HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

I Shall Scream

I learned today in rehearsal that I can scream. I'm a pretty good screamer. I've never had to scream, and I don't recall ever just screaming in real life. I watched a behind the scenes on one of the Indiana Jones movies, where the actress COULDN'T scream, but Stephen Spielberg didn't know that until AFTER he hired her and found out she was an AWFUL screamer. Couldn't scream worth a hoot. And it just so happened that this Indiana Jones movie required her to scream alot. So they had to have her mouth the screams, and then go in and dub over someone else's prerecorded scream into every screaming scene.

And ever since I saw that behind the scenes, I've wondered if I'd be any good at screaming. But I never considered any moment of my life appropriate to just try out a scream.

Well, that moment came today.

My character, Bet, finds Nancy dead at the end of the musical. (Sorry if I ruined it for any of you.) And the director and choreographer had this "brilliant" idea that I should scream when I see Nancy dead.

I got a little nervous about it. Went up to the choreographer while the director worked with the other actors and said, I have NO idea if I can scream. I've never really done it before. And he told me to just go ahead. Try it out. Right then and there.

So I mustered up the courage, opened my mouth, drew in a deep breath, and let it RIP.

Everyone in the whole room jumped or gasped and looked over at me, frozen in fear. It was dead quiet. The choreographer just nodded and said, yeah, you can scream.

I said, sure I can, but I don't think my character would do that.

So he said OK, and I don't have to scream.

I feel better now that I know I can scream. Not that there's anything wrong with NOT being able to scream. I mean, Stephen Spielberg ended up marrying the actress that couldn't scream, so he musta liked her anyways. Not that I want my director to marry me...Oh you know what I mean.

Number of times I wrote the word "scream" in this post: anyone?

Wow. I am TIRED tonight. Rehearsals are getting longer and more intense. We've been rehearsing from 10 - 6 here in the city every day, but it goes to 12 hours out in Northport starting Friday. We open the day after Thanksgiving.

My head may even hit the pillow before midnight tonight. Gasp.

I have a hard time blogging during a show because my life becomes so...routine. I'm literally doing the same thing every single day. Same songs, same dance, same lines, same actions. I think actors crave the extreme repetition of a show, because usually, so much else in an actor's life is so inconsistent. Clarity in an imaginary life is consoling. I think that's also why there's an element of sadness when a show closes. That consoling sameness and the community that comes with it is yanked out from underneath you.

So if I'm boring you'll have to forgive me. I'll do my best to find something worth telling.

See I've even stopped titling my blogs. They just don't seem worthy of titles.

Ahhhh well. I'm off to bed.

Did I tell you guys that I saw Julianne Moore at Starbucks the other day? She's real pretty.

I don't have much to talk about. I'm about to go to another voice lesson, but I don't really want to talk about that.

Rehearsals are great, but I don't really want to talk about that either.

I had a matzah ball soup that I liked today! There's something to talk about. It was at a real Jewish deli owned by real Jewish people instead of a silly Manhattan deli owned by silly non-Jewish people. Matzah ball soup tastes just like chicken noodle soup! Except for those two big mushy dumpling like things in the center that don't taste like much of anything. It was good. Not sure why people get crazy about it, but it was good. And cheap. Maybe that's why people love it so much.

Nanny Diaries

A conversation with the 7-yr-old boy I babysit as we're watching the end of a New York Rangers hockey game on T.V:




7 YR OLD: I'm actually kind of glad Obama won.

ME: You are?

7 YR OLD: I mean, I'm SAD that McCain lost because I was for him. But I'm actually kind of glad Obama won.

ME: Really. Why's that?

7 YR OLD: Because he's our PRESIDENT!

ME: Well...not yet if you want to be precise.

7 YR OLD: People should really be glad for their president.

ME: Well that's true. Did you guys have a mock election in your class at school or something?

7 YR OLD: (confused) mock?

ME: Oh. I mean a pretend election at school?

7 YR OLD: No.

ME: Oh.

7 YR OLD: Anyways, it's not like the president can tell us what to do or anything. He can't force us to do things.

ME: Hmmm, it's true that we're a free society, and we make our own choices.

7 YR OLD: Right! We make our own choices!

ME: The president can tell our military what to do, though.

7 YR OLD: We're not at war right now.

ME: We are actually. In Iraq.

7 YR OLD: Oh. But not anywhere around here, right?

ME: Right.

7 YR OLD: I hate wars! Wars are stupid. Fighting each other with knives and stuff.

ME: Well, the United States only goes to war if it's to fight for what's good...to help people. (???) it's always better to try to work it out, though. You're right.

7 YR OLD: Yeah! Work it out! Work it out with YOUR WORDS! Geesh.

ME: That's right. Work it out with your words...... Sometimes countries have a harder time working it out with words.

How Not To Think

After a grueling lesson with my voice teacher yesterday, and after a 24 hour period of THINKING how NOT to think, I THINK I've got what he means.

In my lessons, during a vocal exercise, he wants me to simply DO what he says, not process what he says and how it corresponds to my own preconceived understanding of the voice. When he asks me "how does that FEEL", he wants to hear a self-aware answer of how that FELT, not a processed THINKING answer about what I THINK my teacher wants to hear.

Two things: He wants me to be self-aware. He wants me to trust him.

Both are very hard for me.

I've been a "singer" all my life, since the 5th grade spring choir concert where I sang my solo, "Tomorrow", with a navy blue and white polka-dotted bow in my hair, while my friend's dad sat in the audience making funny faces and trying to make us all laugh.

I've studied voice since I was 14 years old. All through high school, studying voice was fun. I knew then that I wanted to sing the rest of my life. But in college, the first time I walked into my new voice teacher's studio surrounded by upperclassmen who were confident and comfortable, with classical voices that could burst my eardrums, I felt uneasy, out of place, scared, and insecure.

Maybe it was how all freshmen felt when entering the world of recitals and music hours and practice rooms, but for me, all through college, it never went away. I dreaded my voice lessons. I dreaded practicing. Don't get me wrong, I loved singing. But I loved singing on my own terms. I loved singing in my musical theater touring ensemble. I loved singing in my 4-person gospel group, through which I made a couple of records, my first professional gig, a living for a few years, and friends for life.

But the trained art to singing: I feared.

I felt inadequate. I later realized that it's the things we really love to do that we're most afraid of, because we're afraid of failing if we try.

I really loved to sing, and I was deathly afraid of failing at it. So, I compared myself to everyone around me and found sure ways of finding the negative about myself. I lost a bunch of weight. Too much. And it might have been around this time, or was it part of me my whole life?, that I began to mold myself on account of pleasing others.

In college, I lost myself. It wasn't until I married Seth that I rediscovered my worth in who I was. Seth's love for me reminded me of the love Christ had for me, for who I was at the core, not who I thought I needed to be to make someone else like me. It was and still is a process.

SO, when I walk into a voice lesson with a voice teacher who has successful students on Broadway and internationally renowned opera students, the fears of acceptance and self-worth rush back and there I am, trying to be what and who HE wants me to be instead of just being.

My voice teacher just wants me to be.

That was the lesson I learned in my voice lesson yesterday. That's what "not thinking" means to him. It's a hard lesson to learn, a lesson I haven't quite mastered, one that is a process. But it's a place that, if I can get there, will be a place where mistakes are OK, where perfection is boring, where my feelings are validated and useful, where I am vulnerable and able to trust, not just others, but myself. A place that allows me to be the best artist I can be.

Day Off

It's my day off today. Rehearsals are going very well. We added in the children's cast this weekend. They are all EXTREMELY talented and well-behaved. I feel very good about this cast on all accounts. Not only are the actors talented, they are inventive, imaginative, and a joy to be with. But honestly, I find that so many actors are a joy to be with. I've not been a part of one single cast that bums me out. There's always the person that you'll never really get along with, but...that's just life.

I always find myself enjoying the rehearsal process before a show opens, sometimes more than the run of the show itself. It's such an exciting time: Finding your character, discovering relationships between characters, and playing with all sorts of ideas. Freedom within boundaries. Your script provides the boundaries, but the freedom lies between the lines, and in making the black and white on paper become color and movement and meaning. By opening night, hopefully, you've solidified enough to be consistent, and then the challenge becomes finding new moments within repetition. But rehearsal is safe. There's no press, no audience, no standard. A clean slate. Who doesn't love a clean slate?

I have a voice lesson today and honestly, I really don't want to go. Voice lessons. Blah. I'll be spending an hour ooohing and ahhhing and eeeehing up and down the octave. See this must be why so many singers run into trouble acting. (None of my fancied friends here, of course.) Too many rules to singing, too much to think about. My voice teacher keeps telling me not to think, but for the life of me I can't figure out how NOT to think. Any suggestions on how not to think?

Nanny Diaries

I babysat tonight after my rehearsal.

FYI: OK, y'all know I'm not a full-time nanny. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just that I'm not. But I DO babysit on a consistent basis for the same family, so I guess you could say I'm the Relief Nanny.

You know the four-letter-word? Not the sort of bad one but the REALLY bad one? The one that rhymes with what hockey players hit. SO, the 7-yr-old asks me at dinner tonight what it means. Some kid said it in school. OK now, I get saying "bagina" in 1st grade, but #*&%? 1st grade? Really?

Cuz when I was in first grade, on the second day of first grade to be precise, a kid told me to say the word "Ship," and I did. Then he told me to say it with a "Z" on the end, and I did (?). Then he told me to say it with a "T" on the end, and I did. And he raised his hand and told the teacher that I said a bad word. And I ran over to the teacher in her pretty yellow dress and swore I didn't mean to, over and over again, and she believed me. That kid was a jerk.

I don't remember when I learned what it meant.

But THIS four letter word? In 1st grade? Private boys school first grade. Yep.

I told him it was a naughty word and that we don't say it. What was I supposed to say? Seriously, do you TELL a first grader what that MEANS?

Seth swears I'm in training. I'm starting to believe him.

Rehearsal: Day One

Election Day!

But on a less stressful note, guess who I'm singing duets with in Oliver?

Her name's Michelle, and she's Roxy in the musical, Chicago on Broadway. Or she was until she took time off to be in this show. Where I'm singing DUETS with her.

How cool is that?

OK, geek moment over.

Our first rehearsal was good today. I'm gettin', ahem...ge'ing my Cockney accent on.

Our Oliver and Dodger are the cutest little guys you ever saw with really great voices and really great hair.

I met a guy named Neil, who is our Fagin, and when he introduced himself to me, I didn't know whether he'd been on B'way or not. Since he was Fagin, one of the LEADS, I figured: probably. But when I started to ask him, I thought twice about it because what if I asked, "So what Broadway show did you just finish?" and then what if he said, "Uh...never been on Broadway." I would feel awful for making him say that, so what happened kind of went like this.

Neil: Hello. You're our Bet?

Me: Yes! Hi, I'm Amber.

Neil: Hi. Neil.

Me: So...what...uh...(and here is where I thought twice)...brings..... Uh.

NEIL: What brings me here?

ME: Haha. Probably the same thing that brought me here.... Yeah.

He kind of laughed.

ME: So...wherrrre...arrrre you from, Neil?

NEIL: New York.

ME: Grew up here?

NEIL: Yep. Born and raised.

ME: Great! (And I'm thinking, Dangit. He's probably this big Broadway star and I should know who he is and I don't and I've insulted him. I should have just asked what Broadway show he did. Change the subject, dufus.) I really like your glasses.

Ugh. That was stupidly painful.

But yeah, he's done a few things here or there.

Anyways, rehearsal was fun.

Vow to Blog Land

OK. I'm not gonna do this. I'm not gonna drop off the face of the earth when rehearsals start tomorrow.

Not not not gonna do it.

A Trip to Origins

Last weekend, Mom and I went to Origins to buy some make-up. I needed some new foundation and mascara. (LOVE their foundation and exfoliating creme, and certain other essentials) So I ask the lady about it, she pulls up my info on the computer, and goes to work finding product for me.

But on this certain day, she's not interested in only finding the product I want, she's interested in selling me MORE.

I've worked retail before. I know how to sell. I've also been putting on make-up for half of my life. I know what I want, and if I don't then I'll ask you, and THEN you can sell me something.

She tells me she thinks I should go a shade darker with my foundation. I say, hmmm...ok let's try it.

LADY: How do you apply your foundation?

ME: (I act like I don't care about applying foundation because I can tell she's smelled meat and is after the kill) (shrug) Oh I just use a make-up sponge. I don't even wear foundation every day. (which is true)

LADY: Well! You should really use a Q-tip to first dab it to your face and then a foundation brush to even it out. Your foundation will last you longer that way. The make-up sponge soaks up too much foundation.

ME: Oh yeah, well I use a brush for my heavier foundation for the stage, but I just don't wear this Origins foundation enough to really care....

LADY: Well! Our brush that I'm using here is nicely-

ME: I have a brush.

LADY: Oh! You have one! Oh ok.

So she applies the darker foundation, which I liked, and then moves onto the mascara.

LADY: Now. You use the "Fringe Benefits" mascara? Because I'll tell ya, I'll really like the "Stay All Day" mascara. The "Fringe Benefits" is really a very light texture and-

ME: Yes that's actually why I like the "Fringe Benefits." My eyelashes are on the longer side and they have a tendency to stick together or go crazy if the mascara's too heavy.

LADY: Oh! Well have you tried our "Underwear for Lashes?" It really works well with the "Fringe Benefits" mascara.

ME: Yeah, I have and it makes my eyelashes stick together.

LADY: Would you like to try it again?

ME: (Big sigh) Sure.

I apply one eye with the "Underwear for Lashes" and one eye without.

ME: I can't really see a difference.

LADY: Hm. well. hm. no. i guess not.

ME: OK.

LADY: Now. Do you have break-outs?

ME: Uh. No not really. I mean sure a little. Every now and then.

LADY: Like at that time of the month?

ME: ......

LADY: What do you wash your face with?

ME: I use Proactive.

LADY: Hm. Because I'm thinking. You have nice skin. You may not need Proactive.

ME: Well maybe I have nice skin because I use Proactive.

LADY: .....

LADY: Oh. Because I was going to mention: We have a new line of organic skin care you might be interested in.

ME: Nope. NOOOOPE. No thanks! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOO!

I wish. That last line was the "me" screaming inside of me.

Leave me alone, Origins. Leave me be. I'm happy. I'm content.

I don't need you.

So....uh...anyone tried that new organic line at Origins?

He Likes It!

Happy Halloween.

And Happy Birthday to my hunk of a husband.

I gave Seth his birthday gift(s) 36 minutes ago, and for 36 minutes we haven't spoken. You know a husband likes a birthday present when, after you give it to him, he is so enthralled with it that when you begin a story and then stop MID-story, MID-sentence, MID-word, and he doesn't acknowledge you even started a story. Sethie likes it! He likes it!

It's a book about Star Wars.

Go figure.

Hasn't looked up once since he pulled it out of the bag.

Not once.

You know how they say men are like children?...

OHP!! He just spoke.

Seth: Cool. Did you know the phrase "May the force be with you" was derived from the Christian phrase "May the Lord be with you and your spirit" which St. Paul sometimes uses as the end of his letters?

Me: How do you know that's true?

Seth: Cuz it says here in the book.

What's New

I have good news.

I booked a show!: the musical, Oliver. Guess all that 6 in the morning stuff pays off. I start rehearsals on Tuesday. I'm playing Bet, and the show's in New York. Which is maybe the best news of all, because I sure like doing shows and sleeping in my own bed at night.

It's the same theater I worked at last year, the one that the New York Times reviewed. It's in Long Island in a town called Northport, so it's a ways out. The theater provides travel, through train or van. But we rehearse at a studio in Manhattan.

My cousin's wedding was beautiful. I'm back home. I'm really tired. The whole extended family went to a karaoke bar AFTER the reception on Saturday, and I'm not sure I've fully recovered. Have you ever been to a karaoke bar with your aunts and uncles and cousins and MOM and DAD? It's kinda weird. I have stories to tell about my weekend, but I'm just so tired.

We're 6 days away from election day.

Seth's birthday is on Friday, and we're celebrating at a friend's house with Halloween cupcakes. Seth and I are going to our very favorite restaurant in NYC on Saturday. TABOON. Mmmmm. Ooh I need to get reservations for that.

I'm behind on laundry, and cleaning, and errands, and my dry cleaning has been at the cleaners for a week now cuz I keep forgetting to pick it up.

The other day, the 7 yr old boy I babysit asked me what a "bagina" was. (Yep, that's how he said it: with a "b") After saying WHAT?? I asked him where he heard that word. He said at school, and that his friend said it was girls' underwear. I said...mmm wellll I think that's a good question for your parents. He asked why he had to ask his parents. I said just because.

That's what's new with me. Getting ready for a new show and discussing the word "bagina."

Riddle Me This

As I'm getting ready to leave this morning (I'm in Oklahoma for a cousin's wedding), I say to Seth:

Me: Well hun, I'm glad you'll have the weekend for your dissertation. You can really, ya know, bite the bullet.

Seth: Awww, that doesn't sound good.

Me: What?

Seth: Bite the bullet means like, to die.

Me: It DOES?!?! No way! I thought it meant to like, ya know, suffer through it. Get it done.

Seth: No, I think it means to die.

Oh SE-eth. I have a little something to SHOWWW YOUUUU!

Please click here. Hurry! Now! Everyone! Click!

Change of subject. Before I go on, I must insert here: I don't know a lot about designer stuff. Really, I don't. I don't go out and try to buy the best brand names, because I've never cared, and anytime anyone's said to me, Oh my gosh, this handbag I saw was amazing. It was (insert designer brand name here), I think: I have no idea what that means.

Now, along with hand-me-down clothes, I recently got a hand-me-down handbag. Designer. Louis Vuitton.

More on this later. But I had to preface for this next section here.

OK, so after I laugh about the phrase I THOUGHT I'd botched and ask Seth to please not tell anyone, it's time to go. I pick up my sheek Louis Vuitton designer handbag, realizing fully the unprecedented moment, and with renewed vigor SAY:

Me: WELL! Me and Vidal are outa here.

Seth let me get all the way to the door before correcting me.

Oh, and Seth? I think you meant: Bite the dust.

HA! Take THAT oh power in the universe that jumbles up all my phrases of good intent! haHA!! One point: FancyPants.

Confession: Nanny No-No

What's wrong with me?

I'm babysitting my friend's little boy this week, remember - the heart stealer?. He and I were running errands yesterday, after undergoing the painful process of getting a one-year-old AND his stroller down a flight of stairs in a walk-up building, out two heavy doors, and down another mini-flight of stairs outside.

When we came to a corner and waited for the street light to change at the crosswalk (my rulebook for walking in NYC is modified with babies in my care), a guy sitting on a fire hydrant (couldn't tell you why he was sitting on a fire hydrant) says hi to my friend's curly haired, blue eyed toddler.

He says in a manner much to personal for strangers on the streets of New York City, "Hey little guy! Hi! Ohhhh...WOW!...what beautiful eyes!"

Then the stranger looks at me and says, "WOW! Congratulations!"

Now, aside from the fact that that is the weirdest way to say somebody's baby is cute, like the parents have won some providential prize or something, overlooking that fact, I say with a sheepish grin,

"Thanks."

The light changed. I got my white walking man. I crossed the street.

THANKS? Thanks. THANKS! What? Now why in the world did I take credit for a baby that's not mine?!?! I've been thinking about this long and hard since yesterday, because the second I said thanks and crossed the street, I debated turning around and saying, Ummm...actually.... And though I myself KNOW I am not in any way, shape, or form a nut nanny, I can't help but think: Hand That Rocks the Cradle.

I realize I committed the biggest babysitter crime EVER.

So it's necessary I evaluate the possible reasons I would commit such a hanus crime, and here's what I've come up with.

I'm either

A) A nut nanny

B) A woman whose biological clock is ticking and...it's about. that. time.

or

C) A suspicious New Yorker who just wanted to get across the street without telling a strange man her life story.

I'm gonna go with C.

That has to be it.

Switching Wardrobes

I switched out wardrobes yesterday, which took way longer than I thought and usurped my previous plans of getting much more done. Sweaters, naturally, take up way more space than rinky dink sleeveless summerwear, and the dilemma caused me to overthrow Seth's claim to his side of the closet.

Poor Seth now has a foot or so at the end for his jeans.

But no worries. I also gave him a drawer all to himself.

I know, I know. It sounds heartless. But really, fancied friends, if you knew how long it took me to organize all our winter wear into our eensy teensy living space, you'd be proud. It was hard. DANG hard. I had to CONTINOUSLY take things out of the closet and say, Nope- won't wear that. It's gone. Nope. Nope. Nope. Ehhhhh, well if I lose some poundage I could fit back into that. Maaaaaybe I should keep it....Nope.

And on top of all that, my friend's neighbor downstairs from her cleaned out HER closet and got rid of HER clothes, and she has REALLY awesome clothes, which she gave to my friend, who in turn gave them to me. We're talking designer brand here, people. Brands I would NEVER buy because the the cost of the tag alone equals my closet's entire holdings. I mean, you can't TURN DOWN free clothes like that! No, you GIVE AWAY clothes you have to fit THOSE clothes into your closet.

Hand-me-downs are awesome. Thank you, friend's friend with impeccable style. I thank you. Once Seth gets used to the new living arrangements, he'll thank you, too.

Picking Apples and a Pumpkin Patch

This past weekend we went to a farm in New Jersey with some friends for a fall kickoff. Hot dogs, cider and donuts, pumpkins, apple orchard. Fall's here. There's no turning back now.




This is our friends' one-year-old.

Watch out, Seth. This little guy might steal my heart.



One thing's for sure. As of Saturday, I am all about fall.

I'm wondering what that guy behind me's all about.

The only apples available for picking were WAY high up in the trees. So my friend, V, and I shimmied on up and took matters into our own hands.



We ate the apples right off the trees. Mmmmm they were delicious.

This little guy thought so, too.


See what I mean? Heart stealer.

Happy fall, y'all.

City Sights

I don't have pictures for some of these:

**A woman in a bright pink button down blouse and white dress pants with a large white "Coach" or something of the sort handbag, lying on the ground, face down in the flowers that are sold on the side of the corner mart. She lifts her head, clearly drunk, and tells us over and over how her husband is such a jerk. Her well-to-do husband comes out of the corner store, sees his wife, shakes his head, and exclaims in a heavy New York accent, "What's wrong with you?!?!"

**A man in the back seat of a cab with its window rolled down yells to the driver, "STOP HERE. HERE!!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!...YES I DO! OH I'LL TELL YOU WHY!!! BECAUSE I'M AN AMERICAN, THAT'S WHY!!!" He gets out of the cab and storms away.

I saw this guy, from the TV show House, crossing the street. Love that show.



And this guy, going into a gym.



This nifty little Smart Car, which I absolutely love.



And as I was shlepping across town for auditions the other day, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the the shiny windows. It was the first cool day we had, on the windy side, and I forgot that on days like those you need a scarf. I improvised.

Confession: Walk Rage

As of today, I am a true New Yorker.

A while back I wrote about the different ways of crossing the street in New York City.
Today, I followed #7 in the rule book: Walk Rage.


As I crossed the street WITH THE RIGHT-OF-WAY (oh yes, I had the white walking man), a big white van took a right turn, right into me. Now when this happens, because believe it or not, it happens a lot, what ensues resembles a game of "Chicken." Who will give first? The walker has the right-of-way, but the driver , because he's turning right on a green light, doesn't want to wait on the walker, and consequently "fakes" driving right into the walker, attempting to scare the walker into stopping and letting the car pass, EVEN THOUGH THE WALKER HAS THE RIGHT-OF-WAY.

Now, see, when a driver does this to ME, I ALWAYS win. Because I take #7 in my cross walk rule book seriously. If I have the right-of-way, then I have the right-of-way. That's all there is to it, and they can wait. You might be thinking, hmmm...that's a bit severe considering she could get run over. But the thing is, if you keep walking, the driver has no choice but to stop, because surely they won't run you over.

Today, the white van almost ran me over. We played our little game of Chicken, and he didn't stop, and NOT ONLY did he not stop, he and his Hispanic friend in the passenger seat laughed at me and waved. This I clearly saw, since their windshield was a foot away from my face.

I stopped. I raised my hands in the air. I...(oh c'mon now, don't judge me)...cursed. And as I lowered my hands and the white van passed me, just inches away from my toes, a series of thoughts went through my head in a split second.

That *&#$^ almost killed me.

I had the right-of-way.

How dare they laugh.

And....

instead of bringing my right arm down to my side as I did my left, my right arm suddenly acquired a will of its own. And....

I hit that van.

Really hard, with my right hand.

Right on its fat white side.

And man, did that feel good.

Bailout or No? What do YOU think?

The DOW closed down 770 points today, 7 %. NASDAQ closed down almost 200 points, 9.1%

The Bush administration's $700B bailout plan failed to pass the House vote. 228 against. 205 for. Only 66 Republicans backed Bush's plan. 132 Republican House members voted against it.

What do YOU think? Should the government provide a bailout at all? Or can the the credit crisis and the market recover on its own?

Anyone wanna talk about it?