Wordy Wednesday: Inside the Mind of the Anxious Professional

Hey everyone. I was doing some computer cleanup this afternoon when I came across something I wrote a couple years ago. I'd say it was a bit of character study for the novel I'm writing...but I'm not writing a novel. This is just a peek inside the head of a very, very anxious young woman. Luckily, I've come a long way since those days. Still, it's interesting to look back to a time in my life when I was completely overwhelmed by the simplest choices, and the mere prospect of "success."

***

Yes, of course she wants to be happy (she's not insane), but she’d like to do it on her own terms. Yes, she wants to be happy – but not enough to think-up new dreams; she’d rather see her old dreams come true. She wants to be right, and if she thinks-up new dreams, that’s like admitting her first ones were wrong. It must be a little bit more important to her to be right than happy. But it doesn't look like she ever will be right, at least not about this. So there's a very good chance that she will never be happy.

She's not good at making plans; she's too inflexible. Other people, they go with the flow – they make a plan and if something interrupts them, they digest it. Not our girl. She comes up with amazing plans – way better than yours. The problem, though, is that like all plans best-laid, they are not destined to come true. They are simply plans.

She's very bad at improvising. Which is funny, because she's actually a great improviser. Oh my God you should've seen her with her college group – it was insane! It was like they had one mind! Sometimes all four of them would make the exact same joke at the exact same time and the audience would scream and cry and yell and the four of them would stand and look at each other in amazement. But that doesn't happen anymore. She's a big girl now, in the Big Girl World, and she can't seem to find her footing.

Her friends who tumble along without too much ambition are doing great. She has so many girlfriends who are so wonderfully happy, and she's thrilled for them – really! She just wants their secrets. She wants to know how to glide through life with no expectations.

She’s a walking wind-up toy, and she’s full of plans. Specific plans.

Wordy Wednesday: Teacher Thing

Okay, okay - one more Wordy Wednesday. It's for a good cause, I promise. 

You guys know I tutor kids in reading and writing, but now I'm going to tell you something you don't know.

Last summer, I had been with my tutoring company for about two months when I realized a girl from my high school was working with Teach for America. Facebook told me. I went to her page and discovered a blog she kept during her first year in her school, and stayed-up til three reading all her entries. In essence, I stalked her teaching career, and I cried and laughed as I caught-up with her journey.

Wordy Wednesday: Elephant in the Room

I've been feeling some awkwardness lately, so I'm going to address it: I don't think Wordy Wednesdays are working. 

Sorry if you're a fan, I've soured on the idea. And this is MY HOUSE, so what I say goes! Devoting a whole day to words seems redundant when the rest of the week is pretty verbose. 

Don't fret, chickadees - you'll still get your Midweek Galen Fix. I have a sweet new concept for Hump Day, which I will reveal next week. For now, let's celebrate our last Wordy Wednesday with this article about how Affirmative Action did not keep this white girl out of college. 

And this one about the 5 Most Famous Musicians Who are Thieving Bastards. 

And then check out this blog (ostensibly written by Suri Cruise). That is, if you haven't already seen it (I am, generally, the last person to find out about stuff). 

Wordy Wednesday: Galen Reccomends

It's been an exhausting few weeks, and I'm not feeling particularly chatty. Luckily, the internet never sleeps. So here are my recommendations for some Wednesday reading. 

1. Why We Need The Same Innovation for Food Waste that We've Given Energy: Food for thought about the way we shop, store, and dispose of what we (don't) consume.
2. Punk Rock is Bullshit: This guy is mad at his "scene."
3. The Jazz Age is Bullshit: If you managed to get through the last one (or even if you didn't), then here's a refreshing companion.
4. 5 Myths About Celebrity Deaths Everyone Believes: Walt Disney ain't frozen, and Poe wasn't a drunk.
5. Now that you're sick of reading, overload on GIFs with 42 Things That Prove That Joseph Gordon-Levitt is the Perfect Man. 

Enjoy your Wednesday! 

Wordy Wednesday: Meeting Mark

In July of 2010, I was doing summer stock theatre in Illinois. It was great - wonderful, really. I worked with an amazing company of people for three straight months, rehearsing and performing and studying my craft all day, every day. But I was also very blue. I had just graduated college, and was greatly missing my friends and Very Excellent Boyfriend. Sometimes, while everyone else want to the bar, I stayed in my room and just plain moped - for hours. 

One afternoon, I stumbled across a post on Tumblr about a guy who read the entire Twilight series, and wrote a post for each chapter as he went. I clicked over and laughed until I cried. His hatred for the books was so palpable, so like my own. He identified himself only as "Mark," but I felt I knew him very well. 

A few days later, I realized that he had another project in the works - he was reading Harry Potter for the first time, and blogging chapter by chapter as he went. At the time, he was midway through Azkaban, but like any good reader, I started with the beginning - chapter one of Sorcerer's Stone. 

Guys, Mark tried so hard to dislike Harry Potter. He was bitter, sarcastic, and dismissive for the first seven or eight chapters. After suffering through all four Twilight books, he was prepared to despise his next assignment. But by the time we hit Diagon Alley, he was hooked. I sped through his posts - all 50 of them - in about three days. When I wasn't reading them, I was thinking about them. I fell into a "Mark Reads" mental coma. 

I never emerged. 

Reading his blog was like reading Harry Potter again for the first time. It was magical. My daily routine centered around reading his posts. The rest of my summer stock days were a breeze. It's so silly, but I felt much less alone when I discovered the Mark Reads community. Hundreds of other people were as dedicated to his daily updates as I was. The moment the posts went live, I devoured them. Until he finished Deathly Hallows, my world was largely Markcentric. On Halloween, when he finished the series, I felt sad and empty. Just like I did when I finished the seventh book. 

Luckily, that wasn't his last project. Not at all. 

He came to Atlanta last week (for the first time!) and hosted a small gathering at Manuel's Tavern. Excellent Boyfriend came along, as did my Little Red Wife and Wife's Boyfriend. Mark read terrible (awful, wretched) fanfic for us, and enlisted our help to act-out the best passages. At the end of the night, I asked him to sign my copy of Sorcerer's Stone. 

Mark is a wonderful writer. He's hilarious and thoughtful and pours all of himself into these projects. He's also the person who introduced me to the Hunger Games, so I owe him quite a lot.

On March 21st, he starts blogging The West Wing. The next day, he starts Friday Night Lights. Guess I'm falling into another recap coma. 

(Oh darn.)

Wordy Wednesday: Post-Racial America

I'll admit this right off the bat, just so there's no question about it later: I have only seen one episode of Girls. But for the last year I've been hearing a lot about the show's "racial problem." This season, in an effort to address her criticism head-on, Lena Dunham featured the wonderful Donald Glover as her character's love interest.

This article is a review of the episode, and it isn't particularly favorable. That seems fitting, since I don't look favorably on the review. This quote especially ruffled my feathers:

"What Dunham's latest well-intentioned disappointment makes clear is that it will never be enough for white writers to simply try harder in their depictions of non-white characters. Some may produce keenly observed, authentic-feeling portrayals, but even those who have spent their whole lives surrounded by people of diverse backgrounds will never know first-hand what it's like to be a person of color in America."

Well of COURSE NOT.

Are artists only allowed to present people who are exactly like them? That seems awfully limiting. Not to mention insulting. We're all human, after all. I may not have felt the rage of racial discrimination, but I have felt both rage and discriminated against, so I can comprehend how another person might feel pain. I've played mothers, pregnant women, Christians, and men onstage - I am not, and never have been, any of these things. But that's acting. Art isn't literal. If that's what you want, then you should stick to documentaries.

Shakespeare was a man, but he wrote for women. I'd argue (and I think a lot of women would agree) that his ladies are often fully-realized. But there are also two-dimensional women in his plays. Just as there are flimsy caricatures of men. I think there's a serious lack of female playwrights (and composers!) but I'm not about to argue that Sondheim shouldn't write for women since HE MALE. HE NO GET IT.

I really feel for Lena Dunham - she's a young, adventurous writer and artist who has worked her rear off to have her own show on HBO. And now every armchair director in the country wants to influence her work. She's damned whether does or doesn't include multicultural characters. People cried, "Racism!" last season, and now they're shouting, "Write what you know!"

I want to buy her a glass of wine and thank her for working so hard. I also want to ask her to write me a part. Just a small one, though - I'm not greedy.

Wordy Wednesday: Stacking-up My Soapboxes

Have you read Rex Reed's review of the movie Identity Theif? I recommend it - if you want to get really, really mad in the next three minutes.

He hated the movie. What a shock - it doesn't look great. What is shocking is the way he refers to Melissa McCarthy in his review. He calls her "tractor-sized," "a screeching, humongous creep," and a "female hippo." By the time I finished the article, I was looking for something to smash in Rex's effigy. 

Luckily, the rest of the world seems to agree, and there's been a backlash to beat the band.

Women are constantly judged on the way we look - often when it is not required of us. If I hear one more person call a supreme court justice "ugly" or "unstylish," I will run full-force through a sliding glass door. Ruth Bader-Ginsburg doesn't want or need to be a sex symbol; that's not her job. Her position requires intelligence and gravitas and strength of will, and if she wants to wear Snuggies to work, then let her. She never asked you to think that she's pretty. 

When I did The Little Foxes at Theatre in the Square two years ago, a reviewer said that I was not "pretty enough" to play my role. First of all, I am dead sexy, so his opinion is irrelevant. But beyond that, my character's level of attractiveness is never once mentioned in the play. Is isn't vital to the plot at all. No one says, "Alexandra is so beautiful," or "She is so pretty." If that were the case and this reviewer found me lacking, then okay, that might be something to discuss. Is a short Jew-ish girl with a big forehead the very model of a Southern belle? Maybe not. But since it never comes up in the course of the show that Alexandra might be pretty, then it really doesn't matter. For all intents and purposes, Alexandra could be a dog. After all, the plot hinges on her cousin not wanting to marry her. The reviewer just thinks that all women he sees are required to be pretty, because to be anything less is unacceptable. 

The last episode of Friday Night Lights that V.E.B. and I watched featured an old Southern adage I have always hated, though I also understand it very well: "No one likes an angry woman." Well that's okay. 

You don't have to like me.

Wordy Wednesday: Are You Ready to Get Inspired?

I'm a big fan of Cracked.com - specifically, the lists. Every day, they publish 2 or 3 on varying topics - pop culture, science, history, etc. They are always funny, and (without exception) fascinating. For a humor website, they're oddly informative. 

A couple days ago, I stumbled across this article, and it really hit home for me. The title is a little off-putting ("Why would I want to read about 6 harsh things?") but give it a chance. You want to read it because you want to be a useful person. You really do. 

I started this project to feel useful; I was tired of feeling lazy and boring. Since leaving college, I've worked a lot in my chosen field, but I've also bounced around between day jobs. I generally don't make much money, and sometimes the things I do to earn an income don't feel very fulfilling. Teaching is very useful, but I'm not truly trained to teach - some days I'm so terrified of screwing-up those kids that I just want to have a panic attack under my bed. 

But that wouldn't help anyone - least of all, me. So instead, I decided to make something. I forget sometimes that I can do that - that I'm a person with a brain and a lot of time, and when you combine those ingredients with an idea, you can create something out of nothing. I love personal style blogs, and I've secretly always wanted my own, so why not make one?

For a while, I kept the project a secret. I was afraid of people rolling their eyes. "Does the world need another blog?" I don't know, probably not. But the world doesn't need a lot of things - that doesn't mean it isn't nice to have them. Blogging is perhaps a little stupid (the word "blog" certainly is), but I'd rather make something dumb than not make anything at all. Snapping photos with my phone and writing entries is more productive than playing Tetris on Facebook. 

It's also much more fulfilling. I didn't realize it until today, but the nagging voice in the back of my brain (The "What are you going to do with your life?") voice is gone. At least, for now. It might come back up, but for the time being I'm content. I have something to look forward to every day - I have a project that won't close in three weeks, like the amazing show I'm doing.

You know, that might be part of my old malaise. My career lacks consistency - and so so my day jobs. In a world of constant juggling, this URL is a bit of consistency. It's a project that can last as long as I want it to. 

Wordy Wednesdays: The Happy Homemaker

(SYLVIE stands at a stove, slowly stirring a pot of tomato sauce. MARYLYNN sits at her dining room table, sipping a glass of wine.)

MARYLYNN:
I can't believe you're wearing an apron. My eyes are still adjusting to it.

SYLVIE:
It's crazy, right?

MARYLYNN:
Yeah, a touch. It looks like you're playing dress-up.

SYLVIE:
I kind of am. Only, I never take the costume off. Do you know I've been cleaning this place like a madwoman?

MARYLYNN:
On purpose?

SYLVIE:
Daily. I check my e-mails, write out reports, and whenever I have a little down time I'm scrubbing a toilet or wiping a counter.

MARYLYNN:
If you'd done that in college, our apartment wouldn't have been so horrible.

SYLVIE:
You were a slob back then, too!

MARYLYNN:
I'm still a slob! God, I can't believe you broke rank - you're a Clean Person now!

SYLVIE:
It's so weird! But I can't help it - I'm here all day long, and I just can't stand to look at everything all messy. It makes my skin crawl.

MARYLYNN:
How do you have time to work and clean?

SYLVIE:
Not commuting helps. But honestly, I don't know. It just kind of happens.

MARYLYNN:
I'd say, "show me your ways," but then again, I don't care. Mac does all the cleaning at our place, and that's fine by me. You know, he actually likes to clean. Says it's therapeutic. Isn't that gross?

SYLVIE:
It's a little pathological.

MARYLYNN:
Last week I tried to clean a dish, and he begged me to leave it in the sink. Said he had a hard day at work, and he wanted to pretend the pesto was his boss's adult acne while he ripped it off his face. (SYLVIE snort-laughs over the stove.) I'm serious - that's a direct quote. He might be a serial killer. Whatever, as long as he wipes-up the blood, I'm cool. So you like working from home?

SYLVIE:
Yeah, but sometimes I forget that's what I'm doing here all day. Isn't that weird?

MARYLYNN:
How do you forget work?

SYLVIE:
I don't know. I just sit in my office, typing and sending things off, and it might be work, or it might just be...working from home is just different. The deadlines are there and everything, but I feel so removed from it all.

MARYLYNN:
I don't see how that's possible. I could never, ever pretend to enjoy my work. Uugh, you're so lucky.

SYLVIE:
(Nods in agreement) I won't argue that. (She spoons out some sauce and takes a quick taste) Ooh! Yes! Here, try.

(She hands the spoon to MARYLYNN, who takes a tiny sip.)

MARYLYNN:
Oh holy God. (She slurps the rest of it up, and licks the spoon) Sweet heaven, what's in that??

SYLVIE:
Secrets. Badly-kept family secrets, courtesy of the internet.

MARYLYNN:
I would eat that stuff plain - no pasta necessary.

SYLVIE:
If I had an immersion blender, I'd whip it right into soup - skip the middleman.

MARYLYNN:
Maybe that's what I should get you for your birthday?

SYLVIE:
Nah, don't bother.

MARYLYNN:
Why not?

SYLVIE:
That's a whole month away - who knows if I'll still be all..."domestic" by then.

MARYLYNN:
Whatdya mean? You're gonna stop being June Cleaver?

SYLVIE:
I mean, probably. I'm not very good at sticking to things.

MARYLYNN:
(Snort laughs) Since when?

SYLVIE:
Since, like, ever. I'm a little fickle. I go through cycles.

MARYLYNN:
Doesn't everyone? And fickle? YOU? You've had your job for six years - you wear clothes you owned in high school -

SYLVIE:
Yeah, a few things. But I can't seem to make anything else stick. Hobbies, crafts, exercise plans. They always fall away.

MARYLYNN:
Did you like all that stuff?

SYLVIE:
For a while, yeah.

MARYLYNN:
But then you got bored of it all?

SYLVIE:
Yeah, and I just gave up.

MARYLYNN:
Maybe it wasn't for you. Maybe you stopped caring because you didn't really like that stuff to begin with. Do you like wearing an apron and making amazing tomato sauces from scratch?

SYLVIE:
Yeah - it's great.

MARYLYNN:
So then maybe this'll stick. This might just be YOUR hobby.

(Beat.)

SYLVIE:
That's why you're my best friend.

MARYLYNN:
I'm only yours for the food.

(SYLVIE serves the sauce over pasta. It's amazing. She keeps cooking, but the cleaning goes to pieces over time. It's okay - she doesn't live in squalor or anything.)

Wordy Wednesdays: The Jumpsuit Queen

The last time I went to Goodwill, there was an abundance of jumpsuits. Normally, there will be a few, but this time I found about 20. It was baffling - like someone with a collection had recently sworn them off. Or died. But that's a bit morbid.

She had always been a woman of style, and even in her twenty-eight-year repose, she looked stunning.

The endless hospital vigils had long passed, but her family still gathered at her bedside for momentous occasions. Chanukkah had been her favorite holiday, and so they always came together for the last night and lit an electric menorah on her windowsill. They hoped she could sense the flickering light bulbs; they wished candles were allowed in the hospital.

She had been in a coma since 1984. They had long ago given-up hope that she would awaken, but still could not bear to let her go. So she waited endlessly in the hospital through years and years of changes, remaining ever as she was.

But that night, the final night of Chanukkah, a miracle occurred. With no preamble, she sighed heavily, and her eyelids fluttered open. Her family gasped in shock and awe. Slowly, she leaned toward her husband and reached tenderly for his hand. He grasped her small fingers, and marveled at the strength in her grip. For years, he had stroked those limp little hands, and he had long ago forgotten their power. But finally, she was awake! She blinked her eyes against the light, and strained to make sense of the shadows she saw before her. When her husband's face came into focus, she gasped. Instinctively, her grip softened, and they smiled together as reflections of joy. She threw herself forward and flung her arms around his shoulders. Groggily, she whispered, "What are they wearing these days?" For she was always a woman of style.

Tears filled his eyes; this news might crush her. "Not jumpsuits, dear."

She could not control the pained cry that ripped through her. Her daughters held each other and wept for everything their dear mother had lost. Twenty-eight long years had passed, taking with them countless memories: the daughters' weddings, the births of three grandchildren, the death of a sister - and now this.

But she was still a woman of style. "Fine," she said - and she wept no more. The time for grief had passed.

Two weeks later, when she was finally released from the hospital, she went home and packed her jumpsuits away. She did so without remorse. That night, her husband drove the boxes to Goodwill - she did not go. She sat at home with her daughter, holding an iPad, wearing separates. 

Wordy Wednesday: My trip to Robinson, Illinois

Sometimes, actors get to do ridiculous, awesome things. One of the coolest things I do is sing with an Elton John impersonator - "Almost Elton John." In December, the show took me to the Midwest. I'd been away for a few years, and it was nice to see that Southern Illinois is much like I left it.

Fun fact: Robinson, IL is the only place in the country where Heath Bars are made. While we were there, we visited the Heath Museum, which is located right on the town square. It's a small storefront with a host of local artifacts. It's also a fully-functioning soda shop, complete with ice cream and penny candy. You can buy one-pound bags of Heath Bars - fresh from the factory. Not even wrapped yet.

Local Lore:

Next, we took a drive to Palestine, the oldest town in Illinois. It's about 10 miles away from Robinson, and while we drove we passed the "New Cemetery." And yes, there's an Old one, too (it's full - that's why they needed the new one).

I love how the cemetery melts into the factory behind it.

VFW Hall

The sign outside Veterans' Hall

In Palestine, we saw the Fife Opera House - and every little bit of cynicism drained right out of my body. It was amazing - this gorgeous old opera house, olio drops still in place. It's about as beautiful a place as I've ever seen in my life. And in some ways, it looks like a show was right in the midst of production. The front drop is raised halfway, the back room hold curtains and costumes and mannequins, and there are Christmas decorations lying about the room. The original floor has been exposed - the seats and the elevated flooring they sat on we're removed long ago. So now, the angled side-paneling only suggests at an audience.

The costume shop

Water damage betrays the years - it has slowly seeped from the ceiling, and faded whole sections of wall. And the plaster has veins running through it, ribbons of open air where gravity pulls the walls apart. But it's still so nice to look at.

Wordy Wednesday: The Great Gatsby Dress

First of all, I've heard that there might be a problem with e-mail subscriptions - apparently, the posts aren't showing-up in people's inboxes. If you'e signed-up for an e-mail subscription, could you comment and let me know if you received today's post via your inbox? Thanks!

Now: Wednesdays are for Words.

I say this a lot, and it's embarrassingly true: I'm a writer who doesn't write. Every now and then I'll be struck by inspiration, and I'll jot out a quick story or something, but most of the time I'm just really, really lazy. You may remember the well-intentioned-but-short-lived experiment that was Galen Writes a Play a Day? (Why did I remind you?)

Well no mas! I'm gonna write stuff down if it kills me! And that's an unlikely outcome! 

Today, I'm introducing you to a Quest: 

'Tis the season to search high and low for a Great Gatsby Premiere Dress. I don't normally dress-up for movie premiers (even Harry Potter, which I am passionate about) but for Gatsby, I must. Have you seen the trailer? It is an optical feast. First of all, the dresses. Secondly, the sparkle. Thirdly, the Tobey Maguire.

I cannot express how much I loved Tobey Maguire when I was a young teenager. I saw Spider-man and was hooked. From the eighth to the 11th grades, the door to my room was plastered in Tobey pictures. 

At any rate, I am very excited for the movie (Baz!) and I am searching all over creation for the perfect dress to don for the occasion. Rest assured, though - no midnight showing for me. I can't do that kind of stuff anymore. At least, not without a lot of hemming and hawing and Red Bull. I'll go to a classy 8 PMer, thankyouverymuch.

The second trailer is below - I saw it when we went to Les Mis on Christmas Day (so many mixed feelings). Hopefully, Gatsby won't leave me so lukewarm. 

Sidebar: I think it's adorable that Tobey Maguire and Leo are in this film together - they're best friends! They'e known each other since they were kids!

Oh no, I've said too much. My inner middle-schooler is showing.