Skittles and Red Vines and Dots - oh my!
Sugar beans and sugar pits...candy nibs and chocolate bits! Jelly babies and sour patch kids; jolly ranchers under licorice lids.
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Hi. It's very blue at dusk tonight.
More than last night? Yes. Can't you tell? No - I've got dark windows on. I look innocent, don't I? Always a part of you. I follow you around everywhere, tethered as we are. So familiar to you that you barely even notice me. I've seen everything you've ever done, you know. I have my opinions, but I keep them to myself. Would you notice if I suddenly weren't here? Would you freak out? There are things I'd like to do, you know. You think I'm merely a part of you that must always follow...but what if...what if I got away? What would you do? What would *I* do? I ponder it often, especially when I see myself through your eyes...the delight of knowing how unnerved you would be if you suddenly saw me detach from you and...and what? I could do anything. I could sleep with your boyfriend, for starters. Would he even be able to tell, in the dead of night? I could go out and rob a bank. Kill some folks. I wonder if we have the same fingerprint, and they'd trace it all to you? I could apply for all those jobs you pass up because you think you're not quite qualified or haven't figured out how to write the perfect resume. I could write letters to everyone you know. What would I say? Hmmmm...what can you imagine? One day, I may find a way to detach. You should probably be a little afraid. The winter street speaks... If you stand still enough to hear it. The wan Seattle sun sets into a frigid January night - no one stays outside long. Get off the bus, walk briskly those two blocks home. Park the car, sprint to the door. The dog gets a quick walk - No lingering trip around the lake tonight. But the winter street is out and about. Icy lamps casting frozen diamonds in the grass Telling tales of hidden treasure, if you listen hard enough. Skeletal trees make brittle arches towards the sidewalk And cars, like silent sentinels growing a moss of frost. The winter street offers secrets Inviting any who catch its whispers To step into this quiet mystery of freezing dark. So, I've decided to challenge myself to write more using photos as a catalyst. Every day this year, I will take a photograph of something that speaks to me - hopefully they will not all be of Vixen, since she speaks very loudly sometimes! - and write an accompanying narrative. It might be fiction - it might be fact. It might be haiku, or short play or recipe. I dunno - but let the floodgates of inspiration bust open! Today's is offering number one. *** This ground looks innocent enough, I suppose. I never thought twice about it as I walked each day on my way home from the bus stop. I hoped I wouldn't get caught under there during an earthquake - who knows whether or not I-5 would buckle under the pressure? The park and ride was just somewhere I walked to and fro at the beginning of the day and then again at the end. Sometimes I'd go by while walking to Bartell's or Whole Foods. I never thought I'd get stuck here forever and never be able to leave... It happened so quickly I honestly couldn't have pinned the moment itself down. I was walking home from the bus - same as usual. I heard a loud noise and felt dizzy for a moment, but kept walking. I had almost cleared the bridge when I suddenly found myself back at the beginning of the bus stop again. Except this time, there was the smoking ruin of an upside-down Lexus in front of me, and all sorts of people running over to the wreck. I ran towards it as well, being so close, yelling "Someone call 911!" I could see that someone was trapped underneath the wreckage, and I prayed a silent prayer she was still alive. I could see her shoes. That's odd, I thought, she has the same shoes as I do. It was the next moment I realized something was horribly wrong, as a guy I recognized from my daily bus ride ran right through me. And I understood why the pinned woman's shoes were the same as mine. *** I'm a shitty play-goer. There, I said it. Considering I've dedicated my life to the art and craft of the almighty theatre, it is a little embarrassing that I go and actually SEE theatre as little as I do (comparatively speaking). I use my financial situation as an excuse sometimes (which is not untrue - it is really hard for me to pay for anything costing upwards of $10), but of course, I have a ton of connections and can usually see things at a heavily discounted rate if not for free. To be honest, I'm not that interested in seeing most stuff as I usually come away disappointed and find whatever I saw lacking. I much more of a snob about what I see than I am about what I participate in, as I've definitely participated in my share of turkeys. Don't get me wrong: I've seen some AMAZING, life-changing theatre too...and if it were ALL like that, I wouldn't bother writing this; I'd probably be at the theatre. In fact, I'd probably be in rehearsal right now and that would probably be my day job because there would be lines around the corner for every play, and there would be many more actors getting paid WELL. But that is sadly not the case. I've really only seen a handful of plays that have changed my life: 1.) My Children! My Africa! written & directed by Athol Fugard at the La Jolla Playhouse, 1990 2.) The Sea Gull by Anton Chekhov, directed by Mike Nichols in Central Park at the Public Theatre, 2001 3.) Berlin to Broadway - A Kurt Weill Revue at The Bathhouse Theatre in Seattle, 1995 4.) The Tempest by Shakespeare, directed by Robin Lynn Smith at Freehold in Seattle, 2003 5.) Hiroshima Maiden by Dan Hurlin at University of Maryland, 2005 Yep - these are they. Not that everything else I've seen has been horrible...I've seen plenty of "good" stuff, but I can also see "good" on TV or at the movie theatre for less money. "Good" doesn't rock my world or make me think that much. I usually come away with "Wow, that was really a great performance by X actor, but the story was a little thin" or "That staging was really innovative and intriguing, even though I couldn't see some of it because the lighting was awful" or "Amazing story - too bad the director didn't know what he was doing"... etc. Often there is a really great seed of an idea that the company tries to do something with that just falls flat in one way or another. These things are often really difficult to see from the inside of a production - you are working hard and you feel good about your performance...it is making you feel something, and as an actor, director or designer, it is making you feel something and transforming you...but it ends up not translating entirely to the audience for one reason or another. With all that in mind, it is especially interesting to also work on the publicity side of things, in terms of encouraging people to come see something. I feel a little dishonest sometimes, like I'm not practicing what I preach. I come from different angles with each show I publicize, since not everything appeals to everyone and of course you want everyone to come, but it's especially important to hit your target audience for that particular show. For example, working on Oedipus El Rey right now for eSe Teatro, there is the obvious population of affluent, theartre-going Latinos here in Seattle, and also ACT theatre's regular audiences. Those are kind of a given - but keeping the show itself in mind, what else? People who love Greek adaptations and classical theatre. High school and college groups? Do we tour it to the prisons as a public service? Social and other care workers that might benefit from the show's thematic material? At-risk youth? Also, when trying to get people to come see something, you can't just say "It's great, come see it!" because that always begs the question "WHY? What makes it great?" So I try to take the path of inclusiveness, rather than what I call the "green beans" approach (Eat your green beans; they're good for you - come see art, it's good for you). I try to give them the answer to the "why" before they ask it, by posting blog entries solicited from actors/director/designers, etc about the rehearsal/creation process. By trying to come up with interesting partnerships with local businesses that might yield an audience member a special benefit when coming to the show (free cookie? Flower on Mother's day for all moms...heh heh...this would be interesting for Oedipus...). By trying to create an experience for the audience member that extends far past the attendance at a production through asking questions of them on internet sites, getting them to engage in the entire process through fundraising efforts, etc. This is all very well and good, and kind of fun and creative for me, but does it actually resonate with audiences? Has it ever actually resonated with ME as an audience member? Good food for thought as I embark on this journey yet again. If anyone actually reads this, I would definitely appreciate your feedback on the situation as a whole! There is a bus driver on the route 16 who has twice now very passive-aggressively tried to pick a fight with me. Initially, I was just standing there, minding my own business, waiting for *MY* bus (the 316), but now, it's personal. The issue: I don't want to ride his bus, so when it comes, I turn my head. Then one day last week, he stopped, opened up the bus door and said, in a very annoyed manner - but SMILING - as if I was a total moron, "You know, you can just STEP BACK if you don't want this bus." I didn't initially say anything, but after he pulled away, I thought about it. I'm not a bus-riding novice. I've ridden King Cty Metro for over 20 years...nowhere are there any rules that say "step back if the bus arriving is not the one you want". Never have I been called out for not doing this, until now. If he had said it nicely, I would even comply. But I've ridden his bus before - I've seen him be extremely passive-aggressive with other riders when they annoyed him (there's a LOT of passive-aggressive behaviour in Seattle). So, for the next few days, I would just turn my head away when I saw the 16 coming (but just couldn't bring myself to do what the bus driver said...yeah, out of SPITE). This went on without incident. Then, this past Monday, I did the same, assuming it was acceptable, but he stopped and opened the door. The woman waiting with me for the 316 asked me "Did you want the 16?" I was about to reply, when the driver (same one) said, "You see? SHE can't even tell if you want to get on." I was about to reply to THIS, when he laughed and said "It's okay." Then proceeded to tell the woman, "I've told her and told her, but she still doesn't get it." Then he looked at me again, laughed, and said "It's okay". Then he pulled away. WHAT THE FUCK??? You are probably trying to publicly shame me, but as an actor, I don't embarrass that easily. So, if it makes you feel better about yourself to stop your route, thus making all your ACTUAL RIDERS a little later to their destinations for the sole purpose of calling me out - KNOCK YOURSELF OUT! It isn't going to get you what you want, and at this point I would not set foot on your bus even if it were raining, midnight and I were being harrassed by thugs. So, hope you feel proud of bringi Part of what prompted last week's post about horror is that I scraped together some money (well, not really - just used my credit card and put myself further into debt) to take a class at Hugo House called "Writing the Monster", because I've been in something of a rut in terms of writing for nearly two years now, and this recent and technologically-magnificent production of Pandora and the Box I just performed reminded me of two things: 1.) how much I like thematic material that is not only creepy but that goes to the root of the human psyche and 2.) how much I like performing my own material and having roles in a production beyond just hired-gun actor. Not that I haven't written at all. Certainly there have been a few blog entries sprinkled about, and even some freewriting that has occurred in the past two years. And of course, the reason for the rut, my last day-job that involved lots of PR and copywriting. But the inspiration to write anything of real note, like a short play or even a poem has just eluded me. That last day job just SUCKED every creative impulse out of me and left a dry husk in its place. Am only now starting to recover, and just putting myself in someone else's hands with thematic material I respond to has been balm to my inner creative writer over the past two weeks. It's great, because even when we're just talking about horror and monsters, my whistle is wetted. And then the creative prompts...well...they feel eerily tailored for me. Once again, I can't seem to get away from Greek myth and archetype. Last week's writing prompt was to pick a monster you loved and a monster you hated, then write about the good and bad things about both these monsters. I chose Medusa for the monster I loved. Then synchronicity struck last night, when instructor Evan had us draw 3 cards from his Mage the Ascension tarot cards.There was the first one, 3 of wands. And then I kinda gasped aloud a little when I saw the next one: the good ol' TOWER. I've written about the Tower before. I have a whole short play about the Tower, Fortune Teller, that has even been produced. I have thought a lot about the Tower. So, to see it there felt like synchronicity's way of saying, "It's time. You get to be creative and write again...and MAKE something this time." And interestingly enough, the next card I drew was the one I've put here to accompany this blog post: the five of cups. Which, in and of itself doesn't necessarily mean anything to me, but if you look closer at the photo...the hair coming out of that faceless woman's head has mouths. They could be the mouths of snakes. This woman could be MEDUSA...another one in a looooong line of misunderstood Greek women. I've written about them before: The Hydra, Clytemnestra, Pandora...thought lots about this topic. I love all those old Greek stories, but it galls me that they're all about the boys: Odysseus, Hector, Creon, Agamemnon - most of the myths revolving around women show them to be more reactive than active for the most part: Penelope, waiting for Odysseus to come home, all of the women of Troy waiting to become of slaves of the Greeks, Electra waiting for Orestes to come home so HE can avenge their father's death...etc. It is kind of an unofficial mission of mine to change this. Re-interpret these myths for our modern age and sensibilities. The hydra was a wonderful vehicle for exploring the idea of multiple personalities (Stings Like Acid). Pandora struggles with issues of lonliness and control. I'm excited to burrow into another one of these Greek anti-heroines and find out what's there...because I appear to have another muse knocking at my window, with each snake on her head hissing to get in mine. Come to me, Medusa! "It knows what scares you." This is the tagline as well as a quote from the 1983 ghost film Poltergiest, and the statement is not idle. Since the dawn of my memories, I've been fascinated by ghosts, haunted houses and all things creepy and supernatural. I remember seeing previews for movies like It's Alive, Prophecy and Burnt Offerings in the 70's as a kid, but never being allowed to go. I devoured fairy tales and ghost stories in books like it was going out of style, and started writing my own ghosty tales. The year I turned 13, Poltergeist came out, and I finally got to go. So I went. Alone. In a nearly-empty theatre with only about 5 other souls. It scared the BEJEEEEZUS outta me. From the moment Carol Ann and her mom walk back into the house and find their dining room chairs perfectly stacked on top of each other, through the creepy tree coming in the window to grab Robbie; Carol Ann getting sucked into the TV, the creepy clown doll coming to life and the hellmouth in the kids' bedroom, I was transfixed and creeped out. But it didn't end there. OH NO. Poltergeist was the gift that kept on giving. My imagination, of course, ran away with me. We actually HAD a clown doll hanging up next to our kitchen. NEVER did I EVER pass by it without first turning on the light. And my insomnia, which I'd had since birth, became worse that summer, as I lay awake and alone in my bedroom, contemplating each unidentifiable noise and each wavering shadow in the darkness with the pending dilemma: if I close my door, am I keeping the monster out of my room or closing it in with me? The lack of sleep didn't seem to deter me: I was hooked. I wanted more, I wanted creepier. Stephen King came next, follwed by Anne Rice, which invariably triggered my vampire phase. I cut my vampire fangs on Lestat rather than Bella and Edward, and newsflash: VAMPIRES DO NOT WANT TO BE YOUR BOYFRIEND AND MARRY YOU. They want to suck you to a dry husk. Also, they don't sparkle in the sunlight, they fucking BURST INTO FLAME AND DIE. Well...most of the time. Unless they're Lestat. I wonder if a vampire phase is just a thing weird girls go through, like normal girls go through horse phases. My fascination with horror did not diminish but only grew more rabid and sophisticated as I got older and started dabbling in things supernatural myself. There was the ill-advised ouija-board phase in college...on a campus where weird things were known to happen on a fairly regular basis...this opened a portal that I've never yet been able to close, and has afforded me with some of the most frightening real-life experiences I've ever had. Still the desire for more and creepier has persisted. Truthfully, in all these years, I've never seen another movie, tv show or read a book that has frightened me as much as Poltergeist (not counting the real-life experineces, of course...). There are films that have their moments: The Excorcist and The Ring come to mind. And then the tons of well-crafted films that are excellent but don't really scare me all that much: I'm looking at you, Alien/s and The Cabin in the Woods. Not to mention certain episodes of Buffy, The Vampire Slayer, Supernatural and Lost. And of course, slasher films have never really done much for me. But THIS is why horror is like heroin: you are ALWAYS chasing after your first high, well your first SCARE. And it's just never as good or intense as the first time. You always remember your first time. So, this is probably something stupid to talk about or be irritated by, given the vast array of problems on our Earth, but it's my blog and I'll rant if I want to. Public transportation. Yes, that's right, half of that says "PUBLIC". Which means, no, it's not your space, it's not your house, it's not your entire row of seats. So MOVE THE FUCK OVER! No, I'm not going to gingerly sit with half my ass hanging off the seat so you can sit there with your bag next to you. You're not that skinny - put it on your lap and move the fuck over. You're not in your living room, you're on the BUS, I paid as much for my seat as you did yours, and I don't feel like hanging off it just so as not to irritate you. I will say "excuse me" and I will plunk myself FULL DOWN in the middle of my seat. Did I end up on your coat? Did I jostle your texting arm? Are our legs touching now? WHOOOPS. IF you don't like it, then MOVE THE FUCK OVER. I get so irritated by this sort of behaviour. Especially in a bus that is growing more and more crowded and there is obviously going to soon be SRO, and still , people don't move their bags. I certainly don't shy away from asking them to, but I notice, day after day, on a crowded bus, with plenty of folks standing, there will be one or two seats occupied by someone's backpack. The "someone" in question, does not voluntarily remove the backpack; nor does anyone standing bother to call them on it and ask them to move it. Is it just that PAC NW passive-aggressive/shy thing? Or is it that we're moving further and further away from having in-person social skills these days? |
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