"What are you going to do if he says no?"
"Be devestated, of course."
"And then go home and over-eat?"
"No, I think I'll try a new destructive behavior. Maybe drinking?"
Here's to having a drink as soon as I get home. Preferably whiskey.
Friday, December 14
Sunday, December 9
Friday, December 7
Stillness/Silence
There is a lot that goes on backstage at Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol. A fog machine the size of an oil drum rolls around, we have over a dozen quick changes, props are tossed, belts are thrown to the ground. There are conversations and clanking costumes and the occasional accident, when a rolling trench runs headlong into a ladder and the collision rings out like an alarm. Amidst all this, Kristen and I try our hardest to keep the audience from hearing anything but the words spoken onstage.
At the end of the play, when Spirit Three exits, I quick change Tim into a nightgown and robe. The Spirit Three coat is huge: knee-length, flared, made of a raincoat material. And let me tell you: that material is LOUD. Anytime it rubs up against itself, it rustles like cellophane.
So: Tim exits, removes his hat and mask and gloves, while I take his nightgown off the hanger and sling it over my arm. All the while: crinkle, crinkle, CRINKLE, crinklecrinkle.
Then he turns around, I place my hand on his collar, and he rips open the coat along it's snaps: crinkle
CRINKLECRINKLE, crink.
Then he takes his arms out of the sleeves: crIIIInkle.
And then the coat is my hands: (silence).
I know that the soul of a quick change is speed and efficiency but I always pause there and relish this moment. Tim is busy taking off his pants, so he never notices when I just stop and look at this coat, this loud, obnoxiously huge and impractical coat, now completely silent. Of course, it goes back to crinkling as soon as I move to put it on the hanger, but for that split second something wild and noisy goes still and mute in my hands.
I like to feel like I have the power to bring that stillness.
At the end of the play, when Spirit Three exits, I quick change Tim into a nightgown and robe. The Spirit Three coat is huge: knee-length, flared, made of a raincoat material. And let me tell you: that material is LOUD. Anytime it rubs up against itself, it rustles like cellophane.
So: Tim exits, removes his hat and mask and gloves, while I take his nightgown off the hanger and sling it over my arm. All the while: crinkle, crinkle, CRINKLE, crinklecrinkle.
Then he turns around, I place my hand on his collar, and he rips open the coat along it's snaps: crinkle
CRINKLECRINKLE, crink.
Then he takes his arms out of the sleeves: crIIIInkle.
And then the coat is my hands: (silence).
I know that the soul of a quick change is speed and efficiency but I always pause there and relish this moment. Tim is busy taking off his pants, so he never notices when I just stop and look at this coat, this loud, obnoxiously huge and impractical coat, now completely silent. Of course, it goes back to crinkling as soon as I move to put it on the hanger, but for that split second something wild and noisy goes still and mute in my hands.
I like to feel like I have the power to bring that stillness.
Sunday, December 2
My Jam
There a lot of words in my head, pretty much always. What I've read, what I've heard, what I think, what I say to both others and myself.
Right now, these two things are my jam.
"I'm sugar for sugar, salt for salt: if you don't like me, it's your own damn fault."
- August Wilson, Gem of the Ocean (and passed along to me via the new best friend crush at work).
Also- Beyonce.
Right now, these two things are my jam.
"I'm sugar for sugar, salt for salt: if you don't like me, it's your own damn fault."
- August Wilson, Gem of the Ocean (and passed along to me via the new best friend crush at work).
Also- Beyonce.
Friday, November 30
Stage Manager Nightmares
So I had this anxiety dream two nights ago, and then I had an interesting conversation about it today.
The Dream
I'm stage managing at a theater I've never worked in before (in my dream, I knew it was CoHo but it totally wasn't CoHo-looking at all), and I'm late for our opening performance's show call. I have all the normal anxiety dream problems: I can't find parking (I was driving Velma in my dream! Very exciting! Also, along a cobblestone street? Maybe? I guess I was in Rome? I don't know), the lobby is really crowded, my bags are heavy and numerous, my family is there to see the show and is trying to get my attention, I am encumbered trying to fight my way through the crowd that lead to booth door. When I open the door, I have to climb a long, steep, narrow flight of stairs to get into the booth, like Park Hall's booth stairs (I just remembered that right now, as I tried to describe these stairs).
When I get to the top, I see my board operator standing at the light board with a girl I knew from college, who's name has been changed for a good reason. Let's call her Hannah. The booth looks down at the stage from a distance (a big distance!) and I can see through the window behind these two; I notice that the curtain is down and the audience is filing in. There is a light projected on the curtain with the name of my show. Big proscenium, big booth, big house, big show.
Hannah has her back to the booth window and is minxing it up with my light board operator: running her hands over his biceps, playing sliding a finger down the side of his face, sashaying her hips while standing in place. I'm walking across this extraordinarily long booth, bogged down by my prompt book and my bags when I see her run a manicured finger along the GO button and saucily ask, "What does this button do?"
My light board operator explains that the GO button advances the light cues and moves the show along. She then puts a hand behind his head as if to pull him to her and looks deliberately over his shoulder, locks eyes with me, smiles, and pushes the GO button.
Chaos ensues.
The lights come up on stage (behind the curtain), which my actors take as the cue to start the show. They're panicking because I haven't given a places call yet, so they're all scrambling and terrified. The curtain begins to open, revealing this mess and the audience starts to panic as well, since the house lights are still up and they had no idea the show was starting. Everyone is freaking out 50 feet below us and Hannah is staring at me, never taking her eyes from my face, pressing the GO button over and over and over and over. Scrollers are wheeling madly, lights are flashing everywhere.
I drop everything in my hands and close the gap between us in a moment, pushing my light board operator and Hannah out of the way. I slam my hand down on the blackout button and pull a cord to drop the curtain back down on the stage, thereby cutting the panicked audience off from the panicked actors. I reach for the God Mic to make a house announcement but before I do, I spin around and slap Hannah across the face as hard as I can.
The Conversation
I told the Artists Rep T.D. this dream this afternoon, presenting it as a funny story. "Look at silly Olivia! She has these silly stage management anxiety dreams! Look, haha!" I wanted to make him laugh.
He did laugh, but then he said, "So: who's pushing your buttons?"
Okay, now you should all actually laugh at me because I, the Lit student, the tarot card reader, the dream interpreter, NEVER FUCKING THOUGHT OF THAT. Seriously. I guess it was too literal for me to think of? I don't what it is but Van said that I just kinda stood there, flabbergasted.
Who is pushing my buttons indeed.
Dude, everyone is pushing my buttons. Everything is pushing my buttons. I have been frustrated, angry, sad, and children's-book-simple-y unhappy for the last two weeks. People who normally get on my nerves have filled me with rage, people who I normally adore have filled me with rage. This is not to say that I have been stomping around in a bad mood for two weeks, but rather that my mood has been switching on a dime. And more importantly, when it switches to all this negativity, I feel like I was never actually happy before. I feel like whatever positive feelings I'd just been feeling were flimsy plywood walls and this anger, this irritable frustration is my solid wooden structure; all the good stuff has always been just a shitty cover up.
I have my theories about where this is all coming from, and I'm trying to eliminate the options one at a time. Our good old friend, the scientific method. I'm trying to narrow it down.
I want to know who (or what) is pushing my buttons.
The Dream
I'm stage managing at a theater I've never worked in before (in my dream, I knew it was CoHo but it totally wasn't CoHo-looking at all), and I'm late for our opening performance's show call. I have all the normal anxiety dream problems: I can't find parking (I was driving Velma in my dream! Very exciting! Also, along a cobblestone street? Maybe? I guess I was in Rome? I don't know), the lobby is really crowded, my bags are heavy and numerous, my family is there to see the show and is trying to get my attention, I am encumbered trying to fight my way through the crowd that lead to booth door. When I open the door, I have to climb a long, steep, narrow flight of stairs to get into the booth, like Park Hall's booth stairs (I just remembered that right now, as I tried to describe these stairs).
When I get to the top, I see my board operator standing at the light board with a girl I knew from college, who's name has been changed for a good reason. Let's call her Hannah. The booth looks down at the stage from a distance (a big distance!) and I can see through the window behind these two; I notice that the curtain is down and the audience is filing in. There is a light projected on the curtain with the name of my show. Big proscenium, big booth, big house, big show.
Hannah has her back to the booth window and is minxing it up with my light board operator: running her hands over his biceps, playing sliding a finger down the side of his face, sashaying her hips while standing in place. I'm walking across this extraordinarily long booth, bogged down by my prompt book and my bags when I see her run a manicured finger along the GO button and saucily ask, "What does this button do?"
My light board operator explains that the GO button advances the light cues and moves the show along. She then puts a hand behind his head as if to pull him to her and looks deliberately over his shoulder, locks eyes with me, smiles, and pushes the GO button.
Chaos ensues.
The lights come up on stage (behind the curtain), which my actors take as the cue to start the show. They're panicking because I haven't given a places call yet, so they're all scrambling and terrified. The curtain begins to open, revealing this mess and the audience starts to panic as well, since the house lights are still up and they had no idea the show was starting. Everyone is freaking out 50 feet below us and Hannah is staring at me, never taking her eyes from my face, pressing the GO button over and over and over and over. Scrollers are wheeling madly, lights are flashing everywhere.
I drop everything in my hands and close the gap between us in a moment, pushing my light board operator and Hannah out of the way. I slam my hand down on the blackout button and pull a cord to drop the curtain back down on the stage, thereby cutting the panicked audience off from the panicked actors. I reach for the God Mic to make a house announcement but before I do, I spin around and slap Hannah across the face as hard as I can.
The Conversation
I told the Artists Rep T.D. this dream this afternoon, presenting it as a funny story. "Look at silly Olivia! She has these silly stage management anxiety dreams! Look, haha!" I wanted to make him laugh.
He did laugh, but then he said, "So: who's pushing your buttons?"
Okay, now you should all actually laugh at me because I, the Lit student, the tarot card reader, the dream interpreter, NEVER FUCKING THOUGHT OF THAT. Seriously. I guess it was too literal for me to think of? I don't what it is but Van said that I just kinda stood there, flabbergasted.
Who is pushing my buttons indeed.
Dude, everyone is pushing my buttons. Everything is pushing my buttons. I have been frustrated, angry, sad, and children's-book-simple-y unhappy for the last two weeks. People who normally get on my nerves have filled me with rage, people who I normally adore have filled me with rage. This is not to say that I have been stomping around in a bad mood for two weeks, but rather that my mood has been switching on a dime. And more importantly, when it switches to all this negativity, I feel like I was never actually happy before. I feel like whatever positive feelings I'd just been feeling were flimsy plywood walls and this anger, this irritable frustration is my solid wooden structure; all the good stuff has always been just a shitty cover up.
I have my theories about where this is all coming from, and I'm trying to eliminate the options one at a time. Our good old friend, the scientific method. I'm trying to narrow it down.
I want to know who (or what) is pushing my buttons.
Wednesday, November 28
Pics or it didn't happen
Sometimes, I love my job.
 |
| "I don't want your German sausages!" |
 |
| Mmm, mmm, bitches' brew. |
Monday, November 26
On: Home (Sherlock ReDeux Tech - Day 6)
I'm home now and the last thing I want to write about is home.
Sunday, November 25
On: Home (Sherlock ReDeux Tech - Day 5)
This isn't the blog post I thought I'd be writing an hour ago.
Something that always makes me feel at home is fog. The Bay Area is known for it's fog and I have countless memories of watching waves of fog crash down on to freeways, beaches and baseball stadiums - clouds mimicking the movement of the water particles that make them. My last summer at Shakespeare Santa Cruz, I worked on Henry IV Part I. The first scene of the second act is conducted partially in Welsh, culminating in a Welsh song about love and loss. When Sepi took the stage to sing this Welsh ballad on our opening night, the entire Glen responded. We were in a theater in the redwoods and Santa Cruz brought the fog down on us so perfectly, it was as if we planned it. Sepi cried all through her song. Many of us wept backstage. Fog has always meant home to me in a primal, etheral, beautiful, sweater-y way. I'm not sure anyone who didn't grown up in the Bay Area can understand how all those adjectives go together but trust me: they do.
So tonight, I drove home after tech with some Marker's Mark "kindling a fire in my belly" and when I hit the Ross Island bridge I was suddenly immersed in it: thick, smoky, woolen Willamette River fog. I had noticed this effect a few nights ago, when I drove up 99E around 1 am. I looked out to my left and saw bridge after bridge obscured by fog. Between them? Open, smooth, water. It was as if the river had finally noticed these intruders spanning it's width and sent long, curled, foggy fingers up from the depths to tear them down. I had seen this fog from afar, but tonight I drove right through it. I looked at all the lights and their foggy halos and I immediately thought of home, of driving back to Ben Lomond from UCSC at night, about the way the fog looks in Mona's front yard in the early hours of the morning.
So: thank you, Portland, for the fog tonight. I've been a bit petulant and resentful recently and I know it's not your fault. I have all these dreams and ideas and wishes and I sometimes take the frustration of being 23 out on you, just as much as I take it out on my roommates, my best friend, my parents and this guy who seems to think he wants to date me. But the truth is: 23 is just hard sometimes. And the other truth is: Santa Cruz is home, but so are you, Portland.
Portland & Santa Cruz
I am unabashedly proud of, vocal about, in love with my hometown of Santa Cruz, CA. I have not yet been the world traveler I'd like to someday be, but I already know that Santa Cruz is one of my favorite places on earth. The people, the climate, the natural beauty, the combination of tall forest grove and Pacific expanses is utterly breath taking.Something that always makes me feel at home is fog. The Bay Area is known for it's fog and I have countless memories of watching waves of fog crash down on to freeways, beaches and baseball stadiums - clouds mimicking the movement of the water particles that make them. My last summer at Shakespeare Santa Cruz, I worked on Henry IV Part I. The first scene of the second act is conducted partially in Welsh, culminating in a Welsh song about love and loss. When Sepi took the stage to sing this Welsh ballad on our opening night, the entire Glen responded. We were in a theater in the redwoods and Santa Cruz brought the fog down on us so perfectly, it was as if we planned it. Sepi cried all through her song. Many of us wept backstage. Fog has always meant home to me in a primal, etheral, beautiful, sweater-y way. I'm not sure anyone who didn't grown up in the Bay Area can understand how all those adjectives go together but trust me: they do.
So tonight, I drove home after tech with some Marker's Mark "kindling a fire in my belly" and when I hit the Ross Island bridge I was suddenly immersed in it: thick, smoky, woolen Willamette River fog. I had noticed this effect a few nights ago, when I drove up 99E around 1 am. I looked out to my left and saw bridge after bridge obscured by fog. Between them? Open, smooth, water. It was as if the river had finally noticed these intruders spanning it's width and sent long, curled, foggy fingers up from the depths to tear them down. I had seen this fog from afar, but tonight I drove right through it. I looked at all the lights and their foggy halos and I immediately thought of home, of driving back to Ben Lomond from UCSC at night, about the way the fog looks in Mona's front yard in the early hours of the morning.
So: thank you, Portland, for the fog tonight. I've been a bit petulant and resentful recently and I know it's not your fault. I have all these dreams and ideas and wishes and I sometimes take the frustration of being 23 out on you, just as much as I take it out on my roommates, my best friend, my parents and this guy who seems to think he wants to date me. But the truth is: 23 is just hard sometimes. And the other truth is: Santa Cruz is home, but so are you, Portland.
Saturday, November 24
On: Home (Sherlock ReDeux Tech - Day 4)
I've been thinking a lot about homes today - specifically, changing mine.
Some things have happened in the past week that are really making me sit down and think about moving. Job stuff, family stuff, the fact that I've always known I can't really go equity in Portland and I need to go equity to keep working in this business and survive.
So I spent today imagining living on a third floor walk up: having a tiny bedroom with a window that looks out on another wall, a radiator, and a Polish bakery just across the street.
When I came home to Albert Hall tonight, it was pouring rain. I walked up the steps to my house, covering my head and thinking there'd be less rain to dodge - and more walking to dodge it during.
Some things have happened in the past week that are really making me sit down and think about moving. Job stuff, family stuff, the fact that I've always known I can't really go equity in Portland and I need to go equity to keep working in this business and survive.
So I spent today imagining living on a third floor walk up: having a tiny bedroom with a window that looks out on another wall, a radiator, and a Polish bakery just across the street.
When I came home to Albert Hall tonight, it was pouring rain. I walked up the steps to my house, covering my head and thinking there'd be less rain to dodge - and more walking to dodge it during.
Friday, November 23
On: Home (Sherlock ReDeux Tech - Day 3)
This blog post was due circa midnight on Wednesday, November 21st.
It is now 12:17p on Friday, November 23rd.
A lot of things happened in between, most of them the reason this blog post was not written.
Suffice it to say: I do not feel the guilt I felt the last time I missed a tech blog post.
Also: Home is a thought that is forefront, timely and terrifying today.
See you all tonight.
It is now 12:17p on Friday, November 23rd.
A lot of things happened in between, most of them the reason this blog post was not written.
Suffice it to say: I do not feel the guilt I felt the last time I missed a tech blog post.
Also: Home is a thought that is forefront, timely and terrifying today.
See you all tonight.
Wednesday, November 21
On: Home (Sherlock ReDeux Tech - Day 2)
I made it home now and am so ready to go to sleep.
On my drive home I thought about my homes and which one I would write about: my parent's home, the home I'm making here, the home I had at school.
Sometimes I think about the home people build within one another. When are those homes built? Of what material? When do they burn down? Of nature is that fire? How does that e.e.cummings line go? "I hold your heart within my heart"?
My sister flew home tonight and right now, my family is all together under one roof. 700 miles south of me. But at the same time - Maria leaves tomorrow and tonight might be the last time my family of Summer 2012 are all together under this one roof.
This will be the fifth consecutive Thanksgiving I've spent away from home.
Chels and Maria will both be gone tomorrow night, and I'll have this home to myself (ironically enough, a person I've never felt at home around).
I made it home now and it is time to go to sleep.
On my drive home I thought about my homes and which one I would write about: my parent's home, the home I'm making here, the home I had at school.
Sometimes I think about the home people build within one another. When are those homes built? Of what material? When do they burn down? Of nature is that fire? How does that e.e.cummings line go? "I hold your heart within my heart"?
My sister flew home tonight and right now, my family is all together under one roof. 700 miles south of me. But at the same time - Maria leaves tomorrow and tonight might be the last time my family of Summer 2012 are all together under this one roof.
This will be the fifth consecutive Thanksgiving I've spent away from home.
Chels and Maria will both be gone tomorrow night, and I'll have this home to myself (ironically enough, a person I've never felt at home around).
I made it home now and it is time to go to sleep.
***
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Tuesday, November 20
On: Home (Sherlock ReDeux Tech - Day 1)
So, I chose this tech's topic pretty quickly.
I began this blog in November of last year and tech for Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol was the very first tech I did this little I-write-every-night-on-the-same-topic exercise. I wrote about my commute home, since that is what I wrote about after the first tech so I just ended up keeping it up. All of my topics since then have been much more abstract.
I remember writing about driving past the Occupy Portland park mere hours after the riot cops launched their assault on the peaceful protestors; I remember how eerie the empty white lights were on the trodden grass.
So, here I am, a year later and I am in tech for Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol once again. Doing a remount gives me an extreme sense of nostalgia, because all the same-ness only makes me notice the differences more. A part of me misses new-to-Portland-Olivia; living at The Manor, still struggling with a certain fellow, in awe of this theater I'd found.
Which brings me nicely to this tech week's topic: Home. I told MDiFabulous that this was my plan for a topic and she said, "I feel like that word has meant something different to us every three months for the past five years." I completely agree; so I think I'll tackle it one home at a time.
In July, I was hired on as the assistant to the Production Manager there and became staff. It's been a wonderful four months and I have begun to feel like a part of the family there. I am in the building every day and since I started working on Sherlock ReDeux as a PA, I am often in the building for 12/13 hours at a time.
Today, Kelly told me that the budget has not worked out to allow Artists Rep to extend my contract with them. January will be the end of my short time as a staff member at A.R.T. Because Sherlock closes in December, when my contract is up I am up too, essentially. I am not PAing another show this season and I don't even know if I'll still be in Portland, come the 2013/2014 season. This could be the end of my time with this company.
I find this ironic because just last night I had a dream where I was a stage manager at Artists Rep and (somehow) the Artistic Director's daughter. As a part of my dream, Allen picked me up and spun me around like I was still a little girl, smiling up at me and telling me how proud he was of the woman I had grown-up to become. Then I came to work to discover that he was letting me go.
I don't have to explain to any of the theater people reading my blog how quickly the theater becomes your home, your sanctuary. How you find the place simultaneously sacred and everyday, so comfortable yet so essential.
When Sofie and I took a trip to Ashland to go see some shows at OSF, an usher came over to us during intermission and asked me to take my feet off the back of the seats. I apologized to the usher profusely and then turned to Sofie, shaking my head at myself, and I said: "Gosh! I should so know better!" Sofie just said, "Don't be silly, we live here. We can put our feet up all we want."
I'll miss this home, when the day comes to leave it.
I began this blog in November of last year and tech for Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol was the very first tech I did this little I-write-every-night-on-the-same-topic exercise. I wrote about my commute home, since that is what I wrote about after the first tech so I just ended up keeping it up. All of my topics since then have been much more abstract.
I remember writing about driving past the Occupy Portland park mere hours after the riot cops launched their assault on the peaceful protestors; I remember how eerie the empty white lights were on the trodden grass.
So, here I am, a year later and I am in tech for Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol once again. Doing a remount gives me an extreme sense of nostalgia, because all the same-ness only makes me notice the differences more. A part of me misses new-to-Portland-Olivia; living at The Manor, still struggling with a certain fellow, in awe of this theater I'd found.
Which brings me nicely to this tech week's topic: Home. I told MDiFabulous that this was my plan for a topic and she said, "I feel like that word has meant something different to us every three months for the past five years." I completely agree; so I think I'll tackle it one home at a time.
Artists Repertory Theatre
Artists Rep was the first theater to employ me in Portland and has undoubtedly shaped my time here. The second largest theater in the city, one of the three equity houses here, Artists Rep hold a certain reputation for professionalism and it always means something to people when I tell them I work there.In July, I was hired on as the assistant to the Production Manager there and became staff. It's been a wonderful four months and I have begun to feel like a part of the family there. I am in the building every day and since I started working on Sherlock ReDeux as a PA, I am often in the building for 12/13 hours at a time.
Today, Kelly told me that the budget has not worked out to allow Artists Rep to extend my contract with them. January will be the end of my short time as a staff member at A.R.T. Because Sherlock closes in December, when my contract is up I am up too, essentially. I am not PAing another show this season and I don't even know if I'll still be in Portland, come the 2013/2014 season. This could be the end of my time with this company.
I find this ironic because just last night I had a dream where I was a stage manager at Artists Rep and (somehow) the Artistic Director's daughter. As a part of my dream, Allen picked me up and spun me around like I was still a little girl, smiling up at me and telling me how proud he was of the woman I had grown-up to become. Then I came to work to discover that he was letting me go.
I don't have to explain to any of the theater people reading my blog how quickly the theater becomes your home, your sanctuary. How you find the place simultaneously sacred and everyday, so comfortable yet so essential.
When Sofie and I took a trip to Ashland to go see some shows at OSF, an usher came over to us during intermission and asked me to take my feet off the back of the seats. I apologized to the usher profusely and then turned to Sofie, shaking my head at myself, and I said: "Gosh! I should so know better!" Sofie just said, "Don't be silly, we live here. We can put our feet up all we want."
I'll miss this home, when the day comes to leave it.
Friday, November 16
We've only got 9 minutes to save the world
Well, actually, I've got nine minutes until the end of rehearsal, which is thrilling.
I am going home soon and then this weekend and I am going to do some things I've been meaning/needing/wanting to do for, I don't know, a month. Last time I had a day off was before Duck for President went into tech and now I've got a whole 24 hours without work coming up on Sunday.
Here are some things I'm going to do:
- Vacuum my room
- Clean the bathroom
- Go to the post office
- Do some actual grocery shopping
- Do my laundry not covertly at the theater but for realsies at a laundromat.
- Watch Sons of Anarchy
- Sleep
- Sleep
- Sleep
Thank you, baby jesus, for a day off. I know it's not till Sunday, but I swear to God: I can TASTE it.
I am going home soon and then this weekend and I am going to do some things I've been meaning/needing/wanting to do for, I don't know, a month. Last time I had a day off was before Duck for President went into tech and now I've got a whole 24 hours without work coming up on Sunday.
Here are some things I'm going to do:
- Vacuum my room
- Clean the bathroom
- Go to the post office
- Do some actual grocery shopping
- Do my laundry not covertly at the theater but for realsies at a laundromat.
- Watch Sons of Anarchy
- Sleep
- Sleep
- Sleep
Thank you, baby jesus, for a day off. I know it's not till Sunday, but I swear to God: I can TASTE it.
Saturday, November 10
Auditions!
Here we are and honestly, I have no idea how I got here. I mean, I know exactly how I got here but I feel like I am on the edge of great big precipice and there are these two guys behind me and they are so ready to jump and I'm so not ready and they grab my hands and I don't try to get away but I also am not anywhere near leap-happy and THEN:
Auditions.
So here I am, falling rapidly into God knows what, sitting in the production office at Artists Rep, surrounded by quietly focused actors who are all here because they want to be a part of this ridiculous thing that I think I'm maybe going to be able to pull off.
Part of me feels like I'm lying to them all, honestly.
And part of me feel like maybe I'm doing the bravest thing I've ever done.
And more of me is terrified. A lot more of me.
So, yes: AUDITIONS.
Auditions.
So here I am, falling rapidly into God knows what, sitting in the production office at Artists Rep, surrounded by quietly focused actors who are all here because they want to be a part of this ridiculous thing that I think I'm maybe going to be able to pull off.
Part of me feels like I'm lying to them all, honestly.
And part of me feel like maybe I'm doing the bravest thing I've ever done.
And more of me is terrified. A lot more of me.
So, yes: AUDITIONS.
Thursday, November 8
Tuesday, November 6
Anniversary
Yesterday was the one year anniversary of this here little blog. I was going to blog on the day to commemorate, but I got home from rehearsal after midnight and the time stamp would have been all wrong.
Four years ago, on the first Tuesday of November, I sat in the student center at Bennington College and watched the election returns come in. I'd started my evening having dinner with Rebekah at the town house, where we all sat around a scared and worn wooden table, listening to the radio, contemplating escape plans in case of a McCain/Palin win. Rebekkah and I then filled our water bottles with vodka and trundled on down to the student center. I'd been antsy all day because, as a California native, I was used to getting real information as early as 4pm. In Vermont I had to wait... and wait... and wait.
I (and the majority of my school) sat in the student center for four hours. We ate french fries and buffalo chicken and drank our not-so-subtle-or-secret drinks. Two Bennington students had worked on Obama campaigns in different states and they both had mini war rooms set up: tables covered in papers and laptops and cell phone chargers to ensure they knew everything as soon as it could be known.
At 11pm, the polls closed in California. The big projection screen was still for a moment and then the room exploded as CNN announced President Barack Obama as the winner of the 2008 election. People screamed, cried, kissed, jumped up, fell down, wept. Someone had, while all of our backs were turned towards the TV, rolled a gigantic wooden wheel directly outside the student center and were now crouching behind it, shooting off fireworks. We poured out of the building and ran to our homes, clinging to one another and flying: "Yes We Can!" and louder still, "Yes We DID!"
Hours later, when the entire campus was drunk but still quietly riotious, someone brought a trumpet to Commons Lawn. I was outside Kilpat and in the dark, I heard them begin to play "God Bless America." Then, like some kind of magic, I heard the voices. All over campus, people began to sing along to the trumpet. From 1st street and 3rd steet and Commons Hall, voices rose up everywhere, singing. That was when I cried that night.
All of this is to say: today marks anniversaries, personal and public, big and small. Today is for choice and voice and, hopefully, a little more magic.
Four years ago, on the first Tuesday of November, I sat in the student center at Bennington College and watched the election returns come in. I'd started my evening having dinner with Rebekah at the town house, where we all sat around a scared and worn wooden table, listening to the radio, contemplating escape plans in case of a McCain/Palin win. Rebekkah and I then filled our water bottles with vodka and trundled on down to the student center. I'd been antsy all day because, as a California native, I was used to getting real information as early as 4pm. In Vermont I had to wait... and wait... and wait.
I (and the majority of my school) sat in the student center for four hours. We ate french fries and buffalo chicken and drank our not-so-subtle-or-secret drinks. Two Bennington students had worked on Obama campaigns in different states and they both had mini war rooms set up: tables covered in papers and laptops and cell phone chargers to ensure they knew everything as soon as it could be known.
At 11pm, the polls closed in California. The big projection screen was still for a moment and then the room exploded as CNN announced President Barack Obama as the winner of the 2008 election. People screamed, cried, kissed, jumped up, fell down, wept. Someone had, while all of our backs were turned towards the TV, rolled a gigantic wooden wheel directly outside the student center and were now crouching behind it, shooting off fireworks. We poured out of the building and ran to our homes, clinging to one another and flying: "Yes We Can!" and louder still, "Yes We DID!"
Hours later, when the entire campus was drunk but still quietly riotious, someone brought a trumpet to Commons Lawn. I was outside Kilpat and in the dark, I heard them begin to play "God Bless America." Then, like some kind of magic, I heard the voices. All over campus, people began to sing along to the trumpet. From 1st street and 3rd steet and Commons Hall, voices rose up everywhere, singing. That was when I cried that night.
All of this is to say: today marks anniversaries, personal and public, big and small. Today is for choice and voice and, hopefully, a little more magic.
Thursday, November 1
Wonderland
There are a few things that can immediately snap me back to being 7 years old at 270 Bahr Dr. One of them is when my room (or, I guess, my house, now) is what my mother called "Wonderland."
Wonderland means it's not just tided but CLEAN. Incredibly clean. Like: bookshelf organized, clothes folded in drawers, bed made, carpet vacummed, desk drawer's meticulous. When the bottom of your closet holds nothing but nicely lined up pairs of shoes.
My mental image of my childhood bedroom Wonderland Clean is always of it at night, after dinner. (This probably because getting my room to Wonderland Clean took an entire day...) I'd come back to my room and eaaaase the door open ever so slowly, and stand in the doorway to look at my room sparkle by the light of my reading lamp. I always had a reading lamp in my room, even before I could really sit up in bed and read on my own, because my parents read to me. And when your room was Wonderland Clean, there was no chance you'd (or, really, my father) twist an ankle on a misplaced toy. So you could move about just by the light of the reading lamp.
I liked to set just one thing out when my room was Wonderland, whether it was a book or a toy or a dress I'd redicovered that day, buried in my piles of laundry that I wanted to wear tomorrow. Having the one thing out seemed to announce that everything else wasn't out. Like you would notice, "Oh look at how clean this room is! There is only one stuffed animal on that bed!"
Wonderland Clean is hard to come by when my life is as busy and full as it is now, and is often. When I feel like I need to be home but can't afford the Wonderland Clean, I go for something similar.
Tonight, I came got home around 12:15p. The house was dark, the jack-o-lanterns's candles already burned out on the porch. I've had an awful day and I knew that I need to sleep. Before that though, I quietly put my dirty clothes in the hamper, tided my dresser and re-made my bed. I hung all my jewelry up on their hooks and took out my bathroom trash. Then I took a shower and put on clean pajamas, right out of the drawer. I turned down my bed and put lotion on, I repainted my toe nails. I turned off my overhead light.
I may be poor and I may be tired and I may be totally unsure of a lot of things in my life but I do know this: when I am a clean body in clean pajamas nestled in clean sheets in a clean room lit only by a reading lamp, I feel safe.
Wonderland means it's not just tided but CLEAN. Incredibly clean. Like: bookshelf organized, clothes folded in drawers, bed made, carpet vacummed, desk drawer's meticulous. When the bottom of your closet holds nothing but nicely lined up pairs of shoes.
My mental image of my childhood bedroom Wonderland Clean is always of it at night, after dinner. (This probably because getting my room to Wonderland Clean took an entire day...) I'd come back to my room and eaaaase the door open ever so slowly, and stand in the doorway to look at my room sparkle by the light of my reading lamp. I always had a reading lamp in my room, even before I could really sit up in bed and read on my own, because my parents read to me. And when your room was Wonderland Clean, there was no chance you'd (or, really, my father) twist an ankle on a misplaced toy. So you could move about just by the light of the reading lamp.
I liked to set just one thing out when my room was Wonderland, whether it was a book or a toy or a dress I'd redicovered that day, buried in my piles of laundry that I wanted to wear tomorrow. Having the one thing out seemed to announce that everything else wasn't out. Like you would notice, "Oh look at how clean this room is! There is only one stuffed animal on that bed!"
Wonderland Clean is hard to come by when my life is as busy and full as it is now, and is often. When I feel like I need to be home but can't afford the Wonderland Clean, I go for something similar.
Tonight, I came got home around 12:15p. The house was dark, the jack-o-lanterns's candles already burned out on the porch. I've had an awful day and I knew that I need to sleep. Before that though, I quietly put my dirty clothes in the hamper, tided my dresser and re-made my bed. I hung all my jewelry up on their hooks and took out my bathroom trash. Then I took a shower and put on clean pajamas, right out of the drawer. I turned down my bed and put lotion on, I repainted my toe nails. I turned off my overhead light.
I may be poor and I may be tired and I may be totally unsure of a lot of things in my life but I do know this: when I am a clean body in clean pajamas nestled in clean sheets in a clean room lit only by a reading lamp, I feel safe.
Tuesday, October 30
Odd Wishes
Last night, a friend and I had a conversation about odd wishes. I brought it up by saying that, weirdly, a small part of me wants to be in New York right now. I know that what's happening is scary and serious, but I often feel like New York is my city (albeit not one that I've fully lived in yet) and I am, in some ways, regretful I can't be there. In an alternate universe somewhere Other Olivia took the leap right after college and she's bundled up in her tiny Brooklyn apartment, watching the water rise and drunkenly reading Jane Eyre aloud with a Bennington roommate. I envy Other Olivia a bit, and not just because she gets to be day drunk reading Jane Eyre. I know that this is a big moment and a marker for my generation of New Yorkers. When I do finally make the leap, I won't have any Hurricane Sandy stories. I'll have been 3,000 miles away.
When I told my friend this, he said that he remembers feeling similarly during 9 -11. He was in Alaska teaching and felt like he was in foreign country. He told me that he wished to be in New York that day. He said that he is grateful no one he knows or loves was hurt in that great tragedy, but he still wanted to be there: be connected and a part of the national grieving. He felt removed and remote in Alaska, and he wished it wasn't so.
I know that anyone in New York now, or in New York 11 years ago, would tell the two of us just how silly we are/were being. That this is real life, not fiction, and we shouldn't romanticize it. That's not what I'm trying to do, but maybe it's what I'm doing anyway?
When I told my friend this, he said that he remembers feeling similarly during 9 -11. He was in Alaska teaching and felt like he was in foreign country. He told me that he wished to be in New York that day. He said that he is grateful no one he knows or loves was hurt in that great tragedy, but he still wanted to be there: be connected and a part of the national grieving. He felt removed and remote in Alaska, and he wished it wasn't so.
I know that anyone in New York now, or in New York 11 years ago, would tell the two of us just how silly we are/were being. That this is real life, not fiction, and we shouldn't romanticize it. That's not what I'm trying to do, but maybe it's what I'm doing anyway?
Friday, October 26
Checking In
Sometimes you just need to write about the little things.
Christmas Lights: The christmas lights in Albert Hall's living room died this week. Or maybe last week? In any case, I came home one night and realized that our living room with all the lights on was darker than a high school dance.So when I got the night (semi) off tonight, I took myself to BiMart and bought us $6 worth of new white lights. I hung them tonight while my soup heated up and voila! a brand new living room. Well worth it.
Country Music: It's a bit of an obsession right now.
The Giants: Well, yeah, duh this is a big part of my life right now. The World Series started on Wednesday and I've managed to watch both games so far. (0-2 Giants!) It's been wonderful to get back in touch with baseball, to remember how much I really do love this game, love these boys. I've also spent time with new people just because of the World Series, which is turning out to be excellent. I'm quickly becoming good friends with ASM because we hit the bar together to watch the game. I ended up nearly jumping into the financial director of my theater's lap on Wednesday, when Pablo Sandoval hit his first homerun. I'm taking Stervin with me and we're going to go down to Eugene on Sunday for a little Probstein Girl Giants reunion. I'm thrilled.
Outlander: Another of my good friends has just started reading it and says she can't put it down. Every time someone new starts the series, I get a little rush remembering what it was like when I first went to Scotland in 1743. I think about how it feels to meet Jamie, to feel like he's something all together too much for your mind to contain. But you do. This is sounding sexual and maybe that's how it should be - he is James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser after all.
Sherlock Part Deux: Starts on Monday. God help us all.
Big Talks: I hate to have 'em. We all do. When it's me getting Spoken To, I always feel blind-sided and defensive. When it's me doing the Speaking, I always feel like I'm unfairly prepared. This person had no idea this was coming, they have no way to fight back. It's just me and my well-thought out points and them and their surprise and temporary misery.
Christmas Lights: The christmas lights in Albert Hall's living room died this week. Or maybe last week? In any case, I came home one night and realized that our living room with all the lights on was darker than a high school dance.So when I got the night (semi) off tonight, I took myself to BiMart and bought us $6 worth of new white lights. I hung them tonight while my soup heated up and voila! a brand new living room. Well worth it.
Country Music: It's a bit of an obsession right now.
The Giants: Well, yeah, duh this is a big part of my life right now. The World Series started on Wednesday and I've managed to watch both games so far. (0-2 Giants!) It's been wonderful to get back in touch with baseball, to remember how much I really do love this game, love these boys. I've also spent time with new people just because of the World Series, which is turning out to be excellent. I'm quickly becoming good friends with ASM because we hit the bar together to watch the game. I ended up nearly jumping into the financial director of my theater's lap on Wednesday, when Pablo Sandoval hit his first homerun. I'm taking Stervin with me and we're going to go down to Eugene on Sunday for a little Probstein Girl Giants reunion. I'm thrilled.
Outlander: Another of my good friends has just started reading it and says she can't put it down. Every time someone new starts the series, I get a little rush remembering what it was like when I first went to Scotland in 1743. I think about how it feels to meet Jamie, to feel like he's something all together too much for your mind to contain. But you do. This is sounding sexual and maybe that's how it should be - he is James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser after all.
Sherlock Part Deux: Starts on Monday. God help us all.
Big Talks: I hate to have 'em. We all do. When it's me getting Spoken To, I always feel blind-sided and defensive. When it's me doing the Speaking, I always feel like I'm unfairly prepared. This person had no idea this was coming, they have no way to fight back. It's just me and my well-thought out points and them and their surprise and temporary misery.
Friday, October 19
On: Awareness (Duck for President - Opening)
How did I forget that this part of working for OCT sucks so god damn much?
Hello, 6:45a alarm clock. I never wanted to meet you.
Hello, 6:45a alarm clock. I never wanted to meet you.
Thursday, October 18
On: Awareness (Duck for President Tech - Day 3)
Full Awareness:
We're done, essentially.
It is both terrifying and thrilling that I will be running this monster of a show in the Newmark all by myself tomorrow morning.
I am exhausted and have an 8:30a call.
My bed boyfriend Hank calls for me, longingly.
We're done, essentially.
It is both terrifying and thrilling that I will be running this monster of a show in the Newmark all by myself tomorrow morning.
I am exhausted and have an 8:30a call.
My bed boyfriend Hank calls for me, longingly.
On: Awareness (Duck for President Tech - Day 2)
To be aware: Jimmy Eat World came on my shuffle the exact moment when I opened this blog post. "Work," to be specific. That, universe, was a cue well called.
To be more aware: I (semi) stood up for myself and had a (kind of) Come to Jesus with some of my crew. I want to be able to say that I laid down the law and showed them who was boss and blah blah blah but thing is, I didn't really. I wasn't afraid but I also wasn't forceful. I was just clear.
I wish, a little bit, that I had come off as some bad ass stage manager goddess, but the American patriarchy has got it's hold on me too tight: "You are just a little girl. You may not, ever, tell men who are older than you what to do. Ever."
Full awareness: I think it's so interesting the way people pick up non-verbal cues. I, as Chels put it so nicely earlier tonight, collect boys. A large portion of my good friends are men and I tend to be physically affectionate with all of them. This afternoon, a certain gentleman came to visit me at the theater and, as we walked to the park blocks, we ran into two people from my show. We were not touching, I said nothing about his relationship to me. Yet both asked me if he was my boyfriend when I got back to the theater. BOTH! How many times have I stood with my arms wrapped around the waist of a man and never been questioned? And today, just walking with him, everyone sensed something. How odd.
To be more aware: I (semi) stood up for myself and had a (kind of) Come to Jesus with some of my crew. I want to be able to say that I laid down the law and showed them who was boss and blah blah blah but thing is, I didn't really. I wasn't afraid but I also wasn't forceful. I was just clear.
I wish, a little bit, that I had come off as some bad ass stage manager goddess, but the American patriarchy has got it's hold on me too tight: "You are just a little girl. You may not, ever, tell men who are older than you what to do. Ever."
Full awareness: I think it's so interesting the way people pick up non-verbal cues. I, as Chels put it so nicely earlier tonight, collect boys. A large portion of my good friends are men and I tend to be physically affectionate with all of them. This afternoon, a certain gentleman came to visit me at the theater and, as we walked to the park blocks, we ran into two people from my show. We were not touching, I said nothing about his relationship to me. Yet both asked me if he was my boyfriend when I got back to the theater. BOTH! How many times have I stood with my arms wrapped around the waist of a man and never been questioned? And today, just walking with him, everyone sensed something. How odd.
Wednesday, October 17
On: Awareness (Duck for President Tech - Day 1)
To be aware: I'm writing this blog post the morning after, which is totally against the Tech Blog Post Rules. I just actually fell asleep in front of my computer last night.
To be more aware: Sometimes you go into new situations. You should not assume you know what they entail.
Full awareness: Things are different on paper than in reality.
On paper: "You have a union crew." And I'm like,"Okay."
Reality: "They have an entirely different set of expectations for how you will run your rehearsal."
On paper: "This guy seems to really like you." "Okay."
Reality: "Maybe you are totally not ready to deal with what that actually means."
To be more aware: Sometimes you go into new situations. You should not assume you know what they entail.
Full awareness: Things are different on paper than in reality.
On paper: "You have a union crew." And I'm like,"Okay."
Reality: "They have an entirely different set of expectations for how you will run your rehearsal."
On paper: "This guy seems to really like you." "Okay."
Reality: "Maybe you are totally not ready to deal with what that actually means."
Sunday, October 14
Deck Run Sheet: A Photo Essay
 |
| Getting down to work |
 |
| Wait, no, fuck work. Dinosaur. |
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| Shit, wait, WHAT time is it?? |
 |
| uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh |
 |
| I hate this job. |
Saturday, October 13
The Pumpkin Patch
I spent this morning out on Sauvie Island, taking Zo to the pumpkin patch. It was lovely. We went and visited the petting zoo, took the hay ride out to the patch, played on the hay bales and picked out our pumpkins for October. I got a large yellow-orange beauty with a flat side and Zo picked out two decorative pumpkins for herself. She was very serious when picking out her pumpkin, rejecting the pumpkins her size, the fairly large ones and the normal ones. She needed a pumpkin at her scale, which is how I somehow got away with only spending $6 to kill two hours with a toddler and snag three pumpkins.
I was so happy to be there, stomping around in the mud in my big boots, with my favorite girl, breathing in the air of my favorite season.
A lot of people weren't happy to be there though. I passed parents yelling at their children, kids throwing fits, couples bickering, even a man screaming at his elderly mother-in-law as she tried (and failed) to take a picture of his family sitting on a hay bale. I turned around when I heard him raise his voice and watched his two sons wail, his mother in law fumble and his wife burn up in shame as he went on and on. I felt my face fall. I know that all I was seeing was a miniature slice of these people's lives but it killed me a little. There is no reason to go to the pumpkin patch but to have fun and enjoy the season; there's no pressing business to be done there, it's not on the way to anyone's work or anyone's errands. Maybe I'm being naive about what my future life with children will be like, but I hope that my interactions with my own kids will be like my day with Zo today: fun, easy, full of the joy of watching a child's wonder at this brand new world they've found.
I was so happy to be there, stomping around in the mud in my big boots, with my favorite girl, breathing in the air of my favorite season.
A lot of people weren't happy to be there though. I passed parents yelling at their children, kids throwing fits, couples bickering, even a man screaming at his elderly mother-in-law as she tried (and failed) to take a picture of his family sitting on a hay bale. I turned around when I heard him raise his voice and watched his two sons wail, his mother in law fumble and his wife burn up in shame as he went on and on. I felt my face fall. I know that all I was seeing was a miniature slice of these people's lives but it killed me a little. There is no reason to go to the pumpkin patch but to have fun and enjoy the season; there's no pressing business to be done there, it's not on the way to anyone's work or anyone's errands. Maybe I'm being naive about what my future life with children will be like, but I hope that my interactions with my own kids will be like my day with Zo today: fun, easy, full of the joy of watching a child's wonder at this brand new world they've found.
Friday, October 12
It's Gonna Rain
...for the rest of my life.
No, not really, but that's how all of Portland felt this morning when we woke up to the oh-so-familiar sound of rain on our respective roofs. (Yes, I did just try to spell that rooves at first.)
The funny thing is though - no one I've talked to has been negative about it. We all knew it was coming this weekend and we spent last week sitting outside in our light jackets and we took that last late night walk across the bridge and then we kind of smiled at each other and said, "The rain is coming back."
I guess when your city is known for something, you start to miss it when it's gone.
No, not really, but that's how all of Portland felt this morning when we woke up to the oh-so-familiar sound of rain on our respective roofs. (Yes, I did just try to spell that rooves at first.)
The funny thing is though - no one I've talked to has been negative about it. We all knew it was coming this weekend and we spent last week sitting outside in our light jackets and we took that last late night walk across the bridge and then we kind of smiled at each other and said, "The rain is coming back."
I guess when your city is known for something, you start to miss it when it's gone.
Tuesday, October 9
Success
When You Know Yourself Well Enough To Schedule Some Baby Time The Weekend Before You Go Into Tech.
Saturday, October 6
Stolen Blog Post - Why to Date an SM
I found myself talking about this blog post I read a while ago tonight and I decided that not enough people have read this for my taste.
So here it is, world. I did not write it and I take no credit - I simple adore it.
Original Source: Bruce Willis' Bunny Suit
My girlfriend is a stage manager in NYC. And I am here to tell you Stage
managers are the are the best ones to date. Here's reasons as to why
you should date a stage manager. And reasons........go.
10. Don't have to worry about getting calls to come help hang pictures, repair appliances, etc. your crew guy or gal can probably do it on their own and most likely will do a much better job of it.
9. Ten times out of ten you will never be late for anything. In fact, according to your SM boo, if you are on time you are already late.
8. Unlimited amounts of glow tape so you can finally make that Tron costume you always wanted.
OLIVIA'S ADDED NOTE: This is not actually true. No stage manager I know would ever let you waste that much glo tape. Ever.
7. You get to meet awesome, interesting people, like Will Swenson, Elaine May or someone from the Butthole Surfers. Do you know how many times I have babysat NPH's kids? Or how many times I took Cheyenne Jackson to school in FiFa Soccer on XBox?
6. Stage managers actually get paid for some of the shows they do! It's pretty rad right?
5. They are always prepared for anything. A-NY-THING. Headache? They got aspirin. Got a cut on your finger? Boom, your boo has a band aid for your boo boo. Cats dead? Kablam, they have the shovel to bury it and the eulogy already written. Resourceful and thoughtful.
4. They are exceptional multi-taskers. One night I watched my girlfriend bake cookies at home all the while planning for the next days rehearsal and reserving tickets to go and see "The Muppets". If you notice the picture below there are copious amounts of x-mas cookies including stars, trees and snowflakes and the ones I made, which are axes, wolves and sunglasses that I turned into boobs.
3. Stage Managers won't loose their shit when the something gets thrown out of routine. They are calm, cool and collected and don't freak out if someone is late or a cue is missed. Just don't use their gaff tape.
2. They often times gets tickets to awesome shows....for free!!!! Because my girlfriend is who she is and she is awesome at what she does, she gets tickets to shows from people who want to work with her. One time we went to a show at Signature Theater in NYC and we sat in front of Ethan "Raising Arizona" Coen.
1. When you date a stage manager they are up for anything and are low maintenance. After of a day of them telling people where to go and what to do, when they come home all they want is to NOT make decisions. You can suggest anything to them and as long as there is food and booze at some point they will be up for it. "Burgers and beer at the park? Duh!" "Turtle Races and tequila? Where do I sign in!" As long as you plan it and they don't have to worry other than where to be and when you are set.
OLIVIA'S ADDED NOTE: This, on the other hand, is very very very true.
So here it is, world. I did not write it and I take no credit - I simple adore it.
Original Source: Bruce Willis' Bunny Suit
Ten Reasons To Date A Stage Manager
10. Don't have to worry about getting calls to come help hang pictures, repair appliances, etc. your crew guy or gal can probably do it on their own and most likely will do a much better job of it.
9. Ten times out of ten you will never be late for anything. In fact, according to your SM boo, if you are on time you are already late.
8. Unlimited amounts of glow tape so you can finally make that Tron costume you always wanted.
OLIVIA'S ADDED NOTE: This is not actually true. No stage manager I know would ever let you waste that much glo tape. Ever.
7. You get to meet awesome, interesting people, like Will Swenson, Elaine May or someone from the Butthole Surfers. Do you know how many times I have babysat NPH's kids? Or how many times I took Cheyenne Jackson to school in FiFa Soccer on XBox?
6. Stage managers actually get paid for some of the shows they do! It's pretty rad right?
5. They are always prepared for anything. A-NY-THING. Headache? They got aspirin. Got a cut on your finger? Boom, your boo has a band aid for your boo boo. Cats dead? Kablam, they have the shovel to bury it and the eulogy already written. Resourceful and thoughtful.
4. They are exceptional multi-taskers. One night I watched my girlfriend bake cookies at home all the while planning for the next days rehearsal and reserving tickets to go and see "The Muppets". If you notice the picture below there are copious amounts of x-mas cookies including stars, trees and snowflakes and the ones I made, which are axes, wolves and sunglasses that I turned into boobs.
3. Stage Managers won't loose their shit when the something gets thrown out of routine. They are calm, cool and collected and don't freak out if someone is late or a cue is missed. Just don't use their gaff tape.
2. They often times gets tickets to awesome shows....for free!!!! Because my girlfriend is who she is and she is awesome at what she does, she gets tickets to shows from people who want to work with her. One time we went to a show at Signature Theater in NYC and we sat in front of Ethan "Raising Arizona" Coen.
1. When you date a stage manager they are up for anything and are low maintenance. After of a day of them telling people where to go and what to do, when they come home all they want is to NOT make decisions. You can suggest anything to them and as long as there is food and booze at some point they will be up for it. "Burgers and beer at the park? Duh!" "Turtle Races and tequila? Where do I sign in!" As long as you plan it and they don't have to worry other than where to be and when you are set.
OLIVIA'S ADDED NOTE: This, on the other hand, is very very very true.
Milk Dreams
Why This Topic: I'm taking a page out of Maria's book and writing about one of my dreams. My most recent one that I can remember, actually, and it's only a fragment. I used to remember long, complicated dreams but not at this point in my life. I'm sure they will come back eventually.
Item of Note #1: I love milk. I do. It's thirst quenching in a way nothing else is for me. Though I was raised on non-fat or 1% milk, adult Olivia prefers 2% or whole milk. Those are high in fat though, so lately I have been trying to avoid them. Avoiding them entirely, actually. The girl who drank a gallon of milk a week by herself has not had any milk of any kind for two whole months now.
Item of Note #2: Mona, my best friend and now ex-roommate, is a vegan.
The Dream: I am in the grocery store in my neighborhood, holding a shopping basket that is getting kind of heavy. I'm shifting it from hand to hand as I look in the glass at the gallons of milk. I'm weighing it out in my head: "how much will it cost?" and "I shouldn't drink it anyway" and "I could use that money for something else" and "don't get it, there are things that are better for you" and I just keep standing there because I really really want the milk. I cannot make the decision to buy it but I cannot just leave without it so I stand, mentally wringing my hands. This goes on for a long time. Then Mona walks over, cuts into my field of vision of the milk case and opens the glass door. She pulls out a gallon of milk, puts it in her already over-flowing shopping basket and simply says, "Come on."
Like she didn't just step in and solve my existential crisis.
Item of Note #1: I love milk. I do. It's thirst quenching in a way nothing else is for me. Though I was raised on non-fat or 1% milk, adult Olivia prefers 2% or whole milk. Those are high in fat though, so lately I have been trying to avoid them. Avoiding them entirely, actually. The girl who drank a gallon of milk a week by herself has not had any milk of any kind for two whole months now.
Item of Note #2: Mona, my best friend and now ex-roommate, is a vegan.
The Dream: I am in the grocery store in my neighborhood, holding a shopping basket that is getting kind of heavy. I'm shifting it from hand to hand as I look in the glass at the gallons of milk. I'm weighing it out in my head: "how much will it cost?" and "I shouldn't drink it anyway" and "I could use that money for something else" and "don't get it, there are things that are better for you" and I just keep standing there because I really really want the milk. I cannot make the decision to buy it but I cannot just leave without it so I stand, mentally wringing my hands. This goes on for a long time. Then Mona walks over, cuts into my field of vision of the milk case and opens the glass door. She pulls out a gallon of milk, puts it in her already over-flowing shopping basket and simply says, "Come on."
Like she didn't just step in and solve my existential crisis.
Sunday, September 30
Bopsie Flopsie Cottontail
Bobbie Probstein, my last living grandparent, passed away this morning.
She was a vibrant, creative, sensitive woman with a young and playful heart. I'm proud to be her granddaughter, proud to carry her blood in my body and in my heart.
 |
| Just the Ten of Us: the Probsteins, the Murpshteins and the Probelinis, 1997 |
 |
| Mother and Daughters, 2007 |
 |
| Bopsie, 2011 |
Thursday, September 27
Most Excellent Exotic Marigold Hotel
or whatever the title of that movie actually is.
Chels, Soph and I went and saw it at Laurelhust tonight and had a lovely time. Any movie mostly narrated by Judi Dench is bound to make me sigh, but this one was particularly lovely. I'm glad we took a moment and get a beer and go see it.
Now I'm closing up shop after prepping snacks for Sophie and I's road trip down to Ashland tomorrow. I'm lying on the floor of the living room, listening to the Far Away mix CD Beth gave us all on closing. She told me later that the two mixes were originally intended to be one for Samantha and one for me, but they ended up so fabulous that she made them both for everyone. I've been playing the one she intended for me over and over, paying attention to the words she picked for me. Maybe if it was someone else, thinking of this mix that way would be over thinking it. It's not with Beth. I know she chose what she wanted me to not only hear, but listen to.
I need to go downstairs and pack but I thought I'd give you a bit of the love Beth gave me. This song is by Nina Simone, the woman who Beth say's represents her darker side. I love the way this song switches on itself.
Having just written the sentence above, I sat and looked at it for a moment. The way I love the switch isn't exactly intellectual and I think its because that switch is so true to me. The lies in the first stanza aren't lies to me, they're cover. Natural, daily survival lies. Polite lies. Smiling lies. Cover.
I recently had someone ask me why I lie to my friends when they ask me how I'm doing and what is going on with me. She pointed out that I allow everyone to tell me their problems and I support them when they are at their lowest but am not ready to let someone do the same for me.
I feel like the first stanza of this song is what I tell the world while the second stanza is what is in my mind.
You Can Have Him (I Don't Want Him)
by Nina Simone
I don't want him you can have him
He's not worth fighting for
Besides there's plenty more where he came from
I don't want him you can have him
I'm giving him the sack
And he can go right back where he came from
I'm afraid I never loved him
Sweetie he'd be better off with you
I could never make him happy
All I ever wanted to do was
Run my fingers through his curly locks
Mend his underwear and darn his socks
Fetch his slippers and remove his shoes
Wipe his glasses when he's read the news
Rub his forehead with a gentle touch
Mornings after when he's had a little too much
Kiss him gently when he cuddles near
And give him babies one for every year
So you see that I don't want him you can have him
You can have him cos I don't want him
Because he's not the man for me
Then I'd close the window while he soundly slept
Then I'd raid the icebox where the food is kept
I'd fix the breakfast that would please him most
Eggs and coffee some apricot juice and some buttered toast
Oh oh then I'd go out and buy the papers
And when they've been read spend the balance of the day in bed
So you see that I don't want him you can have him
You can have him cos I don't want him because he's not my man
I don't want him you can have him
You can have him I don't want him
You can have him I don't want him
Cos he's not the man for me
Chels, Soph and I went and saw it at Laurelhust tonight and had a lovely time. Any movie mostly narrated by Judi Dench is bound to make me sigh, but this one was particularly lovely. I'm glad we took a moment and get a beer and go see it.
Now I'm closing up shop after prepping snacks for Sophie and I's road trip down to Ashland tomorrow. I'm lying on the floor of the living room, listening to the Far Away mix CD Beth gave us all on closing. She told me later that the two mixes were originally intended to be one for Samantha and one for me, but they ended up so fabulous that she made them both for everyone. I've been playing the one she intended for me over and over, paying attention to the words she picked for me. Maybe if it was someone else, thinking of this mix that way would be over thinking it. It's not with Beth. I know she chose what she wanted me to not only hear, but listen to.
I need to go downstairs and pack but I thought I'd give you a bit of the love Beth gave me. This song is by Nina Simone, the woman who Beth say's represents her darker side. I love the way this song switches on itself.
Having just written the sentence above, I sat and looked at it for a moment. The way I love the switch isn't exactly intellectual and I think its because that switch is so true to me. The lies in the first stanza aren't lies to me, they're cover. Natural, daily survival lies. Polite lies. Smiling lies. Cover.
I recently had someone ask me why I lie to my friends when they ask me how I'm doing and what is going on with me. She pointed out that I allow everyone to tell me their problems and I support them when they are at their lowest but am not ready to let someone do the same for me.
I feel like the first stanza of this song is what I tell the world while the second stanza is what is in my mind.
You Can Have Him (I Don't Want Him)
by Nina Simone
I don't want him you can have him
He's not worth fighting for
Besides there's plenty more where he came from
I don't want him you can have him
I'm giving him the sack
And he can go right back where he came from
I'm afraid I never loved him
Sweetie he'd be better off with you
I could never make him happy
All I ever wanted to do was
Run my fingers through his curly locks
Mend his underwear and darn his socks
Fetch his slippers and remove his shoes
Wipe his glasses when he's read the news
Rub his forehead with a gentle touch
Mornings after when he's had a little too much
Kiss him gently when he cuddles near
And give him babies one for every year
So you see that I don't want him you can have him
You can have him cos I don't want him
Because he's not the man for me
Then I'd close the window while he soundly slept
Then I'd raid the icebox where the food is kept
I'd fix the breakfast that would please him most
Eggs and coffee some apricot juice and some buttered toast
Oh oh then I'd go out and buy the papers
And when they've been read spend the balance of the day in bed
So you see that I don't want him you can have him
You can have him cos I don't want him because he's not my man
I don't want him you can have him
You can have him I don't want him
You can have him I don't want him
Cos he's not the man for me
Sunday, September 23
And then there were two
A roomie left today - moved back east for a month or so.
Chels and I are watching some TV in our new woman den/garage and getting some errands/to-do list items out of the way.
It feels like the house is bigger in an odd way, with our redhead gone. I have the whole downstairs to myself and I don't think I like it.
I love our house, but it is meant to be a home for three.
Chels and I are watching some TV in our new woman den/garage and getting some errands/to-do list items out of the way.
It feels like the house is bigger in an odd way, with our redhead gone. I have the whole downstairs to myself and I don't think I like it.
I love our house, but it is meant to be a home for three.
Saturday, September 22
Kiss My Act
We went and picked up our new garage couch this morning and I swept out the garage and tided a bit, to make it more like a living space. Now the roommates are with their boyfriends, my mom has gone to bed and I am cuddled up on the new couch, writing my performance report and watching Kiss My Act.
Kiss My Act is a 2001 made-for-TV movie that ABC Family produced, starring Scott Cohen, Cameron Manheim and Daneby Coleman. It's a re-telling of the Cyrano de Bergerac story, with two women as the woo-ers and a man as the object of affection. I love this movie and have never been able to ever find it online or on DVD. All I have is a VHS with a copy of the movie recorded from when it showed on TV, early 2000s commercials and all.
I have a VHS/DVD player in the garage and as soon as I had the TV set up, I asked my mom to send the VHS to me. I was nervous, because this is the only way I have to watch this movie and I was sure that the United States postal service would find a way to ruin this for me. But it made it. I have it here and here I am - letting Scott Cohen and Cameron Manheim break my heart.
I usually watch this movie with a full bottle of wine to myself because I always follow a pretty predictable pattern: I spend 30 min So Glad I Decided to Watch this Movie!, I usually overlap that time with a solid 1 hour and 40 min of Oh Jesus I Love Scott Cohen and then, somewhere around the hour mark, I fall into Why Did I Decide To Do This To Myself? which lasts sometimes through the whole movie but at least until the final moment when Cameron Manheim admits she loves him onstage, in front of the whole auditorium full of people, at which point I promptly burst into tears.
I always want to share this movie with my friends, but then I think it is probably best that I only ever watch Kiss My Act with my sister.
Anyway - here is to beginning those movie that slay you right around midnight.
Kiss My Act is a 2001 made-for-TV movie that ABC Family produced, starring Scott Cohen, Cameron Manheim and Daneby Coleman. It's a re-telling of the Cyrano de Bergerac story, with two women as the woo-ers and a man as the object of affection. I love this movie and have never been able to ever find it online or on DVD. All I have is a VHS with a copy of the movie recorded from when it showed on TV, early 2000s commercials and all.
I have a VHS/DVD player in the garage and as soon as I had the TV set up, I asked my mom to send the VHS to me. I was nervous, because this is the only way I have to watch this movie and I was sure that the United States postal service would find a way to ruin this for me. But it made it. I have it here and here I am - letting Scott Cohen and Cameron Manheim break my heart.
I usually watch this movie with a full bottle of wine to myself because I always follow a pretty predictable pattern: I spend 30 min So Glad I Decided to Watch this Movie!, I usually overlap that time with a solid 1 hour and 40 min of Oh Jesus I Love Scott Cohen and then, somewhere around the hour mark, I fall into Why Did I Decide To Do This To Myself? which lasts sometimes through the whole movie but at least until the final moment when Cameron Manheim admits she loves him onstage, in front of the whole auditorium full of people, at which point I promptly burst into tears.
I always want to share this movie with my friends, but then I think it is probably best that I only ever watch Kiss My Act with my sister.
Anyway - here is to beginning those movie that slay you right around midnight.
Thursday, September 20
Queen of Pentacles
Tonight my mom did tarot readings for me and my roommates. She decided to use my grandmother's deck, which my mom has since given to me. Her name is inscribed on both sides of the deck's case in red ink. We lit some candles and all three of us asked serious questions and talked seriously about the answers. She read us each a ten card spread, with an eleventh secret card: the card drawn from the bottom of the deck we've cut.
My secret card tonight was the Queen of Pentacles.
The image is of a woman lost in contemplation of a star. When I first picked up this card, I said "She looks sad," which is true. In this particular deck's artwork, the star is least adorned portion of the image. Your eye is immediately drawn to the sphere in lap, simple in it's solid yellow shape, scratched only be the five lines that create the star.
There are a myriad of interpretations and thoughts about what this cards means, symbolizes, or stands for. My mom's tarot book divides possible meanings into Key Words & Phrases, Situation and Advice, and People. The People sections reads:
"A business woman. A good organizer. A voluptous woman. A shrewd, talented, creative woman of wealth. A patron of the arts. Someone fond of the good things in life. A practical woman with business acumen. A sensible money manager. A maternal, nurturing, down-to-earth person. Someone concerned with the welfare of others. A capable woman who is both a mother and businesswoman. A steadfast, sensuous woman who enjoys luxury and has a good sense of material values. One who works hard for material success. A helpful friend. A team player. A benefactress. A philanthropist. A provider. A woman who likes to display her wealth."
As my mother read, both girls just looked at me: "... a good organizer... a patron of the arts... a maternal, nurturing, down-to-earth person..."
At the end, my mom pointed to me silently and my roommates nodded their heads.
I pulled this card out of the deck tonight, after all the readings were over. I think I want to keep the Queen of Pentacles with me for right now. I just want to look at her and figure out what she's about, what I'm about, and where those two abouts become the same thing.
My secret card tonight was the Queen of Pentacles.
The image is of a woman lost in contemplation of a star. When I first picked up this card, I said "She looks sad," which is true. In this particular deck's artwork, the star is least adorned portion of the image. Your eye is immediately drawn to the sphere in lap, simple in it's solid yellow shape, scratched only be the five lines that create the star.
There are a myriad of interpretations and thoughts about what this cards means, symbolizes, or stands for. My mom's tarot book divides possible meanings into Key Words & Phrases, Situation and Advice, and People. The People sections reads:
"A business woman. A good organizer. A voluptous woman. A shrewd, talented, creative woman of wealth. A patron of the arts. Someone fond of the good things in life. A practical woman with business acumen. A sensible money manager. A maternal, nurturing, down-to-earth person. Someone concerned with the welfare of others. A capable woman who is both a mother and businesswoman. A steadfast, sensuous woman who enjoys luxury and has a good sense of material values. One who works hard for material success. A helpful friend. A team player. A benefactress. A philanthropist. A provider. A woman who likes to display her wealth."
As my mother read, both girls just looked at me: "... a good organizer... a patron of the arts... a maternal, nurturing, down-to-earth person..."
At the end, my mom pointed to me silently and my roommates nodded their heads.
I pulled this card out of the deck tonight, after all the readings were over. I think I want to keep the Queen of Pentacles with me for right now. I just want to look at her and figure out what she's about, what I'm about, and where those two abouts become the same thing.
Monday, September 17
Curls
"My girl: linen and curls / lips parting like a flag all unfurled"
- The Decemberists
Tonight, I am going to bed with my hair wet. This usually results in the most ridiculous curls I have ever seen. (As in, I should probably be really sure that a hypothetical significant other likes me a lot before revealing to this possible mate the actual curl-ability of my unruly mane.)
The house is clean, my new reading lamp is lovely and I cannot wait for all my myriad of guests to begin arriving.
- The Decemberists
Tonight, I am going to bed with my hair wet. This usually results in the most ridiculous curls I have ever seen. (As in, I should probably be really sure that a hypothetical significant other likes me a lot before revealing to this possible mate the actual curl-ability of my unruly mane.)
The house is clean, my new reading lamp is lovely and I cannot wait for all my myriad of guests to begin arriving.
 |
| The last time I took a shower before bed, I woke up with this on top of my head. |
Tuesday, September 11
XIII
The Sonnets to Orpheus XIII, by Ranier Maria Rilke
Be ahead of all parting, as though it already were
behind you, like the winter that has just gone by.
For among those winters there is one so endlessly winter
that only by wintering through it will your heart survive.
Be forever dead in Eurydice - more gladly arise
into the seamless life proclaimed in your song.
Here in the realm of decline, among momentary days,
be the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang.
Be - and yet know the great void where all things begin,
the infinite source of your own most intense vibration,
so that, this once, you may give it your perfect assent.
To all that is used-up, and to all the muffled and dumb
creatures in the world's full reserve, the unsayable sums,
joyfully add yourself, and cancel the count.
I pulled my Stephen Mitchell translations of Rilke's work off the shelf today, because I'd been thinking about this poem. I re-read this one and Eurydice tonight. He loves that story, ol Rilke. I think he liked the idea of being one's same self, yet irrecoverably altered.Orpheus sees the woman he loves in the woman he tries to save, but she cannot come back to him. Death has changed who she is in a fundamental way. She is "forever dead"; she can both "be - and yet know" because of what death has wraught in her.
I love this poem. Sometimes I think this poem saved my life. The first stanza perfectly captures what it feels like to be locked in your own emotion, with only empty and white on all sides. To not be able to see the end of your internal winter. And then to have the poem turn around the way it does and suddenly become a celebration of self? A broken and weeping and joyous acknowledgement that even though you are so fucking fucked up, you are also so perfect that you, by yourself, can "cancel the count" of "all the muffled and dumb creatures in the world's full reserve."
When I am at my bottom rung, I have a few things I say to myself to rally.
When life is hard, I remember Shirley Keeldar from Charlotte Bronte's Shirley and how she faced the world with a man's determination and summoned her strength by the name, "Captain Keeldar."
When life is nearly impossible, I lay on my bed and try to remember to "be the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang."
Be ahead of all parting, as though it already were
behind you, like the winter that has just gone by.
For among those winters there is one so endlessly winter
that only by wintering through it will your heart survive.
Be forever dead in Eurydice - more gladly arise
into the seamless life proclaimed in your song.
Here in the realm of decline, among momentary days,
be the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang.
Be - and yet know the great void where all things begin,
the infinite source of your own most intense vibration,
so that, this once, you may give it your perfect assent.
To all that is used-up, and to all the muffled and dumb
creatures in the world's full reserve, the unsayable sums,
joyfully add yourself, and cancel the count.
I pulled my Stephen Mitchell translations of Rilke's work off the shelf today, because I'd been thinking about this poem. I re-read this one and Eurydice tonight. He loves that story, ol Rilke. I think he liked the idea of being one's same self, yet irrecoverably altered.Orpheus sees the woman he loves in the woman he tries to save, but she cannot come back to him. Death has changed who she is in a fundamental way. She is "forever dead"; she can both "be - and yet know" because of what death has wraught in her.
I love this poem. Sometimes I think this poem saved my life. The first stanza perfectly captures what it feels like to be locked in your own emotion, with only empty and white on all sides. To not be able to see the end of your internal winter. And then to have the poem turn around the way it does and suddenly become a celebration of self? A broken and weeping and joyous acknowledgement that even though you are so fucking fucked up, you are also so perfect that you, by yourself, can "cancel the count" of "all the muffled and dumb creatures in the world's full reserve."
When I am at my bottom rung, I have a few things I say to myself to rally.
When life is hard, I remember Shirley Keeldar from Charlotte Bronte's Shirley and how she faced the world with a man's determination and summoned her strength by the name, "Captain Keeldar."
When life is nearly impossible, I lay on my bed and try to remember to "be the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang."
Saturday, September 8
Your Woman
Maria and I had a conversation last night about our women: our female singer/songwriters who connect with us in a way no one else does. I am sure it comes as no surprise to anyone who reads my blog that mine is Mary Chapin Carpenter. Maria's is Joni Mitchell. Beth says her sane one is Bonnie Raitt and her dark one is Nina Simone.
What I realized yesterday is that I don't share my relationship with MCC with anyone else. I fell in love with Fall Out Boy with Tessie, Ali and I rocked out to Mumford and Sons before I turned around and shared them with Mona and Gus and John. But MCC is different. My mother and I talk about her and go to her concerts together and listen to her music together and connect through her, but when I think about MCC I don't immediately think about my mother. I think about me and Chapin, how her music has always been there for me, how she understands me in a continual and powerful way.
When I was talking about her music yesterday, I said: "I use her songs like other people use medicine; sometimes I need it and sometimes it just makes me a little bit better."
What I realized yesterday is that I don't share my relationship with MCC with anyone else. I fell in love with Fall Out Boy with Tessie, Ali and I rocked out to Mumford and Sons before I turned around and shared them with Mona and Gus and John. But MCC is different. My mother and I talk about her and go to her concerts together and listen to her music together and connect through her, but when I think about MCC I don't immediately think about my mother. I think about me and Chapin, how her music has always been there for me, how she understands me in a continual and powerful way.
When I was talking about her music yesterday, I said: "I use her songs like other people use medicine; sometimes I need it and sometimes it just makes me a little bit better."
Friday, September 7
Beautifuk
When I was in high school, I salvaged a typewriter at the flea market. It was gorgeous. I cherished it. I bought new ink spools for it and promptly typed up every thought I had for a whole summer.
At one point during this summer, my mother wanted to write me a nice note so she started to type, "Olivia Murphy's life is beautiful." Instead, she hit the wrong key on the last letter and wrote, "Olivia Murphy's life is beautifuk." I have this strip of paper taped above my bed at home.
I've been thinking about the term "beautifuk" a lot recently because I'm thinking that is indeed my life right now. It's everyone's life, always. It is so. fucked. up. and so heartbreakingly beautiful at the same beautifully fucked up time. Utterly beautifuk.
After the show tonight, I had a glass of wine with Samantha and Beth and John and then us ladies walked around PICA's TBA Festival, handing out flyers for our Spectacle March. It was wonderful and I felt so full of the magic that this show is and I bought kalamata olives on my way home and now, somehow, I'm here: swirling in my negativity, listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter like I expect her to fix me. I spent separate and distinct parts of today angry, exhausted, charmed, stressed, thrilled, confused, overjoyed and hopeless. I look back at days like today and know why it is that we can't have a real word for how horrid and fabulous 23 can be.
At one point during this summer, my mother wanted to write me a nice note so she started to type, "Olivia Murphy's life is beautiful." Instead, she hit the wrong key on the last letter and wrote, "Olivia Murphy's life is beautifuk." I have this strip of paper taped above my bed at home.
I've been thinking about the term "beautifuk" a lot recently because I'm thinking that is indeed my life right now. It's everyone's life, always. It is so. fucked. up. and so heartbreakingly beautiful at the same beautifully fucked up time. Utterly beautifuk.
After the show tonight, I had a glass of wine with Samantha and Beth and John and then us ladies walked around PICA's TBA Festival, handing out flyers for our Spectacle March. It was wonderful and I felt so full of the magic that this show is and I bought kalamata olives on my way home and now, somehow, I'm here: swirling in my negativity, listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter like I expect her to fix me. I spent separate and distinct parts of today angry, exhausted, charmed, stressed, thrilled, confused, overjoyed and hopeless. I look back at days like today and know why it is that we can't have a real word for how horrid and fabulous 23 can be.
Sunday, September 2
Lost
"At first I felt lonely, tired, ... maybe a little more lost than usual, but soon I got lost in a good way, with a book, which is also to get found, and my staunchest lifelong light."
- Anne Lamott, Some Assembly Required
- Anne Lamott, Some Assembly Required
Saturday, September 1
Friday, August 31
On: Getting Better (Far Away Tech - Day 5)
You know what got better tonight? THE MOTHER FUCKING MARCH, THAT'S WHAT.
It was awesome. We've had 15 marchers and there were enough that the drummer made it outside and there were still people coming through the doorway. There were people of all sizes, including children. They shuffled along, crossing the work space and the home space without looking up in these looming hats. Our drummer lead them, head up, cigarette between his teeth, grinning. Creepy as FUCK.
I loved it.
But that's me, you know? I love the get-in-your-face kind of stuff. I love the shit that makes you grab the person next you without even realize you're grabbing them. And I love that I'm a part of making that experience for someone.
Tonight, my director got an email from someone who lives near the theater. They said:
"I would kindly like to ask that you stop the snare drumming. It hardly seems necessary to have drumming run the length of the block or to occur outside the confines of your studio. I'm not trying to be a crotchety grump but it is seriously unpleasant."
Sam's response?
"I'll explain and offer her comps. And then she'll just have to deal."
I fucking love my job. And THAT ladies and gentlemen, is it getting better.
It was awesome. We've had 15 marchers and there were enough that the drummer made it outside and there were still people coming through the doorway. There were people of all sizes, including children. They shuffled along, crossing the work space and the home space without looking up in these looming hats. Our drummer lead them, head up, cigarette between his teeth, grinning. Creepy as FUCK.
I loved it.
But that's me, you know? I love the get-in-your-face kind of stuff. I love the shit that makes you grab the person next you without even realize you're grabbing them. And I love that I'm a part of making that experience for someone.
Tonight, my director got an email from someone who lives near the theater. They said:
"I would kindly like to ask that you stop the snare drumming. It hardly seems necessary to have drumming run the length of the block or to occur outside the confines of your studio. I'm not trying to be a crotchety grump but it is seriously unpleasant."
Sam's response?
"I'll explain and offer her comps. And then she'll just have to deal."
I fucking love my job. And THAT ladies and gentlemen, is it getting better.
Thursday, August 30
Wednesday, August 29
On: Getting Better (Far Away Tech - Day 3)
Laughter always makes things better, I've found. Today was a stressful one at my day job and a frustrating one at tech, which means it felt extra long and I was a little cranky.
It doesn't mean I didn't laugh though. Say what you will about theater, I don't know that any other career will you have you in stitches half as severely or a quarter as often.
Director: "Do you work better with threats or rewards?"
Actor: "... Honesty?"
"John, you just missed the best impression of you I have ever seen."
Shouted from another room: "Did she do the monkey thing?"
Director: "Are you nervous yet?"
Me: "I was already nervous. I was nervous this morning; I slept walked; I was nervous last week."
Director: "Well, it's okay. It's not like anybody's coming."
"Samantha, you should not have to be taught how to mock your own children."
Also, this is funny - apparently I'm friends with someone who thinks Hufflepuff is cool.
N.B. This topic seems a little silly now, since everyone around me seems to be getting sick.
It doesn't mean I didn't laugh though. Say what you will about theater, I don't know that any other career will you have you in stitches half as severely or a quarter as often.
Director: "Do you work better with threats or rewards?"
Actor: "... Honesty?"
"John, you just missed the best impression of you I have ever seen."
Shouted from another room: "Did she do the monkey thing?"
Director: "Are you nervous yet?"
Me: "I was already nervous. I was nervous this morning; I slept walked; I was nervous last week."
Director: "Well, it's okay. It's not like anybody's coming."
"Samantha, you should not have to be taught how to mock your own children."
Also, this is funny - apparently I'm friends with someone who thinks Hufflepuff is cool.
N.B. This topic seems a little silly now, since everyone around me seems to be getting sick.
Tuesday, August 28
On: Getting Better (Far Away Tech - Day 2)
Today was much smoother than yesterday - so that got better.
I went out for drinks with my director (whom I am enamored of) and my newly-ultra-good friends and didn't stress about being out late or spending money I don't have - not neccesarily better but nice.
I feel confident about performing in front of an audience and we don't have one for another two days - WAAAY better.
And now, I'm going to stop being awake and start being asleep, which will be much better.
I went out for drinks with my director (whom I am enamored of) and my newly-ultra-good friends and didn't stress about being out late or spending money I don't have - not neccesarily better but nice.
I feel confident about performing in front of an audience and we don't have one for another two days - WAAAY better.
And now, I'm going to stop being awake and start being asleep, which will be much better.
Monday, August 27
On: Getting Better (Far Away Tech - Day 1)
Hello dear readers and welcome to August's rendition of: The Tech Week Blogs.
(Luckily there will be no such posting in September because I'm not in tech again until October after this. Hooray!)
This time my subject will be: Getting Better.
And today, it will be written in three parts.
I.
I picked this topic because it's been pretty prevalent in my life right now. I'm trying to get better about how think and how I feel and tech is, in essence, about the process of getting better.
Everyone gets to walk around on stage talk about how to make it better. The actors put on the costumes and then everyone looks at them and talk about how to make them better. The designers turn on their lamps and their amps and everyone stands around and points at them and jiggles them and figures out how to make them better. I comprehend all of this process and am (generally) really understanding when it comes to giving designers the time they need to get better. The actors have four weeks of rehearsal to get better and the designers have four days; I'm sensitive to the inequality. That is, except for myself. We tech-ed the whole show this afternoon and after we came back from dinner, we had our first tech run. I blew nearly every cue. I ran the wrong fader, started the music too slow, cut off somebody's line. By the middle I was ready to shut the whole thing down and start over again. My good friend is my light/sound designer/composer on this show and after that run he came over to give me some calling notes. I said something like, "Oh? Not seeing your design represented on stage at all wasn't what you wanted??" He looked at me and was like, "Olivia. It was your first time." Which is very true.
SO: I need to get better at giving myself time to get better.
II.
Later, after the actors had all gone home, my light/sound designer/composer/friend and my director and I were all chatting and the topic of children came up. Cameron mentioned how he would teach his son to never use the word "bitch" and I, suddenly, had a perfect vision of what Cameron's son would be like. Without thinking I blurted out, "Ohh! I want to babysit little Cameron." And he started to respond with, "Yes! Auntie Olivia!" at the same time that I concluded with "...since I won't have any children of my own."
Honestly? I should have stopped at "I want to babysit." I know that. I know that. I could have been pleased at the concept of being "Auntie Olivia," we could have joked about me giving his kids liquor or tattoos and then neither Cameron nor Samantha would have to actually hear me express all the shit that is swirling around in my head. Because the truth is, no one needs to hear that kind of stuff from me unless they are a therapist or my mother. I was tired and I like these two people quite a bit and so I let my guard down and it just happened. I shouldn't have. It was foolish and weak, really.
SO: there's another thing to get better at. I need to shut it down. I need to stop speaking it and I need to stop thinking it: the hopelessness, the self-pity, the randomly recent realization that poverty and exhaustion are the shining pillars of my future.
III.
I got home tonight and all my roommates were cuddled up with their boyfriends in their rooms so I went down to my room, sans boyfriend, feeling oh-so-very sans boyfriend. But when I sat down and took a deep breath, two wonderful things happened.
First, I found a note that my good friend from college and recent house guest had left me on my pillow that said:
"This torn sheet of paper looks oddly like the State of Vermont.
Thank you for your endless hospitality. And all of the hot sex.
I'll be downtown tomorrow and Tuesday most likely so say hi.
I love you and you doin' okay gurl!
FUCK THA POLICE."
Then I went online and my good friend from high school sent me an instant message with just this link in it: http://i.imgur.com/FgyUM.gif
I opened it feeling fairly grumpy and almost spit my gum out as I laughed.
SO: the point is, I have plenty of boy friends and they love me and I love them and lo-and-fucking-behold, the night got better.
(Luckily there will be no such posting in September because I'm not in tech again until October after this. Hooray!)
This time my subject will be: Getting Better.
And today, it will be written in three parts.
I.
I picked this topic because it's been pretty prevalent in my life right now. I'm trying to get better about how think and how I feel and tech is, in essence, about the process of getting better.
Everyone gets to walk around on stage talk about how to make it better. The actors put on the costumes and then everyone looks at them and talk about how to make them better. The designers turn on their lamps and their amps and everyone stands around and points at them and jiggles them and figures out how to make them better. I comprehend all of this process and am (generally) really understanding when it comes to giving designers the time they need to get better. The actors have four weeks of rehearsal to get better and the designers have four days; I'm sensitive to the inequality. That is, except for myself. We tech-ed the whole show this afternoon and after we came back from dinner, we had our first tech run. I blew nearly every cue. I ran the wrong fader, started the music too slow, cut off somebody's line. By the middle I was ready to shut the whole thing down and start over again. My good friend is my light/sound designer/composer on this show and after that run he came over to give me some calling notes. I said something like, "Oh? Not seeing your design represented on stage at all wasn't what you wanted??" He looked at me and was like, "Olivia. It was your first time." Which is very true.
SO: I need to get better at giving myself time to get better.
II.
Later, after the actors had all gone home, my light/sound designer/composer/friend and my director and I were all chatting and the topic of children came up. Cameron mentioned how he would teach his son to never use the word "bitch" and I, suddenly, had a perfect vision of what Cameron's son would be like. Without thinking I blurted out, "Ohh! I want to babysit little Cameron." And he started to respond with, "Yes! Auntie Olivia!" at the same time that I concluded with "...since I won't have any children of my own."
Honestly? I should have stopped at "I want to babysit." I know that. I know that. I could have been pleased at the concept of being "Auntie Olivia," we could have joked about me giving his kids liquor or tattoos and then neither Cameron nor Samantha would have to actually hear me express all the shit that is swirling around in my head. Because the truth is, no one needs to hear that kind of stuff from me unless they are a therapist or my mother. I was tired and I like these two people quite a bit and so I let my guard down and it just happened. I shouldn't have. It was foolish and weak, really.
SO: there's another thing to get better at. I need to shut it down. I need to stop speaking it and I need to stop thinking it: the hopelessness, the self-pity, the randomly recent realization that poverty and exhaustion are the shining pillars of my future.
III.
I got home tonight and all my roommates were cuddled up with their boyfriends in their rooms so I went down to my room, sans boyfriend, feeling oh-so-very sans boyfriend. But when I sat down and took a deep breath, two wonderful things happened.
First, I found a note that my good friend from college and recent house guest had left me on my pillow that said:
"This torn sheet of paper looks oddly like the State of Vermont.
Thank you for your endless hospitality. And all of the hot sex.
I'll be downtown tomorrow and Tuesday most likely so say hi.
I love you and you doin' okay gurl!
FUCK THA POLICE."
Then I went online and my good friend from high school sent me an instant message with just this link in it: http://i.imgur.com/FgyUM.gif
I opened it feeling fairly grumpy and almost spit my gum out as I laughed.
SO: the point is, I have plenty of boy friends and they love me and I love them and lo-and-fucking-behold, the night got better.
Friday, August 24
Sayings
I've collected a lot of wonderful quotes lately and I've been keeping them to myself, like a dirty little fabulous-things-hog. I've finally decided to share some of my gems.
"I promise to never spell check your notes again."
"You know how guys are like, 'Nyah, nyah, nyah, I want you, I want you, I want you' and you just have to say 'RELAX.'"
On seeing the artistic director hula dance a little while he played the ukulele:
"I always thought you were cute but now I know you're adorable. I think I'm a little in love."
Pretending to check her iPad in a futuristic dictatorship, an actress mutters:
"No new messages - everybody's dead."
Fourteen year old girl to an adult, male, cast-mate in rehearsal:
"I'm going to take this hat off so I don't break it and then I am going to come and kill you."
A costume designer mentioned a fitting to his stage manager and, seeing the confusion cross her face realized he had forgotten to tell anyone about this fitting. Reflecting, he said:
"Oh, that is not a face I should ever see on a stage manager."
Kelly was asked who would win the fight Olivia v. Jeff Seats (my theater's resident set designer):
"That would go on for days. Days. I would leave and stop caring."
And finally:
"I believe all things to be real until designated otherwise."
"I promise to never spell check your notes again."
"You know how guys are like, 'Nyah, nyah, nyah, I want you, I want you, I want you' and you just have to say 'RELAX.'"
On seeing the artistic director hula dance a little while he played the ukulele:
"I always thought you were cute but now I know you're adorable. I think I'm a little in love."
Pretending to check her iPad in a futuristic dictatorship, an actress mutters:
"No new messages - everybody's dead."
Fourteen year old girl to an adult, male, cast-mate in rehearsal:
"I'm going to take this hat off so I don't break it and then I am going to come and kill you."
A costume designer mentioned a fitting to his stage manager and, seeing the confusion cross her face realized he had forgotten to tell anyone about this fitting. Reflecting, he said:
"Oh, that is not a face I should ever see on a stage manager."
Kelly was asked who would win the fight Olivia v. Jeff Seats (my theater's resident set designer):
"That would go on for days. Days. I would leave and stop caring."
And finally:
"I believe all things to be real until designated otherwise."
Wednesday, August 22
Work
Somedays, like yesterday, I decide that going to rehearsal is the bane of my existence and that I'd much rather do absolutely do anything besides this for forever, please.
And then somedays, like today, I realize that what I love is something incredible and The Universe has given me the biggest gift The Universe can possibly give, which is to fulfill you (a lot) and pay you (a little) at the very same time.
I am working on a production of Far Away right now with the tiniest theater I've worked with since moving to Portland. I am receiving the smallest amount of money I've ever accepted for a professional gig. There are almost no rules at this theater and we've spent the last month kinda of knitting a play together out of text, imagination, love, spare time, and actual yarn. We go into tech on Sunday and I have no real idea what to expect, simply because this process has been so unorthodox. But at the end of rehearsal tonight, as my director gave notes and I re-set all our props, I looked back over my shoulder at a small folding table with five people sitting at it, at a riser covered in preposterous hats, and at a wall lined with hand-made, woolen, art installations and I thought, "Wow, Universe. You've dealt me a really fucking good hand."
Usually, I have a stupidly hard time looking at my life and being grateful. It is really easy to look at what everyone else has and pout. It's even easier to look at yourself and say, "Who the fuck is this bitch?" in a very nasty voice. So I'm glad that, even for a tiny moment tonight, I was able to stop pouting.
And then somedays, like today, I realize that what I love is something incredible and The Universe has given me the biggest gift The Universe can possibly give, which is to fulfill you (a lot) and pay you (a little) at the very same time.
I am working on a production of Far Away right now with the tiniest theater I've worked with since moving to Portland. I am receiving the smallest amount of money I've ever accepted for a professional gig. There are almost no rules at this theater and we've spent the last month kinda of knitting a play together out of text, imagination, love, spare time, and actual yarn. We go into tech on Sunday and I have no real idea what to expect, simply because this process has been so unorthodox. But at the end of rehearsal tonight, as my director gave notes and I re-set all our props, I looked back over my shoulder at a small folding table with five people sitting at it, at a riser covered in preposterous hats, and at a wall lined with hand-made, woolen, art installations and I thought, "Wow, Universe. You've dealt me a really fucking good hand."
Usually, I have a stupidly hard time looking at my life and being grateful. It is really easy to look at what everyone else has and pout. It's even easier to look at yourself and say, "Who the fuck is this bitch?" in a very nasty voice. So I'm glad that, even for a tiny moment tonight, I was able to stop pouting.
Sunday, August 19
Tuesday, August 14
California in T -1 day
Okay, more like... 8 hours. Cause I plan to be across the border by 10a, LATEST.
(Also - Samantha Van Der Merwe has entirely stolen my heart. We just hung out for like, an hour, after rehearsal, talking in British accents and drinking from a $75 bottle of red wine that someone gave us. We kept on looking at each other and going "SHIT. This is EXCELLENT."
And earlier today she said: "What do you do at the end of the world? You find your loved ones, you get drunk, maybe you kill each other.")
California: I'm coming home.
(Also - Samantha Van Der Merwe has entirely stolen my heart. We just hung out for like, an hour, after rehearsal, talking in British accents and drinking from a $75 bottle of red wine that someone gave us. We kept on looking at each other and going "SHIT. This is EXCELLENT."
And earlier today she said: "What do you do at the end of the world? You find your loved ones, you get drunk, maybe you kill each other.")
Sunday, August 12
3
I called The Shmank today and he picked up the phone and immediately said: "Let me guess - you're drunk."
I called Caroline today and I said: "Don't worry, I'm fine."
And she said: "You don't have to be, you know."
That was the nicest thing someone has said to me in a while.
And my newest t-shirt idea?
I'm gonna get a picture of a wheel-barrow and change the front wheel to a circular picture of my face. Probably rotated so it looks like it's rolling with the whole barrow. That way everyone can know that I am always the third wheel. CLEVER, RIGHT?!
I'm pretty fucking hilarious. You should read my blog.
I called Caroline today and I said: "Don't worry, I'm fine."
And she said: "You don't have to be, you know."
That was the nicest thing someone has said to me in a while.
And my newest t-shirt idea?
I'm gonna get a picture of a wheel-barrow and change the front wheel to a circular picture of my face. Probably rotated so it looks like it's rolling with the whole barrow. That way everyone can know that I am always the third wheel. CLEVER, RIGHT?!
I'm pretty fucking hilarious. You should read my blog.
Friday, August 10
Thursday, August 9
Things I learned from Gail Carson Levine
... are numerous.
Despite the fact that I blame her entirely for my total lack of love life purely because she introduced me to Prince Charmont at the tender age of eight and I have been looking for him ever since - despite that, which is no small matter, I owe Gail Carson Levine quite a lot.
The summer I turned eight years old I had three prized possesions:
1. My copy of N*SYNC's No Strings Attached CD
2. The teal boombox I bought from K-Mart after months and months of saving
3. Gail Carson Levine's Ella Enchanted
I brought these things everywhere with me. I listened to that CD at least 1,000 times and I read that book, cover to cover, at least 100 times. I would finish and flip right back to the front, immersing myself in Ella's world of Kyrria all over again.
I learned a lot of things that summer. I learned about a young girl's power of spirit, about the importance of wit, about love that demands sacrifice. I learned how to think about other people and how to deny yourself. I also became the biggest expert on Orges living at 270 Bahr Dr.
So - fast forward fifteen years and zoom in on Current Me, crossing through the Whole Foods parking lot, after having bought lunch for my boss and the designer and director she was in a meeting with. I was, as is my wont, thinking about someone and I remembered something from Ella Enchanted.
After Ella has lost Char, she remembers what she loved most about their time together. She was always able to charm him, which pleased her, but what really brought her joy was when she could surprise him. She wielded her wit like another girl would bat her eyelashes and what Ella loved most was to try to charm him, to strive to make him laugh, to really work to show him a side of her personality he hadn't seen before. When she could bring out that startled laugh of his, she knew she'd captured his attention.
Today I noticed that he seem focused on something other than what was going on and I asked if he was alright. He said, "I'm in pain and breathing through it." I responded, "Mental pain or physical pain?" He gave me one of Char's startled laughs in return, surprised by my question. I got a smile too and he said, "Physical pain."
Like Ella, that was the best for me.
Despite the fact that I blame her entirely for my total lack of love life purely because she introduced me to Prince Charmont at the tender age of eight and I have been looking for him ever since - despite that, which is no small matter, I owe Gail Carson Levine quite a lot.
The summer I turned eight years old I had three prized possesions:
1. My copy of N*SYNC's No Strings Attached CD
2. The teal boombox I bought from K-Mart after months and months of saving
3. Gail Carson Levine's Ella Enchanted
I brought these things everywhere with me. I listened to that CD at least 1,000 times and I read that book, cover to cover, at least 100 times. I would finish and flip right back to the front, immersing myself in Ella's world of Kyrria all over again.
I learned a lot of things that summer. I learned about a young girl's power of spirit, about the importance of wit, about love that demands sacrifice. I learned how to think about other people and how to deny yourself. I also became the biggest expert on Orges living at 270 Bahr Dr.
So - fast forward fifteen years and zoom in on Current Me, crossing through the Whole Foods parking lot, after having bought lunch for my boss and the designer and director she was in a meeting with. I was, as is my wont, thinking about someone and I remembered something from Ella Enchanted.
After Ella has lost Char, she remembers what she loved most about their time together. She was always able to charm him, which pleased her, but what really brought her joy was when she could surprise him. She wielded her wit like another girl would bat her eyelashes and what Ella loved most was to try to charm him, to strive to make him laugh, to really work to show him a side of her personality he hadn't seen before. When she could bring out that startled laugh of his, she knew she'd captured his attention.
Today I noticed that he seem focused on something other than what was going on and I asked if he was alright. He said, "I'm in pain and breathing through it." I responded, "Mental pain or physical pain?" He gave me one of Char's startled laughs in return, surprised by my question. I got a smile too and he said, "Physical pain."
Like Ella, that was the best for me.
Tuesday, August 7
California: T -7 days
When I came home tonight, the entirety of Portland Actor's Ensemble's Twelfth Night was in my living room. I gave hugs, kissed the tops of heads and made my rounds till I reached someone I relatively just met, who asked, "How was your day?"
The honest answer is: "Awesome. I worked at a day job I love and am lucky to have, ate a dinner I made for myself that was both good for me and tasty and then I went to my night job, which I love more than my day job and now I'm home and a ton of people I like are in my living room."
What I said was: "Um, okay."
My theory is that I said that, and felt that, and meant that because I am tired. Not I-didn't-sleep-enough-last-night-tired but I-need-to-do-something-other-than-work-and-work-related-activities-for-a-period-of-longer-than-twenty-four-hours- tired. Just because I love my work doesn't mean I can't treat it like, well, it's work. Because it is. And if anyone who does not work in theater wants to have a conversation with me about how what I do is solely fun, I will gladly have that conversation... at one in the morning when I'm done working.
The point is: Maria and I and maybe her cast member Danielle and maybe my friend Kailyn are leaving for California in seven days. My excitement levels are already approaching Category 5 winds, so I don't even want to think about how antsy I'll be by the time this baby makes landfall, if you get my drift.
On my drive home tonight I started to plan road trip car snack. SEVEN DAYS TOO EARLY, MURPHY. My brain don't care.
In seven days I will be going 70 mph heading like a bullet for Santa Cruz, California.
(That, in case you missed it, was my wailing that Phantom Planet song.)
The honest answer is: "Awesome. I worked at a day job I love and am lucky to have, ate a dinner I made for myself that was both good for me and tasty and then I went to my night job, which I love more than my day job and now I'm home and a ton of people I like are in my living room."
What I said was: "Um, okay."
My theory is that I said that, and felt that, and meant that because I am tired. Not I-didn't-sleep-enough-last-night-tired but I-need-to-do-something-other-than-work-and-work-related-activities-for-a-period-of-longer-than-twenty-four-hours- tired. Just because I love my work doesn't mean I can't treat it like, well, it's work. Because it is. And if anyone who does not work in theater wants to have a conversation with me about how what I do is solely fun, I will gladly have that conversation... at one in the morning when I'm done working.
The point is: Maria and I and maybe her cast member Danielle and maybe my friend Kailyn are leaving for California in seven days. My excitement levels are already approaching Category 5 winds, so I don't even want to think about how antsy I'll be by the time this baby makes landfall, if you get my drift.
On my drive home tonight I started to plan road trip car snack. SEVEN DAYS TOO EARLY, MURPHY. My brain don't care.
In seven days I will be going 70 mph heading like a bullet for Santa Cruz, California.
Caaaaaaliiiiiifffoooooorrrrnniiiiaaaaaaa, coooooommiiiiinnnnn HOOOOOOOMMMMEEEEEEEEE.
(That, in case you missed it, was my wailing that Phantom Planet song.)
Sunday, August 5
Friday, August 3
Thursday, August 2
Aaron Sorkin
BREAKS MY MOTHER FUCKING HEART.
No, actually, after I watched ep5 of The Newsroom tonight I lay on my couch and convulsed in loud, tear-less, sobs. Maria was sitting next to me kind of patting my head while I wailed.
I want to live in an Aaron Sorkin show. I want to run about and care tremendously about what I do and drink and fall stupidly in love and be very smart and threaten people and mean it and confess myself to people and mean it and invest my whole self into something heroic.
I want my work-week to be an Aaron Sorkin show and my weekends to be a country song.
No, actually, after I watched ep5 of The Newsroom tonight I lay on my couch and convulsed in loud, tear-less, sobs. Maria was sitting next to me kind of patting my head while I wailed.
I want to live in an Aaron Sorkin show. I want to run about and care tremendously about what I do and drink and fall stupidly in love and be very smart and threaten people and mean it and confess myself to people and mean it and invest my whole self into something heroic.
I want my work-week to be an Aaron Sorkin show and my weekends to be a country song.
Tuesday, July 31
Happy Monday
Somethings that made me happy today:
"I'm Odd Todd."
"No. No. The audience has to fall in love with you."
"Why can't they love Odd Todd?"
"I drew hats all night."
"With my face on them?"
"Just what I fantasize your penis looks like."
"So, small hats then?"
"Decorative."
"I love you. Marry me. Don't leave. Ever. You're the best person I've ever met. God dammit."
We three at the Duke house are now the low class spice girls: thrifty spice, clepto spice and spacey spice.
Also guest starring cooky spice, choppy spice, drinky spice, drunky spice, hungry spice, sleepy spice, slutty spice, shut-the-fuck-up spice and others: coming to a hot mess near you
"I'm Odd Todd."
"No. No. The audience has to fall in love with you."
"Why can't they love Odd Todd?"
"I drew hats all night."
"With my face on them?"
"Just what I fantasize your penis looks like."
"So, small hats then?"
"Decorative."
"I love you. Marry me. Don't leave. Ever. You're the best person I've ever met. God dammit."
We three at the Duke house are now the low class spice girls: thrifty spice, clepto spice and spacey spice.
Also guest starring cooky spice, choppy spice, drinky spice, drunky spice, hungry spice, sleepy spice, slutty spice, shut-the-fuck-up spice and others: coming to a hot mess near you
Thursday, July 26
Bennington
Maybe I love my alma mater more than is usual/neccesary/normal.
But this video breaks my heart.
But this video breaks my heart.
Tuesday, July 24
Vanity Glasses
Okay, guys, this is my biggest hipster weakness cause I gotta say: I love 'em. I just do. I love the way they look on me, I love how I feel when I wear them, I love them as an accessory. Yes, take me out back and have me shot by a firing squad in skinny jeans and pendelton plaid, by all means. I just, I don't know. I love vanity glasses.
I had a pair once that were my pride and joy. Black and rectangular, I bought them on the Lower East Side (St. Mark's, of course) in winter of 2009 and I wore them all the time. The following summer, when I worked as a receptionist at State Farm, I pretended they were real glasses and I wore them to work everyday. I took pains to remember to put them on before reading a document someone handed me, just so it would seem like I really needed them. On days when I forgot them I would complain of headaches, or rub the bridge of my nose and squint, as if being without them was a problem. I broke this pair while out at a club in Buenos Aires and I never found a pair to replace them.
UNTIL TODAY.
Mona sent me a package today, containing a purse I had let her borrow and a new pair of vanity glasses. Guys, I'm going to be completely honest right now: I lost my shit. I did. These were beautiful and exciting and looked great on me and in my very favorite color! I pranced around the house, squealing like a My Little Pony on coke.
And, as no Vanity Glasses Ownership is ever official until some vanity shots are done, here are some pics of the new babies:
I had a pair once that were my pride and joy. Black and rectangular, I bought them on the Lower East Side (St. Mark's, of course) in winter of 2009 and I wore them all the time. The following summer, when I worked as a receptionist at State Farm, I pretended they were real glasses and I wore them to work everyday. I took pains to remember to put them on before reading a document someone handed me, just so it would seem like I really needed them. On days when I forgot them I would complain of headaches, or rub the bridge of my nose and squint, as if being without them was a problem. I broke this pair while out at a club in Buenos Aires and I never found a pair to replace them.
UNTIL TODAY.
Mona sent me a package today, containing a purse I had let her borrow and a new pair of vanity glasses. Guys, I'm going to be completely honest right now: I lost my shit. I did. These were beautiful and exciting and looked great on me and in my very favorite color! I pranced around the house, squealing like a My Little Pony on coke.
And, as no Vanity Glasses Ownership is ever official until some vanity shots are done, here are some pics of the new babies:
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