Good, Bad, Good

I wrote this at 3:30 PM today:

"My hands smell like the hospital.
My hair is greasy and cow-licked.
My skin is breaking, white with purple blood hardening below.
My eyes are small. The crows feet circle in.
Pouches, like make-up bags, sit right below. Ironic--there's no makeup here.
There is too much going on."

Since then, I'm feeling better. It's funny. In the face of all the bad things that have cropped up this week--and let me tell you, it's been a doozy--I stayed strong, joyful, positive. But I reached a breaking point this morning and may or may not have bawled/ yelled (?) on a train full of passengers.


Aragon Ballroom, Chicago, 2009

But, since 3:30 I rested, thought, wrote. I'll write this now:

My belly is full of spaghetti and chocolate ganache cupcake.
Muff had cupcakes in her kitchen while I was there for her wedding.
I ate a few.
They were from her favorite grocery.
She said, "Just know, those are my favorite kind of cupcakes ever.
I have made love to those cupcakes."
My hands smell like laundry.
Diz is texting me:
"So did you apply to any grad schools in LA or what?"
And I like that.
I don't know what my eyes look like.


Muff&Jamba Weddingcakes 2009

Eating is absolutely my defense mechanism. I have eaten more this week than I have this...year. Or, so it feels. Every five minutes I look down and there's some new piece of cheese or marshmallow bon bon in my hand. WHAT'S THAT DOING HERE? I ask, shoving it into my mouth and chewing rapidly, so as to get to the strawberry yogurt faster.

Two Percent

Remember "Milk Time" from elementary school? Probably the bane of every teacher's existence, but a highlight of my LIFE.

Every day, mid-morning, the school janitor would prepare crates of milk for every classroom. You had to order your "type" at the beginning of the year. I remember I was one of the few kids who got white--it was just me and the couple boys whose moms probably thought any amount of chocolate before noon would set them into a hyperactive screaming frenzy.

I like the idea of having a daily milk break. One little carton of goodness. Something to count on.

I wonder what's a given in my life right now that will seem like cotton candy land in ten years. It could be a favorite pair of undies long worn through, the sounds my phone makes getting text messages, the little blue light on my dashboard that tells me the brights are on.

I always kinda sorta wished I looked like Elvis.

Cold Champagne

Tonight I totally ran a red light right in front of a cop, and s/he didn't come after me. It's the little things.


Park in Nara, Japan, 2008




I'm going down to West 4th Street, you can take the A Train. You're leaving the country, and we're never gonna see you again.


I wish I was mad.
I'm just too late.

Pogo-Sticking with a Glass of Water

Last year I played Rosemary in Summer Brave. During Act II, Scene I, she pressures her boyfriend to marry her. It's a good scene. At one point Howard loses his footing in rhetoric and just answers, "Well..."
So, Rosemary says, "A well's a hole in the ground, Howard."

A few months later, I was in the pool locker room with a professor who had seen the play and had actually seen it as a little girl. Her mother had been Rosemary once upon a time. This professor said, "Good job. And I love that line. My family would say that all the time to each other for years: 'A well's a hole in the ground, Howard.'"

I thought it was especially interesting that they always said "Howard."


Jamin (who played Howard), Spring 2009

When I was a freshman in high school, my English teacher was explaining to us how mad he would get at his kids. He said, "When I was a kid I would always get in trouble for making mistakes, and I knew that when I grew up, I would never yell at kids for making mistakes! It's a mistake! How can you help it? But, now that I've got kids, it's like, 'Yeah, it's a mistake, BUT WHAT WERE YOU DOING POGO-STICKING WITH A GLASS OF WATER IN YOUR HAND?'"

This was funny to me, and it (obviously) has stuck with me. Good point. There are some mistakes you shouldn't make. Noted. At one point a few years ago I relayed the anecdote to my sister. Now we both say it. It's this really goofy super-high-context-bit of language. We'll be talking about someone completely unstable juggling too many responsibilities or someone overly emotional getting wrapped up into a dramatic social environment, we nod and say, "Pogo-sticking with a glass of water."

EffIng North Korea

I'm really miffed by the current Public Forum debate topic for NFL Speech and Debate. It's basically "Resolved: north Korea is a bigger threat to the safety of the US than Iran."

So basically I've seen like a billion kids arguing over which country is crazier and full of the most horrible people. Usually I will forever and a HALF defend why Speech and Debate is so good for the world, but this? This is suck-town.

High schoolers who probably aren't the most understanding of world events should not be researching all the reasons other cultures are dangerous. They should be researching topics that promote considering other cultures in a positive light. Like, for real, who thought of thus stupid topic?

All the debates just turn into yelling matches about which countries' nukes are deadlier and which leader is more unreasonable.

After a full day of Districts yesterday (I'm currently between rounds now) I hung out with Dusty. Almost as soon as I got to his apartment, he sat me down. Very serious. He exhaled: "I have something to tell you..."

He was staring blankly forward, hands clasped together.

"Okay," I said.

"I'm not sure..." he winced. He shifted his shoulders back. "I'm not sure what I think about North Korea's current role in international politics--"

I punched him!

Commercial

Commercial:

Happy summery music plays on a blank white screen.
Zoom in to see a bunch of feminine pads in the shape of beach chairs.
Light blue drops of water begin falling on the pads as FWOOSH--
the deck-chair pads sprout big beachy umbrellas and guard themselves!

Bottom of the screen:

DRAMATIZATION

So, like...who was confused about the fact that maxi-pads don't actually become beach junk?

Grad School & The Prarie State

Here's what Stripes said when I told her I got into grad school:

"How WOOONDERFUL!!!!!!!!! Congratulations!!!!! Yiiiiipeeeeeeee!!!
Of COURSE  of COURse - OOo I am Sooo happy for you if it weren't raining outside I'd jig up and down the road.  Maarrrvelous - OOo blesseings heaped down and packed upon you!! BRAVO!"

What a little firecracker! Note this old blog post from March 2009--right after I had been cast as the lead in the spring musical:

"When you do something, you kind of always wish someone will just bowl you over and cry or something. Of course no one does. It's not as a big of a deal as you feel it is. But

Two days ago, while in the dressing room for our one-act, Stripes asked. I nodded. Her eyes gaped open and she ran at me the force of a bull, leaped onto me, wrapped herself up and screamed sky high 'YES! YOU DID IT!'"

So, yes, I've been accepted to at least one MFA program, and everyone has been incredibly supportive. Stil, I'm currently on a train to Chicago for my JET interview (technology!) in case I decide to defer. Either way, I'm kissing the Midwest goodbye in a few months. I feel like I am constantly writing it a love poem. This early morning train ride past grubby little Illinois towns, the crescent moon above the Mississippi. The river was lit by barges as I drove myself to the station at 4:40 AM.