Consequences

I just left a comment for Allie, the wondrous author of Hyperbole and a Half. And immediately, I thought, FUCK, I really hope she doesn't come look at MY blog...(though it's pretty vain to think she will, but whatever.) I feel like I just invited eighty people to my pigsty apartment (including every guy I've been interested in for the past three years), and they'll be here any second, only to find my heaps of clothing and dirty plates and CD cases and unopened mail, all punctuated by pockets of total crap every few feet. Jesus.

Allie Brosh, iHigh Mistress of Funny, if by some horrible miracle you happen to come here and read this, please be gentle and merciful and leave quietly. Thank you.

Oh, offseason...

From this side of the holidays, the baseball season looks FAR closer. And is it just me, or did the holiday season seem to last forever this year? I mean, I felt like the holiday frenzy revved up well before Thanksgiving, which I guess isn't new, but there was a sort of weird intensity to it this year. It makes me dislike the holiday season more each year...let's just all calm down, shall we? Christmas would be so much more fun if everyone actually did what they wanted to do, instead of continuing to see people they don't really want to see, buy presents out of obligation, and generally wear themselves out because that's the way they've always done it.

Anyways, baseball. It's coming. Target Field may be a block of ice right now, but still, it's coming. While we all wait for spring, all we have to amuse ourselves is the off season shuffle of players from one team to another, and the grand chess match that is the assembling of the roster for the coming year. Oh, the drama.

First of all, let me say I'm intrigued by the Japanese kid. I know, that's not a flattering or PC way to refer to him, but I promise I'll learn his name soon. I know he hasn't played in the majors yet, I know he's an unknown quantity, but attitude goes a very long way with me, and his is good. Team player, hard worker, good-natured and ready for anything: that's how we roll. I'm eager to see what he can do.

As to the other decision in the infield, I'm less than thrilled. Letting BOTH Hudson and Hardy go? Hm. We are not amused. We are even less amused with the putting of all our eggs in the Casilla basket. I'm not convinced on that one. I liked Hudson and I really, really liked Hardy, so this is a tough one to swallow. But in the spirit of trying to live more in the present each day, I'm going to give Casilla a chance. And I can see where that money we saved is headed...

Working on keeping Pavano and Thome. VERY GOOD CHOICE. Pavano fits here, he likes it here, he was a leader on our young staff. We need him. And the fact that he is great here and was a colossal waste of time and money for the Yankees is something I will never get tired of. And Uncle Jim...we must, must, MUST keep Uncle Jim. It was so nice to have a legitimate DH last year, someone we could actually count on to get the big hit when we needed it. I don't care that he's getting old. I don't care that he can't field his position. I don't care about any of it. Because I was SO GLAD to have a DH that actually made pitchers nervous. And if there's a better example for young players to look up to, I have no idea who it would be. The man exemplifies class and integrity, and that's the sort of guy we want on this team. That's the sort of guy EVERYONE should want on their team. So yeah, if we have an aging DH with a few shortcomings in Jim Thome, I'll still take him. HANDS DOWN.

And lastly, the pitching. Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly comfortable with the rotation OR the bullpen thus far...we don't have an ace, the rest of the starters are shaky, the bullpen is pretty patchy, blah blah blah. However, I am here to tell you that when I heard Jesse Crain was leaving, my first thought was: FINALLY. FINALLY I don't have to watch him schlep into the game to give up some gigantic hit and blow the game. And before anyone starts squawking about the great last half of last year, let me just say, THINK BACK. Think back to BEFORE that time. Think back to every time he came into the game and left something hanging over the plate like a big grapefruit, and all the times you groaned in disgust. Think about it. Happened a lot, didn't it? And even when he came in last year, during his blaze of glory (which I don't remember as being that impressive, frankly; I still got a hot, sick rush of panic whenever I saw him trotting out to the mound), were you ever REALLY confident? I mean, REALLY? Of course you weren't. Because if you remember his entire tenure with us, you'd remember that in his hands, the baseball is a land mine, just waiting to explode its way over the fence. There is a reason I have a physiological response to his presence in a game. There is a reason I break out into a sweat and rub my hands over my face in terror. There is a reason I'm happy to see him go. And that's because it was past time for him to leave. And if you still, STILL think I'm nuts and you STILL say he was brilliant last year, I would submit that even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in awhile (like Brett Favre last year) and that it's very, very unlikely that it will be repeated in the next season (like Brett Favre this year.) And sure, we might not have much in the way of replacements for Jesse Pain, but honestly, if I'm going to watch a disaster on the mound, I am ready for a NEW disaster, instead of the same one I've been watching for the last six years. Particularly since any new disaster will likely be younger and have lots of room for improvement, unlike Jesse Crain, who isn't getting any younger and whose full potential has already been seen. And as if there were any more hint from the universe that this man is not meant to be with the Twins, he's now with the White Sox. As a closer. A position previously held by Bobby Jenks, the grossest, most thuggish creature in the majors. I won't go so far as to paint Crain with the same brush, but I'm just saying. That team, that position? I'm going out on a limb and saying our hitters will be licking their chops to get on some of those big fat sliders (which is his (only) out pitch, and everyone knows it).

So. Just going to soak up some winter sun, and keep an ear to the ground, hoping to see Pavano and Thome back for more this year. Oh, and maybe read some Thomas Boswell or Roger Angell to keep me in the baseball place...I don't think it's any coincidence that the most eloquent writers in sport are baseball writers.


"Don't tell me about the world. Not today. It's springtime and they're knocking baseball around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball." ~Pete Hamill

Soon.

On cleaning the kitchen

I am about to clean my kitchen. I actually enjoy cleaning the kitchen; I'm good at it. I've only become good at it, because I have to do it quite often. When I cook, I manage to dirty almost every mixing bowl, every bit of cookware, every wooden spoon I have. But whatever comes out of the chaos tastes great, fills me up, and leaves me utterly indifferent to the piles of dirty dishes cluttering my very limited counter space.

I'm not a neat person, I've made my peace with that. I don't particularly enjoy cleaning, though every once in awhile it's cathartic for me. Except the kitchen: when it's a disaster, as it is now, I enjoy putting it back together. I like turning on some music that moves my body, and singing along as things become clean and find their homes again. And when I'm all done, I have no compunction whatsoever about finding a new recipe and immediately 'dirtying' it all up again. Maybe it's because a clean kitchen is nothing more than a space that hums with potential of the next experiment. Apart from the obvious part about needing my pots and pans ready for the next recipe, I don't clean the kitchen because I need it to be clean (as my mom does.) I clean it because it already feels like I'm creating something new.

Maybe I can apply this to the way my closet regularly disassembles itself into the rest of the house, or the way my books levitate off the shelves and set up residence in a huge heap next to my chair, my couch, my bed...

Tech

I'm not a director. Or I could be, but only in the sense that I like to help my performers (kids, not my peers) unlock ideas with their own creativity and instincts. I don't like driving the juggernaut of a show, making sure it's coming to fruition in a certain period of time. Some of my kids have never done a show in their lives, and Ifeel like this is overwhelming for them--it was overwhelming for ME, at age 20, doing my first show, much less being in that horrible insecure, self-loathing place of middle school. I don't have a vision for the show, a certain take on it that I'm trying to get my kids to perform. That doesn't matter to me, and anyways, it seems the playwright had a pretty good idea about that anyways, so I'm going with what he had in mind.

Having said that, I've arrived at that horrible time in tech week where it seems like nothing is working, where we're under-rehearsed because I have spread myself too thin, trying to do too much...lighting set, props, costumes, publicity. I only hope my own fears and subsequent desperate need for control haven't come at the expense of my actors, some of whom are fragile and just shyly emerging into the work. Please let me not ruin this for them.

And all on a Sunday

Today we:

1) Got Joe Mauer for pretty much the rest of his life.

2) Enacted the most broad, sweeping domestic social justice legislation in decades.

I am very relieved, proud, and jubilant.

Big day.

For Dawn

A woman died today at Seaworld. An orca (can I just say I HATE the term 'killer whale?' Good god, why don't we just put 'killer' in front of every carnivore on earth.) dragged her into the tank and thrashed her. It wasn't provoked, it was getting a belly rub, and suddenly just switched moods into aggression.

Someone died, doing what she loved, connecting every day with such immense, intelligent, sensitive animals. It is very sad. And all I can think when I look at her is..."God, wouldn't that be the most incredible job there is." She was just killed by an animal she loved and I STILL envy her. Isn't that odd?

Maybe it's because I want so badly for the animal not to be demonized. After all, it is not domesticated, and thus isn't as predictable as dogs or cattle or cats (and we have enough trouble with those, after thousands of years of direct association with humans.) Yet these incredible animals share so much with people, both in the wild and in captivity. They have massive brains and no one can really fathom the depth of their intelligence. Which makes this occurrence bewildering, because we all want to ardently to feel we are connecting on a deeper, conscious, emotional level with these animals. There is something about them that captures our imagination for what mysteries the animal world still contains.

That is ultimately the reason for keeping them in captivity. There is the commercial side, yes. Money is made off the peolpe who come to see these animals perform. And the habitats we create for them are pitiful in comparison to their lives in the wild. On some level it is very sad. But ultimately, that inspriation, that wonder, that absolute awe and breathtaking exhileration that people get from actually seeing these creatures...that is something we simply can't recreate in a book or on a DVD. I remember how it felt when I went to Sea World with my family. I was standing alone by the big plate glass window, in one of the tanks off to the side of the big performance area for the orcas. No one else was nearby, everyone (my family included) were waiting fort he show to start, and I had begged to go stand by the window for one last look. These animals captivated me, riveted me, I would have happily sat motionless the entire day in front of that window. And I stood, peering into the aquamarine blankness, wishing for just one more glimpse. And across the pool, I saw some vague fuzzy shape moving; I couldn't even tell which direction. And then it began to take shape as it drew nearer...the blob slowly coalesced into a baby orca, probably only ten or twelve feet, and swimming right toward me. It had seen me, and I knew it was coming to look at me. My heart was pounding as it approached the glass and paused there, giving me all its attention, watching and gently undulating in the water as we gazed at each other. I put my hand to the glass and felt the vibrations from its sonar, and it drifted closer to the window until its nose was all but touching the glass. I could see the bits of grey skin flaking off its smooth, supple, black nose, and I could hardly breathe.

This encounter could not have lasted more than three minutes, and look how indelible it is in my brain. Moments like these connect people with creatures they will very likely never see in the wild, and it is that connection that changes our view of them as a society. The knowledge, the enlightenment that comes from learning about the truly astounding capabilites of all animals, not just cetaceans, is what enables us to feel compassion for them when they need us. To make choices for them instead of strictly for ourselves. It is what gives us the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary and the international moratorium on whaling. It is what gives us national parks and wildlife refuges. It is what makes us see the animal kingdom as something to be treasured for its beauty in life, rather than commercially exploited through its slaughter or displacement or abuse or neglect.

This woman spent her life in and around a community of highly intelligent, powerful social animals...she built mutual trust with them, and I'm willing to be they learned from one another. She had the bond that transcends differences in size, strength, species and habitat. The partnership that creates fearlessness, not out of hubris or arrogance or tyranny, but out of love. She still died. And despite all that, I still believe strongly in the power of places like Sea World. Without well-managed zoos and animal parks, most people would not only be ignorant of the incredible wonders in the animal world (and we all know the fear and hostility that ignorance breeds in people), they would also be devoid of the wonder that inspires us all to learn more and to individually make a difference in the way these animals live in the wild.

Before I forget

Lotus prints. Erte. How to grow fresh air. Franz Marc. Up.

Couldn't find my post-its.