H is for Hope

I pretty much made a personal note to self to not blog unless it was at least worth telling someone on the phone. But I do need to speak on the issue of being someone’s bitch. Not just anyone’s, everybody’s. I all but tell somebody they can bend me over and spank me on the ass, if they please- and mean it- on a daily basis lately. I’m not making fun- I’m serious, I feel so indebted to practically everyone I speak to. What commonly falls out of my mouth is- “I’m sorry, please, i mean, thank you, no , could you, or could i, possibly?” point being, i don’t see a how to make friends and become a millionaire c.d. release anytime soon. unless someone has a criticism it turns into: ‘i’m sorry, did you want to take that over yourself, or would you like me to personally shove that….. into a circular file…etc. etc.’
Actually, I’m having a wonderful time- I am worried and wonder how I could have allowed myself such disorganization in the process - but I love it. And, at the same time having 3 nephews under the age of 8 visiting and staying for four days now has softened me. Except for The Apprentice…I’m a tv-phobe and I just had a room full of family members trying to explain and coax into watching. While i’m thinking, maybe i could learn something, maybe i could cut the cable with a pair of scissors? could i be an apprentice, is it possible to win a million dollars being the apprentice? i shouldn’t watch- no. but maybe… and finally it is over.
it is just troubling, my appearance, when i look in the mirror- I wore two pairs of socks with a pair of sandals, a pair of silk capris, a black tank with two sweaters and a light jacket out , to an interview?!? thankfully radio- but only really looked right before just putting my pajamas on. I blame it on the weather.

I need to take a poster everywhere I go, it is so much better than selling ads for the playbill. I’m pretty sure I’m a horrible door-to-door salesperson. I have a self-defeating cloud around me that says “just tell me to leave, and I’m out of here!” Whereas, if I have a poster, a free offering of beautiful and informative worth, and they accept it- I rise to the clouds in appreciation and accomplishment! well, almost. I think part of the reason it was fun work is because I had that ‘fresh out the salon’ day. My hair had the sheen of an hour and a half of gluttonous, careful combing and sprays of good smelling ‘tonics’- which is about an hour and twenty-five minutes more than it gets on the average day. People I didn’t even know were commenting on my hair, however, those were sales people- good ones, apparently. It was so disappointing to wake up, look in the mirror and see that my sleeping position had molded my new trendy coif into something more ‘who-ville’ than anything else.

Being a night owl and alone is very condusive to big idea having and random web searches. Sometimes this results in a magnificent combustion but generally the morning after thought of, “does the early bird really get the worm? or is that just another get your hopes up and trampled on theory?” Many thoughts on my mind this evening- I had a magnificently fun & exhausting weekend watching two very good friends experience the pre-marital bliss of friendship, love & the benefits of registry. Registry is for everybody else except the couple. If you care at all about your loved ones who have strong traditional values when it comes to wedding planning, you must register. It is not worth the argument, unless you have the hutzpah to elope. But the fact is : let me not generalize and give an example. I have 5 sets of really, i think maybe really pretty china that I recall spending more than a few hours of my life debating over and in the end saying “i guess, this, it doesn’t have flowers on it” and shooting the upc with an eletronic gun. Since, we’ve been given 2 separate boxes of matching china for 12 !@!@ (not from my side, however, gratefully accepted) I also have 8 sets of silverware that m & i on a whim thought were really sculpturally wonderful and weigh about 5 lbs. per fork and continue to get at christmas and birthdays due to the fact we only got 3 to begin with.
ENOUGH ABOUT THAT!
I want to talk about two things:
Why did Felicity Huffman not get best actress?
Can we schedule a demonstration in Asheville where 1000, not 200 demonstrate at Vance supporting family rights for all? I also think it would be great if we had tables set up collecting signatures for a petition and then also donations for some completely random giving that these organizations pray for, like starving children. I don’t mean to politicize starving children- but seriously, the argument has already been stated. The ad in the citizen-times could have done a lot more to serve humanity than slander and judge. So, if we organize not a protest, but a demonstration in support of LGBT people who deserve to work, live and breathe, I think we would not only have at least 1000 in attendance, but the percentage of people who actually worked on a daily basis towards helping people and seeking fair justice for all would be much greater and we could throw in a random fundraising event besides, just to twist the knife. did i say knife? i meant drive the point.
on the subject of night owl-ism. i have cut out tv. i cheat sometimes, like tonight, i watched a reality television show of sand sculpting. These amazing sand sculpting teams created sculptures but there were 2 wild cards in which pre-placed explosives were randomly ignited to two contestants during the contest. I watched it, fascinated, both by the incredible sculptures and the fact if not blown up, they’d all be washed away soon. Then I got pissed at myself after the 10th commercial about i don’t remember what, swore off television for the 93rd time in my life and unplugged it. I have either tv or internet, and i don’t mind keeping it that way.
i think that’s probably sufficient for random night thoughts for a monday am. of 1.33-
i’m mentally committing to making my blog somehow more mindful & interesting if anyone has read this far

I know all true laborists have the right to spit on me right now- but I spent the majority of my day set building. I’m assuming it is similar to skiing- except not recreational. Everyone else at the end of skiing is happy, fulfilled, looking for the better, steeper slope. While I sit glaze eyed, comatose, waiting for the next directive. I am AMAZED at the neverending kindness of people willing to work for theatre. I visited Hendersonville Little Theatre and drooled over the converted barn with tons of lighting possibilities, a modest but comfortable tech booth, set building & rehearsal space. They have rented the space for 40 years, can I say FORTY years? Their TD - volunteer- nobody is paid there except musicians, just like Scapegoat. Musicians are incredible artistic geniouses, their level of creation happens at an unfathomable rhythm without time for preconceived mind to hand coordination, it scares me. But it does cross my mind. Why musicians? Why can I find writers, painters, graphic artists, scenic& lighting designers, web designers, actors who are all willing out of the bottom of their generous hearts to offer their art for free. For less glory (-actors) less fame, but musicians always get paid. Good for them I say, give us the secret of marketability, you amazing creatures! Anyway, I called this volunteer tech director of an established theatre company with the high hopes that he might have advice on tools and space. He offered his tools, space and talent for nine hours, for free- today- and I’d like to say for our ‘noble cause’ and realized after two hours of working he said, “So, what’s this play about, anyway?” And our set designer, why do people do these things? It was fun, I love it, it is just so relieving to realize there are other people out there, doing something, just doing something they love. Even if they don’t know it is for an oh, so noble cause. And! The people that do… such talent. I am fulfilled today, we do have a real show-
On a more personal note, I am daydreaming more and more about a theatre space. A multi-purpose theatre space. A minimal renovation with decent tech capabilities available for rent and a home space for Scapegoat. Eventually, a non-profit able to eventually pay our brilliant talent and provide incredibly relevant exciting theatre at an affordable price to the general public! In a perfect world, a lobby area that was more than that, a coffee-wine bar lounge area to sustain if not only the payments but the social arena needed to flourish, inspire and support our artists.
Any street theatre opportunists? There is a rally in support of ‘businesses in support of family values’ on Saturday morning. Values meaning christian-right wing mud-slinging blaming, hypocrytical egocentric, ethnocentric, homophobics.
And that, is coming from an admittedly, however not-so-practicing, Christian.

I’ve been fantasizing about eating out alone encouraged by the fact I think Cathy does it quite often and loves it and by Suzy’s art teacher’s declaration, “The mark of a real woman is being able to go out to eat alone and not feel lonely.” (or something like that I can also think of many other marks of real womanhood- but most are much more dramatic, time consuming or painful- I was thinking literal mark on that last one.
I finished painting my kitchen, actually scrubbing the dried dots of paint off the floor boards and hand scrubbed the floor around 9 last night. Then I realized I was quite hungry or obsessed with the idea of food and had a pristine kitchen with a wet floor. I was also getting weary of the “I LOVE this color! This color makes me want to PUKE!” argument inside my head. As I proudly sealed the paint to put it down in the basement, patting myself on the back for a job finished, if not so well done- I read on the little color label sticker “Martha Stewart Signature Color”. Does that mean this, ‘artesian spring’ is Martha’s? Does she have one signature color, like Cyndi Lauper’s hot pink, or is it a line of colors? I started squinting my eyes and trying to think of her magazine in the checkout line of the grocery store. I really think I may have painted my kitchen her favorite signature color, but alas, I just went to marthastewart.com and her web page borders are much greener than artesian spring. I could go deeper into the swells of my imagination of what painting my kitchen a MS signature color could mean, but… I’m just going to say that she seems like a spiteful woman but she has the best recipe for blue cheese dressing I’ve come across.
So I finished the paint job and had a raging sense of entitlement. I had spent all day on the phone back and forth about rehearsal spaces, venues, blah blah blah… this is not the part of theatre I enjoy. I put Lucy in the bathroom as her puppy dog eyes questioned, “I thought this was Our friday night!”, grabbed my coat and headed to India Garden. I almost turned back, I considered calling in an order and picking it up, but I didn’t think they offer a glass of wine to go. On my way in, I skimmed the restaurant through the window with a slow approach. Eating alone I could handle, maybe not if I was surrounded by people I know, eating together. When I almost turned around to go home, I had a vision of glistening garlic naan and it pulled me through to answer “A table for one, please”, to his question, “Can I help you?” I was seated next to a table of six, my ‘contemporaries’ if you will, and although I couldn’t help but overhear everything they said- they were loud, I remember nothing of what they said. If nothing else, dining alone is good because it makes you stop talking so much. I ordered my much awaited glass of red wine- they have a list, but I think they all come out of the same box there- and I got ID’d. I am twenty-nine and rather than be flattered, I almost always mentally regress into that 18 year old, chin up, trying to channel maturity to get into that bar. Anyway, I had paneer masala and garlic naan and it was delicious. The host kept right on top of it, if I needed anything, with a very sweet and un-pitying smile. I started a bit self-conscious. But I left full- instead of lonely.

I watched Mystery Train last night. It succeed in portraying the back alleys of Memphis as a seductively abandoned big little city. I love Mitzuko- and her t-shirts and her infatuation with ‘Elvis, …king’. I was so worried when they got off the train it would be at a strip mall across from super-Wal-mart and a Wendy’s, McDonald’s & Fridays. I might actually have to take the train to Graceland and cross my fingers on a visit from Elvis.
I love train travel - so much so that I try to make others love it too. I have never succeeded. I love that it takes a really long time, and you have no control over it and you can bring books and magazines and sketchbooks and beading. I love cleaning with antibacterial wipes- and my favorite Indian scarf that serves as a guaze sheet germ blocker or a head wrap on the third day of travel. I love the observation car- and, now that I think of it, the tracks in this country go through the old downtowns, which look similar - but at least the names are different, the levels of dilapidation vary.
One time, I talked my high maintenance friend Michelle into driving from Saginaw to Battle Creek to catch a train into Chicago. After a three hour delay on a Friday night in an admittedly sketchy station (where almost always, nobody is working)- she almost strangled me until we got into Chicago and found the most amazing dark smoky jazz club and ate at the most delicious greasy spoon diner at 4 AM. The train elevated Chicago to cloud 9-
Another time, I talked a different, closer friend into taking a train from Mount Vernon, IA to San Francisco, CA which helped send her into a bed-ridden depressive funk for the duration of our trip- which we flew- home.
Last fall, I “surprised” Matt with a train trip to D.C. and finally came to the realization that I shouldn’t ask people to take the train with me, until on our way back we upgraded to a Sleeper in which we ate for free in the dining car, drank a pint of cc, and played cards on the table/toilet-
In India, Lia and I once waited for a train for a half a day on the wrong side of the tracks- when we would ask, people kept pointing to the tracks and saying “half-hour, maybe” with the classic Indian yes & no nod. We were used to delays in India, so we waited and waited until finally some kind soul- or maybe laughing- told us, “You are needing possibly the other side, eight trains a day are coming and have come and here is coming the last one, so you had better hurry.” It’s just the unpredictability of it all!
And then, this one time in band camp….