enough to drive and someone was around to pick me up it was after 10pm. Jesse very graciously came to Maggie’s and took me to the parking deck where my car was. As he drove away I discovered that my battery was dead. Jesse was not feeling well and had to perform in Cabaret the next day. So we tried for about an hour to jump the car and when it was clear there was nothing else Jesse could do, I told him to go home and called triple A. The AAA guy came and tried several different tactics to jump start my car, none of which worked. I would have to buy a new battery. I could not do that until the morning. So he left and I called Lormarev, yet again, to come and rescue me. At this point it was almost 2am and she was not happy. But she gets in the car with her two brothers to keep her awake and drove to down town Raleigh to pick me up.

By the time she gets there it’s around 2:30-3am and I get in the car and we start to drive down Hillsborough Street. We get around Readers Corner and we see a guy on a skate board fall and end up laying half in –half off the street. He didn’t move. So Lormarev turns around, I call 911, and when we get back he has been helped up by 2 guys, and we pull up next to them to make sure he’s okay. Turns out it’s Elijah Vick. Now I haven’t seen Elijah Vick in like 3-4 years, and from the way he was acting I have no idea if he recognized me. I think at one point he called me Kat. But the gist of it is, he wouldn’t let us help him. Flat out refused to even let us get close enough to him to see if he’s okay. However he was stumbling around and clutching his head and not making any sense at all, so not wanting to take the chance that he had a concussion instead of just being blazed out of his mind, we follow him. In the car. It truly looked like he was going to fall over and pass out and any minute. We get from Readers Corner to about Oberlin, passing him, turning around, passing him again, all the while I’m on the phone with the 911 operator trying to get an ambulance to come to us. When we get to Oberlin he turns up the street toward the houses and the woods, and we corner him in the bank parking lot. He still refuses to let us help him. Lormarev gets angry and gets out of the car to approach him and talk to him and make him listen. He crouches down with skateboard in hand, Lormarev convinced that this mutha is about to hit her with a skateboard, and he says “5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1” and jumps into the air, runs through a yard and into some woods where we can’t follow him. At this point we have to give up and just hope he’s okay. (He’s fine, by the way)

At the time this was not funny. It was kinda scary. But now – HILARIOUS!

Or, you know, maybe you just had to be there.

My mother and I getting me to NY was similar to this. Stay tuned for details.

Did you know?

Hey! Harry Potter is older than I am! He was born in 1980! How weird is that?

cry, go on, cry

Caution: If you have not read the 6th and 7th Harry Potter books and don't want plot points to be spoiled for you, do not read the first half of this blog.

I re-read HP book 6. I didn't cry the last time, because when I read it the first time I didn't believe it. So this time reading it again and knowing that Dumbledore does not show up again, I wept. And of course once I finished with book 6 I couldn't help but start re-reading book 7. It's interesting because this is the first time I read it all for myself. Last time Kat read most of the first part of it out to me, because I wouldn't buy it until I was done with my summer classes. So reading it fully with my own voices and my own inflection is a very interesting experience. And of course the ending of this series is such a twist that going through and re-reading the books with the knowledge you have now that you didn't have before is absolutely fascinating. Despite all of that - the only place I've cried in book 7 is the same place it was before. The death of Dobby. Just wept.
I have softened in my age. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? When I was younger I cried at almost every movie (I even cried when I watched Clueless the first time, at the point where she wasn't popular any more, I really identified with that) and then I went through a period of many, many years where I didn't cry at any movie or play or book. But the last couple of years it's been slowly creeping back up on me. I'm going to end up a weak little weeper. I don't want to be a weak little weeper.
Also I didn't used to be squeemish at all. I grew up a country bumpkin in the woods and spent half of my childhood in hospitals helping to change my own dressings. Things involving wounds I usually found cool, and while vomit was not pleasant it didn't really phase me. The same with creepy crawly things, as long as the spider wasn't on me, I was okay with it. I also like snakes. Plaid with toads. I was a tomboy in a pink polka-dot dress.
Now I find myself high maintenance enough to have to bring my own special hair dryer on trips, I get squeemish watching medical dramas, I cry in movies, and occasianally I jump and scream at the sight of spiders. What on earth happened to me?

Giving Up The Ghost

sometimes you hold on and hold on to something that it doesn't make any sense to hold on to and everyone thinks you are crazy for holding on so long.
well tonight, I was forced to come to terms with the fact that I am going to have to let go.
i am moving to new york. I will be doing this beginning of August at the latest.
see you all there.

Thanks for setting us back 50 years!

There's this commercial out there - I don't know what it is advertising because about 2 seconds into the commercial I get so livid I can no longer process information - this commercial makes me want to puke.

I think it's a vitamin commerical, now that I think about it.

It starts off by saying something like: "Of all the things made just for men" and then it proceeds to flash images of products - implying that these products are things made just for men. The pictures they show include a TV and a cordless drill. Really? TV's are made just for men? And a cordless drill? I use cordless drills! JUST for men? I feel personally affronted by this commercial. I can't actually believe that this was allowed to air.

No - for anyone out there objecting to this little rant - it does not make me feel better that there is a commercial out there that says the same thing for women. It's the women's vitamin version. The commercial starts off by saying: "Of all the things made just for women". I've not even been able to watch this commercial far enough along to see what the images of products are that they flash on this commercial. I am sure it is a washing machine, a baking pan, and a skirt or heels or something.

I cannot believe these ideas are being promoted in today's society. It's subliminally confirming what every male chauvinist believes, and brain washing America's youth to believe we are, in fact, still in the 1950s.

This commercial makes me want to throw things at my television. This commercial makes me want to break my television. This commercial makes me want to break all televisions. Maybe it would be better for everyone if I did.

geese metaphors for life

Sometimes even those capable of flight have to cross a road:



There's a metaphor for life in there somewhere right?



Now - help me pick out a future dog.

I hung out with a lhasapoo puppy all last summer and fell madly in love. That's a cross between a lhasa apso and a poodle. They're just little fluff balls. And I normally don't like small-yapper-type dogs, but this one and his whole fam were totally chill.

But I want a big dog. Which makes me want a doberman, a bull dog, a pitt bull, or a great dane (I don't really think I could deal with a great dane but they are just beautiful, aren't they?)

Bull Dog isn't really a big dog, per say, but I think our personalities would suit each other.


What do you think? Future dog? You know, for when I don't live in an apartment on the edge of brooklyn's china-town, sharing an apartment with 3 gay men.


Gotta go watch Torchwood.

life is a cabaret, old chum

Went to see the preview of cabaret at RLT last night. Can't tell you how I liked it because I didn't really see it.

what, what, what? you ask.

well, I'll tell ya - I get really excited about audience interaction and feeling like I'm all up in the action as an audience member. So when Lormarev and Jesse told me that there were seats on stage, oh yeah, I wanted those. Jesse warned me to get there early because there was this one table - the farthest up stage - which had the worst view ever. And I was early. Very early. However Abbey (who was my date that evening) was not. So of course we climb our way on stage and the only table left is the one all the way back.

So while I did enjoy seeing it from the stage and all the lovely stuff that went along with it - there was so much that I couldn't see and so much that I couldn't hear that I spent the majority of the time bored. I know, bored at cabaret.

So I'm really excited that I get to see it again tonight.

Meanwhile on the upside from last night - sitting on stage meant I got felt up by Lormarev alot! And she kissed me!

The lights came up at intermission and I looked at Abbey and said "hey! you have a kiss on her cheek!"

she said "Do I? Oh, hey! So do you!"

I kept mine on all night.

Isn't it interesting how some days everything seems connected? Like you find yourself talking about the same subjects with different people all day long. Yesterday was like that. I ate dinner at Two Guys with Lormarev and Ryan Brock, and we started talking about how we don't think we could share space if we ever got seriously involved with someone.

Lormarev was talking about her entire space, Ryan was talking about not wanting someone to see his room, and I started talking about not being willing to sleep in the same bed with someone. I do wierd things in my sleep. No one should have to see it.

So after the show I went out with Maureen (there was an extra ticket so I called her up) for ONE drink at the draft house. 3 hours and 2 beers later we finally left. We ended up talking about similar things. It was a good time. I miss Maureen. We talked about the show and movies for the first 2 hours and then didn't get to the personal stuff until after we payed our checks. So we just stayed and talked some more. It was really, really . . . nice.

Seriously, I'm gonna use this thing

I have several posts in my head - one still half done from SETC even, and several from Eleemosynary rehearsals, including one about my amusement at Susannah calling me "perfect" something I avoid being at all costs. But as none of these have made their way onto my blog, I thought I'd just get on and tell you guys what I did today.

Today I went through the pile of boxes behind the couch in the bonus room full of kitchen stuff that my mom was convinced probably all needed to be thrown away. Not true. Most of it is lovely useful stuff. But it all needed to be gone through before I moved.

Oh yeah, for those of you who haven't heard yet, I'm moving. To NYC. Either in July or September depending on Metamorphoses (long story). Either way I am moving in with Matthew Ryan sometime in the next handful of months.

So today I went through all the kitchen stuff that has been sitting behind my couch for, what, 3 years now? 4?

I miss that old apartment. I miss it a lot.

I am super sxcited about my new life in my new apartment.

The apartment which should have reality tv camera's everywhere for a tv show called: 3 gays and a girl.

Any way, I've gone through it all and posted pictures of it all on facebook for MRL to look at and tell me what stuff he wants me to bring with me.

So right now the floor of the bonus room looks like this:



and will until I find out what MRL wants me to bring. And then what? Oh well, hell, isn't that always the question?

Currently I'm using the state of the floor as an excuse not to work out.

How long do you think that will last?


I was thinking maybe I'll take at least one picture every day to put on this things. That way I have to write at least a sentence every day. That's a good goal, right?

PAY ATTENTION TO ME

I stated in a previous post that I am happy living this solitary life - and I am. Or was. It is amazing how quickly it can go from being happy to be left alone to being terrified of being left alone. Sometimes it feels like this:

It's like I am on fire
can you see me?
I'm burning
it's just below my skin
it's lighting up every nerve in my body
making all the buzzers sound
and it's not a good "I'm on fire"
it's a strange kind of slow torture
and I don't know where it comes from
I don't know what is wrong
I'M BURNING!
I'm burning.
Everytime we touch - I burn
Everytime we don't - I burn
Everytime I fail - I burn
Everytime I am at a loss as to what to say - I burn
I'm doing that thing again
where I sit or stand in the middle of a room
very still
as still as I can
and I stare in front of me
and I cannot move
because if I were to move
I would scream!
I would yell
I would tear down the walls
and tear off my skin
I would scream that I am burning
and I don't know where it's coming from
but I fear its from with in
what if it is from with in me?
what does that say about me?
that my insides are made up of churning flames
capable of melting me from the inside out?
one day
you will come upon me
a worthless puddle at your feet
and you will still not understand
and step through it
step through me
at least then
I won't be burning anymore.

Here We Go

Just 'cause my crazy addiction to the Theatre makes me feel a little depleted and a little fabulous all at the same time I thought I'd post the lyrics to Ani Difranco's Freak Show just so ya'll can see where my head is at . . . if my head is anywhere . . .

“life in the circus ain't easy
but the folks on the outside don't know
the tent goes up and the tent comes down
and all that they see is the show
and the ladies on the horses look so pretty
and the lions are lookin real mad
and some of the clowns are happy
and some of the clowns are sad
but underneaththere's another expression
that the makeup isn't making
life under the big top
it's about freedom
it's about faking
there's an art to the laughter
there's a science
and there's a lot of love
and compliance

welcome to the freak show
here we go...

we live to hear the slack-jawed gasping
we live under a halo of held breath
and when the children raise up a giant shield
of laughter, it's like they're fending off death
and we can make something bigger
than anyone of us alone
and then the clowns will take off their makeup
and the people will go home
but life on the outside ain't easy
no sequins, no elephants,
no parading around
yeah, the tent goes up
and the tent comes down
and they're stuck in this fucking town

you need a lot of love and compliance

welcome to the freak show
here we go . . ."

deflate

deflate
and breathe
it's a confusing thing
survival
you can talk about dreams
see them clearly laid out before you
but putting them into action becomes
complicated beyond
imagination
and suddenly
survival becomes a web
you are not sure how you became tangled in
sure - all these dreams are nice -
but I can't even support myself
I can't even get a job
not that I want to
not that kind of job
but how do you find
what is the middle
where am I supposed to . . .
what's left to be done
what's next to be done
and day to day becomes what it is all about.
How did that happen?

forgiveness

I don't think that I'm someone that easily holds grudges. The ones that I do notice clinging to me I try to let go of, I don't want to live my life that way. It's to hard to live life that way. Grudges take attention and energy and drain you.

I know that I will have to forgive my father. I'm not entirely sure that some part of me hasn't already. But does this mean, if I forgive him, that I then have to have him in my life? To me that seems like an even worse drain of energy. Having my father in my life seems like it would make me more unhappy than happy.

There is another person who I know I need to forgive. This person is someone to whom I was feircely loyal for years, someone I looked up to. At one point this person started doing things that to me felt like a slap in the face. Because of my loyalty and love of this person I kept going back, again and again, to get slapped in the face again and again. And then I stopped. Because I figured out I was better than that. My love of this person did not die, but I stopped thinking that I had to put up with the abuse (all of this is figurative, no one actually slapped me). Now this person is coming to me and wanting to be a part of something that I built in defiance of them (I doubt this person knows that's why I built it). I don't know if I can say no to this person. I don't know if I can fit them into my new thing either.

Then there is another person I need to forgive, a friend. Someone who I thought would be my friend forever. This person went through a very hard time a couple of years back and I did everything in my power to help them through it. Instead I got pulled down with this person. This left me scarred. If I forgave this person, I would want to try and rebuild this friendship. But you know what I feel a lot of the time when meeting NEW people? That I already have enough friends. I have lots of them - I am very blessed - and they are wonderful. Is it worth the effort?

And that's what I want to know. I know that not forgiving people is like cancer. It will eat at you and make you bitter and you will fester and rot. But does forgiving, really truly forgiving, completely forgiving someone mean that I have to fit them into my life? If it does, then is it worth the effort?

I don't know.
I don't know yet.

I've been spending a lot of time alone. I don't mind it so much. It's not like before when I was hiding from the world and that was a really bad thing and a really quick way for me to slip deeper and deeper into depression. This is different. This feels more like . . . getting to know myself. I am writing - a lot - I have a ton of ideas. I am working on myself - physically and mentally - I am reading things that I always wanted to read. I am figuring things out - I'm not trying to fix myself. That's what I always said before (when I was in trouble) "I'm going to fix it." I can't fix me. But I am working on myself. I am making discoveries and I am having revelations. Some of these things I don't want to share with anyone. I don't want to give anyone a detailed account of how I'm filling my days or the new goals I have discovered, these new and wonderful things that have brought me peace. I just want to do them. This is going to sound really cheesy - but it's like I'm hybernating, think of me in a cacoon. I will emerge. I don't want people to fully know what I am doing in that cacoon, I just want to appear on the other side of it, and have people see me. Nothing dramatic, I just kind of like not needing to . . . have any other witness to this time in my life but me. It's nice. Also it takes the pressure off. I keep writing Stephanie about these projects I've started and am really stoked about, only to have to realize by the time I write my next letter that I'm no longer interested in those things. But it is really interesting to see which ones are sticking. It's really interesting to see that I am sticking. Me, Laura, Roux, Jernigan. I'm sticking. And that's nice, too. I'm not stuck (well, I am but that's not exactly how it feels right now) I'm not sticking to a place, I'm just . . . allowing myself to . . . be me for a while. And that's nice, too.

So maybe when I come out of this on the other side, maybe when I emerge, maybe when I appear, I will have an answer. An answer to forgiveness. Or maybe I'll just be strong enough to do it, and maybe I'll be ready for whatever the consequences are.

None of this is to say that I don't need forgiveness. That I don't need to be forgiven. I tried to seek forgiveness from my sister for some things in the far distant past the other day. She didn't want to talk about it. She said she didn't remember who did what to whom or how our relationship was then, she just cared that we have a great relationship now. And that shut me up. But then again, I thought, maybe I needed to talk about it. Maybe I needed to hear it. Maybe I need to know. Maybe I need forgivness. I know that whenever I do forgive the people I mentioned about I will be asking them for theirs in return. I know what I am capable of. I know that I need to seek forgiveness.

and that's nice, too.

Never a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride

To all of those people who are getting married or who are recently married and are mentioned in this blog please take this entry with a grain of salt and understand that I wrote it in the utmost of good humor.

I have been watching several shows lately that have been intimating, I would hope ironically or in jest, that people in this society assume that every woman they meet wants to get married. And this wouldn’t bother me SO much as an assumption, however false, except that it seems that they think that ALL a woman wants to do is get married. Not that marriage is A goal, but it is THE goal. The ultimate. As if to say that women might have lesser dreams, but in the end they will have reached their final “yes, thank god” in life once they are married. After that they have no more to aspire to.

Like that Ally McBeal episode where Portia DiRossi’s character shocks two of the men in the office by saying she never wanted to get married. At the time, I think it shocked me, too (oh how much I have learned since then). Of course, what I like about this is that the men seemed to be more shocked because of their own desire for marriage than that it was just something that women were supposed to want. But none the less – this is my point – people think it’s something women are supposed to want.

Now this may have been so at one time, but in this day and age such an assumption seems laughable. I personally don’t know if I want to get married. However I do like the idea of sharing your life with someone, of making your way in life together with someone you love. And get to have sex with. Hopefully a lot. But if I do take a deep look at myself and say – yes – indeed – yes, I would love to get married one day, it’s anything but an ultimate goal. Not to diminish the importance, the magnitude, of marriage. It’s a big deal and should be treated as such. But it’s not all I want to do. It doesn’t burn through every fiber of my being. What does burn through me like a lit unquenchable fire is that I AM GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD. I will do this regardless of whether I get married or not. If I do choose to do so, it will be with someone who is willing to come on this journey with me.

But recognizing these assumptions around me has got me thinking. Despite my doubts that marriage is something that is still relevant in this day and age, I think about my wedding all of the time. I’m not the only one that does this. Despite the fact that I am single, single, single, with no prospects of anyone I even like a little bit, much less would ever think about marrying, I think about my wedding all the time. My hypothetical, imaginary wedding. And I don’t mean all the time like every waking minute, but I will hear a song that I think is particularly sweet or tender or expressive of what I think love really is or should be and the thought will pop into my head “I want that played at my wedding. I want that played at my reception. That’s what I want my first dance as a married couple to be to.” Or something like that. Now this could be because there are so many weddings going on around me lately, or it could be a natural state of being for a woman that grew up when I did. Marriage is a step you take in life. The natural course of things, like going to college. These are the things we grew up thinking were what we were SUPPOSED to do.

Another example of a part of my imaginary wedding that I think about often is who is going to walk me down the aisle. My father’s existence has recently reared it’s ugly head in my reality again, and has got me thinking. One of the thoughts that frequently popped into my head during my father’s absence, right under “If he died would anybody tell me?” is “Who is going to walk me down the aisle?” Even if my father did make his way back into my life he DEFINITELY WOULD NOT walk me down the aisle. I don’t want to insult my Step-Father by not asking him to do it. He is, for all intents and purposes, my father. He should be the one to do it. He has been the male figure in my life for over fifteen years now. But he doesn’t feel particularly dad-like to me. I don’t have a closeness with this man. I love him, I know he loves me, but I still feel like he’s a stranger in my family, and this saddens me. If I had my druthers I would have my grandfather do it, if he’s still alive whenever my hypothetical wedding takes place. Just because he’s known me my whole life, my step-father hasn’t.

So what does this mean? The fact that as a feminist I am insulted by the idea that marriage should be the ultimate goal of every woman or at least something that every woman wants, and yet there is this fact for the other side with-in myself that are my own private fantasies about my own fake wedding to an imaginary man. Then again, I often imagine my hypothetical wedding, but rarely ever imagine my hypothetical marriage. Who does, really? I mean other than the people who are actually engaged and actually getting married? For the rest of us out there, I don’t know that many that imagine marriage. You know, the parts where you realize the other person farts and poops and has funky toenails and b.o. and morning breath and bad credit. I guess I do have one fantasy about that: about laughing under the covers with someone as we add up our hopeless bank statement and curl or sock feet together. In the little I do imagine about my imaginary marriage there’s a lot of laughter. That’s what I hope for, in the end, in making my life with someone – a whole lot of laughter.

This all brings us to Never the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride. Like I said before, there are a lot of weddings going on around me these days. Lormarev and I drove to Connecticut and back and talked the entire time. One of the many things we talked about was the fact that she’s been asked to be in so many weddings. I laughed then started thinking about all of the weddings that I am involved with. Huh. Now I don’t mind that none of the people that asked Lormarev to be in their wedding asked me to be in theirs. I prefer that, actually. I know these people, and may have been close to them at one point, but I am no longer involved in their lives. However, I started looking at the people I consider to be family who are getting married. There’s this group of us – Anne, Stephanie, Joanna, and I – that at one point hung out all the time. These people are my family. Three of them (the three that aren’t me) are getting married or just got married. Now I understand why Annie didn’t ask me to be in her wedding. It made perfect sense that JoJo and I were invited but weren’t in it. I love her dearly and she is family, but we weren’t as close as she and Stephanie and she and Rachel, so it made perfect sense that they would be in the wedding and not us. As long as I got to be there and be witness and celebrate with them afterwards, I was okay.

Joanna and I had a talk a while ago, before Simon proposed, about our hypothetical weddings. Now understand that I am a part of Joanna’s family. They have adopted me. They care about what happens to me almost as much as my own family. They are my family. However, we discovered that we probably weren’t really going to be able to have bridesmaids because we would end up having – like – 15 of them. I mean think about it – with me – I would have my sister and Torrie, Kat, Anna, Meghan, Lormarev, Emily, Stephanie, JoJo, Annie, Rachel, Ashley, and Shayna. And I’m sure someone else in my family would be insulted if they didn’t get asked. And Joanna would have the majority of those plus Sarah and people in her family. (Also, I’d have to have Jesse as a groomsman or something. Or hell, maybe I’d just make him a bridesmaid to) I am blessed to have so many friends that I deem as close and important to me. But it makes planning a wedding (even a hypothetical one) hard. So Jo said she would probably just have Sarah. And I’m okay with that. She might have more, but at least right now in my head, it makes perfect sense that she didn’t ask me to be one of her bridesmaids. Plus she is getting me to sing her first dance with her dad (something else that I won’t get to have at my hypothetical wedding).

So far, I’m fine.

Then Stephanie didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. I think she might be having me read a sonnet or something, but I haven’t heard anything, so I don’t think that’s going to happen either. I don’t know if this one effected me more because it’s Stephanie, or because there used to be ever so slightly some competition in our group and there’s a little high school girl voice in my head saying “how come Joanna gets to be in the wedding and not me!”, but I think really it’s that this is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Really? NO ONE wants me to be in their wedding? NO ONE? Why? Will I mess up the pictures? Am I bad luck? Are you afraid in my clumsiness I will knock over the candles and set the church on fire?

At one time in my life it would have made me question my friendship. During my depression I would get very paranoid that people didn’t like me or were annoyed with me and wouldn’t tell me and so would avoid me and talk about me behind my back. Blame middle school. It’s still something I have to fight against sometimes but it’s not nearly as severe. But at one time I would have thought “Am I not as good a friend as I thought I was? Have I done something wrong? Did I not keep in touch as well as I should have? Was I not there for you sometime when you needed me?”

Understand this is not the way I think now – if for no other reason that I know Stephanie is rolling her eyes and thinking “Okay, Laura, but . . . SERIOUSLY?”

In fact I think that probably Stephanie’s reason is much the same as Joanna’s and my hypothetical one. Too many people that we love and care about and want to be a part of this wonderful time in our lives. So someone had to get cut. And honestly of all the people on that list, it was probably the smartest to cut me. I am the least likely to throw a tantrum or hold a grudge. I will be okay. As long as I get to be there and see my wonderful, beautiful friend take this wonderful, beautiful step with a man she loves and is absolutely perfect for her, I couldn’t be happier. (Although I do really, really, really want to be at the bachelorette party and stuff like that, please)

So here I am. Never a bridesmaid, never a bride. Or maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this is good luck. Maybe it will turn out to be never a bridesmaid, always a bride. Well, no, that implies being a bride multiple times. Maybe never a bridesmaid, ever a bride? Meaning . . . that I’ll get married?

. . . not that I’m even sure if I want to get married . . .

. . . . not that I ever think about getting married . . . you know . . . ever . . .

And for those of you out there who believe that not everyone has the right to get married to the people they love, I leave you with a quote from our president’s inaugural address:

“The time has come . . . to carry forward that precious gift . . . the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.”

“all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.”

“their full measure of happiness.”

And marriage is nothing if not a pursuit of happiness. Maybe it wasn’t always this way. But in this day and age - that’s what marriage is. A pursuit of happiness. Or at least is should be. I think.

Words - Poptarts and Shoelaces/ Be Magnificent

I hung out with Maureen last night. We were talking about movies. What would induce us to buy a movie. Maureen says that there are some movies that she would watch over and over again. Like when you were a kid. When I was a kid there was one time when I had a horrible case of strep throat the same time my Aunt Stacey did. So she babysat me. That day I made her watch The Little Mermaid over and over again. As soon as we came to the end I would say "Again!" and we would rewind it and watch the movie again. How she kept from killing me or throwing the movie out of a window I'll never know.

In my grown up life there are some movies that I've wanted to do that with (watch over and over again, not throw out a window) - like Waitress, but I have resisted the urge. What I am unable to resist is to watch certain moments over again. Most notably certain moments with Nathan Fillion in the Firefly TV series, and Johnny Depp in the movie Chocolat saying "I'll come 'round sometime and get that squeak out of your door." As an actor there are certain thing that actors do that just fascinate me; just get me for some reason. The delivery of a certain line, the way they scratch their face, a look, the moment before a kiss, I will rewind and watch, rewind and watch again and again and again. I'll do this wondering how they did it, trying to break down movement and emotion and thought - how did they DO that?

Maureen said that some french photographer had a name for it (I don't remember what the name was). A hand movement, the way the light hit something, the color at the edge of a frame- something that on a personal level lit you on fire.

Carmen had an analogy for somthing similar that happens on stage, but on a broader level. She would always talk about Stradivarius violins. How if you had one Stradivarius in one room and another on the other side of the house you could pluck a string on one and it would vibrate on the other. On stage if an actor feels an emotion - has a moment of emotional truth - then it will pluck the audience's heart strings, that emotion would vibrate within them, and they will feel it, too. They will feel it WITH you. In that breath the whole space will feel it together. I love that. I strive for that. That's what makes the theatre beautiful and unique.

Lately I've been having those experiences with words. There have been certain words that have been jumping out to get me. Well, really, for those of you that know my love of language, this isn't that unusual, but here are the example of the words, or combination of words, that have had a profound effect on me lately.

The first 2 examples happened while I was listening to NPR. Oh, NPR, I will never be able to thank you for all of the inspiration you bring me. I was listening to the BBC and they were interviewing a Marxist who was saying the free market could only exist if there was a symbiotic relationship and that there seemed to be a pattern where every 50 years or so the system would break down and have to be rebuilt and restructured. This got me thinking about symbiotic relationships and how creation happened out of destruction and suddenly I knew how to fix what was wrong with one of my plays. Suddenly I was visualizing a complete overhaul of this play. That and a visual of a broken cathedral from the movie Valkyrie has me now furiously in the midst of an almost complete rewrite of And I Feel Fine.

Then I was listening to NPR and they were interviewing Andy Serkis about his new movie Ink Heart. He talked about that and about Gollum, and then he started talking about a role he has in some upcoming biopic where he plays an aging rock and roller. This guy told people that if he could do it than anyone could, and that what he wanted most for people to do is Be Magnificent. Right there - those two words - and I have a new life philosophy. Be Magnificent. Live your life Magnificently. Suddenly I have been opened to endless possibility. Just think about those two words. Let them roll around in your head for a second. Be Magnificent.

The next 2 examples come from books. I was reading the 4th Twilight book (I know, I tried to avoid it but I couldn't, I'm weak. What do you want?) and the main character was talking about things she had gone without in order to avoid people. In the sentence she ended with two examples phrased exactly like this: poptarts and shoelaces. Read that phrase again: poptarts and shoelaces. Something about the pairing of those three words struck me -like a bolt of lighting - as absolutely beautiful - like cellar door - poptarts and shoelaces. It should be the name of a band or an album or a book or a theory or a play or a theatre or a government institution - poptarts and shoelaces.

The last one is from David Copperfield. (I can read one of the Twilight books in 24 hours but I can only read a couple of pages of David Copperfield a night. Why is that? I love the book, it has nothing to do with a difference in affection. Ah, well, I digress.) I've reached the part where he meets Dora for the first time and falls madly in love with her and is talking about what it would be like to have her love him in return. He says:

" . . . to have reason to think that when she was with other
people she was yet mindful of me,"

What a beautiful little phrase. What a wonderful sentiment. Doesn't that just sum it up? Doesn't that just some up what I want from all relationships, at its simplest, at its core? Even when they are not with me to suppose that they think of me. It's just so simple and hearbreakingly beautiful and, I hate to say it, sweet.

Sweet - another word that has a profound affect on me, but this time adversly. Most of you know I have problems with the word sweet. I don't like it, especially when applied to me. But I've started to be broken down a little bit in my staunchness against it. Mostly because of the read through we had of Metamorphoses - the play I'm getting ready to start rehearsals for. Something about it being read aloud with this wonderful cast really brought it into focus for me: so many of the stories in this play can be described as nothing other than heartbreakingly sweet. Especially the ones that I am involved in. And in those I am paired against a guy who I have been wanting to work with for so long now, I cannot describe to you my absolute joy in being able to play opposite him in these achingly sweet scenes. This is ironic because it was partly him that got me hating the word in the first place.

I was stage managing a show that he was in last year and I would do things like bring him and the actor he was working with water when they had been working for hours moving rocks back and forth. My thinking was it was almost 2am and I didn't want them to collapse, especially since I couldn't fit into their costumes if they couldn't perform the next day. So I brought them water, and he said "Oh, you're so sweet." And I all I could think was "Yuck!" It wasn't sweet for me to bring you water, it was very basic human decency and the least I could do as a stage manager. Say "Thanks" if you want to, but - ugh! - don't call me sweet. It feels belittling. Like a car salesman calling me "Honey."

But the prospect of performing these scenes with him has got me changing my opinion - just ever so slightly. I have the purest of innocent crushes on this beautiful married man purely and innocently based on incredible admiration for his enormous talent and generous spirit and maybe, just maybe, it would be okay if he thought I was sweet. Maybe. Just him, though. And just think it. I probably still wouldn't like it much if he said it out loud.