Off Broadway (by about six blocks)

So I'm finally getting my big shot at fame! In an off-Broadway production! Starring me! There will be music and dancing! Bright lights and attitude!

Okay, that's only somewhat partially not at all true.

The truth is, I'm finally getting my medium shot at local renown in an off-off-off Broadway (by about 6 blocks) production. Yes, it's starring me, but that's only because I wrote the play and since it's about me, I get to choose who stars in it. Besides, Kristin Scott Thomas had some excuse about "a film" she's working on (What. Ever.).

A few weeks ago, my dad e-mailed me to say that there was a competition of sorts being held at this private theater club he and my mom have belonged to for 25 years. One-act plays submitted by members of the theater would be considered for something called the New Works Festival, where playwrights would perform readings of their work.

And by some miracle, they accepted my play. So, on May 31st, I'm going to be reading my one-act, one-woman play in front of an audience!

The play is called Shake.

Really, that's the name of it. And for those of you who've been loyal readers of this blog, most of the play would sound rather familiar. I took all my blog entries from the week I was diagnosed with Parkinson's (January 2007) up until today and created a comedic play out of them. (At least I think it's comedic, so I'm really hoping the audience laughs and doesn't stare open-mouthed in horror at me while I'm on stage.)

A few of you will be in attendance (HK is actually flying up from Florida for the event, which nets her the "Number One Fan" label), and I would invite everyone, but since the theater club is closed to the public (unless you're a member), I can't hand out more than my allotted six tickets.

That's kind of a bummer, because I was hoping to rally a whole gang of people to attend wearing T-shirts with my face on it. And at certain times during my performance, I would make some kind of sign and all my guests would stand up together and do the wave and then do that whistle with your fingers in your mouth that I can't do but that's really loud and maybe someone could have a bullhorn and shout my name through it and then press the button that makes the siren sound. That would have been awesome.

I told Captain Suspenders today (my original neurologist whom I still visit regularly but who doesn't treat me) that I was performing the play and he told me I should invite his sons who live in New York to attend. This would be a wonderful idea, however I failed to mention that I call him Captain Suspenders and I don't know if his sons would love that and then hound him with the nickname forever and ever or if next time he saw me he would prescribe anthrax for the tremors. Hard to say.

The Hills

 

The Hills! Yes, it's my favorite show on MTV, but it's also what I call my new pal, Hillary Clinton. Yup, that would be my ridiculous smiling face with Hillary and my new friend G, who sat next to me at a "Go Hillary" fundraiser yesterday afternoon. I haven't seen that many women in one place since...[this is ripe for snark, but I'll leave it alone]...since my college graduation.

The ballroom was packed with nearly 2,000 screaming Hillary fans. I got invited to the event by a friend of my dad's. It was pretty impressive. Crunkle is rolling his eyes right now because he's a McCain fan. Actually, McCain isn't Republican enough for him. Crunkle thinks President Bush isn't Republican enough. Moving on...

I've never been to a political rally. It was insane. Chelsea was the opening act. She and the Hills' mom got on stage and answered questions from the audience. Actually, Chelsea answered questions, grandma just sat in her chair and stared into the crowd. Chelsea was well-spoken, but I think that's pretty easy when you say the same thing over and over. "My mom is going to make a great President. My mom should be President. If I were Elmer Fudd and Hillary Clinton were my mom, I would totally vote for her. If Hillary were George Bush's mom, he would probably vote for her, but luckily she's my mom, so I'm voting for her. You should vote for her too. Even though she's not your mom. You should vote for her because she's someone's mom. Mommm mommo momomomommmmmm..." You get the idea.

Then the Hills came to the stage. There was plenty of loud music, stomping, screaming, and napkin waving. G helpfully pointed out that perhaps the Hills' crazed fans should not be waving a white napkin over their heads. White napkin says "surrender." It also says "Take yo' shirt off, spin it round yo' head like a helicopter" (that's for all those fans of Southern rap star Petey Pablo. The rest of you have no idea what I'm talking about, so just keep reading.)

I have to admit, the Hills kicked butt. Her speech was substantive (Crunkle, stop hissing), powerful and very moving. I'm definitely a fan of the Hills.

Come on, chant it with me...Hill-a-ree! Hill-a-ree! Hill-a-ree!

PBYesssssssss!

Someone at public television has been listening in on my prayers. They have accomplished the seemingly impossible task of combining my two great loves into one fantastic obsession. One part reality television plus one part fighter jets equals...Carrier!

Now I can spend my time watching unscripted gossip, bickering and relationship issues against the backdrop of the USS Nimitz firing F-18s off the catapult to fly over Iraq. It's FANTASTIC.

I bite my nails when the young sailor calls his pregnant girlfriend from the ship phone and her ex-boyfriend answers the phone instead. In the next scene, the ship's deck is pitching up and down so violently that of 15 aircraft trying to perform night landings, all 15 end up bolters (they miss the arresting wires and have to go around again). Will they have enough fuel? Will the sailor re-unite with his girlfriend? I almost can't stand the excitement!!!

Carrier is on PBS in heavy rotation right now. I turned on the TV for my usual shot of morning news, flipped over to PBS to see what was going on and there was episode nine, at 8am! How could I not watch?!

It's better than MTV! It's better than The Bachelor! It's better than plain old documentaries about Vietnam-era fighter jets (kind of better - I still really like those documentaries)!

I'm exhausted from all the excitment. And I better go now - I think episode five is playing right now.

In Memorium - Bambari - 1992-2008

Tonight JD and I had to say goodbye to the Best. Kitty. Ever. My little six-toed cat lived the last of her nine lives and passed away at about 9:30 tonight. It was possibly the saddest thing I've ever had to witness, and JD are moping around the apartment utterly miserable.

So I decided I would recount a few silly memories that will make me smile when I remember her 17 years as my little furry pal:
The time I flew with her to Florida in a carry-on case, she decided in the middle of the airport to shit herself, producing a smell more foul than any polar bear could produce. But I could find nowhere to take her out of her case to clean her off. So I boarded the plane early, knocking the elderly and wheelchair-bound out of my way and bum-rushing the front of the aircraft with the cat carrier thrust out in front of me like it was filled with nuclear waste. As I ran toward the cockpit door, I realized that doing so at such a rapid pace, holding a bag in my arms, looking panicked, in this post-9/11 environment, was not exactly the smartest idea. So I screamed at the flight attendant, "Cat! Shit!" She politely pointed at the bathroom, where I proceeded to put Operation Cat Crap into full swing: I put on my latex gloves (seriously, I brought some), lifted the shit-covered cat gingerly out of her case, put her on the floor, mopped her and the case with about 600 antibacterial wipes, shoved her back in her case, gave her a couple more sedatives, and parked myself at my seat. The rest of the flight was great!

Other highlights: her persistent crapping behind the couch of a boyfriend of mine she didn't like (she was right), her ability to steal an entire pound of pork tenderloin off the counter even though she weighed only 7 pounds, her wonderful humming purr, and of course, her six fabulous toes that made it look like she was wearing a baseball mitt.

I will miss her. Farewell, Bambari!

Team "Shake"

 

Yay! We did it! And it didn't rain! This photo is incomplete - there were about six more team members who showed up to walk through Central Park on Saturday on what turned out to be a gorgeous, sunny day. A big thank you to everyone on the team, and to all the people who donated money to help us raise over $7,000 to donate to Parkinson's research.

This year the Unity Walk was a little shorter than last year (2 miles instead of 3) and I think there were fewer people in attendance overall. We definitely had the best shirts - we got tons of comments, laughs and compliments and were interviewed at the finish line. Once I figure out where the heck the link is, I'll post it.

Thanks again to everyone for your help and support!

Tour-orists

Since I am stuck on a ridiculous bus heading for New York I thought I would attempt the impossible: I am blogging from my handheld. Yup, fat thumbs be damned, traffic is driving me mad, reading makes me sick and JD is watching car racing videos on his portable DVD. I am desperate!

I was going to use this blog to launch a tirade against the awful creature that is overtaking D.C. this time of year - the tourist. But I figured I would give my tirade a positive spin. Annoyance is the mother of invention...or something.

So here's my brilliant idea: an entirely separate public transportation system for non-locals. Tourists can now stand on whatever side of the escalator they like, clog up the stairways to their hearts' content and no one will shove them and yell, "Stand to the RIGHT please so I can make my train and not be late to work fortheloveofallthatisholy!"

For the record, I have only done that once. This week.

Also, the Metro aisles would be wide enough for women and their ten-baby super-strollers that could out-pack a Sherpa. Doors would remain open at every station for 10 minutes so they could stand in the doorway, peer out and try to figure out where they were going. The Tourist Toter (clever, right? Don't steal it) would also be quieter, preventing the yelling that most Midwestern visitors feel is necessary when talking to one another while the train is in the tunnel. "Lurleen, is THIS OUR STOP?"

A special section of each car would be devoted to the sullen, greasy, gum-cracking teenagers traveling with their mortifyingly badly dressed parents.

Thursday was Take Your Brat to Work Day at the Pentagon, so I arrived at the front gate hoping to shed the usual tourist throng once I got through with my super-secret reporter pass. But once I entered the halls of the Pentagon, they were EVERYWHERE. And they were yelling and being all grubby and cranky. And that was just the Generals. Zing!

(PS: The little chillins who refer to me as Auntie Tunia know that I love each of them dearly and adore every little thing they do, say, wear or glue together with macaroni and crayons...it's everyone else's kids I think are jerks.)

I can see New Jersey from here

I'm sitting listening to an electronic grand piano play sappy versions of the "classics" (Beethoven is committing suicide in his grave right now it's so bad), watching a woman try to quiet her yipping dog that's small enough to stuff in my coat pocket, and wondering whether the death rattle of a cough from the 900-year old woman behind me is contagious. Guess where I am?

You got it! Minneapolis International Airport. The Humphrey Terminal to be exact. I flew up here yesterday from DC to attend a four-hour morning session at a tank manufacturing plant. Since I'm a nerd, I not only enjoyed it, I LOVED it. Guns, mortars, tanks, electronics, software, equipment that can rain death on small villages...it's truly a heady experience, I tell you.

I chose Midwest Airlines for my flight here because although I had to connect in Milwaukee to get here, I got a FRESH, HOT CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE for my travels. There is no better treat than that. The cabin may have been so small that the dwarf flight attendant (it's all about diversity here) had to duck, but that cookie made everything worth it - the cabin that heated up to convection oven temperatures on landing and takeoff (we MUST conserve energy in order to airlift all those fat passengers off the tarmac, you know), the disgusting breath of the enormous guy sitting next to me (somehow he managed to breathe right into my air filter, ensuring his morning coffee, cigarette, dog poop sandwich breath surrounded me like a little blanket throughout the 45 minute jaunt), even the senior citizens who took so long to get off the airplane that I read three books, painted a copy of a Van Gogh and phoned every single one of my friends four times.

Moving on!

Our host picked us up (me and a fellow female defense journalist whom I didn't know very well before the trip, but who turned out to be extra cool - she bought me a rocket-shaped water bottle at Denny's, she wins my heart) mid-afternoon yesterday prior to a Midwestern storm of epic proportions blowing in and cracking thunder and incredible buckets of rain on our heads. We stayed at a Crowne Plaza in North Minneapolis. Anyone know North Minneapolis? Anyone ever been there? No, of course not. It's so flat, I could see the East Coast from my hotel rooom on the 9th floor. The corporate parks out here make the corporate parks in New Jersey look like vacation spots. DESOLATE!

Oh, and my hair dryer didn't work this morning. This isn't a problem for most people, but since I have really, REALLY flat hair even on the best of days, not drying it was not an option. So I stormed downstairs and asked the front desk for a dryer. They handed me one and I rushed into the public restroom to finish my hair. Ummm....no outlets.

Here's a picture that just might top my shower in my kitchen sink: how about me drying my hair in the front hallway of a hotel? Yup. That's what I did. Flat hair, people...EMERGENCY! I was willing to sacrifice my dignity for a little fluffiness.

So now I'm in the airport, waiting for my hot, miniature, bad-breath flight back to Milwaukee so I can get into a slightly larger aircraft and go home to my sweet JD (who promised to make steak and potatoes for dinner tonight - weeee!!!) and take a nap.

Ciao!