Dear Tic Tacs,

The dog smells like you.  Upon his return from doggy camp they bathe him (my mother's favorite part) and now he smells like Tic Tacs just before they start to dissolve.  At first we thought it was a cookie smell, but that was not quite right.

I know that Christmas is not a time for criticism and critique but, too late.  The Christmas Special.  She saves everything because she loves her husband and her kids? Yeah, sure, it had me crying like a baby, but it felt boring.  Can this woman do nothing else? Can women do nothing else?

As I said, Christmas is not the time for critique.


love,
hannah

Dear Stratford on Guy,

I always think of this song as I'm coming into O'Hare.  It's really only the first couple of lines, but they always come to mind as the plane comes in over the city.  One time I was able to listen to it as the plane landed, and that was a beautiful, and kind of surreal moment.  Another reason I think I liked this song when I first heard it was because I was really interested in Shakespeare and I enjoyed the play on his hometown, even if I didn't really understand it.

I have returned from Costa Rica, or as I have dubbed it Cute-sta Rica for its ability to transform me into a fourth grade girl.  Sadly, I did not return with any super cute animals in tow.  But, there's always the chance that when we go to pick up the dog at Petsmart I could pick something up stateside. 


love,
hannah

Dear Costan Rican reading list,

For those that are wondering, I'm headed to Costa Rica tomorrow.  We're going on our last real family vacation before I go off and join the world as an adult. 

Here's what I'm bringing to read:
The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides
Class by Cecily Von Ziegesar
The Other Wes Moore by Wes Moore
Packing for Mars by Mary Roach

Two fiction, two nonfiction, looking to trade with my fam once we get there.

Oh, and there's a volcano and rainforest to explore as well. 

AND SLOTHS.  So excited for the sloths.  Get pumped world, me and sloths, comin' at cha. 

See you again, post-sloth, pre-2012.


love,
hannah

Dear Gone in the Morning,

I am hooked on this song right now.  It came on shuffle yesterday evening and I have been listening to it non-stop ever since.  Once I started listening, I've been needing to dance.  It feels like my whole body is itching.  I even remembered this one move from African dance over the summer and sat through a play last night just wanting to dance. 

Even now, in public I just want to sing this song out loud and dance down the street. 

I am in a serious countdown mode.  In less than a week I will be home preparing to head to Costa Rica.  But, this year the countdown feels less happy.  I'm weirdly happy, and strangely disconnected from the stress that's setting in right now. 

I'll just keep listening to this song. 


love,
hannah

Dear Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci,

Can we be best friends? Or at least, can I go to dinner with you guys? You seem awesome, and a lot of fun.  We can talk about working class history, Mean Girls and arts education.  You guys would care about my finals and have brilliant things to say.  Or, we could share some pizza, or a martini.

Your pick.  Come to Minnesota?


love,
hannah

Dear final madness,

I'm splitting my blogging time these days.  Check out this joint endeavor with Caitlyn.  It makes decidedly less sense, but it's probably more fun.

love,
hannah

Dear Jellyfish,

A friend who has come to visit the Twin Cities periodically throughout the fall always asks me two questions when we see each other: Are you happy? Do you feel loved? (The first time she asked this question she asked "Do you feel like the world is cradling your heart in between its palms?" I wasn't sure if that was true, but I did feel loved.) These are two simple but sometimes difficult questions to answer and the answers aren't always what you expect.  Well, my answer to one of them has not changed.  I have felt loved this entire season and school year.

Last night I felt loved.  After months of writing and thinking and brainstorming and walking around the space and rehearsing we finally premiered the Jellyfish Project.  The show is about stereotypes of women that appear in film and trying to find some reality in them, a morsel of truth.  In so many ways the Jellyfish Project is an extension of my work in Feminisms in Progress, but very different.  I was so pleased with what we had come up with and as we got closer to show time I became nervous that what I thought was beautiful and insightful would appear confusing and garbled to those watching.  (Don't worry, that wasn't the case.)  The show went off without a hitch and from what I heard from friends every nuance and every little idea we had tried to pack into the show was understood in some way or another.  I have so much love for the women I worked with to create this show and who jumped into this project trusting that I would lead them even when I had no plan at all. 

Even more than my ensemble, I felt so much love for my posse.  Those who love and care about me were there, right up front (I picked out the best seats for them, of course).  In the end I was left with such a feeling of joy because these people were there to support me, no matter what I was working on they would have been there.  My posse was there to support me in my work out of love, and they were just so happy to do it.  My heart was cradled in between their palms. 

What an incredible posse I have, what an incredible group of people I have to guide me and support me and share our lives.  And, always with a strange understanding that this posse will dissolve, it wasn't meant to last and before long we will scatter across the globe and rely only on Facebook.  I suppose that's a grim way of looking at it, but... but it feels strangely true. 

This is just to say that my heart is cradled in between their palms.


love,
hannah

Dear Brigid,

I know why you didn't come to class.  I know that you had to go and finish the stair lab, but dear god, this class is killing me.  We're in the Disney unit of this class, which I was so so excited for.  However, one of the most quintessential articles, "Working at the Rat" was assigned for today, except that the professor has already told us most of the interesting elements of the article.  I cannot stand this class.  It is a waste of my time.  And you aren't here to keep me company. 

I just spoke in class.  There we go, I came up with an interesting idea. 

How can we be both critics and fans? A question for the ages.


love,
hannah

Dear ampitheater,

I took a lunch break today.  I can't remember the last time I really took a lunch break.  I just sat outside and marveled at the trees, their structure revealed now that the leaves are gone.  I just listened to The Moth and watched people walk across campus.  I tried to name people but I am not as good at that as I once was.  I felt some nostalgia already coming on. 

Senior year makes one a spontaneously weepy person. 

Let's just get through the academic part of my day, it is infinitely less interesting than my lunch break.

love,
hannah

Dear Neo-Futurist mailing list,

Two weeks ago when I was in Chicago I went with friends to see TMLMTBGB.  This is pretty standard.  I do this every time I come home.  But this time while we waited in line, my friends and I shared what minimal plans for the future we have and where we thought we would be.  No telling how those plans will turn out. 

As I watched the show I had the moment I always have: I would love to be a Neo-Futurist.  That would actually be the coolest thing in the entire world.  But this time was different than times before, because it could actually be real this time.  I could make that a plan.  Or at least a dream plan.

So I have just signed up for the Neo-Futurist mailing list so that I know when auditions are.  I'm making plans. 


love,
hannah

Dear first snow at school,

Last first snow at school? We've been waiting, and you arrived tonight by streetlight.  I was with my cast, and two ran out to dance in the snow: one to get into character, the other because she's from California.  So now you're here.  I can almost start making snowflakes.

In other news, after using my blog as a tech theater complaint forum last semester, it should be said that I did five hours today in the costume shop and it felt so good.  Being in the theater building from three to eleven felt so good.  Strange? I don't know.  I made plans to do it again on Friday.


love,
hannah

Dear man sitting next to me at Dunn Bros,

You look a lot like Steve Jobs, that was the first thing I noticed.  Then, a whole twenty minutes later, I noticed that your briefcase next to me was in fact not a briefcase at all but a dog carrier.  Sir, your dog is tiny.  And adorable.  And because we are in a public space I tried to not squeal, but for real, that thing is adorable.  You are working hard so I texted my friends instead of pointing and squealing, there's a dog right here!

And then you go to the bathroom and ask me to watch your dog, pretty sure that means you saw me sneaking fervent, longing glances at your super cute pet.  Well sir, you gave me permission.  I didn't open the carrier, I promise.  After you came back we started to talk about Jilly.  Jilly! What an adorable name for a two-pound dog with tiny eyes and teeth.  I wish I had taken a picture.  You say you bring her around in the case to socialize her - I will socialize with her!

I was kind of pleased to find out that she's wearing that leopard print harness because it's the only thing small enough for her and not because you're making a fashion statement.  I'm such a girl, I want your tiny dog.  Please come back to Dunn Bros.  I don't know if you're allowed to bring a dog in, but I don't care. 


love,
hannah

Dear seven billion people,

This actually blows my mind.  I remember when I read the articles about reaching six billion, and I was in second grade.  And we will reach eight billion by 2030? I find this a little terrifying.  How did this happen? How are we going to make this work?

Seven billion.

In less than two hundred years the world's population has increased by five billion people, but don't worry, by the end of the century we should balance out at ten million.  No worries.  I should be dead by then. 

I'm not sure why this troubles me so much.  But, to be fair, I'm also really troubled right now by the length of Kim Kardashian's marriage.  Seventy-two days? She was only married for seventy-two days before she decided that was it? Kim, a college course lasts longer than that.  You couldn't even manage an intro course in marriage co-taught by the esteemed Kris Humphries.  If you only got married to this dude because his name also started with "K" and you just really wanted a wedding I will be severely disappointed.  Cause apparently that's what we do now that we have seven billion people on the planet: we have ridiculously extravagant and publicized weddings which allows us to make something like eight million dollars for every day we're married.

Maybe this is why I'm worried.  If seven billion people watch Kim Kardashian's wedding or try to emulate it or even care about Kim Kardashian's wedding then we've got a huge problem on our hands. 

Well, you've made it K-Krowd, spell check recognizes your last name.  You're only a group of seven people in a world of seven billion but spell check knows your name. 


love,
hannah

Dear manicure,

I don't think I will ever be able to do my nails this well.  Sometimes I catch myself just looking at my nails.  What a life.


love,
hannah

Dear Birthday Week,

In my house we have a thing called birthday week.  We even go so far as to have "birthday month" although only my mother and brother get to fully take advantage of that while my dad and I share a birthday month.  Birthday week merely extends the celebration of your birthday and allows you to do whatever you want for even longer.  My mother is a big proponent of birthday week and though I have claimed its privileges I wouldn't say that I have embraced birthday week.  I think it's one of those things where your response has less to do with the thing itself, and more about how you were raised with it; it's not that I don't like birthday month, it's that was a big deal for other people and consequentially it wasn't a big deal for me. 

Not so this year.  For whatever reason, I decided that my twenty-first birthday was going to be an all-out celebration.  Maybe it's because Harold Camping said that the world actually was going to end, but year twenty one was going to end in style.  I went all out for birthday week: I blew off homework, cancelled rehearsal and spent the week at Playlabs 2011 at the Playwright's Center (more on that later) planned a big party and then an official excursion the next day.  The world hasn't yet, and I may have just had the best birthday ever.  And then the weekend ended with my friends gathered around, watching You've Got Mail and trying to work.  (Some of us were successful and some of us were absolutely not.  I was both.) 

Perhaps the best part is that the celebration isn't really over because I'm headed home next week to celebrate with family and friends.  Oh, and I'm going to see a play next week. 

I may actually like birthday month. 


love,
hannah

Dear last five minutes of being 20,

Look at you go! This has been a pretty amazing year, as documented through this blog. 

I'm more excited for this birthday than I have been for any other.  And it's strange though because American culture does place some significance on this birthday, it lies only in one's sudden ability to drink legally.  I'm not so much interested in the drinking that comes with this birthday, so I can't say why I'm so excited.  I just am.  I've gone all out this week, doing Birthday Week in a way that honors the birthday legacy of my family.  And I have two days of celebration planned.  Two days!

I suppose this is the last birthday I'll actually be excited for.  Only a few more years before I start counting backward.  I'm more curious about what lies ahead, so I won't be leading the countdown.


love,
hannah

Dear butt,

You are a pain.  I am in pain.  Bruising my tailbone was dumb. 

Mostly it means I can't for more than a half an hour at a time... wish that meant I didn't have to go to class.   But it doesn't work like that.

Sunday night means homework.  Being in school makes Sunday nights permanently painful.  It's weird to think that Sunday nights might not always be this way.  Granted, I'm sure that Sunday nights will become painful in a different kind of way; I just like to think that Sundays will feel less crammed in the future. 

Sunday nights are all the more painful when I don't want to sit to do all of my work.  


love,
hannah

Dear coccyx,

I'm sorry I hurt you.  I'm sorry that when I got on my bike this morning I wasn't totally ready.  I'm sorry it rained.  I'm sorry I had a little spill, right in the front yard.

I'm sorry I hurt you.

But damn, you're one to hold a grudge.  Granted, this only happened this morning, but I get the distinct feeling that this pain is going to stick around for a long time.  (A long time says the internet.  Some internet poster even says it is a pain I might feel for the rest of my life.  But, then I might know when it's going to rain.)

It's hard to cough, choke, laugh or adjust my seating.  That's mean.  And I'm icing you once an hour.  That's cold.  All this for my bruised tailbone. 

Srsly.  This is going to take a while.  It also means that I can't lie down unless I really really mean it.  It's unclear yet whether or not this is good for my work ethic.

And in all of this I feel just little bit dumb that I don't know how to ride my bike.  


love,
hannah

Dear left contact,

I lost you down by the Mississippi on Friday.  My eye was so irritated that I thought I had lost the contact in my eye, and that it would appear in a few days time.  It has been a few days time, but I still haven't felt you come out.  Maybe you fell out into the river.  I was casting my sins out into a flowing body of water, but I didn't mean to cast you out, left contact o' mine.  You were brand new too... What a shame.

Other cool body-related thing: I was playing with my split ends throughout the day today, and I found an especially cool one.  My split end looked just like the Hebrew letter "sin."  It was actually amazing.  Also, we were discussing Jewish burial and funeral practices at the time.  It felt right.  (I didn't interrupt the conversation to share this with anyone.)  

I've been thinking a lot about pedagogy recently.  A lot.  Sometimes, that can be a strange thing to share with people. 


love,
hannah

Dear zombie pub crawl,

I've been hearing about you for years.  Of course, I've never been able to go.  I thought, just maybe you would fall after my 21st birthday this year and I would be able to go, but sadly, that didn't happen.  Bummer.  Well, I just have to stick around the Twin Cities so that I can go next year. 

I think the best part of (not going to) the zombie pub crawl is seeing everyone the next day.  I imagine everyone stumbles home, full of liquor and brains, and falls asleep immediately.  The thing that no one does is take off their fake blood, so everyone walks around campus today covered in black marks of death and red bloodstains.  It makes it look like all of campus got into a crazy brawl last night.

Also, it's the 9th of October, and I'm sitting outside regretting that I'm not wearing sunscreen.  What is this world. 


love,
hannah

Dear internetz,

You basically exploded this week, didn't you? This week began with the announcement that Arrested Development would return not only as a movie, but with nine to ten new episodes.  I enjoy Arrested Development but the level of excitement that the internet produced was overwhelming.  I thought Facebook was broken because there was nothing on my feed that wasn't about Arrested Development.  I don't know whether to be pleased or disappointment that I could (almost) uniformly describe my friends as Arrested Development freaks.  Congrats freaks.  (I love you all.)

And then, on Wednesday we lost Steve Jobs.  Same as every time I hear about a celebrity passing, I didn't believe it at first.  I always think people are lying.  Though he was a great innovator and thanks to him I have a computer, a phone and an iPod, I did not feel his loss so intimately as others.  Again, my news feed was flooded with thoughts on his passing.  I was so tempted to post "This post is not about Steve Jobs" but decided against it.

Well internetz, this has been a busy week for you and I think you might just wanna take a rest next week.  Let's hope nothing big happens. 

It's Saturday and there's no new Doctor Who.  I know this feeling will pass soon, it just hasn't yet. 


love,
hannah

Dear giggle fits,

You keep me young.  You only come after midnight. 

You might scare the people around me. 

Oh well.


love,
hannah

Dear prison jokes,

Recently a professor told our class that when you spend a long time in prison, eventually, you've told all the jokes you know. At some point each joke just gets a number, so that you can one day just say "Joke number 37" and everyone will laugh as they recall joke number 37. 

Sometimes, I think my friends and I should just number our jokes.  This isn't a bad thing, I'm just fascinated at how we can still get a reaction even though we've told these stories at least twenty times now. 

Also, as far as I know, my professor has never been in prison. 


love,
hannah

Dear Rosh Hashanah,

Today I've been reminded of this holiday three years ago.  A friend (still a new friend at the time) was going through a break up, and I was introducing her to my Jewish traditions, starting with Rosh Hashanah.  As it does this year, Rosh Hashanah fell about a month into the school year, and as my friend saw it, offered her an opportunity to start over.  This is what I love about the timing of Rosh Hashanah: when you don't get things right at the start of the school year, you get to start over again just a month (ish) later.  And, you get ten days to consider what hasn't made the school year what you wanted it to be, and you get to start over. 

Though the Jewish calendar isn't meant to make transitions into school years easier, I've always found it helpful.  Perhaps even more so this year as I begin to try and imagine my life outside of the academic calendar, though I don't believe that's possible.  Also, it gives me an opportunity to reflect: this time last year I was... This time next year I will be... And both of those are hard.  Both sentences end in ellipses for a reason.  Needless to say, I've always found Rosh Hashanah helpful.

This year I'm giving greater thought to Yom Kippur, the day of atonement.  Each year I try and think of my sins of the past year, and think of ways to change or to apologize, and most years I come up empty.  Or I feel like I have no ability to change.  But this year I'm taking advantage of Yom Kippur, take my ten days to reflect on my life and how I interact with those in my various communities.  I'm giving it greater thought this year. 

Course, it could just be that I really want my name written in the book of life for the next year.  Or, maybe I really want my apples and honey. 

Shana tovah.


love,
hannah

Dear guinea worms,

It's been an interesting day for you.  I know about you thanks to Scott Westerfeld's Peeps (an awesome book!) but now I think I shall be known as "guinea worm girl" to my MWF class.  What a thing to be known for.  Enormously long parasitic worms, right up my alley. 


The coolest part is that the snakes you see in this image - ARE ACTUALLY GUINEA WORMS.  Because you have to twirl them out of the body on a stick.  That's how gross these things are.  But they're so cool... Ah well, I'm famous for them now.

Thanks a lot Naomi.  Your character infested with a guinea worm gives me a weird reputation.  Well, I know how you are about bodies...


love,
hannah

Dear Tom Paine,

This is actually the title of my paper. 

Strangely, I am quite enjoying writing this paper.  However, my fear is this: in an attempt to attack the prompt in a creative manner, I have adopted a haughty and saucy disposition with which to approach contemporary American labor struggles, and while this is useful, I think I have gotten carried away in the character.  I'm having too much fun writing the monologue of this person who thinks the world of Thomas Paine, and I might be forgetting to include the factual elements for which this paper was assigned.  Will this be valuable? Will my sass exemplify the tone that Paine himself utilized? I know not where to stop.  I cannot hold back.  (I've also taken to parading about the house in my red cape (scarf) and claiming myself to be brilliant.  I am brilliant.  That's not the point.)  I have one page left until I have met the length requirement for the assignment, but I fear that it will be lacking in substance, but full of style. 

A solution! Quote Common Sense and bring it all back to the eighteenth century. 

I'm also at that point in writing where I "command + S" all the time.  It means I start trying to save pages on the Internet.  (My typing has gotten fun and flowery this evening.)  At some point I also need to go to bed. 


love,
hannah

Dear first paper of the semester,

You're always a challenge.  You always take three times longer than any other paper. Especially when you're not that hard.  So why am I putting you off? I do everything but prepare for you, when I know you're going to take hours and hours tomorrow.  Why? I should know better.

But not yet. 


love,
hannah

Dear creaky fence,

The fence around our house creaks.  I think it moves back and forth.  Especially when the wind blows.  It's creeping me out. 

I guess I could close the windows in my house.  It is getting a little cold. 

Yeah, that's a good idea.

Today I checked out two books from the library, and as I left the Circulation Desk I wondered whether library employees make note of what books people are checking out.  Can you tell when I've checked out every book on the library on _____? What about when I check out two books that have nothing to do with each other? Do you notice that? If you did, you might find my books interesting.  Also interesting are the bizarre books that colleges have in their library.  A History of American Funeral Directors?  Totally necessary for a solid education.


love,
hannah

Dear day in bed,

At first you were kind of fun.  You know, cause I got to sit in bed and watch Battlestar.  I was gonna drink water and watch tv, but the internet wasn't loading super fast today and I wasn't drinking enough water so I just laid in bed and tried not to move.  Also, in my sick haze this morning I posted on Facebook in such an unintentionally melodramatic manner that people became very concerned for me.  (It's okay friends, I just spent the day in bed.) 

Now that I'm sick and living off campus, I don't remember how I ever handled being sick in the dorms.  Did I spend all day in my loft bed? Did I hope that the dining hall would have soups that weren't too spicy? The other thing I always forget when I'm healthy is how debilitating being sick is.  When I'm healthy and I see sick people, I just want to encourage them to move and maybe that will make them feel better.  That doesn't sound good right now.  I'm trying to do something without moving or making my body want to shiver and/or sweat.  What is this world?

Staying in bed has kind of lost its charm at this point.  I'm ready to be well again.  Also, at this rate I will probably feel better on Monday, but I won't have done any of the homework for Monday.  So then I have a weird hope that I feel so gross that I won't want to go to class on Monday.  (I don't think I've ever not gone to class because of how I felt.)

Also, I'm breathing with my mouth open (duh) and sometimes I let out these tiny little squeaks.  They are pitiful.


love,
hannah

Dear first years,

You don't know how to walk yet.  Especially in the cafeteria.  Don't text, don't apologize, just walk! Look ahead, and walk with purpose, that's all it takes. 

Don't worry, you'll get it eventually.


love,
hannah

Dear fall,

You've arrived in full force! Suddenly it's chilly and I'm debating whether or not I need a jacket when just on Sunday I was sweating all over the place.  To make a comment on the weather in the past year is unnecessary: It's crazy. 

And each new phase of insane weather leads me to believe that the Earth must be changing.  I once asked my father whether there was actually an increase in the number of natural disasters, or whether it just feels like it.  He said that what has changed is the way that the disasters are reported and covered, but in fact each month I feel more sure that he is wrong. 

Although, I can never be sure that earthquakes aren't in fact us crashing into parallel worlds.  (Thanks Salman Rushdie.)  None of that has anything to do with the fact that my house is very excited to be wearing sweaters today.


love,
hannah

Dear September Sun,

I'm equally excited that fall weather is approaching and upset that the sun is about to to leave.  Today I sat in the sun for just a half an hour, but it was amazing.  I even had to worry about getting burned.  Though, that probably never would have happened.  I want to wear my sweaters and my boots but I loved catching the last rays of sun in my shorts.  As you can tell, I am deeply conflicted.

I spent some time before today remembering the events of ten years ago.  In fact, I've spent part of the last month thinking about September 11, because even though I was alive for the event, I feel as though I never be able to fully understand the effects of that day.  I don't understand the ensuing months, or wars.  I feel like I would have to do some serious studying to understand September 11.  So, I wanted to do something today to try and understand, but in the end, I gave it less thought today than other days in the past month.  Regarding September 11 I just feel lost, I don't know when or where to start. 


love,
hannah

Dear Mom,

It's very early on Friday.  On Friday you're going to find my blog.  Hopefully you found the link through my Facebook info page, if not, we need to have another Facebook tutorial. 

Once you have found my blog, post on my wall to let me know that you've found it.  Love you!


love,
hannah

Dear one year of blogging,

You're here! And that means it is my senior year.  W-O-W.  Has it really been a year? Has it really only been a year.  I've done so much in the last year, and I've learned how to schedule myself into oblivion so that I never stop running around town. 

I had a big senior moment today: I'm trying to get registered for this class, which is obviously full of more people than were intended for the class according to the registrar and for the classroom.  I've already spoken with the professor about taking his class (in fact he encouraged me to take his class) but my name isn't on the wait list.  I go up to the front desk after class where folks are getting their forms signed and putting their names on the wait list.  When I say hello, instead of asking for my name and explaining how their enrollment policy works he says "Oh, hello, I'm excited to work with you, I'm sure there will be room for you in the class.  We'll figure it out on Friday."  Folks, I have arrived.  Professors wanna work with me now.  It was in such stark contrast to sophomore year when I ran around campus begging professors to let me into a class just so I could fulfill my last science requirement. 

How the years have passed?


love,
hannah

Dear last (Rocky Horror) Picture Show,

It may only be four years old, but there is a tradition of screening Rocky Horror the night before classes start.  A final hurrah before the semester begins.  The only problem with this is that by the time we get to the pool in Rocky Horror I am ready for bed and wanting to get ready for the next day.

That said, I thought I would blog a bit before I embark on my last first day of school.  It's gonna be a crazy one.  Sadly, the outfit that I had planned for tomorrow (inspired by Tammi Taylor ya'll!) can't happen tomorrow as I must be on a bike.  That means we will have a skirty Thursday ya'll!

Alright, that's it.  I'm going to bed.  I've got to pull myself together for tomorrow. 


love,
hannah

Dear duck talk,

A duck talk is simple: a group of girls (formerly bound together by participation in a play) get together and talk about our ducks.  The first duck talk was mandated.  We had to have a duck talk, except we didn't call it that.  I think we called it "girlytime" then.  (The play we were all in had some really important sexual themes/discussions and the director thought that it was important we talk with each other before we went into rehearsal.  I laughed it off, and I thought it was going to be really dumb.  But it was amazing.  Rarely are conversations given purpose; most of the time conversations about sex, and romance and confusion are common but shallow, but duck talks allow for depth and total honesty and, most importantly, sharing. 

We now call it a duck talk because of a joke that was made at the first talk.  We felt that we could have all of our lives in order (all of our ducks) and then there would be one duck just staring at us (the love/sex duck).  That duck is always trouble.  So now we have duck talks. 

And just for a good helping of irony, this morning we made smoothies from my "man-catching" blender.  It didn't work.  That's okay, our ducks aren't going to be in order any time soon.


love,
hannah

Dear Domino,

Damn, you're a catchy song. 

Do you know this song? I like this song.  I was just at a (very fun!) party, but whoever was DJing wasn't doing the best job.  I didn't even want to dance.  I'm not saying that this song would have saved it, but apparently it's my follow-up party song.  And that means it's time for bed. 


love,
hannah

Dear pope table,

Tonight, at Buca di Beppo, I dined at the pope table.  We were not quite enough people to fill the enormous table, but we tried.  But then we had to rotate the pope so that he wasn't staring at any one person for too long.  The best part about tonight's dinner was that I thought I had said goodbye to this group of people, I thought we weren't going to happen again.  But we do! We live on! It's amazing.  And, there are even people we've added. 

Also, we (myself and another Whovian who talk a lot) managed to wait four hours before talking about Doctor Who.  That's a bug record for us. 


love,
hannah

Dear M4 bus,

On our way to Milwaukee, and on to Minneapolis, there is a point where the route backtracks past the point where you enter the highway from my house. It's always a little weird that I just drove that distance. The backtracking feels so wrong.


love,
Hannah

Dear barnacles,

I've taken the train into the city several times in the last week, and there's one apartment building, relatively short, that's caught my attention on the north side.  The L gives you an excellent view on to people's back porches, stairways and windows.  (And if you're having a very lucky day, like I did today, you will spot a friend you haven't spoken to in many years playing violin on one of those back porches.)  The building that has my attention can't hold much more than eight apartments, but there are more than eight satellite dishes attached to the back of the house; they all face south, and they are all on northwest corner of the building.  The other day as I passed this building I was struck by the way the satellite dishes reminded me of barnacles stuck to a whale.  Satellite dishes for tv are a common sight from the L but I was struck by these in particular.  I wanted to try and take a picture, but it's never easy to capture visions from the L.  It's better to let them pass and look out for them the next time you're on the L. 

This is my 200th post!


love,
hannah

Dear dead brain,

In the month of August I wrote two posts on this blog about August 27.  Can you tell that I was excited for August 27? Mostly cause of Doctor Who.  But really, I wasn't going to try and repeat everything.  And now I have.  I have failed as a blogger. 

But, frankly, the excitement was entirely deserved.  "Let's Kill Hitler" instantly became one of my favorite episodes of Doctor Who ever. 

In the meantime, setting up a new computer can take a while.  All those passwords and programs you use but forgot you use? Yeah, all of that.  My return to Minnesota is fast approaching.


love,
hannah

Dear August 27,

You're a big day.  Congratulations.  

One- You are the return of the sixth season of Doctor Who.  I have been waiting for two months for your return! I have even written about your return on the blog before.  Let's Kill Hitler, I thought, that's a dubious title.  However, you might have instantly become one of my favorite episodes of Doctor Who ever.  And even besides that, you drew upon a conversation from one of my classes last year about how people treat painful histories that aren't theirs.  Our conversation dealt specifically with American dealings with WWII and how we use other people's pain for entertainment and that's not how it works in Europe; but apparently not! Moffat will mock the Third Reich all he wants.  And it made me very happy.  My professor LDN and I can discuss it later. 

Two- My brother moves into his first dorm tomorrow.  He will no longer be a resident in our home.  To be entirely fair, he's not moving that far, although I'm sure it's going to feel like another planet (at least for a while).  We've had his last dinners and tomorrow will be his last nagging wake up call before he heads downtown.  We will spend tomorrow moving him in, dragging his things up the stairs.  I will probably spend much of tomorrow (quietly) comparing his first move-in experience to my own.  

Three- My computer is currently being evaluated/repaired, so I'm using my home computer where the keyboard makes much more noise, so I'm typing much more vigorously than I would otherwise.  

I've had so much to think about today, and enough physical labor ahead of me tomorrow that I will be distracted, at least for a little while.  Really, I've been thinking lighting fast today.  Those are fun days.  Ugh, time to rest, I've got a long August 28 ahead of me.  

love,

hannah

Dear One Day,

WARNING: Major SPOILERS ahead for One Day (both the book and the movie.)

You've been warned.  I'm gonna spoil everything.  Every last detail. 


Last summer I read One Day by David Nicholls, and I was really excited.  I searched the book down, at one point I even found that there was a preview of the book on the Barnes and Noble website and briefly contemplated reading the entire book in tiny barely legible font on my laptop because I wanted to read it so badly.  Thankfully, my mother bought a copy for me and I was able to read the book like a normal person. 

I really enjoyed it.  I loved the device of seeing them every July 15 even though it was totally improbable.  And then comes the ending.  She gets hit while riding her bike? Are you fucking kidding with me? I think I sobbed and sat on the couch and read the rest of the book straight through because if I had put it down I would have been too angry to ever pick it up again.  So, overall I like the book, but anyone who has read it will tell you that it has a shit ending. 

Immediately, I thought: What an interesting movie this would make! Not even a month later I find that it is going to be a movie, with Anne Hathaway.  And then, a year in a advance, I make plans to go see this movie with a friend. 

Today we went to go see the movie.  (I knew it wasn't going to be great, the trailer made sure of that.  Also: Anne Hathaway's accent?) And I was really curious whether they would change the ending.  Traditionally that would be book-to-movie-adaptation sacrilege, but here I thought I would find it a welcome change (as would other readers). 

Well friends, they do not change the ending.  And not only do they not change the ending, they make it the most jarring, gasp-inducing, cringe-worthy car crash.  And then they fade out with a shot of Anne Hathaway on the ground, with only one shoe and a bloody foot.  Oy. 

The general consensus among my crowd (four readers, one who knew the ending, and two who had no clue what they were getting themselves into) all agreed that the crash was too much.  My suggestion? (Also, my brother's) All you need to do is cut to black with the sound of the crash, then when you cut the tragic shot of him laying in bed crying, we all can know exactly what happened. 

See? I should be making movies. 

(Apparently, when I write long posts, I use lots of parentheses.  Strange.)


love,
hannah

Dear Chris Traeger,

You are a most ridiculous character.  (I've been watching Parks and Recreation.) His positivity is magnificently hilarious. 

Just so everyone knows, I'm going to read a book soon.  I mean it, ultimate lazy week is over.  Also, I have two plays in my inbox! Two plays, written by my friends.  Exciting reading ahead. 


love,
hannah

Dear mangoes,

Clearly, I am obsessed with you.  Yesterday I ate mango bubble tea (delicious!) and I watched a woman peel mangoes, and it was glorious. 

Last night I dreamt that I was on a crazy trip.  I think there was a play, and then everyone involved in the show/in the audience got on a plane and we had to land really quickly at this small stop where I was bummed except I discovered a giant juice box of mango juice.  A giant juice box! I don't think I even waited to pay for the juice box before I started drinking. 

I love mangoes. 


love,
hannah

Dear August 27th,

Come faster.  I have questions.  And I can't keep gawking at pretty tumblrs recycling Doctor Who imagery. 

love,
hannah

Dear Monday morning pancakes,

You're a change.  I've been eating toasted bagels and cereal for the last four weeks, shoving apples and snack bars into my bag.  But today, I woke up at 9, two hours late, laid in bed, debating what to do, and then decided that I wanted pancakes.  It's weird not being in a drama class right now.  The last show is tonight and then I'm done, I can return to lazy summer life.  Strange. 


love,
hannah

Dear New York,

The photos of the weddings that have occurred in the last two days make me tear up.  They are beautiful.  I don't know what else to say.

I just wrote a super long "Come to Mac" letter to a high school senior. 


love,
hannah

Dear Tardis Blues,

"I love the Doctor.  He's the man of my life.  One day we'll be in the Tardis.  He'll ask me to be his wife.  Not just any Doctor, but Matt Smith cause he's fine."

A student I'm working with wrote and sang this for our "write some blues" assignment.  Mine was about how my back hurts from sleeping in the basement on a crappy couch two nights ago.  Really, I'm still in a lot of pain. 

Embarking on my last weekend trip in July tomorrow, completing my four state tour.  I'm headed to Missouri for a family reunion... and some frantic lesson planning.


love,
hannah

Dear Friends bloopers,

You always make me happy.  It's hot.  We installed the air conditioner. 

It's so hot I don't want to move or eat. 


love,
hannah

Dear July Hair,

You're not pretty.  Generally, I don't think that much about my hair, but apparently I must this July.  And my face is a little gross.  And a combo bad face/bad hair/super sweaty July isn't fun. 

And I never look cute any more.  It would do to remind myself that some people would kill for a job where the uniform is sweatpants.  Just maybe not in July...


love,
hannah

Dear fake Southern accents,

Apparently you are the only thing that makes the heat tolerable.  Something about being Blanche DuBois without a narrative purpose calms my heat-fried nerves. 

And then there's swimming.


love,
hannah

Dear catharsis,

Since my internship includes reading theory about critical pedagogy and theater as a tool for social change, our work started with reading about the power of empathy.  In Augusto Boal's discussion of empathy he debates how empathy is a powerful way to connect oneself to others while catharsis (the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions) often releases an audience from their connection to the characters, and sometimes the other audience members.  He says that catharsis is dangerous because the connection created through empathy is so strong, but the cathartic release at the end of being a spectator destroys that connection, leaving the spectator with the feeling that they are no longer bound by their empathy.  The audience leaves feeling that the story is completely finished and that they are no longer compelled to take action.  Clearly, not the action desired when one tries to use art as a tool for change.

I have struggled with Boal's critique of empathy and catharsis in the last two weeks.  As a storyteller I want to create strong empathic connections and release those emotions through my story, but as an activist I understand that this doesn't lead audiences to a desire to take action.  Understanding the balance between those two things in my own work/life has been puzzling.

Today as I left Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part Two, I tried to explain to my friends that I couldn't quite feel anything.  I couldn't understand what was happening to me.  All I could understand as I walked out of the theater was that it was the most complete experience of catharsis I had ever felt.  After fourteen years of emotional exposition, I sat, sobbing in the theater for a half an hour.  I could hear fellow audience members sniffling and taking in deep breaths.  When the credits began to roll I felt so drained, so empty I wasn't sure what to do.  It felt so final.  Perhaps it was not totally a cathartic experience because I will carry some shred of it forever, but still... I was not yet ready to process the world around me.

I wondered what Boal would have to say about that.

Also, I thought the "Not my daughter, you bitch" was surprisingly understated in the movie. 


love,
hannah