Today, as I went in to the theater to check on the pre-show of a play I assistant directed, I saw that a collegue of mine was wearing a Bruce Lee T-shirt.  I had told him of my phobia earlier in the week, but his T-shirt selection was totally unintentional.  "God, Josh!" I said, "Couldn't you just put a little fake moustache on him so I won't freak out?"

Still...what the hell?  Why is there so much of Bruce Lee in my life these days?

In my hour in between class and rehearsal, I was flipping through the channels and noticed that AMC is showing "Enter the Dragon" tonight.

Seriously, I had TWO auditions this past weekend, for theaters that I would love to work for, so now I'm just depressed. For those who don't understand why, read my previous entry...

Or does one Bruce Lee sighting cancel out another? 

When asked, the best of my friends will tell you that I only have one irrational phobia.  I do not fear spiders or snakes or clowns (though I question their motives).  Nor do I retain my childhood fear of mirrors, people with curly hair or men with beards.  What I am really, truly afraid of is...Bruce Lee.

This started when I was a senior in college, dutifully applying to graduate schools in the hope that I would be magically transported by them into the land of the working actor.  No fuss, no muss, just get your MFA and click your heels three times.  As I waited for the schools to make their decisions, I bided my time by watching Bruce Lee movies with my friend Brian.  We even branched out into the underrated biopic "Dragon: the Bruce Lee Story."  The day after we watched "Dragon," the grad school rejections began rolling in.  It started as a trickle and then became a veritable avalanche of "You're not a good fit for our program"s.  Resignedly, I graduated college and packed myself off to Denver which was, except for a few theatrical bright spots, two and a half annis horriblis-es.

I attempted to get in to grad schools two more times after that first round.  I'm nothing if not a masochist.  It was only after the third round (this time, sitting in a half-furnished apartment in Merrimack, NH) that I realized that the previous failed attempt and my current failure had been preceeded by an accidental viewing of "Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story."  That's when my phobia began in earnest and the evidence began to pile up.

I applied for a job and nailed the hell out of the interview.  While flipping channels one evening later that week, I happened to catch a glimpse of "Enter the Dragon."  When the phone rang the next day, it was just a confirmation of what I already knew: the job went to someone else that was a "better fit" for the position.  I auditioned for an improv show in New York and brought the heat in scene after scene, rocking my own socks off in the process.  Walking through SoHo that night after drinking with friends, I saw an eight foot tall Bruce Lee poster in a high window overlooking the street.  "Well," I said, "I guess I didn't get cast."  Applied for a prestigious directing program.  Bruce Lee.  Rejection.  It became a recognizable pattern in my life.  I remember at one point, after having just mailed off a resume for something, walking through the music section of a Barnes and Noble when I looked up and saw the soundtrack CD for "Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story."  "NOOOOO!" I wailed "The envelope glue isn't even DRY yet for God's sake!"

I found out, after some research into my metaphysical and karmic nemesis, that Bruce Lee died exactly a week after I was born.  Expecting some kind of tragic and ironic trick of the universe, I spent most of the year that I turned 33 just holding my breath, waiting to die in some unexpected way, just like he did.  I can't begin to explain the joy I felt at turning 34.  Coincidentally, turning 34 meant that I had also beaten Eva Peron and Jesus.

Why do I bring this up now?  Because tonight, the dog accidentally stepped on the remote while I was watching Project Runway, flipping the channel to some bizarro 1950's submarine movie on AMC.  When I pressed the "Last Channel" button, it wasn't "Project Runway" that popped up.  Oh no.  It was "Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story."  I just had a weekend full of auditions.  I almost threw up right on the sofa.

Back in 1991 or so, I remember watching "Saturday Night Live" on Valentine's Day.  I was 18 and lovelorn (I actually was lovelorn until my late 20's when I switched over to jaded) and not happy about the fact that the only Valentine I had gotten had been a card from my parents.  In typical parental style, it was an inappropriately juvenile card and it probably had ten bucks taped inside with a note that said "Don't spend this all on candy and gum."  How do I know what the card said?  Because that's what they ALWAYS say.

The SNL host that evening was Justine Bateman and I remember her saying that if we in the viewing audience didn't have a Valentine, she would be happy to fill that post.  For some reason, that made me cry.  I sat there, in the dark, on really hideous brown shag carpet, crying because Justine Bateman, who didn't even KNOW me, said she'd be my Valentine.

Later in the show, on Weekend Update, Adam Sandler came out with an acoustic guitar and sang a love song.  He sang a love song to his Valentine...his red hooded sweatshirt.  I remember thinking to myself "If I had me one of those red hooded sweatshirts, I'd be just fine."

I told that story to a friend once and he laughed because he had seen the same episode.  Many months later, when we went out for drinks and kvetching, he handed me a department store bag and said "Surprise!"  Inside was the red hooded sweatshirt that I had been longing for for eleven years.  I had my Valentine after over a decade of waiting.

Today, I dug my red hooded sweatshirt out of the dirty laundry and wore it to school.  It may smell a little like it needs a good wash, but I don't care.  It's one of those pieces of clothing you wear when you're only dressing for yourself.  It's comfy, it's warm and it, beyond anything else in my wardrobe, makes me feel so much like ME.  Red hooded sweatshirt and I had a very nice Valentine's Day.

Without being flip, I would like to say that I waited a very long time before I found something else in my life like the sweatshirt that makes me feel like me, something else that is so warm and familiar and good that I can't conceive of anything that would make it better.  Yeah.  I know, you'll probably all collectively throw up in your sleeves when I say it, but it's my marriage.  And it fits just right.

I'm in Kansas City, MO right now, on my way back to Athens.  Coming from Minnesota, Kansas City isn't what you'd call "on the way" to Athens, but it was the most convenient stopping place considering the fact that I told my husband that he would die by my hand if we didn't take time off to visit Graceland on our way home.  I've wanted to go to Elvis' home since I was aware of the King's existence, so let's say for about 29 years now.  I'm all about fulfilling my childhood dreams since I went to James Dean's hometown in the summer of '06.  How sad, though, that my two big girlhood dreams have to do with stars who died young!  Next stop, the sidewalk outside the Viper Room for my River Phoenix pilgrimige!

I'm excited, but a little sad because winter road trips are a little melancholy.  The sun should be shining when one goes to Graceland, shouldn't it?  I should be wearing cutoff denim shorts and a pink halter top, shouldn't I?  I should have heart-shaped pink sunglasses and be eating cotton candy as we pull up in our '79 T-bird, not wearing a down vest in a Volkswagen Jetta in dire need of a good vacuuming.  Still, it will be grand.  I know it will.

Okay, just a week ago, I was prepping for the opening of a show and getting ready for two finals.  I was living on 3 hours of sleep and six packs of Rockstar (energy beverage!  Still waiting for the endorsement contract, guys!).  I had tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes because I didn't have the energy to full out cry and the sad had to get out somewhere.

Today, I had a headache from too much sleep.  I spent an hour at the gym and then met a friend for a leisurely sushi dinner.  I walked the dog a lot.  I went shopping.  I talked to friends on the phone.  And...I fucking hated it.  I fall totally and bullshittedly apart without a schedule and demands on my time.  I would sleep all day, every day, if I was left without responsibilities and duties.  In fact, I'm finding that's exactly what I'm doing.

Where is the happy medium?  Or is that just a myth like Santa Claus, the Chupacabra and that one house in your home town that gave out full size candy bars on Halloween? 

All I want for Christmas is equillibrium.  And a pony.

I'm stealing this from my friend Patsy:

"Can a single, middle-aged woman survive off of $7 and hour, live in mediocre quarters and still 'get-by?' Nickel and Dimed takes you on a journey as journalist Barbara Ehrenreich goes undercover and explores the world of low-wage, blue-collar America. This stage adaptation by Joan Holden satirically exposes the struggling lives that one third of working Americans lead today and leaves us with the brutal reality of 'Not Getting by in America.'"

Cast includes:

Terrell Austin, Patsy Benson, Michael Stille, Kida Davis, Erina Francesconi, and Marty Winkler.

The show is directed by Amy Roeder.

Tickets are on sale right now at the Morton Theatre. (And they're selling VERY quickly!)

Just call 706.613.3770.

Groups of 10 or more get 10% off. $20 Tickets $18 Seniors $15 Students

December 13-17
Morton Theatre Athens, GA

Please come and see the show and support the cause. We are teaming with Partners for a Prosperous Athens to get the message out there about the poverty level in Athens, GA. Since we are a theatrical platform for social change, we tackle issues relevant to today's society through the medium of theatre. In this case, with the increase in the poverty level from 28.3% to 31.1%, we decided to put on a show that deals with the poverty level. Before and after each performance there will be materials on the subject matter available. Also, on December 15, we will donate 10% of our ticket sales to PPA as well as have a talk back session. This is a great way to engage the community on the subject matter. Along the same lines, we as a theatre company will be doing volunteer work for food drives this month through the holiday season, just to be a little more proactive.

How long do you hold out your hand in friendship to someone?  How many times do you reach out to them and get rebuffed before you finally cut them off?  How much shit do you take from someone before you feel you're allowed to say "I don't like you"? 

After a protracted period of time wherein I maintained a cordial attitude to certain persons in my life who have been less than cordial to me, I have decided to stop being so fucking nice.  Welcome to the land of getting back just what you give, bitches.

The absolute worst of the worst situation to be in, apart from obvious bad times like a tsunami or the Holocaust, is wading around in other people's dirty laundry.

Please, friends, raise your right hands and promise me this: "I [insert your name here] swear to do my best not to be a party to any nasty bad shit, to do everything in my power not to be an assclown and, if I should slip into assclownery, I promise not to create a situation wherein everyone close to me must jump into the pool of my own misery and have a paddle.  For if I should not adhere to this, it would make me a douche."

Sometimes I think the Wiccans have it right -- well, except for their penchant for really tacky theme-wear -- when they say "Do what thou wilt and harm none."  I like that.

I have talked before about my friend Anya Bast, who is a writer whom I love and admire.  I check in with her blog as often as I am able, which is not often enough, and always seem to find some really inspiring words there.  Here is an excerpt that I particularly loved: