Brigitte and I traveled back to school to see Beth and Monica’s play – they were artists in residency at our alma mater in Dayton, Ohio. It was so funny to be back at school and see how much has changed and how so much has remained the same. Beth and Monica have created this play now four times with different casts at different schools about the tensions between black and white women. Powerful stuff. Each time they are able to tease a little more explosiveness out of their cast. And it is so inspiring to see them doing this work – it re-reminds me of the whole art-changing-the-world thing. I managed to go to school with a very talented collection of artists. Mary, an old acting prof we had breakfast with, reminds me of the rarity of such an alignment of talents and attitudes in one place and at one time – and the devotion we have to eachother’s successes. I do love Monica and Beth so very dearly and am so happy for their progress. Brig and I were hoarse by the time we got to Dayton from singing the cast recording of Rent, Lenny Kravitz, an Aerosmith medley (I swear I could sing ‘Walk This Way’ 8 consecutive times and not get bored, especially if paired with ‘Janie’s Gotta Gun’) and finishing up our drive into Fairborn, Ohio with Pat Benatar: Heartbreaker! Dreammaker! Lovetaker! Don’Choo Mess Around With Me!
We had packed a cooler full of food – good stuff – we were determined to stay on any dietary wagons we were on at the time. We’d eaten half of our food just trying to get to Indiana from Chicago (Loop traffic at 4 pm on a Friday…). We of course found ourselves at Arby’s before the evening came – and not just any Arby’s but the slowest fucking Arby’s on the planet. They had at least ten people behind the counter and in the kitchen, yet, surprisingly, no one was being served food. On the way out was a bell mounted on the wall and said ‘Ring the bell if you got great service.’ Brigitte noted the cobwebs on the bell. We came into Dayton in time to have an impromptu wine and cheese eatfest with just the four of us. Then last night we had a larger wine/cheese/snacky fest with some cast members and other alumni. Got up and had breakfast at Bob Evans and then caffeinated our way back to Chicago. I nearly had bladder failure trying to get back into the city… took a shower and then went down to Ron’s. We went to see the movie Circuit – a movie about the circuit-party (gay rave party) scene. I just have huge blocks feeling any sympathy or pity for drug-users. I think it’s from being such a goody two-shoes in high school. It’s one reason I can’t plug into Pulp Fiction: I feel nothing for drug abusers. I feel like you deserve what you get if you fuck around with drugs. Why do we act surprised when self-destructive people self-destruct? But it is such a visceral emotional reaction to the whole idea of random and crazy partying – the whole vanity-obsession and focus on pleasure is so repellent to me. So many elements at play – it taps back into not being accepted in school for not wanting to experiment and fuck around with drugs and alchohol. It plugs into growing up with low self-image. It touches jealousy that I never seem able to just fucking relax and enjoy things as they are – that I’m always planning and scheming and dreaming the next thing for myself. Jealousy that I can’t trick myself into getting away with that kind of behavior without feeling the accompanying vaccuousness of it all – and guilt for enjoying it. I’m always being told that I just need to let go and have fun and let loose every once in awhile – but why? There’s enough inattentive zombies walking around oblivious to oblivion at our doorstep. I’ve always been told that I’m too pent up and controlled and controlling. I gotta digest this all some more. Just a tight emotional reaction to a movie.
Also: Ron’s friends have started calling me Spiderman because of my slight resemblance to Tobey Maguire.