Sandusky & Kiddie Creeps

Well, well, well Sandusky has be sentenced. Heard the official news from Maf and Tax Ant when we went to Yogurtland Tuesday. We all reflected on the Penn State man, the one who claimed innocence until the very end. How could he do that? I think I know. I think he thought he was--either delusionally or on some technical self-made plane.

That's the thing about secrets we keep to ourselves--they almost don't truly exist. The societal lines versus an imagined moral world blur. Secrets are poison. Morality, sensitivity, community are based on honesty, communication, discussion.

Don't get me wrong--I obviously don't support pedophilia. But, the problem is no one does. It should never be condoned, but we need to support our local pedophiles. Sid has this bit in his stand-up (paraphrasing) like, "There are unsung heroes out there who are...incredible people, more heroic than 9/11 firefighters...and those are the pedophiles who don't do anything about it." Then, of course, the punchline is, "Would you please stand and be recognized?"

But, he's right. I can't imagine how difficult and taxing and awful it would be to want something so much and know the rest of the world thought it was disgusting. I have trouble enough not eating the entire tupperware of cookies Maf gives me in one sitting...and everyone can understand that. Over my pumpkin froyo, Maf explained working in a hospital once for a man who castrated himself because he was a pedophile, and he was afraid one day the temptation would be too strong.

I don't know what kind of issues or cerebral malfuction one has to have to be into kids, but it's a disease, and I'll tell you what--chastising those who've been caught as the scum of the earth is not supporting the teenager out there already fighting the scary urges he has developed. That teenager is growing up in a world that tells him, "You tell anyone this and you will be a monster." How is he going to get help? He's not. He's going to bottle up his problem until he absolutely can't handle it anymore, and he is going to abuse a kid he thinks is a safe bet, and the kid will be so messed up and detached from the situation, he might never tell anybody. And that teen now adult will think, "I did it, and I didn't get caught, and, so I think it's going to be okay." And his secret moral compass will re-align.

Basically everyone in America is happy Sandusky is going behind bars, and most of us are making jokes at his expense--it's easy--pedophiles are one of the only factions of people that no one gets offended at being the butt of jokes. (Ha. Butt. See?) But, let us take a moment of gratitude that we have not been born with or developed a terrible desire in our hearts. That we get to stand from the sidelines and judge. And we should take a moment to love these "sickos" in the world--these sickos who have undergone much more struggle than any of us, much more pain and sadness than I will probably ever feel, much more abandonment by society in a time of secret need. Let us be those listening ears, let us love.

More Dang Wed-Dang

During this:

The ladies looked like this:

This moment is history in the making, but it is also just another moment before the moment we all hit the dance flo'--another moment after the DJ said, "For their first dance as Mr. and Mrs.--", a moment after many moments of meeting Trelly my first day of summer camp. She wore braided pigtails. That moment after many moments when she was born...after many moments when her parents had their first dance at their wedding. This moment before the moment Dizz and I fell alseep in our hotel bed reading our respective novels, like it was an ordinary night. It would have been if we had not been in Milwaukee. It's history in the making, but it's also just a moment.

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.

Sugar Tongs: Trelly's Wedding

"Love is not something to put upon a shelf, to be taken down on rare occasions with sugar-tongs and laid on a rose-leaf. I make strong demands on love, call for active witnesses to prove it, and noble sacrifices, and grand achievements at its results…..Love cannot be a mere abstraction, or goodness without activity and power. As a human quality, the glorious significance of affection is more than words: it is the tender, unselfish deed done in secret; the silent, ceaseless prayer; the self-forgetful heart that overflows; the veiled form stealing on an errand of mercy, out of a side door, the little feet tripping along the sidewalk, the gentle hand opening the door that turns toward want and woe, sickness and sorrow, and thus lighting the dark places of earth.”--MBE

The bwide.

Shirley, dance-break cheese-filled pretzels.

Oh, but Heaven knows those years without you
were shaping my heart for the that day I found you.
If you're the reason for all that I've been through
then I'm thankful for the day before you.

Sleepy Writers

Thought I had been doing pretty well keeping on top of my work and grading, but dutifully grading forty papers throughout the week still left me forty to finish when I got home yesterday. I drank a buttload of pumpkin latte and buzzed away into the night. At midnight I got the tumble grumbles and ordered takeout chips and queso. I didn't want the delivery guys to ring and wake up my roomsters, so I sat on our front porch typing manically "You need a clear topic sentence" and "Avoid the use of vague summary" onto my laptop.

It was a silent night, holy night. The dark reflection of palm trees on the pool, breeze. I stayed on my stoop until 3 AM snacking and reading and feedbacking. I took a photo because it occurred to me "Man, I'm young. It's the middle of the night and I'm eating nachos outside on a weekday."

It's been a pleasure and a treat to have the playwright of Drones with us in this first week of rehearsal. He's a great dude, and I'm learning so much about the production process from a writer's perspective. Tonight he wandered out of the theatre, and when I was released I opened the door to this very accomplished and talented guy slumped across the maroon-splashed mini sofa in the foyer of the building--legs wide open and propped on a footrest. 

"Are you sick of your play already?" I asked.

"I came out here to make a phone call," he said with half-closed eyes, "and then I couldn't get up."

Consequently, excuse me as I crash into my pillow.

(Edit: I fell asleep on this entry as I was posting it last night.)

Perks of Being a Wallflower

Read it when I was 15 in one sitting cozied into a chair at my grandparents' on Christmas. I learned a lot from that book. It got to me at the right time.

I saw it on Sunday night with Chelle. I didn't expect to love it, but I really did. The film definitely did justice to the original story, and it made me reflect just like the pages do, and it made me appreciate teen years just like I was reminded to do that bitter December years and years ago.

Today during our break from playwright's workshop, Boulder and I wandered out of our classroom and into the hall where the lockers for acting students are. Cobra saw us and said, "You guys look like you're in high school." We assessed our locker-leaning and realized we did. We improvised a short scene in which we were hiding cigarettes and dishing about letterman jackets.

Something I'm Grateful About: I sincerely loved my high school experience. In hindsight, yes (nostalgia!) but also at the time. I had some rough patches, but I was super into the whole shebang--the frenzy of classes, the passing notes, the crushes, the plays, the busrides to tournaments, the proms. I realized on Sunday that some people will watch Perks and feel like they're on a voyage to a memory they never lived. But I have those memories for real, which is something to be grateful for.

High School speech tournament my junior year. I don't talk to any of these people, but they were important to me at the time.

Where Does Being Nice Get You?

"Nice" is basically an insult these days. I mean, I think so. I take it as "in lieu of a real compliment:" It's the backside of a silver spoon or a perfectly triangle slice of yellow cake.

And most of us at one point (or many) times in our lives have asked "Where will being nice get me for real?" Indeed, there are times we feel we cannot be heard if we're nice, successful if we're nice, loved if we're nice.

When you're an educator, and a student meets with you, and the student is nice, it's really hard not to help her succeed in the class. I wouldn't act immorally and pass a failing kid or offer extra help to some and not all, but I am hard-pressed to find flaw in a nice student.

When I worked at at Marble Slab, I remember it was literally as simple as Please and Thank You if I was going to help a customer out of a credit card jam, getting a discount, putting a cherry on top. Just being nice, the whole world opened up for those people.

In rehearsal this evening we discussed the US involvement with Pakistan. Complicated to say the least. And Jersey said, "It's so stupid. It's like paying a schoolyard bully not to beat you up, but, meanwhile, you're a six-foot juicehead!" Point taken. But, part of it is about...niceness. There's a niceness.

Nice flowers at a nice wedding in 2010.

Seriously consider what could have been avoided in the history of crime, violence, and hatred if everyone were nice. The immediate reaction is to say, "No, no. The nice guys would just get taken advantage of." But would they? If EVERYONE was nice. If everyone were nice, wouldn't domination seem a hassle?