I hope all of my dear readers have a happy, hale and hearty Valentine's Day. I have spent far too many years bemoaning the existence of this day, and everything about it. My high school and college years were a celebration of the macabre on Valentine's Day. I dressed in black, wore dark eye makeup, and acted like a general pill.
Today, I am wearing a loud pink shirt, carrying a loud pink water bottle, and just being generally loud about love. It's the least I can do for both the day and the Think Pink game last night.
Really, the only thing that was good about last night's game was the monster that is Tina Charles. I didn't even realize she had gotten 21 rebounds until this morning when I read it in the paper. I hope it was obvious to the naked eye how much the Huskies of Honor means to her. She was a mess in the pre-game ceremony, and Dad was honestly very happy for her (which he should be!).
That is really all I care to say about the game last night. Aside from the abysmal refing (really, a technical foul on Tina for smacking a player? She'd sooner punch out a Teletubby), here were a number of factors that contributed to our poor play. I am going to come out and say that our new sneakers may have had a tiny bit to do with it; when you suddenly have to adjust to a brand new shoe, it can cause numbness and cramping. But really, we couldn't hit water if we fell out of a boat for most of the game and also St. John's came ready to play and compete. They are going to be a force to be reckoned with next year (they're still quite young) and I can't wait to play them again, perhaps in the Big East Tournament this year?
Next up is Oklahoma, a trip that my mother will be going on. I unfortunately cannot. I have tech rehearsal today for Bus Stop, as well as rehearsal tomorrow night. We open next week and I'm slightly terrified about the whole thing. But hopefully it'll all work out in our favor, eh?
In my absence, feel free to go rent or watch these amazing love stories (avoid Valentine's Day at all costs).
When Harry Met Sally
Love Actually
The Notebook
Pride and Prejudice (1995 or 2005 version, both are fantastic)
Romeo and Juliet (I prefer the 1968, Zeffirelli version, but the Leo version got me into Shakespeare so I can't knock it)
Much Ado About Nothing
Juno
Casablanca
And speaking of love all around, Mom is watching The Millionaire Matchmaker. Clearly I haven't taught her well enough...
ally
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Are we gonna smush?
I confess I've been bad at this thing called blogging over the last week or so. Life has gone into warp speed and I have no handy dandy bridge operators to work the thrusters.
Last night I had to drive my mom into Bolton to meet Dad for dinner, and a car pulled up that Mom thought was Dad coming and she turned into Crazy Mother. "Pull up, pull up! Flash your lights so he'll know it's us, WHY ARE YOU NOT FLASHING YOUR LIGHTS-Oh, that's not him."
Later that night, while reading in the comfort of my living room, I heard the screams of what I could only assume was a dying cat being lit on fire and rushed into the living room to find Mom fending off Dad's advances like he was a serial killer. The crime? He was attempting to tickle her. Keep in mind that Dad hadn't even so much as poked her on the shoulder, he was just walking toward her with the intention to tickle. Mom is absurdly, psychotically opposed to this. If you make like you're about to go in for the tickle kill, she turns into a howling banshee. I'm shocked the cops weren't called.
Side note: Is it bad when you do a workout titled "Billy Blanks: Full Throttle" and after it's over you think "Any wimp could do that"? Eeep.
And now, it's once again time for Ally's Recommendations! This week: Books.
This list includes some of the books I read over the summer of 2009, but most of them are my favorites of all time. Do with them what you will.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
A young student, Richard Papen, starts attending Hampden College in Vermont, an elite liberal arts school. Originally from California, he fabricates stories of wealth and jet-setting while covering up the realities of a harsh working class home life. He falls in with a tightknit group of students who give their lives to studying Greek classicism under their beloved teacher, Julian Morrow. The group includes twins Camilla and Charles, closeted homosexual Francis, reclusive Henry, and bigoted slacker Bunny. Their studies lead Richard to discover their attempt to recreate a Bacchanal, hallucinatory manias in worship of the god Dionysus. Bunny discovers that in a bacchanal held without him, Henry accidentally killed a farmer. He uses this to blackmail the group. Out of desperation, the group murders Bunny. The rest of the novel is spent dealing with this crime's aftermath (this murder is described in the prologue, don't worry I didn't give the game away).
Donna Tartt has fashioned a gorgeously written novel full of suspense and a kind of horrifying elegance. If you're a fan of Greek mythology, you will adore this book.
Jemima J, by Jane Green
Jemima Jones is the classic "you'd be gorgeous if you lost weight" case. A a pretty but obese 28-year-old, she's stuck writing copy at a crappy newspaper in Kilburn, London, and spends her nights dealing with two repulsive, slutty roommates. Her only saving graces are her friendships with glamourous, gorgeous Geraldine and the seemingly unattainable love of her life, Ben. While working with online chat for the first time, she stumbles into a friendship with Brad, a California gym rat with the looks of an Adonis. Calling herself 'JJ', Jemima fashions a world in which she is a slim blonde at a fashion magazine, her ideal dream. When Brad insists they meet, Jemima has six months to turn her fantasy into reality. But is the dream really everything she thought it would be?
This book changed my life. I can honestly say that. Jane Green captures the isolation and overwhelming loneliness overweight people face. Yes, Jemima does accomplish her goal: she becomes slim, tan, blonde and gorgeous. But she comes to realize that life does not instantly become better when your looks change. However, the book could actually be a guide for 'DO NOT DO ANY OF THIS WHEN YOU LOSE WEIGHT.' Jemima goes about her weight loss in a drastic fashion. It's not the winning edge, people.
The Princess Bride by S. Morgenstern (Good Parts Version by William Goldman)
Adapting from the original Florinese, screenwriter William Goldman chose to keep only the better parts of a long and fascinating fairy tale. Princess Buttercup is in love with her farm boy, Westley. When he dies at sea, she is forced into a marriage with the overly vain Prince Humperdinck of Florin. What follows afterwards has to be read to be believed.
If you've only seen the movie I urge and implore you to read the book. So much more is in the book that the movie, for all its many many greatnesses, has to pale in comparison. I first read William Goldman's masterpiece when I was eleven years old because the back of the book made me laugh. It read What happens when with most beautiful woman in the world marries the most handsome prince in the world...and he turns out to be a son of a bitch? That is one epic hook. It's like a giant, crushing hug whenever I read this. It gives me tremendous giggle fits. In my opinion, to not like it would be...inconceivable.
Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
Aziraphale is an angel with a love for antique texts. Crowley is a demon that didn't Fall from Grace, so much as 'saunter vaguely downward.' Surprisingly, they're friends, and have been since the Garden of Eden. Now, the Apocalypse is at hand, and they can't locate the Antichrist. Along the way they encounter a reluctant witch-hunter, a passionate occultist, and the only entirely factual prophetic book ever written by a complete loony named Agnes Nutter, all while driving a car that only plays Queen.
This book is what Douglas Adams would have written if he decided to use his zany, off-center humor to tackle the subject of the Endtimes. It combines the witty grace of Neil Gaiman and the offbeat, laugh out loud hilarity of Pratchett and exploits them to the full. The Rapture was never so hilarious.
My Life In France by Julia Child
The world-renowned chef and her adoring husband Paul make France their home in the formative post-war years. Their life and love is chronicled with elegant care by Child in this, her second autobiography. While the book detours into their time spent in Germany as well as Scandinavia, it is clear Julia's true love will always be France.
What is there not to love about this book? Full of loving descriptions of crammed apartments full of warmth (and pots and pans!), an almost-rapturous first taste of sole menuiere, and a love story that lasted for forty years. Julia clearly shows her sense of humor, sharp tongue, and brilliant mind and enthusiasm. What I most love about this book is how much her joy leaps off the page (exclamation points permeate the narrative). I have yet to see Julie and Julia, but I feel that Child's story will be my favorite of the two viewpoints.
Now, off to work out, shower, and get ready for rehearsal. Who's rooting for who this weekend in the Super Bowl? I say "Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints? Who dat? Who dat?"
Thursday, January 28, 2010
don't mess with the shaq-tus
Another quiet night at home. The snow has settled down to a low roar (although the thunder earlier? With the lightening? I thought the world was about to end), the Amy's Kitchen Tomato Soup I just ate is settling in nicely, and the wind is howling at my door.
I'm currently fighting off a sore throat/sinus combination that will either be nothing at all or H1N1. My plan to nip this in the bud is simple: subsist on soup, steamed kale, and fruit, and hole up in bed reading the cadre of magazines that have suddenly piled up for the month of February. Rehearsal was cancelled so I relished my night off with fluff literature. So far I've managed to get through Elle, Self, and Glamour. Somewhere, my copies of Dickens and Chaucer are crying in their jackets, begging me to read them. When I'm sick, I can't pay attention to elaborate plot devices and eloquent literary theory. I want pretty pictures and I want them now.
Starting to believe that any form of illness automatically turns me into Veruca Salt. C'est la vie.
If you get Sports Illustrated, chances are you saw the article this week about whether or not our dominance is good for the sport. Some say it's not. I say 'hell yes it is!' My opinion is that the other teams in our league (and across Division 1) should see our work ethic, our commitment to excellence, and our determination, and step up their game. Rise up to meet our level. Or else prepare for an epic beatdown. We haven't had the number one recruiting class since Maya's came in. Since then, most of the highly touted players have gone to other schools. Good players, yes, but it takes a coach of superior ability and skill to make good players great. We even lost the number one player out of highschool, remember. We are unstoppable because we have a great team, not great individual players (although we have that as well). We are in the top ten in team stats, not individual stats. Individuality does not exist here. One team, one effort, one championship.
Onward!
Aside from laying in bed and destroying my brain all day with mindnumbing descriptions of Spring/Summer Fashion Week (although the McQueen SS2010 collection is TO DIE FOR), I also went grocery shopping today at that most holy of food stores, Whole Foods. Yes, I know their CEO is a douche who doesn't believe in health care reform. But dammit my local grocery does not keep the entirety of Amy's Kitchen products in stock, so I must trek to Glastonbury and get my fill from the Whole Foods there.
I sincerely hope all of my readers have had the incandescent pleasure of stepping inside a Whole Foods Market. I took Nonna there a few weeks ago and I thought she was going to have a stroke. I try to get something different every single time I go, and this time I went a bit bananas. What DIDN'T I get should have been the right question. I got organic ice cream, vegan burritos, Icelandic strained yogurt (or as they call it, skyr), rice milk, red and green kale, and pounds upon pounds of wild cod and chicken. I also bit the bullet and bought some bison burgers (wow, I win at life for my alliterative phrasing). Ever since I started work at Mohegan I've been craving a good oldfashioned burger, but I don't eat steak or cow's beef anymore. Enter the mighty bison to solve all of my problems for me! It's going to be a feast on the level of Dances With Wolves...however, there shall be zero consumption of bison tongue a la Kevin Costner. Gross.
I have worked out a grand total of twice this week. I have zero problem with this, seeing as I'm sick and I want my body to recover, plus tomorrow I'll have to get up early anyway to work out before my job begins at noon. Ah, Mohegan Sun. How you mess with my internal clock...
ally
ps. i'm aware this post was pretty pointless.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
you're crazy mac. crazy delicious.
That commercial for the new Big Mac Wrap makes me want to gouge my eyes out. Who on earth thinks that's a good idea? The whole purpose and grand tradition of the Big Mac is very simple: humongous burger piled high with cholesterol and the secret sauce (shhhhh, it's Thousand Island dressing). If you read that article I linked to, an entire world of Big Mac culture will open up before your very eyes. I for one had no idea that in order to get the same exact amount of sauce on every Big Mac, a special squirt gun is implemented.
When your hamburger requires weaponry, maybe it's time to order a salad and reevaluate.
You probably weren't expecting me to start an analysis of College GameDay with a treatise on that most American of foodstuffs, were you? But here we are. I'll get to the Notre Dame game in a second but I first want to comment on the Marquette game.
I watched that game over at my sister's house with Jen, Mom, and Nonna. We were begging the TV to end the game prematurely, as if Zeus or Brigid (Irish fire goddess) would start throwing flaming balls and blow up the mechanism. That was one ugly game, inside and out. We all knew immediately what Dad's intention was when he had Caroline hold the ball, although he may have lost himself a few fans from the Marquette area. The boos hurt, I won't lie. But it was necessary. Did you see when Meghan got slaughtered and no whistle was blown? Godawful officiating can result in serious injury, and lord knows our bench is light as it is.
Then Saturday came, and I wished I was free to attend Game Day with my Mom. Unfortunately, I'm currently serving as assistant director of a kid's show at my old children's theater and rehearsals are held every Saturday at 10AM to noon. I had a great time with all of them-we're performing Fiddler on the Roof, Jr.-but I wished I could've gone to see all of the kids. I watched the ESPN footage and was blown away by their enthusiasm, signs, and body paint. Maybe more students will come to the games now?
If I have one complaint about the Game Day coverage it's that the team (Jay, Digger, Hubert, etc.) didn't spend nearly enough time talking about women's basketball. Sure, Brittany Griner got a great ten minute segment near the end, and Tennessee was mentioned. But guys, you're covering a women's game, in a predominantly women's basketball-focused environment (the less said about the men's appearance at Michigan this weekend, the better). Surely you have something to say about Ohio State's Samantha Prehalis, or Nebraska and Wisconsin-Green Bay's undefeated seasons, or anything at all. It drives me nuts that the only coverage given to women's basketball in the regular season on ESPN that's not us is the Louisville/Georgetown brawl. What is this, 1970? Has Title IX not passed your offices?
That said, I give all the credit on the planet to Doris. She really knows her stuff and is a joy to listen to. I've met her several times and she's a great woman as well.
After my day of slowing getting nervous/yelling at my Nonna to stop making me nervous, I met with my friend Justine for dinner at Chili's (gotta love their grilled salmon). I was so excited to see her. She works at the Dunkin Donuts sample truck for New England events such as concerts at the Dodge and the GHO (I scored a regulation-sized iced coffee when I went to the John Mayer concert two years ago. PERKS), and was a manager for Dad until she graduated two years ago (a year after I did) and we've been friends for about five years, when I came to visit practice and we bonded over our mutual love of Eddie Izzard and Dane Cook. We had a fantastic time at the restaurant, catching up on old times and promising to hang out more often. My mom was able to get her a ticket to the game, so we also got to sit together!
I have not seen Gampel that amped up since we played North Carolina in 2008 (when Charde rose from the dead and carried us in the second half). When Caroline hit that three to put us up by about 15, I knew we were going to blow them out. In a way I felt bad-Notre Dame clearly is a better team than that. But we have a tendency, or a mission, to make very good teams go sour. No less than four times I turned to Justine and said, with a kind of shocked wonder, "We make teams look awful, don't we."
Some of the ref-ing should have been more circumspect, sure, but the charging fouls-all four hundred of them-were very much on point. We played our hearts out for that first half, which carried us through a less than stellar second. I agreed with Dick Vitale with his theory that the reason women's basketball doesn't excite the populace the way men's does is that there's much less parity in the women's game. With men, you get a lot more chances for the surprise victory, the shocking upset, the underdogs. In the women's game, you have teams that flare up and then they're gone. There's not a lot of teams with great staying power such as Tennessee or us. Is that the fault of the players on those other teams? No. I'm not sure what contributes to it. But there are a lot of teams right now that are slowing climbing those ranks of favor. Baylor has a great team this year. Tennessee is climbing back after a tough year (although losing all of your starters plus your first off the bench will do that). Stanford has a great lineup. Ohio State is accomplishing great things. It's going to be a very interesting-and exciting-couple of years.
I can't even tell you how proud I am of Tina for how she performed during the Notre Dame game, and this season in general. Maya got all the publicity before the Stanford game and Tina ended up having the better game. Tina is, quite simply, a monster. When Jenna texted me during a game I could not attend earlier this year, she ended her message with "TINA'S A BEAST." Truer words never spoken. She has transformed from a sometimes performer to an all-around All-American. If she doesn't win Player of the Year I'll eat my water bottle.
I couldn't watch the Duke game live last night, as I had rehearsal for Bus Stop. But I will be watching it sometime later on this afternoon. Any game where Lorin Dixon has a four-point play is worth watching, no matter what the score is.
Speaking of Bus Stop, I will be letting everyone know when tickets go on sale. We had our first run of the first act last night, and aside from a bruised rib from when I got thrown over someone's shoulder, it went extremely well. The only hiccup of the night came from our photoshoot for publicity stills. No blonde wig was to be found, so I had to use my own hair which is decidedly not blonde, and my dress's zipper popped as I put it on meaning that all my shots had to be taken on a tilt. Plus, my sequins kept popping off the bodice, and it's a very old vintage dress so the waist is decidedly waspish. A costar joked he'd catch all the sequins, and I said to him, "You're going to have to catch this dress, it's about to pop right off of me."
Ah, if only that could assure ticket sales...
ally
When your hamburger requires weaponry, maybe it's time to order a salad and reevaluate.
You probably weren't expecting me to start an analysis of College GameDay with a treatise on that most American of foodstuffs, were you? But here we are. I'll get to the Notre Dame game in a second but I first want to comment on the Marquette game.
I watched that game over at my sister's house with Jen, Mom, and Nonna. We were begging the TV to end the game prematurely, as if Zeus or Brigid (Irish fire goddess) would start throwing flaming balls and blow up the mechanism. That was one ugly game, inside and out. We all knew immediately what Dad's intention was when he had Caroline hold the ball, although he may have lost himself a few fans from the Marquette area. The boos hurt, I won't lie. But it was necessary. Did you see when Meghan got slaughtered and no whistle was blown? Godawful officiating can result in serious injury, and lord knows our bench is light as it is.
Then Saturday came, and I wished I was free to attend Game Day with my Mom. Unfortunately, I'm currently serving as assistant director of a kid's show at my old children's theater and rehearsals are held every Saturday at 10AM to noon. I had a great time with all of them-we're performing Fiddler on the Roof, Jr.-but I wished I could've gone to see all of the kids. I watched the ESPN footage and was blown away by their enthusiasm, signs, and body paint. Maybe more students will come to the games now?
If I have one complaint about the Game Day coverage it's that the team (Jay, Digger, Hubert, etc.) didn't spend nearly enough time talking about women's basketball. Sure, Brittany Griner got a great ten minute segment near the end, and Tennessee was mentioned. But guys, you're covering a women's game, in a predominantly women's basketball-focused environment (the less said about the men's appearance at Michigan this weekend, the better). Surely you have something to say about Ohio State's Samantha Prehalis, or Nebraska and Wisconsin-Green Bay's undefeated seasons, or anything at all. It drives me nuts that the only coverage given to women's basketball in the regular season on ESPN that's not us is the Louisville/Georgetown brawl. What is this, 1970? Has Title IX not passed your offices?
That said, I give all the credit on the planet to Doris. She really knows her stuff and is a joy to listen to. I've met her several times and she's a great woman as well.
After my day of slowing getting nervous/yelling at my Nonna to stop making me nervous, I met with my friend Justine for dinner at Chili's (gotta love their grilled salmon). I was so excited to see her. She works at the Dunkin Donuts sample truck for New England events such as concerts at the Dodge and the GHO (I scored a regulation-sized iced coffee when I went to the John Mayer concert two years ago. PERKS), and was a manager for Dad until she graduated two years ago (a year after I did) and we've been friends for about five years, when I came to visit practice and we bonded over our mutual love of Eddie Izzard and Dane Cook. We had a fantastic time at the restaurant, catching up on old times and promising to hang out more often. My mom was able to get her a ticket to the game, so we also got to sit together!
I have not seen Gampel that amped up since we played North Carolina in 2008 (when Charde rose from the dead and carried us in the second half). When Caroline hit that three to put us up by about 15, I knew we were going to blow them out. In a way I felt bad-Notre Dame clearly is a better team than that. But we have a tendency, or a mission, to make very good teams go sour. No less than four times I turned to Justine and said, with a kind of shocked wonder, "We make teams look awful, don't we."
Some of the ref-ing should have been more circumspect, sure, but the charging fouls-all four hundred of them-were very much on point. We played our hearts out for that first half, which carried us through a less than stellar second. I agreed with Dick Vitale with his theory that the reason women's basketball doesn't excite the populace the way men's does is that there's much less parity in the women's game. With men, you get a lot more chances for the surprise victory, the shocking upset, the underdogs. In the women's game, you have teams that flare up and then they're gone. There's not a lot of teams with great staying power such as Tennessee or us. Is that the fault of the players on those other teams? No. I'm not sure what contributes to it. But there are a lot of teams right now that are slowing climbing those ranks of favor. Baylor has a great team this year. Tennessee is climbing back after a tough year (although losing all of your starters plus your first off the bench will do that). Stanford has a great lineup. Ohio State is accomplishing great things. It's going to be a very interesting-and exciting-couple of years.
I can't even tell you how proud I am of Tina for how she performed during the Notre Dame game, and this season in general. Maya got all the publicity before the Stanford game and Tina ended up having the better game. Tina is, quite simply, a monster. When Jenna texted me during a game I could not attend earlier this year, she ended her message with "TINA'S A BEAST." Truer words never spoken. She has transformed from a sometimes performer to an all-around All-American. If she doesn't win Player of the Year I'll eat my water bottle.
I couldn't watch the Duke game live last night, as I had rehearsal for Bus Stop. But I will be watching it sometime later on this afternoon. Any game where Lorin Dixon has a four-point play is worth watching, no matter what the score is.
Speaking of Bus Stop, I will be letting everyone know when tickets go on sale. We had our first run of the first act last night, and aside from a bruised rib from when I got thrown over someone's shoulder, it went extremely well. The only hiccup of the night came from our photoshoot for publicity stills. No blonde wig was to be found, so I had to use my own hair which is decidedly not blonde, and my dress's zipper popped as I put it on meaning that all my shots had to be taken on a tilt. Plus, my sequins kept popping off the bodice, and it's a very old vintage dress so the waist is decidedly waspish. A costar joked he'd catch all the sequins, and I said to him, "You're going to have to catch this dress, it's about to pop right off of me."
Ah, if only that could assure ticket sales...
ally
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
i could be the walrus, i'd still have to bum rides off people.
First of all: Thank you so much to those of you who wrote (or tweeted) to me about my last entry. It really meant a lot to know I had struck a chord. I wrote that about two months ago in response to a friend who's been trying to lose weight but it hasn't clicked yet. I trust that it will, but you can't force that kind of thing. All of your comments meant the world to me, but the biggest one came from my sister. She texted me with the simple message "I am so proud of you." That's all that I care about; my parents and family being proud of me.
Last night, a miracle occurred. I, Alysa Auriemma, became an acting teacher.
Now, if you know me in real life, or went to drama school with me, I expect your reaction to be one of rolling around the floor, laughing parts of your anatomy off. My idea of organization is moving one pile of laundry on top of another pile of laundry so my computer can get plugged in. To teach a group of kids about acting without getting committed for public humiliation is daunting, to put it extremely mildly.
I met with my kids at about 5:30. It's a group of four, which right about now is all that I can handle. They are a great group. Bright, committed, and focused. They're also hilarious, and they laughed at my pitiful attempts at comedy. And suddenly, I could feel myself channeling the ghosts of DRAMU past.
(For those of you who did not attend UCONN Drama School, feel free to skip the next paragraph. It does not apply to you, and you won't get it.)
Within five minutes, my nerves had dissolved. For I wasn't myself anymore. I was Karen Ryker, expounding the merits of commedia dell'arte and Greek messenger speeches (whilst telling my students that unless they REALLY WANTED ME to teach them those techniques, I wouldn't be). A few sentences later, I assumed the muscular grace of Kristen Wold, showing them stances from Suzuki (although had Kristen been there she would have definitely critiqued my form). At the end of the class, through my love of dialects...yes, ladies and gentlemen, I morphed into David Alan Stern (BAWDY. BLOODY. VILLAIN). And then, just for nostalgia's sake, I threw in a bit of Jean Sabatine (We're going to do monologue essences! JOY!).
A few of them really want to bone up up theatre history, which, judging by their blank faces when I referenced Oedipus Rex, is a definite concern for me. I told them not to be worried if they didn't get all of my obscure referrals. There is a difference between being a theatre snob and a theatre nerd. As I nerd, I accept when others don't have the same knowledge of film and theatre as I do.
One thing I definitely do not plan on doing in my class is the type of emotional soul-searching that was required of all UCONN drama graduates. I still have on tape a monologue coaching session done in front of my other classmates where a simple exercise in grounding methods dissolved into a confessional about my childhood abuse from fellow classmates. I stand by it again and again-acting is the cheapest form of therapy you can possibly get your hands on.
Now, it's time for a new segment on this blog titled: Ally's Recommendations! In the following list (which will be done every Wednesday), I hope to pass on some knowledge of a new book, CD, film, TV show, or other medium that I find great and I want to recommend, hence the title of this section. (that sentence was entirely too redundant for my liking but I can't really make it any better!) This week it will be: music!
Music
Ally Recommends: Elizabeth and the Catapult, Taller Children
Like if Sarah Bareilles and Regina Spektor had a baby in Brooklyn that sang like Vienna Teng. Such a fun, upbeat pop record.
Top Tracks: "Taller Children" "Perfectly Perfect", "Momma's Boy"
The Avett Brothers, I And Love And You
A friend of mine wouldn't shut up about this band, so I finally gave them a listen. I am so happy I did. Their music is notoriously difficult to categorize. Are they alternative? Are they bluegrass? Are they country? Are they rock? They're everything, and when the result is this mindblowingly beautiful categories are useless.
Top Tracks: The title track, "Kick Drum Heart"
Lady GaGa, The Fame Monster
All I can say about Lady GaGa is that the other day when pulling into the parking lot of my bank to make a deposit, 'Bad Romance' came on and I drove out of the parking lot and around in a circle for five minutes so I could enjoy the entire thing without interruption. That is how much I love this album. Add Beyonce into the equation, and you've got a record I have not stopped listening to since the day I got it.
Top Tracks: "Bad Romance", "Teeth", "Telephone"
Little Boots, Hands
Oh man. This is such a great electro-pop record. The closest reference I can pull up is Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor, but shhh...I think this record is better (Madonna, as awesome as she is, really terrifies me. Her arm muscles in particular; I think she could kill me with one mighty swipe).
Top Tracks: "New In Town", "Meddle"
Adam Lambert, For Your Entertainment
There has never been a more polarizing contestant on American Idol (well, with the slight exception of Sanjaya). I don't even watch American Idol but when I found out Adam had lost, I pitched a mighty fit. Not only is he the best singer the show has ever produced (Sorry Kelly/David/Carrie, I still love you all!), his presentation is fearless, something I look for in an entertainer. And oh boy, does he entertain. This guy can sing his face off.
Top Tracks: "Music Again", the title track, "Whatya Want From Me", "Fever".
I also highly recommend (as a little bonus since I'm totally obsessed at the moment) the BBC production of Hamlet starring David Tennant (The Tenth Doctor in the Doctor Who series) and Patrick Stewart. It aired on the BBC over the holidays and should be coming to BBCAmerica sometime this year. A friend of mine lives in England and was able to send me a copy, seeing as it's already out on DVD there.
As a great admirer of the play, I can honestly say that David's interpretation is quickly climbing the ranks to become my all-time favorite. Yes, I am including Ken Branagh's version in my analysis. As much as I adore Branagh, he can sometimes make the production all about himself. If there's one thing about Shakespearean acting that I hate, it's the propensity to speak it in the style of "LOOK AT HOW WELL I CAN SPEAK THIS SPEECH, HOW TRIPPINGLY ON THE TONGUE IT GOES, I SHOULD WIN AWARDS FOR THIS WORK." There is zero vanity in David Tennant's portrayal. It is raw, honest, hilarious, sexual, and committed. I seriously and happily endorse it.
Now if someone could put on Hamlet around these parts, I would be first in line...
Ally
PS. Who's going to College Game Day? Show of hands!
Last night, a miracle occurred. I, Alysa Auriemma, became an acting teacher.
Now, if you know me in real life, or went to drama school with me, I expect your reaction to be one of rolling around the floor, laughing parts of your anatomy off. My idea of organization is moving one pile of laundry on top of another pile of laundry so my computer can get plugged in. To teach a group of kids about acting without getting committed for public humiliation is daunting, to put it extremely mildly.
I met with my kids at about 5:30. It's a group of four, which right about now is all that I can handle. They are a great group. Bright, committed, and focused. They're also hilarious, and they laughed at my pitiful attempts at comedy. And suddenly, I could feel myself channeling the ghosts of DRAMU past.
(For those of you who did not attend UCONN Drama School, feel free to skip the next paragraph. It does not apply to you, and you won't get it.)
Within five minutes, my nerves had dissolved. For I wasn't myself anymore. I was Karen Ryker, expounding the merits of commedia dell'arte and Greek messenger speeches (whilst telling my students that unless they REALLY WANTED ME to teach them those techniques, I wouldn't be). A few sentences later, I assumed the muscular grace of Kristen Wold, showing them stances from Suzuki (although had Kristen been there she would have definitely critiqued my form). At the end of the class, through my love of dialects...yes, ladies and gentlemen, I morphed into David Alan Stern (BAWDY. BLOODY. VILLAIN). And then, just for nostalgia's sake, I threw in a bit of Jean Sabatine (We're going to do monologue essences! JOY!).
A few of them really want to bone up up theatre history, which, judging by their blank faces when I referenced Oedipus Rex, is a definite concern for me. I told them not to be worried if they didn't get all of my obscure referrals. There is a difference between being a theatre snob and a theatre nerd. As I nerd, I accept when others don't have the same knowledge of film and theatre as I do.
One thing I definitely do not plan on doing in my class is the type of emotional soul-searching that was required of all UCONN drama graduates. I still have on tape a monologue coaching session done in front of my other classmates where a simple exercise in grounding methods dissolved into a confessional about my childhood abuse from fellow classmates. I stand by it again and again-acting is the cheapest form of therapy you can possibly get your hands on.
Now, it's time for a new segment on this blog titled: Ally's Recommendations! In the following list (which will be done every Wednesday), I hope to pass on some knowledge of a new book, CD, film, TV show, or other medium that I find great and I want to recommend, hence the title of this section. (that sentence was entirely too redundant for my liking but I can't really make it any better!) This week it will be: music!
Music
Ally Recommends: Elizabeth and the Catapult, Taller Children
Like if Sarah Bareilles and Regina Spektor had a baby in Brooklyn that sang like Vienna Teng. Such a fun, upbeat pop record.
Top Tracks: "Taller Children" "Perfectly Perfect", "Momma's Boy"
The Avett Brothers, I And Love And You
A friend of mine wouldn't shut up about this band, so I finally gave them a listen. I am so happy I did. Their music is notoriously difficult to categorize. Are they alternative? Are they bluegrass? Are they country? Are they rock? They're everything, and when the result is this mindblowingly beautiful categories are useless.
Top Tracks: The title track, "Kick Drum Heart"
Lady GaGa, The Fame Monster
All I can say about Lady GaGa is that the other day when pulling into the parking lot of my bank to make a deposit, 'Bad Romance' came on and I drove out of the parking lot and around in a circle for five minutes so I could enjoy the entire thing without interruption. That is how much I love this album. Add Beyonce into the equation, and you've got a record I have not stopped listening to since the day I got it.
Top Tracks: "Bad Romance", "Teeth", "Telephone"
Little Boots, Hands
Oh man. This is such a great electro-pop record. The closest reference I can pull up is Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor, but shhh...I think this record is better (Madonna, as awesome as she is, really terrifies me. Her arm muscles in particular; I think she could kill me with one mighty swipe).
Top Tracks: "New In Town", "Meddle"
Adam Lambert, For Your Entertainment
There has never been a more polarizing contestant on American Idol (well, with the slight exception of Sanjaya). I don't even watch American Idol but when I found out Adam had lost, I pitched a mighty fit. Not only is he the best singer the show has ever produced (Sorry Kelly/David/Carrie, I still love you all!), his presentation is fearless, something I look for in an entertainer. And oh boy, does he entertain. This guy can sing his face off.
Top Tracks: "Music Again", the title track, "Whatya Want From Me", "Fever".
I also highly recommend (as a little bonus since I'm totally obsessed at the moment) the BBC production of Hamlet starring David Tennant (The Tenth Doctor in the Doctor Who series) and Patrick Stewart. It aired on the BBC over the holidays and should be coming to BBCAmerica sometime this year. A friend of mine lives in England and was able to send me a copy, seeing as it's already out on DVD there.
As a great admirer of the play, I can honestly say that David's interpretation is quickly climbing the ranks to become my all-time favorite. Yes, I am including Ken Branagh's version in my analysis. As much as I adore Branagh, he can sometimes make the production all about himself. If there's one thing about Shakespearean acting that I hate, it's the propensity to speak it in the style of "LOOK AT HOW WELL I CAN SPEAK THIS SPEECH, HOW TRIPPINGLY ON THE TONGUE IT GOES, I SHOULD WIN AWARDS FOR THIS WORK." There is zero vanity in David Tennant's portrayal. It is raw, honest, hilarious, sexual, and committed. I seriously and happily endorse it.
Now if someone could put on Hamlet around these parts, I would be first in line...
Ally
PS. Who's going to College Game Day? Show of hands!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Splitting Apart: A Story of Love, Loss, and The Elliptical.
Has anyone ever dealt with Seasonal Depression, or SAD? It's a beast, and not in the way Tina was yesterday. My goodness!
Ever since May, when I casually tossed out a reference to being formerly obese, people have been asking me for quite a while about how I did it, how big I was, and the like. I figured I should answer those questions now, on my one day off of the week. And I hope you've got some popcorn and a comfy chair, because this is a long one folks. After this entry I plan to soak my hands in rock salt, watch Waitress, and sleep for days.
This morning, I woke up and weighed myself. This point was a bit moot, seeing as last night after the game my family went to our favorite local restaurant and ate ourselves silly. Personally, I saved my gluttony for the escarole/white bean veggie cassoulet, one raviolo in a beet reduction, and roasted cod with vegetables. Then, after dinner, I treated myself to a piece of almond chocolate toffee which is graciously sent to our home every year by the Strother family (Hi Ann! Keep it up, our family LOVES that toffee).
Even before I stepped on the scale, I knew what it would say. I was counting on that wonderful number to flash in front of my eyes, and sure enough there it was: 135. The magic number. The number I try to stay around, come hell or high water. Even with the food binge from last night, I am still at this weight. I've gotten as low as 132 (on Christmas Day, of all days!) but I try to stay at the 135 marker. I've been at this weight since July, the longest I've ever successfully maintained a super low weight like this. If it creeps up to 136, 137, I don't mind. It just means I ate something high in sodium. The last time I went over 140 was over a weeklong stay at the shore in August, when I didn't work out and laid about for seven days. I don't freak out nearly as much as I used to about my weight.
If you had told me five years ago that I would be living my life at 132-137 pounds, I would think you totally insane.
I was a stocky child. Not overweight by any means, but just a solid kid. I remember sneak-reading an email my mother wrote to a family friend. She talked about a tap recital I had participated in, saying something to the effect of You should have seen those chubby legs tapdancing in that dress!
As far as food went, I ate anything tied down, provided it wasn't peas (the most disgusting food on the planet). If I wanted cereal, I ate cereal. Pizza, I had that too. Not a whole lot of fruit and vegetables went into my mouth during my childhood years, except for apples, my favorite fruit. My ideal meal was at the snack bar at our country club pool: chicken tenders, fries, and a banana smoothie, along with a few Otis Spunkmeyer cookies. God, just writing that sentence makes my heart ache, both from desire and angina.
I got made fun of, sure. Not because I was fat, mind you, but because I was the only 9-year-old girl within fifty miles rocking a tummy pooch and childbearing hips.
In spite of this, by eighth grade I had managed to become relatively popular. My weight had nothing to do with my popularity, because I wore what everyone else wore, spoke how everyone else spoke, and liked what everyone else liked (although honestly Wild Wild West and The Mummy are damn funny movies and I will spite anyone who tells me otherwise!). I played basketball, soccer, and softball, and food was just something I did with everyone else. I did have a bit of an issue with sneak-eating. But we'll get to that in a moment.
After freshman year of high school I stopped playing sports. My high school was a bit like a college campus, complete with a dining hall that operated in the same vein (as many helpings as you want). Our convenience store, called The Daisy, stocked Hot Pockets and Ben and Jerry's. I started buying them in pints and eating them. Soon, it became a pint a day. I was eating one entire pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. By myself. That is a day's worth of calories.
By sophomore year I was a size 16. By this time, boys were starting to come into the picture. After a few rejections, I turned off that part of my brain and it remained off for years. People say to me 'Oh, bigger girls can get boyfriends too!" This is true. But I never thought of myself as a bigger girl. I would look in the mirror and see someone who weighed 60 pounds less. Even now when I see pictures of myself from back then, I don't see me in any of them. I see someone who looks sort of the same, but isn't. When I finally realized that guys weren't terribly interested in a fat geeky girl, I shut myself off emotionally and became reclusive in my skin.
When I got to college, I majored in drama. I got to my first class and my heart sank-every other girl in my class was drop dead gorgeous. Their faces screamed "INGENUE." Mine said "Chubby funny friend" in a feeble croak. However, freshman year wasn't too bad despite the plethora of options available. I ended up going on South Beach near the end of it, which wasn't too bad although at one point during an incredibly ranty entry in one of my written journals I exploded "I HATE NOT HAVING CARBOHYDRATES!" But on the whole, it worked, and I probably lost about ten pounds in two weeks. I celebrated with Chinese Food, ice cream, and a Coffee Coolatta, which rendered all of my efforts useless.
There is one thing that I miss from these days: my order from the old fast-food joint up at UCONN, Jonathan's. My roommate freshman year would go while I was at rehearsal and buy me chicken tenders and french fries, and when I went on my own I'd get a crispy chicken sandwich, extra mayo, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. I miss it. A lot. I also miss Big Macs with large fries and Diet Cokes way more than I should.
Sophomore year is when my comfort eating began in earnest. I became depressed. I dyed my hair black, wore dark clothing, wrote dark and twisty poetry at 5 AM. I was a fat Goth teen.
This is terribly hard for me to admit, but this would be a typical night: I would go to the 24 hour convenience store (EVIL) every single night after rehearsal-during which, mind you, I would've drank a Venti Caffe Vanilla Frappuccino plus eaten chocolate cake-and buy Orange Milano bags and Sausalito cookies. Or other days when I needed to get dinner, I'd go to Subway near my dorm and get the footlong Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki on parmesan bread w/ a pint of Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chunk. I would eat all of it, and still be hungry. I was never full. Ever.
At a time when other girls were dating boys, falling in love, taking risks and finding themselves, I was eating and retreating into myself. I found my boyfriend, my confidante, and my home in food. A boy wouldn't kiss me but peppermint ice cream from the dining hall would taste delicious no matter what.
Over winter break 2004, I grew sick of looking at myself. A picture of me on New Year's Eve sealed the deal. I looked like a stranger to myself. At my mother's urging I went to a Weight Watchers meeting and absolutely hated it. The idea of counting calories through the Points system seemed simple enough, but I didn't want to rely on a book every single time I went out to dinner. What a buzzkill, right? "Honey, I absolutely love this restaurant, this is a great date night...but I can't have dessert, my Flex Points ran out." Please.
When women stood up and started talking about their horrible relationship with food, I had had enough and begged Mom to get me out of there. I didn't want to stand up every week and bitch about the cake I ate. I wanted to lose weight and just be sensible about it. I also wanted to be like Sarah Jessica Parker in those Gap ads, with the cute tie underneath her perfectly pink sweater and the hipslung jeans. So, I started eating wheat pasta instead of white, drank yogurt smoothies for breakfast, and cut back on my late night cookie binges.
Some people questioned my desire to lose weight. I don't know if they were concerned, or enabling me to stay fat. But I just informed them that because of my line of work, my body needed to be strong and healthy as well as thin. They didn't buy it. I honestly believe they were just scared I would leave them behind.
Over the course of two months in the spring of 2005 I proceeded to lose about thirteen pounds. I did a happy dance of joy when I saw my success reflected in the mirror and in my clothes.
Then I fell off the wagon. Or rather, I let the wagon fall on me. For the next month, I stopped working out and ordered calzones from DP Dough, and welcomed B&J's Brownie Batter back into my life.
I got on the scale in late April and nearly passed out. I had gained back everything I had lost, plus I had passed the dreaded 200 pound marker. I stared at the angry numbers as they blared 202, 202, 202.
I had never been that fat before in my life. My BMI was enough to qualify me as obese. After a moment of terrified shock, I did something new-I got angry. I had never gotten this way at my weight before. If I had seen a number I didn't like, I would've collapsed into myself and felt awful, then ate my way through a plate of cookies. It all ended now. And I would never, ever see that damn number on a scale again.
Over the summer of 2005 I finally got rid of the black hair and began to work on myself. I worked out a lot and lifted weights like crazy (at one point I was doing bicep reps with 20 pound weights). Sure, I ate what I wanted, and my diet wasn't too hot still. But I got moving, and I began to feel myself changing. My arms got humongous but it was muscle. I dropped two pants sizes. My weight wasn't going anywhere but my inches were disappearing.
When I came back to school I realized the value of what I was putting into my body. I started to eat cereal, fruit, salads, soups, and lean meats, and unlike the South Beach fiasco of the year before, this time I did not fall off the wagon. It had finally clicked. Over the course of junior year thanks to a rigorous training schedule and mindful eating I got down to about 167 pounds. I began to love fruit, whole grains, Odwalla Bars, and Greek yogurt. Every Sunday, my day off from work and rehearsal, I cheated with pizza and garlic bread from the cafeteria.
Senior year of college, I returned from summer vacation down to 154 and a size 6/8. I felt amazing but wanted to be a little bit thinner. The 'last ten pounds' struggle began. I began to eat more, thinking I justified it with working out. However, I had gone slack on that aspect of my life as well. I didn't gain, but I didn't lose. I maintained that weight for nearly three years, until this past March. A terrible bout with the flu changed my body composition once again. I felt like a computer which had been restarted. Couple with that my move to New York, and twenty pounds fell off of me. I was reminded of the line in The Last Five Years: 'In a year or so I moved to the city thinking what have I got to lose/Got a room, got a cat, and got twenty pounds thinner.'
All in all, thanks to stepping up my workouts and eating right, I have gotten down to the thinnest weight I have ever been. I'm not emaciated by any means, I hasten to add. I will never, ever have a sixpack, and to have one I would have to starve myself down. Nor am I unhealthy in my means of maintenance, not anymore anyway. There was a point in the fall where I did have a bit of a problem, but thanks to my wonderful family I am working through those issues. My relationship with food is slowly getting healthier. I don't binge anymore, and when I do feel that need it's usually because of boredom. I find something else to do right away to combat those feelings.
As far as physical exertion goes, I work out a lot because I like to. I like that feeling of powering through two hours on the elliptical, and lifting heavy weights and feeling that burn in your arms. I LOVE hitting that 800 calorie marker (and sometimes hitting the 900, if it's a good day!). It is a daily choice I make to maintain this weight. It is a battle I will fight every single day for the rest of my life. I know that my struggle with food will always be there. if I go off the deep end, I don't know how I'll pull myself back. Sometimes, I wish I could eat whatever I wanted. But I don't like how i felt at that weight, and I don't want to be at that weight again. It didn't feel like me. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see me.
At the end of the day it really isn't how much I weigh, it's how I feel at that weight. Right now, I feel good, and healthy, if a bit sleepy. I feel calm and Zen. I feel connected to the earth beneath me and the sky above me.
I didn't cut this part because there are a few people on my friends list who seriously need to hear it.
At the end of the day, true health comes from purely loving yourself, inside and out. We are all flawed and none of us will reach an ideal if we keep sabotaging ourselves through mindless self-hate. The more vitriol you spew towards yourself, the more negativity the universe will bring to you. In my readings about paganism I find myself always coming back to the Wiccan Rede, in particular the Rule of Three. Its creed is simple: Whatever you send out into the universe, be it good or bad, you will get back threefold. It's classic karmic law: do right, and you will be rewarded. Do harm, and you will feel those effects. This can apply to spellwork or simply your universal energy. Whatever you feel, it will be writ across your face. If you take what the universe is giving to you and offer nothing back, you will get nothing in return. If you receive the universe with an open heart, and try your hardest to propel it in a positive manner outwardly, there the benefits lie.
Sometimes, all it takes is sheer will. Growing up, all I wanted was to be happy. I was terrified of being a failure to my family. And moving home was a risk that I did not want to take, for fear it would make me out to be a failure. Now look at me. I'm working hard at my new job, I'm going to be teaching kids, I'm hopefully attending grad school next year so I can become a full-time writer, and I'm on a brand new, spiritual path. Life is wonderful if you allow your eyes to see it.
Now if I could just get rid of these winter blues...
ally
Ever since May, when I casually tossed out a reference to being formerly obese, people have been asking me for quite a while about how I did it, how big I was, and the like. I figured I should answer those questions now, on my one day off of the week. And I hope you've got some popcorn and a comfy chair, because this is a long one folks. After this entry I plan to soak my hands in rock salt, watch Waitress, and sleep for days.
This morning, I woke up and weighed myself. This point was a bit moot, seeing as last night after the game my family went to our favorite local restaurant and ate ourselves silly. Personally, I saved my gluttony for the escarole/white bean veggie cassoulet, one raviolo in a beet reduction, and roasted cod with vegetables. Then, after dinner, I treated myself to a piece of almond chocolate toffee which is graciously sent to our home every year by the Strother family (Hi Ann! Keep it up, our family LOVES that toffee).
Even before I stepped on the scale, I knew what it would say. I was counting on that wonderful number to flash in front of my eyes, and sure enough there it was: 135. The magic number. The number I try to stay around, come hell or high water. Even with the food binge from last night, I am still at this weight. I've gotten as low as 132 (on Christmas Day, of all days!) but I try to stay at the 135 marker. I've been at this weight since July, the longest I've ever successfully maintained a super low weight like this. If it creeps up to 136, 137, I don't mind. It just means I ate something high in sodium. The last time I went over 140 was over a weeklong stay at the shore in August, when I didn't work out and laid about for seven days. I don't freak out nearly as much as I used to about my weight.
If you had told me five years ago that I would be living my life at 132-137 pounds, I would think you totally insane.
I was a stocky child. Not overweight by any means, but just a solid kid. I remember sneak-reading an email my mother wrote to a family friend. She talked about a tap recital I had participated in, saying something to the effect of You should have seen those chubby legs tapdancing in that dress!
As far as food went, I ate anything tied down, provided it wasn't peas (the most disgusting food on the planet). If I wanted cereal, I ate cereal. Pizza, I had that too. Not a whole lot of fruit and vegetables went into my mouth during my childhood years, except for apples, my favorite fruit. My ideal meal was at the snack bar at our country club pool: chicken tenders, fries, and a banana smoothie, along with a few Otis Spunkmeyer cookies. God, just writing that sentence makes my heart ache, both from desire and angina.
I got made fun of, sure. Not because I was fat, mind you, but because I was the only 9-year-old girl within fifty miles rocking a tummy pooch and childbearing hips.
In spite of this, by eighth grade I had managed to become relatively popular. My weight had nothing to do with my popularity, because I wore what everyone else wore, spoke how everyone else spoke, and liked what everyone else liked (although honestly Wild Wild West and The Mummy are damn funny movies and I will spite anyone who tells me otherwise!). I played basketball, soccer, and softball, and food was just something I did with everyone else. I did have a bit of an issue with sneak-eating. But we'll get to that in a moment.
After freshman year of high school I stopped playing sports. My high school was a bit like a college campus, complete with a dining hall that operated in the same vein (as many helpings as you want). Our convenience store, called The Daisy, stocked Hot Pockets and Ben and Jerry's. I started buying them in pints and eating them. Soon, it became a pint a day. I was eating one entire pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. By myself. That is a day's worth of calories.
By sophomore year I was a size 16. By this time, boys were starting to come into the picture. After a few rejections, I turned off that part of my brain and it remained off for years. People say to me 'Oh, bigger girls can get boyfriends too!" This is true. But I never thought of myself as a bigger girl. I would look in the mirror and see someone who weighed 60 pounds less. Even now when I see pictures of myself from back then, I don't see me in any of them. I see someone who looks sort of the same, but isn't. When I finally realized that guys weren't terribly interested in a fat geeky girl, I shut myself off emotionally and became reclusive in my skin.
When I got to college, I majored in drama. I got to my first class and my heart sank-every other girl in my class was drop dead gorgeous. Their faces screamed "INGENUE." Mine said "Chubby funny friend" in a feeble croak. However, freshman year wasn't too bad despite the plethora of options available. I ended up going on South Beach near the end of it, which wasn't too bad although at one point during an incredibly ranty entry in one of my written journals I exploded "I HATE NOT HAVING CARBOHYDRATES!" But on the whole, it worked, and I probably lost about ten pounds in two weeks. I celebrated with Chinese Food, ice cream, and a Coffee Coolatta, which rendered all of my efforts useless.
There is one thing that I miss from these days: my order from the old fast-food joint up at UCONN, Jonathan's. My roommate freshman year would go while I was at rehearsal and buy me chicken tenders and french fries, and when I went on my own I'd get a crispy chicken sandwich, extra mayo, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. I miss it. A lot. I also miss Big Macs with large fries and Diet Cokes way more than I should.
Sophomore year is when my comfort eating began in earnest. I became depressed. I dyed my hair black, wore dark clothing, wrote dark and twisty poetry at 5 AM. I was a fat Goth teen.
This is terribly hard for me to admit, but this would be a typical night: I would go to the 24 hour convenience store (EVIL) every single night after rehearsal-during which, mind you, I would've drank a Venti Caffe Vanilla Frappuccino plus eaten chocolate cake-and buy Orange Milano bags and Sausalito cookies. Or other days when I needed to get dinner, I'd go to Subway near my dorm and get the footlong Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki on parmesan bread w/ a pint of Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chunk. I would eat all of it, and still be hungry. I was never full. Ever.
At a time when other girls were dating boys, falling in love, taking risks and finding themselves, I was eating and retreating into myself. I found my boyfriend, my confidante, and my home in food. A boy wouldn't kiss me but peppermint ice cream from the dining hall would taste delicious no matter what.
Over winter break 2004, I grew sick of looking at myself. A picture of me on New Year's Eve sealed the deal. I looked like a stranger to myself. At my mother's urging I went to a Weight Watchers meeting and absolutely hated it. The idea of counting calories through the Points system seemed simple enough, but I didn't want to rely on a book every single time I went out to dinner. What a buzzkill, right? "Honey, I absolutely love this restaurant, this is a great date night...but I can't have dessert, my Flex Points ran out." Please.
When women stood up and started talking about their horrible relationship with food, I had had enough and begged Mom to get me out of there. I didn't want to stand up every week and bitch about the cake I ate. I wanted to lose weight and just be sensible about it. I also wanted to be like Sarah Jessica Parker in those Gap ads, with the cute tie underneath her perfectly pink sweater and the hipslung jeans. So, I started eating wheat pasta instead of white, drank yogurt smoothies for breakfast, and cut back on my late night cookie binges.
Some people questioned my desire to lose weight. I don't know if they were concerned, or enabling me to stay fat. But I just informed them that because of my line of work, my body needed to be strong and healthy as well as thin. They didn't buy it. I honestly believe they were just scared I would leave them behind.
Over the course of two months in the spring of 2005 I proceeded to lose about thirteen pounds. I did a happy dance of joy when I saw my success reflected in the mirror and in my clothes.
Then I fell off the wagon. Or rather, I let the wagon fall on me. For the next month, I stopped working out and ordered calzones from DP Dough, and welcomed B&J's Brownie Batter back into my life.
I got on the scale in late April and nearly passed out. I had gained back everything I had lost, plus I had passed the dreaded 200 pound marker. I stared at the angry numbers as they blared 202, 202, 202.
I had never been that fat before in my life. My BMI was enough to qualify me as obese. After a moment of terrified shock, I did something new-I got angry. I had never gotten this way at my weight before. If I had seen a number I didn't like, I would've collapsed into myself and felt awful, then ate my way through a plate of cookies. It all ended now. And I would never, ever see that damn number on a scale again.
Over the summer of 2005 I finally got rid of the black hair and began to work on myself. I worked out a lot and lifted weights like crazy (at one point I was doing bicep reps with 20 pound weights). Sure, I ate what I wanted, and my diet wasn't too hot still. But I got moving, and I began to feel myself changing. My arms got humongous but it was muscle. I dropped two pants sizes. My weight wasn't going anywhere but my inches were disappearing.
When I came back to school I realized the value of what I was putting into my body. I started to eat cereal, fruit, salads, soups, and lean meats, and unlike the South Beach fiasco of the year before, this time I did not fall off the wagon. It had finally clicked. Over the course of junior year thanks to a rigorous training schedule and mindful eating I got down to about 167 pounds. I began to love fruit, whole grains, Odwalla Bars, and Greek yogurt. Every Sunday, my day off from work and rehearsal, I cheated with pizza and garlic bread from the cafeteria.
Senior year of college, I returned from summer vacation down to 154 and a size 6/8. I felt amazing but wanted to be a little bit thinner. The 'last ten pounds' struggle began. I began to eat more, thinking I justified it with working out. However, I had gone slack on that aspect of my life as well. I didn't gain, but I didn't lose. I maintained that weight for nearly three years, until this past March. A terrible bout with the flu changed my body composition once again. I felt like a computer which had been restarted. Couple with that my move to New York, and twenty pounds fell off of me. I was reminded of the line in The Last Five Years: 'In a year or so I moved to the city thinking what have I got to lose/Got a room, got a cat, and got twenty pounds thinner.'
All in all, thanks to stepping up my workouts and eating right, I have gotten down to the thinnest weight I have ever been. I'm not emaciated by any means, I hasten to add. I will never, ever have a sixpack, and to have one I would have to starve myself down. Nor am I unhealthy in my means of maintenance, not anymore anyway. There was a point in the fall where I did have a bit of a problem, but thanks to my wonderful family I am working through those issues. My relationship with food is slowly getting healthier. I don't binge anymore, and when I do feel that need it's usually because of boredom. I find something else to do right away to combat those feelings.
As far as physical exertion goes, I work out a lot because I like to. I like that feeling of powering through two hours on the elliptical, and lifting heavy weights and feeling that burn in your arms. I LOVE hitting that 800 calorie marker (and sometimes hitting the 900, if it's a good day!). It is a daily choice I make to maintain this weight. It is a battle I will fight every single day for the rest of my life. I know that my struggle with food will always be there. if I go off the deep end, I don't know how I'll pull myself back. Sometimes, I wish I could eat whatever I wanted. But I don't like how i felt at that weight, and I don't want to be at that weight again. It didn't feel like me. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see me.
At the end of the day it really isn't how much I weigh, it's how I feel at that weight. Right now, I feel good, and healthy, if a bit sleepy. I feel calm and Zen. I feel connected to the earth beneath me and the sky above me.
I didn't cut this part because there are a few people on my friends list who seriously need to hear it.
At the end of the day, true health comes from purely loving yourself, inside and out. We are all flawed and none of us will reach an ideal if we keep sabotaging ourselves through mindless self-hate. The more vitriol you spew towards yourself, the more negativity the universe will bring to you. In my readings about paganism I find myself always coming back to the Wiccan Rede, in particular the Rule of Three. Its creed is simple: Whatever you send out into the universe, be it good or bad, you will get back threefold. It's classic karmic law: do right, and you will be rewarded. Do harm, and you will feel those effects. This can apply to spellwork or simply your universal energy. Whatever you feel, it will be writ across your face. If you take what the universe is giving to you and offer nothing back, you will get nothing in return. If you receive the universe with an open heart, and try your hardest to propel it in a positive manner outwardly, there the benefits lie.
Sometimes, all it takes is sheer will. Growing up, all I wanted was to be happy. I was terrified of being a failure to my family. And moving home was a risk that I did not want to take, for fear it would make me out to be a failure. Now look at me. I'm working hard at my new job, I'm going to be teaching kids, I'm hopefully attending grad school next year so I can become a full-time writer, and I'm on a brand new, spiritual path. Life is wonderful if you allow your eyes to see it.
Now if I could just get rid of these winter blues...
ally
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
coffee coffee buzz buzz buzz.
This is one of those posts, I can tell. The meandering sort of writing that stems from too much coffee consumption and some free time. I do have plans today, although not until a little bit later. Sometime this week I plan on visiting my gym and seeing about perhaps filling my weekdays with working there. Ah, the price I pay for only working on the weekends (although all of my nights are taken with rehearsals and teaching, so I think I'm busy enough!). So right now, while waiting for Mom give me her grocery list and depositing my checks, I'm hanging out, watching The Wizard of Oz (my sister hates this movie on account of all the little people in it. It's why she won't watch anything on TLC).
Unfortunately, once again, I can't go to the North Carolina game because of work commitments. At least I'll be able to watch the game while I'm working since I'll be at Mohegan Sun. I couldn't go last time either because of work, but I ended up being able to watch the second half since my boss let me go home a bit earlier than usual. I ran into the house and turned on the TV just as Maya hit that three to put us up by 1 in the second half. I didn't take off my coat. I stood in front of the TV, in my white puffer jacket, pacing back and forth.
My Nonna and I are so much more alike than I really care to admit. We both get scared to death at the first sign of trouble in a game. I think I'm still freaked from the Final Four Stanford game in 2008. I woke up that morning and for the entire day, I felt off. Something just didn't jibe in my bones about the game that night, and I didn't tell anybody until the second half when it was clear we weren't going to win. That's when I let it slip: I knew we weren't going to win the entire game. Even when we made a little run near the end, I knew it wouldn't be enough. That game just broke my heart, which sounds like blatant exaggeration, but when you live and die by the buzzer like my family does, it feels like the end of the world.
We are incredibly spoiled. When we lose, everyone freaks out and asks 'What happened?' When we win by 18, people say to us "Wow, that was a close one." We've been killing people by 70 and message boards complain of shooting slumps. In an age when immediate satisfaction is de rigueur, we want total perfection and we want it now, now, now. It's like my Dad said on Meghan's show the other day: These aren't iPods. These are women between 18 and 22. Sometimes the button goes on right away and sometimes it doesn't. They'll snap out of it. It's January, for goodness sake.
Thank you to everyone for asking me those wonderful questions on Formspring. Keep them coming! Although it'd be fun to answer questions about myself rather than my father. Starting in the summer, I plan to direct this blog slightly more towards my own endeavors rather than Dad's. Once grad school starts I also plan to use my other blog more often. It will be a compendium of short stories, poems, story ideas, and brainstorming, just so I have them all in one place. Some of them will be from back when I was seventeen years old, so please excuse their quality.
Now, I shall go to the bank to deposit checks, get sushi with Connie, and donate clothing to our local church drop-off. I have a few pairs of jeans that are simply too big now, and I need to do some closet editing anyway. Also, it makes me feel great when I give to those in greater need than myself. On Thanksgiving Connie and I gave cornbread to a group of men and women on the steps of our Salvation Army, and we ended up giving them the bowl as well.
Unfortunately, once again, I can't go to the North Carolina game because of work commitments. At least I'll be able to watch the game while I'm working since I'll be at Mohegan Sun. I couldn't go last time either because of work, but I ended up being able to watch the second half since my boss let me go home a bit earlier than usual. I ran into the house and turned on the TV just as Maya hit that three to put us up by 1 in the second half. I didn't take off my coat. I stood in front of the TV, in my white puffer jacket, pacing back and forth.
My Nonna and I are so much more alike than I really care to admit. We both get scared to death at the first sign of trouble in a game. I think I'm still freaked from the Final Four Stanford game in 2008. I woke up that morning and for the entire day, I felt off. Something just didn't jibe in my bones about the game that night, and I didn't tell anybody until the second half when it was clear we weren't going to win. That's when I let it slip: I knew we weren't going to win the entire game. Even when we made a little run near the end, I knew it wouldn't be enough. That game just broke my heart, which sounds like blatant exaggeration, but when you live and die by the buzzer like my family does, it feels like the end of the world.
We are incredibly spoiled. When we lose, everyone freaks out and asks 'What happened?' When we win by 18, people say to us "Wow, that was a close one." We've been killing people by 70 and message boards complain of shooting slumps. In an age when immediate satisfaction is de rigueur, we want total perfection and we want it now, now, now. It's like my Dad said on Meghan's show the other day: These aren't iPods. These are women between 18 and 22. Sometimes the button goes on right away and sometimes it doesn't. They'll snap out of it. It's January, for goodness sake.
Thank you to everyone for asking me those wonderful questions on Formspring. Keep them coming! Although it'd be fun to answer questions about myself rather than my father. Starting in the summer, I plan to direct this blog slightly more towards my own endeavors rather than Dad's. Once grad school starts I also plan to use my other blog more often. It will be a compendium of short stories, poems, story ideas, and brainstorming, just so I have them all in one place. Some of them will be from back when I was seventeen years old, so please excuse their quality.
Now, I shall go to the bank to deposit checks, get sushi with Connie, and donate clothing to our local church drop-off. I have a few pairs of jeans that are simply too big now, and I need to do some closet editing anyway. Also, it makes me feel great when I give to those in greater need than myself. On Thanksgiving Connie and I gave cornbread to a group of men and women on the steps of our Salvation Army, and we ended up giving them the bowl as well.
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