Spicy Ranch

Yesterday a man outside my window shouted for an hour at the cars whooshing by. I've seen him before. He walks around the neighborhood with a tattered poster that reads, "DON'T BUY HONDA." I've never heard his voice before. Yesterday he repeated two sentences over and over, "DON'T BUY HONDA. MY KID DIED IN A HONDA." Sometimes his voice was full of pain and other times it was rote.

Another day in paradise Thursday. I buzz into the bungalows and AP greets me with a hug by her pool. We spend the first half hour of the session chatting and laughing. Her assistant brings us fancy organic salads with farro and sweet potatoes, I'm in love. For two hours we brainstorm. I always feel like I get away with what "work" is, but then I remember it took me fifteen years to be able to hang like I can hang. I drive away full, instructing Spotify to play LFO.

But that night I text a friend who defends someone I thought we didn't like, and I feel so betrayed I can't keep my mind off the interaction for two days. I beg to go to breakfast with Puhg on Friday morning, just to have something else fill the clouds. My scone is perfect, but it's not enough.

What is is gymnastics. My main issue (with all my moves) is I just go too slow. Our coach is really laid back. He doesn't offer much feedback, which I personally like. But when he does, for me, it's a simple, "faster." I feel like I'm sprinting and whipping but when I watch the videos, gosh if he isn't right. It's like a turtle doing a roundoff. How can I feel so sure in my skin but the evidence simply proves otherwise? I walk out into the sun with a new friend. We stand by our cars talking for twenty minutes. At home I get on my swimsuit and hit the pool. It's hot enough, but cool enough I question myself before jumping in. Once I do, it's heaven. I do 15 laps, huffing and puffing.

I remember going to Outback Steakhouse after a round of mini golf when I was 19. I ordered the cheese fries as dinner. I remember the painting of cowboys and knowing it was the end, but the ranch was so good. The last time I went to an Outback was, I think, in 2014 when my sister, Dad, and I were at Mount Rushmore. I got the side salad then--the fries a distant fantasy. But then this Friday. Went to a wrestling show, and my friend, being a friend, told me I could leave after her match. It was 10 PM in Burbank, nothing was open but lo and behold, an Outback Steakhouse. And this time, I did get those fries, and they were not as good as I remembered. Not even a little bit. So now I am free.

not thinkin' bout forever just six minutes of her time

No Day But Today

I was very bratty about seeing RENT last night. The music school was putting it on. I had no interest in seeing a college performance 16-year-old Alice's favorite musical. I used to listen to that two-disc soundtrack basically every single day for at least two years of my life. When I first saw it my junior year of high school with Henne, I really enjoyed the experience. I had been listening to these tunes without visuals for so long...it was like, "Finally. Finally!"

The movie came out, and the songs got super popular. They started to grate on me, and after a few viewings of the (eh at best) film, I was sort of over it. Still, that year for More's birthday she wanted to see it live. I looked forward to it, but it was just okay. I was almost done with high school, and I was no longer buying the vapid puppy love. Some of the music isn't good. The answers come too easy. I was hardened by the world, and Mimi and Roger kissing in snowflakes wasn't cutting it anymore.

So when Neige kept making yummy eyes at me during improv rehearsal and saying, "You should cooome!" I was very into making up excuses. But I had no excuse for Thursday night. And Neige and I were literally walking past the box office. And I get a free comp for being a theatre student. I reserved a ticket and thought, "Hey, if I'm lucky, something will come up."

Yesterday my spirits were a little low. No matter, no matter. But they were low. And I finished up my day's tasks two minutes past curtain. I had my excuse. But then it was ten past, and I then fifteen, and something was sort of nagging me to go out into the night. I strapped on my helmet and scooted to the theatre.

I walked in without showing the ticket to anyone because "Today 4 U" was just starting, and who strolls into RENT when "Today 4 U" is starting? Me. I also unapologetically decided, "What the hey" and sat right in an empty seat in the second row. This way I can have no guilt about supporting Neige and leave at intermission. But by intermission!? I was completely smitten.

I thought I was too old to enjoy it forever, but I guess I was just a little too old to be swooned and a little too young to be okay with some plot-holed magic and cultural importance. Sometimes we have to circle back on these things. They don't change, but we do.

I cried during the finale. Because I had plopped my rude butt down so close to the stage, I felt a part of the story more than usual. And the story is partly mine. I applied those lyrics to my friends, my sorrows, my regrets for a long time. A long formative time at that. I floated out of the theatre, into the thin and sweet Arizona air. I sang "La Vie Boheme" all the way home.

Well, this is just the most boring and disgusting blog I have posted in a while. But I suppose the point is this: revisit. Be carried away. Theatre is a special thing. No day but today.

Terror

A staged reading of my newest play goes up in three weeks. This weekend I sent a draft as done as it could be out to potential actors, and pressing send was terrifying.

When artists talk about terror, it often sounds over-dramatic. And, it is. To an extent. But fear is fear, and, no, whether people hate or love my writing doesn't put me in life and death peril...the results of sharing art with someone who dislikes it is, in my opinion, often worse. I know because people I love have shared art with me I don't like before, and now, I don't care because I digest asteroids-worth of colleague/sketch partner/fellow comedian work, so it's same jokes different day, some good, some not. But, when I was more immature? There was a little grain of judgement I got to keep in my pocket about kids in class who wrote crappy short stories, the students in the Acting I showcase. Oh, dear God, please do not let me fall to that fate! Do not let people I respect see me as I brattily saw that dummy freshmen doing a subpar scene from Barefoot in the Park! It's childish, but I can't help it. TERROR.

It was luck that I brought Anne Bogart to work to read on downtime today. I fittingly decided to read her essay on terror, and I so needed to read this quote by Martha Graham (bolding is mine):

"There is a vitality, a life-force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unque. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is; nor how valuable it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you."

Read: I can do eet!