I’m watching late night television as I’m prone to do when on break from school, and I stumble onto this little gem ‘Deal or No Deal’. The basic premise is that the contestant picks a briefcase from 26 which has a dollar amount ranging from $1 to $1,000,000. The hope is that the chosen case has the one million dollar prize in it. Then the contestant and the host (Howie Mandel) begin to eliminate the other cases. Once the case is eliminated the dollar value inside the case is revealed, and of course the hope is that that all the lower dollar values are eliminated. Here’s the twist, after each round of case opening this creepy and intentionally not shown ‘Banker’ offers the contestant an amount of cash as an exchange for what could be in their case. And then Howie Mandel gets to ask “Deal or No Deal?” in this overly dramatic fashion while the audience shouts what to do. 

Now, I’m sure there are a lot of things wrong with this show: Mandel’s awkward facial hair (A soulpatch, really? At your age? FAIL), the greed, the ridiculous models that hold the cases….BUT I found something so terribly redeeming about it when I watched on Christmas Eve. 

I watched a woman who was in her late-twenties, married, and had six newborn children try for the one million dollars. I’m not at all a fan of the show or contrived “reality television” for that matter, but I found myself caught up in this woman’s attempt. I wouldn’t really say this happened until Howie asked her how she would spend the money. 

Her eyes lit up. This woman explained that she wanted to pay off her and her husband’s student loans, she wanted to provide for her six newborns, that she just wanted to be able to take time off from work and be with them. 

I totally fell for it. This woman has such simple, honest dreams. She wants to pay off her student loans, pay off her husband’s, be a stay at home mom and provide for her six kids. Oh “Deal or No Deal” you’ve roped me in, I am a total sucker. Maybe because I think of this show as a bunch of greedy, money grubbing people, or maybe because I think people on game shows in general are idiots–but I was surprised by her plans. I almost felt bad for what I would have done with the money. (In case your wondering I would never ever accept an offer from the bank! Fortune favors the brave! Plus, I don’t owe student loans or have six kids to feed, so I would risk everything. I would totally blow through that money and take my entire family and all my friends on the most ridiculous vacation known to man. And what would I do if there was money left over? Let me make this clear: There would be no money left over. ) 

It was a stroke of brilliance by the show’s producer to put on the feel-good-america’s-sweetheart-story for Christmas Eve. It made me think that there really are good, honest, hardworking people in the world. That there still are people who want to provide for others before their own selfish wants. It made me think that maybe everyone isn’t so rotten after all, that people really are as good as we all hope. 

But seriously who told Howie Mandel that a soulpatch was a good idea?

Holly Golightly is probably one of Capote’s most interesting characters. Well, to me anyways. I find Golightly terrifically complex and rich as a character; easy-going, fun loving, chic, extravagant, insecure, unsure….. And then she’s mysterious( platonic company for money..like what?)  I totally dig the girl, and I totally connect with her too.

It’s a pretty undeniable fact of life that we all get the mean reds. These days I find myself getting the mean reds when I start thinking about graduating. And finding a job. And ugh paying bills? But mainly about growing up. Two very big words: Growing Up. It’s a wonderfully scary idea. All these things start to build up and my mind races a mile a minute. Next thing I know I’m afraid and scared and I have no idea how I worked myself up into such a frenzy.

And then beckoning me as a lighthouse to a ship, there it it: The Apple Store.

Oh god, just looking at it now gives me an odd peace with life. I was having one of my “Oh-my-god-the-real-world-is-coming” moments, the feeling of sheer panic and impending doom-when I walked into the Southpoint Apple store last week. To borrow from Ms. Golightly, the whole place calmed me down right away, the quietness and proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. Everything was clean, and bright, and well lit, sharply polished hardwood flooring and everyone wearing the same colored apple t-shirt. OH! Every polished surface brandishing that unmistakable apple…suddenly all is right in the world. In my world.

So armed with my newfound sense of renewal and self-reassurance, I walk across the pavilion and grab a soup and sandwich at Panera. I’m not big into breakfast foods(…honestly, does anyone really enjoy yogurt) or waking up before at least 9:30am, so its natural that my favorite meal is lunch. And then it hit me: All it takes to rid me of those mean reds is a late lunch at the apple store. If only I could find a ‘real-life’ place that makes me feel like the apple store- growing up might not be so bad…

It’s a very delicate balance for me. See I enjoy puns when I don’t expect them, when they take me by surprise, when they carefully flirt with being clever. I don’t enjoy puns when they simply play on words, or are trying to be cute or clever. Accidental versus Overt….

Case in point: A Lot of Cars

This is a prime example of a good pun. A Lot of Cars is a used auto dealer in the North end of Durham by Duke University. They have over 37 cars for sale(sounds like a large volume) and they’re all parked in a lot(…you might say a parking lot).

I won’t lie to you, I think this is brilliant. I’m laughing now even as I type this blog post. A Used Car dealer with a sense of humor?! These are the kind of people that I can respect. I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but I can imagine selling used cars in a largely Spanish and blue collar section of town to not be a laugh-a-minute type of job. That’s why this is so surprising. And funny. They’re not trying to be clever… 

Or at least if they are, they’ve done it subtly and don’t expect to be congratulated for their wit.

And then we have DietTribe. 

DietTribe is a new LifeTime network reality show that follows a group of five best friends in their collective struggle to lose weight and get fit. Hmmm, a group of friends(dare we say, a tribe?) and they’re all dieting(…dieting). But this really irks me, diettribe isn’t even a word! Thats ridiculous! A diatribe(which is a REAL word) is a bitter, sharply abusive denunciation, attack, or criticism…which does not sound like a group of friends losing weight. After a little research the word ’diettribe’  according to unword.com is  an irate sermon or lecture on healthy eating. UNWORD.COM? Also ridiculous! 

Ugh. Really? DietTribe? I’m not against people trying to get fit. But this is honestly the most worst pun. And given it refers to a reality television and the LifeTime network, I think the phrase “Worst Pun Ever” might be fitting… It’s so obvious and heavy handed. I can’t even appreciate it’s wit. It’s too cute and clever and I’m sure whoever thought this gem up is mighty proud of themselves. Eww. This is just so iconically the worst type of pun, and a pun for all the wrong reasons. 

Thumbs up ‘A Lot of Cars’. Thumbs down ‘DietTribe’. Thumbs way down ‘Unword.com’

My Mom and I took an idle day in late June to venture into suburbia’s crowning consumerist achievement: the mall. In all fairness, I should explain that I’m not really a big mall shopper. I can’t wander around aimlessly pretending to be interested, I don’t like trying on clothes, I don’t even like the word ‘food-court’ (and wouldn’t imagine eating there), and in no way do I consider myself a reasonable person…at all costs I try to avoid the mall. But hey, why not? I mean I might as well beat the ‘back to school rush’…right? My Mom and I went to the Gap. Which right there should send a signal that this whole shopping ordeal is not going to end well.

First, my Mom and I are immediately cornered by a peppy sales girl, who tells us what’s on sale, and her name(Kimmy), and that if we need anything we can just ‘Holler’.

‘Oh Kimmy, I won’t hesitate to holler.’ I say with a broad smile. I may have added a wink. May have. My Mom reminds me that, ‘There is a time and place for your humor Anastasia, and here and now isn’t one of them.’ I can tell by her forced quiet tone that she means business, and over the years I’ve learned to fall in line.

I start looking for jeans but give up within a matter of minutes, and end up looking at t-shirts instead. I find myself staring at the (PRODUCT) RED line that Gap has put out; a line that proudly donates ‘Half the profits to support the global fund’s fight against HIV/AIDS in Africa’. I’m not impressed. Not only by the half falling apart t-shirts, which are ‘inspired’ by African designs, but by ignorance of the people selling them. This, if you couldn’t tell is where Kimmy comes back into the story. She asks me if I need any help, and I reply that I’m just looking around. She could have left then, and I’m sure she now regrets not doing so:

‘This is just like really great isn’t it?’ She asks.

I meet her face with a blank stare, ‘What?’

‘You know? This whole Africa thing, it’s like a really great cause.’

I would have just tried really hard to be quiet and polite, but my Mom wasn’t around so I said the first thing that came to mind:

‘Africa is in fact not a really good cause. It’s a continent. Comprised of 53 nations.’

‘Oh no’, Kimmy adds with a laugh, ‘I meant the RED Stuff, it’s like a charity’

Wrongo again Kimmy. ‘Actually, it’s not really even a charity, it’s more a business model. An attempt at an ethical business model. See 50% of the profits support the Global Fund, which treats HIV/AIDS by medication. I guess that’s a good idea. Sure. I totally support treating HIV and AIDS. I’m just saying that buying this t-shirt won’t fool me into thinking I’m a good person because I supported HIV and AIDS treatment in some small and removed way.’

‘Well’, Kimmy begins, ‘I just think that supporting this and Africa is a good idea.’

I can tell that I failed to properly explain myself, so I begin to relent, ‘I agree. Totally.’ But then I gain a second wind, ‘But, Kimmy, could you name say 5, just 5 nations in Africa, this country that you support?’

She opens her mouth and then shuts it.

‘South Africa. That one was almost a gimme! Botswana. Nigeria? Rwanda? Uganda? Zimbabwe? Gabon? Ethiopia? Chad? Could you tell me any issues facing these countries? Or key leaders? Or how many of them hold ‘democratic’(I used air quotes…sad but true) elections?’

At this point she’s shifting uncomfortably, and it’s quite clear I’ve violated the social contract between buyer and salesperson at the Gap. It’s a little late to try and recover. I mumble something about needing to find my Mom, only to turn around and see my Mom standing there. Along with like 3 other Gap staffers.

‘Turns out they don’t have it in medium’, I half sheepishly say to my Mom, who’s smirking. We leave quickly, but not before I shout out, ‘21′. The number of countries that hold somewhat free and democratic elections.

I’m not a reasonable person. Whatsoever. So I understand that these totally unnecessary and unwarranted ‘outbursts’ you might call them, are just a part of who I’ve become. I’m ok with that. I’m also ok with people who are committed to making socially responsible choices. I’m not ok with people who support causes or foundations they in fact know nothing about. People who fool themselves into thinking that they’re doing good. These people are dangerous. People who think that long-term, or sustainable solutions come in the form of trendy, overpriced t-shirts…

‘Blog Drafts’.

It’s a phrase that throws my short comings in my face. Haha, ok that was dramatic–but looking at all my blog drafts remind me how strongly I start a post, and then let it ’sit around’ until I edit it. Normally the time passes and with it my energy and passion, until the post no longer seems relevant; and then it’s lost forever in the annoynomus ‘your drafts’ tab. I feel guilty about it for a while and then come up with a new, relevant blog post…only to have it doomed to the same fate. It’s an endless cycle really, so to break that cycle today’s post is dedicated to showing those ‘blog drafts’ the light of published day.

This one is a mere week old:

It happened on a cold, gray, spring afternoon five some years ago now. I had some how convinced my Dad to skip work and come to the beach with me to go surfing. New Hampshire in April isn’t exactly pleasant surfing weather, in fact it really isn’t pleasant anything weather; and I remember that day being particularly cold. We spent most of the afternoon huddled together in a mass of blankets trying to warm up in a simple and futile attempt to brave the cold surf again. I was miserable: My feet were scraped and bleeding, my wetsuit was letting in water, it was all going wrong. My entire body was numb. I was numb. There was something more wrong with me than not being able to feel my toes, something deeper and more emotional to my numbness. I felt truly and genuinely lost. I know I said something like that to my Dad, and I can still remember his efforts to look straight out into the Atlantic, because he knew I would refuse his eye contact.

He pulled the blanket closer to our chins and replied, “You need to let that happen then. You know? Let yourself be lost… Hope isn’t about everything turning out ok, it’s about being ok with how everything turns out.”

I only remember and subsequently blog about this event now, after the dinner with Nancy Robinette. At one point she had remarked ‘that as artists we need to give ourselves the permission to fail’ and ‘permission to do the work’. I don’t often think of giving myself permission when I choose to do something-it simply happens and becomes something I’ve done. Though when I compare Nancy’s remarks with my Dad’s advice, it becomes clear: it’s about letting go.

I understand in way larger than I could have at 16 that my Dad’s advice was to let go. He had the foresight to stress the importance of being ok with feeling lost rather than stress the importance of ‘finding’ myself or a solution, so that I could eventually overcome the situation. To really feel lost I had to let go of my need for control, my fear of failure, my fear of judgement…I needed to grant myself the permission to feel lost. Nancy’s remarks about allowing ourselves the ‘permission to do the work’ stems off the same, simple idea. As artists we need to let go of a lot (fear, inhibition, failure, judgement) to be able to do our work. We have to free ourselves to allow ourselves to create.

This one hails from the 4th week of the class:

Gregg keeps asking the group about our collective fears towards the up-coming trip to NYC. I may stand alone in this statement, but I am not at all afraid. Afraid about the possible living situation? No. I’ve lived out of a tent for 4 straight weeks on the Costa Rican shore while trying to gain surfing sponsorship. There was no running water, no electricity, and no sense of safety. I made it work. Afraid about the food? No. In those same 4 weeks, I lived off of bananas and Slim-Jims. I made it work. (It wasn’t actually that bad if you didn’t mix the two together.) Afraid about transportation options? No. I’ve roughed it on dirty, smelly trains before. Afraid about finding contacts? No. The city is home to more than 8 million people, I’m sure one of them will have an interesting story. Afraid about what? Gregg has asked this question like 4 or 5 times now, and I’m almost tempted to make up something, anything, so that the next time he asks I can contribute something to the class discussion. I can picture myself half-heartily saying ‘I’m afraid about finding theatre contacts in the theatre capital of the world’. I would be sure to emphasize the ‘theatre capital of the world’ bit, just as a way to disclose my sarcasm to the few that might catch it. Gregg has asked this question so many times in fact that his frequency in asking what I’m afraid about, is what’s scaring me. Does that count as an answer?

-Far Away, Churchill

I keep thinking about my New York experience in relation to my digital story and my research question. The above quote from Far Away helps to explain my current situation, ‘When you’ve just stepped in you can’t really tell what’s going to happen’.  This is exactly what I thought while wondering the streets of New York City after each of my interviews.  Who knows where any of this information is going? What’s going to happen to it all? Yet, this same thought crosses my mind even now as I pour over my interviews in digital format. The only difference is now I find myself wondering around downtown Fredericksburg. I keep wondering where I’m going to find the narrative, the story within all my information.  There are so many different bits of information; funny quotes, inspiring stories, and odd ends that I’d like to include within my digital story

For me, the question of ‘Why Theatre’ has changed and evolved a number of times over the course of this process. And while the wording has changed, the intent of the question-trying to figure out why theatre matters-is still at the very heart of my work. What is it about the theatre that makes it important to society? Anything?

I keep coming back to my interview with Robert Zukerman, Director of theatre funding for the New York State Council on the Arts; he handles grants for non-profit theatre in New York State. About half way through our 2ish hour interview he said:

 The public perception of the arts, by and large, is not an overwhelmingly positive one, in this country. We’re still fighting against over 250 or 300 years of Puritanism and… right wing distrust… of intellectuals, of art, and it hurts, its hurts my agency. …We are always being asked to make the case for the economic impact of the arts, and for someone who’s been involved, you know, I find it, I’m getting exceedingly frustrated by that. Because I know what its meant to me, and I know the importance of the arts in terms of everything one does, and how it enriches one’s life…but I’m constantly running up against people who question the importance of the arts.

The struggle of defining the importance of the arts, or theatre, is not one isolated to myself, or students within our class. Working professionals in numerous arenas of the arts struggle to make this case on a daily basis. For Robert, in part it means working with legislation to gain funding to support the arts. What I’ve quickly realized is that the ability to articulate the importance of the arts is vital to their very existence; without a clear, well substantiated argument the arts will very well lose their footing. It is something our society consistently witnesses, the cutting of arts, theatre, music, dance, ect.,  programs  from within our schools. Part of me wants to complain: my Dad who works in investment banking never has to justify or explain why his work is important and valuable to society. Largely because his work carries such a (perceived) importance: money, but also because the impact is outlined so clearly. We don’t have numbers or some type of measuring stick to grade and show the importance of the arts in simple terms, but we need, we must communicate the value. I feel like I’m getting my feet wet with it.

Today a miraculous and epic event materialized, an event that I have eagerly anticipated now for 3 years: Registering for my Senior Fall. I’ve looked forward to the day where I could register for classes ahead of the lowly upcoming juniors, sophomores and freshmen; I looked forward to the day where I could take simply what interested me, without regard to ATC or goals, or major requirements. And dear friends, that day was today. Can you sense my excitement? That day was today!

I began my epic journey towards senior year as I have with any new semester at UMW, with my registration permission number. The only difference was that today those 6 simple digits separated me from my dream of creating the greatest school schedule ever. I’ve found myself in the enviable position of being entirely at my own disposal within the formal education system, such a rarity that I was nearly overwhelmed with shock. When Helen asked me what I was going to take for classes I said, “Whatever. I don’t know, whatever I want.” And that is exactly what I did this morning at 9am- I signed up for whatever I wanted. I ended up with: Beginning Chinese, Practical Ethics, Modern Poetry, Modern Drama and Dance Improvisation.

So I find myself entirely at my own disposal…and I end up here. It’s an entirely unusual feeling: the freedom of being able to do almost anything, but it’s not everything I dreamed it would have or could have been. It’s a bit scary, there’s a lot more at stake, more responsibility; and all of it stems back to the individual. The freedom of doing whatever I wanted required me to really think, I mean really think for myself what I wanted. It’s much easier to be told what to do, to put on a little track and follow it around, instead of forging your own route.  It’s one of those ‘everyone-knows-this-kind-of-lesson’, but actually learning it, and experiencing it for yourself forces you into a whole new level of awareness. Yes dear friends, that day was today.

So I found myself at breakfast, sans donuts and skimming over the paper.  Reflecting on the week’s interviews I found a certain poignancy to an article about a young artist. Loris Greaud, 29 will soon open ’Cellar Door’, an installation art project at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris. The kicker: he is the first artist to take all of the 40,000 square feet, at a cost roughly double to that of any other show the Palais has housed. Director Marc-Olivier Wahler remarked that it was large risk to allow such a young artist carte blanche, though the work has been an overwhelming success.

I couldn’t help think of my last interview with Catherine Porter, the developmental director of Dixon Place.  Dixon place began simply enough in a living room. Ellie Covan the founding director used the space(in her own apartment mind you) to showcase and promote new works and talents. As an interesting side-note Catherine explained that since producing plays in the living room of a NYC apartment violated a number of fire concerns(large amount of people in one spot) Ellie told everyone involved that if the fire or police showed up everyone was to start singing ’Happy Birthday’.  Twenty some years later Dixon Place has expanded(barely) while maintaining the ‘living room’ feel and holding steadfast to their mission.

The juxtaposition of seeing one artist with 40,000 square feet, and a whole venue with only 350 square feet was  really quite eye opening. Initially I though Greaud was very lucky to have an expanse of space and money to realize his artistic vision; yet later I realized how we all have that ability. I have that ability.  It’s shocking but I have the means to produce  my work. Of course my means are limited in terms of finance, time, space, and so on-but even if I have nothing but my living room, I can make it work.