And WHY isn't my life a Nancy Meyers film?

Confession: Despite the fact that It's Complicated (like most Nancy Meyers films) is a totally mediocre film, I raptly watch it every time it is available--like now, for instance.  I have no real explanation for this, outside of the fact that if Nancy Meyers (or Nora Ephron) are attached to a film, it's love.  Generally.  Meyers is like the cinematic equivalent of Elizabeth Berg.  Everything is so cozy in that world.  Women in Nancy Meyers films have lush gardens, great relationships/men (at every age), fabulous clothes, amazing girlfriends, and perfect gorgeous cozy homes.  And nice kitchens.  Always.  Money is never a struggle for the Nancy Meyers women. 

This slightly silly, out of reach, lifestyle is something I think I secretly aspire to.  Is that vain and stupid stupid?

I have no interest in playing Susie Homemaker, but I love entertaining and hostessing.  At this point in my life, however, I can't even fathom what it must be like to own a house.  It sounds preposterous.  I can't even imagine having my own apartment again.  Thanks to tour I won't need one thru April and then who knows?

You know what I wonder?  I wonder what I'll do after tour is over.  Will I live in Dallas?  Will another opportunity present itself?  Will I suddenly become hyper-ballsy and try New York?

...I don't think I'm ready for that yet.  Wonder if I'll ever be.

You know what is disappointing about the way I've handled my life thus far?  I've had such crazy ambitions and dreams since I was...well, for as long as I can remember, and I feel like I'm still moving at a glacial pace.  Nothing has happened.  I mean, I'm working.  But have I been lazy?  Could I have worked harder and been some entrepreneurial billionaire right now?

I have an intense craving to write something significant.  I don't mean that I want to write anything deep or epic necessarily--but something lengthy.  A book, or a screenplay, or something... I'm about to (strangely enough) have enough time on my hands where I could absolutely pool my excess energy into a big project.  But what should it be?

I think the real issue is that as soon as life slows down for a minute, I start panicking over the way I'm managing it.  I've just finished a stretch of 40 days straight of 10+ hours of work and suddenly (though I'm still teaching this week) I have time on my hands and a little anxious about the future.

Alright, time to start pondering my big project.  Until then, we'll just take life one day at a time...

My last month and how I'm about to be old

Hi friends. I apologize for neglecting the blog. Here is a very brief update on the crazy that has occurred over the past month.

1. The Wiz opens this coming Friday. It has been a challenging but hugely informative learning experience and it has only further secure my love for doing theatre "on the other side of the table."
2. Through happenstance/magic, I booked a show that will perform in Lancaster, PA September-November, (come home for the holidays), Ft Myers, Florida January-February, and Mesa, Arizona March-April. I am excited beyond belief. It combines my two greatest passions: theater and travel!!
3. Before that show happens, I will be performing in/dance captaining Gypsy at Lyric Stage.
4. Between June 6 and this coming Friday, I will have worked 40 days straight (minus the 4th of July) with 10+ hours of work every day. In that span of time I will have also opened 3 shows. Wonderfully, I love my job(s) so I happily accept exhaustion to pursue my passions!
5. I choreographed my first full musical this last month. I choreographed Oliver for Lyric Stage Performing School Of the Arts. I adore choreographing and teaching stupid amounts, and hope to pursue both of these jobs forever.
6. In the midst of opening the Wiz, I am choreographing Guys and Dolls for Genesis Theater. It has been another wonderful choreographing/teaching experience.
7. I teach a musical theatre class over the next two weeks at the dance studio I attended/did tap company in in high school. Full circle. These things I love.

...I think that is mostly everything. Needless to say, it has been a whirlwind month but wonderful one in which I have learned copious amounts. Life is good, y'all.

PS I turn 22 on Tuesday. How did THAT happen?!!

The Pursuit of Happiness and a Meaningful Life

Note: This is my response to an article my mother emailed me from the NYTimes. Here's the link.

Mr. Brooks:
What a dreary, clinical portrait you conjure of the world in which I am about to enter.  Two weeks ago, I received my BFA in Theatre; I have essentially set myself up for the least lucrative or "sensible" career available and I couldn't be more excited. I have waited two decades to throw myself into the maelstrom of adulthood and have it promptly and repeatedly kick my entitled behind; I am ecstatic. You say every sensible middle aged person would kill to go back to being 22--this may be the case. (Anytime I bemoan some menial college woe, my mother sings "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" from Avenue Q loudly and pointedly.) Given your tsk-tsk condescension for the typical 20-something wide-eyed idealism and "selfishness," I can't imagine what you find appealing about returning to the age of seemingly endless opportunity and exploration.

I think a return to college would provide quite a shock to the baby boomers. For my mother, "going to college" meant leaving suburban Texas for the broader, more diverse excitement of a college campus. For me, "going to college" entailed narrowing my metropolitan world to a bizarre, false reality of trust-fund babies and largely bored professors. Has college prepared me for life? Possibly, but certainly not in the ways my tuition-paying parents envisioned. My college experience has most significantly taught me that passion fuels progress. What did I learn from my tenured professors who were too jaded to challenge their pupils? That if I ever find life that dull, I'm doing a disservice to everyone around me and I need a change of career immediately. It is my suspicion that these professors became professors because they followed your ideology of doing the "sensible" thing. Unfortunately, their "sensibility" has squandered all sensitivity towards what education should be. The problem with eliminating passion from one's career is that it hinders not only what is produced but also the progress of those collaborating.

The generation that has raised us preaches theology that hasn't even necessarily led them to successful and fulfilling lives.  Why follow the "sensible" or expected path if it hasn't fulfilled our elders? Selfishness is innate (and is often a means to a collectively positive end) and that is no more apparent than in a newly independent college graduate. I'm mostly confused about where you suppose "doing the expected thing" will get us.  Why not pursue life as an artist (like yourself) or librarian or elephant trainer?  Someone has to do these things; it may as well be someone who loves doing them.  I recently had a childhood friend pass away in the tornado in Tuscaloosa; this has been a monumental reminder that we 20-somethings are not as invincible as we think we are.  Our life could very well end as abruptly anyone else's.  Why not enjoy the time we have?  Why not enjoy the minimal responsibility we carry at the start of adulthood--without spouses or children or the need to take care of our elders.  Why not travel?  Why not experience the world?  Why not share art?  I know dozens of people in my parents' generation who did the right and expected thing and are no happier for it. A steady, selfless job (is there such a thing?) will not stop the world from throwing curveballs and catastrophes.

You say successful young people are summoned by problems. I am called by a solution; does that make my life less meaningful? Twyla Tharp said, "Art is the only way to run away without leaving home." Art often provides an elucidating or illuminating lens through which one may appreciate or learn about life. Most importantly, however, art provides an escape. And in a time such as ours, couldn't we all use some clarity and a chance to escape?

I, too, love reading biographies of people far more impressive than I, but what you and I find impressive seems to be diametrically different.  I admire people who pursue what they love--oftentimes, this does indeed mean a more arduous life. Choosing passion over practicality is scarier and much more difficult than doing the expected thing. Do I admire excellence first?  Yes.  But excellence stems from passion, passion from pleasure, and pleasure from happiness.

It seems to me, Mr. Brooks, that you argue for a passionless, scared generation of young adults. Despite your advice, I anticipate working as hard as possible to ensure that is not the case. I choose passion, and I think it will be both in my best interest and to the benefit of others with whom I may share that passion that I do so.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Grandmama's house was magical. She made sure it was stocked with anything we could possibly want every time we came over. If she didn't have it, we went out and found it. This isn't to say that I required anything other than her company; her company was all I ever needed. Regardless, she typically had a stock of Hot Tamales (my favorite candy), pringles, mashed potatoes whenever possible, my favorite Disney movies, and books. Of the books, my favorites were always the Choose Your Own Adventure. Spontaneity and I are in love—we have been for quite some time. Thus, the Choose Your Own Adventure books were the best. You are in control of your plot. You have options every step of the way. Anything can happen.

There is nothing more thrilling to me than traveling without an agenda. I still find myself giddy over getting on a plane, bus, or train to a new place with no plans and minimal funds. (Okay, maybe I would be okay with a little more funds.) I need to find a way to travel and experience culture professionally. I could be like Anthony Bourdain—but with the arts and less scruff and snark.

I've had an overwhelming need to blog over the past couple of days, but have had absolutely no time...until now. Let me bring you up to speed on what I've been up to. Cabaret closed on Sunday night (which now seems like an eternity ago.) I start working from 9am-11pm everyday all summer in two weeks. I just graduated from college. All of these things added up in my head to vacation. Due to my incessant vicarious online traveling searches, I learned of a program AirTran has for people ages 18-22 where you can fly standby one-way for $70. Not bad, right? The three places you can get to from Dallas for $70 are Atlanta, Baltimore/Washington, and Orlando. Since Atlanta isn't terribly appealing, I don't have enough money to go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, and I'd never been to Washington D.C., I figured now was the time. It also happens that several of my idols (Bernadette Peters, Jan Maxwell, and Elaine Paige) were in a production of Sondheim's Follies at the Kennedy Center. Why wouldn't I try to go to D.C.? I texted my pal Truett (whom I've known since birth but who happened to be in the same theatre program I attended at SMU) to see if she might want to be my traveling companion. She, too, had never been to Washington D.C. (she was supposed to go the year of 9/11 with school; I transferred the year to Hockaday the year after they went and the year before St. John's went.) She had also not taken a vacation since junior year of high school. We were both concerned about funds, but through the graciousness of my mother, the travel-budgeting-smarts she instilled in me at a very young age, some determination, and some graduation money, we made it work. We packed Monday night, took a brief nap, and headed to DFW airport at 3am in the morning. The first flight to Baltimore was booked, and our AirTran attendant informed us that all flights to Baltimore were oversold—as were those getting to Atlanta. She didn't seem to understand that I was going to go on this trip. Do not mess with me and my mischievous plans. After some negotiating, she begrudgingly put us on standby for a 7:00am flight to Atlanta and then a 10am flight to Dulles International.

We made both flights.

9 hours later, very tuckered but excited Truett and Katharine trekked into D.C. and took the metro to Columbia Heights where a high school friend's cousin lives. (Yep, we'll use any avenue possible.) I wish I had blogged about D.C. as we arrived—or shortly thereafter. I haven't felt as jazzed about a city as I did D.C. in a long, long while. I loved Quebec City (and would like to vacation there indefinitely) and I loved San Francisco (and have no doubt that I will return), but I now want to move to Washington D.C. It is perfect. It is the lovechild of New York City and San Francisco. For some reason, I had this strange impression that D.C. was this super corporate, distant, formal place. I was an idiot. D.C. is beautiful. Somebody up there must have wanted us to have a perfect adventure because the weather in DC was glorious. It seems like every neighborhood we visited in D.C. was more perfect than the last and I found myself wanting to live in every one of them. The city is pedestrian, accessible, diverse, friendly, but to the point. It is eclectic and artsy and not at all as serious as I had imagined. There are dogs everywhere. Ladies are either wearing jogging attire or sundresses. (I fit right in.)

After quickly settling into our basement apartment in Columbia Heights (which was adorable...and oh, wait! across from the National Zoo...) we walked to the Kennedy Center. I love walking in cities, but I occasionally pay the price. Thanks to some super cute but unfortunately uncomfortable flats Truett let me borrow, I earned the blisters of the century. They were totally worth it. And thanks to an 8 buck Payless purchase, they are happily freed in my new, kinda ugly flip flops.

The Kennedy Center is stunning. It is enormous, grand, and lavish. There are a million performance spaces, fountains, and quotes everywhere of famous people discussing how wonderful art is. I was both in awe and at home. Follies was beautiful—but it was mostly so phenomenal to be in the space and be seeing that many Broadway legends on one stage. Pretty phenomenal.

The next day, Truett and I walked the city. (There isn't a better way to acquaint yourself with a city than by walking it, you know?) We had entirely too much fun. We went to the eastern market and grabbed some farmers-markety lunch, strolled around that gorgeous neighborhood, walked to the Capitol and National Mall, did some cartwheels, and headed to the bus station.

I'm actually kind of glad I didn't visit D.C. as a 6^th or 8^th grader—I wouldn't have nearly the same kind of appreciation as I do now. Goodness knows I would've been preoccupied with flirting with some boy or feeling awkward about my outfit and not at all paying attention to the city that runs our nation. As a 21 year old who has actually now been able to vote and care about who resides in these buildings, I was quite in awe of them.

After our tour of the monuments/buildings/neighborhoods of D.C., we headed to the bus station. For the first time ever, I was sad to be going to New York City. I have never had that feeling before. The bus was quite an experience. We only paid $20, and let me tell you: we got what we paid for. Our bus driver was truly bizarre and most unhappy to be doing his job. He got especially perturbed by traffic. After getting lost a couple of times, some weird detours, and 6 hours, we arrived in the Big Bad Apple. (As we got off the bus, he exclaimed to us, “Man! That was pretty good, right? You wouldn't even have known I had never driven a bus before!”)

….jaw drops. And it suddenly all makes sense.

In NYC, we met up with my dear friend who is letting us stay with them, went out, came home, and got some much needed sleep. The next day (yesterday), we met up with my friend Kristin. We went to Whole Foods, packed ourselves picnics, and laid out in the grass in Sheep's Meadow in Central Park. It was beautiful. We then waited in line for three hours for Book of Mormon standing room tickets, lost, and split up in a mad frenzy to find cheap tickets to a show with only 30 minutes before shows started. Normal Heart? No go. How to Succeed? No go. Jerusalem? No go. Sister Act? General Rush. Done. Was it silly and stupid? Yes. Did I enjoy myself ridiculous amounts? Absolutely. It was a total blast and Patina Miller is so talented it's stupid. And Victoria Clark....I mean, isn't she always brilliant?

I then met up with my high school bestie, Bayla, one of her Jew crew buddies Marcus, and Kavitha, another high school friend. We explored the Lower East Side and had a magical time. After introducing Truett to the wonder of cheap, delicious Amadeus pizza, we called it a night.

Today is its own adventure. I'm preparing to wait for hours and hours for Book of Mormon standing room (because I will see that show before we leave), but while Truett's grabbing lunch with a friend, I'm taking myself on a trip to Brighton Beach and Coney Island. I'm sure it's not nice, but I'm also sure it will have character.

So, here I am now, sitting alone on the B train downtown towards Brighton Beach listening to “I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City.” I am surrounded by people who look nothing like me all headed to a hundred wonderful places around this island. I am so incredibly happy.

On Magic, Kate Wetherhead, and Dragons

I'm watching How to Train Your Dragon for the umpteenth time.  This is indicative of two things:

1. I have graduated from college and am so petrified of adulthood that I am moving in retrograde towards infancy--like Benjamin Button, except less hot than Brad Pitt--and...

2. The movies I watch repeatedly are not necessarily brilliant (although this one is pretty great.)  The movies I watch repeatedly are the ones that have the best scores.  A good plot is helpful; a brilliant score is imperative.  This score is perfect.  No, really.

You know how I keep fixating on the transcendent?  The score of How to Train Your Dragon is transcendent.  Download "Test Drive" on iTunes right now.  Then, watch this video:

I'm not a huge figure skating fanatic or anything, but I was in a very mellow, soul-searchy place today and "Claire de Lune" is always a go-to either to play on piano or listen to and this video came up.  Yu-na Kim floats when she skates.  It is balletic and gorgeous and perfect.  She transcends.

For the past month, I feel I have been a part of a work of theatre that is that ethereal and other worldly.  Joel Ferrell managed to re-conceptualize Cabaret in potentially the most accurate and compelling fashion ever, and I feel overwhelming gratitude to be a small part of it and complete admiration/awe over its manifestation.

You know who else is a genius?  I'll give you one guess.  If you've been following my blog, you know I'm ever so slightly enamored of Kate Wetherhead.  I want to be her when I grow up.  She is generous, she is stupid talented, and she is so smart it's ridiculous.  Sally Bowles is an icon, and I'd rather watch Kate as Sally than anyone else in the world.  She has re-invented Sally.  But you want to know her most endearing quality?  I suspect she is as in love with what she does as I am--perhaps moreso.  Granted, she's way cooler about her musical theatre affair than I am, but it's totally there.  She writes (and stars in) a webseries called "Submissions Only" about actors in New York trying to make it.  Youtube it now; it's pretty hilarious (and the guest stars are phenomenal.)  

Tonight, in the talkback following the show, a friend of mine got choked up asking Kate to discuss Joel's brilliant choice to have Sally stop singing in "Cabaret."  Kate began to respond, and as she started to articulate her thoughts, she became choked up herself.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I have to return to New York in a week and I won't necessarily get to do things like this there."  As Kate elegantly re-composed herself, I felt an energy shift in the room.  Joel is always talking about "feelers" and "receptors" and feeding off of audience energy; it's imperative for the Kit Kat kids.  As a result, I feel like I'm way more receptive to the energy of an ensemble at any given point.  At the point when Kate started to cry, I immediately felt two things 1. the instinct to hug her and 2. that this instinct was shared among the entire cast sitting onstage.  Kate and my co-actors are as in love with their jobs and this transient magic we're sharing as I have been.  They are as grateful to be apart of this as I am.  This cast, guys...

The artist's job is tricky.  I think regardless of whatever becomes of artists over time--whether we become jaded and cynical and over it or ultimately do it strictly commercially (and at some point, you have to consider finances/your livelihood, right?) we're tasked with creating magic because at one time or another we became enchanted by it on the other side.  Honestly, creating anything is intimidating.  This show hasn't merely been about people doing their job.  This show has been a gift in every way: from the writers, through Joel's lens, to the cast, then back to the audience.  A shared experience.  A blessing.

“You can throw away the privilege of acting, but that would be such a shame. The tribe has elected you to tell its story. You are the shaman/healer, that's what the storyteller is, and I think it's important for actors to appreciate that. Too often actors think it's all about them, when in reality it's all about the audience being able to recognize themselves in you. The more you pull away from the public, the less power you have.”

A Novelist? You will be most famous!

The human race may be compared to a writer. At the outset a writer has often only a vague general notion of the plan of his work, and of the thought he intends to elaborate. As he proceeds, penetrating his material, laboring to express himself fitly, he lays a firmer grasp on his thought; he finds himself. So the human race is writing its story, finding itself, discovering its own underlying purpose, revising, recasting a tale pathetic often, yet none the less sublime. - Felix Adler

Why The People Working Cabaret are Awesome

Here is why the people I work with are amazing.  This is what I came to in my dressing room--framed Carousel vinyl and two cards from my dresser and her daughter.

Behold: the greatest card I have ever received.

 The second card: equally amazing.  It also speaks.

Then, my roommates introduced me to the joys of "I wanna sexx you up" and Heavy D and the Boyz.

Best job ever.  Best graduation ever.

PS Lee Trull (Cliff) and Mattie (my dresser) have a radio show called "Jane Austen: the Early Years."  I  received a command performance of the show yesterday.  Mattie was brilliant.  Lee Trull requested to be in my blog.