It's the Thee-a-tah, People

Last night I helped out my old intern boss/mentor/hero by volunteering at her fabulous soiree, in her friends' amazing Old Town home -- seriously, amazing; original art covered the walls (the painter among the couple in residence), high ceilings and East-facing windows, hardwood floors (in the kitchen the HW floor extended up the side of the wall to form the coolest bench I've ever seen, ever!), marble counter tops, space, space, space, a sliding library-like ladder helped them get to up-high things in the kitchen, and there was even a bidet in the bathroom (a fuckin' bidet!!!)! Soooooooo fancy!! And, they had the best, most un-pathetic, HUGE Charlie Brown Christmas tree, EVER!!! (It kinda looked like this, but probably around 13-14' and slightly fuller, and way more decorated.)The soiree was a little thank-you get-together type of deal for the amazing donors, board members, playwrights, and actors that contribute to the best thing Chicago theatre has to offer this city, country, and - dare I say it? - world! I love volunteer work, especially if it's a favor to a friend, and even more if I get to dress fancy.

This party was fancy! The wine and beer flowed, the hors d'oeuvres were splendidly delicious, and the crowd was fabulous all around.

I do have to say I was slightly nervous in the beginning; I don't really like grown-ups, or meeting new people - they both make me kind of anxious - and there was a lot of both going on. Luckily, I was kept busy with welcoming people and getting them name tagged, signed in and what-not, and by the time I was walking around being a paparazzi (these services were requested of me) peoples' cheeks were flushing from the alcohol. And, let me just say for the record, the attendees were some of the most outrageously incredible and good-hearted people I've encountered in a while - not a bad seed in the whole lot! But, then again, it's a theatre function, so I should've known to expect that. Plus, I knew all the people I worked with and I was introduced to a lot of new people as the night wore on - I think it's the crowds and the noise that overwhelm me, or perhaps, more pointedly put, my lack of self-confidence (which is the most annoying thing in the world - get over it already, right?!?! Sheesh!) and self-promotion, but with practice and kind smiles from strangers turning into friends *and-ah some wine-ah* I had a great time!

#1 -- I've been struggling with my writing, or more specifically, playwriting habits for a while now... my dedication is severely lacking. One thing I always use, and this is probably going to make me sound crazy - but what doesn't 'cause I kinda am!ish - is the Edward Albee excuse, as I've grown to call it. My playwriting professor/hero/Jewish Mother (though he's a man - he referred to himself as the JM) in college is good friends with Mr. Albee, and he would mention the man at least once a class, and hell! I would, too! Shucks, stories of stories about Albee telling David about how Tennessee Williams would come over and hang out at his pool in the summertime, and lounge, and drink, and laugh - stories, complete with accents (all!), about how Edward took David and his two young sons to watch a snake being fed mice in the Geology building on campus, and commented on how the snake devoured the poor, helpless, stupid little creatures. And, of course, the Edward Albee method of keeping his characters in his head, completely to himself, until he knows them well enough to write them down and make them permanent - sometimes he does this for months, or years; walking around with them, having conversations, fine-tuning the details. Call it what you will: multiple personalities disorder, schizophrenia, Sally Fields... I think it's good. And, I think it's smart, because I've read this, and experienced it myself, once you tell someone something, there isn't as strong of an urge to write it down anymore - it's already off your chest. Usually, this is a bad thing for me; I'm a writer, which for me translates to: I'm awkward; I fumble over my words, get caught up in the story so much that I skip the details and go straight to the end, or get caught up in the details and there is no end. Sometimes my writing probably displays this, and I know I've got some work to do.

But, last night, a match was lit under my ass (and a giant flame burst forth because I farted - ha! No, no, no. I didn't really! But, have you ever done that? Hilarious. This one time... at South Padre... another time, another place); inspiration hit me full force, a powerful yearning to sit silently and write for a long time, whether pen scratching across a page, or fingers flying across a keyboard. It started when Russ Tutterow, the Artistic Director, gave a little introduction to the scene of the upcoming production, How I Became An Interesting Person. He spoke so eloquently of the good work that playwrights do; the toiling, the sacrifice, the poured out soul, and how, without the playwright, the actors and audience could not be challenged, excited, or inspired. So many times I feel like the writer is overlooked by the audience craning to catch a glimpse of the actor, but maybe that's the best thing, that you've composed something so beautiful, moving, and real that you convinced your viewers that your words are truly the actor's words, instead of vice verse.

As I was waiting for new arrivals to unbundle, I picked up a pamphlet from the table, and inside there was this lovely quote from the magnificent Mr. Oscar Wilde:

I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being.

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And it made me think about how I felt when it first clicked that I wanted to write for theatre. I want to tell stories, and thank goodness I wasn't around in the prehistoric days when they told stories instead of writing them down - oh, how terrible it would've been for me, as I've already told you, I'm not that great of an oral storyteller... unless I write it down first, wink.

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#2 -- The people I met; networking, I guess you could call it, as I told people how while I have a job, it doesn't stir my soul like I wish it would. I met lawyers, bankers, concierges, musicians, and artists, among others. And they all told me, in more or less words, to follow my dreams, and not let anyone tell me otherwise. One fabulous man I was talking to, the Concierge, told me that we're all OJT, or "on the job training" and it reminded me of something Kurt Vonnegut said about how we all only just got here, and we all don't know what we're doing, but we're going to try to figure it out nonetheless; he was really inspiring, and hilarious, and I left the party holding onto my dreams tighter than before, because they're mine, and no one can take them away from me. That last part sounds pretty cheesy, but it's true; sometimes dreams are the only things we have, and believe me, as an imaginary playwright, I dream a lot.

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I want to pick apples; write for papers; organize events; live on a commune; bake breads, pastries, and desserts; give hiking tours in the Southwest mountains; teach children English overseas, or anything in general over here; deliver mail; operate a hot air balloon; travel the world; run across a state, or the entire country; drive a truck; sail the seas - and write about it all. But, wait, okay, maybe not those last two, as I clung white-knuckled to the wheel of the U-Haul from Columbia, Missouri to St. Joseph, through Iowa and into Chicago... and I used to get terribly seasick whenever I went deep sea fishing off the coast of NJ. I'm young, and there's nothing keeping me from doing all of these things but myself... so I need to doppelgänger myself and say, GET MOVING, OR GET OUTTA THE WAY!!