Hello says Alissa!

What journeys we all go on~! How far! How wide! And how we travel, often, without knowing the extend of our impending voyage. This has been a hell of a summer and hot damn, I feel like me again. Right now at 1:40 am on a sunday night, in august, a mere 20 minutes away from my favorite time of year. I'll probably be asleep before then, I have this job thing...but I am more hopeful than I've been in some time.

I had my first improv show--this baby i've been nursing for over a year, since the beginning of last august and I saw the rewards, the complete rewards, tonight--for the first time. I'd forgot the high of being onstage, performing. Being PART of something. We may fight, but i respect my improv class. And i am proud to be on stage with them. And i am proud that I can be silly and wacky with them as I used to be offstage, amongst friends.

When did everything get so serious? What happened to the Alissa that a friend once looked at in wonder, saying he wished he could see what was going on inside my head because it was amazing.

I was told by another, that I should never lose my sense of wonder. Well, it's back. whoooooaaa nelly! It's funny, weird really. How it can take something so tragic as losing a most dear loved one to remember what it means to be alive. Call it a cliche, but cliches are just nuggets of truth so obvious we think we shouldn't need reminding...yet we do.

All the scenes tonite were great, but it was the audience clapping super loud when my name was called for the grass hopper, it was a member of my group that came up to me, a member i'm not super close with saying how much he loved watching me perform that made my night.

bloggy boo

So often it feels like we don't let ourselves be happy for others around us, bask in their sucess. It's not our fault. We want to do better, ourselves. We want to be the astronaut named Neil Armstrong, hiding any likeness to Buzz Aldren in the closet. Sometimes i wish the word comparison never was invented. It was a pure joy last nite, listening to XRT after a rousing game of sardines with improv pals, to hear the Dj start talking about Ezra Furman and the Harpoons, how Ezra's going to be a big thing one day soon. I couldn't hope for anything but. I went to Tufts with Ezra and while we were never super close, I can't help but smile thinking about him and his soulful way of life. Listening to his voice clink as it it hit the various notes on the table, was pure joy. Driving home, my dial on what i think to be the best radio station in town, hearing my friend's voice shake and jam and slide down for that last high note. It was hopeful. And in being happy for him, I found myself happy for myself.

And then I saw another friend, Jeff, on his bike at montrose and clark, peddling into the streetlights beyond eyesite. It felt like Chicago pinching my cheek, saying, "c'mon sister, the world loves ya, even if sometimes it doesn't show it."

In other news, camping this weekend with improv troup. For serious. Not the punchline of a joke... we shall see how this goes. And then shows! for 8 solid weeks on sunday nites at i.o. Can ya believe it's finally time?There's a dude bein a real jerk in our group...and i don't think he's aware of it, so maybe on a small level he's not to blame, but he's making everyone real jumpy. And killin the happy improv spirit. I'm trying to be as nice as possible to him, kill 'em with kindness ya know, but being around him makes me mad, sad, and a gazillion other feelings of distress and disappointment. I just had a discussion with a spicy irish gal bout him about his blog and how offensive it was, how totally rude and mean. Well, i have said nothing that I would not be happy to discuss...with anybody. And the past entry was taken down, due a similar occurence. I don't want to upset anybody within this lil bloggy boo. I'm just one girl. These are my wanderings. I hope they allow the few readers out there to get to know me better, somehow. However, if they're upsetting, that is when the line gets drawn.

Would you like a side of salty with that success?

So many people have such long arms--they want to reach fame and fortune before days end. As I listen to Iron and Wine, my dirtied fingernails begging the keyboard for clemancy, I want to to lead a simple life. I don't want to be the best--just good enough. I want to feel wanted by those around me. We had our last level five class tonight at IO--and I keep getting the note that i don't act confidently enough, that I self doubt. I've been blaming myself since the beginning for that and I do shoulder the blame to an extent--but it the burden is not entirely mine. These guys in my class are so funny and so nice--well, they used to be--but they make me feel so shitty. They make me feel like they're doing me a favor by playing with me. I've improved alot no thanks to them--started saying screw it--but I'd so like to have them want to play with me. Today I was told that there's a great actress in me waiting to come out but I need to be more decisive. I will try. And I will try to speak with the ring leader of this group, group leader of sorts though i'm not sure what will come of it. Oh im a tired chickadee but will go to bed and re-energize. Nite!

Mushaboom

A Boom, a Boom!

Things are--good. Things are--chaotic. But, god damn did i miss the rush of deadlines. They give my life meaning as they define time. I relearn how to measure, using liquid and solid tablespoons of hours. I feel proud of myself, too. Not that I don't usually, just that I expect an awful lot of myself and getting this Sheckys job...helps to validate something that probably shouldn't need to be validated in the first place.

HEY I NEED THE ANTS TO GET OUT OF MY ROOM. ACK.

I just watched beaches with my roommate, Katy, and i heart that movie. Such good friends, such life! And, love, and loyalty. I non-ironically love that movie. SO bad. I walked two miles to get it today and i don't want to give it back. Actually, i miss my naomi and rebecca(hello if you read this!) who i'd want to watch it with. I realized tonight that i don't have any lets chill and watch a movie friends in chicago. This is a terrible shame.

I NEED to clean my floor. Gross.

I look around/ until I've found/someone/who laughs like you

I write fiction. I act. I improvise. I make up wild stories about wild people. An ex-ballerina who now coaches her daughter on how to pick oranges more gracefully. I've been told that my writing has always the breath of sadness on it. The way in winter if you blow on a restaurant window, it fogs up. The inverse of that with cold. Real life always cuts deeper. It hopes harder, too. But that trickle of ice slices like no story could. At least, if it's happening to you.

This should be a thrilled entry, an ectatic, my GOD your life is happening to YOU entry. A national arts and entertainment guide asked me to be their local editor. This-is-great. I can see myself once more. But, that song. By madeleine Peyroux. I listened to it like a zombie for months after leaving ireland. Feeling like I'd never find anyone who laughed this high pitched chortle so ugly it was adorable. I still haven't. And that is no story.

But, hey, lets cheers anyways. Because I'm an american--who couldn't you tell--values the merits of work over the merits of anything else. Deny them as I'd like, they're evident in the story of my life which feels, sometimes, like fiction.

Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye~

six feet under

To the old addage that television wastes the brain and numbs the soul, I'd encourage a viewing of six feet under, the HBO drama about a family who runs a funeral parlor. It's not a new show, in fact it ended in '05, but there's a kicking energy that's relevant still and, I'd estimate, for some time to come.

The last episode was just broadcast on Bravo and watching it--there are so many of my own memories, montages, amidst its own scenes. It ends with one of the main characters, the one closest in age to me(Claire), driving out to New York without a job, taking a chance. I compare the open roads of Arizona, New Mexico, Iowa...to the hills and valleys of Andalucia. The populace of olive trees everprescent no matter the hour, season. At twilight there they'd be, these green buds, these doves of welcome.

I'd pull into the bus station and after a time, it became routine. But as we'd make the final ascent, we'd turn a curve and suddenly--GRANADA. Often, I'd be listening to the six feet under soundtrack as we'd make the final push. Something...some feeling of like-minded independance drew me to it. I was alone. I was on my own. And I was in motion towards something.

I can't feel more different now. I feel--grounded. Stoic. Nothing is new anymore in that sense of open spaces, but that's not to say that I don't enjoy the graciousness of the simple and expected. There are comforts of home.

But, last year--last year I was Claire. I was--unsure and uncertain and playing back a reel of memories of loved ones that I knew where out there waiting for me whenever I should return. I had Juan who came to the bus station to meet me that first day in Grenada, his red polo shirt and jeans up to his waist closed tight with a brown belt.
We took each other in. It had been years, two, since we last saw each other and we looked at each as as people who'd never thought to see the other again. How funny, how amazing life is, we said.

We took the 10 bus to his apartment and took the elevator up four flights. His apartment was akin to mine in preigo: long, with many bedrooms, a small living room, and very neat. The kitchen was white and next to a small porch. The refridgerator had some ham, vinegar, milk, and little else in it. Olive oil camped out next to the stove.

It was a beginning! I was beginning! Am i still?

And i was content, though lonely, my pulse quickening at the thought of home.

Where am I now? I'm at home, but I miss the road. I don't know if there are a place for such wandering, wondering hearts. Perhaps one of this years crops of tv shows will try to answer that, but for now I'll end with a quote from an earlier episode.

"Why do people have to die?"
"So life can be important."

Strangers with or without Candy

What is it about the new that's so terrying to some? So inspriring to others? This will be a short post, I'm tired, but--i was asked today whether I often talked to people I didn't know. I found this to be a curious question. Mostly, because I was raised that way. My dad used to sit in the front seat of cabs and find out the life stories of the cabbies and i would sit in the back, fascinated but shy. Incapacitated, really. I wonder how people can live their days feeling so afraid of what they might find out there in the big bad world. I mean, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, no? where did that idea go? I can't imagine a day not wanting to meet someone new. Maybe they'd teach me something, maybe we could help each other--somehow.

To avoid contact with others is to be the supreme egoist--to think we are perfect as we are, not needing anything. Well, i need alot. I need alot of answers, aight? And i think thats a wonderful thing, to need the whole wide world, linking arms and histories , the longest genetic code in existence.

Where is Mr Rogers where I need him? You'll never know who you'll meet when you're walking down the street...