Calvin's Playlist

For the discerning IHT fan.

Composer extraordinaire Dennis Yurich and I have been working together since the first Vampyres gig back in 1997. I didn't know him except to have seen his band Queue Up play, and was a little nervous about telling him what I wanted. There were two songs requiring original music, I wrote the lyrics and he was to write the music.

In theater, as in a lot of art forms, you have to be very careful about flat-out telling someone what you want something to be like. "Say it like this ..." is considered the worst form of direction. It is usually the form my own direction takes, but I never said I was actor-friendly.

So I was talking around the "feeling" I wanted the first song, COME, to sound like. I wanted it to be, uh, dark ... edgy, uhm ...

"Is there any particular artist you want it to sound like?" Dennis asked, a very patient man.

"Oh," I said. "Yeah. Nine Inch Nails."

"Any particular song?"

I hesitated.

"Closer?" I said, weakly.

"Okay."

Dennis is really cool.

When the time came to compose the music for IHT, I gave Dennis a CD with everything I had going on in my head. These are songs that just made sense at the time, some that have associations that pre-date Calvin's birth, and some that don't. Seeing as I have a lot of free-time today, looking after a two year-old with a stomach flu, I thought I would share.

Purchases made through available links to amazon.com will benefit me.

Calvin's Theme (free mp3 download!)

Dennis created a short tune that is repeated a few times throughout the show, first as a distorted "voice" - to me it sounds like Calvin singing through one of the many machines Toni was hooked up to while in the hospital. The same melody is presented on guitar for moments like his memorial, and the closing, "curtain-call" music.

Hospital Themes

For all themes taking place in the hospital, I wanted electronic music. Something suggesting a fast heartbeat.

1. Everything In Its Right Place Radiohead Kid A
2. Idioteque Radiohead Kid A
3. Blame Everything But the Girl Temperamental
4. Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box Radiohead Amnesiac

Released in 2000, I listened to Kid A a lot when driving back and forth from Tri-C during Bad Epitaph's production of Cloud 9. That was when Toni was first pregnant.

"Blame" is included for obvious reasons. Temperamental was released in 1999.

During fringenyc 2001 there was a coffee house in Harris' neighborhood (it was a DT-UT; Harris' old apartment was UT) I visited every morning. It seemed like all they played were Radiohead albums, all of them. The Amnesiac track was also on a mix that a co-worker played for me in New Knoxville that fall - a CD that featured the King Britt remix found below.

Kid A is also my chosen pre-show music for when IHT is performed in theaters.

Brazilian Guitar Themes

5. August Day Song Bebel Gilberto Tanto Tempo
6. August Day Song (King Britt remix) Bebel Gilberto Tanto Tempo Remixes
7. Fragile Sting Nothing Like the Sun
8. Fragilidad Sting Nada Como el Sol ...


There is a song ... it won't be included here ... I make reference to it in the scene "the Dream" ... and the very first time I heard it, in April, 2001, i just split wide open. It so entirely captured my imaginary summer of 2001, the summer I was going to have with my first-born child, the one I had not allowed myself to daydream of, and yet, it was captured there. I have listened to that song only 12 times since.

The closest thing to this theme that I could bear sharing with anyone is the King Britt remix of Bebel Gilberto's "August Day Song." I was washing dishes on a night in December, 2001 at the aforementioned housing in West Central Ohio, listening to this mix CD, and was caught entirely off-guard by the tune, I knew it but couldn't remember what it was. Toni had actually gotten me the original Tanto Tempo disc when it was released in 2000 but I hadn't listened to it that much at the time.

The Sting tracks were played at the memorial in late May. I like the Portuguese version because sometimes it's good not to hear certain things in English.

Those 70s Themes

9. Three Is a Magic Number Bob Dorough Schoolhouse Rock
10. Lonely Boy Andrew Gold What's Wrong With This Picture
11. Cat's In The Cradle Harry Chapin Verities and Balderdash


Yes, ha ha, funny. Thoughtless hold-music from a certain baby food company. A joke done much better on The Simpsons. Theses ditties in particular were chosen because of their resonance with someone who may have been a small boy between the years of 1974 and 1976.

For more piercing insight on the songs themselves, visit the IHT glossary.

Music for Crying Out Loud

12. Gymnopedie No 1/Var.1 Jacques Loussier Trio Satie: Gymnopédies Gnossiennes
13. Gymnopedie No 1/Var.3 Jacques Loussier Trio Satie: Gymnopédies Gnossiennes
14. Gnossienne No 6 Jacques Loussier Trio Satie: Gymnopédies Gnossiennes
15. Tales from the Far Side Bill Frisell Bill Frisell Quartet
16. Gutaris Breeze (6000km To Amsterdam) John Beltram Late Night Beats: the Post-Club Sound of Britain


Discovered in a shower around 4 am in late 1998 (yes, I heard it on NPR) the Loussier themes were among those that carried me through that bizarre depression I had in early 1999. Odd, that, because 1999 was one of the most successful years of my life. The other pieces are also discoveries I made that year.

The Frisell track figured heavily on the Last Words episode of This American Life, which remains my favorite episode ever. I strongly recommend anyone to check it out - you can still listen to it free with Real Audio.

The Jacques Loussier album was used as pre-show music for the original staged reading at Dobama in August, 2002. Though no more depressing than listening to Kid A before a show (how many people hear the pre-show music, think "uh-oh" and leave?) the Satie themes are too ... I don't know, they suggest something a bit too Hallmark. I wanted a sense of unease to hit people as they came in, not the sense they were about to see a staged performance of something from the Lifetime network.

And Finally...

17. Happy Families XTC She's Having a Baby

Have you got Miss Carriage? She's the girl who wants a baby that she cannot find. Strange, the ones who want to win the race are usually the ones who fall behind.

Complete lyrics. A British card game for kids. Sometimes you don't even care what the lyrics of certain songs mean ... until they start making sense.

Henrik Mayer Hansen
May 24, 1904 - May 28, 2005

photo: Huntington Beach, Bay Village. June, 1972

Only fitting that Henrik (my brother) should give me the news. I was trying to get a call through this morning while my folks were notifying him. And so he called me.

We talked. I talked to Dad. It's always the same with us; the question, "How are you doing?" is inevitably met with the response, "oh, I'm fine," and then a prolonged recitation on what is currently happening, and not what we feel.

"Oh, I'm fine, we just got back from church and later some people are coming over, we're hoping to get outside while it's still sunny ..." And so on.

Actually, Henrik and I made metatextual references to the fact that we were aware we were doing exactly that, and then did a respectably decent job of actually adressing some real emotions. The word "guilt" was used a lot. Then we talked about movies.

I do not know what I am feeling, honestly. I keep remembering he died last night and then I remember that I don't feel as strongly about that as I guess I think I should. How much can you grieve for a man whose death you had been waiting for - not the way you wait for a present, but more the way you wait for an impending rainstorm - I mean, let's face it, he was 101 years old.

I got to tell him he had a new great-grandson, and that was wonderful. He even got to see pictures and Mom read him a letter I had written for his birthday. And he had that birthday. It was so nice seeing him last year when he turned 100. Every year, fewer visitors. Fewer and fewer people alive who knew you ever lived.

A lifespan should be so much longer than your own life. Since birth (1935) my mother has been called Tertia - the third - by her parents, her brothers, their families and so by my cousins and their kids, and now by Zelda. That Zelda calls her this gives my mother happiness because when she is gone someone will still be remembering her, using that name, for a long time.

What's amusing, I guess is that the only people who don't call her that is her husband or her sons. For the longest time I thought Tertia was simply short for Virginia, which I wouldn't call her, anyway.

There will be grief, even if it is mild. I was surprised by the sadness I felt, the vacancy, the first time I returned to Athens and Toni's grandfather Calvin wasn't there. I knew the last time we visited Grandfather Henrik that it would, in all likelihood, be the final time. Will I ever have occasion to see St. Petersburg, Florida again? That same little apartment that my grandfather (and before that, he and Grandmother Helen, together) lived in for almost thirty years?

And why the hell is it that places fill me with greater melancholy than people do?

Now where am I? I am at the end of so many things. The school year is over. The son is born. The grandfather is dead. I do not know what I will do this summer, there are no road trips, no performances, my heel is broken and I cannot run, and on top of all this, I have no clear indication by my employer as to exactly what I am going to be doing for them during the next three months.

I am in a place of great stillness. Perhaps I should be enjoying this.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend, everyone.

Mork Calling Brian, Come in Brian

For being the first person to make a Mork & Mindy reference to my son - Brian gets the "Big Cheese" award.

Shut Up, Hippy

From: The Believer
Sunday New York Times Magazine, May 22, 2005

(An article on Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum, the passage in question details his and his wife's decisions at the time of the death of one of his children - emphasis mine.)

"The childbirth in 1996 was a source of terrible heartbreak -- the couple were told by doctors early in the pregnancy that the baby Karen was carrying had a fatal defect and would survive only for a short time outside the womb. According to Karen Santorum's book, 'Letters to Gabriel: The True Story of Gabriel Michael Santorum,' she later developed a life-threatening intrauterine infection and a fever that reached nearly 105 degrees. She went into labor when she was 20 weeks pregnant. After resisting at first, she allowed doctors to give her the drug Pitocin to speed the birth. Gabriel lived just two hours.

"What happened after the death is a kind of snapshot of a cultural divide. Some would find it discomforting, strange, even ghoulish -- others brave and deeply spiritual. Rick and Karen Santorum would not let the morgue take the corpse of their newborn; they slept that night in the hospital with their lifeless baby between them. The next day, they took him home. 'Your siblings could not have been more excited about you!' Karen writes in the book, which takes the form of letters to Gabriel, mostly while he is in utero. 'Elizabeth and Johnny held you with so much love and tenderness. Elizabeth proudly announced to everyone as she cuddled you, This is my baby brother, Gabriel; he is an angel. '"

You tell me whether or not the author in question is in the ghoulish vs. spiritual camp - his suggestion that this illustrates the "cultural divide" facing us today should be evidence enough. And so he plays into the devil's hands.

I couldn't disagree with Senator Santorum more. There is a special place in his Hell for people like him, it is the Eighth Circle, the one reserved for hypocrites. He represents the worst in American piety. His extremist stands against the rights of homosexuals and women are an abomination against all that is kind and good.

And yet the writer of this piece plays the same game as people like Santorum and his ilk. Anyone who agrees with Santorum's views would take this as an example of another elite East Coast liberal journalist's denigration of the so-called "culture of life." It also goes to bolster said liberal elite's accusations that the conservative right, in fact, embraces a "culture of death" - and sleeps with its "lifeless" "corpse" if we may be so gratuitous.

Apparently the writer was ignorant of the fact that parents are often encouraged to spend the night with their dead children (can't you just see the fist fight that occured when the Senator "would not let let the morgue take" their child) nor the entire movement that goes along with sharing the new child with the rest of the family. Anyone who knows me knows not calling my parents over to see Calvin is one of the great regrets of my life.

No, Rick Santorum is a sanctimonious, bigoted, right-wing a****** with ridiculous taste in clothes. But anyone who challenges his rights as the father of a dead child can go screw themselves.

(For fun, however, please visit spreadingsantorum.com)

Back to "The Future"

ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when september ends

Apparently Green Day is a big hit in Britain. That doesn't surprise me.

Against unbelieveable odds, the performance at MetroHealth went off today with out (much of) a hitch. To say I slept-walked through it wouldn't be fair to me or the audience, but with roughly fifteen hours of sleep spread out over four nights, it is fair to say I was dreaming or channeling a fair part of it. It felt odd at first - a lot of them do - and just kept rolling as we went along.

Technically, it was a drag. Kelly did the best she could with a sound situation that was tossed at her at the last minute, and it didn't help there was no front lighting at all. I was like this shadow through most of the perf. Tom would have had a hissy.

But the audience was game, one of the largest I've performed to. I was promised something like two hundred plus but I wonder if it hit that, there were enough vacant seats - this was the last event in a two day conference on coping with grief, and I wasn't surprised a lot of participants might opt to get out into the sunshine on what was a beautiful day.

But the reaction from those present was very strong, and I was deeply moved by the folks who came up after to talk to me. This tale is so many people's tale, it's heartbreaking. It's also why I do it.

There was a couple there who we knew from our second Bradley session, the one for Zelda. It was odd, way back then (late 2002, early 2003) our being the couple in the class who had lost their previous child - and talked about it. Seemed out of place, like talking about vomit in a cooking class. We thought these folks were lovely, though, the husband in particular was always there with a funny comment when the class got awkward.

Their girl, Emma, died shortly after birth. We tried reaching out to them at the time, and they appreciated it, but I guess they had other ways to deal with their loss, and that's all right. I was so happy to see them there today - and with their 10-month son Cole.

Laura & Justin were there, they took the day off to come. I am glad they got to see it, too - though if it were almost anyone else I might have suggested they didn't, I usually warn off folks whose grief is so raw just because, I don't know, I am afraid of hurting them with it. Justin looked visibly shaken (I know you're reading this, I hope you don't mind my saying so.) But I meant it when I said I went in there today thinking "I'm exhausted, I could skate through this, but I am doing this today just for you."

I was getting seriously choked up today in places, especially delivering the Memorial Day scene. That doesn't usually happen, in spite of the subject matter, I am too technical (distant?) a performer to get any true emotions involved. I prefer to act.

And then there was The Future. Man, it's crazy. Way back when, in 2002 when I was first drafting this, I was trying to write, more or less, a scene for every month from 03/01 - 03/02. That time frame, of course, includes 9/11. And in Writers' Group most everyone was behind what became the scene called The Future except for Bohan. He was frank in telling me he thought making an allusion to the WTC was a bit jarring, and yanked him out of the narrative. I was writing an intimate story, and I had exited it into the outside world. I think that was my point, but I also didn't want to "jar" anyone out of the play.

I stuck with it. And what's funny is how while other little bits of the show become dated (F.A.O. Schwartz is closed, Six Flags isn't around anymore) that one scene becomes more and more poignant as the years add up.

"I miss the 90s." Funnier in 2005 than 2002. "I miss the Democratic Party." More of a groaner now than ever. And when I state "The anticipation of the 21st century was so much sweeter than what is has offered," - today, for the first time ever, I could hear actual murmurings of assent from the audience. Now that was jarring - to me. And that's when you know an audience is right there with you.

I have a yearing to rest now. In the time since Monday I feel I have lived the past five years in five days. Good night.

What's On David's iPod?
Wake Me Up When September Ends
Green Day
American Idiot
(Yes, it's true. Green Day made me cry.)

From: Overheard In New York
Black dude: Yo, you shoulda seen this baby. It was like 42 inches long.
Spanish chick: Yo, no way. That's like almost 2 feet.
--Q train

Thanks, everybody. We've gotten a lot of awesome and supportive emails. I'd describe the birthing in detail, only that's really Toni's job and I shouldn't take that away from her ... at least not online.

Just another gratuitously adorable photo.

He's such a chunk, our golden bear. I figured it out today, I think he looks like my dad, he's got my dad's head, and, I think, his eyes. That may just because he's got swollen, just-been-born head.

My brother Henrik is 41 today - happy birthday, man, they're my two of my favorite albums from 2004, I hope you like them.

Spoke with my great-grandfather Henrik yesterday afternoon. That was hard. He turns 101 on Tuesday (uh, no, that's not a typo - his birthday really is on Tuesday) and he was trying so hard for me to understand him.

"Uhm, what was that Grandfather? Did you, uh ... we love you, too, was that ... uh. We love you. What? What? How is Toni? I think you just said - uh, she's fine."

I think he knows he has a new great-grandson. I think so. I hope so. I don't know.

I came to understand him most in the past four years. I finally felt we had something in common, and that we had something to talk about.

He and Grandma Helen lost three kids before adopting my father and my uncle. Two died before they were born, and one lived for an hour. When I used to hear tales about life back in tha' day, and how lots of children died in childbirth, I just thought, you know, that's what it was like back then. No big deal.

I love hearing stories about how people didn't used to get very attached to their children back then - not the way people do today - because they didn't know if they were going to live or not.

Isn't that just the biggest load of horseshit you've ever heard?

Toni & Orson come home tomorrow. I think one more day and Zelda would fricking explode. I have almost recovered myself, I am still a little weak and my voice is very tired. And I have a show tomorrow! Jesus. Wish me luck.

A New Beginning ... and a Peculiar Ending

Orson Aurelius Thayer-Hansen, born May 18, 2005.

My wife Toni is a force of nature to be reckoned with. In the past two days it's like she gave birth twice - once naturally, going into the hospital on Monday evening with very strong and close contractions which had petered away to nothing with exhaustion and disappointment by noon. Then after a few hours of drug-induced rest, she struggled with the effects of Pitocin - but without the assistance of an epidural - to give birth to a monstrous boy, 10 lbs. 3 oz. She was literally one more push away from an emergency C-section when the boy was born, just after midnight.

He is big. He is strong (his heartbeat never wavered during the exhausting ordeal) and he lives.

You can see where I am going with this. I will attempt to be interesting.

Looking at Ellen, our midwife, yesterday, I was struck with a memory I had not thought of, well, since it happened. We were interviewing midwives before we got pregnant, in mid-2000. Like a lot of people, we wanted to time our first child (who we imagined would be our only child) with all of our other projects. Ellen moved from this office to a different one shortly after Calvin was conceived and so I have a fuzzy memory of the place. It was on Chagrin.

And who was I then? 32 years old, the artistic director of a no-profit (sic) theater company and erstwhile webmaster (that's so new economy!) And I knew nothing. This is what struck me last night, the night at the end of that journey - Ellen has led us through three child births in the past five years. And that day in her office, how much less of a million things did I know? How many experiences, sure, but simply, how many words? How many drugs? How many diagnoses? How many rooms? How many nurses, midwives, doctors, chaplains, and bereaved parents? How many dead children?

Orson was born in room 15 of MacDonald Women's Hospital, Second floor. Zelda was born in 16. And Calvin in 17. A trifecta.

I hadn't been in room 17 since we left it, late in the evening, just after The West Wing (it was a repeat - part one of the episode "Manchester") on Wednesday, March 21, 2001. I walked past it several times when we were expecting Zelda, it's not on a main corridor, it's tucked away, around a corner, but I could always see the doorway as I passed. Just the doorway, nothing inside.

Yes, I went in yesterday. No, this morning, probably around one-thirty, as I was fetching post-partem ice water. After Orson was safely among us. I told Toni about it. "I don't recommend it," I said. She had thought of it as well, and wouldn't dare go in, anyway.

It's the same. Maybe the drapes had changed, and the computer. Everything was in its same place. The bed. The tee vee. The incubator. The wallpaper. And a big, "country-style" rocking chair, set against the wall overlooking the atrium. Away from the bed.

It happened here. We saw him here, held him here, and nowhere else. I wrote a play. This is where it takes place. Even the bits that don't take place in the this room, take place in this room.

I left after a few seconds. Not a happy place. I know countless people have healthy, living children in this room. Their memories of this room exist in a different dimension from the one normal humans live in.

We also had a visit with Carrie - Nurse Angel. When we had Zelda two years ago, she walked past me in the hall and I couldn't say hi. I was shy. Then I saw her this time, as I was helping a contracting Toni down the hall. Again, couldn't say anything. Probably because what needed to be said, couldn't be said in the hall, passing by.

"Oh hi, maybe you remember me, we had a stillbirth in 2001 and you were our first nurse, the one who was responsible for laying out all of the decisions we needed to make, and your candor and compassion, though disorienting at the time, were so perfect, so exactly what we needed, that we have remembered you ever since, and you have even served as a model for the way we now speak with people about their grief, and, uh, I immortalized you in a play about the experience and have impersonated you on-stage in Cleveland, Minneapolis and New York City and have a gig this Friday at MetroHealth."

We made sure we invited her to sit with us yesterday, and she did. We hadn't spoken to her since then, either, it's been four years. How often do you get to share with someone you know only briefly, fleetingly, about the incalculable impact they had on your life with one act of kindness, compassion and respect?

I may never step onto "Mac 2" ever again. I know its layout very well, at least the bits birthing fathers get to see. And yet, that's it. Its geometry, its architecture, its corridors, its furniture, its cast of characters, get relegated to that vault in my mind reserved for my old elementary school, my first house, Cindy's uncle's house off West 25th street. I may never see them again.

My family reads these things? I thought the Internet was private!

A friend went into the Clinic this weekend with full-blown preeclampsia. She was bearing twins - 7 1/2 month twin boys.

Gabriel is 1.2 lbs. Xavier is 2.5 lbs. "They fit in your hand." They are well-formed and apparently all right. And so is she. I am glad someone was paying attention.

My next gig is in five days. What are the chances a performance about the birth of my first son will be cancelled by the birth of my second son? What is that, some kind of sibling rivalry thing?

When we lost Calvin, I did not miss God. I did not need God. We did well on our own without Him. And if He had been there, I only would have blamed Him. I was better off without Him.

When my friends are in trouble, that's when I get stuck. When I cannot help them, and I cannot pray ... what do I do?

"Pitocin is the most abused drug in the world today."

Let the Baby decide: The Case against Inducing Labor - use of the drug Pitocin is questioned
Mothering, March-April, 2001

"Pitocin can cause increased pain, fetal distress, neonatal jaundice, and retained placenta; and recent research suggests that exposure to Pitocin may be a factor in causing autism."

Split Focus

I have terrible allergies. I feel as if my head is stuffed with ... stuff.

The big, annual GLTF benefit was Saturday night. I was, you guessed, dressed as Shakespeare for the event, and helped tear-down until a little after midnight. I can't remember the last time I was in the streets of Cleveland that late ... okay, I can, it's when Ali and I had that late date for the Cleve Mag piece I wrote on my so-called nightlife. And that was well over a year ago.

And I have a two year-old and a heavily pregnant wife, so I was down at two and up again at six-thirty. Still haven't recovered from that, and I no doubt won't.

We are in the waiting time, when everyone asks "So? News?" And you just smile and say the usual things.

No, they aren't usual things. Some people I can be frank with. I had the rare opportunity to have an extended, off-air conversation with Dee today. In addition to having a surprising discourse about September 11 (I have set aside that dumb DaVinci book in favor of 102 Minutes) she remarked how calm I appeared in the face of imminent birth. Dee knows the story, and I had no problem telling her that, seeing as how our first son died, we spend a lot more time just focusing on the task at hand and don't bother with the jitters. Or much humor about childbirth, really. At least, not that really obvious kind of humor - you know, all the jokes Bill Cosby told that were so funny ... when he told them. The first time.

I want Morphine, ha ha ha.

So, oh yeah, the due date was yesterday. We are Day +1 and counting. Zelda was two weeks overdue - and they were not fun weeks.

And. As if this were not all enough, I have another performance of I Hate This in 11 days at MetroHealth. Kelly and I will tech the show next Wednesday ... and I just got word that the two performances I have slated for October may be in the same space as this one. That's very helpful. And we are working on a gig in Akron for around the same time. I will get the dates up when they are finalized.

So, uh. Hell. What am I supposed to do next? The dishes? I can't even see straight.

Busted

My first set of X-rays did not reveal any broken bones - because I had a microscopin compression fracture of my heel. X-rays yesterday revealed them - this is bad because it means, yes, I broke my heel, but good because the X-ray showed that's all it was, nothing any more serious, and displayed how well my heel has already begun to heal (hey - a homonym.)

None of this has improved my mood. The doctor said I should not resume training for six weeks. I asked whether he meant six weeks from the impact, or six weeks from now.

He said, "Yes."

So I have no less than three more weeks without running. I will miss two races this month. This just totally BLOWS - it's not enough that I am challenging myself to run a fricking marathon, as if that weren't a steep enough hill for someone like me, but no, I have to give myself an injury (don't ask please, please God do not ask how) and doubt whether or not I can bring myself back up to speed without re-injuring myself.

Share Atlanta

A friend who just moved down south sent me this link, I need to remember to get it onto my I HATE THIS links page.

This Is My Job

Found something neat at work the other day - a disk of photographs from the week I spent at Midview High last year. They had taken their time to get it to me, but better now than never.

photo: "A little water clears us of this deed." (Check out the handprint on my head!)

Wow. I couldn't have asked for a better find. In a school year that had its ups and downs, this was probably the best week I and my partner Alicia had together. At first I wasn't looking forward to it - we were teaching four residencies, Macbeth, Julius Caesar, Romeo & Juliet and The Crucible, to maybe six different classes.

As it turned out, that was great, everything was fresh in every class, and I remember liking the students a lot. The Caesar class, in particular, was a trip. This was where they put the Juggaloos. A very exciting number of assassins in that class.

Another fun thing about the photos is what a snappy dresser I was that week.

For three years that was my job, and now I "supervise" and help train people to do the same job. It's funny, on the outside it all seems so chaotic, doing the work itself I felt much more in control. Still, it's the best job I've ever had, and probably ever will have. I am still intensely grateful for that. And that's another thing I owe Calvin.

What's On David's iPod?
He Can't Love You
Michael Stanley Band
Heartland

Saw Ten Minutes from Cleveland at Dobama last night. A fitting choice for Dobama's final show on Coventry - local playwright, local subject matter, a comedy, and a big, big hit. When I interviewed the owner of the building last month (the one who tried evicting them around Thanksgiving) he said it was just as well, Dobama wasn't attracting the crowds they did in their hey-day. What he knows about it, I can't imagine, he's only owned the place since 2003.

Well. Selling-out is the best revenge. Jesus. I hope it extends, it should.

It's a real fun show. I truly adored the entire ensemble - Nick was killing me in every one of her scenes, Sadie is a freak of nature and we love her so - the set is delightful, the direction tight and goofy. And Eric (the playwright) manages to cram an astonishing number of Cleveland references, trivia and gags into the evening, it's really an impressive feat. And I can only imagine how impenetrable and not-funny it would be to anyone who isn't from here, but hey, it isn't for them.

The thing I am left with this morning however (apart from the lingering reminder of how much I liked it) was the absence of something I finally determined was the melancholy I feel as someone who has lived here my entire life - something which the playwright has not done. I can't put my finger on it ... everything is correct in the play, but it doesn't feel true. Maybe if Eric had lived here during the 70s rather than just reading about. It's stupid, I know, it's a comedy, but, mmn, I don't know, there's just, rrgh, can't put my finger on it. Oh well. I give up. This is pointless. It's too much fun, tell your friends, go see it.

Shankspeare

In One Prison, Murder, Betrayal and High Prose
King Lear performed at the Racine Correctional Institution.

This American Life: Act V
Hamlet performed at the Missouri Eastern Correctional Center.

I wonder if the First Lady was at either of those two gigs ...

Hateful Reminder

University Hospital - Midnight
A fever, a sinus infection, a trip to the hospital. Why take chances? Toni had a temp of 102 when we came on, now it's normal. Hmn.

1:05 am
She can’t keep anything down, now she has chills. I have a chair, I forgot my Motrin, my leg aches - how can I take care of both of them in pain with no sleep?

1:40 am
She appears to be in better spirits ... I just wish she could stop vomiting. Zelda is at the Turners.

I had to b.m. ten minutes ago … in the waiting room (uh, the bathroom off the waiting room.) And yes, there was a Charlie Brown Christmas tree in there.

2:40 am
Nodded off a little bit - emphasis on nod. She's still hot, hasn't retched in a while. There's talk of our leaving soon.

2:50 am
No, it's worse. She's dehydrated, they will put her on an IV.

4:10 am
Got coffee, walked the atrium. Been reading A Thread of Grace to her out loud. She still feels hot. I hope Zelda is sleeping at the Turners', I keep thinking we left her at home.

And what of the boy? His heart beats. He moves. He lives.

5:30 am
Started reading The DaVinci Code. Is this a joke? This book is terrible.

6:00 am
Suddenly, it's morning. Toni finally slept - for a half-hour. What a night. We'll see about leaving, and I have a lot of phone calls to make.

7:05 am
Now we're losing it. This sucks. She's hot, but they say her temp is normal, so no Tylenol. I will get Z. to school ... and then what? I have had no sleep. The nurses have stopped being helpful. Toni wants to be sure she is on the midwife's rounds.

4:30 pm
I took Zelda to school (after driving halfway to the Turner's, realizing I had Toni's glasses in my pocket and heading back) went home and slept until one. Then I washed up and came back. Toni is much better, not burning, she can drink, eat a little without puking. We may get to go soon.

The Fish has been active throughout. Zelda has been with my folks. We miss our girl.

7:05 pm
Home, where we belong. Still, I got two sick girls. Last night, when we left, I did not actually panic, it was just “okay, let’s go to the hospital” without thinking too much about the parallel event that occurred March 2 -3, 2001.

An ill, pain-wracked Toni, dehydrated, on an IV, while I try desperately not to nod-off in my chair. A squishy, fast heartbeat on the monitor. The same building, the same floor, similar circumstances. Passing by the same rooms. And yet … nothing. Not really. Not like that. My memories of that time remind me of how alone I felt then, it was just us. This time around we asked for help, I was not ashamed, just concerned. Asking the parents for help, our friends for help. It’s what friends, and family, are for.

And I didn’t think twice about just walking up to the Nurses’ station and asking, “Would someone please help my wife to the bathroom?” F*** that noise, this is too important.

What's On David's iPod?
Lifetime Piling Up
Talking Heads
Sand In The Vaseline
(This Tower's leaning over ...)

Finished Mary Doria Russell's A Thread of Grace last night. After all the frustrations of trying to get The Sparrow turned into a movie (apparently they have Brad Pitt on tap to play Emilio Sandoz - go figure) I am wonderiong whether or not it amused Ms. Russell to write a book Hollywood would never make into a movie. You'll have to read it to understand what I mean.

I have bad news. It's not my bad news, in so much as it isn't something that has happened to me. It's just news, about people I am close to, and it's bad. And I am afraid that's all I can say about that.

Meanwhile, I see more dead children. I was visiting a school on Thursday and was introduced to a man whose son had a first birthday on the 19th. Neither of us had much time to talk, except to exchange numbers and make a promise to talk. He wants to know more about IHT. And he works for the Red Cross. Might be a performance in that. And, of course, a new little dead person in my life.

Today Daddy is nesting. Limping around on my bad heel, taking advantage of this miserable day (due to rain and bad news) sweeping floors long unswept, mopping flors long unmopped, brushing cat hair off of everything. The Fish is due on Mother's Day. But it could be any time now.

"A smile is your personal welcome mat."
- last night's fortune from Peking Gourmet

"People will always be tempted to wipe their feet
On anything with welcome written on it."
- XTC, Snowman

Ankle Watch: Day 10

Tenth day without a run. Grr. I did have a five-hour ordeal at the UH Emergency Room, where at least I discovered that nothing was broken or majorly damaged. I just have a hurt heel.

This man scares me.

Sarah Vowell

I totally dated Sarah Vowell in college.

Okay, I didn't, that's not what I meant, I've never met her. What I mean to say is that I dated everyone at O.U. who was just like her.

I did sleep with David Sedaris, however.

Mission Statement
- or -
WTF does his playlist have to do with his dead kid?

What doesn't have to do with my dead kid?

Okay, okay, here's the big secret - when I record "What's On David's iPod" it is a message to myself that I just had a kick-ass run. Whatever it was I was listening to that made me fly that day.

And I have been in training, for what I will not say, but I have been working up to something big (little over 26 miles big) and I need to get that out.

What does this have to do with Calvin? Calvin makes me take care of myself, Calvin reminds me not to waste anything, to be healthy, to strive not to be a jerk, not to gorge myself, not to drink too much, to be patient, to be tolerant, to be smart, to be kind, to vote Democrat, to calm down, to notice the change in the weather, to be here.

Calvin reminds me to run.

The father of one of Zelda's friends got me to sign up for the Subway Challenge - basically, it's a way to get me on a list for races, and to get me into them. There was one in Akron two weeks ago, it was the last day it snowed like hell in Cleveland but it had only been raining in Akron. It was just a 5K, and I had never run a race in all-weather gear, but I beat 22 minutes and that was pretty good.

Jumping Around, Purple Wagon

However, last Tuesday I was doing a photo shoot for Great Lakes (oh my God, do not ask) and I almost broke my heel. Or maybe I did, who knows, a podiatrist checked it out on Wednesday and wasn't too concerned and it has been getting better - incrementally - for the past five days. But I haven't been running, cannot run, not yet.

It leaves me a little depressed, don't you know.

Stupid Covers

There are a lot of stupid covers. We were at Mayfield High for baby swim a few weeks ago, and it took me a moment to realize that the version of Walkin' On Sunshine they were playing was not the one by whoever that was, but recorded by someone else. It was followed by a covering of something else by someone different.

Dumb songs that need no cover, recorded by faceless acts who are doing their best to sound like the original.

I remember when THE END first went on the air (remember that? oh, forget it) and the programmers, who were all obviously Baby Boomers, were trying to figure out what young adults like me wanted to hear on the radio. They knew who the acts were, but obviously didn't like the songs. So all during the summer of 1992 they would play The Cure doing Hello, I Love You, The Lemonheads doing Mrs. Robinson, and Siouxsie and the Banshees playing Dear Prudence.

Then there are all those movies that use modern acts playing classic rock tunes because they are contractually obligated to provide something that might be a chart hit, but can't risk offering something unfamiliar.

The Presidents of the United States of America did covers of Video Killed the Radio Star for "The Wedding Singer" and Cleveland Rocks for "The Drew Carey Show." Boy. Do I hate those covers a lot.

What's On David's iPod?
(even though I cannot go running today. wah.)
"Hounds of Love"
The Futureheads
The Futureheads

Having said all this, I do dig a cover of an obscure tune by a band that obvious just really wanted to record that song and does it with both an obvious appreciation of the original artist and their own interpretation.

I am currently soaking my foot. Otherwise I would not be wasting your or my own precious time with this.

Who Critiques the Critics?

Last week PD theater reviewer Tony B. evaluated Christopher J.'s piece on Cleveland in American Theatre.

I just wrote something on Dobama leaving Coventry for the June issue of Cleveland Magazine. I am looking forward to finding out what I got wrong.

ANGST in NYC

Sometimes I can remember where notions come from, other times ...

Anyway, I was thinking of our time at the NY Fringe in 2001 when Toni's play ANGST:84 was produced there. Can't remember why. It's a fond memory - and I recalled I had designed a page for the DNK site with pictures from the event.



I found it on my computer, and looked it over. The photo of the WTC wasn't shocking, I knew that was going to be there ... it was the text that went with it. The pictures had been up since late August, but I ammended the page after 9/11. The date on the page was Sept. 22.

It's shockingly sincere, and a little embarrassing to read. Sounds a little weepy, the whole "we're all with you" kind of tone. Like I'm going to break out into "God Bless the U.S.A." or something. Or a haiku.

Gently ashes fall
Over the barren landscape
I. M. N. A. Hole.

Or what have you. What was more unsettling, in that "oh I forgot about that" kind of way is how, more than a week later, I was writing in the present as though 9/11 was something that was still happening. Which, of course, it was. It's still, still happening, really. But it reads like those buildings had been burning and tumbling, constantly, for two weeks. Which, in a way, they were. Or still are.

I have added the page to my own site, with a link provided on the I Hate This - Timeline pages. I don't edit those pages very much, it's better to leave them as they are, to avoid reflections or other editing of what should be read as present tense, little editorializing. But it was a powerful week, a difficult week, an exhilarating week, and seeing as I already did all the work on that photo page, I felt like including it in the timeline, as a bonus.

People have read these pages before seeing the show, and after. Some have only read the Timeline and have never seen the show, which isn't preferable - the show is better - but many have commented on how helpful reading it has been. Those who have been through perinatal demise have told me how similar their experiences have been to ours, and knowing that is comforting. To us, as well as to them.

And for those whose loss is so new, so raw (and you know who you are) seeing pictures of Toni and I, living, working, playing as functioning (if somewhat erratic) human beings, only five months after the birth of our son, might be a ray of hope.

What's On David's iPod?
U Got Me Up
Dajae w/Cajmere
"Cajual"
("You're a homo, Charlie Brown!")

Names
It's become something of a gag. We keep bouncing names off Zelda and she says "no" to all of them.

"Alistair?" No.
"Kevin?" No.
"Zagreb?" No.

No. She's already told us she wants to name her baby brother "Calvin."

Bad Epitaph is dead, long live BLAH BLAH BLAH

Hey, we're in American Theatre this month. Always nice to be quoted, even when you don't actually produce anything. I feel like Henry Rollins or something, only with a lot less chin.

Season of Death

Can't remember where I read it - maybe it was Tom Robbins, I don't know, or in "Throat Sprockets" - but someone once wrote that "Fall is Springtime for Death."

This Spring, Spring is the Springtime for Death.

Yeah, I just checked the news and Terri Schiavo is dead. One moment that headline wasn't there, and then a minute ago it was. May she finally have the peace that has been denied her for so long.

I have new friends who have lost a child - I have them because they lost a child. Shortly after Calvin was born I realized that from this point on, my life was going to be peopled with dead children. Most people don't live with dead children, they don't acknowledge them, they don't exist. And I resented no longer being one of the happily ignorant. It took a long time for me to be ... comfortable with that. Comfortable, that's the wrong word, but it comes close. Accepting is definitely the wrong word. But there it was. I had crossed over into the land of dead children.

And then, having written a play about, making my personal pain public, I had even asked to be some kind of representative, an official of that country. I wanted to do something, I wanted to help in some way, to let others know they aren't alone in this.

My grandfather, the Norwegian sailor, is closing in on his 101st birthday. Less than two months away. They get him out of his bed every other day. He seems lucid, most of the time. But he is not happy. He has a brain tumor and it pains him. But he has lived for so long ... you know, raising a small child I am more aware of how fragile life is, how many obstacles there are to survival, from inside and out. Perhaps, if we get so far, we reach a point where we simply do not know how to die.

A number of people I work with also have grandparents on the verge of death. A friend of mine fell asleep at the wheel last week and hit a telephone pole - and merely broke his nose. We celebrated Calvin's birthday and a wedding on the same day last week. The Pope slouches hopelessly against a window and struggles uselessly to be heard.

And at last, our entire nation, neurotic in all things, and more than happy to spill our guts about our collective drug use, sexual hang-ups and family dysfunction, is (for a moment) talking openly about the end-of-life, and about the right-to-die. We are speaking the unspeakable.

It's in this season of death that we prepare for another child. Our third. I put my head, my hand against Toni's comically large belly, feeling the Fish writhe and squirm (not Calvin, who was a flutter to me, not Zelda who ran in place and beat her fists for hours at a time) thinking, "That's a good boy. Keep moving. Please, please, keep moving."

Dude, What's Your Deal With Eggshelland?

So glad you asked. Shortly after Toni and I hooked up we discovered our mutual passion for roadside attractions. Not because they are cheesy. Not because they are cheap. Not for some arrogant, cooler-than-thou reason.

No. We love them because the very best of them are the creation of ordinary people, operating out of their own self-interest, to make their mark on the world. A person says "I made this" and we want to see it.

I had been living on the East Side for several years and I had seen the "This Way to Eggshelland" signs and ignored them. Toni moved here in mid-March, 1995 and the minute she saw one she asked what it was. And so she led me to Eggshelland.

photo: Connie and Toni in 2001

One of the first, outdoor things we did after Calvin was born was to visit Eggshelland. It is a sign of spring. Something to look forward to. A family on a cul-de-sac in Lyndhurst puts out mosiacs of cartoon characters in eggshells sprayed with car paint to celebrate Easter. What's not to freaking love?

Next Performance: Friday, May 20, 2005

Relationships: Concepts, Patterns & Clinical Challenges
Implications for the Helping Professions
MetroHealth Medical Center, Cleveland

Happy Fourth Birthday, Calvin
A whirlwind memorial weekend ... in miniature

Saturday, March 19

A visit to the Rainforest.

Choo-choo Train Dan hits on my daughter.

The weary kitchen staff, preparing the feast.

The feast.

Sunday, March 20

Happy birthday, little man.

... a short plane ride later, and we're at the Boathouse in Central Park.

The happy couple, who waited a little too long to get married
(Get it? Get it?)

I have a goofier version of this picture, too.

Monday, March 21

A brief, rainy trip to Diana Ross Park.

Anniversaries

Ten years ago today, March 19, 1995, Toni moved in. She didn't have a job, she didn't have a driver's license, but she moved to Cleveland. To leave New York. To be with me.

The mid-90s. Yes, that was a long time ago. And it is shocking to think this decade (whatever we call it) is half over already. And boy, didn't the first half just blow?

Four years ago today Toni and I checked in at University Hospitals for a routine appointment with our midwife and were told our baby was dead.

We've split the birthday party in half this year. This morning Mom joined us at the Zoo. It was cool but very, very pleasant. We were there early and got to see the parade of elephants coming out of the house for the day. And the otters at the Rainforest were particularly frisky this morning. I am very glad Mom came. She seemed very happy.

After nap-time we began the feast - and we are still in the middle of preparing it. There's been cheese-stuffed olives and smoked mozzarella and marinated mushrooms with Kaliber to tide us over until dinner. Zelda's been a big help.

We have been explaining, in a low-key manner, what the celebration is. I am not sure she gets it. She still remembers her Great-Grandfather Calvin who died last spring, and gets her older brother confused with him.

Whose Life Is It, A**hole?

Maybe I need to stop reading the paper today. And maybe I should rejoice in the fact that, even now, I can be surprised.

Apparently our Republican run government has decided that anyone's personal life is their business, and has denied Terri Schiavo's right to a peaceful, dignifed death by requesting her to testify, thereby evoking a statute that protects those called before Congress from harm.

This, penned by Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, in cold-hearted mockery of his own oath as a physician.

I keep thinking, how bad could things get? How bad could they get? And now I have to worry that, in case something terrible were to happen to me, hit by a bus, whatever, and my faculties were killed, my senses shut, all but my physical life over, Toni's wishes to grant me an end to my misery could be NULLIFIED BY AN ORDER OF CONGRESS.

I feel ill. Literally ill.

Bush calls this a "culture of life" or something equally twisted. "Life" has so many meanings other than the presence of a pulse.

Life In Venice

Amazing. One article in the New York Times and suddenly I miss Venice Beach. Nice place to visit, I guess. I love the bit about the difference between the early 90s (when I was living nearby) and today, as if to rub it in.

Yes, sometimes I really wish I were living in Chicago or NYC or Minneapolis or anywhere but Cleveland. And then I remember L.A. And I heave a great sigh of satisfaction and relief.

What's On David's iPod?
Mr. Blue Sky
Electric Light Orchestra
"Out Of The Blue"
(Take that, you frosty biyach.)

"You mean I'm not three anymore?"

I remember asking my brother Henrik that first-thing in the morning on my fourth birthday. That would have been July 26, 1972. We were in the Log Cabin in Flood's Cove, Maine. I also remember getting a toy farm set as a present.

This Sunday, March 20, 2005 is Calvin's fourth birthday. We will decorate the brick, visit his gravesite. The other celebratory events - visiting the zoo, creating the feast, these things we will do on Saturday night, for on Sunday afternoon we are flying to New York for Liz & Harris' wedding. Got a new tux today, the tux I was married in is about twenty-five pounds out of date.

You know, one of the questions that often gets asked during the Q&A following a performance of I HATE THIS regards what has happened with my family since. The strain of their not knowing what to do or what to say, and my reaction to that, is a major element of the show. And the show doesn't change, it just stops at March 20, 2002. So people want to know. I wish they wanted to know for some abstract reason, but mostly it always sounds like they are worried about me, or that it just left them feeling hollow and they want some reassurance. And I can give them that.

Things have changed considerably since then. If anything, the play was a catalyst for change ... maybe an extremely passive aggressive one, who can say. But it did start conversations that had yet to be started.

Mom made several different suggestions of how we could get together on Sunday. It is Palm Sunday, you know, maybe we'd like to come to church. Maybe they could drive us to the airport. Both of these suggestions don't really work due to our strict timetable that day. But it meant so much to be asked. And today she gave us a lovely, purple and pink Calvin Day hydraenga.

Yes. Things change.

And speaking of Palm Sunday, you know what that means ... Eggshelland!

What's In David's Lap?
A Thread of Grace
by Mary Doria Russell
(L'chaim!)

4 Scores

(check out the review in Scene)

One more weekend to catch Sarah Morton's one-woman show 4 Minutes to Happy. Sat in front of Sarah's Mom on Saturday night (oversold crowd - get your tickets today!) and she wanted me to know Sarah was misquoted in the Plain Dealer, she never said our two shows "had a very New York sensibility" but that she had in fact said, they did not have a New York sensibility.

Having cancelled my subscription to Ohio's Largest in 2001, I didn't know what she was talking about. But I was pleased, what with a show to do and all, that what I thought was weighing so heavily on Sarah's mind.

It is a great, great piece. And Sarah performs so infrequently (much, much too infrequently) I'm strongly urging everyone to see it. I was a little stunned after the show, and I have seen it already. My eyes were wet, and I was a little dizzy. Sarah, I just think you are amazing.

Watching it again made me admire, so much, the modern art of solo performance. In the last five or so years I have seen an awful lot of solo work, and very little of it has not been worth my time.

What's On David's iPod?
I Can't Wait
Nu Shooz
"Poolside"
(Boy, it felt good to get that off my chest.)

"What (Not) To READ When You're Expecting"

It has been quite a week. March is always a difficult month, this one made even more so by a number of confluent events. Henry's arrival, Zelda's anticipation of her own baby brother, coupled with entirely understandable neuroses about this (or any) pregnancy.

In addition, we are preparing for a wedding which will take place on Calvin's birthday, in New York City. This has been a point of some stress. It's a wedding we have looked forward to, but it means flying when Toni is past 30 weeks pregnant, in addition to taking us out of town on Calvin's Day, when we traditionally do a number of things in town to celebrate.

Last week I met a couple who lost their boy, Johannes, a little over two weeks ago. Marianne at Metro Health got me in touch with them, they wanted someone to talk to, someone who has "been through it."

Meeting Justin and Laura at a restaurant downtown, I was impressed at how well they appeared to be handling everything. I was even jealous, if that makes any sense. Their family was there following the birth, everyone got to hold the boy, there were pictures, a lot of support there. They are very fortunate. I remember being alone with Toni, and, well, that's about it.

We had a lot in common. Not least of which is hatred for a certain book advising women on what to, uh, anticipate while they are, erm, with child. What they don't do is help you expect the unexpected.

That's a common theme - don't tell people about the bad things, it will only make them worry. Again, it's like that episode of Six Feet Under. No, people should not panic, but it's like the motto of The Preeclampsia Foundation - "Know the Symptoms, Trust Yourself."

I was honored to be invited to Hannes' memorial, which coincidentally enough was held in my hometown of Bay Village. We all went. It was a Quaker-style memorial, no formal agenda, everyone sits in a room, and if you want to speak, speak. There must have been close to hundred people. Many spoke. It was a beautiful event.

What's On David's iPod?
Six Feet Under Title Theme (Remix)
Photek vs. Thomas Newman
Six Feet Under
(Yes, I am doing some catching up, aren't I?)

DVDs are an amazing thing. Friends with DVDs are even better.

We haven't yet made it to the end of the first season. Zelda's friend Anna has a new baby brother, born on Saturday - his name is Henry. Welcome, Henry!

So we had to drop everything this weekend to take care of Anna, which was cool. But it meant no time for dark comedies about death. We may polish them off tonight, who knows.

Yesterday was Toni's 30th week of pregnancy. Calvin was born dead at 30 weeks. Something of a milestone. Things began lightening up at this point with Zelda ... oh, who am I kidding, of course they didn't. But at least this wasn't hanging over our heads.

But we did watch the "crib death" episode the other night, Friday night. Yippee. Glad Rico was back, and I wasn't as antsy about the subject as the handling of the subject. Putting together words like "mild" and "preeclampsia" make me irritable, to say the least. And, of course, Rico's baby lived.

I was amused when Nate used the "some baby's are too good for this world" line on the parents of the deceased 3-week old. I hate it when people say things like that, and it made his character a little less perfect. He always knows the right thing to say to the bereaved, doesn't he? Uh, no, he doesn't. And who of us do?

Funny Things

The internet is such a funny thing. Wait, in order to explain this extremely mundane fact, I need to back up a little ...

Toni and I have begun watching Six Feet Under from the beginning - we have borrowed the season one DVS from a friend. Great show. It's a little stunning in places, I mean, I get stunned. It began, what, in the summer of 2001? I seem to remember the promo on the sides of busses when we were in NYC from the 01 Fringe.

Sure, it's typical HBO dark humor - the places network t.v. can't go, the Mob-family sit-com (Sopranos), the prison-rape sit-com (OZ) so I figured the funeral home sit-com would be much of the same. But man, maybe I am simple or something, but all the frank talk about death and mourning is really ... refreshing. And that Peter Krause is something to look at. Mmn.

Anyway, and this was something - there's the episode about the 6 year-old who shoots himself. I was only wondering if they would go there (as the kids say) and there they were. There were images in that episode I never want to see again. Watching David scrub the boys fingernails was one thing. Watching him tie to boy's sneaker was another. I didn't think much of it at the time, but it has haunted me ever since.

Later, Nate is having another argument with Billy (I really hate Billy) this time over the significance of child death in society, and our inability to deal with it, and Brenda begins to quote my play.

Okay, she wasn't quoting my play, she was quoting whatever it is I quote in my play.

"Someone who loses a parent is an orphan, someone who loses a spouse is a widow or a widower. There is not word for the parent of a dead child."

I say in my play that "I read this somewhere." It was in a book called "Finding Hope When a Child Dies." And today I wanted to know where the author of that book got it from. I Googled the last line there - and got a bunch of references to my play, of course, I use that line a lot. I also found this conversation on mothering.com from two years ago. People talking about me behind my back again.

The internet is such a funny thing.

From Gina ...

Urine Test May Predict Pregnancy Preeclampsia

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

By Jennifer Warner

A substance in a pregnant woman‚s urine may help doctors determine whether she‚s likely to develop preeclampsia later in her pregnancy, a new study suggests.

Preeclampsia is a common cause of high blood pressure during pregnancy, and also causes elevated levels of protein in the urine. Potential complications of preeclampsia include seizures, brain hemorrhage, uncontrolled bleeding, and kidney failure as well as premature delivery. There is a greatly increased risk of death in babies delivered early.

The condition develops quickly and makes it hard for doctors to spot it in time before these dangerous complications develop.

But in a new study published in this week's Journal of the American Medical Association, researchers found that reduced levels of a substance known as placental growth factor (PIGF) starting at weeks 25-28 of pregnancy were associated with a higher risk of developing preeclampsia later in the pregnancy.

If further studies confirm these results, researchers say screening for PIGF may offer a new way to predict preeclampsia risk and prevent complications.

Urine Substance Tied to Preeclampsia Risk

In the study, researchers studied urine concentrations of PIGF in 120 pregnant women who later developed preeclampsia and 118 women with normal pregnancies.

They found that levels of PIGF were significantly lower beginning at 25 to 28 weeks of pregnancy among the women who subsequently developed preeclampsia than the other women. This difference between the two groups became more pronounced at 29 to 36 weeks.

In the women with normal pregnancies, the levels of PIGF were increased during the first two trimesters, peaked at 29 to 32 weeks of pregnancy, and then decreased.

In addition, among women with the lowest PIGF levels at 21 to 32 weeks of pregnancy, the risk of developing preeclampsia before 37 weeks, or during a pregnancy that produces a small size infant for its age, was markedly higher.

Researchers say if further studies confirm these results, screening women for PIGF may identify those who would most benefit from early diagnosis of preeclampsia and potentially help prevent preeclampsia-related complications.

By Jennifer Warner, reviewed by Brunilda Nazario, MD

SOURCE: Levine, R. The Journal of the American Medical Association, Jan. 5, 2005; vol 293: pp 77-85.

Happy Holidays

Following performances of I HATE THIS people often ask what impact the play has had on my relationship with my family. The answer is, my relationship with them is fine, better to ask what impact the show has had on them.

For Christmas this year, my father made a contribution in Calvin's name to the The Heifer Project which helps hungry families around the world by giving them livestock or other farm animals in hope they may become self-reliant for food and income. He bought a hive of bees. I loved that. He also gave a flock of ducks in Zelda's honor.

In late 2001 he originally offered to dedicate a pointsetta for Calvin at his church, and there were those in the family who didn't get it. Toni and I have greatly appreciated his remembrances, they mean an awful lot.

Happy New Year's, folks.

Farewell From Bad Epitaph Theater Company

After five years my company, Bad Epitaph, is calling it quits. Not a major event in the history of Cleveland theater, but it is bound to be some kind of downer to a lot of theater fans around here, if only for purely symbolic reasons.

The state of theater in Cleveland kinda blows. The most daring theaters are petering along as best they can. Small companies like ours pop up for a bit, do some refreshing work, and then either disappear or ... well, no that's about it, they disappear.

Most of us are already involved with other companies, that's part of the reason for the split. Again, no big crying shame. It's kind of a relief. But I know I will miss the autonomy of doing whatever the hell I want after a short while. I always do.

Bad Epitaph Theater Co. 1999 - 2004
"I have tried so hard to do the right."
Cleveland, Grover (1837-1908)

Little Boys

We found last week that the Fish (as we call him) is going to be a boy. Or rather, he already is, but now we know it.

This news came strangely to me. I think I had assumed I really did want a boy, but wouldn't admit it to myself, for fear of being disappointed. And now I am not sure that was ever the case. My standard line was, "I just want it to be live and healthy." And I think that was true.

Boys are weak, you know. Boys are fragile. Zelda could get hit by a train and get back up again, she's tough. But little boys? Little boys die. At least, that's been my experience to date.

Angle 17

Fringing It

My personal take on Fringe Festival culture, and my experience in NY. Okay, not just my take, I interviewed a lot of people for it. I like it a lot better in print than when I wrote it.