Fired by My Therapist

It was about a month-and-a-half ago. I was galavanting around Queens seeing "Not What Not to Wear" in the Bad Ass Shorts Festival. But, back in Portland, another drama was unfolding. My Grief Group had a mild confrontation with my therapist regarding time management issues. And the discussion turned emotional. Eventually, my therapist said that the group could do just fine without her, and that we should meet without her.

I came back into town with messages from the group members. I emailed my therapist, but she didn't respond. I never heard from her again. It made me wonder--who does that? I mean, what if someone had trust issues, or was deeply depressed, or suicidal? I also wondered if maybe she had done this before, with other clients.

I think I was disappointed because the three year anniversary of Jenny's death had just passed, and she thought it was fine to just scoot away. But I have realized it actually is fine. I have continued to see the women in the Grief Group, and we are now in a kind of hybrid Soul Collage/Grief/Star Chart group. And I took some of my sadness about three years without Jenny to Ecstactic Dance, and have had some questions answered while whirling around and peering out the windows. I'm finding there are multiple ways of exorcising the demons (or, perhaps, exercising them!)...

New York!

My play "Not What Not to Wear" is premiering in New York right now! All right, it's not Broadway. It's not even off-Broadway.

BUT--what if a theater bigwig just happens to be driving through Queens and her car breaks down and she straggles into the Creek and the Cave Mexican restaurant, only to find that the basement holds a stage and that stage is home to Ratutu Collaborative's Bad Ass Shorts Festival, starring my one-act comedy? It could happen.

And I got reviewed in the Queens Chronicle, baby!

So I'm headed to The Great White Way (where I will then get through the midtown tunnel, take a couple of buses, and walk a few blocks to my show).

Hong Kong Phooey Hustle

My obsession with Hong Kong Phooey, that '70s superhero dog that was a kung fu fighting superstar, has resulted in a one-act play. Man, did I have fun writing this play. Here's the dope on it:

"Hong Kong Phooey Hustle" concerns two lost soul Los Angelinos who hit a hipster hotel in Portland, Oregon after a long road trip. As the tired friends argue, they spill a polvo--a Mexican powder used for invocations--in the room. The accident sets off a series of surreal happenstances, including a spiritual possession by the '70s kung fu cartoon dog superhero Hong Kong Phooey and the busting up of an international jewelry heist, all contained within the simple hotel room. It takes an otherwordly visitation by Saint Cupcake to deliver the friends from despair and give them the strength to summon some righteous kung fu chops.

This was the first play that seemed, at times, to write itself. There were writing sessions in which I was so delighted--like when Wilma asks the hotel maid if someone from spa services can perform an exorcism, or when Rosemary insists that Wilma's saint painting of the Virgen de Guadalupe has the virgin holding a vibrator--that I felt I was watching the play unfold.

The play I've just started is not such smooth sailing. I'm trying a lot of new things. It's a musical, tentatively titled "Beatific Beatitudes", inspired by Jenny's old comic strip "The Beats". Meg's gonna help with the jazzy beatnik music, to be performed by a trio onstage. I know this project would be important to Jenny, but I still find myself fighting apathy to write it. For example, I am supposed to be working on it at this moment.

How to Put on a Show for Under $20

Here's a reason to love Portland. The wonderful Brenda of Tour de Crepes gave us her space for an evening show. I built a couple altars, put up a theme exhibit of shrines, and got the flyer-making machine rolling. I feel so very fortunate to have friends such as Meggie (the wild violinist), Jennifer (super crafty concocter of sugar skulls), Steve (on dreams & politics), David (poet), and, of course, The StageSlingers (ShaSha, Ciji, Susan & Me) who rocked the house!

Portland makes things possible. I remember when Jenny put up a show in Oakland, it cost her so much money just to rent the space. And scoring the space was a whole other production. Living here, I realize there's just no need for all that hype and fuss (even though sometimes what I miss most is the hype and fuss).

I got up in front of everyone and spoke, and it was as if I was hearing Jenny. I was always the words behind someone else's voice, but there I was voice and all. It made me miss her, but it made me proud of all she had done, who she was, and where she was going. The month before she had died, she had filled the Climate Theater in SF's SOMA. She had them. The memory burns me because I want what was going to happen next to happen, but it inspires me because there she was, self-actualized.

So I did the show, advertised on a 5-cent pile of cardstock recycled from SCRAP, with special-effect lighting provided by ten dollars worth of saint candles. Half the show's budget went to candles, which may explain why there was a small fire on an altar during the last piece of the show.

DASHBOARD SHRINE

The momentum is on! My new theater group, The StageSlingers, is hosting its inaugural show this Sunday, in honor of Dia de los Muertos. I built an altar for it, and also have a tiny tiny art show in the theater space. Here's the description and information:

Writers, artists, performers, and musicians gather at this Salon de Muertos, spinning surreal tales and fiddling Romanian gypsy dirges in the shadows of a candlelit altar. Join theater troupe The StageSlingers for an evening evoking dreams, death, and the beyond. The program of suspenseful stories, urban legends, fantasies, and folktales celebrates Day of the Dead and Todos Santos.

Sunday, November 5th at 7pm.
Free admission.
Tour de Crepes.
2921 NE Alberta Street.
503-288-5980

ESPANOL

My whole adult life, I've tried to learn Spanish. Sometimes it flows, and other times, it's as if my Spanish is an impressionist painting, alluding to subjects, but kind of blurry and blotchy. I was worried that, when I moved to Portland, some of my Spanish would fade. So I've been working to stay in touch with the language, as well as Mexican culture. Here's some of the Spanish happenings in my life these days:

Sin Fronteras: This group is working to educate people about the Mexicano government's destruction of public schools in Chiapas and Oaxaca. I went to their recent documentary screening and it was once again illuminated for me how little the U.S. media addresses international issues, and how much U.S. constant consumption and capitalism has deeply damaged other corners of the world.

Viva Kinder!: Maxito is in dual immersion bilingual Spanish kindergarten. His teacher told me that the other day, after much prompting and modeling of phrasing, Maxito volunteered a full phrase in Espanol: "Yo fui a la casa de Mimi." When the teacher asked, "Quien es Mimi?", he told her, "Abuelita." Then, she got him to put the whole thing together: "Yo fui a la casa de mi abuelita." Que milagro!

Salon de Muertos: My new theater group, The StageSlingers, is hosting Dashboard Shrine, a Salon de Muertos with surreal stories, fiddled gypsy dirges, and dreamy poetry in honor of Day of the Dead. I'm going to build one of my pedestal altars for the event. It's Sunday, November 5th, at Tour de Crepes, 2921 NE Alberta Street, at 7pm.

Vamanos a Zihuatanejo! We just bought our tickets to Zihuatanejo. We'll be on the Mexican beach in early December. Max can't wait to snorkel. This will be only Genevieve's second time in Mexico--I try to make sure my ninos visit Mexico once a year (but I can visit more!).