one who confronts

As everyone has undoubtedly heard Saddam Hussein was hung. This event happens and I can scarcely wrap my brain around it. In an odd way Saddam was this mythical figure I grew up with.

When I was young and still trying to grapple with the interfaith roots that my parents had given me; I did a lot of searching through books on religion. When I first read about the end times it haunted me for months. I used to have dreams about the end times happening and me being left here on earth all alone, because I was the only one who would not be able to accept Jesus as my savior. I used to hear thunder and thought it was the horsemen of the apocalypse coming. I eventually got over my fear.

When I was in high school the gulf war occurred. I remember helping to coordinate a walk out and making signs calling for peace, we even made the nightly news. When I was returning to class after our peace demonstration, there was a vigil of 4 or 5 students who were praying. I thought that they too were part of our call for peace when I saw a small sign at their feet that said 'The end is near'. It quickly brought back the old fears. I remembered that there was to be an evil ruler in the east who would rise up. Then there were all the hurricanes, earthquakes, and floods that were happening. The late 80's and early 90's were an exceptionally active time for natural disasters. It felt like things were falling apart. All of a sudden the old nightmares came back to me. Saddam was part of my nightmare. A modern day bogeyman. He was the embodiment of these fears.

Luckily, even at that sensitive age I was still able to push away the nightmare. Scare tactics are scare tactics, and the can come from anywhere - the government, terrorists, and organized religion are just a few. The worst is when all three work together to conjure the bad dreams.

My rational side tells me there is no big scary cataclysm around the corner, but even so, I am always on edge during a seismic shift like this. The end times predict an evil ruler will rise in the east, but who's east? If you are standing in China your east is a lot different than mine. We have had tsunami's that have swallowed the land, hurricanes that drowned a city, and towers attacked and demolished. Amidst it all, a bogeyman was caught and is now gone. When I was younger this would have made more sense because back then Saddam was the face of my fears. I am, however, no longer a child. The convenient face of evil has been destroyed. Will it now be easier or harder to deal with the monstrosity that is the Iraq war? Without Saddam, our understanding of what we are fighting against gets murkier than it already was before his death.

Here is hoping that the new year is one of peace.

star match

Late at night last week, I was wrapping presents and was supposed to watch Hotel Rwanda - finally. I was just not in a 'tear your heart out with tales of injustice, war and the horror of mans inhumanities to man' kind of mood. So I turned instead to the Sundance channel and happened upon an old Clint Eastwood film The Beguiled. The film was not great, but I watched it for its final 20 minutes because he looked, at least in this film, a lot like a local DC theatre individual, and I was amazed I had never put that together.













You decide.

he can't handle the truth

I have tried in vain to tell Smaller the truth. Small and I have debated the facts with him and he refuses to see the writing on the wall. There is no Santa. He says Santa is real. Smallest has sided with Smaller. They have formed a Santa fan club. They play Santa/Christmas morning/North Pole every chance they can get. Small spends time gathering empirical evidence to proove that Santa is a myth.

This is the repeating conversation:
(Smallest nods in agreement every time Smaller speaks.)

Small: Santa is not real.

Smaller: Santa is real.

Small: Why would Mommy lie to you?

Smaller: Santa is real.

Small: How come you have to ask Mommy and Daddy for presents then?

Smaller: Santa is real.

Small: How come the reindeer's names never change. They must die, so where do the new ones come from since there are no reindeer in the North Pole.

Smaller: Santa is real.

Small: I looked him up on the computer and St. Nicholas was a man. A man who died. He is not alive anymore, so how can he bring you toys? How would he get down the chimney, how does he know what you want?

Smaller: Santa is real.

Small: Fine. I am going to write a letter to Santa for you asking for something that Mommy and Daddy do not know about and we will see if Santa brings it. On Christmas eve I am going to set up a trap and a motion detector and a video camera to catch him. In the morning I am going to search for finger prints, dirt from his boots, and hair samples.

Smaller: You won't catch him.

Small: I know I wont, because he is not real.

Smaller: Santa is real.

sunday night

To reinforce my need to hibernate this winter HBO is kindly putting forth new episodes of

Extras, which you can watch a couple episodes of here...I love Ricky Gervais.

and

Rome...Romans with British accents.

double oh

I have decided I want to be in the next Bond film. I think it would be a hoot.

No I do not want to be a Bond girl.

I want to be frickin Moneypenny. If they have a Moneypenny in the next one.

I would be a kick ass Moneypenny.

bear

I just canned my evening plans for no other reason than it is cold outside, and very cozy inside. I hate the cold. I was born in California, and grew up in Hawaii, I like warmth.

I will go and see my friend in Martha, Josie and the Chinese Elvis tomorrow instead, and I hang out with City Mouse all the time so hopefully she can forgive my last minute bailing.

My urge to hibernate all winter is settling in. I have a fire going, am baking cookies, and have new movies from Netflix. Cozy.

new crush

Genetics

by Sinead Morrissey

My father’s in my fingers, but my mother’s in my palms.
I lift them up and look at them with pleasure –
I know my parents made me by my hands.

They may have been repelled to separate lands,
to separate hemispheres, may sleep with other lovers,
but in me they touch where fingers link to palms.

With nothing left of their togetherness but friends
who quarry for their image by a river,
at least I know their marriage by my hands.

I shape a chapel where a steeple stands.
And when I turn it over,
my father’s by my fingers, my mother’s by my palms

demure before a priest reciting psalms.
My body is their marriage register.
I re-enact their wedding with my hands.

So take me with you, take up the skin’s demands
for mirroring in bodies of the future.
I’ll bequeath my fingers, if you bequeath your palms.
We know our parents make us by our hands.

barely reason

I know I should be talking about Bolten or about Gates giving schools money, but this has been sitting in my draft pile since last week, so here it goes.

Let me state ahead of this that I read Freeman's blog regularly and find him interesting and he seems to be a good guy. I also have a friend who has written one of the shows for Standards of Decency. So it is not his person or his play that I am taking issue with, rather the line that is there between art and body. This casting notice for the play he wrote for Standards of Decency really bothered me.

The role requires someone who is willing to be fully nude in an objectifying situation. I've had several actresses look at it and say that they wouldn't be comfortable. I think that's important to stress.

I do need someone immediately, it's a great opportunity to meet nine fantastic playwrights, actors and directors.

I guess I am wondering where the line is.

Is there a line?

Is there a point when it is not acting, but rather just being a body? Is there a place that it is no longer about finding a good actor, but rather finding someone willing to be naked and 'objectified'?

When you say to an actor, 'you can work with these great directors and writers if you strip nude and objectify yourself' aren't there warning flags and bells that go off?

I know I am a hypocrite on this. I have expressed my appreciation for the likes of Sarah Kane, among others, who do more than just nudity on stage. I am also passionate in my belief in freedom of expression. I have not read any of the shows being performed and take no issue with them, or the project. It is more likely that the shows will spark great conversations about America's perverse idea of what we consider decent and what we don't.

Will nudity somehow make a piece more edgy? Therein lies my biggest frustration because it has been rare, in a piece of theatre, that the nudity enhanced the show instead of disrupted it for me. There have even been times where the nudity was just tiresome in the way it was used. It is as if the show is saying 'Oh look, here is the part of the show that has naked parts, now everyone in the audience will know how singular we are.'

I had a friend (a director) tell me to get over my issue with being naked on stage. Why? Why should I get over it? My only issue with being naked on stage is that I have yet to be offered a part where I thought the nudity would make it better. It usually strikes me as a cop out. Like the cliché choice of writer or director. As cliché as the actor who resorts to over long pauses or yelling to make their point.

I recently took a role where they wanted nudity and I said no. I was surprised that they compromised and gave it to me anyway. Later, when in performance, I realized how ludicrous it would have been to do that 20 minute scene topless. It would have completely hijacked the purpose, the intent of the scene. How could the playwright not see that? I am so glad the director did.

I wish the folks involved with Standards of Decency all the best, but I also urge actors to hold strong. I do believe there is a line between actor and body. We need to be cognizant of it in order to make the right decisions for ourselves.