Howl

Last night Deb and I returned home after a round of drinks with the lovely Amanda McKenna and were sitting in our living room when we heard someone outside kicking my bike. This has happened before-- drunken idiots and children especially like to mess with my bike. I've had to go out on the deck before and say "Hey. Stop touching my bike."

Last night, I thought, was no different. I stepped out on the deck to see 4 young men, obviously quite inebriated, kicking the wheels of my bike. I said firmly: "Hey. Stop touching my bike RIGHT NOW."

To which they replied "Fuck you, bitch". Deb stepped out onto the deck. "She said to stop touching her bike. Stop."

From then the evening passed in a blur, fastforwarded through the awfulness. Deb remained firm but fair. They called her a dyke and a nigger and told her that they were going to sodomize her. We called the cops. They told Deb to come down and fight them, or at least to get a man to fight them. They called us fucking dykes.

I remember watching a beer bottle slice through the air and explode on the wall next to our heads. Beer splashed all over us, thankfully glass did not. I started to cry and they made fun of me. One of them began to apologize for his friends, but when Deb said "If you're really sorry, make your friends stop" he got angry and joined in. One of them was particularly vocal with the racial slurs, calling Deb a nigger and "burnt" and a black dyke bitch.

And then they destroyed my bike. Totally bent and twisted and kicked the wheels-- they took out all of their aggression on this bike of mine. This bike that Deb bought me that I've had for 2 years and loved very, very much. It was horrifying. I came back outside to try and get Deb inside, saw the destroyed bike and...

I howled. No, I screamed. It was the most primal of impulses, I felt violated and lost and utterly terrified. The sound of my own rage scared me. I ran inside.

They told Deb that I should have screamed rape, because then maybe someone would have cared.

They left just before the cops came. Deb gave the cops their description and the direction they had left in, but we heard nothing for the rest of the night.

This morning the sun was out and the streets were full of Saturday bustle, but I will never look at my neighbors the same again. No one came outside. No one helped. And I know those boys are of this neighborhood. They have spoken, and we get the message loud and clear. Black and gay and woman are targets. We will take what we want from you. We will direct our anger at you.


"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix..."

Budget Crisis

I realized this morning that I think of myself as an adult. I wonder when that happened.

Perhaps it's the stability that this job gives me, or moving in with my girlfriend, or being in one city now for more than a year or so. Or maybe it's because Deb and I have been Talking About Big Things lately, like buying a house, getting married, getting a dog and having a kid. (Not necessarily in that order) All of these Big Things are probably going to happen in the next 5 years or so-- how's that for a scary thought?

But strangely enough, it's not scary at all to me. Perhaps that's why I'm suddenly comfortable thinking of myself as an adult. I'm actually looking forward to all of these Big Things.

And to that end, I did a very adult thing for the first time ever yesterday-- with Deb's help, I made a monthly budget. Money panics me-- I tend to ignore it or hold my breath that the check won't go through until my deposit does or spend a whole paycheck at H&M one week and use the whole of the next week's paycheck to pay rent. Or I'll go to the bar and forget to pay the electric bill.

This isn't working for me anymore. Deb devised a system for herself that has been working great, so yesterday we sat down and plugged my numbers into her formula. I only had a few minor panic attacks as all of the numbers got written down, but guess what? I have a lot more money that I thought. If I keep to my budget, not only do all of my bills get paid on time, but I get a little spending money each week to do with what I like AND I am putting away money in a savings account!

I couldn't be happier. This adult Sara is doing great.

The Reason for the Season

Cadbury Creme Eggs, of course.

I don't mean to be sacrilegious, but I am almost fanatical about the Creme Egg. Because you can only get it this season, the yummy chocolate shell and the delightful creamy center are soemthing I look forward to like... like... well, like I look forward to Red Hots around Valentine's Day.

But let's not dwell on recent candy sadness. As opposed to the tragedy of Red Hots this past season, I have indeed had my fill of Cadbury Creme Eggs.

A few days ago I received a phone call from the Front Desk here at work, saying that there was a package for me from "the Easter Bunny". Sure enough, the Easter Bunny (who, strangely enough, resides at my parent's address) had sent me a box with the dire warnings that I was not to open it until Easter Sunday.

The first thing I did when I got to work this morning (yes, I'm working on Easter Sunday. Typing from the booth as we speak. Welcome to theater) was open my Easter box. It was filled with all sorts of wonderful things-- plastic eggs filled with Jelly Beans, Whoppers, lottery tickets, cash (I love this Easter Bunny!) cute Easter-themed dish towels and yes, SEVERAL Cadbury Creme Eggs.

The rest of the candy I shared with the cast and crew. The Cadbury Creme Eggs are mine, ALL MINE.

I have the afternoon off (such a wonderful rarity!) and I plan to spend it curled up on the couch, reading all of the magazines that have been piling up and devouring my Cadbury Creme Eggs. Deb will probably find me in some sort of diabetic coma, my face smeared with chocolate, little pieces of foil scattered around me.

When we were little, Joseph and I would devour our Easter candy in a week, tops. Jonathan, on the other hand, would have a stash of it well into the summer. Until, of course, Joseph and I would find his stash and take care of it for him. We've never been good with the delayed gratification thing.

Not much has changed since then, eh?

Spring Fever

I'm getting my daily dose of vitamin D.

After a long, cold winter of discontent, spring has finally peeped around the corner of Philadelphia. I've decided to make the proverbial lemonaide from my car repair lemons by walking to work every day this week.

It's been wonderful, just being in the fresh air, listening to my favorite music, seeing things that I would normally miss either in the car or on my bike. I've been getting my coffee from a small little independent shop, watching the flowers pushing through the earth, the doggies straining on their leashes and the people out and about like me, enjoying the subtle weather changes.

Even the rain has been nice, that gentle spring mist that somehow enhances the birdsongs.

I've been taking shortcuts through the historic alleys and cemetaries of Philadelphia. (Always in the daylight-- don't worry, Mom!) I've been taking joy in simple things like a shock of new green grass at a tree base, a hint of blossom on a tree and an unexpectedly warm breeze.

It feels good, this spring.

Anvils! Make Beauty!

In our current production of Quartet, the script indicates that we hear a "rousing and somewhat out-of-tune" rendition of The Anvil Chorus. Our director, Malcolm Black, had the hilarious idea to get the staff of the Walnut Street Theatre together, ply them with beer, and record them singing this very silly piece of music.

Well, being the ace stage manager that I am, I sent out a bunch of emails pleading for people to turn up after rehearsal, bought lots of snacks and lugged a case of beer to the 6th floor. (Did you know the Beer Distributers open at 9am? I found this out that morning... and got a bunch of strange looks buying a case of cold lager at this time from the gentlemen who work there.)

Angela was so kind as to document the event, and I thought those of you who knew the Walnut Staff would appreciate some of these photos:


Note the nice rounded mouth shapes-- excellent singing technique! Len and Bernard are quite enthusiastic singers...


We all look so intent...


Bernard and Len may need to take a break from the hard business of running a theater and take this show on the road!


The ladies section... reach for those high notes, girls!


A HUGE thank you to everyone who showed up... I was sweating for a few minutes, thinking Angela and I would have to do it by ourselves! But I was amazed and incredibly touched by the support we received from the rest of the staff. And it was actually a ton of fun!


And last, but certainly not least, a gigantic thank you to Melanie, who dug around at the Curtis to get us the sheet music, in English. The translated lyrics were wonderfully ridiculous, hence the title of this blog.

I hope everyone comes to see the show and gets to hear our creation. Malcolm said that it was "wonderfully god-awful". I couldn't be more proud.

Now if only we could always have beer in rehearsal...

Just One of Those Weeks...

It's been one of those weeks.

A brief summary:

I owe $700 in taxes. (Freakin' unemployment..)

My car needs $1,000 in repairs-- maybe more. (And I just paid it off, naturally)

I lost a brake on my bike. While I was riding it. I narrowly missed dying very messily.

At work, I was called a "fucking idiot".

At work, I had to report some sexually inappropriate conduct. (Theater is fun, kids)

At work last week, I put in about 72 hours. And this week I'll put in just a little less.


And we begin tech next week, which I'm dreading more than a root canal.


HOWEVER. This shitty week has definitely put one thing very clearly in perspective: my amazing, supportive group of friends. I was terribly remiss in my last entry by not including my long distance support system: my family, WEAS!!! and of course all of my wonderful AJ friends.

Seriously, you have no idea what your encouragement means to me. You're the reason I get out of bed these mornings-- a litle shaken but not totally stirred.

Little by little

I begin to realize what a huge support system I have.



A girlfriend who stops to smell the roses...




Friends and co-workers I can be silly with... (that's our West Side Story walk)




And friends that I know will be there for me, through thick and thin, dark times and light times.


I'm a very lucky girl.

House Party

I've forgotten how much I love a good house party. They were a staple of my college experience, so much so that actually going to a bar was seen as an exotic (and somewhat unnecessary) adventure.


But these days most of my drinking happens in bars, which is expensive and a little repetative.


Steve Gravelle threw himself a rockin' house party for his birthday last night, and I had a great time. There were soft pretzels and all manner of inventive dips, (I'm torn between Tim's buffalo ranch idea and someone else's soft serve vanilla ice cream idea-- who knew soft pretzels could be dipped in such delicious concoctions?!)lots of cheap beer and good old fashioned furniture-against-the-walls fun.


Although this morning I regretted the combination of buffalo ranch dip, cheap beer and a shot of peach vodka, it was such a blast to party old-school.


All that was missing was an Attitude Check.