Veris me facies

"Leta - that's a pretty name. What does it mean?"

"It's Latin for 'joyful'."

And my face is pretty joyful that spring is here.

Veris Leta Facies

from the Carmina Burana by Carl Orff

Veris leta facies
mundo propinatur,
hiemalis acies
victa iam fugatur,
in vestitu vario
Flora principatur,
nemorum dulcisono
que cantu celebratur.

Flore fusus gremio
Phebus novo more
risum dat, hac vario
iam stipate flore.
Zephyrus nectareo
spirans in odore.
Certatim pro bravio
curramus in amore.

Cytharizat cantico
dulcis Philomena,
flore rident vario
prata iam serena,
salit cetus avium
silve per amena,
chorus promit virgin
iam gaudia millena.

The joyful face of spring

turns to the world,

sharp winter

now flees, vanquished;

bedecked in various colours

Flora reigns,

the harmony of the woods

praises her in song.

Ah!

Lying in Flora's lap

Phoebus once more

smiles, now covered

in multi-coloured flowers,

Zephyr breathes nectar-

scented breezes.

Let us rush to compete

for love's prize.

Ah!

In harp-like tones sings

the sweet nightingale,

with many flowers

the joyous meadows are laughing,

a flock of birds rises up

through the pleasant forests,

the chorus of maidens

already promises a thousand joys.

Ah!

Haaave you met Ted?

It is a cheery myth among my friends that I know everyone. One time I was presenting an award at Silver Spring Stage's annual awards party and Michael introduced me by saying that I needed no introduction as I know everyone. I got to the mike and something like, "Not quite. There are eight or so of you here that I haven't met. Please see my on your way out."

So tonight after the Nats game*, David and I decided to take the Circulator bus back to Union Station instead of fighting the crowds getting on the green line. David waved his wallet (which contains his SmarTrip card) over the reader on the bus and then I began explaining to the bus driver that I didn't have mine with me.

"Throw her off the bus!" commanded a voice from the front. The driver laughed and waved me back and David and I went and sat with theater-friend Blake (for the commanding voice was his), who was on the bus and who had been at the game. How nice to run into someone we knew!

We were chit-chatting waiting for the bus to get underway and someone near by took a closer look at me. "Leta?" It was Brick, one of my Markland friends, who I haven't seen in probably ten years or more. So that was nice, too!**

David watching me begin to ping-pong a conversation between these people from the disparate parts of my life and asked me if there was anyone on the bus I didn't know.

"Yes," I said, pointing to the nearest stranger. "Him." I stuck out my hand, "Hi, I'm Leta."

"Brian." He smiled and shook my hand.

So that's one more down and only 5 billion and some to go before I actually do know everyone.


*Pirates 8, Nats 5 in ten innings. Alas.
**Actual tally for the evening: Lauren from work was at the game but wasn't there with us, I saw her near the consessions; Jacki and Evan were at the game and I got to say "hi" to them during the 6th inning; Blake and Brick (and Brian) were on the bus; Blake introduced me to his friend Ashley and her friend while we were underway; and Rich and Peggy were on the Metro. Brett is going to be surprised to read this, but I didn't see anyone from my high school all evening.

Come dancing

Define worth dancing to...

The theme to "Speed Racer" or "Linus and Lucy";
The choral section of the 9th Symphony; and
prett' near anything up-tempo with a good, strong beat.

What about dancing for...?

"Worth dancing for" is so much easier: Weddings, babies, joy, and love.

(From a recent e-mail with a friend, his questions, my answers)


None of those pieces of music got played but I still went dancing Sunday night. I know - many of you just re-read that first sentence and thought "Odd, I didn't hear anything on the news about widespread destruction and panic." Maybe it made the later editions.

The way that I ended up dancing was easy - Greykell (yes, the Greykell!) and I went to see The Foreigner that afternoon and we were hanging out at her place afterwards. She asked what I was doing later and I said that if I was smart, I'd go home and highlight the rest of my lines for Arcadia.

Did I want to go Oella Dancing instead? I didn't know for sure what "Oella Dancing" was but Grey's not the loud, hot, crowded club type any more than I am, so I knew that it wouldn't be that. And Grey and I know several people who ballroom dance, so there was a good chance that Oella Dancing would involve some or all of them.

I dithered for a little bit while Aly whispered "Go dancing" in a subliminal kind of way. And so I agreed to go.

I haven't been dancing of really any kind in years. I haven't even done any shows with choreography in them in forever. And I'm not a very good dancer between the imperfect knees and the inability to translate patterned movement from my brain to my feet. But my partners (Larry, and Dave, and Dark Eric) were kind and we whirled around the floor in one-steps (walking to a melody, more or less) and waltzes and swing dance-y things. It was lovely.

For years and years the only dances I could execute at all well (besides my specialty, desk dancing) were:

the Highland Fling (taught me to at YMCA camp before my knees went south);
the grapevine/Hora;
and a waltz.

For Pippin long years ago Lorraine beat into me taught me to do a scissor step, but I don't think that I've retained it. In fact, I know I haven't retained it. But after repeated, random exposure, I'm starting to kind of pick up the elements of some swing dances.

And in college I was in what I thought of as "Grey's dance troupe." No, really, I was. Really. Grey is about the only person I know who can consistently talk me into dancing. Actually, Grey used a couple extra dice when she made her charisma roll, so she can talk prett' near anyone into prett' near anything. So I was in Markland's dance troupe, Thrir Venstri Foetr* for several years and actually did exhibition dancing. You know, for the public. Where they could see me.

Fortunately, medieval dancing (back when I learned it, when it was contemporary dancing, I guess) comes in more or less two categories -- the pavanne (or pavane - the double n spelling seems to be specific to Markland, but it's pronounced puh-VAH-n) which is the "ooh, look at my pretty dress" stately dance and the bransle (pronounced "brawl") which is the "let's shout, get sweaty, and drink more beer" vigorous dance. (There are also the steps to "Scotland the Brave," and while it is my personal favorite, this girl was never a serious candidate to learn that dance - too much jump and pivot, you know?)

So dancing reasonably competently on Sunday was just a delight. Like most of the things that Greykell suggests doing. I must go again sometime. Soon.

And, by the way, it's called "Oella Dancing" because it happens in Oella, Maryland which is reached by driving on the sorts of swoopy roads that are like dancing in themselves.


*Forgotten our Old Norse, have we? Three Left Feet.

And from (of course) Hello, Dolly! the song that sums up the evening.

Dolly:
Put your hand on her waist and stand
With her right in your left hand
And one two three, one two three, one two three...

Cornelius:
Look I'm dancing!
Well, I was.

Dolly:
Of course you were, Mr. Hackl!

Take the someone whose arms you're in
Hold onto her tight and spin
And one two three, one two three, one two three...

Cornelius:
Wow, I'm dancing!

Dolly:
Turn around and turn around, try floating through the air
Can't you be a little more aesthetic?

Cornelius:
Don't you think my dancing has a polish and a flair?

Dolly:
The word I think I'd use is athletic!

Cornelius:
Well my heart is about to burst
My head is about to pop
And now that I'm dancing who cares if I ever stop!
...Look at me, everybody! I, Cornelius Hackl...Sport
...Am dancing!

Dolly:
You're next, Mr. Tucker!
Glide and step and then step and glide...

Barnaby:
And everyone stand aside!

Cornelius:
He's dancing!

Dolly:
You could learn to polka if you worked a week or so
Or the tango filled with passion seething

Barnaby:
I might join the chorus of the castle garden show

Dolly:
Whatever you do for gosh shakes keep breathing

Barnaby, Dolly and Cornelius:
For my heart is about to burst
My head is about to pop
And now that I'm dancing who cares if I ever stop!

Mrs. Molloy:
When there's someone you hardly know
But wish you were closer to
Remember that he can be near to you
While you're dancing

Though you've only just said "hello"
He's suddenly someone who
Can make all your daydreams appear to you
While you're dancing

Make the music weave a spell
Whirl away your worry
Things look almost twice as well
When you're slightly blurry

Dolly:
As around and around you go
Your spirits will hit the top

Dolly, Cornelius, & Mrs. Molloy:
And now that we're dancing
Who cares if we ever stop

Mrs. Molloy, Barnaby, Dolly and Cornelius:
One-two-three
One-two-three
One-two
And now that we're dancing
Who cares if we ever stop

Another reason David likes me

He says that I'm good bird karma and I guess that so because we pulled to stop at an errand in Leesburg and what should land on a fence post 20 or 30 feet from us? A Sharp-shinned Hawk, that's what. And that guy seemed pretty happy to stay right where he was for a while, so David pulled out the bins and we both got a good close look. Close enough to admire that odd yellow patch at the top of his nose.

A Sharp-shinned isn't a "life lister" for either of us, but how often does a hawk just sit around like that? And it was the closest I have ever been to a living hawk in my life.

Stored Value

NSTIW,* at a Starbucks on the Jersey turnpike. I was just about to hand over my $2.09 (Grande Awake tea - may I put the bag in myself, please? Thanks!) to the nice barista when the young gentleman behind me said, more frantically that would seem necessary under the circumstances, "I'd like to pay for her drink!" And as he looked more like Ralph Rakestraw or Florian than Dick Deadeye or Gama, it was charming, not unnerving.

But.....Okaaaaaaay. I mean, I'm cute and all, but I'd been traveling since morning and looked like it and I'm, um, a little older than this guy. And it's a Starbucks on the turnpike, not a hotel bar, so I'm pretty much gonna pay and leave. As a potential pick up it seemed somewhat...unlikely.

As it turned out he wanted to use his Starbucks stored value card to pay for my drink so that I could give him the $2.09 in cash and he would have enough money to get off of the damned turnpike. His rental car was the first one he had gotten in a while that had no E-Z Pass and he was a tiny bit short of the exit fare.

And he was friendly and charming and seemed perfectly happy to engage me in conversation while we prepped our beverages and he pocketed my former money. I think he chose me because I am universally regarded as approachable and because I bought something reasonably cheap with cash. I think the frantic part came from his sudden realization that I was going to pay in cash, so - ding! - he could possibly turn his stored money into, shall we say, a more liquid asset*** and thus avoid having to resort to being the cutest panhandler in New Jersey that day, and that once it hit Starbucks' till he have no shot at it.

But guess which Kingston Trio song has been stuck in my head ever since?

Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charley
on a tragic and fateful day.
He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family,
went to ride on the M.T.A.

Chorus:
Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and
his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston.
He's the man who never returned.

Charlie handed in his dime at the Kendall Square Station
and he changed for Jamaica Plain.
When he got there the conductor told him, "One more nickel."
Charlie couldn't get off of that train.
(Chorus)

Now, all night long Charlie rides through the station,
crying, "What will become of me?!!
How can I afford to see my sister in Chelsea
or my cousin in Roxbury?"
(Chorus)

Charlie's wife goes down to the Sculley Square Station
every day at quarter past two,
And through the open window she hands Charlie a crabcake
as the train comes rumblin' through.
(Chorus)

Now, you citizens of Boston, don't you think it's a scandal
how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for George O'Brien!
Get poor Charlie off the M. T. A.
(Chorus)

*Oh, come now, you don't really need me to tell you that NSTIW stands for "No shit, there I was" do you? And, shirley**, you remember that NSTWW would be the plural.

**Oh, for pity's sake. Yes, I know that it's spelled "surely," but as everything is going to think that dumb joke, I might as well just spell that way. See? This is why my stories seem so long. Because you people keep interrupting me.

***Liquid asset. Get it? Liquid asset! I crack me up, I swear.

Please connect me to JUniper 7-5423

JUniper 7-5423 was my phone number when I was growing up. Or mostly was because by the time that I came along, exchange names were on their way out, although they could still be found in ads and in the phone book. I just never heard anyone say them, or at least not seriously. (At one point in The Man Who Came to Dinner, Maggie is asked for the telephone of the hotel, the Mansion House, which she gives as Mesalia 32, so I've said that on stage a bunch of times.)

Because I'd only read them, in my head my number was "Juniper-7-5423," but I've recently heard people (okay, actors, whatever) running the five numbers together, so it would be "Juniper-75423" which just seems harder to remember to me and I have no idea which was preferred. Perhaps, it was an either/either thing.

David is kind enough to make me calling cards ever since the time he saw me give someone one of my deposit tickets for my checking account because neither of us had any paper handy. (I tore the account number off of the bottom, but he was still appalled.) He lists my contact info and this blog's address and includes a pretty little graphic. They are lovely and much nicer looking than my boss's business cards. And because David has heard me rant about the tiny type on business cards (tons of white space, medium grey print the size of bacteria - what is up with that?), they are in a nice, clear, easy to read, reasonable font.

And now they'll have my exchange on them! David mentioned The Telephone Exchange Name Project the other night and sure enough David Pescovitz posted a link to the TEN Project on Boing Boing yesterday which David forwarded to me. I reviewed Ma Bell's list of Officially Recommended Exchange Names, got all misty-eyed about JUniper, and then selected BLackburn for my mobile number. My office number begins with "57" which was reserved for radio operators which means that it has no historically correct exchange name, so I've "created" KRypton for my office number.

The next time you see me, be sure to check out my spiffy-retro calling cards.

Europe in DC

Because I'm between shows, I have no plans tomorrow, so I'm taking the Metro to Europe! No, no, I haven't been drinking at my desk. The European Union is having an Embassies' Open House on Saturday so I'll take the Metro to Dupont Circle and ride their special shuttle around to the different embassies, tour their buildings, taste their food, listen to their music, and admire their dances. I think I'll skip having my face painted, though.

I'll go the Embassies of Ireland and Germany (the Brits aren't participating) as an homage to my European heritage, but then I'm hitting Bulgaria specifically for the food because I've never tried Bulgarian food and have no idea what it's like. If Maureen is able to join me we'll go to Hungary, I'm sure, and I'll like to check out several other countries I've always wanted to go to.

There's a "Passport Stamp Collection Area" and I'll see how many stamps I can get. It's tempting to bring my real passport, but they probably wouldn't stamp it, more's the pity.

And after I spend the day traipsing around "Europe," I'll spend the evening doing a very American thing - going with friends (John and Jeff and Amy) to see other friends (Andy, Chuck, and Susanna) in a musical based on a comic strip (by Charles Schultz). And probably eating dinner at a chain restaurant.

Yes, I'm free*

What could be a better combination for me than Gilbert & Sullivan performed at my high school? Especially when I found out that it's happening on a night when I can go. It's like one of those planetary alignments that only happen every thousand years.

Montgomery Blair High School, my alma mater of blessed memory, is performing Gilbert & Sullivan's The Pirates of Penzance this weekend and next. I don't know how it is that I am not otherwise committed, but I can go tonight. I've seen shows at Blair before because as an alum, it's my responsibility to go cheer on the next generation, just as it's my responsibility as a former girl scout to buy all those cookies. They make it easy on me by doing very watchable shows, even if I feel old and creaky while I do it. Why do I feel old and creaky? Because those kids all look about 12 years old, that's why. Some of them look 11.

And, yeah, it's high school theater, so there's a varying level of ability, but the costumes and sets are colorful and appropriate (see what I mean here) and the performers are energetic and charming. And for $8 I can guarantee you that I've paid more to see shows that aren't as good.

Some of these young actors are very good and I look forward to seeing more of them in the future - like when their Broadway shows tour through this area. Hmm... Maybe I should make sure to get some autographs tonight.


*To quote the (alas) late John Inman

Happy Birthday, Cat in the Hat!

NPR did a nice piece this morning on The Cat in the Hat's 50th birthday and, of course, the musical button at the end was a bit of the Seussical overture, which amused me as David is currently working on a production of that show and in a bit of serendipity, they open tomorrow night.

David will be dividing his time between Sally*, who is playing the Mayor's wife, and Joan, who is the Stage Manager. Certainly if one is to divide one's time between two women, one could not do better than Sally and Joan, but this division is occurring because David is the Assistant Stage Manager and both Yertle the Turtle and the Grinch.

Don't worry - I've already commented on the typecasting, even though David is neither a power-hungry egomaniac nor a scheming misanthrope (or mis-Who-thrope). He is actually rather kindly, unless one persists on repeating errors of fact as actual fact.

Traditionally, actors complain about tech folks and tech folks complain about actors - in a good natured way, of course - but as a dual-nationalist, I guess David will be left complaining about the audience.


*And, unless they've modified the script and messed with some subtext, this will be the first show that I see both Sally and David in where she isn't after my man.

Cotillion

David and I went to see "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" in Reston on Friday night. We were told that there was a slight delay in opening the house because there was a large group in attedance that evening that would be seated first. So there we are all, grouped loosely around the lobby waiting for the doors to open when what to our wondering eyes should appear, but the Cotillion!

I never attended Cotillion when I was that age and it was then largely regarded as being in its last throes, but it does still exist and, in fact, seems to be making a comeback.

Approximately 40 young ladies and gentlemen (and parental escorts) would be attending the theater that evening. They had had a reception earlier and were dressed for a dance. When it was time for them to be seated, the entered the lobby with each young lady on the arm of a young gentlemen. They looked like a scene from an A.R. Gurney play on parade. It was so utterly charming (and completely adorable) that I nearly passed out and died right there. I, myself, was 5'7" when I was twelve and most twelve-year-old boys are about 5'4" and this played a pretty big role in the cuteness of it all on Friday.

The expression on each of their faces ranged from delighted to be there to wishing they were under a bleachers somewhere smoking. The boys' haircuts also ranged in length and all the boys wth hair hanging in their faces with a prom-ready young lady on his arm transported me immediately back to my youth, such as it was. Which meant that I stood there as all those young people processed in, beaming at them with one part nostalgia and two parts "Oh, my goodness, isn't that *cute*!"

And I am pleased to report that they all behaved like perfect ladies and gentlemen thoughout the evening.