My little family unit lives in Queens, unlike most of the people that I know; they are in New Jersey and Brooklyn, both of which might as well be Maine for all of the visiting that we do. This is generally fine with me, as I tend to prefer having a lot of acquaintances but very few friends. (Friends were a bit too much work for me even before I had a husband and Kid.) But of course, woman cannot live on the company of her spouse, child and the people who work at the neighborhood stores alone. So, fortunately, I've started cultivating friendships in the local theater scene.
It's always interesting to start out in a new group of people. I've never had a really hard time doing this, though, as has been mentioned in a previous blog, sometimes it takes a while for me to warm up and have my full personality emerge. I'm a space heater, not a fluorescent light, you see.
Anyways, I'm enjoying being a part of the larger Queens drama society, even though my participation is fringe at best. But it seems that the people my age or thereabouts that go out after shows are mostly single or dating, with a few married-no kids around. Of course it works out fine; I know better than to talk about my family life, sticking to common ground, and since the Hubby is generous enough to hold down the fort during these once-every-month-or-so outings, I don't have to worry about getting home at a certain time. (It helps that I go out on Saturdays, when people often have a matinee the next day and can't stay out all night.)
The only times I feel uncomfortable are when these no-strings-to-tie-them-down folks talk about what they're doing, projects-wise. They go from show to show, without a question as to whether or not it's possible. The last time I did a show, I had to rearrange my whole family's lives and schedules, resulting in lots of stress and some financial hardship. It was worth it, yes - even when I'd get to rehearsal five minutes late, sweaty from running all of the way and still fuming over an argument I'd just had, I could then disappear into my old life and my character for a while. Still, I've had to take a few months off, and even when things had calmed down, I've had to wait for a project that was within walking distance with a role for me with dates that I could do. I'm still waiting.
Within the next six months, the Kid should be old enough to hang out at rehearsal with me until her father can pick her up. In a few years, she could read or do homework at a table unsupervised when I'm onstage. The problem is that I'm 33 now, old enough for the good 30s roles and young looking-enough to go for late 20s stuff as well. I have a small window for playing Marian the Librarian, or Miss Balish in She Loves Me - and that window is closing a little more every day. It's no surprise that actresses get pregnant in their late 30s; it's a fallow time of being too old to be an ingenue and not old enough to be the matriarch. Silly me, I got knocked up at 30 instead.
This is one of those issues that come with the "being married" territory. Thing is, if I hung out with more married people, I could gain the missing perspective that would turn this from a nagging jealousy to a manageable notch in the loss column. I was hoping that writing about it here would help me to work it out ... Clearly, I've been watching too many sitcoms these days. My problems can't be solved in 22 minutes, or in 2000-odd words. :)
Showing posts with label me me me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me me me. Show all posts
18 May 2010
12 April 2010
song of myself
I was thinking today about mix tapes ... Specifically, the beast that is the audio cassette mix tape. Now, I've already touched on this lost craft of musical scrapbooking, but there's another element to it that has yet to be reproduced by the "shuffle" button on my iPod.
Audio cassette mix tapes were always the most laborious of this genre. You needed a double-cassette player, one deck set to "record" and one set to "play" - and you COULD NOT CONFUSE THE TWO. (I did once, while dubbing the lone copy of the radio sketch I co-wrote with the Comedy Club at Penn State. That sketch is now lost to the ether - though, mercifully, as the parts that I remember weren't that funny.) There were no notches or tracks to use as guideposts when finding the songs that you wanted to add. Lots of fast-forwarding, rewinding, pausing at the right time ... and this is all AFTER agonizing over the set list and BEFORE the snazzy artwork and track listings for the cassette holder.
Perhaps the most important thing lost in the transition to MP3s is the personal use mix tape. Can anyone imagine spending that much time on oneself anymore? Not to enhance one's appearance (going to the gym, spending time at a salon), or to fulfill basic needs (shopping, eating, showering) - but just to have something to listen to when you're in the gym, or the car, or on your walk to school.
Today I was waiting for my drink order at Starbucks when a 70-ish woman walked through the door. She looked at the cashier, saw that there were six people waiting in line, muttered about the line being too long, and left. This woman, who wasn't dressed for work or going out, and who probably didn't have anywhere that she had to get to immediately, wanted a coffee but didn't want to spend the 10 minutes it would've taken to get it.
This is not about impatience to me - sure, I live in NYC and that is certainly a quality that we residents share, but that is a symptom rather than the problem. The problem is not spending enough time taking care of ourselves. We let our hang-ups and our fears and our issues and all of that negativity just grow, like weeds in a garden, taking up all of the space that the good stuff needs to take root. We have to go to other people to figure out what's wrong with us, when if we spent a little more time just checking in, we could figure it out ourselves.
Has anyone ever explained what's wrong with you, and you've said, "Oh my gosh, you're totally right!" and been amazed to hear it laid out? Your reaction is telling you that YOU KNEW WHAT WAS WRONG. Those "revelations" are never that because somewhere you knew this stuff all along.
So, back to the mix tapes ... When I was a senior in high school, I made myself a mix tape full of sadness and pain - Nine Inch Nails, Nirvana, Pearl Jam. The thinking was that it would help me to deal with being upset. As I crafted it, I speculated that, if I were to put these songs in a particular order, I would [de]crescendo to such despair that I might take my own life. So I made sure to tweak things so that I would go up and down, rather than straight down. And the saving grace was the addition of "It Can't Rain All the Time" by Jane Siberry, off my much-beloved soundtrack to "The Crow." Once I worked myself into a pretty mess of self-loathing ("Hurt" felt like Trent Reznor had ghost-written it for me), I would get to the soothing words ... "It can't rain all the time, your tears won't last forever," and then the crying and the better-ness would start. (And still do - damn my salty, blurry vision!)
Self-preservation, you might say - but that implies instinct rather than feeling. I felt sorry for myself, I LOVED myself - even if I didn't outrightly know it. As much as I was worn out from depression, and terribly tired of living in my mind, I also felt almost a nurturing, protecting thing towards me. I made myself laugh with the things that I said, and I made myself laugh even more with the things I never said out loud. I had redeeming qualities that made putting up with all of my crap worth it. And I didn't realize it then, but I realize now, that that is why other people would be able to put up with me, and to love me. Other people can deal with a lot of crap, much more than you think they can, as long as there's ice cream coming. And yes, I can deliver some ice cream.
A friend of mine in high school once pointed out to me that I started a lot of sentences with "I," and that it sounded conceited. To this day, I write and rewrite every single text message/email/FB status/blog entry so that there aren't so many "I"s to be found, so that nobody would mistake me for being conceited. Most of the time, it's because I find it ludicrous that anyone would ever think that I'd think so highly of myself. (Some of the time, it's because I don't want to let on that I do!) But as much as I may refer to things through the first person - and I'm letting it go right now a bit out of respect for the rawness and truth of this post - it's not because I'm overly concerned with myself.
Maybe I should be.
Audio cassette mix tapes were always the most laborious of this genre. You needed a double-cassette player, one deck set to "record" and one set to "play" - and you COULD NOT CONFUSE THE TWO. (I did once, while dubbing the lone copy of the radio sketch I co-wrote with the Comedy Club at Penn State. That sketch is now lost to the ether - though, mercifully, as the parts that I remember weren't that funny.) There were no notches or tracks to use as guideposts when finding the songs that you wanted to add. Lots of fast-forwarding, rewinding, pausing at the right time ... and this is all AFTER agonizing over the set list and BEFORE the snazzy artwork and track listings for the cassette holder.
Perhaps the most important thing lost in the transition to MP3s is the personal use mix tape. Can anyone imagine spending that much time on oneself anymore? Not to enhance one's appearance (going to the gym, spending time at a salon), or to fulfill basic needs (shopping, eating, showering) - but just to have something to listen to when you're in the gym, or the car, or on your walk to school.
Today I was waiting for my drink order at Starbucks when a 70-ish woman walked through the door. She looked at the cashier, saw that there were six people waiting in line, muttered about the line being too long, and left. This woman, who wasn't dressed for work or going out, and who probably didn't have anywhere that she had to get to immediately, wanted a coffee but didn't want to spend the 10 minutes it would've taken to get it.
This is not about impatience to me - sure, I live in NYC and that is certainly a quality that we residents share, but that is a symptom rather than the problem. The problem is not spending enough time taking care of ourselves. We let our hang-ups and our fears and our issues and all of that negativity just grow, like weeds in a garden, taking up all of the space that the good stuff needs to take root. We have to go to other people to figure out what's wrong with us, when if we spent a little more time just checking in, we could figure it out ourselves.
Has anyone ever explained what's wrong with you, and you've said, "Oh my gosh, you're totally right!" and been amazed to hear it laid out? Your reaction is telling you that YOU KNEW WHAT WAS WRONG. Those "revelations" are never that because somewhere you knew this stuff all along.
So, back to the mix tapes ... When I was a senior in high school, I made myself a mix tape full of sadness and pain - Nine Inch Nails, Nirvana, Pearl Jam. The thinking was that it would help me to deal with being upset. As I crafted it, I speculated that, if I were to put these songs in a particular order, I would [de]crescendo to such despair that I might take my own life. So I made sure to tweak things so that I would go up and down, rather than straight down. And the saving grace was the addition of "It Can't Rain All the Time" by Jane Siberry, off my much-beloved soundtrack to "The Crow." Once I worked myself into a pretty mess of self-loathing ("Hurt" felt like Trent Reznor had ghost-written it for me), I would get to the soothing words ... "It can't rain all the time, your tears won't last forever," and then the crying and the better-ness would start. (And still do - damn my salty, blurry vision!)
Self-preservation, you might say - but that implies instinct rather than feeling. I felt sorry for myself, I LOVED myself - even if I didn't outrightly know it. As much as I was worn out from depression, and terribly tired of living in my mind, I also felt almost a nurturing, protecting thing towards me. I made myself laugh with the things that I said, and I made myself laugh even more with the things I never said out loud. I had redeeming qualities that made putting up with all of my crap worth it. And I didn't realize it then, but I realize now, that that is why other people would be able to put up with me, and to love me. Other people can deal with a lot of crap, much more than you think they can, as long as there's ice cream coming. And yes, I can deliver some ice cream.
A friend of mine in high school once pointed out to me that I started a lot of sentences with "I," and that it sounded conceited. To this day, I write and rewrite every single text message/email/FB status/blog entry so that there aren't so many "I"s to be found, so that nobody would mistake me for being conceited. Most of the time, it's because I find it ludicrous that anyone would ever think that I'd think so highly of myself. (Some of the time, it's because I don't want to let on that I do!) But as much as I may refer to things through the first person - and I'm letting it go right now a bit out of respect for the rawness and truth of this post - it's not because I'm overly concerned with myself.
Maybe I should be.
06 October 2009
post-part ... um, depression ...
Well, it's day two of life after the closing of the play I've been working on, and I'm settling into the old routine. "Settling" is a particularly appropriate word in this case.
It was really, really good for me to be in TRUST. The rehearsal process, the camaraderie, the theater war stories ... it brought me back to life.
Sometimes I feel like I'm playing the role of the stay-at-home mother because it sure doesn't seem like me, like who I was. Un-thought-out clothing, focusing my attention on someone else, mindless chatting with other women - who is this person that I've become?
Talking about things besides the Kid was nice. Talking about acting and films and plays was nice. You can't have those conversations with other moms. Most of the time, the only things you have in common are a zip code and menstrual cycles. Add to that the fact that I'm really more a "one of the guys" kind of girl, and it's even more ludicrous that, as the years go by, I'm going to be spending increased time with other women, talking about PTA politics, date nights and what stores just opened or closed on Austin Street.
Many have compared performing to a drug ... the highest highs, the lowest lows, and that need to do it again once the effect's worn off. But if it's like a drug, to me it's like insulin, or anti-seizure medication - it doesn't remove me from me, it brings me back to myself. Of course that sounds very dramatic - particularly in a blog, and while discussing drama to boot - but it doesn't feel like an overstatement of my case, in my case.
Well, it's going to have to be a drug I'll live without for a while. There aren't any shows for me on the horizon, only life, a husband, a baby, fall TV, and the internet. My next public appearances will be at the Adornaments booth at the Shops at Bryant Park fair this winter, where I'll be personalizing XMAS ornaments and piggy banks on Sunday mornings so I can get out of the house and make some money. It's not the role of a lifetime, but it'll have to do for now.
It was really, really good for me to be in TRUST. The rehearsal process, the camaraderie, the theater war stories ... it brought me back to life.
Sometimes I feel like I'm playing the role of the stay-at-home mother because it sure doesn't seem like me, like who I was. Un-thought-out clothing, focusing my attention on someone else, mindless chatting with other women - who is this person that I've become?
Talking about things besides the Kid was nice. Talking about acting and films and plays was nice. You can't have those conversations with other moms. Most of the time, the only things you have in common are a zip code and menstrual cycles. Add to that the fact that I'm really more a "one of the guys" kind of girl, and it's even more ludicrous that, as the years go by, I'm going to be spending increased time with other women, talking about PTA politics, date nights and what stores just opened or closed on Austin Street.
Many have compared performing to a drug ... the highest highs, the lowest lows, and that need to do it again once the effect's worn off. But if it's like a drug, to me it's like insulin, or anti-seizure medication - it doesn't remove me from me, it brings me back to myself. Of course that sounds very dramatic - particularly in a blog, and while discussing drama to boot - but it doesn't feel like an overstatement of my case, in my case.
Well, it's going to have to be a drug I'll live without for a while. There aren't any shows for me on the horizon, only life, a husband, a baby, fall TV, and the internet. My next public appearances will be at the Adornaments booth at the Shops at Bryant Park fair this winter, where I'll be personalizing XMAS ornaments and piggy banks on Sunday mornings so I can get out of the house and make some money. It's not the role of a lifetime, but it'll have to do for now.
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