On Comedy

I have officially decided to start up a career as a stand-up comedian. It may be a terrible decision, and I may be about as funny as a dead bleeding racoon, but I'm going to give it a go.

That said.

I don't believe in fate, I really don't, but sometimes I wonder about the Universe a little bit, and wonder if every so often, she gets bored and says, "Fuck it!" and decides to mess with us a bit. The Universe could also be male. Or trans. Or intersexed. Actually, the Universe is most likely Genderqueer. More power to it!

But anyway. There's this guy who works at the Starbucks across from One World and it turns out he's a good friend of my friend Sarahs, so a few days ago he and Sarah were walking through the theatre and we struck a conversation, and it turns out he's a stand-up comedian, and he performs all the time at jukebox comedy club. SO, dear friends, he invited me to come down there sometime. So if I can get my act together (literally and figuratively)... I might be able to, well, open down there! (Do a few minutes before the main act comes on). I find this exciting. And petrifying. But I am DETERMINED!

I will most likely suck the first 20 times I perform, but after awhile, I hope to at least hear the crickets chuckling amidst the silence.

Wish me inspiration and humor!

I've decided that if I am, in fact, doomed to become a mute, I should embrace the perks. Physically. I've constructed some strange pointed structures with peaks out of some jerks (peaks + jerks/rational = perks) and will be spending 10 minutes of everyday embracing them. They've taught me a lot. Being sequestered in my room, they've nothing better to do than give me some advice on how to continue my life as default mime.

1. become an actual mime
2. learn sign language, not to communicate with the deaf, no, but to improve the muscles in my hands. soon, my fingers will pop with muscles and I'll get hired by an off-broadway musical to do an explosive and unforgettable "jazz hands" gesture, thrilling audiences from far and wide.
3. I am immediately exempt from singing the national anthem at sports events, happy birthday to people I detest, and Good Morning, Baltimore, if I'm ever in MaryLand.
4. I can play deaf characters in plays, but I'll actually be able to hear, so I won't ever miss my cue, require fellow actors to hyper-articulate so I can read their lips and appropriately react truthfully, or force the cast, crew and director to feel obligated to learn ASL. Give it a year, I'll be giving Marlee Matlin (spelling?) a run for her money. Was that threat? Was that offensive?Well, you didn't hear it from me.
5. If I'm ever having a steamy affair (my silent bob mystery having won me a multitude of admirers) and we're sexing (did I really just use that word?) in a closet (no pun intended here) while the legit significant other is in the other room, putting her shoes on and watching Maury because she feels her relationship is on the rocks, I won't have a problem--when things get good--not making noise. ;)

Disadvantages:

1.I can never plead the fifth.

I blame my lack of insightful entries on being sick.

"Otherwise," Morcheeba

...I'd love to impress you with a back somersault
I want to take out your love but it's locked in a vault
I wanna take up your love but it's locked in a vault

When I open my mouth I'm so brutally honest
And I can't expect that kind of love from you
When you open your mouth your teeth are beautifully polished
And I can't extract the pain you're going through...

Hmm.

Loneliness, albeit a strong and uncomfortable feeling, cannot be used as justification for foolish actions and decisions. Loneliness can be the reason, but not the justification.

Bottom line: there are times not to "follow your heart," because most of the time, it's simply the id veiled in sentimentalism.

I've been lonely lately.
I listened to my feelings and indulged in some foolish thoughts and actions, despite knowing the degree of foolishness I was engaging in. I watched myself, I yelled, "Don't, you dumbfuck!" and I did it anyway.
When I questioned myself, I sputtered, "I'm lonely!"

My response, as of now?
"Tough shit. Call a friend. Watch a movie. Remember your self-worth."

That is all.

The Truth: You Can't Handle It?

In my Poetry as Genre class on Tuesday, we started to discuss the nature of confessionalism in poetry, and after class, the professor sent out an email with a few provoking questions on the topic of "truth."

"If you haven't already, you should begin analyzing-on your own time-the nature of 'confession'; the natureof "truth" and why it is often perceived as a "bad thing"; why-against all logical and rational thought one would prefer hearing lies. What exactly is it that makes "truth" so ugly and scary? Why are the bearers of truth so often ostracized, ridiculed, or worse...killed? If art is open to interpretation (and poetry is art), why are confessionalist poems heralded as "truth"? Does this imply that confession is not art, that 'truth' is NOT subjective? That there is, in fact, one truth and we all recognize it-we may not like it or accept it, but we do recognize it? Hmmmmmmmm, fascinating, no? I wonder what some of my lesser-known friends* think:
"All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered;the point is to discover them."
(Galileo)
"Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult." (George Eliot)
"The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off." (Gloria Steinem)
"The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie-- deliberate, contrived and dishonest -- but the myth -- persistent,persuasive and unrealistic." (John F. Kennedy)
*Professor Newton has a wonderful biting sense of humor. So no, it's not a misprint.

He brings up some, to use his words, "fascinating" points. Truth is such a fearful thing in our lives--yet, its sought. We begrudge others when they lie to us, and yet, we're often afraid to tell the truth to other people. And if someone is "too" truthful--that's a major turn off. How many of us have been on a first date, for example, where the person across from us tells us their life story? This is becoming standard. We want the most gruesome accuracy from the news. Any veiling is declared deceptive! And tact is becoming a thing of the past...of course there are exceptions. And what is tact, really, anyway? There are so many things we are afraid to say, to express. Who or what has instilled in us this fear of what may be actual fact? There are the obvious fears--truths about sex, cultures, knowledge, etc... but what about truths about ourselves? Other people?

Recently, I've recognized in myself an annoying quality--I'm too open. I'm not saying that as one of those "worst qualities that's really a best quality," because I don't think its necessarily a good thing--in this world, that is. To use a personal example, I recently emailed an old crush/friend and after some brief small talk, I cut right to the chase, expressing what I suppose one could call the "truth" of my feelings. But after I wrote and sent said email, I wished I hadn't. Not because I had lied--I hadn't. But I felt like I had done something worse--vomited on the paper. Made a mountain out of a mole-hill--in this instance, I honestly think I probably should have kept my "truths" to myself, to make both party's lives easier. No one wants to read the truth to that extent. Or do they? Do I? Am I wrong here?

I know, personally, that when I don't tell the truth, I feel awful. I was brought up under the rule that everyone *deserves* to be told the truth. That, and it's a Christian value, but I think it's really just a people value. But...does everyone "deserve" the truth? Where did that idea come from? We, as people, feel entitled to it, but only on our own terms. We want the truth when we want it, but not before or after. I want the truth from this person, so I demand it. And then they share the truth with me...and I resent it. How dare they do that to me! How dare they feel that way! Did they have tell me those things in "that" way? ... what way? The frank, blunt way? I suppose that hurts us, doesn't it? I mean, I know it hurts me. But then again, wouldn't I rather have that than the sugar-coated bullshit we exchange as greeting card currency these days?

When told the truth, I feel almost obligated to bare my soul in return, which perhaps is what makes truth so appealing and unappealing simultaneously. Especially when someone says, "I like you," what are you supposed to say? I know I feel entitled to say some expected apologetic phrases, such as, "I'm really flattered, but I don't feel similarly..." etc. Because, God forbid, a person couldn't just say (in a different or similar scenario)-- "Well, I've known you liked me for awhile, and I think of you often, and I think you'd be really good in bed, but I don't see it going any farther than that..." or even, "I think you're immature," "You need to get a real job first," "I don't find you attractive," "I don't agree with your politics and that's a huge turn off," "I just don't feel like it," or "I find you creepy." Any of these are rather...blunt. If I looked at someone and said simply, "I just don't like you," would that make my life easier or harder? How about theirs? What about their/my feelings? Are we/they as fragile as we/they think we/they are/aren't? And might that fragileness or perceived fragility be the direct result of all this tiptoing around one another?

To take it back to Newton (Lee, that is) and his questions--is truth subjective? Especially regarding feelings? When we change our minds, were we "lying" before? And if it can change so readily, can we even call it "truth"? I am someone who, to use the old adage, "wears her heart on her sleeve." I've developed a habit of being very blatant regarding feelings, especially regarding romantic situations. Instead of going through the whole "do they like me, I like them? how will they know? will they tell me? they touched my arm, what does that mean?" danceroo, in my last few whatever-they-weres, I just simply stated it--I like you. I'm not saying it was easy. And I'm not saying it was the right thing. I think it may have cut some things off from developing over time--but then, did I just save both people time with my frankness? Or did I jump the gun? Should I have waited it out, jr. high school style? Is this practice of mine more mature, or less? I think a case could be made for either.

I think there's got to be a balance. (As strange as that may sound, for after all, why must there be rules on truth?) Truth is something people do deserve, but don't need to be attacked or hounded with. I think my habit of baring my soul is fine in certain cases, but not all.

On the same line, what's so wrong with that? By telling myself there must be a balance, am I simply fitting myself into a societal construct for what we as people can handle, or think we should handle?

Pause. Discuss.

A Bit O' Tangents and Feelings

So, I have to go to bed in honestly about 5 minutes, but I hadn't written for a bit.

I have MANY topics to chew on and spew back on this screen (intersexed babies, bradley's pro-life group handing out anti-abortion...cupcakes, the distrust of bisexuality in the gay community, etc) but right now, I'd just like to say...

I really, really, detest moths.
I had an off night in rehearsal. Which is fine, because Cloud Nine has been going almost eerily well, so it was high time for a night I left thinking, oy... I suck.
I feel like a poser whenever I say the word "oy." But I love it. I'm not Jewish, though as a child, I wanted to be.
I have a professional audition this weekend and I'm nervous about it, go figure.
If I was a barbie doll, I would be pissed off but you'd never know it.
I have been having fairly constant heart pains (these are literal, nothing emo here) for the past...two months or so. I chalked it up to tight bras or heartburn, but it's getting a little disconcerting. I should get this checked out. I really hope I don't die. That would be incredibly inconvenient.

And a lot of other nonsense.

I have an early morning (8:30 am dr's appt), so, bon nuit.

I Have a Cunt; Do You?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Re: "The Kotex Diaries"

For my Topics in Sexuality class, we have started "Part Two" of our text book (a text book cleverly titled Sexuality) and the first personal essay was entitled "The Kotex Diaries" chronicaling (that is spelled wrong I'm positive) the author's encounter with menstruation.

The essay is fascinating, but also sad. The story isn't terribly shocking--the story of a young girl who had to learn everything she could about her body from her rather promiscuous (sp?) friend Sue G instead of her mother--her mother who threw a pad at her and called it a day. I know friends of mine have had similar experiences. A pamphlet and a pad, and the parent felt they had done their job.

There are so many ties between the way we receive information about sexuality and our bodies and how we go on to think about both issues in our adulthood. Parents who are so afraid of telling their children about the natural progression of their bodies usually are afraid 1. because it's uncomfortable for them to talk about (most likely because it was uncomfortable for *their* parents to talk about) and 2. because of a belief that education will lead to their children "knowing about such things" and "experimenting."

Well, in the case of the author of "The Kotex Diaries", she still learned the information withheld from her, but she learned the facts from what may or may not have been a reliable source (her peer.) And incorrect information is bound to lead to more negative results than thorough facts on sexuality and puberty. I'll admit to being a bit "narrow minded" on this issue--I simply cannot see how anyone would disagree with this. How can anyone--for religious reasons or what have you--really believe that withholding information will keep children from learning and experiencing and touching and exploring what is biologically impossible to prevent? (Insert full discussion of my dislike for foolish taboos surrounding masturbation.)

But after reading this essay, along with the feelings and opinions listed above, I have to admit one thing--

I was lucky.

I know my mother may not read this blog, but I would like to truly thank her. I received about 5 books on puberty, including one particularly progressive book-- "It's Perfectly Normal." This book was accurate, thorough and did not try to pull a proverbial veil over my eyes. In fact, this book wholeheartedly taught that masturbation, different body shapes, homosexuality, and sex itself were all natural, normal and healthy things. I know my father shared these opinions, but as my mother is female like myself, she was the predominant educator, if you will. And she passed with flying colors.

I will always be grateful to both my parents for never withholding any information--information on sexuality, health, and anything and everything else. My father said to me once, "There is no book in this world that you are not allowed to read."

Thanks Mom and Dad.

"Blogs aren't Literature." (Doug Rosson)

In response to an essay by Gioia ("Can Poetry Matter") as well as an essay that entreats writers who have hit a dry spell to take up poetic criticism, my head has been swimming with all sorts of questions. What makes a great writer? Was Robert Frost really all that good--or was he simply just popular? What technically qualifies as literature? Why has poetry become simply something done purely for the poets subculture? And, on those lines, has theatre become a similar entity? Are our audiences comprised of actors, actors to be, playwrights, directors, and a few "die hard fans"? (Gioia). Where is the general public? For theatre? For poetry? If they're gone, can we get them back?

These are obviously not new questions. But the ultimate question should be the last: when will poets and theatre artists and other artists stop writing about the "fall of art" and leave their desks/stage/computers/pianos and go do something about it? We could theorize and hypothesize all day, couldn't we? I know I could. In fact, I am. Right now.

Bottom line:

Poetry is dead. I will go so far as to say that. But before every free verse writing creative writing minor jumps to bite my head off, let me say first of all, I am a poet, so I am certainly not saying that poetry, the art, is dead. It is alive in everyone who commits their thoughts, feelings, and observations to paper by way of poetry. But poetry as an artistic movement--as a way of entertaining, reaching, teaching, moving the mass public is dead. The amount of people who buy poetry or read it on a regular basis is absurdly small. And most of these people are poets themselves. Even poets themselves don't read poetry all that often--I am guilty of this Therefore, I believe that yes, poetry is a lost art, and I equate lost, in this instance, with dead because we are not looking hard enough to find it. We have given up, much like detectives or police officers on a missing child they've searched for for too long and cannot continue looking for. Like these detectives, we are sad, and we express true dismay-- "We are very sorry for your loss," but at the end of the day, the case is closed. But this hypothetical child can be found--but we need to believe that first. Like fairies--if you stop believing in them, they die (according to J. M. Barry). If more and more people believe in poetry, perhaps tinkerbell, in this instance, can surivive. Because I do not believe poetry's death is a permanent death, if you will. Like Lazarus, I believe that the right movement or the right dedication or person can raise poetry from the dead--and not as a brain eating zombie. So, where is poetry's Messiah? And must it be one person only?

Theatre, on the other hand, is not dead...yet. But it's certainly getting there. I do believe that playwrights like Tracy Letts of Chicago, who is getting worldwide acclaim (August: Osage County played in London as well as areas of the Netherlands) is producing work that our generation is getting excited about. Another example would be the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre and their productions--under Barbara Gaines direction, their renovations of Shakespearean plays are wild and wonderful and affective and they work. Their work is fresh--but then again, I am biased. I am a "theatre student." And most of those excited about the new and exciting work going on are theatre students, practioners, or affectionados. But the majority of the world, (well, really, America) would prefer to watch Greys Anatomy--which I'm not knocking, but it's clear certain television shows, movies, music, even books (fiction/prose-Twilight, Harry Potter) have something we (poets, theatre artists) don't. Even the visual arts seem to be more accessible, or at least, sought after, than poetry or theatre. Museums are popular--not as popular as football, sure, but I'd bet most "non-artistically affiliated" people would go to an art museum rather than to a play they've never heard of, even if it had won the Pulitzer. It's lost it's weight. The only theatre in the public eye (predominantly) is the big book commercial musical, which is fine in and amongst itself, but these musicals--cult phenomenons like Wicked, Phantom... are slowly and surely singularly taking over the whole definition of "great theatre" and the true greats-Shakespeare, Miller, O'Neil, Williams, Beckett, Churchill, etc and modern playwrights-Letts, Rebeck, Macleod, Hare, Auburn, etc--are struggling to keep from fading into oblivion.

So what are we missing?

Accessibility.

Broadway in New York has reached record high prices, and when we compare the 200 some dollars asked for prize seats to say, Thurgood on Broadway to say, the Shakespearean "penny" for standing room "back in the day" for Macbeth... Look, I'm not saying we should charge a penny. And clearly the "ground floor" wasn't where you wanted to be at The Globe. But the point is that no one working a blue collar job supporting three children as a single parent today is going to spend the 40 bucks to see a show at The Goodman! Hell, we're lucky if they'll shell out 10-15 for a play at Peoria Players or Eastlight.

It's a lot easier to watch something on cable, or cough up 3 bucks for a movie rental. You don't have to schedule that in--you just turn it on, push a button or two. No putting aside one night, driving to the theatre, finding a babysitter, calling ahead for the tickets... no, the most popular form of entertainment and escape is a click away.

We can't compete with entertainment that can be had anytime for a reasonable price. For only 40ish dollars a month, (give or take) you can see multiple shows... on television, as opposed to ONE show for that price at a professional theatre that only lasts two hours.

We can't compete. So we must stop competing--stand alone as valuable by ourselves, without the necessity of comparison. Example--people love music, but they love movies. Both of these things are well loved and aren't conflicting. Theatre and movies and television don't have to conflict. Poetry and prose don't have to fight for shelf space. If poetry and theatre are strong enough to stand on their own, there is no need to condemn or cluck at the other forms of entertainment--and we're not there yet. We're not standing on our own, we're treading water.

I believe we have to make theatre more accessible; the same applies to oetry.

Cast away elitism! The intelligensia is all well and good (I'm a fan, clearly, I just used the word "intelligensia,") but we've got a reputation for being pretentious "clique-y" assholes, and that reputation won't get us any readers or audience members. Theatres like Redmoon, in Chicago, are taking their work to the people. Along those same lines, street theatre could really help in this aspect if we got away from just doing solo perfomances--why not ensemble pieces in the parks as well as the solo mime? And hey, where's The Group Theatre of the 21st Century? We're in need of a group of people at that level of revolutionary committment and innovative creation--and we need them in the public eye, whatever that may mean. I'm not saying there isn't a place for the age old proscenium standard stage theatre or in the case of poetry, lyric written down verse, but we need the people who will want to sit through or read it in the first place, and we have to inspire them first with something they can tangibly appreciate in THEIR world before we entice them to join in and relish OURS.

The times they are a-changin', and as the nation goes, so must we.

The question now is the same question every artsy hack who attempts artistic criticism (me) reaches at the end of her or his declamation...

how?

the well has run dry?

I am concerned.

I am concerned for many reasons, for instance, there is a mouse in our house (and I'm not giving him a cookie), for instance, we're still out of toilet paper.

But I am actually concerned at my lack of a. drive and b. inspiration and c. actual lack of quantity regarding my personal writing.

I haven't been writing. This does not count. I mean, it is technically by definition writing, but I'm talking poetry. I'm talking plays. I'm talking my writing!

Has it left me? It's difficult being a polygamist. See, I'm married to both theatre and writing, and every so often writing starts to take it personally that I'm not spending all my time with her. But, well...theatre is a little more demanding time wise. It also doesn't help that I'm secretly wooing Comedy on the side.

Attempted wit aside, I am genuinely concerned about this.

Has the well run dry?

Maybe I should get another well. Or just spit in it a lot.

Miley Cyrus is a victim of combined and climaxed social constructs

but I'm rather fond of "Start all over," as well as "See You Again."

My best friend Leslie thinks I should be Miley Cyrus for Halloween next year.

More posts of actual substance to come.