Cool

Last night, thankfully, it cooled down a lot. After days of sleeping on top of my covers, with a fan running all night, it cools down. I went to sleep with no fan and woke up freezing and pulled on a sheet and blanket. Wonderful. I like summer, I love camping and seeing things grow. But there is something so wonderful about sleeping when it is just a little cold. Not freezing, no just cool. A couple of blankets to snuggel under.

Unfortunatly the air conditioner at work is still blasting, and I am of course freezing. The constant change in Tempeture from hot to cold is not good for my body. I feel like I'm on the verge of getting a summer cold (something I could so do without). Also I am crazing to go camping (something I so do not have time or money for). Well this summer is going to be fun.

I might add that over the last week we have been in the 90's ever day (and very humid some of those days). We are not even into July yet! I'm secretly hoping that it will be a very cool summer over all (is the horrible?).

Salad

What I have:
Basic Roman lettuce
(torn in pieces)
Blue cheese dressing
cubed grey mushrooms
one hard boiled egg
a few cooked green beans
(from last night)

Missing from my salad:
Chunks of bright red tomato
bits of crumbly bacon
(to go with the hard boiled egg)
Some bell pepper, of any color
(green, yellow, orange or red)
Perhaps a little onion: purple, sweet
cucumber crisp and crunchy
Spinach leaves.

Fairytales and Horror Stories

There is something that is an important part of everything we do as humans, we tell stories. Whether it is a simple re-telling of the days events to a parent as a child or a best selling novel, something in us needs stories. Most people agree that scary stories of Vampires and Werewolfs, came from people trying to make sense out of things they could not understand like serial murders or genetic defects. I am obsessed with stories. Which is in part why I love theatre and I write so much.

My mother used to read to my sister and I every night. Whether a chapter from the Little House books, or a fairytale, she always read us something. Before the Lord of the Rings movies came out in Theatres, I read the whole trilogy out loud to my brothers (it took forever). Yet there is something important that these stories teach us about the world and ourselves. The older a story is, the more I like it. I have a whole collection of Irish folktales. I love the history of them, and the fact that they existed in various forms for years, decades, before a few people decided it was worth while to write them down.

What I find even more interesting is that many of these tales still have relevance today. A good tale can teach you something, no matter when it was 'created'. My favorite stories are the horror stories, vampires and werewolfs, ghosts and goblins, because they show the darkest side of humanity.

Social

Twittering, posting, and blogging away
so that the electrical society
might know that I exist at least
some binary is saved from me.

Colors and codes and words
Which all get stored somewhere
Where cables are gods,
and impulses electrical only

Here in space, in the void
We become little more
than firing neurons or
a bunch of ones and zeros

Is there a code for friendship?
A real way to show electrical love?
Can we exist online and in world?
Have I simply become a bunch of code?

I have a Facebook and a Blog
I let you all see me 'online'
But in reality I am a 'real' person
Unplugged, uncoded, and me

Roommate Search: The Saga Continues

Many of you might remember that we last left off with the roommate hunt with me come painfully close to getting a roommate. Well we are off to the races once more, as I am going to be showing the room a couple of times this weekend. One wood think that it would be easier to find a roommate, but I guess not. Of course with rehearsal starting again, it will be interesting to see how good I am at actually getting someone to move in. Keep your fingers crossed.

What I find so interesting about all of this is it really makes me tied to my email address. Since I'm posting on Craigslist primarily, everyone emails their response. I have to remember who is coming when and all that. Although I will say that I am getting more interest now, than I was even a month ago, which I take as a very good sign. Of course, a couple of them instantly got thrown out, as they were from guys, and I really only want to room with a girl.

When this is all over I am going to be able to write a very lovely comedy about roommates... Or I should be able too.

USA

I am extreemly happy at the moment. The USA after a terrifingly long 90mins game, finally scored in stopage time 90+2 something. Algeria played a good game, and came dangrously close a couple of times, but finally USA made it. And of course to make even more happy England came right out and beat Slovenia (who made me really nurvous). Now I just have to wait for group D to be decided. I sure that Germany will move forward, but thats really the exstent to my foresight. I'm not even sure who I think they should play, they are a dangrous team to either the US or England. Is it a bad thing when I get to rapped up in Futbol like this?

If you do not understand any of the above and think I'm rambling about something completely crazy, than you have been hiding in a hole. World Cup! I really wish right now that I would go to South Africa and watch Futbol. I've never seen a professional match (sad I know). I really would love to go and watch it on the world stage (lack of money is really the only thing holding me back). Maybe someday I will be able to go and watch a Manchaster United game, in Manchester. Of course that is part of the problem, when it comes to deciding between the USA and England, I'm not sure if I can. I want both to win. And their first game was so interesting, it would be cool is that was what the final game was too (wishful thinking never hurt anyone right?)

Well we will see what happens for right now all I can say is Go USA and GO England (definably Rooney!).

Freezing

I'm not really sure if air conditioning is a good thing. Seeing as I only have one fan in my apartment to help combat the summer heat, coming in to the office during the week and freezing in the air is not really fun. No only does it mean that I sweat up a storm out side of the office, it means that I am wearing a wool sweater inside the office. It could be 90 plus out side, and in I am still freezing.

Of course, it is nice to be able to quickly cool off when it gets so hot outside. Yesterdays bike ride home, had me taking a cool shower almost as soon as I was in my apartment. It was a good bike ride home, I was just very dry and very hot by the end. And that is the real problem. I have to be really careful on my bike ride home, if it is too hot (it never is in the mornings) I could really over heat myself and make myself sick (which I so do not need to do). Even if it is only about a 20 to 25 minute bike ride, it could be really dangerous.

What I wonder is if I was not so used to the air conditioning, if I would be able to handle the heat better. Luckily it is not as hot out today, so we should not have that problem again tonight. Or at least that is the hope. My question is, is air conditioning actually beneficial?

Good Potato Salad

Summer comes in with the humid hot winds
Bakes these concrete walks
shimmers in waves over the pitched roof
Boils the skin till red hot

In the relative coolness of the night
After the sun has left the sky
And breeze blows over sweat skin
I put a whole bag of potatoes
In a large pot of water
And watch as the gas stove
waves heat over my already hot skin
While the water boils
While potatoes cook

In a smaller pan I place
six white eggs, smooth.
I run water over all,
watch as they drowned
Than I place them, drowning
next to the potato pan,
doubling the heat of the gas
Which starts to act
like the sun had, heating the room
The sweat on my skin is growing.

While I wait, feeling more the heat
I wash a bright red pepper
and three sticks of celery
Than under the sharp gaze
of my kitchen knife,
they split and I chop
the bright red and watery green
in a crisp fresh way,
which when done I dump unceremoniously
Into a large white rubber bowl.

I run cold water over the done
Potatoes and eggs, forcing them cool
when they were so recently hot.
Than with mayonnaise as a glue,
I stir it all rather haphazardly
It is is a random selection
of random things, a bit of red
a little pale green,
white potato and egg in white bowl
a little splash of yellow orange
the dark green of basil
the black specks of pepper
the invisible salt, I can only taste.

Good Potato Salad

Pepper

I buried my cat, Pepper, under a granite block, we had taken from the village dump. In the fall I planted bulbs that would cover the grave sometime in late spring. They were flowers I did not expect to see, as I planned to move out of my parents house and start an adventure, or a journey of my own. Strangely my cat was one of the many strings that needed to be cut before I could leave. Stranger still that it was death that freed me from my obligation.

I do not really remember my friends name. It was when I was a child, of six or seven. It was spring, and chilly. I remember the house, when I pass it I always think of the room, cut off from the rest of the house by a baby gate. Inside that room, hiding under chairs and a large sofa, was two small black and white kittens. My parents were going to let me have one of those small furry bodies. I had already dreamed of petting soft fur.

Originally, I had wanted the orange kitten my friend had told me about, but for some reason or another it had been given to someone else. I was still a little sour about not getting the orange tom cat, but the excitement of getting a kitten over shadowed everything. The only problem was catching one.

Kittens, I have learned, have an ability to be except artists. They climb and hide. The most recent kitten I have been around liked to hide inside a olive green velvet rocking arm chair. He would curl up somewhere in the folds of the backing and only come out for food. Retrieving the kitten I wanted back when I was younger was almost as difficult. An Adult climbed over the baby gate and the kittens scurried under and away. I remember the excitement as I watched and pointed out the one I wanted. I'm not sure if Pepper was the one I had originally pointed out or the easier one to catch.

Salt and Pepper was his full name, but it was soon shorted to Pepper. He was a tux cat, and in his prim a very handsome, almost haughty one. I remember very distinctly him sitting straight back, front paws straight, tail curled around and head held high. Even as he grew older, and took on more of a grumpy old Englishman, how he sat drew attention.

In fact, for a long time I thought of Pepper as a kind of English gentleman, who smoked a pipe and thought of others as foolish (saying such things as Nincompoop and balderdash). But he was also rather haughtily like the French. No matter how I saw him, he was always well dressed and thought of himself rather highly. As all cats, I'm sure he felt most humans were staff not owners. But he would come when you called his name; yet always before he got to you he would stop, turn around and sit, as if to say 'I wanted to come", or "you called? I had no idea, I just happened to be coming this way."

Pepper was also the reason for many laughs. When he was still a kitten, he was terrified of going outside (latter we would wish that we had kept him inside). My sister and I would force the poor kitten into a little halter, and drag the cat outside for 'walks'. The poor cat was terrified of being outside in the great world. My dad called him a scardicat. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but at some point Pepper decided that he loved the out doors and that he was a hunter. No longer was he terrified. He would even bring us lovely presents, a dead mouse or better yet an almost dead mouse.

In winter Pepper would still demand to go outside. He would slowly walk through the fresh snow, shacking off each paw before planting it down to shack off the next paw. My family would laugh at him and his, step shake, step shake, step shake. Yet despite his dislike for the wet, he would often risk the snow or rain to hunt. Amazingly all of his hunting he did without his front claws, which had been removed to protect the furniture. He even caught birds, which the only evidence would be a pile of feathers.

The best tale that we have of the cat was his chasing of dogs. My family has always had both cats and dogs. Amazingly there had always been a strange short of peace between the two. We never thought that Pepper might react differently around strange dogs. One summer, when the oldest of my two brothers was still a baby, the whole family was outside doing chores. Pepper, and Shadow, our dog at the time, were outside with us. My brother was in his playpen, and the rest of us were working in the gardens weeding. Two strange dogs, from down in the valley, came wondering through our yard. Shadow rushed to meet them and make friends, but the dogs were more interested in the baby. Thats when Pepper decided to show himself. This of course got the other two dogs extremely excited. What happened next was a kind of story that only gets larger in the telling.

Pepper puffed himself up and attached the nearest dog hissing and boxing the poor dog's ears. the dogs decided this was some kind of monster and Pepper happily chased them off the property. The dogs did not return. When Pepper reached the edge of the hedgerow, he stopped and stalked, triumphantly back toward us all, while we laughed and cheered. Pepper got in a couple of fights after that, mostly with other cats and without good results. In fact there was one night, when it was storming, my mother let the cat in with out really looking at him. He crawled down to my bed. I woke with a mangle of blood and wet fur curled on my bed. Poor Pepper really had had been beaten up. I almost lost him than, but he pulled through.

That was perhaps one of my greatest fears. I did not want to loose my friend. A friend. This cat had put up with me dragging him around the back yard, picking him up, pulling him under the covers of my bed so that he would sleep with me (when he was older he would ask to go under the covers) 1 years of my life contained a cat who was black and white, with a nose half pink, half black. He would find me when I was crying and curl up next to me purring. He would come running when you were cutting cheese or serving ice cream, to get his part.

I buried my cat on the hill above my parents house and the suggestion of my brother, who reminded me that it was Peppers favorite place to hunt. We laid him out in a large shoe box, curled as if sleeping. A peaceful, old Englishman, in a tux, finally at rest. I cried. I buried my cat and wept for the lose of a friend.

Color

Traditionalist say its all black and white
Everything in a box.
The rationalist ask what is the point
and see things by degrees
Philosophers point out relitivity
everything what you make yourself
When did things get so complicated?
Is not murder always wrong?
justification by reason
is not a way to explain cause
A tree is either living or dead
God either is, or is not.
Still I a traditionalist
almost to a fault.
Does not like being placed
even gentle in any box.

So do we have a black or white situation?
When we let failed systems seperate?
Although truth may be in black and white
Our skins, colored in all shades
Should not box us up, box us in.
For the truth lays not in the skin
But rather in our blood.
Everyone bleeds red

Best Road to Hell

I started thinking about the path that I am currently on. I think it started last night, when I sitting at the read through of the next piece I am working on. And it continued today while emailing a friend. One of my favorite authors, C. S. Lewis is the man to go to when you need thought provoking and sometimes rather problematic quotes. One of my favorites deals rather well with this thought. "The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts." It is all easy.

That's the problem. The 'high' road which so many strive for, is more difficult to stay on that a balancing beam. Its rather easy to get off track. If you have done any hiking you know that going down hill can me the most dangerous part, definably if it is rather steep. We are not talking about that kind of down hill, we are talking about the slight incline, which makes it really easy to get down hill, because you almost don't realize you are going down hill. By the time you have gotten down the hill, not only have you come farther than you wanted too, but you also turn around and see the height from which you have descended. If you had not realized your mistake you would have kept on marching on, but know you see, the only problem is what do you do?

Going up hill is hard, whether it is a slight incline or a steep cliff. Not only is it physically twice if not three times as hard as going downwards over the same distance, it is mentally hard. Your mind sees ahead, knows how easy it is to go down, and wonders what in the world you are thinking. Why go up if it is easier to go down? If you do finally reach that untouchable heights, it is very possible and more than likely that you will fall off that balancing beam again. Why even move? Why not just sit down right at the middle of that beam? Why not just add another road block or bump for others to go over or around?

So why try? Lewis again gives a good bit: "We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive." We must try for that height, try for that 'right' road, the 'high' ground. "Aim at heaven" Lewis says "And you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither." Human nature might make it seem impossible, but it is not through ourselves that we overcome such things. But than again, when have we ever been able to do anything by ourselves with out messing it all up?

So where does all of the above leave me? Some where on the climb back towards what ever goal I started with, even if I wonder what that goal is at times. Progress for me is going backwards.

Angel: The Dog from Hell

When Gloria stepped through the door no one looked at her. Which was perfect. Perfect because tonight she was going to kill. She had been planning this move for months, maps hung in her apartment. Times and dates on calenders and little pieces of string little road ways for her plans. Pictures of the soon to be deceased, everything was planned.

Gloria was not the type to overly obsess about things. She was a slow mover, but not necessarily a good thinker. She worried that she would be caught, but had been working on not looking guilty. Her grand children would think her un-hinged, her daughter would try to put her in a home, and her son would not say a word. That of course was if they found out, she was not going to let that happened. No one was to know that she was the killer, no one.

It had all started when her neighbors, the Stevenson, having had their second child, decided that it was time to move to a bigger apartment. They still had her come over an babysit, and the old child Anna, called her Auntie Gloria, with lots of emphasis on the 'a' at the end. It was not really their fault that those new people, the new neighbors were so rude. Nor could she really blame them for moving in the first place. And it was definably not their fault for not knowing about the dog. But Gloria, felt some how that they should not have left her, should have stayed just a little longer.

Yet the real blame was with the new neighbors, primarily with the wife. She was, in Gloria's mind the most horrible woman in the world. Mary McDonald, who drank her first martini at 11:30 without fail, sooner on Mondays. Mary McDonald, who's rat faced boy had run over Gloria's poor flower beds with his bicycle. Mary McDonald, who's daughter talked non-stop to boys three years older than her, while flipping her hair and wearing too much make-up for a fourteen year-old. Mary McDonald, who went every where with that dog.

It was the dog that Gloria hated most of all. It was a small terror mix, with stubby legs and a whinny high pitched bark. This dog, named horribly Angel, was anything other than a demon. Gloria had never before hated as she hated now. She was going to kill that dog. It would be called a murder, Mary McDonald cared more for that ankle biting wretch than for her own children, definable more than her husband. If there were two things Mary McDonald could not do with out, it was her evil little dog and her martinis. After a month Gloria had had enough.

That's when the plan began. Slowly it had formed. The murder was the most important thing in the world, she was putting her whole self into it. Never before had Gloria even thought about hurt anyone or anything. She was passive almost to a fault. But that dog brought out something completely new in her and it was too strong to ignore. Gloria Evens was going to kill.

So as Gloria walked her way through the department store were Mary McDonald, she knew that today was the day. She purchased a new set of white sheets, to replace the ones she would use later. Than made her way to Mary's check out line.

"Well hello there neighbor." Mary McDonald's high pitched, slightly drunk voice bit into Gloria.
"Good morning, Mary." Gloria tried to act nice, it was hard.
"New sheet, uh?"
"Oh yes, I decided I could not put it off any longer, I just need a new set for the guest bed, before my son visits."
"When is he coming?"
"In two days." Gloria steeled herself to ask the question she needed the answer too. "How long you working today?"
"Oh until four, again."
"Well have a good rest of your day, hopefully it will pass fast."
"Thanks." Mary McDonald smiled her fake smile, and Gloria picked up her bags, smiling to herself.

That night after Mary McDonald's wailing screams of hysteria had stopped, Gloria went out back of her garage. After an hour of digging, something that in her younger years would have only taken 15 minutes, Gloria placed a bundle covered of bloody sheets into the dew soaked ground. Gloria happily filled in the hole, patted the dirt with her shovel, and with a smile on her face returned the shovel to its place and went off to bed.

Early the next morning, Gloria was smiling over her cup of coffee, when the police arrived across the way. At first she thought nothing of it, till the ambulance arrived, than she got worried. Surly Mary McDonald had not suffered physical harm from the loss of her beloved hellish dog.

Less than a week after Mary McDonald's funeral, at which Gloria Evens had shown extreme anguish, Gloria moved out of her beloved house and into the home her daughter had been trying to get her into for several years. No one understood why she had suddenly changed her mind.

What Do I Want?

The sun to shine bright
The rain to be gentle and warm
Snow in the winter that's white
And a good coat when its cold.

Flowers that last from Spring to Fall
Grass that moves like water in the wind
Bare feet in slick mud and clay
Weeds that grow for someone else.

Bright lights with glam and fuss
quiet peace with nature only
Fame and riches and a good name
Anonymity and to be decently poor

All of the good, none of the bad
To have joy in pain, but little pain.
To have many friends, a few that are best
To have love, warmth, hope, achievement

What do I really want?
Many things, like all hopeless Romantics
I dream them real, and touch none.
What most? Love.

Work it, Work it

After missing two Belly Dance classes, I finally went last night. I know better than to skip a class, because the next time I go, I get my butt kicked. Last night there was some major butt kicking. No only did the instructor decided to really make us move, but she threw some rather difficult moves our way. Its always a nice feeling when your muscles burn ever so slightly. And of course getting into the swing of things is always difficult. I need to start practicing on my own.

Belly Dance is almost the opposed of Ballet. While Ballet asks for turn out and tight controlled movements, Belly Dance wants freedom. And although there is a fair amount of isolation in both, Belly Dance is still free in its isolation. I'm a classically trained dancer, letting my self be free and not holding myself in is extremely hard to do. Although it is getting easier as time goes by. Still my muscles have very good memory, and I am constantly having to remind them to relax. Even right now while I am sitting at my desk, I sit straight backed, stomach in, and head up. My muscles have not forgotten their training. If I was to take a Ballet class right now, I would be able to do almost everything the teacher might throw at me, even if I do not have the flexibility I once had (not that I have ever been really flexible).

The great thing about any dance form I do, once I am comfortable with it, I just have fun. I love to dance, no matter what form. And last night I was smiling while I shook and jumped and twisted. I just forgot to think and let my body enjoy the slight pain in my muscles while they remember they did know how to do all this. Work it baby, Work it.

More Zombies

Well I know I will be doing a show in Sept.! The group I have worked with before, The Dawson Street Dramatic Society, is doing a show for the Philly Fringe Festivel. The show is a spin off of the War of the Worlds radio broadcast, only instead of Alians, its Zombies. I know me and Zombies. We are starting rehearsals soon. For those of you who might want to come and see me in something, crazy/rather interesting, the dates are below. There are a couple of different venues, but I'll let you all know about that when we get closer.

Sept. 3rd, 4th, 10th , 17th , 18th.

Although I really do not having anything planned for the summer, it is nice to have something to look forward too.

GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAALLLLLL

So the World Cup kicked off today, already Mexico and South Africa have tied 1-1. It was a good game too. Futball (or soccer for us Americans) is the one thing that I really wish that I had a TV for. When I was in college, I used to watch the Spanish channel not because I understand a word of what the commentators said, rather because it meant that I could watch a game while I was doing school work. Or pretend to do school work. I would scare my neighbors, because I would be jumping up and down screaming at my TV. (my roommate would get as excited about Stealer's games, which I might add should not be called football because the ball is carried most of the game.)

What I find so amazing about Futball, is that no matter what language the game is being broad casted, you can watch it and understand what is going on. I usually know what all the calls are for (there aren't that many of them.) Also might I add that Futball is a game that is played around the world. And unlike the Baseball, where in the World series, America wins every year... Futball is really a world game, played on the world stage.

The Birch

The Birch, the Birch... now for something completely different. The Birch.

If you do not get the above, it is because you obviously have not watched enough of Monty Python. And I think it is really obvious that I have watched too much. But that is not really what I want to think about today. Rather I have been watching a lot of BBC, lately and came to the conclusion that I think British TV is the best. Why?

Besides the fact that Doctor Who is amazing, there is the fact that in England TV actors look normal. They have bad teeth, bad hair, are not at all what we would think of as 'handsome' or beautiful, and it does not matter. TV in the USA is filled with rather beautiful people, playing the main parts and a bunch of others who are meant to show the 'normal people'. Someone fat, or not standard. But in BBC some of the main actors are horrible looking, OK not ugly, but not what you think of usually as a American.

In the USA we are all about beautiful people. About fitting in with the 'standard'. Of course we are told that everyone looks skinnier and taller then us. And unless you are part of that cookie cutter model, well your just under par. So why are the Brit's content to have their TV actors in general look just like them? Grant it some of the most beautiful Actors, come from the British Isles. Who knows. Right now I am enjoying the new Doctor and watching old episodes of Torchwood and Star Trek (I know, I know definably not British, but its easy to be a Trekkie and a Doctor Who fan). And now for something completely different.

The Birch... The Birch

Middle of the week

I personally think that Wednesdays are the hardest. On Wednesdays you find yourself in the middle of the week, you've made it through Monday and Tuesday. After today you have two more days before you get the freedom of the weekend. Monday usually gets the bad rap, being the first day of the week. I never really have a hard time with Mondays, yes I am usually tired, and yes I do innerly wish sometimes to be back in my bed. Tuesdays usually pass by rather quickly. But Wednesday always seem slow. There are two more days to go to the weekend, and nothing exciting ever seems to happen on Wednesdays. Its this hump you have to make it over, before continuing forward.

Of course, lately there has not really been any difference between my weeks. They seem to all flow forward in the same way. Small differences accrue, but nothing really happens. I go to work, I go home, I cook dinner, read or watch TV on my Mac, go to sleep, wake up have breakfast, pack my lunch and ride my bike to work. On the weekends, I laundry, write, stay up late, and sleep a whole lot. Nothing seems to change, nothing seems to want to. I guess I have gotten myself stuck.

That being said I will add that I did do a major audition yesterday, and I do have a show that I will be starting soon for September. I also now have a roommate, for a couple of months at least, and that is going to change something. So maybe there will be some change in the future, right now, all I have to look forward to is the same old, same old. And making it through Wednesday.

Auditions!

She woke with a dream still hanging in the corners of her mind. It quickly evaporated in the pink of early morning. The sun, not yet up over the roofs of the row houses. Yet it was morning. The birds well into their song, dancing through the tangle of trees and vines that covered the space between the back of one row and the back of the next. She had woken too early. She rolled over and searched with her left hand for the cell phone. Finding it she held it over her head and flipped it open to read 6:15am. There was another hour and a half before she needed to get up. It was a whole half an hour before she normally awoke, but today was the audition.

A little over an hour later found her fully awake and climbing the stairs to take a shower. Nerves or stress would not let her slip back into forgetful sleep, so she was up getting ready. She took a long shower and spent a good amount of attention on her hair. Once out of the shower, she dried her self off and slipped into the skirt and shirt she had picked out the night before. She slung her still wet hair up like a turban and wondered back to her room. Her mind was already working through what she needed to do, rather than what was ahead.

She left the apartment at 8:45, hair blown dry, makeup on. She had changed her clothing three times and settled on a dress rather than the skirt. Her character shoes bounced around in her bag. Half a block away from her apartment she waited five minutes for the number 40 bus, which lucky for her would drop her off just a block away from the audition. She normally hated riding the bus, but today it was the only mode of transportation that made sense. While the bus bounced its way down 40th street, stopping at intervals to pick up and drop off passengers. She tried to consecrate on the introduction of her two monologues and that the monologues them selves, but found that she had no concentration. So she covertly watched people on the bus, but found that this was too difficult as well.

The bus made its way through university city and across the bridge towards center city. She started to watch the numbers and names of the streets. While the bus weaved its way southwestward, she found that it was easy to concentrate on things out side the bus so she did. Finally the hit 15th street, and she pulled the sting to request a stop. She stood up, riding the bus momentum till she reached the door, and waited for the doors to swing forward. She thanked the bus driver and stepped out into the cool morning air. The sun hot on her face. She turned and walking in front of the stopped bus crossed the street and headed north on Broad. Less than a block away was the theatre in which she would audition. She felt her heart thumping... and took a quick breath.

She found the theatre with no difficulty and pushed one of the large doors opened. She made her way to the sign in, smiled and gave her name. She was at least 30 min. early, but that was good. She found a seat and pulled out the pear she had brought with her, she started to eat it while she read over her monologues and continued to stay calm. After the pear was gone she went to the bathroom and made sure her hair and makeup was OK. Than she headed back out to the lobby were other hopeful nervous people waited. Someone had taken her seat, so she found another. The first group was called in. She was sure to be in the second group. So she slipped out of her flats and into her character shoes, humming to clear her voice.

Her name was called, last of the next group of five. She followed the group, a line of people around her own age, of various heights and body types. They walked single file down the hall way that lead to the back stage, to wait. This wait was worse, there was no concentrating here. She had to just let her self be, calm down and wait. She listened to the girl two people in front of her, give a great audition, than laughed at the guy who went on before her. It was nice to be able to hear what other people were doing, it was calming. Than it was her turn, she took a breath and stepped out onto the stage.

"Good morning, My name..." less than five minutes later she would be done. She made it through the slate, and taking a breath dove into her first monologue. She missed a line in the first monologue, it was the weaker of the two, but even with the few mess ups that really only she could know about, it was good. The second, one of her favorite monologues, from Chekhov's The Bear, went smashing. It was a good strong monologue. She finished stood from her chair and walked forward "Thank you" Less than five minutes and she was done.

She walked back out of the hallway, smiling at those who still had those five minutes a head of them. She grabbed her back, slipped off her character shoes and into her flats. In the bathroom she told herself that it was a good audition and that mistakes were normal. She prayed for call backs, and left the theatre for the morning sunshine and the street.

Auditions!

I would like to start by saying that I did not really sleep last night. Whether because the temperature was a lot colder than it had been all weekend, honeysuckle is in bloom, or stress I am not sure. For whatever reason I hung between being a wake and being asleep all night. Its a really weird place to be. Your body is tired, so it does not want to move, your limps are heavy. Yet your mind is still going at one hundred miles an hour, so you toss and turn. My guess is that I am already stressing about a couple of things.

First, amazingly, I have a girl moving into the apartment today. Which is GREAT! finally having a roommate will be a wonderful thing. Its really annoying not having someone in the apartment.

Second, and this is the real stress part, I have an audition tomorrow. But it is not any audition. It is the Philadelphia Annual Auditions, and it means that there will be a whole lot of people there. I'm hoping that this means that I will get parts in this next years productions. Obviously I'm already nervous, I can feel that in my stomach right now, while I write this. The important this is not to let those nerves get in the way of a good audition, and being really positive. I'm praying for a good nights sleep (I'll need it).

And of course this past weekend I did work on my monologues, but probably not as much as I should have. I have the Chekhov memorized completely, but the other one is still a little shaky and making my nerves worse. And of course being low on sleep is not helping either. I guess I need to work on calming myself down...

Worst Pick Up Lines Ever

Yesterday on my way home I was following the same biker through several red lights. After stopping at the third or fourth one, he turns to me and says "We need to stop meeting like this." Now what in the world are you suppose to say to that? My reply was "Ya I hate red lights..." End of conversation. But it got me thinking about really bad pick up lines. Like "did it hurt?/when you fell from heaven" or "you must be tired/because you've been running around my head all day."

Of course I do have my favorite come back, directly for my life as a theatre artist. "Wow the entrance was great, the delivery superb, lets see the exit." (yes I have used it). But come on why do guys feel the need to use those cheesy lines, that none of us women can take seriously? Am I too much of a romantic if I just want to have tea and talk? I would really like to stop having scary guys flirt with me on the subway, and get random pickup lines from people I do not know... Or am I a cold heart B----?

Eating Chinses Food

There is something absolutely wonderful about Chinese food. Beef/Broccoli is my favorite. And although I'm good at stir frying veg's, I never can get the right taste. Of course the Chinese food that we eat here in the USA is very different from real Chinese food, or even the Chinese food you get in other countries. I've never had 'real' Chinese food in China. I did have some while I was in Ireland, and not too surprising potatoes were a big part of the selection. It was good food, but very different from what we get here.

And then there is the wonders of left overs (I'm writing this while I eat left over shrimp broccoli). Although not everything is good re-warmed, Chinese food seems to do wonderfully (apart from sea food, all re-warmed shrimp is weird). I know that some people (my sister for example) can't eat Chinese because it makes them sick, but every once in a while I get a really craving for Chinese. Last nights purchase, might have stemmed from the fact that one of my co-workers had it yesterday for lunch. (question, can cravings for food be passed from person to person like a yawn?)

Well hopefully this will cure me to needing Chinese in the future, seeing as it really is bad for you.

Playing Solitaire

There are times when just playing several games of solitaire can lead to a kind of unfocused, unproductive busyness, that helps to keep off boredom. I've always loved playing solitaire, its one of those games that leave much up to chance. When you play with real cards, there is the break for the shuffling, the dealing, and then the slow moving of the cards into rows of black and red. There is something so soothing about just playing a game of cards with yourself. You play by your rules, one card or three from the pile? You might even cheat a little to get your way.

I first learned how to play solitaire on the plane to the Netherlands when I was in second grade. For a while I watched one of the men near me, deal out cards onto his tray table and play a game. Very soon I was playing it myself. In fact that trip included many things that were completely new to me, a language I could not understand, cobbled streets, and markets that seemed to come from fairy tales. For two very short weeks my mother and great-grandmother shared a country with my sister and I. We had gone to see one of my mother's host sisters (From when she had been a exchange student) get married.

I might have been a little young to remember everything that we did, but I do remember riding a train, walking the dikes, eating pancakes with nutella, and finishing a whole pot of mussels all by my self, and than helping my sister with hers (she hated seafood at the time). So many little things that I kind of remember, like the old church where the wedding was and my great-grandmother before Altimers took away any memory she had of my existence. Obviously solitaire was not forgotten for I have never really stopped playing it. Although I do not play it often, I do randomly play through a couple of games one day, or perhaps tick away some time on a bus or train playing it on my i-pod. And of course my ability is gotten better since those first few hands on the plane all those years ago.

Hot, Hot, Hot

I'm sure everyone knows the song. 'How you feeling? hot, hot hot!" It is one of those Bollywood songs that seemed to just get picked up and used everywhere. Most memorably at the end of Bend it like Beckham, with hilarious perfection. It is not however a helpful song to have stuck in your head when it is eighty in your apartment and all you have is one little fan to help out. Summer it seems is in full swing.

We never had air conditioning growing up. You opened the windows at night and ran fans in the worst weather, closing up the house(closing windows and pull shades across them all) once the sun started coming in the windows. I remember I also could not sleep at night with out my comforter on, something that drove my mother insane. It was would be hot and humid and I would be snuggled deep down under all my covers as if it was a cold winter night. Thankfully I grew out of that. Maybe it is was my youth, but I do not deal with the heat as well as I once did. Part of the problem might be that once I was in middle school, I got my own room in the basement and it was always cool down there in the summer (sometimes I even had to run my heater).

I can't imagine what it was like before air conditioning or even electric fans. Women wore full dresses, with corsets and stockings. I wonder how they did it. personally I am glad that I am freezing right now in my office, in glorious air conditioning. Although I am struggling to keep awake after a night of not sleeping due to the 'hot, hot, hot', I can't wait till true summer comes, won't that be fun!?!