4/18/25: Iâm realizing that although in real life Iâm an INTJ, in the rehearsal room Iâm an ESFP. The total opposite.
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4/18/25: Iâm realizing that although in real life Iâm an INTJ, in the rehearsal room Iâm an ESFP. The total opposite.
1/17/23: Book Idea: If Only Parents KnewâŚ
11/30/22: Childrenâs book idea: The Adventures of Lead Bones and Feather Body.
9/22/22: I have been annoyed with the small talk greeting, âHow are you?â for a little while now. Since my brother died, since the pandemic, etc. Usually people mean well, but in the end everyone just wants to hear that youâre good. And I think, for the most part, itâs just a polite ritual of our culture and how you *really* are isnât actually the question, in most cases. Sure. I get that. However, I struggle to ignore the honesty of that moment, and I sorta feel like I freeze up. Like there is half of me that knows what Iâm supposed to say and knows the purpose behind this innocuous greeting, and half of me that is like NO YOU HAVE TO SAY WHATâS TRUE WHICH IS THAT YOU ARE NOT JUST FINE!!! And so, I would like to offer back into the public consciousness the 90s favorite, âWhatâs up?â as an alternative. You can bypass how you are, if you like, and go straight to whatâs on your mind without the crisis of negotiating politeness with truth.
2/12/22: I was thinking about statisticsâI had read some article that illustrated how there was this one thing that we thought was caused by something else, but at some point scientists realized there wasnât causality at all because we didnât take into account blah blah blah. So I was thinking about statistics, and how I could never really work like that. You know, have a job that tried to âfigure things outâ via data and statistics. I feel like I would be haunted by The Thing I Was Overlooking. I guess I was just feeling that looking for that causality was just hopeless. And I guess I feel itâs hopeless because causality implies some sort of order to the universe. But I donât think it is ordered, actuallyâit seems completely chaotic. Just chaos. Randomness. And if if there are patterns we find that we feel we can rely on, I feel like itâs a trap. Like, thereâs this pattern, and then we come to rely on and make decisions based upon that pattern. But then one day, the randomness strikes and the pattern is broken and totally fucks us up. Thatâs even kinda worse than a universe totally chaotic. You knowâthe illusion that youâve found some pattern that you can base some decision off of.
2/6/22: Was listening to a Radiolab episode that was about a guy who suddenly lost his fiancĂŠ. The idea that what was missing from the future was more prevalent when youâre in the throes of grief then being able to think about the pastâwhich is, presumably, why youâre sad (meaning: without the past with that person, you wouldnât be sad in the first place. So it just got me thinking about the nature of my grief as it relates to the future-sized holes the sad things leave in me. These things that now never will be done. That there was a moment in your past where you saw your futureâbut that future turned out to be a parallel timeline that you arenât living in. And that is what is so sad and is at the root of that grief.
1/29/22: This thought is most specifically coming from my partnerâbut we were deep into a convo and he got us to this idea: For some reason, we (meaning society? Iâm not sure what âweâ means, but you get the gist) value PLOT over FORM/STRUCTURE/POETRY/STYLE (ie HOW the story is told) every time. People say, âWhat a great story!â Do they mean that? Or do they mean the experience of that story being told was meaningful and impactful to them. And that could mean a lot of things. This came up because I was mentioning that as a director, and as a newly-forming writer, Iâm actually driven and most inspired not at all by plotâbut rather by form and structure. You know: HOW the story gets told. Best example: Curious Incident⌠is a great story, itâs fine. But honestly, Iâm not overly bowled over by it. But Marianne Elliottâs concept and direction? Almost nothing beats it. Once is another great exampleâthe story is good, but for real: itâs just another story about love and passion. I love those, but there are many. This one doesnât stand out. But John Tiffany and Steven Hoggettâs manifestation of those set of plot points and Enda Walshâs way of organizing the ideas? Thatâs the difference. So also, when we talk about who came up with the STORY versus the actual writing of itâstory seems to be everything. Itâs like, once you have a good story, itâs in the bag. And Iâm just here to posit the importance of the actual end manifestation of said story. Also, I want to be clear: Iâm not saying story isnât importantâit is. Itâs just not THE ONLY important thing, nor is it the only reason why a piece is successful.
1/17/22: A rare thought about not wanting to be special. Context: Iâve always wanted to be special, singular, âthe bestâ might be the best way to say what Iâve wanted to be. Most recent context related to this: This creeping awareness that Iâm not special. Not spectacular. That the things I thought for sure were going to happen to me/for me may very well not happen at all, ever. Tonight, maybe for the first time, I authentically wandered for about 5 seconds in a sense of Not Being So Special And Maybe Not Needing To Be So Special for, you know, one of the first times. Was reading Under The Whispering Door (TJ Klune) where the protag is dead and looking back on lifeâa Scrooge sort of thing. And they were looking at pictures of beautiful locations in nature, and in life they were this totally ruthless heartless super successful person. The book narrates, âHe had never had time for such places, and now, he never would.â And I thought, if I can think thoughts about life after I die, what will I think? And right then the feeling of being super successful and special and singular felt totally meaningless. It just couldnât matter less, all of a sudden. And so what does matter? A lot of times, people say something like, ââŚthe relationships you haveâŚâ or ââŚthe love you giveâŚâ or just simply, âFAMILY IS ALL THAT MATTERS.â But my thought in that moment was something more like, âI want to make sure I experience all the things there are to experience in this human/Earth/3dimensions existence I know.â And that meant to me, you know, being in the thick of life. Not on top of it, not better than all the rest of it, but amongst it, with it, in it. And somehow, being super rich or super successful or super smart or super beautiful or super perfect just feels so removed from what life is really supposed to be. Like, if so few people experience those things, then how can that be life? And also, in an episode of fucking Dawsonâs Creek I was watching yesterday, I think fucking JACK said something about how you gotta go out and live life, take chances experience it. He summed up, âMaybe you wonât change the world, but the world will change you.â And that somehow THAT was the point. And these thoughts are connected for me. Iâve always held myself to the standard of changing the worldâthat Iâm wasting my time and energy and talents unless I change the fucking world somehow. But thatâs actually not all that interesting. And maybe itâs selfish, but actually what is interesting to me is my experiences and my thoughts and the life Iâm leadingâand letting just simply what I think about or what Iâve learned about, you know, whatever, be my litmus test for âsuccess.â
1/16/22:
Kintsugi is the Japanese practice of mending broken pottery with a gold lacquer. The gold actually highlightsâand elevatesâthe break. This is most definitely not the typical way of approaching both pottery and, you know, humans.
This is finding beauty in imperfectionâand we are all imperfect.
1/3/21: While i was visiting my parents over the holidays, I was sitting on a chair that belonged to my grandpa. I then went to put contacts in and didnât wash my hands ahead of time, like I typically do. I had the idea of, like, little pieces of my grandpa (maybe microscopic skin flakes or something) from decades ago being on my fingertips and then going in my eyes. And then had the thought of âabsorbingâ someone elseâs DNA and then having your personality be altered by that. Gross, sorta, but wouldnât have to be. The question: what do we get from our family? And how? And do we notice when it happens? And is it theirs or ours and does it matter?
10/17/21: âWomen throughout history killing themselves
10/4/21: Iâm reading the book of Flashdance, and not that I assumed it would be a font of wisdom, but thereâs a line in it that essentially states a notion as if we would all hear it and nod our heads and say, âYeah, man, sheâs right,â and I would like to take a moment and explicitly reject its premise. The line is: âThereâs a time in your life when everything is possible and then, thereâs a time when almost nothing is.â While quietly pointing to the improper comma placement, I also take issue with the assumption here: that Alex, at age 19, is in this point-of-no-return moment here. Itâs not that 19 canât be filled with lots of bold choices one can and should make and that you shouldnât squander your time, itâs the premise that 19 is most likely the most interesting moment of her life and she will inevitablyâand I think the assumption is soonâshe will have no more ways to make things possible. Which is just absolutely absurd bullshit. I was a fucking idiot at 19. At 38, it seems to me like life if just a continual process of getting better if youâre brave enough to keep getting better. If we donât start thinking about new ways things are POSSIBLE in the course of life, then I think weâre all fucked, and weâre gonna keep watching stories about 19 year olds as if itâs the pinnacle. I think the zeitgeist has moved toward including 29 year old women in the world of narratives about people inventing themselves, but to be fair, these stories are usually about how these women already feel washed up. I mean, MY GOD, 29 feels FOREVER ago to me and it was less than a decade. I think itâs this built in idea that 38 is so far past when Iâm allowed to figure out what I want next that is making me feel like shit. And I think maybe itâs connected to my fertilityâto a womanâs fertility. Like, 25 is the best time for me to have a baby, and that is tacitly the standard we hold everything against for women. But FUCK THATâthat has nothing to do with me.
9/11/21: I was listening to this weekâs episode of This American Life and itâs a play on mix tapes and sorta how musicâor certain songsâcan affect us and form us. Act 3 (or Track 3, as they called it this week) was about how this woman easily cries at those sappy slide shows at graduations and stuff. But one time when it was for her 2nd grade kid a slide show did not have any effect on her. The opposite: she was distracted, bored, etc. She then realized there was no music and maybe music made all the difference. Anyway, not a shocker: it was the determining factor. And this just got me thinking about the importance of creating and curating a moment and how I think people donât really think thatâs a real thing. And if they do, they absolutely donât value what it takes to make moments meaningful. This is what we do in theatre, and even people within the industry sometimes tend to look down on or belittle what goes into the magic-making. So, thereâs something there for me about quantifying or demonstrating the power of storytelling in that sense. But also: if it takes curation to make a moment have an effect on you, then is it real? And should I care if I determine that on some level itâs not real?
9/10/21: Iâm sitting on a bench. Itâs nearly 5 on a late summer (is this still summer?) afternoon, so the light is gentle and warm. My bench is in the shade, but the tree above me is creating all sorts of textures and movement in the light around me. And that tree above meâsomeone is up there. They must be. Because every half minute or so, something hits the empty iron bench seat next to me causing a clanging noise. I guess theyâre acorns. And it makes me look up and wonder whoâs up there sitting in this moment with me; this moment where the clanging bench and the falling water in the fountain in front of me make a subtle little bit of music for me. And then just like fucking thatâliterally as Iâm composing these words to capture this momentâtwo fucking pairs of college students come and sit by the fountain and start talking about shit, their rhythm and tone sounds inane and their presence in and of itself ruins my little sense of safety I had found. I mean, donât get me wrongâthese fucking kids have a right to sit wherever they want. But my god, Universe: I GET ITâNOTHING LASTS. But also, Universe: thanks for this moment of communion.
9/9/21: I am on the verge of tears all the time. I mean, some moments it doesnât exactly feel like it. In other words: Iâm fine. But I am one fleeting thought away from a full flush of my eyeballs. And I guess I wonder what does it mean for me to reassure youâor myselfâthat Iâm fine. Iâm, in so many ways, totally not fine at all. Iâm completely lost. And I think thatâs why itâs so easy for me to cry right now. And not just cry about myself and my life (although I do do that), but also really about anything. Happy, sad, meaningful, pathetic: whatever, man, Iâll cry about it. Iâve never been high before, but sometimes I think what Iâm feeling might sorta be like what people on a really great trip are feeling. You know, that theyâre somehow closer to some higher meaning that you canât ascertain on a strictly sober plane. And I am definitely emotionally tripped out pretty much nonstop. So, although being sad or depressed like I am or whatever sucks on way too many levels, I guess one level that Iâm sort-of enjoying is I feel like Iâm seeing and feeling some things that other people may very well be missing out on all the time. Because, if they were seeing it, how come they arenât crying with me?
8/29: The âunknown unknowns.â The Unknown Unknowns. Something there?
8/16/21: Is it better to die suddenly? Or to find out you have a certain amount of time left, but your death is impending?