You Think

You think you're going to be alone, but that is when the most love pours out of every corner.



Even my hamster greets me with more happiness and encouragement. My sister does ridiculous things like commission friends to decorate my room with stars and balloons. Muff comes to my room to BE a presence, she tells me I can call her--even if I just want someone to know I am going to sleep. And because of all this, I am feeling really good.

Pookie: Pookie. I want to make you happy. But all I can do is think of things to buy you.
Me: All I can do is think of things to eat.

But, that was a while ago. Now, I think, I don't need anything.

The Perfect Art

My biggest hesitation with the arts, to quote Ben Folds, is that there's always someone cooler than you. There is. Nothing is new--ever in life--so why would I try to make something? Right? I don't like the idea of production, but I do like creation. That's why I love improv. It is the perfect art form.

No mater what you do, whether the joke has been made, it's the simplest scene in the book, it's a stupid game...whatever. It's fresh and you're bringing it to life by golly and who cares if its old or new because its there now and it'll never be there again.

Just had a phenomenal open rehearsal for Lazy Zipper. I have no idea how we're going to cast the show this year--the people who have been coming out have been so impressive in their own ways.

I love this photo of Nac and I dancing in the Perry Lounge last year during a practice round of Object Dance Off. February 2009.

Make me feel tiny if it makes you feel tall. Oh, there's always someone cooler than you.

Consider the Mushroom

They're not too pretty.
They are fungus.
They are easily kicked.
A lot of people--especially children--hate them.
But the mushroom does not give up! No she does not! She stamps her plump little leg and says, "Hey, dagnabbit, I'm not gunna change. I'm me and that's all there is. So either start enjoying mushroom ravioli, portabella burgers, and mushroom pizza or just don't! Hmmpf!"

(photo taken at Heian Gardens in Kyoto, 2008)

Drawn There

In Fiction Writing II this week we were to draw a line that symbolized our life. Then, without thinking, we were to pick a spot on it at random. I closed my eyes and picked a slope that symbolized the summer before fifth grade--my last summer I didn't spend at camp. Then we were to jot down the first object we saw in the room. A bag of Jay's potato chips. I was in the TV room. I pictured my father there at his computer writing and my sister slouched in the doorway.

Now, we are to fictionalize a story about this moment. My professor asked, "Surely you must have been drawn there for some reason. What led you here? Find the impulse and go". But, I'll be darned, I can't find the impulse to save my life.

Why was the first thing in my subconscious myself, a bag of chips, and television?

Science Brain

Ideally, I'd be updating this blog every day. I know that's not going to happen, but it's a goal. I haven't updated a good while now which is funny because in the past couple days I have had so many interesting thoughts to share--but none of them would have been good here.

So, something fluffier:

I do not have a science brain. No matter how I try, it is impossible for me to immerse myself in science. Hence, I'm taking my last gen-ed now, as a senior, and its a 100-level bio class. Awesome. But, seriously, I open the book and read and I retain nothing. In class i pay attention and take notes, but it registers shakily with many holes.

Is it possible that because I have not nurtured science in my mind and studies I am just rusty and out of shape? Or, is my mind pre-formed to be more able to read a play than a chapter about zooplankton? OR, at some point did I mentally shut myself down by deciding I didn't have a science brain, and thus, I don't!

Mustard Mouth

Call-backs went really well for the play. Bradley and I were dismissed early--assumed we'd be getting the parts we had been reading for. He had missed dinner, so we went to the pub. We were yukking it up, having a gay old time, you know. Anyway, Nac joins us and we get even goofier. The three of us can plumb get out of hand. Nac's food came, so we had settled slightly. I felt overwhelmed with love suddenly.

For some reason I really cherish the longevity of relationships. That's not to say there is a hierarchy based on time with me. I am just as close to Muff as I may ever be to anyone else. And we've only had one extended conference weekend, summer correspondence, and a few dinner dates between us. I just feel so touched that I (or we as humans--either way) have the ability to keep people in my/our lives. It just tickles me every time I consider it.

So. Bradley and Nac. I loved my first quarter at college. I LOVED it. I felt so happy all the time, and I was sad to see it go. It was funny going back and talking about it. I felt I couldn't do it justice. My three best friends (so far): KHo, Bradley, and Nac meant the world to me. Although my relationships to those people have risen and fallen through time, I get gushy thinking about how much I still love them now--three years and so much change later.

Anyway, I'm a firm believer in letting people know when they are loved. So, I stopped. Narrowed my gaze. Prepared my heartfelt words. I turned to them and said, "Guys. I am just really glad--" and Bradley leapt across the table shoving a bottle of mustard in my mouth.

Dead. And Still Going.

Grinz joined Kay and I for dinner tonight. She leaves for India in ten days, so we've got to get our time in now. Kay mentioned going to summer camp when he was eleven. Grinz said Oh yeah! You knew Walter right? He said Yeah. You would have been good friends smiled Grinz. I poked at my spinach quiche. I didn't know Walter. But, I know Walter.

When in Japan, on our way to Fukoi we stopped at a temple. We had all of our items for the trip, so we checked everything in lockers. Grinz shared one with Der. When we were leaving Der handed Grinz her backpack. She said she had left a book in the locker. He said he had probably put it in his backpack. He hadn't. The book stayed and we were whisked away. The book was not found. Grinz used the one picture she had of her dearest friend Walter who passed away when we were in high school as a bookmark. The photo was gone.

But! Low and behold! She called the temple! The book was found! It was shipped post-haste! The photo returned!

Kay apologized for bringing up Walter. No. It's happy memories she said. He's coming with me to India. It's okay.

How absolutely incredible right? Even after dying some six years ago, I met him AND he travels the world. I'm just really touched by this for some reason I cannot quite pin.

Ghosts!

So far, there have been three super-natural experiences in my life. Pretty sweet, right? Yesterday, as I was boppin' around the internet looking for tickets for ghost haunting showsies, I go so engrossed I literally wanted to take on ghost-stuffs as a career. Let's talk about my experiences:

In high school I went with three other friends driving around cemeteries with white noise on the radio. We'd drive to a gravestone, ask a question, and then if the static jumped we'd get an answer. It was all well and fun until we found a convent cemetery. There were there elaborate high metal gates--as soon as we passed through the radio started BLARING gospel music. We reversed immediately and drove off in screams. After calming down, we went back and stopped right at the gate. We had not touched the radio. We found no stations playing gospel music. Not only around our white noise station, but at all.

While I was in Japan, a chunk of the group watched a horror film called The Orphanage one night. Afterwards we sat around telling ghost stories in the little tatami room. I told everyone how I am weirdly very interested in ghosts and hoped to see one one day. I got back to my room a little shaken. Nothing happened. The next day I was feeling bothered by something, so I go out a spiritual textbook to find inspiration. I opened it to a random page and stuck my finger down. It landed on a sentence that read "Ghosts are not real".

That winter while I was staying at my dad's apartment I spent most of my days doing the same stuff: scrapbooking, going o the gym, writing, watching movies. I was alone a lot while dad was at work--camped out on a futon usually. Well, one day I thought I heard someone at the front door knocking. I was watching a movie. I tensed up for some reason. It stopped and no one was there. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw the door open. I looked and it hadn't. I turned my head to the side and then back to the door where the door was open and a young man in running shorts was standing there. I panicked, blinked, and he was gone. The door was closed. I know that sounds non-sensical. All I can tell you is what I saw.

Perfection

Watching this documentary on advertising and women last night called "Killing Us Softly 3" wasn't, you know, completely inspiring or anything. But, I did glean one awakening for myself. Although I am, for some reason, one of the lucky girls who is pretty much totally content with my self-esteem, NOT being "perfect" is still certainly a fact I have accepted about myself. I had never realized that I feel that way. It's like...I am totally content with Me, but I still succomb to the idea that there is greater beauty and more fabulous appeal out there that I just won't ever have. I think I can safely say that most women feel this way. Even models. Maybe especially models.

Once I realized this, I was struck by something even more saddening. Does that mean most guys are aware of this concept not only for themselves, but for girls they date? When a guy dates a beautiful and wonderful girl, does he think "this is the best--at least for what I can do. Do I feel that way about men?

A castmate from Wonderful Town once shared with me how in our English definition, Perfection seems to be the most and best--on the edge or totally ungraspable. In an African language (excuse me for forgetting) the English "Perfect" was determined to mean "not too much and not too little".

Mail Time

Oh, instincts are misleading.

Being a camp counselor makes you very aware of cycles of "cool". An example: if all of camp (5-16) is called together and someone dresses up in a costume and reads a story, the 5-9 year olds are decently entertained. 10-13 are disgusted. They feel babied--even though girls much older are also at the reading. Meanwhile, the high schoolers are okay with it. It's nice to digress in age sometimes.

Last night after my first session of Moral Reasoning here at Prin, I was fairly alone. None of my friends are here yet. I'm just in my single setting up. I took a walk down to the concourse and found ten letters stocked up in my box. One was from Muff. One the back of the envelope was a small ladybug sticker with her name on it. At some point she got a pack of those and thought they were cool. Then in middle school she was pissed she owned them. Maybe she kept trying to throw them away, but her mom would see and put them back on her desk and Muff would scream "GOD MOM THEY'RE STUPID!" or something dramatic. But, now, the cycle has recircled, and I, for one, was very happy to see such a cheerly ladybug greeting me.

You shouldn't think what you're feeling.

Insomnia, Journals, and Miracles

My whole life I've been keeping journals--not so quality when I was 8, but they existed. Since I was in 8th grade I've had some form of online blog. Those also have progressed over the years. Tonight, I am battling insomnia yet again, and I hope to all that is Good it doesn't follow me into school. Meanwhile, I decided to re-read my LiveJournal from First Semester of my Junior year of high school.

For those of you unfamiliar with this time period in my life--September through December 2004 was misery. Literally. My mom and I up and moved to St. Louis from Chicago and I called it "Misery" instead of "Missouri". I was sixteen and had no friends. Very sad, many many embarrassing adolescent feelings and situations.

Some Incredible Things I Realized/Remembered:

*The strength inside our hearts and minds is absolutely shocking. My life was hell, and I totally survived.
*My friends from Chicago may be nothing more than a random text or Facebook message once a year, but I am FOREVER in their debt because they supported me more than I can even describe. Although I was long gone from their fast-paced teenage lives, they all made huge efforts to call me frequently, read my depressing journal entries, and leave a million loving and helpful comments and letters.
*It is a miracle in hindsight that I made a few really good friends within two months and those friends were top-o- the-line quality folk.
*My two favorite classes were Improv Fundamentals and Creative Writing I. The only reason I was in either was because the classes I requested wouldn't fit into my schedule, and those were the next best thing. Those are now my primary interests/ career plans.
*My vocabulary, voice, and grammar have come so far. I mean, I'd hope so, but I'm just glad I have proof.

Maybe I'll post some blasts from the past sometime. Until then, I just hope I can blast into dream world before I have to wake up.

Everyone and Their Things

Today two things happened: I read and watched a crap-ton of interviews and performances by Andrew McMahon. This happens to me about once a month where suddenly I am psychotically interested in every aspect of his life. Also, my sister, her roommate, and I performed at an Open Mic Night. Both things made me think similar thoughts: I don't want to be a musician.

It's, like any job, hard work. There is a lot of BS even if most people don't see or hear about it. There is hella hand-shaking, being cordial, taxing creative sessions, manual labor, etc. etc. Not a newsflash, I know. But, even with all the hard work and years you have to perform unnoticed, there are many many people in this world who would still go for the ultimate dream (or at least dream the ultimate dream).

Singing into the microphone tonight, I was fairly unmoved. Sure, its fun to collaborate with my friends, but I would much MUCH rather be doing an improv. Gee, I would rather be writing, or reading, or scrapbooking--something I have some decent talent in, something I love. I have no interest in pursuing music. None.

This gives me hope.

My sister explained to me once how unreasonable she is about buying concert tickets. Even if the performer is super unpopular, she still is sure the tickets will sell out if she doesn't hurry hurry hurry. She hears the artist and thinks I like him! Everyone probably wants to see him! I am one in a million with almost no chance! And then the tickets never sell out.

Well sometimes I think the things I am good at are like that. I am passionate about sketch comedy! Everyone is trying to get into sketch comedy! I'll never even land a lame community theatre bit. I want to teach English! Everyone does! No high school will be hiring by the time I get my degree!

But I don't even want to be a famous musician...so I am guessing my tiny dreams aren't lost.

Four Hammys

THOMAS was my first hamster. I got him after school one day in second grade. He was brown and white and very sleepy. He was a good sport, and I don't even remember when he died.

JEFFERSON was my second hamster. He was white with red eyes--an albino. He was fiesty. He ran a lot on his wheel, and he would sometimes bite. He liked to stand on his hind legs a lot. But, I still loved him. He started acting very sick and jittery around Christmas when I was in 5th grade. The vet told us he had a tumor and would die without surgery. We could not pay for a hamster surgery, so he got sicker and sicker until I found him frozen in his cage December 26th. I was crushed. My dad told me I could get a new one whenever I was ready.

FRODO was my third hamster. I demanded him out of the blue spring of my eighth grade year. I brought up the promise my dad gave me after Jeffie passed. He was gold and rather friendly, but I was going into high school and didn't have much time for him. My dad ended up being his caretaker. When he moved out, I forgot to feed him a lot. I remembered it had been a couple days during Hell Week of 42nd Street (the first time I was in it sophomore year of HS). I went to get his dish and found Frodo dead. I'm pretty sure I killed the guy. I still feel guilty.

BLANCHE was brought home yesterday afternoon. She is dark grey and very tiny. I love her already, my new little baby.

Evening Jaunt

At about 8 PM Pookie and I went out into the night to go to the track (she lives on a high school campus). We both had our shuffles on, so I had this funny idea that we both sing whatever was playing. Pretty soon it turned into a screeching match of her ("DARK BLUE DARK BLUE, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ALONE IN A CROWDED ROOM") and me ("MY HUMPS MY HUMPS MU HUMPS MY HUMPS MY HUMPS!") then ("ILL KEEP YOU MY DIRTY LITTLE SECRET!") and ("WE'VE ALL GO OUR JUNK AND MY JUNK IS YOU"). So, first of all, it's funny to see what music people listen to when they go running. Second of all, to be screaming it simultaneously is really hilarious.