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!

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