There's always more than we think there is.

Newborns

And I say things like "Hey, mang," which isn't even a word, but it is. And friends mumble "thsorry" with a lisp a la Penelope, and we all know it. We all know it so much that people who don't know know it because of people who do.

"Call Me Maybe" gets stuck in my head at least once a day. If I were to sing half a line from the jam at basically anytime anywhere, the probability of someone finishing the tune is pretty stinkin' high. The Olympic swim team made a music video based on the song. Obama has commented on it. 

And, yet, the notes squished together in that particular syncopation didn't exist just one year ago.

Squeezin' Life

This week is flying. This semester is. I'm planning my first mid-term paper. Gosh darn, that happened fast. This year I've been pretty good about being happy presently. I have no reason not to be. I like all the elements of my life, but there's still a tug that chants within us, "I can't wait until this is over."

I wonder why we are built this way. Because ultimately, once this semester is over, then the year, then my program, then my job, then my life. Like, the only rush is really towards death, you know? So, what's with the chip in our brains that hurries us along? Pessimistically it has to do with dissatisfaction. Optimistically it's hope--that things--even if they are grand--will alway get better.

I consciously told myself this AM that I wanted to squeeze the life out of today, and I think I did. But it still flies!

Mainly, here's something: If you are only present 20% or 50% or even 95% because you're waiting for the future, think of how much time you will have wasted if the future falls through on you. I know you know, but sometimes you have to see it in writing.

Let's Hear It For Science!

When I walk down the garage staircase of the Museum of Science and Industry, I think of all the times I've peered out with the tiniest spark of excitement onto the bright white cavern of a ticketing center and gift shop. Field trips, on a half day with my middle school besties, with Wiz when she visited, with KHo on Spring Break of 2007, with immediate family, with distant family.

I intended to go to S&I last Monday morning for bite of nostalgia--see the Swiss pinball machine, the chicks, maybe buy a postcard and head out. Right before leaving the apartment, I wondered if maybe I should just get some work on my new play done. But, I figured, I could be brief. I stayed for three hours.

Because! Because! Once I was there I was suddenly hit with all the things I love there. The circus exhibit! Omg the model train! Historic Main Street USA for goodness sake! I had forgotten my old friends, and this was the first time I was ever alone with them. I soaked in every signpost about Barnum and Bailey, every turn in the miniature tracks, every brick in the faux road.

And, then, I was captivated by new things! Like you're supposed to be at a museum! I wanted to know about the greatest inventions of today--like a printer that prints edible paper that tastes like what it looks like! Like seeing "What if you could send a hug in the mail?" on a wall next to an ugly sciencey sweatshirt. Because I had gotten in free for being an IL resident, I splurged and bought tour tickets to the Smart Home. Wow eco-homes! The future! The future!

I felt overwhelmed with love for mankind, hope for the future, and a heightened sense of passion for education. I prolonged leaving and stopped in to finish basking in the feel of one of my favorite Chicago spots at the tiny cafe. They had just started serving pumpkin lattes.

It was the best way to spend my morning. I can't believe I almost missed my own life.

Stir-essed

Lots to do:

-Prep for Encyclopedia Show
-Finish and turn in my Teaching Philosophy & CV for an award nomination I got(!)
-Write a 20 minute set for my first headliner stand-up show(!)
-Finish grading 10 improv journals
-Grade 22 screenplays that star Angelina Jolie
-Revise my 10-minute play
-Finish a full-lenth
-And another
-Read peer plays for discussion
-Put the new plates on my scooter
-Write an article about pumpkins
-Get fitted for a costume
-Absentee vote
-Plus work, plus TAing, plus class, plus improv rehearsal, plus play rehearsal

Chicago Skyline. Blurred. 2012.

I try not to discredit my feelings, but once I write it out like that, it sure sounds like I'm stressed about gumdrops and jelly beans.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

8

Last night I saw the play 8. If you don't know, 8 was "written" by Dustin Lance Black (writer of Milk) using mostly court transcripts of the appeal of Prop 8 in California. You know, the play wasn't going to move a mountain in my heart. Boulder and I talked on the way over saying, "I hope it's actually a good play. I hope there's tension, and it's not just a blatant GAY RIGHTS, GAY RIGHTS, GAY RIGHTS FOR ALL." Because if I wanted to hear that, I would just get out a Talkboy and listen to my own diatribes. I go to the theatre to be moved--even if that just means having empathy for the other side.

Well, it was pretty one-sided...but, then again, IT WAS A TRANSCRIPT OF THE COURT PROCEEDINGS. So, actually, that was pretty crazy eye-opening. Did you know the defense could not keep witnesses to save its life? There ended up being, like, one dinky witness who had any potential say in the matter. And he was proven as an insufficient witness by the end of the trial. No one with any credibility could testify against gay marriage. Lead defender Cooper's final stance in front of the judge and the State of California was that there are no reasons or facts that say gay marriage will harm our society, but the fact that we don't know what will happen is reason enough to keep prohibiting it.

And that's how Prop 8 failed.

So, while the play wasn't, like, amazeballs, it was a reminder for me--this is an issue that has no business still being an issue. We have to keep pushing.

Afterward, a couple guys in the play I knew and some other colleagues went out for froyo. A bunch of them are in a Theatre for Social Change class right now, and they just finished a lesson on ethnography and presented monologues. "You didn't present yours," someone said to one of the guys. For some reason, we all pressured him to deliver it right there, and for some reason he did, very casually.

To write it here sounds melodramatic, but this man was once a boy who liked the arts, and his father was embarrassed, and this boy who liked the arts ended up loving other men, and he was kicked out of the house, and this man grew up to be sitting in a froyo shop tearing up, others tearing up around him, talking about this. Because PREJUDICE HURTS. And that is SAD. And, sometimes it's tempting to think, "Okay, the gay issue has gone on enough. There has been progress. It's not that bad anymore." Wrong, muchachos. Keep fighting.

Fwamiwy

Though we may have our disputes,

this family tree's got deep roots.

Treat Yo'Self 2012

Breakfast & Lunch Berries

Last week I decided that partially in honor of new music coming out and partially grieving my Chicago trip, I would have Treat Yo'Self 2012 yesterday. It wasn't too bonkers indulgent, but I did--
1. Wear my favorite pair of underwear and shorts.
2. Go on a long, relaxing run.
3. Buy fresh blueberries for lunch and Chipotle for dinner.
4. Have to grade, but I ate pretzel M&Ms while doing so.
5. Buy new Aimee & Kanye.
6. Get a pedicure.
7. Had a good improv rehearsal with my lady troupe.
8. Go to bed early.

Last week when I was scheduling my pedi, I thought, "I have no problem justifying this. This is a nice thing. I'm generally frugal, and I haven't gotten a pedicure in about two years." But for some reason I thought of Rye--my fellow second-year playwright with two itty bitty kiddies. Man, he is for sure not planning "Treat Yo'Self" days. He is planning How-Will-I-Possibily-Finish-My-Homework-And-Change-All-the-Diapers Days.

Every once in a while, I feel like single people get a bad rap. Yeah, there are ups and downs, but right now it's really nice to be tethered to nothing, to spend an entire day--the day of my choosing--pampering myself. I remember the first time Kay and I broke up in college, although I was still bruised, feeling an unquestionable bounce when after play rehearsal one night, Rex asked me to go to the pub, and I realized I had no one to check-in with. It was the light at the end of the tunnel--a light that shines on me now, like a high-powered spot.

No man is an island,
no man is a fool.

To Me, This Is Fall in Chicago

"The pennycandystore beyond the El
 is where I first
                 fell in love
                             with unreality
 Jellybeans glowed in the semi-gloom
 of that september afternoon
 A cat upon the counter moved among
                           the licorice sticks
                and tootsie rolls
        and Oh Boy Gum

 Outside the leaves were falling as they died

 A wind had blown away the sun

 A girl ran in
 Her hair was rainy
 Her breasts were breathless in the little room

 Outside the leaves were falling
                      and they cried
                         Too soon!  too soon!"

Important Idea Regarding $$$

MONEY IS VALUE AND VALUE DOES NOT GO "AWAY."

MUCH LIKE THE WRAPPERS WE THROW IN TRASH BINS LANDFILL-BOUND, THERE IS NO "AWAY" WHEN IT COMES TO SOME THINGS.

SOME THINGS LIKE LOVE--

THERE IS NO AWAY!

YOUR LOVING GAZE MAY FALL ON A HATEFUL FACE,

BUT THAT LOVE HAS BEEN EXPRESSED AND DOES NOT GO

AWAY.

SOME THINGS LIKE JOY--

THERE IS NO AWAY!

SOME THINGS LIKE CARBON.

WE MUST BE WISE,

of course,

BUT MONEY IS VALUE

AND VALUE DOES NOT GO AWAY!

FOLLOW THE DOLLAR,

IT'S GOING WHERE IT NEEDS TO.

SOME DAYS I REMEMBER

I WANT TO SEND ANOTHER CHECK

TO HEFFER INTERNATIONAL,

SO I WON'T GET THE MOCHA.

BUT, SOME DAYS I'LL GO AHEAD

AND CONTRIBUTE TO THE CAFE'S

MANAGER'S DAUGHTER'S COLLEGE FUND.

AND ALSO,

NOW THERE IS A MOCHA.

IT DOES NOT GO AWAY.

I GAVE THIS BUM A FIVE

AND MADE HIM PROMISE IT WOULDN'T BE

FOR MEAT.

I'M NEVER GOING TO KNOW,

BUT I DO KNOW IT WENT SOMEWHERE.

MAYBE THE DRUG DEALER'S NEW MUFFLER.

THE AUTO-MECHANIC IS SAVING UP

FOR A KINDLE.

He wants to read Malcolm Gladwell on the bus.

WE LOST THE FAMILY MEMBERSHIP CARD TO THE SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY MUSEUM, AND I WANT TO GO TOMORROW.

RATS, MAN. RATS. THAT WAS EXPENSIVE, AND NOW,

I STILL HAVE TO PAY.

BUT THAT MUSEUM IS FULL OF MEMORIES FOR ME.

I LEARNED ABOUT COAL MINING THERE,

AND THE FIRST TRAINS, ICEBERGS, BABY CHICKS.

I CAN DONATE A FIFTEEN DOLLAR ADMISSION.

I HAVE BEEN GIVEN SO MUCH,

AND IT DOES NOT GO AWAY.

Major Life Update Two (of Two)

Did something I haven't done in years. I auditioned for a straight play. I read this play (Drones) last fall because I was on the Theatre Production Committee, and I fell in love immediately.

Auditioning felt like something I needed to do, but I was actually pretty scared. Not of being cut. I am swamped this semester, and it would really be pushing it to be in a show. Plus, it's not personal to be cut from a hundred person audition for a play with six parts. No, I was scared of simply...looking stupid. A fellow MFA (director) was in the audition room, and all my confidence drained right through the floor when I walked inside. I haven't been seen as an actor since college. Was I the idiot with no training waltzing oblivious to how not an actor I was?

I did alright, and the next night I got a call-back. Nice. I held my own, that's all I could want. Didn't look like a dope. Check.

Saturday I showed up at the call-back with five other MFA actors before undergrads dropped in on the scene. And I had a blast. Doing those scenes with different partners and getting direction and having A SCRIPT that I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE. Man, it was just fun. At this point, I'm like, "Wow. I've gotten more than I bargained for in this process, and I'm grateful."

Flash forward to yesterday when I walk into the theatre on my way to writing workshop, and, bam. Cast list up, and I'm on it. Holla holla, y'all. I'm doin' a play.

Major Life Update One (of Two)

Semester One: Bike & Car

Semester Two: Bike

Semester Three: Bike & Scooter

My bike is still my primary mode of toolin' about town, but it was time to make myself just a bit more mobile. A bit more happy about grocery trips, meeting someone for dinner without being sweaty, and going out late. It was a long decision-making process, but I now own and operate my very own scooter--name pending.

Here's the thing: I love it.

In the day we sweat it out in the streets
of a runaway american dream.
At night we ride through mansions
of glory in suicide machines.

Never Forget

Today Andrew McMahon announced that he will no longer be performing with Jack's Mannequin. This has seriously saddened me. I mean, yeah, I've seen him in concert six times, but I always thought I'd make it to fifteen. Ten at LEAST.

I have hope he will still perform in some capacity in the future...but it won't be the same. Just like how he would only play one SoCo song in the early says of JM...will all my favorites be pushed to the wayside? Will he even make any more music? He might not.

Most of the time, I believe things should die. Things are just things, and they are not meant to be forever. Friendships grow and change and dry. Fashions come in and go out. We get too old for camp. We get too serious to sleep-in. We get too relaxed to mince words.

But I always hoped that Andrew's music-making would outlive me.

Admittedly, his last album was my least favorite of them all. And, admittedly, I'm not the same gushing girl when he posts a blog on his website. I see his Instagram, and I'm like, "Yeah. Typical." I used to be in love with his hippy dip persona when I was a junior in college. Probably because that's the age when HE got popular, and, you know, I think he stayed there. And I didn't.

But, I still thought...I don't know. I still thought something.

Uptown Theatre in Kansas City. 2010 SoCo Reunion Tour.

Would it be in poor taste that this is the biggest tragedy that's ever happened on September 11th? Yes, I guess so. I won't say that.

You spin around me like a dream,
we played out on this movie screen,
and I said, "Did you know I miss you?"

EDIT: Coincidentally, I just saw this post went up at 11:11...

I Basically Sold My Soul for These Cookies

The way I hone in on cookies that interest me is the dessert equivalent of a tracker jacker. And, y'all KNOW how I lose my GD mind for pumpkin anything. So, you can imagine that when P-San tagged me in a photo of these on Instagram last Thursday night...

...I practically bashed my head into the ceiling fan with excitement.

I had to sleep, but I had plans. Oh, did I have plans. Friday afternoon as soon as I was out of class, I was on the phone.
I called the local grocery store. Had them check. Nope.
Called another grocery. No dice.
Target? Nada. Next Target? Uh uh.
Keep in mind these aren't quick calls. No one just KNOWS if they carry a seasonal cookie, you know? there's a lot of, "Huh...what kind? Uh...okay...let me call over...okay, let me go look....cheese what?" Lots of phone being put on counter, a panting person responds, "No, ma'am."
So. Then. I call them.
That devil I boycott.
I dial Walmart.
This is the most frustrating call because 1) I am imagining my spirit being sucked out of the receiver and emptied into some jar on a clearance shelf and 2) somehow the person I first talk to has never heard of "Pepperidge Farm" and walks to the bakery, comes back and says, "They don't make pepper cheese cookies." I explain they're on the shelf. I get transferred somewhere. I say cookie, and they transfer me to the bakery. The bakery is confused. I say, transfer me back. The person walks to the aisle. They come back with an answer: Yes. Yes we have the cookies.

This morning, it happened.

Breakfast of champions.

It went something like this:

 And finished off with almond milk in the mug I got my last day in Chicago this summer.

Cookie Review: "A" & worth soul-selling.

"Back in My Day, a Text Message Used to MEAN Something!"

It did though! It used to be ten cents! And it felt like a genuine little communication. I loved getting a good text message. I would keep the best of the best. I got an iPhone a year and a half ago, and I do love it, but it keeps all my texts ever, which you'd think would be more fun, but it's not. It's more helpful for certain. But, fun? I'm sure my elders would disagree--but there was a romantic aspect of an impermanent screen of text. I could scroll through the greatest hits and feel all loved and good-humored.

When I traded my cellular I had a collection of maybe 50 undeletable (according to moi) texts from the five year period I had my ol' phone. I typed them out, and I just found the doc today. They're all gold, but I'll share a few bests from my sistah:

12.20.2009

“How’s Texas, Sweatpant Princess?”

6.1.2010, 12:34 AM

“You were so great tonight! Surprise for you on your bed!”

8.19.2010

“YAY! Meant to go for a run but ended up at the _____ for sodas. Kisses!”

10.8.2011

“Muffler gone. Call comm. safety.”

12.24.2011

"I love you too you little punk."

1.6.2011

"Look Who’s Talking Now has held up remarkabley well. Did you know Diane Keaton was the voice of the poodle?"

Pooks in Germany 2011.

Look forward to more entires like dis, y'all.

Successes & Failures of Saturday

Success: Waking up at 6:30 on a Saturday to read and exercise.
Failure: Did a half-aced job of a Jillian Michaels work-out like twenty minutes before I had to run out the door because I spent the previous two hours answering e-mails. And not reading.
Success: Feeling positive about the play call-back I went to this AM.
Failure: If I get cast, my life will implode. I do not have time for this ish.
Success: Doing my laundry this afternoon.
Failure: Not grading a single paper all afternoon.
Success: Grocery shopping supes efficiently, so I can finish all my new play edits tonight.
Failure: Stopping in at a rando bakery to snoop/waste time.
Success: Lady gives me a free cream puff. And it's legit. Plus, still plenty of time to do my work.
Failure: Accepting dinner invite from Ro.
Success: A delightful meal of good conversation, glass noodles, and Thai iced tea.
Failure: I have dinner plans with Pinto for later. Boop.
Success: Very joy-filled day.
Failure: Do I need to say this again? I have done zero reading, writing, or grading for the entirety of today. Good job, me.
Success: I have three hours before I head out again.
Failure: I'm writing on my blog. So.

Bold but True Statement of the Week & Labor Day

Human History trembles, buckles its knees, and crumbles in terror if you force it face your Potential.

On Labor Day I enjoyed a cone of pear and gorgonzola ice cream. Photo with Shells here. Snapped by Bug.

You can't stop today as it comes speedin' down the track,

Child, yesterday is history, and it's never comin' back,

'Cos tomorrow is a brand new day,
and it's don't know white from black!

Turning into the Skid

When your car spins out of control on ice, you're supposed to turn into the skid. It's the only way your tires get a grip and can straighten out, but no matter how many times you repeat the sentiment in Driver's Ed, your first (and second...and third...always?) skid, you cut away from the ice as fast as possible, scream as your car 360s before remembering "TURN IN." And then you're fine.

We're supposed to turn gently in to what others' problems are. But it's so difficult. If someone craves attention, for example, refusing to acknowledge them only makes things worse. You must give them positive attention, communicate honestly, and love tenderly. If someone lashes out for lack of confidence it's tempting to dislike him/her. If someone is irresponsible because of stress, we should attempt to relax them to garner better results. But it is just. So. Hard.

Turn into the skid. Turn into the skid. Turn into the skid.

La Croix Makes Everything Better

La Croix: for Head Counselors, June 2012

20s

Spandex shorts in public. What. I'm not a professional yet. It's fine.
My new all-lady improv team sees Celeste and Jesse Forever.
I give 4 out of 5 stars and exactly 25 seconds of tears
because love is so hard.
It's 9 PM. We go to an empty park and run two sets.
We're at a middle school sleepover and my character gets her period.
I tell Bug my real menstruation began in 2002. A decade. I remember
at the time my life consisted of Poms practice, Britney's third album,
and preparation for dissecting a dogfish shark.
I looked up at the blue moon
and wondered if I would remember this night when I'm 34.
I still can't believe I'll be alive then.
I was up until 4 AM. I've also kept a diary for a decade,
and it's for nights like these. Decisions were made, self-contracted.
In the morning they were forgotten.
I do what Jillian Michaels tells me. I watch One Tree Hill.
What. It's sentimental. It's fine. I bike to a crummy
taco shop for a breakfast burrito.
Life is so good. Green sauce is so good. Refried beans are so good.
I am playing a troll in a friend's new play reading. It's not humiliating.
I'm young. I'm over it. I like how in a room of theatre people,
someone always starts soft shoe tapping.
And I like walking up and down the aisles at CVS
instead of going to a party. (Parties are a dime a dozen in your 20s.)
And I like coming home to an empty condo
with a brown paper package from Heart on the table.
He made me chocolate cinnamon shortbread cookies. Dinner.
I call a stranger about buying his scooter.
I dab acai clay face mask on.
Complain to my sister on IM about my scooter woes--dramatically.

POOKIE: I want your scoot crisis solved.

ME: MY LIFE IS A JOKE.

POOKIE: It's a funny one though.

And she's right.

I could go to sleep. Or I could stay up texting like a tween.

What. It's fine.

In 2022 I will think this girl is a freaking moron. I just took this picture yesterday, and already kind of think that girl is a moron.

Top down, on the strip.

I'm lookin' in the mirror and I'm checkin' out my lipstick.