break

yesterday, she brought a vodka and diet coke in a tonic bottle and poured it into a glass of ice at lunch. at the end of lunch, she asked if i would spoon out the ice.

i happily did it to take my focus away from having to listen to a writer from florida inform us all that he'd read the first chapter of his novel to his writing group, and at the end of it, one of those listening stated in awe, "now that's literature." this man also appeared to have a small pillow stuffed down his pants.

we didn't go to the reading last night because it was sleeting - yes, sleeting. we got to the hotel for the evening dinner and i parked our little rental car (we now have a little rental car) on the corner and i ran in to see where the handicapped entrance was. apparently, this confused the hell out of all the employees and they directed me (as i soon found out) in the exact opposite direction.

i ran back to the car, in the icy rain, and got out the wheelchair from the back. the wind whipped my hair in my face and i couldn't see enough to get the leg supports attached, and then before i could lock it in place, it blew the wheelchair to the curb.

but i got it locked.

aunt liz got out of the car and we both froze. our hands froze and the wind burned our ears.

we went the direction i was told only to find a dead end alleyway.

luckily, heading back to the main door, a gentleman stopped and helped aunt liz walk up to the main door and another man helped me get the wheelchair in the building.

again, it's may.

we got to the table and i got liz a vodka tonic and things felt better.

the plan was to go from there to a reading, but luckily when we got back in the car, liz said it would be better to just go back to the hotel and i couldn't agree more.

she had a screwdriver and i had a bloody mary.

it's still cold and windy today, about 40 degrees, but at least there's no icy rain.

we have about an hour before aunt liz has another rehearsal and then a brief rest before a three-hour gala performance and dinner. i have no idea if either of us will make it through.

cold

yesterday, i headed out about town in search of vodka and tonic (along with "that wonderful stuff i like so much...what is it?...yes, listeriiiiiiiine.) my goal was also to find two sunhats for us because it was 80 and bright and unreal how sunny it was.

i found the vodka and the listerine, but no hats or tonic.

then today happened.

it's 43 right now and getting down into the 30s and raining, so i headed out in search of something warm to wear. i walked to the grocery about two blocks away and got loaded up on tonic and bloody mary mix (for me) and lots of soup.

the most interesting thing about this entire place so far is that everyone adores - insanely adores - my aunt liz. everyone working at the hotel, anyone volunteering with the theatre festival...everyone. we go down a hallway and people stop and take her hand and tell her how wonderful she is and how they missed her last year. every man calls her dearest or darling. and everyone compliments her on some film or play they just absolutely love. and i spend a great deal of time standing off to the side while people gush about her.

last night we went to a small production of the play 'bus stop.' it was pretty good and there were some nice performances, but it wasn't life-changing by any means. but after the production, aunt liz and i waited in the lobby for our friend to drive us back to the hotel and she spoke to some of the performers to tell them what she thougth of the show.

and then a beefy woman with long, fried orange hair and a bright green dress and purple shoes approached us. it turned out she was the director of the production. aunt liz told her it was a great show and she should be so proud, and this woman did what every theatre person does - she stepped back, jaw agape, hand to the chest and shook her head slowly, "oh, you have no idea what that means to me." then she shoved her arm in aunt liz's face for her to see her goosebumps.

this morning, over breakfast, aunt liz said how strange and ridiculous it is the way people approach her and she feels like she's part of some 'act' about who she is and "that director - whooh - honey, i tell you...she was anything but cool...come on lady - lighten up..."

it's getting a bit more routine, but still tiring. i got an email yesterday that i am late in turning in an essay for school. it isn't that much of a big deal, but i didn't think this assignment applied to me for some reason, and so i just counsciously overlooked it - but no, i have to do it. so, in my spare time, of which i have none, i'm going to finish reading this book that continues to make me cry hysterically, and then turn in a paper.

i'm glad i came. it's both wonderful to be with her, but shocking at how fragile she's become. even when i've seen her in the past few years, someone else has been there to make sure she has what she needs - and i'm there to visit. but this is different. i know she loves this place and this theatre festival. she loves william inge and anything that gives her a chance to talk and think about her days on the stage.

worthy

i read the bios of the special guests of the theatre festival i'm going to with my great aunt. they are extremely intimidating and each has their broadway debut listed - either as an actor, writer, director, or designer.

this week could go either way, but as the optimistic narcissist, i predict the following shall occur:

i have a major meltdown that i'm not talented/passionate/dedicated enough as a writer and will never be more than a weekend writer who tries (and fails) to achieve anything with her work.

i cry.

i question everything in my life that has brought me to going back to a normal office job (and failing at that) and wonder if i shouldn't just try more as a writer.

i notice the ugly bedspread of the hotel room and feel it's a perfect description of my life's work.

i attempt to be casual around the special guests, while at the same time desperate for their approval.

i keep up drink for drink with my great aunt and become hysterically drunk and make a fool of myself.

i vomit publicly.

i burn bridges even before they're built.

i get nothing accomplished.

i embarrass my aunt liz and she regrets even making the trip.

it certainly is something...

the dog/picture/radio thing last night went okay. someone asked if i had a website showing my photography and i told them my being there was a complete fluke - it crossed my mind to be professional, but i really stopped caring what people thought of this company when they sent out information about the event with me as their main contact.

when i showed up, i saw a woman i used to work with at the radio stations. she helped set things up and we got a few moments to catch up.

-and then my sister called with a request.

my great aunt, a 92 year-old actress, travels every year to the william inge theatre festival. she worked with him a few times and this is something very special to her. she is old, though, and cannot fully be on her own, and was supposed to be accompanied by her home-health aid.

well, her home-health aid came down with a case of shingles (as often happens) and they thought of me.

- this was the information my sister told me as i stood in a parking lot, staring at food trucks and dogs, and the sounds of the radio cranked up on ginormous speakers and the interstate not fifty feet away.

i love my aunt, but it took me a bit to take it all in and finally decide that i would go.

here's the plan:

next tuesday, i fly up to newark to meet my great aunt liz, who will be driven there by her homosexual confidant bernie - who looks strikingly like george papadapolis - from connecticut. we will then fly together to oklahoma and take a car to somewhere in the wilds of kansas for this theatre festival.

i suspect the following will happen:
lots of drinking.

the last time i went up to connecticut to see her and my aunt mary, aunt liz informed me that she woke up every night at about two or three and in that time she did three things: she ate a few crackers, went to the "john," and drank a vodka tonic.

"do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, laura?"

"no . . . not usually."

"i do. almost every night. i'm not sure why - but something about that vodka tonic helps me go back to sleep . . . do you want one to keep by your bed just in case?"

"no - thank you, but i think i'll be okay."

life and stress

yesterday was one of those days where nothing went right and i felt like my life was as useless and hopeless as a pile of mud.

i babysat for a friend of mine who belongs to a theatre company that i'm doing some editing for. they've asked me many times to tape their shows, but i've always declined because that ain't my game. i trust my editing skills, but i don't film stuff. seriously, on a film set, the last thing i ever do is actually touch the camera - and i've tried to express to them that even though i love film and filmmaking, i am not someone to give a camera to (to whom to give a camera). but somehow this never really hits home. (this is also the same girl who believes i prefer film to theatre because 'it isn't as much work.')

but, again, they asked me to tape and edit their last show so i finally succumbed to their disregard to my early warnings because mama needed the money.

well, yesterday, after a fun morning of babysitting for this thespian's child, she got home and asked how the editing was coming along and i said that actually, a rough cut was done, but i needed a program from her to make sure all the info was accurate, lalallaldia. and then she said,

'yeah, i definitely would love to see it a.s.a.p. and usually my notes are just, you know, something about wanting a closeup at a certain time or not.'

'wait - i didn't do any closeups.'

'when?'

'ever.'

'oh. see, that's what we usually do - have the second camera for closeups.'

'but the second camera was for the second stage.'

'hm. yeah, i guess that is confusing.'

'so, there aren't any...closeups. at all. it's just pretty much full on, full stage.'

'oh, well....i guess i'll talk to the director and see what she thinks.'

'about what.'

'about there not being closeups.'

'but the play's over, so...'

'well, i just want to let her know.'

so that made me feel like i was completely idiotic and made me want to scream and remind her that this was why i'm not given a gdvd camera.

and then i get home and get an email informing me that even though i was a 'viable candidate,' the company hiring to work with special needs children found 'a candidate better suited for the position.' and then i started reevaluating my entire life because apparently i'm a fuck up in shooting a very simple theatre production, and probably came across as a nutjob in my interview because seriously, if someone tears up in an interview, that is a sign of either passion or emotional instability - and i'm going with the latter, bob.

and then - yes, there's more - and then i got my cumulative bibliography returned from school because something was wrong with it, but i still didn't know what, and wasn't sure which MLA edition to use and that stressed me out because we were told all semester to use the 7th edition, but then the actual assignment said to use the 6th, so it's a safe bet that it just wasn't caught when they put it up on the website, but it's enough to make this little kissass completely terrified. and of course the big change in the 6th and 7th edition is how to cite a gdvd dvd, which is primarily what fills my bibliography.

so now i feel like i can't really do anything right and the hilarious thing about everything is that i'm trying to burn this effing dvd to show the theatre gals and i keep getting 'errors' and i really want to scream.

but i probably won't.

instead, i shall sit on my sofa in front of my television and watch something for two hours and recollect none of it.

so, would this be considered the blue?

yesterday, after working with the wonderful asshole and getting sunburnt, i headed home (after driving the asshole home because he doesn't have a car) and got a message from a director in town who wanted me to 'phone her back regarding a proposition.'

i finally called her back expecting her to ask me to film a rehearsal or edit footage together or help out at a fundraiser or something like that, but, um, no...

she asked me - this is still really crazy - she asked me if i would be in a play she's directing - like a good play. like an effing american classic.

jaw dropped, i sat on the phone with her, completely flattered and flabbergasted.

i told her i had to check my schedule and read the play again (it's an amazing play and when i was still acting i would have injured someone body and soul to get an opportunity like this) and see if i could commit to it as much as i feel it's deserved.

i really don't know what to do. i'm heading to the library today to get a copy.

but really.

wtf?

talk about the unexpected.

yesteryears

went to a poetry reading tonight and a woman in her late 30s read something she wrote in college. she said she was 'shocked' to think she wrote it at that age, but she didn't really explain why she was shocked - how good it was, how bad it was, how it revolved around sex (big surprise) - but she was, nevertheless, shocked. what shocked me was that someone actually looked at the work they produced in college and saw it as something to show off.

oh, college. sweet, sweet college. it's a strange time in life. everyone feels like they are on the verge of breaking records, exposing their genius, exploring the depths of humankind never before attempted. but really, it's mostly self-indulgent mediocre work we have to slop through to actually get to what we're working towards. and soon enough we realize that we have tons - TONS - to learn. there is so much to learn that it's actually impossible to even comprehend during an average four year stint.

but, on the other hand, it's invigorating to have that strange sense of immortality - artistically speaking. to feel that everyone has the potential to write that play that changes american theatre, direct 'the crucible' to be something greater than it already is, or act with such fervor in a production of 'pippin' that people remember the performance and tell their grandchildren about it.

i think sometimes i miss that. i spend so much of my time doubting lately, that it would be nice to have that blind confidence again - for maybe just one brief moment.

but, if i do get that moment, please - please - don't let me stand at a podium and read about it to others.

enough is enough

found an ad on craigslist wanting someone to tend to two 'affectionate, well behaved, spoiled rotten' cats. could i possibly be qualified for this position? let's see...

one of the job requirements states

'--have a professional, "CAN DO" attitude, are responsible, prompt, give 1100%, flexible, not in a "time crunch" & believe cat care IS MORE than just feeding & watering'

hmm...i'm professional, but not really sure how my "CAN DO" attitude stacks up. i'm fairly responsible, embarrassingly prompt, and at the moment not in too much of a "time crunch." the big problem i see is that i DON'T believe cat care IS MORE than just feeding & watering. and in all honesty, i don't think i've ever given 1100%.

in rehearsal once, our director (a strange, disturbingly inappropriate man who loved talking about the sexual proclivities of tree fairies) began with a lecture about the importance of bringing energy to the stage. this was a great problem for all of us in the cast. to start with, we were all involved in other productions, and this show rehearsed at the very end of the day. by the time we rolled in, exhaustion had the better of us and it was like pulling teeth to show any type of excitement or interest in this particular play.

so to inspire us, this lovely director (who was later fired for sexual harassment) gave a speech that rivaled henry v on st. crispen's day and william wallace's inspirational call for freedom. we sat on the floor and the director spoke to us, to the heart of us, and said,

'you have to give it your all. always give one hundred percent.
always! go as far as you possibly can every time. but never
- never - give 110%! when you give that extra 10%, you're
taking it away from someone else. so stop at 100. that's good
enough...okay, let's start tonight with the fairy dance sequence.'

so imagine if any of us had even attempted to give 1100%. the rehearsal space would have imploded.

...i would hate to see what it would do to the cats...