So this weekend I did a writing Triathlon with superfine playwright Cusi Cram. The goal was to finish a full length play in 3 days. I wrote about dancing elephants.
Anyway, in these frigid times, I have been wearing leggings on leggings on leggings. On Saturday, I had no more clean leggings to wear under my jeggings except my spaceleggingsfromspace, featured below.
And all day, I felt like I had a very special secret.
There are times when I suddenly remember what it means to be an optimist.
When everything opens up and I remember that I'm allowed to dream big. Huge. Gargantuan.
Because, you guys, right now is the time I get to love stuff and be happy and make really cool stuff in bars and on stages and in rehearsal rooms with people who are so talented, it feels like they could set the room on fire.
But funks, self doubt etc. are normal.
And what I learn again and again is that i have to make something to get out of it. Not get an opportunity, not get praise or accolades or big checks for my writing (however, I am open and available for your big checks, praise, accolades and opportunities to produce and develop etc my work). And also, when I get out of it and remember that ridiculously great things are possible.
I'm a cheese-er. But, you know what, I love what I do.
And, this blog post taught me I didn't know how to spell rejuvenation. THERE IS NO I IN REJUVENATION. Well, there is at the end. But not after the V.
So I'm producing a play. Well Rattlestick Playwrights Theater/The Middle Voice Theater Company is producing a play.
See a year and a half ago, a brilliant young writer, Alec Silberblatt, and I took a class together with a super brill mid career playwright. He wrote a play. It's called Room for One.
Fast forward to now and were both in this company, are still mentored by that playwright, and we're doing a workshop production that you should all come to. I'm the lead producer. Really, that means I say super positive things to a ridiculously competent/brilliant cast and creative team.
Feb 19-24 at Paradise Factory.
It's really good, you guys.
So many more details to come.
You guys, I love this play.
My good friend Atri (right, dressed on halloween as "Mrs. Finkel") is four today.
We raged in celebration this morning, you guys.
It was plane themed.
I've been taking care of him for half his life. That's two years of hugs and high fives.
KALE CAUSES HYPERTHIROIDISM?
I don't even know what that means?
I also didn't spell it right?
I think the thing is, I always want to like kale. But I don't, you guys. I mean, sometimes I do, juiced and blotted out with a lot of fruit. Or crisped out. But this raw kale business, it's like bitter leafy asshole. And it upsets me.
And then I feel guilty. Because I'm supposed to eat it?
My best lady friends all eat it. They eat it in mass while they talk about going to physique and their husbands because apparently, we're adults now?
But I don't like it? I mean, I want street cred for not eating sugar and certain kinds of flour. It's not like I'm knee deep in fried dough topped with sugar, grease, carcinogens and dead babies?
But I feel guilty for no kale.
But it's cool, you guys, because when I'm over 40, it'll cause me health problems says THE NEW YORK TIMES.
(actually, it doesn't seem like Kale is that bad from this article. Just that one woman is supposed to avoid it with her specific issues)
Featured on my head: toddler pajamas homegirl refused to wear. Instead she filled up her backpack with stuffed pigs and monkeys and pacifiers, put on her pink snowboots with her onesie and pushed a lot of elevator buttons.
I respect that attitude.
It's real, y'all.
I am an optimist.