Rejection: Part II (The Upstairs Concierge by Kristoffer Diaz)

A couple weeks ago Bisque and I went to The Goodman for a Sunday night date. The Upstairs Concierge by Kristoffer Diaz. It was a comedy, and about thirty minutes in neither of us had laughed once. More than that, I was bored, borderline offended someone thought this extremely cliche set-up ("We're in a new hotel where there are no locks on the doors, and everyone is highly sexualized!") would be entertaining to me. I was so shocked by how bad the play was that I legitimately awaited a humongous "JUST KIDDING"--like all the characters suddenly became zombies, or it was a bad play within a play. But no. It was just a very under-developed in terms of character, super over-developed in terms of cheesy punchlines, and over-zealous physical comedy for physical comedy's sake plot garbage pot pie. We actually considered walking out. "Are we nuts?" Nope. We weren't. The next day the reviews came. And woof.

The lead of the show is an extremely talented woman who I have seen perform at SC numerous times. With few exceptions, everyone on stage was fun. The playwright has been previously nominated for a Pulitzer. The ensemble developed this show over the course of three years. Then, it was put up at the biggest commercial theatre in Chicago. Flop City. How did this happen? How could people not see?

I so respect Diaz's motives. He wanted a big farce because regional theatre doesn't have any modern pieces to do. Everyone's still Noises Off! forever and ever. He wanted to showcase minorities in big fat comic roles. Yes! I want that too. But, I want it to be good. I won't go into more detail because the critics already bashed the piece to smithereens. The point: maybe, and that's a big maybe, it was good for this piece to happen and fail big, but ultimately, it should have been rejected.

I'm not sure when The Goodman officially slotted the play, and I'm not sure when something can be pulled, so maybe by the time it was definitely bad it was too late. But, a rejection would have been a blessing. And wouldn't we rather that? Be sifted into the spaces we will shine in rather than never be rejected and spoil like cabbage in public?

Another good thing: I will see Kristoffer Diaz's next show. I get it. Sometimes work doesn't work. I still believe in him. If I can see this, perhaps those who have seen me fail can too.

Identity

I am not a very fun person. This is a disappointing surprise to many people. On paper I should be a hoot. I do comedy, I wear bright colors, and I have a variety of fun interests (hamsters, Pop-Tarts, musical theatre).

But I'm actually typically thoughtful, uninterested in milling around, and industrious. I just want to get things done, and think about problems, and write about solving them. So, up until a few years ago I was a lot more hyper and willing to be a goofball, so I never had issues fitting into groups. I don't know when the change happened from bonkers lil sweetie to quiet winter monster happened, but, whatevs, it did. My current philosophy is I had too many leadership positions in college and the gender stereotypes wore me down to a mean nub. I DON'T KNOW. I think I am enjoyable one-on-one. I am a good listened and even-keeled. I am adventurous and optimistic. But in groups of improvisers? In groups of improvisers I can seem a little stuffy. The point is, how does one be better at being fun?

I was sort of bemoaning this to a friend recently, and, of course, he said "Well, would you rather not be you?" So, yeah, got me. No, I want to be me. I just want to be me and smile more with strangers I guess? Anyway, this is a new project for myself. Here I go.

"Well, sometimes we have to deal with the gifts God gives us, Alice. Some us are normal, some of us have to be giant technicolor moths." - Dusty giving me very confusing advice using Mothra as a metaphor for not fitting in

#Privilege

This morning I had blueberry sourdough pancakes while looking out the window at the tallest mountain in the country.

Yesterday the summer opened up, and although there are mounds of snow on the ground, the sun was bright enough to bake in (which I did on a deck chair on a bridge over a creek).

I needed that. I truly did. Valdez was breath-taking, but it was not home. Everything was grey and chilled. The Midwest was fine, but the moment I stepped out of the Tucson airport in 2005 I knew I was meant to be a desert rat. It felt right.

If I had never been to Arizona, I probably would have gotten along in Chicago. Heck, I might go back. But now it will be harder. I know it's not my fit. And Alaska! Alaska! What if I had been born in Alaska and never left? I would have thought life was about being uncomfortable? I mean, perhaps I would have mended my ways, but sometimes I think we are who we are and that can't be sewn differently.

So, I guess what's weird, is that traveling to Alaska has made me feel a lot of compassion for transgendered peoples.

"We are who we are."--the immortal Ke$ha