Road Trip: Real de Catorce

Over at the Austinist I wrote about my trip last week to Real de Catorce, a little village in Mexico I've been visiting for many years. I LOVE it there. Warren (or, for this story, Juarren) took 80 million pictures as usual. Here are some of them. I don't know how we managed to not get pictures of the China Palms, these cacti that look like cheerleaders waving their pom-poms in a big welcome. I love those plants maybe more than any other-- they are so damn enthusiastic. At the top is a picture of me on the cobblestones in my Vibram Five Fingers. I LOVE MY VIBRAM FIVE FINGERS. Yes, the company sent me a pair to try out but I am not paid to endorse them, I just love them so much I feel like I have to keep spreading the word. I just bought a second pair and I plan to buy at least 50 more. Maybe they can hire me to be their ambassador. In Mexico I call them my Zappatos del Mono (monkey shoes). They were a hit there, and also in Argentina. My son remains mortified at my choice in footwear.

Coming Right Up-- Great Summer Theatre at Winedale

Hola Seis Amigos!

Well, I ran away to Mexico for awhile (my Austinist post should be up soon, detailing the splendid trip). As is always the case, I run away to relax, I come back to a mountain I can't climb. But even though I'm too busy to write a long post about how magnificent Shakespeare at Winedale is, I do hope you'll believe me. SO worth the drive-- about an hour or so away. The plays happen in this cool old barn. And the whole this is a project that's part of the UT English Department (not Theatre Department)-- it was introduced as a full-immersion way for students to come to know the Bard's work deeply. I've been many times, and I can't wait to go again.

And yes, that picture at the top is from a long ago performance. All the info you need to know is right here.

See ya out there,

Spike

Review: Becky's New Car @ ZACH Theatre

Preface: Okay, let's see-- awhile back when I was bitching about a certain critic, I was noting the importance of full disclosure in theatre reviews. On that note, please realize that you are about to read a snap-happy review of Becky's New Car starring Lauren Lane. While I have not yet had the pleasure of bedding Ms. Lane, we did share a stage for two years in the Dick Monologues at the Hyde Park Theatre. A couple of times, DM played in the ZACH Annex. So I guess that's another connection. Barbara Chisholm helped me book ZACH for my show, and I have to say she's the target of another of my lady crushes, and she was in the audience at Becky's, so perhaps that flavors my positivity, too. Oh, and the play was written and directed by Steven Dietz, who lives in Austin, which is my favorite city in the world. So there's that. You may factor these things into what I am now going to tell you which, cutting to the chase, is this:

GO SEE BECKY'S NEW CAR!

I have said, probably more than once, that Lauren Lane could read the phone book in a faux French accent and I would swoon. I mean, she has more talent in one single raised eyebrow than most people have in their entire extended family. Fortunately, thanks to this bottomless wealth of thespian genius she possesses, she is not ever (that I know of) relegated to reciting phone numbers. Dietz's play, like the others I've seen Lauren in, is quite delicious. It's very, very funny, but not comedy for comedy's sake. See, it makes you think. On the other hand, it doesn't exist simply as a means for the playwright to flex his literary muscle and show us how smart he is. Instead, we get a very fine balance of laugh-think-laugh-think-laugh that carries through from start til finish.

My abhorrence of spoilers means I can never really delve too far into plot. I think even mere hints can take away from your experience. But here are some clues: Becky's New Car, without ever being derivative, has the faintest echo of It's a Wonderful Life, an odd hint of Ghost (and really, I mean that in a good way), and that bit in the Velveteen Rabbit where the question is raised: What is real?

Let's just say that Lane, as Becky, is a bit stuck in her life when she stumbles into what seems like it might be an opportunity to spice things up. But choosing what's behind Door #2 means having to let go of what she already chose behind Door #1 years before. And then-- I'm happy to report there's a Door #3, which I was extremely grateful for. That's my way of saying that, as a writer who tries to out-guess writers as a show/book/movie is happening, I found myself pleasantly fooled by Dietz's writing. I thought for sure I knew where he was going. I was wrong.

What else to tell you? Oh, I think it's okay to reveal something of a Charlie Kaufman essence-- again, not derivative. But you know how CK immerses himself in so much meta? (Aside: which I admired until that fucking nightmare of a film-- the one Warren refers to as Dis-Connected-Y and which I hated so much I refuse to even look up the spelling of.) Well there is definitely no fourth wall in Becky's New Car, a technique Dietz uses to tremendous effect.

As this isn't a one woman show, I'd be remiss in not telling you about the other actors. HOLY FABULOUSNESS BATMAN-- if I were on a reality show that involved me having to select an actor who, by his/her merits, would help me survive a weekend at the Jersey Shore wearing clothes I made myself while being chased around by sextuplets, I'd be hard pressed to select which cast member of Becky's New Car to choose. (Well, okay, we all know my lady crush would have me picking LL in the end, so let's exclude her from this competition). Everyone in the cast, I mean E V E R Y O N E pulled her/his weight and then some. I never had to suspend my disbelief because the performances are so strong you believe from the moment each actor the stage.

We've got Chris Gibson in the role of Joe Foster, Becky's husband, and Josh Meyer playing their son, Chris. Getting back to what I was saying earlier about Dietz's makes-you-laugh-and-makes-you-think thing-- both Gibson and Meyer clearly understood Dietz's vision (oh, btw, he also directed the show). Not just funny guys, both deliver really nuanced performances. There's something in particular about Gibson's acting that mesmerized me.

Ben Prager, as Steve, gets to take on the tremendously fun role of the resident neurotic, the eco-fanatical buzz kill who never understands why the rest of the world isn't as interested in his enthusiastic embrace of whatever, in the moment, he is enthusiastically embracing.

Lucien Douglas and Sydney Andrews play father/daughter Walter and Kenni Flood. The latter has the straightest role in the play, a task she pulls off nicely. As for Douglas-- where did this man come from and can I book him for my next party? In particular, there's a scene between Walter Flood and Joe Foster involving cell phones that is so pant wettingly funny it was hard to suppress my laughter long enough to catch their rapid fire exchange.

Rounding out the crew is Babs George in the role of Ginger, a character that could have quite easily gone the way of a mere two-dimensions. I really appreciated Dietz willingness to infuse her with depth, and George's ability to bring real meat to the role. Really splendid.

A few plot points get pushed forward through telling rather than showing, but that's not a complaint so much as an observation. There's plenty of action here, and with the show weighing in at around two hours, anything more would've been overkill. As it stands, the time flies by, with more than a few great twists to keep things really, really interesting. Kudos to the behind-the-scenes folks, too, for all the great details like the big billboards on the walls and Chris Foster's apparently different length seventies tube socks.

Becky's New Car runs through July 11 at ZACH Theatre. Seriously-- go see it.

Getting to The Meat of the Matter: Writing Workshop Anyone?

Hey Y'all,

Good lord it's been a whirlwind year and the calendar suggests it's damn near half over. I like to host a writing workshop or two each year. Right now, I'm putting out feelers to see what might work best for those of you who've expressed an interest in attending. So, here are some thoughts:

I'm thinking of hosting a weekend memoir and creative non-fiction writing workshop in August and/or a six week series October - November. The weekend schedule would look like this: 2 hours on Friday night, 6 hours on Sat, and 6 hours on Sunday, culminating in a shared meal. Cost is $200.

The series would look like this: 6 consecutive Tuesday evenings for 2 hours per session, with homework in between. Cost is $200. Focus would also be memoir and creative non-fiction.

If either of those grabs you, please email me at spike@spikeg.com and let's see about getting something on the calendar. Meanwhile, come September, I will be available to take on 2 - 3 one-on-one students for writing coaching. Email me for details. And please, if you don't mind, let your writer friends know about this.

Thanks,

Spike

I Can't Believe I Never Mentioned This Before

Well, okay, maybe I mentioned it to Big Red and Henry, but not anyone else. So, I think it's a little, uh, obvious, how much I enjoy taking pictures of the dogs, especially the (alleged) Bostons. It's one of those inside jokes with me that never ever ever gets tired. I take pictures of them and that makes me laugh. I look at the pictures and that makes me laugh. I mean, is there anything more fun than dog photography? I think not. And yet, in all these years and all these photos, I have barely spoken/written aloud one of my absolute favorite parts. I am utterly convinced that Rebound & Bubbles are dog incarnations of Simon & Garfunkel and most often, when I'm framing a shot, it's as if in preparation for cover art for their next CD. Then, today, in a very "Separated At Birth" moment, I decided to see how images of the Bostons actually do compare to images of the Sensitive Singer Songwriters. I'm thinking: pretty damn close. Et tu?

Witness:

You Forgot to Get More Wet Food, Didn't You, Bitch?

But I see you didn't forget to get a pedicure....

Happy Birthday to the Original Radical Homemaker!

The past few days have been exceptionally delightful. I've been working my way slowly throughRadical Homemakers-- something I wrote about over at my Austinist blog this week-- and it's been a great reminder about the gift of "temporal abundance." Time is money, this is true. And when I have a wealth of time, or at least squeeze some hangout time out of my day, the payoff is always massive. I even pulled off a nap on Saturday, under the careful supervision of Warren the Nap King. We swam Saturday AND Sunday. And Sunday I managed to work in the garden and make some whole wheat bread entirely by hand. Then this morning, even though technically I had deadlines, I decided to extend the weekend a little, reminding myself that a huge part of the reason I seek contract work is so I can keep flex hours.

And so, this morning looked like this: Coffee in bed with the dogs and yesterday's NYT (print edition). I can't think of anything better than this start-your-day-right combination-- ah to be scrutinized by bug-eyed Boston Terriers while taking in the news. Then I meditated, and Bubbles joined me (and I'm serious, she understands the point of meditation, and sits on her own mat breathing). Then we took a long walk and I reminded myself that yesterday WOULD have been my 4th wedding anniversary but it wasn't because I AM NOT MARRIED!!! And I was so happy at this thought-- both specific to my last horrible marriage but also at not being married in general-- I swear I nearly skipped the whole three miles.

Then, I concluded that at long last, Charlaine Harris has done it. She has produced a Sookie Stackhouse book so awful even I can't bear it. I listened to the first nine audiobooks in the series and recently downloaded the newly released tenth. Look, I knew they were bad. And maybe this tenth one only seems worse since immediately prior to it I listened to Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain and Ian McEwan's Atonement, both astonishing literary works (the latter might just be my new all time favorite). Whatever the case, I gave up on old Sookie and switched to music. I thought I hit "Shuffle" but I guess I hit "S" which brought me three versions of Solitary Man, including one by Johnny Cash, Marshall Crenshaw's Someday Someway, two versions of Sinead O'Connor's Something Beautiful (which reminds me so much of Warren and our early days), and Southpaw Jones's Sometimes I Forget to Be Afraid. Oh boy oh boy oh boy-- each song seemed so pertinent to the thoughts I was already thinking that I was flying.

(I was also probably flying because I am getting the real hang of not smoking, and I'm even patch-free today, and the absence of nicotine offers this stunning elation, but let's not dwell on that unless/until I really, truly quit for good.)

As I walked, I also thought about my Mom, who happens to be 75 as of today, even though I have her locked in at about 39 in my head. And as I thought of her, I again thought about this whole Radical Homemaking thing. It's too much for me to boil down here, but some major RH points include the importance of having a nurturer at home, the importance of being thrifty, of growing your own food, making your own clothes, salvaging stuff, and spending time together as a family. My mother wasn't following any sort of political manifesto. She sewed, cooked, kept on a budget, taught us arts and crafts, and salvaged furniture because there were eleven of us (nine kids and my parents), my father's paycheck was small, and the only way we could make it was if she figured out how to stretch the funds in these and other ways.

No, I did not like hand-me-downs. And I didn't always love every article of clothing she sewed me, but mostly I did, in particular my First Day of Kindergarten Dress and my Prom Dress, both of which I can still see perfectly in my memory. I've always been impressed with my mom's amazing skills. Now that I'm reading a book that essentially describes what she did to survive as a way to make the entire world a better place, well, it sort of cracks me up. It also motivates me.

I decided, in the interest of keeping my good mood going, I'd look around my house and yard at all the things I'm doing right (or at least not doing wrong) to work toward this better-living-through-Radical-Homemaking idea. I'm tempted to beat myself up over the carbon footprint of so many plane tickets, all those ciggies smoked, etc. But just for today, I set that aside and look at the good ideas. And I am totally up for any easy-to-implement suggestions y'all have. (With special advance thanks to Emily and Bug who are always planting such genius seeds in my head.)

So, in no particular order:

This is the kitchen drawer that is sorely lacking boxes and boxes of Saran wrap and similar bad-for-the-environment shit. Yes, sometimes I buy this sort of thing, but mostly I get one roll of wax paper that lasts me about six years, and I wrap up leftovers in re-used containers and newspaper bags. (Warren's dad did give me those "Forever Bags" in the picture.)

Electric teapot. Got it because everyone had one in France so I wanted one. Emily tells me it's actually way more efficient for boiling water than using the stovetop.

Homemade bread. I've baked bread off and on since I was little. These days, the trick is finding the necessary stretch of hours to tend to rising dough. I figured it out this week. Eventual goal: never buy another loaf of sandwich bread.

Yogurt. I love yogurt. I am insane for yogurt. Yogurt yogurt yogurt. I make my own now. It's pure, full fat, and I use Way Back When Dairy milk, which comes from nearby. Oh my yogurt is SO GOOD. And cheap.
French Press: I know, I know, me and my Francophile tendencies. I think this is "better" since I seem to run through those plastic plug-in coffeemakers about two to three per year. The used yogurt container next to the coffee pot is to lug grounds out to the compost bin.
The Meyers Lemon Tree. I love it. That's all.

The chicken coop. Sadly, the last flock got, uh, "surprised" by the dogs one night, leading Warren to have to put one mortally wounded hen out of her misery using the business end of a shovel. Lately I've been rewiring the chicken yard in hopes that the next flock will survive.
The box garden and compost bin. I bartered for that compost bin. It super rocks. And it ROLLS so you can, you know, mix up all the crap you put in.
The new clothes dryer. I meant to install this for years. Finally did. The sheets smell GREAT. And it's fun to hang clothes. Now if I can just get Warren to haul off the dryer so there will never again be one of those cheating days...

The unmowed lawn. This is the easiest way for me to be radical.

The gently used rain barrel-- a gift from friends.

And at the top of this post-- Warren's latest stunning gift to me-- a fancy cut jelly jar to add to my drinking jar collection. I forgot to put up a picture showing that I knit a lot of my clothes, too, but don't worry, with all my newfound temporal abundance, I'll start posting lots and lots of knit pics soon.