Saturday, January 24, 2009


I wrote a poem tonight during scene 3. 4? who knows.

Robin has a wig on. 
I would like some Poupon.
I think I'll get spaghetti.
Please define a yetti.

Today I took pictures with Ned. My lover. He hated it. 
My brother has heard of my blog now. If he reads it I'm not sure what he'll say.
If anyone has old bottles of talcum powder let me know. 
I think Hannah Zold has very elegant bone structure. If I had bones in my face, I would want them to look like that. She could operate a deli with her jaw.
Comfort does not have buns. Who makes barbecue with no option of buns?

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Children in the arts.

Well, today I went down to the GOVERNOR'S SCHOOL FOR THE ARTS AND TECHNOLOGY. I go there @ three times a year to eat sandwiches and carrot sticks and pretend to adjudicate.
I hobbled up to the door swearing and huffing out clouds of sleet, cursing Brandon, clutching my bag of cheddar rice cakes in my numb black fingers only to be greeted by a teacher-ish woman wearing spectacles and kindly instructed where to go to sign up for my audition. I did not care. I just wanted to be let in the building. 
So I go in, immediately trip and crumple to a heap on the steps. 
We find lots of donuts. Also nasty coffee and bananas so ripe they could easily pass for Kermit's britches cargo.
I then spot a woman I have known for three years working the granola bar and finger napkin display. I say hello, she seems surprised that I am "still in high school."  This is all fabulous.
I need to call Chase and tell him I was three hours later than I thought I'd be. I will do that later. 
I get a very soft bagel, which I resist pressing to my cheeks. Whenever I am fortunate enough to encounter a particularly plump and pliable serving of bread I like to press it to my cheeks.
I put jelly on it. The jelly comes in this squirtable container with a narrow thin slot at the top. 
Then we go down to audition the chillins. 
We hear lots of songs in foreign languages, hear many monologues about how "mama just didn't understand," and watch many abrupt crosses down right. We watch all the monologues very respectfully, and then Brandon gives a helpful, stimulating note, like, "And this time, when you tell Shelley that you don't believe in having two makeup mirrors in your locker, do it like you have a brick up your sphincter."
One young person elects to perform Acts I-XIV from "The Lark" as her monologue. I was very suspicious of this. 
And then in strolled a small boy with two very large teeth, a trim plaid shirt and crisp khaki pants. He said "boner" twice in his monologue. This was a little upsetting. The child relished this you could tell. After each "boner," he would give a significant dramatic pause during which he would re-lubricate the area between his teeth and beneath his nose with his tongue. 
Then came the dance auditions. In came the dancers. Attired as expected (each) in jazz sneakers, body stocking, footless tights, ankle socks, leg warmers, thigh highs, cotton long underwear chopped off at the groin, three leotards, wrist tape, toe tape, ankle tape, chin tape, and PLENTY of focus.
Brandon leads them through a combination as follows:  Step right, step together, step left, pas de bouree, releve, rotisserie, one, two, three, and PIROUETTE! PIROUETTE! and mademoiselle, and mademoiselle, and GEMUTLICHKEIT, BIERGARTEN, FABERGE, ENFLAMBE, AND POSE!!!!!
I think several of the children may have ground three or four millimeters off their enamel from the force with which they struck their final smiles. 
Anyway, then they all went home and Brandon presented Brett and I with these small dollar sized pieces of paper on which were printed: AUDRA HONAKER/BRETT AMBLER, IN HONOR OF ADJUDICATING AT THE APPOMATTOX REGIONAL........
We returned them to Brandon for recycling.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

And Sandy was there. And she's awesome.

Tonight I found out what Santa does after hours. 
Brett's band was playing at the Parham Pavilion. They spell it "Pavillion." X. So this was very exciting to Brett, and I had it all pictured out in my mind as a packed indoor Innsbruck kind of situation. I took pains to look fashionable. I went so far as to wear a fitted top. 
So Adam and I go to support Brett. We decide that if we don't find it in fifteen minutes we will go to McDonalds and get a Happy Meal. We are both very excited about this. 
But we find it. Nestled at the base of a ditch behind some shrubs next to the OT TIKA church on Parham Road. OT TIKA is not correct, but there is some odd assortment of letters on the sign that I do not understand. 
There are 15 parking spaces, 8 of them handicapped. 
We discover that it is a synagogue. We pay our five dollars and are escorted into a cavernous fellowship hall. White. White walls, white ceiling. Barren. Seven or eight large round tables covered in blue- well I don't know what that material was. It was like slimy paper. 
Seated at these tables are twenty or so members of the synagogue community. All with very tall hair and SLACKS. The occasional sweater festooned with crocheted cats. (I actually really liked that sweater and would have taken it from her if I could have pulled it off. There was a large brown cat right on her ass. Left ass. And rhinestones around the bottom.)
Also a large buffet line of pot-luck dishes. Mountains of tinfoil.
This is not the sort of venue that Brett's band frequents. 
We sit in the back. I make two boxes out of the spare fliers and miscellaneous bits of paper I can find on the table. That is what I do when I am at an event I am sure will be less than exciting. Like my old church. One can make an impressive amount of boxes with the number of inserts in a standard church bulletin. (I will teach anyone interested in this box to make it. I learned in on "Lambchop's Play-Along.")
This is turning out to be not a very interesting tale.
But they played well; I got them to sing the song I like where Brett makes lots of noises for a long time without breathing and always gets a round of applause. They don't let Brett sing any soloes. How does one pluralize "solo?" I will look.
The two front men are both very dear, one of them looks like an acorn I realized tonight. I like acorns. 
One of them likes to kick his legs when he plays guitar. I think this is meant to make it obvious to the viewer that he is a real rock and roll band person. It looks to me like he has a tic in his knee.
Anyway, Brett's band was the opening act for an old guy.
They old guy was garbed mostly in black with a buckskin top coat. Tall. And Santa was his keyboardist. 
I loved Santa. He was gruff and had poofy cheeks and had trimmed his beard close to his skin for the occasion. He was wearing all black too with some white piping running down the center of his shirt. He had a small shiny red keyboard, permanently set on "organ." And he sat there and he played and he was Santa. I liked him a lot. 
This old guy sang a lot of depressing songs he had written himself. Each one featured the words, "heart, black, blue, tears, love, lonely, broken, whiskey, coronary," etc.
We left a quarter of the way through his set. I whooed for Santa. And I don't whoo.
Then Adam and I went to McDonald's. I decided to give Happy  Meals another chance to get the toy right. I only go for Happy Meals when they have something cute and chubby as the toy. And without fail I receive a plastic tractor. Adam only receives miniature Barbies. Even when there are Hot Wheels available.
This time I got a small worthless dog. 
I considered filching one of Ginnie's cats and holding him ransom until she agrees to allow me to paint on Annie. But decided against it as I wouldn't want her to kill me and it wouldn't be Ned.
Also I don't know if she even knows of my interest in painting on Annie so kidnapping as a first resort might seem a bit extreme. 
I guess I'm done writing about this. I am going to do the dishes. I personally don't understand why anyone ever dirties up their dishes again after having cleaned them once. Seems a stupid mistake to keep repeating. 

Friday, January 9, 2009

I am Audnavi.

So there's this song that was played today on NPR. It was performed with a Jamaican accent and very catchy. The theme consisted of two notes as follows: same note same note same note lower note same note. And I swear the lyrics are "Hooter My Cooter." 
I have spent the afternoon coming up with other entertaining lyrics that would fit into that musical phrase. Such as, "Hot in the Potty." All of these things are very entertaining when sung with a Jamaican accent. I recommend.
I'm house-sitting this weekend for the O'Willard menagerie. Can't wait to see Bud!
Watched Wall-E last night. Did not cry. Everyone I've spoken to that has seen that was reduced to tears. I am not even sure at which point they were remotely enticed to cry. And where did all that dust come from?
Have decided I could pass for Puerto Rican. Which I will need to do in order to be cast as Usnavi. 
Yesterday I spent time in the Third Reich filing papers. Lots of grimaces of dread and deafening heel taps. Saw lots of files with names like "Blaise" and "Astor" and "Ronin von Bungerflaban."
My giant orange hippo is less than comfortable to lie upon. And I don't want to try the elephant because he looks too pristine and jolly as is and I don't want to crumple him.
Rehearsal cancelled last night.  CANCELLED. No explanation. Can hardly wait to find out why.
My phone is ringing. It is all the way across the apartment. But I guess I'll get it cause I'll catch hell from several people who may read this if they have further proof that I "purposefully ignore" my phone.
My cats are in love. You can tell because the smaller orange one (who may be a dog and chewed off his own tail) spends 20 hours of the day hell bent on gnawing on the other cats' under the tail parts. This is weird and results in outrage and terror on the part of the big gray cat who really has no excuse for being such a puss as he has been gifted with seven extra claws on his front feet and could no doubt wipe the quiche out of the smaller one. And then you will suddenly come upon them cradling each others' heads with their paws and licking each others' faces. Issues.
I must now prepare for my walk. On my walk I will wear all of my coats and hats. I like getting al bundled up for winter and then having Brett or my brother shove me around. This is fun because you can't really move your head or arms in that condition and are sort of like Violet Blueberry from Willy Wonka. 
I will also perform Act I of "In the Heights." Which I have now decided I sort of like. Like the soundtrack better than watching the show however. One is distracted from the lyrics at the show by all the ripply hamstrings thwacking around downstage. 

Wednesday, January 7, 2009


Everyone should go to Janine's blog and look at the picture of her about to be inappropriate with a carrot. Perhaps next there will be a picture of she and the carrot suffering through the flu together. 
Last night I came into possession of one three foot neon orange plush elephant and one three foot neon orange plush hippo. They are serving the posts of couch pillows. Makes me feel like Christmas morning every time I enter the room. Names are still debatable. I welcome suggestions.
Splendid pictures of Joseph and Elaine up on facebook. I'm hoping the series continues into a makeout shot. 
Oh good. I think Brett is home. That means I'm making lasagna. 

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

My veins are flat.

Cats are most necessary.
I think I would like to write a book. I wonder what to write about.
I have my Christmas candle lit in the window. I love candles in the window. I may just keep it up. That's a lot of batteries.
Eating no bread seems like a terrible idea. I wonder if Vicki eats bread. I wonder if doughnuts count as bread.
I'm curious to see "The Marvelous Wonderettes." I get the impression it's something akin to the Taffetas on crack.
Also they are advertised glossily on every other garbage pail in Manhattan.
Ginnie looks good in green.
I might get to play a pigtail. I am very excited about this. 
Joseph has the honor to be on the arm of Elaine Stritch this evening. This is super exciting as well as I am hopeful for many funny stories.
I wonder what kind of horse Jen Meharg has. I love horses. I used to fancy myself quite the horsewoman until I got up on one and it refused to go no matter what. 
I have a very short neck. I wonder what it feels like to have a long neck. 
I really like cookies. Just undercooked. 
Robyn, what else are you seeing this weekend?
erm ghpahdf paghiep gehpahlus.

Monday, January 5, 2009


My evening in was lovely. After having assessed the situation Sam and I decided to convene and be violently ill together. He arrived with grapes, orange juice, wheat sticks and ginger crisps. And 30 Rock. Then I fell asleep and Brett went to Queens til 4 am.
Brett won the Wicked lottery. Which seems like a good thing until you get to your seat and realize that you have to perform a standing backbend in order to see anything. We moved several rows back at intermission. Glinda appeared to be a hair cross-eyed. But I might only think that because she reminds me of some lady on The Young and the Restless who looks cross-eyed. 
We took the LMNOPQ trains to Brooklyn for dinner with Joseph and Perry. It was lovely. Macaroni and cheese. And cherry pie sent to Joseph from Gregory Maguire. It didn't have a crust and was highly tangy. My idea of a normal-sized piece of pie differs greatly from Perry's. 
Joseph and I decided to perform Amy Grant's Christmas album. 
During this time Brett decided it would be fun to bash on the tuneless piano and play Bop-It.
So after that plan fell through we all set about pestering Perry into playing his violin. He agreed under the condition that the rest of us all go out and walk around the block. We did. We saw a fluorescent nativity set in which the baby Jesus appeared to be performing crunches in the manger.
I'm supposed to publish a picture of Perry fiddling with this post, but I don't know how to do that, I don't have the camera, and Brett has gone out for lettuce so I will add that later. 
I jumped into the Subway track on the way back, which was thrilling. Have always wanted to do that. Jumped right back out quick as a flash. Not smart. Glad I did it. I used to spend minutes and minutes sitting at the top of my basement stairway trying to work up the gumption to jump. I  knew it wouldn't kill me, but it seemed just a fraction too high. 
Eventually did it. 
Then we drove to Richmond. We left at 10pm. Which should rationally mean that we had at least three more good awake hours to go before we started nodding off. However, every time I leave New York anytime post-sunset my mind red alerts my body that it has just survived a nuclear holocaust and has had no sleep for 6 weeks. It then becomes next to impossible to stay awake. 
Maggie and Adam seem to have made off with my candle wick. This is very suspicious. The surface of my spruce candle now resembles Karolina Kurkova's abdomen. 

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Those babies are probably overheated.

So the troops have all gone out to dinner and their respective shows. 
I have maintained my position in the hotel room. I don't feel good. This is fine though. Here in the hotel room is a jacuzzi and a television with more surface area than Italy.
Brett and Ali are going to see Avenue Q. Chase is going to All My Sons.
Went ice skating today. For about half an hour. Got about 1/28th of the way around the rink and my feet began to cry. This was Brett's first time on the ice and he did swimmingly. Chase devoted the rink time to practicing his hockey stop. We're not quite there yet.
Lunch was taken at a place called Five Napkin Burger. There are photos of me dripping with aioli.
Brett and I saw In the Heights. I feel that the plot could have been eliminated altogether. The singing was fabulous and the orchestra quite brilliant. The dancing consisted mostly of clavicle isolations, so that wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped. BUT- you are allowed to bring your candy and water into the theatre there. Very exciting.  Also from where I was sitting I had a nice view of the chess match taking place between the flautist and the drummer. 
Chali saw a matinee of 13 and were absolutely dismayed. So crushed were their expectations that they decided against speaking with the composer (their seat-mate) after the show because they didn't feel like telling that big of a lie.
Chase is uncannily skilled at Scrabble. Makes words like "pox." "Zephyr." "Larnyx."
I have been strongly discouraged several times today from catching a pigeon.
I just think they look like they would be squooshy.
Katie Holmes has bunions.

Friday, January 2, 2009


New York City is filled with babies in Ziploc baggies.
Hundreds of babies smuffled in wool and stuffed into a freezer bag. In the stroller. Prone.
They look warm and I get jealous. 
We got here yesterday in record time. Chase picked us up promptly at 8 as he had scheduled. Promptly at 9:15.
We went to the McDonald's drive-thru. For 30 minutes. We made sure that we received all the food we ordered so as not to have a repeat of the Taco Bell fiasco.
Then we were off. Off and running to half a block up the street where we stopped at the bp to get creamer for Brett's coffee.
Then we were off. For 7 miles until Brett decided that McDonald's coffee was just really not worth drinking so we pulled over to a Dunkin' Donuts and got new.
We stopped a few more times because I get a real kick out of the service stations devoted to historical figures that decorate the Jersey Turnpike.  I feel as though most of them would have wished for something loftier to bear their name. My favorite is the Clara Barton. I may have imagined it, but I think one of them is the Molly Pitcher. This is because there was a red/orange hardback biography of her at my local library growing up that I read repeatedly. Also the book about birthing kittens.
There was a heated debate in the bowels of Clara Barton about the hotness quotient of Ashley Tisdale. We worked the Washington Post crosswords. We arrived in record time. Well, not record for me personally. I can squeal in in a shade under 5 hours when I really set my mind to it. 
Due to the prestige of Dan Kniffen we are staying in the Princeton Club. This is a very ritzy hotel located beneath several layers of dung-strewed scaffolding. Complete with butler, dozens of oil paintings of old men and brown leather studded sofas. We are the only ones here under 90. When Brett and I walked in this evening we were apprehended by security thinking we were young upstarts sneaking in to diddle with the old folks.
The room has king sized bed that folds up into the wall. This is called a Murphy bed I think. I will ask Tom.
I had been having a personal temper tantrum for two days dreading the cold in New York. I was naturally fine. Chase was jibbering away about how cold he was. Ali could not feel her feet AT ALL by the time we were in for the evening. The boys were out trolling for milk and pizza so we went to the hotel and soaked Ali's feet in some warm water. They retained nervelessness and turned an enchanting shade of eggplant. All except her toes, which still resembled bloated baby seals.
I digress.
We tried to win the Wicked lottery. There was naturally a record number of participants. We did not win. We did manage to go backstage and come out 3 loaves of Christmas bread ahead. 
Chase's world was shattered when we attempted the TKTS booth only to find that the only shows available were Boeing Boeing and Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad.  (I should point out here that there is nothing wrong with Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad. It just fails to contain nude swingset sex or shaking leaking maraca-breasted Puerto-Ricans.)
Chase spent the remainder of the evening bemoaning his fate. What had once been a vacation that gleamed with the promise of seeing SEVEN shows was now a vacation which could only promise Scrabble at best.
Every 37 minutes or so though, he would rally and with a burst of enthusiasm exclaim something like "Oh but you know what!!! I bet not a lot of shows had  a show tonight! It will all be fine tomorrow!!!" Followed in the next hour with another bout of bemoaning, etc.
He turned out to be exactly right. 
Today Ali won the Shrek lottery, so Chali are seeing that tonight. 
Brett and I ordered room service because I had never done that. I ordered french toast. Which arrived on a plate with lots of worthless rinds and flowers, which I promptly pitched into the gravy boat. Brett got Cream of Wheat. Which I personally feel was a waste of room service. Bill Cosby does not like Cream of Wheat.
Sam and I had big plans to view Liza Minnelli tonight. I got especially excited when I came within sight of her billboard in Times Square on which she is slimy with the oil of chorus boys and appears to have raccoon feet stapled onto her eyelids. 
After I popped by the box office though, and discovered several people already in line at 10:30am for the 8pm show, I dismissed that option.
Brett and I decided to attend August: Osage County. Everyone I have spoken to about the show just loved it and said they laughed and laughed. So, despite it being longer that Cyrano de Bergerac (the end of the run version) we went.
NOT a comedy. We nearly left after the first act. The performances were really splendid, but nothing overly interesting had happened. However, because I knew if I stood up I would have to go to the bathroom violently, we decided to give Act II a chance.  They really ramp up the stakes in Act II. By Act III grandmothers are screaming "FUCK" and shattering crockery.
Left there, ate a sandwich featuring crust that cut me behind my teeth.
Am now back in the hotel. There is a squishy foam hard hat here. I don't know where it came from but I think I am going to take it.