thankful 4 the owl

Was on the balcony, ruminating. The marathon was over, so I finally let it happen. I'd been repressing, hm, everything since I don't know when. In some ways September 9th, the closed reading. I felt accomplished already once we'd finished, I walked around the block alone, and I started gathering the binders. But then MS had to walk across the circle and grab my wrist. She had to say, "I think you'd make a great ____." She said it winkingly--but also a little brave.

But so many other things happened from then until now. A wedding bus with the bride's parents and little else. Visiting the marshmallow, taking her to The Cheesecake Factory and Walgreens. The Deal. The Rep. The Last Breakfast. Lady Gaga. Karaoke with the gals.

Certainly, certainly, though, I've repressed It All since rehearsals began in The Space. November 10th. That was after weeks of rewrites and wandering around Michaels for props and buying the chime block from Guitar Center and commissioning the wands. Anyway, the point being, I'm aware I simply banished any bodily need for a week straight. And then what happened is I slowly slogged through the adrenaline from performing and eventually, suddenly, my entire body collapsed. This happened to be at Hearst Castle.

Luckily after an emergency Diet Pepsi and bag of salt and vinegar chips, I was able to continue on the mini vacation with gusto! And I was able to take in days of inn poolshine and fresh avocado toast and Sunset Boulevard ballads as the ocean blasted past. And then there was Sabrina Carpenter! Which required me to be a little lavender jumping bean. And then there was a brunch with my high school friend and Paranormal Activity downtown. Monday there were zooms and emails and a commercial deadline and a director meeting (feedback about the show). And THEN, at long last, there was the final thing on my calendar: a 6 AM zoom with the UK PR company Tuesday.

The meeting was very important and hinged pretty much entirely on me landing the pitch, which I did, despite having lost five pounds to stress. And what happened next! What happened next is I closed my computer and slept nearly all day! Shuffled out 4-5:15 and then had to lay down again.

But at around 10 I was on the balcony, ruminating. And then I heard someone else ruminating. An owl! With a very specific hoot. Hoo hoo h-h-hoo hoo hoo. The owl squawked it, so I mirrored back. A little later we repeated the song. I texted Puhg, "There's an owl hooting out here." So he came outside too.

For a long time there was silence. And then I saw the beauty take flight! It was kind of funny. Nothing swooping or majestic at all. Big white belly and thick feathers flopping branch to branch. Puhg missed it, so he stood looking into the dark a long while. Then he went inside, returning with the big black flashlight. "Let me see..." he said.

Puhg carefully aimed a beam at a branch and--! The owl! Was sitting right there! Big round eyes gazing directing into the light! We gasped. Very beautiful, very cute. "Hello!" we said! The owl blinked. We were waving and laughing. I got the sense the owl thought we were goofs. "Hello! You look very nice!" We called out. Owl could have flown away and didn't, which is why I think we may be friends. Puhg and I laughed and embraced and all the trees saw.

it's one o'clock in the morning

Struggling to sleep these days. Lots on my mind. Got all the bios from the actors didn't I yes yes I did but did I write my bio no no I didn't okay I'll get to that and the formatting and also I need to email the cast notes, I've ruminated on them all in my notepad. Then suddenly I'll go get my script and rehearse for a while. It reminds me of high school. In college I had enough friends who did theatre we were always running lines with each other. But in high school I spent many many happy days and nights in my room rehearsing alone. I really am terrified to be acting again, and I really just do not enjoy it...but it's been a nice trot down memory lane. I had to hire a front of house producer because...I usually do all that, but I'll have to be backstage. We had our first rehearsal Monday. I went to the green room to grab some chairs. Then I go to realize, hey, I'll be in the green room again. I love being in the green room. It's the best part of any show I've ever been in.

Trying to let my subconscious lead as I power through the next 6 days. A week from today the play will be over, and I will be on vacation! Very exciting. Very reassuring.

So anyway I just ate two string cheeses. Didn't even bother to unstring. Just slammed them CHOMP CHOMP. I've been so incredibly busy. And at times I'm a little grump as well. But I feel very justified in grumping at the bottom of a demonic system. How does a corrupt system fall without the grumps?

That said, I'm also trying to set my gratitude ahead more. That's still important, even if class consciousness is also important. I had a really cool day. Up early and chattering with Puhg, trampolined my heart out, out to South Pas to meet with a prospective director for my play's world premiere. I think, I really think...I mean knock on wood but I think it's happening! For real this time. (I've thought that exact sentence at least five previous times re: this project, so obvi I am naive...but I just have a feeling.) Producer and I like the director. WE think move forward. Producer and I walk through our chat with our third silent producer AM. She suggests very specific turns of phrases and slight changes to email drafts. I say, "This is why you pay you the big bucks." She laughs heartily, and I like that.

Blasted some Showgirl music in the traffic-stuffed drive home. I remember how B told me his favorite thing about LA is driving around singing all day. What a reframe! At home I greeted Puhg and we sat at the table for quite some time talking about our Plans. Plans for today, then the week, then the month, then the years, the life--ultimately. And then that was enough of that.

Hustled into my desk corner. Laid out my very long to-do list and went bananas. Email after email after email, responding to audience accommodations, scheduling the PR call for the world premiere of my other play, my agent pings me she has another call with the production company on my movie tomorrow morning. She's new, and I like her, but I don't fully trust her yet. So I'm keeping a close watch.

WOW, Puhg just scared the life out of me. He got up to go to the bathroom, peeked his head around the corner to see me--a little rat in the night, speech and debate hoodie up, eating a strawberry Trader Joe's pop-tart at the computer. He just shook his head and walked away.

So I hustled at my desk as long as I possibly could. I got a ton done but still have four items left on my to-do list. I'm going to wake up early to get ahead of the day. There's rehearsal at 11. Meanwhile my corporate producer loves the commercial. I get in touch with this other writer for advice on how she structured her last deal with a partner. She told me some useful things. She validated but then also played devil's advocate but then could be vulnerable. I really like her. She tells me totally coincidentally she is coming to the play! She RSVP'd ages ago, the plus one of the HBO exec. Oh my it's been so nice to feel so supported by my community with people expressing how excited they are. I am quick to say, "LOWER your EXPECTATIONS." I am very proud of this cast and their work, but I simply cannot guess how this thing will play. I have no idea.

At 7:38 I think Puhg simply walks into the bedroom, and I close my laptop and say, "We have to go watch Survivor." It's so needed, a night with our island crew. We've got all these little jokes and communal shorthand after years of these Survivor nights. We find out B was named Best Villain as an award for a fan version of the game. Our host made sugar cookies. The bits were flying and so was the genuine support.

Halloween at 37

The morning could be a little slow since my first meeting was set for 10:30. I did the Midnights Taylor Swift workout and sent a long email to my play cast and crew. The show opens in two weeks, and my producer hat is quite heavy. For the previous two weeks my writer hat has been heaviest, but I got cherished feedback from Roff on Tuesday and then more cherished feedback from Gos on Wednesday. Their interpretations of the piece have calmed many of my worries. I am very close to saying what I mean, I think. I have just one thing to sort out still, and I have three good options, or so I think. We will get to "find it" in rehearsals, which would be a scary thing to believe, if it didn't usually work out so very well.

The aforementioned meeting was as a brightly lit diner, with two theatre producers. I really believe in them. Twelfth (or so) time is the charm. They're the most promising partners who have approached me by far. The secret, I think, is one has the business brains and speaks the business language. The other is simplyScrappy. I believe she could make a paper box a hit. She has done it so many times. She says, in no uncertain terms, "Once you tell me we can do this, I will make it happen." I dunk my sweet potato biscuit in strawberry jelly and nod enthusiastically.

I become incredibly overwhelmed on the drive home. This has been happening since January because I live in a country descending into fascism. The political upheaval we are living through is terrifying and confusing on a daily, if not hourly, basis. I will not stop thinking or speaking about this, although it all makes me uncomfortable. Of course I am uncomfortable--we are in grave danger.

Eventually Puhg walks down to the carport where I've been sitting for a while, answering emails. We switch keys. He takes the car for errands and I sing "Better Than Revenge" in the kitchen with a wooden spoon. I write Congress. I write emails to my new theatre agents and the other production's producer, filling them all in. I start on my new commercial for a company I am currently boycotting. I think about how my boss told me, "Our goal is for girls to feel like they need every single product." I wonder how I can subvert that message, with the teeny tiny power I have. I met an older activist several months ago, at a protest. The back of his jacket said, "words are spells." I think about that phrase a lot these days.

I eat a bagged salad. At four I've got to get to my knoll. I bring individual bags of cookies to the guys I see there. I sit under the shade of a sharp tree listening to Lily Allen. I outline two essays I have outlined several times before. One I have been trying to get right for at least eight months.

I listen to a YouTube lecture about shame while having a little mouse snack of cashews and apples before getting dressed up. My pink sparkle two piece is so cute and magically comfortable. Puhg sweetly drives me to the theater for my friend's weird music show. I have no idea who will be there and I am boldly showing up as Gay Taylor Swift. I get a seltzer and wobble in, quickly running into one of my favorite people dressed as Britney Spears. She's talking to a comedian I worked with this summer, but it was on Zoom, so this is a first meeting. He's dressed like Cruella and later sings "Drops of Jupiter."

I have one of the best nights I've had in a very long time. The acts were truly talented and funny and most importantly I danced and sang a LOT. I have learned, when it comes to live music, I go harder than most, and unfortunately I cannot help that. I know I am either a concert hero or villain, depending on if you are sitting right behind or next to me. There was Alanis, Sum 41, Beyonce, Powerline, Carrie Underwood, Fountains of Wayne and I was nestled in with so many old friends--the guy I watch Survivor with and the gal I see at coffee shops and my old director from Chicago and the animator who made my deck and the short story writer dressed as a nun and the actor from that play I dramaturged. My friend the bassist says she is excited to introduce me to her new boyfriend. We shake hands and I realize he played a main character in my old favorite TV show. He is dressed as Nic Cage.

I head to the sidewalk for air and stand in a circle of whoever is there. The shy comedian who lives on my block and her boyfriend, dressed as Colin Mocherie and Ryan Stiles--what a choice. It's so soothing, to be in a circle of improviser types. We ask each other how fast the billionaires plan to kill us. A girl walks to her Uber and shouts behind to me, "I love your dancing!" But she also laughs like, you nutjob! I call a car and invite my neighbors back with me. We chatter on the ride, the Dodgers may win the World Series.

I get excited tromping up the stairs to our apartment. Puhg, for the sixth year in a row, outdoes himself on his homemade haunted house. (Mind you, we went to Six Flags Thursday also!) Candles, rituals, notes, dummies, ghosts. The whole thing culminated in me running into the closet to hide. I stood there nervously for several minutes before Puhg began breathing loudly, revealing he'd been in there the entire time. And then he was wearing a horrid mask. I am very lucky, this I know.

I ordered Taco Bell nachos and a bean burrito, sat on the balcony waiting for it until 1 AM. I went down in my sandals and a puffer coat to grab it from the driver, so he didn't have to navigate parking and getting buzzed in and the elevator. I could tell he was pleased to see me. I ate my feast on the sofa, while watching Love on the Spectrum. The girl who loves dolls gets her first kiss.

And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?

yoto

Been hard to move. Everything is changing so fast I can barely keep up. It's hard to keep up. With what? The urge to race has always been in me. I always knew I'd get less time than I wanted. I didn't realize to what degree and how it would look. I wish to race now, to push a few more things through before whatever is next. Joanna Macy encourages that is not good, not right. To race at all is to be part of the Racing Machine that is killing us. When the movie first sold it felt like finally a thing might be real. Now I hope I make it, through the next three weeks, so I can see my play.

I trampolined to the Lover era. Showered. Haven't been able to move all day since, which is okay, because I over-worked earlier in the week. Today was supposed to be for reorganizing my bookshelves. I guess the books got lucky. I wrote a whole post here then decided it was too sad and deleted it. You're welcome.

Didn't go out for coffee, nothing sounds right to eat, off social media for a while, TV depresses me. I am truly just staring out the window, at the pine trees. It upsets my inner racer when I get "nothing" done. But perhaps there is no other work as important right now, than to let myself rest.

It is scary to rest though. All the truth comes up. Namely the question of what can actually be done with what there is. Time to ruminate on what others have done or said to me, and how it hurt. I can imagine some people might think such rumination is unnecessary. But if I don't remember, who will? And if no one does, won't it just happen again and again?

 Sleeping in on Saturday
Just to keep the world ten miles away
Another time, another place
Maybe I would try self-isolate
The coffee is colder
And time is slipping through
Slipping through
Put me on your pedestal
'Cause I'm the queen of self-control
I'll smile when life hits the wall
But inside I'm afraid
Even in the great abyss
It's the year of the optimist

the fate of ophelia

For some reason I've been writing posts every other week or so and not posting them. They've been rotting in word docs on my desktop, some for months. I'll start posting them, I suppose. Why not?

I'm not sure what exactly happened to make me start writing blog posts in a word doc at all. I used to just pull up to the website. I'm doing it now, getting back to my roots. Not all my writing has to be edited so thoroughly as a play. I'm on the 13th draft of my newest, by the way. I feel good about everything except the most important scene. So that's not...ideal.

Went to No Kings Day, a very good way to spend this afternoon. It was ultra sunny, met Bear in the parking lot of 7/11, joined on with KZ--the head of my social justice Hollywood circle and Katydid--the last time we hung out was the Mayday protest. My friendships are getting so weird. I'm never with who I'd expect, but that's not a complaint. I made it home to spend a glorious hour at the pool. I mostly drew clouds in my journal and listened to "Honey" from The Life of a Showgirl.

I was up pretty early. I spent a long time on Reddit. I jumped on my mini trampoline. I worked on the cursed scene. I am going to get a pizza tonight, it's already been decided. The local place, with the sweet crust. The owner's dad asked me last month, "Were you born that way?" I asked what way, He clarified, smiling, "So you!"

Life is a song. It ends when it ends.

see how they run

I’m writing to tell you I’m not unhappy. If that’s been a misconception. She nodded grimly when I said I’d been feeling lonely. I don’t know who can sit with me these days, on the kind of benches I sit on. She winced apologetically, “It’s hard when you’re so unhappy.” I was surprised to hear this assessment. I corrected her. I’m not unhappy. I am happy most days. I am just also very sad. I think there’s a difference in being unhappy vs. being both happy and sad at once. I noticed, in that same conversation, how I tend to talk about what makes me so sad. I often outstretch my arm, just off, as though the genocide is in the room with us. Like, hey no sudden movements—the climate crisis, it’s right over there.

It’s been one of the grander discoveries of my life that it seems most people have some kind of brain mode that can numb the sad away. I wasn’t born with that toggle. While we’re watching TV, Puhg will sometimes even reach his paw toward my head and make a “click” sound, like he’s trying to turn it all off for me. But he knows, as I do, there is nothing on Earth that can silence the beehive in there. For the love, I could be on a beach chair in Tahiti and still be consumed by my hatred of capitalism. I say “I could be” as though this example isn’t just an anecdote from three summers ago.

Living unnumbed used to be slightly easier because I prayed about the horrors, which offered me the illusion of control. But now I see prayer as an oppressive tool. Not all the time (gray areas abound)…but in instances of inequality and injustice. In instances when it’s a frilly little sugar pill to make people feel better about their lack of action. In instances when it makes us feel better about what is unnatural to just “feel better” about.

As of late I would describe myself as “haunted all the time.” It’s not so bad. I’ve always liked ghost stories. I remember not minding when Haley Joel sees the hung corpse in The Sixth Sense. I used to think I’d turn off the Darkness if I could, god knows I've tried. Recently I wonder if it’s part of the package. I can go sicko mode for hours over school shooting data. I click through pictures of children’s rooms, their little coffins. I read through their parents’ crashed out Twitter feeds. I listen to the 911 calls. At the festive party of course I randomly sit next to the woman whose third grader has recently died, and to be honest it was the best seat in house. I watch looping videos of the floods at that summer camp or ICE raids or interviews with sexual assault survivors. I let rage flow through me, as it has the right to do. This world inspires rage in me, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t. But the only time I think I am actually truly unhappy is when I feel I can’t be myself. And being myself includes speaking my truth. I simply cannot pretend disturbing things aren’t happening when they are. It’s not who I am. It makes me want to die to pretend. So that’s probably where the confusion comes from: I need to express the sadness to be authentic to be happy. This paradox probably explains why, historically, when I am most myself, that is when most people run away.

Some really nice things have happened lately. In mini August alone. Started STRONG with a last minute ticket to see Lady Gaga, one of the top five concerts of my life! Maybe I’ll write a postlet about it. Last Monday went to the basement wine bar to see Bunhead’s set with SW. Laughed in the mood lighting at two girls doing musical prop comedy. Puhg and I saw Weapons in a nearly sold-out theatre. It was an incredibly rowdy room, we were all screaming and laughing and cutting up—such fun. My sweetie has already inflicted two heinous scares on me, inspired by the film. He hit the lights and lunged at me, then a couple days later, he sprinted at me from behind when I thought I was home alone. I wrote something a bunch of people seemed to enjoy. The gal who runs the local shop and I went to lunch so she could tell me about her real life. So our seven year “friendship” is more than “And how are you today? Good?” Sat down at the hip lunch spot with Big Comedian's exec and he kicked it off right away: “How does it feel to be the coolest kid in Hollywood?” I nearly spit my water out, told him I’m not. He was SURE I was being modest. If only he knew! Can you be cool if you’re actually just a sea cucumber who responds to emails efficiently? I wrote a ton of PSAs for a local immigrant collective. I called the White House about Gaza. I got to be in a mini writer’s room for a brand new musical show, and it filled my cup full. Caught a matinee of a Mary Kate & Ashley classic at The Academy Museum. Wrote at the knoll, listened to Knox at the pool. Went on my friend’s podcast and we all laughed until we cried and then they paid me $100. The monthly gab was useful. I walked around the hills for two hours chattering with Snake, pool following. Taylor Swift is releasing her 12th studio album sooner than I thought she would.

you you you broke my rose-colored glasses  / so go play in traffic

Original or Cool Ranch

Ran into TT at the grocery store last night. In the chips and candy aisle. He threw his arms up, full of Oreos and crackers. “I’m snacking OUT!” he announced. TT is a Chicago comedy expat like me, though we didn’t actually meet until we moved here. We both do this bad monthly show sometimes, and I always find myself cackling uncontrollably when he’s up there tossing his body around. What TT lacks in commitment to the reality of the scene he makes up for in his clownish ability to do anything for a laugh. TT will smash his face to the floor if he thinks someone in the back row might chuckle. I told TT he is the perfect person to see in the chips and candy aisle at 10 PM on a Saturday. He held up a jar of beef jerky. “But this is too much, right?”

I nodded, then admitted: “I’m mostly saying that as a militant vegetarian.” TT put the jerky jar back on its shelf. “Wow, this is a great!” I said, “I feel like I really made a difference.” I explained I myself was on the hunt for Doritos.

Friday my high school friend aa was going to swing by my spot, my sacred grassy knoll. Inviting friends to the knoll is part of my plot to de-monetize more of my social interactions. But it’s a process. I don’t feel totally comfortable offering nothing when I host, even if I am hosting on a median. So I stopped by the store to pick up…something. I went with Doritos.

aa and I sat on the sunny ground, gabbing about the weight of living inside a genocidal empire. We were earnestly imagining all the starving babies when I popped the shiny bag open. Crunch crunch crunch, it had been years since I’d eaten Doritos. What a foolish mistake. Doritos are next to godliness, I remembered solemnly. We watched the hipsters walk uphill to the Father John Misty concert. We relocated to my balcony. We parted ways. I had another bowl of Doritos as Puhg and I watched You.

The next day (Saturday, yesterday) I wrote at the cafe until 3, dashed home for pool time before the chairs were swallowed by shadows, sent Marco Polos about indie art to Lav, let my hair dry in bed while finishing the bag of Doritos. Headed over to SW’s, so we could join their evening dog walk before our scheduled movie night. SW was wearing a juicy sweatsuit.

The four of us had pizza and watched Happy Gilmore 2, which was legitimately very funny and also slightly woke! Good job, Adam Sandler! My young actor friend CS was in it, a pretty good role too. Beyond happy for him.

Which brings me back to last night. Home from the movie, a bit hungry again. I thought to myself, “You know what I could really go for?” I went with Cool Ranch. TT and I chattered for a bit as I gripped the blue packaging. I asked what he was going to get up to. He said his girlfriend was out of town, so he was going to play video games all night. I asked how long they’d been together. Eleven years turns out. I told him twelve for me, feels like no time at all though. He agreed. I said my relationship is the longest thing I’ve ever done. “Not me!” TT said, “Improv!” We laughed until we cringed. I winced, well, sure, me too. I had thought TT was from the Midwest, but he corrected me, no, a small town up north. He said it was cool, that I'd like it. I asked why he was so cure I'd like it. "Well..." TT thought, "Because you're cool."

I made a big deal of this, sprinted away, shouting over my shoulder, "I have to go! Can't beat being cool! This conversation is all downhill from here!"

Puhg went to bed, so I ate a bowl of the new Doritos under the moon while watching TikToks about how AI is catapulting us into drought. After midnight I moved inside to eat a second bowl of Doritos in the cream chair while watching a YouTube lecture about Carl Jung.

This morning I worked out and read some of Crying in H Mart and pitched Puhg my newest artistic business idea (approved) and designed my Weekly Action Plan and tapped at a new essay. This afternoon I will go to the pool, fold the clean laundry, and assuredly finish my second bag of Doritos in 48-hours.

didn't do it on purpose, but gotta face the music