This isn't the secret garden you're thinkin' of...

If you haven't met Nymbolnuts Cass, you should be ashamed of yourself.


Located on first street in Langley, Nymbol's Secret Garden overlooks the waterfront. Part design studio, part retail, simply put, this place is awesome! Think Midsummer Night's Dream reimagined by Tim Burton.

Etheral leather masks line the tables and walls, as well as jewelry and fairie wings. (Go ahead. Try a pair on. You know you wanna :-) )

You might see Izzy and Tabitha (8 and almost 11, respectively) hard at work on a puppet, drawing or fairie house. Sam might be behind the desk or tidying up. And Bill is probably hard at work on the computer.

And then there's Nymbol...who you have to meet for yourself.


Stop by, check it out, meet Nymbol, make a mask, have a birthday party, go home happy :-)

Little Suzy Tried to Milk a Cow

I had the chance to take an adventure over to America last night and it was fantastic! My friend Andrea and I parked by Pike Place Market and walked to Belltown to dine at Wasabi. There were no tables available, so we had to shimmy up to a little granite island where there were already 5 people seated and only one vacant stool. One of the guys sitting next to us gave up his stool in an act of chivalry. We happened to be seated by a great guy, Adam, who works at a wine shop in Kirkland and gave us an extensive and informative lecture about different kinds of sake. He even bought everyone at the granite island a bottle to share.

After awhile, two seats opened up at the bar. Our food was fantastic; we shared the spicy tuna roll and the rainbow roll. )Kudos to Dawn for introducing me to sushi while I was Arizona this fall :-) ) Looking up at the ornately lighted bottles of liquor that lined the wall, I was struck by how the labels on some bottles evoke memories stronger than the scent of grandma's sugar cookies baking in the oven. I find it hard to look at a bottle of Midori, while Belvidere vodka has a fond place in my heart (try swapping stories with friend the next time you're sitting at the bar.)

Next, we trekked back to Post Alley and grabbed spanish coffees at the Alibi Room. The gum wall across the street was a bit much for me, but it framed our final destination of the evening: Theatresports.

Now, when I was in middle school, I was in an after-school group called The Hysterical Society (get it? Historical/Hysterical...tee-hee). We would meet once a week and play improv games. And although I have acted in many plays since middle school, they have, for the most part, been scripted.

The teams that were competing at Theatresports were "Back for the 4th Straight Week" and "Knuckle Manwich." About 30 minutes into the first half of the show, they decision was handed down that both teams needed to play games involving an audience member. Many hands went up, but I was chosen, even though I was in the back row.

My appearance got off to a rocky start. The team leader of Back for the 4th Straight Week asked me if I had ever seen a pop-up storybook. Now, of course I know what a pop-up storybook is, but I had become so nervous at the thought of (gulp) improvising in front of a hundred people that I thought he meant had I ever seen this particular game played and said "No."

"Um, you mean you never had a pop-up storybook as a kid?"

"Oh, well, YEAH, I know what a pop-up storybook is, but I thought, uh, um, that you were talking about if I'd ever seen this game before, but no, yeah, I totally know what a pop-up storybook is and have seen one before as a child."

(raucous audience laughter at Katie's awkwardness)

"Hmm..yeah, you're doing great" said the team leader dubiously, hestitantly gave me a thumbs up and went on to explain the game.

Basically, whenever the narrator turns the page, the actors onstage strike a new pose in the pop-up storybook that he then has to justify to drive the narrative forward.

"Can I get a suggestion of a title of a pop-up storybook from the audience?"

"Little Suzy Tried to Milk a Cow!"

And we began. It so happened that I ended up being Little Suzy. Luckily, Little Suzy was pretty nervous that she had just turned nine and had to learn how to milk a cow. She got down on her little-girl knees in udder-yanking position to find out that the cow she was trying to milk was actually a bull. What was Little Suzy to do?

Channeling my inner Sarah Palin, my last pose of the game showed me brandishing a rifle. That's right folks, Little Suzy may not know how to milk a cow, but she can sure shoot! And I think she can see Russia if she squints from the porch of her Iowa farmhouse...

quirkyalone and Beyond Therapy

The other day I was perusing the 300s section of the Langley library and stumbled upon the book: "quirkyalone: a manifesto for uncompromising romantics." I was intrigued and added it to the stack of books and dvds I was checking out.

Little did I know that I was on my way to discovering the first pop culture label with which I strongly identified.

www.quickyalone.net defines "quirkyalone" as:

"Quirkyalones are people who enjoy being single (but are not opposed to being in a relationship) and prefer being single to dating for the sake of being in a relationship."

International Quirkyalone Day is February 14. The official flower is daisies.

62% of quirkyalones are female, 67% don't have pets, and 47% are between the ages of 26-45.

We're not exactly talking anti-Bridget Jones here, but there is an element of that. Give this book a try.

The book made me think about Christopher Durang's play, Beyond Therapy. Durang is one of my favorite playwrights and directing this play was one of the highlights of my undergraduate experience. The official name of my senior project was "Beyond Therapy: Beyond Social Constructions of Gender and Sexuality." (I tied in articles from the God and Gender class I had taken as a religion general studies requirement into scene study with my actors).

I cast some of my closest friends in the show and the rehearsal process was a blast. I tried to say yes to as many requests as I could, my favorite being Justin asking if we could bring an adult-sized rocking horse down as a set piece in one of the therapist's offices. By closing night of the show, the house was packed; we were bringing out suitcases from props storage for people to sit on.

Charlotte the crazy therapist says "Prudence, you're searching for perfection. You know that song, 'Someday My Prince Will Come?' Well it's shit. There is no prince. Everyone in this world is limited, and depending on one's perspective, is either horrible or okay. We're all alone, everyone's crazy, and you have no choice but to be alone or to be with someone in what will be a highly imperfect and probably eventually unsatisfactory relationship." She then goes on to describe how life is like Chekhov--everyone thinks it's a tragedy or drama, but actually, life at its core is truly comedic. "If you take psychological suffering in the right frame of mind, you can find the humor in it."

I don't know if this play expresses mostly pro or anti-quirkyalone sentiments. I'm new to this label, but so far it fits...

Poems for a Rainy Day

I have been going through some of my old journals and finding some poetry, so I thought I would share some vintage words of Woodzick:

Rules for Dancing:

My father never danced

so in turn

My mother never danced

so in turn

I never danced

until

I found college

and college found you.

And in those four years

we have choreographed

a dance of sprawling symbiosis...

Our fathers

the soldier and the scientist

gaze on, disinterested

While our mothers

Midwestern and beaming

wish they could join

the dance.

untitled

I have a poem for you

(I have a poem for you)

It's either an obstruction

or an abstraction

you can decide which.

You said with friends

"the good ones stick around"

But I'm leaving on a jet

plane, because baby there are

some mountains high enough &

I'm not a rubber ball bouncing

back to...

The lyrics aren't working:

let's try literature.

I am Helen & my

face and mind have launched

thousands of ideas, dances,

songs, plays and characters...

these ideas will send me to

the far reaches of

this current plane of

consciousness.

I may come back to visit:

the odd play a wedding

(late night bonfires in northeast

Iowa are not to be missed...

I got the notebook that now contains these poems while in London at the Tate Modern...It has an image of John Singer Sargents' Carnation, Lily, Rose. The way my undergraduate schedule was set up, we had a semester, a 3-week J-term course, then another semester. So, my senior year, I decided to go to England for Plays, Players and Playhouses with the Theatre/Dance Department.

We started in Stratford, seeing shows at the Royal Shakespeare Company: Great Expectations and two nights of the Canterbury Tales. The great thing about the literature cirriculum in Enlgand is that the theatres tap into it, so the schools can go see adaptations of great works that the students are reading in class.

Next, we went to London, saw shows at the National Theatre: History Boys, Paul, Once in a Lifetime. There are three different theatres housed in the National, all very different venues. I saw an actor from History Boys the night after we saw the play. It was at a little deli by the theatre. I went up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and told him how much I liked his performance. He said, "Oh, you're from America?" And I suddenly became very incoherent, muttering something about being from the Midwest with cows. Sigh.

We went to the reconstructed Globe theatre and got a tour from an actor in the company. I actually got to stand on the stage and recite Shakespeare--one of my favorite memories.

One of the most stunning aspects of the reconstructed Globe, in my opinion, is the painting called "The Heavens" that rests right above Juliet's balcony (see above). I was so haunted my the image, I actually used it at the end of the production of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead I directed at Whidbey Island Center for the Arts. The weather today reminds me of London a bit. Glad to have the notebook from Tate Modern to delve into memories past...

Whaddya Know?

Does anyone remember this show? Growing up near Madison, Wisconsin, Michael Feldman's Whaddya Know? was a staple of Saturday mornings (right before Prairie Home Companion). It was a quiz show recorded mostly in Madison (although the show did travel) and when I was 13, they had a contest called "Whaddya Know, The Next Generation." I knew that this was my calling. I recorded an audition tape, crosslegged on my bed, singing "I Enjoy Being a Girl" as well as declaring that "you should let me be the announcer because I could do this job better than any man."

Of course, they played the second part on national radio, after which Feldman quipped, "I guess they're starting to teach feminism in middle school now."

I won the contest, along with three other teenagers, and got to act as the announcer for the second half of a live show. Above is a particularly embarassing picture of me complete with glasses, braces, unruly hair, a homemade tie-dye seafoam green t-shirt, gray blazer, and dragon bell bottoms. Oh, and of course a novelty tie made out of fake cheese. At least I've finally grown out of that awkward phase...sigh...

I don't remember being particularly nervous--all of my stuff was written down--I didn't have to do stand-up like the new young host, Noah Putterman. Our repore wasn't as good as Michael and Jim Packard's, but I still think we did alright. I remember my mom had to correct me at home so I didn't stay Studs TerKEL on national radio.

I ended up with a fair amount of public radio bling. The Bocca Burger Barbeque Bundle (which is how I found out I dislike Bocca Burgers), a Feldman cd and book, and some other various posters and memorabilia.

I was sure it was the first stop on my way to international fame and stardom. I had just spent the past seven years in speech therapy getting rid of a heavy lisp and as soon as the braces were off, I obviously going to be ready for Hollywood. Would the move to Hollywood be hard on my parents? Of course, but they would get over it as soon as they didn't have to deal with the rough Midwestern winters. My mother would be too busy meeting with Gloria Steinem and other feminists, talking about my potential. And my dad would find a job as a consultant on disaster movies (a Ph.D. in Geology had to be good for something).

We would live in a modest mansion, say, 5 bedrooms and a guest house. Small pool, a cook, a driver and a maid, you know, just the basics...

Hmmm....my life may not have turned out exactly as my 13-year old self would have liked, but I hope that on some level I have not dissatisfied her completely. I was listening to Terry Gross interview Russell Brand and Quentin Tarantino (not at the same time) and was struck by how down to earth and intelligent both these gentlemen were. While at the same time being devious and a bit "off." It made me think about what they were like at 13. If they had the same aspirations of stardom as I did. If they had any idea how famous they would become. What it would be like if all our 13-year old selves would get along, collaborated on a home movie...ah, me...

cummings, the Cole-Takanikos Clan, and hipsters...

hipsters?



e.e. cummings has always been one of my favorite poets. I believe his poem, since feeling is first, is the first poem I ever memorized (pleased to report I can still recite it):




since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never fully wholly kiss you;


wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world


my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis



cummings comes in an out of my life--there was a collaborative performance project that I did my senior year of college which featured the following:



i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing the this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh...And eyes big love crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new




And then, today, another visit: at Joni Takanikos' concert at Mukilteo Coffee Roasters this afternoon, my friend and theatre-viewing partner Max read some cummings from 95 poems (everyone needs to have this book--even if you only own one book of poetry, this needs to be it) The whole Cole-Takanikos clan is insanely talented--if you ever get a chance to hear Joni sing or Max or Barton act--you need to go...seriously...


All of Max's selections were fabulous, but my favorite was the last, # 30, which goes like this:



what Got him was Noth
ing & nothings' exAct
ly what any one Living
(or some
body
Dead like even a Poet) could
hardly express what
i Mean is
what knocked him over Wasn't
(for instance) the Knowing your

whole (yes god

damned) life is a Flop or even
to
Feel how
Everything(dreamed
& hoped &
prayed for
months & weeks & days & years
& nights &
forever) is Less Than
Nothing(which would have been
Something) what got him was nothing



Which brings us to hipsters. Does liking e.e. cummings automatically put one in the "hipster" category? It probably doesn't hurt...Merriam-Webster defines "hipster" as " a person who is unusually aware of an interested in new and unconventional patterns (as in jazz or fashion)."


Urban Dictionary has 156 definitions. Among my favorite are:


(1.)

Listens to bands that you have never heard of. Has hairstyle that can only be described as "complicated." (Most likely achieved by a minimum of one week not washing it.) Probably tattooed. Maybe gay. Definitely cooler than you. Reads Black Book, Nylon, and the Styles section of the New York Times. Drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon. Often. Complains. Always denies being a hipster. Hates the word. Probably living off parents money - and spends a great deal of it to look like they don't have any. Has friends and/or self cut hair. Dyes it frequently (black, white-blonde, etc. and until scalp bleeds). Has a closet full of clothing but usually wears same three things OVER AND OVER (most likely very tight black pants, scarf, and ironic tee-shirt). Chips off nail polish artfully after $50 manicure. Sleeps with everyone and talks about it at great volume in crowded coffee shops. Addicted to coffee, cigarettes (Parliaments, Kamel Reds, Lucky Strikes, etc.), and possibly cocaine. Claims to be in a band. Rehearsals consist of choosing outfits for next show and drinking PBR. Always on the list. Majors or majored in art, writing, or queer studies. Name-drops. May go by "Penny Lane," "Eleanor Rigby," etc. when drunk. On PBR. Which is usually.
I am not a f-ing hipster! (sweeps bangs to side dramatically and takes a swig of PBR)


(2.)

You, for reading ironic, pseudo-intellectual dictionary entries on the word "hipster".

"These dictionary entries on hipsters are so comical! I'm going to email this link to 800 of my closest acquaintances, head to Value Village, grab a chai and then play kickball in a headband and short-shorts."

(7.)

One who possesses tastes, social attitudes, and opinions deemed cool by the cool. (Note: it is no longer recommended that one use the term "cool"; a Hipster would instead say "deck.") The Hipster walks among the masses in daily life but is not a part of them and shuns or reduces to kitsch anything held dear by the mainstream. A Hipster ideally possesses no more than 2% body fat. -The Hipster Handbook, Robert Lanham

Typically a Hipster can be identified by vintage or thrift-store bought clothing, a taste for obscure or underground music, a penchant for irony and an elitist attitude.

(148.)

a rare breed of animal usually spotted at the blackcat in DC (not on nights of popular shows, but rather on nights with a no name band that most likely sucks). current hipster trends include (but are not limited to) trucker caps, dyed black hair, zelda haircuts for girls, vintage clothing, black frame glasses, a "hipster" jacket, pair of black chuck taylors, etc.

dude 1: yo, let's go down to the blackcat to see deathcab.
dude 2: no way, i hate them.
dude 1: you liked them last week!! you're getting too hipster. i hate you.
dude 2: don't hate.


With that, I'll sign off. And remember, don't hate....