*DEAD*

I considered many various witty (?) and descriptive (?) titles, but, in the end, this seems to encapsulate everything.

I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!

On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.

Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.

Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.

Blink.

"Damn."

Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.

Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!

Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.

Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.

And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.

I'm one degree from Kirsten Dunst!

Ask me how!

Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.

I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.

Speaking of stupid.

Lost is back!

Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.

[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]

He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??

Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.

Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.

Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.

[End Spoiler]

I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!

I'm sorry if my aunt is one of the worst hurricanes on record.

So, hurricanes, man. Of all the things you can say about them, I've chosen to pick perhaps one of the least important aspects of them and make a fuss over it.

The naming of them.

Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.

Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.

Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.

What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.

Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.

Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)

I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.

It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.

It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.

Oh, yeah, incidentally?

I'M FUCKING BALD!!!

My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.

Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!

I have no hair!

A haircut, a real job, and the attainment thereof.

So far, I've been paid to have people dress me up and do my hair.

I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.

In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.

AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.

I like this aspect.

An editorial from the Times-Picayune, September 6, by Chris Rose.

Louisiana ambassadors say hello

Dear America,

I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.

We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.

And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.

First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.

We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.

Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.

We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.

You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.

We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.

But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.

Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.

Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?

We can't really explain that. It is what it is.

You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.

The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.

We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.

When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.

But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.

OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.

But what the hell.

And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.

So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.

That is our promise. That is our faith.

That's all I was looking for.

"But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us 'Sin City,' and turned your backs.

Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."

-- Anne Rice   September 4, 2005

NATTY GANN!

I was fitted for costumes today. I don't want to say anything until I'm stuck in front of a camera, because crazy paranoia has settled in.

Anyway, I was shuffled in front of the costume designer for inspection. Then the nice fellow dressing me took me back to make some alterations. I asked him if we'd show the costume director again when we were done, and he looked at me with this look of terror, waved his hands and shook his head a little when he said "Oh no." In the same quiet voice he went on to explain that the short little old man I'd just met had won two Oscars. It was kind of awesome and hilarious.

He's also been nominated for three other projects. One of which. Is The Journey Of Natty Gann.

I am more excited about this than anything else so far. I'm so serious. You have no idea.

Wait, what?

Okay. So. Last week on the 18th (which, incidentally, was my cousin's 25th birthday) I was not at work. Beth figured this out because I was not using webmail, which formats my emails differently then they are usually formatted. But I didn't really tell anybody beforehand. I told Beth, obviously. And Lauren.

I went to an audition for this movie, directed by this director and starring a young acclaimed actress. It has something to do with the Beatles but not directly. They said, "dress up like 60s people." And so I did, purchasing a dress from the internet in short order and doing my hair and makeup as best I was able. I decided to be a mod (heeee) since I was sure 90% of everybody would be showing up as hippies. I think I was totally right.

Pictures, incidentally, are available. I'm either totally pretty or depressingly hideous, depending on my mood.

Also, according to the form I filled out, this film may have naked people in it. I'll totally not be one of them.

I got a call yesterday morning from a fellow named Robert. It was around noon, so I was totally still in bed and I got up to check the phone, which was displaying "Unavailable#." Interesting, but I went back to sleep until I felt I could adequately did with things. And I showered and got dressed before I listened to the message, because I'm weird.

He wanted to know about my availability. For the movie. And then I had a orderly conversation, and scheduled an appointment to be fitted for costume. And then I called my mother and spent 15 minutes hopping around.

... Keen-eyed readers may have noticed that I am not at my house.

Poor Tiny Lauren!

She's going to have to buy so many movie tickets!

Just because I'm going to be in some movie about the Beatles.

HOLY CRAP!


...Extra. But, still.

Strong baritone!

"He is brash, defiant, and bold. He breaks all the rules and never gives up. Makes his own way in the world and has a strong sense of morality. Should be tall and striking. A rock or movie star presence. Strong baritone."

Holy crap. I can't believe this show is really getting made. It's so crazy.


In news that is very unrelated ... today is my Aunt Rose's birthday. She is 92 years old.

How did that happen!

I just made a rather enormous insect disappear. I didn't even have to use clever Latin! Seriously. It was in my bathroom. On the ceiling. I have no idea what it was, but it looked like a cross between a cricket and a giant moth. Maybe. Something. I don't know. It had really long antennae. My instinct was that it probably wouldn't try to kill me, but holy crap was it a large bug.

I grabbed a magazine with which to attempt to brush it down off the ceiling. It actually took me several attempts, even though my ceiling isn't that high, because of the stumpy nature of my limbs. But finally, I got it.

And then it disappeared. I didn't smash it, just swooshed it. And then it was gone. I checked the places I thought it might be. In my hair? On my clothes? In my hair? In my clothes? On me? In my hair? Towels? On my clothes? Floor? In my hair? In the magazine? On my legs?

People. It disappeared. I can't think of any other explanation of how this rather large, rather slow moving thing was in my line of sight and then no where to be found a fraction of a second later.

Unless it's in my hair.


... It's not in my hair.


I got a dress today. It came in the mail. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm dressing up. It promises to be great.

Awesome.

You scored as Albus Dumbledore. Strong and powerful you admirably defend your world and your charges against those who would seek to harm them. However sometimes you can fail to do what you must because you care too much to cause suffering. Albus Dumbledore 90% Hermione Granger 85% Severus Snape 70% Remus Lupin 70% Ginny Weasley 65% Harry Potter 60% Lord Voldemort 55% Draco Malfoy 55% Sirius Black 55% Ron Weasley 45% Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...? created with QuizFarm.com

"There's no place like 127.86.7.1"

This was on a bumper sticker on a car parked at the Purple House. Three of you know which one I mean. I giggled a lot. A lot.

This morning, I found out that Peter Jennings died, and I fought down tears for almost two hours, because I had to answer phones.

Why are all my ideas for bumper stickers blaphemous?

Man. I don't really like my job. I mean, it's not terrible. Most of the people are pretty awesome. The ladies are great, and really attractive. The young gents are cool, because they haven't developed egos yet. Oh! But BP has left the building, permanently. And he left in the middle of the day, so I didn't have the chance to ask how old he was. Sorry Pat! But then again, I didn't want him to 66 me. I'm in a whole new fandom these days.

Shit. There I go again, saying things that make no sense except to me and maybe one or two other people. I'm tired. That's my excuse.

Anyway, what I don't like revolves around the fact that it's boring. I sit in front of the phone and wait for it to ring. And I can't move too far from it in case it rings. It creates all this unpleasant tenseness in me. Then, there's the fact that I answer the phone. That's my job. Which is insane, because for many years I was petrified of talking on the phone. I think I finally started getting better once I started talking to internet weirdos, incidentally. Like, I remember the first time I called Pat, and he hated talking on the phone, and I hated talking on the phone, but we managed to have a conversation for, like, half an hour. It was pretty cool.

When I was in HiCal this spring, Mary-Jane and I watched American Idol together while the menfolk ditched us and we were charged with the particularly cruel task of calling to order pizza. I volunteered, because I've gotten so much better about this phone thing. Sometimes, I can even pick up the receiver *lazily.*

But I still don't like talking on the phone if I can help it. When I talk on the phone to people I love, my breath still sometimes get shallow and I start gasping for breath. I don't know why. It just does. And while I'm okay at my job, somewhere in me, it still freaks me out. It still causes this tension and unpleasantness, it's just hidden. I'm really relieved when I don't have to be there.

Not that I think I'd be happier in a non-receptionist position. I've always known that I would not do well in an office job. And perhaps I'm being proven right now because I have absolutely no interest in what this company does. It was okay doing clerical business at the McCarter, because I loved what I was doing there, no matter how small.

Here, gruff gentlemen call up and sound irate before I even speak to them. Then I try to put them through to the guy who's always stressed out and never wants to take calls because he gets about fifty a day, and his assistant is never at her desk, so the same person calls back a minute later saying, "Uh, I wanted to talk to [what's his face] and you gave me his secretary's voicemail!"

Sorry dude! This probably wouldn't happen if they could see how cute I am. Alas, they can't. My hair's getting so long again. This makes me happy.

I have this persistent fear that the people on the other end are going to start yelling at me. I hate having to put people on hold, holding my breath until the little beep that tells me that it's been a minute. I don't know what to tell them when one of the gents tells me to lie and say that he's not in the office, like happened today. I don't like lying. I'm not very good at it. And I'm completely sure that the person on the other end knows I'm lying. It makes me feel really unpleasant.

The highlight of my day is coming back from my lunch break (1-2PM EST, during which I typically do not eat lunch, but wonder who I can call up. If you're interested, let me know!) and sorting the mail. Even though half of it isn't addressed to anyone in particular. It kills at least an hour, and nearly two on Mondays.

Here's something good, though: I always have a piece of scrap paper to take down the names and business of people who call in. I've started picking various bits of my scribblings and labelling them "For Enemies." This cracks me up so much. SO MUCH. You have no idea.

And, now I'm back.

Book status: Finished!

One word summary: Dude.

Initial comments: Damn I'm good! I totally figured out everything except for one thing, which I will now claim doesn't really make sense. I mean, the explanation was decent enough, but still. And it makes "sense" and everything, but. ...It doesn't work for me. Oh, and then there was that one thing that was a total surprise.

On that note: I totally know who it is.

The Spish and I will not be neighbors.

Or maybe we will! Also, seriously. Hobo spiders. From Pat, from findyourspot.com

1. Worchester, Massachusetts. "The Heart of the Commonwealth"
This city at the heart of New England is home to the EcoTarium, a science center for all ages… Population: 502,500 Avg. Home Price: $215,000

2. Providence, Rhode Island "New England’s Best Kept Kept Secret"
This Rhode Island spot is the home of the award-winning flaming sculpture WaterFire, installed on the three rivers of downtown... Population: 1,213,000 Avg. Home Price: $242,000


3. New Haven, Connecticut "Home of Yale University"
The first hamburger was cooked at Louis' Lunch in this Connecticut spot in 1900... Population: 542,000 Avg. Home Price: $175,000

(New fucking Haven? Heh!)


4. Baltimore, Maryland "The Sparkling Harbor City"
This Atlantic seaboard city is home to the National Aquarium… Population: 4,750,000 Avg. Home Price: $215,000

(Bwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! No thanks!)


5. Hartford, Connecticut "The Insurance Capital"
This Connecticut city is home to America's oldest State House, oldest public art museum, and oldest continuously published newspaper... Population: 871,500 Avg. Home Price: $148,000

6. Boston, Massachusetts "America’s Walking City"
Here in "America's Walking City," you can stroll down to famous Franklin Park for the annual Kite Festival... Population: 3,400,00 Avg. Home Price: $461,500

7. Danbury, Connecticut "Small-Town Charm Near the Big Apple"
Zadoc Benedict began making beaver hats here in 1780, starting this Connecticut town's important hat industry... Population: 75,000 Avg. Home Price: $280,000

8. Frederick, Maryland "Where The Past Comes Alive"
This Maryland city's Great Fair is one of the nation's oldest county agricultural fairs… Population: 53,000 Avg. Home Price: $280,000

9. Charleston, West Virginia "The Home of Hospitality"
For a taste of yesteryear, catch the boat races at this West Virginia city's annual Sternwheel Regatta... Population: 53,000 Avg. Home Price: $149,000

10. Gaithersburg, Maryland "The Park City"
This town is home to a "Latitude Observatory" - one of five in the world - built in 1899 to measure the wobble of the earth's axis... Population: 53,000 Avg. Home Price: $300,000

11. Cape Cod, Massachusetts "Jewel of the New England Coast"
This peninsula is home to the oldest public library in America: the Sturgis Library, established in 1644… Population: 222,000 Avg. Home Price: $325,000

12. Milwaulkee, Wisconsin "The Genuine American City"
This Wisconsin "City of Festivals" celebrates its diverse ethnic heritage all year long, with over 20 major cultural festivals… Population: 1,500,000 Avg. Home Price: $125,000

(????)

13. Portland, Oregon "City of Roses"
This Oregon city has the nation's largest forested municipal park, the aptly-named Forest Park… Population: 2,000,000 Avg. Home Price: $259,000

14. Washington, District of Columbia "The World's Greatest Capital"
This most patriotic of American cities was laid out by a French architect… Population: 572,000 Avg. Home Price: $300,000

(I distinctly said "no corruption, please")

15. Chicago, Illinois "The Windy City"
This big city has more shopping center space per capita than any other American city… Population: 2,869,000 Avg. Home Price: $237,000

(If I lived here, I could see fine musical acts. Furthermore, I hear it's clean.)

16. Little Rock, Arkansas "Where America Comes Together"
All Maybelline products distributed in the U.S. are made in this fashion-conscious spot… Population: 584,000 Avg. Home Price: $150,000

17. Stamford-Norwalk, Connecticut "Connecticut’s Key Cities"
This seaside spot in Connecticut is projected to have the highest median income in the country by 2009… Population: 353,600 Avg. Home Price: $365,000

(Then why does it think I can afford it? Why does it think I can afford any of these places!)

18. Carson City, Nevada "Nevada’s Historic Capital"
This Frontier city thrived and became a territorial capital following the discovery of the famous Comstock silver lode in the 1850's… Population: 55,000 Avg. Home Price: $290,000

(Hey! At least somebody can live in Nevada!)

19. Cambridge, Massachusetts "Boston’s Spirited Sister"
Home to Harvard, MIT, and a large number of high-tech companies, this spot is world-renowned as an educational and technological mecca… Population: 101,600 Avg. Home Price: $540,700


20. Medford, Oregon "Gateway to the Pacific Northwest"
This gorgeous spot boasts the West's only operating water-powered grist mill, located on the banks of Little Butte Creek since 1872… Population: 190,000 Avg. Home Price: $238,000


21. Madison, Wisconsin "Athens Of The Midwest"
Located between lakes Monona and Mendota, this picturesque spot is the only North American city built on an isthmus… Population: 436,500 Avg. Home Price: $202,000


22. Bend, Oregon "Oregon’s Natural Playground"
This Oregon town's municipal airport was used for pilot training during World War II… Population: 52,000 Avg. Home Price: $209,000


23. Sheboygan, Wisconsin "Wisconsin’s Jewel on the Lake"
Reader's Digest declared this the best spot in the country to raise a family… Population: 51,000 Avg. Home Price: $125,000


24. Fayetteville, Arkansas "Light of the Ozarks"
Near the University of Arkansas campus, this town's Dickson Street is filled with lively bistros, night clubs and galleries… Population: 58,000 Avg. Home Price: $165,000

Better.

An enigmatic recluse with a mysterious past and even stranger loyalties, you are an intensely serious presence.

HA!

WHAT

This is so wrong on so many levels.

"ACHTUNG!

Jupe may actually be a spider-human hybrid

It was delayed in customs.

Man, I hate having a job. I feel like there's no time for all the stuff I'm supposed to be doing. Because, hilariously, I don't seem to think of an office job that pays me money as something I'm *supposed* to be doing. No, what I'm supposed to be doing is checking my email, writing a review, calling a theatre, mailing out some headshots, making a sandwich and taking a nap. And reading a very important book.

So, should I even be writting this right now? I feel like I'm in a good writing place. Things have been coming out of me lately that sound like how I wanted them to sound. And I figure I probably shouldn't waste the opportunity.

This entry is not about Harry Potter (sorry Steph) but it has something vaguely to do with it, and the fact that the internet is insane.

If you look around this fair 'net of ours, well, maybe, if you look a few days back, you will see people marking their completion of the sixth Harry Potter book. Usually totalled in hours. Like a badge of honor. The same thing happened the when the last one came out. That one that was something like a thousand pages. I can't even remember. I read it over the course of the weekend it came out on. Saturday and Sunday. Midday around each. With a pause for sleep. Maybe somewhere around 16 hours total reading time. And I was drained by the end of it, and then I still had to see people talk about how they finished it in four hours or less.

It's weird to describe how I feel about this. I'm not against reading fast. I'm not against speed reading. I can read fairly fast. If I have to. I read faster than I type, anyway. Yet I don't really like reading fast. Why I did it with Order of the Phoenix I think was a combination of peer emulation and fear of being spoiled. And I wanted to stay with the crowd. Everyone's talking about it, I want to talk about it. I don't want to be filled with the desire to converse and discuss when everyone else has been over it already for a week. It's not like an episode of a television show, where everyone gets that same one hour, and then you're all on the same page. No, this requires some endurance and stamina. Some concentration and motivation. Some willpower and some goals.

And to be honest, I don't want any of that shit when I read. I know I'm not alone.

When I went out to California this spring, I went over to Kirk and Mary-Jane's and we watched Veronica Mars. The boy wasn't into that, and instead opted to borrow from Kirk's library and read. LIKE A GEEEEEEEEEEK! Ahem. Anyway, after the hour was over he had all but finished 'I Am Legend' or whatever it was he had picked up. I mean, nothing substantial, but at least a few hundred pages. I was moderately in awe at the speed of his reading. Our hosts may remember that there was an ensuant discussion about the speed of reading. Kirk agreed with me that it was weird to read that fast. He wasn't down. I find I'm like Kirk about things like that. We don't like spoilers, and our significant others are all about them. Kirk doesn't read fast. Neither do I.

And, as I've said, it's not that I can't. It's that I don't want to. Flying through a story is not what reading is for me. I like to read. I always have. And I mean, I really like it. I like words. I like reading words. I like looking at words. I like seeing them connect and follow, and I like thinking about them. I like reading a powerful or interesting passage and then closing my eyes and holding the book to my chest for moment. And then I read the passage again. I say the words out loud inside my head. I smile at sentences. I enjoy the hell out of a good book.

When I read Order of the Phoenix, I did not do this. I sped through it, as best I could while still reading every word. (I *read* every word, by the way.) And when I was done ... I did not feel so great. I actually felt a little physically uncomfortable, like I had eaten too much in one sitting. My brain was struggling to catch up with all the information that I'd put into it. All the emotion and all the events and everything was just there and gone so freaking fast. I felt unsatisfied. I felt like I wanted more to read, only of course there was no more, because I'd finished it all. I wanted to stay in the spell. The mood. The moment. But it was already gone. It was over. And that made me a little sad.

It's not just about finding out what happens. I was reading my favorite book this week. I've read it at least ten times over the past few years. It's less than five hundred pages. I'm only through half of it. It would probably take me until the end of the week to finish it, and I'm not going to, because I want to start on Harry. But I'm sure as hell not going to be done with it tomorrow. Or the next day. I'm actually not even projecting an end date for this. I'm not doing that this time.

This time, like I usually do, I'm going to savor my book, instead of gobbling it. I'll see you in a couple days.

Of singing newsboys, and other matters.

First, I'm totally sick. Or maybe it's just allergies. I can't really tell. I've been at the stage where everything is itchy and gross, and normally this quickly progresses to the stage where I feel like I can't move and am near death. But instead, I've been at this preliminary stage for the past three days. And now there's coughing. And sinus pain. And I'm out of vitamin C.

This could be perhaps because I've been living with heat and a guinea pig in my room for the past week. And I have another week to go. And ... all sorts of stuff is going on, and I've been lately working 8:30 to 5. I hope I fix soon.

I've been rereading my favorite book, and I've reacquired some songs that I used to have from the musical "Newsies." I think I've mentioned in the past that I have a strange love for this movie. In general, I tend to enjoy movies about young men and their bonds of friendship. Typically, it's best if they're in a prep school of some kind, but it doesn't have to be. I've never really cared for movies about school girls   bonding, though. I mean, they're all right, but usually all filled with commentaries on the trials of womanhood, and BFFs, and God. BORING.

Anyway, Newsies is one of those movies that I still enjoy, though in a far different way than when I first saw it. First of all, I don't think I'm still in love with Gabriel Damon, even though at the time he had all the sex appeal that an eight year old's brain could recognize. I am, however, still in love with Christian Bale. And this is where it started! Everyone else is a Christian Bale lovin' poser. Also, there are lots of other young men in the film who I've come to love from their later (sparse) careers. Young men such as David Moscow and Michael Goorjian and Luke Edwards.

Also, I like musicals. I just do. And perhaps what I like about the songs from this movie is, not only are they catchy and entertaining, but they're completely impossible to sing along to without affecting the extreme New York accent used in the film. Hee!! And also, when was the last time anyone used the term "piker"? Or told you that they were "one hifalutin' son-of-a-gun"? See? See what I mean?

In a related story, it looks like I'm going to have to get my iPod replaced. AGAIN. Bah! It's almost fascinating that my distrust and vague hatred of Apple products was actually justified and not just a trendy holdover mentality from the 90s.


Goddammit. When is my Harry Potter getting here?

Advantage: Lee.

So, I went to see Episode III again last night. Which, I suppose, more or less constitutes my review of the movie. I'd totally see it again, too.

The following relates not to the plot of the film, but only to the actors in it, which is why I shall be forgoing spoiler tags. Although you should probably know how it ends.

I noticed this the first time I saw it, but had more time to ponder it this go-around: Hayden Christiansen seems like he's pretty tall. And then Jimmy Smits shows up, and he looks like he's about nine feet tall. Holy crap! How tall is Jimmy Smits? Is he taller than Christopher Lee? Why have I never noticed that he was so tall?

According to the Internet Movie Database, Hayden Christiansen is 6'1". Oh. That's not that tall. Which I say because I know several gentlemen who are that tall. That's not that tall. Jimmy Smits, as it happens, is 6'3". That's pretty tall, but not as giant as he appears to be on-screen. Samuel L. Jackson is also 6'3". He didn't look that tall. All of them mere mortals compared to Mr. Lee.

Which then lead me to wonder, How short is Ewan MacGregor? Because when these men appeared so giant, they were usually standing next to him.

Ewan MacGregor is 5'10". That's not too tall.

Of course, lest my readership forget, all of my value judgments about height can be discreditted, because I am a midget.

Thank you, L'Occitane!

Today my mother and I went to "The Mall at Short Hills." That place is snooty. We went there because they have a Tiffany's, and a friend of my mother has a son who is marrying a girl, and we bought them crystal candlesticks with which to start their joyous life together. I don't know.

I went because I discovered a gift card shoved in my drawer for $50 for Bloomingdales. As I may have mentioned before, I had something of a habit of getting money that is not cash (ie, checks or gift certificates) and then never doing anything with it. I found a gift check for $100 a while ago, but it had expired two years earlier. Ouch. ... Ouch.

Anyway, the Bloomingdales card, though it said "Merry Christmas" on it, did not have an expiration date. So, I figured, what the heck. Upon trying to use it, we discovered that it had, in fact, expired, but that it could be revived with a quick jaunt over to the "guest services" -- no problem. And this is why Bloomingdales is great.

Incidentally, there's something about the Buffy episode "Family" that has always bothered me. Buffy is talking about a sweater that she thought she'd like to get for Tara, but decided that she wanted it instead. The store she saw it in was Bloomingdales. I read the script for this episode, and discovered that the store referenced was originally Macy*s. Which makes a lot more sense. Because while I'm sure Buffy would much rather shop at "Bloomies" -- she had no freaking money. I mean, not that I do either, but. The hell, Miss Summers! The hell!

Anyway. This is how I purchased a skirt. It's green and linen and really pretty. And a size 6. So much for getting fatter! It's really pretty.

But this is not what's important. What's important is that in The Mall at Short Hills (hereafter "Short Hills Mall" or "the mall") there is a store that's like the Body Shop, only French. And that store is called L'Occitane. And in this store they were selling a fragrance.

Many years ago, my mother took me to the Body Shop. In the Body Shop, they have perfume oils. I tried magnolia. And it was very pretty, and I liked it very much, and it smelled nice on me. And I wanted to purchase it. I was told by my mother that we could get it the next time we came. The Next Time We Came, the fragrance had been discontinued. And it was never to be found again. This incident has become legend.

L'Occitane was selling magnolia perfume. I now own some. I am at peace.

Happy Birthday, Batshit Insane!

Heh! Um. Not you Jess!

Apparently today is Tom Cruise's birthday. Hee! This is only entertaining because I saw War Of The Worlds   this evening. It was pretty good! A-.

I've seen a whole heck of a lot of movies in a short span of time!

I saw Star Wars   ! Finally! It was pretty good! B+.

I saw Land Of The Dead nbsp; ! It was pretty good! B+.

Oh, yeah, and I had that show thing. It was pretty good! A++!

But, you know. Not very many people showed up today. Possibley this has something to do with our nation's impending anniversary. Perhaps the run will be extended. That would be pretty great. I'll keep you posted.

OBVIOUSLY.

Which Family Guy character are you?


Tha play's going great, by the way. Come see it! Don't give me that distance crap!

And a different 66.6%...

Are crazy Buffy fans.

WHAT

So, the other day I set out what is most likely going to be the rehearsal schedule. I gave everyone Monday night off, because everyone needs a break and we are, as I've mentioned "moving apace." The young man from Virginia approved, because apparently Monday is the one night of the week when he has a standing social engagement.

I found out today that that social engagement involves going to a gay bar downtown where they serve half-priced drinks and watch two hours of Whedon shows. They're currently working on Firefly.

Holy crap! I was invited to go along! But I've only seen up to "Shindig."

Today in the bus station, I helped a elderly blind gentleman to his gate.

Then on the bus, I was thrown for a loop because I needed to get off about 10 blocks from my normal stop. Because apparently that was the last stop before the bus became EXPRESS! I don't know! That's never happened before. But I got off by the Dunkin Donuts. And then I walked home. But not before I had a very pleasant chat with this man, who was also on the bus, and also upheaved. He complimented my headphones! It was awesome.

In a little while, my father is going to take me to see Batman Begins .

To borrow a phrase off Soupy: Life's so rad.

Do animals or children instinctively like the character?

I scored 53.

My character needs some work in order to be believable. But at least I'm salvageable.

To be fair, I didn't respond to any of the "Does your character have the same name as you?" questions, because that would just be silly.

My cast is adorable.

And 66.6% of it is from Virginia.

WHAT

I swear I didn't do it on purpose! You may ask, didn't they have resumes? Didn't you take a look at what schools they'd gone to and infer where they were from? No, I didn't. I actually only gave a quick glance over the resumes. What I cared most about was the look and the audition. I hope other people are the same way! That would sure help me out. But, anyway. Dude. At least we have something to talk about!

Like the fact that the boy is an alumnus of UVa.

And the girl loves Led Zeppelin. "I knew there was a reason I picked you!" I told her.

Again, WHAT

Yesterday we rehearsed in a pub! Because the theatre never got back to me about my rehearsal schedule. It was pretty good. We talked about what I wanted to accomplished, read through the script, talked about things, and I had a grasshopper.

I think things are moving pleasantly apace. At least for now, two days in. This may all change by Thursday when I may start freaking out. But I don't think so. It doesn't help that we only have one rehearsal on the stage. (They did get back to me today.) I'm trying to haggle at least one more out of them. And it doesn't help that one of my actors will be missing two rehearsals due to work. I mean, I told him it was fine and he has the smallest part, but ... still. HOPEFULLY EVERYTHING WORKS OUT.

The time to panic is not yet!

In the bus terminal yesterday, a man standing behind me was talking on the cell phone. He said into it: "Well, I'm at my spot in the Port Authority, and I was thinking about you." It was very sweet.

Today on the bus I sat behind two little girls who were completely fascinated with me. Because I am loved by small children and animals. Seriously, it's a thing. And because of this, I have for a while been saying that I should take the "Mary Sue" test that Jess posted and apply it to myself. I wonder how high I'd score. I'll post my results!

Also, I have the most readable blog of all my friends. Yes, but can you understand  it??


And finally...

"It was raining... it was pouring ... I may have been snoring..."

This is a quote from my father, describing the FREAK ASS weather system that hit around and about my living area today. My mother suggested it may have been a tornado. I suggested that she was being dramatic.

I was taking a shower through the bulk of the scariness. Though the thought did cross my mind several times as I was listening to the booming, crashing thunder that I hoped a tree didn't come crashing through my house and cause me to die a painful and undignified death. You have to consider things like this.

Speaking of raining, pouring, and considering things. I just got an email asking me to set up an audition for a play in Princeton. Not at the McCarter, but that's quite alright. The date? July 2nd. The day my show opens. Available times start at 10am, and I'd need to prepare a stylized classical monologue, preferrabley in verse. I was really hoping to get an audition for this. It's for the lead! And for money! Em. I mean ... for art.

So, do you think I can/should get up ass early in the morning, ship myself down to Princeton, audition, and then come back up here and get ready and be at the theatre by 4, which is the call time? Am I nuts!

Also -- Holy Crap!

On a completely unrelated note, a while back I heard something about how playing a bass guitar is much like playing a violin. I don't know if that's actually true, but since then I've been enamoured with the idea of learning to play one. I've even gone so crazily far as to LIE and tell someone that I WAS learning to play one. (Also, this is yet another instance where it seems like I'm trying to model myself after Miss Jenny Taylor, but I swear I'm not doing it on purpose.) So, now, even though I have no idea how to play this instrument and only the vague idea of what it actually *is* ... I have picked out my perfect instrument. I bet it costs a billion dollars.

I am completely uncool.

God, my eyes!

I just rejected some people. Ouch!

In unrelated news, let me know if this is crazy. When my mother comes home, if the day is "nice" she opens the front door and the back door. And then *locks* the screen door.

Now, only, like, two people reading this have been to my house, but I think my neighborhood is pretty nice. Even though it is in New Jersey. But, honestly. She's sitting right there! No one is breaking in the goddamn house! And if someone was going to do that, I don't think the screen door would be a deterent, because obviously that person would be batshit insane.

So, one of these days when I spent all day in the city and then came home, she was already home. And I couldn't get in the back, because the screen door was locked. And I couldn't get in the front, because the screen door was locked. Like, thank you, mother, for locking me out of the house.

Furthmore, once I managed to get inside, I went up to my room to discover the door wide open, and the window wide open. Now, see, the door I keep closed so that small furry creatures don't come in it. Because I love my cats, but I cannot breathe in hair and dander when I sleep. I'm fine when I'm up and awake, but at night, my allergies go crazy. The window I keep closed for the same reason. The "fresh air" that my mother so thinks I should have is replete with pollen. There is plant matter all around my house. This entire weekend, I could barely see, because my eyes are half glued-shut and bleary. My voice is rough. I feel like crap. AND I'm taking Allegra.

What makes this even more entertaining is that I have told my mother, repeatedly, not to open my window for ... oh... probably the last decade or so. Every single day that she has opened my window for the past ten years, I close it, and I tell her not to open my window. I explain to her why. I have done this over and over and over and over and over. I mean, Jesus Christ! Does she want me to die?

My mother said to me one time, "Why are you allergic to nuts, again?"

BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT.

God. My eyes are all bloodshot and gross. And I feel so freaking tired. And I think, maybe, you know, I need some energy? For my upcoming things?

Blah.

I hate actors!

I called 60 actors today. I am waiting to hear back from 21 of them ... for my 11 remaining spaces.

Yikes!

I'd say the majority of them have been cool, with a few tools thrown in, along with a handful of characters. 6 had invalid phone numbers. One has since joined Equity which means I can't work with him (I can't work with those people). And one was moving to California when I called.

More than a few had already done what I'm doing for the theatre. Heh.

I really think the auditions are going to be the hardest part. Mostly because, um. It's just me? I don't know how that's going to work. I think I need at least two other people. One to let people in, and one upstairs to sign people in and give them sides and "show them in." I really don't have people on hand that I can rope into this. I mean, I assume the people who work at the theatre are going to be there... but maybe not! I guess we'll see!

I guess I'm a little freaked out because I just involved other people in this thing, which means that I'm totally doing it. WHAT

Baptism by fire.

God, what a toolish title. But it's the only one I can come up with right now.

So, the directing thing, huh? It's going okay! Considering that I only barely have a grasp on what I'm doing, and there's SO MUCH STUFF to do and absolutely no time to do it in.

It occurred to me just a few minutes ago in the kitchen that I probably don't have what it takes to be a director. Because you have to fire in your gut, and metaphors of that nature. And I guess I do, a little bit, but I also HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING, and that freaks me out. All I know is that I do not want to fail. I do not want to look like a chump. So I am willing to fight and work and do crap until this all comes together, whatever that takes.

This is a vast difference from this morning, when I really wasn't sure I wanted to do this. I was very sleepy on the bus, which doesn't help, because the bus ride isn't that long. But I was idly wondering if there wasn't something I could do to get out of this. Like I was debating skipping a few classes and wondering if I could still pull off As. But then I thought, okay, if someone gave me the option to not do this, would I quit, or would I keep going? And I decided that I would keep going.

Today I looked at headshots. A whole fucking lot of headshots. And I talked to them. Which was entertaining, in the sense that I was in a room alone and talking to pictures like a crazy person. At one point I was a little sad by how quickly I plowed through some of them. I realized that that must happen to my headshot often, too. But some of the ladies were just too old. And some were honestly too pretty. Too dramatic. Too not what I was looking for. It was so much harder to find young looking boys and middle aged Hispanic men. So much harder. There were piles of young women, and really not that many men at all. Not by comparison.

I'd read things like "Can play 20-29" and say sympathetically, "Oh sweetie. No you can't." There were some people who went to Rutgers. I'm calling one. She was in a play opposite that guy I mentioned who's now on Guiding Light. I really debated whether or not I wanted her in the pile, because knowing what she looks like in person, I don't think she's entirely what I want. But I didn't want to include or exclude her based on her Rutgers association. So I'll call her, but probably not cast her? God! I've suddenly turned into a horrible person that people hate!

There's so much to do. I had to put in a request for audition space, and I don't know when I'm going to get it. And I need to know that before I call all these people. And I don't know how many of them are going to respond, so I don't know how much time I'm going to need. It's an ugly circle. And I have to schedule a meeting to discuss what I'm doing at the first rehearsal, and I have no idea when that will be. Soon, I guess. Because there is NO TIME.

Although while I was wading through headshots, so people came in to rehearse, and a guy asked what I was doing, and I told him my show was the first weekend of July, and he responded that that was more time than people usually get. Which I can't even think about.

There's no hand-holding here. I basically have to take care of a lot of shit that I don't even know how to take care of. I can ask all the questions that I want, but there's really no one helping me. And it's totally scary, because I do not want to fail. I want this to go well. So bad. How am I going to construct my set pieces? How am I going to run my auditions? When are we going to rehearse? How the hell is this all going to go down!

And my mother keeps snarking to me about how this theatre seems to be all "fly-by-night" and it's very aggravating that I get no support in this arena. If I don't say that everything is going "Great!" then I have to hear about something. And honestly? It's not going great. It's going scary and too fast and nerve wracking and confusing and ugly. But I'm so excited about it. My mother was in a pissy mood today anyway, though. Probably because I was out all day, because she is the world's most contradictory person.

I need to have someone with me at the auditions. Because it's sketchy to just be there by myself. But I don't think I have any friends who would do it with me. I need some to let people in at the door, so people don't have to keep buzzing. I need someone to hang around and look official and show people in and collect headshots. I could really use a lovely assistant like I had at my last audition. Hee.

I think assisting is a more appealing option to me. I've done that, and I can handle that. It's a lot to do, but somehow I feel like I'm more on top of everything when I have someone to report to. When I'm only making little decisions and tweaks instead of all the decisions. And that's sort of what acting is, in a way. It's being a part of the creative whole. And it's at the same time a very important part and not important at all. And I don't know if I would always feel this way. I have vaguely entertained the notion of directing, because I'm a control freak, and would love to poring over every detail of something that I love. But that would be later. When I know what I'm doing. When I'm in control. And I'm sure that would happen. I'm sure it can't always be this alien and scary.

At the same time I'm filled with emotion, I'm giggling at myself because I sound like such a lame cliche. Acting is doing. Art is life. Peace out.

Heeee.

"Oh, now I'm gross."

This is the phrase spoken at the exact moment when you realize that it is suddenly TOO HOT, and that you are sweating through all your clothing. It is a moment, really, and it happens sometime in the afternoon. Because prior to that, it's okay. It hasn't hit 90 yet, and if you sit still and don't do anything, yeah it's warm, but it's not too bad, and you're not sweating.

And then, it is TOO HOT. For me that time is now.

I couldn't get Blogger too work for me yesterday, but that's probably for the best, since the entry would have involved a discussion of food in its relationship in space to my stomach. Not pleasant! It would also have contained strenuous commentaries on the heat. The forecasters say that the heat will end on Thursday! But that's what they said last week!

Yesterday I was wearing some old jeans, because they are thin enough to be cool, because I do not wear shorts. However, as I was out to lunch and getting into a booth, they ripped right above the knee. I was fine with it at the time, but now I'm unsure. Are they still fit to be worn under certain circumstances? Or only for painting now? I do realize that it is not the 80s.

In other news, I now have 100GB at my disposal. SUCKERS! Oh, holy crap. Once again, I feel like technology is too good for me. I don't even know what to do  right now.

If I were a dude, I'd be so hot.

Seriously, I'd totally do me. But I'm not posting any of those pictures.

Yes, I'm doing that thing like everybody else is doing. Because I'm so pretty!

Me as bonobo.

Me as painted by Sandro Botticelli.

Me as painted by Alphonse Mucha.

What the hell.

There is someone on my AIM buddy list right now, but it can't be who it was meant to be when I put the name there. The screenname was formerly used by my friend Phil, who died almost two years ago. This is messing with me really bad.

It has been a very emotional day.

My hair is growing back.

Just in time for the heat and humidity!

Kidding. I'm very pleased with this development. And as an unintended yet delightful side effect, I seem to have developed Harper-like bangs.

Look!

I know, adorable, right? Actually, you'll have to excuse my completely hideous complexion. It was so freaking hot and gross today. I guess we'll just keep this as evidence that I'm not always glamorous like a power model, as I'm sure you all assumed.

Awesome.

Haughty Intellectual You are 57% Rational, 14% Extroverted, 28% Brutal, and 57% Arrogant.

You are the Haughty Intellectual. You are a very rational person, emphasizing logic over emotion, and you are also rather arrogant and self-aggrandizing. You probably think of yourself as an intellectual, and you would like everyone to know it. Not only that, but you also tend to look down on others, thinking yourself better than them. You could possibly have an unhealthy obsession with yourself as well, thus causing everyone to hate you for being such an elitist twat. On top of all that, you are also introverted and gentle. This means that you are just a quiet thinker who wants fame and recognition, in all likelihood. Rather lacking in emotion, introspective, gentle, and arrogant, you are most certainly a Haughty Intellectual! And, most likely, you will never achieve the recognition or fame you so desire! Sweet! To put it less negatively: 1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive. 2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted. 3. You are more GENTLE than brutal. 4. You are more ARROGANT than humble. Compatibility: Your exact opposite is the Schoolyard Bully. (Bullies like to beat up nerds, after all.) Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Braggart, the Hand-Raiser, and the Robot. * * If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits. The other personality types: The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 39% on Rationality You scored higher than 11% on Extroversion You scored higher than 24% on Brutality You scored higher than 65% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid

The hell?

Some time in the recent-distant past, I got an email from my friend Kirk fretting that I might have an internet doppelgänger. See, he came across the name "JupiterAmy" in an unexpected place. Turned out that actually was me! I like music sometimes.

Anyway though, this is totally not me. What the fuck! This is the first time anything like this has ever happened.

I'm pretty sure everything else you get when you plug me into Google is me, though. Pretty sure.

In one week, I will be receiving a Beth.

And now, as I reflect on everyone else in the world, I think, "Ha! Suckers."

It has been determined that there will be adventures.

My house is for sale.

Not the house I live in, but the house I've wanted desperately since ... forever. There's this street in Upper Montclair that has fantastical houses, and one of these houses is absolutely perfect in my eyes. It looks like a castle. Walls of windows. And a stone arch that you drive under. I imagine that inside there is a library. It's for sale.

I am discomfitted by this development! It is happening far too soon. According to my plans, the house was supposed to be for sale twenty or thirty years from now (at which point I would be ridiculously wealthy) and then I would buy it and live in it and be happy forever. With a library.

I'm wondering if I should try to go into it and see it. It may be my only chance. Maybe I could ask Ace to go with me. I think he's the only person I know who looks like a potential buyer of this house. I certainly don't!

My House. (EDIT - I'm not sure why the link didn't work. I've replaced it with a picture, that, hopefully, will work. Also, this way you can't see the price, so you won't know how unrealistic my expectations are.)

Other developments!

Today I was called by the theatre! I have been approved to direct! Yeeee! So on Monday, I'm going to go there and read some original plays written by the starving artists of New York City, to see if I would like to, you know, direct any of them. I am really, really excited. Yee.

Furthermore, today I went to the mall. The mall is not my most favorite of places. But I had a coupon for Borders, and it was my intention to purchase a replacement for one of my books that had all its pages fall out and get lost. I made this purchase. I also purchased a swimsuit. Even though I don't really plan on going swimming in the near or even relatively near future. I don't plan on being in the sun. The swimsuit is a bikini. WHAT THE FUCK. I haven't worn a bikini since I was five. This may not actually be true, but it's been a while. See, there were these two-piece swimwear things. And there were these bottoms that could go to either a "tankini" top or a halter bikini top. And I really like the design, so I decided to try both. And I actually liked the bikini top better. WHAT THE FUCK.

Now I'll just have to make sure that my body is fit to be seen in a bikini. At present? It is not.

"But he bore a brown scar to the end of his days."

[Begin Spoiler for Lost - the whole first season of the bitch. WARNING: Also talks about VERONICA MARS Season 1. — Highlight to view]

Whatever else you can say about this show (and I can, and probably will, say a lot) you must say this: A man was blown up with dynamite, and a wound was cauterized with gunpowder. That's fucking awesome.

So, okay. Now   everyone can talk about how disappointed or not they were by the season. I was honestly getting a little tired of hearing people complain about how nothing ever got explained. The season was not over. Now it is. Have at it. Here's me, though: At 8 miutes to go in this episode, during the last commercial break, I was having a vehement argument with my mother about the fact that there was no way anything was going to get wrapped up in the time they had left. By the time the episode was over? I was cool.

This season had definite problems. That I will say. However, a few episodes back I had decided that this show was a lot like Veronica Mars. Not in subject matter, but in terms of suspense and mystery, and all that. And at that point, I was convinced that Veronica Mars was way better at this style of storytelling than Lost was. However, at this point, I think I was mistaken. I don't think the two shows have the same type of storytelling.

Because in this episode? No, no big mysteries were laid bare. Not really. But that's okay. Because here's the alternative: They wrap everything up at breakneck speed. Everything you wanted to know, you know, there's a huge catharsis, and then ... what? First of all, that would make the planning and pacing of the show super crappy, which is actually what I was afraid was going to happen. Veronica Mars laid out most of its mystery in the very first episode. Then, it gave out revelations and a little more mystery, until finally in the end, everything was revealed. Or, almost everything. The major things. Now, when the new season starts, they will have to start afresh with a whole new mystery, even a new tone for the show.

Lost can't do that. Or, it can, but it would grow stale very quickly. We have here a weird island of mystery. This is the premise of the show. So far, we can guess that this island has at least 250 years ... of mystery. This cannot be solved in 40 days (the time period of the first season). If they solved all the mystery they found, then next year they'd have to miraculous discover new mystery, and solve that all by the season's end. Sorta like Buffy. And that gets cheesy.

I am now, honestly, restored in the faith I had with this show when the season started. I think they are telling a story, and (for the most part) I think they know what they're doing. They need to work on the fine tuning. But overall... I don't know. It works somehow. Somehow in that last five minutes, I was only slightly wiser, but I didn't feel angry or cheated. We'll find out more in the fall. And I will tune in. And ... I can handle that.

Plus, I like the fact that a quick, definitive answer was brought to nothing. Now people have something to talk about and theorize and debate about all summer. And they should, because I do believe there's something there.

Like, Walt! Use your freaky weird child powers! The people in the boat, they're the Others, right? I think we can assume this. Is the girl who threw the molotov cocktail Alex? How long have these people been waiting for a freaky weird child? How many freaky weird children have they collected? Is young Aaron still a freaky weird child like the psychic predicted, and if so, did Walt just decoy for him? Is Sawyer dead? Is everybody else on the raft dead?

Also, the monster. Do we know what it is? No. But apparently it's invisible. Okay! The hatch. Do we know what's in it? No. But apparently it's a big long staircase into the center of the earth. Okay! Is there destiny, or do we make our own? Yes. Okay!

Incidentally, as per that. Remember I had that theory that the island has been bumping off the people who weren't supposed to be on the plane? I'm now wondering, what determines whether or not they were supposed to be on the plane? The dead Joanna "wasn't even supposed to be on the plane" but she got sick, so she was. You could say from this episode that Hurley was not supposed to be on the plane. The blackout, the elevator, the car, the flight attendant, everything seemed to be conspiring to keep him off it. But he kept trying. Did he thwart fate? But then, that guy gave him the scooter. That stewardess and the pilot were nice to him and bent the rules. Those people moved out of the way. Was that fate? Should he have been on the plane, or not? And Locke. They didn't have the special slim wheelchair. (Which, incidentally, I've been in! Woo!) Does that mean he shouldn't have been on the plane? But then the flight attendant offered to carry him on. Since that wasn't Locke's doing, does that mean it's fate? Circumstances not under his control? What about Sayid? He was on the flight a day later because he chose to be. What about Claire? Someone bought the tickets for her and told her to go, and then the pens didn't work, but ultimately she's the one who decided to put herself on that plane. Boone and Shannon were supposed to be in first class. Is their getting bumped back fate, or were they supposed to die in the crash?

Furthermore, it became clear in this episode that the island may not actually like Locke as much as he thinks it does. Or does he?

Anyway, here's what was wrong with this season. As I see it.
1. I know I've harped on this, but the Claire thing. Holy fuck did this bother me. It really, really bothered me. I don't mind that Claire was kidnapped, and I don't even mind that she had "amnesia" and very annoyingly couldn't remember anything. I don't even mind that Charlie weirdly came back to life and also didn't remember anything. What I do mind is that Claire was missing for a week, and everyone carried about their stupid business. Including Charlie who was in love with her, and Jack who has a hang up about saving people. Here's what could have been different: Her abduction time should have been shorter. Nothing they can do in a week that they can't also do in four days. They should have had people show actual concern for her. Like, asking where is she? What do you think's happening to her? How are we going to get her back? There should have been some actual attempt to get her back, or a plan to get her back. The plans could have been thwarted, if we really needed to draw it out, or if we really needed this for any reason. But at the very least, Charlie should have cooked up some hair-brained scheme to rush into the jungle and rescue her, and Sayid and Jack should have restrained him and explained that it was too dangerous. They should have explained TO THE AUDIENCE why it was too dangerous to get Claire. They should have made some attempt to give some sort of explanation as to WHY NO ONE WAS LOOKING FOR CLAIRE! God! Seriously! This was such a major downfall of this season. It really ... gah. Fucking show.

Another major problem: there are too many survivors. In this episode, we have Mr. Arzt telling us that the extras have important stories too. Then he gets blown up. First of all: no they don't. I remember reading an article about Lost where one of the writers pointed out that 47 was the most randomly occurring number. In ... everything. Even though the meaning of life is 42. Whatever. Some number in the forties. Anyway though, this really indicated to me that the reason for that number was simply because it was clever. And they wanted to do something clever.

Now, of course all these people who show up in the background and don't get lines are all due to SAG and money issues. That said? It's fucking retarded. There are all these people that we don't know, never hear about, and can't care about. When the commercials made a big deal about Ethan killing one of the castaways, it turned out to be one of those faceless extras who got a line once and a hundred bucks. And because they had some stupid bit about how supposedly peopel confused him with this other guy ... we're supposed to care. But it doesn't work like that. I can't give a shit about these people that I never see who can't talk. Plus, there are too many people on the island as it is. What would be better? If they had had maybe 20-25 people, and paid them all appropriately. If we learned all their names and stories, and saw them interacting with each other. Not on the level of the regulars, they probably wouldn't get their own flashback episodes, but some recognition of who these people are. Some familiarity with their faces and lives, so that we actually care about all the people on this island, and not just a third of them. Because seriously? There was not one point in this season where they needed all those people. Not when they had to find food, not when they needed to build the raft fast. There was nothing in the story that could not have been improve by having fewer people.

Another thing: the castaways need to stop being so FUCKING STUPID. Like this evening. Charlie starts yelling at Rousseau about how there were never any others. Um. Remember when Charlie was abducted and hanged, and came back blacked out but muttering about "they"? WHAT THE FUCK, WRITERS? There are just too many instances of these people not asking questions, not being smart, not remembering shit they should remember. This is bad writing. It needs to stops. Also, the contrived shit. In this episode, we realized that Arzt was a bit of a dick, and maybe that's why no one wanted to listen to him. Not that we'd know, SINCE WE'D NEVER SEEN THE GUY BEFORE. But when he gave them that snotty line about how they should have left "yesterday"? WELL THEN WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T HE TELL THEM YESTERDAY  ! God! That is so fucking stupid! No one in real life would take half the bullshit stupidity that the people on this island give each other. They need to act more fucking realistically. They need to act smarter.

There are also other things that I'll have months to remember and rant about. No one is still reading at this point, anyway. Are you! I look forward to reading months of wild internet speculation. Good night.

Oh, PS. The hatch? Contains love.

[End Spoiler]

Bah!

THESE PEOPLE ALSO DID NOT HEED ME: inertia, Zer0 Signal.

Now Sharon and Crystal are on the main page. And those girls are fucking newbies!

But what I really want to do...

I recently sent in a headshot to a theatre that was doing a run of classic Greek/Roman plays. I'm into that sort of thing. Last week, I got a call from this place, and the message said that they wanted to "give me the opportunity" to work on one of these shows. Like, directing maybe. I called them back and confirmed that they had called the right number.

So today, I went into the city for a sit-down type thing. Turns out the artistic director of this off-off-Broadway theatre is all into helping artists make art, and stuff like that. And for whatever reason, she would like to help me make some art. So they want me to direct something. "Has Amy ever directed anything before?" you ask yourself. Um. Not as such, no. Which they seem to be aware of, which is why this would only be a 10-15 minute piece I'd be doing. No more than 30 minutes. They'll call me back on Monday to see what's brewing.

This would take place during the summer, so I think and I think you know that I'm not counting on the series. But they could still call! I don't know! Meh.

I'd be casting and committing, and publicizing. There is no audience unless you generate an audience. Also, apparently as long as I'm working hard and expanding my mind, it might not even have to be any good! The girl who interviewed me said that all actors should be made to direct something. Then they wouldn't be such bitches? Maybe!

I am very excited and confused and nervous and incredulous.

Also - tomorrow I graduate! Holy crap, that came up fast! I haven't even had the chance to break in my shoes. They are black heels. I wore them while I was ironing. Hot, eh? "Hasn't Amy already graduated?" you're probably asking. Yes. Last year. But the ol' Alma Mater only has one graduation walk a year, and I could not be included in last year's. Even though I've really had no interest in this, it will mean a lot to my parents to get to see me do this queer ceremony. All I hope is that there are decent pictures. The robe cost 50 bucks!

Holy shit!

Sorry! Still not about that other thing. The Holy Shit! would be much bigger. But interesting shit keeps happening!

I was watching Darkness Falls on FX. Then I watched a few more minutes of it, because FX also does that thing where they show it twice in a row. Emma Caulfield was supposed to be 22, eh? And the girl who played her younger self, is that the girl who was later in A Series Of Unfortunate Events? I believe it is. Then I flipped over to the TV Guide Channel.

Holy Shit! I know this guy! He was being interviewed, because apparently, he is on Guiding Light. Holy shit!

I went to school with him. Sort of. He was a year ahead of me and in Mason Gross. I've met him a total of three times, and I would be utterly shocked if he recognized my name or face. And ... he's on the Guiding Light!

I was totally shocked, but at the same time, I was not at all shocked. Because this man? Is awesome. Seriously. He was, I think unquestionabley, the best actor at Rutgers the entire time I was there. I had more than a small crush on him. He's just ... gah. I sound like Annie. Anyway. He really deserves this, because he's great. I can't even describe.

Wait, yes I can! This is a short paper I wrote for my last acting class. We had to see all the school's productions and pick one actor from each and discuss their performance. For Two Gentlemen of Verona, I choose Mr. Pelphrey. He was Proteus. I toned down my praise, actually, because both of my teachers were in the show with him, so, I didn't want to make it too awkward, you know?

----
February 5, 2004

In this production, I was most particularly impressed with Thomas Pelphrey. I tend to hold Shakespeare productions to a slightly different standard than "normal" shows, and I really appreciated his performance. He kept his line delivery at a moderate, conversational pace, and it felt like every word was imbued with meaning. He was always clear about what he wanted, and always clear about what he was saying, and what the words that he was using meant to him. I felt he was one of the best in the ensemble at handling the dialogue (other favorites include Heather Kendzierski and Raymond McAnally). I also thought that he was one of the best at keeping up the dialect. It occurred to me during the show that the setting used for the play, 1950s Italy, very much lent itself to the type of poetic and metaphorical dialogue that Shakespeare used. I felt that this was highlighted by his delivery, that he really made it seem both possible and plausible that this character, in that time period, could be using those words. While I liked all the performances, I sometimes got the impression that the two "worlds" weren't meshing as easily for some of the actors; sometimes they were being Italian, and sometimes they were being Shakespearean. He seemed to make everything a believable extension of his character.

I was most impressed with the obvious character work on his part. I've seen him in other shows, and in every one I've seen him play completely unique and different characters. He seemed to embody the role. The mannerisms and even the body movement of the character seemed like it was unconscious and naturally done. If I hadn't already seen him use wholly different movements just as naturally for other characters, I might have assumed that he was cast because his personality fit the part.

I also liked the way he focused on the people he was acting with. His attention to his partner was very evident in his face, and you could tell that he was listening and absorbing what they were giving him. He kept good eye contact. There were some moments that I liked in the final scene, in particular his reactiong to Julia identifying herself and Valentine's denunciation of him. In the latter, I felt a very powerful reaction from him, and when he asks for forgiveness, it seemed to me to be a genuine moment from an honest place. Because of his clearness, he did a good job to make his character understandable in his desires, and as sympathetic as possible at the end. This is particularly a feat in my opinion because his character was largely unlikable and his storyline resolved in a conveniently swift and not very believable manner. The playwright was cleary a hack.
----

A+! Also, Tom Pelphrey helped me realize that the acting training at Rutgers is mostly bull crap. Because he went in great. That's why, even though BFAs aren't typically cast in shows, he was in starring roles as a sophomore. He was great before they got their hands on him, and managed to still be great after they were done with him. Rutgers did not do that. Just so you know.

My mother said that she supposed I'll have to start watching Guiding Light now. MAYBE I WILL!

Why did no one tell me!

Note: this still   has nothing to do with that other entry. Jesus!

They're making The Chronicles Of Narnia into a series of movies?

Seriously. My sister told me about this yesterday morning, as we were doing festivities for Mother's Day. How! This is the absolute first I'd heard about it. How did my sister know and I did not know! She also mentioned specifically that it would be live-action, not a cartoon. And that ruffled my feathers because, of course, there already is a live-action Chronicles of Narnia: the miniseries put out by the BBC in the 80s. Which I totally loved.

I should note that I am nearly as enormous a geek for the Narnia stories as I am for Middle Earth stories. Yes, I'm a girl and girls like fantasy. What to the EV to E - R!

I suppose this movie (s?) are making themselves out to be the definitive cinematic production, in the way that the Lord of the Rings movies were. But is this production going to feature Warwick Davis, Mark of Quality? I somehow doubt it.

Also, the poster, which I saw via AOL, features a young man (Peter, or maybe Prince Caspian?) who looked disturbingly like Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Disturbingly.

Fuck that noise.

Um ... this has nothing to do with my previous entry. So we're clear. Because I STILL DON'T KNOW. Trust me, when I know, you will know. Because after all the phone calls I need to make, the internet will be the first one I tell. ... Whenever that   is.

No, this is just random. Because I think I need to use this phrase more often. Because it so accurately conveys my sentiments about so many things that I come across every single day.

Fuck that noise.

Reduce peed.

So, I have some whelming news. That I'm mentioning now because the part that required my attention and involvement is now over, and it's all up to the hands of Maybe.

Last week I got a call to audition for a new television series. As a regular. The audition was today. In Philadelphia. So my mother took the day off from work, and drove me down. Incidentally, this is all I have been asking for. Little late, but thank you!

They sent me a monologue of the character I was reading for, which I've been practicing all week. I showed up about an hour in advance, which was good, because after a short wait, they were ready for me. There were five other people there at the time, two girls, one of which I assume was going for the same role, although it was hard to tell, because neither of them fit the description of any characters. And there were some lads.

They were also casting for something else, and one girl who was there for that looked exactly like Holly Marie Combs. It was not her.

I was sat in a chair in front of a camera with the casting agent at a desk behind fussing with papers. I was very nervous. Shit. I didn't really get the beginning as well as I would have liked, but by the end I think I had it up to the level I had when I was practicing. There were some good moments. At least, as far as I could tell. And I got the chick to look up. She was looking at me for the last few sentences of the monologue, which I can only assume is a good thing. Afterwards, she asked me a few things about my address and some entertaining bits of my resume, and told me it was "very nice."

And that's it! Besides this, I spent a nice day in Philadelphia with my mother. We saw the Liberty Bell, Betsy Ross's house, the City Tavern, and a Starbucks. I had duck. Not at the Starbucks. We got rained on a little.

Now all I have to do is wait. I'm cautiously optimistic, but mostly nonexpectant. At least what I have to do is done, and I did a good job. I don't know when I'm going to hear back, but you'll definitely know because I'll either be spastically incoherent with joy or, you know, completely normal. We'll see.

Tomorrow I'm going down to Rutgers to get my cap n' gown! ... Because I still need to graduate! Which I'll do later this month.

Today's title is courtesy of the New Jersey Turnpike.