Good News!
I just got cast as Regan in Boomerang's production of King Lear! I'm ready to wreak some havoc, kill some servants, drink some poison and possibly, if I can con a certain prop master into sharing a secret, bloody (non-peanut-butter-based) recipe, steal an idea given to me by a certain fight choreographer which ends up looking a little bit like this (sort of).
[for those of you who are not me and don't get my references, (even after following the links, bless your hearts) my friend Dan said that he saw a production of Lear that, when Regan takes out Gloucester's eyes, Gloucester didn't get all bloody, but Regan's hands did. Which I thought was pretty sweet and gross. And since a lot of stage blood is made out of peanut butter, and I eat peanut butter like I don't have a costume to fit into, I'd need a recipe that Sean was touting, that's made out of chocolate. Although maybe I could mix the two and just spend Act Five licking my bloody, eyebally fingers! Yum!]
ANYWAY, the best part of all of this is that, in doing some research on the play, I came across this page about Lear. Which I didn't read -- truthfully, I was just looking for pictures to start out. But I scrolled all the way down to the bottom in my pictorial quest. And I met Pathology Guy.
And I followed him to his home page. Where he's got a lot to say. And since I have so little today, you should find out why he supports amateur boxing and what his photos for In the Hall of the Mountain King look like. Then translate it all into Russian. Then, translate all of this into Russian. And then call it a day. Because it's only 1:22, and I already have.
Addendum: my eyes are so allergic to something right now, I'm tempted to start practicing my eyeball-removal procedures on myself. Anybody else have this recently, and any thoughts on what I'm allergic to? (other than work of course)
Monday, May 15, 2006
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
so bored today zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I'm so bored today I can barely see straight. So I've engaged in several silly quizzes and now so can you!
First off:
You're an Passionate Kisser
(I'm AN passionate kisser?)
For you, kissing is about all about following your urges (as opposed to...?)If someone's hot, you'll go in for the kiss - end of story
(um...)You can keep any relationship hot with your steamy kisses
(well, sure, but so could a puppy)A total spark plug - your kisses are bound to get you in trouble
(wheee! trouble!)
try it yourself, hotlips(es)
You Have A Type A- Personality
A MINUS!? A MINUS?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN A MINUS??? (heh, just kidding)You are one of the most balanced people around (ohmmmm)Motivated and focused, you are good at getting what you want (like kisses, apparently)You rule at success, but success doesn't rule you. (touche, success!)When it's playtime, you really know how to kick back (and sometimes, when it's worktime, I really know how to kick back, too)Whether it's hanging out with friends or doing something you love, you live life to the fullest - encorporating the best of both worlds (this world and the next. thanks, Jesus!)
get better than an A minus... I dare you!
Your Inner Child Is Happy
(funny, I thought my inner child was hungry...)
You see life as simple, and simple is a very good thing. (unless you're talking about complex things. then it's just bad.)You're cheerful and upbeat, taking everything as it comes. (um, have you seen me in the morning?)And you decide not to worry, even when things look bad. (are these really MY answers?)You figure there's just so many great things to look forward to. (that's probably true, but none of them are here at work!!)and your inner kid is what? hungry?
And the ALL IMPORTANT:
Your Toes Should Be Red
(my toes should be that lucky)
You pretend to be an old fashioned girly girl, but you're secretly a naughty girl deep down.(see above, apparently)Your ideal guy: Tall, strong, and handsome - with a devilish twinkle in his eye.(sure, why not?)Stay away from: Nice, safe men. They won't really give you what you want!(well, I didn't know I was getting bossed around here!!)
because you REALLY want to know what color to paint your toes, don't you???
Go ahead, run rampant. Find out your gemstone. See what color your lucky underwear should be. Me? I'm off to an audition!
Tuesday, May 9, 2006
the door saga, part ii
OH MY GOD! I am so excited, I can't even stand it!
THE NEIGHBORS HAVE A NEW DOOR!
I came home last night, and to give you some perspective, this is what my door looks like:
Attractive shade of ew-I-ate-too-many-mints-and-barfed-green. Clean trim, lovely door ornament (a gift from a friend of mine almost fifteen years ago, and I've hung it in every house I've had since then). No door knob (but that's another story). You get the point.
When I got home, this is what I saw:
Note the brown edges where trim has been removed. Note the lack of clangy-ass doornament (I just made that word up). I'm seeing progress being made here!
Then, this morning when I left for work, I saw this:
THE NEIGHBORS HAVE A NEW DOOR!
I came home last night, and to give you some perspective, this is what my door looks like:
Attractive shade of ew-I-ate-too-many-mints-and-barfed-green. Clean trim, lovely door ornament (a gift from a friend of mine almost fifteen years ago, and I've hung it in every house I've had since then). No door knob (but that's another story). You get the point.
When I got home, this is what I saw:
Note the brown edges where trim has been removed. Note the lack of clangy-ass doornament (I just made that word up). I'm seeing progress being made here!
Then, this morning when I left for work, I saw this:
(Of course, when I saw it, there were two large-ish men flanking it -- one was my landlord and one was a guy in coveralls who reminded me of my father. But only because of the coveralls, because otherwise he looked NOTHING like my dad. I really wanted to take a picture of them for you to enjoy, but thought they might find it weird. Which it certainly would have been.)
I knew then that good things were afoot on the third floor at 329.
And when I came home tonight, what did I see???
OH MY GOD, A WHOLE NEW DOOR!
(Notice the lack of doorknob there, as well. I'm not entirely sure how they're supposed to get in and out of their new door, but as long as they do it quietly, I don't fucking care!!!)
And, to cap things off nicely, this was the view from my window:
It almost feels like a funeral scene, doesn't it? I think I might be broken up if that were my door out there, but since it's not, I'M HAVING A CELEBRATORY PARTY!
Farewell, sweet, sweet bangy door. I shed no tears for thee!
Monday, May 8, 2006
A-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was an allergic kind of weekend. Two main factors joined forces in the assault against my respiratory system.
#1: all the crawling around I did this weekend with the legion of dustbunnies in my parents basement. There was more cat fur and dust (and far less schwag) than I thought there could be in one family's basement. (as a sidebar, the only good stuff I got was stuff that was mine to begin with -- picture frames, bedsheets and a $10 roll of quarters from the Box Of Stuff That Used To Be In Kates Car, That Is, When She Had A Car.)
#2: the bizarro pollen shitstorm that kicked up Saturday afternoon. My sister and I were outside playing cards when the wind picked up. And my parents live on a park (see the picture below for a sense of the greenery and fyi, the gentleman in the picture has only been edited out because last time I used this picture, he got upset that I was using it. Granted, that was because I had cropped him out and used the pic on a dating site, but that's a whole nother story)
#1: all the crawling around I did this weekend with the legion of dustbunnies in my parents basement. There was more cat fur and dust (and far less schwag) than I thought there could be in one family's basement. (as a sidebar, the only good stuff I got was stuff that was mine to begin with -- picture frames, bedsheets and a $10 roll of quarters from the Box Of Stuff That Used To Be In Kates Car, That Is, When She Had A Car.)
#2: the bizarro pollen shitstorm that kicked up Saturday afternoon. My sister and I were outside playing cards when the wind picked up. And my parents live on a park (see the picture below for a sense of the greenery and fyi, the gentleman in the picture has only been edited out because last time I used this picture, he got upset that I was using it. Granted, that was because I had cropped him out and used the pic on a dating site, but that's a whole nother story)
So it's green green green there. And then the wind picks ups (blowing our card game to hell) and when we turn around to pick up the cards, this ENORMOUS, TERRIFYING green cloud is blowing off the trees. Not like leaves blowing or seedlings flying off the trees. It was sheer pollen. Not terribly unsimilar to this (just greener, and in the backyard):
Pollen (or as my brother-in-law was calling it "tree sperm") was flying EVERYWHERE! It was so heavy on the table that we could write our names in it! It was in our hair, our ears, our eyes. Imagine a whole sky full of this: 
You know how kids worry about eating apple seeds because they don't want trees to grow in their tummies? Similar fear, only in my lungs.
But, surprisingly enough, neither my mom's two cats, the basement nor the Plague of Pollen was enough to get me even a little stuffed up. Only when I returned to the city did my nose start to run, and my eyes to water and the sneezing to take over.
I shudder to think of what kind of apocalyptic shit I'm allergic to here.
Friday, May 5, 2006
one step closer to famous!
OH MY GOD! I JUST SHOOK HANDS WITH MARIO BATALI AND NOW HE KNOWS MY NAME!
And this is it after. I can sort of see a difference:
Truthfully, I don't really care about having met Mario (other than the fact that he was a pleasant and nice guy). I just wonder if this means he'll use my name when I answer the phone. Now THAT would be something to blog about.
Look closely, and maybe you can see traces of his fame clinging to me.
This is my hand before we shook (note the retarded pinky):
And this is it after. I can sort of see a difference:
Truthfully, I don't really care about having met Mario (other than the fact that he was a pleasant and nice guy). I just wonder if this means he'll use my name when I answer the phone. Now THAT would be something to blog about.
Thursday, May 4, 2006
love poetry
Pale sunlight, pale the wall.
Love moves away.
The light changes
I need more grace than I thought.
Not exactly what youd expect from a guy born in 1207, right?
Rumi [the poet] was born on the Eastern shores of the Persian Empire in 1207 (in the city of Balkh in what is now Afghanistan), and finally settled in the town of Konya, in what is now Turkey. His life story reads like a fairy tale. A charming noble man, a genius theologian, a brilliant sober scholar, meets a wandering and wild "holy man" by the name of Shams, and almost overnight is transformed. It seems that the universe brought these two opposing characters together to remind us for eternity that it is never what you expect when it comes to personal transformation.
(text borrowed from here: http://www.rumi.net/rumi_by_shiva.htm -- I can't seem to make the links work today)
I've been thinking a lot about Rumi lately, because Im feeling a little artistically uninspired by my life, and I find his poetry passionate, rousing and really chicken-soup-for-the-spirity, but not in a God-Says-You-Must-Do-This-Kind-Of-Way. Rumi just reminds me to keep at it, because its what I'm meant to do. It's almost like he wants to tell me that god wants me to do this, but he knows he can't use the big old G word with me or I'll tune out. I consider myself very spiritual (but not at all religious) and so I see the love in Rumis poetry as the love his has for his soul, for his god, or for Shams (his holy-man-soulmate), who embodies both physical and spiritual love.
In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.
To me, his love is Love (with a capital L), applying to almost any kind of love -- romantic love, physical love, spiritual love, self-love, family love, he gets it all. And it helps me get through the tough stuff (which, these days, seems to abound, but blah blah blah) and reminds me there are simple, organic loves out there, and if I cant find the out-of-reach ones, I should seek the simple ones that make my heart happy.
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now, my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.
* * *
The way of love is not
a subtle argument.
The door there
is devastation.
Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?
They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.
The simplicity of the imagery in his poetry just speaks to me, but I'm tickled by the complexity of trying to apply it to my own life. I mean, it's not like I'm in the 13th century, I'm not going to read by the fire, or arc my mallet at work (although sometimes I'm sorely tempted), but I see the metaphor, and can appreciate what he's saying.
ANYWAY, I'm no scholar (well, at least not about this) but it all just makes me really happy, and really connected to something bigger than me, so I just thought I'd share it. (also, it's a really good place to look if you want to use a poem in a valentine or love letter.)
So here's for you to enjoy (and cut and paste and send to your lovers)
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this?
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this?
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
This tall.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.
When someone doesn't believe that,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan,
they're telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky, where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
Like this.
How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?
Huuuuu.
How did Jacob's sight return?
Huuuu.
A little wind cleans the eyes.
Like this.
When Shams come back from Tabriz,
he'll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us.
Like this.
* * *
There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.
* * *
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.
I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, languages, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.
p.s. I'm not really reading this book right now, but it's a good place to start if you want more non-internet Rumi info.
Love moves away.
The light changes
I need more grace than I thought.
Not exactly what youd expect from a guy born in 1207, right?
Rumi [the poet] was born on the Eastern shores of the Persian Empire in 1207 (in the city of Balkh in what is now Afghanistan), and finally settled in the town of Konya, in what is now Turkey. His life story reads like a fairy tale. A charming noble man, a genius theologian, a brilliant sober scholar, meets a wandering and wild "holy man" by the name of Shams, and almost overnight is transformed. It seems that the universe brought these two opposing characters together to remind us for eternity that it is never what you expect when it comes to personal transformation.
(text borrowed from here: http://www.rumi.net/rumi_by_shiva.htm -- I can't seem to make the links work today)
I've been thinking a lot about Rumi lately, because Im feeling a little artistically uninspired by my life, and I find his poetry passionate, rousing and really chicken-soup-for-the-spirity, but not in a God-Says-You-Must-Do-This-Kind-Of-Way. Rumi just reminds me to keep at it, because its what I'm meant to do. It's almost like he wants to tell me that god wants me to do this, but he knows he can't use the big old G word with me or I'll tune out. I consider myself very spiritual (but not at all religious) and so I see the love in Rumis poetry as the love his has for his soul, for his god, or for Shams (his holy-man-soulmate), who embodies both physical and spiritual love.
In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.
To me, his love is Love (with a capital L), applying to almost any kind of love -- romantic love, physical love, spiritual love, self-love, family love, he gets it all. And it helps me get through the tough stuff (which, these days, seems to abound, but blah blah blah) and reminds me there are simple, organic loves out there, and if I cant find the out-of-reach ones, I should seek the simple ones that make my heart happy.
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now, my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.
* * *
The way of love is not
a subtle argument.
The door there
is devastation.
Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?
They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.
The simplicity of the imagery in his poetry just speaks to me, but I'm tickled by the complexity of trying to apply it to my own life. I mean, it's not like I'm in the 13th century, I'm not going to read by the fire, or arc my mallet at work (although sometimes I'm sorely tempted), but I see the metaphor, and can appreciate what he's saying.
ANYWAY, I'm no scholar (well, at least not about this) but it all just makes me really happy, and really connected to something bigger than me, so I just thought I'd share it. (also, it's a really good place to look if you want to use a poem in a valentine or love letter.)
So here's for you to enjoy (and cut and paste and send to your lovers)
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this?
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this?
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
This tall.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.
When someone doesn't believe that,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan,
they're telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky, where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
Like this.
How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?
Huuuuu.
How did Jacob's sight return?
Huuuu.
A little wind cleans the eyes.
Like this.
When Shams come back from Tabriz,
he'll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us.
Like this.
* * *
There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.
* * *
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.
I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, languages, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.
p.s. I'm not really reading this book right now, but it's a good place to start if you want more non-internet Rumi info.
Monday, May 1, 2006
my body (no, no naked pictures)
So I've had a love-hate relationship with my body over the last 29 years. Well, over the last 19. I don't think I really paid it much attention before 10 (when I started playing "Nude Models" with Amy Gabriel in the backyard). (yes, the back yard.) (well, at least it wasn't the font yard!)
Anyway, it's been mostly hate -- butt's too big, thigh's too jiggly, tummy's too flabby, blah blah blah. Whatever a woman's complained about, I have too. (except my feet. They're cute and little and I've always loved them, even though normal shoes never fit) But over the last few years, I've gotten myself into pretty good shape, and am actually really happy with where things are.
And wouldn't that just be when my body starts to fall apart?!
I'm too young and cute for the shit that's happening to me to be happening! First my shoulder falls apart (see "dorky new headset") and then my knee starts to get all weird, and apparently I have a Baker's cyst which makes my knee misbehave (i.e. HURT!) and make me super-gimpy. (you can see the definition here -- contrary to popular belief, it doesn't come from baking too much, but rather from a British surgeon, William Baker. Of course, the name just makes me think it's a cyst full of Tammy Faye's mascara-laden tears).
Then, to add insult to injury this weekend, I tried swimming again after a six month hiatus (for shoulder recovery) and my shoulder comes out fine, but I get a nasty calf cramp that actually makes me LIMP in the pool! Didn't think it could happen? Trust me, it ain't pretty. Especially not with grandpa in the next lane trying to outpace the hot young whippersnapper next to him (and swimming uncomfortably close to me, I may add...)
So now swimming, step aerobics, running, jumping rope, kickboxing, just about everything I do (even WALKING for crying out loud) has to be done with care.
What am I, 80?
Anyway, it's been mostly hate -- butt's too big, thigh's too jiggly, tummy's too flabby, blah blah blah. Whatever a woman's complained about, I have too. (except my feet. They're cute and little and I've always loved them, even though normal shoes never fit) But over the last few years, I've gotten myself into pretty good shape, and am actually really happy with where things are.
And wouldn't that just be when my body starts to fall apart?!
I'm too young and cute for the shit that's happening to me to be happening! First my shoulder falls apart (see "dorky new headset") and then my knee starts to get all weird, and apparently I have a Baker's cyst which makes my knee misbehave (i.e. HURT!) and make me super-gimpy. (you can see the definition here -- contrary to popular belief, it doesn't come from baking too much, but rather from a British surgeon, William Baker. Of course, the name just makes me think it's a cyst full of Tammy Faye's mascara-laden tears).
Then, to add insult to injury this weekend, I tried swimming again after a six month hiatus (for shoulder recovery) and my shoulder comes out fine, but I get a nasty calf cramp that actually makes me LIMP in the pool! Didn't think it could happen? Trust me, it ain't pretty. Especially not with grandpa in the next lane trying to outpace the hot young whippersnapper next to him (and swimming uncomfortably close to me, I may add...)
So now swimming, step aerobics, running, jumping rope, kickboxing, just about everything I do (even WALKING for crying out loud) has to be done with care.
What am I, 80?
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