It’s crazy how quickly we forget that we share this world, that there are animals and trees and we just happen to be stronger (sometimes), or at least more intelligent, and have shoved both aside to make room for our buildings. Case in point: walking to the store this AM, I heard a strange sound and I immediately reached for my phone, like what is this strange sound my phone is making? It was not my phone, y’all. IT WAS A BIRD. AN ACTUAL ALIVE BIRD JUST MAKING ITS BIRD SOUNDS, and my mind did not even think to go there. Okay so: stronger, more intelligent, and narcissistic to the point of comedy.
Looking at my schedule for next week, I realize I’m meeting with four different people so that they might ‘pick my brain.’ As a classic Gemini, I’m of two minds about this. Mind Pt. 1: I am happy to do it, especially in honor of those who did it for me when I was just starting out. If I can offer any insight that might help a person get to where they want to be, then good on me, good on them, and good on kindness. Mind. Pt. 2: my brain is currently in a million places. It’s held together by frayed bits of old friendship bracelet and sour punch straws and the subpar bobby pins that really don’t hold any hair in place at all. If anyone were to, at this point, ‘pick my brain,’ it actually might lose its structure entirely.
At some point, I decided to stick these words at the end of the The Cake script:
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: This is the end of the play part of the play. Ideally, upon exiting the theater, the audience is surprised with an actual CAKE, waiting for them. The wonderfully terrible grocery store cake that you never let yourself eat. Ideally, everyone then stands around together, eating cake.
And I will NEVER. REGRET IT.
Sister Anne got us a gift certificate to Framebridge as a wedding present, and I must say, never driving to a frame store ever again. While in the past I’ve spent hundreds of dollars framing things because it seems to be what grown up humans do, with Framebridge, for a mere 100 bucks, I got this beauty framed AND shipped to me. What’s more, for no extra charge, an ACTUAL HUMAN DESIGNER PERSON looks at your picture and recommends a frame for you in the forest of choices. NEVER GET IN YOUR CAR OR TALK TO ANYONE AGAIN! HERE’S TO ROBOT PEOPLE WITH FRAMED PORTRAITS IN THEIR STEEL AND LED LIGHT HOUSES! (Sidetone, re: robots, were they ever to revolt, The Foster-Keddies and Brunstetters combined could clearly take them.)
THIS MORNING I REALIZED I HAVE NOT ONE NOT TWO BUT FIVE BLUE AND WHITE STRIPED SHIRTS. OBVIOUSLY I LAID THEM ALL OUT ON MY BED TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THEM TO MAKE FUN OF MYSELF LATER.
AS I TOOK THE PICTURE, I RECEIVED THIS PROMOTIONAL EMAIL FROM WILLIAMS AND SONOMA:
WHAT DOES IT MEAN
AM I BEING WATCHED
WHAT AM I BEING TOLD TO DO
PROBABLY JUST BUY MORE BLUE AND WHITE SHIRTS
OKAY FINE RUSSIA WILL DO, BYE
I have always fancied myself a nighttime writer, whose brain is the most open and active and night, who types best cloaked in darkness. Maybe that was once true. But lately, by ‘most open and active at night’ I mean ‘only ever wants to watch Food TV and refuses any sort of creative thought.’ I think, with age, I’m turning into a morning writer. Now, in the AM, as soon as I open my eyes, my brain whirs with ideas, and I have to fully wake up to catch up with them. Like this gem from this morning, as my alarm went off: There are all different kinds of alarm sounds, some small like bells, some big like sirens. They could be separated into bins like candy and scooped out with giant spoons, taken home like fish. GOLD, RIGHT? GOLD? GOLDDDDDDDDD
Yesterday, in one of the stranger Hollywood but not Hollywood afternoons of my life, I had the privilege of attending a Golden Globes ‘gift suite.’ Basically a bunch of jewelry designers, skincare makers, and charities gather in a penthouse and wait for celebrities to visit their booth, so that they can tell them all about their product or cause, in hopes that the famous person will then champion the face lotion / cause. The celebrity or out of place TV writer gets sort of marched around the room and handed free things, and a sort of stressed out ‘host’ has to introduce them to each vendor, and genuinely try but mostly mispronounce their name every time perhaps as Backah Brunsettler, and then hold the free things the famous person gets handed, because famous people and lower level TV writers cannot hold things with their hands. It was a strange glimpse into the life of a person who just gets given things for no reason. Highlights were the Vagina cleaner, the woman who gave me a sample of her perfume then pitched me her pilot idea, and last but not least, Viola Davis, who floated behind me with an entourage of what appeared to be granddaughters, generously thanking everyone, giving each person time and attention, showing the rest of us how it is done.
Slept til 11 and spending the day on the couch surrounded by leftover Christmas candy, because this year, I resolve to give myself a break, and allow myself to just Be (on couch / surrounded by candy), and also because tequila and jet lag had an angry baby that now lives in my head.
There’s a thing going around instagram, Best 9, in which people post a grid of their best nine pictures from 2016, summing up a year in their lives. Whenever everyone is doing something it kind of makes me not want to do it, as I am no sheep, by which I mean BAAAAAAAA I’LL JUST DO IT HERE INSTEAD but with 24 pictures because I LIVE MY OWN LIFE (IN GRIDS.) And so with no further ado, it has been a magnificent year! I:
Ate that chicken pot pie in a blizzard, wrote for American Gods, had a beautiful production of my Heaven play at South Coast Rep, found the perfect overalls and wore them approximately 170 times, washed them about 3 times, took a surfing lesson with Elizabeth, had a Dewey’s pink lemonade cake to call my own at my Easter pot luck thanks to my Mom, ran a 5K with a little girl Monet who ate gummy savers the whole way thanks to Blaine, celebrated 2 years with Mo at Red Lobster, patroned Ru Paul’s drag con, got after that no speaking above a whisper resort life in Joshua Tree, spent some time writing at Space on Ryder farm in upstate New York, went to Carrie’s Beyonce themed beybe shower (then later welcomed and met her dear little Sebastian who I am now calling Bash / 2017 let’s see if we can get that going), and then also:
Had the most perfect of bridal showers complete with hats and tiny sandwiches, spun for 3 hours in YAS-a-thon for cancer research, made Ina Garten’s flag cake, welcomed little nephew Mojo, worked on The Cake at the Alliance, Echo and Ojai, did Vegas so hard bachelorette style, tried on a bunch of white dresses / picked one had a bunch dress fittings / obsessed over its details and its accessories namely did I ever mentioned that Ferris Bueller cropped leather coat? / GOT MARRIED / cast my vote for a woman president for the first time, attended Blaine and Jason’s non baby shower baby shower, read Vivian Howard’s incredible cookbook, and started writing for This is Us. And so, a great many things.
Last week I started to have dreams that I was left out of something creative, being mocked for output or performance. Personal favorite: I dreamt I had to play a drunk dog onstage and the reviews were terrible (this dream brought to you by the first night in Hong Kong, surrounded by every stimulus possible.) I think the dreams stem from a feeling that I haven’t accomplished enough creatively this year, like I haven’t dug enough into my own heart / brain. I’ve been working, yes, but I feel, in general, sort of uninspired, like the questioning part of my brain has been numbed. It’s most likely because the majority of all extra time and emotional brainspace I had went to wedding planning. And so, I will forgive myself, hope that 2017 brings characters / moments / stories / questions, big new ideas, but ALSO, more cakes / adult onesies / trips / love, FOR BALANCE.
Posted in MAWWAGE., TV, YAY, a lot, life, love, memories, oh nooo, optimism, silly, the future, the whole world, the writing of drama plays, theater, things, things that I Have, tout, trying too hard, what I'm wearing, whining, words, working, worrying | No Comments »
I finally agreed to let Morrison sell the keyboard that has been just sitting there untouched for a year, after my failure to re-learn it last fall. I mean, it’s one thing to admit failure, which I did, but it is yet another to have the failure constantly staring you in the face and also taking up valuable wall space in our cozy whimsical cottage shared by two giants who btw cannot play the piano. And so, as any kind and gentle giant partner would, he saved me from my despair. His craigslist Ad is PRICELESS and also COMPLETELY THE TRUTH.