Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Groove is in the (He)art

Friday was a close call. Long week. Air that hurts your face when you walk outside. Dark by 6 p.m. Treacherous pothole night driving. At home, comfy purple couch, down throw blanket. Groovy lava lamp that fills the room with warm light. An impressive Netflix streaming queue. And junk food cravings.

The night seemed to have hiber-eat written all over it, and while I was desperately trying to justify couchpotatoist behavior, I came across a new event at the IMA (Indianapolis Museum of Art): Final Fridays.

First Friday  is a tradition I had enjoyed for many years. It didn't matter if I was hanging with a friend, meeting up with a group, or going solo. When it first started, you could catch free shuttle buses all around town to the various galleries, most of which offered wine and beer for a donation. Some had live music, lectures, slide shows, and films.

But, and I apologize for the broken record-edness, like a lot of other great things in this town, First Fridays might as well be called "Another Great Event that Became a Family Event." I love your kids, honest I do. I love it that they have no interest in art and instead run bat shit crazy all over the galleries--and that you are here actually to catch up with your friends, not to watch your children or look at art. I love it that you have a double wide stroller that you use as a weapon to get through throngs of people who are trying to study paintings and sculptures. I love it that you dump off vans of unruly teenagers at these galleries where they do nothing but clog the halls and constantly bump into you while they're text walking and flank every exit where they stand and smoke and text and don't move out of the way. I love it that the galleries are open on Saturdays for Family Days, and instead you go on Friday nights and then complain about galleries serving wine and beer "in a family atmosphere."

I don't love it. Enroll your kids in art classes. Take them to galleries, but for God's sake, read them some Little House at night and remind them of the golden rule, will you?

I haven't been to First Friday in over a year. I miss it terribly, but every time a friend goes, they say the same thing: You can't even walk in to half the galleries because they're crawling with little kids who are crawling all over the floors.

But Final Friday was something new, and the great thing about trying something new is that it won't have had a chance to catch on with the masses yet.

To compare, galleries feature local art by local, contemporary artists, usually in storefronts or lofts, with the emphasis on buying art. 

The IMA is one of the ten oldest and biggest museums in the country, and sits on 135 wooded acres smack-dab in the middle of town on the beautiful canal. Its campus boasts world-class gardens, a nature park, and a historic mansion, as well as a network of biking and hiking trails. The museum itself houses over 54,000 works spanning 5,000 years. The IMA is a cultural gem to a city like Indianapolis, and some wonderful people keep it vibrant, relevant, and best of all accessible. 

But.

It's a museum. Things are housed under glass. Behind velvet ropes. Guarded by security.

That's a good thing for precious works of art, but how could such a place host an interactive, festive atmosphere?

I just had to see for myself. I called my partner, suggested the outing, and for fun I got dressed up, complete with tall skinny boots and a faux fur coat. 

With a line-up like this, how could we go wrong?

7:30 pm » Take a Slightly Naughty Tour
Voyeurism: Scene through the Windows at the IMA
The eyes are the windows of the soul, so they say. Peek through some windows and discover what the artists found so fascinating.


8 pm » Express Yourself! The Exquisite Corpse
Your Line or Mine? Surrealist artists exploited the notion of chance by making collective collage images called the cadavre exquis (or exquisite corpse). Add your own marks, lines, and shapes to a community canvas, and explore the unexpected in an exquisite corpse drawing activity. Prepare to be surprised or shocked at the outcome.


8:30 pm » Final Fridays Music Series: Kaleidoscope Jukebox
The music emitting from this jukebox takes you on a kaleidoscopic journey through the past, present and future, hinting at dub, hip hop, downtempo, soul, funk, latin, and jazz. 


How many times have I stared at the art and pondered it or just quickly walked by? A docent led us on a tour, offering us insights on the artists, the times, and probed us for what we saw in the paintings. The IMA is home to priceless works by O'Keeffe, Gauguin, Mahler, Seurat, Matisse, Cezanne, and countless others. It has a gallery devoted specifically to Hoosier artists, which I should add, was some of the best in the museum. She offered back stories about how artists came to study, whom they loved, and whom they scorned. Van Gogh's falling out with Gauguin caused him such distress that he was hospitalized for years. That one really struck me, as a falling out with a friend once put me back a night or two. It helped me put it into perspective, reminding me that we're all human. I looked around at all the amazing art, my partner, with whom I was so happy to share the event, and and the city lights out the windows, and something like electricity started pulsing through me.


I looked around the group of people assembled. There were college students. Senior citizens. A 40+ singles group. A farmer. A Marine in uniform. A man in a top hat and cape. 

And I'm there. I'm present. I showed up. I observed. I was part of it. 

Art is for everyone who will take the time. I found paintings that nearly moved me to tears. I found some whose beauty made me smile wide. Some that made me ponder about the future and past. And in one case, one I would have happily jumped into and lived inside happily ever after.

After the tours, we headed to the piazza and bought some Chilean wine and local cheese, and the next thing I know, one by one, we're surrounded by people we know. I thought about all the times over the past year or two that I've felt I don't belong here--no family, no childhood, adolescent or even early-adult friends, and suddenly I realized that what I have here in Indy is my own community of people, and if it's okay to say, it's a community of people of whom I'm quite proud--photographers, film makers, publishers, and lovers of art and nature, travelers of time and space, and above all friendly faces. 

And in my joy and gratitude, I realized something else. Something wasn't bothering me. Or rather, someone. A person I had dated a few years previous was there, too, not-so-subtly encroaching on my personal space, trying to make his presence known. It's not the first time he has done this out in public, and while it's never pleasant, it has never ruined my night. I think we all have one ex, whom, at least in the immediate months following a break-up, has power to turn a good night sour, but this person never had that power. But in the past, I would simply move on and remove myself from the shared environs. But this night was different. Something about this night made me stake out my ground. I had people here.  A history. Electricity. I was wanted here. 

There was music. The inimitable DJ Kaleidoscope Jukebox was spinning!

I took the dance floor, not knowing a soul. 

The DJ was playing a sort of acid groove funk mix, the kind of music I might play if making a film about amoebas. The music sounded like my lava lamp come to life.

And I came to life. My partner did not wish to dance, and I went it alone. Suddenly, various friends and a cast of characters from my loose knit community joined me--a tattoo-covered hippie chick, the farmer with diamond stud earring, my friends, and yes, some kids. Yes, kids.

Kids. Kids were there. They were dancing with me. They were being present with me. Their parents smiled and watched, and they asked me to twirl them and spin them, and I did. To me, they were part of the art of life. Young and old, strangers and friends coming together in dance.

The encroaching ex took to the floor too. He danced next to me maybe five minutes, about as long as it took him to figure out that he wasn't bothering me.

I couldn't be bothered, because the groove was in my heart. 

I showed up.

We closed the place. 11 pm, lights up, and we walked back into the cold night, snowflakes dancing above in street lights, already looking forward to cozying up on the couch in the light of my lava lamp, completely smitten with our terrific Friday night in a pretty terrific city in a known crappy month!


                                           The escalators





                               This painting takes up half the wall and depicts
                               a bustling 1800s Indy

                                         I love this one.



                                             Adults at the art table.

                                  At Final Friday they would have liked Belly Dancers
                                                               and free weed.




For Saturday, I had tickets to the Indiana Repertory Theater (IRT) to see Sondheim's A Little Night Music. I won the tickets to this prestigious fully professional theater by correctly answering a trivia question online. When I picked up the tickets, I noticed they were vouchers for any show of the season. A wonderful idea crossed my mind.

It's no secret that I don't like musicals. They are long and tedious and dippy.

Playing in the smaller theater was a play that I knew my baseball-loving partner would love: Jackie & Me by Steven Dietz, which was based on the best-selling children's book by Dan Gutman, is a sort of fantasy based on Jackie Robinson's rookie year with the Dodgers.

In present day, a twelve-year old boy who is constantly taunted on the baseball field is magically transported to 1947 Brooklyn, where he would witness the first African American to play for Major League Baseball and to become Rookie of the Year.

It was a beautiful story, tidily told--90 tight minutes of action, dialog, and swift pacing. The acting was stupendous, and by the end, we were both laughing tears of joy. We stayed for the actor/director talk-back.

I was dressed up for a night of theater. I figured two nights of snappy dressing in the dead of winter was good for me, and I chose a long sweater dress, a thin belt, black hose, tall boots, a purple hat, and my super cute black trench coat. We were out and about on the town, and after the show, we stopped for dinner at a cozy Italian place called Lorenzos. 

Indy has this great tradition called Devour Downtown in which all the restaurants feature special fixed-price menus. It's a great way to experience some fine dining that you might not normally make room for in your budget.

I'm all for living within my means, traveling on a budget, and watching my spending. A very easy way to control spending is to eat many meals at home. I never eat fast food when I can make something quickly, and if given the option for a chain restaurant, I typically take a pass, preferring to save the occasion for something nice.

With a candle on the table, a split of wine, and an elegant menu, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement and made a night of fine theater and fine dining. I guess we could do it more often, but it would be at the cost of other events, and I think it's truly more fun to do it when it's a treat.

Some weekends can be a real treat.

But you gotta show up.

Hiber-eating can wait for a Tue or Wed, but only after I've done a class or two at the gym and done some writing.

January: you were good to me.

February: Bring it!


"Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite, circa....90?

Try not to dance! Try it!




Thursday, January 24, 2013

I Love the (Week) Night Life

Alicia Bridges loved the night life, and Loverboy thought we should all work for the weekends, but I really enjoy my weeknights.



(I'm not posting Loverboy. That song was played ad nauseam in 8th grade.)

I used to go out constantly, including weeknights. I belonged to running clubs, softball teams, kickball teams, wine tasting clubs, beer drinking clubs, book clubs, film clubs,  participated in fundraisers and festivals, and acted in countless plays. I had so many interests at one time and pursued every one of them diligently for over two years.

I was trying to fill my life with meaning by filling it with a flurry of activity--both intellectual and at times obtuse, and as time wore on, I found myself less and less stimulated by all this activity. These events were usually coupled with drinking and drinking establishments. The novelty of being that connected was quickly dissipating. 

The truth is, I was trying to avoidl loneliness and panic--I admit it, and was desperately trying to find my place in the world. Being out with people meant I was in demand and therefore my life mattered.   I recall much of it being mundane or at least repetitive, and I know now that's because I was not committed to the moment.

There could be many reasons I was not really present--I was worried about my problems, I was thinking about other people (person), I truly was not stimulated by my companions, or perhaps I realized that I was simply partaking in escapism when what I was craving was meaning in my life, essence. 

I made a conscientious effort to let go of excessive social engagements in early 2008 as an effort to find my most authentic self. I decided that finding the essence required careful observation and selection, and that taking in too much at once would result in saturation of experiences, where no one experience was meaningful. I also decided to go this journey alone.


 

 "Solitude is at least as important as fellowship."

I found that quote in a newspaper a long time ago when I was in my early twenties and  a newlywed and taped it to the wall over my desk. (It hung over my Brother word processor that I bought from Service Merchandise.)

The funny thing is that back then I read it as an excuse to be alone all the time and live a sheltered life. I was alone most of the time because I was living in a new city--one that wasn't exactly a place known for its stimulating night life or arts scene (Salt Lake City), at least at the time, and I really didn't know how to go out and do things. I had just gotten out of the military where all I had to was open my door, and I'd have friends down the hall and things to do aplenty, especially when stationed in a foreign country. 

My husband worked nights and weekend nights, and a big part of me felt that I shouldn't be out having fun while he was working, but another part of me would wonder if that was just an excuse to not overcome shyness and social anxiety. I didn't feel cool enough, educated enough, or interesting enough to be meeting the kind of people who interested me. They were better dressed and going to college and fixing up apartments in old houses. I wasn't happy. I was living in social fear and not leading the life I had imagined I'd have when I was little girl--poetry readings and music and loft parties and garden parties.

The years wore on, and we moved many times, from the west to the deep south to the midwest and back to the deep south and back to the midwest, and the next thing I know I'm in my late thirties, and my marriage had ended. 

And all of a sudden I wasn't afraid anymore, or rather, I no longer let fear dictate to me. I had no time to be afraid. Time was ticking. The truth is, I was desperate. I had to get my life back. My twenties, my thirties that I spent on the outside looking in, or rather, on the inside looking out, as it were. Like that D.H. Lawrence story "The Rocking Horse Winner" and the social-climbing mother: "There must be more money. There must be more money."

Except for me it was "There must be more life. There must be more living." I often thought of the lyrics from the song "Little Miss S." by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians about the tragic empty-souled coquette:

"You've got a lot of living to do with that life."

So for the latter part of my thirties and early part of my forties, I tried to live life to the fullest by cramming full every moment of every day and night.

After a few years, it seemed I didn't even have the energy to even try to get excited about my outings. I was no longer in the moment. I might have been living, but I was somehow not living my life. I was living the ideal of how I thought life should be: Parties + Popularity + Importance = Living.

Forcing myself to stay home at night would force me to be alone and probe for that authenticity my life was missing. It was my deliberate first step toward not just living life, but living the life I was meant to lead. One in which I could be in the moment. It might sound like I was right back where I started, but I wasn't. My solitude was deliberate and grounded in belief instead of fear.

I used the time effectively and purposefully.

I joined an expensive gym. I went to classes most days of the week and most weekends. I rewarded my efforts with spa sessions--not manicures and massages but hydrotherapy, saunas, and steam baths.

I joined Netflix thinking that good cinema would entice me to stay home, and started renting, you guessed it, subtitled and indie films and gritty cable shows. (My faves are Treme, The Wire, and Six Feet Under.)

I started writing plays. And that changed my life forever.

I dated. A lot. Usually with disappointing results.

I made new friends, but mostly acquaintances, whom I would quickly lose to attrition.

I started attending events alone. And meeting new people at those events, many of whom were traveling artists and who would have a profound effect on me.

I discovered indie music. And that changed my life forever.

I traveled alone to romantic, exotic, and potentially dangerous countries, and met adventurous, fascinating, and romantic people. (And some potentially dangerous people.)

I chalked up some good, lasting memories with people I cared about.

I did road trips to nearby cities with my running group.

I reunited briefly with my ex-husband, which healed wounds that I feared would never stop festering--wounds I feared I would constantly have to numb by constantly being active.

I gave up dating for a very long time. I embraced not only being alone but being single. More importantly I began to see myself outside this dichotomy of single or coupled, and saw myself as my self.  And that changed my life forever.

And one day, when it was the last thing I was looking for, love came knocking on my door.

And when it did, I had this amazing life of my own that was ripe for sharing.

Sharing. Not giving up.

I didn't give up my life. And I didn't give up my solitude.



My life now is as much my own as it is my relationship, and I cherish both, but lately I am realizing just how vital it is not only have but to cherish my personal life. I have to take care of my life. Treat it with respect and gratitude, even Mondays, even Tuesdays in February, even late Sunday summer nights when I can't sleep. I  choose not to dread weekdays and don't do the countdown til Friday. I felt that such sentiments amounted to hating about 5/7 of my life!

I see my partner only on weekends. We have wonderful times together.  But right now I want to talk about a different kind of love life, and that is simply loving life.

Mon-Thur nights belong to me, and I love them. I protect them. I choose carefully for them. I work hard for them. I do not share them unless it's for a very good reason--a really good concert or a really good friend.

After work, I go home and walk my dog, which gets my blood moving, especially on cold days when I'm tempted to hibernate, or rather---hiber-eat! (Being supremely lazy and eating junk or quick food.) 

Then I go to the gym and do a class or two (Spinning, Body Pump, Pilates, Ripped, Zumba, Kickboxing), or go swimming, run some laps, do some cardio. On nights when I have lots of time, I'll follow the workout with a long session rotation in the jacuzzi, sauna, and steam room. This is the biggest treat I give to myself. Sometimes I really don't want to work out, but I'll motivate myself with the promise of a sweat lodge, where some initial discomfort becomes an exercise in focus, a meditation, and an amazing sense of well being. Afterwards, it's a cold plunge and a warm shower, and it's as good as intoxication for me, even though it must be just the opposite--instead of taking toxins in, I'm releasing them all through sweat, and in my meditation I also release negative thoughts that crowded my day. Instead of intoxicated, I'm untoxicated.

When I get home, I cook dinner for myself. Dinner used to be Tostitos and wine or beer at the height of my social days. I now make a point to actually cook something for myself, the same way I would for a guest. If I don't prepare healthy and appealing food for myself, then I am telling myself that I am not worthy of the treatment I give to others. I must treat myself at least as well I treat others.

One of my goals was to cook more dishes this year, and I've been experimenting and reading up on nutritious foods. I make fish, salmon croquettes, salads with homemade dressings, chicken, pasta, quinoa, freekah--all manner interesting foods from Saraga International Grocery. Going into that store is like going on a field trip!

After dinner, I clean up, then check email and websites, and check out new bands to book, then settle down watch something on Netflix--usually an indie movie or a show from cable--then I write, sometimes I pick up my guitar, and then I get in bed and read. I won a Kindle at a work function last year and always have two-three books going.

Lately, I've been on a rock-bio kick. I read Shawn Colvin's Bio Diamond in the Rough. Then I read Sting's Bio Broken Music, and Tori Amos' bio Piece by Piece.

Puzzlingly, I recently finished Got the Life by Fieldy, who is the bassist for Korn. This is puzzling because not only am I not a fan, I can't name a single song by them nor do I have any friends who have ever mentioned being a fan. How did I choose this book? I guess I like books about addiction. Now for some reason I am reading My Cross to Bear by Greg Allman.

(One thing about leading this authentic life is being honest. I like my indie and subtitled movies and the symphony and literature but I also love books about rock stars who climbed to the top, screwed up their lives, then got a better life...hmmm, I'm sensing a theme.) 

I still try to stay connected to my world even on my precious me-days. Sometimes, it's dinner with a friend, a sneak peak of a new movie, a jazz club (we have a really good one called The Jazz Kitchen), a poetry reading, an indie concert, or a trail run with my running club. I guess you could say I sprinkle these activities like sugar--and know just the right amount.

A big part of my socializing in the past was drinking. I let go of much of that. A big part of my nightly routine was enjoying a glass of wine, as a ritual, as a token of gratitude for a day well spent. But it seemed more an more that one glass became two and two became three, and at three, I am no longer actually sober.

Since the first of the year, I've kept no wine in the house. Some nights it's a bit of struggle, but most nights I'm okay with just a little mindset. I especially crave it when I make an especially good dinner. I've even extended the no-drinking to some weekends, and I feel good about this. In all these rock bios I'm reading, the one thing they all agree upon is that alcohol and drugs do not make you a better writer--they make you a worse writer and performer.

I didn't really start drinking until after I was divorced. I found that while under the influence my social anxieties disappeared. And in time, I found that the alcohol wound up obfuscating whatever good memories I was so desperate to create in the first place. 

Being in the moment means being sober and aware. It's something I need to do, and doing it for myself makes me feel good about myself.

Now, what is missing? I don't play guitar enough. It's the one thing that I really love, the thing that might be my biggest thrill of all, and I don't do it. So I had to make a goal and write it on a calendar. Feb 28. It's a Thursday. I'll know five chords by heart and will play them in lightning quick succession, not like I do now. E....20 seconds later G....14 seconds later D....11 seconds later C....14 seconds later A.  It's written on the calendar, and I'm writing it here, so it has to happen, otherwise, I will be saying to the world and myself that my dreams are not worth pursuing. Now I don't have big guitar dreams other than be able to play well and write some songs.

My only complaint about weekdays these days is that there are not enough hours in the night for all the fun things I want to do.

On weekends, I still prefer to be out and about, seeing friends, going on trail runs, going on camping trips, going to or hosting dinner parties, going on road trips, seeing films, plays, concerts, and galleries, going to bonfires and barbecues or swimming with friends, going on long bike rides, and going to festivals. 

At least two weekends per year, I sequester myself in my study. I come home from work Friday, change into gym clothes, go to a class, then come home and make a big pot of cabbage soup. Once it gets dark, I light some candles in my study, turn on some instrumental music, and I start writing. And I don't quit writing until I have a draft. I stay up all night. I turn off my phone. I don't check email. I leave the house only to walk my dog.  This cabbage soup/writing weekend is now an official part of my process, and I look forward to it with each new script. It's just one of those things where I feel I am truly taking care of my needs, even if it means ignoring everyone and everything else in my life.


"Solitude is at least as important fellowship."


It means something completely different to me than it did when I was too afraid to venture out into the world.

Now, I've got the best of both worlds. I live deliberately, go to work, do my chores, pursue my hobbies and passions, and on weekends...I go to poetry readings and galleries and parties (sometimes even in lofts!).

How am I doing, Edie?




And look at that. Just learned something new. "Little Miss S." is about Edie Sedgwick.


Here are some foods I've yummed lately!

Pasta Toss
Cook 2 oz. whole wheat spaghetti
Drain and drizzle with olive oil
Toss in sauteed spinach or zucchini or any vegetable
Toss in a few walnuts or an oz. of feta cheese
Top with 3 oz fish or chicken
Lots of freshly ground pepper
Basil
Drizzle all with balsamic vinaigrette.


Spinach Pear Toss
Saute 16 oz fresh spinach in garlic olive oil
Lightly saute sliced pears in a little lemon juice
Saute a tablespoon of walnut pieces
Saute or blacken 3 oz chicken breast or fish
Lots of freshly ground pepper
Red Pepper flakes
Toss chicken, pears, walnuts in garlic olive oil
place on bed of spinach




Monday, January 21, 2013

Townie: Symphony and a Musical

Indy is often called a Big Small Town. (Some people have tried to give it a nickname--"Naptown," which I think sounds stupid.) The eleventh most populated city in the nation, it has the amenities of a big city while being small enough to make those amenities easily accessible. It does not boast any beautiful vistas, landmarks--natural or man-made--mountains, or bodies of water, other than the canal, which would be so much better if it weren't suffering an identity crisis. It could be a stalwart of night life, but the powers that be simply refuse to let Indy be that fun of a city and focus more on the "family" aspect, which amounts to paddle boats by day, and muggings by night as the place is mostly deserted. Talk about a lost opportunity. This city canal is ripe for venues. 

Indy surprises visitors with its clean and compact downtown area and thrilled the masses and Jimmy Fallon at the Super Bowl last year with its outdoor promenade Georgia Street. It is famous for a racing debacle that takes place every May, a pro football team that won a Super Bowl, an NBA team which until recently was more famous for the criminal antics of its players than for its skills on the court, and the 2012 World Champion WNBA team, The Indiana Fever. It's also quite proud of its roller derby teams and burlesque troops, both of which in number are highly disproportionate to the population. We have a minor league hockey team and a minor league baseball team, both of which are more fun and more affordable than the professional sporting events. In 2014, we are slated to get our first professional soccer team, and that might be the first pro men's sport I enjoy.

Indy is not known for its music or theater or festivals or art.  

It's kind of a secret to outsiders, and to insiders for that matter, that we have some amazing opportunities to take in what I consider to be the finer things in life: A professional symphonic orchestra, a professional opera company, a professional ballet company, a few professional dance companies, several theaters for major Broadway touring shows, a few arena concert venues, and several professional theaters. For every professional company, there are dozens of amateur companies, and by amateur I simply mean "not paid," not "less talented." Okay, they are probably not as talented, but for the most part, they are really good, and no doubt add to the cultural value of the city.

I had a Journey in my own city this past weekend and experienced both worlds. On Friday night I went to the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra for Bruckner's Fourth Symphony



conducted by Antoni Wit, who was the teacher of the ISO's own Krzysztof Urbański.





This handsome young  man is proof enough that symphony is alive, young, and sexy!

We nearly lost our symphony this year. Just never enough money for the arts because we must constantly feed the hungry beast of professional sports and their ridiculous balloon contracts. Indianapolis boasts one of the country's only professional symphony orchestras that performs year round. As symphonies go, the ISO is a model of success in growing audience, selling out weekend and some weeknight (ISO Happy Hour Thursdays) performances year round. And yet, the powers that be questioned the value of this high art form that is accessible to all. Students can get in for $12, and there are wing gallery seats for just $20. (The cheapest seat (nosebleed) for a pro football game runs about $70--that is hardly accessible to the masses.)

When I go to the symphony, I travel so far. I travel to a land of unfamiliar traditions and customs (the maestro playfully making numerous entrances and exits to laughter and applause from the audience; the first chair violinists getting standing ovations). I travel to distant centuries when most of this music was composed, to Europe, where most of it was composed. I travel to a different side of laid back ball-cap/team jersey-wearing Indy, where people come dressed up in shiny clothes and hats. Emotionally, I travel to another dimension.

A music lover since I can remember, it's always been lyrics that have stirred me, and the first time I went to the symphony (two years ago), I wondered if I would be bored just listening and if it would be a stuffy atmosphere. How wrong I was. The acoustics at Hilbert Circle are phenomenal, and there's a reason the term "movement" is used to describe the different "episodes" of the symphony. I have been moved to tears and joy and excitement, particularly in the case of Gustav Holst's "The Planets" (1915) last year at the ISO. 

My favorite movement in The Planets: Mars, Bringer of War!




Many people believe that symphony should be delegated solely to the classics, and that "pops" concerts are a bastardization of the genre.

You know who says this? Elitist-wannabe snobs who need to feel superior to people who perhaps were not brought up in fine arts. Last year I saw every variety of symphony--18th, 19th, and 20th centuries, pops, and choral concerts, and even a cover band. One of my most memorable nights at the ISO was when a John Denver tribute singer sang his greats with the backdrop of the symphony, with all this wonderful John Denver-inspired wildlife video playing above the stage on a huge screen. Denver was not just a singer/songwriter, he was a social activist and he personally changed the way people treated our environment. He is also a bastion of my childhood, so nostalgia figured prominently in my outpouring of emotions.

(In March, the ISO is bringing an ABBA tribute band to play their greatest hits with symphony back-up, and I cannot wait!)

After the symphony, we walked the streets of Indy on a January-thaw (Thermidor?) clear evening and took in all the sights of brisk sidewalks. We zipped over to the Eagle's Nest, a round, spinning (it constantly rotates 360 degrees over forty-five minutes) upscale restaurant that sits atop the Hyatt Regency for drinks, or "nightcaps" as they always sickeningly said on the Love Boat. I'd never been in this pillar of Indy dining and nightlife, and it was nearly deserted when we arrived, which made it even more romantic. We ordered some wine, and took in the city, and chatted about life. Brilliant!










Moving along to the amateur realm of my art-filled weekend.

Here's a truth about me. I hate musicals. They are dippy, annoying, and often feature a storyline about a dashing boy and stupid girl who pines after him. Not always. Often. I did like "Wicked," which I saw at Pantages in Hollywood. I liked "Rent,"--mostly.  I liked "The Assassins."

I think it's high time I give musicals a fair shake. There are dumb movies and books, but I don't completely dismiss those mediums, so why do I so so with musicals?

So I went to a very popular amateur musical theater called Footlite Musicals to see an unusual musical called "The Last Five Years," by Jason Robert Brown. It was set up cabaret-style, which presented blocking issues, but at least made for an intimate experience, and as theater goes, I prefer intimate settings over enormous halls. I had high hopes for this confessional piece about falling in love, marrying, falling out of love, and divorcing. Brown purportedly wrote it about his own divorce and did not obfuscate his guilt in the failure of the marriage.The story was told simultaneously by "Cathy" and "Jamie." Cathy tells her side of the story from divorce to first meeting while Jamie tells his from meeting to divorce. The stories intersect in the middle, at their wedding, when both were still happy. In the back drop was a stunningly beautiful display of framed "art," that changed from stills to filmed video, and device that was expertly used and effective.

Overall it was enjoyable and I was glad to have seen it. I'd love to see it performed by professionals, but in the meantime, I consider myself fortunate to have access to such modern and innovative theater. I forget if tickets were $15 or $20, but they were well worth it. I could see ten plays like these for what one touring Broadway production would cost in an arena theater.

I spent Sunday in the woods of Eagle Creek and catching up on Season 2 of Downton Abbey.

This was a fine journey in my very own space!






Sunday, January 13, 2013

In the Moment: Dinner Parties, New (Old) Art, Invitations

I'm not doing well at my Photo 365 project. I'm great at taking pics on vacation but not in everyday life. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but sometimes you can't photograph what you're feeling. Being in the moment is a challenge I have put to myself, and I think writing out those moments is a great way to commemorate my journey. I write the blog as a journal. Sure it would seem to make more sense to put it in a notebook, but something about doing it online keeps me accountable.

It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, I have new (very old actually!) art hanging on my walls that I found in an antique store, I'm reading an interesting book--Too Much Too Late: A Novel, and Joanie Mitchell is playing on my record player. My house super clean because I hosted my first dinner party (on my list of Do More in 2013) of the year last night. It started out with a few friends and a gourmet meal plan, but then the guest list grew, and I wound up having twelve people for a casual dinner gathering. 

In these modern transient times, relatively speaking, these are long-time friends. We're all in the same running club and have spent many happy times together on trails, camping trips, road trips, in hotels in other cities, and at parties. These are some of the most supportive friends I have as well. I don't necessarily cry on their shoulders when life is getting the better of me, but they have been my best patrons in my little theater and music endeavors, and they celebrate with me.

As each person walked through the door, I was struck by how lucky I am to have such great friends who put my event at the top of their list, even though it was somewhat last minute, and some of them even traveled a couple of hours to make the event! It was a great night of good friends just catching up, laughing, playing music, and even playing a few games. I needed this night. I needed interaction with good people who care about me and vice versa, and of course when you're with friends, of course one of the things you do is make plans for future events. Boy do I have some fun to look forward to this year, and being a year off productions will give me time to do that! I see more laid back evenings, a few camping trips, some barbecues, a possible destination wedding, and some great trails ahead. As in the case of my friend Michele and I who are sort of fitness buddies, we have new classes to try at the gym, and yes, we are excited about it! And Brian wants to try writing a song with me!

As I prepared for the party that day, everything that could go wrong went wrong. I screwed up most of the recipes, I tripped over my dog several times, I cut my finger open, I didn't have all the right ingredients, my oven quit working, and my sound system broke. With each new disaster, I somehow kept my cool. Once upon a time, I know I would have become overwhelmed and started worrying. This time I just thought, "Eh, they're not really here for the food." I just knew I wanted to offer up lots to them. And they were good guests and drank all the craft beer I offered, too! Oh, and not that I've made this a goal, but I did not drink any alcohol (I haven't drank any this year!) and had an excellent, lucid night and woke up feeling refreshed instead of hung over and sick. I have to say that being an adult is way better than anything else I've tried!


I also kept another goal of "preparing more delicious recipes." 

I made

 Irish Beef Stew (beef stock)
Chicken Chili
Seafood Stew (which turned pink, I suppose from the shrimp tails--quite a Bridget Jones moment in the kitchen!)

Ah, Bridget Jones! I read that book more than a decade ago, and I remember how drawn I was to her life and her friends and I so wanted experiences like that. In a way I did all those things, even took on the party attitude for a few years and dated the wrong man and went to Thailand on a moment's notice. But in the end, I'm doing exactly what enamored me to her--ruining delicious recipes for friends who all stood in my kitchen and said, "Don't worry about it! We're here to see you, not to eat your shitty food!" 

All through the day I've received emails and texts (ha! I don't think any of these friends are on Facebook--no wonder I like them so much!) thanking me for a great night, and someone else has already offered to host the next one, so maybe I've started a new tradition!

Now, as the day went along, it got even more interesting, as I received the following invitations:

A trip to West Palm Beach, FL, in Feb or March (with my partner to visit his brother)
A week-long trip to Aspen in March for skiing
A long weekend in Napa (or Sonoma or Russian River Valley) in February with Ralf & Jim
A weekend trip to Nashville to see a show at the Commodore.

I don't believe I've revealed to anyone a very dirty secret. I am a fan of the new show "Nashville." Yes it's a bit soap-y, but the stories are solid, and most of all the music is fantastic. Nashville is not just country. It is the indie music capital of the world, and being an indie music promoter, it might as well be my mecca.

And, today I received in email a media pool pass from Brown Bag Paper Tickets, which is like the Ticket Master of non-arena events. 

I'm keeping that list I wrote back in December close at hand. Weekends like this one inspire me and keep me motivated. Friday I worked my fun job at the craft brewery, and a local pop chamber band came in to perform while we served.  I'm already excited about what the week holds for me. For one thing, I'll be reviewing a new musical called The Last Five Years. I don't really like musicals. I think they're, well, dippy, and there's something about showtunes that just grate on my nerves. They sound cheesey to me. Well, this musical, I believe based on the description would be more along the lines of Once. Oh yeah, and I might be seeing a KISS tribute band with a friend at a local brewery.  

Also in addition to keeping up with my goals and dreams, I'm logging some good fantasies lately. Lately I am obsessed with touring with a band. It might be from just having finished Diamond in the Rough by Shawn Colvin. Yes, gotta keep those Rock n Roll Fantasies alive!

But back to those goals. I had wanted to create websites, real ones, not Facebook pages, for my production company and little music project, and I started one this week. I want to redecorate my bedroom. I want to buy a good camera. Must do these things!




Friday, January 11, 2013

Arrows and Eagles

I can fall off my bike, a horse, the back of jeep, a dock, get pounded by a line drive while playing third base, and get run over by a 200 lb. ginger truck driver while playing catcher, and I just jump up and rub some dirt in it. Everybody thinks I'm tough. Physically, I can take a lot of pain. 

I know why. Showing physical pain would be humiliating to me. "Puts hair on your chest," my dad would humorously say  when I was growing up, even though I was a girl.

Emotionally, I'm not quite as strong; in fact, I'm pretty much a 98-lb weakling. "Shaking it off," has proven a much harder task where my feelings are concerned.

I've been battling with that this week. Sometimes you think a painful experience is in the past, and then someone brings it up, and you can't believe how it makes you stumble. You wonder if you ever made any progress at all, or if it's just "out of sight, out of mind." Well, "out of sight" is not always a viable option, so I need to take other steps.

It seems I do not recover from hurt very well, and I don't always move on at lightning or even glacial speed. I give myself pep talks, and they seem to work, but then I find myself at this juncture again. I confess that I let this episode take a hold of me for a couple of days. I was already poorly dealing with a weakened resolve due to another non-related disappointment that involved, once again, hurt feelings. This little storm threw me off my positive groove I've been on, and I lost my thermal. It created anger and doubt and sarcasm and cynicism, and those dark emotions took over my mood. When that happens, it often leads to a temporary loss of confidence. And a loss of confidence is a loss of time, and that is a waste.

When I was in Cape San Blas last month, I had the wonderful experience of having four bald eagles soar directly above me as I rode my bike. I had never seen a bald eagle in my life, save at an aviary in Salt Lake City. It felt like we were riding the same thermal. It was nearly impossible to ride my bike because I wanted to look up and behold their magnificence. Eagles are the only bird that do not necessarily take shelter in storms. They use the crosswinds and literally sail above the front moving at incredible speeds and altitudes, and this behavior saves considerable energy--the exact opposite of what I've been doing in emotional storms.  

I know that I cannot avoid these emotions that cause me to tarry, but I need learn to use them sparingly, and I'm trying to figure out what will work for me.

I have to throw off the covers, get up, flip on the light, and go back out and play, even if it's by myself. Even if all the other kids are playing kickball and I wasn't picked for either team. I will hear their hooting and laughing. I will see how much fun they are having. And maybe I will feel humiliated. And that's the part I want to change or at least learn to swallow and then move on.

Alone, I get the slide, monkey bars, and swings all to myself. I can lay on my back in the clover and feel the sunshine and hear the birds, and this will not be a pretend world. This is a real world. I still have many beautiful things in my world.

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This is a highly condensed version of what I originally wrote a few days ago. I put some thoughts on paper, some honesty, and read them, then went back and edited. The parts that seemed petulant glared at me. I decided I didn't want to put those parts out to the ether, even if they were true representations of what I was feeling. Maybe seeing them in print made me realize that these are truths that I don't exactly relish about myself.

I could write a long list of my shortcomings. And for some reason, I feel compelled to do that, rather than write the specifics of how someone I held dearly seemed to purposely hurt me. When I write that sentence, I can now shrug it off. "Stuff happens." That really is a great saying.  Perhaps I should just let go of people like that, and not worry about why they did what they did. I should examine and be honest about my own behavior. Did my behavior provoke the other person? If not, how did I react? Am I proud of my behavior?

For my own sake, I will put into words and to the ether behavior I would respect in myself.

I would get up and dust  myself off and move on quickly and quietly, being judicious about whom I would share the incident. And even more specifically, I would not dwell.

I would not dwell.

But why do I dwell?

I believe it's my need to have all the answers all the time.

Therefore, I must let go of the notion that with enough effort, I can have all the answers and can create order. As I write that, I laugh a little, because having the answers would most likely lead to more questions, thereby perpetuating my longevity in emotional turmoil.

When I describe that playground above, how could I possibly want to loiter in the recesses of my doubts when there is such beauty to behold?

But getting back to that list of my shortcomings I promised, I think I will focus on only one, the one that seems to present me with the most insurmountable challenges and causes me to tarry. Tarrying is the enemy of the journey. Some vicissitudes offer high altitudes and glorious scenery. Others are a pothole or a mudflat that do nothing but exasperate the traveler and cause senseless delays.

The singular shortcoming that acts as a pothole in my life is this:

Humiliation.

Humiliation is embarrassing.

Literally--I am embarrassed to feel humiliated. I have taken great care in my life to avoid circumstances in which there is even a remote possibility that I might be perceived as humiliated. 

Humiliation is a painful loss of pride, self-respect, and dignity.

But the truth is, I'm in charge of my self-respect and dignity. No one can take it away from me and no one can give it to me. As it pertains to others actions towards me, humiliation is rather a senseless emotion--a pothole or mudflat. As it pertains to my own behavior: my self-respect is something I can fully control. This is simple and this is complex.

Before I count myself the coward, I must remind myself that there are situations in which I put myself directly in harm's way, if harm is to be perceived as humiliation.

I write, direct, and produce plays which are offered up to audiences and critics.

I have taken a stand against this assailant humiliation at least in that realm in my life.

I don't let opinions of critics me stop me, although I do let them slow me down. And I sometimes forget the degree of difficulty of what I do. To be honest, I do not fully actualize my accomplishment or allow myself to feel the pleasure of creating something for the public eye. I did at first, then took my first blow from the critics, and in my years of shrugging off the pain, I think I also shrugged off the joy I felt of creating and completing, of seeing dreams come to fruition, and I believe it is a direct result of humiliation. I fear being humiliated by critics, so I squelch (second time I've used that word in this young blog) my inclination to feel joy. 

That is what the fear of humiliation has cost me. It has caused me to feel indifferent about my passion. It hasn't exactly done any favors for my personal life, either.

After writing out my initial and honest feelings that I later redacted, I felt instant relief, fully knowing that I would never send those words to the recipient or share them with third parties. Something about actualizing them completely and thoughtfully healed me from the sting. I will remember this trick the next time I hit this pothole on a dark night.

Writing out those thoughts did something else for me. When I read them, I was not proud of what I wrote. I deleted them, and resolved to write something of which I could feel proud.

I started writing the script that's been in my mind since last summer. Yes, I pulled myself out of that mudflat, too. It's been a long time coming. When I go back to that script later tonight, I will do it not just with resolve and tenacity, I will do it with the joy I have long censured. When the joy comes back to my heart, the feelings will come back to my words. And they will lift me.



Humiliation resides in my perception and fears of what others think of me, and it robs me.

And I will no longer turn the other cheek when humiliation slaps and taunts me.

I will not tarry; I will rally.

****************************************

“When you soar like an eagle, you attract the hunters.”--Milton S. Gould.

I won't hide in fear of arrows. I'll fly high above them. In fact,
 
"I'm gonna fly like an eagle." --Steve Miller Band

“I'd like to see a nature film where an eagle swoops down and pulls a fish out of a lake, and then maybe he's flying along, low to the ground, and the fish pulls a worm out of the ground. Now that's a documentary.” --Jack Handy

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One of my favorite singers singing one of my favorite songs:

Neko Case, "Magpie to the Morning"

 

"Something on the thermals yanked your chain."