Hipster Mordor

Last night, as I walked the two blocks from a warehouse/rehearsal/performance space which used to be the artisan lightbulb factory from that episode of Portlandia to my studio apartment conveniently located directly above a dive bar, a shwanky hipster bar, and a bar/coffee shop, something occurred to me.

I HAVE REACHED THE HEART, THE PEAK, THE BLACK HOLE, OF HIPSTERDOM.

NooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

Sweet God.  Insidiously, bit by bit, thrift store by thrift store, food cart by food cart, unpaid artistic project by project, I have reached the center of the tornado. 

I don't know how to take this.  If Portlandia were to follow me for a week they'd have enough ammo to roast Portland hipsterdom like a Fourth of July barbecue.  They'd be guaranteed ten more seasons of hipster satire.  For God's sake I'm a vegetarian actor who treats the coffeeshop/bar as my living room.  There, I have job hunted, watched Conan the Barbarian, debated politics, gotten drunk, talked for hours about art, and manicly paced and smoked cigarettes outside the front door.  And I'm blogging about it!!  NOOOOOOO!!!!

The worst part of all is the ultimate giveaway that I am in fact a hipster:  

I refuse to admit that I'm a hipster.

What have I become???  

Maybe by admitting that I have a problem I'm taking the first step towards recovery.  No more locally owned restaurants that cater to vegans and "locavores," no more apartments furnished by Ikea and thrift stores, no more scanning craigslist for temp gigs at farmer's markets, no more french press coffee, no more PBR and Kraft mac n' cheese.

...But I like all those things.  Oh well.  At least I'm out of the closet now.   Anyone wanna find a happy hour where we drink out of mason jars?

Surfing USA

For the past few weeks I have felt like I'm on a free fall through turbulence.

A month ago, as Liz and I sludged through rusty water, giggling at Moe as she splashed in doggy joy through the indoor lakes, we got to talking about moving.  There was the first move we shared together (also with Moe) when the Uhaul broke down in the middle of the intersection and I had to maneuver a powerless truck out of the road.  There was the move that involved a month or two of covertly crashing on a friend's couch and smuggling the dog.  Then we started counting and realized that for me, I've moved every 2-4 months since I graduated from college.

I pondered my gypsy-esque lifestyle, and now that I am somewhat nestled in to a new place a month later, I'm realizing that I've been sucked into a time-lapse of the last nine months, and the end to my migrant habits is pretty far off.  That is to say, the speed of my moving has increased.  I stayed in NYC for two weeks, plopped down in Portland for three days, stayed in Colorado for one week, went to Seattle for a day, now I'm in Portland for three days, LA for four days, Portland for three days, LA again for three days, and then theoretically back in Portland for 2-4 months. And then God only knows where I'll be.  Anywhere from sea to shining sea in this country, with a vague possibility of being gone altogether from this continent. 

I guess this makes sense given the fact that you create your own reality and this lifestyle kind of mimics the way my brain works--jumping around with little long-term planning.  But damn. I have reached the point where it is wearying.  Long story short, today I wanted to blog about maintaining calm in the middle of the storm.  Or...having a sense of home no matter what.  Not that I am particularly great at it, by any means.
But here are some love-nuggets for you to savor:

Music.  

An instantaneous way to ground your mood in whatever way you need.

Network.  

When traveling is less like traveling and more like friend-hopping it is way more fun and definitely helps you stay centered.  

Alcohol.  

In the words of Eleanor: "Sorry 'bout it."  It's guaranteed to relax you and put you right at home. 

Exercise.  

Okay this may seem contrary to the last one, and I also have to admit I'm not great at it.  Weirdly, this is more difficult to procure than alcohol when you're on the road, but I think it helps move traveling energy through your body.  Hippie moment!  Also, it's good for you.

Art.  

Duhhh. There really is only one way to digest and make sense of the human experience, especially when you are experiencing a great deal of change.  Creating/absorbing art.  That's what I think.

On to the next one

Hey!  In all of the madness of my sudden move and trip to New York, I did not officially announce:  I AM AN OFFICE MONKEY NO MORE!!  My temp position with Banfield was completed right before I left for New York, so I bid a fond farewell to my new Banfield friends and an enthusiastic farewell to six months of Human Resources cubicle living.  No more data entry, no more OSHA logs, no more 8-5, no more slow waltz towards insanity.  And no more peanut butter M&M theft. 

And now, I can say that I have completed round one of grad school auditions!  After two weeks of monologues and 16-bar songs I have seven schools up in the air, I am still homeless and jobless, I am still on the road, and there is more ahead.  In that spirit, please enjoy this song, as it has been my JAM for the past few days.  On to the next one. 

A love note to my friends. Thank you.

I am sitting next to a window looking out over Queens, with a view of the Manhattan skyline peaking through the windows to my right, my best friend reading in her adjoining bedroom, and my dear friend and fellow auditioner-for-grad-schools on the couch next to an adorable purring kitten.  Our other kind and wonderful host is at an exclusive happy hour event at a place with a dress code, and just invited us out to a gourmet 24-hour diner a block away.  I’m not quite sure what life I am living right now, but I like it.  I swear to God this is really happening.

Five days before leaving the exquisite city of Portland, my roommate and I came home after a particularly rainy week to a flooded apartment.  So while salvaging my stuff and scrambling to move out before a month-long trip, I was also preparing for MFA Acting school auditions, rehearsing scenes for ACTF, opening and closing a staged reading, doing curtain speeches and pouring Ninkasi beer for Theatre Vertigo, wrapping up my temp job at Banfield, and trying not to lose my mind. Oh yeah, and picking up my poor roommate from the hospital when she unexpectedly broke her ankle.  

But now, tucked into a little oasis in Queens with wonderful people I love and nothing to do but the work I love best—act—for a month, I can’t help but feel like everything has happened exactly as it was supposed to. ...Except maybe for my dear roomie's ankle... :(  I have no job, no home, I’m unattached, and I now have nothing in my life but total freedom, big dreams, and incredible friends.  Friends who give me all the tequila I need and a place to crash when my apartment floods, friends who rally at the last minute to help me move and store my stuff when my landlord falls through, friends who welcome me with open arms and home-cooked meals when I fly across the country like a woman fleeing a burning building.  Friends who believe in me and support me no matter what.  Unlikely friends who make a “Flat Stanley” so I can take pictures with them in New York.  Oh yeah, and amazing parents who help me out in small, key ways from 400 miles away. 

This past week has been a beautiful reminder that every cloud truly does have a silver lining.  I lost a few things, but I was given a deep gratitude for the wonderful support network I have, and an absolutely clean and fresh start after six months of corporate drudgery and intense preparation for this next month of my life. 

I am brand new.  Ready to write the next chapter. 

A crime exposed

For the past six months, I have regularly engaged in an act of espionage and theft against a fellow coworker.  But in light of the impending end of my employment at Banfield, and in the spirit of the New Year, I am going to come clean. 

I have nothing against this coworker on a personal level.  He is a remarkably sweet, amiable, man.  At the risk of making a sweeping statement, most Mormons are!  And practically the entire senior management of Banfield is Mormon!  I like Mormons.  Anyone who’s lived in a Mormon-dominated region will likely agree that no group is, as a whole, more polite, pleasant, and full of smiles.  And who better to be in charge of a large company with 1000’s of employees than an intimate club of very pleasant people??

But this isn’t about Mormons!  This is about a large glass pumpkin that sits on the desk of a member of this kindly elite.  This large glass pumpkin contains a constant supply (we’re talking like 3 pounds) of Peanut Butter M&M's, which everyone knows were crafted in ancient times on Mount Olympus along with the Nectar of the Gods, the recipe for which was stolen by the god Mars in the form of a mountain goat and passed down through the generations to Mr. Mars, who would then start a candy company and mass-produce them, thereby making Americans obese and helpless under the blissfully torturous mind-control of peanut butter and chocolate in a candy shell.  Then, of course, Mars would go on to buy out the entire American pet food industry and a Portland-based pet hospital.  Obviously.

But this isn’t about Mars and his master plan! This is about the deft and devious way I have looped around the office on casual strolls, glancing casually into the fish-bowl offices of the executives, counting down the doors until I would see the glorious, crack-cocaine-filled pumpkin of mystical wonder glowing like a beacon of seduction to my salivating mouth.  On an ideal thieving day, the cheerfully nondescript Keeper of the Pumpkin would be miraculously absent from his desk, and the door would be invitingly ajar.  My heart beating with joy, I would then stride confidently and quickly into the office, swiftly lift the stem of the pumpkin, and scoop out a handful of the colorful guts.  Before the generous Filler of the Pumpkin of Joy could return or anyone could notice that I was a mere peon, I strode casually back out of the office and back onto my loop around the building, the tiny nuggets of peanut butter and chocolate safely cradled in my loving hand, where they would not melt, but rather wait to melt their transcendent bliss on my tongue. 

But this isn’t about the delicious prize of my theft!  It’s about the vacantly perky man who dutifully keeps a giant glass pumpkin on his desk filled with solid teardrops of ambrosia.  In my twisted criminal mind, I never once considered befriending this generous soul so that I might broach his office with casual small talk while nonchalantly nibbling away at the heaven-filled pumpkin.  I don’t even know his name!  And it’s written on his office window!  Somehow, it was not only the siren song of Peanut Butter M&M's that lured me onto these treacherous missions.  It was the thrill of the theft.  I was the closeted Wynona Ryder of office thievery.

…Well.  I am closeted no more.

....I am also not quitting....   Just try and stop me.  That shit is delicious.