Words Dribbling out my Ears...

So, you know, some of them might as well end up on my blog.

Today I had an essay due. It was a pretty big one, 5000 words (14 pages, approximately) and a solid part of my grade in one of my modules from last term.

Last night, I started it.

Okay, check it, don't tell my mom this. (My mom herself does not read this blog; she says it's to protect my privacy. Because sharing my rambling thoughts with various family members, friends, and complete strangers is fine, but if my mom reads them, well, that crosses a line.) I wrote that whole thing in about six hours, maybe six and a half. Seriously, I went from scratch to 5,040 words in six hours counting an hour and a half to two hours break time.

Now, I know this is not actually ideal, but I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed with myself. It wasn't a half bad paper, either. I mean, not up for the Pulitzer or anything, but a couple of valid insights, some analysis, some jokes, lots of British spelling. It was certainly hand-in-able. (Facebook reveals that while I may have been the last person to start, I was certainly not the last person to finish this particular essay.) Jet lag may actually have helped; I ate much less than my usual amount of caffeine and sugar.

Anyway, that is what's been on my mind lately; it was the second paper due within only two days, so my life since I got back has passed in a jet-lag-and-paper-induced daze. I am glad to report that the snow left on the ground melted following an onslaught of pelting rain and sleet last night. I like snow okay and all, but coming from California seeing it just made me want to cry. And curl up. And get under the covers and sip hot cocoa.

Hey, hot cocoa! That's a brilliant idea!

I haven't posted in FOREVER

Because I am a failure and a terrible person. But I'm back on the wagon, folks. I have thoughts, and soon you'll get to hear them more regularly.

I don't usually post any pictures on this blog, particularly of anything personal or identifiable. But I'm going to bite the bullet and post this one, because it commemorated a truly amazing experience.



THAT IS EMMA THOMPSON, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. EMMA THOMPSON, AND ME, AND MY CLASSMATES.

Because, awesome.

More about the workshop, the experience, life in Britain, and, of course, Shakespeare and other literature, coming soon.

Troilus and Cressida and Zombies

Troilus and Cressida being the lesser known Shakespeare I'm working on at the moment, and the zombie being me.

Honestly, I haven't been writing first because I went home, and had many more social engagements, many fewer minutes of free time, and very limited computer exposure. And since I've been back? It's mostly been stress.

(And the difficulty of beginning to write again after one hasn't for awhile.)

Part of me thought everything would be okay once I started directing again, but this is my first time working with "real" drama students, several of whom are more educated in drama than I am. And since I'm the only one getting graded on this project, I find it sort of thematically difficult to figure out how gung-ho I am allowed to be. All of which is a roundabout way of saying I'm really insecure about this whole thing, and wish I had as much confidence as I have ideas.

I do however have the benefit of a really interesting script (since it's edited by me) and a so far stellar cast. I mean, it's not performance time yet, but so far they've been lovely, both as actors and as people. Still I am insecure. Which makes me insecure about feeling insecure in the first place, and determined not to show my insecurity, which makes me more insecure.

Whee!

So when not rehearsing, (and we're really not rehearsing very often yet) I've been mostly in my room, reading and watching old episodes of Stargate. (Allette described it thusly: "It has a cast of four: one woman, and three hot men" and so I decided to check it out. The writing is pretty bad, but I have kept watching anyway.) My reading has been mostly well-written, however. I've been rereading Austen lately, and heard that for those who wish she'd written more than six novels, a good second option is Emily Eden, and so I've started her Semi-Detached Couple. At chapter ten, I can't make any sweeping generalizations about plot, but so far her dialogue is pretty excellent.

Also, I must recommend to all and sundry that you scamper off and get your hands on Peter Beagle's latest, We Never Talk About My Brother. Go on, scamper. It's worth it, I promise. His writing is rich as custard, but since it's a book of short stories, when you get overwhelmed by it you can always put it down. And it's really just shimmeringly beautiful stuff.

So that has been my life recently: books, television, abject fear.

All is not lost, however. Who just made it to round 4x on Bubble Spinner? Who just got a score of 2177? That's right, bitches. Boo-yah.

Take heart, my challengers. (I didn't realize I had challengers till I got home, and people were all asking what my top score was.) In losing this challenge you have actually won. Are you depressed and finding it difficult to do anything productive in your life for more than twenty minutes at a time? No? Because that's what makes ME play Bubble Spinner for like three hours at a stretch.

Rebirth

Spring break is not for everyone. It's not designed for sorority girls, or fraternity boys. It's not so that what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico. It's not for undergrads at state schools at all, in fact. I know it's been heavily commercialized, but so has Christmas, and every year we get somebody telling us the "true meaning" of the holiday.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you the "true meaning" of spring break.

Spring break is a just and merciful God's gift to graduate/postgraduate students everywhere, who have had a very difficult term and need some actual relaxation time, rather than short periods of catching one's breath.

That we may not forget ourselves, we have been given much work to do over this breathing period, but that we may not despair, the sun has shined upon us in this, the first week of it.

Metatheatricality

My professors toss that word around all the time. I'm pretty sure it means something, but your guess is about as good as mine about what that something might be. Maybe it's the section of the library above where they put the Theatricality books. (Ignore that joke if you don't know Aristotle trivia. What am I talking about? No one knows Aristotle trivia. I am so sleepy, you guys.)

I am actually still sleepy because I'm still trying to get back on normal time after being on Winter Break Time (go to sleep whenever you want and wake up whenever you want). And 'cause I stayed up till... um... well ... very late, to get my papers done and turned in. But! They are done, and turned in! See, I can prove it. That's one of them right there. The next time you have trouble sleeping, there it is, ready for your perusal. Guaranteed to cure any insomnia you might have. You're welcome. You know I've got your back.

Anyway. I chose that title (the metatheatricality title, not the title of the paper; the paper doesn't have a title) because it has been an intensely theatrical day. Theatrical days are difficult when you're on about four hours' sleep. (Not my fault, not entirely. Couldn't get to sleep to save my life, and the stupid smoke alarm went off at half past midnight. I hate my building sometimes.) What I was saying was, first I had rehearsal all day and then I saw a show.

Those two things alone would not really necessarily lead me to say I had a metatheatrical day. But the fevered pitch they maintained would do. It was the most rehearsalish of rehearsals, and the most showy of shows.

We're working on Much Ado About Nothing at the moment, and today was our first blocking/walkthrough of Act IV, scene i. For those unfamiliar, this is the scene where a young woman shows up to her wedding (to the guy she loves) only to get rejected by him, slandered by his best friend, disowned by her father, and talked into playing dead by her priest. So, kinda runs the gamut of emotions there. Who plays this young lady? Me. So I spent a solid chunk of the afternoon going from grinning and excited to curled up on the floor, half conscious and sobbing. Several times. And you know, it was really difficult.

It's interesting to me, because this is the first time I've acted in ages and ages -- two or three years -- and the last couple of parts I played didn't really require a deep emotional commitment. Or anyway, it was amateur enough that I could get away with just walking around charismatically, and not delving into emotional depths. And one of the reasons I stopped acting was that I didn't feel comfortable delving into those depths -- I mean, no one is really comfortable doing that, I don't think, although I've known some actors who were kind of scarily good at it. But I managed to forget just how uncomfortable it was, until today, when I really "let myself go there," (that being the technical term). It really shook me, possibly because I'm tired, and possibly because it's been so long, but also partly because "there," was a really scary place to be. It's off-putting, when you sort of know there's a scary place there, but you haven't been there in ages and aren't really sure you can find your way back there ever, and then suddenly you're right in the middle of it. And you know that you're in a process where the goal is to make it even scarier and more upsetting to be there. And that's your purpose, that's what you're doing.

I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but maybe the actors will know what I mean.

So that took me forever to deal with, and then after rehearsal (and dinner & pints at the pub; I do live in England) we went to a panto.

I'm pretty sure I'm physically unable to describe a British panto to American citizens. My theory is that with all the rain and tea and scones and whatnot, sometime between the Black Plague and getting sunstroke in India, the entirety of Britain went slowly and quietly insane. They stayed polite and dried-up about it -- they are British -- but nevertheless they are all secretly stark raving bonkers. They act all normal and then suddenly pull some sort of entertainment out of their collective asses that is basically the conceptual love child of a five-year-old and an evil genius. Case in point: Doctor Who.

Not to say these things aren't good and lovable and all that. But they are also completely insane and incomprehensible, and there's no good pretending otherwise. Our latest demonstration of this is the Panto.

A Panto (short for pantomime) is a stage play. Of sorts. I hesitate to say anything even that definite about it. Some of its elements include (in no particular order): a fairytale plotline, audience participation, live musical numbers, dirty jokes, men in drag (as queens and fairies, no less), stand-up comedy, small children, racy costumes, glitter, silly dialogue, elaborate sets, sparkles, zombies, pussycats, absurd make-up, sexy dance moves, drunk actors who forget their lines onstage and are prompted by their costars, and singing rat puppets. All of these elements (I'm not making any of this up, you guys, and all of it is pluralized for a reason) are held together with the largest serving of camp I have ever seen in my life. Think of the campiest thing that you have ever seen or imagined, double it, and add seven. It's campier than The Princess Bride, campier than Buffy, campier than Pushing Daisies. Campier than Bollywood, you guys. Campy like a redwood forest in the Sierra Nevadas.

The production I saw was The Sleeping Beauty, and did incorporate all of the elements I mentioned above. I will describe one scene, and you will just have to use your imaginations to fill in the rest -- bear in mind that the show was an hour and a half. Carabosse, the evil fairy (played by a man) has stolen into the castle by hiding in the orchestra pit (not kidding) along with her evil cat, Spindleshanks (played by a lithe young woman, in a costume that does not belong in the same room as children, even if the room is a theater). They have smuggled in a spinning wheel and plan to make the Princess Aurora prick her finger on it in a matter of moments. Everytime Carabosse enters, the audience boo and hiss. As loudly as possible. Also, every time she speaks. Manly Carabosse and sexy Spindleshanks cavort around the stage a bit, collecting these boos and hisses, and finally ask the audience if they should leave the stage. The audience boos and hisses more. Carabosse and Spindleshanks respond by launching into a live musical cover of "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by the Clash.

Dude, could I make this up?

Other song and dance numbers included "Someday My Prince Will Come," "Any Dream Will Do," "We Go Together," and of course, "Mamma Mia." The audience is encouraged to sing along.

Those of you who were shaking your heads about my declaration of British insanity a couple paragraphs up? I rest my case. Facts, people. Cold, hard, facts. Educational experiences of the day.

Perfected Techniques of Procrastination

That's the title of a demonstrative speech I gave in the sixth grade. I was a natural talent then, and I have turned it into a science now. When are my two essays, research work, lines, and choreography work due? That would be.... just under twelve hours from now. How many of those five things are done? Two. Go me!

Well, everything else is pretty near done... or, you know, not totally far away from being done... Okay, two things are very close to being done, and the other one I'm going to work on right now, as soon as I update my blog, and maybe knit a round, and read some online comics, and maybe talk to a friend...

Eh, yeah, I know. I know. It's disgraceful. I know. But it will be done, and it will be done on time, and then I will start rehearsals with a relatively clear conscience. Yes. This will happen.

In other weekly news, my sleep cycle has continued disastrous, (well, it would be awesome if I were planning to go to California, say, tomorrow. Since I'm not, but instead planning to reintegrate myself into English society tomorrow, it's a little more worrisome.) For the last four days I've tried to get up at a reasonable hour, but my sleeping brain is a stubborn bastard and knows I set my alarm not because I need to get up but because I think I ought to get up. My sleeping brain has no patience for that kind of nonsense. I hear the alarms, I vaguley remember thoughts along the lines of "make the bad noise STOP", I remember turning off the alarms, and then my memory fades out. Not because I stumbled out of my room to get a cup of tea, no, but because I stumbled back into bed and curled back up under the covers. Then I wake up AT SUNSET, and it's the most depressing thing in the world, and I stay in bed for another hour being miserable that I slept the whole damn day away.

That is something else, however, that will stop tomorrow. Because TOMORROW, I am going to get up, and be awesome, and turn this stuff in, and go to rehearsal all afternoon and evening.

Plus, don't even get me started on the drama of trying to get my laundry done.

I got around to lots of things, though, while I was busy NOT getting around to my paper. No, I did! I watched two movies that I own but had never seen before the other day. One was The French Lieutenant's Woman, with the amazingness that is Meryl Streep and the sexiness that is Jeremy Irons. I have to say, however, that having heard that it's the most romantic movie ever made, I was expecting it to be more... romantic. Meryl Streep IS amazing,but if it had been any other actress in that role, I would have hated her and might have stopped watching altogether. I might have stuck around for Jeremy Irons, who is gorgeous, and was very sexy back before I was born, seventies hair and all. But the love story.... kind of eh. They look at each other longingly a lot, and sometimes kiss passionately in exotic locales. But dude, you can do that with practically anybody. I look at my fridge longingly a lot (though I have yet to kiss it passionately in any locale, exotic or otherwise). Conversation? Mutual interests, besides showing the whites of your eyes? Compatible personalities? Huh, what? Disappointing.

The other movie was a documentary entitled Shakespeare Behind Bars. I love it passionately. In fact, I loved it so much that I'm a little hesitant to recommend it, knowing that if someone had recommended it to me at any point before I watched it myself, I would have put it aside forever. I don't know if it's just a quirk of me or if it's common to everybody, but as soon as someone tells me a movie is "really good" because it will "make [me] think," or it's "really deep" or any nonsense like that, I write it off. I still haven't seen The Hobart Shakespeareans, mostly for that reason, even though I know it's good and I know I'll like it. The same thing almost happened with Slings and Arrows, although I got over that. Some part of me is always like, "movies and TV are for entertainment, not thinking! Screw you!" and I never see it.

I would hate for anyone to write off Shakespeare Behind Bars for that reason, so I won't say that it's deep (it is), that it will make you think (it will) or that you really should see it before you die (you should). I'll just say, I loved it. It's a documentary about a program at a high-security Kentucky prison where the inmates spend nine months of the year working on a Shakespeare play. They cast themselves, they have a volunteer (from outside) as a director, and they just go embrace the text and knock themselves out. And it's absolutely amazing. The doc is about the year they did The Tempest, but you don't have to know the play, they explain the plot and themes and all. Not surprisingly, they really go for the theme of forgiveness (a prominent one in that show), and explore it through all the characters. The actor playing Antonio gets put in solitary confinement, and they have to recast. The actors in general go all the way -- the guy playing Miranda is a thirty-something man, and he absolutely relates to it and draws it right into his life. And they all tell you what their sentences are, and why they're in prison, and then they do Shakespeare, and it's mesmerizing. Even if you don't like Shakespeare. Even if you don't like documentaries. Especially if you don't like prison inmates. It just blew me away.

So that is what I have to say about it, and if it doesn't put you off, may I suggest renting it as soon as possible. Shakespeare Behind Bars. Crazy good.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have lines to learn.

Tidings of Comfort, Joy, and Irritation

New Year's Resolution: To write in my blog weekly, rather than whenever I feel like it. So Sunday is now my update day, and I am all about starting this week while the resolution is still fresh. Earlier the start, sooner the habit forms.

I'm hoping that will also work with flossing. I hate flossing.

Anyway. I've survived my first Christmas away from home with somewhat less pain than predicted. What sucked was that on like, December 23, I got sick, in the dramatic way that my body does, wherein I am perfectly fine one day and wake up the next with The Blob That Ate Tokyo sitting in my nasal cavity, and then on the third I have a light case of the sniffles. But I lost all energy for a few days and woke up Christmas morning in a room covered in Kleenex and it was faintly depressing.

But then I went over to my friend Allette's house, and hung around chatting with her and her husband and playing with her daughters and generally having a nice relaxing time of it. KitKat and Nebcla showed up a little later, and so we could talk a bit of shop and have plenty of fun. Thus the secret to Christmas away from home is the same as the secret of birthdays away from home: take it easy and give yourself a break.

What is not getting off so easy is stupid Royal Mail and UPS, who managed to deliver my big family box the day after Christmas. Like, thanks, kids. It is exactly a big enough deal to be annoying, because the presents for my family are small, and would have been a nice addition to Christmas but are a little silly to be getting their own party. But whatever. I am glad they got there, and there's not much else I can do.

SPEAKING of mail, I am unimpressed with the campus services (or lack thereof) over break. The building with the laundry room and the mail delivery point was closed over Christmas and is open now only six hours a day. Well, there aren't many of us here, and I can live with that. What annoys me is that the people who work to keep it open are leaving early every single chance they get. They're only even supposed to be there from ten to four, but they'll leave early whenever humanly possible. I got told off yesterday for bringing my laundry in at 2:03pm, because the porter had been planning on going home at two. "Last wash is at two," he said, all annoyed, "so that I can leave by four." What time was it? As aforementioned, it was 2:03. And then he complained that now, because I had the audacity to do my laundry, he would have to stay for "another two hours." Namely... until four. Which was when he was supposed to leave anyway. In the US, you do not get to complain about actually having to finish your shift at work. For serious. And he was, to me, quite a lot. Like five solid minutes of wondering aloud why I couldn't get out of bed sooner to do my damn laundry. What time did my laundry finish? 3:45. So it wasn't like I was making him stay late, even. When I tried to check my mail today, around 3, the office was long deserted. Dude, if you don't want to actually do the work you're paid to do, quit, fool. It's what I did. But don't bitch to me about actually having to work (read: sit around on your ass on campus instead of at home) because I need some clean clothes.

Now that the room's clean and the laundry's done, I have nothing to think about except how little I want to start my over-break homework. I've been putting it off all day. (Well, all eight hours since I woke up, anyway. You can tell I'm back at a university, anticipating paper-writing, from my sleep schedule, which has been atrocious recently.) Actually, I've been putting it off since the start of break, but now break is half over and I'm going to die painfully if I don't get going on it.

Jeez, if this is all it takes to get me going, updating every week should be cake. Possibly the trick is to have a paper due every Monday.

"I will swear to study so, to know the thing I am forbid to know"

Yeah, um, that whole bit about promising to keep up with my blog when I left? *shrug* Ooops.

There's so many new things and so much is overwhelming, that it's always hard for me to write for a little while after first moving I think. Anyway, that's my excuse and I'll stick with it for now. To catch up I find I must list again.

1. Devon weather is both better and worse than I expected. There is actually occasional sunlight. Whee! I had no idea. It's thrilling. There is also HAIL. I HATE hail.

2. I don't want to say my program is better and worse than I expected, but in bits that's true. Tuesdays are my happy day: I have only one class, and it consists of theater games, ensemble building, and text work (three of my favorite things ever). My prof even made me enjoy a Dogberry scene today. I normally hate Dogberry. (Great miracles are being wrought, for reals. Last week, thanks to my other prof, I was able to conceive of a production of Hamlet that would actually have a point. I know! I too was shocked.) However, there is also a lot of slogging through Webster and Middleton plays. If I wanted to read Webster's plays, I would have signed up for a Webster course, uh duh.

3. Various aspects of university life are annoying, such as a dorm room that looks slightly like a prison, but various aspects are also enjoyable, such as living walking distance from everywhere I need to go, and having my friends over to watch Doctor Who with no planning involved.

4. Speaking of Doctor Who, and how I am in love with it, I have found a whole slew of DVDs of episodes from the sixties through the eighties. God bless the local library, exorbitant fees and all! I was a wee bit apprehensive, since I love the new one so, but after the first five minutes of "The War Machines" I am thrilled with my find. It's in black and white for crying out loud! It's ADORABLE. I love this Doctor with his monocle!

5. On the sad side, I wish my baby sis and my ducks were here to enjoy the awesome with me. How much do I miss my ducks? I love my new ensemble, but every time I learn a new theater game I feel like taking it home and teaching it to my ducks. I have like five saved up for you guys.

6. Cooking for myself is SO much more of a hassle without Trader Joe's. For fricking real.

7. The Brits join the majority of Americans in being very happy about our election results. My Obama t-shirts are big hits. However, the Brits will not get as much of my reciporical love until they learn to move out of the fricking way and let other people SHARE the sidewalk. Sharing is caring, you crazy wankers. Also, build some chairs with desks attached; taking lecture notes on my knees is annoying.

8. I wish I could offer some good book reccommends but I've been reading nothing but trash and plays lately. I will say that I am intrigued that they made a movie of a 16th century play and cast Christopher Eccleston as the lead. I think everyone should see it, but maybe only because I want to so badly.

9. I am hitting my self discipline issues again, but I have gotten a job (as one of those people everyone finds really annoying) and joined archery squad (though I was a bad girl and skipped it this evening in favor of relaxing in my newly clean room).

10. I'm sure I'll think of a ten once I post this; something I forgot to mention that everyone should see -- oh, my birthday was good. I had yummy cream tea and bought some new books. There, there's a ten.

Disturbing Trend

So I'm not a very good teacher yet, and every time I find something that remotely works I immediately use it in every single class where it would be remotely applicable. Sometimes this works well, sometimes I grossly misjudge my audience, and sometimes the effects are just incredibly bizarre.

The latest example is the Detective Game, which, for the unitiated, involves sending a volunteer out into the hallway, deciding on a criminal, deciding on a crime, sometimes deciding on a victim, and bringing the detective back into the room to ask penetrating questions and try to force the witnesses to crack under the pressure (read: start giggling uncontrollably). It's not very complicated, it's not especially exciting, except for the few seconds when it's time to choose volunteers, but it gets the job done and it's wicked good for practicing questions in the past tense. (To illustrate while protecting the innocent, guilty, and "dead" I will use the French equivalents of John and Jane.)

So I have played it with my sixieme (6th grade), and the crimes and questions are very simple. "Have you got the glove?" and so forth. And I played it with my cinqieme (7th grade) and they already know the past tense, so the questions become things like "Did you take the glove?" and "Did you sell the drugs?" and occasionally "Did you attack Jean?" Today, however, was the first time I played it with my quatrieme (8th grade) students, and, since they are very familiar with the past, you have to work to find verbs they don't already know. So for about half an hour today, I had a pint-sized Sam Spade wannabe demanding of his classmates "Did you decapitate Jeanne?"

I rather suspect that were I to play it with the ninth graders, we'd eventually degenerate into "Did you take over the world?" and "Did you cause the Holocaust?"