Thanksgivikkahs and To-Do Lists

The alarm went off at 4:30am. She had gone to bed at 1am. She couldn't figure out if she felt sick from a lack of sleep or the dehydration caused by the acne drug she was taking. She gulped down a glass of water. Smee meowed incessantly. "Quiet, Smee, you'll thank me later when I feed you later." Adventures in cat sitting. She hated cats. Smee was no exception. How could anyone love an animal who would rather sit in a cardboard box than cuddle you?

As she stepped out onto 42nd Street at 5am, she remembered a time, years ago, when she was up at a similar time on a long ago Thanksgiving day, to walk the parade as a clown. To her 11 year old self, NYC was the city where stories happened the way they happened in the movies; where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks meet atop the Empire State Building and live happily ever after. As she walked the deserted streets of the city all those years ago, she felt a pang if what might be and what the years could bring. NYC was a symbol dreams to be chased and goals to be met. At that age, she wasn't sure exactly what those goals and dreams were, but she knew how that life felt. It felt like this: to be walking the city at 5am 2 decades later, on the way to the Shubert Theatre. She was not about to meet a young Tom Hanks atop the Empire State Building, she was about to do something even better.

It was Thanksgivikkah 2013, a year when Thanksgiving and Chanukah collided for the first and last time for thousands of years. A once in a lifetime celebration. How appropriate that she was starting the day performing on the Macy*s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She had thought that nothing could be more exciting than sitting on the stage of the Radio City Music Hall waiting to perform in 2013 Tony Awards. As she stood outside Macy*s at 7am and saw the cameras set up for their dress rehearsal, she decided that this moment was possibly more exciting. She was choked up from cold and when her emotions started to get the better of her, she felt a feeling in her chest; a physical manifestation of "thankfulness." It felt achy and full. She wanted to bottle it up so that she could forever remember it. It's a curious thing about feelings; no matter how full they are in the present, they are altered by time and memory. This "thankfulness" was something she really rather not be altered.

It was really really cold. She sat on the set with the kids, wondering how long they would be pre-set there before the broadcast began and they could dance. Anything to bring feeling back to their hands. Without warning, the parade hosts started talking about MATILDA THE MUSICAL. "Here we go," she thought. "Don't fuck up." As she danced, mucus started to run down her nose. Every inhale she took was icy cold. Her hands refused to warm up. But, the crowd cheered and clapped and she loved every second of it. When it was over, she felt exhilarated, despite the pain in her chest from the cold air. That was so much cooler than walking the parade as a clown.

When she got back to her cat sitting adventures, Smee didn't care that she had just performed live on TV for all of America, or that the first thing she needed to do was make herself a cup of Lady Grey. Her stared her down until she finally fed him. "That's cats for you," she thought. And then she sat with her cup of tea and thought some more. About how it's possible to dream something all the years of your life and then suddenly be living it. "I can do anything," she thought. And not with arrogance, but with hope and determination. She pulled out her notepad and wrote. She still preferred writing the old fashioned way, no matter how advanced technology was becoming. She wrote herself a to-do list for the next decade. A woman who does not make promises that she does not intend to keep, she then folded it up and promised herself to fulfill her list. It was then and there that the next chapter of her story was determined. 

That evening, she was treated to the lighting of the menorah and a homemade feast of all the traditional Thanksgiving fare, with latkes and apple sauce to appease the Gods of Jewishness. As she sat and watched her cousin carve the turkey, she felt that none of these exciting endeavors of hers would mean anything were it not for the people in her life to share it with. Dancing on the parade was cool; watching the turkey being expertly carved in a warm home surrounded by family was just as cool.

The night drew to a close as the house emptied of guests. "I'm going to hell for gluttony," she said, as she stuffed her bag with a leftover caveman turkey leg and a kosher chocolate lollipop with a menorah on it. She stood on the train platform and felt, as Thanksgivikkah wouldn't come round again for thousands of years, that she had played her part in celebrating it aptly, for today was one for the books. "We are lucky," she thought, as she stepped out of the cold into the warmth of the heated train, "to have so much to be thankful for." As she walked the streets of NYC upon her return, she saw the familiar sight of homeless people trying to take shelter from the cold along with the unfamiliar sight of blocks of people lined up for Black Friday sales, and the lightness in her step became heavy.

When Smee pressed her for his evening meal, she fed him distractedly. It didn't feel right, having so much when others had nothing; to give thanks then go out for more before the day was even over. She added something to her to-do list. Then she went to sleep, thankful for the heat, the turkey leg in her fridge, and the comforter under which she lay with her full belly. 

Family Matters

CHAPTER 1: Prelude to the Journey



Family comes first. And yet, my immediate family, within which the family core and values are as strong as the Trunchbull's hammer throw, have somehow managed to end up in 3 different countries on two different continents. I blame my dad's wanderlust; whatever genetic predisposition inside of him that possessed him to leave Long Island and eventually meet and marry a Malaysian native girl in a town of Malaysia that is not Kuala Lumpur (were there Long Islanders from his hometown of Merrick who were even aware that other towns existed in Malaysia?) seems to have been instilled in me. And let's not forget my mom's singular ambition to get out of her hometown, Miri. She often says that my dad had to travel halfway around the world to find her and take her out. But enough about them; they'll wring my neck for writing an entire paragraph about them, as it is.



So, back to my initial point: I live in NYC, and between my sister and parents, there are Rubin representatives in England, Spain, and France throughout the year. Lucky ducks. The one downfall of our international family is that we only get to talk via Skype once a week, and that once-a-week Skype date can, in some cases, be challenging to plan, or may not even happen during a busier week. Time difference is a bitch. So forget about actual, physical, face-to-face time (FaceTime on iPhone doesn't count, but thanks, Apple). The last time I saw my family was in July of 2012. The last time I saw my family Stateside was summer 2009. Ergo, my number one priority once I booked MATILDA was to figure out when an appropriate time would be for them to come to NYC so that: A. We could hang out, and B. They could (finally) see me on Broadway.



Their plane was due to arrive in the afternoon on a Monday, which is my day off from work. I told them I'd wait for them in my cousins' apartment with my cousins who would be joining us for dinner. As I knew I wouldn't have much time to spend with my family during a work week, any free time I had was reserved for one thing: EATING. I couldn't wait to introduce them to my favourite restaurants. Before committing acts of gluttony, they had to arrive, and I took myself to JFK to surprise them at arrivals. They were super duper surprised!!! It was such a joy to see their excited and non-expectant faces, and I burst into tears and couldn't stop, to which my dad asked, "what is wrong with you?!" It had been an overwhelming time as it was: proof being on my body where I had red bumps on my torso, which I of course promptly showed them while waiting in the taxi queue. Nerves of having many people booked to see me in the show that week mixed with Accutane side-effects mixed with having worked non-stop since December were showing up physically and by the end of the week, the bumps on my torso were joined by a very itchy rash on my thighs, and what felt like chemical burns on my arms, and two styes in my right eye. The impish Vacation Gods were taunting me, and I was ready to submit to them. I just had to get through one more week because the Working Gods are far stronger than their impish brothers and sisters.



In the week that followed, we ate a Schezuan meal, congee in Chinatown, ramen, Japanese BBQ, and sipped tea at both Harney & Sons and Radiance Tea House. In a normal week, my free time is spent either taking dance class or working out with my personal trainer, but this week, those acts of well-being were substituted with eating. So much eating. So, really, even though I had been on in the show all week, it had been a relatively relaxing week and I felt less tired than I usually do at the end of the week. After 4 hours of sleep on Saturday night, I woke at 5:30am on Sunday, alert and ready to run the Color Run, the world's happiest 5k! I'm so glad that my dad had decided to join me and my colleagues for our morning of color running in Brooklyn because we had a blast! The weather was perfect, and these sorts of events are a great substitute for socializing to your average night out at a bar. I've discovered that I'm an adventurer at heart (I'm starting to realise that it was perhaps the desire for adventure more than the desire to be on Broadway that urged me to move from London to NYC) and I think my goal is to do something like the Color Run every 3 months or so. But let me take this opportunity to say that anyone who lives in Brooklyn who gives me grief for living in West New York, NJ is CRAZY. Crazy! The commute was soooooooo loooooooong.



That afternoon, for my last performance of the week as The Acrobat (after I spent a panicked turn in the shower scrubbing color from my skin upon which the bluish tint so stubbornly sat) I was the lucky gal with sixteen family members in the audience. I had family come in from Europe, Long Island, and Westchester to watch me run around the stage as a glasses-wearing schoolgirl searching for Amanda Thripp, living the Broadway dream I have talked about at every Jewish holiday at the kosher hotel between bites of matzoh ball soup and flanken. It was cool, performing for them. I had emailed them exactly what to look out for so they'd know how to pick me out. What was even cooler was bringing them onstage afterwards. For me, the stage is my 2nd home, an extension of my office, if you will. For them, standing on a Broadway stage was VIP treatment to the max. We ate family style afterwards at an Italian restaurant, the adults at one table, the "kids" at the other, just like old times in the kosher hotel. It was lovely for us all to be together, and for me at least, the most important thing about that day was not that my family got to see me on Broadway, but that my being on Broadway brought the family together for the first time in four years.



Chapter 2: Roots



When my family and I found out that I would be on in MATILDA for a week and that they would make a trip Stateside to see it, we decided that I would take my week's vacation right off the back of that. As a visit to my aunt's (dad's sister) family in the Carolinas was overdue, it seemed that a road trip to the Carolinas would be a super fun way for us to spend time together and see other parts of the country. While I'm relatively well-traveled internationally, the same cannot be said for my domestic travels.



Our first stop was in Washington D.C. Along the way, we stopped at a rest stop for breakfast, which consisted of Cinnabons and Starbucks, neither of which my parents were accustomed to, obviously. Who drinks Starbucks in Europe?! My dad is always complaining that he can't get a good cup of coffee in the States. When the cashier asked for my dad's name to write on his cup, it seemed to take him by surprise! Anyway, my only reason for mentioning our rest stop is to mention our discussion over breakfast. We listened to my dad talk about his parents' generation and I learned new things about them and their lives and the types of people they were. As I write this now I wonder if these were things my grandparents would have ever spoken about to me if I had ever bothered to ask. I just knew them as Grandpa Morris, Grandma Edith, Aunt Fran, and so on, and was too young to contemplate that they were people with colored histories during which they built roots from which my family has grown.



We reached D.C. by early afternoon. There is a loveliness to D.C. which surprised me. The architecture, the cleanliness, the slower pace, everything about the city made me feel completely relaxed. The beautiful weather probably accounted for a lot of those feelings, but I daresay I fell in love with the city. Had it a theatre scene as vibrant as London or New York, I think I could even set up home there! We spent our first afternoon playing tourist and walking to the memorials via Georgetown. First though, we needed food, and I had come across Rasika in my research. It is rated #4 in the city and just happened to be a few minutes' walk away from the hotel. It was one of the best Indian meals we have ever had, and that is really high praise coming from the Rubin clan. It's the best Indian meal I've had since I left London 4 years ago. As much as NYC is a culinary delight, it lacks really great Indian curry, and y'all can stop recommending places to me because they never live up to my expectations! Rasika, on the other hand, is well worth a visit if you're in the area and love a good curry.



My sister and I started the next day catching up with an old camp friend at Lincoln's Waffle Shop, just opposite Ford's Theatre. I'm not a huge waffle fan, but how can you go to a waffle shop and not order a waffle? Much to my surprise, the waffle was not big and fat, which kills my appetite, but flat and crunchy. It was super delicious! I also ordered scrapple, which I'd never seen on a menu before. You know what? I know it's supposed to be really gross, and as I was googling it, I was scared that google was going to tell me that it was pigs' shit, but turns out it's all the trimmings that the butcher throws out. It was also delicious. All those trimmings are not good enough for other people? I'll take them! Gladly! Yum!



Well-fed, we walked to the Holocaust Memorial Museum. I debated on whether to go into detail about our visit in this blog entry and decided that it's an experience that I would rather discuss with people privately. What I will say about it, is that my mom said, upon exiting, "it is every human being's duty to go." Also, there was a train carriage there which was used to transport Jews to a concentration camp, and when I walked inside, I swear I felt spirits there. Though a visit to the Smithsonian had been on our list, we were completely drained after spending a lot more time than anticipated at the Holocaust museum, so what did we decide to do next? Eat! Of course! We walked to Fish Wharf and after a day and a half of seeing people all suited up, we finally saw some of the other half of the city hanging out at an awesome outdoor fish market, which we would have loved to frequent if our feet weren't swollen from half a day of walking, so we went to a nearby seafood restaurant and indulged in some Americana seafood buffet. The food was less than mediocre, but we sat there at length, discussing our visit to the Holocaust museum and the Holocaust itself. I asked many questions, but there was one question that none of us were able to answer: if you were living during the Holocaust and were not a Jew, what would you have done? Would you have done nothing? Been a complier to the Nazis? Put your own life at risk to help the Jews? We all know what type of person we would want to be, but in reality, who are we really? A haunting, but important self-reflection.



I was actually sad to leave D.C. and would love to return again. Our next port of call was Williamsburg, VA. We spent the afternoon walking around colonial Williamsburg after which we made a unanimous decision to have Red Lobster for dinner, which was absolutely delicious, but let me tell you, I zonked out afterwards and when I woke up, felt dehydrated and lethargic. Eating like that all the time is a sin, and I really should be fasting on this Yom Kippur to atone for such sins, but I have never fasted and am not about to start after half a week of complete gluttony. That evening we took a ghost tour which was awful. I had taken one other ghost tour in Edinburgh which was far superior so was disappointed by the tour in Williamsburg. I feel that historic Williamsburg is a bit pricey on the whole, and was not sad to leave for the Carolinas the next day.



So, here I am in North Carolina. Ballantyne, Charlotte, to be exact. The weather today has taken a turn. After a week of scorching hot sunshine, it is cold and grey today, a metaphor for the Rubins coming to the end of this family road trip. Last night we ate Yom Kippur dinner with my aunt and cousins after a visit to my aunt's new home in York, SC. The adults never made it to temple and instead watched the little ones perform plays after dinner. We had brought two flamenco dresses for my two little cousins and the older one put hers on straight away while I showed the younger one how to open a fan. I look at them and see myself and my sister, for we were once putting on plays and dressing up. And so the world turns and things change but yet things are the same because it seems we all follow the blueprint of those who have come before us, back to the beginnings of our ancestry. Is that far too simple a way of thinking about it? I feel that, for all the complexities of the human race, we really are that simple. Like the trees, we plant roots and from those roots we grow and our families grow and everything is passed on and on, timeless and forever.



We have a couple more days left of our road trip. Unbelievably, this is the first time that I have been away from NYC that I do not miss it. This is not a reflection of my feelings for the city, but a reflection on the peace that I have felt to be with my family and discover new things and have new adventures. Traveling serves as a reminder that things are relative and that there are many experiences waiting to be had. I can't wait for the next Rubin road trip! I'm trying to convince them that next shall be the Grand Canyon. Until then, I'm due a vacation in Europe next year, so I had better start planning that. So many things to do and so many places to go! We are the lucky ones who can travel. While the majority of Americans probably don't hold passports, I count myself in the bracket of those lucky enough to have the choice to travel. Before any of that though, I must return to reality and work off these pancakes, waffles, BBQ ribs, etc etc etc. NYC, I'll see you in a couple of days. Get ready to whip my butt!

Colour Me (Half) Asian: Supporting Asian-American Actors

About a year and a half after I moved to NYC, I was lucky to be cast as Gertie in an all-Asian reading of OKLAHOMA, directed by Baayork Lee, of A CHORUS LINE fame. Still quite green to the politics of show business in NYC, I had, until I started rehearsal for the reading, been naively unaware that there was an Asian community of actors in the city, most of whom not only knew each other, but loved each other as family. Though raised by a Chinese mom in Singapore, I have never defined myself as any particular race or "colour." Sure, I refer to myself as a Chinese-Jew, but I certainly never limit myself to what being Chinese and/or Jewish embodies (and, anyway, I am most Chinese-Jewish in my love of eating, a love which both cultures share). I was not singled out for being different when I went to high school in the Jewish suburb of Chappaqua, Westchester, and when I left Chappaqua and continued my higher education in London, I was set apart by my American accent, not my race. The closest I ever came to feeling "boxed in" by my heritage was when I was in ballet class in college and we had a substitute ballet teacher in who, at one moment, pointed to me and said, "little Japanese girl, come here." It took all of my might not to burst into laughter and denounce her ignorance in my broad American accent. 

Perhaps I never saw myself as "different" because I spent the first 10 years of my life living in Singapore and going to an international school with friends from all over the globe: Pakistan, Australia, Japan, Sri Lanka, Sweden; you name the country, I probably knew someone from there at school. We were all from completely different backgrounds, and yet our differences were what made us similar; we were all children whose parents came to Singapore from another country, and in that way, we were all the same. My parents tell this story of this time my twin sister and I were allowed to pick out one doll each, and my sister chose a black doll. We didn't distinguish, because we grew up never having to, and so didn't know how to. By the time we left Singapore, at the age of 10, my sister and I probably had more friends whose first language was not English, and it never occurred to us that that sort of childhood was not the norm.

Consequently, I never grew up feeling different or expecting to be treated differently because of my race. When I went to college to major in theatre dance, I credit my teachers for never teaching me that I should expect to be typecast. I left college and went on to play Vietnamese in MISS SAIGON, Puerto Rican in WEST SIDE STORY, and Cuban as the Havana feature in GUYS AND DOLLS, alongside some Caucasian roles, as well. Did it ever, for one second, occur to me that I was doing an injustice to those roles by not being of authentic ethnicity? Not for one second. An actor's job is to act, and I did my research, as any actor does. I bought a book of Spanish curse words during GUYS AND DOLLS rehearsal, so that I would improvise in the correct language. We watched documentaries about the Vietnamese war which included interviews of prostitutes so that we understood what was really going on in Vietnam at the time "The Heat is on in Saigon" starts MISS SAIGON. I never ever felt like a fraud because I was not of the correct racial background. You do not have to have lived it to be able to act it. What you do need is compassion and empathy to gain an understanding of what it would be like to live it, so that you can put yourself believably in someone else's shoes. This mentality served me well in London.

Then I moved to New York, and all of a sudden, it didn't matter how much research and preparation I would have been willing to do for a role. I was too Asian, not Asian enough, too mixed race, not mixed race enough, etcetera. I was everything but right. I'd go to a MISS SAIGON call and look too Caucasian. I'd go to a commercial casting for a mixed race part and everyone else there would be some sort of black mix. I wouldn't even bother going in for regional theatre seasons casting traditional musicals such as those by Rodgers and Hammerstein, because they would inevitably not be looking for someone who looked like me. I couldn't figure out where on earth I fit in. However, I still never saw my "look" and my heritage as something that made booking a job any harder for me than anyone else, and I never felt that I had less opportunities. Sure, there were many jobs for tall blonde dancers, but there were also many tall blonde dancers fighting for those jobs. When auditions came around looking for someone of my look, such as Liat in SOUTH PACIFIC, it reinforced my faith that it was just a matter of time before I walked into a room and was immediately "right" for a project. It was just a matter of time before the people sitting behind the desk had as much imagination as I had determination to work hard in any role I'd be given the opportunity to play.

After two years of not booking work other than a workshop here and there, that time came when I auditioned for Royal Caribbean's production of SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER. Again, I did not feel like a fraud when I learned I'd be playing the Italian Brooklyn-ite, Stephanie Mangano. I worked with an awesome dialect coach and got a tan, and, presto! I was Chinese-Jew turned gum popping Italian chick from Bay Ridge. Stephanie is a girl with big dreams of a life in Manhattan. How much more authentic could you get than me, the chick who packed up a life in London to move to Manhattan? It would have been a shame to lose out on the part because of my ethnicity. If the spirit is right, everything else can be worked around. I truly believe that. 

So, what's my point? My point is that I feel very lucky that I have not experienced what many of my Asian counterparts do: that there are not enough roles written for Asian actors, and that there is not enough imagination to have Asian actors fill roles that are not specifically written for them. I do understand that I am set apart a little from this because I am half-Asian and have a very different look to someone who is fully Asian.That being said, I could not have been more proud to be a part of OKLAHOMA with a cast of supremely talented Asian actors, or believe more in the importance of the work that Baayork Lee et al. are doing to expand the vision of what the Asian community has to offer. Politics aside, I love to see shows that have colour blind casting, and that's not because I'm a Chinese-Jew, but because I love to see the world onstage reflect the world that is really around us. Who of my musical theatre generation didn't love Disney's colour blind casting of CINDERELLA starring Brandy as Cinderella, Paolo Montalban as the prince, Whoopie Goldberg as his mom, and Victor Garber as his dad? I didn't care for one second that the prince was Filipino, his mom African American, and his dad Caucasian. It is the opinion of this tiny Chinese-Jew that such diversity should not be limited to shows that are set in an imaginary world. I don't personally need actors to look alike if they are to convince me that they are a family and love each other a family. Case in point: 110 IN THE SHADE starring Audra McDonald whose stage family included a Caucasian dad and brother and an African American brother. Suspension of my disbelief in them as a family took no effort due to the stellar cast.

I don't want this blog entry to be about politics. It's a celebration of my belief that there is a place for everyone in this business, and that there are people willing to give Asian and half-Asian actors a chance at playing a multitude of roles. I must, of course, finish with a MATILDA anecdote: I shared a photo of the cast list on Facebook and my aunt commented that the list reads like a who's-who of the United Nations. I responded to her that we indeed have actors of all colours, shapes, and sizes in our cast. She commented that diversity is great in the theatre. It sure is, folks. Diversity is not only great, but important in the theatre. I am proud to be part of a show that, at any given snapshot of a moment, could look like an ad for the United Colours of Benetton! 

Tomorrow night, Baayork presents an all-Asian production of HELLO DOLLY, and I look forward to supporting my Asian colleagues in their graceful step towards giving Asian-American actors a stronger voice within the theatrical community. 

Preaching the Shit out of Love

This is not going to be well written; it's almost midnight and I'm a tad hormonal. I just don't understand how it's the year 2013 and America is still discussing whether or not same-sex marriage is kosher (it's Passover, I had to). I don't know the facts and I don't know anything about politics, and I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. Correct me if I'm wrong: the Declaration of Independence states, "All men are created equal." "Equal" means...well...equal...right? And I just googled the Constitution on Wikipedia and it states that by putting the constitution in place, the American people are to be provided (a) justice, (b) civil peace, (c) common defense, (d) those things of a general welfare that they could not provide themselves, and (e) freedom. A government of "liberty and union, now and forever." "Liberty and union, now and forever" means...well...liberty and union, now and forever, right? RIGHT? Why is America not practicing what it so clearly preaches? WHY?? It's right there, in black and white, no? Am I missing something? Tell me if I am because it's driving me insane (you don't believe me? I'm up writing a blog entry after midnight on a school night). Unless I'm mistaken, taking away someone's right to marry means taking away the same choices that the majority of Americans are allowed to make, which means that there is a lack of that "equal" and "liberty" stuff, which means it goes against the American constitution, so...why the fuck is our government still discussing it?!

You know what really bugs me? These Justices (is that what the're called?) are, I'm assuming, some of the most educated people in America. Why aren't they all like, "why the fuck are we discussing this?" Because I'm definitely not more learned than they, and if I were a Justice and was asked to make a decision about same-sex marriage, I'd be like, "why the fuck are we discussing this they are American human beings which makes them exactly the same as every other American human being so of course they should fucking be allowed to get married I can't believe I had to get out of bed at 5am for this shit just fucking let them live like everyone else and do it now so that I can get the fuck out of this stuffy room and go have a cup of tea." These Justices are supposed to be setting an example for the rest of the country, not faffing about over basic human rights.

I don't even know what the arguments against same-sex marriage are. Is it because it's un-constitutional? Because that idea is just wrong and shouldn't be up for debate. "We the people" includes every single American that walks the Earth. "We the people" is colorblind, class-blind, sex-blind, and so why should it be anything but sexual preference blind, as well?  Is it because it goes against what the bible says is right? So what? So does gluttony, and I practice that daily and no one is debating over my right to be glutinous. And the very notion of freedom declares that we have a right to choose to believe in God and the Bible or not, so how dare anyone have the right to infringe legally on others' beliefs or non-beliefs. Is it because it is a bad example for kids? I mean...do I need to write down examples of kids born into marriages of a mother and father who ended up severely fucked up and/or caused mass destruction and/or committed mass murders? Just as growing up with one mother and one father does not guarantee the healthy mind of a child, growing up with two fathers or two mothers does not guarantee the unhealthy mind of a child. Is it because, if your neighbours happen to be a same-sex couple and they get married, they will cause your family unhappiness? That's bullshit. Junior high "she has braces so we can't let her sit at our lunch table or she'll make us all unpopular" kind of bullshit. First of all, happiness is a choice that comes from within. If you're unhappy, you should work on not being unhappy instead of wasting time judging other people. Second of all, I'm pretty certain that that same-sex couple who just got married down the road are far too obsessed with each other to give a shit about you and your family.

The idea that not everyone in the United States of America in the year 2013 does not have the right to marry the person of their choosing is preposterous and I am ashamed on behalf of the people of this country who do not view it as so. This is not an argument about the bible or who makes who feel uncomfortable or who is gay, straight, into black men, or into Asian chicks. It's about whether the American people agree that every single American has the right to make the same choices as everyone else, regardless of sexual preference. Why are we even discussing this? Why am I writing a blog about it? Because I believe in love and choice and freedom for ALL and showing those kids that I work with on a daily basis that the most important things in any relationship, friendship or otherwise, are love, kindness and mutual respect. With all those things, how can there be anything but happiness? I feel lucky to be the sort of person whose FB feed turned red today. History does change. History is changing. I wish for the generations that come after us to look upon ours and see that we chose unconditional love for each other and in the way we raised our children. So let's fucking make it happen so that I can stop swearing.

Scootering on the Edge of...[Fill in the Blank]

My last blog entry, which you can read HERE was written in Dec 2012 and about the moment I found out that I was going to be on Broadway. It is now March 2013. In the time that has passed, I have learned to do the following: ride a scooter, jump onto a vault on one foot and forward roll off it, communicate with different types of children, communicate with different types of adults, speak in a Welsh accent (this is still a work-in-progress), tie a tie (badly), and stay calm when stuck in an elevator with 5 people at a time when I'm supposed to be leading a rehearsal. I have not learned how to stay calm under the pressure of the possibility of being thrown into a scooter dance track that I have never rehearsed, how to churn out 11 dance tracks out of memory, how to stay focused at full attention during every second of a 12 hour working day, or how to physically be in two (or three) places at the same time. This is also a work-in-progress. I live in a constant state of anxiety that I'm afraid the gratitude I have does not quash. I am anxious of hurting myself. I am anxious of hurting someone else. And I am anxious of, Lord forbid, hurting a child when that child is my responsibility. My position might be better served by someone with a calmer and cooler disposition by nature. Well, too bad, they got me, and I fight every day not to let myself be overwhelmed by a series of "what ifs," a one sided dialogue that cycles around in my brain like tiny termites on tiny scooters, eating away at my confidence, patience, and at the very worst, my humour. Because, if my insecurities stall me from laughing at any given situation, then it's bad news.

"Won't you be bored?" many people asked me when I told them I would be a Swing. At the time, I was too freaking excited to let such notions dampen my spirits. Now, I say emphatically, nay, EXASPERATEDLY, that I am TOO FREAKING BUSY AND ANXIOUS TO BE BORED. I spent the better part of the shows this week writing out cheat sheets for the Swing kids. Should they be thrown into one of their tracks at the last second, we need them to be overly prepared. So, I sat in my dressing room hunched over my notepad writing out examination question and answer forms to give them. I don't have cramps in my body from dancing, but I have cramps in my hand from writing. Go figure! I have not held a pen without putting it down for this long since I was in boarding school and writing essays out by hand (because in those days, teenagers didn't study via computer and google, but via pen, paper, and the library). You, my dear reader, will either find it fascinating or eye-roll inducing that my astrologer told me a couple of years ago that I could make a decent living working with other people's children. Additionally, when I consulted her before I was offered Matilda, she asked me if I had auditioned for a big sister role because my chart showed alot of big sister energy. Ladies and gents, I had absolutely no idea that there would be a children's dance captain on the show, let alone know that I was being considered for it. I would have never ever pegged myself as someone who would work so closely with kids. And yet, it is determined by the stars and things happen in ways in which you never imagine. These kids look at me during warm-ups like I'm in charge, and when they ask me questions, they really believe that I have all the answers, when the truth is I don't have all the answers, and I don't know if I ever will. But, by the stars, I will go and find the answers for them. By the stars, they will not be underprepared. I know this because they have been drilled within an inch of their (and my) lives by an intrepid dance team made up of a couple women whom I wish I was as tireless as. I am so not tireless. All I want to do sometimes is crawl into a little warm space and drink some carefully steeped oolong and read a book on Taoism. 

Amidst the anxieties stated above, I get constant vomit inducing pangs of reminders every day that I am, in fact, first cover to a couple of the adult tracks. See, I forget. I hang out with the kids (and when I say "hang out," what I really mean is, "make sure they know exactly where they go to onstage when they're on a scooter, etc etc etc") and I forget that I'm actually an adult and need to know what I'm doing as an adult so that I can be ready to go onstage as an adult. The thought of this makes my armpits break out in a cold sweat. I am not cut out for this kid of pressure. I get so nervous that I can barely focus. In fact, I have no idea how I got this job, my nerves were so bad. As if being prone to awful nerves wasn't a pain in the butt enough, I go into work every day and face fears that I never thought in my darkest nightmares I would have to. The very first time I saw "gym session" scheduled, I assumed we'd be learning how to cartwheel (a skill I do not have), maybe learn how to do backwards walkovers (ditto). When I turned up to work and saw a trampette and a vault...well...all I can say is that I was lucky I was wearing a sleeveless top. It didn't help that every single one of the kids jumped onto the vault with absolute ease, putting me to shame. It's fine, I feel too anxious to feel any embarrassment. Then I remember that I have to work on the salsa section that the adults do, and I think to myself, "F this vault shit, I gotta go salsa!" 

And so it goes, round and round every day, like those scooters, around in one big circle of anxiety and aggravation and I cry sometimes and I laugh at myself for crying and pick myself up then I fall down again, and on and on and on, and during my day off which is not really a day off, I work on my taxes and do my 2 loads of laundry which takes like 3 hours per load and dance through the show in my living room which I have no idea is actually helpful, and I think that something has to give. Then I remember that I'm making my Broadway debut in a special and magical show; that I am in the middle of living inside the biggest dream I ever had, and I think, "Celia, of course this isn't EASY! When is anything you REALLY want ever EASY?!" And I remember that I almost don't remember what boredom feels like because, since starting this process in the beginning of December last year, among the many things that I have felt, boredom is not one of them. 

I guess you want to know if Broadway is everything I thought it would be. The answer is, No. I didn't expect it to be this hard, or all-consuming, or that I'd have to do anything but sing, act, and dance. But, if you believe in the stars, as I do, then you believe that what's meant for you won't pass you by. I am meant for it, and it is meant for me, and there are moments between the anxiety that I feel like the luckiest (and, at tiny, fleeting moments, bravest) woman in the world. I welcome it all with open arms, mind, and heart, but, let me tell you: anxiety and hard work is one thing, however, if I end up with my first strand of gray hair or WRINKLES because of this job, I will pick up a scooter and throw it out the window, just as Miss Trunchbull did to little Julius Rottwinkle.