Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category



Actors Get In Line

I woke up on Thursday morning to find this email in my inbox. It was sent at midnight on Wednesday:

“Hi Cranky,
I’m an undergraduate student shooting a short for my Columbia filmclass with Julie Wolfer. She recommended you to me personally. My project is about a reclusive former film star and her relationship with her guilt-ridden son. I’d love for you to be in it. Would you be interested and available this Friday? It’s such late notice but if so, I’d be happy to send you the script right away.
Thanks for considering this on short notice. Hope to be in touch soon.
Michelle

It is Thursday morning at nine am when I am reading this. My first instinct is to say no. I mean I am Cranky, and it is nine am.

I’m wondering why anyone would wait this late to cast something they are shooting TOMORROW. Maybe the actress dropped out? That happens. So I decide to be a good egg and all and answer immediately:
At 9:00 am on Thursday morning I write:

Hi Michelle,
Do you mean tomorrow? How long is the script?
I think I can do it. Send me the script, OK?
Cranky

So I wait for a reply. Nothing at 10. Nothing at 11. Nothing at 12. Nothing at 1.
I kinda need to know what I am doing tomorrow. And the window of opportunity for actually studying the script is closing, as I will be busy from three o’clock on today. So now I start obsessing about something I didn’t want to do in the first place.
I go to the computer at 1:45pm and write:

Hi Again,
Could you call me when you get this so I know if we are on for tomorrow?
Thanks so much,
Cranky

At 2pm I get a called from a wimpy girl saying, “Ah um, oh hi, ah, actually I found someone. But now I need to find a guy to play the son. So I might not be able to film tomorrow. If I don’t find someone to play the son today to shoot tomorrow are you available the day after tomorrow if I have to do that?”

There are so many todays and tomorrows I am thoroughly confused.

She emailed me at midnight saying how she would LOVE for me to do it. I answered her at 9am. So what does this mean? Are there actresses poised at their computers between midnight and 9am ready to reply to casting inquiries? The answer would be YES. How many actresses got the “I’d LOVE for you to be in it” email? Why would you love us? Because we are breathing?
The “role goes to the fastest” situations are too weird. The worst example of this was when I went to an EPA for a theater out in the Hamptons. The bus from the train station was full of actors going to the same place. When we disembarked from the bus, everyone realized that we were all going to sign in and audition in that order. So they started to run. It was an ACTOR STAMPEDE down the main street of Sag Harbor. I’m not kidding. What did that look like to the residents of the town? People dressed up in city clothes, guys in jackets and women in heels and character shoes full out stampeding down Main Street. It was sooooo embarrassing. My friend and I refused to run. She has since dropped out of acting. We had to wait like two and a half hours to go in because we didn’t join in the panic jog.

Actors feel like they are always waiting on lines and sometimes get so used to being ill treated that if you like offer them a glass of water and a place to sit at an audition it is very appreciated.

I used to get my headshots done at a place on 14th Street, which has since gone out of business. It was uncomfortable and not nice. And there was always a huge line that was right there as soon as you got off the elevator.
The guy who worked the counter had a drinking problem and somehow kept his job. Maybe they figured he was good enough to wait on actors. I don’t know. Anyway, he was an evil drunken southern queen.

One day I am waiting on a line to pick up headshots and the evil queen sees me. He yells out the most offensive thing he could possibly say to me and laughs. I just turned on my heels and left. I was done. He came out from behind the counter and chased me into the hallway and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Come back. I didn’t mean that.”

So I went back in with him. I did need to pickup the headshots. What else was I gonna do? I turned to him and said, “LOOK, I GET MY BALLS BUSTED ALL OVER TOWN. I DON’T WANT MY BALLS BUSTED WHEN I’M PAYING FOR PICTURES!”

Another actor on line immediately turned to me and said, “Wow! You actually have any balls left?”

To Show Or Not To Show That Is The Question

Cranky had to ask herself a hard question yesterday. I got a call for an audition and had to ask myself,” Do I really want to be in another show”?

Film – you’re in and you’re out. Theater is a bigger time commitment. And I’ve shied away from theater because I was traumatized by the last psycho director I worked with at LaMaMa.

So this group asking me to audition sends me the script. I don’t like it. The character I was auditioning for has another character put his hand on her breast – TWICE. Yuck. And the ending was completely stupid. This is where the English Major and the actress in my mind go to battle. Because you can be a SNOB or you can WORK. But you can’t be BOTH. Unless you are famous. And we all know I’m not famous, so I’m f____d.

So I force myself to work on it. They were very professional. Love that. They sent me the whole play to read and the exact sides I would be reading. And an appointment time. THANK YOU.

And by working on it, I realized the dialogue was actually really good. Maybe the play wasn’t so bad, and my phobia was tricking me into not liking it because I’m gun shy about doing theater. My neuroses was making me hyper-critical.
So when I got off the subway and I was walking through Hell’s Kitchen to the theater, I made a deal with myself. “See that restaurant over there? Well if you do a good job and get the part you can go there after the show,” I told myself. Good, bad or mediocre, every show has the upside of going out after with friends after. Cranky loves that.
Also, I told myself, “Just think of the bumper crop of new stories sure to pop up during the many days and days and hours and hours of a theater rehearsal process.”

So I was in a positive head when I went into the waiting area. I sat down to work some more on the script. I had given myself an extra fifteen minutes so I could sit quietly and get into character.

And as per usual another actress who was also auditioning came in and started talking REALLY LOUD to some guy involved with the theater. “Oh wow! Hi! Great to see you!! I know this is gonna be a great project, but I’m not sure if I will have time because I’m really involved with SOHO REP. They are such nice people there. But, I mean, I want to stay OUT THERE. I really need to be out there acting. It would be cool to be involved here too, you know?” she said/yelled.

I refused to be an audience for these antics. I got up and went and sat on the other side of the room. Especially since the actress was standing so that she had her ass in my face. Was she sending me a message? When the guy left, she turned around and gave me the phony “I hate you” smile. “I hate you too,” my blank stare back said.

A child actor went in to read before me. His Dad tiptoed over and put his ear on the door so he could listen. If Dad keeps this up his kid has NO CHANCE. Oh, and the mother called on the cell phone to wish the kid GOOD LUCK before he went in. Nooooooo. Gag me. Leave the kid alone.

Cranky opened her mouth and told the Dad, “You gotta let him go. Let him go…..” Dad chuckled and said, “ I get so nervous for him.” Yes, and pass your nervousness on to him and he will surely succeed.

I went in and read my two scenes and did a good job and everything. I overcame my theaterphobia inflicted by the insane Italian director. I allowed myself to be inspired. I utilized Cranky therapy. The promise of fun nights in restaurants AFTER the show did the trick.

The Stupidest Casting Email Ever

Got an email the other day that was pretty out there.

Here it is:
“Hello Thank you for the prompt response, all information is currently being processed.”

Hello? You have only said a few words and I already hate you. “My information is being processed?” Why do you sound like the auto-response I get from JCrew when I place an order? More familiar with online shopping than with casting perhaps?

“The last few successful applicants will be responded to in the next couple of days, with an invite to the auditions.”

Ok, now it sounds like some sweepstakes or something. “The last few successful applicants?” All this needs is a “SO ACT NOW” at the end of it. So very Publisher’s Clearing House.

“If you would like to contact me personally, or maybe have a discussion about anything regarding the film, auditions etc, I am always about on Ind-E-Focus.”

Ah, no, I really DON’T want to contact you personally. Why would I want to contact you PERSONALLY? I know NOTHING about this film. What project are you talking about? Does it have a name?

“As I mentioned in my original casting call, I am using Ind-E-Focus to keep an online account of all cast and crew applicants, it is a lot easier for me to keep all of your details here and respond to you instantly.”

Ah, easy for you. What about me? IS IT EASY FOR ME? And what is so instant about it? I think email is pretty instant. And whatever you “mentioned” I don’t remember. I don’t remember reading anybody’s casting call. No one does. We hit “reply” and send our info into cyberspace and forget about it. If we did remember all of them we would have to be rainman like. And why would I be interested in how you are keeping track of all the “applicants”?

“I will look out for you on Ind-E-Focus, any doubts of my whereabouts, check my profile page under my username: LaylaQ”

No, I have no doubts about your WHEREABOUTS, only your IQ LaylaQ. Am I am sitting around wondering where Layla is? Is she at the supermarket? Is she online shopping at JCrew? I wonder where she is?

“There you may personal message me and send across your details. I have created a post in the message boards titled System Defect, but it has now been locked, however, so keep checking this post.”

Great idea. I have nothing else to do. I will definitely keep checking it until it is unlocked. Right. No problem. I am already loving how “instant” this all is. Great idea sending everyone to a message board that is locked. That is so original. I’m sure your project is going to be SUPER ORGANIZED when in production.

“I will be informing everyone when the audition process is finalized and the applicants have all been chosen.
Best of Luck
LaylaQ”

Best of Luck? No, no, best of luck to you in producing a film.

And really, luck? What is this the lottery? Are all our names on little balls and are they are spinning in some cage somewhere and the winners are gonna pop out or something?

Once again, actors want to be contacted with an audition time and place. The end. Whatever happens in between is your business.

Port Of No Authority

Every time my husband and I go somewhere in the car we have a ritual. As we pull out of the garage and plug in the itunes I turn to him and say, “I love driving!” and he says, “Yeah? What part of driving do you like?” Because Cranky Queen of the Subways does not drive. Cranky is strictly a passenger.

And yesterday I realized I have to do something about this. Yesterday, when I had to take the loser bus to visit an ailing relative in a hospital in an area where no trains go. A loser bus from Port Authority. The loser station.

I have some traumatic memories of buses and yesterday brought them all back to me.

Cranky, like every other actor, is the product of a broken home. “Mommy” lived in Westchester and “Daddy” lived in Boston. And one year someone had the brilliant idea to put me on a loser bus instead of having “Daddy” drive back and forth from Boston. I was maybe eleven. Who are these people? What kind of parents were they? Did they even care if I lived or died? Stick an eleven-year old on a bus to another state? This is why I always say you should love your parents, but don’t take them too seriously.

I remember it clearly. I was creeped out. On top of everything, it was night. It was winter. I was going to see “Daddy” for Christmas vacation. The first near disaster came when the bus driver pulled into a diner parking lot and told everyone they had a fifteen-minute break.

I went in and sat at the counter.  I felt weird because I had never been in a restaurant alone before.  I ordered tea. I never drank tea. But for some reason, I felt that ordering a cup of tea went along with this whole new grown up life my parents had obviously pushed me into. So the tea comes and it is hot. Very very hot. So I sit there blowing on the tea hoping it will cool off enough for me to take a sip. Blowing and blowing and blowing. And then this waitress walks over to me and says. “Honey, aren’t you on that bus to Boston?” I say, “Ah, yea.” “Well you better get out there, ‘cause it’s leaving.” I swiveled off my stool and ran as fast as I could and caught the bus as it was leaving the parking lot. I had to bang on the doors to get the driver to let me on.

I mean really Mommy and Daddy, what would have happened if I didn’t catch it? Being the highly impractical kid I was, I might have attempted to walk all the way home on the Boston Post Road and then never been seen again. Hello? I was eleven.

So back on the loser bus after we left the diner, some man gets up and comes and sits next to me. I didn’t want anyone sitting next to me. It would cut into my daydreaming staring out the window time. But I couldn’t say anything. He was a grown up. He had been drinking, and even though I was young, I could tell he was trying to impress me by being witty and charming. He stunk like sickening cigarette smoke and booze. He was acting all like above it all and intellectual. And I thought to myself. “Yeah, right. You have to be a poor schmuck at the bottom of the barrel otherwise you wouldn’t be on this loser bus.” Luckily he fell asleep from the booze and left me alone the rest of the trip.

No wonder I ended up dating eighteen year olds when I was twelve. It was my parent’s fault. They wanted an adult. They got one. I could get into bars at thirteen. It must have been my worldly experience with the loser bus that made me pass. Or my parent’s insouciance for my safety.

That was the only time I took the bus to Boston. As was my M.O., I told my parents the hilarious story of almost missing the bus and the drunk man. “Isn’t that funny?” I laughed. “What a riot! Ha ha!” Thus proving the fact that comedy is born of pain.

Then there was the time I was going to visit a friend in lovely Farmingdale, CT. But to get to lovely Farmingdale I had to pass through the horror that was Port Authority at the time. It was early in the morning and when one of the pimp population said something weird to me I said, “What did you say?” And I started crying. It was too early. I hadn’t put on my hard New York exterior yet.

So yesterday’s bus ride brought all this back to me.

During the ride, I kept thinking my cell phone was ringing and grabbing it out of my purse and looking at it for like the first hour of the loser bus trip. “What’s that noise?” I thought to myself. It kept happening. Then I realized that the snore of the man sitting behind me sounded exactly like my new cell phone ring, which is jungle birds. See, this is what you get on the loser bus. People who snore like jungle birds in the middle of the day.

On the ride back there was someone yelling into their cell phone in Spanish. And a crying baby. And a yelling mother, “STOP! STOP! STOP! DON’T TOUCH!” And the man across the aisle had on frayed khaki pants and a red hoodie with the hood pulled up over his preternaturally tanned skin. He looked seriously insane. If my husband would have driven me to visit my ailing relative, I could have avoided the loser bus. But that wasn’t going to happen.

How Long Is This Audition?

Got another classic email invitation for an audition yesterday
He wrote:

Hi there,
Here are the details for your audition from 3.30-5pm tomorrow. Please excuse the round robin.
I’ve mentioned that I want people to prepare a short [around a minute] ideally comic piece, I don’t mind what it is – but is should be a piece you enjoy doing! And not too long!
If you could also bring a copy of your headshot and resume that would be great [and a yoga mat if you have one to hand, the floor is stone so we may use them to save our knees].
I am so excited by the quality of the submissions and the sessions should be really fun, banish any nervousness and just come play!
Any questions please shoot me an email otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow.
Chad

I have no idea what he means by “round robin”. The only “round robin” I know about is the one on Tuesday nights at my gym when I go to play squash with a bunch of other people and we switch around. Round Robin? And my appointment is from 3:30pm UNTIL 5pm? Huh? And I am expected to spend an hour and a half at an initial audition? Wrong. At union calls, if you are kept over a certain amount of time they have to PAY YOU. He refers to a piece I enjoy doing? Oh, oh, oh, OK. Great idea. Oh wow. I was gonna do one that I HATE. This will really be something different. Thanks for that brilliant idea. But even if I am “enjoying” it, he makes sure its NOT TOO LONG, saving himself from the extra 60 seconds of boredom in case it totally sucks. Also, he too many exclamation points always seem like the product of a warped mind to me. I find them scary.
Bring a yoga mat for our knees? To save us from the stone floor? What are we going to be doing? Begging for the role? And I love that this bomb is in parentheses. You’ll be kneeling on the floor- but don’t think about that! What is he talking about? Don’t you think a little explanation is in order? What if I went wearing the plaid straight skirt that I have to hold my breath in and we’re expected to jump around or something? Or sit down? “Banish any nervousness?” I wasn’t nervous until I read this email.

Once again this proves the fact that any idiot can “put on a show.” And the sucky reality that people think actors will do anything for a chance at a role. Believe me, I know working is important. But I also think it’s important to have LIMITS. If I went I would not be happy with myself. I would feel like a moron. And I don’t think I would click artistically with this type of person. You know, a stupid one.

The email showed the names of all the actors he was inviting to this round robin of on your knees on the stone floor waste half a day audition. So I hit reply all and sent the below email to him and all the actors on the list:

Hi Chad,
Thanks for inviting me and all.
Sorry to say I won’t be there.
The Midtown Festival is great. I had a play in it ,and it was all very well run.
I’m not morally comfortable with asking actors to invest an hour and a half for an initial audition. So even though it sounds like an awesome project – I must do what I think is right.
Cranky

Once again, I feel like the Norma Rae of the acting world. I can just see the rally – CRANKY ACTRESSES UNITE –everyone in their high-heel boots and tons of Mac mascara and everything.

Facebook or Wastebook; An Addendum to the Addendum

Here are a few articles that Cranky thinks some one seriously needs to write about Facebook:

Scientific Study on the Relationship to OCD and Facebook
“My wife used to be very particular. Nothing out of order in our house. She was kind of a clean nut”, says Ed Edmondson of Chicago, IL. “Now that she is on Facebook she can’t stop checking it, he says. “I found out she once posted 10 times in one day. And now that an old boyfriend showed up on Facebook, I’ve found her getting out of bed and logging on in the middle of the night to see if there are any messages from him. She won’t stop….

Enterprising Group Starting the No. 1 Facebook Detective Agency
The growing popularity of Facebook has been behind the formation of the No. 1 Facebook Detective Agency. The founders of the agency found that there we a lot of people who wanted to know a few things before they pressed confirm or ignore when accepting new friends on the site. “A guy I knew in high school showed up,” says Betty Anderson of Westchester, NY, “But all his posts were between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. What does that mean? And his profile says he is in a relationship, but it also says he is interested in women and looking for dating. How does that work? So I hired the No. 1 Facebook Detective Agency and sure enough, he is a crazy man living in a shack in the woods.”……..

The Facebook Quiz – No Bad Answers?
“Everyone across the board gets an ego lift from taking one of our
Facebook quizzes”, says quiz creator Mike Geekman. The results are all good. We didn’t even include the Mesozoic in the “WHICH ERA DO YOU BELONG IN” quiz, though I’m sure we have members that truly belong there.

12 Steppers Step Right Up On Facebook
“It’s a new thing. People are sending global bulletins on Facebook to everyone they’ve ever known past and present telling them to call them for an apology.” Says Facebook administrator Glenn Particularis. The validity of doing the 12 steps on Facebook has also been called into question by veteran members of AA. “We feel doing it on Facebook doesn’t count,” says long time member John Daniels. “ How serious can you be posting an amends right there with videos of kittens playing in paper bags?”

New Survey Finds People FaceBooking from Asylums Have More Friends Than Ever
The isolation of the insane is now ending thanks to Facebook. Henry Nutter, a long time resident of Kirby Forensic Psychiatric Center says, “I can’t believe how many friends I have now thanks to Facebook. And my profile is all true. I just left a couple of things out. I’ve found all the people I went to high school with and I was really surprised, some of them are really messed up.”….

In Suburban Recovery

Cranky grew up in the suburbs. It was a place full of scary women running around in golf outfits doing their marketing. (Which at the time, meant grocery shopping.)

There were giant bottles of gin at every social gathering. A division between men and women. The men took the Stamford local into “the city” every day. The women shopped and hid the clothes in the back of the closet. Irony was king. Women did whatever it took to be constantly persistently perky. Every medicine cabinet had a plethora of diet pills. We nick named one friend’s mother Abba Dabba because she was so hyper that every sentence out of her mouth was preceded by, “Abba dabba abba dabba abba dabba Midge….” There was a women’s club. I was fortunate enough to go one night to hear a talk on marriage. Here is a transcription of the notes I secretly took during the meeting:

“Hello. I’d like to introduce myself, I’m Lucienne Brown, and I’ve been a member here at the Manor Club for eighteen years. I’m here today to give advice to our junior members. My talk is called “Tips for Newlywed Gals.” Oh, and I’d like to thank Becky Porterfield) for her invitation, it was she who said to me, “If you know so much about marriage, why don’t you give a seminar on it. Becky, thank you, thank you. What a great idea!

Well dears, lets face it, the first year is the absolute worst – when you’re faced for the first time with the horrible reality of it all with absolutely no tools to deal with it.

I’ve always thought, that instead of marriage vows, they should read Miranda Rights, so that a married woman would at least have the same rights as an arrested criminal. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT. If he brings up the budget at one a.m. and you don’t want to talk about it, you’re not avoiding the topic; you’re just too damned tired.

And remember, ANYTHING YOU SAY MIGHT BE HELD AGAINST YOU. The statement, “I ran into Michele in Saks the other day”, can turn into a conversation, not about Michele, but about what the hell you were doing in Saks in the first place when we just decided to turn over a new leaf and stop spending money.

So, sift through topics through your mind for their explosive possibilities before speaking.
Ok, first, TRAINING. A good husband must be cultivated, like a vegetable, they are not found like precious truffles. You have to grow you own husband.

All men feel they are the center of the universe and entitled to anything, so we have to learn when and how to draw the line. A recent cover of “Time Magazine” asked the question, “How Apes Became Human?” That’s easy – someone married them, and spent ten years training them not to dribble food down their chest, and to pick up after themselves.

Next, RESEARCH. A few good books are a big help in running a household. My favorite is “The Household Encyclopedia”. I think it is very telling that directly following hydrangeas is hysteria. There are times when your home will turn into just that: hydrangeas on the outside, hysteria on the inside. Just remember, you’re not alone. Many a viciously fighting couple will open the door for their guests and act like they are absolutely agog over each other. Don’t be fooled. Looking perpetually happy is a social requirement, not an absolute truth.

On to TELEPHONE STRATEGY. Get your own phone line. The only time to talk on the phone when he’s around is when he’s also on the phone. Otherwise your conversations will be interrupted with constant questions, dirty looks and moans and groans. Or, your husband will try to turn you into Charlie McCarthy and say: “Tell them I said this” and “Tell them I said that” –“ What did they say?” Irritating to you and a good way to lose friends. So, when he’s home, the minute the phone rings for him – make those calls girls.

And of course, THE KITCHEN, the source of many an argument. Everybody has their own way of doing things and they all think everybody else’s way stinks. If you don’t want someone turning your flames up and down and telling you how they always did it, cook alone.

Sadly, there are many activities that when done together lead to fights. So a good marriage strategy to adopt is: DO AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE TOGETHER, THUS AVOIDING BLOW UPS.

Now, DECORATING. If there’s something you really want to do for the home, just do it and stand your ground. If he hates it, insist it’s the latest thing and absolutely fabulous and he will doubt his taste and succumb. Decorating by committee takes entirely too long and most men want everything black and gray and lots of metal – if he buys anything that looks like that, tell him how nice it will look in his office!

And then there are VACATIONS, they are no panacea either, believe me. You have a choice of one, the country, a non-convenience area full of bugs. Or two: there is Europe, where you’ll be pounding the pavement all day looking at churches. Or three: the Caribbean, where you’ll roast all day and drop a bundle on terrible food, which you’ll eat a ton of because you’re so bored that you’ll end up by the end of the week looking like a balloon in a bikini. The whole thing is awful.

If you’re catching a plane, good luck. My husband will be “checking things” in the house while the car is outside honking. And, once at the airport, he refuses to walk fast even if the plane is leaving in ten minutes. The slow walk, fast walk argument is a tricky one. The more frenzied you look, the more he starts dragging his feet and looking casual. Don’t ask me why. If you walk on ahead of him, then you look like the rude one. Just abdicate responsibility in your mind.

SO, WHEN YOU GO ON ANY VACATION YOU SHOULD EXPECT TO SUFFER THE WHOLE TIME. That way, if any moments turn out to be pleasant, it’s a nice surprise.

Then we have the issue a WEEKENDS, a 48-hour marathon of togetherness. Don’t ask why Saturday’s are so dead boring. Just get used to it. They consist of one long meal in front of the television set, the beautiful day outside reflected on the screen. To my husband, daylight is an annoyance that gets in the way of his TV, computer screen and blackberry viewing pleasure. The only way to get him outside is the possibility of buying yet another mysterious electronic device.
Sometimes, on a Saturday, I’ll finally get him out of the house at maybe 1:30 and I’ll see a couple who is all dressed up and look like they’ve been out for hours. They’ve been to farmers markets, stores, they’re wearing blazers and khaki’s. Oh please, the only way they could be that way is if I they are trying to change they’re lives and “do things on the weekends”, and by next week they’ll be back living like the rest of us.

And yes, we have to talk about it, SEX. I read somewhere that Deborah Kerr used to belly dance for her husband. I thought, what is wrong with me? On a good night my husband comes home to a wife in sweats and fuzzy slippers standing over a pot of boiling pasta which is slated for dinner. Belly dance for him? Of course, Deborah Kerr probably didn’t have to pay bills, clean toilets, run out of Tide after she had put the laundry in the machine, or have the dog throw up and have diarrhea the minute we moved into a place with wall to wall carpeting after begging the landlord to let our perfect dog live there.

guess she could go gleefully belly dancing around the house because she could pay people to clean up the dog diarrhea. But, dancing Debbie did have a point there. Sex is on the top of the list of your husband’s priorities. Too many women get bogged down with tidying up and let their sex lives go. Does your husband care how neat everything is? If you don’t keep up your end in this area, he’ll lash out about all sorts of ridiculous things that are unrelated. “You paid three dollars for a soy milk!” really means, “ “I’m frustrated and I’m going to find things wrong with you!”

So, prioritize gals; sex first, clean later. Virtual pets have a checklist of their needs, so does your husband. Feed him, talk to him, pet him, fuck him – check them off if you have to!

Well, good night ladies, don’t give up the ship. Stay in the driver’s seat! Bon soir!”

I’m still in recovery from my childhood in “the burbs”. It’s been a long road. I’ve discovered the amazing fact that men are people too. Not just ATM’s in suits. If given the chance, they will talk even. Especially about computers and inanimate stuff like that. How nice.

Cranky Goes To Vermont

Cranky just got back from Vermont. Vermont Vermont. I think it should be called “THE COMPOSTING CAPITAL OF THE UNITED STATES.”
Seriously, if we all lived like Vermonters the Polar Bears would be like over whelmed with their choice of ice floes.
These people believe in stuff and actually do things about it. Other than just buy the hat and wear the pin.
I visited a high school friend who is now 100% Vermonter. With two other high school friends. Vermonter kept finding contraband in the garbage can. “WHO THREW THIS IN HERE?” Oh oh. Gail got snagged for putting a cracker box in the garbage. This is serious. Very serious. I’m absolutely sure there is not one person in the entire state watching “The Millionaire Matchmaker. No, no these people are serious.

On Sunday night at 8:30 a hyperventilating neighbor came by to tell us it was time to turn off the lights for global warming. A great idea. It was nice to be a part of it. But neighbor lady was so SERIOUS about it she was giving herself a heart attack as she ran through the corridors of the co-housing complex turning on the movement sensor lights in her wake to tell everyone to turn off their lights.

“I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!” she said, when my friend tried to introduce us. And she flew down the hall to spread the word, lights flicking in time with her feet. The Paul Revere of the eco-movement.

Merrills are a must. As is no makeup. And I think no hair conditioner by looks of the inhabitants of co-housing.
There was a cake timer in the bathroom. What the hell? I was afraid to ask. But I so wanted to know. Finally someone asked, “Why is there a cake timer in the bathroom?” “Well”, Vermonter said, “My neighbor thought we should try to work on taking shorter showers.” “NOW YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR!” was my response. Fanatic Paul Revere Lady and her big ideas. She’s already convinced my friend that they should stop using the clothes dryer. Hence the cardboard like scratchy towels that had dried on a rack in the middle of the living room.

Al Gore called it “An Inconvenient Truth.” INCONVENIENT – you got that right.After going to Vermont ,I feel I should do more than use a few compact florescent bulbs and recycle. But what? Even if I composted what could I do with it? Put it on houseplants? I’d get a fine if I threw it in the park.

Then I remember that hell, I live in New York City. City living is all about sharing. It doesn’t matter that yeah well, we are forced to do it. We actually each have very small eco-footprints in the big city. We take mass transit. We recyle.
Cranky felt superfluous when visiting Vermont. These people are working on saving the world and I’m writing funny little plays. And acting in experimental theater. I feel very unimportant. But then I remember Fanatic Paul Revere woman. And hey, someone has to help her lighten up.

I’m So Depressed It Makes Me Happy or Am I Happy I’m Depressed?

The good thing about being an actress is that you can easily access your emotions. The bad thing about being an actress is that you can easily access your emotions.

I have to be careful to try to overlook certain things in life or they will send me into a weeklong depression.
Like a fish in a tank or a bird in a cage. I’ve trained myself. LOOK AWAY. LOOK AWAY. LOOK AWAY. Don’t think about the fish in the tank or the bird in the cage. What the fuck kind of life is that? I mean my life is not that great, but at least I can take a walk down the block! What can the fish in the tank and the bird in a cage do? NOTHING. The fish, little circles. The bird back and forth on the perch. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t take it.

They even have a fish tank at my hairdressers. Why why why? I asked about it and was told the owner loves her fish. IF SHE LOVED HER FISH, SHE WOULD FREE HER FISH!

I once saw a beautiful raven in a stupid cage in the Children’s Zoo in Central Park and I though about it for a week. I lost sleep. I kept seeing it. Standing there. I wanted so badly to call them, but I knew they would think I was a crackpot. (Don’t say it!)

I send money to the animal organizations, but I cannot under any circumstances read their pamphlets. No. No. No. These things feed into my natural cranky melancholic state.

And now I am losing soul mates to anti-depressants every day. My soul buddy of years and I always used to say, “summer is overrated,” and laugh. We like the dark. We like the cold. We like to stay in the house and read under a lap blanket. We always dreaded summer. Now suddenly, yesterday, she announced that this year she is not dreading summer at all. Ever since she started anti-depressants she is looking forward to it. LOOKING FORWARD TO IT? What? We have dreaded summer together for fifteen years. Now she has gone over to the sunny side.

I have another friend I’ve always thought of as another brother, especially because his favorite saying is, “It’s all been a horrible mistake.” Now he’s all positive and helpful around the house and I barely know him. He’s going to parties now. He is a victim of the script. What’s up with that? He must be taking the same prescription as my friend.
This actually made me question whether or not I’m depressed. The answer was maybe a little, but I like myself this way so fuck off I am not taking a pill. I just have to do the right amount of exercise to generate enough endorphins to function in the world, that’s all. I do allow myself a yoga high. I feel really good about life for about one hour and forty-five minutes after doing yoga.

I think actually feeling things is good for creativity. I mean, just imagine Edgar Allan Poe on anti-depressants. See what I mean?

Even as a kid, I kind of reveled in my melancholy. I’d hibernate in my room and play music and be alone. Which actually made me happy which is actually kinda contradictory. This may seem totally nuts. But if you refer back to “Cranky and Her Crazy Relatives” you will see that I am actually doing really well.

P.S. – Spring has arrived in Brooklyn- just saw two pigeons mating on a fire escape.

Facebook or Wastebook; An Addendum

Facebook is making me ask myself questions. I’m neurotic enough, without having to deal with how to deal with this. Its all cuckoo now I think. This morning while going through today’s facebook posts I asked myself the following questions:

Some peeps from high school are working on getting a facebook group reunion together. We’ve seen pictures of everywhere everybody has been on vacation their entire lives. We’ve read their profiles. We know where they live. We know what they do for a living. We know if they are married or single or in a relationship. We know their favorite quote. We know what they had for fucking breakfast! I keep imagining myself trying to start a conversation and then realizing I already read the answer on Facebook. My day at the reunion would consist of, “Um, ah…. Um…. Oh! Where?…oh no, forget it. Ah…”

WILL THERE BE ANYTHING LEFT TO TALK ABOUT IN PERSON?

Got a message from someone I barely knew in High School with the following content. I t was posted on my wall for all to see:
“My Mom is still in the family house. It hasn’t been cleaned in over 25 years. I got sober in 2006. Developed bi-polar in 2008. Living on disability since then.”

HOW DO I RESPOND TO THIS? NICE HEARING FROM YOU?

These are questions I ask myself everyday while I’m scrolling down the facebook page to avoid doing something else I should be doing. An extra few minutes of avoidance before dealing with the task at hand.

My mother used to say “Curiosity killed the cat,” and it always pissed me off when she said that. Wanting to find out answers to things always seemed like a good thing. But let’s face it, part of the facebook thing is all about curiosity. Where is so and so? How do they look? What do they do? What ever happened to them? In a perfect world I could read everyone’s profile’s without them knowing I was there. And then be facebook friends with the 8 people I actually know. What would it be called? Voyeur book?

Websters defines nostalgia as:
“a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition”

Sounds like nostalgia makes your present life seem even more sucky than it already does.

I would like a past and present facebook where you could keep present friends and past friends separate. Depending on how wistful you are feeling that day, you can pick the past or the present.

A really good day is when we pick the present. Dontcha think?