Doin' Good

Back on track with my New Year's res. Took a break for vacation, which makes no sense, my res keeps me happy, and the place I should be happiest (vacaying) I neglected practice.

High-powered Step class even though it's been a minute. It's humiliating to mess up so many times but it makes a person strong, you know.

Minor set-back getting an extremely sugary coffee.

Then there were auditions at one of my theatres. Got an email that they were low on auditiors. No pay and around three hours of work, but I wondered if there were any women sitting in and I wouldn't know unless I was there sitting in, so I sat in. Guess what? No women but me. And I made sure to smile at each auditioning one as they took the stage. And when another auditor didn't like a girl for no particular reason I said, "Let's take her." You would do it too, but only if you were there, which is the main whole thing.

At home I set up a tiny office in bed to phone bank for the Congressional democratic candidate in my district. I made 50 calls, which I did not like at all, but I got a few more voters, and this is my duty as a person and my mess as a citizen in a country that does not value research.

A friend wanted to talk on the phone (despise) but I did it.

Could have watched something stupid over dinner, but dove into a true crime doc. Gotta learn about justice systems to get mad enough to change them.

Worked on my book. I have two goals for this week.

Took the train instead of a Lyft. Save any tank of gas we can.

Tried to make the new player feel welcome enough. Improvised a musical as a poached goat. Paraphrased MLK Jr., a finale that was a metaphor for bipartisanism, tossed out the compliments. (They're free.) Tried to make people feel good.

And then I could have gone to sleep but watched Kimmy S over leftover birthday cake. I did my best.

The Episode of I Love Lucy With Ricky's Screentest

I watched it in 6th grade. In it Ricky is auditioning for the part of Don Juan. He has to practice his monologue, but every time he does it, it's so embarrassing. He can't cold read, he's nervous, the passion isn't there. Lucy tries to backseat direct him and he gets frustrated. At night he thinks he's alone, but she's creeping somewhere (kitchen?) and overhears him doing an amazing, passionate rendition of the piece. He just had to be alone. Most of us know we could do it alone.

My freshman year of college there was this super senior in the music department who made sort of a "deal" about not auditioning for 42nd Street because he was too busy working on his capstone. The practice rooms weren't ever super busy in the dungeon of the theatre building. Sometimes I would go on Friday evenings and practice playing Andrew McMahon songs. One Friday night down there I heard someone singing "The Lullaby of Broadway"--the lead actor's big number. But it wasn't the lead actor. It was that super senior giving it all he got in a ten foot by ten foot room alone.

Waiting for News

Are there ways to never experience rejection again? I'm going down the check boxes and really wondering. Once you have a steady job forever and ever (tenure, that type of thing) I guess you probably won't be fired. And you certainly won't apply anymore.

You can saddle up to a lover for all time and never hear "no" for the flick Saturday night. Make a gang of besties with standing dates who are so close to you even a "next time" is so painfully opaquely not a rejection. No new friends.

And mostly you are never a writer, and you are never a performer, and you never have a dream, and you never try to do anything ever again.

Cheers 2 Joni 2nite

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty,
though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true.
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams, and plenty
before the last revolving year is through.

And the seasons they go round and round.
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on the carousel of time.
We can't return we can only look
behind from where we came 
and go round and round and round 
in the circle game.

What to Do

People say life is short, (Read: Take the wildest chances, go for it.) but maybe life is long. (Read: The chances come back.) Especially in goodbyes, he tells me. Goodbyes seem so hard. Goodbye forever, but when the next Hello blinks into life, and it's like no time has passed. Because life is long.

The older I get, the longer time feels, but the shorter each experience does. Like how driving to Grandma's house for Christmas was once an eternity requiring several books, a Discman, and maybe my eraser collection. And now, what do I do in an hour? Sometimes commute, sure, with nothing but ear buds.

I feel the "I'm not moving fast enough" slipping away, as it should. I'd like to replace it with, "Good for you. You moved."

Atlantic jumpin'. Summer 2015.

Welcome to the Good Life

I am blogging from a sun chair on a rooftop pool! It is a perfectly Vitamin D sufficient day. I'm waxing nostalgic about summer ending with the new Mindy Kaling on my left, a new iPhone in my hand, and "Still Fighting It" in my ears. I am extremely privileged. Sid is visiting from New York and literally complained about drinking a warm smoothie this morning. I mean, a warm smoothie would be gross, but come on.

This girl I know is a waitress and does acting here and there. (Pretty common Chicago lifestyle). I follow her on Instagram, and every other photo is some fancy or gross food and a caption like "I deserve this." Or "hard week." I don't know her inner-workings that well. But I do know her finances. She projects them. She's poor in the way privileged people can be poor. Rich poor. The kind of poor that means you don't make good money but you do nothing to save it either because you're young and you want to drink like a fish and ultimately you can always be bailed out, if it comes to that. Whether or not you come to that, eh, the option changes your life. It does. I'm not looking down on this mentality. I know full well I've been able to take risks in life because if I really really hit bottom I have many family member guest rooms to crash in, some possibilities of cash flow.

Anyway, I've started getting annoyed with her attitude (I could always unfollow her, or stop going on Instagram but). It's like, dude, your week was not that hard. But also, okay, say it was. Say relatively it was hard. Say we're entitled to believe that. Still, your life is GOOD. You can be decadent fairly regularly. Why must you make splurges based in some negative correction? What about a celebration in honor of the fact that you CAN splurge?

I had an important audition Tuesday so I bought a GD ice cream cake for myself! Is that not the most bonkers thing you've ever heard? Talk about over correcting. I was able to take the day off work for an AUDITION of IMPROV no less and I "treated myself" with an entire cake sufficient to be the center piece of a birthday party. This is very cushy. This just be acknowledged.

Say it with me now--

1. I am privileged.

2. It doesn't matter if people are "more privileged" than I am.

3. I will cherish my privilege.

4. I will do something good with this hand I've been dealt.

Rejection: Part IV

For our last class of Level Five of The Program, our teacher (Rachel Mason, improv goddess) opened a Q & A. Background: She has a fabulous reputation in Chicago theatre. That said, she auditioned for SNL four times, Mad TV five times, and was never on a mainstage cast at SC.  I asked, "How do you deal with rejection?"

She gave a big sigh. Then: "I've gotten to the point I never feel rejected. They just found somebody else. At the end of the day, if you don't get an audition, you didn't lose anything you didn't already have."

And the math is forgettable, but it's so true. Failure feels like a loss, but no one actually takes anything from you. The only thing you no longer have are your expectations of success, which are often wrong anyway.

RM seems like a genuinely happy and useful person. The best type to be. So, she seems to have come out on top, eh?

My cohort. Our last night in the disgusting classroom with no windows.

Train Magic

We huddled together. The wood platform was wet with melted snow,
I felt like ducks maybe. Brown line was delayed, but it wasn't so cold,
and comedy classmates keep each other.
An old member of our cohort walked up the steps.
"Hi!" We said. I missed this guy. He didn't make it through
our group auditions. He should have,
in my opinion. He has a lot to say, and he's nice to be around.
He works on the northside in a facility for people with
schizophrenia.

I could tell he liked seeing us, but
he met the people who replaced him.
And that must just be weird.
It wasn't their fault or anything,
but still. He smiled and chatted. The train
finally came. We slugged in. I sat down in two-seat corner.
He said defiantly he was sitting down.
"Forget it, pregnant women!" He joked.
I asked if having a Masters in social work meant
he was a counselor. It did. "Can you fix my problems?"
I asked. I pulled out a dollar, which he refused to take.
We talked for a minute, and he said with big, real, brown eyes
very useful truths that were basic but important.
And then it was my stop, so I said sincerely I hoped
we might see each other again.

Now Is not Always the Time to Win

Can you imagine how terrible life would be if you were successful at everything? Whatever you were interested in at five years old would be your career right now. I would be a world class grocery store toy aisle designer.

I stretched myself too thin this weekend. I got stuck in bus after bus jam after the informational meeting for a new play festival. I showed up later than I wanted to be for an ensemble audition. 12th on the waitlist. I spent most of the day hovering around the theatre, and when suddenly a slot opened and yes, actually, we were all the way to my number, I was barely prepared. I scuttled in, performed my monologue, left relieved--but much too tired to work on the play contest until this morning. If I had just picked one thing to do I might have done that one thing well.

This morning at 7 AM that's how I felt. I wrote in quiet Sunday sunbeams. I finished the piece hastily and sent it in 2 minutes shy of the 9 AM deadline. Not my best work. But every submission gets a pair of comp tickets to an upcoming preview show. Might as well.

I didn't feel bad though. Ultimately I'm glad I did both because each one gave me a personal victory. Just finishing things is, like, the best you can feel. I've said that before. Honestly, I think I was happier when I sent off my glad school apps than when I got accepted, certainly than when I graduated.

My friend Heart says "Failure is information," which is just peachy. I think of an interview from Jenna Fischer. She explained how she worked in Hollywood for eight years before landing anything tangible. How she had to learn victory for herself just by playing outside her box in an audition--even when she didn't land the gig. My victory was just doing the thing with no more than a minute's notice.  There's something pure and honey-like about knowing the opportunities we don't get go to someone else who needs them more.

Right Now

You are where you're supposed to be.

What a cultured weekend. Auditions and teaching residency meeting at the specifically non-chain coffee shop. Birthday celebration at a Rick Bayless hotspot. Underground site-specific seance theatre. I was almost late, so I sprinted the half mile from the train. Rainbow sweater ripped over my head along the graveyard. I ate leftover ice cream cake for dinner and next was the new play inspired by Moby Dick in Wicker Park.

And then there are groceries to buy and college classes to plan and finally, finally a taste-testing pizza gathering. I have never felt more exhausted yet excited than when looking at my weekend calendar now that I am a tried and true Chicagoan. The most fun, the best of the best, but huffing and puffing, the hours the the minutes the moments.

And the seasons, they go round and round. And the painted ponies go up and down.

Ought

Every day is Birdy on my mind, Skinny Love. The rains come in patches of mist. Purple hood up. It's the time of three paper ghosts on my front door. Squash in the oven Sunday after church. Beauty in the day, whip brisk by night. Take the train down south to the blufftop. Run to the old house, wood porch, Mississippi river boat. Murder stories and that golden hour on the shoe box casino. New season of American Horror Story, and this time maybe Ryan Murphy won't ruin the kit 'n' kaboodle. It's everyone's birthday. It's audition season. No, it's audition town. In any season. Fire up the Keurig.

Sullen load is full, so slow on the spit.

Day in the Life, October 9

Turning the keys before 7 AM. The apartment is quiet, Bisque still sleeping. Wake up, wake up. Walk to the train in breaking light, One-D my soundtrack. Wake up, wake up. No seat on the el, so I stand with feet far apart and strong squatted thighs holding Ghosts by Chuck P. The train gets fuller and fuller, downtown emptier and emptier. It's just me and three other ladies by the time I'm at the end of the line.

First meeting at my new teaching residency. Google the neighborhood. Police officer shot and killed 17 hours before I arrive. I have a new hot pink Mace, and I tuck it into my seafoam scarf. Packed bus, everyone sighs when the wheelchaired person has to get off. Bless wheelchaired folk on buses. Bless them.

My new boss is a happy man who keeps his wrist limp. He brings six donuts to this kickoff meeting. Me and this happy sweetie and this fresh-faced creative writing ginger. The box is opened. "I got three of my favorite kind to make sure even if you both wanted that kind I would get one." I like this style. I have the favorite old fashioned. It is thick with hardened sour glaze. We walk to the train and men yell at me. We ignore them, but it isn't easy. "What is that smell?" my boss politely asks. "Oh, weed." I say. "Ah," he adds.

And then we're back to the rest of the world with skyscrapers. I stop in the Claire's and debate buying corn dog earrings. I don't because I don't have money for corn dog earrings. This shouldn't even be a consideration. People who don't have money for corn dog earrings should not even hold corn dog earrings to their faces. In my office adjuncts come and go. Sometimes the conversation is like grad school and real and potentially useful and sometimes its like, "Ohmygod how many times do people have to discuss music videos being terrible to women?" I guess they still are, so.

The students got into partners, and the students from the country south and the student from the country east were paired. They made up analogies. Some work too hard on these classroom exercises, and that is good. Grading papers, grading papers, grading papers. Scheduling classes, making plans, Next semester, money, lesson plans.

I collapse at home. "I'm sorry," I tell my man. "I need two minutes. What I ate today: a donut." I fall asleep sideways on the couch, and he wakes me up with a tiny pot of beans. I feel gooped. Brain whack. Like a confused baby being fed. Go to the theatre, have an audition for some little show. It's exercise like anything else. Audition, audition, write, write, write. I'm home grading papers again, always, forever and ever, in my grave, underground, so many student emails, "Can you tell me everything I missed today?"

The Other Side of the Table

Auditions for my new play were Thursday and Friday. Call-backs yesterday. Holy toledo, what I have learned from the other side of the table.

-Everyone wants to be having fun in an audition room. Have as much fun as possible.
-Try new things. If you get direction, take it too far rather than not far enough.
-Do you.
-They say don't be nervous, but, like, actually, don't be nervous.
-You're unique, so know that and show that. In the words of Powerline, stand out.

I can't believe these words I have written on my own, early in coffee shops, late in my camp bunk, on the living room couch, were recited all day by strangers. This play, it is happening.

I'm really too young to be feeling this old.
It's about time you admit it, who you kiddin'?
And nobody's ever done it like I did it.

Thoughts on Les Mis (Part I)

First of all, I have an extremely deep connection to Les Mis. "Yeah, yeah, we all do," you think. "I sang 'On My Own' in the shower on the reg." Look, it's cute you think you have a serious bond with Les Mis, but what we have IS THE REAL DEAL, so do not even.

-I knew most of the music since early childhood, thanks to a cassette soundtrack in my mom's car. My favorite song was "Master of the House," which I would sing at the playground when I was on top of the jungle gym.

-At age nine I went to an open audition for young Cosette, which I failed horribly, missing my entrance cue and having to ask to start over. Shame forever. Needless to say, I spent the next three months replaying standing in front of the casting directors and nailing "Castle on a Cloud" until my best friend Fran offered me, "If you had gotten the part, your sticker collection probably wouldn't be as good because you would be on tour." For some reason this comforted me.

-I decided to make up my disastrous audition by performing Cosette's ballad at the 4th grade talent show. But when they called my name, I got so nervous I bolted out of the gym. The principal had to come get me hiding in the bathroom. BUT I DANG FINALLY SANG THE SONG, and peeps loved it (or at least they said so to prevent me from running into oncoming traffic idk).

-I saw that touring production I wasn't in, and my creepy obsession grew tremendously. You have no idea how many nights between 1998-2002 I biked alone to fields to sing concerts of all Eponine's music. No big, just crooning in the middle of an abandoned baseball diamond pretending I was bleeding to death in my true love's arms. MIDDLE SCHOOL, AMIRIGHT?

-My freshman year in high school, I was excited to be part of the musical, but when I found out the show would be Les Mis?! I flipped a lid. I knew I was too much of a pipsqueak to get one of the real coveted roles, so I set my sights on Gavroche. This time when I auditioned, I at least glossed over the mistake I made (saying "Inspector Valjer" instead of "Javert" during "Little People") and whatever YOLO I got the part!!!!! Thank the Lord I was flat-chested and my voice is that of a little boy's!

-You guys, I am pretty sure if you would have cut me during that fall, I would have bled sheet music. I literally ate, slept, and breathed Les Mis. Had lunch with my musical girlfriends, dinner with the cast on our breaks, in school constantly sang through my part (which wasn't very hard, so, pretty unnecessary). ULRA CREEP STATUS: I listened the soundtrack every night before bed. Yeah, all three hours or whatever of it. At 9 PM I'd be like, "cool, time to rage with Val Jean." I am sure could never forget the lyrics to any song if I tried really really hard and got Alzheimer's.

-I started dating my first boyfriend during the show. He was nice and cute, but more importantly, HE WAS PART OF THE BEST THING THAT WOULD EVER HAPPEN TO ME AND I NEEDED TO HANG ONTO THAT. He was a junior, but I guess not that cool since he kept dating me despite the fact I never wanted to kiss but always wanted to, like, reminisce about the choreography of the high school musical that had closed weeks ago. It genuinely did take me months to get over the end of that show, and when I did, I ditched the guy. You don't have to be Freud to realize that I literally tried to have a committed relationship with a musical in lieu of a human. Okay, to give myself some credit, the guy also loved Korn and was in show choir. I mean, not a match made in heaven.

And then something happened. I went on to see three more productions of Les Mis over the years. Each time I left slightly more disconnected than I had the time before. When it toured this year, I didn't go. I was even offered a free ticket, and I declined. Did I overdo it?

No. I still love Les Mis with all my red the blood of angry men heart. In fact, I've had "One Day More" on repeat as I've written this post. It's just that this is a personal love. A nostalgic collection of music and lyrics. To see a group of strangers performing it as I sit in an even bigger group of strangers watching doesn't feel right. This show moves me. I know so many people who hate musicals on principle, and it is scores like this that prevent me from understanding that viewpoint of taste.

In short: I am a certifiable looney tune. So get amped for my thoughts on the movie. Coming tomorrow.

Major Life Update Two (of Two)

Did something I haven't done in years. I auditioned for a straight play. I read this play (Drones) last fall because I was on the Theatre Production Committee, and I fell in love immediately.

Auditioning felt like something I needed to do, but I was actually pretty scared. Not of being cut. I am swamped this semester, and it would really be pushing it to be in a show. Plus, it's not personal to be cut from a hundred person audition for a play with six parts. No, I was scared of simply...looking stupid. A fellow MFA (director) was in the audition room, and all my confidence drained right through the floor when I walked inside. I haven't been seen as an actor since college. Was I the idiot with no training waltzing oblivious to how not an actor I was?

I did alright, and the next night I got a call-back. Nice. I held my own, that's all I could want. Didn't look like a dope. Check.

Saturday I showed up at the call-back with five other MFA actors before undergrads dropped in on the scene. And I had a blast. Doing those scenes with different partners and getting direction and having A SCRIPT that I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE. Man, it was just fun. At this point, I'm like, "Wow. I've gotten more than I bargained for in this process, and I'm grateful."

Flash forward to yesterday when I walk into the theatre on my way to writing workshop, and, bam. Cast list up, and I'm on it. Holla holla, y'all. I'm doin' a play.

Successes & Failures of Saturday

Success: Waking up at 6:30 on a Saturday to read and exercise.
Failure: Did a half-aced job of a Jillian Michaels work-out like twenty minutes before I had to run out the door because I spent the previous two hours answering e-mails. And not reading.
Success: Feeling positive about the play call-back I went to this AM.
Failure: If I get cast, my life will implode. I do not have time for this ish.
Success: Doing my laundry this afternoon.
Failure: Not grading a single paper all afternoon.
Success: Grocery shopping supes efficiently, so I can finish all my new play edits tonight.
Failure: Stopping in at a rando bakery to snoop/waste time.
Success: Lady gives me a free cream puff. And it's legit. Plus, still plenty of time to do my work.
Failure: Accepting dinner invite from Ro.
Success: A delightful meal of good conversation, glass noodles, and Thai iced tea.
Failure: I have dinner plans with Pinto for later. Boop.
Success: Very joy-filled day.
Failure: Do I need to say this again? I have done zero reading, writing, or grading for the entirety of today. Good job, me.
Success: I have three hours before I head out again.
Failure: I'm writing on my blog. So.

5 Theatre Thangs Today

1. Audition for a part-improvised TV show this morning.

2. Lead kiddos on Chelle's high school track team in some improv games as a fun warm-up.

3. Performing in a community art project (Encyclo Show).

4. Sketch show.

5. Birthday party for peer--Rabbit. Went with Boulder, and all the lovelies I never see any more were in attendance. Mmmm theatre/education/grad talk. Drink it up with the big piece of cookies and cream cake.

I feel tired. Happy about my life, creative, inspired, but not sustainable. Not like I CAN'T keep pushing and doing all this stuff and being inventive and silly and yelling and goofing forever, but that I don't think I WANT to. I don't think that's failure though. Getting something out of your system is anything BUT. It's giving yourself the opportunity to shove your being in a trash compactor and make room for the new.

After sketch tonight I was about to bike off into the thick dessert darkness, and Chelle and Bug walked me to my bike. We talked about how good last night felt--the ol' gang. Bug said, "It's like that Girl Scout song"--which I sang as I pedaled to Boulder's. All silver and gold. AND gold.

The lil 15 year olds pole vaulting made me remember and love my 15 year old life. Sketches are sketches. Performances can always go better. My heart fills over a whole wheat breakfast burrito in the middle of the sunniest AZ day. And gold.

Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver and the other gold.