2010

Most exciting things that happened this year:

-Got my photo taken to be considered for the Coen Brothers' "True Grit" (they were seeing me for the part of the dead father in the coffin)

-Got a cool role in "A Schizophrenic Love Story," a local movie (and thereby met my goal of being in a movie in 2010)

Most devastating thing that happened this year:

-Got ousted from "A Schizophrenic Love Story" and didn't even get notified about it, which crushed my soul for several days

Biggest challenge of the year:

-Directing "Much Ado About Nothing" (oy vey!)

Biggest reward of the year:

-Playing Estragon in "Waiting for Godot"

-Seeing my relationship with David develop and deepen

Favorite trip of the year:

-Visiting Beth in Portland

Favorite houseguests of the year:

-ET

-Dave Schmader

-Marc & Margaret

Best book of the year:

-Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer, which has changed the way I look at food, and to some extent, life

Best music of the year:

-Well, I gave a list in my last post, but I think the record I love the best is still Joanna Newsom's "Have One On Me," because there is really and truly nothing else like it

What am I looking forward to in 2011?

-Writing more consistently and submitting my writing to publications, fearlessly

-Acting in "Hedda Gabler"

-Figuring out what I want to do in regards to "a job" (to teach or not to teach?)

-Meditating and yoga

-Being in a movie

-Seeing Barack Obama come out of his bipartisan funk and kick some ass

Merry Xmas

My Top Ten 2010 Albums:

Joanna Newsom: Have One On Me

Hot Chip: One Life Stand

Broken Bells: Broken Bells

Devo: Something for Everybody

Love Is All: Two Thousand and Ten Injuries

LCD Soundsystem: This is Happening

Arcade Fire: The Suburbs

Bjork + Dirty Projectors: Mount Wittenberg Orca

Cee Lo Green: The Lady Killer

M.I.A.: /\/\/\Y/\

Horrifying

We just saw Darren Aronofsky's new movie, BLACK SWAN.

I am fascinated by the new imagination behind horror films, as evidenced in this movie as well as Lars Von Trier's ANTICHRIST. It is not about serial killers or going into haunted houses anymore, at least not in a literal sense. It is about personal psychological tension and the horrifying beast that emerges from within normal, aspiring, sorrowful people. It is so much more beautiful, so much realer, and therefore scarier than all those slasher flicks. Can't wait to see more exploration of this newly-opened area of film.

Cat Foot

Last night in bed my cat sat on my right foot and hunkered down as if she were willing eggs to hatch. I got a great feeling of coziness and imagined that she was infusing me with her grace and patience through my right foot. Then I imagined it could be my blog post for today.

Minutiae

We went to Austin on 11/11 to see Joanna Newsom at the Paramount. She was lovely. She played 13 songs (2 encore songs). Being a weirdo, I made a list of every song she sang so that I could recreate the concert on my iPod later.

I wrote a play based on improvisations that my 7th and 8th graders did, based on mythological characters that they chose. The play is called Therapy of the Gods. It features Pandora as a therapist who helps the various gods work out their problems. At one point it turns into a game show like the Dating Game (Pandora is trying to get Apollo to date), hosted by Aphrodite; and later on, Persephone and Demeter turn the play into a soap opera. The kids will perform it twice on December 3, after an extreme paucity of rehearsals. My hopes are not high, but the play is kind of funny.

I got a cold last week and it seems to be going away slowly now. I have been sweating a lot the last three days. This week is my Thanksgiving break and though it is a little irritating to be sick during the break, it is also kind of a blessing, since I don't have to go to school this week.

I finally took down some of the cruddy blinds in my room (they were filthy and broken) and put up some curtains yesterday. I bought the curtains at Burlington Coat Factory. They're big and dark purple and I'm not used to them yet, but I do like having the blinds down.

My friends Marcus and Margaret will be coming to stay for Thanksgiving, then next week my friend Dave is coming for three weeks. He will be performing his one-man show at a theatre here at Trinity University. So I have been sort of cleaning up and rearranging things for the past few weeks in preparation for these visits.

Since being sick I have had some intense dreams.

Last night I slept for only three or four hours and the rest of the time I creeped around on Facebook. Life is so weird.

The Eternal Shuffle and Swipe

I would like to find a copy of Donald Fagen's masterpiece "The Nightfly" remastered. But I don't think it's been remastered. I looked online and there are dubious foreign versions of it. And versions with lots of initials that I don't understand. If anyone finds one, let me know.

Last night I cleaned the shelves in my room for the first time since I moved here. You may remember last year when I re-energized a whole corner of my room by moving the shelves around and putting a chair in. But even then I didn't clean the shelves, I just moved them. So last night I finally took everything off the shelves and apprehended the dust bunnies and re-distributed all the detritus found there... some to the trash can, some to other rightful positions. I took my stereo equipment and the speakers and put them in the dining room, where I've been keeping the LPs anyway, so maybe now I'll use it more. The CD player, perhaps from sheer disuse, has stopped playing CDs. But the turntable, tape player, and receiver work fine... poor old dinosaurs that they are...

The thing about cleaning is, as soon as you start doing it, you keep finding more things that need to be cleaned. Your eyes and nose become dirt sensors. And everything is covered in dust. It's a good thing really, because my closet really does need a lot of work, and the kitchen blinds over the sink, I noticed last night, are coated in dust. Blet. Dust is weird and disgusting.

Another thing I did last night: dusted off my old LPs and decided to display a few of them in my room on a ledge over the window:

Rickie Lee Jones, "Girl At Her Volcano"

Crowded House (first one)

Prince, "Around the World in a Day"

Elvis Costello, "Imperial Bedroom"

Cyndi Lauper, "She's So Unusual"

ABC, "The Lexicon of Love"

And at the end, the triple LP of Joanna Newsom's new album, "Have One On Me."

Admittedly, part of my cleaning frenzy has to do with my friend Dave, who is coming to stay with us for a few weeks in December while he performs his one-man show STRAIGHT at AtticRep here in town.

I need to clean the fan blades today.

On Sunday I attended the 20th annual Alamo Theatre Arts Council Globe Awards Gala, which is San Antonio's little version of the Tonys. I have decided that the gala is a study in the Ridiculous and the Sublime. There is always something great and wonderful (my high school drama teacher Sam Gilliam's fantastic introduction of this year's lifetime achievement honorees Bill and Frances Swinney), and there is always something horrendous (a performance from a local production of Sweeney Todd). You just have to be able to stomach both extremes. I was given an award for playing Estragon in Waiting for Godot, and whether that's sublime or ridiculous is not up to me to judge.

Re-starting

This morning I started thinking I wanted an iPad so that I could draw cartoons on it.

So I started to look around online. The cheapest iPad I could possibly get would cost more than $500.

Then for fun I started looking for applications for drawing that might apply to iPads.

I found an application called TabletDraw that I was able to download right to my computer for free. It costs $35 for a slightly more advanced version.

I haven't posted any sketches on this weblog in years, but I am hereby revitalizing it. I am going to start posting my doodle efforts on my drawings blog again. Please visit and see my magnificent handiwork.

Death Schmeath

According to some Experts, everything is pretty much dead. With eyebrows arched cynically and eyelids wearily at half-mast, they declare, for example, that The Novel is dead, The Short Story hardly lived, Theatre was dead long ago. This is a horrible declaration for someone like the young Believer, who actually believes people, to hear. This puts the Believer’s mind in a tailspin before it loses all control and goes skidding into a ditch. “All those things must be dead,” the Believer thinks, horrified. “There’s no chance for me. I came along too late.”

Yet on further examination, and upon re-playing the YouTube interviews with said jaded Experts, the Believer suddenly understands that it isn’t the Novel, the Short Story, or the Theatre that is dead; it’s the Expert. The Expert’s already had his moment; his wings have felt the air beneath them; he has basked in the sun, and now the sun has set, and it’s over. So what the Expert has done, essentially, is projected his own death upon the art form as a whole. Because the Expert’s novels are no longer appreciated, his short stories are no longer published, his plays are no longer being produced, he has no other recourse but to imagine the death of the entire thing, rather than the more personally painful admission that his own particular career is over within that discipline.

It’s an understandable predicament: nobody wants the game to continue after his time is up. But the game does continue, and it’s an irresponsible, bitterly harmful, presumptuous thing he’s done by declaring the game over. Shame on the Expert. He should find a job in some other field, learn a new trade, start over, do something productive, rather than decry the things being produced today as post-mortem obfuscatory babble.

As long as something is being produced, as long as there are aspiring Novelists, Short Story writers, Playwrights and Actors, as long as people want to do these things and are trying to do them, well then, these disciplines, Sir, are Alive and Well (well, at least as well as they’ve ever been).

How dare you declare their death, for whatever reason? By erroneously declaring the death of these disciplines, you shatter and suffocate living dreams of Believers who haven’t had their time yet. This declaration is tantamount to a death sentence, or, more bluntly, murder.

the pictures in my room

It always starts the same way (with full awareness of the extreme nature of the word “always”): the pungent pang of desire. Desire for what?

To make something, to change something, to improve something, to deconstruct something. But always, always, the desire stops its information there-- it doesn’t tell you what it is. The desire does not even know what it is. The desire does not know what it desires. It only knows that it wants. It is up to you to pick up the desire and run, as bravely as you can, in whatever way your nose leads you. Because the desire is mute and burning your hands.

Nebulae

Time to post something else.

Today I had lunch with one of my ex-students I have a particular affinity for. I ended up giving him my iPod. (I have another one.) I was concerned about him traveling on 9/11. At this moment I'm thinking his plane is taking off from the SA airport and headed for North Carolina, where he goes to college.

My desire to write seems to be growing; however, that's all it is-- an empty desire to write. I really have nothing to say. Or maybe I have too much to say, and it's all disconnected stuff, and I despair of ever knowing how any of it will fit together. Of course it's not my concern how it all fits together, at least not until I have something TO fit together. But it would be just too healthy and productive to think that way and actually write something.

But who knows?, I have been known to be healthy and productive in the past. I wrote three journal pages. It could be a turn-up.

Understanding

I don't really think that understanding life and people is a possibility. I say this because the older I get, and the more I ostensibly understand, the more I realize I will never really understand much of anything. Humans are a puzzle. Existence is a big mystery.

One of the few things I have come close to understanding is that life seems to be mostly about balance-- striking a balance in almost every situation, staying true to your vision and at the same time being open to compromise. As my yoga teacher told me, everything in moderation, nothing in excess.

However, a problem I often encounter is one of empathy: I can almost always see a situation from each point of view. Though this is in many respects a strength, it becomes a problem when I am tasked to make a decision. Each party has a point. One party will be the winner while the other party will lose. In this case, balance is almost a crippling attribute-- just as I comprehend the sweetness of victory, I am struck down by the bitterness of failure.

I am understanding Buddhist philosophy more these days as being less spiritual/esoteric and more physical/practical. Getting worked up about things, desires, expectations and grievances, is hard on a body. Detachment is more health-friendly. During the last week of MUCH ADO rehearsals, I had heart pangs several evenings, and one evening I even felt numbness in my fingers and shooting pains down my left arm and shortness of breath. Everyone must have been wondering why, in the midst of all that chaos, I was yawning... the body's attempt to get oxygen, to slow me down, to detach.

This week I started classes at St Luke's, where I am teaching 3 times a week. I was quietly excited about our first class and had a great lesson plan prepared. Imagine my surprise when there was an all-school assembly during the hour that was supposed to be my first class, an assembly no one had bothered to tell me about. I sat there dejected, puzzled, waiting for my class to show up. It was fortunate that three seventh-grade girls did come to my class, either rejecting or, like me, not knowing about the assembly, and we had a great mini-class together. Today I'll have my second class, and though I shirk expectation of all kind (yeah, right!), I do look forward to a larger attendance. But really, there are only 13 kids in the class, so 3 is not that far off.

and on the other hand, "Pitch-Perfect!"

Argh. I mean, ahhh.

Crrrrrrrrrritic!

ugh.

Ongoing

Opening night of our play was good. We had two reviewers there. We'll see what they say next week. One of them will be incisive and will actually have something to say, I hope. The other one will use phrases like "hits just the right note" and "does a jaunty turn as..."

I am attempting to get my clothes back from the movie people. I had left some of my clothes with the costumer, thinking I would be in the movie. They have been unprofessionally non-communicative with me about this. What a massive and ongoing disappointment. Not that I'm invested emotionally anymore. I just want my jeans and shoes back. (If this behavior is any indication of how L.A. works, then I thank my lucky stars I never moved there. In fact, I read a great interview with Bill Murray, one of my favorite actors, where he said he would never live in L.A. again. He said all they're out for is fresh blood, that's it.)

I have been offered three directing jobs that I am unsure about. One is to direct The Arabian Nights at a well-reputed theatre in town. It would probably be wise to take this job, because their client base is maybe a little different and would get my name out more, and also the guy who runs the theatre seems to be a real pro. The second job is the third installment of the 40's film noir trilogy; I directed the previous two, so I feel sort of obligated to take this job. The people are sweet and fun, the atmosphere is unprofessional and I don't get paid. You can sense my ambivalence. The third job is directing Corpus Christi (the Terrence McNally play which poses Jesus as a gay man) for the best-funded and most poorly run theatre in town. This job would pay, but I'm not crazy about the play, and I don't like working in that theatre (dangerous wires, rats, dank spaces, crowded dressing rooms, etc.). I do however have a soft spot for the artistic director, who has always been good and kind to me in the past.

I need to finalize all these decisions in the next couple of weeks.

It is nice to be wanted, and I appreciate my own ability to see situations from all points of view, but that doesn't make decision-making very easy.

Man is a giddy thing.

Our Much Ado About Nothing opens tonight. On Sunday we had our tech day from 3:30 to 10 pm. Our Don Pedro, a good actor who for whatever reason wasn't able to learn his lines (Dyslexia? Mental block? Self-sabotage? Substance issues? Plain old laziness?), was fired when he showed up to tech day 1.5 hours late. We were able to re-cast his role from someone else in the play, and that actor's role was in turn taken by someone else in the play, and that actor's role was in turn taken by our stage manager. Though it was horrible to fire him, he seemed to expect it, and the play seemed to begin breathing better when he left (like the day I rearranged the furniture in my room). The play is pretty to watch and with such good actors. I am proud of it. I have that weird feeling of "glad it's opening" mixed with "not sure I want to let go yet."

I have been going to teacher inservices all week, some at St Luke's and some at St Mary's Hall. That has been OK, at times bad, reminding me of why I quit teaching, at times good, inspiring me with new ideas.

Two of my favorite things are the worst things I could possibly consume: coffee and cigarettes. It's not that this is news; it's just that it's the first time I've begun to feel the detrimental effects. Blet.

Here, apparently, is the actor that replaced me in the movie I was cast in. Which is pretty funny. Heh.

In Mid-Leap

I'm doing better. It wasn't long before I began to detect the irony, frivolity, and drunken randomness of God.

Turning my attention to Much Ado About Nothing, the play I'm directing:

One of my actors doesn't know his lines (he has a big part, Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon);

Our violist is gaining confidence each day;

Piece by piece;

I will end this with a semi-colon, because that seems to sum up the current state of things;

Sometimes all you can say is, What The FUCK

I don't want to write right now, but I feel that I should.

Right now I am:

Sad

Confused

Disappointed

Dejected

Enraged

For about a week now, I have been trying to contact someone from the film I was cast in, to get information about when and where my scenes would be shot. In the meantime I have been working on my scenes diligently. They're all memorized, messed with, adapted, personalized. I feel close to this guy.

I have been building my hopes on the assurance that I set a goal and met it.

I just talked to a producer of the movie (I had to track him down), who told me I had been replaced, about a week ago. According to the producer, a "big-name" actor who had been offered the role a while back became available, so they decided to use him instead.

No one called to tell me this.

I have so many questions, so many insecurities cropping up. But mostly, I feel like a chunk of my heart has been torn out.

I know that in the future this will seem like a minor event, and I will see how everything fits together for the best, but right now I am devastated and hurt. And I don't know if this helped, to write about it. What I'm really feeling is kind of ineffable.

Was I too eager?

Too elated?

Did I not read well at the table read?

That one producer didn't like me, I could tell.

FUCK YOU for making me ask these questions, you fucking god damned whores.

That's all for now.

Live Your Own Movie

Last summer I was asked to be in a few spoof commercials which were subsequently shown at an HEB convention. I really enjoyed shooting the commercials, and while we were shooting the third one, I made a conscious intention to do more film work.

At the new year 2010, instead of making any resolutions, I made a goal: to be in a movie in 2010. A couple of weeks later, I had a great audition in Houston for an interesting film about a lawyer fighting the medical supply system. Several weeks after that, I went to Austin to be seen for the role of Mattie Ross' dead father in the Coen Brothers' upcoming remake of True Grit. Then, nothing. My agent didn't even come see me in Waiting for Godot, and I had saved my comps for him. Jerk!

But about two weeks ago, my wayward agent got me an audition for a feature-length film being shot here in San Antonio. I read for the part of a psychiatrist to a young man who has something resembling schizophrenia and delusional disorder. I was able to read the screenplay and work on the audition scene for a few days before I auditioned, so by the time I went in, I felt comfortable, memorized, and was able to enjoy reading in front of the audition panel. The next day, the screenwriter (who is also starring in the movie) sent me a message, informing me that I had been chosen for the role.

There is great satisfaction in meeting a goal which, when it was made, seemed rather unrealistic. I am relishing the thought of being on a film set and learning all about how it works. The movie has a very low budget, but the filmmakers are serious and have experience in the field. One of the producers said it will be submitted to Sundance, and will have a wide distribution. Yesterday I went in to be measured for a costume, and seen for a makeup test. The day after tomorrow, we will have our first table read.

Do I need to mention I'm pretty jazzed about all this?

In other news, speaking of unrealistic goals, I am directing Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing for a local theatre company. I have a fantastic cast and design team, and we open in about a month. I am a little anxious about the set for the play, as my vision requires a surfeit of creative energy and specificity which, to my knowledge, hasn't been expended yet. I met with the lighting designer yesterday and am meeting again with the set designer today, and tomorrow we're all meeting together for the first time, for a production meeting. Almost every time I direct something, I doubt that it will come together: this feeling is nothing new. But this time, with this project, I do feel like the bar has been raised much higher than it was in the past.

Dream Power Activate!

I dreamt last night about dying, but it was so interesting how it happened. I knew I was going to die, and there were other people with me who were also going to die. I was afraid. I closed my eyes and made my body small, anticipating nothingness. But what happened was sort of like an alka-seltzer tablet when you drop it in water, the effervescent effect of bubbles and soda, my body and/or soul dissolving in a mass of effervescence, only to come right back into another reality. Rebirth through bubbles. It was not painful, though there was a sense of something burning away. And when I came back into another reality, I realized that the same circle of people were there as had been there in my previous reality. And it made me think, "I need to make peace with the people in my life, because they will always be here, somewhere." I realized that holding grudges or holding strange secrets are ridiculous in light of the next reality, where everything would be revealed and razed anyway. I woke up with my cat next to me, purring and loving me. I felt so renewed and strengthened and happy after this dream, and in this form of waking. I got up and put on my shorts and a shirt and my sneakers and I got my iPod in my ears and my wallet and an umbrella and went out for a walk. It was about 7 am I guess. It rained on me most of the way, residual from the hurricane they thought would blow through the oil spill, but didn't. I walked in the rain with Paul McCartney in my ears: "Any time, any day, You can hear the people say that love is blind, Well I don't know, but I say love is kind..." I walked down McCullough in puddles and drizzle and a couple of cars splashed me, and my sneakers and eventually all of me got soaked. I got a coffee at a Starbucks where my friend John works. I had been avoiding John because he had treated me negatively a while ago and I didn't want to ever talk to him again, and when I saw him a sort of fearful shiver went through my heart. I turned around to leave immediately, but then I remembered my dream, and how silly it would be to have that fear make me leave, how unnecessary. So I turned back around and got a coffee from him. There were no reunions or revelations, he treated me with his established mode of indifference, even calling me "sir" as he handed me my cup (politeness or coldness? doesn't matter). I walked back home in the rain, getting even more soaked. I was happy, there was life and energy, and effervescence.

F-ing chicken

My boyfriend likes to do origami. He does really cool mobiles. There's an origami book sitting on top of our toilet, and everytime I'm peeing, I look at it. On the cover of the book, there are several examples of the origami patterns that are in the book. One of the examples is the "Pecking Chicken." But everytime I look at it, I think it says "Fucking Chicken."

What could this mean?

Discuss.

dream

this morning

in my dream

i fell in love

with my shadow self

he was elusive

sexual

had seen combat

lived on the street

he knew my name

he stayed busy

he seduced me

without anyone noticing

when he said my name

it was like a whisper

that went right into me

and then he was gone

i tried to follow him

but i felt unfaithful

to my partner

and he was gone anyway

i woke up

feeling

strangely

paralyzed

Songs

There are different kinds of music listeners.

I am the kind of music listener who listens primarily to the melody and the atmosphere of the song before I ever ascertain the lyrics. Sometimes the lyrics are very clear to me and sometimes I can go years without really knowing what a song is about, then when I realize what the song is really about it's a revelation.

For example, there's a Smiths song called "This Night Has Opened My Eyes." It has a pretty, muted, mysterious quality about it, and the lyrics never particularly called attention to themselves. Then one night my eyes were opened:

In a river the color of lead

Immerse the baby's head

Wrap her up in the news of the world

Dump her on a doorstep, girl

This night has opened my eyes

And I will never sleep again

Basically it's a song about getting rid of a baby. How could I not have noticed that? I just thought it was a pretty song about someone having a revelation about something, some night.

Another song I recently realized the lyrics for is The B-52's song "52 Girls," which is much more whimsical.

Effie, Madge and Mabel, Biddie

See them on the beach or in New York City

Tina, Louise and Hazel and Mavis

Can you name, name, name, name them today? ...

These are the girls of the U.S.A.

I always knew they were singing girls' names, but I never knew the song was actually about girls' names.

Last night I heard a band cover The Cure's "Just Like Heaven."

"Show me show me show me how you do that trick

The one that makes me scream," she said

"The one that makes me laugh," she said

And threw her arms around my neck

"Show me how you do it

And I promise you I promise that

I'll run away with you

I'll run away with you"

And then the girl goes away, either into the sea, or into the ocean "deep inside of" the narrator...

In moments like this, I wonder how much of life I'm just blatantly oblivious to...

So much ignorance...

So much to discover...

Flee, flee as a flea to the boneyard

Last Sunday David treated the yard with a new batch of beneficial nematodes.

Last Monday we spent the whole day cleaning the house, taking detritus either to the trash can or the garage, sweeping, vacuuming. When everything was sufficiently clean, we sprayed a toxic flea killing agent in half the house, closed ourselves off in the other half of the house, and waited while the spray dried. Once we had waited long enough, we sprayed the other half, closed it off and waited again. Then, I gave Freda a pill called Cap Star (I think) which makes fleas die and fall off within half an hour. Then we gave Freda a thorough bath.

It has been a blissfully relaxed, flea-free week. Freda has slept again like she used to, with abandon and without fear of jerking awake to scratch an irritating flea away. I'm starting to see fleas again, as of yesterday, on my bed. I have emailed my landlord to ask him to bring in that professional exterminator he mentioned. In the meantime I have sprayed my bed down with a solution of water and flea shampoo, and vacuumed the bed and all the areas around it. I don't know how much sanity I can maintain if the fleas come back like they were.

You might have noticed I changed my blog template. Sort of like a little re-model. I like the drippy watercolor effect in the background.

I'm in a play that I am not enjoying as much as Godot. I am learning.

I would like to travel to a cooler climate for a month or even a week.

I watched Shadow of a Doubt, a 1947 Hitchcock film co-written by Thornton Wilder. A thriller starring Joseph Cotten. I also re-watched Synecdoche, New York, the great Charlie Kaufman movie that came out a couple of years ago.

I am directing Much Ado About Nothing which will open in mid-August. I have hit on an idea that excites me, after much floundering around for an idea, concept, or time period to latch onto. I have a great cast and I am excited about this project, both to be directing as well as to take a break from acting for this one.

I met with the Head of School for St Luke's, where I'll be working in the fall. He is an interesting and alive person who is very supportive of my ideas and has great artistic aspirations for the school. I'll work there only 6 or so hours a week, with 7th-8th graders, creating the first Drama program St Luke's has ever had.

This week David and I went to an impromptu pool party thrown by one of my castmates. It was at night and it was a blast.

Summer Good and Bad

Tennis Camp

Summer School (the kid who pulled the elastic out of his sock and offered it to me)

Chlorine

My sister when she wakes up

Cold musty house

It's such a long drive to Dallas

Basketball falling on my head

Sore legs lying in bed at night

Permission

Weasel & the White Boys Cool

Suitcase full of liquor (at American U when I roomed with Robert)

Arizona

Sticker burrs

Card games

Jello 1-2-3

What day of the week is it?

Gannie

Six Flags

My brother wiping out on his skateboard down the driveway

I've got a brand new pair of roller skates

Salty french fries eaten with pruny fingers

Doritos at the beach

On the shoulders of a life guard

Chiggers

Fireflies (Lightning Bugs)

Dead chicken pile

Hawaiian Tropic

Amazing non-stick bubble gum

Nike

Sweep out the garage every Saturday

Beauty School Drop-Out

Coneheaded Woman

Canyon Lake

Peeling shoulders

Pineapple

Flights

Archie comics

Care package

Homesick

Dust

Public showers

Bowl of sliced peaches with sprinkled sugar

Why can't we be friends?

Bathing suit

High dive

Cousin Linda who made my bed smell so good for weeks...

Duckies

I love my horoscope this week.

It's time for some image medicine, Taurus. Wherever you are right now, I invite you to look down at your left palm and imagine that you see the following scene: an infinity sign whose shape is made not by a thin black line but by a series of small yellow rubber duckies. The duckies are flowing along slowly in continuous motion. They are all wearing gold crowns, each of which is studded with three tiny rubies. With resonant tones that belie their diminutive and comic appearance, the duckies are singing you your favorite song. It makes you feel safe, brave, and at home in the world. What else can see you see there? What happens next?

Presence

My godmother, Jean Jean (double-named at an early age by my sister), passed away this morning. She was in her eighties and had struggled with Alzheimers for six or seven years, maybe more. In the last few years she had become so different than the Jean Jean I had known, lost in that horrible disease. I hadn't seen her in over a year. She had recently been moved to a nursing home in Boerne.

In her heyday, Jean Jean was a consummate godmother. I adored her. She was chic and had a dry southern wit. She cooked beautiful meals. One recent Thanksgiving (2003) she snuck out with me to the guest house to have some wine before the meal. (She didn't think my mother would approve of her desire for wine.)

The most overtold story about Jean Jean and me happened when I was very young, maybe five or six. It was my birthday and my presents were stacked on the dining room table along with the food we were about to eat. As my dad said the before-meal prayer, he said, "We thank you for Jean Jean's presence with us today." No sooner had everyone said "Amen" than I burst out in sobs, saying, "It's not Jean Jean's presents, it's MY presents!" ...alas, I was a greedy little booger... but it made for a good story, told and re-told over the years.

I have been missing Jean Jean's presence for the last couple years, and I will miss her even more now.

Today is the last performance of Waiting for Godot. Thanks to Marc and Margaret for making it down for the show-- y'all are non-stop. :-) My body is grateful that this play is over. David tweezed a splinter out of my foot this morning, and that's not the half of it.

Godot Grotto

Wow, I can't remember the last show I was in that was so hard on me physically. It's the kind of situation where you don't realize how strenuous it is until it's over. During the action, it feels fine, then suddenly it's over and you feel run over by a truck.

The director has decided to have me onstage before the play begins, as the audience is coming in. During this time I may do whatever I want to do. I will probably opt to sleep most of the time, though I may wander and scavenge occasionally. What's most important is that when the theatre doors close, my right foot begins to itch, and my boot just won't come off.

Last night I practiced that pre-show routine a little by lying onstage in costume (for the first time) while everyone else completed their getting-ready processes. As I lay there, I said to myself, "I am confident and grounded in this play. All that remains is to have fun."

And it worked that way.

I know the show will have its ups and downs, but to give myself the simple goal of FUN is kind of an amazing lesson.

In other news, I have always loved Rachel Maddow's show on MSNBC; after reading this article I love her even more.

beckett's masterpiece

Rehearsal was unsatisfying and borderline frustrating tonight, for the following reasons:

1. My cohort keeps apologizing every time he speaks. I thought I was a chronic apologizer! He makes me look like Napoleon! Tonight he actually stepped on a spot on the floor and it creaked and he apologized to it. I am not lying. This would all be funny and chuckly except that this man really takes his apologies to heart. So that by two hours into rehearsal he has hit a wall of exhaustive self-hatred and almost completely shuts down, becoming nearly impossible to work with.

2. We are at that point in rehearsal where things are just frustrating, regardless of the work we're doing. It is standard.

3. I feel that the director hasn't been specific enough with some of the blocking in the show. Now I am a person who believes that an actor can create his own blocking and that makes the movement that much more organic. However, there are bits in this play that call for very specific comic timing and consistency in order to work, and those bits aren't really being established. This worried me tonight.

Ah, relief. I feel better now that those things are off my chest.

Rain

...and lots of it, in San Antonio, today.

An early memory: My mom taking me to a doctor's appointment, at the Children's Clinic on Hildebrand. I was in the backseat looking out the back window of the car (in the days before seatbelts were ever paid attention to). It was very rainy and the radio was on, and some commentator like Paul Harvey was talking. I felt sad because of some separation from my mother. I must have been 6 or 7.

I read a passage from the Tao Te Ching today. It seems strangely appropriate, given the recent nuclear arms talks and the bank bailouts:

The more prohibitions you have,
the less virtuous people will be.
The more weapons you have,
the less secure people will be.
The more subsidies you have,
the less self-reliant people will be.

Risk

Ridiculous how new technology (the iPad) makes my 3-year old technology (MacBook Pro) look like a dinosaur. I don't even know 3/4ths of what my computer can do, and I'm lusting after this stupid new computer that's no thicker than a wafer.

It's a sad state of affairs.

It doesn't help that my left-hand shift key has fallen off, that my battery is dead, and that my electricity cord is fraying. I'm like, a new battery and new cord will cost me upwards of $200; I might as well just throw in another $350 and get an iPad! But no, that's not my thought process at all, really. I just want to get this one fixed. Really. I ain't lying.

The continuing battle against fleas. Another bath for Freda, her Frontline today, David spraying flea spray on the outside sills of the windows.

First rehearsal of Godot tonight.

Late nights staying up, not sleeping, or sometimes sleeping before I can realize I was tired. Limiting myself on certain intakes. Easter with family. Children I'm related to not knowing who I am. The creaky floors. My boyfriend looking in, unsure.

It doesn't make sense and it doesn't have to. I come back to the squirrel in the grass and the current moment's gravity. I am good at what I do.

Ah elusive, overrated sleep

Spring is birthday time in my family. My mom and three siblings all have birthdays in April and May, plus a niece and a nephew.

Today I'm going to my brother's house for an Easter/Mom's birthday/brother's birthday celebration. I don't really see my family that often, so it will be nice.

I see my parents more often than I see my sister and brothers.

I guess there are various reasons why I don't see them that often. One brother lives a 4-hour drive away, that's a hindrance. As for the ones who live closer, I think I'm probably used to alienating myself from them because I didn't want them to know everything about me. Now that I don't care what they know about me, I am used to alienating, so it just works out that way. But I see no reason why it has to stay that way.

This week David and I had a good evening with my nephew and his wife.

I am depressed about: looking haggard, having fleas in my house, being out of shape, and being poor.

I am happy about: starting rehearsals on Waiting for Godot tomorrow, eating leftover pelmeni, listening to Jonsi's new album Go, and seeing my family today.

Return to Form

Life-Changing Events

(every little thing)

My aunt fell and broke her shoulder.

I got an email from Yulia in Moscow saying she wasn't hurt in the bombings.

Joan Armatrading has a new album out. So does Black Francis.

I had purchased some beneficial nematodes for our yard, but never used them.

Mom and Dad bought my lunch today. My mom's pupils were all dilated because of an eye exam she'd just had.

David got his Texas I.D. at the D.M.V. today, and rode the bus.

My cat is scratching. I should have used those nematodes.

events

Two suicide bombers killed 38 people in Moscow today.

I don't like Matthew Rothschild's incessant negativity.

My boyfriend is looking for a job. Today he went to a new bakery that opened up around the corner from us, and who was standing in line but his old abhorred boss. He said he immediately turned around and left the establishment before she could see him.

I have felt bombarded with lint and settled upon by dust lately. So today I aired out the rugs in my room, swept, cleaned under the bed, rearranged, did laundry, took things to the storage room. I guess you could call it a mini spring cleaning.

Time is weird

Today is Kevin Biggerstaff's birthday, and it is also Sergei Nosov's birthday.

Twenty years ago, in 1990, in the Spring, I went to Russia for the first time, and had my mind blown.

I know that Kevin is in San Francisco. I assume that Sergei is in Moscow, but I haven't had contact with him since somewhere around 2004.

Post Script: Last night (or, that is, early this morning) while writing this blog entry, when I couldn't sleep, my cat jumped up on the bed and was purring on me. All at once I noticed that she had a flea crawling on her muzzle. In my effort to capture the flea, I somehow tore my index fingernail down past the quick and my computer went sliding off my lap square onto the floor. Both my computer and my fingernail survived, though the left hand shift key fell off, and my finger is band-aided up like a mini-mummy. The flea, I'm proud to say, did not survive.

Fruity Bunny

Well shut my mouth, it's chilly again this evening.

Health Care Reform is supposedly passing in Congress as we speak.

Today a theatre friend sent me one of those fancy fruit baskets that looks like a flower arrangement. What a nice gift, complete with chocolate-covered pineapple bunnies.

I have two big theatre projects weighing heavy on my mind these days: Waiting for Godot, which I will perform in in May; and Much Ado About Nothing, which I will direct in the summer. I am mildly, predictably freaked out about both.

I love my boyfriend.

Small and big

So I put on my p.j.s for what will probably be one of the last chilly nights of the year. Or should I say mornings. It's 3:06 a.m. I am listening to a bootleg recording of Joanna Newsom in Sydney. The world is quiet.

At night I sit outside and smoke. I sometimes listen to the neighborhood noises, or there might be some loud youngsters across the street in the parking lot behind the nightclubs. But mostly I listen to music and play solitaire on my ipod.

I have had many revelations while playing solitaire and listening to music and smoking. Sometimes I lose myself in the game and root for suits like I'm at a sporting event, playing and replaying those games with the potential to win. And whichever suit's the last to be placed has special significance. And a win is even more significant if I got it after numerous tries. These game lessons are sometimes implied as life lessons.

Sometimes I have revelations about actions I need to accomplish, or qualities I want to incorporate, or I have ideas about ways to do something.

Sometimes I just vegetate.

I fill myself with smoke.

I remember something stupid or smart that I said, and I wince or smile accordingly. And that memory is quickly forwarded into another. Sometimes I am able to stand at a vantage point and look down, or up, at my movie of memories, which unrolls ceaselessly, impervious to my attention or inattention.

When I come inside, my cat sometimes (usually when it's cool) perches on me. She's perching on me now.

It's 3:16 a.m...

Read This One!

Enough of Lame Postings.

My last post started out really long and then got cut down to several sentences. Somehow in reviewing it I almost edited it away.

Here in San Antonio it is spring. It is the perfect time of year, except that the slight warmth in the air is an unwelcome harbinger of the beast called summer.

I have been enjoying the grape candy smell of mountain laurel in the air.

I am engrossed in Joanna Newsom's new album, Have One On Me. So engrossed, in fact, that I purchased the LP version, which is big (it's a 3-LP set) and beautiful (complete with calligraphy) and has a lyrics booklet to help decode all that swoonily-sung poesy.

Another album that has slunk unnoticed into my subconscious is Dungen's 4. This is a Swedish band and their music is difficult to describe. It is sometimes hard rock, but it also has intimate piano moments, and at other times it makes me feel like I'm sunburned in the 1970's, wearing brown sunglasses and driving a Monte Carlo on the beach at sunset, windows down and gritty breeze burning my stubbly cheek. One dusk while driving home from Dallas after an audition, I was listening to Dungen and watching some birds in the sky make their swarming patterns, and it was one of those perfect moments of beauty that you remember for a long time.

Freda, we recently realized, has been beset by fleas. I took her to the vet for some update shots last week and we also got some flea medicine for her. On Friday we gave her a bath in the bathtub. It was much less traumatic than I'd imagined it would be. She screamed about four times, then as we scooped the water onto her, she seemed to go into a state either of shock or acceptance, and let us do whatever we wanted. Afterwards when we dried her off, she didn't bolt or hide or hiss at us; she hung out with us in the heated living room, licking herself and letting us continue to dab at her fur with towels. Low-drama kitty! My favorite!

David and I have been working on the Forum Theatre Project the last 4-5 weeks or so. This year's theme was Love and Marriage, with a subtext of Who Has The Right To Get Married?. So we collected interviews and stories from people and put them into a structured, improvised scene. I did not perform but was a sort of assistant director on the project. David acted for the first time in ten years and did an excellent job. We are both glad it's over, though it was an enjoyable experience for both of us. On Saturday night the Project performed at San Antonio's 3rd annual Luminaria, an arts festival in downtown San Antonio.

I have mixed feelings about Luminaria. On one hand, it is beautiful and inspiring to see San Antonians come out in droves to experience an arts festival. On the other hand, the content of the actual festival is kind of slim. But it is only the third year. Maybe it will improve.

I applied to be a census worker and took the census worker test. I'm hoping they'll call me.

You may have noticed I am using proper capitalization recently, whereas in the past I wrote everything in lower case. Just felt it was a time for a change, a consciousness of the shift button, an evolution to adult rules, for the fun of it.

P.S. Barry, tell me how I can get in touch with you.

Theatre machine

I have been seeing a larger amount of theatre than usual. Just in these past two weeks, I have seen Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Fire on the Bayou, Blood Wedding, and Mary Stuart. Each play left me with a distinct level of satisfaction and a different list of praises and/or problems.

I am learning a lot about acting and about directing.

movie again

yesterday i auditioned for another movie. this audition wasn't nearly as fun-- all i did was go in, fill out a form, and get my picture taken-- but it was for the coen brothers' upcoming remake of TRUE GRIT. they were seeing me for a "featured extra" -- a role that has a name but no lines, and apparently the man i would be playing is, in the movie, dead.

in any case, dead or no, it would be so cool to be in a coen brothers movie. wouldn't it?

movie

last week i drove to houston for a movie audition.

the movie is called SAFETY POINT and has already started filming. it is about two lawyers (one a heavy partier, the other straight-laced) who stumble into the world of corporate medical supplies and challenge the system. it is a funny, smart, and relevant movie. i was auditioning for the part of a corporate hatchet man with a heart of ice. my expectation was that the casting agent would see me and send me away immediately based on my appearance. but instead, the casting agent was welcoming and complimentary. she ran the 6-line scene with me several times, gave me a few things she was looking for, and even called in another actor to read with me before we taped it. instead of a predictable 30-second once-over, this casting agent gave me a full half hour of her time and at the conclusion of our time together, told me i was one of two actors she was submitting for the role.

i drove back from houston feeling elated.

i haven't heard from them since, and that is of course disappointing. but this audition felt like a very important step on my road to the goal: be in a movie in 2010!

valentine surprise

for xmas my brother gave me a subscription to sam phillips' private website, the long play. it's a cool present because we both like her music and as part of the membership we get free downloads of new songs, access to her blog, photos, podcasty thingies, videos... it's neat.

a few weeks ago she announced a valentine's day contest: write about your worst valentine memory and post it; three winners will be chosen to receive a homemade valentine from sam phillips herself.

i wrote about something that happened to me:

Well, all those early school Valentine’s Day experiences were pretty terrible, there’s no denying that; but my most memorable Valentine activity happened in 2002, when i was 33 and working in the one-hour photo lab of a large chain drugstore in northern California.
The photo lab was a sectioned-off area in the corner of the store with walls that went only waist-high, so that customers could look in and ostensibly see their photos being developed. On the evening before Valentine’s Day, I was feeling particularly unattractive, cheeky, and single, and I was sick of the incessant marketing, the pink cardboard ruffle hearts, the flowers, the schmaltz– so I took down the dry-erase board in the photo lab and I wrote the following message on it: Happy Corporate Scam Day!, with little hearts with arrows through them all around it.
In my mind it was a perfectly harmless little piece of cynicism, something I thought might give a smirk to my co-workers in the midst of all that lovey-dovey chocolatey nonsense.
But when I arrived to work on Valentine’s afternoon, I was immediately told to go see Jeff, one of the store managers. My little pink heart skipped a beat. I went up to Jeff’s office.
”Andy,” he said, pulling the board up off his desk and facing it at me, ”What were you thinking?!” My writing suddenly looked so insolent, so mean, so bitter. ”Happy Corporate Scam Day?? People shopping at our store can SEE this dry-erase board in the photo lab. How do you think this message makes them feel? How do you think it makes us look?”
Though I was 33, at that moment it was as if I was 13 again, sitting in the principal’s office after spraying shook-up Cokes in the stairwell. I felt so suddenly, childishly guilty.
”Sorry, Jeff,” I said. ”I thought it would be funny.”
”Well it’s not,” he said, wiping his hand across the message and handing the board to me. ”Now go get to work.”

...and i found out the day before yesterday that i was chosen as one of the winners. sam talked about my corporate scam day on her audio "phone booth" podcast, and apparently a homemade (not store-bought) valentine is on its way to me. the lesson i'm gleaning: bad and annoying experiences can, if put into proper context, resonate with others and pay off someday! yay.

parental

last night as i was going to sleep i had the thought, "i haven't seen mom and pop in a long time. i need to see them soon." and this morning the first call i got was mom saying they were coming into town and could i meet them? ...voila.

so i met them for lunch at a nearby luby's. i used to hate luby's. it's one of those things that was shoved down your throat as a kid and you always hated it, and now that you're an adult you can't live without it.

pop talked about how obama is smooth but if you actually read his speeches there's not much substance. he talked about how great sarah palin's book was. he said she was his candidate. i said, "i'm sorry." but we all agreed that the politics in congress are getting in the way of anything being done.

we talked about mom's longtime friend jean who is living with alzheimer's at a retirement facility in boerne. she sits and observes. she sometimes recognizes mom, who always introduces herself when she comes in.

their dog ringo was in the car. since i had walked to luby's, they gave me a ride home. i gave my dad a check, another installment paying him back slowly for the car he helped me buy.

the importance of socks

ET is not chopped liver. i just want to make that clear.

nik, i will endeavor to post some of my drawings up on the blog eventually. i have a drawings blog, but shortly after i started it, i got a new computer, then i got a new scanner, and i have still not learned how to use them to my best advantage. but i will do so eventually, on one blog or the other.

you know how little adjustments in life can make that slight difference that makes everything better? it's the difference between a corona with lime and a corona without lime-- though it is a small adjustment, there's really no comparison. it's when you move the dresser to the other side of the room-- it took five minutes, yet it changes the entire atmosphere. it is the tiny twist that makes the guitar string in tune instead of flat.

well, on my recent trip to portland, on one of our walks, i noticed this SOCK shop in beth's neighborhood. this sock shop had a sexy painted sign with a woman wearing long socks. one day we decided to go in. if i were a foot fetishist, i would have been, well, aroused. as it was i was very excited. who knew that a shop full of beautifully displayed socks could be so cool, so sexy? i don't know why, it wasn't like they were sex socks or anything... they were just normal socks-- cotton, wool, acrylic... there was a back room with lingerie-type socks, but that wasn't what was so great. i really don't know what it was. all i know is, i bought three pairs of socks-- a black pair with eyes all over it, a pair that looks like red meat, and a dark blue pair with dragons on them (for david, who is a dragon on the chinese calendar). and every time i get to wear those meat socks or those eye socks, it makes me really happy.

just a suggestion. the next time you feel a little low, try getting yourself some cool socks.

wah-wah-wahhhhh

don't you just hate it when no one reads your blog. then you think someone has left a comment and you get all excited, and you go to the comment, and it says,

先告訴自己希望成為什麼樣的人，然後一步一步實踐必要的步驟。

black and white

i visited my friend beth in portland. the time was intense. it was restful, replenishing, chilly, stunning, sad, and productive. i took a day trip to seattle. it was the first time that i had ever gone on amtrak. i saw friends there, bought some sneakers, drank coffee and watched jean cocteau's beauty and the beast... again.

i read a book called nothing to be frightened of by julian barnes. in this book, he talks about his family, his agnosticism, and the nature of life and death. it sounds like it should be a very heavy tome, but barnes keeps it light and enjoyable, even while making the possibility of death, ultimate death, feel quite real. reading it, i felt a strange mixture of dread and delight. though it isn't really pleasant to think about not existing anymore, it is mildly comforting to know that somebody else is scared of it too...

i would rather think about these things and get a little sad about them than not think about them at all, or remain where i've been all my life-- in a sort of half-thought-out state of maybe-this-will-happen-ness. of course i have no idea what will happen, but to fully consider the possibilities feels important.

i have taken a short story i wrote called "human tenderness" and am making it into a graphic version, in other words a story with pictures. i started last night and i have the first two pages under my belt. i am using pencil, roller ball pen, and 3 colors of india ink: cherry red, turquoise, and sepia. the story is about a man who comes to pick up his friend for lunch and finds that the friend has killed himself.

today i took a walk to las salsas, a sort-of good mexican restaurant on san pedro. the air was cold and the sky was so, so blue. on my way home i saw a dog running in the road and i whistled to it. it stopped. i knelt down and made a kiss noise, but it didn't come over. i whistled a few more times. it didn't have a collar on. it looked young. it was black and white.

blerk

another remarkably bland, characteristically lukewarm san antonio review.

hard bargain review

i did one of those unintentional benders last night.

i sat down to watch the russian film NIGHT WATCH with a glass of tequila and a beer.

before i knew it i was seeing double. or was that just the movie?

i woke up at 3:15 am all cotton-mouthed and dizzy.

though it was really cool to watch, i could not follow that movie. not a whit.

i might try again.

in the meantime, here's a review for the play i directed. the play actually happened, wow. i thought it would maybe happen, maybe not.

zwahhh

i did make that cd for my brother after all, and gave it to him for xmas.

he seemed to appreciate it. he said he'd listen to it.

he pointed out that i forgot "coconut" by harry nilsson. he was right.

2010 feels good already, even though i got sick.

we went to rick and chris' house and there were cool people there sitting around talking and being naturally funny. rick and chris were making homemade pizza. all the ingredients for the pizzas were in little white bowls on the kitchen table. it was so picturesque, it looked like it should have been filmed.

at the turning of the hour we all went into the front yard with our drinks. they had veuve clicquot. we watched the fireworks over the tower of the americas. it was cold and there were two dogs running around. people were smoking and laughing, and no one shouted "happy new year!" -- how refreshing!

my family gave my boyfriend gifts for xmas. not only the gift of their kindness but actual presents. i saw my dad hugging him a little and saying something to him. it was like, wow. evolution.

it helps me to evolve when i see my family evolve.

wishes made truth

happy new year.

may prosperity

creativity

harmony

discovery

and

DYNAMIC ACTION

all be yours this year!