Snow - a compromise

I don't like snow.

Yes, not liking snow and living in Minnesnowta is stupid and contradictory. 

But -- I like other stuff about this place.

I scrooge. 

When some one celebrates "snow on Christmas", it grates on me. 

More Scrooge. 

It feels like a Hollywood prescription of how the holidays are supposed to go, and someone has drank the consumer hallmark kool aid. 

I am yucking someone else's yum. 

The whole idea of 'Christmas isn't Christmas without snow' makes me want to decorate a cactus.

Holidays and family are just that, and to me, at this time in my life, snow is not related.

I will give snow a break. I will marvel a its complexity. The science of snow is absolutely beautiful. And here's more.

Truths about snow:

- it's pretty and covers everything up. 

- snow is a fantastic equalizer. When I lived in north Minneapolis, a snow fall would make everything as pretty as anyplace in Minneapolis. (And bring about the truth that North Minneapolis IS as pretty as anywhere in Minneapolis.)

Things I like about snow:

- it's a muffler. It quiets things in a very personal way.

Things I don't like about snow:

- it could kill you. That's probably the main one.

And so could the desert. And the ocean. And that cinnamon roll. 

But here I am. Happy with cinnamon rolls and hating on something which doesn't care. Something that turned to ice and something I'm usually pretty good at walking on (the majority of this post was written before biffing it today).

Happy holidays, friends. Hoping it's beautiful, snowy or not.

It's okay to call it a come back, if that's LITERALLY what it is.. literally

Hi! Hi hi! Hi blogspace I haven't touched for over two years!

The very tiny baby has turned into an two year old, sometimes contrary, genius. And now there's actually ANOTHER tiny baby, almost two months old, farting and pooping and learning how digestion works.. We're all learning how digestion works.

To the makers, go the spoils - - so, here I am, trying to make again. Or at least write. Or at least, something. I feel like I 'don't have much to show' for the last two years, whether that's true or not. (I've honest to goodness done things! Neat things I'm proud of and feel so lucky to have been a part of! Things! I love things!).

And now - - things! Things written into the digital blogspace and thrown into the digital wind. How's it going, blogspace?

Onward. 

Candy Crush / Bejeweled / Time Suck Guilt Juice

I have decided that playing my little phone game (I don't Candy Crush. I have no idea what Candy Crush is. I play Bejeweled. Alas, was there such a time suck?) is akin, to me, to drinking.

Instead of watching my beautiful child's development and how he's basically managed to twist around on his own (this shit is amazing), I played Bejeweled while in the same room as him. It occupies the same indulgent, sometimes guilt, space. And I don't have access to a whiskey sour. If I had a whiskey sour, I would probably be guilty of drinking while in the same room as my beautiful son, as he discovers the joy of cartoon owls.

I could also be using these Bejeweled moments to WRITE or to get decent at the ukulele or blog or call my mom. But my mom is asleep, my ukulele is thousands of miles away, and I WILL write some today, goddammit. I will also watch my beautiful child. And play some Bejeweled.

On my mind:
 - http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-harsh-truths-that-will-make-you-better-person/
 - http://thelastpsychiatrist.com/2012/11/hipsters_on_food_stamps.html

By the end of the year, I hope to take a hip hop dance class. It could be a repetition of two years ago's tap class, but.. NO MATTER!

Ah.. now my child has stuck his foot through the bars of the crib and appears stuck.

Onward.


  

Non-Obligatory Food Post: Salt and Lemon Juice

What I have learned over the last two years: many many things are improved with lemon juice and salt. You might have some fancy ingredient in said something (like tahini or fish sauce), but as long as you add lemon juice and salt, you might look like a genius.

*denotes fancy ingredient, which is often skippable. Take that.

Hummus!
 - Chickpeas
 - Lots of garlic
 - A little bit of tahini*
 - Lemon Juice!
 - Salt!

Potato Salad!
 - Boiled potatoes
 - Boiled eggs
 - Chopped up whatever else is in the refrigerator
 - Mayo
 - Mustard (Dijon*)
 - Raisins*
 - Pepper if you like
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Chicken
 - Chicken
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Zucchini* Carrot salad
 - Carrots
 - Zucchini*
 - Olive oil
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Eggplant/Asparagus/Brussel Sprouts*
 - Eggplant/Asparagus/Brussel Sprouts*
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Fish* .. like.. all fish
 - Fish*
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Pasta with butter

 - Pasta

 - Butter

 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

 - Parmesan cheese*

Eggs (I haven't tried it but why not!?)
 - Eggs
 - Butter
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT! 

Your mom
 - Your mom
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!
(your mom = not fancy.)
(Now I feel bad. Your mom is lovely. Please call her.)

.. You see.

Excuse me, is this a food blog? 

The imaginary dinner party in my head proclaims things like, "Oh, how summery!" and "You cook so light!" and again, you will feel like a mad genius. This imaginary dinner party all are wearing hats,  mustaches, and bustles. 

I'm pretty sure it's all about the acid. And I'm pretty sure that this acid could be replaced with just about anything (white wine! vinegar! Win!), but lemon juice gets top billing for the pure food blogginess of it all. You're welcome.

Onward. 

Non-obligatory food post: Blau Milch

Back in 1996, for all the stupid reasons, I was studying abroad (hi-oooh) in East Berlin. In the winter. For all the stupid reasons. (Did I speak German? NO. Did I have any previous interest or knowledge in Germany except for being partially of German descent and I had watched "The World at War" in History class? NO. Sometimes it is better to jump into these things blind. And stupid.)

I lived with an incredibly cheap and angry hausfrau, her nice and removed husband, and her beautiful, PERFECT ENGLISH SPEAKING and racist daughter. This daughter introduced me to my one German friend: Arne. Arne was awesome, and we would go on adventures. And he took me to BlaumilchKanals.

I remember BlaumilchKanals because:

a) It's excellent name
b) I think it was the place that had the wall of Barbies in jars. Thank you, art scene of mid-90s Berlin.
c) It served Blau Milch!!!

Blau Milch (blue milk) is milk with blue berries and blueberry syrup mixed in it. And it was new and weird and delicious, and I felt badass next to the barbies. (90s!)

Tonight, I had Red White and Blau Milch.. Do you like milk? Do you like strawberries and cream? Do you like America (not this week, but the general concept when it sometimes works and isn't full of stupid)? Then you will like this!

 - Take berries (I used blueberries and strawberries). Throw them into your glass.
 - Sprinkle sugar on top. (If you are a super cuisine badass, you have already rolled your eyes at me, as you've cooked up a simple syrup on your stove top. In fact, you even added berries to your simple syrup. It's stupidly delicious. You've already put your simple berry syrup in your glass and are feeling superior. Good.)
 - Muddle the berries in the glass. (i.e. take the end of your potato masher and smash them for about a minute.)
 - Pour on the milk.
 - Drink. And then take a spoon to eat your berries with.

I am putting this picture here so you believe that this is a food blog. 

Delightful. And easy to boozify! (i.e. add some Baileys.)

Feeling the urge to blather about food more.. Onward!

Sapphire bullets..

Man, this kid.

Bullets of pure love. :)

No subtlety in sleep

In my dreams, I keep.. losing the baby. He's there, and pop! Baby gone. Without any build up or explanation. And the world just keeps moving. 

Last night, it was another losing the baby dream. He rolled into a lake, terrifying, but made much less terrifying that, once I looked around for him, it turns out he knows how to swim. (adorable little underwater swimming baby). 

My brain is an Advanced Placement English student, and here is my Advanced Placement English sentence: So rarely are my dreams that blatantly metaphorical. 

Super happy. Seeking normal.

Hey blogfriends.. I don't know if you're still out there.. but HELLOOOO.. :) 

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

It's a strange thing. 

I tend speak about myself in the plural now, as "myself" is wrapped up and tightly knotted in someone else (who used to be, literally, wrapped up in me). 

We're sort of developing patterns (which will fall away to other patterns - - maybe), and I know when to feel anxious i.e. anytime the house is left and we're to be in a single place for more than 10 minutes. 

Sleep is a mystery: last night was a run of 4 (?!) hours, then 2ish, then 30 minutes, 30 minutes. This, by many standards, is luxurious. Two nights ago, sleep was very sparse and 3 p.m. hit me at semitruck speeds. 

But - - this isn't my normalnormal. My normalnormal is/was running around, working, teaching, playing with people, stopping by random donut shops - - and I could, by many many accounts, still do. 

But I can't. I want to breastfeed. I need to heal. He needs time to get bigger. 

One scheduled "event" on the calendar is intimidating. Kiddo's schedule isn't, and right now, maybe shouldn't be, one. We don't do much, but someone I don't have the time (or focus/concentration) to finish assignment, answer emails, do the things that signify normalnormal. We're awake at 5 a.m., and suddenly it's 7 p.m. and the day's going to sleep and we should too. And I'm so damned lucky to be able to have the flexibility to do that. 

Generally speaking, new dads get to head back to the trenches earlier than new moms (except for the moms who HAVE to head back to the trenches and good god, YOU ARE AMAZING.)  

For me, the trenches I miss are at a certain awesome improv theater located in the LynLake region, and I currently don't know if I'm even currently capable of staying up for a 8 p.m. show. Would that wreck me for the next day? I DON'T KNOW. 

(I also don't want improv or performing or normal to slip away or to become scary. Maybe it's good to let it become scary for a while?)

But - - it's what I'd like. That piece of the new normal. Others have accomplished it! It's not as scary as one thinks! I'm currently covered in breastmilk! And it's all talk until it actually happens. Here's to it. 

Onward. :) 

At first I was happy, and then I was sad..

I was walking out of Target, and a kid (if 20something can qualify as kid) said randomly to me:

"You're smiling. It's nice to see someone smiling. It's not something people do in the Cities. I thought it was a West Coast thing."

And I felt so lucky, cause I didn't know I was doing that.

And I asked, "How's your day?" because I'm awkward as sin.

And then I thanked him, and told him that he had made my day by saying that.

And I was all happy for the smiling, as I walked to my tiny car. That a stranger had talked to me, and said nice things.

And then I became SAD.

As - - smiling is not the norm here. In public, not what you do.

It's always sort of been one of my fussy bits about Minneapolis.

It might be a 'big city' thing, but I think it's more of a Northern-Scandinavian-thing, as Minneapolis ISN'T that big.

I'd like to be able to be smiley in public for no good reason. And if I'm doing it subconsciously, I won't try and stop. For-the-sake-of-the-Children!!, I won't try and stop.

After he stopped me, I immediately thought of moving to California. Newly romanticized California. ("Can people smile in California? There's sun and beach and terrible public school and funny apartments with swimming pools. Maybe it's time to move there! For-the-sake-of-the-Children!!")

And then I felt intrenched and blessed. I'm so lucky to know everyone I know here in Minneapolis, and I've laughed more here than anyplace in my life.

And when there's no reason to smile except for being lucky enough to have the cash to purchase what I need to purchase and it's really beautiful out, I'll keep smiling.

Onward. 

Waving in cars with boys

I got waved at today. 

I don't think they were making fun of me. 

(As that's my natural tendency.. to think, if a stranger is trying to get my attention, it is probably to make fun of me... it's absolutely leftover public school leftovers). 

They gently honked (twice), and then waved. 

And then I waved back. And then waved goodbye when the light changed.

It was really really nice. 

Thank you, random 20-30something guys in black hoodies and a white tiny car. 

You made me smile, feel nice, and it was good. (even if your intention was something different - - I don't think that it was - - it was just nice for me). Thank you. :) 

ANGRY RANT DAY

It seems, if I can start my day off with an angry rant vs. meditating on the positive..

I was going to post a "hey, knock off the anger" feel good sort of thing.. and then I started to get angry. And hypocritical. And the entire point of said post FAILED. 

(All this from a Jezebel.com article on evolutionary psychology. Which sounds FANCY! But really just gave way to a comment war that sounded something like "MISOGYNY IS EVERYWHERE!" vs. "SCIENCE IS KING!!!")

With no more context than that...

What I Believe:
 - Science is squishy. What we've found out today will either be thrown to the ground or possibly improved upon tomorrow. To hold currently to what's in our text books as THE TRUTH is not, to me, scientific. Like faith, science gets to be questioned constantly. To be more specific, it SHOULD be questioned constantly. Or else, it lands in the realm of unwavering belief and PEOPLE. And people have a way of messing things up. 

Re-evaluation is key.

(Using a faith-based example, I think the Bible recommends not eating shellfish. We've re-evaluated that 'belief'. Good job. Please get to work on the more prohibitive biblical 'laws' that some folks seem to be clinging too or twisting. I can do without a lobster roll. Civil rights for all would be bitchin'.)

 - Science is only as good as the filters it travels through i.e. people. Again, people have a way of messing things up.

We can measure things forever. It's the interpretation of those measurements that runs into trouble. And also where we get into attachment and then belief.

If someone believes that one person evolved into something weaker or dumber or lower than another because "SCIENCE HAS PROVED IT!" - - science don't prove anything. Science makes assumptions and tests them. Science has few 'laws', and many theories. And that's good. 

Science (and medicine) has a fairly gross history of misogyny and racism. The 20th century - - for all of the incredible incredible advancements that were made, all the lives that were saved, all the discoveries - - was a pretty terrible time for certain practices. 

Science is aces, but people can't be trusted.

Also, "science" is sometimes scary to people who don't see themselves as 'scientists'. And the people who claim to understand, who sometimes twist it for their own particular agendas, get to yell even louder. A similar thing happens with policy and politics. Agh.

(This is why I love science museums. Being cool with not understanding. Learning more. Getting curious and engaged. Good stuff! Science is for everyone! AGHH!!!)

 - Attachment is a bitch. Attaching yourself to a particular anything is dangerous. (I am rather attached to the idea that birds are non-avian dinosaurs. Because that's what Jack Horner told me, and he's basically dino-prophet to me. And when he says these things, I feel amazing and affirmed in my belief. Plus, constantly SURROUNDED BY TINY DINOSAURS. Should I drop this attachment? YES. Because not only is it more scientific of me, dropping it opens up even more awesome possibilities.)

Would I love for everyone, including myself, to get a little more Buddhist, and work on stripping away  attachment? Would I love everything to be happily and lovingly questioned? Yeah. I think that'd be excellent. However, am I thinking of tiny dinosaurs right now? Yes.

Finally...
 - Don't read the comments. Because the comments will inspire you to write a really long blog post.

It's disheartening, sad and familiar. "The internet can be a fantastic place or Hell on earth." This woman said that, after receiving DEATH THREATS for standing up for a friend of her's. (This friend of her's writes for a television show. WTF.)

We're incredibly connected, and so much of that connection is used for hardcore porn (which makes sense, and is totally another really long blog post) or, seemingly, for trolling. Anytime something is shared that's positive, it feels like a revelation.

Would I dig on some compassion and kindness? Do I love that the word "kind" seems to be creeping it's way into our vocabulary? Yes. Yesyesyes. 

And so, as a chaser, let's all watch a clip from "Frankenweenie.". Better? At least a little better? Yeah. 

Doing things I told myself I wouldn't do

My boss is very smart.

(I have many bosses. They are all very smart. But this one is particularly blunt.)

She's running a class with a ridiculously low number of kids in it.

I told her I'd rather cancel the class. (I remember even telling myself not to take the class ever again with that small of a number)

She said she'd rather run it.

I understand why (consistency, doing what the catalog says you're doing, etc.)

She noted that I've, over the last year or so, given up classes each quarter. Usually for another gig.

She's questioning whether I want to be with the organization any more.

It's a really good question.

I didn't realize.

I tend to dread the classes.

But enjoy them while I'm there.

I like working at the location.

I like my boss.

And the rate is good.

So what's the problem? Why the flakiness?

I don't like that she's willing to run a class with three.

I don't like that she's impossible to talk to over the phone. (She's a little busy.)

After seven years of working for an organization (which is, currently, the most teacher-supportive it's ever been), it's a strange thing to question and possibly re-evaluate.

What's the life expectancy on a job? 

Agh! Stupid!

I've started dying my hair red.

I LIKE it! It's fun. And it gets streaky and kind of orange as the color wears out. And I kind of like that too. (Soon, my roots will show enough to become obnoxious and I'll dye it again. This is how Clairol owns just a little piece of me.)

I am about a week from coloring my hair. Even a little girl asked me today, "Do you dye your hair??". I'm in full on-streak. There is nothing natural about this color. And I kind of like that (I've spent my life with colors that occurs naturally. Eventually, I'll be all grey and silver and that will be that. But until then...)

Today, I had an audition. The woman I auditioned with was truly, smartly, subtly funny. Straight on, unforgivingly, quietly funny. (As a person who self-identifies as 'funny', when I meet someone like this who is new to me, there's always a little part of me singing, "Who are you? How come you're not doing A? Why haven't I seen you? Why aren't you desperate for attention like the rest of us?" Ah. Because she doesn't have to be. Well played.)

When we said our names to camera, we were asked to say 'something funny' (which is a, honestly, a terrible thing to ask of someone on the spot.)

I said something about the class I taught earlier that day and how little kids like the word booger.

She said, "This is my real hair color."

I giggled. Just cause.. you know.. hair color. W00t. Support. Ladies who don't color their hair. Alright.

And slowly, after the next hour, realized that I might have been the butt of her joke.

And felt dumb. As I'm incredibly slow to think of jokes in that fashion. (and am usually so overly sensitive to shit like that). I just don't tend to joke that way. I would never zip off of someone I just met.

A part of me could really care less.

While another part of me also wants to be, "HEY. I saw what you did there. Or.. maybe.. you didn't. Agh."

Am I taking it personally? Was it personal? Either way, she.. wins.


If I wasn't (which is where I'd prefer to place the moment in my brain), I need to get over myself, over the over-analysis and feminist theorizing (women throwing each other under the bus, bleah bleah), the making-me-right, and go back to feeling neutral about the whole thing. (The audition itself was just fine. Kind of fun. Got to eat food and not say memorized lines.)

If I was the butt of the joke, it was pretty subtle and smart zing. Just sort of terrible and perfect - - said straightly to the camera, to the casting director, to whoever is hiring for this job.

I'm not capable of that in the moment, nor would I necessarily want to be.

There's a million different ways to make yourself feel bad or stupid, and like anyone who has dipped their toe in obsessive or depressive waters, I'm really good at holding onto those and rehashing scenarios, things people have said, things people might say, all the unnecessary drama that a brain can barf out to keep one's self down or humble or hurt.

It's so admittedly dumb, that my brain can grab one sentence and hold that as what is shitty. See? Dumb.

So: if indeed, it was a slam on my orange hair, it was a well done slam. If it wasn't, I'm obviously taking this way too personal, recognize the pattern and am letting it go. (By writing many paragraphs on my self-indulgent blog.)

In the shittiest (and non-shittiest) of times, there are always more reasons to feel good than bad. And if that's not true, then something needs to change if possible. Right? Right.

Good things: I saw my friends Phyllis and Michelle today (both forces of nature and TRULY FUNNY LADIES. I want to grow up to be Phyllis and help her with her chickens.) I got to share a smile and a conversation with another lady I'd never actually talked to. Michelle also introduced me to a local legend and I got to shake this woman's hand. There are more reasons to feel good than shitty. Also, I'm breathing and that's pretty lucky.

And even if, later that day, you then set your alarm incorrectly and fall asleep (I never take naps!) and wake up in a shock, MISSING THE GAME SHOW you were supposed to perform in at 4 p.m.(who has six contestants today. They're fine without me. But.. AGH! STUPID! I was looking forward to that.) and this makes you feel REALLY STUPID...

There's still more reasons to feel good than shitty. Honest.

Onward. 

In places..

In places where I'm not able to communicate clearly (which happens in travel or, weirdly, when visiting home), I tend to fall back on old habits i.e. writing.


Writing is awesome because I can say smart things almost exactly how I'd like to have them said in my head and almost everyone might know what I'm saying.


Writing is dangerous as I don't want to go back to being dependent upon it and it only. I like talking to people, sometimes on stage, sometimes as a character. That's good!


I just watched two trailers and instantly became a teary mess.


My brain can't handle it. The images are too much. I know what's happening here. It's beautiful and I never thought I'd be lucky enough to even see a (made-up moving) picture like it. 


Here's the link to the "Cloud Atlas" trailer. 


Here's the link to the "Life of Pi" trailer. 

>
Here's some really amazing pictures of the cast of "Community". (these didn't make me cry, but did make me feel better.)


If my self-destructive streak was bigger, I'd just put the trailer to "Beasts of the Southern Wild" on repeat.. whoop. Just watched it. Excuse me... 


Onward. 

NW Iowa...

My grandpa Rauch turned 96 yesterday. 96! He's mentally still grandpa Rauch, even if his physical therapist told him on his birthday that he's going to be in pain for the rest of his life. That's what physical therapists do, which is why physical therapists are crazy brave to say such things.

Getting old is not easy. I say this as a springchicken of 36. Your hands shake and your balance runs away and it's fucking hard to eat nachos. (He had nachos for lunch! I had the Indian taco. We went to a bar in the Yankton mall, as it has tall chairs - - short chairs are now hard to get up from. All of the staff knew him and talked to him for a bit.)

He lives in the oldest house in Yankton with his girlfriend Pam. Pam's garden (granted, she's maybe 89) is full of really really yummy things, like corn, kolrabi, beans, dill, cucumbers.. She makes things grow and then bakes pies. She also plays video casino and realizes this aging thing is sort of a crock. She doesn't want to go into the hospital again.

We're worried about my grandpa's dog and one of Pam's great nephews. We're worried that he might have hurt the dog (Grandpa says that he did), and mom's worried that he might try and hurt Pam and Grandpa. Mom has told Grandpa and Pam how she thinks they should proceed, but.. it's not really up to her. These are not comforting thoughts as one drives away.

I'm going to read this book.

We drove through some of my favorite landscape/countryside in the world. Northeastern Nebraska, right under the very tip of southeastern South Dakota, is beautiful. It's made to reflect the sun. The hills are rolly and green and the sky is big and blue and the wind blows. Perfect green hills shaping big blue sky. I want to take everyone there, even just to drive through it.

Double bonus: the place where the Missouri crosses over from South Dakota to Nebraska is stunning. The river is HUGE at that point, maybe a half mile across, and is cut up with sandbars and birds. Secrets!

I have eaten birthday cake and ice cream and a little more ice cream and corn and bbq and steak and ground chuck and many many things I don't eat in general - - but this is like summer thanksgiving in a way. Very very lucky to be here eating all of it.

My mom has become, without really planning on it, the healthiest eater on the planet - - no fried things (although she loves them), no salt, as little fat as possible. She looks amazing, and many of her clothes are too big.

She's having so work done to the house, which is great, and means young strapping Iowans in t-shirts and backhoes come and politely move paving stones around. Bill Bryson might be right - - Iowans might start off pretty, and just get weird looking as we age. (We are a weird looking but incredibly friendly bunch. We like you!)

Sophie the awesome schnauzer is also getting old. She's pretty deaf (she can hear loud sharp noises) and blind and jumps when touched. But if she goes for a walk, she's all smiles and just thrilled. Man...

Onward. 

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.