So this old world must still be spinning ' round - And I still love you.

I've done practiced yoga 5 times in the past 3 days. This clearly makes me an expert, so now I will share what I know with you.

1) I don't like Kundalini Yoga because it appears to be everything non-yogis use to make fun of yoga. I dunno. "Fire breathing" doesn't really make me feel like I've accomplished anything in my day, or workout.

2) Yoga by candlelight? Awesome idea right before bed. I fell right asleep without my usual wandering mind, slept soundly up to my alarm, and woke up easily and well rested with good intentions for the day.

3) Do people have good bodies because they do yoga, or do people do yoga because they have good bodies? I mean, even though I sweated and shook the whole time and I'm sore afterwards...did I get a workout? Is this going to work?

4) Apparently, all I needed for motivation was a hot pink yoga mat with lotus flowers. Observe.  Why in the world does this pretty thing excite me so?




 5) Post yoga, I have the flexibility, durability, capability and desire to sit entirely still and reflect for up to 10 minutes.  And I think 10 minutes of Alison-time is easily like 30 of most other peoples'. 

But really what I mostly know and like about yoga is that you practice it.  Everyone, every time.  Whether you've been a yogi for 30 years, or 3 days, you practice yoga.  You're not doing yoga, running to yoga, stressing over yoga, working out with yoga, taking care of yoga or any other verb which suggests something difficult is being done.  You're just..practicing.  So you can't fail.  It's almost entirely foolproof, which makes it like a big comfortable hammock, begging for company, ready to sway and surround you.  I wish I could practice more things in my life.  I wish if I messed up at work I could say "that's ok - just practicing!" or if I accidentally offended someone I could respond "sorry!  practicing!" or if (when) I made myself look like an ass I could soothe me with "it's ok!  you're only practicing!"  Because everyone knows when you're practicing something, you're allowed to make mistakes.

And though it sounds entirely hokey, my other favorite part of yoga is a message I've read many times and ways in the past week - be compassionate with yourself.
 (Which I am currently practicing.)

I'm in the wrong story.

Something that makes me giggle...

Megan and I name articles of clothing after the foods and beverages we spill on them. (Even long after we've washed and de-stained them.)
Actual conversations in our apartment go a little something like this:
"What should I wear tonight?"
"Sweet tea vodka dress? Or soy sauce shorts?"
"Hmm. Maybe. Are you going to wear your pizza pants?"
"Only if my cacciatore top is clean."

This post has no point or relevance. But it sure beats the whiny, is anybody ever going to love me and am I ever going to change my abundance of flaws? post that's been simmering between my brain and fingertips for days now...

I think I'm about to start investing in yoga classes because I need balance and a relatively secure location to spend a couple hours a week not being a spazz. Except I'm terrified to actually go take yoga, because what if I accidentally fart while in downward facing dog? It's a truly logical phobia.

Tell me how to win your heart, for I haven't got a clue.

Earlier this week, John Mayer posted a blog.  My darling friend Jenn read the blog, thought me of, and brightened my day with it and some kind words.  And it got me thinking, so now I’m going to blab to you.  Well, first I’ll let Mr. Mayer babble and then I’ll take over.

I wish that when I was younger I could have met my current self. We would have sat down at a coffee shop so that I could explain life to young me in terms that only we would understand. It would have saved me a lot of hardship…

People want to be liked. We all crave attention and affection and we all reject shame. When we get embarrassed we send a thug version of ourselves to the forefront to do our fighting for us. We’re at the top of the food chain just under fear.  We don’t want to be in a relationship to hear the words “I love you,” we want to be in a relationship to say the words “I love you.” We want to feel needed, and exceptional and we hate feeling insignificant. We want to ace a hearing test. We are binary creatures; if we’re the plaintiff, we want to win every dollar. If we’re the defendant, we want guard every penny. We want to make more money than last year. We don’t want to get cancer or die in our cars and we want the same for our loved ones. We go out on weekends to try and have sex while trying not to get punched in the face. We drink so we can be ourselves and not mind it so much. We’re desperate to be understood. We want to know someone else has felt it, too. We hate being judged unfairly. We want to make the person we heard wasn’t all that into us change their minds and admit they had us wrong. We want sunny skies with a chance of killer tornadoes, just to keep music sounding good. We take hours upon hours to admit to self consciousness. We don’t know exactly how to pleasure each other. We just want love. In any and every form.

Last weekend, I went down to Birmingham for my 10-year high school reunion.  I’ve been planning on going to my reunion since before I even graduated from good old Mountain Brook.  Somehow, I knew I’d be a better Alison with some age and wisdom, wardrobe tips and makeup tricks.  I realized a couple years ago that my friends and I had all begun to magically grow into who we always were and just didn’t quite know how to be during those awkward teen years.

I wish that when I was younger I could have met my current self.  I probably would have slapped myself silly.  Reminded me that there really is something to that whole “life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans” talk.  I would have tough loved the crap out of myself.  Buck up, little chippy.  It’s not so bad.  STOP POUTING.  BE HAPPY.  I think one of the absolute truths about life and the world and people is that misery, shame, unhappiness, and things bad, dirty and grungy all manifest from self-loathing and doubt.  I wish that when I was younger I could have met my current self because that’s the one major lesson younger me could have stood to learn much earlier in life.  Those boys weren’t making fun of my weight; they were burying their own flaws.  Those girls weren’t picking on my clothes; they were apologizing for their own inabilities to find looks not spoon-fed from magazines and billboards.  Those people weren’t being cruel because I was an awful person; they were being cruel because they were afraid they might be awful people. 

I wish that when I was younger, I could have met my current self.  Current me could have reminded younger me that if someone is being mean, they probably just need a hug.  (Or some chocolate milk.  Maybe a nap.)  Current me could have reminded younger me that the hardest but most worthwhile thing to do is love someone through the flaws and in spite of the pain.  Current me could have reminded younger me that broken hearts do in fact heal and are often times stronger and more capable than they were before.  Current me could have reminded younger me that energy is best spent living life instead of planning it.  (Because plans do fall apart, but life typically keeps on moving.)

But perhaps it’s best that younger me had to muddle through on her own because we all know that no one actually listens to their elders and lessons are best when experienced instead of taught.  The funny thing about life is you can’t ever really go back; you’re here, and eventually, you’ll get there.  And if you’re lucky like me, you’ll get there with an abundance of friends and some really funny stories sprinkled in.

So here I go with all my thoughts I've been saving. So here I go with all my fears, weighing on me

So here we are.  27 coming to a close, 28 ready to begin.

For the past few weeks, I've been mourning the change from a "mid-twenty-something" (shut up, I'm on a cusp) to a very official "late twenty-something"and I can't say I've been coping with anything that resembles grace.  I just didn't feel ready.  Frankly, I don't feel like I accomplished much of anything as a 27 year old, so I didn't find it all that fair to be pushed to the next phase with neither medal nor merit.  And until about 3 hours ago, I had banned the use of the words "Happy Birthday" or "28" from my friends' vocabulary on or around July 2nd.  They were to call it Alison Appreciation Day and they could celebrate my existence but not my birth.  (Because let's face it - when am I ever going to give up an opportunity to be center of attention??)

And then today it hit me.  What in the world am I clinging to 27 for?  It wasn't exactly a stellar year.  Why not give it up, move on, embrace 28 and the hope and change it will certainly bring?  Let's review.
While 27 years of age, I did NOT:
Fall in or out of love (or have my heart broken)
Receive a promotion (though I did get way better at my current position)
Pull myself out of my continuing financial black hole (though I didn't make it worse, either)
Visit Birmingham (yet there was time for ATL, CLT, and Italy and Paris)
Lose anyone especially close to me (but rest in peace, Cami-dog)
Audition enough (but I did get cast in one thing!)
Get any smaller, healthier, or into better shape (at least I didn't gain much, either)
Make any major life decisions or changes (seriously.  I did well to get out of bed some days)
Or learn, grow or create enough.  (That's what 28 will be for)

Ok, so the year was a bit blah and mundane.  Great.  That much easier to move on and say, HEY, LIFE.  SPICIER, PLEASE.  MARINATE MY SOUL IN AMAZING THINGS.  And for some reason I'm actually still crazy enough to believe, just like every year, that this time next year things will actually be different.

You can't stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky

Since I have a super cool job, our Manager of all things Internet-related asked me to compile a little opinion essay on the Tonys.  Keep in mind this is toned down a little bit for a mass audience read, but here are more or less my opinions of last Sunday night.


The Tonys are my Christmas and my New Year’s and my 4th of July Fireworks. They’re my Super Bowl, my World Cup, my World Series. They’re the hot fudge on my sundae, the sizzle on my steak, the apple of my eye, the skip in my step, the bee’s knees and the cat’s meow, whiskers and pajamas. I’ve loved the Tonys since somewhere around age 8 and have looked forward to that faithful Sunday each June when I could tune into a national broadcast focused entirely on theatre. And now here I am, living in the middle of it all, seeing these shows in real life, formulating informed predictions and opinions.
 
I love the Tonys.

Until this year. Producers, you let me down, both in execution and insistence upon roping Hollywood into our night. But enough about that. Let’s focus on the good, shall we?

Production cracks aside, the opening number showed off the talent to come, and I appreciated the concept. (The screeching 14 year old inside me probably loved Green Day’s appearance. Probably.) Sean Hayes gave an adorable opening monologue, helped along by the even more adorable Kristin Chenoweth and it was onto the first award of the broadcast.

The bad: Scarlett Johansson somehow managed to win the award and oust Broadway darling Jan Maxwell from Lend Me a Tenor. Cue panic and shrieking.

The good: ScarJo’s camera moments also provided ample face time for Ryan Reynolds AND co-star Liev Shreiber. Cue much more, but seemingly calmer, shrieking.

Before I could wallow into a pool of too much ScarJo success scorn, the men of Million Dollar Quartet took the stage began to wail (in a good way) and I was happy again. And then Eddie Redmayne won a Tony for his performance in Red, so I was happier still. And then Katie Finneran of Promises, Promises and Levi Kreis of Million Dollar Quartet joined the winner’s circle and I sat on the couch positively beaming. Performances from the casts of Fela, Ragtime, La Cage aux Folles and Memphis brought on more beaming, clapping, and shrieking. (My poor roommates.)

And then Football star Mark Sanchez took the stage and again, I groaned in the producer’s general direction for being so transparent in their attempt for ratings but then actual theatrical people like Angela Lansbury and David Hyde Pierce and Kelsey Grammar, and much later in the show Bernadette Peters and Bebe Neuwirth and Nathan Lane all made me happy once more. And then, more groaning, as Catherine Zeta Jones not only butchered a Sondheim classic but somehow wrestled the Tony away from Memphis’ deserving Montego Glover. Then hit TV show Glee's Matthew Morrison and Lea Michele reminded American they were Broadway Babies before being TV's newest darlings.

And though I’d picked Alfred Molina for Best Actor in a play, I knew it would be a close race between him and Denzel Washington, so I cannot claim surprise or disappointment. At least I pegged Viola Davis for Fences and Douglas Hodge for La Cage aux Folles correctly.

Before I knew it (and after the American Idiot cast delivered yet another phenomenal performance and Spiderman graced the stage) it was time for Red and Memphis to take home the evening’s final Tonys. I’m not sure what made me happier: the fact that two deserving shows brought in so much recognition, or the fact that of the 26 categories up for grabs, I correctly predicted 19 winners. But seriously, next year let’s leave the West Coast out of this, hire new sound and camera crews and have a better go, ok?

And in honor of our big winner, Memphis: HOCKADOO!

It's not over till you're underground.

Tomorrow is one of my favorite days of the year.
TONY AWARDS SUNDAY. (I really am a gay man inside. I'm convinced of it.) Apparently I'm all aboard the Memphis and Red trains. Which is funny, because I thought I'd be more on board the Million Dollar Quartet and American Idiot trains, but when you break out the components of each piece, I do think Memphis has the majority of votes. Also, I'm finding Memphis a harder sell, so I want as many Tonys as possible behind it so I can be all see, EVERYONE loves it! You should buy tickets and keep its music going!

Hard to believe that a few years ago, the Tonys were a chance for me to look through a window and get a faint pulse on Broadway and now here I am making informed predictions. Oh life, you're funny.

So. I'm going to post my predictions (and let's face it - some explanations and rants, too) and we'll see how I do tomorrow night!

Best Play
In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play
Next Fall
Red
Time Stands Still

Best Musical
American Idiot
Fela!
Memphis
Million Dollar Quartet
(Ok. Every year I hate at least one musical nominated. So totally not the case this year. I love them all like my own darling children. I'm choosing Memphis NOT necessarily because it's my actual pick to win, I just think it's going to be the one TO win. I think Million Dollar and American Idiot are going to divide the committee in votes, and I think Memphis is going to edge out Fela! But GAH - what shows, what talent, what amazingness all around. If I had to pick a personal favorite, I'm going to have to say American Idiot with a Million Dollar Quartet a close close close close close second. But Memphis! Fela! I love love love you two too!)


Best Book of a Musical
Everyday Rapture
Fela!
Memphis
Million Dollar Quartet
(Um. Going out on a limb here. Honestly, Everyday Rapture has a hell of a shot - the other three are fantastic SHOWS but I cannot really commend the scripts for anyone other than Everyday Rapture. Especially not Million Dollar's book. I'm sorry. I can't.)

Best Original Score (Music and/or Lyrics) Written for the Theatre
The Addams Family
Enron
Fences
Memphis
(Come on. Seriously. This one isn't even a competition. Also, ENRON got nominated for something? It is seriously the worst thing Broadway saw this year, if not this decade.)

Best Revival of a Play
Fences
Lend Me a Tenor
The Royal Family
A View from the Bridge
(A View from the Bridge gave it a run for its money, but we all know Fences is winning. Like tickets weren't already hard enough to get...)

Best Revival of a Musical
Finian's Rainbow
La Cage aux Folles
A Little Night Music
Ragtime
(My heart weeps a little with this answer. I loved Ragtime. LOVED RAGTIME. And kudos to Finian's for the nod, though I hardly agree. But La Cage? Shoe-in. Really pretty high heeled shoe-in.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Play
Jude Law, Hamlet
Alfred Molina, Red
Liev Schreiber, A View from the Bridge
Christopher Walken, A Behanding in Spokane
Denzel Washington, Fences
(No snark. It's just how I feel. Sorry, Denzel and Christopher and Jude and especially Liev. You're all very pretty and talented. Well, 3 of you are very pretty.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play
Viola Davis, Fences
Valerie Harper, Looped
Linda Lavin, Collected Stories
Laura Linney, Time Stands Still
Jan Maxwell, The Royal Family
(We all know it's happening. Cannot wait for the acceptance speech.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical
Kelsey Grammer, La Cage aux Folles
Sean Hayes, Promises, Promises
Douglas Hodge, La Cage aux Folles
Chad Kimball, Memphis
Sahr Ngaujah, Fela!
(I want to vote for Chad or Sahr, really I do buuuuut....I also want to be right about who wins.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical
Kate Baldwin, Finian's Rainbow
Montego Glover, Memphis
Christiane Noll, Ragtime
Sherie Rene Scott, Everyday Rapture
Catherine Zeta-Jones, A Little Night Music
(Oh Christiane, I loved you and Ragtime so much, but Montego had BETTER WIN. You hear me, girl? WIN.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Play
David Alan Grier, Race
Stephen McKinley Henderson, Fences
Jon Michael Hill, Superior Donuts
Stephen Kunken, Enron
Eddie Redmayne, Red
(Because I like it when cute things happen, so I want Red to sweep both actor categories.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Play
Maria Dizzia, In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play
Rosemary Harris, The Royal Family
Jessica Hecht, A View from the Bridge
Scarlett Johansson, A View from the Bridge
Jan Maxwell, Lend Me a Tenor
(Because dammit, it's Jan's turn. If ScarJo wins...ugh. Gross. I don't even want to think about it.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical
Kevin Chamberlin, The Addams Family
Robin De Jesús, La Cage aux Folles
Christopher Fitzgerald, Finian's Rainbow
Levi Kreis, Million Dollar Quartet
Bobby Steggert, Ragtime
(It's gross how talented this man is. And we ALL know of my love for CFitz, but Levi, you've got this one.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Musical
Barbara Cook, Sondheim on Sondheim
Katie Finneran, Promises, Promises
Angela Lansbury, A Little Night Music
Karine Plantadit, Come Fly Away
Lillias White, Fela!
(Because all 15 minutes of her performance were the one bright spot in an otherwise blah production. I'm sorry. I really wanted to like it otherwise, but I really did not.)

Best Scenic Design of a Play
John Lee Beatty, The Royal Family
Alexander Dodge, Present Laughter
Santo Loquasto, Fences
Christopher Oram, Red
(Because I love an underdog, so I want Red to beat Fences in as many categories as possible.)

Best Scenic Design of a Musical
Marina Draghici, Fela!
Christine Jones, American Idiot
Derek McLane, Ragtime
Tim Shortall, La Cage aux Folles

Best Costume Design of a Play
Martin Pakledinaz, Lend Me a Tenor
Constanza Romero, Fences
David Zinn, In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play
Catherine Zuber, The Royal Family

Best Costume Design of a Musical
Marina Draghici, Fela!
Santo Loquasto, Ragtime
Paul Tazewell, Memphis
Matthew Wright, La Cage aux Folles

Best Lighting Design of a Play
Neil Austin, Hamlet
Neil Austin, Red
Mark Henderson, Enron
Brian MacDevitt, Fences
(Red, Red, Red...)

Best Lighting Design of a Musical
Kevin Adams, American Idiot
Donald Holder, Ragtime
Nick Richings, La Cage aux Folles
Robert Wierzel, Fela!

Best Sound Design of a Play
Acme Sound Partners, Fences
Adam Cork, Enron
Adam Cork, Red
Scott Lehrer, A View from the Bridge

Best Sound Design of a Musical
Jonathan Deans, La Cage aux Folles
Robert Kaplowitz, Fela!
Dan Moses Schreier and Gareth Owen, A Little Night Music
Dan Moses Schreier, Sondheim on Sondheim

Best Direction of a Play
Michael Grandage, Red
Sheryl Kaller, Next Fall
Kenny Leon, Fences
Gregory Mosher, A View from the Bridge
(...Red, Red, Red...)

Best Direction of a Musical
Christopher Ashley, Memphis
Marcia Milgrom Dodge, Ragtime
Terry Johnson, La Cage aux Folles
Bill T. Jones, Fela!

Best Choreography
Rob Ashford, Promises, Promises
Bill T. Jones, Fela!
Lynne Page, La Cage aux Folles
Twyla Tharp, Come Fly Away
(Because if Bill can win for Spring Awakening but not Fela! I will laaaaaaugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.)

Best Orchestrations
Jason Carr, La Cage aux Folles
Aaron Johnson, Fela!
Jonathan Tunick, Promises, Promises
Daryl Waters & David Bryan, Memphis

Every rose has its thorn.

The days keep flying by and I keep meaning to get all introspective on this here page and then poof, another day is gone. Is this what it's like to be a grown up?

I've been running at a non-stop, full-tilt boogie for a little too long now and frankly, I'm exhausted. Spring brings flowers and therefore allergies and it also brings visitors for both me and my fair city, so between playing travel planner by day and personal tour guide by night, I'm a step or two beyond exhausted. Frankly, I need a couple days on the beach complete with day drinking and trashy novels before I'm going to feel anything like "normal" again. But then again, what the hell is "normal" for me anyway? This is the life I've chosen, this is chaos I willingly embraced and walked directly towards. So no complaining, right?


I saw American Idiot a couple weeks ago. I loved it, but frankly I need to see it again. Crissie and Megan have dubbed my ADD the "Oooo, shiny!" disease and being easily distracted does not lend itself well to a show with no less than 3 scenes occuring simultaneously at all times, with a hell of a lot media also happening all over the stage. But the orchestrations and the cast? Spot on. Last weekend brought Promises, Promises. It was fine. I was underwhelmed because Kristin Chenoweth decided to take the evening off (the nerve!) and her understudy was little more than a vocal mimic without the necessary acting chops or grasp of comedic timing to carry out the role. Sorry. I'm usually not an understudy hater. But this substitution definitely broke the spirit of the show.

This weekend, I'm seeing Fela which means for the first year ever, I will have seen all four shows in competition for Best Musical at the Tonys. (Well. In their Broadway forms. A couple of times I'd seen the off-Broadway versions so passed on pouring more money into almost the same show.) And while I loved Million Dollar Quartet and Memphis my money is still on American Idiot.

Yesterday marked exactly 10 years since graduating high school and finally fleeing the tiny kingdom. Tomorrow, little brother will walk the same stage to get the same degree from the same school. My ten year reunion is just over a month away The amount of things that have changed in the past decade blow my mind. I'm a lot further along than I thought I'd be in some ways, and paces behind in others. I'm nervous. I have dreams about the reunion at least once a week, which is so completely silly to admit. I'm going to try really hard to hold my head up high and march in there 100% ok with where I am now, despite it not being quite where I planned to be. No marriage or even engagement ring, no mortgage, no future plans, certainly no kids but hey, I live in New York City on my own dime and found a job that doesn't suck that I'm GREAT at so does that count for something?

I'm so completely frustrated with my weight I can't stand it. The nonstop stress leads to bad food decisions and the pounds aren't coming off this time. Sure, I don't weigh 300 pounds anymore so the weight isn't going to fall off now like it did then. I guess every other time I've put my mind to lose, I have and this time I swear my body is working against me. Size 16 for life? Geez, I hope not. That's mighty depressing.

Everything boils down to this: something big needs to happen. Soon. We all know once I begin to feel stagnant in life I freak out and I'm very much feeling stuck right about now. I pray the winds of change blow my way soon because I'm tired of whining and you're tired of listening.

It's you I like.

When I was four, I didn't know much. I especially didn't know there were things in my life I didn't like and didn't treasure and didn't know I'd one day crave. I didn't know that one day naps would become a luxury. I didn't know quiet time could be a reward instead of a punishment. I thought holding hands was stupid. I didn't like green beans. Or pineapple. Or anything not made out of bread and cheese. I had no idea how important family was, and how lucky I was to be born into mine. I didn't know I'd one day cry myself to sleep over flaws I didn't yet recognize. I didn't know I was a drama queen, emotional basketcase, future fat kid, or at all unbalanced.

And of course, I knew nothing of the people I'd one day meet and love or the places I'd see or the things I'd do. Four year old Alison had yet to be tainted with high school or ignorance and wasn't broken by cruel words and ridiculous people and didn't know anything about all she'd learn in college and New York and beyond. She had no idea she should do anything but love and play and imagine.

This week, 27 year old Alison saw Everyday Rapture...the story behind Sherie Rene Scott's rise to Broadway fame. I loved it. (Note: non-Broadway snobs, don't bother. You'll spend much of the show giving the quizzical "huh?" looks my roommate shot my way each time I erupted into peels of laughter over the morsels of obscure theatrical tidbits thrown my way.) And for no real reason whatsoever, other than to pay homage to a great man, Sherie serenaded us with a song I listened to as often as I could when I was four.

That's right...Mr. Roger's It's You I Like


It's you I like,
It's not the things you wear,
It's not the way you do your hair--
But it's you I like
The way you are right now,
The way down deep inside you--
Not the things that hide you,
Not your toys--
They're just beside you.

But it's you I like--
Every part of you,
Your skin, your eyes, your feelings
Whether old or new.
I hope that you'll remember
Even when you're feeling blue
That it's you I like,
It's you yourself,
It's you, it's you I like.


Suddenly I realized, I did know a heck of a lot when I was four. Because when I was four, I knew the important reasons behind liking people. And I hope that every day moving forward, I sing these words to myself to remember again and sink further into that whole "big picture" mentality we late-twenty-somethings are eventually supposed to relax into.

Every time I see your face, my heart takes off on a high speed chase

Ok. Fine. I might never finish the European tales. Surprised? I'm not. There's still Florence and Paris and Volterra and Pisa to discuss and every time I try I get frustrated and abort mission. Pansy.

Anyhoo. Life in this neck of the woods got real exciting, real fast. Somehow, I survived another January and February (and those of you who work in hospitality know what I mean) and now things are crazy busy between work and networking events (ahem...cocktail parties) and the new season of Broadway shows. This week I saw Sondheim on Sondheim and Million Dollar Quartet.

In short:
Sondheim is one funny motherf'er and hearing Norm Lewis sing "Being Alive" ranks as one of my favorite moments as an audience member ever. Great show...if you like Sondheim and know his work inside and out.
Million Dollar Quartet left me pink cheeked from all the squealing. I'd rank it in top 10 for quality of performances. 4 actors portray Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash as they meet in Memphis one December evening to record their greatest songs. Heartfelt and amazing and my God, the talent. Please succeed. Please let everyone go see this and please let everyone love it and please award the talent involved the recognition they deserve.

Enough about that. I'm also here to tell you tales about how I'm becoming a real live New Yorker.
Exhibit A: Subway Behaviors
This week, I took the subway from one of my work locations to my office somewhere in the neighborhood of rush hour. (Then again, when isn't it rush hour?) As the doors opened at my destination, a crowd begin to rush the door. Nope. This is how it works people: I get off then you may get on. So. I stood there, arms folded, smile on my face until a path was cleared for me. There was some grumbling from outside, but certainly some chuckles from within.
The next morning, I boarded my subway car and to my delight found a 3 person bench with two people on it. And one person's bag. So I said hey buddy, wanna move that? He muttered something but obliged.

Exhibit B: The movies
Tonight, Megan and I saw Hot Tub Time Machine. Ridiculous. Hilarious. Definitely NOT this year's "The Hangover" but whatever will be again? The twerps in front of me thought I was too loud. (Yeah. I NEVER get that. So weird.) And when I say "twerps" that's me being polite because they were about 14 years old but in reality, complete little shits. The more they complained about my hearty laugh, the further forward I leaned and the louder I boomed.

Exhibit C: Dry Cleaner's Etiquette
My dry cleaner has a habit of losing my things. Usually it's my skirts. My jacket comes back. My pants come back. My skirts get lost. But last time, it was one of my shirts. And not one of my Filene's Basement $15 shirts. (Exhibit D: I shop at Filene's Basement.) My Calvin Klein shirt (Exhibit E: I also own LABELS and care about them). So I walked in, bitched him out, got my shirt back, and some free dry cleaning for the next go around.


My final tidbit of the evening is to tell you that I'm about to start Alli. Everyone I tell this to groans and tells me they hope I don't poop myself and to be wary of oily discharge and a bunch of other gross but delightfully humorous in a TMI way things. My friend Katie and I were talking it over, and we have decided a new turn for my blog to take will be a section I will call "Ali on Alli." It will probably go a little something like this:
Dear Blog,
Today I pooped myself!

or
Dear Blog,
Today I didn't poop myself!

I'll let you know exactly how it goes.

Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game.

If you know me at all, you probably know at least a handful of Absolute Truths about Alison. And probably one of the best known Absolute Truths is (was?) my overwhelming fear of being alone.

Since moving to New York, the fear morphed to discomfort, and the discomfort has now settled into a considerably more tolerable "feh. I'd rather not." That being said, when I took off for Italy, I knew there'd be a solo day or two, and I knew my old fears would likely reappear when introduced to a strange new setting. I gave Taryn a preparatory talk instructing her that, under no circumstances, is she to allow Old Alison to seize control of Alison v.2.0. I would spend time alone in a foreign country and I would like it, dammit.

After our Rome adventure, I did spend a day of rest and managed a walk into Ponsacco only to discover everything was closed. But since Tuesday promised pretty blue skies, Taryn dropped me off at the train station en route to work, and I set out solo for Cinque Terre. This involved an hour or so train ride to La Spezia, and then a transfer to the "local" trains that run through these adorably quaint little mountain-on-the-beach towns.

Despite the fact that I hadn't packed proper mountain gear, I decided to take the train all the way through to town number 5, Monterosso, and then hike my way back through to Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore. How hard could it be?

Hard.

How lucky am I to have experience it?

Extremely.

There is nothing - nothing - like taking a train from anytown, Italy through a mountain tunnel and arriving in a place that feels like it just may be on a completely different planet from anything you've ever known. And there is nothing (nothing) like a 2 hour hike over mountain cliffs dangling over the sea.


As I hiked, I laid little pieces of my former self to rest along that trail and bid them a long, eternal sleep. I said goodbye to alone-aphobic Alison, because she never would have had the guts to take in this view:

And I gave peace to 300 pound Alison, who never would have made it across the narrow paths and up and down the mountains.

I giggled at workaholic Alison and thanked her for loosening the reigns on her blackberry long enough to take this picture:

And I wished luck to bitter Alison and said a quiet prayer of thanks for the opportunity to stroll Lover's Lane at all, even without my hand in someone else's.
(And I wished luck to future Alison, in the hopes that someday, she'll get the chance to clasp hands, hearts, and clang down a lock over there here bars.)







Cinque Terre ranks high on the list of coolest things I've ever experienced. I'm glad I didn't let fear strap me to the couch that day. And in some odd little way, it's something I'm almost grateful to have experienced alone because nothing can quite touch the feeling of learning something new about yourself while you listen to your feet thud and heart race between the hills and sea.