I Am What I Am

I am what I am
I am my own special creation.
So come take a look,
Give me the hook or the ovation.
It's my world that I want to take a little pride in,
My world, and it's not a place I have to hide in.
Life's not worth a damn,
'Til you can say, "Hey world, I am what I am."
-“I Am What I Am” ~ La Cage aux Folles

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Lights Up.
Two Passengers (Passenger #1 and Passenger #2) are sitting in the rear seats of a New Orleans streetcar.

Streetcar Passenger #1: Did you listen to what he was saying?

Streetcar Passenger #2: You mean about how you should play?

Streetcar Passenger #1: Yes. It was all bullshit. He spent the entire performance telling us how you should play and he wasn’t even playing that way.

Streetcar Passenger #2: Well, it’s jazz. There is no “way” to play it.

Streetcar Passenger #1: He kept saying, “this is how I would play it if…” “If?” “If,” what?! You are playing it. Play it how you say and how you are telling us it should be played or don’t tell us.

Streetcar Passenger #2: Well that’s his style.

Streetcar Passenger #1: But he said “if it was him.” It is him. Just play it that way then. What’s stopping you? Just be and play the way you want. Don’t try to please us.

The streetcar pulls to a stop and a Young Woman enters the car. The Young Woman walks towards to two streetcar passengers. The Young Woman is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, hair pulled back into a ponytail with a baseball cap resting backwards on her head. The Young Woman smiles at both passengers and takes the seat in front of them. Both passengers can then read the back of her hat which in bold rainbow lettering reads “Hey Mom, I’m Gay.” Passenger #1 and Passenger #2 shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Blackout.



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• Main Entry: 1: dec•a•dent
• Pronunciation: \ˈde-kə-dənt also di-ˈkā-\
• Function: adjective
• Etymology: back-formation from decadence
• Date: 1837
1 : marked by decay or decline
2 : of, relating to, or having the characteristics of the decadents
3 : characterized by or appealing to self-indulgence
— dec•a•dent•ly adverb


• Main Entry: 1pride
• Pronunciation: \ˈprīd\
• Function: noun
• Etymology: Middle English, from Old English prȳde, from prūd proud — more at
PROUD
• Date: before 12th century
1 : the quality or state of being proud: as a : inordinate self-esteem : CONCEIT b : a reasonable or justifiable self-respect c : delight or elation arising from some act, possession, or relationship
2 : proud or disdainful behavior or treatment : DISDAIN
3 a : ostentatious display b : highest pitch : PRIME
4 : a source of pride : the best in a group or class
5 : a company of lions
6 : a showy or impressive group < a pride of dancers >





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Blog Entry? ::: Resort back to lyrics above.

Happy Decadence and Dykeadence, Louisiana. See you in the Quarter.
*hums… “I am what I am….”

Mov(ing) On

Stop worrying where you're going - move on
If you can know where you're going, you've gone
Just keep moving on
I chose and my world was shaking, so what?
The choice may have been mistaken
The choosing was not
You have to move on
--"Move On" from Sunday in the Park with George


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*The Bell Rings*

A Teacher, Various Students and Student R. are moving about a classroom.

Teacher: Ok. Students. Students! STUDENTS!

Students: (The Various Students and Student R. turn and move to their seats)

Teacher: It is time for a math lesson. If you are twenty-six years old, working as a trainer and administer in a restaurant for two years, holding one degree, one minor, one concentration, living in your third city/town in seven years, having spent six years in undergraduate, moved enough times to have spent your childhood in fourteen schools in twelve years and now loading your entire life into one Penske truck with thirty boxes of books, one amazing lover and two cats, bound three hundred miles for a city ten miles below sea level, while waiting another forty-something weeks to return to graduate school in VA, while printing two dozen resumes for upcoming jobs, how many days will you spend in coffee shops and city parks trying to pen a ninety-page play by April 15th worthy enough to warrant an ‘A’ and possibly be read for a three day play festival while attempting to break into the theatre scene and build your resume at the same time(if not faster pace)?

Various Students: (Look up bewildered.)

(One student, Student R. , walks towards the front of the classroom, pulling a chair behind her. She sets the chair in front of the blackboard, crawling onto it and leaning the majority of her body against the back.)

Student R. : Will you trace me?

Teacher: Excuse me?

Student R.: Will you trace me?

Teacher: (Taking the chalk, the Teacher traces Student R.'s outline against the chalkboard.) Alright?

Student R.: (Starts to shade in part of the traced torso.) The equation doesn’t have a definite answer. The x-variable is the amount of time presented, or, the shading. The y-variable is the silhouette. The z-variable, which cannot be created, is the self-doubt and procrastination.

Teacher: (Reviews the “graph.”) You may take your seat now.

(Student R. does so.)

Teacher: Now, class, take out your grammar books. Our next lesson is on “Metaphors”.


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Shakespeare once said, “All the world’s a stage.” That single metaphor has controlled and dictated my life for years. It has resonated through so long that I knew it before I even understood the power of such a simple quote.

I have been the ever humble servant of the theatre for more years than the combined years of dreaming of any other trade/profession/passion. While the Bard would go on to explain that life doesn’t need a Black Box to be a theatre, I attribute much of the world in which I reside to be the opposite. Ghost lights, Fresnel focusing, clipped RF mics, stacked scripts, superstitions, musical lyric proverbs and faux crafted homes and cabaret theatres have been a closer home to me than any city or country I have ever lived in. The fake reality of theatre has more truth to its composition than that of the real world creating theatre.

Now, as I approach my second semester (which begins June of ’10) at Hollins University, attempting to complete my MFA in Playwriting and Dramaturgy, I find myself sitting in my favorite coffee shop in the city I have always loved with a history greater than any I would ever consider my own. My fingers scroll and punch at my Dell for the first time since July attempting to create some form of wisdom/relationship which I need to learn to control by April in order to produce a full-length play worthy enough of a decent grade.

So, in the attempt to continue writing and to pull wisdom from that which I listen to more than my neighbors, I find myself writing to you. Whoever you may be. Maybe through broken plays, Broadway and the theatrical world’s “wisdom” I may find a series of voices resounding enough to ask their permission to replicate and manipulate them to fit and break a structured box that I still don’t understand.

Here’s to breaking a leg… Or at the very least, a pencil.