I'm Exhausted Yet Shouting

 

    Friends, the public school system isn't broken. It is working exactly as it was designed: to support white men of privilege in their pursuit of higher education and more privilege.  It does not work if you are: female, neurodivergent, economically challenged, a person of color, a person from a country with a different history and experience than the US, a non native English speaker, a person struggling with trauma, a person struggling with mental illness, a person whose parents are not present and reading to them nightly, a person who has no real interest in going to college...

    *Students of color who have behaviors are diagnosed with ADD or ADHD, and given IEP's. This means they cannot be expelled or disciplined for their behaviors. This was put in place to reverse the "school to prison pipeline".

    * Dangerous students are allowed to remain in school. Their "right to an education" is more important than the safety of the 1500 other kids in the building.

    *There are kids in school who wear police "house arrest" ankle bracelets.

    * In some districts, a boy who has raped a girl is allowed to stay in the building, even taking classes with her, with administrator knowledge, simply because the girl was too humiliated to contact police.

    * In Some Districts, a student with a restraining order against another student must remain in the building with them, they're just told to avoid them in the hallways.

    *Certain districts boot kids who have behaviors because they can no longer "cover up" the issues.

    *Buildings cover up troubled kids constantly. Constantly.

    *The first thing in every administrator's mind when they wake up is "How do I keep this out of the news?"

    * It is deemed reasonable by a district to tell deans and AP's they must "pat down" a kid as part of a safety plan every day they enter the building.

    *Most districts have no funding for any kind of real mental health support. Counselors are forced to manage testing schedules, student schedules and community college/STEM credits.

    *Most districts are underfunded for the surge of neurodivergent students they have enrolled, the number of economically challenged, food deprived, under parented and post covid trauma students that inhabit buildings.

     * Many buildings have loaded guns walk in the door daily. One building had a gun turned into the front office by a student who found it in the parking lot. The same building had a kid with a loaded gun sitting in a front office for thirty minutes before he was patted down. A call had been made to Safe To Tell to warn the administration that the kid had a gun, yet they did not pat him down immediately upon arrival. 

      *Bathrooms are being locked in some buildings due to the volume of students smoking pot in them. Unofficially, there are rumors that kids are selling guns to one another in the bathrooms.

   This is not a gun control issue. This is not a legislative issue. This is a parenting and school district issue. Parents threaten to sue if their kid is denied their right to an education. Schools rely on student numbers for funding. This is a terrible recipe. Nobody is getting an education and nobody is safe.

    I will not reveal my sources. I've been inside for 20 years and have friends in four districts: Do the research yourself. Listen to the Principal  on the news who came forward last week to state that she is forced to keep a kid in her building who has to be patted down daily as part of the safety plan.

    She's a middle school principal. 

     Listen to the mom in DPS who has had to dedicate her entire life to finding support in the  public school system for her neurodivergent son.

    She and her husband are fortunate to be able to financially do this.

    Listen to every teacher who expresses concern for their own safety, every day, when they walk into their building. They are not "bitching and moaning", they are scared.

    Scene.

A Play Or An Apology

 

    I sat down intending to write a play. Because that's how it works you know, you just sit down and say out loud to the animals and the coffee "I am going to write a play now", and then you do it. But you turn on the TV first for background and it's Sunday and the only thing on that can't wreck your psyche is Bones. And you still have Covid. And you switched from first person to second without caring or realizing.

     I fuss at theatre kids not to compare themselves to others at auditions, because it's death for performers to compare. Then I show them the best and ask if they can achieve it, inviting comparison. I know I should not compare myself to others because I will depress myself. I have depressed myself. I am depressed. 

    Which is boring so I want to write a funny play. It won't be as funny as the show The Last Of Us which is hysterical as a reheated dystopian saga. It's a comedy kids, a fungus killed the world? A Fungus. Stephen did it best with Captain Tripps. Zombies were good. Since then we've been struggling. We're out of ideas. The world is ending and everything is metaphor because nobody has answers so...

     Fungus.

     I was not supposed to laugh when What's Her Name that travels with the guy who's trying to get the girl to the place because she's "The One"--that woman, TESS, her name was TESS---she is already infected anyway when she decides to heroically burn whatever building they're in with her and the Not Yet Cauliflower people, which is apparently how far the fungus goes, so this kid isn't eating cauliflower these days or maybe I will--off topic---so she, Tess, is already infected but gonna be a hero, but her lighter won't catch and one of the pre cauliflower fungus/people gets close enough to her to kiss her, but he's got fungus coming out of his mouth and....I'm supposed to be scared? He's kissing her to kill her. With fungus. The rest of them are screeching and clawing and biting. 

    I laughed.

   And then I got up and made more air fryer food and contemplated a full fungus person turning into cauliflower, but not always, only sometimes. And they click for locations 'cause they're blind. And again, I laughed. Silly show. So I write:

    "The play opens on old, broken, angry, washed up" ---can you be washed up if you never accomplished anything? What does it even mean. Looking it up.

1. deposited by the tide on a shore.

   "washed-up jellyfish"
2. 2.

   INFORMAL

   (of a person) no longer effective or successful.

     Great, that was uplifting.

     Washed up only applies if you were ever effective. Which I was not. So I can't be washed up. 

     "The play opens on a 57 year old, angry, ineffective teacher shoving last night's air fryer stuffed jalapenos into her mouth with one hand, while stirring creamer into her coffee with the other. She is talking around the fried leftover in her mouth, speaking to the empty kitchen.

      I don't even know how to start, where do you start? I am sorry that I was not a good mom and I didn't prepare you to be a functioning member of this dysfunctional world. I'm sorry we didn't have the money to cushion the whole thing, to buy you a townhouse so at least you could have a place that isn't here, that isn't having to come home because the economy has spun out of control and you are a unique human who wishes to live your life instead of marry Old Man Capitalism.

        She takes a sip of coffee, while reaching into the oven for another leftover air fried delight...

        And that's what I have so far. I remember playwriting being easier than this. Of course, I also remember never sitting myself down and stating "Immma write a play now", so there's that.

       Each blog I attempt is another fractured snack. Yes. That's what I meant. 

       Did I mention today is Sunday, and I don't have Covid any more, I did when I started writing but I just tested myself - but I did have Covid this week SPRING BREAK thank you, after returning from NYC with students. Second time I've had it in ten months---WTF. Major headache, lotta sneezing, which easily was exacerbated by my relentless need to do All Of The Cleaning in the three days I had left meaning dog beds and cat boxes which contain fantastically airborne fluffies and clay which settles in one's frontal lobe and becomes solid matter. Fun.

        Apologizing is my home state. At school I'm hardcore, hardnosed, a theatre amazon, a brick house. Here I know I'm actually a failure at both teaching and parenting. Thus the relentless cleaning, if I stay busy I won't think about the fact that apologizing isn't enough. I have done nothing but fail. Which, from a commitment standpoint is impressive. I do know how to commit to failure. So I got that going for me. 

         

        She shoves a second fried treat into her mouth, and then a third. She begins to choke, and laugh as she chokes. With a loud "Huh" she spits the fried chicken, fried jalapenos and coffee pieces out of her mouth, laughing as they fly all over the kitchen. Much to the dogs' delight, as it is an arial feast. They dance and snap and snarf and lick, and she laughs and chokes and cackles, and leans on the counter. She would fall to the floor and join the canine festival, but her knees are shot. So she leans on the counter for support and continues to laugh and choke, simultaneously, as only someone who understands the absurdity of life will do.

    Scene.

the last of us

 Here are my- unrequested notes as I binged The Last Of Us while having Covid this week. no punctuation. they were written as I watched, so they're chronological

the plot is predictable

the monologues undigestable and stale

the characters archetypal and rebooted in the name of inclusion

neat, she's THE ONE, that's new i've never seen that before ELORA DANON The MATRIX

like I needed a gay storyline to explain how they got a truck?

cordoned off the neighborhood but everyone died? not at all  like Walking Dead when Cherry was the boss of the town UGH unsubscribe.

the cauliflower headed ones look like i feel

1984, The Matrix, Zombieland, WWZ, Road Warrior, that one with  will Smith when he kills his dog, even Of Mice and Men, Book of Eli, Willow, Terminator....journey stories, saviors, comments on The American Dream, dystopia, it can be the great depression, a political collapse, martial law, zombies or a plague. The Stand.

The Stand. which is the final say on all of it.

and like all trendy trendies, such as Stranger Things' it's filmed in the dark making it difficult to see on your screen at home during the day with the sun shining.

i need her flashback to when she was bitten while he's bleeding and freezing in wyoming wyoming wyoming?

traitors traitors everywhere

nobody is who they appear

oh look, more bad people doing terrible things

wait, is that Elaine from Northern Exposure

wyoming wyoming wyoming wyoming

the preacher's not going to be a good guy

called it.

dude they shot the horse i'm out

ooooooh...cannibals. definitely not a stop in the Walking Dead journey SARCASM

dude.

We're out of ideas.

she's The One? He's surprised they're gonna kill her ? What'd he think using her to make a vaccine meant?  did he think they'd draw a pint of blood and make vaccine soup? take a snippet of hair and eye of newt for a magic potion?

now she knows he's lying so he's gonna have to die

or not. end 

well, it kept me entertained for two days while I sneezed and coughed.

Impressive Background

 

    "While you have an impressive background..."

     "With respect to your experience..."

      I think these rejections are worse than when I was younger and had no background, had no experience. At least then I could say "I will improve. I can get experience."

       But now -and by "now" I mean since 4 October 2019 until 5 March 2023. "Now" is the current lost season I am attempting to navigate with humor. And by humor I mean why is Shaq still doing commercials with his impressive background. With respect to your experience we'd like for you to sell Papa John's? Which is the best I can do right now. Humor.

      Everyone else (and by "everyone else" I am speaking hyperbolically about every teacher who started at 22 and is retired now, or gets to retire this year, or will retire in two years, which means they're getting out and I am not I am not I am not.) I am not. Every educator my age who is still teaching is doing so because  for one of three reasons: 1. They want to. They're trying to make it to year 33 so they can get the highest percentage possible out of PERA, which is how they got us in the first place. 2. They're just a nut job who likes teaching. Nobody told me I had to put in over thirty years for it to pay off. Seems rude considering I didn't start until age 37.

     I'm the third OR: others like me who started late and are now trapped.

    Do you know what I also think is rude? That in Colorado, a teacher cannot change districts without losing years off of their salary. That's right. So a teacher with 20 years in who moves to another district does so by taking a massive pay cut. Some districts will not give you more than four years. Others it's seven. Nowhere is it your full 20. That's pretty cheap, friends. Education is the only place that happens, and insanely it is allowed and not contested. We're supposed to be happy to have a job, period, and overjoyed at our pension fund. I've been so gaslit.

    We are paid on a salary schedule.  Which is a ladder that pays teachers with masters hours more than others, and teachers with more years in more than others. The issue is the inconsistency. Salary schedules vacillate from district to district, but in general a first year teacher makes about $40K a year. Which in Colorado qualifies as poverty level, but we're ignoring that. We're just supposed to be happy to have a job with a retirement plan.

    What this means is, District A will pay a BA teacher with 20 years in $60K a year, and District B will pay a teacher with a BA and 20 years in $85K a year. So the teacher in District A should- in theory- be able to switch to District B and receive their 20 year salary and get a raise. However, District B will only pay the District A teacher the salary for a seven year teacher, which is $52K a year. So to change districts, the teacher takes a pay cut. For no reason other than they had the nerve to change districts. How dare they?

    Now, let's say you're in the highest paid district in the state. (I'm using examples from salary schedules, not telling you my real numbers, friends) You have a masters degree and are making $90K a year with 20 years in. But the building you are in is in crisis and cutting teachers, and even though you allegedly have Teacher Status, there are no jobs for you elsewhere in the district. So you begin to venture into other districts. And you learn that they know they can't pay you past their seven year mark, which is $50K, so all parties are doing a useless dance that resembles the dog and pony show. You interview for a job you are more than qualified for, and they know you can't afford the pay cut so they don't offer you the job. So why did you bother to interview?

    Because you only have 20 years in, and you cannot retire, even though you are north of 55 years old, and you don't have a job in your district next year. Or your principal is insane and you need to leave. Or you see the writing on the wall and know your job will not exist in your building in two years, so you are trying to plan ahead. Or you got shot at or you don't feel safe. Or a kid threw an eraser at your head and told you to fuck off. Or ...keep going. There are a million reasonable arguments to leave a building, Teachers should be allowed to move districts without being financially punished.

    And so-back to the scenario- they have to say no, even if they like you, even if you would be a perfect fit, because the people in the building cannot offer you more than the district has determined you are worth.

    This is the trap. The system only pays off for people who start teaching immediately out of college and marry a building or district for 33 years. At which point, they get to retire at 85% of their salary.

    Whooo---hoo!

    This has been a public service announcement. Thank you for listening. 

Karen For Good: The Toddler

 

        Just a quick run down to the grocery store in 100 degree heat at noon is never a fun task, but somebody's gotta do it. She cranked the AC in the car and missed the neighbors fat fluffy tabby on the way out of the garage. It was not her cat, but she kept food out for it. It seemed to always be outside, and in the heat she added water to the food on the retaining wall. 

    As she descended the hill to the store, she reflected on the several times she had given folks a ride up from the store to their apartment. It was either too hot, or freezing cold, and they clearly were struggling. She wasn't a lyft driver, and she was not outgoing or overly friendly, but she did hate driving past someone shuffling up that stupid hill in either heat or ice. It was simply a human thing to stop and offer to drive them to their apartment parking lot, at least. 

    She glanced at the aforementioned parking lot as she passed and noted a small head bopping between cars. She did a double take to insure that she had seen a small child, too small to be alone in the parking lot. The child was clad only in a diaper. Without a thought, she whipped into the lot and parked center, hopping out of the car quickly so as not to lose sight of the child. They were close enough to the road that she wanted to get to them fast.

    The toddler--she guessed they were barely walking age, perhaps two--smiled up at her when she approached. She asked "What in the world are you doing out here, friend?" She scanned the parking lot for a taller human, ostensibly a parent or babysitter, but saw no one. Afraid the child would run away from her toward the street, she reached out her hand and cooed, hoping it would work. It did, and the little one stomped straight to her with a giant grin on their face. Blonde hair, blue eyed and adorable. Karen took the tots hand and then said out loud "I think we need to find your adult, friend. Did you escape from somewhere?" She received a radiant giggle as an answer.

    She began to walk slowly, holding hands with the child, toward the apartments. She began to speak her thoughts to the child as they walked. "I suppose we can start here on the ground floor. I find it unlikely that you shinnied down the stairs." She walked a straight line from where the child had been playing, and saw the open front door. "Aha, this is your apartment, isn't it? You're a hooligan."

   She stood at the open door with the child, peering into the interior as her eyes adjusted from the blazing sun. She saw a young woman wearing headphones and vacuuming her rug. She knocked on the open door. The woman did not respond, so she took a step inside and waved her arms. The woman looked up confused, then looked at Karen's hand clasping the child's and her eyes flew wide open. She ripped out her earphones and threw down the vaccuum, leaving it running, and rushed to the child.

    "Oh my God, ohmyGod, Dear God how did you open the door you can't even reach I didn't leave it open it's a hundred degrees oh my god where was she?" 

    Karen turned to go. "In the parking lot," she walked back through the door, closing it solidly behind her. To the mother it may have felt like the door was slammed, but that was not Karen's intention. It was merely to snap it shut so it would not fall open again.

The Callback That Sealed The Deal "I Am Too Old For This"

 

    No names necessary.

    As someone who has been teaching and directing for twenty years, I have no patience with having my time wasted.

    I am not a Big Enough Deal to direct Real Actors in Real Theatres. I'm just a clown that got lucky, they gave me the keys to the building and trust me. I am not respected in the community because the community has no idea who am. Getting a directing gig in this town is as rough as getting an acting gig, made infinitely more inaccessible by the influx of actors from Everywhere But Here. However, I Occasionally do venture out to audition, only for one of two reasons: It's within 20 minutes of where I live or it's a "Bucket List" show. 

    Today's callback qualified as the former, and is one of three times this company has done a show for which I am the right age. This will be the third time I've not been cast. But I'll audition next time, because there are few roles for my age, and it's 19 minutes from my house. And by the time they do another show I'm right for, I will have forgotten today's debacle. 

    The audition last week was fine, I showed up, they ran on time, I went home. The director said he'd let me know in 24 hours if I had been called back for today (Sunday, a week later). I received an email 48 hours later, stating that I would receive audition sides and a schedule within a short amount of time. I received the sides the next day, but not a schedule. Two flags on the that play.

    By 8.30 last night, Saturday, before the callback, I had not received a schedule. I had two choices: A) shrug and figure I'd been ghosted and B) Be professional and email the director. I chose B. He responded that the schedule was sent at 7.45 PM on Saturday, the night before the callback, and if I did not receive it, he attached it. This was at 8.45 pm. Immediately on the heels of his email, the email from the SM came through with the schedule. 11 am was my callback time. I was sent two sides for one role. I was not feeling positive about how this was organized, friends.

    I left my house at 10.30 to give myself time to park. I arrived at 10.50 with a handful of actors. The show has five people in it, so I was not expecting more than 15-20 people at callbacks. That seems like a reasonable number for a theatre that holds less than 200 people and is barely a paid gig. Even if they have procured an "ish" equity contract.

    By 11.05 there were forty people in the lobby.

    The first three groups were assigned, then immediately reassigned as the SM pointed out that some people had to leave early. It was a two page side that should take about three minutes to read through.

    The first group was inside for ten minutes. Then the second group entered, and that's where I lost track of any cohesive schedule. They appeared to be taking individuals in and out, to mix and match, which is a thing you do after you've seen everyone. But OK.  I was put into a group for my first reading  (about four lines at the end of the scene) but we were not given a group number, or a time frame. By now it's noon and I've texted home to tell them I won't be home by 12. 30, which is a time that would make sense based on how very small the role is for which I was auditioning, and the time needed to read a few people for it, and the time I said I'd be home and we could go get lunch. I read through the scene three times with my group in the outer lobby, and nobody emerged from the theatre, nobody entered. We figured we had time. We chatted until we knew each other's lives, and then disbanded. We figured we had more time.

    We did. We read at 12.15. We were then told to "hang around".

    I made friends with a transplanted New Yorker in my group, only to learn that quite a few...no many...of the other actors were from New York. She was beside herself with the disorganization, and equated it to the non equity cattle calls she went through in NYC. I told her she was welcome to return to New York. But I agreed with her regarding the shit show we were in. She also said she felt safer in Brooklyn that she does in Arvada, and I again invited her to return to her home state.

    The SM came by to tell me who my new partner would be, and I looked as she pointed over at the guy I had  just mocked for taking my seat and touching my phone. Great. He was one man who was reading with several women. I asked the SM what the time frame was and she shrugged. So I said "I have to leave at two". I shoulda pulled that the minute I realized they were calling back a thousand people for the roles. Then I look at my new scene partner, who was reading with the same woman who he'd clearly decided was going to get the part and so  did not have time for me. So I went into the outer lobby and texted home. Because it was loud and crowded in the lobby lobby, and by now, an hour and a half into a callback that should have been over by now, people were getting chummy. I am not chummy. In fact, I found myself getting grumpy.

    I got bored waiting for my partner who had latched on to one of his other partners, a lovely, put together, thin woman with white hair who I decided was going to get the part based on her look. She was stunning. Couldn't blame him for wanting to read and chat with her instead of myself, who is clearly more Miss Piggy than she, so I toddled back into the lobby lobby, where the SM told me "You guys are next." So I looked at my partner who had weirdly appeared at my side and said "Maybe we should read through it?" We did, and he'd clearly made every choice based on the other women he'd read with. I could have been a broom for all he cared. So. I leave him and return to my lobby table, where one of my college professors is seated. We've also been chatting. She's 73 and we're reading for the same part. We begin to talk about finally starting our own theatre because Screw This Noise. While we're talking I note that it's 1.38. The SM emerges and takes my scene partner and the Stunning Woman he was rehearsing with into the theatre. Obviously, I was not next. I blame myself, If only I was a more attractive older woman, thin with white hair and striking black framed glasses, I would have not been line jumped.  Alas, I am but a clown. I shrug and return to my conversation. Seconds later, the SM comes over to inform us that they've seen all they need we can go now.

    Really.

    You couldn't have done that twenty minutes ago?

    I said "Cool, thanks, I'm out," and got up so fast I knocked the barstool over. I said to my former prof on my way "Really? Coulda cut me twenty minutes ago, not wasted my time." I'm pretty sure everyone heard me. I wasn't angry. I just wanted to leave. Their opinions are not my problem. I don't care.

    And that's the honest truth. I Do Not Care.

    I don't like the play, it's problematic on many levels. I knew when a thousand people showed up that this was a bad idea, I should have just stayed home. I'd like to work 19 minutes from my house, yes, and it's fun to act again, sure. But dude. It's almost 2 pm and I've been here since 11. For the smallest of the five roles! I would never waste an actor's time. I pride myself on quick, organized auditions and a fast cast list. Good directors do not need to take this kind of time making a decision. They don't. I promise. So. In conclusion, all in all, to sum up.

    Do Better.

Dead Inside

 

    It is hard to admit defeat.   

    Teaching theatre killed my love of theatre. Not all theatre, just doing it. It was exhausting when I had a program kids wanted to be in, it's insufferable now. I'm supposed to save a program in a building that does not want it. Because the kids don't want it. Let's rephrase that: there are not kids In Bulk who want it. It's more important to keep class sizes high to justify the FTE than it is to admit that upper level theatre classes aren't going to be big because theatre is hard and not everybody wants to do it.

    That's what killed my love. The overwhelming wave that is defined as a lack of love.