Blue Lobster Files

And then I was stuck. Snack to stuck just like that. Twigs that I can't break with my claws? What was it? Tough. Too tough. I waited. Then. Pulled up, up, up out. Sky, air, cloud, peach blob holds this box I am in. Peach blob whistles. Peach blob calls to other peach blob. Peach blogs look at me. I am not afraid. They seem like predators, but I feel, they will not be. Something is out of the ordinary.

Lot of other guys here. Our pinchers magically unworkable. What is this? What is this?

We arrive. I sense arriving. The other dudes are off, slopped together. My legs twinge. I don't feel good about where they're going. The pack of them. We're not meant to be in packs. But not me. Peach blobs get closer, more peach blobs. There is something special happening. I hope I find out soon. Something worth celebrating.

I travel with one peach blob in a mystic cave. A moving mystic cave. I understand light now. For the first time I really see it. In a way I didn't know it could be, without the come and go of wave haze.

Turns out the mystic cave is it for me. Lots of peach blobs. New peach blobs. Every day. And I see them change when they're with me. Something really big is about to happen, this I have known, but I cannot figure it out. I am also very bored. I don't have to look for food anymore, which was nice at first. But now, I'm not so sure. Perhaps in in preparation for The Thing Happening. That buzz of excitement.

And sometimes I am held on my back, and I can't breath, and the blobs--smaller blobs, bigger groups of them--are touching me. This used to concern me, but now anything out of the cave is at least interesting. I'm lonely.

Maybe The Thing will mean more companions. I like one blob. It has whiskers like mine. He holds me the most. I feel comfortable in his blob blobs. He shines with pride about The Thing, it seems. When will this thing happen? This very special thing in the air. What is it? Where is it? A huge guy stares at me all day. We have caves across from each other. "Hey," we wave, but we'll never even see each other without the glassy haze between us. Is he part of the special Thing? Does he know?

How long will I live this way? It's been longer than my life at this point. I don't remember the old home. No matter how many times I lose this clink clank on my back, it comes back. Nothing changes, forever on the precipice of The Thing. That happiness, giddiness, but what, what, what could it be, and when will I know? I'm starting to wonder if I will ever know. What a world! I'll probably never be let in on the secret.

Never knowing,

shocking, but we're guessing.

We're just moments.

We're clever, but we're clueless.

1,000

This is my 1,000th post on this blog! Wow.

Chicago Bean. September 2012.

“You are not just here to fill space or be a background character in someone else's movie. Consider this: nothing would be the same if you did not exist. Every place you have ever been and everyone you have ever spoken to would be different without you. We are all connected, and we are all affected by the decisions and even the existence of those around us.” --David Niven

Spring Awakening

Saw Spring Awakening Friday night. I've had the soundtrack for years, but had never seen it staged. While I love much of it: the concept, the rockin' 90s jamz (Duncan Shiek what UP), there are some things I knew I wouldn't love about it. Mainly, MAINLY have been trying to avoid the line, "Oh, I'm gonna bruise you/Oh, I'm gonna be your bruise" since I first heard it in my earbuds on a Christmas road trip 2008. Woof. But, Ru was in a local production, so I went. Extremely satisfying. (And he was phenomenal. It's very exciting to see one of my artistic friends really making it.)

Thoughts Inspired By the Production:

-In modern times, people must understand their bodies, their urges--sometimes the two in conjunction, sometimes not. Either way, understanding leads to health. Physical and communal.
-Dancing is underrated. I am someone who does not think watching dancing is interesting. But, every time I see great choreography, I am quite pleased. If I as a "theatre person" attach this stigma to dance, consider the layman.
-I applaud Sater and Shiek for exploding out things that we all want to see. Things that are so obvious we didn't even know we all wanted to see! A poppy bunch of adolescents throwing up middle fingers to teachers? Yup. We all want to see that on such a base level no one knew to ask for it.
-I raise my eyebrows at Sater and Shiek for ultra-simplifying the relationship between children and adults in this show. If the point is that we must listen to one another, presenting a completely one-sided argument that adults are unfair and kids are the wise torch-carrier of the future is counter-productive. That's how generations end up feeling superior to the next in the first place.
-No one should want to be seen as unhealthy. And yet, some people do.
-If you play a snappy curtain call song, even if the audience was just subjected to an abortion-caused death, they leave bobbing their heads and smiling. Humans are horrifyingly simple to control.
-I don't care how much game gets talked about the non-linear narrative. Not having an ending to subplots is unacceptable.
-Overall, I've always been a huge fan of this model of theatre. Taking lasting source material and adapting it to current times in a unique and fresh way while maintaining some of the original oak. It's the perfect balance between respecting what has come before and respecting the need for progress in culture.
-We must go on to create a better world.

We walked into the night. Breezy and warm. It's been spring for months in the desert. But, it's official now.

The stars too, they tell of spring returning.

Trust Me on This

Can we all agree that everyone has something to offer the world? I think we can. Well, okay, actually, I don't care if you think so. This is my blog and I think so.

In artistic communities it's easy to get judgmental. There's so much subjectivity for the taking! But, look, you have to dang trust that something amazing can come from any one or any idea at any time. It feels horrible to produce art and get flat out denial of potential. And, it's frankly never true. There's no such thing as a complete artistic failure. Even I like that one Starlight Express song.

So start with the standpoint of This Could Be Great. Then move on from there. I'm not saying nothing should ever be scrapped or everything is good. No! Far from it! I'm just saying, trust me on this.

Take me to everywhere,
but don't abandon me there.
Just want to say I've been.
I believe in you completely
though I may be dreaming sweetly of the--
I can hear the train, here again.
Can’t explain that midnight train, that midnight train.

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.

Different People

Row boats full of my abroad group in Japan. 2008.

A student whose writing portfolio I graded came up to me in the library today to talk about some of his work in person. Most students don't even see my name on their feedback. It's like they get a form in their e-mail from a divine source.

He thanked me for my criticisms, and we chatted about the pieces a bit. He smiled and went on his way. Then, I had to think for a while. I know it was mostly good feedback...but was I ever harsh? Was I ever vague? I remember filling out this student's paperwork, but I know he was in my final stack, a stack I was slopping through well-past quitting time last night. Did I cut a corner?

I hate that mindset--the mindset that groups of people--students, family, republicans, Indians, trannies, Twilight fans--are just one. It was so lazy to let myself fall into that. One more form to fill out, one more student, same comma errors, one more positive remark after one more constructive.

From now on, when I give student feedback, I will imagine the student stopping me in the middle of the library to talk.
When I perform I will consider every single seat filled with a different butt.
When I drive I will peek at every car and know the person at the wheel has a unique family.
Every Sour Patch Kid I eat has its own soul.

Just kidding about that last one. That's stupid.