Loose Ends

Last week, my parents, brother and sister-in-law came into town for the San Gennaro festival. If you want to drive a vegan crazy, take her to Little Italy, on the last day of the festival, where she will be surrounded by shanks of lamb, raw kebabs of chicken and coils of sausage broiling in the open air. Put thousands of people around her, all pushing and shoving, licking cannolis and gelato and chocolate covered marshmallows on sticks. It is awesome. Um.

Actually, it kind of is awesome when you attempt such a venture with your family. Well, if your family is MY family. There is nothing quite so amusing as wandering up and down Mulberry Street with your 6'2 Polack father who can't quite keep his astonishment to himself. "THE FOOD LAWRA! IT GOES ON AND ON AND ON! ALL THAT FOOD!" Quite right, dad! All that food!

After indulging in angel hair pasta and vegetables for lunch, I bought a deep-fried oreo from a street vendor.

Dad (staring quizzically at me as I chew): How...is it?

Me (mouth full of transfatty goodness): Delicious except...

Dad: Except?

Me: I think I just got diabetes.

Worth it? I think so. Later on, dad and I split some dairy-free raspberry sorbet which brings me to something that I find fascinating. Guess what? My dad's a vegan! Well. Mostly. Thanks to his prostate cancer, my dad has revamped his dietary habits. Due to scientific studies that prove that animal protein, specifically red meat and dairy, may not only cause but may accelerate the growth of cancer cells, dad has nixed milk and milk products and most meats.

I just finished reading "The China Study" myself, after buying him a copy and I am so dumbstruck at the findings that it makes me want to rant and rant and rant. But I promised myself I would not. Because it's all fun and games until the Crazy Vegan Rants begin.

What else...what else...you guys! I have no theme! I sit down to tell you a story and the story goes NOWHERE and then I stare at my computer screen and debate whether to type "I need to shower soon" and then I blink a few times and erase it and type it again and erase and YES, RUN ON SENTENCES ABOUNDING! This blog just rambles on and on about nothing in particular. It's like Seinfeld. Except you know, on a blog.

My brothers and I spent the day yesterday at IKEA, Holy Grail Of Cheap Swedish Furniture. We bought a ton of stuff for Redo Laura's Room Extravaganza Bonanza '07. (Did you not get an invitation? It was awesome! We ate Thai Food and used screwdrivers!) I do okay in IKEA until you get down to the Self-Serve Floor and then oh my sweet Jesus I suddenly want to buy vases full of marbles and wine glasses and glass jars and plants and picture frames for $2.99! Luckily, Jem kept me focused and Paul reminded me that I really didn't need a pre-decorated Christmas tree so early in the season.

I wish I had taken BEFORE pictures of my room and then AFTER pictures but why? What do I think this is? Some Extreme Home Makeover Blog Edition? Suffice it to say, my brothers rule and installed LIGHTING FIXTURES and SHELVING UNITS while I sat around and watched Grey's Anatomy. I am such a big help!

Aside from that, all is well over here as I anticipate the cooling of the weather and the beginning of Philosophy again. I have cleaned out my closet, filed away receipts and paperwork, picked up new headshots, dropped off clothes at the tailor and revamped my entire bedroom. I have changed the picture on the mainpage of this site and transferred my Culture page over to blogger so I can update it a little easier. It's an attempt to rid my life of clutter I guess. Organization to me, is peaceful. And I can use a lot of peace, especially with cancer running amok around this place.

And now, I am going to shower. And steam some kale. And get on with this lovely Friday. Cheers.

Flashback

My headshot photographer emailed me a link to a fundraiser for her daughter's school. Do y'all remember this!? We used to have Innisbrook fundraising when I was a child. My mother would push me out the door to the neighbors with the catalog in hand, forcing me to ask them if they wanted to buy wrapping paper or assorted Christmas mugs. (Usually, they opted for the wrapping paper.)

I didn't necessarily like going door to door to ask people to buy gift wrap but it was always a fascinating venture. Kind of like trick or treating where you get that quick glimpse into someone else's house, what the furniture looks like, what they cook for dinner. I always loved seeing the insides of other people's houses, particularly those houses that were warm and fuzzy and smelled like peach candles. Fundraising, kind of like girl scout cookie selling was better than trick or treating because I got to go INSIDE and really scope things out.

For the most part, it involved a lot of sitting awkwardly on other people's couches in houses that were a lot more quiet and a lot neater than my own. I would sit there and politely answer questions about school or how my mom was doing while housewives checked off boxes with a blue Papermate pen. My favorite house was Mrs. Hirsch's house because it was so clean and smelled so good and also, she always gave me some of those Pepperidge Farm chessmen cookies. You know what I'm talking about, right? They taste like butter mixed with extra butter and deep fried in butter.

I also really liked the pamphlet I got to walk around with because it had pieces of the wrapping paper on it, showing all the samples of what you could buy. For real! Squares of wrapping paper! And for some reason, as a child, this was the best thing in the whole world. My favorite wrapping papers were those that were REVERSIBLE. Two DIFFERENT patterns on one roll of wrapping paper! Candy canes on one side, snowmen on the other!! I always hoped my mother would buy the reversible kind so I could wrap my Christmas presents in it. She rarely did because it was more expensive.

I felt really old getting that e-mail. Especially because now? Now you just send out an e-mail with your child's specific code and people can order stuff on the INTERNET! Clicking a mouse! Picking out wrapping paper! And tins of semi-decent chocolate! Without knocking on doors! Or checking off boxes! WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO?

What is the point of that!? What, like it's SAFER because you're not knocking on stranger's doors because you could possibly get abducted or molested or what have you!? What, like it's CONVENIENT because you don't have to go walking around the neighborhood while the sun sets and you're all alone? What kind of people are we raising our children to be if we can't let them run around town selling wrapping paper!?!? I ASK YOU!

By the way, I am totally buying some wrapping paper from her. Maybe more than one roll, you know, for posterity and stuff. I hope they still have the reversible kind.

A Glimpse

Tonight at an actor's seminar, I ran into a kindred spirit.

We seem to be in similar places in the business and together we voiced our frustrations and commiserated while sitting in a hallway, waiting to sing. I auditioned after her and when I walked out, she was waiting there, just to see how it went, just to hear how I felt.

She waited again when I changed into jeans and waited even longer after that when I told her, like the five year old that I am, that I really had to go to the bathroom. Then we talked and laughed all the way to the subway. I walked her to the C train on 8th Avenue and lingered for awhile to hear the end of a story, a saga, something about a boy. It didn't matter.

I watched her little blonde head bob down the steps to the train and I began to walk eastward. I felt lighter, happier, more peaceful, more certain, less alone, all those things you feel when you are in New York City and suddenly out of the crowd, someone moves toward you and you connect. I knew it in my heart, that a tiny seed of kinship had worked it's way inside me and had firmly planted itself among a few withering, broken things.

And when I walked past the restaurants on 50th Street, where couples were holding hands and sipping on glasses of wine, my heart didn't ache as badly as usual. And when I walked past the Broadway theatres where my peers were at that very moment performing, my soul didn't sink.

I took note of it. And I shrugged a bit. And I just walked on.

That Time Of Year

As summer winds down or any season really, I tend to take inventory of the preceding few months and where I stand, how I feel, what I've gained, what I've lost. My therapist tells me that when I compare myself to others, I am setting myself up for failure. But if I don't look around and assess the accomplishments of my peers, how am I supposed to know if I'm on track? Also, if I don't look around and assess the accomplishments of my peers and then work myself up into an hysterical fit of bitterness and inadequacy, WHAT ELSE CAN I BLOG ABOUT!?

Nothing. See? I need to keep doing this. For you, for my fans.

My career path is not a linear path. SURPRISE! Who knew!? There is no "If you get your MBA, THEN you will have a great job with lots of money and hopefully a 401K!" Granted, okay, some people go to college for graduate degrees and whatnot and still find themselves out of work like me but this is my blog and that means NO ONE HAS IT AS BAD AS I DO RIGHT NOW.

With an acting career, there isn't a specific formula for success though I REALLY REALLY WANT ONE! Stupid people book work. Talent-less people book work. I do not book work! Can't someone just give me a concrete way to get a job? I like concrete. I like stable. Look up "Type A" in the dictionary and BAM there's my picture.

But no. There isn't one foolproof road to success though I've taken copious notes on little things to help me along. Here's a list I made today while watching Oprah and eating a hot dog:

THINGS TO DO IN ORDER TO BE A SUCCESSFUL ACTOR:

1. Go on auditions. (Very helpful.)
2. Stop sucking at EVERY SINGLE AUDITION YOU GO ON. Seriously? Stop.
3. This hot dog is fantastic!

So there you go. Go to an audition and do not suck and perhaps, you might find success. Right now? I cannot find any. All I found today was the most insane pilates class I've ever taken, taught by a woman named Greta on the Upper West Side who worked my core and outer thighs like never before. After a 55 minute class, I'm pretty sure I lost two inches off my hips which, come on, is impressive!

Having downtime is a dangerous thing for me. (Read: Today!!! Pilates! Oprah! Hot dogs!) Maybe one of the reasons I like a structured schedule with lots of activities is because I like to feel productive, I like to feel needed and I also will be too busy to listen to the voices in my head. Why, just last night, as I was putting the twins to bed, I started to think that I better find a backup plan, that I better go back to grad school, that anyone who ever told me I was talented probably lied and I better hurry up and do SOMETHING with my life, ANYTHING because if not, there it is, the famous picture, me! In a house! With many cats! Though at this point, I probably won't be able to afford a house, just a one bedroom apartment in East New York. SAY IT AIN'T SO!

So I'm going to try this new thing that we talked a lot about in philosophy last year. I'm going to try being MINDFUL and PRESENT and stop PROJECTING so far into a future I cannot see. For all y'all know, I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. Seriously. At least that's linear. IF I keep crossing the street slowly without looking at the Walk/Don't Walk sign, there is a HIGH CHANCE that a bus is going to hit me. Good to know.

Sometimes it's hard to be alone in a very large city. Months can go by without someone touching me. And I don't mean in a motherly way. And I don't mean in a dirty way. And I certainly don't mean in a motherly dirty way. I mean just basic human contact. Weeks and weeks will go by and no one has physically reached out to me and maybe that's why I squeeze those twin boys so often and so hard. I've always needed that physical reassurance.

This afternoon, I went to get my eyebrows done because I wanted to further reinstate my Day Off From Work As A NYC Single (see also: pilates with Greta and Oprah and hot dogs). The place that I go to plays Indian music and I always feel very relaxed and comforted while I pay someone to groom me. Well, as relaxed and comforted as I can feel while someone rips the hair out of my forehead.

I know that paying someone to groom your eyebrows is kind of an extravagance. It makes me sound spoiled. Couldn't I just take twenty minutes and sit in the bathroom sink with a tweezer like I used to do? I guess so. But I get to sit back in a chair in a spa with yellow and orange walls, sipping herbal tea while Bollywood music plays in the background. You'd choose it too if you could.

Usually, after the aesthetician shows me my fabulous brows in the mirror, she rubs some sort of cream on them and then covers my forehead in a cloth that's been soaked in rosewater. It soothes the irritated skin and it is my favorite part of my whole day since rosewater is my favorite smell in the whole universe besides my dad's aftershave.

Today the spa was very quiet and I supposed the lady in charge of making me less ugly had some extra time on her hands because she moved very slowly and deliberately. After applying some cream to my forehead, she started massaging my temples. The rosewater cloth came next and I closed my eyes as she pressed her hands to my forehead and scalp. She kept running her fingers across the top of my head, all the way to my ears, applying pressure and relieving it.

At one point, she held my scalp in both of her hands and pressed her fingers into my hair. She was cradling my head in her hands and maybe she could sense how lonely I felt and maybe she couldn't but before I could stop myself, I started to cry. Maybe it doesn't count as genuine human contact since I was paying them to do it, kind of like hiring a prostitute. But maybe it does count because all I could think was that another human being was reaching out to me and holding my head like I was a child and silently telling me that everything was alright.

Family Ties

Around noon on Saturday, as I sat on my living room couch blinking, it occurred to me that I had the entire weekend off from work, a very rare thing indeed. I tried to think of some way to spend my time and came up blank. Let's be honest, folks. I can't book an acting gig to save my life right now. My best friend moved to Michigan to do a show until the end of October. My roommate just booked a show and moved to Chicago for six months. And myself: Absolutely 100% Could Not Be More Single At The Moment. So I did what any loyal, desperate, terribly lonely young girl with a three-day weekend free would do: I drove home to visit my parents.

It was the best decision I've made in awhile.

I knew things were going to be okay when I pulled up in the driveway and saw my dad cleaning out the garage. He was wearing a MATH-A-THON t-shirt, shorts and socks that came at least halfway up his thick Polish calves. Brilliance. My mother and I decided to go shopping and after three hours, I came away with two pairs of shoes, a dress, a shirt and a new quilt for my bed. My mom? Totally paid for half of those purchases. ROCKSTAR.

We're having a YOU FINALLY RETIRED! brunch/party/shindig this morning for my dad and his cancer-ridden prostate. Apparently, the cool thing about prostate cancer is that you can retire a year early! Because you can tell the school district in a very serious, concerned voice that you have cancer. Also, let's be honest. My father is an old man and has been teaching mathematics for 36 years. I think it's time for him to sit around watch reruns of the Honeymooners, don't you?

So my little sister arrived yesterday from college for the party. My sister...she is a force to be reckoned with. I'm not sure how to begin to describe my sister except to say that she's 4'11, has the thickest Long Island accent you've ever heard and has been known to give the impression that she's not that smart. She IS smart. She is quite brilliant actually. But. Well. You can almost always catch her looking like this:
Anyway. I knew things were going to be GREAT when she said "Ohhhhh have I got a story for you!!" With my sister, the term "story" can loosely be translated as "A Time When I Looked Really Stupid", which are my FAVORITE KINDS OF STORIES.

Our favorite Debra story so far occurred in high school, during a gym test. I know, a GYM TEST!? WHAT!? I'm pretty sure our school district is the only district on the planet to have written physical education tests, but I digress. You basically sit on the gym floor with a Number 2 pencil and a scantron and answer questions about raquetball or lacrosse or what have you. I think it's a way for phys ed teachers to pretend that they have a real job.

So there sits my sister, taking the test and she's fine until she gets to Test Question #7. She's staring at the paper, utterly confused and looks up, frantically trying to get someone's attention.

"PSSSSSSSSSSSST!" she whispers to a friend. "NUMBER 7!"

"What about it!?" her friend hisses back.

"What is it!?" Debbie asks, panicked.

"What is what?!" asks her friend through clenched teeth, trying not to get caught.

"What does it mean? What is FAT-IH-GOO?"

"What!?" her friend asks, clearly confused.

"Fat-ih-goo!" my sister says louder. "Fat-ih-goo, fat-ih-goo! What does it mean!?"

At this point, a lightbulb goes off in her friend's head and she finally understands. She puts her head down over her test and starts shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

"Deb," she says, through tears, "It's not fat-ih-goo. It's fatigue."

I asked my sister if her new story was better than her fat-ih-goo story and she answered YES. And I waited for it, because I knew, I just knew, that it was going to be spectacular.

And it was.

This is what she told me.

My sister has taken a position at school that's similar to an RA except she's in charge of events at the student union. Because of this, she gets free room and board but she also had to go back to school early for training. During training, each day, there was a new icebreaker so that you could learn about each other and bond with your peers and blah blah, been there done that, HATE ICEBREAKERS.

But my sister? She LOVES icebreakers which is probably why she is 10000 times more social than I am.

One of her teammates came up with an icebreaker entitled "The Four C's". On a piece of paper, you had to answer four questions that began with "C". Then you handed in your paper to be mixed up with everyone else's. At the end, you would select a piece of paper, read the answers outloud and try to guess who wrote the answers. (See also: why I think icebreakers are dumb!)

The four elements to the icebreaker were as follows:
1. COLOR:
2. CUISINE:
3. COUNTRY:
4. CLOSET DREAM:

Everyone began scribbling out their favorite foods and colors and secret ambitions. They mixed the papers up and everyone chose someone else's paper. Debra knew something was horribly wrong when they started reading the answers outloud. Someone else answered, "The color blue, Italian food, France, and my closet dream is to become a millionaire."

Debbie slowly raised her hand and asked, "Um, guys? What exactly is a closet dream?"

They explained to her that it was something that you've always aspired to be but have never really told anyone--to be a millionaire, to be a movie star, etc. My sister nodded like ohhhh, of course and then realized that she had to get her paper back before anyone heard her answers. Too late.

The lucky person who retrieved Debbie's paper was not even a student, it was her supervisor. He unfolded the paper in front of him and began to read aloud:

"Color, orange. Cuisine, Thai food. Country, Poland. Closet dream..."

And then her supervisor trailed off, staring hard at the answer that followed. When it finally clicked, he started laughing uncontrollably, in a sheer perfect Fat-Ih-Goo Moment. My sister's peers wanted to know what was so funny and begged him to finish reading her answer because don't YOU want to know what my sister's Closet Dream is?

He wiped tears away from his eyes, took a deep breath and read loudly,

"CLOSET DREAM: A closet with rotating shelves and a place to color coordinate my shoes."

On that note, the entire assembly of students fell onto the ground in peels of laughter. My sister just stood there, knowing that this was so damn typical of herself, to misread the question.

I told her that that was a pretty good closet dream and if I had any dreams about how my closet should be, I would totally color coordinate my shoes too.

It's good to be home.