Tag Archive | theatre

My Fractured Life

I have a problem. My life is fractured. Well, segmented would be a more apt word actually but I like the way fractured sounds. It captures the struggle. So for now I say my life is fractured. Maybe some of you can relate.

As much as the following statement might make many of you cringe I’ll say it anyway — our lives are becoming ever more reflected on social media. It’s not enough to create a life anymore, you must project that life on social media. This sounds horrible but I actually think it’s rather awesome. We have this amazing opportunity to document our lives for posterity in a way that might live on forever. Gone will be the days that I wished I had a picture of myself at age 4 reading a book (Curses! I wish I had that!) because from now on chances are your mom posted one like that on Facebook when you were little. I share honestly on this blog because I don’t want my cyber presence to be completely sterilized and manicured. This is a record of me, and I want it to be true, for what that’s worth.

Another rather amazing aspect of social media is how it benefits those with an entrepreneurial spirit. Most professions these days require a certain amount of self-branding to play with the pros, even if it’s just updating your Linked In profile regularly. This being the case, I envy those who have a single drive, a prevailing passion. Having such a thing would make it much easier to focus and go after one’s goals and dreams — much easier to brand oneself across cyberspace. Let’s use acting as an example. If all I wanted to be more than anything else was an actor I’d have a simple marketing plan. My Twitter account would be geared towards following and talking about actors and actor-related business. My personal website would be all about acting. My blog would be an acting blog. And that pesky Linked In profile would be rife with endorsements for “Actor” “Performer” “Theatre Artist.” There’s just one problem. I’m never ever ever, never, ever, going to be just one thing. Being one thing makes me feel like a shark that stopped swimming.

Let me cut and paste my Twitter blurb: I write kid’s stories. I act. I run. And I make pretty things with my hands. Program Administrator for The Unusual Suspects. Company member at Theatre of NOTE.

The diversified portfolio weathers the storm, right? I’m not convinced the same applies to creative endeavors. I sometimes wonder if I’m splitting my own votes. Would I gain more momentum, connections, and success if I focused only on one single thing? Some examples of my struggle:

This fragmenting all just – happened. When I started this blog Twitter was still relatively new so I started a Twitter page specifically to talk about running and promote the blog. But then I wanted one for everything else I do so along came @MsBeckyLight (SeaGirlSigl at the time). The same happened for Whimsy Do. I figured my running-specific internet friends may not have as much of an interest in my thoughts on acting, flower crowns, and children’s literature so I’ve told myself that separate accounts is a way to target my audience. Is this wrong? Should I be the tie that binds? Should I try to get my audience all in the same room?

Should I be the tie that binds? What a crazy question, right? Obviously I, Rebecca, am the thread that holds together all of my creative endeavors. They all make up one thing — me. But I’m serious about all of them, they’re not just hobbies, and so I want to promote them seriously. I want to share them with the world far and wide, and so I try to be mindful of a target audience for each creation. From a marketing perspective, should I be the tie that binds? I guess that is the ultimate question, and something I’ve attempted to do with my personal website. Maybe that can be the one place on the web where all of me exists in the same place. Just a thought.

This struggle is 35% logistical and 45% emotional. I not only struggle with the social media strategy of my unique and fractured life. Whatever, that’s just business really. I struggle with it on a deeper level. I’m in love with my various endeavors but are they sabotaging my potential? I love making fanciful flower accessories. I love writing children’s stories. I love acting. I love my job working for a non-profit. I love running. I love making theatre. But dammit, there are only 24 hours in the day and at least a few of them have to be dedicated to sleep. I’m splitting my own votes.

I hear over and over again from writers: cherish your writing time. Carve it out of your day and cherish it. If I weren’t also running half marathons, acting in plays, producing plays, making flower crowns, then I know that I could devote more time to writing. More time to write equates to more chance of success. Substitute any of my other endeavors for the first. More flowers crowns made = more flower crowns sold. More miles run = more better shape. (More better shape? Good Lord. I’m a writer. Did you know?) You see what I’m getting at? Dreams take devotion and determination. An Olympian would never make it to the Olympics if they cut their training time in half to satisfy other interests. That’s just a fact. Do I have to pick one? Or is the beautiful gift of art that varying art forms feed each other? I feel this to be true, and to be the unique privilege of being an artist, but I also feel I might be kidding myself.

So now the real burning question — one I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of for years. Who has Hermione’s Time Turner and when can I get one?

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This morning I woke up an hour and half early to write. Tomorrow I’ll wake up an hour and a half early to run. Tomorrow I’m making a conscious decision not to write. Will I pay for this? Maybe. Maybe. Or maybe the deep massage my brain gets from an hour of running is vital to the creation of new ideas which turn into new stories. Maybe the hour I’ll spend prepping a Whimsy Do order on Wednesday evening instead of writing will be just the right amount of time to let that new idea stew and cook. Maybe the shade of the hydrangeas in that new crown will unlock a new feeling in me. Maybe the people I meet at NOTE on Friday while producing Orphans will say something interesting that I’ll file away to be used as dialogue in that new middle grade novel I’ve started to write. I don’t know if these things are true. So I sigh, and I say that they are. I have to do all of these things, and that is true. I have to act in order to write. I have to run in order to create. My weird little symbiotic interests make up this crazy colorful schizo quilt in my soul. They make up me.

So I didn’t finish this post with an answer I was looking for, per se. I still don’t know what the hell to do about all of my Twitter accounts. If you want to follow me, I guess just pick one.

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When did I become so afraid?

How many times have you heard a story begin “When I was in college…” among the thirty-something set? We seem to draw upon that just-out-of-reach chapter in our lives to desperately try to understand how we ended up in our current situation. What was it I wanted to be again? What was I passionate about? What did I do when I was fearless? Of course that’s not everyone’s recollection of their college years, but for me, I was fearless.

Recently I’ve been infiltrated by a foreign emotion when it comes to my ability as an artist, namely an actor. I could call it insecurity or self-consciousness. It started out as doubt. I’ve been insanely insecure about many other things throughout my life, but never my ability as an artist. I could boil the rest down to two fears. Being fat, and being a loner.

I hate the word fat. Almost as much as I hate chubby, plus-size, and lately the patronizing overuse of the word curvy. The unfiltered kids who would tease me in grade school just went straight to fat. My trying-to-be-polite “friends” thought chubby would be less upsetting. I’ll never forget the girl who sat next to me in 4th grade calling me “pleasantly plump.” This is no doubt something she’d overheard at her mother’s weekly Weight Watchers meeting. The women’s clothing section at Macy’s obviously feels that plus-size is somehow comforting. And now the overdue positive body image movement has appropriated the word curvy to describe any woman larger than a size 12. To me they’re all touchy, but that’s largely my own madness. They all push the same button. The same weak spot on my soul that reduces me back to that 10 year old girl on the playground crying at the edge of the field where no one will see me because Thad just made fun of my fat stomach while playing foursquare. Yes I kind of want you to feel sorry for me. Whatever though. I’m over it. I really am. Over the past 10 years I’ve worked so hard to get over my body image issues and can proudly say that for the most part, I have. Not that I love myself all the time, I just don’t really care that much anymore. Yes I wear a size 10 and sometimes 12. Yes I’m too heavy for my husband to comfortably whisk me off my feet while we’re walking barefoot on the beach. Yes I have a huge butt. Whatever. Over it. The point is, these things do leave weak spots that become susceptible to other insecurities. I think that’s what’s happened.

Oh, I also said I was insecure about being a loner. Totally true. I possess this completely irreconcilable set of traits where I love spending time by myself and at the same time am totally pained to be without a set of friends. I enjoy being alone, but I don’t want to be a loner. I like being by myself, but I long to be part of a group. Classic Gemini. Someday I need to accept one or the other. I can’t have it both ways, and for now the struggle makes me feel sort of crazy and sad. But this topic is a post for another day. For right now I just have to put my finger on how my weak spots have been invaded by an insecurity of something totally foreign to me, my artistry.

Fat loneliness being the only thing that truly ever kept me up at night, I somehow always maintained a strong faith in my ability as an actor. I don’t know why. It’s an easy thing to be insecure about, but I was immune. I was never cocky. Humility is not the same thing as insecurity. I was humble, but confident. Ruminating on this for several weeks now, I’ve come to the conclusion that it was because I was doing it all the time.

Last year was the first in 18 years that I did not do a play. Seriously. That dawned on me recently and I about died. How depressing, and weird. Save the two or three years that competitive baton twirling replaced theatre as my extracurricular activity, I’ve always been in plays, even as a kid. Plays at school, plays at River City Theatre Company (youth theatre), or plays in adult community theatres, I was always acting. A funny thing happens when you’re doing something all the time. You don’t have much time to doubt it. You can feel frustrated and shaky, maybe challenged and even overwhelmed, but not deep-seated insecurity. That is the kryptonite that prevents you from even being able to get on the stage.

So flash forward now to 2014 and I audition, and I audition, and I audition, and I audition, and for the first time in forever I do not get cast in anything. Whoa. Unlike before, I am not asking you to feel sorry for me about this one. When I made this observation to a friend of mine his response was, that’s amazing. Not the response I was expecting because I saw it as a negative. He reminded me that I could just as easily see it as a positive that I had been fortunate enough to ALWAYS be practicing my craft and playing from the time I was 11. So yeah, that turned me on my feet real quick. I’m grateful. I’ve lived a charmed actor life.

But gratitude doesn’t dismiss the detriment NOT acting is having on my spirit. To use the phrase I began this article with, when I was in college, I was acting every day all day. I was fortunate enough to go to an amazing acting conservatory program at an amazing university (BU pride forever baby!), where literally everyday from 9:00 am in the morning to 9:00 pm at night I was stretching my creative muscle. I was moving around like an earthworm in movement class. I was playing status exercises in scene class. I was thrown into an existential crisis discussing Plato’s takedown of the arts. Is he right? Oh my God. Is art too far removed from the truth? I was learning about what my body could do for itself in Alexander technique. I was getting to know my voice. I was discovering my knack for German, Scottish, English dialects. I was in London! Acting! I was living my absolute dream studying theatre in my favorite city in the entire world. Who has time for doubt when DOING all the time? Not me.

Then graduation comes and goes. You move on. The real world hits. Bills hit. College loans can’t be deferred any longer. Cars need to be bought. More loans. You decide between a soul-sucking restaurant job and a stable 9:00-5:00. You pick the 9:00-5:00 to spare your soul but consequently put a huge barrier in your way to auditioning. However you do leave the evenings open to continue to do theatre. You join a theatre company. Yay. You audition and get cast sometimes. Yay. You audition other times and don’t get cast. Poo. Then one year, 7 years later, you audition again and again and again and you don’t get cast in anything and you’ve been working your 9:00-5:00 job to pay off the college loans you took out to get a degree that you’re not using and you’re so tired by the time you get home that you veg out on the couch watching other people act on your TV instead of figuring out why you’re not. And you wake up one day and you’re 30 and you realize that although you’re happy and you actually like your 9:00-5:00 job and you’re married to a wonderful man and you love your apartment and your car that you’re still trying to pay off, and your priorities have changed a bit, you realize that despite all of that, you’re not acting. You really thought you’d be acting. You were fearless. And not acting has made you bad at acting. And you’ve never been worried about being bad at acting in your entire life. And so how do you reconcile the fact that you’re no longer afraid of being fat or being a loner but you are terrified of being a bad actor.

I’m pretty sure the answer is simple. Just start acting again, right? Easy. Except it’s kind of not. It feels like there are limited opportunities to act. The trick is to take what you can get and take it seriously. The other night a friend of mine was having a very informal reading in his apartment of a pilot he wrote. They needed readers. Normally I would say no, because I’d rather go home and veg out on the couch and watch other people act. But I thought about my struggle of late and said, you know, this is an opportunity to act. Even though it’s going to be very casual and you’ll be among friends, it’s an opportunity to read words that someone else wrote and try to bring them to life. So I said yes. And I had a great time. Yes we just sat casually in his living room drinking ginger tea while we read. Yes it was a room full of female actors even though most of the characters were men. Yes it was super casual. But it was fun and I acted. So there.

This is what I need to do. Not because I need a career as an actor. I’m not sure that’s my fate. A career is beside the point. What I do know is that I need to be acting. Because acting is what turned the fearless switch on when I was 11 years old.  Acting is what made my fear of being a fat loner tolerable. Acting is fun. Acting is the very core of my imagination. I have to be acting. To not have done a play in the past 12 months has felt like a part of me is trapped. My wings have been bound. I guess it’s sort of an addiction. I can’t shake it. No matter how much I turn to writing more seriously than acting. No matter how much I paint, or twirl baton, or practice the guitar, or run. All of those things are great, but nothing is as fulfilling to my very soul as playing make believe with someone else’s words. My acting fuels all other artistic pursuits. Like a shark that stops moving forward, if I stop acting my imagination dies and I can kiss goodbye to writing, painting, or whatever else.

It’s like those new Ben & Jerry’s Core ice cream flavors. Acting is my chocolate fudge core. (You can kinda see how I ended up a chubby kid, huh?)

Do any of you feel this way too? I know it’s hard to be working professionally all the time but we have to keep working out. We have to get to the creative gym. When I was in college (there’s that phrase again), we had this weekly event called Locals. It was a lifesaver. Freshmen at BU are not allowed to audition for any of the mainstage shows. It’s wise. You spend the first year getting acclimated to college, acclimated to the conservatory environment. You learn before you apply. But the professors acknowledged the importance of casual pressure-free application. So they started this thing called Locals. Every Monday afternoon the entire Freshmen class of theatre students, as well as some professors and upperclassmen, would gather in one of the larger classrooms and just do stuff. People would get up and perform whatever they’d been working on. Sometimes you’d get a scene partner and spend the week working on a scene you always wanted to do and then you’d perform it at Locals. Maybe you’d sing songs, dance, play an instrument, or tell a story. It was an exercise in fearlessness. No one was expected to be perfect; everyone was expected to be brave. It was fantastic. I miss Locals.

This got me thinking. I’m a part of this large community of artists at Theatre of NOTE not unlike my community of artists in college. All talented, supportive, top-notch types who don’t get to act often enough. Wouldn’t it be great to have Locals? I don’t think we could organize it every week, but what about once a month? Wouldn’t it be fantastic to have a safe space where you could just work on stuff?

A friend of mine, Bill, started something similar to this called The Creative Fete. It was very Locals-esque. From what I understand it has since been somewhat dissolved and that makes me sad.

I’m just putting it out there to gauge interest. What do you think LA theatre nerds? Do you want to play? Because the 11 year old I once knew is looking me in the face and asking with a snarky expression, “When did you become so afraid?”

30 Days of Thanks – Day 8: Theatre of NOTE

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Yesterday my little blog here had the most views in it’s short history; a statistic deserving of Scott’s visit. Thank you for reading everyone. I know the bulk of those readers were members of my lovely theatre company, Theatre of NOTE. They are my extended family and like any family we have our share of occasional drama, but only to match the presence of love.

I am so thankful that I found a little black box in Hollywood filled with compassionate creative artists, and that they let me hang around. They are the most talented people in Los Angeles. And the wackiest. Both admirable attributes. The truth is, without you guys, I think I would have gone crazy. Probably left L.A. This town can be a vortex of ego and loneliness and you need a tether to keep you from getting sucked in. A community. For the past 6 years I’ve had the most wonderful tether.

Without NOTE I would have never met the love of my life. That one gets the theatre brownie points to last a lifetime no matter what ever else happens.

I’ve had some of the most incredible theatrical challenges both at NOTE and because of NOTE. Every year I eagerly await what new opportunities will come down the pike, either to perform in or just shows to see that I know will blow me away.

For all of the late rehearsals, the fundraisers, the company meetings, the dance parties, the terms of the AMC, the endless font of acronyms (just when you think you can’t come up with one more…) the committee meetings, the drama, the love fests, the long emails, the joy of being cast, the heartbreak of not, the love that keeps you coming back despite the heartbreak, the performance marathons, the NOTEwoods, the Scott McKinleys. I love it all.

It’s good to have a family. You all are so precious to me. Maybe more than you’ll ever know. I’ve always wanted to feel like I was a part of something, and here I do. It’s a warm and Thanksgiving-y feeling.

Go theatre club. Now turn in your hours!

At a company meeting. Packed in like sardines.

At a company meeting. Packed in like sardines.

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

Scott McKinley photobomb series

Scott McKinley photobomb series

NOTEwood

NOTEwood

a band

a band

PTSD

PTSD

Rehearsal for Mulholland Christmas Carol

Rehearsal for Mulholland Christmas Carol

Mulholland Christmas Carol

Mulholland Christmas Carol

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See ya tomorrow

the magic of magic is that it’s not actually magic

Last night a lovely friend invited Brad and me to one of my absolute favorite Los Angeles treasures, The Magic Castle. Perhaps because it reminds me of The Haunted Mansion, perhaps because it feels like stepping back in time, or perhaps because at every turn you encounter someone who has dedicated their life to illusion. Whatever the reason, I simply adore The Magic Castle.
magic_castle_2
 

Magic. What makes it awe-inspiring is knowing that it’s an illusion. Knowing that what appears before your eyes is impossible and yet despite exhaustive analyses, the magician in front of you has made it appear possible. The art and corresponding wonder lie in the excavation of the illusion, and the true beauty lies in not being able to explain: How did he do it? When your mind simply cannot come up with a reasonable or even unreasonable explanation, then this person has inspired wonder with no limits. But it must be illusion to be beautiful.

 If it were actually magic, meaning, a different set of scientific laws that actually occurred in the world, a la Harry Potter or Middle Earth, then it would not be as magnificent, because it would be science. If people flew, we would just live in a world where people flew. Somehow somewhere through some scientific analyses there would be an explanation. Just like there is an explanation for how birds fly. There is an explanation for everything, whether we ever uncover it or not.  BUT, when it only appears that someone flies, knowing that in truth he cannot, and we cannot for the life of us figure out how he did it, the magician has reached beyond the tangible world of science and to our eyes, against all common sense, made something impossible occur. Illusion. Theatre.

Here is where I get heady. And probably a little pretentious sounding. Forgive me, and bear with me. Art is all illusion. Art is not real, but a reflection of reality constructed by an artist to give an appearance of our world outside of the confines within which it actually exists, and through that reflection the artist allows beauty to emerge in a way that it has difficulty doing so outside of art’s comforting embrace. 

 This phenomenon is perfectly exemplified in good theatre, is it not? Our ability to be moved and to feel a sense of wonder lie in knowing that what we witness is an illusion. There is a safety in illusion; a buffer that gives us the ability to reflect. If in watching a production of Hamlet, the actor playing the Dane actually died onstage at the end of play, we would run in horror. We participate in the illusion and thus it sinks deeper in to our souls than the terrifying mystery of actual death. We leave the theatre perhaps a little less afraid of the unknown because, behaving as a life-preserver, our imagination has allowed us to navigate scary uncharted waters.   

 Thus is true of magic. Stripped of what the theatre gives us in the way of storytelling and precise commentary on various elements of the human condition; magic is illusion boiled down to its core. Illusion for illusion’s sake. Perhaps it is not necessarily a form of art but rather a depiction of the very definition of art. We know it’s not real, and we marvel at it all the more. Magic exercises our imagination.

 In a world choked of beauty with every news story of a school shooting or crooked politician, our imaginations need love and care to not get snuffed out by the fear surrounding us. The endless process of status updates and instantaneously seeking whatever information we want through the click of a mouse has almost voided the world of mystery. How much mystery can there be in the Great Pyramids when you can see them for yourself after taking 10 minutes to download Google Earth? I’m not knocking modern technology. I recognize that it’s amazing and I know there’s a difference between viewing an ancient pyramid on your computer screen and touching one; but will that always be the case depending on how good technology gets? It’s important to not have all the answers. We need to maintain some sense of mystery in the world or we’ll stop exploring and imagining.

I find it interesting that whenever I walk into an establishment that feels like the type of place you’re not supposed to have food or drinks, I also feel like I’m probably not supposed to take pictures. As if taking a picture would have the same damaging affect as spilling a soda. I’m so grateful they don’t allow you to take pictures inside The Magic Castle. It’s a relief to be in a place where you know that what you experience will happen in that moment alone, for you and you alone, and won’t be “shared” by 1,000 followers on Instagram. Like a play, only the audience of that particular night gets to see it. This makes it, what can I say, a magical place.

 At the Castle last night a magician from Kansas City performed an age-old illusion. He brought a girl from the audience up on stage, had her lay down on a table, removed the legs of the table and made her levitate before our very eyes. I was awe-struck. I could not figure it out. I still can’t. I know there are thousands of people out there who could explain to me how he did this trick. Magicians have been doing this since there have been magicians. It’s a very famous illusion and I know there is an explanation. Of course there is an explanation. But I don’t want to know. I want to keep wondering. I confess that in not knowing how it was done a little part of me will always wonder if perhaps it was real magic. And I want to believe in magic.

Brad and I in front of the castle for my birthday two years ago

Brad and I in front of the castle for my birthday two years ago

At The Magic Castle last night

At The Magic Castle last night

a very important announcement

Alright everyone I have a very important announcement to make. I’m going to stall for a few sentences and write about absolutely nothing so that you don’t figure out what the announcement is by reading the preview blurb that shows up on Facebook. You actually have to click and read people. So this is me stalling. How about those 49ers!

*UPDATE* Apologies to my blog followers. I have to try and repost this entry as an entirely new entry because Facebook seems to think that my last post was “spammy.” Something to do with Yahoo. I hate Yahoo.

Ok that should do the trick. By now you should actually be on the Running to Tahiti blog site and hopefully I have your full attention. I have an announcement to make:

I’M GOING TO RUN A MARATHON!!

Maybe.

If you help me.

Here’s the thing. I do really want to run a marathon. I’m so so very chicken though and am very easily swayed to the “yeah how about we don’t run 26.2 miles” camp. My reaction after the past two half marathons has been the same: that was awesome, but how in the hell do people do that twice? In a row? I need some outside motivation. I am up in the air and I essentially need someone to push me out of the plane. That someone is hopefully going to be you. And you. And you there, in the back. So here is how you can help…

My dear theatre company, Theatre of NOTE, is gearing up for its 17th Annual Performance Marathon!

This highly anticipated local tradition is an all-day-all-night extravaganza of eclectic performances, including comedy, pancake juggling, poetry, chin puppets, fire-eating, hula dancing, music, magic, monologues and much more! It’s an incredibly fun event that really embodies all that Theatre of NOTE stands for; zany, crazy, gutsy, powerful art. Not only that, but it serves as a very important fundraiser to cover NOTE’s operating expenses for the year. VERY important. Our little theatre only holds about 45 or so seats and even with everyone paying full price to get in and laying down the dough for an endless flow of libations, there is a limit to how much we can raise on that model. At least, there was a limit. WAS. Until Wendi West came along.

Our Development Director, Wendi, is a genius. She basically blew the ceiling off the marathon and made the fundraising possibilities truly limitless. She invented… the Marathon-Athon. Here’s how it works:

It’s like a Swimathon, a Jogathon, a Walkathon. I get Aunt Bessie and Cousin Joe to sponsor me based on how many laps I do; but instead of swimming laps or running laps, I do audience laps. I get folks like you to sponsor me per hour, for every hour I stay at and watch the Performance Marathon. It’s brilliant because let me tell you, it really is an endurance sport to sit and watch 12 straight hours of theatre. No matter how great it is.

So won’t you sponsor me? You can sponsor me for as low as $1 per hour. 1 itty bitty dollar. As the event is 12 hours long, the most you could possibly write a check for in that scenario would be $12. That’s it! That is it and you have done your part to a) support the arts, b) make this event THAT much more fun, and c) take me one step closer to running a real Marathon. Because:

My goal is to raise $500 from sponsors like you. If I do that, I will sign up to run a full-on mother f*#$%in MARATHON. I really want to do it, but I know I need this extra nudge to get me there. My training for the Disneyland Half Marathon the past two years has been very inspired and motivated by the fundraising support from my friends and family. 26.2 miles will need double the support. 

So what do you say, do we have a deal? Will you sponsor me? Let me know by either leaving a comment below, or you can email me at rebsigl@yahoo.com. If you have questions, chances are someone else has the same question so please do get the conversation started and leave it in the comments below. 

Let’s do this.

a very important announcement

Alright everyone I have a very important announcement to make. I’m going to stall for a few sentences and write about absolutely nothing so that you don’t figure out what the announcement is by reading the preview blurb that shows up on Facebook. You actually have to click and read people. So this is me stalling. How about those 49ers!

Ok that should do the trick. By now you should actually be on the Running to Tahiti blog site and hopefully I have your full attention. I have an announcement to make:

I’M GOING TO RUN A MARATHON!!

Maybe.

If you help me.

Here’s the thing. I do really want to run a marathon. I’m so so very chicken though and am very easily swayed to the “yeah how about we don’t run 26.2 miles” camp. My reaction after the past two half marathons has been the same: that was awesome, but how in the hell do people do that twice? In a row? I need some outside motivation. I am up in the air and I essentially need someone to push me out of the plane. That someone is hopefully going to be you. And you. And you there, in the back. So here is how you can help…

My dear theatre company, Theatre of NOTE, is gearing up for its 17th Annual Performance Marathon!

This highly anticipated local tradition is an all-day-all-night extravaganza of eclectic performances, including comedy, pancake juggling, poetry, chin puppets, fire-eating, hula dancing, music, magic, monologues and much more! It’s an incredibly fun event that really embodies all that Theatre of NOTE stands for; zany, crazy, gutsy, powerful art. Not only that, but it serves as a very important fundraiser to cover NOTE’s operating expenses for the year. VERY important. Our little theatre only holds about 45 or so seats and even with everyone paying full price to get in and laying down the dough for an endless flow of libations, there is a limit to how much we can raise on that model. At least, there was a limit. WAS. Until Wendi West came along.

Our Development Director, Wendi, is a genius. She basically blew the ceiling off the marathon and made the fundraising possibilities truly limitless. She invented… the Marathon-Athon. Here’s how it works:

It’s like a Swimathon, a Jogathon, a Walkathon. I get Aunt Bessie and Cousin Joe to sponsor me based on how many laps I do; but instead of swimming laps or running laps, I do audience laps. I get folks like you to sponsor me per hour, for every hour I stay at and watch the Performance Marathon. It’s brilliant because let me tell you, it really is an endurance sport to sit and watch 12 straight hours of theatre. No matter how great it is.

So won’t you sponsor me? You can sponsor me for as low as $1 per hour. 1 itty bitty dollar. As the event is 12 hours long, the most you could possibly write a check for in that scenario would be $12. That’s it! That is it and you have done your part to a) support the arts, b) make this event THAT much more fun, and c) take me one step closer to running a real Marathon. Because:

My goal is to raise $500 from sponsors like you. If I do that, I will sign up to run a full-on mother f*#$%in MARATHON. I really want to do it, but I know I need this extra nudge to get me there. My training for the Disneyland Half Marathon the past two years has been very inspired and motivated by the fundraising support from my friends and family. 26.2 miles will need double the support. 

So what do you say, do we have a deal? Will you sponsor me? Let me know by either leaving a comment below, or you can email me at rebsigl@yahoo.com. If you have questions, chances are someone else has the same question so please do get the conversation started and leave it in the comments below. 

Let’s do this.


neil labute happens

I did a decent job of staying on track last week, and even managed to run 8 miles on Saturday. I felt so good during that long run that somewhere around mile 5 I thought to myself “Wow, this is awesome. I bet I could run 10 miles. Heck! I bet I could even run 13 miles and not have to worry about training for the D-land 1/2 Marathon coming up!” I felt pretty high. That sentiment quickly faded away around mile 7 when my ankle started to swell, my vision started to blur and my breathing began to sound less human and more choking sea lion. But, I did finish 8 miles.

It feels good to be back on track. The recovery time wasn’t even that bad. I certainly hurt that night. I got home, promptly fell onto the couch, and took a long nap with Sharky (my favorite little nap buddy); but by the time I woke up on Sunday morning and started moving around a bit, I felt fine. It’s amazing how quickly one’s body bounces back into shape.

Brad, on the other hand, gets a free pass for last week and this week. It’s only fair. You see, some say sh*t happens, some say life happens, I say Neil LaBute happens. Brad, you see, found out last week that he was cast as the understudy for the leading role in Neil LaBute’s latest show, The Break of Noon, opening at The Geffen Playhouse in a few short days. Not only is he understudying  Kevin Anderson in the lead role (go Brad go!), but the lead has a 6 page monologue + a 4 page monologue + a whole lotta dialogue in between. You do the math. Needless to say, the only words I’ve heard from Brad in the past few days have been mumblings about a shooting, good vs. evil, and someone called Diaz. All part of the play, I hope presume. I’m so proud of my man for landing such a kick-ass opportunity. Thus, I bestow upon him a free pass from Running to Tahiti. If we make it there a few weeks later than planned, it’ll be for a good reason. He can use all that money the Geffen is paying him to buy me something nice on the island.