Archive | Theater Matters
My Blood, My Holy Wine
I rallied last night. I’d been sick all week but wasn’t about to waste an opportunity to see the Alvin Ailey Company perform. It was probably ill-advised–now I’m sicker than before and I was feverish and hacking phlegm even when getting ready–but the ticket was a Christmas present to myself and my spirits needed lifting. So I bundled up in a fur hat and a big white scarf and sweeping black coat. I lined my eyes with kohl, painted my nails with glitter, pig-tailed my platinum hair with bits of leather, and put on statement earrings and the high-heeled boots that are bad for my back but good for showing off my legs. Then I shimmied out the door.
On the subway, people kept staring and I couldn’t tell if it was because I looked gorgeous or like a crazy lady. I hoped for Option A; knew it was Option B.
At the City Center, I was seated next to a handsome couple who’d been together for a while and still dug each other’s company. I knew this because they were enjoying their conversation but felt generous enough to engage me, and because they wore complementary colors. It is my observation that couple who choose complementary colors not only share energy frequencies but tend to dress together, which means they still seek opportunities to see each other naked. All in all, I found their presence bittersweet. Continue Reading →
The Church of Mark Morris & Noels Past
Yesterday morning I woke to a clean house. This may not be a big deal to some, but because I live and work and often cook at home, and because I was not raised to be Martha Stewart (or even Erma Bombeck), things can get fairly psychotic by Friday of every week. I used to loll around the apartment the whole weekend, too oppressed by the mess to address it. Only on Sunday night would I finally lumber to my feet and grab a sponge–and then just because I couldn’t face a new week with the detritus of the last one still holding me hostage.
There was nothing especially restful about the cycle.
Something shifted in me this year. I suppose I should say, “I shifted something in me” because overall I underwent an enormous growth spurt, and it is my observation that adults only experience growth when they pursue it rather than passively await it.
The upshot is that, no matter how tired I am on Fridays now, I straighten up my house before I go to bed. It’s the least I can do for Future Lisa, who deserves to exist unfettered by the squalor of Lisa Past. So now I clean the way you’d fold a beloved child’s clothing: with concentrated fondness and a profound patience. If I want an iteration of me to thrive in the soft, sweet order for which I clamored as a little girl, I’ve resolved that I must carve out that space. Continue Reading →