Mumbling Madly

My South Lake Union Trolley shirt came in:

Refer to this post for further details.

I will not be celebrating Halloween this year. Oh, sure, there’s a party next Saturday with the expectation to dress up. And, yeah, all these random children today at the park were wearing their costumes ‘out.’ But I’m sort of glad to just let Halloween slip by.

First of all, the current show I’m in requires as many costume changes as possible. This means that during any spare moment we are encouraged to walk upstage to the big costume rack and change outfits. I probably change clothes at least five times in the span of one hour. You can also change either in front of the rack (in plain view of the audience) or behind the rack (in plain view of cast mates but not audience). I seem to be doing the latter. I’m not sure where this modesty came from…age? Marriage? Not that I’ve ever busted out any nude scenes in the past but I was known to take off my shirt on stage a few times, regularly showed up for a curtain call wearing men’s tighty whitey’s and my best lace bra, spent multiple cast parties skinny dipping in Kimberly’s basement pool, and generally had no problem showing off my bod. Indeed, there are several in the cast who have no problem stripping down and upstaging the performance art with their blatant nudity. I admire this but don’t participate. Admittedly, before leaving for the theater I still make sure my underwear matches and my armpits are shaved just in case I feel bold and want to be a bit of an exhibitionist that night. But I no longer feel the thrill I once did, maybe because I’m no longer trolling for a mate or perhaps because I don’t feel like sucking it in, but for whatever reason: I’m skipping the public nudity.

Anyway, I’ve always maintained that actors don’t get much out of Halloween. We already dress up a lot in our professions, put on make-up, pretend to be people we aren’t. There are people right now who are thrilled because they’re going to be a Mexican Wrestler (or Strong Bad) for Halloween and I’ve been wearing that damn mask every weekend for three weeks now. (Besides, I’m still bummed that my one great idea for a costume last year was wasted on a bunch of drunk Boeing employees). And then there’s the blowing a whole bunch of money on candy thing, and the doorbell ringing all night, and I guess I’m just a big Halloween scrooge this year. People were really trying to get me to come to this haunted house thing at the theater and I made the excuse that I couldn’t come because I would get scared. (You know that wasn’t an excuse; I really would get scared). Why just now on the Discovery Channel they were having this whole thing on exorcisms and the second the scary music started up I had to switch the channel, (and then manically flip back every few seconds until the scary demon was gone and it was daylight again).

I also don’t feel like being clever. When you’re a kid the costumes are really straightforward: princess, fairy princess, little red riding hood, etc. When you’re a teenager they become a little more vague: punk rocker, rock star, older teenager. When you’re an adult you’re expected to be really clever, like…little dead riding hood…or something. I reached my peek at 20 when I went to a party as a Freudian slip wearing nothing but, you guessed it, a slip. I froze my ass off but I looked great (of course I included a lot of glitter into the costume). Halloween has only gone down hill since then. I’ve made some attempts in the past; buying a cool red wig and black wings and tried to piece together a costume. Josh usually upstaged me, typically by donning some sort of horrible wig and skin tight pants. This is fine…as I stated in the last paragraph I don’t get much out of dressing up.

And continuing on that stream of thought: just dressing up is sometimes hard. I have a pedestal sink, which means no counter space. No place to put mounds of bobby pins, tubes of sparkles, make-up of any kind. It is hideous to try and get everything together into some sort of semblance of glamor. I had to go to a wedding reception last night and I tried forever to come up with something that looked attractive. I decided that the only thing that would have perfected my outfit was a pair of long boots….but I don’t own any boots. Not really…I mean I have out-of-style boots from 1997 and 2002 but nothing akin to what the ladies are wearing NOW. So, the whole time I was trying to make something out of my dress I bemoaned the fact that if I JUST HAD BOOTS I could have really pulled this outfit off. Because I teach dance every day I find myself wearing yoga pants and tee shirts all the time…gone are the days of slacks and form fitting button up shirts (too difficult to demonstrate “ballet arms” when your circulation is being cut off at the arm pits). This is usually pretty great–especially on days when I look and feel like crap. But it’s certainly made it harder to find and buy clothes for dressing up (why bother when I just have to change into cotton lycra every day?)

At any rate: I’m taking this Halloween off. And while everyone doles out candy to kids in the rain I’m going to see the fantastic, awesome, Henry Rollins at the Moore Theatre.

Yesterday…
I assisted in helping babies learn the joy of paint. The class was for ages 12-24 months old and you just have to imagine six babies lined up on a plastic tarp with six pieces of gold paper and five tubes of paint. There were brushes…sure…and a few kids actually enjoyed holding the brushes and swirling them around their paper. This is the time when personalities reveal themselves, the intricacies of human preference, the humor that makes up a person. One baby diligently painted swirls on his paper, another refused any tools and used her hands, and one baby ended up using her entire body as a canvas: she sat on top of her paper and smeared paint all over herself. This particular baby comes from a very conservative household, or so I was told by her nanny, “She’s not allowed to make a mess, not ever…I want to do more art with her at home but her parents would freak out…their house is immaculate and not very ‘baby like.’”

One little girl is not interested in the paint. She finds the roll of blue painter’s tape that I used to tape the sheets onto the canvas. She carefully affixes several pieces of tape onto her paper, creating blue curly-q’s and x’s. This child leaves the canvas spotless, ready to move on.

I am in charge of cleaning these babies up…I have a big bucket of warm soapy water and lot’s of rags. One by one each baby is dropped into the bucket, the water coming up to their chubby knees as we carefully avoid getting the diaper wet. I wipe down the multi-colored streaks of paint from their legs as their grown-up holds them diligently–eventually every baby leans over and puts their hands in the water. They splash the water around with their fingers and make bubbles pop. I encourage them to do this because it cleans their hands. One little boy lingers a long time near the water. He trails his finger through the water’s surface, making little paddling gestures with his hands, and splashes around. His mother claims he is obsessed with water: fountains, puddles, wading pools. “Your hands are sparkling!” I proclaim as I dry his fingers off again and again. The baby who has immersed herself in paint is stripped of her onesie and plopped in the tub. She bitterly complains as I scrub off the paint. The paint is everywhere: on her back, in her hair, in her elbows, on her ears. She spends the rest of the time padding around in nothing but a diaper; I notice her masterpiece drying on the rack: one single solitary piece of paper covered completely with several layers of paint. Not a trace of gold, the colors creating a beautiful muddy brown.

I have paid for three manicures in my life, (and I got a free one years ago from a Starbucks client) The first one was with Kimberly two summers ago and it was a great experience. My mani lasted a full week, despite how hard I am on my hands. The second time was right before Sam and Erin’s wedding. I went back to the same place and asked for a mani/pedi. It was a terrible experience; they were hasty, made fun of other customers while I was sitting there, and seemed annoyed the whole time. One woman painted my toes while the other grabbed my hand and started slathering paint on my nails. This was my first pedicure and I found it to be extremely tickly and uncomfortable and it certainly didn’t help that someone was occupying my hands at the same time. I had really hoped the mani/pedi would be done one after the other instead of simultaneously. It sucked. It didn’t help that I foolishly put my shoes and socks on and completely ruined the pedicure. I had stuck my toes under the dryer for a full fifteen minutes but it didn’t matter…I wrecked it.

I decided yesterday that my character in I Feel Fine should have dark, creepy, nails. So, I decided that I was going to splurge on a manicure and went to a nail place two blocks from the one I had previously gone to (both are on Broadway). It was three dollars cheaper (12 instead of 15) and I should have known better. The following is the review I wrote on Google:
It took me over an hour to get a simple manicure. The job was split up between two employees. The male employee did the prep work (trimming, filing, etc), the female employee did the polish. The guy cut my cuticle too close, causing it to bleed slightly. He apologized but it was very awkward situation. I should have left. When the girl took over she has to redo most of his work, including evening out my nail shape which he had left lopsided. She was split between myself and another customer, so I received a very hasty polish job. I had hoped some recognition of my bleeding cuticle would have occurred but she remained oblivious and took my money without offering any incentive. I suppose it was ambitious of me to hope that she would recognize that paying someone for damage to my finger might not be the best customer service. This manicure lasted less then 24 hrs with most of the polish chipping off within the first few hours. I suppose you get what you pay for ($12) but I am never going to Nini’s again.

There is a small part of me that is terrified I’m going to develop some horrible skin disease. The other part just wants to put the whole experience behind me. (Besides it was a tiny amount of blood and a lot of alcohol was applied after it happened). Sure, I debated going back there today and saying, “Look, this is the worst manicure ever, it’s chipping and you owe me.” However, I would probably just be subjected to continued crappiness. I had always viewed a manicure as an incredibly frivolous expense, something that I always thought was silly and unnecessary. However, my own attempt at painting my nails has been disastrous (and believe me I’ve gone through phases). Paying someone for longevity seemed worth it: I’ll get my nails done and they might actually last a week. However, this was certainly not the case. I think I’m going to go to a beauty supply store and buy some good supplies: a nice topcoat, some hardcore polish, and a good clipper. I’m not willing to pay $30 bucks for a mani and I’m certainly not going to suffer a cheaply done job again…so, I suppose it’s up to me.

In a weird twist, I am suddenly recognized (after many years absent) in the local paper…however, this means I will always be known as a mask-wearing, boom box playing, alien freak.

More images, (including a provocative one of me ‘crying’ while wearing a slip) can be found here.

I Feel Fine plays October 12 - November 10, Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00 pm. Pay-What-You-Can special performance: Thursday, October 25 at 8:00 pm.
NOTE - No Performances: Friday, October 26 & Saturday, October 27
Tickets are $12. (Students, Seniors, and Theater Puget Sound members: $7 with ID.)
Performances are at Annex Theatre, 1100 E. Pike (11th Ave. at E. Pike St.)

Warning: Be prepared for ANYTHING

A while ago our mother sent us a little “go have fun” money. So, Gina and I spent a bright sunny fall day in Seattle drinking coffee at Peets, eating Thai food at the best vegan buffet in town, flaunting clothes (like stretch pants and polo shirt dresses) at American Apparel, trying on bras for breast cancer research at Macy’s, and eating vegan cookies bought at Pike Place Market. It was a delicious day. Click here for pictures…

Yesterday I reached such a giant state of fatigue that in the middle of some pointless meeting I almost keeled over and fainted. I actually had to put my head between my legs. While examining my shoes (i really need to polish my danskos) my eyes swept over my blue/green/yellow colored thumb and I almost passed out right then and there. Nothing is more nauseating then one’s own discoloration. Were people alarmed? No, in fact the woman I was having a meeting with said, “Well, we can stop now, OMIGOD I’m going to be late to pick up my daughter from school! The parking lot is going to be a nightmare! Oh, and today is the day she has a playdate too…”

Now, the worst thing about being hurt/sick, etc. is feeling people’s pity. A little pity is ok, right, we all like people empathizing with us. It does not feel good, however, to have people look you over with a mix of dismay, pity, and slight irritation. So, I’m not saying that I want people bending over backwards, sharing with me their own tragic tales of sprained limbs, or hell, even cooing, “Awwww.” However, yesterday I was surprised at how much negative insensitivity was thrown at me. Sure, we’re overworked and underpaid. We’ve already plowed through four office managers in one year and now we’re priming a fifth one. Me walking in with my hand in a splint, eyes fogged over from yet another late night rehearsal, almost passing out is looked at as merely halting productivity. The weak do not survive. No one has time.

Today I bought some dark chocolate, left work at a reasonable hour, and folded a mountain of laundry. This is the last week where I will endure rehearsals every night from 7pm-10pm. Soon, my sister will move out. Before you know it Josh will stop working at night. Hopefully, things will feel more normal…in the meantime my thumb looks awesome!

I bonked. During my very first scene during theater sports a fellow improviser sat on my hand and squished my thumb. It immediately ballooned to twice the size and I had to go home during intermission. A night of ice, a little rest, and I actually have a fair amount of mobility this morning. I think it’s just slightly sprained…it was still incredibly embarrassing. It felt like I when was a little kid and got hurt at school and my Mom had to pick me up. Only, instead of my Mom it was Josh who had to be retrieved from the audience and brought backstage to where I was parked with a big bag of ice on my hand. And of course the night I had tons and tons of soft rock eye make-up on would be the night I would start crying. My buddy Paul sized me up during intermission and said, “You’re sick, you just finished performing a different show, and now you’ve injured your thumb…should we just try again later?” I agreed and told him that, well, it can’t get any worse then this…it really can’t. I hit ‘performance rock bottom.’

I’m sitting here drinking another cold round of Airborne and trying not to barf. My body is trying very hard to reject the onslaught of more liquid Vitamin C. In fact, its telling me I HAVE to go to the bathroom right now but I’m staying firmly planted to my medicine ball. Last night, hopped up on Advil Cold and Sinus, I had a wonderful performance experience during the Soft Rock show. People showered me with love and gratitude afterward. Hugging, jumping up and down, “I laughed so hard my face hurt,” and huge smiles of adoration. It made my millenia to hear from people how much they enjoyed the show.
Just to document my adoration:
Kris said, “I haven’t seen you act since high school, actually, and you’ve really improved!” Hurray! I was glad he could recognize growth and the addition of ten years of practice. And I loved seeing Kris in the front row.
Dina asked to squeeze my middle and then told me “I had the moves” and her favorite part was watching my hips. (Ok, so she was drunk).
Ciera said the show was the best thing she’s seen in Seattle and that I was the first person she’s met since moving here that seems ‘real.’ (She was pretty sauced too).
Kevin brought several friends, was pleased I spelled his last name right on the guest list, and asked if I heard him yell “I love you, Mara” several times from the audience. (I hadn’t).
My sister loved the whole thing…and yes, she’s still living with me. (Moving into a sweet sub lease on Oct 21).
Tonight, heavily medicated, I will soft rock for one last time at eight and then find the strength to perform again at The Market Theater at 10:30. It’s going to be delirious.