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"What I’m hearing which is sort of scary is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this–this (she chuckles slightly) is working very well for them."

Eew. This is what Barbara Bush said about the Hurricane Katrina refugees at the Astrodome in Houston. The worst thing is she actually went and visited them. Haven’t they suffered enough? I think it is just disgusting. Her attitude is like, ‘Poverty is adorable! Look at all these cute, cute, cute poor people! They should be thankful for Katrina because if it weren’t for the flood they wouldn’t be able to enjoy this nice, nice stadium! They’re much better off aren’t they? I heart the lower class!’

It just shows that clearly she has no understanding of what happened, if she actually thinks that being poor somehow makes the disaster less of one, because now instead of a small, cramped and overcrowded apartment, they get a huge, cramped and overcrowded stadium. What is she saying? ‘Oh they didn’t have anything to lose, so what does it matter if they lost it all?’ If this is what they think of the poor, then what do they think of the rest of America? What is thought about the soldiers who were killed in Iraq? ‘Oh they were so young, they were barely alive anyway. No one notices they’re gone anyway! It’s working well for them!’

I never had any soft feelings for Barbara Bush. She looks like a Grandma and a Grandpa at the same time, which would normally make me like her, but for some reason, her politics make her Quaker Oats appearance unappealing. She’s like hot breakfast cereal sprinkled with broken glass and fake compassion. She is like a multigrain muffin with cranberries and thumbtacks. She is the former first lady and the current worst lady. And she is not working well for me.

-Mmmm…Cho

I believe in things because I have a feeling in my life. I have a feeling about the lives of my fellow citizens. I have a feeling about this America in which many Americans do not understand. I understand where they come from; where they have their false ideas and where they have their noble ideas.

Life is a struggle, it’s a theatre. It’s a drama, and it’s very interesting. I regard all life as a work of art and myself in it as an artist in the life and a character in the life.

If we understand life and see how wonderful it really is…In the accumulation of details we lose the fact that all life is a very wondeful, adventurous, difficult, tragic, comic, farcical experience. People, especially in our day, do not enjoy life fully. They don’t even enjoy their meals, for God’s sake; no less art. Instead of making a feast of it, instead of making a festival of it.

Do something. Be active. Try to make an effort. Because that’s all you have in life. That is to make the effort.

When success in terms of only show off, in terms of display, of money in the bank, your name in the papers, when that becomes the ideal in your life, that can have very, very bad consequences to the human experience.

The reason why theatre has been mediocre for so long is the state of our world. The state of our country. It’s mediocre. It’s afraid to move; this way or that way. I know I’m right. I may not know the theatre, but I know the country. It is afraid to move. It is afraid to progress. It is afraid to be enthusiastic. It is afraid to be wrong. It is afraid to be wrong. It is afraid to move on. It is afraid to take a chance. It is afraid to have courage. This always makes me angry. Life is a losing game, and you might as well enjoy it.

After all, they say you’re gonna die. But what an adventure. What fun this flop is.

-Harold Clurman, 1978 in a New York City lecture

…that’s why he’s my hero.

I’ve been doing some thinking lately, and I believe Sorry! is the best board game ever. I’m sitting here working on a monologue and all I can think about as I listen to the Smiths is those early 90’s summers where all my cousins and I did was make sandpies in the pit and duke it out until 4 in the morning to see who was the greatest champion of all. Of course, Clue and Girl Talk are a close second.  But there’s nothing like shacking it up in an old 1950’s trailer with no plumbing and mouse turds and combos crumbs decorating the puke blue countertops. And there we would sit…tensely gripping a card, praying to God that we would get sorry!, hoping destruction would befall on a helpless victim…and when it did, the ensued silence would markedly change into a rush of flurry and chaos…NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! or HAHAHAHAHH!!! followed with a heavenly ahhhhhhhh morphed into sorrrry!!! and sweep across the room would a pawn fall to. And that is where the shit hit the fan.

Pillows would bruise and cackles of laughter and defensive tears would follow. All the furniture in the room would be turned upsidedown, and there would always be a half-time because my sister had to go pee (she has a small bladder; we thought it was lupus for the longest time.), and we had to walk all the way out to our grandparent’s camphouse. "It’s so dark out guys, I can’t do this alone. What if there’s a mouse?!, " my sister would screech. I couldn’t go. I was afraid a snake would pop out because our camphouse was situated on a massive mountain  in the middle of the adirondacks where it was said that Mohawk Indians crushed skulls of evil spirits (Puritans) just a couple miles away. And then my sister threatened to pee all over the precious boardgame, and we took her seriously and held each other’s hands for we would start on the terrifying journey back to camp.

Me being the boy, I was pushed ahead of the line. No way! I thrusted my older cousin Beth in front of me, and she bravely trekked out on the gravel, like a little heidi slash fearless swiss miss with her teased bangs and smelly 101 dalamations k-mart towel tied around her waist, swimsuit strap pressing ever too tightly against her shoulders. In back of me was my other older cousin Teresa. I was half her age, and she was half my size (fuckers with high metabolisms). In the back was my sister, thinking she could tell Beth what to do, how to steer this awckward tygert family train, even though she was the caboose.

All of a sudden Beth squeeked, "Huhhh! Mouse!!!," and she raced towards my uncle’s big caravan with the tv built in it. I raced towards Beth and grabbed the door, but Tara tumbled her way into the van, pulling the van door shut just before Teresa could get in. And there we were. On the outside was Teresa, and all my sister, cousin Beth and I could say on the inside was Sorry!

I miss stressing over that desicion to whether risk opening the door or risk sacrificing Teresa to the Mohawk Indians. I miss my sister peeing her pants with laughter (damn her lupus, we thought) Although I don’t miss the only things I thought about were my weight, my masculinity, and how many burgers my mom was going to allow me to eat tonight after all dip I ate…

I miss that summer. I miss all those summers.