Cherry

Made a pan of brownies Sunday night. We conveniently had a new tub of Extreme Moose Tracks in the freezer too. Once I realized I also had a pint of heavy whipping cream there was no turning back from a full-on sundae. I spent a solid minute staring at the jar of maraschinos I keep on hand for Shirley Temples. In my bowl, two pipin' hot brownies, two scoops of quality frozen dairy product, topped with fresh cream. "Put the cherry on top," I told myself. I didn't feel like eating a cherry though. "Just throw it away later if you don't want to eat it. Complete it," I told myself. But why waste something, anything, just to be "right"? And "right" is clearly far too strong a word. Best? Not even. I wasn't even planning on taking a photo. Should we be picture perfect for no reason? Is a picture reason to be perfect in the first place? Ate the sundae plain. Putting a cherry in my seltzer tonight though.

I Just Want It To Be Great

I've never felt as sick walking into a theatre for rehearsal as I did today. I've been revising my solo show all week--posting up in the donut shop, running out to the grocery store for bear claws to consume at the kitchen table, tittering away in the morning before Puhg woke up on his birthday, pushing all my notes around the table in the gym foyer, sunk into the couch. It is not fun. I am not enjoying this. My director tells me if I just do what I did last time/last year, it will be good. But I want it to be great. I want to nit-pick and fill in gaps and waste no one's time or eight dollars. I suffocate inside the context of this script. I want every word to weave and stick like a perfect spider web. Instead, I have sloppy glue traps in the middle of monologues and concepts I don't know how to implement and a pressing fear that everything is boring.

As a "break" I went to VG alone last night. It's closing weekend of a play that had an intriguing email blast, and I had a show tonight, two tomorrow. I stopped at Walgreens for a bag of Riesens. I sat in the theatre alone chewing the caramels one seat away from an old lesbian couple and next to three college kids. The lights seemed to go down early. Was there pre-show music? Was it just very quiet? I suddenly heard so much. "I'm so happy I'm seeing this with you," someone whispered next to me. Another voice: "Did you get here okay?" Settling bags, phones turning off, leg pats, and settled butts. For the first time in a long time, a bitty proscenium felt like home.

It's hard for me to enjoy theatre anymore. Certainly not making it. And often not even seeing it. I'm too involved in the ingredients and gaging what I can learn. I remember seeing and doing my first improv shows. I wished they were endless. Shark said in the green room last month that he never goes to shows anymore. "I have ruined improv for myself," he said, "I'm glad I ruined it. I was destined to, but I ruined it." Too real.

I put myself through this torture. I'm the one who wrote the thing. I'm the one who applied for the space. I'm the one who cares so much. I could phone it in. I could eat the deposit. I could move. I've considered all of it. I'm sitting in my favorite diner with buffalo tofu in my tum. People have told me this show changed them, inspired them, was a joy. Today, I can't comprehend it. I do not feel like "YEAH, I CAN DO IT" even though I desperately wish I did.

Whiplash

-Whiplash was a perfect movie.
-The acting was spot-on, flawless, in hindsight looked hard but at the time so effortless and woven into the whole experience.
-I was captivated.
-I was scared and uncomfortable.
-I was concerned several times of sell-out story structure only to be surprised beyond my hopes for originality and meaning.
-We fail into what we're good at. We fight into what we're good at. These are both blessings.
-Playing the drums is way harder than I thought.
-Character development is not always king. Content. There's something to be said for content.

Muffy Stuff

Home again. It was a glorious week in Richmond as usual. Started with freezing rain, but by our last day together, the sky had cracked blue, we sat in the park next to a brook watching buffalo and journaling.

Something I admire about Muffy is her refusal of regret. It seeps from her. No regret, no, no, none. Horror stories are always qualified, "Obviously I think everything worked out perfectly." The here and now is what is, and from most informed angles, what is is perfect. You can either take that to mean, "at least for us middle class Americans" or an absolute, "for everyone there is perfection attainable." Regardless, if you're reading this blog on your technological device, something's going right for you in the cosmic scheme of things. Perfection is in everything.

Not to sound like a complete hippy, but it's fascinating to consider there is no past or future, only now. Not just in an inspirational speech way--yes, make the most of now--but beyond that. The past exists in our thoughts today, now. It becomes our present. Ditto future. Only this time it's not exciting to consider "the future is now." Mental toil over tomorrow and the next shadows what is here. The reliving reliving of the past makes it alive.

Pop-tarts demolished at Ted's Bulletin in DC.

I'd be the last person to say "forget your past" or "don't worry about the future." You should plan for the future, let the past inform who you have been. Who you are though, that's new. That's very new.

Deux

May 2012.

Today was the last day of school before fall break. I toted my new floral purse to work stuffed with the lesson, Dave Eggers, and a banana I stole from Ro's fruit bowl. At work I coached a student through a panic attack and my boss asked me if I would walk in the homecoming parade to represent the disability center. "No, my family is coming to see my thesis play." I told her, and she asked if they might rather see the parade. She wasn't kidding, which was actually refreshing. It's just a stupid play. I left at 1 PM, trotted out in my grey sweater, waited on a sun-doppled bench under the small tree out front of the design building. I love the concrete bridge, the cul-de-sac where people kiss and ride. Shells pulled up, windows down, and yelled, straight-up yelled, "ALLLL ABOOOARD!" I cackled like crazy. She took her lunch to see Don Jon* with me. We bought matinee tickets and joined three other people in the theater. Shells and I have a very similar sense of humor, and there is nothing like that.

We snuck foil-wrapped Chipotle into the movie. In the parking lot we remembered it was the first place we ever hung out one-on-one. We'd already become fast friends through sketch comedy, so one afternoon almost exactly two years ago we ditched everyone getting drinks after the show for burritos. I keep writing and deleting what I love about her because it's just boring to everyone else, but, mainly, I am so grateful I showed up in the desert with no one and two years later am surrounded by someones. Things move. There's nothing to be scared of.

*This is my favorite movie I have seen in 2013. A+.

Maybe It Would Be A Good Idea

Muffy gave me some interesting advice last week:

"Maybe it would be a good idea to be lackadaisical for a bit. Not all problems have to be resolved right now. It doesn't have to be a perfectly working machine at all times...I don't think you're imagining the problems...However, some problems are worked out in time, and maybe, if [it] were given more time, the problem could work itself out naturally."

I really appreciate this advice. Not because I like it, but because it completely blindsided me. What do you mean things don't have to be perfect all the time? Yes, they do?

Truly, when there's a snag in my life, I pride myself re: not letting it sit. I set out immediately to solve. I  have never considered myself a perfectionist because I recognize perfection is a very strange concept. But I do believe in progress. That's a watered-down way of saying I'm GD psychotic about things getting better. It's not that all changes come quickly or even at all, but I go absolutely batty if I am not at least walking toward or trying to walk toward a solution. Other options:

-sweeping things under the rug, don't ask don't tell type ish

-waiting to see what others involved might do

-deciding it's a problem not worth a solution

These other "options" make no sense to me. They make me physically uncomfortable. I must speak when in conflict with others, I must reflect when I am displeased, I must write a more interesting play, plan more dynamic lessons, run if I've been slow.

I get it, but I don't get it. Can anyone help me? How do I stop wanting to fix everything, often before it's even a problem for me? Highly responsible, highly neurotic. I know one trick is to remember problems we fixate on often do not come to fruition, or if they do, we are far more equipped to take them on than we had previously assumed we would be. I guess I know that. But, still. I can't eat it.

Applicable

"Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in."
-Leonard Cohen

“There are two things we should always be 1. raw and 2. ready. When you are raw, you are always ready and when you are ready you usually realize that you are raw. Waiting for perfection is not an answer, one cannot say 'I will be ready when I am perfect' because then you will never be ready, rather one must say "I am raw and I am ready just like this right now, how and who I am.”
C. Joybell C.

The Heat! (Some Spoilers, But, Like, Stuff You Coulda Guessed)

Welp. I loved The Heat.

Granted, I had an extremely generous mindset going into the theater--I wanted to love this movie. Oh, boy, did I want to love this movie. FIRST FEMALE BUDDY COPS, FEMALE SCREENWRITER, MIDDLE-AGE HEROINES, MELISSA MCCARTHY'S UNCONVENTIONAL BEAUTY! My gender equality dreamz exploding into unicorns.

Look, it's not GD American Beauty, but it's way way way better than, like, eighty percent of Will Ferrell's summer movies. I have way too much to think and say about this film, but this is my crummy blog, and I don't get paid for it, so I am just going to give some bullet points.

-It was just as exciting to see women run around with guns and narrowly dodging explosives as it would be watching men. Truth. Of course the amount of violence is problematic, but that's not what I'm focusing on right now.

-Witty, gritty women. Some of the banter and one-liners. #SupesSmartDialogue #SupesSmartDialogueInLadyMouths

-I was worried at first when the women were so horribly opposed, but I had to recognize that they were not just competitive women (cough, Bridesmaids), they were just two opposing protagonists. It's a buddy cop movie. That's how it goes.

-Perhaps women can be a little more emotional, but they don't have to be. The women become friends/learn from each other, but they maintain a playful hate/love relationship until the end. Like, women (especially women in the FBI maybe?) can be affectionate jerks.

-No sexualization besides minor comedic club dancing. More awkward than body-focused. In buddy cop comedies, we don't need to actually get into a dude's six-pack. Same goes got Sandra's bangin' bod.

-THAT said, the women talk about each other's appearances more than average cop duos might.  (Although, it does happen. Opening scene in 48 Hours.) But, let's be real...that's part of being a woman. That stuff matters more. It's natural, they would make it matter more in their conversation. It was never drippy. It was punchy and often entertaining.

-Men also commented a lot on their appearances/ages/hygiene. I think this may have been overblown. (The villain always commenting on the relative "hottness" of the pair.) But, possible (sad). It was done comedically like, "Oh, great! This silly guy not being attracted to Melissa LOL." In seriousness, I'm sure true male villains do use appearance as a wedge to make their female victims feel uncomfortable. But, that would be a different genre.

-Lack of romantic focus. Each woman had a little backstory (I'm wondering if to prove they weren't gay?) but not even a B plot worth. Not even a C plot worth.

-The supposedly touching friendship moment was actually touching for me. I wonder if it was just written well or if I could connect more as a lady. Is this what I have been missing out on bromance movies all this time!? Seriously felt slightly choked up. During The Heat.

-There was a big ol' lack of other women. One one hand, this was probably accurate. Female cops in high places? Meh? It helped show a subtle feminist message: woman against everyone else. But, I thought that may have been too strong. Of course Sandra wants a promotion that her male boss can't see she deserves. What if it had been a woman? Maybe, I'm reading too much into it.

-These humans were supremely unlikable at the outset and didn't get much better (although they grew on me). Perhaps showing some negative women blown up? I think no. I think that's just what comedy is. They were whole humans. That's the important thing. I mean, we can't complain about lack of women in film if we expect them all to be perfect. Perfect is boring.

-The plot skeleton was pretty intriguing. The cops are on the trail of a huge drug bust. Kinda one of the less important rings of investigation? (According to me, who, you know, doesn't know anything about the worst impacts of coke economy.) I guess it's comedy, so murders aren't the best bet. But, still...something about the women succeeding at a pyseduo-fruitless mission...Hm.

-For a female-centric movie, there were still a lot of dick jokes. But, part of standing up as a woman is making aiming some guns at guy crotches.

-No one ever made fun of Melissa's weight or even alluded to it. #SoFreakingHappy

-Mainly, SO COOL THAT THE WORD "MISOGYNY" IS JUST CHILLIN' IN A SUMMER BLOCKBUSTER!

Things are happening, and I feel really excited for the future.

Hi. Bye.

Part I: Hi.

April 2013.

Today is Muffy's birthday. Hi, Muffy. Happy Birthday. I love you. You are my best friend.

Everyone who meets Muffy either loves her or at least recognizes there is some weird hippy dippy force radiating from her. She is that good. This is legit.

In honor of her day of days, three things I love about her:

1. If you are getting gas, she hops out and stands with you.
2. I have literally never seen her be judgmental about someone's appearance. More than that. She's not someone who refuses to show judgement, she is someone who doesn't seem to feel it. Big diff.
3. She wrote this to me in an email a week or so ago after seeing Red:

"Seeing the play also reminds me that expressing through art is not the end and all. And if it’s the ego that wants it, well, the ego’s never going to be satisfied. Rothko finally produced the perfect masterpiece in Houston, but he still killed himself. So, we should be basing our actions on something other than the ego—of course on Love."

Part II: Bye.

People die every day. But others live every day. And overall, I have to believe the good is winning.

Muse! Concert! Phoenix! 2013!

-brilliant performers in terms of filling a fat stadium with energy

-visual aspects of the show: rad x a milli (lasers whaddup)

-so darn danceable--and dance we did--hop, sway, twirl!

-best song: "Madness" (for singability, technical effects, colors)

-worst song (but honestly still not even that bad): "Liquid State"

-I feel like a part of history now that I've officially watched the lighter evolve into the flashlight app for iPhones

-the line "this ship is takin' me far away/far away from the memories of the people who care if I live or die" is so amazingly romantic in every sense...and live, it made me consider the people who do care if I live or die, which is, like, the point of art

-called my sister during "Supermassive Black Hole" and she texted "SUPER MASSIVE JEALOUS KISSES"

-sound quality: crystal clear

-as always with huge concerts, I wish there was more personability, but Muse tried their best with the thematic set-list, with the friendly retorts, with the stark and sad video footage of our current world

-people always rave about how Muse is da best live band ever, but, like, yeah...they have an extremely valid point

Video Pyramids!

The night was warm! The night was young! Bisque and I drove off to meet with our other concert-goers. Everything was perfect, so I said so. And our windows were down. We approached three people  on foot. "They should know," he said. So I yelled at them. I yelled, "EVERYTHING IS PERFECT." And one yelled back: "Woo!"

How much are you worth?
You can't come down to earth.
You're swelling up, you're unstoppable.

Bliss

Clara in AZ. September 2012.

When Clara started dating her ex-fiancee two years ago, she told me about their date when the boy wore serious work work work boots and a furry beard. He had gained pound and pounds since they had met, and she was on horrendous acne medication. A stocky bear and a tiny pussing nervous laugher. They fell in love, the first time for her. And she told me about this, she said "I always had an idea of what I would be when I could finally deserve someone perfect. I would have been fitter, had an education, clear face, poised dignity"...but that's not what she was. The good finds you in the state you're meant to have it. (Which is all states?) Real happiness isn't when there's zero discomfort, uncertainty, bad haircuts, mid-terms to grade. I hope not. Because then it will never come. Real happiness is Joy Despite.

Everything about you is how I'd wanna be.

Your freedom comes naturally.

Everything about you radiates happiness.

Now I won't settle for less.

On This Per-Fect Day-Ay

Yesterday was a horribly unproductive wonderful day.

It is amazing how fast a promise of "We will all grade and study at my condo until 4 and reward ourselves with vegan milkshakes even though we just had lunch at Thai Basil" between Ru, Kale, and me turns into "Except isn't it time for Alice to get a new ringtone?"

We got the shakes anyway.

Someone planned a theatre mixer for professional/academic reasons, but the main thing is Hill, Ru, and I got together for free spanokapita and lemon bar reasons. Ru stuffed his pockets full of brownies for our long walk home.

At night there was sketch comedy and my improv team beat our rival sister troupe in a battle show. Last of the semester. I was awarded some Top Ramen with "MVP" written on with marker. It smudged onto my fingers. I washed them in the In N Out sink.

Ru, Ro, Shells, Dronin

"Aren't you coming to the party?" texts. I reply, "No, thank you!" and it is time for bed.

The rest of the weekend will be so full of production, you may as well call me a sweatshop.

Perfection: Part IV

Sushi remains. The Loop. March 2011.

In Dramaturgy we were discussing how we can go forward as the next generation of theatre with good marketing plans. Theatre is so important to society, but it will vanish if we can't get more money! We agreed big time. We nodded.

Then, Brunnel laughed. Brunnel is from Brazil. She explained, "This is all we ever talk about in Brazil. This exact same conversation. 'How do we get more money? We have no money. What are we going to do?' I was excited to come here to hear a new conversation. But, no, it is the same."

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.

Perfection: Part II

Hein Shrine. Kyoto. 2008.

There are two options:

1. Act, even boldly, and be able to defend your action to anyone that ever asks.
2. Don't act if you cannot defend that action. Even if you only can't explain it to one person.

And I took you in right then and there,
and life took on a new form.
No more stayin' out all night.
No more killin' ourselves just to make ourselves feel alright.

Perfection: Part I

"Perfection is gained only by perfection."--Mary Baker Eddy

It's like DUH. How else would that work? Yet, it's so tempting to wait for perfection to materialize in us, isn't it?


St. Louis. New Year's Eve 2011. Photo by Pookie.

To a Long and Healthy Life

It occurs to me that people in Shakespeare's time did not live half as long as we do today. Yet, while watching Romeo and Juliet, I am sure both audiences felt rustled by the wheat fields of tiny hatreds they harvested in their hearts, felt crestfallen seeing that last poisonous kiss.

It doesn't matter the girl only had another, what, fifteen years anyway? Tragedy, tragedy--it's arbitrary and universal, no? Every age seems just too young and just too old. Goldylocks to infinity.


MARRIED. MUFF & JAMBA. Love in October 2010.

I have just started The House of the Spirits by Isabelle Allende for my dramaturgy class. I like it okay so far. I read this today:

"I was about twenty-five then, but I felt as if I had only a little life ahead of me to build my future and attain the position that I wanted." Which...is how I felt starting school, but I've been since calmed 1. By my creative fix coming in through improv and comedy. And, 2. Because there is no perfect life, creation, success, or, even, attempt.

SIDE: I know my closing lyrics today are ultra-cheeseball, but the song is quite beautiful and featured in Baz Luhrmann's R + J.

Pride can stand a thousand trials.
The strong will never fall,
but watching stars without you--
my soul cries.
Heaving heart is full of pain--
oh, oh, the aching.
'Cause I'm kissing you, oh.
I am kissing you.

Perfect Day

Today I asked my sister what he perfect day would look like--all bets off. Then, she asked me. Without thinking too much, just going with my gut, I thought of this. Now, several hours later, I stand by my gut answer.

-Wake up and pray/meditate outside as the sun rises.
-Go on a long relaxing run through the desert, listening to a mix of five-star music.
-Take a Japanese bath.
-Curl up in bed to watch a new episode of The Office or SNL while hair dries.
-Have breakfast at a restaurant with a couple/few very good friends. Order several dishes including (but not limited to) cinnamon french toast, chocolate chip muffins, avocado goat cheese eggs benedict, greek yogurt, fruit smoothies.
-Spend several hours on a beach with a group of high schoolers/college kiddos, answering all their life questions and encouraging them to make good choices.
-Rehearse for a musical theatre production. (A good one--obvi.)
-Enjoy a light meal (bagel? sushi roll? a little palak paneer?) and iced coffee while reading a novel.
-Perform in an improv show with a small and sincere cast.
-Go out for dessert with the cast of the show. While at the dessert find out one of my castmates is anti-gay rights and convince him/her to see the light.
-Sleep with windows open, able to see moon and stars.

This exercise filled me with gladness because all the elements of my perfect day are attainable to me, and probably will be, for the rest of my life. No parasailing or expensive restaurants, no work at a career I can't have--just helping kids, doing theatre, singing, dancing, eating breakfast. Life is really good! Perfection is within reach! The kingdom of iced coffee is upon us!

Perfection

Watching this documentary on advertising and women last night called "Killing Us Softly 3" wasn't, you know, completely inspiring or anything. But, I did glean one awakening for myself. Although I am, for some reason, one of the lucky girls who is pretty much totally content with my self-esteem, NOT being "perfect" is still certainly a fact I have accepted about myself. I had never realized that I feel that way. It's like...I am totally content with Me, but I still succomb to the idea that there is greater beauty and more fabulous appeal out there that I just won't ever have. I think I can safely say that most women feel this way. Even models. Maybe especially models.

Once I realized this, I was struck by something even more saddening. Does that mean most guys are aware of this concept not only for themselves, but for girls they date? When a guy dates a beautiful and wonderful girl, does he think "this is the best--at least for what I can do. Do I feel that way about men?

A castmate from Wonderful Town once shared with me how in our English definition, Perfection seems to be the most and best--on the edge or totally ungraspable. In an African language (excuse me for forgetting) the English "Perfect" was determined to mean "not too much and not too little".