New Things (and Dr. Bronner's Redux)

I got a new super sweet job at Broadway.com where they let me write about Broadway shows and run around and make videos about things. I'm going to start posting those articles and videos in a special spot on the right -----> (see it? see it?) Basically, I threw a grenade at my life in Los Angeles and am back in New York, where there are more career opportunities for me, so it's for the best.

Also I've fallen off the vegan wagon since moving back to New York and discovering my second-favorite pizza place in the city (after Mariella's on 60th). And Levain Bakery. And bagels, bagels, bagels, bagels, bagels. BUT, my new apartment (which I'm going to be moving a bunch of crap into as soon as I'm done typing this) is directly across the street from an amazing organic store and restaurant, and I'll have to walk right past it every time I go pick up Chinese takeout, so that should be helpful.

I got a lot of great publicity from my blog post about Dr. Bronner's soap (including getting a shout-out on the Dr. Bronner's website, thanks guys!) but I have to come clean about something. (Get it?!?!) I still use Dr. Bronner's tea tree oil soap on my skin every day, including my face. BUT I definitely still do break out more than I'd like. The first two months it was like a miracle, and then my face started fighting back. So if you see me walking down the street with a zit on my chin, I'm not a liar, I promise. It's great stuff, but I'm still on the hunt for the perfect face soap.

The Only One

"You're the only one who knows when you're using things to protect yourself and keep your ego together and when you're opening and letting things fall apart, letting the world come as it is - working with it rather than struggling against it. You're the only one who knows." - Pema Chodron

What'll I Do

Passenger by Lisa Hannigan is my best friend right now.

Boundary Poles

From The New Yorker:

"If there were a sole, reliable route to successful fiction, I’d be very keen to know about it. For me, finished drafts emerge from anxious obedience to a bunch of (often) contradictory commandments: the story should be deeply felt, yet shouldn’t hold 'feelings' dear. There should be pleasure in the language alone, yet not so much indulgent glee in the sentence work that it robs the characters of their oxygen. The story ought to make the reader laugh, yet if it tap-dances for yuks you’re lost. Etc., etc. With luck, after worriedly tacking to and fro between these sorts of boundary poles, plus a bunch of others, I arrive at work that works." - Wells Tower

The Weird Hippy Soap That Saved My Skin (But Not My Soul, Sorry)

One part soap, one part kooky religious sermon

I've had red, bumpy, oily-and-dry-at-the-same-time (how does that even happen?) problem skin for as long as I can remember. Magically, miraculously, the only time my skin looked halfway decent was in high school. I'm not sure how that happened, but whoever was responsible for that, I'm eternally grateful. But for the rest of my life, my skin has been a big mess, and I've tried almost everything to clear things up. Prescription creams, Clean and Clear, Neutrogena, the really expensive stuff, the really cheap stuff (Stridex pads?), and nothing, nothing, nothing helped. After a two-month battle with The Devil's Potion, aka. Clinique Acne Solutions, I decided I just wasn't meant to have clear skin, and started investing in tubs of Bare Minerals foundation instead.

That is, until I stayed at my dad's house a few weeks ago. The only soap he had in his shower was Dr. Bronner's, which I've always dismissed as some weird, hippy soap that probably doesn't work. Sure, I've used it before, but its weird herby smell and label full of weird religious phrases always put me off. When you're trying to take a shower, the last thing you want staring you back in the face is: "Eternal Father, Eternal One! Exceptions eternally? Absolute none!" But, since it was my only option, I grudgingly lathered up. And after about a week of using it regularly, the craziest thing happened. My skin cleared up! What?!? I kept waiting for a zit to pop up. Every morning, I'd wake up and rush to the mirror, ready to shout, "Ah-ha! I knew it!" But I've been using Dr. Bronner's twice a day for the past few weeks, and my skin has never looked better. It's like I have a completely new face. And not a creepy, new face like Tom Cruise gets in Vanilla Sky.

I can't believe it took me so long to find out that I was in a cycle of abuse with my acne medications. I'd use one, and the next day, I'd break out. Then the medication would say, "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry, baby, I'll never do it again. I love you so much. I'll make it up to you." And then I'd use it again and next time, the breakout would be even worse. I've been using some type of acne wash since I was in middle school, so let's say I spent $20 on acne products every month since 6th grade. It means I've wasted over $3,000 on chemicals that did nothing but make my skin break out. I know I sound like a Dr. Bronner's infomercial (I'd really like to see one of those), but for one easy payment of $9, I get a huge tub that could last me the entire year. So, if you're not fully happy with your skin, switch to Dr. Bronner's (or any castile soap -- they contain no harsh chemicals or foaming agents) for a few weeks and see how it goes. If it doesn't work, let me know. I have a bunch of half-used bottles of Clinique Acne Solutions I need to get rid of.

A Very Punchdrunk Halloween

One thing that really scares me is the weird party scene in Eyes Wide Shut where everyone is naked and wearing masks. I think it was mostly created to scare the crap out of me, as most Stanley Kubrick movies are. He and David Lynch really know how to push my oh-my-god-that's-the-creepiest-thing-I've-ever-seen-I'm-going-to-have-nightmares-about-this-forever buttons. But here's the scariest part: I have reason to believe the weird naked mask-wearing party scene in Eyes Wide Shut is based on actual parties that happen in Los Angeles. Bryan Callen told a story on the Risk Podcast that talks about the real-life existence of these creepy masked get-togethers, and ever since, I've had nightmares about wandering through a weird house where everyone is wearing masks and lounging around on Victorian furniture. Thanks a lot, Kubrick.

My friend, musician and wardrobe goddess Laura Bowman, called me up last week and offered me tickets to the new show she's working on. "It's called Sleep No More. All you have to do is put on a mask and wander around a weird, creepy warehouse while watching an interpretive dance version of Macbeth," she says. "Oh, and yes, the cast does get naked." Well, since I've been on this Do Stuff That Scares Me kick and Sleep No More is clearly my nightmare-come-true, I knew I had to go.

Sleep No More was created by the British theater company Punchdrunk, who are making some changes in the way New Yorkers think about theater. The role of an audience member hasn't changed much since 550 B.C., when the Greeks created the basic concept of proscenium seating (a bunch of chairs facing a stage, giving the audience a window-like view of the action) and performed the "We'll do something and you'll sit here and watch this" type of theater most of us are used to. Punchdrunk is offering something new – well, sort of. Wikipedia calls Punchdrunk's technique "an 'immersive' presentation in which the audience is free to choose what to watch and where to go." Basically, there's no set beginning, middle and end to this play, and whatever you happen to see is what you get.

Although it's definitely the first time I've ever seen anything like this in New York, this choose-your-own-adventure style of theater isn't entirely innovative. Maria Irene Fornes used a similar immersive concept in her 1977 play Fefu and Her Friends. In Fefu, audience members are split into groups. Each group views a different scene at a different time (which is also pretty similar to the old [and also creepy] Disney ride, The Carousel of Progress). Eventually, the characters all cross paths, bringing the cast and audience together into one location for a final, climactic endgame. Sleep No More is a similar deal – audience members are split into groups and invited to wander through the set at their leisure to discover the scenes in whatever order they wish. But because the whole audience is wearing identical white masks and exploring five darkened floors full of rusty hospital beds, desk drawers overflowing with pieces of hair and a broken crib with hundreds of headless baby dolls hovering above it, the whole thing kind of blew my mind.

Because I'm sure I would've peed my pants or had a heart attack, I'm very thankful I didn't have a one-on-one encounter with any of the actors. Before I went to the show, I read a bunch of Yelp reviews to see what I was getting into, and apparently one guy was led by an actor into a creepy secret bathroom with a running shower. The actor instructs (silently – did I mention there is no talking allowed?) the guy to sit in a small bathroom stall. The actor locks the door, leaves the room and turns off the lights. Just when the guy is getting really scared, the lights come back on and the actor is in the stall with the guy, sitting right there next to him! AHHHH!!! Although I definitely didn't get an experience like that, I did get to see some absolutely beautiful dance sequences that defy gravity without the use of any hydraulics (got that, Wicked?) In my favorite scene, a male character (I have no idea what Macbeth character he was supposed to be) flipped around like a gymnast in an alcove full of old water pipes and suitcases. Did I have any idea what was going on? No, and I know Macbeth pretty well. But the stage pictures that Sleep No More creates are so stirring, the plot becomes secondary. And surprisingly, I was fine with that.

If you're looking for a play full of characters with heart and a tearful curtain call, Sleep No More is definitely not your thing. You're going to walk out saying, "Yes, but what was it about? The guy covered in blood was who?" But if you're looking for a rad place to spend Halloween week... Well, it's sold out until the end of the year. But if you're: A.) braver than me, and B.) happen to have an old trilby hat laying around, you might want to sign up to be in the play, because Sleep No More is looking for extras to "create special Halloween week events." And I bet that cast and crew really know how to throw a Halloween after party.

Awkward Dog

(This is NOT what I looked like.)

And in this next installation of things that scare me... Yoga. Yep, even relaxation techniques freak me out. For years, I've been fascinated with the idea of yoga, but too nervous to take a class in front of actual yoga-ers watching me. And WAY too nervous to have a teacher pointing out my bad form. My fear was that the judgmental teacher and amazing twisty-like-a-pretzel students would ruin my experience, making me hate yoga forever.

But here's the silliest part about it. I secretly love yoga, even though I've never really tried it. I own a whole laundry load of yoga pants, a barely-used turquoise yoga mat, and a queue full of yoga videos on Netflix. If you're a scaredy cat like me who wants to try yoga in the comfort of your own home without the embarrassment of doing it in front of a bunch of people, I highly recommend the Crunch Candlelight Yoga video. Although most of my yoga experience has been by the light of the glowing TV screen and not any actual candles, I also took a few basic yoga classes in college. TV and college yoga made me feel happy and relaxed, but still not confident enough to hold my own in a real class.

Last week, I'm proud to say that I took my very first yoga class – with people! I grabbed my fear by the hand and dragged it, thrashing and cursing and punching things, into the yoga studio with me. I'd love to say my first yoga class was a nurturing, kind and painless experience, but it wasn't. But that's the best part of the whole thing, I think. Even though my first class was awkward and painful and weird, it's perfectly okay! Sure, there's a couple of things I wish I knew before I got there – I should have brought a towel and a bottle of water. I should have taken a super-beginner's class instead of one that had a variety of twisty-pretzel skill levels. Because, let's be honest, I was quite obviously the worst one in the class. Downward dog, the most basic yoga position of all time, made my arms and legs rattle and my back cramp up. But when the class was over, I left feeling relaxed, light and free – probably because I left all of that fear on the studio floor. And all of that sweat.