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!

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.

when you cut the lights out, think of me

SCISSOR SISTERS.

Swank shows up at five thirty. I have a corset on, and my pajama shorts, and I'm running around whining that I have nothing to wear, even though my closet is like a costume shop. By 6:22, the lunar eclipse has occured without my watching, I'm doing Swank's eyeliner, and we have finished one bottle of champagne and half a bottle of Hypnosis, which looks like liquid Smurf.

We hop the train to MSG. I don't know how we make it into the venue, because all of New York is blurry to me. Swank tries to convince a clerk in Duane Reade to let us use the bathroom, but I say no...no...we're almost there...and whirl us around Pennsylvania Station to the Garden Theater entrance. We ticket, we escalate, and every ten seconds, I am sure that I'm going to lose him, so I become all catlike, and sharp within my fuzziness - I can spot a dirty blond in eyeliner from a mile away. We stand in line for more drinks - not my idea - pop a half a pill, and make friends with everyone around us. Mitch in a red hat. Jim, from Boston, who saw the Sisters at the Siren festival, like Swank and I had planned to do last summer.

We try to find seats. At one point, I am crawling along the floor, attempting to find our seat number. The people around me start mumbling to each other - "Did she fall?" Swank turns and picks me up.

"Did you fall?"
"I'm just trying to find our seats!"

This is folly, because even though I read the ticket four times, I can't figure out which number is our seat number. And it's dark, and I'm surrounded by grown-ups. Swank sits us down, someplace, the wrong place. We make more friends. HE makes friends, rather, and introduces me to them. He vanishes several times. People come by and say that I am sitting in their seats. By way of further crawling about, I find the real seats. Swank finds me. The Sisters come on with "Paul McCartney."

Throughout the night, they play "Laura," "Tits on the Radio," "She's My Man," "Kiss You Off," "Filthy/Gorgeous," (complete with monologue!) "I Can't Decide," "The Other Side," "Lights," some other stuff, and as encores, "Take Your Mama" and "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'." I'm in singalong heaven. I drunk dial Man, and probably a lot of other people.

Later, after convincing Swank that he is not a drunken idiot (although we probably both are), a slice of pizza, random Irish pub with random concert people, we finally cab to Jon's. Italiana is walking to get cigarettes, and cries out when she sees us. Inside is a room full of friends! Stormy, Daisy, Sessoms, Hugh, Spunky & Sprightly, Kiwi, Swedish Steel (what he was doing there, I'm not entirely sure...), a whole bunch of others...

It was grand.

I'm tired.

I have work I gotta do.

kissy kissy

"This is what I'm not thinking about over break," I say to Daisy, Sessoms, and first-year Spot. We're eating pizza at 1:37 AM, and I am about to make my journey homeward, after they return to Gooding's house party.
I hold up one finger. "Fairy princesses!"
Second finger. "The land down under!"
Third. "New Jersey."

The last week before break has been fascinating both years at Nei-Play. The first year, I concluded my scene with D with a crying fit and a broken window. The next day, I sat cuddled up with D & Beaux (who, at the time, was the unattainable object of my affections) in a flight suit. This year, as an homage to myself, I wore it on the same day. Only, last year, I can't remember that I did anything after the morning classes other than drink some of Mrs. Sugarman's punch, say goodbye, and go home to my apartment.

This year, I honored my budding alcoholic tendencies by hitting up the liquor store on the corner of 54th with a good portion of the Second Year class. Jersey, our class champagne-freak, ventured into the cooler and emerged with a sleek black bottle. My eyes widened. The night before had featured champagne as well, and it seemed like as good idea as any. Swank, already drunk off of two bottles of wine he & Jon ganked from the school's alumni party (and consumed during the afternoon video presentation in the theater), saw me hovering by the cooler and he and I dove in for the remaining two bottles. Then Jon, crowing to the crowd, led the way to his apartment.

Jon is one of my few male friends that I can honestly say I have never had any sexual tension with. We've never made out. We've never gone on any awkward psuedo-dates, or exchanged weird looks. Occasionally we joke around that we should just get married and call it a day. But the woman who marries Jon is gonna have her work cut out for her. He's a five foot powerhouse, uber-talented, for sure...but in that short, muscley frame (and underneath his newly shaved mohawk) there lies a bottomless well of pure Southern-bred male chauvinism, disrespect for all emotions that don't coincide with his own, and the staying-power of a sandcastle. I've heard him speak of a girl like he was reading me the gospel, and two days later, he won't even remember her name. This is all exceptionally bad news for Stormy, who is head over heels for every inch of our Mississippi boy, and every other weekend, is in his good graces. Then there are days like yesterday...

At Jon's {expensive as hell, but completely trashed} apartment, we get to drinking quick. By 2:00, everyone present is smashed. A second wave of visitors arrive to find me with my flightsuit around my waist, standing on Jon's coffee table, screeching for the Van Halen to be turned down so I can make a speech. I raise my champagne bottle and toast the class of 2007. Everyone cheers. Swank, Jersey, and Jon all make their own speeches. Sessoms and Boss are gawking.

"What in the world have we walked into?," Boss asks me, smiling. Out steps Kiwi, from behind her, with no other first-years in sight.

Oh no.

For the next five or six hours, at least once an hour, I will be informed "Man, that boy adores you." "Gosh, Kiwi really likes you." "Oh, it's amazing how much that Kiwi is into you."

I guess I'm coming to realize that.

But I'm not unhappy to see him, and I'm celebrating, so I slap him five, hand him a beer, and return to the fray. The fray starts peeling clothing off. Suddenly, there's a half-clothed orgy occuring on Jon's bed, and Swank, Jon & Sweetheart are running around imitating monkeys. Sessoms turns to me at a crucial moment, and says she needs to go home and shower. I take the opportunity to not get into further trouble - I've lost my champagne bottle at this point anyhow - and head out into the early evening, drunk as fuck.


I am coming to understand why so many people in our profession have terrible drug and alcohol habits. It seems like every single day, there's a gathering, and the liquor is a-flowin, and in certain rooms, so's the ganja & coke. Now of course, it is perfectly possible and acceptable to attend and not partake. However, you will then get to be witness to everyone else's blitzed-out behaviour, which, on certain nights, is amusing, but on others, not so much. The other option is to stay home. Which, on this final week, just didn't seem like an option at all.

Later, I will hear from Stormy that she is not in Jon's affections at the moment, and it's driving her insane. Later I will hear that Swank bit Sessoms on the back. Later, I will curse at myself for being so wobbly-headed, I left my scarf on the bus. I will comfort myself with a burrito.

The title of this post does not pertain to any feature of my own evening. Come second round of party, at Gooding's, I sat quietly and DJ'd, my eyes at slightly-hungover half-mast. It refers to the actions of my girlfriends. Sessoms and Spot. Daisy and Hugh. Martha and Jive. They are all beautiful, and deserving of their get it get it huggy kissy lovey lovey. I also just wanted to post that picture from long ago, because I think it's cute.

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Now I'm up in the serene hills of my hometown, rather freezing. I have two sweaters on. It's actually winter here, unlike the Pretend December happening in NYC. I blew way too much money on Scissor Sisters tickets - a stupid thing to do during the holiday season, but how could I help it! - and I have mass Christmas shopping to do. I keep querying the old Tarot Cards: what's to come of this career I'm trying to found? Looking back on recent posts, I seem only to document my party life, though most of my waking hours are spent working my tail off to make some theatrical headway.

Which means, some class headway? Some what? The work I've been doing at the Playhouse is solid, and I'm reasonably proud of it. But all semester, I've still been lacking in that "KA-POW" moment of fantastic, which certain people have been blessed with. Jersey turned to me at Jon's, after she'd been through her bottle, and said:

"Maggie, I just wanted to say, no bullshit, I think you're brilliant in this way that you just don't give a fuck. You get up and you take a risk, and whether or not it works, you just do it, and it's fantastic. I mean really."

High compliment yes. But strange nonetheless. Can I build a career based on risk-taking, with moderate success? No one can be a genius every day, but I'm not asking for that. I'm asking for a real day in the zone.

Then again, I think about the flow of life at Nei-Play and remember that those who hit their high notes in first semester collapse in the second. And since I've been doing steady and solid, maybe I'll peak just perfectly - and pull out all the stops in our shows for the public.

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Me and my ego aside, my class is brilliant. We've had a rather bad run-in with our more connected (industry wise) teacher, which makes me very sad because...goddamn. Everyone is so talented. So hard working. SO fun to watch. And when we shut up and act, holy hell. It's a force to be reckoned with. As Sessoms said, as she took in the crowd at Jon's, swigging back their drinks and singing the praises of one another:

"God. It's actually scary. Everyone in this room is going to be a star."

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This break is gonna be worth it. I have a feeling we're in for a tilt-o-whirl season, come January 3rd.