Capability vs. Beside: Two Schools of Thought

“If I accept you as you are, I will make you worse; however if I treat you as though you are what you are capable of becoming, I help you become that”-Goethe

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."-Camus

Kath & me.  Summer 2010. Photos by Dunt.

Matters

When I go to bathroom in public washrooms I always kick down the lever with my foot, so I don't have to touch it. I learned the trick when I was 14 from a girl on my speech team. I have not talked to that girl in a decade. I still think of her probably 33% of the time I am flushing a toilet.

At summer camp I eavesdropped on two girls with braces and frizzy hair (signs of maturity from my fifth grade standpoint) while we played water polo in a shallow lake. One said, "You should never do anything for an award," and I still live by that.

In third grade our teacher gave our suckers as rewards. Her stipulation was that we never walk with them in our mouths without holding onto the sticks. She painted the scenario of a kid tripping and having the sucker ram into their throat. I have been scared to walk and sip through a straw since.

When Really It's Closer Than It Is Too Far

I KNOW I put myself here willingly, but I am miserable staring at this stupid script. And I KNOW what I am doing has no real stakes, but it does. It does. It does. If this doesn't then nothing does because this is actually something I care about and love (or at least that's what I thought at one point). I KNOW it's a made-up degree in making things up, but we made up our whole world. Every degree is made-up in making up! And every stupid degree has repercussions for the made-up careers we have! That make up our dumb careening existence!

...Okay, I can't tell if I'm arguing nihilism or the validity of the arts at this point. Whatever. MEANWHILE, there's a meat industry!

Woof. I'm listening to my "Middle Skewl" playlist today. DON'T JUDGE ME. "In Too Deep" indeed.

The faster we're falling, we're stopping and stalling.
We're running in circles again.
Just as things were lookin' up, you said it wasn't good enough,
but still we're tryin' one more time.

:( Girls and Mirrors :(

Last week in Methods of Teaching Theatre class we learned a good jumping-off point exercise for devising student work. Everyone in class stands in front of the mirror a few moments and fills in this sentence. "Some days when I look in the mirror I think _____________." Then, everyone goes on to freewrite a mini-monologue. You add movement. You arrange the various actors. Bada-bing, you have...something.

My class is eight women--grad and undergrad. Ages 20-40. In our monologues all eight of us talked about how old we felt when faced with ourselves.

Welcome to Rewrite County

Listening to "Survivor" by Destiny's Child not ironically.

Found art in front of my condo. May 2012.

I'm a survior. I'm gonna make it. I will survive and keep on survivin'.

Maybe Curing Cancer

Cancer research using mice. I checked the box for “Approve Funding,” and I greenlit funding for a bio PhD candidate’s dissertation project in which he intends to give mice tumors.

As part of my academic community service, I evaluate grants for the Graduate and Professional School Association once a semester. I find it interesting. Today I read a lot about topographical research in Tanzania, for example.

How could I refuse this student who has such good intentions? That’s not my place. There is no segment on the rubric for “Ethically Ambiguous for the Reviewer.” It was an excellent application. My hamster Jefferson died of a brain tumor when I was 11. He jittered himself to death. He could not operate his jaw enough to eat. He curled into shavings and prayed for an end to the pain. Jefferson has white hair and a pointed nose.

My aunt died of cancer two years ago. And she too was white with sharp features when I last saw her. No one—no creature-- deserves these things.

I approved the funding.

Two years ago I also had dinner with my old buddy Jimbo. He’s a smarty and always has been. We chomped on mushroom pizza and he explained how his office analyzes code to find patterns that will break cancer, but what he really does all day is stare at screens and numbers. Meanwhile, I made like ten cents an hour helping college kids write thesis statements. Jimbo said, “At least I can say what I do for a living is cure cancer.” But that’s actually not true. It’s not true because what if they never find the pattern? It’s actually pretty likely they don’t. I passed those kids on their sophomore writing portfolios. They learned how to use commas. This I know.

Underground improv stage. Chicago 2012.

I talked to Jimbo this morning on GChat while I was in Office Hours. It’s an even shoddier desk in the basement of a crummy building. And the boiler blasts every ten minutes. And he’s been maybe curing cancer for four years.

Cobra at Coffee on Friday

I love this picture of Cobra taken two weeks ago.

An amazing thing about being in one's 20s is making all the friends. You carve out a life but there's always room for one/a small boatload more. You keep thinking you've filled your calendar full and then someone else loaves 'n' fishes themselves in.

It saddens me to think it might not always be this way. But, I suppose, that's why I just have to make it so.

Never About

IT IS NEVER ABOUT WHAT IS HAPPENING.
IT IS JUST NEVER ABOUT IT.
IT IS NEVER ABOUT THE MATH TEST.
IT IS ABOUT ME BEING AS UNDERSTANDING AS POSSIBLE
WHEN THE KID IS TRYING TO EXPLAIN
HE NEEDS MORE TIME TO TAKE IT.
THE TELLER DOES NOT CARE
ABOUT THE MONEY IN THE DRAWER--
JUST THAT HER BOSS KNOWS SHE KNOWS
IT'S ALL EVEN.
THE WAITER DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR FOOD
BUT DOES CARE ABOUT YOUR GOOD TIME,
PARTIALLY BECAUSE OF YOUR MONEY,
AND PARTIALLY BECAUSE OF, YOU KNOW,
BEING A DECENT HUMAN.
IT IS NEVER ABOUT HOW I FEEL
IN ACADEMICS AND EVERYTHING ABOUT
I FEEL IN THE ACADEMIC BUILDINGS.
NOBODY IN CHARGE OF MY FUTURE KNOWS
WHO I AM YET. IT'S NOT ABOUT THAT.
THEY MIGHT NEVER.

Vegan Month 2013

My 5th Vegan Month has come to a close! It was a tremendous success.

General News:

-January is pretty low holiday/special event-filled holiday. An island in the seas of Reese's Trees and Hearts.
-My school and work schedule is actually made so I can eat a distinct lunch and dinner every day. It is so much simpler to be vegan if you can actually sit down and eat planned filling food. Constant snacking as a vegan just makes you slowly loathe mixed nuts.
-Every time I do it, more people remember and more people are excited to help in my dining needs. The conversation flows from "Let's get pizza. Oh, you can't." to "I found a place where you can get vegan pizza! We should go!" If you are happy about your commitments, I find people are generally happy to help you succeed at them. Pals joined me for no less than four vegan milkshakes during the month. Hill made veggie chili for our standing lunch date. Ro found vegan almond joys.
-I live within a two mile radius from amazing Thai, Indian, Med, Ethiopian, etc. Going out is not difficult.
-Whereas in the past I have had near (and, let's be real, actual) meltdowns over desserts, this year I was pre-emptive in sweet tooth cravings. I made huge batches of vegan treats and slowly ate through them during the week. I never felt lack. Lack is the devil's device, and removing that concept is key in...probably everything.
-I cheated twice. Once on accident. Once on purpose. I'm okay with that.

Moving Forward:

In previous years I have missed certain foods very much, but, at the same time, I have lost the desire for others. Like, I don't drink milk. I never have cheese in the house. I look at contents of soup cans. I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. This year I missed almost nothing. Really. Vegan month felt simple, freeing, joyful. I knew after this month veganism would be the rule and animal products the exception to it. Since the official date, most of my days are still all-veg, and the days that aren't often only include one cheat.

What I Eat:

-Endless combinations of beans + salsa, beans + marinara
-Tortillas filled with nut butter and fruit
-Oatmeal piled high with cinnamon and berries and cashews
-At school burritos without sour cream or pitas stuffed with falafel
-Hummus and veggies
-Salad with balsamic dressing
-Bagels and peanut butter and bananas
-Wheat pasta/rice and veggies
-Vegan cookie dough dip and cake puffs
-Soups!

It's not hard at all. I feel fresher, healthier, happier, more ethical!

But, Some Fun:

At midnight on the last day of Vegan January, Bisque presented me with a banoffee pie, which, despite everything I just said, I ate ravenously. The next morning in class, Hill pulled out a brown paper Dunkin bag with "Welcome to dessert month" written on it. Inside was a heart-shaped pink donut--three of my favorite things in one pastry.

 

It IS nice to have a planned bruchetta date with Ro and Shells. Sometimes, for the sake of culture, you gotta enjoy a lil goat cheese and tomato jam.

One Man's Trash

Re: newest Girls ep--I think we're all secretly so afraid we just want what we all want. Re: feeling everything--that is something I do not necessarily want.

Dunt n Dizz in da bathroom at Trelly's wedding. October 2012.

It's Valentine's Day.

Tell someone who deserves it you love him/her.

Tell someone else who doesn't deserve it.

He/she needs it.

State of the Alice

Two sugar cookies and imitation crab for dinner in the grocery store.

Currently wearing underwear and a bikini top reading about eroticism.

Haven't made my bed in two days.

Dove Promises were in my bridal shower gift jar from Phyl's wedding.

There was also a generic "fresh"-scented candle in the jar.

One bite and I knew all the candy was poisoned by the musk.

Ate it anyway because I was on my period and watching Girls.

The Promise said, "It's okay to have flaws!"

GD, DOVE! DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M ASKING FOR PERMISSION?

Accumulating Paper

"Hey, ____. How do you feel about me borrowing that play?" And my professor Indy blinked and awkwardly turned aside and answered a different question, but I stood patiently awaiting my response. The reading is due Wednesday. This was last Wednesday. He would have to part with his copy for a week. A little dinko copy. He lined up his stack of papers intently with his left hand. "Are you asking if you can actually borrow my copy?" He winced. So, I said, "Oh, it's okay," and started walking out of class. He asked, "Did you not...it was in the bookstore. There were copies in the bookstore." But I didn't go to the bookstore. I just bought all the big anthologies online.

Books, I love them, but also they're so annoying. You can't throw out a book. It doesn't seem kind. But, there are books I don't need. I try to tie off the pouch early. I borrow when I can. I e-read. I don't want to amass the paper piles. Or cardboard piles from Amazon. Or money piles transferred to Barnes and Nobles' shareholders.

I left class feeling...icky. Yes, just icky. I'm sure no harm was meant, but I guess it never feels good to be denied? What am I going to do? Dip the play in peanut butter? Is it just common policy, or is it just me? And to turn it back on me. Like how could I even consider asking when I should be spending my incredibly teensy stipend on Wally Shawn plays from the 90s? My nerve!

Furthermore, I just checked the e-mailed list of books Indy sent pre-school. Turns out I DID order them all, and this play was left off. Really now. Of course, I would sound insane to mention such a petty detail, which is why I am writing about it on my blog.

Aforementioned

"My mum used to say to me, 'You can't have fun all the time,' and I used to say, 'Why not? Why the ____ can't I have fun all the time?'"

Tell Me What You Thought About

Today was a solstice day:

-Silent study before sunrise. Lamplit.
-A great ep of Modern Family fuels my workout (Haley + that loser).
-Methods of Teaching Theatre class includes improvisation exercises.
-No students during Office Hours so I grade in the sun.
-Gabbing with Boulder in the far corner of Screenwriting lecture.
-We are short-staffed at work, and I manage everything/one, which is a little hairy, but makes me feel empowered like a pebble might feel empowered. As I clock out, my boss says, "Super Woman" and I pose.
-Many a giggle in the TA office with Hill and Blink.
-Blink, fellow Ethics TA, is loopy and threatens to play the "Thong Song" as students stroll in.
-I get a text telling me to take a bathroom break during the screening portion of class. I walk outside to find Hill and Bisque who present me with a vegan milkshake. And I eat it all! And I am being paid to do this!
-Ethiopian date with Shellz. Big ideas, memories of Sid, lentils.
-Work date with Bug! But we soon realize, we would not work. We would just have Bug + Alice times, and while wonderful, we cannot do such things tonight. Not tonight when I'm trying to ask for thousands of dollars. (Scholarship apps are due tomorrow.) But, we reschedule. That's an important thing--to reschedule.

A certain Kate Moss quote is coming to mind.

With My Hands Open

August. 2008. I was walking down Michigan Avenue with Kay. I wore my Cubs tee. He sported Wilco. Culturally appropriate. A spongey-top brunette hustled out of a Columbia building. She eyed my guy. My arm was linked in Kay's, and I gripped his bicep, a little tighter.

But years later I know if they were Meant to be I should have held my open palm on the small of his back, pressed it forward. Like Look. Look. This is this person, and if you two are better together, then please be so. It will only hurt me
to find out later.

And I have tried to move through this world with haaaaaaaands open. My fifth week improv intensive instructor would smack his hands across our arms if we crossed them. Mid-sentence even--SMACK. Don't close yourself off, we learned. I take it to heart. I try not to cross anything.

Rejection is a good thing. It is a clear communication that we have not found what we are looking for yet. Backwards--the place we seek has shut up. But, still. It's not it's not you it's me. It's just not, and that's a valuable foothold.

My first rejection letter is in my scrapbook. I sent a literary journal a lame short story. It wouldn't have felt right to have been accepted. Oh sweet Jesus, the embarrassment of knowing that drippy narrative was Fifel-style Somewhere Out There.

Scale

"Something changed then. I saw my life in scale: it was just my life. It was not momentous, and only now did I recognize that it had once seemed so to me; that was while _________ was watching. I saw myself the way I'd seen the cleaning women in the building across the street. I was just one person in one window. Nobody was watching, except me."

The Mississippi. April 2011.

Clams

Tough white shell.
Soft pouch.
Pearl.

Nonchalance

My dad being supes nonchalant last week.

"She holds her cards so close to her chest." Phyll told me this person said this to her about me several years ago. The phrase struck me because I had never heard it before. The phrase struck me because until then I had thought I was pretty open. But perhaps not. The phrase struck me because I didn't think this person even knew who I was. The phrase will now always strike me because this person is dead. A ghost believes I hold my cards close to my chest.

I act like a darn idiot on the daily. It's one of my best teaching tools. It's my preferred form of art. But I do hold things close to my chest. I do. And there's a point of contact where one can't anymore. For logic or clarity or honesty. The round's going to end. You'll have to share your hand. And when you do, man, man, man. Oh man. The chips, they're all in.