So, I've been told by my brother who lives part of the year in Vermont that this winter brought the best skiing in years to New England, and I missed it. Philadelphia has been a little too far away, especially with performance and audition commitments. But what a drag, man. This makes the second winter in a row in which I haven't skied and the pain I feel is physical, and emotional, like not having seen a lover in too long, blue heart, blue balls. Can't let this happen again.
Since I didn't ski, this winter was also painfully long, wet, dark, and all-around freak'n miserable--but you knew that. Gratefully the sun appears to be returning for extended periods. So it's still cold, but I can live with that, sort of, though if I were offered an extended gig in Florida or Hawaii (not such a strange prospect as it sounds), I'd be off like a shot.
It's been too long since I've exercised my spiritual need for doing things outdoors. For a couple of years now, I've lived head down, in front of the computer or in audition and rehearsal studios, chipping away at a mid-life start in a new artistic career. But this is not enough. Sailing, skiing, hiking, long-distance bicycling (though I'm done with that now), motorcycling, scuba: that's where I've always gone to re-find myself and recharge. The little bit of hiking near me in Philly hasn't been enough. Walking in Fairmount Park is like putting a giant rundown battery on a trickle charger for too short a time: I've been walking around in constant brown out. Forty-five minutes on a rowing machine once or twice a week at the gym is just enough to piss me off.
I would like some company in all these pursuits, too, but theater people? They're often couch potatoes. They watch sports but don't do them. Beats me why.