Friday, April 22, 2011

Spring Spheres

The above is what this post was going to be about, sort of, until I just found out the story was a spoof...although it could happen, so I might as well write the post anyway, right?

Supposedly, a school in Seattle banned the term "Easter eggs" and decided they should be called "Spring spheres." I found this disquieting (obviously) but also amusing...would you send your child to a school that was not aware that an egg is an ovoid, not a spheroid?

But I got thinking (somehow) abut the burkha ban in France, and the ubiquitous "Happy Holiday" greeting over here and one thing and another like that.

Has anybody but me noticed that whenever anybody is expected to change the name of their holiday for politically correct reasons, it's always the Christians? As far as I know, Passover remains Passover, as does Hanukkah; Ramadan is Ramadan and the Eid is the stated in all newspapers, on TV news, etc., etc. It's seemingly only things like Christmas and Easter that draw people's wrath. This seems terribly odd to me. If we're not allowed to say Christmas, why isn't EVERYTHING just the "Holidays?" And obviously you'd have to say "The Fasting Month."

It's all just so damn silly.

As far the burkha ban in France...well, that's pretty silly too, because unless they aren't reporting it (and I would think they would), this is another one of those things that looks like equality and fairness and is anything but. I mean, if you ban the burkha, wouldn't you also have to ban Orthodox Jewish dress? Frankly, if I had to wear those clothes, I'd sure as hell consider myself an oppressed woman. No, I'm being facetious...what I mean is that Orthodox Jewish women wear their clothing for religious reasons, as do observant Muslim women. I don't see a difference. You cannot be oppressed by a piece of clothing unless you feel yourself to be. If you consider it to be an integral part of your religion, then surely refusing to allow you to wear it is the worst form of oppression? And where do you stop? Are cloistered nuns who still wear the habit going to be deprived of it?

I can, I suppose, understand some people's fear on seeing a heavily veiled Muslim woman, but people...none of the Muslims who have attacked America have been women.

I wonder what they're going to rename Easter...the Rabbit Romp? Eggs for All Day? Chocolate for God? Oh, wait...are we still allowed to say God?

Love, Wendy

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


My kittens are coming! They won't be here for eight weeks, however, since they were just born yesterday (gee, that sounds like a good title for something...born yesterday).

They are the offspring of my pal Ellie in Vermont...oh, you know I mean her cat, don't be silly. She's got two black, three black and white and two calico, but I'm going to trust her to pick out two affectionate cuddly type kittens once they actually turn into kittens as opposed to furry blobs.

And one of my old temp agencies called me for a job which will run this coming Saturday and the following Saturday! I won't make much money, but it sounds amusing.

This is a one woman temp agency which is known far and wide among actors because the gal who runs it is a flying maniac who gets you to do the damnedest things. She once called me at 6 am to ask me to dress in a carrot suit and prance up and down Madison Avenue...since it was August, I turned her down. Those costumes are hotter than hell. However, I did do a mock election day deal for her where I promoted Pillsbury snack cakes (I think that's what it was) on Park Avenue all day. She also had me be a ladies' room attendant at the Big Apple Circus on New Year's Eve one year (which was enormous fun...I didn't have to clean toilets or anything, just man the door, and I got to see most of the circus for free and they gave us champagne at midnight). You never make a lot of money with Liz, but it's always fun. One time she sent me to the Apollo Theater to fill gift bags for some gala they were having and the people there bought us a barbecue lunch from Sylvia's, which was entirely cool.

This gig is very confusing. I have to be at Penn Station to take a train to Babylon, Long Island at 10:15 on Saturday morning to go and stand around a car lot pretending I'm going to buy a car. I can't imagine what the hell this is about...does the car lot need attention? And if so, why can't they just get banners and some guy to shriek on late night TV, like every other car dealership? I explained to Liz that I'm going to find it extremely difficult to pretend to be buying a car because I don't drive...the only thing I can think of to ask a car salesman is "Does it come with wheels?" This didn't seem to bother her in the least...nobody else is calling me for anything, so why not. Anyway, I don't think I've ever been to Babylon, Long Island, and I like riding on trains...and they're paying transportation.

And Glee is finally back in new episodes tonight! As Sarah tells me, I'm a complete nerd about the show, but I'm excited. I've also been watching the new three episode Upstairs Downstairs which is just terrific. Next up is Game of Thrones...Sarah gave me the books for Christmas and I've been wading through them. Good Lord, it's densely written. Each of the four books requires about a ten page family tree in the back so you can keep everybody straight.

And the best news of all...SARAH'S FINALLY GOING TO PICK UP HER STUFF! She has a friend with an SUV, and I will finally have the closet in her room to myself. Now all I have to do is get Joshua's stuff to storage and this place with be mine, do you hear me? MINE, MINE, MINE! And the kittens', of course. They are to be named Dweezil and Moon Unit, because I always thought those would be great names for cats. I must say, however, that despite their peculiar names, the Zappa kids are doing just fine...they're never in the gossip columns or on the police blotter. Frank did a good job.


Love, Wendy

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


Yes, I mean the furry variety. I just submitted myself for an episode of Law and Order: CI where they want me to handle rats. The reasons I did this were A. I'm not afraid of rats and actually consider the nice tame lab variety rather cute, B. if one's husband was a snake fancier and keeper, you get used to having them around (to feed the snakes), and C. I'm pretty sure that handling rats comes under what SAG calls special abilities, which means a bump in one's salary. All in all, a winning situation...let's just see if they call me for it.

Meanwhile, I've actually been getting some work. I spent a damp, cold night in Brooklyn last Friday for Boardwalk which was pretty pointless. They got us out there, dressed us up, made us up and did our hair, and then we sat. And sat. And sat. From 7:30 at night until about 3 am. (We did get shouldn't be a total loss.) Then they dragged us off to a different holding area (did you know that I'm becoming an authority on church basements?) until around 4 am, and finally we got to the set...which, it being about 40 degrees and misting in a nasty cold fashion, was outdoors. They put us into position and left us there for about 40 minutes. Then they said, OK, that's a wrap! Otherwise known as, we never got used at all. However, we went into overtime and got night differential...every little bit helps.

Then on Monday I did a day on Men in Black 3. Well, I felt fine about this one...the weather was due to get up to 80...a fine idea if you're tromping about outdoors in summer clothing. Unfortunately, the weather didn't hit that until late afternoon, after the shoot. So there we were, freezing to death in our adorable summer dresses. Growl. But Will Smith grinned at us! Also, I added to my collection of bobby pins...this scene was set in 1969, which meant a beehive for me, of took me ten minutes to get all the damn pins out of my hair when I got home. I'll never have to buy another bobby pin again as long as I live if I keep getting all these period shows.

Meanwhile I'm doing nothing else of any interest whatsoever. I did manage to get my taxes done today, only to discover that there are certain production payroll companies that don't bother to take out state and/or city taxes...the result being that on my resident taxes I owe the IRS $193 and change, which is annoying as hell. However, I'm getting back $500 from federal, so I guess it all works out.

Tomorrow I'm going grocery shopping and then over to Sarah's bar (all right, Carolyn, it's the Greenwich Village there...and yes, I did actually notice that you forgot my birthday, but I won't hold it against you).

And that is the end of the news...Jane, your arrival sounds great! Can't wait.

I'll let you know if I get to play with rats.

Love, Wendy

Monday, April 4, 2011

Relationship Woes

No, not MY relationship relationship, no woes, obviously. But I must say that standing out on the street with my cigarette does give me a rather disquieting window into everybody ELSE'S relationships.

The reason, of course, is that people continue to believe that if they are talking on a cellphone, they have somehow stepped into an invisible soundproof telephone booth. This is odd, because some of these people are too young to have ever even SEEN a telephone booth (unless they're watching old George Reeve Superman reruns).

Tonight's drama was a girl wailing to what I think must have been a girlfriend that "he couldn't understand what I was talking about, and I wrote him back explaining in a really nice tone, you know, and he just can't see it..." (voice fading out down the street). I have also heard, "Bitch, if you talk to him one more time, I'm gonna slap you all over the bar," from a very gay gentleman (well, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt as to the gentleman part). And "Well, it's over, is all. I just can't take never knowing where she is, for God's sake."

You can see why I fear for relationships.

The best loud cell phone conversation I ever heard was a lady on the crosstown #8 bus one morning who was describing her previous day's visit to the gynecologist. In detail. At the top of her lungs. You better believe the whole bus was riveted to that conversation.

Meanwhile, I had a perfectly lovely birthday party at Sarah's bar on Thursday...lots of old friends, and Sarah actually didn't even snarl at me about my dress...which was cut to approximately my navel. Well, hell...if you can't have your boobs in view on your birthday, when can you? And along with the legs, the frontage is still damned impressive.

Then I went back to the bar on Friday, for the bar's 12th anniversary...also fun...and off to Soho on Saturday to greet my pal Tracy who's in from Italy for a week or so.

Therefore, I am currently in recovery mode. I spent all day yesterday reading the papers and eating things in a leisurely fashion, and never bothered to get dressed in anything in particular. I am slowly evolving some half clothing for this apartment. You see, in the old place, the deli was right around the corner, about 300 yards away, meaning that I could throw my coat on over my pajamas and just run and get the papers and my obligatory Diet Coke. This new place is half a block from the deli and I have to cross 8th Avenue. Please don't ask me why, but I feel that crossing a major street requires actual clothing. Well, I mean, what if I get hit by a car, and they discover that not only am I not wearing clean underwear, I'm not wearing ANY? (Who wears underwear under their flannel pajamas?) Think about the embarrassment of that. "Hey, Doc! Get a load of this! This must be some crazy street lady!" So I now have three sets of sweats and sweatshirts to which I can add a pair of underpants (why on earth am I fixated on wearing underpants tonight?) and a pair of socks and some shoes, and I'm good to go to the deli...and as the weather gets warm, the socks are going. Note the lack of bra, which is kind of the point. I'm a 34D with necessary underwires, and at that point, things start feeling WAY too much like actual clothes. For half a block I can leave it off, and then if I decide on a late morning nap, it's MUCH more comfy.

But you do see why I call it half clothing. It hardly resembles actually getting dressed.

So today I did the laundry, and tomorrow I'm going to clean the house, do the ironing, and try to get all of Sarah's stuff into "her" room. The quotes are because, as she says, it's actually the guest room, since she has her own place. To which my reaction is, good. Now get this crud out of my guest room and into your "own place". I need to do a bit of organizing because I have people coming over on Monday to rehearse a play, for one thing, and also because I have to call the building people to come and replace a couple of light bulbs...the living room overhead I can actually live without, but I really need the light in the hall when I come in at night, since I don't like leaving lights on when I'm going to be out for a few hours...why give Con Edison free money?

Oh, the rehearsal? Well, some time back I wrote a rather blasphemous play about an angel coming to earth to find a new Mary (you know, as in starting a new Messiah), and we're actually doing it as a reading in Sarah's bar in a couple of weeks, now that I finally got somebody to play the angel. One of these days I'll post the script here for your delectation. It's a short, funny piece, but there's thought in it. It is, however, nothing the Christian Right would EVER see as moral. Thank God.

Meanwhile two of my friends and their 8 month old child are off to London and Italy and I'm wildly God, I'm getting to London this fall by hook or by crook...presuming I can find a willing crook to pay my fare, that is. Third week in September is when you want to be in London...the weather is glorious, the new theatre season is open, and everything in the garden is lovely. Oh, drool...

Love, Wendy