Filming Extravaganza II, or, The Mother of All Scenes

Wednesday, July 19th, 2006

Final day of filming for Extravaganza, including The Mother of All Scenes.

8:30 PM: Empathy belly construction.* Boiling bits of plastic baby in giant pot on gas stove in my kitchen. Room temperature exceeds 100 degrees farenheit.

Baby bits soften but do not melt. Plan to meld together baby bits aborted.

Plan to staple baby bits together using industrial staple gun briefly considered.

Decision made to purchase nude colored clothing to create empathy belly.

Boiled baby bits left floating in pot on stove.

9:00 PM: Beige/nude colored clothing apparently not in style. Camisoles of any color, especially beige/nude, apparently not in style.

9:10 PM: Discovery of seamless underpants exactly matching my skin tone that extend above the waist by atleast 7 inches in the Intimates section.



Loud discussion of how pregnant I can look in "slimming" underpants near dressing room before fitting.

9:30 PM: Loud discussion of underpants logistics in cashier's line.

Megan: . . . We can stuff some of the baby bits into the underwear and you'll still look pregnant!

Me: Megan, remember where you are.

Cashier: (look of utter bewilderment)

Megan: Oh. Sorry. I. Uh. I'd like to run this as credit, please. Thanks.

Cashier: Have fun with your baby bits.

10:30 PM: Baby bits stuffed down my underpants.

10:45 PM: Filming begins. One sequence shot over and over, as follows:

1. Sit in bathtub. Bob head back and forth humming "Three Blind Mice."

2. The Bohemian enters, prepares himself, preps for birth. Girl In a Green Dress: dress up, legs splayed out over either side of tub.

3. The Bohemian attempts to enduce natural birth, but is torn away by invisible forces.

4. Girl In a Blue Dress enters tub for C-Section.

5. Girls are horrified. I am ashamed.


Thursday, July 20th, 2006

12:30 AM: One shot to perform C-Section using real scalpel on empathy belly. Bits of batting pop out everywhere.

Gorify C-Section, batting, boiled baby bits and all.

And finally.

A TWO-HEADED, BUG-EYED BABY ERUPTS FROM MY STOMACH.** I am proud. My Dad flickers in the background.


This makes my exhaustion worthwhile. And remember, kids: this IS a comedy.





*This is the second time in two summers I have been fitted for an empathy belly.
**This is the second time in seven years that I have birthed a disfigured doll child in a show at the MAC. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Faulty Framework

Last summer, during warm-ups for There Is No More Firmament, I was not paying enough attention to where my feet were in proximity to someone elses feet, and as I shifted from a high level to a low one, I lost my balance and threw my head on the ground. I kept going, assuming that I would be just fine. An hour later, not only did my head hurt (concussed?), but I couldn't turn my head to the right. That's right: I'd given myself whiplash. I had to go to Lawrence to see my chiropractor the next day to right this painful wrong.

Today, with no amusing anecdote about my occassional lack of control over my body, I woke up in my mom's room* and, once again, could not turn my head to the right without seering pain. It's been long enough (almost exactly a year) since the last episode that I can't say whether this feels the same. I do know, however, that 1. I'm having trouble reaching behind my own frame on the right side (reaching the toilet paper should not take so long), 2. it took me two minutes to figure out how to get up from lying down sans pain, a prospect I eventually gave up, and 3. it is totally impossible for me to tip my head towards my right shoulder.

Now, this would be unfortunate enough as it's own little battle. However, this is the final week of rehearsal before tech week for Extravaganza. This is also the week I start rehearsing my solo piece. And this is the first week in eight years of selling fruit that I have been given more than 40 hours.

Someone find me a new body, STAT.



*I slept in the kitchen when I got home last night. It was still probably 90 degrees in the front room of my mom's apartment when I got home, so I decided to drag my sleeping mat into the kitchen, the only room with an air conditioner. When my mom got up for work, she asked me to go sleep in her room so that she could make breakfast.

Pipe down a minute, Chachi. You there: Explain yourself.

"Oh my gosh! I just realized how many boyfriends you have this summer!"

"Yeah, but that pretty one has a girlfriend and lives out of town. . ."

"Oh, but that's better!"

"And none of them know that we're in love."

"You're my hero."

One Word

Snaggletooth.

The Downside. . .

. . .of shooting at an abandoned house surrounded by tall grass: the entire lower half of my body is covered in extremely itchy chigger bites. AHHHHH!!! Not a pretty sight.

Filming Extravaganza

We've been filming various video elements for Extravaganza in Scene Seven, and I have gotten to do all of the following things:

1. Have tea in a bathtub with Charlie at sunrise.

2. Pretend to be hit by a car on a dirt road.

3. Slow dance in a bathtub with Charlie in the blaze of the afternoon.

4. Brawl in slow motion with eight other people, including my father.

5. Fondle a noose.

6. Die a painful, drooling death by poison-filled syringe.

7. Bang on an abandoned, falling down house until my hands were stained white from the paint.

I love my life.

Also, I just had carrots and tuna straight from the can for dinner. It seemed more efficient than trying to make something out of what I had in the kitchen, not to mention I was ravenous the moment I walked in the door. Classy lady.

The Saddest Kind of Irony

Kevin's parents didn't want him to have his Honda Accord in Chicago due to the high crime rate. He didn't want to fly because he wanted to bring his collection of musical instruments with him. So I threw caution to the wind, and went with him to Chicago on Sunday in his car so that he could take his stuff, spent half a day enjoying Dawn's backyard, seeing Millenium park, meeting the infamous marvelous roommate. and overeating, then drove the car back from Illinois by myself in time to make it to work at three yesterday.

I asked if it would be okay if I took the car back tonight, since I had quite a few places I had to be today. I ended up extending that deadline until tomorrow morning.

This evening, SOME FUCKER THREW A ROCK THROUGH KEVIN'S WINDOW in the parking lot of the high school, where I had to be to shoot scenes for Megan's play. Smashed the whole thing. Stole a tiny bag out the backseat. They also stole stuff from the surrounding cars. I had to call Kevin's parents and tell them about this.

"But that was why we had you drive the car back from Chicago."

I'm waiting for the part where I stop feeling like shit and this turns into a bizarre story that I can tell like it happened to someone else. Kevin's parents were nice to me, but angry with him. Kevin told me not be upset, but I wish that he were here to tell me that in person, which he can't because he's in Chicago, which is what started this mess in the first place. DAMN IT ALL.

At least no one got hurt, right?

I'm going to bed.

Grillin' and Chillin'

Tonight MegaClar made me laugh so hard my cheeks spasmed while she described in detail how awkward she is in every social situation. I cannot even describe how much it felt like my face was going to combust and then fall off my face in a pile of ashes.

And I ate too much, in the best way.

And I got to hold hands with a handsome gentleman under the table, but alas, had to go home to my own home because of how early I have to go to work in the morning. That part was sad, but I'll get over it.

And someone called and told me the joke about the family of tomatoes like I had never heard it before, and MegaClar sang the Music Man to me (twice) which combined into a nice cap to the evening.

May everyone's weekend be spent as happily as this, or more. Cheers.

But I LOVE Summer

Something is making me feel swollen. I blame, in part, all of the salt I have had to eat in the last couple of days (I've just started going to Bob's at night again.) However, I think the real culprit is the HEAT. Uh-oh. It's only going to get worse.

Also, I was watering plants at work yesterday, and it took a little bit longer than I thought it would, resulting in a ridiculous sunburn on my arms, chest, and back (not on my legs. . .never on my legs. . .they will be bluish white for the rest of my life). Seriously. I put sunscreen on my face, and that is now neither painful nor red, but the rest of my upper body where it was not covered by tank top is ON FIRE. Add to that all the soreness from holding the watering wand, layered with the feeling of swelling caused by salt and heat, and you can see that I am 1. extremely wimpy, and 2. a mess.

And who's gonna put lotion on the part of my back that I can't reach?

Life Is Good

First of all, someone in my mother's building has wireless, and my internet is working like woah. This is gonna be a totally sweet summer.

Secondly, thanks to the sage advice of a distant friend, I just bought a variety pack of Fruit Roll Ups. Yeah, that's right. It's 3:30 in the morning on a Wednesday and I just bought sticky, multicolored pre-adolescent snack food. I have NO intention of growing up before it's officially time.

At my graduation party, my cousin Erin looked over at me at some point, laughed, and said "I'm having fun imagining you with kids." She has three cutie pies herself, whom I adore, but the sentiment seemed a little vengeful. I will admit I was frightened of just how delighted the thought of me with babies made her. So. I'm staying up way too late and eating sweet things packed with preservatives in an attempt to assert my youth and independence.

I'm gonna need to eat so many vegetables tomorrow to make this (and the 6 cups of Bob's coffee I drank tonight) up to my stomach. It is soooo worth it.

5 Years and 37 Nervous Breakdowns Later. . .

I have graduated from college. Granted, I won't be able to pick up my diploma until I have paid quite a few dollars to both the library and the health center; however, I am standing on the breathe-easy end of an arduous college career, and life is looking pretty damn good. And to think, I almost transferred/dropped out after my first semester, which had a little bit to do with French IV and living in the dorms, and a lot to do with the terror that was Acting I.

Having grown up a bit, I now realize how formative and useful that class was, but at the time, I wanted to die every time I walked down the hill from my dorm to Murphy for Acting. I had never quite felt like such a waste of space as when I did scenes for that class. Yet nostalgia kicks in, as it has a tendency to do, and now I remember even the worst moments of this class with some amount of fondness. One memory now stands out as particularly funny/awkward: I had been paired with Andrew for the first time (we did two scenes together in that class, admittedly an oversight made by the teacher, but one that I think helped to foster our eventual friendship), and we made plans to meet on a Sunday morning to rehearse the pecan scene from Crimes of the Heart. That Saturday night, however, I spent with Adam, drinking a concoction of frozen orange juice concentrate and vanilla vodka that Adam had dubbed the "Get a Girl Drunk." It lived up to its name, I slept curled in a little ball on Adam's bed, and when I awoke the next morning in pools of my own sweat (not vomit, thank God), I had only moments to spare before I had to meet Andrew on Memorial Hill. I arrived, a vision in Hangover, hiding behind sunglasses, contacts gooey and fighting to hold their grip on my eyeballs. And there was Andrew, waiting for me on a bench: fresh, morning-faced, clearly showered, and obviously arrived directly from church. As we rehearsed in the sun, I did my damnedest to stay far enough away from him that he wouldn't be overpowered by my morning breath or boozy sweat, and became increasingly wary of just how lovely and pristine he seemed. He seemed equally wary of me, clearly for different reasons. Who would have guessed that he would end up being one of my very best friends from college? Well, as of that Sunday, definitely not me. Fate, though, had her way with us, and threw us together again and again until we had no choice but to get each other's backs.

Anyhow. College was hard. I learned an incredible amount of both useful and useless things, due in part to a few stellar teachers, and even more so to a bunch of amazing collegues. I know a lot more about the world, and have developed my artistic whatnot. You know, all those things you're supposed to do as student. We'll see how much my education has prepared me for life-from-now-on. Regardless, I powered through some rooooouuuugh patches, enjoyed a lot of people, places, and things, and couldn't ask for much more than what I got.

Last night my cousin Jordan and I had a graduation party at my aunt's house. The weather was perfect, the food delicious, the guests congratulatory and overwhelmingly attractive (my relatives kept asking me if I had any friends that weren't gorgeous. I didn't do it on purpose, but truly, I have a rash of extremely beautiful friends.) I wore a pretty party dress and had the pleasure of flitting from one guest to another as if I was the host without having to do any of the pre-party dirty work. I ate quiche and drank beer and opened presents (lots of great cards, wine, chocolate, bubble bath, tea, a journal, cookies, and thanks to the kindness and generosity of my lovely family, my very own G4, on which I currently type. I'm not bragging, I'm just very excited). All I had to do was make it through five years at the University. Yeah, that. Okay, okay, I'm clearly proud of myself. Deal with it.

Today I sang songs out in the backyard with my father and had a bittersweet last meal with Lalalalaura before we head our separate ways for awhile. However, I gathered from the tone of last night's party and today's activities that while the daily routine is about to drastically change, my life-in-general is headed somewhere pretty awesome. So, I'm gonna keep on keepin' on, and I'll see what happens.

Love,
-b

Self-involved?

I just Googled myself, as I do from time to time, and was pleased to note that the scathing review I suffered last year in the Pitch for my performance in Self-Torture and Strenuous Exercise has been neatly displaced to the second page of entries that turn up when you Google my name. The first thing you get a picture from the Lawrence Journal World of Bird and I dancing our bashful, silly dance from As You Like It. I'm glad that the Pitch review exists in this world, but I'm also glad that you'd have to really want to know more about me to find it on the internet.

on the subject of firsts

An addendum:

Yesterday, for the first time in my entire life (including those terrifying President's fitness tests in grade school when we were supposed to run a mile-- I was always last because I walked a significant part of the way) I jogged for 20 minutes. Without stopping. Not even for a second.

I can walk extremely quickly, ride an exercise bicycle, or use an elliptical machine for an hour without stopping, but until yesterday I had never been able to fight my way through the impact and exhertion necessary to actually jog for more than about 7 minutes, max.

I think that I might be possessed.

Droopy Britches

I have had to part with many a lovely pair of pants over the years. Reasons for retirement have included (but are not limited to): beet stains, broken zippers, torn knees, ass rips (I once wore a pair of jeans to a day of set building for MXTW that ripped all the way up the back when I took a moment to tie my shoe. I had to borrow Chris's car to go home and change pants), and overly stained cuffs. The number one criteria for sending clothes to slack-heaven, though, has always been that they had become uncomfortable in some way or other - - usually, they had become entirely too tight to wear in public.

This morning I put on a pair of jeans I bought last summer that were, at the time of purchase, a little tight all around, but nevertheless fairly flattering. I haven't worn them much (due mostly to a debacle involving some tree sap and my behind. . .an enitre afternoon of repeatedly applying Imperial Cleaner and washing them eventually took care of that problem), but it was raining when I got up, and I figured I'd give them a chance this morning, as I didn't mind them getting wet and a little muddy around the cuffs.

I slipped on these freshly washed jeans with a little extra time before I had to leave for class with the intention of doing a few lunges around the house to stretch them out, because, if you aren't aware of this phenomenon, that's what people do when their pants are a bit too tight post-wash.

Then: a miracle. There were definitely no lunges this morning, because MY PANTS ARE TOO BIG. They were made to sit somewhere a few inches below my belly button, and are currently hanging precariously on my hips. They are baggy in the legs, and subsequently a little bit too long. So, for the first time in the history of my wardrobe, a pair of my pants is up for review for being entirely too large for me to wear them.

Oh, yeah.

I'm moving to New York in September. In the event that anyone who doesn't frequently speak with me reads this ol' thing, I got an internship working for Richard Foreman's Ontological-Hysteric Theater, and will be working 40 hours a week for free from September to January. I don't care if I spend all of my time shining shoes. I. Am. Delighted.

I'm currently in the process of finding a place to live. I will find a real, buy-the-groceries job once I've found out my schedule at the OHT. I've got a gig at the Market in Manhattan over the summer slinging fresh fruit (when I'm not directing high schoolers) so as too have a little money tucked away for my move, so I'll probably be really tan and in need of a vacation by the time I move. I'm totally okay with this.

I will keep the inter-web updated as things move forward.

Squeeky Clean Part II

Today is my first day of dietary freedom. Food/beverages consumed that I haven't been able to have in three weeks: a spoonful of tuna salad, a shot of espresso (with soy milk- good girl!), and an extremely delicious Phish Food waffle cone from Ben & Jerry's. More exciting, however, is all of the good-for-me things I ate today in spite of my ability to eat dairy/carbs/sugar, etc.: a mango/pineapple/strawberry/carrot-orange juice/soy milk/flax seed oil/Standard Process powder smoothie for breakfast, a salad with oil and vinegar (here's where the spoonful of tuna salad came in to play) for lunch, and a baggie full of spinach, mushrooms, carrots, and plain tuna for dinner. I can dig it- I feel pretty damn good, and plan to continue feeling this good for a long time.

On that note, I feel a little bit weird, post-icecream. So much dairy! So much sugar! It was, however, worth the wait and the bizarre tingling feeling I'm currently experiencing.

Squeeky Clean

While I was in New Mexico, I experienced a mildly excruciating case of heartburn the evening of the first full day we were there. I asked our hostess if she had anything I could take for it, and as Bette passed me some Gas-X with antacid, my aunt remarked that I wouldn't have heartburn anymore if I did "the Cleanse." This is a dietary endeavor that she recommends to some of her patients, as well as her best friend, both of my grandparents, and she herself has gone thru the process. I asked no questions other than "Will it help my skin, too?" before I told her I would start as soon as we returned home.

I was very near backing out as I contemplated what I might be enduring not drinking coffee or eating bread during this busy month, but the night before I was to begin my cleanse, I got a case of heartburn so bad that no amount of Kroger brand Tums could cure it, and realized some drastic action must be taken. So. The SP Standard Purification Process it was.

I received a big brown sack full of supplements, shake powder, and reading material (propaganda) concerning my Standard Purification Process. The propaganda is really good, though, and made me want to clean out my insides for real.

Basically, I can only eat fresh fruits and vegetable, with a tiny bit of unseasoned lean meat or eggs thrown into the mix. Let's think about all of the things that I like to consume that that rules out: dairy (cheese!), wheat based products, refined sugar, potatoes, chocolate, alcohol, and COFFEE. Who am I without coffee??? I also have plenty of pills (30ish) to take daily, and drink what feels like gallons of filtered water a day. I thought I had to pee a lot before. . .

For all of the thought I have to put into this, and all of the effort to not consume the things I am not supposed to consume, I can say this: I feel a little cleaner on the inside. I haven't had heartburn in since I started, which is a good sign that it won't come back after I'm done (I'm not making that up, that's what my auntie told me). And I am no longer afflicted with a lack-of-caffeine headache. I'm looking forward to the buzz I will feel the first time I drink coffee after my insides are all cleaned out, a buzz I have not known since I was approximately 14 and became addicted to coffee. I can now enjoy it for it's taste and smell, rather than needing an IV-drip to survive.

I have some serious plans to go out for ice cream the night I'm done with this ol' thing. Waffle cone. Chocolate. Yesssss.

Ladies' Holiday

In approximately 15 hours I will be on my way to spectacular Santa Fe, New Mexico. I will be traveling with my mother, her sister, her sister's best friend, and her sister's best friend's daughter. Weather.com tells us that it will be 60 degrees and mostly sunny for most of the time we are there. Which is a big step up from the cold, drizzly Kansas pseudo-spring we are currently experiencing.

I will have finally finished a draft of the script I have been putting together, off and on, for the past 8 months. I will finish the final section (section six out of eight) in the next hour, if everything goes well, and will send it on it's way to my editors tomorrow morning. That will allow me some breathing room for the trip, although I will allow it to plague me to some extent, as I will need to start memorizing and staging as soon as I return to my home turf. I will also need to begin learning my lines for As You Like It, and read for Western Civ II (a novel idea, I know). This, however, is what 15 hour car trips and Dramamine are for.

On my trip proper, I plan to take lots of long walks in uncharted territory, buy some fancy silver jewelry, drink wine and other assundry fancy beverages, nap, talk to my lady friends, read a couple of books for pleasure (Harry Potter VI, here I come!), and generally have the first relaxing vacation I've been able to partake in since August. I might even see some of the local artifacts/culture, like a good little traveler.

In the real world, the proverbial shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. I have too much to do in waaaaaay too little time. In the magical world of Spring Break, though: Life. Is. Beautiful. And all I can say is: Thank GOD.

Today (Just Like Any Other)

1. My back is extremely itchy.

2. I'm doing inventory. Supposedly. Yeah, yeah, I'm more than half done. I'll have it done before it's due. The question is: Why are all of the Basic Video light stands broken?

3. I'm listening to alternapop via the internet, and it makes me want to hit the road, for real. Thankfully I'm only hours away from what will be my last ill-advised trip to the Star of the North before graduation.

If I don't come back. . .you'll know I'm happy.

Re: Birthday

For my birthday (proper) I went to work, to lunch with another birthday girl, to class (Acting with an Accent sang "Happy Birthday." Sadly, not in a Russian accent. That would have been sweet.), to rehearsal, and then to the Bourgeois Pig.

There, the festivities commenced for real. I spent a brief period of time doing the crossword by myself, drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio, but by the end of the night I kept thinking loving thoughts about how many friends/acquaintances I have who could be counted on to come out on a Thursday night and buy me drinks. There were, in fact, more people who wanted to buy me drinks than I could effectively take up on the offer. (I did let the bartender who insists on calling me by name buy me a glass of wine, because who could say no to that.)

So. I stayed out until 3AM and got 1. a little ridiculous, 2. a lot of hugs, and 3. a birthday cake and a flower at 1:45 on a Friday morning.

Quite a few pictures were taken, but to the best of my knowledge, I am in none of them. Typically, that would be a good thing. . .but it was my birthday so I'm not going to bother with pictures that I am not in and did not take myself. Birthdays are excuse enough to be selfish and self-centered, right?

I'm a grown up now. You just think about that.