More things to do if you’re me…
Wander around in cemetaries, temples and old libraries; visit the deli for the best lunch ever; dust off your little black Audrey dress for the Oscar night party at the theater, watch big snowflakes fall and float and sweep themselves up again, chip ice off your windshield at 11pm; partake of the Swedish buffet at Wikstrom’s; chug coffee; remember why it’s a bad idea to chug coffee; chug coffee; watch Henry bite at the bandanna around his puppy dog neck; remember what it’s like when everything seems like a trip down a rabbit hole; drink the final bottles of Yeungling brought here from Buffalo; nestle in your comforter for a few too many minutes each morning; shake off the slushy gray.
Some things you can do with your time if you’re me
Ride the brown line around the loop and watch city lights glint flashbulb-style off the snow and buildings. Make mix CDs of songs you’ve forgotten you love. Buy some buttermilk and add it to Bisquick pancake mix and end up with pancakes the consistency of dish sponges. Get new Converse sneakers: High tops! Edit friends’ thesis papers; read poetic essays aloud; make people coffee; walk down the alley on your way to work; attempt to jump-start cars: two in the same week — one will utterly fail, one will set your jumper cables on fire. Remember to take care of yourself; to wait patiently for good things to unfold; to not listen to anyone who says emotions are for sissies. Every frozen thing needs to defrost sometime.
Care Bear Stare
You don’t have to hide your Care Bear glowing heart. I learned that, with this play. It’s ok to let your heart show a little bit, and let your own voice tremble in the silence and watch your own little glow shoot out from your little Care Bear chest. You don’t have to cover it up with a thick button-down sweater so the glow just dimly strains to be seen from within a thick cocoon of wool. Instead you can rip open your shirt like Superman and let your glowing rainbow glow.
Our exit in Alabama
I was looking back through old journals today and found that, during a weeklong June road trip to Florida, my friend Matt had written some stuff in there during our car trip. And somehow he’d worked out a formula for converting all the exit numbers to “days”. I would like to be able to explain this better except there’ s just two columns on the page: one with a bunch of dates and one with a bunch of math problems. Anyways, he worked it out so that, “July 17 is our exit in Alabama.”
So, oddly enough, my computer’s iCal defaults to July 17th. Like, instead of the current day, it shows up as July 17 unless I click on the icon for the program. Did I somehow set this setting myself? And if so, did I also know that July 17 was our exit in Alabama? Will I meet my end on some July 17 in Alabama? Hopefully after I’ve lived a long hearty life and survived global warming and etc.? I suppose everything doesn’t have to be a prophecy.
So, Inside Fighter is up at Around the Coyote, and the remaining shows are tonight and tomorrow. I’m feeling good about it… fun, supportive atmosphere, the whole thing rolled smoothly, basically like performing for your friends in someone’s living room. But with a bar. And some zinester-types. At our last rehearsal, my director Don let me hit him in the face repeatedly with a rubber chicken. That’s how you know you’re working with good people. All is else is going well, too. Dennis punches me with aplomb, Craig bravely recites miles of boxing statistics, the music of Rocky continues to keep us all aurally lubricated. Good things.
Eliina, Amanda and Becca showed up last night to cheer me on. I was again reminded of how amazing it is to have friends who witness the awkward growth pangs of my creativity with such unwavering support.
The difference between us
While looking out the window at the silvery fat snowflakes…
Me: It’s like we’re in a snow globe.
Coworker Ian: Without the whimsy and the magic.
The play goes up this weekend. I was sore everywhere from rehearsal last week. Everywhere. The play involves a lot of punching. Me punching, castmember Dennis punching, me punching rubber chicken, Dennis punching me. All without much actual force. But enough so that every now and again, I think to myself that while I’m glad Dennis is so committed in his performance, if he were only lazier, it wouldn’t hurt so much.
The morning after a fight yer nothin’ but a large wound, know what I mean? Yer hair hurts, yer eyes hurt, I feel like calling a taxi to take me from the bed into the bathroom, know what I mean?
Sidenote #1: I am completely and irrationally proud that I just remembered that quote from Rocky. Sidenote #2: Anyone who sees this play will think, “Dude. She’s not actually hitting much of anything.”
Anyways, after the soreness departed, a nasty cough/cold combo descended. I blame castmember Craig, who was force-feeding me Oreos with his germy fingers. I am now healing from that thanks to the wonders of Chinese medicine from David at Lincoln Square Accupuncture. I recommend.
In other news, Eliina and I have a deal.