between love and hate

I had a weekend.

Such a weekend.

I've been ruminating and renovating my life, as well as repainting everything the color of a purple My Little Pony. Mom and I shuffled all the stuff around and now this place looks...well...very different. All that's left to do is walk around with a smudge stick, and I may have the aura of Man fully removed from my living space.

Love is such a strange experience. I am grateful to the universe for teaching me what it has, so far, about the L-Word, and I am grateful to whatever gene I got that allows me to fall so hard. I like feeling like I've dropped from a deathly height into a puddle. I'm still a little shocked that Man and I are DONE DONE and DONE. One expects that after a hard fall and a six year journey together, that it will not end in such an ugly, common fashion. But hey, it's all been real interesting. And I wish him major well-ness.


Back to the regularly scheduled Fledgling Director news. Which does relate to above item, regarding Love.

First off, Allies is coming along very well. First official table read is coming up December 2nd, and I will meet these lovely actors Foxfire speaks so highly of. Prior to that, I've invited Sessoms, Jive and Nelly over on Wednesday for an unofficial table read so I won't be unpleasantly shocked by anything read aloud in December. I had enough nasty moments during the table readings of US - realizing some deep, heartfelt monologue in your head sounds like absolute crap in the mouth of a great actor...well...sucks.

Saw a reading at the Lark last night with Stormy. It is definitely reading season - last week, Marty from At Hand hosted a reading of his show (which I can't help but call "School Shooting - The Musical!" in my head, but in truth, is title-less at the moment), then upcoming there's the Allies reading, Sessoms' play reading, the America reading (more on that later)....it's a readathon, folks. This reading was part of a Mexican playwright exchange thing, and the play itself was kinda like The Wire on the water (as Stormy's fella put it) or a Tarantino movie in boats. Afterwards, there was catch-up, good food and margaritas with Stormy & the entire production. Good times.

I carried on from there to meet up with Boss, and carried on...and carried on...until some ungodly hour.


I must speak of 'America' - this choreopoem I was given by a playwright named Kim Yaged. This woman is absolutely awesome, and I love this piece like I haven't loved a new work maybe...ever. It might be a years-and-years undertaking, but awesome. Bring it.


And since I haven't yet posted, please check out The Good Idea Gang in Paper Planes!

you walked me down 14th street

Summertime...

What the fuck is going on, dude?

I feel very disconnected from my life, man. Kinda floating above it, glancing at it, and giggling. Brother is over, listening to angry Eminem tracks (it's a nostalgic thing, I gather). I'm hangin out in a cowboy hat, from PJ's collection (he used to sell hats and soap for extra cash...), and anticipating an evening of Chinese food and Batman Begins. I am surrounded by a pile of incomplete work and emails.

We're producing a show at NP in August, that PJ is directing. The title being tossed around was "Will It Hurt?" but it strikes me as inappropriate (despite it being apropos of the content) and makes Sessoms think of anal sex, so at the moment, it's still without a name.

Ah, we've moved on to bluegrass. The original version of "Man of Constant Sorrow." Highly recommended.

Out and about in the village with Sessoms, Rye and eventually Boss proved highly successful, and soothed my soul. Going out and getting plastered is not the answer to life's problems, but it definitely helps on occasion. Especially when dancing, wicked DJs, ghetto mixes of Smirnoff and vitamin water, purple shirts and intrigue are involved.

Ah, we've moved onto the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Brother proves to be a mildly skitzophrenic DJ.

I did manage to snag a new bread job, thanks to my ever-generous friend Mr. John Gallagher, who helps me out more than I feel I deserve. (Oh no, Brother has returned to the living room with months-old dregs found in various drawers - "We don't have to scrape the bowl!" he declares gleefully) Other things on the ol' noggin':

-How to keep Jive in the country...what is life without a giddy blonde to take you out to watch soccer and speak Italian? What is life without long, bi-or-trilingual messages about lord-only-knows left on your voicemail?

-Rufus Wainwright's "14th Street" on a constant loop

-...occasionally interrupted by Pat Benatar wailing "We Belong"

-celebrity chefs

-the Grand Guignol and how to recreate 19th century blood effects

-Gas prices. If I'm assistant to the director on "Digger" and Ariel in the Tempest, I will, presumably, be driving. And thus, filling a gas tank. Blast!

-your mom...


xoxo

hot thing

I denied that it would happen to us. That syndrome the teachers warned us about and I saw happen to the class of 06 as the spread and scattered throughout New York and the world and tried getting their careers started. But here it is. The big, gaping yawn of WHAT NOW? We're all surviving, but when I look at it and take stock, I get kind of depressed.

Here I am. Temping and shooting student films in Texas. Sometimes all I want is to go back to New York on the spot, but other days, I never want to return to "reality."
Boss went to Europe. She wants to come home, she wants to stay, she's not sure what she wants.
Sessoms is stuck in NYC. She took the good job, and will be selling wedding dresses soon. And she's dreading it.
Daisy D. called me yesterday and for a half hour, she and I bemoaned our complete lack of artistic impulses.
Man doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. Again.
So what, is this just a trend hitting my particular group of friends?
Because it seems like several months after getting out of school, this happens to everybody.

So my question is, when the fuck does it end?
I'm tired of floundering. I'd like some solid answers and some success. Which means I can't afford NOT to have artistic impulses. Is it easier to take a real break or will it be impossible to pick up again from a dead stop?

Aaarrrrgh.

a little supernatu naturalitee

I FINISHED THE GREEK PLAY.

Now to finish all the costumes for Footloose, all the performance of Metropolitan Operas, and attend all the first year final-scenes this week, without losing my mind, killing someone, or crying in front of Blackstone's. Again.

RTC was invited to a theatre networking event that I will post info about very very soon. I think all actors, designers, etc. should go to this thing - I was invited by Emily Oh, who, since Alice, has taken on marketing as her thang. And she's quite good at it too. You can check her out at emilyowenspr.com.

Also, after being very very wrapped up in Final Pros over at NP (where the whole gang is kickin' major ass - Sessoms, Daisy, Boss rock the house with full preparations; uber-sexy Stormy & can-I-drool-on-my-lap-over-him-any-more Swank play a married couple that hate each other; Sweetheart steals my heart, of course, as a very unusual bum)...I was thrown back into HAIR-ville today, after not thinking on it for a whole four days. That's a lot for me! I toured around Central Park with Stone, Man's best friend from Arkansas, who's been living here since the days when Man & I actually lived in one city. Throwback of all throwbacks. Much like Man & I, yet much unlike Man & I, he's with the same gal as he used to be, and still hackin' away at a theatre career. He did HAIR in Summerstock a few years ago, and just got back from playing Riff in an Illinois company of "West Side Story." Man recommended highly that I take him on, and although I was sorta full up on white boys, my instincts said this was a must-take. I invited him sight-unseen since 2002, and today, I realized why. We met on the corner of 96th, and from across the street, it was like "Oh, yep. There's my missing peg."

I can't explain it. I wasn't missing a character, or anyone at all. But Stone's got an energy that will complete the Tribe. So as far as I know, we're fully cast, and ready to roll on May 15th.



So other readers out there in Retroland...if you'd like to come see Final Pros, check out the Second Year website for all the info you'll need.

I'm in Metropolitan Operas, which runs on the 7th & 9th at 7:30 PM, and the 11th at 2 PM. It's a tico tico experience.

loosen up my buttons, babe

but you keep frontin
sayin what you gon' do to me
but i ain't seen nothin'



The juxtaposition of such wicked bad dance pop along with the type of day I've had is weird.

The morning began strangely. I woke up an hour late, which never ever happens. Jetted out the door with Metro in a cab, Boss opting to nurse one of her many many illnesses and steer clear of "stage combat" class. I checked my bag for scripts. Check. Checked my brain for what the day entailed.

It's a rough thing, a fult tilt NP day. If you do it right. By the time I get to the point where I can sit on my bed and try to complete non-NP work, I have:

1. read, had critiqued and re-read a Showcase scene
2. written another Showcase scene
3. learned Spanish choreography
4. played class stage manager
5. gotten my Joan LaPucelle monologue on its' feet for Gary
6. rehearsed "Danny & the Deep Blue Sea"
7. done 40 minutes of alignment
8. bought and read half of a teacher-recommended book on myths & folklore

So then I talk to my primary collaborator - Ms. Mom - and get the lowdown on the pages she needs for the Hunter show she's directing and I'm writing. I get a phone call from Ms. Nasty, and arrange to help her with her choreography. I re-read a Greek myth, cross-reference online, write the scenes Ms. Mom needs, make notes in the Hair diary, practice my song for NP twice and somewhere in there, cook dinner and do laundry.

AAAAAAAAGHHHHH.

Inventory makes it even more frightening. I know we only have a month of class left, so I have to remember NOT to think about it, and merely soldier on. Because a lot of REALLY REALLY good shit is going on, and I thank God & the fates for that. Pausing to take stock is not an option.

Although, on Saturday, for my birthday event, pausing to take drugs IS an option.

Judge away...with seven days of my schedule, I reserve my right to recreate when I turn double 2s.

let the drinks pour, let the crowds roar

Show #1, done and down. The Shetacular closed, and it was a Rave un2 the joy fantastic on the final night. That decision to say "fuck it" is always important.

I think what I can take away most from the extremely tense yet hilarious working experience that the whole thing was...is an altogether better method of delegation. One of the key things I have to remind myself when working in any kind of authority or (ahem) directorial position is I MUST DELEGATE. I'm the type that would rather take on the universe before asking for help. But when you are blessed with a capable team, you must learn to rely on them. By some incredible luck, when I decided to take on the task of costuming 26 people more than twice over (for two polar opposite musical theatre pieces), I was assigned a team of 7 volunteers who were willing...and kind...and excited...and GOOD at it. These are actresses, man, not seamstresses. But they were terrific. And once I learned I could depend on them, I stuck Judy (Cali's first year girlfriend, and an all-around awesome chick) at the helm, and actually became designer/actress...sweeping in with sequin suggestions, chopping up skirts, and pinning vests...and then leaving the team to execute with glorious precision.

So teamwork, right?

We had our first real Hair rehearsal. And Swank made it. With Sessoms, Metro, Boss, Daisy and several newcomers present. My mother, el choreographer, threw a bunch of very peculiar sixties movement exercises their way. It went...

GLORIOUSLY.

I have never been more thrilled with a first rehearsal. Something about this group INSTANTLY gelled, and there wasn't any fear in the room whatsoever. Everyone dove in.

Which reinforces that feeling of this being some kind of heaven-sent production. Truly, truly I think this one is going to be special, in ways I can't even imagine yet.

I miss Man. It doesn't hurt, exactly. But it's there. A little hum in my heart.

christmas party

Can you have an emotional hangover from a party?

Aren't parties supposed to be...I don't know...fun? Sometimes they're fun. Sometimes they're just not. I keep counting my uh, chickens, or something, on last night, and something ain't adding up. Which could have something to do with why I've been randomly sobbing today, in between Christmas shopping, calling everyone I know, and taking a shower at Sessoms house. Because when I awoke this morning, the situation was:

Item - One (1) Kiwi, in his chic black boxers, asleep on my living room futon.
Item - Two (2) useless showers, because of complete lack of hot water in the building.
Item - Two (2) cupcakes, baked and iced last night, that I proceeded to consume as I surveyed the scene.
Item - One (1) Boss asleep with
Item - One (1) Metro in her room.
Item - Twelve (12) items of clothing, discarded in angry, exhausted huff.

What the hell, dude? I keep coming home from these functions in angry exhausted huffs. Or I come home face-meltingly drunk, and make with the drunk dials.

Okay, so it wasn't all a waste. In fact, there were some fine moments. Swank & Sweetheart's Queens apartment was the locale for this fundraiser, and it was decorated excellently. Daisy D. and I showed up with mass amounts of baked goods I had spent the day creating. By the end of the night, Daisy D. and Hugh were going at it like there was no tomorrow in every darkened corner - I had more than one "EEK!" moment, where I opened the wrong door and discovered Hugh atop my friend. We applaud this union, be it a one time or no, because it is a nice finger in the face of Vegas, who treated our dear Daisy like shite.

Sessoms and the Professor had their usual brush with the dramatic before she somehow, three drinks in, stumbled into sickness, and spent the rest of the soiree yakking on the roof. Oof. The Professor, on his way down the stairs with Girlfriend, grabbed my arm and said to me, most seriously:

"She's really sick. Please go up there."

Ay-ay Captain. Jon & I are due for a cigarette and a chat at this point (I've already had angry, dramatic run-in with Swank, who is being a dickface to me for reasons I can't even begin to understand, other than occasionally, the man seems to have a period), and we find Sessoms on her rooftop corner, covered in Nelly's jacket.

Nelly is actually the adorable first-year boy who hooks up with Jeff, one of our two uncloseted Second Years, both of whom I adore.

The cast of characters gets crazy at these functions. It's like fucking War and Peace.

Why would that jacket matter? Why at all?

Because at 4 in the morning, I am standing there with a mop in hand, a smattering of the strong around me, cleaning the party off the floor. I've spent ten minutes helping locate Nelly's jacket, then sent he and Jeff off to Brooklyn to get down. Swank has vanished into the Astoria night with a small man who would give Nelly a run for his money in a Fae contest, and Sweetheart turns to me.

"Okay, be honest with me, Maggie, because I'm so confused. Have you ever hooked up with Swank?"

I proceed to burst into tears.

I wish Beaux had been with me the whole night, like was once maybe, kinda sorta, vaguely planned. Hell, I might not have gotten to have my fun "Let's Get It On" dance moment with Numbers, but I definitely would have avoided the Foyer of Ultimate Doom conversation with Kiwi, and I definitely, DEFINITELY would not have been there, crying, with a mop, at 4 in the morning. No. I would've been the one getting some in closets. I would've awoken the next morning perhaps still with cold water, but one of those cupcakes would've been for Beaux, and my Christmas tights, tube dress, and pretty underwear wouldn't have been such a complete waste of time.

call on me/call on me

This afternoon, I woke up and stumbled towards my bathroom mirror. After a good three minute stare, I turned around, fetched my camera, and took the best re-creation photo I could manage.

It's been a weekend, let me tell ya. And it ain't over til it's over.

About my last post: I found out that Argentino is actually from Venezuela. Oops. Nevertheless, he remains out of school, in hospital care, but I hear he's doing well.


I began said weekend with a glass of water at Local, our first-year watering hole. Then Fubar came. Then Jon's apartment, with Swank leading the way. Then we journey down to the West Village, as suddenly the earth-melting weather turned back to normal December-style and my flimsy white faux-leather jacket was not helping out with the 60 mph wind gusts...oh no. But we journey to...somewhere...into a pub that existed during Prohibition, and is thus concealed - no sign, no markings, no nothing, just a black door and the number 86. But it's groovy, and even though I'm not wild for beer, I drink it cuz they make it there.

The evening winds up with the reasonable return-home time of 1:15 AM, a few phone calls, and lights out.

The next day, I've given up my work post, so I spend it relaxedly, practicing my dance, hanging with the bro, and when it gets to evening time, I'm still pretty tired. I'm thinking of flaking on Ms. Nasty. But she is turning 21, but I've gotten us on this list...for Anna Rexia is hosting Rated X downtown...and the Boss is getting the dance party started...and everyone's comin up to the el barrio pad...

Oh, and before I know it, it's 5 AM, and I've gotten nothing but free drinks, and a free shot of JD, and Metro won a hundred dollars in the hot body contest, and I've danced onstage with people I ran into from FORDHAM of all places, and I'm stumbling over myself at Fat Cat as we go to drop off Ms. Nasty with Dee, his boyfriend Mee (I'm serious, those are REAL names), Martha & her first-year boy, Jive, and then Kiwi and I go and crash out on this couch where there's jazz being played...

And I am spilling into my bed with a brownie I baked days ago for a bake sale that never happened.



Now, the laundry, and the homework, and the realization that I have to perform tonight.