tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9536304675493014822024-03-12T19:58:30.087-07:00thoughtssarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-72710206710027545162013-12-04T11:32:00.000-08:002013-12-04T11:32:04.872-08:00don't let your taste cripple your art.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">They say for any art form, there is a period of time where
an artist's taste is more advanced than her ability. A time gap where skill is
not equal to desired outcome. An artist can be crippled by his own taste if
each failure to live up to that taste becomes too devastating. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I’ve seen many actors (including myself) read a scene and
know how it should look, but lack the tools to execute it. It comes out looking
like crap. I’ve done a lot of crappy scenes. Then slowly but surely, little
moments land. You start to trust your skill. More miniscule moments land. One
day, you actually do a scene that isn’t crap. Don’t get me wrong, there’s
always room for self-loathing. But you arrive at a place where you’re in the
vicinity of meeting your own discerning taste. Sometimes, just for a moment,
you can even go to a place above and beyond what you imagined. That is when the
magic happens. But you have to get past a lot of failure to find it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I'm struggling with this as an editor right now. My grand
visions fall flat on their face with my current limited abilities. It’s a
learning curve. After my first pass at editing my last project I wanted to stab
an ice pick through my eyeballs. Luckily I don’t own an ice pick. Luckily two
experienced editor friends gave me a few pointers. In addition to all the luck,
I’m trying to log in those ten thousand hours so each project has fewer crappy
parts than the last one. By the way Malcolm Gladwell, ten thousand is A LOT of
hours. Clearly anyone who actually has ten thousand hours to do anything is not
the mother of a toddler...I'm not your demographic, but I'm doing it anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Speaking of my toddler, the art form he’s struggling with
is talking. His level of understanding amazes me. But when it comes to
executing words…well, let’s just say as his parent I understand every nuanced
grunt, but they wouldn’t get him far with anyone else. This morning on our
walk, he pointed to every single bicycle (we live in Brooklyn, so there were
many bicycles) and said "</span><span style="font-size: 17px;">thibick," </span><span style="font-size: 13pt;">“buckly,” “bickel,” “bithick.” But instead of getting frustrated
each time he was wrong, he giggled and tried again. I'd like to think he didn't inherit my self-loathing gene. But more likely, mother nature protects us from self-loathing long enough to ensure we make it through all the failures that come from learning to walk and talk. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">On the way home we said at least a hundred and thirty seven versions of the word bicycle. He still didn't get it. But he had a blast trying. It has now become my goal to share that enthusiasm for trying with my students (and myself).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“Practice isn't the thing you do once you're good. It's the thing you do that makes you good.” </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1439.Malcolm_Gladwell" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Malcolm Gladwell</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3364437" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Outliers: The Story of Success</a></i></div>
sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-18106164565849778032013-01-13T16:51:00.000-08:002013-01-13T16:51:39.854-08:00Dad
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Wow. 2013. I was absent from this blog for the end of 2012. To
be honest, my goal was to keep this blog fun and light, but my Dad died in the
fall and I had trouble finding fun and light things to write about. In fact, I
went to a holiday party just before Christmas…when there was a lull in the
conversation I started to rack my brain for some conversation starters. The
only topics I could come up with were baby poop and how to execute a last will
and testament. Needless to say, I wasn’t invited to any more holiday
parties. </div>
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As soon as the baby was ready to travel last year, I planned
a September trip to visit my Dad for his 65<sup>th</sup> birthday. I wanted the
little guy to meet his grandpa. And boy am I happy we made the trip. When we
arrived I could tell that Dad had been keeping quiet about how bad his
emphysema had become. His activity was restricted to the couch and a short
radius around it. TJ was at the stage when being on a blanket and trying to
roll over occupied him for hours. So I put a blanket in front of the couch and
the three of us just hung out for a few days. Dad and TJ had an instant
connection. And it wasn’t just because Dad had a nose for TJ to grab onto. The
two of them babbled to each other all day long, giggling and holding onto each
other’s fingers. I managed to get a few words in edge-wise to ask Dad
questions…things we don’t think to ask our parents about their lives…his teen
years, his time in Vietnam, his career. He had strong feelings about staying in
his home to die. I told him I wanted to be there to help him at the end. He said
he would tell me when he needed me, but was never quite forthcoming about how
much help he really did need. Too stoic and proud. And stubborn. Four weeks
later, I was on the plane on the way to see him again when he died. We had
already said our goodbyes, but I wish I had been there. Hugged him one more
time. Said thank you one more time. I think of him constantly. At first it saddened me every time something
came up that I wouldn’t be able to share with him. Now I’m starting to see
reminders and thoughts of him as little pieces of his sense of humor that have
stuck around and that I get to share with his grandson. Slowly but surely, the fun and light will come back.</div>
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Dad wasn’t strong enough to hold TJ when they met, but I
managed to balance a lap sit so that I could get one photo of the two of them
together. I will cherish it and
that trip forever.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEV1Z6rrHCdm8nLxhpXoa9xY0N9v48OkNqykavRKIaJwXt3BXriCATmCpXdM5NuvvesStJxo4V_byYDhgv_v8qW61zsCVAZ4UpGErl-YVJH2b6QwTLy7Dk1TligEoCKx5-eEKAfm3Zntg/s1600/Jay+and+TJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEV1Z6rrHCdm8nLxhpXoa9xY0N9v48OkNqykavRKIaJwXt3BXriCATmCpXdM5NuvvesStJxo4V_byYDhgv_v8qW61zsCVAZ4UpGErl-YVJH2b6QwTLy7Dk1TligEoCKx5-eEKAfm3Zntg/s320/Jay+and+TJ.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-34306235412786684492012-08-24T15:41:00.003-07:002012-08-24T15:41:57.857-07:00Freddie Hawkins
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">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. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx1WUHyJ4erqMP8LTjrMp6WsQzLJfw_PMbQDRcVb74f4ibF7W8Wb-J9ROxL0mJogHnC9-SoBXTKZ5D4VLeK6DZPUCDDSAF2BsG5yNXid77EpLshnqh_fDPTYpeDLt0-5j1oh-BssjEi2s/s1600/to+those.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx1WUHyJ4erqMP8LTjrMp6WsQzLJfw_PMbQDRcVb74f4ibF7W8Wb-J9ROxL0mJogHnC9-SoBXTKZ5D4VLeK6DZPUCDDSAF2BsG5yNXid77EpLshnqh_fDPTYpeDLt0-5j1oh-BssjEi2s/s320/to+those.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.statesman.com/life/a-matter-of-nature-2424062.html">click here for an Austin American Statesman article about Rio Vista</a></span></div>
sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-64664525241884171812012-07-19T18:55:00.000-07:002012-07-19T19:30:48.039-07:00Lamaze Class ReunionOur 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!!!"<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Lamaze class reunion:<br />
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Here's a recent photo of TJ caught in a non cross-eyed moment:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIiEaKpEhKZTEOEcS7Xq8BZe9XrXynnRcjUTzJbmWdvxhX0LFxo6w80-M_JYbboYKYPAISMP5Rx4MSEr6mswT7uYpuhJOREjT5206ZHFVTn6YxukifDsPooKJJRgDbjnCu4jQKNUiw74/s1600/TJ+Casarez.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIiEaKpEhKZTEOEcS7Xq8BZe9XrXynnRcjUTzJbmWdvxhX0LFxo6w80-M_JYbboYKYPAISMP5Rx4MSEr6mswT7uYpuhJOREjT5206ZHFVTn6YxukifDsPooKJJRgDbjnCu4jQKNUiw74/s320/TJ+Casarez.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-48089624597890198662012-07-01T14:47:00.002-07:002012-07-01T16:39:00.881-07:00Commercial FAILHave you seen this commercial for International Delight?<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6Nbx7Gs3xU">International Delight Coffeehouse</a><br />
<br />
Go ahead. Watch it. I'll wait.<br />
<br />
<br />
Welcome back.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
If you have time to kill:<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DT0ReOjS_6s&feature=related&noredirect=1">10 Very Funny Commercials</a><br />
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<br />
<span class="huge" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">People who haven't done commercials, don't appreciate how hard it is. </span><br />
<span class="huge" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">- Justin Long</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span><br />
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<br />sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-26333197196311206332012-06-18T18:22:00.000-07:002012-07-01T10:52:20.140-07:00Do you have your club card?<br />
INT. DUANE READE IN HELLS KITCHEN, MANHATTAN - DAY<br />
<br />
The young, bright eyed quirky GIRL steps up to the cash register and hands the CASHIER a box of headshot envelopes and mailing labels.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
CASHIER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do you have your club card?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
GIRL</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What’s a club card?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
CASHIER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A Duane Reade club card.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
GIRL</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don’t know what that is. I just moved here. To New York City.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The cashier gives the girl a blank stare.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
GIRL (CONT’D)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I’m going to be an actress.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
More blank staring.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
GIRL (CONT’D)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well...can I get these things without a club card?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
CASHIER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That’s $14.87.</div>
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</div>
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<i>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!</i></div>
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<i>Cut to...eight years later...</i></div>
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INT. DUANE READE IN DITMAS PARK, BROOKLYN - DAY</div>
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<br /></div>
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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.</div>
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CASHIER</div>
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You have your club card?</div>
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<br /></div>
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MOTHER</div>
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No.</div>
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CASHIER</div>
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You want one?</div>
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MOTHER</div>
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What?</div>
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<br /></div>
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The mother looks up. Stunned. The cashier reaches for a club card brochure.</div>
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<br /></div>
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CASHIER</div>
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It’s a rewards program. You can fill this out to get one.</div>
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MOTHER</div>
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I know what it is. I’ve been waiting eight years to be offered a club card!</div>
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<br /></div>
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The cashier gives the mother a blank stare. </div>
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MOTHER (CONT’D)</div>
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This is a really big moment--</div>
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The BABY in the stroller starts crying. The mother hesitates.</div>
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MOTHER (CONT’D)</div>
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(motioning to stroller)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I have to get him home...I guess Duane Reade missed the window.</div>
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<br /></div>
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More blank staring...but then...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
CASHIER</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Take it with you. Bring it back anytime.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>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.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b>"It is not the employer who pays the wages. Employers only handle the money. It is the customer who pays the wages."<br /><i>-Henry Ford</i></b></span></div>
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<div>
<br /></div>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-86220796429326704872012-06-15T08:04:00.000-07:002012-06-15T08:04:47.261-07:00UpdateBack in February, I wrote a <a href="http://www.sarahloupaige.blogspot.com/2012/02/remarkable-woman.html">post</a> about a soup kitchen that needed some help with a website. My friend Christine generously volunteered her time. The end result is this: <a href="http://thetemplepaths.org/">www.thetemplepaths.org</a> <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Christine, you are awesome! May it empower Sondra and allow her to continue to feed so many. </div>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-8901846240768362412012-05-27T12:40:00.000-07:002012-05-27T12:40:36.174-07:0011 Days<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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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.” </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
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<br /></div>
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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.</div>
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Who wouldn’t love this sweet face:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7zMF-jIQVEuw4Qezi_bZjjxMCf6ZlC_gX0KftHyaHQeqGjwHc-TNPe-TfhISAh4Ve3sAxFuYS2HRFRqFAvGB7Jngo5sqpp8R-HFR4H61D82s0rIAYVyPeqak5SnXOg1EdgTrIuAfZ-w/s1600/TJ+Casarez+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7zMF-jIQVEuw4Qezi_bZjjxMCf6ZlC_gX0KftHyaHQeqGjwHc-TNPe-TfhISAh4Ve3sAxFuYS2HRFRqFAvGB7Jngo5sqpp8R-HFR4H61D82s0rIAYVyPeqak5SnXOg1EdgTrIuAfZ-w/s320/TJ+Casarez+small.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is his favorite position:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWpSSWfP6Xz1U-12TLCaNITBxKCruksoTd3dSwV6IaYGfWropUReg7hWVcHHb9qybUF_I5vqopnzAeloKTETj_LkJ-Utlaue-Hn8nI6Nx8aF8q8zHqfn28UwPTHP40Wh8irTfO_aEvSs/s1600/hanging+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWpSSWfP6Xz1U-12TLCaNITBxKCruksoTd3dSwV6IaYGfWropUReg7hWVcHHb9qybUF_I5vqopnzAeloKTETj_LkJ-Utlaue-Hn8nI6Nx8aF8q8zHqfn28UwPTHP40Wh8irTfO_aEvSs/s320/hanging+out.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">“Mothers are all slightly insane.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">―</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/819789.J_D_Salinger" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">J.D. Salinger</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3036731" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The Catcher in the Rye</a></span></i></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-33877491374994148452012-05-06T11:31:00.000-07:002012-05-06T11:34:25.158-07:00Trial By Fire<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
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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. </div>
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<i>"No training can completely prepare you for the trial by fire you get in the ring."</i></div>
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<i>Sugar Ray Leonard</i></div>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-1322660169190271352012-04-01T16:08:00.000-07:002012-04-01T16:08:44.694-07:00The Magic Windowsill<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I’ve been spending a lot of time around my apartment. I discovered a couple horrible TV shows. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">16 and Pregnant</i> makes me cry like a huge blubbering pregnant lady, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Repo Games</i> makes me embarrassed to be an American…but I digress.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But this week I saw a box of dvd’s sitting there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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 <i>Notorious</i> (now I get to watch Antonique Smith sing whenever I please), <i>Cowboys and Aliens</i> (for the hubby) and <i>Varsity Blues</i> (‘cause that’s just awesome). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana;">“ Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business. ”</span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Tom Robbins</span></div><!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-42517936559409918472012-03-19T20:49:00.001-07:002012-03-20T06:53:58.456-07:00I-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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<a href="http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?EID=&showCode=20116&BundleCode=&GUID=6bfad588-acda-435e-9bde-238baaa1d748">get tickets here</a><br />
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AEA members get in FREE! And The program includes some discounts for classes and seminars at The Network.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;"><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: bottom;">Acting is all about honesty. If you can fake that, you've got it made.</em><br />
~ George Burns</span>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-38219916482592915972012-03-08T10:45:00.001-08:002012-03-08T10:46:09.884-08:00I-POD<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm directing a play titled <b><i>I-POD</i></b> 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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Come check it out: <a href="http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?EID=&showCode=20116&BundleCode=&GUID=6bfad588-acda-435e-9bde-238baaa1d748">tickets available here</a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13D5PASZI792uNxCu1hWJlTq2L5hGKcTHwS2srjxv_sV9MaQkcZVWT7x4YGSZT0ineDV24L_zjKkuJlE55Z3zPoT_aVR0fnr53AJUcNX4UCSWLRz0YEBC-HjNMkZoLAbPQyzM6_pDz-g/s1600/Ipod-Postcard-Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13D5PASZI792uNxCu1hWJlTq2L5hGKcTHwS2srjxv_sV9MaQkcZVWT7x4YGSZT0ineDV24L_zjKkuJlE55Z3zPoT_aVR0fnr53AJUcNX4UCSWLRz0YEBC-HjNMkZoLAbPQyzM6_pDz-g/s320/Ipod-Postcard-Front.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bkmZJcn870pASOWy0YTZPY5HZ8-oAeQH5itTmJfZ4tBlqmopEEt_WQI5X8EqodVwGYj4Pm6gXWjb86CMRqyVUP2If3_b3xfSR1_T-zHeGaZcBS8ex61_bA-88_zceOjQ5ubk645jfkg/s1600/Ipod-Postcard-Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bkmZJcn870pASOWy0YTZPY5HZ8-oAeQH5itTmJfZ4tBlqmopEEt_WQI5X8EqodVwGYj4Pm6gXWjb86CMRqyVUP2If3_b3xfSR1_T-zHeGaZcBS8ex61_bA-88_zceOjQ5ubk645jfkg/s320/Ipod-Postcard-Back.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"'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."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-- Stella in <b><i>I-POD</i></b></span>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-46894848755824924982012-02-29T09:10:00.003-08:002012-02-29T12:20:59.748-08:00Picture Pages<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">the verdict on a few 'to do list' activities:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">build shelves (thanks Rocco!) = SUCCESS<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosWbjfir2n3Vt2CzDvJ_d7zvRrVqjKAuQJ_Vbm0dMBMoRGqGnoLe6TfN_buz5FUJnXpYjPkH6w_zt5sV9rJN28iZKA75ZZDv50Bibw_Xiwqs68Hpe6vo4C6Dm3XmMQsC5CZI0ML6thSw/s1600/shelves1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosWbjfir2n3Vt2CzDvJ_d7zvRrVqjKAuQJ_Vbm0dMBMoRGqGnoLe6TfN_buz5FUJnXpYjPkH6w_zt5sV9rJN28iZKA75ZZDv50Bibw_Xiwqs68Hpe6vo4C6Dm3XmMQsC5CZI0ML6thSw/s320/shelves1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sarahloupaige.blogspot.com/2012/02/sweet-procrastination.html">from previous post: 'Sweet Procrastination'</a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">tax forms (still blank) = FAIL<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH_8vopTj-wR-Zvnwe9QlNPiISWYWZr9T-dW-8kVYnefHeTkUfF7FS8rltYRqRE4Ilbf1j25xv7MEL6sUZ7MagSJhF8dngNhb3whoahs8_r6agI4j-pHdkybCcyUMO3CMh2Y8TZP36xk/s1600/blank+taxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH_8vopTj-wR-Zvnwe9QlNPiISWYWZr9T-dW-8kVYnefHeTkUfF7FS8rltYRqRE4Ilbf1j25xv7MEL6sUZ7MagSJhF8dngNhb3whoahs8_r6agI4j-pHdkybCcyUMO3CMh2Y8TZP36xk/s320/blank+taxes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">find good breakfast tacos in Brooklyn = SUCCESS<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5KCnEag-54kliEKSL73ARsLSVqCb4q4AxSTTnGDuT86rxWIQZsfDGmvyBFPtZxbm5J1cWQ0iBJpNOsI_1rz5WNOTCFYQROMrBOHhXQe9Rxd-ggIBMcawiSgo6-qgP1UxHl8EVFYr2zw/s1600/gueros.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5KCnEag-54kliEKSL73ARsLSVqCb4q4AxSTTnGDuT86rxWIQZsfDGmvyBFPtZxbm5J1cWQ0iBJpNOsI_1rz5WNOTCFYQROMrBOHhXQe9Rxd-ggIBMcawiSgo6-qgP1UxHl8EVFYr2zw/s320/gueros.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://guerosbrooklyn.com/About_Us.html">www.guerosbrooklyn.com</a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">taste new Hershey's Air Delight (they put air bubbles where chocolate used to be and charge you the same amount) = FAIL<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4Y3ZwFai6Aqw0rlCCOPmoKK35zZoPthvfpLt1qN8TqvQXrb6g_Lh-dgi4LevSC3lNJ1-7kJZ1dBrk6I5poXmYX_DAZeOSfbGUMBJhDYpt0VzCijWRDwz64DYx2mTrJArURvOjQsfH1A/s1600/Hersheyairdelight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4Y3ZwFai6Aqw0rlCCOPmoKK35zZoPthvfpLt1qN8TqvQXrb6g_Lh-dgi4LevSC3lNJ1-7kJZ1dBrk6I5poXmYX_DAZeOSfbGUMBJhDYpt0VzCijWRDwz64DYx2mTrJArURvOjQsfH1A/s320/Hersheyairdelight.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">walk through sunny Prospect Park = SUCCESS<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzJP98EhfUVWUdx9LYcEHE3Bc42RG9JQQDpb-OakaWKG72tzA84lsSIkX89H6od5u8qgmK9sPJM9Dhm0upzbRvMS0NVz9hi-_apdTL6VgGNQ9jl2nCoPdFMBt_BGSfu_-Bg2WoqAtM84/s1600/GrandArmyPlaza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzJP98EhfUVWUdx9LYcEHE3Bc42RG9JQQDpb-OakaWKG72tzA84lsSIkX89H6od5u8qgmK9sPJM9Dhm0upzbRvMS0NVz9hi-_apdTL6VgGNQ9jl2nCoPdFMBt_BGSfu_-Bg2WoqAtM84/s1600/GrandArmyPlaza.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p>replant the ivy without killing it = FAIL</o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifE0dX6KCoMQgCnkwFFBRYCp3Ci0T1UCY04aIREZNd0s_xao7Y6OXkhHTgmNUaj72tLbXG9OHfH8sdJOtY-sfmZeowhqgEAxbsRACnM86lWzsR3_ZOBj_Xb91odJDtqKT9VQbGuPyQf04/s1600/ivy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifE0dX6KCoMQgCnkwFFBRYCp3Ci0T1UCY04aIREZNd0s_xao7Y6OXkhHTgmNUaj72tLbXG9OHfH8sdJOtY-sfmZeowhqgEAxbsRACnM86lWzsR3_ZOBj_Xb91odJDtqKT9VQbGuPyQf04/s320/ivy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><br />
</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">book the pregnant lady role on "Unforgettable" = FAIL<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1J_9hYGsYEIKm73Av98jwUa61Rz8RZ7t2wMMdSJqmVq7qmsWCNJEOT0X1lq5GP4Fn_IN5m-VzXgcIrc9hYg73YnpH3lp5T9MYhEYB_z_q980r9EtOUc8bwcTfWtyduKyfghAHySFD2aU/s1600/Unforgettable_billboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1J_9hYGsYEIKm73Av98jwUa61Rz8RZ7t2wMMdSJqmVq7qmsWCNJEOT0X1lq5GP4Fn_IN5m-VzXgcIrc9hYg73YnpH3lp5T9MYhEYB_z_q980r9EtOUc8bwcTfWtyduKyfghAHySFD2aU/s320/Unforgettable_billboard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">grow a big fat baby belly = SUCCESS<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJ2am2Cs1tnU_9Rau46dgg5a608voAenWMrgk9h4CT-_ovlODhOfDCEtqmqsMg4LuJigGnGd06SPtER4YFAjMciwKtbyJyz8E31p4_hXXzblJWEUp0liGJkYZLXzxWeDNHYEJev3M1sg/s1600/28weeks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJ2am2Cs1tnU_9Rau46dgg5a608voAenWMrgk9h4CT-_ovlODhOfDCEtqmqsMg4LuJigGnGd06SPtER4YFAjMciwKtbyJyz8E31p4_hXXzblJWEUp0liGJkYZLXzxWeDNHYEJev3M1sg/s320/28weeks.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13pt;">You're never a loser until you quit trying.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13pt;">- Mike Ditka</span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-70055085665307009632012-02-23T11:46:00.000-08:002012-02-23T11:46:09.784-08:00Sweet Procrastination<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Rocco just announced that he found a stud.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #0e0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Procrastination isn’t the problem. It’s the solution. It’s the universe’s way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. ” - <i>Ellen DeGeneres</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-38026573885834845252012-02-15T02:58:00.000-08:002012-02-15T02:58:15.299-08:00A Remarkable Woman<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When someone shares something of value with you and you benefit from it, you have a moral obligation to share it with others. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">- Chinese Proverb</span></b> </div><!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-82181521701347010512012-02-05T15:46:00.000-08:002012-02-05T17:41:49.151-08:00A Letter to Bacon<div class="MsoNormal">Dear Bacon,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I went to brunch at <a href="http://www.buttermilkchannelnyc.com/">Buttermilk Channel</a>. 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yours truly,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sarah</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Lisa: "I'm going to become a vegetarian." </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Homer: "Does that mean you're not going to eat any pork?" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Lisa: "Yes" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Homer: "Bacon?" </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Lisa: "Yes Dad" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Homer: “Ham?" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Lisa: "Dad, all those meats come from the same animal." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Homer: "Yeah right Lisa, some wonderful, magical animal!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">-- The Simpsons</span></div>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-66865179219897326502012-02-01T17:25:00.000-08:002012-02-01T17:25:46.260-08:00Shit non-pregnant girls say...to pregnant girls.Picture me in a bad wig with a valley girl accent.<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">I want to be cute when I’m pregnant.</div><div class="MsoNormal">How do you stand not being able to drink?</div><div class="MsoNormal">You should be enjoying how big your boobs are.</div><div class="MsoNormal">How do your pants stay up?</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a friend who did an all-natural home birth.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear you’re supposed to do Kegels.</div><div class="MsoNormal">You know people aren’t circumcising baby boys anymore.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t live without sushi for nine months.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Could you walk a little faster?</div><div class="MsoNormal">I bet you always get a seat on the subway.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Your pants have an elastic waistband?</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I have a baby, I’m going to take him everywhere.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Can I touch your belly?</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I’m a mom, I won’t let it affect my career.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aren’t you sad it’s not a girl?</div><div class="MsoNormal">You know your vajayjay will never be the same.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear you poop right there in front of everyone.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Are you wearing grannie panties?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do your Kegels.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m scared of getting stretch marks.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can’t wait to dress my baby in all those adorable tiny outfits.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can barely take care of my plants and you’re going to be a mom.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Can I see the waistband of your pants?</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I’m pregnant, I’ll eat only raw organic foods.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s so cute the way you waddle.</div><div class="MsoNormal">What are you naming it?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why are you crying?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Are you doing Kegels right now?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="body" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">If pregnancy were a book they would cut the last two chapters.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Nora Ephron</span><span style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span></div><!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-2346872461492307902012-01-31T18:38:00.000-08:002012-01-31T18:47:26.923-08:00Who likes cheese?<div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Never take counsel of your fears.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Andrew Jackson</span></div>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-25408771490994111472012-01-18T21:21:00.000-08:002012-01-18T21:21:38.104-08:00Chuck Yeager<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Right Stuff</i> for English. My English teacher was retired Air Force so we read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Illiad</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Oddessy</i> each in just two weeks, but spent an entire six-week grading period studying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Right Stuff</i>. 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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Lie of the Mind</i>. 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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><b>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.</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><b>- G.I. Gurdjieff</b></span></div><!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-6498732000907067492012-01-11T13:54:00.000-08:002012-01-11T13:54:26.702-08:00The Belly<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="body" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">-William Shakespeare</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><!--EndFragment-->sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-953630467549301482.post-45132295971123858662012-01-02T15:59:00.000-08:002012-01-02T15:59:35.779-08:002012Happy New Year!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“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.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">-- Aaron Sorkin</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"></span>sarah paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11382612486950216056noreply@blogger.com1