I just wrote a song
feel free to sing along
yo blog it's been a while
I realize I've been negligent
but sometimes life gets in the way
but you'll forgive me, you always do
because you love me like I love you
which is a lot
and I know you don't want a list called just-how-busy-I-am
but I'm pretty busy
I leave for kentucky today for a few days
and then I leave for Greece for a few months
I love you I love you I love you
oh I love you love love you you
does that make it okay
does that make it all okay
Welp, ya win some and ya lose some. Ya *think* you're gonna win some because of something you read, so you dress in a spiffy suit and wring your hands in the balcony all night composing a speech and trying not to forget anyone who has helped you in your career. As the night rolls on and you watch the winners make their way to the stage, it becomes clear to you that they probably would not have put you in the balcony had they wanted to give you something quickly. You don't give up hope quite yet, but you slump down in your seat a little and stop thanking people. Then security takes your contrabanded beer from you because all fun was supposed to have concluded once the ceremony began. Then you totally bum out.
However, as you watch award after award being announced, you become uplifted by the knowledge that your beloved theatre peeps are being quite well represented up there on stage. You have the very Oxygen Network realization that even if you didn't win personally this time, you've won as a community. And then you realize how miraculous it is that you are even having this conversation with yourself in the first place. And when it's all finally over, you congratulate the winners as they exit the building, feeling genuinely lucky to know them and work with them and be a part of such an amazing passel of artists.
And then you go to Acme and stuff your face full of beans and collard greens, and get drunk.
Yo, I'm back, I am SO back. Boy am I back. In New York, that is. Spent the week seeing some shows and settling in and trying to muster the energy to unpack my suitcase. And eating loads of sushi. And reflecting on my time away, wondering how I could have been more positive. I've determined that it was out of my control. The midwest makes folk go crazy. It's a fact. Not all of it, of course. Just the parts I was in. So it IS Kansas's fault, after all.
Could be the land-lockiness. Could be the redness. Could be centuries of ennui worming in through the pores of newbies, eating away at their good sense. But it's not just me. It's endemic.
The midwest inspires coast-folk to write rock musicals about young girls who toss their damp underpants to a pack of wild dogs to keep them from attacking.
The midwest makes folk lick a cute girl's arm in a hot tub from elbow to shoulder, slowly and without permission, then become horrifically embarrassed when she's on the cover of a local paper a month later sporting an evening gown and a shaved head. (no link)
It makes folk get drunk on Old Crow and fuck your girlfriend very loudly in your bedroom while you discuss breast-reduction surgery in the next room and pretend not to notice. (no link)
It makes folk do reckless things to total strangers in front of several people who may or may not have big mouths. (no link)
I'm telling you, man. Don't blame the folk for their bad behavior. Blame the midwest.
In a follow-up to my "sorry for misjudging you, Kansas", I bring you a list of all the things I will miss about living here.
Insane Lightning Storms.
The kind with thunder that rattles every wooden strut in the house. The kind that make you think you're being bombed. The kind that wake you from a sound sleep screaming and wondering if you've just wet yourself.
Writing Time.
Since I've been here I finished a play, a screenplay, a TV spec, and began work on a multi-media piece for my HERE Artist Residency. In New York I never get this much accomplished. Partially because I try to have a social life, but mostly because New York is an energy monster which sucks so much out of you that sometimes you're left with little juice to massage the ol' creative muscle.
Free Time.
Boy, is there a lot of it. In the beginning we'd make two or three trips to the grocery store daily. We'd go to Wal-mart for our veggies, MacClynn's "Grovenience" for our preserves and specialty items, and the Health Alternative for our coffee and tea and organic olive oil. We'd buy small so we'd have something to do the next day. And we've finished off three bottles of Maker's, two bottles of Old Crow, and one scrumptious bottle of Woodford Reserve. (Hey, we have a porch. What would YOU drink on a damn porch?)
The People.
Okay, Kansans are NICE. They just are. They talk to you. They smile at you. They compliment you. They engage in conversation and are actually interested in what you say. In stores, they treat you like a human. In restaurants, the owners come up and thank you for eating there. I got let off of a speeding ticket by a nice Kansan officer and I didn't even have to cry. And folks, I was going 100 mph in a 70 mph zone. He said, "slow down until you reach the county line, okay?" I hope I'm absorbing all this niceness so I can distribute it to the masses when I return to NYC.
The Space.
Lordy. There's lots of that. BIG streets. BIG homes. BIG public spaces. Room to drive like a loon all over the road, and feed hordes of melancholy cows, and grow acres of wicked corn, and do whatever else Kansans do. The Inge house is so big they have readings in its living room that accommodate 30-50 people. My room can fit a queen bed AND a desk AND a fireplace AND a walk-in closet AND I still have room to do my MaDonna Grimes Urban Street Heat exercise DVD. I don't know how I'm gonna re-adjust to the mini-world.
My Students.
Aw heck, I always miss 'em.
The Celebrity.
We like to tell the story of the first time Dominic (my housemate and fellow playwriting resident) and I went out for dinner at the local Chinese buffet. The young gal who was serving us could not stop giggling as she took our order. Finally, she lowered her eyes shyly and asked, "are you two the playwrights?" At the library I was taking out some books and told the librarian that I was only in town temporarily so I didn't have a card and she said, "I know who you are," and wrote my name down on a slip of paper for "guest borrowers." (Did I mention this is a small town?)
Crummy Trucks.
Like this one. They're old. They're everywhere. They work. And they've always got some crazy mother-fucker behind the wheel.
William Inge.
I've grown fond of the old chap. Ne'er-do-well, gay, hated by locals for portraying them accurately, drunkard and psychopath, and now the town hero. I like when folks point out the park where Picnic was set, or the joint where Bus Stop was rumored to take place. I like climbing the stairs in the dark every night and picturing a frightened little Billy storing images for a play that would be torn apart by the Times 34 years after his death. W.I., it's been a blast.
Hannah Joyce-Hoven.
The force of nurture. The listener. The drink-beer-with-er. The accommodater. It's her job to make things smoother for everyone here, and she does it with compassion and grace. This place would have been 100% suckier without her. AND, she is actually related to my buddy James. Distantly. But enough to make my heart go pitter-patter.
And in no particluar order, here are the things I certainly WILL NOT miss.
-Driving everywhere.
-Barbecued meat.
-Wal-mart.
-Nothing open after 7pm.
-A church every three feet.
-Everything closed on Sunday.
-Cheap unhealthy food.
-Gravy.
-Smoking indoors.
-Losing my mind.
-Travelling 1.5 hours for mediocre sushi.
-Being away from him.
I was trotting around the web looking for press reviews for the two shows I currently have running (one and two), and I came across a few things that make me feel like I'm mis-managing my career.
Like this... and this... and especially this...
Should I be getting my plays done above 14th Street? Should I have the regional theatres busting down my door and begging me for new work? Is it my fault that I don't, or is the material I create simply not viable in a larger venue?
Maybe I am firmly a Creature of the Fringe. That's cool, I'm down with that. It's a fun place to hang out. Everything is grimy and electric and caffeinated, and tongues are on fire, and everyone wears great outfits and funky glasses. It's my home, my theatre home, my family. I believe in it deeply. But I can't ask it for money or food, I can't go to it if I want to get pregnant and raise a baby. So I have to either a) write different plays that speak to the rich uncles of the theatre world--which I have tried, by the way, without success--or b) wait for the rich uncles to find me and decide my work is also their work. Which isn't happening.
Not that I expect you to solve all my problems, dear blogosphere... I'm just musing into the void.
(Ever feel like you're swimming upstream and the current just keeps getting stronger?)
In other not-so-new news... Can someone please give this lady a whoop whoop y'all?
Hi. Hi there.
I've written two posts that I haven't published. Things have been strange in Kansas. Bottom line, I have decided I am ill-suited for a midwestern existence. But I've come to realize it's not Kansas's fault. I'm sorry Kansas, if I was unfair to you. And thank you for the incredible storms last night. And thank you for not whisking me off in one of your tornados.
I'll tell you all about it, at some point. Maybe. Buy me beers, I'm a blabbermouth. But for now, I will be home in exactly ONE WEEK.
I'll be cowering in William Inge's basement until then.
