Just kidding

So here I go, opening big. “I’m gonna crank this bitch up!” I yell into the proverbial wind.

And then? Crickets.

Yeah, I got sick. The kind of sick where you wake up one morning with your face as white as a sheet, your voice run off, and your breath dragging in and out of you like low tide across the rocks.

Upper respiratory infections are greedily little punks. The take up all your time & energy.

But I feel almost human again, thanks to antibiotics to kill the infection & probiotics to save my gut. So instead of me going on about something I can no longer remember (seriously, I wrote the best freaking post in my head the night before I got sick) I want to ask you a question:

In what kind of moment do you feel most alive?

Interpret that as you see fit. I eagerly await your replies.

PS I’m writing this post on my phone, so it could format beautifully or look like a monkey did the layout. Super curious as to where it’ll place the photo. This could be interesting…

Right, how do we work this thing?

It’s been over a year since one of us MOXIE girls sat down to share with the fine folks that live in our computers. This is downright irresponsible of us. But then, you try creating award-winning art while making & caring for small humans, maintaining relationships and keeping food on the table in this economy. It’s shockingly hard at times.

And yet, we are more often in love with the work we do than not. This is due in large part to the people we get to work with and those crystal clear moments where everything comes together on stage and creates a perfect breath… one that is raw and honest and speaks into the very heart of the those we aim to serve.

That would be you, by the way.

But really, as the newest MOXIE, I’m working on getting this bidness back up and talking about what we do, what YOU do and how art moves forward in all our lives, no matter if you’re a MOXIE or “just” a Mama with poster paint in your hair.  I aim to post some photos of what’s happening behind the scenes (I have a particularly interesting set of photos that include a certain MOXIE birthday girl and a “fireman”, but I can’t promise they’ll make it here), with our audiences (opening night of The Toughest Girl Alive we snapped a photo of the audience), those people who make all of this possible and whatever else comes to mind.

But before I do, can I get an echo?  In other words, is anybody even out there anymore?  Say hello and let us know you want more moxielicious content.

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Elaine Gingery is the newest MOXIE, working as a “Managing Associate”.  Previously she worked as Managing Director for Sledgehammer Theatre and New Village Arts.  She has made her way through various other arts organizations in San Diego since 1991.  Currently she works as the Pub Manager at The Old Globe and parents two little girls, age 5 & 7, while knitting poorly, photographing everything that’ll hold still, raising chickens and writing her own blog at Wannabe Hippie.

Hi everybody, I miss you.

Ladies, this blog is not updated. You are no longer a homeless theatre company. You’ve opened and closed Drink Me in residency at the La Jolla Playhouse, and you’re running Dog Act in the new space in Rolando. What a lot you all have going on! But I’m not informed well enough to do the update.

I happen to know, because I am still an author of this blog, that Amy has begun but not finished a post called “Farewell, Esther.” If she’s anything like me, she wanted to say something, maybe because I started this blog, and then I went and moved to New England, and it seemed like somebody ought to say something. But if she’s anything like me, she wasn’t quite sure what to say, because maybe there is so much to say, and getting past the post title sounds like an awful lot of work.

I’m in Boston now, or just outside of Boston. I can’t tell you a whole lot about the Boston theatre scene because I’m not in it. I’m at home with the kids. I’m learning to quilt, and still practicing my juggling. I do ceramics on Saturdays. The fall leaves are AMAZING.

I was waiting to post here again until I had something really relevant to MOXIE or to the issues we’ve talked about on this blog. I would discover a woman-and-child friendly theatre company in the Boston area, or would see a really challenging show, or meet a kick ass female playwright.  But none of that has happened yet, and it’s been a couple of months, so I decided not to wait anymore. I’m proud of all the developments in the MOXIE world, as I hear about them from a distance, and I’m very proud to be a MOXIE emeritus.

I’m doing a blog project for the month of November that I’d like to invite the MOXIE babes and friends to visit or participate in. I’ve decided to go ahead and give over to my hermit impulse — for a finite period of time — so I’m going off the internet for a year. And I’m doing a one-month blog marathon as a transition ritual, and also to explore some ways that I might be able to write about the experience.

Stop by sometime, okay? Anytime in November, I’ll be there. And debate with me, because I miss that.

Go MOXIE!!!

The Big Bad Wolf

Well, as long as we’re on the subject of growing up female, I guess I should just leave the vent open and get it all out.

“Wolf-whistling.” 

Chelsea and I were recently schooled on this particular form of the whistle, (which we all know by sound, but which we didn’t know by name), when we went to a Burlesque Brunch at a local bar.

Wikipedia defines it as “a specific sound made to show appreciation for something or someone, (originally a person thought to be sexually attractive).”

“Originally” my ass, take it out of the parenthesis y’all, that is what it is used for, and what it always will be used for, for the rest of eternity.  Wikipedia further comments that the term “wolf-whistle” developed around a slang use of the word “wolf” meaning a man who gives unwanted sexual attention to women.

I was talking to Jo Anne recently, and I believe we were on the subject of feeling irritated when someone is interested in you based solely on your looks, which you deduce based on the fact that A) You’ve never had a conversation with this person or B) You’ve never even met this person, and yet, there they are… all up in your grill.  It’s a little insulting.

This is interesting because, we all want people to think we’re attractive, and it does play a huge part in the initial chemistry between two people… so why does it bother the hell out of me?  I think it comes from this thick skin I’ve developed after a lifetime of being stared at, “wolf whistled” at, made to feel overly conscious of and protective over this body.  This body that learned to feel ogling eyeballs from across the room.  Old men, young men, strangers, men I knew… the butcher, the baker, the mother trucking candlestick maker; they’ve all been reasons I’ve lowered my eyes in crowds. Reasons why, while my sisters were putting on glam make up and flat ironing their hair, I was not.  I was avoiding getting dolled up because I felt it would be inviting more of that negative attention.  Dressing down, blending in, basically trying to disappear… that was my gig because that kind of attention made me completely uncomfortable. It was being put on display without permission, and I never felt that I could just relax.

Of course not all men do this.  I was raised in a family of men who do not do this, and I’m well aware that women are capable of it too.  It’s an exercise of power, and it makes me wonder why I never exercised my power and my voice to put an end to it and protect myself.  Call some of these wolves out.   Why did I let these rude people influence how I dressed, or didn’t dress, and how I carried myself?

It’s a crime I tell you! And I’m still cleaning up the crime scene, sorting it all out.

naked dance party

So, last night I got to hang out at a naked dance party.  No it wasn’t in the basement of some bookstore in Hillcrest or on a rooftop somewhere downtown, it was in my sister’s living room.

The participants:  Jaiden (the only male of the group, age 1), Lily and Bella (age 3), Kiaurah (age 4), Star (age 5); four of my five nieces and my nephew.

It was bath time, so post-nakedness and pre-scrub-a-dub-dub, the gang spent fifteen minutes or so shakin’ and shimmyin’, playing a little air guitar… basically just reveling in their nudity.  

I guess having my brain geared towards The Sugar Syndrome has brought about some feelings of vulnerability, knowing that I have all of these little girls racing their way to teenhood, and praying that they’re lucky enough to get through it without feeling humiliated by, ashamed of, disgusted with their bodies.  But have any of us escaped that completely?  

Watching the naked dance party reinforced the truth that we’re really taught body consciousness very early.  We’re taught shame very early.  I played witness to a group of kids who hadn’t been touched by that yet.  No one was looking around, checking out what other people had, or how what they had measured up… it was complete freedom.  It’s probably best my oldest niece Jazz wasn’t there… she wouldn’t have participated.  She would have wanted to really badly… but she wouldn’t have.  Her dad, coming from a place of fear no doubt, taught her very young what it was to be a  ”hoochie”… you don’t just go around showing your business to other people, period.  No matter if you’re two years old, no matter if it’s just with the family… nakedness is reserved for the shower and when you get out, you best not linger too long in your skivvies.  In her daddy’s mind, he wanted to curb any behavior that made his daughter comfortable with her body, because in his mind, being comfortable with your body = letting other people be comfortable with your body = sex = teenage pregnancy = a life down the toilet.  Whew.  A close one, ay?

That is so sad to me.  Our culture makes us ashamed of the bodies we have, and gives us images to aspire to that are, at the very least unhealthy, if not completely unattainable.  We get it from Hollywood… we get it from home… it’s no wonder that more than 90% of people who suffer from eating disorders are adolescent girls.  Who’s checking in with them, (or rather not checking in with them), who’s building their confidence?  Even if we’re doing a bang-up job at home, how do we protect them from all the crap they see elsewhere?

Where’s the accountability?  When do we say to Hollywood, enough is enough?  How can we be more successful in protecting our little sweethearts?

I think awareness is where it starts, and I’m so proud that MOXIE is producing The Sugar Syndrome and shining a light onto the world of young women.

 

The girls…

Between The Stacks

Oy Fundraiser!  

Last night MOXIE had our awesome fundraiser at the Encinitas library.  There was food (amazing amazing AMAZING food thank you Wild Thyme) wine, margaritas, musica… the Kraus family was there in full force… a good time was had by all.

There were several highlights throughout the evening:

The crowd… crowded… into the library stacks to listen as several MOXIEs read excerpts from books written by women.

We got to see John Brooks play the sax.

We had a wicked cool silent auction.  

MOXIE raised some money which, in turn, raised money for the Encinitas Library Theatre (are we cool or what?)

Good times I say.

My favorite moment came with the discussion of creating pre-show variety acts or “MOXIE Shorts” and our very own MOXIE jug band; Achilles Fish Hole.    In case you’re interested, we will be seeking additional band members so keep your eyes peeled for that announcement.  Here’s a comprehensive list of where we’re at…

What we’ve got:

Triangle:  Jo Anne Glover

Kazoo:  Jennifer Brawn Gittings (JBG, we may want to kick it old school and use a comb and tissue paper)

Lead Vocals:  Missy Bradstreet

Backup Vocals:  All (I just decided that)

 

Playas we need:

Guitar

Washboard

Jug

Jaw Harp

Mandolin

Harmonica

Spoons

Stand-up bass 

Squeezebox

Some foot tappin’ and/or foot scufflin’ 

Humming

Banjo 

As you can see, we have a lot of work to do…

 

I can’t decide between stand-up bass, squeezebox and harmonica… maybe I can be like Bert from Mary Poppins… have the squeezebox between my legs (alright guys minds outta the gutter), the harmonica in one of those harmonica brace things, and all the while be thumpin on that bass right nicely. Hmm..

 

I’ve strayed… It was a nice evening last night, thanks so much to all who attended!!

 

xoxo

Yes We Can

Well, hooray!  Election’s over, we can all breathe again.  While many of us are happy and excited about our new President Elect and celebrating this amazing and crazy time in history, we are also lamenting the passing of Prop 8.

In response to Prop 8 being passed, a friend of mine said something really beautiful… it made me feel better, so I wanted to share it.  She said:

“I think, that the obstacle of ignorance takes time and perseverance to overcome. Yes We Can, just not yet.”

I absolutely love this.  You have suggested that we can move forward without holding onto anger… That we all have within us the determination that defines this country, and that with patience and grace, we will see change.  

I love the peace about it.

It reminds me of water… water, by nature, is fluid and gentle… resists nothing… and yet water, in time, can cut into and dissolve even the toughest stone.

Thanks so much my beautiful friend… I’ll share your words once more…

“I think, that the obstacle of ignorance takes time and perseverance to overcome. Yes We Can, just not yet.”

My Day At The Polls

I woke up this morning around 5:30 a.m. eager to go cast my vote in one of the most exciting elections in our country’s history, (certainly in my own history).  I arrived at my polling place right when the polls opened at 7, and there was already a good sized line, maybe fifty or sixty people, ahead of me.  In ten minutes the line had doubled behind me.  

“Right on,” I thought.  In spite of the chilly and misty morning, lots of people were coming out to vote!  I was pretty stoked. 

Thirty minutes later, I was still in very good spirits, although the line had barely budged and the mist had amassed to become a drizzle.  ”People have endured worse things than rain in order to vote,” my post-Bleeding Kansas mind kept telling me.  So true.

Tick tick tick.

One of the poll workers came out and shouted to the line that TWO precincts were voting there today, resulting in the slight delay, and asked everyone in precinct 20041 to follow him.  Because he was forming a brand new line, (with no one in it yet), I eagerly flipped over my sample ballot, hoping I was in precinct 20041… wha wha WHA, no such luck.  I was precinct 20020, known to me as the Precinct of Doom.

I waited another half hour as line B moved like lightening, watching people from precinct 20041 just stroll in casually, (a bit cavalierly?), vote and hit the road as I stood grounded, moving maybe a couple feet every five minutes.  I think it started raining harder.  I could tell the images of border ruffians, or disenfranchisers moving polling places was losing it’s potency.  I was in trouble, and heading down the slippery slope that many-a-spoiled overprivileged “instant gratification” American goes through in such circumstances, when a new thought strengthened my resolve:  I had TOTALLY waited in longer lines to get on Splash Mountain.  

At 8:30 I finally made it inside and was able to see what the heck was causing the iniquity in line movement.  I’d get to the bottom of things!  Over to the left, where line B moved like the Sneetches through the Star-On Machine, was a table where a team of six or seven beautiful, edgy, FAST poll workers shuffled people gracefully through their line.  The poll booths were full, people were smiling, it was a virtual polling paradise.  Over on my side sat three people… a very very old woman who kept leaving to go to the bathroom,  a young man who must have turned eighteen like, yesterday, with shifty eyes and a general look of terror and confusion, and a woman kind of, not doing a damn thing, slumped comfortably in her chair. A dozen polling booths lined the wall and TWO people were voting in them.  The freaking things were empty because the power trio couldn’t quite get their shit together.

One of the “in-charge” polling volunteers felt the crowd beginning to turn, and stepped in.  He told his crew that there was obviously a problem, and that they HAD to speed things up.  Comfy chair woman said, “There’s no problem,” and then, my favorite part, “Don’t believe the hype.”  WHAT!?  The HYPE?  If I hadn’t have thought her one liner was so funny, I may have escorted her outside to see the “hype” first hand.  But I voted instead, collected my “I Voted” stickers (that’s right I took TWO bitches) and walked a little taller ‘cross the slippery sidewalk and back to my car.

A good start to a good day…. now let’s see how this story ends, hey?

Exploring The Animal

I recently had a conversation about theatre that illuminated an interesting aspect of this complex animal… One I thought I’d share to see if anyone had any ideas about.

I guess, before I get in to all that, I should pose the question, why do we do theatre?  I don’t know the reasons why each of us, as individuals chose to hang out in the theatre, but I can tell you a few of the reasons I did.  Often times, throughout my life, I have felt that I wasn’t making meaningful connections with people.  Busy days lend themselves to feelings of isolation, and reading other people’s words and hearing other people’s stories is comforting.  Working with other people towards a joint goal feels good…primal somehow… human.  Relying on other people and having people rely on me is a necessity of mine.

I needed connection and support in a big way, and I stumbled into theatre at just the right time.

It’s been about ten years now since that fateful semester when I said fuck physical science/English and the lot, and filled my schedule with theatre classes… and it has served me very well.  I’ve met some amazing people, have been a part of some killer shows… it’s been wonderful and surreal and generally bad ass.  But there is also a part of theatre that’s bizarre and dark that I really can do without.  Something that undermines the aforementioned reasons I started doing theatre in the first place.

Because our community is so small, and so tight, gossip burns hot and runs rampant.  We all know everyone’s business: the good, the bad and the ugly.  We take sides or feel we’re betraying someone if won’t take sides… I think we bond with each other over the dirt-dishing, trying for that closeness, enjoying feeling like we have inside information… But I think this has a negative effect on our psyches, whether we’re aware of it or not.  I think there are ways to achieve the feeling of family that are in better alignment with the ultimate goal.  Ways that will push the peace forward instead of chipping slowly away at it.

Being aware.  Paying attention to when someone is overloaded, feeling insecure, or is just needing someone to listen to them … practicing non-judgment. 

Letting people know how awesome they are on a regular basis.  (It’s easy to think someone’s great and forget to say it… or choose not to say it.)

And a million other ways to uplift and empower…

Lord knows it ain’t easy… we’re all so used to relating to each other in a certain way… it almost feels like self denial to give up the gossip.

But I think it may be worth striving for.

I have done this experiment several times in the past (and have been largely unsuccessful) that is based on the idea that thought follows speech… So if you can refrain from saying negative things, you will, eventually, stop thinking negative thoughts.  If you can go forty days without negative speech creeping in, supposedly you can kick the habit.  I think I’ve made it to 23 days… if you screw up and scream obscenities in traffic; you have to start back at day one.  I’m going to try this again, and keep trying and keep trying until positivity becomes second nature.  Actually, until it becomes first nature.  If anyone else feels up to the challenge, come on… we can sweat it out together.  Maybe I’ll post progress reports, as being held accountable might help me along…

Your thoughts? 

Our Deepest Fear

I took an Earprompter training class this week.  I know, it doesn’t sound like something I would ever do, as I have no intention of being in front of the camera, giving speeches, hosting a telethon, or participating in any other activity that would cause lots of people to look at me all at once.  No sir.  This class was forced upon me by my wonderful boss who insisted I take it.  Since I couldn’t say no to this man, (he treats me like gold), I Earprompted to my heart’s content, and actually, had a tiny bit of fun.

My point in telling you all of this, is that one of the speeches we practiced with was “Our Deepest Fear.”  I don’t know quite who to attribute this to, as I was told it was part of Nelson Mandela’s 1994 inaugural speech, but then read that it was written by Marianne Williamson and never used by Nelson Mandela. So I dunno.  Let’s just say they got together over biscuits and honey, and knocked it out together, alright?  

Anyhoo, I thought it was lovely and wanted to share it…

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

I like that.  Especially the “there’s nothing enlightened about shrinking” part.  Good food for thought.

 

Go’on and be beautiful.