Last Saturday in Chicago

I always bring a book, but Saturday I didn’t bring a book. I would rush from one show to another, I knew. My last performances in Chicago. The two theatres I fell in love with decade+ ago. Dal asked me to arrive early to i_. So we could talk. Before I go. I arrived five minutes late after shoveling kale and sesame oil into a biodegradable box across the street. The bar was quiet. The show was pushed two hours earlier for a festival, light house, some staples of the ensemble missing.

I didn’t do a big thing. I texted four people actually. I am not afraid of leaving people as much as my study carrel in the library and my coffee shop with the sunny patio and sugar-free cookie dough syrup.

The first show was good. Not as good as two weeks ago with the booming sold-out laughs. It’s easy for me now. I don’t warm-up, and I don’t question everything I did while passing Philly’s Best at midnight on my walk home from the train. But also this time is a different kind of good, the kind you don’t need validation to hold. An audience member asked what his partner should do to quit having nightmares. I started singing to myself about my sleep mask, and every time I got into “bed” (sitting on a chair holding a fake comforter next to Dal) I’d remember I had to feed my bat or something. I finally turned out the light and confided in Dal I was scared. He reassured me, so I asked him to take off his clown makeup. Lights.

The show was only 1:15. I hadn’t known we weren’t doing two full acts. I had an hour to kill. Cast cleared out. I wandered outside and asked a stranger to take a photo of me. No book. For once no book. I decided to forego my usual Saturday Uber and walk to SC. The evening was perfectly pink and humid. I could feel my curls loosening. I listened to Wilco. That teeny pilgrimage both heavy with August and light with leaving. “Burn down the missions”: lyrics I’ve decided I now understand. I bought the last walk-up ticket for Puhg.

Show Two. It was a new girl’s first go—something right, something cycled. The ensemble sang a warm-up about me. Our title was “Grease-y” so I got to be an updated Sandy. Flood initiated a drag race drag race. We go together.

Back at i_, I saw just the fewest sweet friends, and I was very happy. Gor said, “You were right about everything,” and Kram told me I was the girl he would miss. Roma was babysitting, so when it was time to go home she met me at Philly’s Best, but they were understaffed and not making fries. We went to the dumb ol’ corner for crinkle cut ones instead.

Remember This Of All

Felt-tipped markers for lists. Lists of prison lit, revisions, screenplays to grade. A freshman with thick brown curls props his skateboard against the door, shares his script about bombs dropping on his Lebanon home. He was 14. 9 AM Playwriting gang.

Spent office hours in the heart of campus. Sunshine. Reading interviews of The Wooster Group. About their 2002 production. I was 14 then? Fast. Don shorts for a night scoot to Flour's cottage in the hip neighborhood. We walk the sidewalks and talk about her break-up. It's raw, it's red. Emotional equivalent of reaching for that last handful of M&Ms and realizing you already ate it. "I remember that," I think, but there's a sheen over those histories. It's good to be here. She squeezes my arm. "That's him." The boy happens to be bicycling by. I hear her heart plop to the road.

I am so happy lately. There are reasons, but there are always reasons. There are also always reasons not to be. I don't know why the scales have tipped one to the other, but they have. And I am grateful. It's not always this way. I thank everything. "Remember this," I tell me, "this."

Why can't you see the sky isn't green anymore?
Why don't you know what I need on these shores?

Mine and Yours

Woke up Sunday morning, stomach raging. I had planned to run but could only walk.  I took my time in Dizz's neighborhood. It's a nice place. That afternoon, after the schmancy brunch, after couchin', after chocolate almond bubble tea, we walked again. Dizz and I led the way, the boys trailed behind. I imagined Jamin asking Bisque "What are your intensions?" but actually they were probably yammering about Grand Theft Auto while Dizz explained how once at a wedding she led a miniature horse down the aisle. (Our lives are so different! Friendship!) I said she lived in a pretty place, and she said, "You have to take the good with the bad. The sidewalk...is cracked. But the palm trees? They are beautiful."

LA can be very bright. But also, sometimes you are going to a wedding in an hour and very angry at a gas station because there was serious miscommunication about whether or not you need to pre-pay and there are people everywhere and it is also dirty and honking is a thing. But then you, like, do get to the wedding and there was plenty of time and you look fine and you dance your booty off with your date.

This looks like a glob, but in all actuality it is one of the best desserts I've ever eaten. A chocolate peanut salted caramel bar, like, give me one for the rest of my life. There was literally a part of the night everyone was on the dance floor yelling at me and Bisque to get up and shake it, but we kept using our forks to point to the dessert the guy next to us didn't eat which we were consuming. We shrugged and mimed kind of: "Sorry? Dessert and stuff!"

As usual, it is hard not to think about love at these things. I know the couple but not that well. This is the first time I've been a weddin' date, and I have to say, it's interesting. I came to support something I'm not sure if I agree with at all. Who is to say these two are together foreva? But actually, being there made me believe it. It was just a buncha words--often simple, at times generic...but sincere. And now when I see the newlyweds around I will think that. I will think, "Yes, I believe in you and I hope it's going well."

On Sunday night we made our way to the ocean as we believe good lil travelers should do. It's just a buncha stupid water, but, my, do I love it.

Meanwhile, I shared a bathroom with my college bestie all weekend. Forever! I say.

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.

MLK

I live in an extremely beautiful place. Yesterday I walked downtown, then around the lake. I was gone for a couple hours and wasn't even thinking about it. It was perfect fall weather--sun hiding under thin grey clouds, a nip in the air, but avoided with a simple sweater. There was so much life on the main street--visitors in victory and white wick tees. Yesterday morning was the Phoenix marathon. People celebrated on the patio of the Mediterranean cafe, smiled with beers at the New Orleans-themed joint. A woman limped happily into the used book store. I was nostalgic for my victory day. I showered all the salt off my body in North Carolina. Nac and I laid in bed watching Mad Men and eating Ben and Jerry's from cartons. Everything was slow. A sunset on Shell Island is the desktop on this computer.

I made a big bowl of vodka pasta at 9 PM last night and ate it slowly while watching Hitchcock's Spellbound. Like a child, I recognized today would be a holiday, and I wanted to stay up past my bedtime. I examined my list of letters I needed to write, tuned in to The Mountain Goats, and got out my sharpees. I remembered Dr. King and some of the best things he said. I remembered my best friends and some of the best things they've said.

I am gonna make it through this year
if it kills me.

11.11.11

What a special day!

1. I am one of those losers who finds significance in the time being 11:11. Today? Boom. Bananas.*

2. It's my dad's birthday! Toot toot!

So, my dad is pretty great, you guys. He's really funny and loving. A couple things about this summer when I lived with him: I was always encouraging us to go on more walks together, I stole all his candy bars and replaced them with granola, we had a really really nice time.

My sister sent me these quotes from a conversation they just had recently:

"I walk a lot. Not as much as the little czarina of walking would
like, but enough."

"Do you know what she did with [my candy bars]? I thought maybe she
hid them and then on my birthday she would tell me where they were.
No. She gave them to the camp counselors! I tell you, she's just a
complete monster. She's out of control."


Us at Starved Rock on a hikelet.

*"Boom. Bananas." is something I shouted out in a scene during rehearsal this week. I was a corporate exec with a wonky catchphrase.

GRAD S-COOL!

Y'all my brains are just straight up overflowin' with ideas, and I've only had less than two weeks of class! I swam a mile and a half today, and not one lap was peaceful because my head was busting open with dramaturgical theory.

I'm struggling with an easy assignment for my playwriting workshop--an essay called "Why I Write." The real question is "Why Can't I Figure Out What To Write About Why I Write?" So, about an hour ago, I decided to pump some Nicki Minaj and walk downtown. The walk is safely lit (I say that for Pookie's sake who is convinced I should never go anywhere at night), and people were out and about, but I considered what would happen if I had been abducted right then. No one knew I was going out. All I could think about is how cool and post-modern it would be for the police to find the play Frozen* open my bed.

Game over b---, Gatorade, wet towel.

*About a girl getting abducted.

Three Awesome Things

1. Hiking at a state park with Dad this morning. The trails aren't long, but very up and down, up and down. After we got to one canyon, we passed a big family of Mexican people all rapidly speaking in Spanish. One overweight, sweaty woman was shouting, but wearing a huge smile. I did not know, but I would guess she was saying, "More stairs!? More freaking stairs!?" I loved that woman.

2. Baking fresh brownies this afternoon and watching a lame horror flick while slowly eating through the pan. Lazing and not having to care about anything is king on Saturday afternoons.

3. Going on an evening walk along the town canal with my iPod shuffling up Elliot Smith as the sun set.

I almost forgot it was twilight.

Walk to Culvers

Walked out the front door just past noon.
Trotted down the steps, unlatched the gate, left the yard.
Headed north on the sidewalk--first I was swimming in french fries.
Wendy's baking up fresh batches of sea-salt thick-cut for lunch rush.
I held my iPod in my hand.
It's black and smooth. A song from Grease
played. You Better
Shape Up.
Several children, elementary school, played in a front yard.
All boys in trunks.
One held the hose and yelled. He sprayed wildly. I jumped
the puddles.
The clouds formed.
My face felt dark.
I had no reason to go to Culvers. I did not want
anything. Just a good walk.
Uphill.
I turned around.
The wind whipped. The kids were gone.
I waited at a light.

The Garden Cafe Your Mother Loved

On the Philosopher's Path in Heidelberg, Father's Day

My father was younger than I am when he was last in Germany.
The years fly by, fly by.
Next thing you know
next time you go
it's with two grown daughters.
And they eat in a garden cafe your mother loved.
And philosophers walked garden paths
years ago, years ago.
We walked it last week.
The years fly by, fly by.

In Honor of Yatchface

Yatchface trying to stop the fan in our room with her hands. Spring 2010. I can't believe it's been a year.

After a day of walking all over Japan.

YF: UGH. I just wish someone would cut off my feet and replace them with rollerskates!
Me: No you don't.
YF: YEAH!
Me: So if a doctor was just, like, right behind that sign over there and said he would do the surgery for free right now, you would really do that?
YF: No. But, I mean, yeah.

It's an alphabetter way to spell.

Pride 'n' Joy

a friend finishing a triathlon, 2010

Walked down to the grocery store today. It gives me pride and joy to walk places. Obvi the electrolytes are all pumping through me and gas is sitting in my tank instead of pumping through the air. So, that's nice. Saving money, saving environment, gettin' a little exercise...but also! I had the pleasure of walking through the park, of noticing the store windows, of appreciating the weather, AND stopping in a restaurant to play two games of Pac-Man.

In hindsight, I would not deprive myself of the walk. I find such a mindset to be very valuable to making my life choices. Simple: do things that in hindsight will make you proud. It's so nice to fill my life with pride. Think of it on a daily basis:

Some Basic Daily Choices
Run or skip it?
Drive or walk?
Write or skip it?
Eat three bowls of ice cream or five?
Tip the waitress well or averagely?

Besides the second to last one, it is clear which actions make me proud. So, that's easy. Just keeping doing proud things. They should make a TV show about it! The proactive lifestyle for you and your family! The Proud Family! Oh...wait...?