Deceptively Difficult Skill

I've always believed myself to be a good and responsive listener, both in my personal life and in my art. I learned long ago that listening is, by far, the most important skill for an actor to develop. Nothing can happen when actors only hear cue lines and fall in love with the sound of their well trained voices and dramatic pauses filled with tension. (That tension usually being caused by an actor consciously or unconsciously holding his breath in an attempt to sustain a prefabricated moment.) I wanted to be spontaneous and emotionally nimble on stage. I studied people. Body language, breath, intonation... any clue I could use to feed into my system I devoured with great passion. When I choose to pay attention, I can be quite astute at reading others on several different levels. I can read my immediate reactions to what the other person is giving me and consciously choose a response. I can pick apart potential motivations and circumstances behind the other person's words and actions and it helps keep me from flying off the handle- which is an old habit of mine. I am capable of performing a number of highly useful social tricks to keep myself out of trouble while occassionally being able to diffuse situations. In short, my training rocks.

Of course, the operative word here is "choose". I need to choose to use my training. I find I can use it with strangers, acquaintences. co-workers, business associates and friends- but I stink on ice when I'm with my family.

I don't mean to be a jerk at home and there ARE times when I can use those skills as a wife and a mother. But if I am really honest with myself I would have to admit I don't use those skills at home as often as I should. Perhaps it is because active listening is a lot of hard work. It requires a lot of effort from the system to take in all the information, arrange it. analyze it and react with sensitivity. Maybe I am just too tired to work that hard after 6:00PM. Maybe it is because I let my guard down at home and feel, somewhat selfishly, that those who love me most should put forth that kind of effort for me and coddle me while I am at home. Or perhaps I just fall into the role of being human when I am with my family and humans don't often put listening as their number one priority. Keeping tabs on others' emotions and your own 24 hours a day is beyond a full time job- especially when you're a hormonal wreck like me these days!

I guess every time I feel that I have really mastered something I need to take a step back, look at the whole of the situation and be prepared to eat a little humble pie. No one, but no one masters being a human being and we are all bound to have blind spots. I can fully admit to this, but it is a bit easier not to know where those blind spots are and wander through life feeling somewhat self-righteous! Having to admit to shortcomings- especially when they are shortcomings which you have already spent so much time trying to correct- is very difficult. However, this is what keeps me in my craft. There is always something more to work on. There is always some way to be better. Most of all, these lessons are applicable in my daily existence.

I'm slowly getting used to the taste of humble pie. If I can, I try to have it a la mode.

T-Shirts

Some months ago I began noticing some brilliant t-shirts. Some were political, some were just funny. I have a list of some of my favorites. This is in no particular order.

My friend Ben has a gorgeous t-shirt featuring a clown vomitting a rainbow into a toilet. I saw a black man sporting a shirt that read, "Hey Lady, I don't want your purse". Then there was the skinny guy in Alphabet City wearing a shirt with a big sandwich on it. Underneath the sandwich it said "SILF". I've had to explain that one to a surprising number of people. Which makes me a little embarrassed to have found it so funny. But I did. I found it very funny.

As I was watching my usual Sunday morning political talk shows I couldn't help but think about yet another brilliant t-shirt that I saw on the back of a man that looked an awful lot like Jerry Garcia. His shirt read, "I Never Thought I'd Miss Nixon".

Me either. But W can sure make you nostalgic for the good ol' days. I just can't fathom, for the life of me, how Richard Nixon could get nailed so completely due to runaway paranoia while this guy gets away with such amazing incompetence! A few years ago, Nixon was the demon who slipped a ruphie in America's Pepsi and stole our collective innocence. Watergate traumatized us. Now that we've got Bush, Nixon seems like that goofy uncle that drank too much at weddings and annoyed everyone but once his liver failed and he was gone forever the family started to miss his antics. I miss the days when politicians simply lied to us about break-ins and blow jobs.

I know. I can't idealize Nixon. What he did was wrong, and crazy. But the big difference here is that Nixon got called on it. Bush is going to ride out his term like a petulant debutant with "senioritis". How is that humanly possible? Is it all because of Cheney? Are we that much more frightened of Cheney? Gulp.

On the back of a Spiderman comic that I bought for my 6 year old son is an ad for some mail-order t-shirts. One of the designs features a vampiric George W. Bush going for Lady Liberty's jugular. I gave an involuntary laugh when I saw it. My son said, "Mom? Who's that guy and why is he sucking on Lady Liverby?". Sigh. How do you explain to a six year old that the president the adults in his country elected is a guy who would sanction torture, keep sick kids from receiving health care, attack the wrong country, spy on his constituency, leave American citizens stranded in putrid water and squalid conditions with no relief, and trample on the Constitution... among other things? And most of all, how do I explain all that without infecting his mind with the liberal bullshit that is so prevelant in my neck of the woods?

"Son, that's George W. Bush. He's the President of the United States and some people don't like him."

"So, they make t-shirts like this. Is he a real vampire?"

"No. Some people think that he is not living up to the promise of America and this is the way someone chose to express that. In some countries an artist might go to jail for drawing a picture like that."

"Did the guy who drew that picture go to jail?"

Pause.

"Is he in jail, Mom?"

"Probably not."

"Do you like the President?"

"I don't like the way he is being President. No."

"But do you like him?"

"I can't say whether I'd like him as a person, sweetie. He might be an okay guy to chat with at a barbeque."

"If he wanted to be friends, would you be friends with him?"

"I wish I could say that I would, but I probably wouldn't."

"Why?"

"He doesn't seem to be very sensitive to other people's problems so I can't imagine he would be that good of a friend. I want to have good friends in my life."

"Do you hate him?"

"No. I try not to hate anyone."

"Even when they hurt you?"

From my kitchen fire escape I can see the hole in the sky where two towers used to stand. I can look across my courtyard and see people who lost loved ones. People who saw unimaginable horrors. People who had to stay inside, pull their shades and lock their doors in fear of vigilante reprisals for something that they took no part in. My son is six. He has no knowledge, no reference point for these things. I know that some day he will need to understand the events that have shaped our nation over the first years of his life. I want him to understand, not to parrot his mother's position. But it is abundantly clear, with each scandal, each self-important press conference, each defiant sneer that this arrogant, condescending, cocksure jackass is America's number one security threat sitting in the White House. His refusal to listen to facts or draw rational conclusions from those facts makes me want to rip my hair out. But I've heard neighborhood children repeat the political views of their parents and even though I might agree with some views I find their inclusion in the discussion as distasteful as watching the young'uns in the Fred Phelps clan spewing their parents' hateful views.

"Even when they hurt you. Sometimes you have to work a little harder, but hate hurts no one more than the person who does the hating. Best to avoid it, son. Best to avoid it. Do those t-shirts come in extra large?"

Theater Mama

I guess it is time to come clean.

I've been absent for a while and I've let things go to seed a bit. The truth is, my husband and I are expecting another child. Which is an overly polite way to say that I'm pregnant again. For some odd reason, I find it somewhat distasteful to say that I'm pregnant. It feels somehow vulgar and I notice that people avoid saying it directly. The word is getting around and people approach me and say things like, "I've heard a rumor..." and "I hear you're expecting!", but no one says the word "pregnant". The word feels a bit like a punch in the neck. Sort of, well, shameful. I actually feel less dirty announcing "Hey everybody! I went and got myself knocked up!" than I do saying, "I'm pregnant." (In fact, that's exactly how I announced it to my fellow Playful Substance company members. It seemed an appropriate audience for that kind of announcement.) It is more than a little surprising to me that I should have such a negative reaction to a word that means something quite lovely.

On the flip side, though, I have no trouble discussing the physical and emotional experiences that go along with my tender little euphamism. Which makes my aversion to the actual word all the stanger.

I'm on the verge of entering the second trimester and the nausea and extreme fatigue have moved out of the way to make room for heartburn and psychotic mood swings. With my last...pregnancy... (shudder)... I went into a social and professional coma and did not emerge for nearly 2 years. I am acutely aware that depriving myself of these outlets lead to a doozy of a depression and I am determined to keep that from happening again. The challenge is (and there is ALWAYS a challenge) that I need to strike a rather precarious balance between my usual breakneck pace and paying attention to what my body needs. Normally, being extrememly busy makes me happy. It makes me feel vital, useful and needed. But it is also very easy to sink into the comfort of bed and a plate of spinach stuffed potatoes in a pair of yoga pants and fool myself into thinking that is exactly what my body needs. The fatigue is so convincing and energy so hard to come by. Pants don't fit. Shoes with heels are hard to manage and wouldn't it be nice to hide in a nice warm cave until I could come out pretty again?

Ah. Vanity thy name is woman. Damn straight it is.

Then there is something called "pregnant brain". Words get lost. Organizing thoughts becomes increasingly difficult and communication blunders abound. Last time I definitely had a sense that I was gestating more than a child, but also my creative ability. I couldn't write. I couldn't paint. I couldn't plan. Once my son was born, however, it all came pouring out but I had not nurtured the outlets for it. So the outlets disappeared and I was left with an overwhelming need to express, no means to express it and no audience to receive it. I am struggling with that now. I am producing a couple of shorts along with "Adventures in Mating" (see link on the right) and it is a monster battle to keep myself on task. I'd prefer sleep. I'd prefer a documentary on the Big Bang or String Theory. I'd prefer any passive bit of entertainment because I wear out so quickly these days. Of course, I know from experience that over-indulging in such things will leave me with a huge deficeit once the baby is here in the world. I may want to stop working for the time being, but it will ruin me if I do.

So. Here we go. Going through the motions so my body doesn't forget and so I don't lose myself in the process.

But the occassional spinach stuffed potato isn't so bad either.