Today

I attempted to curl my hair today.
That is all. 

Crotches and the general viewing public or "BALLET!"

I watched ballet last night... AND I HAVE OPINIONS! (uninformed, uneducated opinions).. 

Went to big fancy schmancy ballet lats night. The theater was beautiful. There were, like, 25 ushers for a house of maybe 75 people. 


We had second row seats.. the closest people to us were the dancers, two cute little girls, and A STRING QUARTET! I could watch the cellist's sheet music! WE ARE WINNING! 


First act: The amazing Parker Quartet played Beethoven's Opus 131 string quartet. I didn't really know this piece of music. It was beautiful. The string quartet WAS SO GOOD. Good god. Go see them. And good heavens, look at them! Aren't they beautiful? Not only are they a handsome bunch, but passionate and precise and just perfect.

To me, Beethoven is as accessible and powerful as dirt and air and the ocean. Putting people in formal ballet outfits dancing to it kind of killed me. Frustrated me. Beethoven was paid by rich people; however, I think he wrote some of the most populist (at least accessible) music. And here were some amazing, strong and charismatic performers dancing mock peasant dances in royal looking gear. Blah. Blah blah blah. Was that the joke? The music is all nature, the performers were stuck playing catch up. AGH. 

And - - there were crotch jokes. Unnecessary, weird shapes shown to the audience so that they know it's funny. And a crotch pointedly framed and pointed at the audience for a good 15 seconds. And the audience politely giggled at this crotch. And I got so frustrated at these fancy educated people and this choreographer. Dumb and easy. Judd Apatow easy. Not organic. And not funny. 

The choreographer was smart enough to know there's humor written into the piece. However, he was very committed to pointing out every joke in the music to the audience with the poor dancers, i.e. he was COMMENTING on the music vs. playing with the music. 


They weren't dancing with it. They were dancing to it.  And that made me sad. Guh. 

So I spent most of the time happily watching four amazing musicians, so close I could hear the first violinist count off in a whisper. So lucky. :) 

Second act: Tango! hey! You know what's fun? TANGO! 

You know what's terrible? Starting the second act with a mock up of the opening of "2001", making your dancers beat their chests in strange dreadlocked wigs, and waiting for the audience to giggle. Sounds clever, right? Gross. It was so.. icky. Demeaning? Terrible. 

What followed was lovely! The dancers relaxed. If there was humor, it came from discovery within the piece and not a joke throw on top. It came from patterns and broken patterns and relationships.. 

WHY IS THIS CHOREOGRAPHER TRYING TO BE FUNNY???

I think he could be funny. If he just stops trying. His performers are too lovely. Why doesn't he trust them and their personalities and what's there? 

I have decided that I and the man behind last night's performance have different aesthetics. And different senses of humor. 

... I wish he'd take an improv class. 

What I learned from last night:

- Less words, more funny.

- Get your audience on board. Don't assume they're already there.

- Take your time and enjoy yourself. You choose to do this.

- Laugh with them. They won't laugh at you without your permission (unless they're dicks).

That being said, last night was lovely fun. More practice please.

Unrelated: I have heard so much spitting today.

Youngest one in the room

At the Jane Brittain Breast Center, I feel like a tourist. As I am often the youngest one in the room, and the woman who ushers me into the changing area gives me the look of "You're new here, aren't you?"

Yes, I am. I am not scared of breast cancer. I know it would suck to get it. I am taking precautions (as I am super high risk). A benign lump was found last year, and utterly DESTROYED on camera by a tiny needle injection and a thwack-sound. I was given little chicken cutlet ice packs to put in my bra and told to come back in six months for a follow up. Now, every six months, I put on a old lady gown, and look INSIDE MY BOOB. The nice thing is that almost all of the staff are nice, most of them are women (which is honestly kind of cool), and they pre-warm the ultrasound jelly stuff.

All of these motions make up a life. Going to a breast clinic, having a credit card, shopping for calcium chews - - these all feel like "not my life". These are the trappings of what-I'm-supposed-to-do. What is good to do. What I would like adults to do, if we're able and lucky enough to do so. And so, as an adult, I am doing this.

However, I still feel like a tourist. And that's okay.

Is it real? Is it all in the mind? Does that matter?

Oh. Stress.

But it's not stress. Not life or death and will the wheat rise and yellow fever and WWII sort of stress.

But it FEELS like stress.

Stupid tired overly news-ed out sort of stress.

Last year, while traveling, our hierarchy of needs got super small. Life became about walking, having toilet paper, staying warm and being able to breath. Things like smelling nice and managing job/creative output/google calendar/congressional reform went straight to the toilet as unimportant.

I am now all comfy. I have a warm shower and the ability to wear clean underwear and can drink the water out of the tap. I have Amazon offering me $5 indie music and as many cute animal videos as a person could stomach.

However, I feel something like stress, bubbling, threatening to boil over my heart and into my stomach. AND WHAT THE HELL?

I know what I need to do, where I need to stop overextending (or feeling like I'm overextending) and where I need to start putting concrete energy and movement. It's just a matter of talking to friends and declaring decisions. And it will all be okay. Probably more than okay.

But there's stress.

I'm considering taking a yoga class which is focused on stress relief and (bwaha) fertility. But I can feel stress bubbling up about committing that amount of time to a.. stress-relief class.

When I think about the future, inevitably a little song pops up in my head. It goes: "As long as the apocalypse doesn't happen".. "As long as we have a banking system that works" "As long as the Republicans continue to be dicks" "As long as we have a shadow government torturing brown people EVERYWHERE" "As long as our veterans go un-helped" "as long as a culture of poverty pervades" oh for fucks sake.

As much as it's my choice to let that song play in my head..

Anywhoo, here's to good friends, and to laughing, and to forgetting about stress. At least for a little bit. For me, I think, as I am happy in a robe with an amazing internet machine in front of me and sun outside the window - - my brain reminds myself to be stressed. Or to be responsible. Or to bear witness. Or to feel bad.

I'll work on stopping those very addictive songs and reminders. I'll work on giving up stress in healthy ways (not through delicious delicious brown liquids, but rather through delicious delicious sweaty yoga classes. And laughter. And cute animal videos. And friends. I'm so very lucky for it all.)

I'll take responsibility for it by acknowledging it and dealing with it. And setting a good example by doing that. And adding to the world instead of sucking off the negative shitspiral that we people like to catch ourselves in.

There's a lot of shitty things to be stressed about. Honest to god really terrible stuff that you maybe can effect, but you probably mostly can't. But you can always try. Or at least turn the conversation to one that's not so fucking hopeless. Cause what is hopeful or hopeless? It's never going to turn out how we think it will, bad or good.. And that's okay.

I get goony happy every time we get out of our own heads. Whether it's improv or setting an intention "for something outside of yourself" in yoga. That's where we need to be. Or, at least, it's a really good start.

Balance.

Right?

Right.

Cool.

Let's do it.

You, dear reader - - You rule. Plus, you put up with a super self-indulgent blog. Holy shit. I owes you.

Onward.

We only went a little crazy...

So far, so good... We spent Christmas night with old friends of the family, eating Papa Murphy's pizza (which mom called Father Murphy's, which is a pizza chain created by an Irish priest to save his failing, broke parish, but shenanigans ensue! Gentle, chuckling shenanigans.) and drinking margaritas (!!!). We discussed all manner of things, including names my father had for things. We all find these pretty damn good. Example being "Serious knife", which is a serrated knife. Screaming Hills Drive instead of Singing Hills Drive, a buffet (pronounced with a -fet).. good stuff.

Met old college roommate at Red Lobster. Visited one of mom's dearest friends (who sort of grilled me - - but in a very good way. Basically, Deb can ask all the questions my mom wants to, but is held up by mom-rules. Mom-rules which I sort of appreciate. But happy to answer direct questions...) and ate Sun Chips.

Watched a steady stream of British people on Netflix (Michael Palin's Himalayas! Downton Abbey! Dr. Who!)and fell asleep too late. Rather, I watched a steady stream of British people, and mom was lulled to sleep by their soft-r's and pronunciation of h's.

It's been a lovely collection of mom-time, jen-internet-time and family-friend-time. I miss sister-time, but that will come.

Onward.

What to give yourself, in that sort of day time television sort of way...

Hi friends! Hello, internet.

Back in Sux City. I fell asleep in my childhood bed, after watching a couple episodes of Dr. Who and then read some Anne McCaffery - - which is very Saturday night, 1987. Woke up to the dog barking a single bark at me (literally, "WAKE UP", but like a cute fuzzy jerk in a dog blanket) and the sounds of mom in the kitchen.

(<-----This is the reason I think naming a girl "Menolly" might be a good idea. It's a terrible idea. We'd have to dress in tunics and learn to play the pan flute. AND LIVE WITH DRAGONS.

If you could put Menolly & Laura Ingalls Wilder & Julie of the Wolves & Princess Leia and that kid from "My Side of the Mountain" together with Johnny Carson and Bob Newhart, you'd encapsulate a goodly number of my childhood reasons for staying up late.)

We're not formally doing presents as a family. We don't NEED anything, and it feels like the family home has "too much stuff" - - or, at least, the remnants of people we loved and love, and their (albeit NEAT - - my dad made neat stuff, my sister makes neat stuff, my grandpa had neat stuff, my great grandma had neat stuff, the unknown great cousin who was Catholic had neat stuff) stuff that we don't know what to do with.

This house is a gigantic, unsorted Cedar chest. But less romantic and more neat.

So - - presents at Christmas drop to the wayside. Mom asks what I want when I get here, and promises to take me shopping. Not needed, but nice. (I bought my mom the internet.. i.e. internet service... for Christmas, which is a little like buying your mom a cookbook for Christmas. Kinda selfish.)

There is a nice Xmas pass of "I got this for me for Christmas". But I don't need anything. I have nice clothes to teach in, I have a funny little car, I have fancy devices that tell me things, I have the ability to buy food and shelter and haircuts and I am very lucky.

So - for Christmas - I am making myself a practice, in that very Oprah-way.

I'm going to write. And set aside time to write. Starting with this blog post, and crossing my eyes to make it a practice.

And, in celebration of this, I submit a poem that we just found, that was written by me when I was young enough to still spell "drowning" as "drownding" (seriously. I say the d. Don't you say the d?) It's unfinished. Please enjoy.

DROWNDING

I'm drownding in flowers

help me. oh please

I'm Allergic to flowers

I'm starting to sneeze

HAND me a lifeboat

Women and kids first

Please help me oh please

I'm starting to Burst

A crane is coming

Oh thank you so is my sneeze

Gesumtight

Achoo

...And that's where it ends. The third stanza had the alternate version of:

My sneeze is coming; I'm going to shout

Gesumtight

Achoo

... A lot of that was crossed out. But. Ehhhh? I am fairly impressed with elementary school me.

And when I find things I've written as a kid, I get all happy. When I read things I wrote in my 20s, it's an exercise in patience, but I'm still happy I did it. So.. time to get goin'.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS WINTER THINGS, friends. Thanks for listening.

Pop up, out of the Internet hole

hi friends... I'm not sure if anyone's still watchin', as it's been a while... I was feeling private. And I was feeling scared. And so, long breaks between blog posts, which is totally fine and good.

I'm currently in Far Away Places!! Not easy far away places (diaherrea! Mind numbing poverty!), but amazingly lucky be here. And trying not to use sickness as a reason to hide in a nice quiet hotel room from all the noise and touts and push pull.

Having Internet while so far away is weird... I am there in Minneapolis, connecting in ways I usually do (Facebook! I can follow Twitter! Weirrrd.) but my body is not. I feel like a ghost, able to comunicate through a particular medium, but not able to actually DO anything.

When I get back, I'd like to have everyone over for tacos and beer. Everything will be homemade. I will get to doing the things I want to do. I will take free time to see the people I love to see. THAT sounds like vacation. And not ghosty at all.

I also wanna improv. I've been daydreaming of Ka-Baal!!, which makes me giggle.

Rule #3761 - best training for crazy travel (and/or life) would be improv. (Followed, close second, by yoga. But that's me. I think you could follow anything after improv, and be pretty well set.)

I can't wait for the walkin' around part of this trip. Nature and birds of prey, tea houses and dogs you don't want to fuck with.

Miss you.

Onward.

Okay. Gettin' this...

With family in far away places.

I went out for New Year's Eve Eve..

Who knew! A House of Blues venue ='s badass.

I shook Neil Gaimen's hand and congratulated him on his lamppost!

I made friends at the Dresden Dolls concert with a group of similarly minded ladies. I wish I had taken pictures of them.

Met the girlfriend of the magician that the magician in American Gods is based off of. Met a future science teacher in four inch heels, and an adorable coffeeshop manager named Lauren. Met a bear of a man who watches music and protects the short. Met his short blond girlfriend, who loved it when he glowered at people who were being loud jerks.

I sleep in a big bed and eat leftovers. There are two huge dogs to be friends with. Very lucky.

Southern Cali feels like the Midwest, except looser and sillier. There's sadness here, but there's also an amazing amount of sunshine... beautiful sites.. SUNSHINE. Having weather that won't kill you seems to relax people.

However - - that being said - - being here, and being in AZ - - I'm realizing just how damned lucky I am to know some of the smartest, funniest, most embittered, optimistic, self-deprecating, proud, generous and over all, awesome people in Mpls. Minneapolis - - you're killer smart.

All the people in the world seem to travel between Los Angeles and San Diego at all times. They never stop.

Wandered around Carlsbad with my aunt this afternoon, and talked family. Drank coffee, drank wine, ate tacos, very lucky.

2010 was hard. 2010 was good. 2010 was awesome. 2011 will be even better.

HAPPY NEW YEAR'S EVERYONE! May your 2011 be the best year yet!

Onward.

Christmas...

Anyone else wanna say.. How fucking weird.

- It's strange that the changes experienced in the last five years can somehow outshine or outshadow the changes experienced between ages 19-22. Or even 12-17, at times.

- It's strange to experience Christmas under blue skies and lovely temperatures. I can't stop saying it: "It's so beautiful out".

- It's strange to feel as though you and your mom sometimes come second to friends. And sometimes second to a tablecloth.

- It's strange to accept an apology for said behavior.

- And really truly accept it. And the responsibility of accepting an apology.

- It's strange to not know what to do.

- It's strange that it will all end in 2+ days.

I'm so lucky to be with my mom and my sister. So lucky and blessed to be here together.

Also so strange and lucky to try and figure out holidays as grown ups. With no real reason to be together except that we want to be. Even if we're not sometimes ready to be.

Onward.

It's today!

It's today! :) So silly, but... yea.

Goals for the coming year: Adventure and wisdom.

As my friend Drew said, "it's going to be a good year".

Life notes:
- I just got done taking a voice over workshop which was incredibly lovely as Beth Chaplin rocks. I am also taking voice lessons. And have signed up for an Audition Workshop. All this actual training surely means that my career will transform from teacher performer to accountant barista any day now.

What I learned:
- I probably won't work as a spokesperson. It'd be wonderful to work as a spokesperson, but unless that spokesperson is a spokesperson for otters or small waterfowl, it probably won't be me.

- I hiss my sss's. AGHHH!! I'm working on it, but it sounds like a 14 year old is trying to sell you life inssssuranccce. Good god.

- I am the laziest of speakers. I drop words. I smoosh the ends of words together with the beginning of words. I create gross human centipedes out of simple sentences. Challenge!!!

So yes - - not only will this be a year of wisdom and adventure, it will also be a year of attempting to speak like Julie Andrews.

(Gosh, she's pretty.)

Things I'm looking forward to in the short term:

- More yoga. I'm a squishy convert. It's seeping into my vocabulary. I told an improv class to "honor" the focus of the scene. And to "get back onto their mats". Doomed.

- CHICAGO AVENUE PROJECT!! Kids write the plays and words for the song - - grown ups direct and act it out. So good. It'll be my second time doing the music for CAP (I've worked as a director a couple of times before with them).

For this session of CAP, the cast is jawdropping. Stupidly jawdropping. I thought last spring was crazy pants - - it just got crazy pantsier. I WILL write a song for the incredibly lovely and talented opera singer! It WILL be about being a fashionista! More info to come!

There's more stuff to come, but I just wanted to write how damned lucky and grateful I am. How lucky I am to know you. All such good things.

Onward.

Life's hard.. But it ain't that hard.

Happiness is an inside job, true. And if you have your health (and are lucky enough to have friends and family too), you're doing damned good.

Not being prepared for the painters to start working on the house.. and thinking you had extra house keys but none of them work.. and so your roommate who works second shift has had to deal with the contractors -- yeah. Usually I'm better prepared than this, or I try to be. Usually I'm in town.

It's all working (by the grace of roommate and contractors), but.. I thought it was all supposed to have been done last week.. Given that, you'd think I would have put some thought into what the contractors might need. Like house keys. Gah.

The reason I'm out of town is that I'm in Sioux City (our airport code is SUX. Thankfully, awesome people have taken advantage of this gift. See above) visiting mom. The "What I'd like more of in 2010" goal of "see Mom every season" is almost complete! That's good, as my "listen to more classical music" goal hasn't amounted to poop.

Onward.

That's the price of a car!

The plumber was early. That's pretty awesome for a plumber to be. However, it was 8:35a.m., and I was still in bed, guessing I had at least 10 minutes to put on pants. Alas. .. This totally sounds like the beginning of a porno.

About a year ago, my mom came up and helped WALLPAPER THE KITCHEN CEILING. Not only would the prescribed plumbing remedy (again, porno) tear down that beautiful ceiling, lovingly put up with minimal swears, but it would (my dog just farted..) cost as much as a used car.

So - - this is what needs to happen to my house. There is no denying that.

However, I'm hoping to put the house on the market in about 6+ months.

Will this repair increase the price of my house by that much? Heavens no. If I don't do it, will the potential buyer ask for the cost of the repair to be taken out of the asking price? Heavens yes, and wisely so.

This is what adulthood smells like sometimes. Dog farts.

Wow, it's windy out.

Anywhoo - -

A teenager has come to live with us. His name is Frank, which is short for Franklin (as in Benjamin Franklin, Frank Mills - - who I've actually never seen - - , and Franklin Richards, son of Mr. Fantastic.) Frank is grey with yellowgoldbrown eyes. Frank likes cuddles and merlot (per picture), long walks on the beach and having the other animals chase him. He's classy.

Franklin bounded in, as all relationships start, with all of his junk attached. Tomorrow, we go in for the operation. Please send good thoughts Frank's way.

Hey! I have a show coming up. Please come - - it's funny. :)

Made it to the state fair, and am comfortable with all of my food choices! Pictures to come!

Onward.

BWAHAHAHA! My friend is an oracle.

My friend Scott facebook'd me this.. (it's ever so slightly lady Gaga, if only cuz Lady Gaga is on everyone's mind this week)

"I had a fantastic dream with you as the star. BNW was putting on Jen Scott Days because of the critical and public success of your web show with its write-up in Newsweek. You were doing a live version of that show in which you play a Science Fiction Tooth Fairy with a long-standing grudge with Mr. Spock. In the show you solve humorous math puzzles, take a bubble bath wearing a flesh-colored tinker-bell costume and have fans who help you by selling instant print, custom bumper stickers in the lobby.

The fame and production (with its 1970s Dr. Who special effects) are stressing you out a little bit, but you are having a great deal of fun because you realize that the fame is transient. As you point out, yours are the only posters in the BNW with a "Please Remove by....." date on them."

Mine ARE the only posters with a remove by date on them at the BNW. Humorous math problems! And Mr. Spock is so frustrating!

Uhm. I really want to do the Science Fiction Tooth Fairy show now. If this is a sign that I need to put together a web show, good god -- I will follow this sign!!!

1970s special effects make me think of Dr. Who, which makes me think of the Star Hustler.



There is only happiness here.

Fame is transient, friends.

This means I need to let Joe and Brandi about the dreams I dreamt about them in the last two days (German beerhall basement theater and fitness programs that only Williams' grads know).

Onward. :)

Oh man..

Oh man Oh man.. Life is so.. lifey.

And that wisestupid little tidbit is to YOU YOU YOU! As you make my life super happy. I am truly blessed to share words and space with some damned awesome people. Holy crap. Thank you. :)

Funny day. :) Passed out HUGE bracelets at the Uptown Market (Taj and I told only one story, about a cairn terrier named.. oh crap. There was a black lab named Saul *heh* and the cairn terrier looked like Toto.. oh man! It was a sweet name.. The story we told was about him, and his way with "the ladies". Otherwise, we played on our pretend ukeleles and talked to Uptowners.. People were nice and seemed genuinely excited about a new theater opening up mere blocks from where we were playing our air-keleles. .. air-keleles? yes. Yea!)

We then ate a tofu dog, and raced away to Fringe.

Probably my favorite "Story Time Time Bomb" today - - right feel, right silliness. So good. (and Butch played us some Led Zeppelin, and I got to scream like Robert Plant in "Immigrants Song" - - which might be the most fun thing to do ever. No wonder Robert Plant did it so much.)

And then to see "Spin", which I will talk about (as it was so damned good), but I have to put on a dress.

Pleaseplease have an awesome night. There was more to this day, but this is what's important. You rule.

Onward. :)

P.S. Note! Lemons have been scraped, cherries have been doused. In 3-6 months, basil limoncello and cherry whiskey manhattans will flow! You're invited. If I'm on the ball, there will also be pickled eggs. We will feast like old men! Win.

Beautiful.

Yoga and cooking and red wine

If I can do all three of these in a day, it's a win. A total win. Today was a very lucky day.. Hey look - - THEATER!

Did a show. Yea! THEATER!

And then saw the beautiful and excellent Uncle Shelby's Traveling Treasure Trunk - - I will write this in a Fringe review, but goddamn - - these men, this Jonathan Goldberg & Dan Moyer, write how I want to write and what I want to see. Absolutely lovely performances too. Plus - - ACTORS! If you are looking for quirk-tastic and emotionally driven monologues, look no further. This show made me so happy.

And then, onto MORE THEATER!! Mark Shyzer in "Fishbowl" - - I will also say this in a Fringe review, but Mark Shyzer is the handsome, immensely talented version of Plastic Man. (not that Plastic Man wasn't talented, just.. this guy..) Truly lovely show.

It was right before "Fishbowl" that I counted the number of shows I've seen so far - - 15. Not bad. I'm performing in 18. ..I AM FRINGING THE FRINGEY FRINGE!

(This, however, is nothing to the 33 show Fringe of ought 'seven, where Joe, Tim and myself performed in 31 shows each. I think I might have beat them out by playing in a couple of "An Intimate Evening with Mike Fotis"-es, moving my total up to 33. We were Fringe zombies. Hard and fun.)

Also, I'm not seeing everything I want to - - friends keep selling out, timing doesn't work.. This is a very good year, friends.

And then, over the next two days, only five more performances (and hopefully seeing at least a couple other shows), a week of teaching the last of the little-kid-theater-stuff, and then summer is done.. in my brain. This was the summer of work, and I was lucky to do so. But also a summer of fun. I need to stop referring to this present time in the past - - there's even a week left. I'm getting ahead of myself.

Life has parced itself up into one hour segments. Fringe show - one hour. Voice lesson - one hour. Yoga class - one hour. One scheduled hour, with a half hour on either side for good measure. I don't mind this at all, except wondering if my attention span has adjusted accordingly. Movies are again beyond my pervue.

I'm really tired.

Onward.

P.S. You know what sounds kind of good and dumb - - the State Fair. It sounds really stupid, and really.. okay. There's a bag of minidonuts is waiting for me, along with the placental cuteness of the "Miracle of Life" booth. What will happen??

Fringe

How you can check and see if you are truly "Fringing":

a) Your sleep schedule is off. If you see a 10 p.m. show, you're not going to be able to sleep until at least 1 a.m.. And if you end up going to Bedlam after said 10 p.m., you're screwed. And generally speaking, happily so.

b) You wonder why you're tired, and realize that this is your 2nd to 3rd 14 hour day in a row.

c) You've danced like a hippie at least once. And again, happily so.

d) You can't leave the house without wallet, keys, fringe button.

e) You get comfy with the idea that all we do in Minneapolis is make and see art. All of our lives, all of our schedules and play time and relationships circle around making and seeing art.

There is life and wonderful people outside of this condensed, magnetized situation, an it's good to remember this while in the middle of the brawl.

But it's been lovely. So lucky, so much goodness.

I accidently saw some dance tonight. I wanted to see Spin, and thought it was at the Southern (without, you know, checking the postcard or web or anything... Assuming they had set the wrong program out in the lobby. I am an idiot, at times). Instead, I saw dance. agh! I learned:

a) There's some pretty good music in this modern dance stuff.

b) According to Mr. Munger, dancers are currently in discussion as to what exactly qualifies as their art form. What is dance? What isn't? Therefore, what's good, what's derivitive and what's not? I certainly don't know, and it sounds like they're, as a community, discussing such. Neat! I can't tell you what's good or bad (I have little reference), but I can tell you when I was engaged, when I wasn't, and when it was fun.

c) I have decided, for my own purposes, that dance is a physical meditation on a subject, story, theme, idea or song. A meditation, like walking a labrynith. Not necessarily a narrative, but reflections and interpretations told through action or non-action. That's all I've got.

d) I was trying to create an acting/improv/clowning/mime/dance spectrum in my head, but it's a double rainbow all the way. It's just not that clean of a breakdown.

e) That's a 3 week old reference. You're welcome. :)

f) I love it when dancers make eye contact.

g) I love it when dancers smile. Cause then it looks fun. I want a black leotard too!

h) John Munger's phrase "athletic and artsy" makes me so happy. Two things, that can be somewhat opposite in many minds. Again, neat. :)

i) Casebolt and Smith are damned inspirational. They don't set off to be. They just are. We are lucky.

Whew. Also, 'thought we had a good "Quest" tonight. We are nerds, friends.

Happy Fringing!

I'm really tired.

Onward.

What you can do in 45 minutes..

Hi friends. Long time no blabby.

Uh. Michele said to post this, and she tends to be correct about many things.

I got to take part in a Flash Fiction event with Replacement Press last night. Holy crap. It was wonderful.

They've rented a store front (at the old Arise Bookstore space) to celebrate the publishing of John Jodzio's (an awesomely nice guy) If You Lived Here You’d Already Be Home.

They brought us four improvisers (Damian Johnson, Mike Fotis, Michele Campbell and me) in, introduced us, gave us a 'prompt' (a sentence from John's book) and then sent us off to write for 45 minutes. (While the lovely band "We Became Actors" played. Win.)

We then came back and read/almost-perform our stuff. Which like that. Neat.

And then they gave us beer and fancy cupcakes! I bought a book. It was lovely.

This is what came out. I haven't changed anything since last night except for one word. Meaning, you get all of my crap grammar.

Feel free to read or not read. I totally turned into a cat lady.

If you do read it, I hope you like it. Again, see above cat-lady-ness.

Hoping things are excellent!!!

Onward.

"If Whiskers could talk, he would tell you that this was his dying wish."

- - Jen Scott, July 18, 2010

If Whiskers could talk, he would tell you that this was his dying wish.

Some people would assume that it would be a brand new sofa, untouched by any other cats' claws. That he would slide his folded paper claws into the upholstery, grip and slowly, happily, pull.

And the pull would be delicious. Satisfying. Impermanent.
A crunch
A pull of weight
A drop

But that wasn't it.

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If Whiskers could talk, he would tell you that this was his dying wish.

Some people would assume that it would be in regards to the nameless baby. The soft strong loud pink thing that smelled both of antiseptic and moist plastic.

He watched his owners' pupils dilate every time this thing moved, breathed, stepped or howled. He would look into his owners' future and would watch how their worlds, now shiny and freshly purchased, would get gently bruised and busted up, fingerprinted, and any semblance of perfection disintegrated into comfort.

This thing was interesting to watch, but ultimately destructive.

Some would think that Whisker's dying wish would be to lead this shambling pink things into the street, where a kindly couple or old woman or pack of wolves would take care of it.

But this wasn't his dying wish either.

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Whiskers contemplated his dying wish.

What they don't tell you is that you don't get just one.

You get as many as you'd like.

He thought seven would do (Nine would be expected, but Whiskers was contrary and a bit of a dick, as he was a cat.)

1) He'd wish the back back alive. It was sad when the terrier died.
2) Wet cat food.
3) Cheese. He loved cheese.
4) His owner's bed. All of it.
5) Air conditioning. He was a long hair and summer's were awful.
6) His mom. His mother was wonderful.
7) A chance to really sit down with his owners and have a one to one.

It might have gone something like this:

"Dave," Whiskers would say, sitting up properly and focusing his perfect patchwork eyes upon Dave.

"Yes, Whiskers." Dave was wearing Dockers. Cat hair stuck stubbornly to his red polo.

"Dave, you seem really.. unrelaxed. It was nice when you sat in the recliner. You rarely do that anymore."

"It's the baby, Whiskers - "

"I know, Dave. But just please keeping doing what makes you happy."

"I have no choice - - "

"I just want you to think about it. Now please let me head butt you."

And Whiskers would headbutt Dave, and Dave would scratch Whiskers under his chin and around his jawbones. Whiskers let his tail land lightly on Dave's shoulder, leaving seven long white hair.

"Gretchen," Whiskers would say.

Gretchen would be thrilled. This was every childhood dream. A talking cat. Flying ponies would be next. Anything was possible.

"Gretchen," Whiskers let his stomach relax onto the chair, "Firstly, stop wearing that perfume. Dave's allergic to it. But he bought it for you and he knows it makes you happy, but for both of your sakes, possibly for the sake of your union, please give it up."

And Gretchen would nod, and possibly offer Whiskers a small plate of canned tuna, as this was a special occasion. Dave nibbled on the 'Nilla wafers Gretchen bought for him.

"Gretchen - you're a mother now, and you're a good one. You gave me a good place to live, just as you should have. However, Gretchen, you'll need to tell your baby a very scary word. Your baby needs no."

"But Whiskers - "

"It's not like a cat, Gretchen. Cats don't know no. We know it exists, but honestly, it's a stupid word that has nothing to do with cats, but everything to do with humans and their babies."

**************************

Whiskers smiled at the ideas. These were a good seven wishes. Good seven ideas.

And back in the condo where Whiskers lived, he let his creaky old body relax into the recliner, stretching his haunches until they almost came off the cushion, stretching his back, his toes, every atom of his humming, quietly.

Whiskers closed his eyes, half-breathing, half-purring, until he fell asleep.

New! Kinda Exciting! Depends on Your Perspective!

Hey look.. It's July. I'm a jerk.

I will return to blabbing on this thing. But until then:

THE RETURN OF OCTOBERDANDY.COM!!!

(Truly, not as exciting as all caps might warrant, but.. hey.. look! What I'm up to professionally to semi-professionally.)

(And I'll fix those lame video links.)

Hoping things are good by you!

Onward.