Hi!

I’ve been studying the Linklater voice method with Andi Arndt. It’s long, and frustrating, and brought up Some Shit that needs to be dealt with, but ultimately it’s changed my life and it’s in the process of changing my career.

I’ve consistently had unnaturally loud breaths. Many of them I’ve edited out. So many hours of editing. But as it turns out, it’s not just the throat that creates them. I’ve been narrating with tension in my chest that stems from shallow breathing, trying to keep it down, sheesh, it’s seven in the morning around here.

That hasn’t happened since Tongue Week*, where I was pretty relaxed and calm, if a little stressed out from focusing on breathing correctly. But today I was back to chest breathing, probably because of a shortened warmup. Then, for some reason, maybe frustration or maybe some push from my deeper self, I took a deep breath. From my belly.

And everything relaxed.

My large, gorgeous belly, which expanded a great deal and let in all the oxygen my body needed. And the only sounds were those of my voice, and my Voice.

That’s the work half done, right there.

 

 

*Which is a little like Shark Week, in that they’re both Weeks.

I get very heartbroken when I see the lobsters in tanks in the grocery store, and the trailers of livestock that I assume are speeding away to the slaughterhouse. I see their doom, and even if they don’t know it, I know that their lives are destined to be very short from here on out, and probably painful. I want them to have a fighting chance, even though I’m sure an animal Battle Royale would probably be even more terrifying for them than just getting zapped in the head. But it wouldn’t be worse than getting boiled alive!

At any rate, we have no door screen, and flies seem to be attracted to the flaking paint on our door for some reason. So there are swarms–SWARMS I TELL YOU!–all over our house. And let me just say, I’m getting to the point where I’m about to start murdering some of these assholes in cold blood.

20 years ago, I wrote a book and a half of a trilogy. It was stilted because I tried to write it in a generally non-time-specific way, and I don’t like how that worked out. The plot, as well, has many many many many issues. Most of the characters are not fleshed out, which is beside the point because even the fleshed out ones were not allowed to live fully because I was not ready to bring all of myself to write a book. It’s totally embarrassing and cringe-inducing, and I hope nobody ever sees it. Ever. EVER.

Lots has happened in these 20 years. But that first draft is a Treasure, because I know who these people are now. And because I haven’t had anything to narrate for two months, I started noodling around with them.

I’m on Chapter 10. Which isn’t saying much. Some of the chapters are shorter than this post. And the story hasn’t even begun yet.

We’ll see what happens. If anything at all. But I definitely wouldn’t be playing around with this if I were still working full-time at a school.

(How many epic sagas* are we missing out on because we don’t have Universal Basic Income? Just idly wondering.)

 

 

*Not that mine’s an epic saga. It wanted to be, 20 years ago. But now it’s kind of laying around in its old age, looking at its bellybutton and wondering what’s inside. So am I, for that matter.**

**Wondering what’s inside the story’s bellybutton, that is; not looking at my own.***

***Well, of course NOW I am.

Underwater, nobody can hear you scream.

 

And I mean that in the best possible way.

There is a very…advanced kid in one of the classes where I teach music.

On Monday (and many other days this summer), everyone is outside all the time because, well, they can be. So I end up just playing music outside, basically whatever comes into my head, for a couple of hours, and people come to listen, or they play in the sprinkler, or the sandbox, whatever. I’m there if they’re interested.

So in the natural progression of things, I start playing “Let It Go” from Frozen. With no preamble, no “Here’s a little ditty for someone special out there,” just playing it. Someone had an Elsa dress or something.

And the advanced kid walks over to me and says, “Actually, that’s from Frozen.”

And I was duly impressed. That was one of the clearest mansplains I’d ever heard, from someone who probably just turned three.

Out of the mouths of babes. Just another symptom of the apocalypse, I guess.

Bienvenue! Je suis Berthe, the maid.

We’ve gotten to that point, where we can look back at rehearsal and say, “Cast, I hardly knew ye. But now I do. And I’m grateful for it.” They to a one are the Cat’s Ass. They’re good people, and they’re my people. We each have our own tiny private cabin on the Indiana side of the IN/MI state line, and an even smaller kitchen. But an enormous backstage, and a stellar set.

We spent eight days together last week, and now I miss them. Some imagery and/or quotes:

Lili hacking vigorously at a huge dead log with an axe the size of a butter knife. “Dakotah, your axe doesn’t work.”

Kylie, whispered backstage during a show: “I opened the door too early. I’m gonna kill myself.”

Ok, that’s enough. I fear they veer into inside joke territory. I’m out of practice with this publicly traded blog thing.

Anyway, the deer are fearless, the bugs plentiful, and the beach a 15 minute walk. I’d repeat this experience. 4 stars.

1. I switched my good insurance for a shitty one.

2. Four months later, I saw a doctor, who said we had to do a string of tests to see if I could even take Entyvio anymore, or if I had built up an immunity. I had not! (Although I might have by now.)

3. The lab called. They said before insurance will cover it, the old doctor needed to call the insurance company and cancel the old Entyvio order.

4. The doctor refuses to be on hold for 50 minutes. Can’t blame them.

5. The insurance company refuses to call the doctor. (I totally blame them.)

6. CLIFFHANGER: WILL THEY ACCEPT A FAX??????

 

Find out next time…on Tales From US Health Care, by Franz Kafka.

 

 

BEST OF AMY’S UPDATES: (been reading a lotta Reddit)

I think they accepted a fax. At any rate, I got my infusion! …and then a phone call on the way home saying “You absolutely CANNOT get your infusion, at the hospital (I didn’t). You will be on the hook for paying for it. So don’t do it.” At home, there was a letter waiting for me: “Dear you, YOUR INFUSION IS NOT COVERED! DON’T GET IT! …at the hospital. YOU WILL HAVE TO PAY FOR ALL OF IT AND MAYBE THROW YOURSELF INTO THE SEA! DOOOOONNN’T DOOOO IIIIITTTTT!”

But I did. Twice. CLIFFHANGER: WILL THERE BE A BILL???????

 

Find out next time…on Tales From US Health Care, by Franz Kafka.

 

I’ve been on the train a lot lately, and I’ve been thinking about the community that exists in it. It is the one of the quickest communities that exists. This period of a stop or two of these unique people, all with their own histories and personalities. You will never be all together again, and I’m ok with that, as long as I don’t think about it too hard. Then I get sad.

There are times when an Event happens. The last Event I experienced was a few weeks ago, when a man started yelling, possibly at someone, on the train. A tirade, that ended when he got off in a huff. It was a drop-mic moment. And then the rest of the train can bond around that. We talk about it, we joke about it, we get close for a period of 10 seconds to 4 minutes. Sometimes I think about being that catalyst—doing something odd that everyone can laugh about and make fun of or marvel at when I get off. Being an Event, to connect strangers. It’s noble.

About 12 years ago, there was a guy who rode the red line and he made newspaper hats for those around him and never spoke. I remember him. He was a gradual catalyst. People are slower to talk about those—they will smile at each other, or maybe give strangers looks, and you talk about it off the train. But then, like the tirade guy, there are very quick shocks to the people on the train. And those bond strangers tighter and quicker.

So it seems that in order to bond strangers on the train, an intense, quick Event is necessary. But does it have to be negative? Does it have to swim with vitriol? What if I burst into a lovely song, or gave a moving monologue about our new mayor (Mazel tov, Brandon Johnson!)?

After I muster some courage, I’ll be out in the field, doing experiments.

Unions are more fragile than I ever would have thought. Last year at the JCC, when we had 2 stewards in our building, we had something like 95% participation. Then, both the stewards left, and it went down to no more than 15% or something. And this year was the year of contract negotiations. So there was only participation from a single school, out of 6 or so. And so of course, the union had no teeth to bargain with. So the wages stay the same. So attrition is high. So the union always has to start from square one. It’s a vicious cycle, and doesn’t take much from companies to crack down.

Prologue from Shakespeare Shakedown, by A Gorelow (the Amy one, specifically):

Five people, not so like in dignity,

From Shakespeare’s plays, in which we lay our scene,

From dirty towels break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean;

Five people, who feel trapped and wanted out—

Who decided to reside inside a house:

A murdered King, a murderer wracked with doubt,

A wet nurse, and a “monster”, and a souse.

You’ll watch them as they conquer all their fear

Or else implode in sadness or in rage

Whichever, keep your dial tuned in here.

The 50 minutes traffic of our stage

Will show the world what happens in this deal

Where we stop being polite…and start getting real.

 

 

It’s part Shakespeare, part reality show, part sitcom, part character study, and part existential angst. I’m very proud of it.