I’ve been avoiding this post for a few weeks, but here goes. My buddy Baby Kitty passed away a few weeks ago after he accidentally fell out of a window while staying at a friend’s house until I stopped bouncing in and out of town. It’s nobody’s fault but I still feel incredibly guilty, and like it’s some reflection of how much my life right now feels really unravelled. I’m going to miss this guy. Even the moments when I wanted to lock him in the bathroom until he stopped aggressively mow-ing at 5 am, but mostly the moments when he’d wake me up by sitting on my face. RIP Bk, you were loved so much – when you were sweet, when you were annoying, when you’d just sit there staring at me like a therapist until suddenly I found an answer.
While at other points in my career, it may have appeared that I have ‘arrived,’ it actually has not happened until just now, because thanks to the incredible Stephen Brackett and his connections, Jeff Goldblum, as in Jurassic Park heartthrob of my youth, recorded the voiceovers for my robot play, as in Jeff Goldblum said my words, as in things that I wrote came out of his mouth, so I’m pretty much done.
ROBOT PLAY! Opening next week! Info HERE!
To quote my myself, a line from a play from a character who is essentially myself: ‘I hate it when people are mad at me. It makes me feel like I’m not wearing pants.’ True story, character. Why is it that this far into adulthood, I still completely panic when I think that people are mad at me, and obsess over it until it’s somehow rectified? 99.9% of the time, the person is not mad at me, at all, but I somehow convince myself that they are, like middle school. I’m hypersensitive to tones of emails and texts, and somehow feel like relationships are way more fragile than they actually are. Also, why do I still call this sense of unrest ‘mad at me?’ In reality, grown up persons can take issue with each other, and talk said issue out, it’s not ‘being mad at.’ But me being super non-confrontational, I immediately retreat to this place of hotfaced blame and guilt. I think that what is really happening is it’s a manifestation of my own insecurity re: my quality as a friend, as a human being, reflecting back on me. And now, I will give myself $115 dollars for ten minutes of therapy-ing myself.
1.) In what version of this world have donuts ever been wholesome, and can I return to this version of the world??
2.) I just did some quick donut related math, and it seems that I’ve written 6 full length plays that take place in North Carolina, 4 of which somehow involve Krispy Kreme Donuts. Krispy Kremes were started in my hometown of Winston-Salem – my high school chub can be attributed DIRECTLY to how Hot and Now they always were. My Dad did some law work for them, off of which I loosely based one of my first ten minute plays, THE DONUT EMERGENCY!!!!!. So let’s just say, they’ve always been on my mind. So let’s just also say, it’s time for Krispy Kreme to pay off my student loans. You guys, it’s just simple math.
Yesterday, with a few San Fran hours to spare, I patroned the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit at the DeYoung. Now, I know nothing of fashion other than how to wear select Forever 21 pieces well into your 30′s, so I didn’t know what to expect, but it was THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD. Gaultier brought back the corset and invented Madonna’s cone boobs. You wander through dark rooms full of mannequins donning his designs. But they are not just mannequins: half of them have computerized human like faces that are deceptively real, and they speak to you, in French, like a fashiony nightmare-dream. My wedding dress is on the right.
And SWEATER GOWN!
And HAIRDRYER DRESS!
You guys, the ENTIRE DRESS is a hairdryer.
Today on How Interesting / Things that are Interesting, an observation: as a dramaplaywright, you end up working on plenty more readings / staged readings of your scripts than actual productions. It’s just how it is. And so, you end up developing this specific skill set for intuiting how your play should be read, or heard, as opposed to seen. You start to know which stage directions are crucial for storytelling, which for tone, which are unneccessary. You start to want to make your characters immediately clear, as there’s nothing assisting an audience in understanding who they are as humans, except for language. You start cutting things that just ‘don’t make sense’ unless the play is staged. You learn To wear nonthick clothes for your imminent nervy sweat, as you’re forced to watch the faces of an audience trying to digest your play, in what’s usually like, really bright light. Could it be then, connoisseurs of all things interesting, that the play reading has become an entirely different thing, than theater? A subpart? Since it’s so rare to get a production these days, are we kind of tailoring our scripts to readings as opposed to productions?
Rehearsing for House of Home in large scary lecture hall thing at Stanford makes me NEVER want to go back to college again, while simultaneously making me wish I REALLY had a meal plan, like in life, in general.
Lately I’ve been stuck in this weird vocal rut where when I like something I say I could ‘really get behind that.’ It’s everything from pilots to maybe we should get a coffee now that I could really ‘get behind.’ What is that phrase even? Am I meant to get behind it, and push it? Stand behind it, supportively? Either way, today: this giant ice cream cone: I could really get behind it.