2002-04-13 5:58 p.m.
Georgia, Days 2 & 3

I'm elated and flushed, mentally rushed.

I just walked out of my old theater cohort's show, "30 Below," a collection of short works about, for, and by people under 30.

First of all, from the copy I read on it, I was expecting it to be full of cartoon/jingle/product references, just like the 80s, like one big flashback.

Instead, it was beautifully of this moment — of people having questioned their sexuality so far that they don't know what they want anymore; of people of color being lumped together because it's easier to relate to a race than to individual people with their own idiosyncransies; of children being forced to grow up far, far too fast; and of the birth, death, and resurrection of romance. (The clowning expert of the group's piece was my favorite, though that may change with a second showing. It was sweet and heartbreaking, full of beautiful, wide-eyed children's innocence, and the beating and twisting of that innocence by sexual mores and our own desires. Even so, the main character's eyes never leave the video-projected image of his parents, kissing sweetly and walking down a path in their garden together.)

My own sappiness aside, the work I just saw warms my heart in a way I can't really figure out. I'm not related to these people, we only acted and learned together for a few years, and I never really was a part of any cliques along the way...but I'm really, really proud of them. For a second outing (they've only done one full production and two short pieces in festivals before this), they show exceptional maturity and light-heartedness in equal doses. They're not immune to cynicism or realism, but they also don't see that as a reason to condemn the children they've been and carry with them.

I hope I get the chance to tell them all this. Tonight's going to be hectic.

After I left the theater, I felt a bit sad, sad that I wasn't a part of their lives and dreams. After all, I trained alongside them, have worked on my own literary stages for four years...surely I have something to offer, right?

Then I realized what I've been telling myself this entire trip. They're all beautiful people, with big hearts, great aims, and just starting on their own paths. But I also left Georgia to find my own path, because I felt that theater just wasn't it. I wanted to wander until I'd found what I was looking for.

Have I? Maybe. Let me back to you when my first novel and play are in the bag, hopefully next year. (Jonathan was floored when I told him that finishing those and getting on the road to tour the world were my goals for 2003. "Christ, that's a lot of writing," I believe were his exact words.)

But my heart is bursting with pride to know these people, even if just for a moment, just to pull back the curtain from the wings, see their eyes wide and voices loud, seeing them put their minds and words on stage for the first time, and loving every minute of their hard work. I hope I find myself working this hard the rest of my life.

For those who've never visited, Atlanta is BIG. The subway system is horrible, because it was constructed, not to tie the city into small, traversable sections, but to establish a broad framework of widely-spaced stops on a rail network for buses to tie into. It's not rapid transit by any stretch of the imagination. I love New York and its subways now, by the way, even if hadn't just read about Elissa's Subway Dance Project in the latest issue of her zine, Hope (get it from Pander Zine Distro).

Even so, riding the buses and trains and shuttles like a homeless traveler has felt much better than I suspect driving a rental car would've. I've had to wait a lot more, spend more time in the places I visit. I met a great guy while shopping for thrift pants in Athens, who I hope is going to stay in touch. He's running tech on an amazing-sounding show at UGA, a modern take on the Federal Theater Project's Living Newspaper plays, a la Arthur Arent's "Power" or "One-Third of a Nation." (I'm sad that I won't get to see it, but he's going to email me the link to watch it over the Web.)

I got to catch up with the folks at Flagpole, where I worked for a summer. I walked old, friendly streets, listened to two youngin's getting to know each other on the Greyhound, and I feel like this trip is turning out just right. It's not that I don't want to spend lots of time with the people I've known...it's just that there's too damn many of them, and I'm glad to see some of them for the few minutes I manage too. Now that we remember we're each alive again, we can keep in touch.

I don't know if I know how to be funny. Is that bad? :)