Binders of Tony Women

Obligatory blog post about the lack of female representation at the 2014 Tonys. I didn't watch The Tonys, mainly because I don't have TV and secondly because I didn't hear about literally anything that even piqued my interest on Broadway this year. So I just read the results the next morning. Of course the lack of women was obvious. Like, where the woman at? Especially playwrights. Especially because the Pulitzers were female playwright bonanza.

A positive outcome from the whole kerfuffel is how many people are cognizant of the inequality. Jason Robert Brown publicly dissed Broadway, the internet exploded etc. etc. But I'm just so tired of women being counted all the time. One one hand, apparently we have to keep doing it. Because there aren't women in things women need to be in. You know, little things like Congress and national artistic awards. But, like, EVERY TIME  thing of importance happens I feel like these really imporant (and rare) ladies are just numbers. (Only one woman in this category, only one previous winner in this category, this many seats in the House, and so on). So, like, yeah, since it;s ridiculous, we need to keep reminding people women are supes underrepresented. But on the other hand what kind of solution does that really inspire? Vote for for women based on the fact we're missing women? I'm annoyed there aren't many women on Broadway, but what can I do about that? Producers can certainly from now on feel they must at LEAST nominate a woman in each category every year, but then it's sort of a pity game instead of a talent game. Or at least it can feel that way.

What are the actual answers to these unfair numbers? I can't accept the answer is simply repeating the numbers over and over and pretending that's part of a solution or even the most useful data. Everyone laughed forever at Mitt Romney's "binder full of women" slip-up, but actually what he was even saying was highly idiotic. (Not trying to rip on Romney here, the most progressive people do this stuff.) Someone questioned his gender equality, so his first attempted answer is "All is good, a employ so many women." AKA Look at these numbers! I'm fulfilling the numbers!

I don't know how many college ads are based on the concept, "You're not a number here at Blerg Blagh University. You're a name/student/person/Chia Pet!" And yet, all of humanity cannot stop treating women as numbers alone. I am not a number!

Five Best Sights So Far

All the chubby Alaskan bunnies.

A playwright watching his own work read cold in a bar cabin, trying not to laugh (because it's kind of tacky to laugh at your own jokes), but beaming through a tight-lipped smile.

The tail of a humpback whale.

Playwright who wrote a one-act about a little girl obsessed with killing things performing "Kiss" by Prince at karaoke.

This photo Bisque texted me. A close up of the map that hangs in his bedroom.

You don't have to be cool to rule my world.

Z to K

Left for Alaska this morning. Boulder pumped his fists in the air when I got to the bar Thursday. "We goin' to the last frontier!" And I barely smiled. I couldn't put my finger on it. Well, yes, I could. It's just that we kept getting emails from the conference director that it was still snowing up there, and I only got a week of summer vacation, and will the conference even be fun, and I just like my life right now! Why botch it?

Flew all day, writing criticism articles with deadlines so so fast approaching. Tired. Cramped up from three planes. The last, a roller-skate. But when I set foot in my final destination, a dinky town surrounded by snowy mountains with dat frash fresh air, WHOA. I am staying a luxury suite on the grad college's dime. Everything is gorgeous. It's snowy, yes, but there's a harbor and a giant fish sign and oh YEAH, I'm here for a VERY EXCITING CONFERENCE, which I had forgotten. Poof. The woes, they woe-no-mo'. That ain't me! Keep moving forward. The important stuff moves with you.

I AM IN ALASKA! I HAVE ARRIVED!

Barenaked Ladies

Say what you will, there's a lightness. A sunny cheer.
And while I mentally made fun of the boy in college with his binder sharpeed
"TryToScreamButItOnlyComesOutAsAYawn"
he was nice.

Boulder had me over for stuffed green peppers to celebrate his last first day of school.
And he performed a little dance,
the guy's done with rewrites. What a blessing.
It's the perfect time of year
when you're done with rewrites.

I could walk, but I'll just drive
It's colder than it looks outside.

Inadvertent Racism

Ro and I were talking about a largely hispanic neighborhood in Phoenix--let's call it "Guad"--that is often a hotbed of crime, grit, general sketchiness. I backed up the stereotype with a fact:

ME: Yeah, the other second-year playwright lived there last year, and his house was broken into.
RO: Okay, maybe this will make me sound racist, but I didn't even know any white people lived in Guad.

Get it? The joke is that Ro, self-awarely, made a comment about racial communal borders, but, in the process, insinuated that playwrights are all white*. Hilarious, hilarious.

Ro, Ru, & me. Pore strips while watching Sister Act. 2012.

*To be fair, Rye is white. But! Ermo (head of the program) is Chilean. Burrito** (last year's grad) is Mexican.

**I really shouldn't talk. I am aware that I gave my Mexican classmate the pseudonym Burrito. I deserve to burn in racist hell.

Nausea, Potatoes, Love

Wednesday night I went out with Blue Eyes and Boulder to our usual post-class haunt. I had had a headache at the end of class and knew I needed to eat. Pretty much as soon as I dismounted from my bike and walked up to their misted table, I wanted to vom. I needed food, and I needed it now. Extreme nausea extremely fast. I tried to be a decent human being but my cement mixing stomach was screaming, and I had to go sit in the bathroom for ten minutes because it was cool and I could avoid conversation (which was great conversation, but it made me open my mouth, which brought me closer to throwing up out of it).

The waitress did something I love waitresses to do--bring out appetizers (if that's all you order) with other people's food and not their salad. BUT NOT TONIGHT, LADY. I NEED THOSE POTATO SKINS IN MY BODY. I know it's silly in hindsight, but I did think I was going to implode, so I lost all sense of social grace and put my head on the table. I held my temple. I stripped my mask of "I'm okay" and let my peers see what was happening: my painful death. I whined a little. Blue Eyes looked concerned, and it's probably the first time I've ever seen what he's like as a father. "Oh no! This tomato is on my fork, but it's headed to your mouth!" Boulder airplaned a bite of salad to me. I scowled. I wanted a friendly potato--not an acidic demon plant. He did not act offended. He understood.

Finally my food came. I stripped the skins of their cheese and painfully ate one. My boys kept chipper but watchful of me, the island across the table whimpering as I chewed up two skins and boxed the rest. Blue Eyes paid for my meal, and Boulder offered to drive me. I said that wasn't necessary. He said he'd walk my bike back to my condo. I genuinely was feeling a little better, so I rode back alone. So grateful. I was supposed to go out with Pinto at 8. I cancelled via text like a jerk, but he responded, "Should I bring some soup and a cheesy DVD?"

I guess, what I mean is, people are really good, and we are cared for.

Also, that's how I ended up going to bed at 9 PM and thus waking up at 4 AM on Thursday.