{"id":1475,"date":"2013-07-11T13:28:46","date_gmt":"2013-07-11T17:28:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/?p=1475"},"modified":"2013-07-11T13:28:46","modified_gmt":"2013-07-11T17:28:46","slug":"repetitive-stress","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/repetitive-stress\/","title":{"rendered":"Repetitive stress"},"content":{"rendered":"

[I am neither an actor nor a playwright, and yet somehow I have wound up in a theater company full of actors and playwrights. I wrote and performed this for Theater Oobleck<\/a>‘s 25th anniversary bash<\/a> June 19, staged at Uptown’s beautiful National Pastime Theater as part of the Pivot Arts Festival<\/a>.]<\/em><\/p>\n

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I come before you tonight as an impostor. <\/span><\/p>\n

A pretender. A humbug. A sham.<\/span><\/p>\n

Because I don\u2019t have 25 years with Theater Oobleck. I don\u2019t even have 20 years; or 15. Or 12. <\/span><\/p>\n

I do not know the answer to the question: \u201cWhen Will the Rats Come to Chew Through Your Anus?<\/a>\u201d I cannot say who triumphed in the battle of \u201cGodzilla vs. Lent<\/a>.\u201d I did not attend the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. I\u2019m not a playwright, or an actor. I didn\u2019t even move to Chicago until 1995.<\/p>\n

The first Oobleck show I ever worked on was the 2004 Election Play, \u201cThe Passion of the Bush,\u201d in the studio space at the Western Avenue theater formerly known as the Viaduct, and now the new home of Links Hall<\/a> and Constellation<\/a>. \u00a0The first Oobleck show I ever saw was maybe a year earlier, the 2003 remount of \u201cKnown Unknowns<\/a>\u201d \u2013 at the old Curious Theater Branch<\/a> space on Glenwood in Rogers Park. \u00a0Which is now I think a yoga studio. And this itself was just a few weeks after I had first encountered several members of Theater Oobleck around a table at the Heartland Caf\u00e9<\/a>. Which, against all odds, is still the Heartland Caf\u00e9.<\/p>\n

But the first time I became aware of Theater Oobleck was actually a few years before all of that. It was here.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"readercov2\"<\/p>\n

This is what the Reader<\/a> looked like in 1998. And on the final spread of Section One every week there was a calendar \u2013 a selection of recommended events for the week to come. I later went on to work at the Reader, and I edited this section for many years, but that\u2019s not the point here.<\/p>\n

\"readerspread\"<\/p>\n

The point is that, on the left-hand page of the calendar spread for the week of March 20, 1998, are two stories: One, on a benefit for the zine I published in the 1990s, and another about a benefit for Oobleck founding member Danny Thompson, who had broken his leg while rehearsing for his new play, \u201cNecessity<\/a>,\u201d and who, according to author Jack Helbig, had racked up more than $17,000 in medical bills as a result. And since I didn\u2019t care to relive the particulars of my story<\/a>, which involved the somewhat embarrassing experience of being arrested at yet another benefit party for the zine \u2013 I read Danny\u2019s story<\/a> instead and thought, \u201cwow, that sucks.\u201d And marked the name \u2013 what does that MEAN? Theater Oobleck? — in my head for future reference.<\/p>\n

\"maxine\"<\/p>\n

Now, as I said, this was the late 1990s, and while I was off not knowing anything about Theater Oobleck, I was keeping myself busy publishing this zine. It was called Maxine<\/a> and, under the subtitle \u201ca literate companion for churlish girls and rakish women \u201c it was an unintentionally annual forum for writing by and about women and their various issues.<\/p>\n

And in 1998, my issue was my hands. They hurt, so much, my hands. They hurt.<\/span><\/p>\n

As I wrote, in this, the final issue of Maxine, \u201cthe Body issue\u201d : <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWithin 20 minutes of sitting down at the computer to write my fingers would invariably go tingly and numb. Pain shot darts up through the joints of my ring and index fingers. My wrists throbbed gently and a dull ache cramped the muscles of my palms. I couldn\u2019t write for more than a few minutes at a time before my fingers cramped into crooked little claws and it was time for a break. \u201c<\/span><\/p>\n

The essay goes on to talk about the disproportionate spike in the rate of repetitive stress injuries among women working low-skill industrial and clerical jobs, to chart the rise in the acceptance of RSI\u2019s as a legitimate workplace safety concern, and to note the generally inconclusive results of efforts to diagnose and treat them. Somewhere in there I also worked in reference to Evil Dead II<\/a>, and as this was maybe the third or fourth nonacademic essay I\u2019d written in my life, I was pretty proud of that.<\/p>\n

\"hands1\"<\/p>\n

But, looking back on this piece, not 25 but 15 years later, I\u2019m struck by something weird. My hands? They still hurt. They hurt all the time. They go numb and tingly and throb and I run cold water on my wrists and stick my hands under my butt for a break if I\u2019m on deadline. I\u2019m sure whatever\u2019s going on in the carpal tunnel \u2013 a semicircle of eight bones in the wrist that are connected on the palm side by the transverse carpal ligament \u2013 is not pretty. But I don\u2019t really notice it. I\u2019ve written many more essays since then and I\u2019ve accepted the pain as just part of the deal.<\/span><\/p>\n

Can it be that, over time, you just acclimate? Go numb to the numbness? Or is there something else going on?<\/span><\/p>\n

Now, surely here there are all sorts of jokes to be made about the repetitive stress of creating theater over 25 years with the same group of people and the same directorless structure. Or for that matter, of publishing a zine. Or throwing benefit parties in general. And if I actually had 25 years with Theater Oobleck under my belt I could maybe pull off something very smart involving Sam Shepard<\/a>, a Fragonard painting<\/a>, Thomas Edison, the Pope<\/a>, and some public sex<\/a>.<\/p>\n

But I\u2019m not up for that.<\/span><\/p>\n

Rather, I\u2019d just like to take my waning time here to tell you that 15 years later I have come around. And for all the pain repetition can bring \u2013 all the inflamed median nerves and flexor tendons and all the creative ruts and the monotony and the bad habits left unbroken \u2026 for all of that, I now believe, repetition to be a force for good.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"url1\"<\/span><\/p>\n

I mean, repetition is the building block of the natural world. Consider the fractal perfection of the snowflake; the arrangement of leaves around a stem, spiraling at neat angles to the precise steps of a Fibonacci sequence<\/a>; the pure two-note call of the common chickadee<\/a>, mocking and relentless.<\/p>\n

Pythagoras<\/a>, famed for his study of the triangle and its hypotenuse, believed that the very foundation of moral philosophy lay in repetition. \u00a0Or, at least, it did if you wanted your philosophy to have, like geometry, or birdsong, any hope of a real-world application.<\/p>\n

Through daily repetition of a litany of maxims governing personal relationships and conduct \u2013 \u201cFriends share all things;\u201d \u201cIn anger we should refrain from both speech and action\u201d\u2013 he and his followers believed they could train their minds to call up such rules for living without thinking, and thus tame and master their irrational selves.<\/span><\/p>\n

We repeat things to know them, until we don\u2019t know we know them.<\/span><\/p>\n

We repeat things to know them.<\/span><\/p>\n

A sentiment echoed in the words of noted Blake scholar Bernard Barrow, \u201cWe read poems, so that we can repeat them \u2013 with the childlike wish we might become them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Or, as no less a philosopher than the Fall\u2019s Mark E. Smith once posited: \u201cRepetition, repetition, repetition. We dig it. We dig it. We dig it<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alright, so Pythagoras was sort of nuts: among his other maxims were the commandment that one must spit upon one\u2019s fingernail clippings and a famously stern proscription against eating beans. And Professor Barrow is actually a folk singer, not to mention a fictional character in a play by Mickle Maher<\/a>. And Mark E. Smith is Mark E. Smith. But, still. They\u2019re onto something.<\/p>\n

Because do something over and over again, enough times and, as \u2013 as when doing reps at the gym \u2013 you build muscles, reinforce connective tissue, steel your nerves. <\/span><\/p>\n

Who can deny that repetition lends structure and definition to projects beyond the body? To music. To poetry. To art. <\/span><\/p>\n

\"imgres\"<\/p>\n

Paging Andy Warhol.<\/p>\n

Paging Andy Warhol. <\/span><\/p>\n

As a rhetorical device, repetition can Drive. Your. Point. Home.<\/span><\/p>\n

Now, many of you here tonight are probably familiar with the Meisner Technique<\/a> and the Repetition Exercise. For those who aren\u2019t, it\u2019s an acting exercise in which two people face each other and repeat objective statements about each other\u2019s appearance and behavior.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have blue eyes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou have blue eyes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou have blue eyes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The goal of this undeniably dull conversation is to teach the actors to be, rather than to think. To train them to respond spontaneously to events unfolding around them and, in Meisner\u2019s words, \u201cLive truthfully under imaginary circumstances.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Which, I believe, could perhaps be analogous to the Pythagorean maxim: \u201cFake it till you make it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Working with Theater Oobleck actually did give me a repetitive stress injury. In 2009, after two days up a ladder hanging lights at the Storefront Theater for Jeff Dorchen\u2019s \u201cStrauss at Midnight<\/a>,\u201d I was standing, thankfully, not on a ladder but a chair when my tired shoulder slipped under the weight of an ETC Source Four elliptical spotlight.<\/p>\n

Like Danny — who didn\u2019t actually fall off the stage but broke his leg saving himself from the full-force fall \u2013 I did not fall, exactly. But I stumbled and teetered, and as the light dropped to the floor something went \u2018pop,\u2019 right here.<\/span><\/p>\n

I emailed Danny this morning and he told me that \u201caside from the immediate pain the hassle of doctor trips,\u201d he has very fond memories of the incident. And that the delay caused by his injury was ultimately very good for the show, and that to this day, every time it rains, he is happily reminded of the production by \u201ca twinge of nostalgia above the right ankle.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I get that twinge sometimes as well. Because it still hurts, my shoulder. I\u2019m sure that whatever\u2019s going on in there, in the inflamed supraspinatus tendon of my tired rotator cuff, it is not pretty. But I don\u2019t think about it anymore. I\u2019ve learned to just let it be.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[I am neither an actor nor a playwright, and yet somehow I have wound up in a theater company full of actors and playwrights. I wrote and performed this for Theater Oobleck‘s 25th anniversary bash June 19, staged at Uptown’s beautiful National Pastime Theater as part of the Pivot Arts Festival.] I come before you … Continued<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[29,262,263,152],"class_list":["post-1475","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-personal","tag-chicago-reader","tag-pivot-arts-festival","tag-rough-magic","tag-theater-oobleck"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1475","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1475"}],"version-history":[{"count":23,"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1475\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1509,"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1475\/revisions\/1509"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1475"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1475"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marthabayne.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1475"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}