'Sno Doubt

We don't have "snow days" here in New York. They don't shut this city down for nothing (short of disaster and/or east-coast-consuming power failure). This morning they actually closed the NYC schools, yet we privileged adults are still at work. It is not so, in my home town of Fairfax, Virginia. They love to close there. You could argue that it's a car-culture thing, and it is, but it's also that

they love to close there

. They close on weather prediction, sometimes.

Wife Megan

sees this as a sensible policy, but I fluctuate in my opinion. I like that New York doesn't shut down for snow, that we keep on truckin'. I'd like it better still if my work day was a little more theatre-y, but there you have it.

Today, however, I shake my fist at New York's resilience in the face of the inclement. Durn you, NYC! Durn you right straight to heliotropic heck.

I caught myself a cold over the weekend, when Friends Mark and Lori were up for a short visit on their way to skiing. It's not a bad one, but I nursed the heliotrope from it yesterday (and by "nursed," I of course mean "sat on the couch eating whatever and watching the entire LoR trilogy on the TBSes") in the hopes that it would be banished today. It's better, but not banished, and the snowy commute seems an added burden, in spite of my tremendous snow boots. Would that it were banished. ("Yet, banished?!")

It seems to me that I have been sick numerous times in the past nine months. Every year,

Actors' Equity

offers free flu shots, and I didn't go this year, so I can't help but wonder whether things might've been different this time around had I opted in on that. Also, there is a noted tendency for we actors to come down with something after ending a long and/or strenuous production process, as I just have. It's like one's system says, "Oh, we're done bouncing around and shouting every night promptly at 8:00? Great. I'ma take a lil' breather now; see you in a week or so." You can add to that the circumstance wherein I astoundingly overestimated the temperature on Saturday (Friday was so warm!) and had my first purging acupuncture appointment in two-and-a-half months. There are, in short (too late), numerous reasons why I might be saddled with a cold right about now.

HOWEVER. However. When I get sick/injured with great frequency, I can't help but recall something a therapist once advised: If you find yourself getting hurt a lot, consider the possibility that it's your psyche trying to get you to pay attention. This therapist used as an example shaving cuts. This may sound a bit nutty to some, but think of a computer, if it seems too far-fetched. When I start having a problem loading a particular program, I always consider it a possibility that something else may be gummed up, and that this is merely symptomatic. Our brains are pretty complex little computers, even without considering emotion (ha ha), and I believe the same possibility exists for we humans, we all-too-humans. So I'm contemplating the possibility that something underlying or over-reaching may be going on for me here. At any rate, it can't hurt to ponder.

Certainly returning to el day jobo has been a stress factor for me, so my default explanation is that I'm unhappy with my work situation and the relative lack of acting therein. Ah, but I caught cold during

R&J

as well. Prior to that I got ill in the fall, toward the end of September. And in between, there have been various physical aggravations and minor injuries. If my theory is to be believed, then whatever's aggravating me has been doing so -- on and off -- for nearly six months now. Perhaps it's money, that old bugaboo. Certainly those stresses mount daily. If it's a problem with myself, it's feeling a bit unanchored, or uncertain, I think. (See?) I started a daily record of little details from my day at the new year, and it grows spottier and spottier. I haven't used it at all from the end of the

R&J

run. I'll give it a shot again.

The snow has given me pause to contemplate this as much as the ill health and virtually abandoned office, so there's a silver lining to all this white wash. Conclusion? None. Yet. But I'll mention one other thing -- I finally looked at upcoming NYC auditions today. Perhaps it is the work, somehow. Or perhaps it is frustration with myself for not getting out there more . . .

Reversals of Fortune

Firstly: Over 30,000 page loads! Yay! That is all.

Secondly:

I am beginning to see how the economic crisis will affect me, and others of my ilk. At first, there was a supreme comfort in watching all these richies lose their marbles over watching digital numerals descend. Now, I'm aware that the uber-richies aren't going to feel a thing and perhaps, relatively speaking, I should feel some remorse for the less-than-uber. But I must say, when you're as far down on the fiscal ladder as I, it's difficult to make such distinctions in perspective. (That ended up being a dastardly interwoven, imagistic pun, didn't it?) So I have felt largely schadenfreude, an emotion that is not very common for me. It's completely insensible, too, since I know that rich people aren't rich in spite of me. They aren't keeping money from me, so any resentment I feel is purely self-inflicted. Still and all: Ha-ha.

For some time, it felt as though I had won some terrible lottery that I didn't know I was playing. My lifestyle seemed to defy every pitfall of this downturn, this recession/depression, and in ways very specific to my personal choices. For example, I have an IRA, no 401k. That money is safe, and those who've been making more are now losing out. Another example is my lack of home ownership, car or otherwise asset-enhanced merchandise. It seemed as though I could look at my semi-vagrant, actor lifestyle and say, "Hey buddy, you've actually been sensible. Your frugality and emphasis on the moment was the real safe path. The reckless jokers are actually all these market gamblers and careerists. Here: Here's a pat on your acupunctured back for you." I could recline in my cheap chair and regard the concept of trickle-down economics as an irrelevant, elitist concept from the Reagan 80s.

Alack, it is not so. We're all in this together, as I've known somewhere in the back all along, and on the horizon I can now see the incoming storm. It's in the seemingly little things, like public transportation and food prices, that the first painful slights will appear for we "starving artists." These little things are actually monumentally important -- they're what we spend our little money on. The health insurance I just jumped on due to my newly married status will now not be free. Perhaps most awaking is the fact of the Electric Theatre Company's imminent collapse. Like many (if not most) small regional theatres, ETC is always hovering on the brink of inviability, to the extent that one ceases to notice. But this time around, I couldn't help but see how tight it was all getting. I felt, for the first time, like a strain on the theatre. It was almost an it-or-me scenario in terms of money, and I of course had to choose me.

Though I can't help but be reminded of the Chinese parable of heaven and hell, wherein both places have an elaborate dinner for everyone, but provide only three-foot chopsticks with which to eat. Hell is where they frustratedly starve, heaven where they know to feed one another. Maybe our table has been deprived of its entree, but I still feel the key to getting through this will be to help each other out as much as possible. So I ate some expenses on the theatre's behalf, and I contributed some to their funds, all the while insisting on timely paychecks. Balance in all things. Hopefully some good will come out of this; the bankers and investors will learn to balance too, and the artists will become more focused, more motivated, more true. Hopefully. And in the meantime, some sacrifice and suffering. Some unexpected joy, too.

Anxiety ANXIETY Anxiety

Yeah. The dreaded A-word. That one what doth top off my list of topics more often than I'd like. There are some occasions for which I'm sure it would not surprise you, Dear Reader, that I experience my share of stress. Under-rehearsed show openings, callbacks with prominent theatre artists and just auditions in general. Then again, there's one I probably haven't written much of -- namely, the return to NYC after a long-term gig has taken me away.

Last night I had not one, but two anxiety dreams, both closely related to the fears associated with returning to the city and my more-regular life after I've spent some time acclimated to the good life. Keep in mind, "the good life" dangles me over a cliff of poverty, taunts me with creative failure at every turn and has its own share of stress. Yet somehow, the thought of returning to el day jobo and the verities of (big) city life manages to top any of that. It tops it, turns it around three times and kicks it out the door by its reproductive organs. It's awful, frankly. Mostly, I think, because it's laced with reminders of the compromises I have still to make in order to make this triple-life work for me. I crave integration now just as much as I did as a freshly graduated BFA holder. More, perhaps, because now I understand how sweet it could be, and how rough, too.

I haven't a whole lot to complain about, from one perspective. And I dearly love returning to better food, somewhat more fiscal compensation and, of course, my much-missed wife and friends. And heck (AND tarnation), there are no surprises here. I'm good at NYC at this point. I got my technique down and everything. My fellow artists will understand the frustration of tasting, just tasting, the possibility of sustaining one's life doing what one loves. Wherefore anxiety? Why not anger, or sorrow, or something more productive? I have no ready answer. My theory is that it springs from the aspect of less-than-welcome change. I'd probably do better with it if I could embrace it as opportunity. It doesn't have to be a reminder of what I

don't

have. I need to work on this.

In the meantime, the final showings of

The Very Nearly Perfect Comedy of Romeo & Juliet

gallop apace. This show has definitely infected me with a Shakespeare bug. I'm planning to read more of W.S. for a bit when I get back to the city, feeling very connected to the amazing, functional poetry of it. Last night we had a pleasant surprise in our audience in the forms of a former Zuppa actor and friend of the troupe.

Erin McMonagle

and

Seth Reichgott

visited from

BTE

, where they are rehearsing

Leading Ladies

. They had effusively nice things to say about our work, which is always welcome from fellow theatre artists, particularly those you particularly respect. We visited ever-so-briefly after the show before they needed to get back to Bloomsberg, but it was loverly. I hope I get to work with Erin again, and Seth for the first time, soon.

Some of my anxiety over the end of the show, and the re-entry to the day job, has been mitigated into productivity. I've arranged to meet with

Friend Cody

to discuss a regular acrobatics/balance group, and intend to spend a good deal of my time once back in sending out headshots and auditioning, perhaps for more Shakespeare. I usually have the best intentions for setting my best foot forward when I return to my home base, then wallow in adjusting to my return and feeling (quite frankly) sorry for myself. So it is my fervent hope that making appointments and such will keep me out of such nonsense this time around. Dang it, I like this work. Why lag, much less stop? I don't need a vacation. I need a never-ending trip, and I am my own events coordinator.

Hm. Maybe I should have been an author of self-help books, instead.

Study Under This!

I got a surprising call yesterday from the casting director of

Humor Abuse

. Apparently, they still haven't made a decision for casting Lorenzo Pisoni's understudy, and she wanted to make sure I was still available. I, of course, had written it off by now. In fact, when she asked, "Are you still available?" I swear for a moment I heard, "Sorry, we can't use you this time." It seems that with getting the show into previews (starting tonight), they just haven't made a decision yet. (Another possibility of course is that they want to see more people, without lopping of the possibilities they

have

seen thus far.) Oddly enough,

Friend Dave

's

Maestrosity

friend is also up for the slot, though I have yet to hear whether he received such a follow-up call. Perhaps they have half the male circus-actors of New York on hold? Perhaps. Still, it's always nice to hear that one didn't commit career sepuku in one's callback . . .

"There is no world without Verona walls..."

I came into this development/rehearsal process for

The Very Nearly Perfect Comedy of Romeo & Juliet

with food poisoning, which I considered a good omen. After all, I arrived for the very first collaboration with Zuppa del Giorno, way back in 2002, with a fever. Now I am recovering (knock on wood, cross your fingers, pray and sacrifice small woodland creatures) from a cold that arrived just in time for yesterday's day off. Hence yesterday was spent largely lying about and feeling sorry for myself (though I did learn a line or two more, as well). Yesterday also, however, delivered some exciting news, with which I must merely taunt you -- I don't want to jinx it by letting on too much. Suffice it to say, I need to get back to New York after rehearsal Thursday night in order to attend an exciting audition Friday afternoon, after which I will

HAUL REAR

back to Scranton for our last rehearsal before teching.

Things in the world of

R&J

are good. Good and scary, that is, which is as good as it gets in my personal little circle of hurly-burly. We had a nigh-disastrous "run" Sunday, which has focused our intents to getting the show streamlined and specific. Specifically, David has requested that everyone learn the text in order to depart from it at our leisure (as opposed to the other way around) and the ensemble has been tasked with getting unerringly specific with its foley effects. We are, in brief, starting to fuse together as an ensemble, as our many directors make their choices as specific and consistent as possible. Is there enough time now? No, absolutely not. But that is the status quo, and worser works have saved themselves through a similar schedule.

Today, awaking for the first time in a few days with a little energy, I am spending the whole day at the theatre working on lines and my upcoming audition before this evening's rehearsal. It's more than a little harrowing, having two such important things to prepare for, but it's thrilling as well, and makes me feel a lot of faith. How likely was it that an audition that requires clowning and commedia dell'arte skills should come up just as I'm rehearsing for a show involving both? In this context, even my cold seems to me somewhat fortuitous. It has kept me rested just prior to the news, and given me a lot of time to think about what I'm doing. Actors in general are tempted by perceptions of fate and destiny even when we're not working on Shakespeare; I'm trying to keep my head straight through all this . . . but also to be open to omens, such as they may be.

I wrote some time ago (see

11/28/08

) about turning down an audition for a very lucrative commercial because it conflicted with teaching work I was doing out here in Scranton. I have never wavered on the decision, as fruitful as such work may have proven, and if this new audition couldn't be compromised with

R&J

, I would probably not have committed myself to it. Foolish? Yeah. Then again, I'm the one who has to live with my choices, and I'd rather being doing the work that has something more to do with me and my creative life than someone else's. I feel very lucky indeed to have an opportunity to do both over the next few days.

Now if only I can get off-book for act five at the same time...