August 9, 2012

Steal This Ceremony

by Hilary Kissinger

I was looking at my honeymoon photos today, waxing nostalgic, and finally took the time to select the good ones and post them to Facebook. Being in a reflective mood, I started looking back over my previous blog posts, reliving some of the anxieties I had leading up to our wedding, and thinking about all the decisions I was nervous and excited about making back then. After re-reading this post, I realized that Tom and I did a pretty good job negotiating all the challenges of building our wedding from the ground up, and felt inspired to share the ceremony we wrote together.

Since we opted for a self-uniting ceremony (which does not require an officiant in Pennsylvania), we asked if the entire wedding party would participate in performing the ceremony (and we had quite a crowd standing with us). Tom and I wanted a symbolic event that would be familiar enough to our guests to feel significant, but uniquely suited to our aspirations and values as a couple. I researched ceremonial structures and common rituals, read lots of matrimonial blessings from around the world, and looked for a way to incorporate improvisation as a model for life and marriage. What resulted was a joyful, secular humanist style ceremony with the aim to make the entire gathering of people feel included in the act of marrying us. As I made prolific use of borrowed and paraphrased ideas from around the internet when we were writing it, I am happy to be lovingly ripped-off by any couples who are tying the knot (just promise to have a fun day and party hard)! read more »

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August 6, 2012

So Hard to Say Goodbye

by Hilary Kissinger

So I’m not going to say it.

As all of my recent social media indicates, I am moving to New York. “The City,” as I used to call it, before I moved to Philadelphia and realized there are a lot of other cities, cities with awesome restaurants and beautiful streets, where people are making theatre and art and comedy and love and clever graffiti. I won’t say I “fell in love” with Philadelphia, because my experience of the last year has been too tumultuous, frenetic, and marked by depression to feel like falling in love (for me, anyway). But I will say that Philly has been like a cheerful colleague – that woman in the office who usually seems genuinely happy to see you, and makes sure to ask about the show you told her you were going to see. She brings in the extra loaf of banana bread she baked for everyone to share. You don’t think about her all that much, but you’d really miss her if she quit, and she makes the awful prospect of working in an office for eight hours a day seem manageable.

I’ve tried to dive in to Philadelphia, but I’ve been pretty wrapped up in myself and my uncertainty to really take advantage of everything the city has to offer. I inscribed a small circle in my neighborhood, got attached to certain bars and certain people, and nested in my apartment for far too long, waiting out the sad days while I tried to decide what I was destined for.  Nothing felt permanent, and I couldn’t seem to commit to any course of action that required a lot of effort or a lot of time. I worked part-time, slept full-time, and worried about all the time ticking away while I holed up in my protective shell. I became really addicted to the internet. I’ve become primarily a consumer – of food, of “content” (that word is damn ubiquitous now, isn’t it? A terrible, awful, generic word for a lot of terrible, awful, generic stuff we glue our eyeballs to), and of television shows on Netflix. I’ve stopped producing. I’ve forgotten why I wanted to produce in the first place. I’ve become a big pair of eyes and a mouth, loosely connected to a group of muscles and bones and fat without much purpose. read more »

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May 8, 2012

When I Start Thinking

by Hilary Kissinger

I spend pretty much all of my time thinking, and avoiding my thoughts.

Those are my options. I obsess, scrutinize, analyze, theorize, speculate…this is starting to sound like the Neil Simon monologue I used to audition with from Chapter Two…I think myself in circles. I worry. I succumb to my anxiety and depression. I think myself into extreme self-criticism, hating my body, my choices, deriding my so-called achievements. I relish in the word “so-called.”

I sink into a stew of troubled thoughts. What should I be doing, I ask myself. I entertain visions of action, montages of studying, or rehearsing, or writing. I imagine idyllic window-facing desk arrangements, cups of tea, fevered cafe typing sessions. Or bold, confident auditions and loud, laughing rehearsals. I insert myself in campus catalogs, wearing the sweatshirt with the school’s name tattooed across my chest, walking through stretches of grass toward stone buildings, smiling and frowning in classrooms, hitching up a bag stuffed with books. Then the romance is shattered by complications – what am I writing? For whom am I auditioning? What program have I committed my money and time to, and why? What do I want? read more »

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February 3, 2012

Race, History, and Confronting Discomfort in Clybourne Park by Bruce Norris

by Hilary Kissinger

Last week I was among the first paying audience to see Arden Theatre Company‘s Clybourne Park, written by Bruce Norris and directed by Ed Sobel. Full disclosure: I work part-time at the Arden and am generally a rabid fan of their work, both on stage and in the community. As I am not particularly interested in “reviewing” theatre, but rather processing and excavating my own experience through a lens that excites me, it does not much matter to me to appear objective (as if that were possible in any circumstance).

Clybourne Park is about race, yes. It’s also about territoriality, and how the past continues to inform our present (and future). It’s about discomfort: with others, with ourselves, with an expanding and contracting world that seems to assault our understanding of where our own place in it is.  In the first act, it’s 1959, and a white family is preparing to move out of the house that the Youngers, of Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun, seek to move in to in that play. In the second act, it’s 2009 at the same property, and a white couple is attempting to move in (slash tear down and build a new, modern house in its stead), and we understand that the now mostly-black neighborhood is seeing the effects of gentrification.  The seven actors play two characters each, who seem to cross-pollinate across time. For example, Maggie Lakis plays two pregnant characters: first Betsy, a deaf woman whose husband condescends to her when she attempts to understand spoken conversation, and who is often prevented from taking independent action, then Lindsey, an assertive home-buyer who overrules her husband’s political incorrectness and seeks to prevent him from making them appear racist. In both cases, the impending birth heightens the couple’s fears and becomes a backboard against which they test the narratives of their politics. read more »

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January 17, 2012

Empathy and Feminism in Annie Baker’s BODY AWARENESS

by Hilary Kissinger

Last week I attended a play that seemed to be written for a very particular audience:

Me.

That is, Me: The Feminist Artist Who Struggles with Questions of Dogma and Representation.

BODY AWARENESS by Annie Baker, in a production directed by Anne Kauffman running now at the Wilma Theater, probes a fundamental question about art and media: which matters more, the artist’s intention, or the viewer’s reception? Couched in what the characters nervously refer to as “P.C.” vocabulary, the play is also both an advocate for and a challenger of contemporary feminism and social consciousness.

Lesbian couple Phyllis and Joyce are disrupted from their comfortable and typical state of agreement by a swaggering, recorder-playing photographer who takes pictures of naked women and has been invited by Phyllis’s university for her pet project, Body Awareness Week.  Joyce, a high school teacher who struggles with memories of a sexually-inappropriate and possibly abusive father, finds Frank’s photos inspiring and beautiful while Phyllis is disgusted by their exploitation of women.  Frank seems to employ a neutral position, stating that what he thinks as the artist is irrelevant, and that it is the reaction of the viewer that matters. The concept that intention is irrelevant creates a challenge for the characters and for anyone undertaking an analysis of media: whereas pinning down the intent of the artist can satisfy someone seeking a concrete answer to the question, “what does it mean?”, there are as many reactions to a piece of art as there are viewers, and therefore no promise of a tidy conclusion.  Near the end of the play, Joyce speaks to this desire for the elusive “right answer,” saying “There is definitely a right thing to do. I just don’t know what it is.” Phyllis likewise struggles with increasing confusion, as her absolutist unwavering belief in right and wrong is shaken by her partner’s surprising perspective and consequent decision to pose nude for Frank.

As a feminist I resonate with the challenge Phyllis faces: can we ever develop a set of principles, ideas, theory, etc. that works? That holds up in every situation? That solves our dilemma of the “male gaze” and finally give answers to our questions? Phyllis’s feminism has been formalized. It has become doctrine. And so she cannot reconcile her concretized ideas with Joyce’s puzzling (for herself as well as Phyllis), unexpected desire to expose herself, or with the notion that there is no one “correct” way for women to feel and behave. I recognize this frequent tension in contemporary feminist discourse; where is the line between encouraging positive action against sexism and constraining women’s behavior to fit into an acceptable paradigm? read more »

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December 21, 2011

Time, And What We Do With It

by Hilary Kissinger

Today, I turned down a lot of money.

In the months since I got married on September 10th, there’s been an immense vacuum in my life.  Leading up to that intense and beautiful day, I’d put off making any big decisions about my future – I already felt engulfed by the massive changes taking place in my life.  My fiance graduated; we moved away from my home of six years to a new city; I’d quit my box office job in favor of doing marketing work from home, then quit that because I didn’t really like working from home and starting cashiering at a Whole Foods.  Despite my protestations that getting married wouldn’t change much for Tom and me (and as far as our relationship goes, that’s true), the Big Day and subsequent long and glorious honeymoon held my life in a kind of limbo.  I couldn’t commit to anything that started before October. With the whirlwind of graduations and moving and planning a wedding, I couldn’t commit to much at all.

I never intended or desired to be consumed with wedding planning, but it happened anyway. And of course I wouldn’t change that – planning our ceremony and the rockin’ party afterward was by turns fun and frustrating, wrapped up in anxieties and self-doubt induced by the pressures of having a giant occasion focused like a laser beam on two tiny people, but also blessed with wonderful memories: buying my wedding dress with my mom, figuring out string-light configurations with my dad, writing the ceremony with my husband-to-be.  We were committed to doing as much as we could ourselves, keeping the budget reasonable, and infusing everything with our personality as much as possible. It was exhausting. But it gave us the most fulfilling experience to see it all come together, to see our friends and family have a joyful time, and to do it our way.

Of course, once such an experience is over (not to mention a fantasy vacation across Europe), it’s hard to come back. Back to America, back to my apartment, back to my uncertainty.

read more »

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June 23, 2011

The Beautiful Refrigerator is Not Important

by Hilary Kissinger

Last Wednesday evening (yes, a whole week ago, time got the best of me) I headed over to NOSPACE  for “The Beautiful Refrigerator is Empty,” a “demonic drag cabaret starring TEENA GEIST” presented by NOFACE, a performance group I’ve recently been introduced to. I wasn’t sure what to expect, only that it would likely be provocative and unconventional.

When we arrived, Teena, played by Mark McCloughan, was sitting on a stool in the performance space chatting with the audience.  One of the hosts told us to have a seat, grab a beer if we’d like, and that Teena was just warming up.  The theatre space felt like a cross between an art garage and an industrial apartment – the wall to the right was lined with a counter, fridge, and other kitchen appliances.  The beer cost a suggested donation of a mere $2!

Teena speaks into a microphone, which modulated the performer’s voice and gave it an upper register and an eerie, kind of robotic alien quality.  The performer is also wearing a mask that completely obscures his face.  I wondered about these barriers between the audience and performer – the production seemed to be exploring layers of authenticity versus deception. read more »

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June 19, 2011

How It Went: My Adventure in Irony

by Hilary Kissinger

Hey folks, I’m back!

So remember my last post, all awash in a post-Zumba glow, remarking at the good vibes with a nonchalant-and-therefore-exceedingly-cool declaration that “we’ll see how it goes”?

Haha, it’s SO FUNNY guys. The next week? ZUMBA BROKE ME.

Actually, I have pretty poor balance, which is in no way Zumba’s fault, and during an epic “Booty-Battle” (no, I’m not kidding) I lunged – with gusto – into an ACL tear.  A month on crutches waiting for the surgery and a really disorienting nerve-block later, I was laid up feeling miserable for a while and totally self-absorbed with my situation.  And as much as I tried to tell myself (prior to the surgery) that it would be “a good opportunity to write,” and “a great time to read some classics”, mostly I just wasted time on the internet and felt sorry for myself.

AND THE DRUGS WEREN’T EVEN GOOD.

It’s been a weird year in general.  After my last directing project ended, I really had nothing on the horizon.  I’ve been in limbo.  Everything’s in past or future tense.  College is really over.  All spring I was waiting – for Tom to graduate, for my knee to heal, for us to move from Bethlehem to Philadelphia, for our wedding in September.  Friends had been steadily trickling away, moving on to new adventures with promises to stay in touch.  I used to think I was a jump-in-the-freezing-water-all-at-once type of person, but when it came to adjusting to school and adjusting to not-school it turns out I’m a toe-dipper and a slow-sinker.  When I started at Lehigh, I came home all the time – it took years before it felt like I lived there.  Leaving’s been the same way – I graduated, spent a fifth year on scholarship, stayed a sixth to work and direct and hang around like a creeper while people remarked “oh, you’re still here?” until it was clear that it was time to go.

But now we’re all moved and somewhat settled, and I just reread all my posts and got excited to write again.  I have some other projects up my sleeve, and a few things rattling around in my brain. So hopefully they lead somewhere.  At the risk of inviting more gods of embarrassment to visit upon my house…

We’ll see how it goes.

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February 15, 2011

The New Coming-Together

by Hilary Kissinger

A room full of women, a couple men, all shapes and sizes, moving and breathing and dancing.  Laughing.  Whooping occasionally.

This is the new ritualized coming-together.  This is Zumba class at the Y.

Perhaps a lot of us were there out of a society-induced fear of being fat and unlovable.  Perhaps we held back a little when the sexy butt-thrusts came up in our dance, not wanting to draw attention.  Perhaps we were afraid to make eye contact or really connect with the other women around us.  Perhaps the language we speak in, the “making it count” and “feeling the burn,” etc, is connected to an industry based on changing our bodies rather than embracing the raw power of what they already are.  Perhaps there are better models of women coming together, engaging in ritual, feeling the blood move and maybe even a spark of something sacred.

In this world, I’m ready to take what I can get.

I dread group exercise, often feeling like the one lagging behind, the one out of sync, the one that needs to stop early.  But I’ve always enjoyed yoga when I could motivate myself to go.  When I was younger, my sister and I went together – I cherished the moments of breath, the stretch and relaxation of muscles, of sharing a physical activity with someone I love. 

Tonight I finally worked up the nerve to join my friend at the local Zumba class, and I’m happy to report (exhaustedly) that I didn’t fare too badly.  The sense of community, of fun, kept me going long after I would have quit if I had been dancing alone at home.  People of all ages were doing the samba and grinding to hip hop.  I felt young, to tell the truth!  I have become so accustomed to being around college students at the university where I was once a student (and am now employed) that I’ve had the growing feeling of being outside the community – not one of the kids anymore.  I’m aware that this sounds hypocritical coming from a twenty-three year old.  But it doesn’t take long to lose that magic of student-hood, when life is all classes and learning and late nights at the bar.

The “workout” mentality is one I’m not ready to fully endorse – it’s rife with self-criticism, sexist attitudes, and the oppression of  large and aging bodies – but I do want to make more time in my life for movement.  For enjoying having skin and muscles and bones.  I want to improve my health, and to enable myself to do more of the things I’d like to do, such as dancing, yoga, nature walking, and playing with my niece and nephew.

We’ll see how it goes.

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February 14, 2011

On a Lighter Note

by Hilary Kissinger

On Valentine’s Day, the commentary about the meaning of such a holiday ranges from revulsion over the commodification of love to a gleeful embrace of childhood’s symbols of romance.  I wasn’t prepared to care about Valentine’s Day this year – it seems there’s too much going on, so many events and birthdays this month – but I kind of got into the spirit anyway.  We took the time to cook a meal together, dance a little to “our song” in the living room, and steal a few smooches before he headed out for an evening class.  Sure, the holiday is artificial.  As a friend of mine remarked on Facebook today, so is Christmas.  If it serves as a little reminder to lavish someone you love, treat yourself kindly, or have a fun “down with love” party with friends, it may still have some use yet.  When my valentine gets home I hope to wheedle him into watching a corny movie I know all the words to.  So for a light-hearted break from my normal fare (especially yesterday’s post), I’d like to offer up my list of feel-good flicks I can endorse getting cozy with on a February night.

My list of feel-good faves (in no particular order):

A Princess Bride – full of quotables and whimisical characters, it was once a staple of my summer nerd camp and guaranteed to have everyone shouting “Inconceivable!” for days afterward.

As Good As It Gets – One of my favorite romantic comedies precisely because it’s so snarky and dysfunctional.  I adore Jack Nicholson, Helen Hunt, and Greg Kinnear in this movie.

The Other Sister - it’s possible that this film “cuteifies” disability in some ways, but I so love Juiliette Lewis’s performance and cry EVERY TIME she yells “I can love!” in her bridesmaid’s dress. Also: Giovanni Ribisi.

Amelie - I first watched this film while skipping school because I hadn’t finished my French project that was due that day.  Besides being a visual feast, it makes me want to have adventures, speak French, and skip rocks on lakes.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off – speaking of skipping school, the perfect hooky movie.  Joy-infusing from start to finish.

Little Miss Sunshine – I don’t think there’s a single flaw with this film.  Featuring a truly stunning look at the sexuality of girls against the backdrop of a beauty pageant, it’s also such a beautiful image of family that is jubilant even as it’s painful.

My Cousin Vinny - ok, this might just be a family thing, but the attitude of this movie is infectious.  A lot of my friends don’t find it nearly as funny as I do, but who can deny the magic of Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei?

Christmas Vacation – this is another family favorite that I probably have memorized shot-for-shot.  Annual viewing is required in my house. 

Harriet the Spy – perfect to share with kids.  My childhood hero, and a much preferable role model for young girls than Disney princesses. 

Personally, I’m settling in to watch some episdodes of Boston Legal and drink a bit of champagne.  Merry evening, all.

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