Do I wake or sleep?

Last night Christine, our producer for Macbeth, had a fundraiser/benefit for the show at the Irish Rogue. I had such a great time--to start off, Duncan gave me an AMAZING (late) birthday present...a bottle of pumpkin-infused VODKA!!! That he'd made himself! I was absolutely thrilled--can't wait to try to make Pumpkin Alexanders or something else equally amazing with that! Seriously, one of the best presents I've ever gotten. I'm always so impressed with good gift-givers--Rachel is another good gift-giver, she has exquisite taste for one thing. Intimidatingly good taste. My friend Ashley is another.

Anyway, so that made me very happy. The entertainment was a series of acts, mostly musical except the first was a VERY strange conceptual comedy act that did not go over at all. I felt kind of bad for the girl--I think something like that plays better in a dedicated environment (like a comedy club or a nightclub), rather than a long room in a bar with people crossing back and forth, talking, playing pool, etc. Anyway, Duncan also performed, and I read a poem ("Death of a Naturalist," by Seamus Heaney). I actually wasn't too thrilled with my reading of it--I'm not sure what didn't quite work, just that I felt like I was yelling or something--but I got several compliments so as long as someone liked it, it's all good. One performing duo was also a little off--our sound designer and his wife performed a couple of songs in...some kind of costume. He was dressed as a pimp but I'm not sure what she was, and they sang some kind of song about being a "criminal." Hmm. But there was another duo who sang Lionel Richie's "Hello" as a tribute to Glee and their harmony was great!

But best of all--they had a raffle, and guess who's the proud owner of a NEW COACH SCARF? ME, that's who! I'd bought several tickets and had missed the 3-day membership at Chelsea Sports by just one digit. Then when they started to read off the winning number for the Coach scarf I crossed my fingers and everything else, and Duncan pointed to me and said "if I win this, you're getting it." AND THEN THEY READ MY NUMBER!!!!!! I literally squealed aloud and danced up to Christine--it was like winning Miss America!

Who's the proud owner of a brand new cashmere Coach scarf?

ME, that's who!

Then to top it off, one of the performers had been involved with the Planet Connections Festival and pulled me aside and said some very nice things indeed about my performance as Puck. Terribly sweet--she said she'd "voted for [me] and everything." I love delayed compliments.

I have to say, I'm really liking Christine. She's the producer and she's also playing Lady M. So far I've been very happy with her leadership and she's such a non-diva--we taped the voiceovers for the apparition and she voiced Apparition #3 (the one about "til Birnam Wood come to Dunsinane"). Andrew asked if I had any feedback, and I talked to her about the stuff in Shakespeare's Advice to the Players. She LOVED it, really welcomed the feedback and then later on texted me for the name of the book. It's such a great book, so helpful.

Really, the only disappointing thing about the evening was that I never got to play any pool!

We had the Thyme reading Monday evening (which went very well) and Luke (Demetrius) had asked us over to his place afterward but he lived further downtown and I didn't want to get home late so I decided against it. As it was, I entered the building at 11:00--I skulkedwalked through the courtyard with my jacket hood up, falling in behind two guys who were obviously residents (they were carrying groceries and seemed like a couple). As we approached the doors I saw a guy waiting there, clearly without keys and waiting for a resident to let him in. The two guy residents unlocked the door, letting him in, and the security officers didn't stop the guy. I felt uneasy and lingered in the lobby to fake a phone call. After a couple of minutes, I started to walk toward the C elevator bank--and I saw the same guy lingering by the doors, looking around, waiting for someone with keys. And honestly, I can't swear it wasn't the same guy--it looked like him but I didn't look right at him because I didn't want him to look at me. I was absolutely furious though. FURIOUS. It was the lingering that pissed me off, I can't even really describe why. It just seemed so entitled or something--and why the hell didn't security see this? As I walked past the guy looked over at me, obviously thinking I would let him in, but I pretended to get my mail killed more time in the lobby, hoping he would be gone by the time I went back to the bank. This is what happened, and I got into the elevator alone. I rode up to my apartment, furious and very nervous. Believe it or not, I hadn't really been afraid until then--but if the guy can get in again...?

My dad showed up the next morning and we talked about the whole thing, looking over the lease for legal grounds to be let out of the lease early. I didn't see a specific security clause in the lease so I called Rachel, who said the landlord's obligation to provide security doesn't need to be spelled out in the contract/lease, that it's implicit in the relationship between landlord and tenant. She was all "if you sue him, it's a tort, not a contract dispute." I was relaying this to my dad, who said "tell her we'd like to hire her" and I passed this on to Rachel who said she actually hasn't been formally admitted to the bar yet, but she would be happy to give me any legal advice she could, and would give us referrals if we needed. We could've been Rachel's first clients! I thought about what I was going to say to the manager and then went downstairs with my dad to the manager's office, where we waited for at least a half-hour. Dude. Just...dude. Eventually we were ushered in to see the guy, where I told him about the incident the night before and said "I don't want to live like that, playing games in the lobby and pretending to go get my mail, just to feel safe. I'd like to be released from the lease." My dad said afterward that I did perfectly. Afterward we went down to Union Square to meet my brother and ate at the Shake Shack...mmmm, delicious Shack Shack burgers. (By the way, they have this HILARIOUS William Wegman art exhibit there on screens in the park, showing these park denizens (diners at the Shack, people sitting on benches, a Parks employee driving a truck) with human bodies, clothes and hands and Weimaraner faces. It's difficult to go into why it's so funny but it's brilliant. Check it out if you get a chance.)

Elizabeth emailed me from London, very graciously offering me her ginormous living room to live in for awhile. After the Monday incident I emailed back saying yes--I'm moving my bed and kittehs (and basic things like clothes, makeup) on Saturday, and moving most of the rest of it into storage until I find another place.

Tuesday I rode up in the elevator with the mother of a girl who lives down the hall--I've spoken with her (the girl) many times, and had her and her little brother and sister over for Halloween last year. I spoke with the mother privately in the hall, telling her what had happened and saying "just watch out for your kids." As we spoke another woman from across the hall came by and entered the conversation--apparently the detectives had been knocking on doors and interviewing the residents. The other said that she'd lived in the building for a long time and things like that "never happen here." But she also said there used to be a lot more security than there was now. The detective investigating the case had left a message so I called him back and we had a nice long chat. One of the first things he said was "that guy across the hall isn't too helpful, is he?" I said "uh--YEAH. Yeah. No, he isn't." He said the girls next door and down the hall had very nice things to say about me, all "she's so nice!" and "ooh, she's an ACTRESS!" I said "well, I like kids and have invited them in several times to play with my cats." He said the building is still in transition and the management is trying to drive out the criminal element, and he mentioned gang activity and drug-dealing. I suppose I'm such an innocent, I genuinely had no idea that was still happening in that neighborhood. He seemed a little surprised that I was actually moving--I said I was moving for several reasons, 1) the guy knows where I live and what I look like, 2) the recurrent security lapses, and 3) that fucking neighbor. If you can't even count on your neighbor to call the damn cops...well, that's not a place I want to live.

I went over to the precinct HQ last night to look at mugshots--man, there are a LOT of criminals in this city. It got depressing after awhile. Detective Perez's partner came over to meet me and said "man, that girl next door to you was singing your praises--she thinks very highly of you." I guess I'll see if I can say goodbye to her before I leave. The two detectives were saying how extremely fortunate I was--which I know, in a way, but I haven't been letting myself think about it too much, because I don't want to freeze up and feel too afraid. But they were saying the guy could've punched me in the face or knocked me out, or pulled a gun on me. Detective Perez also said "my superior and me, we think it was an attempted rape" which seems, well, obvious. They're going to try to get a good picture of this guy from the footage on the tape.

One of the people I work with has been really annoying about this, though--when I told them on Monday, she was saying things like "you should've kicked him in the balls" and "why didn't you kick him in the balls?" No, I should've done exactly what I did do--stay un-raped and un-murdered. She's a terrific person most of the time but I don't need to hear what she thinks I did wrong. On the other hand, one of the guys I work for was bragging about me yesterday to one of the other partners--he was talking about our annual summer outing and how usually we play softball but this year we played volleyball. He said "you should see Clara, she's very fierce when she's at bat." I said "well, I am extremely competitive in sports--I lettered in three sports in high school." Then he said "And last week she fought off a mugger in her apartment who pulled a knife on her..." The guy looked startled and said "Really?" I shrugged and gave him a brief rendition of what had happened.

Whew. The world is too much with us.

While reading slate.com, I came across an article about Philip Larkin, and eventually followed links to reread my favorite Larkin poem, "The Whitsun Weddings."

That Whitsun, I was late getting away:
Not till about
One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday
Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out,
All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense
Of being in a hurry gone. We ran
Behind the backs of houses, crossed a street
Of blinding windscreens, smelt the fish-dock; thence
The river's level drifting breadth began,
Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet.

( Read more... )

There we were aimed. And as we raced across
Bright knots of rail
Past standing Pullmans, walls of blackened moss
Came close, and it was nearly done, this frail
Travelling coincidence; and what it held
stood ready to be loosed with all the power
That being changed can give. We slowed again,
And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled
A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower
Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.

That last phrase makes me want to cry. It is so beautiful. Like an arrow-shower/Sent out of sight... I have a picture of these golden arrows shot into the air, arcing across the sky, trailing a golden path...and then fading and morphing into water, to rain upon the sleeping city. Oh. I can't bear it. Poetry is diamond-cutting and mosaic-making and stone-fence-building and gold-panning, all at the same time--the endless turning over of word after word after word in the search for the perfect word, to create a concentrated world within a line, a verse, a poem.

I read this poem at a variety show at St. Andrew's several years ago--they'd asked me to sing something and knowing there would be a lot of other singers there, I asked to read this instead. Afterward so many parishioners came up to me, asking me about it.

As soon as I started checking off the answers, I had a feeling I'd get this result.


You are George Gordon, Lord Byron! The
prototypical bad boy, you'll sleep with
anything that can give consent and maybe even a
few things that can't or won't. Your ethics
could use some work (nine year old girls?), but
outside of the sex question, you're a grand
partier and the bipolar, shady hero of your own
story. The wittiest of the Romantics, you're
mad, bad and dangerous to know. Scandalous!


Which Major Romantic Poet Would You Be (if You Were a Major Romantic Poet)?
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*Shy smile.* I'm scandalous.

But Keats is my favorite Romantic poet. I did my senior honors project on him in college and visited his grave in Rome. "Here lies one whose name was writ in water."