....the superhighwayNeXus of shadowconnection...

You're standing at the corner of "Walk-Don't-Walk," about to cross the street, and you're thinking about your old friend, Doris, you know, the one you haven't seen in 4 months because both your schedules are jacked up crazy.... and then your phone lights up.

Dun dun dun.....it's Doris.

"Doris, get out of my head. I was just thinking about you," you marvel.


That kind of scene happens a lot, doesn't it.

I mean, A LOT.

And that's only one example. What about when you awaken from a dream about your ex from 5 years ago and then later that day, you get an email from said ex?

Or how about when you pick up the phone to call your Aunt Fran and then some weird connection thing happens and you don't even hear the phone dial or ring because Aunt Fran HAS JUST CALLED YOU at the very same time, and she is miraculously on the other end?

Or how about when you receive a text message exactly at the moment you're about to send a message to the very person who has just texted you?

It happens all the time. ALL the time.

But these are all of the instances we KNOW about.

What about all of the instances we do NOT know about?

Let us consider, for a moment, all those times when communication is not attempted at all, but rather, two people are simply thinking of each other at the same time.

There is something magical in this.

Two people, any given distance apart--either a few feet away, or two doors down, or a city apart, or a country apart...two people considering and thinking about each other at the very same time...It must happen every minute, every second of the day....

But what is actually happening in this silent connection?

Of course, it is always interesting and exciting when the examples of proverbial yet atypical communication occur-- like when you go to call Fran and Fran has just called you---but rather, the more thrilling contemplation is 'what is actually happening in the Universe when neither party knows the connection is occurring at all?'

It is a shadowy connection. One we can't necessarily see, but one we have the potential to feel...
A shadowconnection of sorts.

Imagine these two people all of a sudden linked together in a superhighwaynexus kind of way. Minds unleash, portals appear, souls are connected, and for a moment or two, possibilities become endless.... The magic is that neither party is aware it is happening...it is unspoken and beautiful and compelling. It is a connection far greater than words or communication.

It is a mysterious and soundless union.

What is possible in this moment? Are we capable of unveiling the secrets of the world, do we have the power to read minds and to time-travel? Can we join each other and have telepathic conversations? In this intangible and uncharted connection, are we as connected to each other as spiritually and emotionally as humanly possible?

This brief flicker of time has the potential to be incomprehensibly powerful....unsystematically brilliant...and what is so astounding is that we may never even recognize it is happening. It may very well be a hidden life secret---a secret that mysteriously and silently brings us closer together....much like an unwritten symphony that we can still hear; a song without words that we somehow know all the words to; an unpenned poem that we can recite without fail....

And each moment of unspoken shadowconnection creates a bridge, a path, a tightrope of light extending from one person to the other in which anything is possible....

Perhaps none of this is true.
Perhaps all of it is true.
Perhaps this is just imagination gone wild, mystical ideas and pretty speculation.

But just suppose for a moment....build castles in the air.... and flirt with the possibilities....

How fascinating it is to consider who may be thinking of you at this very moment, how many portal connections occur throughout your day---throughout your lifetime---and just how many people you are silently and beautifully and more strongly connected to just through the power of thought.

Perception and the Tale of the F#%*ing Fat B*tch

It was getting colder outside and people were in a rush, making mad dashes from one side of the street to the other, bobbing and weaving in and out of traffic, shifting and sliding in and out of pedestrians' paths...

I was on my way back to work and I moved expertly along the sidewalk against the tide of business men and women fast-walking in the other direction. I found myself passing a Walgreens, and it was in this very spot right in front of the revolving door that I witnessed a rather curious incident, one that left me amused, sad, and intrigued all at once.

A stout woman and a hurried man collided---bumped into each other, rather, as many people tend to do during early morning rushes. He was leaving Walgreens and she was just about to enter the revolving door.

Their shoulders brushed with slight force, nothing violent or out of the ordinary for a morning streetside jostle before work. These things happen and you get used to it living in a city. People bump into each other. You may not always be pleased about it, but from my perspective, it didn't appear to be either party's fault. One could have said the man knocked into the woman just as easily as one could have said the woman knocked into the man.

The middle-aged man wearing a ballcap, and looking very angry at the world, scowled and glared at the woman as she walked on. He clearly perceived that the woman had knocked into him. And he was pissed about it.

"F#%*ing fat b*tch," he cried out venemously. His disdain was as clear as it could possibly be. He turned on his heels and continued on his commute.

But the woman would never know what he had said. She was already halfway through the revolving door to Walgreens by the time he'd insulted her. She plodded along, unaware that this man had been so enraged that he'd not only very publicly slighted her for bumping into him, but he'd also vociferously ridiculed her weight. She was oblivious.

I stopped in my tracks, the sea of pedestrians swimming around me now. I was a bit in shock from overhearing the angry-at-life man speak in such a manner to this woman who, for all intents and purposes, didn't appear to know what had just happened.

The man was in the distance now, walking eastwards, and I wondered why he had become so angry at this woman. What was it that was truly upsetting this man? Was he just upset at life in general? Had he just had a fight with his wife? Did he just get fired? Did his son just fail algebra? Did his daughter just tell him she was having an illigitmate baby with the captain of the footbal team? I deeply wondered where his anger came from. Because, after considering it for a bit, I perceived his anger to be more about himself. It just was directed at the woman because she created an outlet. He now had someplace for his anger to go.

But his true story I never learned.

Rather, I learned the woman's story.

Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow the woman inside Walgreens. I suppose I wanted to see for myself if this woman really was a) fat, and b) a f#%*ing b*tch.

I kept about 6 steps behind her the whole time. I felt like a spy. And she never saw me. I would glance away if she looked around, poking at books or vitamins or tape.

I needed the truth.
It was like reality television except I was the only one watching.

And this is when I put everything together.

She walked hurriedly and with purpose. The woman was definitely on a mission. I trailed her as she walked through the aisles until she reached her destination.

She stopped in front of a shelf, peered about for a few seconds, and picked up a bag of....

Ricola Throat Drops.

She was in the Cold and Allergy aisle.

My mind was spinning.

She moved on and dodged in and out of a few others aisles, not knowing exactly where her next purchase was located.

But then she found it. From the other end of the aisle, I saw her locate a pack of travel size Kleenex.

It all made sense now.

This poor woman was sick with a cold.

My world was rocked for a moment. Actually, it continues to be rocked.


It struck me that I was the only one who had seen both sides of this story. The man would never know what the woman's story was, and the woman would never even know that she had been yelled at. The woman was simply rushing, probably cold-headed and woozy, trying to pick up medicine before work. If she had bumped into the man, she probably didn't realize. And she certainly didn't know how angry she had made him. She would never know.

And the man? Well he would NEVER know...how could he possibly know...that this poor woman was neither fat nor was she a fucking bitch....she had a cold. She was buying medicine.

They were both oblivious to the other person's path and actions.

How curious and marvelous and sad, I mused.

Perception is truly amazing. The man saw the woman as rude and distressing, the woman saw the man as a mere bump on her way to the drugstore, and I saw the aftermath and the truth.

I left Walgreens somewhat excited and somewhat distubed that I was the only one who knew the story. I was the only one with the clear perception, the only viewer of this reality production.

And twisted and mundane as this tale might be to some, it was rather remarkable to me. Remarkable that I was the only audience member of the true story of the #$%ing fat b*tch.

the beginning of a three parter

Well, gosh. Where have I been.

Honestly. August and September flew by. And here we are almost at the end of October. I haven't posted since July? Apparently I took a hiatus from the random thought.

I didn't mean to. I assure you it's not because I didn't have any random thoughts.

Rather, I had MANY. Astounding amounts of them.

And NO TIME.

A good thing? Of course.

Cherrywood came and went (a gift of a theatrical experience), a bikram yoga mission was completed, a move occurred, a new job has been had, and a new play rehearsed, opened, and will close this week.

Life has been beautifully full.

There are many things on my mind of course, some existential as always, some completely not. But rather than bombard all of these thoughts upon you at once, I will set up future posts as thus:

1. Perception: The tale of the fat f#%^ing bitch.
2. Mind connections and portals.
3. Gratitude and Reflection

Here I sit in my beautifully candlelit room, listening to i-tunes on shuffle. I am peaceful. And quietly content tonight.

Stay tuned.

K.xxxx

a return to the true random thought.

1. This is completely inappropriate, but I feel somewhat at unease when I go to a Chinese or Thai or Japanese restaurant and my server is not Asian. It just doesn't feel right when a 14-year-old pasty white boy is serving me sushi.

2. I made a pact with sushi. For real. I said, "Sushi. Today is the day I put aside my thing with texture in my mouth and we make this thing work." Sushi owned up. I owned up. We made up. Then we cried. Baby steps. Baby steps.

3. I voiced disdain towards bathroom attendants this week. However, I am now undecided. I am not a fan of bathroom attendants whatsoever, they make me feel a bit uncomfortable, but let's face it: They have AWFUL jobs. They have to stand in a smelly bathroom while everyone outside is having fun. They have to stay there ALL night, help gross drunk girls, hand people paper towels, and they are all depending on our tips. I may not like them, but when you think about it, bathroom attendants are heroes. They deal with a lot of shit.

4. Chelsea Clinton is getting hitched in a few days. Good for her. With all of the world watching her during her awkward growing up phase, god bless the poor kid. And God Bless America, godammit.

5. The rivers of Dublin sing. And the mudslide shall live forever. Dublin Mudslide stands in its own category. Competitors like Mud Pie (God forbid, what IS that anyway?) and even fancy Gelato brands are bastard impostors.

6. Does anyone remember the movie "Hocus Pocus?"  I do. I had an unexplainable urge to watch Hocus Pocus today. And have a fist-fight with Bette Midler. And put a spell on you.


7. My apple tasted suspiciously like a pear yesterday. I looked at it, thinking it was a pear for a moment, but it was an apple. Remain confused by this odd trick of nature.

8. Overheard on the street: "I don't have enough years left to learn how to play a good game of golf."

100 Fireflies

*Most names have been changed to protect the innocent*



I laced up my running shoes and stepped out of my old front door, leaving the house I had grown up in as a child. “This will be a long one,” I told my Mom on my way out. “Don’t worry if I’m gone an hour or so.”

The humidity was overwhelming. Sweat dripped down my brow and I wished I had worn a tank top and shorts instead of a t-shirt and leggings. I had no music. Just myself and the road and my thoughts. And around every bend, I found myself lost in a myriad of imagery and memories.

My feet hit the pavement and I ran along the creek down the street where I had spent many beautiful minutes throwing bread to ducks with my sister and brother and my Mom and Dad. I kept along Rock Creek, reminded of my childhood friend, Sally, who had once lived in the same subdivision. I jogged down the street, and as I passed her house, I saw her Dad outside talking to a neighbor. He looked the same as I remembered, though I hadn’t remembered what he looked like until I saw him standing there. I thought of how Sally was now married and living in Florida and how when we were in high school I had gone to senior prom in the same group as her, thoroughly overwhelmed to be in the ‘popular’ prom group. How long ago all of that seemed. Another world ago.

Every corner held a different memory. I passed Eldridge Lane and I remembered my childhood friend, Jane. She and I had been the best of friends from 3rd grade until about 6th grade. We’d had sleepovers when we were kids and I remembered her having a waterbed that was swooshy and her buying me the Paula Abdul tape cassette, Vibeology, as a birthday present back in the day. She'd had a Slip and Slide in her backyard and I recalled eating drumstick ice cream cones on her porch in the heat of summer. And then one day, all of a sudden, she decided not to sit with me in the middle school cafeteria at lunch. I marveled at the unexplained rejection and I held a grudge until we graduated high school. How silly, I thought to myself, as I passed her old house, that we allow ourselves to be so affected by childhood friends and foes. If only I was 11 again I just would have asked Jane why she didn’t want to sit with me at lunch anymore and we would have had a calm, unheated discussion about it. I have no idea where she lives now. But I know she is married. Her younger sister is married too, and somehow she is a mutual friend of an actor I just did a show with in Chicago. Our worlds are so small. I passed her house and silently wished Jane and her sister well, wherever they were.

Onwards, and I remembered Thalia and Mariah and Jackie and running around on the playground in elementary school. A memory of hand-clapping games and jump rope and making Barbie dolls kiss Ken dolls flashed through my mind. I passed another house and the vintage green car out front made me think of the boy to whom it belonged, a guy I’d once been friend’s with in high school. He and his brother had both been counselors with me at Super Summer Day Camp. I was the official Rocketry counselor, as well as the Lego counselor. My memories drifted to this gorgeous group-leader at Super Summer named Norm. I was 16 and awkward and had braces but I remember having the biggest crush on Norm. Then came that fateful day when the braces came off, and Norman, seeing my huge metal-free smile for the first time, asked me out. I was gleeful until I freaked myself out that Norman was actually a junior in college and a police officer already, and I felt so young and unsure, I ended up turning him down a few days later.

I kept running and I thought of how sometimes I would see this football linebacker, Damon, driving through the neighborhood in high school. I’d had a monster crush on him and I somehow got up the nerve to ask him to a Sadie Hawkins Dance my junior year. And he had said yes! We would talk on the phone in the weeks leading up to the dance, and I was always pleased to talk to him, except he always seemed to call me on Wednesdays when “Felicity” was being aired on the (now defunct) WB. This was the only show I ever watched, and though I was irritated I had to miss Felicity in order to talk to him, I still dieted for days in order to get into a tiny little black dress with slits up both sides. In the end, the football player had only wanted to be friends. I was disappointed but at least I had gone to the dance with a gorgeous linebacker who'd made me laugh.

I kept passing houses of people I’d once known and all of the memories hit me…. ice cream after class with Lindsey, and movies with a now fellow Chicago actress, Cate. I passed Julie’s house who had played Audrey with me in Little Shop of Horrors in high school, and I remembered Nikka and how I should call her up because I hadn’t seen her since her wedding a few years ago. I thought about beautiful Lia and being thoroughly sad I had missed her California wedding just a few weeks ago.

I thought, my goodness, SO many people are getting married.

I remembered the Cranbrook Swim Club and splashing water around with my sister. I remembered falling off my bike and cutting my lip during a block party when my brother and I had been racing our bikes very irresponsibly. I passed my friend Adam’s house, remembering playing basketball with him one random day when I’d bumped into him on a run much like this one and how he’d always made me smile, even when he was making fun of me. I passed Alicia’s house that used to have the “Beware of the Dog” sign on the lawn, and I passed Serina’s house, reminded of talking to her broadcaster Aunt intensely one day because I was convinced I wanted to be a broadcaster.

And then came the fireflies.

I was about 30 minutes into the run, inundated by imagery and heat, my mind swirling, unsure if I could run much longer.

And then I saw a firefly. Out of the corner of my eye.

I was ready for the memories to stop, but a new string of firefly memories hit me in the face. I joyfully recalled my British friend, Riley, being over the moon that she had seen her first firefly EVER. She had never seen one in Britain before. We were 19 and summer camp counselors in Cheboygan, MI, making a midnight trek to the campsite a mile away where the counselors would go to drink and have bonfires and make out in the woods. Her face had lit up like magic and I'd felt honored to be there for her first firefly. That made me think of Ben, who I’d also met at camp. He was British and beautiful and I was crazy surprised he was beguiled by ME. He broke my heart years later. My mind kept spinning and I remembered meeting a cousin for the first time in Youngstown, OH and being petrified that this little girl would catch fireflies in a jar and then violently tear off the glowing torsos of their bodies.

So many thoughts, too many thoughts, all unbridled and restless, all of them coming to me quickly and suddenly, some of them welcome, some unwelcome. The fireflies kept lighting up.

And it wasn’t just one firefly, but an infinite amount of fireflies.

I thought to myself, I’ll count up to 15 for fun and then I’ll head home, but the fireflies kept lighting up all around me. I made it to 31 just for kicks because I was born on the 31st, and then up to 50 and then 75 all within a matter of 10 minutes or so. The fireflies wouldn’t stop. But they did slow down. Sometimes the light storm would cease and I would think the game was over, but then, no WAIT, there they would go again!

I decided to keep going. Why not keep going until I had counted ONE HUNDRED FIREFLIES.

I would see these brilliant flashes of light in front of me and to the sides, my peripheral vision going off like firecrackers, my whole mind and breath acutely aware of my surroundings. For these few moments I felt as though I had never been this aware of my environment in all my life. My vision and my heart and my mind and all of my senses pushing towards this one trivial, albeit magical goal. And in this quest, as my feet hit the pavement, I somehow found a type of much needed peace and well-being.


98…

I saw a bunny hop across someone’s front lawn. My stomach knotted up in amazing anticipation, as I knew I was about to hit 100 fireflies.

A minute or two passed. The fireflies seemed to stop, the night sky barren of glowing light… And then, much like popcorn kernels reaching their threshold as they heat up during their last seconds on a stovetop, popping in a glorious finish…

99…

100!

On the 100th firefly, I saw a man walking a dog across the street and I decided to wave at him. A friendly moment commemorating 100. He did not know who I was. I did not know who he was. He waved back anyway.

I had lost all track of time and location. And when I finally stopped counting around 108, I realized I had no idea where I was, somehow lost in the maze of roads and twists in my old subdivision, unable to navigate which way was north or south or east or west, just using landmarks to get myself back home.

The web of memories had all stopped while I counted the fireflies, my mind had quieted, and I felt a sense of calm as I walked back to my childhood house.

I opened my front door and found my father watching TV in the den.

“We were beginning to worry,” he told me.

“I know, I got lost,” I replied, sitting down besides him on the couch.

“But I’m home now,” I breathed. “I’m home now.”

Traitor to my gender

I love women. I AM one. We are shiny and lacy and pretty and opinionated.

But I also find some women awful.  Sometimes I wish I were a man. Sometimes.

And I feel like a snot for thinking this about certain women, but I do.

Particular women.

These are some women I find particularly troublesome and/or annoying:


1. Women who wear shoes they can't walk in. 

Why would you do this to yourself? The truth is, if it doesn't fit in the store, it's not going to fit at home. Don't waste your time trying to break it in. Do you realize you look dumb with 3 band-aids on your ankle? Look at it this way. Would you buy a shirt that left gashes on your stomach? No. Then why do you think it's okay to buy a shoe that leaves gashes on your toes. Exactly. You should not buy shoes you can't walk in. You do not look sexy. You look like you are about to topple over. Take off your stilettos and your 6-inch platforms and own up to a nice pair of sensible flats.

2.  Women with east coast Manhattan accents. 

I'm sorry, I just think you sound silly. 


3. Women who look like hookers.

I know that I am guilty of fashion errors, I did wear far too many mismatched socks up until...well, okay, I still wear mismatched socks (I blame Punky Brewster for this undying habit) but I do not dress like a hooker. There is a classy way to show off your goods. I'm all for a plunging neckline and a short short skirt. Just usually not at the same time. We have friends and mirrors to let us know when we look ridiculous. Let's use them.


4. Arm candy women hanging from the arms of rich men.

We all know women like this. They dress the part, say yes,  like money, flashy cars, parties, and Flirtinis. Any woman who orders a Flirtini should just....okay, back to the real matter. These women are beautiful. You secretly want to look like them.  And I will preface this by saying some loving couples just happen to BE rich and beautiful. They are lovely and blessed. Seriously, they will have beautiful families and lovely stories and tender happy lives. But there are some couples where this is blatantly not the case. There are some women who use their men. Men buy these women breast implants, cars, jewelry, pay their rent, take them to villas, etc. Some women know they can get what they want. They are sorceresses divine. These women are beautiful and dangerous. They are the sirens of the world and what makes them dangerous is that they are quite aware of their beauty and how to use it for evil.

And for rent.

Profile of a Man

He had one arm.

His shirt sleeve flapped lightly in the wind as he sat there scribbling gibberish on a lonley sheet of crumpled white computer paper. His handwriting looked haphazard and fantastical. Perhaps he was a genius.  Perhaps he was homeless. Perhaps he simply was once right-handed and now had to scrawl with his left hand due to whatever took away his right.

He looked sad. And alone.

He looked very much alone in this world.

And as I walked past the outdoor cafe seating, watching this old man shift uncertainly in his chair on the side of the street, I felt for him very deeply. His weathered face told a story I desperately wanted to know. His eyes were shiny and for a moment I saw his life flash before my eyes. I saw this white-haired man as a son and then a husband and then a father, I saw one white hot crisp moment that changed his life, and then I saw him lose it all....his family, his name, his honor.

He traveled the world. He wrote stories. He found literature. He found drugs. He talked to strangers. He talked to himself.

He existed in the tropics and rode horses.

He saw war. He saw death. He reminisced. He missed his wife, he missed his children.

He had no choice but to imagine a new reality for himself.

Our eyes met for a chance moment and I looked down, continuing on my way, feeling as though I had oddly trespassed or seen too much.

He kept on writing. His face was a still marvel of expression.

For better or worse, maybe this was just a crazy man scribbling on a sheet of paper.

And yet, I felt myself silently hoping that at one point in this old man's life, he had ridden wild horses in the tropics.

I smiled. And then I walked away.