Tamagotchi's and Other Such

So I should talk about my next show. There's a lot to talk about.

It's sort of a play about evolution. It's kind of a love letter to the theater. It's a lot about the fear of extinction. And it's got a tamagotchi in it.

Do you remember tamagotchi's? They were those little "electronic babies" that told you when they wanted to eat, sleep, drink, etc. You had to push a button to meet their needs or else they wouldn't survive.

Right.

For the longest time I couldn't figure out why there was one in this play except for the fact that it was produced in 1998 and that was kind of the hey day of the Tamagotchi. But it still seemed kind of... random.

Then I read an article about Artificial Intelligence by Sherry Turkle, a professor at MIT and expert in the relationship between humans and machines.

She opens the paper by asking:
In the past fifty years, artificial intelligence has had its own internal intellectual debates and it has provoked a conversation in the larger culture, largely through the presence of computational objects. Machines that are reactive and interactive, machines that seem on the boundary of the animate, have led those who use them to new reconsiderations of human identity. If mind was program, as the field suggested, where was self? where was spirit? where was soul? AI has led people to ask, “Will machines someday be as intelligent as people?” but it has also led to another and more self-reflexive question, “Have people always been machines?”

So if Darwin's contemporaries were reeling from the information that humans evolved from animals, our generation reels at the possibility that machines could evolve from humans.

She goes on to discuss how, actually, they can't. That machines seem to have feelings only as a relational counter to a human's feelings. They seem to have emotions because we reflect our own feelings upon them.

I have a google alert on Charles Darwin.He pops up in the news all the time. Things were especially hot around February 12, which was Darwin 198th birthday.

Happy Birthday Chuck!

Recent news also includes the state of Kansas' likely return to sanity and John McCain's continued descent away from it.

As Grady says, he's kind of crazy.

You Sunk My Battleship

We cancelled rehearsal tonight because of the snow. I am trying to quiet the control fiends inside me by assuring them that there was nothing I could do to control the weather, and that really--everything will be fine.

With a newly acquired evening I was finally able to watch MASTER AND COMMANDER which is actually extremely relevant to AFTER DARWIN as it is about ship life in about the right era and they some spend time on the Galapagos Islands.

In fact, when all is said and done, they use the principles of Natural Selection to defeat the French battleship.

I was also quite taken with Paul Bettany. I mean, he operates on himself. It's pretty sexy.

Because My Personal Crises is Very Interesting

I know I shouldn't write about the frustrations and low points of what I do here... enough people that I work with or want to work with read it... and that can just be... awkward.

I saw DCeiver last night and he mentioned that I sounded blue on my blog. DCeiver was great, by the way, in the fun and fabulous Rough Magic over at Rorschach which I finally saw last night. And I got to sit next to his lovely wife without even knowing it.

So right. Blue. Not so much blue. At the time maybe minor existential crises. And I'm not being overly dramatic here. It was quite simply the market economy realization of, if what I am selling is not what people want to buy than maybe I shouldn't be selling it. Because HANDS is definitely the kind of product I want to create, and therefore sell. Because ultimately--we gotta right? We have to sell the tickets. I mean, if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it... right?

And I am fully aware that it means nothing to anybody if I say I am in love with this production because of course I am going to say that, I directed it. But those of you who know me know that I am the worst critic I could ever hope to have.

The existential crises did pass. I wish I could say I got over it on my own. I didn't. It took other's words to get me there. How tethered we are in this business to the words of others.

But then it became frustration. Because I wish I could say I didn't care anything about reviews. And I kind of don't now--not as a judgment of my worth, and that's a big step for me--but they are still so powerful in terms of getting people into a theater. Press in general. And that is what frustrates me. How do we set up a network where that all doesn't matter as much?

That's the question of the day.

I know, I sound art-y and angst-y and I so would not want to hang out with me if I were you right now.

It's Something, At Least

(I wrote this ages ago.)

Update on all things printable

I've let so much slide. Where to start.

My parents were in town last weekend. It was a great visit--they saw the show, they had lots of smart questions and reactions over beers at Marty's, Sunday we went to the Joseph Cornell exhibit then Children of Men then dinner at Zaytina. It was everything I've been wanting to do for weeks in one day: A museum, a movie, and chi-chi middle eastern food. If I'd gotten to smooch at the end, it would have been a perfect date.

I also had the embarrassing realization that I live in a city with slews of the nation's best museums--all free--and I only make it to an exhibit when my parents are passing through town.

Lame.

The Post review also came out that day. It was good to have them around to put out some minor emotional fires. I'm not going to grace that with too much attention, the whole thing is yet again baffling. More than anything it made me question whether there is a market for what I am trying to sell, and if there is not--should I just step aside and let other people do it?

The upside is, we have still been getting good houses and the reactions I am getting from people are reassuring.

The week itself was covered in a wintry mix--of rehearsals, valentines day, meetings, a couple of shows, and catch-ups with friends.

I saw Orson's Shadow and really enjoyed it. Was so not geared up for a show, dragged myself there, and proceeded to be moved, amused, impressed and inspired. Go figure. Austin Pendleton was there to see the show, saw him buzzing around the lobby looking a little scattered and confused. It brought me back to summer of 1995--I was living in Chicago and I saw Mr. Pendleton in his show at Steppenwolf. My how time does fly.

Saw Lear on Saturday--probably not the best Lear to see when seeing Lear for the first time, but there were indeed some visually stunning moments and really gutsy performances. I'm just not sure how the whole thing was supposed to add up.

Also had designer meetings to gear up for Dali. I'm very excited about how that whole team is shaping up.

And Darwin is going well--despite a vicious time-crunch that we are all feeling. I dig my actors--who are good and smart and quick and absolutely relentless teasers. It reminds me of being around my brother. In a good way.

In other news, I have been eating lots and lots of terrible food, which was so not the plan for 2007.

And the action for the month is: To confront things head on.

That Face Recognition Thing That You Can't Help But Try

The one above is from a picture where I'm not smiling.


This is from one where I am smiling.

Hmmm. Apparently I'm a virtual melting pot.

Electric Bodies

Feeling blue. Maybe it's the weather.

My rehearsal was cancelled last night which meant I should have been catching up on work I need to be doing on this next play (including researching the average size of a water hog, which is in fact a really big Guinea Pig--but we won't go down that road again).

Instead I started watching episodes of the Twilight Zone on Youtube. Curse you Casie Platt!

I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC. Somehow I could tie this in with the evolution of artificial intelligence, a minor theme in this next play. But not really.

It bothered me a bit that the way the oldest sister finally learned to love her electric grandmother was when g-ma-ma vowed that she would never, ever die, never, ever go away. What's the lesson there?

Anyway. I'm wading in a bit of self-doubt these days. I just don't think I see the world the way that other people do and it's disheartening.

Maybe I need a body electric.

Ah yes and it's Valentine's Day. I got a package with no card yesterday. I'm not sure if it was for opening a show or for Valentine's day. It is a theater related gift, sufficiently mysterious to distract me from the fact that I don't actually have a valentine. No idea who sent it and no way to figure it out. Maybe better if I don't, because it's kind of more fun that way.

Things About HH That Made Me Smile

1. Gallu

2. Because R&G and Ui were both nominated for best ensemble, I think that every non-equity male actor in DC was nominated this year. Thus any show I ever work on will probably have a “Helen Hayes nominated blah-blah-blah” in it. So right, good press.

3. Gallu.

4. Karl Miller was nominated, so maybe we’ll get to see him again. Talking to him outside of the awards last year was one of the high points of my evening (that was last year, right?). That, and of course, seeing mb dressed up all pretty. And when DCepticon sat next to me on the stairs. And when Adrienne talked about sock puppets.

5. Mr. Calarco, again, bravo.

6. Gallu.

7. ACP. Last time, when he won for TWO GENTS, I was late because I had a major meltdown over hairspray and I missed his speech. Maybe it’ll happen again and I won’t miss it this time.

8. Granted, I will only get to see the awards if SOME PEOPLE do the THINGS THAT THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING. Ahem, Gallu.

9. Gallu.

I didn't see enough theater this year to have strong opinions about what deserved a nod and didn't get one, but the few that do come to mind are: Don Juan (odd that the only Shakespeare Theater show I really dug received but a costume mention... I thought Jeremy Webb was pretty masterful), The Monument (gutsy and bold performances from both Mendenhall and Alexander--also the design work--what, shows that spent less than $10,000 on a set are not eligible for nominations?), Fat Pig (I know I'm not the only one), Red Light Winter (didn't love the play but was very impressed by the performances). I also loved the acting and design work in Velvet Sky, and Maia and Todd Scoffield in Bal Masque.

So, right.

More about my show and other stuff to come, soon.

Free Will-y Nilly

CANCER (June 21–July 22): Happy Valentine Daze, Cancerian! I sing a sly wow toward the sky and murmur a resonant yow toward the earth in rowdy reverent gratitude for the wonders that come your way from the special people in your life. I send out a special yaya and gaga to that Mysterious Other who has the power to challenge you, teach you, confound you, inspire you, and love you almost as well as you love yourself. Long may your story unfold in all of its enigmatic glory! Long may you liberate each other from your suffering!

Thanks to Gwenergy for the horoscope inspiration. It stands to be mentioned that this "mysterious other" has yet to reveal himself to me. Or maybe he already passed through the sliding glass door of my soul and I missed him.

The funny thing is, I've kind of always suspected that the right match would engage in a mutual "liberation from suffering" with me (that sounds kind of dirty but I didn't mean it that way). I told this to a friend once.

"I mean, my match needs to have my world view! He has to understand that the world is awful and will never get any better! He has to know that human kind is predispositioned to be cold and mean and selfish. And then he has to unite with me in a little bubble of goodness within the great sea of bad and fight against it by my side."

And my tall friend CG looked down at me and his eyes said so clearly "No wonder you're single."

Shiners

Real Cafe?

Hello, Benjamin.

About six months ago I started to experience something of a Mrs. Robinson syndrome.

First it was a twenty-six-year-old-actor-surfer-trapeze-artist from northern california. Our paths crossed while working on a show and at a cast gathering afterwards it suddenly occurred to me that he was flirting with me.

On the drive home with my apparent doppelganger Colin (last night we got yet another--"Wait, are you guys related?"--which makes no sense whatsoever considering he is coursing with Aryan blood) I asked him, "Could blue-eyed surfer boy actually have been hitting on me? I mean does he know how OLD I am?"

Colin said I was being silly.

I don't mean to be obsessed with age. But I value each and every one of my thirty-one years because I recognize that they have each played an important role in making me who I am--for better and indeed for worse. Twenty-six isn't THAT young, but jeez, I'd just moved to DC when I was twenty-six and that was at least a lifetime ago.

Since then I have had a twenty-three year old and a twenty-four year old (who keeps reminding me that he turns tweny-five in March) shower attention on me that so far surpasses what anyone born before 1980 has expressed to me in years--YEARS!--and it makes me think, hmmmm, it's nuts, you know?

Maybe it's not.

I think the older we get the more careful we get. We don't say anything that might be misleading, we don't commit to ANYTHING--even a strong feeling, we look forty-two times before we leap, we seek out the flaws before ever allowing ourselves to be dazzled by the allure, we examine, we disect, we judge, we dismiss, we suppress, we edit, we restrain.

So last night it was a sweet twenty-two year old from Vermont. And I'm sitting there talking to him and thinking about how trusting I was when I was twenty-two. I believed everything I was told in a relationship setting. I wasn't stupid, I wasn't naive, but I was hopeful, optimistic, and trusting.

I can literally trace each bump that took me off course of each of those things...

But the thing is, I don't think you can ever go back. I mean, you can believe again, you can be convinced to trust, you can find faith in someone--all of those things. But the twenty-two year old self just isn't there anymore.

She's driving in her 1990 Eagle Summit somewhere on a back road in Winston-Salem listening to the Indigo Girls on a mix tape made just for her with a window open and tears on her cheeks.

Wherever I Go I Know He Goes

We opened on Saturday. I love this show. I started feeling extremely protective of it mid-week, which is a silly way to feel about a show. We do theater so that we can share it. And there I was wrapping my arms around this one like it was a beautiful precocious child that needed to be sheltered from a world full of people that might not "get" it.

Let it be. Let it go. Let it climb on jungle gyms and eat candy from Wal-Mart and watch bad television and such.

What a strange week. Strange feelings, strange emotional shifts, strange conversations.

I had a chat today with my best friend from childhood, who is considering having her second child (her first has been featured here on occasion). She's taking a sort of poll--"Are you better off for having had a sibling/being an only child?"

I think it's a tricky way to go about this. It's like when people ask me "So what's it like to have a twin?" I get this all the time. I'm sure all twins do.

Thing is, I have no idea what it's like not to be a twin. Right? Because that's all I've ever known.

I imagine it is difficult for any of us to separate ourselves from our sibling situation.

I mean, the quick response is--I love having a brother my age. We had our rough patches, sure, but only a few of them involved bodily harm. I fact, I can't entirely separate my existence and identity from my twin. For many years this was a bad thing, now I think it is a complex and distinctive thing. Having a brother helped me to define my views on gender distinctions. Which was, from a pretty young age, that there shouldn't be gender distinctions--or at least not limitations. At seven this wasn't a political stand it was simply the belief that if my brother could do something there was no good reason why I couldn't try it too. It worked both ways.

This degree of gender neutrality has been both a blessing and a curse. But I can't imagine who I would be had I'd been on my own.

T is worried that her child S will resent having to share things. Will wonder someday why she wasn't enough for her parents all on her own. But I think having to share things makes someone a more interesting little person. It helps one navigate the world. Small ones who get everything they want from everyone they want it from run the risk of being a bit insufferable. And I've never known anyone to wonder whether their parents had a second child simply because they weren't child enough on their own.

Anyone got thoughts on this out there? Content only children? Resentful siblings? Parental units? I'd love to hear...

Wordsmiths

We have a running joke at the Catalyst meetings about my tendency to crush on playwrights (and by joke I mean Chris bugs me about it and I get red and flustered). These crushes happen regardless of gender or sexual orientation. I think playwrights who can do wonderful things with words are pretty darn alluring. It is a very specific kind of talent crush.

I like it. Don't make me stop, okay?

So here's this site that is kind of like crack to my crushing.

The photos are amazing. Are all of them from Timeout/NY Times articles? Or is he doing this on his own? Are they only New York based playwrights? And will he consider the project complete when he reaches a certain number?

Anyone know?