The Silverfish Infestation. Enjoy.

This is Ned. Ned lives in 79 Chase St Apartment B. With some of his pals. When I say "some" I haven't the foggiest idea of just how many of Ned's pals have moved in. I imagine the whole process went something like this:

     Emily and Karlie were tucked nicely into their beds on a cool August evening. It had been a long day. I, the narrator, don't know what they had been doing, but likely it was a collection of many hours chasing children around, encountering weird child-bathroom issues, sitting in front of Final Cut screaming at the screen, and practicing flute. They had fallen into such a deep sleep that nothing could have woken them. Not even the record-breaking dance party that was to be held in their kitchen in the wee hours of the morn.
     Meanwhile, just outside of 79B, tucked into a little hollowed log, a family of Silverfish gathered. Ned was a man. His parents looked on approvingly at the changes that had taken place for him. His mother, Anita, wiped tears from her stupid little bug eyes for she knew that the day would soon come when Ned would leave her and have his way with maybe thousands of other Silverfish ladies, but, who can really say for sure? Rudiger wiggled over to Ned, put a stupid little tentacle thing on Ned's scaly back and said, "Son, tonight, you'll have to make your way into the house, and spend your first night away from the colony." Ned, shuddered slightly, but then puffed up his stupid little bug chest, and announced to the many Silverfish that had gathered near, "Yes. Tonight I leave you! It's been swell. Good day." And with that, he turned his god-awful tail to them and wiggled out into the brisk air.
     The night was alive with possibility. Ned couldn't help but flick his antennae incessantly smelling or tasting or feeling all the new tastes/smells/feels. He carried on until his disgusting stubby legs landed him on the doorstep, of none other, than 79B Chase St. Every millimeter of his stupid blue-grey body writhed with excitement. "Too bad the door wasn't left open for me." Ned seemed to wither with disappointment. "Oh wait! I'm a disgusting insect and I can just slither right in through the smallest cracks that you wouldn't even know were there! PERFECT."
So he did.
     Two hours later Ned returned to his colony panting. His stupid little bug lungs felt like a marshmallow that had fallen into a bonfire, slowly inflating to a fiery puff-just to explode and die. But sadly, Ned did not die. No, in fact, Ned and his disagreeable companions would likely live for eight solid years. Human years. Eight of them. "FAMILY FAMILY FAMILY FAMILY!" He screamed between gasps of air. The silent night was rudely interrupted by the sound of trillions of miniature legs tapping across the earth as they gathered around Ned. "Oh good, you're all here," Ned shouted. "Look, I've returned from the house, and I really think you should come check it out. It's pretty sweet. Lots of stuff to eat. And although we Silverfish can live UP TO A YEAR without eating, we might as well go eat their stuff. And, not just food my friends! We can eat their clothes, and wallpaper, and magazines, and books, and glue! Oh! And if we go into the bathroom or maybe into their pillows we can find some yummy dead skin to munch on!" A thunderous cry rose from the bazillion grey bodies that pulsated in a wave through the colony.
     At 2 am, the kitchen on 79B was bumpin'. Streams of Silverfish flowed from the cabinets and counters down to floor. On their backs were suspended the treats that Emily and Karlie had recently purchased. Cookies, sugars, crackers, any morsels of sweet the bugs could find, ended up in the Sahara-like feeding grounds that had become the kitchen floor. Silverfish ravenously tour into the starchy treats as though they were carcasses of wildebeests. In the extreme chaos and overwhelming joy that filled the room, Ned took a moment to step back. He had brought this divine pleasure to his family. He was a hero.
     At 4 am Ned had consumed twelve cookies, eighteen goldfishes, a stacks of chocolate chips and had bathed in brown sugar. He lay on his back, his wee legs dangling in the air like wind-blown lawn ornaments. "Ned?" A sultry female voice came from behind him. After a few attempts to roll his bloated body over, Ned faced this staggering creature before him. Moonlight bounced off the scales on her back, and her antennae were silken and gold. "I...uh...yes?" He stammered, like the idiot that he likely was, because after all, he's a Silverfish. And that's disgusting.
     "Hi, I'm Starla. I just wanted to thank you for bringing my family and me here. We were getting hungry, and I've really enjoyed gnawing through the television wires."
     "Of course, I... I'm glad you like it here." Ned gathered his courage. "You know, Starla, you and I could stay here forever."
     "Oh, Ned, I'll love it!"
     And then they did something sort of bizarre, but as to give you the full picture of a Silverfish's life, I as the narrator, feel compelled to recount. For the next half hour they completed the mating ritual. They moved through three phases. Ned and Starla stood "face to face, their trembling antennae touching, then repeatedly backed off and returned to this position." When they felt satisfied with this, Ned ran away from Starla, as is usual in the second phase of reproduction. She chased him through the ever-growing crowd of Silverfish. He leapt over his brothers and sisters, dove under the Twizzler at the center of the limbo-party, and narrowly escaped being doused by a powdered-sugar waterfall. Through all of this, Starla chased him- she was in love. When she finally caught him, Ned knew that she was faithful. They "stood side by side, head-to-tail. Ned vibrated his tail against [Starla's]. Finally, [Ned] laid a spermatophore, a sperm capsule covered in gossamer, which the [Starla] took into her body via her ovipositor to fertilise the eggs."
    It was so shockingly beautiful that the whole Silverfish community applauded. But suddenly-they froze in silence. Thuds could be heard from the stairwell. Staggered, sleepy, thuds. 
     "Emily... are you down here? What are you doing?" came a tired and irritated voice.
Bazillions of Silverfish scattered into the depths of 79B Chase St. Karlie stepped into the kitchen, and seeing that nothing but shreds of... everything, lay on the floor, she simply fainted.
From their various nooks, the Silverfish exchanged high fives and pats on the back. 

They had successfully pillaged the house. And they all agreed that it would make a very, very nice place to live. Forever. And ever. Like, they will never leave this house.



The End.


Mating ritual taken from Wikipedia. So, you know, take that with a grain of salt.

Summer of Theatre

    I've been editing St. Lawrence's graduation for the past five days. I will never write a blog about that. But I do want to share the joke told by one of the honorary degree recipients.

Man: Doctor, I think there's something wrong with me...I think I'm a moth.
Doc: Well, I'm just a general pediatrician, I think you need to see a psychiatrist.
Man: I was on my way to a psychiatrist when I saw the light on in your office...

Drum set noises.

This blog post is about my summer of theatre. Not love. No, no. Not my summer of love.
UNLESS IT'S ABOUT LOVE OF THEATRE!

Drum set noises.

Let's stumble through the summer in order of theatrical experiences.

1. GIA
     At Governor's Institute on the Arts I got to hang out with so many young people that brought with them pocket-fulls, no bucket-fulls of theatre experience. I met the characters they created, heard their stories, watched their physical transformations, heard their voices. I laughed more loudly than appropriate at so many sketches born from collaborative noggins. And I got to play countless improv games with people who think oh-so-much faster than I.

2. Abby Wicker in, "Mauritius" by Theresa Rebeck.
     As always seeing Abby perform in a professional, local theatre is so inspiring. Again, I laughed at inappropriate times, but was also so moved by each character at many points in the show. I left the theatre having consumed a large cookie and feeling frustrated that I haven't been in a show since my senior year of high school.

3. SPAE, and its production of "Robin Hood."
     If you still haven't heard about SPAE, go read previous blog posts. But I will now speak to the theatrical aspects of SPAE as opposed to the human growth and community building. The classic pattern of SPAE is as follows: the first day we play many games- but try to avoid full-blown improv games. By the second day though, we're improvising. And it's crazy. (So here's my-) There is screaming, violence, running away, so much talk about poop, so much denying of the realities, so little listening, and so much desire for the focus to be on you. This year, I finally calmed down enough to allow this craziness to happen. And the result, I found to be magical. After the third day of full-blown crazy, we froze the campers and simply asked, "What makes this work?" or, "Why do you think this isn't working?"
And their answers, unprompted, were as follows:
     -We're not listening to each other.
     -We're not following, "Yes, and" (A general rule that if a player establishes a reality, 
      the other players must accept it as a truth.)
     -We're not establishing who we are and where we are.
     These are ideas and guidelines that I didn't understand until waaaay older than ten years old. In these moments where we could freeze the action and discuss what was going on, I knew that what we were doing was effective. The craziness began to morph into beautiful moments-moments with character depth, believable situations with hilarious twists and turns, and people reacting honestly.
      And, also... we put on a show. Twice. Memorizing lines, songs, dances, blocking... knowing and executing costume changes...remembering props... All of this in ten days. We, as a community, astonish ourselves, year after year. And these 8 and 3/4 to 13 year olds are exposed to something that I think is lost in some theatres- (Yeah, modesty is lost in this blog post, long hair-don't care,) a sense of professionalism. Our campers learn that when the house is opened, they may no longer walk out in costume. They learn about all of the things that you shouldn't do onstage, (chew gum-or anything, upstage each other, focus on anything but the action on stage, cross their arms, put hands in pockets, upstage each other... the list goes on) they learn not to touch anyone else's props, and make sure that their own are set before the show. They learn not to eat in costume. And so importantly, they learn about strike. Our player's community sets up, and takes down our entire theatre space- as we actually work in a gymnasium. Everyone helps. Many hands make light work. These concepts-though seemingly small to an experienced player- are hugely importantly for these young folks to start learning early on.

4. Weston Playhouse's production of "Fiddler on the Roof,"
     With a cast including Leland and Gray (and SPAE's) own Jesse Canella. I could not have been more proud of him. From watching him crawl through the audience entrance in an enormous crocodile costume in "Peter Pan," five years ago- to working in a professional company as a little boy in knickers. 
I worked hard to hold in tears. I left this performance again frustrated with my non-involvement with the theatrical arts, but so inspired by the production the team had created.

5. The Skinner Barn Playhouse's production of "The Mystery of Edwin Drood." 
    My amigo Julien Darmoni's family runs this theatre in Waitsfield and I was privileged enough to see this hysterical production just a few nights ago. Again, I found myself laughing loudly/inappropriately at the villain character while the rest of the audience hissed. Each member of this cast was such an endearing and recognizable stock character. I fell in love with this show. 
And again, left feeling completely and utterly frustrated with my non endeavors. Oy.

So, here's this. I'm going to audition for "Rent" at the Lyric Theatre. You know. For fun. To practice auditioning. And... to get a chance, however brief, to perform on the stage of the Flynn. 
And you know, if anyone wants to cast me in anything else... lemmmmme know. Ja?

xoxoxox,
Gilmore Girl.

I mean-?


PS: Check out my guest blog post on Tricia Souder's Blog!

SPAE Final-ayyy. Get it? Like finale, but it rhymes.

    Lights up on Emily and Karlie in their living room, twilight bouncing off the sleek, wooden floors. (Note that "twilight" is not capitalized, which means I'm setting the time of day and describing the quality of light. Sometimes I get nervous that anyone under fifteen doesn't know that "twilight" is more than a book title. Our living room is not full of vampires.) At stage left, Emily reclines in the puffy chair that wouldn't fit into Tricia's house, but slid with ease through the door of 79B Chase Street. She strums a guitar with Rise Up Singing perched in her lap. The rain puddling outside the open windows accompanies her as she floats from folk song to folk song. Up center sits Karlie, typing on her lap top. It's sizzling the top of her lap. Lap, of course, being only of temporary existence. She is overcome with guilt because SPAE ended a week ago and she didn't write a concluding blog post like she promised herself she would. And she felt so guilty that she stopped typing in third person and stopped pretending that the living room is actually a set on a stage.
  
     SO YEAH! SPAE ENDED.
And, as I anticipated, it ended with an enormous feeling of delight. And bliss.
I mentioned in a previous blog post about the growth from year one to year five of SPAE-this feeling of growth was one thousand times magnified by the second performance of "Robin Hood." As Claire, Johnny, Melissa and I stood on stage presenting our curtain speech, I couldn't help but think about what amazing events had taken place over the two weeks of the program.
Shall I make a list?
Let's shall.

The Amazing Events (however seemingly small or grand) of SPAE 2012

• Together we created a gallery behind the bleachers in the gym- oh I mean our theatre space. Lit by two sets of tree lights and constructed with about three zillions shreds of duct tape, our gallery was filled with costume designs, make up designs, poetry, and sculptures made from dominoes, buttons, fake grass, playing cards, and whatever else Claire gathered from around Southern Vermont. Games of "Writey-Drawey" hung in strips down the wall, and our ideas about what it means to be a Community covered the final stretch- a colored-marker mess of adjectives, nouns, verbs, and a surprisingly long list of celebrity names, (that was a first for this activity.)

• We put on a show! "Robin Hood" was brought to life by thirty 8 and 3/4 to 13 year olds. We battled with sticks, we marched through the marketplace belting "Phony King of England," we created three dimensional characters who made us laugh, made us angry, plucked at our heart strings, sang to us, and gave us hope. From Prince John and his Love whose list of pet names for each other topped off at about 15-to the Merry Men making a clumsy and belated entrance only to sing a rousing rendition of "Men in Tights." AND- Robin's team battled the royal court using STOMP.

• A community was built. Beautiful moments filled every day and showed me that our community was working. Whether it was a more experienced camper helping a less experienced one write down blocking for a scene, or actors covering for each other when lines were forgotten, or a CIT encouraging everyone to sit with someone new each day. It was working. Of course there were snags, there were moments when each of us was pushed to our limit- campers, CITs, and directors alike-but the support we offered each other was enough to carry us through until we found our grounding again.

• One day as folks meandered into the gym after lunch to begin rehearsing, two campers began to play "Imagine" and slowly the entire camp had gathered around the piano and was singing along. 

• Campers who felt certain that they were far more comfortable back stage than on it, bounded out under the lights and conquered their stage fright.

• We ate a lot of good food.

• All thirty-eight of us danced to a number of pop songs. And I mean danced. At one point there was a thirty-eight person conga line. Imagine that. It's funny. Laugh.

• We answered some goofy and thought-provoking questions in videos. Here they are.

                                                    THE SPAE 2012 ARTFESSIONAL

     There were as many moments as there were pieces of duct tape on the wall. I can't write about them all, I didn't see them all. I also have the attention span of an emu. Which is to say that I have a short attention span. I made an assumption about emus. And you know what they say about people who assume things. 

     In conclusion, (don't ever start the conclusion of an academic paper with "in conclusion," but this is a blog post so I get to make up the rules,) the fifth year of SPAE has taught me about being in the moment, explaining things clearly, taking time to look people in the eye, and encouraging the most wild and rambunctious creativity that we can muster.

Thanks y'all! (I say "y'all" which is a contraction of "you all" because it isn't socially acceptable to say "you guys" to a group of multi-gender campers. Or students. Or people. Y'all are welcome.)

PS: Read this. Emily Fuller's Blog. FToA. 

(Future Teacher of America.)

SaturSPAE: Alternately titled, "I have to go find a unicorn"

I picked up the Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone deciding that now would be an appropriate time to reread the series, and then started feeling guilty so I put together one of the Artfessionals instead.

As promised, here are some responses to the question, "What does S.P.A.E. really stand for?"

     As week one came to a close on Friday afternoon, we reflected on all that we had accomplished together. We'd had two movement workshops lead by L+G alum Michaela Tietz where the SPAE-ers collaborated to choreograph their own dances. We had two music workshops with Ron Kelley where they learned some STOMP and made up their own Woodsy-Jam to use as part of the Sherwood Forrest. We cast "Robin Hood" and blocked more than 75% of the show.

     We built props, designed costumes and makeup, learned songs, had dance parties, assassinated each other, chopped each other in half, and through improvisation created around 50 tiny scenes together about the strangest stuff. My favorite scene that was built from improvisation was a secret Hokey-Pokey society that met in strange places to do the dance. We never established why it was so important that they do the dance, but there was always a real sense of urgency.

     Each year there are sort of hot topics that end up reoccurring in many improvised scenes. This year too many seemingly normal scenes ended in either a zombie apocalypse or one of the characters leaving to find a unicorn.

     Week one left me feeling simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. There was still so much to be done on the show- but we had come so far as a community that I wasn't concerned so much with learning our lines and blocking our scenes.

What mattered was that we, in our individual pods and as the whole group, had gotten really good at "Big Booty," Screaming if we made eye contact with each other, and perhaps most importantly, supporting each other through everything we'd come across.

Week 2 will surely send us on an even more varied, hyper-active, pop-song-filled, character building-community-building, and getting-covered-in-paint adventure.