Rubber cork

A rubber cork just ate my corkscrew.

Bought a (cheap) bottle of wine.
Kept screwing the thingie in there, and it kept coming out, like it was just making love to it or something. Cork didn't budge.

The last time I tried to pull it out, it plain broke off.
The metal screw part just broke off.
It's in there, hidden.
Can't even see it.

The bottle remains unopened.

Mourning

Ending a show experience is hard for me. Painful. I suspect I chose a life of theater because I am co-dependent on the feelings it gives me, of bonding with new people, of validation and acclaim; and with these attachments comes loss when it comes to an end. I can prepare for it all I want, I can know it's happening, but it will still end, and I will still feel disappointment and loss. Inevitably I'll have also made it more miserable for myself by mentally if not physically (worse!) attaching to someone of the male species before it ends as it comes to the end, for reasons I have yet to figure out. (Will I be that person in a plane crash who, sensing my demise, will turn to the man next to me and jump his bones before I die?)

All I can do is hibernate a little bit, do laundry, eat popcorn, watch The Dog Whisperer, and slowly come back to me, the me that enjoys being alone, the me that doesn't need attention from the opposite sex, the me that doesn't need people to tell me how great I am and other things that go right out the window with the next new "family" that's formed before my very eyes, and with that family, euphoria followed by pain and disappointment. There must be a better way, a healthier way for me to life this life I love.

I am determined to find it.

Longevity

I sat in the audience, last chair on the side. No obstructed view; my leg room was luxurious and comfortable. The three-hour play was no bore, and I realized why classics are classics. Good writing just is. And I laughed, and I vocalized grunts of understanding, and I held my breath, and I strained to listen, and I watched, and I empathized, and thoroughly enjoyed being shared with by skilled actors who know what they're doing. And I didn't even realize until the man stepped on stage that this marked an anniversary for me: I had seen James Earl Jones in Fences 20 years ago in San Francisco. He was already a legend then, and although I couldn't totally appreciate the play at the time, I knew I already appreciated the theater. 20 years later, he is still a force to be reckoned with. What a nice gift to myself.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Next up, a Porsche and some hair transplants

Clearly I'm having a midlife crisis.
I've been flirting lately only with guys more than a decade younger than I.
Since when did I become that dude?
The guy I used to date when I was the young'un and this whole thing was reversed?
Am I doomed to a life of seven cats and rowdy visits to Chippendale's?
Am I holding onto youth so tightly, it's become literal?
Am I such a commitment-phobe, that I'm drawn to people who were in grade school when I was already temping and paying rent in my Manhattan apartment?

I need to expand my horizons big time.

Good times

It's awesome to star in a well-written play and chew up the scenery with only one other person. My theater company rocks.

Jaradoa Theater presents
The Small of Her Back
by Russell Leigh Sharman

Featuring Eileen Rivera & Jeremy O'Grady

The 411 Theater
300 West 43rd St., 4th Floor
New York City

Fridays-Mondays, May 9-12 & 16-19 - 8 PM
Tickets $18, 212-868-4444 or www.smarttix.com

Press releases:
Playbill.com
Broadway World