Friday, July 08, 2016

Full Episode HERE

"This is an American problem. Everyone is involved...You can't fix something until you admit that it's broken."

I can't say anything that hasn't already been said, but I can agree.

Our government is corroded from the inside out. Everything is affected by everything else. We can't have actual change until everything is addressed. We have a problem with the people who are charged to serve and protect; we have a problem with communities (both those who are physically more affected and those who turn a blind eye); we have a problem with family dynamics; we have a problem with schools/education; we have a problem with drugs, violence, rape violence, and guns. 

It's a problem that as a whole, we are a country so broken that pulling the trigger equates to just a regular walk in the park. It's cops killing citizens — it's citizens killing other citizens — it's politicians killing citizens. We have a problem with respecting life. 
So, I agree.

Tuesday, July 05, 2016

raison d'être.

College feels like a million miles away. It feels so far that it nearly feels like it didn't happen, or barely happened. I don't remember it. I didn't drink heavily. I didn't party hard. Sometimes I'm shocked by the amount of "doing" that I just didn't. I went to class; I auditioned for one play (and got so embarrassed by forgetting my monologue that I dropped out of the theater school entirely); I wrote for the Daily Iowan; I hosted a weekly radio show for three years on KRUI 89.7. I  called it "The Early Morning Airstrike."

Higher education — it's supposed to be this time of self-discovery, learning, adventure, finding out what you're good at, trying things — but I don't really think I did those overarching things. I was busy doing this and then that, creating friendships that when looked at closely these days aren't all that close (at least not anymore). Both of my college roommates ended up in Los Angeles post graduation, yet we seldom get together. It's no ones specific fault. We just lead different lives, have different interests, different priorities. We're different, after all. When I really think about it, it's unbelievable that we've made it this far because we are so different.

This time last year, I was just ending a sub-chapter back in a University setting. I was behind a desk, working in an office, watching students linger outside classrooms, skateboard past signs that say "No Skateboarding," and wear business suits as an assignment — And now a full year after that, I'm left wondering, where did it all go? Even if you're in the same decade, it's unbelievable how different a 20-year-old is from a 30-year-old. The incremental change each day of those 365 days from 29 to 30 hits you the day before your birthday. It isn't incremental at all. And now that I've hit this painful number, it feels like I've somehow moved further away from something rather than toward something else. I don't think I'll ever feel my age again. Maybe when I'm 80. By then my hips, knees and eyes won't let me skip past the truth like they do now.

I'm not old. I'm not. I'm really not. But, I feel old. I feel left behind. I have this overwhelming sense that my life is passing me by. I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Like I didn't just waste a couple decades. It seems that for most people their job is where they find their satisfaction, their reason to be, "raison d'être." And as a performer, it's tough to know that my career is somewhat in the hands of others. Yes, I can create my work — I can write for myself — I can join teams and perform shows, and so on, and on, and on; I can do all of these things, and that is amazing. But what does it matter if no one sees it. If no one thinks it's good enough to pay for. Where is my worth? I have so much control, but what is control anyway?

Google defines it as "the power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events." But this is only a half definition to me. Control can direct, sure, but when you're out of control there is also a direction, and it's not always down. The relationship between control and success is a lie.

I have so much less "control" than I think. I can do what I can to direct the course of my life, but life will do what it wants, and other people in their lives are doing the same, and my life will intersect with theirs, and there will be "right time and right place," and then the less popular, but more common, "wrong time and wrong place," followed by the confusing, "wrong time and right place," and then of course, the ever frustrating "right time and wrong place." If we're looking at life as a Punnett Square based on life situations: Time and Place as the main variables — "right time and right place" accounts for just 25 percent of what life hands you, the rest, darlings, is unfortunately 75 percent the mismatching of everything else. We cannot control time. So inevitably control is for nothing.

If I want to make any money at my creative craft, that alleged control I love to have so much, goes to the birds. Others write my paycheck. It's incredibly tough.

Where does that leave me?

It leaves time as the constant variable that won't allow itself to be controlled.


I like them when they fall down
like weeping willows
They’re crisp and together at the same time
as being
wispy, faint, there and then gone

Crackle down the barrel
of a gun
But not a gun gun.
A finger lost
A holiday to remember

I like them when they fall down
like bodies
like Tina Turner’s 80s hair
like everything and then nothing.

Happy Birthday America
You did it.

Friday, October 09, 2015

That Moment When...

This post is in response/coordinates with moments ago when I made a joke Tweet that started with the familiarly annoying "When you..." which is like those garbage sentences that read, "That moment when..." It's the start to a Tweet in which I read it and then just want to punch a person (Read: My mirror if it didn't cut my fingers up. They are delicate so that would be bad, so I don't and never have.)

Anyway, the Internet, gees.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

summer violence.

when the sheets
beneath your sweating body

how gross is that word?

but that's all it—

you're cut off—

it's just a bit of moisture

sick, i said stop.

moisture. moisture. moisture.

pushed to the ground
why don't you just buy a fan
you dumb motherfucker?

Tuesday, July 28, 2015


It's been a long time since I've written something that wasn't an email. That wasn't a poorly scrawled note to my friends in distant lands. That wasn't a note typed into my phone to be forgotten about until I'm scrambling for poorly thought-out stand-up material in the back of a show that has already started. Sometimes, I am a true mess.

At the moment it feels as though it's a-million-degree LA day, so it's as good a time as any to chronicle some things. I'm in my bedroom in my second apartment since moving to Los Angeles nearly two years ago. I'm happy to say I've finally gotten around to purchasing a rod iron bed frame, and a beautiful one it is, at that. I have an accent wall that is painted "Olde Amethyst." My sheets are light turquoise. My pillows are beige, yellow and gold. My comforter is white. I am classy, I tell you. My roommate Kristina once remarked to me that my bedroom looked as if it were out of a page of Anthropologie. To say I was anything less than jazzed is to lie. I was and am pretty jazzed.

Lately I've been jazzed about a lot of things — on Sunday I got home from an extended trip to the East coast, where I celebrated my friend Kerstin's Bachelorette in Boston, where I went to Maine to visit family, as well as tour the Vertex Pharmaceutical Facilities, where I met my boyfriend John's family and friends by way of a wedding in Pittsburgh. These were all fun, interesting and joyful privileges.

So, in closing this frankly very lackluster post, I would like to write 5 things I love and am thankful for:

1. I love that I have an artistic eye for colors, how things go together, and that I can afford to make things look nice.
2. I love that I have friends who are willing to pick me up from and drop me off at the airport.
3. I love that an icepack on the back of my neck actually does cool me down enough to focus when it's hot out.
4. I love that I have three roommates who always want to chat even when they say they can't.
5. I love that I have family members that care about each other and me deeply.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Life is Long.

I hurt easy, I just don't show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
-bob dylan, "things have changed"

Life is long. It is so long. I get it, "if you don't stop and look around once and a while, you'll miss it." Whatever, Ferris. I challenge you to think this instead — "if you don't look around and reflect and think about the future, you'll live your life without feeling the pressure of how daunting it is." 

Life is long. It is so long. I often forget about just how fucking long it is. There are full days I have no recollection of, there are full years I am told I lived. There are moments that last forever, days that won't end and feelings that never fade. Life is so long. It is so long.

It's so long that it stresses me out. Simply continuing to exist is this huge burden sometimes. It's a huge burden because there are so many instances to fuck it up. Every moment is a moment you can wreck everything you've worked for. Split seconds, that's what we get to make decisions that effect this whole long life. This incredibly long life.

You can fuck up your body, you can fuck up your mind, you can ruin someone else's life, you can taint the world with your very existence. There are so many opportunities to wreck everything, and it just seems like the bad far outweighs the good sometimes.

And, it's not fair. It's not fair how easy it is to destroy everything.

Even something as simple as weight gain or loss. Someone eats a hamburger, slurps a milkshake, they skip a work out, take the bus instead of ride a bike — our bodies suffer the consequences. Then someone eats a salad, drinks a glass of water, hits the gym, and rides a bike on their way there — our bodies are better for it, but you have to do that 10-1. What unfair odds.

I think of Adam Sandler in one of my favorite films, Big Daddy, as he chats with his new 5-year-old friend about eating. He makes the insanely accurate, and thus hilarious comment, "I drink a milkshake and my ass jiggles for like a week."

This life is so long, and lopsided. People remember the bad things said about them, they gloss over the good. You do it. I do it. Let's call an apple an apple.

Why do we do this? Life is too long to do this. Whether your life is 10 years or 100 years, every moment counts, so stop doing this. I'm in my twenties, and sometimes I feel as if I have been here forever. And it's this weight of knowing that even my own body will fail me, even my own mind will leave me, everything I have isn't mine — and that makes life feel so long.