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The lovely Emily Simoness, actor in my williamstown play, has a family farm up in Brewster, NY. Geniusly, she is starting to invite groups up to develop plays, writers to write, etc – but not only do you do play things – you also work on the farm during your stay. I think, in the spirit of disengaging from completely from the way the way the world actually works (stupid trains / fax machines / toss your own salad / student loans)…I’m going to head there for a week in Sept, challenge myself to write a 2 character play, and feed some chickens. People, I am going to ‘Ryde*’ this train of good fortune for as long as I possibly can. Then, I will cry and get a job at H&M.

*Zing.

So: Carrie received her Law degree from the college of Charleston today, and I really could not be more proud. In true Carrie form, she was by far the prettiest grad, and sung the star spangled banner in front of the zillion faculty and friends and family. She will be a singing lawyer, and will sing subpoena’s, and she will like it. But: as the speaker noted, it’s a tough time for recent law grads. Heck, it is a tough time for anyone. I asked my Dad when I was home: in his last year of law school, he had tons of job offers to pick from. The Recession has cut so many jobs for recent law grads, and it’s a totally different ballgame now. Clerkships aren’t funded by the state, etc. I have total faith though that something will work out for Carrie. She’s sort of an uncanny lawyer which, I think, makes her a really strong candidate for any firm. While I was watching the proceedings, I couldn’t help but think, wow, I did this same thing, BUT FOR THEATER. Who the crap do I think I am?! And then I went and quit my JOB?! But then I was all: I have to use my powers, and use my powers for good. And then I was all, why am I interior monologuing like a power ranger?

There Steve and I were at some corner cafe bar thing in Soho, innocently enjoying our overpriced edibles and checking out his new ipad app – when a random guy (either bar patron, or employee?) came up to Steve and told him that he had JUST stopped this other guy from stealing Steve’s laptop!!! It was sitting in his (Jack Spade, mind you) computer bag, right by his foot, and NEITHER OF US NOTICED when a person came by, picked up the bag, and started to put the bag into his own. WHAT? How did that happen? I fortunately have never been robbed here, and am probably much to slack about it – but it was a nice? reminder that people are evil and crazy, and will steal your anything. So you know – watch your back.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, we were pleasantly reminded of Joshua Jackson / Pacey from Dawson’s Creek, because HE WAS THERE. Supremely exciting m, not so much for Steve. We are are 67% sure that it was NOT Pacey from Dawson’s creek who tried to steal Steve’s computer. How could he? I mean, look at this puddum.

Fellow writers, tell me you know what I mean: sometimes when tragedy strikes, it is like we are INSTANTLY SUCKED into the pysche of those involved, or specifically: those who caused the tragedy. We need details. We start to invent and figure out Why; we try and understand. Like: the Moscow subway bombings. They’re supposing that one of the bombers was this sweet baby faced 17 year old, pictured below with her husband – who was killed by Russian police in December, 2009.

No need to suppose or invent her trigger, her motivation. There always seems to be something emotional going on at the core of these attacks, as opposed to something just philosophical or conviction-based. Like the guy who tried to blow up the Michigan flight – he felt left out and rejected and lonely as a kid, and into his adulthood – and needed something to stand behind / believe in.

I have no idea where I am going with this. Just – things. Observations and some sadness. Just ‘oh, people’ and ‘oh, This World.’

Sighhhhhh.

I tend to a lot when I text / write emails. Why? Why do I that? What am I, twelve? I irk myself. A deeper consideration of the could reveal horrible insecurities about being misinterpreted. You because you REALLY need the reader to know that you are being     -y. You do not trust the other person to read your mind. You do not want their feelings hurt, or your intentions not conveyed. And so, we the crap out of our passive aggressive sentences so that at least the is there, and at the end of the day, everyone stays as opposed to

Right? Or, instead we are just all confused. Which apparently looks like this:

Last night, I explored a scary potential future version of my Self, as an angry Soccer Mom, or: Kate Gosselin, thanks to my generic  ‘Eight is Enough’ wig. I demanded that children finish their beers! Make their beds! Keep their elbows off the table!

But, it being Halloween and all, my kids were very, very bad.

Dylan, as Rocky 3?, insisted upon doing unfortunate things with his Mr. T doll.

William, as that guy from the Cure, would not stop being angsty and emotional, and Emily, as a tamale, refused to stop being Hot.

Colonel Sanders would not play nicely with Others.

Led Zepplin refused to lay off the whiskey and hold still for the camera.

And Steve insisted upon indoor gymnastics, over and over.

Mom resorted to face-biting to regain control.

That’s what Moms do. Right?

I somehow managed to make it 27 years without ever loosing a loved one or having to go to the funeral – I’ve always been terrified of going to my first. But Roberta’s funeral, as intense and terrible as it was, was sort of – lovely. Full of energy and laughing and tradition just how she would have liked!  It was a very simple, traditional jewish service, culminating in us actually throwing dirt onto her coffin which was – wow. Just – ow and then also wow. It was pretty amazing to meet so many of her friends. If I end up even 15% as awesome as she was when I grow up, I’ll be totally set.

Most amazing thing about the day – Aron.

My grandma’s boyfriend of the last two years. He was the most devestated over the loss of her. He is THE SWEETEST most gentle man who was really there for her the past few years. As the rabbi recounted, Aron would call her every single morning:

Is the Madam of the House available?

Roberta: Why, yes she is! 

RIP grandma, I love you! (As I’m sure you are just sitting up there in heaven, you know, reading my blog. I hope you also at least have a Latte, and maybe some cake.)

Okay, let’s pretend, just for a moment, that we JUST met and it’s kind of awkward, so we’re saying totally asonine things to each other, as we tenatively feel each other out: Wow – last weekend, it rained a lot!  and I love bread! and how bout them Yankees*? Are you with me? So now I will say: I love fall. Holy crap, I love Fall. I know I am not alone here. Today, there is the SLIGHTESS tinge of it in the air, so I instantly grabbed a sweater and a hot coffee to celebrate. It is absolutely my favorite season hands down for reasons including but not limited to: aforementioned sweaters and hot coffee, scarves, leaves, bright gray skies, putting pumpkin in things, hunter green, kneesocks, potato soup, hot toddies, cold rooms with warm beds.

*But I would never say this. Ever.

J’allez ici this weekend! Check the state off the list! (Is there a list? I think there’s a list.) Vermont is one of those states that do ‘Maine’ things to your mind (oooooh!! Vermont!!) (etc.)  I go to the wedding of Sara and Jon, good friends of Steve’s (and mine, subsequently.) I have a sneaking suspicion it is going to pretty, fancy, and fun. Hence why yesterday, I took Steve shopping and forced him to purchase things of the blazer, linen shirt and skinny tie variety. (Other cute boys at the wedding: it is so on. Watch your linened back.)

Hi, it’s me. Morbid. The French are sending their little submarine to the site of the Brazilian flight crash – a little guy named Porquois Pas (I mean, why not, right?) who was used to explore the remains of the Titantic, like, deep. I can’t help but wonder what they will find down there. (Stop, Bekah, Stop.) But really: blue people? Still in their seats, eyes peacefully closed, hair floating? Floating laptops and underwear? Floating peanuts and toothbrushes and chardonnay?   Is it sort of pretty and very still?  And then  all of the sudden, someone’s phone rings and they all wake up. And they open their eyes and smile and undo their seatbelts and just swim  up to safety and shake the water out of their hair. Right? Right? 

(I’m terrified.)

Okay, I’m done.