Ideas to Reality II

When I worked on a cruise ship one of my duties was to lead improv workshops the last day at sea. I liked this gig way better than playing a DVD of old 90s sketches on the first day at sea or being a "celebrity judge" for the dance tournament. For the last few minutes of the workshop we'd (me + whatever castmate I had that week) answer some Q & A. Standard questions about living on a boat, comedy techniques, entertainment careers. Once a woman asked who our favorite comedians were. I think my partner said, like, Gilda Radner or something. I said Lindy West and _____ ____. An essayist and an absolute dream of a writer/performer I saw at SC while I was still living in Arizona. I had written her a fan letter after that show. I don't know if she ever got it.

Two weeks ago I saw Lindy West speak. And the next day, about 16 hours later, I met _____ ____. I had a job interview with her. Isn't that just something? I met my two favorite writers in 24 hours. One meeting I orchestrated (/paid for), and I one I couldn't have if I had tried. And, sure, favorites change, and possibly they morph based on possibility of proximity, but in this case I said into a microphone, three years ago, in the middle of the Caribbean, these two people were my favorites, and it's like some weird seashell summoned them. The truth is nothing is better now.

Ideas to Reality

I learned about Lindy West's book talk in October via her Instagram. Lindy West is my favorite writer and has been for eight years. I've never laughed so hard reading essays, thought so deeply reading tweets. I set an honest-to-god alarm to go off when the tickets went on sale. I invited Lo. Then I invited Tira, who said "okay" and invited her gf as well.

I had a single ticket sent to my apartment. Monday I planned to arrive at the venue an hour before start so I could ensure four (good) seats together. Traffic was worse than anticipated, so I only arrived half an hour early. I was shocked to find only about fifteen women milling around and tons of empty seaties. I checked in to get my hardcover book. The nice lady couldn't find my name but finally announced, "Oh, you were in a section for paper tickets. You're the only one who had a physical ticket sent to you via mail." I needed the hard ticket for scrapbooking.

I sat down in the fourth row and my friends came soon after. This is what we did with our nights. We got four books, we spent an hour. Lo & I walked down the big event space hill to a French bistro and I got a cheese plate. It all happened because it was an idea, and the idea came to fruition. When I posted the pictures on Insta, several friends DM'd to say they were jealous. I wish I had invited more folks! More folks whose evenings/lives would have been altered by an idea.

The most powerful idea West shared with us (for me) was that sometimes it seems things will never change, or only get worse. But remember cigarettes in bars? When that legislation was presented even she (a non-smoker) rallied against it. "Cigarettes are part of bars! You can't tell us what to do! Even if it passes, we will revolt!" But look, after ten minutes, no one cared. Now if you were to see someone smoking in a bar you'd grow deeply concerned, maybe even scared. It would be uncanny.

Need To Vs. Want To

Currently, there are two e-books on my iPad: Lindy West's Shrill (2016) and Stephen King's Bag of Bones (1998). I flopped between them today on the train from Madrid to Sevilla (insert nail painting emoji). I wanted to be reading Shrill--it's fascinating and honest and interesting. Every chapter is a caramel in bright foil wrapping. I want to make it last.

But I continue to read ol' Mr. King too. For the opposite reason: I don't want it to last. I want to finish. I am hugely intrigued by the puzzle the book begins with. Page one maybe! A question unanswered that, like a clogged drain, is never a straight put of one hair. There's a clot down there. I just want to know the ending so bad. So much so that when a B-plot gets introduced (and, oh, they do because the book is a jillion pages long I GET IT STEVE PEOPLE ARE COMPLICATED AND MAINE IS COOL), I'm like, "Did we really need this?" The answer is going to be yes because of course all the plots will weave together. Which is ALSO why I can't just skip to the end and read the last chapter. I won't understand what's happening. By then, then there will be twenty-seven more key characters I haven't even met yet.

Both authors are doing their jobs. I'm hooked, aren't I? But one I appreciate much more. One I will always return to. The other I was make a pact to avoid and then in a moment of no-other-books-are-available-at-the-library weakness, return to him as I always do. (In his defense, I always do.)

I am reminded of The People Vs. OJ Simpson--the best TV I've seen all year (and so much TV is good right now!). It wasn't about the end. It couldn't be. We all know what went down. NO, it was about each episode--more--each act break, the nuance, the lines, the way I asked myself questions when the screen cut to black. I'll sit through two hours of obnoxious Q and A with the host of The Bachelor to find out who won, but I wish I didn't have to. Meanwhile, I'd hungrily chow down on Broad City even if the episode was titled, "Abby and Illana Sit On A Couch for Thirty Minutes."

Interesting Dirtbags

Two weeks ago I was happily gabbing with Bug at work about, I dunno, macaroons or Lindy West or I DUNNO when a coworker who doesn't usually stop by the reception desk paused gravely in front of us and asked, "Did you hear about what happened?"

It's an off-setting question, but what was really off-setting is that this coworker wore a frown but was holding onto this, like, excitement. And she nodded her head slowly and told us about some kid in Texas who attacked his classmates with a box-cutter that day. "Oh," we said, "oh." And that was kinda all there was to say. I mean, great. Thanks for that? Coworker stood nodding a few more moments, added something like, "Just goes to show..." And then it was semi-evident to me, she didn't actually know what went to show where, but she had thrown out some introductory phrase, so she wrapped it up with, "...gotta be aware of your surroundings." And she shuffled away. And me and Bug, we nodded seriously because we're not monsters nor idiots and that's what you're supposed to do when a kid from Texas goes berserk with a packaging accouterment.

WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN? WHY WAS IT SO IMPORTANT WE HAD TO BE TOLD? WHAT DID THAT ACCOMPLISH?

These are the things I asked Muffy today in the Arizona sun while we walked around my campus sipping Jamba Juice. Incidentally, Muffy is next to me watching me type this blog. She had some answers:

"Let me sum it up really quick--Don't write any of this. One is--[she notices me transcribing] This isn't gonna make any sense [laughter]. Okay drama. Um, what was the other thing? No. Okay, don't...[she gets frustrated with me typing her words, but I do not stop]. So, um, wait what was the other thing? Drama and, oh yeah! Power! They want importance, significance. They want to be somebody significant to the other person. You mentioned they wanted to be remembered with that event. Like, in connection to that event. Oh yeah, and then the last thing is that some people feel boring and they get excited when there's something exciting to share because they want to be seen as exciting."

That said, we went on to discuss how being boring and thinking others are boring is not only boring,  it's perpetuating tragedy! Because the more we get jazzed to discuss misfortune, the more troubled folk idealize that attention, and we totally play into it because it's not boring.

Solutions:

A. Recognize that the most exciting things are not tragedy. The most exciting thing is Love. That is not boring. We do not have to wait to be intrigued by disaster.

B. Work toward seeing others as interesting. Let go of the misconception that we ourselves or others are boring. "Imagine if you approached every person and treated them as if they're interesting. I bet people wouldn't end up...doing those things. If you're getting that sort of love..."

C. Continue attempting to find tactful ways to divert conversations surrounding tragedy. Not that it's always unproductive. "Sometimes it is productive, like with the gun control [post Sandy Hook], but the conversation should be productive or it should just stop."

Muffy sippin' Jamba

She doesn't know who I am and

she doesn't give a damn about me.

'Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby.