Alice in Shipland: Sick Slug 1.0

When we last left our heroine she was lonely and sad about to start yet another Caribbean tour—the ultimate impossible conundrum. Would she make it?! Guess what? She did.

-Sunday night involved waking up for dinner, eating a baked potato at molasses pace on the pool deck (fresh air) while everyone around me did the hustle, buying a ton of water and Gatorade, and curling up to watch the Katy Perry documentary, which I cried several times during.

-I have been supremely productive onboard. I write every day and have revised my musical, written the first draft of a solo show, published a theatre ed essay, and am still chugging. I hadn’t yet watched a movie. Oh, did that change. This week was about rest and survival. I pounded through episode after episode of Better Call Saul and watched both Magic Mikes.* For most of the week, a huge majority of all food looked scary and/or gross. For some reason French fries looked okay. I hadn’t eaten literally one fry since coming aboard, and suddenly, with no other options, I was plowing through multiple plates a day. Yolo.

-Major moment of hatred in Cozumel. There is a long walk from gangway to port, so middle-aged men pedal bike taxis up and down for interested cruisers. They work for tips only. As I walked slowly down the strip I heard a voice screaming behind me, “Out of the way, out of the way! He gets a bigger tip if he wins!” A woman riding a bike taxi was yelling at her driver to “giddyup” and beat the three taxis far far ahead of them. She hollered at everyone passing about how she wanted to win. She laughed joyfully. What was worse: the driver totally bought in and pedaled his brains out. He was huffing and puffing, leaning full into his handlebars, sweating madly. I was horrified and legitimately wanted to smack the woman in the face. I watched as the driver miraculously beat two of the three other taxis. A woman in the third-fastest taxi patted her biker’s shoulder in a demeaning sweetness, “You tried.” The Devil Tourist meanwhile jumped out with glee and put four crumpled dollars in her driver’s hand. In any other situation I would certainly accost her. These. Are. Humans. Not. Horses. But, I work for a cruise ship, and I can never be even remotely confrontational to a passenger. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

-In Honduras in lieu of a beach day I went to an animal sanctuary. It was only a few minutes away and cost ten dollars to get in. I walked through the butterfly garden and learned the park mashes up papaya and beer to get the insects drunk so they will mate more. I saw a huge-winged blue morpho butterfly! I learned about those in 4^th grade through my avid playing of Amazon Trail the computer game! I saw agouti, held a kinkajou, and monkeys jumped on my head. And then I went back to the crew lounge to send a few business emails. MY LIFE.

Kinkajou!

-An hour before curtain it was decided it was my turn to host the big show. I rehearsed a couple times and halfway through standing in a spotlight giving a spiel to 1,000 people I don’t know I realized how incredible it is that that feels like nothing. I still love my job, but the magic “omg I am performing for SC!” has worn. Like how I now spend ZPill and MB’s scene backstage trying to balance a tennis ball on my hand instead of, like, soaking in how amazing the history of this theatre is/how lucky I am etc. etc. whatever and ever amen. I don’t mourn this. It’s necessary. If people were always in childlike awe, we’d just be slack-jawed tubs of blood.

-So, there were eleven Elvis impersonators on this cruise. There’s an annual “celebration” of Elvis impersonators? And this year the 300 Elvis fans gathered on a cruise ship going to the Caribbean? And I snuck into a balcony seat for the private showcase on Friday where EACH ELVIS PERFORMED TWO NUMBERS. Literal hundreds of old ladies recording a buncha fat dudes shake their hips around. Several Elvii repeated the phrase, “The more noise you make, the more I shake” and bitties would shriek. Saturday morning an Elvis stood next to me at the omlette bar. My heart quickened. He was wearing typical schlub clothes and sneakers but his hair was quaffed and he really did look like Elvis. I was actually star struck. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

-Walking forward to aft of the ship I often take the outside promenade—an opportunity for fresh air. Strangely, one can go several hours in the middle of the ocean without fresh air. I was doing a quick trot to my call on Friday and was stopped dead. The moon was brilliant. It was perfectly circle and shining like a pearl in the sky. A hundred clouds—decades deep—surrounded it. The beauty stunned me. I soaked in the light as if it were a shower.

-During the family friendly show MB and I played awkward teenagers whose parents had just married. It was New Choice, so she said she admired me for my fashion DING the amount of smores I could eat DING the fact that I could do two cartwheels in a row. I practiced cartwheels religiously during the Georgia Olympics. I was sad to learn I would never be a gymnast because I was too old when I became interested. But, guess what, years and years later I cartwheeled in front of a clapping audience, so dreams, when given enough time and sleep, do come true.

-Blue Eyes moved to Mobile after grad school—less than two hours away from New Orleans. “Sure, we’ll come out to visit,” he emailed me a couple weeks ago. What a sight for cruise life eyes! These friends from another planet! We ate chubby hipster donuts (flavors: cereal and milk and seven-layer). We walked down Magazine Street’s dozens of boutiques. I closed my eyes to suck in the honeysuckle perfuming every corner. I felt the hugeness of the world beyond not only the ship but comedy in general for the first time in a long time, and I sat in that feeling like a real cozy lawn chair.

Blue Eyes and wifey! And donuts.

*The original was excellent. The sequel unentertaining, poorly-written, and marginally offensive. Channing Tatum tho.

Rejection: Part I

I had three big rejections in a row a few days ago. I've written previously about how important getting used to rejection is, but sometimes when they come in vicious waves, there's not much else to do but go grocery shopping alone, but a large bag of flamin' hot muchies, and watch Dance Moms.

The worst has passed, but I did quite a bit of soul searching over the span of three days. I dug deep into what rejection truly is and how to cope thanks to many talks with friends, blogs, spirituality articles, and even a lecture by Carl Sagan.  I will try to synthesize what I learned from my "study" in pieces here.

One cool thing is it's a really great self-exploration exercise to figure out what rejections have stung the most for you, and if there are any you actually still hold onto. I've learned a lot about even close friends by asking about what their memorable rejections have been. Rejections that wouldn't bug me, really hurt others and vice versa. For me, I've discovered a huge rejection, when warranted, dissipates in the breeze for me. On the other hand when someone rejects me from something I know I can do, I it's very hard for me be chill about it. EVEN when in hindsight the rejection worked out for my benefit or something, I am itched by someone misjudging my ability. I'm glad I figured out my rejection pattern because I think it will help me deal with it in the future. I am not one hundred percent sure about how to say, "C'est la vie," when I feel I have been incorrectly assessed. Yet. But now I know I need to know.

Andrew McMahon at the Castle Theatre, 7.17.14

1. Opened with "I Woke Up in a Car." First song of Andrew's I loved. Driving in high school fall. Windows rolled, owning the world. The first notes plunked. I was there.
2. He always plays with his feet. He always jumps off the piano. Scottsdale to Bloomington, I applaud his earnestness to be his brand.
3. He doesn't body surf anymore. Now he just stands in the crowd. And that is somehow more electric.
4. This time, I decided to be in the waiting line. My fanship has changed significantly in the years I have adored this music. I recognize bits of it in other fans. I troll the Instagram posts with his hashtags and see our happy faces among the desperate souls who cried, who had to tell an important story, who couldn't speak. These things are okay, but I did not want them to be me, and now they aren't. So now I am ready to happily shake hands and say thanks and go on into the night and not think about it think about it think about it.

5. There are songs I can barely hear. This is the 8th time I've seen him. 8th time I've heard "Dark Blue" live. Billionth time not live. It has been stretched like taffy. But this time was pretty exciting because this crowd was insane. I could barely hear a word of the song from the speakers. The screaming, the screaming.

6. His new single about his daughter is fantastic. This could be the year this name means something to the universe. Fitting as he's the satellite.
7. His music is still my favorite. That doesn't change. It is not him, though. He is the pane through which I have lived. Yes, SoCo is nostalgic. Yes, I heard the new Jack's in Japan, then my first year of grad school on a walk to the lake. This EP in a cabin in Maine. That single in my St. Louis bedroom. I know exactly where I was. Like these songs are a natural disaster (come on, sweet catastrophe). So, yeah, my arms fly up during "Resolution." I jump at the sight of the telltale harmonica. We all know what that means.
8. The song for a long goodbye sends us away, off, into the night.

I can see the colors runnin'
when I hear the music play.

Lamplight

Sometimes it feels like I could travel the entire galaxy and only be a hair closer to finding a light for the darkness. Even then, the light is barely flickering. One little teacup candle, far far away. In a windstorm. By a fan. And then the person sitting right next to me just, like, has a lamp.

Take a tip from me, don't go through the park

when you're on you're own. It's a long walk home.

Andrew McMahon at Martini Ranch in Scottsdale

Last night I saw Andrew for the 7th time in concert. Some things:

-While Ro and I were parking, we missed a turn and had to double back a couple blocks from the venue. Stopped at a light, a thin, blond man in a button-up crossed us. It was Andrew. So, of course, my natural reaction was to open the car door and SCREAM, "YAY!" He turned around, laughed, smiled, pointed, and said "hi." I am so glad I've met him before. Otherwise we would have had to stalk him, which I'm sure, you know, isn't his favorite thing.
-The show was probably oversold. And it was a teeny bar. People were spilling out the door. And it was so hot. I sweated harder last night than when I ran a marathon.
-Openers were both excellent! Barcelona and Schematic! What opening bands should be! Barcelona did a cover of "Fast Car" that was da most beautiful.
-I've been tweeting at Andrew for a month periodically asking him to play my favorite song at the show. I know requests AT concerts are usually pretty hard for musicians because they're just not ready, and they have a setlist, and like, also, can you just not be a jerk and command your entertainment? So, Twitter. The thing is my fav Andy jam is not on any records, and it's not well-loved by fans, and, look, I don't know why I love it so, BUT I DO. Um. And then. UM. HE WALKS ON STAGE AND OPENS WITH "LAST STRAW." SO LIKE WHAT?! I was floored. The crowd was NOT diggin' it. I could see about fifteen people in my entire crowd who were singing along. Andy launched into "Mixed Tape" right after as an apology. BUT MY DREAMS CAME TRUE!
-Andrew is just a fantastic performer. And he's not letting 30 take him down. He still jumped off the piano, played with his feet, rocked hard into that mic. Was a friend, told the stories.
-I want people to stop making him play "Konstantine." He did it well, but he was obviously resigned. And he skipped the piano solo. He's over it, y'all.
-By now, between SoCo and Jack's his discography is pretty immense. There's just so much I would have loved to hear, but I need an eight hour concert. The set was mostly the big hits, which obviously makes sense. But. You know. This was my sixth time hearing "Dark Blue" and my zeroth time hearing "If I Die."
-I DID hear a couple newbies. He played two new tracks from an upcoming EP, and I had never heard "Television" or "What Gets You Off" live before.
-OMG dancing. Especially during "The Resolution" and "If U C Jordan." Holy North, was it a work out.
-I will never forget Ro's arms and mine to the sky wailing I've got friends who help me pull through.

It's all jumbling together, but I think this was the setlist:

Last Straw

Mixed Tape

Straw Dog

Television

She Paints Me Blue

Learn to Dance

Watch the Sky

Resolution

What Gets You Off

Bruised

Swim

Holiday From Real

I Woke Up in a Car

New Song: Schesia (?)

Dark Blue

If U C Jordan

Konstantine

La La Lie

The height of my Andrew obsession has passed, but, come on. He's the Mahon.

Well I'm always comin' down from the night before when I met you.

Oyster Bar

These guys are my saving graces, which could not have been predicted a year and a half ago.

Photo from my boot camp graduation. JK from closing night of Drones.

Guess what I'm done writing you songs.
I'm far too unstable to settle--
I doubt that the doctors are wrong.
So I'll wait by a palm tree, a palm tree, a palm tree.

Well I've got friends who
(La La Lie)
help me pull through
(La La Lie La La La Lie).

City of Angels

We lost our regional competition for the National College Improv Tournament. In the first round. Bum-town. SERIOUS bum-town. But, c'est la vie.

This morning I actually got sad thinking about it. I wasn't sad after it happened. I was too excited to see my friends! My beautiful LA friends who came to see me perform a sub-par improv set! And Jammin took us to a veggie grill! And we had froyo! And I got to spend quality time with Dizz and be surprised by Yapan boyz! And then everyone was partying like mad when I got back to the hotel! And then when I was going to sleep I was too excited about brunch! And then I was excited to be home in my own bed! And then I passed out before I could eat dinner or brush my teeth!

And then I woke up.
And I have nine million hours of research to do. And class. And work.
And I suddenly remembered waking up in a pool of sweat last night, so I had taken off all my clothes.

And I got sad.


Right after we lost. Look at most of 'em tryin' to be troopers! I'm clearly just amped about friend time.


Jamin. Always and forever my FAVORITE improv guy.


Dizz at brunch. I love this girl. We ate a cactus omelette. We did not see Jake Gyllenhaal.

Regardless, I had a GREAT weekend. I know I have a lot of opinions, and I do things like hate Chic-Fil-A for firing gay employees or refuse to play racially insensitive car games, but truly I'm such a creme puff. I love these new improv guys with all my heart, and I love my old pals with whom I got to spend only magical moments with.

Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner.
Sometimes I feel like my only friend.
Its the city I live in, the city of angels.
Lonely as I am, together we cry.

Perfection: Part III

A couple years ago I had to attend a motivational sports talk. It was mainly supes lame, but the speaker said one thing I really liked. He said the stereotypical, "Perfect practice makes perfect! GO ALL OUT IN PRACTICE, DUDES." But, he unpacked that explaining we often hold back just a smidgen in practice because we're worried we will somehow preemptively burn out for game day. But, he explained, that defeats the whole purpose of practicing! The point is to slowly get better with every practice. How can we ever get better than our best if we never even get to our best to excel past it?

This is how I feel about writing. For a while I would get ideas and hold on to them, stockpiling. "That's a good idea," I'd think. "I'd better save it away for when I really need it." But, then, I gave myself the goal of updating this blog every day, so I use up my ideas as they come, and guess what? I don't run out. Writing begets writing. When I started writing sketch again after a couple years hiatus, I had the same worry. I made a small list of sketch ideas in my notebook, and I thought I'd better parcel them out throughout the semester. But, then I just wrote whatever I could think of, and, guess what again? I get more ideas every week. So many I don't have time to write the things I think of.

I have a suspicion this is how all things work, but my experience kind of ends with writing. And perhaps loving. Because I think loving begets loving too.


I stayed up all night writing my final midterm paper. When I arrived at today's sketch meeting, Chelle had this pumpkin latte for me! She used my name because hers is hard for people to hear sometimes.

Attack It Now

Tokyo, 2008

Today was another snow day here, but I still had work to do. I shoved on my boots and trekked to the office. No one else had come in. I was alone at my desk--half nose to the grindstone, half a child jumping on her bed, or, in my case, playing a video of the slide theme song from Mario 64 Vince sent me.

And suddenly, the heart heave was back. But today it was a heart pop. A little POP.

OW, I said. What's going on in there?

Wizzy was on GChat, so, being alone in the office and all, I started talking with her. I didn't have a direction at first, but after a few minutes of chatting around the problem, I was able to figure out what was bugging me, and she, of course, gave me some great ideas to help squelch the POP.

Done. I'm glad I attacked right then. Right at the first POP I said, "Halt. Somethin' ain't right, and that ain't right. REINFORCEMENTS!"

It's like what Hilmo told her camper who claimed she always gets homesick at the end of the first week of the summer. Hilmo was like, "You better take care of that now, lady friend! If you saw a monster one-hundred miles away, but coming towards you, would you just wait until it was right in front of your face to do something, or start figuring out resolution immediately?"

Well, dur! Why do we ever wait!?

**IN OTHER NEWS I HAVE MADE IT TO THE INTERVIEW PORTION OF THE JET APPLICATION.

I am the road leading to no return--secret of life nobody want to learn.

I Love Everybody.

My boss at The Writing Center. A true scholar.

The final nail is in the coffin on my first graduate school application. I feel...nervous. The fatty envelope is gone, and I keep thinking of all the things that would make me a good applicant that I didn't have space for in my statement of intent.

I really may not get into either program I applied for. Both only accept two students per year. Splat. I don't think I will be crushed if I get denied. I'll end up trying again. But, right now what's really important is how supportive everyone has been. So many people have now read and offered feedback on my manuscript submission. People came out of the woodworks to lend an eye to my statement of intent. Including the bff from high school. Including the boss above. And EVERYONE has been so encouraging. I LOVE EVERYONE FOR LOVING ME!

Okay. That's enough emotional barf for one day.

Chang chang changity chang shoo bop that's the way it should be

Missouri Loves Company

In starting new things you often come across snags and bumps and jostley old bridges. It has been incredibly comforting for me to be talking to other people who agree with me. I mention what happened with this paperwork, with that person, with those situations...and people don't jump on the negative bus, but they say, "Oh, that's not acceptable!" Or, "I hope you did something about that." It's ESPECIALLY wonderful when the situation is the same. When someone says, "Oh, I know that process, I went through that, that was no good." I'm like, "Yeah! Thank you for seeing that!"

I really don't believe we are meant to agree with problems and Wrong an feed it...but it is necessary for others to let you have that. To be the person to say What You Are Feeling Is Valid. I've Been There. Not in the Oh, Boo Hoo, Everyone's Been There way, but the Yeah. Here's How I Did It way. I thank you. I thank you all who see That and who speak up for it. Who reassure, who reunite, who rekindle love and hope.

And I could make you pay and pay, but I could never make you stay.



This photo makes me happy and grateful. August 2010.