Spring Sprung
New is old and old is new.
It’s spring! Everywhere I went yesterday, people had their babies out and I was there for the cuteness. The spring energy is exciting but as evidenced by the multiple toddler tantrums I witnessed, life is still life-ing. How do you spell lifing?
My daughter got lice, which we’ve been combing out incessantly. Every time I think we’re done, another louse hatches from the depths. The kids have also been home on spring break, which isn’t ideal for working, or even just being able to look at my phone without someone crawling on me. Did I mention that person has lice? Get off me. I love my kids though. Don’t call the police.
Speaking of police, I’m heartened to see so many campus protests, though not so excited to see cops body slam people to the ground. It’s mixed emotions. With military and police budgets ballooning to record levels, there’s something reassuring about seeing the truth of law enforcement laid bare. Many protestors have pointed out that the officers who are so slow to respond to things like school shootings, are so much more effective when it comes to protecting the ruling class from peaceful protests. Funny how that works.
I continue reading Miriame Kaba’s abolition book We Do this ‘til We Free Us at an embarrassingly slow pace. This is not because it’s dense (it’s very readable) but more because I am addicted to my phone. But in my distraction, I like to think chapters find me at the right time. I read Kaba’s description of how there are “no perfect victims” when the media was compiling reasons why Gazans deserve their own genocide. And now I’ve come to her chapter on the increasing militarization of police forces.
In recent months I’ve been made increasingly aware of collaboration between U.S. police and Israel when it comes to tactics and technologies. Israeli arms dealers use Palestine as a testing ground for weapons that they’re selling to other governments. It’s hard for regular citizens to compete with the now $2443-billion-a-year arms industry. But people are finding ways to collaborate. During BLM protests in Ferguson, Palestinians shared information to help protestors navigate tear gas. And those discussions are ongoing. The perhaps over-optimistic part of me likes to think the circumstances Americans have faced via covid and economic pressures are waking us up to a need for true community.
On lighter and more personal note, I’ve been enjoying getting back into collaboration via improv. After nearly a decade, I’m performing regularly again. I’m really loving the process of building a show together, the push and pull of letting everyone shine in their own unique ways. My teammates are so funny and nice and I’m really grateful to have stumbled back into a supportive environment.
It’s been almost two decades since I started studying improv at the theater I’m back at now. Between how much I’ve changed and how much the theater has changed, it feels like I’m in a parallel universe. I’m like a hobbit returned from his journey except in this case most of the people I knew in Hobbiton have moved to Los Angeles and Hobbiton has moved down to 14th street after the pandemic nearly put it out of business. It’s totally different and yet strangely familiar. It’s like improvisors are cut from the same weird cloth and somewhere in my soul I know these are my people, going with the flow of some insane idea.
And I feel a little more ready to join in. I have a lot less performance anxiety as a nearly 40-year-old comedy writer mom than I did as a shy 19-year-old with no theater experience. But it’s not just me that’s different. The scene has changed. While I was off working and raising kids, we all became more aware of various issues – women’s rights, racial disparities, trans rights, accessibility, etc. Things are far from perfect and human rights are under attack everywhere, but I’m old enough to remember when some things were much worse.
When I started doing improv, there was a bar everyone would go to after shows. A cop bar. You might think that would be a hard bar to get into for a 19-year-old, but it was much easier than my local college bar. Sometimes cops would even buy me drinks. They’d jokingly asking how old I was with the implication that no one really cared.
At the time, it was hard to earn respect in the community as a “girl,” so I took whatever positive attention I could get. I’ve started watching Baby Reindeer on Netflix and it’s reminding me how a lack of self-esteem or support leaves you vulnerable to manipulative or predatory people.
I now look back on that time in my life with a lot more awareness of predatory dynamics and inequities. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if more women were around. Perhaps more women would’ve been around if it hadn’t been so bad. Now there are many more women in comedy and much more diversity. Looking back, I know lot of people paved the way for that diversity through frustrating and difficult conversations. Efforts that often felt like complete failures in the short term.
I’ve often been the cranky feminist over the years. “Difficult.” “Too political.” But despite the brick walls we’ve come up against, and the horrifying legislation still being passed, I feel more assured in radical actions than ever before. I care much less about whether someone thinks I’m overemotional for speaking out. Because I see people coming around to things, ever so slowly and stubbornly. Sometimes this weird improv show we call life, comes together into something that somehow makes sense. No idea is too crazy, when we’re “yes anding” each other.