Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The Job Hunt, Part 8. (It is an on going endeavor.)

Today was a really good day.

I picked up my script and the re-writes for my show at the LATC. I taught my class and my students were wonderful and engaged. I got two very important emails. One from Disney, telling me to hang in, they will be calling. The other from The Music Center offering me a two day job that I accepted. So, for two days at the end of April I will actually be employed by three different organizations. Gotta coordinate that! Gotta love it.

Tomorrow, I will attend to my husband. He is having an MRA. Yeah, I know... you think MRI, but no... this is a specific test to see if he has an aneurysm. He has symptoms. Sucks, but we have to find out. Interesting that I spend as much time talking to our insurance company as I do worrying about the results of the test. (By the way... we are covered and they will pay 100% of the $2,000 or more cost. I checked. One has to.)

When chronic illness becomes the constant visitor in one's family one wishes that visitor was fish. (Guests are like fish... good for 3 days. Oh, and I am allergic to fish!)

We move forward. We can only travel through time minute by minute. Give us the Tardis. Let us jump ahead and jump back and travel without time. Ah, what a gift that would be.

Minute by minute we forge our future. It is okay. It has to be.

No matter where I go, there I am.
If you lived here you'd be home by now.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Smoke In The Distance.

I just played with the language button for my blog. I was thinking the button would turn everyone's posts into another language, but it only changes the instructions. Then, I had a (very brief) moment of panic when I couldn't find "English" listed anymore. Ah, yes! French for English is "Anglais." Restored and recovered. (Lucky I didn't change the language to Bantu or Klingon.)

The cherry trees were in bloom last week.
Already the pink blossoms are falling off the trees and I walk on pink petals. I don't know why the blooms fall so fast. (Maybe the bees are done?)

I see a lot that I wonder about. Some things I'll look up on the internet. Sometimes I'll call my husband or my dad and ask. The cherry blossoms I share with my friends who are walking on petals too. Sometimes I let the mystery percolate and create a scenario or two.

Smoke in the distance... A fire? Of course. But what is burning? A building? A business? A pile of tires? (The smoke is so black.) A signal? An omen? A warning?

I never found out the cause of the fire. The smoke was gone in the time it took to take 2 photographs. Another unsolved minor mystery. Diverting and as least as entertaining as playing with buttons better left alone.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

The Worst Thing.

Facebook is so silly. Really. Some great information gets out and I appreciate the contact with long lost (and sometimes forgotten) friends. We've become rampant in our "causes." I don't object, I just think we are taking an easier way out than we used to. (Yes, okay, use my name... okay I'll join your new group to make a point... ooh, Otter Pops! Okay. I get caught up too, but what is the point, really?) I could be wrong. Facebook could end up having more power than I could possibly imagine.

We used to take it to the streets! We used to pour out and protest. Why are all the liberal protests done on line? The maniacal minority has learned from us (back in our hay-day) that protests in person make the news. And we sit and type at our computers.! We my friends, if you can stand it, are now the silent majority.

Did you write to your congressman about health care reform? I did. Just last Saturday. I wrote to one of my senators a year ago about health care. WE have to communicate our issues or the duly elected can't do the job they were elected to do.

"The worst thing you can do is be silent.
Cover your face and look the other way and stay quiet.
You can do that in love, no kisses no hugs and no kindness.
You do it alright, keep your heart and your mind out of crisis.
But there's no magic, no curses or spells,
Can't leave the dirty work to someone else."

I'm sure I'm paraphrasing my dear husband's lyrics, but the point is... The worst thing you can do is be silent!

Those of us who really think and understand the nature of our current crises need to address them and speak out. We cannot afford to sit on our collective ass (large as that is) and expect lesser minds to solve our problems.

To my friends, I often reference a short story: "The Marching Morons", by Cyril M. Kornbluth (July 23, 1923 – March 21, 1958). It is the story of our civilization in the future controlled by the... shall we say, less learn-ed... and the intelligent are now the slaves of the vast majority of stupid people. I reference this story because it seems to be coming true. Read it.

Don't be intimidated! Work for change. Work for equality. Work to set the world right.

Get up. Get out. Talk. Question. Your future is at stake. (My future is here and now.)
xo.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Rejoining The Fray.

I stopped by the LATC (Los Angeles Theatre Center) this afternoon after my class. It was a good idea. I wandered with the general manager and started remembering the time I'd spent there. (I did three shows for the old LATC, and the work space has not changed much.) It was exciting and new and comforting and familiar. (And... they pay for parking!)

I just received and downloaded the script. I'll need the electronic copy so I can keep up with the changes. I have a meeting next week with my director and I need to find an assistant. Those scary words.."There is pay" are attached to the search. Frankly, it is not much less than I'm getting. And hey! That lucky person will work with me!

Back at it, if only briefly. I'll worry about the later, later. This is all good, and today I appreciated how important it is just to rejoin the fray.

Monday, March 22, 2010

And It Will All Be New.

Sometimes life is about facing one's fears. And fears are weird; they don't necessarily make sense to other people.

I've come to realize my biggest fear is making the wrong decision. Specifically about work. As adaptable as I am, I have this trepidation about working in a new environment. I don't like change. I have to do it, and it takes some courage, but I don't like it. I want to find work in a family atmosphere. I want to work with people who have the goal I have. I want to do good work, and I can't do it alone. That's theatre.

When I have to leave town, I get physically sick. (My husband will attest that I feel nauseous.) I hate traveling away from my base. I do it all the time, I have to, but I don't like it. I love the work. I hate the move.

Yeah, get over it! So, now, I don't feel nauseous, but trepidatious. Those feelings will all disappear the moment I start the job. We all lose anxiety when we actually have something to do. I need something to do. I can't be in my "comfort zone" so fuck it. Off I go.

There is something to be said about working within my neighborhood. I'm so grateful I can live at home. It is a gift that changes all.

I used to work through every Christmas. Lately I've worked through every summer and had Christmas. I will enjoy living at home in the summer. (Maybe I can avoid Christmas! Lol, just kidding..)

I've warned you my blogs are meandering. So, there you are and There I Am.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Job Hunt, Part 7.

My intention is to accept a contract Monday. I will start pre-production April 20, open May 15 and close sometime in June. It is a small contract, but it is 8 work-weeks and a re-introduction to L.A. theatre. I've pondered ... just like it takes money to make money, it takes work to generate work.

This is a new play. Ah, back to my roots. This is a new play by a fairly famous American playwright. Another plus. (He is also directing...) This is with an up and coming theatre company (I hope) and I already like the people, well, ... the artistic director is my friend.

I will still be interviewing with Disney sometime soon. The position I've applied for has generated so much interest that Disney currently has many viable candidates. (Helps to have friends at the top! They tell you the truth.) I've been encouraged to interview anyway, partly because they might like me best and mostly because they have some casual employment contracts that need filling. I'm all for that. May work better for me, I wouldn't have to leave stage-managing completely.

Tomorrow I need to prepare for my other job. I teach stage management on Mondays at USC and it is oh so satisfying. We've been exploring the new media platform rules on the internet and we've been having a great time.

My dear readers, it is late. Late in the day and getting later in life with every moment. I'd best do what I'm best doing.

Hey, I got a job!

Friday, March 19, 2010

Where Have You Been?

Sometimes days go by and the only person I've talked to, in person (aside from the checker at Von's or Trader Joe's) is my husband. It's okay. I said to him, just tonight, the time alone is kind of a gift, demonstrating how much we prefer each other, and we are enough.

All well and good, but come on! Sunland is not a lonely island cut off from the rest of the planet. (Oh, maybe it is. I have to drive to La Crescenta to find a Trader Joe's.) Facebook friends are all well and good too, but the conversations are fairly stilted and usually die out after an exchange or two. I don't like twitter. If you follow me on twitter you will notice I never post. I rarely sign on. I don't care about twitter. I get texting, only because it seems to be my nieces' and nephews' favorite form of communication. Email is okay, except for the tasteless jokes my father insists on sending me, endlessly. I do find people aren't sending emails much anymore. The social networks have taken over. "I'll talk to you on facebook. Follow me on twitter. Read my blog." Not much personal communication left.

Too bad. C'est dommage. C'est tres difficile pour moi, maintenant. Pour vous aussi. Non. Je pense que oui. We aren't communicating. Not really.

Okay...I know more French than I remember. I was taught by an Irish nun who learned French in Canada. Works great in France.

What was I saying about communication?

Touch, and face-to-face contact. What happened to that? In person visiting, or at least, phone calls? We communicate so much better adding body language to the mix, meaning in person. We communicate fairly well on the telephone when we can hear tones of voice and expression. We are built that way. We do well with the written word when we are writing poetry... But this abbreviated communication technology has delivered to us stunts our ability to really say what we mean. As I write this blog, I realize I'm reduced to using italics to emphasize words I would automatically emphasize in person, or, barring that, on the phone. I miss the facial expressions though. Harder to lie.

Anyway. Just some lonely thoughts, late at night, missing seeing, touching, reading and kissing your beautiful face.
xo

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Death and Joy.

Death has been wandering around the periphery lately. My dear colleague and friend lost his 60-something mother suddenly a few weeks ago, and tonight we got an email from a long lost and much missed friend telling us his father had died unexpectedly just yesterday.

I went to a funeral for a family friend two days ago. She and her husband had been great friends and neighbors to my mom and dad, and after my mom died, they were there for my dad. With her passing, her husband and my dad are just two old men rattling around on the top of a hill. (There are no other neighbors in walking distance...) I introduced myself to her children who immediately knew who I was and expressed sympathy for the loss of my mother, dead nearly 6 years. I approached her husband to offer my condolences and support and he in turn asked after my husband's health. Remarkable people. I was trying to console and be present and that entire family offered me love and support back.

The thing about funerals... well, Catholic funerals, is that they are quiet, contained and follow a very rote formula. (Is that redundant?) Mass is offered, readings are read, and family members who think they can talk, stand at the podium and struggle through tears to read the tributes they've written.

I was good appreciating my sister's high clear singing voice as she joined in prayer. During the mass and homily, I was thinking how bad the sound system was, not helped by the priest who had a very heavy accent. I was wondering what it would take to bring some theatrical technique to the church. Then, the son came to the lectern. He'd written a beautiful remembrance of his mom, and as he read it, his voice catched. He stopped. He collected himself, he cried and he went on. I lost it.

I cried. I cried for him and for his loss. I cried for my dad's neighbor, now alone in that house, I cried for my mother-in-law, dead at 64, and for... mom. The son took me back. Funerals take us back. And there we are, sitting in that grief and sorrow once again. That acute loss. That pain that doesn't end, that pain that just becomes a part of you.

And, I think of my friends who've just lost parents. I think of my dear friend who's father-in-law is so sick and so far away.

I think, death, well, there it is. It is hard. It hurts to the heart. The loss is physically painful. Although we never lose that pain, never, the pain becomes part of us and in a way becomes something we cherish and revisit and learn to live with. We learn to go on.

We could say that death haunts our house. Well, life haunts it too. With the glorious spring mornings and the dandelions everywhere (my grandmother told us to remember her with the dandelions) we can face the new day together with remembrances and with joy.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Huh?

Boring. I've started now 3 times to write this blog. All boring and all rejected. I was trying to say something about our new media platforms...facebook, youtube, twitter, myspace...boring!
We've all said it before.

In this darkness someone needs to speak out for true communication. I'm not sure blogging is the answer because it doesn't seem to generate much discussion. I'll continue to look at my blog as an online and public diary of my thoughts. I don't consider it discourse.

Ah... that brings us to the telephone. Yeah, the actual act of phoning someone is reaching out. Ok, until you reach nothing but voice mail... One side of communication, again. Texting often has the same result. It is often a one-sided communication. Even when the texting goes back and forth the language is stilted and much is lost in translation.

Not good communication.

Perhaps the best communication still comes from face to face conversation. I remember a phrase, or a course title: "The Art of Communication". It wasn't about twitter! It was about really talking to people. I took a class called "Classical Rhetoric." The hardest course I'd taken. The ultimate point was to teach the class the clearest route to communication. What words do we use? What logic makes the case most succinctly? How can we write in such a way that our words influence and reflect our point of view?

All very interesting. Okay, all very interesting to me! I am a big fan of the written word, but I don't believe there is any replacement for face to face communication. That is where we really shine. Our body language, our facial expressions, our tone of voice, our music, if you will, communicates so much more than words on a page, whatever form that page is taking.

And then there is theatre. Live, on stage, singing glorious words to the audience the actors create and share epiphanies. On stage we find the songs of our hearts. We find love. We find clarity. We find redemption.

Theatre is true communion and true communication. The audience and the actors. So simple and pure.

Try to twitter that.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Just FYI.

The title of my blog, "There I am" is a throwback to an old bumper-sticker. "No matter where I go, there I am." My mother had it on her gizmo wheelchair. She also had a bumper-sticker that read, "I'm not deaf, I'm just ignoring you." (She was very deaf.)

"No matter where I go, there I am" is an extrapolate of "no matter where you go, there you are" and an extension of "I think, therefore I am." A little bit of the existential.

We went through a period of time when funny phrases seemed to be a bit more pithy than they are now. I honor my mother with the title of my blog.

Just FYI.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Easily Pleased.

Some days all one can do is get up, get dressed and walk. But oh, how clearing those walks can be!
We now have speed "humps"! What? I remember my teenage years. Humps were frantic, but I would never have called them speedy. In fact, I couldn't wait for the humping to end. Not very comfortable or romantic. Enough already! Okay, if you don't like that consider this: Every thing is moving faster these days...

While I was considering the speed "humps" I came upon a neighbor's yard.
Oh, my god! Does this picture even come close to communicating the incredible wildness and wonder of those flowers? Oh. Took my breath away. Those flowers gave me so much joy.

I'm easily distracted. I'm easily pleased. Kinda like a cheap date. It works for me.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Disconnected Thoughts.

I don't know who is looking here. I'm never sure I really care. I've always intermittently kept a diary, and I've always wanted someone to read it.

The Journal of My Life.

Or this part of it.

I have this reputation. Yet, months go by and no work. My reputation precedes me and without a current show, I am still asked to talk about theatre, asked to be interviewed, asked to teach.

I do it. But it is hard, without a show.

Like actors, stage managers are only as good as their last show. Well, my last shows were fantastic! They were perfection! We achieved it, all that we wished for. We spent the summer trying not to look forward, but reveling in the moment of creation. "Be here now." Our motto.
We didn't know what the future would bring.

I am so proud of the work that we've done. I will miss every member of my company. I got fired in part, because I was too proprietary. In part because I used the words..." my company." I don't know how else to think of my dear actors and crew.

There is too much ego in the world and not enough collaboration. We are wrong when one individual has complete control. We are better off when we w0rk together.

My mistake. I played the politics wrong. I tried to present myself as a strong woman and I lost the gig.

Oops. Pardon me for being a thinking person. Pardon me for exceeding your expectations and therefore threatening you.

I'm better, so I can't work? What? I can help you!

Let me help the show. I am here.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Life Is The Gift.

I found my husband curled up on the floor of his bedroom earlier today. He'd been mopping the floor in his room and the hallway while I was reading the newspaper. 10 minutes or so went by and I noticed all had become mysteriously quiet. I wandered the short distance to the hallway, looked in the bathroom and looked in his room. I didn't immediately see him. I glanced at the bed and then back down the hall and I heard him stir. He was on the floor, waking up. He'd become so fatigued he'd just lain down and fallen asleep where he was. My heart broke.

He told me not to worry. This often happened to him while I was out of town. No. What? I don't want to ever leave him again. Although we both accept that I may have to travel for work, I certainly can't continue the practice of leaving him for 6 months at a time. It is too long and too hard to be away.

Sometimes he lays on the sofa for what seems like hours just looking and puzzling over his fingers. Why don't they work like they used to? Sometimes he picks up the guitar and fiddles, and puts it down again in frustration. Sometimes his skill comes back and he is again the Adept Guitar Player.

He pushes himself to do bits and pieces of renovation to our home. He does chores and goes out on errands. He comes home exhausted and spent walking in and out of the hardware store. Walking is hard. Getting in and out of the car is hard. Finding an empty handicapped parking space is near impossible (another blog...) Target is a big deal. The mall is unthinkable. His world has become very small.

And yet. He greets each day with hope and joy and cheer and courage. Music is always playing in our house. Sometimes it is the strings of his guitar, but more often now, it is the radio or downloaded music.

He chats with me while I'm cooking dinner. I love that. In the morning he has so much energy (and I am still a bit asleep) he has a world of things to tell me. We so enjoy spending time together, we still laugh and are silly and revel in the new discoveries we find on Netflix or in the New Yorker or LA Times. We discuss and argue politics. He is intrinsic to my job hunt. Interested and integral, really. But... I would rather stay home with him than travel the world. His company, in the end, is everything.

I want you to know what a hero he is. He is alone in his suffering and very few people ever see it. Our friends don't seem to "want to go there." They are satisfied with the dismissive words he and I both use to make them more comfortable. Few people explore further. No one asks him what has happened to his art. No one asks about his music, and how hard the loss of that must be for him. No one talks about his achievements in that art. I don't understand people.

My husband and I had a 30 something friend, Kerry who was dying. We visited him every Monday we could, during his last year. (He died at 40.) Kerry told us the best thing about our visits was that we would talk about his health, or lack of it. We were willing to talk about his death and we did. His closest friends couldn't face it and this troubled him. He needed to talk about what he was going through. He needed us to jump into his bed and feel his tumors. "See, here is a new one." He needed witnesses.

Illness is a part of life. It is fucked up and ugly, but there it is.

I'm sorry to say, you will all face something like this sooner or later. I hope you are never abandoned. I hope you all have the grace my dear husband has and find joy in each living moment. Life is the gift.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Job Hunt, Part Who Gives a F***.

My aunt asked me today, "What is your dream job?" Without a thought, I said, "The job I just lost." It was then I realized I needed to rethink my ambitions. As I tried to explain to my Dad why increasing my presence at the university was not on my list of exciting job prospects and that I'd already turned down two minor promotions, (for reasons best discussed elsewhere) I started thinking..."What do I want?"

My priorities have changed dramatically from the priorities I'd set when I first started stage managing. I was very ambitious and wanted to work on new plays. I wanted to be a part of theatre history. I wanted to work on Broadway, or, at least do one show on Broadway, just for the cache. I wanted my name in published versions of the plays I'd done. I wanted a solid reputation for protecting my shows. I wanted to share my knowledge.

I've done it. I've done all that. I've stage managed a lot of new plays. I made my reputation that way. It took me to Broadway. I've done 3 shows on Broadway and a show at Radio City Music Hall. Quite enough, thank-you. My name is in dozens of books, published plays, newspapers and a magazine. I've done a pod-cast for USC on stage management. I've just been asked for an interview by a grad student. I'm listed in "Who's Who." I've done it.

I knew this 5 years ago, when I accepted the job at The Old Globe in San Diego stage managing The Shakespeare Festival. I was very aware that I'd accepted a job that would take me out of circulation and out of the consciousness of the larger world of theatre in America. I wanted a respite. I liked the idea of doing Shakespeare (a dead playwright) and calling 3 different shows a week. I loved the idea of forming a company that would return with me. I have to say, the whole experience was marvelous! I loved doing those shows. Although I'd never done Shakespeare before and had an incredibly complicated schedule and a huge company, in a lot of ways the job was easier than what I'd been doing for years and far more satisfying. Comforting, really. The experience was so good I went back year after year, getting further and further away from my roots. (I now have 11 Shakespeare plays under my belt. Not bad. I'm an expert!)

Forced to move on, (or back?) I'm greeted warmly and with outrage at the betrayal I've endured. I'm told, "Don't worry, don't panic. You are too good. You will get work." But no one is offering a comparative job. Not even close. I've been gone too long and the larger world of theatre has had to move on without me. (My past students are getting a lot of work. This is a good thing. I'm proud of them.)

So. Re-thinking. What do I need? Well. I need to make a living. I need health insurance for my husband and myself. I need to use my talents. What do I want? I want to work with like-minded people. I want to be part of a family. I want a little security. I want to work and see that the result of my work has an impact.

I'm thinking.... corporate. Yes. I've applied to Disney. They need a Project Manager. I'm over-qualified, but old friends want me to interview. They are happy at Disney. They want me to join them. I'm holding my breath.

I'm going in.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Que Sera Sera.

Recently, I read a NY Times headline for an article about the recent earthquakes:

"Is Nature Out of Control?"

Hmm. "Out of whose control?" I wondered. Have we become so arrogant that we think we have control over nature? Nature, by its very nature is out of control. There are real reasons why the Andes are so magnificent and Yosemite so beautiful. Beauty is dangerous. The physical world will out, and oft times we will share the traumas every other living creature endures. Our control over the really big events is limited to the point that we can only respond. We observe nature. We respond to nature. We do affect nature at times, and change eco-systems, but it is we who are out of control. In every important way, we can't control nature. We can only control ourselves.

I am surprised at the NY Times. And disappointed.

The truth is sometimes as simple as "que sera, sera."