Le bonbon J├ęsus, je regrette que je n’aie pas $6,000 et beaucoup de temps libre.


There’s that moment, when you’re lying in bed reading and a chapter ends, but it ends so deliciously that you have a decision to make: put the book down and turn out the light…or keep reading and be tired tomorrow. I love that moment. (So I’m reading the Andromeda Strain. Whatever. It’s fun. I read the classics! I’m incredibly literate! Just not during the summer…)

Meanwhile I’ve decided that any true brunette worth her salt should own a bottle of Coco by Chanel. It’s a perfume that was created for brunettes. You could argue that Cristalle was created for icy blondes. Sure, I love Cristalle. In fact, I’d love a big fat bottle to store in the fridge for hot days. But generally speaking, it feels a bit amiss on me on most days. It smells great. But it carries itself in that Kim Novak-y way that I’ve never been able to pull off.

I wore Coco Mademoiselle in college. (It’s like Coco with training wheels.) And I still have an affection for it. (I also love the frosty glass bottle and peachy hue of the juice.) But I’m a grown ass man…wo-man, and it’s time to shed the training wheels, you know?

In other news of the literate variety, I put down the book Ishmael almost as quickly as I picked it up. I’ll never be the sort of person that seeks a true Teacher. A Mentor. A Guru. Especially if he or she is a gorilla.

On October 7, I think I shall be doing THISSSSS!!!!!! William and I are planning a trip to France next year and I’m hoping upon hope it won’t be too nuts of us to think we could do both Paris and Provence. I really really want to take one of the one-day perfume classes in Grasse. Really really. While I’m not a huge fan of tuberose, I might change my mind when enveloped in a field of them…. That is of course after I lay about naked in some lavendar. Okay, I don’t HAVE to be naked…but c’mon…”when in Grasse…”

What would I rather do, a six-week summer course in Grasse or a six-week summer course at SITI company. THAT is the question…
To be answered right after I find that pesky $3,000.

Godddamn there’s always such a big temptation to be Good


My youngest sister and I drive along I-90. She runs through the selections on my I-Pod shuffle, occasionally stopping to listen to a song, but mostly muttering fake “oopses” when I say, “Hey, don’t skip that! I LOVE Leon Redbone!” While we share some musical tastes (“Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts, “Wuthering Heights” by Kate Bush, “Yakety Yak”, Rancid) generally speaking she is unimpressed with the mix I’ve put together.

Some semi-frightening oom-pahs kick in and I settle back into one of my favorite songs. “Who is this?” she says indignantly, “Cookie monster?”

“Tom Waits,” I say quietly.

“You call him whatever you want. That’s cookie monster.”

Well, cookie monster or no, Mr. Waits will be providing some of the soundtrack to our Three Session Viewpoints class beginning this Saturday!
Why the Waits, you may ask? Well, it was sort of a serendipitous meeting of the minds at a Grey Zelda meeting. Who embodies what we want to try/play with? Can we create a performance piece from Tom Waits’ material?

I don’t know, can we? I suspect that yes, we absolutely can, but where does one start? In my world of creation, It’s Viewpoints.

It’s an organized (for lack of a better word) way of thinking and doing something as chaotic as creating a piece of art. Our muse: Mr. Waits. Really all I will be doing is helping to create a physical vocabulary for creation, and then serving as a sort of editor. Perhaps a cinematographer of the brain/body. Let’s collectively draw our creative “eye” to Repetition, for example. What’s interesting here? What can I as a performer do to help/enhance?

So that’s why Waits. And seriously, why wait? (Mwah waaaaaaahhh) Come join us!

We’re gonna need a bigger boat


Busting busting BUSTING! I am so excited about THIS!

Consider it a jam session for theatre people. A hoedown, if you will.

I’d recommend attending if you are:
– an actor
– a director
– a member of an ensemble/interested in ensemble work
– an artist that wants to expand his or her repertoire

Also, it’s just fun. Really!

Please hit me up with questions if you have any, and check out the link I posted.

Meanwhile, my office is taking a boat cruise today. I have mixed feelings about this. As with all summer outings, my first hope is that I can skip it and go home early. But then I do love the water. (Note to captains and jokesters: not THAT much. I don’t plan on swimming today.)

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I’ve misconstrued the information thinking that we are going on a two hour ride on the lake, when in actuality we are going on a CRUISE and I didn’t pack?

No that wouldn’t be hilarious. That would be awful.

Do you know what our boat’s name is? The Summer of George. I kid you not. I actually got an email saying “The Summer of George will be located at the docks near State and the Chicago River.” As with all work emails, I glanced over it, closed out and then my eyes bugged out of my head and I re-clicked.

Summer of George!

On deck


The summer is bounding past so quickly it’s making my head spin, and what do I do when my head spins? I nap. However, the napping must fall to the wayside because I have many an event and project to attend to.

Firstly, this evening, I will be seeing Halcyon Theatre’s production of The Toymaker’s War. Wanna join me? Email me! (elizabethhopemorgan@gmail.com). It’s part of their Alcyone festival, “Each summer we produce The Alcyone Festival, celebrating female playwrights. Because female playwrights are horribly represented on stages across America, we created the Alcyone Festival to combat this directly, by celebrating the depth and breadth of women writers.” So well done there, yes? Yes! In fact, I’m bummed this is the only show of the festival I’ve been able to see. It has been One Crazy Summer for me, so far.

Tomorrow, our office is going on something being referred to as many things, the most common being “Boat cruise” and “Boat Outing”. I bought dramamine. I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing. I just hope we’re done by 4:30 because….

I’m picking up my little sister Eve tomorrow night for her big weekend in Chicago before she leaves for college! This is incredible, because she’s only nine.

Not really, it’s just for me, she’s…sniff…grown up so fast…sob. We have many plans including Chinatown, Harry Potter, and many other things involving cash.

Meanwhile, I’m researching Non-Profit boards with the purpose of forming a better theatrical board. I’m learning so much!!!! ALSO, get your socks off and hair pulled back, there is a plan for me to lead a three-session Viewpoints class! I’m so utterly thrilled about this, I could just wet my pants. I won’t. But I could. I’ll keep you updated as information comes about. BUT I promise it I wil make it accessible to both beginner’s and veterans alike. Let me know if you’re interested!

I also updated my books page.

Okay, that’s all from here. So much to do!

Humbuggery


Maybe I’m just focusing on the more distasteful parts of books I’ve read, but does anyone else feel like pre-twentieth century there was a lot of buggery going on?

I say this because there are some rather unfortunate ewes in The Red Tent. The men have their way with other livestock in Beloved, and the way Cotton Mather prattles on in his sermons, you’d think people were missing church because their goat girlfriend was being needy.

But maybe I’m just ruminating.

In other news, I’m back from Ohio a little older…a little wiser…hair a little darker…a couple pounds heavier (thank you delivery pizza. You see, you can’t get pizza delivered when you live on a farm. It’s outside the “area”.) I actually have a ton to do today, so I shouldn’t putter. I did manage to update my books, movies and music pages. (And I found the Godfather movies for 9 bucks a pop at Walmart! Widescreen and everything!)

Keep an eye on your flock, if you know what I mean.

Homestead


The picture I use for the title of my blog was taken early in the morning look out over the meadow of my parent’s backyard. It’s my favorite picture. Backyard, for some people, means a little patch of grass. For my parents, for the last 14 years, it has meant acres.

We moved to the farm when I was fourteen, but it’s always been a part of my life. It’s where my Dad grew up, and until we moved out there, was my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I was not at all happy to be moving out there. I was just about to enter my freshman year of high school in Archbold, Ohio and had been moving up the social ladder very nicely. It was not the time to start over, in my mind. But, being fourteen, I had very little say in the matter.

I’ve talked a lot about how I’m glad we moved out there, and how I benefitted in myriad ways. That’s not what I want to blog about.

This weekend I’m heading home to help my parent’s move out. It was a perfect storm of circumstances. It takes a lot to keep up a farm, emotionally, financially, and physically. We were due for a new chapter. But I’d regret not taking some time to honor this very special place and bless the young couple that have decided to take it on for themselves.

I can only assume my Grandma and Grandpa are looking down and feel the same way.

I’m too disorganized and impatient to immediately recall the location of a particular photograph of me and my Dad walking through the barnyard. I can’t be older than two. I might not even be one. Dad is holding my hand and keeping me steady and we traipse through some newly fallen leaves. When we eventually took up residence at The Farm, I took over the room that was my Dad’s when he was growing up. He sorta held my hand all through my childhood.

Knowing what it’s like to live a truly rural lifestyle is something that is becoming increasingly rare and every day I become more grateful I experienced it. The couple buying the farm from us are acquantances and it’s comforting to think they’ll be walking through the barnyard hand in hand with their children.

My parents aren’t moving far. Actually, they are moving much closer to two of my aunts and my Mom’s Dad, so it really is a good thing. My Dad will finally have time to actually read a book. My parents will have more time to come visit me. They won’t be so tired all the time.

But this is where my Dad grew up, where I celebrated my rehearsal dinner, where my sisters grew up, where we’ve raised really special animals, where I learned about my family history, where my Grandma and Grandpa made their life, where my Mom found artistic inspiration. It smells good (usually…get an East wind in there and the drainage ditch is beyond…uh…fragrant…and the turkey barns…and the manure spreading…) I’ve been to Montana, reknowned as “Big sky country” but I have to tell you, it never looked as big as a starry night full of lightning bugs at our little Ohio farm.

It’s been an uncertain market for home sellers as everyone knows. I’ve spent the last year not knowing if any time I was visiting was the last time, and that has been hard. I know that the house is full of boxes. I haven’t seen them yet. My parents and sisters are very excited about the new house, and so am I. I’m completely jealous that Eve and my Mom are gabbing and painting tonight and sleeping over at the new place. Ellen is meanwhile busting about moving into her new apartment.

I love new beginnings. I love learning new things and experience new stuff. But I can only do those things with a strong anchor and that anchor has been built via this special special place. I was the one that least wanted to move there. Am I the one that least wants to leave? I don’t know. It’s easy to make it seem like farm life is this ideal pastoral thing when you’re in a third floor apartment listening to traffic and kids lighting off fireworks outside peppered with loud bass and other city sounds. In reality it’s hard hard work, and the kind of work I was never cut out for.

It’s time to move on, but I will be forever grateful that I experienced it.