soup...(a condensed story)

What time is it? 6pm. One hour before I jump in the car, and drive the purple station wagon down to Metro Stage. Soup time. I usually eat chicken noodle soup for dinner during show nights. I can't eat anything that really is a trigger for my acid-reflux, and I don't want to eat anything too heavy, as I really don't have time for offstage burps. Or God forbid anything else.
The soup, as you all know, is pretty bland so it works well enough. The broth is also a nice warm treat for my vocal chords.
When I used to be asked by my cast mates what I had for dinner, after about the fifth time of answering soup, they got the picture. I told them that I had been eating so much soup that my last name should be Campbell.
Sometimes, Felicia will ask me out of the blue between shows, "Are you going home? What are you going to eat?".
I'll look at her and say, "What's my last name?".
She nods, knowingly.
Matt Pearson started worrying about my sodium levels since I was eating so much soup. I eased his fears by informing him, "no-no...I eat Healthy Request Soup. No worries." He shook his head and walked away laughing.
But about three weeks ago, Matty (my Matt) volunteered to make me my soup dinner while I walked Buddha. I came back and looked at what seemed to be a HUGE bowl of soup.
"How many cans did you make?", I asked Matt.
"Just one, honey.", he said.
I thought to myself that it must have been a large can. Oh well.
I started to eat it. Hmm...it tasted awfully bland. I even asked Matt if it were a different brand. He said no.
The next day around dinner time, Matt was in the kitchen fixing dinner, and I joined him, making my soup. He watched as I poured the can into the pot on the burner, and then went back to flipping my grilled cheese in the skillet.


"Aren't you going to add any water, honey?", he asked.
"NO! Why? That's why it tasted funny yesterday! I thought it tasted watered down!"
I felt like Sherlock Holmes, just having solved the mystery of a century. A great "A-HA!" moment. Water in the soup? No way, man. That's like when people put water in red sauce to make more of it, but what ends up happening is that they have a whole bunch of thin, runny, and nasty sauce. I hate that.
"But honey, you're supposed to...it's condensed soup."
I pondered this for a minute.
"Doesn't it taste horrible without water? It must be like eating pure salt!", Matty said.
I pondered more. Condensed?
"But I have never added water to it.", I said.
Suddenly I felt a wave of stupidity, mixed with embarrassment, mixed with hysterics.
I became what I can't stand: just like every man who doesn't ever read instructions or directions because he knows he must be right.
We both had a huge laugh about the whole situation.
The next time I made soup, I used the recommended amount of water. Still blah. Tasted like water with some noodles in it.
So, I met the instructions half way. Half the amount. Which is how I eat it now.
Do I miss eating condensed soup without water added? A little.
Do my arteries? Not one bit.
With that, I have just finished my soup, so should go wash my dirty dishes and throw a sweater on. Time to go to work.
Have a warm, fuzzy, flannel blanket, cup of hot cocoa, curl up on the couch and watch old movies kind of evening. And if you have not yet, come and see tick,tick...BOOM! (10 remaining performances!)
Talk to you soon,
SGS

strangers on a train...

(Photo by me)
Today I rode into work with my roommate, Ryan. He works at the Kennedy Center box office, and I work at Ticket Place. He has to be at work a half an hour earlier than I do, so it all works out great: I ride in with him, take the Kennedy Center shuttle to the Foggy Bottom metro, then metro to Metro Center, then walk a few blocks and I'm there. This has saved me gas money, plus is an eco friendly way to work (similar to my car pooling with Amy McWilliams during MJD).
Going home is a different matter, however, since Ryan gets off earlier than I do. So I take the Archives metro,making sure to grab a bus transfer receipt before I catch my train, and get off at the Pentagon stop. From there I catch the 22A bus, give the bus driver my bus transfer receipt and 35 cents. I get off about 2 blocks from my house and walk home.
Easy, right?
So this morning at about 8:30AM I am getting ready and see on the dresser a pile of change. I put this change there the night before to remind myself that I needed heaps of change that morning (some to add fare onto my metro card, and some for the bus). I grab a fistful and am on my way out.
Work was great.
Fast forward to the evening's commute. I get my bus transfer thingy as I am running down to Archives at 6:31, when metro's website said that their next train was coming.

Not quite true, but there you go.
The train gets there and I get on, seated across from some obvious travellers with their luggage in tow. I reach into my pocket to pull out 35 cents, knowing that the ride home is short, and I want to be prepared for the next step in the commute home. I pull out a hand full and see that it consists entirely of quarters. I check my other pockets and get the same story. No dime. All I need is a lousy dime, and have nothing but quarters. "Ok, what do I do? ", I think. I could ask someone while I am waiting for the bus if they have change for a quarter. I would hate to trouble someone like that, but what else do I do? I need exact change or I have no ride home.
Just then I overhear the travellers across from me ask a girl to their left if she knew how they could get to the Kennedy Center from the metro. The girl took out her ear buds from her Ipod long enough to shake her head and mutter "no". They looked concerned, and no one else seemed to be taking up the mantle of helpful DC metro area citizen.

I said to them, "You need to get the train to the Kennedy Center?"
"Yes, thanks so much! Our hotel is in Crystal City, but how will we get there from there?"
I showed them the way, illustrating the journey by highlighting the points of start and stop on the metro map behind them that they had not seen. I also informed them about the Kennedy Center shuttle, something I was ever so familiar with, and that if they wanted to make it in time to see their show, they had better get off at the next stop and switch lines and go straight to the Kennedy Center.
They thanked me, and also asked if there were any restaurants around the area. I informed them about the cafe at the Kennedy Center.
They were again thankful.
I thought to myself- "self-this is a great way to segway to ask them for change for my quarter...after all...wasn't all of that helpful advice worth at least 10 cents?"
I asked if they had change for a quarter, sheepishly telling them that I had no exact change for the bus, and that if they didn't have change, but still had a dime that I would give them a quarter for it.
The lady searched her purse and said, "I don't have change, but I do have a dime."
I gave her a quarter for her dime and said a very sheepish thank you.
Is sheepish even the word that I am looking for here? I don't care, forget it.
I get off the metro, and so do the travellers, heeding my advice to switch lines and get to the theatre asap. They question me once more as the train is zooming away.

"How do we get to the blue trains?"
I tell them that they have to go up one floor, and the blue line will be on their right hand side.
"Thank you so much. You know, you must be related to George.", the male traveller says to me.
"George?", I asked, not even seeing it coming.
"Bush. I say you must be related to George Bush because you're the nicest person we've met in this town!", the male traveller laughs to himself.
wow.
I must be related to George Bush, because I'm nice. Yeah, I totally see that correlation.
?
I laugh back and say before I part company with the travellers, "Nope, I am definitely not. Enjoy your show!"
Laughing at the whole exchange in my head, I ascended the escalator and walked to the 22A platform.
The bus pulls up, and as I go to hand the bus driver the transfer receipt and my well earned 35 cents, I see that there is a bag over where you put your fare that says "FREE RIDE TODAY".
I am a bit perplexed to this, and sit quickly in the front seat.
Talking to strangers seemed to be in fashion today, so I asked the bus driver, "Why is the bus free today?"
He says, "huh?". The tone that the "huh" was delivered in sounded like "don't talk to me."
"Why is it free?", I repeat.
"Bus is free when the air quality is Code:Orange.", he told me as if I should have known this my whole life.
Just having taken the bus for the first time last week, I still am learning the ropes.
I slump back in my seat and think about the 35 cents and the travellers. Funny how I went through all of that trouble and worry about a damn dime for a bus ride when I didn't even need one.
I knew that the bus had a stop on 34th, but wondered if there was anything closer. I asked the bus driver and he said something that sounded like yes, but I wasn't quite sure. I wasn't about to ask him to repeat whatever he grunted. He looked like he was wound tight and ready to spring.
I almost got off at the 34th stop, but thought, no, I'll see if there is a stop just a little bit closer. I pulled the stop request wire just before the intersection I was hoping to stop at.
No dice.
He didn't stop till one block past that.
oh well.
I walked the 2 1/2 blocks home and thought about how so many people commute like this daily, and even more involved in the transfer department. I am lucky I don't have to do this every single day. It is a little much for my ADD to handle.
Perhaps that is why all of the other commuters around traveller 1 and 2 chose to remain strangers on a train and not intervene. They just rode on in bored blank silence, staring at nothing in particular, or tuned the world passing by around them out by medicating themselves numb with Ipods.
Next stop, apathy.


I laugh to myself at the silliness of all of this as I walk to my front door.
Time to get some rest before I start this whole day over again tomorrow.
G'night.
SGS

An Arlington Parable

Yesterday I walked an old favorite dog up in North Arlington. I brought Lucky Spinster with me, to catch up with her on the half hour walk through a civil war park.
It was a gorgeous walk, discussing the events of her MacDowell experience. Getting her up to speed on my MFL life, ect. We were walking through a forest path that was colored by God himself. It was gorgeous.
I got a call at the 15 minute mark of the walk (it was a 30 minute walk). I was exactly 15 minutes from the house. My boss called me and said that apparently the driveway I parked in is a shared driveway. I was blocking a woman in.
I had parked in the same place for the past year that I walked the dog, and never knew any different.
I was never told not to park in a certain place.
I told her that I would be back in 15 minutes...I could not hurry this dog (as it has cancer, and I would not run, as I have a bum knee).
Spinster and I reach the turn off street to the neighborhood, and the woman is at the top of the street, screaming "HURRY UP!!!"
Spinster and I speculate that this might be a good source of inspiration for future plays as we approach the "crime scene".
As I draw near the "scene of the crime", the woman yells at me, "You just won the Stupid award of the day".
"Pardon Me?" I ask in disbelief.
"Any Idiot can see that this is a shared driveway" she clucks.
"I am so sorry, and I did NOT realize this. It will never happen again." I say.
That is not good enough to her.
She asks why I did not hurry more.
I explain that I am walking an 8 year old dog with Cancer, and that I have a bum knee.
She protests that "That dog doesn't have Cancer"...
"Yes," I say, "it does"...
"Well, you could have hurried him anyway!", she says.
This happened on Lorcam Lane.
One of the richest areas in our commonwealth. Funny term, that in itself, "commonwealth".
This is the same sort of woman who would come to the theatre and tell me how wonderful she thought I was.
I ask you as a reader, and will try to do so myself...be nice to people.
Understand that everyone is trying to do the best that they can possibly do in their circumstance.
Do not be hateful. If you are a hateful person, do not continue to read this blog. Spend the time that you do reading this blog and work on yourself.
No one deserves this kind of treatment.
I need a new job.

A 3-D NIGHTMARE!

We went to see Nightmare Before Christmas in 3-D last night, and it was gorgeous! I loved every second of it.
I even cried a little bit at the end, as it was SO beautiful. If you have no other plans tonight, it is totally worth a trip to go and see it!

BREAKING NEWS: I'm NOT my mother.

So, I really wanted to be little Suzy Homemaker this year and make 2 pumpkin pies for our theatre's Halloween Party. I set out for the ingredients at the Safeway, got it all, ooh-even a graham cracker crust! Who knew! It all seemed so simple. I thought to myself, I'll just whip these up Monday afternoon.
Hmmm.
I mixed it all up as directed, even added a pinch of Paprika ( a tip from Martha ). As I was mixing the pumpkin ingredients, I was simultaneously cooking my dinner, steaks with marinade and spices. I felt like a domestic god. Not only that, but I had done several loads of laundry, straightened up the trailer a bit, AND managed to add my last Halloween ghoul of the year to my yard. (More on that later.)
I was on top of it all. I felt amazing.
Then came the smoke.
Slowly, at first, then in torrents. I didn't understand...it had only been 20 minutes? The crust was blacker than pitch. I quickly realized that the crust was not mean to be cooked longer than 5 minutes. Ugh. I emptied out the perfectly good pumpkin, which I rationalized would still be fine...Matt advised me against it.
*sigh*
Back to Safeway. More pumpkin, ect. Crusts that were meant to be cooked. Mixed it up, but waited to pour and cook...(we went to the movies tonight...more an that later as well). Got back from the movies, poured and stuck in the oven.
35 minutes later, the smoke came again.
I don't know what happened.


Mom never seemed to have these problems..Dad either... Now, it is after midnight on All Hallows Eve, and 4 burnt pies later, I am 2 pies short of the 2 pies I promised. I suppose that I will venture back to Safeway again tomorrow, but not for ingredients...for the pumpkin pies sold in their bakery.
While I aspire to be the domestic wonder that my mother is, I sometimes have to try to remember that she had a bit more time to practice than I have.
I only wish that I could get rid of the burnt pumpkin smell that is pervading the premises...
Mom and Dad, you made it look so easy...
Luv,
SGS