You can't start a fire without a spark

Today I awoke with a mission. My anger with the boy has not subsided. My mission, therefore, was to find someplace that could chop of my hair and dye it black. This has little to do with the boy, and much to do with my own habit of matching my outward appearance to my inner emotional state. And that state has lately been much edgier than my basic red-brown bob was projecting. I wanted to do something drastic and bold. And I did. It looks badass.



Around 10:15 tonight, as I was in the drugstore picking up black hair shampoo and red lipstick, my phone rang. The familiar number belonged to that of my friend Michael, with whom The Boy trekked to DC to see a little American history and (most importantly) take in a Springsteen concert. I was accutely aware that this was where the boy would be this weekend, and reminded of it earlier in the evening by a couple of cryptic texts from boy. I answered the call, which had been timed just right, so that I would pick up at the chorus of "Dancing in the Dark". I really, REALLY, wanted to be at that concert. The Boss is one of those things that is very much wrapped up in my experience with the boy. I found it strange that Michael would call me during this song, but listened as he sang along with Bruce, screamed "I love you so much!", and hung up.

After I made it home, I sent Mikey a text, requesting a full recap of the concert when he got a chance. About half an hour later, my phone rang again, again Michael calling. I answered excitedly, "Hey, Baby! How was the show?". I was surprised to hear, not Mikey, but the Boy's voice on the line. "Oh my God, it was incredible. I wish you had been here." Uhhhh, what? I stammered out something that amounted to "why the hell are you calling me." It was at this point that The Boy revealed that it was he, not Mikey who had called during the concert. Well, that would make a lot more sense. The song has significance in our dsysfunctionally passionate relationship. I put up my prickly defensive shield, even as I was beginning to cry. Told the boy I hated him, which is untrue. I then listened as he marveled about the haunting patriotism of our nation's capitol. Not his nation's.

We talked about the "kings" of America, comparing Lincoln to Shakespeare's Henry V, his inaugural address to the St. Crispian's Day speech. We talked about the bittersweetness of Bruce, of his activisim, of his outrage at the current state of affairs in ths country, and of the fact that our generation does not have a voice like that. We talked about Vietnam, and Abbie Hoffman, and Martin Luther King Jr, and the utter disgrace it is for George Bush to be sitting in the White House, running this great country into the ground. We talked about the difference between the 1960s and now, our lack of a united voice of the youth of America. There is no movement. Everyone is in their own ipod-induced self-serving world. He said that now he understood why I was so wrapped up in Hair this summer. Where is our generation's Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, ANYTHING? We want to hear OUR voice - the voice of a young people who are mad as hell. It's not out there. Why? How can we become that voice?

Conversations like this, and like the ones that the boy and I have about art, and acting, and our place in this world are ninety percent of the reason that I fell in love with him. His passion for the things that I find important, and the eloquence with which he expresses himself make me want to spend my life talking with him. I've never had that kind of exchange with another person. Not in the same way. It is what I miss the most, and will miss the most if we do in fact cease to be a part of eachother's lives.

It was at this point that Mikey actually DID get on the phone with me, proclaiming his and the boy's undying love for me. I argued that I knew he loved me, but that I was pretty sure the boy didn't. He said his battery was going dead. The boy got back on the phone. "You know I love you. I love you. I just need to live my life." I replied with, "I am not keeping you from that. Call me tomorrow." He changed from dreamer mode to jackass-who-is-making-me-miserable mode in a split second. "Your messages have been really angry lately." Wow. "No, shit. I am angry. I can be angry. You're making me angry. Call me tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh-huh, ok. I will."

Good God. What the hell am I supposed to do with this kid? And what am I supposed to do with what I feel for him?

"You can't start a fire
sittin' round cryin' over a broken heart
this gun's for hire
even if we're just dancing in the dark."

Hair Extension

HAIR is back! We will be performing at Theatre Row, the Acorn Theatre! More info on ticket sales to come.

Hope you can make it. Check out www.realtheatrecompany.com for details...

oh, and by the way, i have no idea why the color on this thing gets all persnickety when i post a flyer like that. it's supposed to be yellow and red. same thing happened with the original hair postcard, back in june. i don't get it...

Standing By...

I have just discovered yet another reason that I'm in love with my quaint little city of Little Rock. I am sitting in the airport, where I will most likely be for the next several hours, because I missed my 5:45am flight. I find this a bit irksome, but the tinges of annoyance are soothed by yet another feature of southern hospitality - FREE WIFI CONNECTION. I've been in and out of a lot of airports since wireless internet really hit the big time, but not until now have I encountered this freebie situation. Thanks, Little Rock National. I love you. American Airlines, on the other hand, is on my shit list. Screw you guys.

All in all, this minor setback is not nearly enough to derail my current good mood. And hey, at least from my vantage point at Gate 1, I am able to watch the sun rising over the Arkansas river on my last morning home in the dear old south. Beautiful.

So, about that good mood...

Wow.

Life is amazing. Life is wonderful. Life is beautiful. Life is love, love, love.

The past couple of weeks have been like a really, really, good dream. Or a feel-good inspiring chick-flicky movie. Ahhhhhh.

I am so proud of all that we were able to accomplish with Hair. I am amazed by each and every member of my dear Blackfoot Tunkashila. And, as I sort of always felt that it would, it has paid off in a very promising way. It looks like we're on for another round of rehearsals, and a two week run in late August/early September. After that, the future of the RTC and this production looks very very special indeed. No solid news to report yet, but stay tuned for bigger announcements. WOO! And hey, if you missed us the first time around, you'll get to see the new and improved version of the American Tribal Love Rock Musical at summer's end. Lord knows, I'm looking forward to it.

As I said, the run ended on a wonderful high note, and was made even sweeter for me with the arrival of The Boy. His attempt to make it into town for the actual performace was foiled by border-crossing complications and a myriad of traffic issues on his way into the city. No matter. He'll see it next time around. For me, for both of us, our brief reunion was enough to cement, clarify and fire up exactly what it is we're feeling about eachother. The time that he's been away has been difficult, but I made the decision to soldier on and go about my life without him in a positive fashion. And I did. I created art that I'm proud of. I met new people. I had good times. I began casually dating, which I felt strange about, but I think it was a worthwhile experience. Of course, I missed him. I missed him immensely. But I tried to stick to the agreement and stay out of contact. It wasn't easy for either of us. And when the oppurtunity to spend a couple of days together presented itself, we both jumped at the chance.

And thank our lucky stars we did. Things have reached an entirely new level of wonderful for us. It seems like everything is falling right into place now. I am walking around with the biggest smile on my face. We've had our most open and honest conversations in the last week. And now that he has taken off for a month in the Big Easy to be a big actor, I can't be anything but happy for him, and proud of him, and generally filled with love for him. Holy crap, I think this thing is ACTUALLY going to work. Who knew? Of course, it is going to be quite a while before we see eachother again, but I think we're both holding out for that day. We've said our "I love you's" and our "I miss you's". We've done our sugar's and sweetpea's and bella's and piccoli mani's. And I'm happy. Very happy.

Of course, this complicates the situation with CNBfQ, and how to actually proceed there. Crap. I like the guy. I do. And I'm going to feel like the world's biggest biatch when I have to deal with him. Can't think about it. Just can't.

The visit home was gloriously glorious. I got to spend a load of time with my parents, my friends, and just generally soaking in the feeling of home (which feels a whole lot like lake water, which I also soaked in). This visit home has such a different feeling than it did a year ago. With good reason, of course. I am a different person. I am a happy person. I am home for no reason but to enjoy the company of my friends and famiy. I am not here to grieve. I am not here because of duty or obligation. I am here because I love it. It is the best feeling in the world. I only wish I could have stayed longer. Much longer. Long enough to road-trip it down to New Orleans for a little getaway with the boy, but that's a bit more than I could have asked for.

All in all, drinking champagne and skinny dipping with my girlfriends, lighting sparklers and playing with puppies on the 4th, sailing with my daddy, driving through the ozarks, getting gin-drunk on lake norfork, drinking busch light in the most ghetto limo ever, singing kareoke with a guy with one tooth, getting a nasty tube-burn on my hand, playing scene-it in the middle of the night, catching up on the conchords, eating hushpuppies, shopping and seeing an adorable movie with mom, and generally being surrounded by an overwhelming feeling of love were well worth the wait for a standby flight that I am now experiencing.

Life is good. Please let me get onto this flight...

Butterflies

Things are so so so good.

HAIR was unbelievably phenomenal, and it ain't over yet. The Real Theatre Company is going places. Mags and I had a couple of moments of "I just have to scream and hug you" last night. More to come on that. No Post Production Slump this time, kiddies. I'm secreting.

The boy is here for what feels like a split second, but it is a very very good split second. A beautiful split second. A much-needed split second.

I'm going home tomorrow. Hell yeah. Arkansie, here I come!

I'm feeling the love on all sorts of levels.

Should be memorizing...

...but I can't focus. I'll be meeting my scene partner 6 hours from now, and I'm sure he's going to be really let down by my shoddy level of preparedness, but it's sorta too damn bad right now.

I've been spending about 16 hours a day at the theatre getting costumes done and subsequently rehearsing for Hair. It is coming along, but my attitude is totally burnt out right now. I feel like a zombie. I can't answer anyone's questions with anything remotely resembling a complete sentence, and once I get a moment to breathe, I'm thinking about precisely the wrong things. I can't think about much right now other than The Boy, and CNBFQ.

I really like CNBFQ in almost every aspect of our interaction. But I miss The Boy, because I love The Boy. I miss him a lot. And I feel guilty for missing him when CNBFQ is so sweet, and so attentive, and so lovely to spend time with. And I feel guilty for spending time with CNBFQ because the boy is telling me that he is sad and lonely without me. Connundrum. Methinks so.

Tennesee Williams beckons, "Learn your Laura, Laura."

I'm coming, Tom. Sorry about the delay.

A week out...

It was a very good week. I feel as though this past week was my first official week out in the real world of being a working actor. Until this week, I was spending the majority of my time entertaining a string of out of town guests or lying about in a den of sin for my last few days in the city with the boy. These things were rather enjoyable (sometimes EXTREMELY enjoyable), but did not lend themselves well to my productivity as my own small business. This week, however, I began with a clear head (having said my final goodbyes and washed my hands of the boy), and a positive outlook on this whole wild ride.

I began last Sunday with Maggie, doing promo work for Legally Blonde: The Musical. We had a good time, and got some free shit and a little cash out of the deal. Between us, we managed to flyer about 900 people in Times Square, and still left with our respective dignites intact. We blew through the Entertainment Industry Expo at the nearby Westin, pretending to be important, and settled our exhausted asses into a diner booth before heading home where I passed out from sheer exhaustion. I had one of those naps where you fall asleep at 6 and wake up at 8, but for some reason think that it's 8am the next day. I was hella confused. I ended up staying in bed until the next morning anyway.

Monday I got up, and despite the rain, prettied myself up for my "free consultation" at The Network. It went pretty well, and I think I might find them to be a rather useful resource in the future. It was nice to sort of feel like I was getting actor's work done. Putting feelers out there and gathering information feels like a step in the right direction.

Tuesday we rehearsed for Hair, which always feels like I'm doing something right, or like I'm the luckiest person in the world, to actually be doing what I want to do with my life. I ended the night with a nice long conversation with Jim, the news of a new scene partner, and a phonecall to the parents.

Wednesday was a jam-packed actor day. The morning started with a scene-study class, which I'm so excited about. If nothing else comes of it, at least I get to spend 8 weeks working on the Glass Menagerie. Joy. We then trekked over to Grant Wilfley casting for their open call. On the way, I got a call for an audition for the first national tour of Anne of Green Gables. Guess which part. That audition is on thursday. Woo. After the open call I headed to midtown for another call from Talent Models, which was sketchy as shit, but hey, at least I know now. On my way back home I ran into what will be Crissy's costume for Hair, which made me very happy. I got a call from Maggie to come and meet her in Queens at a practice for a new band-type endeavor, which includes a boy who has been inquiring after me. I went. I met. He's cute. Maggie and I leave Astoria and head back to SpaHa for pasta and leaf spinnach, girl talk with linz, and more planning of the groovy revolution.

Thursday is another Hair rehearsal, this time with new musical director, Peter, and a great deal of naked parachute playing. Thursday also features a business lunch with John Gallagher, which puts me a bit more at ease about the future of my career. I also chat briefly with Jim Rado before we begin rehearsal, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. yay. Before we head out for the night, Kai, Katie and I plan to trek to Coney Island the next morning. Mags and I, Helen and Adam, and Linz and Logan all head down to the pub for pints and late-night dinner. I realize that Maggie and I are kind of a couple. I'm cool with that. We head back uptown far too late for my planned early-morning brooklyn beach extravaganza, but I figure, what the hell.

Friday kicked ass. I did make it to Coney Island with Kai, and we had a kick ass time eating Nathan's hot dogs, lying on the beach, and taking in the mystique that is the Coney. We head home before rehearsal, I make a detour to Reproductions to pick up a photo cd, have some mango gelatto in bryant park, and go home to clean up before rehearsal. By this point I've developed a pretty bitchin' sunburn. Don't worry. It was gone by saturday. We rehearse, which includes staging the be-in, which I ADORE. We go out for drinks at FUBAR of all places, and I make it home happy as a clam, and to find that I've been asked out by cute boy from queens on wednesday. Life is good.

Saturday finds me in the park, drinking a little beer, smoking a little pot, trying to embody the hippie ideals. However, it's a little cold, and Katie and I decide to give up the ghost in favor of sweatshirts and GROM, the UWS gelatto hotspot. It's worth the wait in line. As she and I are standing there, trying to savor the flavor but still eat the stuff before it melts, I get a call from The Boy, whom I haven't heard from in close to two weeks. I tell him I can't talk now, I've got my hands full of gelatto. Katie and I part ways, and I return his call. We decide that we've reached a similar conclusion - we shall not talk any more this summer. That's good with me. I wish him well and hang up. Sit on a bench on the eastern edge of the park for a few minutes before I head home. I get another call - this one from the cute new boy, wanting to meet me that night. As I'm trying to call him back, I get another call from The Boy. What? Isn't this contrary to the nature of the newly formed agreement? He is apologizing. I tell him I'm not mad. And that he should leave me alone now. And goodbye, again. I make plans to meet cute new boy from queens (heretofore: CNBfQ) before heading to the HAIR sleepover planned for that evening.

Date with CNBfQ is fantastic. We share common theatrical interestes, which is really nice, being that mine are a bit strange. We have a good time, good conversation, and before I know it one drink has turned into 4 and I'm REALLY late for this party. And my phone is ringing. I'm expecting Maggie, wondering where the hell I am, but NOOOOOOO, it's a drunk-dial from The Boy. He seems shocked when I tell him I can't talk (again, nature of the agreement) because I'm on a date. "A what?". A date. You know, when you take someone out to get to know them better? Date. You should try it, Boy. CNBfQ and I end up making a very late appearance at the party, and making out on various SpaHa streetcorners. I agree to see him again monday.

Today I woke up hungover as all shit and wallered until about 1:30. I also have a mysterious sore spot on my forehead, as though I fell or smacked into something, but I definitely don't remember that happening. It feels like it's gonna be a bruise, but for the life of me I don't know what from. I saw a matinee of a few friend's new company's show. I watched the Tony's. I felt inspired. I found out that Avenue Q has auditions...tomorrow. I figure I'm not ready. Maybe I'll try my hand tuesday.

I feel good. Good things are happening. The universe is bringing me some pretty bad-ass energy right now. And I dig it.

Spring, sprang, sprung.

"Here I am, baby
come and take me!"
I didn't realize it until about ten minutes ago, but for the last few weeks I actually FORGOT that I had this blog. Really. With good reason, I assure you. The final push of the nei-play experience is upon me, and it is taking everything it possibly can out of me. This will probably be a long and meandering romp through the wild world of just what I've been up to lately. Bear with me. Also, feel free to bare with me. I bet some nude therapy would do me good about now.

"I was meant to tread these boards,
of this much I am certain."
So now, here we are, midnight on saturday, and socializing is the furthest thing from my mind. I'm in bed with my most reliable companion, the laptop, listening to "Hernando's Hideaway", and trying to decompress from the epic rehearsal that just ended. Why, I ask you, do I even have that song on my Itunes? Ok. It's over. Back to the point. Epic rehearsals. Epic. EPIC. The previously mentioned lead role in The Bride of Olneyville Square, while extremely flattering, has also been extremely difficult, extremely exhausting, and at times, extremely frustrating. God, I love what I do. How many people get to go to work and rip themselves to shreds for 8 to 12 hours a day? I'm glad I'm one of them. Granted, it would be much easier to do if it were rationed into a bit less epic bites, but such is the nature of the beast. This is one mammoth motherfucker of a play, and the demands upon the actors in this play are correspondingly mammoth. It's going to be so fucking good. I just have to do some major self-assuring to allow myself to actually get where our fearless director wants me to be. I'm almost there. Almost. Tomorrow's much needed day off will hopefully afford me the luxury of digesting a bit more of the script, the character, the world of the play, and letting it really really sink into me. So yeah, it's hard right now. I cry when I shouldn't and don't cry when I should, and he yells at me like I'm some kind of goddamned moron several times in each rehearsal, but he also tells me - "That's it, baby. That's it." And somewhere in there, I'm not so worried anymore.

"I'd give anything not to feel so jagged."
So this play has taken over my life. That is completely wonderful for my artistic growth, and completely shitty for my practical survival. There is no way in hell that I could be playing this role, with this schedule, and working at the same time. Conseqently, I currently have fourteen dollars in my bank account. Ouch. Also, it seems that everyone else at the nei-play has all of this free time to be running around auditioning, shooting films, meeting agents and whatnot. I don't. And what's more, even if I wanted to, nobody's calling me. I'm not complaining at all about the lack time. But the lack of calls? I'm fucking good at this, and I'm fucking cute as hell. Call me, goddamn it. I can solve your problem. Is there something wrong with my damn pictures? I'm supposed to be auditioning for Spring Awakening in a week. I haven't got music, I haven't worked with a vocal coach, I haven't got a piano track. What I do have, is rehearsal that day. Fantastic.

"I Listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul
where I'll end up, well I think only God really knows."
So no, I'm not out there pounding the hell out of the pavement like some of my classmates seem to be. So I'm feeling a bit like I'm getting buried already. However, I also feel that at this point my energy is better directed into the Real Theatre Company, into Hair, into the future of what I would like to be a life-long endeavor. I feel it. I'm excited and passionate about the company, and about collaborating with Maggie, with whom I see eye to eye. I'm thrilled about PG, and all that could be. I'm feeling a bit like whatever I can dream up can actually be accomplished. This seems to be aligned with all of those things that I've always wanted out of a life in the theatre. Thank you, universe.

"Shed a little light, oh Lord."
I miss Pinter. I had a nice conversation with him on Thursday, and felt renewed after it. There are moments in every rehearsal when I wish I had a little Pinter on my shoulder to tell me how to "go in the back door" of a moment to really make it work for me. I guess I'm supposed to be at that point on my own now. Right. Get there, Sessoms.

"Just one look at you, and I know it's gonna be
a lovely day"
Spring has FINALLY sprung around here. It had damn well better be staying around. Today I got out of bed, put on my bikini, and dragged my script and a beach towel up to the roof for a couple of hours. Now I'm blessedly pink, and my depression at the hands of the lingering winter is lifting. After my tar-beach morning, I showered up, and walked the two miles to school for rehearsal. Lovely day. Just lovely.

'"There's a reason to the rhyming of
your heart's desire."
There's still that whole boy thing, but there's a different me in the mix now. This me is in control of the situation, and not participating in any of the bullshit that could possibly accompany the boy. This has recently become simpler, as the other girlfriend/ex-girlfriend/girlfriend/ex-girlfriend situation seems to have finally reached resolution. However, I am reluctant to hop back into anything with this boy. Not while I'm working. Not while I only have 3 weeks left here at the nei-play. Not while I've spent the ENTIRE year going back and forth with him. No matter how much I might miss him - which, for the record, is immensely - I feel like I need to hold off for awhile longer. This one has put me through the ringer, that's for certain. (Is it ringer, or wringer? I was wondering that earlier.) Nevertheless, I am feeling very good about him now. About the possibilites, about how everything seems to be settling down, about the unfaltering trust I have in my gut. Fuck it, it's springtime and I've got that fluttery feeling about him. Why not just enjoy it, right?

"Intuition tells me how to live my day
Intuition tells me when to walk away
could've turned left but I turned right
and I ended up here back in the middle
of a real life."

Beginnings and Endings

It seems like everything I'm doing these days is one or the other.

I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my magical, mystical, practical, physical two years at the Nei-Play will be OV-AH in the blink of an eye. I did the last scene of second year with Hugh on thursday. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Holy Hell. During the critique, Pinter says to me: "Laura, you can play this role NOW. You have to play this role. Go find the audition. Do it. You can do this," and I swell with a pride, a sense of self-worth that I cannot begin to describe. My classmates filter out of the room, and I am left, cleaning up my props, tearing up at the thought of the whole thing ending, with Maggie. And she and I sit down right there and weep, bawl, gnash teeth. Because it really is that sad. It is. The following day marks our last scheduled class with pinter, for which we have prepared gifts and an elaborate and beautiful nude scrapbook. He talks, and we listen. We cry. He cries. He takes care of some preliminary business, before pausing for a moment to look at us and say: "I'm so sad." That is the end of it for all of us. There is no turning back. He thanks us for being supportive enough for him to feel ok saying "I don't know." He doesn't know the last time he's had a class that he respects that much. It is a tearful ending, giving way to many many new beginnings.

The showcase has likewise come to an end, and was an incredible success. No broken friendships, no major arguments, huge industry turnout, overwhelmingly positive response for my scenes in particular, and even a call! Just one for now, but I'd be willing to bet there are more on the way. So it's over. Yay.

Speech class will be ending Thursday, with a Ramsey-esque flourish of Shakespeare monologues. Mine is one of the more understated, but I think it will be good. I have been directed to strive for "y'know, TOTAL breakdown." Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. Nothing like working for a trumped-up result.

Ballet never ends. Ever.

But other things begin, and begin beautifully.

We began final plays today. I have somehow (which I have yet to wrap my mind around) managed to land the lead role in this AMAZING play directed by Ron Stetson. I couldn't be more flattered. There will be far more details on this experience as the rehearsal process continues. But i'm all aflutter. What a challenge. I can't believe they have this much faith in me....

Hair rehearsals continue today, with almost a full cast. We begin to STAGE SCENES, and BECOME A TRIBE, and Maggie comes more and more into her own each time we meet. I can't believe the energy that surrounds this production. The overwhelming positivity, the way the fates continue to deliver just what it needs, it is all so inspiring and invigorating. I wish I could will my own hair to grow, so as not to spend the experience in a wig, but if that's what I have to do, I fucking will.

Life is beginning. Real life. And it's good. It is so good.

Things with the boy are in a constant state of flip-flop between BEGINNING and ENDING. I have decided I want them to be only BEGINNING, so that is all I will be participating in. I can only think about this positively, because I have too much faith to think otherwise. And what good is negativity doing me anyway? This phase of my life is the beginning of the ending of negativity. Why put more toxicity into the world? I love. I know I love. I know how to love, and I have an unlimited supply of love to give. Don't try to dodge it, boy. Do what you have to do, but know that in about 5 minutes, you're going to miss me. Why? Because I am phenomenal. Don't try to ignore it, you'll drive yourself crazier than you already tend to be. Don't fight the fates. You can't win.

Things are good. Every day is the best day of my life. I mean, why not? Right?

"i got chip on my shoulder and a halo on my head
i'm an angel with an attitude and my favorite color's red
i got god on my side, "who's that?", "hell, i don't know"
gonna practice my religion while i'm stepping on your toes."

Remembering why I do this

pi
I have a pattern of behavior that I call the "Post-Production Slump". I've noticed it ever since i was about 14. Whenever I close a show (unless it was completely horrific experience), I inevitably sink into a brief depression presumably caused by the drastic change from constantly being surrounded by other artists working toward a common goal to being alone all evening. It makes me sad. And even though I'm completely exhausted, and still see my unbelievable classmates all day at school, I can't help being a little blue. I'm sure that come next week when we're in non-stop showcase mode I'll be yearning for a few quiet nights at home, but until then, I guess I'll just be a bit off. The thing about PPS that causes me to take heart is the fact that it just solidifies my resolve to keep working, keep striving, keep improving my craft, so that I can do this for a living. It makes me happy. It makes me happy in a way that nothing else could.

While the old shet-tacular wasn't exactly the pinnacle of my theatrical career, it did mark a turning point for me in the way that I work. It was the first time I can ever remember when I honestly felt completely at ease onstage. I wasn't nervous in the slightest, not even the old butterflies that I thought were a positive sign. I never lost my breath or my awareness of myself and what I was doing. I wasn't thinking about lines or reactions or blocking or anything. I was just doing it. I guess I have learned a lot in the last year and a half. I've always loved to do this, and now, finally, after 22 years of working at it, I feel like I have what it takes to just relax and do what comes naturally to me. Because it does. That is what I've learned. I can just open up and give what is living inside me to my partner, the stage, the audience, take what I am given in return, and it will work.

All this brings me to the amazing experience I had tonight. The new cast of "Hair" (set to be performed in June by our new endeavor The Real Theatre Company, the pride and joy of Miss Maggie Levin and my current reason for living) met together for the first time to do a little bit of a movement workshop. Now, tired as we all were, we were none too enthusiastic to go jumping around for another hour and a half. However, the energy of this ensemble was so uninhibited and experimental that we were able to produce some really beautiful work. I shared a brief moment of passion in a blind contact improv exercise that rivals some of the most beautiful moments in my intimate life. The present members of "the tribe" came together to create a ritual of unidentified origin that we all seemed to understand. We knew eachother's energy. We were not worried about judgement or oddity. We felt what each other ensemble member was putting into the room and somehow combined it into something amazing. And that feeling, that human understanding, that connection to a group of artists is why I do this. I've always been incredibly drawn to working in an ensemble situation, rather than one of individual work. I believe that theatre is a collaborative art of the highest form. I believe that I am meant to be a part of it. I can't describe the rush of energy that the hour and a half afforded me. I am rejuvinated. I have returned home and immersed myself in sheet music as I take on the difficult task of choosing a song for the audition portion of Shetler's class. I am currently in my bed with the scores to "The Civil War", "Working", "The Girl in 14 G", "Parade", "Spamalot", and various "Best of Broadway" type anthologies. I think I'm going to settle on something from Civil War, because it is beautifully haunting. I am about to pick up my lines for "A View from the Bridge", which I haven't been able to work on at all with my poor ill partner, but I guess we're going to wing it for Pinter tomorrow.

Pinter said something to us right before the musical. It made me weep to think about it. He said:

"You have to go back to why you wanted to do this in the first place, so that your desire to act is stronger than your fear of failure."

Sounder advice was never rendered, and it is so unbelievably wonderful to have an experience that takes me back to that "why". Fuck all the bullshit in my personal life. Fuck the petty disagreements. Fuck the indecisive first-year boy that has been occupying far too many of my thoughts. Fuck the worrying about headshots and money and jobs. Fuck it all. I remember what I'm here to do. I remember why I love this life.

"I was meant for the stage.
I was meant for the curtain.
I was meant to tread these boards.
Of this much I am certain."
-The Decemberists