The Bronx is Up and the Battery's Down

I still feel no good. Kind of like a sick stomach without the ability to yak one. Pretty, I know. Brian hasn't been sleeping well either. I'm wondering if there's something lunar happening that is screwing us up. No bother. There are worse things in the world than feeling gross.

My sister Meg texted me yesterday and asked me to recommend some good books for her to read. I think she's not having the most fantastic time right now and wants to occupy her mind with something fun. She's in New York. I immediately thought of my not fantastic time in New York.



It was terrible, really. I met some wonderful people while living there, but for the most part I felt invisible and awful. Terrible relationship, terrible job, terrible propensity to smoke cigarettes at every opportunity. New York can really put you in a choke hold if you're not in the right state of mind to tackle its challenges. Riding the train to lower Manhattan to work each morning felt like going to war. Lots of headaches, pushing, people pissing, mumbling obscenities, sweating strangers, and never ever sitting down. Really hellish.

My then-boyfriend had an apartment in Bed-Stuy which was as inviting as a knifey psychopath. I remember nights when heard the screaming street conversations wherein a dad was leaving a family, or being kicked out of the house. Was that a gunshot? No..no...that's paranoia. I'm just too suburban to understand and appreciate the thrifty, raw experience. Gross.

The bright spots of that year all occurred at the Upright Citizen's Brigade theater, and it still remains my one pang of yearning for NYC. But I'll never move there again (unless ol' Lorne gets on the horn!).

The book I recommended was The Barrytown Trilogy by Roddy Doyle. It lifted my spirits when I had to ride the G train, and I hope it lifts hers.

It's almost Spring Break, Meggy! We'll eat so much breakfast. Promise.

Best Song

Hi kittens,
I'm a little run down today, but I thought it was important to celebrate this:




and to further illustrate my obsession, there's this piece of cute:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/24/fashion/24nite.html?_r=1&ref=awardsseason&oref=slogin


We did a show at Regis College last night and a former student of mine was there. She came up afterwards to me and I was unexpectedly embarassed. Probably because Richie and I ended the show with a song and dance about akward college make outs. And then it was a quick turn-around to, "oh yes dear, I did ask you to analyze sonnets in groups". Oh well.

I'm beat.

I Don't Bother Chasin' Mice Around

To further illustrate the theme of rockabilly,
From the talented Eric Pope:

The Suspicious Kindness of Strangers

So a portly white fellow and I were waiting at a very snowy bus stop this morning for a really long time. So long that I almost called a Winthrop taxi, which one should only do in the most dire of circumstances. A Winthrop Viking taxi will typically pick up 2-3 usually elderly people en route to your destination, and you run the risk of acquiring lung cancer before exiting the vehicle, but anyway...

Portly didn't seem phased by the lateness, but I was getting anxious. Suddenly a black SUV pulls up to the corner and the lady driving says, "You goin' to Orient Heights?". She wasn't too murdery looking, just your run of the mill Chinese lady with permed hair, gigantic black sunglasses and a shock of red lipstick. Long story short, I took the gamble, yelled for Portly to join and we both jumped into her SUV. There were only a few creepy moments wherein I thought "this woman wants to wear my hair as a wig", but all in all it was a painless lift.



I think the reason why I was so suspicious is because--who does that? Who is nice enough, and trusting enough to help out a stranger who clearly needs some help? I think of all the times that I've bypassed a situation when I probably should have helped someone but my primary concern is not getting assaulted in any way. It just sucks I guess, that we live in a world where the kindness of strangers will almost always be somewhat suspect.

That being said, if it were a guy in the SUV (perm or no perm) I would have refused the ride, and probably been rude about it, assuming that he was some kind of sex criminal like Bruno Tonioli from DANCEWAR (again,I'm not sure he's a sex criminal, but that's my hypothesis). And Portly would have been no help at all in defending me. He looked like the kind of guy who went through a serious rockabilly phase in college and is just now slowly creeping out of it because no girls will make out with him and he's done some soul searching.

I'm exhausted today. Thank you everyone for reading! If you want to be linked to my fascinating people section, let me know and I'll be happy to add you.

Contemplatively
Erin

Birds, Bees, and Theatre

Okay, the whole post is not about this first unseemly topic. An interesting and vaugely (pointedly) embarassing thing is that I learned what a prostate is yesterday. Yup, I actually didn't know. I thought it had something to do with the bum. I thought Katie Couric had one. So in the course of a colloquial blue line conversation with Brian and my medically inclined cousin Ryan, I learned tons about manparts. So, there's that.

Anyway, and less awkwardly, I've had to read lots of contemporary plays for my work recently and it's been super fun. I kind of can't believe that I'm getting paid to sit here and do something that I'd do with my free time (if I didn't own a TV and was better motivated). For those who read/see/love plays, my top three so far. Tell me if you've read them and what you thought!

1. Shining City by Conor McPherson
Dublin, secrets, ghosts, the deterioration of a marriage, therapy, good stuff. The ending moment of this play --just reading it--gave me an unbelievable shiver.




2. Faith Healer by Brian Friel
Tragic Irish folk, do you see a pattern? Three characters, three points of view on the life of a traveling "faith healer", his partner, and his manager. Beautiful dialog, patient and very sad. Love it.






3. The Clean House by Sarah Ruhl
This is not Irish! In fact it opens with a joke told entirely in Portuguese. It's a "comedy", or so it says, but there's a lot more to it than that. This one is a little difficult to encapsulate, but it revolves around a housekeeper who is depressed by cleaning -- and it takes off from there. Super lively, uncommon staging and reality choices, a touch of the old magical realism...I'd absolutely love to see this performed someplace.

I never see enough theatre. That should have been a new year's resolution probably, but screw it now, right? Kidding. I barely even get to see any improv outside of the shows that I'm in at IA (Improv Asylum). I'm dying to have some time to go and explore some stuff that's happening out there. Improv Boston is putting together their new place in Central Square, and all reports say that it's pretty awesome. I can't wait to see it!

I'm Not a Sucker So I Don't Need a Bodyguard

Okay, everybody, so if we pretend that today is Monday the week will go by so much faster. Can we all agree on that? For some reason it seems that whenever there's a four day week, it takes about five and a half years to run its course. And in an office situation, five and a half years translates into nearly a century. Not that I'm complaining, because that would be totally unlike me.

What a President's Day weekend it was! Did anybody buy a car? If so, do tell. I was in a bunch of shows, bought a rug at Target, and picked up a dining room table. It's absolutely fantastic and I have my wonderful cousin Chris and wifey Melanie to thank.

When I was little I used to spend tons and tons of time at my Grandmother Peggy's house with Chris. Everyone calls her Peggy, not "grandma" or "nan" or anything like that. She's eighty now and still goes to aerobics, if that paints the picture. Speaking of painting, she's also an artist and the little white sign "Paintings by Peggy" has been hanging outside her house for as long as I can remember.

I bring this up because most of my memories of my cousin Chris are at Peggy's house. He's about six years older than me so when I was very young I thought he was a rock God. Scratch that, I thought he was king of the B-Boys. It was a very "Fresh Prince of Bel Aire" time in pop culture, and he went to Revere High School, so you know...

He'd be mortified if I detailed all of the hip-hop dance lessons to the sweet jams of Rob Base and/or Bobby Brown, but that's the way it was. I absolutely idolized his mastery of all that was urban culture. This would all be much more amusing if you knew him now. He's an incredibly put together, successful guy with a beautiful Canadian wife who plays piano. He's got a real sturdy hand shake, you know? And if you were to say, drop him down in the middle of BedStuy or even Roxbury...wouldn't be such a good situation, I think.

It just cracks me up to remember how things were. And every time I hear "I like a girl with extensions in her hair, bamboo earrings at least two pair" I will ALWAYS think of Chris when he was 13 years old and so, so unimaginably cool.

The dining room set is amazing, I'm so lucky to have my awesome family around. I could probably write a book on each of my cousins, as their all so unique and absolutely fascinating...maybe I'll make it a project.

Word to your mother,
Erin

The Best Movie I've Seen in a Long Time

I understand that I'm about a year late on the "Once" bandwagon, but I haven't enjoyed a movie this much in a really long time, so here we go. I really didn't know what the deal would be with this film when I ordered it off of ever reliable On Demand last night. Ninety minutes later I was logged on to itunes to buy the soundtrack, completely taken.

It's a not-musical, musical and a not-love, love story that looks more like a BBC special than a romantic comedy. I won't ruin anything for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, but defied my expectations in a number of small, impressive ways that made for a really graceful, engaging story. I'm gushing, obviously.

Also obvious, I'm a girl with a penchant for Damien Rice-esq music and latent desire to be a Dubliner...so it's pretty much right up my ally.

So, I have it On Demand for another 10 hours or so if anyone wants to come over and watch it again with me. I'm basically serious.

Also exciting -- swiffer wet-jet. Got one.

Have a Wonderful Long Weekend

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqXYwNDrU8k

c/o Richie MO

Hi

So, this may or may not be completely uninteresting.

I'm an Editorial Assistant and an improvisor at the Improv Asylum in Boston. I fully expect everyone reading this to already know that, of course, but I'm flattering myself today and speculating that someday, someone other than my sister and Renee (loveable New Hampshire based best friend) will read it.

This week has been filled with the most insufferable weather in Boston. There's been a lot of wet socks and hate trudges (that's when you're trudging through gross shit and you're filled with particularly firey hate which directs itself at every animate and inanimate object, imagined or actually in your way).

In my mind I keep imagining the Summer and picturing myself blissfully strolling down cobblestone streets, throwing twenty dollar bills at homeless people, mothers handing me their infants to hold, and high fiving crossing guards. I'm blonde in this scenario, by the way, and there's some upbeat but non-intrusive music in the background.

Pretty much like every Summer day I've ever experienced.

So listen, you're great. Bye!