December 19, 2000
i cannot seriously believe nothingness has graced these pages for four months. i think i actually did write something but it seems to have disappeared into the nether world and now i am wondering what has happened to 2000. where did summer go? or nubile youth for that matter? and what has become of a young girl's dream. the young girl got trampoled on by a ton of reality bricks and hope took the last train to texaco. i see a crib where there was once a guitar stand and the front porch has mistletoe instead of f.scott's green light. do you sense the ongoing theme? (i always wonder if rhetorical questions need the question mark at the end of them...let me know, won't you.) where was i? ah. the holiday season. so guess what i did about all of this? i dyed my hair pink. not just pink like nellie olsen would wear, i am talking straight-at-you-gwen-stefani-eat-your-heart-out-fuschia-on-my-head pink. the kind only a woman living in fear of being a gap mom would wear. so there. this color has never been found in any natural form on this planet. the thing is: i'm in a wedding in late december and i know when the bride sees me, there will be complete harikari hell to pay and so only a few select neighbors, one small child and a very confused husband will ever see the pink in all its obviousness, i mean glory. it lasted a total of six days and nine hours but oh was it worth it. maybe the timing was a little off, but now i know i still have whatever it is that has led me to live this very unusual and amusing life.
August 21, 2000
i figured it out! writing rock and roll is a gut-from-the-balls-go-through-the-soul heart-wrenching ordeal. all the great songs - look at led zepplin's catalogue - what are those songs? those are from the sincerest depths of their beings. whole lotta love. so many songs you just wish you could write too.every great song comes out of truth. i've heard some great music this weekend - david mead, patti labelle, shiny, lori carlson, steely dan - and you know, there is a damn formula! it's called make it real baby. make it real.
August 20, 2000
a conversation with dc. "a genius with no label, but not quite..." - shawn colvin
everyone assumes i have no decorum! i typically don't try to tread on personally sensitive issues, though i am happy to bluntly ask what one pays to rent his/her beauty of a pad. i figure either someone (usually patch) will say, "oh steffie! you're not supposed to ask a person ________ (fill in the blank, i.e. a. what they paid or b. how old a woman is, blah blah blah...)!" at which point i become a saucy, however charming, little blabbermouth (not unlike george martin's reaction of: "wow! pretentious!" when i told him we liked the name charleston after the place where we met - god bless the audacity). the former, however - being the bringing up of a really personal/sensitive matter - is taboo, and not in my nature. like, i would never say: "hey man, was your catholic childhood wrought with perverted pedophile priests or what?" however, i would, for example, say, hey, what's with these catholic priests? i see this as a very political separation of the personal and the sensitive. i am not afraid to get personal time to time, though a sensitive gal i am, i hope. on the flip of all this, i will gladly offer you the book. i don't care if you know how much money i make, or what my personal life is like, or what scares the shit out of me. it's not taboo. who cares. i figure you'll allow for my inner character and if you don't it's not worth my salt. the rest is rose petals on the parade. and so. that's the jig baby. :), steffie
July 10, 2000
today i sit and contemplate the yellowish paint color that's mistakenly strewn about my living room, the frozen chill of a basement office, and the serious lack of songwriting going on around here. in our move, i found some old college papers in which i try desperately to impress professors with unadulterated bullshit. i have an acting journal (written entirely the night before it was due) in which i spout off about choosing acting as a profession and whether it is a noble pursuit (my conclusion: not really). it's so funny what we did to get through college. was it worth it? yes, i say. i learned a lot. mostly how to talk a good game, though. everything else came later, like how to book gigs or make a living or pay a bill. but i do regret my inability to care about and, therefore, grasp math. it really does come in handy later, though i begged to differ on more than one ocassion. the most useful class taught in school? my dad says typing. i refused to take it and my error rate is like one-per-word. oops, now i'm bringing math into it again. see, math is everywhere. but physics and philosophy? hmmm.
June 4, 2000
i can't remember if i already said everything amusing. or anything amusing at all. i haven't been booking too many gigs lately but more focusing on writing and acting projects, along with the project of producing a being. this leaves some time for reflection. you may not need to know, but i am a pretty good conversationalist where the overuse and medical urging of epidurals and the prospect of home birthing are concerned. six months pregnant. maybe it's a safe bet to announce it at this point. what will it mean to everything else and personal pursuits? they don't ask the fathers these things, but i can see where it could be a curiosity. i leave it unanswered. but i had a dream last night like this: i am in chicago and this big broadway play needs an actor. so, they can't find anyone in new york and they contact me. i get there and wing it, and the staff pulls me into the office after the show and says: you were great, where have you been? well, i've been stuck in chicago, i say, i'm a nobody. and they say, well, you need to get here. we need you...now how do you like that? can't find an actor in new york!
i'm currently reading: a gadgillion preg books; peter mayle second thingy follow-up to a year in provence; the thrilling plays of henrik ibsen (at the urging of my norwegian friend silje.) note to silje: wasn't four years of theatre school and enought ibsen, chekhov and shakespeare to last three potent, fun-filled dramatic eras enough???; and - and here's where i get really embarassed, but feel there's no sense in convering shortcomings - martha stewart's gardening 101, on special order from martha by mail. ok. i am not an advocate of everything martha, but there are a few key tips in these pages, and i was very, very desperate. so still disparate, i spent the day at the botanic gardens looking for inspiration. what is this you say? botanicals, martha by mailings, babies??? yes, i too would be confused, and i am. this pregnancy thing tugs at the basest romanticism of the best of us. and at this point, i may need to do a peyote vision quest or possibly see a rocky horror show.
May 11, 2000
you'd think with a huge commercial actors' strike going on, things would simmer down. things are crazed. it's a good feeling, but not essential. life is changing faster than i can manage. but it's good. i'm not losing sleep over the changes, just spending a few moments each day standing at the apex of an untouched garden, pondering the course of action to take. which window treatments. which color scheme. which is better: shrub or green leafy plant? what's the diff? the guy at the farmer's market is getting to know me and my ignant line of questioning and he smiles when he sees me coming, knowing any challenge i present will barely ruffle his keen expertise. and his helper, jennifer, patiently walks me through the aisles of perrenials and explains the marked difference between peat moss and mushroom compost. i never figured myself to be the type of gal who'd ever care about such things but between the newness of a universal hobby and the sense of accomplishment a well-tilled soil brings on, i can't see things any other way.
April 23, 2000
i was thinking about waiting on this, but i'm moving and doing too many gigs this month (and hosting a wedding at our new place), so in case you missed my solo show, here is an excerpt from my portion of the evening:
turn it around! turn it around! turn it around! i am on a very thin bed in a very white room, the injection has started to kick in i am fading out two doctors stand hovered blue hats blue coats peering into my state of being...it's 1994 and i have been duped into letting them inject some relaxant into me, so i cannot rescind my offer of having them cut open my throat. no panick attacks here, i realize. they knew i'd see the little white room and the foreshadowing of the blood and the knife so they drug me into a comatose state... when i wake up it's late and all the hospital employees have vacated, except for a small, distant voice who asks me if i need water - yes! bring me a gallon! but i can't speak, they cut my throat, so i try to nod and i'm too dizzy to remember why i'm there. it kinda feels like a twilight zone episode, and i am the poor lost soul who has been transplanted to some nether world, not by own volition. so. this is limbo.. i am in la it is 1993 and i just bought a brand new pair of brown cowboy boots i can't afford, because temps don't make enough to buy 185 dollar shoes. but i am not just a temp. i am definitely on the verge of a major career breakthrough, and burgeoning film stars do not have shabby footwear. plus, what am i going to wear to tonight's roseanne arnold roast given by the friar's club of la? the reason i am going to this roast is because the place i'm temping at has a lot of high profile investors coming through, and one in particular, mr. fred sonnenburg the multi-million dollar investor to the stars, has taken a shine to me. we sit at a table with fancy lawyers and faye dunaway, and i immediately sense that i am being viewed as a complete prostitute. a hired professional in fancy boots. hired by the glorified accountant to be his trophy date. thankfully, i see someone i know. it's matt, that chicago actor whose wife is on roseanne. however, after surmising too that i am here to enhance someone else's profile and don't have one of my own, matt dashes off to find his pregnant wife and better people to talk to...
Today is April 11, 2000
i'm a homeowner. how i managed to cajole them into lending a singer/actor mortgage money i'll never fathom, but it turns out i'm not such a bad candidate. today i read about whitney houston's struggles with drugs and a wayward husband. and i started the harry potter series. i ran on the tread. busy day. i was up for a big pizza spot and a huge (read: retire for life) busch gardens spot, but in both cases, it went to friends and i can't fault anyone for that. my priorities are a little altered right now anyway. i'm becoming a line in one of several joni mitchell songs. a house with a picket fence and a baby. if i miss the next opportunity, so be it. of course, this will be when things kick!
21 March, 2000
auditions, recordings and gigs. trying to move amidst the chaos. babies change things. writing new material; writing for this one-person collective in april. there is so much going on! if i didn't have this computer, what the hell would i do? rhetorical question of the self. what is cool is this showcase we're planning in new york. everything is falling into place. weird, every time i go to new york, things completely gel. got the venue, the playahs, the concept. no prob. la is the opposite. things suck in la. i can't get arrrested for indecency in la; in new york, i am a rare breed. don't know why. maybe it has to do with that karmic pull thing that the new age folks always allude to, or maybe it's just that la is a rough road. i lived there for two years nearly, and it damn near killed me. came back with a tumour and an attitude. but, ah the midwest. why is the midwest so casual? why does it call one back? there are artists like lisa germano and kim fox who leave new york or la and settle in places like bloomington, illinois. well, you can be an artist anywhere i guess. chicago is more like it. you start going away from chicago, and you get flatlands, stix, nothingness. here's a song about a midwest winter:
it's raining again
like winds reliving sins
maybe the fates strike a whim called 'winter'
i'll steal any bargain
i got a cloudy disposition
you know it's hard to find reason
when babies cry in the cold
but i can ride this wind...what if this winter asks for nothing?...what if the dust will pass high above us?...til spring
i'll hold out my hand
i got a cracked, fragile skin
heartache hits hard when it rains
and this leather wind spins
like a hopeful heart dies
winter wounds remind
as if they were old friends...
but i can ride this wind...what if this winter asks for nothing?....maybe the dust will pass high above us...
February 10, 2000
it is near one week of recovery since the build up and excess of all activity surrounding my first cd release party. we did it. somehow. i tried a new approach on this one. got the guys from the record to play live, except the drummer (who is a new guy in town), and the two grooviest backup singing wailers in town, and it was a hoot. if you were there, i thank you. the place was jammed. i wanna do it again soon. but oh the work of putting out your own cd extravaganza. i think i made three trips to the venue alone that day. not to mention 3 to kinko's, the stores, the hair place and the foodies. and as for the album, it took many months, mostly due to scheduling, but still. only a couple people know that i was up in the green room before going on, trying to squeak out a vocal warm-up in the freezing, unlit aroma, guided by kari the berklee alum who sings as good as paula cole, but usually in a jazz format. and i felt like a little rock star afterward when the minute masses came screaming for autographs. that happens a lot at navy pier, with the tourists, but honestly, these are urban adults and some of them friends! i was cool. anyway, this is going to be quite a year for me. i remember back in 1990 i think and it was my first band, or my second, and we were all sitting around talking about the 90's and how the nineties was "our decade." here i am ten years later, and i am just beginning to scratch the surface of pop music. it's amazing how far you go and don't go and how much it takes to get there.
January 2, 2000
hey! bonafide bullet-proof millennium madness returns to the underworld! planet earth thrives! welcome to the new era, where fashion is business, nothing can't be had within a cheeky mouse click, and indie artists sell their cd's to unknown strangers online at the cost of one matinee and a burlap bag of dreams. (subtext: go buy my new cd!) i only wish i had a point here, but you know my ol' buddy guinivere thought she was pretty funny when she said: "i love your musings...they are like 'oh, i bought a new couch, but alas, what is the point of having a couch?'"
