Actors and Mommies

Nobody likes actors. Only children and other mommies like mommies.

I know these are blanket statements, but in my experience there is truth to both statements. Actors and mommies have a certain behavior in common. Often they are obsessed with only one thing and can talk about little else.

I should amend those statements to refer to young actors and mommies of babies and toddlers. Young actors are often taking classes and hitting the pavement to build a career. It is so all encompassing that every waking moment of the day is about networking, auditioning, working and wanting. They spend their time talking business, dropping names and looking for a good photographer and an agent. Mommies that stay at home with their babies are often isolated and consumed with the care of this new human being. They spend their time looking for fellowship with other mommies and are often distracted from other pursuits by the demanding and monotonous schedule of feedings and naps.

I have been both of these things. When I was a young actor, I didn't think much about mommies except that they were my bread and butter as a Gymboree Instructor and babysitter. As the mommy of a small child I hated actors because I tired rather quickly of their name dropping discussions and their fair weather friendships. Since I had dropped out of the game as a producer and as a working actor, I was no longer of any interest or use to other actors. I couldn't give them any leads or bring them in on any projects because I wasn't out there myself. When you switch from one to the other, you learn who your real friends are pretty damn quick.

In rehearsals Ben and I were discussing my character's 28 cats. He tentatively suggested that my character's strange adoration for her cats was not unlike the early days of my mommydom when I couldn't talk of anything else except my son. At first, I was horribly insulted. Mostly because I knew it was true. Then I realized that one of the things I need to learn in life is how to expand my world. I may be an actor. I may be a mommy. But those need not be the only things I am.

I feel I've become a better artist as since I've expanded my emotional world to include a small one. I've become a better mommy that I'm no longer pushing my artistic needs aside. As much as high school was a painfully huge bore, it was also an incredibly expansive time in my life. I was forced to consider other things. Life narrows considerably after you leave school. You can get soft, wimpy and dull.

I'm coming to the conclusion that this is not good for art. I look around and see complacency as the order of the day. The search for comfort has eclipsed the grander search for meaning and connection. What is comfort but simply getting by? Is that really how we want to lead our lives? Or do we blow Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs to hell? Obsession is just another way to hide from life, to hide from self. The business of acting, the business of mothering or whatever you may be into needs to be put into a perspective that allows the artist to move into the larger sphere of the world. By all means, use your base of knowledge and passion as a means to understand the world but go out and actually try to understand the world- not just your one tiny part of it.

I'm worried about the constant act of separating one's self from the world. We try to stand out, to be special by being separate when what is most special about us just might be that which connects us to the world. We would be remiss in our duties as humans, as artists to ignore the gifts that communicate our togetherness. Especially with the world as it is today. We should have a whole that is greater than the sum of our parts.

I am looking to expand my world in ways that are somewhat uncomfortable. I am looking to do things that frighten me just a little bit. I am going to learn many things this year.

Welcome to 2007.

Repertoire

Many rep companies around the country beg for money this time of year. They have to in order to sustain their season. So, they focus their energies on subscriptions, soliciting tax deductible donations and producing holiday classics like, "A Christmas Carol" or "The Nutcracker". These traditions allow families to go to the theatre and many children cut their theatrical teeth on these Christmas tales. People go year after year because it gets them in the mood for the holiday season. It just doesn't feel like Christmas unless I see Sugar Plum Fairies or the ghost of Jacob Marley. Other companies run satirical or campy holiday material for the Scrooges who've seen one too many Rankin/Bass animated Christmas specials on the Family Channel. For anyone who acknowledges the Christmas season's existence, there are any number of options for your entertainment dollar.

But where are you the rest of the year?

I have nothing against "A Christmas Carol" or "The Nutcracker" or any production of "The Santaland Diaries". I think they are all worthy of their status in our culture. But, having never been a performer or director in any kind of company that lasted longer than one season, I often wonder if the company members tire of the material year after year? Does anyone grumble that they would rather be doing "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" or "Barefoot in the Park"? Or anything else?

In my humble estimation there are about 2 optimum weekends per year for producing a new show. Everything else is bad timing. Gee, I'd love to do "Mother Courage" but we have to start gearing up for our holiday show. Can't interfere with that, it's our moneymaker for the year. In January and February it's too cold so we have to put on something that is warm and crowd pleasing to get people to come out to the theatre. Besides, there's our annual Valentine's Day promotion we need to consider. March, April and May it is starting to get warmer but we'll have Spring Break to contend with. June, July and August are just too hot and, even though we are air conditioned all those bodies do make for a very hot time. Psychologically, people really don't like to sit for long during the summer months. September we have people going back to school and we loose audiencees then. October and November we have to compete with Halloween and fall festivals and Thanksgiving and then we have to get right back to Christmas.

I've always wanted to have my own company as I figured it would allow me some freedom and control. It really doesn't because you always have to chase down your operating budget. I dream of having my own space to play with as I please. I have dreamed of it for decades, but it would only force me to make concessions as an artist that I am really not prepared to make. I guess it is best for me to function as a singular artist, producing willy nilly and on a shoestring.

You know, I think having available funds creates only the illusion of freedom. Those funds always come with strings attached to desires attached to moral sensibilities attached to judgments which are not necessarily your own. Those funds decide what you produce and how you produce it. But if you do it as a pauper, it's all yours and your guts are in it. Because, when you have no funding, what else can you put into a production but your guts? You've got nothing else, baby. Your guts will have to do. God, isn't that exciting? I'm getting goose bumps just thinking about it.

I'm afraid that when money becomes a major factor in art that it sucks out all the passion. We are losing our ability to scream. We become complacent. We lose sight of what those three ghosts mean to Ebeneezer. We lose their message. If we lose their message, then there is no real or vital reason to keep telling the story.

Unless it is only to make a few extra bucks.

Adventures in Mating by Joseph Scrimshaw

We're begining the countdown to January 8th when we open Adventures in Mating (by Joseph Scrimshaw) at No. 43 Stage at Jimmy's in the East Village. Promoting this show has been more strenuous than any other promotion I've ever done. The best part is, unlike any other promotion I've ever done, this one has been fun. Stressful, but that fun kind of stressful when you feel like you've been drinking all night long but really you're just exhausted and stupid from lack of sleep.

I love that.

I guess what I've enjoyed most is that the individuals and groups we have approached for partnerships have been really supportive and excited. This makes me feel a lot less nervous and awful about asking for help and it also boosts my confidence about our ability to pull this off.

There will be more information in the days and weeks to come, but my focus has to be with the show right now. I'd flood this blog with other contributors, however most everyone is heading for their holiday vacations and are not particularly interested in starting things up until after the New Year. So, I suppose you'll have to deal with my silence. Sorry. But if you're in NYC in January you can find out all about the thing that has been stealing all of my time and attention. Things are looking pretty good for this show. I'm pleased.

Now, if I could just memorize my lines.

Necessity of Down Time

It is easily recognizeable in the dark circles under the eyes and the snippy attitude. Weariness hangs around the stretched out waistline of those permanent press pants and in the shoulders so tense they look like they sprouted out the side of your head. People are not made to run 16-20 hours a day. They just aren't. If you're like me, you notice this about everyone but yourself. Oh, poor Bob! He needs a nap. He needs to have a decent meal and some time to care for his mental health! Poor Sally, she's been working so hard she hasn't even had time to wash her hair! What? You need someone to do what? I'll make time. That other thing will be in by 2:30 at the latest. Don't worry, I'll be up until 1:00 am with my insomnia anyway, I may as well get some work done.

It is amazing how kind and forgiving we can be with others, but when it comes to ourselves enough is never quite enough. I've been handing out advice like Halloween candy these days. Ha! Physician, heal thyself!

One of my biggest faults as a human being is my overwhelming arrogance. I believe everyone else is human. Me? I'm a machine. You wouldn't believe the things I can get done in a day! I remember my boss at my first job telling me "Remember, there is ALWAYS something that needs doing. You should never have any reason to NOT be working." Yes sir! I was a great employee. Sixteen years later I've swallowed that lesson whole and since I work from home I am never off duty.

I should really find a way to get an office so I don't have to bring my work home with me. It looms over my life a cloud- or maybe that's the water damaged ceiling in my bedroom that is threatening to fall? Either way, I've got a lot on my plate and I not only deserve a little down time, I require it. If it weren't my birthday tomorrow I know I would be able to justify putting my needs on the back burner until sometime in February when I am usually depressed anyway.

Since tomorrow IS my birthday, I feel entitled to a little party. I'm going to get a facial and a Shirodara. Delightful. I'm going to take the whole day off- with the exception of movie night with my son. The work that I have to do will wait until I get some sit down time on Saturday. The promo work will still need to be organized. My lesson plans for January will need to be considered. Lines will still need to be memorized, props will need to be gathered, but I've worked my butt off and I can afford to take this day off.

I keep waiting for someone to tell me to sit down and take a break. I say it enough to others mostly because I truly believe they need it, but also because I would like the validation of hearing it back. However, I never do. I once got upset with a teacher because he was always stroking other students' egos with phrases like "You have so much talent..." and " You have no reason to doubt your capacity..." while he would always talk to me like I knew better. One day after I had worked on a scene that I felt lacked the appropriate amount of rehearsal time he told me, "I think it's a testament to your talent that you even got this far...". I thanked him and he said, "I didn't mean it as a complement." That's when I laid into him about how he always reassured others about their ability and that this is the first time he had ever mentioned the word "talent" in reference to me and that- regardless of the context- I was going to latch on to the idea that my talent was even acknowledged. He just blinked at me and said, "I never thought for a second that you needed to hear that."

In honor of an over achiever's birthday, tell someone who you think is invincible to sit down and take a break. Tell someone who you think has all the confidence in the world that they are doing a good job at something. They need to hear it, too.

A Finger In Every Pie

Seriously, divas are not cute. They're not funny and they shouldn't be tolerated.

There has been some talk amongst my circle of friends about how directors are wanting to copyright stage directions. How desperate for attention and validation is that? You can't go upstage left on that line without paying me two dollars! I WROTE upstage left! Oh please.

It isn't to say that directors do not make an important contribution to any production, they do. I'd like to think I've come up with some nice things as a director. But when is enough enough? I've had work stolen from me. I know how much it stings and how unfair it is that someone else should profit from your hard labor. Of course, I also know that my work was stolen because it was good. I also know that if Samuel French prints those stage directions chances are that the only people who are going to actually use them will be high schools and community theatres. Any professional director would make another choice and if they are unable or unwilling to make another choice, then maybe they need all the help they can get.

There's nothing new under the sun. I'm tiring of the paranoia. It's getting old sitting around thinking of ways to talk up a show or a script or whatever I've been working on without actually giving any of the concept away for fear I may be scooped or outright robbed. Doing just about anything in this business is hard enough without everyone needing to have a cut of this or a piece of that. I hate the thought that I might be living and working among vultures desperate to pick away at my creative carcass even though I still have some life in me. This is an ensemble artform and for ensembles to work there needs to be an element of trust and generosity. All the grubbing makes me nauseous.

Of course I realize that people need to be properly compensated for their efforts and appropriately recognized for their contributions. I just feel sick and disgusted that we live in a day and age where it is NECESSARY to plan the appropriate kudos in advance. Alas, people scramble to protect their intellectual property because in this day and age it is the only property a person can afford to own. I just lament the fact that the days of "Hey guys! I got an idea! Let's put on a show!" are long gone. Instead we have to worry about directors who want to interfere with the writer's ability to publish. Then there are actors who believe their face and figure are such a valuable commodity that they will bog down a project with heavy paychecks and ludicrous perks. Or how about producers who bristle at any touch of controversy and steamroll the artists they pretend to champion all to line their pockets with a few more dollars? When everyone is out for themselves there is no ensemble. I'm afraid the ensemble is dead. When the ensemble dies, I'm afraid the stories die with them.

Art should be given with an open heart. Perhaps I'm naive. I know that if I continue in my career with that as a guiding principle that people will take advantage of me over and over again. But you cannot steal from me that which I willingly give. I wish I was brave enough to invoke the concept of karma in my artistic pursuits. I wouldn't screw you intentionally, so don't screw me or you'll pay Universal consequences! I think I might be happier if I let this stuff go, but since everyone else has to work within this letigious framework then so do I. Right? Or is it that I am just too chicken to throw myself to the wolves?

I have some time to consider my options, but I'd rather just make my art.

Agendas

Nothing in this world makes me want to hurl a string of profanity like the issue of social agendas in art. It's such a sticky situation and, if truth be told, it isn't the existence of the agenda that bothers me. It's the blatant lack of depth and skill that seems to so frequently accompany the agenda. Then the agenda becomes married to the piece of art making it impossible to criticize. Who is going to say "Schindler's List" has narrative problems or forced dialogue? What makes "Schinder's List" powerful is not the depth of the storytelling but the depth of human history. We cannot hold Spielberg responsible for the circumstances of history. So we need not make him a hero for them, either.

I'm not critiquing "Schindler's List". I actually have no substantial problems with the film, except that I found it less than extraordinary. Nor am I making any statements on the Holocaust. What is on my mind is the idea of perspective and intent. To continue with this lamentable example, "Schindler's List" was not made to explain how the Holocaust happened. It was not made to challenge any self righteous assumptions from its audience. It is fairly safe. You can walk away from "Schindler's List" with your ego intact. Yes, that was a horrible thing that happened and I am sad but I can feel content with myself that I would not fold so easily. I would do the right thing. I would risk my life and hide Anne Frank and her family. I would save as many people as I could. This film has great value in its ability to inspire empathy, but will it stop future genocides? Well, count how many are happening in the world today. I'll wait.

Finished counting? Or just feeling too sad to continue the exercise?

I don't just mean to pick on "Schindler's List". There are a myriad of other works that have no real informative or inspirational purpose just agendas. From "The Contender" to "Passion of the Christ" there are certain things that simply ellicit reactions from the human machine. Just give me five minutes. I can inspire you to feel sad. I can create an atmosphere to inspire love, moral outrage, hatred, you name it. That doesn't mean that I have achieved anything approaching greatness. It just means that I have pushed the right buttons to manipulate a response from you. Look! Puppies! Oh no! One of those puppies is in trouble! His mama is going to save him! Yay Mama! Watch out for that bear, Mama! NOOOOOOO!!!

Okay. Now I'm being flip, but there are tricks being used that are so pedestrian that it makes me angry. I cry every time and I cry on cue but I feel pissed for being used. I feel pissed and cheated because I know that feeling in my brain when I see something honest, skillful and undeniably true. I know that orgasmic feeling when a new or hardly ever used synapse fires, blazing a new pathway through my brain. I crave it. I hunger to share that firing with others. It isn't just emotional, it's intellectual, it's physical and it propels me to action. I know that pure emotion can do that for people, too. But I want more, because it forces me to see the world from outside myself. The more perspectives I have, the fuller, brighter and more present my world becomes. If I languish in pure emotion I am stuck only inside myself and have no hope of growing beyond my three feet of personal space.

I suppose it is long overdue that I give examples of agendas in art done well. The first that comes to mind is a dark and sad film starring Joan Crawford and Clark Gable called, "Strange Cargo". In this film a "tainted woman" and a group of convicts on an island prison escape with the help of a mysterious fellow inmate who does not seem to fit in with such a crowd. The answer of who this man really is stares you in the face from his very first frame. Like the characters in the film, you deny his presence and his great kindness. When Clark Gable finally discovers who this stranger is the moment is simultaneously liberating, terrifying, extatic and soul crushing. Although the film is heavily littered with Christian mythology it does not overplay its hand. The film trusts that you will understand its meaning and then silently fades from the screen. The ideas presented in the film were not new to me, having been raised Catholic. But the ideas were made PRESENT to me in a way that allowed me to remember why people choose to practice any religion. It made me more understanding. It made me aware. It made me consider going back to church, to be honest.

Another film that changed the way I veiwed myself and humanity in general is "Bridge on the River Kwai". I fell in love with Alec Guinness and cheered for him until the last 5 or 10 minutes of the film in which I ( just as passionately as I had loved him) wished for him to die. Humans are fickle and circumstances are everything. Although "Bridge on the River Kwai" was not really an agenda film, it caused me to reevaluate myself and how I could love and adore someone and still, cold heartedly, pray for their demise. That is some mad skill as a storyteller, my friend.

There is something fascinating about art that challenges the darker impulses present in all of us. Now, there's a distinct difference between challenging the darkness and wallowing in it. There is also something delusional about wallowing in the light. Children's films are full of this kind of crap.

What the hell was "Happy Feet" about? Every penguin has a 'heart song'? How corny is that? And I'm supposed to believe that the uplifting heart song of one penguin would be the super-horny "Kiss"? And when one baby penguin busts out "Don't push me cuz' I'm close to the edge, I'm tryin' not to lose my head..." I was just trying not to lose my lunch. This film was full of so many agendas it couldn't even focus on just one. First it had some ' be true to yourself' thing happening, then it had some message about humans' environmental impact, and then something about tolerance and then...I can't even go on it ticked me off so much.

Instead, I suggest watching "The Dark Crystal" which blew my little 8 year old mind. That was the first time I remember encountering the idea that light and dark are present in each one of us and that we must embrace both in order to be whole. Talk about not talking down to anyone. That's a deep concept for adults to grasp and yet, here it is with muppets. I know that sounds flip, but I actually mean that as a very high bit of praise. The journey Jen and Kira take to fulfill the prophey and heal their world is filled with the best of mythological tradition and without any hint of cendescension. Sure, some of the dialogue is corny and hyper dramatic, but that does not negate from the complex spiritual concepts presented here.

Clearly, at this point I am rambling, but I am deeply concerned about how stories are presented. I feel we are getting lazy and falling for gimmicks when we could be exploring ourselves and our world in a much deeper way. I fear that this trend is not the result of lack of talent, but the result of lack of will to ask questions without already having the answers prepared. Life should surprise us. If it doesn't, we're not doing it right.

The Numbers Game

There are plenty of numbers in my life. This time of year the numbers seem to have more importance as this is the time of year which they change.

November marked the 13th anniversaty of my first date with my husband. In December I will celebrate my 32nd birthday. Yes- do the math and you'll see I was just shy of 19 when my husband and I got together. Make of that what you will, but we're still together.

I have two good friends living in the city that I've known since my idiot years. One I've known for 22 years, another I've known for 16. We're still close.

I've lived in New York for 8 years. My son is 5. I've not been on stage in anything in 5 1/2 years. In the last 5 years I've finished 3 screenplays and 1 stage play with another one in the works. I've produced 4 stage productions in New York and 1 film. I directed 2 of those stage productions and am about to appear as an actor in another. I've had 2 blogs. I've worked with, literally, hundreds of children ages birth to 12. I drink an average of 4 cups of coffee a day and 1 alcoholic beverage a day. My goal is to do at least 20 minutes of stretching/ yoga a day and I average about 5 minutes.

It feels like my life is a giant word problem and I have yet to find the correct value for all the variables.

The number that gives me most pause is the number 32. It's not old in the grand scheme of things, but when 40 year old actors are having "comebacks" then it feels like I am already too late. I've missed the bus. I keep reminding myself that Mae West did not get into film until she was 40 and that boosts my spirits. But she had been a perfomer since she was a small child. She also had a show on Broadway in her 30's that was shut down for obscenity. People were arrested. When was the last time THAT happened at a Broadway show? Oh Mae, you're my hero.

But I digress. In my early 20's I got into a huge argument in a Meisner class with an actress in her late 20's. She was worried about her days in the business being numbered and I flat out told her that she was full of shit. I haven't seen her since then. Maybe she was right. Or maybe she couldn't stomach the business. I can understand that. Or maybe the numbers mean something for women who think the only thing they have to offer the business is their beauty and their craft (Sometimes just their beauty). I may grow unattractive, but I still have my brains, my ability to write, my understanding of how to put together a good show, my directorial skills, and I am a fairly compelling figure- regardless of my weight, wrinkles or potential grey hairs. At least, that is what I need to believe in order to continue. If I lose faith in that I may as well quit and blame it on the shallowness of this business. The business is only as shallow as its participants will allow it to be. People will watch whatever is available to them. If we give them shallow crap- they'll watch it because it's there. If we raise the bar...

I have this argument with people all the time. They say that people don't want to be challenged. Maybe they don't. They've been out of practice for so long. Compare some films from the year 1939 with this past year. In 1939 we had Dark Victory, The Wizard of Oz, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Women, Ninotchka, Of Mice and Men. and Gone with the Wind. The studios weren't any less interested in making money then than they are today. Not to mention that they were making films for general audiences that had, by and large, less formal education than American audiences have today. And yet look what they made! You can't tell me that people won't go for it. If it is out there and it is entertaining people will go.

I have to believe that 32 doesn't matter and proceed accordingly. It's still very young. I feel very young, just not AS young as I once was. I shouldn't be penalized for that. I shouldn't LET anyone penalize me for that. I've always said that people play in active part in their own oppression. If you believe what everyone says about you then you are beholden to their world view. If you believe only in what you know in your heart to be true regardless of what "they" have to say, then there is nothing to hold you back.

Burning the Candle at Both Ends- and in the Middle

I've heard a lot of young women ask older actresses about the balance between career and family. They want to know if it can be done. Can you live a life in art and have children? Sure you can. Can you do both and succeed at both? Sure, I guess. All the time?

No. No you can't. No one can keep that up without cracking severely.

That doesn't mean that it isn't worth trying. People have kids in all kinds of bizarre situations. Some do very well. Some do not. It's kind of a crap shoot no matter what your situation is and I don't see how living a life in art is any different than any other circumstance that presents a specific set of challenges. You know, like being a single parent, having an ongoing illness, having a demanding work schedule... any of these things can make having a family that much harder but they don't stop people. Maybe they should, but they don't. And a lot of the time these kids make it to their 20's, 30's and 40's and ask the same life questions we do. There are no easy answers.

As a woman who will humbly admit to a certain proficiency in many areas of artistic interest and who also has a five year old I am inclined to encourage younger women to wait. I had my son too young for this business and by "too young" I mean in my mid 20's. Years that could have been about hitting the pavement or about producing/writing/performing show after show after show were spent just trying to do the math. Holy crap kids are expensive! This planted a bumper crop of bitterness and resentment that could have been avoided if I had waited.

Regardless, I wouldn't take back the last 5 years for anything. I've grown and been seriously humbled by the experience of motherhood. I adore my son. But this is hard. Let's take the last few days as an example of the pace I keep. I've kept a schedule that looks something like this:

7:00 AM- shower, pack lunch, throw in load of laundry, make breakfast, take meds
7:40 AM- get the boy up, dressed, fed, teeth brushed, try to maintain good humor while dealing with daily traumas like
a lost toy or a missing homework assignment
8:20 AM- walk the boy to school
8:30 AM- get cup of coffee and go home
8:40 AM- eat while looking over script, answering emails, planning 'to do' list
9:00 AM- leave to catch train
10:00 AM- 2:00 PM- rehearsals
3:00 PM- home, phone calls, finish laundry, pick up house, plan dinner, get groceries if necessary, run errands, deal with the
exterminator (full time job in and of itself these days), bake banana bread (can't throw those bananas away!), spend
time on the script
5:45 PM- Pick up the boy at After School, fix dinner, do homework, play games, read, try not to explode over whining or
criticism of cooking, dodge constant requests for new toys and endless hours of watching TV, teeth brushed,
pajamas on
7:30 PM- Read stories
8:00 PM- bedtime- grin through the 80 drinks of water and 100 trips to the bathroom while making props, working on
promo material, doing research, crunching numbers, fielding phone calls, shop online for Christmas presents,
wonder how the hell you're going to pay for those Christmas presents, look into volunteer opportunities for the
family because the boy really needs to broaden his view of the world and get some perspective about life, call
all babysitters to try to cover the performance evenings in case husband needs to work late, wonder how the
hell you're going to pay for the sitter, look at upcoming schedule and try to carve out some time to be with
husband, wonder how the hell you're going to pay for the sitter so you can spend time with husband, plan
the next sleepover by writing emails, stare at numbers for show again until you think it might make a profit
11:00 PM- Watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report and have a beer or a glass of wine
12:00 AM- There is something you missed. Look over the work you did on the computer today. What the hell did you miss?
Plan expenses for the week. Count the money in your wallet. Do you have clean underwear? Do you have pants that
are comfortable for rehearsal tomorrow? Do they need to be ironed? Does the boy have any clean "soft pants" as he
refuses to wear jeans or khakis. Oh crap. You didn't do yoga today. Oh well, maybe tomorrow...
1:00 AM- finally go to sleep.

7:00 AM- Do it all over again.

I've been doing this for a few weeks. Of course, my weekend schedule is slightly different since the boy is home from school and he doesn't go to After School every day...

Sometimes the show stuff is replaced by writing stuff. Sometimes there is a horrible, horrible lull and I spend my time crocheting top hats and king sized comforters to keep myself going. The thing that is the hardest is that whenever I feel good about being involved in some project or other I wind up being criticized by my 5 year old for not being as attentive as I am when I don't have a pressing project. He has become the nagging voice in my head that screams at me for not doing or being enough. That's not his intention. He's not evil. He's just used to having all of mom all the time and now that I am getting my life back he is feeling neglected and left behind. It's just growing pains and he is moving on to his own things just as I am moving on to mine. It's a hard adjustment and I imagine it will take years for us to get it right.

I'm glad he's in kindergarten and really enjoying school and friends. I'm glad he's gained enough independence to do things for himself. It has been a huge load off my mind. Of course, I can't help but think that I'd like another one... which means I have to add thinking about THAT to my 'to do' list. When could I get pregnant and what kind of project could I pursue while gestating? How will I get back into shape since I still have 15 pounds to lose from my last kid? How am I going to maintain my creative space with a new baby? How in the hell would we pay for a new baby?

If you're a young actor wondering about family, don't rule it out. Anything is possible. Just know what you're getting into. It's a mess. But if you don't lose sight of yourself and stay present in the moment it can be a joyous mess.

Besides, what else have you got to do that's so important?

Apology/ Insecurity

I'm a classic, Nordic midwesterner.

Don't ask for too much. On that note- don't ask for ANYTHING. Never put anyone out. Don't ask for help. For God's sake, don't take the last of anything on a buffet plate...

I went out for dinner with a couple of fellow midwesterners last weekend. We went to a Tex-Mex place and muched on the obligatory basket of tortilla chips while we waited almost 45 minutes for our food. We were starving. But we all let that last tortilla chip sit in the basket and taunt us. No one dared touch it. My craving for salt and some kind of sustenance nearly drove me mad so I started to eat the crumbs in the bottom of the basket leaving the last chip untouched. When our food still refused to arrive and the crumbs had been long gone I broke the chip in half. The remaining piece of chip remained in the basket until the waiter finally took pity on us and brought us another basket of chips.

I figure my chip rudeness was made possible by the fact that I've lived in New York for 8 years. Yeah, I'm badass. I'll eat HALF of that last chip! You can't stop me! I'm breakin' the law!

Yesterday I had to go door to door to some area businesses and pitch a promotion that Ben and I want to do for our show. I kept wanting to apologize for taking up their time and asking them to join in. I felt like I was asking so much of them when, in reality, I was really offering them a hell of a deal. For just letting me put up one flyer in their establishment for 6 weeks they would be getting new foot traffic, a thank you on our program and a thank you on our website plus a link to their website if they have one. Their commitment is easy. Ben and I do all the work. I'm not asking for much and I am giving a lot. But my midwestern mind can't get around the fact that I am accosting them in their place of business and making them read a piece of paper. How rude.

I'm not cut out for aggressive sales. I'm not good at promoting myself but I had better GET good. I can't escape my current belief that I am a huge burden on the world and that my contributions are miniscule. I imagine people disliking me and talking behind my back about what a loser I am and how I've really let myself go over the last few years. She used to have talent, I wonder what happened?

Well, I can't apologize for my insecurity. It is where I am at and I just need to be there until I am not there anymore. Pretending is not in my nature and, contrary to popular perception, acting is not pretending. Acting is about being honest with yourself and with those around you. I know how to be confident. I have been so in other circumstances and I believe I will be again. But for now I have to be honest with myself about where I am truly at. Luckily, this is all fine because my character is not exactly feeling so secure or confident either. It really is funny how roles come right when you are working on something in your personal life that applies to the character's struggle. I guess that is how you know that you're doing something right.

I Don't Have to Freak Out

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

There IS time.

Just because the roller coaster is slowly ticking to the top of the hill does not mean that the drop needs to be so horrifying. You got on this ride for a reason. You wanted to experience that free fall. You wanted the wind screaming in your ears and the jostling, twisting and turning. You are strapped into the safety harness. Yes, when you take that loop your butt will leave the seat and your shoulders will strain against the padded metal harness, but the odds are with you. You will not be featured on some Jon Stossel report about the dangers of roller coasters. You will be okay. You stood in line for this ride for too long to back out now. You wanted to be on this ride. So quit yer bitchin'.

Week two of rehearsals has begun to turn my hair white. Not because anything is wrong, but because that old sense of inferiority has begun to creep in. Who the hell are you to ask people to come see your show? Hmmm? Why would anyone help you? No one has any faith in you at all! You are a worthless loser! A no talent hack and the very worst kind of no talent hack- the kind that fancies she's got some artistic integrity! What a laugh!

Maybe I should make a Voodoo doll of that voice in my head. Do you think that would work? I've tried just about everything else. If I could just get a physical representation of that damn thing, maybe I could beat it into submission, rip it apart, destroy it. What use is it to me? Even if I DO suck (which, in all honesty, I don't think I do) it wouldn't stop me anyway. It just makes me sick and miserable. Stupid voice!

No. I don't have to freak out because I am not required to be perfect. In fact, my job demands the exact opposite. My job requires me to be messy, ugly, fat, insecure, and uncertain. The fact that I already have all of these things inside me should be a plus! There's no reason to hide them. I'm a nuerotic mess playing a nuerotic mess! I need to let the rest of it go because it is just useless baggage weighing me down.

At today's rehearsal I am going to be desperate and messy because that's how I feel. Then I am going to feel good about it. Then I am going to spend an evening with my son and I am going to slow things down.

I don't have to freak out.

What I'll Do For Free

Money is an obsession with me.

I hate it. I need it. I hate that I need it. I want it. I wish I didn't want it. I deserve it. I can't ask for it. I don't know how to make it and I wish the whole sordid mess would just go away.

I've been struglling to understand my relationship to money and trying to separate it from my sense of self worth. This is no easy task- especially in New York where you are encouraged to live way beyond your means. When a cheap pint of beer is $6.00, you really have to think hard about your priorities. Or, maybe not.

At any rate, I was chugging down a pint or two at a local watering hole (said pint was the courtesy of a kind man at the end of the bar who thought my friends and I were particularly gracious regarding a broken bar stool...) telling tales of my nude photography experience and gossiping about celebrity break ups. One of my friends remarked on how people sell themselves so quickly now. Celebrities pose nude at the drop of a hat now where as that would be unheard of 20 years ago. She then asked if I would get any money if this nude photo of me sold. I shrugged and said I had already been paid and that I didn't care. If the photographer made a million dollars off the photo I'd be happy for the photographer. She looked incredulous. Not even if it fetched him a million? (Theoretically speaking) What do you mean you wouldn't want a cut? That's your body!

Good question.

But, you know, I signed the release for a reason. He put way more work into the photo than I did. He created the set, the lighting, the mood, hand picked the people involved in the shoot, hand picked me... I think what I was paid was more than fair for my share of the work. Yes, it's my body but it's his vision. If I tried to get more money just because it (theoretically) sold then I think I would be cheapening my contribution to the project- not to mention making me a Class A Asshole. I played my part and was compensated. Any other windfall belongs to the artist who had the vision.

This was all theoretical discussion, but I've been thinking about these things for a long time. I've dabbled with the idea that my knowledge and talent (and yes- my physical person) are worth something and why shouldn't I demand money for the use of such things? But it seems like a matter of degree. I am discovering that as soon as I put a price on something that is uniquely me that it immediately begins to depreciate in value. What I am and have to offer is priceless and therefore should remain as the literal root word and its suffix would suggest: without price. Does this mean I should not be treated fairly or ever financially compensated? No. It just means I need to stop trying to hang some arbitrary number on my worth. No number is high enough. If I place my ticket price at $2 or $20 million I have sold myself short in both instances. If all that matters is the money than everything else that WOULD have mattered (i.e. art, expression, message, etc) falls down on the list of priorities. Money IS a factor. But it shouldn't be.

I know this does not sound particularly practical, but I feel if I keep my wits about me and follow my gut it will all come out in the wash. I cannot sell what is me. But I can live comofrtably off of charitable donations and tokens of gratitude for a job well done. My purpose on this Earth is not to make a lot of money, but to give what I have and to live well and that does not necessarily mean that I need to have a lot of money in order to fulfill my destiny.

Valid Question

Having just returned from a pleasant trip to my home state of Minnesota where I rubbed elbows with people I used to work and drink with back in the day, I can't help but feel a bit confused.

It isn't just the nature of the market that is different in Minneapolis, but the nature of the artist. The culture in the MSP seems a touch more supportive of the artist. Here in NYC everything seems all business all the time. When does the craft enter the picture? This blog is part of my attempt to bring the craft back into my day to day existence. It is easy to loose sight of the craft when you are so busy trying to network and audition. Getting the job is a full time job. Sometimes you just can't take a job because you have to have enough time to get another job.

As Bruce McCullough so eloquently said in a classic Kids in the Hall sketch, "Sometimes the only thing worse than having a job is looking for one."

I've said it a million times over. It isn't the rat race in NYC that gets you down. It's finding fresh produce at reasonable prices, doing your laundry and a million other daily tasks that are so simple in other parts of the country but cost too much in both money and time to get done here. So I have to wonder what it is that I am doing here- especially when I find the scene I left so enjoyable.

They say you can never go home again and I am inclined to think that is true. I've tasted the history here and know there is an untapped vein of talent, voice and desire here. I just need to find a way to access it. If I went home, I'd be playing someone else's game. If I stay here I have an uphill climb, but it would be all mine. That is no small thing.

This brings me to two conflicting pieces of wisdom that have been thrown at me over the years. The first is "Work smart, not hard". I have a tendency to create obstacles for myself as excuses for my lack of success. Is living in New York a needless obstacle that I have placed in my own way because I never really believed I would make it anyway? The second is "Avoid the path of least resistance" because the more challenging path is the path toward growth. Wouldn't going back to the MSP avoiding the challenge with which I have presented myself? Clearly this is not an either/or situation that can be solved by applying some blanket concept or philosophy. Finding the right market/ environment for myself is of the utmost importance as it should be for any artists.

I guess I just wasn't expecting to find myself so easy to sway in either direction. Who knew my toast was buttered on both sides?

With that being said, I am thrilled to start rehearsals tomorrow for the New York production of a Minneapolis artists work. Maybe this is how I have my cake and eat it too.

I'll let you know how that turns out.

Brief Hiatus

I will be away from my desk from Nov. 15th until Nov. 20th while I enjoy a good friend's wedding celebration. When I return, my calendar includes interviews, new information about upcoming projects and some reviews as well as a welcome for at least one new contributor!

We'll see you then.

Seek Joy

I'm not kidding.

I'm not being lovey-dovey, feel- good sappy, either.

People talk about someone having "IT" all the time. What is "IT"? Well, I have a theory. I believe that "IT" is a relationship to/with joy. It may not be a healthy relationship, but a relationship nonetheless.

You know I'm going to expand on this idea, so why don't you sit back awhile? Get a drink and formulate your rebuttal. I'll be waiting for you on the other end of this post.

There is a human pursuit that is so fundamental that every human on the planet can relate to the struggle. The struggle for happiness, for joy, and for love. If, as an actor, you are making choices that your character believes will lead toward these things you will always be understood. You will always be compelling- if you really do it. Now, this is the point where people come up with all sorts of examples to prove me wrong. The key here is what your character believes, not what is "real". A character contemplating suicide is, indeed, seeking joy. Not through conventional means, but no one ever said that a character has to achieve his/her needs through healthy, psycho-analyst approved methods. To a character such as this, death is the only way through which he/she deserves to feel joy/peace. As usual, this all comes down to circumstances. In the play, circumstances are everything.

Every human action is somehow linked to a search for happiness. Some give in to sadness, hoping that by wading through it they will find serenity on the other side. Some seek to escape the sadness with drugs and alcohol, which may be the only method they know through which they can find some release. Some think that is the only joy they deserve. Some seek joy through ambition, others through sex, and still others through quiet contemplation. There are billions and billions of ways to have a relationship with joy and just because the material you are working on may be sad does not mean that the relationship to joy should be ignored. On the contrary, it is that search that lifts an otherwise depressing tale up from the the muck toward the sublime. A friend once told me that it isn't events that make us cry it is, instead, any change in our feelings of hope. We cry when we lose it and we cry when we feel too much of it. She may be on to something there.

This may seem a rather flip example, but I am so struck by it that I must bring it up. One of the most compelling recent expressions of joy happens four nights a week on Comedy Central. Just watch Stephen Colbert. He is having the time of his life and he can hardly believe it. He's like Harvey Korman and Tim Conway in one, constantly cracking himself up. He knows he has hit his stride and has become so comfortable in his role that he is irresistable to watch. Compare that with the first few shows last year when he was trying so hard and you will see the difference accepting joy makes. Not only should your character seek joy, but you should as well and you should seek it through your work.

If you can't find joy in your work, you just might be in the wrong business.

American Theatre Wing

I'll admit it. I've been watching the American Theatre Wing Seminars on cable. I think it's on CUNY TV, but don't quote me on that. I usually find myself watching it when I want to torture myself.

Not that I have anything against the Wing. Hardly. There is a place for the American Theatre Wing, but you'd think a bunch of theatre people could put on a more entertaining show. For F sake, James Lipton did it on Inside the Actor's Studio! But, to be fair, I've only watched a handful of these seminars and maybe it is similar to my early encounters with South Park. Let's face it, I had a really hard time with Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo. I'm not good with potty humor.

As usual, I digress.

The most recent seminar I watched was about the commercial viability of Off Broadway and it made me wonder why no one seems to be discussing the quality or the social/political relevance of Off Broadway. This is not to say that there is nothing of quality or relevance on or off Broadway. I'm just saying that all that glitters is not gold. Nor is everything that makes a veiled or not-so-veiled jab at the current administration necessarily maverick.

I also wonder why no one sees fit to discuss the viability of creative endeavors happening Off Manhattan. A new building is going up on 110 Livingston in Brooklyn inside which will be a new theatre space begging for a resident company. Other arts organizations are a bit nervous about a new company coming in and raiding their audience share in the area. Others are more optimistic, painting a very rosy picture about Brooklyn's future as an artistic area to rival Manhattan. I don't know if that is true, or even psychologically possible, but I do love Brooklyn. Wouldn't it be interesting if something did spark here?

Of course, I don't think a comfortable, brand spanking new, state of the art space is where a vital theatre will be born. A little discomfort is good for the artistic soul. Having to create in spite of obstacles, both internal and external, makes for exciting theatre. It means the drive is present, the passion, the need to express something eclipses the opposing forces and defeats them. That's exciting.

Everytime I start to dream about a big, splashy Broadway production I need only turn on an American Theatre Wing seminar (I'm begining to tape them) to see that I just don't belong there. I don't wear jewelry, I don't wear slacks, and I don't talk about different scenarios as "models". I'd much rather drink a few beers and emphatically declare that something is pure crap only to have the group down at the end of the bar declare the same about me. I could sit cross legged with my business voice on and throw around words like "viability" and "sustainablility", but I think I'd prefer to burn myself out screaming about that which claws at my all-too-human conscience. I'd prefer to be messy, raucous, and ugly.

It just looks like much more fun.

Excuse Our Appearance While Site Is Under Construction

New content and new contributors coming soon! I am, as we speak, scheduling my first interview for QWIP and once the phone tag ends and the talking begins, you will be the first to know.

In other news, Ben and I are inches closer to rounding out our cast for Joe Scrimshaw's "Adventures in Mating". I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to come out and read with us. We still have a few more people to see, but we should have a cast by the end of this week.

Ads will be coming soon as will more links to resources and artists that are mutually supportive. If you have any input about resources you are looking for or services you have to offer in the New York area, please drop me a line here and let me know a little about yourself.

Stay tuned.

My Favorite New York Kid Story

It was my first solo subway ride. I was excited to finally be heading to my first day of classes at Circle in the Square. I soaked in all the sights and sounds of a morning in Brooklyn.

As I headed on to the busy platform I selected a spot near what would be the end of the train when it arrived and waited. There was all manner of life in the subway station, men in suits, women carrying portfolios, girls in track suits, but my eyes came to rest upon a group of young boys making a rather suspicious formation in the middle of the platform. My spine straightened. I was more than familiar with these kinds of groups having been taunted and threatened by such gatherings in my youth.

I looked around to see if any other adults were aware of this grouping and no one seemed to pay them any mind. I looked closer, trying to assess the danger. From what I could see there were maybe a total of 4 or 5 boys surrounding another pair of boys. A quick guess told me they were all from the ages of 10 to 12. The two boys in the middle were eyeing one another with menace, one of them being comparatively huge, the other somewhat leaner. I edged myself closer so that I could hear what they were saying.

In Minneapolis I had been known to butt in to playground scuffles. I made it a habit to keep my eyes peeled everytime I passed the school playground near where I worked and, from time to time, my eyes caught activity that the schoolyard monitor had missed. But this was slightly alien to me. These boys weren't on school property. These boys were New York boys.

As much as I felt my school experience had been frought with danger, I couldn't imagine the depravity of inner city students. Did these boys have homemade knives fashioned from Spiderman pencil cases? If I could peek into their bags at that moment would I have found their math books snuggled up with rufies and a pack of smokes? Why was no one paying attention to this flock of boys? Is it because they were afraid to get involved? After all, I had heard great tales of the indifference of New Yorkers. Were those tales true? Could I take on a bunch of boys that were about neck high? I had never felt so alone as I edged through the crowd to meet my most noble doom to protect the small, clearly mouthy, boy on the platform.

It was at about 5 or 6 feet away that I finally found myself privvy to their conversation. While the large boy glowered down on the smaller and the other boys formed an argumentative ring around the two I heard the smaller boy say this:

"What do you MEAN you don't believe in evolution, you big ape!"

The other boys nodded in agreement with the smaller boy mumbling about science and undeniable similarities. The larger stood tall and said something about order in the Universe.

My train came and I left the boys to their debate.

On Obscenity

I must have been about 17 when my mother handed me a little pink booklet containing maybe 15 heavy pages, scented with damp basement fumes and brown with age. She was always handing me things like this that she had discovered while scrounging in antique shops and little out of the way places. Once she had giggled with me over a little booklet written in 1926 advising young girls on how to become the ideal woman. According to the author, the perfect 1926 woman was 5'4" and 126 pounds. Oh how times have changed.

I digress.

The little pink booklet of which I speak is still in my possession. Every few years it gives me great cause to think about how I choose to express myself, both privately and professionally.

The booklet is entitled The Blush of Shame: A Few Considerations On Verbal Obscenity In The Theatre by Barrett H. Clark. Reading through his essay, I've come to think that I would have liked Mr. Clark had I been fortunate enough to be his contemporary in 1932- the year in which he wrote this piece. His style is conversational, almost breezy as if it were merely a transcript of your most recent post-performance dissection at a favorite watering hole. I tend to agree with his position that an artist should not be restricted from certain words or subjects simply because it may cause discomfort to the viewing audience. I completely agree. And yet...

Can we go too far?

For my own personal tastes I say we cannot go too far as long as the word(s)/subject matter/ images are important to the telling of the story. After all, I LOVE how absolutely disgusting and filthy Dean Martin is in Billy Wilder's Kiss Me, Stupid, and I have recently enjoyed the anti-Semetic, misogynist antics in Borat, knowing full well how important these unpalatable things are to the story, to the commentary and satire. But I am often found wringing my hands late into the night, wondering if these brazenly funny tactics always hit their mark or if they can (and are) often dangerously misconstrued.

Maybe I shouldn't worry about that. Maybe I should just leave well enough alone. Those who get it, get it. Those who would idolize Borat's anti-Semitism already had that in them to begin with. So it isn't as if the humor would be creating anything new. Would it? Or is it fuel to the fire? Of course there is an incredible need to point out such behavior and cathartic to laugh at it. This has great value, but still. I worry.

Ultimately, this comes down to a fundamental question about the purpose of art. Is it to hold a mirror up to life or to transform it? Which is it? Is it an either/or situation? Or can we transform ourselves by holding up a mirror? I approach the latter with great trepidation as I am loath to put so much importance in paltry entertainments. And yet it is so often the simplest things that change our lives.

In earlier days I would have easily jumped onto the loudest most offensive piece of work I could find and rallied behind it. YES! Attack the status quo! Revolution! While I still believe in all of that, I find myself peeking over the precipice wondering if this is a fight on which I would stake my life and career. This is the trouble with my questioning stance as an artist. It is the corner that I back myself into when the only statement I can truly declare is "I DON'T KNOW!" I don't. I really don't know.

When rudeness and crass behavior become socially acceptable, even expected, it is often a sign of a wounded society. Whose job is it to stem the flow of blood? Or do we put a tournequet on the offending limb and hope we are able to grow a new one? I make constant pleas for reasonable, intellegent and polite discourse and yet, when I hear Katie Couric preach on the evening news that we should all watch our language I can only respond with an angry, "Who's this fuckin' bitch to tell me how I should fucking talk? Thanks for your infinite wisdom ya judgmental old fart." And who's to say that isn't an appropriate response? After all, my business cards read "Smart as a Whip. Mouth Like a Sailor."

In my humble estimation, our times are quite complicated and there is no "correct" approach. I will probably see fit to take both sides of this issue depending on the circumstances. Hell, even Mae West took a look around her and commented on how there was just too much sex in the movies. Our perceptions can and should change. That's how we mark growth.

The Funny Revisited

A friend and I recently had a discussion about truth in comedy and he brought up an interesting point. He said, "Monty Python is dastardly funny and no one in their right mind actually behaves that way. How is that truthful?"

Ah. You have not stumped me. Absurd they may be, but they are still truthful about human behavior. They simply toy with our expectations.

John Cleese said that you can have 15 people doing something, anything, and you don't have to explain it. It's the one guy who isn't doing it that requires explanation. Take the Ministry of Silly Walks for an example. John Cleese's deadpan delivery is the perfect compliment to his surprisingly stupid walk. In this instance, the walk itself is funny because it is unexpected. Even though the audience knows why these men are here they cannot possibly anticipate the impossibility of living life with that particular walk. They would not be able to sustain our interest or our laughter without a very human dilemma. This other poor schmuck wants to develop his silly walk but he clearly has no aptitude. He is the one that is not like the others and, as absurd as the circumstances may be, that is a truth to which we can all relate.

What Monty Python was so bloody good at was the "Magic If". They always started with a question and sought to answer it. What if old ladies behaved like teenage hoodlums? What if everything a guy said was some sort of innuendo? What if someone bought a dead parrot and the shopkeep refused to admit it? They play with our expectations, have considerable wit, but they do not really leave the stratosphere. They are keenly aware of human behavior and never stray from it. That's why Python is funny they set up bizarre circumstances but set mere mortals in the middle to deal with them.

In good comedy the truth about who and what we are is always there, regardless of how outlandish it may seem.

It's funny 'cuz it's true.

The Funny

There is certainly no monopoly out there on "right" choices in this line of work. Clearly it is more complicated than all of that. There is not so much a right choice as there are choices that work, don't work, or work better.

So often I run into young actors who think that comedy is about artificial choices. They talk about this mysterious thing called "timing" that no one really knows how to measure. Does "timing" require a one second pause? Two? Eighteen?

Young apprentices of American acting have complained that funny choices aren't necessarily "real" choices. I've watched as young actors study the great comedians for the first time, dissecting their choices and trying to place value on every movement, every vocal utterance. Nobody really waves their arms that way! People don't raise their voices that high during a conversation! Sure, it's funny, but it isn't real! It isn't natural!

Poppycock.

No choice is a funny choice unless it is a true choice.

Funny is not some magical thing that happens outside of the circumstances. The circumstances create the funny. How the characters respond to the stimulus is where funny happens.

Have you ever seen the episode of "All in the Family" where Michael breaks Archie's chair? It is a simple dilemma; goofy son-in-law breaks father-in-law's favorite chair. That, in and of itself, is not inherently funny until we decide to zoom in and focus on it. Archie loves that chair. He has spent decades cooling his heels in that chair. He hates Michael. Michael knows that if Archie finds his chair missing that Archie will be beyond angry. The family conspires to keep Archie in the dark. The circumstances build. When Archie returns home from work and the chair has not been delivered from the furniture repair shop we have no problem believing that Archie does not notice the chair is missing right away because Archie's tendency to be self-absorbed has already been well established. Edith drags him into the kitchen and Archie is suspicious. He accuses Edith, "Did you put new curtains up in there or something?" She replies, "Only about eight years ago." "Oh. That must be it then."

When Archie finally discovers that his beloved chair is missing he does seemingly uncharacteristic dances, waves his arms about theatrically and begins threatening every object in sight that might have any sentimental value to Edith. It isn't the physical actions in an of themselves that are funny. Try it. Start dancing around for no reason. I doubt anyone will find it funny. Indeed, they will only think it is strange. However, Archie's sarcasm and desperate tantrums are funny because his attachment, his NEED for his chair is so intense. We, as the audience, know that his chair is not vital to his survival as a human being but we can relate to things in our own lives that, if threatened, would make us barking mad. Carroll O'Connor has endowed this chair with such fierce meaning that we understand exactly why he is upset, even though it is irrational. It is the truth of his needs that is funny, not the hand waving or the dancing around. Find the truth of the moment and you will find the funny.

That's all fine and good, but where does that leave the actor in rehearsal? Isn't there a delicate balance that makes something funny? Yes. Indeed there is. Comedy is deadly serious. The stakes are always high and a good comedy writer knows this and chooses the circumstances accordingly. I used to crack wise about how one of my favorite dramas "Equus" by Peter Shaffer, a psychological drama about a psychiatrist treating a young boy who blinds six horses with a metal spike, would be a brilliant comedy if it were merely set on a carousel instead of a stable. You wouldn't have to change a word! Of course, I am being facetious but only to illustrate my point that the subject matter is always serious but the circumstances are just a bit absurd. Just like Archie's intense attachment to his favorite chair.

Timing should be none of your concern. If you are in the moment and building your circumstances appropriately, the timing should come naturally. I find that only young, "serious actors" complain about holding for laughs. Those who come at acting through comedy relish that little break to let themselves stew, raising the stakes and making things even funnier. It isn't about "holding" as if you were putting yourself on pause until the laughter dies down. It is about building. I move that we should replace the phrase "holding for laughs" with "building for laughs".

What it all boils down to is this- be present in the moment and be specific and hey, isn't that your job description in the first place?

Coming Soon

In the coming weeks I will be adding new features to this site including interviews, content provided by other artists, more NYC resources, and, yes, ads.

The ads are a difficult choice, but I will need them to give me something to offer my contributors. I don't want this to be a site just about my struggles as an artist, although that will play a role in the construction of the site because I create on a very personal level. I promise to do my best not be too self involved here, but I AM an actor and that is not an easy task!

I appreciate your patronage and your patience as I figure out how this thing is going to look. If you are interested in contributing ideas or content, please drop me a line here. I will get back to you as soon as is humanly possible.

Thanks.

Quitting

I am not a quitter. I don't quit. I've stuck out projects, jobs, and relationships that literally made me ill simply because I promised I would.

I'm a little blown away. I was watching a playwright's seminar on CUNY TV and I heard John Patrick Shanley say, "...I've always had the tremendous ability to quit."

Really?

Shanley aside, as this post is not about his work specificially, this has just flipped a switch in my brain. Maybe there are ocassions when it is appropriate to quit so that you may move on.

Really?

I'm not sure how I feel about that because my word is my bond. But what might have happened if I had left those aforementioned situations before they wore me down? What if I made choices that were entirely in my own self interest?

What if?

See Me Naked

Clearly this is a cheap admission in the hopes of gaining readers, but the truth is you CAN see me naked.

You just have to go to London between November 10th and January 3rd in order to do so.

Yes, a few years ago I answered an ad and was chosen to pose nude for a photographer who then took my picture. His gallery show opens in London next month. My picture is just a small part of the show, but still. I'm a work of art! I will add a link to his site once it is up and running, but I must comment on how telling people I posed nude is way more fun than posing nude. And posing was a lot of fun.

I made the choice to answer the ad because I had been feeling pretty horrible about my post-baby body. It was a bit of a rebellion on my part. Screw you! I'm 180 pounds, I've got stretch marks and YES I AM a true redhead. Thanks for asking! Jeff and his crew were warm and supportive, not to mention appreciative. It felt good to have them oooh and ahhh over the polaroids they took to test the lighting . I know they were really ooohing and ahhhing over the gorgeously gritty lighting that made me look like a painting by a Dutch Master, but I'll take what I can get.

Jeff was very particular. He gave me very specific physical direction that felt awkward and tense, but to see the result you would think I had just fallen into that position like a deck of cards in a game of 52 pick up. As Jeff encouraged me to take a polaroid home with me, his crew proceeded to poke through the pictures, giving me advice about which image I should take home with me saying things like, "Your husband will go wild about this one. Look at you!". In true midwestern girl fashion I chose the throw away with the ill placed vacuum in the foreground and my face tilted away from the camera. I was more comfortable with my slack belly and exposed breasts than with my own face.

I enjoyed the experience. It was terribly liberating and I remember running into a friend from school that I had not seen in years just outside the building. I had a little secret that was written on my forehead. I know he knew something was up, but I also know there is no way he would have guess what I had just done.

Which is why this gallery show is a delicious surprise to me. I've been telling friends about the show and I get widely different reactions from people depending on how they know me. My actor friends are not surprised. After all, how many of them had seen me naked backstage or after a few drinks at the old nerd bar across from Circle in the Square? But my mommy friends are not quite sure how to take the news. You did that when? You got paid? That's not going to be seen in New York, is it? What about your son? Is he going to see you naked? Are you sure you weren't taken advantage of? Are you okay? My old high school friends aren't particularly surprised, but they do tend to be curious. Wow. Where can I see this now? What photographer should I Google?

Truthfully, I am just pleased to have been a part of something. I am proud that I did it and I hope that I'll get to see it here in NYC someday. If it does, I'll take all of you to see it.

Failure

A cruel and necessary part of the creative process is failure, complete, horrible, and humiliating failure.

And not just little failures like the day I misunderstood my teacher's instructions for an exercise and ran wildly onstage only to freeze and blurt out the first word that came to mind- quesadilla. I was really hungry. Little did I know we were supposed to be expressing our feelings about some larger, deeper concept like love, faith or hatred. I would have been safe if I would have screamed "Hungry!", but no. I had to shout out my lunch cravings instead.

As embarrassing as that was, it is still not the type of failure to which I am referring.

When you find yourself capable of estimating the value of another's work it then becomes obvious that others will be evaluating the value of yours. This is a double edged sword that I would be glad to be without. Unfortunately, my passion for the form does urge me to evaluate and learn from the work of others. But this obsession frequently gets in my way as I attempt to produce my own work.

In school, teachers will tell you that you should make at least 5 mistakes (or some other, arbitrary number) or you have no place in class. They try to make you comfortable with messing up so that you will be a brave actor, one who takes chances and learns from the constant stumbling. As a teacher, I completely agree. I love watching my pupils discover! What a wonderful thing to witness! As an artist, as a human being, I abhor imperfection in myself. I should KNOW better! I've been doing this for 15 years! How can I make such mistakes? I am quite patient with others, but not so much with myself.

This morning, as I dabbed my nose with tissues and sat in my self-pitying posture on the couch watching the clock tick closer and closer to the moment I should have been in my technique class, it occured to me that I shouldn't be in this particular class at all. Not because I don't need the instruction or the practice, but because there is little for me to fail at. I understand these concepts very well. I've been teaching these concepts. I need to be working on something more complex. I need to put myself in a position to practice failure.

It strikes me as a bit funny because I took this particular class as a way to pump up my confidence level and ease my way back in front of an audience. It turns out that what I really need to do is choose something really difficult and throw myself at it repeatedly until I get it right as opposed to the path of least resistance. Stupid path. That path has been talked about ad nauseum by every teacher I've ever encountered. I never believed that it was a good path to take and yet I've found myself travelling down it more times that I can count. It's a deceptive path and sometimes it looks a lot harder than it is. At least, that is what I tell myself.

So, today I will raise my tablespoon of Robitussin to those who recognize that it takes 20 "failures" to make that big success possible. As soon as I stop coughing up my lung- I'll give that a try myself.

Memories from the F Train

Mass transit in any city will offer many opportunities for its users to rub elbows with types you wouldn’t normally meet. From beggars and conmen to entertainers, loud talkers, nosy people, and freaks, New York transit promises more than a passing chance of having an exchange of some sort on the train. On a balmy spring night in 2000 I had an encounter on the subway that solidified for me the reasons I love this stinky old town.

Admittedly, it had been a long night of drinking and I should have returned home hours earlier. I had had my fill and then some. As is usual at that late hour, I had to wait much longer than I would have liked for the F train to Brooklyn. Seeing as I had only $1.00 and some change the possiblity of taking a cab was nil so I steadied myself and focused on the rats running around the tracks beneath the platform in order to avoid falling asleep on my feet.

When the F train finally arrived I found a nearly empty car. That’s not too unusual for a weeknight. With my bags secured upon my lap and my eyes starting to droop I heard a sound. It was a lovely sound coming from a young, black man seated katy korner to me. I can’t get it out of my head. He was of a medium height, medium build, and he wore a nondescript sweater. He carried nothing. No hat or cup or tin for donations. I could have sworn that he had been quietly seated on the train when I boarded at Rockefeller Center. Nonetheless, out of nowhere came this glorious, honey coated voice singing “Over the Rainbow”. The two sleeping bums and the necking couple paid no attention to his wistful performance. After singing he announced to the passengers that he wanted no money. He had moved here from Kentucky and this was his last night in New York. Disappointed about his experience here, he was heading back home. He explained how much he loved New York and was sad to leave, but his luck was down and money had run out. “I don’t want your money or your pity,” he said, “I just want to go home and truthfully be able to tell my friends that I sang in New York.” He then proceeded to sing all the way to Delancey Street. Not only did he have a beautiful voice but he had the heart to make his schmaltzy selections seem like no one else had ever or could ever have sung them before.

“I sang in New York.” What a dream. So many of us secretly harbor such dreams and in my mind he fulfilled it. (As a side note, I did insist that he take my last dollar so he could tell his friends that he got paid to sing in New York.) What is even more amazing to me is the number of people fulfilling that same dream for spare change under the streets of the city every day. The performers run the gamut from classical musicians, dance and conceptual performance pieces, acrobats, soapbox preachers, and a myriad of singers and musicians celebrating the sounds of their cultural heritage. Even the panhandlers and conmen toting carts of cheap batteries and plastic toys from Taiwan have their own entertainment value, however annoying and tiresome they can be at times. Living and travelling in New York can be like spending your day in one of the dirtiest and yet most sublime circuses on Earth. Dreams and nightmares are on display here twenty-four hours a day. At any given moment, you can participate in any number of them, just by being there to bear witness.

The State of American Adulthood

American adulthood is dead. There are no more "grown ups", just tall people with jobs. All around me I hear friends and relatives in their 30's and 40's saying, "I just don't feel like an adult. What does an adult feel like anyway? What does an adult look like? What would it take for me to know that I had finally reached a point of mental and physical maturity? Did my parents ever feel this way?

Last night I sat down to watch one of my favorite films; Otto Preminger's Anatomy of a Murder. This is such a solid film with a stellar cast, James Stewart, George C. Scott, Arthur O'Connell, Eve Arden, Lee Remick, and Ben Gazzara. As I was getting swept up into this picture with its seamless interactions and shockingly frank dialogue I couldn't help but notice how the subject matter was handled. I made some off handed comment about it to my husband who offered up a straight forward and cutting response.

"Well, this film was made by adults for adults."

Zing. A light went on and so many pieces came together in my head. Laying them out for you in this blog post will be a challenge, but I feel I must.

In order to give my thoughts some shape, I must attempt to capture a bit of the film for those of you unlucky enough to have missed it. (I do hope you'll see it if you haven't already- or better yet, see it again if you already have!) The story surrounds the murder trial of one Lt. Mannion, played by Ben Gazzara with acrobatic stillness, who has already admitted to the crime. The central question (you know how I love questions!) of the film revolves around personal responsibility and the validity of "temporary insanity" or "irresistible impulse", as it is referred to in the film. It seems that Mannion shot bartender Barney Quill after Mr. Quill raped his alluring wife, played deftly by a sweet faced Lee Remick. As down and out country lawyer, Paul Biegler (James Stewart) and the District Attorney (George C, Scott) jockey for position in the courtroom, Mannion's motive and responsibility come sharply into question. Preminger does his best to maintain objectivity, although his sympathies surely rest with Biegler or he would not have cast such an affable fellow as James Stewart.

I'd like to pause for a moment to rhapsodize about the incredible talents of James Stewart. I know many have pegged him as the It's a Wonderful Life guy and consider his style rather hokey. I urge you to look again. Beyond his characteristic stutter and lanky sweetness is a keen intellect and a well developed dark side. As much as you might like George Bailey, if you look closely you'll see he's a bitter, cynical man. His considerable charm makes him watchable, but he is angry and deeply wounded. Stewart walks the tightrope so delicately that he invites you to like him, even when he says and does awful things. This is such a valuable skill for an actor. It is disarming and provides many surprises for the audience. His performance as Paul Biegler is no different. Stewart plays a passionate, persistent and highly opportunistic lawyer in Anatomy of a Murder. There is a cynical edge to his portrayal that is unsettling and very complex. Watch his eyes. They are the human equivalent of the ticker at the bottom of the screen on CNN. Sometimes the ticker gives out frightening information.

Now I can return to my discussion on American adulthood. You see, what is most striking to me about this film is its stunning, unHollywood discussion of facts. There is very frank dialogue, especially for 1959 audiences, of rape, murder, motivation and panties. To be sure, there is humor, a sophisticated wit that permeates the dialogue and even THAT is acknowledged in the text. When the word "panties" is introduced, Preminger lets his audience snicker and when the judge confers with the attorneys about how they should refer to them George C. Scott says something about there being a French word for them but that "...it might be slightly suggestive". To which the judge replies, "Most French words are." The audience has a good laugh and then the judge admonishes us and reminds us that there is nothing funny about a pair of panties that factor in to the death of one man and the possible incarceration of another.

Throughout the film the discussion is stark and without embellishment. Today I can imagine the word "rape" being punctuated by dramatic music or by a hyperactive delivery as if the word does not carry enough weight on its own. Today, if anything serious is going to be discussed at all, the storytellers feel the need to spell it out for us, to talk down to us like we are children who cannot possibly understand the depth of the situation. Instead of encouraging us to think about any particular topic, they tell us what to think and how to go about thinking it. They try to shock us and then make some stupid declaration to the tune of, "We aren't doing this to shock you, but merely present you with the facts so that you may decide for yourself." Bullshit. Anytime someone says they aren't trying to shock you, they clearly ARE trying to shock you. And they sure as hell aren't trying to lay out all the facts, if they did then nothing would be all that shocking in the first place because you would then have all the facts to explain the shock away.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I do not feel like an adult. I haven't been addressed as one. That is definitely in the interest of the status quo. If they can keep us sniggering about fart jokes and groin injuries, then maybe they don't have to make anyone accountable for crimes against humanity. Just sell us the next whoopie cushion and we'll shrug our shoulders about Darfur. What can we do about it? We're just a bunch of stupid kids.

There is a time and a place for infantile humor. We all think its funny. But that's all anyone is selling us right now. For a while, I'd like to be treated like an adult with a functioning intellect. There has got to be some other adults out there.

Somewhere.

Man of the Year

I have a lot of respect for Robin Williams' talent, even though I don't much care for the films he chooses to do. Even frantic, talented people can have rather pedestrian tastes. "Man of the Year" is the latest case in point.

A popular political comedian decides to throw his hat into the Presidential ring, a company wins a bid to develop the program that will "simplfy" the American voting process, and a diligent computer programmer discovers a glitch in the new software that results in the aforementioned comedian's immenent presidency. You would think this would be enough to give momentum to the story. You would think Robin Williams, Laura Linney and Christopher Walken would be able to move even a crappy script forward. Christopher Walken makes a lot of crap, but he's always fascinating, right? Well, this is a notable exception. Somehow Barry Levinson waved a magic wand and made not only the conflict dull- but Robin Williams sedate and, well, unfunny. Williams, Linney and Walken are all highly credible in their performances, but something vital is missing. It was almost as if Levinson had set up the circumstances and asked the performers to just live by them and then systematically edited out all the interesting parts leaving only shot after shot of campaign caravans and presidential motorcades. Enough with the driving already!

This film has all the self important fingerprints of a Hollywood agenda film. There was once a time when an agenda film actually said what it meant without all the back peddaling and kow towing. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Meet John Doe, Sullivan's Travels- these are all important, and highly watchable films. Unfortunately, I will be filing this one next to obnoxious, poorly constructed tripe like Bulworth and The Contender. Don't get me started.

First of all, there are extreme efforts taken to not point fingers at anyone. In the film, the glitch is a mistake and no one intended to thwart the election, but it clearly needed to be covered up to save the company's financial future. The sitting president is a Democrat, just to keep people from thinking this little film about voter fraud bears any similarity to any persons living or dead. Yeah. They fooled me. Second, Robin Williams' angry comedian performance feels restrained while poor Lewis Black's tirades are set free only when there is some other more pressing piece of business to distract us from what he is saying. Levinson missed every potential interesting moment by about a mile.

Oh, wait, there is one exception. Laura Linney's character, Eleanor, returns home after a confrontation with her boss's lawyer and then hears an odd noise. This was properly suspenseful. I knocked my soda over when the hired goon finally attacked her. She should have been dead, but like every other punch in this film Levinson pulled it. He was so intent on not making this a mystery that he completely avoided a series of interesting, revealing moments in favor of a two hour diatribe about the importance of being involved regardless of the inevitablility of human error. It seems to me that what this film really advocates is the status quo.

The film opens up with Christopher Walken telling the story to somebody of how this all transpired. I had hoped that, maybe, just maybe, Williams' character had been killed for exposing the truth about the system. Nah. That doesn't happen. Nobody dies. Nobody's life is ruined. In the end everyone goes back to their lives and Williams and Linney play out their prerequisite romance. This film has absolutely nothing to say and takes about two hours to say it.

Well, the popcorn was delicious.

Committing to the Action

The shpiel I've been peddling all over town has to do with acting as life skills. Oh do I talk a good game. I'm not a con artist. I believe what I am saying. I'm just not so great at practicing it all the time. I remember on a few occassions my mother shaking her head at people we knew who did not (or could not) practice what they preached. She would cluck her tongue and mumble, "The cobbler's kids have no shoes."

Sometimes I don't even have socks!

A couple of months ago I found myself waiting for a bus at 2:00 in the morning. As I waited I found myself privvy to a drunk and dial by a young man also waiting at my stop.

"Why do fuckin' play me, bitch? No! You got no right to pull that bullshit on me. I don't care what you have to say anymore, ho!"

And so on and so forth.

I'll admit, I got sucked into the phone call. It was hard not to. After all, I had tipped back a few that night as well. What stuck out in my mind is how this conversation seemed so familiar to me. At one point in my life I had assumed that this is what love looked like. I figured that I would find myself hitched with a man who loved me enough to punch his hand through walls and scream at me in public. I knew that I would scream back and we'd be a dueling couple. Somehow, I escaped that world. As I listened to this telephone conversation I realized how I had escaped.

It wasn't the fact that I found myself involved in the theatre and was surrounded by more sensitive people. It was the discipline. After all, the skills that an actor learns are integral to a good life. A skilled actor listens, not just to verbal cues but to physical and internal cues as well. A good actor can quickly interpret sensory input and make conscious CHOICES about what to do next. Living in the moment allows for maximum flexibility and ecourages self trust and self control. As a result, I am pretty good at reading others. I have diffused situations that may have escalated to the point of disrespect and I have done a good job of weeding those people out of my life. No one in my life speaks to me that way. They wouldn't dare.

This realization created a firestorm of activity in my brain. I started talking to people about these life skills and how they've changed my life. I am on board! This is amazing! This alone is reason enough to continue my study. Of course, it is a life long study and I still have a long way to go.

Although I have made choices that have lead to a solid marriage in which disagreements can be had without demeaning the other person there are other life choices I have yet to commit to. For example, I resist making definite choices in my career. I fear that any choice I make will lock me into one place forever. Yet, making no choice at all ALSO locks me into one place forever. I have yet to commit to anything professionally.

I've got some preparations to make, but 2007 is going to be a banner year. I'm kicking it off with a show and I think I am going to commit to teaching. There are hassles to teaching that frighten me, but this is the time for me to get over it. I've tackled the listening and receiving bit. Now it is time to commit to the action. Make a choice. Any choice. Just commit and move forward.

Then we'll see about the next life skill.

Methodology

Tomorrow I have a job interview for an after school program for high school students. I've been attacking some strategies for presenting the art form to teens. I've been given fair warning- treat them as absolute beginners. Don't get too exciting or experimental. They won't follow you.

Perhaps not. But as I rifle around in my bag of tricks I find myself wondering how anyone can commit to a particular mode of artistic thought. For example, how does one do JUST Meisner? Or Michael Chekhov's psychological gesture? Or Adler? Strassberg? Or follow ANY of the myriad of great teachers our craft has known while ignoring all the others? To me, this seems preposterous. Maybe it is the Sagittarius in me. Look! Shiny new thought! Pretty! Oh look, horsey!

I am fairly random and I have circular logic. Eventually I do come back to where I started, but I always come back a little different from the way I started out.

I've taken a taste of a lot of different "methods" and I couldn't decide amongst them if you put a gun to my head. When it comes to explorations and exercises I never throw anything away. I've learned that if I don't understand a certain principle, exercise or what have you it doesn't mean it isn't worthwhile. It simply means I don't fully understand the applications yet. I have patience with myself. I usually figure it out and I usually figure it out right when I need it.

And yet young actors can be so attached to their gurus that all else is absolute crap. What a mistake. As actors, I believe we should be receptive. After all, damn near anything can be justified. That's our job. I remember a seminar in which Harvey Keitel got up in a student's face and said, "Who told you you can't use your imagination? Huh? Who told you that?" It was Harvey Keitel, so that was a bit intimidating. And funny. Really, really funny. Of course we should use our imaginations. We should work outside in and inside out. We should adopt methods that allow us to be our most flexible and fill our bag of tricks with as many tools as we can find. Improvisation is as important as sense memory. Sense memory is as important as text analysis. The leg bone's connected to the knee bone.

Of course, I've spilled out all of these ideas and rearranged them and tinkered here and there to provide an outline of some ideas that I know will get blown apart the second I meet these kids and find out where they are REALLY coming from. My personal tragedy in the matter is just how excited I am about all the neat things I could do and teh little time I actually have. Oh! A little neutral mask here! A little Spolin there with a dash of sense memory and a pinch of personalization! This stew I am making may very well be completely inedible.

Or it could be a banquet.

Only time will tell.

CBGB Dies Quietly- Comparitively Speaking

I am torn.

It seems that everything I connect with happened before "my time". Any chance to be involved with it now would be an ugly sham. Everything that was and still is, is now somehow diluted. Bastardized. Killed and brought back to life to roam the earth as a mere shadow of itself toting business cards, t-shirts and trucker hats. Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine.

Another era that died a long time ago gave its last gasp last night as CBGB closed its doors for good. I won't miss it. Not really. What I miss about it was what happened there 30 years ago, not what has happened in recent history. What leaves a bad taste in my mouth is the fact that it will probably be turned into a Starbucks. A filthy, dark, messy shrine to punk will be paved over with chai lattes, rock hard scones and musical selections hand picked by Cheryl Crow. In some ways, it just doesn't seem right.

Now, I don't know for a FACT that it will be a Starbucks, specifically. But I am certain it will be turned over to some high end something or other that is determined to raise the property values in the neighborhood. Kick out the junkies, the artists, the down and outs. We just don't want to SEE them. Well, as much as it makes me sad to see people being self destructive they are a part of the fabric of this city. They are a reason to be in the city. They remind us that we are human and that we are not the squeaky clean, plush carpet, white couch facade we hide behind. We're messy. We fall apart. We feel deeply. And sometimes, just sometimes, our pain can't be whitewashed, dressed up, or shabby chic'ed away.

I struggle to keep my inner Holden Caufield at bay. Everything is for sale and yet nothing has much worth. The bigger something gets, the more diluted its product, service or message becomes. When I first heard "Teenage Wasteland" I was blown away. I had never heard anything like it. Now that it is being used to sell product, it has lost its bite to me. It seems the advertiser did not listen to the lyrics. It seems like no one does anymore. And when Bob Dylan is pitching women's underwear you can't help but get the impression that everyone has given up and handed their lives over to the machine. If you can't beat 'em, you might as well make a few bucks, right?

Where is the balance? I believe my work is worth something. I believe I deserve to live in this city and raise my son and eat. I see people posting on craigslist all the time, railing about how working for free is bad and you should always get paid and yet... and yet I've never been thrilled about the work I've done for money. The most worthwhile things in my career have been the things I've done without regard for money. I try to come to some conclusion about where money should be in my life and I have yet to come up with any answers. Part of me believes that I should just ignore it. It is none of my concern. Then the rest of me screams in absolute terror- are you mad?

CBGB had to die. The need for it is long gone. The need to create and to express with abandon has left this city. Now no one wants to get off their ass unless it's to meet Spielberg or cash a check. Oh- there's Holden again. Down boy, down.

Maybe Patti Smith can help me, me and my Holden Caufield. This is from today's New York Times article;

"Kids, they'll find some other club," Ms. Smith insisted during her set. "You just got a place, just some crappy place, that nobody wants, and you got one guy who believes in you, and you just do your thing. And anybody can do that, anywhere in the world, any time."

After her set was over and the club had partly cleared out, Ms. Smith returned to the stage for a silent postcript. As fans held up outstretched hands, Ms. Smith reached into a bag and handed out little black pins. They read, "What remains is future."

Man, I wish I had one of those pins.