this really is a short post (and you thought it couldn't happen).

    This will be short, I promise (I know, I know, you'll believe it when you see it...).

    Just wanted to say that there were two really good things that happened at the show tonight:

• ACL started collecting donations towards Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids immediately following the show.  The lights come up after our endless amounts of kicks, and we give a cute little speech about the good any money they give could do and if everyone would give just one dollar, we could raise $2000 tonight alone; then, four of us go to the exits in our bedazzling costumes, gold hat in hand (turned upside down, of course), and collect for a good cause. It's awesome.
  
• Okay, so maybe this is slightly selfish, but the fact that we stay onstage when the lights come back up to talk about what we are doing gives the audience a chance to applaud us.  I guess they think that it is a real curtain call or something (if you've never seen the show, we don't really have a curtain call, just a final chorus line in which we kick till the lights fade to black so a lot of times audiences don't really know it's their last chance to clap). Anyway, tonight when the lights came back up and we were all standing on stage smiling the audience literally jumped to their feet and started clapping.  It was so nice to see how much they appreciated the show...
• Oh and one more thing (I guess I had three awesome things happen, but this wasn't at the show, so I was right in the first place): I finally saw School of Rock and it was a great film.  Jack Black is such a talented actor/musician/singer and I can't think of many other actors who could play that role so fantastically.  Anyway, I loved it.  

     

       That's all.

blue suede shoes

        My heart is so full, so inspired right now, I barely even know where to start.  Do you ever just have those moments when life makes sense?  When you are perfectly content to just be in the moment?  You forget to look around to see what everybody else is doing because you are just listening, taking it in, letting your carefully placed guard down so that your heart can be left with a clear impression. 

        Because you don't want to miss a thing.  

        And you become soft, vulnerable, and before you know it, something good has gotten in you and your life is bigger because of it.  Or maybe you just feel smaller from the weight of it, but whatever it is, it's good.  And you're changed.

         See, I just spent three hours listening to some incredible live jazz.  

          I mean sweating, no holds barred, jazz musicians just playing for their lives. I could have watched the different piano players all night long, especially when it came time for a solo (which happened about every other minute, I'd say) and every one of their 10 fingers danced deftly over those keys (the sad thing about that last sentence is that I really had to pause for a second because I couldn't remember if we have 10 or 20 fingers...it's late, friends, please be kind...).  When the music is perfect, when the rhythms are locked in a pace that you've been waiting for, and there's an individual freedom that exists despite the fact that there's a strong commitment in place to a certain key, there's a visceral part of me that responds.  I can't help but move a little--sometimes a lot--and it's in these moments that I know that dance isn't necessarily or strictly an art form; it is sometimes, simply stated, the only appropriate response that exists to the kind of music that speaks to the soul.  

          There is a vivid scene from C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia in which Aslan is creating the world of Narnia through song.  He sits over a vast emptiness and simply starts to sing this inspired, creative song, and the land, in utter response to this permeating music, grows; water divides from land, trees differentiate from grass, and the animals start to form. It is beautiful and so right in that I think Lewis got the importance of music and how it grows good things, how it takes a void and fills it. 

        And we need only respond.  

         I did my fair share of dancing tonight, too.  One guy I danced with kept calling me slinky, which, the more I thought about it, the more I realized is just a really weird word and by maybe the third or fourth time he called me slinky, I was sure I didn't want to dance with him anymore.  So I didn't.  Oh, and I danced in my, ah, high-tops since I did not realize that I was going to be visiting this jazz club before I left for the theater tonight.  But who cares, really?  I dance enough in heels as it is.

         Another favorite moment of the night was while I was on the dance floor: I glance over and see a couple who look to be somewhere in their eighties, probably with a hobbit or two far back in their respective family trees, judging from their stature.  He was wearing a very respectable suit, she had on a nice dress with a belt smartly cinched around a waist that had thickened through the years.  She was slightly taller than him, but it could have been the heels, now that I think about it.  Anyway, they were whirling around, dancing, becoming younger with each step to the music, each rotation completed in each other's arms.  

       

          I could only imagine how many times they had done exactly what they were doing right then. And it sure seemed like it never got old for them; it sure seemed like their love hadn't dissipated through the years, either. 

           Tonight was really special.  Music. Dance. Friends. A very old couple.  It gets better sometimes, I guess, but not so often.  

          

that's rude

   I think the older I get, the more, ahem, bold I get.

   Like, I don't just sit back and let people be rude. Or at least, I try not to.  And when I am appalled at how another behaves, and if it is in any way directed towards me, then I will say something.  Hopefully, with kindness as the intent...

  For instance, I was at the gym yesterday, you know, minding my own business at the free weights, just standing in front of the mirror doing curls. This lady walks up, positions herself directly behind me and is about to start doing her own curls.  She hesitates and pointedly looks at me.  I continue to work out. She continues to stare.  Then, her staring progresses into something else as she takes her hand, and with an annoyed look fixed on her features, proceeds to start shooing me away.

  Really.

   She is now definitively gesturing that I should move, because she can't see herself, because she parked herself behind me in the first place.  I wish, though, that you could see the look that was on her face, because it really did speak volumes; it was somewhere between smug and condescending, but smack in the middle of rude.  

   So I turn around and gaze at her with a huge question mark on my face.  Truly, you couldn't mistake my look.  At her continued gesturing, I finally say, Excuse me?  

    Well, I didn't know if you wanted to move so that I wouldn't hit you, she states.

    Well, I didn't know if you wanted to use words and actually ask me to move and say please, as well, I answer.  

    At this, she simply says, I didn't know if you could hear me because of your headphones...

    I can hear just fine, I say, very deliberately.  

    And with that, I move over for her to have the space that she so obviously wants.  

     But honestly, some people are just so rude.  Now, had that lady come up and maybe tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention (since she was so positive that I couldn't hear), and when she had it, simply said, Would you mind moving over, please? I would have moved in a heartbeat.  But her rude gestures, as if I were a dog, simply put, burned me up.

    And yes, I said something.  Apparently it is not just 3 year olds who need to be reminded to use their words and say please.  Hopefully the next time she wants someone to move, she will get her way in a less obnoxious manner.  I mean, whatever happened to good manners? Being polite? Using words, for goodness' sake?!

   Okay, just had to share.  As my nephew Ollie would say, that's it.

beautiful

    Sometimes you need to look at something beautiful. Let it be new.  Become surprised by life again, by the subtle way colors change in nature, reminding you that maybe you aren't done yet, either; that maybe there are some good changes that are ruminating within, just on the brink of a metamorphosis.  

   Aren't the colors of these leaves just startling? 

   You think you have life all figured out, that you have a good idea of what fall is like, and if asked, you could say something like, It's when the air turns a little sharper, a little cooler, the leaves change color and start to fall while the days become shorter...And you would answer correctly, but then, you see it and realize you completely forgot the magic of fall.  

   And it's been a whole year since last you'd seen it. Though honestly, the moment you are struck anew by the change all around, you look and look at it with eyes as wide as a child's, with eyes that for all purposes, might have never seen this season, this brilliance before, because it's that new.  

   And you fall in love with life again.  You draw comfort from the fact that God is not simply utilitarian, not just pragmatic in his thinking and his designs; no, he is the first Romantic, the ultimate Dreamer, the Poet that wrote your existence and somehow finds cadence in yesterday, bringing them into some kind of rhythm with today, even making it rhyme with tomorrow, as difficult as that can be to believe.  

   He doesn't just decide that the leaves should fall, that the trees should become barren before the long winter, He colors them first, creating strokes of brilliance as we walk to work, to meet a friend, to get in our car and drive far from our homes.  He creates beauty all around us, and most especially, within us.  

  And I am struck by it.  I hope to never grow used to beauty, never feel like I've seen it all. I hope that, no matter how many days I am gifted on this earth, I will be surprised by the beauty of the day...

*picture was taken outside our home here in Toronto by Gabi Ruiz*

Toronto: the good vs. the bad

Things That Are Awesome About Toronto So Far:

• I feel safe walking home.
• the subway comes very often, there's a video screen that reports how many minutes until the next train arrives (it's never been more than 4), and it's so clean.
• I heard an announcement today concerning the buses: From the time of 9pm until 5am, women traveling alone can request that the bus driver stop between stops. Awesome way to take care of women, if you ask me.
• Whirlyball.  I went tonight with ACL as well as the Jersey Boys cast (though the Jersey Boy from the elevator was not there) and it's this great amalgamation of bumper cars and lacrosse.  I had a blast, actually, and even scored a goal or two.  We also played one round of laser tag; I wore a vest and felt like Jack Bauer as I ran through the course shooting everything that moved.  The only downside is that I wore a white t-shirt that shone like the noon day sun under the black light...Oh, and there are only two places in the states that has whirlyball--not sure where they are, though.
• There is a piano in my apartment building.
• The American dollar is worth about 20% more than the Canadian dollar.  So going to, say, the apple store is great because their computers are still the same price as in the states, making it so that if you buy a mac here you get a 20% discount.
• A lot of the food stuffs at the grocery stores here are written in french, making it very interesting and making you feel worldly-wise.

   Things that Are Not Awesome About Toronto So Far:

• While on the subway the other day, there was a 10 year old boy who was hard at work picking his nose and eating his findings.  Seriously.  The thing that surprised me was that his dad was right across from him, talking with him about the Toronto Maple Leafs and everything, and didn't even mention to his son that he might want to spare the rest of us the sight of snot stringing from his nose to his finger and landing eventually in his mouth.  And when the boy started trying to wipe it on his little brother, making the little brother visibly and understandably upset, the dad simply said (to the little brother), Well, you don't have to sit there...I understand that this could very well have happened anywhere on the map, but the fact is that it happened in Toronto, in front of me, and was not awesome.  I started feeling a little sick to my stomach, actually.
• Toronto taxes their consumers out the wazoo. Really, because Canada has socialized healthcare, they tax on every little thing possible, making it so that when you order a $5 hamburger, the bill ends up being quite a bit more than anticipated because of all the little taxes that show up on the receipt.  And the thing that stinks for us is that we are not reaping the benefits of their socialized healthcare, rather just helping to pay for it. So Canadians, I hope you are enjoying your visits to the doctor; Merry Christmas.
• A lot of the food stuffs at the grocery stores here are written in french, making it difficult to understand what, exactly, they are describing, as well as making you realize that you aren't that worldy-wise.

    The truth is that we are all loving Toronto and having a blast here. It's a beautiful city, supportive of the arts, and very tolerant of all different types of people.  It's a lovely place, truly.

hmmmm. game night.

       This picture is the result of a game night that started out normal...

  But morphed into something well, 80's style, I suppose.  It all started because Hollie (on the left) changed from her dress into a large off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over tights with sneakers, in order to maneuver better during the games, and someone made the off-hand remark (I think it was me) that she was dressed so 80's.  Well it takes just a spark to start a fire, right? Because next thing I knew, she was rocking a side pony tail and looking for pink lipstick and some headbands.  Then Derek needed to borrow a t-shirt (because he was wearing a button down shirt that was not conducive to basketball), so Colt found him the most 80's t-shirt for him from his own closet.  Hollie was still rummaging, and besides finding the headbands for us, she found some bangle bracelets and threw out a shirt for me to don.  Colt made headbands for he and Derek out of, from what I understand,  an old, yellow-arm-pit stained t-shirt and I was instantly grateful for the never-been-close-t0-an-arm-pit headband from Hollie that I was wearing.  I pulled out my oversized perfectly orange sun glasses that I recently bought that happens to be perfect for this moment (perfect for any moment, really) and the boys took off their pants.

   Wait, what?

   I quietly asked, Um, why are boxer briefs considered 80's? I mean, isn't underwear sort of a...timeless thing? Not just specific to the 80's?

   Without a moment's hesitation, Colt said, Well, really short shorts are 80's and we don't have those, so this is the best that we could come up with, under the circumstances...

   Okay.  Fair enough.

   We proceeded to go down to the game room and play ping-pong (at which I dominated; I am a Latshaw, after all), pool, darts, and basketball looking like that. 

    Never a dull moment, friends; never a dull moment.

not an impingement!

      Does the word impingement mean anything to you? Really, anything at all? Cause it didn't to me. Well, before today, that is.

      See, for the last few days my shoulder has been hurting. And then today, it started really feeling badly--hurting to lift my arm anywhere above shoulder height.  And I lift my arm above shoulder height a lot during the show...So, I decided to go see the physical therapist and she told me:

•      I have a deltoid strain
  
•      I have an impingement in my...uh, shoulder (?) now that I think about it, I can't quite          remember where she said the impingement is...oops...I know it's somewhere around          there!
•      And I have enough knots in my shoulder to impress even a boy scout, I should say.
•      Oh wait, she also said I should ice it...
  

    *walks off to get some ice*

     Got the ice and it's kind of awkward trying to balance it as I type...But a silly little bag of ice can't keep a good blogger down, right?

           What else?  Oh, between shows today I signed five hundred posters.

            Yeah, that's not a typo--500.

           We are raising more money for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids and so we are auctioning off signed posters with all the proceeds going to the above.  It did not take as long as I had anticipated, but it's during those multiple signings that you start to get envious of people whose parents' named them Jo Eck.

           *uh-oh, ice just fell...and I thought I sealed the baggie, but apparently I didn't because the ice is now all over the floor*

        Okay, ice is back in the bag and back on my shoulder so you can all breathe a collective sigh of relief.  Oh, and so I probably wouldn't really want my name to be Jo Eck, but that is a heck of a lot easier to sign than Jessica Latshaw.  Although if you saw my signature, you would see a clear J followed by a scribbly line and a clear L followed by another scribbly line, so it really isn't that hard to do.  However, we had a signing party and made a huge circle, assembly line style, and if you happened to get stuck behind some people who fancied themselves Van Gogh when it comes to perfecting their signatures, adding onto that the fact that they have three names, well then, you find yourself waiting to write your own J, scribble, L scribble, and getting just a little impatient about it...And something else that I am getting impatient about is that the ice has fallen off my shoulder three times since I started this paragraph, but I just didn't want to mention it. Until now, I guess.  

    Oh, and I am not calling myself a saint or anything, but I did sign all 500 posters with the impingement and the strained deltoid...And I am not gonna lie; I mentioned it at least once or five times during the process...

    One more thing: tonight I saw a really good movie, Ghost Town. It was funny--that kind of awkward British humor that I really enjoy--plus, it was really moving at points.  I laughed a ton and actually cried.  But after describing last Sunday's show to you, you probably figure that's no big feat--to make me cry, that is. 

   Okay, going to bed now. Those of you who pray, I wouldn't mind you figuring in my impingement and strained deltoid the next time you talk to God.

    And because I just realized I did not explain this before, an impingement is just a fancy word for pinch; but really, who wants to be constantly pinched?  Not me.