Defense

Today at 3:30 MST I defended my Master's thesis. I wasn't too worried.

My committee (four professors who have been giant shaping mechanisms for three years) sat smiling at a rectangle table. They were good-natured because I brought them cookies and because they knew what I knew. The heavy lifting is in the distant past now--my play opened half a year ago, my comprehensive exam was in February.

They asked me a few questions. They made a few comments. The feel was "Good on you" and the meeting was more "You have a lot of places you can go!" vs. "Let's navel-gaze at where you've been." I feel excited to move on. I love/ have loved school. But this chapter is over, and I have no desire to drag my feet.

I had to leave the room. I felt a pang of concern. It's strange to stand outside doors while people talk about you. I waited longer than I expected to. Wasn't it just yay or neigh? What's taking so long? Is someone asking I do more revisions of something? I stood still because I had nothing in my hands (which never happens anymore--hi, cell phones). The door opened. They said I'd be a Master. They all hugged me.

I don't usually love hugs, and this wasn't an acception. But that's fine. I know I have learned a lot in grad school, and most of it these people don't even know. That's also fine.

The library. Took this my first week of grad school.

I remember going out to dinner with my cousin when I was living in San Diego winter 2007. A strange thing. We went to a nice Italian place and one of his friends joined. We both got risoutto. Halfway through the meal she mentioned she had just finished her final grad school exam that day. I remember thinking it was an odd way to celebrate such a big thing. A rando dinner with two friends and a cousin? But now I get it. I'm here. The show must go on.

Office Hours

Playwright professor today: "Well, you're a bubbling young optimist."
After I said, "Well, obviously there are multiple sides to every issue. If there were one clear right side, we would all just do it."
And he laughed, but not sincerely.
And he shook his head.
And I felt huge in his office chair, in his office. Not like my BUTT was too big, not like that. Like, "Oh. All my pieces are chipping off of me at a rate of a million chips per second? And this tiny angular boxy space is going to be, like, wrecked with chips? Like, soon? Like, I need to get out?"

I filled up my water bottle in the hallway. A long highway with all white doors. All closed. All belonging to professers. Not really. Belonging to a university. The one behind me had flyers for theatre business workshops, and there was this picture. A little drawing of a glass of water. It was labeled "water" and "air" and the text said, "It's technically always half full."

Accumulating Paper

"Hey, ____. How do you feel about me borrowing that play?" And my professor Indy blinked and awkwardly turned aside and answered a different question, but I stood patiently awaiting my response. The reading is due Wednesday. This was last Wednesday. He would have to part with his copy for a week. A little dinko copy. He lined up his stack of papers intently with his left hand. "Are you asking if you can actually borrow my copy?" He winced. So, I said, "Oh, it's okay," and started walking out of class. He asked, "Did you not...it was in the bookstore. There were copies in the bookstore." But I didn't go to the bookstore. I just bought all the big anthologies online.

Books, I love them, but also they're so annoying. You can't throw out a book. It doesn't seem kind. But, there are books I don't need. I try to tie off the pouch early. I borrow when I can. I e-read. I don't want to amass the paper piles. Or cardboard piles from Amazon. Or money piles transferred to Barnes and Nobles' shareholders.

I left class feeling...icky. Yes, just icky. I'm sure no harm was meant, but I guess it never feels good to be denied? What am I going to do? Dip the play in peanut butter? Is it just common policy, or is it just me? And to turn it back on me. Like how could I even consider asking when I should be spending my incredibly teensy stipend on Wally Shawn plays from the 90s? My nerve!

Furthermore, I just checked the e-mailed list of books Indy sent pre-school. Turns out I DID order them all, and this play was left off. Really now. Of course, I would sound insane to mention such a petty detail, which is why I am writing about it on my blog.

Theatre History Notes From Today

My professor:

"We want to be reaffirmed in theatre."
"There is something called genius that DOES exist."
"Art starts from chaos."
"Your voice internally is speaking in tongues. Even your own writing is a translation."
"To leave out the contradictions is bad theatre."

Classmate Wagon:

"For all change to occur, you need an impetus."

It should be noted that my prof is from Germany. She has a thick accent and frequently discussed her friendships with people like Tony Kushner and August Wilson. She was quoted in our theatre history textbook. She's so brilliant, I often forget she's speaking a secondary language in a secondary home. But then:

PROF: So...you all [Americans] become the...tossed salad...or...
CLASSMATE: ...Melting pot?
PROF: Whatever you are now.

A Noise Annoys Professors

A very large part of my job is to be (essentially) annoying. I read portfolios students must submit to pass a certain level of writing proficiency. I also have to meet with two of their professors to make sure analysis of the student's work is balanced. Meetings about students' portfolios are not fun, and they do not seem important, but it's like...a requirement of graduation to pass this stuff, so it is important. Plus, I am under a deadline as to when I need to type up full evaluations for the student to read.

So...I just send e-mails trying to schedule meetings no one wants to have. Can you think of someone who would be more annoying than me? The person who makes you busy for something you don't want to do?

It's uncomfortable, but, actually, this is a skill I severely need to improve. I have horrible self-PR. In all my years performing I have never got the hang of selling my own stuff. I always feel guilty. People might not like it, might waste time, waste money, think I'm bad, like me too much to tell me....dislike me more after watching a play I'm in. I dunno!

I can't bring myself to ask people to be excited for me. To support me. This is a good step in the right direction--asking people to have the courtesy to make time for something in their job description. Maybe to you this seems irrelevant to my life, but I am building up confidence muscle in all the right annoying places.


Me & Stripes after my capstone reading--one of many performances I couldn't bring myself to directly mention to people