Almost showtime...

And I am taking advantage of the fact that the boys are in Laguna to catch up on much needed ablutions. Roots disguised, legs de-furred, eyebrows elegant.
Looking back on the year, I have to admit that it wasn't as bad for me as it seems to have been for so many people. Honestly, when you ALREADY live hand to mouth, the recession isn't that much of a shock.
Lessee... things accomplished... shot quite a few industrials, not a lot of lolly, but SOMETHING, taught quite a bit, got a production of CW up, (which I have been a complete and utter pest about) sent innumerable letters out and had some good responses, taught myself musical notation with Todd Hendricks help, got better about singing auditions, wrote a TYA script based in Shakespeare. Nothing terribly concrete, but pushing onwards.
Still stuck in our wigwam, with no out date yet. Losing a bit of hope that we are going to get a loan.
Still and all, more or less, we broke even this year. A bit of an achievement considering the Great Recession.
Looking back on it, 2009 will be the year of the eh's, as in "not so much, eh.". But with joy. Lionel joy, love joy. My hand raised fish. The fact that the cat no longer bites my ankles. My joy of a private student. My parents. Trip to Catalina. A couple of interesting workshops at SCR. My sweet man. Pandora radio. Celtx. Top Valu marinated steak. Champagne. My slowly recovering figure. The gym. Cowboy boots. Pho. Oysters. etc.

Oh how the bellz.....

What a special Christmas. Lionel was old enough to appreciate and enjoy his role as gift receiver and xmas elf extraordinaire. My parents drove down on the eve and Mami made bright yellow arepas and bouncy round buñuelos. We laughed so much as L gave us each our presents and helped to unwrap everything. Xmas day we went to Laguna with Auntie Grand and Friend Eliza. T cooked a turkey, I made oyster stew and we all made merry indeed, singing carols and laughing until it was time to come home. I had a fun show with Killer, with good and beloved pals on Saturday, as did the underdone potato, then Sunday at the club with Grandpa Robin, Babwwa and family, all. Much joy to L to have EVERY grandparent there for his fun and delectation. After everyone left T, L and I stayed on and had cocktails, L's juice only, ours slightly more adult, and cuddled. L played with a vast assortment of kiddies and t and I snuggled and canoodled. Home. Boys a' snoozin' and me in a hot bath.... sigh, yum, Christmas mischief managed, to steal Kristinas excellent phrase. Filled with food and love. Happy.

The most surprising gift I ever received.

The CLEVEREST gift I've ever received was a Sapphire ring that T got me that was an exact copy of the one Prince Charles gave to Princess Diana. I of course immediately quipped that I would be avoiding tunnels from now on. I do treasure that ring, though, it had sentimentality without sap, humour, and sparkles. The perfect giftie.
Now the most SURPRISING gift I've ever received: My son was born early and had a few problems, so he was put in NICU for four days. It was devastating for me, because the hospital where I gave birth didn't have the facilities to care for him, so he was sent to The Children's hospital many miles away. My doc released me early, so I could haul my poor, aching body to Lilos hospital every day and be with him. The gift was, and ew, I know, sappy, sweet-sy, gooey.... but still magical, he came home on Christmas day 2006.

"You have to think you`ll be one of the ones who makes it." Ron Eldard

What a nutso week. T opened Christmas Carol last night, but he was in previews all week, I had a slew of difficult auditions, and Miriam had an eye procedure. I had a minor panic at the beginning thinking we were never going to get it all coordinated drive wise, baby wise, schedule wise. Audition wise, at least, was stimulating and interesting. Theatre is my first love and what keeps me excited, BUT I am a very specific type, a soubrette. And my age is dicey on either end. Usually I throw up my hands when I get called in for shows, I don't do kitchen sink, I don't do subtle and I don't do small. I'm not bragging. I know what I do as an actor. I am CAPABLE of doing deep, little work, but no-one is all that interested in casting me in it. But what I CAN do, big, theatrical, classical, dirty, gritty and generally bitchy, I do very, very well. So it was fun to muck into scripts where I could simply BE in the roles. I enjoy ACTING, without worrying about trying to shoehorn myself into something I am not.
As an acting teacher, I try to emphasize to my students: Know who you are! For many years I longed to be the delicate little princess, the ingenue, the ice queen. Nice thought, but it didn't produce much work for me. It was when I embraced my TYPE, and stopped begging that I finally began to get cast in interesting roles.
Auditioning is ALWAYS icky for me, I hate it. My stomach churns, my knees shake, I feel like running away. What helps me is to over- prepare, know the material cold, and trust that my cockiness and technique will keep me from fainting in the room.
I don't think I am going to book either of the shows I really liked, but this was a good week in terms of trusting myself, and doing my best work. I feel more like Ali, and less like Frasier.

C'mon Vogue

If I had a choice between chucking my cel or my subscription to Vogue, I would be learning how to send smoke signals. I'll never give up my Vogue. It arrives, wrapped in plastic, advertising a far inferior magazine, I unwrap it, breathe in the scent of Van Cleef and Arpels, Dolce and Gabbana and Anna Wintour. If I am disciplined, the magazine stays closed until I am able to draw myself a hot, hot bath, sprinkle it with Japanese grapefruit salt, and sink in for at least an hour.
The September issue always dips into the tub, so that the bottom pages tend to stick together, and I have a hard time balancing it. But OH, the joy of turning the pages and absolutely diving into a rarefied world, where the letters to the editor are uniformly considered and well written, with exquisite grammar, and the clothes are confections of tulle and marzipan and stage dust.
I think I've been reading Vogue for at LEAST 20 years. I can't remember NOT having a subscription. I was there for Linda, Cindy and Naomi. Grunge, minimalism, bold eyebrows, blonde eyebrows, straight hair, big hair, HUGE hair. The first time I ever heard of Botox and Brazilians was in the pages of Vogue. And the magazine has a way of making you feel like, "of course I know who the J sisters, or Thrum and Taxis are. And Turks and Caicos? Been there, done that", at least in print. One is never preached at, one is spoken to as if one is a select and included guest at an exclusive party thrown by Jackie Kennedy and Exene Cervenka.
At my saddest, I read the magazine for solace. The year after my son was born, when I was at the lowest ebb I had ever known, I let the subscription lapse. Re-subscribing was probably my first step towards feeling normal.
My best to you, Vogue and Conde Nast. I am alarmed that there might be a restructuring at the magazine. I am a loyal and devoted follower, please continue to be my most treasured alone time companion. Hefting an Elle into the tub would be like going from being BFF's with Coco Chanel, to paling around with Paris Hilton. Spare me the horror!