She Loves Me Conversations

Fun little interview with Ted Sperling and Paul Rosenblum of Caramoor Music Festival about the upcoming 50th Anniversary concert production of She Loves Me with an unbelievable cast.

Georg - Santino Fontana
Amalia - Alexandra Silber
Ilona - Montego Glover
Kodaly - Ryan Silverman
Mr. Maraczek - John Cullum
Arpad - Etai Benshlomo
Sipos - Brad Oscar

See you June 22-23!

I practiced (reflections on a Carnegie Hall debut)

©Julia Murney

We all know the joke.
Okay... well most of us know the joke.

"How do you get to Carnegie Hall?"
The answer is not the corner of 57th  Street. It's
"Practice, Practice, Practice."

There really aren't words to describe the feeling of stepping out onto the stage at Carnegie Hall for the first time.
But, perhaps oddly, one of the words that crossed my mind as I stepped out on to the boards was "YES..."
Yes-- I thought, I am humbled, I am honored, but I... "practiced."
Let's do this.
I am ready.

It was a privilege of extraordinary proportion to make this debut alongside not only members of the Broadway community I admire so profoundly (Judy Kaye--who has always been a trail-blazing role model, not to mention the golden-throated, utterly dashing Jason Danieley, the legendary Anita Gillette, and Jim flippin' Dale).

But of special import was the joy of playing opposite one of my very oldest and most loyal pals Santino Fontana (who, the morning of the show was nominated for his first Tony award--wow). Santino and I met at summer camp in 1999--two teenagers, one anothers' first scene partners. We reunited at the NFAA A.R.T.S competition the next year. I even soooooort ooooof followed him to college (in the days when I went to the University of Minnesota... for 8 weeks... --some of you don't know that story, but believe me I was there, before 2001 "happened...").
All of which is to say: we have been there for the highest highs and the lowest of lows
     (and there sure have been both...)
Santino might not always wanna snuggle about it exactly, but he is the loyalest pal on earth.
Not to mention a talent beyond belief.
We used to chat online during his matinée of Billy Elliot and my evening performance of Carousel and dream big dreams... that made the entire experience extra special...

...
Work hard, readers.
Work harder than you think is necessary.
Find a goal and move toward it with "courage and integrity" (as you know I love to say).
Don't be negative.
Don't be a jerk.
 Believe in dreams.
...and, of course, practice.

Believe me-- it is worth it.

Song of Norway - Rehearsal

Behind the scenes of the rehearsal process for Song of Norway!

Music written for a MOSQUITO.
Invisible Trolls.
    ...and their cakes.
Hey old friends.
Broadway legends...

Over and out.

Song of Norway

On April 30, 2013, old Interlochen Arts Camp pal and I Santino Fontana make our Carnegie Hall debuts opposite one another in a concert presentation of the great 1944 operetta Song of Norway. The cast also features Jason Daniely, Judy Kaye, Marni Nixon, Walter Charles, and The Collegiate Chorale.
Enjoy the video below, and see you on April 30!

from Broadway.com: "Falling Crazy in Love with Angela Lansbury, Shameful Pop Songs & Her Literary 54 Below Show "

"...Broadway newcomer Alexandra Silber (Master Class) will take fans on a musical celebration of all things bookish in her new 54 Below show Ex Libris: A Trip to the Library. The self-confessed bookworm draws from some of her favorite prose and celebrates the many forms of the written word during her "book-stravaganza" on April 3. Before she takes the stage, Silber spills about her shameless love of pop music and her obsession with Angela Lansbury."

 Enjoy!

* * *

What record/album was your favorite growing up?
Without a doubt Judy Collins' Wildflowers. It literally orchestrated my life. Completely by coincidence I ended up going to high school with her niece, and I melted when I got to thank her for her music at our graduation.

What concert most influenced you as a performer?
When I was little, I went to Interlochen Arts Camp, and they always had an amazing festival of performers each summer. I'll never forget how Rosemary Clooney just sat there and sang from her guts with epic class.

What is your go-to audition song?
"Will He Like Me?" from She Loves Me. Amalia Balash is my spirit animal.

What song are you most excited to perform in your show?
"Yakko's World" from The Animaniacs. Yeah...you heard me.

What musical theater track is the most played on your iPod?
"Run, Freedom, Run!" [from Urinetown]. Hands down eclipses all other musical theater tracks by a number in the 100s (and actually the only consistent one on my iPod...) It is perfect. "Literally? YES."

If you could invite any performer onstage for a duet at 54 Below, who would it be?
It is no secret to anyone who knows, follows, or lives within a five block radius of me that Angela Lansbury is my idol. She is probably the only person on earth I would not be able to compose myself in front of if I met her in person. Her contribution to the entertainment industry inspires me every day, and I have loved her from the moment my dad brought home Til the Clouds Roll By and The Court Jester, to Bedknobs and Broomsticks, to a full-on obsession with Murder, She Wrote to ALL of her endemic, pivotal musical theater performances. I respect her. I aspire to be like her. I love her. No: I crazy love her. It would be Angela and I wouldn't sing because I would be beside myself. So SHE would sing "It's Today" and I would just gaze at her.

What musical theater performer from the past do you wish you could collaborate with?
Danny Kaye. Gordon MacRae. Bea Arthur.

What album was the soundtrack to your 20s?
40 Days by The Wailin' Jennys. (I have a closet Bluegrass person inside me.)

What’s your favorite love song?
I can't choose. Somewhere between "Dammi i colori... Recondita armonia" from Tosca, "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You," and "One Hand One Heart."

What song makes you feel sexy?
Adele's "Someone Like You." Magic stuff.

What is your favorite workout track?
I have a playlist on my iPod created for workouts called "Pop music you should be ashamed of but are not," and THAT is all I am going to say about that.

What's the best hidden gem on your iPod?
The great Zoë Keating.

Favorite break-up song?
"So What" by P!nk. Hits. The. Spot. Believe you me. Plus "Jolene" and of course, "Send in the Clowns." ::Sigh...::

What song most makes you smile?
Have you ever heard "Boum" sung by Charles Trenet? It is a charming French song from 1938 with irreverent lyrics about falling in love in the springtime and features a lot of onomatopoeic animal sounds. It's a hoot. Also, Gogol Bordello's "Start Wearing Purple" and "Jump in the Line" by Harry Belafonte.

Business with the sea...

Again in California
My knees dug in the shore
Pacific waters called again
And asked my soul for more

But there's no more to sacrifice
My heart is just a sieve
The land has stopped, sea appeared,
I've nothing left to give.

 And they say the tides can pull you
 No matter where you flee.
 It's life you must attend to

 So the waves won't let you be.

       No, the waves won't let you be
       When you have business with the sea...



 

Important Teachers: A List

I have been so blessed with truly remarkable teachers in my lifetime.

As discussed with Jean Gaede, whom I see often (at my Broadway performance of Master Class, and a woman who has flown over from America specifically for weekend performances of Fiddler and Carousel), that people should consider themselves extraordinarily lucky if they have even one spectacular, life-altering teacher in their lifetimes--I have been blessed with many.

I have also been blessed with some terrible teachers. And I say "blessed" deliberately for these teachers, though they may have taught me little (to nothing) of the subject on the “tin,” taught me an awful lot about how to educate myself, how to get by, how to be tough, patient, diplomatic, and oftentimes, flat-out do their job FOR them.
     ...You have any of those? Yeah. Those were valuable men and women in their own right. Thank you bad teachers: you mattered too.

So without further ado, the list (and thank you, Mrs. Zarider, who taught me to count…) in no particular order.

*

1. Joanne Devine & Barbara Zarider (1st grade - 1989-1990)
     Two new mothers who wanted to be a part of their young children's lives but still wanted to teach? Mrs. Devine and Mrs. Zarider decided the best way forward was to team up! Mrs. Z took Monday, Tuesday and every other Wednesday, and Mrs. D took the end of the week. Mrs. Z specialized in all things numbers, Mrs. D was a language and reading expert for the district. When I entered first grade at El Rodeo I was new in the area and at the school, most everyone else had come up from pre-school together and they took me under their wings and made me feel special and noticed and right at home. Nothing like the "tandem-team" that taught me how to read and how to count. I'll never forget them.

2. Tom Kearny (Science - Derby Middle School 1996-7) 
     Mr. Kearny was one of those teachers that comes along once in a lifetime—the kind you never forget, never forget what they taught you, and never forget that they taught you how to learn and love something that you never would have even considered loving so passionately were it not for their influence. Mr. Kearney was more than a science teacher, he was a poet-- one of those men who saw poetry in the clouds, in the water cycle and the stars, and you could feel that poetry oozing from him like a perfume. He was that teacher you become friends with... when you are twelve.


3.  Jean Gaede (Russian Literature & Contemporary Classics - Interlochen Arts Academy 1999-2001)
     When Jean Gaede and I first crossed paths, she thought I was a lightweight—and I suppose, at least on the surface, I very likely was.
     I had come to the Academy from the summer camp (where the attitudes of students are not at all academic), and a substantial adjustment must be made. I was also adjusting to being away at boarding school, a secret introvert masquerading as an extrovert, awake-in-the-dark-of-the-night nervous about my father's health, and, crucially, making an excellent show about how... none of that was the case.
     Pushkin first captured my imagination, then Tolstoy's short stories which invigorated my conscience, and eventually the haunting and pivotal Dostoevsky masterpiece The Brothers Karamazov. Brothers K was our turning point—I read all 1,000 pages of it (unlike many of my cheating classmates!), I "got it," and she knew it. Our eyes locked one day after my oral report on Ivan Karamazov and "The Grand Inquisitor" and we never looked back.
     Jean Gaede has flown over to London, and to New York to see every show I've ever done, and her influence on my reading life is irreplaceable.

4. Robin Ellis & David Montee (Acting teachers and Directors of The Miracle Worker, Snoppy! The Musical, She Loves Me, Merrily We Roll Along and As You Like It - Interlochen Arts Academy 1999-2001)
     What is there to say other than that these two taught me everything I know, or rather, every practical thing I know about being in the theatre? David and Robin fostered a love of the theatre so strong that no amount of external real-life beatings could ever extract it from my spirit. They raised the bar and told me to rise to it—then raised it again and again...
     They "saw" me, they "got" me, and most pivotal of all they truly celebrated all that I was, had to potential to become, and could ever hope to be as an artist and a human being. All of this at a time in my life where every single moment was as essential and as relevant as breathing. I lived for their wisdom, humor, knowledge and guidance. They motivated me to work harder than I ever knew possible—help me discover another gear deep within me that formed the artistic being I am today.
     I have journal after journals full of their lessons that I still use today in my work. The memories of the shows we did together are ever-present and inexorable from my memory, they were the ground-zero of my existence as a creative artist. I feel that in the universe of their glow I truly became the artist I am today. I came alive at Interlochen, under their watch. There is no better, higher, or more grateful praise than that.

5. Judy Chu (British Literature - Interlochen Arts Academy 2001)
     Lady Chu is THE Lady Chu. Click on the link above for everything my heart could ever say. Need I say more?

6. Mark Saunders (RSAMD 2002-2005)
     Mark was one of those teachers that learns with tremendous joy alongside his students.With the exception of two final year projects (The Bite of the Night and Here Comes a Chopper, to be specific) when I look back at my time in Glasgow, the projects and experiences that stand out all have one connecting factor—Mark Saunders.
     He was the head of the student government on which I served as a representative for my year group, and we made great strides in their together. He was my movement teacher, and, having always been a keen "mover" his lessons ignited my imagination—from Le Coq's 7 movements, to Levels of Tension, to Elements, Buffon,  clowning and mask work. But it was working with him collaboratively—with him at the helm guiding a group. Though I played a small supporting role in Pericles (one of the Second Year Shakespeare plays), I enjoyed every second of it; as well as the Voice and Movement Project: a 10 week experience that serves as a culmination of all you have learned in both departments. It is devised, based loosely on a theme, and the source of extraordinary frustration for some, and joy for others. My group's offering was trans-formative for all of us.
     I'm also glad to say that I now see Mark annually in some city or another and it has become a great tradition of ours to explore the city we are in with as much vigor and gusto as we brought to the classroom.

7. Adrian Howells (Guest Artist and Director of Here Comes a Chopper - RSAMD 2004-05)
     Adrian's theory of teaching and directing is that everyone operates at their best when their "love tanks" all full! And of course he is correct. He is also the originator of the sentiment that in creation, "IT IS ALL ALLOWED." Sensitive, thoughtful, charming and profoundly creative in the most glorious way, Adrian is an artist first and lives artistically-- he taught me by example how to be an artist in the world, but he also taught me that magic lies beyond the comfort zone. When I look back at my higher education, Adrian's influence is rooted in the memory—so much of what I transformed into in Glasgow was because of him. I am honored to have been lead by him as a young person, and even more honored to call him a friend in the present.*

[*Update as of 2014: Adrian Howells sadly took his own life in 2014, at the too-young age of 51. Words fail to express the loss to my own little life and the world. However, I wish to send him every good wish, no anger, and remind him that even in his absence, "it is all allowed—" even leaving us too soon.]

*

This of course is a list of people who  had the "title"— not to mention the countless mentors, role models and colleagues that always have wonderful lessons to share.

Who are your greatest teachers?

Don't Worry...

We Ourselves are the Authors...

“…And with these the sense of the world’s concreteness, irreducible, immediate, tangible, of something clear and closer to us: of the world, no longer as a journey having constantly to be remade, not as a race without end, a challenge having constantly to be met, not as the one pretext for a despairing acquisitiveness, nor as the illusion of a conquest, but as the rediscovery of a meaning, the perceiving that the earth is a form of writing, a geography, of which we had forgotten that we ourselves are the authors.”

–Georges Perec, “Species of Spaces”

Ask Al: The Avant-Garde

Did I tell you guys I was teaching the good children of the future at Pace University?
Well I am.
I am now Professor Silber.
Like... there are pieces of paper, official looking pieces of paper with THAT EXACT MONIKER on the top of the page.
"Prof. Silbs" if you will (and I know you will...)

You know what happens when you have to travel for work in the winter?
     There is inevitably a  blizzard.
And you know what happens when there is a blizzard?
     They cancel all the flights back East.
And thus, you cannot TEACH THE CHILDREN.
For [*War Movie Voice*] ...you cannot get to them.

YOU ARE STUCK.
In the middle of the desert.
With nothing to comfort you but the sunshine.
And a hot tub.

But does that stop Al Silbs? Why NO.
Because Al Silbs makes her class a VIDEO.
With her iPhone.
and THAT is how you handle being stranded! ReSULT!

Welcome to the [*alienating lighting shift*] THE AVANT-GARDE. [*aaaaand BLACKOUT*]

Enjoy good students of Pace University.
And enjoy, ye readers of London Still.

FIN.
PS) Feel free to do the homework in the comments if you like!

Baby Steps

(1-3 weeks on…give or take…)

“Dr. Marvin…You can help me…for the first time in my life, I feel like there’s hope…”
—What About Bob?

*


What About Bob was on.
Of course.
It had been on, solidly, for a week.


[On screen:  We are in Dr. Leo Marvin’s fancy Midtown-Manhattan office. There are awards on the wall, sleek metallic lamps, a large window overlooking the city behind the small, and a bronze bust of Dr. Sigmund Freud that surrounds an arrogant psychiatrist wearing a navy jacket and red tie. After listening to Bob Wiley—his newest patient for only a matter of minutes—Dr. Marvin recommends the following…]

    Dr. Marvin: Bob, there is a groundbreaking new book that has just come out— ah!

[Dr. Marvin selects one from dozens of copies of the same, completely visible, book…]

    Now not everything in this book, of course applies to you, but I’m sure that you can see, when you see the title, exactly how it could… help.

    Bob:  [reading the title] “Baby Steps?”
    Dr. Marvin: —It means setting small, reasonable goals for yourself, one day at a time. One tiny step at a time.
    Bob: [wonderstruck] …B a b y  S t e p s…
    Dr. Marvin: For instance, when you leave this office, don’t think about everything you have to do in order to get out of the building, just think of what you must do to get out of this room, and when you get to the hall, deal with that hall, and so forth. You see?
    Bob: Baby Steps!
    Dr. Marvin: Baby Steps.
    Bob: Oh boy…


Baby steps…
    deep, right?
Hilariously deep.
And agonizingly accurate.


*


Grey had moved the television from the master bedroom into the upstairs office across the landing. The master bedroom having a kind of force field around it at this juncture—invisible and undiscussed. I think all of us were aware that we did not want to be those people, whoever they were. Those people—the ones that got all histrionic about the loss of a loved one. As if that were somehow not okay.

Mom and I spent a lot of time wondering if we were reacting “normally.” Grey, Lilly and Kent spent a lot of time wondering the same thing. What do you do when you are eighteen and nothing this devastating has really ever happened to you yet? You can’t say things are “okay” or “allowed” or “understandable” because you have no idea if they are or aren’t— you are eighteen. You are a fetus.  The closest you have ever gotten to death is the class guinea pig dying in kindergarten.  You do not yet realize what you do not yet know.

So, in that vein, we did not actively close off The Room of Death. No. We just operated under a silent agreement that all would be quiet. We’d keep it light. We could and would pretend that all comings-and-goings to and from The Room of Death were nobigthing. Look at me Death, our silent attitude would manically screech, check me! Check me as I casually use the Master Bathroom as a legitimate alternative to other household bathrooms! I am using it because there is a shower/bath, and because it is a valid option and therefore should be utilized as such. The ‘someone died here like 5 minutes ago’ thing? Yeah. It is nobigthing.
It was.
It was a big thing.
So despite the odd gesture to waltz in and out of the room like dingbats, it pretty much remained untouched.

Hey-You-Guy-Brenda and Kent had gotten to work on the master bathroom (or, The Bathroom of Death, if you will--and I hope you will)— sorting through every pill, tube, catheter, plug, prescription bottle, and machine and, without a great deal of ceremony, threw all of it away.
    “We disposed of the disease” Kent said after returning from wherever these trinkets had been discarded, “and left the man.” Indeed—the gold watch, the spare loose coins he always counted as he thought and calmed himself, the scraps of paper covered in his signature all-caps scrawl, the distinctive cologne that smelled so much of him it pierced directly into my heart.

Those days were full of harrowing little tasks like that.

The death-sheets were cleaned and folded, the bed made anew, the room scrubbed down, the machines carted away—as if none of it had ever happened at all. Mom’s friends, along with mine, took on the duties that would eventually create The House of Death we came to know after the act itself was long past. All that could remind us of the horrors of terminal disease remained burned in our memories alone.

But the absence of objects is, too, a kind of silence.

No one could have prepared us for the pulsing soundlessness that perpetrated every waking moment, that the lack of Michael, along with the lack of his artifacts (both of the life and the lack-of-life variety) would in fact leave us with no touchstones to our anguish, no weapons with which to dig out emotions trapped so deep within our chest cavities only crude surgery could release them.


*


Dad’s office across the hall already had a small twin bed in the corner, and was now doubling as, what could only be described as “Mom’s Temporary Place of Sleeping.”

At the time we had one of those late-90s TVs with a built-in VHS player. It would swallow the already war-worn copy of Bob, and every time it reached the end of the tape it would automatically rewind, eject, and the VHS tape would sit in the open mouth of the TV, awaiting instruction—a blank face with its tongue sticking out.

Before a second of silence could go by I would panic, rushing to the machine to push the cassette back in. There are no words to describe how much I loved the way it swallowed the tape with such efficient, satisfying obedience, and adored the sound of the pre-digital cogs churning within, of each electronic stage it took to bring Bob’s infinite wisdom back to me again.

    Dr. Marvin: Are you married?
    Bob: I'm divorced.
    Dr. Marvin: Would you like to talk about that?
    Bob: There are two types of people in this world: Those who like Neil Diamond, and those who don't. My ex-wife loves him.

And again.
Bob— with his judicious ability to ask for exactly what he needs.

    Bob: [to man on bus] Hi, I'm Bob. Would you knock me out, please? Just hit me in the face…

And again.
Bob— knowing there is soundness even in folly.

    Dr. Marvin: I want some peace and quiet!
    Bob: Yeah, I'll be quiet.
    Siggy: I'll be peace!
    [Bob and Siggy burst into giggles]

And again.
Bob— reaching through the screen and speaking the truth directly to me…

    Dr. Marvin: Why are you always wearing black? What is it with you and this death fixation?
    Siggy: Maybe I'm in mourning for my lost childhood…

It was in this period that I came to know Bob beyond reason or sanity. In that week I exceeded being comforted by the light, harmless comedy. Not surprisingly, in fact, I did not laugh at all. I watched because it comforted me. I watched it because the “this moment,” and every moment that clicked along, really sucked, and it reminded me of life, of everything, before it.


Bob— on endless loop.
Bob— more comforting than any therapy (be it “Baby Steps,” “Isolation,” or “Death” therapies) or friend or food or love.

*

I would jolt— Dad and Bill Murray always shared a kind of “cadence,” particularly when Bill Murray went into his “child-like comedy” mode. “HA!” Bob would burst out, and I would jolt upward, certain Dad was back before I remembered, and sank back into myself, and the bed, once more. If I kept it on, somehow Dad would come around the corner any second and join me.

After a few days a family friend came over and into the room. She stood over me and glanced over my particular state of wretchedness and attempted to conceal how much the sight of my despair turned her stomach. She caught herself mid-shudder and plastered a frighteningly cheerful smile on her face,
     “I see we are doing a little too much sitting in this bed and not enough getting on with things?” My eyes moved toward her but my body remained motionless too dazed to be embarrassed, and, with the concern and temperament of a toad, my eyes peeled away form her and back toward the screen, not even daring to respond. She sighed and left the room slowly, unable to stir me.

She was trying to help.

Was she trying to tell me that my love of Bob was wrong? Because if Bob was wrong, then I didn’t want to know what right was.

*

I had been in the bed for a week. Pajamas filthy, hair matted, and Bob on a bender of inexhaustible re-runs. I did not know what time it was. I did not know the day. All I knew was that it was dark. In every sense. And that I was alone.

But Bob was there, and the blue flame from the small television flickered, more comforting than a fire.

I opened my eyes to discover Bob helping little Siggy to dive...

My beloved Bob approaches the dock to discover Siggy, dressed fully in black and all alone, sitting on an upright wooden post, red bicycle discarded beside him, despondently playing a hand-held video game. Siggy’s father Dr. Marvin has insisted Siggy learn to dive despite Siggy’s paralyzing fear, and earlier on, dropped Siggy in the water without warning. Bob is elated, having just returned from his first experience of sailing, and is still draped in his orange life-vest which he has left casually untied atop his bright blue shirt that reads “Don’t Hassle Me, I’m Local.”

Bob gazes upon Siggy and approaches slowly.

Bob: Notice anything different about me? 
Siggy: [he contemplates Bob for a moment] No. 
Bob: Do you sail? 
Siggy: No. 
Bob: Well I just picked it up. Heh! [He chuckles] Wonder what I’m gonna pick up next? 
Siggy: Try diving. [He retorts sarcastically, returning to his video game] 
Bob: Alright, diiiiiving… 
Siggy: I know a great teacher. [He sighs. Considers for a moment, before venting a confession to Bob] I mean, my dad just dropped me in the water. Without warning me first. I mean, I nearly drowned! My whole life passed before my eyes. 
Bob: You're lucky you're only twelve. 
Siggy: It was still grim.

I knew exactly what he meant. 

Siggy [cont]: I mean what is it with him and diving? What’s the big deal? 
Bob: Well…[Bob walks out further onto the dock and, seeing the depth of the water declares] WHOA… [tying his life-vest on tightly before continuing] ...He probably just wants to beat it, that’s all. You know, he probably just wants you to dive, because you’re afraid of diving. 

Siggy rolls his eyes as only a twelve-year-old can, but knows Bob is right.

Bob [cont]: Did I tell you? I sailed on my first try! [Bob extends his arms like a proud child] …I just let the boat do the work that was my secret. But with diving, what’s the thing? What’s the trick? Siggy: I dunno… it’s supposed to be easy… Bob moves his feet around, revving them into the ground like a nervous foul. 
Bob: well… can you give me a handle on it? 

Siggy puts down his video game and comes over to Bob at the end of the dock.


...I don’t want to go into more detail.
I don’t want to get into the hows and the whats of the next few moments, because I want you to see the scene for yourself.

All I will say is this: Siggy dives.
And he dives because Bob helps him.

Does Bob realize he is helping? I don’t know. Every time I see this scene I change my mind again—no, I think, Bob is innocent, he doesn’t know he is the most profound man alive, an all-knowing guru of almost spiritual depth. The next time round I think yes, Bob knows what he is doing, he may not be able to help himself, but he can help this little boy…
I don’t know.
I like that I don’t know.

What I do know is this: Siggy faces his greatest fear. And he does because Bob helps him.

I burst into tears. Which was odd, because I had not yet cried. Not once. And there I was weeping into the strange un-used cushions of an unfamiliar bed in my father’s old office, across the hall from the room in which he had died what felt like both moments and ages ago, and all I wanted was for Bob to reach through the screen and help me.

Warm Woolen Mittens

©Nick Bantock

1. Monograms

According to Wikipedia,

"A monogram is a motif made by overlapping or combining two or more letters or other graphemes to form one symbol. Monograms are often made by combining the initials of an individual or a company, used as recognizable symbols or logos. A series of uncombined initials is properly referred to as a cypher (e.g. a royal cypher) and is not a monogram.^"

Basically: I like them. And I like the letter 'A' a LOT. And though it is mostly because my name starts with A ("mostly" being somewhere between 70-95%) it is also because I find letters to be graceful things, and their shape, line, structure, movement, all seem to articulate a little something about us. I identify with the "A" not merely because my name begins with it, but because of the swoosh of the three lines used to make the uppercase model, and the blobby little bubble who wears a hat used mostly in type-faced version of lowercase "a" (which I have infamously utilized even when writing by hand for over 15 years).   

Remember how Mary Tyler Moore and her "M" made such an emotional impact when she moved from her small apartment to her larger one in 1975?  (if not, check out the clip at 13:22 here)...

How miraculous that a collection of almost random scratches come to form and represent all the words we know and some we have yet to know? Those scratchings, when stood on their own, serve as a symbol, a quiet reminder, a whispered essence of who we are. 
 

2. Dark chocolate with hazelnuts.

Why do people eat anything else ever? Dark chocolate with hazelnuts is better than kittens and sunshine and Christmas... and when all four of these things combine? 
Well that would be bliss. 
Bliss I tell you.

Emma Williams: blind friend-date

3. Friend-Dating

Some of the best pals I've ever met, and some of the very greatest in my everyday life are friends I have met on a "friend date."

What is a friend date you ask?
Why, according to the Urban Dictionary: 

"...a friend date is a situation in which two platonic individuals partake in activities (such as movies, coffee, or a walk on the beach) that have the appearance of a regular date, but have no romantic or sexual intentions."

 I was "set up" on a blind friend-date with fellow actress Emma Williams in London somewhere around 2006 by a mutual friend who thought the two of us would be great pals. It was love at first friend-date. We never looked back.


4. Drinking through a straw

I am going to openly admit here that I always steal an extra straw from Starbucks whenever I go so that I may take it home and drink with it at The Winter Palace. I love a straw! It is human innovation at it's most innovative and simple! 
Steps:

1. Place lips around long, hollow cylindrical device.
2. Utilize suction: muscular action reduces air pressure in the mouth, whereupon atmospheric pressure forces the beverage up the straw.
3. VOILA! YOUR BEVERAGE DELIVERED RIGHT TO YOUR GOB! 
4. Repeat. Enjoy.

I mean: amazing. 

5. Rubber Stamps

Before the printing press, the written word was the responsibility of the monasteries. Each book was written and illustrated by hand, highly inaccessible and very expensive to produce. Each block was carved by hand with every ideogram in position, which meant a completely new carved block for each page! This was the year 1 B.C. (so... you know... give them a break...)

In 1444 Johannes Gutenberg, a German goldsmith and printer introduced modern book printing by inventing a mechanical moveable type and the printing press machine. It played a huge role in education, news and the Scientific Revolution. This was used widely until the second half of the 20th century. Primitive printing blocks were made of woodcuts, photoengraved copper, linoleum blocks, magnesium plates and zinc metals.

And while I am all into the Industrial Revolution and all-- THAT IS NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT. I love a rubber stamp and I am not afraid to show it! I remember the first time I ever used a rubber stamp: one of an almost lithographic-ly detailed heart. My mom presented me with a piece of paper and an ink pad and when I reproduced the heart over and over (and over) again I thought a miracle was taking place. There is something about the act of physical reproduction: an act of man-powered magic that cannot be replicated by the technological age. 

©nick bantock - responsible for my adult love of stamps

I would wager that engineers themselves still experience this feeling with their tablets and MP3 players, but for us ordinary punters out here in Normals-ville, nothing is comparable to the "real thing." When one touches a screen and "stuff happens" it is simply not the same as watching the cogs of a clock physically mesh together. Or pressing rewind and watching a tape actually roll backwards and play a recording from a different part of that same strip of tape. So it is with the rubber stamp. For one brief moment, our hands are a tiny little printing press that no laser printer can compete with.


The enhance any piece of paper be it a letter, an envelope, a note or a tax return. 
The are elegant and mystical.  
  
  They are like warm woolen mittens, and they get my *stamp* of approval.