Dawson-Boyd

It's time for a Seuss update. This past week was a true mid-west adventure. Three long travel days through Ohio, Wisconsin, et al, landing us in St. Paul, Minnesota on Wednesday night. I hadn't been west (REALLY west) in a while so it was a reminder to me of how progressive the east coast is. However, this part of the country has a certain charm and a definite calm one doesn't get in New York. Perhaps it's a result of miles upon miles of farmland and cows. Who knows?

Moreover, I will say that Super 8s are actually quite decent and accomodating "hotels," and Starbucks has become quite popular among many Highway rest areas (though not in Iowa, but that's no surprise).

However, the best part of this week for me has been our travels through and in Minnesota. Wednesday night, in Minneapolis, we checked out a yummy Italian restaurant called Lorino Pasta Bar, which I highly recommend. The restaurant has a massive Saloon feeling and sports a metropolitan, western, kitchy and creative ambiance. And fantastic food, which is a nice bonus. Afterwards, our cast mate and dance captain took us on a driving tour through the city. The only bad part of Minneapolis was that we weren't there for more than a day.

After our performance on Thursday morning we hit the road toward Dawson, MN but had to stay overnight in the middle of farmland. Literally. At various times throughout this drive, I felt as if I were in a horror film. It was slightly scary and rather exhilarating at the same time. THIS was it; REAL American farmland. The middle of the country, as far from the daily stress of New York as one could get. There was nowhere to get food that night except a random grocery store around the corner. I got yogurt and cottage cheese.

So, the next morning we embark to Dawson, MN to perform at a school, which I believe was a middle school and a high school. The students and adults at the school were beyond lovely and helpful and excited to have us. The drama department teenagers told us it was the best show they have ever seen (which was flattering and weird at the same time). Apparently the town of Dawson has about 1500 people and the one next to it, Boyd, has about 5 or 600, so they were combined to make Dawson-Boyd.

There was an adorable coffee shop on the main strip, a street that appeared to me to have popped out of Waiting for Guffman. I couldn't have been happier. The rain made the whole experience magical. I felt cozy, at peace and had amazing chili at the diner.

Upon leaving this town we traveled to Okoboji, IA, which was boring enough, but there was a Super Wal-Mart across the street which made us all ecstatic. Unless, one has experienced a Wal- Mart with a food section in the middle of America, there's no point in getting into detail. It's simply religious and inspiring.

We are currently in Waukegan, IL. Traveled here yesterday and have had the day off today. Unfortunately, I went to the doctor today to find out that I have laryngitis. I spent half my day off at a clinic, but I got to read my trashy romance novel which is AMAZING, so it made the waiting around more bearable.

We perform tomorrow morning at the Genesee Theatre here in Waukegan and then head into Hyde Park, Chicago. I'm excited to go to the aquarium and the Art Institute this week. Fish and paintings--what could be better?

Seuss on the Loose

I should have started my tour blog a few weeks ago, but better late than never! We are in the third week of the Seussical the Musical tour and so far, there are some pretty funny stories to relate!

For starters, kids are ridiculous. At an elementary school in Maryland, the stage in the gym was too small for our show so we performed on the gym floor. The front row was pre-k, and I just couldn't stop laughing at their faces. At one moment there was an adorable little boy imitating the monkeys with his arms. I can't remember what it's like to be a child absorbing a show at that age. I wonder what they understand, what their eyes are drawn to and why. Are they transfixed on my purple tights and green leopard skort or are they really rooting for Horton to fall in love with Gertrude?

My fondest memory of the younger species thus far has been at another location in MD where there were a pair of what appeared to be 3 year-olds sitting in the front row with orange t-shirts; one said Thing 1, the other Thing 2. I couldn't resist glimpsing at them every chance I got. They were so attentive and didn't move for the entire hour. I can't even do that at a show.

I haven't toured in a few years, but there are some things that just don't change. EVERYTHING is cheaper outside of the greater NY area. Yogurts are still 50 cents in random supermarkets across the country. The Hometown Restaurant in the middle of Pennsylvania has six dollar wraps, including fries. Mr. G's restaurant near White River Junction, VT was barely populated until our cast entered, and yet, they were still slow as a turtle with service, but cheap, and the food was still good, surprisingly enough.

I'm sure you will all be happy to know that white trash America still exists and is, for better or worse, still populating and thriving; especially at Econolodges and Quality Inns.

Most amusing, though, is my experience at a gas station in VA. I was inside the market at the register and a low life guy with gold teeth and tattoos all over his arms wanted to get together with me. I was friendly enough and was bordering between exasperation and laughing in his face when he asked if he could give me his number. I said ok, and made a mad dash to the van, where apparently, the cast thought I was trying to give HIM my number. This is how rumors get started.

Tune in soon for more updates and anecdotes from the road!!!!

A Tragic Beginning to a Happy New Year

I was very touched this morning to read the following, from cnn.com:

The family of Le's fiance, Jonathan Widawsky, released a statement Thursday through their synagogue, Temple Beth El in Huntington, New York.

"We share in the grief of the family of Annie Le and are, collectively, doing our best to deal with our tragic loss," the statement said. "... We want to thank all those who have been involved in our preparations for a wedding that was not to be for their quiet understanding."

The Widawskys said they will not be attending religious services in the future "in order to facilitate the safety, security and sensitivity of High Holiday services at our temple ... it is a difficult time, and we ask that you allow our fellow congregants, in this holiest of seasons, to pray in peace. And we ask that you pray for the soul of Annie Le, and for healing, for her family, for Jonathan and for our family."

The family requested privacy "for the moment," but added, "Annie will live in our hearts forever."

Cantor Sandra Sherry forwarded the statement to media outlets, noting that "we are entering our holiest season from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, known as the Days of Awe."

Sherry said she would have officiated at Le and Widawsky's wedding.

As a Jew, I find something very ironic, poignant and bittersweet about these statements and the timing of Ms. Le's murder. As the cantor from Temple Beth El stated, these holidays are the most reverent in the Jewish calendar. They encourage reflection, introspection, repentance. And because of the nature of the New Year (Rosh Hashanah) and the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), I have, in the past, focused mainly on myself, how to be happier, how to achieve my goals, how to be a better daughter and be nicer to my brother.

However, I never seem to focus on compassion. Being a good person is different. Most of us strive to the "right" thing by society's standards, but true compassion comes from within someone's soul and is a gift. It is the desire to not want others to suffer the way we have because we can feel their pain.

I consider myself a deeply compassionate and sensitive person. Nevertheless, during the High Holidays for some reason, those traits aren't at the forefront in my mind. My mind is counting the minutes until I leave the synagogue, checking off people in my mind that I should be nicer to this year, and honestly, trying not to fall asleep (though plenty around me already are).

The recent murder at Yale has made me feel that perhaps we have it wrong. It's not only about asking God for forgiveness and atoning for our "sins, or fasting on Yom Kippur to purify our souls, but rather, doing right by others. Keeping the tragedy of someone else's life in our hearts, even if that person is a complete stranger. Compassion resonates deep within our souls, and truly makes us better people, while Making a checklist of our sins doesn't make us better people, and our lists are often forgotten as quickly as we make them.

My heart lies with the family of Annie Le and Jonathan Widawsky. Like his own congregation, I will be praying for his peace of mind, happiness and strength and for that of his fiance's family. I don't know him or his family and had never met Le or her family either. Nor do I know anyone who has, and yet, I feel obligated to remember and honor their grief. To me, that is more important than my own wrongdoings. These two families are suffering more than anyone deserves. What right do I have to focus on my own flaws, when others are experiencing the unthinkable.

It is not a Shana Tova for the family of Jonathan Widawsky or Annie Le.

We Bit the Apple, after all

Oh, Michelle Obama. Even you, with your grace, intelligence, class and ethics cannot escape the shallowness that comprises our media. Never mind your work on education, never mind your eloquent nature or your Harvard and Princeton degrees, not to mention your desire to put your family first. You wore shorts getting off Air Force One. It's over. Hide yourself in a cave for the next few years, and don't emerge unless you're wearing a black suit.

Perhaps the most distressing aspect of the criticism that The First Lady is receiving for her wardrobe choice on Monday is that she's receiving criticism. She did not overstep her boundaries as the President's wife by being rude to a foreign diplomat. She wasn't seen spanking her children in public. She wore modest shorts in extreme heat. Nevertheless, the buzz this has caused is indicative of how NOT far we have come in women's lib.

We live in a male society. Women still have to fight for the same salaries, we still get criticized if we are moms AND work full time, and god forbid, we should show off our figures on the street or anywhere in public for that matter; any inappropriate comment we face or leering male eyes are our own fault. We should have known better. Men are weak, they can't control themselves, etc, etc. Who knows where this sexism really originated. It doesn't help that the basis of the oldest story in the world revolves around a woman bringing down a man by ignoring the word of God. Whether one believes in the bible or not is irrelevant---that story has founded the idea that a woman is a seductress, tread carefully.

I was always disturbed by how much Hilary Clinton was criticized for her wardrobe choices. Here was a woman who changed the role of the First Lady. She was active, brilliant, outspoken and took risks. Still is. And for this, she was labeled a bitch with no fashion sense (Even though she didn't leave her husband during the sex scandal). And here comes Michelle Obama who DOES have a sophisticated sense of fashion who pushes the envelope (supposedly) by wearing shorts and is criticized for it. The President is not and never will be faced with that issue. He is a man. After all, it doesn't matter what he wears, it matters what he does.

I have no suggestions as to how we, as a modern society and country, can rectify the focus on women's bodies and how they dress. It's more than just a vapid media obsession. It's a deeper, unsettling sign that women haven't reached equality; we are still seen, too often, as nothing more than sex objects, regardless of how devoted we are to our own families, whether its our children or our parents, regardless of how much we support our spouses and/or work for the betterment and advancement of society.

If the focus on Michelle's shorts weren't so funny, it would be pathetic.

Alexander

I'm staring where we had our first true encounter. You stare back, understanding more of me than I know exists. I'm trying to ignore it, but you're reading my thoughts, making me blush. A quick rush of blood travels from my legs up to my neck and face, exposing the pounding in my chest. You smile.

I'm staring at the booth where first we kissed, four months ago. Your warm, sensual lips brush mine timidly, then deeply, then yearning for more, we embrace closer, my body shivering from nerves, your hot arms and mouth steadying me.

I'm sitting on the couch where we groped each other until we couldn't see straight. I remember what you wore. I remember how it came off. I remember how you looked at me adoringly. I remember how bold you were. I loved how your hair got messy.

I lie on the sheets that you wrapped me in, pulling me toward you as if every night we spent together would be the last, not knowing the last was already waiting at the door. Your hand asks for mine while you interlace your large fingers with my tiny ones. I have never felt more protected as you whisper to me, "I love this." You are a furnace warming up my cold body, as if we were meant to hold one another. I fit perfectly inside you, never able to get close enough. The closest, most intimate moments are never close enough. The further you go, the more I ache for you.

My head is on the pillow. I'm lying on my side staring at you hazily. I'm half asleep. You are next to me, facing me, on your side. Your hand is stroking my cheek, your thumb caressing under my eyes. I'm confused by your comfort and love, not really awake, not knowing if it's actually happening, smiling when I realize it is. I ask you if you're thinking how pretty I am. Yes, you reply softly with a slight nod and smile.

And now I'm on the corner. We don't want to say goodbye. It has to be this way, you tell me. What else is there to do? I'm hugging you, trying to memorize the feel of your back and your bones and your waist underneath my arms and hands. I'm holding the memory of us in this embrace. Maybe this outline will make every other reality go away. If I hold you tight enough, we can freeze time, or change it, or create our own. But you pull me away gently and brush away my tears with your fingers. We kiss quietly. I pull away from you, afraid to stay in this shape any longer, afraid that the mere intimacy will make me break and paralyze me. I turn and walk to the steps leading down to the subway. I quickly turn back to you, tell you I'll talk to you soon, and I watch you slowly raise your hand to your lips and blow me a kiss.

I can't even remember the train ride home.

Singing in the Rain

So I don't think anyone was happy today in NYC. The weather was stressful--rainy, windy and chilly. Clothes were dripping wet, facebook stati ranged from "the weather sucks" to "I'm staying in all day due to the rain...", and it was raining so bad at one point, that my bathroom was getting wet simply from having the window slightly ajar. Lovely.

Normally, I dread leaving my apartment when it's pouring, and I've had the worst luck with umbrellas. I hate them. They are inconvenient, they get in the way of everything and everyone on the streets of the city, and any decent sized, strong umbrella is about the length of my body. Moreover, I lose almost every one I buy, and if I don't lose them, I wind up throwing them out because they are cheap, so they are made poorly and can't withstand the wind. Sometimes, I feel like Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins on a rainy day, ready to get swept away by my cheap, 3 dollar purchase, only instead of a carpet bag I'm carrying a ten year old Le Sport Sac tote.

Recently, however, I received a fabulous umbrella from my friend Lindsay as a thank-you for being in her wedding party. It was one of the most brilliant gifts I've ever gotten. It's the dome-shaped type, as if you are holding up an egg and cut off the bottom part. It's clear plastic all around because it covers my entire face, and there are large, blue raindrops painted around the entire edge.

For the first time in my life I'm not afraid of getting wet! My hair stays dry! People look at the umbrella and smile at its cuteness! I find myself looking at my fellow New Yorkers and pitying their cheap little black ones that flip inside-out due to the wind. Oh, if only they were blessed with my gift! If only they knew the beauty of the dome umbrella! Not only does it cover my face AND my glasses so they don't fog up, not only does it keep my curls from frizzing, but it's completely impervious to the wind. I feel confident that I won't fly away because of high winds, and I know my umbrella will last for a looonnnngggg time. Today, I imagined myself twirling it around me on the sidewalk, a la Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. That's how happy my gadget made me. It's the little things in life, people.