Please. For the Sake of the People Around You, DO NOT be QUIET.

I stole the following quote from one of my best friend's blogs mostly because this is something I think about constantly when I am watching & or doing theatre. 


"With theater, I always, always, as an audience member, want to leap onstage and fuck things up. Just get up there and start talking to the actors. I fantasize about running up onstage and peeing on someone’s foot. It would be so amazing. It would change the play. How would they deal with me? How could I incorporate myself into the play until the authorities arrived to take me away? Honestly, it’s amazing that more people don’t actually do that. But that’s why theater is so crazy and electric—we’re all sitting there in the dark, and this story is unfolding in front of us, and if we wanted to we could get up there and fuck everything up but we don’t. We just breathe and sigh and laugh (and occasionally shout “WHO WRITES THIS STUFF??!!). And actors really do coast on audience reactions, particularly laughter—they kind of ride it like a wave. That’s so interesting to me, when that happens. And it’s all a kind of dialogue."

Annie Baker

The difference between going to the theatre & to the movies, the reason I believe you should choose to see theatre over a movie, is because it is LIVE. It is different every time it's done [however slightly] and being in the audience affects what happens on stage. Every actor will tell you, the audience changes the show. [cue power trip.]

My problem is. 

Ok. I have 2 problems.

1st is - I don't think the audience realizes this. The civilian (non-theatre making people) audience has never been taught that they are the final piece to our impossible puzzle. That there reactions, or normally lack there of, tops the proverbial theatrical sundae with the proverbial cherry. How as a theatre making community can we pass along this information to our guests, our final collaborators that, that is in fact what they are? We are all artists. Together we make a performance happen.

2nd is - At what point in our civilization did theatre become something you come to & sit through silently? As far as I know since the dawn of time theatre was an interactive story telling event. Yet, we have been trained at some point in our lives that the theatre is a place to go to be quiet. 

Silent.

Why? When an actor thrives off of reaction do we quelch our natural human response to yelp, cheer or cry when we see a fellow human being experience something to which we connect. I ask again, is that not the point? To feel something. To experience humanity.  

There is something an actor gets to experience every so often if they are lucky. It's called many things but I refer to it as the 'actor's high.' It is a moment, that lasts for however long, where while on stage you experience the world as another human being. As the character you are. It is a feeling indescribable and incomparable  to any other human experience I have had to date (on drugs or otherwise). 

My dream, in the theatre that I make for you, the world, is that we can open up a similar experience to you. That the audience can once again become a part of the process. That they are able to feel & react without fear of being 'shhhhhhh-ed'. That instead of being kept outside the 4th wall your being permeates the world we've created. I want you to be the final artist. I want to give you an 'audience high.' And I want you to get addicted.

........

I had the privilege of seeing Mary Poppins with 2000 elementary aged children while volunteering with the Young Audience Program at the Center Theater Group. An entire audience of uninhibited minds, feelings & reactions, untainted by the social stigma of 'shhhh-ed' theatre. I did not have to be on stage to know that their influence as an audience was unmatchable. I couldn't keep my eyes from welling [nor did I want to] as I watched child after child stand up & reach toward Mary Poppins as she flew away. 

And I realized. 

Isn't that how we should leave our audiences? 

Feeling.

Wanting.

Reaching for more.

So. Do audience. Feel. Yell. Gasp. Laugh. Snort. Move. React. Be apart of it. I promise to do whatever I can in my lifetime to make sure you don't get shhhhhhhh-ed. And when you hear that girl in the back of your black box feeling [out loud] way more than 'normal.' Come say hi. It's probably me.  

Unexpected Inspirations

On my 10 minute break during my barista shift this early morn I stumbled across a newspaper strewn across the back desk.

What is that I said? Paper with words on it? About current events? Well, sort of current. Yesterday's events anyway. I haven't held one of these in a while.

And then, before I could go on any longer teasing the newspaper's continued struggled existence,  I was struck. Headline. BEDBUGS. BEDBUGS BEDBUGS. [that was the gist anyway].

Tid Bit #4666 - Not many people know, except for EVERYONE who was in my life about a 10 months ago. But I had a horrible incident with a bedbug outbreak in my [not so] lovely K-Town apartment right after I moved into [completely ruining my return to LA.] it in August [2009]. I was eaten alive. My building ignored us. I woke up next to a bedbug. The exterminator/inspector came. Claimed he found no proof of bedbugs. I cried. I started ripping off my clothes in a hysterical fit to show him the tell-tale bedbug biting patterns all over every bit of my body [apparently not enough evidence]. I cried more. We finally began the extermination process. Which includes drying [laundry dryer] everything made of cloth in your life. Then bagging it along with everything else you own. Throwing out your mattress. Proceeding to live out of said bags for 6 weeks (3 treatments every 2 weeks) because my building refused to put us up anywhere. Still having to pay rent there even though I spent most of my time staying with friends. And when I had to stay there, STILL being eaten alive. After the 3rd treatment we were recommended/I demanded a 4th [after finding a full grown bedbug on my PILLOW]. And when our building refused to give us any sort of accommodation [refuge] or compensation [I'd estimate damages at approx. $3000 for me & my roommate] we demanded to have our lease broken so we could leave this infested hell hole [what hell would be like. constant torment. always afraid. no way out.] and after much threatening of getting lawyers involved they let us go. They let us walk out of hell. Well stumble. Run & stumble. With only 6 days to get out. Never once letting other people in the building know that about 5 apartments were currently infested & being treated for bedbugs.

I digress. After reading this article. Seeing the pictures. The diagrams. My Vietnam like flashbacks ran spiders [bedbugs] up and down my spine. And when I got home. I cleaned. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned my [not so] new apartment [that I've lived in since November 2009, that's never had bedbugs]. Never had I been so inspired to have the entirety of my life clean. clean. clean. [except for maybe when I had bedbugs].

Inspired.

Later today. Post Cleaning. I saw the Expendables.

I LOVE action movies. And this was Sylvester's homage to what action movies currently lack. 1990s style. And I loved every knife throwing, head removing, shotgun blasted moment.

While walking the [foster] dogs I turn to my boyfriend and say. "I know it was not the intention of the Expendables to make me think. But..." "Uh huh..." he waits expectantly for my ridiculous tirade about, well, anything. "But. They were the best you know. They were the best in the world at what they did. It may not be the best thing to be the best at, but, like, no one is better than them. And that. Is amazing."

To be the best at something. To be able to say you are better than everyone else in the world. To have competitors come knocking only to take them down. To simply have such great a passion about anything to do whatever it takes to be unsurpassable in doing it. That. Whether as an assassin or a psychologist or a president or a dog trainer or an artist or an anything is inspiring.

I truly believe that to be the best at something. THE BEST. Paramount. You have to love whatever it is you are doing. You have to enjoy it. You have to wake up dreaming about it to head out and do it. Love. Passion. Success. Tenacity. Fun. Life. Laughing. They are all intertwined.

So. Who doesn't want to be the best?

Expendables. You didn't mean to. But you sure made me want to be.

[ok. you may have also made me want to learn to box again, but, that's another post...]

I Love the Smell of Libraries.

I have so many books on my bookcase that I have never read.

Piles.

Stacks.

Shelves.

Unread. Unabsorbed. Unloved. Unopened [since the 1st time I skimmed it pre-purchase].

Books. Knowledge. Stories. Opinions. That I've never had the time taken the time to read.

I consider myself fairly literate. Excelling at English throughout high school. Pursuing & attaining a degree in something [theatre/greek classics] that involved constant reading & viewing of the written word performed. Having a minor major meltdown post-college that involved me consuming copious amounts of books & plays I'd never read and even writing up mini-essays [for myself] as I felt my mind melting so quickly after the end of college, class & required contemplation.

The melt-down came to end [sort of] & with it so did the overwhelming need for me to read. I wish it hadn't. I now put 'READ' on my daily to-do lists. It is often left alone, uncrossed, waiting to be added to tomorrow's list.

When I begin a book & don't finish it I have moments where I think about the characters paused in the passage where I left them. Unable to move forward. Unable to go back. Left wondering why I would leave them. What they had done wrong. Would they ever get to finish the story they were meant to tell?

Guilt-Ridden.

I am Ridden with Guilt. For fictional characters. For facts. For narratives. For books.

I am fairly literate. But I am not. A favorite activity of mine is wandering into bookstores. I walk the tables. NEW IN PAPERBACK. CLASSICS. MYSTERY. SUMMER MUST READS. ETC. I then stop & count the number of books I've read. If I'm with another person it becomes both a competition [because everything is] & a wonderful conversation starter [try it on a first or second date - you'll learn WONDERS about the person...]. I did this recently & found myself lacking. I would be the person on the date being judged for my lack of literacy. I was sad.

The Pee Wee Scouts would have been disappointed in me.

...

I had a hard time learning to read when I was a kid. I don't think I even liked it. But in 2nd Grade Mr. Anderson [my favorite teacher of all time] introduced me to THE PEE WEE SCOUTS. I read one and that was it. I read them all before 2nd grade was through. And from there I never stopped. Reading series after series, completing list after list of recommended reading. Graduating 5th grade with a 12th grade reading level. I had become an official reader. A bibliophile.

...

Unbent binding.  Crisp cut pages. New book smell on novels years old.

They wait patiently. The stories. The thoughts. The characters. The noted moments. More patiently than I with myself. Constantly pushing to be better. To be more literate because "it'll help my work". I think I'm realizing it's the wrong approach. To put that pressure on passion. On that which at such a young age, changed my life. I've ruined it by making it work.

I've begun to think that about a lot of things I've been doing lately. Trying to turn what I loved to do into what I'm paid to do.

It's taken me a beat to realize it but I'm finding if you're not careful it turns what you love to do into another thing on the to do list. That won't get done. That gets moved to tomorrow.

Unread. Unabsorbed. Unloved. Unopened.

That is not what I want my life to be.

Today. I read. For fun.

Wasn't Lost but Found it Anyway.

I haven't used the 'stickies' application on my computer since the end of college. Today. I needed a 'stickie' so I pulled it up. What memories I had left sitting so close to me everyday that I had forgotten to remember.

Like finding a time capsule I didn't know I buried.

Besides 'stickies' upon 'stickies' of to do lists, goals, quotes & info I wanted to remember (some I do some I don't) I discovered a real diamond in the ruff.

My Life List to Do.

The most amazing thing reading it was, I could actually cross a couple things off I hadn't been able to before. Below I post my Life List to do with a few things newly crossed off & updated with things I've realized I want to do. Mostly for me so I have it safely stored somewhere besides my desktop but perhaps in reading it you discover there's something you never realized you wanted to do.

It's amazing what you miss when it's staring at you every day.

Take a beat [as director Rachel likes to say].


We I spend so much time planning for the future - don't forget it's ok to remember & reminisce in the wonderful moments of the past. For me, this list is a combination of both.

MY LIFE LIST TO DO:

Life List To Do: 

Run a HALF-Marathon

Run a Marathon

Get Scubadiving Certification

Visit all 7 Continents

Bungee Jump

Sky Dive

Go to the Superbowl

Swim with Dolphins

Swim with Sharks

Eat Pizza in Italy

Eat Baklava in Greece - Multiple Times. Yummy. Study Abroad in Athens August - December 2006

Sing in the Rain

Kiss in the Rain

Ride in a Hot Air Balloon

Live in Europe - Study Abroad in Athens August - December 2006

Float in the Dead Sea

Perform on Broadway

Direct on Brodway

Go on an African Safari

Sleep under the Stars - On the Beach in Malibu with Kelly Combs Fall 2008.

Make Homemade Ice Cream

Go to the Olympics

Go to the World Cup

Go to the La Brea Tar Pits

Go to SeaWorld

Go to an Airport with a Bag, Passport & Take the 1st Flight Available.

Share Spaghetti Lady & the Tramp Style

Visit 7 Wonders of the World

Buy a New Car 

Have my Portrait Painted

Go to Oktoberfest

Walk the Great Wall of China

Sing in the Mountains  [Sound of Music Style]

Sleep in a Hammock - Summer 2009 @ O'Neill Theatre Center

Drive on the Autobahn

Learn to say Cheers in every country I visit

Go through a Toll Booth & Pay for You & the Car Behind You

Learn to Drive a Stick Shift...Just in Case

Go White Water Rafting

Go Real Camping

Be on the Cover of a Magazine

Invent Something 

Write a Book

Write a Play - May 2008 : Playwrighting Class Final Project = Write a Full Length Play

Go to a Runway Show 

Run the Athens Marathon

Live Alone - November 2009 - Current. I <3 My Studio!

Host a Poker Night

Drink Frozen Hot Chocolate at Serendipity

Visit 10 of the Biggest Things in the World
               - #1 Visited World's Biggest Thermometer March 2008 w/Alex Lubischer

Go to the Macy's Day Parade

Go Kayaking 

Shave my Head

Be a Maid of Honor - IN PROGRESS for my best friends Mike & Olivia getting married May 2011

Run/Swim/Cycle in a Triathalon

Catch Fireflies

Buy a House

Go to Europe without a plan

Love Epically 

Have a Pet Hedgehog

Have a Pet Turtle

Write a Song on the Guitar

Host a Murder Mystery Party - Leslie's Bday Party November 2008

Cliff Jump in Hawaii

Be Serenaded

Get Married to 'The One'

Be a Mom

Work with an Animal Shelter - February 2010 - Current :: Social Media Manager & Foster Mama with Life4paws (life4paws.org or twitter.com/life4paws)

Go to a Sumo Match in Japan

Become a Certified Yoga Instructor

Place a $1000 Bet

Gondola Ride around Venice

Get in a Fist Fight (for a good reason)

Make my own Sushi

Go to the Rocky Horror Picture Show

Go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras

Perform an Act of Guerilla Theatre

To Be Continued... 

I happened to say this earlier today before this 'Stickie' situation even arose. But...


I LOVE THE POSSIBILITY THAT IS THE REST OF MY LIFE. 


I'm not normally this overtly optimistic. 


I think I may like it.


[insert sarcastic comment here].


;)

Sleepless Dreams are Anything but Figurative

I had a very important audition last weekend.

One I've been waiting for for years (literally, I submitted for it in 2008).

Yet, the process of the audition made me less inclined to be a part of the project I so desperately desired.

Sometimes, the things you think will be are not what you thought. And that is good.

My life is changing yet staying momentarily the same. Stuck in the same pattern of events through at least July. I have promised myself not to commit to anything after July in order to create a moment for me. My mind. And to see. To see a lot of things both then, in the future & in me. 

There are a 1000 [figurative] things I want to do with my life. And what I am slowly discovering being slapped in the face with, is that doing one or two of the things I want may not allow me to do the 998 other [figurative] things I want to do before I don't have a life with which to do anything. 

At what point do you give up one dream to fulfill another. 

At what point does working so hard for one dream turn it into a waking nightmare. 

That is. When I get the chance to sleep long enough to dream. 

I'm not giving up. I'll never give up. On my dreams. But as I grow into my ripe age of 24.5, my dreams seem to be changing. Maturing? And really, the ultimate goal of life, my life, is to laugh. To be happy. To be stressed in a way that drives me. To try new things everyday. To make new friends and keep old ones close. To read. Everything. To learn as much as I can. To share. To feel [be] healthy. To love. To be able to stand in funny bendy poses unwavering. To make a big family. To take care of lost dogs. To take pictures. To dance. To love waking up in the morning even when it's too early. To sing. To not worry I'm missing out on one thing because I'm doing another.

To do 1000 [figurative] things.  

And the way my life is set up right now. It is all figurative. Not only my distant future but what I would like to do today. Tomorrow. This weekend. 

And I am tired of living a figurative life. I want a literal life. 

And that's what I'll have.

...

By the end of July. 

...Possibly early August. 

I [can] dream. Anyway.

Getting in the Ring with Life

Beginning work on a new show. Well an Olde Show. With an 'e'.

King Lear. With the Antaeus Theatre Company.

An opportunity sent across my desk via email. A company once recommended to me. A noteworthy director. So, an Assistant Director I became. Again.

Unpaid.

Again.

40 hours a week.

Again.

A year ago I was doing the same. 40 hours of work. 40 hours of rehearsal.

A year ago I was loving it. Appreciating it.

This year is harder.

My body is more tired.
My mind is more tired.
My emotions are running rampant.

Never truly convinced this is all worth it.

Appreciating the opportunity but not sure how the unquantifiable learning experience will benefit a still yet unquantifiable career.

What if doing everything it takes to do what I want causes me to hate everything about the thing I've always wanted to do.

I feel myself drifting that direction.

Not drifting.

Being bullied toward it.

Into a corner.

By life.

Bullied by life. How do you take on that bully.

Stand up? Or just walk away.

I've always been one to punch a bully in the face.

Not sure life would like it.

Life would probably punch back.

Good thing I know how to Parry.

Next up. A Right Hook.

A Tickle

The definition of love sick :: to be made physically ill by love.

And I am. Or have been.

It is hard not to kiss a cute boy. Or a person you love. Cute or otherwise. 

And so I did. And now I am sick. 

But. I'd rather be sick from love than just sick.

Because then I'd have no one to make me soup. 

Or to make soup for. Which really. Is my favorite part. 

Kate Mantilini the Home Wrecker.

I posted a review of Kate Mantilini's in Beverly Hills on Yelp. Check it out if you so desire... especially if you're thinking of going there. Because you shouldn't. Because it was horrible.

How could it be anything good when it's named after the mistress of the owner's father?

Smartly sadistic but there has to be some bad kharma wrapped up in there. Or maybe it's bad on purpose. As a revenge conspiracy to forever taint the name of Ms. Mantilini...

For the Love of Food

I've always had an interesting [slightly bipolar] relationship with food.

I love it.

I really do.

But I also prefer to have a 23" waistline.

(which I definitely do not have right now, but have had in the far-far past, and the recent past).

And unlike my 90lb, 5foot tall baby sister who can eat everything she loves (or hates) while sitting watching an 8 hour Man vs. Food marathon without gaining an ounce (perhaps even losing one). I eat slightly more than I should or miss a workout,  and my 5'8," 150lb, birthing hips and I  have to move from jeans to stretch pants.

At least I have boobs.

....

I have been through cleanses. disorders. diets. binges. over eaten. under eaten. eaten.

And what I've realized is... food is delicious.

I love making it, buying it, eating it and ESPECIALLY eating out.

Eating out is most definitely a vice of mine. And what is worse is my boyfriend is a total enabler, being just as addicted as I to the shiny silverware, candle lit tables & food that magically prepares itself. So, two things have happened. One was, for lent [which I do...just in case], we gave up 'eating out'. Literally one of the hardest things I have ever done. Although, it did force me to cook a lot more & I discovered many a fun & quick recipe. Two, I have discovered Groupon, Living Social and Restaurant.Com.

As Socrates once told me [I was a greek classics minor.], know thyself. And I know thyself will eat out whether thy, as in I, really has the money or not. SO why not prepare. And so I have begun collecting these magical little deals that turn a small amount of money into a bigger one at all different types of restaurants. And because I love to write. And because I love to eat. I figured, I would combine the two and help spread the wisdom I will (and have) quickly amassed by jumping on the YELP bandwagon.

I've used it. I've taken advice. I've ignored advice. So now I'll give advice. Or at least my honest opinions. And believe me. I can be honest.

...

Muwahhhhahha.

...

Teetering

As a libra. My ultimate intergalactic goal is to stay balanced.

Attaining this goal, I have never done.

Work. Theatre. Emotions. Socially. Relationships. My Body. My Diet. My Life. My Etc.

Never have I ever, truly felt in-sync. I have felt busy. And oh, how I love that feeling. Always being someplace and having something else to do. But just because you're doing everything doesn't mean it's balanced.

Take my life a month ago. I wasn't working [besides random extra jobs]. I wasn't acting. I wasn't directing. I was sleeping late. Not working out. Dreaming. A lot. Awake & not. I felt nothing all the time. Except anxiety for the emptiness of my days.

My life today involves balancing 3 jobs [all rent paying]. One short film. One theatre project pending. 3 opportunities to be paid in theatre. Potentially training for a half marathon. And yoga daily for the next two weeks. Hopefully.

I rarely see my friends. I probably see my boyfriend too much [but anyone who knows me, knows I am serial serious monogamist.]. Not to mention I have a foster dog with peeing issues [i.e. he takes free reign on my apartment when i leave for one of my various obligations.]. But I love him anyway.

I am off balance in a completely different way than I was a month ago. But balance-less nonetheless.

The off-putting part is that I strive for balance. I pray for it. But never can I seem to manage it. Always, slightly, out of control my schedule & opportunities all tend to be. Always on the cusp of getting it together. But it's almost as if I'm missing that final Libra lynch pin that steadies it all out. That motivates enough to demand from life my desired schedule & fulfillment of my needs.

I claim to have once been a yogi. But truthfully I mean I went to classes once a week. Maybe. Still, in those few hours I committed to myself & to my inner & outer balance I found hope. My mind quiets during yoga. The breath. The focus. The balance I am forced to find physically, mentally and my most lacking, spiritually, acts as a Quiet Coyote for my constantly racing thoughts.

I have begun a 2 week trial for $30 @ Black Dog Yoga in Sherman Oaks just a few minutes from my apartment. I already have a gym membership to the local 24 Hour Fitness. Which I do frequent. Occasionally... but weight lifting. Treadmills. They have never motivated me past a couple of pre-bathing suit season, post break up, weeks. But yoga. Something about the overall wellness its moirae tends to invoke. The overall connection to all of life. To the balance of life. It makes it much more than a workout and that inspires me to come back. To squat a little lower. To reach a little higher. To stretch a little deeper. To relax my cringing face in...well...any pose.

Because.

In yoga.

I am a tree.

...wait for it.

I am rooted. I am growing taller. I am connected. I am strong. I am flexible. I may teeter, but in the end, even if I bend & crack. I am balanced. And will always have a place from which I can regrow.

And so as I stand in my life (run around. drive around. speed around. my life) I have decided to repeat to myself what I've always repeated to myself during yoga.

I am a tree.

And even in the moments I am not. I will breathe deep. Be patient with myself (& others). And I will balance. I will always balance, even if I end up teetering.

A little bit.

written

i feel like i've lost my poetry.

Running on Broadway may be Bourgeois

I have become an interview fiend the last week or so. Endless interviews trying to find something to fill my days in a way that will also fill my checking account. Today however I went on an interview I truly cared about, for, of course, an unpaid position. For, no REAL artist should ever find happiness in work they do for money. How bourgeois.

yeah. right.

But I did truly care about it because it is an opportunity this summer to mentor young playwrights and ultimately direct their work. More exciting. It will be a RADIO PLAY. A new artistic venture for me as well as for the kids. And I speak of this future endeavor with great confidence despite my interview taking place only this morning because I was called back soon after to be offered one of the director positions. It was the first interview I had felt at ease at in the 100 interviews of the last week. It was the me from a year ago at that interview. The me I wanted to be and became and then lost somehow. Recently. At least I know she's in there. I was getting worried. But i think she came out because I did care. Because I knew I was the best person for this job, I knew my talents & my education could be utilized when at my previous interviews all I could boast was my ability to make the perfect foam. Which really. Can I?

Doubtful.
Good thing I'm an actor.
I'll just pretend to make it.




Two steps forward. Finally. A job for necessity and a job that reminds me why I'm willing to do what's necessary.

I'm ready to start running.

Final knot needed. Final knot tied.

No looking back.

UPDATE :: Paid to Do What?

He was replaced.

And I finally got a job that will pay the rent.

Paid to Do What?

Amazing it is. How sitting around doing nothing but that & occasionally clapping can leave you so physically and psychically drained. Empty even.

Luckily I'm paid for it. Unfortunately I found out sitting next to a girl [in hideous jeans from 1998 that attempted to echo those of 1981 bleach stains, awkward waist line & all who obviously didn't get the 'business casual, bright colors' memo in her too tight black shirt nor the 'those jeans didn't work the first time before we were born don't try them on now' memo.] that she was being paid $10/hour compared to my measly $8.

Great.

Especially since I am booked to repeat my appearance in the audience of a [non disclosed reality dance show I can't name or talk about specifically] or I'll be sued for all of the nothing I currently have in the bank since I didn't have the chance to deposit the $48 cash I walked away with after standing in the cold  for 45 unpaid minutes. 

But hey, if I find just one more dollar I can fill up my gas tank. Like ALL the way. 

Now. if only i had had a camera yesterday, I could have taken some very disheartening yet possibly artistic pictures of us audience members sitting on the curb waiting to be ushered in past the port-a-potties (from where you could see the real bathrooms) into our seats where we would remain for 6 unmoving hours. And then again lined up like studio streetwalkers waiting to be cashed out. A Hollywood exhibit in the waiting for any photographer better than I. Which most are.

And my final comment on being paid to do nothing [which most in these hard times would love to find anything let alone nothing that pays & yes I appreciate the income, however would rather be mucking out horse shit] is...

The audience fluffer - and yes I use that word specifically because he... wait for it... blows. 

For example (and I have many although the stupidity & generalness of his comedy & comments tend to blur themselves together into simple hatred): I don't think you're supposed to make overtly racist comments and attempt to play them off as funny (by talking fast after saying it) when they aren't and then get in a fight with an asian audience member who stereotypically probably has a higher IQ than you despite the fact she's working for $8 an hour doing nothing and not becoming a doctor or a violinist. 

Now. If the joke had been funny I almost guarantee no fight would have occurred. Because laughter fixes everything. But he's not funny and I'm not going to see your show at the Comedy Store even if you give me free tickets. Because $8/hour is already not enough to listen to you make a fool of yourself. 

And Scene.

Still searching the streets of Hollywood for a job to pay the rent... not sure how much longer nothing is going to keep paying.

Constant Needed Change Prescribed

sometimes it's necessary to go a long distance out of the way in order to come back a short distance correctly.

this line from the edward albee play 'zoo story' has been my subhead line title for, well since forever [forever meaning the life existence of this collection of noted moments].

I have gone a long distance several times over the last few years. and i have returned a short distance. correctly. is the portion i am not too sure about. Rarely, i suppose anyone is. I'm actually sure i haven't. perhaps that's why being in this place all the time without hope of transfer until the end of 2010 causes my stomach to hurt. Everyday. Or maybe i've just developed an aversion to lactose. that would truly be the end of me.

i do not wish to start a new blog. i wish to change what i use this one for. as i've said i am here. in los angeles for minimum 10 more months maximum undetermined. unquantifiable.thusly i am no longer an active itinerant.

There are 3 things I love in life.

[actually there are a lot of things i love in life]

These 3 are potentially writable.

Film.

Theatre.

Fashion.

Comments on what I see & experience alongside that which I attempt to do myself. Sprinkled of course with the needed moments of note that I find distracting me from what I love to do. to be.

i crave change and now i create it. for me. for you.

soon.

Scotty

"All life is just a progression toward, and then a recession from, one phrase, 'I love you.' "

once you say it. do you automatically begin receding. attaining that moment of purity that can only come in the exclamation (loud or otherwise) of this sentiment (when true) creates a moment that cannot be recreated until your next opportunity to share it with someone else you've never said it to before. the desire for that moment defeats the purpose of the sentiment overall, since you can only have it once a person.

the build up. that moment. endorphins & butterflies unwielding. once. prolonged indefinitely still comes to an end. with three words. opening new worlds. new feelings. one hopes. never for recession.

they say your body grows until approximately the age of 25, then it begins to die.

Meaning 'i love you' is the 25 of two people.

24 & in love.

death becomes us.

it seems.

[looking at her schedule]

not today.

Mung Beans Multiply

Home I am. Original Home.

I was about to say it was my first time traveling in a while but that would not be true. Since my 6 week whirlwind at the O'Neill, I have visited NYC twice (once directly after and once in October following a whirlwind romance), and popped my Las Vegas cherry in a 24 hour trip in November to see the Pacquiao/Cotto fight @ MGM. Perhaps traveling has become so typical it no longer registers as different than not. However. I've started to get antsy...looking for another whirlwind to carry me away.

But soon I've decided it cannot be. I have to stay. I have to settle. Somewhere. For once. I have to see what grows when my roots aren't being torn up every 6 months (or less). So. I'm only applying for winds that pick up in December.

I am home for two reasons.

1 - My grandmother has turned 88. Born January 28, 1922. Hopefully it means I have a lot of life ahead of me. She has a long story of strength & sadness. Luckily the strength is turning 88 too, while the sadness died long ago. (or so it seems, I clearly have no direct insight into her psyche, but she's never appeared sad to me. only spry. and strong.)

2 - To speak at the benefit for the Bellevue Youth Theatre where I was raised (more or less). I was asked because, apparently, I am "successful". I find this word quite hard to come to terms with. I, myself, would look at me and say. Not successful. But that is based entirely upon what I define the word as. Unfortunately the first thing that comes to my mind is money. Which I do not have. My bank accounts currently hold a combined value of $34.47. Success to me, also unfortunately, means notoriety. Being known in your field. For your work and contribution. My hold here is if given a monetary value would be fairly equivalent to my financial holdings. The quality would be next. And yes, I will give a point or two my way for that. But "successful" enough to fly home and speak to a crowd paying $150 a plate about how my experiences at BYT led me to my success?

I WAS GONNA BE A DOCTOR.

I was going to be a doctor until I was 16 years old and was given my first lead. Doris Walker in the musical version of A Miracle on 34th Street. Weeks of rehearsal and the night before opening the director walks up to me and places his hand on my shoulder, in an almost father like gesture, and said,

"You are a cold. dead. fish. Figure it out or you're going to ruin the show."

That night, a chilly, wet (having rained but not currently raining), lonely night I sat on a swing in a nearby park and cried.

And by the time I left, I had figured it out.

And there went my medical career.

That I'd been planning since the age of 6 when I gave up on paleontology after discovering the Brontosaurs no longer existed.

Since 16. I haven't stopped figuring it out. And I'll never want to.

Explained:

The feeling of figuring out how to create an artistic moment that breaches time/space and crosses into our reality for that moment without really existing as either you or the other while allowing them (the audience) to experience it too, is worth every rejection, every unpaid bill, every person who doesn't know your name. It may not be saving lives in the literal sense but it does something that has lasted just as long as us. You diagnose the flu once, more or less figuring it out will be the same every time. But to figure out how to fix the colddeadfish (or other like) flues we run into, the diagnosis & treatment will never be the same. And I love that.

I love it.

Maybe that's success.

Knowing what you want to do and doing it, no matter who knows who you are nor how much money you make.

As long as I am happy, I am a success.

....

Yeah.

Right.

.....

But. That's not stopping me from doing it everyday.

So maybe it is.

I'll go ask Grandma.