Friday, September 28, 2012

happy birthday to me!

My day was fun and relaxed and there was waffles and strawberries for breakfast at this little Belgian diner and then pizza and mimosas at Roberta's and chocolate cake shots at the Anchored Inn and I had rehearsal for "Coney" at night and Lisa sent me a beautiful bouquet from Saffron (one of my favorite stores) and people called and sang on my voicemail and I didn't even have a hangover the next day. Success? I say success.

Also, if I ever worry about getting and feeling old, when my mother sends me birthday cards covered in stickers and hearts, I feel six or ten or seventeen years old all over again. And it's a nice little feeling and one only a mother could encourage.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

i'm in a play!


Yip yip yippee! I'm in a play! It's with the Blue Coyote Group, it's called "Coney," and I play a shy sixteen year old on a first date. I'm very happy and now I need to find a time to get my butt out to Coney Island before it closes for the season. I've never been and I'm from New York. Madness. Had first rehearsal yesterday and I just love being in rehearsal. I love how these things start as words on a page and over the course of four weeks, there is this communal effort to create something else. I hope I get to eat real zeppoles in my scenes.

"Coney" at Blue Coyote Theater Group

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

currently reading

Reading Chekhov, by Janet Malcolm

She is one of my favorite writers. "The Journalist and the Murderer" is just the best. I love her writing-- it's dense and concise and funny and she creates some of the most well-tuned passages:

If privacy is life's most precious possession, it is fiction's least considered one. A fictional character is a being who has no privacy, who stands before the reader with his 'real, most interesting life' nakedly exposed. We never see people in life as clearly as we see the people in novels, stories, and plays; there is a veil between ourselves and even our closest intimates, blurring us to each other. By intimacy we mean something much more modest than the glaring exposure to which the souls of fictional characters are regularly held up.
-Reading Chekhov

This is definitely eat your spinach reading. Whereas The Journalist and the Murderer and Psychoanalysis: The Impossible Profession feel quick and sexy and full of "eureka!" moments, this one is much more deliberate and the pace is tempered, and it reads a lot more like, well, Chekhov. I had a cursory sense of his life details (I knew he was a doctor, knew he was into nature, knew he was Russian-- hey, that counts), but I wasn't aware of his health struggles, and I knew nothing of his short stories, nothing of his love life, nothing of his ambivalence towards solitude. And if these specifics are implicit in his writing, I was still a bit of a dummy and not picking up on them.

This book is giving me facts, yes, and it's also giving me an interesting framework through which to synthesize those facts (some Russian history, details about Chekhov's family), but it's also giving me permission to read Chekhov in a different way. To search through his plays and stories looking for those moments that reveal all I could want to know about the burden of living and the exquisite beauty of being alive. 

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

what should i do for my birthday?

Sometimes I can get a little weird on my birthday. I don't have too much angst about getting older (although as far as the acting world is concerned, I'm a grandma at 32), but the years just go by so much faster. Wasn't I just turning 31 six weeks ago? I can still remember that hangover from too many hurricanes and pina coladas at Bar 169 like it was frigging yesterday. Getting older makes me feel like my time isn't quite my own anymore. Years start to feel like months, months start to feel like weeks, weeks feel like one long blur of appointments and obligatory meetings and a holiday and someone's birthday dinner and one more wedding and me oh my, you see how I can start to get a little weird around birthday time.

But my last few birthdays have been really lovely. These pictures were taken last year and they are some of my favorite photographs ever with some of my favorite people ever. Dumplings and frozen drinks in lower Manhattan.




 And then two years ago for my 30th birthday, I made everyone meet me at the Hideaway in Tribeca and everyone had to bring a gift that cost under $5 and we drank beer and ate fries tossed with Old Bay seasoning and there was cake. The bar windows were open and the breeze came in from the water and it was early evening and man, New York was fun that night. Lisa and I hauled my very large garbage bag of gifts to a beautiful dinner and then I fell asleep on her comfy couch and I'm pretty positive there was cake frosting in my hair and a french fry dangling from my mouth as I slept.

But what to do this year? I think probably something daytime again. Nothing too expensive, I don't want folks to have to spend a bunch of money. Pizza party lunch? Roller skating? I think I would definitely like my day to include a photo booth at some point. It's weird. Can I say it? I'm going to say it. Birthdays can be fun, but they can also feel a little weird and disorienting and sad. I think turning 32 and not having actual acting work and not having (gulp, I can't believe I'm writing this on the internet) a partner can make my days feel like a little like a "Sex and the City" episode. Or worse. A Cathy comic. Ack.

But my friends and my family are really super duper. And I don't say that like it's a consolation prize. They're really wonderful and make me feel loved and important and necessary and they laugh at my jokes, which is all you can ask for on your birthday.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

my friends are married

Picture from Huffington Post

Disclaimers first! I love my married friends, I love my friends who will soon be married, I love my friends who are in fulfilling, happy relationships, I love my friends who are expecting babies or busy taking care of the little ones they already have. Love them all.

But this is definitely my new favorite blog. You're going to laugh a lot, I promise. The tagline alone-- "My friends are getting married, and I'm just 25 and drunk"-- makes me giggle and shake my head.

My favorite posts are here and here and here.

My Friends Are Married

Saturday, September 8, 2012

so much to look forward to!

There are three books coming out that I cannot wait to read. I already have a huge stack of things I need to read, but I'll move these to the top of the pile. Doesn't it always work that way? When you have eight billion things to read, there's always one more to add to the heap. When you're at a loss for what to read next, when you're wandering around the bookstore for hours at a time, there are no good books to be found.

"May We Be Forgiven," A.M. Homes 

 I believe this began as a short story. I read it in an anthology a few years back, and I think I've reread it at least a dozen times since. The story is a painful, lovely, eerie tale of marriage and trust and family and holidays and infidelity. And it's violent and sexy and really perfect. I can't frigging wait to read the entire novel. My friend William finished it already and gave it a thumbs up.

"This is How You Lose Her," Junot Diaz
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. Please, yes. I've read two recent stories of his in the New Yorker (although I'm unsure if "Monstro"- my favorite: the apocalypse is nigh and the protagonist can't stop thinking about his sweetheart- is included in this collection), and I'm very stoked.

"NW," Zadie Smith
I waited on Zadie Smith once and she was so unbelievably pleasant and polite and I wasn't surprised at all. You can feel that warm, light touch in her writing. She has a generous eye and she's so smart and so talented and I love her. She and David Foster Wallace (and I think maybe Stephen King) are the writers I would like to invite over for dinner. With beer. And dessert. And whiskey. There would definitely be some "I-know-it's-late-but-one-more-bourbon" drinking as the night winds down and the used dinner plates remain on the table.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

yes, please

Just lovely. I would wear this every day. I mean it. Every day. I would work in it, sleep in in, go running in it. Wait a minute. I haven't been running in months. Great. So I don't have to worry about getting the pretty floral skirt all sweaty.

Monday, September 3, 2012

new new york #2: brooklyn bridge and grimaldi's

Pizza! Brooklyn Bridge! $5 beer! Full, stuffed, gorged, now I'm longer curious to know what it feels like to be nine months pregnant belly! Smiling at tourists! Cannolis! Peach blueberry sangria on the waterfront!

My cousin Georgie and I spent the day walking across the bridge (which I had done once before) and eating at Grimaldi's (never done before). It was really a fun day. We laughed, ate too much, walked through Brooklyn Heights pointing out our future residences, and laughed some more. My cheeks hurt by the time I got on the train to come home. 






Sunday, September 2, 2012

i'm happy about-- you tube edition

This interview with Ray Bradbury. I haven't read any of his work, but I very randomly quoted him in something I'm writing. This segment made me really, really like him and really, really want to read his stuff. And the very last moment with his cat is precious.

This song by Taj Mahal. Miss Leah plays it on Sundays at work and I could listen to it forever and ever and ever and ever. I have to be careful-- I always play songs I love over and over again, and then I get kind of sick of them. But I never want to get sick of this song.
I first saw this months ago, but I find it chilling to watch each and every time. My favorite moment is their initial ascent.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

mush mush

Photo found here

I feel like a bowl of scrambled eggs this week. Just regular stress, the kind of stuff we all have to deal with. But sometimes things crunch together at the same time, and my days start feeling like a repugnant mix of unpaid bills and deadlines I won't meet and too many drinks and my acting teacher calling me sterile and casual and how is summer over already and dishes in the sink.

 But if you notice, that bowl of scrambled eggs has little sprigs of something lovely and green in it.   And I think there's some truffle salt in there. So maybe things might be a little mushy-minded right now, but there is some good stuff in there, too. It's a nice kind of mush. My acting class partners in crime and I have four books coming in the mail and I start a new writing class in a few weeks and my plants are still kicking and Habana Outpost's frozen mojitos are around until October.

 Okay. Maybe not so bad.  

Thursday, August 23, 2012

new new york #1: oatmeals

New York is so big. I know there are at least eighty billion things to do on any given day, and yet I always find myself revolving around the same eight-ten places doing the same eight-ten things. I don't really venture out and visit new neighborhoods or try new restaurants. I shop at the same places, eat my takeout from the same places, drink at the same places. This is dull. This is boring. This isn't what New York is for.

So each week I'm going to try something new. A new store, new commute, new cocktail at a new bar I've never been to. I'm going to break up my rhythm a little bit and see if I can really take advantage of being in the city. It'll be a new New York for me.

My first is a little bit of a cheat. My friend William told me about this place last week, and I've already been twice now. But it was new to me as of last week and it's so frigging cute, I just want to write about it.

Oatmeals is a coffee shop in the west village that specializes in oat-based products. So there's an oatmeal bar with about forty different toppings, and there are oatmeal cookies, and oatmeal sweet sticky if-I-keep-eating-these-I'll-be-fat-and-no-one-will-ever-love-me cinnamon buns, and oatmeal cakes, and you get the point. And there's plenty of non-oaty stuff, too, but the menu's focus is the oat and trying to let people see the potential nutrition benefits of incorporating it into your diet. I'm sold. And even though I'm trying not to eat out so much, and I am a little dubious about the health benefits of oats rolled in butter, sugar, and cinnamon, I would totally go there every day if I could.

And it's also super cute and cozily decorated, I wish it were my apartment.
Photo from Oatmeals

Oatmeals
120 West 3rd Street
(between Macdougal and 6th Ave)
oatmealsny.com

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

the crucible

I have recently reignited my love for "The Crucible" by Arthur Miller. To the extent that I've read it at least twenty times, it is my favorite play. I first discovered it my sophomore year of high school, when I was assigned to work on a scene for an acting class. After school, I would go home and for hours, hours, I would act out scenes from the play in front of the mirror nailed to the back of my bedroom door. My favorites to work on were the scenes between John Proctor and his wife Elizabeth-- a marriage shaken by his infidelity, his desire to be a different man, her need to be seen. Hours. 

I'm so excited because I'm going to be working on "The Crucible" again in my current acting class. And since most directors wouldn't cast a black actress in any of the roles other than Tituba (the "sorceress" slave from Barbados), this might be my only chance to play Elizabeth and honor all of the time I spent shrieking back and forth to myself about witch hunts and the importance of being a good Christian. Hmmm, now if only I could find a way to play John-- the "Because it is my name" howl gives me the jitters just thinking about it.   

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

no more takeout. please. please. please.

I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really need to start cooking. It's shameful-- I eat every single meal out at a restaurant or a bar or an overpriced deli or a pizza shop or a (this hurts) Chipotle. It's not totally my fault. I moved in with my bachelor musician father when I was ten years old and he never cooked. We ordered Chinese or Domino's or hamburgers from Hooper's Burgers every night of the week. It's something I've carried with me into adulthood, and as much as I say I like homemade steamed kale, I really like a Smoke Joint fried catfish sandwich covered in tartar sauce, coleslaw, and pickles much more.

Eating out usually means I eat more garbage. Not to cast aspersions on the value of my Chipotle burritos. They are tasty and delicious, but I'm not sure eating them four times a week is the best approach to nutrition. Not cooking is making me fat, it's making me spend more money, and it's making me Salieri-jealous of those Brooklyn girls who frequent the farmer's markets with their totes and ponytails and braise, steam, chop, and julienne vegetables instead of letting them rot in the fridge.

Also, and not to get too annoying, but I feel like our relationships to food can be good indicators of how we operate in other areas of our lives. My contact with food always feels fun in the moment (please find me a person who wouldn't love a breakfast of coconut cream doughnuts from Donut Plant), but open closer inspection, it's kind of drab and boring. I just grab whatever's close and cheap and hope it fills me up. That sounds a little like the relationship between a john and a prostitute. Or like dating someone you only see when you're drunk. There's the initial rush of excitement and the mad dash to tear some clothes off, but afterwards, you can feel a little empty and a lot hungover.

So I'm going to try my hand at cooking. I'll take baby steps. A few meals a week to get me going. But seeing as how I'm working with this,

and this,

anything will be a major improvement.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

a wedding?

Hmmmm. I always tell myself I'm not quite sure if I'll ever get married. While I love the idea of it, I'm the product of a single parent household, so marriage doesn't totally feel like SOP for me. I'm so focused on acting and sadly, I can really be a deformed idiot when it comes to making decisions about men. But I still like to wonder what kind of wedding I might have. I'm a Libra and my friend Kendrick insists that it's a very Libra trait to be much more concerned with the wedding than the actual marriage. Well, lest I fail the planets, let's see what fun stuff I could maybe do!

I could wear this dress.

Or maybe this one.

I could wear these shoes.

Everyone could get drunk at this table.

Yes to this little guy.

And I'm not the hugest wedding cake fan, so how about some pie for dessert?

Okay? Okay. Sounds good to me.

Friday, August 17, 2012

new hampshire



























Favorite things about my New Hampshire trip:

1. The seven hour train ride. Long, yes, but fun, too. I took my shoes off, slept, read, watched my Netflix, stared out of the window, ate a wilty garden salad. The only thing that would have made the trip better would've been the purchase of one of those tiny little bottles of wine. I would've gotten white and poured it over ice-- instant happiness!

2. Spending time on a college campus was all kinds of fun. We stayed on the Dartmouth campus in Hanover, and I found myself thinking about my freshman year at college. How fun it was to meet new people and decorate and grind through finals together. Communal living can be really awesome, and I was reminded of how we always kept our dorm room doors open. Our RA asked us to leave our doors open for the first few weeks, and we did it for much longer, and you could walk by or into anyone's room, lounge on their Walmart-purchased futon, drink their crappy beer, and complain about classes.

3. I know this runs the risk of sound a bit overheated, but spending the week with artists was really, really lovely. I sometimes find myself feeling a little bashful when I tell someone I'm an actor-- I have shame about not getting work, and I live in fear of people thinking I'm yet another attention-hungry, insecure, self-interested aspiring starlet.** But spending the week with a group of people who love to talk about plays and books and movies and art and the big meaning of it all made me feel like I belonged in a certain way. I like dinner discussions devoted to figuring out what we're up to and why we're up to it, I like walks to the river with actors trying to figure out why this particular mode of expression is so useful, I like drinking beer with writers who are contemplating what they want to reveal about the world. Discussions like that are great, they make me feel less alone in the world.

** Which of course, I am all of these things. That's the way it works, right? The qualities you'd like to distance yourself from the most are the probably the things that exist most strongly inside of you. And my adult self is okay with that...for the most part. But I think maybe because I went to a performing arts high school, and drama majors had a terrible, albeit well-deserved reputation-- loud, attention-hungry, over the top, loud, dramatic, loud-- I think I'm still a little reactionary. And while I shook my fist at the time and screamed that we were so misunderstood, fact is that all of those things were true-- we were brassy and bossy. But we were other things, too, and of course that was the lovely part of high school-- that at 15, we could still be sensitive and creative and patient and interested. So I try not to let my memory completely pummel that 16 year old drama student who lived and thrummed with neediness and the desire to belt "Les Miserables" numbers on her way to class.

4. Last thing-- early evenings. My favorite time of the day is between 4pm and 8pm. I don't know why, but I feel it most acutely during warm weather months. I think it's because of the time I spent at summer camp (ten years). After dinner, there was a pocket of time when it was warm without being too hot, when things had calmed down in a certain way. At camp, we had a little break before heading to our activities for the evening, and the whole world felt kind of still and young and alive. I felt like I could feel every rock underneath my shoes. I know some people have this feeling in the morning, but for me, it's dusk. When your belly is full and you're walking a little slower and you're anticipating the promise of the evening. Every one of my New Hampshire evenings reminded me of those camp nights. Pure bliss.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

goodbye new york!

I have about four dollars in my bank account, so I planned on spending my summer tethered to the sticky city. But yay of all yays, playwright Jordan Seavey asked me to participate in a workshop of his lovely, beautiful, heartbreaking new play "Listening for our Murderer" in Hanover, New Hampshire.

Goodbye to my messy little apartment.


Goodbye to Penn Station. You smell like foot and armpit.

Goodbye to my fuzzy departure picture. That's the thing about traveling alone. You feel bad asking a stranger to be patient while you fiddle with the settings on your camera.