2018

-sold out solo show run at The A
-didn't go on a diet
-got into MFM podcast
-taught two new college theatre courses (improv and diversity in US theatre)
-crushed a taped stand-up set
-studied with Mick Napier
-bunch of WNT shows on Saturdays at i_
-bunch of BWC shows on Saturdays at SC
-bunch of hodge podge HT shows whenever
-bunch of CSz shows including a weird children's run at 10 AM
-wrote short film
-produced short film
-finished writing my book
-ZERO BIG AUDITIONS! GOODBYE AUDITIONS!
-tried on LA lyfestylez like SoulCycle and fancy wifi-less espresso
-adorable apartment cake-tastic birthday
-Baltic Sea vacation (wow)
-gave a speech at Kale's wedding
-worked on my first major motion picture
-watched my first dang jokes get on TV
-played at UCB for the first time (then several more times)
-noted my first B___ show
-published in The H_______
-submitted to ___
-got referred for four a_______ jobs--even if they didn't work out/I didn't take them
-visited Dad twice (for fun, for purging)
-three workshop productions of my musical
-taught a week improv intensive on a Maine lakeshore
-drove across the country in a minivan
-godmom visit to Texas
-the impossible: found a nice, affordable LA apartment
-visited San Francisco for Puhg's 30th (Alcatraz!)
-saw Scream in an outdoor cemetery
-Palm Springs Thanksgiving
-100 canvassing phone calls
-bought a scooter, returned said scooter
-bought a car
-wrote a new pilot
-40 hours of professional consulting!
-12 hours of therapy!
-made a new friend, reconnected with an old one
-six double dates
-bought multiple jumpsuits
-hosted my mama twice
-wrote 301 hours, 78 hours self-business
-three resolutions: check and check and check
-attended a sound bath, felt the vibrations of old and stepped into sunshine of new, met with Sr for adventure bread and journaling, the hopes are out there--will I eat slower, will I be promoted, will I remember what I am doing every single day, will I give in to what could be

7-11, Hollywood, Nov 1, 2018

BLOGIVERSARY!

Alice Out of Context is ten years old! Before this blog I had three LiveJournals, a DeadJournal, and two Xangas. Maybe three Xangas.

The first four were basically public diaries of what I did that day (never proofread stuffed with inside jokes and random song lyrics). The Xangas morphed into poetry and short essays. Then in 2008 I decided I wanted something a little more "professional." I stopped using any place names someone could google to find me (like my college, my work, etc.) and started using pseudonyms for everyone.

For a while. this blog kept me grounded as a writer. In the past few years when writing has become more and more of my life, I rely on it less and less. It serves as a history for some of my special adventures and a weird cut-around log of some of my biggest fears, relationships, successes.

I am grateful to this lil page, which is weird because I created it. How can I be grateful for something I did? As if it's alive and has been here for me when actually I slopped the clay for it in the first place. But who am I to question thanks? Voices are important, and I've always been able to speak mine--however I wanted--here.

It's hard for me to know if 2008 Alice would be surprised by 2018 Alice or not. Interestingly, I don't think so. Every year I can't believe the progress I've made, and yet, I obviously understand it. I did it, you know? I was the one making the steps toward goals, change, whatever. And although I am sometimes amazed by my own life, it's always been inside of me. I am better but I am also the same. At 20 I wanted to work in comedy, and now I do. It took ten years, but in 2018 I got my first TV and film credits, my jokes are broadcast across the country, I met both of my 20s heroes. In fact, they know me by name. I look how I always thought I would look. I live in an apartment that, if I dug into my memory, I am sure matches the next decade daydream. There are parts of my life/me that I had never considered. I think younger me would be satisfied with those too, but sometimes I wonder if she wouldn't and I'm tethered to some stone behind me. Nothing conscious, of course.

Ten years is so many years, but it went by in a blink. I wonder how many people do the, "If I can just climb over that next month," cycle. Today I walked by an ivied wall. It was so pretty, and the sun was so warm, nothing else mattered.

the author, accidentally taking a photo of herself

Dear Evan Hansen, You Are A Sociopath (Spoilers)

1. It's not a funny bit to nod your head and agree with lies a grieving mother is grappling with. It's not even funny if you were just "following the advice of a friend." I wasn't laughing.

2. You committed fraud on a huge level. You stole 50K.

3. You left a memorial to a dead person based on something the dead person hated. Connor's mom told you Connor hated the old apple orchard. Now, he is immortalized in an apple orchard. It's like if I died and you raised money for a ham factory to be resurrected in my honor.

4. Oh boo hoo, you didn't have a college fund. Welcome to America, Evan. 1% of people's parents pay for college. You never even filled out a single scholarship essay from the heap your mom spent hours compiling.

5. Your mom works a lot and your dad left. This is hard. Does it justify using a traumatized girl's dead brother's death as a bargaining chip in a romantic relationship with her? No.

6. You rewrote someone's life and never set the record straight.

7. You made your mom feel guilty for a bad partner out of her control.

8. You were not punished for a single one of your illegal, terrible, ridiculous actions and yet you still managed to feel sorry for yourself.

I am very over stories of men who see themselves as underdogs and thus feel entitled to bend societal and literal legal rules to fully experience their privilege. Some of the music was very good.

Selective

I love a mystical story. A man finds a childhood photo of his wife, and he is in the background on vacation with his grandmother. That kind of thing. Everyone has one. A moment from the past that makes sense of the present. A baby picture of a pop star holding a microphone or a talk show host at age ten reading an Archie. Thirty years later she interviews an actor from Riverdale.

It's fun to think we are our own crystal balls, 8 balls, Ask Zandar balls, but more likely we sift through our endless experiences for the sense. It's a good question I guess. Is there magic, or is it only selective memory? There is something earthy about selective memory too, I know. Even then, way back then, some beating piece of ourselves chose to cling to this moment in a sea of moments as important.

Last week Diablo was talking to me about her amnesia, and I got to wondering, did she remember how we met? And truthfully she didn't. I admire her? Perhaps? How did she know we were close? I wrote a play she was the lead in. In was spring 2014 and she didn't remember it. She even asked if I was mistaken. I showed her the photos. Nothing. She had even commented under some of them on Instagram. No bells rung. When we met up a few months ago in LA we talked all night like old friends do but why did she trust me? We even dove in deep. Maybe her nervous system sent waves up even if her hardware failed.

My memory used to be airtight. It's murkier now. I have been the person random people would text and ask, "Who was that person we met at the party one summer? There were tiki torches?" I would give a library of intel. Today on our walk Shant reminded me of what I said last night at a party we went to. I had forgotten. Names? No. And so what are the support beams now? Who am I, and is there evidence or just a feeling? Or is the feeling the evidence?

I hallucinate in the mornings and don't know if the worry that pings me mid-afternoon was from a dream or from logic that felt like a dream. Have you written an email--not simple send-off--but a long hearty personal email, and then written it again a few days later?

A few weeks ago I couldn't shake this wooden beam. I was 11. I was told I might go on a trip that summer. Possibly to Australia? How, I am not sure. But somewhere I got the idea I might be going to Australia. I went to an acting camp at a local Catholic school instead. In my mind I chose it, but it's more probably there was no trip. I liked the camp. We did musical theatre numbers. My class did "Mame." I did improv for the first time. (I actually only played one game, got out very quickly, and the teacher never picked me again. But I remember watching the "older kids" play a genres game at the final showcase and being very impressed with a girl who could do a jazz radio dj character.) But this counselor (I wish I knew what age) overheard me tell a kid, "I was going to Australia this summer, but then I came here instead." The guy (in my head I'm clocking him at 30) interjected, "You could have gone to Australia, but you came here? That was stupid."

This sticks with me maybe because we have no control of what sticks with us. Or maybe because I felt to betrayed by an adult. After all, he was the one teaching me these skills for this thing that I loved. He was selling something he didn't buy. That's a weird wake-up. Or maybe because I have always feared I will make a wrong choice--typically in reference to theatre/entertainment opportunities. I have missed out on so much of life because of comedy commitments many people would say are stupid. I haven't regretted it. I have made a life from it. We all miss out, is the thing. All of us are missing out. We can't not. But then we have what we have, and if you're even half true to yourself, it's probably good.

But occasionally a choice stings. I'm still cleaning my most recent wound. I have the maturity to know that sad adult summer camp counselor in the suburbs is the stupid one. But I don't have the faith to know it's not completely untrue.