I PRESENT: the months of May from my childhood (pre-teen? Oh dear) calendar drawings, featuring picnics, bday parties, The Wizard of Oz (?) and a distinct lack of elbows or wrists!
The latest This American Life, Birds and Bees, features a bit about the Sharing Place — a center in Salt Lake City where kids who have lost loved ones go to, well, process the trauma of that. How do you even talk to yourself about loss and grief, let alone a little kid who can barely dress themselves, who barely comprehend the fact that they Are? The center encourages honesty between parents and their kids. Instead of ‘Daddy went away,’ they get the truth, whatever that terrible truth is. Daddy shot himself in the head. Daddy no longer wanted to Be. This sounds like a horrific thing to tell a kid — but isn’t avoiding the full truth going to damage the kid even more? It made me think globally about truth and my own relationship to it. I once wrote in a play somewhere, ‘the only thing more nauseating than lying is honesty.’ I am finally getting it. It took me nearly 33 years. It doesn’t matter how terrible the truth is, how bad it makes you look, how awful the words sound, how you can never unsay them. You must say them. After that terrible moment, there is release, and then there is progress.
If you are tired of me forming bad puns out of my last name you have COME TO THE WRONG PLACE.
Little Brostetter Dan graduated this weekend from UNC Chapel Hill (TAR!) with a double degree, a doublegree, in Business and Law. As if I could be even more proud / impressed, his special decorative jumprope marks the fact that he is also a Veteran.
He is off to NYC in July to start Businessing at a Business job, and then maybe also later, he will Law a little bit. I must say, he has always been the smartest, most rational of the kidstetters, somehow able to ace everything while barely trying. Always with a clear focus and drive towards ‘be in charge; have boat; hang out.’ Dan, you’re gettin it. And I couldn’t be more proud.
Note: I am not even high. This is a genuine thought. Does the way you choose to walk down a hill correspond directly with the the way you live your life? I am rarely wearing the right shoes, am tentative with bursts of adventure until I kind of fall a little bit then remember twisting my ankle running down the stairs of Old Playmakers theater in college and then I slow down and resume the pace of a careful child or perhaps dog. And how do YOU walk down a hill? – Buddha
In San Francisco for the weekend to see my play, but mostly to force two of my favorite people in the world to be friends. LOOK IT’S WORKING!
To my delight, my coworkers have taken to calling me Dr. Brunstetter, because I keep pitching entirely made up medical things with great authority. And now, to my EVEN MORE DELIGHT, Dr. Brunstetter has made it into an episode:
Meaning that forever in time, there will be a version of me Doctoring, saving lives, knocking knees, doing scans, making medicines, and other doctor things that doctors do that I do not understand, so it is forever totally fine that I instead just write little poems to my unborn children and make plays with my friends and craft stories sometimes based on misunderstandings. It’s so fine!
You are Bekah. What is the MAXIMUM number of glasses of wine you can have in an evening, given that, if you go over said number, the next day your brain is rendered ENTIRELY USELESS?
D.) Tylenol where?
Answer: B. TWO GLASSES OF WINE MAXIMUM, STUPID.
HOW MANY TIMES MUST WE LEARN THIS VALUABLE LIFE LESSON.
Today, on how to take tragic events and make them about yourself: Last night, an amtrak train going from DC to NYC crashed outside Philly, killing 6 people. I used to take this very train on the regular when visiting Augie’s family. This morning, in Midtown, on 37th and 8th, a man was attacking people with a hammer and subsequently was shot by police. I used to constantly walk this block, in and out of rehearsal in 520 8th ave. I feel both of these things viscerally. When you no longer live somewhere, does some part of you continue to occupy the space you once were? Feel the things that happen there? But I was not there. Thoughts / prayers with the people who actually were.
1.) I am a thief in the night. And also sometimes the day. I oftentimes steal images from the internets for my blog and do not credit them. I should really stop doing that. This one in particular, I MUST credit. It’s an installation with found objects by Souther Salazar, and I wish I could touch it in person. I found it when looking up idea machines, which leads me to:
2.) I love the idea-making process of Not This, But. I love starting with the worst ideas, bad version of the good idea, circling closer and closer to the right thing, by process of elimination. It is the creative idea equivalent of marking things off a to do list or throwing old weird sweaters in a pile to give away. Logic should be applied to creativity WHENEVER POSSIBLE, so that the creative thing itself can be a beast in a cage.