Just popping in right quick to say, "goddamn, I'm hot as my character in this play."
Goddamn, I'm hot as my character in this play.
That is all.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
Lots of good, interesting, exciting stuff happening, but I can't tell you about a lot of it at this point. Suffice it to say that the next few months are going to be jam packed with yummy, creative goodness. And I'll probably get really stressed out and my skin will break out again. Oh well. Small price to pay, right?
And my show opens on Wednesday! I'm so excited for people to see this one. I can't tell if we just crack ourselves up or if we'll crack other people up, too. I hope it's the latter.
And my show opens on Wednesday! I'm so excited for people to see this one. I can't tell if we just crack ourselves up or if we'll crack other people up, too. I hope it's the latter.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Part of getting healthy includes eliminating toxicity in your life, yes? If you identify something as particularly toxic, do what you can to change it, yes? Yes.
I'd also like to know how exactly it is that "major combat" in Iraq ended a year and a half ago, yet yesterday was the bloodiest day for Americans since military action began over there. That would seem to be pretty major to me.
And what's with Iran? We're going to pre-emptively go in there, too? When will it stop?
Sorry, lots of scattered thoughts today. Focus. Get costume pieces. Get haircut. Get filing done. Get through this week.
I'd also like to know how exactly it is that "major combat" in Iraq ended a year and a half ago, yet yesterday was the bloodiest day for Americans since military action began over there. That would seem to be pretty major to me.
And what's with Iran? We're going to pre-emptively go in there, too? When will it stop?
Sorry, lots of scattered thoughts today. Focus. Get costume pieces. Get haircut. Get filing done. Get through this week.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Okay, I'm going to be a diva for a minute. The artistic director of my theater company watched our rehearsal last night and gave us notes afterwards. He had some very specific things to say for specific characters. For me? He likes what I'm doing. Me and this one other guy are "bringing it," in his opinion, and everyone else needs to bring the energy up to where we are. I talked to the artistic director a bit later on and he said he really doesn't have anything for me until everyone else starts challenging me. He then had one comment about my physicality during this kind of weird part of the play and that I can work with, but that was it.
That's it? That can't be it. I know there is more that I could be doing. Granted, the director of the show has some specific notes for me that he won't give me until tonight (for time's sake) and I'm looking forward to those, but still. This is the artistic director. He should be ripping me to shreds. He should call me on my bullshit. He should have something more to say than, "I like what you're doing." I can't work with that. Push me, pull me, rip me apart. Then I can learn. Then I can grow. Then I can try other things I may not have thought of.
I know, it's distasteful of me to complain about not getting notes, or to complain about getting praise. I should be happy that I'm doing a good job. But I hope the director has more to say to me tonight than, "I like the stuff you've been bringing. Keep it up," or blocking notes or whatever. I can kind of see the artistic director's point -- some of the other cast members are still struggling with lines, so it's hard for them to be where they need to be emotionally at this point in the rehearsal process, and the director is naturally going to focus on them. He's not going to worry so much about the actors who are off book and playing and experimenting with their characters and whatnot. He's going to try to get the whole cast to a place where we can actually perform this show first. I get that. That's fair.
But okay, here's a question. And yes, I feel very egotistical asking it and that makes me feel ooky, but I'm going to ask it anyway. If I am the sort of actor who can "bring it" to a rehearsal, who shows up with her lines memorized, who experiments with physicalities and gets her character's arc and whatnot, how come I'm just doing storefront theater? Don't get me wrong -- I love my theater company. I love the shows I have done there. I love the people there. Every time I pick up a piece of garbage someone left in the house and throw it away, I think to myself, "This is my theater and I love taking care of it." I think we put out a quality product. And while it all looks great on a resume, it's nothing I can make a living at. I go and audition for theaters who would pay me, touring companies, what have you, and I bomb those auditions. But I know that if I had a chance to show them what kind of actor I really am, I would blow them away. I know so many people who can nail auditions, but then just turn into a thorn in the sides of their directors. I'm the opposite. How can I change that? How can I get my foot into one more door? I know I can kick ass once I'm there; it's the getting there that is a problem. Is it a matter of getting casting agents to come see the shows I'm in so they can see how I work? Is it a networking thing? Or am I still hindered by the fact that so many of those movies I did so many years ago are yet to be finished and/or seen by people who weren't in them? At what point does it stop being their fault they're not casting me and become mine? At what point does it stop being my fault and become theirs?
I guess I just have to keep plodding along, taking as much as I can from every production in which I am involved. Keep trying to learn. Keep trying to grow. Keep trying to find someone to challenge me. Someday, it will all pay off. It's just a matter of me not shriveling up in the meantime.
That's it? That can't be it. I know there is more that I could be doing. Granted, the director of the show has some specific notes for me that he won't give me until tonight (for time's sake) and I'm looking forward to those, but still. This is the artistic director. He should be ripping me to shreds. He should call me on my bullshit. He should have something more to say than, "I like what you're doing." I can't work with that. Push me, pull me, rip me apart. Then I can learn. Then I can grow. Then I can try other things I may not have thought of.
I know, it's distasteful of me to complain about not getting notes, or to complain about getting praise. I should be happy that I'm doing a good job. But I hope the director has more to say to me tonight than, "I like the stuff you've been bringing. Keep it up," or blocking notes or whatever. I can kind of see the artistic director's point -- some of the other cast members are still struggling with lines, so it's hard for them to be where they need to be emotionally at this point in the rehearsal process, and the director is naturally going to focus on them. He's not going to worry so much about the actors who are off book and playing and experimenting with their characters and whatnot. He's going to try to get the whole cast to a place where we can actually perform this show first. I get that. That's fair.
But okay, here's a question. And yes, I feel very egotistical asking it and that makes me feel ooky, but I'm going to ask it anyway. If I am the sort of actor who can "bring it" to a rehearsal, who shows up with her lines memorized, who experiments with physicalities and gets her character's arc and whatnot, how come I'm just doing storefront theater? Don't get me wrong -- I love my theater company. I love the shows I have done there. I love the people there. Every time I pick up a piece of garbage someone left in the house and throw it away, I think to myself, "This is my theater and I love taking care of it." I think we put out a quality product. And while it all looks great on a resume, it's nothing I can make a living at. I go and audition for theaters who would pay me, touring companies, what have you, and I bomb those auditions. But I know that if I had a chance to show them what kind of actor I really am, I would blow them away. I know so many people who can nail auditions, but then just turn into a thorn in the sides of their directors. I'm the opposite. How can I change that? How can I get my foot into one more door? I know I can kick ass once I'm there; it's the getting there that is a problem. Is it a matter of getting casting agents to come see the shows I'm in so they can see how I work? Is it a networking thing? Or am I still hindered by the fact that so many of those movies I did so many years ago are yet to be finished and/or seen by people who weren't in them? At what point does it stop being their fault they're not casting me and become mine? At what point does it stop being my fault and become theirs?
I guess I just have to keep plodding along, taking as much as I can from every production in which I am involved. Keep trying to learn. Keep trying to grow. Keep trying to find someone to challenge me. Someday, it will all pay off. It's just a matter of me not shriveling up in the meantime.
Monday, January 24, 2005
So here's me taking one idea and pushing it to it's absolute, most extreme absurdism. Gay men are responsible for female oppression.
Yeah, I'll give you a minute to laugh at the absurdity of that statement. I was laughing even as the thought was forming in my head on the train on my way in to work this morning, but nevertheless, there it was. I think perhaps I am still bitter about one particular gay man, so that's where part of the leap came from, but part of it came from the book I was reading. I love this book -- it really is wonderful to read about female anatomy and female behavior like this. It is allowing me to forgive myself a lot of the things I have spent years resenting, or at least starting me down that path. But anyway.
The chapter I was reading this morning was on female aggression and how cruel women can be to one another. It also delves into social structures and the fact that humans are the only primate that really uses a patriarchial society -- most other primates are matriarchial. In most other primate families, the females stay in their birth locations, and males go off to join other groups once they hit adolescense. This means that females can bond with each other and help each other and form alliances and whatnot. What this book points out is that human males are the only primate males who learned the value of forming alliances with one another. And through the forming of those alliances, they were able to switch things over so that men stayed in their birth communities and women were uprooted. This left women vulernerable and without their support system of mothers, aunts, and cousins, and therefore open to enslavement. So if you take that to it's most extreme absurdism, you get men bonding together to keep women down -- or gay men being responsible for female oppression. I know it's not true, but this is where my mind goes before it is actually awake and after it has spent a whole night dreaming about zombies.
But I do think there is something to be said about the detrimental effects of uprooting women from their birth locations. If you look at any other primate culture, the females help each other out. If you look at the so-called primative human tribes that still exist, and it is the women who work together to keep the community running. If one woman is nursing, her family and female friends will help care for her other children, thus ensuring the health and well-being of all of the community's offspring. If a woman is extracted from that support network, there is no one to help her, except the man who extracted her, making her fully dependent on him for everything. He doesn't want her to be dependent on him for everything -- that makes her "needy" which is very unattractive -- so he treats her badly. She has no one to turn to, so she turns to him more and the cycle continues.
Granted, again I am speaking in sweeping generalities. It's really not as bad as all that; I'm just painting a picture. But there is something to be said for female friendships. Without them, women are dysfunctional. It's true. I don't feel right if I don't have a girlfriend who I can talk to and commisserate with and whatnot. And this does not make me a lesbian. This makes me a woman. It is a very subtle distinction that very few people understand -- even very few women. When I shot Leftover Voices, one of the things the director and I talked about at length was the importance to my character (Celia) of the other woman in the film. Celia wants this other woman, but not at all in a sexual way. Celia was raised by her grandmother and had this wonderful, strong connection with another woman. With her grandmother's passing, Celia was left alone and is now seeking a sort of replacement for that female-female bond. The director felt it was important to get across the point that Celia was not then by default a lesbian. We both felt that Celia was heterosexual, but that she wasn't really thinking about finding a boyfriend right now. Celia knows the importance, even if just on a subconscious level, of having another female in her life, to the extent that she needs to fill that void before she can focus on any romantic interests. But whenever I tried to explain this to people, to say that the film is about Celia trying to find a female friend, eyebrows would always cock in the, "So do the two of you get it on?" kind of a way. No. We don't. There is no need for that, and it is not even about that. It is about having someone to form an alliance with, having someone to talk to, having someone to laugh with in the way that only two women can. I don't know if I am making sense or not and I don't know if it is something that can make sense to you unless you are a woman and have had such a strong friendship with another woman. But it was nice to read about a lot of that stuff this morning on the train and see it reinforced.
So to reiterate, I have nothing against men, I have nothing against gay men, I have nothing against gay women. I'm just really enjoying the book I am currently reading and would very strongly recommend it to anyone else who wants to read it. It makes you think. For men, it might help you understand women a little better. For women, it will help you understand yourself and maybe even make you feel good about yourself. It is doing wonders for me, even if it does make me think silly thoughts from time to time.
Yeah, I'll give you a minute to laugh at the absurdity of that statement. I was laughing even as the thought was forming in my head on the train on my way in to work this morning, but nevertheless, there it was. I think perhaps I am still bitter about one particular gay man, so that's where part of the leap came from, but part of it came from the book I was reading. I love this book -- it really is wonderful to read about female anatomy and female behavior like this. It is allowing me to forgive myself a lot of the things I have spent years resenting, or at least starting me down that path. But anyway.
The chapter I was reading this morning was on female aggression and how cruel women can be to one another. It also delves into social structures and the fact that humans are the only primate that really uses a patriarchial society -- most other primates are matriarchial. In most other primate families, the females stay in their birth locations, and males go off to join other groups once they hit adolescense. This means that females can bond with each other and help each other and form alliances and whatnot. What this book points out is that human males are the only primate males who learned the value of forming alliances with one another. And through the forming of those alliances, they were able to switch things over so that men stayed in their birth communities and women were uprooted. This left women vulernerable and without their support system of mothers, aunts, and cousins, and therefore open to enslavement. So if you take that to it's most extreme absurdism, you get men bonding together to keep women down -- or gay men being responsible for female oppression. I know it's not true, but this is where my mind goes before it is actually awake and after it has spent a whole night dreaming about zombies.
But I do think there is something to be said about the detrimental effects of uprooting women from their birth locations. If you look at any other primate culture, the females help each other out. If you look at the so-called primative human tribes that still exist, and it is the women who work together to keep the community running. If one woman is nursing, her family and female friends will help care for her other children, thus ensuring the health and well-being of all of the community's offspring. If a woman is extracted from that support network, there is no one to help her, except the man who extracted her, making her fully dependent on him for everything. He doesn't want her to be dependent on him for everything -- that makes her "needy" which is very unattractive -- so he treats her badly. She has no one to turn to, so she turns to him more and the cycle continues.
Granted, again I am speaking in sweeping generalities. It's really not as bad as all that; I'm just painting a picture. But there is something to be said for female friendships. Without them, women are dysfunctional. It's true. I don't feel right if I don't have a girlfriend who I can talk to and commisserate with and whatnot. And this does not make me a lesbian. This makes me a woman. It is a very subtle distinction that very few people understand -- even very few women. When I shot Leftover Voices, one of the things the director and I talked about at length was the importance to my character (Celia) of the other woman in the film. Celia wants this other woman, but not at all in a sexual way. Celia was raised by her grandmother and had this wonderful, strong connection with another woman. With her grandmother's passing, Celia was left alone and is now seeking a sort of replacement for that female-female bond. The director felt it was important to get across the point that Celia was not then by default a lesbian. We both felt that Celia was heterosexual, but that she wasn't really thinking about finding a boyfriend right now. Celia knows the importance, even if just on a subconscious level, of having another female in her life, to the extent that she needs to fill that void before she can focus on any romantic interests. But whenever I tried to explain this to people, to say that the film is about Celia trying to find a female friend, eyebrows would always cock in the, "So do the two of you get it on?" kind of a way. No. We don't. There is no need for that, and it is not even about that. It is about having someone to form an alliance with, having someone to talk to, having someone to laugh with in the way that only two women can. I don't know if I am making sense or not and I don't know if it is something that can make sense to you unless you are a woman and have had such a strong friendship with another woman. But it was nice to read about a lot of that stuff this morning on the train and see it reinforced.
So to reiterate, I have nothing against men, I have nothing against gay men, I have nothing against gay women. I'm just really enjoying the book I am currently reading and would very strongly recommend it to anyone else who wants to read it. It makes you think. For men, it might help you understand women a little better. For women, it will help you understand yourself and maybe even make you feel good about yourself. It is doing wonders for me, even if it does make me think silly thoughts from time to time.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Friday, January 21, 2005
Food delivery people should have GPS systems and websites where you can track them to estimate when they will arrive at your home or office with your lunch or dinner. Just, ya know, 'cuz ya get hungry sitting around waiting for them. It'd be nice to know when they were going to get there.
Oh, and hotels should, by default, have amazing water pressure. Most people staying in hotels don't want to spend fifteen minutes rinsing shampoo out of their hair under a wimpy shower head. Put in the good stuff that'll rinse ya right off with almost no effort. It should be mandatory for hotels.
And every time you meet someone new, they should give you pie. Because everybody likes pie.
Oh, and hotels should, by default, have amazing water pressure. Most people staying in hotels don't want to spend fifteen minutes rinsing shampoo out of their hair under a wimpy shower head. Put in the good stuff that'll rinse ya right off with almost no effort. It should be mandatory for hotels.
And every time you meet someone new, they should give you pie. Because everybody likes pie.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Okay, I feel much better about myself. I donated money to charity and registered to do the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer again this year. I'm excited to do it all again. That link over on the side to my Avon Walk blog will give you more info about the whole thing as I go along, so I'm not going to gush about it too much over here. But if you want to get a head start on the festivities or make a donation, my Avon Walk donation page is up and running.
I like helping people. I like doing good things. I need to remember that when I'm having a crappy, cranky day. Doing good things always makes me feel better.
I like helping people. I like doing good things. I need to remember that when I'm having a crappy, cranky day. Doing good things always makes me feel better.
Ready? Set? Commence Bitchfest 2005!
Okay, so I totally screwed the pooch at the Boom Chicago audition. Granted, I knew I would this year. This year was going to be my practice year so next year, I can go in and rock their worlds. But I so did not rock yesterday and I'm kind of disappointed in myself for that. Oddly enough, fucknut (still an appropriate name) was helpful and comforting about it. He said that if I really want to get there, I will. It's so weird to have him as a good friend. So weird. Anyway, that's not bitching, so we'll be moving on.
My show on February 12 got cancelled due to licensing issues with the venue. Not just my show, all shows starting with the ones this weekend got cancelled. Suck, huh?
My head hurts today. That one is my own damn fault because I probably shouldn't have had that last beer last night, but I was really enjoying hanging out with the boys, you know? Just a chill evening, listening to music and blah blah blah. It was fun. Thanks for having me over last night. But my head hurts today.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, so I was late to work. About which I feel very guilty. I hate this job. I really do. I hate having to get up in the morning and come in here and fend off phone calls from impatient people who need things done that I can't get done and all I can do about it is pester my boss who seems to be the only busy person in the place. It's frustrating to be completely unable to help him. It's frustrating to not have anything to do because I can't even get enough time with him to find out what I can do to help him. As much as I love surfing the net, I'm fucking sick of it. I'm tired of coming in here every day. I'm tired of having to pretend that this job is okay with me.
I'm also tired of the mudane bits of life. I'm tired of having to eat every day. I'm tired of having to fill my car with gas and go grocery shopping and wear clean clothes and blah blah blah. I've eaten so much food in my lifetime already -- shouldn't that last me for a while?
My costuming budget is lower than I thought it was going to be. And I have much less time than I thought I would to pull everything together, so as much as I would like to participate in the "Not One Red Cent" thing that is going on today (in protest of Shrub's inaugeration, you're not supposed to spend any money today), I think I'm going to have to go to the fabric store so I can get cracking on some of this stuff. Originally, there were going to be two of us splitting the costuming duties, but the prop person backed out and the other costume lady is now the prop lady, so once again, I'm stuck doing the whole thing myself. In addition to performing in this show. I hate doing that because then I can't see the whole stage picture. And because it throws me off in rehearsal to be thinking, "Okay, it's about five minutes until I'm on, I could go through one more bin..."
My hair is long enough now that my hat mushes it down. Yes, it makes me happy that it grows so quickly, but I was kind of enjoying the zero maintenence aspect of it.
I think that's all. I'm just cranky today. There is a lot of good in my life, I'm just cranky today. Today is what is commonly referred to as "not a good day." But that can change, and probably will. Maybe I'll go sign up for the Avon Walk and make myself feel better.
Okay, so I totally screwed the pooch at the Boom Chicago audition. Granted, I knew I would this year. This year was going to be my practice year so next year, I can go in and rock their worlds. But I so did not rock yesterday and I'm kind of disappointed in myself for that. Oddly enough, fucknut (still an appropriate name) was helpful and comforting about it. He said that if I really want to get there, I will. It's so weird to have him as a good friend. So weird. Anyway, that's not bitching, so we'll be moving on.
My show on February 12 got cancelled due to licensing issues with the venue. Not just my show, all shows starting with the ones this weekend got cancelled. Suck, huh?
My head hurts today. That one is my own damn fault because I probably shouldn't have had that last beer last night, but I was really enjoying hanging out with the boys, you know? Just a chill evening, listening to music and blah blah blah. It was fun. Thanks for having me over last night. But my head hurts today.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, so I was late to work. About which I feel very guilty. I hate this job. I really do. I hate having to get up in the morning and come in here and fend off phone calls from impatient people who need things done that I can't get done and all I can do about it is pester my boss who seems to be the only busy person in the place. It's frustrating to be completely unable to help him. It's frustrating to not have anything to do because I can't even get enough time with him to find out what I can do to help him. As much as I love surfing the net, I'm fucking sick of it. I'm tired of coming in here every day. I'm tired of having to pretend that this job is okay with me.
I'm also tired of the mudane bits of life. I'm tired of having to eat every day. I'm tired of having to fill my car with gas and go grocery shopping and wear clean clothes and blah blah blah. I've eaten so much food in my lifetime already -- shouldn't that last me for a while?
My costuming budget is lower than I thought it was going to be. And I have much less time than I thought I would to pull everything together, so as much as I would like to participate in the "Not One Red Cent" thing that is going on today (in protest of Shrub's inaugeration, you're not supposed to spend any money today), I think I'm going to have to go to the fabric store so I can get cracking on some of this stuff. Originally, there were going to be two of us splitting the costuming duties, but the prop person backed out and the other costume lady is now the prop lady, so once again, I'm stuck doing the whole thing myself. In addition to performing in this show. I hate doing that because then I can't see the whole stage picture. And because it throws me off in rehearsal to be thinking, "Okay, it's about five minutes until I'm on, I could go through one more bin..."
My hair is long enough now that my hat mushes it down. Yes, it makes me happy that it grows so quickly, but I was kind of enjoying the zero maintenence aspect of it.
I think that's all. I'm just cranky today. There is a lot of good in my life, I'm just cranky today. Today is what is commonly referred to as "not a good day." But that can change, and probably will. Maybe I'll go sign up for the Avon Walk and make myself feel better.
Ready? Set? Commence Bitchfest 2005!
Okay, so I totally screwed the pooch at the Boom Chicago audition. Granted, I knew I would this year. This year was going to be my practice year so next year, I can go in and rock their worlds. But I so did not rock yesterday and I'm kind of disappointed in myself for that. Oddly enough, fucknut (still an appropriate name) was helpful and comforting about it. He said that if I really want to get there, I will. It's so weird to have him as a good friend. So weird. Anyway, that's not bitching, so we'll be moving on.
My show on February 12 got cancelled due to licensing issues with the venue. Not just my show, all shows starting with the ones this weekend got cancelled. Suck, huh?
My head hurts today. That one is my own damn fault because I probably shouldn't have had that last beer last night, but I was really enjoying hanging out with the boys, you know? Just a chill evening, listening to music and blah blah blah. It was fun. Thanks for having me over last night. But my head hurts today.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, so I was late to work. About which I feel very guilty. I hate this job. I really do. I hate having to get up in the morning and come in here and fend off phone calls from impatient people who need things done that I can't get done and all I can do about it is pester my boss who seems to be the only busy person in the place. It's frustrating to be completely unable to help him. It's frustrating to not have anything to do because I can't even get enough time with him to find out what I can do to help him. As much as I love surfing the net, I'm fucking sick of it. I'm tired of coming in here every day. I'm tired of having to pretend that this job is okay with me.
I'm also tired of the mudane bits of life. I'm tired of having to eat every day. I'm tired of having to fill my car with gas and go grocery shopping and wear clean clothes and blah blah blah. I've eaten so much food in my lifetime already -- shouldn't that last me for a while?
My costuming budget is lower than I thought it was going to be. And I have much less time than I thought I would to pull everything together, so as much as I would like to participate in the "Not One Red Cent" thing that is going on today (in protest of Shrub's inaugeration, you're not supposed to spend any money today), I think I'm going to have to go to the fabric store so I can get cracking on some of this stuff. Originally, there were going to be two of us splitting the costuming duties, but the prop person backed out and the other costume lady is now the prop lady, so once again, I'm stuck doing the whole thing myself. In addition to performing in this show. I hate doing that because then I can't see the whole stage picture. And because it throws me off in rehearsal to be thinking, "Okay, it's about five minutes until I'm on, I could go through one more bin..."
My hair is long enough now that my hat mushes it down. Yes, it makes me happy that it grows so quickly, but I was kind of enjoying the zero maintenence aspect of it.
I think that's all. I'm just cranky today. There is a lot of good in my life, I'm just cranky today. Today is what is commonly referred to as "not a good day." But that can change, and probably will. Maybe I'll go sign up for the Avon Walk and make myself feel better.
Okay, so I totally screwed the pooch at the Boom Chicago audition. Granted, I knew I would this year. This year was going to be my practice year so next year, I can go in and rock their worlds. But I so did not rock yesterday and I'm kind of disappointed in myself for that. Oddly enough, fucknut (still an appropriate name) was helpful and comforting about it. He said that if I really want to get there, I will. It's so weird to have him as a good friend. So weird. Anyway, that's not bitching, so we'll be moving on.
My show on February 12 got cancelled due to licensing issues with the venue. Not just my show, all shows starting with the ones this weekend got cancelled. Suck, huh?
My head hurts today. That one is my own damn fault because I probably shouldn't have had that last beer last night, but I was really enjoying hanging out with the boys, you know? Just a chill evening, listening to music and blah blah blah. It was fun. Thanks for having me over last night. But my head hurts today.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, so I was late to work. About which I feel very guilty. I hate this job. I really do. I hate having to get up in the morning and come in here and fend off phone calls from impatient people who need things done that I can't get done and all I can do about it is pester my boss who seems to be the only busy person in the place. It's frustrating to be completely unable to help him. It's frustrating to not have anything to do because I can't even get enough time with him to find out what I can do to help him. As much as I love surfing the net, I'm fucking sick of it. I'm tired of coming in here every day. I'm tired of having to pretend that this job is okay with me.
I'm also tired of the mudane bits of life. I'm tired of having to eat every day. I'm tired of having to fill my car with gas and go grocery shopping and wear clean clothes and blah blah blah. I've eaten so much food in my lifetime already -- shouldn't that last me for a while?
My costuming budget is lower than I thought it was going to be. And I have much less time than I thought I would to pull everything together, so as much as I would like to participate in the "Not One Red Cent" thing that is going on today (in protest of Shrub's inaugeration, you're not supposed to spend any money today), I think I'm going to have to go to the fabric store so I can get cracking on some of this stuff. Originally, there were going to be two of us splitting the costuming duties, but the prop person backed out and the other costume lady is now the prop lady, so once again, I'm stuck doing the whole thing myself. In addition to performing in this show. I hate doing that because then I can't see the whole stage picture. And because it throws me off in rehearsal to be thinking, "Okay, it's about five minutes until I'm on, I could go through one more bin..."
My hair is long enough now that my hat mushes it down. Yes, it makes me happy that it grows so quickly, but I was kind of enjoying the zero maintenence aspect of it.
I think that's all. I'm just cranky today. There is a lot of good in my life, I'm just cranky today. Today is what is commonly referred to as "not a good day." But that can change, and probably will. Maybe I'll go sign up for the Avon Walk and make myself feel better.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
My god, I'm so nervous, I feel like I'm going to throw up.
It's silly, I know. It's just an audition and the worst case scenario is that I'm not cast. That has bears no reflection on my abilities as an actor. I know I'm good. I've got a list of dozens of directors and fellow actors who will attest to that as well. I know I can bring it when it is time to bring it. It may just be a matter of availability or they don't want a bald chick or any one of a million things. There simply may be somebody better suited for this job than me. Doesn't mean I suck. It just means I get to continue my life in Chicago. Which is not a terrible thing. I love Chicago, I really do. If I do have to move to Amsterdam, I will be very sad to leave Chicago. So it is not the end of the world if I am not cast. I'll just go in there and do the best I can do and let the auditioners decide my fate. It's all I can do.
Wish me luck. And here's hoping I don't actually vomit. That would be bad.
It's silly, I know. It's just an audition and the worst case scenario is that I'm not cast. That has bears no reflection on my abilities as an actor. I know I'm good. I've got a list of dozens of directors and fellow actors who will attest to that as well. I know I can bring it when it is time to bring it. It may just be a matter of availability or they don't want a bald chick or any one of a million things. There simply may be somebody better suited for this job than me. Doesn't mean I suck. It just means I get to continue my life in Chicago. Which is not a terrible thing. I love Chicago, I really do. If I do have to move to Amsterdam, I will be very sad to leave Chicago. So it is not the end of the world if I am not cast. I'll just go in there and do the best I can do and let the auditioners decide my fate. It's all I can do.
Wish me luck. And here's hoping I don't actually vomit. That would be bad.
Oh! One other thing -- if you Google me, you'll find a couple of sites that claim they have nude photos of me and wallpapers and so on and so forth. They don't. I've checked. My name is just in a database of actresses or something and they claim they have nude photos of everyone. But they have none of me. I was born with clothes on.
Yeah, I'm chuckling, too.
Yeah, I'm chuckling, too.
So I Googled my own name a little while back and I found a reference to myself in the blog of an old college classmate. What? Don't even try to pretent you haven't Googled your own name. We all do it. We all want to see how many hits we get. And frankly, I get a lot. For someone who was completely computer illiterate for so long to have that many hits on the internet...no, the irony is not wasted on me. But anyway, I went back and read this old college classmate's blog wherein he had apparently Googled me (he was going through a list of old friends, trying to see what people were up to -- don't mock. You've done it, too. I know you have) and found this blog and wrote a little something about it. He said he remembered me as being fearless. Which is funny because in college, I was afraid of everything. At least I was going in to college. I got a little better as time went on and I learned that if I didn't speak up for myself or challenge myself or go for the things I wanted, I'd get nowhere because nobody else was going to do it for me. I dunno. I just like to think about his blog entry from time to time when I feel like I need an extra little push.
Like today. Today is audition day. I have to go in there and completely rock their worlds. No self-consciousness. No second-guessing myself. It's improv -- whatever comes to mind, I have to go with it, stick it, and sell the shit out of it. I have to remember to play "yes, and" and to be characters. I have to be positive and upbeat and most of all, I have to just have fun. Whatever happens with this audition, I have to go in there and give it my best. Because this is something I want and nobody is going to just hand it to me. If I give it my everything and they cast someone else, at least it's not my fault, you know?
Wish me luck!
Like today. Today is audition day. I have to go in there and completely rock their worlds. No self-consciousness. No second-guessing myself. It's improv -- whatever comes to mind, I have to go with it, stick it, and sell the shit out of it. I have to remember to play "yes, and" and to be characters. I have to be positive and upbeat and most of all, I have to just have fun. Whatever happens with this audition, I have to go in there and give it my best. Because this is something I want and nobody is going to just hand it to me. If I give it my everything and they cast someone else, at least it's not my fault, you know?
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Where's global warming when you need it? Honestly, this isn't fair. We have a totally mild summer and now an absolutely frigid winter? I thought we were going to get hot, not go into another ice age. If ice age is where we are heading, screw that. I'll off myself. I hate being cold. Hate it. Granted, I probably could dress warmer. But when I'm sitting in my office wearing a shirt and two sweaters, a skirt, pantyhose and socks, with my heat cranked up as high as it will go and still I'm still cold...that's getting ridiculous.
I am so ready for summer.
I am so ready for summer.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
I'm tired. My eyes are sore and dry from crying for three days. But for the most part, I feel good. I feel like things are changing, mostly for the better. I think the ailing relationships in my life are mending. The strained ones are fading away, leaving room for more productive, and healthy things. Not that those relationships are bad or over or anything like that; they're just being reexamined. And I don't think I'm the only one going through this stuff -- it seems like 2005 is the year of getting healthy for a lot of people. I'm proud of all of my friends who are getting healthy. I'm proud of me for doing it, too.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Moby is shooting a music video on Thursday. Which makes me SO HAPPY I CAN'T EVEN TELL YOU. Because first of all, it means that the single will be released soon. And secondly, because it means there will be more yummy Moby footage out there to watch. And third, it could be taken to imply that a DVD will be released for this album at some point and as we all know, I loved the "Play" and "18" DVDs. Funny stuff, that. The only sad thing is that I will not be in New York on Thursday, so I can't participate in the shoot. If I was in New York, I would take the day off to do it, but I am not, so I can't. Oh well. Some other day.
But yay! More happy yummy Moby goodness on the horizon!
I'm such a dork.
But yay! More happy yummy Moby goodness on the horizon!
I'm such a dork.
Monday, January 10, 2005
I'm watching the film version of Angels in America that they did for HBO last year. It is so weird. I was in this play in college and it was a big deal. It was probably the most controversial play they had done up to that point at my college and it was a big deal. It was a "happening." Everybody was abuzz about it. It was a big deal. And I got to be a part of it. I was part of somthing that rocked the community and made people think. I knew every word of the play, I knew everyone's speech patterns, I knew every sound cue and every light cue. I loved that play. I loved being in that play. I loved going to the theater every night and doing that play. I loved it. And now I'm watching other people say the lines I said. Acting out the scenes my friends worked so hard on. I know every line as it is being said, even after all of these years. I still know every line. I don't even have to pay attention; I know what's coming next. It's so bizarre. It's like my life on the screen, but it's not my life.
It's my favorite scene now. I was thinking the other day about how I would have shot this as a film. They're doing it right, but the acting is a bit off in one particular case.
It's so weird. So weird. I know it doesn't make sense. Just trust me. It's weird.
It's my favorite scene now. I was thinking the other day about how I would have shot this as a film. They're doing it right, but the acting is a bit off in one particular case.
It's so weird. So weird. I know it doesn't make sense. Just trust me. It's weird.
Okay, I promise that not every blog entry from here on out will be about my hair or lack thereof, but I have to post this one.
I went to do karoke last night because one of my friends was hoping to win the $500 prize. Seeing as it is a contest judged on applause and there were only the two of us there rooting for each other, we didn't really stand a chance, but it was cool. Actually, no, it wasn't. It was a crappy bar full of the kind of people I try to avoid. I hate sounding elitist or prissy or bitchy, but I don't like frat bars. And what's worse than frat bars are the bars where the frat boys hang out after they have graduated from college. If you don't know the kind of bar I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky. It's just not fun to hang out in a place where everyone looks the same and acts the same and thinks the same. Gimmie a little variety, please. Granted, there was one guy there who is in a rock band who looked a little cooler, but the rampant stupidity in the place kind of outshone even him. Anyway. After the first round, both my friend and I were eliminated from the competition, which was fine with me. Meant we could go home. But I had put in a request to sing two songs and they needed a couple of people to fill some time, so I went up to the DJ to ask if I could sing my second song just for shits and grins. He was talking to someone else at the time and while I waited for him, this other random woman who was up there turned and started talking to me. I talked back a little. Just enough to be courteous. And then she pulls out the, "And just for the record, I think you're really beautiful with your hair that short." Just for the record? Where did that come from? And what record? Have your friends been sitting over there all night ripping on the bald girl? Do I look like I'm terribly concerned with that? She went on to say that she'd do it if she had the guts. I had to pull out my, "Yeah, I did it for the play I'm currently in" line. I had to do it. I had to play the, "Hey, check me out. I'm an actual actor and an actual musician, not a karoke wannabe." It was low. It was petty. But she was so fucking condescending. Maybe she thought I was a cancer patient, or a holocaust survivor, or whatever, but what the hell kind of a thing is that to say, even to a cancer patient? I know she meant it as a compliment, but it was so condescending and pitiful. Had I been through chemo, the last thing I would want to hear from some girl with the perfect hair and sixteen tons of lipstick, but liner that has smudged off on one side of her mouth, is that she thinks I'm beautiful, no matter what her friends say. You know what? I think I'm beautiful. No matter what anyone else says, I think I look good. No, I will probably not keep this hair style forever. But I can more than pull it off. I can own this hair style. I don't need permission to do so from a sorority chick.
I'm sorry. I know this was a really ugly post, and very harsh on my part. Not really in line with my "I'm going to try to be a nicer person" thing. Sorry about that. But now that it is out of my system, I can go back to being a nicer person. Cookie, anyone?
I went to do karoke last night because one of my friends was hoping to win the $500 prize. Seeing as it is a contest judged on applause and there were only the two of us there rooting for each other, we didn't really stand a chance, but it was cool. Actually, no, it wasn't. It was a crappy bar full of the kind of people I try to avoid. I hate sounding elitist or prissy or bitchy, but I don't like frat bars. And what's worse than frat bars are the bars where the frat boys hang out after they have graduated from college. If you don't know the kind of bar I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky. It's just not fun to hang out in a place where everyone looks the same and acts the same and thinks the same. Gimmie a little variety, please. Granted, there was one guy there who is in a rock band who looked a little cooler, but the rampant stupidity in the place kind of outshone even him. Anyway. After the first round, both my friend and I were eliminated from the competition, which was fine with me. Meant we could go home. But I had put in a request to sing two songs and they needed a couple of people to fill some time, so I went up to the DJ to ask if I could sing my second song just for shits and grins. He was talking to someone else at the time and while I waited for him, this other random woman who was up there turned and started talking to me. I talked back a little. Just enough to be courteous. And then she pulls out the, "And just for the record, I think you're really beautiful with your hair that short." Just for the record? Where did that come from? And what record? Have your friends been sitting over there all night ripping on the bald girl? Do I look like I'm terribly concerned with that? She went on to say that she'd do it if she had the guts. I had to pull out my, "Yeah, I did it for the play I'm currently in" line. I had to do it. I had to play the, "Hey, check me out. I'm an actual actor and an actual musician, not a karoke wannabe." It was low. It was petty. But she was so fucking condescending. Maybe she thought I was a cancer patient, or a holocaust survivor, or whatever, but what the hell kind of a thing is that to say, even to a cancer patient? I know she meant it as a compliment, but it was so condescending and pitiful. Had I been through chemo, the last thing I would want to hear from some girl with the perfect hair and sixteen tons of lipstick, but liner that has smudged off on one side of her mouth, is that she thinks I'm beautiful, no matter what her friends say. You know what? I think I'm beautiful. No matter what anyone else says, I think I look good. No, I will probably not keep this hair style forever. But I can more than pull it off. I can own this hair style. I don't need permission to do so from a sorority chick.
I'm sorry. I know this was a really ugly post, and very harsh on my part. Not really in line with my "I'm going to try to be a nicer person" thing. Sorry about that. But now that it is out of my system, I can go back to being a nicer person. Cookie, anyone?
Sunday, January 09, 2005
So the resounding opinion is that I look good with no hair. Apparently, I have a nicely shaped head. I like it. Though my mental image of myself still includes hair, which is kind of weird. It takes me a second when I look in a mirror to remember that, oh yeah, I don't have hair. But I really do like it. It feels good. It looks good. And I actually do feel more feminine, believe it or not. I dunno. I'm going to stop rambling about it. But suffice it to say, I look good with blonde hair, red hair, brown hair, black hair, and no hair. There is nothing I can't pull off.
Except tooting my own horn. That's just distasteful.
Tee hee.
Except tooting my own horn. That's just distasteful.
Tee hee.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Can a person make a conscious decision to die? Assuming said person is in really bad shape and said person's body is just about ready to give out anyway?
More word from my grandmother's neck of the woods -- she's ready to go. Her kids are having a hard time seeing her like this. For a family that will do anything to keep their loved ones going for one more day to admit that watching someone die of a heart attack is easier and better than watching them wither away like my grandmother is...it has to be really awful. Really awful. She says she's ready to go. The doctors say everything will probably just shut down, except for her heart because she has a pacemaker, and she'll just kind of go into a coma. So my question is, could my grandmother just decide to go? She is ready to go. Her quality of life right now is dreadful, she misses her husband, she's just barely hanging on as it is. Could she just decide, "Today is the day" and stop living? Stop holding on? Can one person have that kind of control over his or her own involuntary body functions?
I don't want to lose my grandmother. Nobody wants to see a loved one die. But she doesn't want to be alive anymore and I have to respect that. I think we all have to.
I love you, Grandma, whatever your choice is, however you want to handle this. I love you.
More word from my grandmother's neck of the woods -- she's ready to go. Her kids are having a hard time seeing her like this. For a family that will do anything to keep their loved ones going for one more day to admit that watching someone die of a heart attack is easier and better than watching them wither away like my grandmother is...it has to be really awful. Really awful. She says she's ready to go. The doctors say everything will probably just shut down, except for her heart because she has a pacemaker, and she'll just kind of go into a coma. So my question is, could my grandmother just decide to go? She is ready to go. Her quality of life right now is dreadful, she misses her husband, she's just barely hanging on as it is. Could she just decide, "Today is the day" and stop living? Stop holding on? Can one person have that kind of control over his or her own involuntary body functions?
I don't want to lose my grandmother. Nobody wants to see a loved one die. But she doesn't want to be alive anymore and I have to respect that. I think we all have to.
I love you, Grandma, whatever your choice is, however you want to handle this. I love you.
Friday, January 07, 2005
I cleaned the hell out of my bathroom today. Note the usage of the word "hell," as opposed to "shit" or "fuck," neither of which sounds appropriate when used in reference to cleaning a bathroom. But anyway, I cleaned the hell out of it and even though my house now smells strongly of bleach, I feel very good about it. We're talking cleaning away mold and mildew and getting a new shower curtain and washing the walls and everything. I cleaned my living room a bit, too, and I feel good. I always have to be in the right mindset to really clean and I always feel better afterwards. Like I'm not only cleaning my house, but I'm cleaning my life, too. I'm getting healthy and it feels great.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
It's just hair. It will grow back. My grows particularly fast and particularly well. So why am I so freaked out about shaving it all off?
I know at least one of you out there reading this is saying, "If you're so worried about it, don't do it." Thank you. I know that is an option. I don't have to shave my head for this show. The director and writer are not opposed to me keeping my hair, though they would both like it if I got rid of it. The writer, especially. I know I could always go to them and say, "Look, guys, I'm more marketable with hair, so let's just put me in a turban, yes?" and they'd probably be agreeable to that. I know this. But you all should know by now that I am not the sort to back away from things that scare me. I seek them out and conquer them to prove that I'm alive. To prove that I'm strong. To prove that there is nothing I can't do. A life lived in fear is a life half-lived, right? Right. So just because this scares me doesn't mean I'm not going to do it. You learn nothing if you don't make mistakes or take chances.
Disclaimer aside, why am I so freaked out about shaving my head? I've been thinking about this a lot and have come up with several reasons. And I'm going to talk about them because my other choice is to tackle the enormous pile of stuff that needs to be filed that is sitting on the table in my office and that's just not fun. I can file later.
First of all, I have really gorgeous hair. It is a beautiful color and a beautiful texture. I have a lot of hair and it's really soft. It seems a shame to get rid of it. I looked into donating it to one of those organizations that makes wigs for cancer patients and whatnot and I don't think it is long enough to donate, which makes me a little sad because it really is beautiful. I think I have one gray hair in the front, too, and even that is beautiful. When the women in my family go gray, they go silver. Imagine my hair, with it's beautiful texture, in a shimmery silver color. I am going to be one foxy grandma, lemme tell you. So I have this really beautiful hair and it makes me sad to part with it. I know it will grow back. But my whole life, I have loved my hair. When I thought I was the ugliest thing on the planet, I took comfort in the fact that I have beautiful hair and pretty hands. So what is going to happen to my self-image when I no longer have one of the things I find most beautiful about my appearance?
Secondly, what if I just look funny with no hair? I think it would probably look better if I was waifish, and maybe this will inspire me to become waifish, but right now, I am not waifish. I can't even pass for a chemo patient. What if I just look silly? Some people can pull off bald and some can't. Same is true for men and women. Granted, I do have several friends who think I'll be able to pull it off. My lawyer friend said I can do it because I have striking eyes. It made me happy that that was her instant reaction, so I thank her for that. But for every friend I have who thinks it will be sexy, there is another who gives me those sad puppy dog eyes, like I'll be mutilating my appearance beyond the point of recognizability or salvagability. Who is right? We won't know until I do it.
And thirdly, there is the femininity aspect of it. I've heard of some women who just in cutting their hair short felt significantly less feminine than they did with longer hair. I don't know if it is because of the short cuts I have had, but I have to admit that I have felt that in the past. But as I'm reading this book right now, it is making it abundantly clear to me that hair has nothing to do with femininity or what makes me a woman. I will still have my breasts. I will still have my reproductive organs. I will still have my personality. I will still have my artistic abilities. I will still have my hands. I will still have my curves. The chapter I read on the train this morning was about breasts and it just kept reiterating how much humans are attracted to curviness and it made me really happy that I have breasts and hips that make me curvy. I have a nice figure and that's not going away with my haircut. I guess it's possible that having no hair might inspire me to dress more girly and I'll rediscover my femininity that way. And continuing to read this book and exploring my female roots from an internal/spiritual perspective will help. Nevertheless, I asked a couple of my guy friends yesterday if they will still love me if I have no hair. Both responded that yes, they will. Thanks, guys. Though you'd be pretty crappy friends if you said no.
On a side note, I think I may have to change a nickname. I think fucknut may have to become sparky or spike because he's really cleaning up his act. For real. After years and years and years of talking about it, he's finally taking action and I am so proud of him for that. He'll call me for no real reason now, or to prevent himself from having a cigarette (he's trying to quit). I'm so glad that he's decided to take care of himself, and I'm thrilled that he knows he can turn to me for help if he needs it. So yeah, fucknut may no longer be the best name for him. I kinda like spike. But he is one of the ones who has promised he'll still be my friend when I'm bald. And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.
But anyway, back to the hair. If you look back a little ways, you'll see that I am very attached to it. If it's not right, I don't feel right. Yes, I can always wear a wig. Probably my orange one. And yes, my hair will grow back. And yes, I have sworn off dating all together and maybe this will help me stick to that. That's a whole other blog, though, so don't worry about that one right now. And who knows? I could love being bald so much that I decide not to grow my hair back out. It is a big middle finger to the societal perceptions of what is beautiful. Spike has said that he'll photograph me once it is shaved and I'm hoping to get at least one, nice, artistic, beautiful, simple picture out of it so I have some visual image of myself as an object of beauty, even when I have been stripped of the things I have used to define myself as beautiful for years. It's like when I was a model for a figure drawing class (clothed, thank you). It did me a lot of good to see my body transformed into art. Something beautiful, despite it's flaws. Or perhaps because of them.
Part of me is really excited. Part of me thinks it will add a delicacy and vulnerability to my appearance and personae. Part of me thinks it will make me invincible. Part of me is looking forward to shedding the shackles of my hair and freeing whatever lies beneath this societally imposed appearance of mine. And part of me is terrified of losing what is familiar. But if we only hold onto things that are familiar, we miss out on a lot of new, exciting experiences and learning opportunities.
It is only hair. It will grow back.
I know at least one of you out there reading this is saying, "If you're so worried about it, don't do it." Thank you. I know that is an option. I don't have to shave my head for this show. The director and writer are not opposed to me keeping my hair, though they would both like it if I got rid of it. The writer, especially. I know I could always go to them and say, "Look, guys, I'm more marketable with hair, so let's just put me in a turban, yes?" and they'd probably be agreeable to that. I know this. But you all should know by now that I am not the sort to back away from things that scare me. I seek them out and conquer them to prove that I'm alive. To prove that I'm strong. To prove that there is nothing I can't do. A life lived in fear is a life half-lived, right? Right. So just because this scares me doesn't mean I'm not going to do it. You learn nothing if you don't make mistakes or take chances.
Disclaimer aside, why am I so freaked out about shaving my head? I've been thinking about this a lot and have come up with several reasons. And I'm going to talk about them because my other choice is to tackle the enormous pile of stuff that needs to be filed that is sitting on the table in my office and that's just not fun. I can file later.
First of all, I have really gorgeous hair. It is a beautiful color and a beautiful texture. I have a lot of hair and it's really soft. It seems a shame to get rid of it. I looked into donating it to one of those organizations that makes wigs for cancer patients and whatnot and I don't think it is long enough to donate, which makes me a little sad because it really is beautiful. I think I have one gray hair in the front, too, and even that is beautiful. When the women in my family go gray, they go silver. Imagine my hair, with it's beautiful texture, in a shimmery silver color. I am going to be one foxy grandma, lemme tell you. So I have this really beautiful hair and it makes me sad to part with it. I know it will grow back. But my whole life, I have loved my hair. When I thought I was the ugliest thing on the planet, I took comfort in the fact that I have beautiful hair and pretty hands. So what is going to happen to my self-image when I no longer have one of the things I find most beautiful about my appearance?
Secondly, what if I just look funny with no hair? I think it would probably look better if I was waifish, and maybe this will inspire me to become waifish, but right now, I am not waifish. I can't even pass for a chemo patient. What if I just look silly? Some people can pull off bald and some can't. Same is true for men and women. Granted, I do have several friends who think I'll be able to pull it off. My lawyer friend said I can do it because I have striking eyes. It made me happy that that was her instant reaction, so I thank her for that. But for every friend I have who thinks it will be sexy, there is another who gives me those sad puppy dog eyes, like I'll be mutilating my appearance beyond the point of recognizability or salvagability. Who is right? We won't know until I do it.
And thirdly, there is the femininity aspect of it. I've heard of some women who just in cutting their hair short felt significantly less feminine than they did with longer hair. I don't know if it is because of the short cuts I have had, but I have to admit that I have felt that in the past. But as I'm reading this book right now, it is making it abundantly clear to me that hair has nothing to do with femininity or what makes me a woman. I will still have my breasts. I will still have my reproductive organs. I will still have my personality. I will still have my artistic abilities. I will still have my hands. I will still have my curves. The chapter I read on the train this morning was about breasts and it just kept reiterating how much humans are attracted to curviness and it made me really happy that I have breasts and hips that make me curvy. I have a nice figure and that's not going away with my haircut. I guess it's possible that having no hair might inspire me to dress more girly and I'll rediscover my femininity that way. And continuing to read this book and exploring my female roots from an internal/spiritual perspective will help. Nevertheless, I asked a couple of my guy friends yesterday if they will still love me if I have no hair. Both responded that yes, they will. Thanks, guys. Though you'd be pretty crappy friends if you said no.
On a side note, I think I may have to change a nickname. I think fucknut may have to become sparky or spike because he's really cleaning up his act. For real. After years and years and years of talking about it, he's finally taking action and I am so proud of him for that. He'll call me for no real reason now, or to prevent himself from having a cigarette (he's trying to quit). I'm so glad that he's decided to take care of himself, and I'm thrilled that he knows he can turn to me for help if he needs it. So yeah, fucknut may no longer be the best name for him. I kinda like spike. But he is one of the ones who has promised he'll still be my friend when I'm bald. And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.
But anyway, back to the hair. If you look back a little ways, you'll see that I am very attached to it. If it's not right, I don't feel right. Yes, I can always wear a wig. Probably my orange one. And yes, my hair will grow back. And yes, I have sworn off dating all together and maybe this will help me stick to that. That's a whole other blog, though, so don't worry about that one right now. And who knows? I could love being bald so much that I decide not to grow my hair back out. It is a big middle finger to the societal perceptions of what is beautiful. Spike has said that he'll photograph me once it is shaved and I'm hoping to get at least one, nice, artistic, beautiful, simple picture out of it so I have some visual image of myself as an object of beauty, even when I have been stripped of the things I have used to define myself as beautiful for years. It's like when I was a model for a figure drawing class (clothed, thank you). It did me a lot of good to see my body transformed into art. Something beautiful, despite it's flaws. Or perhaps because of them.
Part of me is really excited. Part of me thinks it will add a delicacy and vulnerability to my appearance and personae. Part of me thinks it will make me invincible. Part of me is looking forward to shedding the shackles of my hair and freeing whatever lies beneath this societally imposed appearance of mine. And part of me is terrified of losing what is familiar. But if we only hold onto things that are familiar, we miss out on a lot of new, exciting experiences and learning opportunities.
It is only hair. It will grow back.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
The Chicago subway is significantly quieter than the New York subway. I'm not talking about the trains themselves, but the people on them. In New York, it seems like everyone is traveling in groups and they all talk to each other -- on the platform, in the tunnels, on the trains. In Chicago, everyone seems to be traveling individually so nobody talks to anyone else. In the Washington Street tunnel between the red and blue line trains, the only sound to be hear is the sound of footfalls and the occasional russle of a plastic bag. On the platform, when friends meet accidentally and greet one another, it is in hushed tones. It is rare to find people talking at full volume on the trains, or if they are, they're talking on a cell phone and all of the other passengers secretly hate them for having friends.
I was reading more of that book my mom gave me on the train this morning, about female anatomy. I think that will be my goal for this year -- to embrace my feminity and all of the wonderful and terrible things that come with it. It's about time I did that.
I was reading more of that book my mom gave me on the train this morning, about female anatomy. I think that will be my goal for this year -- to embrace my feminity and all of the wonderful and terrible things that come with it. It's about time I did that.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
I think the key to writing anything is to just do it. The things to keep in mind are that if you censor yourself, it will suck. If you try to be funny, you won't be. You will have to write about 37 things before you'll write one that you like, but you have to write those 37 crappy ones first before the good one will come out. I think if you can remember those things and not get frustrated by them, you'll be fine.
I say this mostly to myself because if I am called back for Boom Chicago, they will want a writing sample. Just a short scene between two people. So I've kind of made a deal with myself that I have to write a scene a day between now and then so I have a bunch to choose from and maybe one of them will actually be funny. Those of you in my close geographical proximity may be called upon to judge some of these scenes and let me know which ones are funny to people other than me and which ones are just plain crap. But I have to remember: don't censor myself. Don't limit myself. Don't try to be funny. Don't worry if I write crap. Something good will come of it.
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
I say this mostly to myself because if I am called back for Boom Chicago, they will want a writing sample. Just a short scene between two people. So I've kind of made a deal with myself that I have to write a scene a day between now and then so I have a bunch to choose from and maybe one of them will actually be funny. Those of you in my close geographical proximity may be called upon to judge some of these scenes and let me know which ones are funny to people other than me and which ones are just plain crap. But I have to remember: don't censor myself. Don't limit myself. Don't try to be funny. Don't worry if I write crap. Something good will come of it.
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Three days into the new year and I'm already bored stupid at work. I really should clean up my office. I really should clean up my house. I really should just go shave my head and get it over with. Get a fresh, clean start to the new year, you know? I'm actually really excited to be losing all of my hair. I think it will be liberating. You know how I'm always going on and on about how bald men are sexy because they are giving a big middle finger to society and what society thinks they should look like. Well, I'll get to be that person. But moreso, because I think the pressure on a woman to have beautiful hair is greater than it is on a man. I will get to walk around confidently with nothing to hide behind. No hair, no excess fat, no nothing. Just me out in the world. I'm kind of looking forward to it.
Sorry, that was really rambly. I'm in kind of a weird mood because I watched the documentary on John Kerry last night and I'm really wishing the election had gone differently. And I'm really wishing I had come into work with something more to do than clean the spam out of my inbox. And I'm really wishing my office was somewhere else because new people have started moving into offices vacated by my former co-workers who are now gone because of the reorganization going on here. Meaning keep your fingers crossed for me that I just so happen to be exactly what Boom Chicago is looking for. It's time for me to get out of here.
Sorry, that was really rambly. I'm in kind of a weird mood because I watched the documentary on John Kerry last night and I'm really wishing the election had gone differently. And I'm really wishing I had come into work with something more to do than clean the spam out of my inbox. And I'm really wishing my office was somewhere else because new people have started moving into offices vacated by my former co-workers who are now gone because of the reorganization going on here. Meaning keep your fingers crossed for me that I just so happen to be exactly what Boom Chicago is looking for. It's time for me to get out of here.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Warning: My dork flag is flying pretty high as I post this.
Probably the second best Christmas gift I got this year was a tea kettle. It whistles like a harmonica. And it means I can have tea anytime I want it. Anytime. I can have a cup of chamomile tea before bed. I can have green tea on a Saturday morning for breakfast. I can have tea anytime I want and it makes me so happy I can't even tell you. So thank you to my actual brother for the wonderful, wonderful tea kettle. I love it.
Probably the second best Christmas gift I got this year was a tea kettle. It whistles like a harmonica. And it means I can have tea anytime I want it. Anytime. I can have a cup of chamomile tea before bed. I can have green tea on a Saturday morning for breakfast. I can have tea anytime I want and it makes me so happy I can't even tell you. So thank you to my actual brother for the wonderful, wonderful tea kettle. I love it.
I just signed up to audition for Boom Chicago. I will not be cast. They are only casting one person at this point in time. But the audition sounds like a LOT of fun. So worst case scenario, I'll go and have a blast. Maybe they'll like the bald chick. Either way, keep your fingers crossed for me. How awesome would it be to go live in Amsterdam?
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Happy New Year, kids.
So I've been thinking about people and relationships and stuff. I know a lot of people, myself included, who think that they are so messed up in one way or another that nobody will ever love them, or that if they let someone get close enough to really know them, that other person will run screaming in fear. But if you actually talk to those people and find out exactly what it is that they think is so horrific as to label them unlovable, you find that every single thing on that list is either 1) something that can very easily be handled, or 2) something that is on the same list as thirty thousand other people. Honestly. My friends have the same issues that I do. They have the same problems as each other. They have the same problems as the people they want to hook up with. So why is hooking up so difficult? Is it because we don't forgive these things in ourselves, so we can't forgive them in others? Or are we so afraid that someone else might find out what's wrong with us that as soon as the issue is broached (when the other person admits his/her fault) that we freak out and run away? I don't know that I'm making any sense, but this is one thing I've been thinking about recently. The things I am so afraid of people finding out about me are thing that are completely forgivable or understandable. Depression. Bad skin. A penchant for crossword puzzles. Maybe we all just need to walk outside and say, "Hey. My name is Kitty (or whatever your name happens to be). I've battled depression before, which makes me kind of moody," and then we can all get on with our lives and our hooking ups and all that rot. I dunno. Just a thought. And of course, much much much easier said than done.
So I've been thinking about people and relationships and stuff. I know a lot of people, myself included, who think that they are so messed up in one way or another that nobody will ever love them, or that if they let someone get close enough to really know them, that other person will run screaming in fear. But if you actually talk to those people and find out exactly what it is that they think is so horrific as to label them unlovable, you find that every single thing on that list is either 1) something that can very easily be handled, or 2) something that is on the same list as thirty thousand other people. Honestly. My friends have the same issues that I do. They have the same problems as each other. They have the same problems as the people they want to hook up with. So why is hooking up so difficult? Is it because we don't forgive these things in ourselves, so we can't forgive them in others? Or are we so afraid that someone else might find out what's wrong with us that as soon as the issue is broached (when the other person admits his/her fault) that we freak out and run away? I don't know that I'm making any sense, but this is one thing I've been thinking about recently. The things I am so afraid of people finding out about me are thing that are completely forgivable or understandable. Depression. Bad skin. A penchant for crossword puzzles. Maybe we all just need to walk outside and say, "Hey. My name is Kitty (or whatever your name happens to be). I've battled depression before, which makes me kind of moody," and then we can all get on with our lives and our hooking ups and all that rot. I dunno. Just a thought. And of course, much much much easier said than done.
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