Professionally downtrodden

Last night after Trojan Women rehearsal, Julie, Sheila, Jen, Tom and I were standing in front of Shetler Studios on 8th Ave. talking about this and that. A guy--dressed like any other hip hop guy, didn't look homeless--came up to Tom, Sheila and me asking for change. I shook my head and Tom and Sheila both said they were broke. The guy said "Well, I don' believe you're broke, you jus' can't help me out. But I don' believe you're broke." This pissed me off and I snapped back, "No, we are. You don't know anything about us." He said "Yeah, I don't believe you're broke, you jus' can't help me out. Don' try to tell me you're broke." I would not let it drop and said again, more loudly, "No, we are. As we said. You know nothing about our lives or what we do." He tried to say something again and I cut him off, and finally he left, giving us backward looks which I returned.

Fuck off, loser. You're not morally superior because you're scrounging for money on the street, and we're not commercial sellouts for--gasp--having jobs and paying rent. And I want to puke at that whole attempt to save face by that "keep it real" bullshit. Newsflash, loser: If people say they're broke, that may well be their polite way of saying "no." Or they may actually be broke. It's none of your business what the truth is--and if Tom and Sheila had said a flat "no" he'd've complained they were too rude. What's really pissing him off is that they turned him down at all, not how they did it. I think it's the height of rudeness and presumptuousness to impose yourself on strangers by asking them for money, and then arguing with them. I fucking hate panhandlers (well, most of them. If they ask for food, or if they're clearly unable to work, I have a lot more sympathy. But this guy was young and healthy, and as I said, not dressed badly). Get the fuck out of my face. Get a job.

[I used to give to beggars when I was young and foolish, and then I read two articles that really changed my thinking. One was about a group of beggars who hung out under a well-known DC underpass right next to a stoplight, through which I passed every morning on my way to work at Arena Stage. I read how much money they pulled in--they made more money in one morning, than I made the entire day. I felt sick after reading that--sick and stupid and played. The other article was about this homeless guy in New Jersey who used to come into the library--he smelled, he spoke inappropriately, he stared at people and stalked the female patrons. The library threw him out on several occasions, and he turned around and sued them. And won something like $250,000, which was then reduced to like $100-something? Which was then overturned by the court, but the insurance company for the library paid him to shut up, which I think was a huge mistake but whatever. But when he was homeless he couldn't go to this shelter or that--couldn't go to the Y because he was Jewish, couldn't go to the Jewish shelter because they wanted to "control" him. It's always something. All roads lead to victimhood. And the kicker was: after getting all this money, the guy was still homeless. Again, it's always someone else's fault. No one would rent to him. His publicity was bad. Always something. So after that--no more money to beggars. Go to a shelter. I give to shelters. Go to a shelter and work on not being homeless.]

Rehearsal last night...

...went well. I'm starting to figure out some stuff with that monologue. Julie's direction has gotten better--she's asking some good questions, although I think her takes on characters can be a little simplistic. Menelaus and I have a good chemistry--I have tried openly appealing to him in some places, and at one point I knelt and took his hand and brushed it against my cheek. He took it from there and started playing with my hair as he listened to me. Later he was explaining it (maybe he thought I was annoyed), saying he wanted to show tenderness, and evoke the good times of their marriage, because we play it that even though Menelaus makes noise about killing Helen, it never happens (and of course all sources say Menelaus and Helen reconciled).

Interestingly, the introductory essay in the edition of The Trojan Women we're using (it's part of an anthology, including Andromache and Hecuba as well) talks about the Helen episode within the play, calling it "comedy within tragedy" and saying it doesn't work very well because it's a stylistic lapse. It is noticeably different from the rest of playing, which mostly consists of Hecuba and her entourage moaning about how everything sucks now that Troy has fallen, but I'm not sure I'd call it comic, except in a very classical sense.

Inspiration

I'm doing the Hillside program now--I have all the bios, and I'm formatting it and adding graphics, etc. I was trying to think what sort of quotation(s) I'd like, not having access to my book of quotations which is at home (a little blank book in which I write down snippets of poetry, prose, arguments, etc.). And it struck me, the perfect poem for HIH:

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be;
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee;
Say to her, "My dear, my dear
It is not so dreadful here."

Yes, it's a little precious (I'm only including the last couplet)--but I do love that poem. It's so tender.

The Long Hot Summer

Much as I love the heat (mmm, sssssteamy summer days spent fanning oneself and gulping down something long and strong), I can't sleep in it--I must have air conditioning at night. Especially in the loft--it gets so small and close and hot up there. Last night I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep well in the loft so I opened up the futon and brought down a couple of blankets and pillows, and slept in the living room. I had to wear a sleep mask as well, because of the skylights. Tatiana was a little confused--cats dislike change, generally, but she quickly adapted and snuggled up next to Mommy, purring madly. No doubt she too preferred sleeping where it was cooler. (In fact, last night when I was checking my email in my bedroom where it's warmest, I noticed Tatia didn't crawl into my lap as she normally does--she just lay there despairingly on the rug, until finally she hopped up. As much as I love to cuddle with her, her fur is very warm.) I woke up pretty refreshed, even though I'd gotten home after 11:00 and didn't get to bed until almost 1:00.

*sigh.* I can't wait until I get a few more nights off and don't have to check my email at 11:30 pm. This schedule is difficult.