The song of forgetting

I still exist, I promise. I've just been trying to get through this semester. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it's becoming increasingly frustrating that it's taking me so long to get there.

I changed my major, which was an extremely monumental step for me. I never thought I would want to do anything other than screenwriting, but after I lot of soul-searching, deep thought, and a long string of conversations with people I trust and admire, I have changed my major to Theater, with a concentration in Directing. And it feels more right than anything I've done in a long, long time. I'm disenchanted with film, and theater is a thrill that never goes away. I want that. And also, I feel like it just makes sense, because I'm in the perfect place to do this - not only am I in Chicago, but I'm at Columbia, which an extraordinary school for theater. My directing role model, Tony winner Anna D. Shapiro, graduated from this school. I consider that to be a very good omen. And like I said, it feels right. How often does that happen really?

Beyond that, I've been going to shows constantly, escaping, spending money I don't have. Met some fantastic people. I'm planning to go see The Tempest at Steppenwolf sometime this week. Possibly tomorrow. I'm excited for that. And I'm still having a consummate love affair with Chicago. I can't believe I'll be leaving it in less than a month only to be stuck at home in Philadelphia for three. Fortunately, Philly is where my best friends are. But still...Chicago...

California girls

This is what my fridge looks like at home. Home, as in not my apartment in Chicago but as in the place where my mother pays the bills in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. We have a magnet for every place we've ever been, and they all go right here, along with the occasional embarrassing photo of me and my cousins. I asked my mom to take these pictures the other day, because I've been thinking a lot about it. The places that I've been, and the places I want to go.

People shake their heads at me when I tell them I want to live in Los Angeles. "It's not all it's cracked up to be," they say. Well, no kidding. There isn't a place in the world that is. It's the same way with people who romanticize New York all out of proportion. I tell them, "Hey, it ain't so great." But we want what we want, for whatever reason.

I've been to Los Angeles once, last September. I said to hell with class, and met up with a few of my closest friends there, from all over the country. I flew in from Chicago, there was one in from Texas, three from Washington, D.C. We were there for not more than four days. And we were supertourists. We hit the Chinese Theater, the Walk of Fame, we took the WB studio tour, the obnoxious double-decker bus tour, everything. It was completely kitschy and we loved every minute of it.

I've never been happier. See, I'm an East Coast girl. I was born and raised in Boston, then moved to Philadelphia, then went to school in D.C. before settling on school in Chicago. The landscape in California blew me away. We drove from Santa Monica through Malibu and I was just lost for words. We had dinner one night in Venice Beach, which was...an experience to be sure.

I have been all over the world. Well, okay, that's a lie. I've been all over Europe and the Caribbean sea. I've been to Prague, I've been to Budabest, I've been to Vienna. Rome, London, Paris, Edinburgh, Barcelona, Athens. (My mom is obsessed with travel, it's always been our one extravagance.) But I had never been to the West Coast before. And I was so convinced that I'd never seen anyplace more beautiful in my life. I still believe that.

I've done my time as an East Coast girl. I can deal with the smog. I want to be a West Coast girl now.

My Sophie's Choice

On Wednesday afternoon, I took a surprisingly interesting walk. Lately, I've been taking walks either down State St. or Dearborn towards the canal, despite freezing cold that defies imagination, to clear my head. On this particular afternoon, I was on State, about three or four blocks from my apartment and I was stopped by a representative from Environment Illinois. I hadn't really been paying attention, I had my iPod on - probably listening to some embarrassing '80s tripe as I tend to do while walking - and stopped without thinking. When she told me which organization she was from, we had a nice, long talk about their goals and strategies. She was really and truly surprised that I didn't walk away, and moreso that I was willing to have a serious and engaging conversation about the issues - and that I was comparatively well-educated on them. And I couldn't help but think how sad it was that she had to be surprised about something like this. It says some terrible things about our nation.

In any case, the problem with this is that they want money. Not that I fault them for this - money really is the only thing that actually gets things done - but if you're haunting streets in the South Loop of Chicago hoping for financial supporters, you're in the wrong place. You're only going to hit college student after college student and we are dirt poor. It bummed me out quite a bit, because I wanted so badly to help, but I just can't afford $15 a month. I can't say that it's, to quote the old cliche, hard to find good help these days, but rather hard to help period these days.

After our somewhat lengthy encounter, I ran into Kristen Wiig from Saturday Night Live. So. It was a helluva walk. Anyhow, I got back to my apartment about an hour later and I started to feel guilty. Granted, I have had a lot on my mind this week - far more than I'm used to ever having - but the guilt was still there. I thought, "Well, I can spend money I don't have on a seemingly bottomless pit of theatre tickets but I can't afford $15 a month for the environment? Really, Self?"

So then I started to wonder: what's more important? My rabid, almost chemical need to see every single play that comes through Chicago, or...saving the planet? An age-old question, I'm sure. The answer should be pretty clear and, I guess, it is. I'm just ignoring it.

...In other news, I'm seeing Our Town at Lookingglass on Friday! Actually, I'm ushering for it, which in some ways is even better. You don't get the relaxing, recreational theatre experience, but you get to be a part of it, and see the show for free! And usually all of the volunteer ushers at Lookingglass are upwards of sixty and those kids are the best. I'm rambling now. Ta.

Meaningless ramblings

I can't sleep. Normally this would be of little consequence to me, but I have therapy early in the morning. And I have a headache plaguing me somethin' fierce. So what do I do? Blogville, USA.

I haven't been posting as frequently as I used to. This may be either due to the fact that I have nothing intelligent to say, or the fact that I'm busy. But who am I kidding? I'm a college student. I'm not busy. I sit on my computer all day when I'm not in class and not "partying." Don't ever let a college kid tell you that they're busy. Because it's a lie. Nine times out of ten they're spending the majority of their day on Facebook and/or lounging in their apartment watching Comedy Central or something equally mindless.

In other news, my roommate and I went to Second City on Tuesday night. I hadn't been since September, and the show was even funnier than the last one I saw. Taylor and I were crammed together at a table with two guys in their late '20s, who bought us drinks (Second City makes a mean strawberry daquiri, by the way), and we all managed an intelligent conversation about Saturday Night Live vs. SCTV. As much as I love SNL, I'll take Catherine O'Hara and Andrea Martin over anyone from SNL any day. I wish there had been a sketch show comprised entirely of Catherine O'Hara, Andrea Martin, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtin, and Martin Short, just for kicks.

Also, we got lost and ended up taking a $3 cab ride because the theatre was literally two blocks from where we finally broke down and hailed a cab. Classy, right?

Apropo of nothing, I want to talk about Big Love. I don't know if any of you watch it, but this season has just been blowing me away. The show is finally exploring so many of the issues that have needed to be address in the past, and bringing so many fascinating emotional conflicts into the fray. It's better than it's ever been. It's always been brilliant, but I really cannot get over how flawless it's been lately. If you don't watch it, consider this my recommendation.

Okay, that's it for me. I'll save my Los Angeles longings for next time. That's a loaded topic.

I want your soul.

It's true, I have been lazy of late. I had a real bummer of a week, for no real reason. I think I just had a case of the "mean reds," as Holly Golightly would say. But I think I'm done wallowing now. I'm ready to come out of my Bat Cave, and I wish that was a metaphor. But I really have a Bat Cave in my room. Instead of having a bed underneath my bunk bed, I have a dresser topped with endless dvds and a pink chair...and Batman sheets draped over the back. Yep. Bat Cave. That was obviously something you needed to know about me.

Anyway. Tuesday night, I went to go see The Seafarer at Steppenwolf. Finally. I went by myself, which is something I've never done, and it was surprisingly nice. I am ashamed to admit that I hadn't gotten over to Steppenwolf since August, so it was nice and nostalgic. I ate at the same restaurant down the block I ate at that, and passed the spot where I saw Kathy Baker after the show back in August, at which time it was all I could do not to "JILL BROCK!" her. And the people who work at Steppenwolf are supremely sweet. I had some enlightened conversations with those working the box office and some ushers. I just adore theatre people, and the whole atmosphere really. There's no better feeling in the world.

The show itself was phenomenal, and I had surprisingly perfect seats considering I got student rush tickets. But that's the nice thing about Steppenwolf's downstairs theatre - there really isn't a bad seat in the house. John Mahoney, from Frasier, was in the show, to the sheer delight of my Frasier-worshipping friends, Haynes. He was fantastic, as was everyone in it, especially the actor who played Mr. Lockhart, who I immediately recognized as Ben's lawyer from LOST, which may or may not be to my credit.

The first act is admittedly slow, and has you wondering where this is all going because it seems rather aimless. But by the end of the first act, I was literally on the edge of my seat and when the theatre goes black it's a bit of a shock to the system. The second act is brilliant and intense and staggering. I believe there were several instances when I forgot to breathe. I highly recommend it.

We're watching It Happened One Night in class tonight. Oh, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, how I adore you both.

Slice of life

Typically, I don't post about "real life" other than the casual throwaway line, but today it's necessary.

I'm sure Chicago isn't the only place around that experienced a serious rise in temperature this weekend. But Chicago being what it is, it took the city by storm. We're used to the kind of freezing wind that rips the flesh off your face. And today, we didn't even need our winter coats. People came out of the woodwork. Children roamed the street! Do you know how long it's been since we've seen children?

My roommate Taylor and I walked a total of four miles this afternoon, down the Magnificent Mile to the Water Tower and back. Granted, whatever weight was lost with the exercise was regained thanks to Chipotle, but it still felt fantastic. Completely exhilarating. And as we crossed the canal, this sight awaited us and I just had to take a picture:



But somehow, despite this good weather, we still ended up at the movies. (Story of my life.) Revolutionary Road, finally. Fantastic film, if incredibly depressing. It took some time for it to truly hit me, but once it did, I was knocked out and dragged off. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was grateful. I mean, these two characters in the film were so phenomenally and profoundly unhappy that it makes you grateful for even the tiniest bit of happiness.

The day ended as all days ought to - watching Barbra Streisand. My friends Kate and Brooklyn demanded my copy of The Mirror Has Two Faces, so we watched that, followed by Streisand's "Timeless" concert on dvd.

Really, it was a perfect day. Too bad now I have a mountain of work to complete for my Monday morning Fiction Writing class. Joy.

An analysis of thought

There are moments in life, too many perhaps, when we are forced to pause and confront our own thoughts. It may sound strange, but consider it. Of all the things we think about, how much of it actually has an impact? How much of it do we remember the next day? How much of it do we really say out loud? So many thoughts simply come and go, swift and easy.

I think the best thing about having this blog is that it's been encouraging me to gather my thoughts. Even if hardly anyone reads them and even if no one cares, it's an important exercise for me and that's why I do it. At the risk of sounding like a commercial for an emergency cleaning product, life happens fast. Not everything that happens to us is significant enough to be remembered twenty years from now, but that doesn't necessarily mean we would prefer it that way. Writing them down gives us the option to remember them if we wish.

Tonight, I had the great fortune of seeing the phenomenal Anna Deavere Smith speak at my school. The school I go to is well-known for its emphasis on diversity, among other things, and diversity was the subject of her lecture. Although lecture is hardly the correct word for it - she spent the evening doing monologues from reality, imitating perfectly those whose words she spoke, right down to the accents and mannerisms. Everyone from Studs Terkel to Margaret Mead. It was astonishing to watch, and even more astonishing to think about afterward.

When I got back to my apartment, my roommates and I had a fairly lengthy discussions about gender and sexual orientation stereotypes that made us consider and reconsider our own views. We are, all of us, guilty of automatically placing people into stereotypes, even small ones. But we don't realize it because in our minds, it's normal. We don't question, we don't think.

It's normal to assume that blondes are stupid and redheads are fiery and dynamic. It's normal to assume that gay men love musical theater and lesbians are butch. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Stereotypes are everywhere. I think some of us even stereotype ourselves.

I want to end this very jumbled and possibly pretentious post with a quote from Anna Deavere Smith, who was actually quoting Rabbi Menachim Mendel.

"The only whole heart is one is a broken one."

Why? It's that crack which lets the light in.