Tappan Zee

Early this morning, I crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge on my way to New Jersey while the news station I was listening to talked about the two proposed designs for the new bridge that was to replace the one I traversed. And I realized, I was older than the bridge! I remembered being on that bridge shortly after it was opened to traffic. It was a clear, warm day in autumn when the man who would become my Dad picked up my small family for a ride in his new Cadillac. I sat in the front between him and my mother and, as we crested the bridge and saw the level stretch ahead of us, he teased that we were going to drive right into the water. “No we’re not”, I said, knowing he was teasing me but somehow fearful and excited at the same time. We hit the section where the pavement flattens and seems no more than ten feet from the water when suddenly, water sprayed up on the windshield. I gasped! He laughed a laugh I would come to know and love; a genuinely joyful laugh from a hearty man who loved life and always lived it to the fullest. Of course I had no way of knowing that the new Cadillac came with automatic windshield washers; I certainly had never seen it on either the Chevy or the Oldsmobile we owned. It was a magical moment and a special day as we drove into the country and went to a turkey farm and saw live turkeys and had a marvelous dinner, turkey, of course, at a big round table with a white linen tablecloth. I have such good memories of that day. I don’t recall anything about the other people in the back seat or seated around the table, namely my newborn brother and my birth father. Were they there? They must have been. It was 1955 and my parents wouldn’t divorce until a few years later. And my brother was born in August of 1955 so we wouldn’t have left him home. Or did we? Maybe with my grandparents? Or were they in the car too? Was that even my mother in the front seat with me? Maybe Dad had a date. They did double date occasionally, as I learned years later.

If you are reading this and gasping with wonder or disgust, please don’t. These relationships were meant to be. The marriage of my mother and father was dead long before the appearance of my Dad-to-be. The love between him and my mother was so profound that their eventual marriage was a truly joyous occasion for this impressionable child. I had an infinite capacity to give and receive love. It was just the adults who couldn’t make room for each other.

Early to Rose

It’s 5:45 a.m. and I’ve been awake for awhile. This hasn’t happened in a long time. I am more likely not to have fallen asleep at all than to have nodded off blissfully at a decent hour and awakened before dawn. But somewhere in m y sleep state, the list of things I had to do started scrolling like the end of a high-tech movie… on and on and on. There was no choice but to get up and write them down. Once I did that, I figured, I would be able to get some sleep. But once I was up, once I was writing the list of things on the TO DO list on my laptop, I started doing them. That’s perhaps the most marvelous thing about email and the internet. You can contact people and places at any hour of the day or night and its okay! Gone is the 10 o’clock rule for people and the 9 to 5ness of business. Gone is the sleepy voice at the other end of the phone when you call too early, or the panic that somebody died when you call too late. Gone is the feeling of intrusion into someone else’s life when you simply call at the wrong time. There is no wrong time! No one is going to check their email in the middle of having sex. The ‘e’ in email does not stand for ‘emergency’. It’s so liberating! I can be insane as the sun comes up and not disturb a soul!

No big deal

It shouldn't be a big deal. I'm an actress. I should be used to this. It should come as my due. Jobs, rolling in until it is routine. I'm an actress (or actor in contemporary parlance). It is what I do.... in addition to a thousand other things that bring me varying degrees of satisfaction or aggravation. But when you get right down to it, there is nothing that I'd rather be doing than acting. There's a joy in acting, a release, that just doesn't exist anywhere else, at least for me. So, when I get a chance to do it, it's a good day. When I get a chance to do it on a television show that I love and respect, it's a great day. So Tuesday will therefore be a great day. I'm shooting an episode of "Nurse Jackie" with the amazing Edie Falco. How cool is that? It's a small role but it's meaningful; a real moment; a full character in a small scene. It's not "memorize, show up, deliver your exposition and leave because no one really cares 'who' you are". There's a backstory. They care. I'm totally psyched - all set to shoot next Friday. It's perfect! I have my job on Monday and the class I teach on Tuesday and the gilr I coach on Wednesday and the job with JIB on Thursday and I'll shoot on Friday! What a week. But wait. First thing this morning the wardrobe person calls me for my sizes and colors, even asks about my eyes. And as she signs off she says "See you Tuesday". Tuesday? Can't be Tuesday. I get home from work at about 3 a.m. Tuesday morning. If I sleep all day I can make my class Tuesday evening. What time Tuesday? Why Tuesday? Tuesday screws up Monday AND Tuesday! Maybe she made a mistake. The Lexapro keeps me from driving off the road. I get to JIB and my agent calls. It's Tuesday. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. My husband says it's a sign: that THIS is what I'm supposed to be doing and the other stuff is disposable. I agree. But the money isn't disposable. We have bills to pay! Why can't I have it all? Still, Tuesday will be a great day.

Dead Tired

At 2:30 p.m. I clock in. At 1:30 a.m. I clock out. My ankles throb. My left knee needs replacing. My right knee is only sore. On the bus back to the employee parking lot I catch a glimpse on my reflection in the window. I am surprised at the youth in my face. It seems thin although I am a bit heavier than I want to be. Maybe those workouts are working. Maybe the pounds don’t matter. Maybe my body is just changing. Maybe it is now almost 2 a.m. and I am lying to myself. I turn away from the window as a lump of sadness lodges in my chest. How did I get here? What am I doing on this bus? This is not what my father planned for me. And I answer my own questions. I am being responsible. I am doing what I need to do for my family. It is better than nothing. It is only a few more months and then … what? The bus lets us off no where near where we are marked and I walk to my car and rifle though my bag for two Tylenol and my bottle of Poland Spring that I refilled with Aqaufina in order to distinguish it from all the other bottles in the Pantry. The Prius switches on like a modern appliance and the music my husband prepared for me for this late night drives springs to life too. Johnny Cash sings “I’ve Been Everywhere” and an immediate smile creeps on to my tired face. I wasn’t sure those muscles worked anymore! It is followed by Jeff Bridges singing a song from “Crazy Heart”, which segues into an entire album of Dave Edmunds and another of Vampire Weekend. It is hard to be unhappy with the music. It all feels so good. Soon I am bopping along, seeing myself on stage telling the audience “I knew the Bride when she used to rock and roll”, and how I went “Crawlin’ from the wreckage” after I hit a suicidal Bambi on the Saw Mill. Actually, I only saw one deer tonight and he was already dead at the side of the road. I did see one slow moving raccoon but had plenty of time to let him pass without incident. I am home by 3:20 a.m.. The lights are on but no one is awake. I tiptoe into the bedroom for a half of a sleeping pill and downstairs for a shot of Tequila that burns my throat but maybe that’s the medicinal benefit part.I sit on the couch writing to you and waiting for the meds to kick in and I can close my eyes without counting beer cans and liquor bottles. I am wired but tired. Tire-wired. Things to do when you’re Dead…on your feet.

In a Word

Is it a sign of the economical times that most of the plays you see nowadays have economical one-word titles? Remember plays like “Oh Dad Poor Dad, Momma’s Hung Him in the Closet and We’re Feeling So Sad”? “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying?” Now we have “Art”, and “Proof”, and “Doubt”, and “Race” and driving up Eight Avenue in NY today I saw two new billboards for “Trust” and “Wings”. Is it me or are we running out of words? Or has the MTV generation rendered us as a society incapable of absorbing anything that long? Why try to explain to a potential date what “Angels in America: Millenium Approaches” is about when you can say “Let’s see ‘Shoes”!” “What’s it about?” “It’s about ‘shoes’!”

Are these plays, as good as they might be, the results of a challenge? Pick a word, any word, out of the dictionary and write a play about it. It’s as good an approach as any. I belonged to a workshop where someone got the idea to stimulate playwrights by choosing a “Word of the Week”. You had to write 3-5 pages using or about that word. Consequently, I stopped writing plays and starting writing 3-5 page skits. I wrote a few and then I stopped writing altogether. I couldn’t think beyond five pages. No idea I got seemed worth any more time than that. So I am in awe when Mamet and Kopet and Stoppard and the rest of the current greats of the dramatic world can slam out 90 minutes by riffing on a word.

And speaking of 90 minutes, what happened to the two act play, let alone the three act play with two intermissions? I think I know. Writers are afraid that, if they let people out of their seats at intermission, they will not return for act two, leaving the TV and film stars who have been hired because of the name recognition for NY tourists with no one to play to.

I'm Being Followed

Imagine my surprise and delight when I opened my email today to discover that “Joan from Colbert Nation” was now following me on Facebook… or Twitter. I thought you “friended” on Facebook and “followed” Tweets on Twitter. But I quibble. I was excited.

In the old days, the idea that someone was following you was cause for alarm. Now it’s exciting. I don’t know who “Joan” is but she likes me! And that fits neatly in with my pathological need to be liked. So I clicked on her hyperlinked name to find out who she was. It took me to the home page for Colbert Nation. I love Colbert Nation. Stephen Colbert has created a character so satirical that I am sure there are people in the country that don’t know he is joking; people who believe his arch-conservatism is real; people who are really dumb. But I was still looking for “Joan”. Does she work there? How did she find my little blog? Will she pass it along to Stephen? Will they call me for a job? (I am still looking, after all.)

There was no picture of her, just that generic silhouette of a female. They wanted me to “follow” Colbert Nation. Well, I already get daily emails from his website, videos of show highlights and, of course, I watch the show whenever I can stay up late enough. So do I really want more daily contact? I come from a family that kept a running dialogue with each other via the phone several times each day. “I’m going out.” “I just got back.” I’m making dinner.” “I’m in the bathroom!” “What’s new?” What could possibly be new since the last call fifteen minutes ago? This childhood experience has given me an aversion to talking to ANYONE everyday. How soon would even Stephen Colbert become boring if I were to hear from him several times a day? I daren’t risk it. Still, if you are indeed following me, Joan, and are not someone hired by Colbert Nation to recruit more followers for his own blog, then you are reading this now…. And I find that very cool.

Too Busy to Breathe

I'm afraid I am in so far above my head... I spent the day playing with Google. Well, part of the day. The rest was spent cleaning, something I am incapable of doing flat out so I pepper the effort with eating, working on the computer and watching TV. So while I watched "House" and "NCIS" reruns, did the laundry, cleaned the living room, kitchen, two bathrooms, our bedroom and exchanged my summer clothes for my fall/winter clothes, I got myself a Google Voice phone number for my Stray Kats Theatre Company, set up a second Google account attached to my other email address which is attached to my website, and got another Google Voice number for my acting career which makes it look like I live in New York and not in "Bumfuck" as my kids so lovingly call it. Are you as confused as I am? When I tried to post this blog entry Icouldn't remember how to sign in. Too many passwords and usernames. I've either got it straight now or have just complicated my life to the point of insanity.

It has been a strange week. My husband, freaking out when the temperature dropped to the 60s, dashed off to spend a week in Florida with my Mom and brother. I was concerned that his delirium at being in the tropics would wear off after 24 hours and they would kill each other, but he's coming home tomorrow and they all still seem to be happy. (Actually, they're having a ball! Why is it never so peaceful and cheery when I am there too?)

I am still recovering from the back to back marathons of Giants and Jets opening days at the New Meadowlands Stadium last Sunday and Monday. Just getting there was a trip (and I mean that literally and figuratively), waking at 4 a.m., deer-dodging down the Saw Mill River Parkway (I have NEVER seen so many deer) and then almost being blind-sided by one poor, lost, terrified buck on the 8-lane approach to the Tappan Zee Bridge. (What WAS he doing there?!) Two 14 hour days of non-stop catering. We made more coffee than Starbucks! And forget about the beer! I returned home to prepare for the start of my acting classes the next night only to discover I had two students. Then three. I called them to cancel. Then another call and bingo, I had four. I uncancelled. Then only three showed up. I did the class anyway. Then one dropped out because they wouldn't let her pay in installments. I'm sorry, but is there anyone out there who can just plunk down a chunk of change these days? It's fine with me!!! I just want the students! Pay when you can! But no, she's gone. So now I'm down to two. Guess I'll be cancelling that by next week. I'm trying to look past the fear and see the message: What am I supposed to be doing? Meanwhile, I juggle: NMS, Stray Kats, Seven Angels, Play With Your Food, "Cheesecake Proposal" (I'm directing), Flagpole Radio Cafe (I'm going to be acting), and cleaning the house. Is it any wonder I'm confused?