Notes from the Road
Part Four: Minneapolis
The heat in my room made an awful buzzing sound. I had maintenance come twice to “fix” it. The second time I called I was told that the buzzing was normal… I’m a woman. Things like that are said to me all the time. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s normal.” But when the maintenance dude came to fix it he was like, “Oh, yeah. That’s not normal.” See? I’m not as dumb as my vagina makes me appear to be. So, he “fixed” it again.
At 4:30 in the morning I woke up to the buzzing again. I turned the waves on my phone louder and could not only still hear the buzzing, but now had loud-ass waves crashing in my ear. I called the front desk and announced that if I didn’t switch rooms I was going to have a nervous breakdown. This was not hyperbole. I was connected to sanity by a very frayed thread at that point.
So, I packed up my shit again and moved rooms. (I was given the advice to unpack immediately while on tour to cut down on stress and make myself feel more like I’m at home.) My new room is quiet. It also has a vague scent of the elephant pens at the circus. I can’t, folks. I just can’t. It is what it is. If you never hear from me again it’s because I did stick my head in the microwave and was so embarrassed that it doesn’t work like a gas oven that I went into hiding for the rest of time.
I did get a $30 gift certificate to the hotel restaurant for my troubles. I slept until 1pm and then rolled down there and ate a huge cheese plate like a fucking boss. A boss whose room smells like elephant poop and stale popcorn.
Also, you can bet your ass I’m not unpacking this time…
Notes from the Road
Part Four: Minneapolis
Weird news flash: Touring is exhausting. In the cab on the way to the hotel from the airport today I had my first moment of really kind of being over the traveling. I love working. I love being employed. And I love being employed in this play with this company. But the traveling this much is exhausting. And traveling on a day off does not make for much of a day off.
At the current hotel I have a mini-fridge and a microwave. I’m not sure what I can get that’s microwaveable that doesn’t need to be frozen. The thought of eating EZ Mac for the next week makes me want to stick my head in the microwave.
I do have my tiny crockpot, but the only sink I have is in the bathroom and I don’t have any counter space to speak of.
I’m really looking forward to going back to Seattle for a couple weeks to recharge with Monty. I’ll be able to see Ryan, too, which will be really welcome.
A press release went out this morning announcing the official Broadway Revival of The Secret Garden, which, of course is really exciting, but I haven’t had any word from the team and I don’t know if the new director wants to keep me. And, of course I’ve gotten texts and tweets all day about it and I have no more information than anyone else. I was surprised as anyone when the news came out. So, I’m anxious and exhausted. It’s not a good look.
I think I’m going to finish this post since right now I’m Gloomy McGloomenstein.
Notes from the Road
Parth Three: Chicago
Chicago in winter is cold. Like, freeze your cheeks off, burning fingertips cold. I’m told I should visit The Art Institute, but honestly? I’ll plan a trip back here in the spring when it’s not brutal. There’s a woman who sits on the corner of Randolph and Wells with a sign that says she’s 65 and homeless. I’ve been half tempted to bring her back to my hotel room. I don’t know how anyone could survive on the streets here.
Ryan came to visit the first week of our stay here, so I haven’t really been outside much at all. I think I converted them to The Church of Sleep. They were fairly neutral on the concept of Sleep, but after spending a week in my temple, they’re a believer. I don’t claim to be the founder of The Church of Sleep. I know there are billions who have seen the light (and then turned it off). But I’d say, at this point, I’m like a High Priest.
Here’s a quandary: If everyone in your dreams is you, then what does it mean when you have a dream about a friend you haven’t seen in person in years AND you cast him as someone else?
Speaking of which, I just suddenly remembered that I dreamt Cherry Jones was on General Hospital?
We had our first weekday matinee yesterday and let me you, the scissoring joke landed flat as a pancake. Not even crickets for that one.
I’m not implying that older people don’t know what the concept of scissoring is. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know old people used to fuck all over the place, too. I’m just saying they probably call it something else. Grandma Lorraine is like, “Back when I was at Bryn Mawr, my best friend, Suzanne and I used to get naked ‘basket weave’ each other like crazy!” And you’re like, “Grandma… Please go on.”
This is what happens to me when I get cabin fever, folks.
Ryan bought me a little two-quart crockpot for the stops on the tour when I don’t have a kitchen. Last night I tried the Tex-Mex chicken and rice I made, and I put so much hot sauce on it I ended up running around my room like Yosemite Sam looking for a bucket of water to douse my tongue in. It turned out I didn’t have a spare bucket of water, so I used a spoonful of peanut butter, a banana, mouth wash, and half a bottle of wine. Ryan thinks I should write a tiny crockpot cookbook…
I’m almost done reading Parable of the Sower. It’s super terrific and I highly recommend it. And just for clarity’s sake, “sower” rhymes with “lower” not “sour.” I was going around calling it Parable of the SOUR like an asshole until Ryan referred to it properly and then I was like, “Oh. Right. That makes…a lot more sense.” Sower (rhymes with lower) is an actual word.
It’s not that I’m dumb, guys. I just have a lot in my brain and I have to prioritize. For example, I went to my website host thingy to see about posting this blog and remembered that I hadn’t paid for the hosting renewal despite many reminder emails, so now apparently, as of this writing, I don’t have a website anymore. That’s one thing that was (not) in my brain. I have to buy winter boots because apparently being miserable on the walk to and from work and thinking, “I can get away with not buying new boots. I only have to make it through Minneapolis, Boston, Schenectady, Cleveland, and Des Moines,” isn’t really working out for me. One of my students booked a Disney Channel show with some insane contract and I’m super happy for her, but I had a horrible day dream this morning about having to rescue her from a trailer when she’s in her early 20s because Disney chewed her up and spit her out and destroyed her life. Also, all the podcasts I listen to about people murdering and cannibalizing others takes up a lot of my focus. Plus, there’s all the time I spend thinking about food. And then there’s all the praying* I do. *sleeping.
The point is, I have a lot going on.
I’m going back to church now.