J-School, or Justifying My Questionable Financial Decision

I'm back from Dallas, from a very exhausting week of reporting on the 2013 TCG National Conference.

Background: TCG stands for Theatre Communications Group, a membership organization for non-profit theatres across the country and the publisher of "American Theatre" magazine (aka, where I work). During the week, besides getting trapped in the elevator of the Borg-like Dallas Theater Center headquarters (seriously, it's shaped like a cube), and getting to finally meet certain artists in person (shout-out Desdemona Chang, Tlaloc Rivas), I was struck by how very lucky I am to be able to write about an industry that I adore, and to see as much theatre (good and bad) that I want.

There are people going to school to do exactly what it is that I'm doing. And if I made it, others might, right?

Chattering

I was at the 2012 Humana Festival of New Plays in Louisville, KY this past weekend. Aside from fighting a cold and thus having to control my alcohol intake (which meant a lot less bourbon than I had planned to have), I saw 8 plays and sat on a panel called "Critiquing Criticism: (re)imagining the future." Though I was lucky enough to be sitting beside Polly Carl, moderator and HowlRound editor, Bill Hirschman of the American Theatre Critics Association, and Gordon Cox of Variety, I also felt a tad uneasy. If only because I had only been doing this professionally (eg: getting paid to write) for less than a year, and this was my first Humana outing. And I'm still working on the art of holding back pithy remarks...

"But that is why I asked you!" said Kirsty Gaukel, who works at the press office at Actors Theatre of Louisville, who hosted the festival. Apparently at this stage of my career, being young is an asset (especially in a field that is dominated by writers and head honcho artists in their 40's and 50's). It must have been my Twitter account...

In short, it was a conversation that I had an endless amount of time at Syracuse. And surprisingly, almost everyone enjoyed my comments. Maybe it is easy being green... Here's the video below (with me in the preview image). And look for my Humana retrospective in the July/August issue of American Theatre.

Watch live streaming video from newplay at livestream.com

The Real World (Not Like the TV Show)

I'm no longer a student. For anyone who has been a student at university, especially those with advanced degrees, you feel like you are never going to stop being a student. Before graduation, I could never see past the cap and gown hour.

I have been a real adult for approximately one week and two days. I moved into my New York City apartment four days after coming back from covering the Spoleto Festival.

How does it feel?

Adulthood is like being on summer vacation though with an added dose of anxiety because I am, presently, unemployed. Not without trying to be employed. Here's a handy piece of advice about the communications industry (excluding PR), they hire as needed so if you have not graduated yet or, like me, will be truly finished after graduation, chances are (75%) you will be spending a month or two unemployed.

So for the first time in my entire life, or at least my life after 18, I do not have a laid-out plan. I have a plan of attack (and a couple of months worth of savings to pay the rent) that I am using to hopefully score a job. But ask me what I'm doing one month, two months, six months from now, my answer will be... "Working?" Working on getting a job. Working at a job. Working on something... It's an endless question mark at the moment.

My sister says that's part of life. The alumni's from Newhouse said that I'm doing the right thing by moving to New York City and trying to find a job. I can tell you that a year ago, I would have moved back to California rather than risk going someplace new without a job. After all, there are worst things in life than moving back to Orange County. At least I won't have to deal with snow anymore.

But there are things you should do and things you want to do. 8 times out of 10, the things you want to do win out. Because those are the things that bring you joy. So for now, I'm comfortable with my question mark of a future plan. There are worst things than spending summer in New York City.

I need it to be sunny (a repetitive poem)

Dear Syracuse and your lack of anything other than cloudiness in freaking late March/early April,

I need it to be sunny
I need it to be sunny so I can greet the day with happiness instead of a groan
I need it to be sunny so I don't feel cold when I go outside
I need it to be sunny so I can finally wear open-toed shoes and put away my heavy coat
I need it to be sunny so I can know that it's spring instead of having to remind myself everyday
I need it to be sunny so I can get some Vitamin B, which is good for complexion and morale

I need it to be sunny so I don't have to look inside myself for joy

I need it to be sunny so I can finally feel hopeful about my future, even when that future is foggy

(This sentiment is seconded, and etc, by all of my friends who live here and cannot wait to get out of here)

(Don't criticize the poem, I am very well aware it's rudimentary and repetitive (I was a lit major, for God's sake!). But sometimes you need to let it out.)

(Now back to your regularly scheduled programming...and rain and snow in April).

The Art of Doing Nothing

I'm a workaholic. I blame my father, the great multitask-er, even when he's retired and supposed to sitting all day reading and relaxing, he's currently landscaping my sister's backyard.

Of course, to be a journalist, that's a prerequisite. After all, we are the lords of multitasking, always reading, researching, interviewing and writing. The news cycle is never-ending these days and there are always updates and things to be caught up with. Because a journalist is not a journalist if they don't know the news.

And if you're a freelancer, that's double the amount of work because you spend your work time in that job that makes you actual money to pay for the essentials (rent and food), your spare time is spent being a journalist because that's where the passion lies and that's why you wanted to be a writer in the first place.

My adviser told me to stay centered, after I expressed to her that I feel guilty even watching movies because then I feel like I'm wasting time. "That's not good," she said.

Doing nothing is an art as of itself. Because in a world now where information is consistently streaming in and the avenues to get that information is convenient, there's a desire to be constantly stimulated.

It gives birth to a nation of pure neurosis.

I once wrote an essay for speech and debate in high school about finding your inner hobbit. It was about finding that creature inside that is able to relax, to do nothing and not feel ashamed for it.

So since this is Spring Break at Syracuse University. It's what I'm going to do. Yes, there's still work and a deadline to deal with. But I'm dealing with it at a leisurely pace, while still leaving ample time for bad movies, catching up on my reading and visiting New York City again.

Because sometimes, doing nothing is as much work as doing something.

Theater Review: "Radio Golf" at Syracuse Stage

When I spoke to Timothy Bond, Richard Brooks and G. Valmont Thomas, the director and actors (respectively) of "Radio Golf" at Syracuse Stage, I asked them: "Why do you think that the original production was not as successful?"

Brooks answered with "Because we didn't do it."

And indeed, it's obvious this production of "Radio Golf" is rendered with love and reverence for the late August Wilson, who died in 2005. "Radio Golf" was his last play and he had died before it opened. It is also the last play in his "20th Century Cycle" and thus contains refrains of the prior works.

"Radio Golf" details the conflict between the African-American middle class and the lower class, of the tragic sundering of ties. Wilson believed, as it says in the program for "Radio Golf," that those who were able to rise up from poverty should try to help the community they came from. This viewpoint is apparent through the main character, Harmond, who is in conflict over this very issue, in his attempts to become the first Black mayor of Pittsburgh.

"Some Enchanted Evening" with Brian Stokes Mitchell

I was serenaded by Brian Stokes Mitchell.

Broadway leading man, dreamy baritone with the power to melt a thousand women with his voice, Brian Stokes Mitchell.

And now I know what heaven sounds like.

It was the opening of his concert in Syracuse. A trio band of piano, bass guitar and drums began the first notes, quick beats in succession, a happy number. Then the spotlight lit on a man in a lilac suit, who smiled at the audience as he walk out from stage right towards stage left.

He stopped to where I was sitting in the audience.

looked at me, I looked at him and the first words from his mouth were:

"Some enchanted evening,

You may see a stranger,

Theater Review: "Love Letters" and "You've Got Hate Mail" by Not Another Theater Company

It’s said, through advice columns, self-help books, and many (many, many) romantic comedies, that the most important aspect in a relationship is communication. In the Not Another Theater Company’s double feature of plays, “Love Letters” and “You’ve Got Hate Mail,” in light of Cupid day, that sentiment rings especially true.

Love Letters

The first half of the evening was dedicated to “Love Letters,” by AR. Gurney, which was a Pulitzer Prize for Drama finalist.

The play is a series of letters exchanged between Melissa Gardner and Andrew Makepeace Ladd III. It details their 50-year relationship. And while it’s obvious to the audience that they are soul mates, being more honest to each other through letters than they are to the other people around them, the relationship never heads towards that juncture. It’s a bittersweet and simple movement.

Read the rest at the NewsHouse

Journalists in New York City

What do you do when you put 15 graduate students together into one hotel and herd them around a snow-filled New York City for a week and a half?

Well, if you were are part of the Goldring Program at Syracuse University, then you get a germ-filled group as two were struck down with stomach flu, one with a chronic cold, another with an ear infection, and by the end three were developing cold-like symptoms. The rest fearfully stayed away though you can hear the germs beating down and crackling evilly outside of the immune system doors.

But joking about "Oregon Trail"-like bouts of sickness aside (whoops! Someone just died of dysentery), the trip was both awe-inspiring and almost frightening. It was an exercise on how little sleep you can get and how much you can force yourself to write invigorating, analytical prose despite it. All while meeting established writers and networking like your life depended on it (and for those whose career will become our lives, this applied).

It will forever become the week where I drank my weight in coffee (I recall one day where I had about three cups of black coffee in succession), where down-time was spent not exploring the wonderful Manhattan but napping, and where I fell asleep for about two seconds standing up at the MOMA (don't tell my adviser that). Then again, I lived there part-time last semester so I don't feel too guilty.

And within that, there was copious amounts of starchy, meat-based food (vegetables optional and need not apply) and shows! So many shows! Like two or three a day shows! Art shows, theater shows, jazz shows, an modernist classical music show!

Of which I will attempt to write about a small number of them in the upcoming days (and I already have, check the last two posts), as well as other thoughts I discovered during the trip. So watch for that.

Now back to reviewing...

The Halfway Point, or, 6 Months Later

What can you learn in 6 months?

If you asked me that this time last year, from July to December, I would say another handful of book knowledge, gleaned from reading Shakespeare and art history textbooks. And a realization that I am definitely not the friends-with-benefits type (though that is another story).

Yet compare last year to this year, or even, just June, when I graduated from UCLA, to December, 6 months (and halfway) into graduate school, then the expanse is wide, the knowledge base denser and the miles...well, it's endless. It's one end of the country to the next.

I'm (No Longer) Dreaming of a White Christmas

It's late at night, I have a cold, it's the end of my first semester and I'm not yet tired, so it's time for what may read like a stuffy head-induced ramblings. But I feel like times like these, it's when you're the most truthful because there's really no running commentary in your head that can second-guess every single statement that you're saying/writing. And this is my blog so I can write about whatever I want in however way I want it.

When I was younger, I wanted four seasons. After all, I was living in California, which is not necessarily known for it's diverse temperatures. Then I lived in England for a while and I had my first real snowy winter. And by snowy, it snowed for about two weeks, the university shut down, then everything melted. It was a fluke of a storm.

But no, there are no such things as flukes or halfhearted weather changes in Syracuse. When it snows, it snows.