I Can't Believe I Am Leaving the Place I've Been for the Last Five Years

The last day of second grade was just about the most beautiful spring day I could have imagined. I wore a floral print dress, and the school day was shortened. Our teacher let us arrange the desks any way we wanted. My girl gang made up a pod, and we laughed laughs of sustainable friendship--knowing we'd be back together in the fall, if not sooner.

We played Heads Up 7-Up until the bell rang. I skipped out, skirt fluttering, into the bright June afternoon. The grass was freshly cut, and my dad was waiting in the parking lot. He was very happy for me. I had loved second grade. My report card showed straight "A"s. We went for celebratory cookies at the bakery on Harlem. I usually adored standing at the glass cabinet of sweets and pointing to the various kinds--creating the perfect box assortment, but that day, I was in a mess of tears.

When we had walked in, my dad had announced it was my last day of second grade to the lady at the counter. She smiled hugely, "Hooray!" and I broke down. My dad looked frightened, not for me, but for himself. The lady looked at him skeptically: Why is your kid so messed up? He kind of winced and tried to cheer me up in front of the stranger. It was to no avail. I was sad all day.


Blossom blooming outside Dad's house. May 1st, 2011.

A List of My Favorite Cookies:
1. Orange chocolate chip made my my old English professor. They are perfectly fluffy.
2. Mini chocolate chip made by my sister. They are tiny and chock-ful of vanilla.
3. Sugar with sprinkles from that bakery on Harlem.
4. Huge molasses/ Heath cookies from camp.

Haunted Dawn

Last weekend, Lazz and I headed out to middle-of-nowhere Missouri to participate in a guided tour and exploration of an official paranormal site. We visited a haunted building--formerly hotel, schoolhouse, brothel--now run down that was on Travel Channel's "Top Twenty-Five Most Haunted Places in the US."



It was a truly enjoyable experience--meeting these other couples from the petite college cheerleader and her brawny man who had "ghost apps" on their phones to the women who worked at a Reebok store together and watch ghost TV on weekends. We had experienced paranormal hunters with us. There was equipment for monitoring electro-magnetic charges, unexplainable flashes of light. I got seriously creeped several times, but I also laughed a lot with Lazz.

We stopped hunting around 3:30 AM. Too tired to drive back, Lazz and I set down blankets on the porch.


We were inside a closet that had a confederate flag on it. The house was once a stop on the underground railroad. We sand "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" trying to invoke a spirit. It did not work.

The fireflies were huge, jetting between the ancient trees in the front lawn in front of us. Thousands of visible stars. Broken limestone was everywhere. The house creaked. Cicadas.

Suddenly the stars were disappearing. "Look what we did," I said. "We made the stars go away!"
"I think it's the light," he replied.
I pointed to one street light a mile away. "That?" I asked.
He laughed, "No. The big light. The sun."
"Oh that," I said. And next thing I knew, dew was everywhere and the sky was full of bright blue.

The sky became pink.
And then guess what happened?
Well, what do you think.

Details

We do a lot of "ball work" in Chekhov Seminar. Warm-ups generally include breathing, stretching, walking around and nurturing a creative atmosphere in the space, and tossing hacky sacks at one another. It represents the "giving and receiving" of theatre.

We started tossing the balls around on Thursday, and someone said, "Oh, my favorite," as she caught one of the sacks. I looked at the one in my hand. It was black with a greenish pattern. Each ball (there are about fifteen in the basket) is a different color and design. It had never occurred to me to have a "favorite"--to even notice the colors for that matter. When we're in ball work, I am focused on the eyes of the person I'm throwing to, who is throwing to me, on my breathing, on releasing tension, on being part of the ensemble.

Fifteen years ago I would have definitely had a favorite hacky sack. No questions asked. And I'd probably privately take physic signs from it like, "If I get my favorite pink one tossed to me today in class, it means my grandmother is here." I used to make these kind of Magic-8-Ball ideas all the time with arbitrary things as a kid. Most of the time much less endearing: "If there are eight pages of paper in the trash can, I'll really like the next episode of Rugrats I see."


Bunny that hopped in front of me on the way to work a couple weeks ago.

But, today I am really unaware of most THINGS around me. I'm very person-orreinted at this time in my life. It's about connections and communication and when I meditate, I meditate about people. So, I'm trying to bring back the wa a little bit. It's about staying committed to the acting circle but noticing the weight of the sack in my hand, the magenta dots on it's rough skin. Walking to my sister's apartment thinking about what I want to be sure to mention, but also the dead lilac bushes and how soft they are.

The moth don't care when he sees the flame.
He might get burned, but he's in the game.

On Bridesmaids & Changing Your Mind

People are wiiggin' about Bridesmaids. (Get it? Wiiggin?) I have to admit, I am very interested. I like women. I like comedy. I love women doing comedy. I really love Kristen Wiig.

I like that people are accepting women as naturally funny because of this movie. It doesn't have to be an anomaly anymore. But, this movie was still produced by Judd Apatow. I don't hate or even dislike this guy as much as I probably should. The truth is I laughed a lot at Superbad. Like, a lot.

Muff hates his movies because they all remind us that men spend mucho percent of their time talking about and noticing hot women. Whether it's art imitating life or vice versa, I don't really care. It's something I'd rather not have continue in society, and splicing comedy with an unfavorable male habit tricks everyone into liking it. Or, at least accepting it subliminally.

So, naturally, Jamin suggests Bridesmaids to me because he knows what I said in line one: I am all about women busting into comedy. And I said, "No, thanks." Because I read an interview with Wiig about the process, and there's at least one part of the movie she didn't want in--some scene where all the girls, like, get diarrhea or fall in mud or something. So, that bugs me. I don't really want to contribute to box office sales of a movie that could have been perfectly funny without Mr. Apatow butting in and asking for all the girls to lose all self-respect just for a while. Maybe it's purely because anyone falling in mud and losing face is funny, but it's different having men, who already run comedy, get involved in shtick. I guess you could argue it's sexist to NOT have women do the same stupid stuff men do in movies. There's a point there, but it's balancing on the fine line of...something.

Jamin said, "But Wiig co-produced, and you probably want to support her." Which is true. I do want to support her. I am really involved with how I spend my money, because I really do see it as a vote. I don't personally have a problem with my health because of McDonald's, but I know a lot of this country does, so, if I can, I don't contribute to the problem--even though it doesn't directly affect me. But, that's really just half the battle.

The other half is not exposing yourself to things that you don't support because they do change your mind. It's pretty naive to think we can just enter restaurants we feel fundamentally against and not slowly come to like them better, to watch movies we know will involve themes we don't support and leave with the same pure mindset we had before showtime. Even though I will be a vegetarian forever, when I enter McDonalds, I see the prettiest picture of chicken strips--with a vibrant purple backdrop. Maybe I'll never act on the sudden impulse to eat some, but the thought has been planted, and that makes my ideas on the subject just a little weaker. Just a little cloudier.

Seeing Bridesmaids may be a big step for women in comedy, but it's still women in comedy as a man views them. And even if I know that going in, I'm obviously going to leave subliminally thinking things about myself as a women and a comedian I didn't think before. And, I'm not ready for that.

Recap:
*Our actions are important because we actually give physical support to things. Let's make it stuff we do support.
*Our actions are important because what we do changes our minds whether we recognize that immediately or not.
*The part where McLovin says he almost got "Muhammad" is the funniest ever.

How Are You?

Can someone think of an alternate question to ask that starts a general conversation and shows I care that doesn't force the person I'm asking to place Life and existence somewhere on a linear Good Vs. Bad chart?

When people ask me how I am, I usually say "Good"--not because I'm being compliant with societal norms, but because, unless something horrible is happening AT THE MOMENT, I am Good. I have a lot of Good at my fingertips all the time, so I feel like it's only respectful to the powers that be if I acknowledge it. I mean, obviously, if I just dropped an ice cream cone on the ground, and a passerby asks how I am, I have permission to say, "Horrid! Simply dreadful!" and, like, wail at the melty dessert.


Graduation cake. June 2010. From my Wisconsin Aunt.

It's a very weird habit we've formed as humans. When we take a moment to evaluate how we are, it's either "good" or "bad"--very rarely just "happening" (which is actually all it ever is: happening). We usually end up coming to a polarizing conclusion (for me, it's semi-mathmatical: work was a plus today, financial concern negative, hanging out with LC positive, super stuffy nose negative...I guess if class is good tonight I will be "good." But if it's bad, I will be "bad.") Why can't we just "be"? Better yet--why can't we be "good" and cast of the "bad" as flakes of insignificance. Because the Good is far more enveloping than we ever realize. A billion Good things happened to me today I don't even consider, and I fill a page in my journal with gratitude every night, and yet, tonight I might have forgotten the fresh green beans I ate at dinner, the fact that I own a sportsbra, that I found a typo in a form I was about to send out just before I sent it. It's poor practice to think of good and bad as equals--swinging the scales day by day. It's simply not so!

Grant us all from earth to rise,
and to strain with eager eyes
towards the promised Heavenly prize!
We beseech thee, hear us!

New Ideas I'm Thinking About Thanks to Muff

After dipping my feet into the Mississippi last month. It had to be done.

Muff visited me for an entire week. A week! Here are some new ideas I am churning:

-Could there really be an afterlife? Would all existential crisis be terminated if you believed so?
-What exactly is the study of literature?
-Some people don't have any self-confidence. That should be remembered.
-It's really nice to not worry about being left out.
-Infinity exists in a small patch of woods. There are orb-weavers there.
-Our relationship with things that can be sensed is really just brain power making us think we have a relationship. Like, when you think about it, what does food actually taste like, and why do we like it?
-You can go crazy trying to prove your own philosophies right, but if they are right, they probably can't be proven--especially by you alone.
-If you believe in the whole person, everything about the person can be beautiful and complete.

After A While, Crocodile

Cast of Spelling Bee--an "in character" shot.

At the end of strike, we stood in a clump watching some tech guys dismantle the bleachers we sat on for hours every night for the past two months. It was time to go, and we each took turns hugging each other. Goodbyes are not as difficult after Sunday matinees. You know you are about to go home, have dinner with family, drive in the sunshine. It's much harder in the night. Alone.

As I left the theatre for the last time, I did know just how final everything was. I am moving across the country soon. I have no family and dwindling friends in St. Louis--barely a reason to return, let alone be in the area enough to bump into anyone I met on this show. I liked everyone, but I didn't truly become close with anyone. And, I don't have a Facebook. I will really probably never see these people again.

Schwartzy's car was parked near mine. We laughed and razzed even as we were walking farther and farther away from each other. I saw her small in the distance, and she was still yelling, "You know what, Alice?!" and I was laughing. She opened her Jeep door, waved, and then, "Hey," she said. "Hey. I hope we do meet each other again. If only so I can prove to you I am just a little bit more successful."

I crumpled into my car, chuckling, putting on my sunglasses. I did not know the void of nothingness could be so bright. "So longs" happen at Chuck-E-Cheeses and open mic nights--not just prison and graduations.


Girl talk with LC and Muff in my bed this week made me feel like college never ends.

When I had driven Muff to the airport just a few hours before the final curtain call, I said, "It's all good because we will definitely see each other again. Unless one of us dies first." As if there's an alternative to those options.

Goodbye, you were good but not good enough.
So please don't ask why. Simply say, "Goodbye!"

Deserving

Last weekend was opening weekend of Spelling Bee. After the Friday and Saturday shows, most cast members went out drinking/partying. They'd ask, "Where are you going? Where were you last night?" As if being in a community theatre performance is reason to celebrate with no inhibitions. I don't want to sound like a complete grouch/grinch. It is a celebratory event! And, yeah, I did work hard, but I also had a lot of fun, and being in the show was something I did for myself. I don't feel like I "deserve" much after completing a self-serving extra-ciricular.

On Sunday after the matinee, I gave myself one treat--a large mocha with chocolate sprinkles. I am living on a budget as I ramp up for grad school, and I praise every little cup of coffee I buy. But it was not a reward because I had just finished our first weekend. I deserved the mocha because it was raining outside, and I was sitting in a cozy cafe with stacks of reading, writing, grading, and corresponding to do because I had a hectic work week on top of tech week. I deserved a little chocolate and a little warmth.


Pie I ate on Pi Day 2011 with Mia!

On New Year's I performed with my improv group downtown. It was great, and in-between shows, people dashed out to the street fair to grab drinks. It was New Years after all. During one of my breaks, I headed into a little cafe that had pictures and crayons on every table. KWall, my sister, and I got to work chatting and coloring. I heard a little girl behind me saying, "Look, Mom! She was--!" I turned to see the girl pointing at me. They had just come from one of the improv shows. The mom coaxed her, "You can say hello! Now she's here coloring with friends like you!" But the girl just waved shyly to who she thought was a celeb. I waved back with the crayon in my hand--happy it wasn't a beer.

My Father's Film Review of Mother and Child

DAD: (Picking up my phone call) Oh thank GOD. You called just in the nick of time! I'm watching some terrible chick flick.
ME: What is it?
DAD: I don't even know. One of those "Emotional I hate my mom" things. I just got to the part where everyone's crying--
ME: Well, what's the guide say it is--?
DAD: "Mother and Child" Oh GOD! Why didn't I read this sooner?! "Three young women are brought together by adoption and love blah blah BLAH!" I need to write one of these. Just watch ten of 'em. Put 'em in a blender. Make millions.

Keep in mind this conversation happened at 1:30 AM.

Nobody Likes Horrible Things

So don't be a horrible thing.


Tulips outside my dad's house. April 2011.

Cups and saucers crashing in, but Houdini applauds the gag again.

Pool Party

Sisters in front of an ice turkey on Thanksgiving. 2010.

Generally speaking, a lot of our problems come from thinking we are more important than we are. Thinking, "I have to do it or no one else will!" Of course, there is a time and a place for this kind of anxiety--like if you're alone in a building disabling a bomb, or if your sister is coming home after a very long dress rehearsal and will want cookies and ice cream because she skips dinner, so she can dance better AND YOU MUST PROVIDE HER WITH SNACKS!**

You know me, I'm against apathy. But, I am FOR realizing other people can do stuff. And other people should do stuff that you've grown out of or makes you miserable, you know?

You ain't the Pool of Bethesda! You can't solve everythang! Heck! Even the Pool of Bethesda could only heal one person per day!

**Sisters should provide sisters with snacks.

'Cause the stray that you found
That looked so cute at the pound
Now has you putting her down as rabid
If it was badder than bad
Well, then – you oughta be glad
You can break it like another habit

Here Lies Blanche

Dad buried her under the statue in his backyard.
I wrote on the tombstone, said a prayer.





If I die, see, you won't be so close to me,
and I won't be the one who sticks around.
If I'm awake, see, you won't go to sleep, I promise,
and I won't be the one who lets you down.

Wise Men Say

These were, for better or for worse, THE songs of my 22nd year. Woof. In chronological importance because in order of importance was too dang difficult.

1. Ready to Run--The Dixie Chicks
an anthem to a year of running and loving it
2. Like a Prayer--Glee Cast
an anthem for running at camp early early AM with memories of counselors past dancing in my head
3. Baby--Justin Beiber
an anthem dedicated to all the munchkins I spent June-August trying to entertain
4. Telephone--Lady Gaga
an anthem for dancing/personal fashion shows/hair doodling all year
5. You Can't Hurry Love--The Concretes
an anthem that played at the end of my capstone reading
6. Airplanes--B.O.B
an anthem to self-aware wistful summer nights as the college cleared out
7. Dynamite--Tao Cruiz
an anthem to self-loathing and bad habits
8. High and Lonesome--The Gaslight Anthem
an anthem by an anthem for feeling lazy and unproductive in my new skin
9. Head Full of Doubt--The Avett Brothers
an anthem for finding hope at the beginning of new jobs, for fall in the Midwest
10. Blood Bank--Bon Iver
an anthem for the last winter I could handle and love's bones breaking
11. Breakeven--The Backbeats
an anthem for lifting weights in my sister's cold apartment during over Christmas vacation
12. Firework--Katy Perry
an anthem for new beginnings--specifically 12 AM January 1st
13. Fire Burning--Sean Kingston
an anthem for being happy all the time
14. Reflections--The Supremes
an anthem to belt in the car on the way to speech tournaments
15. All for the Best--Godspell
an anthem for a rejuvenation in my heart about theatre/finishing my grad school apps during ACTF
16. What the Hell--Avril Lavigne
an anthem for feeling free, happy, as young as I am
17. Cherry Lane--Ryan Adams
an anthem dedicated to interest in others blooming
18. Champagne--In the Heights
an anthem for new friends with expiration dates
19. Invisible Ink--Aimee Mann
an anthem for discovering true, natural, organic beauty everywhere
20. Moment 4 Life--Nicki Menaj & Drake
an anthem that blared in Nac's car in N.C. on one of the best vacays of all time
21. I Speak Six Languages--25th Annual
an anthem I perform
22. Can't Help Falling in Love--Elvis
an anthem for getting a lot of things done and being very proud and very unemotional

What were last year's? Here you go:
http://aliceoutofcontext.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-guess-todays-gunna-blow-us-away.html

Also-rans were "Globes and Maps" because I cried as it was performed during the SoCo reunion concert and "Prepare Ye" because I was very spiritual this year.

Special Little Sparkle Secrets for You and Only You!

Birthday 2010.

Special sparkle secrets happen when you know something other people don't know and it makes you very happy--not in a creepy lording information over others and/or insider trading way*. In a tiny creme clam shell way.

Some examples of Special Little Sparkle Secrets:
-When someone who doesn't know you are casually dating someone casually says favorable things about the person you are dating. You feel cool because your romantic interest is cool and so are you because you have good taste! It's a compliment from this third party, and they didn't even know it was!
-When you go back to work after lunch, and you just had some really good cheesecake.
-Walking back super sweaty from the gym knowing you just ran really far and really fast. People on the sidewalk just see the sweat. But YOU know.
-Hearing your birthdate mentioned. Like, you see a preview, and then BAM! "Coming to Theatres on _____ ___!"..."The date they said was MY BIRTHDAY." Obviously, it doesn't matter, but it sparks this mini-ignition in your personally. Just a little sparkle. For you and only you.

My birthday is approaching, and it tickles me to hear the day discussed. I'm not so self-centered to even care very much about my birthday, but I think I'll always feel a little special when I see that a park was dedicated on the day, I see the date on a rehearsal schedule, someone mentions it as the day the final paper is due, the library books must be returned.



There is a secret that we keep.
I won't sleep if you won't sleep
because tonight may be the last chance we are given.
We are compelled to do
what we must do.
We are compelled to do what we have been forbidden.
So I won't sleep if you won't sleep tonight.

*Just watched Wall Street last weekend...Yeah, you could say I know a thing or two** about the stock market.
**Really, if that movie taught me anything it's that I literally only know one or two things about the stock market. During no fewer than six scenes I had to look over at my sister and make exaggerated, "What the dustbuster is going on!?" faces. Mostly, I can't believe that shouting and holding slips of paper business on a cramped floor of business men is actually how the nation's economy functions.**
***If we don't do the whole hollering in the bull pen thing anymore, I have no idea because my concept of stocks and stuff is 88% made up of a fictional 80s movie starring the world's number one winning lunatic/coke head.

My Favorite Quotation

"What a frightening thing is the human, a mass of gages, and dials, and registers, but we can read only a few and those perhaps not accurately."


Muff on the sidewalk outside my college house. March 2010.


Me and Kay, battered by summer camp, on our way to see the only movie in theatres we ever saw as couple. August 2010.


My high school friend Era at a cafe. December 2010.


A pillow fight at ACTF. January 2011.


Nac in the middle of a laughfest we were having in Raleigh. March 2011.


That's from John Steinbeck's Winter of Our Discontent.

My Favorite Memory of My Mama (It Is That One Holiday After All)

After my freshman year of high school, I went away to camp for seven weeks. Largely, I do not miss things. I was homesick for maybe two minutes of the entire summer.

The second to last night of camp there is this Final Council Fire that...I won't explain because it sounds lame--especially because the culmination of the evening for all ten summers I went to camp was me sobbing over a pile of pine needles. Moving on.

The second to last day of camp, I got this really bad headache. I was packing all my stuff up, and I just felt horrible. Then, it was Beach Period. I asked to be excused, to stay in the cabin packing because I was ill, but I was reminded it was my last chance to enjoy the lake etc. etc. so I begrudgingly shuffled down to the shore. And, boy, a dehydrated teenager + major headache + burning sun + screaming children + sadness about leaving summer camp = Crazy Sickness--edging on hallucinatory.

That night there was a free-for-all cookout type thing, and it's co-ed kind of, and there are parents kindof, and, well, to make a long story short, my counselors and my cabinmates didn't realize I never went to dinner. I didn't realize I didn't go to dinner because I was actually out of my gourd and didn't know where I was, let alone that it was dinnertime. All I knew was that I was throwing up a lot in a bathroom. And, I really didn't know where I was, but my hair was covered in puke, and I was alone, and I remember thinking, "I just really want my mom." And then POOF. Someone was holding my hair back and gently led me to bed! And I was like, "Whoa--is this one of those Divine experiences where I realize that the concept of Mother is universal?" No. It wasn't. It was my real mom.

I was so sick I didn't even think to think that my parents would be coming to the cook-out function, and apparently they got there, and asked a couple people, and quickly realized I wasn't there, and my mom had this sense I was back in camp in the bathroom. So, she went to the bathhouse, and, lo and behold, there I was in all my vomiting glory.

And so I woke up in this very quiet loving atmosphere with my very own mama who I hadn't seen in about fifty days looking so sweetly at me. And I felt completely healed, and I didn't even have to miss the evening's special ceremony.

So, moms can be pretty great.


Mama's Day Dinner today!

Or What About Flying Into the Blue Sky?

Most of the time, I am actively trying to ignore life as I drive. I use driving time to sing and ponder. I don't know where this habit came from, but I don't care about anything around me when I'm behind the wheel.

But, sometimes, on particularly beautiful days, I am suddenly keenly aware that I am driving on a twisting concrete bridge overpass, and it looks like I am jetting into the sky! Driving directly into clouds! This is the stuff 18th Century dreams are made of! Isn't that nuts? I soar in my whizzing metallic box closer and closer to the moon!

Shameless

I'm glad that I am still at the point in my life where I can (and should) have little to no shame.

Before the finale, Shwartzy, MM, Coney, and I were reminiscing on our previous food service jobs. The T-Bell. The BK. The Slab. Shwartzy lit up talking about her plans to work the graveyard drive-thru shift at McDonalds to afford her rent this summer. She'll spend her days doing theatre. She mimicked herself two months from now, "What's that, drunk dude at 3 AM? You want ten ice cream cones? You got it!"

And we all agreed we actually quite enjoyed food service jobs. Not waitressing and being a chef and all that, and not as a career maybe, but yeah. I do like mixing expresso shots, chopping strawberries, opening the salsa jugs.

And it occurs to me that I've got at least another good seven years before it becomes even remotely weird for me to work in food service. I don't have any immediate plans to. Yet, at the same time, I feel like it could be a career. I mean, not at Wendy's. But, at like, classier places--like Noodles and Co.

That was a joke.

Kind of.

ANYWAY, I'm also happy I have a successful but quirky resume to my name. Over lunch, I watched ESPN's best of the National Spelling Bee. (Whatever.) And, of course, I googled my fave winners to see if they are cool or just peaked at the Bee. And, one went to Harvard and has a fancy job, and the others were lost to cyberspace. I mean, I'm not that creepy--I didn't look THAT hard. But, like, if I had gone to Harvard, I would have so much shame about food service, right? I'd feel dumb for wasting a ton of money on my degree that landed me a spot at Smoothie King, and that's very sad, because if you knew me at all, you'd know I would be quite thrilled to work at Smoothie King. More proof that doing the "best" thing doesn't always mean it's the best thing.

I cannot name this.
I cannot explain this,
and I really don't want to.
Just call me shameless.

Bossy Pants

Trelly wrote our group of summer camp lady pals about how she is reading Tina Fey's Bossy Pants and can't stop hearing my voice. This is a blessing and a curse. What a compliment! But, also...how annoying. People frequently tell me how I remind them of Tina. I lamented back to my pals: You guys! What if I want to write a book someday, but my sense of humor just comes across as Fey-wannabe! When really it's always been me! Heck, I even look like her!

And so this is what Wizzy responded:

"yeah palice, but, actually, you're nothing like her.

i mean, u're ten times funnier. and I know YOU personally. also you look nothing alike. this is what she looks like:



and this is what you look like:



see? nothing alike."

<3 Wizzy <3

Sunny Side Up

Part One

As soon as I saw it, I felt like the entire building was filled with gray clay. Thick, sad bubbles of muck. Two nights ago, somebody egged the beautiful and valuable painting that hangs in the campus concourse.

It made me sadder than if the eggs had been thrown at my own car, home, face. I understand aimed hatred. I don't like it, but I understand it. In fact, in a week in which our entire country felt it necessary to celebrate a murder, I don't blame someone for letting his rage get the best of him...but this? This was just senseless. Really senseless. All that happens: the Student Activities Fund is drained, everyone is sad, no one gets it.

To everyone passing the cherry picker of women scrubbing the yolk off, all we could ask was WHY? WHY? WHY? But, the truth is the answer could be, "Uh...I dunno."

Senselessness is big. It's poofs out sideways and slops over its waistline. We must live with complete alertness because these things MATTER. Yes, I'm a broken record, but choosing NOT to order the Meat Luvers Deluxe pizza is SENSE. Putting your gum in the trash is SENSE. Choosing to refrain from the mean gossip is SENSE.

It's little to us, but it explodes in pig guts, on someone's shoe, in someone's diary as she cries. Having a couple extra eggs and absentmindedly playing darts with a painted angel's wings is SENSELESS.

Part Two

I never look at the painting. But a FIRE within me sprang up yesterday. I noticed it. I pondered the rightness and wrongness of life, of crime and punishment, because of it. Probably given the option, the artist would have preferred her work be defaced in the name of rallying around Right instead of hanging stiffly for decades.

Like the tornado that wiped out the community theatre in one town over from my dad's--it reenergized the town into believing We Fight for Arts Here. And I was there last Saturday when on a new stage, the community players say "Let the Sunshine In."


The egged painting getting touched up today.

They caught the kid who did the egging. Don't know anything else.

Two castmates have just started dating. It's secret, I think. It's sly. I don't know when it happened. I want to think it was when he and I were talking when she walked by. I said, "She's so great at that part." And he said, "Yeah." He beamed like lilac soap and sunny side up in the pan.

Who died? Who made you king of anything?

Bye, Bin Laden

Face Chomping in 2010

On the second of May, I always listen to Brave Saint Saturn's "Independence Day."
My away message on iChat was, "I can think of better synonyms for fear."

ME: Do you know what my Away is from?
POOKIE: hmm
it sounds familiar
it feels like a musical
buuuut
also ani
dunno
what is it?
ME: Next line:
Hope your life is great, I hope its been a wonderful year.
Waiting everyday.
Staring at the phone.
POOKIE: jesus
christ
i feel so empty and alone
YEAH YEAH
INDEPENDENCE DAY
2ND OF MAY!
TODAYY!
ME: YAYYYYY!
POOLIE: ugh
i'm looking for a line from that song to post as my fb status
but they will all sound like political commentaries today
ME: I know!
I KNOW!
DON'T THINK IT WASN'T HARD.

Freedom never came for free.

Perfect Day

Today I asked my sister what he perfect day would look like--all bets off. Then, she asked me. Without thinking too much, just going with my gut, I thought of this. Now, several hours later, I stand by my gut answer.

-Wake up and pray/meditate outside as the sun rises.
-Go on a long relaxing run through the desert, listening to a mix of five-star music.
-Take a Japanese bath.
-Curl up in bed to watch a new episode of The Office or SNL while hair dries.
-Have breakfast at a restaurant with a couple/few very good friends. Order several dishes including (but not limited to) cinnamon french toast, chocolate chip muffins, avocado goat cheese eggs benedict, greek yogurt, fruit smoothies.
-Spend several hours on a beach with a group of high schoolers/college kiddos, answering all their life questions and encouraging them to make good choices.
-Rehearse for a musical theatre production. (A good one--obvi.)
-Enjoy a light meal (bagel? sushi roll? a little palak paneer?) and iced coffee while reading a novel.
-Perform in an improv show with a small and sincere cast.
-Go out for dessert with the cast of the show. While at the dessert find out one of my castmates is anti-gay rights and convince him/her to see the light.
-Sleep with windows open, able to see moon and stars.

This exercise filled me with gladness because all the elements of my perfect day are attainable to me, and probably will be, for the rest of my life. No parasailing or expensive restaurants, no work at a career I can't have--just helping kids, doing theatre, singing, dancing, eating breakfast. Life is really good! Perfection is within reach! The kingdom of iced coffee is upon us!