I had a brief lapse of judgement/need for cheap comfort the other night, and subsequently purchased not one, but buy one get one half off TWO pairs of payless shoes. Both very cute, one pair in pink, both being returned today. I wish I could return all that short term comfort ice cream I attacked, but that's a little more chemically complicated.
The Weakerthans are playing at Neumo's tomorrow. I'm excited to see the band, but I still vehemently dread going to Neumos. What the hell happened to Graceland? The Croc? Chop Fucking Suey for craps sake? I hate Neumos because it's both way too loud and totally impossible to hear at the same time. I also hate it because I feel like I'm in trouble in a gym class when I'm there.
Because I'm stationary and there's nowhere to hide, I spend half my day responding to 'How's it going?/How're you?/How's your day?/' I always say good/great/fine and smile, because that's what I'm getting paid to do, essentially. Lately people have been all like 'Just fine? You sure? Not Great?'. I don't know how to explain that I'm expending every fucking bit of my energy in order to act enthusiastic for their benefit all day, so I'm really fucking sorry if it's holding steady at level six instead of a superfantastic level nine these days.
'What's wrong?'
ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NOTHING! THAT'S WHAT! I feel like crap for no reason! I want to bust all my teeth out with an aluminum bat for NO FUCKING REASON AT ALL. MY LIFE IS ALMOST PERFECT AND I HAVE NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT SO WHY THE HELL DON'T I FEEL LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING PARTY HAT ALREADY?!
and this is the part where we're all still sitting around, not knowing exactly what to say, fiddling with our napkins and looking at our watches. Sorry about that. sorry everybody.
I find tremendous comfort in the fact that, when I read my own archives from the past few Novembers/Decembers, they're all pretty much like this. So, that metaphorical sun? Don't you worry. Bet your bottom dollar. If not Tomorrow, in a few months.
I have employment worries of my own creation these days. I worry that I may have painted myself into a corner in a fit of bottom-rung-worker uppityness lately, and the corner may be a corner of malice.
It's funny that I still do this. When I was little and totally convinced that everything going wrong in my family was somehow my five-year-old fault, I always had a huge desire to "get out of here". I had a special bag that I kept packed that had a little bit of canned food, some toys, some toiletries and clothes, just in case I somehow caused a major catastrophe and needed to evacuate to save the lives of my family members.
All this weekend, I would wake up in a little panic and poke at sleeping cake.
"Hey. (poke poke) Hey!"
"Mmrrgg. What? What's wrong?"
"Um. Um. Say, 'Everything is going to be okay, and despite all that, there's nothing you can do to change what you've already done.' Okay? Say that."
"mmmrgh. Everything is going to be okay. You can't do anything about it now."
"No! Say it with more optimistic inflection!"
"mmt's okay. Everything is okaymmmmmzzzzzzz. zzzz"
"I gotta get out of here."
And i think to myself. I'll move to arizona and get a job adjusting shoulder pads at the dress barn. I'll live in a tent at an RV park and listen to big band music all day long. I think. I'll fly back to NY and get a job at a bowling alley near JFK in the evening and I'll live in a closet and pay my rent in home cooked meals and ironed pants. I'll stay right here in seatown and slip in the bathtub and go comletely comatose for 2 months before making an amazing recovery.
These thoughts are always followed by the unfortunate realization that no matter where you go, there you are.
The thing to remember when the tsunami starts rolling in is that there isn't very much you can do about it.
Like influenza and automobile accident. Like crib death and crocodiles. Here you are and there it is and maybe your heart is going to stop. Maybe your heart will stop beating.
And maybe it won't.
So all I'm saying is don't go drowning yourself in the bathtub to beat the wave. Don't go stick your head in a bear trap to avoid the uncertain. Lets dump all these rocks out of our pockets, cross our fingers and take a deep breath. There's still a chance we'll bob to the top.
Why is it that whenever we see a woman's face in anything, it's the Virgin Mary? How is anyone supposed to know it's not actually Susan B Anthony or my Great Grandmother?
Thanksgiving has been a juggling act, with my sister and her clan cancelling, reconfirming, recancelling. I tried to go grocery shopping for our meal last night, but I didn't make a list or review any recipies, so I ended up buying a Turkey Breast, Stovetop Stuffing, Cran in a Can, 5lbs of Potatoes, and some backup gravy. I plan on making homemade stuffing and gravy, both, but it's best to have an escape plan if everything goes to shit.
Roxy and I are going to domestigoddess ourselves to death tomorrow. I have a sneaking suspicion that impromptu home-made centerpieces will come into play.
Are you ready for me to blow my (limited, laughable) street cred to bits? Here we go.
I've just decided that I need to embrace it. I don't think I'm interested in a Capital C Career. I don't mind being given a task to accomplish and accomplishing it and getting paid for it. More and more, it's turning out that my master skill set includes general problem solving and Providing Care. Frankly, I'm getting sick of being paid to care. You know that old catch phrase "They don't pay me enough to care"? They can't fucking afford the quality of care I can give. I'm spitting it out for next to nothing.
When I thought abnormal cell growth was going to deprive me of my birthing bits, I got a sharp slap upside the head and the words 'What is it that you want, exactly?' spelled out in fireworks across the sky.
I can tell you what I don't want.
I don't want to spend my life cultivating expertise in something I think is worthless.
I don't know if it's feasible in today's economy to expect to be able to be a stay at home parent. I can barely support myself, let alone 2 other people. Wasn't that the deal before? That at around age 23 you could get a job with a limited skill set that would afford you a family and all the crap that comes with it?
What do I want?
I want a life centered around family and friends, not around money. I want to have kids while I'm still fairly young, and I want my partner and I to be able to structure our home in such a way that one or the other of us is there to care for those kids.
Most of my friends don't seem to establish themselves in long term relationships until they're well into their 30's, so I feel pretty strange wanting to start my domestic life so young. (not that it's even feasible for 2-4 years.) I feel like whenever I mention wanting to have kids eventually, people look at me like I've got an alien head talking for me from inside my mouth. What the fuck is the big deal? I don't want to give everything I've got to become The Man, and if I don't, I have to get paid less to do something I don't care about for someone I don't care about, forever. I'd rather be working to get paid to buy food for someone I love, or provding care with no pay to someone I love, any day.
I guess this is one of the first things that I've very definitively wanted, in earnest, and I don't know why I should be made to be ashamed of that.
(It should probably also be noted that the winter monster is making me feel like my life is worthless and that nothing I'm doing is what I actually want to be doing. Check back with me in May. I'm betting I'll still want some kids, but I won't be feeling so crappy in the meantime.)
My professor came back to us after the break last night and said: "Well folks, get ready for half the class to drop out, because we're just getting to the depressing part."
Depleted Uranium is totally depressing. Think of the atomic dust!
In other news, when I got home last night there was a package from my sister waiting for me. My entire household is now the Seattle branch of the Broncos Pep Squad. The shirts are red with a white horse printed on the center of the back, 'BRONCOS' in big letters up top, and -I shit you not- 'Git 'er Done.' printed across the bottom. It's fabulous.
My oldest nephews and the rest of the Mighty Mighty Broncos are playing a football game in Mount Vernon tomorrow, so i think I'm going up with my parents to see high school boys smash into each other. The football results are particularly exciting this year, because if certain teams win, Roxy and I will be hosting thanksgiving dinner this year for Rox and Myself, My parents, my sister, her husband, her five kids, Rox's BF and Cake.
I'm going to cook a giant bird whole!
There is something so fucking magical about pockets.
I love your pockets for their gum wrappers and matchbooks. My fathers for his electrical tape bits and flat wide pencils. My mothers for her scented mini tissues and Necco Wafers.
Like the way a certain smell makes you fall back in love with someone you haven't seen in years, certain bits of debris, combined just so, puts me in old pockets.
Oh, you can't imagine how a harmonica and stopwatch make my heart turn over and all at once I'm riding in taxi's across town before the sun comes up with my tall socks all twisted around my legs. How a chunk of sidewalk chalk and 5 colored ponytail holders make me long for the clutch my legs were too short for and that tape that had Aerosmith on one side and Janis Joplin on the other. How my breastbone warms a little at guitar strings and Dave's cigarettes and we are always, always in the car and moving at the speed of sound, but I never know what's playing.
When I make the odd appearance in that dream you have where somebody is getting married and everybody you almost forgot is there, will you remember me in pockets of bobby pins, black permanent makers and crumpled programs?
I watched a program on TLC the other evening about a family who moved into a house that was a gateway for demons to and from hell.
Remember when TLC was The Learning Channel and you got to watch shows about animals and science and surgery and such, and now it brodacasts remodeling shows 24/7? Apparently, having your home exorcised is a kind of remodel.
I called in sick yesterday only to find that both my roomates had done the same. The Derby was temporarily renamed The Den of Germs. I slept for huge stretches of time and made up for several hundred lost calories. It doesn't help that all the Derbies and Derb-sattellites are somewhat unhappy in their jobs and incredibly busy with said jobs lately.
I think Seattle needs a November thru March exorcism. The demons aren't picking on everybody, but the ones they've targeted are getting picked up by their throats and made to feel hopeless. We're walking around on eggshells, wondering which portrait is going to start melting off the wall next. Maybe this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I can't help but feel that something's gotta be running amok. Don't they make some kind of protective suit for this?
Or maybe it's a new kind of sickness. Maybe my body is trying to purge something other than bad fish and a shrunken stomach. Perhaps every envelope I receive from now on will contain a notice that lets me know I will soon have to do something i find disagreeable. Perhaps every phone call will put me on bad 80's harmony hold and then chew gum into my ear when they finally decide to pick up. Mayhaps this is my sickness.
I will tell you something: I think that if I don't drink any coffee, I might be able to keep this bagel down and effectively complete my workday, except that I can't focus my eyes and my teeth are so heavy that maybe I should just put my head down on my desk for a second and take a nap. If I do drink some coffee, I'll probably lose all the ground I've gained in the eating-things arena, but at least I won't feel so much like bursting into tears and flinging letter openers and rollerball pens at passers-by.
It's a wonderful thing to have options.
I hate not knowing whether I'm actually really sick or just feeling bad because I haven't been able to keep much food down. One would assume that this is actually sick, but I've only eaten 2 regular meals since Sunday night, both of which were returned. The cup-o-noodles and 4 fig newtons might have made it, but there's no way to be sure. And my body might be sore because I played catch for a long time on Saturday and slept in many uncomfortable positions.
Highlights of our yearly Annex Retreat include walking in the woods and listening to the leaves fall, inspecting animal tracks, chatting with Josh about What's-What in life and love and fashion, and playing catch until my arms burned hot.
I'll be spending the weekend one mountaintop away from a steaming molten volcano this weekend as we all head off to Annex Theatre's yearly retreat.
I need to start thinking of what I'm going to bring to the performance table. I don't feel like I've been creatively productive on any of my own projects since I started going to school. I started writing a new song the other day, but I couldn't get motivated to finish it.
To tell you the truth, my creative production is at its best when I'm at my emotional worst. My friend Natty and and I had a talk last night about realizing how patterns shape us, how our childhoods can be reviewed to find the roots of our adult personalities and how we've each got to accept responsibility for who we are today despite that past.
So maybe I grew up learning that writing is only for expressing sad things, that if you talk about being happy too much you jinx it.
Or maybe happy songs and stories just arent that compelling.
My cultural anthropology class is converting me to tinfoil-hatism. Most of my friends have been tinfoil hats for years and have done their fair share of evangelizing, but the particular synthesis of information I'm getting from the class is something I've been after for years. Specifically, the broad working model of American culture. White and Non-White, Male and Non-Male.
The trouble that arises now is the anxiety. My religion used to make me extremely anxious because I wasn't very good at it. I worried that I'd never be able to do it right.
In the last year, my general anxiety about life has diminshed significantly. There are several factors at work, but I think the most important one is the realization that I cannot undo what's already been done, and though there are infinite choices available to me, I know that there are only a few certain choices I'm likely to make.
Tinfoil Hatism, like any new grand scheme of thought, makes me incredibly nervous. When I realize that my government is very possibly testing bacterial movement for biological warfare in urban areas of the US or trying to strip people of their citizenship so they can be held incommunicado for an unspecified amount of time and that there isn't all that much I can do about it, I FIRST: Freak out and SECOND: shut down. I mean, what if they snap me up and take away my rights and attatch electrodes to my genitals and pound a dowell into my ear until it penetrates my brain and I die?! They do that to people! I should be shot for being an American!
But then I remember that feeling guilty about the past is wasteful and a cop out, and that there are certain choices I'm ultimately going to make. I can't change the system all by myself, but there are certain choices I'm capable of making that may be better than the ones I've made in the past. I probably won't choose to quit my job and become an official whistle blower, but I probably will choose to write letters and make phone calls, and to get new information, even if it's information I can't do anything about.
My parents weren't able to brave the fog and make it to the play reading last night, which I suppose is just as well because I found out that I say 'blow*job, fuck, motherf*ucker, mastur*bator, finger*ing, c*unt and je*rk someone else off' all in the same line. My moms mechanical heart would have exploded.
Cake attended even though I told him he didn't have to. I think he was originally planning on coming more to show my parents that he's taking good care of me than any interest in the show, and that's just fine with me. We're getting better and better at the 'You do this because it's important to ME.' compromise all the time.
"My parents aren't coming, honey. You really don't have to attend, it's not a big deal."
"Nope, I'm all suited up for the bike, I'll be there in 5 minutes."
....
"That makes you happy, doesn't it?"
"Yep."
"I thought so."
And he ended up really liking it. This comes as no suprise to me because Mitzi's Abortion is an beautifully written play with well rounded characters, funny parts, very sad parts and tons of interesting new information.
There was an official talk-back after the reading that most of the audience attended, including Molly and Fetzer and Comte. I'm worried that we may have commandeered the talk back because annexers are particularly skilled in the art of talking about art.
Speaking of Art, did you guys see CSI:Miami when whatshishead actually, literally jumped the shark? He wades into the shark infested waters and gets the kid? So yeah. Last night he drove a Hummer out of a building with the hostage as the BUILDING EXPLODED BEHIND HIM. I called Cake immediatly:
"Are you fucking seeing this shit?"
"you totally called it. The shark is jumped."
On Friday night I had the great pleasure of spending some time with Alisha and PatrickOpie. I have loved these good friends before they loved each other, so it brings me tremendous amounts of satisfaction to spend time with them together. Patrick loves snakes. Alisha wants to sleep inside of a yellow cake. They're the best damn friends in the world.
After a few glasses of wine, Patrickopie agreed to appear in my yet to be written musical as a narrator figure who wears a different outfit with a different fake beard for every appearance, and who only sings one line at a time. I have a feeling those glasses of wine will be useful in re-convincing him that this is a great idea once/if the musical is ready to perform.
We walked through the ass-slapping cold to Spin The Bottle, where I made a suprise appearance in the first act in a film my (also totally amazing) friend Paul made a few years ago that I had forgotten about entirely. I'm glad my parents didn't come, because I said the F-word in the movie. It made me laugh. (the movie, not saying the F-word. I say the F-word all the time. The F-word The F-word The F-word. See?)
Spin was great, overall. AWESOME continues to steal my heart little pieces at a time. There was some awful modern saxamaphonation that drove the audience to giggles and the saxer to stop, a lamentation of the election that was a carry-over from the Oct 24 show (Holy shit, you guys. That unitard.), 2 bits from good new plays, Joseph reading about people I know and GJ kicking out the smut.
I feel so fortunate to have talented friends. If nothing else in this world, I'm always assurred a laugh and I can almost always score a song, no money down.
As a sidenote, I'm going to be in a reading of Elizabeth Heffron's play 'Mitzi's Abortion' tonight at Union Garage, 7pm. I was in a reading of this last year, and I really didn't expect to like the play at first. It turned out to be one of my favorites. If you'd like more details about tonights reading, click 'more' to see an email from the author.
From Elizabeth Heffron, participant in the very first Hothouse:
Hello Friends and Fellow Theatre Comrades,
There's going to be a reading of my play, MITZI'S ABORTION, this Monday
(like, today!) at the Union Garage, at 7pm. It's being presented as a
part of the Seattle Dramatists reading series, and should be a fairly
relaxed affair (especially as Theatre Babylon will be rehearsing JESUS
CHRIST SUPERSTAR in their other space -- kismet combo, don't you think?)
Anyway, I would love some feedback on the play at this point, and would
really appreciate your attendance. Here are the details:
MITZI'S ABORTION by Elizabeth Heffron
THE FANTASTIC CAST INCLUDES:
Sonya Walker
Aaron Ousley
Tim Hyland
Julia Francis
Kit Harris
George Catalano
Jon Milazzo
WHERE: Union Garage, 1418 10th Avenue
WHEN: Monday, November 8th at 7pm
HOW MUCH: 2 Bucks (free for Seattle Dramatists members)
HERE'S MY LITTLE BLURB ABOUT THE PLAY:
"What's it like to have a late-term abortion, when you're a young, Subway
'sandwich artist' named Mitzi, who's got a 13th-century saint, and a condemned
witch coaching her from the side? Learn a little something about intrauterine
diagnostic tools, and the history of Catholic thought on the subject too..."
"A rollicking comedy... no, just kidding, but actually there are plenty of
funny parts..."
ABOUT SEATTLE DRAMATISTS:
Seattle Dramatists is a new service organization for playwrights in Seattle.
Their goal is to "support Northwest playwrights and the plays they write."
So far, they've gotten me off my butt to have this reading, I'm also teaching a
class there, but one of the best things about it is that they're providing
playwrights with an actual PLACE to congregate. The offices are upstairs at
the
Richard Hugo House and membership offers you access to the drama library, a
really comfortable sofa, two great chairs, a DSL connection, terrific bathroom
with tub, and space to do informal readings. It's a nice place to just go,
hang out, and get re-charged. For information on membership and hours, etc.
contact: becky@seattledramatists.org.
Whoa, this got long. Sorry. Please come to my reading if you can.
Thanks,
Elizabeth
I'm teetering on the balance between simple comforts and extreme winter depression lately.
I bet you didn't think that fence sat between those yards, but it does. There's a fine line of difference between coming home every night to make dinner with wonderful boy and roomates and coming home every night and falling asleep at 7:30.
The key issue, however, is that I'm extremely reluctant to leave The Derby at all lately. Our home is a nest of unexplored music and movies, plentiful delicious food, cable television, and fresh dramatic interpretations of friends days upon request. Derby girls spend tons of time acting out what happened while other Derbs were not present. It's awesome.
In order to prevent this winter becoming another drunk-in-the-bathtub winter, I want to throw parties. I want to throw book-reading parties where we sit around and listen to records and read our books together. I want everyone to come over in thier cozy clothes to dance around the livingroom. I want the masses to come streaming in late saturday morning for coffee and cartoons.
Wanna come over? If you leave your house, I promise I'll leave mine. Eventually.
So what do we do when we feel strongly about our convictions and then they get dashed all to hell? We see a zombie movie, that's what.
First, I'd like to take a moment to remind you what makes zombie movies awesome.
ONE! Zombies are slow moving but difficult to kill by virtue of being both plentiful and undead.
TWO! Zombies are made of people you know.
THREE! RAARgghhh. RarghhhhAArrrrAAARRRR!
FOUR! There is rarely an overload on plot, frequently a whole lotta ass kicking and gory people eating. Thus, Awesome.
Shaun of the Dead was great because it was a romantic comedy with a topic close to my heart that turned into a zombie movie even closer to my heart. This, like so many other great movies, was particularly satisfying because it was easy to pretend that it was a movie about me. Me and my life and my friends who obviously deserve to be in a movie andOH HOLY SHIT-THAT DUDE'S A ZOMBIE! HE'S IN THE SHOWER! WATCH OUT!
No wonder young people don't vote, it's remarkably defeating.
Dear Mr. Bush,
Congratulations on your recent popular election to the Presidency. Although you were not my choice for president, my fellow Americans have spoken their minds and my candidate lost fair and square.
I understand that we disagree on a lot of things, but I want to say something right at the top: I expect you to make good choices.
I expect you to preserve human life, to love your neighbor as yourself, and to treat other nations as the United States would like to be treated. This is the kind of man you've represented yourself as, and this is the kind of man I expect you to be. You are my employee, and the employee of every American citizen, and 48% of your bosses are expecting an improvement in your perfomance.
Best Regards,
Sonya W.
YOU GUYS! I'm so excited about this election I'm ABOUT to DIE. It's like christmas. Will there be rioting in the streets? Will W declare himself emperor and start wearing a cape? Will J Kerry's face melt off proving him to be a battlebot galactica? Anything is possible these days.
I called in sick yesterday, not because I got too crazy on halloween or anything, but because the sun had gone down at five the night before, it didn't get on the rise until well after 7, and it was 42 degrees outside. Sometimes I need 3 full days to get used to that other half of my life. Halloween wise, we all got a little too drunk a little too early and were thus homebound for the entire evening, but it was still pretty killer. Roxy and I were distressed to find that all the stores were sold out of pumpkins, so we carved orange bell peppers instead. It only took 5 minutes and they looked awesome all lit up like little lanterns.( Pictures of Roxy as Sushi, Souxie as a Lost Boy, Sonya as a Tennis Protege and Camp Vassar as overweight sports coaches to follow.)