Life on the Outside

There is a harsh truth to face. No way I'm gonna make it on the outside. All I do anymore is think of ways to break my parole. Terrible thing, to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time. Only one thing stops me. A promise I made to Jason Robert Brown.

I told him I was going back to my home state for my next job, and I'd be working for a real theatre again, doing a real show, so he couldn't mock me like he had been doing for some time now.

But now, friends, I must admit I don't quite know how to handle this life.

I'm starting a new show @ Temple Theatre, yes, in my home state of North Carolina, located in a small town called Sanford. The show is a 1960s-themed Christmas show, four girls singing in harmony, think Plaid Tidings with girls...called The Winter Wonderettes. The theatre isn't a full-on Equity house, but they usually have a couple of guest artist contracts per show...we only have one since there are only four of us in the show, but we live under all Equity rules.

We take rehearsal breaks at regular intervals. We don't have to ask to use the restroom. There is a stage manager, a set designer, a costume designer, and the dressing rooms are climate-controlled.

The water IS potable. Right out of the kitchen sink.

I took a shower this morning in the house where we live....it was hot, the shower was clean, and the shampoo rinsed clean out of my hair. I was actually cleaner when I got out of the shower than I was when I got into it.
The housing is not only insulated and also climate-controlled, but it's this enormous old Southern house where we each have our own huge bedroom with cable TV and wireless internet. I have a double bed...one big mattress, with box springs under the mattress, not just a big block of solid wood.

Board members brought over food for us to our house last night after we moved in. Just-baked lasagna, french bread, apples, cookies....where are the mashed potatoes? The fried chicken? The vegetables with nutrients replaced with fat from butter and gravy?

We were released from rehearsal because we'd been working so hard today in music rehearsals. Wasn't there laundry to be done? Didn't anyone need me to call Elvis Bingo somewhere? Should I go run club with the big awkward guy who stares at me? I would've just wandered the streets looking for cows and Amish if I wasn't already carpooling with one of the other girls in the cast.

I don't know who I am anymore. The orange is disappearing from under my nails. The bloating from the Homestead food is going away. I walked with Louis for an hour today and the air didn't smell of sulphur OR sewage. My voice feels relaxed and healthy; I'm singing in my real range, and we are asked to be safe and careful instead of running things that we're getting right 30 times. I think we'll be paid before we've been here for about five weeks. The stage manager mentioned driving me to the astronomically-discounted gym in the mornings.

I'm gonna crawl into my giant bed now and pull the covers over my and Louis's heads. They were all right of the dryer waiting for me when I got here yesterday. I don't have rehearsal until noon tomorrow, I was going to get up in the morning and do yoga, but it's gonna be way too weird to actually have the space to do it on the floor of my bedroom, and I won't be surrounded by dustbunnies and dead insects.

Help!
Love,
ME

Cougars, Tigers, and Bearcreek, oh my!

I figured that as my time on the farm is coming to a close, I should send one more installment of my "Bearcreek Travails Newsletter," as one friend called it. 

 

I started to feel like I had less stories to tell after a while, that maybe less funny things were happening, less interesting people were cropping up around me, but now when I think about it, it seems I just got used to my surroundings.  This place, these people, the everyday situations around here…they seemed normal.  But…upon further introspection and looking back, I realized: just like Brooks Hatlen, this has somehow just become an acceptable life to me, and perhaps I have lost touch with the outside.  I can only hope that I will be able to rehabilitate myself and not have to relocate to a beach in Mexico like Andy and Red; there are several places in my previous life to which I plan to return as soon as possible. 

 

A couple of weeks ago, our entire cast was invited to have dinner w/ the Amish family whose daughters work for Housekeeping on the farm.  They gave us a tour of their farm, their great farmhouse, and we sat around their giant den, exchanging names and hometowns.  All 14 of the children in the family were there, many with spouses and two or three children of their own, plus eight of us from the show and the parents of the family…the den was more than full, though cozy in the gas lamplight.  We sang songs for the Hilty family from our show, and they sang their German folksongs for us, complete with four-part yodeling.  They had made giant chocolate chip cookies and coffee for us, and though we found it odd that none of them ate any of the cookies (we wondered if they didn't eat food that was intended for the English, but we just let that go), it was a great night.  Sean, the shortest of three guys in our cast, got schooled in basketball outside in the yard…he was at an obvious disadvantage, being accustomed to depending on electricity to see in the dark.  Those Amish dudes were all over it.  They do have battery-powered headlamps, but they didn't even need them.

 

Last night, one castmate and I were invited back to the Hiltys' to help feed their baby cows.  They run a beef cattle farm, and they had just received about 80 new calves a few weeks ago.  Brett and I helped mix the powdered milk, hot water and vitamins, we filled the bottles and placed them in the pens, and watched the calves drink the milk as if they were still fighting their brothers and sisters for sustenance.  They had a limited number of bottles, about 15, so once one row was finished, we'd pry the empty bottles out of the calves' mouths, refill them, and hit the next row.  It was hilarious to watch the baby cows turn to their next door neighbor and start licking the milk off of his or her face.  The basic process of Calf Dinner Time is this:  drink bottle, make out with your sister, pass out.  Sounds more like something that you'd think happens in West Virginia, now that I think of it…but it didn't seem nearly as dirty with cows. 

 

This past Saturday, I had a day that few actors probably have on the job.  At 10AM, I was called to our Garden Room in the restaurant to co-host Elvis Bingo.  Guests played Bingo, but they were aiming to make shapes that loosely resembled things related to Elvis, such as a shoe, a church, or a lightning bolt.  As one might imagine, Elvis was the main host of Elvis Bingo.  In our case, this was David Goins, my very awkward next door neighbor, who comes by the back door of my apartment to ask to borrow random things so much that it's starting to get wayyy too creepy.  My castmate Sean caught him standing in front of my headshot during load-in for a concert, his face inches away from "mine," just staring. Mr. Goins is a performer, technically, but he's been employed here as a guitarist in two shows this season, though he's a veteran Bearcreek "performer," but he has seemed to gain too much weight to be considered a viable singer/dancer. When he came out to begin Bingo and sing some Elvis karaoke, a guest called out "wow, looks like Elvis has had too many Peanut Butter and Banana sandwiches!"  I responded, over the microphone," Wow, ma'am.  That was out loud.  We could all hear you."  Poor guy…I felt bad for him, calling out, "O-67, Oooo—hhhh, sixteh sevennnnn…attempting the Elvis waver in his voice….that is, until he'd stare scarily at me after announcing each Bingo call.  Someone reported that I did so well, they want me to come back and co-host with him again for six hours this weekend.  I don't think I've got it in me.

 

Later that morning, a castmate competed in a Barrel Racing contest at the horse show at the farm.  Yeah, we have a horse arena, they have shows and competitions there, and Olin Davidson, tall, slim singer/dancer from Seymour, Indiana, who has been known for calling out, "Jesus, Mary, my tailbone is KILLIN' me from all this horse mess….well, we're gonna warm up to Beyonce today, she'll make it all better.  Haaaaaaaaeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy!," won a gorgeous second place red ribbon for his barrel racing skills.  Both of these events occurred before our matinee.  It was a banner weekend indeed. 

 

During my tenure at Bearcreek, I also played Beer Pong for the first time in my life.  I guess I sheltered myself from it in college, too many rehearsals, Park Scholar leadership summits, and biochemistry and British and Holocaust Lit papers, maybe.  They have a whole setup at the Pit Stop, the local bar that all the Bearcreek staff frequents.  I won't go into the story, but I shouldn't have to explain the insane sanitary conditions of this game.  I didn't drink the Bud Light, as it reminded me way too much of being 18 (sorry Mama, the theatre big brothers made me do it, you remember Matt Woods), but I got better with my aim as the games went on.  As I'm not a frat boy, I don't think I'll be playing again, but now I can say I did it. 

 

Even more interesting than the events I've survived here are the people who've passed through my life.  I've mentioned several already, but there are a whole slew of colorful characters who you've not yet met.

 

There's Wendell, the kitchen worker who's trapped in a rural Indiana Catholic closet during the day, though his friends call him Wendy when he's at the bar at night, and when he's in his cups, the truth comes out—and so does Wendell.  He leaves the trucker hat at home and spikes his hair up, wears colorful clothes, and speaks—often slurs—his mind.  At The Pit Stop on Beer Pong Night, I sat down next to him at the bar, and he leaned over to share something with me…

Wendell:  IIIIIIIII donnnnnnnnnnn lllllike yerrrrr hairrrr.

ME:  What?  I'm sorry, what do you mean?

Wendell:  Itttttssssssssss not red enough.

ME:  Oh yeah, it's usually more red than this, the lady who did it dyed it too brown.  I'm only here for a few more weeks, though, hardly anyone will see it except y'all, it'll be OK.

Wendell:  I dunnnnnoooo, it looks prrrrrretty bad.  I hate it.  You ssssshould wear a hat or something.  It'ssssss not you at alllll. 

ME:  Thanks, Wendell, I'll keep that in mind.

 

Then we have Matthew the bartender.  We noticed he would talk about his wife a lot, but that he wasn't wearing a ring.  Then a more astute observer noticed he wasn't just missing the ring, he was missing the entire fourth finger on his left hand.  Apparently he caught the wedding ring on some sort of slicing machine in the kitchen a few years back, and after having that finger removed, he decided it wasn't worth it to wear the ring on another finger if it meant risking losing that one too. 

 

Every small town has a town drunk—Mayberry has Otis Campbell, and Bearcreek Farms has Jack James.  Jack claims that he is "Director of Public Relations" at Bearcreek, but he actually has no official title.  The word on the inside is that he has some dirt on the general manager, so he's pseudo-blackmailing them to let him stay around and get paid to do nothing.  He knows lots of the regular guests, but he mostly floats around the farm during the day, trying to "help" people actually doing their jobs, but usually just getting in the way.  In the evenings, he walks around the farm with a 44oz big gulp of a mixture of Mountain Dew and what smells like Vodka.  He lives on the farm and has been issued (unofficially) a golf cart that he joyrides around the grounds on the weekends.  We keep wondering if we could get him arrested for a DUI on the thing, because it would keep him from being able to come in and disrupt evening events.

 

My boss is a self-proclaimed "cougar, and proud of it."  She is easily 45, and she talks about dating 25-year-olds, "if she could just find a good one around here."  When my friends came up from Cincinnati, we went to Pumpkin Fest in town, which was basically a country fair based around pumpkins, with attractions such as a petting zoo, garage sale, and a tractor-pulled hayride. Our tractor driver was a seemingly very nice young man, and my friends basically dared me to give him a piece of paper with our show schedule and my phone number on it with the promise of a free ticket, for driving us around and talking to us on our hayride. This guy came to be known as "farmer townie boyfriend," just in comparison to a guy in town that a castmate had actually been involved with during her last contract here.  Let me be very clear that the farmer and I had no involvement whatsoever other than the fact that he did come to the show—when I wasn't in it.  I came down with a severe bacterial infection, and the second day that I was quarantined on my couch, not even allowed to go down to the restaurant for soup, he came to the show, asking the others if we had one missing.  But when my boss came up to bring my soup, she informed me that said farmer had been at the show, and that her next door neighbor had been trying to set HER (my boss) up with this same young man.  Small town drama at its finest. My castmate Brett and I have taken to calling her "Cougs."

 

I am wary to mention this, as I know how potentially offensive it is…but here goes anyway.  There are several groups of developmentally disabled adults, work rehab programs, etc., who come to our shows.  Our boss affectionately (offensively) calls them "tigers," mostly from the likelihood that there could be vocal outbursts from them that could potentially disrupt the show.  So if we get a call with "places" that says "tigers in the audience today," we know what it means.  These audiences are often our best, though, most responsive, if nothing else.  In our opening number the other day, we had a 'veritable zoo' as it was put, and 20 of the 40 were dancing in the aisles to the opening number.  It was pretty awesome.

 

So I look back on this 14-week contract with great amazement that it actually happened, thinking back on all I've seen and done. Yes, I've begged to be taken away several times. I've lamented to my friends and family about the water, the food, the trailer where I live, and all aspects of the "show" I've been doing.  I've called out to the Heavens, "what am I DOING with my life?!?!?!?" Admittedly, my positive attitude has been chipped away.  I have a hard time smiling during the "show" about anything other than my inner countdown of the remaining performances.  However, I'll take these insane experiences with me for the rest of my life with great humor and no regret.  This contract came along at a great time when I needed to save money and have an excess of free time to finally finish my Masters' Thesis.  I'm not done yet, but I'm 80-something pages in, and I will be done soon. Unbelievably enough, here at the end, I'm pretty thankful. 

 

I'll miss my Amish friends, the Hiltys.  I'll miss the pickled eggs and the occasional steamed vegetables that the kitchen guys made upon my request in our restaurant.  I'll miss Louis's ability to roam around outside off of his leash.  I'll miss The Olds who seem to renew their patriotism and faith in young people just by seeing our ridiculous show.  And Rich—the dishwasher/cook with the ankle monitor, I like to believe that your statutory conviction was just really unfortunate timing, I just know that you and your 14-year-old girlfriend were deeply in love.   You mock me with the other guys for being a hippie liberal actress from North Carolina, but you pass me your copy of The Nation under the dish line, knowing if the guys knew your most hidden secret, that you're onmy side of politics among these rural Indiana Catholic ultra-Republicans, it would destroy your rep and masculinity among them—I think I'll miss you most of all. 

 

Love to all, and I'll be back in North Carolina in a few weeks to start the Christmas show @ Temple Theatre in Sanford.  Probably not nearly the thrilling stories from there, but I bet at least the water will be potable.  

Aliens, Sexual Harassment, and Missing Digits, or How I Learned to Love the Reception Line

Hello everyone...I know a couple of you didn't get my first couple of emails about life at Bearcreek Farms Country Resort and Goodtimes Theatre (oh yes) but I created a group for all these silly updates. If you don't want to get them, if my life is too pitiful for you to want to hear about, just let me know and I won't delete them, but as some of you asked to be ADDED to the list after reading the previous emails from others (they're good for a sympathetic laugh, I hear), I'm hoping I can keep it interesting for you.

So here we go...the latest.

One of the less-than-common practices here at Bearcreek is the " 'joyed it" line, or what I've come to call the Awkward Reception Line. At the end of our curtain call (wherein we step downstage one by one and say our names and hometowns, as of course there are no programs), we run up the aisles and stand in the back, while the audience files out, shaking our hands one by one and telling us how they 'joyed it.

A few standouts:

"You look just like my granddaughter/daughter/niece/friend" A couple of people have even taken pictures, just so they can show my supposed doppelgangers that I exist, and that I am performing in a patriotic musical revue on a farm. (I am beginning to believe I was not only adopted, but part of a Midwest cloning experiment).

"You ladies have nice legs, I like that."

(Old man in overalls and John Deere trucker hat) "You girls need any help making all those dress changes back there? (Me) Um, no sir, thanks, we've got it…and it's complicated and pretty fast (Old Man) I'd work really hard, I promise I wouldn't make too many mistakes. (Old Man's Wife) I'm sure you wouldn't, Harry.

"It's exhausting to watch you girls make all those changes. We thought we'd come here and be so bored we'd fall asleep, but just counting all the dresses kept us awake. Thanks!"

******************************

Now we haven't gotten any negative feedback, but I am realizing there is a certain spectrum of comments we can receive. I'll put a few in order for you.

1) Thank you kids so much, this was the best show we've seen here in 10 years!

2) You all have such beautiful voices, and it's so exciting to watch you up there!

3) (Said to Kari, the high soprano who stands next to me in the line) You have a gorgeous voice.

(to me) I enjoyed your dancing.

4) You sure do have a lot of energy!

5) You just keep smiling, don't you?

6) You look really pretty in all those dresses.

7) Wow, you sure do change clothes a lot.

********************************

We also come across characters of all sorts in the Awkward Reception Line. Our typical audience is 65+, pretty typical Midwest couples, dressed in cotton coordinates and comfortable (often orthopedic) shoes. Every now and then, someone a little more memorable will step through the line.

**A few days ago, a lady walked by with her arms crossed, then quickly stepped up to shake our hands. I came to realize she only had three fingers. It was a little disturbing, but I was glad I didn't react visibly. My friend and castmate Brett called it the "sneak attack" and will often help me to relive the experience backstage just before we go on. Whoever says I'm laughing through the opening number is lying, I'm just really really that proud to be an American, it fills me with joy and laughter.

**Last night, an old lady had dentures that were perhaps set really low, or maybe they just needed Fixodent, but they were so low in her mouth, she looked exactly like the aliens from Mars Attacks! (see right).

**Yesterday afternoon, though, I experienced something I had no idea was possible in the A.R.L. A quiet, middle-aged lady came through the line, barely said anything, and after she shook my hand, I realized something was left in my hand. It was a bill. She didn't even seem that excited about the show, but there it was, passed to me Mafia style. I hope she doesn't expect me to kill someone for her. I assumed it was a $1.00, but when the whole line had cleared (as I figured it would be tacky to look at my folded cash while still shaking hands of passing elderly), I opened it. FIVE DOLLARS, people. This raises the grand total of money I've made at Bearcreek Farms to $7.38, as my half of the tips Mary and I made from housekeeping that one Friday was $2.38.

All the best from the cornfields. Now that we're in performances, my schedule is finally becoming regular. I get up at about 7:30, make breakfast, drink some good coffee (thank you, Whole Foods of Cincinnati, Red Sea Blend brewed extra dark...being a three-year Starbucks employee doesn't allow the foolishness of the lame stuff they call coffee in these parts), walk with Louis for about an hour in the mornings--he is fascinated with the baby cows and the horses we pass on the country roads--do some writing work in my apartment, go to lunch w/ the farm boys at 11, wamups and first show, go into town to work out, email, and shower, dinner at my apartment, second show, back for more work and whatever blessing has been bestowed on me by Netflix if the mail is running on time that day. Kinda boring at times, kinda isolated, but I appreciate the regularity of it at least. We're down to one meal a day in the restaurant now, but I found the farmer's market in town, so I actually have some vegetables in the fridge. Maybe next week I can buy some cottage cheese. I've been here for three and a half weeks, and we're getting paid for the first time on Friday. That's right. Maybe I should take it up with the stage manager. Oh wait, we don't have one of those. At least they gave me a window air conditioning unit this past weekend. I had to beg the guys at lunch.

and the second...

Ten things I bet you've never heard or overheard at YOUR job, but they're quite normal at mine.

1) Oh yeah, they're burning down the old zoo. The fire isn't exactly controlled, it took down a wall of a building they weren't sure they were going to keep, so it's not that big of a deal, but if that environmentalist comes back we'll probably get some kind of citation.

2) We're rehearsing in the Elvis museum again today.

3) Whether or not you will get a lunch break tomorrow is currently on a need-to-know basis. If Brett can remember all of his cities in "Wander Indiana" in the run this morning, then we will THINK about bringing over some fried chicken for most of you and some hard-boiled eggs and steamed broccoli for Margaret-Ellen.

4) M.E., Jen, and Sean will be working with Housekeeping on Friday morning, since Roy Clark is coming so we're overbooked, and it's a big Amish Family Reunion weekend. You'll only have to strip beds and make them up, and possibly do some dusting. Mary in Housekeeping will clean all the bathrooms; she actually enjoys it.

5) Girls, watch out for the little guy in the kitchen with all the hickies on his neck. He's really friendly, but he's been asking which of you have boyfriends.

6) GUY WITH HICKIES: Hey there, how you doin'? I noticed you really like those pickled eggs, I can save some for you if we're ever lookin' like we're gonna run out and you guys aren't comin' in until after the show.

7) I'm sorry I'm late to call, I was heading back from checking my email at the gas station and I got stuck behind two buggies and a line of Amish children all holding hands, then that chicken that's always loose just before 350 North ran right in front of my car and I almost hit it.

8) OLD LADY AT COFFEE SHOP "IN TOWN": Yeah, I figured you were at Bearcreek, since you're young and little and cute and wearing yoga pants, and you don't look like...a farmer.

9) SEASONED BEARCREEK PERFORMER IN MY CAST: I'm just waiting 'till Saturday, that's Grand Buffet night, which means we get fried corn nuggets and little weenies in barbeque sauce. It makes all this 80's choreography totally worth it.

10) ARTISTIC DIRECTOR: I'm in a hell of a mood today, people, a bull charged me in the pasture yesterday afternoon, my horse nearly threw me again, and then I fell through my porch last night. *pulls up pant leg, displays extensive bruises*


None of this was fabricated or embellished in any way. They're all direct quotes. I've been taking notes.

Love,
ME

the first of the Bearcreek Newsletters...

Hello friends and loved ones...a carrier pigeon might be better to send this, I'm hoping the internet signal holds out here from Bearcreek Crossings, the Shell Station/hot food and drinks "deli"/convenience store with free wireless. It's down "the main road" and then just after you turn onto Indiana-27. Oh yes. Luckily they have booths in the back, so I don't have to sit in my car and be totally ghetto.

This is to inform you all that I have arrived safely to Bryant, Indiana's beloved Bearcreek Farms Country Resort (and Goodtimes Theatre). I just wanted to share a few details so you all know what we're dealing with here.

1) I saw a dead horse less than a mile away from our property, right there just off the "main road." Rigor mortis sets in quickly, I can only hope he hadn't been there too long when Jeremy spotted him as we drove toward "town", but there he was, still bridled, legs sticking straight out horizontally. I later learned, as I pointed it out to my castmates and director as we drove by it the next day in the director's truck, "Oh, that's one of the Amish farms, too. They might leave it there for weeks if the police don't make them move it due to a health code."

2) Yes, we are in Amish country. This has led to several discoveries.
A few tidbits regarding the Amish:
~Louis loves them. They drive by in their horse-drawn buggies and all the little bonnetted girls wave at us. The buggies are also slower and quieter than cars, so he's a fan.
~Some of them work on our farm. Not-so-bright actors in the past have said, "oh, how cute! You hire people to work the farm and dress them up like those Amish people to make it seem authentic!" No no, that's Aenis (say it aloud, the first syllable is a long "E") and Reuben. They're actually Amish.
~Once an Amish man, a twin, actually, so he was well-known in the neighborhood, was on the Bearcreek property selling noodles door to door to our guests. Soliciting is not allowed, so a chase across farm fields ensued, with our director of lodging shouting, "Ezekiel! I know who you are! You get back here! EZEKIEL!!!"
~A Gay, EX-Amish Convicted Pedophile Roofer once took one of our actors home with him from the local dive bar in the middle of the cornfield. The place is known as the pit stop, the guy is in my cast, and he's dying to go back any night.

3) There are some pretty serious rules here. We are allowed to eat breakfast in the restaurant every day (though it's only open Tues-Sunday), and we can choose EITHER lunch OR dinner, but if it's Snow Crab Legs night, we can't have those unless we pay $3.00 at the front, and if there is a carved meat station, we are to stay away. We also eat in the back of the kitchen, fondly called The Dungeon. If there is a line at the buffet when we arrive, we must stand back until no one is waiting. It's also amazing to watch how the elderly can crowd around a buffet, even if they already have their own food, they feel the need to watch everyone else in their party and provide advice and judgment on the others' choices. Oh, and bacon might go back up in price, so we have to be ready to add it to the forbidden foods list.

4) The show is a revue that the artistic director has put together from other revues. It's entitled (as most of you know VERY WELL), Let Freedom Swing, and the idea is that it's a patriotic show with songs about America, with a "focus on swing." Some songs well known from the swing era(?!?) include Neil Diamond's "America" (I'm really gunning for the solo in that one), Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA," and songs from America's beginnings, including "Polly Wolly Doodle," "Daisy," and "Erie Canal." "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" has been cut. "Jump, Jive, and Wail" and "This Joint is Jumpin" are included as well, yet I'm not quite sure what the patriotic elements in them are yet. It's basically an hour and fifteen minutes of show choir. Oh, and we're singing with a track. This means it's like a whole show of karaoke. And on the first day, the artistic director "warned" us that we "should really learn this music, because these "helping voices" on the vocal tracks won't be there in the real show. Wow. Oh, and don't forget the cheap knockoff of "I've Been Everywhere" by Johnny Cash that has alllllll Indiana towns in it. Clever! Oh, and we don't have a stage manager. And we sang for three hours straight last night without a break until I stood up and meekly asked if we could go to the bathroom.


5) Bearcreek is owned by the owner of Richard's Restaurants, a franchise that used to span all the way to Florida and Illinois and back, but now they're just in Indiana. This man looks like Elmer Fudd, comes to shows and board meetings in his overalls with or without a shirt, and rarely can be bothered to put his teeth in when he's in public.

6) The water, in case I haven't told you this part yet, is so full of iron, that the showers and toilets look like someone has been murdered in them, and after several showers in the water, your nails and even your skin take on an orange tint. If you shower at the gym "in town" (Portland, 15 minute drive from the farm), they have filtered water. Lucky for me I'm going to the gym almost every day. Otherwise I might just be gross. I'll blend in just fine with the Amish and the farm folk.

7) All of this hilarity aside, it's really kind of nice being out here. It's quiet and peaceful, I took Louis for an hour-long walk along the country roads and through our farm today. The wind through the cornfields is quite lovely, there are animals everywhere (the geese use the basketball court as their toilet, not sure why), and it's certainly a safe place. Hardly anyone locks their doors, even the actors, because as our artistic director put it, "Aenis and Reuben can't use your Ipod anyway, and the guests are so old, they won't even know what it is."

Sorry for the mass email but this was the easiest way to get to everyone, and as I have to drive three miles to get to the internet, I have a limited amount of time anyway. Please let me hear from you, it's good to receive communication from the outside world where technology is far more advanced.

Love to each and every one of you...it's certainly an adventure out here on the farm, haha! I'm not even really complaining...more just sharing some humorous observances. I guess this is what they call paying your dues, huh, Stern?

Most Fondly, from 8341 N 400 E,
ME

something random on a Thursday evening...

I have gorgeous friends. And they're brilliant and witty and absolutely adorable, not just hot. But hot too. I mean come on, look at her. Anyone who notices the tiny silver bands I wear on my left third and right fourth finger, they're my 'wedding/best friend' rings with Jackie, and I am proud to tell the world about it. It's a small thing and most people don't even notice them b/c they're so tiny, but they're always a reminder to me that no matter what the $*%^ state I end up working in next, Jack is always with me. And she's the one person on the planet who always knows, every single day, the exact state where I can be found. And that's pretty awesome.

Love you, Jackie. Happy Thursday. And happy first date tonight with the one who seems most promising. :)

This is also your reminder that now would be a good time to reschedule your skybus flight once and for all. You've got several months to still make it here. Turns out this city's kind of fantastic.

Counterpoint: You know what I love?

Cincinnati. It's true. I freaking love it. No matter how many natives ask me if I'm feeling well or what's wrong with me when I tell them I do, I still do. I love the food, I love the parks, I love the independent movie theatres, I love the live music, I love my place, I love the folks I've met here, I love my church...I love it.

So I am happy to announce that I get to stay here for 3 months more than previously expected. This means 3 more months of One World Wednesdays (which we WILL attend from here on out), 3 more months of Longworth's karaoke, 3 more months of Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, The Bonbonerie, The Esquire, Dewey's Pizza, Busken, Eden Park, Mount Adams, my beloved Cincinnati friends, Jenny's wedding, Reds games (yes I will actually go now, I promise), TJ's beer adventures, I *think* Emily and Kevin's wedding, The Melon w/ Lauren, What's for Dinner w/ Lauren, Findlay Market, walking all over w/ Louis, live music in Clifton, Northside, and Newport, aaaaannd I get to go to whatever that music festival is in the summer....the stacks or something...whatever. I'm going. And if I'm not tied into being somewhere 7 days a week, I can travel home, DC, and you know...Orlando if I feel like defending this thesis.

And job options are already around...Liz and I are trying to think of a show we could do this summer at the Know. Greg, our drummer @ Knox (my church), plays gigs with combos that play weddings/cocktail parties/etc where I could be a jazz singer again for a while. Mike, who leads the church music group, is going to fish around in the Knox network and see who can take me on just for the summer in a day job capacity. And there's always the fun idea of working somewhere that I love (see aforementioned Whole Foods/Trader Joes/Bonbonerie) where I could not have to stress too much, and get a discount on the fantastic food. :) Plus there are a couple of babysitting leads I just haven't had a chance to really follow up on, the more I post on Craigslist about dog-walking and pet/housesitting the more responses I get, and I keep getting more and more promotions through different companies I've made contact with, so I'm not worried.

And if I've learned anything from this "pinning my hopes on one thing" deal, it's that I need to keep my options open. I do make a mean egg sandwich, and it's tough to say no to a big pair of blue eyes.

Point: You know what I hate?

Being strung along by a company, hearing that they really love your work and want to work with you, that they will be in touch soon with specific casting, but then only to find out a few days after the date they promised to call that you do not, in fact, have a job for the summer, no matter how much you wanted to work there/made great (ridiculous) effort to put together a wealth of material for the company/turned down/stopped pursuing other summer opportunities....yeah.

So it seems Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys, actor, will go on hiatus for a couple of months this summer.

Which means I have to find a real job.

So far I have been offered positions as "personal assistant" for my friend Ryan at his summer stock in Indiana ($20/week to to laundry, Liz is on cooking detail), and "housewife" to a lawyer in Lima, OH (his demands include egg sandwiches every morning). I think it's time to bust out the want ads.

I can't stop watching this

I watched literally 15 different versions of this song on youtube today. This is by far my favorite.

Also please watch the Alison Crowe one. Gorgeous. I want the music in her key so I can sing it myself. Just in my apartment...to Louis or whatever.

Love you, Jack. Always makes me think of you. :)

Hike and Bake on a Snow Day

So today was a "Level Three Snow Emergency" here in Cincinnati. This means you're not allowed to drive on the streets, and you can be arrested if you do, unless you have clearance. Bert only decided at the last minute to cancel rehearsal. There was no way I was going to make it up that hill to Mount Adams, I had told him the only way I could come would be if someone could come get me. I think 5 of 6 of us said that, so he finally caved. The whole city is shut down, Goldstein, do you really think that Little Medea takes priority?

So I finally got out of bed this morning (OK, afternoon...technically I got up and got back into my bed several times but I was awake for good since 8:30, there was just a lot of time sitting in my bed watching news and movies with my laptop in my lap), and decided I was going to make a cake. Hadn't done it in a while, it was time. I found what looked like a great recipe...committed the ingredients to memory, wrapped myself up and headed out into the great white drifts.

There is something truly delightful about walking in really deep snow in waterproof boots. I felt like I was about to fall down the entire mile up the street, and I couldn't help but laugh the whole time. It reminded me of middle school ski trips and those couple of blizzards we had in Greensboro when Angie and I were little. Loved it.

I must say, my friends who hang out on the streets surrounding the Sketchy Kroger 24 hours a day made an impressive showing for the severity of the weather today. They're even more reliable than the US Postal Service; nothing stops them. In fact, they were even friendlier than usual. Several more than ever before took it upon themselves to speak to me...one even asked if I wanted a ride in his truck (I politely declined). Then I was walking behind one dude when I had almost reached Kroger, and I think he heard me directly behind him, thought I was someone else, and he turned around really quickly, thrusted his head at me with a menacing look. Then he saw that the person following him was not another tough guy on the street but, rather, a tiny red abominable snow-white-woman. He laughed and apologized.

I got back to the apartment, and made the cake. I admit it was not what I expected. I always like to try making new things...it was a pretty basic chocolate cake with pudding in it, but the recipe asked for two 3.5 oz packages of pudding mix, I used 1 and 2/3 3 oz. packages b/c that was what I had the milk for, and in the end, there was WAY too much pudding. The end result was sort of a baked pudding...spongy texture, kind of like the cake part of the Lava Cake at Sweet Tomatoes, but not even as good as that. And it's really dark brown, and just not pretty...how can I put it? Now I understand the confusion at Lauren's roommate Melissa's school: that smear on the boys' bathroom wall...it could be something truly terrible, or it might just be chocolate. (No one will get close enough to conduct the necessary inspection.)

Ah well, only about $5.00 of my Kroger gift card spent, and the adventure was worth it. Oh--TJ and I took a couple of pictures of the snow (see aforementioned reference to red abominable snow-woman).

At least the roads are clearing up; hopefully I can venture out in a vehicle tonight (there have been whisperings of cheese fries and Blue Moon at TGI Fridays in Hyde Park) or at least tomorrow morning. They're gonna be in trouble if I can't get to Knox for the 9:15 service tomorrow; the song I'm singing 3/4 of as a solo may sound a little spare. Maybe I'll just leave at 7AM and walk.

It's actually been kind of nice sitting around in my PJ pants all day, and the snow is really beautiful to watch out the windows. I thought earlier about making a Snow-bama with the dark snow outside the front of our building, but I was afraid of offending several neighbors.

This is actually from days ago...

...but it was important to post.
And maybe it will kick-start me into blogging regularly again.

ME: So, I got rejected from the Ultimate Fighting Champion poster-girl promotion* up in Columbus this weekend.
(*note to readers: the specs asked for "young hot girls with great bodies," and 'talent' was asked to provide their own fishnet stockings and tall black high-heeled boots, miniskirts and cut-off tank tops would be provided. I'd never respect myself in the morning, but it was 11 hours @ $28/hour.)
Lauren: oh yeah?
ME: Yeah, not hot enough. Story of my life.
Lauren: No, actually I prayed you wouldn't get it. It was Jesus.

And even more appropriate to my personal Valentine's Day...

Josh Ritter sings Springsteen's "The River."

...and I'll be in the Super 8 in Wheeling, West Virginia, working on my thesis and waiting to hear from theatre companies. sigh.

I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with a wonderful guy...

Well I AM. And I'm not ashamed to say it out loud. Just in time for Valentine's Day, too.

Josh RItter - The Temptation of Adam - El Rey Theatre

Nothing makes any sense here...

I have complained way too much about this show and this tour, the, er, experience that it's been so far, I don't have the negative energy left to expend in doing it again. I'll just let the pictures speak for themselves. This is the view from backstage of our shows @ the Playhouse yesterday--the neon rainbow acid trip called The Phantom Tollbooth:


And some shots of what doing this show with an inconsistent and unpredictable schedule, a set that risks our lives (Actually, it doesn't anymore--thank you, CPIP Scene Shop Geniuses!), 90-minute notes sessions and photo calls for a 60-minute children's show, and discussions so in-depth that we have all wondered if Olga, Masha, and Irina will ever make it to Dictionopolis, have done to its actors:And I know you've been waiting for it...the full experience (with pom pom hat and gold pimp glasses) will be posted later, but here is the Spelling Bee Costume in corral mode. Oh, and words spelled so far: "family," "transportation," "tyrannosaurus rex" (almost missed it, it took me about five tries but I finally got it), "stink," and "curiosity" (both shows on Sat, it's the default word if the kids don't yell out something good and the Playhouse kids were not exactly responsive, plus several of them were older and Aaron didn't trust my ability to spell a middle school level word). Liz Helitzer keeps encouraging me to go on stage in only the bee--no pants, no underwear, and the Spelling Bee could teach those kiddies to spell words like labia majora. Somehow, I don't think it would go over with the grades 1-3 set.

I must add that I do enjoy the show itself, and the people with whom I'm sharing the ride. I joke about wishing I'd taken my Equity card back in December and blowing this popstand, but I don't mean it. Just one more due to pay, you know? I'll keep payin' 'em as long as is necessary, I just hope that there won't be too many more productions where the most rehearsed scene (at least 4 full hours of rehearsal time) is a 2-minute one dominated by actors tottering around in beanbag chair fat suits.

funny from the road today...

...if by "the road," I mean it was actually Gilbert Avenue, a mile from the scene shop. We were on our way back to our cars from our performance at St. Mary's today, so technically it was part of the touring day, and it made me laugh really loudly for about two minutes straight, which doesn't often happen when I'm not on a phone call from Daytona at midnight.

ME: Is he married?
Amy: No...
ME: Oh goodness, I bet he's really lonely, he seems to have the Playhouse and I guess photography and that's about it.
Amy: Yeah, I asked Jamie if he was actually interested in men or women, she said she thought women but she wasn't sure.
ME: Oh, that never occurred to me, actually, but he's not totally unattractive, and he seems nice enough...poor guy...
Amy: I know, I mean he's definitely super dorky but I'm sure there's some equally dorky man-slash-woman who would be really happy with him.
ME: Maybe that's it, that's what he's looking for--literally, a man-slash-woman.
Amy: Yeah, maybe that's the problem--
ME: I mean the supply is really thin, it must be tough--
Amy: --Yeah, it's a real seller's market for those folks.

In other news, I finally finished watching Manhattan. Some absolutely fantastic actors in it, as Allen is wont to get, and some great lines, and of course I LOVE the musical theatre score, though Woody apparently hated the movie and was often ashamed of it. In Central Park on a horse-drawn carriage (a clichéd situation, but it is chosen by the child in question), Woody's character Issac says the following to his 17-year-old girlfriend:

You know what you are? You're God's answer to Job, y'know? You would have ended all argument between them. I mean, He would have pointed to you and said, "Y'know, I do a lot of terrible things, but I can still make one of these." You know? And then Job would have said, "Eh. Yeah, well, you win."

Of course I don't normally support a squirrelly 42-year-old man seeing a 17-year-old girl, and it's always really hard for me to watch the little guy make out with anyone, but that might just win me over. Though I'd prefer him to be taller. And with more hair. Darker and curlier, while we're at it. But most importantly, if the lesson learned in the end is "not everyone gets corrupted... you have to have a little faith in people," and Woody Allen, the Cynic's Savior, believes it, then so do I.

had to get this down before I forget the actual quote later

I know I haven't blogged in over a week. Now that life is better, or at least less up in the air, I am going to be back to a more regular blogging schedule. But for now...

A conversation over dinner preparation for Laura's going away dinner (lasagna--light on the cheese, per Laura, salad, texas toast--prob just for me and Lauren, and angel food cake swirls from TGI Fridays...low fat, betch):

ME: So those stupid cake things are awesome but they're really expensive when you just get them on your own...they're much better in the--hey, wait....do you do the Three Course thing at TGI Fridays ever?

Lauren: Um, TGI Fridays is kind of my guilty pleasure.

ME: How did I not know this? Lisa, you know, "Girlfriend"--

Lauren: --Yes, of course, Girlfriend, her official name--

ME: Yeah, she and I went there all the time on 'dates' and especially when the Three Course Menu was in effect.

Lauren: Well, um yeah, we should go.

ME: We're totally going.

Lauren: Yeah, my perfect date would be guitar playing and singing to me, followed by coffee and discussion of philosophy at a bookstore, more singing, some making out, and ending with Oreo Madness.

ME: Oh yeah, they have that as part of the three-course thing--

Lauren:--Yes, I think I would have sex with a guy who took me to the bookstore, then the cake.

ME: Wait, hang on, I thought you said you hadn't technically had sex before--you mean you'd give away the V-card for the bookstore and Oreo Madness?

Lauren: He'd have to sing twice. Original words and lyrics.

So any takers? My best friend in Cincinnati can be instantly won over by confections in the musical and oreo forms. All of these things could be accomplished in a small geographical location, it could all happen in Hyde Park, people.

More soon...including the tale of TJ's waffle problem, microwave s'mores, and probably highlights from karaoke later tonight.

Advice for Living, 30 Rock Style

Tracy Jordan:"Stop Eating People's Old French Fries Pigeon"

One of many reasons I am becoming quickly enamored with 30 Rock, and a great example of how funny Tracy Morgan can be when he has good material to work with. He always annoyed me on SNL but now he's fantastic.

Also Lauren and I have decided this is our new mantra for life. I think it's way deep.

Fantastic news!!!

It's been a while in coming. There have been rumors flying around for months, but the day is finally here. The corporation of Wild Oats was purchased by the far-superior Whole Foods back at the end of the summer, and the takeover makeover is finally happening. I realized this morning that the Rookwood Commons location (or Hyde Park, if that means anything to any non-Cincy folks) is finally making the transition to becoming a Whole Foods Store, and that means that my life can become several degrees happier. That's right, friends.

Skyr is here.

The folks here at Playhouse have mocked me on a couple of different occasions for making the pilgrimage out to Louisville's Whole Foods (a 180 minute round trip) for an item that has become a necessity in my life. They just don't understand. Shane, Jason, and Erica do. Every time I go to DC (my favorite city in the US, in case you didn't know), they make sure that I am properly directed--or driven, thanks, Shane (see right)-- to at least one of several Whole Foods locations so that I can stock up on what I believe is one of the world's most perfect foods.

Now, the biggest misconception about the stuff is that it is yogurt. According to the "skyr.is" website-- which I notice has been updated for American audiences, as it must be finally gaining the popularity it deserves as its ministry spreads--skyr is "a remarkable dairy product unique to Iceland. " It is not yogurt, but a cultured cheese product, like yogurt, but thicker, creamier, and smoother, with more of a tangyness to it (no matter the flavor, though the plain version is practically like sour cream). It is currently available in strawberry (my favorite), blueberry (my least favorite, though the Jonathan Groff lookalike pictured here makes it far more enticing now, even with the ridiculous little spoon in his mouth), vanilla (great on waffles, I believe that my performance in our workshop of Jimmy in New York City last year was markedly enhanced by the Vanilla Skyr/Van's Chocolate Chip Waffles combo that Tara and I had for breakfast each day during our visit), and plain (like I said, it's like sour cream; I don't recommend it eaten straight with a spoon. Erica finds it truly abhorrent).

In addition to its unique deliciousness, skyr is amazingly good for you. A 6-oz. container is about 150 calories, 16 incredible grams of protein, completely void of fat, and only 20 g of carbs, which is far lower than most yogurts. I have only ever seen it in Whole Foods (and not even in the NC and FL Whole Foods, last time I checked....LAME! Step UP, Raleigh and Orlando! Geez!), except for the one random Scandinavian bakery in Clermont Florida to which Melissa Nay and Chris McCollum kindly accompanied me this summer. They have skyr smoothies there, and believe me, I tried to buy some skyr from them, but they said that demand was too high to sell the stuff on its own, they had it shipped there directly from Iceland, so they had to save it for the smoothies. With the buyout, though, the sky's the limit for skyr exposure. I've extolled its virtues to many, and I am glad to know that as Whole Foods gets rid of all those worthless Wild Oats across the country, this wonderfood will now be available to the American population at large.

Skyr and Whole Foods have heard the word of my wanting, and I thank them.

just in brief...thinking positive

OK, so mostly this is for Jackie. No big promises on wit this evening, as spirits have been at a new low in the recent weeks of high stress due to thesis work, tedious rehearsals, difficulty finding work, and subsequent empty pockets. I don't know who else is even reading this thing, except that TJ posted it on his facebook so people could learn about the culture of our weekly karaoke experiences. Not much to report that's necessarily good, so I will talk about a couple of things that are keeping me smiling anyway.

1) Counting Crows is putting out a new album: Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings, due March 23, 2008. Two new songs are available to download free from their website. Matthew says that Skinny Duritz (that's right, he's hot again...though I still would've married the man even in his biggest days, I would've just suggested less cheeseburgers and beer and tried to promote more "physically active" activities in which to drown his endless sorrows) isn't depressing enough. But that's just fine with me. I've got enough depressing Duritz to listen to for years, and that's not what I need to hear right now anyway, so there.


2. Slings and Arrows. It's fantastic. Anyone who's ever been in the theatre NEEDS to see it. Anyone who just appreciates great writing and wonderful acting would probably enjoy it too. It's a Canadian TV show about a fictional Canadian Shakespeare Festival. Starring Paul Gross and Rachel McAdams and lots of other folks I didn't know b/c they were Canucks, but now I know Paul Gross and see him in my dreams at night. Yeah, tall, curly black hair and huge blue eyes, amazingly talented, I'm in love with him, go figure. I am sad that there are only three seasons, but happy that I'm still only on the second DVD of the first season. I'm rationing it out so I won't run out of episodes too soon. That and if I allowed to watch it as much as I wanted, I might give up on my thesis altogether. Just kidding, Mama.

3. Preparing and sending mailings to (hopeful) prospective employer theatre companies feeds my Type A need for structure. There's always something theraputic about putting together packages that contain a cover letter, a headshot, a resume, a review, a paper clip, my return mailing label on the front, handwriting the address, and affixing three stamps in the top right corner of the manila envelope. I've been doing a lot of that the last few days, and in fact I'm gonna get back to it now, on the laptop, while watching some more of this guy on my TV. Seriously. Come on. Look at the eyes.

4. Also, I've been eating a lot of Hamburger Helper. This goes back to the empty pockets thing, but I've actually been enjoying it. Blast from the past, perhaps, I used to love this mess when I was 7 years old. It's not really a good thing, per se, I'm pretty sure that there is next to no nutritional value in it...I am feeling a serious fruit and vegetable deficiency in my life b/c I can't really afford them, but I have to admit it, it's delicious.

RIPod

It's true, friends. All things have to end. My 2005 electric blue Ipod Mini met with his untimely end yesterday. I tried to plug it in to my little speaker system to listen to it in the shower, like I do every day, and instead of the menu popping up so I could listen to the brilliant Andrea Burns album again, this adorable/threatening image appeared--a poor little sick Ipod with the Ipod support website listed underneath.

Refusing to give in to doubt and send him out to pasture with no effort to save him, I made a reservation at the Genius Bar at the Apple store at Kenwood Mall. I made the trek out to exit 11 on I-71, passed the Trader Joe's without stopping (a feat in itself, this shows extreme dedication to my cause), walked down the hall, and headed straight back to the check-in. Larry checked me in, and said I had a lovely name--his mother's name was Margaret Ellen. Aww. I love the Apple store. Sorry, new Compaq Presario, I like you a lot so far, but I still wish I could've afforded the Macbook. Anyway, after waiting for less than 10 minutes, though being thoroughly entertained and educated with the little videos and demos on the screens above the bar, the cute Apple genius walked over to me (What fortunate timing! The other guy was blond and had long greasy hair. Ew.) and said "So you must be Margaret..." I corrected him, apologetically as always, then he apologized and said "oh cool, Southern, I bet, huh?" Good call, Aaron. Tall, skinny, dark hair, huge eyes, very impressive but well-groomed facial hair, and an Old Testament name. Yes you CAN help me, sir!

So I told him that my Ipod was sick, he said "oh yeah, this is an old one...might not bode well." Points for use of the word "bode." Negative points for pessimism. He tried to force it into "Disc Mode," which was partially successful. He said "well......if I can get this to work, then sometimes...." and with a flourish, he pulled up Itunes. He clicked through a few things, then a grave look passed over his irresistibly bearded face. He held up the Ipod to his ear, heard the same struggling clicking I had heard at home, and he turned back to me. "I'm afraid the hard drive is dead." As I see it, looks like you have two options. You can get a new hard drive, for $249, or turn in this guy for the 10% off recycling discount and get a new one, which would start at $149 for the 4G Nano. There's nothing else I can do here, I'm so sorry."

I thanked Aaron, and I told him I'd go with recycling choice, but I had to go to rehearsal so I couldn't get the new one then. He said "oh, you're an actress? Like stage actress?" I told him I worked at the Playhouse, and he told me he had a friend who was trying to make it in theatre in Canada, and he didn't envy the difficulty of the industry (this is a pet peeve, when people talk about "the industry." Usually I fly into a fit of rage, but I guess that's what his friend called it to him or something. I let it go.) I should've told him he could take me out w/ his big mall-IT salary since I am quickly becoming a starving artist. (Realized I was next to broke after buying the new Ipod. Oops.)

Following rehearsal, I returned to the Apple store. I went straight to the counter, told them I wanted a red 8 Gigabyte Nano, and begrudgingly handed over Old Blue. Sometimes you just have to let go and move on.

We had some good times, my little blue friend. I bought you in August of 2005 in the Cary Target on the trip to Florida from New Hampshire via NYC and NC with Andy. You saw me through the Papermill post-partum, accompanied me on countless runs and walks on treadmills and roads in FL, NC, LA, Washington DC, NY, and OH, helped me learn lines and lyrics and entertained me backstage for at least 17 shows (maybe more, I lost count), made all my long road trips so much happier and more convenient (who changes CDs anymore? seriously?!), and brightened my life and/or indulged my depression when the mood called for it through so many ups (Ben Folds, Great Big Sea, David Wilcox, and Bruce Springsteen) and downs (Damien Rice, Counting Crows, Tom Waits, ...and...Bruce Springsteen) that I couldn't possibly list them here.

Time of Death: Approximately 12:06 PM, Friday January 11th.
Happy Trails to Mac Recycling Land, Old Blue. You will be missed, and I'll think of you every time I plug in my earbuds to Little Red for a walk with Louis or another layover in Hartsfield-Jackson. Here's to the future.

...and Aaron, if you're out there, call me. I had to plug in my cell phone number to the online reservation form, I'm sure you can pull it up somewhere. I have another box of hamburger helper in the cupboard and 3 Blue Moons left. If you actually want to go out, though, you will probably have to pay. I'll meet you at Auntie Anne's, if the line isn't too long.

Karaoke: Catharsis, Hilarity, and Humility

Thursday night Karaoke at Longworth's Tavern in Mount Adams has become a tradition among my small and beloved circle of friends here in Cincinnati. Lauren, Matthew, and I (also recently defined as "The Three Musketeers" or "The Lonely Hearts Club," (both embarrassing but I'll take the former anyday) are always there, our friend Laura comes if she can make it out from Mason, and my next-door neighbor TJ, the one who introduced us to our weekly Thursday outing's location, has been going for some time now. He's the old pro in town.

Now the thing about TJ is that he's serious about karaoke. He knows the DJ (Jimmy, a long sad story in himself...every week, he wears belted dockers with a short sleeved polo tucked in, accentuating his continuing bout with Dunlap disease, he's nearly bald, never one to be conservative with the cologne, and he plays these horrible dance music videos between each karaoke song that feature trashily clad women performing various acts with household items that are not even suggestive, they're just downright obscene. The videos themselves are not enough, apparently, as Jimmy feels the need to add colorful commentary as a virtual elbow-to-the-ribs/wink-wink-know-what-I-mean-say-no-more-say-no-more to the dudes in the crowd. Example: last night one of the videos showcased a bevy of women (they are no ladies, I assure you) in band uniforms with miniskirts, basically humping, licking, and thrusting their instruments, and Jimmy throws in, "yeah, guys, I've always been a fan of the percussion section.") Anyway, back to TJ. TJ knows all the Longworth's regulars, he knows what songs "belong" to them (now I know that 'Steph' does Bohemian Rhapsody every week, this huge dude named John always sings this horrible reggae-esque rap song, etc.), and he knows what songs will go over well with the crowds. I used to marvel at this other-worldliness that TJ possessed, giggling to myself at the absurdity of the whole idea of karaoke. "I sing for a living," I said, "why in the world would I want to sing stupid pop songs badly in front of a crowd of drunks?" Each week, however, I feel myself pulled in more and more to Karaokeland. Yesterday afternoon, Lauren, Matthew, and I found ourselves discussing the songs we were considering for the evening. Time to admit it. we're livin' on the inside of that glass house now.

Our table's set list (aforementioned table staked out early, mind you, getting a home base from which to operate has become serious business at karaoke) began with "Nothin's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Jefferson Starship. Matthew and I tend to do a different duet every week. Always a power ballad, always inane. Annie Lennox's "Walking on Broken Glass," was next. Lauren's brilliant performance astounded even Matthew, who warned against her possible violation of Karaoke Rule #1: Never sing a song to which you don't know all of the words. She pulled through and we all tried to be too badass for the pathos, but nevertheless, we felt the rain come down. We felt the wind blow through her. Matthew renewed our patriotism with some Mellencamp, I sang "Because of You" in honor of Lauren's defiant declaration of freedom for once and for all, our new friend Dave sang some Whitesnake, TJ did some all-too-catchy "It's All Been Done," Lauren and I finally did our long-promised duet of "To Be With You," (yeah you know you loved Mr. Big in 6th grade, everyone did), Matthew serenaded Dave for his birthday with "Back at One" by Brian McKnight, and I was told by a drunken man at the bar that he "really felt it" when I sang "Head Over Feet" by Alanis Morissette. Speaking of men at the bar, there was a very sketchy character in a green army coat and red and white scarf that we were convinced must have been a Palestinian suicide bomber. I told Matthew to go push him and tell him he was a douchebag. He wouldn't do it. Coward. Dave sang "Fulsom Prison Blues," TJ sang "One" (with falsetto at the end that would've made Bono proud) Dave's friend Craig sang "Mack the Knife" a la Louis Armstrong and Mercer's "The Summer Wind" a la Sinatra, and after Matthew sang one more birthday jewel to Dave, the biggest feel-good-pregnancy-termination hit since Ben Folds Five's "Brick," "Ten Weeks Late" by Third Eye Blind (complete with very explicit dream ballet), TJ closed out the night with The Cure's "Friday I'm in Love," and the rest of us bounced around in circles on the stage at the back of the bar, arms waving and bodies spinning faster than the cast of Spring Awakening.

"Happy Birthday, Dave--this song is about ABORTION!" called out Matthew.
Happy birthday, indeed.

Smart doggie, but not quite sneaky enough

So I'm sitting here checking my email and such (at the desktop computer that is...still using it though I'm getting more and more excited about my laptop) and I hear a rustling of wicker coming from the bedroom, followed by a very distinct jingle. Then there is a small whimper. I wonder if Louis is stuck somewhere, if somehow he's hurt himself. I wonder how in the world this could happen because my apartment is small and open enough that basically everything is exposed unless you're behind the closed door of the bathroom. I walk in my room, calling out to him, looking under the bed, passing right by the kitchen which as you can see is tiny, behind the door, to his little bed, under the covers in my bed, even though there isn't the usual telltale lump under the duvet to indicate his very warm presence in there....and Louis is nowhere to be found. Again, there is nowhere for a little dog to get lost in my apartment. Almost nowhere. I hear the wicker rustle again, and I realize there is one other item other than his little toy basket that is made out of wicker. Given his penchant for underwear, he has apparently figured out that he can get to where the, er, used ones stay before laundry day by stepping up into the opened foot locker where the gym/dance clothes are and using it as a step. Unfortunately, his plan wasn't perfect, because he couldn't seem to find as easy of an escape route with his procured loot. I looked down, and said "Louis!" in a startled voice. He turned his head away of course, refusing to make eye contact like he always does when he's done something wrong. In the case of Louis Ironson Jeffreys, on charges of breaking (knocking the lid off) and entering the laundry hamper, and attempted panty larceny, we the jury find the defendent guilty as charged.

I love Jemaine Clement

You heard me. Love him. Not ashamed about it. Dude is hilarious. I spent hours with my friend Bradley sitting in my apartment watching Flight of the Conchords videos on youtube a couple of weeks ago; we just couldn't get enough. I watched the man tonight in an adorable New Zealand movie called Eagle vs. Shark Granted, Rotten Tomatoes is right as always, it needs a bit more to really distinguish it from other quirky comedies...it's got some heavy shades of Napoleon Dynamite, a little of the lovingly dysfunctional families of Little Miss Sunshine and Juno, and of course a big dose of Mr. Clement's hilarious deadpan, most often found in his Conchords material. The man is a nerd's nerd, and he's ri-doggone-diculously fantastic.

I also enjoyed the presence of a good friend and an insanely large portion of potatoes at dinner tonight, in varied formats. Matthew and I went to Max & Ermas once I got out of a very very tedious 6-hour table work session for the kids' show. That's right...SIX HOURS. TABLE WORK for a Theatre for Young Audiences touring show. The Phantom Tollbooth is well-written, and very clear. It's written for children. We're not solving any big mysteries....all the lessons are right there, hitting you over the head in the TEXT, no need to delve for subtext. It's not Shaw, people....it's just not that deep.

Back to the potato-riffic dinner, though: Loaded Cheese Fries appetizer between the two of us, then Matthew got baked potato soup and a burger with a side of MORE fries. Granted, the side of fries was a mistake, but dude still ate them. I got a baked potato (loaded, yes) and a salad. When I didn't quite clean out my potato skin, I saw a Gap button-down clad arm reach across the table and fork out a bit of what was left. A comment was made about how I never seem to be able to finish anything on my plate, anywhere, which sounded strangely familiar. At any rate, it was a fantastic meal. I always forget how much I like that place until I'm randomly inspired to go there. Somehow I still managed to have cookies a little later tonight.

So lots of potatoes, a couple of chocolate chip cookies, a cute movie (in multitask with headshot selection, thesis outlining, and UPTA planning, I did my best not to miss anything in the movie, OK? I TRIED!), and a happily made (and then later received a couple of times, Fewest Dropped Calls my ASS, Cingular!) phone call later, it's time for bed.

And yes, obviously the Conchord I more traditionally favor is Bret. I mean come on, he's got the Pseudo-Jewish looks, the curly hair...I can't help but develop a star crush on him. I'm such a girl sometimes. Ehh, what do you do?