Template Tantrums

So as you may have noticed, I was forced to change my template. I have absolutely no idea why, but it seems as though this is the only template I am able to use that shows my sidebar content. This was not always the case. This does not seem to be the case for others. It just me and my crappy computer karma these days.

I don't like this template. I want my old template back. I don't like color. I am a whiny asshole complaining about lack of options for a free service. How spoiled am I?

Why is This Passover Different From All Other Passovers?

I have not collapsed into some deep mire of self pity or anything, I was cocooning at the folks' house for Passover, which is usually my favorite holiday in the world. Every year we celebrate Passover with 2 other crazy artsy freaky families, and we tend to get a little wild and crazy; we have props for the 10 plagues which we throw at eachother, we sing songs at the top of our tuneless lungs (the tuneless part being exclusive to my father and I), drink a lot of wine, and just act like a bunch of really silly kids. Its not quite your traditional seder, but its great fun! Every year the "kids" (an innaplicable moniker as the youngest of the "kids" is My Little Vidipookikins, who's almost 29) come up with some kind of additional creative Passover surprise. Last year it was a 10 Plagues of Passover song (to the not-so-kosher tune of the 12 days of Christmas) replete with hand gestures...and believe me, we ROCKED Passover that year! This year was not quite so successful. We fell flatter than a piece of matzah.

The troubles all began when the film fest powers that be insensitively decided to schedule their film fests in Boston and New York on a collision course with a major Jewish Holiday - in New York and Boston for fuck's sake! My Little Vidipookikins was thus forced to hover up north and for the first time in 6 years miss our communal Passover festivities. This left just me and her brother, the Space Pirate and I to handle Passover ourselves.

no problem. We actually came up with a concept that would allow Vidipookikins to participate, as we were going to have a video component in this year's seder. We decided to interview people on the streets of New York, asking them variations of the four questions and then compiling the answers into a hysterical funny and entertaining video, which would be interactive with everyone at the table taking turns asking the questions, and we would play the video of the answers - a call and response video segment that we would engineer to be very comical. it was a brilliant idea that could have been very funny.

Unfortunately Vidipookikins and I were never able to hit the streets, camera in hand and trick questions that would ellicit interesting and wacky responses.

The Space Pirate and I were still going to overcome this little hiccup in plans, as we arranged to meet downtown in my hometown, and interview people there the day of the seder. I brought my computer with me and we were going to then run to his parents' house, where the seder was being held, and edit the footage there on my computer.

Unfortunately Elijah was not happy with this plan, evidently, and things began quickly unravelling. First, my i-movie program suddenly went berserk and just stopped working. We imported the video clips and opened i-movie, which proceeded to work for approximately 2.5 seconds before shouting "fuck you!" at the top of its lungs and slamming its door shut like a overly hormonal teenager. That was it, no matter how we coddled and cajoled, it refused to open its door, refused to come down to dinner.

Plan B was quickly put into action and we ran like superheros, computer in tow, to the Jew-mobile which we drove at warp speed to his lair where we were going to connect the 2 computers and import the clips into his computer and edit there, then re-deposit the finished product into my computer and somehow get back for seder in negative time passage.

First we were unable to connect the 2 computers, but were able to overcome this little hurdle. We began to edit faster than imaginable, dodging angry phone calls from parents believing us to be overly irresponsible because we were already late to seder, when suddenly and inexplicably, the sound cuts out of his i-movie program and is irretrievable. I was impossible to continue the editing process with no sound, for my lip reading skills are not that developed, so we ended up with nothing but the original clips we had 2 hours ago, which when played all the way through with the questions being asked consecutively for each interviewee just weren't all that funny anymore.

When it came time for our great creative outburst in the seder, I went and got the computer, and we haltingly began. The "crowd" was silent, you could barely hear the clips, and frankly they all looked quite bored and angry that seder was held up for this crap. Only my wonderful little mother was laughing just a bit too loudly and the Space Pirate's mother was repeating the answers in an exaggeratedly interested way in a joint effort to be beautifully supportive. Our mothers are great like that. My father seemed bored as hell, but then again he's generally bored and makes no effort to hide it.

To make matters worse, we didn't even get to throw the props this year, we just merely held them up and looked at them in a very clinical and disspirited way. It was just not the fun and raucous good time it usually is; Passover was a bust this year and was finally saved at the end of the evening by the traditional Passover drunken dancing to cuban music, this year accompanied by wonderful drumming of Space Pirate's father and a 5 year old guest with better rhythm then I can ever hope to have.

Now I am back in New York, the long weekend having passed even more quickly than usual somehow, and struggling to stay awake with only the 3 hours sleep of last night to prop me up. I hate early morning flights. Its a wonder I can even type a sentence; I certainly can't seem to utter one coherently today.

My return is accompanied by the oh-so-lovely feeling of rushed scrambling chaos in which I tend to unhealthily exist; luckily I will be going to meet my parents for a week long vacation in Utah in 3 weeks, provided I can make it that far.

Anyone want any delicious matzah, nector of certain species of pigeons and city squirrels? Tastes just like an exodus through a hot and endless desert! Yummy!

Baby Blue

I've definitely got a case of the post show blues; Its rather inevitable in this business, but it hits me hard every time. Combine that with what it most likely hyperemotional pms and the fact that everyone I've ever met in my entire life is currently engaged, married, having babies, or all of the above and the end product is not a pretty sight to behold. There's actually a hell of a lot going on in my head right now; a lot of realizations and self help bullshit that I'm not ready to write about quite yet.

Its been a lovely week.

Gifts of the Ghosts

I have always had great difficulty sleeping and almost never remember my dreams; from all reports, my nights are most likely fretted with horrific nightmares as I often scream, cry, and do incredible gymnastic feats in my sleep. On very rare occasions, if I wake up and then go back to sleep and wake up again, I can remember a snippet or few of a dream; usually the most I am left with is a risidual feeling that haunts me for part of the day.

This morning I dreamed of my brother. I didn't even realize it at first. I woke up, made the treacherous decent from the heights of my loft bed still somewhat asleep, and sat down in a chair with the oddest feeling that I could not place. I lit a cigarette and as I made the slow return to the land of the (partially) awake, it dawned on me that my brother was in my dream.

I must interject to say that I believe that the dead are always still around uus and show themselves in different ways, but its been quite a long time since I had any sense of my brother being anywhere near me; I've of course manufactured the sense, but its been too long since I had that true unquestionable certainty of his presence. I was always quite envious of Orphannie, who has always been able to remember her dreams with such clarity, and whose parents visit her often in dreams. I've always wanted that for myself, especially because as time goes by, I can remember less and less what he looked like, sounded like, and his particular mannerisms and inflections.

I finally got my wish. It was undeniably him, with his eyelids perpetually at half mast and his own charmingly infuriating smug smirk. In my dream he was goading me, as had always been a favorite past time of his, and I was rising to the bait, as I always inevitably did (I can stil hear my mother's heavily accented voice saying "Why do you give him your goat? Why do you let him take your goat?" - she always mixes up American expressions like that). We were on a bus of some sort, and he was sitting in the seat directly begind me. I became so incensed, in the way that only my brother could make me incensed, and I turned around and shrieked at him like a wild banshee at a feeding frenzy. I remember I grabbed his chin and twisted it and it was unusually malleable. He merely laughed at me, eyes twinkling mischieviously in victory, and said "Oh Synge-Pooh, poor poor Synge-Pooh". I turned back around, pouting like a petulant child, and suddenly the whole interaction was replayed on all of the movie screens on the bus. It was our exact exchange, only even more exaggerrated and extreme. It was incredibly comical, and the whole bus roared, and I began to laugh at myself as well. I turned around and looked back at my brother, who was laughing in such a loving and knowing and protective of his baby sister way, and I grabbed his hand and we laughed together.

My brother used to chide me on a regular basis for taking myself way too seriously; a fault I have made great strides in overcoming, but can sometimes still creep in unheeded. Whenever I called in tears or anger about one little insignificant thing or another (as one is prone to do in their early 20's), he would say "Okay, what's the crise du jour this time?" (translation= crisis of the day), which wounded my pride and ego and made me even more upset. As I have grown older and hopefully a bit wiser, I understand and appreciate his mockery of my constant "Crise du Jour"s. I even mock myself with the same phrase when I find I am blowing things out of proportion or taking myself too seriously. I am thankful for his loving sarcasm; it was a gift.

The more I sat with this dream, the more sense it has made. I have been taking everything way too seriously lately, myself included. For whatever reason, my brother was reminding me to laugh at myself and life; to find the joy and lightness of things.

This dream, this visit, has left me with the sweetest sadness - like laughing with a lump in yuor throat. Its not a bad sadness at all; it was so wonderful to see him again, to so clearly see and hear him. It was a quietly thrilling reunion. I am also so touched and comforted in knowing that he's still keeping tabs on me, still there to remind me of the things I mustn't forget and still answering the phone when I call with one crise du jour or another. I feel comforted and protected and loved and forgiven, and that's the bautiful feeling that's stayed with me all day. At the same time, seeing him in such vivid detail and so undeniably himself as he was in life has made me miss him with renewed acuity, in the kind of sugared sadness way that sits somewhat lightly in your chest but makes you aware of it with every breath; there is no pressure or sharp pain, but rather a light straining of all the muscles as if to stretch and make enough room for the complexity of many emotions at once. Its like trying to give yourself a hug internally and thus straining and gently tearing the muscles of the chest and throat in the process.

I am so thankful for this visit, this dream, this presence...this gift.

The Neverending Energy Pit

I have slacked off on my posting incredibly; its not for lack of subject matter either, I"ve just been decompressing from the hecticness of the last 6 weeks or so. Its a bit of a pattern for me - run myself completely ragged and then collapse, recuperate, and repeat. Do not pass go, do not collect $100, do not rinse, do not stop. I am certain that one of these days I will wake up 60 and alone with the body of an 80 year old and nothing to pour whatever is left of my energy into.

But the sad fact is that I love it.

The next off and running thing is working two jobs. I have been running up credit card debt steadily since moving to New York, and recently have been practically living off of them. I was shocked to discover that I have very little credit left, so its time to buckle down and kick ass.

Unfortunately its so much easier to run myself completely ragged with theatre and a benefit and things that I enjoy and that are my life. Data entry is not quite so motivating. Its also difficult when I'm in such extreme pain to get motivated to spend all day and all night crouched in front of an infernal machine, but crouch I must.

I don't mean to sound so whiny and petulant. Its Monday, I should be forgiven on those grounds alone.

I hate real world crap.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

I'm getting ready to go have dinner with Mr. Emotionally Unavailable. He didn't show the other night because he spent all night firing the drummer of his band. He wrote a sweet e-mail and apologized. I do believe he wanted to be there. I do believe he was disappointed that he couldn't. It just sucks because it was important to me that he come see the show - more than I ever thought.

And the really shitty thing is that I can'treally be angry with him, because of course the band should come first - my work always comes first and I'd respect him far less if he didn't put the same amount of passion into his music as I do my acting. I also totally forgot that the band leaves next week to go tour France, so of course this was a huge deal that needed to be dealt with asap.

I also know I'm far to eager to forgive him, and far too happy to excuse his not contacting me until the next evening.

Over the last few days I've been constantly e-mailing the very wise Mr. Artsy Hotpants, who has really brought up a lot of good points. MAH lovingly calls me on all my bullshit and tells it like it is. I love that about him. He's also always right in his assesment of what's really going on with me. He said at one point that what I wanted was for Mr. EU to have called Tuesday night and said "there is no place I'd rather be than watching your show right now, but I can't be there because we're having a crisis with the band." He's right. I wanted to hear that it was incredibly important to him because it was incredibly important to me. And though I got an apology in the e-mail (and Mr. EU does not overapologize as I do. He says it once and means it.), I did not get that sense of things.

Mr. EU called last night, but I was at the baby shower. I returned his call, in quite the drunken dialing episode (we had quite a bit of wine at the baby shower), and evidently left the entire voice mail in French, unbeknownst to me. So he called again this morning to ask if what I said in french was "I forgive Mr. EU for having missed my show". I responded "I had no idea I left the message in French! We talked for a bit and he did say what I needed to hear. He said that Tuesday night was a really shitty night for him and that where he really wanted to be was at The Vagina Monnologues watching me act - or anywhere watching me act (he hates the play) for that matter. He said he was disappointed and pissed off that he couldn't be there.

So he's not completely forgiven, as I'm still disappointed and hurt that he didn't call at the time, but I like that he does care and it was important to him. I also like that although he's incredibly busy tonight, he's making time for me; that makes me feel important and cared about.

And I'd better go because I'm totally going to be late!

Rubber Band Girl

My neck and upper back muscles are so horrifically inflamed that I'm afraid my head is held on by rubber bands that may break at any moment and send my head flying across the room like a muscle-slingshot. I am walking like a drugged out space cadet with a gigantic telephone pole shoved up my ass. Its not pretty. Its not comfortable either, for that matter. My lovely friend Mr. Magic Hands Crooner did rakii on me last night. It definitely helped, but I'm still in pain.

It also made me cry, a lot.

Rakii is energy work that send energy into your body and gets the energy moving along the pathways that it should be flowing through. Usually if its not, its because there's a blockage somewhere, whether caused emotionally, or through poor health habits or a combination of all the above. Rakkii helps clear the channells and balance out the energy flow. I was first introduced to it about 8 years ago when I tore a huge amount of back musles being a forest fire (don't ask..) and was practically paralyzed with pain. I called an old stage manager of mine who I knew was a massage therapist. She came over and just plut her hands on me, not moving them, no real pressure or anything. And I'm there thinking...ummm, okay...where's my massage? when I start to feel this incredible heat from her hands and my muscles start slipping and releasing like jello. It was amazing. I've been a devotee ever since.

Anyway, because its balancing you out and helping you release things, rakki can trigger emotional responses. Boy did it. I had no idea I was that sad. I know I didn't release it all, and that's partly what still in my back. I have a hard time crying. I rarely do it in front of others. But last night I was acutely aware of such a deeply seated sadness that I guess I've never quite acknowledged fully. Its not like its an ever present force in my life...or at least not one that I"m aware of. But its definitely there.

And now I'm late for a baby shower. Crap. Of and running, as usual!

Shouting With Megaphone Actions

Mr. Emotionally Unavailable did not show tonight. He did not show Sunday night either. This would not be a big deal had he not said that he was definitely going to come, because he is so crazy about me. Yes, I can see that. Clearly, he is. So crazy about me that he did not come to something I've been pouring my heart and guts into for the last month and a half after saying he would. Wow. His caring is so blatantly obvious, how could I ever be insecure or think otherwise?

And not even a phone call.

Mr. Artsy Hotpants called. Twice. To see if Mr. Emotionally Unavailable showed. One of the wonder twins called twice. And of course Mr. Guarded Illumination called. That was it.

How lucky am I to have a man this crazy about me? Wow!

Coma Girl in Complete Awe of What We Built

I called in sick today so that I could spend a little time with my parents, who were playing in the city all day before flying back down south tonight. We went to the MOMA, and I had a great time despite the horrible pain shooting through my back and neck (oh so convenient for walking erect through a museum all day...ouch!). My father, who grew up in Queens and used to spend massive amounts of time at the old MOMA when he was at the high school of music and art, said it was like seeing wonderful old friends. I kind of felt the same way, having been raised surrounded by art and visiting museums in Paris and DC. It also made me remember why I do love my Dad, despite how incredibly frustrating he can often be; I saw his remarkable self, and you are always reminded of why you love those that you love when you see something of what makes them remarkable. My father in a museum is like an eccstatic child bouncing excitedly from work to work with an expression of sheer joy as he describes the work and what it did for the genre at the time. My mother and I talked about everything in the world 5 times over, as we always do, giggled at Dad, held hands, and quietly ran the gamut of life in a few short hours. This is why I am so thankful for my parents. They are complete fabulous adorable freaks, and more like me than anyone I've ever met. They're quirky, fun, original, astoundingly open minded and still manage to surprise me every time I'm with them; it always feels like we are living a million contradictory experiences all at once but in a quiet simple thrilling way.

I took them to Penn as I was afraid that Dad would start bouding ahead of Mom, as is his habit, and she would be scrambling to keep up completely overwhelmed by rush hour commuters lurching forward in menacing droves (as is their habit). I know that the city can be a little overwhelming for my tiny 5'1" slip of a mother, and the barrage of sounds, sights, smells and movement can feel assaulting to her. Feeling protective of both of my parents and wanting to show off at the same time to my father, with whom I'm in a lifelong neverending competition, I guided them through the subways and sidewalks and the psycho Long Island commuters right onto their train. It always breaks my heart when I have to leave them, when the surreal time stopping visits are over; I'm glad this goodbye was hurried.

I then returned home where I promptly went into a coma for 5 hours. I woke up to a very worried phone call from Mr. Saucy Funnybuns, the second of such calls within 3 days, whom I had never called back today about meeting up with my parents. They were going to leave the museum early and go have coffee with him, which of course never happened, as both my father and I are impossible to remove from a museum. When I was a little girl, there was an Egyptian mummy in the museum near us, and my father used to tell me that the mummy came to life at 5:00 sharp and would go after anyone still inside the museum; this was how my parents were able to get me to leave by closing time, and also why I have a fear of museums after 5:00.

Its always an odd feeling to wake up and discover that a huge chunk of time is completely gone. Missed. Disappeared. It gives the day a very surreal quality; I'm not quite sure what happened, what was dreamed, where I am, and what day it is. Couple that with the fact that I spent the workday in my own city, with my parents, at the MOMA. The feeling of dislocation is pretty huge. I'm sure the relief of yesterday's success, the ability to breathe comfortably for the first time in weeks is a factor as well.

Last night was amazing. I want to write in detail, but still feel like I'm in a partial coma, and would like to be able to really write more in depth about it all. At 3pm, I was afraid we'd never pull it off, and at 10pm I was reeling with the excited thrill of it all. The house was great, not quite sold out but a really great size especially for a Sunday night, and they were right there with us and amazingly supportive. Mr. Artsy Hotpants said that it was a really fun event, and that it felt like an event...it worked. It was comfortable, relaxed, and fun, which is exactly what we were going for. We had wanted it to be liked the audience was invited to our own little slumber party - not formal or distanced, but something where the audience would feel free to be a part of the experience. It worked! There were some rough edges, but MAH, whose opinion I trust implicitly, said that it worked for the piece and for what the evening was about.

At the end of the evening I was taking down the clothes that were strung along one wall, an "air your dirty laundry" installation where everyone was invited to write about their experiences as womyn or thoughts about anything vagina related, and I found a sock upon which was written "I got out thanks to Park Slope Safe Homes Project" (PSSHP is the beneficiary of all proceeds - its an organization dedicated to helping victims of domestic violence and preventing further cases through education and outreach). I was frozen; I was so moved and in awe...this was why we were doing the whole thing, the root of it all, what all the hard work was for. That one sock brought the whole thing so poignantly home for me. I can't even begin to describe what that felt like - that one little moment, with one little sock covered in messy magic marker writing. There's so much ugly in the world that sometimes we forget about our own capacity to do something about it, to empower ourselves and others.

My father had been continually making fun of the show for years before I ever began this endeavor. He loved it. I heard him laughing throughout, and he was so excited about the whole event. I had tried to convince my mother to go with me a few times to local productions, and she always refused; she didn't think it was for her and didn't want to hear about vaginas. She genuinely loved it (both of my parents will be the first to tell me if they dislike something - they never bullshit about these things) and said today that she was so glad she had seen the show, so glad she had that experience. That was incredibly touching as well - to have been able to change my own parents' perspectives and broaden their already limitless minds.

I returned home somewhere around 1am, in complete awe of what we had built. We made that happen. Its still so unreal, it feels in this moment like it was all a dream. We built it, from absolutely nothing, in an astoundingly short period of time. MAH said it was a Hurculean task, and we rose to the challenge. I am overwhelmed by it all. Wow. We did that. I did that. I feel so complete in this moment.

I'm going back into my coma so that I have some energy tomorrow. 'Night!

Opening Night

Tonight is opening night. I'm so glad I got about 4 hours sleep last night. I think I'm going to have to stop by the evil Starbucks for a quadruple esspresso drink. I went out to Long Island to see the folks after rehearsal, didn't get there until late, stayed up with Mom, and couldn't sleep after that. Luckily my 6 year old cousins woke me up at 6:30am by scream whispering "Cousin Synge is on the couch! Cousin Synge is on the couch!" I then growled, rose, and glared...they ran. I caught up to them (they're the most adorable twin girls ever) picked each one up and swung them upside down saying gruffly with mock anger, "Don't you know you're supposed to wake your favorite cousin with hugs and kisses? Where are my hugs and kisses?" They shrieked with joy and I groggily envied their energy that I knew I would need for tonight. I then spent the next 3 hours picking them up and throwing them about and being quite silly. So much for conserving energy.

It was wonderful and well worth it, tired as I am. First of all, no one runs lines with me quite like my Mom - she does all of these really animated hand gestures whenever I'm one word off
(I like to be line perfect and we have the strict process down to a science of immediate correction and then repetition to ensure correct muscle memory) and it was so lovely to be doing this with her again. Also, as happens with The Vagina Monologues, we started talking about all our own experiences as womyn. My Mom also got really into reading some of the parts...it was adorable.

I wanted to send a huge thank you out to Vixanne and Orphannie, who I just found out the other day both contributed to the show, although they are far away. I am wonderfully touched, and your support means so much. Thank you for your generosity, and your support of me and my work. I also want to thank Mr. Artsy Hotpants, who donated hours and hours of his time, energy, and expertise to this endeavor. This would have been a disasterous cluster fuck had it not been for his help. He also has kept me together and excited about the project throughout the whole process, and every time we talked (which has been often lately), he asks how "V" is and tells me how excited he is to see it.

And Vix and MAH hate the play! That's what amazing friends I have!

I have to go dry the pants I'm wearing, which were handwashed at the last minute this morning. I definitely have laundry issues these days. Oh well.

Whooo-hooo! Off and running!

Not Quite Dead Yet

I'm still alive...barely. I am ashamed that I have not written in so long, but I've been more than swamped with constant vaginas. We're down to the wire, we load in today and then have a long arduous tech all afternoon and then I get on a train to Long Island, where my parents are staying with my aunt and uncle, for some much needed time with my wonderful Mom. Then tomorrow...its showtime!

Almost all of the really important people in my life who are here in New York will be there tomorrow night; I'm so excited! Mr. Artsy Hotpants is missing the opening and opening night party of the Broadway play he described as the best thing he's seen in ten years, to come to my V-Day event. He told his friend that this was my opening night and its something that's important to me so there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be Sunday night. That statement is so overwhelmingly beautiful that I hold onto it in the more stressful and anxious moments. He did request, however, that I not buy him a chocolate vagina.

Mr. Emotionally Unavailable is going to come to the show as well. I spoke to him the other night and he asked about it; I reiterated that he did not have to come. He replied that he wanted to come, that it would be fun and he wanted to see me act. I said, "But you hate the play!" and he said, "Yeah, but Duh! I'm crazy about you!". This, of course, was like manna to the starving child and has prompted many a spontaneous smile in the last few days. Mr. Emotionally Unavailable is crazy about me! And he said it out loud! And he's coming to my show! I secretly really want him to come tomorrow so that he can meet my parents, and all of my friends.

Mr. Guarded Illumination will be there tomorrow night as well, but he's coming on a bit strong these days. Force 13 on the Beaufort scale. He calls and/or text messages every day. The other night I stopped by Abar (not its real name) to drop off some postcards for the show, and he asked me if I was running yet. He said he knew that I was busy with my work, and that it means a lot to me and he respects that, but that he hadn't heard from me and didn't know if I was running or not. Sheesh! Its not all about you! I'm putting on a freakin benefit here! he just doesn't quite get it. I told him I'd tell him when I wanted out, but that I need a wide berth in general, show or no show. He said he understood. We talked about intensity; we're both often described as intense people. He said many of his relationships don't last long because he's too intense but that he shouldn't have to compromise his intensity for someone else. He's right, and it made me feel bad for wanting that...for needing that. I don't think he should compromise who he is, but at the same time I'm not sure its for me.

Shit, I have to jump in the shower so that I can be ready to go load chairs into the truck to move to the club for the show. Whew, that was quite a little excursion into tangent land, wasn't it? I guess that's what happens when one is remiss in blogging...things just kind of spill out haphazardly. I also haven't had more than 5 hours sleep per night for weeks...that could have something to do with it to.

Oh well, off to the shower I go.