This May, I will be graduating from college. Finally. First things first: I will be making my way home to direct the Manhattan Experimental Theatre Workshop, celebrating my 10th year of involvement with the workshop. That's one spectacular anniversary. I will sleep on my mother's floor, as tradition dictates, trying to stay cool. I am currently attempting to find some steady work for my summer in MHK.
The real task at hand, however, is to find something to do with myself when that ol' lease is up in August. I'm exploring a number of options to ensure that I will in fact be able to move out of Kansas for the first time in my career as a human being. Basically, I'll be moving somewhere across state lines in August; where exactly will depend on a variety of factors.
I'm currently exploring the following avenues to attain some sort of occupational status for the fall:
1. I've sent off a letter to the Ontological-Hysteric Theater in New York City, in the hopes of getting an internship with Richard Foreman. I will happily buy his coffee, paint his trashcans, work 40 free hours a week, and get a real job to support myself, if it means watching Richard do what he does.
2. I've sent a similar letter to the Theatre de la Jeune Lune in Minneapolis. For reasons, see above.
3. I'm driving with a group to the Unified Professional Theatre Auditions in Memphis, TN in a week, where representatives from a bazillion theatre companies will watch our 90 second auditions (I'm attempting to do 2 monologues in 90 seconds, which means 6 lines of Shakespeare and the veeeeery end of a contemporary monologue. Yikes.) and decide if they want to call us back to see more. There are some swell companies (Shanendoah Shakespeare) and some questionable companies. If nothing else, I'll get to see Graceland.
4. I'm driving with a group to the Twin Cities Unified Theatre Auditions at the Jungle in Minneapolis. This is like the better (cheaper, less intimidating, no chance of getting called back by a cruise ship) version of the UPTAs. I don't have to rent a hotel room and I can eat at True Thai. Big score.
5. I'm trying to get the UT SM to teach me how to use Final Cut Pro, so that I can be a viable candidate to apply for the This American Life internship in Chicago. (This is an internship I will apply for in the next few years, regardless of whether I apply for the fall.) I'm pretty sure I'm wearing him down. Plus his sound assistant just quit, so I might even be useful.
I used to think to myself after getting out of Audition techniques, "I admire people that do that. I'm never going to do that in A MILLION YEARS." Heh. It's a good thing I heart irony.
If nothing pans out, I'm moving to Minneapolis, finding a job as a barista, living with Ariana (actually, that part is a given no matter where I go, unless I join a touring company. . .weird idea), taking the GRE, and perhaps applying to Aveda so I can learn a lucrative skill. What's great is that while some options are better than others, none of them are bad. Life is full of possibilities.
I will have a lot more to say on this subject in the upcoming months, so watch out. I have a feeling they will get progressively more frantic.
25 January 2006
20 January 2006
Spectacles
For those of you who were not witness to my incessant bitching, let me tell you a (not so) brief story.
FALL 2004: One rainy day, on my way to Polish class, I stopped at the Underground to get a cup of coffee. As I stepped in the doors, I took off my maroon Eddie Bauer specs to wipe them clean of rain. As I wrapped the soft cloth of my t-shirt around the left lens, they snapped in half at the bridge. So. I walked home blind, found my old glasses, a pair of big oval wire frames I stopped wearing my junior year in high school but thankfully kept in the bottom of a box, missed the first 20 minutes of Polish, and bought a new pair of frames that my old lenses could be cut to fit that afternoon.
The new frames were dark brown, semi-thick rectangular plastic. They were a little too small for my face, but no one but Ariana could possibly have ever noticed.
Fast-forward to FALL 2005: One night I took off my glasses before sleeping, and put them under my bed. My assumption is that my blanket off of my bed, as it has a tendency to do, and when I pulled it back up at some point in the night, it pulled my glasses out of their hiding place. I awoke the next morning at some ungodly hour to meet my parents for breakfast, decided to hit the snooze on my alarm which is across the room, and as I scurried back to bed, heard the crack of what could only have been, you guessed it, my stupid glasses breaking.
My lovely auntie drove me all around town to find an optometrist able to see me that day. We ended up at Crandon and Crandon, her eye doctor, and she tried on frames with me until they took me away to do all those weird things they do when they test your eyes. This time around, it was agreed that I should get some damn cool, fancy EYEWEAR, as who knows when the next time I'll get a new pair will be.
(Please note: I had my eyes dilated approximately an hour before giving a presentation in my Intro to the English Language class. Not only could I not read my notes, I also felt nauseous and had creepy eyes. One eye recovered faster than the other and made me look even creepier.)
So, new snazzy glasses were on the way. However, except for those few occasions that called for sunglasses, I was stuck in these classy things:
from my childhood that make me feel fourteen and hideous. They contributed to the worst time I've ever had at a college party, but that's an even more petty story, and I'll save it for another time. Anyway, they hurt my nose, and made me grumpy every time I looked in the mirror.
And then. . .NOVEMBER 2005
When I originally started this post, this was the end of the story. I finally had my new, beautiful specs, and was awaiting public recognition for how sweet they were. They were publicly applauded, I was content, and I put them in their case every night before I went to bed. Yet there is now an addition to the story.
DECEMBER 30, 2005
I hunkered down with Ariana to watch Playing By Heart (Jon Stewart is, was, and always will be sexy), take my glasses off clean them, and they split above the right lens. My first thought was that I was having a nightmare, which would have been bad enough. Ariana had to attempt to calm my fears of them not getting replaced and having to wear my old glasses forever (which, this time, were in a different town than the initial break), not to mention leading me around Manhattan by the arm to keep me from running into things. She even read me road signs on the way home to keep me calm. I attempted to have them repaired, but after glue and acetone, they were a little more melty and no less crap.
Anyone that was wondering, this is why I wore my sunglasses to the New Year's Eve party. In case you were thinking I was just that cool.
Crandon and Crandon are my heroes, however, and ordered a new front part for my frames and fixed them within three days, no questions asked.
Since this latest development in the corrective lenses debauchal, I have taken to switching to my crap glasses before exercising, cleaning, extreme cooking, and past midnight. Just as long as no one will catch a glimpse of me wearing them. All for the love of my specs.
FIN
FALL 2004: One rainy day, on my way to Polish class, I stopped at the Underground to get a cup of coffee. As I stepped in the doors, I took off my maroon Eddie Bauer specs to wipe them clean of rain. As I wrapped the soft cloth of my t-shirt around the left lens, they snapped in half at the bridge. So. I walked home blind, found my old glasses, a pair of big oval wire frames I stopped wearing my junior year in high school but thankfully kept in the bottom of a box, missed the first 20 minutes of Polish, and bought a new pair of frames that my old lenses could be cut to fit that afternoon.
The new frames were dark brown, semi-thick rectangular plastic. They were a little too small for my face, but no one but Ariana could possibly have ever noticed.
Fast-forward to FALL 2005: One night I took off my glasses before sleeping, and put them under my bed. My assumption is that my blanket off of my bed, as it has a tendency to do, and when I pulled it back up at some point in the night, it pulled my glasses out of their hiding place. I awoke the next morning at some ungodly hour to meet my parents for breakfast, decided to hit the snooze on my alarm which is across the room, and as I scurried back to bed, heard the crack of what could only have been, you guessed it, my stupid glasses breaking.
My lovely auntie drove me all around town to find an optometrist able to see me that day. We ended up at Crandon and Crandon, her eye doctor, and she tried on frames with me until they took me away to do all those weird things they do when they test your eyes. This time around, it was agreed that I should get some damn cool, fancy EYEWEAR, as who knows when the next time I'll get a new pair will be.
(Please note: I had my eyes dilated approximately an hour before giving a presentation in my Intro to the English Language class. Not only could I not read my notes, I also felt nauseous and had creepy eyes. One eye recovered faster than the other and made me look even creepier.)
So, new snazzy glasses were on the way. However, except for those few occasions that called for sunglasses, I was stuck in these classy things:
from my childhood that make me feel fourteen and hideous. They contributed to the worst time I've ever had at a college party, but that's an even more petty story, and I'll save it for another time. Anyway, they hurt my nose, and made me grumpy every time I looked in the mirror.
And then. . .NOVEMBER 2005
When I originally started this post, this was the end of the story. I finally had my new, beautiful specs, and was awaiting public recognition for how sweet they were. They were publicly applauded, I was content, and I put them in their case every night before I went to bed. Yet there is now an addition to the story.
DECEMBER 30, 2005
I hunkered down with Ariana to watch Playing By Heart (Jon Stewart is, was, and always will be sexy), take my glasses off clean them, and they split above the right lens. My first thought was that I was having a nightmare, which would have been bad enough. Ariana had to attempt to calm my fears of them not getting replaced and having to wear my old glasses forever (which, this time, were in a different town than the initial break), not to mention leading me around Manhattan by the arm to keep me from running into things. She even read me road signs on the way home to keep me calm. I attempted to have them repaired, but after glue and acetone, they were a little more melty and no less crap.
Anyone that was wondering, this is why I wore my sunglasses to the New Year's Eve party. In case you were thinking I was just that cool.
Crandon and Crandon are my heroes, however, and ordered a new front part for my frames and fixed them within three days, no questions asked.
Since this latest development in the corrective lenses debauchal, I have taken to switching to my crap glasses before exercising, cleaning, extreme cooking, and past midnight. Just as long as no one will catch a glimpse of me wearing them. All for the love of my specs.
FIN
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