Hiatus

I'd almost forgotten how to log on to Blogspot.

As some folks have commented, yes--the blog is shut down for the time being. I'm not quite ready to commit to officially shutting it down, but right now--and probably for the rest of the fall--I simply do not have the time or mental space to keep up with the writing.

The simplest answer is this: I started the blog to keep in practice with putting thoughts into words. I now write A LOT for my job. That need no longer exists. When another need arises, perhaps I will start writing here again. But right now, it's just not possible.

Things are good, they really are. But they have to be good somewhere else for a while.

Best to everyone.

Power House (the bad guys)

All tickets for the CapFringe Festival are $15 and can be purchased online at www.capfringe.org, by telephone at 866-811-4111, or at the Fringe Box Office, 607 New York Ave., NW, WDC 20001

Power House (the good guys)

All tickets for the CapFringe Festival are $15 and can be purchased online at www.capfringe.org, by telephone at 866-811-4111, or at the Fringe Box Office, 607 New York Ave., NW, WDC 20001

Garter Frisbee? (for realz)

I've had an unexpected completely free night and I'm kind of digging it.

I'm searching for Bridal Shower games. I googled "Bridal shower games not lame" and one of the ones that came up is this:
"Put the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies out on a table with some bowls and spoons but no recipe. Have the bride try to make the cookies without a recipe. This is really fun for everyone else to watch."

Ummm. Really? This is really fun? Because why, we get to laugh at our soon-to-be-wedded friend/cousin who has a graduate degree from Columbia and undergrad degree from Brown and travels around the world helping third world countries but maybe because she can't MAKE COOKIE DOUGH we think--ha! better raise that dowry because this guys getting a non-domestic DUD!? And then what, we all get salmonella poisoning from eating the cookie dough? Seriously, WTF is this?

(I promise I'll get off the salmonella kick soon).

Then I googled "bridal shower games not cheesy" and got a recipe for baked brie.

So, anyone, truly--do non-cheesy bridal shower games exist? We will be in a restaurant, so no scavenger hunts or video travelogues. And maybe we go the non-game route. I just thought I'd look because then I could veto any really terrible or misogynistic games.

Help?

Share and Tell

Two Tidbits

Italy gave us DaVinci and Puccini and we give them...

cheesy bacon nuggets!

One possible solution to the salmonella scare:
DALLAS -- While the FDA has now issued a warning for salsa and guacamole in connection to the tomato salmonella scare, many people are putting their appetites over the advisories. Mario Herrera, a diner at La Calle Doce in Dallas, says, "We don't have to be concerned about what they say. It's about the food." La Calle Doce, a Mexican restaurant located in Dallas, has remained very busy. Despite the FDA advisory, the restaurant has not stopped serving tomatoes. Jesus Sanchez, the restaurant's owner, said, "We're making sure that everything we serve is thoroughly washed."

Even though the FDA has expanded the salmonella warning, Sanchez said they aren't taking pico de gallo or guacamole off the menu, stating, "I think the FDA really needs to pinpoint the source because they go from one thing to another to another. … If they stop all the shipments of fruits and vegetables coming from Mexico, can you imagine what's going to happen to the price?" Anita Bivens, another diner at the restaurant, said, "As a Christian, you just pray over your food and you just trust that God is going to provide and take care of you."

Fitting that the restaurant owner's name is Jesus. Dad must be hanging around, right?

Dear Universe

4,000 Danes are likely to have salmonella poisoning and we still don't know what caused our own salmonella outbreak and the beef recall is expanding and have you ever read about the scalding tank that is used to process plucked chickens?

I swear, too much time at this place and I'd never want to eat again.

Fringe rehearsals are going well. I think it's going to be a blast, and hopefully, unlike anything else playing at the festival. Perhaps somewhat unlike any recent theater experience had by audiences. Which I think will be cool. It's not any single element that is going to sell this one, rather very much the sum of its parts. We were already singled out by the going-out-gurus. So get your tickets. (At our first fringe I tried to stalk Fritz Hahn when I saw we had reserved a press ticket for him to see LUNCH. I was unsuccessful. I am much less of a GOG groupie now, but still manage to read their column every now and then, though it was Ms. Grastorf who pointed out this one.)

Other news. Most of you know this but I start a new *real* job next week. More about that to come but keep your eyes peeled on the Theater J blog for lots of fun news.

Speaking of. My shows next year. Three first-timers. I'm very excited.

In October: AS AMERICAN AS by Ken Prestininzi with Journeymen Theater Ensemble
In April: THE RISE AND FALL OF ANNIE HALL by Sam Forman with Theater J
In May: BRUISE EASY by Dan LeFranc with Catalyst Theater Company

So many things to be jazzed about right now.

But first, a break. We're going up to Massachusetts for two days to celebrate the holidays with C's family. I have been assured that I will be allowed to sleep late even if no one else does. I plan to take advantage of this.

And a question, briefly, for the universe. Why can't I just let things go? Why do I still think about the people who have made me feel shitty over the years, and why do I do this when it only makes me feel shitty all over again? This is what I don't understand. This is what I'd like to stop doing. And I need a hair cut.

Food Police

Hi.

I had parts two and three to the Fairfax debacle, but they're locked away on a computer I won't see for several days. I got all frustrated about this fact and stopped writing. So be it.

Right now I am part-time at what should be my last temp job for a while. I start a full-time position in July, but more on that later. In the meantime I am working in the legal affairs department at the nonprofit organization that serves as a watchdog to the food and drink industry. These are the folks who publish statistics yearly about some food that turns out to have like, 70 grams of fat and 3,000 calories per serving. They did it with fettuccini Alfredo once, and movie popcorn. I am helping research the effects of drinking soda (on tooth erosion, kidney function, and bone density) for a campaign they are waging against soft drink companies. I agree with most of what they do, though the ideology and tactics they use are pretty intense even for a healthy-veggie-believe-in-government-involvement-to-help-the-well-being-of-our-citizens-type like me. I definitely agree with the work they are doing to improve what is offered in our schools and to regulate how food and drink is marketed to young people. Because childhood obesity? Definitely a problem. But I am not allowed to have "junk food" at my desk, and that's freaking me out a bit. I tend to think I'm pretty healthy. But I am well aware that some of my staples would get a thumbs down from these folks.

Vitamin water? Lots of sugar. Fructose. Citric Acid. Bad.
And a power bar? Fructose. Pretty processed stuff. Not so good.

In my perusing today I found this article.

In college I had a movement teacher from Russia who sometimes talked about the health benefits of drinking your own urine. At least I think that's what he was talking about. Felix wasn't always so easy to understand.

And here's the thing. Diet Coke? I'm a fan. And I have always said that if artificial sweeteners turn out to be as bad as some people think, I'll be SOL. And it starts to feel like everything, EVERYTHING is suspected of doing something bad to you. Throw in food safety issues, and even super-healthy-good-for-you things like tomatoes and spinach become death traps of e.coli and other bacteria. Eventually you get to the point where it's like "Ahh! Food! Scary!"

In other news, we've started rehearsals for our Fringe show, which right now exists as a great big wild card in my mind. But I like the people we've amassed to work with us. So that's a good start.

And the next three months are shaping up to be wedding-o-rama. Starting tonight when I drive with Skids to a wedding in NJ, which actually sounds like it will be an exceedingly chill one. Which is wonderful.

End of the Line

So I've been meaning to do the Fairfax Travel Guide for everyone, after my week at George Mason.

Firstly, let me say the group running the First Light Festival for TFA was wonderful, and couldn't possibly be a lovelier bunch. The slightly bizarre moments in our week spent out yonder had nothing to do with them, all to do with some version of Jackie-Shirley karma that we must have stirred up. We had indeed encouraged them to put us together on a project so that we would be metro and bussing it out there together. This meant we weren't alone when passing through the mysterious land of Dunn Loring. It also meant, however, that our combined energies opened up a door to another dimension and shot us through before we knew what had happened. (Many moons ago DCeiver had the best post ever about the land of Dunn Loring. Indeed, I thought of the magical sleeping village every time we passed by the station.) But no! We were headed to further lands. We were going to the end of the line, the Vienna Station. We were going where few DC dwellers have gone before. We were going to ... Fairfax.

Day One

A train jumped the tracks on the orange line. We do not know this at first though, we only know that our train is holding in Metro Center. We switch to another car and both recognize Gwenergy from behind--her puckish pigtails give her away. We talk G's ear off as she frets about risking missing an audition. After about 10 minutes she heads above ground to get a cab, and we soldier on. The train starts up again and we think we are in the clear. When we hit Rosslyn, we exit to switch to the orange from the blue. There we realize that they are evacuating the train. It is impossible to go beyond Ballston. We head to where the Charlie Brown intercom "Wha-Wha" voice tells us to pick up a shuttle. The entire state of Virginia is waiting for the shuttle. We get scared. Jackie's stage manager friend emerges from the station. She tells us about a bus we can take. We plan to do this but first I have to get cash. And dinner. Quickly. I buy an odd combination of food at a stand called the "Tummy Station". Then we see that there is a storefront dedicated completely to commuter information. We go in and ask the young man about getting to Fairfax. His eyes widen. Jackie calls the theater. They tell us to take a cab, we'll get reimbursed. The commuter store man predicts it will cost $70. It is an expensive first day getting to George Mason. It does not cost $70, it does cost $45, and we arrive at rehearsal about an hour late. Because she is afraid we might never come back after this first day, the production manager gives us a ride to the Pentagon City metro at the end of the day. We are content. We are in Arlington. We are nearly home.

Day Two

We hold our breath at Metro Center, but everything seems fine on the orange line. Indeed we make it to Vienna with 45 minutes before our rehearsal, and set out for the "CUE" bus everyone has told us to take to the campus. But alas, there are three CUE busses. Green 1, Gold 1, and Gold 2. We ask several people which one goes to GMU. Apparently they all do, but one of them is the fastest. And one of them has just pulled in to the lot. It is not the "fast one" but it is here, and it is hot, so we get on it. We wait a bit, and pull out with thirty minutes to get to the rehearsal. It takes 45. At one point, in our tour of the greater Fairfax area I turn to Jackie and say, "Look that way. It's a appears to be a coal mine." Indeed, we have headed for George Mason with a stop off in West Virginia. That night, we are 15 minutes late. You all want to hire us again, don't you?

(To be continued. Tomorrow, the Secret Shuttle Driver and shady dealings. Stay tuned.)

Heat Induced

I have an intense case of the hiccups right now. Almost painful. Par the course for this week.

What I keep trying to explain to people without managing to quite be clear is this. My body, which has been amazingly resilient for its 32 and 11/12ths years, may be rebelling against me. I don't understand it. The cough I had a month ago came back and is lingering. I had insomnia last week worse than I've had since my mid-twenties. And I had a heightened emotional experience on sunday that had me throwing up in the bathroom of a Glover Park deli three hours later while C placed sandwich orders.

Weird.

I have to believe that this too will pass.

C posited that I might be emerging as a late bloomer hypochondriac. I worried that I was suddenly one of those mystery illness women like I read about last week in Carolyn Hax.

Or maybe it's the heat.

The heat makes people do bizarro things. Today, for me, it somehow improved everyones customer service. I was given free copies at Kinkos when their printer malfunctioned. Then the cashier at Chop't gave me a free cookie. Then Jackie and I found our savior-shuttle-man to take us back and forth from the Vienna Metro while we work on a play with Theater for the First Amendment out at George Mason University. But that's a story for another post. This week has already been an adventure and a half, and I kind of think it will only get weirder.

Speaking of weird, my newly sort-of blogging brother has a story about heat-induced foibles over here at his shiny new website.

And from the land where it is never too hot: I found someone on facebook yesterday who I haven't had contact with in about eight years--since she moved to the west coast. I remember her as being a relatively bright and well-read human being. And I have to say, her profile made her sound mind-blowingly shallow, with mentions of her newly emerging celebrity friends and a list of every element of her workout routine. And not much else. And I started to wonder, does LA make you stupid?

Careful LA friends. Don't let the sunshine melt your brains.