Entre Noel et la Nouvelle Année

I turn on the TV tonight, and Carrie has financial woes. Charlotte tells her "You're a 35-year-old woman. You have to learn to stand on your own." (Or something extremely close to that.)

Oh lord. I KNOW, God. OK?

So, ROCK. That was sort of supposed to be the point of this blog, or at least what would be printed on a banner over my closet-turned-office as I got into pro writing but with integrity dammit.

Anyway. I went to Courtside for karaoke with Subrina Friday, and I guess I generally feel compelled to do punk there. It was actually the other girls, Carrie and Robin, who put in the Ramones request there the first time I went. But I was the loudest girl-Ramone. I wasn't audible enough in a low register so I'd gotten all Sleater-Kinney, high and loud, on I Wanna Be Sedated. This time I did New Rose at the beginning of the night. The early time is the best time to try out anything you're unsure about 'cause the house is emptier. Ian'll do Britney, I'll do Brenda Lee, or whatever. So why not the Damned? When I sat down, Subrina demanded to know "What the hell was THAT?!" I'd told her I was gonna punk it up, and this was significantly less crazy than my act with Sedated, but I don't expect most people to grasp punk too much. The MIT people'd eaten it up, tho. Especially Peter F, who I haven't seen in too long. This time, I eventually got to do two other tunes, Magic by Olivia (I realize we could have a whole "Magic" medley including Pilot and the Cars) and at the end the Concrete Blonde version of Leonard Cohen's Everybody Knows. That reminds me of the "boyfriend" in New York who loved Cohen and the time we went to Moose Lodge, I think it's called, the UES location 'cause Zack didn't leave his damn neighborhood when he could help it. That time, happened to be Valentine's I think, I picked I Don't Like Mondays 'cause I thought it might appeal to a folkie. I was doing my schtick quipping with the folks by the stage before the DJ started the song, and a guy came up like drunk and 50 years old and ogled me really weirdly for not the first time of the night. So I flipped him off. When I got off stage, Zack said he liked the song, then warily asked me if somebody'd said something that bothered me. It took me a minute to understand, then I laughed and explained what that was, and asked if he was concerned that I'd done that. He said in his goofy Maine accent "Oh no, I liked it." Sure. But he wouldn't do it, he needed someone to do it for him. I don't like to have guts or attitude for people. None of this surrogate stuff.

After I sung Everybody Knows, Subrina commented that I'd been putting everyone to sleep, then she handed me over to her boyfriend in Seattle who I didn't realize had been listening to our Cambridge karaoke session over the cell phone. He said it wasn't soporific, then he went off on a long tangent about the Captain and Tenille. We were like "No man, we're into the eighties. EIGH-ties!" Actually that was later. He didn't admit to me he'd had to ask Subrina if I was a guy while listening to me singing the Concrete Blonde song. It's pitched really low, which I think enhances the darkness of it, the blithely biting Cohen lyrics. God, I'd once actually thought it was interesting to get involved with a man who hung a pair of handcuffs on a portrait of Cohen, and explained "It represents a sense of being bound that Leonard and I share." Now I just say "What a loony!"

Hung out with Robin west of town today, explored Harvard/Maynard/Lincoln a bit, and commented to her that it felt like a road trip. She said all we needed was tunes, so I punched the radio on, and it was Ringo so instantly our road trip was complete. All you need is the fabulous Reen-go.

I am a TOTAL loser at knitting. I've taken apart my stitches probably 16 times today and started cutting the yarn to start over when it got completely tangled. It's terrible, but things get knotted. It's 1:45 already, and I'll probably be up trying til 3:45 or so. I have a good sense of time, I think that's accurate.

It's snowing a lot now, but seems to be too warm for a serious freeze. There wasn't much accumulation on the cars when I came in which was admittedly a little over two hours ago.

I've been compulsively trying to get all kinds of food ingredients to make a great South American/Italian meal and my own gelato. I was hoping to get Subrina and some neighbors to come for food, festive hot drinks and a great video. The alternatives I have in mind are to work for a small amount at Leon de Juda or go to a rock show, like the one with Lyres at Midway, amidst people I don't know. It seems like Subrina wants to stay at home in Newton. I can't fathom someone being socially lamer than me. This is massive. I can't decide which idea will work. If I can't even manage the logistics to get the video tomorrow what with the weather and limited store hours on holidays, that shoots down the most promising possibility.

X Marks the Dot

So today I finished up at Flat Black. I couldn't make a go of it financially on what I was getting there, plus it's just not quite the right kind of work for me for all kinds of reasons. I never got espresso training, even with all those tests. It's kind of a pity. Oh well, it was somewhat fun to meet people down that way. Dorchester Lower Mills is such a great neighborhood, and I have a nostalgia thing for Dorchester in general. Subrina is with me on this. I don't know how likely untoward incidents really, actually are. I never felt uncomfortable walking around Fields Corner except when this one guy kept trying to talk to me when I was walking home at night. I just wouldn't have it, that's all. Once somebody almost hit me in the head, but they were just gesturing to a friend and didn't see me.

Yesterday I met a Czech guy at the shop, and he surprised me by saying he was from the region of Silesia, which I thought was just in Poland. Then on my way home this afternoon, I was surprised to see a Guatemalan restaurant in Fields Corner and stopped in for lunch. It said something like "comida chapina" on the sign. It was empty, so I ended up talking to the guy at the counter about what part of Guatemala he was from (Palapa) and, again, where'd I'd been in his country. It was nice having these opportunities to discuss different towns and a tad about language of these places I've been and known medium well. It makes me think of returning if there should be some interesting opportunities, dusting off my ill-used travelling shoes and latent foreign language skills. Maybe I should see my situation as flexible rather than as a total mess. I do have the play in Acton through early March, but I'm tempted to take a little vacation in January. I have almost three weeks without commitments other than to the Fuchsia, and I'm not sure I should take those guys seriously. I mean, they're named after a flower, and this is my sanity on the line here. Possibly. Well, I mean I do need to find the time to do the things I believe people were put here to do other than hold down jobs, stay in the same place and be obsequious. Fuchsia and fun do start with the same letter, it's true. Maybe that's not a coincidence.

I thought about writing a short message to Paul's widow Liz on the card I bought and hand delivering it to her place in Savin Hill as I was driving up through Dorchester towards town. Then I realized the card wasn't actually with me. I just thought it might be better than receiving a message from a stranger, but I'm not sure if I should visit. Miller suggested I write the family, and it does seem like a good idea. I tried to find a card with a nice image that wasn't cheesy, thinking that I seem to remember Liz is an artist too, and it was a bit of a task.

I sent the link to his tribute page to Cat, my quirky RISD grad friend who lives in Queens. It wasn't what I expected, just a link to an article about his sculpture at UMB in the CTR (newsletter of CTC VISTA, basically) and also a link to his website, which seems to be only an index page. It's fun clicking on the arrows. Try it and see what happens. Cat said "it looks like you" and I had NO idea what she meant. I asked if she meant the balls, and she said no, she was talking about the Lego creature. I don't see any similarity there either, but as long as I don't look like balls I can handle it.

C and S

So last week was all about coffee and catering. I got quizzed on African coffees as well as greater details about Indonesian and specialties. This is a lot of stuff to learn before I even touch on espresso, only mentioned briefly in a DVD I got to take home and view before doing a take-home. I'm curious how much of this I'm really retaining in my brainpan. I worked two East Meets West catered events, which dovetailed pretty nicely with my schedule. In both instances, I didn't have to work the next day, certainly better than following an evening shift with a 6am one. The first was for a place called Dialogos near the Cambridgeside Galleria in the same building as the Multiculti Arts Center. Then Friday I was over at a private function at a couple's home in Beacon Hill. The stairs were an excellent workout, especially after rebounding and pilates for 1.25 hours in the afternoon. I REALLY felt it in the calves.

Then the weekend was about samba, soccer, services and SNOW. The white stuff had actually piled in Thursday, a day I'd anticipated working but Jennifer called me and said not to bother coming to Flat Black. So I thought I'd do laundry and have brunch in JP. I did the laundry and then imprudently decided to spend an extra hour having coffee, tiny bite and a read. I ended up getting stuck in the car for three hours, only to leave it outside Roxbury Crossing T 'cause the last three blocks were just too much. I'd reached my limit, and wanted to take the T to my gym in Back Bay, but once I got there and checked my email I found out the snow emergency mandated I move my car. I should've known it was an emergency with that kind of traffic cluster, but some civilian in the T said it wasn't if the trains were still running. That teaches me not to trust unofficial word on anything!

So I've been more regular about going to samba class and am starting to feel more comfortable and bold with the moves. I find myself throwing in a few bellydance-like flourishes and wondering if it looks good or really wrong, like an extra hip up-down on the break after three stationary steps. I am SO technical in my descriptions! I haven't heard much about the supposed benefit we're doing for the currently closed Brazilian Cultural Arts Center in Cambridge, which is actually where I took my first Boston-area bellydance class, with Seyyide. I also haven't heard updates from Phoenix about the Bacchae, so I'm letting that all simmer on the backburner.

I do have a west-of-town play. Yes, I heard back from West Acton despite not having a callback, and they asked me to be a girl of the night. Boy, I was touched. I am Sandra in One Flew. I am Sandra, hear me roar! I am "a big, earthy wench" according to the script. We established a blog for communicating about the play, and each response copies to email anyway, but I guess it's equally effective. Everybody keeps posting in character, like Turkle not wanting to rehearse in this weather if no money has changed hands, Ruckly reiterating obscenities and Scanlon deciding to devote his time to bomb-making in lieu of rehearsal. I told them at the reading that I'd fairly recently played a married woman who acted like a drunk prostitute, so I was ready for this. Since I'm only in 1/2 of one act, I have one rehearsal in December and three in January. February may be a little NUTS.

We kicked at soccer Saturday. Since I didn't get my own red BSSC T, Colm let me wear his People's Republic of Cork shirt. "Daon Phoblacht Chorcai". I wish I could put a cedilla under the second C of the third word there. It actually makes a hard noise like a K. I totally admitted I'm not Irish and he was cool. I'm glad we got red uniforms to express our true commie colors. I gotta admit the language intricacies interest me more than the political ideology. BSSC probably doesn't even have fuchsia. Effin' fuchsia. Phatever. Yes, Morecrafty designated us to be the Ferocious Fuchsia, and we are biting in a good way. Coach Father City is quite good in that role. If I feel a little intimidated and I'm on his team, the man is doing his job. It was hard to play front-line defense on set pieces. We'll see if I get to try that again. I didn't know that rule about indoor, the goalie not being able to kick to a teammate past the halfline. It's weird, 'cause while most of my indoor experience was on a bball court in the Reed gym, not a school that invests in athletic improvement, I have played at a few real facilities such as Topsfield and Portland, OR outside of school.

I dug out fairly easily at 8:30 this morning to go to Leon de Juda, and things were a little haywire technically. I did some troubleshooting with Ernst over the phone to get the broadcast going, or rather he did with me, and much had to be redone when he arrived around noon. The cameras themselves were simple though, and everyone was so nice and appreciative. They kept blessing me and giving me large plates of food, and the blessings in Spanish during the sermon were plentiful for the Internet broadcast on sitch a snowy, nasty day.

Then I just crashed for four hours in the sweater I wore to church as soon as I got home.

So I had a long day in the mines you know, leaving the house a scoche (or however the hell that's spelled) after 5:30 am and getting back just shy of 9. I feel pretty strongly that these hours should be reversed, but what else can you do after a few extra-lean months and fairly small regular earnings? Be as irregular as possible, right? But I'm not going to go off into my extra-odd circumstances as far as everything is concerned right now.

Around 9 tonight, while I was microwaving sweet potato in the kitchen, my friend John in Dracut called and left a brief, nonspecific message to call him back. It was a little un-John-like to not say what it was about. I'm likelier to call in any case, whether specific or general. I reached him back before 9:15 and he said something like "Do you remember Paul Hansen from VISTA?", only it couldn't have been that, maybe it was more like "Did you know Paul Hansen was sick?" and proceeded to tell me that he'd just received email about Paul's death on Monday.

In my mixed experiences in the world of community technology and communication-based nonprofits here in New England (which have driven me to the world of service industry and temporary work), Paul stood out to me as someone competent and relatable. He was creative, smart, funny, understanding, fairly outspoken and you could even say classy. There, I said it. He returned a call of mine sometime this spring. I wish I could remember right now what the topic was, but I remember taking the call when I was working at WCAT. I had to take my cell outside into the back parking lot of Wakefield High School to keep the signal as we often had to do. His voice didn't sound at all good, and I don't think I knew his diagnosis yet, may have heard something general about his being sick. I'm pretty sure that if Ben Sheldon had taken over his post at that point, I didn't know about it. But in any case, I was asking for advice about something and a guy who quite certainly already knew he had lymphoma and may have been told he was terminal bothered to try to help me with one of my relatively trivial issues, something like "Who should I trust to buy a car from? Is this Saul character who worked for you reputable?" or something like that.

Two years and three months is just about exactly when I moved up to the Boston area to do a work assignment though the Community Technology Center branch of VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America, itself a branch of Americorps). Paul headed the CTC-VISTA program for the whole country, located here at UMass-Boston. I had a bit of a rough spot with some assignments that weren't a good match and didn't make as many personal or professional connections through the program as I would've hoped. Despite the troubles I had, Paul was one of the people who was interesting to talk to, offered helpful advice on numerous occasions and didn't make me feel like a misfit.

With that intro, I'd like to rehash my memories, though I want to clarify that I'm not trying to claim that I was an important person in his life. He was someone I respected and liked, and is well worth reflecting on and remembering. Having said that, I warn you, this stuff gets a little goofy.

An artsy guy, Paul made odd sculptures with colored balls that were displayed around the UMB campus. Once Danielle the cake-artist brought a birthday confection with a design of his balls (oops, I guess I better leave that in) to a post-Boston VISTA meeting lunch at The Other Side, a little bar/cafe on Newbury. I'd been sitting near Paul and Chuck and discussing various things that the acronym CTC could actually stand for, and we liked "Caffeine Technology..." (I guess the second C was always Center? not sure). Paul could actually carry off wearing pink pants and he wasn't all powermad like my boss in New York who wore pink pants. That was something different about him.

He lived in Dorchester, and I think he had a certain jaded liberalism, something I can relate to. By that I mean he had a realistic view of things like class politics, things he understood and was down on, like some failings of public transportation or law enforcement. He sometimes mocked people who were ignorant or bigoted, such as the aforementioned law enforcement who he said treated any white people in Dorchester like they were just stupid to live there and unworthy of protection or respect following any incidents.

I first met Paul at the orientation for the CTC VISTA volunteers posted countrywide. That actually was a good, interesting spectrum of people. We were playing a silly game called Diversity Bingo which may have been a better icebreaker than I give it credit for. I have a small vendetta, because I feel that game was responsible for exposing me to ridicule, but more on that later. We had sheets with a grid containing rows and columns. You had to walk around the room and talk to people, finding anyone who matched the descriptions in the rows and columns. They ranged from two-person specials such as "Speaks Bengali or Farsi" (Dave C. or Dean G.) or "has studied butoh or bellydance" (Emily in MI and uh, me), prosaic nonethnic stuff that could be many of us like "has worked with community technology" and the simple one-word "Jewish". I went up to Paul, possibly our first conversation, and asked him if he had worked with community technology even though I knew the answer. I guess I knew he would say well yeah, but don't use me. Go interact with your peers, basically. Although as it turns out, Paul was only about my sister's age and more of a peer than many in the program although his professional accomplishments were far greater. Anyway, I'd actually been walking around looking for a damn Jew for a while 'cause I had four in a row fast and needed that fifth square. I was like "I need a Jew for the win, Alex." Or maybe it should be the host of Hollywood Squares instead of Mr. Trebek. Whatev. I'd asked Dan Richardson if he could possibly, please be Jewish solely because I'd had a coworker at Moment Magazine named Dan Richards who was indubitably Jewish, and that's pretty close! I am of dubious Judaism, which is to say that for the record I am not Jewish although I possess a Jewish last name, thanks to my dad. That is a somewhat interesting situation. I realized that our VISTA leader, one Saul Baizman formerly of Brandeis University, was a fairly solid bet but I don't think he'd really been playing or I'd have tackled him and made him tell me. Anyway I also said to Paul "Where's Saul? I need a Jew!" and Paul replied with something about that being a no-brainer. I suspect Saul was sitting the round out or he wouldn't have escaped me. Cause I like to win things and I can be ruthless. Kinda like the dominoes game last night...that was some good action, and possibly some of the last of its kind I may be able to enjoy, depending on my future plans.

Well it's now actually midnight and one of the longest, most intense days I've had in a while. My energy and health have been improving bit by bit, but right now I'm totally beat and bound to overheat. I need to bust outta here. I need to think straight, but what I need is not necessarily possible or in any case easy.

Snap to Cold

I am not quite sure why the only major thing I've accomplished since leaving work is to eat quiche. In my defense, it was homemade. In counter-self-attack, I did use a crust mix and the sheet at Healthworks about avoiding funny fats listed mixes like that as a possible source. Anyway, I defied the wisdom of the guy at Common Ground and bought milk elsewhere since he had none to sell me. He probably is the smart one to avoid the stuff, but I don't believe this "drink milk today you can die tomorrow" line. I mean, come on Chicken Little, you're being overdramatic and of course there are issues about the quality of the life that you live. Still I would love to eat and drink raw dairy. Not necessarily exclusively, but it doesn't scare me. I just consume small amounts of the normal varieties, plus some almond milk and whatever else I can get. Might be slightly illogical of me.

I did buy the Yogi Tea Cold Season blend and I probably have had it before, but it seems like it'll be good. It's steeping right now. I get home from a coffeehouse only to drink hot beverages in my free time. It's almost all I do, aside from fiddling with my computer, going to odd auditions and worrying about my living situation.

So I got no word from Acton, no callback. No surprise. Acton's just too edgy for me, I'm sure. Well, after I visit an apartment in the Readville section of Hyde Park, I'm on to the Lynnway McDonald's to powwow with some people putting on a production of Rocky Horror. No lie. This could be pretty rock'n'roll...or pretty community college. We'll see. I'm going to put on some raisin eyeliner to match my deep purple nails and some glittery lip gloss from Hot Topic, along with my mostly black work outfit, and going in casual punk attire to yell Eddie or Time Warp or Light at the Frankenstein Place in a random public space in the City of Sin. The Golden Atches will never be the same. Wesley Willis, anyone?

Sophomore Slump

I think you're supposed to actually hit a slump when you're a senior...Ah well, my point is I've been in this ridiculous miasma, basically writer's block about creating the all-important second blog entry (on this page anyway, I've done some work-related crap before). You can see how with this unnecessary overdramatization that my self-hatred is justified. Or that my false modesty is abominable, one or the other I suppose.

I just had a wild ride out to not-so-wild Acton for a Sunday night audition. It is just REAL cold and snowy out there, and I hadn't bothered to put on seriously warm clothes. This incredibly long Indian summer of the punctured ozone layer is about over, people.

One phone call probably two and a half years ago my aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania asked me if I could see myself playing Nurse Ratched, which for some reason I always thought was Ratchet like a tool, like rhyming with "hatchet" for some possible significance. I answered a question with a question, and asked them if they could see me as Emma Goldman. After all either of them individually knew volumes more about women's studies than I!

In any case, I think the answer is yes, but we will have to see if directors agree.

I was charmed by the cupcakes offered despite the icing being chilly, and there were also Hanukkah cookies, which I don't know from a hole in the ground. The star of David design obviously makes a cookie Jewish, but what about an M&M cookie is more Jewish than, say, a pinwheel? Is it rabbinically ordained?

When my non-blood uncle David (who wasn't my uncle yet, he and my aunt still lived in Jersey) introduced rugelach one year at Christmas, I was like "where have you been all my life?" But when my former boss in Wakefield bought a huge tray of 'em, I discovered another way in which I'd had too much of a good thing.

I set my alarm clock for a time my eyes couldn't believe, and I have three minutes to get in bed before 11:30. Thank God I didn't tell my landlady to turn the effin' heat down! It feels good!

5/6 of the Way through '07

I guess the highlight of this week is making contact with Phoenix. She has taught gothic bellydance in Salem but has recently moved to Worcester and doesn't have that particular class going anyway. But she's going to work on an original dance piece based on the Bacchae for a springtime performance, and I may be involved with that. It's been running on the New England Bellydance site for a while, and since Subrina and I didn't get others to take kathak/bellydance fusion my Sunday nights are available. I have to make some choices about what I'm doing in the upcoming months. I've given serious thought to course managing at the Maine Media Workshops from January to May, and the office there has my resume on file. I just spent close to a week there in Rockport "acting" in a few class projects. My contribution was on the minimal side, not delivering any lines, just walking or sitting mostly. But who knows whether that job opportunity will come to fruition, or whether other ones will arise in the meantime.

I've been a little TV challenged, and truthfully I didn't have the damn attention span to sit and watch a baseball game. So go ahead and question my fandom. My old boss David Watts was right about me, said next time they hired someone they'd have to make sure they were loyal Sox fans (hell I'm from Virginia, what'd he expect??). I can be mildly entertained by spectator sports on occasion, especially if that game is soccer, but no no loyalty. Yes, David Watts was one of my superiors in Wakefield...go ahead and hum the Kinks' tune. I'd driven home from Maine by myself the day before the game, and it was a mostly sleepless week. I might want to bring my own mattress if I return to Rockport? I'm just getting over an infection I've had for the past two and a half weeks. I thought I could do without a blanket for one night. It had hairs in it and got dyed red in the laundry at the place down the street from the apartment the night that my roommate's sister came to get him to go to the hospital. My landlady had helped me get my window unstuck earlier that day and I thought I'd be warm enough. But no, I ended up pretty ghastly sick with yellow stuff all up in my respiratory tract. The one thing that seems to have been very helpful is called Counter Attack. I picked it up at a health food store in Freeport (aka Shopping Heaven/Shopping Hell) Saturday afternoon. But holy bedding problems, batdude...

I've been a bit busy anyway what with trying to figure out what's going on with my living situation and trying to ignore frantic calls from the psych ward from a guy I didn't give my number to. I did send my baseball freak cousin in DC a text asking if he wanted any souvenirs. I don't think he got that it was my version of Uncle Charlie calling my house from Mineola after the Giants beat the Skins. I kinda knew it wasn't Jimmy's team, although I don't know if he's for the Mets or what. That would rhyme with the Jets. Speaking of souvenirs, there's a game store here in Brookline where I'm temping that has Sox versions of Scrabble and Monopoly. I don't know if they're World Series Sox versions, and I don't know if the theme affects game play. It seems to be a style thing, such as board and tile patterns. Whoop de doo, seems like a bit of hype to me. I don't know what it is, but I've never been a Scrabble aficionado even though I'm quite a word freak. My new game is dominoes, and I think I'm catching on, although catering and Maine got in the way of my entering that fall tournament.

I am royally disappointed to have slept through Halloween, but I had to leave my job a little early yesterday all achy. So my new wave ladybug outfit did not get worn to the theater in Davis Square where they were doing staged radio plays, and it also didn't get worn to dominoes the preceding night at the Penguin since noone else seemed interested. I attended one Halloween party in a very vaguely vampirish getup. I'd been in Salem the day of that party and looked at jewelry to evilize my outfit, and there was cool but pricy stuff. I didn't know many people at the party, but I got better acquainted with Luis, whose new name is "sorra". There were two other people from our soccer game. But what happens to a Halloween costume unworn, does it shrivel up or does it make it to the next holiday, can one manage to drag a cool old idea into the future or does one get badgered and beaten into throwing their possessions out? I wish I'd been up to give out candy to kids, were there any kids under 18 out in my neighborhood, but I didn't hear any doorbell or knocking. Could be that I was out cold.