this is just to swoon...

oh for a man with some deep-set eyes.

to drink or not to drink?

i didn't know before coming here that no one drinks coffee.

i do drink coffee.

yes, i am a coffee drinker.

it was nearly a year ago that i really fell in love with the stuff.

at a little cafe across from a little house in the little area of sydney known as alexandria.

mochas and lattes. froth and foam. the warm cup in a chilled hand. there was none of the american nonsense of black coffee--it just didn't exist. and each coffee shop was its own. a unique adventure unto itself. nothing streamlined.

and so it was love. and so it went. and so i-was-in-love. with the morning trek across the street and the afternoon respite--sunning in the cool winter air, coffee in one hand, a book in the other.

and then i got here.

and no one drinks coffee.

and i spent a lot of time wondering if perhaps i shouldn't drink coffee. and as all catholics do i thought on the thing waiting for an appropriate amount of guilt to arise and lead me to an answer. too much guilt? let it go. not too much? carry on. and then i realized there was no guilt to be seen or felt or had. coffee is not my vice but my choice.

and so i found a lovely little coffee shop here, finagled a bike from a friend, and each morning i wend and wind through the neighborhoods just off of center street as i slowly and surely make my way to my iced-coffee haven.

it's me and a gang of bikers (motorbikes, that is) and a gypsy of a family (i think) and a whole host of assorted characters. the funny thing is, i'm probably the one who looks out of place.

i knew coming here would be hard. it would be a challenge. but that little voice inside was so sure and so calm and so i allowed it to lead--that voice that promised oh-so-good-things.

but at this moment in time i'm wondering where the heck that voice got the nerve because i can't see those oh-so-good-things. i just see the return of ned. of old habits and older fears. the return of a bloated face and a too-tight-pair-of-jeans.

for a month now i've tried to no avail to climb from this little hole that i've dug.

but today i'm gonna get myself a coffee maker. at wal-mart. or some such. because much as i like the morning bike ride to the coffee shop and much as i'll keep doing it, i wanna wake to the smell of coffee brewing. i want a hold a warm mug. and give thanks over it. and i want that to be the very first thing i do all day. before i mount a bike. before i marvel at all the eclectic houses. before i join the misfits of utah county, i wanna break a few rules in my own little room.

because there is so much instability here. so much uncertainty. and ned really loves those things. and if all it takes is one cup of my own renegade mocha to center me a little, then i'm gonna take it. and thank God for the little lifeboat that it is.

(it should be noted that i have

the utmost respect for people

who choose not to drink

coffee for whatever reason,

religious or not.)

one iced latte, please.

the last time i spoke to tom i said, sometimes, i just don't want to feel so much.

and he said, congratulations, you've just defined what an eating disorder is in a nutshell--the not wanting to feel.

i've been going through this interminable, undeniable period of writer's block.

as soon as i got here: capow, it hit. and i wondered if it had something to do with energy--with the transference of energy.

because, you see, for me...writing has always been an act of energy. of feeling. of seeing feelingly. what i mean is, i don't think it through terribly well. i mean i think it through, but mostly at a level of half-awareness. on a simmer of sorts and when it begins to boil...well, then i write. it's a feeling thing. of taking what i'm feeling and putting it on the page. so that while the reader may not get what i'm saying exactly, it doesn't quite matter, because they've lived in a different place, for just a moment. felt something just a wee bit their own. or not their own. they've experienced some sort of shift. (i think. i hope).

feeling and energy.

this post alone should be case enough to send me back to a school where someone can teach me how to write correctly and articulately and well. and yet, that's not really of interest to me. i want to write in the cracks. in the fault lines. i want to walk away with dirty fingers from sorting through the glorious and renegade weeds of my own life.

and so here i am, suddenly trying to act, and i can't write. and if i can't write, well then...

i always assumed it would be possible to do both. but this acting thing and tapping into emotions disperses and displaces my energy in such a way that the water only simmers. constantly, yes. but no real bubbles. no explosions of air.

and the thing is i'm quite sure that writing saved my life. and so i can't give it up.

how did it save my life? a good and valid question. well, because, if writing is feeling, and an eating disorder is the avoidance of feeling, then writing (for me) is the enemy of ned*. writing is the sorcerer's stone. the silver bullet. the long, sought after spoonful of sugar.

funny, i always thought it would be love.

acting is a feeling thing too. i do it feelingly. and i'm quite good at it. or i was. once. and yet in some ways (and i realized this just tonight) it was only perpetuating my sickness. as actors we are desperate to feel. but we play people who feel so very much that they want all the feeling taken out of them, want to stand barren. as actors we play people who rail against--who laugh when they need to cry--who become silent when the cries of rage overpower.

i thought i stepped away from acting because i couldn't align my health with the realities of the industry. but now i realize it was more than that. it was that it wasn't healthy for me to play people who didn't want to feel. because that was the reality of my life. it was too close.

there are days when i feel the residuals of ned. and suddenly it's as though i can't breathe. i mistakingly step into a pocket of space and time that he has claimed as his own and i am swimming through air, helplessly. and yes, i smile for the camera. and yes, as i do so i feel like a fraud. a liar. and while people kindly remind me of how far i've come, it doesn't feel as though i've taken but two steps from the ground zero of my own invited destruction.

and then just as quickly i step out of that pocket. and i see the many thousands of miles i've traversed. and i see the many miles i've left to go. and it all seems possible.

i don't believe the people that say this will be something i struggle with for the rest of my life. i think they're wrong. i think they don't know. i think that's something that's been said so often and for so long that others repeat it as fact.

i think i will look back on all this in two, ten, twenty years and i will in fact be doing just that, looking back. it won't be a daily battle. and i say all this because even now there are days where i feel so completely, so gloriously, so perfectly... normal.

i started all this rambling by declaring this a period of undeniable writer's block. undeniable might be a misnomer. maybe it's not writer's block. maybe it's just that i've not taken the time to sit down and hash it all out. to force the boil. sometimes words come easily and i've been so very fortunate to experience that. often. and yet there is just as much value in the uphill trek through the muck, the searching for words when words themselves seem impossible.

because this--all of this will make me a better actor if and when i decide that that's a path i want to embark on. writing is not the enemy of acting. and acting is not the enemy of good health. and, well...there you have it.

and maybe love is the answer. love of words and theatre and afternoon bike rides. and coffee, coffee too.

you know, i sat down to write a post on the virtues of coffee and this is what i got.

go figure.

*ned is the name for my nasty little eating disorder.

to read more, go here.

man oh man. fathers.

have you ever heard an actor say, "if you can do anything else [besides act], you should"

well personally, i think that's total bullocks. the best actors should be able to do damn near anything and yet choose to act.

that being said, when you've gone to acting school for four years, it is very easy to feel completely unqualified in a real, working-world setting.

i was telling my father this. and so he sent me the following email.

A while back when we talked, you were upset because you did not feel that you were qualified to do anything. I have been thinking about your concern for some time now and composed the first of two lists. The first list is suitable for printing and putting in a pace where you will see it on a regular basis.



Enjoy, Love Dad.

Sunday, May 18, 2009

Meg

I thought about this for some time and decided you are well qualified to:

Be you
Write your own story
Smile
Sing
Have fun
Love
Be loved
Make a friend
Be a friend
Volunteer
Inspire
Dream
Make dreams come true
Touch a heart
Touch a world
Dance
Be seen
Observe
Process
Compete
Be strong
Be weak
Feel
Stand tall
Be independent
Be political
Support
Laugh out loud
Understand
Bring insight
Create
Be beautiful
Show compassion

Congratulations, you are qualified to do all of the above, or some, or none, your choice. You are also qualified to add to this list at will.

Love, Dad

Man oh man, am I lucky.

Thanks, Dad. You're so right. I am pretty darn qualified.

And pretty darn lucky to have you.

we're having a real life thunderstorm here in nyc

my absolute favorite kind of weather.

and seeing as how i can count my nyc thunderstorms on one hand (in part because i've never really spent my summer's here) i'm loving this.

usually rain calls for edith piaf and a little dancing.

but today i'm enjoying Coeur de pirate (i read about her fabulous french pop on one of your blogs and now i'm at a loss for which one--remind me, will you?!), cleaning, and getting ready for work...oh how can i got to work when the weather is this perfect? 

ps: there is a soap star who lives on my block. i always see him in pajama bottoms. pajama bottoms. all hours of the day. hmmmm.

image via a cup of jo (paris in the rain)

once more.

today i awoke to a miracle.

the city was a revelation.

bathed in green. swathed in new light.

i stood on the corner of 77th and columbus and was lost. i'd gone too far. not far enough. where was i?

i looked up. 77th. columbus. no, this is right. and then i realized:

green. a canopy of green above. and with that, everything looked different. altered. the usual no more.

the city is a brand new playground. these corners and pockets that i know so well have changed and are beckoning me forth to explore. mapped and charted territory in need of new delineations.

suddenly, the usually banal cross town bus trip is like burrowing through the center of the rain forest. it doesn't last too long. but it's a glorious explosion of lushness in the gathered bouquet of skyscrapers and tenements that is new york.

new york is new again. new to me. and i could fall in love once more.

we forget, you know. there are times that our memories trail so close behind--clicking at our heels. and so we forget. trees lose their leaves. and then they find them again. of course. how could i forget this?

barren arms reaching to the sky. and then an answered prayer. blooms and buds. and flowers and leaves. cyclical. life is cyclical. and so the word barren is not right. trees are not barren. they are never without. they are in transition. life takes on new form.

i am not without. i am in transition. and soon a prayer will be answered and i will bloom and open. and i will be the same but altered. and i will get to explore this new me who was here all along. and the cycle will repeat.

the trees sang me a song this morning and my ears are alight with their hum.

#10: see the yankees play in the new stadium. check.

i love baseball. i love the history of it. the experience of it. i love baseball uniforms and hats. i was raised on a baseball field with a mitt on my left hand. i was raised kicking the dirt with my cleats and taking practice swings in the batter's box. baseball is in me. i understand it. take me out to the ball game--oh please take me out to the ball game. i'd go any day. it's the ideal date. the ideal way to spend a sunday afternoon--any afternoon.

so when my aunt offered me her extra ticket for last thursday night i did everything in my power to finagle my way out of of work. and finagle it did--success! 

so dressed in my blue and white striped t with my yankee cap placed firmly atop my crown (i've been to many a stadium and seen many teams with many fans--but no one dresses for the occasion quite like new yorkers) i headed uptown to see the bronx bombers play in the brand spankin' new stadium.

in many ways the new stadium looks much like the old (phew, relief)--it's just newer. but the really interesting thing is that baseball fields are as influential a player of the game as anyone else involved. each field in each stadium differs: where are the holes, the gaps? how easy is it to hit a home run? well, in this stadium, it would seem that home runs are easier to come by than in others (it will be interesting to see how this comes into play in the years to come).

so on thursday night i sat in my seat way (way, way) behind home plate with its magnificent view, covered in a fleece blanket and cheered and cheered. and i dreamed of the day that husband-to-be and i will have season tickets. and then when mo (perhaps the greatest closer of all time--a closer is a pitcher who comes in to finish the game when his team is ahead) sauntered down from the back of center field we all stood and cheered as he delivered three easy outs. mariano rivera (mo) is a rockstar of baseball if ever there was one. and so with the win the voice of frank sinatra wafted through the stadium--when the yankees win they play sinatra's "new york, new york"--and we all hummed along as the thousands of new yorkers dispersed back to their own personal pockets of the city.

and i went to bed happy. in my pocket. in my bed. on the upper west side. dreaming of the fields of my youth and the games of the future.

here's to taza

naomi at rockstar diaries has been doing some captivating features, asking people to list ten things that make them happy--and in turn getting us to think about the little things.

she emailed me. and you know how when the president calls, you answer?

that's what it felt like.

find my list here.

but. i'd like to add...

pasta strainers

lint rollers

pantaloons

pumpkin rigatoni 

and

naomi

ps: remember this list? well, im checking one off tonight. but i'm not telling--you'll have to guess!

25 before 25

Inspired by the amazing Carolyn over at My Thirty Before 30 Journey, I decided to make my own list. I said I needed a change? Well, it's in my hands to make it happen. My half birthday is April 4, so I have a year and a half to begin these--to make them a priority. I've lost sight of how much fun goals can be (I say this now, we'll see how I feel three months, six months, a year from now {though I have a feeling I'm going to love these--how hard some of them are--how much of a challenge they'll present})

1. take a trip abroad

2. read 25 new books

3. fall in love with running

4. give up soda and coffee (and yes, that mean's saying goodbye to starbucks)

5. figure out how to get some swimming into my life

6. host a dinner party

7. finally start a book club (stop talking about it and just do it)

8. get a job that i truly love (even if it's only temporary)

9. see the elephants walk through manhattan

10. see the yankees play in the new stadium

11. explore and document different nyc neighborhoods

12. write a little. every day. stretch those creative muscles.

13. choose 15 of shakespeare's great female monologues. disect them. figure them out.

14. speak a little poetry--a little shakespeare out loud every day

15. improve my spanish speaking skills

16. stop buying tabloid magazines

17. unleash my inner fashion mavin

18. lower my cholesterol

19. figure out what my happy weight is

20. eat at least five fruits and veggies each day

21. treat my body with the respect it deserves 

22. get my finances in order

23. become a real--working--professional actor

24. say goodbye to ned. for good.

25. fall in love

What would you put on your list? Do you all have any suggestions?

I am the Walrus.

Today I took Liam and Bells (my two babysitting charges) to the Natural History Museum.

At one point with my best fish face, I turned to Liam and between fish bubble noises I asked, "What am I Liam? Am I fish?"

He said, "No silly, you're a woman."

There it was. Life's great truth. Delivered by a three year-old.

I love Central Park in the mornings. And afternoons. And evenings.

Dear Naomi, 

Now that the weather is turning warmer won't you come play with me when I take my morning walk in Central Park?

We'll walk by the Delacorte ( and I'll talk about how one day I'll do a play there).

And as we do the ring around the Jackie Onassis Reservoir, we'll make a point to stop (just like Erin and Whitney in The City) and admire the view.

Maybe we could get Carolyn and Vic to come too. 

What do you think?

Signed,

central park speed demon (or snail) in search of a friend

I love coming full circle. I love new beginnings.

I remember sitting in the school cafeteria during the Summer of 2004. We had all just arrived. Fresh faces, bright eyes, and endless expectations. I sat across from Erica and I knew immediately that I liked her. She was kind and intelligent--truly lovely. She asked me if I had a boyfriend and I had come to New York dating a guy who already lived there, so I replied yes. And she went on to tell me about her boyfriend, Chris. 

I remember sitting in Arte around the Corner in the fall of 2007. I sat across from Erica. Celebrating both of our birthdays we drank biodynamic wine and talked about boys and sex and school and love and the rest of our lives. I had long since moved on from my first New York City boyfriend, but Erica was still with Chris. 

Chris would surprise Erica at school, waiting outside when we finished at eleven. He would come see the shows and sit on the end of the row (easy access to leave in case he got to nervous). He would cry with us and laugh with us. And he loved her all the while. And so we (Erica's friends) loved him for that.

He proposed last March, just before our graduation. I squealed like they do in the movies when Erica held up her hand. 

And so they were married in City Hall this Friday. Erica wore her mother's wedding dress. And the figurines atop her cake originally belonged to her grandmother. Everything was steeped in history, a rich tradition. The restaurant where they held their reception, Five Front just under the Brooklyn Bridge, was the same place they had their first date. I can only imagine what it was like for Chris as he sat across from Erica that first time. And for Erica, sitting across from the man she would one day call her husband. 

I can't wait for countless more meals, more glasses of biodynamic (giggle, giggle) wine, where I get to sit across from the two of them and watch their love--their marriage--grow and flourish.

Sometimes (and yes that's a very qualified sometimes) I wouldn't live anywhere other than New York.

A little mid-day performance at the 79th street subway stop. 

I love that I wouldn't have spent today any other way. Not for anything in the world.

How did I spend it? With Popops and cousin Sean in Connecticut. 

And yes maybe we went to Constantine's. Which maybe my family begrudges me for liking because it means they all have to go when they're in town. And maybe if they complain they hear, "but Meghan likes it." And yes, maybe my full name is Meghan. And maybe I had the burger. Because let's be honest, I'm maybe always gonna be that girl that's gonna have the burger and get tipsy off of one glass of wine. And maybe Pops got some ice cream on the sleeve of his sweater. And maybe as he tried to eat (yes, eat) it off, it then fell on the front leaving another chocolate stain. And maybe this led to a Wal-Mart trip to get Spray and Wash. And then maybe we got home to find he already had some.

And maybe, just maybe, today was perfect.

Maybe the reason I'll always love Valentine's Day...

...is because growing up there was no better reason to celebrate our immediate family unit.

We had red and pink themed dinners where everyone was in charge of a course. 

Sesame shrimp. Red bell peppers filled with assorted somethings (I remember looking at it in disgust (I was seven, maybe?) and being introduced to the term antioxidants). Apples. Pink frosted cookies. 

And we always got a Valentine's gift. Nothing fancy. Nothing flashy. 

But perfection indeed. 

So when mine came in the mail today. I pulled out each piece and set them on my dresser. Though, I did peek in the red box. And as I suspected...cookies. Now, let me level with you. My mom makes the best sugar cookies. I've heard others make this proclamation and perhaps they're good, but my mother's frosting puts her over the edge. The best frosting. Best. I scoff at store bought frosting--yes, occasionally it hits the spot, but then you taste my mother's and you start to mourn for those who have only ever known the kind that comes in a can. 

So I had one cookie. 

Mmmmm.

And then put the others in the freezer for safe storage.

I feel so loved.

Why I love my family: Reason number 3,342.

At one point, when we were all together this past January, we had a ten-minute discussion as to whether we prefer to fold or crumple our toilet paper before using it.

Think about it.

I myself prefer the folding method. Funny, since I do almost nothing else the civilized way.

Another thing I love? Okay, here goes...

I read these words and thought, yes--that is what I want in my life more than anything else.

"Bashert is a Yiddish term that means finding one's preordined soul mate. Because it is a union created in heaven, even if all the forces of the world were to conspire against the meeting, it would still take place."

From Once Again to Zelda by Marlene Wagman-Geller. 

I love organic cake in the shape of male genitalia.

And the celebration of impending nuptials.

Erica, a very dear and beautiful classmate from Juilliard, is getting married next Friday to her long time love (and Peter Parker lookalike). 

I love weddings. I love everything about them. That's the hopeless romantic in me--I can't think of anything more beautiful than two people standing in front of their friends and family and having the courage to say, this is the person I want--the person I promise--to spend the rest of my life with. 

I'll be sure to post pictures following next week's celebration. 

Oh yes, February is the month of love indeed. 

In the midst of this cold, harsh, bitter winter...

...I absolutely love my new mittens.

They make me feel like Katherine Hepburn in the midst of a 1940's winter landscape. 

Oooh la la...it's love indeed.

I love the kindness of strangers.

Jessica thought this quote might have some meaning for me. So she sent it my way care of Naomi over at Rockstar Diaries. 

All your life you are told the things you cannot do. 

All your life they will say you are not good enough or strong enough or talented enough; they will say you're the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or achieve this.

 THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no, until all the no's become meaningless. 

All your life they will tell you  no, quite firmly and very quickly. 

AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES.

I love that: until the no's become meaningless.

And then, the other day, I got a really unbelievable email from a young woman who spoke of the importance of faith. Faith in one's self. And of course faith in a higher power. And there I was reading it when I had (what Oprah would call) an ah-ha moment. Of course. Faith in a higher power I'm working on. But faith in one's self? How many times has someone said that to me? How many times have I seen that stitched into a decorative pillow? And each time I glossed over it going, yeah, yeah, yeah--duh. But here it was once more. And it hit me. My faith in myself has faltered. I put far too much stock in the opinion of others. And faith in one's self takes work (if it doesn't than you're a far better person than I--though I'd venture a guess that you work at it without even realizing that's what you're doing). 

The yes must begin in me. 

This is the year the nation said Yes, we can. It's about time I started saying Yes, I can. 

Was that too cheesy for your taste? Well...sometimes I like a little bit of cheese.