Educator's Education

I find myself in a particular situation. And I am confused on how to proceed. Perhaps I can present my predicament to you, my fine, furry friends, and you can help give me perspective.

Ahh, perspective. That thing we all unknowingly seek.

oops. Tangent.

I am surrounded by my memories. They're all scattered about the floor in disarray. And I mean this literally, in the true sense of the word. . .none of this, "I literally fell apart" bullshit. . .(no you did not literally fall apart because you are together telling me you literally fell apart--see the confusion of your inability to use words appropriately??)

ugh. Tangent.

Focusing. . . .

I decided to stay in one place. I decided to live in Charleston. I actually turned down a job in Chicago because I knew without doubt that Charleston and the opportunities being offered here were prime. Perfect. Quintessential.

Let's be clear. This was the perfect decision. I am so incredibly happy with this choice, I have an urge to hug everyone. . .even the toothless man that sits outside Food Lion. . .his smile is genuine, but I can't bring myself to embrace him. . .

fuck. Tangent.

So, now, I have things from Turkey, Korea, Ireland, and Alaska, strewn about my feet, and I am trying to figure out where to put them in this apartment I call "mine."

My apartment.

Digesting this profound idea. tic toc, tic toc, tic toc. . .

Let's discuss science. This is not a tangent, but an example to drive a thought. (the thought screams, "slow down!" but alas, it will not) Do you know about inertia? I will assume you don't, since blogging doesn't really allow for instant feedback. By definition, inertia is "a property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of motion in a straight line, unless that state is changed by an external force." Inertia.

I was a property of matter in an existing in a state of motion. . .I am no longer.

This is frightful.

So, let's work through it.

I have a confession. . .I am obsessed with travel videos.

The travel channel is my true companion.

I don't know how to explain, that I've never made the decision to stay in one place.

In the same breath, it is important to say, I am in an artistically rich community and am constantly busy with all the things I love.

In short, I have everything I need, and I am in one place. (NEED being the operative word) I don't have to pack tomorrow or next week. I don't have to worry where my next pay check will come from. I am actually painting my apartment this weekend, and next week, I am buying a couch. I also have a grocery list that includes toilet paper. I have two whole bills that come in the mail, which means. . .yes, I have an address.

I am an artist with health insurance.

I am an artist with family in arms reach.

I am scared. Because I've never lived a life like this.

I am incredibly thankful. I am surrounded by people who love me.

I am a walking dichotomy. Ouch. Yay! What?

My Mom, Dad, Sisters, closest Friends got to see me in a play. (Take your passion, and then take the person(s) you wanted to share it with and multiply it. . .) There is nothing like sharing the one thing you love with the people you cherish.

I find myself in this sea of pros. . .very few cons. . .and unable to navigate. My comfort is in instability and travel. My only truth and feeling of accomplishment is in being away. I've taken a giant leap into rooting. . .

There is an adventure in this. . .and I must trust that.

There is also interior design. . .I get to incorporate all of the memories that now lie about the floor into this place that I call home.

In addition to that. . .my growth as an artist lies in my new jobs. One, I am a teacher in a Montessori school. . .I teach 1st to 3rd graders in a pedagogy that believes that story and imagination are instrumental in education. . .This is the tip of the iceberg. . .

Oh my furry friends, there will be more. . .

My second job. . .working with a local theatre's education program.

My truth: Education is the key to the artist's survival. Education of self and of others. In doing so, you are preserving as well as generating. In fact, education is the heart of art and vice versa.

This is truth.

And the solace for my restless state.

I am in new territory. . .rooting instead of wandering.

It is frightening only because it is different. . .right now in Charleston the Monarch butterfly is all a buzz, and this in the analogy that struck me yesterday. . .it must be exhilarating and daunting for a butterfly to claw its way out of a cocoon. . .it went in knowing one way and one body, and is coming out to a completely different way and body. . .

I am certainly not a butterfly, but I understand its (projected) trepidation, and I appreciate and learn from its ability to fly into the unknown.

And now a quote. . .

"Education is a natural process carried out by the human being and is not acquired by listening to words but by experiencing in the environment." --Maria Montessori.

A song. . .it's funny. . .I was driving from Chicago to SC with my Ipod on shuffle. . .this song came on. . .I pulled over, and cried. It truly was the moment when I began to question going back to Korea. . .and this song, she still comes back on shuffle, I catch my breath. . .much like what happens with me and Radiohead's No Surprises. . .

This is Daisy May, Shoreline

http://new.music.yahoo.com/daisy-may/tracks/shoreline--179441005

and the picture. . .the last character I played. . .Rita. . .in this moment she didn't know what was in store for her. . .just spouting about the things she saw and experienced. Much like I feel right now, and it is her, and this role, that catapulted me in this new life moment.

Coffee, Cockney and Cacophony

Hanging my head in shame. . .

I have not done what I said I was going to do.

You should not be surprised. . .I am an artist, therefore, my very nature prevents me from adhering to any set social structure or preconceived life plan. . .

Bollocks.

I just got busy.

But with coffee, cockney, and cacophony.

I started working in a coffee shop--he's local, dressed in skinny hipster jeans, a dirty hippy t-shirt, with a splash of art and pretention. . .but, always serves up damn fine coffee.

I also got caught up in rehearsals. . .I am in a play!!--Educating Rita by Willy Russell. I am Rita. It is a play at the Charleston Acting Studio on James Island in Charleston, SC. It is wonderful. It opened last weekend to rave reviews and standing ovations.

It's one of those roles, that reminds you that acting is simply holding a magnifying glass to extreme aspects of your personality. Rita is lovely and serves her words in a cockney accent.

Basic plot summary: Rita, a hairdresser, wants a better way of life, and she believes education is the way to do it. She enrolls in an adult college tutorial with a professor, who allows his burden of knowledge to jade him beyond perspective. Hilarity and revelation ensue.

***Insert Tangent***

At this point in the blog, I am wondering if I should reveal my super secret artistic approach to a character?? After all, the purpose of this blog is supposed to be about an artist. . .but, truly, my artistic process is a convoluted mess that is barely visible to me. . .in fact, it is so super secret, I am not even sure what it is. . .much like life--okay let me break this down.

Life is my past experience allowing me to live and choose (embody my life) in the present, and

Acting training is knowledge that allows me to live in and embody characters. I can't articulate how it works, it just does, because the knowledge lives in my bones. . .and retrieving that knowledge, experience, and perspective is different for each character. That's part of the fun.

***End Tangent***

I love Rita. I love this play. It will live in my blood long after the show closes.

Since this blog is about me living as an artist, let's explore my current situation. . .

I've ceased writing, but am brimming with ideas. . .

I am living with a friend, working in a coffee shop composed of eclectic and delightful staff and customers, playing with theatre friends, busying myself with American Theatre articles, while keeping a tab on the pop culture pulse of useless information. All in all, I think I am doing pretty well at this artistic lifestyle. . .

The thing is, is it's all reaching a head. . .Mt. Vesuvius style. . .

I am constantly in a state of motion of where to live and where to go and how to survive by means of my own. Things are wonderful here in Charleston. I find the people lovely and idiosyncratic, easy to talk to, and artistic. There are many avenues to explore and adventure down. . .

But, the pulsing desire to move to Chicago will not relax. . .each night, I crawl into bed, bury my head into the pillow, and my head comes alive with the possibilities of a more theatre driven city.

Here's what started the mess of head. . .

A month ago, I decided to stay here. I decided to make a life here in Charleston. Create a niche of my very own. I began looking for apartments and settling in to my job in a coffee shop. One day I was running, it was hot, but the wind was blowing, and all my thoughts were flowing through my veins as they tend to do, and a sudden sadness came over me. . .I felt like I had compromised something, and I started to cry. (Running does this sometimes--especially the long runs). . .either way, I continued the run, and let the thoughts continue their course, and what I decided was I wouldn't give up on Chicago. . .I would just try for both an apartment in Charleston and a job in Chicago. . .which ever came first would make my decision. In doing so, I would not be compromising. . .

And in true Flibbertygibbity luck. . .possibilities are appearing in both corners.

Nothing is solidified, but the mere thought of possibility in Chicago? Well my pulse races like an expectant virgin. . .

The logic suggests this feeling is merely the result of not having my own space, and so I don't have a sense of place.

The traveler in me screams adventure. . .

The artist in me quivers with anticipation. . .

It is important to note. . .in this very moment, I have everything I want/need. I have family and friends in close proximity, I have an artistic outlet, I have income, and I have artistic possibilities here in Charleston. So what makes Chicago something more? Why do I need Chicago? What is drawing me there?

I turned down Chicago to go to Korea. Then I turned Korea down while in New York. Only to have Korea come back to me in a desperate state in the middle of travel. Korea was a have to do moment, adventure. Life made sure it happened. . .

And so, this next decision between Charleston and Chicago. . .I will leave it in the hands of time.

***Insert Tangent***

I am in a room that has an Elvis clock on the wall. . .it was a clock only to be found in a Graceland novelty store. Elvis, adorned in his famous gold jacket, keeps the seconds with his legendary swiveling hips dance move.

***End Tangent***

With this new information, I revise my last statement, this life decision lies in the hips of Elvis. . .his swiveling hips will give me the answer. . .oh yes, they will.

My furry friends. . .Your quote. . .have you missed them, in my absence??

"In the important decisions of personal life, we should be governed, I think, by the deep inner needs of our nature." --Freud

Your song. . .just because it's been running through my head for a couple of days. . .

Fail again. Fail better.

okay, okay, okay. . .

That's what Koreans say when they are processing something. . .I am processing. . .my first real audition in over a year. It was intense.

If you've been following along with this blog. . .I am happy to report there were no gastrointestinal surprises, but the mind sure kept me on my toes. Let's break this down. . .

A week before the audition, I called the theatre to see what was expected at the audition. The reply? Just cold readings from the script. Excellent. . .I can handle that. I had scheduled a couple of other auditions to keep my options open. On the day of the first audition, I decided to double check (mainly because I am neurotic about such things. . .and might I mention, good thing I am) I discovered they wanted a monologue as well. Yay! Two hours to memorize and make choices. So, I scavenge my computer files and book shelves. . .come across the one I think will be great and begin to work on it.

I understand that most actors have at least 3 monologues ready to go at a moments notice, but I’ve just reopened this popsicle stand, so it is taking me some time to restock.

I feel pretty confident in my memorization and go to the audition. Walking into the lobby and being greeted with the ‘essence de tension’ that comes free with every audition was invigorating. I suddenly felt alive.

The director was wonderful. . .we did warm ups, met each other, and then sent back to the lobby to anticipate our minute and a half to shine or fail.

Then it was my turn. . .I walk up the stairs. . .and I finally feel at ease, we start talking about my resume, my workshop with Patsy Rodenburg, Suzuki Training, and Viewpoints. I feel equipped and in a space I finally belong. . .

Then I start my monologue. . . it went like this. . .

Character: “Nothing. Zip. Nothing. He sat there with a coke in his hand like he was watching. . .” (Total crap out--figuratively)

Me: Can I start over?

Director: Of course.

Me: Thank you so much. (Simple jitters, no worries, we can do this brain and body. . .we got this bitch)

Character: “Nothing. Zip. Nothing. He. . . .” (Brain suddenly begins to dry heave, heart is pumping so vigorously it has become a free agent floating in my stomach bouncing against the colon. . .I suddenly am only aware of this fact and nothing else)

An eternity races by. . .I finally come to. . .

Me: Sorry, last time. (what the fuck Body??!?! What the fuck Brain?!?!?! Do your job!)

Director: Take your time, picture who you are talking to and why.

(Such a cool guy)

Third time is a train wreck, but I manage to use the bodily shut down to my advantage, and create a whole new monologue from the wreckage. John Patrick Shanley would be none to pleased with my re-write of his character. . .but alas, so the game is sometimes played.

I do well enough to be asked to stay and read. Awesome. I quickly grab my lines, make some choices, and do well enough to be invited back a second night for callbacks.

At callbacks, I get the chance to perform with other actors.

Talented ones too!

It was inspiring to be working with people who listen and give back. . .who collaborate and share. Really wonderful.

This time around I did not get a part. . .HOWEVER, I did get this email from the director:

You are talented. I could see it. And you had some really good moments in each scene. And you take direction well.

I did think your choices in the scenes were a little muddled. You seemed to be caught between two choices a lot of times so the character was just there sometimes. I thought when you were pushed you responded well. You obviously were listening. And very connected to your scene partner and in the moment. Those were your best moments. But i didn't feel you were trying to change the person you were with. what were you fighting for? And what chances were you going to take to get them. Put yourself out there with your choices, with no safety net, and trust in yourself.

You are in the back of my mind though Teralynn. I do work at Pure Theatre as well and will definitely recommend you to them. good luck with future work. i'll see you around.

Wow.

This email not only gives me concrete acting notes, but it gives me very relevant life notes.

My auditioning handicap mirrors my life. I am always caught between two choices. And I am not one for bold decisions. . .scratch that. . .I make bold choices, but I don’t jump into them. . .I debate, and ponder, and get stuck for a while, and then sort of ease my way into it when nobody’s really paying attention--not even myself.

That’s not interesting. It’s not an interesting life. It is a very bland, boring life. Boo.

Moreover, it’s not an interesting thing to watch on stage or on film. It’s boring to watch someone ‘sort of’ make a choice. . .We pay to see people be bold and silly, we want to see them fail. . .and succeed. . .

Therefore, with this new illumination. . .I am giving myself homework. . . I will exercise my BOLD in every day life. Every day, I am required to do something BOLD and out of my comfort zone, especially when it comes to something I really want. So be wary life. . .be very very wary. . .

And keep in mind, I do love a good failure--much like I love philly-cheese steak nachos. . .it is just so much more interesting.

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.” –Goethe

Oh, and I've begun a children's book. It's about a goose.

Like blogs through an hourglass

Dear Blog,

The time has come to put away these wanderings down limitless paths of questioning and thought.

In fact, it is time you are used for your intended purpose.

Upon inception, Blog, you were meant as a chronicle of my life as an artist. The plan was to move to Chicago, pursue theatre, and see where these decisions led me. Instead, I found myself in financial chaos, frightened and unsure of the next step, and alone in a hotel room in NYC. So, what does a person do when confronted with this predicament. . .ah yes, jump on a plane and move to Korea.

I do not regret this decision, nor do I regret the blog entries related to the pursuance of this life curve ball. . .Both allowed a year of self-introspection, ridiculous adventures, and exploration away from the world of all things that I knew and understood.. . .a cocooning of sorts. A necessary for an artist. Now, I feel ready to face something that I've only dreamt about and drunkenly discussed with various cohorts.

And so Blog, I am going to pursue the life of a theatre practitioner--grown up way to say actor. Starting today. . .okay, really starting last week. . .but it takes me a while to own up to life choices.

Sincerely and Adoringly

Me.

Now, furry friends that I've set Blog on the right course. . .the first entry of this new blog direction. . .

I am a person who needs a plan. . .a process. . .steps. . .So, I've concocted this list of steps to propel my pursuit forward. (in no particular order)

Step 1: Commit to blogging every week about the process. This is necessary because it keeps me honest, goal oriented, and my sense of humor intact.

Step 2: New headshots--apparently color is the new black. Plus, I had a spot on my face removed. (don't ask)

Step 3: Audition in my home state--I have three this weekend.

***insert side step--known as a tangent in some circles***

(you didn't seriously think this new blog would be tangent-free did you??)

Auditioning is my achilles heal. Some might say, "oh, it's a minute and a half of a monologue. Think of it as a mini performance. Just have fun! After all, you're an actor. . .should be easy." To those people, I say, suck my fat uncle's hairy balls. This is how I see auditioning. . .

You walk into a room full of one to fifty or more people. . .directors, casting agents, interns. All of them have been sitting there tormented by one self-involved actor after another--the over-expressive smiles, high pitched voices--saying their name and age, and then performing different versions of the same characters with no real connection or commitment because they only have a minute and a half. A minute and a half! My body does the most absurd things in the half hour leading up to that minute and a half and during that minute and a half??--well anything goes. My gastrointestinal malfunctions alone should be studied. One time, I got on stage, introduced myself and proceeded to fart, and then burp.

This is my body on audition.

Then my mind. . .One time, right before I went on stage, I became obsessed with the idea that the constellation Orion was possibly no longer there. . .the stars had gone super nova, and we didn't know yet because it is so far away.

This is my brain on audition.

Needless to say, I don't audition well. I plan to fix this with a class--I've found an excellent studio in Chicago, and I am excited to work with them. Until then, however, the poor theatres of this state will have to endure my erratic mind and explosive bodily functions. As will I.

****End Tangent****

Step 4: Move to Chicago -- I feel this is the appropriate location for many reasons. . .1), it's where I was going before Korea, B)I have friends there and third, I've lived in NYC and have no desire to live there again.

Step 5: Get a job in a temp agency in Chicago. . .Working the traditional server/actor lifestyle is also a possibility. . .in fact, any place that gives me money for the least amount of clothing removal will be considered. . .

That's as far as I got with the steps. . .I think that's pretty good.

Finances are always a concern. . .but Korea gave me a financial boost, and I plan to work until the move. I have interviews as a barista in a couple of places already. . .oh, coffee, my one true friend.

So, here is my new path. . .I took the fork in the road--actually, I picked up that fork and stabbed it into the essence of what I really want. I don't know what it will lead to, but isn't it exciting?? Are you ready for this adventure furry friends?? I know I am. . .as I start to hyperventilate in the middle of this coffee shop. . .

Also each new post will come equipped with a song and a picture for your listening and viewing pleasure as well as a means to express my state of mind in a visual and auditory sense. . .(also, I love sharing music with people)

Today's post features. . .

Me. . .on the stage. . .seemingly collapsed and unaware. . .

but that suitcase and how the hand lingers over it. . .well I hope that means I'm ready for something and going somewhere. . .

And appropriately. . .the Black Keys.

And of course, my furry friends. . .your quote:

"The first mistake of art is to assume it's serious." --Lester Bangs.

Be well.

A Staypuft Marsmallow Blog

Question. . .am I the only one who reads Hamlet when lost in a sea of emotion, regret, and despair?

I've been surfing in this sea for a bit too long. . .perhaps surfing is not the correct word. . .hmmm. . .dog paddling?? drowning??. . .yes, I've been dog paddling/drowning in this sea for a bit too long.

Ah my furry friends, plans are tiny prayers made to father time, plans are tiny prayers made to father time, plans are tiny prayers made to father time, plans are tiny prayers made to father time. . .

They are. I embrace this idea with my mind. . .

BUT damn my body! She simply does not take to the notion. I wish the bitch would catch up.

I've always been one to do what she says. . .I was in a bar once. . .a friend looked me dead in the eye, she said, "let's go to New Zealand." I said, "yes, let's." I was a bit drunk on delicious beer you understand, but within two weeks, I had purchased my tickets, and in three months, I was on my way. I was 25 at the time. It was so easy. I just said yes, it happened. That doesn't seem to happen any more. Decisions. . .commitment. . .decisions. . .meh. . .

Decisions. . .

Decisions.

And I am back to reading "To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles. . ."

Better to take arms against a sea of troubles I think. . .sounds like pirating. . .and that is always a good avenue. . .

The draw of Hamlet for me is his indecision--I fully understand this plight and am plagued with it daily. . .do I get the quad-shot Americano, or stick with the Mocha?? Do I go to Target, Wal-mart or Korea. . .Really. . .what should I do??. . .I don't deal with decision well . .unless, it seems, I am in a bar and inebriated, and then apparently I make great decisions. . .(Truly, NZ, best decision I ever made.)

Back to Hamlet. . .

Some say this speech is simply about death. He is deciding whether or not to off himself. . .Some say he is being cunning--as he knows Polonious and Claudius are spying on him. . .and some say, and I am one with this mind, that he is wrought with indecision and the thought of consequence.

That is why I am akin to him. . .

. . and slightly attracted. . .especially to the Mel Gibson version--that beard, that soulful educated wit-ful look, that mother/son scene. . .oh my. . .

(oh, ellipses you and your wandering imagination)

Back to my logical brain. . .he is wrought with indecision and consequence. I believe that is why he is my go-to literary figure in indecisive soul-wretching times. Like Ani Difranco says, "every pop song on the radio is suddenly speaking to me". . .well for me in times of trouble, "shakespeare's prose and verse is suddenly perceptible."

Indecision. Consequence. Fucking consequence. . .did you know everyone suffers from YOUR decisions?? You decide to go to Target instead of Walmart. . .someone, suffers somewhere (think 'the butterfly effect'--not the movie, good god, not the movie). . .of course you cannot get caught up in such ideas. It will drive you mad, however. . .YOU are most definitely affected by your decisions. . .

In the past week, I've made the most life changing decisions. And in reaction, Life and friends have thrust upon me many consequences, and! wouldn't you know it? even more decisions.

I am fraught with words, regret, and indecision. Aren't we fucking all??

I am not looking for pity or sympathy. . .I am not looking for understanding or condolences. Because, we all know life is a bitch. "One man's decision is another man's regret." Life is a cunt--whether it's because it broke your water heater, your heart, your husband, your job or your foot. To each his own. . .each person has her circumstances.

For me. . .a show I worked on for 8 months got canceled two weeks before it was supposed to happen. Fuck. Damn. Fucking God Damn.

I also decided to give up a well paying job and pursue a rather penniless existence--as an artist you see. . .I do after all have an MFA. . .it stands for Mother Fucking Artist. . .

But these decisions don't mean shit to most of you.

The thing is. . .life?? Damn. That bitch comes in all unsuspecting shapes and sizes and it depends on the person and the given moment. . .I like to think of the Ghostbusters in times like these. . .Raymond. . ah Raymond. . .a simple guy. Told not to think of anything, and yet the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man popped into his head.

Nothing is ever intended.

It just fucking happens.

We try to direct things by making decisions. . .but as Hamlet points out. . .no matter what we are all faced with, decisions and every one of those decisions have consequences--from the simple decisions--Target or not?. . .or the major life decisions--Korea or not?. . .all of them--consequences.

I decided not to go to Korea.

I decided to pursue acting.

(People's faces when I say these two sentences together are quite amusing)

Despite all that I think has gone wrong. . .and all the dark days I am bound to face and my life's particular attraction to shit. . .It's worth it.

This is the foundation of my life. No one has ever really agreed with me. How could they? I am a random. .

Random thoughts, talks, and walks. . .I am a person in discovery of her boundaries. Many cohorts have discovered the boundary of their life realm. . .but mine is slowly coming a long. (I've always been a later bloomer) I have high hopes. . .and am thankful for my friends. . .

And so I am here. Here is where I am.

My furry friends, you gain no resolution tonight. . .because I do not. . .however, we both gain a quote. . .from Hamlet. . .because this play, is my solace. . .always.

"But look, amazement on thy mother sits,

O, step between her and her fighting soul.

Conceit, in weakest bodies strongest works,

Speak to her Hamlet."

When taken out of context. . .it works oh so well. . .as do most quotes.

Sleep sweet.

In the name of Blog. . .one Night.

I find myself in the United States of America.

I find my self in New Orleans.

I find myself in an absolutely abhorrent hotel room decorated with imitation Monet, stale smoke, yellow walls, and a buckling ceiling. . .I am on the edge, a man was shot outside my room two days ago.

I can't help but ponder the words of David Bowie. . ."Ch-ch-cha-changes. . .strange fascination, fascinating me"

I've been back in the states exactly 3 weeks and 3 days. I am not sure what to make of it all. I find myself at a bit of a loss.

It is so strange to not be a bit stressed when I find myself in need of something delicious, important or necessary. The other day, I felt like Cinnabon. . .and I went and got it. I needed a bra, and I bought it--nobody looking at me with eyes that say "no, you won't fit this". Moments like these were feats in Korea, and here. . .yep, it just happens.

I think it, and I can have it.

There is a certain luxury to knowing the language and culture of the country you are in. Today, I was in line waiting for a coffee, and a guy flirted with me, and I could flirt back without anxiety. Wow. . .I felt beautiful and desirable--not for my western heritage you understand--but because he found me attractive amongst all the people who look JUST LIKE ME. Or perhaps he was bored. . .no matter. . .it was fun.

So why the loss??

It's so easy here. Why would I go back?

Furthermore, I am in the midst of full on theatre. My theatre. Theatre that embraces life, ridiculousness, and spontaneity. I never know what will happen tomorrow.

I am in the midst of contemplating complete contentment combined with consciousness of complete chaos. (please note the beauty of that alliteration.)

I am not very forthcoming in this blog. . .So i should note--A friend and I wrote a play. . .as of now, I will be performing that play in Montana with a remarkable cohort. . .Additionally, I had two theatre jobs booked upon arrival in the states. Not only that, but I met up with this amazing friend (previously mentioned cohort) in Chicago who opened his home, his art, and his city to me.

You realize, everything in my life is going in the perfect direction. I can even spend my entire savings on frivolity because I have a well paying job to return to in 2 months.

So, I am curious as to why my heart is heavy.

Honestly, I think the question is. . .how do I get on in life without the people who shape me? I have always felt like clay. . .I prefer to be thought of as red clay. . .much like the Red Rocks of Colorado. . .because I consider myself vibrant. . .but I am here, always to be shaped and molded by experience. I always believed experience was elsewhere--I blame this idea on my father and a calendar I got when I was 12. My Dad was always going somewhere--the amazing state of Michigan--and the calendar was of Ireland. I always knew there was more. And I decided, I never wanted be the one in doubt or the one left behind. So, traveling was my goal. . .and theatre offered that ideal instantaneously. Within my second year of college, I was living in New York City working for the Blue Man Group.

Not only was I experiencing the unbelievable, but also my introversive behavior was consistently being challenged. I was never comfortable.

*Whispered* "and truthfully, I never am"

I have always felt alive and insecure in my choices--a dichotomy I embrace whole-heartedly.

I believe the crux I find myself in is. . .the age old question, "what happens now?"

I know I am continually evolving, and I am so grateful for this truth. . .but, I am also finding myself at a point in which, bad hotel rooms, strangers, and different scenery is not served best alone. I want to laugh with someone at the random clown crossing the busy intersection, I want to cry with someone at the old man sitting on the curb of the highway, and I want to have a discussion with someone about the 15 year-old playing a gasoline-can guitar on the corner of the sidewalk in a decrepit neighborhood in the middle of New Orleans.

You can never experience these things with someone if you are always moving around.

Risk is the basis of every life truly lived.

Perhaps the problem is:

I have only taken controlled risks, and I have always done them alone. The time has come to steal the ball, dance with it down the field, and trust in my strength to overcome the 'miss' or the 'goal'.

There are so many ideas and thoughts going on in this blog. . .in fact, I believe this particular entry embodies the true 'floatings' of this flibbertygibbit. . .thank you for staying 'til the end, and for those who made it. . .I leave you with this. . .

"But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center-light pop and everybody goes Awwww!"

My furry friends. . .Have Fun!

a smattering of blog

Saying goodbye comes in all shapes and sizes. (As do cliches and puns so be wary)

Some goodbyes are calm and collected, others involve yelling and screaming, while some are simply a whisper. Some are welcomed, some are hated, and some are merely part of the transaction. The ones that don't involve a burger at the drive-thru, tend to manifest differently on the people involved. It seems that every artist I've met--from musician to painter to writer--has a goodbye piece. In some way it as if the goodbye must be made tangible in order to deal with it. We have to be able to hold it and see it and feel it.

And goodbyes are not just about people. Many times, I find the leaving of a place and the experience is just as difficult as saying goodbye to the people.

Korea is one such place.

This quirky, difficult place has given me so much understanding of myself as a person and an artist.

Saying goodbye is becoming a bit difficult.

And my 'bye' isn't even for good. . .it is simply a bye for now. It's a nowbye. (at this moment, I would like to direct your attention the very first line of this blog)

It is this year of life in this place I am saying goodbye to. By leaving I am altering its effect on me. When I return, I will be different, not only because of my future experiences, but also because when I return, I will be approaching this country with a prior experience. . .not an expectation. . .never. . .but a knowledge. I wonder if this knowledge will be burden or a gift?? Only time will tell. I am anxious for it, and nervous as well.

All this said, I believe my goodbyes become tangible through the process of it. It comes in the form of . . . "this is the last. . ." moments. Doing so creates a much needed zenith to the experience. . .(I know it is also fueled by my desire of drama and story, which is encouraged by movies, literature, and music). However, it also allows for a type of resolve--a gradual serenity with the inevitable. . .and it allows for the piece of the experience to take shape in me.

And so, my process has begun. Today, I said goodbye to one of my loveliest students, and one of my worst. I indulged in Bon-juk, and an evening on my roof. Each day will be a "this is my last. . ." and I will welcome it and hate it.

Goodbyes are inevitable. I like them because they mark a new beginning (remember the first line of text?) I loathe them for the same reason.

At the moment, I have a very loud, very drunk Korean man outside my window. . .struggling with his friend, I think on whether or not he should drive. These are the moments I won't miss. . .but alas, yes I will.

Korea. . .in the words of e. e. cummings. . .I carry you in my heart.

In the way of quotes. . .I feel, I should leave you with something funny, seeing as this is a bit of darker blog. . .so one of my favorites my furry friends:

"He felt is whole life was a dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it."

Why I love, no, adore, Korea

I recognize, I am a terrible blogger.

It's not that I don't have much to say. In fact, my head is brimming with random facts, figures, and unimportant happenings all the time. For example, today I saw a button on the sidewalk, and I, for a good five minutes, thought about the life of that button. . .where it started, how did it end up on the sidewalk, what would happen to it, and would the person who lost it, even know it disappeared? Then for a brief moment. . .I thought about writing a play about that button's life. Yes, these are my daily thoughts. . .sometimes, my thoughts are profound. . .

But most of the time, they are ridiculous. And I like to keep them that way.

However, my conscience laments littering. . .and I feel expelling random, everyday thoughts about buttons and such, into cyberspace is a type of litter. . .so I wait until a good thought comes along, and then I share it.

Which to sum up my point. . .makes me a terrible blogger.

That said. . .I have a good thought. . .

Korea, I love, and like any amazing relationship--it challenges me, seduces me, and infuriates me.

Two weeks ago I was leaving the Doctor's office and I get a phone call from a number I don't recognize. On such occasions I typically don't answer the phone because the caller usually hangs up on me the minute I say "hello". . .and who needs that kind of rejection on a daily basis. However, I was feeling spunky, know a tad Korean, and thought I would give it a try, so as I sit myself into the taxi, tell the driver where to take me, I answer. . .

Me: Yabaseyo! (hello!)

Man: ahhh hello Terahhhhhrynaaaah?

Me: Ney (yes)

Man: . . .all sorts of Korean I don't understand. . .201-uh?

Now I am thinking, "My god. . .this guy is actually trying to do something at my apartment, he knows my name. . .what the hell do I do?" Meanwhile, cab driver is speeding down the road while watching TV.

Me: Kahm-Sam-Ni-Dah (Thank you) I don't speak Korean (I don't think this needs translation)

Man: No English-ah

Me: No Korean-uh, Hangul, anni-yo (No)

It continues like this for a bit.

I hang up. (What else was to be done? We established multiple times that no logical conversation was going to take place)

I tell cab driver to take me to my house. . .after all this random Korean was there.

Please note: I explain this story in a manner suggesting I was calm and collected the entire time, but that was not the case. I was frustrated and on the verge of tears because I should be able to communicate! Shame on me. And. . .shame on this guy for calling on a Monday morning after I got out of the Doctor's office and for not knowing English. Really. I am there to teach it, come take a class. (Not really, but it feels good to lay blame elsewhere in these moments)

Note aside. . .I arrive at my house. He is not there. I decide to go to work. . .early!. . .and ask a Korean staff member to call back and find out what is going on. Simple plan. . .

Need I remind you, I'm in Korea. Nothing is ever simple. (and I assure you there is no exaggeration in this statement) This man continues to call me. . .each conversation resulting in. . .

Me: Yabaseyo!

Man: No English-uh, 201-uh?

Me: Anni-yo Korean.

Five times. Five!

I finally make it to work. A staff member calls. The poor man is a mail man. . .and he is just trying to deliver a package. That's all.

On hearing that story. . .many would say, "I bet you are excited to be done with that place! Damn, to be back in good ol' America where things are easy and make sense."

And to that, I say. . "nope, not at all."

Because the end of that story. . .

Postman arrives the next day. . .at 9AM. . .rings my door, then calls me, and then knocks.

Me: (Just out of bed, hair all over the place, pajamas every which way) Anyang Ha-sey-o

Man: (hugging me quite hard) American! No English (gesturing to himself) No Korean (gesturing to me).

Me: Ney. Mee-Ham-Ni-Dah (Sorry)

Man: You pretty. (hugging me quite hard again and then handing me a package) For you.

Me: Kahm-sahm-ni-dah.

Then he bowed, got on his scooter and rode off into the morning.

And that just pulls at my heart strings.

There is no way to describe the wonders of this place. The people are ridiculous and fun and annoying. I find myself cursing them in one minute and loving them in the next. Korea is a land full of generous amazing people who believe in not only working hard but playing hard. They may sometimes miss steps and jump the gun, but it is the heart--the sincerity of these people that sets my heart a flutter.

I've seen it elsewhere. . .but Korea. . .Korea is like stepping foot into a silent black and white film. . .You never know how the scene will play out, what exactly is being said, or what is going on. . .but, you find yourself caught up in the mayhem and entranced by the hilarity and the ridiculousness and unable to stop yourself from joining in on the shenanigans. There is a true sense of life here.

Granted stay away from most of the westerners (unless they love the ridiculous as much as you) and surround yourself with Koreans.

Koreans do not understand mediocrity or just getting by. They embrace extremes. I adore this and envy them for it.

Land of the Morning Calm (a bit of a contrast to the actual place) I will miss you with all my heart and soul. . .but I will return to you.

So, lessons to be learned: Don't ever send packages to my residence. . .and when annoying gets going, sit back and laugh. . .

My furry friends, a quote. . .

"Traveling is like gambling: it is always connected with winning and losing, and generally where it is least expected we receive, more or less than what we hoped for." --Goethe

Blog Cream

Right in front of you, there is a bowl. In this bowl is your favorite flavor of ice cream.

Perfectly soft. Perfectly silky. Perfectly smooth.

You look closer, only to discover that drizzled on top of this perfection is your favorite ice cream topper (mine is caramel). The silver spoon is in your hand. All you have to do is dip it into that bit of delicious.

Take a moment.

You’ve been anticipating that first bite.

Not just anticipating. . . . but actually putting off this first bite--knowing that to wait. . .well

You thought about ice cream earlier in the week, but decided to wait because waiting only makes you want it more—only makes that moment of the first bite that much more exhilarating. There’s been a lot of thought put into this bite. . .

The flavor, the toppings (did I mention caramel), the surroundings. . .

Now, there it is right in front of you. Ready for the taking.

The stars have aligned.

The time is now.

Your favorite ice cream, and favorite topping (hello, caramel), is there. . .in front of you.

Your spoon dips, turns, and scoops up the perfect morsel, the caramel drips, a bit lands on your finger. Your heart accelerates as this delectable delicious decadence touches your bottom lip, and. . .

Oh my god. . .it passes on to the tongue, and. . .and. . .and. . .

Yep, it’s ice cream. Just as you expected.

And that moment becomes much like your first sexual experience. It was the foreplay on your mind’s part that made it exciting. . .the actual moment. . .

Meh.

**Note: I equate most everything about life with food. We could get all philosophical on this and pretend that it’s because food gives me life, and in essence by loving food I am loving life. . .but whatever. . . .

Food. Delicious. There are no ifs ands or buts about that. . .I love food. I love life. I love sex. This is probably why I run. In order to enjoy all three of these things. . .you should be athletic. (Also, my family and I take food extremely serious)

Moving on. . .

Back to ice cream. . .

You enjoy your bowl of ice cream. It is sweet and succulent, and well worth the wait. You make your way through. It. . .savoring it. Thankful for its presence. . .but you find yourself reaching the end. You are saddened by this prospect, but know it is inevitable. . .However. . .

Suddenly. .

You scrape the bowl for those last bits. . .the leftovers. Not much to them. . .just (what you think will be) some cold milky ice cream and topping (caramel) mixed together. . .you fill your spoon with these icy bits. . .then bring it to your mouth. . .

And behold. . .

Your heart stops. . .

You have just experienced the best bite of the entire bowl of ice cream.

Sure the first bite was wanted and anticipated. . .

But this last bite. . .this last moment of delicious. . .all the flavors combined into one special specific moment. . .well, that. . .

That. . . .

Was unexpected.

And that made the walk to the convenience store in the bitter cold to get the ice cream. . .the walk to three (THREE!) grocery stores to find the (perhaps I've mentioned this) the caramel. . .the getting home. . . the scooping. . .the drizzling. . .all these efforts were well worth that very last bite. Not the first, but the last. That last glorious bite that combined your efforts and your flavors into one final perfection of a moment.

And truly, my life is that bowl of ice cream. It’s not a box of chocolates. . .it’s ice cream. It is a scattering of bits. . .the moments that I think will be gorgeous turn out to be “meh”. . .and the moments that I think will be the end. . .turn out to be extraordinary. As I scrape that bowl, things I don’t even remember being there end up on that spoon. . .

Just as that ice cream becomes more delicious and more desirable than I remember. . .

So does life. . .

We all have our life metaphors. . .I have a lot. . just think for a moment. . .Your favorite painting--how many colors does it have in it?

You favorite song---how many instruments?

You favorite story—how many words?

Your favorite food—how many ingredients?

All the best moments are really a collage aren’t they? That first kiss. . .there were a lot of elements mixed with it right?

And the best kiss, was when that person, you and the surrounding elements mixed perfectly. . .maybe it didn’t look pretty (like that caramel mixed with ice cream) but it felt and tasted perfect.

I am a theatre practitioner who hates reading plays. There, I said it out loud. I think a play should be combined with all the intended elements. Just like a song. . .Yes, the words are great, but filling them in with guitar and bass, and oh my, drums. . .well, I’ve just blushed. . .

The same goes with food, love, and life.

The more ingredients, the more mixing, the more you combine those experiences, the greater it all becomes.

You are alone right now. . .or you are with someone. . .you are planning your next move, or you are in the middle of your next big thing. . .all these things are little moments. . .all of them mixing together. . .no matter. Because in between all of them you will have several lone moments. . . where you sit on your couch (or perhaps in a bar or on a bench in a park or on a sidewalk in a bustling city), and your thoughts will wander and all of these moments will come into the foreground, and you will find yourself smiling because your wandering thoughts have allowed you to taste the best bite of your life. . .

And you know what??

That’s only the end of one bowl.

You have countless more waiting to be filled with your efforts (three stores for caramel!) and hard work.

At least I do.

I am a lucky person. I have a family and friends who love me. They love me.

They actually do. And I am sure of it.

Wow.

(taking a moment)

So, I spent my night watching a silly FX show called Archer, which I adore. . .and then I trampled out into the cold for said ice cream, and this blog was the result.

Not bad for a night in Korea.

And now a quote, as I wander on. . .to my next thought. . .

"One cannot think well, loved well, or sleep well, if one has not dined well." --Virginia Woolf

and even kings understood the importance of a good pun. . .

"For its merit, I will knight it, and then it will be Sir-Loin." --Charles II

my furry friends, be well.

a blog-gent

Forgive me cyberspace, it has been a while since my last confession, and alas. . .

It was an interesting day. Actually, it's been an interesting couple of weeks. I've done nothing extraordinary--nothing to change the world or my place in it. But I've come to recognize some nuances, some tidbits that make my life worth pondering to, well, me. . .and I suppose that's something.

First, let me properly blog about current events. I say "properly blog" because I suppose that is what a blog is. . .telling of one's life events. If you are an avid reader of the 'flibbertygibbit', you must know I never follow protocol. I simply just do. Not saying it is better. . .just explaining. uh-oh. . .found myself in a tangled tangent. Let's right this. . .

deep breaths.

. . . . . .

okay now I have no thoughts. . .

wait, re-reading. . .

ah yes! back again!

So recently, I found myself amidst a flurry of art in all forms. These arts consisted of music, paintings, and bathing. (Yes, there is an art to bathing.) I was bewitched by the talented Cocorosie on a tiny stage in Seoul. They combined their lyrics and chords with the beats of Tez, a man who has the ability to make all sounds ever conceived with his voice. He was actually able to vocalize the bass, the drums, the guitar and lyrics of Prince's You Don't Have to Be Rich. And it was a dead-on impression of the purple man's voice.

**Note: Whenever I think of Prince, I think of him being this tiny purple man, so I call him the purple man. . .there is no justification here, just explanation.

We should move on. I feel myself getting lost in another tangent. . .

Tangents! They are like a plague discoloring the perfection of my memory.

So, Cocorosie was simply extraordinary. Everything about the night was excellent. We got to eat burritos (said in an uber-texan voice: 'real mexican-american burritos!'), we drank vodka, we saw schnauzers, and we were enveloped by a delicious performance that involved melodious voices, body beats, and a harp. It was delicious both physically and mentally.

The next day we saw Chagall's works, in all their glory displayed at the National Museum. Leading up to this spectacular moment was snow and some misdirection, but so it goes when you travel. In all, wandering around a museum surrounded by the 'Magician of Color' was like being lost in someone else's dream--which I must say is fascinating, and worry free.

I must depart from this thought for a moment to say this. . .I like watching people look at art. I like watching couples and singles and families. The reactions are all so different. I have to admit, I found myself watching the people more than the paintings at some points. Have you ever watched people look at art?? I used to do it on my days off in NYC. . .I would go to the Met, and just linger. . .and since then, I find myself doing the same at all museums. I do take in the art! After all it was the Chicago Art Institute that introduced me to the Old Guitarist by Picasso, which is now my favorite painting of all time. . .(hence the picture on the blog)--

creeping tangent. . .divert the eyes!!. . .

People are so great to watch at museums. They all view art differently (of course!). . .There are the people who linger at each painting. . .sometimes you can see it in their faces that they are forcing themselves because that is what they are supposed to do. . but if you keep with those same people, you can see the change when they linger on a painting they want to. . .wow, that's beautiful! Then there are the people who skim over each painting. . .and suddenly, get mesmerized by a painting. . .then there are the people who just talk the entire time--staying for the appropriate amount of time at each painting--professionals. Of course, in my Aristotle categorization of these museum patrons. . .I ask myself the question. . .which one am I?? Are you asking yourself the same question?? Let's ponder together. . .

hmmmmm. . . .

yes. . .well. . there's that. . .

but, there's also that. . .

hmmm. . .

okay, well. . .

have you assessed your museum personality?? I have mine. . .

and truth be told. . .I am not sure. Each experience is different for me. It depends on the artist, the company, and the situation. . .and hands down (where did that saying come from??). . .that's true for everyone. The people I've had the privilege to witness at any exhibit are having their own personal experience in that moment, as am I.

But, isn't it interesting, that all those moments are simultaneous across the globe with different artists in different museums?? I think it is. . .but that's just me.

The same goes with concerts and theatre. . .but these two things are so much more personal for me, that I don't find myself stepping out of the performance to evaluate the audience--because I am entranced in my own personal experience. I certainly look around before and after a concert or a play. . .but during. . .I just can't. I am always thoroughly involved in my experience of the performers and the performances--perhaps that is the manipulation of education.

Other than that adventure. . .most things have been the same. I venture downtown from time to time, get exceedingly wasted, stumble home, and laugh. Perhaps it sounds like a sad and confused way to live. . .I like it all the same. People fascinate me. . .they always have. I fascinate myself. . .I always have. Yes, I have moments where I wish the people I connect with totally on this planet were in the same room as me, so we can share a look from across the way, or a laugh, or a stumble home. . .

And this thought brings me into a tangent I want to explore. . .I've been traveling for the better part of 10 years. . .and the parts I always forget are the lonely parts. I am in the midst of one of those right now. The thing is. . .travel is amazing. I will never stop being a traveler. Yes, I will settle into a home base. . .but I will always venture into the world--which I hope will involve a husband and children. As of now, however, the problem with travel, is it can be lonely, and travelers forget that. We always remember the extraordinary moments--the hikes to waterfalls, temples, the the sleeps in hammocks and at old people's cottages. . .we forget the times when we are sitting in a bar alone with no one to talk to--I liken it to a woman forgetting labor, all she remembers is the pregnancy, and the beautiful baby in her arms. . .not the pushing, and the blood, and excruciating pain. I think of travel that way. . .we forget the excruciating moments--and I'm not talking about the uncomfortable moments when a man annoyingly feels you up on a bus in the middle of Panama (cuz that's a funny story!)--no, what I am talking about is when you find yourself in a moment all by yourself and all you want is someone to look at across the room who instantly (without words) can laugh/cry with you in that moment.

I miss that.

So, I find myself in a state of longing. I long for family.

My sisters.

My mother.

My father.

My friends.

My travel buddies.

Remember, family comes in all forms. Especially for me.

And I miss the hell out of you! Those of you who aren't here.

I think that is why I have this silly blog, so I can share my thoughts with my family. It is such a strong part of who I am--to share my ramblings.

When I lived in New York. I couldn't share anything with anyone. I was all by myself. I was doing this amazing job, having these amazing experiences, and there was no facebook, no cellphone, no nothing. There's this one story, where I was completely lost, and I was scared to death. . .only 19 mind you. . .and I had no idea what to do. Wandering around Bleeker Street, trying to figure out what to do. I didn't have a cellphone, and all I wanted to do was talk about what had happened. I knew that would make it better, and I had no one. So, in the middle of the night I hunted down a pay phone and I called my parents. And my narcoleptic mother picked up. And I told her and my dad about the ridiculousness that is their daughter. . .

I've done it on many occasions. . .from Ireland, from Turkey, from New Zealand. And they have always laughed with me, and comforted me, and sometimes, they've just sighed.

My point is. . .travel is so much better with someone who gets it. My parents are conditioned to get it over the phone. . .so that's something.

And I've called them every Sunday, since I was 23. That's a lot of Sundays and a lot of funny conversations.

With that. . .and it being Sunday, I must depart. . .but I must leave you with a quote. An inspiring quote. . .

"Sometimes the gods have no taste at all. They allow sunrises and sunsets in ridiculous pink and blue hues that any professional artist would dismiss as the work of some enthusiastic amateur who'd never looked at real sunset. This was one of those sunrises. It was the kind of sunrise a man looks at and says, 'No real sunrise could paint the sky Surgical Appliance Pink.' Nevertheless it was beautiful." --Terry Pratchett

And that is a truly an inspiring quote.

Be well my fury friends.