bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

one woman’s leftover easter Honey Ham

April 25th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

….is another woman (read: self)’s ALSO LEFTOVER HONEY HAM, and subsequently, SOUPZ.

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Posted in a lot, food, holidays, how interesting, YAY | No Comments »

Andrea G.

April 24th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

As I may have mentioned here before, I tend to read most of my reviews because a.) GOSH, I LOVE PAIN  and b.) I truly feel like I can learn from them,  if I read them with one eye open  (keeping the other eye that scans every moment and room I’m in for reasons to doubt myself carefully closed.) I happened upon this review of the Chicago production of the Cake the other day, and for reasons I decided NOT to unpack in a middle of the night email to the critic, it upset me deeply. I let it go for a few days, then yesterday, decided to revisit it, because again, I LOVE PAIN and also because with the initial sting having settled, I wanted to see what I could learn, as I’m still tweaking the play. And lo and behold, an angel woman named Andrea G. had left this beautifully articulated comment on the review  (my favorite parts in bold):

You are missing the point. Hear me out. There it was- my life on the stage. That NEVER happens. The real side of being a gay woman. Finally something REAL. You still have to love your family. You still have to reach across the table. Because we still need to live in our current lives. Della is lovable because most of the time your family member is lovable. I have a ton of Dellas in my live. And I wish I could be braver like Jen and work through them all. But you choose those like Della who really love you and you work it through. So you both grow. And it HURTS. Are you not gay? Or are you not a woman? Because that is the way women deal with things. Slowly and painfully. I’ll give this, then you give that, slowly. If you are really really lucky it ends well. I am still bruised as I am sure every lesbian who left the theater. You say it is intellectually and emotionally unnutritious. That is INSANE. This is family not the government or your job. You have to give people time to change, reevaluate and change some more. Dissuading others from seeing it because it doesn’t fit into the cookie cutter liberal “should,” is keeping people from actually seeing their lives in art. Not a fantasy of how life should be, but how it is. Because the play you are asking for wouldn’t hit home for me. It is a fantasy for me- where I sit down with my aunt and have a conversation about identities It wouldn’t be emotional because it would never happen. Because that is what your said privileged people do- conversations about identities. Not us poor blue collar folks. And your attitude towards Della is elitist and condescending. Yes she is a bigot. But your (and Macy’s attitude) is not so nice either.

ANDREA G., you are why I write plays. Thank you for speaking for me, with me.

 

Posted in arrogant art things, awesome, faith, family, generally, hmmmmm, how interesting, i am a grown up, i am lucky, the writing of drama plays, theater, women, words | No Comments »

eye contact, and how to make it

April 20th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Lately, when having a conversation with a person, I find that I don’t really know where to look. I catch myself looking too deep into their eyes, and then I feel weird about it, so I move my focus to the space between them. Where do you look at someone when you’re looking at them in the eyes? ‘The eyes’ is sort of a vast space. Do you look around the eyes, or inside of them? When you look at someone really, actually in the eyes, you can spiral down to a space where you can’t really even hear them anymore. You can get lost there. CAN WE ALL JUST AGREE TO LOOK AT EACH OTHER IN THE NOSE INSTEAD?

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DON’T TELL ME WHAT I WANT

April 9th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Yesterday, I spent an hour unsubscribing from mass emails that, without my realizing it, create a low grade, every day consumer anxiety that is not only distracting but makes me spend my lunch break buying Pants I’ll never wear and adorable trashcans I don’t need. Does it feel different, you ask? Do I now feel lighter, cleaner? THIS IS AN EXACT PICTURE OF THE INSIDE OF MY BRAIN THIS MORNING:

JK JK IT’S STILL THIS

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Posted in a lot, hmmmmm, how interesting, what i am NOT wearing, what I'm wearing, whining, YAY | No Comments »

EASTER APRIL FOOLS

April 1st, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

JESUS: (to his disciples): YOU GUYS! IT’S ME! I’m alive!

Disciples: Whoa, what?

JESUS: I’m alive!

Disciples: WHAT?! THIS IS AMAZING!

JESUS: ….JK!

Disciples:….Wait, what?

JESUS: April foolsssssss! I totally had you guys.

Disciples: Wait, Are you alive or are you not alive?

JESUS: Yes.

Disciple: ….?

JESUS: Ah, man, I LOVE April Fools! I got big plans today. Now who wants to come around with me and tell people the earth is ROUND?

Disciples: That’s hysterical! Obviously all of us.

Posted in a lot, ha, history, hmmmmm, holidays, how interesting | No Comments »

All I wanna do, is plate some food

March 27th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Sometimes (all of the time) (particularly when I’m on hiatus) there is nothing more satisfying than spending way too much time preparing and plating dinner, like even pulling out the fun plates and placemats and napkins from the wedding registry that you thought you’d never use, and then laying it all out and presenting it to your husband like a five year old who cleaned their room but really just put their pillow on their bed. I PRESENT TO YOU, almond crusted rainbow trout with sides of swiss chard and my deep need to be complimented!

Posted in a lot, food, generally, ha, how interesting, i am a grown up, i am lucky, MAWWAGE., trying too hard, working, YAY | No Comments »

RARE OCCURENCE IN NATURE

March 25th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

College friends and soul sisters Blaine and Carrie and I barely get to see each other, especially now that I live on the other side of the country and they each had small humans exit their bodies recently. So being together in the same place requires great forethought and planning,  and whenever we manage to make it happen, we take so many pictures it’s like we’re members of a sacred endangered species, like we might soon disappear from the earth, which really, WE MIGHT, AND OTHER DARK THINGS YOU DISCUSS WITH YOUR FRIENDS WHEN YOU’RE 35 BECAUSE YOUR MORTALITY HAS NOW SETTLED AROUND YOU LIKE EVERY SPRAY FROM BATH AND BODY WORKS . We also discussed Pants. Lookit these beautiful Rhinos:

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Posted in a lot, babies, family, generally, hmmmmm, how interesting, i am a grown up, i am lucky, i am scared, the whole world, what my friends are doing, worrying, YAY | No Comments »

Home again home again, jiggity jog!

March 19th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

I have no idea where that limerick (?) came from, if my mom made it up for all car rides home or if it’s an ancient Irish thing, but I shall use it to announce that I’m working on my new play today at 520 8th avenue — a midtown building stuffed full of rehearsal studios, where I have workshopped and read and staged so many plays I can’t even count them on my hairs. It’s hallways are full of remembories. If you look closely at the Toss your Own Salad station in the Pax Foods below it, you can see translucent young me almost ordering a salad then getting a chicken parm panini instead, then heading outside to smoke and tear apart her play in her head. It’s like I never left because truly, a part of me never did.

 

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Posted in a lot, arrogant art things, how interesting, i am a grown up, i am lucky, I'M SO EXCITED, memories, the writing of drama plays, theater | No Comments »

GROWN UP DEMANDS STICKER

March 14th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

THIS grown up forehead-carrier left her house for work this morning not only NOT with wet hair, but with DRY hair that she even managed to run a curling iron through. WHERE IS MY PRIZE? IT WASN’T AT MY DESK SO I  GUESS IT’S IN THE MAIL? NO SERIOUSLY WHERE IS IT WHY WOULD I PUT MYSELF THROUGH THAT IF NOT FOR PRIZE?

WHAT’S THAT, YOU SAY? THE PRIZE IS INSIDE OF ME? IT’S THE CONFIDENCE NOW FOUND WITHIN? NO THANKS I’LL TRADE FOR STICKER

 

Posted in horn tooting, how interesting, i am a grown up, things, things that I Have, tout, whining, women, YAY | No Comments »

Martha

March 12th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Today, on Using Other’s People’s Writing to Stand in for my Own, or, Live Every Day like you’re in a really good Sophomore English Class: I’m finally reading  The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien’s memoir about the Vietnam War. I just can’t (read: I can) with his incredible descriptions of one Lieutenant’s thoughts of a girl he left back home, who doesn’t really love him, who he loves: Martha.

And then suddenly, without willing it, he was thinking about Martha. The stresses and fractures, the quick collapse, the two of them buried alive under all that weight. Dense, crushing love. Kneeling, watching the hole, he tried to concentrate on Lee Strunk and the war, all the dangers, but his love was too much for him, he felt paralyzed, he wanted to sleep inside her lungs and breathe her blood and be smothered. He wanted her to be a virgin and not a virgin, all at once. He wanted to know her. Intimate secrets: Why poetry? Why so sad? Why that grayness in her eyes? Why so alone? Not lonely, just alone—riding her bike across campus or sitting off by herself in the cafeteria—even dancing, she danced alone—and it was the aloneness that filled him with love. He remembered telling her that one evening. How she nodded and looked away. And how, later, when he kissed her, she received the kiss without returning it, her eyes wide open, not afraid, not a virgin’s eyes, just flat and uninvolved. Lieutenant Cross gazed at the tunnel. But he was not there. He was buried with Martha under the white sand at the Jersey shore. They were pressed together, and the pebble in his mouth was her tongue. He was smiling. Vaguely, he was aware of how quiet the day was, the sullen paddies, yet he could not bring himself to worry about matters of security. He was beyond that. He was just a kid at war, in love. He was twenty-four years old. He couldn’t help it.

I think every girl, or at least high school or college age girl, or at least definitely me at that age, longs to be Martha:  so loved while giving nothing in return, so deeply lonely and silent and still and yet so beautiful that brave strong boys want to live inside of her lungs.

Posted in books, hmmmmm, how interesting, life, women | No Comments »

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