Friday Random Ten

Ah, a nice quiet, moody (for the most part) random iTunes 10 for this morning as I write emails, trying to schedule rehearsals for Temptation, including our first readings this weekend, which I still don't have space for, and can't afford anything anyway.

We're probably going to end up in Central Park. The weather's supposed to be beautiful. Havel al fresco.

On a break now after an email accident -- I was almost done with a long schedule email that involved gathering info from two old emails and two paper charts and comparing/combining it, when I hit backspace to correct a typo, and instead eliminated the entire message (with no "undo" available). *S*I*G*H* So, a break before rewriting the whole damned necessary thing for this entry and breakfast.


Anyway, Random 10:


1. "April in Paris" -- The Mighty Accordion Band -- Ultra Lounge vol 10: A Bachelor in Paris
2. "The Brass March" -- Pierre Dutour et son Orchestre -- Chapelle Dance and Mood Music vol 9
3. "A New England" -- Kirsty MacColl -- Galore
4. "Black Napkins (1988)" -- Frank Zappa -- You Can't Do That On Stage Anymore vol 6
5. "As Tears Go By" -- The Rolling Stones -- December's Children (and Everybody's)
6. "Nature Boy" -- Nils Landgren -- Sentimental Journey
7. "Cannibal Orgy (theme from Spider Baby)" -- Lon Chaney Jr. and Ronald Stein -- Not of This Earth! The Film Music of Ronald Stein
8. "Old Brown Shoe" -- The Beatles -- Past Masters vol 2
9. "Blanche" -- The 3 Friends -- The Doo Wop Box III, Disc 2: The "Should-Have-Been Hits"
10. "Morning Dew" -- Lulu -- Rato's Nostalgia Collection 9


Not much else to report this week, that's why so slow. Temptation just really starting up in the next few days. More about that -- which is what this blog is supposed to be about anyway; a diary of the craft process, right? -- as it develops.

I was in a reading of Edward Einhorn's full-length version of his play Doctors Jane and Alexander at Ensemble Studio Theatre on Wednesday (I directed the short version in UTC#61's NEUROFest earlier this year). Lisa Kron (writer of/performer in/Tony nominee for Broadway's Well and much much more) played Edward's mother Jane this time, and was quite good (though Alyssa Simon, in my version, having a lot more rehearsal time among other things, got a lot more subtleties out of the part). I played Edward's grandfather Alexander Weiner (discoverer of the Rh factor in blood) this time, and I think I did a good job (though I had to sing a song Weiner wrote, and despite Berit's tough coaching, my pitch still weren't too great in performance) I drove Lisa home to the East Village on Tuesday night after rehearsal, and we got somehow to sad reminiscing about how "New York isn't what it used to be." Boring old fart stuff, I'm sure -- she came to NYC in 1984, me in 1986 (though I spent many weekends of my childhood of the 70s here, seeing my dad and stepmom), and we talked about the excitement we felt here in the late 80s. We agreed that it wasn't just that we'd gotten older, the City isn't as vibrant and weird now as it was then (though of course, I suppose, we would say that . . .).

I did note that after what seemed a fallow period for a few years, Off-Off Broadway feels like it's coming back strong, in terms of numbers of spaces and productions, and I'd even say quality of productions as compared to a few years ago (most things till stink, just a smaller majority), as well as press attention (the Times having stepped up their OOB coverage -- where were they in 1996-2000 when we needed them on the LES?). Still, there's no scene, no central . . . I dunno, place? thing? group? mode of thinking? Should there be? Is there strength in our diversity, disparity? Or are we never going to tear down that wall Clancy talks about because, while we have the strength and the numbers, the wall is very very long and we're all spread out across it, trying to take it down each in our own individual ways, none of us or our own ways strong enough to make a dent in the wall alone?

Am I willing to change the way I do things to join with others in tearing down the wall, or will I just keep kicking at the base of my section, because it's MY section, and I have my own way of kicking that I refuse to change? What if I like my way of kicking and don't like anyone else's?

Okay, stop and get breakfast before hideously depressed . . .


Later, supposedly, cat blogging. However, Friday Cat Blogging may be late today as I've a lot to do still today on Temptation (including rewriting the damned schedule email to The Brick).

But when Cat Blogging shows up, a profile of Simone, aka Moni:



Here, Moni, who is adorable, beautiful, and loving but has not a brain in her head (our general representation of "the sound of her thoughts" is an imitation of a dial tone), has made it to the top of the kitchen cabinets. There's a double standard at work here -- if Hooker were up there, we'd be yelling at him, but because Moni is so cute and so stupid, she gets a free pass so we can take a picture. Unlike Hooker, who just gets confused about why there's a ceiling when he gets up on top of the bookcases, which is allowed, Moni appears up here in the kitchen infrequently, and then has no idea how she got there, why she wanted to go there, where she is, or how to get back down.

More on our beautiful, stunted, none-too-smart feline later.

A Pair of Difficult People

Cat blogging in a bit.


I got back from the grocery store a little while ago to find Berit smiling -- "Guess what we forgot?"

Oh, lord. "Your mom's birthday?" (I'd forgotten my dad's earlier this Summer and B & I have been trying to help each other stay on top of these things).

"Nope."

Then it hit me. September 4. We BOTH forgot this year.

Berit Johnson and I have been together six years (and, uh, four days). Pretty much living, working, and in love together every day the whole time.

Which is over nine times as long as any relationship I'd been in previously -- I'm not an easy person to be involved with.

But then, neither is Berit, and somehow it's our mutual "problems" that help hold us together (we have them, so we put up with them in each other, so, no problem), that and our similar outlooks on life, music, humor, cats, the universe, everything (or most things). There are things we don't have in common, but we leave those to the other, and have no problem with having "apart" time as well. We have our ups and downs, of course, and little spats -- I'm sure that some people think we're The Battling Bickersons and others think we're disgustingly lovey-dovey, but in general, we care, we're in love, we're partners, and we put up with each other's prickly eccentricities.

So, it works. And we plan on keeping it working. Someday we'll get married. When we feel like it and get around to it (something else we agree on that others might not).

We may have both forgot (usually, only SHE does), but at least on this anniversary, as opposed to our first one in 2001, Berit wasn't stuck, all hopped up on Red Bull and paint fumes, in the backyard of The Connelly Theatre, painting around 80 cardboard boxes white and then stenciling black letters on them (for my production of The New Tenant in the Ionesco Festival), or something equally depressing.


Here we are four years ago in Molde, Norway:





I love you, honey.

Friday Cat Blogging: Simone

This is a Cat Blogging stub, just to put the photos up now -- Berit and I have to go out to dinner and I don't have time to write the whole history of Simone aka Moni the former street stray cat we took in a few years ago.


Later tonight, I'll add more text and captions [done so, below] -- until then, here's Moni:





One night, 2003, in July, I think, I came home from some rehearsal or meeting or whatever, and Berit told me she had found a kitten outside the front door of our co-op building that evening. There are quite a few strays in our neighborhood, but Berit said that this one was different. Most of them are skittish and shy of humans, but this one was incredibly friendly. Some other people in the building had left out some chicken giblets for this kitten, so she was hanging out, eating, and when Berit approached her, she plopped over on her back in the international cat sign language for "rub my belly." Berit had wanted to bring the kitten in, but decided to wait to see what I thought. I said, okay, if you want, bring her in, and Berit went out and looked for her that rainy night, but she wasn't around anymore.





The next morning, Berit went out to look for the kitten again, and this time found her and brought her in.

I can't say I was impressed. She was damp, tiny, emaciated, with wet, matted fur. She looked like a drowned rat. My thought was "You want to bring that into our home?" But Berit said she was something special. She looked to be about 4 to 6 weeks old. As with Hooker, we decided to go with the name of a recently-deceased musician for her name, and as Nina Simone had recently died, the kitten came to be known as Simone (or usually, Moni).





Well, she cleaned up good, as you can see. A regular diet filled her out, and once her fur was clean she was revealed to have a gorgeous, multicolored tortoiseshell coat (which even good photos, which these really aren't, don't do justice). The chicken giblets she had eaten did wreak havoc on her digestion for a few days, but that calmed down. She wound up not growing much more, and we honestly don't know how old she really was when we found her -- she may have just been stunted severely from malnutrition on the streets. She's incredibly affectionate, and completely bonded to Berit (though she will assault any visitor to our apartment with demands for love and attention as soon as they walk through the door).





Now, adorable and loving and beautiful she may be, but she has her drawbacks. Horrible smells frequently come from both ends of her graceful little body -- she almost always has horrible cat-food breath, and her farts smell like a burning tire factory (and can eminate quickly through the entire apartment; there's NO escape). She is dumb, even for a cat, really dumb, and has a Memento-like memory problem -- it really seems she can't remember more than 5 seconds ago; push her away from something she shouldn't be in, or yell at her for doing something she shouldn't, and she may walk away, but she will immediately pull a u-turn and go right back to it as if she's forgotten that you had said or done anything. The only concepts that seem to enter her sweet and beautifully-shaped skull are "Mommy?", "Mine!", "Kill!", and "[dial tone noise]."

Hooker is smart enough to know when you're yelling at him that he's doing something "bad." Moni just looks at you and wonders why you're making those curious loud sounds.

However, the love, affection, and beauty of this creature more than makes up for all of that.

She loves to sit and lick people's fingers (especially Berit's), curl up in laps (especially Berit's), and knead with her paws (especially on Berit). She also enjoys sitting in the window, watching birds, and making strange little chittering noises. Dogs are interesting to her, but when cats come up to our windows, she flips out, running from window to window, making angry sounds.





So we've wound up with the duo we often call The Two Best Cats In The World, with only slight hyperbole. I've known and lived with many cats, but these two are very special creatures, and we have many fun and/or relaxing times together.





Next Friday, photos of Hooker and Simone together.