Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Burger King Dream

In another dimension I don't care about politics. I really don't know about politics. I probably forgot to vote. I don't have a higher degree, and I like any movie. I saw Sisters on the opening weekend. I've never researched factory farms, and I didn't soak in short stories about the complications of love. I like being squishy and eat Jr. Whoppers from Burger King whenever I feel like it. I drive there in my jeep. I have a job I don't care very much about, but it is simple, and the birthday parties that close down on Fridays are fun. I go on vacation once a year to a place without museums--as far as I'm concerned. I lay in the hotel bed until it's too late to get breakfast, so I get a muffin and a venti frap at Starbucks. The DVR is set for Two Broke Girls. I like watching episodes I have already seen. I haven't written since my college English 101 class where I plagiarized a paper I wrote in high school about a fashion designer I (in this dimension) have never heard of. I'm no homophobic, but I don't know any gay people, so I don't follow their civil rights. I have a nice boyfriend, so feminism doesn't interest me. I lose track of time playing Candy Crush and feel satisfied when I've completed a level. I envy this version of what could be.

Monday, January 30, 2017

Things Are Also Good

On the plus side, say the government doesn't exist right now, I am doing my solo show. My weirdo dream concept I've plotted for a year. There is nothing like doing a thing you want to do in the exact way you want to do it. I am grateful. I am proud. I hope I'm making pitters of change as I put on pig ears and bake the pizza puffs. It is connected. It can't not be.

Cast & Crew of Meat Cute

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Things Are Bad

The march was good. I cried, and I felt hope for the first time in months. There are a lot of people here. We are the majority. Bless the women marching in literal Antarctica. Afterward, I asked Puhg if we could get a fancy cocoa, so we took the green line west to a place that dunks a s'more donut in your cup. I called reps. I prepared for my shows that night and the following days.

I am shocked that so many awful things have happened in less than a week. The human rights, the health, all of it--need need need to be restored, but more than anything else, we must must must save our environment. That damage cannot be undone.

We tell each other it will be okay and then text the very same people "It will not be okay." We take turns now. I recognize I am going to lose a lot of things, and some of those I believe were too good to be true in the first place. So maybe we deserve it. But that doesn't mean I'm not scared.

When Obama won, a classmate of mine, sitting next to me in the computer lab wrote on Facebook "This is the end of America," and honestly he was right. Because Obama's win generated the hate that has made our current president possible. It is so sad. We are not as smart as we thought we were. We let our greed and our assumption someone else better than us was taking care of things end us.

I truly believe the billionaires know the planet is over and will rake in as much money as possible to begin the new world where their grandson's will be king of the remaining few. That's how insane I have become. Every angle I face I succumb to a conspiracy theory. I pray for a solution that hasn't crossed my mind any of these long dark nights.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Even Cowgirls Get The Blues

I let you hold me back. We were going to do a triathlon together, and I waited until the very last minute to sign up. We ran a practice two miles and you said we were too out of shape to do it. I wanted to start my projects at 20, but you called them stupid. I didn't write a play until we broke up. You didn't come to my improv shows. You didn't even ask about them. I spent my Saturdays with a book at your swim meets so I could watch you freestyle for 90 seconds. You planned a romantic walk, but I wore new shoes because I didn't realize we'd be climbing in mud. You called me a baby when I went home. I had $100 left from my semester abroad because I was a rockstar at budgeting, so I bought us a fancy dinner on the wharf. You told me you were going to send me care packages as we had a tearful goodbye. I checked the front desk in Kyoto every day. Nothing came. You told me you didn't like responding to my emails because you were too busy with homework. You borrowed my car all the time. In fact, you held onto the keys. So then you let your friends borrow my car too. You acted like I was a nag when I needed to drive again. You wanted to spend 80% of our time in your room telling me about what albums Pitchfork deemed worthy that day. I found a list next to your lamp of my flaws. There were only two--which was nice--but they were that you didn't like my best friend and you thought I had bad taste in music. I wanted to giggle and goof, so I did. With other people. You told me you were jealous of them and that maybe it was even inappropriate. You punished me by going to parties I wasn't invited to and not coming to ones I was. You always found the counterculture people who treated me like trash, but they were cool, so just let them be. You pressured me to be someone I wasn't. You were disgusted by how much I studied for our Shakespeare final but during the last class discussion said verbatim something I told you over lunch. At the time I thought we were over because you lied to me and were battling a felony. Thank god because I would have died with you. I thought I was a bad girlfriend because sometimes I didn't want to be around you. I felt too needy. But now I know you didn't follow through. You went to a concert without me for our anniversary and sent me a text message on Christmas. You weren't funny, but you told me I was uptight if I didn't laugh at your jokes.

In your defense, there were things I liked about you. I thought you were cute, and I kept the voicemail of you asking me out at 2 AM until I left college.  I loved your family. Once when I had to pay $300 for an unexpected repair, you took me to breakfast and drew a smiley face on the napkin. Honestly that's about it. I was grateful for letters your wrote me at camp and the occasional footrub. I didn't know those should be minimal requirements. The whole history should make me sad, but I never think about you. And when I do--it's with this sense of cartoonish breeze. I float high to the sky. I soar with the weights cut. At the time I thought you were the best I could do.

Monday, January 16, 2017

Every Person Comes Out

As our cart chugged up the silver ball, I hoped I would get stuck on something while we were at the parks. I'd never been stuck on something before. And then we did, right as we were watching the invention of the telephone. Halted in time watching the animatronic operator pick up over and over again.

Friday, January 6, 2017

The Episode of I Love Lucy With Ricky's Screentest

I watched it in 6th grade. In it Ricky is auditioning for the part of Don Juan. He has to practice his monologue, but every time he does it, it's so embarrassing. He can't cold read, he's nervous, the passion isn't there. Lucy tries to backseat direct him and he gets frustrated. At night he thinks he's alone, but she's creeping somewhere (kitchen?) and overhears him doing an amazing, passionate rendition of the piece. He just had to be alone. Most of us know we could do it alone.

My freshman year of college there was this super senior in the music department who made sort of a "deal" about not auditioning for 42nd Street because he was too busy working on his capstone. The practice rooms weren't ever super busy in the dungeon of the theatre building. Sometimes I would go on Friday evenings and practice playing Andrew McMahon songs. One Friday night down there I heard someone singing "The Lullaby of Broadway"--the lead actor's big number. But it wasn't the lead actor. It was that super senior giving it all he got in a ten foot by ten foot room alone.