It’s when you are taking people to get their car at the impound lot and your entire exhaust system crashes to the pavement.

On your birthday, no less.

So, I dressed up for opening night, and nobody else did. So now, I’ve got to dress up for every show and make it seem like I’m just fancy all of the time.

Windwalkers has been rehearsing, and we have 3 more dress rehearsals. A week after we open, I have callbacks for the Shakespeare Shakedown devised show I’m directing. The following Tuesday, we start reHerschel-and-the-Hanukkah-Goblins.

In other news, I’m plugging through another Mary E. Twomey book (bless her) and learning how to hustle. It’s a process.

And in the final news, it’s almost naptime.

 

I’m out of practice. My goal for the next post is to write something that is interesting. What can I say? My standards are high.

A working day in the life of a voice actor:

1. Walk Augie, or W’augie.
2. meditate.
3. check email.
4. eat strawberries and granola, the breakfast of W’augers.
5. edit 2 chapters. (they were short.)
6. take a nap. (Didn’t get one yesterday.)
7. warm up.
8. check email.
9. record a chapter.
10. 10 minutes of Pilates to rest the voice.
11. record 2 chapters.
12. check email.
13. lunch.
14. let a fly out of the house.
15. check email.
16. research producers for what seems a ridiculous amount of time.
17. send a single email to one of them.
18. write this list so I can look at it and hopefully see that I am, indeed, not just sitting around wasting my day, and, universe-willing, be able to look back at it in a year or so and think, “Ah yes, back in the days before I was inundated with work, and had time to frolic, check email, and let flies out of the house.”

Here’s hoping.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a short deadline to do a book. Now that I’m doing it as my job, I forgot how marathonic it actually is. I drank lots and warmed up and warmed down, but I felt like this week was a continuous trek. Is this what it feels like to finish a marathon? Feels pretty great.

And when I wasn’t recording, I wanted to be. I feel you now, my runners.

Here I was, fretting and freaking out about having something to express, and no project in which to express it, and forgetting that the universe gives you what you need when you need it.

Wendy, Kim, and myself, having not had enough of play time when we explored Eugenio Barba at TUTA, met again. Kim had us read a story, The Debutante, by Leonora Carrington (say it all high-class-like). Then we came up with about 3-4-10 projects that excited us, based on that story. We have a lot to do, and so I say, thanks, universe.

 

*What’s the P for? It’s probably better if you don’t know. After my mom learned what the song “25 or 6 to 4” was about, she was so disappointed. I don’t want that to happen again.

Place: my house.

Time: Dawn, buttcrack of.

Plot: I got up at 2:30, an hour before my alarm to finish taking the colon prep. It sucked. But the worst is over.

I think.

 

On a better note, scored two Tantor books yesterday!

And that made all the difference.

A colon does smile, in a way. Very broadly. Today is literally the shitty day, Colonoscopy Eve. I can’t eat, and later tonight I’ll have to drink prep, which is the crappy part (again, literal) of the experience.

The actual colonoscopy is delightful, entertaining, and informative. In the past, I’ve usually only been anasthesia’ed to the twilight level, and haven’t been completely under. And it’s a lovely time of being in the moment, because you’re too loopy to be anything else. And onscreen, you get to see the inside of your colon, which is incredibly interesting, and the part that blows my loopy mind is that it’s happening simultaneously with the strange thing you feel rummaging around in your body. It’s a fully immersive experience, so to speak, although I guess you’re the thing in which the immersion is happening.

And then there are the crackers and farting. David Sedaris says it much more eloquently than i do. I’m just excited. It’s like going to the science museum, or the zoo.

But it’s the reward for drinking the prep. How can you have any pudding if you don’t drink your prep?…Pudding might not be the right metaphor, here.

I swam! The beach and the water have been filthy, but yesterday was hot and I needed to move. So I took my first swim. Everything had been cleaned up, and I did a swim that my watch said was .17 miles, compared to my normal .6 miles, even though I took the same path. So who knows. Maybe the water made Siri too cold and she took it out on me. But it was wonderful, and I went farther out than usual afterward, because i could. I’m back, baby.*

 

*The lake. The lake is my baby.

On Saturday, The Rogers Park running club got a bench spot to paint at the beach near Farwell. I didn’t know about it until later in the day, on account of how i hate FB and don’t go there, but I eventually rode my bike over and got in some last minute painting. It was so fun, and there were SO many people down there! I painted for a couple of hours, and when we finished for the day, I sat and listened to a band playing nearby. The water was too wave-y and lifeguarded for swimming, but I bought some lemonade from some kids and walked through the nature path. I took some video for future projects, because I may one day need a tree blowing in the wind. Or waves on the sand. Or footage of walking down a path. You never know.

I walked by all the other spaces, and they ranged from kids’ painting to professional artists that I really enjoyed watching work. And it was bittersweet, because their work will only be around for a year. And I guess that’s the point; the pictures mark the year and what is happening, and they are ephemeral, which makes them even more special to see.

This is why I moved to Chicago. You cannot beat a Chicago summer.*

 

*Unless there are manatees. Manatees beat everything in the world.