Um. *blinks*
The basic stuff: I've arrived in England, safely. The flight was no more miserable than flights usually are. I have made it to campus, unpacked my suitcases, and settled into my dorm room. Okay, I'll be even more settled once my books get here, but I have unpacked everything and put up pictures on my wall and put my clothes away and brushed my teeth. I crash landed on my bet at about 7:40 and slept a full nine hours. My dehydrated-migraine headache is finally gone (knock wood).
And I'm not really able to think in complete sentences. All my little thoughts are separate.
Thoughts like: Why doesn't my dorm have any toilet paper? And is it my job to buy some? 'Cause I live here with nine other people, and we all share toilets.
And: This campus is huge, and very pretty but kind of scary in its ginormousness.
And: I am truly back in a dorm, and this is weirding me out a little. Even if it does have a kitchen, it is still a dorm.
And: I miss my books and I hope they get here soon.
And: I am lonely here.
And: It was a beautiful day today, but how long will it last?
And: I'm going to really like this campus except it's huge and I don't know my way around.
And: I want to meet people, but it is hard because I get more shy when I am tired.
And: I know I overpack, but thank God for all my stuff because otherwise I would be courting depression. (How shallow!)
And: I want this week of "induction" (would it kill you guys to add the extra syllable? "Tro," ladies and gents. Three little letters) to be over so I can just get used to being here already instead of being discombobulated.
And: I think I need more sleep.
And that is all the thinks I can think right now.
20.9.08
I Must to England; You Know That?
My room gets steadily barer and barer. My books are gone - moved into Mom's basement today. (Well done, me.) Tonight I have taken my posters off the walls. Knickknacks are getting packed up. Half my furniture is going out on Sunday. Mom and I went shopping today (THANK YOU MOM) and I got the most adorable knee-length wool pea coat ever. I am really and truly going, you guys.
As my date of departure approaches, my blind fear is retreating. Doctor Who has helped with that (I get to go to Christopher Eccleston's country? Awesome). So has, in an odd way, packing itself. I loathe packing, but once I really get going it's sort of horribly familiar, and I can get into its creepy mindset. Take with, save, throw out. Take with, save, throw out. I'm shipping an ungodly number of boxes ahead of me (okay, two and a half, but they are wicked heavy - so many Shakespeare books). And with the new clothes, all of which are all long sleeve sweater-y type stuff for cold weather. And my syllabus for my first class which arrived via email today. (I am very excited about reading Marlowe's Faustus, but I really hope I like it better than Goethe's. Goethe's Faust is just imbecilic. The devil screws you over, and you're . . . surprised? For real?)
My brain comes through again. For now. Who knows how I'll feel the day of, but getting things done this week has been good for my soul.
As my date of departure approaches, my blind fear is retreating. Doctor Who has helped with that (I get to go to Christopher Eccleston's country? Awesome). So has, in an odd way, packing itself. I loathe packing, but once I really get going it's sort of horribly familiar, and I can get into its creepy mindset. Take with, save, throw out. Take with, save, throw out. I'm shipping an ungodly number of boxes ahead of me (okay, two and a half, but they are wicked heavy - so many Shakespeare books). And with the new clothes, all of which are all long sleeve sweater-y type stuff for cold weather. And my syllabus for my first class which arrived via email today. (I am very excited about reading Marlowe's Faustus, but I really hope I like it better than Goethe's. Goethe's Faust is just imbecilic. The devil screws you over, and you're . . . surprised? For real?)
My brain comes through again. For now. Who knows how I'll feel the day of, but getting things done this week has been good for my soul.
19.9.08
I am a Pirate . . . See?
My pirate name is:
Captain Jenny Bonney
Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You can be a little bit unpredictable, but a pirate's life is far from full of certainties, so that fits in pretty well. Arr!
Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network
In other news, I've packed up practically all of my books. Yay! Go me! And eight million shout outs to Mousie, who volunteered her car and her charming self to help me. Thank you! I can relax a little more now... still no idea what's going to happen to half of this furniture, but so it goes.
15.9.08
It was the Nightingale, and Not the Lark
... that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. I am ... not ready to leave.
I packed one box. One box. And then my eyes filled with tears and I had to go lie down.
The party yesterday made everything very real and very sad. I can't think about where I'm going or what I'll be doing -- just all the nice people I am going away from. My friends actually held me down -- strapped to a chair with three people on a side -- and said nice things about me to my face. And hit me when I tried to be self-deprecating. And now, when I try to pack I almost start crying.
So thank God for Missday, who came over and was all supportive while I was all clingy and needy. And thanks to her, I have packed two boxes to go into the basement, and one whole box of culls off my bookshelf. And I read one whole chapter of a professor-book, and felt a sense of accomplishment. The battle is once again on, and my responsibility has struck!
As a side note, my number of Shakespeare books has grown to nearly 30. Not counting, of course, all the individual plays I have (only missing 4). As a whole, that is comforting.
I packed one box. One box. And then my eyes filled with tears and I had to go lie down.
The party yesterday made everything very real and very sad. I can't think about where I'm going or what I'll be doing -- just all the nice people I am going away from. My friends actually held me down -- strapped to a chair with three people on a side -- and said nice things about me to my face. And hit me when I tried to be self-deprecating. And now, when I try to pack I almost start crying.
So thank God for Missday, who came over and was all supportive while I was all clingy and needy. And thanks to her, I have packed two boxes to go into the basement, and one whole box of culls off my bookshelf. And I read one whole chapter of a professor-book, and felt a sense of accomplishment. The battle is once again on, and my responsibility has struck!
As a side note, my number of Shakespeare books has grown to nearly 30. Not counting, of course, all the individual plays I have (only missing 4). As a whole, that is comforting.
14.9.08
Another Obsession is Born
Thanks, Short Stuff.
I'm not sure how it works, but the same person who regularly watches Gossip Girl and America's Next Top Model is also the one who introduced me to both Slings & Arrows and Dr. Who. How does she do that without her brain exploding? For real.
Okay, okay, obviously I am a snob. But Dr. Who is really good!
I'm not sure how it works, but the same person who regularly watches Gossip Girl and America's Next Top Model is also the one who introduced me to both Slings & Arrows and Dr. Who. How does she do that without her brain exploding? For real.
Okay, okay, obviously I am a snob. But Dr. Who is really good!
10.9.08
And... Go!
The ancient battle begins again. The worthy gird their loins. Swords are sharpened. Knives are holstered. Shields buckled. Helms fitted. Muscles flexed. Bodies stretched. Battle horns sounded.
Who will win? My perennially instituted resolution, armed with guilt and strong responsibility, as well as buckets of free time, to pack on time and in an orderly manner? Or the dark forces of chaos, aided by my social calendar, and with the strong allies of my laziness and my denial?
Battle is joined. In this first week, the forces of chaos have struck hard and fast, but there is still time for a turnaround. Stay tuned!
Who will win? My perennially instituted resolution, armed with guilt and strong responsibility, as well as buckets of free time, to pack on time and in an orderly manner? Or the dark forces of chaos, aided by my social calendar, and with the strong allies of my laziness and my denial?
Battle is joined. In this first week, the forces of chaos have struck hard and fast, but there is still time for a turnaround. Stay tuned!
1.9.08
Vacation
Such a ... weird concept. Or it feels like it, when you haven't had one in forever.
Part of me was being driven completely insane by my job, feeling like I was going to sock someone on the head at any moment. Another part of me feels guilty for taking almost the entirety of September off. It evens out, I suppose. I realize I haven't had much time off since I got back to the States -- certainly haven't done any traveling except for two or three days to see my family over Christmas. I get days here and there, and my weekends of course, but lots of days? In a row? Crazy!
Plus, makes it much harder to live in denial about how soon I am leaving and how far I am going. Why have I stopped work except to... move to England. Gulp. (It doesn't help that all, and I do mean all, of my friends do more or less the equivalent of putting their fingers in their ears and humming whenever I bring it up.)
But first, there is the short vacation. Which hopefully will be my borrowed time, so that when I get back, everything can begin to come together.
Part of me was being driven completely insane by my job, feeling like I was going to sock someone on the head at any moment. Another part of me feels guilty for taking almost the entirety of September off. It evens out, I suppose. I realize I haven't had much time off since I got back to the States -- certainly haven't done any traveling except for two or three days to see my family over Christmas. I get days here and there, and my weekends of course, but lots of days? In a row? Crazy!
Plus, makes it much harder to live in denial about how soon I am leaving and how far I am going. Why have I stopped work except to... move to England. Gulp. (It doesn't help that all, and I do mean all, of my friends do more or less the equivalent of putting their fingers in their ears and humming whenever I bring it up.)
But first, there is the short vacation. Which hopefully will be my borrowed time, so that when I get back, everything can begin to come together.
26.8.08
One Step Forward, Six Steps Back
I had two feminist moments today. And, you know, this isn't a feminist blog -- I should know, I read plenty of legitimate feminist blogs -- but it is my personal blog and I am a feminist, so today you get to read about my feminist moments.
I've been watching old X-Files DVDs, borrowed from The Store -- and you all can just shut up, because that show rocks, even if it is dated now, only ten years later. But although the government conspiracy stuff clearly shows its age, in some ways it is incredibly current. I was watching a season three episode, "2Shy", when the following scene jumped out at me (no youtube video, so a transcript will have to do):
[Scully enters the morgue; local detective is already there]
Local Detective: Oh, it's you.
Scully: That's not a problem, is it?
Local Detective: No, it's just that Dr. Kramer didn't tell me that you were observing the autopsy.
Scully: I'm not observing. I'm performing it myself.
Local Detective: You're a medical doctor?
Scully: You sound surprised.
Local Detective: I don't know. I guess maybe I am.
Scully: Why?
Local Detective: It's nothing personal, Agent Scully. I'm just . . . old-fashioned in certain regards.
Scully: Old-fashioned?
Local Detective: The truth is, I question the wisdom of assigning female law-enforcement officers to certain types of cases.
Scully: Like this one?
Local Detective: Whoever killed Lauren Mackalvey has a definite attitude toward women, right? So this has to be affecting your judgment.
Scully: I appreciate your concern, Detective. But it's not necessary. All I want to do is solve this case, just like you.
Local Detective: Look, I'm not being sexist, here, I'm just being honest.
Scully: Where would you like the autopsy report sent?
Local Detective: You can fax it to my office.
So my apologies for quoting at such length, but, for serious? That's awesome. I don't remember this particular scene -- although I know I watched the episode at some point when I was a teenager -- but, for real, that's just fantastic. She doesn't engage. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't let it affect her. She just reacts, politely and firmly, to everything he says, letting him hang himself. And it's really -- almost a throwaway scene. Like I said, although I remember the fat-sucking villain of this particular ep, I don't specifically remember this or any other scene that dealt so directly with sexism. It doesn't have bearing on the plot, not really. And yet I'm so happy it's there. This is why Scully was a feminist icon, before Buffy, or Veronica Mars, or Kima, or Laura Roslin. Like any other compelling character, Scully gets into dangerous situations and must be rescued, and spends a fair amount of time rescuing Mulder from similar situations. Gillian Anderson is lauded -- rightly -- for her charisma, her acting chops, and the air of complete competence and unflappability which she imbues in Scully, and of course this sort of scene wouldn't work without that background.
But watching it, I was just so pleased that they put this scene in the show at all -- that they showed young women (like me! in my impressionable years) a role model who not only had the chops, but had the self-confidence to stand up for herself against this sort of thing, directly, publicly, out loud, on screen.
I love me my Buffy, and I love Veronica Mars, too, and the women on BSG. And in all those shows, people are confronted with sexism and deal with it intelligently and forthrightly. But it surprised and pleased me to note that for all the ways the X-Files has aged badly (and in many ways, it has) there remain some aspects that still resonate really powerfully.
Compare this to my other "feminist moment" of the day -- rather the opposite context. Now, obviously, there has been a lot of press about Hillary Clinton, and her speech, and her delegates, and all that. I find that I have nothing more to add on this topic -- clearly the coverage is overtly sexist, clearly the woman cannot win even the smallest bit of respect from her peers regardless of what she says, and clearly she is doing some amazing work in the face of those odds. But while that is all current, and supports my point, I would instead like to fight pop culture with pop culture, and note how far we haven't come by a different comparison.
It's not a secret that I have a certain amount of contempt for Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight Saga -- in which I am not alone. Oh, I've read the first few chapters of book one, and definitely flipped through parts of number four, since it sits on the counter at The Store, and all. (Hey, counterwork is boring when there's no one in the store.) Anyway, I had read enough, both of the books and of the publicity to know that a) I am not the target demographic for this book -- I am not nearly misunderstood enough and b) I am in fact so far out of the target demographic that I am actively repulsed by the concept.
Today I was talking to my old friend Algy, who also now works at a bookstore, and she was telling our group (moi, Short Stuff, and The Fable) about how she'd read the whole series. From what she said, and what I'd read myself, I am appalled. These are the lessons that the pop teen "classic" Breaking Dawn puts forth. (I know it would be much more fair and balanced to include quotations, rather than summaries. But I do not have a copy of that particular title.)
1) It's okay to have steamy sex with your undead lover, who likes to drink blood, and following that, allow him to turn you undead as well, but only if you get married to him first.
2) Should you have sex with aforementioned undead lover-turned-husband, and you come away covered in bruises from how roughly he has handled you, that is okay too, as long as you are "in love."
3) It is your undead husband's decision, not yours, whether or not to abort the half-undead baby you are carrying.
4) Should someone approach you, and offer to let you have sex with his wife, with whom you are in love and respect on her own merits, without her prior knowledge (or, one assumes, consent), the correct response is, "Ummm... sure!"
5) Nothing is more romantic than having your undead husband chew through your own (now undead) flesh into your womb and give you a personal, bite-by-bite C-section.
Call me old-fashioned, but give me Scully any day of the week. I mean... really those two lists speak for themselves, and I should shut up, but I honestly can't believe this. I didn't have the highest standards for my entertainment when I was in my teens, for sure, but I'm really glad that what I ended up drawn to was something like The X-Files rather than like Twilight. I'm glad my mom steered me (gently) in that direction, and I'm glad my little Sis is following those steps too. It's easy to forget what a difference it makes, until days like today, when it just slaps you in the face.
I've been watching old X-Files DVDs, borrowed from The Store -- and you all can just shut up, because that show rocks, even if it is dated now, only ten years later. But although the government conspiracy stuff clearly shows its age, in some ways it is incredibly current. I was watching a season three episode, "2Shy", when the following scene jumped out at me (no youtube video, so a transcript will have to do):
[Scully enters the morgue; local detective is already there]
Local Detective: Oh, it's you.
Scully: That's not a problem, is it?
Local Detective: No, it's just that Dr. Kramer didn't tell me that you were observing the autopsy.
Scully: I'm not observing. I'm performing it myself.
Local Detective: You're a medical doctor?
Scully: You sound surprised.
Local Detective: I don't know. I guess maybe I am.
Scully: Why?
Local Detective: It's nothing personal, Agent Scully. I'm just . . . old-fashioned in certain regards.
Scully: Old-fashioned?
Local Detective: The truth is, I question the wisdom of assigning female law-enforcement officers to certain types of cases.
Scully: Like this one?
Local Detective: Whoever killed Lauren Mackalvey has a definite attitude toward women, right? So this has to be affecting your judgment.
Scully: I appreciate your concern, Detective. But it's not necessary. All I want to do is solve this case, just like you.
Local Detective: Look, I'm not being sexist, here, I'm just being honest.
Scully: Where would you like the autopsy report sent?
Local Detective: You can fax it to my office.
So my apologies for quoting at such length, but, for serious? That's awesome. I don't remember this particular scene -- although I know I watched the episode at some point when I was a teenager -- but, for real, that's just fantastic. She doesn't engage. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't let it affect her. She just reacts, politely and firmly, to everything he says, letting him hang himself. And it's really -- almost a throwaway scene. Like I said, although I remember the fat-sucking villain of this particular ep, I don't specifically remember this or any other scene that dealt so directly with sexism. It doesn't have bearing on the plot, not really. And yet I'm so happy it's there. This is why Scully was a feminist icon, before Buffy, or Veronica Mars, or Kima, or Laura Roslin. Like any other compelling character, Scully gets into dangerous situations and must be rescued, and spends a fair amount of time rescuing Mulder from similar situations. Gillian Anderson is lauded -- rightly -- for her charisma, her acting chops, and the air of complete competence and unflappability which she imbues in Scully, and of course this sort of scene wouldn't work without that background.
But watching it, I was just so pleased that they put this scene in the show at all -- that they showed young women (like me! in my impressionable years) a role model who not only had the chops, but had the self-confidence to stand up for herself against this sort of thing, directly, publicly, out loud, on screen.
I love me my Buffy, and I love Veronica Mars, too, and the women on BSG. And in all those shows, people are confronted with sexism and deal with it intelligently and forthrightly. But it surprised and pleased me to note that for all the ways the X-Files has aged badly (and in many ways, it has) there remain some aspects that still resonate really powerfully.
Compare this to my other "feminist moment" of the day -- rather the opposite context. Now, obviously, there has been a lot of press about Hillary Clinton, and her speech, and her delegates, and all that. I find that I have nothing more to add on this topic -- clearly the coverage is overtly sexist, clearly the woman cannot win even the smallest bit of respect from her peers regardless of what she says, and clearly she is doing some amazing work in the face of those odds. But while that is all current, and supports my point, I would instead like to fight pop culture with pop culture, and note how far we haven't come by a different comparison.
It's not a secret that I have a certain amount of contempt for Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight Saga -- in which I am not alone. Oh, I've read the first few chapters of book one, and definitely flipped through parts of number four, since it sits on the counter at The Store, and all. (Hey, counterwork is boring when there's no one in the store.) Anyway, I had read enough, both of the books and of the publicity to know that a) I am not the target demographic for this book -- I am not nearly misunderstood enough and b) I am in fact so far out of the target demographic that I am actively repulsed by the concept.
Today I was talking to my old friend Algy, who also now works at a bookstore, and she was telling our group (moi, Short Stuff, and The Fable) about how she'd read the whole series. From what she said, and what I'd read myself, I am appalled. These are the lessons that the pop teen "classic" Breaking Dawn puts forth. (I know it would be much more fair and balanced to include quotations, rather than summaries. But I do not have a copy of that particular title.)
1) It's okay to have steamy sex with your undead lover, who likes to drink blood, and following that, allow him to turn you undead as well, but only if you get married to him first.
2) Should you have sex with aforementioned undead lover-turned-husband, and you come away covered in bruises from how roughly he has handled you, that is okay too, as long as you are "in love."
3) It is your undead husband's decision, not yours, whether or not to abort the half-undead baby you are carrying.
4) Should someone approach you, and offer to let you have sex with his wife, with whom you are in love and respect on her own merits, without her prior knowledge (or, one assumes, consent), the correct response is, "Ummm... sure!"
5) Nothing is more romantic than having your undead husband chew through your own (now undead) flesh into your womb and give you a personal, bite-by-bite C-section.
Call me old-fashioned, but give me Scully any day of the week. I mean... really those two lists speak for themselves, and I should shut up, but I honestly can't believe this. I didn't have the highest standards for my entertainment when I was in my teens, for sure, but I'm really glad that what I ended up drawn to was something like The X-Files rather than like Twilight. I'm glad my mom steered me (gently) in that direction, and I'm glad my little Sis is following those steps too. It's easy to forget what a difference it makes, until days like today, when it just slaps you in the face.
9.8.08
Denial, it Be Shrinking
Possibly because of the drought.
No, that's a really bad pun. My denial is actually shrinking because it has now become time to actually start thinking like a real grown-up person who is moving out of the country. Over the last twenty-four hours, information about my student visa, my accommodation (read: dorm room) and my semester schedule has come pouring in.
And may I just take a break and say getting a student visa is a job and a half. I don't know if it has always been such a pain in the butt or if everyone is all freaked out about terrorists or what, but they want more paperwork and qualifications than a new job and the DMV put together. It is ridiculous. (Real, honest-to-God questions: please describe your education history, starting from the age of 11. And then they pop out and ask, "Are you a terrorist?" Who the hell answers yes to that? What the hell good is it? Plus, I need my boss to write and sign a statement saying that I actually do work there, in addition to me bringing in my salary slips. Fox Mulder thinks you are too paranoid, people.) It is a huge pain and I loathe it. Loathe, loathe, loathe, I am almost tempted to compose a sonnet about how much I loathe it, but that would be giving them too much attention and also probably they would secretly research my blog and deny me my visa out of spite.
If you are the British Consulate in the US, um, psych! Just kidding! You're my favorite office this side of the DMV! Kisses!
On the plus side, I got my first choice out of the dorms -- it be cheap, AND it have internet. Hurray! Plus, you know, laundry and kitchen and stuff. It also looks pretty ridiculously tiny, but whatever -- like I'll care what my square footage is when I'm reading my Shakespeare.
I don't have my finalized schedule ("timetable," whatever) yet, but I have found out some of the classes I'll be taking. And whee! Very, very exciting. Obviously.
Still, all this info is making the whole happy-denial thing tough. And I was totally counting on Happy Denial; now that I do not have it to fall back on I am stuck in Scared And Stressed. Scared of going back abroad, stressed about what a huge pain-in-the-ass it is to go back abroad.
Oh, England. You and your theater. Damn your siren call.
No, that's a really bad pun. My denial is actually shrinking because it has now become time to actually start thinking like a real grown-up person who is moving out of the country. Over the last twenty-four hours, information about my student visa, my accommodation (read: dorm room) and my semester schedule has come pouring in.
And may I just take a break and say getting a student visa is a job and a half. I don't know if it has always been such a pain in the butt or if everyone is all freaked out about terrorists or what, but they want more paperwork and qualifications than a new job and the DMV put together. It is ridiculous. (Real, honest-to-God questions: please describe your education history, starting from the age of 11. And then they pop out and ask, "Are you a terrorist?" Who the hell answers yes to that? What the hell good is it? Plus, I need my boss to write and sign a statement saying that I actually do work there, in addition to me bringing in my salary slips. Fox Mulder thinks you are too paranoid, people.) It is a huge pain and I loathe it. Loathe, loathe, loathe, I am almost tempted to compose a sonnet about how much I loathe it, but that would be giving them too much attention and also probably they would secretly research my blog and deny me my visa out of spite.
If you are the British Consulate in the US, um, psych! Just kidding! You're my favorite office this side of the DMV! Kisses!
On the plus side, I got my first choice out of the dorms -- it be cheap, AND it have internet. Hurray! Plus, you know, laundry and kitchen and stuff. It also looks pretty ridiculously tiny, but whatever -- like I'll care what my square footage is when I'm reading my Shakespeare.
I don't have my finalized schedule ("timetable," whatever) yet, but I have found out some of the classes I'll be taking. And whee! Very, very exciting. Obviously.
Still, all this info is making the whole happy-denial thing tough. And I was totally counting on Happy Denial; now that I do not have it to fall back on I am stuck in Scared And Stressed. Scared of going back abroad, stressed about what a huge pain-in-the-ass it is to go back abroad.
Oh, England. You and your theater. Damn your siren call.
6.8.08
The Cliche at This Point Would Be, "Once More Into the Breach . . ."
So I'm back. I desisted from this blog for a full six months, since my life was too full and I was keeping up with people in other ways. But as I prepare to decamp once more into parts European, I figure I'd better get back in the habit.
So, in my life right now? A list! Because that takes the pressure off.
1) Why does the UK Visa application hate me so much? Listen, I so promise not to be a terrorist or do anything bad if you promise to just let me study your damn playwright in your damn country. It's a compliment! Quit asking me all these damn questions!
2) I am not-so-secretly loving the DD's latest project - Monologue Club. It's like Directing Lite. All the fun, none of the pressure; plus I get to see my IHH ducklings. Marry me, Monologue Club.
3) If anyone were to ask, no, I am not going to England for grad school. I am going to study Shakespeare somewhere removed but vaguely nearby, perhaps in the stratosphere just above everyone's heads, and I am going to come home on weekends. Yes, this is how I deal. Flat denial. Moving to another continent? Again? Me? Please!
4) But I am totally going to be taking a course called "Weapons in the Elizabethan Theater" this semester. No denial about that, no sirree Bob, because that is awesome.
5) I am hungry. Stupid hunger.
So, in my life right now? A list! Because that takes the pressure off.
1) Why does the UK Visa application hate me so much? Listen, I so promise not to be a terrorist or do anything bad if you promise to just let me study your damn playwright in your damn country. It's a compliment! Quit asking me all these damn questions!
2) I am not-so-secretly loving the DD's latest project - Monologue Club. It's like Directing Lite. All the fun, none of the pressure; plus I get to see my IHH ducklings. Marry me, Monologue Club.
3) If anyone were to ask, no, I am not going to England for grad school. I am going to study Shakespeare somewhere removed but vaguely nearby, perhaps in the stratosphere just above everyone's heads, and I am going to come home on weekends. Yes, this is how I deal. Flat denial. Moving to another continent? Again? Me? Please!
4) But I am totally going to be taking a course called "Weapons in the Elizabethan Theater" this semester. No denial about that, no sirree Bob, because that is awesome.
5) I am hungry. Stupid hunger.
14.2.08
Ketchup
So I know it's been a full month since I've written, and I apologize, in that rather self-centered bloggy way, for not updating you all on the intricacies of my life more often. It's due to a combination of lack of time and a total stress-out. I still have no time -- in fact, I have less than ever -- but I'm starting to wriggle my way out of questioning every single one of my actions and back into a more healthy life outlook.
The time suck is of course, rehearsals; I'm now working only 28 hours a week at The Store, and 22 hours a week on The Winter Thing. Which adds up kind of quickly, as my complete exhaustion demonstrates.
That's also been kind of a major source of stress, because I care about this winter thing so VERY much. It's theater, it's Shaw, it's professional (although they don't pay me), it's with the OS, there are many, many ways I was terrified of screwing this up. It's taken me nearly these whole first couple of weeks to lose my shyness enough to interact with people while we're on breaks. But I am happy to say that I'm finally beginning to drop in and make friends. And contributions! I'm beginning to average one real contribution as AD per night (knock on wood!), aside from the assorted general tasks of assisting Kissums (our delightful stage manager), being on book and the occasional stand-in, and apparently giving clues by my body language.
Which I don't mean to do at all, but... see, Kissums and I tend to sit in the front row, her taking blocking notes and me on book, while we work on staging. The OS sits a couple rows back, so that she can see the stage pictures more clearly. Only semi-consciously, I seem to react to the blocking, nodding when I like something and cringing or shaking my head when I don't. It's about nine-tenths instinct, and while I occasionally notice that I'm doing it, I don't really do it on purpose or with definite intent. But the OS apparently notices, because she's begun saying things like, "Oh, this got the [petitechica] stamp of approval, it must be good." I hold the OS in such awe that it seems patently odd to me that she would care what I think of her stage pictures, but there it is. And very exciting it is, too.
Of course now the major source of stress is this decision I'm trying to make about grad school next year. Oh, if only money grew on trees, and also the exchange rates were a little better. But I'm starting to deal with that now too, and it helps that it seems to be very impressive to everyone (including the OS, the DD, the cast, and the parentals, who mostly tend to think I should go for it) that I got in in the first place. No final decision has been reached, but I have put my first reaction of blind terror far enough aside that I'm getting the tools to make the decision final. If that makes any sense.
Righty-oh. I had to get all that out, but now I must prep for my twelve-hour day tomorrow. By sleeping.
The time suck is of course, rehearsals; I'm now working only 28 hours a week at The Store, and 22 hours a week on The Winter Thing. Which adds up kind of quickly, as my complete exhaustion demonstrates.
That's also been kind of a major source of stress, because I care about this winter thing so VERY much. It's theater, it's Shaw, it's professional (although they don't pay me), it's with the OS, there are many, many ways I was terrified of screwing this up. It's taken me nearly these whole first couple of weeks to lose my shyness enough to interact with people while we're on breaks. But I am happy to say that I'm finally beginning to drop in and make friends. And contributions! I'm beginning to average one real contribution as AD per night (knock on wood!), aside from the assorted general tasks of assisting Kissums (our delightful stage manager), being on book and the occasional stand-in, and apparently giving clues by my body language.
Which I don't mean to do at all, but... see, Kissums and I tend to sit in the front row, her taking blocking notes and me on book, while we work on staging. The OS sits a couple rows back, so that she can see the stage pictures more clearly. Only semi-consciously, I seem to react to the blocking, nodding when I like something and cringing or shaking my head when I don't. It's about nine-tenths instinct, and while I occasionally notice that I'm doing it, I don't really do it on purpose or with definite intent. But the OS apparently notices, because she's begun saying things like, "Oh, this got the [petitechica] stamp of approval, it must be good." I hold the OS in such awe that it seems patently odd to me that she would care what I think of her stage pictures, but there it is. And very exciting it is, too.
Of course now the major source of stress is this decision I'm trying to make about grad school next year. Oh, if only money grew on trees, and also the exchange rates were a little better. But I'm starting to deal with that now too, and it helps that it seems to be very impressive to everyone (including the OS, the DD, the cast, and the parentals, who mostly tend to think I should go for it) that I got in in the first place. No final decision has been reached, but I have put my first reaction of blind terror far enough aside that I'm getting the tools to make the decision final. If that makes any sense.
Righty-oh. I had to get all that out, but now I must prep for my twelve-hour day tomorrow. By sleeping.
13.1.08
Some Uncensored Opinions
So there's some stuff I feel the need to express. If you don't like swearing and/or curmudgeoning, feel free to skip this.
1. Barack Obama drives me fucking nuts. I liked him back when he'd only written ONE book. Now his grinning mug is everywhere, and his shtick is becoming clear, and I am SO OVER him. Hillary has my vote, that's how annoyed I am.
2. That said, I am so fucking sick of this election already. Just vote how you want to vote, people, and then we'll see who wins, won't we? Meantime, shut the fuck up already.
3. That book you're buying? Is stupid. No, shut up. It is. Stupid. I'm just saying.
4. New computer! Yay! I love my new computer. I want to marry it. It has a little camera and it can have more than one program open at a time without crashing.
5. That said, Best Buy could be a hell of a lot more specific on its website about which games are supported for which systems. And your games-for-Macs selection? Sucks ASS. Bejeweled. Jesus Christ. For one thing, I can play that for free online, and for another, my little sister's game where she's a jumping piece of gum is way more interesting.
Thus ends the curmudgeoning of the day.
1. Barack Obama drives me fucking nuts. I liked him back when he'd only written ONE book. Now his grinning mug is everywhere, and his shtick is becoming clear, and I am SO OVER him. Hillary has my vote, that's how annoyed I am.
2. That said, I am so fucking sick of this election already. Just vote how you want to vote, people, and then we'll see who wins, won't we? Meantime, shut the fuck up already.
3. That book you're buying? Is stupid. No, shut up. It is. Stupid. I'm just saying.
4. New computer! Yay! I love my new computer. I want to marry it. It has a little camera and it can have more than one program open at a time without crashing.
5. That said, Best Buy could be a hell of a lot more specific on its website about which games are supported for which systems. And your games-for-Macs selection? Sucks ASS. Bejeweled. Jesus Christ. For one thing, I can play that for free online, and for another, my little sister's game where she's a jumping piece of gum is way more interesting.
Thus ends the curmudgeoning of the day.
28.12.07
Unpopular Opinion
Okay, I know -- I know -- that Loyal is going to kill me for saying it, and the DD will be none too pleased, and all that. And I am really sorry. But I have to get it off my chest.
I just reread The Golden Compass. And, well. It had all the problems I remembered it having.
To get a few things out of the way -- it's a good book. I've got no qualms with it theologically. I'd still recommend it to people, I certainly don't have anything against people who like it. I just bought the whole trilogy from the Store, because my sister STOLE my copies. (She has stolen so many of my books. Eeeeevil.)
But with all that said, it just doesn't hang together quite as well as Pullman seems to think it does. For one thing, Lyra is just not that sympathetic to me. She's like Hamlet -- she reads like a symbolic figure, not a realistic character. And I know she all ends up being Eve, and prophecy this, and chosen one that, but Harry Potter managed to be all prophesied about and chosen and Christlike and all and still managed to make me care about his family life, which is something I just can't muster up for Lyra. She gets better in the later books, and I like Will okay, but they both necessarily have a mixture of mature world-weariness and childlike cluelessness which I don't find remotely convincing.
And really, I think the whole story kind of has that problem. The daemons, for example, are a really interesting idea, and fun to speculate about and give a lot to the story, and all that. And yet, I still feel like they're there for the express purpose of giving the reader a clear symbol of childhood and adulthood. I feel like the whole idea is there because of that one Bible passage at the end of book one. And certain things about it just aren't adequately explained.
Fundamentally, too, I just disagree with the notion that the only way to become an adult is through some form of sexual initiation. Lyra suffers the horrible guilt of causing a friend's death, she is forced to choose between separating herself from her own soul and betraying her friend yet again, she is betrayed and held captive by her father, her mother, and several others, if memory serves, and yet she doesn't reach spiritual adulthood until she discovers the joys of making out with a twelve-year-old? It seems to me that the device of the daemons and their permanent form is so that the reader has a way of knowing when Pullman thinks Lyra has grown up, because otherwise it really would be completely unclear. To me being an adult has a lot to do with learning to take responsibility for your actions, and the consequences they have on other people, not anything necessarily physical. I realize that some people don't seem to ever hit this milestone -- or give no evidence of having hit it, anyway -- but some people are never sexually initiated, either, or not until they're in their twenties or thirties or forties. The idea just seems shoddy to me in certain ways.
But that's really my problem with the whole thing, the whole book, the whole series. It's so detailed and vivid and well-thought-out, and everything is there, and yet in certain ways it seems written not to tell a story, but to prove a point, to make a statement, and that just annoys me, every time. I don't mind books that say true things about life, obviously -- hi, degree in philosophy. But a book like Pride and Prejudice, a poem like Tintern Abbey, a play like Arcadia -- they tell me different things every time I read them, based on where I am, and what I'm thinking about, and what parts I choose to focus on. With His Dark Materials, there is some of that, but there's also some of the feeling that the only two possible responses are to disagree with Pullman or to agree with him, and in the end, that's not very interesting. Because in some ways I agree, and in some ways I disagree, but I can't do much give and take if the author doesn't allow me any leeway.
Please don't hate me, Loyal. If it makes you feel any better, I have really similar problems with Hamlet, and to some degree even The Chronicles of Narnia. And Squeak forgave me Hamlet, and Jay (from college) forgave me Narnia. And hey, you can always dismiss me as a moron who sometimes has been known to pay good money to watch The O.C. (Soooo shallow. My only excuse is that I had a Christmas present to finish making.)
I just reread The Golden Compass. And, well. It had all the problems I remembered it having.
To get a few things out of the way -- it's a good book. I've got no qualms with it theologically. I'd still recommend it to people, I certainly don't have anything against people who like it. I just bought the whole trilogy from the Store, because my sister STOLE my copies. (She has stolen so many of my books. Eeeeevil.)
But with all that said, it just doesn't hang together quite as well as Pullman seems to think it does. For one thing, Lyra is just not that sympathetic to me. She's like Hamlet -- she reads like a symbolic figure, not a realistic character. And I know she all ends up being Eve, and prophecy this, and chosen one that, but Harry Potter managed to be all prophesied about and chosen and Christlike and all and still managed to make me care about his family life, which is something I just can't muster up for Lyra. She gets better in the later books, and I like Will okay, but they both necessarily have a mixture of mature world-weariness and childlike cluelessness which I don't find remotely convincing.
And really, I think the whole story kind of has that problem. The daemons, for example, are a really interesting idea, and fun to speculate about and give a lot to the story, and all that. And yet, I still feel like they're there for the express purpose of giving the reader a clear symbol of childhood and adulthood. I feel like the whole idea is there because of that one Bible passage at the end of book one. And certain things about it just aren't adequately explained.
Fundamentally, too, I just disagree with the notion that the only way to become an adult is through some form of sexual initiation. Lyra suffers the horrible guilt of causing a friend's death, she is forced to choose between separating herself from her own soul and betraying her friend yet again, she is betrayed and held captive by her father, her mother, and several others, if memory serves, and yet she doesn't reach spiritual adulthood until she discovers the joys of making out with a twelve-year-old? It seems to me that the device of the daemons and their permanent form is so that the reader has a way of knowing when Pullman thinks Lyra has grown up, because otherwise it really would be completely unclear. To me being an adult has a lot to do with learning to take responsibility for your actions, and the consequences they have on other people, not anything necessarily physical. I realize that some people don't seem to ever hit this milestone -- or give no evidence of having hit it, anyway -- but some people are never sexually initiated, either, or not until they're in their twenties or thirties or forties. The idea just seems shoddy to me in certain ways.
But that's really my problem with the whole thing, the whole book, the whole series. It's so detailed and vivid and well-thought-out, and everything is there, and yet in certain ways it seems written not to tell a story, but to prove a point, to make a statement, and that just annoys me, every time. I don't mind books that say true things about life, obviously -- hi, degree in philosophy. But a book like Pride and Prejudice, a poem like Tintern Abbey, a play like Arcadia -- they tell me different things every time I read them, based on where I am, and what I'm thinking about, and what parts I choose to focus on. With His Dark Materials, there is some of that, but there's also some of the feeling that the only two possible responses are to disagree with Pullman or to agree with him, and in the end, that's not very interesting. Because in some ways I agree, and in some ways I disagree, but I can't do much give and take if the author doesn't allow me any leeway.
Please don't hate me, Loyal. If it makes you feel any better, I have really similar problems with Hamlet, and to some degree even The Chronicles of Narnia. And Squeak forgave me Hamlet, and Jay (from college) forgave me Narnia. And hey, you can always dismiss me as a moron who sometimes has been known to pay good money to watch The O.C. (Soooo shallow. My only excuse is that I had a Christmas present to finish making.)
13.12.07
Questions... Questions That Need Answering
These are my questions today:
1. Who is going to crack me up today? The Christmas season is annoying in certain ways (obviously) but there seem to be higher percentages of customers who ... how can I say this? Who could easily be satirized in a Jane Austen novel, how about that. Like the older couple in last Monday, who appeared so confused that I stopped "shelving" (read: reading) and asked if they needed help. I got them sorted out, and heard the woman tell her husband triumphantly, "You see, Frank? All we had to do was ask!"
2. What does The Guy I Have My Eye On think about me? I know, I know, so shallow. But I haven't gone remotely ga-ga over a boy in almost a year and a half, so I am due. And this guy is cute and sweet and polite, and I can't tell if he has his eye on me back, or if he's just a nice guy. And there is no one I can ask.
3. When is the guy whose room I took going to move off the couch? He's a nice guy, and I totally understand the legarthy that seizes one at the prospect of moving out, especially packing up one's stuff and moving to another country, but they put the ad in, I only answered it, and it has been a full month since I moved in. Again, I have no objections to him personally, but the house really isn't big enough for four, and he spends forever in the bathroom.
4. Where are all these ants coming from? Look, my friends, the buffet table is CLOSED. I thought I made that perfectly clear when I took all the dirty dishes out of my room and then squirted you all with Windex.
5. How am I going to find time to go to the city and get my nose ring adjusted? Which it needs, sometime before Christmas. In broader terms, how is it that I have loads of time to spend goofing off checking my email and such, and none at all to do the research I am supposed to be doing? How can I make time for dates with old college chums (not date-dates, see above. Just hang-out dates) but not to sit down at the library and do some good old-fashioned research? How does my internal time management even work?
6. Why don't I like any modern playwrights except Stoppard? I saw a play last night, by an award-winning playwright, and it seriously just sounded like Lionel's efforts from season two of Slings & Arrows. I mean, don't get me wrong, the staging was excellent and the story reasonably compelling, but the dialogue just... did nothing for me. Why is that? It's not just this guy, it's pretty much any play that's been written in the last twenty or thirty years, except musicals, Stoppard, and the short plays my friend Tangy used to write when we were teenagers.
1. Who is going to crack me up today? The Christmas season is annoying in certain ways (obviously) but there seem to be higher percentages of customers who ... how can I say this? Who could easily be satirized in a Jane Austen novel, how about that. Like the older couple in last Monday, who appeared so confused that I stopped "shelving" (read: reading) and asked if they needed help. I got them sorted out, and heard the woman tell her husband triumphantly, "You see, Frank? All we had to do was ask!"
2. What does The Guy I Have My Eye On think about me? I know, I know, so shallow. But I haven't gone remotely ga-ga over a boy in almost a year and a half, so I am due. And this guy is cute and sweet and polite, and I can't tell if he has his eye on me back, or if he's just a nice guy. And there is no one I can ask.
3. When is the guy whose room I took going to move off the couch? He's a nice guy, and I totally understand the legarthy that seizes one at the prospect of moving out, especially packing up one's stuff and moving to another country, but they put the ad in, I only answered it, and it has been a full month since I moved in. Again, I have no objections to him personally, but the house really isn't big enough for four, and he spends forever in the bathroom.
4. Where are all these ants coming from? Look, my friends, the buffet table is CLOSED. I thought I made that perfectly clear when I took all the dirty dishes out of my room and then squirted you all with Windex.
5. How am I going to find time to go to the city and get my nose ring adjusted? Which it needs, sometime before Christmas. In broader terms, how is it that I have loads of time to spend goofing off checking my email and such, and none at all to do the research I am supposed to be doing? How can I make time for dates with old college chums (not date-dates, see above. Just hang-out dates) but not to sit down at the library and do some good old-fashioned research? How does my internal time management even work?
6. Why don't I like any modern playwrights except Stoppard? I saw a play last night, by an award-winning playwright, and it seriously just sounded like Lionel's efforts from season two of Slings & Arrows. I mean, don't get me wrong, the staging was excellent and the story reasonably compelling, but the dialogue just... did nothing for me. Why is that? It's not just this guy, it's pretty much any play that's been written in the last twenty or thirty years, except musicals, Stoppard, and the short plays my friend Tangy used to write when we were teenagers.
6.12.07
Not FAIR
You know what is not fair? Do you know what is playing in London right now? Right this very moment?
-Patrick Stewart is playing Macbeth
-Ian McKellan is playing King Lear
-Ewan McGregor is playing Iago
I mean, shit. AND I AM MISSING IT!!! All of it, I am missing. All that is going on, and I am stuck here where I cannot see a bit of it. SO SAD.
I don't miss Europe, but if I were there right now, I can tell you, I would be in London seeing this stuff. For a long weekend, at the very least. Possibly two or three long weekends so I could see it two or three times. (Shut up, London theater is wicked cheap.) Sometimes I am here and I think about it and jump up and down with frustration.
Of course, if I weren't here, would I be helping the OS cast a show? Not so much. So...
-Patrick Stewart is playing Macbeth
-Ian McKellan is playing King Lear
-Ewan McGregor is playing Iago
I mean, shit. AND I AM MISSING IT!!! All of it, I am missing. All that is going on, and I am stuck here where I cannot see a bit of it. SO SAD.
I don't miss Europe, but if I were there right now, I can tell you, I would be in London seeing this stuff. For a long weekend, at the very least. Possibly two or three long weekends so I could see it two or three times. (Shut up, London theater is wicked cheap.) Sometimes I am here and I think about it and jump up and down with frustration.
Of course, if I weren't here, would I be helping the OS cast a show? Not so much. So...
Cast, Cast, Cast, Cast
We are (knock on a lot of wood) basically cast for The Winter Thing. The last round of auditions was today, and everyone feels pretty good about the final part. And yay!
I really like our cast. But even more than I like them, I'm anxious to see them play off each other. If we (by which I mean mostly the OS, of course) can take these people and this script and build it into this really beautiful ensemble show, it will be so far beyond awesome. Ah, the fun of having so much potential and then the headache of having to live up to it! But it is so exciting for me to be working on it. ("Working" in the loosest sense of the word, of course. Mostly I stay quiet, and note things, and think about them.) But it gives me so much to think about, and of course I learn a lot every time I go in there. In a couple weeks I'll get to sit in on a design meeting, which will be really interesting (and informative. I suck at design).
I am of course, the country bumpkin. But I am the country bumpkin who is there, not the one who can't seem to break in anywhere, and that's one of the things I love. As well as the theater itself, of course!
I really like our cast. But even more than I like them, I'm anxious to see them play off each other. If we (by which I mean mostly the OS, of course) can take these people and this script and build it into this really beautiful ensemble show, it will be so far beyond awesome. Ah, the fun of having so much potential and then the headache of having to live up to it! But it is so exciting for me to be working on it. ("Working" in the loosest sense of the word, of course. Mostly I stay quiet, and note things, and think about them.) But it gives me so much to think about, and of course I learn a lot every time I go in there. In a couple weeks I'll get to sit in on a design meeting, which will be really interesting (and informative. I suck at design).
I am of course, the country bumpkin. But I am the country bumpkin who is there, not the one who can't seem to break in anywhere, and that's one of the things I love. As well as the theater itself, of course!
24.11.07
Crisis of American Values
All those reports about how Americans read only like four books a year or whatever, and no one can read anymore? Whoever did those studies needs to spend a week working retail in a bookstore in December. (For God's sake, it's not even December yet. It's bad enough now Thanksgiving is past.) Also all those people who were like, oh, there's a recession, so post-Thanksgiving sales are down, and blah blah blah. They should work retail too.
Because it's all nonsense. The world is full to bursting with people who want books, and aren't sure what books they want, and and are appalled -- appalled, I tell you! -- when we don't have the book they aren't sure they want, and do we have any recommendations for a blind parakeet who hates books and can't read, and why not, don't we call ourselves a bookstore?
Sweet Christ, does no one stay home and watch TV anymore?
Because it's all nonsense. The world is full to bursting with people who want books, and aren't sure what books they want, and and are appalled -- appalled, I tell you! -- when we don't have the book they aren't sure they want, and do we have any recommendations for a blind parakeet who hates books and can't read, and why not, don't we call ourselves a bookstore?
Sweet Christ, does no one stay home and watch TV anymore?
The World Makes Sense Again
Is it only me who has this bizarre sense of relaxation when her room is clean? Perhaps my mother scarred me at an early age. But as ways to relax go, it's a relatively simple -- if sadly rare -- one. And last Wednesday I got it in spades, as I unpacked my last box, took out my last trash bag, and threw my back out with my last piece of furniture. So of course I spent Turkey Day hobbling about and getting my small cousin to walk along my spine.
Other than that, Turkey Day was great fun. Good food, family, chess. I teamed up with a couple of family members against my uncle, who is actually good at chess. He gave us a bishop to even it up a little, and between that and coaching from my stepdad (what I actually mean by "coaching" is that every time my hand moved toward a piece, he would raise his eyebrows and inquire, "Are you sure you want to do that?") I actually made it in to a fairly even endgame. then my brain failed and I went off to play with more relaxing family members.
But now I am back home and have the benefit of the clean room and cookies from my grandma, and it is all very wholesome and relaxing. Plus, I got a holiday bonus today, which, double yay! Just when I was starting to use up my credit! So all is peaceful and happy, except that there was another round of callbacks today (which I sadly could not attend) and now I really want to know how the OS cast the show. I'm not antsy, like I would be if I were somehow up for a part or something, but I still really want to know. It's the same kind of overpowering academic interest that leads me to buy so many books.
That's what I mean about my life making sense, you know?
Other than that, Turkey Day was great fun. Good food, family, chess. I teamed up with a couple of family members against my uncle, who is actually good at chess. He gave us a bishop to even it up a little, and between that and coaching from my stepdad (what I actually mean by "coaching" is that every time my hand moved toward a piece, he would raise his eyebrows and inquire, "Are you sure you want to do that?") I actually made it in to a fairly even endgame. then my brain failed and I went off to play with more relaxing family members.
But now I am back home and have the benefit of the clean room and cookies from my grandma, and it is all very wholesome and relaxing. Plus, I got a holiday bonus today, which, double yay! Just when I was starting to use up my credit! So all is peaceful and happy, except that there was another round of callbacks today (which I sadly could not attend) and now I really want to know how the OS cast the show. I'm not antsy, like I would be if I were somehow up for a part or something, but I still really want to know. It's the same kind of overpowering academic interest that leads me to buy so many books.
That's what I mean about my life making sense, you know?
17.11.07
Little House Near the Train Tracks
I'm moved! I've moved! It's so exciting.
I'm still unpacking, of course, and I need a few more things before I'll be truly settled, but I've made great strides and I am loving the new place. My own room! Sleeping on a bed again! having most of my books out so I can read them at will! All in all, I am extremely pleased.
Of course, I still need a dresser, and groceries are expensive, and I can no longer walk to work. But the good far outweighs the bad.
I'm still unpacking, of course, and I need a few more things before I'll be truly settled, but I've made great strides and I am loving the new place. My own room! Sleeping on a bed again! having most of my books out so I can read them at will! All in all, I am extremely pleased.
Of course, I still need a dresser, and groceries are expensive, and I can no longer walk to work. But the good far outweighs the bad.
13.11.07
Maybe I Should Just Cut and Paste That Last Entry and Use it as a Default
For this week, at least. What do I like? Theater. What do I hate? Packing. What is just there? Work.
And... that was yesterday. First work, which mostly went well, although by the end I was tired and hungry and therefore over-sensitive. Then dinner with dad, which was good. I tried to explain about casting and how we only get a total of two AEA people, one of whom has been cast, and why that made it difficult. I'm not sure how much Dad appreciated the explanation, but heh.
Then I got home, and forayed into the basement. Sigh. On the plus side, I accomplished some good stuff; I found lots of stuff I was pleased to see again, and many things were sorted. ("Trash or Sell", "Storage", "Taking With Unless There's No Room In Which Case Storage," "Definitely Take With," "Um, Where in God's Name Did I Pick That Up?") On the minus side, I have butt-ton of crap, most of which is now dirty and/or bent out of shape from its life below stairs. Anyway, I burned out on that, came back upstairs, and tried to stretch my back back into shape (of course my back picks the weekend that I'm moving to throw itself out. Of course).
And then got on a long phone call with the OS about callbacks, namely how we are scheduling them, how we absolutely don't have enough time for them AT ALL, which sides we are making the actors read, where those sides should begin and end, is that one side too long, but if it is, how do we cut it down, because it's got great transitions and it's all important, and God, Shaw, why can't you make this guy shut up occasionally, etc., etc., etc. It sounds crazy but it was great fun. Eventually we just had to read the sides aloud and time them.
The fact that I love conversations like that is another tick in the "director" column. After auditions on Sunday it was lunch with the OS and her friend, an actor who read opposite the auditioning people, and we were talking about whom to call back. More than once he was like, I'm glad it's you two making the decisions and not me. And I sort of see what he means, because I'm glad that the OS has the final say and I don't, because I trust her judgment a lot more than I trust mine. But that doesn't stop me from having actual really clear and defined opinions about people, and casting, and seeing people opposite and all that. And looking at how a bunch of disparate things work together and enjoying trying to make them make sense.
(I like ticks in the director column, even as they make me a little uncomfortable. They make me feel like I'm being myself, which is nice; but it's odd to think about it as something I'm good at, because I still feel like everyone in the world could do it better than me if they just put their mind to it, so I end up feeling presumptuous. ADing for the OS is a really good middle ground between those feelings, what with the her listening to me and then making her own decisions.)
Ah, the ramblings of the post-collegiate. Someone needs to smack me.
Today, I have lunch with the DD. Lunch with the DD and the OS in the same week! So happy. I swear to God, one day I am going to introduce them to each other and then just... stand back. It will be great. And I will feel awkward because I am actually taller than both of them, which just feels so wrong.
Anyway. Yes, lunch with the DD. Who says she has made me a birthday cake, possibly because she is one of the sweetest people ever. And we will talk about how she is really for reals restarting PRs, and how that is some of the best news ever. (She's starting with the perfect combo, too.)
Okay, now I'm really just putting off packing and working and moving. HAAAAAAAAATE. I could ramble on about this stuff all day if it meant I didn't have to pack, but alas. I do have to pack. I have to pack and do laundry, all the livelong day. And cough until I choke on my own mucous. It is extremely irritating.
And... that was yesterday. First work, which mostly went well, although by the end I was tired and hungry and therefore over-sensitive. Then dinner with dad, which was good. I tried to explain about casting and how we only get a total of two AEA people, one of whom has been cast, and why that made it difficult. I'm not sure how much Dad appreciated the explanation, but heh.
Then I got home, and forayed into the basement. Sigh. On the plus side, I accomplished some good stuff; I found lots of stuff I was pleased to see again, and many things were sorted. ("Trash or Sell", "Storage", "Taking With Unless There's No Room In Which Case Storage," "Definitely Take With," "Um, Where in God's Name Did I Pick That Up?") On the minus side, I have butt-ton of crap, most of which is now dirty and/or bent out of shape from its life below stairs. Anyway, I burned out on that, came back upstairs, and tried to stretch my back back into shape (of course my back picks the weekend that I'm moving to throw itself out. Of course).
And then got on a long phone call with the OS about callbacks, namely how we are scheduling them, how we absolutely don't have enough time for them AT ALL, which sides we are making the actors read, where those sides should begin and end, is that one side too long, but if it is, how do we cut it down, because it's got great transitions and it's all important, and God, Shaw, why can't you make this guy shut up occasionally, etc., etc., etc. It sounds crazy but it was great fun. Eventually we just had to read the sides aloud and time them.
The fact that I love conversations like that is another tick in the "director" column. After auditions on Sunday it was lunch with the OS and her friend, an actor who read opposite the auditioning people, and we were talking about whom to call back. More than once he was like, I'm glad it's you two making the decisions and not me. And I sort of see what he means, because I'm glad that the OS has the final say and I don't, because I trust her judgment a lot more than I trust mine. But that doesn't stop me from having actual really clear and defined opinions about people, and casting, and seeing people opposite and all that. And looking at how a bunch of disparate things work together and enjoying trying to make them make sense.
(I like ticks in the director column, even as they make me a little uncomfortable. They make me feel like I'm being myself, which is nice; but it's odd to think about it as something I'm good at, because I still feel like everyone in the world could do it better than me if they just put their mind to it, so I end up feeling presumptuous. ADing for the OS is a really good middle ground between those feelings, what with the her listening to me and then making her own decisions.)
Ah, the ramblings of the post-collegiate. Someone needs to smack me.
Today, I have lunch with the DD. Lunch with the DD and the OS in the same week! So happy. I swear to God, one day I am going to introduce them to each other and then just... stand back. It will be great. And I will feel awkward because I am actually taller than both of them, which just feels so wrong.
Anyway. Yes, lunch with the DD. Who says she has made me a birthday cake, possibly because she is one of the sweetest people ever. And we will talk about how she is really for reals restarting PRs, and how that is some of the best news ever. (She's starting with the perfect combo, too.)
Okay, now I'm really just putting off packing and working and moving. HAAAAAAAAATE. I could ramble on about this stuff all day if it meant I didn't have to pack, but alas. I do have to pack. I have to pack and do laundry, all the livelong day. And cough until I choke on my own mucous. It is extremely irritating.
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