maybe shake a tambourine or when I sing, you sing harmonies

It's my birthday. Twenty songs that defined my year. Last year's here. 

Rumor - Lee Brice

Put Attention on Me - Alana Johnston

She's Kerosene - The Interrupters

I'm a Good Person - CEG soundtrack

If I Had Words - Babe soundtrack

Rebel Girl - Bikini Kill

I Remember You - Skid Row

Big Mouth - The Muffs

Mele Kaliki Maka - Elvis

I Think I'm OKAY - Machine Gun Kelly

The Man - Taylor Swift

Totally F*cked - Spring Awakening soundtrack

Old Town Road - Lil Nas

Despacito - Beibs

Pretty Girl - Maggie Lindeman

A Strange Loop - A Strange Loop soundtrack

First - Cold War Kids

Twin Size Mattress - The Front Bottoms

Ridin' Solo - Jason Derulo

Chap Stick, and Chapped Lips, and Things Like Chemistry - Relient K

Many of these were important driving + radio jams, some of them were significant to the movie I worked on or the set of that movie. I would play the Spring Awakening on my walk from the flat to the theatre every night in Edinburgh. It pushed out all my anger and anxiety and got me in the mood to sing and dance my little buns off. So many good memories of showing my badge, skipping backstage, getting my button-up from the intern who ironed laundry, and kicking on my show shoes. A spritz of refresher post-show. I first heard at least two of these from TikTok. One of these I put on repeat while I wrote my new pilot. Some Hawaii memories. Specifically it's cute that I'll always associate a country song with the island because the uke performer outside our balcony played it every day. The Jason Derulo I inexplicably listen to a lot these days, alone on walks, alone writing, less alone when you call it "solo."

Is Special

What is the hole in the heart where you need to feel special do we all need to feel special or just some of us do I believe I am special and get mad for people not treating me like I am or do I fear I am not and get mad when that is confirmed with actions? When someone is shouting at a waiter or a ticket-taker or a valet for special treatment is it because they think they have earned it or just because they wish for it so badly they think they can muscle it to be so? Is the cloud of special or unspecial like the ghosts in The Conjuring II who are attached to the girls making it moot to move because the spirits will simply tag along? There are some people who just get the special treatment (from home goods department store clerks and teachers and fancy restaurant hosts). Are they truly special? Or do they believe they are in such a golden way it becomes true? A lot of it is looks, a thing I used to wonder and now have simply seen too many times not to be true. Even the children I counseled at summer camp all held doors for the prettiest girl in the room. Or do we all take turns being special? Even for social royalty, they can't always be on a cloud. I read an anonymous post last year from a 40something man who has a table at a farmers' market, says he is mean and short changes the attractive young women out of spite because he's single and they'd never date him. Is it actually all about cynicism of others versus fantasy of others? My therapist says nothing is personal, but it seems that way, doesn't it?

Acid Rain

"Isn't it strange we have to try to be ourselves?" Puhg asked. What a paradox.

Is it because we are nothing but a sum of our actions, and if you believe no day but today, only the potential the actions we are on the cusp of taking? Or, if you're really being particular, only the canoe you're in at this moment?

So it takes tons of start-up energy to get the machine whirring, to ask, "What is it I even am before I act?" And then, whoa, what if you want to change? On one hand, if you're just in this canoe, changing is very very simple and everyone selling self-help books is a fraud because you just dip your paddle and swing another direction. But on the other hand maybe your canoe has been lashed with wild straw, tight and lean, with little ability to change or you only have one map or you aren't on a wide river but a dripping little creak, bottom touching rock.

Last night I dreamt I stole someone's DNA. It was a comedian I admire. He was laying on a hotel bed, and I took a sample of his mucas. It was bright green in the petri dish. Someone else was there, drunk, trying to play a board game. The city was dark and lit in navy glow, there were talks of acid rain. Not the fake (?) 90s kind, like the government was wondering if they should blast us all with a cloud of hallucinogenics once a month to take the edge off things. My platform was maybe have rain rooms, where people could go if they wanted the acid. I kept the green sludge in my pocket. I didn't know what I was going to do with it.

The Teen Theatre Program Caper

In fall 2017 I interviewed to be a program teacher for a small theatre program attached to an arts college.

My MFA focused on theatre for social change and theatre for teens. Then I spent years teaching/workshopping/coaching theatre skills (and coaching teachers how to teach.workshop.coach theatre skills), so pretty much any time I applied for one of these jobs, I didn't have doubts about if I could or should do the job. The theatre industry is, however, flakey, and many times my applications were submitted only to die in a fat stack of emails somewhere. But, sometimes I got an interview, and I was an excellent candidate.

At the end of this lovely autumnal interview, which I had nailed, the lead woman shook my hand and said they'd let me know "either way" next week. Well, a week passed, but I know hiring takes a surprising amount of time. Two weeks passed, three. It was clear I was not getting this job, but I had been promised "either way" so I emailed asking if there was any news, if the hiring was over. I wanted someone to just tell me. No response.

I followed up again two weeks later. No response. I've always wondered. I've always always wondered. I just looked up the email. Thinking about bumping it. One time I hassled someone who owed me money ($75) 14 times over the course of 6 months before I was paid.

Inspo from Relient K

-They are so dumb and cheesy, but they are what they are.
-Their music is very upbeat and fun!
-Their messaging meant a lot to their fans (still does?).
-A couple of their jams leaked out beyond their doofy community to something "bigger."

Things I Still Feel Bad About (Very Partial List)

-Not taking home a few slices of pizza from a bar in 2011. I really don't remember why I didn't just get a to-go box. I think I was full at the time, looking at the pizza, seemed impossible I'd ever eat again.

-Asking in a joking tone in 2009 if a black acquaintance didn't want to stay at the beach too long because he'd get sunburned. He smiled but didn't say anything. I also smiled but didn't say anything. I don't know what he was thinking. My guess was "Was that worth it?" I tried to seem confident, like nothing was wrong, so I probably looked like I was thinking, "I don't like you," but what I was actually thinking was, "That wasn't funny."

-Taking a sharp tone with a friend when she couldn't understand my GPS and we were lost and we had stayed out much later than she said she would at a work function I didn't want to be at--in hindsight I don't know what I didn't want to be there so badly, but I didn't and I did a big old eye roll at her from the driver's seat. 2013.

-Hiding from my sister in a McDonald's Play Place. 1992?

-Not casting a girl in our college improv show because she was too girly. Not having an honest conversation with another who was too uptight. 2007, 2009.

-Telling a very panicked and late woman at the Lakeview red line train station her stop was the other direction. (Realized after she ran off it wasn't, ran after her, couldn't find her.) 2017.

I Kicked a Tree in Anger

I kicked a tree in anger. I've been so mad this week, so on my walk, I kicked a tree. Puhg looked at me incredulously. "Hey!" he said like I was a misbehaved puppy. He was right. As soon as my sneaker hit bark, I felt worse. "What did that tree do to you?" Puhg asked.

I thought about our guide from the Amazon. He showed us the inside of a rubber tree, but slicing it with a machete. Then he covered the wound with dirt and said "thank you." He said trees talk, maybe to everything, but certainly to other trees. I think so. Everyone knows about mushrooms and their telephone lines. I used to love mushrooms growing up. I felt so close to them when I found a stray white bulb in a lawn pocket. In the grocery store, I'd shove my thumb nail into the dead ones in cartons. I liked how it felt. They were corpses, so I figured it was okay. I'd make X's on their skin. Sometimes when I see a mushroom now (small, red in this neighborhood), I say hello. Maybe they've heard of me from an aunt.

I apologized to the tree. I make a habit of not touching anything outside anymore. I open the front door with my butt and keep my hands at my sides. But I touched this tree where I'd hurt it. I said sorry. Then I hugged it. I hugged this tree for ten seconds. I felt it accept my apology.