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.