Vapidity: is that a word?

This morning I took a spin class at 7:30am. That time of the morning for me presents all sorts of challenges, but it also gets my metabolism going. I do it because I'm a glutton for punishment, but then my metabolism runs higher for the rest of the day. Or so I hope...

The morning is not my best time, as most of my tolerance levels are lower earlier in the morning, so I'm not the most pleasant person if someone crosses me. After the spin class, I was waiting in line to use one of the four showers at this spin studio, and it was an exceptionally busy morning. It seemed like many of the people in line knew each other somehow, and they were chatting up a storm. The line had kind of split in two, and as I moved my bag forward, this young woman shot me a look, which I interpreted as "You're butting in line." So since I had some extra time this morning and the line order was ambiguous, I let her and her friend assume the next two places.

Big mistake.

For the next 15 minutes I was forced to endure their vapid conversation. I tried to do email, check Facebook, look at Instagram, but nothing blocked out the conversation. I started wondering if I sounded this shallow when I chat in the shower line.

Oh, wait.

Hold it.

I don't chat in the shower line. At least not at 8:15am in the morning. Nor do I talk about what these people were talking about.

Direct quotation:

"We talked about going to MoMA and making fun of all the ridiculous modern art, but I wondered if that would be too intense for a first date."

I just kind of stood there, trying not to roll my eyes or sigh audibly. Then one of them mentioned something about a building at a school that I recognized, and suddenly in my mind they were students, probably graduate students based on minor details I picked up from their conversation. Which was getting to be more and more about dating.

Back in graduate school, my playwriting teacher gave us the assignment to go eavesdrop on a conversation in a public place, jot down two or three lines from the exchange, and then continue the conversation. So I have an affinity for this, and I frequently jot stuff down on my phone. Subway is great for this, elevators are fantastic when they're packed and I'm riding up to my class on the 3rd floor.

But wow. Today's conversation just made me feel terrified about the future. Sure, maybe they were being ironic. Maybe these are great people, and I'm the vapid one for judging. In the shower line. At 8:15am.

That's where this musing leaves me. What does being vapid really mean? 

I suddenly feel like Carrie Bradshaw. (sigh)  My shoes aren't nearly as nice...

At Capacity--Scene 11: Rump Roast

(Lights up on the dining room of the parents’ house, but it is a different time period. It’s the 1980s. Claire, Steve, and Julia are dressed in children’s clothes from the period, and throughout the scene, they will play the scene as children. The style should be as real as possible and not mimicry. The actors playing Mark and Cassie will play Uncle Steve and Aunt Jenny respectively. The carolers are set up in their usual corner, but they are dark. The dining is room is decorated festively for Christmas, and everyone is at the table. They are playing a board game. Uncle Steve has a bottle of scotch and a whiskey glass at his place, and he has stood up to roll the dice. Julia is to his right and Steve is to his left. Claire is next to Julia and Aunt Jenny is next to Steve. Uncle Steve winds up and rolls the dice, trying to keep them on the board. They go flying.)

AUNT JENNY
A little too much to drink, Steve?

STEVE
Crack dice! Uncle Steve got crack dice.

UNCLE STEVE
Cracked ice? (looking at his glass) I don’t see any cracked ice.  Do you? (turning to Julia) Do you?

STEVE
Crack dice! Your dice roll went off the board so it's crack dice!

(Uncle Steve downs what’s left in his glass, and he gets ready to pour another.)

AUNT JENNY
Steve? It’s enough, right?

UNCLE STEVE
It’s never enough! It’s Christmas time for Pete’s sake! What’s another going to hurt?

AUNT JENNY
You just got that bottle from Jack for Christmas. It’s almost gone.

UNCLE STEVE
Well, it’s one less thing for us to pack and fly back to San Fran there, Jenny. Right Stevie?

STEVE
Right, Uncle Steve! I like it when you “have another!” You get funnier and funnier. And when you crack dice, that means it’s my turn!

(Steve picks up the dice, rolls, and moves his pawn around the board. He picks up a card and reads it.)

STEVE (reading)
“Your lucky day. Collect $150 tax-free.” (to Julia) Pay up, Miss Banker.

(Julia reluctantly counts out the money for Steve and hands it over. As she does, she has to lean across in front of Uncle Steve, and he pats her on the backside.)

UNCLE STEVE
Rump roast, 99 cents a pound! Get your rump roast here!

STEVE (imitating his uncle)
Rump roast rump roast rump roast rump roast. Julia’s got a rump roast!

JULIA
I do not!  Shut up, Stevie!

STEVE
Don’t call me that!

UNCLE STEVE
Why not, Stevie?

STEVE
No, you can call me that, but she can’t. Only you.

JULIA
Whatever, Stevie.

STEVE
I said, no!  Cut it out!

CLAIRE
C’mon you two, stop arguing. Whose turn is it?

AUNT JENNY
I think it’s mine.

(Aunt Jenny picks up the dice and rolls. She rolls a big number.)

CLAIRE
Wow! That’s an 11!

AUNT JENNY
Pretty good, huh? (She moves her pawn around the board and lands on a space. She looks at it carefully.) I’ll buy it.

(Aunt Jenny counts out the money and hands it to Julia who sticks her butt in the air to reach the money across the table. Uncle Steve pulls the same maneuver again, but this time he lets his hand linger there after three pats.)

UNCLE STEVE
Rump roast rump roast rump roast rump roast. 99 cents a pound right here!  Julia’s Rump Roast, get it while it’s hot.

JULIA
Stop it! 

AUNT JENNY
Steve? Julia asked you to stop.

UNCLE STEVE
She didn’t ask, she kinda tattled and told. (Uncle Steve turns to look at Julia.) You know what happens to tattle tales?  (Julia nods yes, uncomfortably.) They get tickled! (Uncle Steve starts to tickle Julia, and it’s not really appropriate. He starts around her waist, but then his hands go below the table, and Julia makes a face. She’s not really laughing.)

JULIA
Ouch! (he’s still touching her) Ouch! Stop it! You’re hurting me!

AUNT JENNY                                                 CLAIRE
Steve, stop it!                                                 Uncle Steve!

JULIA
Ow!

STEVE
Don’t be such a baby! He’s just tickling you! He tickles me all the time!

JULIA
It hurts!

UNCLE STEVE
OK, OK, OK. (He stops and Julia tries to move away from him, but he slides her chair closer to him.) I’ll stop I’ll stop. No more tickling for (baby talk voice) “poor wittle Juweeah. She can’t take it.”

(Uncle Steve and Steve look at each other and start to laugh and make baby talk voices, repeating what he just said. Julia begins to cry and runs away from the table.)

AUNT JENNY
Now look what you did!

UNCLE STEVE
What?

AUNT JENNY
She’s crying, and the game’s ruined!

UNCLE STEVE
Oh my God, it’s just game for Christ’s sake!

AUNT JENNY
Not the point, Steve.

UNCLE STEVE
Then what’s the point?

AUNT JENNY
You drink too much of that damned scotch and this happens!

UNCLE STEVE
I didn’t do anything? (to Claire) What did I do?  (to Steve) What did I do? (Steve shrugs.) (Then to Aunt Jenny) See, no one knows.

AUNT JENNY
It’s not the first time.

UNCLE STEVE
What’re you talking about? You’re such a—

CLAIRE (getting up)
I’ll go check to see where she went. Steve?

STEVE
I’m staying here. I want to count my money cause I think I won!

CLAIRE
Steve, I think—

AUNT JENNY
It’s fine. Better. Just go check on Julia.

(Claire nods and exits. Lights up on Julia downstage right. She’s crying. Claire comes up behind her. The audience can still see the dining room, but it dims. The carolers start to glow.)

CLAIRE
Julia?

JULIA
Leave me alone.

CLAIRE
Are you ok?

JULIA
I said leave me alone.

CLAIRE
I’m not going until you tell me you’re ok.

JULIA
I’m ok. Just leave me alone.

(Julia reaches down and holds her crotch. Like it hurts. Claire notices this and touches her shoulder. Julia recoils a bit.)

CLAIRE
Did he really touch you there?

(Julia doesn’t answer.)

CLAIRE
Did he really--?

(Julia nods her head and wipes her eyes with her hands.)

CLAIRE
Well, he was just kidding around. It was an accident.

JULIA
That’s what Mommy said.

CLAIRE
You called Mom?

JULIA
No.

CLAIRE
They’re at the Petersons’ for that party! You called her there? How did you get the number?

(Julia shakes her head “no.”)

CLAIRE
Then how does Mom know?

JULIA
Because I told her.

CLAIRE
How could you tell her if you didn’t call?

JULIA
Cause it happened yesterday.

CLAIRE
What?

JULIA
I told her last night when she was putting us to bed. I told her that Uncle Steve touched me here (points to her crotch) and Mommy told me that he was just joking and don’t ever mention it again. I said that they taught us in school that nobody should ever touch us there without permission, not even Mommy or Daddy, and Mommy told me to be quiet and go to sleep.

CLAIRE
When did he touch you?

JULIA
I’m not supposed to talk about it. Mommy said.

CLAIRE
Julia, I’m not going to tell anyone.

JULIA
Promise?

CLAIRE
Promise.

(There's a moment while Julia makes up her mind. Then she speaks.)

JULIA
We were in the dining room and I was practicing my handstands against the wall. Uncle Steve was at the table, and he was playing with a deck of cards. I got a handstand just right, so I said “Uncle Steve! Look!” And when he did, he got up out of his chair and came over and tickled my feet.  I started laughing and fell over, and then he picked me up by the feet and hung me upside down. Then he swung me in between his legs and my face was in his crotch. That’s when he took his hand and started to tickle me here (she points again). At first I was laughing, but then it didn’t feel so good anymore, and I said “stop” but he kept doing it. Then I yelled really loud and Aunt Jenny came running in to see if I was OK.  Uncle Steve put me down and said we were just having fun.

(Claire doesn’t respond. Julia is silent.)

CLAIRE
What did Aunt Jenny say?

JULIA
She told me to go in the living room. So that’s what I did.

CLAIRE
Aunt Jenny didn’t ask you what happened or anything?

(Julia shakes her head “no.”)

CLAIRE
Are you ok? (points to Julia’s crotch)

JULIA
I guess so.

CLAIRE
Does it hurt anymore?

JULIA
A little.

CLAIRE
Do you want me to talk to Mom?

JULIA
No! Don’t say anything to Mommy! Please, Claire?  She told me not to ever talk about it ever again, and I don’t want to get in trouble. Please?!?

CLAIRE
OK, OK! I won’t tell. (thinking for a moment) But maybe you should stay away from Uncle Steve.

JULIA
How do I do that?

CLAIRE
Just try to sit farther away from him or something. OK?

JULIA
I guess so.

CLAIRE
What’s wrong?

JULIA
I like Uncle Steve. He’s fun.

CLAIRE
I know. Me too.

JULIA
It’s just the touching part I don’t like.

(The girls are silent as they take that in.)

CLAIRE
We better go back down. I told Aunt Jenny I would come find you.

JULIA
Do we have to?

CLAIRE
I think we should. Or else Aunt Jenny might tell Mom what happened.

JULIA
OK. Let’s go back down. I don’t want that to happen.

(The girls cross out of the fading light as lights find Uncle Steve in the dining room alone, drinking another glass of scotch, and the carolers are glowing at full. End of scene.)

Artists I admire: Sarah Bellantoni

Last Saturday I attended a production of Our Country's Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker at The Chapin School on Manhattan's Upper East Side. I worked with students at this private, all-girls school last year around this time, when my former student and now colleague Sarah Bellantoni asked me to work with her to create an ethnodrama with her students. The experience of making that play was one of the highlights of 2015 for me, so I was excited to see this year's production.

Through my work with Sarah last year, I learned just how great a teacher and director she has become. As I've said before, I love to learn from my former students, as it reinforces the idea that the transfer of knowledge can never be a one-way street. Sarah exhibited great generosity of spirit throughout our collaboration, patiently helping me to remember the nuances required when working with high school students, particularly young women. And collaborating at a high school where the entire drama department shares such high standards for their artistic and pedagogical work rejuvenated my own excitement about teaching.

As I sat in the audience last Saturday and experienced Sarah's production, I was amazed at the skill of these young actresses after less than 20 rehearsals. They navigated various accents with relative ease, and most of them played across gender, which they are accustomed to, but which for me illustrated a dexterity that some professional actors would struggle to find. And they understood the stakes of the play and played those stakes with full commitment. I walked out of the theatre feeling #grateful for the timeliness of Sarah's choice to direct this play. I needed to see this play right now, at a moment when so much noise keeps me from hearing any bit of truth. Because of Sarah's specific and thoughtful direction, I got some much needed truth last Saturday afternoon.

I sat with Sarah over dinner this past week, and we talked about her production and her students and her survival stories, as there are always survival stories whenever artists do something challenging and brave. Listening to Sarah talk about the accomplishments of each of her students illustrated how connected and committed she is as an artist and teacher, and her students and colleagues reap the benefits as a result.

For teaching me a thing or two (or ten!) about what it means to be an artist and a teacher, for having an amazing sense of humor and some of the best one-liners I've ever heard, and for showing endless amounts of compassion while still facilitating greatness in her students, Sarah Bellantoni is the artist I admire for this week.

What's behind Door Number 3? I hope not the next POTUS...

About a month ago, I shut off my cable television. I was tired of paying way too much money for way too many channels that I was barely watching. And when I was watching, I often found myself sucked into the 24-hour news cycle, and that was literally bad news. I wasn't sleeping well from all the broadcast sturm und drang, and that cable bill was jacking up my credit card debt for no good reason. I decided to try and survive without cable television. Now I have a digital antennae that barely works, and I get almost no channels. My evenings consist of watching very old episodes of "Let's Make a Deal" with Monty Hall on the Buzzr channel, which somehow comes through loud and clear.

In all honesty, watching those episodes has given me a real education. They're from the early 70s, so they reflect an entirely different, much simpler sensibility. Less complicated, less sensitive, less careful. I'm not saying this is necessarily a positive thing or that these times were "better," but I've been struck over and over again by how relaxed everyone on the show seems to be. One could say, "Well, Joe, it is the 70s after all," but I'm not sure that explains it entirely.

There are any number of costume choices in the contestant area that would be deemed culturally insensitive today. The banter between Monty Hall and some of the female contestants on the show presses all sorts of sensitivity buttons for me, but no one on the show, female or male, blinks an eye. I always thought of these early game shows as being populated largely by white participants, but in my anecdotal coding of contestants, there have been episodes with multiple contestants of color in the part of the audience where players are selected and multiple winners of color as well. And everyone seems happy to be there, happy to be participating, and grateful for the opportunity. I found myself thinking the other night as I watched an Asian American couple win The Big Deal, "This show would never survive today." Or would it? Or should it?

Of course, television makes everything look better than it actually is, right? Underneath the funny costumes, the luscious prizes, the glitz and glamour, everyone back then was really unhappy and disgruntled and weighted down by society's ills. No amount of kitchen appliances in the world was going to lighten that weight. But maybe I'm applying a 21st century sensibility on this. Was a new pool table and $25 dollars worth of Creamettes macaroni enough to right society's wrongs and make everyone happy?  Sure does seem like it when I watch the show.

What has happened to us? Why are we perpetually unhappy and dissatisfied with our position in life, no matter our background? We keep hearing how unhappy people are all the time. Our presidential candidates are capitalizing on it at every step of the way. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

In this current election cycle, I'm starting to wonder if rather than making everything look better than it actually is, television makes everything look worse. Kind of like fluorescent lighting.

Last night I felt so grateful that I couldn't watch the election returns on television. Seeing notifications come through my phone was enough (#1stworldproblems). I didn't want any analysis of the returns from blondes, brunettes, redheads, silver foxes, or anyone with a touch of grey. I didn't want to hear from Sally New Hampshire Pants about why she voted for who she voted for. And I didn't want to see any of the candidates talking about how great it all was, and how great they were. Reading about it all this morning was far more relaxing. I felt way less frustrated with stupidity, and I could process what actually happened on my own and FORMULATE MY OWN OPINIONS. What a concept? No one told me directly or subliminally how to think about the results. I just looked at the poll numbers and then decided whether to read on.

It might be great if more people shut off their cable television, stopped reading Facebook, and started thinking for themselves. We're letting our agency and decision-making get flushed down the toilet because everyone else is telling us how to think about things and we're listening. That's the shocking thing. We're listening to this schlock.

People used to yell out advice to contestants on "Let's Make a Deal," and Monty frequently shushed them. He redirected the decision back to the contestant with a warning that past contestants listened to bad advice all the time. And lost.

We're losing, friends. Big time. And we're not going to like what's behind Door Number 3.

At Capacity--Scene 10: The Reveal

(Steve and Claire are in a hospital waiting room. Claire looks really beat up. Tired. Like she’s been through it. Her eyes are puffy. Steve is sitting next to her. His left hand is wrapped in a bloodied t-shirt, and his glasses have taped back together with duct tape so that he can wear them. The two of them together are a sad sight. Claire sighs heavily, reaches into her bag and takes out a small flask. She unscrews the cap and takes a swig. Steve is mortified.)

STEVE
You know, it is only (he looks at his watch) 10:30 in the morning.

CLAIRE
And? (she takes another drink)

STEVE
What are you doing drinking at 10:30 in the morning?

CLAIRE
I always drink something at 10:30 in the morning. Coffee, water, bloody mary—

STEVE
Fine, but that’s whiskey and we’re in a hospital, Claire.

CLAIRE
Again I say, “And?”

STEVE
“And” our sister is in the psych ward because she tried to kill me a couple of hours ago, and now you’re sitting here drinking out of a flask for all the world to see.

CLAIRE
We’re the only ones in here, Steve. That’s the delight of emergency rooms in small towns at this time of the morning. They tend to be quiet. Except for ladies in labor, of which there are none in sight. What a blessing. (She drinks again, finishing what’s in the flask.) Damn! (She caps the flask and puts it away.)

STEVE
You smell like a homeless person.

CLAIRE
Do you know what a homeless person smells like?

STEVE
You smell like what I imagine one smells like. Like alcohol.

CLAIRE (with some alcohol-induced swagger)
Oh, lighten up, Stevie. I had a long and unpleasant night, made only more so when your call came in.

STEVE
Don’t call me Stevie. I hate that.

CLAIRE
Why ever would you say that, Stevie? You used to love it when you were little.

STEVE
Not true, Claire, and I'm not little anymore.

CLAIRE
Are you going to get all rambunctious now too? Should I call the nurses to take you upstairs? Do you want the bed next to Julia?

STEVE
It’s not funny. Stop making jokes about it. She had no idea what she was doing.

CLAIRE
Tell that to your hand, baby brother. She did a real number on you.

STEVE
I should have never tried to wake her up. I woke up and she was thrashing around in bed, yelling out for mom and dad. I heard her yelling but I thought it was part of this dream I was having about when we were little, and she was doing that flip-over-the-traveling-bars trick she liked to do. In the dream Uncle Steve and Aunt Jenny came up the driveway while she was doing the trick, and she started yelling for mom and dad. Then Uncle Steve picked her up and started twirling her around, and he did that thing where he carried her around in the palm of his hand, like underneath her dress, and—

CLAIRE
Steve—

STEVE
And then all of the sudden I was awake and she was thrashing around and I went to try and calm her down and I touched her, tried to shake her awake, and she freaked out, she totally freaked, and she sat up, eyes open, but not really seeing me, and she grabbed the scissors from the side of the bed and started stabbing up me.  It was awful and then she hit my hand and I started bleeding everywhere, but I grabbed her and tried to get her to calm down. And she finally calmed down, but she kept telling me to stop singing. She was totally out of it, Claire. That’s when I called 9-1-1. She just lay in the bed, rolling back and forth, telling me to stop singing. It was like I wasn’t really there or something. Every few seconds she would stop rolling around, look right at me, and not see me. Like she was looking through me or something. When the ambulance guys got there, she started yelling again, telling them to get back in the box and leave her alone. And they had to strap her onto the gurney and restrain her. It was so awful.

CLAIRE
You’re lucky she only nicked your hand with those scissors.

(They are silent for a moment. Just sitting in the memory of that story.)

STEVE
What’s wrong with her, Claire?

CLAIRE
I don’t know.

STEVE
She’s distant and upset since Mom and Dad died—

CLAIRE
We’re all upset, Steve.

STEVE
It’s like she doesn’t want to talk about them.

CLAIRE
Well, maybe she doesn’t.

STEVE
But how can she be that way? Our parents were killed in a car accident.

CLAIRE
Six months ago.

STEVE
And?

CLAIRE
And why are you still stuck in it, Steve? They’re gone. You have to deal with it. We all have to deal with it. We are dealing with it.

STEVE
How are you dealing with it? Drinking?

CLAIRE (ignoring his last comment)
We are going through their belongings, getting the house ready for sale, making sure we all have things to remember them by—

STEVE
We buried them six months ago, and we’re already divvying up their stuff—

CLAIRE
What do you think we should be doing? I didn’t want to be the executor, but that’s what they wrote in the will. I thought you got asked to do that before someone just made you the executor, but not Mom and Dad. Oh no. They just did it.

STEVE
You’re the oldest, Claire, that’s you’re job.

CLAIRE
What if I didn’t want the job?

STEVE
You and Julia are always putting them down. You show no gratitude or compassion or anything towards our parents. (forgetting where he is) THEY WERE KILLED IN A CAR ACCIDENT! BY A DRUNK DRIVER!

CLAIRE
KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN! (looking around to see if anyone is coming) Don’t you think I remember it clear as day? We sat right here in this emergency room and found out what happened.

STEVE
And Julia didn’t come until the next day.

CLAIRE
She lives in another state, Steve. She couldn’t get a flight in any earlier. She got here as fast as she could.

STEVE
She could've driven. Or taken the train. It’s only seven hours.

CLAIRE
Steve, listen to me. I don’t know how you can’t figure this out. You and Julia are fraternal twins. You’re supposed to have all of this sixth sense bullshit where you know stuff about each other, but yours must be on mute or something. You're clueless when it comes to this person you shared a womb with for 9 months.

STEVE
What are you talking about?

CLAIRE
You have no idea why Julia is the way she is? Why she stays away from here? Why she’s up in the psych ward? Did you ever pay attention when we were little?

STEVE
Of course I paid attention. What are you talking about?

CLAIRE
I don’t think you did. I don’t think you paid attention to any of it. You didn’t have to. It was easy enough to just ignore it.

STEVE
OK, you’ve completely lost me. What the hell are you talking about?

CLAIRE
I’m talking about Uncle Steve and Aunt Jenny and Christmases year after year after year.

STEVE
Yeah, so what? They came every year. Stayed with us. It was fun.

CLAIRE
For you.

STEVE
And for you. You and Aunt Jenny are still close.

CLAIRE
Somewhat.

STEVE
And Uncle Steve-- … well, he—uh. Well, that was a real loss.

CLAIRE
For you.

STEVE
For all of us. Aunt Jenny. Mom and Dad. You, me, Julia. He loved Julia so much.

(Claire just looks at Steve.)

STEVE
What? What’d I say?

(Claire is silent for a moment. She collects herself. Prepares to say something. Stops. Looks down at her bag. Looks at Steve again. Turns away. Cries out. Stifles it. Starts to cry. Silently but fully.)

STEVE
What?  Claire, what’s happening? (she can’t respond) Claire? He loved her. He loved all of us. Uncle Steve loved all of us.

(Claire finally collects herself. Looks at Steve.)

CLAIRE
He did love all of us, Steve. But he loved Julia a little too much.

(Steve looks at Claire like he doesn’t understand. Lights shift. End of scene.)