The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.
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Insomniac, Carnivorous, Singing Buccaneers
Listening to Crimson Pirates again - the second album. It has this lovely, haunting song about a man who falls in love with a mermaid and then asks his land girl for permission to break with her and marry the mermaid. I put it very poorly, but it's all from the land girl's POV, and quite lovely - esp. the center part when Jack sings and it goes all minor. I love "sea music" - I've a whole section of it on Merry's CD, and it always makes me want to simply dive into the waves and discover that I've gills after all. Perhaps it's something about the rise and swell of the music itself. Maybe it's the swaying, rocking chair effervescence of it. And the sadness - and the humour.
I was up until 3:00 a.m. again last night. I've been making a bad habit of this. I've always joked that I was just following in Grammy's footsteps - but it seems that it's really no joke. Insomnia actually does run in my family. Grammy used to stay up until 2/3 and then not wake up until 12/1. Apparently, her mother was also a real night owl. And her sister wouldn't wake until 1/2! So, perhaps I really do suffer a form of insomnia. But when I have something (oh, like school, peut-etre? ;) that requires me to wake up early, I do. I just still stay up until midnight at the earliest. Sick sick sick. (Literally, huh...?) But some comforting news, also via meine mutter: Winston Churchill was also an insomniac! He would DO all his work at night and then sleep in until noon or so. Once, he and FDR were meeting for something, and FDR was leaving for the plane so Churchill's assistants woke that witty Englishman and he threw on a dressing gown over his PJ's, hopped in the car, and drove with FDR to the airport! Well, so there you are. Had I my druthers, I'd completely day-for-night. Stupid. Oy. Although it is a good time to be up since there are fewer distractions.
(The song has changed to "Mist-Covered Mountains." Oooooh! YES! One can just see the proud prow of a ship parting the mists before it, with the barest hint of huge, towering highlands, with rank upon rank of conifers rearing up proud and tall, dwarfing and hailing you as you pass. The water laps upon the worn and peeling painted wood. The air is very still; the dawn will not come today. Something stirs to the port side, just before you, seeming to promise a long, sinuous body, with a fine ridge of scales upon its back. Shall we surprised if here be dragons? Or if Glaucon rises up to beg the nymph to play for him alone?)
What kept me up was the very pleasant task of designing costumes for Midsummer Night's Dream. The Kevin Kline/Michelle Pfeiffer/How Many Big Names Can We Stuff Into a Miramax Pic version was even worse than I remembered it - although it was pleasant when Jules pointed out that Flute/Thisbe was played by Guy from Galaxy Quest! Hurrah! What a good actor! There were interesting bits, and a few bits that were spot-on - but so much suffered Miramax syndrome: aka - let's change the essence of the play because we can, because difference not deepening is good, because we have to be new not just better. Also, they continously forget that the plays they're choosing are comedies! Now, I grant that those within comedies perceive themselves as non-comedic figures, but it's a VERY difficult line to tread, because you CAN'T become so serious that you lose all hilarity. But that's what Miramax continually loses. Not surprising really. See the bit about mirth on another thread, and God's mirth particularly. When you turn from God, the first thing you lose is laughter. Look at all the anti-God philosophers or artists - dreary lot, really. Oy. (By anti-God, I mean those reacting against God, not those who do not know him perfectly but are searching for him regardless.)
Just came back from grocery shopping (sigh - should grocery shopping go up with laundry folding? No, given a choice, I'd rather sort through lettuce than fold washcloths! I'd rather wash dishes, I think!), where I purchased a lot in the veggie/fruit section. And again, I was looking at the lettuce, and then at the bananas thinking: "Good golly! What am I doing?!?!? I'm eating PLANTS! I'm eating really big, curved, yellow seeds from exotic plants! I'm eating LEAVES! What is this?" Yes, ladies and gentlemen, much is made of vegans (the militant branch) who, upon discovering that "beef" is really a clever psudonym for "Bessie My Late Pet Cow," forswear meat altogether. But I - I think I shall be a carnivoran. No problem with the idea of eating Bessie. Bessie was meant to be eaten. Why do you think we have binocular vision, pointy teeth and nails, and hands with opposable thumbs? We ARE T-Rexes! And as such, it appalls me to think that I'm foraging through the underbrush like any rabbit for a salad. To think that I might as well bend my head and eat grass or munch on maple leaves...it's just plain weird folks. I'm not wholly serious, but if you think about it, it is very strange. To quote that song: "I've heard the screams of the vegetables/Watching their skins being peeled/Gritted and steamed without mercy/Well, how d'you think that feels?" Tee hee hee! PETA (People who Eat Tasty Animals) forever!
No particularly deep thoughts other than nagging anxiety re: the upcoming school year. Rather akin to nagging anxiety right before going on stage for opening night (or any night). Good, necessary - and frustrating. Video capture still not working, going to work on curriculum, Pirates asst. director interview this evening, Pirates board meeting tomorrow evening, and coaching Jill on a monologue Thurs. evening. Going into meet with Caroline next Tues., and to set up my classroom (sounds like it's still my classroom - praise You GOD! :D:D:D). Ought to get an oil change.
Ah, the happy mundanities of life! I want to write a story about a man who set out to waste time - rather Richard II-y, "I have wasted time, and now time wastes me." Perhaps a story about how tomorrow was finally caught. Certainly should finish up the one about the girl going off to cheat death. All short stories, get me back in the habit. Came up with a melody today that plays with a neat chord regression/modulation. Wonder what musical it's for and what the lyrics will be? Sounds like something Salero-y, but I'd like to stick it into The Twelve Dancing Princesses - it has that feel as well. Curious how we are a collection of odd thoughts and pieces....
Oh, I think Juste is an atheist - should be fun. The true atheists (not just the sullen, reactionary ones) are sometimes the most likely to violently convert - I think he's one of those sort. Dissatisfied with the "gods" he's presented with, dissatisfied with the theism of the Reverandants, and intrigued by the Khaitesh of Djo-Khai - but he didn't get a chance to really get into their confidences. Well, no wonder! They're rather outcast by all the other clans! (When DOES Baiyana happen in the timeline of Arianja? Pupaia is before that, I know - but how much - and really that story ought to be finished at some point as well. It's odd having all these little worlds in one's mind, all these stories which make their presence known and then rather firmly say, "Wait until you're older to write us down. You've not learned quite enough yet to understand us.")
Writing is such a weird process. No wonder so many people think artists are mad. Although it infuriated me - no, even that word is too soft - there is no word to describe the depths of my quiet Fury - when someone (E) once said that I was obviously "playing God" "being a power freak" when I was writing fantasy. ExCUSE me? I'm sorry, you did not just say that to me, did you? Because, the truth is, when a story works it's not that I have power over it, but it has power over me. I am simply an observer, a recorder as Zola would say, closing my eyes and "dreaming dreams, seeing visions," listening to the happy voices in my head, all ye derrogators!, and then typing as fast as I possibly can before the words, the image, the dream fades from me. How many stories have I lost because I was not quick enough to catch them? No - I am not the "God" of my story. I am its servant. And on re-reading, I am always astounded by "what got put in" whilst working under such inspiration - "God-breathedness." And that I am graced with stories that don't happen here - what could be more delightful? There is no tyranny involved, only archaeology. If you're going to accuse me of being a power freak in any artistic endeavour, at least have the decency to say that directing is - although hopefully that's serving the actors, the crew, the text, etc. as well - but there is better grounding there. Please, do not villify me when my eyes grow bright and my arms start flailing wildly when I describe what I discovered about this world or that world. Such a statement as was made is exactly what I am attempting to escape from. Such a statement shackles me to the fallen idiocies of this world, like having Pandora's Box clamp on your ankle when you dare to dream of Olympus. *nnnngh*
Right. And off I go to glimpse at my curriculum and calendar and to make my room habitable for Jill since the piano's down here, too. (Round and round the mullberry bush!) Forgive me, any readers, for rambling. I did warn you at the top! And as Julie says, "It's my diary. I shall fill it how I like." Control freak here? Mais oui. In fiction? Jamais.
Mood: Desirous of another Coke, apprehentious of tonight's interview although I'll be the one interviewing - hence the apprehension!
Music: What else? Crimson Pirates
Lyrics: Hey ho, soon shall I see them oh! Hey ho, soon shall I see them oh! Hey ho, soon shall I see, shall I see the Mist-Covered Mountains of Morning!
Popsicle Time!
Good stuff, you are "Wedding? I love
weddings! Drinks all around." You're the
life of the party and nothing gets you down,
not even certain death at the hands of your
zombie nemesis or the Navy. Come to think of
it, realism isn't your strong suit...
Which one of Captain Jack Sparrow's bizarre sayings from Pirates of the Caribbean are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Listening to Crimson Pirates again - the second album. It has this lovely, haunting song about a man who falls in love with a mermaid and then asks his land girl for permission to break with her and marry the mermaid. I put it very poorly, but it's all from the land girl's POV, and quite lovely - esp. the center part when Jack sings and it goes all minor. I love "sea music" - I've a whole section of it on Merry's CD, and it always makes me want to simply dive into the waves and discover that I've gills after all. Perhaps it's something about the rise and swell of the music itself. Maybe it's the swaying, rocking chair effervescence of it. And the sadness - and the humour.
I was up until 3:00 a.m. again last night. I've been making a bad habit of this. I've always joked that I was just following in Grammy's footsteps - but it seems that it's really no joke. Insomnia actually does run in my family. Grammy used to stay up until 2/3 and then not wake up until 12/1. Apparently, her mother was also a real night owl. And her sister wouldn't wake until 1/2! So, perhaps I really do suffer a form of insomnia. But when I have something (oh, like school, peut-etre? ;) that requires me to wake up early, I do. I just still stay up until midnight at the earliest. Sick sick sick. (Literally, huh...?) But some comforting news, also via meine mutter: Winston Churchill was also an insomniac! He would DO all his work at night and then sleep in until noon or so. Once, he and FDR were meeting for something, and FDR was leaving for the plane so Churchill's assistants woke that witty Englishman and he threw on a dressing gown over his PJ's, hopped in the car, and drove with FDR to the airport! Well, so there you are. Had I my druthers, I'd completely day-for-night. Stupid. Oy. Although it is a good time to be up since there are fewer distractions.
(The song has changed to "Mist-Covered Mountains." Oooooh! YES! One can just see the proud prow of a ship parting the mists before it, with the barest hint of huge, towering highlands, with rank upon rank of conifers rearing up proud and tall, dwarfing and hailing you as you pass. The water laps upon the worn and peeling painted wood. The air is very still; the dawn will not come today. Something stirs to the port side, just before you, seeming to promise a long, sinuous body, with a fine ridge of scales upon its back. Shall we surprised if here be dragons? Or if Glaucon rises up to beg the nymph to play for him alone?)
What kept me up was the very pleasant task of designing costumes for Midsummer Night's Dream. The Kevin Kline/Michelle Pfeiffer/How Many Big Names Can We Stuff Into a Miramax Pic version was even worse than I remembered it - although it was pleasant when Jules pointed out that Flute/Thisbe was played by Guy from Galaxy Quest! Hurrah! What a good actor! There were interesting bits, and a few bits that were spot-on - but so much suffered Miramax syndrome: aka - let's change the essence of the play because we can, because difference not deepening is good, because we have to be new not just better. Also, they continously forget that the plays they're choosing are comedies! Now, I grant that those within comedies perceive themselves as non-comedic figures, but it's a VERY difficult line to tread, because you CAN'T become so serious that you lose all hilarity. But that's what Miramax continually loses. Not surprising really. See the bit about mirth on another thread, and God's mirth particularly. When you turn from God, the first thing you lose is laughter. Look at all the anti-God philosophers or artists - dreary lot, really. Oy. (By anti-God, I mean those reacting against God, not those who do not know him perfectly but are searching for him regardless.)
Just came back from grocery shopping (sigh - should grocery shopping go up with laundry folding? No, given a choice, I'd rather sort through lettuce than fold washcloths! I'd rather wash dishes, I think!), where I purchased a lot in the veggie/fruit section. And again, I was looking at the lettuce, and then at the bananas thinking: "Good golly! What am I doing?!?!? I'm eating PLANTS! I'm eating really big, curved, yellow seeds from exotic plants! I'm eating LEAVES! What is this?" Yes, ladies and gentlemen, much is made of vegans (the militant branch) who, upon discovering that "beef" is really a clever psudonym for "Bessie My Late Pet Cow," forswear meat altogether. But I - I think I shall be a carnivoran. No problem with the idea of eating Bessie. Bessie was meant to be eaten. Why do you think we have binocular vision, pointy teeth and nails, and hands with opposable thumbs? We ARE T-Rexes! And as such, it appalls me to think that I'm foraging through the underbrush like any rabbit for a salad. To think that I might as well bend my head and eat grass or munch on maple leaves...it's just plain weird folks. I'm not wholly serious, but if you think about it, it is very strange. To quote that song: "I've heard the screams of the vegetables/Watching their skins being peeled/Gritted and steamed without mercy/Well, how d'you think that feels?" Tee hee hee! PETA (People who Eat Tasty Animals) forever!
No particularly deep thoughts other than nagging anxiety re: the upcoming school year. Rather akin to nagging anxiety right before going on stage for opening night (or any night). Good, necessary - and frustrating. Video capture still not working, going to work on curriculum, Pirates asst. director interview this evening, Pirates board meeting tomorrow evening, and coaching Jill on a monologue Thurs. evening. Going into meet with Caroline next Tues., and to set up my classroom (sounds like it's still my classroom - praise You GOD! :D:D:D). Ought to get an oil change.
Ah, the happy mundanities of life! I want to write a story about a man who set out to waste time - rather Richard II-y, "I have wasted time, and now time wastes me." Perhaps a story about how tomorrow was finally caught. Certainly should finish up the one about the girl going off to cheat death. All short stories, get me back in the habit. Came up with a melody today that plays with a neat chord regression/modulation. Wonder what musical it's for and what the lyrics will be? Sounds like something Salero-y, but I'd like to stick it into The Twelve Dancing Princesses - it has that feel as well. Curious how we are a collection of odd thoughts and pieces....
Oh, I think Juste is an atheist - should be fun. The true atheists (not just the sullen, reactionary ones) are sometimes the most likely to violently convert - I think he's one of those sort. Dissatisfied with the "gods" he's presented with, dissatisfied with the theism of the Reverandants, and intrigued by the Khaitesh of Djo-Khai - but he didn't get a chance to really get into their confidences. Well, no wonder! They're rather outcast by all the other clans! (When DOES Baiyana happen in the timeline of Arianja? Pupaia is before that, I know - but how much - and really that story ought to be finished at some point as well. It's odd having all these little worlds in one's mind, all these stories which make their presence known and then rather firmly say, "Wait until you're older to write us down. You've not learned quite enough yet to understand us.")
Writing is such a weird process. No wonder so many people think artists are mad. Although it infuriated me - no, even that word is too soft - there is no word to describe the depths of my quiet Fury - when someone (E) once said that I was obviously "playing God" "being a power freak" when I was writing fantasy. ExCUSE me? I'm sorry, you did not just say that to me, did you? Because, the truth is, when a story works it's not that I have power over it, but it has power over me. I am simply an observer, a recorder as Zola would say, closing my eyes and "dreaming dreams, seeing visions," listening to the happy voices in my head, all ye derrogators!, and then typing as fast as I possibly can before the words, the image, the dream fades from me. How many stories have I lost because I was not quick enough to catch them? No - I am not the "God" of my story. I am its servant. And on re-reading, I am always astounded by "what got put in" whilst working under such inspiration - "God-breathedness." And that I am graced with stories that don't happen here - what could be more delightful? There is no tyranny involved, only archaeology. If you're going to accuse me of being a power freak in any artistic endeavour, at least have the decency to say that directing is - although hopefully that's serving the actors, the crew, the text, etc. as well - but there is better grounding there. Please, do not villify me when my eyes grow bright and my arms start flailing wildly when I describe what I discovered about this world or that world. Such a statement as was made is exactly what I am attempting to escape from. Such a statement shackles me to the fallen idiocies of this world, like having Pandora's Box clamp on your ankle when you dare to dream of Olympus. *nnnngh*
Right. And off I go to glimpse at my curriculum and calendar and to make my room habitable for Jill since the piano's down here, too. (Round and round the mullberry bush!) Forgive me, any readers, for rambling. I did warn you at the top! And as Julie says, "It's my diary. I shall fill it how I like." Control freak here? Mais oui. In fiction? Jamais.
Mood: Desirous of another Coke, apprehentious of tonight's interview although I'll be the one interviewing - hence the apprehension!
Music: What else? Crimson Pirates
Lyrics: Hey ho, soon shall I see them oh! Hey ho, soon shall I see them oh! Hey ho, soon shall I see, shall I see the Mist-Covered Mountains of Morning!
Popsicle Time!
Good stuff, you are "Wedding? I love
weddings! Drinks all around." You're the
life of the party and nothing gets you down,
not even certain death at the hands of your
zombie nemesis or the Navy. Come to think of
it, realism isn't your strong suit...
Which one of Captain Jack Sparrow's bizarre sayings from Pirates of the Caribbean are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
posted by Emily C. A. Snyder | 3:45 PM
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