Goals

head counselors of Kohnine, swiped from the camp website

Setting goals and working towards them--not only fulfilling but always worth it. Everyone has heard the story of Lincoln and how he tried so hard to become a congressman. He lost, but his debates made him 1) a more pointed speaker 2) a name trusted enough to be president. You may not get what you want from persistence, but you will always be rewarded. I believe that.

Yesterday, Pookie and I tried my new work-out DVD. Last year it was a minute walk from Char's front door to the Y. The new house is quite a few blocks away from my gym. I have a feeling I frequently won't want to trek the cold. DVD is a good alternative. Holy Cow, does my butt hurt today. I wanted to run a couple miles along the canal this evening, but out on the the trail I doubted my goal. So not worth it, I thought. But, I like to stick to my guns. I switched to a power-walk and pushed through to the two mile mark. I was rewarded: someone was burning a big pile of leaves out there. My favorite smell. I was whisked to camp immediately. Just what I needed. So glad I stayed on the path.

Strive for what you believe in. Set goals and you can achieve 'em.

Park Lighting

For the past four years the three of us have gone out to Main Street and watched the parade of high school pom girls, church floats, fire engines, and bittys collecting money and canned food for the hungry. Soon, Washington Square Park gets mobbed with the townsfolk and the mayor counts down for all the trees to be illuminated with snowflake lights.

Fammy&Hammy

Brought Blanche into the back on my dad's house where there was a little sign hanging that said in pencil "Welcom Blanch" and left her to her own devices. We got a pizza and watched Bride Wars--something perfect for my schooled-out brain. At a pause Char announces, "Is that...Blanche running?" Yeah, yeah it is. Her wheel. "It sounds like...coffee." He was right. It did sound like coffee bubbling to an end.

Later we started watching Star Trek and he fell asleep. Periodically, he would pretend to be invested in the movie...nodding and blinking his eyes open. Suddenly he sat up and said over the film, "Coffee's ready!" and dropped back into a snooze.

Leavin'

(not Jesse McCarthy)

Did Today
-lazed in bed
-watched an episode of Sex and the City
-showered
-made fun of Care Bears (this took a significant amount of time)
-errands with Pookie including holiday lattes
-eating avocado sandwiches over a second Sex episode

Left To Do
-pack car
-drive to Char's house
-call Mia
-relax infinitely

I Just Love
-when school ends

Career Conference

Sounds much stuffier than it has been. The guy doing the program is fantastic and inspiring. I thought a lot of the information would get trashed on me not interested in working in corporate America. But, what do you know, I'm diggin' it. Glad it will be over soon though. Need to get off campus.

For a conference involved in careers, I haven't had any bad knee-jerk reactions to most of the material. There's a bit about pushy networking--but it's manageable and not cut-throat or anything. A bit about finding your way to the top--but understandable. Then today, twenty minutes left of the program, I felt my blood boiling with these words: "I want all of you to always negotiate."

I simply refuse to say always. Example: working at Kohahna. I make zippo. That's not why I work there. Why on earth would I try to negotiate a higher salary for myself? I would never dream of taking more money from camp. If they gave me a raise I wouldn't want it. I would feel awful. So, I did something I really hate which is asking questions with the brim of my heat showing. Our speaker conceded some points, made some good arguments...Overall, I'm glad I asked and glad he is trying to encourage me to negotiate even if I never think I'll use it.

It is these times I know I'm maybe being an irrational liberally-charged college doe-eyed dreamer, but I really feel okay about that.

Bradley V. DK

Bradley, Muff, and I played some Mario Party last night after dinner to get our minds off of packing. We're all staying for the Career Conference and kind of bored, kind of annoyed with hanging around.

the man himself, eating a Big Mac in preparation for our big night at the casino with Nac
Bradley was Luigi, I was Daisy, Muff was Yoshi, and the computer was DK. We played this one "Toadstool Titan" where you basically hit blocks until a mushroom comes out and and whoever gets it runs around crushing people. Muff and I got crushed by DK immediately. Bradley sang his defenses to the tune of the Mario temporary music--"don't crush me-you big fat ape-don't touch me-I'll run away now." This was hilarious to me. Then, as he ran away, DK just kept getting the mushrooms leading to him screaming things like, "Oh I'm definitely getting this one--WHAT THE SH--HELL, NO!" I probably can't do it justice in words, but I laughed the hardest I had all day. Perhaps week.

Recovery

Bo and I Thanksgiving 2007

In lieu of a final, Fiction II said goodbye with a trip to Simply Thai tonight. It was truly a blessed course. Six tight-knit writers. One incredible professor. My fiction is no good, but the experience of the course was important to me in more ways than craft perfection. Anyway, the date and time was set. 6 PM Friday meet outside the school of government. I ran around all day working on my projects, mailing this, packing that, making this meeting, saying goodbyes--6 PM relax time.

But, oh, no, 5 PM I'm walking back to my room and OH. OUCH. GOD. OW!

Cramps dug themselves into me. Slow at first. Like being punched slow and steady, but I could feel the real blows coming soon. I hastened to my bed. I closed the door. Turned out the lights. I stretched. I read spiritual literature. I ate dark chocolate walnuts. Iron! Get into my body! I whimpered. No, no, no. I don't want to miss dinner! I rolled up. No, no, no. But then, I said NO. NO I will not miss it. NO. And laid my body straight and sat still. And the sharp shooting pains vanished at 20 'til 6. I listened to "It Won't Be Long Now". I hopped up. I put on my boots. I fixed my hair. I washed my face. I met the group--beaming with recovery.

Another Crazy Man

Last night saw In the Heights downtown with Pookie. We enjoyed it. It's not in my top five or anything, but it was obviously good. Tony winner and all. It's definitely a fun show. Maracas and Latin salsa. Much dancing. Much rapping. Fun is the word.

So, there was this guy a row to the right of us who insisted on clapping along to all the poppy songs. Okay, fine. But he also made very loud commentary when things looked spectacular. A sweet light cue and he would shout "Nice!" Then...in particularly sassy dances he would "woo!" and get sort of rambunctious. People around us were all very aware. Its an older stuffier crowd at a theatre on a Wednesday night in November. People weren't quite put out, but just surprised. I overheard a woman behind me sarcastically ask her neighbor, "Think he wrote it?" Maybe the show is meant to be viewed like that--very engaged and responsive. But, clearly, no one else was joining the goofy guy. So, he was not as much supporting the show as drawing away from it. As the big "Hooray We're Latino" number started this guy whipped out his own Mexican Flag and waved it righteously. This guy was also very white. Very non-Latino. I'm not saying he can't love the culture. I'm just saying he wasn't helping people appreciate his craze.

With art I sort of think you should really respond however you honestly feel. Sure, during Summer Brave when I was sobbing and begging Howard to marry, it was hard to hear laughter from the audience members who didn't see just how pathetic I was. But, they thought it was funny. So, whatever. They laughed. But...it does sort of ruin the moment for other audience members. Or does it? Does it just make it more complex?

Nothing

Me pre-nap in my London bedroom. March 2008.

When there's only one week of school left in the quarter everything every single thing seems more appealing than finishing the little bits. The powerpoint, the blue crab paper, the production write-up, the last edits on the last story. Have all these daydreams of sitting alone in a room with a good book and a canteen and a script (see photo). It's nothing new. But, I've always figured it was a school thing. I'm just starting to worry...is this how its going to be for the rest of my life? I guess if I go into education eventually. Next year when I'm slugging around between opportunities I certainly won't have these daydreams. That dream will be my life. I wonder how the reverse will feel. A longing to be in a room with a million things and people.

The Crazy Man I Met

Went to the MMLA English Conference at Union Station yesterday.

After Muff and I went to an discussion led by the "Harold Pinter Society" on his monologues and Kay and I saw a panel on class structure of our society based on prime time soaps like Gossip Girl and The OC, I had a bagel. After, I got drowsy, put my head on the Einstein Bros table, and fell asleep for the first half of he next session.

I woke up with bitter taste in my mouth not wanting to bust into anything so late. I found an ice cream place and bought a smoothie. I sat down in the food court determined to finish Ragtime. I've been reading it for six years off and on. A man with grey hair, straight smile, and good build came right up to me, "Hey, that a milkshake?" he asked. I said no. It's a smoothie. He asked where I got it. I pointed. He seemed like the cheery young grandfather or even older father looking around for a place to treat his kids. I didn't pay attention to who he went back to. I read. About eight minutes later he was back. He stood very close to me. "So is a milkshake or smoothie better?" He repeated himself three times until I took my ear bud out. "It depends?" I said. Now I knew he was alone. "And where did you get it? God, your face is beautiful in the light. Where did you get it?" I pointed again. "You're not telling me a name! He picked up my smoothie and looked for a name. I don't know I said. I think you should be able to find it. It's right there. There's ice cream. "Okay. Okay. I'm not going to talk to you again. Okay. You're beautiful. How much was it? Okay." He walked away. Good.

Ten minutes went by and he came over, "I know I said I wouldn't talk to you. I'm leaving. Enjoy your milkshake." he walked outside the building this time. Done.

Ten minutes more and he comes back inside. Pulls up a seat right next to me, "I was confused before. But I know what I'm doing. Not on medication. I'm nice. I'm nice. You are beautiful. I want you to call me--" I interrupted, "I'm not from here--" "I don't care where you're from. Call me just as friends. I can't even do anything else. I really can't." He looked at my book, "and I hate to read. I hate it. I can't" and he fiddled in his wallet and pulled out a business card with just his name, number, and address. But the number was crossed out with a new one there. He asked for my name. I didn't lie. "Okay you're gunna call me now?" I nodded. He left. Fifteen minutes later he walked by and called out, "hey, hey, I know your name I'm gonna get a call from you! Friends!"

I finished the book, smoothie, and made my way to the black sexuality panel. The small group met and got Pho in the city.

All Good Things

Kyoto Fall 2008

Listening: The Weepies
Reading: Kimothy's fiction story entitled "Custody" for workshop tomorrow
Thinking About: Crossroads (in life, not Britney's 2002 box-office smash)
Planning: House Meeting in half an hour
Improving: My Empathy
Wearing: Gym Shorts, Maddie's 8th Grade V-Ball Tee, Junior High Graduation Long Sleeve, Sneakers, Watch, Orange Andrew Bracelet, Pearls, Ankle Socks, Yellow Undies with a Hole, White Sports Bra
Nostalgicly Dreaming On: The view in the photo above
Wanting: Water
Getting: Water

People Cycles

First time I saw Laz he was looking goofy in a Simpsons t-shirt. Bopping around in the glassed-in picnic table hallway of the lunch area at PWest HS. The next time I noticed his existence was in a one-act play he was spontaneously part of at the end of the year. It was Albee's Zoo Story abridged. Suddenly it was fall and he was my brother in Menagerie. He joined Speech too. I considered him a dear dear friend. We had Directing/ Acting II together. He asked me to prom. He was a better date than I could have conjured out of fantasy.

Throughout college interactions have been sparse. One summer we took turns standing each other up. We write sporadic letters with cds attatched. We exchange the occasional wit via Facebook. Friday night after a dynamite show I found Laz in the lobby with my sister. It was a hearty surprise. I literally jumped up and down.



Excuse my post-show hair. Trampy, I know. But I was much too busy with Lazzy for showers.

I wonder why it is that when something from our past arrives--barely an anachronism--we are so elated we could simply die. Or excitedly eat two bowls of ice cream and a slice of cookie cake. One or the other I suppose.

Some Are Brave

Bradley and me--our last night as Howard and Rosemary

Summer Brave is over, and I feel so grateful I could share such a wonderful experience with the perfect cast. I miss it/them already. I loved the entire process more than I can express. I really couldn't begin to explain what this play meant to me. I'm not going to try.



Muff, me, and Jodes right before my marriage scene

ROSEMARY: Well I hear the play isn't any good.
IRMA: Well there aren't any good plays anymore!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

My sister said something so novel to me when I saw Phantom of the Opera for the second time. I was a freshman in high school. It was my birthday gift from my parents. We all went downtown. I was excited--the last time I had seen it I was five. Phantom was my music of choice from toddlerhood to the beginning of middle school. That's when it switched over the Britney. Anyway.

At intermission the show wasn't so great. My sister turned and said, "well, it's a Sunday matinee." Although I had been doing theatre for years already, and that year marked the first big production I was in (Les Mis), this was a new concept. Shows can be dramatically (no pun intended) different if the actors feel a little lag, or a little push, or just got some good news about their family, or just ate a bad piece of pie, etc. When Beth came to visit that Easter, we went to the show again on a Friday. We had pretty crappy seats, but the performances were stellar.

That is so comforting to me. No one is going to see the same way I do anything in this play. My one English professor that was here last night is going to say, "her energy lacked in Act I...but Act iI was very well acted." That is what happened. Meanwhile, my other professor at the show Wednesday will be in her office with a confused look, "I thought the opposite. She was good with the funny bits, but pushed too hard later." And, they will both be right. But, there will be this layer of mystery and opinion over everything. No mater what happens tonight, someone from last night will disagree. Someone in the show will see things differently. I will feel one way or another.

That's really important to me.

How I Feel

After I finish my big dramatic scene.
My days have been in cycles.

Rise.
Exercise in tune with the day.
Work slowly.
Be involved in class.
Motivate myself to work a little on projects and classwork.
Be indulgent in the afternoon--watch a movie or listen to music or just lay in bed.
Then. It's 4. My stomach start to pit.
At 5 my curlers go in.
I slink around the theatre. I listen to a sad playlist labeled "Rosemary."
At 6:45 we meet together.
7 we have a little warm-up.
7:15 I'm saying "liniment, linoleum, liniment, cinnamon" over and over.
7:30 place. The pit grows.
Intermission. I sink away.
The Scene happens.

I am back here. Free free for a night's sleep and a morning before it starts all over again.
Free like I was on the Atlantic in 2008.

Pink Pony Alert!

Know how you ask a kid what they want for Christmas and they say A PONY! Pause. A PINK PONY!

The kid knows he won't really get the pony. I mean, if he did, what would he do with it? Instead he settles knowing he'll get Mousetrap or Crossfire or Creepy Crawlers set. But then what should trot out from behind the evergreen? AN EFFING PINK PONY!

Pink Ponies: Having an outlandish fantasy that actually comes true. Well B's & G's do I have one for you!

My sissy and I have daydreamed about being in college together since I moved to STL junior year and would visit her at school something like every other week. What if we could have been roommates in Sylvester (the upper-class house we have both been president of)?!?! What if we had taken Shakespeare's Tragedies together?!?! We could have performed at a Starbrooks together! We could have standing breakfast dates! Be gym buddies! It's a fun game with a sad ending. A sigh and the five years that have kept us from our pink dreams.

There have been several complications with the stage manager for the fall play. We have had to switch them out a few times already, and it was getting to crunch time with the play opening this week. No more time to mess around--my director needed a pro.

My director asked my sister to stage manage for my play. Pookie agreed! A commute sure, but only for one week. And NOW for the first time EVER we will have matching production shirts. She calls over the intercom, "Actors. Five minutes." I answer back (in what everyone swears is the exact same voice) "Thank you, Five!"

Scariest Prank Ever Pulled on Alice

Part I

Saw an incredible play last night. It is called The Pillowman, and Lord, has it stuck with me. I think it will forever. I guess most things do though. Maybe every day forever. I won't talk about it. I did that enough last night. But, I WILL say there is an overarching theme about children who get mutilated. Children in general. There are many themes deepen than children, but on the surface there is a lot about kiddos. It was pretty effed up.

Part II

I come back into my room late. Halloween night. I see a cloth on my bed. Oh that's weird. What is that? My bed is made. What is that lump? I pull back the covers to find a small lifeless child. I start breathing heavily. I realize soon that it is one of the very creepy life-size paper mache child puppets from a theatre production a few years ago. I throw it in my laundry basket in the closet with a little shriek and slam the door. I call three people who might be to blame. They swear they didn't do it. I realize I need shorts from my closet. I take deep sighs and open the door. As I reach up I scream--

because there is a face looking at me from the top of my closet.
Look closer...

Imagine that staring you in the face when you're already scared out of your mind. I screamed and screamed and screamed--probably waking up my whole hall. I called Rex--the last person I could think of doing this to me. He said what I knew which was, "Alice, I was with you all day and all night." I am baffled. Whoever did this got me good. Rex came over. Once someone else was here, it was okay to laugh. I took these pictures, and Rex took the dolls away.