shenanigans and other assorted matters

2008-03-09T10:10:00.005-04:00

cHiCaGo. i have been remiss in updating this. oh well. such is life. it goes by quickly. and often i am stunned by how unremarkable and utterly wild and wonderful it is at the same time. i always feel as though nothing is going on, nothing is happening, nothing is of note. and then i stop and look at things for a moment and realize that i cannot even begin to capture all that is going on, all that has gone on in the past week, month, year. so i will jump back on the horse of posting some of my thoughts and observations and experiences here with an incomplete sampling of reflections from my new year's trip to chicago...

*****************************

it is not to say that having gone to chicago makes me more at ease with my father's death,
it's just
that
every story needs a setting
and this
this well may be
one of the biggest stories of my life
one of the most significant
the most life-changing
and for 20 years
it had no setting
and i owed it to myself
i owed it to my father
to put all the pieces of his story together
to give it that fundamental element, its core
we both
deserve
at least that much
and now
he dropped dead
somewhere
i can
see and feel and taste and smell
and i rest a little better at night
and i hope
i trust
that he does too..........

*****************************

and so it goes. and so it goes. and so i go. blind and bumbling, rushing rashly, no stopping to ponder, no careful review, no wise or weighed decisions. gut instinct. always gut instinct. for all my worrying and analyzing and doubting, i still do this each and every time. jump. leap. go.

i am 2 months from 20 years. 20 years that my father has been dead. 20 years of life without the person who perhaps loved me most and most unconditionally. 20 years without the person of whom i am supposed to be some replica. 20 years of grief. of knowing what loss is, of knowing what pain is, of knowing what loneliness is. 20 years of missing him. 20 years of mourning him. 20 years of moving on.

i am also just under 10 months from turning 30. don't think this doesn't haunt me every day. multiple times a day. i am old. when did this happen? how did this happen? what am i doing with my life? what am i going to do with my life? i am not an adult. not in my mind. dear god, i see myself as being so foolish, so naïve, in such constant struggle to become a better person, to do something productive, to figure out who i truly am and find some sort of peace with that person. i am trying to grow up. fast. before i hit 30. to do something. make something. be something.

and, as of a few hours ago, i am less than 2 months away from setting foot in the spot where my father died. 20 years ago. a place i have never been. a place that for a long time i thought i never would go. and now, well, i am running around like a crazy person trying to put all the pieces together and finagle my schedule and take time off i don't have coming to me to do this. to go there. on new year's eve. of course.

this will be a pilgrimage for me. of a scope that even i am yet to understand. as soon as it occurred to me last evening, standing on the first balcony of terminal 5 straining to see band of horses on the stage below, as i seriously considered trying to make a trip to chicago for new year's to see spoon with anna & colleen happen. as soon as i put two and two together and saw myself landing in chicago at o'hare airport. as soon as the seed planted in my brain that i would be visiting, passing through the exact spot where my father collapsed from a massive and fatal coronary nearly 20 years ago, something exploded, in the very deepest part of me a voice said "you are going" and in the next instant i was consumed by an energy, an emotion, the intensity and strength of which stunned me. i was silenced by it. my body, my mind, my heart became vessels for it, innocent bystanders and onlookers and let it do its thing. i stayed very still, looking ahead, careful not to turn around to my friends, for fear of what they would see or what this emotional surge was capable of. i stood there and felt the throbbing between my ribs, the pulsating ache inside my chest, i stood there and let the tears come silent and hot, and i tried desperately to size this thing up. and i couldn't. it was like looking at a horizon out in the middle of nowhere, no end in sight, no beginning, no end, no left, no right, no up, no down. and it scares the shit out of me.

and i am determined to go. no matter how crazy, how irresponsible, how impossible. i need to do this. i have opened up whatever channel in myself that had been closed to being in that place where he took his last breath and thought his last thought. and i fear that if i don't go, this sadness, this longing, this wonder, this trepidation will just continue to grow. until i finally do something about it. clearly it has been there this whole time, growing and festering. something about pandora and her box, right?

dear god.

i have wondered so many times about his death. it was public. in line at the gate for his connecting flight to las vegas. he fell face first when he had the coronary. he hit the ground hard, or so the swelling and bruises on the face of his corpse indicated. who saw? what did they think? did they know or guess or surmise he had a wife and two young daughters waiting innocently at home in massachusetts for his return from this business trip? have they thought about it since? was it gory? was it scary? did it scar them for life? do they even remember now, 20 years down the road, it happening? did they all just go on and board the plane? what was the energy on that flight like i wonder? all those people who had just watched a man die.

the pieces for this sojourn came together with a speed and an ease that surprised me. i had expected more resistance, more hurdles i suppose, based solely on the fact i suppose that nothing is ever easy and my permanent pessimism and conviction that i never get anything i want. and, yet, this trip fell in my lap, my flight bought for me by tricia, the arrangements made for us by colleen…the leg work i had to do to get the studio covered in my absence was minimal in the scope of things. and, so, before i knew it, it was all on my calendar, a departure sunday december 30th out of jfk on jetblue at 9pm and a return on wednesday january 2nd out of o'hare on jetblue at 7pm. and i was moving towards it, rapidly and recklessly, my trip to o'hare….
i am somewhat stupefied, somewhat shocked that i am really going. i can't really wrap my mind around it all and all of its implications right now. i have become somewhat numb. it is too massive, too morphous, too delicate to fully unpack and explore in this cramped little period of time before it happens. so it will get thrown into the luggage with everything else and it will do what it will do and be what it will be when it happens. which i suppose is how it should be.

*****************************

and all of a sudden, we were there
the plane was descending
lights became visible
a skyline
chicago

CHICAGO

and in my hand i clutched
a photograph
of me and amy and daddy
taken in front of the house on blacksmith lane
on graduation day
nursery school graduation
st roberts country day school

the last graduation he saw
the only graduation...
no elementary school
no middle school
no high school
no college

nursery school

1982

and now

it's 2007
and my 29 year old self
is clutching this photo
this image
this memory
descending onto the location of his death
and it is too much
i feel like the tears will choke me
drown me
i am not okay
have i ever been okay?
in the last 20 years
HAVE I EVER BEEN OKAY?

no.

i know this now.

no.

NO.

and i'm still not.

and i may never be.

i miss him.
oh my god do i miss him
as much now as the day i found out
maybe more.

and so i clutch this photo
and i clutch anna
and anna clutches me

and she asks to see the photo

and

of course
she can

i want her to

to have some visual image
of what i am missing
of who we were
of who he was

but i
i become so embarrassed
i feel so naked
and vulnerable
handing her this photo
this is the very deepest
dearest
part of me

a piece i hold
tight
white knuckle tight
always
constantly
for eternity

and i have never felt
more exposed
than in this moment
of letting it go
or letting her in
or both....

i never realized how protective i am of him
how safely i guard his memory
until now....

and anna takes the photo
sweet
kind
wicked
witty
beautiful
dependable
reliable
loyal
loving
anna
and she sees, for the first time i believe, if i remember right,
what my dad looked like
she gets that look on her face
that most people get
when the pieces start coming together
it hits her
how young we all were
how innocent
how naive
how unaware
how unprepared
young and dumb and happy on the front lawn at 32 blacksmith lane, my dad trying to hold us still enough for the photo to be taken
and she asks, looking at these 2 little girls in tee shirts with iron-on glittery mice and rainbows and navy blue skirts:
did you always dress alike?
god bless anna
who can make you laugh
while you are sobbing
no
it was graduation
that was the "uniform"
oh
okay
and her grip on my hand tightens
she rubs my arm
she holds me
she cries with me
she wants to make this okay
she wants to make me feel better
but
she also seems to understand
oh perceptible anna
that that is impossible
and the plane descends
and i am alone
and not alone
that old dichotomy
that tricky game grief plays with me
a world of shit inside of me,
rushing around so rapidly and constantly,
that even i don't understand

oh god
okay
i am okay
i am going to be okay
just keep breathing
just let it come
and keep breathing
don't stop breathing

the wheels hit the ground
for a moment i pause
giving into the superstition that this place is cursed
waiting for the plane to hit something or skid off the runway
waiting to die some gruesome death in a plane crash at o'hare
did you know that her father died at that airport, too?
i know! and that's why she was flying there, she had never gone. she was making peace, turning over a new page.
so sad
i know
we are on the ground
in chicago
at o'hare
just get me off this fucking plane
i am done with this plane
i am ready to deal with the terminal, the airport
and keep this show moving
we have colleen waiting
and jocelyn and julius waiting
and jim waiting
i want to get through this
and keep moving
i can recognize this grief
this is the kind where if you stop it will eat you alive
if you stop
you will wallow
and you will have a bitch of a time climbing back out of it
so don't stop
julia
don't stop
i get up as soon as possible
i have my bag from the overhead
my retardedly and miraculously overpacked bag containing three pairs of boots
plus the fourth pair that i am wearing
no one needs 4 pairs of boots for a 3 day trip
and i am ready to disembark by the time we hit the gate
in the aisle
in line
here we are at the gate at last
here we....don't go
the door won't open
the door
won't open
they can't open the door
they can't get us off of the plane

*****************************

o'hare is ugly
the ceilings seem a tad too low
it feels
compressed
long & winding
massive
never-ending
but
compressed
too tight
claustrophobic
it feels
out of date
most gates
seem to
have been that way for
years
and
years
and
years
rugs from the 80's
maybe even the 70's
versions of airline logos
that have long since
been retired
still as signage
it is in and of itself
depressing
some glaring flourescent lit hell
i cannot imagine
it looked much different in 1988
maybe newer?
god, i hope so
what an awful place to die
alone
in public
at an airport
an ugly
cramped
tunnel
of an airport
crowded and chaotic
dingy
dirty
stinking
of deep fried this
or double dipped that
perfume and body odor
stale cigarettes
industrial strength janitorial supplies
teaming with people
with bad hair
and worse clothing
people who eat the shit i'm smelling
people whose arteries should be those clogging
people who should be having heart attacks
it just sickens me
saddens me
angers me
to think about it
everything around him
was tacky and cheap
or utterly unfamiliar
it's just not right
he deserved something better
it's all i can think
as i look at this airport
o'hare
my god
this is it?
this is the place?
it is so ugly, so unremarkable
i don't know what i had expected
but something
somehow
more impressive
and as we make our way
out of this nasty maze
towards baggage claim
and clamoring increasingly impatient colleen
and jocelyn and julius' van
and freedom! chicago!
i notice
AED
automatic
electronic
defibrilators
on the wall
every few feet
my god
everywhere
all so clearly marked
with a big red sign
with a white heart and lightning bolt
and
i notice them
each and every one of them
and i want to know
when were they installed?
(they seem the newest cleanest part of this midwestern hellhole)
and why?
is he
was he
a number
that contributed
to chicago
needing to do something
about people dropping dead
and...
did the paramedics
who found his body
on o'hare's dirty floor
have paddles with them?
use them?
would they have helped?
could they have...
had ugly congested o'hare
had paddles every few feet along its lackluster walls
on january 6 1988
would
no policeman
have rung our doorbell
in andover, massachusetts
at 5am
to tell the wife
of thomas richard henderson, jr
the mother of his two young daughters
8 and 9
the unspeakable news..........................

well,
they are here now
and i am here now
and he is not.....

*****************************

every once in a while
it all comes into focus
i catch a glimpse
i see clearly
what this was
is
my grief
like a kaleidoscope of sorts
that moment when all those
pretty colored pieces
stop & form
that picture you've been waiting
to see
then your hand shifts
the pieces shift
the image is gone...
from time to time
i can see with absolute clarity
(my grief)
the scope of my loss
the breadth of my pain
the magnitude of my loneliness
the tattered
rag tag
threadbare
soul
that i am
i see each gap
each hole
each scar
each place i tied myself back together
each missing piece
each piece of filler
each patch
each bandaid
i see it
(all)
i feel it
(all)
i understand it
(all)
i get it
(all)

i accept it

it is like staring out
into some
huge abyss
and making sense
out of the incomprehensible

but
this knowledge
this understanding
this vision
is just an experience
it will pass
like any experience
it passes
and leaves a murky not-quite memory
like childbirth
the mother knows it hurt
she knows how much
in theory
but in actuality
if she knew how much
it really hurt
if she relived that pain
when she recalled it
no woman would ever have another child
and so
from time to time
i know
what it was
to lose my father

when these moments come
all time stands still
the world it freezes
and i stand
in wonder
awe
jaw gaping open
terrified
and empowered
by this knowledge
knowing it will end
desperate to make it last
i climb into this moment
try to wedge it open with my body
as it quickly presses closed
and pushes me out

sometimes
it brings me peace
sometimes
it brings me to despair

on new year's eve day
in chicago
it brought me to a point
of misery
unspeakable
misery
fucking
god-damned
GRIEF

*****************************

i laid down to sleep
depleted
dehydrated
i laid down to rest
worn out
exhausted
overtired
overwired
i, gently as i could,
laid my weary bones
on my borrowed air mattress
pulled my borrowed blanket
tight around
my cold and shivering form
ready to sleep
replenish
restore
no more...for now
and suddenly
violently
mercilessly
unexpectedly
it overcame me

my pain
my anger
my confusion
my guilt
my sorrow
my regrets
my love
my loneliness
my longing
my disappointment

WHY?
why you?
why us?
why then?

what am i supposed to do?

how do i go on??

why should i go on???

how will i ever be happy again?

???????

in a flood
in an instant
i could not catch my breath
through the tears
as my whole body shook
as i drown
in snot
and tears
and fear

i was on the brink
of something...
what?
and was i ever coming back?

absolutely
perfectly
alone

in a room with 2 of my best friends

alone.

there was no way
to express
this state
to ask for help
i was so terribly alone
in more pain than i can ever remember being
missing him
relentlessly
endlessly
being bludgeoned by
the enormity
of
HOW MUCH I MISS HIM
suffocating
from 20 years
of
MISSING HIM

i was
cold
and
shivering
and
sobbing
with absolutely
no idea
how to make it STOP.

from here to there to there to there to there and back to here...

2007-08-03T11:31:00.000-04:00

fOrWaRdiNg aDdReSs. i have moved. back to manhattan. back to the east village. and, ironically, back to east 11th street (i like to just crack a smile at that fact, appreciating that things just turned out that way, that nature just put this little full circle coincidence in my lap, knowing that had i tried to find a place on the same street where i first lived upon moving to manhattan i never would have succeeded). acclimating to the geography of a new neighborhood is always fascinating. learning to recognize the buildings, the stoops, the gates, the cracks in the sidewalks, the storefronts...i am making slow progress on this front. with each return to my new building taking in a new landmark, feeling more and more like i am coming home. it leaves me with a slightly empty feeling, a feeling of transience, during this process. i have let go completely of my attachment to my williamsburg neighborhood. without intention and with shocking immediacy, it fled, and when i returned to the old apartment, the place i lived for 2 solid years, the street felt foreign, my block unfamiliar, it was undeniably no longer my home.

i hate getting up early. but i love being up early. especially on a bright summer morning. feeling the heat push itself on the east village, over tompkins square park, down the avenues, up the cross streets...finding even the shady spots. quietly and lazily becoming today. the sun is like a spotlight increasing my awareness, pointing out so many details that slide right past me when i travel this same route at dusk......there are always more people out and about at this early hour, before 8am, than i would expect. and in the brightness i see them all. i notice their nuances, their wardrobes, their postures, their seeming intentions and directions. there is a lack of frenzy and a sense of simplicity. for a brief moment things seem clear. and nothing nearly as beautiful as a windowbox in bloom or a freshly painted door...and i know that these are morning feelings and morning thoughts and that it will not stay this way. i know that. and i let that thought go. and marvel again at the slight iridescence of the fuschia petals of the impatiens in front of me. and continue on my way, quietly and lazily becoming who i will be when i wake up...

to be young, angry, and on the subway.

2007-05-18T09:39:00.000-04:00

pUsH iT. pUsH iT gOoD. this is why i bought another bike. this is precisely why i bought another bike. not only is the act of being pushed, shoved, and smooshed into an overcrowded subway car absolutely and undeniably miserable, but the atmosphere of palpable and misplaced anger is enough to have sent mother theresa on a murder spree. there is so much raw, misguided, uncontrolled hatred and anger coming from an alarming percentage of the passengers on any given subway car at 7:45am. it baffles me. come on, it's not even 8 o'clock in the morning yet, how could you possibly be this worked up already? how could you even be awake enough to feel with such vehemance? i'm still working on keeping my eyes open and standing upright. you are yelling at people and hitting them intentionally with your baby stroller. i know hipsters use babies (like small dogs and white belts) as accessories, factions of social climbers use them as status symbols, and certain corporate manufacturing pigs use them as cheap labor in third world countries, but as a weapon on a subway during the morning rush hour? this is taking it too far.
this morning there was a young mother with her 9 month old son in his stroller in the car i was hurled into by the force of the swarming mass behind me at the lorimer subway stop. she had set up camp in front of the doors opposite me. by the time we had reached the bedford stop she had lost her sanity completely. the doors she stood squarely in front of no sooner opened than she was screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs. fuck you this and fuck you that.........at one point she actually shouted, "i have a baby in a stroller here so don't you be squishing all up in my shit. no fucking way. assholes..." telling anyone and everyone left and right to fuck off, wait for the next train and on and on. wielding the stroller around the limited space like a psycho waiving a gun to scare his hostages. the stroller containing her son. the doors had closed and we were on our way towards first avenue and she was still going. clearly a need for attention and a lot of pent up frustration and resentment and not necessarily given circumstances were fueling this tirade or she would not have been lighting into imaginary passengers. when she finally stopped cursing, the momentary silence and return to peace was broken by another passenger who decided that getting into it with this woman was a good idea. i mean, why not? she certainly seems calm, rational, and open. i'm sure she will listen to what you have to say and respond appropriately. so the rest of the trip from bedford to first avenue was filled with an argument about whether or not she should have her baby in a carrier, like this misguided vigilante had done with his son, as strollers are illegal on the subway and whether or not yelling at people who were just trying to get to work in the morning was a reasonable move. the poor kid in the stroller finally couldn't take the yelling anymore and did what the rest of us on the train would have loved to, and started to cry. so this young angry angry mother watches the guy who called her out get off the train with his now school-age son at first avenue, looks down at her crying son, momentarily takes in the crammed, weary passengers around her and decides to tell her son "it's okay, rafael, you go ahead and cry as loud as you want." i mean, first of all, you are the reason he is crying, honey. and, second of all, you are the reason he is crying. stop looking at the rest of us like we've done something to your son. and, for the love of god, shut your mouth.

today i will get a new lock for my new bike, tomorrow i will part ways with the subway until bike season ends, and i will not for one moment miss these lovely morning subway commutes.

now that's what i call shenanigans

2007-05-08T09:47:00.000-04:00

oUr gReAteSt hItS.

the access theatre presents
collaborationtown's shenanigans comedy collective in
NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL SHENANIGANS!!
a shenanigans greatest hits

ONE SHOW ONLY
saturday may 12th @ 9pm
the access theatre
380 broadway, 4th floor
(@ white street, 2 blocks south of canal)
$5
reserve a seat: shenanigans.on.fire@gmail.com

today has never happened and it doesn't frighten me.

2007-05-03T09:42:00.000-04:00

i hEaRt nEw yOrK. holy fuck. so i'm doing this guerilla dance team thing and we are dancing tonight at the lower manhattan cultural council benefit, "the downtown dinner", honoring bjork, michel gondry, elliot spitzer, jon corzine, and developer larry silverstein and his wife klara.

this benefit is on the 52nd floor of 7 world trade center.
the 52nd floor.
which, for whatever reason, remains unfinished, a huge open raw industrial loft space.
with floor to ceiling windows ALL THE WAY AROUND.
it is the fucking most phenomenal view i've ever seen. i mean you can literally see everything and anything in any direction for miles............
and at monday night's rehearsal it was the first time we were in the space as the sun set. the sun so giant, seemingly so close with us being so high above everything else, as though something had reached down and plucked me out of the crowded hectic frenzy that is manhattan and lifted me up, up, up above it all to give me this private showing of the sun saying its farewell for this day. so quiet. so serene.
and it nearly broke my heart with its grace and beauty.

and fuck me i've bitched about these rehearsals. and i haven't really slept in days trying to be at work and class and rehearsal and benefits and all this other shit i've committed to. overcommitted to. and i have days, so many days, when i wonder what the hell i'm doing. and why. and to what end. and for what purpose. and has there been any success? will there be any success? and what the fuck is success? and i make plans. and i break plans. and i revise plans. and i worry about failing at my plans. and i worry about not having enough plans.....and more often than i would expect, i am asked "why new york?" and i am never satisfied with the words as they trip and stumble out of my mouth. they seem very simple and trite and not at all evocative of the instinctive, intuitive, emotional draw i have to this piece of earth, its energy, its challenges, its rewards, its crowds, its dirt, its beauty, its opportunities.....it's this shit, it's tonight, it's surprising a bunch of people who paid $1000 a plate to feel like they are in some way benefiting the arts of lower manhattan with sudden choreographed dances that i get to do with 9 of my friends, possibly running into bjork, but at least knowing we are at the same cocktail party, 52 stories above manhattan, watching the sun set right in front of my eyes, over new york city and all its nooks and neighborhoods and boroughs........these experiences, these are why i'm here, and why i don't want to be anywhere else, for the moment anyway, and why i cannot imagine what my life would be or who i would be were i not here doing these crazy and unexpected things that i just seem to trip upon......

april showers are one thing, an april monsoon season is quite another...

2007-04-27T11:42:00.000-04:00

sPrInGtiMe iN nEw YoRk. it's like an abusive relationship. most of the time it is tempestuous and rocky and you find yourself wondering "wait! how did it get like this? i mean, it was so nice yesterday, i was the happiest i'd ever been...what happened? what changed? what went wrong?" just when i was starting to buy into mother nature's apology for so much cold, wet and windy weather, just when i was starting to look at my calendar and believe it actually was the end of april and that may begins next week......the temperature plummeted, and the rain began. again. and as i trudged to the subway station with my umbrella in hand and wearing a winter jacket, and made yet another leap over the giant puddle that collects right at the landing of the stairs at the subway entrance, i found myself begging for forgiveness, asking for an end to the rain, promising to be deserving of warmer temperatures and sunny skies........and so the cycle goes......................but seriously, enough is enough, right? if i had kids or a car i'd pack up and go, i swear, but i don't. and i won't. and i wouldn't have anyway. i'll just deal with cold wet feet. and keep waiting for the sun.

these aren't your mom's...well, wait, no actually they are your mom's jeans.

2007-03-29T10:54:00.000-04:00

bOtToM hEaVy. could mom jeans be any less flattering? thanks to diesel, the answer is yes. accentuating the hip and lower abdomen ginormity that is unique and special to the mom jean and their high high waist with a contrasting stitch spanning the vast circumference of the widest part of hip, lower belly, and ass like a line of latitude stretching across a globe, diesel has managed to make this area even more three-dimensional and eye catching. don't believe me? check out the windows on the 14th street side of their union square store. if the camera adds 10lbs and mom jeans a good 25-30, that model might be up to a 3 digit number thanks to diesel. evidently this is their answer to anorexia and eating disorders: jeans that make everyone look fat!

people with large sunglasses shouldn't throw stones.

2007-03-28T10:05:00.000-04:00

bUt tHaT aIn't eNoUgH tO sToP mE. as i was crossing union ave this morning at metropolitan, reluctantly making my way to the subway, i caught the profile of a young woman, roughly my age, illuminated by the sun, and it hit me suddenly and with brute force - it is a fine line between hipster chic and miami nursing home post-cataract operation. a very fine line.

are we there yet?

2006-11-22T09:35:00.000-05:00

FiNaLLy. and so it is cold. and so it is thanksgiving. and so we have hopefully reached the final day of radiation. and slowly and suddenly at the same time things begin to return to normal, to the familiar. fall feels like fall and life beyond comes back into view. i can tell this from my dreams, too, which for the first time in months have revolved around future action rather than reliving or reinventing a past or current event. i am trying to breathe, to relax, to let relief sink in. but is hard to do, harder than it sounds. my worry, my fear, my anxiety, my anger, my shock, my grief...it holds on in every nook and crevice of my body and skeleton. i feel it in my bones, in my joints, in my muscles. it seems to be a part of the very fiber of my being. ingrained. imprinted. trapped. and i do not know how to loosen it, to expel it. i sweat and i stretch every day and it seemingly does no good. and so i try to learn to live with it, around it, because of it, in spite of it...

i know what i know. if you know what i mean.

2006-11-10T09:57:00.000-05:00

cUrRenT eVeNtS. it never ceases to amaze me the way in which a death or an illness can instantly take you out of the world around you and lock you away from moving with the rest of the world. my mom's cancer is doing that. big time. the elections this past week were a blur. a blur that i couldn't bring myself to really care about. or to vote in. even though before this diagnosis, before this radiation and chemotherapy, before this back and forth and back and forth between new york and gloucester, i was focused on many of these races, desperate to see a loss of power among the republicans, hopeful that our country would start making amends for some of its terrible choices at the polls in the past decade. and, yet, tuesday came and it was not about any election, it was about chemotherapy being stopped because of malnutrition. i am in the middle of making sure all shifts are covered at my bikram studio over thanksgiving week. and thanksgiving means nothing to me this year. the word is almost unrecognizable to me, like something in another language. nonsense. jibberish. if the last day of radiation is tuesday, november 21st, on thursday, november 23rd we should know when they will complete chemo and when they will operate to remove whatever remains in her neck and throat. or will we? maybe we will still be waiting for those answers. whatever the case, she will probably still be feeding through the tube, and we certainly will not be sitting around the table enjoying turkey and stuffing. she is too sick and run down at this point to even delude ourselves with playing at the pretense of observing a holiday as if all is normal. nothing is normal. and i am moving on some plane, in some reality, that is not in tune with the world, with current events. and i am not sure how i get where i need to be in the morning or how i get home at the end of the day, i just know the next time i get on the bus to go back to boston, how many cans of formula she has taken in so far today, how many cans she is supposed to take in during a day, what the difference between those two totals is and what that means for her recovery, how many treatments have been completed, how many are left to go, and how much i need love and courage to be enough.

back and forth and back and forth

2006-10-24T23:05:00.000-04:00

uNdEr tHe KniFe. there is something utterly timeless, almost mythical, somewhat medieval about 128 as i drive south towards beverly hospital to retrieve my mom. the pounding, pouring rain of the night before has ceased, the sky has cleared, and a misty fog rises from the ground. there is nothing but trees lining this stretch of road. their leaves are just starting to turn, the colors muddy shades of yellow and gold and crimson. (what is it with this lackluster foliage? probably the excessive rain this summer, probably global warming, probably a big giant warning sign that this whole planet is going to hell in a handbasket sooner rather than later. but i can't think about that now. i can't think about 2 hours from now, 2 days from now, let alone the self-imposed destruction of the planet, at this moment in time. i am on my way to get my mother out of the hospital. there is nothing else and nothing beyond that.) the fog is flawless, as if out of a movie, it seems like an illusion. the air smells of earth and rain and fall. it seems that a wandering knight, muddy and bruised, should appear on horseback, emerging from the trees. this has been one of those nights that grabs you by the throat, pushes your head under the water, and chokes you, relentlessly and mercilessly, and does not loosen his grip until dawn comes and breaks you free just as you are about to succumb forever to the night. the light of day rushes in and clears your airways and fills your lungs and jump starts your heart. you are alive. and you are glad to be. and you are aware of how uncertain that was just a short time ago...

"i am all alone"

this thought keeps bouncing around my thoughts.

but, truly, i am.

when i get to the hospital i somehow find my way through the maze up to my mother's room on the 5th floor. purely on instinct. i have no idea how we got there last night, having gone from radiology to medical day care to surgery day care to surgery reception to this terrible 4 bed room and bed 501a assigned to my mom. my mom, who made the journey on a hospital bed in a johnny writhing in pain. pain she couldn't even describe or articulate or pinpoint. pain that the first two shots of morphine couldn't alleviate. pain like i have never seen before. pain that seemed like it would never end and that made it impossible to recall the time before it had started. i had dissolved upon leaving my mom's side and somehow followed exit signs through a flood of tears into the dark night and the pouring rain. i had not thought to pay attention to my path. and so i blindly make my way to the corner of the 5th floor. anxious. relieved. ecstatic. exhausted. feeling guilty that she is awake and alone and waiting. i pick up my pace and rush through her door. i am shocked to see her in her own clothes, her sneakers on. OH MY GOD. THANK FUCKING GOD.

of course we are in a hospital and that means paper work and waiting. waiting and paper work. so i curl up next to her in her hospital bed and we watch live with regis and kelly. not as though nothing has happened. as though everything has happened. and here we are, two exhausted souls worn out completely from the battle, trying to reserve some energy, trying to, for the first time in days, just be - simply, easily, be. and i don't know what it is or how i will do it, all i know is that i love her enough to find a way to get her through this. and i look at her and hold her hand knowing that she loves me enough to want to get through it. and one more time we will take the risk and bet all we have that that is enough.

here there and everywhere.

2006-09-30T11:36:00.000-04:00

hArD rEtUrN. i am back in the city, back at work, back to my studio, back to my life, but far from back to normal. not that i really even know what normal is, or think it applies to me. but whatever. i'm here but part of me is elsewhere. i feel a little scattered and unanchored and like i'm sleepwalking. as though i am just an observer on the outside, not really a part of all that is going on around me. perhaps that sensation will fade away over the next couple of days, or perhaps it will stay with me as long as my mom is sick. time will tell...

the trip home was brief, a bit of a whirlwind. in the end i barely felt like i had gotten through the front door and was turning around again to go back to new york. and, yet, at many times during those brief 60 hours, i was amazed at how much we were accomplishing and how much time there seemed to be. the passage of time is slippery and elusive, especially when it comes to family and illness. one on hand, it is slipping through our fingers, too fine and too quickly to get a grasp on, blink and 2 days have gone by, emails and calls still to be composed and made, people to be informed, errands still to be run, preparations still to be undertaken...and, on the other hand, meandering leisurely and slowly like that obnoxious woman in front of you on the sidewalk who is taking her sweet old time, all the while zigging and zagging at every moment you try to get around her to move ahead at the pace you need and desire to go, blocking your way. there is much to do, perhaps too much to do, this week in order to be ready for 30 days of radiation therapy, but, still, it feels like it will be impossible to sit tight and wait another week for them to begin. we still have to wait 6 days for the "dry run" and then another 3 for the first treatment and then 30 for the conclusion. to be on the other side of the radiation, and, hopefully, on the other side of this cancer. and i say we and that is ridiculous. it is my mom, my poor mom, who has to undergo all of this. i am essentially a concerned bystander. and, so, from afar, i will wait and count the days - until treatment begins, until i can go home again, until this is over...and i will be here. and i will be there. and i will be everywhere and nowhere.

we are tied to the ocean. and when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came.

2006-09-30T11:29:00.000-04:00

pHoToS oF hOmE.

2006-09-30T11:26:00.000-04:00

2006-09-30T10:56:00.000-04:00

for whatever we lose, like a you or a me, it's always ourselves we find in the sea.

2006-09-25T09:55:00.000-04:00

hOmEwaRd bOuNd. these days i feel like a frustrated child being constantly reprimanded and learning the hard way, at every turn falling down or breaking something or being admonished or corrected. most of these lessons i thought i knew, or should know by now, and yet...
careful what you wish for. i will, after much longing and much complaining, in fact, get to go home to the ocean. but not on terms or for reasons i would like. i will see the ocean and breathe in its salt air and synch my breath to its rhythms and hope that it can help to calm my troubled soul. but i will only get to do this because my mom has cancer, a spot in the back of her throat and a larger mass in a lymph node. and so i go home to care and grieve and worry and hope and heal and help. to prepare her for radiation and surgery and feeding tubes. to hold her and be held by her and try to not ever have to let go. to hurl my hurt and rage and fear against the massive atlantic.
i keep hearing sally field's voice in my head, that line from the funeral scene of steel magnolias, when she says she could run all the way to texas and back but her baby never could. and then she loses it. i am learning the same lesson. it does not matter what i do. it does not matter how strong i am, how strong i try to make myself, how healthy i try to be, it cannot save those i love, it cannot change what they have gone through, what they are going through, what they will go through. and i know that when i take care of myself, when i step into that bikram studio every day, i do it to try to heal and atone for unhealthy things i have done to myself and to keep myself protected from my genetic disposition to things like heart disease and cancer, but i also think part of myself is trying in futility to make up for the fact that for no good reason at all my father's heart gave out on him when he was only 41. and that here my mom is, not even 60, and battling cancer for the second time. and it is not fair.

yes, that man on the mat next to you is who you think it is.

2006-09-21T09:39:00.000-04:00

sWeAt iS sWeAt iS sWeAt. if a celebrity is not a major celebrity and looks a little bit rougher and chunkier in real life than he does on film or in photographs, is it still knee-weakening exciting to lie in savasana next to him? judging by the reaction of many of the other ladies practicing at my bikram studio, the answer to that question is YES. holy crap the giddy excitement this guy's presence at the studio brought to the ladies locker room.

if i can - you can!

2006-09-20T13:27:00.000-04:00

bAd aD. have you seen these interboro ads that are plastered all over the subways? you know, "if i can-you can!" "i am indira and i am interboro." this morning i rode the L train face to face with indira acosta's interboro tale of success. lucky me.

first of all, it's both amusing and awful, that whole "if i can do this, you can" angle they take. no, really, i'm absolutely worthless, i can barely read or write, okay, fine, who am i kidding? i can't read or write, i dropped out of school in the second grade, i've been dealing drugs and selling my body to pay my rent for the last five years, i have attention deficit disorder and can't sit still long enough to have a coherent conversation, let alone follow a lecture, i already have 3 kids and a boyfriend who beats me, especially when i make any attempt to better myself, and perhaps some of the beatings i took from my stepdad as a kid have left me with some mental incapacities, but i can get a degree from interboro, so that leaves you no excuse.

and i love that part in their little about me section of their testimonial when they claim "i'm just like you." i'm sorry, actually, no, you're not. you're telling me you didn't graduate high school and haven't gotten your GED and are finding it hard to get a job without one. you're working 60 hours a week and finding it hard to get ahead? indira, honey, get in line. but, you know what? i did graduate from high school. and college. summa cum laude, as a matter of fact. my problem is that i have a degree in theatre and live in a society where it doesn't pay to be artistic and art is undervalued and underfunded, so it forces young artists like myself to also take on other jobs in order to feed, clothe and house ourselves, all the while trying to find time, opportunity, money and energy enough to pursue our art. on the side. as though it is a hobby and not a way of life. all of which causes a constant battle to retain sanity and inspiration and hope and pushes us to the brink of burnout and desperation. so, no, indira, you're not just like me, as it turns out. but good luck at interboro, i think i'll pass.

so bad it's good.

2006-09-19T22:50:00.000-04:00

pIaNo mAn. i have a love for things that are so horrendous that they are both funny and brilliant. like wesley willis, for instance. on the L train tonight i found such a talent. i did not catch his name, unforunately, so, for now, he will remain anonymous. but he was equipped with a keyboard and filled the time between songs aimlessly wandering around the train car in a half-hearted attempt to collect money, supposedly for therapy, cracking terrible jokes in a sequence of poorly rehearsed non-sequitors. his singing defies description, so blatantly bad that it had most of the passengers in hysterics, and at one point in a billy joel song he literally howled like a dog. when he disembarked the train at bedford, he announced, "this is my stop. now don't you go talking about me when i get off the train." seriously, this man was the most entertaining thing i have seen in months and i can only hope our paths cross again.

waiting to exhale.

2006-09-14T21:02:00.000-04:00

fAsHiOn fRenZy. to all the ladies and manorexics of new york, you can finally take a deep breath, stop sucking it in, and eat dinner - fashion week is coming to a close. if you paid attention and are blessed with long term memory, then you will know what to expect paris hilton to be wearing next spring. if not, then you're lucky.

fashion week in general seemed a little uneventful this year. the list of spotted celebrities seemed a bit lame. paris and nicky. paris and nicky. paris and nicky. posh spice. are you kidding me? posh spice shouldn't be making headlines. making a rare public appearance, winona ryder attended the marc jacobs show, no doubt doing a little homework before her next "help yourself" shopping spree at saks. i mean, a girl's gotta know what's worth stealing. and good for her for going right to the source.

wait. i missed it...

2006-09-14T17:51:00.000-04:00

sUdDenLy sEpTeMbEr. is halfway over. how did this happen? seriously, how has the passage of time been eluding me so much this past year? i feel as though i blink and months go by. which only serves to add to my constant sense that i am behind or falling behind or will never catch up (depending on how pessimistic i am on a particular day).

for me, this past year and the passage of time is marked in terms of yoga. assuming things keep going as they have been and the next time i think about what day it is we will be into the month of october, on october 8th i will find myself having practiced bikram yoga 361 out of 365 days. which is an accomplishment that i don't really see as an accomplishment or give enough thought to, it has just become a way of life and i tend to brush it off as such. people, mostly other students or workstudy at the studio, like to check in and ask "are you still coming every day?" yes. "since when again?" since october. and then i clam up and shut off and let their reaction bounce right off of me. i don't want attention for it. i don't want praise. i just want to be better. and healthier. and stronger. and the fact of the matter is that i am striving towards those goals every time i walk into that room and do the series and it is a practice and those are goals and they are always something ahead of me that i am reaching for yet never quite grasping. because if i got them why would i need to pursue them any longer? and, i'll be honest, many days they seem so unbelievably far away and i feel like such a clumsy, weak, inflexible novice who should be ashamed that stepping into that room and doing all of those postures (i have yet to allow myself to sit out for a set of anything) day in and day out has not made me a better yogi with a more impressive practice.

but, anyway, i digress...yoga and the passage of time this year. yes, i remember where i was headed. for a while, time went by in months for me, each time i hit the end of another 30 days was a marker. then i hit my 4th and 5th consecutive months of practice and it started getting blurry, thoughts like "wow i think i really will do 6 months of bikram every day" and "can you imagine if i kept this up all year? ha! that would be impossible" started entering my head and i think my perception of time started shifting to embrace them. it had to stop being about taking it 30 days at a time. and next thing you know it had been longer than 6 months. and next thing you know it is almost a year. and clearly i just have no perception of time any more. things are moving too quickly or i am not paying attention, or maybe the truth lies somewhere in the middle. on sunday we will have our final performance of the deepest play ever. summer is essentially over and it already feels like autumn around the city. and i am totally blown away by these things.

it doesn't matter what you call it.

2006-09-08T12:22:00.000-04:00

cAmeL tOe. in describing their curved relaxed short, lululemon athletica has come up with the most creative way i have seen to avoid saying "buy our shorts, they won't give you a camel toe":

"crotch gusseted to avoid cutting the body in 1/2"

you lost me at the line that reached all the way back to the door.

2006-09-06T23:07:00.000-04:00

tRaItoR jOe. i understand that what i am about to say is tantamount to blasphemy to many new yorkers, some of my best friends included, but, seriously, i don't understand the hype about trader joes. i actually don't care how cheap anything is because at some point your time and sanity starts to factor into the value equation and all of a sudden 40 cents doesn't seem like a whole hell of a lot. honestly, i went in there today at 1:00pm with two castmates and let's just say 2/3 of us didn't even make it to the check out line. it is that crowded. people everywhere. everyone confused or angry or both. lines inexplicably wrapping around the store, down the aisles, crossing one another, blocking paths, making the items on the shelves inaccessible to the other shoppers. no piece of food or slight discount is worth that aggravation. within moments i felt myself near a panic attack. i haven't witnessed that much frenzy in a grocery store since the championships on supermarket sweep. and those people went home with big prize money. we foolish new yorkers are just going home with some trail mix and organic cereal. and their meager produce department where you can only buy in bulk - what the f*** is that about? i want an apple, thank you, not an entire tote bag of them. i am one person, i don't need a few pounds of them, just a single apple, a simple single apple, how is that so much to ask? i don't know, even if they brought in some designers and figured out a way to lay out their space so their checkout lines didn't overwhelm the entire store and every other shopper in it, i don't know that i could shop at a place where you have to buy your apples by the bag.

does this post make me look fat?

2006-09-06T09:15:00.000-04:00

sLim pIcKinGs. between the influx of nyu undergrads and all the models, celebrities, and fashionistas descending on the city for fashion week, new york is like one giant eating disorder. to barf or to starve, that is the question.

the deepest play ever: the catharsis of pathos re-opens on saturday.

2006-09-05T10:28:00.000-04:00

4 mOrE sHoWs. the deepest play ever starts its 4 show extension on saturday. have you gotten your tickets yet?

collaborationtown, a theatre company and fringenyc encores present
the deepest play ever: the catharsis of pathos
the hypothetical theatre at the 14th street y
344 east 14th street

saturday, september 8th @ 4:00pm
saturday, september 8th @ 9:30pm
monday, september 11th @ 8:30pm
sunday, september 17th @ 9:30pm

for tickets: www.ticketcentral.com
for info: www.deepestplayever.blogspot.com or www.fringenyc-encores.com

a bitch on wheels.

2006-09-04T22:26:00.000-04:00

sChWiNn bReEzE. i got a bike yesterday. i love my bike. if you want to find me, i'll be on my bike.

nothing like i imagined it would be.

2006-08-30T10:22:00.000-04:00

gReAt eXpEcTaTiOnS. it's funny how things can turn out to be entirely different from anything and everything you imagined. take the month of september, for example. first, some combination of myself and my circumstances make the decision that i will not return to burning man this year. so i regroup, readjust, re-envision my month, my plans, my schedule. i am fully prepared to take september to regroup, having just finished back to back rehearsal and performance processes with 6969 and the deepest play ever. after the deepest play ever closed on sunday, i was exhausted and run down and ready to ease back into a normal routine, for all of us to spend a few days away having fun and relaxing in new hampshire next weekend, to use my newly free evenings for some writing and to catch up on sleep, and to see a bunch of shows later in the month...well, that was the plan anyway. until about 11pm last night. when we received a bit of phenomenal news that could potentially make my schedule even more chaotic than it has been throughout august. and i couldn't be happier. or more energized. or more ready. the deepest play ever has been invited to be part of fringenyc encores, a new program this year that will offer 10-13 outstanding shows from the fringe festival additional performances at one of two venues between september 5th and 24th. so the deepest play ever will have 7 more shows in september at the 14th street y. and it's a good thing i didn't take off for burning man as soon as we closed on sunday. and that i decided i will do the bikram teacher training in the spring rather than this fall. and my lazy september will not be so lazy after all, as it turns out.

on the fringe.

2006-08-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

fRegEn tReNt tErK kiNny KaD.

don't know what that means? haven't seen or heard from me in a while? come to my show and kill two birds with one stone.

the new york international fringe festival and collaborationtown, a theatre company
proudly present:

the deepest play ever: the catharsis of pathos
the post-post-apocalyptical allegory of mother lamadre and her son golden calf
or: if no industry sees my silent scream does it makes a sound?
or: zombies will eat your brain!
AN EPITRAGIDRAMEDY
play one of an 800 play cycle deconstructing violence

learn more
get tickets

the village theatre
158 bleecker street

friday, august 11th @ 7:45pm
monday, august 14th @ 2:15pm
monday, august 21st @ 6:15pm
tuesday, august 22nd @ 3:45pm
sunday, august 27th @ 2:15pm

easy as 1 2 3.

2006-06-27T08:36:00.000-04:00

a FeW tHiNgS.

a of all: you can now see videos of three of the sketches from our last shenanigans show by going to either of these links:

shenanigans on myspace
my website

don't worry, more from that show to be posted soon. and, meanwhile, the shenanigans crew is working towards a big anniversary show to celebrate the fact that we turn a year old in august.

b of all: collaborationtown is going to be in the new york international fringe festival this year. geoffrey decas' play the deepest play ever: the catharsis of pathos has been accepted into the fringe and we should be getting our performance dates and venues any day now. i will put up all the details soon.

c of all: 59e59 is going help jordan, matt, & collaborationtown produce 6969 again, most likely early 2007. needless to say, this is very exciting for all of us involved in the original production.

inquiring minds want to know.

2006-06-18T21:52:00.000-04:00

i wOnDeR...hi. i have a lot of questions. here are just a few.

what is love?
where is it hiding?
is it close?
is it far?
why does it seem so hard to find?
does everyone find it?
will i find it?
will it find me?
will i recognize it if i find it?
what will i do with it if i find it?
will i want it if i find it?
am i looking for it?
should i be looking for it?
do i even want to find it?

why do some women, when angry or aggravated, yell "suck my dick"?

when my computer decides that it needs at least 10 hours to log off, what is that about?

just how many times can my digital camera be dropped or tossed around in the bottom of my bag before it stops functioning entirely?

why haven't i put my air conditioner in the window yet?

in summer when the days are long, perhaps you'll understand the song.*

2006-06-17T02:33:00.000-04:00

gOoD mOrNinG. today was one of those days where every happening, every conversation, every circumstance and tiny detail brought back memories, or pieces of memories...

it was one of the first mornings that truly felt like a summer morning. and there is something about that, the pulsating heat of the sun by 8am in such stark contrast to the cool dark shadows of places that haven't been touched yet by the sun, that instantly takes me back to summer mornings of early childhood, standing around the edge of the pool. dry, cool cement beneath my dry, calloused feet, not yet radiating the heat it has spent the day absorbing from the sun. a cool that is so much so that it almost feels like dampness. more often than not, net in hand, scooping out bugs and leaves. listening to the hum and the gurgle of the filter as it starts its long day of work, the sun already strong on my back and shoulders, but still feeling a slight chill standing there in just my bathing suit. the pool looking as it always does, tempting me to jump in, but knowing that it is not time, i have not been given the go ahead, the chlorine is still too strong, the water still too cold, but, still, i consider it with every passing moment. the quiet of the yard, the neighborhood, that lets you hear things you otherwise wouldn't - conversations that are going on inside the house, a creak of a door opening or closing, a hair dryer, a cabinet closing. i move along the edge of the pool with a sense of heightened awareness and anticipation.

there is something about summer mornings, the space between moments that sometimes stretches out to what seems like forever. the heat causing a cautious, slow laziness and the coolness of the shadows causing a relief, a respite that demands a quiet, relaxed laziness, a last gasp at easy comfort for the day. sluggish and laid back for such different reasons. these moments always make me feel like there is time enough to do anything. everything. and i often think that summer days seem so long, the perfect ones so endless, not really because the light lasts so long into the evening, or really, rather, the night, but more so because a whole lifetime passes in summer time before the clock has even struck noon. perhaps it is the knowledge of how hot it will be later in the day, how heavy and stagnant and unrelenting the heat will be by mid afternoon, that invokes that sense of anything that needs to be done today should be done now, while i can still function. i should tackle my to do list now, while it's not too bad out, before peak sun hours (any good child of the shore, be it east coast or west, knows and knows without having to think about it, that the best hours for sun are between 10am and 2pm), and then i can frolic for the rest of the day. because there is nothing better than frolicking for the rest of a summer day...

*from lewis carroll's through the looking glass

whatever it takes.

2006-06-09T17:13:00.000-04:00

hEaD cAsE. if you ever need to impress a 7 year old boy, do a headstand, and hold that sucker for a good 30 seconds, he'll shut right up and be in awe of you from that point on.

plugs (not the type referring to balding men making feeble attempts to appear like they have hair.)

2006-05-24T20:39:00.000-04:00

bEgInNinGs. so i have a friend whose first new york solo show opens tomorrow and another friend who has his new play 6969 opening next week and i am going to, without shame or reservation, plug both of them. (i also happen to be in 6969, but this post is not about that, it is truly about jordan and his play.) it occurred to me that in many ways it's like two moments of greatness being born that we have the chance to be a part of. both are already exceptionally talented young men and those of us who have had the opportunity and the gift to know their work before now have known this, watched it grow and develop, and waited as anxiously as they have for the rest of the world to take note. i feel as though these openings will be milestones in their careers, when, decades from now, we look back at them. for peter, certainly, his first new york solo show will be a defining moment, and, i'm certain, the first of many and the start of something great. his abilities as a painter are remarkable and attempting to describe them would be futile, truly you need to get yourself down to chelsea before june 24th in order to fully understand and appreciate what i'm talking about. for jordan, this play is a turning point, this script a leap into maturity that definitely marks a whole new chapter in the life of this young playwright. since i first read it, i have been reminded of sitting in modern drama with scott edmiston back at boston university. the class was structured so that we would discuss both the playwright and the play and allow the knowledge and themes of each to inform the other. and every major modern playwright has a "first great play", a piece of work that defined them as the playwright they are. there are usually plays that exist before this, that were never or rarely produced, that failed in some way, that contained themes or characters or elements that made it into later works, but they don't necessarily stand on their own and are often best understood and produced when approached as an exploration of a young and developing playwright. and i honestly feel with jordan that if we were sitting in modern drama discussing him, or when 50 or 100 years from now some students of the future are, 6969 will be jotted down in notebooks as his first successful play. the themes, plot, characters, and structure are all that solid and consistent and mature. there is brilliance in this play and i am excited for its future.

so go check this stuff out and be able to say you were there when...

pEteR hAlaSz. you should go and see this show at the atm gallery, 511 west 20th street (www.atmgallery.com). the show opens tomorrow, may 25th and runs through june 24th.

jOrDaN sEaVeY. you should go get your tickets now for 6969, with only 4 performances they are sure to sell out. the show will run june 1st & 2nd @ 8pm and june 3rd @ 2pm & 8pm at manhattan theatre source, 177 macdougal street. it is being presented by collaborationtown, directed by matthew hopkins and filled with a buttload of really talented designers and actors.

stating the obvious.

2006-05-13T21:27:00.000-04:00

dUh. hi. can we file this in the "no shit sherlock" category?:
from the associated press, saturday, may 13th 1:51pm: "abuse scandal has changed views of priests"
what? oh my god! are you serious? the fact that there has been widespread sexual abuse by catholic priests has changed the way they are viewed by catholics and the world at large??!? well, jesus h. christ, i'd hope so. i would hope that it would make people see them as the flawed and fallible human beings that they are. i would hope that knowledge would make people uneasy, would cause them to question, would denegrate trust. and i would also hope that this scandal has caused us all to pause and reflect on the unwarranted level of protection we tend to offer our leaders, without question, without reason, without justification. because someone is in a position of power does not mean that person is above judgment, is above making mistakes, is above being capable of being at fault. think about it, if anything, there are times when being in a position of power would actually make an individual more capable of abusing that power, that privilege, and doing something reprehensible, for which they should be held responsible and accountable. and while we are talking about leaders abusing their power and betraying trust, why doesn't the associated press spend a little more time telling us honestly what is going on in iraq and all the other crap george w. bush is screwing up and a little less time numbing us with obvious and unnecessary headlines like this?

raindrops keep fallin' on my head.

2006-05-13T18:51:00.000-04:00

cAuGhT. i just got caught in a downpour. a surprise downpour. it was a lovely sunny early evening when i left the east village and as i stepped above ground after getting off the L train in williamsburg the sky turned gray and it started to pour. one of those contained showers where you can see clearly where the dark rain clouds end and the blue sunny skies are waiting to reappear as soon as this passes through. at any rate, i love that. getting caught in the rain like that. partly, it makes me feel like a kid again and gives me the urge to splash around in puddles. it also feels purifying. and it's also in some way romantic. it was such a pleasant little surprise on my saturday evening. i'm much happier now than i was an hour ago. lovely.

to sleep, perchance to dream.

2006-05-08T21:42:00.000-04:00

aY, tHeRe'S tHe RuB. so this play i'm working on has these dream and nightmare sequences. and yesterday's rehearsal was devoted to them. dreams fascinate me. as do nightmares. the things our mind tries to work out while we sleep. the things we avoid during the day that announce themselves to us at night. or those times when you don't dream at all . . . or, if you do, you awake in the morning with no memory of it whatsoever. i went for a rather lengthy period of time having no dreams at all. for nearly a year after a pretty life altering break up i could count on one hand the number of times i woke up in the morning and remembered having dreamed. and most of those were actually something that felt like a night terror, but i am assured by friends that it was probably something more like sleep apnea. each time it felt like i was awake and conscious of a very real outside presence in the room that was exerting weight on my chest, pinning me down and making breathing extremely difficult. at any rate, somewhere along the line my sleep pattern changed again and dreams started slowly coming back to me. though i still feel like i rarely wake up remembering my dreams, i just am somehow cognizant that i am having them. in general lately my mind has been going a mile a minute during the wee hours of the night and morning. often to the point that it wakes me out of sleep, i realize that i have been pondering or analyzing or brainstorming about something and i either get up and follow the train of thought or, foolishly, think that it is so vivid and clear in that moment i will surely remember it in the morning and go back to sleep. and of course i never do.
i have this impression, and perhaps it is totally unjustified, that some people have these wonderful and happy dreams. dreams that are fantastical, enjoyable, lighthearted and end well. i have never been such a dreamer. sure, in my 27 years, i have had some pleasant dreams, i have had mornings that i've woken up and thought wow! that was fun or i wish that had really happened. but, mostly, dreams are strange and full of weird emotions for me. as a child i had a lot of recurring dreams. including one where my parents left my sister and i (we were toddlers at the time, no more than 3 or 4) home alone on a very eerie, gray saturday morning to go get married and it was unclear if they would ever return for us. not only was that dream terrifying, but it also felt like a real memory and i never knew if it was something that had actually happened to us or not. eventually, i became old enough to suspect that it was a dream and articulate it to my mother, who assures me it is absolutely not a memory of a real experience. i also dreamt a great deal about being in danger and preparing for it, like lying as still as possible under covers or under a bed as an intruder broke into the house through a window or door downstairs. some people live out fantasies in their dreams, i, on the other hand, clearly use my dreams to worry.

collaborationtown presents a new play by jordan seavey, directed by matthew hopkins. june 1-3.

2006-05-05T20:22:00.000-04:00

6969. this is what i am currently in rehearsals for at the moment and it runs june 1-3 at manhattan theatre source on macdougall street in the village. come see it or, well, you're dead to me.

*graphic design by meghan carey, photography by anna tucker

it's not the sky that's falling...

2006-05-02T14:42:00.001-04:00

nO CrAp. hi. a bird just shit on my coat. how is your day so far?

get on the bus.

2006-04-27T10:55:00.000-04:00

fOrGeT mE nOt. so this morning after my 6.45am yoga class i ran a few errands and then decided i felt like being lazy and taking the bus to get back to the l train to get back to brooklyn. i have a new found love affair with the m14a bus. especially because when i sit in those fun seats that rotate when it makes turns (where the two halves of the bus connect) my feet don't even hit the ground. and the buses in manhattan offer people watching on a whole new level. it's an experience. and i'm becoming addicted quite frankly. anyway, we were going up avenue a and i had one of those moments of needing to know exactly where i was, so i abruptly turned to check the passing street sign, and noticed that this particular corner has been dubbed "father mancini corner". i don't know who that is and i really don't care, either. it's just that my mind went "mancini...who was that kid from elementary school with the name like that?...he had the weirdest first name...what the hell was it?...man..man......man...manfred! manfred. not mancini. rancini? manfred rancini?.............."
and then i got aggravated because i really cannot remember his last name. i can tell you exactly what he looks like, but i cannot remember his name. and this is not the first time this has happened to me. i am starting to lose pieces of information from my youth, which is growing increasingly distant. they may be insignificant pieces of information, it may be surprising to some that i had even retained them past graduating from high school, but, still, i feel like it's all downhill from here. i'm just going to start forgetting more and more. and then eventually it will be a crapshoot if i will remember what we just talked about when you ask me about it tomorrow. it's just a waiting game now for the dimensia to kick in and then all those little pieces of information, like manfred's name, will come rushing back. say what you will, i gotta confess i'm kind of looking forward to that. i mean, yes, it will suck to not have any idea where i am or who i am talking to, doing things like trying to eat cigarettes out of ashtrays, but it will be nice to be able to remember exactly who was in my third grade language arts class. and what we all wore on picture day. and when lindsay bates and allison dixon had the grade dividing fight, who fell into which camp because, at the moment, i am having trouble remembering which side liz adler ended up on.

an apple a day...

2006-04-24T13:32:00.000-04:00

kEePs tHe DoCtOr aWaY. so, coincidentally, does not having health insurance.

every now and then i fall apart.

2006-04-19T18:57:00.000-04:00

dAnCe TiLL dAwN.

i guess in some way i asked for it.

2006-04-15T23:05:00.000-04:00

kArMa. well, in an ironic twist (see next post down), i spent nearly an hour (nonstop) this morning playing the combined role of delta pilot and flight attendant with a 6 year old boy i was babysitting in a game he invented, which more or less consisted of him picking a destination, me greeting the passengers aboard the delta flight and giving the pre-takeoff greeting, him running across the playroom for takeoff, me giving the mid-flight greeting, him running back across the room, me giving the final descent speech, him running back across the room, and me giving the welcome to your destination farewell. it went a little something like this:

"ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard delta flight # 1435 with nonstop service to singapore. at this time we ask that you please securely stow all carry-on and personal items below the seat in front of you or in an overhead compartment. as the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign, we ask that you please take your seat and fasten your seatbealt in anticipation of takeoff. please take a moment to turn off all cell phones, computers and other electronic devices. emergency exits are located at the front and rear of the cabin, as well as over each wing at emergency exit rows 11 & 12. in the event of an emergency you may use your seat cushion as a flotation device. thank you for choosing delta, we hope that you enjoy your flight."

milutin runs across the room and makes three noises, signalling takeoff.

"ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our cruising altitude of 32,000 feet and the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt sign, so please feel free to move about the cabin. our anticipated arrival time into singapore is 3:47pm. current temperature is 63 degrees with partly cloudy skies. thank you for flying delta, please enjoy the rest of your flight."

milutin runs across the room.

"ladies and gentlemen, we are making our final approach into singapore and ask that at this time you return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts, as the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. please turn off any cell phones, computers or other electronice devices and return all personal belonging to the overhead compartments or stow securely underneath the seat in front of you. thank you for flying delta."

milutin runs across the room making some sort of landing noise.

"ladies and gentlemen, as we approach the gate we ask that you keep your seatbelt fastened until the captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. please remember to take all your belongings with you when you exit the aircraft. the current time in singapore is 3:46pm, current temperature is 68 degrees with partly cloudy skies. we will be arriving at gate 21y and we hope that you enjoy your time in singapore. thank you for flying delta, we look forward to serving you again soon."

repeat with new destination, flight # and arrival gate.
repeat.
repeat.
repeat...
for an hour.

making headlines.

2006-04-10T12:42:00.000-04:00

pIcKeT pRaCtiCe. "delta pilots prepare for possible strike" this was one of yahoo's top headlines on friday, april 7th. now, i am not saying that the possibility of delta's pilots going out on strike is not newsworthy. i am, however, saying that this headline is ridiculous. who cares about the pilots preparing? and, really, the images that headline conjures up - can't you just picture all of the delta pilots assembled somewhere "preparing"? dissention among the ranks as to whether they should picket in an oval formation...should they walk clockwise? counter-clockwise? get fancy and alternate between the two?? each pilot having to get up and recite the deisgnated chants, demonstrate their marching and sign holding skills. some pilots not making the cut and being asked to stay away from the picket lines, for the sake of the cause. "sorry, henderson, i just didn't believe you up there, i didn't feel it." "jones, your heart's in the right place, but you were always a step behind, what can i say? some people just don't have rhythm, it's not your fault." heated debates over slogans and sign letterage...the grass roots folks thinking they will elicit more sympathy from what will likely be a pissed off public with handwritten signs, the serious strikers insisting on printed signs that portray their messages loud and clear and in a uniform font. around the clock madness in a rush to prepare for the possible strike. will they be ready??? these, folks, these are the important questions.

model behavior.

2006-04-07T13:32:00.000-04:00

pIcTuRe ThIs. i have two friends who just finished their thesis shows at pratt and who will earn masters of fine arts in photography from pratt in may. of the two, it is colleen's show i will write about for the selfish reason that i am in it. which is kind of a joke. and kind of not. i have known, i guess in some way at least since we did the two photo shoots last fall, that i would likely turn up in a print that made it into her thesis. but it wasn't something i necessarily gave any thought to. i think because i was busy and distracted and we did the shoots and it was a long time before i saw any contact sheets and even longer before i actually saw a couple of prints, it became very much a matter of out of sight, out of mind. it was colleen's thing. as her friend, i was where she needed me to be, when she needed me to be there, wearing what she told me to put on, standing or sitting where she told me to...and, of course, having fun, hanging out in a studio at pratt with friends, listening to good music, having the signature ketel one and tonic with extra lime that will forever be linked to my favorite girls from arcata, california, while colleen directed us in and out of clothing options and around the space. i had absolutely no outside point of reference by which to judge the photos themselves. they were not posed or contrived in a manner in which the subjects knew what the frame of the shot was (and, could, consequently, worry about how they looked within that frame - should i tilt my shouler? my chin? smile less? more?...) and, furthermore, a large portion of each shoot was done with a technique of painting light, which more or less happens in total darkness, and makes it near impossible to tell much of anything that is going on. and, so, walking onto pratt's campus and seeing colleen's prints, her spectacularly beautiful prints, hanging on the wall, was really my first taste of what had come from those two sunday evenings spent with colleen in that studio last fall. it surprised me. and caught me off guard. as an actress, as a writer, i am so accustomed to having control of how i present myself, and for feeling such responsibility for how i will come across. it is the absolute opposite with this experience of serving as model for colleen. yes, it is me in those photos. but not a me i created, not a me i chose to share with the public, not a me i controlled. it is me, in that moment, in that studio, as colleen saw me and as she and her camera and their manipulation of light and space translated me into this larger pursuit of colleen's - "tenacious nostalgia." it is remarkable for me, a true learning experience, to be on this side of things. to fill theses shoes. to be molded into someone else's artistic vision. it feels entirely brand new, utterly exposed, and, yet, somehow, safe. and it is an honor. colleen's prints are gorgeous. the body of work she has assembled, photographing women in her life she loves, is full of haunting and longing beauty with moments that are both mysterious and universal, mundane and ethereal. colleen's solo show has closed, but she still has two photos included in the show "bearings: the female figure" at p.s. 122's gallery through april 23rd. check them out.

you are what you read.

2006-03-23T09:47:00.000-05:00

seLf HeLp. they say you can tell a lot about people by the books they read and the music they listen to...so yesterday as i was babysitting in a very sparsely furnished and decorated apartment that is only temporarily being occupied by a couple from chicago, i couldn't help but notice that they only had a handful of books and cds, among them the book "how to make people like you" and the cd "how to start a conversation". this is what they came to new york city armed with. you really do learn a lot about people by what they read and listen to.

spring is in the air.

2006-03-10T13:45:00.000-05:00

sCeNtS mEmOrY. i woke up at 5am out of a dream, of which i didn't remember much, except that i was smelling a bunch of daffodils. and i could smell them. which did seem strange to me because i have a cold right now and when i woke up i was so congested that i had no sense of smell whatsoever. but in my dream i could distinctly smell the flowers. so i guess we can use senses in our dreams even when they are not available to us in a state of consciousness... ?

anyway, the flowers made me think spring, as do the 70 degree temperatures today. and all of that brought about this.

the first time i had any legitimate sense that i might be okay after my dad's death came from a smell, a scent of spring. months after his death, but, at least not years i suppose...i was sitting in the backseat of my mom's car. i assume the radio was on or a tape was playing, we were never without music, but i cannot hear it in my mind, do not recall it. i was wearing an esprit skirt, my favorite skirt (in an attempt to otherwise improve our lives without our father and, i suppose, as a reaction to learning how short life is, our mother had begun to drastically improve our wardrobes). the skirt was white, a very thin cotton, with a wide tight waistband, and a pleated poofy skirt that fell above the knee. almost like an upside down tulip. the pattern was one of flowers and small polka dots. the flowers were abstract and geometric, outlined by one unbroken swirling bold black line and filled in with the softest breath of pink. there were light blue and black polka dots. i loved this skirt. words cannot describe how much i loved this skirt. when i put it on i felt transformed. i felt pretty, and this was back at a time (quite possibly almost the last) when i actually knew, legitimately, what it was like to feel pretty. without qualifiers, without conditions, without comparisons. that experience of putting on an article of clothing and knowing, without question, without reservation, without fear, that i am beautiful in this moment is one that i doubt i will ever have again...in my memory i only see my lap. i do not know what shirt i was wearing. or shoes. though, based on the year, the season, and the outfit, i can safely assume i was wearing my white leather reebok sneakers - you know, with the one reebok symbol in blue embroidered lettering. we were driving down haggetts pond road, coming up to the right hand turn onto high plain road. in front of the lot at the corner where the two roads intersect. i don't know where we were coming from, though to be headed in that direction on haggetts pond it was most likely dunstable or somewhere else that we would have taken 495 from. had we been headed from somewhere off of 93 we'd have been driving on river road or greenwood road. at this point in time, there was no house on this corner lot. just a field of grass, weeds, and wildflowers. and as my mom approached this right hand turn, windows rolled down partway, there was a moment, an instant, really, when the warmth of the sunlight hit my lap and a smell came in through my nostrils and truly registered in my brain. a mix of grass and wet earth and pollen. and something released. in my bones, in my muscles, in my mind, in my heart. something soothed. something comforted. this smell brought a feeling and this feeling brought knowledge and that knowledge brought hope. silently. instantly. unnoticed. in the backseat of a car.
"i was okay." "i would be okay."
this was the first time i had had those thoughts.
hope. this was something my 9 year old self had been without since he died. and i do believe - no, i know - that this hope saved my life.

crack of dawn.

2006-02-28T12:06:00.000-05:00

LiGhT oN tHe LoWeR eAsT sIdE.

reach out and touch someone.

2006-02-28T11:37:00.000-05:00

oUt oF sErViCe.

well, i am very lucky and some stranger is both very kind and most likely crazy.

this morning, somewhere around 5:45am, in a moment of sheer brilliance and coordination, i more or less threw my cell phone onto the subway tracks at the lorimer station. it happened in slow motion. i heard my phone, which was safely tucked in the front right pocket of my bag, make that awful chirping sound it makes when it loses service and i got pissed because i knew i had checked to make sure it was on vibrate before i left my apartment for the very reason that i hate the chirping sound and i hate disturbing the silence of the subway station in the morning with that noise. i double checked, in fact, and, yet, it chirped. the fucking phone fucking chirped. i cannot win with this phone. it never keeps a charge for a consistent period of time. it suddenly and without warning shuts itself off. it occasionally takes up to 72 hours to send or receive a text message. the phone and i were not on good terms before this morning’s incident and, so, i reacted in anger to the chirping sound as i walked down the platform at the lorimer station and decided i needed to see how this could possibly be happening with the phone on vibrate. while i continued on my way along the edge of the platform so i could try to see if by any small miracle an L train was headed my way. with gloves on and laden with bags. i no sooner got the phone out of the pocket when it, not surprisingly, slipped right out of my gloved fingers…i watched it land on the strip of yellow at the very edge of the platform, halfheartedly tried to kick my foot out to stop it (like it was a soccerball?), as it bounced and spun right off the edge and onto the tracks. i uttered something to the effect of “shit” and stood there at the edge looking down at my phone. i was surprisingly calm. momentarily i thought, “maybe i should go after it?” then i thought, “what the fuck am i thinking? it’s just a phone, and i was an idiot and dropped it and now i have to live with it and buy a new phone.” so i stood there, frozen, serene, numb, silently saying goodbye to my phone when a stranger, who has watched the whole scene unfold, comes over to the edge of the platform, standing next to me, and asks if i would like him to go get it. ??? i said no. in fact, i said, “no, please, it’s okay. it's not worth the risk. it's just a phone.” momentarily it seemed like he wasn’t going to go after it. and i was relieved. subway tracks scare the shit out of me. but, then, suddenly, he was at the edge of the platform giving a glance to see if the train was coming, taking off his coat and gloves, and hopping down onto the tracks. no shit. he hopped down, picked up the phone and handed it to me, and then boosted himself back up again. i was in shock and at a total loss. what does one even do in such a situation? i thanked him profusely. but was i supposed to give him something, offer him something in return? i mean, he did, after all, just go down onto subway tracks to retrieve my phone. he doesn’t know me from a whole in the wall and had a train come he would have been shit out of luck. and still he took that risk so that i could have my phone. the math there doesn’t seem to add up. the risk/reward ratio seems a little off. i don’t know though, maybe this guy really likes phones and a cell phone has a lot higher value to him than to me. had i dropped my baby or an irreplaceable family heirloom, it would have been a different story, but, really, it was just my phone. none of which is to negate the kindness and generosity of this guy. i do truly appreciate his gesture and the risk he took for me. and it is astonishing to be the recipient of such a random and selfless act of kindness from a stranger. especially before 6:00am on a tuesday at the lorimer station in williamsburg.

a medal for mediocrity.

2006-02-24T09:43:00.000-05:00

soLiD gOLd cRaP. i haven’t seen much of the winter olympics so far, but i did watch most of the ladies’ figure skating long programs last night and the ice dancing finals the other night and i have a few notes for the world of figure skating:

let’s step it up, kids. it’s like the whole sport took a collective step backwards. the choreography was unexciting and seemingly simplistic. the costumes were gaudy. i’m pretty certain that my beginning tap dance recital costume from the north andover school of dance circa 1985 was a higher grade polyester than most of what i was subjected to this past week. and i’m going to guess that we had a tighter budget and less sponsorship than the olympic athletes. the music choices were awful. it's the 2006 winter olympics and people are still skating to phantom of the opera? you have got to be shitting me. disgraceful. and unforgivable. 2 of the 24 ladies chose the love theme from romeo & juliet for their long program? this seems preposterous to me. there is a whole world of music out there, you pretty much have the freedom to take it in any direction you want, you know that the piece you choose will form the very core of your performance and, yet, you're going to go with andrew lloyd weber? the same song that she's doing?? the candy man from willy wonka choice for that beginning tap class recital of mine seems more inspired. i know i'm being harsh, but, then again, so was a lot of the bleached hair and black eyeliner i saw in torino this week, and it is, after all, the olympics, so the bar should maybe be a little higher.

that said, i probably couldn't even do a single axel with a harness, a spotter, and a gun to my head.

one true thing that don't fade.

2006-02-20T21:37:00.000-05:00

bLaCk ReBeL mOtOrCycLe cLuB. blew my fucking mind this weekend.

things i can take care of all by myself.

2006-02-18T23:47:00.000-05:00

pOtTy tRaInEd. to the lady "working" the bathroom at webster hall, a couple of things...first of all, i don't like public restrooms, the fact that i am in there is enough of a challenge and inconvenience for me without you standing there expecting a tip and causing me to feel guilt that i am not going to give you one. is it so much to ask that i simply be allowed to get in, pee, and get the hell back out as quickly as possible, without interruption, without added stress? second of all, what the hell is it with the candy? no, i do not want any. i don't know where it came from, i don't know where it's been, and i, as a pretty steadfast rule, do not mix candy and toilets. third of all, i don't need a middleman when it comes to my toilet paper and paper towels. actually i'd prefer if mine were the only hands that touched those two items, so get your grubby hands off of them, i'd rather not wipe myself with something you just touched. and, lastly, the reminder to flush? absolutely unnecessary. i'm pretty sure flushing is covered in going to the bathroom 101.

the beat goes on.

2006-02-16T15:09:00.000-05:00

wHaT a ReLiEf. ha. i put off handing in my resignation for nearly a year. and now that it is done i cannot describe the sense of relief, of freedom, of ease that has come over me. or overcome me. i actually noticed a bounce in my step as i crossed park avenue this morning. a frigging bounce. i'm like some giddy little kid or something.

i'm very good at falling into patterns, at holding steady, at keeping pace. i am very sensitive to the rhythms around me and i will fall into line and obey them. and the anticipation of breaking that rhythm has always caused me to worry, more than is necessary. it's like when i played the violin as a child, the scariest thing in the world was always a piece or a movement that started on a pick up note. always. i could be staring at a sheet of music in some tricky time and key with sharps and flats all over the place and i'd be fine, unphased. but if i was staring at a sheet of music and that first note was a pick up, asking me to hear the beat and then break it, before i had even established it, i would seize up inside, and hold my breath until i was at least two or three measures into the piece. safely past it. i don't know why, exactly, it felt like throwing myself off the edge of a cliff. and of course i would always be fine. i would always hear the anticipatory downbeat and come in on the upbeat and get into the piece and live to talk about it. and of course syncopation and upbeats and surprise rhythms make music more interesting and are, in general, more fun to play. but i could never learn that lesson and let go of that fear, all i could do was start to appreciate that sometimes i would just have to put up with the thing that scared me, just do it and get through it, and trust i would be okay afterwards. i think i looked at this whole "career change" like that and telling my bosses i was leaving was this giant pick up note i was avoiding like the plague. i'm rather laid back and unphased by the rest of this, none of which i have figured out at this point. for now, i will most likely temp and babysit to earn some money for at least the month of march, while i figure out how best to go forward in a way that allows me to earn money while pursuing any or all of my creative endeavors. which is the part that probably should scare me, and would scare most people, but, at some point between 51st and lexington and 50th and park this morning i finally stopped holding my breath, realizing i had safely survived the pick up and gotten into the piece, and now i'm just enjoying all the sharps and flats of this first movement.

two weeks notice.

2006-02-15T23:13:00.000-05:00

rEsIgNeD. holy shit. i quit.

after almost 4 years i finally said enough is enough, it's time to move on and seek new opportunities. it is time to try to pay my bills while doing something, anything, that brings me personal and/or creative fulfillment.

i won't lie, while i am exceptionally relieved, i am also freaking out a little bit. just a little bit.
i'll be fine thought. right?

no shit, sherlock.

2006-02-14T00:56:00.000-05:00

rEaDy AiM fIrE.
top headline on yahoo: "cheney apparently breaks key hunting rule"
you think so? he shot a man. in the face, neck, and chest. i'm pretty sure it goes without saying that he fucked up. big time. i also think he may have broken more than just a key hunting rule...

i guess it really is winter after all.

2006-02-12T22:31:00.000-05:00

SnOw SnApShOts.

out the back window.

out the front window.

just when it seemed like this winter was officially going to be the winter that wasn't, we got sucker-punched with a record breaking blizzard. i gotta say good for mother nature keeping us on our toes and throwing in a surprise curve ball. i must admit, i didn't believe the forecast and thought it was sheer hype. my cynicism coming from 27 years of living in the northeast and watching the rabid ferocity with which local news stations and weathermen will jump on any chance to forecast a winter storm, particularly during extended stretches of no snowfall to speak of, and more than half the time, i'd dare a say a strong majority of the time, being absolutely wrong in their predictions. more often than not, these supposed blizzards and nor'easters get "talked out to sea" and never hit us. i have many a painful memory of anticipated snow days that never materialized because of blatant misforecasts by the weathermen. and so i was surprised yesterday morning to see the weathermen still talking about it, still issuing blizzard warnings for the city, laying out their timelines for the storm and making their accumulation predictions. and i was also relieved, as it looked like it wouldn't start in earnest until after midnight, and might, therefore, not negatively impact audience turnout for our shenanigans show. at about 3:00 yesterday afternoon, when the flurries were becoming more steady, and slightly ahead of schedule, i started to think, "oh shit, it's really going to snow isn't it?" and out the window flew my denial. it snowed as i went to rehearsal at 5:00pm. and it really snowed as jessma & i trudged from e. 2nd & c to st. marks & 1st at 9:00pm. and at that point i was not a happy camper. and i was more or less cursing the cold wet white shit falling from the sky. and my heart sank as i started to wonder who the hell would be crazy enough to willingly leave warm, dry apartments in these conditions just to watch some sketch comedy? well, it turns out a lot of people are that crazy. our turn out was amazing. we had to put people on the floor and scrounge up extra chairs. it turns out i was wrong twice yesterday. new york city was in fact due for a blizzard. and people do come out in snow storms to see shows. sometimes, it's good to be wrong.

the thing about snow is that it is actually quite breathtaking. even though it presents challenges, even though it delays or cancels things, even though it makes travel trying, even though it leaves you cold and raw and numb. it is still exquisite. the blizzard has been beautiful. everything is covered in white, giving off an impression of safety and serenity. bedford ave, which is usually bustling on a sunday, was sleepy this afternoon. and, again, tonight, as i made my way from my bikram class on the lower east side to the first avenue L station, there were few people out and about. the streets are far emptier than they would otherwise be, affording you the opportunity to enjoy them, to take in the scenery with some degree of privacy and ease, and so i did. rather than walking straight up first avenue, i took detours up and down the side streets, wandered over to see tomkins square park asleep under almost 2 feet of snow, to gaze at the beautiful brownstones and townhouses of the east village with their windowsills, staircases, and wrought iron railings and gates perfectly adorned with white fluffy snow. like a scene out of a perfectly crafted novel or movie. i love nighttime after a snowfall, the unexpected brightness because moonlight and streetlights and porch lights reflect off of the bright white snow rather than the dark dull concrete and pavement. i love the way snow finds every crook and crevice and redefines the space it lands on. i can walk down a block i walk down every single day and i will see something different after a snowfall like we just had. a space between buildings. a design in a fence. something will be highlighted by its new coat of snow and i will see it for the first time. i love the way snow can bring everything to a standstill. with cars buried and many sidewalks not even having seen a shovel yet, everything changes. getting from here to there is not what it was yesterday, is not what it will be tomorrow. today it is a challenge, if not impossible, and might not be worth the effort. and if you can't run out for this or can't get out for that, you stay in and instead do something else, maybe something you've been putting off, maybe something you wouldn't have made time to do otherwise...

a perfect balance.

2006-02-08T10:13:00.000-05:00

tHe SuN cOmEs Up. i took the 6:45am bikram class again this morning and, so, for the second morning in a row, i was awed by pre-dawn new york city. its serenity, its beauty, its quiet vitality. like a moment suspended in time, balancing in the neither here nor there. not dark, not light. the sky a blue with the intensity of the atlantic ocean, a few miles from the coast, in an area teaming with life beneath the surface that forces some green into the bright, dark blue of the water. teal, and yet not teal. blues from a family of color not seen during the day, not seen during twilight, seen only in these fleeting moments before the sun rises. it's like catching that moment in between an inhale and an exhale. it’s not positive, it’s not negative. it is as close to perfect balance as you can get. and it is therefore, somehow, boundless. and i feel suddenly at ease and hopeful and capable. i see opportunities and space and possibilities. raw inspiration rushes through my tired, not quite awake body and mind. i want to hold on to this moment forever. i want to frolic, to create, to embark on a new adventure...

this is what i am doing a week from saturday.

2006-02-02T23:29:00.000-05:00

hOw aBoUt yOu?

it's not easy being green.

2006-01-29T15:41:00.000-05:00

sOaP bOx. in a conversation last night i found myself professing that nothing worthwhile is easy. and the girl i said this to, as she thought about it, asked me if i really believed that. and i thought, "i think i do, but do i?" and i stopped and i thought about it. and i do. whether it comes at the beginning, in the middle, at the end, or ever afterwards, at some point anything that matters, anything of great importance, will be difficult. whether it is physical or emotional or psychological, at some point it will try you or hurt you or challenge you. and that will be the moment that confirms its significance. enduring or overcoming will allow you to understand its worth.

a lot of times the challenge is upfront. things like getting a degree or putting on a show or, for the girl i was talking to last night, getting citizenship, these all challenge us to struggle through a process in order to, hopefully, be successful at the other end and achieve or receive the desired object. and the object usually takes on even greater significance or value to us because we did go through a challenging process and did give so much in order to get.

but not everything that matters to us, that is worthwhile, is a goal, an end we are working towards. and sometimes things come easy. sometimes opportunities land in our laps. or people land in our lives, with ease, with grace, with love, with happiness. these are the instances when either somewhere along the way or at the end it stops being easy. the best relationships are those that can withstand arguments, can weather fights and be strengthened in the process. often loss is the clearest instructor of the value of a person or relationship or accomplishment or object. a lesson in negative space, we see the size and shape and breadth of something in a new or more complete light when we look at the void left when it is no longer there. i know this has been true repeatedly in my experiences, my father being the clearest example. i did nothing to initiate that relationship other than be born as his daughter. i loved him completely and unconditionally without holding anything back, with no guards, no defenses. i admired him, i idolized him, i laughed at every joke he made, i craved time with him. and on certain levels, as a young girl, i knew the value of my relationship with him. i would without reluctance and with total sincerity declare him the best dad ever and my mom the best mom ever. and i meant it. as much as i could. and even deeper than that i knew that i was fortunate, i knew that there were other children who did not have parents they loved and that loved them as much. but, still, so much of that relationship, that time i had with him was taken for granted. it has been in the years since he died, which now number 18, that i have come to know just how much he meant to me and how significant his presence in my life was. feeling that loss, being forced to exist without him allows me to feel in a more honest and complete way than i ever did before the age of 9 the fortune of knowing him, the love i have for him. grief has taught me that looking at the negative space sheds light on the postive space.

last weekend i took a posture clininc at my bikram studio with craig villani, the director of education worldwide for bikram yoga. and one of the things we discussed, that has resonated with me as to why i am so drawn to the practice, is the idea behind all yoga, which is balance. trying to find balance between extremes. and realizing that you have to tap into either extreme in order to find the balance in the center that you seek. that you have to practice both hatha yoga (of the body) and raja yoga (of the mind) in order to enhance your karma yoga. that the object of pulling is stretching. that in order to lift up, another part of your body must press down. this dynamic of opposites as necessary, fundamental, and enlightening, for me, spills into everything, not just the 26 postures of the bikram series. and i think it directly correlates to my opinion that nothing worthwhile is easy. if something is only easy, if you never have to work for it, or sacrifice for it, or hurt for it, then you will not truly understand the opposite. you will never truly know just how much it means to you or just how wonderful it really is. our perception is relative and only comes to us with any degree of accuracy or meaningfulness by experiencing great joy and great pain.

who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

2006-01-18T15:12:00.000-05:00

LaUgH iF yOu'Re LoNeLy.

collaborationtown's shenanigans comedy collective presents:
shenanigans: unbreak my heart
a sketch comedy show to help you love like you've never been hurt before
saturday, february 11th @ 10:30pm
under st. marks
94 st. marks place (between 1st & a)

what's love got to do with it? absolutely nothing.

our show is kinda like your boyfriend, except...
we won't hit you,
we'll wait for you to climax,
and we're not going to tell you it's over if you don't lose 15 lbs
(though he does have a point, you really packed it on this holiday season)

"i laughed so hard that i completely forgot i've never known true love and probably never will" jesica avellone, wiccan

learn more about collaborationtown
see pictures from our past productions (courtesty of the talented and lovely anna tucker):
shenanigans on fire
shenanigans scary pants
shenanigans on ice

life is no way to treat an animal.

2006-01-05T14:15:00.000-05:00

a MaN wItHoUt a CoUnTrY. kurt vonnegut. the man is a genius. very few people, perhaps vonnegut alone, can get away with pointing out just how messed up our country is and just how quickly human beings are destroying themselves and the one life supporting planet in the milky way and make you actually enjoy every word of the delivery.

read his new memoir. more than once. it is a message about the desperation of our country & our society that is full of inspiration. it will make you laugh and make you want to cry, but then again, that's life, isn't it?

merry something & a happy whooziwhatsits.

2005-12-25T22:47:00.000-05:00

all i want for christmas...

2005-12-17T22:39:00.000-05:00

iNsTaNt gRaTiFiCaTiOn. the very first camera i owned was a christmas gift from my parents. it was a polaroid, or more accurately, it was my polaroid. my entire childhood is captured on polaroid film - mostly 600, with a fair share of spectra, and also some 8mm video tapes. this is because my father worked for polaroid. we did not go anywhere, we did not do anything, but either my father or my mother, though usually both, were armed with a polaroid camera and film up the ying yang. as an adult who cringes each time i'm told the total when i purchase polaroid film, i now appreciate how valuable my father's hookup was, but, like so many other things, as a child, i didn't fully understand its value. monetarily or emotionally.

it's funny the things you remember with such unmistakable clarity and, for me, unwrapping that camera on christmas morning is one of them. as i often seemed to do with things, unintentionally getting things backwards or spoiling them somehow, particularly on christmas mornings, i opened the film before the camera, giving the surprise away. regardless, i was thrilled. it was a camera. it was mine. and in that instant i felt accepted, as though i had grown up five years in those past five minutes. it was like being initiated into a club, or graduating into a brand new realm. my relationship with my parents reached a whole new level as i opened that camera. it's gifts like those i have always most cherished receiving. my mom has always had a knack for that, finding that thing that takes me by surprise when i open it and somehow gives me a new sense of who i am or where i'm from. i don't like being asked what i want. i am no good at wish lists. i don't know what i want. i want that thing that i don't know right now, but when i receive it, is going to somehow make me feel a sense of peace or love or security or hope. there is no gadget or shoe or accessory or piece of clothing or anything that i really give a flying f*ck about, i just want something that makes me feel like i am julia lowrie henderson and i have come from somewhere and i am loved somehow and i will go somewhere, no matter how bumpy that path has been or will be.

timing is everything.

2005-12-13T00:10:00.000-05:00

gOoD wIll tOwArDs MaN? what better way to celebrate the holiday season and encompass the spirit of christmas than with an execution? nothing brings a sense of joy and hope like death by lethal injection. thank you, california, and way to go, arnold schwarzenegger, who today lives up to the name, the terminator. am i the only one who sees something wrong with this picture? a former body builder and star of action films chock full of gratuitous violence, with a limited command over the language, is deciding who lives and who dies in the state of california.

celebrate the season.

2005-12-07T00:11:00.000-05:00

fA lA La lA La. oh, the office holiday party. i have found that it is much like women and childbirth, the actual pain of the experience is too much for the memory to hold onto, a sort of self-preservation that allows us to go back the next year and do it all over again. the awkward mingling, the drunk bosses, the inappropriate advances from older men - and by older i do mean well on their way to collecting social security. perhaps i should don a tee shirt next year that reads "if you are an active member of aarp, for the love of god, don't talk to me." the open bar is both a blessing and a curse - making the chit chat as tolerable as humanly possible for me while also giving the idiots the courage to behave like idiots. i am still reeling from the experience of tonight's shindig, trying to process the fact that i survived the same pickup routine from the same drunk married consultant not once, not twice, but THREE times in a span of less than 45 minutes, still chuckling at the 5 minute conversation i managed to get through without laughing with a grown man, a supposed expert in his field, who had a long piece of cheese hanging from his chin, of which he was totally oblivious, and wondering what excuse i can come up with next year to avoid this misery.

shenanigans on ice!!

2005-12-04T23:43:00.000-05:00

sEe mY sHoW. collaborationtown's shenanigans comedy collective presents:

shenanigans on ice!!
a spectacular holiday spectacular sketch comedy show of spectacular proportions, spectacularly.
saturday, december 10th
2 shows - 8pm & 10pm
arthur seleen theatre, drama book shop
250 west 40th street (b/w 7th & 8th avenues)
suggested donation: $5

SEE!
the dancing nativity!
harriet tubman discover the true meaning of christmas!
lesbian santa claus!?!
the real meaning of ice ice baby!

LAUGH!
laugh so hard you'll sh*t mistletoe out your ass!

DRINK!
free beer! you don't even have to put out!

"i laughed until i cried, and once i started crying i realized i was lonely." - jesica avellone, wicken.

bring on the dancing what?!@?!

2005-11-21T10:44:00.000-05:00

nO eXcUsE. it is with deep regret that i inform you, in certain circles, air guitar is alive and well. i was subjected to some extreme air guitar by the alan thicke look-a-like in front of me at echo and the bunnymen last night.

the image has been burned into my memory.

it is quite possible that i will never fully recover.

crossing the finish line.

2005-11-08T16:02:00.000-05:00

sWeAtShOp LaBoR. sunday i reached the end of my 30 day challenge at bikram yoga. now what will i do with myself???

just kidding.
(kind of)

but, seriously, i did, on sunday, successfully complete 30 bikram classes in 30 days, earning me personal satisfaction and a free monthly class package, but not earning me, as anna pointed out, anything in the way of a medal or certificate or celebration of any sort. so now i guess i should take a moment for myself to look back at the experience and ask myself, even without a medal, without confetti or streamers or banners, without any fanfare at all, am i glad i did it? was it worth it? would i do it again?

yes, i'm glad i did it. it was easier than i thought it would be. i had visions of somewhere around day 20 my body breaking into full out rebellion and the last week or so being a physical fight to the finish. i don't know where those visions came from and it turns out they were totally unfounded. the most difficult part of the whole 30 day challenge was all the schedule rearranging that needed to happen in order to make sure i made it to friday evening classes. seriously. physically, it wasn't any harder than when i was doing my pre-30 day challenge 4-5 classes per week. the challenge was one of prioritization and for 30 days straight putting myself, my need and my desire to make it to class ahead of other things. hmmm...i wonder if there is a larger lesson there?

just kidding.
(not really)

i have said since i started doing bikram last winter that i would love to be able to do it every single day. and, at least for the last 32 days, i have been able to make that happen for myself. i think this is where my greatest sense of accomplishment and satisfaction comes from and not from the fact that in the past 32 days i have spent 2,880 minutes (or 48 hours) in a 120 degree room doing 64 sets of 26 asanas. it has been a while since i have legitimately declared a desire to do something that i want and will be good for me and seen it through to the end. and i hope that this is just the first of a number of such changes i make, for my personal and artistic well being.

though, i won't lie, a medal would be nice one of these days.

is someone trying to tell me something?

2005-10-19T16:08:00.000-04:00

gOoD gRiEf. i just plowed through joan didion's new memoir, the year of magical thinking. a fact that, most likely, i wouldn't even bring up here since i've never used this forum to approach this subject, except that it touches on a part of my life that i cannot seem to escape at the moment. so i figure why not write a little bit about all of this here?

who knows what exactly took my sunday morning errands in the direction of a bookstore. i was not in need of a book, having just begun middlesex and so far thoroughly enjoying it. yet, i still somehow found myself with joan didion's book in hand, moving towards the cashier, all the while thinking, "do i really need this?" evidently, some part of me said, "yes." because i bought it. opened it. and couldn't put it down.

perhaps you have read the reviews, the press surrounding its publication and release and know what it is about. perhaps you haven't. in a nutshell, it is a memoir detailing the year in joan's life following the sudden hospitalization (and near death) of her daughter on christmas of 2003 and the fatal coronary her husband john gregory dunne suffered at the dinner table on december 30, 2003.

so i go about my business on sunday, trying to cross items off of my ever-increasing "to do list," and, on my subway ride to manhattan for my bikram class, i open the book and begin reading. i don't want to stop once i have started it. her account is captivating. and honest. and familiar. my father, at the age of 41 and, according to the last physical examination he had been given, in good health, dropped dead from a massive coronary in the middle of the chicago o'hare airport while making a connection on his way from boston to las vegas for a business trip. this was in 1988. i was 9 years old.

so i begin to read this memoir and i find myself identifying with joan's experience. i am appreciating her detail, her forthright manner, her lack of preaching or advice or judgment or *chicken soup for the soul* feel good bullshit. i wish that this had been written 17 years ago. i am aggravated all over again by how many bad books there are about death, loss, mourning, and grief.

i get up on monday morning, continue reading on the subway on my way to work, arrive at work and check my email. not surprisingly, since i do not have internet access at my apartment, there are a lot of new emails. i notice that i have gotten some from my grandmother and one of my aunts (on my father's side of the family) with subjects related to john edwards. john edwards? wow, i did not realize they were so political. i start to wonder what he has been up to since the election anyway. i open the email from my grandmother who basically says that they had a great interview with john edwards and we should read the message below from my dad's cousin janice for more detail. wait, did they interview john edwards or did he interview them? either way, how did this get set up?? why didn't i know this was going to happen??? what did they talk about? the war? social security? healthcare? i scroll down as suggested. janice's recap of saturday's events begin. i've got the wrong john edwards. they are referring to john edwards of crossing over with john edwards fame. that guy who *talks* to dead people. my grandmother and two of her nieces (my dad's cousins, my second cousins) went to a taping of his show on saturday. and, yes, johnny boy sought them out with messages from my father and my grandfather among others. hello, it's 8:48am on monday morning, what did you just say? dad says hi? or john edwards says that dad said hi to you, thanks for keeping his memory alive? nice thing to find out about over email before 9:00am on a monday morning while you are at work moments away from walking into the weekly firm meeting. i'm sure i was really sharp and seemed totally present during that meeting. hey, guys, don't mind me over here, i've just been reading a memoir about grief that is making me remember and reexamine a number of events in my own life and my grandmother thinks that she just spoke with my dead father through john edwards.

i immediately become confused and somewhat emotionally overwhelmed. my instinct is not to believe this. my opinion has been that these *readings* are a set up by a very perceptive and manipulative individual who has keen skills at reading people's faces and energies and a knack for making vague and generic comments. vague and generic comments that, when heard by an individual who is seeking meaning in them, desperately seeking meaning in them, become specific and undeniable signs.

but is it at all possible? had i been there would he have said something to me? would i have believed it?

why am i even asking those questions? because, though i hate to admit it, the whole idea pulls at that desperate place in me, that 9 year old who went to bed one night and was woken up the next morning by a police officer at the front door who had come to let her know her father was dead, who wants more than anything to believe that there is a way to bring him back, there is a way to say the goodbye that never happened, there is a way to have just one more day, one more minute with him.

i also begin to feel embarassed. that this is going to air on john edwards' show sometime next spring. this is mildly to moderately humiliating. and in some ways i feel it cheapens and makes a mockery of my loss. parading it around on some terrible television show like that.

so confused, overwhelmed, embarassed, and disgusted, i go back to my email to find that hunting season is now officially open among my family. my father was the oldest of 8 children and pretty much every one of them has taken a turn in the past 72 hours. the religious right has warned us about going to hell for all time by listening to satan in the form of people who pretend they can communicate with the dead. the i'm past menopause and may never be emotionally stable again contingent, my mother among this demographic, has shot back epistles telling the religious right where they can shove their beliefs. my grandmother, almost 80 years old, cannot believe she has caused all of this fuss and anger and emotion and strife. there are calls for fence mending. cries of i only warned you about the imminent damnation of your soul out of love. there are attempts to slide past it all with a little humor. who knows where this will all come out in the end. it is clear that each of us feels very strongly about our relationship with my father and that over the past 17 years we have each developed our unique relationship with our grief and way of coping with the loss, or perhaps of incorporating it or not incorporating it into our lives. and now we are faced with this event that simultaneously forces all of us to reexamine our position in a very public way.

i have finished didion's memoir. i finished it last night. when i first started reading it on sunday i regretted that it had not existed 17 years ago. but, after the events of this week, i am grateful that it was published now and that i picked it up on sunday morning without any good reason.

who knows, maybe my grandmother got a message from my father through john edwards and his vague images and clues, i guess that's for her, not me, to say. but maybe i got my own message from my father in the form of an instinct in spoonbill & sugartown bookstore on bedford avenue sunday morning.

misery loves company.

2005-10-11T14:54:00.000-04:00

yAnKeEs SuCk. i will admit that, though immature and illogical, it does actually make me feel better about the red sox getting their asses handed to them on a platter by the white sox in a 3 game sweep in the alds that the yankees lost their division series to the angels last night.

neither here nor there.

2005-10-11T14:29:00.000-04:00

bAcK tO bLaCk RoCk. it was just over one month ago that i returned home from burning man. it feels like that whole trip happened in another lifetime. this past month has been so busy it has felt like at least three. i'm exhausted. on the verge of being totally worn out and rendered utterly useless. oddly enough, though, i think that this is the state i am most comfortable in and, given the choice, i probably wouldn't want it any other way. don't get me wrong, there are details i would change and pieces i would move, but only to free up time and opportunity to do more, see more, create more, be more.

last thursday night found colleen and me standing in the back room of beauty bar in the middle of a crowd of people eager for free red stripe and a glimpse of stellastarr* looking at one another saying, "i miss burning man." we were sweaty and satisfied and full of adrenaline having just seen a fantastic show, having just had the joy of hearing the one song we wouldn't have been able to get over not hearing. and, yet, even in those moments of joy, even when you are in the middle of doing one of the wonderful and crazy and unexpected things being in new york sometimes puts in front of you, even when you are so keenly aware of and in tune with how frigging lucky you are to be young and in new york, that thought pops into your head, "i miss burning man."

coming attraction.

2005-10-07T12:14:00.000-04:00

sCaRy PaNtS. the next shenanigans sketch comedy show is tuesday, october 25th at royal oak bar in williamsburg. more details forthcoming but expect candy, drinks, and to have the pants scared off ya.

shenanigans scary pants!!

an evening of sketch comedy inspired by all hallow's eve

tuesday, october 25th

9pm

royal oak bar

594 union ave

brooklyn

suggested donation $6 ($5 if you wear a costume)

state of the indie.

2005-09-27T11:31:00.000-04:00

yOu'Ve gOt PrEsS.

an article that mentions the jv show. pretty cool.

grilled to perfection.

2005-09-20T15:20:00.000-04:00

i HaD tHe BeSt wEekEnD:

too close for comfort.

2005-09-16T09:52:00.000-04:00

cLoSe EnCouNtErS. “please stop touching my ass, lady” and “get your giant i-could-take-down-a-small-adult-with-one-swing-of-these-things boobs off of me”. that was pretty much the running stream of thought in my head this morning as i rode an exceptionally crowded l train from lorimer to 14th street/6th avenue. ah, the subway. i’m getting a bike. as soon as i have the vanderslice show behind me.

a topless topple.

2005-09-14T14:48:00.000-04:00

cRiTiCaL tIts.

okay. time to start in on my burning man stories.

let's start with a little recap of how sara & i came to be posing topless with a volunteer male nurse in the medical emergency tent at center camp. because we've all been there, right?

so i depart my safe little cocoon of new york city (yes, i do realize safe and little are not words always associated with new york city) holding firm to the resolution that those around me can do what they wish, but i will remain fully clothed while on the playa. part fear, part vanity, part self-consciousness and self-image issues, and part modesty all playing a role in my decision to keep the girls under wraps during burning man. i arrive at burning man and get through most of the week without issue. those around me are, in fact, doing what they wish, which turns out to be setting the girls free. after burning man, part of me wonders if sara will ever truly find happiness in a society that asks her to wear a shirt. and part of me knows that answer is "no." my wardrobe may be comprised of bathing suits and tank tops and bustiers and mini skirts, but i arrive at friday having kept the tummy and tits out of public view. good for me. i've been asked, more than once, by sara if i'm sure i'm really not comfortable losing my shirt, or at least downgrading to only a bikini top. i've been informed, more than once, by sara that her goal is to get me topless by the end of the week. naked may have been the word she used. and i have countered with "yes, i'm sure" and "no, you won't." and then friday afternoon comes...and the "critical tits" bike parade along the esplanade and across the playa. a celebration of women with a clever titular allusion to the "critical mass" bike rally. and, before i know it, i'm wearing a pair of bloomers from colleen, standing topless in front of a full length mirror in claire, danielle and britta's tent painting blue stars on my boobs. after posing for a number of photographs like this at camp (how quickly i went from sister mary at the convent to some sort of desert exhibitionist), we all hop on our bikes and make our way to the esplanade to join the parade. well, i have never seen anything like this before. i've certainly never been part of anything like this before. it was a mass of breasts and bikes that seemed to stretch on forever. and the whole parade was lined with spectators, mainly male, many cheering, many taking photographs, all free to look at my bare chest. it was so crowded that the women of the starcraft starflyer camp got separated in the sea of tits and tires and i ended up riding with just a few of my girls - sara, colleen, and claire - when we decided we had gone far enough along the parade route and should cut across the playa to the "afterparty." so we set out across the playa. away from the swarms of bikers and people. seemingly away from obstacles. unfortunately, however, sara and i set out right into each other. my front tire caught her back tire and i went down like a shot. it was a rather pathetic display, i really did little to nothing on my way to the ground (the hard, dry playa surface) to stop the fall or brace myself for impact. (i mean, really, jules, you are naked from the waist up and falling off a bike, react for the love of god. please. just a little. nothing?) so i hit the ground pretty hard, my right elbow and shoulder taking most of the impact. i was stunned and i was in a lot of pain. panic set in. i had been without a shirt for quite some time now, i desperately wanted cover. my elbow was all scraped up. had i broken anything? possibly my shoulder. what would i do half naked in the desert with a broken shoulder? would i have to be flown to a hospital to have it set without a shirt? might i be escorted back to camp to get a shirt before getting onto a helicopter or plane? would i be able to stay through the burn if my shoulder was broken? how would i do my yoga on saturday?? hey, these are the thoughts that were floating through my head. beer, sun, dehydration, adrenaline and my own neuroses making for some interesting fears and questions. the girls got me and our bikes over to the medical tent next to center camp. sara escorted me inside. we explained that i had been in a bike accident, at critical tits - yes, the topless bike parade. i took a seat and waited. i was examined. the male nurse took me through a whole range of motion exercises with my right arm and shoulder, only to reach the conclusion that i had suffered no more than a bruised deltoid, for which he recommended ice and advil as treatment. he cleaned up my scraped and cut elbow and bandaged it. i was calming down, finally, the panic was subsiding. nothing was broken, the pain was lessening a little, i was oh so close to getting back to camp and putting a shirt on. i thanked him for helping me. sara thanked him for helping me. we were ready to head back to camp. we were past the scare and now ready to be plain amused by the fact that she had succeeded in getting me topless and i had ended up taking a nosedive onto the playa that way. but, wait, first he wanted us to do him a favor. and pose for a picture with him. he pulled out his little disposable camera and grabbed another volunteer in the tent to act as photographer. and that is how sara & i came to pose topless with a volunteer male nurse in the medical emergency tent at center camp. god only knows where those photos will end up. but any hopes i had for being president are more or less dashed.

rock paper scissors.

2005-09-13T14:56:00.000-04:00

wHaT aRe YoU dOiNg tHiS wEekEnD, jULiA? funny you should ask. sara, anna & i are throwing a rock show for john vanderslice in sara's backyard. oh - it's also a bbq. officially, it's the 2005 brooklyn grilled corn, mushroom, and jicama exposition. that's what john has named it. so, come and bring something to grill, something to drink, a cup to drink out of, and an article of clothing for the victims of hurricane katrina. for all the details about the show, go to www.johnvanderslice.com.

john vanderslice. in sara's backyard. i think that stress, excitement, awe, joy, sensory overload or any combination of the above might actually kill me this weekend. yeah, life is really difficult for me right now. you should definitely feel bad for me.

back from black rock.

2005-09-13T11:22:00.000-04:00

i'Ve BeEn tHrOuGh tHe dEseRt oN a HoRsE wItH nO NaMe. well, technically, it was a little boy's bike. but it did feel good to be out of the rain.

okay, kids, it's official. i survived burning man. and i am back in new york city.

what is burning man? i still don't know how to adequately answer that question. but, i have been to burning man. i will return to burning man. i can't remember who i was before i went to burning man. and i can't imagine who i would be had i not made the decision to go to burning man.

if you want to know more than that, you are going to have to be patient with me. i'm still processing all that i saw and experienced. i'm still finding the words to describe it. i'm still looking for the time to put those thoughts together coherently. in the meantime, amuse yourself with my pictures. and trust that the stories will soon follow...

blister in the sun.

2005-08-25T15:58:00.000-04:00

hOt HoT hOt!! tomorrow night i leave for burning man. 7 days in the nevada desert. no cars, no phones, no internet, no toilets. i am not a hippie. i do not camp. i refuse to be seen naked in public. but i'm going nonetheless. i will be out of state for a total of 12 days. by far the longest *vacation* i've taken in years. i have 24 hours to pull all my sh*t together and then about 48 hours in southern california to get the remaining supplies (you know, like water, food, tent, water, sleeping bag, air mattress, water, bike, lawn chair, water, tarp, rope, water) before embarking on a road trip in a rented suv to, well, the middle of nowhere. my expectations are all over the place. to be honest, i truly don't know what to expect when i get there. am i up to this? i hope so. i guess we'll see. i'm staying in a camp of about 20 people, 2 of whom are close friends, the rest friends of theirs (and friends of friends of theirs) that, for the most part, i have not met before. this does not concern me past the usual worries about whether or not they will like me and whether or not i will fit in. the camp, which is named after the starcraft starflyer that was purchased to house and support the dj set up, excites me. i expect to have a good time with these people, to make new connections, to strengthen those i have. it's the larger burning man community i'm starting to worry about . . . i'm a bikram junkie and i am more than slightly concerned about being away from class for almost two weeks, so i brought this concern to tricia who owns the studio in the lower east side that i practice at and she was kind enough to understand my worry and make me audio cassettes of a couple of classes so that i can listen and follow along and continue my bikram practice out in the desert of black rock city. i had also told my friend sara, with whom i will be going to burning man, that i was worried about my yoga practice, could i do yoga there? and she said of course, plenty of people will be into yoga there, you may even find people holding classes or to practice with. so i'm surfing the web about burning man yesterday and for kicks i add yoga to my search. google gives me a lot of options. i'm thinking, this is great! there will be yoga in the desert after all!! so i start looking at the sites. most of them are pictures. of people doing yoga at burning man. NAKED. often in pairs. hmmm, i didn't know yoga was a group sport. that's when i started to realize i may not really know what i am getting myself into after all . . .

there are aspects of this experience that i do feel like i have a handle on and am looking forward to. i find it fitting that my camp has taken on this star theme because i hold firm to my belief that no matter how hot it may get during the day, how bad the port-a-potties may smell, or how many naked hippies i see running around who maybe shouldn't be so free with their bodies, it will be a small price for the experience of sitting in the cool desert night air looking up at a sky that is more expansive and with stars more numerous than i have ever seen before and breathing in a whole new sense of awe and wonder and peace and possibility.

and i'm planning on getting one hell of a tan.

oh shit, that's funny.

2005-08-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

sHeNaNigAnS oN fIrE.

consider yourself warned.

2005-08-02T09:39:00.000-04:00

kId sTuFf. i had a headache the other day (it's not necessary to get into why, it certainly had nothing to do with the night before. or alcohol). so i took an advil. the label on the advil bottle says:

CHILDREN: do not give to children under 12 unless directed by a doctor

really, though, should children be giving anyone medication?

a (not so) complete history.

2005-07-29T13:39:00.000-04:00

dEaR dIaRy. i was never any good at keeping a diary or journal. i am, and fear i always will be, a diary failure. sure, i'll go through fits and spurts where i jot down my thoughts and reflections with astonishing regularity, but, inevitably, i will hit a wall, often without warning or awareness, and just stop writing in it. weeks will pass before it occurs to me that, yet again, i have abandoned a diary. then i will dive into a shame spiral, bombarding myself with the same questions - can i commit to anything? can i finish anything i start? how can keeping a diary be so hard, little girls everywhere do it effortlessly, what is wrong with me?? am i a total failure??? i have a remarkable number of half empty journals because often a new attempt at maintaining a diary requires a fresh start, meaning an unused, never before abandoned journal. i would set the goal for myself that i will fill every page of a journal from cover to cover, but, what's the point? we all know i won't do it. and looking through my diary efforts over the years, i'm not sure i'd want to. i mean, what are diaries if not embarrassing, with most of the passages bringing to mind such thoughts as "yikes! i really thought that?" "oh god, i was a mess" "what was i thinking?" "was i really that lame?" i'd rather not have written proof that i was, in fact, like that. i ask myself will i regret later on that i don't have a thorough recollection of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences in my own words? will the world regret this? no. and too bad. first of all, if i live to be a ripe old age and i have nothing better to do than sit there and relive my youth by rereading all of my old diaries, somebody please put me out of my misery. what a waste of time. just days, weeks, months or maybe a couple of years left to live and i'm going to sit on my wrinkled old ass and not live but rather retreat to the past? no, thank you. and second of all, assuming things go as planned and someday i am wildly famous, i would rather retain some degree of mystery about my life and my youth. god knows the paparazzi and those damn tabloids are going to give me enough trouble and drag everything they can into the light of day, why should i add fuel to the fire with a complete chronicle of my innermost thoughts and secrets? to the adoring public and my dedicated fans, i apologize in advance, but when i die you are going to have to look and think and hypothesize and imagine to fill in the pieces of my complicated nature and even more complex life. i am not going to make it easy for you and leave a set of diaries from my formative years that hold all the answers you will seek. and those of you who truly understand me will appreciate that and realize that is exactly how i wanted it to be.

in the meantime, i will continue to somewhat infrequently, as it has been pointed out to me by certain friends and drummers, throw thoughts and experiences and stories down on this blog. so enjoy.

this is what you are doing on august 13th, so mark your calendar.

2005-07-22T12:09:00.000-04:00

ShEnaNiGaNs oN fIrE. collaborationtown is launching a new sketch & improv comedy initiative called shenanigans and our debut show, shenanigans on FIRE!, is saturday, august 13th @ 10pm in the arthur seleen theatre at the drama book shop (250 west 40th street). it will be an evening of sketch comedy that will make you laugh so hard you'll shit your pants. trust me, you don't want to miss this, and, if you do, i'll beat the shit out of you. just kidding. sort of. i've been doing a lot of bikram, i'm stronger than i look. don't test me. more details to come soon.

a state of the state. of sorts.

2005-07-19T13:33:00.000-04:00

bAcK tO tHe LiFe. i'm happy to report that i was able to get into my apartment without any assistance from the fdny last night, in the past 48 hours anna has not sat in pee in a taxi cab or thrown up in front of any swank soho hotels, sara has not had any near death tumbles down subway station stairs, and i have not heard the phrase "i ain't got mouth herpes, i got straight up aids."
i guess this is what is called normal.

this one's for you, jim.

2005-07-18T11:07:00.000-04:00

sIrEnS. the theme of my weekend evidently. expected on saturday with the siren festival. unexpected on sunday and at the courtesy of brooklyn fire engine 221.

all we wanted was a piece of furniture to sit on in our new apartment and somehow we ended up with fire engine 221, flashing lights, 6-8 members of the fdny, tools, crowbars and a ladder. i kid you not. it started so innocently with what meghan and i expected to be a simple trip to kmart to purchase a futon so that we and any guests might actually have a place to sit in our living room. the road to this particular futon had itself been a long one, it started on our june 1st move in date and finally ended yesterday. logistics (needing something relatively small and that could preferably be disassembled to get up the narrow and winding staircase), price (needing to not break the bank on this), function (needing this to serve as some sort of place for guests to sleep), and design (needing this to be a "sneaky" futon that said more couch than futon and did not have those dreadful telltale black futon railings) all causing the process to be stretched out to a month and a half. so we find this futon that we like, meg finds that kmart carries it, we decide yesterday afternoon to go pick it up from kmart - middle of manhattan, 2 girls, and a tiny toyota echo. after wasting what felt like the better part of our twenties in the new kmart "furniture showroom" waiting for someone, anyone, i don't care if you are part of the big k team or not, to help us, we proceed downstairs to customer service to pay for & pick up the futon. the box is big. it is raining. the car has to be pulled around and double parked. the box will not fit in the car. believe me, we tried. and tried. and tried some more. we end up opening the box on the sidewalk and shoving the futon piece by piece into the back seat. it almost fits. the window has to stay open so part of the frame can hang out and we can close the door. so we make our way back across the williamsburg bridge like that, park the car, unload the futon and all its components on our front stoop, and go to bring it upstairs to our apartment. but we can't get in. the door won't unlock. THE LOCK ON THE FRONT DOOR OF THE BUILDING IS BROKEN. we buzz our neighbors (there are only 3 apartments in the building). nothing. we buzz again. nothing. we buzz a lot more. nothing, nothing, nothing. we call the landlord/management company. they are closed on sundays and mondays, they leave no emergency contact number on their answering machine message. we have no name or number for the super, it is not posted anywhere. panic ensues. we call a locksmith, they say they'll send someone. we wait. there is no locksmith. we call again, he says the guy is on his way. we wait. still no locksmith. we call again, he tells me that his guy won't do it, it's illegal without the landlord's consent. so the locksmith is not coming? nope, maybe we should call the fire department. i'm sorry, the fire department? i don't know how to do that and i figure it surely cannot have come to this, so i try 311. the operator is kind, but of no real assistance. she can offer me nothing other than taking a formal complaint from me against my landlord. i'm in tears. i don't care about complaints. the landlord will hear my complaint when i finally get in touch with them. i need to get inside my apartment building. i tell her the locksmith's idea about the fire department. okay, maybe hysterically and desperately beg her to get the fire department for me is a more accurate description. she connects me to someone who connects me to my nearest firehouse, brooklyn engine 221, and after recounting all the details and explaining how i got their number in the first place, they agree to come help us out. and they do, come help us out, in the fire engine, with the lights going and the whole nine yards. we are officially a spectacle. there are screw drivers and crowbars and tools i can't identify being passed around a whole crew of firemen who cannot force the lock. plan a, to break the lock, gets set in motion, but then a last minute plan b emerges and mere seconds before the lock is popped, the ladder is coming off of the truck and being leaned against the front of the building. 1 fireman climbs the ladder to the top floor, opens my bedroom window, climbs through the window, pulling my curtains down with him and landing on my bed, finds his way out of our apartment and opens the front door to the building from the inside. they then proceed to tape the door with duct tape (to keep it from locking until it can be replaced - which won't be before tuesday ?@!?#!!? it seems since they are closed on mondays), pack up the tools, take down the ladder and leave us to assemble our futon. which we did. so now we have a place to sit and be pissed at our landlord.

really, all we wanted to was to finally get a piece of furniture to sit on, was that so much to ask?

WARNING: shameless plugging of cute designs by a good friend.

2005-07-07T14:27:00.000-04:00

dArLiNg nIkKi. so there's this super cute, marathon running, red sox loving, christmas display window designing, crafty as all hell chick down on the lower east side. she also happens to be my friend, the wife of my friend gregg, and the girl who got me hooked on alias (i suppose she could have gotten me hooked on worse things, like heroin or crack for instance). anyway, she has finally decided to put her skills and craftiness to work and is in the process of launching darling nikki designs. kids, take it from me, check out her stuff while you can still afford it. coming off of a successful stint at the renegade craft fair in brooklyn in june, she has two pieces for sale on etsy, an ebay of sorts for the artsy-craftsy set:

and, as further evidence of her genius, check out the purse i commissioned her to make for my friend's birthday:

and she's just a really cool girl. so check her stuff out.

a driver's education

2005-06-30T14:53:00.000-04:00

rEdeMpTiOn iS tHaT wAy.

take it from me, in case there was any question in your mind, having your car towed in brooklyn sucks (especially when this discovery is made late on a thursday night as you are en route from one bar to another). going to the brooklyn navy yard and waiting in line to redeem it sucks more (and by waiting in line i do mean standing in a line of disgruntled and confused and not well bathed people to the tune of a few hours). getting up to the window only to be sent off wandering around a somewhat sketchy neighborhood with which you are unfamiliar on a sweltering june afternoon in pursuit of an atm because you need to pay your $185.00 towing fee + $20.00 storage fee in cash since the car is not registered under your name sucks even more.

but getting your car back in the end is pretty sweet.

just the tip of my photo taking iceberg.

2005-06-20T17:35:00.000-04:00

uS. aFtEr tHe ShOw. bEfoRe tHe aFtErPaRtY.

afterglow.
Originally uploaded by j u l i a.

2005-06-20T17:33:00.000-04:00

jIm & bRiTt.

genius, these 2, genius.
Originally uploaded by j u l i a.

2005-06-20T17:32:00.000-04:00

eRiC.

aglow.
Originally uploaded by j u l i a.

2005-06-20T17:30:00.000-04:00

bRiTt.

highlight of the year.
Originally uploaded by j u l i a.

life is good.

2005-06-20T12:01:00.000-04:00

eVeRyThiNg hItS aT oNcE. i have been a very lucky girl. in a span of less than 2 weeks i have seen 3 of my favorite bands play in 2 of the most amazing shows i've been to. i have jumped and bounced and danced and screamed and sung along and met band members and taken an obscene amount of photographs. i have had the f***ing time of my life.

inquiring minds want to know.

2005-06-09T16:43:00.000-04:00

nAiLeD iT. in case the short answer of *because he was nailed to a cross and crucified* isn’t enough, a certain israeli researcher, one professor benjamin brenner, is challenging the 1986 journal of the american medical association assertion that jesus died from a fatal loss of blood and in an article in the journal of thrombosis and haemostasis (come on, you know you have a subscription) theorizes that it was a blood clot, a pulmonary embolism, that killed jesus christ. well, i don’t know about you, but i'll certainly sleep better with that nagging question finally answered.

( i wonder if the next time i find myself in church the nicene creed will be amended to “crucified under pontious pilot, which resulted in a fatal blood clot…”)

movers and shakers.

2005-06-02T18:14:00.000-04:00

bRoOkLyN. dAy oNe. so far so good.

yesterday - a lot of lifting. a lot of cleaning. a lot of unpacking.
tonight - more cleaning. more unpacking. and painting. yay painting (!)

oh, the move itself. somehow meg's dad (who, by the by, is my new favorite person) managed to get all our stuff from the east village and a midtown storage space to a 3rd floor apartment in williamsburg with little other than the help of 2 twentysomething girls, all the while keeping us entertained and laughing. the pinnacle of the experience though was the u-haul rental. oh, lovely bushwick, you cease to amaze me with your assorted cast of characters. there was no way to politely get a picture of the woman who rented me the truck and the 3-4 teeth she was clinging to with dear life, but i think this shot of her desk speaks volumes and can give a pretty good idea of who i was dealing with. her rolodex was by far my favorite accessory. though the knocked over foam cup of writing instruments was also a nice touch. somehow, when i'm involved, it's always an adventure.

2005-06-02T18:13:00.000-04:00

organized. efficient. clean.

what is life if not a learning process?

2005-05-24T15:12:00.000-04:00

edUcAtiNg juLiA. today i'm feeling reflective, so let me take a moment to share with you a few of the many lessons i have learned over this past year:

* when a friend of yours is trying to set you up with someone, this someone being a virtual stranger to you, and that someone's friend responds to the idea by saying to your friend, "that's great. i was just thinking how that's what ________ needs right now, to settle down & get a girlfriend who's not crazy and somewhat stable," you might want to take that as a warning sign.

* when you accompany a friend while she gets a tattoo and somehow at the end of the adventure you two are rewarded with a small mystery bottle of tequila from the kind of nice but predominantly just sketchy guy doing the estimates, sketches and appointment scheduling at the tattoo parlor, you deserve to end up passed out wherever you end up after drinking it.

* when you drink an amount of whiskey that might actually put a strain on certain distilleries in tennessee, on the 2nd floor of a bar, and you then attempt to descend the stairs to leave the bar, you are likely to end up with a sprained ankle.

* when you get too fixated on the composition of a text message, you may very well walk past the front door of your apartment building without noticing and end up at the entrance to the identical building next door, for which your vestibule key also works, and enter that building, climb the stairs, and find yourself in front of not your apartment 4 with a lock that looks unfamiliar and in which your key will not fit, thinking "how the hell did they have time to change the lock in the short time i was out? and why did they use one that looks so old? wouldn't you replace it with a new lock?" and knocking on a total stranger's door looking to be let in.

please note forwarding address.

2005-05-21T16:44:00.000-04:00

'bUrG bOuNd. i am officially withdrawing myself from the competition for most addresses in a 12 month period and cutting myself off at 4, effective june 1. which is really soon. and really exciting. stressful, but exciting. my roommate, meg, and i are both going to be experiencing brooklyn for the first time. we are trying to get an understanding of and familiarity with the new neighborhood before we get there. some might call it "casing", i prefer "exploring". meg might actually be the cutest girl on the planet and emails me picture collages for decoration inspiration and maps showing our "home" and all the local art galleries that she has made using her graphic design skills.
i'm still not sure how i spent 4 months floating the way i have. i try to look back on it as an exercise in letting go and being flexible. and if after this little experiement i am not open and able to go with the flow, then i will never be.
so here i am, and with less than two weeks until june 1st, once again, it is time to break out boxes and newspaper and packing tape, to line up movers and make arrangements. time to lift, load and unload. and, this time, to settle into a place i can call home.

shady pines, ma.

2005-05-15T16:52:00.000-04:00

bEa-LaTeD. friday was bea arthur's 82nd birthday. i hope you all marked the day with cheesecake, sarcastic one-liners, and sexual frustration.

of course, bea arthur will always be best known for her stint as dorothy zbornak on the golden girls, a show that i watched religiously as a child and which holds a special place in my heart. oh, those wild and crazy old ladies of miami, what made those senior citizens so appealing to a young girl? a lot of things. let's look at wise-cracking dorothy zbornak since this post is in belated celebration of bea arthur's birthday. dorothy had the freedom to do what every child dreams of - threaten and boss around her mother. and she did. constantly. and to great amusement. at least once an episode. dorothy held sophia's fate in her hands. she could easily send her straight back to the nursing home at any moment, a fact she often leveraged against sophia when she stepped out of line. oh, the power of that one simple sentence: "shady pines, ma" - didn't we all envy that? that totally reversed power system, daughter in charge? no "what's the magic word?" or "don't talk back", no "finish what's on your plate or you can't have dessert", no "who are you going with? and when will you be home?", no "clean your room", no "go to your room" no "you're grounded", no "don't hit your sister", no "it's time for bed" or "because i'm your mother and i say so", no "you aren't leaving this house dressed like that, you look like a slut." dorothy was a hero living out our wildest fantasy, offering us hope that there might come a day when the tables would turn, when the discipline, the nagging, the, god forbid, parenting would end and it would be our turn to dish it out. yeah, go ahead, mom, threaten me that santa isn't coming if i don't shape up because what goes around comes around and i've got "s h a d y p i n e s , m a" down pat and i won't be afraid to use it. even if the price i have to pay is turning into some sort of lonely, sexually frustrated she-beast with horrible taste in clothes and a vocal range in the basement. your days of telling me what to do are numbered. i know, i watch the golden girls.

is it just me?

2005-05-12T16:54:00.000-04:00

boLtOn. whenever i read the headlines about bolton's nomination for ambassador to the u.n., i think first of michael bolton.

no periods, only commas

2005-05-12T16:43:00.000-04:00

yAy AmY. on tuesday my sister received her masters in social work from nyu. at lincoln center. as the rolling stones played outside on the plaza. only in new york city.
it was a full day. full of events, full of plans, full of waiting, full of speeches, full of emotion, full of thought, full of inspiration, full of cameras, full of taxi rides and getting here & there, full of watch checks, full of blisters, full of pride, full of joy, full of missing people, like my dad, who are no longer with us but we wish had been there . . .
the speaker at the commencement touched quite candidly and engagingly on the need for social change resulting from our lack of a politicized society and the importance of changing the system to rid it of flaws rather than changing the individual to fit in a flawed system. i've always shared much of my sister's idealism and her drive to elicit change, no matter how big or small, and i've always supported her on the decision to use social work as her medium to achieve that end. her graduation reinforced all of that for me and made me believe in it, and her, even more. which i didn't think was possible. i am so proud of her and all the good she has done already, and i know an infinite amount lays ahead. the world is a better place because of her.
it's funny how unlike an ending her graduation seemed though . . . maybe because this program was 2 years and not 4 and so the end snuck up on me, catching me unprepared? or maybe because an undergraduate degree seems like the end of that long road of formal education we embark on as toddlers, really, when you consider the years spent in nursery school that lead directly into kindergarden, and, so, when that moment arrived for each of us it felt like, 'finally, we have finished, we can take a deep breath now and do whatever we want to do from now on!' (a big hahaha to the naivete of that thought, but, anyway) this masters degree, on the other hand, really is a stepping stone, a transition, a beginning for her, her career, her aspirations. this is not the end of something for amy, not a period, just a comma

julia goes digital.

2005-05-04T14:44:00.000-04:00

fOtO fReNzY. yesterday, i finally bought myself a digital camera. today, i signed up for flickr. tomorrow, presumably, i'll actually learn how to take decent photos with it.
in the meantime, let the fun begin. you can check out all the photos i'm taking on my flickr photostream.
what are you waiting for? go check them out. now.