Moss: Part I

Lazz has only been sharp to me once in our decade of friendship. In high school he was the epitome of sweet. Syrup person. His face was always a perfect reflection of concern, and he gave out a lot of backrubs, sometimes for an entire movie. He was my senior prom date (asking me via cookie cake) and gave me a birthday present ( a Christopher Durang collection) even though he couldn't come to the party.

Over the years he remained this magical leprechaun of cuteness even though I saw him once in a blue moon. My freshman year of college I heard from George that he was still working at the candle store in the mall and she happened to see him leaving late one night right before Christmas. He had his headphones in and was dancing on the long long trek from the front doors to the auxiliary holiday staff parking. He sent me a hand-drawn birthday letter one year and even surprised me at college by showing up for the fall play. He's a good dollop, is what I'm saying.

I was visiting him at school a few years ago. It was summer, but he stayed in the po-dunk town to work at a Mexican restaurant and hang out with his frat brothers. We went on a Saturday afternoon walk through the woods by his house. There was a small creek, so we walked across it holding a fallen tree. I steps gently on a stone because I saw it was mossy. Lazz followed behind, stepping less gently, and he slipped awkwardly nearly plunking himself into the water. "It's slippery!" I yelped. "I see that," he hissed. It was so sharp I nearly feel off my current rock for no reason. Then he said, "Sorry." Then he started singing an Aimee Mann song.

If You're Mad, Get Mad

It's 8 PM. Do you know where your Alice is? In bed. That's right, y'all. NOT IN THE THEATRE. My thesis play has closed. Big hurdle. Jumped.

I do not miss it. Not to say it wasn't a wonderful experience. It was. But every time the usher asked for my ticket and I responded, "Oh, I'm the playwright," I didn't feel the burst of Katy Perry triumph I Am Artist Hear Me Roar (I've got the eye of the tiiiiger!), I felt an impending doom like "I have to answer for this." I recognize how tired the tortured writer thing is, and I really don't put myself in that category, and yet here we are.

There is a lot I could say about this production and process, but the thing I want to say at the moment is that I believe in the power of reaction. The end of my play was controversial. I wrote an ending that didn't quite sit within the context of typical dramatic analysis and one that definitely didn't sit right with a majority of audience members. Some (many?) still enjoyed the thing (the play, yes, I'm calling my thesis "the thing"), but there's a squidgey discomfort about it. At the end of the play, people were confused, thirsting for different answers, and sometimes angry. And, I like that. Not because I believe in art as an inherent "stir people up and make em bonkers." But because I believe art should not only make us evaluate situations, but it should make us evaluate ourselves. And when we feel strong emotions (not just through the narrative, vicariously, but AT it--ie "I do not agree") we either reaffirm what we love, what we stand for...or we become more open-minded.

Act II, Scene ii.

I'm not saying the ending was perfect. I've got more revising to do. But there's importance in disliking things. I just wish I didn't have to sit in front of a crowd as the stamp for the disliked thing.

Earlier this week I watched the Miley episode of SNL over a bagel. Talk about someone who is disliked. But good for her for being such a THING. Such a disliked thing. Such a way for women to teach young women what not to be. But for who the media has been hounding as a complete trashball slut for the past month, there's still an innocence to this girl. She wore white, sat on a stool, performed an acoustic cover of "We Can't Stop." She really is a remarkable singer. Something in me fluttered when the camera closed in, she crooned, "It's my mouth I can say what I want to." I don't know. She stands for a lot of things I hate, but, also, I am hating AT those things, and that human is not a thing.

Plus, I love "Wrecking Ball."

A Thing I Kind Of Get (But Only Kind Of)

Before I even got to camp my first summer, I wanted to learn how to sail. Then, when I arrived, I learned you had to be thirteen. I was twelve. Blast.

There was something ABOUT those little boats on the lake. They looked so peaceful, but also fun, and also colorful! I wanted to be on them. We (collectively as children) had been drawing them with triangles and half-circles for years on penciled waves.

Two summers later, I finally grabbed one of the coveted six spots in the sailing double period. The counselor sat us in the sand and explained the very very very basic overview of the sport. I was completely lost, the terms "mast" and the effects of wind on cloth sailing over my head. (Pun unavoidable.) We hefted those gnarly wooden blocks out to sea, awkwardly slumped into them, ducked, leaned, and I never signed up to sail again.

What compels us to set sail? The freedom? The wind? What's so good about wind anyway? Is it the Jesus thing? The walking on water? (This is all true of waterskiing too--which is glorified standing that people flip for.) Water: it's what we're made of. It's free in every restaurant. We want to be on it.

This is a thing I can only kind of get.

My first Michigan sunset of 2013.

And somebody told me that this is the place

where everything's better and everything's safe.

Walk on the ocean. Step on the stones.

Flesh becomes water. Wood becomes bone.

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.