How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…
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I have been intensely busy, lately. Not just by hand, either. My mind...it often goes into Mach 7 when I attempt to procrastinate (by the way, the word "procrastinate," itself, is ironic - I mean, by the time you write the word out, you could have done something already - it's not a word for the lazy), and the only thing I can physically do to make it stop is to sleep (even though my dreams are usually full of anger when I do that - last night, for instance...ouch!), but if I don't stop it, from time to time, it just runs all...
Because hands can do everything but lie.
I don't always know what to do with my hands. You might find that ironic for an actor, even more so for an educator. But, it's still the truth. It wasn't anything I ever really noticed until a few years ago. I began to realize that my Nana was fascinated by the frequency with which I used my hands to animate my conversation. She would look less at me and more at my gesturing. Over time, I became so concerned with how I might physcially be telling my story that I began to grow flustered at the dinner table. I didn't know how...
Last night, my ankle had an out-of-body experience.
It's a crying shame Shakespeare didn't write a character who had an almost broken, badly sprained ankle. He didn't, did he? I mean, I'm only peripherally familiar with the hunchback of Richard III. (I think it's the III, it's Richard plus some number, that much I know). I still have two more gruelling performances of this play left and last night I...well...I may have compromised my 1000% commitment to my role in this production: I now possess a badly sprained ankle. That's never happened to me before, in my entire acting career. Truth be told, and gladly, I used to have really good balance and coordination....
That time I almost met Harper Lee.
I take great pride in the Lee last name. According to legend, and also my father who, among his many world travels, visited the "Lee place" in Ireland, etc. I think, from what I can gather, that it was hardly more than a couple of sticks stuck upright in a slab of mortar. I mean, that's been centuries back; the only palpable evidence was that of the family crest, but don't ask me what's on that thing. I couldn't tell you. What I do know is that there were only ever two Lee brothers who set out for the New World. Both...
Part Two: Aunt Lola
When and if I remember a dream it's because it has some potent element to it; I'd like to think I made that point, clearly enough, in yesterday's blog. And certainly, I would think so with the Billie Holiday dream; and those precious and upsetting few that have come true...all of which I've shared with you. But the potency, when it's there, is one that is, that must be, for me, necessarily Fascinating and Disturbing in its minutiae, as it invades my mind, my lobes, with its obsessive and small details; isn't that where God is, according to van der Rohe? I make no bones about...
I can't believe I'm blogging.
But, then, is that really true? Aren't we all, deep down, deliciously wanting to be voyeurs, without a court trial attached; those always take up so much time. What we want is to break a law and get away with it. That's all blogging is, really, an acceptably broken law; windows made of words for the rest of us Peeping Toms to look at. Nobody minds it; no, instead, it's encouraged. Besides, isn't there something just too alluring about showing a little "skin" to the Peeping Toms, to the entire web-viewing world about how you feel, on any particular subject: racism, nudity, Republicans, orange juice,...
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