A post written for the UChicago Theater blog, hooray!

For the last month, I have spent most nights running in circles in a small, dark room, ripping up pieces of paper. This is the culmination of my college career and, oddly enough, it is far more authentically so than any purely academic work would be. This quarter we are in rehearsals for my Theatre and Performance Studies B.A. project, an (as-yet-unnamed) improvisational ensemble physical theatre performance that will be accompanied by a critical paper. By "we" I mean myself, Andrew Cutler, James LaRocque, and Elle Riley-Condit. This project is fundamentally about ensemble-building, about discovering the process through which I want to work with others to make art happen. What I have learned with the most certainty is that there some incredible, talented, and open-minded people in the University of Chicago theatre community. They have dared to trust me, to trust each other, to create an environment and a dynamic in which we can safely take risks in generating genuine and compelling material. They have trusted that, even while not every moment works, even when we are unsure, we are doing work that is worthwhile. Forgive the masturbatory language; I am very enthusiastic about this, and I want everyone else to be super pumped about it too.

So, my project in list form!: death, deception, wolves, clowns, resurrection, more death, nest-building, flower-picking, book-burning, training, rivers, Red Riding Hood, fortune-telling, darkness, death (again), touching, hunting, music, masks, confetti, and slow-dancing. Yes.

[James LaRocque and Andrew Cutler]

This unnamed project on the subjects of death and deception will be performed in the Design Lab (on the third floor of the Reynolds Club) at the following times: Feb. 26th at 6pm, Feb. 27th at 7pm, and Feb. 28th at 5pm. Those interested in sitting in on a rehearsal should email sid.branca at gmail.com. More rehearsal photographs can be found here.

The ensemble took a field trip to the MCA the other night to see a preview of Court Theatre's The Wild Duck. Christopher Hiltz, as a part of his portrait series, snapped a photo of me, and one of ensemble member James LaRocque.

Yesterday I went into New York City to see some of the buddies. It was pretty damn glorious. The little buddies have been getting really into short-form video performance art lately, and carrying props around with them in tote bags. Delightful people, truly truly. Spent the day with those pictured above and Caroline, with a cameo made by Katherine who was a dear and briefly met up with us despite our flighty lack of plans. Ate so many snax at Vegetarian Dim Sum, lots of different tastes and textures in tiny envelopes for sending to my mouth. Toy cars on the table with the tea pot, angel wings on the back of the chair. A Chinese family doing something reminiscent of shelling peas with a vegetable I don't know the name of. And then on to St. Mark's, to my father's old stomping grounds. Piercings for Ali and Tamara, a button tattoo for Sara, amusement for all involved.

There was a strange contrast between the first and second halves of my time in New York yesterday. After the buddies I went to Brooklyn, had a fairly quiet dinner with some friends in an apartment, and eventually went out to an absurdly typical Williamsburg bar, full of boys in plaid who thought they were too awesome for me to acknowledge their feet or something. I also experienced one of the most painful being-hit-on situations of my life: a very tall boy with long hair, a Subhumans t-shirt and a wounded demeanor said something to me that I couldn't understand (the bar was loud, and few people really know how bad my hearing actually is; it's really bad in situations with a lot of ambient noise, like a bar), and when I said "what?", gestured towards my ears, and mistakenly thought he was trying to get past me, he responded with "I was going to hit on you but I guess you're too busy" in a way that was somewhere in between apologetic and harshly accusatory. I felt bad about it for an inappropriately long time, because I couldn't manage to have feelings other than mild disappointment towards most people in the room. That said, I was more than happy to be out with two dear friends of mine I hadn't spent time with in ages, but it was certainly a shock after semi-parading down the streets of Chinatown without a hint of irony a few hours before.

The long and the short of it is that I really should just go to New York City for breaks, figure out a place to stay, and come to the Island to visit my family and old friends occasionally. 

Not really related, but on my mind: I miss Will a lot. It hasn't been a week since we stopped living together, but the idea of returning to Chicago yet Will being gone is becoming more and more daunting as the reality approaches. I am on some level selfishly glad I was not there to see him leave, but coming back to his room being empty seems just as jarring, if less embarrassing, what with less sloppy crying and awkward goodbyes, et cetera. The man has been my closest friend and near-constant companion for much of the last year and a half, and while I in all sincerity wish him the absolute best in Philadelphia, I fucking miss him. So there's that.

Note: Other things I intend to write about: my grandmother's house, obstacle courses for dogs, my New Year's plans, discussions with my father, rapping, why I hate Long Island, why I love my friends.

Fall Quarter draws to a close. I am trying to get rid of all of my possessions and move into Augie's sunroom before I leave on Wednesday. I am trying to edit a script to propose on Monday. And so, some photographic allusions to how this quarter has gone: here.

My birthday was, to say the least, eventful. Things have been a bit crazed, but Thanksgiving weekend will be a welcome bit of slightly-less-crazy. Yeah.

Why my life is better than yours:

Macbeth cast sleepover fun.

Little birds on W. Fulton, two sidewalk squares apart.

Going through the lo-fi photos on my cell phone, realizing how many little things I try hard to remember, noting how much I'd already forgotten. The name of the game is sensory overload, little buddy.

David Berman's signature. Done at Tatu Tatoo, Chicago, 10/11/08.

Also, there a few new recordings up on the Bird Party myspace page, check it.

Tonight I met David and Cassie Berman. They signed my cast. I am pretty sure they are very good people, and they play some pretty, pretty songs.

Because I like to climb things and am a bit of a fool, I managed to fuck my shit up on Thursday. Update on whether I have broken or simply sprained something coming next week! Fascinating.

This walking around on crutches business is actually quite... what's the word... educational? On some level a nice wake-up call. Since getting back from Double Edge Theatre, after that surreal detour to NYC, I've been so lazy.

Watching Waking Life in a daze last night:

Which is the most universal human characteristic: fear, or laziness?

If we wanted we could argue that they are, on some level, the same thing, but whatever, not interesting right now. This end-of-summer, the monthish of mid-August to late-September I have not been trying very hard. I mostly was worrying and thinking about things that I would, in some nebulous future, put extreme effort towards.

Both my body and my mind were taking things for granted. And now I am taking a lot of interesting, challenging classes and have a BA project to bring into the world over the next six months or so. I've been cast as a witch in the Dean's Men production of Macbeth, which, thanks to Augie Praley, a director I'm excited to work with, will be very physically demanding. 

Right now, getting from one end of my apartment to the other is, well, kind of hard. But I think it may in some fucked up way be good for me to limit ease as an option.

I guess the point is, I was certainly the most cheerful person in the entire ER at midnight Thursday night.

Ulysses S. Grant Strategies for Leadership #11: People Need Meaningful Work

When Grant's name is mentioned, the first image most Americans have is that of a hard-drinking general. This characterization of Grant dates from his last pre-Civil War army post, at Fort Humboldt, California. He had left his wife nearly two years earlier, pregnant and with their two-year-old son. Grant was homesick, but more importantly, because he and his commanding officer did not hit it off, he was given no work to do. [...] Because he had no meaningful responsibilities, Grant's feelings of loneliness were exacerbated. This, in turn, led to increased drinking and his resignation from the army.

Lesson: Without meaningful work, life stinks. People become demoralized and incapacitated. Some become permanently turned off and lose their future potential. Having a chronically underworked staff is every bit as bad as having one that is overworked.

Summer is almost over.

The other night I went to see some friends who are moving out of their apartment. We ashed on the floor, and then I found some string and made use of the opportunity.