Fantasy

I'm having weight-loss surgery. No, really....this time I am. Soon. I think....

Tonight I'm going for my pre-surgery teaching class at Temple Hospital. Two more flaming hoops to jump through and I'm on the table. Hopefully....

I'm forever saying "When I lose weight.." or "When I get skinny.." So here are some of the things I will do when that happens.

1. I will wear a sundress (or any dress) without my thighs rubbing together
2. I will ride a rollercoaster
3. I will wear yellow
4. I will learn to walk in stillettos
5. I will run
6. I will throw out every last pair of control top pantyhose
7. I will go blonde
8. I will let a big strong man pick me up
9. I will buy a skirt
10. I will dance
11. I will sing
12. I will get that part
13. I will no longer stand to hear "You have such a pretty face."
14. I will be the woman my husband thinks I am
15. I will purchase a Burberry trench
16. I will buy a pair of ridicously expensive jeans
17. I will become a mother
18. I will re-learn to ride a bike
19. I will walk from my beach chair to the water without paralyzing fear
20. I will be the prettiest girl in the room

Maestro

Maestro

Maestro. Or is the feminine, maestra? Well whatever it is. I am one. Or, rather, I'd like to be one. I currently spend my days conducting a rag-tag orchestra of high school musicians. I adore my small, but hard-working group. Right now, though, I'm sitting in the empty auditorium of my husband's high school listening to a large orchestra made up of the finest young musicians in the Philadelphia metro area. I'm alone here. I had my book, but the music inspired me. I am a musician.

No.

That isn't right.

I AM A VIOLINIST!

Not a singer, not an ametuer actress, not a teacher, not a stage manager.

I AM VIOLINST! HEAR ME BOW!

I remember the first time I played in an orchestra that was good (or so I thought). God, what a feeling! The music flowed through my blood like a powerful drug. I was 14. I was hooked. I miss playing. I am so good at filling the orchestral void by doing things like theater and conducting my kids. It isn't until I sit at concerts or rehearsals like this when I really yearn to play. Yearn so much that the pain in my chest is sometimes unbarable. I feel like I'm starving and the only way to feed myself is to get my violin and play some Berlioz with these kids. I am jealous. It's as simple as that.

When I was in the 7th grade I decided I wanted to play the violin. After spending my youth dancing, playing softball, going to girlscouts, doing gymnastics, my parents were tired and broke and my mother firmly said no. My dad on the other hand, would have lassoed down the moon for me had I asked, so he went out behind my mother's back and rented me a violin. At my first lesson with Frank at Howard Herbert's Music Store I watched in horror as he wacked my bow on the ground repeatedly under the guise of “waking it up”. What had I gotten myself into? But alas, poor Frank went and died on me so I moved over to the prestigous Settlement Music School. After that, I never put the violin down. I was determined to be good. And I was. I got good very very quickly. At my high school I was a star. Hands down the best musician they had seen in decades. I won accolades and participated in the best orchestras in the area. I made it to college and was only one of two violinists there. It was kinda sad. Gone were my large booming orchestral experiences. I haven't played in a large orchestra since.

I talk like I've given it up. I still play. I am still very good. Better now than I was then. There's a maturity and life-experience vibe to my playing that was never there when I was too scared to let my emotions show through my music. Now, however, my public playing is limited to playing Pachebel's Canon for spoiled brides. This can't be! This can't be the rest of my life!! Being a musician, being a violinist, defined me. It made me who I am today. One of the saddest realizations I've had today is that, if I asked my friends what instrument I play, some of them wouldn't even know. None of them have ever heard me play.

Oh dear lord! Now they are playing Elgar's Nimrod. I can barely see the screen through the tears in my eyes. Download that one. It's one of my favs. Have I mentioned how much I love the viola? But I think that's another blog for another time.

I think it might be time for me to take a temporary retirement from theater and pick up my ax again. Find a local orchestra to play in. Re-ignite that fire. Show the world what I'm made of again.

"All my friends have flowers in their eyes...but I got none this season."

In April N and I went to NYC. After a delightful afternoon of being introduced to Magnolia cupcakes by our good friends the Shares, we headed to the Nederlander theater to see Guys and Dolls.

I like to get there early but I hate the waiting once I get there. So, to gauge just how close we are to starting, I take a look around the house to see how many people are there. I'm scanning the Nederlander that night when I see a guy bounding down the center asile, dreadlocks bouncing. I felt myself get cold and my heart start to beat faster. Oh. My. God. That's. Adam. Duritz. I mean, I totally geeked out there for a hot second. N was hardly amused. I was annoyed that he didn't share my awe. Then I'm shocked. I'm shocked that no one else is going crazy like I am. And then I remember. No one really knows who he is. Especially the kind of people who would go to a shoddy revival of a Broadway classic. I make it my mission to make contact.

At intermission, after a smoke with Matthew Perry (who was kind of a douche), I see Adam Duritz standing in the lobby talking to an unassuming older couple. I pass up my chance to talk to him.

Show ends. I go outside. Walk PAST Adam Duritz. MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HIM. And KEEP WALKING.

I knew instantly that I would regret that. I should have just said what I wanted to say. Which was something like, "Hi. I don't normally do this. Actually I've never done this. But I just have to say this or I'll regret it. Your music defined my youth. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Adam Duritz is the lead singer of Counting Crows. In case you didn't already Google that shit.

I'm sitting here watching something I DVR'd on Palladio. A concert performance of their latest concept album, Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings. He's just intro-ed his next song and it's "about when you just become so numb that there's no way to touch the world at all except through acts of extreme violence. And this is about driving the highways in the middle of the night, and this is about everybody at once and this is about me and this is called Cowboys"

fsdf

Yes! Yes! Yes! This is why! This is why this music carried me through my confusing, emotional, transcendent, horrible, sweet, exciting, horny high school and college years.

"This is a list of the things I should be, but I'm not"

"Well all the blue light reflections that color my mind when I sleep.

And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep.

All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep.

Hey, I can bleed as well as anyone, but I need someone to help me sleep."

and my favorite, and the inspiration for the title of this blog

"Amy hit the atmosphere, caught herself a rocket ride out of this gutter."

Dying for a cheeseburger and a pack of Marlboro's

So, in an attempt to get this surgery thing up and running again, I've switched doctors from the fat jersey guy in polyester pants to the Jon Gosselin lookalike at Temple University Hospital. The first time I met him he promptly wrote me a stack of prescriptions for various tests. So far I've been for an Upper G.I., an ultrasound of my abdomen and, most recently, a EGK and an echo cardiogram with a cardiologist. The upper g.i. results came back unremarkable. I am pleased to report that my stomach and small intestine is "perfect". My heart, however, is not quite so perfect. I spent two hours with the cardiologist this past Thursday. First, my blood pressure is so high it could power the space shuttle. This is news to me. Mere seconds before he took it, I had bragged to him that my bp was "always a perfect 120/80". This was not a lie. I have only had a high reading once. A few months ago when my doc took it. When the nurses take it, it's always been good. Then, during the echo he finds that the walls of my heart are "thickened". This is called Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. In layman's terms: your heart is like tires on a car. If you take care of the tires, they can last you 40k milles or so. If you don't, they go much faster. My heart is like those worn-out tires. Basically, I'm heading for a heart attack at age 41. Just like my dad. This will never go away. But it is my fault. He says it's from years of unchecked hypertension. Who knew? I certainly didn't.

The good news is that with some weight-loss and me ditching the cigarettes, I can prolong "the tires" and drive safely for a good long time.

When I left the doc I simultaneously felt like I wanted to cry hysterically out of fear and dance around singing "I've got the golden ticket!" Because, while this is a death sentence in my current state (a chain smoking girl of zaftig proportions), it is the "golden ticket" to getting my surgery done. Horray! I have a co-morbid condition!

The funny thing is, I really didn't feel as scared as I felt like I should be feeling. The doc said "In your younger years, you really can kind of abuse your body with little consequence. Now, at your ADVANCING AGE you have to buckle down and take care of it." I nodded sagely. Using my best acting skills to act like I was prepared to "buckle down". Am I prepared to do the things I need to do to live a healthy lifestyle? I'm not sure. There's a big part of me that wants to eat yummy things and smoke endless cigarettes and drink late night cocktails. I have always been a "live for the moment" kind of girl. I don't think too much about the future.

Perhaps it's time to start.

Transitions

N and I are remodeling our kitchen. Pink counter tops and flowerpot wallpaper be gone!

So, on Thursday the guy came to give us an estimate on some nifty new laminate flooring. After he left, we went over to Lowes and bought a new set of shiny stainless appliances. I haven't been that excited in a long time. When the floor was installed on Friday afternoon, I was literally shaking with anticipation. When it was finished I actually got down to lay upon it.

All this excitement got me thinking.

When is the point when you no longer become excited about toys, dolls, video games and become just as excited about, say, new bed linens or a sofa? Is there an exact moment you can pinpoint? It kinda makes me sad that I can't remember that moment, or those series of moments. How does childhood, the defining era in our lives, slip away so quietly? Sometimes I miss being a child so much. Especially in the summer. Especially at twilight. The sounds of the crickets, the fireflies, the robins transport me back to my youth. Running around my neighborhood with my friends....cherishing those last few moments of another fevered summer day. I think tomorrow I will go and buy a coloring book and some crayons. Try to get those feelings back. Or, maybe I'll just go back to Lowes and order some counter tops.

Up Up Up and Out

Oh great. I just put on "Colorblind" by the Counting Crows. Like I need anything else to depress me right now.

It's August. The Big Sunday on the long weekend that is Summer. I have FUCKING BRONCHITIS. There is no show to go perform tomorrow night. Ugh.

I've been inspired by C.Share's blog to get this thing up and running again. I had all these great ideas.....but now, nothing but me, Adam Duritz and my good ol' nebulizer.

All I know for sure is that I'm desperate to get out of this skin. I need a break from me. From my thoughts.....and malfunctions and issues and shortcomings.

70-30-86

No, I'm not colorblind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind
But I just can't sleep on this tonight

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly, won't someone stop this train?

Don't know how else to say it
Don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly, won't someone stop this train?

So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say that life has just begun

Had a talk with my old man
Said "help me understand"
He said "turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate"

"Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train"

Once in awhile, when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
Till you cry when you're driving away in the dark

Singing

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can
Cause now I see I'll never stop this train