From the Kitchen Dog Theater

“Dear Inhaesio Zha—

Thank you for your submission to Kitchen Dog Theater’s 2007 New Works Festival.

Unfortunately your play was not selected for the festival, but it was among the few that made it to the final round—no small feat, as we received hundreds of submissions this year.

Thanks very much for your interest in Kitchen Dog Theater. We hope that you’ll keep us apprised of your progress, and that you’ll consider submitting to New Works in the future.

Best of luck to you—”

From the Kitchen Dog Theater

The best possible time to be alive

“It makes me so happy. To be at the beginning again, knowing almost nothing. People were talking about the end of physics. Relativity and quantum mechanics looked as if they were going to clean out the whole problem between them. A theory of everything. But they only explained the very big and the very small. The universe, the elementary particles. The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about – clouds – daffodils – waterfalls – … these things are full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks. Because the problem turns out to be different. … A door like this has cracked open five or six times since we got up on our hind legs. It’s the best possible time to be alive, when almost everything you thought you knew is wrong. (Tom Stoppard, Arcadia)

The best possible time to be alive

The Evolution of Culture

Suzanne was telling me the history of Argentine tango, a dance that “grew up” in the narrow urban clubs of Argentina, and how the reason they hold each other so close in that dance is that the dance was invented in the space between the bar and the wall of the nightclub…you had to hold your partner close to dance in that space.

I started thinking about how everything we do grows up in a certain space. Our ideas about what to do grew up in a space that only allowed us to do certain things, and many of the spaces our actions take place in were created by our ideas…

The Evolution of Culture

Mom says to accept and be comfortable with my greatness

that she thinks I’m embarrassed about it or want to shun it b/c I feel guilty about surpassing her and dad (or other people I know)…she reminds me that Amy is uncomfortable that she might be about to be making more $$ than Mom…and I have felt the same way, do feel the same way about my parents and people I know…but now I will accept it, and embrace it, and use it, and be comfortable with it…that has been part of my struggle, my stress, my twisting: part of me has wanted to keep me down, so I don’t relax into what I really am–which is big

Mom says to accept and be comfortable with my greatness

permanence!

It *is* interesting that the divorce has become a hot issue for me. I am perplexed as to why that is, and I feel like a late bloomer in this way. Is that really something I am just now coming to terms with, or is it a scapegoat of some sort? I don’t know. Maybe everyone else has dealt with it and moved on and I am the last to think about it…or maybe somehow it is a token event I am venting upon…it is hard for me to tell which is true.

Who said I am supposed to be part of the family? You do (Mom), when you expect things to be ok between me and Dad. When things are not ok between Dad and Suzanne, everyone is ok with that; when they are not ok between me and him, I get pushback…I want to reset these lines of expectation: I don’t owe it to him or you or anyone to maintain a seemingly perfect relationship with him, especially when my sibling gets a pass on any type of communication with him…Suzanne can skip Thanksgiving at his house and somehow I’m expected to be asshole buddies with this guy…forget that. Things are not ok, they haven’t been ok for some time (I will never forget my father yelling at me while he and I lived together after the divorce: Dad and I were in a 4-bedroom house together, just the two of us, and he was yelling at me to get out, questioning how I would ever “be able to support myself”…my sleeping in a car, my being homeless, started in 1997…you want to kick me out of a 4-bedroom, house, Dad??!?!?—I’ll sleep in my car, I’ll sleep in a parking lot, before I tolerate you yelling at me. You can live by yourself, then, having been divorced by a good woman, and live without my emotional support or approval…you want to yell at your son about getting a job when you wouldn’t help pay for me to go to a decent college??!?! I have no sympathy for you: live with your soulless new wife and critique your son for not having the “work ethic” you so proudly claim: you don’t know shit about shit…and I’ll never forget that you said that stuff to me. You have no faith in your son? Well fuck you, and fuck all your girlfriends and wives. Especially fuck that whore-bitch who called me a “hoodlum”…you bed down with sub-110-IQ bitches who call me “hoodlum”!!!!!!!!). I got no sympathy for you, bro. That fucking whore can die in a ditch. And if you sleep with a woman who disrespects me like that then you can die by her side—I mean that—show some spunk!!! I would go to the ends of the earth to punish someone who disrespected my sisters or my mother or my father…don’t you give me the same love by standing up for me when your sex partner speaks ill of me when I am not present!??! NO you do not…you lack the backbone to do so. (Because you are so weak as to so intensely need the trifles provided you by such partners.)

For everything that is crazy about me, this is true: if someone speaks ill of you at my table they will be curtailed, expelled, reprimanded! Even if you are my genetic father, if you don’t extend me the same _respect_ as that, then I am through with you. That bitch who called me a hoodlum: I WILL NEVER FORGET IT!!! I might be overpassionate, but I HAVE NO RESPECT FOR THOSE WHO CONSIDER IT UNIMPORTANT THAT YOUR BEDFELLOW INSULTS YOUR OFFSPRING!! YOU ALLOW AN INSULT FROM YOUR BEDROOM CUNT BITCH TOWARD ME—YOU HAVE LOST MY NOD FOREVER. I might be crazy, but one thing I am is loyal. You will never have my nod until you force an apology from Marty, Eva, every cunt you fucked who has insulted me behind my back or [“subtly”] to my face. Publicly. In writing. Do you or any of those fake ass whores dare to live in a medium as permanent as text?! No you do not. Exist in a world of backbone, in a world of rigid permanence, and we will be in union. Until then, yours are flimsy pilgrims to my Conquistador! =)

permanence!