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Posts in Other People's Art
She Used to Be Mine, or How Sara Bareilles Became The Loudest Voice in my Life

The other day, I turned to my partner and said, “Maybe I should just start singing more.”

I don’t have a bad voice. (I don’t have a great one.) I can match pitch with some practice. (Emphasis on “some practice.”) And it’s not like I’ve never been in a choir (um, try elementary school through college church choirs) or been in a musical (Chicago in 2008 — the sexuality traumatized my uncle so much that he forgets he even saw that show) or sung at open mics (I needed an outlet from 2011-12). Maybe I should start singing more. Maybe I should start singing more, just at home.

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The Power of a "Good Question"

I own a little voice recorder.

Maybe you’ve heard me talk about it. It’s the only real gadget that I’m proud of, which, thinking back on my last five years of technology purchases, feels strange. My laptop is lightweight and reliable, despite and possibly in spite of a sticky Shift key that I created. I didn’t last a week without spilling soda on the sucker. I have an iPad, which still feels like the most indulgent thing to say. I use it almost every day, but I’m almost embarrassed to pull it out in public. Last year, I made such a dramatic upgrade to my record player that the people at the shop said, “Congratulations!” and offered to carry it home with me. And this Christmas, in a world where we were doing just fine with our 12-year-old junker, my parents bought us a new TV.

I guess I have a lot of gadgets. I guess I’m turning into my father.

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Hello, Where is Your Dramaturg?

Hello, it’s me. Your friendly neighborhood theatre professional.

The same person who had a running commentary of the inaccuracies of Smash despite loving that TV show very much. The same person who wonders — out loud, at dinner — why playwrights are the name to know in theatre, while directors are the end all and be all of film. I’m very fun at parties. And by “fun at parties,” I mean please do not invite me to that party. I like my pajamas too much.

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My Art Historian Daughter

My art historian daughter rolls her eyes every time she takes a picture of the Louvre.

She’s archiving the memory, not for the 2042 version of Instagram, though the likes or the points or the social currency of this deeply digital generation do send a ricochet of endorphins through her brain. No, my art historian daughter takes this photo because she knows I need to know she’s alive. Activity is her love language. My art historian daughter is studying abroad in Paris, because we asked her to, because we can afford to, because we weren’t even sure if 2042 would exist and now it’s here.

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Driven to Anger

Last week I saw a play that got me so riled up and angry.

In fact, when I criticized the play on the way home, my friend said “I’m sorry you hated it.” I didn’t hate it. Hating something doesn’t bring out intense emotions and critique, at least not for me. When I tried to relay my same critique to J, who had not seen the play and didn’t know anything about it. In fact, he’d been at work when I was out galavanting around town, seeing free theatre. He was tired. I was tired. And he said, “I’m sorry it was a waste of your time.”

It wasn’t a waste of my time. It wasn’t.

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I Did Not Watch The Tonys

I did not watch The Tonys, but I did watch Rachel Chavkin finally win her award.

I watched her stand on the stage, full page speech in hand, edits made even on the ride to the theatre — the black Sharpie of a director who appreciates a cut, who pushes for a rewrite, who patiently lives with a play for so many years. I watched her tie this beautiful musical — one written 13 years ago with rewrites and revisions keeping the pace every step of the way. “It reminds us that that is how power structures try to maintain control: by making you feel like you’re walking alone in the darkness, even when your partner is right there at your back.”

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Fosse/Verdon, or Hating Fosse/Loving Verdon

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m watching Fosse/Verdon.

Listen, it’s a love/hate experience. I love the show, I hate how much time I spend thinking about and dissecting and googling (and making J google) and and and my head is ultimately overcrowded with this emotionally manipulating, universally lauded man’s life.

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Watching The Pajama Game in 2019

My husband and I are watching Fosse/Verdon.

I felt very old writing that sentence. This idea that (1) I’m married and (2) we stay in some nights watching a miniseries on FX about 1960s - 1980s Broadway — a miniseries that I’m sure only Lin-Manuel Miranda and my grandmother watch. And last I checked, my grandmother wasn’t all that motivated to find the show either. It’s a niche show, one that requires me to pause every five minutes and explain. “They’re in rehearsal for Pippin.” “Those are the opening notes of Sweet Charity.

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We Must Practice Gratitude

On February 6, 2019, Backstage published an essay by playwright Leah Nanako Winkler titled “You Must Practice Gratitude for Successes Big + Small.” If you haven’t read it yet, do. It’s incredible. It’s everything I aspire to be in terms of the outlook I have on my career, the gratitude I share with others, and the ability to simply be in this industry.

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Listening to Company in 2019

Yesterday, the original cast album for the 2018 (and, I guess, current) production of Company was released digitally. The production is currently running in London and is most notable because of its gender swapping of the lead character. Rather than a 35-year-old Bobby (think Raul Esparza in the 2007 production or Larry Kert in the 1970 production), the lead role is played by Rosalie Craig. The protagonist’s name was simply changed to “Bobbie.”

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