Girls Just Want to Get Dry Humped by Strangers (Not)

Yes, yes, I know, what do I expect, right? I mean, I should have known better than to attend 80s night at the Retronome. But what can I say? I like to dance and there are not too many places in town to get your retro groove on.

Yeah! That's the ticket!

Sadly, Retronome plays CRAP 80s music. Their set list is so generic and tired that it makes you want to strangle yourself with a pair of striped legwarmers. Totally Bogus!

For example:

• Def Leppard - Sure, everyone loves "Pour Some Sugar on Me" but what about a less played track like "Animal"?
• Beastie Boys - God, if I hear "Fight for Your Right to Party" one more time, oh no, I just barfed a little in my mouth...
• Cyndi Lauper - I know "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" is standard fare at any 80s night but JESUS, of all the songs on that album, that one is my least favorite and hearing it repeated ad nauseam in underarm deodorant ads makes me want to jam a sharp stick in my eye!
• Salt-n-Peppa - For the record, "Shoop" is technically a 90s overplayed hit and the same goes for "Let's Talk About Sex" - get your decades straight!

Would it KILL them to play some truly trippendicular 80s music? I mean have a look at the Top 100 albums of the 80s and there is some stellar stuff on there: The Cure, The Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, David Bowie, Modern Lovers, Prince, Suzanne Vega, The Clash, REM, XTC, Elvis Costello, Talking Heads, Duran Duran, The Pretenders and U2.

Out of that entire bunch, Prince was the only guy who got some play and it was one of his less interesting hits. They did however, play "Thriller," "Back in Black" and "Sweet Child of Mine" - songs which never get enough play these days, right? Like, gag me with a silver spoon already!

Ah well, what are you gonna do? I ended up having a great time dancing with the girls even if I was dancing to tired old generic hits like "Don't You Want Me" and "Respect" (I still appreciate these songs, but PLEASE, they are SO TIRED!). And excuse me, but how is it possible that they didn't play ONE song by Madonna or The Culture Club? Like, fer sure!


All in all, the night was a bit like a high school flashback, equal parts fun and pain. All the elements were there: loud throbbing music, shots of So Co and lime, taking the stage by storm, soaking in the crazy light show and entertaining ourselves with synchronized dance moves to Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" (which, I swear to God, they played not once but TWICE!!! That is one more time than I need to hear that damn song for the remainder of my lifetime).

Additionally, we had a swell time watching all the Retronome characters: the smelly guy who dances in circles by himself, the ASL guy who stands on the stage and does sign language-like interpretations of the songs to the crowd, the girls grinding up on each other, the couples grinding up on each other, the crowds of solitary, not-dancing dudes lining the dance floor and leering at the ladies, the masses of big flammable hair (where was my lighter?), the copious amounts of free flesh on display (so many push up bras!) and the drunken animal-like behavior. I wonder what Jane Goodall would have made out of it all?

There are uncanny similarities in the nonverbal communication patterns of chimps and humans - kissing, embracing, patting on the back, touching hands, tickling, swaggering, shaking the first, brandishing sticks, hurling rocks. And these patterns appear in similar contexts as those in which they are seen in humans. They mean much the same. - The Jane Goodall Institute

I even got to see two pretty girls making out next to me as a gaggle of men cheered them on. Two seconds later we were avoiding the fight that was about to break out when a clump of thick-necked gents got into a scuffle with security. But what the hell!? We didn't care 'cause we were dancing and the music was loud and it was fun trying to recall every 80s dance move in your dusty repertoire. Rad!

So all this said, it shouldn't really have surprised me when I felt a hand on my waist and turned to see this little grinning fellow suddenly attached to my ass. Apparently, this is also part of the Retronome scene, random strange men sidle on up to you and start grinding your rear. I detached myself quickly enough (after all, he was only half my size) but it left a sour taste in my mouth. Gross Me Out the Door

Twenty minutes later I felt another back end disturbance and spun around to see a taller boy in a striped shirt getting busy back there. I tried to move away and he followed me, apparently interpreting my revulsion as "dancing." As if!

"Help" I mouthed to Suzanne and she rammed into him. Not easily deterred, he attempted to attach himself to Danielle's butt as she reached down to retrieve her purse. One more shove from Suzanne and he was gone for good but first he tried to side swipe her and knock her down in what could almost have been a gnarly Molly Ringwald dance move.

Is it just me, or is this bad behavior? Sure, everyone was grinding and bumping and dancing like strippers but shouldn't you at least make eye contact with a random girl before trying to dry hump her? No Shit Sherlock.

Anyway, before we knew it, the last song of the night was playing ("Hit the Road Jack" gets the point across). The boy in the striped shirt had found a girl receptive to his gropings and they were frantically grinding and sucking face in a corner. Nice Play Shakespeare!

All in all, it was a fun drunken evening. And it does feel good to dance, sweat and get your groove on, even if the music is of the slightly sucky variety. And as we made our way back to the car in the freezing cold past the gaggles of drunks lining Main Street, we were thankful for the warmth of our coats and glad we weren't one of the hapless under-dressed girls wearing ONLY a tube top and a mini skirt 'cause that would fucking suck. Smooth move, X-Lax!

And now, to help clear the taste o' barf from your palate, here is some Echo and the Bunnymen and a totally awesome song to dance to:




PS And thanks to Margot and Scott for sitting through the flashback evening. Psyche! Hard to follow Pan's Labyrinth with a suitable activity but at least we weren't in Franco's fascist Spain, eh?? Like, that would be so totally heinous.

PPS Totally tubular 80s slang taken from this radical 80s Glossary.

Will You Be My Friend?

“Popularity is the one insult I have never suffered.”
Oscar Wilde

Jesus, talk about a flashback to kindergarten. I finally set up a MySpace page. Yes I know, true to form I am late to the party. Blame it on my old fuddy duddy roots.

And as with many ordinary social interactions, I don't really get the gist of MySpace (did I mention that I am an anti-social fuddy duddy?). It is like going to a foreign country and not knowing how to find the bathroom. I don't get the subtle language shifts or nods of the head. Did you just order me a crossant or tell me to go to hell?

From what I can tell, people leave these weird little messages for each other attached to huge tacky pictures without really saying anything. I guess it's like a text message, it is enough room to skim the surface but not much else. A handy tool for the gal on the go. I suppose it is a nice way to check in quickly with a lot of people, some of whom you know and some of whom you want to know. I dunno. Beats me.

When I was a girl, we had to memorize each others phone numbers, all 7 digits of them, if we wanted to talk to each other. Damn, life was different back then in the dark ages. The touch tone phone was a big deal, I even got one for Christmas.

During my brief moment of 8th grade popularity, I spent every evening talking to my friends in a strictly regimented order. I began with an hour on the phone with my best girlfriend Jen, then a toss up between less desirable friends such as Bernardo and Dan, then some brief calls with an assortment of people, then 2 hours with my boyfriend Colin and then a hunk of chat time with my bestest pal Zachary.

My ear ached by the end of the night. We were too young to drive to each other's houses and living in rural VT, we had no way to hang out with each other unless our parent's obliged us (rare). There was no internet, no cell phones, no nothing. The touch tone phone was my life line.

Now that I have exposed what a sorry old sack I am, wanna be my pal? Come on, please? With sugar on top? Jesus, aren't I too old for another popularity contest? Nope, turns out that life is chock full o'them! 'Till the day you die sucker!

“Popularity comes from allowing yourself to be bored by people while pretending to enjoy it.”

Karol Newlin

At rehearsal Sunday, we did an improv game involving status and hierarchy (which plays a big part in The Trojan Women). We were each secretly assigned a number and then we had to greet each other at a cocktail party and guess each other's numbers. We weren't allowed to say anything beyond our names but with body language alone, we were able to easily suss out who was who.

As a 7 (9 being the highest), I turned my nose up at people, shook their hands briefly and with authority, and then quickly moved on. The 1s and the 2s wouldn't even look you in the eye, so down and out were they.

In the play, I am a 3. My city is burnt to the ground, my husband and baby are dead and I am waiting for the Greeks to take me away to a new land to be a concubine. It is humbling to say the least.

“Seek not the favor of the multitude; it is seldom got by honest and lawful means. But seek the testimony of few; and number not voices, but weigh them.” Immanuel Kant

Anyway, please be my friend on MySpace. It is a scary new world but I already found some old friends I haven't talked to in forever. It is a cool way to catch up and network and blah blah blah.

"Oh my, I'm sorry #2, I wasn't listening to you, I was too busy checking my MySpace, YouTube and Blogspot messages..."

Place Between Trapezes

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. - Anais Nin

It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . .

It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.

- Marilyn Ferguson

Life has been strange these days. Every day brings some new challenge, some new introduction or some new equation to suss out. My schedule changes so much from day to day that I can't get a proper handle on its erratic rhythm.

It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power.
- Alan Cohen

No complaints though as this life o' change was my choice. And this is what you get when you embrace the life of a loser deadbeat and avoid the life of a responsible working stiff. In time, I think this mess will all even out and I'll fall into some sort of a pattern that feels more regular. Or not...

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.
- Henri Bergson

But at the moment, every hour brings something new: theatre games, dances to learn, improv, line memorization (eek), polishing of video skills, freelance gigs, Flash tid bits, new software and many new faces. There is something humbling about so much change all at once.

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
- Anais Nin

It is amazing how quickly one can revert to child-like wonder and insecurity. All of a sudden it is the first day of kindergarten and I don't know what to expect. Where do I put my coat? Do I have to share a cubby hole? Who do I sit next to? Where do we eat lunch? When is recess?

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.
- M Scott Peck

Still, ever-changing times like these are invigorating. As scary as it is to try new things, it is equally exciting and gratifying. It is like doing intense yoga after an extended break. Your muscles ache and creak with the awkward new stretches but you know it will feel better hours later when you are pumped full of blissful endorphins. And then you won't be able to live without it!

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.
- Anais Nin

Anyway, what am I blabbing about, there is a hot pistache cardamom cake coming out of the oven and Northern Vermont is covered in snow! Hurrah!

For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out. - James Baldwin

Change alone is eternal, perpetual, immortal. - Arthur Schopenhauer

Shyness is Nice

All but Death, can be Adjusted—
Dynasties repaired—
Systems—settled in their Sockets—
Citadels—dissolved—

Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs—
Death—unto itself—Exception—
Is exempt from Change—

- Emily Dickinson

It could be the fact that I am rehearsing the tragic play The Trojan Women or it could just be this dark time of year, but I have been thinking about death a lot lately.


And as luck would have it, my first rehearsal of the day featured a drop dead beautiful baby Zora (she'd give Shiloh Brangelina Whatshername Pitt a run for her money). Zora of the cherubic cheeks and the perfect pink lips was a lovely well-behaved baby who did not make more than the occasional friendly chirp as she rolled across the floor.

My second rehearsal (Sunday is rehearsal day!) featured a leather jacket which represented the dead corpse of a baby thrown from a cliff by the blood thirsty Greeks. Poor little baby Astyanax never had much of a chance once the drums of war began beating.


It was nice to wake up to a snowstorm this morning, but not so nice to drive to Essex on sludge-covered roads. Still, it was a good, tiring day all in all and I even had time in between rehearsals to take some snaps in the Essex Cemetery.


Still, cannot manage to shake this heavy weight on my heart. Perhaps it is time to read a trashy novel or listen to the tape that was in my car all day providing many good songs to sing out loud to. God bless Morrissey and The Smiths:

Go Ped A Go GO

What with classes and rehearsals, I've been back and forth to school at all sorts of funny hours. I'm trying to be good and not drive but it is hard when winter has suddenly arrived along with snow, ice and bracing winds.

My fearless mother has no problem with the winter weather. She throws on her puffy winter coat which engulfs her down to her ankles, wraps a thick scarf over her hatted-head and walks miles in the cold all day long. She is some sort of a 72 year old Abominable Snowman. So when I tell her I have to go to class she always advises, "Why don't you walk! It's good exercise!'

But, being late as I always am, walking takes too long. And my bike's tires need air so...my preferred mode of transport of late has been my trusty Go-Ped scooter.

The first Go-Ped I ever saw belonged to my friend Pete. I was visiting him at Tippett, the VFX house I used to work at and he had this dandy little scooter to get him back and forth between the buildings. I gave it a whirl and was instantly hooked. They sell all sorts of tricked out motorized varieties but I wanted the old-fashioned foot powered type.

After visiting the Go-Ped website and shelling out $140, I was eager to receive my new bright red scooter in the mail. Oh boy! When it arrived, our love affair began immediately. At the time I was working South of Market at a non-profit called the Film Arts Foundation and living across the bay in North Berkeley.

Each morning, I would scoot through the gourmet ghetto of North Berkeley that I called home to the BART station, usually grabbing a brioche from the Cheeseboard on my way. I read comics on the crowded train to the Embarcadero and prayed there wouldn't be an earthquake while we were passing underneath the bay.

Then I would carefully maneuver my scooter through the crowds of business people cluttering Market Street to the seedy hood of FAF (the gay bar Studs was on the corner and had a great karaoke night). After work, I would scoot up to the Mission for burritos or the Castro for drinks with friends.

Scooting was the perfect way to get around in the city. After spending hours searching for parking on countless frustrated evenings, the scooter became the only way to get where I needed to go. Sure, it was clunky and dorky as hell, and I almost wiped out on numerous occasions, and it made my feet ache from all the frantic pushing, but it got me where I needed to go and it did it fast.

Years later, I uncovered the scooter again and began zooming around my Oakland neighborhood. The high school kids would laugh and point but it might have also been because my Australian Cattle Herder, Sheila, was pulling me like a sled dog. Sheila spent most of her day locked up in a cement backyard so she was always ready to GO FAST. We hit speeds of up to 20 mph as she gleefully swooped me around turns and up curbs. The fact that we didn't kill anyone on one of those trips still impresses me.

Up until recently, there haven't been many occasions for scooting now that I live in Vermont. It seems easier to bike or walk places. But once again, the scooter has become quite useful getting me back and forth to school. Even if it is especially hard scooting in the dark when big potholes become rather treacherous, and in the ice and snow where there are plenty of occasions to wipe out.

Today I had a scary scooter adventure riding down uber-steep Main St after class (Jesus, that was truly terrifying, my brakes don't work too well) and all the way up Pine St to my mechanics.

The wind was so bad that I could barely move forward at times, it was doing such a great job of pushing me back and angrily blowing my hood off my head. My scarf was doing a poor job of blocking the frigid gusts from stinging my throat and my exhaled warm breath kept fogging up my glasses. My throat and chest burned as I breathed in and out. Just how exactly do you exercise in the cold!?

I cussed out loud but the wind just merrily carried it away. Still, when I finally arrived to pick up my car, winded and pink-cheeked, I felt proud that I braved the weather on my scooter and saved the ozone layer just a wee bit.

I'm sure I'll wipe out big time one of these days (no doubt in front of a large group of very cool people), but in the meantime, I am having a blast being one of the oldest students on campus riding a ridiculous little scooter around town at all hours of the nights.

Give us a wave if we cross your path, or just honk and laugh quietly to yourself.

Girlfriend of Mine

"A true friend stabs you in the front."
- Oscar Wilde

My dear friend Suzanne Monroe (office stealer, goodbye party thrower, blog writer, sexy dancer, bestest Offasty-mate a girl could ever have) has written a sweeter than sweet blog post that has left me blushing and verklempt. Aw shucks...

"I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with the roughest courage.
When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work,
but the solidest thing we know."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

It has only been a week since I left the Offasty and it is still strange getting used to my own natural sleep patterns (stay up 'till 3am, sleep 'till 11am) and being my own boss once again. But the one part of this change that I find irksome is not having Suzanne a stone's throw away. Granted, we still talk almost every day using the wonders of the internet, cell phones and even meat space (or should I say, yoga space?).

"Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee,
and just as hard to sleep after."
-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

But it just doesn't match up to our Offasty days of tea chats, lunches and jaunts around downtown. Ah well, time marches forward. But thanks for this great post Suzanne and for making my day! It warms my cold, cold heart to be seen through the warm, friendly glow of your eyes - OH CRAP, this blog is turning into a Celine Dion song!

"Friendship is love without his wings"
- Lord Byron

Oh what the fuck, I am Hallmark-syrupy sweet at times, what can I say? And I am also "deeper than the deepest chasm in the ocean," so there! And Super Sexy Suz, I look forward to being your Valentine this year and devouring many blackened sweets with you! YUM!

Goodbye Flynn

Thursday was my last day of full-time work at The Flynn Center for the Performing Arts. I was too busy desperately trying to tie up zillions of loose ends and putting out fires (basically what my job consisted of on a regular basis) to feel too sad or to think about things too much...yet...

We took a nice yoga break mid-day and that helped center me. Our teacher didn't show up so I led the class and it occured to me that I should go to yoga school. Yoga is a great way to balance all the time I spend at the computer. And yoga school sure would be fun, eh? Yeah, that's the ticket!

After yoga, there was a nice surprise cake (mmm..Mirabelles triple chocolate layer mousse, heavenly) and a goodbye song a la the wonderful and amazingly talented Jack (lyrics below), and then a fabulous party thrown by the ever-amazing Suzanne at her darling new condo (was I the only one eating that loaf of baked brie??).


This afternoon, it was lovely to sleep in on a work day and shuffle around in my new office/kitchen while making a pot of tea and some toast. It all feels pretty unreal. Not sure when the full weight of the change will hit me.

Will it land hard and heavy with a mighty, "Oops, what on earth have I done? And how will I pay my credit card bills?"

Around 1pm, I began my first self-employed, "work-day" in my bathrobe emailing, IMing, blogging and YouTubing up a storm. It was time to get back to work again and finish editing my new DBC episode.

It will take a while for this big life change from full-time worker to full-time student/deadbeat to really and truly sink in. But last night, looking out at all these wonderful workmates I am lucky enough to call friends, I felt a strange sort of peace. People can come and go but some things remain the same. I know I made the right move and I know the Flynn will stay in my life, no matter where my travels take me!


Jack Galt is the Facility Director at the Flynn which means he knows the theatre and the buildings inside and out, every itty bitty nook and cranny. As I was leaving work Thursday night he was up high on a step ladder changing a light bulb in the back parking lot. You might see him leading a group of kids on a Flynn tour or changing the marquee letters.

Needless to say, Jack is the man. He also had the most choice office in the joint: the former projection booth at the very back of the theater with a bird's eye view of the stage.

Jack is also a talented singer/songwriter and it has become a Flynn tradition that every time a staff member leaves, Jack composes a special song just for them. Then the entire staff sings them this song at their "surprise" cake party in the lobby! It is a pretty cool event and Jack seems to top himself with every new song.

I was feeling a little shy about the lobby party so Suzanne decided to host my going away party at her condo. But those crafty Flynnites still managed to surprise me by singing my amazing song upstairs in the office, where I least expected it! Golly!

Jack is an amazing talent and he tells me this song came to him at 3am! It brought tears to my eyes and a big ball of emotion welled up in my throat while watching my office family as they surrounded me and sang this song to the tune of, you guessed it, The Copa Cabana:

Her Name was Eva

Her name is Eva
The Flynn she favored
When she started working here
Now it is getting on two years
Took reservations, wrote guides for study
And she spent a lot of days dismissing student matinees
Now you can go Highgate, Charlotte shut up and wait
Say Jane can I dismiss, is this radio on the fritz

In education AKA FlynnArts
Suggesting spelling from spell check would be fart
That’s education at the Flynn Center
You’ll never be leaving the way that you entered
At Flynn Center, she did her job.

Her name is Eva
Who could be braver?
Producing video segments
For TV and the internet
We must acknowledge that some were classics
Like the one on Offasty on the departure of Aimee
Their acting was the best, they were so stylishly dressed
She filmed and put it in the can, just like Ingmar Bergman

In education AKA FlynnArts
Suggesting spelling from spell check would be fart
That’s education at the Flynn Center
You’ll never be leaving the way that you entered
At Flynn Center, she shot her show.

Her name was Eva
Memories we savor
And those of us who are still here
Can only follow her career
Watching Deadbeat Club streaming on You Tube
But you can’t do that at work, people will think you are a jerk
If servers work too hard can’t process credit cards
You just can’t do that there you’re giving Gloria gray hair.

In education AKA FlynnArts
Suggesting spelling from spell check would be fart
That’s education at the Flynn Center
We’re sorry you’re leaving and so we are grieving
At Flynn Center, good luck Eva.

Awww, sniffle, sniffle. Thanks Jack! Sadder still, I think these original song lyrics will probably apply to me in a decade or so:

Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl
But that was 30 years ago, when they used to have a show
Now it's a disco, but not for Lola
Still in the dress she used to wear, faded feathers in her hair
She sits there so refined, and drinks herself half-blind
She lost her youth and she lost her Tony
Now she's lost her mind!

To get a feel for the flavor of Jack's awesome goodbye songs, here is a montage of his goodbye song for Aimee Petrin. Aimee left the Flynn after 9 years so this was big emotional move for all. As you can see, Jack is a rock star!:



And here are some Flynn montages I put together for Aimee's goodbye video. WE LOVE YOU FLYNN!!!:

Hats, Goodbyes and Letting Go

“What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”
Pericles

About 2 years ago, when I first started working at the Flynn, I got a strange phone call. At that time, I was still moderately terrified of answering my phone. It rang constantly and I rarely knew how to answer the myriad of questions thrown at me.

I was still trying to understand the intricacies of the Flynn (and two years later, I almost get them!). The caller was an older woman who wanted to drop off some items for us to use in our theater classes.

As usual, I was not sure how to handle this. Not sure who I needed to clear this with and if we even accepted donations of old clothing. She told me that her husband had died years ago. She had kept his treasured military hats safe and sound all that time. She was finally ready to give them away so other people could make us of them.


She sounded unsure of herself. Most likely a part of her wanted to keep these hats a little bit longer. They must have meant so much to him. And for her, they must have been like a piece of him, the last piece she had left.

After all, they sat on his head day after day, they probably still smelled of his shampoo. It must have been so awful for her to part with them. But maybe it was a necessary part of moving on.

“The key to change... is to let go of fear.”
Rosanne Cash

I have always had problems with moving on. I used to squeeze my stuffed animals so hard at night that their stuffing would fall out too soon. I had literally loved them TO DEATH. But I wouldn't let my mother throw my beloved animals in the trash. Oh no!

They meant something to me! I insisted we save them forever and ever for sentimental reasons. There is probably a big bag of love-worn stuffed animals rotting away in the attic at this very moment.

A week or so after our phone call, the lady dropped off two boxes of her deceased husband's possessions. Her daughter waited in the car and I ran down to take them from her. I thanked her profusely and made sure she was ready to part with them. She lingered for a moment and then said that it was the right thing to do.

I wonder if she got home that night and regretted it instantly? If she wanted to snatch back her husband's precious belongings to hold closely until the day she joined him? Or if somehow she felt lighter, as though a great weight had been lifted? Perhaps she was finally released from some sad state of purgatory caused by years of loss and suffering?


I took the boxes up to my office and proceeded to forget about them. I had many boxes littering my floor and they fit in fine amidst the mess. I never bothered to bring them up to the studio closets so the kids could enjoy them. It was part laziness and part selfishness that kept those boxes in my office over the next two years.

A part of me didn't want those careless kids to go ripping through her husband's prized possessions, unaware of their history or origin: heedlessly pulling out his white dress gloves with nary a scratch and instantly covering them in dirt; tossing his immaculate gold-braided hats around the room and denting their perfect shapes; roughly twisting the suspenders and plaid cumberbun that he once held so dear; instantly sullying his brighter than white Navy cap.

I didn't know what to do with this dead man's things. Part of me wanted to put them on display in a museum somewhere. They were so pristine and perfect, they needed to be admired and worshipped. He needed to be remembered! There had to be some way to hold on to him through these items that once mattered so much to him?

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Why do I hold on to things so tightly? It probably has something to do with the fact that I have never belonged anywhere. Never had a real "home" in the traditional sense of the word.

We left my childhood home when I was 3 years old and never alighted anyplace solid again. Like a family of hummingbirds, we flitted from haven to haven, never stopping long.

In 33 years I have moved almost 20 times; lived in 20 different homes, apartments, dorm rooms and hovels; carried my crap around from place to place and state to state like a hobo with a stick.

You would think that I would be really good at traveling light by now. Perhaps my tendency to hold on to things too tightly is some sort of an adverse reaction to this nomad lifestyle. It is like that scene in The Jerk where Steve Martin is being kicked out of his mansion:

Navin R. Johnson: Well I'm gonna to go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this. [picks up an ashtray]

Navin R. Johnson: And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair. [walking outside]

Navin R. Johnson: And I don't need one other thing, except my dog. [dog barks]

Navin R. Johnson: I don't need my dog.


Years later, Suzanne and I were switching offices in preparation for my departure from the Flynn. Once again, I had to face this man's boxes and decide what to do with them.

Suzanne advised me to take them home and use them in my shows. I longed to kidnap them and hang the hats on my bedroom walls. Create a shrine for this dead man that I never met. His hats were so perfect, so artful, and they held so much meaning.

Lately I have been trying to force myself to let go of things. Leaving the Flynn, releasing ghosts and moving forward instead of back. As nice as it is to wallow in sweet memories and drain them of every last bit of their tasty nectar, this activity soon grows stale. And in letting go of the past and the parts of it that I have been clinging too tightly to, I feel a great weight lifting off my shoulders.

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”
Dr. Seuss

In this spirit, I am finally going to release this man's possessions to the kids. At long last, I'll honor his widow's wishes (I know, I know, what took me so long!?).

This summer the rambunctious children will no doubt rip through them and bend, dirty and crumple his perfect hats, gloves, suspenders and cumberbun.

But I think the old lady knew then what it took me 2 years to realize, you can't hold on to someone too tightly. You have to let go of them and accept that they are gone.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
and things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tomorrow is my last day of work at the Flynn and as of Friday I am OFFICIALLY an unemployed deadbeat! It will take a while for this BIG life change to seem real to me.

Between classes, rehearsals, creative meetings, vlogs, blogs, matinees, editing and script readings, I have a ton to do next week. I am guessing it will take a while for the full force of this shift from full-time worker bee to student bee to take effect.

Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity. They seem to be more afraid of life than death.
James F. Bymes

But in the meantime, I am looking forward to my goodbye party tomorrow night when I can take the time to relax, unwind and get liquored up with a grand group of people that have become like a family to me over the past two years.

Someone asked me today if I was sad to go. I am sad. So sad. But it is time to stop holding on so tightly. It is time to put on my fancy military hat one last time and then prepare to release my grip...

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.”
Gilda Radner