Return of the Water-Baby!!

'Tis the Season, Part 2

2011-11-10T09:05:00.000-08:00

After spending the better part of a year in Seattle with WAY too much time on my hands and a hope that someday I would be so busy that I would dream of a day off...I'm dreaming of a day off. And it's great! But isn't life funny: a year of next-to-nothing, and then I start teaching an acting class, I have an opening night, and I start a dog walking job, all in one weekend. Phew! That was back in September, and I haven't slowed down, so forgive the belated story I'm about to share:

The Friday before Halloween, I was walking my Irish Weiner Dog, Riley, and his little spaniel girlfriend, Ceri, when I saw The Man at The Christmas House hard at work. Being armed with two adorable pups, I decided to be brave and walk up the sidewalk where The Man was working, in the hopes of sharing a smile or even a verbal greeting. I've found that if anything can crack a smile in a hardened face, it's a puppy. But as I got closer, my resolve weakened, because The Man was hard at work topping his chain-link fence with 2 feet of chicken wire. This is seemingly not the act of a person looking to make new friends. Seeing those snowmen and Santas and little baby Jesus' through the grey mesh of chicken wire only added to my sense of sadness, and also made me a bit fearful of getting scolded for walking too close. But, cute puppies! I marched forth, with Riley and Ceri acting as my Angry-Man buffers. When the dogs were only about 6 feet from him, he took notice of them. I won't say he smiled. But he did stop his activity for a moment and looked down at the two of them. He is a tall man, probably 6 feet once upon a time, but now his shoulders are hunched forward, his head hanging down in such a way that I imagine him having to take great care should he ever choose to look skyward. He had only to shift his gaze from fence to ground in order to see my furry friends, and from there, his eyes came to meet mine. There was no smile in his weathered face, and for a moment, I admit to being a little afraid. I could see this face on Scrooge, and yet, here was a man who began decking his halls with all things Christmas before the leaves had begun to change colors. So, I smiled at him. I said hello. And he said, "The kids have been in my yard." His voice was soft, weathered like his skin. "They took one of my candy canes and knocked down some of the lights." I had noticed this earlier in the week, and I told him so. "I hope this keeps them from doing it again," he continued. He had a few front teeth missing, and he took care with his speech. "Kids," was all I could think to say. "Kids." His eyes went back down to my canine wards, and while I didn't see much of a shift in his face, I'm pretty sure he smiled at them, in his own way. "I like to walk by your house," I said. "It makes me happy." He brought his focus back to the chicken wire and carried on with his work. I walked away, feeling sad and happy, all at the same time. More than anything, I felt nervous, because it was only 2 days before Mischief Night, that night before Halloween when toilet paper and eggs are bought in bulk by kids for the sole purpose of wreaking a little havoc in their neighborhoods. What better target than the house decorated for the wrong holiday?

I breathed a sigh of relief on Halloween morning, to see the Christmas House tucked neatly behind it's new fortifications, nary a TP'd tree in sight. (I kind of like to imagine The Man spending the night on his porch with a shotgun on his lap, glaring deep into the eyes of any would-be hooligans with that Dirty Harry "Come on punk, make my day" gaze that turns tough-guys into sissies.) I haven't seen The Man since I spoke with him, but I am happy to report that all of his snowmen and Wise Men and giant candy canes are just where they should be. Guess the chicken wire is doing the trick. Or maybe those kids are secretly a little happy to have some Christmas in their 'hood.

'Tis the season...?

2011-10-15T19:25:00.000-07:00

It's 6:42pm, and the sky is almost dark. Sigh.

There's a house I've just noticed out in West Seattle. It was a house that blended into the scenery only a month ago, a house that I barely looked at as I walked a long-haired Dachshund named Riley past its chain-link fence. A nice house, to be sure, but nothing about it caught my attention. Until last week. During the first week of October, this house was transformed from an unassuming ranch to a razzle dazzle Christmas cabin. I'm talking multiple manger scenes in the yard, lights strung across the fences and walkways and front and back porches, gingerbread houses on the inside windowsills. The display grows each day, staple-gunned into place by an elderly man who wears a red jacket and red-brimmed cap. That's not to say he resembles Santa. On the contrary, he's thin and from what I can tell, he's not very jolly. Each morning I see him at work, and I keep hoping he'll look up and we can share a smile or something, so I can let him know that someone notices and, well, enjoys the fruits of his labors. Because I do, I totally dig on this October Christmas display, especially as I pass the houses nearby with Halloween decor scattered about their yards. It's almost like this man is saying SCREW YOU to their holiday of haunts and shouting out loud that Christmas is the best holiday EVER! In truth, I don't think that's in any way what he's up to, but I like to play out the possible internal monologue in his head as I walk by:

"These kids with all their hobgoblins and witchery, don't know a thing about what real holiday spirit feels like, they just want candy candy candy and like to throw toilet paper in people's trees, weeeeeeeeellllll I'll teach them a thing or two about holiday spirit, the GOOD kind of spirit, not these ghosty things they like to dress up like, crazy kids with their crazy candy habits, next thing you know they'll be dressing up any crazy way they feel like any darned day of the year, but don't they already, don't they already dress up like it's Hall-o-ween every day, with their long hair and earrings in every place you can think of and shoes that make no good sense to walk in, crazy kids with their crazy holidays, we'll just see what they think when they see this little baby Jesus swaddled in his manger, he doesn't need any crazy costume because he is perfect just as he is and his birthday is the perfect holiday, who wouldn't think so, who wouldn't choose gingerbread over tricks and treats and maybe this year when they come ringing my doorbell asking for candy I'll give them all candy canes or better yet I'll give them some toothpaste to ward off the tooth rot and tell them to come back in 2 months for a gingerbread man, that's what I'll do..."

Honestly, I feel sad when I walk by and see him working. I feel sad because I've never seen anyone else near the house, and so I imagine that he's alone. I imagine that he and his wife shared this house for many happy years, and they always loved Christmas, always loved the decorations and the festive spirit and the music and all things Christmas. I imagine that she passed away some time ago, leaving him alone with the decorations, and now he can't wait until it's time to put them up again, because it gives him something to do, a purpose of sorts, while he tries not to miss her so desperately. The first week of October, and he's already covered the house in lights, he's already covered the yard in plastic snowmen and candy canes. Who does this? I get annoyed when stores have Christmas displays up before Thanksgiving, but even retail doesn't start this soon. Who does this? Maybe he's just kooky for Christmas, I don't know. I hope so. I hope he's the happiest man in his neighborhood. But until the day he decides to look up from his labors and share a smile with me, I can't help but have my heart break a little as I walk on by.

The rainy season is upon us.

Just so this post doesn't end on a note of heartbreak, here's a picture of Riley the Dachshund:

Is that a face you'd be happy to see each morning or what?

Meet the Newest Member of the Family!

2011-10-02T16:50:00.000-07:00

His name is Petey, and he's adorable.

How did we come to welcome a purple PT Cruiser into our lives? It happened like this: I decided I wanted to spend more time with animals, so I looked into volunteering at some local animal shelters, which seems to be a pretty popular thing to do because the shelters I contacted were full up on volunteers. That same day, I got a call from my BFF asking if I'd be interested in walking some dogs (she and her hubby have a dog-walking business and were losing one of their walkers). Seemed like it was meant to be! Only hitch, the business is in West Seattle, which means I'd be putting about 35 miles a day on the Camaro. About the same time, I got cast in a show 30 miles south of Seattle, which meant an additional 60 miles a day for the better part of 3 months. The Sexy Beast Camaro gets 15 miles to the gallon and only takes hi-test, which was looking to be a pricey commuting vehicle. Also, it has rear-wheel drive and a mighty powerful engine, the combination of which means it refuses to drive when there's even a hint of snow or ice on the road. Not so good for the winter driving I'll be doing. AND, we got a super-good deal on the Camaro, and have taken really good care of it and haven't added many miles, which means we can eventually sell it for a good price, though adding hundreds of miles every week would cause it to devalue rather rapidly. So, add it all up, and it seemed that getting a second car was in our best interest, and eventually it would pay for itself in saved mileage and gas money.

But a purple PT Cruiser?

This is how Alex operates: we decided to go to some used car lots to see what was out there, with no need to actually buy anything that day. We stopped at a couple of small lots, saw nothing worthwhile, then went to a larger lot and had a man show us around. We let him know we were looking for "cheap and reliable", no bells and whistles, just a road-worthy vehicle that would safely get me where I need to go without requiring hi-test or snow chains. We were shown some Kia's, a couple of Chevey Aveo's, some cars with non-functioning door handles. Then the salesman asked if we'd be interested in a PT Cruiser. He pointed to a shiny, chrome-detailed, plum PT, and I immediately thought, "Cute, but way out of our price range." What the hell, I took it for a spin. Of the cars I drove, it was definitely the nicest ride, and the previous owner (there was only 1) clearly loved this vehicle and took very good care of it. Still, it was too pretty for our money. By this time, I was tired of car shopping, which meant it was time for Alex's favorite activity: haggling. There are few things that make me more uncomfortable than watching Alex drive a hard bargain, though I must admit, he is extremely good at it. So, I told him that he could have his fun while I went across the street to the pet store to get some cat food. I'm pretty sure I left him by saying, "Have fun, but remember that we have time, so you don't need to buy anything today." And I'm pretty sure he said, "I know, I'm just having fun." Jump cut 20 minutes: I walk back into the dealership to see Alex with a pen in his hand. He looks up from whatever he's writing, sees me, and drops the pen like he's a schoolboy caught cheating on his math test. I said, "Did you just buy a car?" And he said, "You really liked the PT Cruiser, right?" Sigh.

But here's what you need to understand about Alex: he made an offer on the car that was about 1/2 the asking price. They said no way. He said fine. (He understood that we really didn't need a car that day, so he felt no pressure whatsoever to strike a deal.) They went back and forth a few times until finally the owner of the dealership got involved and said, "What do I need to do for you to buy a car today?" And this was Alex's response: "This is the first dealership I've really looked at, which means I don't know what deals are out there, so in order for me to buy a car from you today, I need to feel like I'm ripping you off." I don't think this line gets used very often, because the owner laughed and then said, okay. He showed Alex the invoice for his own purchase of the car, and sure enough, the dealership lost money on the deal they made with Alex.

And that is how Petey joined the family.

But don't assume that we are calling him Petey simply because he's a PT cruiser. He is actually named after a very dear friend of ours whom we traveled to Maine with a few years ago. Our friend Petey Vigs was very excited for us to see the car he rented for the trip, and we had to laugh when he rolled up in a PT Cruiser and said, "Look, I got a Petey Cruiser!" It was a wonderful weekend with a wonderful group of friends, and I will always think of dear Petey Vigs when I'm rolling down the street in my purple PT Cruiser. Welcome to the family, Petey!

Look at how cute he is next to his brother:

Almost as cute at their other brothers:

Spider-rific!

2011-09-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

As much as I've tried to find my inner Buddhist when it comes to the invading army of spiders flanked on my outside windows, I must admit to a giddy sense of satisfaction when I saw the notice posted in the building elevator: WINDOW CLEANING THIS WEEK. It seemed that my live-and-let-creepy-crawly-spiders-live attitude was paying me back in kindness. The window cleaners would slowly descend from the roof, one foot at a time, and they would kick through the webs without ever laying eyes on the detailed and delicate work of the Mosler Loft Arachnids. Spiders killed without a moment of murderous intent. (I'm pretty sure that feeling relief at the accidental destruction of another living being is totally against the good Buddha, but I don't claim to be a Buddhist, I'm just trying to minimize my good Catholic guilt.) I pulled my blinds and listened to the squeak-squeak-thumping of the window cleaners lowering down my building, swinging their ropes from side to side, covering as much width as possible to minimize the number of descents they'd have to make to hit all of that glass--there's a lot of glass on the 12 levels of this building. Squeak-squeak-thump, I imagined all of those webs being wiped away, no longer sitting between me and my view. Sorry, Spidey, but I didn't order them cleaners to come wash you away, I'm just minding my own business and wishing you well in whatever place you go to from here. Good luck, and yes, good riddance.

Turns out, spiders are resilient. And they work very quickly. By the time the sun was setting, two new webs were covering one of the recently squeegeed windows. Son of a...

Alas, it's only the outside of the windows that get cleaned by the brave men on ropes, I'm responsible for cleaning the interiors, which means we're looking out at this fabulous view through dusty, finger-smeared glass. Plus a new batch of spider webs.

Kittens are gross. And AWESOME!

2011-09-25T19:42:00.000-07:00

This morning I was awoken by a kitty licking my armpit. It's a strange wake-up, let me tell you. I was completely under the blanket, most likely in order to protect my hair (more on that later), so I couldn't see what was happening, and it took a few seconds for me to respond by pulling back the blankets and seeing a little kitten face inches from my nose, getting really cozy with my armpit. Gross.

Smokey and The Bandit (yes, we have settled on those names, though we had many good options offered up which we might have gone with had we not already spent a few days calling these guys Smokey and The Bandit, which feels quite right, especially when I use their nicknames: Smokestack and El Bandito), the two of them are perfectly at home here on the 10th floor. They are an absolute joy, even though they are kinda disgusting. Their favorite toy seems to be the litter box, in which they like to wrestle, which makes it really great that we have an extra bathtub in which it can live, because otherwise there would be litter EVERYWHERE in this place. I think they spend about a third of their waking lives in that litter box, either wrestling one another or pooping out half their body weight (seriously, how do such small beasties produce so much poop?) When they are not in the litter box, they are chasing each other throughout the apartment, wrestling on floors and couches and beds. Their next favorite toy is the collapsible hamper, which would provide hours of fun were it not for the fact that they keep collapsing it on one another. Still, every time I open it up, it's like Christmas for kittens. Very funny, and not the least bit disgusting.

And their next favorite toy, well, it's my hair. Oh, how they love to comb my hair with their little kitty claws! Generally I am woken in the morning not with an armpit licking but with a hair tangling. It's like a million tiny strings, and they get so excited they want to play with them all. Which means my hair, when I eventually make my way to a bathroom and confront myself in the mirror, resembles something a modern artist might title "Chaos Theory". I try to tie it back in an elastic, but that just gives the kittens something deeper to dig into. And in my sleep, it seems, I try to escape their clawing by tucking the blankets under my head, which this morning led to a kitten burrowing beneath the blanket and discovering the tastiness of my armpit. Gross. But then, how adorable are they? Just look:

I can forgive their being so darned gross because they're just so darned adorable. Sigh. Totally smitten with the kittens.

Lemons=Lemonade

2011-09-18T11:48:00.000-07:00

I hate spiders. No, I'll not say HATE. I strongly dislike spiders. Spiders of any size, they creep me out. Insects in general have that effect, but the spider creep-factor is the highest. Ever since I was a little kid, playing in our Ohio basement with my stuffed animals and Kajagoogoo on the radio, when a tickle on the back of my neck turned out to be the pitter patter of little Daddy Long Legs feet, ever since then I've had a response of cold fear and minor nausea whenever I see a spider. So imagine how I have felt throughout the warmish-weather months when the fantastic view from my floor-to-ceiling windows has been partially obstructed by spider webs. I kid you not, we've had a veritable infestation of spiders living on the outside of our windows (I've only seen one web indoors, and it had the look of being long abandoned, all sagging and broken and dusty). We live on the 10th floor, so why there are so many spiders up here is beyond my understanding. I think back to "Charlotte's Web" and seem to recall all of Charlotte's little babies being carried away on a wind; perhaps several dozen were carried right to me. I've had numerous moments of being stopped by the beauty of the Seattle summer through my windows, only to cringe when walking closer and seeing all those little legs and round little bodies. Part of me has had the very strong urge to take a broom to the webs and tear them to pieces; however, most of the webs are unreachable from the inside and would require me to harness myself up and drop down from the roof, and my fear of heights is stronger than my fear of spiders. And then, there's also this developing Buddhist within me, who believes that all life is sacred (only last week, I spent almost 20 minutes trying to help a bee find his way from Alex's office to the open window, when I had oh so many opportunities to simply smoosh him and call it a day). Spiders are supposed to be good for all kinds of things (hell, Charlotte could spell whole words in her web) and I know many un-Buddhists who think killing spiders does more harm than good. But how could I live with all this creepiness right outside my windows? In Alex's office, I counted 9 spiders crawling on 9 webs, in only 1 window, leaving barely a spot of web-free glass! Unacceptable, I said. And yet...

Alex found the solution for me. He noticed how few bugs we had flying in our apartment, and considering that there are no screens on the windows and lots of little web coffins on display, there are clearly a number of flying insects on the 10th floor. Alex put it this way: Having all those spiders outside is like being covered in nature's fly swatter. More webs=less bugs. Somehow, that was all I needed to hear. I made my peace with the spiders and thanked them for keeping my home a bug-free zone.

Talk about turning lemons into lemonade.

10 Years Later, 10 Minutes

2011-09-11T07:28:00.000-07:00

Just before 5 o'clock this morning, Alex and I made the short walk from our home to Seattle Center, under an almost-full yellow moon setting in the west, under the Space Needle shining a beam of light into the heavens and flying an American flag at half-mast. We were heading to the International Fountain to be part of a day of reflection. The event was organized by a group called 10+ Seattle, and the intention was to have people gather at the fountain, at any point during the day, and then sit in silent reflection for at least 10 minutes. This was not a protest of any kind (though of the maybe 20 people already gathered at the fountain at 5am, half were holding signs which stated "OUR GRIEF WAS NOT AN EXCUSE FOR ENDLESS WAR"--we chose to find a spot a good distance from them). This was more about community, compassion, and yes, reflection. The Fountain during summer days is filled with swim-suited children who run through streams of choreographed water; it's a place filled with joy and laughter. This morning, it was mostly silent, and while water flowed from the fountain, it was the sound of a babbling brook rather than orchestrated explosions of water. There were candles lit along the perimeters, many placed there by the organizers, many more being brought by the people who were gathering. We sat, in silence, and I cried. I leaned my head on Alex's shoulder, and I remembered that day, 10 years ago...

We were in Seattle then. I woke up early, before 6am, with no good reason, I simply couldn't sleep. I remember lying on my floor, doing some stretches, and wondering why I was awake. The phone rang at around 7:30, which was unusual, and it was Zoe, asking me if I was watching TV. By the time I turned it on, the towers were already down. I remember the shock. I remember having to pull myself away from the TV some hours later to go to a doctor's appointment. I remember walking to the clinic as if I was walking under water. Everything was surreal. I felt like the world should have stopped spinning or something, and yet here I was on a table in a doctor's office getting my yearly exam, listening to small talk between the nurses. Seattle seemed to be unaware that the world we knew had been drastically altered. I felt impossibly far away from my family, from the place I knew as home for so many years. I remember going back to our apartment, and I think I spent the next 2 days watching TV, until I could no longer bear it. I remember going downtown to Westlake Center a few days later, where there was a gathering for a national moment of silence. Alex and I held hands as we walked there, and we were both surprised and grateful to see that there were bodies pressed against each other for blocks; it was the first time I felt that Seattle understood. Thousands of people, and for an entire minute, there was no sound, nothing except the shrieks of seagulls. I remember that night going to the Fountain at Seattle Center, where people had been gathering all week. Again, so many people, and candles and flowers and pictures. And silence. Language felt unnecessary, because we were all feeling the same things. I remember a sense of community that I'd never experienced before. I remember feeling hope. I remember.

Alex and I sat this morning for about 30 minutes, and the original 20 who were there when we arrived had expanded to about 100. Bells rang at 5:46 in observance of the North Tower impact, which is about when we made our way home, then rang again at 6:03, 6:37, and 7:03 to signify the 3 impacts which followed. The sky turned a brilliant pink, then yellow, and now white as the sun makes it's way over the Cascades and brings full daylight to this day of remembrance. 10 years later.

What is it about a decade that is so significant? Why do the events of 10 years ago feel fresher to me today than they have for the past 5 anniversaries? Because they do. I feel a sadness today that is mixed with some anger which I didn't feel a decade ago. I know that anger was an emotion experienced by most Americans. It's an emotion which allowed so many of us to sound the battle cry for war. I didn't feel anger then; I felt grief, and I felt hope, which eventually faded as the country's anger swelled and that sense of community I experienced drifted away to "you're either with us or against us" ideas of what REAL Americans are and what REAL Americans do. My country today feels as divided as it's ever been in my lifetime, which makes me sad, and it makes me angry. I felt angry this morning as we were walking away from what was a powerful experience of reflection and I saw that in addition to the signs stating OUR GRIEF WAS NOT AN EXCUSE FOR ENDLESS WAR, they were also holding pictures of Abu Ghraib and bloodied bodies on dusty roads in foreign lands. I agree with their anti-war sentiments; I strongly disagree with their choice to turn a chance for community into a "with us or against us" situation. Because at some point today, someone who is coming to this place in order to reflect and feel a connection with others, someone like me, is going to feel attacked by those images, as I did, and is going to say something, which will most likely turn into an argument, which will absolutely not be silent, nor will it embrace community. Because I did want to tell them to put those signs away, and I did have to pull Alex's arm to redirect him back towards our path home. We both wanted to say something, but neither of us wanted to take anything away from those other people gathered in silence with no agenda other than reflection. There is a time and place for such images; this isn't it. As the handout provided by the 10+ organizers states:

TEN YEARS LATER, ON SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2011, ONCE AGAIN THE INTERNATIONAL FOUNTAIN WELCOMES ALL WHO WISH TO BE TOGETHER AND TURN OUR THOUGHTS AND HEARTS TOWARD HUMANITY'S GREATEST STRENGTH--COMPASSION.

Even as I type that, I feel my anger dissolving. I cannot blame people who are angry about war; I'm angry, too. For many people, who've never been to NYC or DC, who do not have friends or family there, who do not have childhood memories of looking down from the top of the Twin Towers and feeling as if her feet were going to slip up off of the floor and tip her over, for many people the greatest impact of 9/11 is the decade of war that has followed. For those people, it was the launching point into unnecessary bloodshed and violence. Violence doesn't have to beget violence, but in this case, it did. In this case, it escalated the violence in such a way that there is no foreseeable end to it. Yes, I understand the anger. I remember marching through the streets of Seattle just months after 9/11 with a group organized by a Catholic Church to speak out against the war in Afghanistan, a war which was overwhelmingly supported by the citizens of this country. I don't claim to be a pacifist, but I did see an opportunity for a worldwide community that was lost as soon as we shouted out for revenge. Yes, I understand the anger. And the disappointment. And the grief. But this morning, this day, this is not about the mistakes made after 9/11; rather, it is about remembering the community we became, for a brief time, in the days that followed.

I have done my best not to watch television this week, as I knew there would be much build-up surrounding this anniversary, and I wanted to experience it in my own way. I did watch a video about the 9/11 Memorial which will be opened today, and I cried. I don't mind crying; I don't mind feeling the grief that I felt this morning as I sat on the edge of the fountain and let my silence fill me. I just don't want to be told what to feel, or shown images to remind me of what I'm expected to feel. I remember that day, I remember it well. I don't need any help remembering. What I need is for my country to feel like a community again, and in order for that to be even a possibility, I need to be with others who embrace that beautiful concept of compassion.

I hope you'll join me today in letting go of some of this anger which lives in all of us. I hope you'll join me in letting go of WITH US OR AGAINST US and embracing the idea that we all have the same basic wants and needs. I hope you'll take 10 minutes to sit in silence and just reflect, for yourself, on what all of this means to you. It was a powerful experience for me. And I hope you'll join with the nation at 1pm EST, 10am PST, for a minute of silence. I hope we feel like a community again, for even one minute.

Name these kittens!

2011-09-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

I have a kitten sleeping against my thigh. And another one sleeping at my feet. Heaven!

On Friday, Alex and I found our perfect furry companions in a pair of 9-week old brothers. We adopted them from PAWS Cat City as soon as they were brought in. I looked into a carrier, saw a little white face, and fell in love. Alex was right there with me. Then, a little grey faced popped up beside the little white face, and it was double love. They were very nervous, which is understandable, as they'd just been transported to yet another new location, and they'd been neutered only one day before. But love makes all things seem possible, and we brought them home, hoping that 1) the kittens would get along with each other, and 2) the kittens would want to play with us. SCORE!! These little guys are the very best of friends, constantly wrestling each other (and chasing each others tails, which is stupidly cute), and when one is ready to take a nap, he hops into the bed and mews for his brother to come join him, which he does! They generally sleep curled up with each other (this is the first time I've seen them sleeping separately) which makes them look like a yin & yang symbol:

They are total snuggle brothers!

And they seem to be falling in love with me and Alex. The grey guy has been a lover from day 1, letting us pick him up and pet him, turning into a little purr machine. The white guy is a bit more reserved (though in every other way, he is the more adventurous of the two), but seeing as how that's the one curled up against my thigh, purring away, I'd say he's warming up pretty quickly. It's been nothing but love and looniness in this apartment for 4 days straight!

And now, we have to name them! They came with names (Taz for the white guy and Kashi for the grey) but we're not keeping those. Alex's immediate thought (which says so much about the man I love) was Beavis and Butthead. No way, not even a little bit. We then started thinking of brothers we could name them after: Groucho and Harpo, Bo & Luke Duke, Wilbur & Orville Wright, Michael & Tito, Charlie Sheen & Emilio Estevez. Those didn't stick. Other famous pairs: Abbott & Costello, Kirk & Spock (Alex is a fan of this idea), Ponch & John (from CHiPs), Fonzie & Chachi, Crockett & Tubbs (from "Miami Vice"--I'm a fan of this idea, but Alex says no way), Lenny & Squiggy, Cheech & Chong, Starsky & Hutch (which goes well with The Camaro). So many possibilities, but what to choose, what to choose...?

Alex started calling this guy Smokey...

...which means this little guy would be The Bandit.

Smokey and The Bandit. It just might stick...

Have any ideas you'd like to share? Send them my way!!

Labor Day already? But summer has just begun!

2011-09-04T21:18:00.000-07:00

It was 80 degrees in Seattle today. Beautiful. It felt like summer. It's supposed to be like this all week. Summer. Yes, here in Seattle, we are feeling the arrival of summer just in time for football season. Sigh.

Seeing as how I didn't post anything on this blog for the majority of summer, I'd like to give a quick highlight reel of Summer '11. Here goes...

This is the Rat City Rollergirls Roller Derby Championship bout. Alex and I celebrated our 15th quasi-anniversary by renting a suite at Key Arena for the event and bringing in some friends to cheer on the ladies.

And oh how we cheered when Grave Danger beat The Throttle Rockets!

Our dear friend, TJ, came for an awesome visit from LA. (This pic was taken in mid-July. Does that look like summer to you?) We toured Seattle, travelled to Vancouver, listened to lots of music from 80's hair bands, watched some awful movies starring Travolta and Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson, ate great seafood...it was a good time had by all, and I can't wait for her to come back next summer (hopefully when it actually feels like summer).

We went back to Windham, NY for a reunion with Barbara's Bi-Illogical Family, and...

I got to see Barbara fall in love with her grandparents. And vice versa!

And we got to go to NYC to meet our new niece, who was about as big as my size 7 foot (and who was also seemingly offended by it, from the look on her face).

Another visit to Vancouver, this time with Alex and his mom. (We actually had some pretty great weather, even allowing for an afternoon without a jacket!)

Turns out, our place is right near a parade route, so we got great seats to lots of them, from Gay Pride to the Lions Club to the Sea Fair Torchlight Parade. Pretty awesome perk to our downtown location!

We also have a good spot for watching the Blue Angels during Sea Fair.

I got to take lots of walks to the waterfront with Alex (hey, that totally looks like summer!)

And last, but certainly not least...

WE GOT KITTENS!!! A Labor Day treat. (Don't worry, there will be LOTS more pics of these adorable little fuzzbuckets coming soon.)

And so, I wish you a very happy Labor Day, and I hope your summer has been full of joy. It's been a good one here, but it also feels like it's just getting started. I'm wearing tank tops all week to celebrate!

The hunt has begun....

2011-09-02T11:06:00.000-07:00

Now that we know we are ready for a kitten, Alex and I are wasting no time in making it happen! We spent an hour at the Seattle Rescue Center yesterday, cuddling kittens and doing our best not to walk away with every one of them. I was extra-good at that last part, because we ended up leaving empty-handed, all because of me. It's not that I didn't see anything I liked. I mean, we're talking KITTENS here, I liked them all, I wanted them all, but somehow, it just didn't feel right. And I can't say why. It's not as if I'm looking for the perfect little friend, and really, a kitten is an entirely different creature from the cat it will one day become, so I wasn't looking for the perfect feline personality. I don't know what I'm looking for. I got lucky with She-ra. She-ra was one of only 2 kittens available on that May day in 1995 when I went with my roommate (who was fully in charge of the kitten project; after all, it was his decision and his parenting responsibility, I was just along for the kitten-picking, until said roommate decided to go galavanting in Europe 4 months later and She-ra was left under my care, for the rest of her 15.5 years) to go kitten-shopping at the Boston pound. The other kitten was painfully cute and even more painfully shy, while She-ra was kinda scruffy but oh so happy to jump right out of her cage and make friends with us humans. We figured that her demeanor was a better match for our college-party lifestyle. Like I said, I got lucky with her, in that she was very low-maintenance, she was quiet, she was affectionate without being needy...what the hell, she was perfect. But she was NOTHING like that outgoing kitten I met at the pound. So I'm not looking for the cat who will be living with me for the next 15-35 years when I'm looking at a kitten; I know better than that. I'm just looking for something to love. But somehow, as much as I loved the little faces I saw yesterday, none felt like The One. Which is kinda crazy. I mean, look at these guys:

How could I not love these little fuzzbuckets? How could I not take them home? The little yellow one was cuddly and affectionate, and his grey & white brother, while a total scaredy-cat, was so soft, I wanted to put him under my cheek and take a nap on him. But somehow, I said no, even as Alex had the adoption papers in his hand. It just didn't feel right.

We're off today to another shelter, and who knows, the next little face you see here might be the newest addition to our untraditional family.

One year later

2011-08-31T22:12:00.000-07:00

A year ago today, Alex and I packed up our black Buick Regal and said goodbye to Jersey City, ready to make the move, yet again, to the western side of the Rockies. The route we chose was almost identical to the route we drove in 1998, the first time we embarked on a westward adventure. In 1998, it was a green Oldsmobile that carried us, and the main difference between the two routes was the early part, as we began that first trip from Philadelphia, traveling along the Pennsy' Pike until we met up with Route 80 in Ohio. In 2010, we drove onto 80 West after only a few miles on the Jersey Turnpike. The passengers on both trips were the same: Alex, myself, and poor sweet She-ra, never a fan of car rides but an unfortunate passenger on more cross-country journeys than most Americans will ever undertake. 5 times she made the trip, 3 times westward and twice back east. Not to mention a drive from Seattle to LA, and a round-trip between Vegas and Seattle. And, oh yeah, that first journey, from Boston to Philly. Poor thing. A year ago today, she would have been huddled under the passenger's seat of the Buick, silent and anxious and most likely wondering "Are we there yet?" Eventually, we were. Eventually, we arrived in Seattle. Again. And she was able to get out of the car and find a closet to hide in. One year ago.

Much has changed in the past year. For starters, Buford the Buick is now being driven by a dear friend of ours, and Alex and I are driving a totally bitchin' cherry red Camaro whom we call The Sexy Beast. She-ra had only one ride in The Beast, and it was on Christmas Eve, the night she died, one of the saddest nights of my life. My heart still breaks to think of it. She-ra never got to see the place we now call home, though she spent her last months only one floor above it. Same building, different view. What's also changed is that for the first time in several years, Alex and I have furniture of our very own, furniture that, should we move again, will absolutely be coming with us. No more furnished rentals on the horizon for us. What else has changed? Well, I'm an aunt! Brayton Isabelle is the best thing 7-11 ever produced, let me tell you. Also, I'm the mother of a little girl who just took her first steps! She's balder than my brothers, but she's now walking, which means her daddies will never sleep again. And, oh yeah, I got to see my parents become grandparents to two of the most perfect girls in the world, and while there was never any doubt that they were meant for grandparenting, it is nonetheless an incredible experience to see how much love can fill a room when they are with their girls. (Oh, I can't wait for the day that they're in a room with both girls at the same time--their heads may explode from an overdose of joy!) So much change…

I begin teaching my first acting class this month, that's new. And I've just been cast in a musical, holy cow, that's new. Alex has discovered the joys of balancing work and life, very new and very very AWESOME. And, he and I are happy. Which is not new, necessarily, but the past few years have made happiness a limited experience, so to feel joy on a regular basis again, that's new. And beautiful. I live within miles of my very best girlfriends, and while I used to share an apartment with two of them, it's been over a decade since we were all in the same town. New again. I like it.

The year ahead feels ripe for change. I'm ready for it. The past year has been challenging, not bad, just tough. Tough, yet filled with hope. It's the hope that has kept me going, the hope that this move, this resettlement in Seattle, is a move grounded in stability. Stability, that's new. Signing a 2-year lease, that's new. And looking ahead without seeing another cross-country trip, that's new. Unless something very unexpected happens in the next 4 months, 2011 will be the first year Alex and I have not driven cross-country since we left Seattle in 2003. And it feels good. It feels good to feel grounded. It feels good to think of the place I'm living as HOME.

And something else that's new, very new, is the feeling that Alex and I are once again ready to welcome something fuzzy into our lives. Something fuzzy like a kitten. It's time. We are ready. Our broken hearts have mended enough that we can think of She-ra most days without tears, we can think of her and all the joy she brought us, and we can think of how much joy we are ready for, once again. And so, be prepared in the coming weeks to see pictures of something cute and fuzzy, something with a little kitten nose and little kitten ears and a little kitten tail. I don't know who is going to be coming home with us, but I know that our home is ready for our family to be complete again. Stay tuned...

Shifting views

2011-06-29T11:38:00.000-07:00

Some months ago, I wrote about our impending move from our fabulous 11th floor perch to an unknown location. I've been meaning to post an update on said move, but I won't go into detail at this time. Suffice it to say, we moved from the 11th floor down to the 10th. Same fabulous building, even more fabulous apartment. I've moved many times in my adult life, and this move was by far the easiest. I didn't even need to use the elevator for most of it! Plus, we'd been renting furnished homes since 2008, meaning we haven't had any furniture, dishes, towels, sheets, ANYTHING of our own really, which made for even easier moving! Granted, we did have to purchase all of those items, which required a visit from my mother to keep me from losing my mind (I am not fond of shopping, not even a little bit), but that meant that all of the big items were delivered and installed and put together for us. Best move ever, into the best apartment ever!!

I won't do a full tour of the apartment now, but I do want to update you on our view. If you'll recall, one of the absolute best things about our 11th floor perch was the view. Our floor-to-ceiling windows faced south, and there were no high-rises for many blocks, giving us a stunning skyline view. Here's what we were looking at:

We're now one floor below, and we still have a southern view. Here's what we're looking at today:

Goodbye skyline, hello Honey Bucket. (Honey Bucket has to be the most awesomely inappropriate name for a port-a-potty ever, and it's currently hanging out on the corner of the 12th floor of what will eventually be a 17-story apartment building.) Yes, our awesome skyline is no more. Instead, I get to learn a bit about how concrete-and-steel buildings are constructed (which has helped me understand a little better how the concrete ceiling above me can so effectively fight off gravity). And I get to listen to buzz saws and drills and hammers from 7am till 5pm, 6 glorious days a week. Sigh.

But here's the thing that makes it all okay: our wonderful 10th floor perch is a corner unit, which means that we not only have a southern view, we also have windows facing the east. I wish it was a clear, sunny day today, so I could show off the Cascade Mountains beyond Lake Union, but I'm sure you can still appreciate what we've been enjoying out of our windows, even under the cloud cover:

The Space Needle is just a few blocks northeast of us, and we get to see it every day, from every room! We also look out at Lake Union, which is dotted with sailboats on sunny afternoons. And the view continues to the southeast:

Yes, there's that construction project blocking out our skyline, but there's still plenty of skyline to be seen. (Added bonus: check out the dueling construction/deconstruction projects--to the left of the view-blocking building is a building sheathed in black mesh, which is slowly being taken apart, bit by salvageable bit, after discovering just over a year ago that the 9-year-old apartment complex was a veritable death trap. Funnily enough, the construction is happening much faster than the deconstruction, at the pace of 1 floor per week. The deconstruction, well, it's much slower than an implosion.) And we also get a bit of western view from our balcony and my southern reading chair:

That's Puget Sound, and I like to sit in my chair and watch the ferries go back and forth to Bainbridge and Bremerton islands. It's awesome.

So, this is where I'm hanging my hat these days. It's the first real home Alex and I have had in a while. Well, I shouldn't say that, we've lived in great places, and our wonderful house in Jersey City (which we inhabitants named Maui East) was the perfect place to call home after our hellish year in Vegas. But this apartment feels different. Maybe it's the 2-year lease (which is long enough for our families to write down our address in actual ink), maybe it's the fact that all of the stuff in it is our stuff, nothing borrowed, nothing to be left behind when--or maybe IF, fingers crossed for dreams to come true--we move to the next place, maybe it's the fact that we both feel so at home here, in this city, in this togetherness we've created. Whatever it is, not a day has gone by that we haven't said, "I love it here." Even with the buzz saws and the hammers and the disappearance of our skyline. We love it here, and that makes it home.

Pride

2011-06-26T13:04:00.000-07:00

It's a stunning day in Seattle. The sky is bright blue with wisps of clouds hanging above the mountain tops, and the Space Needle is flying a rainbow flag.

It's Pride Weekend here in Seattle and all over the country, and there is so much to be proud about! The parade route runs just a block from my building, and for the past 2 hours I've heard non-stop cheering and shouting and music. It's a party in this town, and it's a party in this country. Not only is this a day to celebrate and love the person you are, but this weekend is made extra-special by the late-night vote passed by the NY State Senate on Friday giving homosexuals the right to marry. I know that for some of you reading this post, this is not something to celebrate. But for me, for many people I love, this is bigger than big. No, I'm not gay, I'm not even married (not in a legal sense, but Alex is my husband in every sense that matters to the two of us). But I recognize what an important step marriage is for many, heck, for MOST people. And to have one more state in the United States of America recognize that this is a matter of civil rights, that is something worth celebrating. I've heard all the talk about defending the institution of marriage and that marriage has forever been defined as a union between a man and a woman, but I can't support such ideas, not in this country, not in this century. In this country, two drunk 18 year olds can get married on a whim in Las Vegas and then get a drive-through divorce the next day, as long as they're not of the same sex. I know people who have been married and divorced multiple times in a decade, and this is somehow more defensible than a legal marriage between two men who have been in love and committed to one another for twice as long. In this century, we marry for love, but the idea of marrying for love is relatively new in regards to the institution of marriage. Love never entered into it until just a few centuries ago. Marriage was always a business arrangement, and I think most people today would scoff at such an idea. Marriage today is about two people who love each other and want to commit themselves to one another for life, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, you know how it goes. Marriage is not something to be taken lightly, and the idea that allowing gays to marry somehow reduces the significance of marriage is laughable. The idea that allowing gays to marry is allowing them to "flaunt" it, well, that's true. They would be flaunting it, by gathering together their friends and family and saying to all of them, "I love this person so much that I want to shout it out for everyone to know", yes, that's flaunting it. Which is what weddings are about! Every wedding I've gone to, I'm there to celebrate and honor the love of two people. Every wedding is flaunting it! And it's beautiful, it's the most beautiful thing a couple can share with the people they care about. I don't care who you are, if you've been married and have had a wedding, you were flaunting it. And good for you!! I applaud your decision to do so! But if you then say that it's wrong for other adults to do the same things because you don't respect or understand or accept their kind of love, I say that's terribly unkind. Make any argument you want against gay marriage, but you're not going to convince me that it's wrong. In fact, you will only make me that much angrier that this is even an argument. This is the civil rights movement of my generation, and I am proud to be living in a time and place where thousands of people, gay and straight, will gather together to shout out loud THIS IS WHO I AM, THIS IS WHO I WAS BORN TO BE, AND THERE IS NOTHING SHAMEFUL ABOUT IT! To come out of the closet, to remove the cloak of secrecy, that is a terrifically brave thing to do. And to have a day where that courage is honored so openly, so vibrantly, so LOUDLY, that is a beautiful thing.
Like I said, this parade has been happening for 2 hours now, and it's only just begun. Here's hoping that next year's parade will be celebrating even more states who recognize that marriage is a choice, but homosexuality isn't.

Hope springs

2011-05-26T08:52:00.000-07:00

I'm in a funny place. I'd call it good. I'd call it optimistic. I'd call it hopeful. Which feels kinda funny. Let me explain:

I opened my eyes this morning to a cloud-covered sky with bright spots of sunlight trying to push on through. I opened my eyes, and almost immediately, my heart sank, as I felt the sting of my latest rejection. I had an audition on Tuesday for a show that I REALLY REALLY WANT, and the callbacks are today, and for the past two days I've been analyzing every second of that audition, wondering whether I'd be getting a callback. I know I did a great job with the audition. I came in prepared, with strong character choices and memorized lines. I showed a clear knowledge of the script and a keen interest in the relationships between the characters. I presented myself as a professional, someone who might be fun to work with, someone who will work very hard to get the job done. I did a great job with the audition, I know I did. And the casting director and the director were very friendly and I was relaxed and happy to be there and I had fun and I think they did, too. So, I haven't spent the past two days analyzing my performance; rather, I've been analyzing the way they said "Thanks so much for coming in today, Meg." I've been wondering about the tone: were they saying, "Thanks so much for showing us who this character is, we'll see you at callbacks" or were they saying, "Thanks so much for all your hard work, but we won't be needing you anymore." It's hard to tell. And though I spent days obsessing over it, it's really a hypothetical, because there was no way of knowing until....well, by 11pm last night, I knew. After all, the callbacks happen in a matter of hours, and there's no way they'd wait until NOW to call me in. Sigh. And so, moments after I opened my eyes this morning, moments after waking from what I'll assume was a pleasant night's sleep (as I don't recall any bad dreams or night sweats interrupting my slumber), that sinking feeling of deep disappointment overtook me. Yet another rejection to add to the ever-growing list of painful rejections as I seek to begin my acting career here in Seattle.

So....where's the hope?

Funnily enough, the hope arose not too long after the morning's disappointment. Because as much as the rejection is painful, and as much as it's been happening A LOT these past few months, the truth is, I feel like each rejection is bringing me closer to living the dream. I have a pretty good sense of what I bring into the room when I audition, and I have no doubt that I am making an impression on these auditors. A good impression. I am showing professionalism and talent and dedication, I am not walking into the room with a sense of desperation but rather a desire to play. In truth, I've had a lot of fun at my auditions, and it shows. And come on, who wouldn't want to hire a talented professional who has fun even in a situation that could be gut-wrenching? Okay, okay, I've only actually been cast in 1 show out of the I-can't-remember-how-many auditions I've gone to in 2011, but I feel like every rejection is pushing me closer to my goal, every rejection is actually a foot in the door. Perhaps that sounds delusional, but it's the truth of what I'm feeling. Seattle is a small city with a small, tightly woven theatre community. People here are hesitant to take chances on an unknown. I've been told by one casting director that she's a "big fan", another told me she needed to introduce me to her company as they need to know what I can do, and I have had 2 auditions here where the director told me that I did something to "perfection", and while neither cast me (I guess perfection wasn't what they were looking for) I do think they were being sincere. In both cases, the director cast a woman she had already worked with on another show, taking the scary "unknown" factor out of the running. In both cases, I was rejected with a message telling me how amazing I am, what an incredible job I did at the audition, how much the director would like to work with me, but unfortunately blah blah blah. Which sucks, honestly. To be told how good I am, how great I'd be to work with EXCEPT....well, it hurts. Every time. I've been doing a lot of hurting. Last week, I cried after hearing the latest YOU WERE SO GREAT rejection. I mean, what do I have to do to become a known factor so I can get cast in this town?? How can I be so great and yet so unemployed??

But this has been a good week, a week that has helped me feel like the hard work and the determination and the generally positive attitude are going to produce results. Last Friday, I was hired for a one-day staged reading at the Seattle theatre of my dreams, and I had a lot of fun and did what I would say was an impressionable job. And the audition on Tuesday was at that same theatre, which is not the easiest place to get an audition. So I'm officially on their radar. On Monday night, I got to sing a few songs with a band at a gala for the theatre school where I've been assistant teaching, and while there weren't many people watching or listening (we were the background music during the silent auction part of the evening), I had a great time and felt quite at home with a mic in my hand. And yesterday, I did a general audition for another company I'd LOVE to work with and I got to hug a woman I worked with a decade ago who is directing one of their shows this season, and I had so much fun doing my monologue for them. Rehearsals have been great for the short play festival, which opens next Friday, June 3rd. I'm busy doing things I love to do, and I'm making an impression on the people I'm hoping to work with in this town. Even though I haven't been cast in much, I can't help but feel that every audition has been an opportunity for me to become better known, and therefore more of a factor to be seriously considered in the casting process.

And there springs the hope. The sky today seems to be a physical metaphor for my life as an actor in Seattle: there's an almost overwhelming amount of cloud cover, but the sun is fighting hard to break on through to the city below. Yes, I am comparing myself to the sun. And oh, how brightly my little light will shine once I've broken through these barriers! Perhaps it sounds egotistical, but what actor isn't egotistical? I'd like to think it sounds hopeful, or optimistic, or even joyous. Trust me, if you were applying for your dream job week after week and losing out week after week, the only options available are wallowing in self-pity, giving up entirely, or embracing the challenges and trusting that it's only a matter of time before someone will be bold enough to give you a chance, and once you've got that chance, you will run with it and show the world how much that chance is deserved. That's where I'm living these days, at the intersection of HOPE and LOSS, and I know which road I plan on choosing.

PS: I already got an invite to an audition based on yesterday's general. Fingers crossed yet again!!

What a difference a year makes

2011-04-27T09:17:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to me!

And a happy birthday it was. Which is a nice change from last year. Last year for my 29-again birthday, I barely got out of bed. It was a miserable rainy day in Jersey City, and no part of me was interested in celebrating myself. I hid away until it was all over. I think I might have ordered a pizza and eaten a Hostess cupcake, no candle. It was rather pathetic.

This year, I was happy to have people sending good wishes. I was happy to share the news that, yes, today is MY special day and all the world should feel free to lavish me with love. And I was feeling the love. It was an extension of a birthday weekend, of sorts. Alex and I flew back to Jersey last week to deal with boxes that were being stored in my parents' house, boxes and boxes of books and photo albums and artwork and CD's and DVD's, things we knew we wanted but did not want to ship to Seattle until we had an address with a bit more longevity than the 6-month sublet we moved into in September. A 2-year lease on our current place meant it was time to bring our stuff home to us, and so we spent a couple of days digging around in crawl spaces and attics, finding things we'd been missing and other things we'd forgotten. We unpacked and repacked and prepared ourselves for a problematic visit to the US Post Office, but it all turned out to be much simpler than we'd anticipated. We only had one box turned away, because it weighed 5 pounds more than their 75-pound shipping limit, and using media mail meant we shipped 15 large boxes for only a few hundred dollars, as opposed to the thousands we would have had to spend to rent space on a truck. (AND, 8 of the boxes were just delivered to us this morning! I'm telling you, I am a BIG FAN of the USPS, even with all of my mail that's been lost over the years--mostly from my Upper West Side USPS branch--and the hours I've had to stand in long lines just to mail out a package--mostly while living in Astoria, which rarely had a wait of less than an hour. All in all, I find the services they provide to be excellent for the money they charge. And they brought me hundreds of pounds worth of books this morning. It's like my birthday continues!!)

We planned the trip to Jersey for this past weekend so we could be in NYC for my brother's Easter gathering, which made it easy for us to see the whole family in one shot: siblings, cousins, uncle and newly-curly-haired favorite aunt, pregnant sister-in-law and her whole family (whom I have adopted as my Other Family). Easter Sunday this year fell on my oldest brother's birthday, plus it was just 2 days before my own birthday, which meant there were cakes baked and songs sung for each of us. My 29-again birthday celebration began days early, even before Easter, when I got myself the awesome present of a haircut at a NYC hair salon that I've been wanting to go to, a salon that deals exclusively with curly hair. I spent 2 hours having my head fondled by 2 men, it was glorious!! And I got to visit with friends whom I haven't seen in months, friends who always make me feel special. And then there was the bonus of seeing my 19-year-old cousin, newly returned from a tour in Afghanistan, who came from Cleveland with a friend as an Easter surprise. I got to help a couple of Marines enjoy NYC for the first time, while celebrating my brother's birthday with a private bash in his closed-for-Easter East Village bar. It was a weekend full of celebration, a weekend full of love and good feelings, and it all kinda felt like my birthday. On our last night in Jersey, Alex and I went to dinner with my parents, then sat in front of a fire eating lemon meringue pie and playing with a kitten, AWESOME! I woke up on my birthday morning, and my favorite cherry tree, the one right in front of the room I called my own for many years, my favorite cherry tree was opening all of its little pink buds, as if to let me know that it had been waiting for me to reveal itself. A fine farewell from the east coast, and then a plane ride back to Seattle, where the sun decided to come out to welcome us home. And then, I went to my first rehearsal for the short play festival I've been cast in, which is about the best gift anyone could give me. It felt exciting to be in that room, to be starting this project, and I let everyone know that it was my birthday and they should feel free to celebrate me. No shying away from it this year!! Post-rehearsal, I went home to Alex, who greeted me at the door wearing a tie, and led me into the kitchen, where candles blazed and a lovely gourmet meal was waiting. Alex wanted to make me feel special, and he did, oh yes he did. As the minutes ticked away to April 27th, I felt special, I felt loved, I felt celebrated, I felt happy. I felt all the things a person hopes to feel on a birthday, all the things that were missing last year as I hid under my covers.

I am happy to be 29-again. I am excited for the year to come. I don't feel older; I feel happier. I feel like I am in the right place; even though I am far away from my family, I feel close to them. I feel excited for my soon-to-be-a-daddy brother and his too-beautiful-to-be-true pregnant bride, and I'm so excited to become an aunt! I feel like the miles between us are unimportant, as I am going to do whatever I can to be a part of every big occasion. I feel like the only thing that might get in the way of me doing that is the possibility of having some success as an actor out here, which feels like a very real possibility, and frankly, what a perfect dilemma to have! I feel younger than I did a year ago, which is directly connected to that feeling of hope. Last year, I felt lost, and stuck in a rut, and scared that I was never going to call myself an actor again. This year, I still feel a little lost, but more in a "This place is unfamiliar and I'm not sure where I'm going but I can't wait to figure it out" kind of way. This year, 29-again feels sexy, and fun, and energetic. This year feels good. I feel good.

What a difference a year makes. And the difference is me.

Spring is springing

2011-04-19T09:23:00.000-07:00

Wait, is it really...how did it get to be mid-April already?

Greetings from a Seattle that is desperately trying to welcome in Spring. There are buds on all the trees, flowers are in bloom in planters and along the city streets, birds are singing their spring-y little songs. Spring has arrived! Though it's still in the 40's here, and the sun is fighting to make its presence known through the thick cloud cover. We're in that iffy part of Spring where we are feeling hopeful for what's to come but also a little gun shy to accept that it has fully arrived. I could really go for a steady stretch of temperatures in the 70's, but I have to be realistic and recognize that I am still months away from such glory. Temperatures in the 70's means summer has reached Seattle, and I'm still wearing my winter coat. Patience, Megatha, patience...

I am happy to report that I have full hearing in two ears!! I've still got some crackling and draining going on, but I can hear at a level that is acceptable for a woman in her mid- to late-20's. And it feels so goooood. Never again will I take my hearing for granted. I love my sense of hearing! It's one of my 5 favorite senses! Even as I write this, I am hearing all kinds of fun sounds: construction across the street, city traffic below, the KOMO News 'copter landing on the heli-pad 2 blocks over. I love all of these sounds, these generally ignored background noises that were missing from my daily soundtrack for a solid 3 weeks. Hearing them again is a joyous experience. I want everyone to appreciate these sounds! Listen to that, it's hammering! Ah, the sweet sounds of recycling day. Oh joy, sirens, sirens galore!! Yes, all of the daily sounds of city living that I generally do my best to ignore now appear to me as lovely little aural gifts. Isn't hearing stuff grand? I can feel myself becoming that person who warns people to TURN DOWN YOUR IPOD OR YOU'LL GO DEAF! Though I'm sure in a couple of weeks, hearing will once again seem like a regular ol' everyday experience, nothing much to think about or celebrate. I'm pretty sure I'll be keeping my iPod turned to a reasonable volume, though.

I'm also happy to report that I've been cast in a short play festival that runs through the month of June. I can't tell you how excited I am to have lines to memorize! It's been months since my last time onstage, and I have been missing it desperately. The past couple of months have been promising, as I've been able to audition for a number of companies I've been wanting to introduce myself to. And the introductions have gone well, they just haven't turned into jobs. My feeling on Seattle casting is that this is a small, interwoven community, and while people might get excited by a new face in town (particularly a face as fantabulous as my own), they also are a bit gun shy when it comes to hiring someone new. "Let someone else test them out first" seems to be the way things are done around here. I say, Bring it on! Let the testing begin! I am chomping at the bit here, I am dreaming of a time when I am so busy I want to cry from exhaustion. Seriously. Free time is nice and all, but it's kind of like hearing: it's hard to appreciate when you've got it in abundance. I lost my hearing for a few weeks, and now I want to stand on my balcony and soak up the sounds of city life. I've had too much free time to play with for awhile now, and the days have all kind of run together into a pasty lump of blahhhhhhh. Okay, perhaps that's a bit extreme, but the truth is, it's been too long since I've had any kind of excitement when answering the oft questioned: So what are you up to these days? I manage to stay kinda busy, it's not like I'm just sitting around watching TV and eating bonbons. (Though I must admit, in the last month, the month without hearing, there was an increase in my TV-viewing time and my bonbon consumption. Being deaf-ish meant my balance was completely skewed, which made exercise a no-go, which made me feel extra cruddy and seemed to cue my cravings for cake and cookies and chocolate in all of its forms. I think I've gained 10 pounds in 4 weeks, and I made a semi-permanent butt indent on our new couch during those weeks of antibiotics and pain killers. Gross.) However, I am primed and ready for a period of schedule juggling and round-the-clock rehearsing and busy busy busy busy busy-ness. A short play festival isn't gonna be all that consuming, of course, but I'm choosing to look at it as a beginning. A long awaited beginning. Spring has sprung in Seattle, indeed!

PHEW! followed by ARGH!.

2011-03-30T11:37:00.000-07:00

The auditions are done! What a relief. I can now go back to being hard-of-hearing in peace. (Okay, that's a lie, as I am feeling anything but peaceful about my inability to connect sounds to their origins, but at least I don't have to try to sell myself as a deaf singer, right?)
The first audition went surprisingly well. I explained my situation to the auditors, who seemed somewhat sympathetic (and perhaps just a touch concerned that I might be wasting their time) and had no problem allowing me to stand beside the piano. Fortunately, it was a grand piano, and it was loud, so I was able to move away and use the whole space. The audition was for a 60's rock review, and I started with Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love". I pretty much rocked it out. It was fun, and I could hear the piano well enough to go full volume with my singing. They then asked for a ballad, so I did Janis Joplin's "Me & Bobby McGee". The musical director, who was accompanying, played guitar on this one, and while it wasn't as easy to hear as the grand piano, I was able to play along with it and only lost it a couple of times. I also danced around and did some stomping and clapping, all while wearing high-heeled platform boots (which I was taking a BIG risk on, as my equilibrium is so out of whack that I am stumbling about even barefoot, but I think the audition momentum helped keep me upright). By the end, I was a sweaty mess, but I clearly showed them that not only can I sing, I can perform.

Yesterday's audition was not as successful. I mean, it was fine. But I didn't get much response from the auditors. This was a general audition for the 2011-12 season at Village Theatre, one of 2 big musical theatre companies in town. They wanted a short monologue and a verse & chorus from a Broadway show. Which is scary for me. I'm not a musical theatre singer. I can sing, some might say I can sing really well. But musical theatre has a specific sound, it's pretty and trilly and not really me. I've been told by a number of auditors over the years that I don't have a musical theatre voice. And as I waited to go in, I could hear the people before me singing their Broadway songs and sounding all pretty (or perhaps they sounded awful, but to my fuzzy ears, and my feelings of musical theatre inadequacy, they sounded pretty). I felt a bit like an outsider. And when I went in and explained my partial-hearing predicament, I received blank stares. Great. I did my monologue, which I thought went well, but again, blank stares. The accompanist then began playing my song (I chose "Solomon Song" from "The Threepenny Opera", which is a Broadway show, but it's Brecht, which is more my speed, and I know the song via Marianne Faithfull and Cyndi Lauper, neither of whom are pretty and trilly), and I had to stop and ask him to give me my note as I couldn't hear it (no grand piano this time). The second time, I got it, and I think I did a fine and dandy job. But again, blank stares. And when I finished, I got the "thank you" response that kind of feels like they're saying, "Thank you for wasting 4 minutes of our precious time." Blech. Whatever, it's done, and I am proud of the work I did.

And then I came home and decided to tackle my taxes. And you know what? Taxes are stupid. Our tax system is a joke. I made practically no money last year. I won't embarrass myself by telling you how little I made, but I promise you, it was next to nothing. And it took me HOURS to figure it all out. I had to fill out a schedule C, a schedule A, and a schedule SE. And, I owe taxes. Which is fine, except that I keep reading all these stories about all these billion dollar corporations who pay nothing, and frankly, it pisses me off. Yeah yeah, lower taxes on corporations keeps them doing business in the USofA, blah blah BULLSHIT. Pardon my language, but COME ON! When it comes down to it, the more money you make, the better tax attorney you can hire, the less you will pay in taxes. How is that fair? Forget fair, how is that LOGICAL? As far as I'm concerned, there should be no such job as "tax attorney". Because that job exists to keep people with money from paying any taxes. (I can speak about this, because Alex has been using a tax attorney for a number of years, and while he hired him to help him make sense of his very complicated tax situation, he pays him to help him legally pay as little as possible. To the extent that I am paying more in taxes this year than Alex's corporation is, and I can assure you, he made A LOT more money than me.) How can this convoluted tax system be justified? I had one measly 1099-MISC to report which required 4 additional pages of paperwork on my end. What?! Ridiculous! I know, I know, I'm a liberal bleeding-heart who likes teachers and doesn't blame them for the states' fiscal woes and thinks that corporate greed is FAR more responsible for the Great Recession than the greedy fat-cat parasitic union members of this country (I borrowed that description from a number of talking heads on CNBC who seem to think teachers and cops and firefighters are bathing in champagne and lunching on caviar whilst aboard their private yachts). I'm pretty sure that most union members aren't sending their taxes off to their tax attorneys in order to find all of the loopholes that will allow for legal tax avoidance. I know a bunch of union members, and let me tell you, they're not rich. They're not greedy, they're not fat, most of them rent tiny apartments and have to choose between cable TV and a gym membership, and all of them pay taxes. Just like me. We don't have the money to pay for legal tax avoidance. And that feels a bit like class warfare to me.

Yes, I'm angry. And I'm deaf. I bet if I had a tax attorney, he'd find a way for my temporary partial hearing loss to give me a rebate. Grumble.

On a total side note....I want to send some love to my lady Lola. She can't hire a tax attorney, either. No cable TV for her! But she is a gift to me in a million ways, and I hope that in the months to come she finds herself all smiles in her roller skates.

Say WHAT?

2011-03-27T14:43:00.000-07:00

The good news is, I'm no longer sick! The antibiotics killed whatever was causing me massive pain in my ear, my fever is gone, and I am no longer asking Alex to be my nursemaid. The only problem is, I am now deaf as a doorknob. It seems that this is a common problem associated with ear infections. The antibiotics kill the infection, but left behind is all the puss and goo (best described as "ear snot") that developed with the infection. Decongestants helped to keep me from blowing my nose every 5 seconds, but they don't eliminate the ear snot, they just kind of dry it up and make it hard, which makes it nearly impossible for said snot to drip its way out of my head and into my chest, from which I could eventually cough it up and get it out of my body. Which is gross, sure, but I would be far happier dealing with a chest cold right now than I am dealing with deafness. I feel as though I am underwater, or that I'm walking around with ear plugs in. There is a constant ringing, and I am able to take my pulse whenever I want, just by listening to the blood pounding through my clogged head. Awesome. According to everything I've read, this is completely normal after a bad middle ear infection, and the best I can do is be patient. Most estimates give me anywhere from a couple of weeks to a few MONTHS with partial hearing loss. Which makes me want to bang my head against a wall. I feel like I'm going crazy! I hear disembodied sounds, and unless I'm looking right at the source of the sound, I have no idea where the sound is coming from or what it is connected to. Alex played a song the other night, and after listening for a little while, I asked him if it was an Eminem song. Nope, turns out it was bluegrass. Imagine mistaking banjos for rap. That's my life right now. I am the lady in line at the drug store that needs to be tapped on the shoulder and told that the cashier is ready for me. I find myself simply smiling and saying "yes" at the checkout counter because I'm not sure what's being said and don't want to ask the cashier to repeat himself. Really, I don't like going anywhere. My sense of balance is compromised; I find myself tilting to the right when I walk, and standing still requires a whole lot of shifting on my feet. I'm nervous to drive my car. Honestly, I feel like I'm on drugs. And maybe, just maybe, if I was CHOOSING to be on this drug, I might be able to go with it and have some fun. "Whoopee, I'm dizzy, and I just walked into a door! Fun!" Instead, I've woken up every morning for a week now, hoping that this might be the day when sound is restored to me. But alas, it's only gotten worse. I will say, the ringing has faded a bit (or, perhaps I've gotten used to it). And one ear is better than the other, so I can turn my head that way when I'm listening to someone speak. But really, this just sucks. I'm not sick, but in some ways, I felt better when I was bleeding from my ears.
And to make this scenario even ruder, I have two auditions in the next two days, both of them requiring singing with a piano. I'm trying to figure out the best way to prep my auditors for my condition, because the reality is, I'm going to have to practically lie on the piano to hear it over my own voice. And frankly, I can't really hear myself. I mean, I can, but the sound is warped and muted, so I'm kind of shouting. Plus, I have no idea if my pitch is accurate. Hell, I can't even tell if I'm enunciating! I have a very articulate manner of speaking; I have never been told (since my early days of living with a speech impediment, or as I used to say, a "THpeech" impediment) that I can't be understood due to mumbling or lazy speech habits. This week, however, Alex has had to ask me to repeat myself countless times. So, there is a chance I go to my auditions this week mumbling and shout-singing off-key. More awesome. I'm on the verge of desperation about getting a job, I mean I really NEED a job, and now I get to try to sell myself when I'm deaf. Sure, it'll all be funny someday, but right about now, I feel like the butt of somebody else's joke.
And the cherry on top? No matter how much yogurt I've eaten, no matter how many billions of live cultures I've swallowed in probiotic pills this week, I've still managed to kill off all the good bacteria in my body and now need to make a trip to the Monistat aisle. (Yeah, I know, too much information, but if I'm gonna bitch and moan about things, I might as well put it all out there.)
So there we have it: I am no longer sick.
Awesome.

I admit it.

2011-03-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot for me to admit to being sick. I can admit to not feeling well, I can admit to having a cold or a flu or being in serious discomfort, but to actually call myself "sick" means I must be bleeding from the ears or something. So yesterday morning, when Alex woke to find me googling "bleeding from the ears", he decided that it was time, instead, to google a doctor.

And now, I'll admit it: I'm sick. I have an ear infection. A really bad one, according to the doctor, whose response when looking in my ear was, "Whoa!" I'm sick, I admit it. And I want to be a baby about it. I want my mom to make me tea and tuck me under a blanket on the couch and put on stupid tv for me to sleep through all day. Mom, of course, is nowhere near Seattle, but fortunately, Alex is here to baby me. And baby me he does! He's got me on the couch and he's bringing me tea and Theraflu, and the TV is showing college basketball (which isn't quite as stupid as I'd like, but I can't help but think how many people out there are jealous of me being able to watch every second of March Madness). I'm not good at being a patient; I like to be the care-giver, the doer, and so to stay wrapped under blankets on a couch and ask him to go get me a glass of water when he's working, I have a hard time with it. Alex had to scold me numerous times yesterday for being a bad patient; he assured me that he could microwave his own lunch and that there was absolutely no reason for me to be doing dishes. "I want you to tell me when you want to get up and get something, and I'll get it for you," he says. And he means it. And the truth is, I feel bad enough that I'm actually taking him up on it today. I woke up this morning, not having had any medicine in 8 hours, and my first thought was, "Somebody please decapitate me!" It felt like my head might explode at any moment, there was so much pressure. Fortunately, the bleeding from the ears has just about stopped, and I'm on antibiotics and painkillers and decongestants and on the way to being healthy. But for today, I'm sick. And the baby in me welcomes your sympathy.

Tsunami in Paradise

2011-03-11T14:59:00.000-08:00

Have you seen the pictures and footage from Japan? Awful. Horrible. Makes me want to tell everyone I know how thankful I am to have them in my life. You know, just in case I happen to be in an area that experiences a huge earthquake followed by a devastating tsunami. Which I am not, mind you. But there was a period of about 8 hours last night when I wasn't sure about that. Watching footage of a wall of water approaching Japan's coast, watching footage of boats lying on their sides and bridges under water and people waving white flags from the top floors of their newly underwater homes, and then being told that a tsunami warning was in effect for the Hawai'ian islands, and that the first island to be hit would be Kaua'i, and that the wave would make landfall at 3:07AM HST, well, you can imagine me wanting to tell all the people in my life just how thankful I am to call them my friends and my family. That means YOU!

Granted, my tsunami story ends, thankfully, with little more hassle than being evacuated from our complex of 3 beach houses to a 6-bedroom mansion in the hills. My tsunami story ends, happily, with little more destruction than beach debris littering the lawn of our beach house, which the landscaping crew is currently in the process of cleaning up. In other words, my tsunami story is a ridiculous case of moving from luxury to luxury and having other people deal with whatever headaches may have arisen. My tsunami story is almost embarrassing when looking at the footage of the heartbreaking situation in Japan. My tsunami story is 13 people on vacation who are now all laughing about how poor the TV news coverage of the "event" was. After all, this happened in the middle of the night, so even when there was something to be seen--the water receding about 150 yards from shore multiple times and then coming in strong like a fast-rushing tide--we couldn't see anything on TV and had only the newscasters to tell us what it might look like, should it actually be visible to anyone. To be fair, though, it was frightening to consider the "what-ifs" of a tsunami wall-of-water reaching us, here in our houses-on-stilts 100 yards from the ocean. At first, it all seemed like a bunch of hype and hysteria. I mean, a TSUNAMI? No way!! But then that footage started showing up on TV, and then the alert sirens began blaring, and then the property manager called to tell us to pack all of our things, including food and bottles of water, and to be ready to move once she found a place for us on higher ground. When do you ever expect to get THAT call? It was too surreal to be believed, and then it became horrifically believable. So we packed. And we sent emails or made phone calls to our loved ones on the mainland to let them know not to worry, we'll be safe no matter what, but we may not have electricity or running water or phone/internet service come landfall. There were talks of the airport, which sits at sea level, taking on major damage, perhaps stranding us here for some time. The "what-ifs" coupled with the footage in Japan, all of it being dissected and processed by 13 near-strangers at different degrees of "Holy crap we need to go!" or "Holy crap we need some surf boards!", some of whom had been drinking since breakfast, all of whom had to work as a team to get ourselves taken care of, it was comically chaotic and funnily frightening. But we managed to stay calm enough to get ourselves together and head out to our "shelter" (it makes the story much more dramatic if we spent the night in a "shelter" rather than a mansion, don't you think?) and then stayed glued to the news until about 90 minutes after landfall, when it seemed clear that the destruction would be minimal on our island and there was nothing more to do but get a few hours sleep. Which we did, and then once the restrictions were lifted at 8AM and we were able to make our way back to the beach houses, we all piled into our caravan and arrived to find the property manager and her groundskeeping crew of 5 already at work on cleaning up the debris. Our houses had no damage (though the house 2 doors down, which was almost rented by us, did lose their outdoor staircase). Our beach is still beautiful. And the airport is once again up and running.

Now it's time to take a siesta on the lanai to recover from my harrowing night in the shelter. (I have a hard time even writing that joking comment without feeling guilty about Japan.) In all seriousness, my tsunami non-story is made up of moments of pause, where I couldn't help but feel fortunate for the new friends I am here with and the family and friends I have scattered about the mainland, moments of appreciating how fickle fate can be, how everything can change in a flash and what is paradise today can be a disaster-zone tomorrow. I have a story to tell, while others have lost loved ones and homes and businesses. My story is nothing more than a story, and I'm thankful to be able to share it with you.

Now, go hug or call your loved ones! And send Japan all the goodness you can send, whatever that means to you.

Aloha!

Tsunami be KIDDING me!

2011-03-10T23:36:00.000-08:00

Greetings from paradise!

Today, I took a long walk on the north shore of Kaua'i. It wasn't long, not really, maybe about three-quarters of a mile each way, but the sand was thick and deep, more like tiny pebbles than sand, making the walk feel like a trip on a Stair Master. There was a strong wind blowing, and the waves were crashing on shore and on the reefs, rows of crashing blue-green waves, salt-water spray melting into bright blue sky. The shore here is littered with bits of coral reef and skeletal shells, sharp to walk on in some spots, but beautiful nonetheless. And while I have taken walks on the beach all three days of my visit, I haven't yet gone swimming. Which is shocking, being that I'm staying in a house on the beach and I've spent hours walking with my feet in the water and I LOVE to swim in the ocean! Especially when the ocean is clear as crystal and warm to boot! But, truth be told, it's a little scary, all those waves crashing on all those reefs. I'm not used to having to dodge razor-sharp coral while diving under quick and wicked waves.

And now, it looks like I may have to get in a car to avoid those waves.

Not to sound too dramatic, but watching the live pictures from Japan of the tsunami they are now experiencing, and being told by the property manager we should pack up our things while they look for higher ground for all of us, well, it feels kind of dramatic here. So, I have to go pack up my things, just in case. And I promise, if any tsunami makes its way to Hawai'i, I will be fine, though I may be without a shower for a few days. But hopefully, all will be well in Hawai'i. And we should all send our good wishes to the people of Japan.

Aloha!

From Agita to Aloha

2011-03-09T12:33:00.000-08:00

I'm having a hard time getting started with this post. I want to fill you in on the past few weeks, which have seen me moving to a new apartment and shopping for furniture to fill said apartment and flying Mom out to Seattle to help with said shopping and working on some big auditions and finishing my assistant teaching gig and…a lot has happened. And my new apartment is awesome. I want to tell you all about it. I want to fill you in on all the details of Mom's visit and the fabulous reading chair she helped me pick out. I want to tell you about the auditions and the callbacks and the preparations for upcoming auditions. I really do want to share it all with you.

But I'm having a hard time focusing on the past few weeks. Because as I write this, I am lounging on a lanai (that's "porch" for those of you who don't speak Hawaiian) and watching the green-blue waves of the Pacific crash into the shore some 100 yards from my feet. The palm trees are swaying in a cool breeze and the breeze smells of flowers and coconut. Or perhaps I'm just smelling the freshly chopped coconuts that are sitting on the table next to me. If I care to stand up and walk to the end of the lanai and look to the south, there is a waterfall pouring off of a jungle cliff, its mists mingling with the blackened sky above until they settle back into cloud cover. Every few minutes, a rooster crows (seems these islands are chock full of chickens as chickens have no natural predators here), and at some point during the day, I should get a visit from a Black Lab named Iko Iko who wears a collar saying "PLEASE DO NOT FEED". Now really, how am I supposed to be focused enough on February's furniture shopping to turn my thoughts from my present surroundings? And truthfully, I don't think you'd want me to leave paradise for even a moment, am I right? I'll be back in Seattle in a week and I will gladly give you a photo tour of our new Room with a View (just so you know, the view is similar to our last place, only bigger!) and tell you all about my developing life there. Today, however, is a perfect day to be living in the moment. Aloha from Kaua'i. And mahalo for reading.

Correction: AGITA

2011-02-16T08:08:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my Uncle Spunky and my Other Mother, I've found the correct word to describe my condition in the state of Florida:

Agita: Heartburn, acid indigestion, an upset stomach or, by extension, a general feeling of upset. The word is Italian-American slang derived from the Italian "agitare" meaning "to agitate."

Turns out, it was a word used by my Italian grandmother, and not somebody's Jewish grandmother, during the years of my youth. I knew it was out there, I just didn't know it started with an "a". "A general feeling of upset", yeah, that sounds about right.

So, now I want to know: how does one spell the word which, phonetically, looks like this:
botch-ah-guh-LOOP
Cuz that's another goodie I used to hear from the Italian side of the family, and I've used it myself over the years, not really understanding what it means, but I'm pretty sure it's what you call someone when you don't want to say "jackass" or "son of a bitch". Or, it's what you say in moments of frustration when you've got no one to blame but yourself. For example, you're in the kitchen making a big pot of gravy and you stick a spoon in the pot to get a taste and drop the spoon so it sinks to the bottom of the pot. "Aya, botchagaLOOP!"

Greetings from the State of Ogeda

2011-02-15T04:30:00.001-08:00

Florida. What a place.

We came down to visit Alex’s family, his dad and grandparents, who live somewhere north of Boca Raton. On the flight from Seattle, I began experiencing severe stomach discomfort. It continued straight through my stay. And I blame it on Florida.

What is it about Florida? The state is full of crazy people. Granted, I only visited one section of south-eastern Florida, a section where the median age is 82 years and the driving privileges of every citizen should be revoked, so I shouldn’t speak of the entire state. However, my time here has colored my view of Florida, and my continuous stomach discomfort has given me a nasty taste in my mouth which makes me want to complain about all of it, the whole damned state. So I shall. I’m sure there are many hip and happening places to be in Florida. I’ve heard tell of South Beach and the parties and the nightlife and the Don Johnson look-alikes (okay, I can’t help but connect Miami to the glory days of the ‘80’s) and bikers love to cause trouble in Daytona, and the gays love the Keys, and so forth. But for me, Florida is a state of crazy cranky octogenarians who find great pleasure in complaining about, well, everything. I say this after having had a lovely visit with the family. Alex’s grandparents are wonderful people, and I could listen to their stories for days. I am so happy that they’d like me to call them Bubbe and Zayde (I dearly miss my own grandparents, but none of them were Jewish, so this is a whole new world for me) and I look forward to visiting them again soon. I just wish they lived in New Jersey. Oh well. They spent decades in Camden, back when it was a nice place to live, rather than the place where people from Newark go to feel good about Newark (I stole that line from Jon Stewart), so they deserve to spend their golden years wherever they please. And supposedly, it’s sunny all the time in Florida. I say supposedly, because it rained for 3 days straight for me. Florida. Ugh. There were car accidents every 2 miles on the highway, and I think it’s because the people tend to forget they’re driving. I got honked at more times than I can count, and I could never figure out what I was doing wrong. I think that’s because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Four-way stop signs don’t cause most drivers to stop at all. Right turns on red are the rule, even when there are 3 lanes of traffic moving at full speed across the intersection. I saw a woman driving with her eyes closed. For real. It’s a terrifying place to be on the road, if you’re aware of your surroundings. And dining out? That’s all the people seem to do. And it’s less about the pleasure of going out or sharing a meal with friends or trying something new. It’s all about the pleasure of finding something wrong with the meal: the soup is ice-cold; the asparagus is raw; the brisket is cut like deli-meat (this complaint was given in a deli). Complaining is a state pastime. As is bingo. And chicken tic-tac-toe. (No joke: there is a dog-racing casino near Miami where customers line up to play tic-tac-toe against a live chicken. The chicken always wins.)

Florida is a trip, that’s for sure. And there are beautiful beaches and palm trees galore. I appreciate such things. But I don’t appreciate them in the rain. Next time, there will be sun. And I will come prepared with Alka-Seltzer. And Pepto. And Gas-X. And whatever else is needed to cure myself of the ills of the State of Ogeda. (NOTE: Ogeda doesn’t seem to be a word recognized by my dictionary. I know I’ve heard this word before, and it refers to some kind of stomach upset. Maybe it’s a Yiddish word, I don’t know. But in my time in Florida, this word has been held much meaning for me. And so, I shall add it to my dictionary. I will define it: Noun, a series of stomach ailments, including but not limited to cramping, gas, nausea, indigestion, diarrhea, which is brought upon not by consumption or virus, but by a feeling of aging before one’s time. Oy vey.)

FREE BEER!!!

2011-02-07T08:44:00.000-08:00

I've got a fridge full of beer. And salami. And holy crap, the cream cheese. Come raid my fridge!

The Super Bowl is over. And it was pretty super, in my less-than-humble opinion. Green Bay came out strong in the first half, making it look like there was a possibility of a blow-out. But Pittsburgh pulled it together and made it a game. And lost in the end, which is what I was hoping for. (I give my condolences to my Steelers Nation brothers, especially my brother Dennis, who runs a Steelers bar, and was certainly serving up Roethlis-burgers to a lot of sad faces last night. But hey, you people had a good season, and you've had two trophies this decade, so my sympathies only extend so far.)

Our gathering ended up dividing into two camps: Green Bay fans in the living room (or "The Future") and Steelers fans in Alex's office (or "The Past"). It was a bit of a time-warp in our apartment yesterday, as it seems the Comcast cable service which Alex's tv is hooked up to is on a 10-second delay. The tv in the living room is hooked up to good olde-fashioned rabbit ears, and while it glitched out from time to time, it still provided a pretty clear picture, 10 seconds ahead of the digital cable. Alex worked very hard to try to eliminate this time delay, purchasing a DVR online to hook up to and pause The Future tv, so we'd all be living in the same time zone. Alas, the DVR requires a phone line, which we don't have. So, Alex then purchased a Magic Jack to hook up to our laptop to hook up to the DVR to hook up to The Future tv. But the Magic Jack proved less than magical. Customer Service could do nothing to help. So, the Steelers fans in The Past were hearing the cheers or the groans from the Green Bay fans in The Future, trying to decipher the degree of the cheering (was that a first down? a touchdown?)or groaning (was that a sack? a fumble?) while the Green Bay fans were treated to a 10-second delayed reaction to whatever play caused the cheering or groaning. It actually added an extra element of fun. The two camps were cordial with one another, not antagonistic or spiteful, but as a Green Bay fan, any good play made by my chosen team was made extra-good by hearing the defeat from the back room. All in all, a good time.

And I must say, I loved the Half-time Show. I mean it! I know there are a lot of people out there saying it was awful, but I enjoyed it so much, I watched it twice. Seriously. I'm pretty sure that if I had been at that stadium, I would have been moved to tears. Not that it takes much to move me to tears. But that show was like the biggest Broadway spectacle ever! The silly costumes, the light displays, the cheesy references to nostalgic moments from our youth (Slash? for real? and that song from "Dirty Dancing"? Oh no, they didn't!), I found it Super Terrific! I think that such a show can only translate so well on tv, and I know that this event is reaching millions more on tv than the 100,000 fans at the stadium. But it translated just fine for me and the people watching from The Past. (The Future was less enthusiastic. In fact, phrases such as "worst halftime show ever" and "you've got to be kidding me" were making their way into The Past. I guess in The Future they prefer halftime performances by old-man-bands performing their time-tested hits of yesteryear, the acts of choice since the horror of Nipplegate. Which is fine, I mean, Springsteen totally rocked 2 years ago, especially when he did that stage-slide that had his crotch slamming into the camera. But The Who? last year...oh no.) And clearly, the people in the stadium loved it. The people performing (including the thousands of dancers decked out in Saran Wrap and Christmas lights) were having a mighty good time. And I love to see performers enjoying themselves. So, I give it a thumbs up. Then again, I wanted to buy almost every product advertised yesterday, I was entirely susceptible to their not-so-tricky schemes which made cars seem super-cool and Doritos seem...well, actually, that Doritos ad, where the guy is licking Dorito-cheez off of another guy's fingers, it was kinda gross. I need no Doritos today, thank you very much. Regardless, I was rather exhausted yesterday from stuffing all that cream cheese into all those mushrooms, so I was giddy by the time the Black Eyed Peas descended onto the stage. Perhaps if I was less tired, my sense of cynicism would have been more intact and I would have found myself offended by the whole spectacle. I am glad for the exhaustion.

And now, now I've got a fridge full of beer. Seems everyone who came over brought beer, and no one drank very much of it, and now it's all hanging out in my fridge. And on my balcony. (No more room in the fridge.) It's hanging out right next to the salami and pepperoni that are left over. I stopped eating salami around the same time I stopped drinking beer. My fridge, which would look like the best Christmas morning for some people, is looking like a gag gift to me. There's so much goodness in there, and I can use none of it. Well, I guess I do eat cream cheese, but I don't need 2 pounds of it. So, who wants to come raid my fridge?

Seriously, if you are in the Seattle area and want some free beer, come to my place! You can take it all. I've got Stella, Alaska, Fat Tire, PBR. Host a party, or just make your roommates happy. I'll throw in a pound of salami (unless you're a vegetarian, in which case, I've got a big ol' tub of hummus with your name on it!) No one left my home hungry yesterday, and no one left empty-handed (I forced food on people to the extent where they may fear a return visit). Still, I've got more food here than Alex and I can possibly eat, even with the sickest case of the munchies. And we're heading to Florida on Wednesday, so it's really of no use to us. Please, I beg you, come raid my fridge. I'm far too Irish to consider throwing out all that beer, and we're moving to a new apartment next week. That beer ain't moving with us.