So, here we are, and it’s the last day of 2005. In the morning , no less! Holy geez! I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
Last night, I had a strange dream. Ordinarily, I would say this is typical. On my worst dreaming day, my most unstrange dream can probably beat anyone else’s strangest dreams. My brain works in ways best not to fathom. But this dream was strange because it was, for my brain, just plain unimaginative. Perhaps I should blame the exceptionally late (or early?) hour at which I allowed myself to sleep. And painkillers?
What I got was basically a mixed-up mish-mash montage of things from the last year. It was mostly from the last month, but earlier things were there too. Movies seen, books read, video games bested (or not). Then some factual events skewed and placed out of order.
Like Professor McGonagall admonishing: “Don’t let Potter compete!” but talking about him making the gingerbread cookies that I made for Christmas. (There was a lot of dough, and it was a pain in the ass to work in all together.) Or me getting shots of muscle relaxants in my arms before going out for an audition which turned out to be a kind of birthday party during a community meeting at my old high school and my old librarian was making gift baskets. You know, utterly normal .
I’d like to try to spin this into an actual review of the past year, but that would take too much thinking and work and, to be honest, I got nothin’. In a sometimes tradition, I have no plans for this, the most fabulous of yearly dates. My sister and I have recently discussed the pressure to be doing something simply wonderful today, and especially at midnight. Too much pressure. Too many drunks on the road. Too lazy. I’ll see what happens (maybe movies, maybe friends, mostly likely video games), I’ll stay up for the switch over, and I’ll wake up tomorrow to a fresh new year.
I don’t do resolutions. I hope everyone else’s work out, though.
Happy New Year, all!
Saturday
Friday
And you atheists - have a nice day.
That's New York's Only Classic Rock Station making me smile sometimes.
Happy Christmas Eve Eve everyone! Delete words backwards as the days progress!
Happy Christmas Eve Eve everyone! Delete words backwards as the days progress!
Monday
Thanks Pat!
Only, I think instead of just crossing things out, I will address each claim individually. Hooray! ... Don't laugh.
December
Loyal and generous. -- Yes.
Sexy. -- Um. Sometimes maybe?
Patriotic. -- Not really, no.
Active in games and interactions. -- Oh boy I hope they mean computer games! Because otherwise no.
Impatient and hasty. -- Absolutely not.
Ambitious. -- Uh. Maybe? Or, no. Having grandiose desires is not the same as being ambitious.
Influential in organizations. -- I'm going to go with "yes."
Fun to be with. -- Sometimes? When I'm not busy being completely boring?
Loves to socialize. -- No.
Loves praises. -- Yes.
Loves attention. -- Sometimes.
Loves to be loved. -- Who doesn't?
Honest and trustworthy. -- Yes.
Not pretending. -- Definitely. Except when I am on purpose. You know.
Short tempered. -- Definitely.
Changing personality. -- No? What?
Not egoistic. -- HA!
Take high pride in oneself. -- Typically.
Hates restrictions. -- True.
Loves to joke. -- True.
Good sense of humor. -- In that I find most things humorous, yes.
Logical. -- Yes.
So, that's 12 out of 23 that I agree with sans qualms. Good try though, internet!
December
Loyal and generous. -- Yes.
Sexy. -- Um. Sometimes maybe?
Patriotic. -- Not really, no.
Active in games and interactions. -- Oh boy I hope they mean computer games! Because otherwise no.
Impatient and hasty. -- Absolutely not.
Ambitious. -- Uh. Maybe? Or, no. Having grandiose desires is not the same as being ambitious.
Influential in organizations. -- I'm going to go with "yes."
Fun to be with. -- Sometimes? When I'm not busy being completely boring?
Loves to socialize. -- No.
Loves praises. -- Yes.
Loves attention. -- Sometimes.
Loves to be loved. -- Who doesn't?
Honest and trustworthy. -- Yes.
Not pretending. -- Definitely. Except when I am on purpose. You know.
Short tempered. -- Definitely.
Changing personality. -- No? What?
Not egoistic. -- HA!
Take high pride in oneself. -- Typically.
Hates restrictions. -- True.
Loves to joke. -- True.
Good sense of humor. -- In that I find most things humorous, yes.
Logical. -- Yes.
So, that's 12 out of 23 that I agree with sans qualms. Good try though, internet!
Thursday
The fucking news.
Tonight I opted to watch the final investigative report of the late Peter Jennings. First, because I loved Peter Jennings and I miss listening to him. Second, because the topic (the abysmal state of the US’s health insurance system) in one in which I have a vested interest. It was pretty good, despite the fact that I had to switch over to NBC on commercial breaks because my mother wanted to see the outcome of The Apprentice.
Somewhere around minute 40, my local ABC affiliate decided that they needed to bust in with some BREAKING NEWS about the potential transit strike. (Um. There may be a transit strike.) Only, it wasn’t actually news. They wanted to say that there was still no word one way or the other, but that there might been. Soon. Maybe. And then they showed some guy talking, who said essentially the same thing, but in a thick Jamaican accent. And he thanked some people and said a whole array of things in which I had absolutely no interest.
Because I was appalled. I was fucking appalled. ABC made a big deal over this Peter Jennings thing. So I was shocked that they’d cut into in the first place. But this is a local vs. national thing, so I honestly have no idea how it works. But I have never, ever, seen “breaking news” that was actually noteworthy or important. Never.
Some of you may remember (and it is still in my archives) that an Angel episode got interrupted by a similar event, and I completely lost my damn mind over it. Lost my damn mind. I had other things going on. It wasn’t solely the breaking news. But that did play a part. That time, the WB wanted to announce that we we’re at war yet, but we might be. Soon. Maybe.
Perhaps I have a different conception of what “breaking news” is. To me, for a story to be important enough to interrupt my programming, it has to be something that I will care sufficiently enough about to care more about the news than I do about the programming, and to be okay with the fact that my program was interrupted. You know, things like “War Ends” or “President Killed” or “Moon Explodes.” Things like that.
And it’s not that I don’t care about war. It’s not that I don’t care about the potential of a transit strike (though it honestly won’t affect me as much as it will affect people who commute in the city daily, which I do not). It’s that the “news” that they’re breaking in with doesn’t actually give new information about these things. If I wanted a second-by-second account of what was going on, I would be watching a 24-hour news channel. When the news is coming up in 10 or 20 minutes, hold the story . You know they’re just going to recap exactly what they just said when the news at 11 comes on. So what the hell?
Every second of these things annoys me. Because all I can think about is the seconds that I’m losing off the program that I want to see. And first we have to have a logo and theme music. And then the anchors have to talk to us about what we’re about to see. And then we see it. And then the anchors have to discuss what we just saw. And then there has to be the logo and the theme music again. “This has been an ABC news Special Report.” Yeah, thanks guys. Thanks a fucking lot.
It’s almost ironic that I’m judging this aggravation against Mr. Jennings. Because it reminded me how nearly every day there is less and less to like about the news media. I hate Elizabeth Vargas. That’s something else entirely, though.
Oh, Randal won.
Somewhere around minute 40, my local ABC affiliate decided that they needed to bust in with some BREAKING NEWS about the potential transit strike. (Um. There may be a transit strike.) Only, it wasn’t actually news. They wanted to say that there was still no word one way or the other, but that there might been. Soon. Maybe. And then they showed some guy talking, who said essentially the same thing, but in a thick Jamaican accent. And he thanked some people and said a whole array of things in which I had absolutely no interest.
Because I was appalled. I was fucking appalled. ABC made a big deal over this Peter Jennings thing. So I was shocked that they’d cut into in the first place. But this is a local vs. national thing, so I honestly have no idea how it works. But I have never, ever, seen “breaking news” that was actually noteworthy or important. Never.
Some of you may remember (and it is still in my archives) that an Angel episode got interrupted by a similar event, and I completely lost my damn mind over it. Lost my damn mind. I had other things going on. It wasn’t solely the breaking news. But that did play a part. That time, the WB wanted to announce that we we’re at war yet, but we might be. Soon. Maybe.
Perhaps I have a different conception of what “breaking news” is. To me, for a story to be important enough to interrupt my programming, it has to be something that I will care sufficiently enough about to care more about the news than I do about the programming, and to be okay with the fact that my program was interrupted. You know, things like “War Ends” or “President Killed” or “Moon Explodes.” Things like that.
And it’s not that I don’t care about war. It’s not that I don’t care about the potential of a transit strike (though it honestly won’t affect me as much as it will affect people who commute in the city daily, which I do not). It’s that the “news” that they’re breaking in with doesn’t actually give new information about these things. If I wanted a second-by-second account of what was going on, I would be watching a 24-hour news channel. When the news is coming up in 10 or 20 minutes, hold the story . You know they’re just going to recap exactly what they just said when the news at 11 comes on. So what the hell?
Every second of these things annoys me. Because all I can think about is the seconds that I’m losing off the program that I want to see. And first we have to have a logo and theme music. And then the anchors have to talk to us about what we’re about to see. And then we see it. And then the anchors have to discuss what we just saw. And then there has to be the logo and the theme music again. “This has been an ABC news Special Report.” Yeah, thanks guys. Thanks a fucking lot.
It’s almost ironic that I’m judging this aggravation against Mr. Jennings. Because it reminded me how nearly every day there is less and less to like about the news media. I hate Elizabeth Vargas. That’s something else entirely, though.
Oh, Randal won.
Friday
Only geniuses will get all 30.
The New York Times Magazine can be kind of dicky, sometimes.
In other news, Birthday: had. It was pretty great.
In other news, Birthday: had. It was pretty great.
In which I bemoan the dwindling of my youth.*
In two days, I will be 22 years old.
Holy shit that's so old! I'm so old!
Yeah, I know, I'll shut up in a second.
SO OLD!
When my mother turned 22, she had a 5 month old daughter. ...Luckily I feel no need to catch up. But, you know, old .
I supposed I better get used to saying it and writing it down. At least I only have one number to remember.
*The real point of this post is to remind you that Sunday is my birthday.
Holy shit that's so old! I'm so old!
Yeah, I know, I'll shut up in a second.
SO OLD!
When my mother turned 22, she had a 5 month old daughter. ...Luckily I feel no need to catch up. But, you know, old .
I supposed I better get used to saying it and writing it down. At least I only have one number to remember.
*The real point of this post is to remind you that Sunday is my birthday.
Saturday
RENT, bitches!
Heh! I went with my mother to see RENT (2005). I had to sit and think a while about what I thought of it, because it was totally good, and I'm conflicted from having seen the show. I had the same problem when I saw Chicago . And that movie was great. So, what follows will be a somewhat comparision of show to movie, and a discussion of changes I felt worked and did not.
I'm going to assume that if you're not from the New York area (and most of you are not) that you haven't seen the show. Hopefully I won't talk down to you in an off-putting fashion!
[Begin Spoiler for RENT — Highlight to view]
The first difference is that the movie is a musical. Isn't the show? No. The show is a rock opera . There is almost no dialogue in the show. Like a real opera! But you can't have a movie of four or even two straight hours of singing, so I'm fine with the fact that the level of dialogue increased. What I didn't like is that the dialogue seemed like filler between the songs. Which I find happens in musicals. A few lines of dialogue creates a bridge between two songs. Doesn't have to be. I'm pretty sure Chicago did not have this problem. I'm pretty much going to blame the direction.
There was premature concern about Chris Columbus directing this, and people were worried that it was going to be Columbus-ified. Were these concerns valid? In my opinion, yes. The movie certainly does not suck, because the material is great. But I do think it could have been better under another director. Chris Columbus really doesn't have to make any more movies, as far as I'm concerned. Or, if he does, he should stick with the films we expect him to make: kids' films.
On the old cast: Anthony Rapp was still playing like they were on a stage. He's done enough movies to know better. The same can be same, to a lesser degree, for Ms. Menzel, but it fit her character, so that ameliorates it even more. Adam Pascal is the only one who seems to have mellowed with age, and that made me profoundly disappointed because I love Roger and adore Mr. Pascal in everything he's been in. (Which, um. Is RENT and SLC Punk ) But he's still blond and I still love him. The other gentlemen were still fucking fabulous.
On the new cast: Rosario Dawson looks like a perfect Mimi, but falls flat in the actual ... acting. Or rather, singing. Daphne Rubin-Vega can't really sing, but she does so with intense passion, and that's why she's great. Dawson is sort of the reverse. Not that she was horrible by any means. Tracie Thoms, on the other hand, was ... I freaking love her. She's adorable and tough and great and fabulous and should be in everything. Really.
The show, clearly, it is better. That's probably true in all cases. The show's always better, the book's always better, etc. For me, I feel this way because the moments that hit me the hardest in the show were in parts that were absent from the film. One example is where we learn about the fate of April. **SHOW SPOILER!** In the show, they come off the exuberance of the opening number and Mark is about to head out. "Take your AZT," he tells Roger (just like in the film) but then he explains in song to the near silent audience (with Roger plucking at his guitar in the foreground) "His girlfriend April left a note saying 'We've got AIDS.' before slitting her wrists in the bathroom." And, holy shit. I'm pretty sure I gasped, because it felt like a slap in the face. The movie was sadly devoid of moments like this.
In addition, it wasn't really that great to see April on screen. She was pretty skanky. I mean, so too was Roger, but in the show, it's really up for grabs what April's part was in the acquirement of the HIV. It's strongly implied that Roger contracted it because he was using drugs, and then he gave it to April, who wasn't doing anything deviant. And then she killed herself. Which does a whole lot to explain why Roger is so fucked up. And this is ... off in screen version.
One thing that I did like was changing the time frame of the first act. I could never buy that all that shit took place in one night. So I was in favor of all that, and I smiled to myself at how they changed the lyrics around to fit it. However, it could have been done with more finesse. And that's on the dude that did the screenplay.
In conclusion, I still had tears streaming down my face. It's pretty great. If you have a chance to see the show (and perhaps I'll list some more reasons to do so at a later time) you should definitely do that. But in the meantime, if you have the chance to see the movie (which you do, unless you live in Wyoming or some place) you should do that too.
[End Spoiler]
I'm going to assume that if you're not from the New York area (and most of you are not) that you haven't seen the show. Hopefully I won't talk down to you in an off-putting fashion!
[Begin Spoiler for RENT — Highlight to view]
The first difference is that the movie is a musical. Isn't the show? No. The show is a rock opera . There is almost no dialogue in the show. Like a real opera! But you can't have a movie of four or even two straight hours of singing, so I'm fine with the fact that the level of dialogue increased. What I didn't like is that the dialogue seemed like filler between the songs. Which I find happens in musicals. A few lines of dialogue creates a bridge between two songs. Doesn't have to be. I'm pretty sure Chicago did not have this problem. I'm pretty much going to blame the direction.
There was premature concern about Chris Columbus directing this, and people were worried that it was going to be Columbus-ified. Were these concerns valid? In my opinion, yes. The movie certainly does not suck, because the material is great. But I do think it could have been better under another director. Chris Columbus really doesn't have to make any more movies, as far as I'm concerned. Or, if he does, he should stick with the films we expect him to make: kids' films.
On the old cast: Anthony Rapp was still playing like they were on a stage. He's done enough movies to know better. The same can be same, to a lesser degree, for Ms. Menzel, but it fit her character, so that ameliorates it even more. Adam Pascal is the only one who seems to have mellowed with age, and that made me profoundly disappointed because I love Roger and adore Mr. Pascal in everything he's been in. (Which, um. Is RENT and SLC Punk ) But he's still blond and I still love him. The other gentlemen were still fucking fabulous.
On the new cast: Rosario Dawson looks like a perfect Mimi, but falls flat in the actual ... acting. Or rather, singing. Daphne Rubin-Vega can't really sing, but she does so with intense passion, and that's why she's great. Dawson is sort of the reverse. Not that she was horrible by any means. Tracie Thoms, on the other hand, was ... I freaking love her. She's adorable and tough and great and fabulous and should be in everything. Really.
The show, clearly, it is better. That's probably true in all cases. The show's always better, the book's always better, etc. For me, I feel this way because the moments that hit me the hardest in the show were in parts that were absent from the film. One example is where we learn about the fate of April. **SHOW SPOILER!** In the show, they come off the exuberance of the opening number and Mark is about to head out. "Take your AZT," he tells Roger (just like in the film) but then he explains in song to the near silent audience (with Roger plucking at his guitar in the foreground) "His girlfriend April left a note saying 'We've got AIDS.' before slitting her wrists in the bathroom." And, holy shit. I'm pretty sure I gasped, because it felt like a slap in the face. The movie was sadly devoid of moments like this.
In addition, it wasn't really that great to see April on screen. She was pretty skanky. I mean, so too was Roger, but in the show, it's really up for grabs what April's part was in the acquirement of the HIV. It's strongly implied that Roger contracted it because he was using drugs, and then he gave it to April, who wasn't doing anything deviant. And then she killed herself. Which does a whole lot to explain why Roger is so fucked up. And this is ... off in screen version.
One thing that I did like was changing the time frame of the first act. I could never buy that all that shit took place in one night. So I was in favor of all that, and I smiled to myself at how they changed the lyrics around to fit it. However, it could have been done with more finesse. And that's on the dude that did the screenplay.
In conclusion, I still had tears streaming down my face. It's pretty great. If you have a chance to see the show (and perhaps I'll list some more reasons to do so at a later time) you should definitely do that. But in the meantime, if you have the chance to see the movie (which you do, unless you live in Wyoming or some place) you should do that too.
[End Spoiler]
NB
The sweet potatoes will not last until my birthday if I continue to eat them with supposed impunity.
My birthday is in 9 days.
My birthday is in 9 days.
Thursday
I am thankful for monkeys.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday that is not my birthday. It is a day that is orange, and orange is my second favorite color after purple. Today I wore an orange sweater and ate orange food, and it was good.
Also, this year is the first year in ... perhaps ever that I did not have Thanksgiving at my house. Well, except for those few years when my mother was not doing holidays. I forget what I did then. It was kind of a blur. But this year we went up to my sister's because ... I don't know. Complicated reasons that no one really remembers any more. I was completely surprised by all the traffic. But at least we weren't going south. Whoa nelly!
The evening went about 85% great. A seven-year-old girl is adorable and loves me. My sister made me hot cocoa. THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE LACK OF SMOKE AND IT MADE THINGS EXCELLENT. We watched Million Dollar Baby On Demand and it was a terrible, terrible movie. My mother got cranky towards the end of the night, but a frigid ride home put her to rights.
The important thing is that I now have two large containers filled with sweet potatoes in my refrigerator. This will surely last me until my birthday, which was the plan all along. SO GOOD.
Also today I told my family some good news that I received on Monday but hadn't mentioned until today. Yes, that's right. I had good news that I intentionally told no one. I don't know why I did that! It's not like I was making a choice not to say anything. I just kind of ... didn't. And people asked me "Is anything going on?" And I said, "Not really." Not really!
Tomorrow I will go see RENT with my mommy. Then we will go look for Elton John sheet music. I swear these events are unrelated! Heeeeee! Oh, I also have to call this cat toy company because I need to obtain a very specific product for my neurotic cat who is losing her mind without it.
In conclusion, "What are you thankful for?"
"Monkeys."
Also, this year is the first year in ... perhaps ever that I did not have Thanksgiving at my house. Well, except for those few years when my mother was not doing holidays. I forget what I did then. It was kind of a blur. But this year we went up to my sister's because ... I don't know. Complicated reasons that no one really remembers any more. I was completely surprised by all the traffic. But at least we weren't going south. Whoa nelly!
The evening went about 85% great. A seven-year-old girl is adorable and loves me. My sister made me hot cocoa. THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE LACK OF SMOKE AND IT MADE THINGS EXCELLENT. We watched Million Dollar Baby On Demand and it was a terrible, terrible movie. My mother got cranky towards the end of the night, but a frigid ride home put her to rights.
The important thing is that I now have two large containers filled with sweet potatoes in my refrigerator. This will surely last me until my birthday, which was the plan all along. SO GOOD.
Also today I told my family some good news that I received on Monday but hadn't mentioned until today. Yes, that's right. I had good news that I intentionally told no one. I don't know why I did that! It's not like I was making a choice not to say anything. I just kind of ... didn't. And people asked me "Is anything going on?" And I said, "Not really." Not really!
Tomorrow I will go see RENT with my mommy. Then we will go look for Elton John sheet music. I swear these events are unrelated! Heeeeee! Oh, I also have to call this cat toy company because I need to obtain a very specific product for my neurotic cat who is losing her mind without it.
In conclusion, "What are you thankful for?"
"Monkeys."
Monday
Sunday
El Diablo wants me to watch Spanglish .
And I will not do it. This entry really has no point, other than that I don't ever want to watch the film Spanglish . And my reasons have nothing to do with its content or how good or bad it might be. I don't care how good or bad it might be (though I suspect, Cloris Leachman aside, it's probably something I would not enjoy). I just don't want to watch it, because some unseen force has been trying to make me watch it for months.
When I went out to California, this film was shown on just about every single freaking flight I took on the whole trip (four). Some guy was watching it on his laptop on one of my train trips. This movie has been shoved at me, while I've been a captive audience, an unrememborable amount of times. And it's a movie that I never had any intention of seeing. So now it's a thing. A vow.
Last night, Spanglish was premiering on HBO. I was going to be out of the house eating food with my mother, but the lines were too long so we came home and ordered Chinese. And I was confronted with Spanglish once again.
Instead of watching this movie, I opted to watch Dances With Wolves instead. Dances. With freaking Wolves. Now, some of you may know my history with this film. I was dragged along by my parents to see it in theaters when I was 6 or 7 or however old I was when it came out. I remembered nothing of the film except that there was a line to get in, I fell asleep, and the only thing I remember of the story was that at one point a man holds a gun to his head, says, "God Save the King" and shoots himself. And this I only remember because it was at this point that my mother covered my eyes with her hand. And I like to point out that if she had not drawn attention to this, I never would have remembered it, yet because she did, it is now burned permanently into my brain.
Well, now I know what happens in the movie, and my beloved anecdote is ruined. In addition, I spent three hours looking at Kevin Costner's hideous face . All this I did, so that I would not have to watch Spanglish . Were there other options? Probably. But I wasn't thinking clearly.
I know I used a lot of extra-slanty italics in this post, and for that I apologize. I'll have to work on changing the layout of my blog, because it could just be so much more optimal.
When I went out to California, this film was shown on just about every single freaking flight I took on the whole trip (four). Some guy was watching it on his laptop on one of my train trips. This movie has been shoved at me, while I've been a captive audience, an unrememborable amount of times. And it's a movie that I never had any intention of seeing. So now it's a thing. A vow.
Last night, Spanglish was premiering on HBO. I was going to be out of the house eating food with my mother, but the lines were too long so we came home and ordered Chinese. And I was confronted with Spanglish once again.
Instead of watching this movie, I opted to watch Dances With Wolves instead. Dances. With freaking Wolves. Now, some of you may know my history with this film. I was dragged along by my parents to see it in theaters when I was 6 or 7 or however old I was when it came out. I remembered nothing of the film except that there was a line to get in, I fell asleep, and the only thing I remember of the story was that at one point a man holds a gun to his head, says, "God Save the King" and shoots himself. And this I only remember because it was at this point that my mother covered my eyes with her hand. And I like to point out that if she had not drawn attention to this, I never would have remembered it, yet because she did, it is now burned permanently into my brain.
Well, now I know what happens in the movie, and my beloved anecdote is ruined. In addition, I spent three hours looking at Kevin Costner's hideous face . All this I did, so that I would not have to watch Spanglish . Were there other options? Probably. But I wasn't thinking clearly.
I know I used a lot of extra-slanty italics in this post, and for that I apologize. I'll have to work on changing the layout of my blog, because it could just be so much more optimal.
Thursday
Monkeys!!
Oh man! Today I got a card from Stephanie, and it was the best card ever in the whole world. Seriously!
You may be thinking, "Best card ever, huh? Well, I don't know ... I've gotten some pretty good cards before."
This one beats those.
You may be thinking, "Best card ever, huh? Well, I don't know ... I've gotten some pretty good cards before."
This one beats those.
Tuesday
You know, I really hate people.
Some days, I just say that. But on other days, I really mean it.
This is quite the fitting mood, then, with which I can go elect (or not, as the case will probably be) some public leaders. Did I mentioned that I watched the Gubernatorial Debates back ... whenever they had those? Man, that was the most useless hour of my life. Seriously. That's why I'm doing a write-in vote! (Not for Pat, sadly. That's only for president.) Truly exercising my right to throw my vote away. But seriously, all of the major candidates suck so much. It's ridiculous. I'd have rather seen them run footraces and eat live bugs, that's how valuable the whole thing was.
This really doesn't fit into my hateful mood theme, more of an introspective/contemplative mood theme, but I need to get these things out.
I can't believe that I'm as old as I am. Really, I can't. I know that the readership of this blog is people who are up-to-and-including double my age (hee!) but you're just going to have to bear with me on this. I can't believe that I'm not still 15. I can't believe that I'm out of high school. Shit, I can't believe that I'm out of college ! I've been out of school for over a year! Although, to be fair, I guess I kind of cheated on that account. But honestly, I sometimes feel as though I must have misplaced a bunch of years along the way. I suppose this is really the expression of my feeling that I've gotten a delayed start on life. I feel that way too. I feel like what I'm doing with myself now should have been what I was doing with myself at 15. So what did I spend all that time doing? Nothing, apparently.
Then again, you know, I suppose it really isn't too late to go to law school and learn tennis and devote myself entirely to a pre-mapped life that will never bring me joy. I mean, that's still on the table, really.
Wow. Did you know that it's almost 3 o'clock? Days like this are the reason that I sometimes forget to eat. I've been "making myself lunch" for the past two and a half hours.
This is quite the fitting mood, then, with which I can go elect (or not, as the case will probably be) some public leaders. Did I mentioned that I watched the Gubernatorial Debates back ... whenever they had those? Man, that was the most useless hour of my life. Seriously. That's why I'm doing a write-in vote! (Not for Pat, sadly. That's only for president.) Truly exercising my right to throw my vote away. But seriously, all of the major candidates suck so much. It's ridiculous. I'd have rather seen them run footraces and eat live bugs, that's how valuable the whole thing was.
This really doesn't fit into my hateful mood theme, more of an introspective/contemplative mood theme, but I need to get these things out.
I can't believe that I'm as old as I am. Really, I can't. I know that the readership of this blog is people who are up-to-and-including double my age (hee!) but you're just going to have to bear with me on this. I can't believe that I'm not still 15. I can't believe that I'm out of high school. Shit, I can't believe that I'm out of college ! I've been out of school for over a year! Although, to be fair, I guess I kind of cheated on that account. But honestly, I sometimes feel as though I must have misplaced a bunch of years along the way. I suppose this is really the expression of my feeling that I've gotten a delayed start on life. I feel that way too. I feel like what I'm doing with myself now should have been what I was doing with myself at 15. So what did I spend all that time doing? Nothing, apparently.
Then again, you know, I suppose it really isn't too late to go to law school and learn tennis and devote myself entirely to a pre-mapped life that will never bring me joy. I mean, that's still on the table, really.
Wow. Did you know that it's almost 3 o'clock? Days like this are the reason that I sometimes forget to eat. I've been "making myself lunch" for the past two and a half hours.
Saturday
"...now that they make frozen vegetables..."
Tonight my mother and I went and hung out in the triangle below Canal and attended a screening of the short film that I was in last year. My sister was also supposed to be there (in fact, she was supposed to drive us, since that's where she spent most of the last half of the nineties and new where we could park for free and get a great salad) but she came down with about five different kinds of illness this week, because she works with children, who are gross. It's just as well, though, because the traffic was stupefying. But we made it in ample time.
Film: 12 minutes. Apparently, any longer than 15 and festivals will spit on you. Next year: Sundance. So maybe Will can get to see it. I wound up staying for both showings, because after the second there was a "DVD featurette" of behind-the-scenes footage. A 7-minute film about the making of the 12-minute film. All in all, it was kind of awesome. The film was pretty great, and the writer/director/star was a pretty terrific actor. I had no idea when I was hangin' out with him. The blonde chick? Not so much. But not horrible, either. In between, I got in some good schmooze with the producer.
Then we went out for eats! We couldn't find the place my sister recommended, because my mother was unwilling to wander the streets and figure out where we were. My mother steadfastly refuses to believe that I know how to navigate in the city. Because I'm five. It turns out that I knew precisely where we were because we were a block from the restaurant where I had my first date with the boy. Awww. It was a highly coincidental experience.
But we wound up going to a Japanese restaurant where we dined on tempura, green tea ice cream, and a sample of plum wine. SO STUFFED. Also, my mother commented afterwards that my eyes looked a little bloodshot. I am so cheap a drunk, my drink was free. It's sad and adorable, I know.
On the way home, we enjoyed some people watching. The above quote is courtesy of some chick on the bus, and I swear to God she said that . Sadly, the strap of my Italian leather purse gave way after many years of use. If you've seen me in the last five years, you know the one of which I speak. I think it's finally done. The metal loop broke, and then fell off on the bus somewhere. This makes me very sad. I guess I'll just have to get another on or something!
Also, I looked really pretty.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific evening, I'd have to say.
Film: 12 minutes. Apparently, any longer than 15 and festivals will spit on you. Next year: Sundance. So maybe Will can get to see it. I wound up staying for both showings, because after the second there was a "DVD featurette" of behind-the-scenes footage. A 7-minute film about the making of the 12-minute film. All in all, it was kind of awesome. The film was pretty great, and the writer/director/star was a pretty terrific actor. I had no idea when I was hangin' out with him. The blonde chick? Not so much. But not horrible, either. In between, I got in some good schmooze with the producer.
Then we went out for eats! We couldn't find the place my sister recommended, because my mother was unwilling to wander the streets and figure out where we were. My mother steadfastly refuses to believe that I know how to navigate in the city. Because I'm five. It turns out that I knew precisely where we were because we were a block from the restaurant where I had my first date with the boy. Awww. It was a highly coincidental experience.
But we wound up going to a Japanese restaurant where we dined on tempura, green tea ice cream, and a sample of plum wine. SO STUFFED. Also, my mother commented afterwards that my eyes looked a little bloodshot. I am so cheap a drunk, my drink was free. It's sad and adorable, I know.
On the way home, we enjoyed some people watching. The above quote is courtesy of some chick on the bus, and I swear to God she said that . Sadly, the strap of my Italian leather purse gave way after many years of use. If you've seen me in the last five years, you know the one of which I speak. I think it's finally done. The metal loop broke, and then fell off on the bus somewhere. This makes me very sad. I guess I'll just have to get another on or something!
Also, I looked really pretty.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific evening, I'd have to say.
Monday
Donuts, I got ... Hey I know you!
So, back in the day when I thought I was going to be an Ivy-Leaguer, I went through some complicated application processes. Swanky schools like you to meet with alumni of distinction, and then have those alumni report back to them and tattle on you.
For Princeton, my father figured it would be in my favor to meet with someone he knew. (But he apparently didn't think it would be in my favor to, you know, save any money for me. Whoops! Still bitter I guess.)
So one fall evening I trekked into Newark, into the area where they have all the Neo Classical buildings so it doesn't really look so bad (as Newark tends to do). After a pass through some metal detectors I went up some swanky elevators to the swanky office of my father's old crony (I mean, "business associate"). That gentleman? Judge Samuel A. Alito.
Seriously guys? He's pretty nice. And his voting record is clearly pro-me, so I think that's all we need to know. Right?
For Princeton, my father figured it would be in my favor to meet with someone he knew. (But he apparently didn't think it would be in my favor to, you know, save any money for me. Whoops! Still bitter I guess.)
So one fall evening I trekked into Newark, into the area where they have all the Neo Classical buildings so it doesn't really look so bad (as Newark tends to do). After a pass through some metal detectors I went up some swanky elevators to the swanky office of my father's old crony (I mean, "business associate"). That gentleman? Judge Samuel A. Alito.
Seriously guys? He's pretty nice. And his voting record is clearly pro-me, so I think that's all we need to know. Right?
Thursday
It's so involved being me.
Okay, I think I'm resolute on something now.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
This entry is about Harry Potter. Again.
I know, it's a little strange placed. But I haven't seen Serenity , so I'll have to talk about something else. I've been rereading the Harry Potter, and I've gotten back around to Book Six. So now I'll pick up the discussion that everyone left off several months ago. Since I've been meaning to, really, but just dropped the ball. Butterfingers!
[Begin Spoiler for And The Half Blood Prince — Highlight to view]
The first thing I want to discuss is what pisses me off. The fact that Ron and Hermione refuse to believe Harry about Malfoy pisses me off. I may (or may not) have mentioned in the past that this is a convention I typically hate: when a character is blanketly not believed, even by those closest to him, even when he's typically a rational person. It happens a lot in horror movies. And it sucks. Similarly, it really bothers me when characters have their sanity questioned or discredited. It bugs me out. I guess it's because, in fiction anyway, it seems so easy to have all your rights and abilities instantly stripped away by the mere suspicion of mental instability. And there's nothing you can do about it!
That's not really the point, though. But I am vastly disappointed that neither of Harry's best friends thought for a minute that he might be right. And it's not like it was that far-fetched a suggestion! I did not understand why they were so against the idea. The basis for their denial seems to be "Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater." Which, frankly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I suppose it could be understandable if they were thinking of the Order of the Phoenix, which seems to have an age restriction, or at least a general understanding of "too young to risk your life fighting evil." However, the flaw there is that the Order of the Phoenix cares about its members and doesn't really want to put children in danger. I doubt Voldemort gives a similar shit, really. I think it's very strange that they would think the Most Evil Wizard Ever would have any kind of scruples, especially when he's trying to build his dark army. And, unlike the Dumbledore trusting Snape thing, I really don't think Ron and Hermione have any better reasons that they're not divulging. And it's not like they haven't latched on to Harry's less founded theories, either. And it's not like either of them want to believe the best of Malfoy. And they don't think Malfoy's too incompetent, either, so I really don't know what's up with it. It's extremely annoying and rather detracts from my enjoyment of the book. It's about the only thing, but it's a pretty big thing.
Now, onto thing Number Two. That thing being: Harry is still a Horcrux. Yeah, he is. But the important thing is that I think I've come up with a way it's likely to turn out.
Pat made an entry way back describing why he doesn't like the idea of Harry being a Horcrux. Which was fair. But one of the things he brought up was the suggestion that if Harry is a Horcrux, he needs to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to be destroyed. And that's something I've wanted to address since. Because: no he doesn't. In the book we learn that a Horcrux can, indeed, be un-Horcrucified. Of course, I don't know exactly how that works, but it seems to involve fire and danger. So, it's probably not a walk through the park, but it's doable. And if Harry is a Horcrux (which he totally is) then I'm sure there's a way to undo that while causing him no lasting harm.
Then I was thinking about the prophecy, and how this relates to it. I guess prophecies are meant to sound lacey and, well, arty-farty, but I've always thought the wording "neither can live while the other survives" was a little weird. Of course, I'm a language enthusiast and a drama geek, so I might be reading too much into it, but I think there's a definite difference in meaning between the word "lives" and the word "survives." Why couldn't it be "neither can live while the other also lives"? That would have been more straightforward. I think because it was ambiguous as to the state of the survival of the participants. Surely, Voldemort can't live pleasantly if Harry's still alive, because he'd always be up to mischief and foiling his evil schemes. But why does Harry have to knock off Voldemort? Perhaps the prophecy means that Harry has to get rid of the last vestige of Voldemort - the part that's inside himself - so that he can get to living life like a real boy.
The benefit of this interpretation is that Harry would not actually have to kill Voldemort. He would merely need to stop the last part of Voldemort surviving . See, the big reveal at the end of OotP was that Harry was going to have to kill Voldemort. Or, you know, die by his hand. And I found this to be pretty anti-climactic, because, well, isn't that what we all expected? I mean, we've all read stories before, so we're not new at this. I was confused as to what the big deal was, and I was a bit chagrined when the author pointed it out to me: Murder is bad. Oh yeah. Whoops. Killing people, it seems, is something you want to avoid doing if at all possible. In fact, killing people rips your soul in half . Ouch! This is probably something that you want to avoid happening to the hero of your story. However, the prophecy says that Harry has to kill Voldemort. Or does it? And thus my point.
So, Harry's a Horcrux, but that's actually probably a good thing. Huh.
Ron and Hermione need to be kicked in the nuts for that other crap, though. I'm serious.
[End Spoiler]
Also, I watched some television shows yesterday, and they were pretty good.
[Begin Spoiler for And The Half Blood Prince — Highlight to view]
The first thing I want to discuss is what pisses me off. The fact that Ron and Hermione refuse to believe Harry about Malfoy pisses me off. I may (or may not) have mentioned in the past that this is a convention I typically hate: when a character is blanketly not believed, even by those closest to him, even when he's typically a rational person. It happens a lot in horror movies. And it sucks. Similarly, it really bothers me when characters have their sanity questioned or discredited. It bugs me out. I guess it's because, in fiction anyway, it seems so easy to have all your rights and abilities instantly stripped away by the mere suspicion of mental instability. And there's nothing you can do about it!
That's not really the point, though. But I am vastly disappointed that neither of Harry's best friends thought for a minute that he might be right. And it's not like it was that far-fetched a suggestion! I did not understand why they were so against the idea. The basis for their denial seems to be "Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater." Which, frankly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I suppose it could be understandable if they were thinking of the Order of the Phoenix, which seems to have an age restriction, or at least a general understanding of "too young to risk your life fighting evil." However, the flaw there is that the Order of the Phoenix cares about its members and doesn't really want to put children in danger. I doubt Voldemort gives a similar shit, really. I think it's very strange that they would think the Most Evil Wizard Ever would have any kind of scruples, especially when he's trying to build his dark army. And, unlike the Dumbledore trusting Snape thing, I really don't think Ron and Hermione have any better reasons that they're not divulging. And it's not like they haven't latched on to Harry's less founded theories, either. And it's not like either of them want to believe the best of Malfoy. And they don't think Malfoy's too incompetent, either, so I really don't know what's up with it. It's extremely annoying and rather detracts from my enjoyment of the book. It's about the only thing, but it's a pretty big thing.
Now, onto thing Number Two. That thing being: Harry is still a Horcrux. Yeah, he is. But the important thing is that I think I've come up with a way it's likely to turn out.
Pat made an entry way back describing why he doesn't like the idea of Harry being a Horcrux. Which was fair. But one of the things he brought up was the suggestion that if Harry is a Horcrux, he needs to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to be destroyed. And that's something I've wanted to address since. Because: no he doesn't. In the book we learn that a Horcrux can, indeed, be un-Horcrucified. Of course, I don't know exactly how that works, but it seems to involve fire and danger. So, it's probably not a walk through the park, but it's doable. And if Harry is a Horcrux (which he totally is) then I'm sure there's a way to undo that while causing him no lasting harm.
Then I was thinking about the prophecy, and how this relates to it. I guess prophecies are meant to sound lacey and, well, arty-farty, but I've always thought the wording "neither can live while the other survives" was a little weird. Of course, I'm a language enthusiast and a drama geek, so I might be reading too much into it, but I think there's a definite difference in meaning between the word "lives" and the word "survives." Why couldn't it be "neither can live while the other also lives"? That would have been more straightforward. I think because it was ambiguous as to the state of the survival of the participants. Surely, Voldemort can't live pleasantly if Harry's still alive, because he'd always be up to mischief and foiling his evil schemes. But why does Harry have to knock off Voldemort? Perhaps the prophecy means that Harry has to get rid of the last vestige of Voldemort - the part that's inside himself - so that he can get to living life like a real boy.
The benefit of this interpretation is that Harry would not actually have to kill Voldemort. He would merely need to stop the last part of Voldemort surviving . See, the big reveal at the end of OotP was that Harry was going to have to kill Voldemort. Or, you know, die by his hand. And I found this to be pretty anti-climactic, because, well, isn't that what we all expected? I mean, we've all read stories before, so we're not new at this. I was confused as to what the big deal was, and I was a bit chagrined when the author pointed it out to me: Murder is bad. Oh yeah. Whoops. Killing people, it seems, is something you want to avoid doing if at all possible. In fact, killing people rips your soul in half . Ouch! This is probably something that you want to avoid happening to the hero of your story. However, the prophecy says that Harry has to kill Voldemort. Or does it? And thus my point.
So, Harry's a Horcrux, but that's actually probably a good thing. Huh.
Ron and Hermione need to be kicked in the nuts for that other crap, though. I'm serious.
[End Spoiler]
Also, I watched some television shows yesterday, and they were pretty good.
Wednesday
*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 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.
Friday
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.
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.
Thursday
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!
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!
Wednesday
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.
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.
Thursday
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!
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!
Wednesday
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 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.
Tuesday
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.
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.
Sunday
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
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
Monday
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.
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.
Saturday
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.
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.
Friday
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.
Just because I'm going to be in some movie about the Beatles.
HOLY CRAP!
...Extra. But, still.
Tuesday
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.
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.
Wednesday
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.
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.
Tuesday
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.
Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...? created with QuizFarm.com |
Monday
"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.
This morning, I found out that Peter Jennings died, and I fought down tears for almost two hours, because I had to answer phones.
Thursday
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.
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.
Sunday
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.
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.
Friday
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
1. Worchester, Massachusetts. "The Heart of the Commonwealth"
2. Providence, Rhode Island "New England’s Best Kept Kept Secret"
3. New Haven, Connecticut "Home of Yale University"
(New fucking Haven? Heh!)
4. Baltimore, Maryland "The Sparkling Harbor City"
(Bwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! No thanks!)
5. Hartford, Connecticut "The Insurance Capital"
6. Boston, Massachusetts "America’s Walking City"
7. Danbury, Connecticut "Small-Town Charm Near the Big Apple"
8. Frederick, Maryland "Where The Past Comes Alive"
9. Charleston, West Virginia "The Home of Hospitality"
10. Gaithersburg, Maryland "The Park City"
11. Cape Cod, Massachusetts "Jewel of the New England Coast"
12. Milwaulkee, Wisconsin "The Genuine American City"
(????)
13. Portland, Oregon "City of Roses"
14. Washington, District of Columbia "The World's Greatest Capital"
(I distinctly said "no corruption, please")
15. Chicago, Illinois "The Windy City"
(If I lived here, I could see fine musical acts. Furthermore, I hear it's clean.)
16. Little Rock, Arkansas "Where America Comes Together"
17. Stamford-Norwalk, Connecticut "Connecticut’s Key Cities"
(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"
(Hey! At least somebody can live in Nevada!)
19. Cambridge, Massachusetts "Boston’s Spirited Sister"
20. Medford, Oregon "Gateway to the Pacific Northwest"
21. Madison, Wisconsin "Athens Of The Midwest"
22. Bend, Oregon "Oregon’s Natural Playground"
23. Sheboygan, Wisconsin "Wisconsin’s Jewel on the Lake"
24. Fayetteville, Arkansas "Light of the Ozarks"
Thursday
Better.
An enigmatic recluse with a mysterious past and even stranger loyalties, you are an intensely serious presence.
HA!
Wednesday
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.
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.
Saturday
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?
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?
Monday
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.
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.
Saturday
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.
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.
Sunday
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.
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.
Thursday
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!
Saturday
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.
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.
Friday
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 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...
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...
Thursday
"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.
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.
Tuesday
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.
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.
Thursday
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
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
Wednesday
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.
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.
Tuesday
"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.
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.
Sunday
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.
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.
Wednesday
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.
It has been a very emotional day.
Monday
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.
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.
Friday
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!
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:
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. |
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My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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| Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid |
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