2021 By the Numbers

Happy New Year's Eve to everyone! I hope you're wearing a mask and staying safe, wherever you are.  I know I said I wouldn’t be posting for a long while (I’m working on some personal stuff right now), but I did want to share my stats for the year.  You know me and the stats.  I guess sharing the numbers will make me feel better about 2021 and also give me a push to do even better.  I’m grateful to live in a place that requires vaccination and masks inside theater venues (I wish they had that mandate in Ohio) and hopefully the world will right itself in 2022.  Of course, with nearly half the country becoming selfish jerks who care nothing for their neighbors, I often don’t have much hope.  But one can dream…

• Theatrical events: 29
• Shows written by women:  17
• Shows written by writers of color:  19
• Shows/concerts/events by my darling Fellows:  11
• Shows/concerts/ballets/events that were streaming:  22
• Ballet (in-person) visits: 1
• Ballet (streaming) visits: 2
• New e-books:  18 
• New book books:  8 
• Readings/workshops: 3
• Concerts/cabarets: 1
• Award presentations: 2
• Fundraisers:  3
• Memorial services:  3 (sadly)
• New charities:  8
• Tweets:  226 (that's down a bit, I need to work on that)

Food and cocktail-wise, I haven’t been out all that much, but I do want to shout out the Orchard Margarita at Boqueria, which is divine.  I also adored the cocktail I had at L'Express during a delicious Thanksgiving dinner, but I can't remember the name of it.  Shame on me.  More cocktails in 2022, please!  Take good care and hopefully we’ll all right our ships in 2022!  Happy New Year!

 

Happy Thanksgiving 2021

Hello, cyber-friends!  I can’t believe another year has gone by – time seriously has no meaning anymore.  But I offer my wishes to you all for a happy happy Thanksgiving.  This may be my last post for a long while; more on that later…  

I hope everyone is safe and warm and healthy and ready to enjoy a long weekend.  I know I am ready; my weekend is actually going to be extra-long, due to comp days after so much work for work.  Frankly, I’m exhausted.  I'm glad to be celebrating this year by staying with a lovely goddaughter, then sharing a fabulous meal with my dear friends. I hope that your day is filled with as much laughter and love and fun as I know mine will be.

As always, I have plenty of things to be thankful for this year, such as:

• my amazing parents;
• my wonderful sister; 
• my glorious pip of a nephew, I love him so much;
• my sweet Scooter, best doggie nephew ever;
• my beautiful GNO gal pals AND our wonderful guy pals/plus-two;
• my wonderful extended family, with the coolest aunts, uncles, and cousins around (more on them later);
• all of my dear, darling friends who lift me up daily;
• co-workers who make me laugh and lift me up daily;
• my beautiful goddaughters;
• Justin's dark chocolate mini peanut butter cups;
• Caroline, or Change original Broadway cast album;
• Great British Baking Show (hello, Chigs);
• Whole Foods same-day delivery;
• Leah and Talk NYC;
• Young Sheldon;
• my Twitter feed;
• Bob Evans' individual macaroni and cheese;
• the Q101 bus;
• Copper Cow coffee;
• Snoopy holiday pajamas;
• Stet! Dryer's English board game;
• Boqueria’s orchard margarita;
• the NY Times crossword puzzle app;
• In the Heights film;
• the Excelsior Pass Plus;
• Gin Gins;
• Scentbird;
• Off the Hook Raw Bar;
• the Bryant Park holiday market;
• the Milk Street community;
• my wonderful liquor cabinet;
• reveling in my dear Fellows' successes;
• the Seamless app;
• Apple TV (and Ted Lasso);
• Murder, She Wrote re-runs;
• theater companies who are continuing with virtual theater;
• fierce women playwrights;
• theater is BACK!

cousins in the old days

I'm sure there's more, but let's stop there.  I'm feeling much thankfulness today, that's a good thing.  Though I’m also feeling so many other things – depression, sadness, fatigue.  I think I mentioned in a recent blog post that I’ve recently lost someone very dear to me.  Back story:  I grew up in an extremely close family; my mom had four sisters and each sister had two kids.  My cousins and I hung out together all the time when we were growing up.  After I went off to college and they started growing up, getting married, and having families of their own, we got together less often.  Christmas Eve became pretty much the only time we would all see each other.  I’ve missed them.  In September, I got a call from my sister that my aunt, who had struggled with several health issues over the years, had been diagnosed with COPD and probably only had a few days to live.  I got a fight home the next morning and went straight to the hospital.  Thankfully, my aunt was a bit better and recognized me when I got there.  We talked a few times over the next couple of days, and said “I love you” many times, which I’m so grateful for.  At any given time, there were at least dozen people in the waiting room, all wanting to visit my aunt.  I was again spending time with my beloved cousins, sort of catching up on lost time, while we sat in waiting rooms.  It was nice to be all together again, even for such a terrible reason.  After a few days, the doctors told us that keeping my aunt on machines wouldn’t cure her, just prolong the inevitable.  Her sons made the difficult decision to take her off the machines, transfer her to hospice care, and she passed away two days later.  Everyone in the family was devastated.  We still are.

my beautiful aunt

I’ve been unable to sleep since I got back, which has triggered some depression, I think.  Vague dizziness has returned, which doesn't help.  I’m having a hard time concentrating at work and feel…empty.  My mother is having a hard time with the loss of her sister and I’m sad I can’t help her more.  I need to get my pep back.  I need to get my life back.  The reason I’m sharing all this is because even though I’m happy when I’m inside a theater, afterwards I feel anxiety and dread about trying to blog about it.  Which is stupid, but true.  Writing is now a chore and it used to be a pleasure.  So I think I’m going to step back, work on a few things for myself, and see if I can find the excitement in sharing my thoughts about great work with you.  

Though (because I'm me) let me say something about the most recent theater I’ve seen:  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go see Trouble in Mind (by Alice Childress, produced by Roundabout Theatre), Cullud Wattah (by Erika Dickerson-Despenza, produced by the Public Theater), Selling Kabul (by Sylvia Khoury, produced by Playwrights Horizons) and Clyde's (by Lynn Nottage, produced by Second Stage).  These are vital, important works, centering women of color in stories that need to be told right now.  They are beautifully written, acted, and produced shows.  Buy tickets, tell your friends, show the powers-that-be that these are the stories we want.  Uplift these writers.  I tried to write thorough reviews, but just couldn’t get the words on virtual paper; I didn’t want to let this last post go by without offering my strongest recommendation for these plays.

Sorry to bring down a thankful post – I AM enormous grateful for what I have and know that people love me and that peace is within reach again.  Enjoy your holiday, everyone, and thanks to YOU for joining me here!  It’s been a pleasure to report on things to you and to imagine people actually read my scribblings into the ether – may there be a new kind of Tour in the days to come.

Amazing Women Writing Amazing Women

I've been very fortunate to be able to see wonderful work lately.  I made a sort-of commitment to myself to center my ticket-buying on stories about, or written by, writers of color.  Especially women of color, because these new (to me) stories are the ones I'm hungering for.  Actually, most of the tickets I've purchased lately are by women I know, so...

Last week, I was really taken with Jocelyn Bioh's new play Nollywood Dreams, playing at MCC Theater.  This is one of the shows I had tickets for before the pandemic.  It was a long eighteen months to wait.  I loved Bioh's last play, School Girls, or the African Mean Girls Play, and I have been looking forward to this new piece ever since.  Like in that play, Bioh gives us gorgeous, specific, and riotously funny dialogue and beautifully crafted characters.  She has a way of showing us lightness and darkness, all at the same time.  I truly believe Bioh is one of the most talented writers working right now.

In Nollywood Dreams, it is the mid-1990s in Legos, Nigeria.  A young Nigerian director, after spending some time in America, has come back to Legos to direct his latest film and is holding an open casting call (or so everyone thinks) for the lead character.  We meet the delightful Ayamma, who thinks this audition is her chance to leave her parents' travel agency where she works with her sister Dede (who is a saucy, hilarious, acerbic wonder).  Other characters in the play include the director, Nigeria's hottest male sex symbol (who will be starring in the film), a female film star who also has her eye on that lead role, and a talk show host who pulls all of the stories together.

photo credit: Russ Rowland

This play is so funny and so true.  We feel for Ayamma and Dede, who yearn for bigger lives, dream of celebrity, and puzzle at the realities of show business.  Plus, their sisterly camaraderie is so authentic.  I laughed a lot, even while the characters reminded me of the disparity of what life in Legos actually is and how life in Legos is generally depicted in the American film industry.  Nollywood Dreams is smart and hilarious and an enormous treat.  The audience was just eating it up - there was a set malfunction early in the play and the actors played it up to the hilt.  We were all just putty in the actors' hands; the entire cast was truly amazing.  Please go see this fantastic play.

Last weekend, I went with a beautiful chum to see Caroline, or Change.  Have I ever told you the story of the first time I saw the show?  I went with a friend right before the Tony Awards; Tonya Pinkins (who was playing Caroline) was out.  The incredible Adriane Lenox played Caroline and while she was sublime, I just had to see Tonya Pinkins.  So I went back again before the show closed to see Tonya.  WELL.  Needless to say, the show itself blew.me.away and Tonya Pinkins' performance is one I will never forget.  What a force of nature!  I have been so looking forward to this revival and I'm so glad I got to experience it with my beautiful chum who hadn't seen the show before.

Caroline, or Change is a masterpiece.  Jeanine Tesori is a genius.  Tony Kushner is a genius.  Sharon D. Clarke is another force of nature.  I loved every minute of seeing this production, even from the less-than-ideal location of the mezzanine (though, if I'm honest, if you have to sit in the mezzanine at Studio 54, the last row of the front mezz isn't so bad).  I teared up many times throughout the afternoon, not only because of the story and situations, but because the show is so fricking amazing, the construction of it caused me to weep.  

photo credit: Joan Marcus

There's so much to say, I'm kind of tongue-tied.  The voices are incredible, the acting is fantastic.  Sharon D. Clarke has layer upon layer upon layer.  The devastation that comes after her confrontation with Noah is a gut-punch.  For some reason, I felt it even more than before.  Caissie Levy found a lovely, maybe softer way in to Rose; I really liked her.  How John Cariani finds so many shades and nuances, I don't know.  And his clarinet playing?  AMAZING.  The cast is so incredible, top to bottom, that Chip Zien, who I've seen dozens of times on Broadway, is playing the relatively small role of Rose's father and he is, as always, sublime.  But, really, everyone is.  Emmie?  The washing machine?  The radio trio?  The dryer?  The bus?  OMG, THE BUS.  Perfection.  The first time around, maybe this musical was too esoteric?  Too idiosyncratic?  I don't understand why it only ran for a few months, but it seems as if its genius is being recognized now.  The house was packed and the audience thrilled.  As they should've been.

It was such a delight seeing productions with such fantastic female leading characters played by incredible women who should be superstars.  The way Jocelyn Bioh captures character so utterly perfectly is awesome.  The way Jeanine Tesori writes music that says so much in so many different musical forms that perfectly embody each character is awesome.  (Yeah, Tony Kushner is all that, too, but I'm focusing on the women, thank you.)  I was moved, thrilled, and delighted by both of the productions I was fortunate enough to experience last week.  If theater continues to be this ground-shaking, I'm the luckiest girl in the world...

Saying Goodbye

When you've been working somewhere for nearly 25 years, inevitably you're going to lose people whom you hold dear.  Over the course of the pandemic, two such people, two bright lights of humanity, have left us.  I was privileged to be in the rooms when their amazing lives were celebrated.

Most recently, dear sweet Micki Grant left us.  Hers was a career that was truly groundbreaking - I'm embarrassed to admit that when I first started at my job, I didn't really know the breadth of her accomplishments, I just knew her contributions to one of my favorite musicals, Working (the link is my post on the most recent Off-Broadway revival of the show).  But even though she was a trailblazer, she was also down-to-earth, kind, supportive, and loving.  And a real mentor to anyone who needed her.  I once produced an evening that was a conversation between Micki and another glorious writer and Micki was terrified that she wouldn't have anything interesting to say; she begged me to sit in the front row and throw her suggestions when she ran out of ideas.  I don't think I need to tell you that I was completely unnecessary and the two of them had a thrilling conversation about what it means to be a woman, specifically a woman of color, in the theater.  It was my privilege to be there.  It was my privilege to know her.

I was also fortunate enough to have a seat at her recent memorial/celebration service.  It was done safely, COVID-wise, by having a minimal number of people in each row of the stunning Riverside Church, so I felt comfortable sitting (at a social distance) with a couple of friends who also adored Micki and hearing remembrances from many who knew and loved her.  There were songs, dances, hymns, and readings.  All of them were performed with the generosity of sprit that Micki exemplified.  Plus, hearing from her family members was a true gift.  I knew Micki as a writer, mentor, friend, and colleague, but to hear about her as a cousin and aunt and childhood friend was a blessing.  I can only hope my life touches as many people as Micki's did.  Of course, I haven't written musicals that will be done now and until the end of time.  I guess I should get on that.  Let's put out into the ether that Micki's work needs to be revived SOON and OFTEN.  In a Broadway season that is finally finally giving Alice Childress and Adrienne Kennedy their Broadway debuts, having Micki's Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope back on Broadway would make the perfect trifecta.

At the beginning of the pandemic last year, only a couple of weeks after Broadway shut down, the horrible tragic news came that we had lost one of American theater's great writers, Terrence McNally.  Not only was he a gifted and remarkable dramatist, but he was also a kind and caring man.  I treasure the last email I received from him, about six months before he died.  It was such a beautiful note about how much MY work meant to HIM.  I'm crying just typing about it.  Of course, it was his work that meant so much to me.  I went back to look at old posts and found a review of The Visit and Mothers and Sons.  I don't know why I couldn't find others; I wish I could find what I wrote about the transcendent experience I had seeing Richard Thomas in The Stendhal Syndrome.  That is on the short list of favorite/most exciting performances I've ever seen.  Oh well.  OH, and everyone needs to see the beautiful documentary about his life, Every Act of Life!  It's incredible!  Even Terrence's writing about other writers was beautiful - he wrote a lovely forward in the Playbill for the recent revival of Lanford Wilson's Burn This.  Gorgeousness.

Terrence's memorial was open to the public; I think only the speakers were given reserved status, everyone else had to wait in line.  I felt pretty lucky I got there early when I saw a big time Broadway producer and a big time Broadway actress walk past me to get in line behind me.  The line was long and they were checking people's vaccination card and IDs before letting them in.  There was a big reserved section for the speakers and their guests, but my co-worker and I got a good seat on extreme house left of the Schoenfeld Theatre.  We were maybe ten rows back and had fine views of everyone, even though we were off to the side.  The memorial was jam-packed with amazing talent who were all genuinely heartbroken at the loss of Terrence.  I was surprised at how choked up Nathan Lane was throughout his tribute.  But, really, everyone was fighting tears the entire time.  Especially me.  All of the words were so lovely and so true; I could identify with all of them.  Seeing Terrence's brother walk out for a tribute was surreal, he looks so much like Terrence and their laugh is exactly the same.  We all laughed heartily at the image his brother painted of the childhood bedroom they shared - apparently, the photos on Terrence's part of the wall were Maria Callas, James Dean, and Shakespeare.  Perfect.

photo credit: Douglas Gorenstein

Hearing small sections of his plays only made me want to see all of them again (or for the first time - I've never seen Corpus Christi!) - someone somewhere must want to produce a festival of his work.  His work would be a balm right now, his characters are all so humane and his dialogue is so witty, funny, and true.  Let's put THAT idea into the universe, too!   We need his work, that way he will continue to live for us all.  And we will miss him, but remember him, and rejoice in his gifts.  He also touched, and changed, so many lives.  I found this beautiful photo of Terrence and Micki from one of the work events I produced.  I think you can see the goodness they radiated - we'll not see their equals anytime soon, we can just all try to be worthy.

Too much, too soon?

I don't know what I was thinking, maybe that I am ready for things to be back to normal NOW, but I booked entirely too many events over the last week.  I am exhausted, a bit dizzy, and not entirely sure I experienced everything as fully as I could have.  I guess I know better now...

I'll just briefly report on my comings and goings, since my brain is pretty much out-of-service at this point.  First, I want to mention that I went to a music recital last weekend that I greatly enjoyed, but the main reasons I'm mentioning it is that a) I got to spend quality time with friends I don't see nearly enough, and b) I had a delicious cocktail I'm still thinking of a week later.  It was called an A & W Old Fashioned - ok, I grew up going to the A & W root beer stands in my hometown and I love A & W root beer.  It's delicious and nostalgic, all at the same time.  So OF COURSE I had to order that drink and it was incredible!  If I do a 'best cocktails of 2021' post, it will surely be on top!  The fish tacos were also really good.  That evening was one of my favorites of my entire year.  I also had dinner with other old friends at Patsy's, a longstanding NYC Italian eatery, and it was another grand evening.  The wine we had, a vernaccia di San Gimignano, was tastier than my pumpkin tortelloni, but that's ok.  It's the fun company that counts and I had a blast catching up with my delightful chums.

Wednesday night, I made my first appearance in nearly two years at one of my favorite NY spots, the Signature Theatre.  I bought a membership there this year, since I always enjoy their presentations.  My show that night was Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 by Anna Deavere Smith.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't seen this piece before, it was on Broadway during my brief years away from NYC in the 90s and I haven't seen the filmed version, either.  This production, instead of Anna Deavere Smith performing, uses an ensemble of five incredible actors portraying dozens of characters.  The text is taken from Smith's interviews of over 350 people after the 1992 Los Angeles riots that came out of the Rodney King beating and verdicts.

I am also embarrassed - no, the right word would be MORTIFIED - to admit that I remember very little about the riots or about the events that led to them.  I was living in Ohio at the time and all I can say is being in Ohio means being out of touch.  But that's still no excuse.  I was shocked, saddened, and appalled by the happenings in Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992, and it is heartbreaking to think that Smith had to do updates and that this piece is even more timely than ever in the aftermath of the George Floyd murder.  There is video that is horrifying, audio that is haunting, and just hearing the actual words of people who were there was most often chilling.  There were some comic pieces, sort of, to break up the heaviness of the topic, but mainly this was an evening that was a call to action and a railing against the continued prevalent racism of police around America.  And of Americans towards other Americans.  

photo credit: Joan Marcus

The cast was simply incredible; there aren't enough words to describe how fully and completely they inhabited each of their characters.  They each played characters of different genders, ethnicities, ages, abilities, everything and they were spellbinding.  I'm sure they listened to the interview tapes repeatedly, but the dialect coach should also be congratulated because the dialect work was fantastic.  It was specific and engaging, rather than stereotypical.  The direction was amazing and the set was terrific, though there were technical difficulties at the beginning that kept us from seeing all of the projections at the beginning of the play and I wasn't sure who was speaking, but that got fixed before the end of the first act.

Seeing Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 was a sobering and powerful theatrical experience and I'm ever so glad I saw it.  I cried, looked away, and frequently gasped with disbelief.  I've been Googling ever since to fill in my gaps; I can only hope that having someone like Anna Deavere Smith and her documentary-style of theater will be produced everywhere to continue to open people's eyes to the world around them.  Though I guess not enough people's eyes are opened since this piece is sadly more timely than ever...

Thursday, I accepted an invitation from a young writer I know to attend a reading of their latest work.  I'm sad to report that I'm not ready for readings.  It was so hot in the reading room, I felt dizzy and sick, and the seat was so uncomfortable, I began to fear blood clots.  I couldn't stay for the whole reading, which is awful.  I hate leaving things early, but I just couldn't do it.  I can only hope this talented young writer continues to work on the piece, which could be an important one.  Then, Thursday night, I was fortunate to receive a free ticket to Douglas Carter Beane's new play, Fairycakes.  I have to admit I was still feeling a little unwell after the hot reading room experience, but I made it there and had a pretty good time at the show.

photo credit: Matthew Murphy

Fairycakes is a silly piece that's a mishmash of A Midsummer Night's Dream and other well-known fairy tales.  The cast is amazing, the costumes are gorgeous, the songs are cute, and there are lots of laughs.  There are also some groans from jokes that don't land, but the production is done in such high spirits and good humor, it seems mean to quibble.  The audience was pretty on board from the start; in maybe the third scene, there was a set malfunction and two of the performers entertained us off-script until it was fixed, which endeared them into the hearts of the rest of the audience.  So I mainly had fun, though by the time I got home, I was DONE.  My commutes during the week were a little cumbersome, so all of that combined made for a long week.  I had to take a few hours off work Friday morning to get my bearings back.  I now know that I am NOT ready for two-show-days or even two-show-in-a-row weeks.  I need to look at my calendar a little more closely as I buy tickets for the rest of the year - admittedly, I probably baby myself a little too much when it comes to commuting, but if I don't, who will?

Still Trying to Find My Groove

 Hello again!  I'm slowly maybe inching my way back to normalcy - I saw two pieces of art last week!  An Off-Broadway play and a ballet.  I'm still trying to find my blogging inspiration, but maybe one of the things I saw this week has a thought about that...

I believe I've mentioned how much I enjoy Rajiv Joseph's writing.  A LOT.  I've waxed rhapsodic over his plays Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, Guards at the Taj, and Describe the Night, to name a few.  I just really respond to his writing and his storytelling.  In his new work, Letters of Suresh, he again upended me, maybe even more than usual.  Partly because of the story and partly because of where I am in the world right now, I think.  Maybe.

I've seen quite a bit of Rajiv's work over the years - he came through a young writers' program that my workplace used to sponsor.  One of his early plays, Animals Out of Paper, was a lovely dramedy about people who couldn't connect, people who recognized the genius that they wanted to possess was actually in an unlikely place, people who tried to do the right thing but kept failing.  His characters, then and now, are deeply human and recognizable.  Anyway, one of the characters in that play inspired this new piece.  Letters of Suresh features one of those characters, Suresh, who was a teen origami prodigy who had just lost his mother.  A plot point of Animals Out of Paper dealt with Suresh going with his origami mentor to a conference in Nagasaki.  This new play takes that plot point and expands on it.  

At the top of Letters of Suresh, we meet Melody, who is writing a letter.  We learn that she is the great-niece of a priest who has just passed away in Japan.  She has been going through his letters and found a collection of letters from Suresh, whom her great-uncle met in Nagasaki.  So that encounter in Nagasaki not only affected Suresh and his origami mentor's life (from the earlier play), but now we see how Father Hashimoto's life was affected as well.  And how these letters affect Melody, too.

photo credit: Joan Marcus

The play consists of four characters - Suresh, Melody, Father Hashimoto, and a fourth characters introduced late in the play - reading from their letters.  To some people, this may be static, but to me it was quite moving.  Characters make mention of how letter-writing is a lost art, and how you can find yourself in the art of writing, so there is character development, shocking and surprising plot twists, and great feeling in these letters and the performances.  I identified in some way with all four characters, though sort of felt punched in the stomach by one of them during one of their soul-searching letters.  I felt so seen, by someone who doesn't know me all that well and clearly wasn't writing about me, but it was still a bit of a shock.  And I thought maybe this character held a key to why I'm finding it hard to write right now myself.  I don't know.  But even if you aren't finding yourself in one of the characters (and ruminating on why that therapist you're trying to see isn't getting back to you), you'll still love this play, I think.  It digs into needing a connection, lacking a connection, finding the wrong connection, how we're all looking for our place in the universe and how we're all connected to something bigger than ourselves.  Letters of Suresh is a gorgeously moving play, full of gorgeous ideas and words (not to mention a gorgeous projection set and gorgeous acting).  I'm sorry I didn't see it earlier in the run so that I could see it more than once.  And convince more people to go.  I'll be thinking about this one for a long time.

In other news, I finally got back to the ballet after almost two years.  I can hardly believe it's been that long since I've seen live ballet.  I did watch a lot of the streaming ballet out of New York City Ballet and ABT, but it's just not the same.  It's good, don't get me wrong, and I'm so glad it was there.  But being in the room and sharing space with dancers can't be replicated (in my opinion).  Plus, it's even so much more fun to watch ballet with my darling IHBB (Impossibly Handsome Ballet Buddy, for anyone who's new here).  

ABT's fall season is extremely varied, but in my attempt to limit being in crowded spaces, I only got us tickets to Giselle.  It's one of my very favorites (you can remind yourself of past visits HERE and HERE; there are a lot more blog posts about Giselle, but I especially liked those two).  One of the reasons we picked our particular performance was because it featured two of our favorites in parts we hadn't seen them dance before: the sparkling Skylar Brandt as Giselle and the dashing Herman Cornejo as Albrecht.  It was a beautiful performance - Skylar has really stretched and grown since she was promoted to Principal dancer at ABT, her acting has improved exponentially.  She's always had glorious technique, but adding the dramatic skills to her toolkit has only made her that much better.  Interestingly, she opened my eyes to how technique and perfect execution of steps can make the story even more dramatic!  I always thought it was the acting skill alone, but truly, when you can perfectly execute the choreography, perfectly in time with the music, perfectly in sync with your partner, it is exhilarating to watch.  There were sequences and lifts that I have seen countless times before that had new meaning because Skylar and Herman were so thrilling together.  Herman is, of course, the perfect partner and more virile and charming than any person has the right to be.

photo credit: Joao Menegussi

There were a couple of new-to-me dancers that I was also very impressed with, most especially Adrii Ishchuk, who was a really terrific Hilarion - his dance-to-his-death solo was fantastic.  I also thought the corps de ballet/Wilis were amazing; in perfect unison and otherworldly.  I noticed some different character choices, which I enjoyed, and a more diverse ensemble, which I enjoyed even more.  I long for the world to return to normal so that I can get out and lose myself in beauty, especially ballet, again and again, without the fear that crowds still give me.  I have another few shows coming up, so hopefully I will learn to relax, enjoy, and find my creative brain working again.  The groove is out there, I hope.  The connection I need, I hope, is out there.  I just need to find my way there...

Trying to Get Back in the Groove

Hello, friends.  As theater tries to get back to normal, so do I.  But it's hard.  After spending eighteen months either alone or with tiny groups of family, the experience of being in crowds, masked or no, is hard to get re-used to.  I find myself uncomfortable in crowds, suspicious of everyone, and afraid of having some sort of spontaneous health crisis.  I had intended to ease into my return to theater-going, having purchased one ticket per month, starting in August.  My first indoor production was supposed to be Antoinette Chinonye Nwandu's Pass Over, but circumstances kept me from seeing it in September.  I guess I can talk about those circumstances later.  That is, if I can get my brain to work - I'm having so much trouble coming up with interesting things to say, so there's more of a groove than watching theater to re-enter, I guess...

My October show was Sanctuary City, written by the incredible Martyna Majok, Pulitzer Prize-winner for Cost of Living.  To be honest, this is actually the second time I've seen Sanctuary City.  The day after NY theater shut down, I was very fortunate to receive an invite to watch the show as it was being filmed for archival purposes.  That day, the Lucille Lortel was socially distancing audience members, so it felt safe to me (though we weren't masked, this was early in the pandemic).  I loved seeing the show that day (Martyna's plays are always BRILLIANT) and I loved the feeling of solidarity, that the entire theater community was in this together, and we would all be back in a few weeks, better than ever.

Eighteen months later, going back to the Lucille Lortel was a totally different experience.  Everyone was cheerful, sure, the lines moved quickly, but I didn't feel the same sense of community and excitement.  I guess it's me, but I haven't felt the joyful anticipation as the lights go down yet.  This is totally on me.  I was glad the house was full, yet it made me nervous, too.  I didn't like having someone seemingly sitting right on top of me.  I had purposefully chosen the back row, on the aisle, for my comfort.  I guess I assumed there wouldn't be anyone next to me.  That's on me, too.

Thankfully, once the fabulous show began, I could relax a little and concentrate on the story unfolding.  Though, of course, because I'm me, I did begin to worry about the many light changes in the show - I've developed a rather irrational fear that vertigo will be triggered by anything anytime.  The lights began to worry me, but I just began to either close my eyes or avert them and was fine.  I seriously worry for no reason.

photo credit: Sara Krulwich

Anyway, about the wonderful play:  Sanctuary City is a unsparing look at teens who are living inside the undocumented immigrant experience.  Martyna has such a unique gift of building character through fantastic dialogue.  With few words, we know her characters, intimately.  And then we want more of their words.  We meet B and G in various scenes throughout their teens, sometimes short bursts of little dialogue (or no dialogue) and sometimes in little scenes.  Sometimes the scenes replay with a word changed or a different body position.  We learn so much from hearing so little.  Once one character goes off to college, things shift and then the play ends with one long continuous postscript-type scene.

I thought this structure was brilliant - it was a memory play and not, all at the same time.  You know when you remember things, you remember bits and pieces, and each time, a little more gets filled in and maybe some of the bits and pieces change?  That's exactly what Sanctuary City is like.  It's real and unreal, at the same time.  Which I'm sure is like the immigrant experience in America.  That's the voice that Martyna writes about so beautifully.  She actually writes beautifully about many marginalized voices, which is one of many reasons you should see everything she writes. Sanctuary City is a thrillingly moving play about an important topic; it's beautifully directed and the acting is off-the-charts incredible.  Please, everyone, go see this play.

I have another show coming up in a couple of weeks, by one of my very favorite playwrights, but last Sunday, I had the overwhelming feeling that if I didn't go to see Pass Over's final performance, I would never forgive myself.  I have seen a couple of other iterations of the play, and I had already bought tickets (money shows support too, right?) but how could I miss Antoinette Nwandu's Broadway debut?  I've worked with her before and have known her for years.  I couldn't miss it.  After looking at the seating chart on the ticketing app, I saw I could buy a ticket in an otherwise-empty row.  That convinced me to go.  In my opening paragraph above, there's a link to my thoughts on the LCT3 2018 production of the play.  It speaks to the plot pretty well, I have to admit.  But Antoinette has made more changes to the play since then, which makes total sense to me.  The ending of the play before spoke to the futility of trying to reason with police on behalf of young Black men's lives.  This time, there's more...I don't want to say 'hope' exactly, but more nuance and opportunity for change and transcendence.  And not.  

photo credit: Joan Marcus

As strongly as I felt about the play before (which was REALLY strongly, I was tremendously moved and thrilled by the play before), I felt even more strongly this time.  I feel Antoinette, and the entire production team, has really leaned into the absurdist and expressionistic aspects of the play to provide audiences with a totally new and completely unique theatrical experience that's just as moving as anything that's more realistic.  The three performers, who have been with the play for years, have honed their performances to brilliant sheen, and they're even more touching, even more funny, even more insidious, even more terrifying than before.  I laughed a lot, I cried a lot, and I was terrified.  A lot.  All in the best theatrical way, of course.  I'm so glad I fought through my weekend laziness and got myself to the August Wilson Theatre for Pass Over.  I cannot wait to experience what Antoinette brings us next.

I think I'll save my family stuff for another post.  Maybe.  I do want to mention that I was fortunate enough to attend the great and wonderful Micki Grant's memorial service last night.  It was a beautiful send-off for a beautiful, amazing, talented, generous mentor and friend.  I'm so grateful that my work organization celebrated her with our Lifetime Achievement Award a few years ago, to show her how much writers everywhere honor her.  And I'm even more grateful that I had the chance to see her seminal musical Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope not once, but twice.  I now put it into the universe that Broadway needs to see this work again - I practically levitated with joy as I watched it, yet starkly felt the toughness and unrest underneath.  The time is now for Micki's genius, her empathy, and her activism.  I will miss her always, but thankfully, her gorgeous work will stand the test of time.

Losing (and finding) My Voice

The repercussions from the sh*tshow that began in November 2016 just continue.  Texas continues its attack on women and immigrants and their new whistleblower law shows that people are still out of their freaking minds.  My blood boils when I think of people I know, intelligent people, who cast a 'protest' vote because they just didn't like Hillary, or they thought there was no difference between a Clinton White House and a Horrible Orange Person White House.  Or, worst of all, didn't bother to vote at all.  Five years later and yeah, there was a difference.  We now have a stacked court who will make it their mission to dismantle Roe v Wade and make it their mission to take all rights away from anyone in the LGBTQ+ community.  Hell, anyone who doesn't look and think exactly like them.  I again feel the internal shouting that no one hears because they wouldn't listen to the actual shouting in 2016.  Actually, it goes back to 2000, right?  Can you imagine what our world might be like, climate-wise, if Gore had rightfully won?!?!

The thought that a lot of the dissenting voices were from white women haunts me.  I think about when women lose their voice.  Lose their empathy.  I think about women shutting down other women.  I think about women who have had abortions, yet want to eliminate them for the less privileged.  And somehow I think about...kindergarten.

One of my recent Facebook memories was my kindergarten school photo.  Even though I can barely remember what I had for lunch yesterday, for many reasons, I can remember certain days with crystal clarity.  And a day when I was in kindergarten stands out.

When my mom dropped me off at school, I was so excited.  We had actually built a new house and moved to a new school district just so I could go to all-day kindergarten (in the late sixties, most schools either had a half day, or no formal classes for five year olds).  My parents made me so excited to go to school and learn.  I was thrilled to learn and to make new friends my own age - lots of kids my age lived in my neighborhood, but I hadn't met many of them yet.  My sister was an infant, so most of my time was happily spent playing with her.

I got to kindergarten and remember a large room with a throw rug in the middle.  All of the kids (and I remember a healthy sized group) sat on the floor and looked expectantly at our teacher, a grandmotherly-looking woman.  All of the women in my life up to that point were kind and supportive of me, so of course I expected a teacher to be the same.  After all, she was going to help me learn, she must be wonderful!  Before my mom left, she told the teacher I already knew how to read.  The teacher (of course, I remember her name, I just don't want to use it) said something like "We'll see about that."

At our first show-and-tell, I brought my favorite book and wanted to read it to my new friends.  "Santa Mouse" was the book.  When I finished, the teacher accused me of memorizing it and not being able to read at all.  I looked at her with disbelief.  She handed me another book and said "Prove it."  So I opened the book (and I admit, I don't remember what she handed me to read) and read it out loud.  She took the book away from me and treated me with disrespect and anger the rest of the year.

I tell that story and still feel that five year old's heartbreak.  And I am still so angry about it.  It was my first experience with an older woman's distrust, but it wasn't my last.  I had other teachers tell me that my voice was too loud, that I should take a step back, others who said "NO" when I answered a question posed in class.  It's no wonder that girls feel that they can't speak out, when there's always someone who wants to tear them down.  Why is that?  Did someone silence them?  Tear them down?  When does the cycle get broken?  To think that an incident when I was five years old still has such an effect on me is exhausting.  I still find it hard to speak up.  I still struggle with correcting someone when I know they're wrong.  How many other five year olds are being shut down?  And how many of them will grow up with no rights at all because of a small percentage of extremists who aren't afraid to raise their voices?  Not in support or empathy, but in division and disrespect.  I had to stop watching The Handmaid's Tale a long time ago because it just made me so upset; now it seems as if it's a fricking documentary and I am terrified.  I do most of my protesting online with my pocketbook, which isn't very brave.  That five year old who was so excited to learn and expand her world might be disappointed in the adult who has trouble standing up for herself.  I'd like to think that if I heard that unkind teacher today, I'd stand up for the child.  I have to stand up for them all.

    

It's Not a Comeback, It's a RETURN

Hello, friends!  Have you missed me?  (You don't need to answer that if you don't want to!)  Oh my, what a year it has been - I think a pandemic roundup post will be in order eventually, but today I'm thrilled to report I was back in a theater!  Well, outside a theater, on a NYC street, to be precise.  But a group of intrepid souls shared a space to enjoy a new play, Oso Fabuloso and the Bear Backs, by the amazing C. Julian Jimenez.  Coincidentally, the last official play I saw before the shutdown was also by Julian, the incredible Bundle of Sticks.  So it only seemed fitting to restart my theater life with his work.- I'm a huge fan of Julian and his writing, so I guess you can take everything I say with the usual grain of salt. I'm clearly predisposed to have enjoyed myself.  Especially since I got to see it with a terrifically-handsome chum.

OK, I'll be honest - my brain isn't firing on all cylinders and it's hard to write anything coherent.  Plus, working in my home 'office' has certainly lost its appeal (as has my laptop keyboard).  I also can't remember how to format my blog anymore, so...this will likely be a literal mess in more ways than one.  Much like how life has been over the last fifteen months.  But I digress. As usual.

Oso Fabuloso and the Bear Backs is a terrifically audacious musical play, with book and lyrics by Julian and music by PK Variance.  Julian also stars in the title role.  The show is set up as a therapy session for Oso Fabuloso, a charismatic bear who just went through a messy breakup.  Variance is the lead guitarist and also lends deadpan charm as Oso's therapist.  For about 80 minutes, we're treated to a rock concert/therapy session that is funny, thought-provoking, authentic, toe-tapping, and gloriously queer.  I had a great time and it was a perfect show for Pride weekend..  

photo credit: Sylvester Finch

Our performance time was 5:30pm, so it was steamy and sunny and I don't think I got the full set/lighting experience (but, boy am I grateful I took a hat in case of rain!), but the simple set/concert stage on West 52nd Street was fun and effective.  There was a charming set piece that made me smile every time it was used.  The band was rocking and the two backup singers (Joseph Distl and Vasilos Leon) were a delight.  But the show belongs to Julian.  His writing is always exciting to me but I had no idea what an exciting performer he is, too!  His storytelling skills were everywhere, on the page and on the stage.  His song lyrics were terrific and I hope there are more musicals in his (and therefore my) future.  And his performance had me in the palm of his hand - I can envision a whole series of works starring Oso Fabuloso and I would be there for all of them.  The songs were catchy and the delight everyone had in presenting them was contagious.  The audience was also raucous and engaged and a great time was had by all.  It was the perfect first night back in the theater for me!  

I'm still feeling a little cautious about indoor groupings, but I have a concert booked for early in July and tickets to the Broadway premiere of Pass Over (I saw it Off-Broadway a few years ago - here are my thoughts from that incredible evening.)  I can't imagine seeing as much theater as I did before, at least not at first.  But I am ready to be gobsmacked again and again by exciting theater minds.  I want to enter worlds I've never entered before; I want to see work by writers I've never heard of.  I long for normalcy, but not on stage.  We'll just have to see if the longings will be fulfilled. 

Good Heavens. A Decade. TMI Alert.

I was sorting some old emails, trying to make room on my computer, and I found the emails around my surgical experience of 2011 (a too-long post about it from 2012 is HERE).  I can hardly believe it's been ten years; in a way, the time has sped right by.  But in a way, it seems like forever ago.  And I feel like a completely different person now than I was then.  Though I guess most everyone feels that ten years out...

In 2019, the last time I met with my plastic surgeon, she reminded me that my implants have a 'shelf life' of ten to twenty years. Hm. So, in theory, the warranty could be up on my implants this year.  That's not really a pleasant thought.  I'm a little surprised that none of the doctors I see every year checked in with me in 2020.  I'm on a 'watch and wait' protocol for a lot of things, so I'm wondering if I'll hear from them eventually - when I get back to NYC, I'll be making appointments with all of them.  My plastic surgeon told me at that last visit that I'll need to start having MRIs again, to check and make sure the implants are in tact.  It's safe to say that I am not looking forward to getting back on the MRI merry-go-round.  In fact, it has crossed my mind to say that once these implants are ready to be swapped out, I may not want to swap new ones back in.

I guess, since it would already be a surgical procedure to have them removed, I could just as easily have them replaced than have myself 'deconstructed,' as it were.  It's just that some days I wonder why they're even there.  I'm not seeing anyone, and unlikely to be any time soon, so it won't matter to anyone but me, and I wonder if I care enough to do it again.  Some days, when I feel swollen and awkward, I feel as if they're more trouble than they're worth.  But I do wonder about my sense of self if they were to be completely removed from the equation visually.  Not that I'm looking at myself very often; the scars are nearly as prominent now as they were then, so let's just say I don't hang in front of a mirror admiring myself all that much.  I'm guessing the scarring would be even more drastic if I decided to go flat.

It's interesting, I think, to consider the differences between then and now, and I don't just mean physically.  After you hear, "you have cancer," no matter what stage, nothing ever is the same again.  Even after ten years of all-clear visits.  I'm different.  I see things differently.  I'm afraid of every medical issue, yet I'm not afraid.  There's an interesting dichotomy of 'how bad can it be?' and 'uh, I KNOW how bad it can be and it can also be MUCH WORSE.'   I felt as if I had more hope and trust then and wallow in a little more nihilism now.  I'm also still taking my avoidance/denial habits along for the ride - there are several new appointments I should be making, but I'm not.  I have a built-in excuse (hello, pandemic), but once I'm home, that excuse won't be as easy to justify to myself.

Perhaps it's just this time of year.  I feel sluggish and lethargic at my best of February moments (cold and snow are not my friends), then I think about Februarys gone by.  Of course, being February in a seemingly-never-ending pandemic DOES NOT HELP.  It also doesn't help that I've lost quite a few high school friends lately, I'm feeling my mortality.  And, for some reason, it frequently still crosses my mind that a lot of people in my life don't know about my surgery experience - I will reach out to friends when I find out they're going through the same thing, but I do it privately, and hope they don't share.  At the same time, there are friends I wish did know, so I could talk to them about how it affects our relationship (because it does, though they don't know why), but it's hard to imagine saying to someone "hey, by the way, ten years ago I had this thing...".

But why tell people now? I don't know. But it's such a part of me, why NOT tell everyone?  It affects most of my decision-making and much of my internal compass.  Every now and again, I do just blurt something out as a justification for something I've said and the person at the other end of the conversation just stares at me.  It's not nothing, but it's not everything either.  After all this time, you'd think I would've settled into my relationship with this part of myself.  I think maybe I'm just afraid of more surgery.  I've had enough to last me my lifetime - and that's not even taking recent vertigo issues into account.  Sigh.  Enough whining.  Please, I haven't even talked about my continuing fear of fire, thanks to this time of year.  Yikes.  I think I'll make a cocktail and whine into it.  By now, you're probably ever so ready to join me.  But I will keep updating when something new comes up, because, why not??  Shouting into the internet is much better than brooding into my tired brain...

Relief.

I posted on Facebook recently about my four year headache, due to clenched teeth and unshed tears.  So many bad dreams have happened.  I hate to call the last four years traumatic, which I fear diminishes people's real trauma, but gosh PTSD is probably on many therapist's diagnosis lists.  And so it's incredibly hard to process the absolute relief that poured over me after last Wednesday's inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.  My shoulders fell to their normal position.  My teeth relaxed.  The thought that I wouldn't have to check Twitter first thing every morning to make sure the country wasn't at war; the knowledge that many of the hateful policies the previous administration put into place will eventually be repealed; the acknowledgement that people who respect art and artists would be in charge again - all of this is almost too much to take in.  I'm still on the verge of tears a lot of the time, but now they're happy tears.  Mainly.  

I've spent the last four years keeping my mouth shut while in the company of various family members with whom I vehemently disagree.  I put my love for them above my desire to discuss or argue or persuade.  I truly love them so much, but I will probably regret that for the rest of my life.  Why wasn't I brave enough to stand up for my principles?  Why couldn't they acknowledge my sacrifice?  After the 2016 election, it was all 'f*ck your feelings, you lost, learn to deal with it and understand why.'  Now I'm hearing 'you didn't win, your side cheated, and you should understand my feelings, because I'm feeling really bad.'  

Wait, why?  Why should I always understand their feelings?  Why won't anyone try to understand mine?  (And the other 80 million people who voted to sweep that horrible orange person away, but I digress.)  Why won't 'the other side' listen to people talk about respect for all Americans?  I posted the picture at left on Facebook in January, 2017, before a march in Times Square.  About two minutes later, a family member posted "If you see someone carrying a sign that says they're an ally for everyone, punch them in the face."  My heart was broken.  That person was blocked, but the blocking on social media doesn't block the memory from my brain.  Even if they were joking (as they later claimed), why is that funny?  How can I ever trust them again?  Or trust the people who tried to defend the hatefulness?  Why is wanting everyone to have the same rights and opportunities as me a bad thing?  As I try to tell people, it's not pie.  I won't lose my rights if someone else has some.  I truly don't get it.

I keep reading articles about how families are permanently destroyed.  I hope mine isn't.  It's exhausting to always have to be the one who is silent, the one who compromises.  But apparently that's my role in the family.  The peacemaker.  The non-confrontational one.  If I were to truly stand up for what I believe, would they compromise for me?  Thinking about that answer can keep me up at night.

But even while I continue to worry about that, the real relief and happiness I feel is so welcome.  I cried to see, FINALLY, a woman take the VP oath of office.  I cried even more watching our new VP, a woman of color, administer the oath of office to a diverse trio of new senators who make our Senate less cruel with their presence.  I cried while listening to our new president talk about the pain of racism and white supremacy.  I cried at the way music and poetry were put at the front and center of inauguration day, because these people understand how healing the arts can be.  I feel healing relief that the horrible orange man is no longer on social media, spewing lies and hate to his followers.  I rejoice at the executive orders that have already come out of this new administration - what good does it do America to discriminate against the LGBTQ+ community?   I am so grateful for a human who respects everyone else's humanity at our helm.  I definitely cried when I heard our president tell some appointees that if he heard anyone denigrate or disrespect anyone, they would be fired.  Decency.  Humanity.  Empathy.  I've waited four years to see it in our leadership.  Long may it reign.