Courtney McLean

My performing and creating "hiatus" is officially officially officially OVER.  Some of you may be asking, "You were on hiatus?"  To which I would respond, "YES.  And it was HORRIBLE."  Sometimes I get overwhelmed by having so much stuff to do. This is usually a result of my lack of planning ahead.  You know that saying, "If it weren't for the last minute, I'd get nothing done?"  I hate that saying, but it's kinda my M.O.  TILL NOW.

I've been pretty good within the past couple of months at looking ahead at least a month and planning my Twin Cities world domination... which is how I completely pwned the Rockstar Storyteller Sexy Fun-Time Romance N Stuff show last night.  I had been making my lists and checking them 19 times (because I forget I've already checked them 18 times).  I made sure I had almost all the ducks (the pretty ones) in a row by Saturday night so that I could go enjoy some improv at Huge.  And on Sunday morning, I woke up with just a few finishing touches for that evening's show and accomplished them with plenty of time to work with one of the Annas from CMC&TDC on a recording of a song we'll be releasing at the end of this month.   And the whole process of setting up the show at the theater was so relaxing.  I also had our magic tech on my side, who never fails to be an expert professional.   We had five amazing storytellers on the show*, Me & The Curls played 4 songs including the killer "Safe Words" (How will I ever top this???), The Leading Man** and a few others provided hilarious or poignant videos for breaks in the live action, and we raffled off three books donated generously to us by The Smitten Kitten.

There's no drama in this post, just ass-kicking.  We had a great show.  An overflowing handful of people approached to congratulate me on a job well-done.  Everything felt great.  And then someone gave us tape in the dressing room:

Originally from October 20, 2011, but I never finished writing it. So here you go:

The latest chapter in my life as an acquaintance of Diablo Cody's was closed last night as practically the whole Lounge Lizards crew and I were ON THE LIST to go see a very secret screening of Cody & Jason Reitman's "Young Adult," starring Charlize Theron & Patton Oswalt.

I wasn't on the original email list from Diablo herself to the Minnesota crew. The email was forwarded to me by our main Diabs liaison: "FREE MOVIE" the subject line read. Then followed a note from D--Brook. Brook is what I call her now. I feel like it's more appropriate with her motherhood thing and being less in the public eye, now she's not so much a celebrity as a just person that writes and gets paid for it. Very handsomely, I imagine. But I digress. Brook offered us all a place on the list for VIP reserved seating in the theater. I emailed with an RSVP yes to the liaison before tracking Brook's email down to tell her myself I would be there. I wasn't expecting a response, but I got one:

"Courtney, I'm so glad you're coming! It should be a nice night.

I hope all is well with you too-- I've been following your career all this time, it looks like you're having a blast and kicking ass. Hope to talk more soon when I have a nice Polish cocktail in front of me.

See you very soon! xoxo"

Wha wha wha WHAAAAA??? She's "been following" my career "all this time?" That seriously made my day, be it lip service or not.

Fast forward to last night. My girls and I arrived 15 minutes prior to showtime at the theater where a line wrapped around the side of the building. Urgent texts from another friend made us believe we may have missed our chance to get inside, that we would have to wait in the line. We walked past a woman who harshly announced, "It's sold out." We said, "We're on the list." A moment of hesitation and the woman retorted, "So was I!" Uh oh. But remember when we went to the preview of "Juno?" We had reserved seats! My girls are bold. One of us slipped inside the door to the box office to see one of our fellow VIPers in line for concessions, instructing us to tell the gal at the table at the front of the line our names and they would be... on the list. And so they were.

We got our tickets and headed inside to see two halves of "Reserved" rows filled by our buddies: the circle of friends through which I was initially introduced to Brook. The people with whom I've attended countless nights of karaoke and parties, one of which was at the Playboy Mansion for Brook's birthday a few years ago. And it felt like the band was back together. I wasn't in Minnesota to watch Brook's rise to fame; I arrived a few months after she had already moved to Los Angeles just as "Juno" was being released. But I felt at home as The Adopted in this little group and last night it felt like I was there all along.

Apparently the people who had received passes to the movie didn't even know what movie they were going to see, or that Brook & director Jason Reitman would be there. But it was a full theater of fans when the two of them walked out into the auditorium to greet the cheering crowd.

As for the movie itself, I did enjoy it, despite it leaving a pain in my chest from the excruciatingly visceral assholishness and stupidity of Mavis Gary. The movie's got no redemptive arc, which is fine by me; I kinda wanted to see what "eventually happens" to the character though. Does she get what's coming to her? Or is nothing coming to her and well, sorry peeps, that's life? The film was apparently just how Brook wanted it to be, so I think we're looking at the latter. Sometimes people just keep going through life the way they want to see it. I guess that makes Mavis Gary an everywoman.

The movie ended, we clapped, and Brook shuffled up the aisle from the front of the theater, leaned over us and said, "Nye's? See you at Nye's?" Broadcast it, why doncha, girl? We wanna hog you all to ourselves.

On our way out, we got this pretty rad poster commemorating the evening:



Upon arriving at Nye's, everyone was already there and standards were being sung accompanied by the pianist, and what's this? Brook sitting at a table signing our posters? Back to the car we went to retrieve them, against the warnings of our fellow VIPers, assuming that Brook would feel put out to sign posters for her friends. At any rate, I now have an autographed "Young Adult" poster.

I went out for a smoke (yes, I had started smoking again earlier this year and have since quit again for 2 months) and when I came back in, I learned that everyone, including Brook, had been telling Todd how awesome I am. Nothing like coming in from a self-esteem-destroying activity into a freshly-laundered Snuggie of compliments, including another one from Brook about my adorable rainbow pixie cut. "I went to Burning Man this year," I explained regarding my coif. "Oh yeah, Burning Man'll do that to ya," she replied," I've always wanted to go." I highly recommended it and I think I threw in something about Kidsville (a camp at BM where there are children of varying ages; I saw 4-year-olds, I'm pretty sure).


Me N Todd, photo by Molly P

Brook got up to sing a song, which I don't remember, but I do remember being absolutely BLOWN AWAY by her voice. I've heard her sing before and every time, I'm just floored by what a compelling and naturally high voice she has. I was inspired to write a duet, which I never did, but I might do soon.

I also ate most of Jason Reitman's birthday cake.

There was this woman that was sitting amongst us who later got into the car to go back to the hotel with Brook & Jason. I think her name was Megan. I didn't recognize her; I think she may have been with the movie company? But she told me she was watching me from behind during the movie that evening. And she said I was laughing at all the things no one else was laughing at... and it was for that reason she could tell why Brook and I were such good friends. I told her that, unfortunately, Brook and I weren't that close, that I mostly knew her peripherally through all these other wonderful people, but that I knew she and I have a similar sense of humor and if given the chance, would probably become good friends. Maybe someday.

Anyway, Young Adult. Go see it.

Sometimes I forget that hey, we live in a consumerist culture. And it's kinda what our economy depends on. So, when you want to buy, buy local. Of course.

Black Friday angers me. Mostly because people literally die so that consumers can get insane deals on overpriced shit that will break down in half a decade anyway. You know what I love? The 1970s model Sunbeam MixMaster that my friend's mom gave me a couple of years ago.



That same friend also gave me her old Electrolux vacuum. It works. It works well. I love it. And the bags are still available. Awesome.


It looks something like this.

Unfortunately, my lack of penchant for shopping and wanting new things all the time like a good American means that I wear jeans with crotch holes patched and re-patched and underwear with tan-brown faded period stains for YEARS. Whatever, they're clean.

But I just LOVE The Imaginary Foundation Shirts and usually I wait till sales, but these are new items for which I frequently drop coin.



It says "Cosmic High-Roller." And it's Stephen Hawking. How rad is that????

On Thursday, June 23, after teaching a two-hour theater class to five kids at Fridley High School, I bounced over to St. Paul to pick up my first-ever check for professional on-camera work from one of my agents at Talent Poole. Tom Poole was in the office, but my check was not. I had to go pick it up from his wife and partner in the business, Geanette Poole, whom I had never met. But before I left, Tom asked if I had a little time to chat with him about a project for which he thought I would be a great addition. Inside my thought factory, I had a blip of "I just want to grab my check and get back to getting my stuff done!" My stuff, to which I always escape when I don't want to do something else. But then I reconsidered: "I better stay and talk. He is my agent, after all, and he is talking about a job." What proceeded was a conversation that had me almost in tears of laughter and slack-jawed with all the ideas bandied about. I left there bubbling with excitement for my coming relationship with this agency and with Tom, who was clearly enchanted with my work and my potential and my talent.

I drove to Tom & Geanette's home just a few blocks away to pick up my check, which Geanette had accidentally taken home in a flurry of some sort. Wiggling up to me came their little dog, by which Tom warned me against getting licked. Geanette was younger than I imagined... she actually reminded me a lot of an old high school friend's hip and gentle mother. I retrieved the payment and shook hands, exchanged smiles and was on my way.

Four nights later, June 27, I emailed Talent Poole to ask about getting my voiceover career ramped up: getting my demo done, being placed on their website, doing my own website? I received a response from a woman I've never dealt with before telling me the agency was on hold due to a medical emergency and Geanette would respond when things calmed down, probably after a month. I was worried for the Poole family, but my slowly budding career was more on the forefront of my mind.

See, about 9 days prior to my email, on June 18, I ran into my buddy John at a mutual friend's wedding. John informed me that he had taken a job as an agent at Nuts, a "rival" agency in town (I refuse to believe that anyone is actually in rivalry with anyone else... unless they are, but that Minnesota Nice gets in the way. Yeah, I'm sure that's it). He was a little bummed I had gone with Talent Poole, an exclusive agency, meaning I couldn't also be with Nuts. Nevertheless, John called me a couple days later, maybe on June 20, to ask me to come in to audition anyway. I returned his call and said, "sure, why not?" I like being wanted.

Skip to June 23, meeting with Tom. Skip to June 27, email from Talent Poole re: medical emergency. Which brings us to the next day, during which I found out the medical emergency was that Tom had been hit by a car on June 24 or 25... I have read two different dates.

I *just* saw him. It's so weird when that happens. I just saw him the day before an accident that fractured his skull, resulting in severe brain trauma and a coma.

Tom passed away on July 6.

I had my audition with Nuts on July 7. I was melancholy and felt like I was betraying my agent in a time of need, but that's my M.O. Taking on guilt when I don't need to.

July 11, I received the letter from Nuts offering representation. A week later, I mailed off my acceptance with 12 headshots/resumes. I promptly emailed Geanette (a draft I had been saving till I knew it was what I wanted to say) to let her know that I was making a business decision to go with the other agency because Talent Poole was on hold and because I wasn't sure exclusivity was the right choice for me to make as a newbie to the business here. She emailed me back almost immediately wishing me luck and letting me know that I always had a place there should I choose to come back. And also that Talent Poole wasn't "on hold!" I guess I was misinformed, or just assumed because I hadn't heard anything further since my email on June 27, the status remained. Oh well. The point is that bridges were not burned. And my decision feels right.

I had only had two conversations with Tom in person: the aforementioned, and on the day I came over to their office to sign on as talent. On both occasions, Tom's Arkansian drawl and playful distaste for being indoors out of the sun struck the "kindred spirit" chord in me, as weird as that might seem. But I can't really talk much about him, having not truly known him, so I suggest you read this and this and this to get an idea of what a loss this is to Tom's family and the Twin Cities theater community.

A few months ago I got an email from a man that said something like, "I've tried to contact you a few times, but if I don't hear back from you this time, I won't waste your time anymore. I have seen your work and am interested in involving you in a project."

Project involvement? To which I didn't respond? P'shaw! Gawd knows I can't say no to just about anything. I searched my email inbox, my spam, my trash folder for this dude's name and I couldn't find anything. Of course, I responded right away: "I'm sorry, but I don't think I've heard from you previously - I'm usually very punctual in responding to performance opportunities..." TRUE. Usually.

This man ended up being Mike Todaro, one of the geniuses behind The Producing House, an outfit here in the Twitties that, you guessed it, produces. Produces theater. And by the looks of it - the kind that I usually avoid at all costs.

Well, that's not exactly accurate. I *did* see "We Gotta Bingo" with aforementioned girl crush Dawn Brodey (with whom, by the by, I just did an awesome variety show last night and got an invitation to go on her houseboat. TCB, baby, T. to the C. to the B.). But also, because now I'm a slightly less judgmental, barely less self-righteous unemployed actor (just as an actor I'm unemployed... mostly because I'm currently employed full time as an office drone).

Editor's note: now that I'm scrolling through TPH's roster, the shows they do actually look pretty awesome. See? Judgmental. Slightly less, but still.

Aaaanyhooters. After Mike asked me to be on this show and before I knew much about it or knew much about his company, I saw this cast list, which is made up, by almost 50%, of performers I love and admire and have worked with. So, I was like, why not?

So Mike tells me about the show. It's called "Celebrity Autobiography," it's been running for the past few years in New York (+1), it consists of actors reading big celebrities' autobiographies on stage (+1 for little preparation & lots of personality), I would be part of the regular local cast (+1), it's monthly (+1, steady, but small paycheck), and there would be nationally-known entertainers involved (+3 for the connections). Sounded good to me, sign me up!

Well, it happened last Friday night and it was so much fun. Myself and another local actress, George Keller, took to the stage with our big personalities to read the pieces given to us just a few days prior for the little preparation I mentioned earlier. Joining us for the two shows that evening were creators Gene Pack & Dayle Reyfel, actors Tim Bagley and Michael Urie, and Illeana Douglas. Illeana Douglas! I didn't really know who the other people were because I rarely watch TV, but I know who Illeana Douglas is! She laughed at two of my jokes! Everyone was really nice. Michael Urie even let me videotape him wishing my friends Allegra & Amy a happy life together as they got married the next day. I won't be sharing the video because of SAG rules (I think there's rules against it), but believe me: he was so sweet about it.

We had a decent-sized crowd in a large space, the Loring Theater, but we killed. We had people dying, tears streaming down their faces. My friends that came to see the show said it was exactly what they needed at the end of a long week. It was an amazing time and extremely gratifying. I can't wait for the next one, which will be at the end of August. I can't wait to see who we'll be performing with.

Here's Kristin Johnson reading the same piece I read (I was way more earnest, innocent, and dead pan):


So, yeah, I feel like I'm a level up.

This is a 2+ minute version of this story, as told to the folks at Minnesota Public Radio, who did a fine job of editing together the two pieces of my recounting.

Small Tales: Don't play the Backstreet Boys from MPR Art Hounds on Vimeo.

I loved "Bridesmaids." Loved, loved, loved it. Aside from a few little nitpicky things, I found it to be damn near perfect. My nitpicky things aren't even worth talking about. It was an authentic, funny, and loving to tribute to women's relationships with just enough romantic comedy sprinkled in to make the theater go "awww..." a few times.

There are so many fantastic scenes and dialogue exchanges, some outlandish expressions of the typical middle-class white girl's inner monologue (I can only speak for my own experience, but I do assume the new vs. old best friend jealousy pervades many a woman's mindspace during these kinds of events), principal characters who all have AT LEAST THREE layers of depth (the main characters much more). THREE!

At some point during the final 20 minutes or so of the film, a woman in our theater could not stop laughing. She said that, between gasping laughter, "I can't stop." At first it was weird and slightly annoying. And then the rest of us were infected. I wanted to watch the tender moments that were happening on screen and I couldn't because I was crying from laughing so hard. Some people around us did not catch it, but my friend was hitting me she couldn't stop laughing either. It was a wonderful moment.

"Bridesmaids" is the movie that made me laugh the hardest I have laughed in a long time. I identified with it, I got it, it was made for me. Just like Liz Lemon is made for women like me. Kristen Wiig, I salute you. And you, Judd Apatow. And everyone involved on this film.

I don't have to link the trailer here; you can find it. I can't wait to see it again. I think I'm going to make the Leading Man see it with me. And if you have the slightest inclination to see this movie, do. It needs your support. Movies that are honest, truthful representations of women being funny, jealous, insecure, ridiculous, forgiving, loving, and real people need to be made more often. Maybe they are and I just don't see them or they don't get the marketing "Bridesmaids" has, but I doubt it.

I think I fall in love with someone new, like, every other week. These people come into my life, whether they know it or not, and infuse me with drive and a renewed sense of purpose.

My latest, and the first profiled for this feature that I may or may not keep up with (to be determined), is a local actress, playwright, and historian (yup), Dawn Brodey.

I officially met Dawn a couple of weeks ago at the Bryant Lake Bowl when we were both involved in the Bill Clinton show of Salon Saloon. She presented a historical timeline piece on the controversial presidencies throughout U.S. History, ultimately positing that Clinton's Lewinsky scandal really wasn't so bad, in comparison with the Commander-In-Chief company he keeps. It was hilarious AND educational.

But I first discovered Dawn when I came out to visit the ex (and do Fringe) in August 2007 before I moved to the Twin Cities, he and I attended "We Gotta Bingo," one of those cheesy, interactive theatrical shows that gets suburbanites off the couch and "out on the town" to experience some "culture." I do not mean to be judgmental: there is something for everyone. And who am I to pick on this kind of entertainment anyway: I still have a day job that sucks my soul out. Dawn, with flaming burgundy hair and tattooed forearms, was clearly the coolest, punkest person in the cast... and clearly, she was A-OK with being involved in such a production. A production that Courtney-of-that-time cast off as artless and pandering. Maybe so. But Dawn was having fun with it, getting paid to be on stage, and - and perhaps this is me projecting - she was not taking herself so seriously that she couldn't do a show that made people I am way too quick to judge laugh and let go.

I remembered Dawn. I didn't really see much more of her afterward, nor was I looking, till I saw Facebook photos of her and another amazing actress about town, Mo Perry (another crush from before I started this blog), during a cross-country road trip on which they embarked together. Crush grew. (I did admit to her I had looked through these photos when we met. She responded with, "I would rather drive through Indiana than fly to some tropical locale" or something like that. I think I emphatically agreed with a dazed "Uh Huh." Wow, Court. Fountain of conversation. A geyser.)

Then there was Salon Saloon. She was on stage in a red and white-striped top and navy blue skirt like a sexy American flag, red lipstick, and earrings and bangles, CLASS all the way home. And her VOICE. Raspy, adorable, sexy, fun. Dawn seems like the kind of woman that never gets drunk or high and does or says things she regrets. It's okay if someday she ruins this image of herself to me because then that means we're partying together.

I also finally went to fellow Rockstar Storyteller Dave Mondy's quarterly BLB show, The Entertainment Machine, this past Sunday and there was Dawn again. I wasn't aware she was in this show, I wasn't sure she would recognize me from our meeting a few weeks prior in the same space, and I'm pretty sure she caught me staring at her on stage (she was on the "back line," not the focus of what was currently happening, so I "should have" been looking at whomever was talking... probably Dave). She looked amazing again! She was nautical American again! Cherry red lips and matching shoes! I was entranced and probably very creepy. Sigh.

Today I somehow stumbled upon her website (totally accidental, not stalking at all) and learned SHE LIVES ON A HOUSEBOAT. Thus sealing my utter girl-crush, seething envy, and desire to actually BE HER.

By the by, I texted The Leading Man right away and said, "Let's buy a houseboat on the Mississippi." "Okay" he texted back. AWESOME.

What a wonderful day today was.

I woke up at 6am to work on my fifth for the Five-Fifths of Fringe. I did laundry, I ate delicious food I bought yesterday, made myself some coffee. I went to a yoga class at 10am, two blocks from my house. I walked there in the radiant, warm spring sun on this fragrant Minnesota day. Around 12pm, I finished up the guacamole I made for the Twin Cities' Tiny Women Funny Fest (meaning the fest was tiny, the women were not necessarily so) at Huge Theater, just a few blocks from my house. I rode my bike there. I was surrounded by amazing, funny, talented women for 4 hours. We talked about women in comedy and gender and feminist theory and did improvisation together. It was so much fun. Then I came home for a couple of hours, napped, saw a good friend for a few minutes, went to usher for a hilarious, brand new original rock musical by my friend, fellow Rockstar Storyteller, and colleague, Joseph Scrimshaw. After that show, I participated in a super-fucking-fun improv game show (incidentally with Joseph), drank some whiskey and beer and laughed my ass off with good friends. Throughout the day, I got naughty texts from my man, and even a few naughty emails.

I am so lucky.

I think about, every day now, the water I use, the bed I sleep in, the clothes I have, the food I have, the roof above my head... I think about the bus I ride, the weather, the town I live in... I think about all the things I have. And how so many people in this world do not have those things. I remind myself to be super fucking grateful for the life I was born into. Millions, MILLIONS, of people do not have the life I lead. Millions of people suffer in this world and I have the gall sometimes to think that my art, my craft, the stories or songs I write are not good enough for the world. There are women in this world that get killed for saying in private the shit I say in public, on stage. I think about how there are women, there are people, on this Earth, that are barred, because a fellow human decided it was so, from expressing themselves they way that, for lack of a better term, GOD intended them to.

I have never considered myself a religious person. At times I consider myself spiritual. But I think the greatest irony in my life currently is the fact that these assholes in our country who yell the loudest and know the fewest facts, these dicks who live-and-don't-let-live, these self-righteous bastards who are in our Congress and are voting in our polls who think that they know the best way for people to live: these people make me believe in God. These people who claim to believe in God and call themselves Christians, these people who fuel themselves with hate, these people remind me: there IS a higher power. I don't call it God, personally, but I know that in a universe so vast, so expanding, so incomprehensible... it does not matter what laws created by humans reign over me. The President of the United States has no more value in God's eyes than I do. A Tea Party shithead who goes to "church" every Sunday with their rifle and their homophobia has no more value in "God's" eyes than I do. We are all creations of the universe; we will all die and we are all freckles on the red-headed face of time. (yeah, I like that metaphor too).

I hope that, if the shit ever hits the fan for me, and I find myself tortured in some remote location for being an artist, a liberal, a free-thinker, a dissident... I hope that I can find the strength to separate my mind from my pained body and just travel out into space. I pray that those in this world that suffer every day are able to live within the relativity of their situation, for their own sake. And I pray for myself that I face the "fears" I have about my creations and just put out there what I am intended to put out.

The fear that artists living in our culture have around their art is so useless. It's bullshit and it's utterly fucking self-involved. Fuck the critics. Especially that one in your head, but even more especially those outside yourself. Because there would be no critic in your head if it wasn't for those people you think are critiquing you, or those that actually are in the papers and such. But fuck 'em. They're only useful for press releases. Otherwise, they're a bunch of fucking assholes and you don't need 'em. Critics only exist for press quotes and because our world revolves around money. But money's a bunch of fucking bullshit too.

My point is, if you're reading this, you're probably a lot luckier than millions of other people on this Earth. Millions of others who are unlucky without clean water or a warm bed to sleep in... but in God's eyes, they're just the same as you. Who knows what the next life will bring, if there is one... just. Be. Grateful. Remember that you are lucky. Whether or not you deserve it is of no worry to you. Just enjoy.

My new song "(Don't You Dare) Pee On Me" got its debut on Guffaw this morning!

I finally signed with an acting agent a few weeks ago. I told him, him being the fabulous Tom Poole of Talent Poole Agency, that I felt like I was seventeen again. Only not "again" because I never got an agent when I was seventeen, but it's been a goal that I've never really thought I could achieve for some silly reason since then.

I've always had a block on taking that step to becoming a professional. I have a lot of blocks, but my check-in is: Am I happy? And if the answer is not yes, that's when I change. I don't always change immediately, but I start the process.

But now is my time. I am in a small enough city that I'm not overwhelmed by my competitors or being a small fish lost in the sea, but I've also been here long enough that people know who I am. It's all in the timing, as my mother said in her congratulatory message in response to the news. And I can't have any regrets about what I haven't done because in place of that not-doing, I have been doing a lot.

Also, another hurdle I've been putting off jumping over for years, I recently cleared:



I got my headshots redone. This news is a couple of months old now, but it's still a big step in the direction towards making money for my looks. Heh.

When I lived in New York, I met Flash Rosenberg through The Fucking Cool Women's Society. Flash is an illustrator/photographer/writer/performer and last I visited her home, she was living in the garment district I believe. I'm sure she hasn't moved as she had plastic tubs upon plastic tubs of costumes, props, writings... she had a bin of battery-operated torches a la Lady Liberty. I still have mine that she gave me because I too never know when I might need it.

Flash gave me a piece of advice I have not forgotten for the past, oh, 6 or 7 years. Since I got it. It was something like, "think of your performance tonight as just another part of your day."

I wonder if this is the reason I don't feel nervous anymore before an opening night. It might also be that I just do it a lot more often now than I have ever in my life, but opening night just doesn't freak me out anymore. I suppose I should be grateful, but I do miss that bubbling anticipation.

So, yeah, we open tomorrow. A show that is par-for-the-course Theater Arlo faire, The HMS Pacific Princess Boat is definitely one of the more weird and fun shows in which I've ever participated. I think the thing that weirds me out most about opening tomorrow is that I'm technically still not off-book. I mean, I AM, but I'm in that limbo of "I know my lines better than I think/I DON'T KNOW MY LINES," which is the limbo of which on-stage anxiety dreams are made. I should be more nervous. But I'm not. Because what I do know is I'm going to HAVE FUN. If a line is dropped, everyone in the cast is a talented enough improv actor to be able to get us on the right track. Maybe that's it. I don't know. Don't know if I care either.

If you're in the Twin Cities area, you should come see it. It's silly, it's nostalgic, and it's delightfully odd. In a sci-fi/fantasy way.

Hello friends and family!

This is where I will ask for some money to help with a couple of causes that are dear to my heart.

BOWL-A-THON!
For the 3rd year in a row, I am going to be participating in the Pro-Choice Resources Bowl-A-Thon with the F*cking Cool Women Society -Twin Cities chapter. We're bowling on Thursday, March 31 at 9pm. I participate in this fundraiser as an outspoken advocate of women's reproductive health. This doesn't just mean access to and comprehensive information about abortion, "reproductive health" has to do with everything from education about the human body and reproductive system based on actual science, access to family planning services, pre- and post-natal health services, counseling services, etc; anything that can help a person to make an informed, confident choice about having a family.

Go here to donate!

(I understand this is a hot-button issue for some of you. If you would like to support me, but not for this cause, please consider the following):

MS 150-MILE BIKE RIDE
I am also riding a bike, oh, 150 miles in an effort to raise money for multiple sclerosis June 10-12. I have a minimum fundraising goal of $300, but I'd love to raise more! I am mostly doing this fundraiser because my buddy Marne is doing it through her work, Capella University, and it just sounds like so much fun. Yes, I think that riding a bike 150 miles sounds like FUN! Attach a good cause to the fun and I'm game. Please consider donating here.

Thanks for your time! And thank you for your help.

"I Don't Know" always reminds me of my former-crush, present-performance colleague and buddy, Ben San Del's myspace page. Now it says he's "drawing a blank," but it used to just say "I don't know." And it cracked me up because I can hear Ben say it, with the deadpan of a not-yet-seasoned stand-up comic (at the time), but with a slight exasperation like his mom was asking again for the umpteenth time.

Or maybe that's just how I would say "I don't know."

I finally finished the third level of improvisational comedy classes at the Brave New Institute. I was extremely fortunate to have the fabulous, talented, and wise-beyond-her-years Lauren Anderson as my instructor. Lauren embodies one of the reasons I chose to study at BNI (aside from the fact that it was one of the only and seemingly most reputable long-form improv schools): the white light.

The White Light is, as explained in the Student Manual you receive upon your first BNI class, that space we pass through now and then where there is no thought, no identity, just purity, blankness. As an improviser, one passes through this space more often and if you're really good at your craft, you can go there very easily and return every day. It's a meditative space. You get it.

So Lauren has been talking to us about "I don't know." Her theory - and I regard it as the truth - is that we *do* know. When we say "I don't know," we're avoiding the answer for one reason or another. Specifically on stage in improvisation, you *know.* You always know what the other person on stage is talking about because that's how the scene progresses. Asking questions puts too much on your scene partner because you're making them do all the work by giving you the answers. Simply, the answers are already there; they're anything you want them to be.

It hit me last night that the biggest "I don't know" in my life that I'm aware of is the answer to the question, "What do I want to do with my life?" And already, as I finished typing that sentence, I totally know what the answer is.

I want to make art.
I want to encourage everyone else to make art.
I want to spread love, creativity, hope, and laughter.

Mainstream American culture, the one that's hardest to escape, really wants me to define this in the form of a vocation, and that's where I get hung up.

Because

I want to act
I want to draw
I want to play music
I want to make jokes
I want to teach
I want to improvise
I want to administrate
I want to run
I want to stretch
I want to travel
I want to make money
I want to be healthy
I want to collaborate
I want to perform

And in writing that list, I thought I was going to end it with "SEE? there's TOO MUCH I want to do." But I can do all that. But how to do it simply and fit it all in without stress? How to do it all and not have to have a day job? How can I love my life every minute of the day?

I don't know.

Yeah, that's bullshit too.

Just re-reading my 3 simple objectives (the first ones) makes me feel so much better about my life and my endeavors and my future. Because I think I have been living those 3 objectives; I have already achieved them on some level. But they're not destinations, they're Being and Doing. It's nice to know I've been doing it all along.

Yesterday, I was about to pull the glove onto my right hand when I noticed little red splotches, like paint, all over my palm. I was on my way over to get a fabulous manicure from Jen and see the surrogate nephew for the last time before my trip home to California for the holidays when I spotted the, erm, spots. Because I couldn't wrap my head around what possibly could have caused it, I decided not to worry about it.

About a half hour later at Jen's, she instructed me to wash my hands in preparation for my mani (which she would be administering! What an amazing gift, eh? A friend doing you a luxury service. I love it). When I looked at my splattered hand, I noticed that there were more spatters and smears near my ring and middle fingers. It was clearly blood and upon closer inspection, it was coming from a scrape near my ring fingernail.



So, I wagered I had scraped a little bit of skin off my finger within the past hour, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how. I washed my hands and got on with my day.

Then, this evening, I picked up my banjo to practice my songs in preparation for a recording session I'm doing with my brother in California next week (squeeeee!) and I noticed...



... red splatters. Almost like paint. Wow. I had been practicing so hard yesterday, I did not notice that I was lightly bloodying up my finger. Sometimes playing hurts, but you push through it and get your practice done! It's a little injury, but I love that I have this evidence that I literally bled over getting my work done. And now I have an awesome blood splatter stain on Ernie to prove it. Which also leads me to point out Ernie's worn out spot from where my hand hits during claw hammering, and the dirt that has been ground into the drum. And he's less than a year old. Awesome.

... to be on the front of the Minnesota Fringe Festival website!!




You should also watch this cool video for which I did a little bit of voiceover (of three voices, I'm the last one):

One of the most awesome organizations in the Twin Cities, Works Progress, hosted a night at Intermedia Arts called "Minnesota's Identity and The Arts." It was a really informative and inspiring program hosted by my buddy Andy Sturdevant.

Andy devised an interactive audience game: "Six Degrees of Minnesota Arts." The game went like this: everyone in the room had a name tag that included their favorite MN Arts experience. Mine was, of course, Fringe. Two people were chosen and the audience had to find the degrees of separation! We started with Art-A-Whirl and 1419.

In the video of the evening, below, we are trying to find a link between Walker Open Field, a summer of arts and performance at the Walker Arts Center, and 1419, an alternative arts collective of University of Minnesota arts punks.

I am the seemingly silent person in black that makes that "slam dunk" connection!

Are more people going to be reading this now that I've been profiled as a D-List Celebrity in the Twin City Daily Planet's "Who IS That?" I'm seriously so flattered. I moved to Minneapolis to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond and I think it's safe to say that has happened. This article makes it so.

Anyway, you've been on my mind, blog. I know, I know, I've been seemingly satiated by the quickies Twitter gives me, but, the writer in me! Oh, she cries for more space to complain!

Tonight I performed some of my new songs at the Punch Out Poetry show. It was a great crowd, about 40 people packed into this tiny basement space like some kind of stinky, delicious fish. That is not commentary on how many lesbians were there. SEE?



Also, I cut my hair SHORTER!! Because I don't want to cut it for, like, 4 months. This is me and my buddy Tim at Thanksgiving.


And now, I've grown tired of writing, so... video blog!! As you can see, I get to try out my new trick of out-syncing my voice with my mouth movements. I'd share my secret with you, but then, I'd have to eat you.

Me and October Dandy on our way to the Renaissance Festival. You heard me.



I chopped my hair off.