Starfish: A Modern Parable

A young boy woke one morning craving to see his old friend the ocean. He wiggled into a sweater, laced his sneaks, and made for the beach. It was early morning, calm. But the previous night had apparently not been so. Thousands of starfish lay on the beach, drying slowly in the rising sun. They must have been tossed from their lives by a storm, and, now, they were goners. The boy sadly walked along the water's edge observing the loss of so many tiny lives.

Then he noticed a figure just down the bend. He started jogging. As the boy came closer, he realized the figure was a man, hard at work, picking up starfish that weren't just finished yet and throwing them back to the water. The man moved with focus, determination. The boy watched a few moments and the man continued to work and the beach continued to look basically the same despite the efforts of this stranger.

"Excuse me, sir," the boy said.

The man barely paused to look over and kept searching for the next creature. "Yes?" he murmured.

"It's just...you're working so hard. But there are thousands. It will not matter."

The man looked at the starfish in his hand. "It matters to this one," he said as he sent the little star soaring over the blue tides. Then he smiled. The boy smiled too. The man let out a fat guffaw. "NAH," he boomed. "Truthfully, I just really like chuckin' starfish."

And then the man laughed. Laughed a lot. "Wait, what?" thought the boy. But the man kept laughing. In good spirits the boy joined in. The man cackled. Like, an uncomfortable amount? The boy felt like he really didn't have another option other than to also keep laughing? The man's face turned red. The boy's too, out of sheer terror. Oh my God, is that a gun in his sock? Why didn't I notice his ICP t-shirt? Am I gonna die today?! Is today really the day I'm gonna

Existentialism via Book Sale

November 2011.

Any day could be! So, love, work, enjoy, rejoice.

Breakfast Advice

Friday morning Chelle and Bug came over for breakfast pre-sketch show. Emergency gal chat over some wicked tasty sammiches.


Look at all the color! They were supes tasty. Marble rye bread, avo, tomato, egg, goat cheese.

Can't go into too much detail here, but, basically, Bug might really want something, but she might not be able to have it, so she feels backed into the corner of apathy. I strongly advised against that attitude. She shrugged. I started putting our dishes in the machine, and advice tumbled out of my mouth that my brain didn't even put there. I said, "What you have to remember is that you're a person who is going to die, so you need to be going after the things you want."

And, immediately, I wanted to follow my own advice. Not to toot my own horn, but TOOT! WE ALL NEED TO BE FOLLOWING MY ADVICE THAT I DIDN'T EVEN THINK UP.


Bug chompin'.

Eating And Watching TV

What I'm about to say is not a joke: I think I am the happiest ever when I am eating and watching TV.

There are caveats obviously--the food and television need to be good. The Office plus a sundae. Boy Meets World plus Greek yogurt. Breakfast burrito plus 30 Rock.

Obviously, my life amounts to much more than watching TV and eating. In fact, I probably watch an average of 2.5 hours of TV per week since starting grad school. But, legit, if it were possible to scientifically gauge my happiness, I'm pretty positive the studies would show that I would be happier with an episode of Mad Men and a slice of cheesecake than I would be if I were sitting in the audience of one of my play's opening nights on Broadway.

Clara is a really really talented artist and individual. But somehow, she seems to be fine letting that sit inside her, peeking out when it feels fun. And, obviously, as I've written before, I feel like a tiny perpetual guilt machine about art. Part of me does believe Clara is honestly one of the best writers of all time--all the greats included--and she needs to share that. It's her "duty." But most of me sees her happy and thinks that's actually way better than any "duty" she is called to.

These two revelations--what makes me happy and that Clara is happy--make me wonder...Can I give this art stuff a rest already? I mean, I still like it all, but should I stop trying? I mean, I wouldn't have gotten into school if I hadn't forced myself to write a new play last winter, if I hadn't have forced myself to go beyond my immediate understanding of writing in college and pursue an independent study of dramatic writing, if I hadn't always shown up to rehearsals ready to work...And, ultimately, I'm really really happy to be here.

But would I be happier on a couch hangin' out? At the end of everything, am I "doing good" with art as a means to have enough money to watch The Biggest Loser over pancakes?


The first thing I did when I moved into my new room. Hung the illustrated lyrics to "Last Straw, AZ" my sister designed for me.

YOU GUYS, I AM SERIOUSLY IN THE MIDDLE OF AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!? AM I ALLOWED TO JUST SCOOT BY OR SHOULD I KEEP TRYING TO, LIKE, DO STUFF FOR MYSELF AND THE WORLD?! I'M SO MANY BAMBOOZLEDS!

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.

Eating Animals

Veggie lasagna baked by Kay Summer 2010

Last night I got home late from an improv jam. I am so grateful I found this group. It's perfect. They're friendly, flexible with learning curves, but challenging. Last night, for example, I nailed nothing in four hours of working. But, I made progress--which feels SO good. There are definitely times I reflect on an exercise and realize I was the weakest link, but I am sucking it all down and learning so much.

I was beat and tapped on my window. Kay was over, lying in bed and reading Eating Animals. He opened the curtains, slid the glass, and I crawled in. The extra steps to a door are worth a lot when you're sleepy. He showed me something I had written in the margin of the book last year about nihilism. I explained. There are roughly four things that defer existential crisis for me:

1. Continuing my commitment to vegetarianism.
2. Running and exercise.
3. Writing--usually on this blog actually. It's bite-size.
4. Improv.

There's a lot else I love--but it gets tricky. Spiritual literature can be a savior or a jerk in times of pointlessness. Sweets can make you sick. Sleep can make you tired. The Office isn't always funny. You get chapped lips when you kiss too much. So, I thank you God for my four little reasons to get up in the morning.

You have to be the cutest gravedigger I've ever seen.