for laura

The Bride
by Rainer Maria Rilke

Call to me, love, call to me loudly!
Don't let your bride stand so long at the window.
In the old shaded plane-tree avenues
the evening no longer wakes:
they are empty.

And if you don't come and lock me up with your voice
in the deep nocturnal house,
then I must pour myself out of my hands
into the gardens of
dark blue . . .

once upon a lookin for donna

An Update on HAIR: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical

This is show is living at the forefront of my brain all hours of the day. I dream about it. My iPod does that psychic shuffle to the various soundtracks. I left the ol' NYC for a few days, and was brought to a fantastic record store that had about 10 different versions on LP, and although I don't even own a record player, I left the store with three of them. Consider me the proud owner of the French, Japanese, and original (pre-'Fresh Hair' mix) British cast. I've begun bidding on turntables on eBay and craigslist. My "decorative" record collection has grown too large to justify the dust they collect.

To give you an idea of just how many recordings there are of "Hair" - although the French record claims there are actually six hundred and eight - check out this guy's blog.

On the artistic front, the show is practically assembling itself. I've discovered a handful of actors I don't know and thrown them in the mix with my nearest and dearest, and the bonding was rather instantaneous. The last two rehearsals were tricky at first, as half my cast is currently rehearsing for "The Bride of Olneyville Square," a.k.a. The Final Play That I Am Not In, and this show is a mammoth two-act drama. When I come breezing in for one or two-hour rehearsals for "Fiat," I run into Olneyville friends of mine...who have been there for six or seven hours already. The lobby of NP looks like a base camp. When I come in to say hi to Sessoms or Daisy or Boss, others greet me like I'm a stranger from a far-away land.

"How aaaare you? Oh my god, I haven't seen you in foreeeeevvverrrrr."

And it's sort of true...they've been in that theatre for the last three weeks.

But I digress. HAIR.

On the business front, this is my first time assembling a show with a real budget. Not just $100 in singles and quarters that I raised off a bake sale (true story - that was the budget for "Alice through the Subway System" in its' first incarnation in Woodstock). I am learning quickly that had I had ANY time whatsoever during the earlier part of this year, I should've been fundraising for this thing. Because the more elaborate the set gets, and the more shows we wanna do...the more I keep hearing that cash register noise in my head. However, I have (and here comes a little 'Secret' brainwashing for ya...) UNWAVERING FAITH that I will accumulate this budget. I have friends who are helping to fundraise - as much as they can, as they are still trapped in Olneyville without a life raft - and a mother who is helping a lot...last night we compiled about 200 addresses of people we know, and love....and will therefore hit up for money.

While Swank can't bring me to any of the official Hair gatherings he attends (or maybe he's just afraid I'll become like his mother and pull out embarassing photos from First Year?), I am brought news of L.A. productions, Michael Butler blogs, and original cast info...which I sort of salivate over, jealously. At least until D'Amato calls to answer the Aluminum Coxman question, and we wind up delving into the details of the show, and by the end of the chat, oh, how I love my hippie life. Seriously, thank heavens for the generosity of Anthony D'Amato. Go see Hedwig tonight. Go to his website. Build him a shrine, and leave him guitar-and-platform-shoe offerings upon it.

I immediately call Man and ask him if we can rake the stage. He says:

"Fuck it, man, I'd love to. Let's kick up the budget and find $30,000."

This might as well be "a million-zillion"...but you know...UNWAVERING FAITH, man. I'll find it someplace.

nobody puts baby in a corner

Today was a damn good day.

tornado body with a hand grenade head

Brother, Sister & I went on an Urban Adventure today, to a section of Jersey I had not yet explored. Our quest? To see Anthony D'Amato's production of Hedwig & the Angry Inch. Bizarrely, this was the second production I've seen in a week - the first was the Barnard Queer Association's version, up in Morningside Heights, where Sessoms and I found the man who will hopefully be drumming for Hair.

D'Amato's, naturally, surpassed the Barnard production...and the surrounding quest was even longer, with more unusual twists, than the frozen march we took on the West Side a week ago. This one involved multiple trains, checking out the sketchy side of town, fragrant cab rides, witnessing two arrests (!) and a possible drug deal, rocking out in a Dunkin Donuts, and as our last train pulled out of the Asbury Park station, a fist-fight between a couple of kids. But frankly, I rather liked the amount of gritty insanity we witnessed. It made the whole day so much more gorgeous.

No matter what, I lose it during "Midnite Radio." This Miss Hedwig made such an AWESOME transition through the Tommy Gnosis section into that song, I was blubbering like a little girl. Oh, and "Exquisite Corpse"...! When they got into it (and that band fucking rocked that song like it is meant to be rocked; it felt sexy), it pushed right on that little button lodged somewhere in my chest. The button activates the part of me that still longs to be in a rock band and wishes she was free to call Morelli. To put Hideous Underwear back together.

...And you can trace the lines of these erased designs that map across my body
A collage!
I'm all sewn up
A montage!
I'm all sewn up...

an extremely ME ME ME blog

As I start to de-Nei-Play myself, I find these pockets of frenzied activity are bookended by long periods of hanging out with my laptop like it might give me the secret to life. So I come home after pouring my artistic guts out to Sessoms (and she, as usual, added that extra oomph to the idea and made it twice as exciting*), and fill a cup with Coke from last Thursday's Jack n' Coke brigade.

"At least you got a free bottle of Coke out of it all," Swank had said to me late that night.
It's funny how long a journey from one Thursday to another can be.

I rehearsed "Fiat" today with Jeff & Kingston. After thinking I sorta got the shaft, I believe maybe I got...this enormously challenging role. "You're only the mother of God!," Sessoms remarked over dinner. Ah. Yes. And I come to bring a man, dying of AIDS, who has taken a bottle of Seconals, to heaven. I sing a song. And spend half the play with a Brazilian accent, and the other half with some holy spirit voice. But I really didn't give half a damn til Kingston started talking about finding the mother in myself. The woman who will sit next to her husband when he dies, and say "It's okay. It's okay. Look, I'm bringing you up. You can pass through me."

Well, that hit home, just a smidge.

It's been nearly a year since Tom died in my mother's arms.
Heysus, Choseph and Maria. Me.


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On the career warpath these days. Yesterday I got new headshots at the studio of one Mr. Arthur Elgort. This morning, our class met Bernie Telsey. He talked about "Rent" & Idina a bunch, which was beyond helpful. I've been formulating a plan for myself, a plan to keep acting and not just slink into my directors chair hoping no one will notice. I think I'm gonna take the ol' Shettastic's advice this time. Although Renthead I am not, there's a part in that show that should be mine, at least for awhile.

In order to keep propping myself up and keep my pace going, I'm using room cleaning as a method of momentum. I went in and gutted out my bathroom, bleached the whole goddamn thing, screwed a shelf into the wall and reorganized the cabinets. Then sat down and wrote two scenes. Did all the laundry. Sat down and wrote my bio for the Estrogenius festival. Last night, at midnight, I tackled a clothing clean out and I'm going to sell all of it at Buffalo Exchange on Saturday. I feel like I did after my car accident two years ago. Like just get it out of here. Just get it out. I can't live within this wall of STUFF anymore. Like my personal belongings are actually dragging me down as I try to sprint.

The first few weeks were bound to be difficult. They're not so bad, but I've got to keep myself up here, hovering. Every minor dip feels like utter disaster. Fuck it. "Caaaall on meeeeee, call on me!"

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Yo, my shower curtain rod hates me since I cleaned. It keeps fallin' the hell down.

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I think I'd like to start another band.

second morning

There's a thing I do that I think must be very specific to freelancers and people in the arts. It's called the Second Morning.

So you get up for the first time. You're running just barely on time to make a morning appointment for your Bread Job, an audition, a rehearsal, a something. The Something takes an hour or two, you finally eat something. You head home. Then, when you put your key in the door, the Second Morning begins. It's still very much daylight, and it's although it's 2 or 3 or 4 PM, the house is still in a state of 10 AM. You make coffee. Maybe you even get back in your pajamas. Take that shower you didn't have time to take when you breezed out for the First Morning. You check your email.

I love Second Mornings. I'm already on the go, so I'm more inspired to do all the personal work I have to do - theatre paperwork, character research and the like - but there's not that nasty time factor when there's a pressing outside world appointment impending. The outside world has been handled. Now all I have is a show to attend tonight, when the sun is down. The day is mine, and I can face the rest of it in sweatpants.

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The Playhouse time is fairly complete. I got a strange cameo role in the Final Plays - I'm the Madonna in a Pintauro short called "Fiat." I am slightly disappointed, but I think it might turn out to be a surprise. And I can't look a gift horse in the mouth here. I'm involved in three other productions that require my immediate attention, and I've totally neglected them in favor of being a Nei-Play slave. Now I've been given the time to work on these things. And get a real job. So, to add to the list I made months ago, 2007 shows now include:

#6: "Footloose" at Talent Unlimited High School
I will be: the costume designer

#7: Undetermined Real Theater Company Straight Play, starring Sessoms
I will be: the director/producer

and work for "Greece is the Word," (formerly known as "Untitled Greek Mythology Play") at Hunter Elementary, and the RTC production of "Hair" are in full swing.

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Mom & I are each other's primary collaborators. I usually have a second and a third floating around, and it seems the primaries in 2007 are definitely Sessoms and Swank. I got very lucky, because...they both kick major ass, for very different reasons. The things I have in development for 2008 and beyond seem so much more possible because of the two of them.

Last night, after our final Gary Ramsey presentation (oh thank heaven!), Swank, Sweetheart, Daisy & I met up with Sessoms at Blackstone's...in daylight, which was truly bizarre. The bar was full of suits, so we ate our food, drank our beer and headed up to my place. Boss & Metro are in Disneyworld, so it was a weird Maggie Moon-hosted party, and Swank became my co-host (I bought eggs to dye and halfway through our shared bottle of Hypnotiq, had a very difficult time figuring out how to hard-boil them, so he assisted). With Sessoms came the ever-mysterious Professor and another first year, Goldlist. Somewhere along the line, far into the alcohol, past the egg-dye, the SceneIt! and the altercation with my {gap-toothed lazy bitchass} next door neighbor, Sessoms & Professor are in the bathroom having one of their talks, Daisy & Sweetheart are thumbing through my Hippie book together, and Swank and I are dancing about. Goldlist exclaims, in frustration:

"This is just great. Here I am with the adorable redheads, the glam-rock biters, and the crazy drama couple. Great."

Later, when it was nothing but the biters hanging out, I spilled my life dream for Swank's perusal. He got a grin on his face that made me feel like a magician.


Today, I got a job at the Central Park Boathouse. Looks like Daisy, my old directorial pal Nikki, and me shall be hash slinging hostesses this summer. Unless something more lucrative comes along.

I'm imagining myself living in abundance...

I feel like I'm taking crazy pills.