Hope is a waking dream

A couple days after surviving a consulting project with only one lesson learned - that I never want to do anything like that again - I took a super long bath. Submerged myself up to my nostrils and layed there for a very long time. I noticed I could hear sounds all over the house from neighbors and pets. They sound completely different reverberating through the frame of the house, the ceramic of the tub, the warm water to my ears. It was a nice surprise to hear everyday boring sounds completely transformed into bonks and other-worldly clanks.

As I've mentioned, Fall makes me restless. I wish I could take everything about my daily world and make it reverberate into something different. Because everything seems repetitive and monotonous. Luckily I'm old enough now to know there's hardly a damn thing that's monotonous about this world. It just the Autumn wind whispering, teasing me with the notion that there's something more interesting somewhere, not here, somewhere where that wind is going.

My mind tries to entertain itself with Surrealist dreams. I was a cartoon two nights ago with giant, animated hammers bopping me in the head (which made a xylophone sound) and squishing me through tunnels into other worlds where there were lobsters, giant fish, dogs I could ride like horses, seahorses I could walk on leashes, purple pillows that I could fall into the inside of, and all kinds of crazy furry things that my conscious mind can't recover from my greedy subconscious memory now.

But last night my restless, bratty self sat back and found even the most vivid and fanciful dreams monotonous. All the dreams had a layer of deja vu as my narrative brain sat back and declared it all a recurring dream I've seen before. None of the dreams were actually recurring; they just felt that way while I was dreaming them. Yeah, I was in a jaded dream state. How lame is that?

As morning came closer, I banished a dream where my spine was hopelessly, painfully locked and turned it into an ocean dream - phew, happy I learned that trick. Swimming, bending, arching, swirling my fabulously healthy and flexible spine, I broke through the water's surface to find myself out at sea, floating alongside a boogie board just past the wave line, looking at a gloriously sinking sun. I hopped into a straddle over the board and stared right into that gloopy, droopy sunset gushing all over the ripply horizon. Just sat there blinding myself and enjoying that sexy tickle of the sun baking the salt water into crystals on my skin.

I knew I was dreaming and I reflected from within the dream that a boogie board is totally my Rosebud ... you know, that Orson Welles movie with the sled? Me floating on a boogie board out at sea is me young and healthy and completely unjaded, shiny, hopeful, filled with faith in endless possibility.

And then I opened my eyes and I was just laying in the bathtub again listening to the same old fucking sounds of annoying neighbors doing the same old damn things.

And then I woke up because laying in the bathtub is a really boring dream. Hmm, how do I wake up from this dream?

October

Much better than September. The air tastes like apples. And I'm in rehearsals ... ah, the luxury of being creative feels so good.

September

Fucking September. Hot and humid one day, cold and blustery the next. Confused, spring bulbs still shoot off young blooms while old wise trees burst red before dead leaves fall silently and sad. Kids going back to school, some so excited about what's next because everything is so deeply new it must be wonderful, while others are punched in the gut to find out that there's no time anymore for lying in the grass and deciding what animal the clouds look like.

September spins my head every year. I realize, not for the first time, (wow, there's the present tense, so rarely used in our American linguistics I am reminded by friend Foster) that every time I've ever ended anything big in my life, I've ended it - wrecklesssly, for the sake of ending, for the sake of beginnning - in September.

Isn't that stupid and tragic and irrational? And beautiful? Here comes Fall. Whoa, hold on! I'm falling.

small arts

Has anyone seen this yet? Or tried applying yet?

naked mole rats

Production meeting for Chicago Avenue Project (where kids do the playwrighting) today. Discussions about how to make oversized, foam-core naked mole rats pop out of holes in foam-core "dirt", whether the elephants will need hands, how to do costume and make up for a character named "Fatso" who is half-human, half-donkey and looks like Gene Simmons, and whether they still have the costume for the character "Stupid Head" who is back in a sequel this year.

I wonder if something is missing from adult theater because this is way funner.

day five, where do you want to go today?

If I actually succeed in quitting smoking, I might just have to credit Apple for making such a fabulous machine.

It's been, I don't know, 15 years since I used a Mac on a regular basis. (It was an Apple IIvx if that helps anyone date it.) And then I became a software engineer, which required moving to PCs and the occasional Unix machine. And I've been stuck in Windows ever since.

When the friendly guy at Geek Squad told me the cost of repairing my PC, something just snapped and I asked him how much more it would cost me to throw this Windows machine in a dumpster and buy a Mac. He laughed and then spent 15 minutes trying to talk me into doing just that. This was at Best Buy, where they don't even sell Macs, so I trusted and enjoyed his advice a bit more than I normally would.

I told him how much I missed the Apple world but that I still occasionally needed to do some database stuff, and with the exception of a cute, but horribly limited little database program called FileMaker, all other database software needs Windows. Then he told me about how easy it is to emulate a Windows environment on a Mac these days.

We happily tore up the repair ticket together. Off to the Apple store. The Windows emulation is everything the Geek Squad guy said it would be, except actually faster than a real Windows machine. So now I can occasionally slide over into a parallel dimension of Windows where people are oppressed by Microsoft and terrified of viruses, but I can always come virtually home to my hippie, happy, stable, pretty Apple world. And seriously, it's much more relaxing here. Which helps when one is trying to break free of a seriously intense addiction.

So I'm still smoke free. Awesome.

totally unfair

Day two. My computer crashed. Spent the whole day trying to recover it.

Day three. Defeated in my own attempts, Geek Squad says the hard drive is done. Cost of repair is more than computer is worth.

How unfair is that, to lose my computer in the middle of trying to support several busy projects, ON DAY TWO of quitting smoking?

Still not smoking. Chewed a lot of gum. And bought a Mac.

day one

Alan has the car a lot these days and my bicycle is in the shop getting pampered like it's never been pampered its entire life so I'm walking everywhere lately. Which was perfect today. Walking, walking, walking, faster, faster, breathing deep, clenching the jaw, tightening then loosening the fists, rolling the head to loosen the neck, flaring the nostrils, humming, blinking extra frequent and extra hard, chewing, chewing air, chewing nuts, chewing gum. That's what I did today instead of killing anyone or smoking a cigarette.

I've made it since midnight last night so far. Pant, sigh. This is good. I will begin to smell wonderful things soon. The tiny, perky, supportive booklet that came with the Nicorette gum says I will taste new things soon too. I highly doubt that since Nicorette gum floods my mouth, throat and belly with a completely overpowering and fairly disgusting taste, and I'm popping them every two hours.

I've rented a whole stack of old movies in preparation for the insomnia I expect tonight. The last time I quit smoking, not only was it hard to fall asleep, but once I did fall asleep I'd wake up throughout the night alternatively because I was craving a cigarette, or in alarm because I dreamed that I smoked a cigarette.

In my calmer moments, when I can do that thing where I separate myself from my desire and observe myself from a distance, it's completely fascinating to watch the addicted body and mind freak out.

Friends who smoke please be patient while I hide from you for a while. For that matter, all friends should probably hide from me for a while because I am frequently going to be a raging psychotic bitch. Wish me luck. See you on the other side I hope.

phew, fringed out!

Sorry I fell behind on my Fringe posting. I got wrapped up in seeing shows and working and then I left town for a couple days toward the end of the festival - I know, mind-blowing, how could I? Well, there's this precocious nine-year-old playwright named Jaiden who is writing a play for Pillsbury House Theatre's Chicago Avenue Project, and I get to be her dramaturg and director. So I went on a retreat to the Baker Wilderness Area with the other CAP folks to work on plays, swim in lakes, and eat s'mores. Yeah, it was more fun than the average theater project. If you've never seen Chicago Avenue Project, you are SO missing out. Come see this one. I promise it will make you remember why we do theater. Seriously. Performances on Monday and Tuesday, August 27 and 28 at 7:00 p.m. at Pillsbury House Theatre.

I saw lots more Fringe shows, most of which I loved, a couple which I could have missed, one which was one of those beautifully mesmerizing train wrecks, and one which was that great Fringe experience: something totally original, wonderful, young and by people I've never heard of before. That last was my final show of the festival, the encore of Forks!

[Note to Buckets and Tap Shoes, sorry, I'm a loser, I missed your show, not for lack of love for the glory you guys make, will see the next one.]

Closing night party was worth catching just to see theater nerds take over First Avenue, though I had to cut the evening short because two vodka-tonics did not agree with me forgetting to eat and sleep and wooziness took all the fun out of it. Maybe I got woozy from the closure, I don't know.

But it was fantastic to see everyone again, to see the festival happen without me, to see Robin up there giving statistics and kudos to staff, volunteers, artists. I first discovered the Fringe as a binging fan and it was so nice to return to that perspective. I kept thinking, "Wow, there are nearly a thousand artists here and I don't know what any of their problems are."

Hopefully, with the festival over, people are done asking me how I *feel* about seeing the Fringe now that I'm not running it. Looking forward to moving on and directing lots of great shows. This fall, Anton in Show Business by Jane Martin at Starting Gate, and next spring Everywhere Signs Fall by the fabulous Alan M. Berks for Gremlin Theater. Plus I've got an application in to the Chekhov Festival at BLB for A Rain of Seagulls by Meron Langsner (a parody of The Seagull) to be produced by Ministry of Cultural Warfare along with a companion parody of Uncle Vanya to be penned by Matthew Foster. Plus, talking to History Theatre about a script by Jeffrey Hatcher for Raw Stages.

So good to be an artist again.

And a few more ...

The Most Mysterious Day of the Year (from the wonderful people who brought Wonders of the Word: Recite last year)
Killer Smile
The Cody Rivers Show: Flammable People

And I can't wait to see Tom Thumb, or the Tragedy of Tragedies by the fabulous and brilliant Charlie Bethel, but I had to wait for Alan to get back to come see that one with me. After all, Charlie married us, so we have to share him now.

And yes, oh yes, oh happiness, Alan is back. Taking a night off of Fringing tonight to have him all to myself. But will be back out there to do more theater binging soon. Sunday night I came home from the Fringe so binged on art that I played my keyboard for hours ... I guess that was my version of purging. Artistic bulimia, awesome!

Yay for theater

I've seen ten shows at the Fringe so far, and nine of them were just fantastic. One was, uhm, incoherent, but it was only 30 minutes so not much skin off my theatrical nose. It's been such a long time since I got to binge on theater without feeling responsible for any of it.

Nice to play reunion with Fringe artists, local and visiting, whom I haven't seen in a while. But I'm trying to be low-key at the Nightcaps because I'm getting really bored listening to myself answer the question, "Is it weird for you, do you miss it, what are you doing now?" Wish I had a costume that would disguise me as just another Fringe-goer.

Spent Saturday evening on the West Bank, Fringing by bicycle. Trying to get from there to the Varsity for the Disco Ball was a sad trial-and-error experience finding a bridge that was open. The closed ones were all being guarded by police eating pizza. Traffic on all the alternate routes is a reminder of our infrastructure collapse, but completely closed highways and bridges with ambulances stationed at every end are a much more visceral encounter with the unreality of the crisis.

More Fringing today, looking forward to more of the inspiration I've gobbled up so far. In case anyone's reading and curious, my list of nine fantastic shows so far:

Pigeon Man Apocalypse
Same Difference
Around the World in Eight Days in Under Sixty Minutes
Bards
The Most Mysterious Day of the Year
Spotless
the limitation of sight
The Tyranny of God's Love
Macbeth's Awesome Scottish Castle Party

Fringe on!

So this is what the Fringe looks like

Saw two shows tonight. Very relaxing. Gee, I nearly forgot how fun this could be.

Unrelated to Fringe, I wish I could jump in the river and save people. Feeling rather helpless about the bridge ... just awful. Really no other words for that. Just awful.

Busy all over again

How did that happen? My last post said I had little to say, but who would have thought I could go two months without saying anything. OK, anyone who's had wine with me lately knows the babble-button never got turned off. But I completely forgot about this blog. Presumably, everyone else did too. So I'm writing only to some Cyber Fairy of Blogland now.

I clicked by my blog because, for me, it's a handy index to many friends' blogs. I've been remiss at visiting there too. And that's when I noticed how lame my own blog looks with a date in May on it. Sorry, I got busy again.

Apparently leaving the continent is the only way I know how to avoid that. Not as busy as I have been for the last five July's, but still busier than I meant to be. The consulting business is lively and mostly fun. Happily, we've gone from juggling nine small clients to three large ones.

But Alan is off being an academic dean, managing teachers and administrators and counselors and concerned parents of special children. He's been in NY for the last six weeks doing his annual summer teaching gig. So the business has been mostly in my hands, and Future the Wonder Dog has been my only home company.

For the first few weeks, solitude was kinda lovely. But now, starting at week five and increasing ever since, I miss him so much it's a palpable achy spot. He's still my favorite company. And the bed's too big. And cuddling with the dog just isn't the same.

Just came home from drinks with Robin, the most brilliant Fringe ED ever. So fun to hear about it from a distance, and hear about it from someone handling it all so well. The best hire I was ever involved in. So rare you get to hand something off so smoothly and watch it grow so beautifully without you. I'm getting excited about Fringe shows. And oh my God, dear Lord, Jesus Happy Face on a Bicycle, do I love sitting quietly sipping wine on my porch seeing what a July evening looks like while reading the Fringe program and being surprised about what's in it instead of agonizing about mistakes in it.

This weekend, I'll be Fringing. If there's anyone out there reading this ... OK, you, Cyber Fairy, if you're still reading this, go Fringing! I'll see you there.

not much to say

So yeah, I haven't posted in a while. Several people have pointed this out to me. Which is nice, you know, that people are even reading ... or waiting or something. When we were traveling there were more stories to tell than time to write. Now that we're home, well, I have to admit I'm less inspired. A lot less inspired. The few things I might write about here at home are a little too close to home in a home that is a very small town.

I've thought about writing a weekly update, "Here's what's new with me!" But geez, isn't that what you do when you have a drink with someone or call a long-distance friend? Yeah, if there are any long-distance friends reading this, I know, I know, I know, I never call. I mean to, really! I will, I will.

Anyway, weekly updates feel self-involved when there aren't any exotic locales to include. I could tell stories about other people, but that feels a little like gossip. I could talk about politics, but wow is there enough of that already out there. I could emote, but well, that's not my style either.

So, for the moment, nothing to say that really suits the blog format. Will post again someday if I can think of what fits here. Thanks everyone who read along the way. It felt like lots of friends were with us on the trip.

see, this is why the suburbs scare me

Made it through three months of Central America without getting my purse stolen only to be robbed at Ikea in Bloomington, MN.

We both have old people backs, so we thought we'd better lie on every mattress/pad/ever-so-clever-swedish slatted base combination at least three times each to decide what bed we'd be saving up towards. Had to put down the coats and purse to do this. Back turned. Purse gone.

Here is the list of things I no longer own, but will still irrationally waste brain cells remembering:

* pink iPod (actually I wanted red, I thought it was red, it looked red on the box)
* old cell phone (the replacement has a camera, yay)
* very old PDA (seriously, an antique - dr. foster just sold me a ferrari in comparison)
* checkbook (had the old address anyway)
* wallet (ok, this was the cutest little red wallet ever)
* $31
* credit cards, driver's license, ATM card (lots of holding on 800 numbers - "we are experience unusually high traffic on our customer service lines", yeah right, unusual my butt
* allergy medication (hopefully i never see that rare fruit again)
* my favorite three barrettes (very handy for dealing with hair that hasn't been cut in five months)
* a nearly new burt's bees lip balm, dang it (i hope they don't use it because that's kinda, you know, intimate)
* my prescription sunglasses (god, i spent so much on those because they were so cool, won't be replacing those soon)
* here it is, the part that steams me, my travel journal (which also had all my notes from all meetings in the last two weeks, lots of crazy but important lists, my calendar, contacts, you know all the important stuff, but most of all, the daily summary of what we did for three months - now i have no idea how i spent those three months)

anyway, that was a few days ago and i was really angry, then felt dumb, then very depressed, then a little moody, then i had a really great full-on rage dream where i told everyone everywhere to kiss my ass, then i did some unpacking and nesting type stuff in our new place, then i felt better. all better.

but still, those fucking suburbs, i'm never going there again.