Tink

My musical had it's third workshop performance this weekend. I sat in the far back corner, as I like to do. I can't even comprehend it anymore. I feel like a meteorologist in the theatre. Ticking down laughs and quiet spaces. I can answer a question for the director, recognize a complication in a line, and revise lyrics immediately. I love that feeling. But when I watch generally, it's mush. I've spent years with this story. I treat it like the painting of Buddha in the kitchen. Nine times out of ten if someone mentions "the Buddha painting" I ask, "What are you talking about?"

An interesting thing about my work is I am an educator at heart, but people don't love to be educated for some reason in theatre. I do. I love being educated in theatre. But, okay, I guess sometimes I recognize I prickle when I feel a piece is teaching me something I know. And then I have to be very patient, when, for example, a pretty good play at The Goodman right now has a huge section of text about why some people prefer "they" as their gender pronouns. I'm like oh come on did I just turn on Degrassi? (Also I love Degrassi, so my complaints are even more obnoxious) But then I remember The Goodman's average viewer doesn't know about "they" stuff. Heck the gay bi-racial, interfaith artist couple I worked for when I first landed here hated the concept of "they." "Bad grammar" they both cited over and over.

So like, how do you educate without letting anyone know you're doing it? And how to you not mansplain inside comedy? And also 80% of the time I feel like this little "art for social change" is stupid because children are in cages and I donated money and contacted Congress and I know I am kidding myself that's barely reason to feel like I worked for change. And I worry it will not be resolved and I worry I will become complacent because it's just so much easier. I'm sorry, I tell the golden egg inside myself. I'm sorry I am lazier than I want to be. But then I run an improv workshop for social workers and they feel so proud of themselves and laugh so hard and tell me how it's going to help so much, and then I'm like, okay okay I believe again. I clap my hands for Tinkerbell.

It's a Small, Small, World

"You'll remember that so much more than the grading you should have been doing."--Heart, after I told him I went to Disneyland in the middle of finals.

Two weeks ago Hill texted me, "But what if you went to Disneyland next Friday?" and although a teeny part of my brain chirped "Please do not do that" I could not stop my fingers from racing "YES YES YES" because it's Disneyland at Christmas.

Disneyland is corporate America at it's best, over-priced, sentimental, and subtly racist at every turn, but guess WHAT? I love it. I had The Most Fun. It was exceedingly refreshing to spend a few days with people I don't know very well, and as cliche as it sounds, Disney makes me happy. It's overpriced because there is magic to be made--or at least synthesized. I am in debt to that magic. Schoolwork and logistics don't seem important on Space Mountain. There are no personal offenses to consider in the Nightmare Before Christmas Haunted Mansion.

The group right after It's a Small World lit on up.

At about 6 PM I started feeling ill. At 7:30 I was vomiting my guts out. Goodbye burrito from Downtown Disney. Farewell, Dole whip. Sayonara, bread bowl from California Adventure. I really wanted to push through and finish out the night, but I just couldn't. I needed to be thankful for the good I had already received. Jungle Cruise and Indy and Cars, oh my. I stoically bid everyone goodnight and walked, shaking, back to the hotel alone. I counted blessings in the dark on my pull-out until I fell asleep. In an hour I was awoken by fireworks, and everything was perfect and beautiful. Stomach still, head relieved. I kicked on my shoes in joy and ran to the balcony! The sky show was not only fantastic kiddy excitement with mouse ears, it was a celebration of my well-being. I jogged back to the park, where everyone was spilling out with throbbing feet. I was not phased by the hoards of tired tourists shoving on the faux main street of yesteryear. I was in love with everyone--I had my health.

I walked to up to this group of friends I only kind of know nursing aching backs in Tomorrowland, and they cheered for me. "You rallied!" said Spiff. We took a ride with C-3PO. All were exhausted and ready to call it at 11:15. I could not! Too much glee. I told them to leave, but I was going on Peter Pan. Reluctantly, one by one, they all joined me in line. The perfect end to a perfect day--flying over London, fighting pirates, think happy thoughts.

Photo by Hill.

Think happy thoughts.