Stage Tyrant

I am currently sitting in one of the first rehearsals for the Player's production of 'Measure for Measure', and it occurred to me that I probably haven't really talked about my involvement with the group. This isn't going to be a witty or particularly thought-provoking post, but here's a little glimpse into my life!

The Players is an amateur dramatic group run through the school I attended for my MA (how's THAT for avoiding any proper nouns?). My MA, I acted in one play and IMMEDIATELY remembered why I gave up acting. I was terrified. Luckily, that was also what my character was supposed to be, so I muddled through and then vowed never again! I assistant directed a morality play that summer which performed in the church where Shakespeare was buried, and got brought in for make-up on a show in the fall, plastering latex and eyeshadow over my friends face so as to make him deformed and hideous. It was decently successful.

The I peaced out for awhile. The problem with amateur dramatics, especially on the level on which the Players were operating at the time, is that there aren't many options besides acting and directing. Red did costumes, I didn't act, I couldn't direct everything, and so I had no place. Which is a shame, really, because I love doing this.

And then stage management came along! I forget exactly how, though I think I was approached by the director for my first SM show, and so owe him a debt, because I've really enjoyed it.

The stage manager, or stage tyrant, is basically the admin wench of any production. I come to all rehearsals, give almost no creative input, and keep track of things. ALL THE THINGS. Blocking, props, give line prompt, actors' availability, why people haven't arrived, how much time we've spent on any given thing. And then, when the show moves to performance, I run it. I give actors their call times, double check the set, welcome the audience and the run the lighting board. Basically, the buck stops with me.

It's great fun.

'Measure' is my third show as SM (I also did two shows as props mistress which was also a lot of fun) and probably my last show for the Players'. We're only on the second rehearsal, but I can tell it's going to be a great show and it has great people working on it. Sappy feelings of affection.

As I said, not a ground-breaking or particularly entertaining post, but a little sense of what I'm getting up to here in Stratford. But! Now I have to go, because the director is running over time and it's my solemn duty to use my new McDonald's toy (a buzzer in the shape of a Mario mushroom) to get him back on track.

That Time She Had Cancer

I have two blog spots I've been writing in my head—one on the Superbowl and one on Philip Seymour Hoffman—that will, hopefully, be published at some point (even if far past the moment of relevance), but I wanted to be sure to share a project one of my nearest and dearest has started. Anyone who knows me knows Jacey in some way, shape, or form. We are sorority sisters, were college roommates, went to DisneyWorld, danced in the LES PathMark at 1am, debated everything from the relative merits of 'Grey's Anatomy' seasons to politics and religion. She is one of the most wonderful people I have ever met, and is a hugely important part of my life.

To say this past year has been rough for Jacey is a gross understatement, and the icing on the cake came when she received a breast cancer diagnosis last fall. My visit to New York was the first time I had seen her since finding out, and I wondered who would greet me when I finally trundled off the F train. Would she be tired? Discouraged? Drained? Would it be one of those awkward meetings, full of forced conversation because what the hell do you say?

My worries were completely unfounded. Though there were moments where one could see the effects of a truly impossible year, she was not beaten. In fact, if it wasn't for her good-natured reminders of her diagnosis as a motivational tool ("Can you take the garbage out? I have cancer."), it would have been almost impossible to recognize there may be anything amiss other than the usual pressure of throwing an excellent holiday party. Her trademark wit and humor remained in tact, and she was nothing if not the energetic, determined, sparkling, warm best friend I have been privileged to know since 2005.

And she remains so, channeling her experiences into a new project which chronicles her experiences and gives support for others with similar stories. There is a website (http://www.thattimeihadcancer.com) and a vlog (http://www.youtube.com/thattimeihadcancer) and I highly encourage you to watch, subscribe, share, and support her as she tells her story. You will be doing yourself a favor, as anyone who knows Jacey is better for it.

I know I certainly am.

<3 p="">

Happy Birthday to Me

Hey, a birthday!

My 28th year of life has thus far contained the following:

• postcards
• a handmade coloring book
• winter cider
• Jenny Went Away getting a bar to sing to me (and, as always, playing a great show)
• terrible (and not so terrible) accents of many flavors
• a Peter Pan themed field day, wherein a group of insane people allowed me to make them do things such as eat many cakes without their hands, cross a field on cardboard tiles, and throw eggs at each other
• a long, delicious Italian dinner with a group of wonderful people
• One Direction Brunch
• 'Frozen' (for the second time)
• crying in a bar because it was playing 'Up' (DAMN YOU, PIXAR)
• friend-crush coffee date
• board games
• a really good play
• the beginnings of the show I'm stage managing

So far, so good.

An American Delicacy

I am lucky enough to live in a little community with many international members, and one thing that comes up reasonably often is food. I come from a food household (we've all experienced my father's cooking, yes?) but, even if I didn't, I think there is something undeniable about the link between "home" and "food," especially if "home" is another country from where you currently are. I am never more aware of being across an ocean you all then when I crave a good cheeseburger or run out of Reese's Puffs.

The funny thing is, its really hard to pinpoint any food as "American." Besides home cooking, my absolute FAVORITE thing to eat the moment I get back to the US of A is Chinese food. Red's favorite American cuisine is Mexican. We steal from so many other cultures, its difficult to pinpoint something that is uniquely ours. Which is why, when people ask me what the American specialty is, I always say the same thing. Processed.

Case in point, here is a picture my father took of the food my English brethren asked me to bring to them:

Mmmm. Delicious. And completely artificial.

And illuminating. Last night, I brought the Twinkies into work. One of my managers had requested one to try, because she had never had one and "had always been curious." Distributing them amongst my English co-workers was a fascinating adventure in cultural exchange. People tended to fall into three categories: those who had experienced a Twinkie in some kind of past life and knew what they were getting into, those who had never heard of a Twinkie and so had to have concept explained to them, and, finally, those who had never tried a Twinkie but knew of its existence. This last category seemed to have the strongest reaction, and usually included in their expression of excitement some version of the phrase "like in the movies!" The Twinkie newbies were universally in favor of the snack, and one even described it as "gorgeous" (my favorite British expression of food approval). Gorgeous! Twinkies! The mind boggles. 

But at least I have a new answer to the question, "What is American food?" 

"Twinkies."

Adulting, Take Two

Avid readers of the blog (hi, Grandma) may or may not remember that, around this time last year, I made a few references to "adulting." The term comes from a blog (http://adultingblog.com) and its resulting book, and basically just covers all the little things that you do to qualify you as an adult in the real world. It was my goal last year to do more of those things and, since its a perpetual goal, its back again this year!

I got the book for Christmas (thanks, Reg and Jim!), and here are steps I have tried out so far:

• Step 11: Recognize six-month problems (ones that you will care about in six months, as opposed to six minutes or days)
• Step 33: Make your bed every morning
• Step 78: Make non-bullshit potatoes
• Step 79: Cook your chicken thoroughly (to be fair, I was doing this already)
• Step 99: If you forget someone's name, try to trick them into saying it
• Step 197: Know what you are spending money on

They are simple and boring and things I kind of always wanted to do before or would kind of do, then forget, or be really good about doing, but only in spurts. Somehow, making them steps seems to help. I like checklists, so even a Sisyphusian one makes me feel like I've have my stuff together a little bit more than usual.

HOWEVER, even if I become someone who routinely makes my bed and prepares herself salmonella-free chicken, I hope I never am too adult to record videos of myself and my best friend "singing" Toto's 'Africa.' Because that would just be too far.

The Things We Keep

If you read the last post, you may have noticed that "blog more" was NOT on the list of things to accomplish in 2014. That's because I make that vow to myself so often that it is almost a joke. It's like flossing. I want to, I know I should, sometimes I even get around to it, but sustaining such behavior quickly proves untenable. So, no resolutions for me.

But that doesn't mean a valiant effort won't be attempted! The problem is, what to write? Especially since I'm still in Virginia which, while fulfilling and satisfying as a recharging period, does not make for riveting reading. We soldier on, though. I was going to offer you an entirely unexciting rumination on my relationship with my University email account (e careful what you wish for being, I think, the intended moral of that blog post), but I was just sucked into a massive cleaning spiral and discovered a whole range of artifacts from my childhood/adolescence.

Some of it are things that have quite clear associations. There is a chipped coffee mug with no handle that I found one day in middle school, on the basketball court I used to hang out around with my friends, and I'll probably shuffle it around from habitat to habitat until I die. There were a number of childhood sketches that had to be whittled down to a representative few: a horse and rider I did in Ossining when I was about 5, a portrait of my mother from the mid-90's (the vast collection of designs for figure skating dresses, alas, did not make the cut). A bunch of rings, collected from Landmark mall's arcade over a number of TJ drama dinner runs, strung onto a necklace and stored in a box with various out dated ID cards. These things I'll keep. These things I remember.

But there were a whole number of things I have no memory of, yet there they were, preserved as remembrances of events and experiences I at one point thought important. Was the green lei from a sorority event or my high school grad night? Where were the walls located upon which I affixed all of these rubber lizards? Who were the people who made me so many paper flowers?

Some past, lost version of me has the answers to these questions. There used to be a time when it would have irked me tremendously to be so distant, but I don't mind so much, now. If they were important enough, I remember. I don't remember the craft projects of every sleepover, but I remember who they were with and that they were part of a happy childhood. Ditto show pranks from high school, schedules from regattas, dance routines from Greek Night. And I'm lucky to maintained friendships with people around me who can help fill in the gaps, if it ever comes to that.

...still, doesn't hurt to keep some stuff. Just to give future me a fighting chance.

To 2014

I'm not a huge fan of New Year's Eve. The party side of it, that is. I've had a few good ones (last year was solid), but, generally, my New Year's Eves range from mildly depressing to vaguely traumatic.  Expectations get raised, only to be shattered, nice looking clothes and shoes rebel, creating blisters and pressure marks, and that one extra glass of bubbly you think will put you over the edge toward the lighter side of tipsy winds up being the one that sees your new year beginning in bed, avoiding light and loud noises.

That said, the actual changing of the year? Huge fan. I get why some people don't make resolutions, and the argument that you should change what is bothering about your life immediately rather than wait for January 1 at 12:01 am makes sense to me. I try to follow that during the year. But I can't help but acknowledge that the changing of the calendar offers—to me, at least—a really useful psychological boost in trying to achieve these goals. Anything you start doing or stop doing as of January 1 has its own special momentum. "So far this year I have/haven't..." is a great mantra.

So, what will I be trying to do and not do in 2014? Glad you asked:

• finish my thesis
• move back to the United States
• stop sleeping in so much
• stop buying things—nothing that isn't disposable or doesn't replace something else
• stay in touch

That's basically it. Some of those things have subsets, but really, if I submit a thesis (or complete a draft) and fill out some change of address forms where the letter to follow "U" is "S" and not "K," I'll be a happy camper.

In light of my hopes to be my favorite version of myself in 2014, I'm trying to start the new year doing just that—playing out my favorite version of myself. I worked on my thesis! I stopped procrastinating (as much)! I didn't work myself into a tizzy over ordering food over the phone! Of course, my favorite me also wears yoga pants and celebrates the new year by feasting on Chinese food—the containers spread around her on the floor—while marathoning 'House of Cards.' But you know what? My favorite me is also comfortable with that, so long as it is alongside things like blog posts, thesis drafts, and financial clean-up and not instead of.

And it sure beats trying to find a cab.

So here's to 2014. May it find you the favorite version of yourself for the next 365 days, and all the days after.