Its #InternationalWomensDay, so I’m going to talk about what happens when @AdmiralAsthma and I do the same job, since we both direct improvised plays, and we’ve both been an obvious part of the Seattle improv scene for about the same time. This isn’t a “big deal” story, on its own, leading to any big conflict. It’s a very normal, every day sort of story.
I’m sure anyone who hasn’t blocked me knows I’m voting for Hillary. This post is really for my own benefit, as I needed to spell out exactly why, if only for myself.
Warning: This is a half-baked thought process that uses shit as a crass metaphor for racism, so if you don’t want to hear about one or the other, then feel free to move on.
I keep being frustrated by the pretend world where you’re either racist, and the worst person in the world, or you’re totally not racist, and you’re okay. When someone is accused of saying something racist or insensitive, all sides act like they were just accused of murdering children, and we don’t get anywhere except in a big fight. Racism has become such an overloaded word, it isn’t very useful anymore. We all have lizard brains, and those lizard brains do stupid lizard things sometimes, and it’d be cool if we could just admit that sometimes, the way that we handle the fact that we’re all walking around with shit somewhere in our lower intestines.
All this pitting of sex against sex, of quality against quality; all this claiming of superiority and imputing of inferiority belong to the private-school stage of human existence where there are sides, and it is necessary for one side to beat another side. ~Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 1929
On Saturday, my improv group, NERDProv, performed at GeekGirlCon. We had a really fun show, got a lot of compliments, and all of us felt pretty good about the show. In notes, we realized that the show had been pretty heavy with males playing main characters. And then one of our members forwarded us a strong, well-expressed and fair piece of criticism from an audience member who walked out. It echoed some things we talked about in notes, so it really hit home.
I’ve had blogs, journals, and random collections of ramblings before, but I wanted to get a fresh start, from where I am in my life today, as an improviser, a writer, an (amateur) artist, and a human being. I’ll mostly discuss improv, which is what I’m most qualified to discuss, but as I believe in blurred boundaries between forms of art, we’ll see where we end up.