Buttons, Screens

The ship contractors got busy during dry dock. All the carpet is new, the walls are more subdued, chairs reupholstered, new color palettes in the buffet. The crew areas, meals, shows...those are all exactly the same. But the packaging looks nice I suppose. Kind of like putting a Cracker Jack ring in a Tiffanys box.

At the gym the tough floor has been replaced for that squishy kind. New machines. I run on a sparkling treadmill with a touchscreen instead of a control panel. I hit a jog, then sprint. At two miles I want to slow down. I press the appropriate portion of the touch screen--the little minus sign. My finger is too hot or maybe too sweaty. I don't know, but the screen will not respond to me. I keep sprinting. I punch at the flashing images in front of me. Nothing works. I pull the emergency stop cord. No cool down. Just a dramatic end to my workout.

Buttons always beat touch screens.

So. No matter what people hypothesize and no matter how cultural budgets shrink, live theatre will always stay relevant.

Oh "Merry Christmas"

I really don't mind "Merry Christmas." I know I celebrate Christmas, so, obviously I have a comfortability bias. But, I guess I think Christmas is a national holiday. Our nation, for better or for worse, was founded in Christianity. It's American culture to say "Merry Christmas" around December 25th.

"Merry Christmas" is not (and should not be) mandated American culture by any means. People who are offended by "Happy Holidays" can choke on a candy cane. Who honestly cares? Your holiday/beliefs/religion are not tainted when someone different than you does not choose to reflect a casual intended-to-be-cheerful sentiment. But, why not say "Merry Christmas" if that's what I choose to celebrate? "Celebrate" is even a loose term. I watched Scrooged and had an apple pie, ya know? I have no plans to view a baby Jesus tomorrow.

I would not be offended if someone chose to wish me a holiday greeting of their choice (any time of year, not just in winter). I'd be totally a million percent happy to hear "Happy Purim!" from Jewish friends (or strangers). One of my students last term asked for Eid off this fall, and I enjoyed learning about it. For sure, she could write the in-class essay remotely.

But, I suppose I know that being a non-white non-Christian person in America is inherently difficult at times. Perhaps casual reminders that the majority of your culture believes something you don't is suffocating. I check my privilege here. I get it. I think I'm dreaming of the world I wish we lived in--where people would all openly say what they believe and how they choose to do so and we're all in awe of each other and how unique we all are...not the world we live in where people don't want to wish anyone a pleasant Ramadan because someone may want to kill them in response.

Stingrays!

Just one thing I did last weekend was touch stingrays. Just one thing!

Others include: seeing new Insidious movie in the fancy theatre with smuggled in Garrett's popcorn, brunch, a new interactive theatre show about grifting, participating in Americans for the Arts conference, an evening stroll in Daley Plaza, visiting the Modern Art Museum, a comped one-woman show at the company I work for, and let's not forget all the regulars like aerobic step, breathing, and the sky.

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.

Cheecahgo

It's been just over a month since I returned from the land of cacti, and I must admit, I really do believe Chicago is the best city in the country. For a little sunbug like me, it's still not MY place because omg winter. But in general...I truly don't know how you could argue.

1. Dopest skyline. I took this for granted growing up. I had heard of other cities and I assumed they were all like mine. But every time I go to a new place my question is frequently, "Where's downtown?" Chicago's heart is prominent and breathtaking.

2. It's a city and people act like it, and also crime, but in general it's not dog-eat-dog. Chicago is known for it's bang in creative work environments and generally helpful city employees, yo.

3. Culture not to be topped. Art Institute, Science and Industry, Field Museum. Okay. Bias here. Obvs NY is giving it a run for its money. But would you rather have the sparkle of Broadway or the development of Steppenwolf? You know? It's a different vibe.

4. Similarly, comedy. This is the comedy capitol of the world. So. Whattup.

5. Lake Michigan. Honestly, it's as majestic as the ocean with no sharks or salt. Plus it's PART of the city. You're got gonna walk on the beach in the middle of your LA day. But here. Yup. Go for it.

6. Pizza.

7. Get going. Middle of the country. Go anywhere! All destinations are basically the same. Inside the city, best public transit IMO.

8. Is cool enough to have tourists and tourist destinations but not too cool that everyone you meet is a transplant. There's a way of life here actually largely informed by our creature comforts. I am the way I am not parallel to the fact that hot dogs are a diet staple and the huge population of Irish Catholics mean constant wakes and parties to soften them, I'm who I am because of it.

I'm writing this in Millenium Park, waiting to meet a friend. A jazz band is playing, a traffic cop's whistle compliments the tunes, the fountain spits.

Italian Birthday

Hoisted our duffels and made our way (regretfully) trainward ho. Goodbye, Cinque. I stopped in the teeny market for a little block of Parmesan and some native sweet bread. Four hour trip to Rome requires snacks.

We had a two hour delay in a quaint station with nothing but a trashy gift shop and a McDonalds. We decided to enjoy a couple lattes and were delighted by the assortment of pastries McDs had. I ate a super flaky, dusted with powdered sugar, ricotta cheese poof. Quite honestly it was the best breakfast I had all trip. If a year ago you would have told me my birthday breakfast would be from Ronald himself I would have probably assumed my life somehow unraveled to disastrous shambles and not that I would actually be very satisfied.

The weather was perfect. Creamy clouds and faint smells of countryside. On the train I planned to read more of A Room with a View, but we ended up in the most serendipitous of cars! Six little seats filled by three couples in their twenties from the US, Austrailia, and India. We spent the entire time asking each other questions about our cultures, comparing, contrasting, commenting on what we'd seen of Italy so far. I still can't get over this really. It seemed almost planned, but it was just the luck of the 19 Mag!

We decided to cab to our hotel in Rome to avoid pickpockets and a transportation headache after a longish trip. It was cheaper than we expected and much appreciated. I opened my window as the new city air whipped in.

For dinner we found a little checked-tablecloths and all pizza place. My main request was to have two gelato for dessert. The night was young. We visited The Pantheon, people watched for hours with gelato number one (chocolate orange) in hand.

We watched a street clown for a bit and headed to Trevi Fountain. Stayed on a bench from early dusk until it was completely lit watching couples kissing and large groups tossing coins behind them.

I chose a delightful lemon gelato two, Bisque made good on his promise for a backrub and we planned our very busy marrow. I reflected on the year as I drifted to sleep.

Understood

Just finished reading The Shame of the Nation today, which is a book about the US education system's lack of truly integrated schools. A common theme in the book is that change kind of happens from the bottom, but historically, these poor ("let's face it: black" according to the author Kozol) schools don't get much no matter how bad it gets. Students are taught "I am the change." But ultimately, huge education reform happens on congressional levels. The charter schools grow, stricter rules get shoved onto the most struggling of children. They are not getting the elementary education I got in my (let's face it: white) suburb.

This is always the complaint. Why are all these people speaking for others they don't fully understand? It is an archaic system on a slow road to change. Sure. That's fine. And I'm not blaming congresspeople (let's face it: men) for not truly understanding poverty. Just like I don't blame myself. I can blame someone for not being aware, but to truly, truly understand is a different story. I would have to work very hard to understand. I have learned a lot from this 300 page book, but I am not in those little shoes.

What would it be like if in our culture you could only speak to things you truly understood or directly applied to you? On one hand, this is impossible if you believe in community. We are a web after all. On the other hand, how sweet would it be if it was extremely rude to speak about abortion unless you were currently pregnant? No sharing an opinion on a film unless you've seen the whole thing. Shut up about another country unless you live there?

I'm not suggesting this. I think we should consider other viewpoints. I think we need to. Just a daydream of sorts on this fine Friday afternoon.

We All Talk About Girls

Sunday night Season Three of Girls premiered. Monday morning, despite it being my first day of school, I carved out half an hour in which to watch the first episode over my berries and walnuts.

Girls is important to me not just because I like it (I do), but because it is the great corral of my demographic: liberal women in their 20s. While Girls certainly does not reflect my demographic at large accurately (mainly racially and socio-economically), some aspects of Dunham's conception of my demographic transcend race/money/being fascinating in New York City. Every woman in her 20s not only connects with some aspect of Girls, every woman in her 20s connects with some aspect of Girls on a very deep, almost depressingly accurate level. So, Girls does speak to me truthfully. And, further, people might think it totally represents me. And as far as the dodos who think Girls is trying to completely encapsulate every single young woman in America, I want to know what people think is being allegedly said about "me."

More importantly, most importantly, we all talk about Girls. It is the show most of the women in my life have seen and have opinions about. When a new episode airs the internet goes 'nanners, sure, but in person all the ladies around are chattin' it up. Season Two was a let-down to many critics--especially males--because not much "happened." But don't you see? The fun of it is not the plot moving along. The fun of it is gabbing with girlfriends saying, "I liked that Marnie did that" and your pal saying, "I hated it. If I were her..." It's a conduit for conversations about femininity. It's a backbone. It's a shared source material.

A few years ago while my sister and I were jetting through Season Five of Sex and the City she told me that someone she knew lived in New York during SATC'S heyday. And that everyone was talking about it. Like, you could go to your hairdresser and discuss the ins and outs of Steve + Miranda. I remember being so jealous. I want an automatic TV book club! I want to talk about womanhood every week with friends and strangers! AND NOW MY DREAM IS REALIZED!

So, this makes me happy. Obvs. Then I realized it also makes me a wee bit sad because maybe the reason we all talk about Girls is because it's the one big feminist television oasis in a patriarchal Sahara. But, honestly, I'm going to chalk this one up as a win because shared culture is just the best, and there's time for gender diversity next year. Even when things aren't "right," there are silver linings, and it's important to be grateful for those. They may be gone when the tides turn.

One Nation, Of Individuals (with Liberty and Justice for All)

This semester my Dramatic Writing Workshop is reading Anne Bogart's A Director Prepares. Yesterday we discussed her essay on Memory, which is largely about Americans' lack of memory (recognition) of the shoulders we're standing on when it comes to theatre. A classmate noted that visual artists learn to copy before they can create. They're constantly making art, turning around, revisiting Picasso, Degas, Rembrandt, then mimicking for a while, then facing forward again and marching on.

Playwrights don't much do this. We think it's important to know the basics, but no one holds you to it. The sentiment appears to be "There's too much"--which is kind of true--we definitely don't have as succinct a canon as art history (or maybe I'm just telling myself that because I still haven't read, say, Raisin in the Sun). Not only are we forgiving about neglecting our past, we are absolutely unforgiving when it comes to dragging it along with us. It is not good to be impersonating another writer. If possible, our work should be nothing like anyone's ever seen before. Not only is this basically impossible, if it were possible, approaching the goal of sheer uniqueness in this way is like just deciding to take a running jump off a roof and say we will be the first human to fly. We need to walk before we can run--and absolutely before we can soar.

Why are we this way? Why do we want to be so new? Why can't we stand to repeat classics, to learn from what has come before us? Bogart says it's a matter of not recognizing and using our own culture because American culture is so jumbled and illusive. You can't pin it. Are we religious? Yes and no. Are we helpful? Yes and no. Are we obnoxious? Yes and no. We're not even unanimously rich or talented or polite or impolite. We have almost no common literary background. We have no ritual. I can get behind this theory of not using our culture because we don't have one, but I think a more likely reason we don't go back and reflect what has come before us is because part of our culture...actually probably the only consistent part of our culture is being individual. We were founded because of persecution, we like to protest and riot and be free, and thus...write new new works.

Desert morning. April 2012.

Just some stuff I'm thinking about at 4 AM...which is another story.

The world shines as I cross the Macon County Line.

Horrible Notes in My Theatre History Notebook

Marg. Two weeks ago.

One thing about me is that I write a lot. I write in this blog daily. I write in a gratitude journal every morning, a normal journal at night. I write academic papers. I write full-length plays for seminar. I write at least one new sketch every week. I write essays for an online journal somewhat frequently. I am working on several short stories, little scenelets, I write a very long e-mail to Muff every Tuesday, and short e-mails to my sister every evening. I write stand-up in my head, I write long feedback to my students on the back of their screenplays, I write letters to Sabra hummus and they send me coupons for being a grateful consumer. The writing never ends--even when I'm just listening in class--ESPECIALLY when I'm just listening in class.

Being a comedian, it's not weird for me to put my hands in the pouch of my navy hoody and find a yellow post-it that reads, "Ain't no party like the Donner party." Some joke I felt I NEEDED to remember. (This happened to me today.)

I recently flipped through my semester's notes for Theatre History and found some horrible/weird/wonderful stuff. Here are some snippets:

-It's weird Chinese people work so hard when they don't even have a God to please.
-Whatever happened to survival of the fittest? If you've got a peanut allergy, shouldn't you just die?
-Why do I love the Luhrman R + J so freaking much?
-"It's amazing, and then we write it down, and it's in a book, and it becomes a quiz question: 'what is epic theatre?'"--Prof
-Who decides what is "dominant?"
-Is travel even real?!
-I think you need to understand you only know what's in your head, but that's all anyone knows, so you're entitled to your opinions, as long as you know it's only that.
-Always ask, "Says who?"

Legit. I thought all of these ideas were so important I HAD TO write them down.

Straight up, what did you hope to learn about here?
If I was someone else would this all fall apart?

Leave It Alone

Kyoto. 2008.

Studying Oedipus in Dramaturgy. Not regular Oedipus, you nerds. What do you think I am? A senior in AP English? No. Cool Oedipus--as in Gospel at Coloneus. I'm in grad school, yatches. Real deal here.

Anyway. Today we watched part of the Julie Taymor version that was done in Japan. Holy sushi rolls! There are a lot of parallels between Oedipus and Japanese culture! Like the whole Oedipus being obsessed with solving the mystery of his own murdering and being told, "Just let it go, trust me, dude." But him not, and then obvi, things don't go so hot for Oedi...

In Japan that's really important--that idea of "Maybe you should just let things go unknown and unsaid please." It was very powerful to see that ancient Greek idea come to life in the context of contemporary Nihon culture. A strong case for the positive parts of globalization of art.