litbitch

Papatola hated me.

so I've got that out of the way.  If only I had some kind of, say, t-shirt, custom made to commemorate this occasion.  Foster?  I'm waiting...

i do have a rep to protect

Screw citypages, the pi press, and the strib.  FringeFamous' 4 things to do b4 you die (a weekly feature) has my favorite Amazons promo to date:

SUNDAY — Amazons and Their Men

This one’s a no-brainer.  Walking Shadow has opened their next glob of awesome, and you MUST attend.  Jordan Harrison writes, Amy Rummenie directs, and Zoe Benston probably yells at you (I’m still scarred from the Fringe).  3pm at the Pillsbury House Theatre…you can’t miss.

This is apparently a reference to my Rarig crowd control techniques.  Come to think of it, I will yell at you in this show.  But with love.  Or not.

the people on the edge of the night

So tonight is the opening of Amazons, featured now by all three local newspapers.  No pressure.  None at all.  Add to this last night's final dress, which was by far the worst one I've ever had, and >95% of the problem was me. 

But, really, none of this matters.  I may not rock this play, but it's unlikely I'll destroy it.  And the critical pressure isn't actually real, that is it has no bearing on what we do.  It's all abstract bullshit.  Every play comes down to the same stuff: say the damn lines, move the creaky body to the right place, and deal with what's in front of you.

So anyway, just had to throw that up.  I'm feeling pretty good today.

social interaction for the anti-social

I did go out Saturday.  Got Philip to join me at a remount of Mortem Capiendum, the show I most regretted missing at fringe.  Really enjoyable.  If anyone in the Twitties still reads this, I highly recommend you make the easy trip out to Bedlam, our former Fringe Central (sigh) and check it out this weekend. Lovely time with Philip, as usual.  Poor libertarian has a rough time in pre-election season.

The colder weather has at least one advantage: occasionally riding the bus with Bill Stiteler in the morning.  When the meetings become more frequent, we'll probably retreat to our books & ipods after the initial niceties, but today we hadn't seen each other in a while and it was nice to catch up.  Though I am partial to out of towners during fringe, I often form one or two new or better bonds with locals.  It was Philip two years ago, and this year I fell for the Stitelers.  You need only check out the provided links to get an idea of Sharon & Bill's awesomeness, individually and as a couple.  They're even better in person.  And they live on my very block.  Coolness, indeed.

my cup runneth over

so...
not only has my back been, well, off my back the last few days
and not only did I manage to save another $21.50 on busfare (thanks to the fringe)
and not only has the weather has been unseasonably perfect this week
and not only can I fit into my skinnydress for the Iveys
and not only did my donation contibute to Bitch magazine's continued existence
and not only did Amazons and Their Men got featured in the Citypages Fall Arts section
but now...

Papatola loves me.

I don't know why.  Unless he snuck into one of my other plays, he's only seen me in Anton. Fringe? Buzz?  Having so little exposure to me, and apparently high expectations, I'm bound to disappoint.  Plus, I really don't get what makes people think I'm good, and probably never will. And I have nothing lined up at the moment so this may be the highlight of my career ...or  my Waterloo? (too much Abba).  But those are all thoughts for tomorrow.  Today, it's awesome.

adrift: lessons from the Fringe

Every year, fringe teaches me something.

This year, the lessons are finally settling in.  The emotional high of this fringe, coupled with the free time I now have on nights and weekends, have left me - what was that? oh, right - unmoored.  With no other reasonable recourse, I've been forced to face reality. Again.

I more or less forgot to take pictures this year.  I didn't show up in the official slideshows and appear in very few friends' photos.  My avatar didn't even make it onto the website.  Other than the program and the mandatory button, I've got no memorabilia.  Whenever I hint at wanting to indulge in stories of my fringe experience, I've been met with no enthusiasm.  While all of these non-events annoyed or upset me at the time, they've all been priceless lessons.  Vanity zapped! Pride crushed!  I've got nothing against sins as such, or rather I don't think of them as sins, not having the Judeo-Christian mindset.  They bug me only insofar as they keep me from living how I want to live and being who I want to be.  Once again (damn zoe; we are so tired of hearing this): let it go. For me, having access to recordings, notes, photos, and other memorabilia is a way of trying to grasp onto what's passed, instead of moving on. Blow it  into the ether.  Because there is no other choice for me.  I spent much of the 10 days after fringe either icky or angry.  Because I was feeling the hangover of the emotional buzz.  Well, no.  That's only part of the story.  The hangover doesn't last long; the withdrawal and subsequent longing can last forever, if you let it.  Fuck that.  Every second I spend dwelling on the past or anticipating the future is a second taken away from what's in front of me. Philosophy aside, another acknowledgement: the moments, feelings, connections, experiences that have meant the most to me can't be documented, at least not in an tangible way.  I'm having trouble even describing them here, so I won't attempt it.  A reenactment will always fall short of, or otherwise far from the mark of, the moment.  So why try.  Better to find new moments.  Better to be awake and ready for the infinite possibilities to come - the seconds upon minutes upon hours of the endless potential of my glorious, everyday life.

Here's the harder, or newer, lesson, and it's related to the last post.   

Burn yourself completely.  It's a Zen thing.  I'm going to let that sit as is, because I love the phrase.  I can't say I truly did that, but I did sizzle a bit.  And that's a skip in the right direction.  Or rather, pleasantly directionless.  Adrift and on fire.

treatment for postfringeitis

  treatment for postfringeitis must address the emotional, psychological, and physical state of the patient

1. sleep. sleep every chance you get. sleep at your job, sleep on the shoulder of the passenger next to you on the bus, but sleep.  oh, and none of that tylenol pm or drunken pass-out sleep.  really, haven't you abused your body enough?
2. really, haven't you abused your body enough?  pick your poison, you know what I'm talking about
3. exercise; no, it may not be as much fun as racing to your next show, dancing at First Avenue, or engaging in sexual activities with the transient partner of your choice, but trust me, the endorphins help
4. shower, for god's sake; how long has that "I like to watch" tattoo been on your body?
5. eat restorative foods - like pre-Strongbow apples and pre-pinot grapes.  i swear, you can find them at your local grocery store.  sometimes they're even sold on the street.
6. meditate, hang out with non-fringe friends, go camping, do whatever best helps you accept that life outside of fringe is indeed good
7. don't join the circus!  traveling fringers are warm and fuzzy, but do not follow them home!  they are here to inspire, entertain, and titillate, but they excrete a drug that cannot be trusted. do not fall prey to their foreign wiles. say goodbye and befriend them on facebook, but stop there.
8. along those lines, your friends don't suck, your city doesn't suck, and your life doesn't suck. you are not artistically bankrupt and you are not trapped (at least no more than you were on July 30th).  do not plan a move to Boulder or Toronto to find yourself, find inspiration, or find your fringe crush.  As in AA, all major decisions should be delayed for at least a year.  Sober up, then reassess.
9. don't write a one person show about your traumatic personal/sexual/family life so that you can travel the fringe circuit in '09 (this has nothing to do with your health, it's just a personal plea)
10. buy yourself a little something nice - flowers, a CD, a new haircut...
11. look at the pictures, post the pictures, tag the pictures, but do not print the pictures.  they belong in the amorphous ether with all the fantasies you've created
12. read a book to reopen your eyes to the infinite possibilities outside of the indy theatre world, expose you to real tragedy, or simply occupy your mind
13. read/listen to the news.  Bernie Mac died! So did Solzhenitsyn! Putin is trying to restore the USSR! starting in Georgia! (no, not that one...)
14. be thankful, be grateful, be happy, and let it go.  you've got your whole life ahead of you, and it's a beautiful day.

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, CockSucker, MotherFucker, and Tits

Trying to catch up on sleep tonight, and instead awake at 1:00am to find George Carlin has died.
He made me think, and reassess, and question. A lot.  He had the kind of appreciation for, and irreverence with, language that gets me off. And he was really fucking funny. I hope they bury him on a golf course. Or build affordable housing on a graveyard in his honor.  I don't think art can change the world, but I do think it can change the way people see the world, and that's the beginning of an endless ending.  If you haven't seen his classic standup/socio-political commentary, do yourself a favor and netflix that shit.
I was going to make a half-hearted apology for my last post today, because I thought it might offend some people, even tongue-in-cheek as it was, but in the spirit of George Carlin I'll say fuck that.  He had the guts or self-righteousness or arrogance or honesty or whatever to call em as he saw em without concern for ideological public opinion or sacred cows and that's a lesson I'm still trying to learn.
Thanks.

jiggawhaaaa?

"Zoe Benston continues to build her credentials as one of the better actors in the small-theater scene with a no-nonsense portrayal of the TV news director, tough and right on point."

Graydon Royce, Minneapolis Star-Tribune

I took this post down a few days after I published it.  I told myself it was because my full name is used, and I'm trying to keep this blog anonymous.  But that's not really true.  No matter what I do, this blog shows up when you google me.  It's actually the creepy boasting thing, for a "talent" I can't logically comprehend.

But fuck it.  I may never get another review like this.  And it made me happy. So back it goes.

shout out

Just wanna give a woo-hoo for Rondi Reed and her Tony win.  Rondi became a member of Steppenwolf in 1979 - the same year as Glenne Headly and John Mahoney. While never earning the national acclaim and leading roles of artists like Malkovich, Joan Allen, Gary Sinise, Laurie Metcalf, etc, she's been a working actor her entire adult life, and was my teacher (along with the lovely Tom Irwin) when I did a summer teen acting program with the theatre oh-so-long ago.  She also gave me some comps to a Geffen show she was doing when I ran into her at Samuel French a decade later.  An all around great lady as far as I can tell and I'm so happy for her.