Controlly McViceGrip

I know I know. I have control issues. Maybe even control tissues since it's basically a muscular reaction at this point.

But I may have been outdid.

The last 2 months have just let me muttering (Okay, screaming), "Stop trying to control me." And this is not to directors. I LOVE direction. Sadly, most of my direction the past couple of years just includes the word "Don't." This must be because I am VERY creative.

Let me give a list of some of the strangest offenses...

1. Being given a line reading...in conversation.

2. Being told by an employer that they want me here early so I will be well-rested for the first day of rehearsal. Well...I'm being nice enough to come a day earlier and you obviously don't know this cast, 'cause we're gonna go out and get drunk.

3. Having a colleague say, "I run this rehearsal."

4. Having stickers on the back of company cars that ask, "How's my driving?" and include a phone number so any bored tea partier can call the insurance company and narc on you for "unsavory lane changes."

5. Being asked, "Who was driving the company car at noon yesterday?" and not being told why.

6. A colleague having to sign a release saying she would drive better (aka, no unsavory lane changes).*

7. A suggested group warm-up pre-show.

8. Having my clothing eyed and "fixed" by other than someone employed to do so.

9. Being called once a week for each claim (so 3x a week) by Worker's Comp to see if I still need medical treatment.

10. Being called to the office and never being told why.

And of course...All Things Pandermonium.

It's become cold sore central for me. Haven't had any blossom in nine months. Two in the past three weeks.

But it's a good lesson in what controlling tendencies can do to those around you (and my lips). I guess. I gave up caring three days ago and it's worked wonders on my disposition.

Can't you tell?

*This is weighing particularly heavy on my mind at the moment, as I cut someone off at a four-way stop traffic circle. He was directly opposite and turning left. I was turning right...into the same lane...BECAUSE HE DIDN'T HAVE HIS BLINKER ON. So, there I am smiling and curtsying with an "I'm so sorry" wave, because he can just dial up a number and say I did an unsavory turn WHEN IT WAS HIS FAULT. This is what I'm worrying about while I'm driving instead of DRIVING. I'm honestly thinking of driving around wearing a Nixon mask.

Eine Kleine Tea Party

So...here I am in AZ. And I'm asked to do a radio interview...a 6:30 am radio interview. I turn it down, because...well...I couldn't do it...'cause...well...I didn't want to.

So...I do a 9:30 am radio interview. They lure me with a venti iced green tea unsweetened and the company of my buddy Matt. As we're riding over, our press rep turns on the radio and it's...

right wing.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

He claims the station is well-balanced and our guy is pretty middle of the road.

I listen some more.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

This be a Christian radio station, praise sweet candy Christ.

We're sitting in the anteroom and I can hear more commentary that makes my ears bleed. I'm beginning to twitch--I have no interest in embarrassing the theater, but as witnessed in the West Wing during the Bush League, I can be pretty mouthy if I feel injustice and/or thoughtlessness is being tossed about in the name of righteousness.*

Matty and I enter to meet our host. Within 30 seconds I learn he grew up two blocks from my Tante. Let the softening begin.

Not mine. His.

Okay, a little bit me.

And we are jolly and intelligent and fun. But I make sure to talk about being a female drag queen. The host asks Matty to show him a few moves. (We were simulcast on the web.) Matt suggests they partner. Matt wangles the host into being the girl 'cause Matt has to be the guy 'cause Matt is taller.

Brilliance.

And the guy is a good sport about it all. We leave all shades of proud that we have softened him.

They cut the dance from the archives of the show that are now available on the interwebs. And it's not his producers who have done this. He is his own producer.

Our work here is obviously not done.

*God does not talk to me. I do not talk to him. We have an understanding.

Pandermonium

I'm in the midst of it. Pandermonium. I've voiced my concern so it's not like I'm going to surprise colleagues by writing about it here.

I'm in the midst of a co-production. And the show is being altered to suit the new theater.

Now, the stage was built incorrectly, so we've had to change blocking and set moves. This was a mistake. This I get.

But altering the integrity of a piece to pander to an audience and its current political climate? Not their intelligence. Not even their sensibilities. Their beliefs.

Slippery slope we're being thrust down. In my eyes, it turns the theater into a bordello and the actors into prostitutes.

This is a mistake, I believe.* This I will never get.

And I've always preferred to think of myself as carny trash.

The audience is reacting less and less enthusiastically the more we sell ourselves.

This I will sadly have to get used to.

This and feeling dirty.

* Even the Nana said, "Oh no!" And when the Nana says, "Oh no!" people should listen.

SNICKERS!!!!

Nine years and one day ago I left Manhattan on the 8:35 am train to Baltimore.

The Universe is good at keeping me out of harm's way.

And I slept through it. In its entirety. It wasn't until I awoke right outside of B'more that I had a feeling something had gone wrong. Everyone on the train seemed to be making alternate plans. I exited the train to find my new company manager, Katie Burns. I simply asked, "What's wrong?"

"You have no idea at all?"

"Nope. I was asleep."

"Well, I'll tell you in bits and pieces as we walk to the car. It's a lot to take in."

And that's what she did. Every hundred feet or so, she'd drop another nugget of information.

When we reached the car, she handed me my welcome bag full of delightful treats. And after every nugget, I would find another treat to revel over.

"And then the Pentagon was hit."

"Oooh, a violet plant."

"And then the South Tower fell."

"Oh, look. Notepaper."

"And then the North Tower fell."

"SNICKERRRRRRRRRS!!!!!"

That's what I remember most vividly. For a few seconds, a Snickers bar was the most comforting thing in my world.

For years, I would contact Katie Burns on the date...with the single word, "Snickers."

I don't know where she is now but I thought of her. And I did buy some Snickers.

9-11-2010

When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.--Jimi Hendrix

Pie

The pies have pleased.

Years ago, back in my Disney days, some delicious, anonymous soul would leave a 2-liter bottle of TaB in my dressing room. AMAZING. What's better than starring in a Broadway show? Starring in a Broadway and receiving anonymous TaB.

Knowing that not everyone is smart enough to enjoy the Nectar of the Gods (and wanting to hoard it all for me, Me, ME), I started a tradition--when a beloved colleague does a Broadway gig, I deliver a homemade chocolate chip cookie pie. Who doesn't love a ginormous, gooey chocolate chip cookie? No one, says I.*

The tradition extends to any show I am doing at any theater...for tech. Chocolate chip cookie pies show up during the ten out of twelves. Even under the best of circumstances, ten out of twelves suck. Who doesn't love a ginormous, gooey chocolate chip cookie during tech? No one, says I.*

Everyone gets a little happy and feels a little cared for and that's a little bit of goodness.

And for some reason I feel a little happier and a little more cared for when I do it.

PIE!

*I recently jauntily delivered one to a favorite executive cross-dresser who was back on Broadway after many years. It never occurred to me that he was of such fame that he wouldn't be able to accept a gift from a stranger. I sure hope the crew enjoyed it.

Song for the Day

h/o/t/ Jim Sweeney

I Took a Dislike

...a dislike to someone recently. A pretty strong dislike. And I couldn't figure out why. Was it a mix of bossy know-it-allness with a touch of incompetence (like we alls got)? That will usually do the trick. Was there the added dash of megalomania (it's like lookin' in a mirror)? If so, I'm truly in a crank stew.

But this was different. This made steam come rushing forth from every orifice.

And then I figured it out.

He sounds like Rush Limbaugh.

Enough said.

At least if you know me. He could be Mother Theresa and I'd still have issues.

Happy 8000

You e-lightful Bleaders. You did it!

You and the Arabic readers where TiZ translates to something along the lines of "hoo hoo."

I know there are some blogs that reach 8000+ hits in a day, but since I remain Ann Anonymous, do not promote (other than the occasional shout out on the Book of Face), and am just "the nicest random blog I've ever come across,"* I count myself mighty blessed.

As a result of a kick in the AsS from Labor Day (which I will spend sacked on the soporofic sofa with a head cold...which is strange 'cause I'm in Tucson where it's so dry I have no boogers), I vow to labor (in a Tizzy the light fantastic way) more with my writing.

See you in the land of 0s and 1s...it's Heaven.com.

*Thank you, random reader from India...where TIZ does not mean "hoo hoo."

I Thank You

You who commented. You who didn't turn your backs on Ye Olde TiZ and AsS when I took my momentary blug leave of absence. Ooooh...a bleave of absence.

After the previous blug, I think the reason is obvious.

By the way, I DID clean and I DID find someone who wanted to take care of my apartment for me whilst I am away.

And I DID see an almost secret Eddie Izzard concert in a tiny venue. Genius.

And I CONTINUE to work with the sweetest group of people in the history of theater.

Life is Good.

Love, Loss and What I Ate

LOVE

I went to L.A. for three days or so. Not for the reason I expected but for the reason I needed. To see friends. And not the friends you often read me write about (I was going to write "hear me write about" but that just seemed too stoopid for written word) but the ones I obviously needed to see.

First stop-Larry. Larry and the dogs. Larry who has been around electronically for years but only recently again personally. I'm glad the recent has happened. Larry is a good man. A great man. With great dogs. We went hiking 'cause that's what I wanted/needed to do. I find talking easier when there is physical activity involved. I find almost any interaction easier when physical activity is involved. Keeps me out of my head. Keeps me honest.

And then I scampered away to my

Second stop-Death and the Props Goddess. Yes, that's right. Death and the Props Goddess. We're going way back...Yale. Dr. Death was renowned because he could take one toke or your pot and tell you what kind it was and WHERE IT WAS GROWN. Yes, he was the Henry Higgins of Pot. To the extent he took my roommates mom's crop and murmured, "Sens. Westchester?"

Bingo!

The Props Goddess did props for the Yale Precision Marching Band. She earned the moniker rightly. If you've never seen them, youtube 'em. Raucous, underhanded, overt musical joy. Death was the announcer (as well as a brilliant organist who serenaded thousands of tripping Yalies with Bach Toccata in D minor at the yearly Halloween Concert at Woolsey Hall). I fondly remember their "Salute to Communism" and the quick cut-to-commercial on national tv.

Anyway...that's who they were. Who they are? AWESOME. I never spend three hours over dinner. I spent three hours over dinner.

Third stop-Harriet. I love her. Have worked with her. Barely know her. But love her. She is funny and smart and thoughtful and thought-filled and kind.

Fourth stop-Kevin. Hiking with Kevin. Kevin makes me laugh and I envy Kevin 'cause Kevin lives his dreams. Hanging with Michael. Who knew I needed to see Michael? Loopy, efficient, generous Michael. Callie. Who knew I needed to be dry-humped by Callie? Don't get excited. Callie is a dog. Debra Jo. I knew I needed to see Debra Jo. Debra Jo always makes time. And she knew I needed an attitude adjustment. Little did she know how much.

Fifth stop-Kieran. Warped Kieran. He drinks TaB. He's a film-maker. He's wicked and wicked smart.

Sixth stop-Sus and her baby sirens. All delicious, gnawable creatures who put things in a new perspective.

Seventh stop-Sistah. We have not seen one another in eight years. We played identical twins. We would like to play twins again. This would take some weight loss on my part. She is married to the delicious Rafe and mother to another awesome siren. She has NOT turned into a soccer mom with a muffy hairband as she feared. I needed to see her. I'm not quite sure why yet but maybe someday...

Eighth stop-Nemo. She has a real name but I like Nemo. When we met 14 years ago, I was in the midst of some naughtiness and kept repeating, "I'm telling no one." Well...Nemo means "no one" so that's how I got away with confessing my sins. We continue to confess and absolve and shriek and cackle over life. She buys me TaB. Her almost teenage siren was there too. If all I created on this earth was this young woman, I would die happy. Nemo is the best. Mother. EVER.

Ninth stop-Eddie. He's new. He's Nemo's. I like him.

Other things I loved-Von's had TaB. The Tangerine Hotel. The Troubador Players' production of A WHITHERS TALE. My CaR and San Diego...and Newport Beach and Encinitas.

LOSS

Oy. It started with a director saying I was not right for a role I had played to great success before, so I would never be playing her again.*

Within an hour, the job for which I had booked a ticket to L.A. (and then to Tucson) was pulled due to ridiculous legalities that folks have overlooked for twenty some-odd years. Thank you, ridiculous legalities. I now have a residence in L.A. so you can never ridiculous legality me again. Since the ticket was non-refundable, L.A.--here I went.

While hiking with Larry, I learned that George David Weiss had passed. You may not know him by name, but he wrote WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD, THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT and CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU. He also wrote my first princess musical which put me on the map with an Atlantic Records original cast recording and a Warner Home Video. We hadn't spoken in ages and he was quite aged (Don't read this, Nana.) but we had worked together for five months and were good drinking buddies, so it made me melancholy. Workable melancholy but nonetheless...

And then...

Andy died. I'm not going to give you his full, delicious moniker because...well...he never asked to be included in something entitled TIZ AND ASS. But Andy was an ER doctor, a highly-regarded Ivy League professor and researcher. And while riding his Vespa to work he was hit by a truck.

And he died.

When his brother-in-law called to tell me, he wanted to make sure I wasn't behind the wheel. Why compound the issue, eh?

Honestly, Universe, you couldn't have picked on some exec from an investment bank bail-out who took his undeserved "stolen" yearly bonus and went to Cancun?

You had to take Andy?

Andy was a part of my Yale escapades that I hold madly near and dear. An episode of my life I rarely write about because I hold it so strangely sacred. A group of guys who, no matter what I did, made me feel like I was brilliant and cared for and a lady. They are a part of my secret arsenal. And Andy was a kind and loopy and generous and talented and absolutely brilliant bullet.

As I wrote one of my friends, "my most recent fond memory of andy was at the reunion, post-cemetary when we all gathered at the non-working fountain in front of stirling. andy just dropped a beautiful nugget of why we had to cherish the kind of discourse owned only by the sob's because it was precious and existed nowhere else.

i hate this for all of you. the earth does not seem to be spinning on its axis correctly."

I made the sadness workable for a little while. People to see and love, you know.

Now I just hurt. If you feel like being angry with God, I'm your girl. Call me. But I may be asleep since that's what I do when sad. When the going gets tough, Tizzy gets her AsS to bed.**

WHAT I ATE

I ate a lot. I've become a nervous eater. L.A. and its environs sustained me with...

peanut butter

chocolate chip cookie dough

Snicker's bar

Japanese vegan

Spinach salad with a pig's worth of bacon

Bob's Big Boy Bacon Cheeseburger with avocado and fries

chorizo omelet

chips and guac

a GINORMOUS shrimp quesadilla

a GINORMOUS honey bun

bagel with peanut butter and butter

Carvel large chocolate cone

and...

2 12 packs of TaB.

All in three days.

Burp.

*Okay. You'll find that the tapestry of the show unravels if you change the quality of that character. It's not the book and it's not the movie. Go with God (the one I'm currently rather angry with).

**Actually, not sure I believe in GoD. Working on that. I do believe in the human spirit. And I also believe that my AsS will not remain in bed for long.

I Am Well Aware...

...that I suck major blog weenie. If any of you are still out there, I will slog and flog through a real live blog tomorrow.

It Is Official

I cannot write when I am with family. This is not procrastination. This is not an excuse. It is utter reality.

And today I rest.

Tons of love,

Me

A Little Nibble of Joy

$3 Part 2

I wrote something hear and then hit VIEW BLOG which erased it all. Of course it was quite pithy and profound.

Let's just leave it at...I'm gonna owe a lot of money.

Tons,

meeeeee

$3

So, have you been bleading...blog-reading...MY blog to be exact...recently? (I think those should be dub dashes don't you?)

I think today I may have to give $3 to charity.

My world exploded last night. Got a tentative offer on a gig that could end up being beaucoup bucks. I will have to leave for Tucson three days earlier than expected.

So clean clean clean. Find subletter subletter subletter. See friends friends friends family family family. Give shit away way ay.

All this (and the rest of a regular day) I could handle.

But I have to deal with FREAKIN' WORKERS' COMP some more. Another hour wasted today. Just gone. And some of my soul ...gone too. I have never had to deal with them directly. I have never had $1000 bill come to me directly...TWICE. I have never not had a theatre deal with it. I have never...well, I guess I have now but I liked it better when I'd never.

I'm an artist, goddammit. Not an accountant. Nothing against accounting, or business managing or anyone dealing with money. I was offered a job on Wall Street back in '89 in research. And while I learned the trade they offered to start paying my $150,000 a year salary.

And I said no. It's not who I am. Although I am quite good at investing, it's not where I live, breath or poop.

Sometimes I'm stoopid.

This is my lame-ass way of saying I don't think I'm going to get an hour of writing in today. Will writing this and then reading my play research on the bus to and from from the chiropractor (that's another hour and a half out of my day) count?

Please say yes.

Oh, Jack!

Turns out I know Jack. Turns out I beat up on someone who was trying to do good. Who I have never witnessed doing anything but good. Put it this way, we did a gig called FANNY HILL together at the York. At the penultimate performance, when Fanny and I arrived in her new bedchamber, we discovered props had left a ginormous dollhouse from the previous night's performance. It represented a mansion at the end of the show. At the beginning of the next day's show it was just a GINORMOUS PAIN IN THE ASS. So, I took it offstage, down a treacherous spiral staircase, in a corseted dress with a train, cackling the entire way.

By the end of the performance, there was a bottle of VERY nice vodka awaiting me in my dressing room...from Jack.

Jack does good. And Jack was trying to do good again. And he did. He explained what he meant and he included his name, occupation, email address and current residence. And I...

MizTiz said...

jacky jack jack jack. i adore you. you are good. i was cranky. i was bad. writing about something VERY hard and your post caught me at a time when i was feeling particularly vulnerable. so my apologies to the goodness that is you.

and it IS moving forward. really is. so thank you for your concern and your kind words and please accept my humble apology...

August 15, 2010 12:07 PM

MizTiz said...

p.s. you did not include your social security number,

I like Jack. I'm grateful that Jack took the time to explain who and why he was.

55 more minutes to go!

Really, Jack?*

Really? I just wrote for 2 hours and 42 minutes...about one of the more gaping, more tender wounds in my life.

If you knew me you'd know...

#1 I do things I'm afeared of all the time.

#2 I'm quite bright and aware that procrastination is a symptom or byproduct of fear and I don't need a Psych 101 lecture to inform me thus.

#3 I don't appreciate people who don't bother to identify themselves. I find it a form of cowardice.

Procrastinate that.

That's all. Thanks.

*Poor Jack commented on my last blog. Wound writing made me cranky. Oops. PUT DOWN THE KEYBOARD, TIZ!!!

All I Have To Do

All I have to do is write for an hour today. An hour today. An hour today.

Well...there goes a minute.

I Read Somewhere

I read somewhere...

First of all, I wish that the past tense of "read" wasn't "read." It makes clarification difficult, oui?

How about "red" or "readed or my personal favorite "readeded."

Anyway, in the recent past, I read somewhere to develop *whatever* good working habit, pay yourself a small amount (like $3) every time you succeed in your work goal for that day. Cool. Fun. Every time you don't succeed, you remove that $3 and give it so some deserving (or wtf) undeserving charity.

So far this week I have $15. I give myself two days off a week. I'm sure when I start working in the business of show again (in approximately 2 1/2 weeks) I will hop it up to six days a week, as that's how much I have to work any way.

Anyway, my work habit is to write for an hour a day. Doesn't sound like it should be much, but I can be quite the twiddling twat. And I have all of these projects I would either like to continue (blog), complete (play and acting book), sell (book the play is based on) and start (The Coffee TaBle Book). So I can go into overwhelm. Like this morning. When I took took myself to see "Eat, Pray, Poop."*

The movie sucks.

So I went and worked out...twiddle. Then I sauna'd...twiddle. And the actually cleaned out some drawers...TWAT!

But now I sit and write. But I only have three more minutes and then I have to move onto my next project. That's the another rule I readeded somewhere. If you have limited time, so everything gets its due, divide and conquer.

Twelve minutes? Not enough time to edit the bl*(&^%$&

*Actually that's going to be the name of my sixth writing project.