Saturday night Burlesque Noir produced a full 3 hour burlesque extravaganza.  There were award-winning group burlesque acts, a magician and special guest dance solos.  The Lone Ranger film is shooting in New Mexico right now and I own a company working on it, so I had been hanging out on set saying hi to friends all week and many of the Lone Ranger crew came to see the show, as well as some of the Lone Ranger stars, Tom Wilkinson and Ruth Wilson!  But what delighted me the most was getting one of the Lone Ranger crew (and a handsome hunk of a Lover) on stage as the target for my Bullwhip Burlesque.

Here are some photos from my Bullwhip Burlesque with Burlesque Noir Saturday 5/26/12.  As always, the pasties pics are not public – you have to come see me live for that!  All photography by Dark Flash Photos.

Welcome, sunshine! It’s spring and I’ve got all the windows wide open in my Hollywood apartment. The wind blows in, sometimes even birds fly in—and the tomato seeds in a pot in my dining room burst up through the soil as the room itself warms like a greenhouse. Sunshine lifts our spirits, gives light allowing vision and aids our bodies in producing necessary vitamins. In fact, I am convinced that I am half plant/half animal like the recently discovered green sea slug, and that maybe I am photosynthetic by nature, too. Maybe not. But no matter how one looks at it, sunshine is a giver of life and deserving of all the gratitude and respect we humans can give. So with all these life-sustaining accolades, why does sunshine elicit such a bad health rap?

According to the National Center for Chronic Disease Prevention and Health Promotion (NCCDPH):

“Skin cancer is the most common type of cancer in the United States. Since 1973, new cases of the most serious form of skin cancer, melanoma, have increased approximately 150%. During the same period, deaths from melanoma have increased approximately 44%. Approximately 65%-90% of melanomas are caused by ultraviolet (UV) radiation.”

The sun is the source of two types of UV radiation: UVB and UVA rays. It turns out that UVB rays, because they are the rays that cause tanning, were also thought to cause skin cancer. So previous incarnations of sunscreen were developed to block UVB rays. Yet skin cancer rates skyrocketed (dark-skinned readers please pay attention, too!), so scientists were forced to consider that the cause of a tan may not be the cause of melanoma skin cancer—which is, of course, what we are all trying to avoid when running to the market with greasy SPF30 goo in our crosshairs.

The Skin Cancer Foundation recommends only five ingredients known to successfully block UVA rays: avobenzone, mexoryl, octocrylene, titanium dioxide and zinc oxide. So check your goo selection for one of these before purchase. Unfortunately, although these chemicals are proven to block cancer-causing UVA rays, they themselves may cause toxicity that is more harmful than the radiation they are blocking.

Octocrylene, for example, is a powerful free-radical generator that, get this, initiates a reaction that can lead to melanoma when activated by ultraviolet light, like that from the sun. Titanium dioxide is known to cause DNA damage to human cells and is a suspected carcinogen. Zinc oxide is generally recognized as safe by the FDA as a food additive; however, inhaling zinc oxide fumes can result in a nervous disorder known as metal fume fever, which brings up the social responsibility of our purchases. Someone’s mother is working in the factory that mixes our sunscreen concoctions. If manufactured in China, someone’s 12-year-old son might be working in that facility. By protecting ourselves, we may be harming another.

Since, according to the NCCDPH, “More than one half of a person’s lifetime UV exposure occurs during childhood and adolescence because of more opportunities and time for exposure,” it is vital that parents assist their children in regulating their sun exposure. Zinc oxide is the only sunblock approved for use with children under six months of age. However, zinc oxide leaves a greasy white residue on the wearer’s skin.

Worse, the Green Guide product report tells us that:

“In order to render transparent sunblocks containing titanium dioxide and zinc oxide, many manufacturers are using ‘micronized’ ingredients or ‘nanoparticles,’ that is titanium dioxide and zinc oxide particles that have been fragmented to sizes below 100 nanometers (a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter long). Some research indicates that titanium dioxide, particularly if it enters the body through cuts or inhalation, can cause more damage to DNA than larger particles of titanium dioxide, as noted in the November 1996 Toxicology Letters.”

Even after learning about the potential dangers of some of the active ingredients in sunscreen, you may have settled on one you feel comfortable putting on your and your child’s skin this summer. But before you rush out to the drugstore, you should also consider the safety of the inactive ingredients in sunscreen, which I will discuss next week.

It is a banana. It’s not a banana. It is a banana. It’s not a banana.

Warning to all my fellow raw fooders: tropical travel with ruin you forever. For after three weeks on the remote island of Dominica, only 26 miles long / 15 miles wide, I sit here now, in springtime Lincoln Park Chicago, trying to convince myself the thick-skinned-no-seed-having yellow piece of food I just paid $1 for at the coffee shoppe is indeed a banana.

It’s not a banana.

The last my taste buds remember, a banana was small, sometimes bite-sized fruit, ripe only when fully brown and soft as jelly, erupting with multi-dimensional flavors – sometimes aromatically figish, sometimes undeniably hibiscus. But this…this fruit I am eating now I think is some kind of artifcial syrup pressed into an elongated phallic shape, created in a laboratory to match the taste of Runts candy – America’s accepted standard for fruit taste. I am ruined forever.

How can I forget the farmer’s market in Roseau (with a population of 10,000, Dominica’s biggest village): I asked to taste a mango, ended up eating the entire thing, and when negotiating price for her goods, the vendor charged exactly what the earth had charged her that morning. This happened repeatadly, this gifting of fruits – handfuls of yellow island “cherries” or bundles of sugar cane stuffed in my hands. Tell me now, with generosity like this, what health food salad bar can compare in nourishment?

Or what about the roadsides, practically polluted with jelly coconuts: so available are these bowling ball sized treats, the locals commonly carry machetes for impromptu hydration breaks. So abundant are these delicious rocks in the sky, the Pirates of the Caribbean ll & lll movie hired an official coconut cutter to protect the unaware noggins of cast and crew. And so fresh and clean was the green coconut’s tonic water, I fear I may never be able to stomach the over sweet and pesticide dipped Thai atrocity again.

If that wasn’t enough, this equatorial paradise spoiled my palate with an array of exotic new fruits, picked right from the tree myself. Count on two hands: the consciousness altering fresh cacao pod, the feathery vanilla-like cass pod meat, the cinnimon/date flavored chapotilla, the similar-textured brown-golfball-sized tambrine fruit, and the luscious mango/pumpkin flavored mame apple (known to the locals also as “apricot”). But even the more common fruit fare in States is reduced to factory flavors when compared to Dominica’s in-season watermelon and powerful pineapple. Still, by far, nothing lifted the proverbial produce veil from my eyes nor had a deeper affect on my total being than one oddly shaped, smallish spiked, iguana green fruit blob, eaten soft as a mother’s breast, with pulp the color of dawn…with a texture stringy and almost transparent and as softly sweetened as heaven’s iced tea…these statements might not be FDA evaluated, nor the potency of said effects legally regulated, but my personal research confirms in repeated double-blind studies, the strange sour sap is officially a dangerous aphrodisiac.

How can one go back to limp raspberries in a plastic container after that?

So I beg you, raw fooders and produce lovers alike, give up your gardens, abandon the farmer’s markets and stay as far away from the southern Caribbean as possible. Leave the life of wandering and compulsive perpetual travel to those of us who have already bitten Eden’s apple, dooming ourselves to a destiny of dining dissatisfaction and fatal fruit snobbery.

So until I can return to the volcanic coasts of some tropical jungle, eating precisely the way climate, season and location dictate, I shall somehow try to relish a bag of baby carrots. But as far as bananas go, this spirit is unbroken, and Dole, and their new “organic line” can kiss my Dominican pawpaw!

If I had a classic hot rod … if I had someone else’s dog I stole. If I had an extra two thousand bucks from undisclosed means, it would be easier to get swept away. In the dust devil on the horizon.

I like to go. I like to go. I like to drive. I like the getting there. I am a roadtripper. Two days, five days, ten days – what’s there to see?  If I’ve never done it before, that’s what I want to do.

In Albuquerque I’m headed to meet the real renegades of the state. The women who dress up just to take it off. The men who fight for a living. I’m the naked fighter sharing a thought that gets us somewhere – like back on the road. With my voice raised and the windows down. Eyes scratchy and squinting, for the desert wind, so dusty hot dry. Throwing sweaty clothing into the backseat. Ready to fight and fly.

The footage of this Pretty Pain Knife Burlesque is actually taken at my first performance of this act.  As with any burlesque act, it starts as an idea, then you “develop” it.  Eventually, after about four “development” performances for me, I stop cutting myself with the props, stop catching my rhinestone garter on my new thigh highs and start really being able to interact with the audience.  So this is the first time I ever performed this piece.  This is a teaser video, remember, so you don’t see the reveal which in this case, involves a forest of balloons filled with glitter.  I will say no more.

Recently I met a musician online who’s music really matches my burlesque dance video edit style – sensual, classy, daring, reticent.  His name is Jimmy The Hideous Penguin from Galway, Ireland.  This song is called Armed Sadness, and is sincerely appropriate for the Pretty Pain Knife Burlesque in more ways than one.  This song also goes perfectly with the scent of jasmine saturating this bedroom.  I’m in heaven.  Please enjoy my performance/video work:

No Pain, No Gain
I have to be honest, running my 2001 VW TDI Jetta on waste vegetable oil (WVO) has been more heartache than I had anticipated. Originally, I thought I was just going to go hire someone to convert my car, learn how to collect and filter grease, and then I’d be off saving the world, requiring only my drive and idealism to see me through. Unfortunately, my conversion immediately taught me that if you are going to run WVO, you are going to get dirty. Idealism isn’t enough.

I converted my car at Greasel in Missouri and would not recommend their conversion to anyone, I am sorry to say. Greasel custom-welded a second tank for my system and before I had made the road trip home to California, that tank sprung a leak, spilling gallons of diesel fuel all over the road—the exact thing I was trying to avoid by paying a large sum of money to have the tank custom-welded per Greasel’s own design. I also experienced immediate electrical problems with my car, repeatedly shorting out the new circuits they had installed for the three electric heating pads and the fuel-selector valve.

Within the first year, I ended up rewiring the entire system and adding relays myself. I’ve replaced the Pollak fuel-selector valve five times in five years, and the $300 electric-transfer pump Greasel sold me burnt out within a year and half. Basically everything they touched on my car malfunctioned. And, with the exception of the transfer pump, each malfunction stranded me either while parked or driving, rendering my car completely inoperable.

Greasel has since changed names and apparently ownership. They are now called Golden Fuel Systems. Perhaps they have learned more about converting VW TDI Jettas over the past five years. I certainly have.

Electrical Glitches
One thing I’ve learned is that Volkswagon’s electrical systems are notoriously fickle and any after-market alterations risk glitches in the finely tuned electronics on which newer TDI’s run; even car stereo installation is a risk! The glitches can be as detrimental as air-flow meters going bad repeatedly (I’ve replaced mine four times). Or as benign as interior lights suddenly not engaging when the door is opened. Or horns intermittently not blowing, then just as suddenly returning to normal. Electric and electronic glitches are enigmatic to troubleshoot and are expensive as heck to diagnose. I have figured out how the fuel-delivery system in my car works, but to this day, I still do not actually understand how the car’s electronics work.

Finding a Mechanic
I also learned that because it has not been legal to sell diesels in the state of California for years, there are next to no mechanics who know how to work on them locally. When you do find a real diesel mechanic, they often refuse to work on a car that runs on WVO. I believe this is because troubleshooting takes longer than routine exhaust and brake repairs and therefore eats into profits. It seems that a genuine mechanic is difficult to find anymore. (What has happened to those who genuinely enjoy working on cars and are excited to be the first to know everything about a new system?) I finally was able to locate a real mechanic who is not afraid to work on a more esoteric system, thank goodness.

Other Lessons Along the Way
I learned that one should change his veggie fuel filter at the first sign of a power hiccup. Also that the Pollak fuel-selector valve is not rugged enough to withstand the high temperatures of heated veggie oil (and I have yet to find a replacement). And that igniting one’s car on used veggie oil in temperatures under 60 degrees is destructive to the fuel pump and should be avoided.

I have learned how to crack fuel injectors, bleed lines and suck fuel into the carb with my mouth. Most importantly, if I had all the cash in the world to start this exact project over again, this time I would buy a brand new VW Jetta, try the expensive German Elsbett WVO conversion system on a custom two-tank system straight from the get-go, and add in-line heaters myself before it’s all over.

W-V-O vs. O-L-D
I have run waste vegetable oil for five years and 40,000 miles now. Would I have had to replace my airflow meter four times, my Pollak fuel selector five times and my injector pump once, had I chosen to convert a 1985 Mercedes instead of a 2001 VW? We’ll have to read a Mercedes conversion blog to answer that. But one of the questions I have to this day is: compared to a brand-new car of the same make, does running WVO require more or earlier repairs and if so, on what system components? Everyone I know has converted an already oldcar to run on waste vegetable oil. Mine is a 2001 with 200,000 miles on it. Some of the repairs are surely just old-car repairs. It would be nice to know for sure which ones are which.

Jetta Heart Attack
One breakdown that was not an old-car repair and definitively WVO-related happened this spring. My Jetta would not start (again) and this time, my cool mechanic looked at me like I was driving an alien craft as he related his repair notes. “Tonya, I took seven gallons of the most disgusting gunk out of your fuel tank. I’ve never seen anything like it.” No wonder the car wouldn’t start! The lesson I learned from that repair is to never, never, never put even partially hydrogenated oil in your tank—no matter how much filtering and heating you administer. Jetta heart attack!

When running my Jetta for five months on diesel, the car ran wonderfully, started quickly every time, never smoked and had consistent power. The problems came when I started using WVO. Hmmm… So all this sounds a little daunting. And still, would I do it again? I would and I did.

A Tale of Two Vans
I purchased two diesel vans for my company, a Chevy 3500 and a Ford Econoline E350. I converted the Chevy to run on waste vegetable oil using a Grease Car conversion kit, this time installed by a private mechanic. I ran the Ford on biodiesel only.

The WVO Chevy powered down while driving five times within the first 5,000 miles. The biodiesel Ford has had no issues. I did not choose to continue troubleshooting the Chevy van; the way I see it, troubleshooting should be left to personal transportation and never a company vehicle. In the future, I will be doing all my research and development off the clock. When I know I’ve got my system right, then and only then will I place that vehicle into the work force.

The Bottom Line
The money I’ve saved by obtaining free fuel during the past five years has been balanced out by the cost of repairs. But, I’ve also had the supreme environmental pleasure of not running on fossil fuels. And for all the times I’ve been stranded, I’ve many more times been sitting in LA traffic feeling confident that my fuel is not creating that layer of smog in front of the Hollywood sign. Though not my intention, I have become competent and confident under the hood of a car, which is a skill that not enough women—heck, not enough men—have today. And for all the time and expense we spend on cars, it just makes sense we’d want to know how to keep them running.

Most importantly, though, committing to run on WVO has placed me in a new category of environmentalist, and proven to myself that I am not afraid to go all the way for the things I believe in. You aren’t really one of those people until you are one of them. So now I am. Before, I was just a follower, waiting for someone else to do the hard work. My personal environmental integrity has increased three-fold and my enthusiasm to take on other, bigger, experimental green projects has grown. I am free to experiment. Operative word: free.

Do I think there is one alternative-fuel answer that will heal the pollution, the politics and the consumerism of world society? No. But I do believe that alternative fuels in general can.

I encourage everyone out there to experiment and contribute to the diversification of fuel reliance. Research and develop WVO delivery systems, manufacture your own local waste-stock biodiesel, build an electric car that powers off solar panels, forge a way to import the 80 mpg, manual, diesel Smart Car from Europe. And if you want to teach your children about alternatives to petroleum-based transportation, keep those bicycles in excellent repair, and start getting the whole family into shape by riding them to the store together to pick up groceries.

I don’t have the answer because there isn’t one. There are many. It’s time to choose one, two or ten of them and get started.

Read Part 1: Converting Your Car
Read Part 2: How to Select the Oil
Read Part 3: How to Filter the Oil
Read Part 4: Better Oil Filtering
Read Part 5: Risks and Rewards

A Better Way
The first two years of filtering WVO for running my 2001 VW TDI Jetta, I knew there must be a better way. I needed an oil-filtering process that required very little space, time and cleanup. This is not what I had with the tripod and filter socks I was using. They left me lookin’ like a mad scientist, all drippy in public parking lots. So in true DIY fashion, I found a better way!

Hand-Crank Pump
First thing to go was that electric transfer pump I was using to move my grease from container to filter sock, then container to tank. In only two years, that expensive thing’s motor blew and I found a manual hand-crank transfer pump to be the answer to my DIY prayers. Yes, you will have to actually hand-crank your transfer pump, but people, if you have biceps at all, you can do this. It’s really easy. And that $30 pump never blows or breaks or lets you down. I got mine from Harbor Freight. But I’ve see others, like the Tera Pump, available for as little as $19.

Water Filters and Clear Hoses
On the incoming end of the transfer pump, I placed two in-line water filters—the kind pool and hot-tub cleaners use. In the first, I placed a 20-micron filter element and in the second, a five-micron element.

I chose to connect all this “complicated” design work with clear two-inch hose this time, rather than the solid-colored hosing. Clear hose allows me to monitor the flow and quality of my transfer process (which is also now conveniently my filter process) and I really get a kick out of seeing the brown oil go in the 20-micron filter and the golden fuel go into my tank.

The clear hosing also allows me to see the crud that invariably settles to the bottom of the dirty storage container. Every deep fryer, from veggie tofu to Philly cheesesteak, has crud. And as soon as I see a thickness in the collected oil or too much black crud coming through the intake hose, I know it’s time to switch containers for a full one.

Building a Box Filter
Finally, all of this needs to fit in a box to be a box filter. Any medium- to large-sized plastic storage container will do. In the three years that I’ve been using my box filter system, the only component I’ve had to replace is this plastic box—three times, in fact. But as much as I try to avoid purchasing new plastic items at all costs, and don’t appreciate replacing parts on my system, the light weight of plastic and the optional lid really do make plastic an ideal housing for a filtration system.

You’ll need tools, a friend with tools or some MacGyver skills for cutting the holes through your box for insetting the in-line filter and hand-crank transfer components. Make it work the way your trunk requires.

There are only two hints I feel necessary to convey and I highly recommend that you take them to heart:

1) Try to design it so that every potentially dripping edge of the filter system is inside the box. That way, the box collects the drippings instead of your cardboard or asphalt. This will make your life so much easier and it’s achievable with just a small additional effort.

2) Your hand-crank pump could benefit substantially from a secure mechanism on the back side to shore it up. A thin piece of pressboard or plywood will work fine. If you choose to not secure the hand-crank pump, the weight will wear on your plastic outer box and eventually cause a crack—exactly why I had to replace my first outer box several times. Lesson learned. Well worth considering.

For more than three years now, my custom-designed box filter has traveled the United States with me, spontaneously filtering in random parking lots, while keeping the ground, my hands and my trunk’s interior clean, and making me look like I know what I’m doing when the Location Department drivers at Fox studios wanna talk “shop” about diesel engines and alternative fuels. And I really do know what I’m talking about—because I did it myself!

Read Part 1: Converting Your Car
Read Part 2: How to Select the Oil
Read Part 3: How to Filter the Oil
Read Part 4: Better Oil Filtering
Read Part 5: Risks and Rewards

Signing autographs in a different time zone each week. Waking early to make small talk on morning radio. Snarling as a dirty, corset-wearing character in front of thousands of shrieking teenagers from a sold-out stage at Madison Square Garden. Sometimes even I think it’s play. But it’s my job.

I’ve been dancing professionally for 17 years. I was stretching splits at age seven. I was tapping time steps under my seat in kindergarten. I was counting crunches in the womb (or at least that’s what mom said it felt like). And sometimes even I have to remind myself of the broken rib cartilage, torn hamstrings and transverse fasciae latae insertion tendonitis to remember that professional dance isn’t all passion and play. It’s a job. And it’s a sport.

The Journal of Sports Medicine, in 1975, ranked the demands of ballet ahead of 60 other physical activities, including football. Not only do dancers perform at expert levels of strength, coordination, flexibility and endurance in order to entertain their audiences, but they do it all while ripping open their souls and baring their most vulnerable emotions at the same time.

Try screaming at the top of your lungs while running a mile. Try sobbing while swimming your laps. Try cracking up the other players on the court for two minutes.  If any doubt was previously held about the added exertion of emotional output, it will disintegrate with your sweat and tears.  There is no question in my mind: dance is one of the most challenging sports.

And still, after 17 years in the business and my dream gigs solidly sorted on my resume, the question I get asked more than any other is, “But how do you build muscle without eating meat?”

My legs are visibly powerful and hold me in extreme positions. When injured, my body repairs damaged tissue at a rate that surprises even me. I can master any athletic movement after seeing it only twice. And if it is really true that the body replaces itself entirely every seven years, then all my squats, yoga poses, split leaps and stair climbs are performed flexing 100% plant-nourished muscle. In the past 25 years, my body would have replaced itself three times over. I’m living proof that a professional athlete’s body thrives cruelty free.

I remember arriving on tour in the rhythmic, percussive STOMP show in January 2003—Little Miss Sunshine claiming to be a raw vegan (eating only uncooked fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds). My new cast mates smiled with a knowing look in their eyes; they’d seen spouses take up girlfriends, the religious take up blackjack and the vegetarians take up fish under the perils of touring life.

Fondly, they called me ‘rabbit’ and I set out without precedence and without doubt that if there were a way to eat raw vegan on the road while performing the most physically strenuous show of my life, then I would find a way. Three years and 600 performances later, the cast mates who once called me ‘rabbit’ were now complimenting my solid figure and inexhaustible energy. This time it was I giving the silent, knowing smile…

It hasn’t always been easy being green, though. In 2007, dancing on my first rock-and-roll tour with the band Panic At The Disco, I was living the rock-and-roll fantasy: wake up, stumble off the bus, perform in a new stadium, party until the set is loaded out, jump back on the tour bus and attempt to sleep in transit to the next state’s stadium. Wake. Rinse. Repeat.

In STOMP, at least I could take a taxi ride to the nearest health-food store, or sweet talk the Hooter’s chef into creating an all-veggie salad and guacamole plate for me. Even Danville, Kentucky’s Wal-Mart (egads!) had organic produce to smuggle back to my hotel. But on a rock-and-roll tour, there are no hotel rooms. And that 2×2 icebox on the bus holds very little space for a veggie stockpile when shared with 11 other dancers. Let’s just say there have been times I’ve had to be very creative (and open-minded) about my raw vegan choices. And there have also been times when my choices have influenced entire casts, and catering and craft services. Things are really changing.

I used to think I was the only one, but the longer I am running clean, the more elite plant-based athletes I’ve befriended along the way.  There is Brendan Brazier, raw vegan Ironman triathlete; Robert Cheeke, competitive vegan bodybuilder; Koya Webb, raw vegan fitness model and personal trainer; and Tim VanOrden; raw vegan skyscraper-racing champion. We all seem to agree that it’s possible to build muscle on the vegetarian diet. Rather, we wonder how it’s possible to chow chemical isolate powders and thrive as athletes. Stress takes energy to digest in the body. It just stands to reason that foods with the easiest digestibility and highest nutrition would leave athletes the most energy to perform their sport. Put your energy to efficient use!

After all, protein doesn’t build muscle; only exercise builds muscle. Why do we allow marketing to interfere with our families’ health education? I see well-meaning folk spooning tuna in between meals, scooping whey into their smoothies and basketing any junk-food bar with a ‘low carb’ label. Never mind that most consumers don’t know what the word carb is short for or what its function is in the body. Instead, they obsess about protein, hoping they will build bigger, better, slimmer bodies, when doing pushups at the office, stretching before bed and turning off that television five nights a week is the path to their healthiest bodies ever. And it’s free of charge.

Maybe it’s the mental myths that have athletes hesitating on that final commitment to making the meat-free switch. To dispel some of those myths, I offered one detailed month of my raw vegan diet to nutritional-science enthusiast, Joanna Steven, just so I could really answer that innocent question, “Where do you get your protein?”  Boy, did I feel exposed writing down and offering up every ounce of kombucha I drank and every gram of spirulina I added in a fortnight.

In the published results of that study, the Raw Nutritional Analysis eBook finds that I, Tonya Kay, get an average of 104% of my Recommended Daily Allowance of protein from kale, avocados, coconuts, seaweeds and the occasional handful of sprouted seeds and nut butters. In fact, my nutritional profile far exceeds suggested government standards on all accounts. And I eat all day long. And my body is lean. And my heart is strong. I am a real-life, raw-vegan, professional athlete.

But honestly, I don’t eat vegetarian/vegan/raw vegan because it makes me a better athlete. I eat this way because I don’t have to wear deodorant anymore, plain and simple. There’s nothing like one’s dance pants wet with peach scent after a three-hour rehearsal in late August. These simple, clean joys are the private experiences that make life delicious.

I sweat cherry juice.