An addendum:
Yesterday, for the first time in my entire life (including those terrifying President's fitness tests in grade school when we were supposed to run a mile-- I was always last because I walked a significant part of the way) I jogged for 20 minutes. Without stopping. Not even for a second.
I can walk extremely quickly, ride an exercise bicycle, or use an elliptical machine for an hour without stopping, but until yesterday I had never been able to fight my way through the impact and exhertion necessary to actually jog for more than about 7 minutes, max.
I think that I might be possessed.
24 April 2006
Droopy Britches
I have had to part with many a lovely pair of pants over the years. Reasons for retirement have included (but are not limited to): beet stains, broken zippers, torn knees, ass rips (I once wore a pair of jeans to a day of set building for MXTW that ripped all the way up the back when I took a moment to tie my shoe. I had to borrow Chris's car to go home and change pants), and overly stained cuffs. The number one criteria for sending clothes to slack-heaven, though, has always been that they had become uncomfortable in some way or other - - usually, they had become entirely too tight to wear in public.
This morning I put on a pair of jeans I bought last summer that were, at the time of purchase, a little tight all around, but nevertheless fairly flattering. I haven't worn them much (due mostly to a debacle involving some tree sap and my behind. . .an enitre afternoon of repeatedly applying Imperial Cleaner and washing them eventually took care of that problem), but it was raining when I got up, and I figured I'd give them a chance this morning, as I didn't mind them getting wet and a little muddy around the cuffs.
I slipped on these freshly washed jeans with a little extra time before I had to leave for class with the intention of doing a few lunges around the house to stretch them out, because, if you aren't aware of this phenomenon, that's what people do when their pants are a bit too tight post-wash.
Then: a miracle. There were definitely no lunges this morning, because MY PANTS ARE TOO BIG. They were made to sit somewhere a few inches below my belly button, and are currently hanging precariously on my hips. They are baggy in the legs, and subsequently a little bit too long. So, for the first time in the history of my wardrobe, a pair of my pants is up for review for being entirely too large for me to wear them.
This morning I put on a pair of jeans I bought last summer that were, at the time of purchase, a little tight all around, but nevertheless fairly flattering. I haven't worn them much (due mostly to a debacle involving some tree sap and my behind. . .an enitre afternoon of repeatedly applying Imperial Cleaner and washing them eventually took care of that problem), but it was raining when I got up, and I figured I'd give them a chance this morning, as I didn't mind them getting wet and a little muddy around the cuffs.
I slipped on these freshly washed jeans with a little extra time before I had to leave for class with the intention of doing a few lunges around the house to stretch them out, because, if you aren't aware of this phenomenon, that's what people do when their pants are a bit too tight post-wash.
Then: a miracle. There were definitely no lunges this morning, because MY PANTS ARE TOO BIG. They were made to sit somewhere a few inches below my belly button, and are currently hanging precariously on my hips. They are baggy in the legs, and subsequently a little bit too long. So, for the first time in the history of my wardrobe, a pair of my pants is up for review for being entirely too large for me to wear them.
19 April 2006
Oh, yeah.
I'm moving to New York in September. In the event that anyone who doesn't frequently speak with me reads this ol' thing, I got an internship working for Richard Foreman's Ontological-Hysteric Theater, and will be working 40 hours a week for free from September to January. I don't care if I spend all of my time shining shoes. I. Am. Delighted.
I'm currently in the process of finding a place to live. I will find a real, buy-the-groceries job once I've found out my schedule at the OHT. I've got a gig at the Market in Manhattan over the summer slinging fresh fruit (when I'm not directing high schoolers) so as too have a little money tucked away for my move, so I'll probably be really tan and in need of a vacation by the time I move. I'm totally okay with this.
I will keep the inter-web updated as things move forward.
I'm currently in the process of finding a place to live. I will find a real, buy-the-groceries job once I've found out my schedule at the OHT. I've got a gig at the Market in Manhattan over the summer slinging fresh fruit (when I'm not directing high schoolers) so as too have a little money tucked away for my move, so I'll probably be really tan and in need of a vacation by the time I move. I'm totally okay with this.
I will keep the inter-web updated as things move forward.
Squeeky Clean Part II
Today is my first day of dietary freedom. Food/beverages consumed that I haven't been able to have in three weeks: a spoonful of tuna salad, a shot of espresso (with soy milk- good girl!), and an extremely delicious Phish Food waffle cone from Ben & Jerry's. More exciting, however, is all of the good-for-me things I ate today in spite of my ability to eat dairy/carbs/sugar, etc.: a mango/pineapple/strawberry/carrot-orange juice/soy milk/flax seed oil/Standard Process powder smoothie for breakfast, a salad with oil and vinegar (here's where the spoonful of tuna salad came in to play) for lunch, and a baggie full of spinach, mushrooms, carrots, and plain tuna for dinner. I can dig it- I feel pretty damn good, and plan to continue feeling this good for a long time.
On that note, I feel a little bit weird, post-icecream. So much dairy! So much sugar! It was, however, worth the wait and the bizarre tingling feeling I'm currently experiencing.
On that note, I feel a little bit weird, post-icecream. So much dairy! So much sugar! It was, however, worth the wait and the bizarre tingling feeling I'm currently experiencing.
05 April 2006
Squeeky Clean
While I was in New Mexico, I experienced a mildly excruciating case of heartburn the evening of the first full day we were there. I asked our hostess if she had anything I could take for it, and as Bette passed me some Gas-X with antacid, my aunt remarked that I wouldn't have heartburn anymore if I did "the Cleanse." This is a dietary endeavor that she recommends to some of her patients, as well as her best friend, both of my grandparents, and she herself has gone thru the process. I asked no questions other than "Will it help my skin, too?" before I told her I would start as soon as we returned home.
I was very near backing out as I contemplated what I might be enduring not drinking coffee or eating bread during this busy month, but the night before I was to begin my cleanse, I got a case of heartburn so bad that no amount of Kroger brand Tums could cure it, and realized some drastic action must be taken. So. The SP Standard Purification Process it was.
I received a big brown sack full of supplements, shake powder, and reading material (propaganda) concerning my Standard Purification Process. The propaganda is really good, though, and made me want to clean out my insides for real.
Basically, I can only eat fresh fruits and vegetable, with a tiny bit of unseasoned lean meat or eggs thrown into the mix. Let's think about all of the things that I like to consume that that rules out: dairy (cheese!), wheat based products, refined sugar, potatoes, chocolate, alcohol, and COFFEE. Who am I without coffee??? I also have plenty of pills (30ish) to take daily, and drink what feels like gallons of filtered water a day. I thought I had to pee a lot before. . .
For all of the thought I have to put into this, and all of the effort to not consume the things I am not supposed to consume, I can say this: I feel a little cleaner on the inside. I haven't had heartburn in since I started, which is a good sign that it won't come back after I'm done (I'm not making that up, that's what my auntie told me). And I am no longer afflicted with a lack-of-caffeine headache. I'm looking forward to the buzz I will feel the first time I drink coffee after my insides are all cleaned out, a buzz I have not known since I was approximately 14 and became addicted to coffee. I can now enjoy it for it's taste and smell, rather than needing an IV-drip to survive.
I have some serious plans to go out for ice cream the night I'm done with this ol' thing. Waffle cone. Chocolate. Yesssss.
I was very near backing out as I contemplated what I might be enduring not drinking coffee or eating bread during this busy month, but the night before I was to begin my cleanse, I got a case of heartburn so bad that no amount of Kroger brand Tums could cure it, and realized some drastic action must be taken. So. The SP Standard Purification Process it was.
I received a big brown sack full of supplements, shake powder, and reading material (propaganda) concerning my Standard Purification Process. The propaganda is really good, though, and made me want to clean out my insides for real.
Basically, I can only eat fresh fruits and vegetable, with a tiny bit of unseasoned lean meat or eggs thrown into the mix. Let's think about all of the things that I like to consume that that rules out: dairy (cheese!), wheat based products, refined sugar, potatoes, chocolate, alcohol, and COFFEE. Who am I without coffee??? I also have plenty of pills (30ish) to take daily, and drink what feels like gallons of filtered water a day. I thought I had to pee a lot before. . .
For all of the thought I have to put into this, and all of the effort to not consume the things I am not supposed to consume, I can say this: I feel a little cleaner on the inside. I haven't had heartburn in since I started, which is a good sign that it won't come back after I'm done (I'm not making that up, that's what my auntie told me). And I am no longer afflicted with a lack-of-caffeine headache. I'm looking forward to the buzz I will feel the first time I drink coffee after my insides are all cleaned out, a buzz I have not known since I was approximately 14 and became addicted to coffee. I can now enjoy it for it's taste and smell, rather than needing an IV-drip to survive.
I have some serious plans to go out for ice cream the night I'm done with this ol' thing. Waffle cone. Chocolate. Yesssss.
21 March 2006
Ladies' Holiday
In approximately 15 hours I will be on my way to spectacular Santa Fe, New Mexico. I will be traveling with my mother, her sister, her sister's best friend, and her sister's best friend's daughter. Weather.com tells us that it will be 60 degrees and mostly sunny for most of the time we are there. Which is a big step up from the cold, drizzly Kansas pseudo-spring we are currently experiencing.
I will have finally finished a draft of the script I have been putting together, off and on, for the past 8 months. I will finish the final section (section six out of eight) in the next hour, if everything goes well, and will send it on it's way to my editors tomorrow morning. That will allow me some breathing room for the trip, although I will allow it to plague me to some extent, as I will need to start memorizing and staging as soon as I return to my home turf. I will also need to begin learning my lines for As You Like It, and read for Western Civ II (a novel idea, I know). This, however, is what 15 hour car trips and Dramamine are for.
On my trip proper, I plan to take lots of long walks in uncharted territory, buy some fancy silver jewelry, drink wine and other assundry fancy beverages, nap, talk to my lady friends, read a couple of books for pleasure (Harry Potter VI, here I come!), and generally have the first relaxing vacation I've been able to partake in since August. I might even see some of the local artifacts/culture, like a good little traveler.
In the real world, the proverbial shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. I have too much to do in waaaaaay too little time. In the magical world of Spring Break, though: Life. Is. Beautiful. And all I can say is: Thank GOD.
I will have finally finished a draft of the script I have been putting together, off and on, for the past 8 months. I will finish the final section (section six out of eight) in the next hour, if everything goes well, and will send it on it's way to my editors tomorrow morning. That will allow me some breathing room for the trip, although I will allow it to plague me to some extent, as I will need to start memorizing and staging as soon as I return to my home turf. I will also need to begin learning my lines for As You Like It, and read for Western Civ II (a novel idea, I know). This, however, is what 15 hour car trips and Dramamine are for.
On my trip proper, I plan to take lots of long walks in uncharted territory, buy some fancy silver jewelry, drink wine and other assundry fancy beverages, nap, talk to my lady friends, read a couple of books for pleasure (Harry Potter VI, here I come!), and generally have the first relaxing vacation I've been able to partake in since August. I might even see some of the local artifacts/culture, like a good little traveler.
In the real world, the proverbial shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. I have too much to do in waaaaaay too little time. In the magical world of Spring Break, though: Life. Is. Beautiful. And all I can say is: Thank GOD.
09 March 2006
Today (Just Like Any Other)
1. My back is extremely itchy.
2. I'm doing inventory. Supposedly. Yeah, yeah, I'm more than half done. I'll have it done before it's due. The question is: Why are all of the Basic Video light stands broken?
3. I'm listening to alternapop via the internet, and it makes me want to hit the road, for real. Thankfully I'm only hours away from what will be my last ill-advised trip to the Star of the North before graduation.
If I don't come back. . .you'll know I'm happy.
2. I'm doing inventory. Supposedly. Yeah, yeah, I'm more than half done. I'll have it done before it's due. The question is: Why are all of the Basic Video light stands broken?
3. I'm listening to alternapop via the internet, and it makes me want to hit the road, for real. Thankfully I'm only hours away from what will be my last ill-advised trip to the Star of the North before graduation.
If I don't come back. . .you'll know I'm happy.
08 March 2006
Re: Birthday
For my birthday (proper) I went to work, to lunch with another birthday girl, to class (Acting with an Accent sang "Happy Birthday." Sadly, not in a Russian accent. That would have been sweet.), to rehearsal, and then to the Bourgeois Pig.
There, the festivities commenced for real. I spent a brief period of time doing the crossword by myself, drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio, but by the end of the night I kept thinking loving thoughts about how many friends/acquaintances I have who could be counted on to come out on a Thursday night and buy me drinks. There were, in fact, more people who wanted to buy me drinks than I could effectively take up on the offer. (I did let the bartender who insists on calling me by name buy me a glass of wine, because who could say no to that.)
So. I stayed out until 3AM and got 1. a little ridiculous, 2. a lot of hugs, and 3. a birthday cake and a flower at 1:45 on a Friday morning.
Quite a few pictures were taken, but to the best of my knowledge, I am in none of them. Typically, that would be a good thing. . .but it was my birthday so I'm not going to bother with pictures that I am not in and did not take myself. Birthdays are excuse enough to be selfish and self-centered, right?
I'm a grown up now. You just think about that.
There, the festivities commenced for real. I spent a brief period of time doing the crossword by myself, drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio, but by the end of the night I kept thinking loving thoughts about how many friends/acquaintances I have who could be counted on to come out on a Thursday night and buy me drinks. There were, in fact, more people who wanted to buy me drinks than I could effectively take up on the offer. (I did let the bartender who insists on calling me by name buy me a glass of wine, because who could say no to that.)
So. I stayed out until 3AM and got 1. a little ridiculous, 2. a lot of hugs, and 3. a birthday cake and a flower at 1:45 on a Friday morning.
Quite a few pictures were taken, but to the best of my knowledge, I am in none of them. Typically, that would be a good thing. . .but it was my birthday so I'm not going to bother with pictures that I am not in and did not take myself. Birthdays are excuse enough to be selfish and self-centered, right?
I'm a grown up now. You just think about that.
02 March 2006
Because I Said So
It's my 22nd birthday, and as I did not get particularly drunk on my 21st birthday, I planned to get duh-runk this evening. So there. I'll let you all know how that turns out.
27 February 2006
Pre-Birthday Lovelies
So, it's not quite my birthday. However, my parents were in town for my aunt Connie's engagement party over the weekend, so we decided on a little pre-birthday bash on Sunday afternoon. Yummy Thai food was had by all (sadly, not a good experience for Ari, or more specifically, Ari's stomach. . .Curse you, Thai Green Curry Noodles! Curse you!!!), then chocolate carrot cake and vanilla ice cream (see below: FOOD) and then. . .PRESENTS!
I love picking out presents for other people, when I can find the perfect thing. However, the best part about birthdays is that you don't have to remember to get presents for anyone else, nor do you even have to remember that it's your birthday until it is upon you.
For my 22nd year as a human being/first year as a real honest-to-God a-dult, the family decided to make kitchen/food/beverage gifts into a tradition. And I like it. I am now the proud owner of:
(1) wooden/steel spice rack, complete with
(20) full-to-the-brim spice jars
(2) sparkingly etched HUMONGOUS wine glasses
(1) bottle of Leaping Lizards Cabernet Savignon (Mom totally picked it out because she liked the label. Just as I would have.)
(2) olive green linen napkins
Macaroni & Cheese, a cookbook detailing recipes for 50+ variations on the classic
Cooking With Just Four Ingredients, detailing all of the most beautiful using (you guessed it) only four main ingredients
(1) red candle frame (Yep. A candle frame. It's pretty, and I don't understand it at all. I love my mother SOOO much.)
Sometimes being enthralled with material goods affords a vast quantity of happiness.
On a related note, pre-birthday dessert conversation included a retelling of my father buying beets from my mother at the Market, pre-dating.
Dad: I'm going to make beet juice.
Mom: Well. Good for you.
Note the recognizable Adams tone, resting gently between sarcasm and genuine well-wishing. My mother insists her subtext was "Are you going to make any for me?" while my father insists that he was really confused. This anecdote proves that I am, in fact, my mother's daughter.
This tale was followed shortly by another involving food, in which my mother made bran muffins for my father while he was still living in his parent's basement. He wasn't home when she went to deliver them, so she wrote him a note/poem wishing him, basically, happy pooping.
FOOD: This weekend I consumed more food than any one human being has a right or reason to consume. (I told this to a friend at some point on Saturday, and they made a snarky comment about needing food to live, which I may have deserved, but prompted me to clarify: consume IN ONE WEEKEND.)
Saturday morning Ari woke me up at 10, insisting that we eat some breakfast. I offered her my wide selection of breakfast options, and she opted for eggs with onions and cheese, Boca sausage, wheat toast, and coffee. This would have been fine, lovely even, except that at 1:30 we dashed off to consume more food at Ari's mom's birthday lunch. So. Salads and a split order of fish and chips, plus birthday carrot cake. Ari went spiralling into a food coma that lasted the rest of the night, while I had to settle for a shower and quick nap, as I had a performance to give. I then attended my aunt's engagement party, still a little full. I wasn't planning to eat anything (ever again), but then it turned out that the party was Mardi Gras themed, stocked with Etouffee, spinach/roma tomato dip, crab dip, shrimp cocktail, champaigne, chocolate cake. . .I SWEAR I only had a little bite of everything, but WHY OH WHY my stomach grumbled later that night.
Between Saturday's and Sunday's combined overindulgence, I didn't have to eat again until 6:00PM Monday night.
Happy Pooping, everyone.
I love picking out presents for other people, when I can find the perfect thing. However, the best part about birthdays is that you don't have to remember to get presents for anyone else, nor do you even have to remember that it's your birthday until it is upon you.
For my 22nd year as a human being/first year as a real honest-to-God a-dult, the family decided to make kitchen/food/beverage gifts into a tradition. And I like it. I am now the proud owner of:
(1) wooden/steel spice rack, complete with
(20) full-to-the-brim spice jars
(2) sparkingly etched HUMONGOUS wine glasses
(1) bottle of Leaping Lizards Cabernet Savignon (Mom totally picked it out because she liked the label. Just as I would have.)
(2) olive green linen napkins
Macaroni & Cheese, a cookbook detailing recipes for 50+ variations on the classic
Cooking With Just Four Ingredients, detailing all of the most beautiful using (you guessed it) only four main ingredients
(1) red candle frame (Yep. A candle frame. It's pretty, and I don't understand it at all. I love my mother SOOO much.)
Sometimes being enthralled with material goods affords a vast quantity of happiness.
On a related note, pre-birthday dessert conversation included a retelling of my father buying beets from my mother at the Market, pre-dating.
Dad: I'm going to make beet juice.
Mom: Well. Good for you.
Note the recognizable Adams tone, resting gently between sarcasm and genuine well-wishing. My mother insists her subtext was "Are you going to make any for me?" while my father insists that he was really confused. This anecdote proves that I am, in fact, my mother's daughter.
This tale was followed shortly by another involving food, in which my mother made bran muffins for my father while he was still living in his parent's basement. He wasn't home when she went to deliver them, so she wrote him a note/poem wishing him, basically, happy pooping.
FOOD: This weekend I consumed more food than any one human being has a right or reason to consume. (I told this to a friend at some point on Saturday, and they made a snarky comment about needing food to live, which I may have deserved, but prompted me to clarify: consume IN ONE WEEKEND.)
Saturday morning Ari woke me up at 10, insisting that we eat some breakfast. I offered her my wide selection of breakfast options, and she opted for eggs with onions and cheese, Boca sausage, wheat toast, and coffee. This would have been fine, lovely even, except that at 1:30 we dashed off to consume more food at Ari's mom's birthday lunch. So. Salads and a split order of fish and chips, plus birthday carrot cake. Ari went spiralling into a food coma that lasted the rest of the night, while I had to settle for a shower and quick nap, as I had a performance to give. I then attended my aunt's engagement party, still a little full. I wasn't planning to eat anything (ever again), but then it turned out that the party was Mardi Gras themed, stocked with Etouffee, spinach/roma tomato dip, crab dip, shrimp cocktail, champaigne, chocolate cake. . .I SWEAR I only had a little bite of everything, but WHY OH WHY my stomach grumbled later that night.
Between Saturday's and Sunday's combined overindulgence, I didn't have to eat again until 6:00PM Monday night.
Happy Pooping, everyone.
13 February 2006
Dance-Off 2006!
Saturday, the Undergraduate Theatre Council, for which I am the chairperson, threw a dance for the Department of Theatre and Film. The justification for this event is that we have a rally in August, and banquet in May, and not a bit of an department-wide event in between. So, we decided to have a wedding-reception style dance, complete with DJ and a dance competition. While it didn't end up being widely attended, the thing was definitely a fucking BLAST. It was about two hours long, we were in a room way too big for how many people attended, there was plenty of food and lemonade, a vast number of people danced til they had stomach cramps (oh, man, did I have a stitch) and everyone laughed a lot.
Highlights include:
* the DJ playing "Heartbeat" by Annie, which I sang along to while everyone looked at me funny
* making boys dance that had no intention of ever doing so, perhaps in their entire lives
* breakin' it down with TH&F's Cutter/Draper, Associate Director of Theatre, and Administrative Specialist, just to name a few
* the Dance Contest in it's entirety: 5 rounds, with elimination (Jon and I stayed in through the 4th round! We were proud.): Swing, Hip Hop (professors + hip hop = brilliant; this is when Del and Ione dropped out, sadly), Slow Dance, the Hand Jive, and Salsa
Many consolation prizes were awarded, including Hardest Worker Award (Brady Blevins), Explosive Award (Del Unruh for complaining about the volume of the music more than once), Rhythm Award (Eric Avery/Omofalabo Ajayi), and Weirdest Dancer (Adam Burnett), among others. The ultimate winners of the contest, for being the best dancers all around, were Gail Trottier and "The Boss."
Ultimately, it was a hit. Those who came and enjoyed have promised to spread the word for next year. I really hope Jeanne comes and wins the whole damn thing. Pictures of the event will be used in the banquet slide show to mortify us all, and as soon as I get some of them, I will probably post them. Even ones of me. I make stupid faces when I dance, so I can just about guarantee that I look sillier than everyone else. And proud of it.
We're sorry you weren't there, KatieG! Everyone asked about you. Feel better soon.
Highlights include:
* the DJ playing "Heartbeat" by Annie, which I sang along to while everyone looked at me funny
* making boys dance that had no intention of ever doing so, perhaps in their entire lives
* breakin' it down with TH&F's Cutter/Draper, Associate Director of Theatre, and Administrative Specialist, just to name a few
* the Dance Contest in it's entirety: 5 rounds, with elimination (Jon and I stayed in through the 4th round! We were proud.): Swing, Hip Hop (professors + hip hop = brilliant; this is when Del and Ione dropped out, sadly), Slow Dance, the Hand Jive, and Salsa
Many consolation prizes were awarded, including Hardest Worker Award (Brady Blevins), Explosive Award (Del Unruh for complaining about the volume of the music more than once), Rhythm Award (Eric Avery/Omofalabo Ajayi), and Weirdest Dancer (Adam Burnett), among others. The ultimate winners of the contest, for being the best dancers all around, were Gail Trottier and "The Boss."
Ultimately, it was a hit. Those who came and enjoyed have promised to spread the word for next year. I really hope Jeanne comes and wins the whole damn thing. Pictures of the event will be used in the banquet slide show to mortify us all, and as soon as I get some of them, I will probably post them. Even ones of me. I make stupid faces when I dance, so I can just about guarantee that I look sillier than everyone else. And proud of it.
We're sorry you weren't there, KatieG! Everyone asked about you. Feel better soon.
25 January 2006
Hitting the Road
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.
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.
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
05 December 2005
"Kitty, do you even know who Graham Greene is?"
Can they save their little ones from our pornography (read: famous literature)?
Citizens in Johnson County are trying to ban obscenity from K-12.
Citizens in Johnson County are trying to ban obscenity from K-12.
28 November 2005
This May Cause Rioting
I almost received a beheading recently when I mentioned to my friends that I thought the 3rd Harry Potter movie was better than the 4th. Hey, I liked the 4th movie, it was exciting and beautiful, Ron and Harry continue to become better actors (poor Emma Watson. . .someday her time will come), and Robbie Coltrane is my hero. Seriously, though, I just watched Prisoner of Azkaban again, and it's totally got Goblet of Fire beat all over the place. It has what feels like a complete plot, with the proper amount of exposition, suspense, and build, and no one bellows with their face upturned to the heavens ("NOOOOOoooooOOOO!!!!"). Watch 3 again, people. I'm serious.
22 November 2005
You're Fuckin' Right I Did
Yep, that's right. I finished it. Works cited and everything. It ain't good, but it ain't so bad neither.
Until revisions,
bebe
P.S. I ran into a friend, and for some reason he mentioned my prefered interweb signature, pronouncing it bay-bay. It was totally delightful and I was too pleased to correct him.
P.P.S. I'd better wake up Eric (who is asleep in my bed after working on his paper for class at my place) and get some Dunkin' Donuts or I might cry. Greasy sausage croissant (kwassont! kwassont!) + sugary creamy coffee = only way I'm gonna survive the rest of the day.
Until revisions,
bebe
P.S. I ran into a friend, and for some reason he mentioned my prefered interweb signature, pronouncing it bay-bay. It was totally delightful and I was too pleased to correct him.
P.P.S. I'd better wake up Eric (who is asleep in my bed after working on his paper for class at my place) and get some Dunkin' Donuts or I might cry. Greasy sausage croissant (kwassont! kwassont!) + sugary creamy coffee = only way I'm gonna survive the rest of the day.
(re)making, or why I'm glad it's almost Thanksgiving
It's nearing 6 in the morning, and after switching the font of my paper from Helvetica to Arial, I have only two pages left to write of my paper, thank the fucking gods. I hate it when I'm just reaching and reaching and reaching to get there, because clearly that means I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I sure don't give a fuck about Orestes or Orestes 2.0 anymore. So. . .I have two and a half hours to crank out two more pages on violent images as a device used to present the story of the house of Atreus to a modern audience.
Well, the internet is working in my room, which is fun. Atleast I have that.
Well, the internet is working in my room, which is fun. Atleast I have that.
16 November 2005
In-Class Essay Makeup
This is how I spent my afternoon. Oh, Western Civilization.
Below is a straightforward question in line with the readings and discussions so far during the second half of the semester. You have an hour or so to complete your essay based on the question. Here's what I'd like to see at the end of that time.
(Yada yada yada.)
Now, here's the question.
Does God play a role in a life lived according to nature?
Good luck.
Thank you, David Dewar, for prompting what was perhaps the worst essay I have written since Mrs. Cobb's American Lit class six years ago. You got me. Next time I'll know better than to skip half of the reading, because I will remember that one time I had to answer a question about religion and nature using Chaucer and Luther, when if I'd have read everything, I would have had Augustine and Aquinas at my fingertips.
Good trick.
Below is a straightforward question in line with the readings and discussions so far during the second half of the semester. You have an hour or so to complete your essay based on the question. Here's what I'd like to see at the end of that time.
(Yada yada yada.)
Now, here's the question.
Does God play a role in a life lived according to nature?
Good luck.
Thank you, David Dewar, for prompting what was perhaps the worst essay I have written since Mrs. Cobb's American Lit class six years ago. You got me. Next time I'll know better than to skip half of the reading, because I will remember that one time I had to answer a question about religion and nature using Chaucer and Luther, when if I'd have read everything, I would have had Augustine and Aquinas at my fingertips.
Good trick.
Four Eyed Monsters
This whole thing is way cute, and very smart. Check it out here or:
  Windows Media VersionIf you want to see each episode then one-click-subscribe-in-iTunes or one-click-subscribe-on-MySpace. You can post text, audio or video comments about this episode on our MySpace Video Blog. Music in this episode by National Eye on the label Park the Van. |
14 November 2005
This Week In the Arts
This past week I made up for some lost time (read: Three Sisters black hole) and went to a ludicrous number of events around town. I only fell asleep during one of them, and even then only briefly. More importantly, I only paid for my ticket to one of them, and that one was only $6. A brief description of the week as it was:
Do I really even need to say anything?
I would have thought it was just about the coolest thing ever when I was ten.
Seriously, the show has been described as 'STOMP meets Riverdance,' and the audience was clearly eating this shit up. Okay, it's pretty cool that these guys can fiddle and dance at the same time, but it was saved from Lord of the Dance status only because they never said anything like 'He is the greatest dancer in the world' or whatever shit they say about Michael Flatley. Not outloud anyway.
PLEASE NOTE: The percussionist had a serious 80's classic rock mullet. It was the best part of the show. The second best part of the show was the sexy British accent of one of the fiddle players.
My friend that took me was marginally embarrassed about the show's. . .well, the show's existence. I do not blame him; his mother bought him the tickets.
This darling of a man bears many a striking resemblence with my father. Just look at him. Dad's a little more of a wild and crazy guy on stage than Arlo, but they both know how to tell a story. I got to sit next to my pop during the show, which was totally awesome.
Now, for the big question. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THE MAMMALS? I've totally been in the dark. Folk-rock-bluegrass brilliance, I tell you. Just enough fiddle to make me wanna dance, just enough sad banjo to make me cry a little. It was like all the best parts of Trail Mix without Fiona Ritchie (sad) and Irish folk music (hooray!). Not to mention they were all ridiculously cute (Pete Seeger's grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger absolutely included) and the bad-ass fiddle playing girl reminded me of Cara of Dusty Bookshelf fame.
WHOO! May my life always be this exciting. For real.
Monday 7 November - BARRAGE: Vagabond Tales
Do I really even need to say anything?
I would have thought it was just about the coolest thing ever when I was ten.
Seriously, the show has been described as 'STOMP meets Riverdance,' and the audience was clearly eating this shit up. Okay, it's pretty cool that these guys can fiddle and dance at the same time, but it was saved from Lord of the Dance status only because they never said anything like 'He is the greatest dancer in the world' or whatever shit they say about Michael Flatley. Not outloud anyway.
PLEASE NOTE: The percussionist had a serious 80's classic rock mullet. It was the best part of the show. The second best part of the show was the sexy British accent of one of the fiddle players.
My friend that took me was marginally embarrassed about the show's. . .well, the show's existence. I do not blame him; his mother bought him the tickets.
Wednesday 9 November - Ravi Shankar: Festival of India II
Ravi Shankar has been a peaceful, talented badass for 85 years now. He has also populated the world with gorgeous, musically talented daughters (Anoushka Shankar and Norah Jones). The music was haunting and cyclical and made me incredibly sleepy. I fell asleep on my mother's shoulder and had lovely hallucinatory dreams.
Friday 11 November 8PM- The Big Funk
He's about 2 minutes away from covering her face and hair in Vaseline. Mmmm, greasy.
I got to see this show, directed by one of my favorite cohorts, Laura Leffler-McCabe, while it was still in rehearsals. I'd have probably gone to see it during the run anyway, but it was already so good before their tech week started that I new things could only go from great to awesome, and I was right. Laura, I believe, understands the idea that the best way to make theatre that is good is to make theatre that you, as a director, actually like. I got to watch good actors have clear revelations, with good timing, good jokes, and great music. Hurray for a show that I liked beginning to end!
Also, an audience member ended up with a throwing knife in her lap, which was exciting. She probably won't forget the show any time soon.
I got to see this show, directed by one of my favorite cohorts, Laura Leffler-McCabe, while it was still in rehearsals. I'd have probably gone to see it during the run anyway, but it was already so good before their tech week started that I new things could only go from great to awesome, and I was right. Laura, I believe, understands the idea that the best way to make theatre that is good is to make theatre that you, as a director, actually like. I got to watch good actors have clear revelations, with good timing, good jokes, and great music. Hurray for a show that I liked beginning to end!
Also, an audience member ended up with a throwing knife in her lap, which was exciting. She probably won't forget the show any time soon.
Friday 11 November 11PM- Atmosphere
1. Slug is my hero.
2. When Ant came out to spin (the first part of the set was with musicians) the bass was so heavy I felt like I was going to vomit.
It was everything I had hoped it would be and way fucking more.
2. When Ant came out to spin (the first part of the set was with musicians) the bass was so heavy I felt like I was going to vomit.
It was everything I had hoped it would be and way fucking more.
Saturday 12 November - The Mammals and Arlo Guthrie
This darling of a man bears many a striking resemblence with my father. Just look at him. Dad's a little more of a wild and crazy guy on stage than Arlo, but they both know how to tell a story. I got to sit next to my pop during the show, which was totally awesome.
Now, for the big question. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THE MAMMALS? I've totally been in the dark. Folk-rock-bluegrass brilliance, I tell you. Just enough fiddle to make me wanna dance, just enough sad banjo to make me cry a little. It was like all the best parts of Trail Mix without Fiona Ritchie (sad) and Irish folk music (hooray!). Not to mention they were all ridiculously cute (Pete Seeger's grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger absolutely included) and the bad-ass fiddle playing girl reminded me of Cara of Dusty Bookshelf fame.
WHOO! May my life always be this exciting. For real.
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