"All classes are criminal today. We live in an age of equality." -Funeral Games, Joe Orton

On August 9th, 1967, one of my favorite playwrights, the (in)famous Joe Orton was murdered by his lover Kenneth Halliwell. If you haven't read any of Orton's deliciously macabre oeuvre, especially his riveting diaries, I recommend Stephen Frears' excellent 1987 film, Prick Up Your Ears, (http://youtu.be/-sKJ_asMJhg) as a wonderful introduction. Alfred Molina's portrayal of Kenneth Halliwell steals the show.

Now...Joe Orton isn't everyone's cup of tea. He is definitely, as he described himself with relish, an "acquired taste." While the diaries sparkle with his tremendous wit, they also reveal Orton as selfish, misogynistic, cruel and very arrogant. He also writes with great gusto about paying for sex with boys as young as 13 in Tangiers. In many ways, his diaries, while fascinating, are deeply disturbing. http://amzn.com/0306807335

But I'm not here to justify his life. (Nor, after all, would Joe Orton want me to, or give a damn what anyone thought about him. If anything, he'd probably be irritated and depressed, if people weren't appalled by what he said and did. He needed to shock his audience.) What I respect about Joe, besides his hilariously wicked talent, was his determination to live life on his terms and damn the consequences. He was ferociously true to his art and to his talent. He was determined that people would take him and his gifts as they found him. And 45 years ago today, his lover, Kenneth Halliwell beat him to death with a hammer.

If you know anything about me and this business, you know...well, you definitely know too much about my dating habits, and The Kitten, sorry--but you also probably know how obsessed I am with accepting yourself. Both the bad and good. The good, the bad and the not-so-fantastic. And I say this as someone who went through a period of most definitely not accepting myself, or anything about myself, of being, in fact, resolutely toxic. This period, surprise, surprise, occurred during and immediately thereafter law school. This period occurred when I was trying to be someone else and do what I thought that person should do to be successful. And then, you know, it just got too tedious to pretend to be someone other than myself. Having said that, I didn't wake up one morning, glimmering like Glenda the Good Witch, dispensing love and glitter wherever I went (which is how I assume Lady Gaga rolls). I mean, I knew what I had to do...but I still had to wake up in the morning and actually do it. (Spoiler alert: it worked out okay, thanks.)
All of this to say why I was so blown away to read this article, http://nymag.com/news/features/transgender-children-2012-6/
I will admit, in the nature of full disclosure, that as a teenager, I sort of wasn't thrilled to be a girl, and I sort of wished I was a gay man in the 1970s.( Party time, b*tches!) In hindsight, I had probably read way, way too much Tennessee Williams, Joe Orton, Jean Genet etc.. Then again, I also went through a phase of listening to Falco, for f**k's sake. (...and yet, I never wanted to be a third-rate German pop singer. So clearly, despite the fact that I also liked Richard Marx, I had some standards. For once.)
My point being, when I first read this article, I was sort of horrified, thinking of these young children taking hormones and in some cases, physically altering their bodies. But if you consider that these kids aren't going through phases, they're trapped in the "wrong" body...if you consider that, then you understand that it takes tremendous courage, for these kids and for their parents, to make these choices.  

This blog is supposed to be professional, yes? It's supposed to be a way for potential clients to get a taste of my personality, my joie de vivre, and then actually wish to hire me, not back away slowly. But, as one of my fave playwrights, Joe Orton, famously said: "I'm an acquired taste." Oh well...
Anyway, in view of trying to be (somewhat) professional, I'm not going into delve into the grisly details of last night's networking event at Hudson Terrace...I mean, the event itself was fun and great and it always makes me happy to spend time with Wellesley women since they're smart, articulate and determined to take over the world. I have a special place in my heart for Wellesley, and probably all women's colleges, since how many places can you say are focused with helping women succeed? Exactly.
No, when I say "grisly details," I mean the part of the night where I sort of wandered away from the Wellesley section of the crowd--lured by the siren call of free Bombay Sapphire mojitos (so good! Damn them, damn them to hell for being so good!) and kinda fell in with some people from a very prestigious firm that I shan't name here since I don't wish to be sued (...sued for The Kitten I guess, since the rest is law school debt) and had more drinks, while enjoying a conversation about my cleavage and crowd-surfing and raising the roof...which all seemed hilarious at the time, but maybe that's because those mojitos were da bomb, as the kids say.
I also don't think I need to expound upon the other nice young men I met from Staten Island (oy!) who looked like they had just come from an open call casting session for "Jersey Shore," and whom, when asked what they did, said they worked in "cement." That really made me giggle.
No, the only thing I thought was important last night--okay, okay, besides the networking--was, while on my way home, seeing the father carrying his two- or three-year-old Chinese-American daughter, in his arms, like she was a rare, exotic creature. (Which of course she is.) And it was lovely to see this mom and dad, walking along with their little girl, who was sleepy and secure in her dad's embrace, to see this family and be reminded of what's really important in life.  
(That put me in such a good mood, that when, later that night, I was walking through Times Square and the German tourists asked me, "Please...where to Times Square?," I was able to politely respond that lucky them, they were in Times Square, instead of openly snorting with glee.)

I know that some of you, visiting this blog are perhaps thinking x-rated thoughts of me (one can only hope, right?), but when it comes to hiring me to be your very own creativity coach, someone to help you get your mind right, you're all, "Oh, no, I'm fine. Fine and dandy! I don't need a coach." Alas.
Because that means...I failed. I haven't gotten across to you that EVERYBODY needs a coach. A coach is someone in your corner, someone to brainstorm with, someone to bounce ideas off of, a coach is that disinterested party who wants you to succeed, dammit! As I always tell my clients, I nag because I love. And I also nag because a successful life is truly a collaborative process. Especially in this crap economy.
The importance of collaboration was brought home to me the other night as I was reading Bert Lahr's "Prick Up Your Ears;" the biography of one of my favorite playwrights, Joe Orton. (Can't recommend it highly enough!) Overall it is an excellent book about about the all-too-short life fascinating man, but what I found truly gripping were the chapters detailing the creative process through which Orton created some of his masterpieces, such as "Entertaining Mr. Sloane" and "Loot." I wasn't surprised by the hundreds of rewrites Orton did...but the fact that at the beginning, Orton didn't even know how "Entertaining Mr. Sloane" would end. Someone else suggested the ending! "Loot" meanwhile was rewritten for months...there were many times, when it seemed the play would never get off the ground.
Meanwhile, you, out there, think you don't need a coach or a mentor, to life you out of your stagnant comfort zone...?