Improv Class & Me, Part II

Tonight is the final improv class. I don't know how to tell you where this workshop has taken me and the ways I’ve had to confront myself. But I'm changed, and feel creatively energized down to my cells. The experience hasn’t been entirely pleasant--but it has been delicious. If that last sentence doesn’t make sense, you’re not an actor.

It's almost time to go to class, and I feel like throwing up. Arghh, that’s familiar. What will this evening be like? Who will be there and what will be up for them? More importantly, what will be up for me?? Will I be present to what’s going on in my emotional life tonight? Will I be able to express it--or will I even want to go there? Will I be open to being that vulnerable? When I’m up and the emotions are flowing I feel naked . . . that’s the ick factor. The rewards for going there? That's the yum.

Among other things, I have come out of this workshop with a tremendous amount of respect for actors committed to the craft. I stand in awe. I salute the deep humanity of the profession--and the colossal cojones needed to do it well. And now it's time to gather up my relatively small cojones and ease on down the road.

An update—I’m back. It was another intensely emotional ride for me. The workshop in Portland is ongoing, and joining is now a possibility. Oh . . . the horror! Stay tuned.

Improv Class & Me

I'm taking an improvisational acting class, a new experience for me. We've had three sessions so far and I'm here to tell you it has been one wild ride. The class is small, usually only six people, so we get a lot of time to work, and we work until we're finished. It’s a very late night. The evening goes like this--two actors in front of the room working, the rest watching, the coach focused on the action. You watch the other actors work, wait for your turn, wonder who you'll be partnered with, and wonder what the evening will bring up for you. Your name is called, you’re now up front, time to claim the space, see what's there for you, what's there for your partner. Feel the tension in your body, let it go, let it go some more, try to be open enough to let whatever is there come up to be expressed. And the most surprising things come up--toads and jewels. Usually you work with your partner, but sometimes you go down an emotional path alone. When finished, your work (essentially the depth of your emotional experience) is personally critiqued by the coach. It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Also completely uncontrollable, that's the essence of the experience. I like a reasonable amount of control. To be honest, by the time Monday night rolls around I'm usually looking for a reason not to go to class.

It has been an interesting process to watch this unfold within my personal drama. I have told myself I don't really like being in the spotlight, that's why I do voiceover. But I completely love doing this--I'm hooked. I not only feel right at home, it's like good therapy . . . juicy, deeply scary, freeing and REAL. While I'm up there working it's as real as it gets, and the results are showing up in my voice over work. That's why I'm never going to miss a class, even though the alien is usually on my face as I'm driving there. Because this class is awakening me to the concept of theatrical power and has jump-started my creativity. Miss Muse is alive and kickin' once again. Welcome spring!

Back To Ninety Percent

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, and it’s because I’ve been feeling uninspired.  I’m blaming it on various things. . .  the weather, the economy, a bad muse.  But now it’s March, and it’s time to climb out of the Slough of Despond.  I’m not really in it as described here, I just like the boggy, foggy, slough-y image.  Bright spots are on the horizon, the daffodils are coming up by my back gate and it’s starting to get warmer.  I must confess my walks stopped around the time I jumped off the wagon in December.  I’ve continued with Pilates twice a week, but my body is now in rebellion--it wants walking back on the menu.  So I’m back to what I’m calling 90% compliance.

I don’t know about you, but on an average day I have personal goals with meditation, exercise, eating & sleeping.  The goals keep me on an even keel.  But I also acknowledge I’m human & won’t always be in 100% compliance with everything  Exercise seems to be the hardest for me even though I love it.  That has a lot to do with getting out the door.

So I’m back, and I hope the muse is out of the Slough also.  Nope, she’s taking a nap, time to give her a poke.  Winter is ending and the promise of spring awaits.  Yowsa.

You Must Be Present To Win

I blew an important audition today, and now I’m in the ‘kicking myself in the pants’ stage.  I blew it because I wasn’t focused.  I was in my head, involved in my own drama instead of the drama of the script.  In other words, I wasn’t present.

Through voice over coaching I’ve learned that complete immersion in a script is necessary for the words to come across as believable.  That means being present to every word of copy.  Being present for an entire 30-second script is challenging, and it’s even more challenging for a long-form narration.  But you know what’s most challenging of all?  Remembering to be present to life as it occurs around you.

“Remember, Be Here Now”.  That’s the title of an old book by Ram Das.   When I’m immersed in the present moment, life is so rich.  But I have to remember--and that’s the catch.  Life is about waking up, remembering to remember what’s important.  And mynahs in the trees who constantly call “Attention!” aren’t such a bad idea, because we’re human and we forget.

Just so you know, the audition story has a happy ending.  I got the job, though it’s smaller than the one I auditioned for.  I got something else too, something I wasn’t expecting.  A not so gentle reminder that you must be present to win—in voice over.  In life.

The Ones The World Has Waited For

There is a river flowing now very fast.

It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.

They will try to hold on to the shore.  They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly.

Know that the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open and heads above the water.

And I say see who is there with you and celebrate.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves, for the moment we do our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt.

The way of the lone wolf is over.  Gather yourselves.

Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary.

All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we have been waiting for.

- Message from the Hopi Elders

My Mom’s Pizzelle Recipe

Several of my friends have asked for my Mom’s pizzelle recipe and I’m happy to share it here.  But get ready to dive in, as there are many schools of thought as to what makes the perfect pizzelle.

In our family there’s an unresolved schism over pizzelles.  Several of us insist they must be anise, others favor vanilla or almond.  I’ve tried them all--even chocolate-- and for us, anise is the only way to go.  A cup of coffee with an anise biscotti can only be beat by a cup of coffee with an anise pizzelle.  And the anise makes the house smell heavenly.  It’s the smell of Christmas.

Then there’s the question of butter or oil?  Oil without a doubt.  And it must be Wesson oil, because Mom made a batch with some other oil once and they tasted wrong.  So Wesson oil it is.  Anise extract (me) and anise oil (Mom) is another issue, as is with anise seed (me) or without (Mom—sometimes.  She has diverticulitis).  Should they be thin & crisp?  Or thicker?  How sweet should they be?  How much anise?  Should you add vanilla extract, or citrus zest?  How about ground nuts?

Pizzelles have an interesting history, and the early ones were made with irons held over a fire.  Today I use an electric iron, and we always watch “The Christmas Carol”-- the one with George C. Scott--while we’re making them.  If we start heating the iron at the beginning of the movie, the recipe’s just about finishing up by the time the third ghost shows up.  And then the house smells like anise and we have pizzelles for breakfast with coffee or tea (shut up, it’s Christmas), for dessert, and for a treat anytime.  I’m even tempted to go back to coffee at this time of the year just so I can have it with pizzelles . . . and eggnog.

Making pizzelles is a family ritual.  My kids look forward to it every year.  So do I.  I can relax once the pizzelles are done, that’s my Christmas benchmark.

Here’s the recipe:

Anise Pizzelles

1 dozen eggs at room temperature

3 cups sugar

2 cups Wesson oil

7 cups flour

3 Tablespoons anise seed, slightly crushed

1 small bottle anise extract

Crack the eggs into a bowl and beat with the sugar.  Add oil gradually, beat until combined.  Add anise seed & extract.  Add flour in several additions.  Don’t overbeat, but make sure everything is combined well.  Cook according to instructions of the electric pizzelle maker of your choice.

A disclaimer; our family likes a fairly strong anise flavor.  Please adjust to your taste.  And my Mom usually makes half the amount of this recipe.

Happy Holidays!

Off The Wagon

I’m pretty good about my eating most of the time . . . really.  I do the no wheat, no dairy, no soy, no fat, egg whites for breakfast and smoothies with disgusting ingredients regime like a champ.  I walk & do Pilates regularly.  But it’s December, and I’ve now leaped off the wagon with a bound.

The Snyder’s buffalo wing pretzel pieces started it off . . . or maybe it was the gingerbread people cookies at New Morning Bakery.  I forget.  But the long slide has begun, and there’s a whole list of seasonal must-haves coming up, all containing wheat, dairy and lots of fat, preferably butter. 

In our family, the Christmas season is an extended trip down memory lane.  The buttery sugar cookies remind me of my grandmother, and the eggnog is a family tradition--my grandfather and then my Dad always made it.  Totally killer stuff—many are the tales of the eggnog.  My Mom always makes pizzelles, and so I have to make them because without them the house won’t smell like anise.  Not an option.  Then there’s the annual making of the hot fudge for presents.  So many spoons to lick, so little time.

But here’s the thing.  I don’t want to be having the sameoldsameold conversation with myself in January.  It’s the same and it’s old and I’m tired of it.  So I’m going to enjoy myself for the next two weeks, but with restraint  The wagon’s in sight, and that’s cool.  I’m just off for just a bit, explorin’ the Christmas food terrain.

Time for a cookie.