limbo

Last night, I got a comment on my last post that said this:


If you're going to end your blog, don't end it with this. Go out on a higher note.

While I really had no intention of going out with a cut-and-pasted gchat about Palin's tragic hair choices (although that would be very me), it made me feel like I had to address the fact that I've not been blogging. To be honest, I have about 4 "This is the last post at My Inflammatory Writ" drafts in publisher, but I can't bring myself to finish them. The whole truth of the matter is that my heart hasn't been in blogging lately. I feel as if trying to be a blogger was a distraction in a lot of ways. It helped me to avoid my real work, which is playwriting. I started to want stuff like Blog of Note and more followers, and honestly, while both those things are cool, neither are of importance to my theater career.

I am also currently in pre-production for a show, and any venting I would do about that process would inevitably be read by the people I am working with. As such, blog-as-sounding-board won't work, and frankly, I'm going to be all-show-all-the-time until May. My energies need to be focused there. There is a lot at stake here professionally and personally. I can't afford distraction. Also, to tell you the truth, I've felt less and less like I can be honest here. I always wind up inadvertently offending or upsetting someone in my real life. I know that I shouldn't care so much about that, that being a writer inevitably means you will piss someone off, but frankly, it makes me feel unsafe and defensive every time I go to post. I second guess everything I say.

I'm also just tired of the internet kind of in general lately. There is no conversation anymore, no discourse. You're either a fan of something, or a hater, and there's no in-between. I'm just as confused by the insane, unconditional love for Lady Gaga as I am the vitriolic, hyperbolic hatred of Katy Perry. I am confused by the fact that you either love President Obama and think he's the best thing ever or you hate him and think he's a Kenyan. These are just two examples I can think of off the top of my head, so please no one take it personally. I am just so desperate for nuance, for real conversation. I try, for better or for worse, to be the same on the internet as I am in real life. I am opinionated and argumentative, but I am also empathic and more open minded than people think. As the world spirals further out of control, I feel this desperate need for conversation. I'm starting to hate pop culture and I am rebelling against my own participation in it. I feel like I'm dumber than I used to be. The things I want to write about are just me perched on top of a soapbox. I am desperate for something more than that. I don't know what that is. I don't know how to interact in a world that feels less and less real. I think the definition of "real" changes every day.

That was kind of long, so sorry about that. Here I am, though, in Blogging Limbo. I'm not sure if this is the end of this blog or if this will kickstart my posting again. Whatever the case, I hope I'm not coming off as ungrateful or holier-than-thou. This blog, for better or worse, is a living document of my life over the past four years. I've come a long way in that period of time and it's nice to look back and see the changes. It's hard to even consider shutting it down, so I subconsciously chose to ignore it, and by extension, all of my readers. That was unfair, and I'm sorry about that.

I don't know if I'll be blogging that much over the next few months, but I promise, if it is to end, I won't go out with hair snark or this sorry excuse for a post. I like to think I'm just a little better than that.

elevating the political discourse - WITH HAIR SNARK!

I had a longer post about the Arizona/Palin debacle, but my computer ate it. I am currently reworking it, but this conversation between my friend Ben and I will suffice for now. Here it is, in its glory. And yes, we do make fun of Sarah Palin's hair, because really, what is going on there.

Ben:  what uppp

 

me:  nothing

 

Ben:  fun fun

 

me:  snowpocalypse etc.

although it wasn't bad here

CT got slammed

 

 Ben:  oh right

time for NYC's bi-monthly snowpocalypse

 

 me:  srsly

let's see, what else...

sarah palin is a dumb cunt

and uh

yeah

that's it

 

Ben:  oh

yea

 

 me:  i mean REALLY

 

 Ben:  the video is password protected now

 so either vimeo is pissed or they know she done fucked up

 

 me:  she really fucked up

 

 Ben:  she's just horrible

 

 me:  blood libel made the jews at work go LE GASP WHAT

 

Ben:  i know

i mean

 

me:  i was like

oh man.

that's just wrong.

 

Ben:  she just doesn't know what it means, and heard it somewhere, and thought it sounded good

but just, ugh! the persecution complex

 

me:  oh i know

and I'm not so sure she didn't know what it meant. It seemed like a way to lash out at the "liberal media" and put in a dogwhistle with 99% of the general population being none the wiser

she didn't write that fucking speech

its too articulate hahaha

 

Ben:  oh no

no way did she

 

me:  so maybe SHE didn't know

but SOMEONE knew

her writers are cuckoo for cocoa puffs

either way

 

Ben:  hahaha

 

me:  i'm just hoping that we can all be like BORED NOW and hopefully she's done

 

Ben:  yea

i think it's the beginning of the end

 

me:  i mean

 

Ben:  for her

 

me:  a 9 year old girl died

there's nothing to say except "wow, that really is awful:

but NOOOOO

 

Ben:  i know

 

me:  WAAHHHH IM SO OPPRESSED111

 

Ben:  it was just a long-winded way of saying

"anyway, about me..."

 

me:  yes, Sarah, in your $5000 suit and $800 Jimmy Choos with your VERY MUCH ALIVE children

so hard, your life.

its just unreal how legitimately persecuted these rich white people in the GOP are

*feel, not are

 

Ben:  yea, it's bad

 

me:  and I mean, no, it wasn't her "fault", as much as anything like that can be someone's fault

but like

how do you not at least make up something like "hey, you know, maybe we should ALL learn a lesson about being more careful with words"

and bring up some other example of misused language on the Dem side, which wouldn't be hard

and then it would be like the end of South Park all "Hey, I learned something today!"

 

Ben:  asdlkjfasdlfk

 

me:  BUT NO

 

Ben:  oh, and can we talk about the hair?

 

me:  ugh srsly

 

Ben:  to be completely superficial?

because, wow

who did her hair

 

me:  she looks like hell, which is satisfying to me

 

Ben:  yes

i hope it's some sort of lady macbeth thing

her guilt is manifesting itself through her appearance

me:  and that haircut is straight from a Supercuts in Des Moines near the 99 cent store

with a highlight "artist" named Darla who smokes a Virginia Slim out the side of her mouth

and says "hon" to everyone

that's what that haircut is.

 

Ben:  yes

 

me:  (hot pink lipstick too, acid wash jeans)_

 

Ben:  darla. alsdkfjalsdkfj.

 

me:  there. I made up a new character inspired by Sarah Palin's hair

Ben:  inspiration can come from anywhere

 

me:  it really can.

the one where I cop to being socially awkward

Yesterday, I had to walk down the street to do a key exchange with my cat sitter since Mike and I are going to Orlando today. I'd never met the girl before in person (Mike was the one who met up with her last time), and all I had to go on was that I knew she was probably of Asian descent because of her last name. This, already, was making me nervous.

I know very few people who would tell this story, but I have no shame or pretense that I'm perfect, so I'll tell it.  I realize that it probably makes me a total asshole, but whatever. At my local grocery store, the produce section is usually being stocked by youngish Hispanic men (usually Mexican). This is fact in NYC and true pretty much everywhere. So imagine my horror when one day, I'm holding a bunch of carrots in my hand at the store and ask what I think is one of these young men (he was kneeling beside me) how much they are per pound.

"I don't work here," he replies, in a voice meaning to invoke the maximum amount of shame that I, of course, totally deserve for assuming that this Mexican kid worked at the grocery store. That makes me a giant fucking asshole AND a racist, even though I like to think I'm not either of those things, and that makes my poor liberal brain turn into Cream of Wheat. I slink away, still holding said bunch of carrots, humiliated and apologizing all over myself. From then on, even if I know for a fact that someone works at a grocery store and is even wearing a shirt with the store's name on it, I am NEVER ASKING ANYONE FOR HELP EVER AGAIN. I don't care if the guy walked up to me and said, "Hello! I work here! Would you like help?". It's a trap for feeble minded distracto-spazzes like yours truly. So yeah, I was petrified that I was going to see some young-ish Asian girl and walk up to her and say, "Melody?" and she would respond with "Who?", and meantime someone of a completely different race who is actually Melody would approach me and be all "WHY DID YOU ASSUME I WAS ASIAN?" and then I will have a breakdown.

Fortunately, this didn't happen. She recognized me first, which was weird but then I remembered that this girl has been in my house without me there and probably saw pictures. We had a pretty awkward conversation for a minute, and then I gave her the keys. She said "Have a nice trip!". What did I say?

"Thanks! You too!"

??!????????!?!?!??!?!??!

This is another thing I do; utter polite but completely inappropriate responses to awkward interactions. If someone bumps into me and says sorry, I'll also say I'm sorry even though it's not my fault. I'll say thank you for any old thing. It's terrible.

I then proceed to turn on my heel and nearly fall over a short concrete driveway barrier, and in trying to avoid that, did one of those trip-and-then-run things on a giant crack in the sidewalk. So, my cat sitter probably thinks I have some sort of disorder that impairs my motor skills. I'm not sure that she's wrong. Now, when I have to retrieve my keys from her, I am going to be concentrating on not falling and looking like an asshole.

This is why I fear social interactions sometimes.

Another year gone

2010 is coming to a close. I really can't believe it. This year went by SO fast, and so much happened. I don't know if I can call this a good year or a bad year. It was a productive year, for sure. Here's a quick recap of my year (not like you care, but hey):

• I finished my last full length play, which got picked up for production by a small indie theater company. I'm pretty sure it's my best play....no...I'm positive it is my best play. I am super proud of it. I am so excited to see it come to live.
• I traveled a fair amount! No international jet setting, but I went to Costa Rica, the Berkshires and Chicago. Costa Rica was amazing and my husband and I had a really great time.
• I stayed (reasonably) smoke-free for the second year! While I admit to indulging on occasion at parties or drunky times, I can't ever see myself being a daily smoker again. It's a Good Thing. I do miss it but less than I used to.
• I gained more weight, bringing the grand total of post smoking weight loss to about 16 pounds. It's horribly depressing and makes me feel like a big fat failure. I ABSOLUTELY plan to do something about it in 2011.
• I started working out with a personal trainer, and while it did not facilitate weight loss, I am strong and in better physical shape than I was when I started. This may have negated some of the weight gain. Maybe? I don't know. I can lift stuff and my back hurts less and I feel generally good.
• I learned to love my new apartment. It's really nice and we worked hard on it. It just took a while.
• I almost had a nervous breakdown, and then didn't.
• In addition to my full length play, I wrote three ten minute plays and started a whole new play. I chide myself for not writing constantly but then I write a whole bunch and don't even realize it.
• I saw a lot of great concerts this year! Sufjan Stevens, Arcade Fire, Joanna Newsom (3 times!), The National and The Antlers. Amazing shows, all of them. I couldn't possibly pick a favorite. 
• I joined the board of a theater company, which is a lot of work but super cool.
• I said goodbye to two friends who passed away.
• I saved a lot of money this year. I am very proud of my financial restraint. 

Not too shabby. I'm sure there is stuff I am forgetting. I wish I had something profound to say about it.

I am really looking forward to 2011. I have a lot of good stuff cooking and I'm REALLY BUSY but it's so good to be busy. I only have one resolution: write more. That's it. That includes here. Thanks everyone for reading this year. Happy New Year to all of you!

SNOWMAGEDDON

Apparently, I have moved to Antarctica. Things have gotten completely out of control. I do not remember a worse snowstorm than the one we just had Sunday and yesterday. It snowed nearly three inches an hour at it's worse. Nothing is more disconcerting than looking out your window onto the idyllic snowfall and seeing a bolt of purple lightning and hearing a massive clap of thunder. The winds were howling - up to 65 mph in NYC and recorded winds of 80 mph in Cape Cod. When my husband and I were finally able to leave the house and get some groceries, we were astonished by how much snow there was and how freaking windy it was. Nothing around us is properly plowed. It's a really good thing I'm off from work this week, because commuting is a blessed nightmare. The MTA is still urging people to stay home. Cah-razy.

Here are some photos I took around my apartment complex.

Crazy. 

comfort and joy

I don't have a lot to say today. Christmas is exhausting, and despite all my many blessings, it renders me emotionally and physically drained most of the time.  Thus, I'll keep things brief.

Yesterday, I went to the church of St. John the Divine (a place I once posted about). It still evokes the same feelings in me, not least of all the stunned fascination with the fact that religion has simultaneously thrust immense beauty and ugliness into the world. It is a singularly beautiful place. Despite freezing our asses off to get there, I wanted to see the Peace Tree. The Peace Tree is their Christmas tree, decorated with one thousand origami paper cranes. Those of you reading this blog or who know me in real life know why it was important for me to see it. Here are some photos.

It is in the spirit of peace and hope that I wish you all a happy, healthy holiday. This Christmas is less about surviving for me, and more about cherishing the ones I love. Sadako and her cranes taught me a lot of things as I was writing my latest play. I hope that working towards peace is the most lasting lesson of all, for me and for everyone.

winter blues

Winter has come to NYC. It is back with a vengeance.

It was twenty degrees and windy when I left the house this morning. Twenty is pretty cold, but with the wind, it becomes HOLY SHIT cold*. By the time I got to the train, there were tears frozen to my face, my nose was running, and my teeth were chattering. I also have hat head and I am bone tired. Getting up in the morning is impossible because it’s dark. Getting home in the evening is sucky because it’s dark. The sun never comes up all the way. Christmas is in (eek!) less than two weeks.

I fucking hate winter.

Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t move to Southern California**. The idea of it being warm and sunny year-round is so appealing to me sometimes. Winter in NYC is the worst. Fuck seasons. I like Fall and Spring as much as anyone else, but I’d trade them for never having to walk home in sub-zero wind chills being pelted in the face with ice. I’d trade them for never having a windy “wintry mix” shred my umbrella into bits and leave me walking home in wet socks because it’s just one degree too warm for snow. I’d trade them for not having to shovel our car out from under four feet of snow that the snow plow pushed against it, causing a frozen grey mountain with garbage stuck to it.

I hate dressing for winter. I hate figuring out how much I should layer and what scarf I should wear. It’s nearly impossible to look cute when I have the range of motion of the Michelin Man and my hair is slick against my head in a combination of sweat and wool. I freeze my ass off on the way to the subway, and then sweat it out in a packed car full of overdressed, angry commuters. By the time I get to work, I have a gross layer of cold sweat on my back and I’ve cried half my makeup off because of stinging bullshit wind blowing in my face every damn minute.

What happens in December is that I freeze in every way. I feel frozen right now. I can’t write, and what’s worse, I simply don’t want to. I keep opening up the publishing page for this blog and I’m just like “????”. What the fuck do I tell you all? I can’t make this a blog about how I’m not writing, because who the hell wants to read that? I find myself so tedious lately. Tales of buckling down and just surviving are dull. I’m trapped in ice. At this time last year, I was knee deep in a new play and teetering on the edge of a full scale nervous breakdown. This year I’m…not that. I’m nowhere. I’m not doing much of anything. I feel like I’ve gone into early hibernation. All I want to do is stay at home and drink hot cider and watch television. 

 

I am already eagerly anticipating the thaw of Spring. I have a production coming up and I know that the work will focus me, will warm the cold parts, and will hopefully start the flow of creativity anew.

*I know my Chicago friends are reading this all “Sack up, ho. It’s not nearly as bad as Chicago!”. Yes, I know. That’s why I didn’t move to Chicago. It was one of my choices for college but I read about the winters and was like “no”. I went there once in January (don’t ask, I don’t know why), and walking outside was like walking into the portal to Hell, except hopefully Hell is a lot warmer. Chicago is one of my favorite places on earth, but only in summer, when the vodka lemonades are flowing and the lake isn’t frozen.

**I think in order to deal with the fact that I don’t live in SoCal, I’ve demonized LA. I’ve never been, but I just imagine a plastic place full of plastic people driving around in Malibu Barbie cars and talking about how they ate lunch with Mark Wahlberg once. I know that’s horrible and wrong. I know at least ten utterly fantastic people who live in LA and I know it’s probably fabulous and I’m just missing out. I do know, however, that the moment I set foot in San Diego I will want to move there like immediately.

the tree

Yesterday was the first actual cold day this year. It was refreshing, somehow. Despite my well-documented hatred of winter, something about yesterday nodded to me and said “Everything is as it should be”. I took that comfort along with the knowledge that things may never be as they should again in these terrifying and uncertain days.

Last night on my way downtown for dinner, possessed by some need I cannot explain, I decided to take the subway at Rockefeller Center which is both out of my way and a nightmare to walk through at this time of year. I wanted to see the tree. I don’t know when I started to become infatuated with nostalgia, but I guess that’s what happens when thirty is sneaking up on you like a cheetah in the grasses. I suppose I wanted to channel some of that youthful exuberance that all but completely eludes me now. I’m a giant Scrooge these days, and I’ve abandoned religion entirely, but dammit I wanted to go see that tree. So I did. And there she was, alight with thousands upon thousands of twinkling lights and the camera flashes of no less than a thousand people or so, and my heart felt full but with what I’m not sure.

I have this need to point a finger at my childhood and say “You were better than I thought you were”. Maybe it was better than I thought it was. It probably was. I remember being a little kid and insisting that we light our tree at the same time as the Rockefeller Center tree, that majestic evergreen flanked with trumpeting angels (my dad used to call me “angel” when I was little. I forget that sometimes, as if it was ridiculous that someone would ever call me that. Or maybe it just breaks my heart to think about it).

I didn’t always get my way around the tree lighting, but if the timing worked out for me, I’d wait for that countdown with baited breath and that magic moment would set my nerves on fire. I’d light our tree in time with the television and squeal and screech and make way too much noise and undoubtedly annoy the hell out of my folks in the way a mouthy, overexcited, sassy seven year old could. I suppose it’s the thing people found endearing about me then and the thing that drives people away from me now. That little kid danced her ass off all over the house, flapping her arms like a bird. When I was little, I used to run back and forth and flap my arms like a bird when I got really, really excited. I think it was probably a mild form of Tourettes. If you’ve known me for any length of time, you’ve probably caught me do it at least once. It’s like suddenly I am made of electricity and thrust and I think I’m going to fly, except I’m twenty-nine and not a bird and all that flailing never got me anywhere, anyhow. I always notice it, and I turn it off right away. I haven’t thought about that in a really long time.

I sometimes wonder if I’ve switched off some of the most magnificent parts of myself.

My love for my life is boundless, and yet, I am gnawed at by my own discontent. I am always so aware of myself and I worry about judgment. Even when I was gaping at that tree I felt like I was being consumed by my own feelings for no reason at all, so I got my phone out of my pocket to snap a picture, so I could post it online, so I could share my moment with everyone. What I should have done was put the phone down for once and just let myself be excited. If my brain had shorted out and I had started running around flapping my arms like a bird, well, I wouldn’t have been the first person to act like a freak in Midtown Manhattan.

Maybe this time I would have flown, flown right over the heads of those trumpeting angels, flown right over Saks Fifth Avenue, flown right over the cold night chill of the East River, and then I would have been home.

grateful

Almost a year ago, I wrote about the death of my online friend Michelle, who I knew from a message board I post on. A few weeks ago, we found out that another member of our community, Rachel, passed away in her sleep of what turned out to be a pulmonary embolism. She was only 39, just two days short of her 40th birthday. I didn't know Rachel as well as I knew Michelle. In fact, Rachel and I didn't get along for the longest time. She was very opinionated, and as a friend of mine pointed out, "gave no quarter" when it came to debate. We used to get into heated debates about everything from music to books to movies to politics. Once Facebook became popular, she friended me, and I started to realize we had a lot in common. She was passionate about theater and the arts, as am I, and she was born and raised one town away from where I grew up. Our relationship of conflict and debate turned into one of mutual respect. She always had kind and encouraging words to say if I posted on Facebook about how I was struggling with writing, and was obstinately optimistic (something I am not, but perhaps something I should work harder on). Despite her strong opinions, she was one of the most consistently positive people I have ever encountered. It's tragic and unfair that she was taken so young, and the online circles I run in will be less spirited and interesting places without her. I "attended" her memorial service. Her family, seeing how many online friends she had, decided to live stream her memorial service on the web. I, along with many people on my message board, streamed the service and watched it while posting comments together. I must say that it was a strange and lovely thing to mourn one of our own with people I have known for the better part of a decade. Rachel had a lot of close friends on the forum and I was really happy to be there for them as they were mourning and remembering. Unfortunately, I had to log off early in order to go to dinner and a show with a friend, but was definitely teary eyed on my way out. It was very sad and yet joyful -  an appropriate celebration of her life.

On this Thanksgiving, Rachel's death has me reflecting on how fleeting our time on this silly earth really is, and how unbelievably lucky I am to be healthy. I know a lot of people  with insane health problems. My friend Reid from college has been battling leukemia for the better part of four years. I'm grateful today that he's on the home stretch of treatments and is still with us. My friend Romina has lupus, which is a terrible disease and it's dreadfully unfair that someone with her energy and spirit has to be bogged down by their own immune system. I am grateful today that she has a great new job and has been feeling pretty good. My mother is half crippled by scoliosis and nerve damage to her sciatic nerve, and is currently unable to work because of her constant pain level. I am grateful today that she was able to manage her pain enough to make it on a plane to Florida to visit friends (she hasn't traveled in a very long time), and grateful that I am able to pay her COBRA payments every month so that she can have decent health insurance until she qualifies for Medicare. Another friend of mine got a pretty shitty diagnosis earlier this year, and they are also coping with a long term illness. I am grateful that they are feeling good for the moment and managing the best they can.

As of today (and as far as we know), my husband and I are healthy and reasonably happy. We both still have our jobs, we are celebrating the first year of moving into our new (well, not so new now) home, and we are still together. We had a very challenging year. Through love and teamwork, my husband and I faced these obstacles head on and came out of the experience stronger, more stable people. I am thankful for that, and I am unbelievably thankful for him.

I am also thankful for all of you, my readers. I know I haven't been blogging as much lately, but you are a devoted following and I always look forward to sharing with you and reading all of your blogs as well. My online relationships are as important to me as my real life ones, and I am more appreciative than I can say.

Long Island Sound

I am from a place unrelenting in its preciousness; a town full of colonial houses, gazebos, shore side restaurants, soft serve, roller skating rinks by the beach.

The beach there isn’t smooth, like the Caribbean or Gulf Coast Florida (before the oil got to it); it is rocky, and rough, and grey and brown. Razor clams and mussel shells slice your feet, letting caustic northern salt into already stinging wounds. Rocks the size of toads dig into the arch of your foot. Seaweed swaddles your calves, and your ankles are sore and throbbing from unreasonably cold water.

I never escaped Long Island Sound.

I only crossed it.

I am from a place where teenagers collapse under the weight of time distortion. You’ve outgrown the roller rink and the playground, but you’re still too young to do anything cool, and your life feels interminable. The days sludge by like seaweed on that shore. Like pond scum.

And you’ll never be more beautiful, or more stupid.

And you’ll never be more miserable.

And you’ll never revel in that misery again, for misery turns to bitterness

And then one day you’re old

And where you are from no longer seems as terrible as it did then.

I ran away from where I am from. I ran and to this day I am running still. But my ankles are caught in seaweed, and my hair is thick with salt, and all at once I’m eleven years old, too fat in spandex pants (only now, I’m at the gym, not at the roller rink. I was skating in circles then, now I’m running in place).

And instead of blonde, I’m red

And instead of bullied I am loved

And in being loved I’ve the knowledge of how tenuous that is

And at any moment I could be hated and abandoned

And I’m flushed and sweaty, and again and again I go.

The mussel shells are still cutting my feet and the wounds are stinging, and across the harbor I see the lights of New York, and I swim towards those lights, but the current pulls me sideways and I’m treading. For all the homes I’ve tried to build, sometimes I feel like I’ll never really be from anywhere at all. I’ll be treading in the world in between.

Where I am from, loneliness is built into the foundations of the old houses and the arch of the gazebos. 

Sometimes I think I’ll always be lonely, even when I’m not.