Freddie Hawkins

Freddie Hawkins gave me my first job. Actually, that’s not true. My first job was working in my parents’ restaurant. But they’re family so they had to give me a job. Or maybe I had to work for them. Either way, one night when I was 17, I was told to be home because we were hosting a night for the camp my little brother attended. Apparently the owners of Vista Camps traveled around in the off-season hosting camp video nights to attract new campers and counselors. The camp I had gone to when I was younger had closed. Maybe because they didn’t do these traveling camp video nights? Anyway, when my mom introduced me to Freddie, his second sentence was about me coming to work for them that summer. From what I learned about Freddie in the following years, I now realize his giving me a job was probably some conspiracy between him and my mom. Another thing I learned about Freddie is that he considered everyone who walked into Vista Camps a family member. So really, my work with Vista turned out to be not a job at all, but time spent with a whole new family.

My first summer, I was hired as the snack girl and was just a year older than some of the campers. I also met my best friend, Dana. Seven summers later I was the Program Director for Sierra Vista. But despite my responsibilities, Freddie continued to call Dana and I into his office whenever there was evidence of camp hijinks. I’ll admit now that we were usually guilty.

Through all the practical jokes and bending of camp rules, in seven summers I met some of the most unique people (including a new side of my own brother that he reserved for camp). Something about driving through the gates of Vista allowed people to shed the insecurities…kids came out of their shells, counselors were the model of silliness, it was a place to truly be your comfortable self. That feeling was created by Freddie. Every summer there are articles in prominent publications about the value of the summer camp experience. It fosters independence, builds character, hones values while teaching new skills. Yada yada yada. The truth is, you spend the summer singing at the top of your lungs in the dining hall, competing in ruthless tribal games, having shaving cream fights, wrestling a greased watermelon in the lake, enduring strange initiation rituals, all in 100 degree Texas sun. The seriousness with which Freddie created the fun was what made it perfect.

Amidst all the fun, when I got hit in the head with the waterskiing rope handle and had to get a few stitches, it was Freddie who washed the blood out of my hair and drove me to the doctor in town. When I encountered challenges as the program director, it was Freddie who mentored me through my first leadership role. He was the camp dad to so many and I am blessed to be among them.

Freddie Hawkins died just a few days before camp ended this summer. There is a celebration of his life at Vista tomorrow. I'm sad to be so far away, to not be able to say goodbye in person among camp friends. But a few mornings ago in a walk through Prospect Park with my three-month-old son, I heard cicadas. The noise brought a flood of camp memories that include that same summer hum of cicadas. Even before I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to send my kids to Vista. TJ will go there someday and while I’m sad he will never meet Freddie, I’m grateful that such a magical place exists for him and future family generations. Thank you, Freddie. Goodbye.

click here for an Austin American Statesman article about Rio Vista

Lamaze Class Reunion

Our lamaze class had a reunion. Missy, the instructor, is the spitting image of Jane Lynch and has a football coach's approach to lamaze. During class she would get us to practice our breathing and then start yelling "A CONTRACTION IS 90 SECONDS LONG. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING FOR 90 SECONDS!!!" "SQUAT! DO IT! GET THOSE KNEES UP! PARTNERS, MAMA NEEDS HELP WITH HER KNEES SO SHE CAN PUUUUUUUSSSSHHHHH!!!"

Despite the yelling, the whole class came back for the reunion. We last saw each other back in April when we were seven very pregnant ladies and seven supportive partners. And now there are seven more people in the world. Seven new little souls. When I walked in the door with TJ, Missy yelled "YOU DID IT!!!" so loudly it startled TJ awake. He and all the other little ones ate, pooped and cried while we exhausted parents shared our birth stories. The prize for the most dramatic delivery went to the couple who had an intern try nine times to insert the epidural causing the doula to faint and have to be taken to the emergency room.

The most amazing thing was to see how the little ones reflected their parents personalities and demeanor. The high strung couple's baby cried a lot, the laid back lesbian couple had the most laid back little dude, the daughter of a librarian and a teacher was quiet, alert and observing everything. Nature or nurture? If TJ reflects us already, I'm too close to see it. Oh wait...he just spent fifteen minutes going cross-eyed from staring at his own hand. Yep, he's definitely part of this family.

Lamaze class reunion:

Here's a recent photo of TJ caught in a non cross-eyed moment:

Commercial FAIL

Have you seen this commercial for International Delight?
International Delight Coffeehouse

Go ahead. Watch it. I'll wait.


Welcome back.

I've never used International Delight and I'm not usually one to rant. This commercial, however, drives me insane because it assumes that we viewers are stupid. And they have apparently paid for it to air constantly on my television so I'll go ahead and badtalk their commercial.

They suggest we should buy their iced coffee to drink at home because it's too difficult to venture out into crazy unpredictable public spaces where there might be doors that attack us. Wild coffeehouses with doors that are usually found only in grocery stores. These doors also seem programmed to close on people. And if we were to come in contact with these doors out there in the lunatic coffeehouse world, we would be just like the people in the commercial who seem unaware that it takes a modicum common sense to enter and exit a building. So, yes, by all means America, believe them when they tell you that attempting to leave your house is treacherous. Even the simple idea to pick up morning coffee would be bonkers. Stay home. Buy their highly processed drink.

Although...wait a second. Wouldn't you have to go to a grocery store to buy International Delight? Hmmmm...I wonder what kind of doors you will have to navigate there? Godspeed everyone. May the force be with you in the war against mechanized entryways. Here's hoping we all survive to buy another cup 'o joe.

If you have time to kill:
10 Very Funny Commercials


People who haven't done commercials, don't appreciate how hard it is. 
- Justin Long

Do you have your club card?

INT.  DUANE READE IN HELLS KITCHEN, MANHATTAN - DAY

The young, bright eyed quirky GIRL steps up to the cash register and hands the CASHIER a box of headshot envelopes and mailing labels.

CASHIER

Do you have your club card?

GIRL

What’s a club card?

CASHIER

A Duane Reade club card.

GIRL

I don’t know what that is. I just moved here. To New York City.

The cashier gives the girl a blank stare.

GIRL (CONT’D)

I’m going to be an actress.

More blank staring.

GIRL (CONT’D)

Well...can I get these things without a club card?

CASHIER

That’s $14.87.

Ok. I didn’t really tell the cashier that I was going to be an actress. I did, however, figure that I would be frequenting this store they call Duane Reade. But why would the guy not ask me if I wanted a card? Did Duane Reade corporate headquarters really pass down the rule that all cashiers ask if customers have a club card without suggesting that there could be a follow up question if the customer said "no?" I like to support good marketing and customer service so I vowed then and there that if any employee ever actually offered me a card instead of just asking if I already had one, I would certainly take Duane Reade up on benefitting from their club card program. If they couldn't take the extra step to tell me how to get one, why should I? I don't need your stinking club card!

Cut to...eight years later...

INT.  DUANE READE IN DITMAS PARK, BROOKLYN - DAY

The frazzled new MOTHER juggles pushing a stroller up to the cash register while handing a box of newborn diapers and a pint of Haagen Dazs to the CASHIER.

CASHIER

You have your club card?

MOTHER

No.

CASHIER

You want one?

MOTHER

What?

The mother looks up. Stunned. The cashier reaches for a club card brochure.

CASHIER

It’s a rewards program. You can fill this out to get one.

MOTHER

I know what it is. I’ve been waiting eight years to be offered a club card!

The cashier gives the mother a blank stare. 

MOTHER (CONT’D)

This is a really big moment--

The BABY in the stroller starts crying. The mother hesitates.

MOTHER (CONT’D)

(motioning to stroller)

I have to get him home...I guess Duane Reade missed the window.

More blank staring...but then...

CASHIER

Take it with you. Bring it back anytime.

The cashier gave the mother the club card discount anyway. She took the application and thanked him as she pushes her crying baby out of the store.

Why did it take EIGHT YEARS for me to cross paths with a nice Duane Reade cashier? Is it me? Do I finally look worthy? Did Duane Reade corporate headquarters train their cashiers to offer cards only to those who look frazzled and desperate? Was it the spit-up on my shirt that sealed the deal? Or the way I didn't brush my hair? Well, I'll take the sympathy points my crying baby got me and I promise to cherish my sacred club card.

"It is not the employer who pays the wages. Employers only handle the money. It is the customer who pays the wages."
-Henry Ford

Update

Back in February, I wrote a post about a soup kitchen that needed some help with a website. My friend Christine generously volunteered her time. The end result is this: www.thetemplepaths.org 

Christine, you are awesome! May it empower Sondra and allow her to continue to feed so many. 

11 Days

Yesterday was my son’s due date, but he arrived 11 days early. I’ll spare you the labor and delivery drama. Mostly because the last 11 days have made me feel that going through absolutely anything for my little guy would be worth it. Yesterday, on the day he was supposed to arrive, his umbilical cord stump fell off. The last vestige of me that attached us for so many months. He is now his own whole person. He seems to still need me seeing as how he can’t quite focus his eyes on anything yet and has no control over his arms and legs. But my little fetus is definitely on the way to becoming a man. I actually think he’s an old soul. Something in his calm demeanor and the way he furrows his brow when he’s trying to look at something. A T-Bone Walker song came on Pandora and my son’s otherwise herky-jerky limbs started moving to the blues. Like he could relate to how rough it is out there. He gave me a look that said: “Mom, this guy knows some things. You can’t even attach me to your boob on the first try.”

We’re taking it one step at a time. In 11 days we’ve had many firsts. First bath. First car ride. First walk to the park. First trip to the doctor. It did bother me to learn that the first shot he’ll get from the pediatrician is for Hepatitis B. Um, that’s an STD. An STD he would get from having sex. My son isn’t having sex. Ever. Not even when some futuristic 2030 slut tries to seduce him. He may not be attached to me anymore, but his face is just too sweet to let me think about him having sex yet. His face is so perfect and smells so good that I give it kisses all the time. I figure at some point his body will start to catch up with his old soul and he’ll push away my kisses. So until then, I’ll give him more than enough pecks on his chubby cheeks so that I know he has a force field of mom kisses stored up in there somewhere protecting him most when he thinks he doesn’t need them. Especially when that drunk floozy tries to give my sweet baby hepatitis B at some high school party.

I’ll be here. Worrying. And remembering these first days. The first time he looked at me while we were nursing. The first time he held my finger. The first time he farted.

Who wouldn’t love this sweet face:

This is his favorite position:

“Mothers are all slightly insane.” 
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Trial By Fire

I haven’t blogged in over a month. Mostly this is because the past month has been a tad overwhelming. The ninth month of pregnancy has been…well…how do I put this? I’ve reached the pregnancy breeds contempt portion of the program. Don’t get me wrong, there is glowing and excitement. There are also lists and lists of nesting activities that need to be done before the baby comes and have filled all time not dedicated to eating and sleeping. Buuuut you didn’t tune in to hear about my aches and pains, so I’ll move on….

I’m about to turn over my job to two people who will replace me when the baby comes. My job is sort of hard to describe. It's part personal assistant, part class programmer, part actor advocate, part marketer, part human copy machine. This jack of all trades position has taught me to be a sponge to everything I get to be a part of and has led to opportunities to write, direct, coach. I feel very lucky. But how do you train a replacement to take over such a vague position when most of it really just involves trying to read the mind of a quirky old Jew. His words. Not mine. A small sample of the words I would use are: hilarious, bellowing, dapper, generous, I could go on and on.

This exact job didn’t exist before me. The awesome Erica did a lot of what I do, but it sort of grew organically out of circumstance and proximity. Suddenly three years later I find myself knowing a lot but having trouble telling someone how to do it. It’s not rocket science. If I can do it, the two very capable ladies that are taking over can do it. It’s just that no day is the same and I don’t know how to help them start.

It sort of reminds me of being a camp counselor where my job was to take care of every aspect of the kiddos…sure, the class I taught was water skiing, but the job also included getting them to drink plenty of water throughout the day, remind them to write letters to their mothers and kill all the scorpions that got into the cabin. Or when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer…I taught a few classes per week, but also had to make friends in the village, drink a lot of beer and dress up to visit the chief. What odd jobs I’ve had.

The few times I’ve found myself behind a desk, I end up wanting to slit my throat out of boredom. The routine is in no way comforting to me. Acting fascinates me because no job is exactly the same. In fact getting to immerse myself in what is unique to each character is what I love about it. Even doing the same scene twice, it is never exactly the same.

Good to know I’m pursuing something that will be a perfect fit if I can make a post-baby career happen. In the meantime, I should at least tell the replacements how the bossman takes his coffee. 

"No training can completely prepare you for the trial by fire you get in the ring."

Sugar Ray Leonard

The Magic Windowsill

Thanks to everyone who asked about the result of the finals...I-POD was voted "Best Solo Show" of the festival!!! Congrats to Nandita Chandra on the performance and Natalie Menna on the writing. Thanks to everyone who came out to vote. Such fun to be a part of the festival. So much fun that I was exhausted and had to rest for a week.

So I’ve been spending a lot of time around my apartment. I discovered a couple horrible TV shows. 16 and Pregnant makes me cry like a huge blubbering pregnant lady, Repo Games makes me embarrassed to be an American…but I digress.

The real discovery is that my building has a magic windowsill in the lobby. No, I’m not delirious with pregnancy hormones. There’s a large double window whose deep sill is just right for sitting height.  When I first moved in, I noticed random objects on the sill from time to time. I thought they were items left in the lobby at first…a couple books, a scarf, some figurines. Each gone (I thought claimed) by the next time I walked by.

But this week I saw a box of dvd’s sitting there.  While I checked my mail, someone flipped through the box and took a few of the dvd’s. I realized this was a windowsill for things that were up for grabs. A “take a penny, leave a penny” philosophy. I scored dvd’s of Notorious (now I get to watch Antonique Smith sing whenever I please), Cowboys and Aliens (for the hubby) and Varsity Blues (‘cause that’s just awesome).

Yesterday, a couple cardboard baby books were up for grabs. Just right for the little guy I’ve got on the way. Since I have benefitted from the windowsill, I figured it was my turn to leave a penny. I took down a box of no longer wanted belongings that accumulated when we unpacked from the move. A purse that was in good shape, an oversized plaid jacket, books we somehow had double copies of. They were all gone within the half hour it took me to go to the store. Magic!

My old apartment had nothing like this. Do other buildings have this system? Have I been missing out all these years? For five years I lived in Little Italy. Have you seen the building that is painted red, white and green for the Italian flag? I was the two windows on the right side of the green floor. I’m probably in hundreds of tourist photos because I happened to look out the window at the moment a camera flash aimed at our flag building went off. It was a fourth floor walk-up that constantly smelled like garlic bread. The ninety-year-old Italian woman below us had lived in her apartment for sixty years and was paying $44 in rent. Two pages of the three-page lease were about the lead paint underneath the dozens of cracked paint layers on the walls. We called it “charming.” It was a 120 year-old tenement building that was barely standing and depending on your affinity for garlic bread, it held nothing as charming as the magic windowsill. I’d say this new place is a keeper.

“ Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business. ”

Tom Robbins

I-POD in the finals!

Thanks to everyone who has come out to see I-POD in The Network One-Act Festival. We found out today that we made it to the finals. The smoothly run festival has been full of awesomely diverse and creative shows which makes me particularly proud to be part of one of the ten selected finalists.

It has been fascinating to watch what the competition aspect of the festival does to actors. With each performance bringing a risk of elimination, there is pressure equivalent to that of a big audition. When a job is at stake, the nerves distract from executing a scene effectively. A typical audition is just 2 to 3 minutes however, and actors can fake it for that brief period of time. But a one-act is 20 whole minutes. Long enough for an actor to think about all kinds of things...Who is on the panel of judges today? Did I really mean that last line? Do I have bad breath? Why didn't that joke land? Is that person laughing with me or at me? Did that judge just smile? Was there more laughter yesterday? Why is the guy on the front row tapping his foot? Will they take points off for my bad breath?

I have seen several very good actors walk of the stage in the last week and reveal this inner dialogue that has absolutely nothing to do with the story they were just trying to tell. They are so in their own head that normally consistent performances are thrown way off. And as a very smart acting teacher always says "When you are in your head, you are in a very bad neighborhood."

Film festivals often end with awards. Oscars are given out annually. But film producers have a single finished product to promote long after performances have been edited and immortalized on celluloid. In theatre, every performance can vary greatly with new live exciting moments happening unexpectedly. Those moments when someone is actually experiencing something right there in front of you are priceless. It would go against the laws of physics for someone to be truly in the moment and simultaneously aware of how he/she is being judged on a scale of one to ten. Acting wasn't meant to be a competitive sport, so I have particular respect for all those who have taken that on throughout this festival.

The final performances will be this Wednesday night, March 21 at 6:00 and 8:30pm. If you are able, please come support all the actors that have engaged in this contest. They deserve your laughter and applause. As long as you are laughing with them.

get tickets here

AEA members get in FREE! And The program includes some discounts for classes and seminars at The Network.

Acting is all about honesty. If you can fake that, you've got it made.
~ George Burns

I-POD

I'm directing a play titled I-POD that will be part of The 2012 Network One-Act Festival next week. It has been so much fun to bring Natalie Menna's script to the stage. 

Nandita Chandra plays a New York City artist who agrees to spend six weeks on a self sustaining eco barge on the East River. She's the type who really has no business living among these naturalists. Will she win the Guggenheim grant that everyone on the barge is competing for?

Come check it out: tickets available here 

"'I'm not sure how serious you really are about this.' She says while inspecting my sinful leather shoes. There was a sale at Saks, bitch, and they're cheaper than your four hundred dollar vegan square-toed atrocities."
-- Stella in I-POD

Picture Pages

the verdict on a few 'to do list' activities:

build shelves (thanks Rocco!) = SUCCESS

from previous post: 'Sweet Procrastination'

tax forms (still blank) = FAIL

find good breakfast tacos in Brooklyn = SUCCESS

www.guerosbrooklyn.com

taste new Hershey's Air Delight (they put air bubbles where chocolate used to be and charge you the same amount) = FAIL

walk through sunny Prospect Park = SUCCESS

replant the ivy without killing it = FAIL

book the pregnant lady role on "Unforgettable" = FAIL

grow a big fat baby belly = SUCCESS

You're never a loser until you quit trying.
- Mike Ditka

Sweet Procrastination

I’m supposed to be doing my taxes right now. There is a man named Rocco building shelves in my living room and it is distracting me from the fine print rules of itemized deductions.

Since Rocco got here he’s been making excuses for how the shelves will turn out. “You know your door frames are crooked?” Um, what NYC apartment has straight door frames? “I’ll have to tighten these corner screws by hand because the drill won’t maneuver into that space.” When I ask if that would affect the weight bearing ability of the shelf, he says; “No.” Okay then. With every step, he interrupts me to show how the air bubble in his level is even and the joints will fit together nicely. I keep telling him that I trust him to create straight shelves that are strong enough to hold all our crap. Not sure why he needs to give me the play by play.

But I have to say, the smell of fresh cut wood in the apartment brings back memories of my dad’s workshop. Dad is a talented woodworker and he taught me some basics while we built a few things together. Using an electric saw is an empowering thing. So is taking raw pieces of wood and making something useful and pretty that didn’t exist before. Wow, I probably should have taken on this shelf building project myself. Dad, if you’re reading, sorry to disappoint you.

Rocco just announced that he found a stud.

Being pregnant, I’ve removed myself from the normal stresses of the acting career. Pilot season pressure is getting to my friends. I see it. It’s tough out there. I’m not feeling it. One would think that would mean I have the time to take on other things. Like taxes and shelves. Where does the time and energy go? I have no answer. I sleep and eat and attempt to focus my pregnancy brain on activities in between. How’s this? I promise to complete one task today. It might be the task of listening to Rocco talk about knots in the wood. But I will listen like I’ve never listened before. And at some point, shelves will be finished and listening will be complete. I’ll try to get back to the taxes. No, really, I will. But first I’ll just go take a look at these support brackets...

“Procrastination isn’t the problem. It’s the solution. It’s the universe’s way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. ”
- Ellen DeGeneres

A Remarkable Woman

I recently spent a few days volunteering at a soup kitchen in the Bronx and would like to take a moment to recognize a truly remarkable woman. Her name is Sandra. She works full time as a registered nurse and has further dedicated herself by volunteering to feed 250 hungry neighbors every week. Bronx residents show up in droves every Saturday. Kids run to play around the small bright blue tables under the Dr. Seuss mural in the corner that was designed just for them. Adults check the racks of donated coats to see if one might fit. All while enjoying good company and a home cooked meal.

Sandra runs the entire operation on a shoestring budget, scraping by with small grants from United Way, other organizations and supplemented by her own wallet when funds run dry. She has applied to larger grants that would ease her workload, but has been denied because of loopholes. One grant was denied because the soup kitchen doesn’t have a website. Another grant wasn’t given because Sandra couldn’t prove that at least 40% of her beneficiaries were veterans. Another required a certain percentage to be homeless. But Sandra refuses to tailor who benefits from her meals. She opens her door to everyone who is hungry and the majority of those that show up are residents of the neighborhood who hold jobs but still live below the poverty line as a household. Many of them live in multi-generational homes and bring in the entire family. Sandra said that two years ago, she was feeding just 50 people per week. That number has increased five fold due to unstable employment in this difficult economy and nearby soup kitchens being shut down because of lack of funding.

But all of this only fuels Sandra. She and her cooking partner, Larita, laugh and tell outrageous stories as they peel potatoes and chop onions for beef stew. Kids from the local high school set up tables. While they work, the light from the basement space can be seen from the sidewalk and is a signal that community members are gathered there. People drop in to chat, hoping to see friends, staying for a few minutes or an hour because they “saw the light on.” Sandra has created a neighborhood haven and is determined to see that neighborhood thrive. I’ve enjoyed being surrounded by her enthusiasm and optimism. And so far, as with most volunteer work, I feel as though I’ve learned more from her than I’ve been able to give.

When someone shares something of value with you and you benefit from it, you have a moral obligation to share it with others.

- Chinese Proverb

A Letter to Bacon

Dear Bacon,

I have never been one of your fans. To be frank, your white glistening fat gives me the heebie-jeebies. Sure, I know you add all kinds of flavor goodness to soups, beans and egg scrambles. The most appreciation I’ve ever had for you was when you were hugging a tender piece of perfectly grilled filet mignon. But even then, you always ended up in a pile of uneaten pieces on the edge of my otherwise clean plate. Until yesterday…

I went to brunch at Buttermilk Channel. It was my first time. To my surprise, I was delighted to see what a strong presence you had there, Bacon. Everywhere I looked, I saw you on the plates of other diners. All of a sudden I felt one of those cravings I've only felt during pregnancy: an insatiable desire to eat one particular food. It was you, sweet Bacon. You, and you alone, would satisfy me. I needed you immediately. I wanted only to devour as much of you as I possibly could. The waiter and chef agreed to my request to make you extra crispy. And when you arrived at the table, I had to remind myself that I was in public. Oh Bacon, if we had shared some private moments together I would have whispered sweet nothings as I nibbled all five pieces of you. I would have apologized for all those years I looked down my nose at you and your fat. The way your crunchy smoked deliciousness complemented my eggs and hash browns…it made me melt. I completely gave in to your prowess.

Thank you, Bacon, for our afternoon tryst. But please understand that I was overcome by the pregnancy hormones. It was not the real me. If perchance we never meet again, I will always remember our time together on that fateful February day in a quaint Brooklyn café.

Yours truly,

Sarah

Lisa: "I'm going to become a vegetarian."         

Homer: "Does that mean you're not going to eat any pork?"                    

Lisa: "Yes"                                                          

Homer: "Bacon?"                                                     

Lisa: "Yes Dad"                                                

Homer: “Ham?"                                                       

Lisa: "Dad, all those meats come from the same animal."                    

Homer: "Yeah right Lisa, some wonderful, magical animal!"

-- The Simpsons

Shit non-pregnant girls say...to pregnant girls.

Picture me in a bad wig with a valley girl accent.

I want to be cute when I’m pregnant.

How do you stand not being able to drink?

You should be enjoying how big your boobs are.

How do your pants stay up?

I had a friend who did an all-natural home birth.

I hear you’re supposed to do Kegels.

You know people aren’t circumcising baby boys anymore.

I couldn’t live without sushi for nine months.

Could you walk a little faster?

I bet you always get a seat on the subway.

Your pants have an elastic waistband?

When I have a baby, I’m going to take him everywhere.

Can I touch your belly?

When I’m a mom, I won’t let it affect my career.

Aren’t you sad it’s not a girl?

You know your vajayjay will never be the same.

I hear you poop right there in front of everyone.

Are you wearing grannie panties?

Do your Kegels.

I’m scared of getting stretch marks.

I can’t wait to dress my baby in all those adorable tiny outfits.

I can barely take care of my plants and you’re going to be a mom.

Can I see the waistband of your pants?

When I’m pregnant, I’ll eat only raw organic foods.

It’s so cute the way you waddle.

What are you naming it?

Why are you crying?

Are you doing Kegels right now?

If pregnancy were a book they would cut the last two chapters.
-Nora Ephron

Who likes cheese?

In President Bartlet’s White House they had an annual “Big Block of Cheese Day.” It was a day when the staff granted face time to constituents who might not ordinarily have access to them in order to get ideas for legislation. Leo McGarry liked to tell the legend of President Andrew Jackson, who originated Big Block of Cheese Day when he put a 1400 pound block of cheese in the White House foyer and invited the people to come speak with him in person while they shared the cheese. He would decide what to do based on these discussions. Leo McGarry’s staff mocked Big Block of Cheese Day saying that everyone who came in was cuckoo. But in perfect Sorkin story arcs, they were always proven wrong. The people do have good ideas.

Sometimes I wish I could hold a Big Block of Cheese Day for my own life. If I served people gouda, would they give me suggestions on my daily choices? I need some out of the box ideas.  But I also need facts and figures. I need someone to come in with charts, graphs and power point presentations to give statistics on what results certain decisions would have. I wouldn’t necessarily act on everything, but I’m willing to bet that one amazing idea would walk through the door.  And I would reward that idea with a serious hunk of the creamiest brie money can buy.

“Never take counsel of your fears.”

- Andrew Jackson

Chuck Yeager

I saw Sam Shepard in the East Village. It’s the second time I’ve been within the realm of a possibility of speaking to him, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. It’s not that I’m intimidated by his celebrity, because I’ve approached other famous people. With Sam it’s different. I’ve always had for him what I can only call a cross between a Dad crush and a wish that I'd been his age in New York in the 60's and 70's. It all started in ninth grade when we read The Right Stuff for English. My English teacher was retired Air Force so we read The Illiad and The Oddessy each in just two weeks, but spent an entire six-week grading period studying The Right Stuff. There were model planes all around the room, videos from the view of a simulator, field trip to NASA. We watched the movie twice. And ooooh…Sam as Chuck Yeager. Brave, rugged, mysterious Chuck Yeager. His performance stole my little ninth grade heart. A couple years later I discovered his plays and the mystery of Sam grew exponentially. My dream role to this day is Beth in A Lie of the Mind. At one point I read an interview with Sam in which he tiptoed around the fact that he followed the writings of Gurdjieff. My parents were in a Gurdjieff group when I was young so I understood the tiptoeing and felt another instant connection. He seems somehow equally loyal to his roots while exploring outrageous creative possibilities; raw and vulgar while classy and gentleman-like; fiercely emotional while stoically intelligent; rigid with good posture while completely comfortable in his skin.  One of those people that could know more about you than you know about yourself in just a few minutes of conversation. So you can understand why I've frozen up both times I’ve been near him. What could I possibly say to such a man? But the third time is a charm, right? Oh Sam, what shall I ask you first when I see you next?

Man has no individual I. But there are, instead, hundreds and thousands of separate small "I"s, very often entirely unknown to one another, never coming into contact, or, on the contrary, hostile to each other, mutually exclusive and incompatible. Each minute, each moment, man is saying or thinking, "I". And each time his I is different. Just now it was a thought, now it is a desire, now a sensation, now another thought, and so on, endlessly.

- G.I. Gurdjieff

The Belly

My pregnant belly and I waddled onto the subway the other day. No seats and no one jumping up to offer my belly a seat, so I grabbed onto the pole by the door. Across from me was a woman in her 70’s wearing a floor length fur coat.  Also standing. She smiled at me and spoke with a thick Russian accent, “These people. No respect. We stand here and that boy sits!” I follow her bony finger to a 20 year old kid sleeping on the bench, his headphones blaring music, and his jaw slack with escaping drool. “Oh, they’re just not paying attention,” I say, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. “Not paying attention?!” she hollers, “you watch, I throw $100 dollars to the floor, they pay attention!” Then she comes at me with her Skeletor hands, wraps them around my belly and proclaims: “AHA, it is a BOY!” How did she know that??? I kind of wanted to hear more predictions, but we were at my stop so I ripped my belly out of her hands just in time to slip out the door.

People really do look at you differently (or don’t look at you at all) when you have a baby belly. The acting world says to call them when you get back in shape. Strangers smile when they first make eye contact, but then notice the bump, become extremely uncomfortable, stutter and get away as soon as possible.  People close to you won’t let you do things because they think you’re fragile. Sure, I move slowly, demand odd foods and cry on occasion, but there’s no need to marginalize me. Besides, I owe it to my son to show him that I’m a doer, right?

So here’s me doing: had a great talk with my friend and partner in writing and crime. We’re going to shoot a few shorts for the web in March. Not too big of an undertaking…we’re talking a weekend and a few bucks. But it’s getting my creative juices flowing and I can’t wait. Watch out world, here come me and my belly!

Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.

-William Shakespeare

2012

Happy New Year!

And welcome to my blog! I had a blog a few years ago back when we were all on myspace. Remember myspace? Anyway, I realized that I missed it. The blog. Not myspace. And after an extremely difficult 2011, I plan to concentrate on things that I enjoy in 2012: writing, acting, directing, coaching, working for the most awesome boss ever, enjoying living in New York City with my husband, fixing up the new apartment I call home, traveling, but tops on the list is preparing for the baby boy that I have due in May. This blog might cover any or all of these topics plus all those little random things we observe on any given day. Looking forward to your comments.

“I love writing, but hate starting. The page is awfully white and it says, 'You may have fooled some of the people some of the time but those days are over, Giftless. I'm not your agent and I'm not your mommy: I'm a white piece of paper. You wanna dance with me?' and I really, really don't. I'll go peaceable-like.” 
-- Aaron Sorkin