Flying the W

Pretty amazing time to be a Chicagoan. I mean, this has been the most beautiful, most fall of all falls ever. And then the World Series. Holy smokes.

I don't follow baseball. Also if I did, I am a "Sox fan."But how magical and exciting! Curses being broken and people waiting lifetimes for this and parades--what's not to love? WELL BUCKLE UP COS I'VE GOT A COUPLE THINGS NOT TO LOVE.

Puhg and I walked over to Wrigleyville on Wednesday during the 8th inning because, I dunno, we wanted to be there when it *happened*. I am into communities in that sort of clutching, creeping way. What a game! There were barricades and people just EVERYWHERE and flags and blue and blue and blue. People yelling scores out windows, people drinking and falling. We ended up in a pool of a hundred people watching the game from outside a sports bar. I think I felt sort of euphoric for a moment watching everyone be so happy, but then a crushing weight of "but what if all these people came together to care about something real?" hit me. Like, what if all 6 million people who went to the celebration Friday all spent even one hour trying to end gun violence? What if all 6 million people had spent ONE HOUR learning about religious tolerance or volunteering at an after school program? Not that those people don't do those things, it's just, it's just...

I've never understood sports. It's so made up. How can we care about something so fabricated? (SAYS SOMEONE WITH AN MFA IN PLAYWRITING OMG, ALICE). I don't have the long family tradition some people do. I wasn't stuffed in Cubs attire in first grade. And honestly I'm jealous. I will never be as passionate about literally anything happening as some of the people I saw in the streets last week. Like, MAYBE if meat became illegal I would understand what it feels like to be a Cubs fan in 2016.

And everyone at the parade has all this new Cubs junk--hats and sweaters and flags--and I know they'll have it forever (heck, maybe I'll buy some shirt to commemorate the weekend I really did think I would die on the Red line), but what if that money had gone to Greenpeace instead of a mondo corporation?

And, like, you had to be stinking rich to get into those games. It made me sad. Once my brain remembered that tickets were literally thousands of dollars (where else could that money have gone?), for the rest of the night every time the cameras panned to spectators I was thinking "super rich old guy, super rich child, super rich twenty something." And all these (probably) more die-hard fans were standing in the rain in Chicago. Maybe I am cursed--I ruin all lovely things?

I will say happiness is a power. This win was powerful. Even though it was just a bunch of dudes hitting white orbs with sticks, it meant Something, and that Something inspired joy. Perhaps with more joy to propel us, we will improve our world? Does that count? Am I not a complete snowbeast?

Today's the Day

In the green room before my class's final performance, we stood in a circle, hands on backs on hands on backs as an ensemble for the last time. I have truly loved these people. The combination of acknowledging I might never play with any of them again mixed with standing in the historical spot where teams of old pros to newbies to originals have paced in anxiousness almost brought me to tears.

Today is the day you decide to move, or risk, or speak we have learned all month. This is the 1% of time Life is grand and wild. Today is that day.

Be in the scene you want to be in, I was told--more barked--this week. Why aren't you having fun? Our teacher yelled, genuinely angry.

Walked down Addison for what seemed like the last time ever. It's probably not, but it will never be the same. Not like it was on August 9th, 2012 when the rain had just cleared and the cool set over the peanut peddlers and the giant aluminum pop can cut in half--Wrigley Field. And the crowd crushed a crashing sound wave. I scuttled to the Red line for the last time--not the last time, but the last time on August 9th, 2012.

Del Close's notes taped inside a cabinet backstage. "Weird" written on the flat where the audience could never see. Listen and response.

Horrible photo of my classmates, but also kinda cool--like it was taken from a disposable camera in 1985.

IN OTHER WORDS: My improv class is over, I've learned a ton, I feel so grateful.

ALSO: Breather from blogging while I work on a few projects. Be back soon.

And, baby, isn't this your chance to make a break from circumstance?
And isn't it enough to prove today's the day?
And isn't it enough to prove today's the day?