Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Long nails make typing loud.

Today the clouds were so brilliant. All day. And they kept changing from new brilliant to new brilliant. I wanted to be above them. And among them. And I smiled at them. And noticed I was smiling at clouds. Which made me feel more like smiling.
Today, under duress, I ate an entire pint of what was supposed to be brown rice with my right hand.
So I can do that.
I have an evening of souffles planned for next Wednesday. That is very exciting.
And I think I'm right when I say that yes, marshmallows can be roasted over a grill. If anyone knows different, chime in.
It is nice to be a girl.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009



nevermind life.
nevermind ice cream.

Thursday, September 17, 2009


Well, I have successfully been hit by a car.
And I'm fine. Will have (gleefully) a lovely bruisy gash on my left thigh to show everyone next weekend. Hope it lasts that long. I know you're excited, Ginnie.
But was really nothing serious.
Really, Mom. And Moms 2-10.
LA is kind of blah. In my personal opinion. Looks like somebody with a relatively mediocre imagination decided to build a city out of Legos. Neutral-toned Legos.
I got off the plane from Chicago Tuesday night. Got on the plane to LA Wednesday night. Planes feeling to me for the moment like elevators.
Watched America's Next Top Model on the flight out here. Realized with shock that I don't care about it anymore.
Then promptly at dinner tonight Jake's surprise dinner guest turned out to be one of the casting directors for ANTM.
I debated becoming obsessed again and decided against it. He said if I'd been here a couple of days earlier I could have helped him work the castings tomorrow.
Oh well, that means I'm stuck going to San Diego instead.
I'm going to explore the dickens out of this hotel. Cannot remember the name of it right now. But Joseph has EVENTS to attend, so I am going to be trolling around by myself and hopefully playing in the ocean.
Jake is VERY good-looking. Smiles now, twinkles. Happy he seems happy.
Ryland is a love. We have been singing The Secret Garden and Little Shop all day. After we overruled Joseph's penchant for Alice Ripley and Renee Fleming.
We performed "238" in his den for our own amusement. Four or five of you might know what I'm talking about.
We went to a delectable establishment where you can acquire for $1.50 two cookies of your choice with the ice cream of your choice serving as filling sandwiched between them.
My body almost went into shock. I realized I hadn't had ice cream since July.
Then we went to a boutique that sells all the fancy designer duds for almost free and Joseph and Ryland played dolly-dress-up with me. Some of these hemlines. Absurd.
I am now back at their apartment (which is lovely), as I think I am coming down with nuclear bronchitis and would rather spend the evening watching any of their glorious array of dvds than sit at a bar and watch them drink those drinks that look like tall thin glasses full of swamp.
Chicago is BEAUTIFUL. I'd been once before but it was very cold and when I am very cold I enjoy everything about as much as I enjoy necking with a shark.
But this weather (according to my two friends who live there) was the nicest in months.
I walked and walked. That is, I have decided, my favorite way to see and learn new places. Just get dropped off in the middle of nowhere, be told which way is east, and then be left for dead.
I examined all of downtown, was almost run down by a Segue tour, napped in Grant Park, walked for miles along the Lake, which was the most beautiful blue-green water I have ever seen, staggered up and down Navy Pier, then came out onto a beach. Right there in the middle of a huge city. Saw a production of Cabaret in a giant theatre full of red crushed velvet and glittering enormous crystal chandeliers.
Every time I see a production of "Cabaret," I violently want to be in a production of "Cabaret" for the next two weeks. As any of the girls. Or the monkey.
Sat beside a lovely older couple who three minutes after sitting down struck up a conversation with me that went on for forty-five minutes and culminated with them asking if they could take me out for dinner following the show and me giving them information about the Barksdale Theatre and Spelling Bee.
There were enough tears during this curtain call to comfortably house a whale for a month.
I am told by my friend Michael who is in the show that after curtain call most evenings, the sobbing cast members usually adjourn to the neighboring bar and drown their sorrows and try to forget the horrible experiences they had living through World War II.
Wanted to remind them: Act.
Drove to Indiana. Because at one point during my driven tour with my friends, the driver informs me that "Indiana is only a few blocks that way." I bite my lip, then go ahead and ask that he drive me over there just so I can say I've gone.
Didn't have time to work in Wisconsin.
Saw Hyde Park. Saw where the Olympics main stadium will be built if Chicago gets to host them in 2016. This will be like the Olympics being held behind 7 1/2.
Saw so many boats. The boats looked like they were cars in a parking lot.
Walked and walked.
Found a Barnes & Noble. Went in and read an autobiography I've been curious about but didn't want to spend the money on. Managed to complete it in a brief enough time that no employee got suspicious.
Rode the Red Line to a friend's apartment where I ate burritos and sausage and sat in the floor. Played cards. Miss playing cards.
Swang in some swings. Talked to Riley, which was great.
Went to the zoo. Saw a lion, a tiger, a leopard and a snow leopard. Got very excited I was seeing a lion because of "The Lion King." Between Riley and myself there was a lot of squealing, pointing and exclaiming "OH LOOK!"
Requested that I be driven to Buckingham Fountain. Which is lovely and the last time I was there was not in season and was therefore just a giant empty cement pot.
But this night it was lit up beautifully. And the view from its east side is wonderful. I got a very lovely gentleman to dance the waltz with me in front of the fountain.
Then. THEN.
I brushed my hair and teeth, put on my new newsie cap that Sam gave me because it makes him look like a baker, and we all went out to a swing dance club.
It is one of those things that terrify me. Being somewhere where I might be approached and spoken to by people I don't know, or asked to do something I don't really know how to do.
But did it. And got asked to dance lots of times, once by an attractive (though rather red-faced) man who said the following to me:
1. I got into dancing because I like the ladies, and they find dancing attractive.
2. You just turn off your brain. I'll do it. (secretly kind of worked)
3. Most women have a hard time turning off their brains. (Kiss my grits, asshole.)
And I had FUN. And I learned lindy-hop. And I want to learn more.
And I learned I like cranberry juice. (Adam and Maggie- there will be further discussion on this point.)
And I just loved that all these great people meet every night at all these different bars in the city and go upstairs and just dance and enjoy each other spinning and twirling and sweating to awesome swing music.
Also there is apparently blues dancing. Which, from what I can tell, involves a lot more grinding.
Next time, perhaps.
Oh, all the boys are back now.
Dixie and Pretzel have to go out to poop.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Cousin pizza.

Winking drunk Korean woman.

"IT'S SNOWING!" scream all the women in Jean Ferre. It's not.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Fiber 1!

Yesterday evening Sam and I went for a drive. Our first order of business was to ride by Gillette's castle and see what their hours would be so we could be there bright and early today.

We drive through several herds of deer who are very accustomed to automobiles and will stroll up to the window and ask you for a light.

We twist and turn and wind and wend and finally arrive at a nearly abandoned parking lot where we find a sign saying, "Closes at Sunset." It is about seven minutes shy of sunset at this point. Literally. We decide to do the castle at light speed.

This is the castle that was built by the old eccentric character actor in the 1920's. He lived there alone, in the dark, then died and willed the castle to whoever was smart enough to do something cool with it. So it's a state park.

This castle is made of jaggedly cut stones and very tall and angular. It is VERY creepy and in the dark/at Halloween would be the most ultimate place for a party ever. We peer in the windows. It looks sort of like Irene's house.

The view off the back terrace is staggering. Some river. I think the Connecticut one. And just trees and screaming wildcats and water as far as you can see.

I felt like feudal lord Honaker.

So then it's dark.

We leave, and decide to follow the signs to the "scenic route." This "scenic route" turns out to be a winding twisting narrow hill of death. There are signs that say "SCHOOL BUS X-ING." And a street called, "Bone Hill."

We stifle our sobs and turn around. We drive to Chester.

There is a Chester in every state I have visited in the past five weeks. This Chester is adorable. And quaint. And I don't say that deroggatorially. Isn't a word. Is now.

All of the shops and restaurants in this Chester (which stretches on for four blocks, honest) have signs on the doors that say, "Open By Chance."

Which is awesome. The strange boy with a hawk nose and pretty eyes who I don't know on the orange couch agrees with me.

Philia is sitting next to me eating soggy soy crisps. Which reminds me of Maggie.


I've got another Starbucks option I'm going to try. I'm getting recommendations.

What did we do after that. This is becoming a record for me to remember this trip, so sorry if it is getting tedious.

Oh- we drove to Middleton because we were animals and starving and that was our best guess at where we could find the nearest Burger King. Thirty minutes away. But we were right.

Then we come back to the house and assemble in the grand parlor with half the cast and two of us watch Mad Men while the rest of everyone cackles and makes jokes and is VERY disrespectful. I swear. Adam, some people. The associate choreographer and I were the only ones demonstrating appropriate reverence.

Then eleven o'clock strikes and the entire cast evaporates. Here in Connecticut everyone goes to bed at 7:30 pm every night, so 11pm was a real stretch.

Today, Sam and I got up early and drove to Mystic. Which was really lovely. Sailboats and displays of pandas. They have a small drawbridge that works by dropping these two enormous ivory colored cubes of concrete to one side. When the bridge is going to open a bell shrills and all of Mystic becomes hushed. They watch.

Everyone there was SO KIND. I went into the army surplus store on the main street because I am all about getting a pair of those baggy pocketed camo pants, and the old man behind the counter was so dear. He had a slight gap between his front teeth. Or was that the man in the parking lot booth, who, when I informed him that when we arrived, there was no one in the booth to give us a ticket, smiled and said, "Well, then you just drive right through. We can't very well penalize you for my not being in the booth, can we?" This boggled Sam's mind.

We got very close to some ducklings, talked to a large brunette woman in a bright pink mumu walking her bichon frises and then climbed a very tall rusty staircase that followed the side of a hill. I was sure at the top we would empty out into an asylum. One of those asylums with spacious lawns where the allow visitors to see their inmates and have picnics and pretend their are not locked up. But it turned out to be nursing home. We then walk until we find the huge Victorian house that had clearly suffered a massive fire many years before. Sam laughs and takes pictures of this house for his mother. A concrete wall has been erected around this house as well as a wire fence. I suppose to prevent people like me from going inside and looking for cats and pretending to be a ghost. If it had been dark though, I'd have tried to climb.

We then lunch at Mystic Pizza. Which is not where the movie was shot but is still covered in stills from the film and shows the movie on loop.

This pizza was good. It was not even approaching Artichoke or Papa Johns.

We watch some men fishing. That was my favorite part of the morning.

We drive back, collect the courtesans and Philia and whoever it is that is sitting on that orange couch right now and drive to the Haddam Neck Fair. We have obtained the Fair itinerary from the Company Manager earlier and are very excited by the contents. Let me show you:

11:30 am- Ox Pull

12:30 pm- Skillet Throwing Competition

1:30 pm- The Baby Show

3:30 pm- Multiple Birth Contest

Not even kidding.

So we are all expecting tar pits and corn cobs.

We arrive.

Acres of parking, Ferris wheels, the scrambler, so much livestock, fried dough, etc.


The first thing we do is raid the bunny tent. There. Are. So. Many. Cute. Fat. Round. Baby. Bunnies.

Sam took a lot of pictures. I grinned a lot.

Also huge angry chickens.

We pet the camels, the llamas, the ponies, the sheep.

We eat oil.
We examine the tent that features locked cages full of the prize-winning pies, and the prize-winning snaps, and the prize-winning floss.
I get sick and drive Sam's car back to Victorian England.
I discuss groceries and pigs with Carol. During this discussion I decide not to google any of the actors/choreographers/etc. I meet while I am here until after I am back to New York. That way I won't find out anything that might shock me, like, oh, I just spent the afternoon sorting socks with Chita Rivera.
Then a bunch of us drive almost to Rhode Island to see the movies. We are the only ones in the theatre. It is very thrilling to shout at the top of your lungs things like, "GUYS, I'M GOING TO GET A SODA, BE RIGHT BACK!" in a movie theater.
I wore my 3-D glasses on my way to get a diet coke because I had noticed on the way in that the carpeting in the theater was dark purple with moons and comets and stars. I thought this might be fascinating to view in 3-D. But I only tripped a few times, so the experience wasn't all that I'd hoped it'd be.
OH. And MOST importantly. I learned how to milk a cow.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Pseudolos just bought me a soda.

I don't know how to spell that. But the man playing him here is very dear and kind and round and has a curly, bouncy ring of graying hair around his head, all bald on top. He was wearing generous wrinkly plaid shorts and a pair of glasses that had vivid yellow lenses.
We are the only two in the house right now. And you sit in this house, in whichever parlor you choose, and you can hear crickets. The crickets kick-off at noon here. Crickets and the occasional torrent of motorcycles driving by. He wandered into the room and said my name and asked me where my hat was and then sat down on the heavy yellow couch and started talking to me. And we talked. I talked to someone I didn't know a bit for about half an hour. And I got around to enjoying myself.
He has three sons. The youngest of which begins his senior year of high school on Wednesday. He loves his family very much. He also thinks there is an alarming number of richoldwhite here.
We discussed how there isn't even anywhere here to get a soda except the rehearsal hall, and how the house where all the courtesans are staying is called "the sorority house" and how they all get on their outfits and get drunk like they are going to go somewhere. Perhaps northeast Haddam? To watch the new shelving units get installed at the liquor store? He finds them entertaining.
It was just very nice.
Then he went out to rehearsal and came back three minutes later with an ice cold Diet Coke. Massive amounts of love.
Anyway, I am now alone with all the lace and cherubim, and the US Open is on tv, which makes me inexplicably happy. I think though, it's because I like watching tennis with my Dad and I watched the US Open my first couple of weeks at W&M.
Between 12:30 and 12:45, one at a time, the entire female ensemble of Camelot walked by the window. You can tell which ones the actors are because they are a. under 70, and b. all wearing their NYC clothes and dark large sunglasses.
So I, in direct opposition to their maidenly attire, put on my snowflake pants and a ponytail and walk down behind the theater to sit on the dock. I sit there, I read "Brave New World," which I'm pretty into, and am lying on my tummy gripped by the depths of a particularly interesting chapter, when someone throws a rope on top of me.
So I roll over.
There is an enormous yacht pulling up to the dock 1 foot behind my ankles. The man on board says, "Sorry! I was aiming for the pileon/pilon/(how the hell do you spell that) not you!"
Well, he missed. So I sit up, he hands me this elaborate knot 4 feet in circumference that I am instructed to loop around the thingy. I loop it.
I observe the entire of contents of Westminster Canterbury processing single file across the wooden bridge leading to the theatre. Just in time for the matinee. I observe a small boy with a bright orange inflatable guitar and matching bright orange hair rocking out in a drainage ditch. I observe his sister stealing his guitar.
I observe many old couples sitting in lawn chairs by the river. The women are all dead asleep and the color of traffic cones and pennies and their husbands are either sketching (which I found endearing) or reading, or staring at the procession of old folks going into the theater and thinking they sure are glad they are not going to the matinee.
I decide I am about to turn into an Audra Fritatta and decide that the lure of putting my feet in the water trumps the slight threat of snakes or ticks or falling in in my flannels, so I take off my shoes, stuff them in a crevice and climb down the rocks underneath the dock to get to the water. I arrive. I leave almost immediately because the instant my toe touched the water all of my blood ran out of my ears and my foot fell off.
So I walk to the center of the meadow and sit on the largest, most elevated manhole cover I have ever run across. I begin to resume my book, but then notice that right next to me, mid-field, dozens of white folding chairs are being set up for a wedding later today. I am about to offer to help when I notice two other women hurrying in my direction. One has verrrrrrrrry long poorly cared for hair (I know this because it looks exactly how mine looked when it was super long) and is wearing woven tie-dyed skirts and fringed shawls and holding two camo-print feathers with red tips. She is also holding a small leather purse. Her companion is wearing flip flops, has on spotty blue toenail polish and a black cocktail dress with a wide white satin sash. Also bright red lipstick. And one of those hairstyles that is obviously "trendy."
The Duchess of Split Ends and Feathers shouts to a person a few feet behind me, "I'M JUST SCATTERING SOME TAR!" I swear she said tar. She proceeds to walk round and around the chair area dribbling her "tar" out of her pouch. Blessing the area I suppose. I decide not to move even though I'm bound to get blessed on sitting where I am. Couldn't hurt.
I do a crossword puzzle.
I look up. Feathers has now broken out a red ceramic urn and has given it to Sash to hold. She lights whatever is in it on fire, and then together they walk the same path around the chairs, this time with Feathers using her army print feathers to fan the smoke into the air.
Fascinating. I almost asked what that was for. Might go back and do so.
So now I am sitting in a pink chair.
The Barksdale chair department would go batty for all these chairs. Chairs, and side tables, and elegant couches. PROPS. I can't look at anything anymore without evaluating it for it's potential use as a good prop.
Philia and I stood in the kitchen and conversed this morning. That's all there really is to say about that. She made a salad, I made a peanut butter bagel.
And this peanut butter you have to stir. It's good. Still. Open-minded Audra, open-minded.
There may be another one of these before the evening is out.
Also I love screen doors to walk around porches. I'm giving serious thought to mashing my face into that screen as hard as I can for two minutes and then seeing how much of a waffle I look like. I've got at least an hour before rehearsal is over.


It has only been a few hours since I wrote, but I have seen so much. So as not to forget-

I went to sleep last night on a lima bean shaped couch in front of an arc of four floor to ceiling 12ft. windows. Romance, art. Sculpture. The amount of gilt and brocade and cushioning in this house is staggering.
Sam said he has been waking up each night he has been here on the dot of 3:58am gasping. And Sam DOES NOT WAKE UP DURING THE NIGHT. He's like a mummy. We all here think this is the ghost at work. I did not wake up during the night, but I did have a night of horrible peculiar dreams one right after the other.
I got up at eight. With a horrible crick in my neck, because as we all know, lima beans only curve one way.
In the daylight, East Haddam is beautiful. It is a little chilly, and the Connecticut River is about three minutes from the door. And it's so lovely. There are little white boats everywhere on it. And just so we're all clear, the Goodspeed is really the doll-house version of the Barksdale. I know this because when we walked through the parking lot at 9am there were several cars of the old folks pulling up and hefting their old woman cargo out onto the pavement. The matinee is at 2:30.
I'm considering going, but it's "Camelot," and I did want to be available for my thirtieth.
We walked the short loop and the long loop. The short loop goes around from the actor housing to the theater and back again. It is very quiet, riddled with dead frogs and snakes, and reminds me of that area behind the Swift Creek Mill Wawa that you pass on the right if you go out of the Wawa the back way. Only much more elaborate and wealthy.
Then we did the big loop. I sweated and panted and gasped. Climbed so many mountains. Many wide golden fields with yellow and lavendar flowers. Tom would love it up here. The big loop is about four miles. We saw a large pile of horse poop, which we enjoyed because we enjoy horses. The minute we got back in the kitchen one of the Proteans, who runs this route every morning and is therefore built like a very very sturdy ox said, "Oh- did you guys notice that huge pile of fresh bear poop?"
As we neared the end of the loop we passed the church, and the graveyard next to it. I wanted to go into this graveyard because the newest stone looked to be from the mid 1800s and some of them were so faded and lichen-covered that I was curious to see if there was any visible etching anywhere. There was. They said things like, "Annabel Southton, Wife. b. 1403 d. 1407."
So that was all fascinating. I ran my fingers over the words on the tombstones and imagined the people carving it so long ago. And realized, well, we'll all be dead pretty soon now." Time fast.
Each house here has a plaque (in some cases, a green piece of construction paper in a black plastic frame in others) stating when the house was built and the name of the original occupying family. This is cool.
We pass the sweet shop, which of course is closed. They sell lots of stuffed animals in there. And Doug & Melissa items. Also a large antique barn that looked a whole lot like Class 'n Trash in Ashland. They have a large wooden leopard wall hanging that Sam is pretty sure he's going to sneak out one night and steal.
Except that will be a challenge because in all of our four miles I maybe saw 1 streetlight.
I am now sitting at a mahogany table beside lace curtains listening to all the Proteans and Sam wandering around the house warming up. They all have rehearsal in about five minutes, and to get there they have to walk across the side yard and jump a ditch.
Tomorrow we have big plans. There is the East Haddam Neck County Fair. I know. I'm hoping for lots of ponies, piglets, and necks.
Then we are going to see this place called Gillette's Castle, which was apparently built by some man who got the lead in some big show a few years ago and decided with his paycheck he would build a castle in Connecticut.
We are going to Mystic for lunch. Most exciting.
We are going to go find a ladder and go upstairs into the turreted room and climb up into the attic playroom of little girl ghost Emily who died a horrible death and now spends her time waking up the male ingenues of Goodspeed productions at four in the morning.
But I just found out that one of the women in this show, I think the one playing Sam's mother who carries her dog around with her, is insisting that we all gather in the ante-parlor tonight to watch Mad Men.
I squealed.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Peanut allergy.

Well, I stayed up very late last night, and then had to get up at a decent hour. Which was HARD. But I did it. I always try and gauge the number of other people in the house before I go out to take my shower so I can decide if I want to go out to the bathroom in my towel, my jeans and a sweatshirt, or my underpants. I decide that I am the only one in the house. I march to the bathroom wearing my bra, a purple skirt and clutching my towel and some things I shouldn't mention in a public forum. The door is shut, but the shower is not on, which means I now probably do not have time to get back into my room before the door opens and I am in full view.
Then Brianne materializes out of nowhere and during our 2 1/2 minute conversation, I manage to drop first my towel, then my underpants, then my unmentionables on the floor of the hallway. Bri says nothing about this. She is great. She is the white Katrinah.
Then out of the bathroom comes a relatively attractive tall man with curvy hips. In a towel. Bri introduces me to this man who is Marnix, or Mushkin, or something like that. He is her brother in law who is in town to watch the US Open. And to use everyone else's toothbrush.
We all have some conversation about how many cats are raped in the yard behind the house each night and then I take my shower.
Which was lovely. This shower has necessary water pressure, which is something I adore.
I then brush my hair, sweat and curse and struggle my way into my what you guys all called "sexy Dorothy" dress (which was difficult because of many reasons. This is a dress one should only wear when one has a roommate that can tie sturdy knots) and my trusty orthopedic shoes.
I realize I might be running a few minutes late, but decide to sacrifice the time to apply some mascara and lipgloss. I know.
So I scowl and hiss all the way to the subway because for some reason whenever I go out in public looking halfway decent I tend to try and look as mean as I can to discourage anyone from speaking to me or saying anything that might make me feel threatened like, "you look nice."
Whatever. It's a problem.
I am so distracted by the fact that I am wearing a form-fitting top that I entirely miss my subway stop. So I get out one later and walk back to 42nd St. and the Starbucks that has been assigned me.
Alanna walks in in a fedora and one of those cute sundresses that you can wear very breezily and casually if you are somewhat flat-chested. Envy.
Oops. That sounds like I've insulted Alanna. I haven't.
We drink tall mocha somethings, which tastes a little less like tar sludge than some coffee I've had, and then we just start walking around Times Square. She just likes to get inspired as she happens upon things in the street.
It was so much fun. Even got to the point where I was being provocative sitting in a gray baseball mitt and throwing my arms around a pair of sailors.
Then I dropped Alanna off for lunch with her very nice boyfriend who looks like the Apostle Paul.
I go home to pack. Easy. Since I've learned that rolling up your clothes trick, easy. I stuff my backpack with flannel pants and chocolate chips and head off to the train.
I become FURIOUS in the train station because my train is fifteen minutes late and the other trains that are not late are coming ahead of mine. Imagine that.
But my fury subsides in due course because I have learned that when I get irrationally furious like that, it is best just to let myself be so, and it will slide right away.
I get on the train. In the back row, which I have all to myself except for a lumpy middle-aged woman wearing capris and reading lots of newspaper clippings about the Golden Arches.
From my position in the back row I learn everything there could possibly ever be to know about the pale red-headed graduate student in psychology who has changed her focus and wants to now focus more on counseling lesbian and gay high school students that have been kicked out of their house even though in New York once she gets above the southern part of the islands where the streets have no rhyme or reason and into the logical numbered part, she gets completely lost and can walk for "blocks and blocks" when she gets out of the subway and have no idea where she is.
Which frankly, makes you an idiot.
Oh- the end of that run on sentence should be --who is sitting in front of me.
All I heard from the girl sitting next to her are a few grunts and some soft sobs.
But once I started to see Connecticut (another new state for me) out the window, I got very happy. Connecticut has trees and clouds and a sun.
And when I got out at the station at Old Saybrook I heard crickets and frogs and nothing else. I also got completely lost. This train station was the size of a cocktail napkin. Never been more confused.
Finally see Sam coming across the parking lot.
We drive to pick up Stephanie, who is the dance captian/Tintinabula/understudy ensemble swing/rundown dancer/bleak single woman for Sam's production of Forum from the Super Save Shucks grocery store or something.
She emerges from the store, looking bleak as Sam has described.
She gets into the car and grills me about my orthopedic shoes. I sell her a pair.
We drive down a lovely tree-lined freeway that reminds me of the lovely tree-lined freeway I once rode down to grab a bus in the middle of the night on Cape Cod, and get off at exit 7. Which is probably irrelevant.
I get VERY excited when I realize that this is where Katharine Hepburn lived and xed.
We pass the Chinese place, I get even more excited.
We cross a gray bridge over what I assume was water but we'll never know until tomorrow when the sun comes back on.
(Speaking of water, I have decided that I a. do not care for negativity at all, and b. would like very much to marry a man who might one day have a boat that I could go out on.)
The Goodspeed looks like a straight and tall shiny bright white doll house twinkling on the hill as you cross the bridge. It lit up promptly at 8 when Camelot began for the evening. Camelot will come down at about 3 hours from Thursday.
We drive completely through the town in 3 meters during which we pass the liquor store/sweet shop. Where I will be going first thing.
Sam is living in this enormous haunted creaky turreted house. Which I imagined to be located on a lush lawn nestled about half a mile off the road. In reality you can get hit by a car rolling over in bed.
In this house, and I expect in every house that is owned by the Goodspeed, things are thoroughly labeled. There is a paper label on Sam's door that says, "Sam." There are labels on the closets that say, "closet." There are labels inside the labeled cupboards that label the labels on the mayonnaise, carrots and ground beef.
There are two refrigerators in the kitchen. Inside these refrigerators are lettuce, hummus, water, diet water, some bottles of Ex-Lax, some bottles of tears.
Apparently the women playing the hookers in this show have all been told that they need to lose fifty pounds each and they are going to stark naked in the show under fluorescent lighting. And everyone in the audience is going to be given a telescope which they will use to count the dimples on the girls' fannies.
There is apparently a ghost here named Emily. Also the girl playing Philia is named Emily. This Emily believes that Connecticut is south of New York.
Anyway. Sam and I are sitting here on a very heavy couch playing on our computers watching a television program about a small Pomeranian puppy named Peanut. This is really too much.
Tomorrow I'm going to sit on the dock.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Dexter is GOOD. Dexbert. Dexsomebodyelseheremindsmeofandican'tthinkofit.

Let's begin with the things that have solidly occurred to me today:
I really don't like it when people say things are stupid without learning about them or trying them first.
Saw this in the mirror, you could say.
And I so wish I could be one of those girls who at college had a ball and made friends and went to parties and was super excited about the weekend.
Instead of being so shy and afraid.
I hope it's not too late for me to do things like that.
But anyone would say to that- it's never too late.

Anyway, tomorrow I go on the train. And I'm really looking forward to that. I really like trains. Today Joseph gave me a manuscript that might be submitted for publishing, and it was one of the most peaceful things I've ever experienced, just sitting on the subway rocking back and forth and reading these pages. I almost stayed on til the end of the line and then rode back, but I was thirsty.
My computer now has iTunes. This is obviously bad news for Brianne and Mark.
I have done twenty push-ups every day for four days now. Murder. Have gotten to know a lot about what kinds of people and animals have napped on the rug in the sitting room.
There is an ice-cream truck that goes by this house each day around 5:45. And you can hear it for about ten minutes, and never ever see it. The second I heard it today I stuck my head out the window and remained there until it stopped. No sign.
But it does make me really want ice cream. I've decided that on one of my next two weekend trips I shall buy some ice cream.
Those SPARC kids sure are loud.
And they sound great. And Ali T. is a gorgeous Cosette, and Michael Hawke is the epitome of Javert, and Jason looks very well in his role as the Christ.
After hearing so much about this new splendiferous Centerstage opening, I asked Jason if he thought anyone would be taping it. He assured me in hushed tones that no, they would not. This thing is taking on all the pomp and reverence I would normally only associate with the marriage of Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King.
I bet it'll be great though, with all the nuns and stenogs and homeless French people.
I wonder why they're not called Fiber 2's?
Or Fiber 5's. That's catchy.

I met Joseph at HarperCollins today to go for pizza.
Joseph likes to speedwalk through the subway station jogging up and down escalators (which- WHY? Where is the fun in that?), and then arrive at the platform where he strides up onto the yellow bump area and glares down the tunnel, like this is going to make the train come faster.
Whenever he does this, I feel such like the wise mother and think things like I just typed, "do you really think that is going to make the train come any faster, Joseph?" And then I can remember myself doing things like that just for effect so many times. And think how irked I would be if my mother had said that to me.
Though for Joseph, the train probably does get the lead out.
Got a text from someone very dear to me the other day telling me they were running a few minutes late because they had to take a "hurricane shit."
I just thought that was very funny phraseology.
Tomorrow morning I am meeting Alanna at 11 at the Starbucks in Times Square (don't worry, I have specifics) and we are going to "have coffee" (I might actually get one of those iced coffees everyone is so horny for. I've been tempted for weeks now), and then have a photo session. She has a new camera and has been following her friends around taking pictures of them with manhole covers and loose teeth and then photoshopping color onto the other objects in the picture while her friends are in black and white. I think this will be fun. I will wear a dress and tell her to shoot from the ankles up.
Does Kim Clark really have a new pet pig?
What are our thoughts on if it will be a. legal, and b. a scientifically good idea to bring a 2 Liter of Pineapple Sunkist on an airplane with me?

Thursday, September 3, 2009

National Geographic

Well, I stayed up until 4:30 in the morning last night, slept til noon on the button and then got up, at my toast sitting in the window, and washed my hair as planned.

Then I got on- oh wait- first, some orbish older man comments to me from in front of the laundromat, "that's quite the ensemble." And this was not a compliment. And I was frankly a little surprised by this. I am wearing something relatively low-key, for me, and there are people walking around this city wearing boots made of tuna fish, pleather panties and aluminum foil.

But anyway, I got on the 7 and rode it for days and days until suddenly the rows of hot brick graffiti-ed buildings cleared and there was an enormous parking lot full of cars, surrounded by trees, and a huge baseball stadium. And then more trees. And you get off the subway, and walk down this half-mile wooden gangplank where it is breezy and beautiful and at the base of this gangplank you arrive at the US Open.

Just because you arrive at the US Open in no way means that you discover the entrance to the US Open.

I hadn't decided if I wanted to pay money to go watch some people play that I hadn't heard of, so I consulted a map of this area and discovered it was a park. Complete with ice rink and many lakes. So I decide to make a circle starting in the opposite direction from the tennis courts. And I walk and walk. Find some dirty looking lakes, but then a huge round lake surrounded by Canada geese. I walked in a circle around this lake, and then off toward this giant metal sculpture I could see the top of over the trees.

Throughout this park are millions of Latino boys on bicycles.

The metal sculpture turns out to be an enormous model of the world held up over top of hundreds of those fountains that spurt out of the ground so children can play in them. Except I don't know if children are the appropriate objects to be playing in this strong of a fountain. I might recommend moose.

I watch many toddlers run laughing into the water, and then do a pivot turn and run screaming away from it.

You will get drenched in this water.

I read the plaque in front of this statue. This statue is created in honor of world peace and steel. Or something.

So then I decide I might as well try and see how much it costs to get in. I accidentally go to two baggage checks before myself and a kind middle-aged man manage to find the actual box office.

He was very nice. I asked him who his favorites were and he said he really liked Maria Sharapova because she is modest.

I discover that it costs more than I am prepared to spend to go in, and decide that it is plenty good enough just to go and see where they play. So I take a picture for my parents and get back on the train. Which I take to Grand Central Station and get off.

Which I have never done before, and let me tell you, I am so glad I did.

Because this part of New York, which I guess you refer to as the Middle East (and even if you don't, that's what I am going to refer to it as from now on), is by far the most appealing to me so far. It is sort of quiet and pretty, with big buildings, but not tons of traffic or people and some trees. I think there were some UN buildings over there. I heard an elderly woman with jet-black hair discussing how she was going to play tennis later today with Mr. Warbucks.

I walked by a playground, sent Tom a riddle in a text message which he figured out right away, thus ruining my entire afternoon, and had a footrace with a pigeon up 1st Ave. between 43rd and 44th.

It was close until he began cheating.
I found the best Barnes & Noble up here with huge windows that overlook the street and the restaurant that is two floors below. I sat at a round table with a sweet older man who didn't really speak English and could scarcely believe it when he asked me if that chair was taken and I smiled and said no. I had to really drill the point home.
Then I got on the subway at the same time as a new mother and her best friend, both of whom were dressed to the nines in flowy striped sundresses and hip shoes. The baby was dressed to the nines as far as I could tell. His stroller was one of those spaceship strollers that is shockingly expensive and has a French brand name. It is a good thing it was a good stroller too, as mom and friend were very involved in their conversation and during that conversation the baby's stroller would roll around the subway car, banging into poles and benches and people. But it's ok. I'm sure that stroller has very expensive bumpers.
My wonderful mother sent me a package of Fiber 1 bars, as I think I have mentioned. It arrived today. I love my mom.
Tonight is Project Runway. And Dexter and Chinese, I have decided.
Hope everyone is not too hot.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


Today I bought a planner. And it is beautiful. It is red/blue/yellow diagonal plaid with sparkly gold numbers reading 2010 on the front. And I'm excited. Who knew.
Today I bought hair conditioner. Being in such close quarters with Joseph who sneers and scoffs at my hair care regime has finally worn me down. I did however, persuade him to let me buy a relatively inexpensive brand. Even though he is sure this brand is only worthy of greasing cow enemas, if that.
Tomorrow I plan to wash my hair. And condition it. And yes- leave the conditioner in for upwards of three minutes. I'll have to make plans to fill the time.
Then I plan to get cute and take the 7 into parts heretofore unchartered by yours truly to see what there is to see at the U.S. Open. I'm pretty sure that they will allow me in for cheap, if not beg me to come in to watch the #679 seeded match where Yelena Catguten will play Grunta Spifflewacker.
I went to Perry's tonight with Joseph, where we had big plans to watch a documentary on Hasidic Jews narrated by Sarah Jessica Parker. And while this piqued my interest, what we ended up doing was much more fun. Perry, his roommate Someboy, and Someboy's girlfriend Addie were there having dinner and drinking wine. Joseph set right about making his nightly snack of edamame. Someboy and Addie were eating- now crap, I've forg- no I haven't- caprese.
Which for those of you who are not elegant is a slab of tomato, a chunk of mozarella cheese, a basil leaf and some viniagarette. In a pile. It looked delicious. I am for some reason currently obsessed with tomatoes.
Wine was disappearing by the gallon. Absinthe was brought up as an option. I decided if I was going to see proper tennis in the morning I better not drink anything that was going to turn me into a scantily clad fairy the color of a boxwood.
Though that's not a bad idea for Halloween. Sookie is better. Though Adam has now this hare-brained notion that we should go as the Scooby-Doo people. This touches a sour place in me because in eleventh grade, the big football star of the school Monsanto Pope came up to me and told me that I looked like Velma.
Which is true.
So where is the fun in dressing up for Halloween like yourself. I told Adam I'd consider it if he bleaches his hair to be Fred.
Anyway, with all this wine flying around, the conversation soon turned to FUPAs.
Look it up.
I ate a slice of red pepper dipped in hummus and almost wept.
Hummus, vegetables, wheat bread, sliced turkey. Who knew.
I'm really excited about conditioning my hair.
Saturday I am going to Connecticut. I have never been to Connecticut. But from the pictures Sam sends me of this place he is staying, I will like it a lot. It is a beautiful old Victorian mansion with giant (some word, maybe pier) mirros rimmed in gold, with canopied beds and velveteen window seats. Also many secret passageways, abandoned children's nurseries from the 1800's, and a creaky, curving staircase leading up to a widow's walk. We can hardly wait to break out the black tshirt and bed sheet and run around setting up Samara in terrifying places.
This lovely home also, accordingly to Goodspeed lore, features clogged pipes as a result of Kristin Chenoweth trying to flush a turkey down the toilet.
I will be taking the train. Sniff sniff.
The train features a snack car. And that is probably the most exciting thing that has happened to me this trip. I believe I will purchase a snack, recline in my chair to it's maximum setting-a 96 degree angle, and read a NOVEL. I feel that is what one does on train trips to the north country.
I have decided I would like to go to Europe NEXT summer. Not this coming summer, as Adam and Maggie INSIST on throwing a wrench into the works and having a wedding, but the next.
I have always wanted to see Ireland and Scotland and Austria. The rest I would see, you know, if you made me.
I'm thinking of going down to Central Park sometime after 3am tonight and letting all the horses go.
I learned tonight how to get pictures I take onto this computer, and from the computer, onto facebook. I hopefully can soon figure out how to get them onto this blog, because I've got some doozies.
Goodnight all. Sweet dreams, few jackhammers.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Oscar the grouch.

I really like the name "Cheddar." Might change my name to Cheddar.
Well, I didn't get pizza today because Joseph had a rush of 13 different nationally acclaimed newspapers vying to get him to be featured on the front page or something at 12:57 and was unable to step away from the office for more than an hour.
Vying. Vieing? X. I'll look it up.
We are going to get pizza on Friday.
I did go to the Cloisters. Which was epic.
I took the A train (just like Usnavi says, don't think I didn't feel smugly gigglish about that) up to 1,548th St. where I got off, rode an elevator up to the street level. Went outside and was immediately in Elizabethan garden times.
Felt SERENE. Walked the quarter mile to the actual Cloisters and on the way passed meadows overlooking the river dotted with families on blankets, and girls and boys reading books, and older couples talking. Serene. Swans.
One of my favorite things about here is, obviously the subway, but why I like the subway so much is that I see so many different kinds of people. And they speak in so many different ways. And people play so many different types of music in the subways. And I just think it's wonderful.
And this was what these meadows were like.
The Cloisters itself is a branch of the Met (the art one), that was made possible, as you can read on any number of plaques, by Rockefeller. Most things here were made possible by Rockefeller and that Tisch guy. Including the pigeons.
Also I'm pretty sure that thin crispy pizza crust is a wrong.
But you pay however much you want, and go in. And it is this enormous stone, turreted ancient looking castle thingy like you would find in King Arthur times. Or like the temple level on Goldeneye for N64.
And you can walk around and lay your eyes on sarcophagi and basins and statues, lots of boring stuff. But I just liked the atmosphere.
I have read now two book about raising elephants in the past three weeks.
I'm looking forward to going gown shopping with Margaret.
My brother is no longer coming to see me. This is fine. I will go to Connecticut.
My mother is sending me a box of Fiber 1 bars. Bless her.
I've grown out my fingernails and hardly noticed.
What shall I do tonight....