I have really been enjoying my holiday season. It is so great to have my parents here. I think this knitt
ing thing could be getting rediculous. I can't stop! It's a great way to pass time on the train, and at rehearsals, but It is threatening to consume me. I am in the process of making my dad a scarf. I was so relieved when he admitted to me that although the red and blue chenile scarf was lovely and well-made, that he would rather have something more conservative. I found some great cashmereno yarn that I am in the process of knitting up as we speak. I should be done by the new year. I want to pick up the stitches on the side and knit a border so it will curl less, but I'm not sure how to do this yet.
In other news. Rehearsals are going great. We are in that newly off-book stage where nobody's sure what comes next, and the pacing goes to hell, but I'm starting to see it come together. When we come back from New Years we start doing full runs of the show. I can't wait!
The tourists are in Manhattan in full force. Eighth avenue is slower than (pardon the phrase) Christmas, and although I'm glad that people enjoy this great city and bring us all of the commerce, I'm ready for everyone to go home. I am getting really tired of tripping over people who can't figure out which way is uptown and which way is down. I hate weaving through mobs who don't understand that if there's no traffic coming you ignore the little red hand. Times Square sucks anyway, but I have to get off of the subway there, and there are sooooo many people right now it's sickening. I will not be enduring The New Year's Eve Madness. I will be safe at home with puppies, parents, and knitting enjoying a tourist free night. That's my rant.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Thursday, December 25, 2003
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Tree Panic
So here we are at the eleventh hour of Christmas preparations, and everyone else is panicking about gifts. I actually thought ahead about the gifts for my immediate family and have had those done. I had planned to set my various Christmas trinkets out and clean the house today. What I discovered this morning is that I NEEDED a tree. I realized that I couldn't possibly cope without having one. It turned out today was the day to go buy a tree and decor. Everything at Michael's was half off or better. I got a tree with the lights all woven in. I have always been a big fan of the family style hodge podge tree, but since I don't have the family ornament collection here I went with a theme tree. I did the tree in purple and white with red and gold accents. I covered it in Poinsettas in all 4 colors, and gold tassles with assorted balls. I found a purple and white angel for the top. I LOVE IT! Thank goodness for the tree. I hope you all have a very MERRY CHRISTMAS! I will write again soon.
Monday, December 22, 2003
Mistletoe and High Alert
Well my display isn't updating, but we are officially at nation wide terror alert level high. I find myself dreaming of explosions in the Lincoln Tunnel. I can tell that this morning I will be white knuckling it across the GW Bridge. I am officially terrorized. I'm not sure if this is because of terrorists or because we have such a vigilant warning system. Last night as I was driving home from Manhattan I kept wandering through scenarios of what would happen if my parents plane had been the one to be ripped from the sky. I imagined getting the kind of phone call that everyone dreads. I was truly relieved to get the call from them to say they were safely on the ground.
I love this city. I can't explain the way it felt to stand on the Long Island Sound, and feel the rumble when those towers fell. My nose still remembers the smell of that tragedy as it hung in the air, and the sight of the fire-fighter next door trudging home for many nights in his dress uniform. I hate the terror alert system. What am I going to do? Know that it could get me? Great! I get it. So in the midst of our Christmas panic, the roots are not just last minute shipping. . .Are those presents ticking?
I love this city. I can't explain the way it felt to stand on the Long Island Sound, and feel the rumble when those towers fell. My nose still remembers the smell of that tragedy as it hung in the air, and the sight of the fire-fighter next door trudging home for many nights in his dress uniform. I hate the terror alert system. What am I going to do? Know that it could get me? Great! I get it. So in the midst of our Christmas panic, the roots are not just last minute shipping. . .Are those presents ticking?
Thursday, December 18, 2003
Operation Open Up
I would consider myself to be an open and emotionally centered guy. Especially for a guy, and as long as your not trying to date me. After all, my career choice is about displaying the emotional contents of my soul publicly in a restricted scenario. (ACTING) I have always felt like I had a good instrument and methodology for accessing the marrow of my emotions and using them in my work. I have either been deluding myself for several years, or I blew the top off of this yesterday. I had a real breakthrough in class.
For those of you who do not know, and didn't figure it out in the last paragraph, I am an actor. I take a musical Interpretation class on Wednesdays with a fabulous woman named Kimberly Vaughn. This is a class that deals with the acting and performance of musical material. I have had some real trouble when it comes to singing. I get super nervous, and therfore not very good. There are many theories among acting fellows that suggest singing requires the most open vessel, namely people. One draws energy from the earth, pushing it out from their center, and using it to vibrate through the throat chakras in order to make a sound. This is a pretty intense energy flow if you think about it. If we are trying to block any of the impulse or emotion that is coming up with that energy, we begin to block the sound, and our vocal production goes down the tubes. Not to mention our storytelling. I had been doing some decent story telling in class so far, but my sound had not been up to what I thought it could be. Yesterday I learned that this is because I was limiting the emotion I allowed to come through.
Our teacher uses a grounding (or centering) method that uses principals of bio-energetics. The method is standing on a dowel with a pressure point in your foot, and leaning into it. Then you begin to rlease vocally saying "GET AWAY! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!" On the other side the release is about taking space and time and control so you say "It's MIne!" Yesterday I found that the pushing out of the negativity was a particular release. When I switched sides and began to take the good energy, I was doing the actions, but I was not saying that IT IS MINE. My teacher pointed this out and I began to focus on really claiming my space and positivity. As I did this, energy began to tingle up my feet and legs. My center got warm, and my whole back released and fell into alignment very comfortably. I felt more present, aware and open than I had in my whole life.
I began to perform the piece I was working on this week, and I found that my whole instrument was so free and open that the work was no longer work. When I stopped and recieved corrections they did not feel like attacks, and I knew instantly how to manipulate the work. My second run of the song was clear, honest, and my voice sounded like honey. It was exactly what I had been trying to do with this piece for weeks. My teacher made it a point to show me that it was the full spectrum of emotions that gave this piece the color it had just been endowed with. She said "It's ok to be ugly sometimes. Not all of our emotions are gentle and pleasing." This seemed so obvious, and yet the action of recieving permission for my darker emotions in a state of such openness made me cry. I usually would stop this crying instantly in front of a class of people. I decided to let it out. There was a flood of tears behind a dam I have built upon for a long time. The tears came, and went quickly, and when they were gone I realized that the dam was much more intense than what it was containing.
So I learned:
I am not as open as I would like to think I am.
There is a well of things that I do not share because I don't think that they are inspiring or worthy.
The fear of feelings is much worse than the actual feelings.
&
Once I arrive for the work. The work begins.
The true challenge is how to remain open and vulnerable like this. Ah the quest of an actor. For now I'm going to have more coffee and glow about my breakthrough.
For those of you who do not know, and didn't figure it out in the last paragraph, I am an actor. I take a musical Interpretation class on Wednesdays with a fabulous woman named Kimberly Vaughn. This is a class that deals with the acting and performance of musical material. I have had some real trouble when it comes to singing. I get super nervous, and therfore not very good. There are many theories among acting fellows that suggest singing requires the most open vessel, namely people. One draws energy from the earth, pushing it out from their center, and using it to vibrate through the throat chakras in order to make a sound. This is a pretty intense energy flow if you think about it. If we are trying to block any of the impulse or emotion that is coming up with that energy, we begin to block the sound, and our vocal production goes down the tubes. Not to mention our storytelling. I had been doing some decent story telling in class so far, but my sound had not been up to what I thought it could be. Yesterday I learned that this is because I was limiting the emotion I allowed to come through.
Our teacher uses a grounding (or centering) method that uses principals of bio-energetics. The method is standing on a dowel with a pressure point in your foot, and leaning into it. Then you begin to rlease vocally saying "GET AWAY! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!" On the other side the release is about taking space and time and control so you say "It's MIne!" Yesterday I found that the pushing out of the negativity was a particular release. When I switched sides and began to take the good energy, I was doing the actions, but I was not saying that IT IS MINE. My teacher pointed this out and I began to focus on really claiming my space and positivity. As I did this, energy began to tingle up my feet and legs. My center got warm, and my whole back released and fell into alignment very comfortably. I felt more present, aware and open than I had in my whole life.
I began to perform the piece I was working on this week, and I found that my whole instrument was so free and open that the work was no longer work. When I stopped and recieved corrections they did not feel like attacks, and I knew instantly how to manipulate the work. My second run of the song was clear, honest, and my voice sounded like honey. It was exactly what I had been trying to do with this piece for weeks. My teacher made it a point to show me that it was the full spectrum of emotions that gave this piece the color it had just been endowed with. She said "It's ok to be ugly sometimes. Not all of our emotions are gentle and pleasing." This seemed so obvious, and yet the action of recieving permission for my darker emotions in a state of such openness made me cry. I usually would stop this crying instantly in front of a class of people. I decided to let it out. There was a flood of tears behind a dam I have built upon for a long time. The tears came, and went quickly, and when they were gone I realized that the dam was much more intense than what it was containing.
So I learned:
I am not as open as I would like to think I am.
There is a well of things that I do not share because I don't think that they are inspiring or worthy.
The fear of feelings is much worse than the actual feelings.
&
Once I arrive for the work. The work begins.
The true challenge is how to remain open and vulnerable like this. Ah the quest of an actor. For now I'm going to have more coffee and glow about my breakthrough.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Precipitation
OK! I understand that the sky can only hold so much water before it must be returned to the earth. But for crying out loud could it please find a front that's well below freezing to drop it through? I woke up to freezing rain pouring down. I could hardly rip myself from the comfort of my bed. How does one make a rainy morning appealing? The puppies have no idea why it's rainig. They hate it. Soon I will trudge out into the wetness to battle a wet dirty city. It's Christmas time in the city?
Christmas Songs
It has officially begun. The Christmas spirit has worked its way into my heart and brain and is pouring out of my mouth. This happens to me every year, and I kind of love it. I am singing Christmas Songs. In the shower, on the street, in every train car I visit, and everywhere else I go, I am caroling at the top of my lungs to all the people not listening. My roomate says he hates Christmas songs, but I love them.
Today I was singing on the train platform with my eyes closed, when I opened them there was a little asian-american woman standing there watching and listening. It startled me a little when I opened my eyes. She asked me to keep singing. I started singing "Oh Come, Oh Come Emanuel" I was instantly transported back to high school. . .
Junior Year. I was in a jazz choir called Northern Lights, and we performed Christmas tunes all over Denver. There was one night each year that we performed at the country club in my housing development. I remember standing in the dining room singing 'Emanuel' on a cold winter night. The fire was crackling. The room was filled with well dressed smiling families. The windows had little frosted curves at the corners of the mullions and muttons, and the whole room was done in garland, holly and mistle-toe. I was singing with 19 people I loved very much. I remember feeling at that moment as though life would never get any better than that. As if that was the quintessential Christmasy moment. In my mind that moment still feels like warmth and comfort resting against cold snow. I can still smell pine logs burning, and hot apple cider. I love that memory.
When I opened my eyes the woman had a tear in hers. She said "Thanks, that made me feel like Christmas." I smiled and we got on the train. I guess there really is something to the idea of the Christmas spirit. I've found it twice now, and the experiences felt the same though they couldn't be more different.
Today I was singing on the train platform with my eyes closed, when I opened them there was a little asian-american woman standing there watching and listening. It startled me a little when I opened my eyes. She asked me to keep singing. I started singing "Oh Come, Oh Come Emanuel" I was instantly transported back to high school. . .
Junior Year. I was in a jazz choir called Northern Lights, and we performed Christmas tunes all over Denver. There was one night each year that we performed at the country club in my housing development. I remember standing in the dining room singing 'Emanuel' on a cold winter night. The fire was crackling. The room was filled with well dressed smiling families. The windows had little frosted curves at the corners of the mullions and muttons, and the whole room was done in garland, holly and mistle-toe. I was singing with 19 people I loved very much. I remember feeling at that moment as though life would never get any better than that. As if that was the quintessential Christmasy moment. In my mind that moment still feels like warmth and comfort resting against cold snow. I can still smell pine logs burning, and hot apple cider. I love that memory.
When I opened my eyes the woman had a tear in hers. She said "Thanks, that made me feel like Christmas." I smiled and we got on the train. I guess there really is something to the idea of the Christmas spirit. I've found it twice now, and the experiences felt the same though they couldn't be more different.
Monday, December 15, 2003
I'm Back!!!
I have been out of the habit of posting for almost a week now. I'm so sorry.
It snowed this morning. I woke up to find a blizzard surrounding my world with white love. The dogs and I went to play for a minute, but they got cold and we came in for treats and coffee. I settled in to a quiet morning of knitting and coffee. I also wrote a letter of reccomendation for my good friend Maryanne. I was quite worried about saying the right things, but it is so easy to write about the merrits of such a talented human being. The knitting is something I was able to take up this week with the aid of a few books. I love it. It may be a passing craze, but right now, my head is full of scarfs, hats, and eventual sweaters. So my Sunday started off absolutely lovely. Then the snow stopped. There were about six inches on the ground.
After about 20 minutes of clear skies and glistening white wonderland. The temperature broke freezing, and it began to rain. It began to pour. The heavens tore open and dumped freezing sheets of water. All of that beautiful snow became deep layers of mucky slush. This was about the time I had to leave for Manhattan. All of the Mass Transit System relies on so much walking. I usually see this as a good thing. I arrived at rehearsal with soggy pants, wet socks, drippy boots, and a pile of wet winter gear. Rehearsal was good, but the trip back was even wetter and colder than the trip there. By the time I got home, my soul felt cold and soggy.
The good news is I was home in time to watch Angels in America: Part II on HBO West. I'm so impressed with Mike Nichols vision for this project. Tony Kushner is a genius. Meryl Streep is versatil and amazing. I think Patrick Wilson (Joe) is amazing and beautiful at that, and Jeffrey Wright blows my mind. Basically I loved everything about it. What a heartbreaking, beautiful story!!!!
I'm starting to feel panicky about the impending Holiday, but I'm looking forward to it too. I hope we get more snow, and less rain.
It snowed this morning. I woke up to find a blizzard surrounding my world with white love. The dogs and I went to play for a minute, but they got cold and we came in for treats and coffee. I settled in to a quiet morning of knitting and coffee. I also wrote a letter of reccomendation for my good friend Maryanne. I was quite worried about saying the right things, but it is so easy to write about the merrits of such a talented human being. The knitting is something I was able to take up this week with the aid of a few books. I love it. It may be a passing craze, but right now, my head is full of scarfs, hats, and eventual sweaters. So my Sunday started off absolutely lovely. Then the snow stopped. There were about six inches on the ground.
After about 20 minutes of clear skies and glistening white wonderland. The temperature broke freezing, and it began to rain. It began to pour. The heavens tore open and dumped freezing sheets of water. All of that beautiful snow became deep layers of mucky slush. This was about the time I had to leave for Manhattan. All of the Mass Transit System relies on so much walking. I usually see this as a good thing. I arrived at rehearsal with soggy pants, wet socks, drippy boots, and a pile of wet winter gear. Rehearsal was good, but the trip back was even wetter and colder than the trip there. By the time I got home, my soul felt cold and soggy.
The good news is I was home in time to watch Angels in America: Part II on HBO West. I'm so impressed with Mike Nichols vision for this project. Tony Kushner is a genius. Meryl Streep is versatil and amazing. I think Patrick Wilson (Joe) is amazing and beautiful at that, and Jeffrey Wright blows my mind. Basically I loved everything about it. What a heartbreaking, beautiful story!!!!
I'm starting to feel panicky about the impending Holiday, but I'm looking forward to it too. I hope we get more snow, and less rain.
Monday, December 08, 2003
Saturday, December 06, 2003
Snow Day
It snowed all day! I wrapped the pups in their polar fleece and took them out several times. Their collective reaction to the snow goes something like this: "SNOW! SNOW! SNOw! SNoh!? S-NO! snOH MY GOD IT"S COLD. . .Let's go inside and have a treat!" Then five minutes later a scratch at my leg because they want to go see the white stuff again. During intermediate botherings I open the door to the deck. One puppy at a time they bounce out into the drifts and take about three leaps before their bellies get cold, they run inside, and shake the snow all over the bed. Suddenly my excitement for the snow feigns as quickly as theirs.
Meanwhile I spent the day snowed in rehearsing for my Babar show this weekend. It is so hard to find motivation to work in the middle of your own living room. What with electronics and puppies and food. I feel like I know the show pretty well, but I wish I had worked a little harder. I got to talk to three of my good friends tonight, all of whom write brilliant things. All in all, it was a good night.
For those of you who followed some of my earlier posts about the student I'm tutoring, I'm afraid I'm growing less optimistic. Our sessions together become more like cruel and unusual punishment each time we meet. She doesn't want to work. I don't want to fight. The dogs don't want to be a distraction any more, and her guardians don't want to discuss our sessions with me at all. I keep trying to get a moment with the girl's parents to discuss a string of things I notice, but they refuse to have a conversation away from her ears. The result is that any difficulties I try to adress become another excuse to yell at the poor girl. I think perhaps if they would take an interest other than anger, and start piloting this young girls education in a real way, there might be somewhere to go. Since this isn't the case, I have come to represent an extension of the angry parents, and one more thing for her to fail with. On one hand I feel like structuring our sessions around being an ally to this little girl, and see what work she gets done out of actual desire might be helpful to her; but, this begins to tread more counseling territory than tutoring, and while I'm quite intuitive, I'm simply not qualified. On the other hand, If I can't find a point at which she wants to learn, and foster an environment where she works for herself, all of the work we do becomes a means to an end. The end. She will do anything to make it stop, and I feel as if no real information is capable of penetrating. What I really want to do is grab her parents and shake the shit out of them until they realize that yelling is not working. I think that is probably out of the question. Any-hoodle. . .
The white shroud has made all seem peaceful and calm around here, and I am going to curl up in front of the great mind-sucking box. Sweet Dreams all!
Meanwhile I spent the day snowed in rehearsing for my Babar show this weekend. It is so hard to find motivation to work in the middle of your own living room. What with electronics and puppies and food. I feel like I know the show pretty well, but I wish I had worked a little harder. I got to talk to three of my good friends tonight, all of whom write brilliant things. All in all, it was a good night.
For those of you who followed some of my earlier posts about the student I'm tutoring, I'm afraid I'm growing less optimistic. Our sessions together become more like cruel and unusual punishment each time we meet. She doesn't want to work. I don't want to fight. The dogs don't want to be a distraction any more, and her guardians don't want to discuss our sessions with me at all. I keep trying to get a moment with the girl's parents to discuss a string of things I notice, but they refuse to have a conversation away from her ears. The result is that any difficulties I try to adress become another excuse to yell at the poor girl. I think perhaps if they would take an interest other than anger, and start piloting this young girls education in a real way, there might be somewhere to go. Since this isn't the case, I have come to represent an extension of the angry parents, and one more thing for her to fail with. On one hand I feel like structuring our sessions around being an ally to this little girl, and see what work she gets done out of actual desire might be helpful to her; but, this begins to tread more counseling territory than tutoring, and while I'm quite intuitive, I'm simply not qualified. On the other hand, If I can't find a point at which she wants to learn, and foster an environment where she works for herself, all of the work we do becomes a means to an end. The end. She will do anything to make it stop, and I feel as if no real information is capable of penetrating. What I really want to do is grab her parents and shake the shit out of them until they realize that yelling is not working. I think that is probably out of the question. Any-hoodle. . .
The white shroud has made all seem peaceful and calm around here, and I am going to curl up in front of the great mind-sucking box. Sweet Dreams all!
Friday, December 05, 2003
Lady Winter
It's cold! Winter has made a grand entrance and she is standing in the sky fussing about herself. She throws her head back and sighs with all of the indignation one would expect from a woman who has not been taken out in nine months. She tosses her silver tresses to and fro and streaks the sky with mysterious glints of white. Father Day and Mother Night Illuminate them in vibrant reds as they dance the dusk. Meanwhile Winter's footmen begin to prepare the petals of the snow-flowers which grow about her when she sleeps, that they may be thrown before her feet as she walks.
In the lower spheres, hats and gloves polka dot the sidewalks. Cities fill with bundled people bustling quickly from building to building. Gone are the days of skin-bare boys and girls playing on the piers. We have moved inside for spiced apple cider and sweet breads. We harvest the stores and prepare for eminent snow fall.
Lady Winter laughs sweetly to see us shiver.
In the lower spheres, hats and gloves polka dot the sidewalks. Cities fill with bundled people bustling quickly from building to building. Gone are the days of skin-bare boys and girls playing on the piers. We have moved inside for spiced apple cider and sweet breads. We harvest the stores and prepare for eminent snow fall.
Lady Winter laughs sweetly to see us shiver.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Catch Up
Silence has been restored to my living room. ahhhhhhh.
I had a great visit with my parents while they were here. They scrambled their stuff together this morning and shipped out. They will be returning in a few weeks for the Christmas thing, but I am relieved to have my rhythms back again.
What a crazy week it's been already. I am officially rehearsing for Unidentified Human Remains and the True Nature of Love. The script is great. The cast is amazing. I really can't wait to see what the final product is like. I think this may be the most gritty acting project I've taken on. I directed some grit in college, but was never really cast in any. I get to show my rump on stage (how exciting.)
Meanwhile the post I wrote a few weeks ago That Demon Alcohol is turning into a larger project. I keep pouring out pages about a character named Mark. I suppose Mark is an opportunity to say things I might not be ready to say as WT. I also have an idea cooking for a political satire cabaret. The cabaret is a bastardization of The Pied Piper. I feel like this week will be focused on that. I have been bouncing the idea off of many people in my life, and they all seem to think it is a good one. Political satire is awfully time sensitive, so I'd better get cooking. If only the cursor in my word processor would stop laughing at me.
I am studying hard for my first performance of Babar the Elephant this Sunday. The show is not as well constructed as Peter and the Wolf, but it seems like a lot of fun anyway. I think performing for children is the coolest thing ever. Childrens' imaginations are so pliable. They haven't learned to ask so many limiting questions, so you hold up your arm and you have a trunk. It's that simple.
I haven't been able to sit doen and write posts each day like I like to, but this is a start. Look for some of the more poetic musings I've been to busy to type in the next couple of days.
I had a great visit with my parents while they were here. They scrambled their stuff together this morning and shipped out. They will be returning in a few weeks for the Christmas thing, but I am relieved to have my rhythms back again.
What a crazy week it's been already. I am officially rehearsing for Unidentified Human Remains and the True Nature of Love. The script is great. The cast is amazing. I really can't wait to see what the final product is like. I think this may be the most gritty acting project I've taken on. I directed some grit in college, but was never really cast in any. I get to show my rump on stage (how exciting.)
Meanwhile the post I wrote a few weeks ago That Demon Alcohol is turning into a larger project. I keep pouring out pages about a character named Mark. I suppose Mark is an opportunity to say things I might not be ready to say as WT. I also have an idea cooking for a political satire cabaret. The cabaret is a bastardization of The Pied Piper. I feel like this week will be focused on that. I have been bouncing the idea off of many people in my life, and they all seem to think it is a good one. Political satire is awfully time sensitive, so I'd better get cooking. If only the cursor in my word processor would stop laughing at me.
I am studying hard for my first performance of Babar the Elephant this Sunday. The show is not as well constructed as Peter and the Wolf, but it seems like a lot of fun anyway. I think performing for children is the coolest thing ever. Childrens' imaginations are so pliable. They haven't learned to ask so many limiting questions, so you hold up your arm and you have a trunk. It's that simple.
I haven't been able to sit doen and write posts each day like I like to, but this is a start. Look for some of the more poetic musings I've been to busy to type in the next couple of days.
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