Long Days Feel Short

This happened when I worked on the cruise ship too. The more time I had, the shorter days felt. You'd think the opposite. But it's like some defense mechanism kicks in that keeps me from overexerting fruitlessly. I started that contract with TONS of time, three writing blocks a day, zipping around. By the end, I was still productive, but it was typical to sit at breakfast for two hours with my roommate, to take two-hours walks, like that's normal. One episode of TV would last me four hours because there was the snack layout, the watching, the chatting afterward, the sort of sitting there.

It's midnight, and I nearly did my to-do list today, but not all of it. One item was to write this blog. In an entire day where I had one plan and am basically under house arrest, I didn't have a moment until midnight to write in my dumb blog? The day just slipped by. I don't even really watch TV. I guess I look at Twitter a lot since last week. I read. I have napped more days than not.

I think that's fine. I don't need to be my typical hyper-computer of production. For what? Finish this script for all the overwhelmed and work from homes execs to let it rot in their inbox? This play, I will produce it this year, but let's face it, not before July. If we're lucky. So I am at a strange peace.

I am concerned about people's health, I am concerned about the economy and my industry. I am concerned about riots/uprisings. I am naive to how troubled some areas of the country are. But I am not concerned about myself. I will continue to try to do my little part where I can, but I welcome this cocoon.

On Second Thought

Today at the MOCA I viewed this black and white photo of some art in nature. It was a piece in a room about temporary art--like the glass cube which requires shipment in a plain FedEx box every time it goes to a new museum or the little pile of Baci chocolates on the ground. Basically, some guy sculpted a big neat hallway in a random hillside. He told curators no, do not do any upkeep on the project. The point is to showcase how we are hurting nature. I looked at the photo for a while. Then I kept reading the plaque. In such a professional manner it continued, "After some time the artist changed his mind." Meaning this clown was at first willing to give up his work to the void of ego and environmentalism. And then he probably remembered his mortality and now a picture of his pristine little dirt show is hanging up in one of the fanciest museums in the country.

Soft Shell

Saw two baby shrimp in the aquarium today.
There were so small
and don't know what they are.

Powerless

I was in a six month battle with my insurance company and dentist over who was going to pay my $170 cleaning fee, and the answer is me. It upset me so much, so deeply. I had already worked out, but I went on another run trying desperately to shake the bad feeling. Replaying the condescending receptionist's tone over and over in my head. Toiling over aggressions I could launch at either company. But ultimately the truth is I am Powerless. Left the insurance company, not returning to the dentist. We like to believe we care when a business loses us, but they don't. Corporations want us to feel like they're our family but treat us like strangers. It's 5 PM and I'm still upset. I went to my coffee shop and wrote and had a development meeting and watched the new episodes of Bojack Horseman and texted a couple friends. But this heavy vest of Powerlessness won't leave me be. It also makes me want to cry. It makes me want to yell and cry at once. Perhaps I am mad to be unimportant and sad to be unsafe. Cheated as a rule follower because following rules is supposed to grant us power and it doesn't.

I started an online artists' business class. It is expensive, but the alum list is impressive enough and I was recently rejected enough to try it. Class Two was yesterday. There's a clear split in the class: people who really don't know their focus who will take this year to work hard at Something and people who know their focus and have already been working hard but now have to wait for Something else to happen. I'm always writing, so there's that, but I'm still in Camp Two. I watched an NYC actor practically implode explaining, "How can sit here and make a goal that by this time next year I will have booked two co-star parts when I can't even control when or if I get auditions?" I am in this second camp. The teacher says we only have about 5% control in this industry, which even I think is pessimistic, but, sure kinda. And yes, maybe that actor could write and film a short that gets her more attention. Or maybe she already did and it didn't help. Or maybe she's a bad writer, and it would be so bad her reps would drop her. To her someone saying, "Well you can always do more" is not so empowering. It's depressing. There is freedom to giving into the Powerlessness. It makes the failures or lack of opportunity less personal. You did your best vs. you can always be better.

Bought a New Notebook and Wrote Dreams on the Cover

Februarys have historically been transformative for me. Like I need a month to soak in the new year. At the end of my bath, I reflect.

What happened in 2019:

-Family visited LA multiple times.
-Took an improv class at a famous theatre that I abhorred.
-Promoted from Researcher to Associate Producer to Writer at my old show.
-Featured on TV several times. I never really thought about this or cared or got paid. That is valuable, interesting info.
-Old show was cancelled and the wide world of opportunity doors opened.
-Signed with a manager.
-The wide world of opportunity doors closed many many many times.
-Visited Chicago and Michigan to see friends and family.
-Went to Edinburgh for a month to perform sold-out comedy shows every night at Fringe.
-Wrote two full-length plays (one in June, one in August) and one ten-minute (November).
-Revised an original pilot three times.
-Friends visited.
-Besides the UK tour, did around 20 improv shows.
-Had a bunch of meetings (varying degrees of success).
-Went to a bunch of union events.
-Attended my Association in Chicago.
-Gave paid notes four times.
-Ghostwrote a speech for a big event.
-Had a play produced in Arizona. Workshopped my teeny brains out.
-Had my teeny professional heart broken around a dozen times.
-Began re-outlining a feature.
-Thanksgiving in Phoenix.
-Two staffing meetings.
-One pitch meeting.
-Onset writer for a Netflix feature starring wonderful people, created by wonderful people. Felt artistically fulfilled and challenged.
-Disneyland with my mom.
-Fancy Hawaii trip with Puhg.

Probably more things I've forgotten.

Maybe I Enjoy the Chase

Dizz reminded me I never made my classic "Most Influential Songs of the Year" birthday post. Better late than never. My memory is rusty, but here were my top fourteen hits for posterity.

Young Dumb & Broke - Imagine Dragons
Use Me - Goo Goo Dolls
Confident - Demi Lovato
Me and My Friends - James Vincent McMorrow
Waving Through a Window - Dear Evan Hansen
Shallow - A Star Is Born
Teenage Rockstars - Andrew McMahon
I'd Rather Be Me - Mean Girls
Mean - Taylor Swift
How to Save a Life - The Fray
Written in the Sand - Old Dominion
Ruin My Life - Zara Larsson
I Will Always Love You - Dolly Parton
Space Cowboy - Kacey Musgraves

Some of these helped me live as a ghost in Chicago, some of these helped me feel home in LA. Most of these were crucial to my car singing. They all hold a special lil spot in my heart.

Nobody Asked!

I doctored my friend's play this weekend. He brings such interesting topics to theatre, unusual viewpoints, specific tensions. But he doesn't know to formally write. His characters talk how he talks, which is, like, so hard for some playwrights to master. He's way ahead of most in that regard. It took me around five years to finally write something that sounded like people. But the dang pages are so sloppy. Random spaces and indents and stage directions four-thousand miles long and mixed up characters and grammar, lord, the grammar. Every character "exists stage left." He pays me to clean it all up. We've been doing this for five years. I love to read his work. I would never seek it out, and I would never make it. I don't doubt some is completely lost on me. I also know I have dramaturgical opinions that would benefit the text. But I haven't been asked to share those. So, I don't.

I have a couple cringe memories from past feedback experiences. I connected with this playwright in Chicago when I had first moved, went to a staged reading of her new thing, and then emailed her my thoughts. It was a very very long email, and I didn't mind doling out compliments along with, "I didn't like this part"s. Direct and sincere, but she never asked! Isn't that just something? I sent her a non-consensual email of feedback! We never saw each other again, despite me inviting her to a couple things. I just searched for this email and re-read. Honestly, it was less biting than I remember. What a relief. And she was like, "Thanks so much for all the thoughts!" Was she being sincere and direct? I don't know. I did this at least one other time to a fellow theatre-maker. That email got deleted at some point.

Meanwhile I asked someone to be in a reading of my play once (staged reading in grad school, 2012). I didn't know this guy well, but I had been in readings of his work a few times. I honestly thought his plays blew, but he was an actor and about right for this role, so I asked if he was interested. He responded yes. Then he read the play and changed his mind no, and further more, he wanted to meet with me over coffee to give me feedback. Absolutely not, dude!

OKAY TWIST. You are never going to believe this. Right after I typed that little storylet I searched my email to read exactly what this bozo wrote me and... I totally got everything wrong? Mind you I've considered this guy's rude email for about eight years! Turns OUT, he emailed me he wished he could participate but the rehearsal times didn't work for him! And then he said he'd still love to get coffee and help revise if I want! And I said I couldn't, so he sent me a couple line notes and wished me sincerely well! My brain completely fabricated an entirely different narrative!

So do people remember any criticism, even remotely constructive as an attack? I remember people who have given me some good (soy) beefy notes fondly. Is this why no one ever says they don't like your sample? Because everyone wants to be liked? DOES everyone want to be liked? Nobody asked.