Friday, August 29, 2003

Shadows cross my eyelids as small feet race past, kicking sand onto my arms, my belly. Something drives the seagulls into a frenzy. They shriek, descend, rise, wheel, flap, outraged and furious.

A pod of dolphins swims past, followed by a pelican, followed by an inflatable canoe, propelled by a double ended oar wielded by the human inside it. More humans stand, lined up against the surf, yelling "Dolphin! Dolphin!" in the same tone of one screaming "Shark! Shark!"

I race across the sand, charging a pack of gulls, forcing them to flight, just because it feels so good to run. I arrive breathless at my blanket, sprawling on my back, watching the jolt of pulse in my stomach as it rises and falls with each breath.

The surf is louder, the tow stronger, the waves larger than they've been all day. I have finally sprayed suntan oil onto my overheated body. I feel it crawling down, across, my thighs.

I hunker down at water's edge, crouching, gathering shells, smacked in the face every so often, gathering shells, gathering shells. I love what these chipped fragments represent: the constancy and the transience of matter. From shell to shard to sand, manufactured into glass, to shard to driftglass, to sand again. Ashes to ashes? I think not. Sand, always sand.

A formation of geese soars through my field of vision. Two others have passed, but this one is perfect in its symmetry. I watch it until it vanishes in the mist.

On the line where sea meets sky, a tanker sits, motionless. Of course it is not motionless, I saw it approach. It must be moving. The sea is flat and still like rippled glass, frothy only at the edges, and beyond imagining in its hugeness. Still, I know I can swim out to that ship. I can! I will! I won't; the water is too cold. Gulls dive from the wooden pier, hunting, then float like decoys, bobbing atop the breathy rise and fall of imperceptible waves.

The sun moves, the wind changes. The sea that reaches the beach now originates from a different place. The water is greyish brown where it once was jade green, less cold, and smells of death.

The ship has disappeared from view.

28 August

Day at the beach was wonderful...sun shining, surf smashing, seagulls screaming...

Alaina runs headlong at the pigeons and seagulls, chasing them into flight, falling, sprawling facedown into the sand, rolling, rolling...I'm a french fry, I'm a cinnamon roll! Racing to the water, running into the waves, jumping, diving into the surf...

Garrett, wheedling for a special surf shirt called a "rash protector", straps his boogie board tether to his wrist, and tows it out further than we are quite comfortable with, searching for a wave to ride.

I greet the sea, coat my body with salt water, walk on the granite jetty, stroll the Boardwalk, search the beach shops, watch the humans interact with each other and the setting. A biker with Lone Wolf tattooed across his back, and arms decorated like sleeves arrives with two preteen girls, a chubby blonde one, obviously his daughter, and a thin too-early gorgeous brunette, who seems overly self-contained. They strip and race, exhuberant, to the sea.

I am lulled into a stupor by creeling gulls, crashing sea, children shreiking, the electronic bleat of the foghorn on the jetty. Every now and then, the world quiets, a moment between the rhythmic roaring of surf, as though the sea draws a breath.

A pair of nine year olds toss a football, whoosh-smack, whoosh-smack. Wait, one of them says, and pauses to tug the bottoms of her swimsuit into a more comfortable position. The other, in a rainbow tank suit, sighs and tosses hair over her shoulder. Whoosh-smack, whoosh-smack.

Heavy raindrops, cold and driven, a noisy, sparking sky, chase people from the Boardwalk. Rain across the ocean blurs the line between sky and sea. The sky flashes madly, reaching out to touch the water.

It was fabulous.

26 August

Thursday, August 21, 2003

Neither of these are mine, but they are both so wonderful, they deserve to be heard. Important messages, indeed.

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” -Albert Einstein


You are potentially a genius. Perhaps not in the same way that Einstein and Beethoven were, but still: You possess some brilliant capacity or set of skills that is exquisitely unique. You are a masterpiece unlike any other that has ever lived in the history of the world.

Furthermore, the precise instructions you need to ripen into that glorious state have always been with you: from even before you were born. In the words of psychologist James Hillman, you have a SOUL'S CODE.

You might also call it the special mission that the Goddess sent you here to Earth to carry out; the divine blueprint that contains the open secret of how to be perfectly, gracefully, unpredictably yourself; the master plan that is your heart's deepest desire.

My agenda -- my joy and pleasure -- is to help you know and express your SOUL'S CODE. I yearn for you to know who exactly you are and to be able to express that uniqueness in ever-more satisfying ways. Whether that means showering you with unconditional love or gently kicking your beautiful ass, I want to find out how and do what it takes.

Now let's leap to the next level of our educational celebration with this amazing truth: It's your birthright to enjoy regular conversations with the Divine Intelligence. Every day, you have the power and the privilege to ask The Source very specific questions about what you need to do NOW in order to activate more of your soul's code -- and then receive a very specific answer.

So what question will you ask the Divine Intelligence today?
–Rob Breszny

Saturday, August 09, 2003

Audition Notice for Watergate! the Musical

Yes, you read the title correctly, WATERGATE! THE MUSICAL is casting for a premiere full scale workshop production to go up in March 2004 in the 900 seat Mainstage Theatre at Chesapeake Arts Center. The music is great and the story is done with wit and passion, based on the historical events. We are seeking strong actors who sing who would like to be part of this original and unique project from the ground up. If you know of other performers who would be interested, please pass on this information. Details follow.

Chesapeake Arts Center

Watergate! the Musical, written by Cybele Pomeroy, music by Jason Brown.
Production run: March 19 through March 28, 2004. Watergate! the Musical is an original musical comedy with a satirical tone. The show is told from the point of view of the employees at the Watergate Hotel.

Director: C.J. Crowe Music Director: Jason Brown

Auditions will be held on Thursday, September 4nd (7:00 to 9:00 p.m.), Friday, September 5th (7:00 to 9:00 p.m.) and Monday September 8th (7:00 to 9:00p.m.). In the event that neither audition date is open, contact C.J. Crowe (410.636.6597) or email: to arrange for an appointment. Prepare a contemporary monologue of no more than one minute (comic or dramatic). Show up having prepared 16 to 24 bars that best demonstrate your vocal range. Please supply sheet music for accompaniment.

Roles available
Most available roles are for actors, singers and dancers playing age ranges from 30-60 years old.

The White House:
Richard Milhous Nixon Thelma “Pat” Nixon
John Mitchell Martha Mitchell
John Wesley Dean III Maureen “Mo” Dean
H. Robert Haldeman Rose Mary Woods
Ron Ziegler John Ehrlichman
Charles Colson

Plumbers UnitG. Gordon Liddy E. Howard Hunt
James “Jim” McCord Bernard “Macho” Barker
Tony Ulasewicz Frank “Franko” Sturgis
Eugino “Gino” Martinez Virgilio “Villo” Gonzalez

Watergate Staff:
Rovere, Barkeep and Waiter Frank Wills, security
Betty the Barkeep Charlie the Doorman
Bellhop Maid
Shoeshine Boy Beautician

Washington Post Newsroom:
Carl Bernstein Bob Woodward
Katharine “Kay” Graham Ben Bradlee
Office Boy Office Girl

There are also a variety of ensemble roles with strong cameo potential; mostly for singers and dancers.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003

On Becoming Who You Want To Be
(a letter to my friend Steven, specifically, and to everyone else in general, changing details as is appropriate)

Get off your sorry ass and think about the biz of your career? This should not be a problem for someone as focused and disciplined as yourself. The question is, what do you want to do?

It is enough to think about the way you want to live and work without worrying about paying the bills. The universe is a generous place. If you want to make half your yearly income (or all of it) from performance, simply make up your mind, wish it, then let the universe and the beings that inhabit it go to work. Whether you believe in this sort of thing or not, it works.
Synchronicity. Make your wishes, then wait for the "coincidences."

The first hard part is framing the wish.

The second hard part is letting go the illusion of control.

The final hard part is waiting for materialization. In the meantime, just do the work and hold your goals and dreams in mind.

Don't envy the folks on p'net. They're a drag. They remind me of college kids drinking beer and lighting farts. We, you and I and Rosman, and a bunch of others who rarely post, have managed to create stability, commit to raising young humans, and otherwise make a somewhat larger contribution than cracking jokes and throwing shit around.

I watch Michael and admire him for thinking always about what will look funny, be funny, play well. I see the intense energy you give to your craft, and the technical skill you've attained. I know plenty of people who are constantly working to add one more ball or another illusion. You people live and breathe this stuff. I am a dabbler.

I specialize at looking good in costume. For corporate meet and greet, that's enough. I have sufficient skills to get hired at any RenFest in the country, except for busking, which is the only way to get paid well at many of the Faires. So I do Maryland and Pennsylvania, where they pay adequately, no busking. It's small, but it's enough.

My chosen field, the one I work at, the one I turn down paying gigs to devote time to, is theater writing. I say my chosen field, but it chose me, not the reverse. And since my health has conspired to keep me home, I take that as a signal that I need to spend less time running and more time composing. There are things that I have had to make extra effort for, make choices about, say no to.

It's uncomfortable, but growth often is. And when I realized that my dreams were not of cruise ships, Ceasar's Palace or a Command Performance, I had to reasses where I was putting my energy. My dreams are of a Pulitzer, a speech at the Tony Awards, pulling up in a limo to attend the opening of my show on Broadway.

So I dream, visualize, do the work and wait for to be rewarded for my dilligence and honest committment to goals. I am ambitious and energetic; so are you. Have faith, ask for what you want, and when it comes to you, say yes.
At this point, maybe you're convinced I'm a complete flake. You might be right. But why pretend to be cool when I'm having so much fun being in touch with my inner dork?

Sounds like you're on the cusp of making changes or resigning yourself to misery. You know which one I hope you choose.