"Oh, summer in Ogunquit...and my own personal summer as well..." -Sally Struthers

The past weekend, summer hit Manhattan – we’re talking 90 degrees. I am not entirely sure we experienced a full and fulfilling spring, but oh well, that’s global warming for you.

I used to loath exceptionally hot weather. I suppose I am still not super crazy about anything above 85, but this weekend was beautiful. And I have to say; there is something appealing to me about summer fashion – so simple in a fitted American Apparel t-shirt, cute shorts, flip-flops and a cardigan. Getting ready in the morning is a snap!

Friday, a gorgeous evening was spent primarily wandering the streets with Richard and Lisa looking for an outdoor spot to have a cosmopolitan. I am not the hugest cosmo fan, but Friday night just screamed "Sex and the City," and I was so longing to have a “Carrie” moment.

Of course, this being reality, my reality to boot, and not a TV show, what was suppose to be a cosmo on a fabulous rooftop bar turned into a vodka cranberry at an over-priced Jewish deli where I could not even get cheese on my sandwich!!!

Okay, okay, it was a fun night – cinematic even, like something out of a Woody Allen movie. To fit into the theme of the evening, we headed to Richard’s ridiculously charming and adorably decorated studio to watch Annie Hall. Basking in the brilliance that is Woody, and following a skit by Monique from “The Black Women of Comedy” – uh huh, you heard me right – was the perfect way to spend the evening. And to top it off, I partook in my first Scotch on the Rocks – sooo Rock Hudson, right?!

Saturday should have been a day of full hot Manhattan goodness; unfortunately, after lunch at Arriba, Arriba, I contracted what I considered at the time to be a terminal case of Swine Flu.

Have we all been following this???? What is going on???

I can say in all sincerity that I seriously thought I was going to die Saturday, as I spent most of the afternoon and night lying in my bed. Ultimately, I think the combination of two mid-day, strong Strawberry Margaritas, a fattening Mexican Taco Salad, 90 degree weather and lack of sleep the night before were the true culprits for my near-death illness.

Fortunately, Sunday morning, I made a full recovery from my bout of “Swine Flu,” and spent the afternoon with fierce and fabulous friends in Central Park, taking in the sun, checking out the cute boys (or lack thereof at alarming number of moments) and doing yoga poses on the grass.

Ahhhh…summer in New York City – there is really nothing quite like it. How did you all spend the beautiful weekend – do share! Until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.

A Second Coming of Age

I finally find myself with a quiet to reflect. These moments, particularly in Tony Awards season, must be cherished.

This past week, I feel like I’ve been living in a Michelle Branch song…you know a bit angsty…

I spent two nights of the past week with two of my absolute favorite New Yorkers: Tuesday with my friend Richard at an amazing Cuban bar and restaurant in Midtown, and Wednesday at my friend Lisa’s adorable Park Slope apartment.

Over drinks and dinner, the conversation on both nights took an eerily similar turn, discussing the purpose of our lives, insecurities and, in my case, non-existent love life. We three are all in our 20s and experiencing that second coming-of-age so common amongst 20-somethings…especially 20-somethings in New York City.

We all three work in the theatre-industry and harbor great hopes and ambitions for award-winning career success. The first-step for anyone wishing to make it the Broadway world is to move to New York. A step that seems mountainous when you are coming from a small, lazy town in Maine.

The sensation one experiences moving to Manhattan: settling into your own hole-the-wall apartment and starting that first New York job is nearly indescribable. I did feel as if I had just conquered Everest, and that all was not just possible, but probable.

Just under a year later, I am bit dismayed to say I have not yet received the Tony Award, Oscar and Pulitzer Prize I felt were promised to me upon arrival. Nor have I yet been swept off my feet by a Dustin Lance Black-esque, 6’2” blonde boy promising me a classic Tiffany’s ring and a weekend “cottage” in the Hamptons.

Instead, I am a “9-to-5er” with an essentially non-existent love life just managing to pay the bills each month – with a couple of flavored margaritas mixed in along the way.

Okay, do not get me wrong. I am not in the slightest bit miserable or bitter towards life! Those who’ve heard stories know I work with crazy and fabulous people in the hottest entertainment ad agency – it’s really quite a fierce job. And my apartment is ridiculously large by Manhattan standards with a bedroom that is the definition of classic, cute, amazingness. I do feel incredibly grateful for what has been an amazing year; a year in which I have crossed a number of items off of my “To Do Before I Die” list.

However, as my friends and I discussed this week, when you live in the city that never sleeps, a city with so many opportunities and successful people abound, it is rather difficult to be completely satisfied. I do not think it is merely coincidence that the New Yorker of New Yorkers, Woody Allen so often writes about chronic dissatisfaction amongst the middle- and upper-classes of the Big Apple.

Until the day our awards finally arrive in the mail, we’ll take comfort in the affections and support of closest friends, the warm-glow that a strawberry margarita can bring and the awe the sparkling skyline of Manhattan inspires.

Thoughts, questions, concerns from my fellow angsty 20-somethings? Leave a comment, and until next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.

The Outer Critics Circle Award nominations were announced Monday, and The Tony nominations are released on Tuesday, May 5th. What does this mean?

It means we are in the midst of award season at work and life is insane. This is the first moment I have had time to jot something down. So, today is a bit of a cop-out…

I filled my Netflix queue up with Jennifer Connelly movies, because she is amazing and underrated, I think. I finished up on Monday night with The Day the Earth Stood Still – okay not her best, but also not as bad you may think!

Jennifer Connelly is gorgeous and beyond talented, oh, and a fellow YOGI!!! For proof, watch a clip below from her CLASSIC movie Labyrinth.



Jennifer Connelly Essentials: Little Children, House of Sand and Fog, A Beautiful Mind, Requiem for a Dream - see them all!!!

Till next time, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste!

Rite Aid Pharmacists: A Prescription for Unrequited Love

Did you miss me yesterday?

I would hope so – due to the challenges and roadblocks that sometimes can get in the way of life, I was unable to record any thoughts yesterday.

Here is a question for everyone: Is it bad to have a crush on one’s Rite Aid pharmacist?

Early last week, I discovered I’d run out of my life saving and affirming medication. Anti-depressants, you ask? Wondering if it is for Ritalin? Perhaps a few anti-anxiety pills – goodness knows I need those? But no, my pills, prescribed by my dermatologist, are for “clean and clear” skin.

Not as exciting, huh? Regardless, I am dependent on those babies! And when I run out, it ain’t pretty.

After a busy day of Broadway advertising, I hurried over to my neighborhood Rite Aid, which I must say is far superior to any Duane Reade, a chain I’ll never quite support or understand. I made my way through the throngs of New Yorkers stalking up on dented, on-sale canned food products, $2.99 packs of 12-rolls of toilet paper and the buy-one get-one free bag of beef jerky. Oh, yes, Rite Aid is one classy joint.

As I finally reached the pharmacy in the back, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the usual corpulent and tremendously frightening elderly pharmacist, noted for her ability to make 200-pound wrestlers cry with just her words, was not there. Instead, I was greeted by the brightest, cutest smile I have seen since the creation of teeth whitening mouthwash.

Mmmhmmmm…my pharmacist, whom I have seen twice now, is the cutest, friendliest, blonde, blue-eyed boy! And so begins the pangs of another of my unrequited love affairs.

What interests me the most is the emergence of a pattern. My pharmacist is only one in a string of ethically unattainable members of the health care profession to have caught my eye. You must, of course, remember my therapist in college?

Sigh…

I will not bore you with the details of that story, since you have, I am sure, heard it multiple times. Suffice it to say, the close of my college career was spent pining over the love of the man who was suppose to help me overcome feelings of anxiety resulting from unrequited love.

Completely twisted, I know. If only I were Woody Allen, I could translate the aforementioned scenario into a dazzlingly witty screenplay and then win an Oscar for it.

I close today with questions I would like to put to you:

Is it really unethical to date you pharmacist?

What is the source of my obsession with members of the healthcare field?

And finally will my pharmacist confess his deep love for me tomorrow, when I pop by with a fake cold and ask him to Vicks Vapor rub me all over?

Till tomorrow, om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.

You're My Obsession

Those who know me intimately, know that Rebecca Hall has become my life’s greatest obsession – I’ve gone as far as one human can safely go without running the risk of a potential restraining order.

For those of you yet to become acquainted with the beautiful and beyond brilliant actress, let’s assess the situation:

Rebecca Hall is the daughter of the great theatre director, Peter Hall. She started in theatre and is slowly transitioning into an acclaimed film career. To date her film credits include: Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige, Starter for 10 with James McAvoy, Ron Howard’s Frost/Nixon and best role yet, Vicky in Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona – my favorite, favorite movie.

Woody Allen’s comedy is fantastic – funny, witty, neurotic, beautifully shot. All the things we expect from a top-notch Woody Allen film. It won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Penélope Cruz this year and also stars Javier Bardem, Scarlett Johansson and Patricia Clarkson.

When I saw the movie last summer, it was Hall’s performance that struck me most. The relatively unknown actress more than holds her own against her accomplished co-stars; in many instances, she outshines them.

Her ability to communicate so many emotions with just one look of her eyes is unparalleled by peers. Vicky is a complicated woman, perhaps the most complicated of all the roles: She is neurotic, controlling, insecure, funny, brilliant… It is the most fully realized portrait in the film, and when Vicky questions her motives, insecurities and desires in life, Hall invites us to explore our own issues and questions too. She is the easiest character to identify with, because she is the most real.

Hall received a Golden Globe nomination for her work, and is now traversing the globe performing in The Bridge Project’s productions of The Cherry Orchard and The Winter’s Tale, directed by Sam Mendes. During the productions’ runs at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I purchased in my tix to The Winter’s Tale in a hot minute and got to see my favorite girl in person, on-stage, in all her glory. She was brilliant in the role of doomed Queen Hermione, squaring off against Simon Russell Beale; proving herself to be a true rarity amongst actresses today: One that shines both on stage and on screen.

Watch the clip below for a taste of Vicky Cristina Barcelona and then go rent it!

'Vicky Cristina Barcelona' Brutally Frank en Yahoo! Video

Till next time…om, chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.

I am THE QUEEN!

I have decided to start a blog up once more. I have, at several points, taken a stab at the online-written world, but never with much enduring success. So, I will try yet again to record my thoughts on a, hopefully, daily basis. I will not concern myself with the creation of clever witticisms or with the elegance of the written English language. I will not give two shits about that and will simply record whatever thoughts cross my mind. Exemplified from that poorly written sentence.

I do hope you choose to read it – otherwise, what would be the point? If I did not consider a loving, loyal audience of the utmost importance, then I’d buy a three-ringed leather binder from Papyrus, start every morning with “Dear Diary…,” and call it a day.

And so it goes.

Last week, I saw the Broadway revival of Schiller’s Mary Stuart.

If you are like me, your reaction to that sentence was: Who? What?

I had never heard of Schiller, and my knowledge of Mary, Queen of Scots was rather limited. I knew she was executed at the order of her cousin, Elizabeth I, after 19 years of imprisonment. I also knew that the decision to execute her was much agonized by Elizabeth. Possessing that limited amount of knowledge, I entered the theatre with the slate decidedly blank.

I must say, I thought Mary Stuart to be one of the most remarkable stage productions I have ever seen. The performances across the board were first-rate, particularly Janet McTeer’s eloquent and passionate Mary Stuart and Harriet Walter’s flawed and human Elizabeth. The decision to dress the women in period costume and the men in contemporary suits is effective – it certainly physically distinguishes the women as something entirely different from their male counterparts; something almost ethereally.

I cannot even begin to imagine what it would have felt like to be a woman in 16th century England and Scotland, possessing immense power in a world dominated by men. How extraordinary and frightening it must have all seemed.

As the second act of the show opens, Mary Stuart is released from imprisonment for the afternoon; she is unaware the release is actually an pre-orchestration allowing for a “chance” meeting with Elizabeth I (a meeting that did never took place in history).

The power of the deeply liberating moment is heightened by one of the coolest stage effects I have ever seen: it rains! For ten minutes or so, it actually pours on stage. The effect is not only ridiculously cool to watch, but further strengthens the dramatic climax of the play.

Mary Stuart may be rooted in antiquity, but the play is not a history lesson; it is one man’s interpretation of Britain’s two extraordinary women. Mary Stuart is an exploration into the effects of the shifts and balances of power, and delves into the complicated worlds of female insecurities.

The idea that history is dynamic, a continual shift of theories and interpretations is endlessly fascinating to me. I think the way in which we learn history in school contradicts its essence. History, we learn in school, is a series of indisputable dates and facts. Elizabeth I was queen of England from 1558 to 1603. George Washington was the first President of the United States. And the attack on Pearl Harbor was on December 7, 1941. The aforementioned statements leave little room for debate. But to consider history in such a black-and-white, cut-and-dry sense is to miss the point entirely.

When we tell the story of Mary Stuart and Elizabeth I, we are sifting through the emotions and thoughts of people deceased now for hundreds of years. We will never be able to full understand or appreciate what occurred. How could we possibly consider their tale to be just a conglomeration of dates and facts?

We can read letters from the period to grasp some sense of the motives and feelings of the individuals, but answers to contemporary questions will always be shrouded in mystery. It is the mystery of the stories of our predecessors that fascinates me. And it is this mystery coupled with the top-notch theatrical craftsmanship that make Mary Stuart a must-see of the season.

Tonight, I continue what has been a marathon month of theatre and see the revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Desire Under the Elms.

Until, next time...om chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.