this is what it sounds like

Jen,
Oh- my Pocahontis[sic]-your[sic] a wonderful person who is incedibly [sic] funny I Love you!
Love,
Jessie

Jessie,
You were the only person who addressed me, yearbookily at least, as Jen. How ahead of your time you were! Perhaps that's what motivated me to drop the -ny the second I hit college. I remember which Jessie you are, but I cannot remember the reason for the Pocahontas reference. We met during 'Weird Romance,' and you had been involved in 'The Tempest' in some mild capacity where we didn't have much to do with each other. There were quite a bit of inside jokes that arose during 'Weird Romance,' none of which bore any sort of relevance to Native American life, colonist upheaval, forced religious conversion, interracial dating or historically inaccurate Disney movies. One of my friends here in New York is a direct descendant of Pocahontas, but that has nothing to do with you and me. Will you be at the reunion? Let's discuss this then, because it's gonna bug me.
In related news, I saw a guy on the subway this morning who was decked out in complete Urban-hip regalia: nylon head thing, diamondish earrings, white t-shirt, baggy Phat Pharm jeans. And braids. Like, two symmetrical braids. If his friends don't call him Pocahontas, I hope they call him Anne of Green Gansta, because that's just too wonderful to not comment on.
Love,
Jen

the New York Times effect on man

Today has seen a joyous flurry of correspondence with an old friend who dates back to 8th grade. I can't find a note from her in my 11th grade yearbook, and I haven't moved on to 12th yet, so our MySpace messages today are making up for the fact that I can't yet give her a long-lead response to whatever she may have written. ST is one of the few high school people with whom I have absolutely no negative associations. A fellow social misfit and theatre nerd, she had more talent than most of us and more maturity than any of us. Her childhood wasn't the rosiest, but she treated everyone awesomely anyway instead of using her hard knocks as an excuse to be a jerk. She was pretty consistently on my side, and rooted for me even after graduation, when she every easily could have let me slide from her mind.
We've both shown up on the online rsvp list for our reunion (which apparently tabs you as 'coming' if you so much as sneeze. There are people on it who didn't even send in their info. I guess the fact that they didn't violently decline counts as a yes). We've mused over having dinner together with our awesome male companions before the to-do, preferably at a place that serves salmon. Before talking to ST, and thanks to encouragement from the wonderful KMD, I was secretly pretty excited to go. Now I am out-and-proudly looking forward to it.
(I must say that during my public reunion-mulling a few months back, Damato presented a pretty compelling argument not to attend. At the time, his point that I don't have to prove anything to anyone pretty much clinched it. But things have changed in wonderful ways.)

it's not as bleak as it seems

Jenny,
I am really glad I got to know you this year. I hope you don’t have bad dreams about this class. I’ll see you next year, SENIOR. Have a great summer.
Your friend, Brandon

Brandon,
I’m glad we got to know each other that year, too! I am less glad that I totally don’t remember who you are or what the class was. It’s possible that you were one of two people whose names I don’t remember: the meek sophomore in my physics class who dressed like a skater, spoke like a poet and blushed like a schoolgirl, or the big blonde football player who sat behind me in AP U.S. History and had legs so long I could see his feet under my chair. I’m not sure either one of those guys was even named Brandon, but for some reason they both popped into my head with equal vividness when I read the name Brandon.
I didn’t have bad dreams about either physics or AP U.S. History, but OH MAN did I have a whopper of a nightmare once about my philosophy class freshman year of college! We had just watched the animated movie version of ‘The Allegory of the Cave,’ in which slaves are kept chained in a cave while shadows are projected on the wall in front of them. It had some existential theme, relating to the perception of reality or the comfort of perception, or something esoteric like that. Anyway, that gave me this horrible nightmare about being chained in the philosophy classroom with a knife to my throat, and whenever I moved, an innocent person died. Other than the bit about the chains, there was really no connection to the movie. And I’d actually seen it before, during the Existentialism unit in 10th grade honors English. We had to read a lot of Camus and Kafka and Sartre and basically loose sleep at night thinking about the pointlessness of existence and meaningless of life. I’m happy to say that the panicky fear I felt during that unit has disappeared entirely, and not just because the next unit was the Russian literature unit and I was too busy reading Anna Karenina to wonder why I was on the planet. It made me crave pirogies, like all the time. These days, I'm quite happy with life and less susceptible to existential crises.
Your capitalization of SENIOR made me feel important and fun.
Your friend Jen
P.S. Your comma placement after "your friend" implies, stylistically, that you were my only friend. I grew up to become a magazine editor, so I felt obligated to point that out.

the other one is playing piano

Jenny- Ha! ha!
Have you seen the chicken from New York? I loved you in The Tempest.
Alex M... [weird symbol] [weird symbol]

Alex- Hee! hee!
I have seen some chickens, but it was unclear whether they were from New York. Did you mean specifically New York City and the general metropolitan area, or New York State in general? Odds are at least one of the chickens I have seen in the last 11 years and prior was from some part of New York, or spent time there at some point in their existence. Perhaps on a farm, or during Spring Break with drama club. Did the chicken have to be born in New York? Like, ok: I was born and raised in San Diego, so when people here ask me where I'm from, I say 'San Diego.' And when I'm in San Diego and people there ask me where I'm from, I say 'I'm from here but I live in New York right now.' But when I went to Hawaii in October and Paris in March, and people asked me where I was visiting from, I said 'New York.' (Even though in Paris, after later consulting my phonetic language guide, I realized I had actually been asked 'what time would you like room service?' Whatever. I tried.) So does the chicken have to be a native of New York, or is it sufficient if he's called it home for the last five years? What if he was born here, then moved to somewhere like Peoria, Illinois, and then came back to New York for college? And in any case, you didn't know 11 years ago that I would live in New York, so why would I, who would presumably be staying in San Diego for at least my last year of high school, have seen a chicken who was so tightly associated with New York? I'm flattered that you considered me worldly enough to have chanced a glimpse at what was presumably a rather well-traveled and sophisticated chicken. I won't go so far as to muse over whether you were asking if I had been in New York and seen the chicken from there. I really won't.
Did you want me to alert you to whether I had seen the chicken once I actually did see him, or was your query out of curiosity? Because, oddly enough, I have seen YOU in New York. Twice. Once on a train many years ago, and once just last February at Venus Diner. I'm 99% sure it was you both times. It was that remaining 1% that prevented me from saying anything. That and a general assumption that we wouldn't have had anything to talk about and it would have been awkward. If only I had seen the chicken note before then. IF ONLY!
-Jen

Angel creeping through a broken windowpane

Jenny-
She of the many names. You were a wonderful Ariel this year, Jenny, I hope that you get to expand your talents next year. Enjoy being a senior, and think of me during set building next year.
Love,
Ben L… [grasshopper stamp]

Ben
At the time, I too was hoping that I could expand my talents. Looking back though, I was foolish not to turn myself into a cottage industry for boyish teenage girls playing gender-neutral Shakespearean faeries. I could have been to ethereal androgyny what Keanu Reeves is to vacant sensitivity! Had Julia Stiles decided to keep making Shakespeare-for-teens, I could have been Puck to her Titania! Cobweb to her Peaseblossom! Iris to her Juno! I so missed my calling!
I did think of you during set building the next year, because I think we were all sort of lost without your carefully-handled blueprints, storyboards and creative vision. And because there was actually a hammer in the theatre with “Ben” written on the handle. It belonged to either you or Fred Savage’s younger brother. You were indeed the most construction-minded blonde male Yale-bound waif that the TPHS theatre department had ever seen. You were also wholly sincere, patient and genuinely nice. So much so that the Players president had to remind you to “keep your tact in your backpack” when you were in charge of cross-examining candidates for Drama Club board in 1994. Man, we took ourselves seriously back then!
Love,
Jenny
Jen
Mac
Macattack
Brownwyn
Tweety
Flagmeyer
Macaroni
Delilah
Ariel
Ponyboy
MacNeil

Tipsy and the Poodle Canoe

Rounding out the Pearl Brunswick quadrafecta…
Lynn Bixenspan!
aka Lynn Brunswick
aka Fakefrench
aka Fabulina Bunnymonkey
I started corresponding with Lynn in the fall of 2003, a couple of months before I met her. She was looking for a piano player for a musical improv group, and I happened to know a few, so I replied to her IRC thread. We met for reals in person at Grand Saloon, at some big joint birthday party in late January 2004. I had remembered her as “short cute girl,” the nickname some Important Person had given her in a New Year’s Eve photo spread. She is indeed short and cute, and also so smart and creative that I often wonder which of the Vogons created her to spy on us.
By the Spring of 2004, the musical improv group for which I had helped Lynn find a pianist had morphed into The Pearl Brunswick. Under a “joined at the musical-improv hip” agreement that Lynn and I signed in the office of our lawyer, Bucky Flagmeyer, we would also appear together in The Extravaganza! and Holiday Spectacular II: The Wrath of Hanukkah. We recently wrapped the feature film Platypus Games, which not only marks the directorial debut of Rue McClanahan but also breaks serious inter-species ground by being the first film to feature a dance scene with a puppyrabbit. Look for it Thanksgiving, 2007. In addition to being a seasoned performer, Lynn is, as she makes abundantly clear in her Pearl Brunswick bio, “a super-professional writer.” Her words have appeared in Toy Fare, Vogue, US Weekly, Boy’s Life and the-yet-to-be-launched Miranda!, the celebratory magazine inspired by the life, times and fruit-hats of Carmen Miranda. Lynn is also phenomenally flexible; the hand on my left shoulder in that photo is hers.

I’m going to return to the Yearbook thing for the next week or two, then resume ‘how I met them and why they rock’ entries. On deck: roommates you can relate to, squishiness that is sexy, and him with whom I am madly in love.

sprinkle it with dew

Today, live from me making my coworker pick a number between 1 and 40...
Katina Corrao!
aka Katina Brunswick

I once heard someone use the phrase, "love at first sight friendship" to describe hitting it off with a ladyfriend right away. For me, that ladyfriend was Katina. We met in April 2003 in a hallway of a rehearsal space on 8th Ave. We were there to audition for Melodious Din, and I immediately thought, 'this girl is awesome. She HAS to get in so we can be friends and braid each other's hair a lot!" We whiled away the back-to-back audition and callback with the type of conversation you usually only have with someone you've known longer than five minutes. But with KC it just seemed so natural to say things like, "cover me while I pick my wedgie."
During MD's eight-month lifespan, K and I became close friends, then sisters when Pearl Brunswick was formed a few months after MD's demise. She's the person I've performed with the longest and most consistently in New York, and is so easy to be around that I didn't think twice about bussing the girl during a Melodious Din "kissing rehearsal." Details on that later. Maybe.
It's become clear over the last 3 years that you can't NOT fall instantly in love with Katina. Her way with puns, her sensitivity, her unmean stand-up, her emotional strength and her fiercely loyal love for her friends and family are just her describable traits. The rest you have to experience to believe. She's also something of a superhero: She can make anyone smile, no matter what. Even if you're Conan O'Brien and you're trying to look over your notes for your next interview while also getting your makeup reapplied and some hot busty Italian girl is waving at you sillysexy from the audience. Seriously. I actually saw that happen once.

all things go

Today’s involuntary subject, determined by the last visit according to my statcounter at 11:38am…
DanMcInerney!
aka Dan MickIN Ernie, MickEYEn Ernie
rka Dan MACKin’ Ernie
(Ernie is one lucky dood)

Dan is a big, lovable ball of funny and seems to be completely devoid of any sort of meanness gene. I met Dan on the first day of Instant Cinema II practice in January 2004, probably in a dirty little UCB classroom, but it was a rather hectic night, so I didn’t really get his name. I met him for reals at our callback for Skeeger on a blizzardly night later that week at a rehearsal space on 8th ave. Dustin made us do an exercise in which you have to try to do 10 characters in a minute. That averages out to six seconds to present a clear character who has a chance at being interesting. You aren’t allowed to go on to the next character until that objective is met. Dan got up to something like 7, and made me laugh out loud with this terribly off-color (but, genetically, not mean) Indian character.
Dan has since wowed me with his smart improv and sketch skills, largely when we shared the stage in ICII, Skeegs, Sleepover and Character Dog Run. Those who know him are probably constantly in awe of his great love for his girlfriend and his commitment to his family. The LI-bred NON*surfer even has a regionally inspired personal catchphrase: “Dude. That’s. Freakin.’ Awesome.” I vote temporarily changing that to “this dude. Is. Freakin.’ Awesome.” Dan has perfectly reasonable hair. It is not all blonde and flowy.
*edit: Dan is not a surfer. But he was once a blurfer.

street-wise Hercules(es)

Glennisballs, Hammy and Spo
These amazing ladies have clinched my adoration for life by joining the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society Team in Training to run a marathon on behalf of those suffering from blood cancers. Though the awesomeness of these three ladies can hardly be condensed into words, let alone words in a blog entry, I’m grouping them together because they are part of the TEAM in Training.

Glennis McMurray
aka Glennisballs, Glennisracket, Glennisthemenace, Glesbian
fka Glennis Brunswick
I met Glennis in 2003 in the dirty little office area between classrooms at the old UCB office. I was waiting to go into a Holiday Spectacular rehearsal and she was coming out of a Level 3 class. Out of the corner of my ear, I heard her and Erika discussing musical improv groups. At the time, Melodious Din was looking to add someone. I looked up and saw this girl I recognized from the Mug Shot Journal. I told her she should audition for Din; she sheepishly said she’d intended to, but missed the audition. I made her talk to Ernie, and there were words and two days later, G was at Din rehearsal. She stunned me with first her voice and her humor, then with her sweetness. We would go on to become Brunswick Sisters and Extravaganza! and Vagina Monologues castmates and good friends. You know how some people just have the natural ability to light up a room? Glennis is always and forever one of those people, even when she’s forgotten her lamp.

Jen Hammaker
aka Hammy
I first met Hammy on the first day of Holiday Spectacular in 2003. She was one of the many strangers in that class, but over the years has become a friend. During HSpec, I couldn’t get through a scene with Jen without totally losing it and laughing in the middle A scene she did with Amanda Allan, which included a rap song about Shepherds will be forever emblazoned in my mind. Jen is also a master of the instrument to which she introduced me that year: the Theremin. Man, that girl knows how to wield some serious melodies on a touch-free, turn-of-the-century electrical enigma. She also knows how to effortlessly charm anyone around her, whether it’s a theatre full of comedy fans, or a few girls chatting at a barbecue.

Shannon O’Neill
Aka Spo
When I met Shannon in the summer of 2002, she was more appropriately ‘Coach Lady.’ She deftly helped hone my scrappy little Level 2 practice group's skills with energy and encouragement. She also made a comment that I had totally forgotten about until the Revlon 5K in May. After a group game about marathons, and during a break-time discussion about the Del Close Marathon (which someone in the group thought was a real marathon), Shannon said, “you will NEVER see improvisers run a marathon.” Then something about how all improvisers eat is beer and cake. The beer and cake thing may hold true, but I am so glad to see Shannon prove the first part wrong with her ass-kicking determination. It must also be said that Shannon has an excellent track record of going to bat for people who need… batting. We don’t even see that much of each other, but I can think of two specific occasions when Shannon swooped in saved my morale, if not the day.

(note: The embedded links aren’t working, so please see the links section on the right to contribute to these girls’ fundraising efforts)

time on earth is cookin'

Today's eye-closingly chosen deconstructeee... Kate Tellers!
fka Kate Brunswick

I met Kate in March of 2004 in a black-box minitheatre in the Actor's Equity Building, home of her former workplace TVI, where we held Pearl Brunswick rehearsals (and, at the time, pre-PB practices). I'd been seeing her name in emails about the group for several weeks, and was glad to finally match the name to the gorgeous face. I think I had to use my hand to shut my jaw the first time I heard her sing. Her voice is simply unimitable. It's distinctive in the very best way and just so incredibly infused with depth and emotion. Ernie had given us the assignment of writing a tagline song, then singing it to whatever he played for us. Kate's tagline was "you may think I'm in style, but I'm wearing my fat pants today." This would be a somewhat prophetic tagline, or at least one indicitave of Kate's healthy obsession with fashion. Last winter, she premiered her drop-dead amazing cabaret show, the inspiration for which was her closet and the clothes in it. Kate ALWAYS looks amazing, even in what she perceives to be her "fat" pants.
We would go on to become Brunswick sisters onstage and wonderful friends off. Kate would become one of my fashion icons (seriously... it's like seeing a combination of Sienna Miller, both Hepburns, Gwen Stefani, and something totally original that you can't put your finger on... IN PERSON). I could hardly attempt to imitate her style, but every time I casually bookend my blazer and jeans with a drapey scarf and hot-pink heels before leaving the house, I silently go, "thanks, KT!"

bring a nickel, stamp your feet

Stacy Mayer (chosen via random-number selection by Brian Davis, of yesterday semi-fame)
When I was in a pinch to find a director for my one-woman show where I played a 12-year-old boy soprano, Stacy stepped in without raising an eyebrow. She also gamely played my Midwestern mom for video footage for the show, and ran around the upper east side in a sunhat and "Somebody in New York Loves Me" t-shirt. And all of that is just the tip of the performing-together iceberg. Stacy and I have worked together in 2 different improv groups, and have shared the stage countless other times in Stacy & Who, Saturday Night Rewritten, Character Dog Run and Big Team Skirmishes. I had the opportunity earlier this year to hand-pick an improv team, and Stacy was one of my top choices, for her great attitude, her smart/funny choices and her team loyalty. She's also almost unfailingly positive (I say 'almost' out of fairness... the girl is human); for someone who's dealt with her fair share of dickery in comedyland, she complains so rarely that I often think that I may have imagined said dickery.
The first time I ever met Stacy was in her apartment (I swear, I never do that, but her online profile was so promising, and her photo just made her look so trustworthy.... kidding). It was circa March 2004, and the cast was rehearsing in her well-painted digs for Saturday Night Rewritten. She hadn't taken over the directorial reins yet, but still had opportunity to exhibit her deftness for fine-tuning hastily-written comedy. A few months later, she popped up in the Sleepover class at UCB, and we've been amicable stagemates ever since. Stacy does not have a baby. I'm not sure where she got the one in the picture.

much respect due

Brian Davis!
Brian and I have known each other since sophomore year of college and, as you’ll see if you check out the links section of his blog, I have indeed seen the man’s manhood. I used to crash in his room to escape my horrid roommate (though it was completely unsaucy between us; B don’t swing that way) and his bits flopped out of his boxers once when he was crawling back into his bed. (Note to any man lucky enough to snag the BD: mazel tov.)
My first-ever encounter with Brian was when I needed help illegally moving a table from our sophomore dorm’s study lounge into my room. I knocked on a door in the suite next to mine, knowing it was full of boys. Out comes this blondish, smiley guy in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Eating cereal with a fork out of a dog bowl. Quirky? Yes. Totally steadfast friend? Yesser. For the rest of our sophomore year, Brian would open his door again and again, often with me in tears from dealing with horrid roommate. In the classes we had together, B and I would while away the hours by creating our porn-star names instead of taking notes. We’ve kept in touch during the 6 years since graduation, and had a blast hanging out in New York last winter. Dear readers, if any of you are L.A.-bound and have a yen for some SCUBA, great liberal company or cereal eaten from a dog bowl, Brian is your mighty good man.

like anything as possible

Anne Nodar
aka Anne Stesney-Nodar
aka Anne Stesney
In the comedy community, there are certain people you feel like you know before you actually meet them. Usually it’s because you saw their photo in the Mug Shot Journal, or have seen them on stage, or they are friends with people you know. Anne Stesney, nee Nodar, was one of those people. I had seen her perform musical improv with my friend Erika in Jonathan Maximus Rockenstern Presents… and I had heard her name in various comedy contexts. I didn’t formally meet Anne until we were rehearsing a musical show together about a year and a half ago. She lived up to all the positive things I had heard: friendly, talented, great hair, pretty voice.
About a week after I met her, Anne unwittingly saved me from having to talk to a former coworker by randomly appearing next to me on the subway platform at 86th street. Rather than having to awkwardly chit-chat about the events since my layoff, I got to unawkwardly chit-chat about improv and fun.
In May, Anne was the driving force behind one of the highlights of my year when she helped Glennis organize some of our ladyfriends for the Revlon 5K Run/Walk for a cure. Doing something like that is amazing in itself, but doing it alongside people like Anne is icing. As we sat in my apartment after the race with Jen Hammaker, chatting and regrouping, it felt like I had known Anne longer than just a year and a half. That’s just the sort of lady she is.

Footnote: it might amuse Anne to know that Chris Schneider, after a particularly frustrating round of the nerdy online word game that we both play, sent me this note: “I see you got both the singular and plural forms of mucin. Meanwhile, they wouldn't let me have either Nodar, which means "lady improvisor," or mojition, which is like Houdini or Doug Henning or something.” No word yet on whether joggle will let you use “Stesney.”

both at work and at games

Randomly selected by me closing my eyes and clicking on my links... Rachael Mason!

Rachael and I met in the late, hectic hours of Friday night during DCM 6 in 2004. She was taking over my stage manager shift somewhere around 5 in the morning. I met her close to midnight, and immediately assigned a visual mnemonic device because I was so tired and meeting so many people that I was sure I’d forget which one she was by the time my shift was over. So I remembered her as “Braidchel,” for the cool faux-braidy leather things she had in her hair. We chatted a bit during the last show of my shift as I handed over the 2-way mic and digital camera, and I just immediately liked her. She was chill and easy to talk to and socially forgiving of my extreme fatigue. There was none of that competitive girl-on-girl wariness that improv sees so much of.
In the next few years, we would see a lot of each other at UCB and related parties. Last summer, she coaxed me out to Coney Island and introduced me to something called the Ghost Hole. While we don’t see nearly enough of each other, she’s one of those girls who’s always worth helping out- and who’s willing to help you back. I put her in touch with someone who helped her with a stray cat she found; she gave me a much-appreciated IRC shoutout once when I had been working especially long intern hours. If you have a back, Rachael Mason’s got it!

you don't want to lose her

Angela Evans DeVoe
aka Talula
aka Smange
Angela, knitter extraordinaire, is my bff from college and one of the most stable people in my life. She and her husband, Matt, are like family to me except they don’t impose guilt or criticize my hair or give me grief about not having renter’s insurance.
We met at the end of our sophomore year, after two years of having more or less known who the other was on our smallish college campus where our circles of friends sort of Venn-diagramed each other. It was a housing lottery in 1998, out of which we were both screwed, that would serve as the conduit for what would become a deep, lasting friendship. Denied on-campus apartments, we were nudged together by friends and ended up in a nearby house with two recent grads, one of whom would prove crazycakes and drive us into an apartment across the street from a fire department*. Ange and I had immediately hit it off, and made for great roommates in cramped quarters. Matt was a natural add-on, becoming one of my best guy friends ever.
Talula and I have been there for each other through weddings, break-ups, new jobs, cross-country moves, trips to the ER, eating-disorder rumors, broken glass shower doors, fleas, plays, boy roommates, evil blonde roommates, roommates whose Muchauseny moms moved into my apartment uninvited and stunk up the place and ran up my phone bill and used my computer for porn, national disasters, well-meaning fathers who make us cry, cell painting, Chavel, kitties, landlords, dramatic brothers, traffic jams, car break-ins, home purchases, lay-offs, medication, TMJ, TME, TMI, hair dyeing, drunkenness, thesis projects, strep throat, film editing, pickled eggs, theme parks, graduations, bad dreams about the movie ‘Hannibal,’ birthdays, deaths, F.A.U.G.s, tacos, guitar pillows, cat vomit, supermarkets and rain. And those are just the big things!

*on second read, I love how this sounds. Don't take this literally.

2 great

I'm taking a break from the yearbook thing. It's giving me a weird energy. But I still want a writing project, so instead I'm going to talk about people I still actually know. I'm still sussing out the format, but I think I'll randomly pick names from my list of blog links and talk about why those people are rad. Or I'll exhibit my weird ability to recall the exact circumstances surrounding my first meeting with everyone I've ever known.
***
I fell in the rain last night and my shoes flew off. I have had a lot of weird things happen in, out of, next to, under and because of shoes, but never have they ever flown off my feet. I found one of them floating in a puddle like a little green leather boat. The other one landed in front of my planted face. This happened minutes after I had given a woman with two small children the heavy-duty poncho I had (legally) pilfered from Blue Man on my way out. While I was sitting at work this morning contemplating whether to go to urgent care for my swelling foot, K.D. called to say he was suffering from a food-induced illness. Aren't we a fine pair of misfits.