Somewhere Over the Mason-Dixon Line

Wake me for the miracle...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 04:41:00 +0000

I attended a benefit concert tonight for the incredible Transport Group, the theatre company here that recently did See Rock City And Other Destinations (see below, AMAZING music and pretty great show all around, my brilliant voice teacher Sally Wilfert is the actress singing the song with her grandfather in the wheelchair).
They are also reviving Michael John LaChiusa's Hello Again this Spring.

The benefit was a tribute to LaChiusa and spanned much of his best-known work, though one point that the hilarious hostess Mary Testa kept making was that he is incredibly prolific. Entitled a "Boys' Night Out," performers included some of the best voices I've heard on one stage in the same night--Marc Kudisch, Malcolm Gets, Max Von Essen, Stephen Pasquale, Alexander Gemignani...and the list goes on. Their performances, though, weren't even the point of this blog. YES, the concert was incredible. YES, the performances were breathtaking (especially, I must add, from Marc Kudisch. LaChiusa pointed out that he wrote several characters forthe man, and it showed. His voice is ridiculous--range, musicality, power, you name it, and it seems LaChiusa is really the perfect man for writing something [many things] to showcase it.), but it was the material itself that left me brokenhearted at the end of the concert.

Rich and I were walking out and we saw a friend of mine from Cincinnati who's directing up here now. He had directed LaChiusa's See What I Wanna See a few years back, and I said "you know, I think I would kill a child to do that show."*

*not really.

**no, I might.

I won't go into a book report on See What..., but suffice to say it's a piece that simply rips you in half, I would imagine as a performer, and certainly as an audience member or listener/reader. In not so many words, it's what I wish I was doing more than anything. Now, of course, pieces like this one don't come along that often, and I'm nobody in the grand scheme of my business, so it's totally ridiculous for me to act like I could even come close to picking and choosing what I was doing, but this play is everything that I love about theatre, and it's the kind of theatre that charges, recharges, changes minds, changes hearts. Maybe someday. I know I have to focus on the positive aspects in everything I'm doing, no matter what it is, and not get lost in the 16-bar cuts, the running between one studio (where I throw on my gray dress and boots and give 'em red-headed earthy belter) to the other, several blocks away (to put on the bright blue dress and pink shoes to give 'em soprano ingenue), and the closest thing to a full production on my horizon that happens to end in "A Mousical!"

I talked with my grad school classmates who are THANKFULLY in the city now just last night on how in the world we can stay positive and motivated. I think we know that sticking together is going to be key, and discussion has started of something of a theatrical "book club" of sorts where we meet up, have a potluck, read monologues, read through a play, sing through songs in a specific show, discuss it, whatever it takes to get back into feeling like ARTISTS in some small way.

LaChiusa said it himself in the aforementioned See What I Wanna See, through the character of an Atheist grandmother, when she sings:

There will be a miracle
Stick around and see
You need patience for a miracle
Timing is the key

Somewhere in the middle of the Mousicals and the ECCs there will be some truly inspiring and artistically fulfilling work, I know it. I'm doubtlessly one of the "hungry souls" the song mentions. In the meantime I'd better get my food for tomorrow packed, along with my black shorts and tall black open-toed heels. Ragtime/Rocky Horror EPA in the morning...wake up ETA, 5AM.

She IS Endlessly Benevolent, All-Powerful, and Beloved by a Multitude of Nations...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 02:47:00 +0000

On my way back to the dance studio tonight from babysitting on the Upper West Side, I had one of those experiences that I've come to realize is typical to New York City, and unheard of nearly anywhere else.

A man got on the downtown 2 train at 96th Street, and spoke, in full, clear voice, making my fellow commuters and I shift nervously as we realized he wasn't addressing anyone in particular:

"Jesus is coming! He told me to tell you. I am his servant, I only do what he say. If I am making love with my wife, and my master say stop, I stop. I do not argue with Jesus. (author's note: this is verbatim; I assure you, I started composing a note on my phone immediately once he said the former line.)

"Jesus, why you not hurt me? He say, if you go to Oprah Winfrey's house, and her dog jump on you and start licking your lips, you do not hurt that dog, yes? American people are like that. They are smart and they know not hurt you. I am God's dog. Jesus is Oprah. I am licking your lips right now. I would not hurt oprah winfrey's dog because I love oprah! I! LOVE! OPRAH!!!"

Then he exited the train. I'm pretty sure the sermon was intended to conclude with something about Jesus, but it didn't bother me. I knew just how appropriate it was to deify Oprah.

When we were in Chicago on the Annie tour last year, one of the little girls, the littlest "orphan," in fact, had a big fancy LA agent for a Dad. This meant that each of the adults in the cast, orchestra, crew, and Orphan Parents got a ticket to the Oprah show if they wanted one. It was a huge coup; I'd heard about people booking trips to Chicago a year in advance just because it was the soonest they could get show tickets.

My group of girlfriends signed up, and our guy friends in the orchestra reluctantly added their names, grumbling things like, "Only if I get a car," and "We'd better get some kick-ass free stuff for this." We prepared our outfits in accordance with the dress code (bright solid colors; they look best on camera), and we all agreed to be at Harpo Studios at 7:00 AM, which meant leaving our downtown hotel at a little before 6. We'd had plenty of bus calls earlier than that, it would be no problem.

Then, at dinner, our "Rooster," Chicago native Zander announced that all his "boys," 5 or 6 of his friends he grew up with from Hebrew school on, were going to take us out in Wicker Park that night after the show. "Oh sure," we said in the dressing room, "sounds like fun, no big deal, we'll get dressed up, they'll show us their favorite place, we'll have a couple of drinks, then come home and rest up for our brush with greatness in the morning."

A converted gas station with amazing small plate nachos and samples of many flavored tequilas later, we should've headed back to the hotel. But oh no, there was the ridiculous, swanky speakeasy across the street that we simply couldn't miss. I don't even know what was in those cocktails, I merely knew that they were only available by the $98 carafe. The gawky young men making fun of one another's noses and reminiscing about one another's Bar mitzvahs insisted, and insisted on paying, so the next thing I knew, it was 3:30, we had gotten a free round of rye shots (I do remember exclaiming, "Rye?!? Isn't that what hillbillies drink when the moonshine runs out?") because Lynn, our "Miss Hannigan," had claimed to have cut her lip on a chipped shot glass, and my girls and my friend Sean (who refused to let the girls get in a cab on our own that late) were all headed home, with Jillian screaming at the driver, "Sir! Sir! I am going to climb up there and piss all over you if you don't drive faster! Seriously! SIR! I will give you the biggest #%*&ing tip of your life if you get us back as fast as you can!" (Jill was always the delicate flower of the group. Ironically enough, she's the one from the cast who didn't drink.)

The short of it was this: we arrived home and had to wake up in 3 hours. When the alarms went off, the three of us started stumbling around, and were horrified at what we saw in the bathroom mirror. We weren't even walking straight, much less camera-ready. We started apologizing aloud, to Oprah herself: "Oh no, Oprah!" "I'm so embarrassed!" "This is not in accordance with my spirit!" "We're sorry, Oprah!" These phrases, or a general beseeching of forgiveness from the Almighty Oprah became a running joke when anyone was struggling to pull themselves together for any reason. I, for one, had no more nights (or mornings) like that one for the rest of tour.

On that fateful morning, by the time we got through all the crowd warm-ups. the anonymous surveys asking us if we were satisfied with the amount of sex in our marriage, and the bovine-like herding process of taking our seats, our eyes were clear, our bright sweaters and dresses were straight, and we miraculously performed an impromptu "Tomorrow" in four-part harmony when the pre-show warmup lady announced we were in the audience. Rosie O'Donnell was the guest that day, and we good musical theatre actors would NOT disappoint her.

As others beside me on the train shook their heads, laughed, or adjusted their earbuds to their Ipods, I was lost in grateful reflections, thankful that Oprah's dog wasn't there with us in Chicago a year ago. He wouldn't have wanted to lick ANY of our lips that morning. They probably still tasted like rye.

Re-inspired

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 02:17:00 +0000

In honor of making a concerted effort to jump 3-inch heel shoed into auditioning (enough so that in the last couple of weeks I've been getting an average of 4-5 hours of sleep a night, coming home from a full day of auditions, dance class and babysitting to work another 2 hours or so on getting things together for the next day's auditons, then getting up at 6 to shower, do my hair, warm up, etc. etc. etc.), I'll share a few things that remind me why I came up to this crazy city to begin with...not all-time big deal clips here, but running across them in other research has made me stop and say "yes, this is what I want to do. This is what I'm supposed to be doing. This is why I'm here, and why I'm at Pearl at 8AM to sign up for an EPA slot early enough to get in and out before my first dance class, maybe, just maybe leaving enough time to grab a salad that I'll eat on the Uptown 1 train on the way to babysitting this afternoon."

Norbert Leo Butz singing from Parade, just from a concert, but oh the joyous occasion that would be him playing this role in a full production...

A current NYU student singing a gorgeous rendition of "Dividing Day" from The Light in the Piazza

Laura Benanti, maybe my ultimate career shero...incredible in straight plays and musicals alike...and not to mention girlfriend is ridiculously gorgeous just sitting in a chair singing "Little Lamb." I mean, damn.

Rich and I just saw good old NC homegirl Lauren Kennedy in [title of show] at George St. Playhouse last weekend. This is the kind of song I've love to sing all the time, though I'm learning it's exactly the opposite of what I should probably be doing in auditions. I give them 16 bars of "Look What Happened to Mabel" in the morning, but I may sing this one 3 or 4 times in my room at night.

And the newest addition to my audition book, unanimously agreed upon by all of my teachers and coaches...sure it's funny, but...well, we'll see how funny it is the first time I really try it in an audition room. I already have a tendency to give the accompanist my tempo a hair fast when I get nervous...

Heartbreak

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 22:44:00 +0000

To risk an obvious reference to Dave Chappelle as Rick James, heartbreak is a powerful thing. You can feel it coming sometimes, or it hits you from behind when you feel like you've finally gotten over the crest of a really hard time and are running freely down the hill. It comes in many forms--It could be the end of a relationship that was so happy for so long, you'd thought you'd seen your future defined in it. It could be the completely horrible timing of a new friendship that seemed to show an inexplicable amount of potential but halts as quickly as it started. It could be an immediate reckoning with the mortality of your father, which shockingly comes alongside the simultaneous discovery of the mortality of a man who you love as much as if he *were* your own father.

How do you deal with it? I'm not sure of the best method, but I've certainly tried several in the last few months. Spending hours under blankets with the dog. Spending time with your best friends. Spending time getting lost in crowds of strangers. Spending time with near strangers as if they were your best friends, because they don't recognize the look on your face that says "I'm not sure if I can really handle all this." Self-destructive activities of physical, emotional, and even psychological natures, not even on extreme levels, just doing things that might take your mind off of what you can't honestly deny is consuming it 24 hours a day. Music. Louder music than you generally prefer, harsher chords and lyrics, angrier voices than your close friends would ever put on an ipod playlist for you. Singing--songs that range from completely overindulgent and maudlin to funny, stupid, or just plain terrible (I'm lookin' at you, Taylor Swift.). Running--without the GPS watch, without the "training playlist," just running until you can't run anymore. Luckily for me, I've been blessed with two little girls I babysit who love to have "dance parties" in the den. Somehow, spinning a 6-year-old around endlessly to Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA" has magical healing properties.

My 30th year started out amazingly, but frankly, this patch is not an easy one. So many unexpected things all at once, it's hard on the (aging :)) heart. I'm going to think on it further, hopefully I'll have some insight in the end, but for now, I'm gonna go hug Louis one more time and head up the hill in my running shoes. GPS watch remains uncharged...all the better. Noisy indie rock that Matthew would swear I was going to hate? It may be first on the playlist tonight. Fish and chips for dinner, too. Again with the self-destructive physical choices...if I eat vinegar on the fries, it's at least less sugar than ketchup, right?

To the six or so people who actually read this, thanks for the love you're cramming into all the cracks right now. It means a lot, more than I have been able to show recently. If you pray, pray for Daddy, Ed, Mama, and the Sterns. They need it a whole lot more than I do right now. I've got y'all, Glen Hansard, the PNC Bank earwarmer from last year's Thanksgiving 10K, and British pub food to keep me going, at least for now.

Truly blessed, and duely grateful

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 13:55:00 +0000

So it's here. The biggest birthday yet. Do I have mixed feelings? Excitement? Anxiety? Terror? Yep. But somewhere in that jumble is gratitude. Aside from instantly gaining independent wealth that allows me to take my friends on a European vacation, I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday. I'll be performing two shows of The Fantasticks and five of my very best friends are coming in from all over the country.

We could be our own sitcom, this motley crew...or at least a weird reality show that would never be dramatic enough for today's standards. You've got the soulful and fiercely independent thinking actress and personal-emo-blogger from Raleigh, NC who grew up with a Whoopi Goldberg complex and never fails to make anyone laugh at a moment's notice. There's the Carolina girl who's become a DC-based jet-setter, working at the Pentagon, always in gorgeous dresses and suits with fabulous shoes, the center of a fight between British officers at embassy dinners--who will get to buy her that next drink? The reluctant-to-admit-it Cincy native, a George Washington graduate currently pursuing her PhD in Physiology at the University of Cincinnati, struggling to assert herself among the scientists in her lab without being discounted for being the pretty chick in the room (She's serious! She's also brilliant! Look at those GLASSES!). Don't forget the sound and light designer and technician who recently relocated back to her Nashville home--the girl who hates wearing dresses almost upon penalty of death, but has way cuter belts than you'd ever have and loves romantic movies almost as much as she loves her dog. Don't forget the male among the weekend's ranks--my roommate in the city, the tattooed and smirking copy writer for Urban Outfitters who's studying sketch comedy at Upright Citizen's Brigade and wondering exactly where that Master's degree in Religion is gonna fit in.

Somewhere in there is me, the girl at the end of her 20's, the once-youth ministry director, the again-vegetarian, the as-of-late distance runner, and the now-and-into-the-future (often musical-) theatre actress who'd rather walk her dog 4 miles, take a yoga class and cook an organic vegetable-based dinner and talk and laugh with the friends she made it for than just about anything else.

We're all here in Cincinnati this weekend, the dear loves of my life are traveling hundreds of miles to see me in my first Equity lead at a major regional theatre, and to celebrate my life with me. There will be waffles at Findlay Market, they're all coming to the matinee tomorrow and the "actor meal" between shows, a party of some sort happens tomorrow night, there's "BFF brunch" on Sunday, and I believe we're concluding it all with Flight of the Conchords, 30 Rock, and probably too many snacks at my apartment after the two shows on Sunday. Not such a bad way to leave your 20's. I make light of these folks by giving bite-sized character descriptions of them, but see, the gorgeous and hilarious NC-based actress is always available at the other end of my phone or facebook at all hours of the night, no matter where we are in the world. The jet-setter and I are sometimes closer than family, we've been dear friends since we were in elementary school, I haven't laughed more with anyone in my life, and no one appreciates a Lemon Bar like she does. The PhD student seems like half of my soul living in another person--no one else gets the importance of a good beard, a soulful singer songwriter with a guitar, and an endless coffee and cookies session more than this girl. Technician-Girlfriend screams with me when I need it, appreciates what's truly ridiculous in the world around us, and knows that loving your dog an insane amount isn't. The writer-roommate is one of the next-to-the-last-true-romantics out there, and his cynical jokes (including the fist-bumping dirty ones), John Cusack delivery, and habit of feigning that he's void of emotion just make me (and all of his female friends, I'd wager) love him more. I couldn't be more thankful that they'll all be here in one place at the same time. I don't want anything else for my birthday.

And who needs to go on an expensive vacation, anyway, have you HAD those waffles?

No matter where I go, all over the country...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 04:01:00 +0000

There's always a middle aged man in yoga class who grunts and groans in a totally unnecessary manner. If it's Ashtanga, fine. It's tough to breathe, the poses can be difficult, and nearly any yoga teacher will encourage "releasing some sound" here and there. But this class was called "Mindfulness Yoga," which featured literally 5 minutes of half sun salutations (not a single downward facing dog), and the rest of the hour was restorative poses, lying down surrounded by bolsters, sandbags, blankets and other comfy props, and over half an hour of meditation and Yoga Nidra, which translates to Yogic Sleep! Sir, it's awkward enough when the room is full of young girls in Lululemon pants and you're making primal, carnal noises, but most everyone in that class was a 50+ housewife convincing herself that she was fighting her stress and working out by lying down for 45 minutes.

Control yourself, Mister, some of us are trying to pay $14.00 to "walk in" to Sleep Class here!

**please note: actual middle-aged yo-groaner (I have just coined this phrase, feel free to use it) NEVER looks like this guy. He's usually much less Anderson Cooper, much more Milton.

Learning About Endurance

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 00:53:00 +0000

Today, I completed my first half-marathon, in Raleigh, of all places. I moved away from Raleigh when I went to work at Papermill, and I started graduate school immediately afterward, so I haven't been back for more than a day or two at a time since 2005.

When I started running this year, and somewhere along the way decided I could do a Spring half-marathon (actually, I remember, I decided in Atlanta, I was sitting on the most incredible bed of the entire tour at the Georgian Terrace), and in searching what half-marathons were happening before I'd leave for Cincinnati, I realized this one occurred right around the time I was coming home for a visit. The Raleigh Rocks Half Marathon boasted Bank of America sponsorship and a terribly lax website, whose only updates since January were the ever-growing list of musical groups who would be performing along the course--they included three or four bands made up of kids under 17, and a single bagpiper in a kilt at Mile 9. Always an advocate for efficiency, I registered, though not sure if I would really be able to train myself from trial and error practice, the advice of good runner friends, and whatever seemingly most legit info I found online. Turned out, it wasn't the running I wouldn't have properly prepared for.

During my seven years in Raleigh (1998-2005), a whole lot happened. I went through four years of college, was one of sixty lucky participants in an amazing academic scholars hip program, met scads of life-changing friends, started out as Pre-Vet in Animal Science, changed my major to Biology, exited Pre-Vet, changed my major again to The atre, added Mass Media as a second major, added Vocal Performance as a minor, met a guy I wasn't expecting and married him, worked as a legal assistant, a bank teller, a Barista, a babysitter, a paid soloist for a church, a catering waitress, a clown/costume shop assistant, a costume mistress at my own theatre, eventually an actress (yes, paid) for my school's summer stock, and eventually the head of youth ministry for two different churches, decided to go to graduate school in theatre, was hit by a car in what could've been a life-threatening accident, and said marriage ended.

Of course, it occurred to me that running through the city where all of this life happened would bring back some memories, but I was surprised to see so much in front of me as I passed the landmarks.

Since people wanted to know how the run went, let me break it down for you:

Mile 1 took us out of downtown, away from the BB&T building that housed my legal assistant job, away from City Market, where REP and Vic's Cafe live, all those great plays that inspired even greater discussions with friends, many of which occurred over garlic knots and cheese slices at Vic's, when the creepy short waiter wasn't hitting on me. We made our way onto Hillsborough Street, NC State's main drag. I passed Snoopy's, the drive-in joint where I used to cheat on my vegetarianism when I'd had an impossibly terrible day and would buy a hot dog. Then Boylan Ave., which made me think of my Annie cast, and I decided that mile was for Liz and Emily Rudolph, who said I'd inspired them to eat better and exercise.

There was the IHOP, where my lighting design class took a break from our midterm and final design all-nighters for way-too-expensive pancakes at 3am. The YMCA we joined in 2004 to save money, where I took yoga and pilates classes with my friend from the law firm, Amy, sometimes even her husband and mine, and always the old lady who couldn't help queefing when she rolled back down from plow pose. Seriously. Every. Time.

I ran by the Velvet Cloak Inn, where my mom ordered me a huge plate of waffles the morning of my final Park Scholarship interview, and I think I was able to eat about three bites of them, I was so nervous. There was the historic NC State Belltower, the symbol of our university in all our logos. The corner where that awesome homemade ice cream shop is sadly no longer located, Maiden Lane, where my roommate's and my dear friend Kevin lived...there were many Kevins freshman and sophomore year, but this was the Kevin who was a 6'2 rock-climbing vegetarian, who brought me gelatin-free gummy bears from Germany, made me my first tofu pot pie, and would curl up in the fetal position when any girl mentioned her period.

The second mile kept me plugging up the street (at a 9:45 mile pace, taking it purposefully easy in order not to blow my energy, thank you David Conrad, Lauren Haar, and Cara Bonewitz) and passed the Breugger's Bagels and Planet Smoothie that fueled so many school days and late Sunday mornings after cast parties/before the next rehearsal I couldn't even count if I wanted to. My mom had brought me a smoothie from there the day after my accident, too. There was Caldwell Hall, where I took Literature of the Holocaust, my favorite class in college, taught by my favorite teacher in college. On the other side of the street was El Rodeo, our dorm suite's cheap beloved Mexican restaurant that we called "The Rodeo," partly because that's what it meant, but mostly because of what would go on in your large intestine after eating there. (The painting to the left has nothing to actually do with El Rodeo except, I guess, being a cheap Mexican stereotype, but it came up when I did a google image search for the restaurant, and how could I pass it up?)

The third mile approached and passed Clark Avenue, where David's apartment was when we started seeing each other, the same one where I went looking for him when he hadn't come home for days a few years later. There went Two Guys, where we held endless Park dinners. I laughed as I passed Sir Speedy, the copy shop that held the monopoly of course packets for State--I was just talking with Josh about it in New Haven. You had to buy your course packets there, often 25 pages of copies of worksheets, syllabi, and the like, but you still had to pay $37 for them and they were required for class. Ah yes, the tattoo parlor where I got my belly button pierced shortly after my 19th birthday while dating the frat boy. (Ah, youth.) The Kinkos where I made several last minute expensive copies of my headshot for auditions for local theatres is now a FedEx Office, but Man Mur, famous for it's cheap haircut--always the same, no matter what the dudes ask for, is still holding strong. The cobbler shop that replaced two pairs of soles of my Birkenstocks is still there, too; I was happy to see it.

Mile 4 took us down and around Gorman Street, past the gas station where I filled up for endless trips to Greensboro and filled the front tire of my Subaru with air about six times before realizing there was a nail in it. I remembered the many Applebees "crack" brownies and appetizers Jackie, Byron, Ryan, and others split after University Theatre shows, and smiled thinking about Anna's plan to marry a student from China as I passed the E.S. King Village--it was married student housing on campus, pretty decent apartments at dorm cost, and preference was given to students who'd come in from other countries.

Mile 5 spanned the rest of Hillsborough Sreet up to Blue Ridge Road. I slowed down to make sure that Edible Art was still there. Best cake of my life--vanilla cake with buttercream icing--I knew we couldn't afford it for our wedding, but it didn't stop us from splitting single slices of it after shows or for celebrations. The sign was still there; I almost wished it hadn't been once I'd seen it. It wasn't an easy sight to see. Good for another laugh, though, was Beansprout Cafe, holding strong. It was the "good" Chinese place until one of us in the dorm suite got food poisoning. We didn't eat much Chinese food anywhere after that. I looked to my right and we were passing University Club, where our scholarship group hosted and schmoozed with several university presidents and various other dignitaries. The cows were still there in the pasture at the vet school, at the bottom of the hill whose crest held the barn where I castrated a goat in Animal Science class.

We got to Mile 6, and I admit, my knees were hurting a little. I pulled out my mantra (it's a little silly, if you really want to know it, you can ask me), and that plus the band of middle schoolers playing adorable simple rock music helped me up the hill to Blue Ridge Rd. I decided the next mile was for Jackie, since I felt like I was running to her old apartment off Trinity Rd., and before I knew it, I'd passed the NC State Fairgrounds, where I remembered very well eating my way through the 2003 State Fair with Clark, my fellow intern at White Memorial.

Miles 7 and 8 took us into the Sculpture Garden at the NC Museum of Art, a beautiful trail where David and I walked our dog Sarah whenever the weather was good. The hills through that trail were no joke, but I remembered my friend Jeffrey's cries of "sonofabitch!" whenever we'd come up a hill while running on tour, so quietly to myself, I said "sonofabitch!" when I needed it, and I never had to walk a hill. I kept rounding corners, and the hills kept rolling, but just when I'd think I was going to have to walk, I found the hill was done.

Mile 9 looped back around Meredith College and back through the neighborhood that had brought us to Gorman the first time. By that time, I understood how important race volunteers really are. Every time someone was standing along the road clapping and calling out "keep going! only x miles left! You're doing great!" it made a huge difference.

My mom was standing in a clearing at Mile 10 (the farthest I'd run before the race), jumping up and down and waving. I cried a little, I'm not ashamed to admit it (not like it was the first time on this run, anyway). I was so glad she was there, and I knew she'd probably been driving around for a while, trying to find a place where she could see me along the way. I yelled out something to the effect of "Mama! Heyyyyyy! I'm OK! I'm actually above my pace! I'll see you again in a little while! Aaaah!" It made me forget about my ankles that were sore in all the places that have flared up in the years since the car accident, and I realized my pace had gone down to 8:40. (Note to self: next race, bring a larger cheering section. :) )

The rest of the race retraced our steps back to the starting line, and it seemed all-too-appropriate that "Revelation" from Passing Strange played just as I ran by the former location of Christ our Comfort Church, my first praise team singer job. Immediately after that was Counting Crows' "Einstein on the Beach," which always reminded me of Picasso at the Lapin Agile, the show David and I met doing. It occurred to me that I'd been under pace for I thought just about every mile, but I hadn't paid much attention or been able to remember my totals, I just knew that I was coming in earlier than I expected. I remembered reading one of my friend Lou's Runner's World magazines on tour, where an elite marathoner from Raleigh, of all places, had contributed some drills for picking up the pace at the end of your race. I had done those drills in my own training, and I was so amazed to be almost done, I didn't notice at first that I actually felt just fine. So I ran. I mean, I was already running, but I really ran. The last mile, faster and faster, and I sprinted across the finish line. My Garmin watch read 2:03:55, and 13.18 miles...I must've hit "start" before I actually crossed the foot pad to start the race, but that averaged out to 9:24 mile pace, which was faster than I'd ever done my long runs in training, not to mention this was the first time I actually ran 13 miles at once.

Much thanks to my Ipod's Workout Mix on shuffle, and thank goodness the Raleigh Rocks Half Marathon is ghetto enough to allow ipods, the miles flew by with the addition of poignant songs (yes, I even run to folky music) that reminded me of so many people who were in various states across the country but thinking about my race this morning. Here's what played, if you're curious.

REM: Horse to Water
Swell Season (Glen Hansard): Leave
Sara Barailles: Gravity
Josh Ritter: Kathleen (Live)
Sara Barailles: Between the Lines
Josh Ritter: Good Man
Passing Strange Soundtrack (Stew & co): Keys (It's Alright)
Sarah Mac Band: Open Fire
Great Big Sea: Donkey Riding
Ray LaMontagne: You Are the Best Thing
Counting Crows: You Can't Count on Me
Swell Season: You Ain't Goin' Nowhere (Dylan cover)
Patti Griffin: Poor Man's House
Jason Mraz: Butterfly
Alanis Morissette: Underneath
Bruce Springsteen with the Sessions Band: Eyes on the Prize
Alanis Morissette: Versions of Violence
Alanis Morissette: Giggling Again for No Reason
Bruce Springsteen with the Sessions Band: This Little Light of Mine
Elisa: Dancing
Swell Season: Into the Mystic (Van Morrison cover)
Jay-Z/Alicia Keys: Empire State of Mind
Iron & Wine: Boy With a Coin
Jamie Lidell: Wait for Me
Patty Griffin: Rowing Song
Swell Season: When Your Mind's Made Up
Passing Strange Soundtrack: Church Blues Revelation/Freight Train
Counting Crows: Einstein on the Beach (For an Eggman)
In the Heights Soundtrack: 96,000
Josh Ritter: Harrisburg (Live)
Dixie Chicks: Not Ready to Make Nice

It seems a little cheesy, but the race itself was symbolic of my own journey away from Raleigh and getting on with my life after I left. I took things slowly at the start, taking the advice of loved ones, and plodded along steadily until I found my own footing. Just when I'd passed the distance with which I felt comfortable, I saw my loved ones there, knew they'd really been there all along, no matter where I was or if they couldn't find me, and it helped me to speed up and really be on my own. Who knew? In the end, I can honestly say the race was a lot easier than I expected, I did an awful lot better than I thought I ever could, and I would never have guessed that in the very town where I thought I'd never breathe again, in the physical, emotional, and psychological senses, I actually breathed steadily through 13.1 miles, and really ran across the finish line.

City #2--Burlington, VT

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 06:12:00 +0000

loooooooooooooong travel day today. We left Dayton at 11:30AM, took a bus to Columbus (where other castmates complained that Juliette and I, the two smallest people in the cast other than the ACTUAL children, had more leg room than anyone else on the bus for some odd reason), flew to Baltimore, then Albany...then another 3 hour bus to Vermont. We got here and it was really cold, but the Sheraton is lovely! Huge fireplace in the lobby, great big beds, and even though there are snowflakes outside, it's nice and warm in here.

We also got our tour bus tonight. Wifi, outlets, really the lap of luxury, especially in comparison to last year's tour, from what they tell us.

7:00 show tomorrow night, then we'll depart at 6:00AM the next day for Easton, PA...then Thursday is our first "golden day" (day completely off, no travel or shows), and a group of us are renting a van and DRIVING BACK TO THE CITY!!! Can't wait to see my boys! :)

So it begins...

Annie Tour: City #1--Dayton, Ohio

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 04:47:00 +0000

It should go without saying to anyone who reads this (as you'd already know this about me) that I was pretty familiar with our first city...it's only about an hour away from my latest (previous to NYC, anyway) home of Cincinnati, I'd worked promotions here, dropped off files here at the awful legal job last year, and even attempted a few social situations in this city...which, by the way, were bad ideas every time.

The best part about being here was that I got to spend my Thanksgiving (and last Saturday, and tonight for dinner) with Cincinnati friends--Lauren, Dave Powell, TJ, Mary, Adam, and Paul Lieber. The short rundown of this week as far as Cincinnati goes: Last weekend was the much-beloved waffles (and the best whole grain bread of my life...I'm so visiting that hippie bearded man every week when I'm back in town this Spring) at Findlay Market, some brief tour preparatory shopping with Lauren, Dewey's with the crew, John Doyle-directed and Sarah Ruhl-translated "The Three Sisters" at the Cincy Playhouse after a couple of needed glasses of Riesling at the Mount Adams wine bar, sang at Knox on Sunday morning and had lovely coffee and muffins with those friends at Awakenings, and lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings with Lauren, Dave Powell, and TJ and his friends.

Thursday was my very first race, the 100th Annual Cincinnati Thanksgiving 10K. I have really gotten into running, and am looking forward to my next goal--the Flying Pig Relay back in Cincy in May...I'm trying to get together as many Cincinnati theatre folks to join in, run a leg of the race (only 6 miles, I promise it's easier than it looks) and raise money for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Lauren and I cooked an amazing meal for the two of us, Matthew, and Lauren's friend Son, and TJ joined us for dessert. Tonight I got to go back for dinner, and Lauren and Paul and I feasted on nearly intolerable spice levels at Ambar. Man, I miss that place. One of my favorite Thanksgiving highlights involved a beet tasting by Lauren and Matthew. A very telling visual of the results is to the right.

Fun times at 'home' were had, but it was also a work-filled week. Three other new cast members and I learned the entire show in a couple of days, before we knew it we were in costume, and we had three seemingly very successful shows here in Dayton. Tara ("T") Snyder, my friend from my grad class who lives here in Dayton, and Dave and Sue Conrad from Knox Pres in Cincinnati, came out to see the show this afternoon. It was great to see them and know that somewhere in that vast audience, someone was looking for me onstage. (Hint: if you are attempting this feat in the future, just look for the smallest maid/homeless person/Boylan sister. Easy as that.)

Tomorrow, we get on one bus to Columbus, OH, to fly to Albany, NY by the way of Baltimore, MD...then we'll get on another bus to take us to Burlington, VT. Supposedly this will be one of our worst travel days of the entire tour. Fingers crossed. I have some predictions for tour.

There will be a lot of these:

A lot of these:

...and a WHOLE lot of these.

That's it for now. Tales from the road to come...stay tuned.

Lauren Haar, this is especially for you.

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 19:58:00 +0000

Sunday night Matthew and I saw The Swell Season in Philadelphia. I was totally blown away.

I'll just let them speak for themselves.

Thank God for youtube.

Glen Hansard, Astral Weeks (classic Van Morrison tune). Incredible.

"I Have Loved You Wrong," my favorite song on the new album.

"Fallen From the Sky." Note them sitting on the ground, and Glen's hat. Yep. Adorable.

Finally, a new untitled one. Complete with audience background vocals. I very much appreciated the NPR crowd, only singing when asked.

I promise to start blogging regularly from the road. Departing LaGuardia for Cincinnati next Saturday the 21st, beginning the tour in Dayton, and on across the country from there...exciting and a little scary. Luckily I'll have lots of music and books to accompany me on the bus...any suggestions appreciated!

Flyering sucks, but at least I get free cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 23:52:00 +0000

There are many different kinds of promotions. Sometimes you are leading a party or a game at a school event. Other times you're handing out free samples of something as fast as you can until they're all gone. Others you're demonstrating something, talking about it, then again usually handing out some sort of sample or a coupon for the product.

Other times, the best times, you're handing out something for free that people would usually be glad to buy on their own, but getting it free makes it even more wonderful. The people love you; they're happy you're there, they thank you heartily, and it's like a bonus that you're actually getting paid, because you feel so appreciated by the masses for doing what you're doing.

Yesterday was one of those times. I started promoting for Insomnia Cookies, located on the NYU campus in the East Village. (50 W 8th Street, for those of you who'd like to pay the actual store a visit) Insomnia Cookies is a brilliant venture...they deliver warm, fresh-baked cookies to you (generally they're marketing to students, but if you're in their delivery range, you can be anyone. read: why don't I live in the East Village? read: because I'd gain 30 lbs.) until 3AM. Perfect for exams, post-drinking, post-other recreational, er, activities, etc. (In case you're wondering, they're no Breadsticks and Scones, but I bet they could make a killing if they were, what with all the headshops surrounding the place.)

We were one of the donor-vendors at the NYU New Student Block Party. The job was simple: pass out free cookies (there were 8 flavors available, the people could even pick which one they wanted), make sure they took a flyer and some coupons too so they could order from us in the future. Everyone loved it, I got to sample a few flavors myself, and I even got paid in cash right out of the register at the end of the easy 4-hour shift.

Side note: During the block party yesterday, Bruce Springsteen walked out of the lobby of the bookstore behind where we were stationed...I couldn't say a word, paralyzed by my #2 Greatest Celebrity Love (#1 was Glen Hansard, who only a couple of weeks ago walked by me in easy attack-hugging distance but I couldn't even bear to make eye contact...why did you have to start with the big dogs, NYC? You could've stared slightly smaller, say Adrien Brody, even Jason Schwartzman, I might've been able to mutter a broken "he-hey...I love your work." But Springsteen? SPRINGSTEEN?!? Really?)

I should've at least given him a cookie. He's had the best that life and gourmet have to offer, and a true-blue New Jersey bred American man might wave off something so ridiculous sounding as a Snickerdoodle, but he could totally bring home some of the incredible M&M brownies to Patty and his kids.

I mean look at him. He's been through a lot of pain. Chocolate chips meet a lot of emotional needs, even if you're loathe to admit it at first.

Today was a totally different story. I was stationed in Washington Square Park, "anywhere I wanted to be," to pass out flyers. Just flyers. Not even coupons at first. And in Washington Square Park today, it was a madhouse of flyering people with whom no one wanted to interact. Nondenominational Church Kids Group #1 were nice because they'd hand you a Quaker Chewy granola bar, then sneak in the flyer that invited you to join multiple cultures and Jesus on Sunday mornings. The Communists were obnoxious, slamming a flyer in your face, and as you sped away, yelling at you to come talk to them and find out why "the Revolution is NOW!" The other Nondemominational Church Kids claimed if you filled out a "spiritual survey," you could win a free Ipod. If you live in NYC or you've been here, especially in the Times Square area, you are familiar with this bottom-feeder job. People usually shove flyers in your face without any intelligible language at all, not to mention hard-selling energetic English, which is always the goal, at least when you're hired by reputable companies. Flyering pays the least of any promotional job, and you are hated. HATED.

Being a promotions person myself, I often say "no thank you" and smile at the flyer people, because I feel so badly for them. Most people will walk by you, avoid eye contact, often even put their hand up to you as if you're asking them for money, and you get responses like "Goddamnit, don't give me anything!" "Just STOP!" "F--- you." Yep. Seriously. I think the rejection rate with flyering is even worse than auditions. Even then, I can handle it--I sing my song, I learn your choreography, I read your sides, I'm not what you're looking for, fine. Maybe it's just that I'm redheaded and you wanted a blonde. Maybe I'm not skinny enough. Maybe I'm too short. That's how casting works. But you, NYU student who seems to be wandering in no hurry, bored even, can't even listen for two seconds as you walk by that I'm offering you free, delicious, warm cookies? It's not fun.

Luckily, the manager at the store drew out a map of where the NYU dorms were, and once I relocated, the crowds were friendly and loving again. "Oh, these are amazing!" "Thank you, I've ordered from them twice already this week!" "This is AWESOME, thanks, dude!"

Finally after two tough hours, I was done. They always offer me anything I want from the menu when I'm done. Sometimes a girl can really use a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich after all that rejection. I guess that's why they sell the little cookies at Ripley-Grier (Audition Studios), too.

NYC, I give you fair warning...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 01:01:00 +0000

You all know how I am about brevity...but here goes. My attempt to keep this short but to make up for lost blogging time.

Everyone wants to know "How's NYC? Do you have a job? Have you been auditioning? How's Louis? What exciting things have you seen?"

NYC is WONDERFUL! I love my apartment, love my roommates, love all the fun stuff Josh and I have gotten to do so far.

I DO have a job, I have several:
1) I'm admin assistant for Josh's dad's psychology firm in California, The Family Institutes of Richmond and Pinole. It's basically the best job I could have, it's all online, all on my own time, and they're giving me plenty of work now, so it's paying the rent!

2) I'm doing lots and lots and lots of promotions. So far I've promoted: Vitamin Water and Burger King (giving free Vitamin Water out in Spanish Harlem=a little scary. Why they sent me and my roommate Jon, the two whitest kids in the room up there when many other ethnicities were represented among the other promoters, I'll never know), Time Warner Cable at the Bryant Park Film Festival, L'Oreal Cosmetics at Sears, The Bloomberg Foundation at the Central Park Film Festival, NYC's Dept of Transportation-sponsored "Summer Streets" which encouraged residents to walk, run and bike in the streets that are usually clogged by traffic (I had a hot pink shirt, a neon orange vest, and had to stop traffic with my arms in the air), and Harrah's Casino at Mets games.

Soon, I'll be demonstrating new espresso machines made by Nestle in Sur La Table, Bloomingdales, and Williams-Sonoma, sampling the new champagne-beer Kasteel Cru at Whole Foods, handing out free cookies and coupons from Insomnia Cookies at NYU, handing out postcards for the new car-sharing service (competing with Zipcar) called Mint, and probably promoting American Honey Wild Turkey (hey, the best hourly wage is ALWAYS in the liquor promos).

I'm also trying to get the word out that there's a new dog walker in the neighborhood, but it's tough to market yourself when there are a billion other people doing the same thing and there's always some 12-year-old willing to walk a dog for $5.00. At least the Broadway Animal Hospital in Astoria let me leave some business cards there.

I HAVE been auditioning....these are the things I've auditioned for so far: The Fantasticks at Cincy Playhouse (got the job!), White Christmas at Cape Fear Regional Theatre, the new musical Lost and Found for the NYMF, Aldonza and the soprano role whose name I can't remember in Man of LaMancha for a company in New Jersey, the workshop of a new musical Zuly in the Last Place on Earth (got the job!), a commercial for Dove deodorant, an infomercial for some vitamin (totally sketchy, they "filmed" my interview on a camera phone, thank you for not calling me back, weirdos!), the national tour of Annie (got several callbacks, they kept me there over 5 hours, it was a long day but good to be liked!), and a touring show that goes to schools called Halfway There.

I was called in for a Shakespeare showcase but I got there and realized the performances are when I'm in DC visiting Erica, so I didn't even read for them.

Coming up, auditions I've received appointments for include a Columbia showcase of Chekov's Platonov, the Beauty and the Beast tour, a tour of Fiddler on the Roof, Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz in Yorktown, NY (#1 dream role ever, I wonder if I should say I come with my own Toto?), and ensemble/supporting roles in Anything Goes in Virginia Beach.

Louis is doing GREAT. He loves Astoria, walking around and meeting new dog and human friends...just like every other place we've lived, he always thinks everyone is here to see him, but he sure is happy when Matthew, Jon, or I come in the door. He knows where he is now, he's even ridden the subway with great success, and the next step is tackling the NYC dog parks.

Things I've seen in no particular order (except the first which was definitely the best and it will be hard to top): GLEN HANSARD in Chelsea...totally walked past him on the street. Josh told him he loved his work; I simply froze...a homelessman peeing in the subway on Day #2 of my living here, so many plainclothes drag queens I've been truly surprised, my fair share of the good and the bad subway musicians (those full-out Mariachi bands make you smile whether you're ready for them or not, and the sweet old man playing the saw really beautifully got $2.00 from my wallet), a few friends I haven't seen at a long time at auditions and the odd planned rendezvous when I've had time, and Josh and I saw both the amazing Spike Lee-directed film version of Passing Strange, and the groundbreaking, modernized Off-Bway production of Our Town at Barrow St. Theatre.

There's been tons of good food already...Pinkberry and black and white cookies are way too easy to come by, Blackbird's Cafe right around the corner from us offers an incredible Sunday brunch with three different food stations and four drinks all for $14.95, ridiculous bakeries are plentiful close to home and it's really easy to buy italian cookies for less than $1.00 each, Josh and I had a gorgeous dinner at Peasant in SoHo (though his all-green pesto pasta dish wasn't nearly as good as my mussels in wine sauce over linguini), Rich introduced me to Better Burger in Hell's Kitchen after I got the Fantasticks job, and the karma ketchup over their not-fried fries is not to be missed, cheap Mexican is becoming a tried and true meet-up-somewhere-random-for-a-dinner-date favorite of ours, obviously pizza slices are around every corner, I tried a Grey's Papaya hotdog on the way home from my Annie callback and it was no Yum-Yums, but it was good, we're always looking for some good, cheap Indian and finding a little success with it so far, and I'm so happy to have my own kitchen again where I can cook dinners full of real vegetables and other healthy things on the nights when I'm actually home at a decent hour.

Annnnnnnnnnnd guess what? that wasn't brief at all, but it should catch you up on a good deal of my life here.

I'll do my best, Lauren and Alan, to update more often now. :)

Shots from 80 Days, and almost packing time...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 20:58:00 +0000

As promised, several pictures from our photo call for Around the World in 80 Days.

This is my Newspaperman character. We often just refer to him as "Grandpa." Dan, our amazing crew guy who sits in what is basically a little wooden canoe behind the stage and pulls the revolve manually on a rope pulley system, demands that I do some old-man-dancing before each show or he can't possibly do his job. What better outfit for old-man-dancing than fantastic plaid flannel golf pants?

Below, we have the Young Parsi telling Kiouni our elephant (obviously), to "Be easy," Josh continuing his Man With Pipe Type with Andrew Stuart, and Aouda looking skeptical at Mr. Fix, as usual.

Below, we see the sledge, Aouda and Mr. Fix waiting on the plains for Mr. Fogg's return (the furs are real, I have real allergies to them if they touch my skin. Eww.), Mr. Fix on the job with the British Consul in India, Passepartout's return from the incident with the Apache, and Aouda proving that a girl can hold her own in a gunfight (one of my favorite moments of the show; I hope some 7-year old girl sees the show and is inspired...except that she chooses a different method than guns to exhibit her girl power.) Here, you also see what Josh and I have been referring to as our "holiday card moment" in the gunfight. Merry and bright, no matter whether you're celebrating the birth of your savior or a lamp that burned a lot longer than it was supposed to. Enjoy! :)

80 Days Review and Onto the Next Step...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 17:59:00 +0000

As official as reviews get of the shows up here at the Winnipesaukee Playhouse, this is our review for Around the World in 80 Days. Sadly, the man mangles my name (doesn't he have a program sitting in front of him? Sigh. He wins points for originality, this is the first time I've seen Margaret-Allen Jeffries in print). It's a great review though, certainly something we can all be proud of, especially after it felt like we spent a straight 48 hours in the theatre the two days leading up to opening (and the first real meal break we got was immediately before the opening performance). The audiences are laughing heartily, which is always so nice to hear, and I'm having a blast getting to play a stuffy English servant, what has become (thanks, grey wig and moustache) a wily old Newspaperman, and the Indian princess who turns out to be nothing of the damsel in distress that everyone expected. Pictures soon to follow.

http://www.caughtintheactnh.blogspot.com/

In other news, I officially have a New York address, and am getting very excited about some things falling into place for work in the city!

30-94 43rd St
Astoria, NY 11103

Jon moves in on the 1st, Matthew and I are flying from NYC on the 4th, spending a day and a couple of nights in Cincy packing up a U-Haul, and we'll be moved in somewhere between the 6th and the 7th. Now that you've got the address, send me a letter there. I'm planning on joining a local organic produce delivery service, and I'd love nothing better than to read a note from you while eating a nectarine that came right to my doorstep.

I'm starting some remote secretarial work for Josh's dad as a part-time day job (it's actually really fun, and no one will fire me for having a second tab open with facebook on my browser), I'm signing up with several promotional companies and emailing tons of Craigslist "event gig" posts daily, I have a couple of temp company contacts, our Passepartout from 80 Days is owed a favor by a friend who runs a dog-walking service so she's got my info for me to join her team, and a friend who's relocated to LA has sent my contact info to the families she babysat in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Additionally, upon my friend Jackie's suggestion, I'm planning to continue in the work-from-home (or on the road!) vein and get into social networking for local establishments. But any ideas or contacts for other jobs...I'll take 'em.

I'm excited about a couple of work-study opportunities, too...I'm going to be work-studying for a yoga studio in SoHo a couple of days a week in return for unlimited classes at the studio, and I'm planning on auditioning for a musical theatre performer work study at the dance studio my friend Marcia attends. I want to take as many classes as I can, and if there's some way to avoid money coming out of my pocket for it, all the better.

And then there are the auditions...already been searching the upcoming casting calls, looks like there are regional productions of 80 Days and Marvelous Wonderettes that are having calls soon, and our lighting designer from the Winni Playhouse has already submitted me for a NYMF show. I'm just hoping to hit the ground running as soon as I get to the city and not stop until...well, the thing about NYC is that you don't ever really stop. Scary AND exciting.

The mystery of Zumba

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 00:57:00 +0000

I'm sure I could make this really creative and informational, but I'm gonna keep it short.

This was worth reporting.

I went to a class at the gym tonight called Zumba. Apparently it's a big trend sweeping the nation's gyms...and I've actually been to lots of classes that have the same setup, they just weren't officially Zumba. Also called Cardio Dance, Ballet Aerobics, Latin/Hip Hop/Dance Aerobics, basically it's a cross between a high-impact (well, medium to high, MAYBE, if you get technical with the old-school definitions of aerobics that basically if you're ever totally on one foot or there's any hopping involved it's "high impact") aerobics class, and a pretty simple jazz/movement combination at a community theatre musical audition.

The followers of Zumba at The Fitness Edge in Meredith, NH range from 13-year old girls in matching little spandex shorts and tshirts from their middle school drama productions, to 16-year-old girls obviously on the high school dance team and potentially enrolled in the competition class at the dance studio, to the still-fairly-young women (I include myself in this category) who probably danced at one time in their life, want to go to a class, but can't quite bring themselves to go to Step, of course to the young moms, the older moms, that one lady who's 5'9, short spiky black hair, obviously like 50 but you know can tear it up on the salsa floor b/c when it comes time for the Latin-esque moves, this lady MOVES those hips, and there's even this INCREDIBLE 76-year-old lady named Dell who was the Feature Member at the Fitness Edge recently--check out her story here. Finally, there's the one man. The lone dude. Clearly not a ballerina in this lifetime, I get the idea he probably shows up under the guise of "ah, come on, man, who wouldn't like to be in the middle of a group of dancing ladies?," but he secretly enjoys breaking it down a bit himself. He had a pretty mean paddle turn going during "Jai-Ho" tonight; he was definitely singing along, and I think his eyes were even closed a couple of times during the song. I think he was imagining himself on that subway platform with Jamal and Latika.

Just a side note that I discovered as I was searching the gym's website for Dell's story: The Fitness Edge has an Old Fart's Club, a self-described "group of men over the age of 50 who are eager to learn about new ways to stay young and be active." Too adorable for words. They meet the first Wednesday of every month at 7AM. I just missed them this morning, we got there at 9, shoot! That would explain the Dunkin Donuts coffee in the lobby, though.

You show 'em, old man. Ain't no arthritis gonna hold you back.

Since I promised to start this up again in NH for Lauren...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 00:03:00 +0000

No promises on how long (or especially how clever) this post will be, it's mostly an attempt to make a small start at regular blogs again and follow through on my promise to keep in touch and keep people up to date on where I am and what I'm doing on all my travels and my most exciting adventure ever thusfar...moving to New York.

But for now, I'm in Meredith, New Hampshire, working at The Winnipesaukee Playhouse.

A few key points, for those of you who don't know this already, or those of you who would enjoy the reminder:

1) While I'm up here, I am playing Lenny in Crimes of the Heart and Aouda, James Forrster, and Newspaperman in Mark Brown's Around the World in 80 Days.

2) Josh is working here too; it's his second season with the Winni, he's playing Allan (the Woody Allen role, go figure) in Play it Again, Sam (see the current Winni newsletter for his huge hair and Napoleon Dynamite glasses), Barnette Lloyd in Crimes, and Detective Fix et al in 80 Days.

3) We are living together in an adorable apartment-of-sorts in the basement of our artistic directors' huge house in Meredith. The perks of living here during the contract include being located only 2 miles from the rehearsal space, a big bedroom (with enough space for me to do yoga @ approximately 7:30 in the morning without waking Josh up), our own washer and dryer, internet, and a private kitchen and bathroom. The fact that the kitchen and bathroom are one room is actually not a drawback. The toilet is in a separate enclosed little room, the shower curtain is great so we really don't get shower runoff onto the floor in front of the fridge, and I personally love that the sink in which we wash our dishes is also the bathroom sink, so bathroom grossness like toothpaste doesn't collect in it.

4) We rehearse each show for approximately 10 days to 2 weeks, then one opens and we start rehearsing the next one the following morning. Crazy pace, lots of necessary homework at night, but it's a great experience.

5) You may notice that both of these shows are straight plays. That's right, no singing and no dancing for Musical Theatre Girl. This actually makes Musical Theatre Girl very happy. Good to shake things up, and only having to worry about navigating a unit set with a kitchen and big kitchen table is a far cry from the knee-abusing tap of Dames at Sea.

There's really no news to share here, nothing terribly crazy or exciting like the Bearcreek days, (the only time I ever long for those days is when I feel like I have no fun news to share in my blog) but I can tell you I'm tired from the fast-paced rehearsals, I'm exhilarated when I realize how much progress can be made in such little time on a scene, a character, and frankly how fast I seem capable of cramming lines (please note this is NOT a self-pat on the back, I really should've learned this stuff way before I got here), and I'm grateful every day that I get to come home for meals and after the long days, and Josh is right there with me.

Currently I have my evenings off, because they're still performing Play it Again, Sam, and everyone in the current company except for me is in it. This means I get to go to the (totally free and totally great) gym (how can I explain to you just how fabulous treadmills and ellipticals with built-in TVs are? You'd be surprised how fast four miles go by when you're watching Top Chef) at night, cook dinner for us both, make my lunch for the next day, run my lines while J is in his show, and I have enough time to wind down and get to bed at a decent hour. This will change in a week or so, once we're working just on Crimes day and night, and especially once Crimes opens and we're rehearsing crazy crazy 80 Days during the 10-5 slot. Knowing the amount of exercise it seems I require in order to keep my anxiety in check, I wouldn't be surprised if I start attending the 5:45 AM yoga class at the gym, or running on dinner break and just coming to the show a big sweat ball. My character in Crimes is supposed to be dowdy and unattractive anyway, so I figure the worse my hair looks, the better.

In other news, I miss Louis to pieces (he's in Cincy with Lauren, Matthew, and Y until I come back to get him and put all my and Matthew's stuff in the moving truck for the one-way trip to NYC), and same goes for my friends in Cincinnati, North Carolina, DC, and all the other places far and near. The odd thing is that even with Josh here, at least right now, I'm still spending a lot of time by myself, and it gets lonely sometimes. I need to send out a batch of letters, that always makes the distance between friends easier for me. :)

A COUPLE of funny/interesting things from my time here so far, just for those of you who only read this to hear the odd stories:

1) The Halperins (Artistic Directors, whose house we live in) have a hairless cat. Seriously. Dr. Evil style. Its name is Semi...we wonder if it's called that because it's only half a cat without the hair. It is truly terrifying, and if its mere physical appearance weren't upsetting enough, it has the loudest meow I've ever heard. Ever.
2) There's a woman who comes to seemingly all of the yoga classes at the gym and in every single one, she feels free to let her natural gases flow. I've been to three so far. Every.Time. "...aaannnd, lift your right leg to meet the left, into the full expression of the posture, completing your Shoulder Stan---*pppppfffffffffffftttttttt!* Seriously.
3) Overheard (also at the gym) the other night: "Yeah, I spent all afternoon blowing up balloons for my grandson's birthday party this weekend while the rest of the world mourned a child molester." Rest in peace, Michael Jackson. Josh and I have been listening to Jackson Five before rehearsals, remembering the less notorious days of the poor man's life.

Life on the Outside

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 04:28:00 +0000

There is a harsh truth to face. No way I'm gonna make it on the outside. All I do anymore is think of ways to break my parole. Terrible thing, to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time. Only one thing stops me. A promise I made to Jason Robert Brown.

I told him I was going back to my home state for my next job, and I'd be working for a real theatre again, doing a real show, so he couldn't mock me like he had been doing for some time now.

But now, friends, I must admit I don't quite know how to handle this life.

I'm starting a new show @ Temple Theatre, yes, in my home state of North Carolina, located in a small town called Sanford. The show is a 1960s-themed Christmas show, four girls singing in harmony, think Plaid Tidings with girls...called The Winter Wonderettes. The theatre isn't a full-on Equity house, but they usually have a couple of guest artist contracts per show...we only have one since there are only four of us in the show, but we live under all Equity rules.

We take rehearsal breaks at regular intervals. We don't have to ask to use the restroom. There is a stage manager, a set designer, a costume designer, and the dressing rooms are climate-controlled.

The water IS potable. Right out of the kitchen sink.

I took a shower this morning in the house where we live....it was hot, the shower was clean, and the shampoo rinsed clean out of my hair. I was actually cleaner when I got out of the shower than I was when I got into it.
The housing is not only insulated and also climate-controlled, but it's this enormous old Southern house where we each have our own huge bedroom with cable TV and wireless internet. I have a double bed...one big mattress, with box springs under the mattress, not just a big block of solid wood.

Board members brought over food for us to our house last night after we moved in. Just-baked lasagna, french bread, apples, cookies....where are the mashed potatoes? The fried chicken? The vegetables with nutrients replaced with fat from butter and gravy?

We were released from rehearsal because we'd been working so hard today in music rehearsals. Wasn't there laundry to be done? Didn't anyone need me to call Elvis Bingo somewhere? Should I go run club with the big awkward guy who stares at me? I would've just wandered the streets looking for cows and Amish if I wasn't already carpooling with one of the other girls in the cast.

I don't know who I am anymore. The orange is disappearing from under my nails. The bloating from the Homestead food is going away. I walked with Louis for an hour today and the air didn't smell of sulphur OR sewage. My voice feels relaxed and healthy; I'm singing in my real range, and we are asked to be safe and careful instead of running things that we're getting right 30 times. I think we'll be paid before we've been here for about five weeks. The stage manager mentioned driving me to the astronomically-discounted gym in the mornings.

I'm gonna crawl into my giant bed now and pull the covers over my and Louis's heads. They were all right of the dryer waiting for me when I got here yesterday. I don't have rehearsal until noon tomorrow, I was going to get up in the morning and do yoga, but it's gonna be way too weird to actually have the space to do it on the floor of my bedroom, and I won't be surrounded by dustbunnies and dead insects.

Help!
Love,
ME

Cougars, Tigers, and Bearcreek, oh my!

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 01:09:00 +0000

I figured that as my time on the farm is coming to a close, I should send one more installment of my "Bearcreek Travails Newsletter," as one friend called it.

I started to feel like I had less stories to tell after a while, that maybe less funny things were happening, less interesting people were cropping up around me, but now when I think about it, it seems I just got used to my surroundings. This place, these people, the everyday situations around here…they seemed normal. But…upon further introspection and looking back, I realized: just like Brooks Hatlen, this has somehow just become an acceptable life to me, and perhaps I have lost touch with the outside. I can only hope that I will be able to rehabilitate myself and not have to relocate to a beach in Mexico like Andy and Red; there are several places in my previous life to which I plan to return as soon as possible.

A couple of weeks ago, our entire cast was invited to have dinner w/ the Amish family whose daughters work for Housekeeping on the farm. They gave us a tour of their farm, their great farmhouse, and we sat around their giant den, exchanging names and hometowns. All 14 of the children in the family were there, many with spouses and two or three children of their own, plus eight of us from the show and the parents of the family…the den was more than full, though cozy in the gas lamplight. We sang songs for the Hilty family from our show, and they sang their German folksongs for us, complete with four-part yodeling. They had made giant chocolate chip cookies and coffee for us, and though we found it odd that none of them ate any of the cookies (we wondered if they didn't eat food that was intended for the English, but we just let that go), it was a great night. Sean, the shortest of three guys in our cast, got schooled in basketball outside in the yard…he was at an obvious disadvantage, being accustomed to depending on electricity to see in the dark. Those Amish dudes were all over it. They do have battery-powered headlamps, but they didn't even need them.

Last night, one castmate and I were invited back to the Hiltys' to help feed their baby cows. They run a beef cattle farm, and they had just received about 80 new calves a few weeks ago. Brett and I helped mix the powdered milk, hot water and vitamins, we filled the bottles and placed them in the pens, and watched the calves drink the milk as if they were still fighting their brothers and sisters for sustenance. They had a limited number of bottles, about 15, so once one row was finished, we'd pry the empty bottles out of the calves' mouths, refill them, and hit the next row. It was hilarious to watch the baby cows turn to their next door neighbor and start licking the milk off of his or her face. The basic process of Calf Dinner Time is this: drink bottle, make out with your sister, pass out. Sounds more like something that you'd think happens in West Virginia, now that I think of it…but it didn't seem nearly as dirty with cows.

This past Saturday, I had a day that few actors probably have on the job. At 10AM, I was called to our Garden Room in the restaurant to co-host Elvis Bingo. Guests played Bingo, but they were aiming to make shapes that loosely resembled things related to Elvis, such as a shoe, a church, or a lightning bolt. As one might imagine, Elvis was the main host of Elvis Bingo. In our case, this was David Goins, my very awkward next door neighbor, who comes by the back door of my apartment to ask to borrow random things so much that it's starting to get wayyy too creepy. My castmate Sean caught him standing in front of my headshot during load-in for a concert, his face inches away from "mine," just staring. Mr. Goins is a performer, technically, but he's been employed here as a guitarist in two shows this season, though he's a veteran Bearcreek "performer," but he has seemed to gain too much weight to be considered a viable singer/dancer. When he came out to begin Bingo and sing some Elvis karaoke, a guest called out "wow, looks like Elvis has had too many Peanut Butter and Banana sandwiches!" I responded, over the microphone," Wow, ma'am. That was out loud. We could all hear you." Poor guy…I felt bad for him, calling out, "O-67, Oooo—hhhh, sixteh sevennnnn…attempting the Elvis waver in his voice….that is, until he'd stare scarily at me after announcing each Bingo call. Someone reported that I did so well, they want me to come back and co-host with him again for six hours this weekend. I don't think I've got it in me.

Later that morning, a castmate competed in a Barrel Racing contest at the horse show at the farm. Yeah, we have a horse arena, they have shows and competitions there, and Olin Davidson, tall, slim singer/dancer from Seymour, Indiana, who has been known for calling out, "Jesus, Mary, my tailbone is KILLIN' me from all this horse mess….well, we're gonna warm up to Beyonce today, she'll make it all better. Haaaaaaaaeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy!," won a gorgeous second place red ribbon for his barrel racing skills. Both of these events occurred before our matinee. It was a banner weekend indeed.

During my tenure at Bearcreek, I also played Beer Pong for the first time in my life. I guess I sheltered myself from it in college, too many rehearsals, Park Scholar leadership summits, and biochemistry and British and Holocaust Lit papers, maybe. They have a whole setup at the Pit Stop, the local bar that all the Bearcreek staff frequents. I won't go into the story, but I shouldn't have to explain the insane sanitary conditions of this game. I didn't drink the Bud Light, as it reminded me way too much of being 18 (sorry Mama, the theatre big brothers made me do it, you remember Matt Woods), but I got better with my aim as the games went on. As I'm not a frat boy, I don't think I'll be playing again, but now I can say I did it.

Even more interesting than the events I've survived here are the people who've passed through my life. I've mentioned several already, but there are a whole slew of colorful characters who you've not yet met.

There's Wendell, the kitchen worker who's trapped in a rural Indiana Catholic closet during the day, though his friends call him Wendy when he's at the bar at night, and when he's in his cups, the truth comes out—and so does Wendell. He leaves the trucker hat at home and spikes his hair up, wears colorful clothes, and speaks—often slurs—his mind. At The Pit Stop on Beer Pong Night, I sat down next to him at the bar, and he leaned over to share something with me…

Wendell: IIIIIIIII donnnnnnnnnnn lllllike yerrrrr hairrrr.

ME: What? I'm sorry, what do you mean?

Wendell: Itttttssssssssss not red enough.

ME: Oh yeah, it's usually more red than this, the lady who did it dyed it too brown. I'm only here for a few more weeks, though, hardly anyone will see it except y'all, it'll be OK.

Wendell: I dunnnnnoooo, it looks prrrrrretty bad. I hate it. You ssssshould wear a hat or something. It'ssssss not you at alllll.

ME: Thanks, Wendell, I'll keep that in mind.

Then we have Matthew the bartender. We noticed he would talk about his wife a lot, but that he wasn't wearing a ring. Then a more astute observer noticed he wasn't just missing the ring, he was missing the entire fourth finger on his left hand. Apparently he caught the wedding ring on some sort of slicing machine in the kitchen a few years back, and after having that finger removed, he decided it wasn't worth it to wear the ring on another finger if it meant risking losing that one too.

Every small town has a town drunk—Mayberry has Otis Campbell, and Bearcreek Farms has Jack James. Jack claims that he is "Director of Public Relations" at Bearcreek, but he actually has no official title. The word on the inside is that he has some dirt on the general manager, so he's pseudo-blackmailing them to let him stay around and get paid to do nothing. He knows lots of the regular guests, but he mostly floats around the farm during the day, trying to "help" people actually doing their jobs, but usually just getting in the way. In the evenings, he walks around the farm with a 44oz big gulp of a mixture of Mountain Dew and what smells like Vodka. He lives on the farm and has been issued (unofficially) a golf cart that he joyrides around the grounds on the weekends. We keep wondering if we could get him arrested for a DUI on the thing, because it would keep him from being able to come in and disrupt evening events.

My boss is a self-proclaimed "cougar, and proud of it." She is easily 45, and she talks about dating 25-year-olds, "if she could just find a good one around here." When my friends came up from Cincinnati, we went to Pumpkin Fest in town, which was basically a country fair based around pumpkins, with attractions such as a petting zoo, garage sale, and a tractor-pulled hayride. Our tractor driver was a seemingly very nice young man, and my friends basically dared me to give him a piece of paper with our show schedule and my phone number on it with the promise of a free ticket, for driving us around and talking to us on our hayride. This guy came to be known as "farmer townie boyfriend," just in comparison to a guy in town that a castmate had actually been involved with during her last contract here. Let me be very clear that the farmer and I had no involvement whatsoever other than the fact that he did come to the show—when I wasn't in it. I came down with a severe bacterial infection, and the second day that I was quarantined on my couch, not even allowed to go down to the restaurant for soup, he came to the show, asking the others if we had one missing. But when my boss came up to bring my soup, she informed me that said farmer had been at the show, and that her next door neighbor had been trying to set HER (my boss) up with this same young man. Small town drama at its finest. My castmate Brett and I have taken to calling her "Cougs."

I am wary to mention this, as I know how potentially offensive it is…but here goes anyway. There are several groups of developmentally disabled adults, work rehab programs, etc., who come to our shows. Our boss affectionately (offensively) calls them "tigers," mostly from the likelihood that there could be vocal outbursts from them that could potentially disrupt the show. So if we get a call with "places" that says "tigers in the audience today," we know what it means. These audiences are often our best, though, most responsive, if nothing else. In our opening number the other day, we had a 'veritable zoo' as it was put, and 20 of the 40 were dancing in the aisles to the opening number. It was pretty awesome.

So I look back on this 14-week contract with great amazement that it actually happened, thinking back on all I've seen and done. Yes, I've begged to be taken away several times. I've lamented to my friends and family about the water, the food, the trailer where I live, and all aspects of the "show" I've been doing. I've called out to the Heavens, "what am I DOING with my life?!?!?!?" Admittedly, my positive attitude has been chipped away. I have a hard time smiling during the "show" about anything other than my inner countdown of the remaining performances. However, I'll take these insane experiences with me for the rest of my life with great humor and no regret. This contract came along at a great time when I needed to save money and have an excess of free time to finally finish my Masters' Thesis. I'm not done yet, but I'm 80-something pages in, and I will be done soon. Unbelievably enough, here at the end, I'm pretty thankful.

I'll miss my Amish friends, the Hiltys. I'll miss the pickled eggs and the occasional steamed vegetables that the kitchen guys made upon my request in our restaurant. I'll miss Louis's ability to roam around outside off of his leash. I'll miss The Olds who seem to renew their patriotism and faith in young people just by seeing our ridiculous show. And Rich—the dishwasher/cook with the ankle monitor, I like to believe that your statutory conviction was just really unfortunate timing, I just know that you and your 14-year-old girlfriend were deeply in love. You mock me with the other guys for being a hippie liberal actress from North Carolina, but you pass me your copy of The Nation under the dish line, knowing if the guys knew your most hidden secret, that you're onmy side of politics among these rural Indiana Catholic ultra-Republicans, it would destroy your rep and masculinity among them—I think I'll miss you most of all.

Love to all, and I'll be back in North Carolina in a few weeks to start the Christmas show @ Temple Theatre in Sanford. Probably not nearly the thrilling stories from there, but I bet at least the water will be potable.

Aliens, Sexual Harassment, and Missing Digits, or How I Learned to Love the Reception Line

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 01:54:00 +0000

Hello everyone...I know a couple of you didn't get my first couple of emails about life at Bearcreek Farms Country Resort and Goodtimes Theatre (oh yes) but I created a group for all these silly updates. If you don't want to get them, if my life is too pitiful for you to want to hear about, just let me know and I won't delete them, but as some of you asked to be ADDED to the list after reading the previous emails from others (they're good for a sympathetic laugh, I hear), I'm hoping I can keep it interesting for you.

So here we go...the latest.

One of the less-than-common practices here at Bearcreek is the " 'joyed it" line, or what I've come to call the Awkward Reception Line. At the end of our curtain call (wherein we step downstage one by one and say our names and hometowns, as of course there are no programs), we run up the aisles and stand in the back, while the audience files out, shaking our hands one by one and telling us how they 'joyed it.

A few standouts:

"You look just like my granddaughter/daughter/niece/friend" A couple of people have even taken pictures, just so they can show my supposed doppelgangers that I exist, and that I am performing in a patriotic musical revue on a farm. (I am beginning to believe I was not only adopted, but part of a Midwest cloning experiment).

"You ladies have nice legs, I like that."

(Old man in overalls and John Deere trucker hat) "You girls need any help making all those dress changes back there? (Me) Um, no sir, thanks, we've got it…and it's complicated and pretty fast (Old Man) I'd work really hard, I promise I wouldn't make too many mistakes. (Old Man's Wife) I'm sure you wouldn't, Harry.

"It's exhausting to watch you girls make all those changes. We thought we'd come here and be so bored we'd fall asleep, but just counting all the dresses kept us awake. Thanks!"

******************************

Now we haven't gotten any negative feedback, but I am realizing there is a certain spectrum of comments we can receive. I'll put a few in order for you.

1) Thank you kids so much, this was the best show we've seen here in 10 years!

2) You all have such beautiful voices, and it's so exciting to watch you up there!

3) (Said to Kari, the high soprano who stands next to me in the line) You have a gorgeous voice.

(to me) I enjoyed your dancing.

4) You sure do have a lot of energy!

5) You just keep smiling, don't you?

6) You look really pretty in all those dresses.

7) Wow, you sure do change clothes a lot.

********************************

We also come across characters of all sorts in the Awkward Reception Line. Our typical audience is 65+, pretty typical Midwest couples, dressed in cotton coordinates and comfortable (often orthopedic) shoes. Every now and then, someone a little more memorable will step through the line.

**A few days ago, a lady walked by with her arms crossed, then quickly stepped up to shake our hands. I came to realize she only had three fingers. It was a little disturbing, but I was glad I didn't react visibly. My friend and castmate Brett called it the "sneak attack" and will often help me to relive the experience backstage just before we go on. Whoever says I'm laughing through the opening number is lying, I'm just really really that proud to be an American, it fills me with joy and laughter.

**Last night, an old lady had dentures that were perhaps set really low, or maybe they just needed Fixodent, but they were so low in her mouth, she looked exactly like the aliens from Mars Attacks! (see right).

**Yesterday afternoon, though, I experienced something I had no idea was possible in the A.R.L. A quiet, middle-aged lady came through the line, barely said anything, and after she shook my hand, I realized something was left in my hand. It was a bill. She didn't even seem that excited about the show, but there it was, passed to me Mafia style. I hope she doesn't expect me to kill someone for her. I assumed it was a $1.00, but when the whole line had cleared (as I figured it would be tacky to look at my folded cash while still shaking hands of passing elderly), I opened it. FIVE DOLLARS, people. This raises the grand total of money I've made at Bearcreek Farms to $7.38, as my half of the tips Mary and I made from housekeeping that one Friday was $2.38.

All the best from the cornfields. Now that we're in performances, my schedule is finally becoming regular. I get up at about 7:30, make breakfast, drink some good coffee (thank you, Whole Foods of Cincinnati, Red Sea Blend brewed extra dark...being a three-year Starbucks employee doesn't allow the foolishness of the lame stuff they call coffee in these parts), walk with Louis for about an hour in the mornings--he is fascinated with the baby cows and the horses we pass on the country roads--do some writing work in my apartment, go to lunch w/ the farm boys at 11, wamups and first show, go into town to work out, email, and shower, dinner at my apartment, second show, back for more work and whatever blessing has been bestowed on me by Netflix if the mail is running on time that day. Kinda boring at times, kinda isolated, but I appreciate the regularity of it at least. We're down to one meal a day in the restaurant now, but I found the farmer's market in town, so I actually have some vegetables in the fridge. Maybe next week I can buy some cottage cheese. I've been here for three and a half weeks, and we're getting paid for the first time on Friday. That's right. Maybe I should take it up with the stage manager. Oh wait, we don't have one of those. At least they gave me a window air conditioning unit this past weekend. I had to beg the guys at lunch.

and the second...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 01:53:00 +0000

Ten things I bet you've never heard or overheard at YOUR job, but they're quite normal at mine.

1) Oh yeah, they're burning down the old zoo. The fire isn't exactly controlled, it took down a wall of a building they weren't sure they were going to keep, so it's not that big of a deal, but if that environmentalist comes back we'll probably get some kind of citation.

2) We're rehearsing in the Elvis museum again today.

3) Whether or not you will get a lunch break tomorrow is currently on a need-to-know basis. If Brett can remember all of his cities in "Wander Indiana" in the run this morning, then we will THINK about bringing over some fried chicken for most of you and some hard-boiled eggs and steamed broccoli for Margaret-Ellen.

4) M.E., Jen, and Sean will be working with Housekeeping on Friday morning, since Roy Clark is coming so we're overbooked, and it's a big Amish Family Reunion weekend. You'll only have to strip beds and make them up, and possibly do some dusting. Mary in Housekeeping will clean all the bathrooms; she actually enjoys it.

5) Girls, watch out for the little guy in the kitchen with all the hickies on his neck. He's really friendly, but he's been asking which of you have boyfriends.

6) GUY WITH HICKIES: Hey there, how you doin'? I noticed you really like those pickled eggs, I can save some for you if we're ever lookin' like we're gonna run out and you guys aren't comin' in until after the show.

7) I'm sorry I'm late to call, I was heading back from checking my email at the gas station and I got stuck behind two buggies and a line of Amish children all holding hands, then that chicken that's always loose just before 350 North ran right in front of my car and I almost hit it.

8) OLD LADY AT COFFEE SHOP "IN TOWN": Yeah, I figured you were at Bearcreek, since you're young and little and cute and wearing yoga pants, and you don't look like...a farmer.

9) SEASONED BEARCREEK PERFORMER IN MY CAST: I'm just waiting 'till Saturday, that's Grand Buffet night, which means we get fried corn nuggets and little weenies in barbeque sauce. It makes all this 80's choreography totally worth it.

10) ARTISTIC DIRECTOR: I'm in a hell of a mood today, people, a bull charged me in the pasture yesterday afternoon, my horse nearly threw me again, and then I fell through my porch last night. *pulls up pant leg, displays extensive bruises*

None of this was fabricated or embellished in any way. They're all direct quotes. I've been taking notes.

Love,
ME

the first of the Bearcreek Newsletters...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 01:48:00 +0000

Hello friends and loved ones...a carrier pigeon might be better to send this, I'm hoping the internet signal holds out here from Bearcreek Crossings, the Shell Station/hot food and drinks "deli"/convenience store with free wireless. It's down "the main road" and then just after you turn onto Indiana-27. Oh yes. Luckily they have booths in the back, so I don't have to sit in my car and be totally ghetto.

This is to inform you all that I have arrived safely to Bryant, Indiana's beloved Bearcreek Farms Country Resort (and Goodtimes Theatre). I just wanted to share a few details so you all know what we're dealing with here.

1) I saw a dead horse less than a mile away from our property, right there just off the "main road." Rigor mortis sets in quickly, I can only hope he hadn't been there too long when Jeremy spotted him as we drove toward "town", but there he was, still bridled, legs sticking straight out horizontally. I later learned, as I pointed it out to my castmates and director as we drove by it the next day in the director's truck, "Oh, that's one of the Amish farms, too. They might leave it there for weeks if the police don't make them move it due to a health code."

2) Yes, we are in Amish country. This has led to several discoveries.
A few tidbits regarding the Amish:
~Louis loves them. They drive by in their horse-drawn buggies and all the little bonnetted girls wave at us. The buggies are also slower and quieter than cars, so he's a fan.
~Some of them work on our farm. Not-so-bright actors in the past have said, "oh, how cute! You hire people to work the farm and dress them up like those Amish people to make it seem authentic!" No no, that's Aenis (say it aloud, the first syllable is a long "E") and Reuben. They're actually Amish.
~Once an Amish man, a twin, actually, so he was well-known in the neighborhood, was on the Bearcreek property selling noodles door to door to our guests. Soliciting is not allowed, so a chase across farm fields ensued, with our director of lodging shouting, "Ezekiel! I know who you are! You get back here! EZEKIEL!!!"
~A Gay, EX-Amish Convicted Pedophile Roofer once took one of our actors home with him from the local dive bar in the middle of the cornfield. The place is known as the pit stop, the guy is in my cast, and he's dying to go back any night.

3) There are some pretty serious rules here. We are allowed to eat breakfast in the restaurant every day (though it's only open Tues-Sunday), and we can choose EITHER lunch OR dinner, but if it's Snow Crab Legs night, we can't have those unless we pay $3.00 at the front, and if there is a carved meat station, we are to stay away. We also eat in the back of the kitchen, fondly called The Dungeon. If there is a line at the buffet when we arrive, we must stand back until no one is waiting. It's also amazing to watch how the elderly can crowd around a buffet, even if they already have their own food, they feel the need to watch everyone else in their party and provide advice and judgment on the others' choices. Oh, and bacon might go back up in price, so we have to be ready to add it to the forbidden foods list.

4) The show is a revue that the artistic director has put together from other revues. It's entitled (as most of you know VERY WELL), Let Freedom Swing, and the idea is that it's a patriotic show with songs about America, with a "focus on swing." Some songs well known from the swing era(?!?) include Neil Diamond's "America" (I'm really gunning for the solo in that one), Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA," and songs from America's beginnings, including "Polly Wolly Doodle," "Daisy," and "Erie Canal." "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" has been cut. "Jump, Jive, and Wail" and "This Joint is Jumpin" are included as well, yet I'm not quite sure what the patriotic elements in them are yet. It's basically an hour and fifteen minutes of show choir. Oh, and we're singing with a track. This means it's like a whole show of karaoke. And on the first day, the artistic director "warned" us that we "should really learn this music, because these "helping voices" on the vocal tracks won't be there in the real show. Wow. Oh, and don't forget the cheap knockoff of "I've Been Everywhere" by Johnny Cash that has alllllll Indiana towns in it. Clever! Oh, and we don't have a stage manager. And we sang for three hours straight last night without a break until I stood up and meekly asked if we could go to the bathroom.

5) Bearcreek is owned by the owner of Richard's Restaurants, a franchise that used to span all the way to Florida and Illinois and back, but now they're just in Indiana. This man looks like Elmer Fudd, comes to shows and board meetings in his overalls with or without a shirt, and rarely can be bothered to put his teeth in when he's in public.

6) The water, in case I haven't told you this part yet, is so full of iron, that the showers and toilets look like someone has been murdered in them, and after several showers in the water, your nails and even your skin take on an orange tint. If you shower at the gym "in town" (Portland, 15 minute drive from the farm), they have filtered water. Lucky for me I'm going to the gym almost every day. Otherwise I might just be gross. I'll blend in just fine with the Amish and the farm folk.

7) All of this hilarity aside, it's really kind of nice being out here. It's quiet and peaceful, I took Louis for an hour-long walk along the country roads and through our farm today. The wind through the cornfields is quite lovely, there are animals everywhere (the geese use the basketball court as their toilet, not sure why), and it's certainly a safe place. Hardly anyone locks their doors, even the actors, because as our artistic director put it, "Aenis and Reuben can't use your Ipod anyway, and the guests are so old, they won't even know what it is."

Sorry for the mass email but this was the easiest way to get to everyone, and as I have to drive three miles to get to the internet, I have a limited amount of time anyway. Please let me hear from you, it's good to receive communication from the outside world where technology is far more advanced.

Love to each and every one of you...it's certainly an adventure out here on the farm, haha! I'm not even really complaining...more just sharing some humorous observances. I guess this is what they call paying your dues, huh, Stern?

Most Fondly, from 8341 N 400 E,
ME

something random on a Thursday evening...

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 02:58:00 +0000

I have gorgeous friends. And they're brilliant and witty and absolutely adorable, not just hot. But hot too. I mean come on, look at her. Anyone who notices the tiny silver bands I wear on my left third and right fourth finger, they're my 'wedding/best friend' rings with Jackie, and I am proud to tell the world about it. It's a small thing and most people don't even notice them b/c they're so tiny, but they're always a reminder to me that no matter what the $*%^ state I end up working in next, Jack is always with me. And she's the one person on the planet who always knows, every single day, the exact state where I can be found. And that's pretty awesome.

Love you, Jackie. Happy Thursday. And happy first date tonight with the one who seems most promising. :)

This is also your reminder that now would be a good time to reschedule your skybus flight once and for all. You've got several months to still make it here. Turns out this city's kind of fantastic.

Counterpoint: You know what I love?

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 02:03:00 +0000

Cincinnati. It's true. I freaking love it. No matter how many natives ask me if I'm feeling well or what's wrong with me when I tell them I do, I still do. I love the food, I love the parks, I love the independent movie theatres, I love the live music, I love my place, I love the folks I've met here, I love my church...I love it.

So I am happy to announce that I get to stay here for 3 months more than previously expected. This means 3 more months of One World Wednesdays (which we WILL attend from here on out), 3 more months of Longworth's karaoke, 3 more months of Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, The Bonbonerie, The Esquire, Dewey's Pizza, Busken, Eden Park, Mount Adams, my beloved Cincinnati friends, Jenny's wedding, Reds games (yes I will actually go now, I promise), TJ's beer adventures, I *think* Emily and Kevin's wedding, The Melon w/ Lauren, What's for Dinner w/ Lauren, Findlay Market, walking all over w/ Louis, live music in Clifton, Northside, and Newport, aaaaannd I get to go to whatever that music festival is in the summer....the stacks or something...whatever. I'm going. And if I'm not tied into being somewhere 7 days a week, I can travel home, DC, and you know...Orlando if I feel like defending this thesis.

And job options are already around...Liz and I are trying to think of a show we could do this summer at the Know. Greg, our drummer @ Knox (my church), plays gigs with combos that play weddings/cocktail parties/etc where I could be a jazz singer again for a while. Mike, who leads the church music group, is going to fish around in the Knox network and see who can take me on just for the summer in a day job capacity. And there's always the fun idea of working somewhere that I love (see aforementioned Whole Foods/Trader Joes/Bonbonerie) where I could not have to stress too much, and get a discount on the fantastic food. :) Plus there are a couple of babysitting leads I just haven't had a chance to really follow up on, the more I post on Craigslist about dog-walking and pet/housesitting the more responses I get, and I keep getting more and more promotions through different companies I've made contact with, so I'm not worried.

And if I've learned anything from this "pinning my hopes on one thing" deal, it's that I need to keep my options open. I do make a mean egg sandwich, and it's tough to say no to a big pair of blue eyes.

Point: You know what I hate?

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 01:52:00 +0000

Being strung along by a company, hearing that they really love your work and want to work with you, that they will be in touch soon with specific casting, but then only to find out a few days after the date they promised to call that you do not, in fact, have a job for the summer, no matter how much you wanted to work there/made great (ridiculous) effort to put together a wealth of material for the company/turned down/stopped pursuing other summer opportunities....yeah.

So it seems Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys, actor, will go on hiatus for a couple of months this summer.

Which means I have to find a real job.

So far I have been offered positions as "personal assistant" for my friend Ryan at his summer stock in Indiana ($20/week to to laundry, Liz is on cooking detail), and "housewife" to a lawyer in Lima, OH (his demands include egg sandwiches every morning). I think it's time to bust out the want ads.

I can't stop watching this

noreply@blogger.com (Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys) — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 04:46:00 +0000

I watched literally 15 different versions of this song on youtube today. This is by far my favorite.

Also please watch the Alison Crowe one. Gorgeous. I want the music in her key so I can sing it myself. Just in my apartment...to Louis or whatever.

Love you, Jack. Always makes me think of you. :)