On my mind, off the top of my head...

I just realized that it's been two months since I've posted.  

A lot has happened since then, but when I boil it down, it doesn't seem like much: 

My show opened!  Be More Chill with Griffin Theatre, at the Theatre Building Chicago. Come see it if you haven't already.  I promise you will have a great time.  All the cool kids are doing it.

I'm gearing up for another summer in Troy, NY, with the Bakerloo Theatre Project.  We doing The Tempest and The Cherry Orchard and I couldn't be more excited.  

May 30 was my one-year Aunt-iversary.  That's right, "the most adorable baby in the history of time" (thank you, jessierae)  is now twelve months (and some change) old.  Man, I love that kid!

The Jeffs (or rather, the Non-Equity Joesph Jefferson Awards) are tonight.  (BTDubs, I'm glad they're not citations any more.  It caused a big hullabaloo here in Chicago when they changed the name, and led to a larger debate about the relative merits and professionalism of Equity v. Non-Equity theatre.  For my part, I'm happy where I am, for now, wish I got paid more, and am glad that the recognition for my realm of theatre no longer sounds like a speeding ticket.) 

New Leaf is just breaths away from announcing next season.  I blogged about that here.   

I've been tagged by Mandy, so here's an acrostic poem of sorts about me:

Here are the rules:

I am a smart person. 

I am good at math.  I like numbers.  I don't love them, I don't have dreams about the CPA road not taken, but I generally do pretty well with mathematical concepts and the like.

I am also good at reading comprehension.  I read a sentence (in English) and, when I come to the end, I have a pretty sound text-based understanding of the meaning of said sentence.  (Acknowledging of course, that meaning is a two-way street, that I bring my own bias to everything I read, etc, etc.)

I am a conscientious person, on the whole.  I read directions.  I definitely follow rules (unless there's a really really good reason not to), and I never break the law on purpose, except for speeding, which I almost never do anymore since I don't drive.  I vote.  I participate in my own limited way in my civic society. 

I keep meticulous financial records.  Seriously.  I'm kind of in love with the people who invented Quicken.

So.  Today I sat down to do my taxes.  And I find that I am AFRAID to do them.  Not afraid to sit down and figure things out - I did that; it was no big deal.  See above re: quicken and financial records. 

No, I am AFRAID to do them because I don't want to make a mistake and accidentally break a tax law.  So I'm going to PAY a PROFESIONAL to do it FOR ME.

WHAT?!

What kind of world/country is it when an otherwise intelligent person can't sit down with her meticulous financial records and fill out a couple of forms and file her taxes?

I have always prided myself on doing my own taxes.  I judged and condemned (in my mind) my friends whose parents filled out their tazes for them.  When you have 1 job, 1 W2, and are not a homeowner, it's really not that hard.

BUT.  Now I am "self-employed."  And my financial life (on paper, at least) has exploded.  I did my own taxes last year, to the best of my ability, and it was hard.  This year, since a much higher percentage of my income comes from "fees" instead of "wages," it's even more complicated. 

Can you tell that I'm a little miffed about this?  I should be able to figure out the amount I owe in confidence, pay it, or file for my refund, and be done with it.  Instead, I have to pay someone (who had to be trained and certified to qualify to do this) to do it for me.

Is that fair?  Is it right for a government to require something of its citizens that they are not capable of doing for themselves?  I don't have to hire a professional person to help me register to vote.  We don't hire "professional" jurors.   ( The whole notion of "a jury of ones peers" is based on the idea that the average citizen is capable of taking in information, applying reason, and coming to a decision. )  But I, who have a pretty high opinion of my own intelligence, and pretty high confidence in my ability to fill out a form,  seem to be incapable of completing this simple act of compliance on my own.

I don't know if I'm more angry at the government's complicated tax laws or at myself for giving up trying to figure them out.

So, New Leaf's 17th (!) production opens tomorrow night.  Hurray!  And of course, we need to fill the house for opening weekend.   I think I can say with confidence that everyone who reads this journal (those of you in Chicago, at any rate) has ALREADY qualified for one of our many special ticket offers.  If you don't know what I'm talking about, comment/call/email me and I will fill you in.  

This is just my mildly passive-agressive way to say it would be really nice if you wanted to see the show this weekend.  

And if you can't, that's cool.  I hope you can see it another time.   

Is this an oxymoron?  It has been my buzzphrase of choice for the last week or so, and I begin to wonder if there's not an inherent contradiction in terms here.  If caution tempers optimism, does that necessarily transform it to something else?  Realism?  Certainly not skepticism.  That would be cautiously pessimistic.  (Pardon me while I reveal my naturally positive bias.)  

Or perhaps optimism can be tempered, modified, reigned in.  Perhaps it is hope that I'm thinking of, that when cautious, becomes something else.   (Speaking of which, who remembers the "Hope for President" swag that New Leaf created for Vox Pandora by bdar?  Still available!   What a remarkably prescient play that was....)

At any rate, I remain cautiously optimistic about several things, but recklessly eager to through caution to the wind and just be boldy hopeful.  (I'm also remaining deliberately cryptic.  And I have decided that every adjective deserves an adverb.)

On Monday night, Nick and I attended The League of Chicago Theatre's  THEATER DISH on blogs and podcasts.

The presenter was a marketing consultant specializing in not-for-profits, with a background in performing arts organizations.  The presentation started kinda slow - I was afraid it would be about convincing 50-something technophobes that all this new media is worth it.   They had even handed out copies of her PowerPoint presentation. But then she started getting in to the nuts and bolts of what makes a good podcast, what makes a good blog.  She gave examples from organizations all over the country.  It was practical, useful information.

And then I turned the page.

And I saw the slide.

The slide with NEW LEAF'S BLOG.  And when we got to that slide, what did she do? 

SHE PLAYED OUR PODCAST. 

As an example.  A "fantastic" example of the right tone, the right content, the right everything.   

And while I'm shamelessly plugging, I'd like to add that I blogged on New Leaf's blog for the first time.  So.  That's all.   As you were.

Today is my half-birthday.

I am 31 1/2 today,  half way to 63!

I know, I know.  A half-birthday?  Seriously?  Don't we have enough made-up holidays? 

Well, this is different.  This is yet another piece of proof that my mother is a genius.   Throughout my childhood, we recognized half-birthdays with a card cut in half and singing every other syllable of the birthday song.  Seriously.  I am sharing my most embarassing traditions here. 

But here is the reason my mother is a genius.  If you get presents for your birthday, what do you get for your HALF-birthday?

Responsibilities.

I'm not kidding.

I distinctly remember asking my mother if, when I turned 3 1/2, I could put away my OWN laundry AND make my OWN bed.   The mind boggles.

Today is also Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent.  In previous years, I've given up things (often food indulgences like chocolate or even sugar) for Lent.  There is a sort of "trend" these days of taking on a spiritual discipline instead of giving something up.  I've tried this in the past, but found it very difficult.  But maybe, since today is my half-birthday, I can take on something new today.  I'll keep you posted.



UPDATE:  My mother just sent me the following email:

HAP... BIRTH... TO...

Leap and the net will appear.

I discovered this nuggest of wisdom a few years ago, and I adopted it as my own when I quit my day job a year and a half ago.  And I am kind of overwhelmed today at how TRUE it is.  

To wit: 

Hours after I had left my day job for the last time, I got a call offering me (poorly) paid daytime work in a TYA show.  Never could have done it with the day job. 

When I got back from my summer theatre (Cassius in Julius Caesar and Chorus in Antigone), a friend of mine had been promoted, so I did her job for 6 weeks while they looked for a permanent replacement. 

The next year, when I got back from Bakerloo (Witch/Duncan/Lady M in Macbeth and Beralde in The Imaginary Invalid), a friend of mine from my old day job had been promoted, so I've been doing her job for 5 months while they look for a permanent replacement. 

And now.  I learned a couple of weeks ago that they've found a permanent replacement.  OK, my cushy non-temping temporary job is coming to an end, and it's time to re-enter the world of scrambling for work in strange offices, meeting pasty-faced corporate America types who hate their jobs and hide it under a veneer of jovial sarcasm.  But wait.  A former boss from a long-term temp gig + a group outing to dinner and a show =  a job.  For the spring.  Flexible hours.  Good (nay, great!) pay.  People I know and like.  Job security until June, then back to Bakerloo.   Freedom from fear for another six months.   Which feels like a luxuriously long time. 

Of course it's not official yet - still waiting for an offer letter, etc - but I've been talking to my once and future boss a lot, and it looks like we're good to go.  

I am sooo keeping my Netflix subscription. 

How cams't thou in this pickle? 

My new favorite sentence in the whole canon, for the following reasons: 

1. Well, it's just funny.  It's a pun - shocker - because the "thou" in question is both drunk and in a bit of a fix.  And "pickle"  is a funny word.

2. I get to say it! In Bakerloo Theatre Project's summer production of The Tempest. Opening July 11 in Troy, NY!  I am playing King Alonso in what I think will be an excitingly gender-bending take on the whole things.   Maybe not bending so much as flipping?  Sliding?  Blurring?  Let's go with blurring.  

2A.  Sidebar:  Also doing The Cherry Orchard with Bakerloo.  Am terrified.  The good way.

3. It is so apropos for the way I'm feeling lately.  How cams't I in this pickle?  Not sure.  And what do I mean by pickle, exactly?  Well, not sure about that either.  Nothing is wrong, per se.   But everything feels so so so up in the air - questions about juggling 2 overlapping plays, wondering when the New Leaf exile will end and we can return to our home at the LPCC, hoping my next day job stint will come through, thinking about season-planning, and life-planning, like do I want to stay in this apartment, and am I really almost 31 1/2?  (I'll tell you all about 1/2 birthdays in my house later.  On February 6.  That's a promise.)  

4. It PROVES what I have long believed to be true, that 2 of the greatest things in all of Western culture are LINKED.  Mr. S. was clearly a prophet and somehow pulled out of the linguistic ether an expression that he knew would resonate with 21st century baseball fans.  Obvs.  Now if I could only prove that Baseball Loves Shakespeare.   (I will NOT put in a reference to certain middle infielders and a certain famous soliloquy - that's just tired.)  Maybe you'd like to help me out here,

vaticanplum

 

A few weeks ago, I posted a happy little feel-good entry about signposts, and knowing that you're on the right track when everything falls into place. 

Today. Well, today is kind of the opposite.  Today I would like to theorize that when things get really really difficult, you know you are growing.  Because if things were always easy, nothing new would ever happen.   New Leaf ran smack up against some bureaucratic challenges this week.  (I don't think it would be prudent to go in to a lot of details here, even though I think I know everyone who reads this. We continue to have a good relationship with the folks at our charming home base, but some of the hoops involved with working with the city can be....frustrating.)   

BUT.  We handled it.  We ARE handling it.  We're taking action.  Wheels are turning, grinding slowly, into motion.  Forward motion.  And I wonder if we could have handled this kind of setback/challenge/obstacle a year ago.  As a matter of fact, we couldn't have.  At all.  And it has been an anxiety-ridden, frustrating 24-hours.  And it is not all better yet.  But I am (valiently) attempting to see this particular challenge as a sign of good things to come.  If we can deal with this - this obstacle that looks a lot like the carpet being pulled out from under us - then we can deal with a lot of big, grown-up issues.  I'll let you know if it works. 

BTDubs, New Leaf has its own blog now.  

In other news, I kinda feel like I've just woken up into 2008.  It was really hard to go back into the blank slate-gray workday world after the warm and fuzzies of the holidays.  (Which were exceedling warm and fuzzy.  My nephew is an objectively adorable baby.  Subjectively, he is the most wonderful creature in the history of time.  But I may be biased.  And New Years with [most of] New Leaf was just exactly right - cozy and delicious.)   And I really just wanted to hibernate - drink warm sweet things and eat cookies and read books and watch movies and pretend I didn't have to go out into that cold, unfeeling not-for-profit world and earn myself a living.   

Then on Sunday morning, something cracked open, I think.  And started to feel awake.  A little fragile, maybe, a little like an exposed nerve ending that could laugh or cry with very little provocation, but awake.  Which is a good thing.  Even though being awake means feeling all of those places where irritants are irritating, and bumping up against people's corners and sharp edges, and remembering the hard way where all the chinks in the armor are.  

There are just so many things, so many pieces, and factors, and forces to contend with in this whole being human thing.   And when I'm feeling awake, it's a little overwhelming.  

When did "gah" become the hip new onomotopoeia?  Did I miss this linguistic bandwagon?  Seriously. 

Context clues tell me that this exclamation denotes surprise, even shock, with a hint of dismay.  I can't think of another word or sound that would fulfill the same role, so I can totally get behind it.  I just don't use it myself, really, so I don't feel ownership. Yet.  It will be mine.  Oh, yes, it will be mine. 

Am I crushing on the GOMO?  It's possible.  (I wonder if he needs a new nickname, since the "O" is no longer an "M."  Ah, well.  GOMO he was, and GOMO he will stay.)  One of the side effects of boredom at work, I think.  And boredom elsewhere.  

So I still feel sort of "on the verge" about a lot of things in my life.  I feel like a sea change is a-comin'.  In several areas.  And I think they will be good changes.  But I'm a little scared about them.  Not worried, mind you, but excited and scared.  And then I tell myself that this gut feeling/intuition business is kind of nonsense, and there's no reason to be scared when there's no way to know if this sea change (or changes) is actually going to materialize.  And I'm getting a little impatient with this feeling that change is on the way - I mean, let's stop with the feeling and start with the changes already - but then I remember that change is scary.   And as I'm thinking out loud about this, I realize 2 things:  1) I start a lot of sentences with "and."  2)It's Advent, the liturgical season about which I've talked before, that's all about preparing for something new.  And really, as I think about it more, about preparing for something that you can't possibly understand.   

As I re-read the above, I realize that it sounds like I'm being vague.  I'm not.   Well, perhaps I am being vague, but I'm not being evasive.  Which is just to say that this sea change I'm talking about - I don't quite know what I mean by it.   There's no specific thing I have in mind that I'm waiting on or for per se, like a job interview or anything.  At this point, it's just... a feeling. 

Oh, we'll see, we'll see...  Life will unfold as it unfolds.  



 

It's Advent.  We've talked about Advent before.  The liturgical equivalent of "wait for it..."   And all season long, this good old-fashioned hymn has been in my head.   So I thought I'd share.  At least the first verse:

"Watchman, tell us of the night, 
What its signs of promise are."

"Traveler, o'er yon mountain's height
See that glory beaming star."

"Watchman, doth its beauteous ray
Ought of joy or hope foretell?"

"Traveler, yes, it brings the day, 
Promised day of Isreal." 


I lerve extended metaphor.   And I wish I knew the rest of the words. 

You're driving to a place you've never been before.  You're pretty sure you know where you're going, but you've gone to Google Maps anyway.  You have the directions printed out and sitting on the passenger seat.  You've just navigated a complicated intersection, maybe a traffic circle or a detour for construction, and now you're coasting along at a comfortable 55 mph on a two-lane highway.

And then you see it. 

The sign.  The sign that tells you, yes, in fact, you are going in the right direction, your map is correct, your navigation was successful, keep going this way and you'll get there.

This morning, I went to church, as it is the first Sunday of Advent (more on that in a minute), and then I went to a New Leaf company meeting.   In church, the pastor talked about hope.  Real hope, that acknowledges pain and suffering and yet still believes something better is possible, as opposed to the kind of false hope that just wants to pretend everything is OK.  Then in the meeting, a couple of people voiced the opinion that a good New Leaf show will find hope in the midst of the pain - not ignoring the bad stuff, but not being overcome by it either. 

It seems to me that I was lucky enough to be where I was supposed to be twice today.  And it's only 2:30. 

Advent is quite possibly my favorite season of the liturgical calendar.  More so than Christmas itself.   I'm not going to launch into a diatribe about commercialized Christmas - a lot of it has been already been said, though no one seems to be able to stop the juggernaut of the retail industry - but I think that the experience Christmas (for those of us who celebrate it as a religious holiday and are also part of the secular, popular culture) has become diluted simply because we don't have to wait for it anymore.  November rolls around, and suddenly it's "The Holidays" and we are supposed to snap in to this joyful, generous, loving mode - and that's kind of absurd, when you think about it.    What's the point of talking about the light that shines in the darkness (and the darkness does not overcome it), if we don't take time to acknowledge that YES, there is darkness everywhere. 

One thing I learned from my mother is that looking forward to something is part of the enjoyment of the thing itself.  (Which is why she doesn't like surprise parties.  The danger with this outlook is living so much in the fantasy/anticipation that you are always disappointed by the reality of the thing.  But that is definitely a topic for another day.)    So today, I am going to decorate my little apartment.  I am going to listen to some old Christmas records that I grew up with (thank you, vaticanplum).   I am going to enjoy the fact that Christmas is still 23 days away, and so I still have time to get ready, to take emotional inventory of 2007, to shop (yes, that, too), to wait, and to keep reminding myself that the waiting now is part of the happiness then. 

I think I have a friend-crush on the GOMO.  This amuses me.  I know that he's all MO, so it's no GO,  but he just makes me smile.  And I can't quite figure out why.  I haven't had a friend-crush in a while. Now we just need a friend-date and we're all set.  

Yesterday, I realized that I miss Shakespeare.  I was trying to remember some of my lines from when I played Cassius in Bakerloo Theatre' Projects production of Julius Caesar.  And I couldn't remember them, and the ones I did remember were taunting me, keeping the other ones out of reach like Tantalus's grapes.  (I think.)  So I went back to the script and re-read it ALL (all my lines, at least), and I missed the feeling of those words in my mouth.  I feel like I have nothing important to say - and truly, compared to gems like "the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings" and "this day I breathed first.  Time has come round, and where I did begin, there shall I end.  My life has run its compass"  and "And after this, let Caesar seat him sure, for we will shake him, or worse days endure,"  things like "could you please sign this reimbursment request" sound feeble.  Oh, for heightened language and high stakes!  

I'm going to try to speak in iambic pentameter today.  Just for fun.

Or rather, 

Today I'll speak as if my words had weight
And see if people notice something odd.

Oh, the things for which I am thankful.  There are a lot of them.  Some highlights from the past week or so:

• My nephew's smile.  He is old enough to mean it.  And he does it a LOT.  I am also thankful for his thinking face, his "I want to stand up" face, his "I'm not sure if I like that squash" face, his "I wonder how this object tastes and if it will fit in my mouth" face.  Etc, etc, ad nauseum.
• A dear friend reminding me that I don't have to be "Polly Perkypants."  What a relief.
  
• Being able to see my parents, my sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and 3 bestest friends in one quick trip to the east coast.
  
• Baking pies in my mom's kitchen.
  
• Cabs in my neighborhood at 3:30 a.m.
• Finding inspiration on "The Biggest Loser."  Embarassing, but true.   These people are kind of obnoxious, but also kind of amazing.
  
• Laughing and crying at the same time.  Specifically, laughing and crying over a pre-Thanksgiving dinner prayer that was cut short by a swell of emotion.  But I think she said all that needed to be said.
  
• New Leaf.   EIGHT IS GREAT. 
  
• The chance to do meaningful work.  Occassionally at my day job, often at NWU, almost always on stage. 
  
• The Dining Room.  From read-through to closing. 
• Walking in to an audition for 3 people who all smile with recognition when I walk in.
  
• Good bus karma.
  
• Fiona and wireless internet.  Truly.  She's been so reliable lately.

Do you remember LIFE?  Not life, the thing we're all doing right now.  LIFE, the Milton Bradley board game.  And how the first thing you did after you spun the wheel to get a career was put a little blue stick with a head (or pink stick, if you like the ladies) in your car to be your traveling companion for the rest of your life.  Or your LIFE.  

Now, I know that real life is not a race, or a game, and that the person with the most money at the end does not win, and that there is no pre-ordained timeline or checklist for doing certain things.  If everyone went to college, settled on a career at 22, married at 25, had kids at 28, and retired at 65, it would be a dull distopian world.  

AND.  I am more content with my life than I have ever been.  (Is that true, now that I've said it?  Yes.  Yes, I think it is.)  I have been lucky enough in the past few years to work on some incredibly fulfilling projects, to know and become a part of two emerging theatre companies (New Leaf and Bakerloo, for anyone who's been sleeping in class again), I love my family, and I am the proudest aunt that ever there was.   (Seriously.  Have I shown you pictures of this kid?)  

So I am kind of emotionally dumbstruck when I stop and take stock and see my close friends pairing off, settling down, having kids, and generally doing all the things that I know I want to do.  Eventually.  In the past year, one of my best friends got married, another got engaged, another met a guy who may just be the one.  My sister had a baby.  A good friend from college just had a second baby.  My oldest friend in the world is expecting her third.  And I'm having a really hard time just naming what it is that I feel about all this.  

(Sidebar: could this be more self-indulgent?  Hardly.  But, really, what is more self-indulgent than a blog?  So thank you for bearing with me.) 

Am I jealous?  Ok, yes, a little.  Do I want to be married right now?  Mmm.... not sure.  Well, kind of, in theory.  But I don't know anyone to whom I would like to be married.  So that's moot.  Do I want kids NOW?  No, no, no.  Not yet.   

But if not now, when?  I'm not trying to measure my life up against some pre-fab ideal of what I should want.  But as I look at what I do want, eventually, I don't know how to get from here to there.  And I sometimes feel a little panicky that everyone else is going to cross that metaphorical bridge and close it up after them (it's a drawbridge, in my metaphor), taking the map or the instructions or whatever with them and I will be left out of it all FOREVER.  

Alright.  Really, I do know.  Leap and the net will appear.  Have the same faith about this that I've always had about the other parts of my life.  Stop trying to drive the car with the Fisher Price steering wheel from the back seat.    

Three cheers for the hard way. 

Oh, The Permanent Way.  TPDubs.  How I've missed you.   

This was an utterly unique experience.  The process was rough.  Fits and starts.  Two steps forward, one back.  Pushmepullyou.  No rest for the weary.  Lots of angles and hard edges bumping against each other.  Always something.   

And yet. 

The experience of making that play, telling those particular stories with those particular people, was so fulfilling artistically - it's almost indescribable.  When I think about the collection of us who made this play -  this disparate group of actors, designers, and such -  I can't quite believe how much each of them means to me simply because of this sometimes harrowing, sometimes hallowed time we spent together. 

Which is just to say that we had a little TPDubs reunion last night, and while there were some conspicuous absences, we had enough that the spirit of the thing was there.  And it was really nice.  And I broke my two-drink maximum.  Again.  (I may have to rethink that.  But three-drink maximum just isn't as funny.)

This must happen again.

The GOMO is, in fact, gay.  Raise your hand if you are surprised by this.... 

I thought so.

HOWEVER, I am simply delighted to have had yet another pleasant conversation with the gentleman in question, and I look forward to continuing on the aforementioned plan of making him my friend.  

Hello 31, I'm back!  Did you miss me?

My, that's an intense emoticon. I mean, I do feel stressed, but I don't feel like a pulsating red sun. Then again, maybe this is what a pulsating red sun feels like.

At any rate, I am writing here as a much-needed study break. I really don't want to do the things that I'm supposed to be doing for work. In my temping days, I feel this way a lot, but it doesn't really matter because it will only last for a few hours. In this crazy "temporary irregular" thing, where I do feel some obligation to do good work and not let the department or local constituents down, it's a little more frustrating. Also, I'm not very good at it. And frankly, I'm not used to not being good at work stuff. Probably because I've made career of being overqualified for my day jobs. And now at last I am not. I have risen to the level of my incompetence. And I don't like it.

Not to mention the fact that, for mostly very fun reasons, I have not slept nearly enough in the last week. (No, not that kind of fun. MTP.) But it makes me grumpy.

I could not be more glad about the show tonight. An oasis in the desert of the day job.

The good thing about acting when you feel like you're stretched to the breaking point is that sometimes (and I said sometimes), you are too exhausted to get in your own way, and all that's left is the truth.  That's my rope in the sandstorm at the moment. 

P.S.  I am stupidly jealous that one of my co-workers is clearly becoming friends with the GOMO.  And I am not.  Yet.   Hello 15, I'm back!  Did you miss me?