Showing posts with label groundhog day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label groundhog day. Show all posts

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Alice in Ship Land: Ahoy Family

This was a special week because my mom and aunt were on board! They booked a cruise for a relaxing vacation and, of course, to witness me firsthand entertaining the masses.
A Sr. lives her best self 
These updates will be getting less exciting seeing as I will have significantly fewer new experiences each time I repeat the exact same itinerary. I am in Middle America Vacation Groundhog Day.

Some highlights of my fourth cruise in the Western Caribbean:
-walking around Belize with my family while we all drank out of coconuts a dude hacked up right in front of us, shavings flying wildly
-my cast taking advantage of Mom and Aunt’s dining package, getting to dine at the “fancy”* Italian restaurant with unlimited apps and ‘zerts!
-my aunt winning the spa lottery on Sunday and booking an hour massage for me! I live on a cruise and somehow the masseuse told me, “You are incredibly tense. Especially your calves.”
-Over two scones, ZPill and I contemplated how greatness happens. His metaphor is there is a huge dogpile of humans, and one finally stands on top, making the best thing. But, that person couldn’t be there without stepping on a million other people. My idea is societal needs show up as big holes, and we all create rubber band balls of our experiences. Sometimes because of who we are and what we have, our ball is too big or too small and either slides through the gap or rambles over it. But someone out there creates something just right that gets lodged in place. That’s greatness.
-drinking a peanut butter latte on a porch in Cozumel
-I’ve been wearing my pearls and my pearl shimmer lip-gloss a lot. At the pool is Costa Maya my cast tells me I look like a Kennedy.
-ZPill and I walk down a hall on Deck 6. A girl whispers as we pass, “That girl is so funny!” ZPill turns and smiles at me, says, “I just love getting compliments.”
-I’ve finally started wearing my jean shorts. I’ve been avoiding them because sweatshorts are also a thing. Everyone comments as they see me, “New shorts?” We all know every outfit.
-serving as a “celebrity judge” of the dance off competition for the first time. An old man won mainly because he successfully executed the lift in the Dirty Dancing number.
-wearing my new chocolate perfume on show night. MB asked me if I was eating a brownie every time I went offstage because when we passed each other in the dark I reeked of cocoa.
-the night the cast passed one slice of pie around the single we all crammed into, the night ZPill was sad and wrapped an éclair into a pizza slice and ate all of it
-the time I locked myself out of my room and couldn't get to my laundry for hours--when I arrived in the facility, it was all out of the dryer and folded

Another note: Very consistently I am finding when men come and talk to me after shows they talk about their own experiences. Ex: how much they like SNL, their favorite sketch, the work training they did once with improv, their college theatre group. Women ask a lot of questions. They rarely think to mention anything about themselves besides the initial "I enjoyed the show." Then they launch in to learning. So far, there are no exceptions to this rule.


*still on a cruise ship

Monday, October 10, 2011

Rituals: If I Must

No, I suppose I don't have much ritual to my name. What is constant when your family splits and reshuffles when you're fourteen? What can become ritual across state lines? When my fifteenth birthday was a surprise party, sixteenth alone in my father's apartment, seventeenth listening to Jonathan Larson when Clara and her brother crossed the moat to show up with a cactus.

My anti-roots please me. Truthfully. I can be a dandelion spore. Look!

I wrote a list of personal rituals today in Theatre History. We discussed the performance ritual of the Hopi people. My list was tiny and barely existed beyond 2004. It said, "Oldies, Groundhog Day, Tremblay's Candy Shop, Malcolm in the Middle, my grandmother's house near Gurnee, celery stuffed with sharp cheddar."

If I must bring children into this world, I will run with them each fall. I will eat with them each morning. I will enforce a strict policy about attending theatre each spring, Christmas pastries each December, and reflective birthdays. Stargirl is required reading. Diana Ross is figurative king. Quiet. Listen. That train is saying "Hello! Hello town!" If I must.

And, if I don't have to, I will be my own children. And I will fill myself with Hopi hopey.