The Dream: What it looks like from the other side.

I have been wanting to go to graduate school ever since I found out they wouldn't let me stay in undergraduate forever without failing more courses. Now I'm two weeks shy of the end of my first semester of graduate school and I thought I'd bore, errr, indulge you all in a check-in of how the first semester's been. Notes from the other side of the dream.

Grad school is absolutely what I expected it to be. And totally not. I keep in regular contact with a friend of mine who is attending another MFA program, also in performance. It's three year, as apposed to my two-and-a-half, it's also on the Eastern sea-ish board and that's pretty much where the similarities end. She had nine papers to write, and about as many texts to read this semester alone. I'm working out of one literature book and have worked from one memorized text. My spare time is spent practicing juggling, piano, handstands or observing a variety of different things. Our programs are wildly different, though our degrees will be considered relatively equivalent. Mine in "Devised Performance" and hers in "Acting". I have a feeling this is a pretty accurate description of how we both feel though.

I'm not tired of wearing black. I didn't expect to be, ever. Had you told thirteen-year-old me that I would be in school in my late twenties and have to wear all black every day and wouldn't be allowed to wear shoes, I would have told you it's cruel to tease people. However, I do still fall victim to being teased by my peers when I change from my school blacks back into my regular street blacks. Don't worry. I don't have a black turtle neck collection...yet...

I'm so glad I brought all of my stupid noise makers. Mostly my slapstick. And my rubber chicken. Even though I haven't used the chicken... yet...

Yeah- This is from a real school project.

I'm almost as broke as I thought I'd be. I haven't gone into debt (outside of good old, regular student loans) thankfully. And really, fully due to the generosity and gumption of my super supportive and super-hero skilled S.O. You should probably understand, that before I even knew I was accepted to the program, we went through about ten days of, "You should come with me." "I should probably do this on my own." "We could try a long distance thing." "We should break up right now." "I'll write you." "We'll still be friends." Before finally settling on, "Hey, if you want to leave everything you've known and go somewhere we have no connections and no immediate prospects for work then I'd really really like it if you would come with me. Oh, also, it'd be great if you could support both of us while you do it because I won't have time to work and don't have savings to speak of and grad school is really expensive."

He's the goddamn coolest. Supports my head, heart and body with every fiber of his being. We're living off a lot grocery shopping savvy that I don't really have and I dare say, we're doing just fine. Our hearts are very happy.

And our bellies. Because dinner.

I'm. So. Tired. Thanksgiving break is winding down to a close, which is great. I needed a break. I'm up and moving every day from about 8AM-4:30PM. There's a lot of emotional and physical exertion in class. I'm usually asleep before 10.

Gobble Gobble. My whiskey intake has plummeted. This may be embarrassing. Or just healthy.

Personal grooming really has started disappearing. Well- okay, really just shaving. I have to keep my nails in check because we train barefoot. And I'm working on my sweet ukulele skills.

I have taken up the therapy of baking. This is good because it makes my house smell nice. It is also good because it keeps my backside round.

Scones, anyone? Or Chocolate chip cookies? Or peanut butter cookies? Or ginger snaps?

I miss home. This one blind-sided me a little. But that's okay. I'll see it again soon. And I'm making a new one, however temporary.

How could I not miss this place? I mean, please. #BoiseNeedsNoFilter

The more I know about academia, the less sense it makes. My program is partnering with a University for the first time this year. I have a work study project that involves researching undergraduate theater programs all over the nation. Lecturer, Adjunct, Associate, Assistant, Dean, Chair, Head, Director, Instructor I DON'T GET IT! But it may be an adventure I embark upon one day... who knows. Or dare I re-enter the.... PRIVATE SECTOR?

That's what's happening now. Two weeks until the semester break, then evaluations, then back to it.Grad school will be over before I know it. Then I'll have no choice but to get a real job... or start on that sweet, sweet PhD...

For Rent: A Craigslist Photo Ode of Confusion.

I've been new in town for a full two months now. I took a very strange and giant trust fall into this city and so far it has graciously supported me. Catch is a little too strong of a word, but it's rather floating me down quite slowly and generously and hopefully, eventually, solidly on my feet. I'm in my second sublet, which is actually back to the first house I was crashing in (remember Murphy?) and it's wonderful. My roommates are absolutely delightful. They cook delicious meals, I bake cookies, we drink wine, we quietly watch mindless TV, I disappear into my room.

THIS guy. Don't let his distinguished brow fool you. He's young and full of trouble.

I've been hunting for a place to call ours since I arrived (as there's a mere NINE DAYS until my fierce, wild, crazy, farmland dwelling, partner in crime arrives to the big city for some epic culture shock, true adventure and reuniting). Four people is a lot to have in a two bedroom and those of you who know me know I love to socialize almost as much as I love disappearing without a trace. Which is leading me here:

My life has been an endless barrage of "For Rent" signs and un-returned phone calls.

Apartment hunting in a new place comes with it's own set of challenges. Not knowing specific neighborhoods, judging which places are okay to go and view by yourself (if you're wondering: None of them. None of them are okay to look at by yourself. Just take someone with you. Don't be an idiot.), figuring out what utilities cost, and really, just finding what's available. I've of course turned to our lady patron saint of finding weird shit: Craigslist.

May she smile upon your search.

There's another site called PadMapper that was recommended to me upon moving here. In all honesty, I've had less luck with returned phone calls and e-mails on PadMapper than through Craigslist, and that's saying something. Over the last two months I have marveled over pictures of apartments on Criagslist that are posted, I thought, to entice me to want to live somewhere. I'm beginning to think they're posted as part of a new drinking game that I was unaware of (much like I've just recently found out what "Netflix and Chill" is thanks to one of my younger MFA cohort. I just can't keep up). In any case, I thought I'd share some of my favorite Craigslist and PadMapper apartment photos, or at least their "types".

The ol' Same shot, slight change:

See, such a bright home!

Oh! But also on "tree-lined" street!

Nothing says, "You'll love this place." More than, "I took extra time to tweak the lighting settings on my iPhone editor when I posted this.

This is either, "I do not understand how to internet" or, "I iz Robot Spamming. Money transfer direct to this account."

ALSO ALL CAPITOL LETTERS MEANS TRUTH IS HAPPENING HERE BUY THE THING WITH THE STUFF AND RENTING FOR LOW MONEY LARGE SPACE GREAT LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION!!!!!

 #NoFilter. Perfect Setting for #ManicPixieGirl. If you didn't #WakeUpLikeThis don't apply.

Perfect new home for your mug of perfectly steeped tea, Anthropolgie dishes, and sheer, over-sized white button down.

The blatant fish eye lens photos. One of my favorites.

This place is so tiny, you wouldn't believe it. Seriously. You couldn't believe it. Come and see it so we can prove how tiny this place is. Also: bring pepper spray and don't expect closets.

The tiniest blurriest of photos, helping no one figure out if this is the right apartment for them.

Sigh. This is just... but... never mind. Fuck you man.

Bro, the landlord doesn't even care what you do here! We didn't even have to clean when he took photos for the Craigslist ad! They'll let ANYONE live here! Beers and college and bros and weird things growing everywhere!

Making the least amount of sense:

It's really difficult to take pictures and transfer them to the internet, but we took the time to make a rudimentary emoji so you know we're as disappointed as you are. lolz. call 4 deets.

When this is the only photo:

WHAT ELSE COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?!?! YOU CAN EVEN SLEEP IN THIS ROOM! YOU JUST HAVE TO WANT IT BAD ENOUGH! DO YOU WANT IT?!?! DO YOU!? WASH AND DRY!

So while I continue to call and leave messages that go unreturned, while I see the same place I called about advertised and re-advertised it's hard for me to think that a small part of the property managers in this city aren't playing a bit of a trick on the new girl. There are things called brokers here, which I wouldn't have to pay, but I can't seem to get them to call me back either (I can only assume this is because I'm not willing to pay over four digits for a place to live. In my defense, I'm absolutely willing to live in a place that's falling apart).

I'll keep you updated. Adventure continues.

Me Without You

I spent the majority of my fifteen years in back home carving a place out for myself. Creating context for me. Who I was in relation to this person, or in relation to such a company, or in relation to "X" institution. I feel like I then spent my last two years in there unwittingly ripping that context apart while figuring out which parts of my hometown relied on the context as much as I had and which ones actually just wanted me around. It was a messy and in all honesty, probably a very unfair way to go about things, but effective.

That does not exist here. If it does, it's in the very early stages and no one cares. It's strange being pulled out of context. I reach back often, sending messages to loved ones back home, reminding myself that I have a name and am a human that means something to people somewhere. It's strange in a professional sense, which I expected. I have worked for many years to establish my reputation as a hard working artist in a specific community, that no one knows or cares about here. It's flat out scary in a personal context. If I had a heart attack in the middle of this train, who would care? Would anyone call 911? Who would come to visit me in the hospital? Who would drive me home?

A door I walked by every day on my way to class until I moved to another sublet. I do, thank you door, I don't need your die coaching.

It's healthy in an annoying way. Like when I tried to actually eat five servings of vegetables a day for a month (very VERY unsuccessfully, in case you're interested). My cohort is wonderful, but no matter how many hours a day you spend with someone, it's no replacement for years of working side by side. Or hours spent discussing future projects. Or being able to communicate an idea with someone with three words and four sounds because you know each other that well.

It's also no replacement for being nervous to turn a corner and see someone you don't want to talk to. Or to wonder if you said or did something to make a whole company ostracize you because they never call you for work anymore. 

Blank Slate.

I still specialize in feeling lonely in a room full of people. I'm working on branching out a little faster. I'm working on not holing up in my room and actually carrying on conversations with people around me, awkward as I can be. I'm working on relinquishing a bit of control here and there. I'm working on taking ownership of space and time. I'm working on a little more exposure of my soft bits and a little more understanding of my more sharper ones.

I've been told the goal of our degree is to make us experts at space and rhythm. We spent a day at the beach studying both. It was pretty alright.

Six weeks has flown by. There's only ten left in my first semester. I'm devouring each second.

Journey to Groceries

There's something called a "Super Fresh" not far from where I'm staying. It's okay as a grocery store, but has apparently recently been bought out so they're not re-stocking anything. It's pathetic. It depresses me to go in there and it's actually quite a little trek from where I am, so I sort of swore off of the Super Fresh train.
On a Sunday just over three weeks into my move to the big city, I decided I had earned a day confined to my bedroom Netflix-ing my life away.

I had delusions of making it to a real grocery store but all I really REALLY needed was milk, because Mac and Cheese.

Dear Mother sent me four of these and various other food products because she in convinced I am starving. Everyone: Please continue telling my Mother I am starving.

So I knit and Netflix-ed and promptly realized it was past 4 PM and I should maybe consider leaving the house at some point. I Yelped the closest grocery stores (of which there were several, but I have recently noticed that a city's idea of a "grocery store" is similar to my idea of a "gas station"). Ultimately, I found something called a "Save-A-Lot" that was about a six minute walk from my gracious hosts abode.

I mean, c'mon, Save-A-Lot? How could it not be great? I like many things that include the word "Lot" Big Lots, back home is slightly quirky, but has some great things. Sir Mix A Lot? I mean, of course. Dye Lots? Has to do with yarn and is very useful, so of course I like it. Parking Lots? Sure. They're alright.

Couldn't possibly just be a coincidence, right?

I set out on my adventure and roughly three blocks from home base, I found myself surrounded by several very large, abandoned warehouses and came across this:

Because sometimes you just gotta burn a bunch of shit on the sidewalk.

So that's cool. Just a fire in the middle of the sidewalk. Saturday night public bonfire, perhaps? Whatever, I'm sure the had permits (I'm certain they didn't) or a good reason (disposing of crime evidence? a murder weapon? a BODY?!?) I'm sure they fire department came and put it out (I haven't seen or heard a fire truck since I've been out here. I'm beginning to think they're still horse drawn out here).

 Not even a block farther down the road was the mystical land called Save-A-Lot, whose entrance was surrounded by bars. You could get through the bars, but not easily. Looking back on it, I think they were placed that way to keep people from stealing their carts (they're VERY serious about keeping all their carts) but when I squeezed through them at the time I contemplated how one had to be truly hungry to shop here. A principle concept probably directly out of line with Sir Mix A Lot's teachings (yeah, I said his teachings. Like he's booty-prophet or something), whom I had assumed would have something to do with this place...

As far as the content of the store goes, it was really quite something. I'm uncertain if any of it had passed any sort of FDA exam. The ingredient lists for most everything were longer than my arm and from a brand that I had never seen. Isles had one or two things listed as being in them and were full of anything but. Although, some form of coffee or instant coffee could be found in every isle. In short: This place was magical. And so. cheap.

I didn't take pictures of the store because I was so entranced. If you would like to experience the ultimate anti-climax, you're welcome Google Earth link here.

I can't say I'll be returning to the Save-A-Lot anytime soon, as I don't think I could sustain a functioning, highly physical, active body off of it's goods for long, but as I was passing the skate park, classically full of pre-teen boys that reeked of weed and swore almost as eloquently as my mother does, I was grateful for the experience. It was also a place that I might as well have been screaming to everyone, "HEY! I DON'T BELONG HERE! I ABSOLUTELY DON'T BELONG IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

So the adventure continues. Country bumpkin-ing. One foot in front of the other. Slowly but surely. And victoriously:

Yes. Shameless Mac and Cheese in bed selfie. And yes. 1 box=1 serving.

It's Only the Beginning

*Please Note: Things are getting more personal. My life is getting less private. Expect to see that reflected here. I'm exposing more (MAYBE BOOBS?!?! WHO KNOWS?! READ ON!). There's more me here than usual. *

I've just wrapped my second week of graduate school and it's wonderful. It's hard work. It's exactly what I was hoping it would be and then some.

School uniform! Looking particularly maniacal.

Philadelphia Fringe Festival happens to be running for this first month of school- which is incredible. We're seeing tons of shows that we'll be discussing at a later point in class. We're being encouraged to "Fringe-Binge" to our heart's content. Philly Fringe is chalk full of local, National and International performances in theater, dance and visual arts of all sorts. Locations are all over the city in basements of bars, formal theaters, empty store fronts, outside in parks, everywhere. It's been a beautiful introduction to the city.

A shot of the house pre-show of Pig Iron's Fringe Fest Piece: Swamp Is On. Sheer rock n' roll awesome.

I find my country bumpkin-ness kicking in from time to time, but nothing that's gotten me killed thus far. Sometimes someone on the street makes eye contact with you and you exchange pleasant hellos. Sometimes someone makes eye contact with you and then asks you what you name is and if you've got a minute and looks at you like maybe he wants to take your skin off your body and wear you as a suit. Hey- there's all kinds of people everywhere you go. In that respect, I've had to raise my guards a bit. In class I've been trying to find where they are so I can take them down a notch.

The view from my crappy local grocery store. I was mugged while I took this picture. Not really. But I felt like I should have been because I was taking a picture of a city skyline in a grocery store. Doing everything but exclaiming, "Whul golly gee!"

There's 15 of us. We are all exceptional. And challenging. Over the last 6 years of beginning my professional career I have had the great fortune of working with many of my favorite humans. Former class mates I had always admired. Professors I was crazy about. Professionals in the community who invited my voice into a room. Drinking buddies with a drive. All of the above. Regardless of who they were, we had a former mode of communication before we began working together, with very few exceptions.

Not so with this class.

NERD! Happy, happy nerd.

We range in age from twenty-three to fifty-four (maybe older, but I'm not one to inquire about ages), which is thrilling for me. We range in experience from fresh out of undergrad to producing professional regional theater and beyond. We range in background from military to Carnegie Mellon grads to circus school grads. We make something together in varying group sizes every week and it's extremely difficult.

1st and 2nd years.

I find myself on a precipice fairly frequently. I'm uncertain as to what that precipice is exactly, as I generally have been steering clear of it because it feels like it could be doubt and anguish and sadness and tears and fear. However, in the interest of being less guarded and more open and showing off some of that sexy vulnerability, here's a touch of honest openness for you: As much as I revere my independence and am proud as an individual, I miss my partner in crime out here a great deal and it sneaks up on me in what I deem as unfair ways. Often I'm so involved emotionally and physically in courses that missing him feels romanticized and melodramatic in an almost sweet, longing, classical way. Other times I just wake up plain angry, annoyed and immaturely inconvenienced. It's strange, but I'm fairly certain a good thing, in the long run, though immensely frustrating in the short term.

So much stupid happy.

I also just miss being established somewhere. The community here has been kind to me; offering couches and sublets to house me until we have enough money and security to find a place for both of us. It will take time. It's reassuring knowing that I don't have to establish myself here if I don't want to. I'm here for grad school, not to start a completely new life, though that may happen. I'm allowed to be temporary right now.

The beautiful view from my gracious hosts' roof deck. Yummy.

Thank you for your text messages. Your Facebook updates. For favoriting tweets. You make me feel close and warm and snugly to that sweet Boise bosom. Heh. Boise bosom.