The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Host: "Hamlet to Hamilton: Exploring Verse Drama" | Founder: TURN TO FLESH PRODUCTIONS | Author: "Cupid and Psyche" "Nachtsturm Castle" & Others | Caitlin O'Sullivan in "The Ghost Ship" (Boston Metaphysical Society)

Sunday, August 31, 2003

Only I didn't say 'fudge'

Yup, my streamlined beautiful silver laptop is DEAD. Fortunately, I'll be sending it to Circuit City and they'll rip its guts out and put new ones in and so "Tevyier (sp?), that's your problem, too!"

*nnnngh*

Mood: Slowly I turn, step by step
Music: "And now what shall I do? And now whom shall I turn to?" Suitably agitatio
Thought: Again, there's def. a spiritual application here. But at least everything's backed up and I have pen and paper with which to write. >the shock!<

Geronimoooooooooo!



Everything is backed up and is about to be annihilated! ...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!...

Mood: Tense
Music: Stairway to Heaven by Led Zepplin
Appropriate Movie Moment: When Rattigan has tied up Basil of Baker Street and Dawson and left them with a meat cleaver about to descend upon them once the cheerful "Farewell" song on the grammaphone is finished....

Happy thought indeed!

Still backing up files....

So in the nonce:


You're a warrior unicorn. You are brave and loyal
and you'd sacrifice your life for love or
ideals. You are also unbearably vain and
arrogant. Get over yourself. Everyone looks hot
in jeweled armor.


What Kind of Unicorn are YOU? (no, really..its cool- with graphics!)
brought to you by Quizilla

ROTFLOL! Silly thing! Right - on to back up my DVD-maker-thingy and get my CD's back onto CD. Be back later...i hope....

Mood: Oy. Meh.
Music: "I Love My Lips" from Silly Songs with Larry - VeggieTales work as well as Muppets!
Sniffle Moment: I am all alone at home whilst the remainder of the familia are out taking a Sunday drive but with them all gone I can do work so that tomorrow I'm not going crazy and driving everyone else so as well. But I must take a break. I mean, heck, that's that the READINGS and homily were about! And it is the Lord's day. Off to format a disk and write a curriculum whilst the computer formats.... Oh the multitaskingness of me! (Sung to "I've got to crow" - sigh.)

Now can the baby float?

I'm in the middle of copying recent files onto CD's right before I wipe my entire computer clean.

I'm sure there's a theological implication in this - selling all you have to the poor and follow Me, leaving your boats and follow Me, the graces of confession and the Blessed Sacrament, the virtue of surrender. Peter stepping out of the boat.

Gee - those waves look choppy!

Ah well - here goes everything!

Mood: Apprehentious
Music: The Muppets, to keep my spirits up
Weather: Simply glorious! I think I might go for a long walk after this experiment.

This is just to prove...

...that I can write short entries.

Neener.

Mood: Satisfied. Linguistically pleased.
Music: Time to Say Goodbye by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Boccelli
Thought: Ticking clocks are soothing. As is Barber's Addaggio, which takes up quite a few tocks.

Saturday, August 30, 2003

Vive la aristocracie!

Which LOTR Guy Will Give You A Fab Birthday Gift? by DarkRose
Name
Birthdate
Favorite Color
Who Gives You The GiftSean Bean
What They Give YouRomantic weekend in Paris
Estimated Value$846
Created with quill18's MemeGen!


Hmmm, I wouldn't say no...even if it is >shudder< Paris.

Today (nearly wrote toady there...!) I allowed Jules to drag me out to an actual beauty salon to get a foil wrap, a haircut, and a brow wax. Fascinating. Afterwards, feeling rather chic, I dragged Jules out to the manicure place at the mall and have only just arrived home. I'll list my thoughts below. I was going to continue the Thirteen Noble Khai of Djo-Khai (love worldbuilding on the sort-of-fly), but I think for the sake of all concerned I'll just keep to numbers right now.

1) It's a little frightening to me how easily I and all of us slip into letting others wait on us. I myself am but an indifferent conversationalist, but I overheard others talking up a storm, chatting and gossiping and complaining as though the hairdresser's chair were a cross between a confessional and a couch. A private investigator would do well to learn the craft of beauty salon-ing. There's much to be learned in such a fashion. But there's an absolute comfort, a brainless giving-over, a languid passivity that one falls into when others are "doing" for you. Even moreso if the "servant figure" doesn't speak one's language (or if there's a hair dryer going and thus making conversation impossible). No thanks, no verbal recognition of the other's presence except as someone who is competent at massaging one's hand or one's scalp. I can see why members of the aristocracy would become downright rude to servants, if not frequently oppressive or abusive.

2) And yet, just as curiously, although the one who is being "done for" seemingly has the greater prestige, power and position, she gives herself fully into the power of the one "doing for." My head is quite literally in the hairdresser's hands - she might, whilst my eyes are closed and I'm just thinking of the water running over my hair, slit my throat quite easily. My hands are captured, at the mercy of the manicurist. If one recognizes this - without the sinister overtones, of course, I'm just gearing up for writing a book which tends to heighten every aspect of life, including shadows - in a good, healthy, humble fashion, then you have GOOD relation between "servant" and "noble." The noble realizes that his job is entirely made or unmade by those under his control, and therefore that he is indeed under the control of those some might reckon "lesser."

3) This, I suppose is the difference between Aristotle's definitions of Aristocracy vs. Oligarchy. The former recognizes his place and the place of all men, and the duties that both owe to each other and acts accordingly in what we would call a Christian manner. It's the greatness of sworn fealty. But the latter is essentially delusional. I must wonder which most Americans fall into?

4) Strangely enough, the majority of the customers appeared to be not young chicks, as I had anticipated, but rather 40-something-year-old women. You know, the ones with tight faces, carefully made-up so that it's not quite an obscene amount of paint but just enough to be obviously "God [given] one face, and [they] paint themselves another," tans with hairline cracks that might be wrinkles, chic bright expensive T-shirts that show off the carefully kept bodies while hiding stretched wombs that have carried neglected children, gaunt and sagging jaws that retain their pride and sharpness along with the down-turned mouths.... These are the women with the money. These are the women who have only borne a few children - perhaps one or two - because they have been told that children are a burden and spend most of their time too far away from their own to learn whether or not this is true. These are the women who have had so few children because they believed in "sexual freedom" and so have used the pill, or condoms or both, and most likely had an abortion or three before they were married or even IN their marriage, and consequently have not motherhood to recommend them to their husbands, but only their fading shallow sexuality. These are the women who are clinging to their husbands with passing looks, because neither have become truly mother and father with bonds deeper than flesh and bone. These are women who have money and prestige because they abandoned their children to return to a cold and cheerless work, and must to keep their aging jobs keep lovely to compete with their own grown and orphaned daughters. These are women who believe that youth is everything and so flock to these spas, these places that promise youth in tin foil and purple gunk, and these are the women that walk away blonder and bleaker. These are the bleached women. They have bought the house of love, but have never been possessed - because the house of love is made of more than silken sheets, but is made of people, children, parents and blood and sweat and laughter and tears and held together with faith and the grace of God. Again, I hope my impression is worse than the actuality, except that I fear that there is more truth inwardly than even these women would care to admit.

What is it about women that we are so cursed to become stupid when it comes to men? I'll list a few of my thoughts - with the alphabet this time! Hurrah!

A. I was rewatching the Maggie/Harry dance last night (it works precious! The DVD works! Glory glory alleluia!), and Jules pointed out something that I'd thought of before (not whilst choreographing, however, rather whilst watching the performance and then the video): that really it could be taken that Maggie, desperate for Harry's love, sleeps with him. And he, after first pushing her away as a little girl, and then dancing with her because she is available, then pushes her away again when she tries to make their relationship more sacramental with the kiss. Gah - isn't that just the way our society is, though? I am furious with my girls who sleep with the boys, who make whores of themselves, in part because they are so clueless. Women are so desperate "for a man" that they will do anything to keep a man. What does this stem from?

B. The sin of Eve, of course! (More about this in a minute.) Basically, look at Genesis how you will, the fact is that we all undeniably partake in Original Sin - that is, every sin we perpetrate although they may SEEM varied are in essence the same sin. (As opposed to virtue which actually is multifarious.) It's the "I want what I want when I want it...whether or not I need it." It can be boiled down to this: "Gimme." Same thing Satan said to God on His throne: "Gimme." What Eve said, and then Adam said. What the envious Richard III said when he murdered his two nephews. What Paris said, and then fought the Greeks over the same thing. What the glutton and the spendthrift and the sloth and the wrathful and ALL the voice of sin says: "Gimme." What more childish (NOT childlike) sentiment is there? What more despicable, shallow and petty? Again, I'm going to return to this in a second.

C. While I was under the hair-dryer thing with the foil in my hair, I was handed the Cosmopolitan magazine to read, so I flipped to the table of contents and...BLECH! Oy! There were articles with pictures of how to "pleasure" a man. Every other article - literally (no pun ;) - was about "sex secrets" to keep him yours forever. The sin of Eve. Turning right around and tempting Adam to keep him with her even in sin. What's that Gin Blossoms song? "Any where you go, I'll follow you down, follow you down, but not that far." And such temptation is frequently done out of ignorance - out of a sort of Sleeping Beauty/Cinderella mentality that women will only find happiness in "the one." That once a girl has "found her man" she will be "complete," happy, and need nothing else again ever.

D. The ironic thing, of course, is that the sentiment is absolutely right. We none of us will ever be complete, happy and in need of nothing else until we have cleaved ourselves irrevocably to The Man, to "the one," to God-become-Man, to Jesus the Christ. More to the practical point, it's quite right to realize that men complete women, and vis versa. (I'll get to the inevitable paragraph on homosexuality in a second.) So we see again that sin is a narrowing, a shallowing, a pettinessing of Truth - it twists goodness, makes it small and feeble, it latches all importance onto a single piece of the whole, rather as though an elephant should hope to balance on a single grain of dirt in the middle of space. Were he to stand solidly upon the earth - with zillions of grains of dirt packed over hardened rock, packed over the warming core, and surrounded by the invisible grace of the atmosphere and the elements which make possible not only his life but flora and fauna which will keep that elephant alive - then all should be well and flourish and perpetuate vitality. But sin pins everything on that single piece of dirt that cannot possible sustain the elephant, much less the necessities for life. So do women need men, and many women are called by vocation to marriage to one man, and this is perhaps even a solid rock in the geography, but still needs more than itself to survive. Alone, isolated, it cannot bear the weight of life. So too our relationships and views of men. Let us not mistake them for the earth and moon and sun and stars. That is but a part of God. If we could just see that they in the sacramental bond with ourselves make up a small part of God's earth, we might be more content and less fearful lest we fall off our inadequate excuse for an "earth."

E. No wonder, then, if women perceive men as their earth that they are so willing to do anything to keep them! It's more perilous than The Little Prince! And yet, if we are to learn anything from our classical mythology, we would realize that the earth is frequently referred to as the female component, and the air the male. This makes sense: for women actively receive as much as men actively give. Things are topsy turvy indeed if we see men as the earth, when we are that ourselves. Things are topsy-turvy when men receive from us - apples, sexual favors - when it is their part both physically and metaphysically to give. Again, the sin of Eve, desiring "Gimme" power over men. And the sin of Adam, desiring "Gimme" all that the woman can give so long as it is not life. In this magazine, it taught women how to pleasure a man, how to keep him. Where are the similar magazines for men, if all things are post-feministically "equal." (HATE that word. It ought to be complementary - but this implies that there is no gender, nor any difference nor variety - the narrowness of sin again there folks!) No, rather men are given pornography which is entirely and quite literally gratuitous. Topsy-turvydom. No wonder we think God is upsidedown if we stand on our heads all day!

F. Along with that, was an article about how it is perfectly safe to use the pill in such a fashion that one only has one's period once every three months. Not only can this not be healthy (the article said that no one's conducted long-term studies to see what effects this has), but it again "unsexes" women far more than Lady Macbeth's avarice ever could. It denies the purpose and rhythm of the organs, as much as if there were some pill to make it so that we only needed to use the bathroom four times a year! What would that do to our bladders? What does this do to our ovaries, our uteruses, our ability to create REAL life?! More, what does it do to women's self image, this "jagged little pill?" It only feeds the notion that women are sex-objects, that we are not mothers in potentia, that we are not earth to bear fruit, that we are not to be respected as the bearers of life, but that we are orifices with interesting curvy bits. And we women believe it! Really, we don't need any more encouragement in this area. Every woman from Eve on down has been positively insane when within a ten-mile radius of testosterone - "And your desire shall be for your husband. And you shall long to have dominion over him [but you shall not have it]." We're utter wimps, we're willing to give in to his desires, forgetting that he too is struggling with original sin and self-control. We are feeding him the apple, shoving it into his mouth, and wondering why he behaves more like a beast than the Image of God. (Side note: This article also said that many women are afraid to not have their monthly period because they're afraid when they don't get that monthly reminder that they're not pregnant! Gah - what does this imply? That women are expected to be promiscuous and to again deny life. Sick sick sick.)

G. This brings me back to that Aristocracy/Oligarchy thing again. Women, because of the curse of Eve, don't see the power of receptivity. The power of being "lesser" is really the same power as the earth. Were the earth to disappear, all life would die. We are the solidity, we are the receptivity, the nurturing presence of this world. That is our power. A slower power, perhaps a less flashy power than the celestial stormy temper tantrums, and yet just as varied. The sun shines in shifting colors to compliment our multihued vegetation. The two require one another to remain in place. I don't intend to promulgate a return to paganism with this metaphorical imagery, except to point out that such imagery is completely fulfilled in Christ's relationship to His creation. And by understanding what metaphor He has ingrained into His creation we can understand Him and ourselves more completely.

H. Finally, the promised paragraph on recent observations in regard to the current seeming "rise" in homosexuality. This summer I've had the opportunity to grow close to many people who either consider themselves to possibly have a same-sex tendency (Captain Hook voice insert here: "Split me infinitives!" ;), or those who have natural sexual tendencies but who have been indoctrinated into the current culture that requires one to promote even the barest thought of same-sex tendencies. I would like to state right here and now that I continue and will continue to love and cherish these people's friendships. But that regardless, I am an author/director and so a sometime student of human behavior. And what I have discovered is that overwhelmingly "straight" women are keeping their "gay" guy friends in the jail of a box labelled "homosexual - do not interfere." Did you get that?

Straight girls are keeping boys gay.

Means of doing so include by and large referring to their friends as gay/homosexual to their faces and to others, constantly referencing their sexual tendencies "yeah, he'd like me if I was a GUY," constantly teasing and denigrating their friends "you're such a girl," promoting what are considered "homosexual" so-called symptoms (HA! Right - I'm indecisive, therefore I'm a girl. I'm decisive therefore I'm a guy. I'm vain therefore I'm a girl. I don't care how I look therefore I'm a guy. Gag me right here when we confuse personality with gender) by discouraging them to be "just" friends with guy friends, by dragging them to "girl" activities, so on and so forth.

One must ask why.

Or at least I do. I mean, it's so apparent that many of these normally sexually oriented girls are head-over-heels in passionate like with their so-called same-sex oriented guy friends that one would think these girls would go to extraordinary ends to convince their guy friend that he returns passionate eros feelings for her as well. And yet, here's where we get the confusion of sin again. The mentality seems to be that if the girl keeps the guy with other guys (sexually) then he will be hers personally. The sexuality with other guys the girl will pass-off in her own mind as unfortunate but shallow (usually it seems to be anyway - it's not confused friendship so often but a desire for ANY love - ever notice how often those who consider themselves same-sex oriented go out and break up?), and therefore his SOUL will be hers. Likewise, then, if the girl is the best friend of a guy who she encourages to "like" other guys, her fellow will not be looking at other girls and so the girl will have no competition.

Stupid, huh? Did I mention that women go positively psycho when a man's in the area?

But this indeed seems to be the case. Let's look at it from the side of virtue. This behavior is sprung from a desire for more than "just sex" - which is good. It is sprung from the girl who wants a man's heart as well as his body. It's not the Cinderella tale of the beauty salons, but rather Beauty and the Beast. However, these girls are forgetting that the happy ending comes when the Beast is transformed back into a man. These girls are keeping their guy friends in the unnatural fur of the Beast - tusks and raw meat and all. From the vice angle, these girls are attempting to assert power over these men by encouraging so-called "same-sex tendency symptoms" - esp. indecisiveness. It's Eve all over again, folks! It's Gollum vs. Smeagol.

What's the solution?

Humility, I'd say. That is, seeing our rightful position, our correct relationship to everything in this world and first of all to God. What is meant to be? That's what we should strive for. Women, we have power over men - all men. It is the subtle power of the earth. It is the power that turns a lump of coal into a diamond, that turns the grain of sand into a pearl. But it is a long process, a constant process, a patient process. We must encourage our men to BE men, in the Image of God-become-Man. We must not force-feed them the fruit of sin, or oppress them by what we press upon or rape from them. We should not be doormats, but guard our virtue so that we guard THEIR virtue and make ourselves more valuable in their eyes. Would you give the coal or the sand to him before it has become precious? Yet by throwing yourself at him, you are calling your sand a pearl and alas he has eyes to see and will discard you. Will you then convince him that he desires not diamonds or pearls at all, that instead he desires space without oxygen? Would you push him out of the atmosphere and so suffocate him? Will you smother him, keep him childlike, never let him grow to become the man he is meant to be? No, rather drape your fears upon the back of Him who bore them for you, have patience and cultivate your love for He who made you. Then, when the time is ripe, He will bring to you your bridegroom, himself upheld in the armor and likeness of God. Why keep men weak when God would strengthen him? Why make yourself mindless to please weakness? Rather let both of you mature until such a time as you may be suitably and equally yoked. And that yoke is the cross, and the road is to Calvary, and the promise is salvation.

Mood: Saddened
Music: "Mrs. Robinson" off of the Forrest Gump CD
What I must do now: Dust shelves. *sigh*
One for the Road:
Which LOTR Guy Will Give You A Fab Birthday Gift? by DarkRose
Name
Birthdate
Favorite Color
Who Gives You The GiftKarl Urban
What They Give YouGrand tour of Europe
Estimated Value$2,811
Created with quill18's MemeGen!


Did I mention girls become stupid around men? Oh, BTW: claiming Karl Urban as Gethin for Niamh.

Friday, August 29, 2003

Well now, that's appropriate

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Zang! Who is that, sprinting over the plains! It is Obeautyunattempted, hands clutching a studded crowbar! She grunts thunderously:

"I'm going to beat you to the moon and back, and trade you for a candy bar!"

Find out!
Enter username:
Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys



I'd certainly prefer a candy bar over reformatting the theatrical director resume DVD which has taken up all today when I learned that the until 4-ay-emma session this morning could not be read in the good old USofA. About to try burning again. Gah.

Edited to let the madness continue....

Smirk
You're the smirk,a frown-smile hybrid that's a
little bit cocky and usually associated with
evil or arrogant,but attractive people.You
probably just don't give a damn,but it's
everyone else's fault if you don't because
you're too awesome to have any real faults.


What Kind of Smile are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

So, good news - I have these disks sent back with my computer that will wipe out my entire computer and restore it. Doesn't sound like good news? Ah, but it IS! Now my computer will recognize (hopefully...maybe...dunno) the firewire and I can edit! Granted, I'll have to reload all that software, and all my file and all....

Gah. Technology.


Mood: Je suis fustre
Music: Message in a Bottle as sung by John Meyers
Thought: I dislike purists when it comes to theatre texts.

Thursday, August 28, 2003

Where there's life, there's hope

A real quick entry because - tra la! - the wonderful Sh. is paying a visit soon and I must finish tidying. So, I'll do my standard observations, but in the order of the Thirteen (or so) Noble Khai.

Basilisk: I picked up Niamh today because I wanted something for my morning toilette that didn't come with the need to finish it, and so I happened to flip open to the bit wherein she drinks the waters of the Sea of Memory. As I was reading, I kept thinking: "Did I write this? I can't believe I wrote this. It's not quite as 'high' as I recall. Hmmm, shoot - what is that style? Must get back into that style if we have any hope of beginning let alone finishing Gavron. Darn, this might make an interesting screenplay. No, no - too much to do right now. And any screenplay accomplished first ought to be Emmanuel for Tony, Bearskin for myself and THEN this. Darn, this isn't half bad! Wait, no, that ought to be a 'whom' not a 'who'! AUGH!" Psychologists are mystified by authors who tend to play patient, doctor AND couch all in one. And when the author says she can fly out the window, half the time she can.

Rao: Finished the first draft of my video resume last night! Glory, glory, hallejuuuuuuuuuuuia! Now must get it onto DVD and see if it actually plays. But I'm fairly satisfied with it. Still wish I could have added a few more video clips but.... At least I had gotten bizarrely compelled to finish "E horo" before my laptop went haywire! Ended up using "Time to Say Goodbye" for Twelfth Night - strangely, I think it works. I had to reposition a few of the slide images with Toby & Co. so that they didn't hit musical high points, but all is good. Thank God for technology. Now, let's see if it works!

Ooniwe-Po Also on DVD, Jules rented one of the last three remaining copies (out of about 80 in our local Blockbuster) of The Two Towers. OK, man, I'd forgotten how much I really love that movie. It has its flaws, certainly, but it still never fails to move me, particularly Sam's speech, Gollum's mono/dialogue, and the White Rider (and the charge previous to his arrival). My GOD! You know that is the life You've given me! I've said it before: to see those handful of men pushing benches, tables, any stray wood up against the door while ten THOUSAND orcs are battering outside...and then to bravely charge into them, to ride the horses through the hall, to still fight "when your arms are too weary, to beat the unbeatable foe." William Goldman calls this "stupid courage." Tolkien called it "the long defeat." Christ called it "God's wisdom" which appears as folly to men. Its the doing what needs to be done, even in the face of death. Because "there's still good in the world, Mr. Frodo - and it's worth fighting for!" God, God, God! May I live a life worthy of that sentiment! May I inspire those I meet to the same. "Those were the stories worth reading. Those were the stories that really meant something, even though you may have been to young to understand why." Tolkien, Tolkien - pray for us! Amen!

Dostya: Listening to Shrek at the moment - the second CD with all the background music, and even better the little songs from the movie. Favorite is still the exploding bird. Bwahahahahahahahh! Rather along the lines of the idea of folks leaning out their NYC windows and throwing shoes and moldy fruit at Tony as he sings "Maria" in West Side Story. You think the Bronx is going to stay quiet when someone's serenading them? HA! I guess that's why they call it fiction....

Dragon: Last night, Jill came for last minute coaching on her monologue for auditions for her new artsy high school. (God bless Jill! Amen!) As mentioned before, it's Rosalind's speech from As You Like It that bit about the marks of a man in love. (My take on it from 2000 here [scroll way down].) Jill is doing faboo, so it was really a matter of tweaking, but we added in some new blocking in two places. First when she has those tough lines about "You may as soon make her that you love believe it [that you, Orlando, love her/me]! Which I warrant she is apter to do than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lies to their consciences. There is a man...." Tough tough transitions. So what we did was made it so that the first sentence is Ganymede/Rosalind, the second is ALL Rosalind, and then she shudders and crouches into Gollum/Ganymede for the "THAT is one of the points...." So worked. SO good!

Then the bit "But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?" we had her pretend that Orlando has actually taken her hand (his line right before is, "By this hand, I am [he who hung the love poetry about Rosalind on the trees]." Then he answered her question with, "Neither rhyme nor reason could express how much." Right, so I completely am convinced that Orlando is in process of guessing/testing whether or not this is Rosalind (I mean, come on - a) girls rarely make convincing boys and b) Orlando had BETTER be that smart a cookie to deserve a faboo character like Rosalind!). So, he tests her by taking a risk and leaning in to kiss her to see how she'll react - like scaring quail out of a bush. Her eyes widen, she leans back a tad and then JUST before he wins, she breaks away with a hurried Ganymede: "Love is merely a madness!" Works so well! Yee-HAW!

Last, Jill had wanted to have both of them sit for "Yes, once, and in this manner" - which seems to make sense to me. That means, however, that she leaves him sitting and has to pull him up at some point. So we decided to up the stakes with that whole positioning thing. Basically, Rosalind/Ganymede goes off about how women are inconstant, etc., and then bends towards him (he's still sitting on the floor) with "Now like him, now loathe him, then entertain him, then forswear him, now weep for him, then SPIT at him!" So by this point she's bent double over him, and he's undoubtedly starting to lean back and think about escaping from this scary person. But she continues on, stalking him, getting lower and lower over him with, "That I DRAVE my suitor from his mad humor of love to a living humor of madness!" She's got her face practically to the floor now, she's pinned Orlando with her arms and he's terrified and she's enjoying every Ganymede moment, and continues: "Which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook, merely monastic." Pause. "And thus I cured him." Then since he's not going anywhere, she lifts one hand, traces his chest physician-y/vampire-like, "And in this way, will I take it upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart." Drawing herself back to her feet, "That there shall not be one spot of live in't." Done. The transformation from terrified Rosalind to confident Ganymede is complete. She looks down at Orlando and extends her hand. She helps him up but keeps hold of him when he would go. "I would cure you, youth." But, aw, darn it, she IS Rosalind, and now that he's taller than her again, all the girlish sentiments bubble through her belly and she lets go. "If you would but call me...Rosalind? And come every day to my cote? And woo me?" Oh, my goodness, do I EVER want to direct As You Like It someday! It was so good! God bless Jill! Amen.

Fawn: When helping Jill last night, I took upon me to play Orlando once or twice so that she'd know how to act. Esp. the bit where she scares the heck out of him (last paragraph). It's good in monologues to have a really good idea of where your eye-contact is going to be, and also to have sense-memory of what the other (invisible) person's reactions are - since it's difficult to impossible to act WELL against air. So Jill is creeping me out as she's coming after me, and it was no acting to try and get away from her, and then SHE pinned me because I was about to win and get up and bolt, and as she's finishing up the speech more or less, the thought flits though my mind: I miss acting. No, let me clarify that. I miss acting under a good director. I had some of that when I took acting classes at school. Mr. Dougherty was always pushing us to take risks, to be daring with our choices, to raise the stakes. But it was also a lot of self-direction in those classes. Unfortunately, then, the two plays I was in were more stiff in their blocking necessities: Twelfth Night and Our Town. Or rather, I had roles that were more distant from the rest of the cast. I think I played them well - Feste esp. - but it wasn't as risky as other roles in the play were. And when I played Rosalind in Stratford, the focus was more on how to say Shakespeare, rather than on movement. That's precisely what it needed to be, and that's what it was. We had some cool movement, but "floor work" was kind of out of the question due to the audience set-up. Likewise, my directors didn't (I think) go with the idea that Orlando knew - and although the other actor did, he didn't DO anything to make that apparent (motion wise, he was good with his lines, although now looking back I think there still could have been more. Ah well).

Don't think that I'm putting down my awesome directors. Not one jot. It's just that different things were required for what parts I had with them, what they were focussing on teaching, etc. But to be in an ENTIRE play with a good - not not just a good, a genius director - oh, I long for that! I want to learn from him! I want to be forced into those wild, exciting, too close, too personal places! I want to have my mettle tested. To see again what it's like from an actor's eyes. It's been far too long since I've acted. It's a completely different world - there is no detachment if it's done right. It's alive and vibrant and frightening as Hell. Oh, Lord! Wouldn't it be loverly! But with a genius director, God - not one where everyone else makes up for his lack. *sigh* And with GREAT fellow actors. Oh, Lord! Pretty please?

Grezchk: That's pretty much it. I've been typing longer than I intended! Silly girl. Off to finish up those few things that need doing. It looks like I might have a pianist for my choir next year in the new French teacher! Alleluia! And so in that, as in all things, "THERE! Art thou happy."

Mood: Snerk-y
Music: Shrek Album 2
Quote: Hope never disappoints

Monday, August 25, 2003

Oh Sweet Ironies of Life, At Last I've Foooound You!

Sh. told me that she once heard this wonderful piece of advice about picking a career: don't concern yourself overmuch with what problems such and such a career will surely bring, but rather what sort of problems you like to solve.

A good piece of advice. We were actually chatting about screenwriting and directing and why we feel called to each - or not - and she was saying that as much as she enjoyed directing (she did her college production of Hamlet, lucky child!), she didn't care for solving all the problems of directing: rehearsal schedules, placating nervous actors, cajoling this and that, so on and so forth. Likewise, Jules has often mentioned that as much as she likes writing, she enjoys drawing pictures for her writing above: it is a complete project, a composition without "composition." Similarly, as much as I enjoy screenwriting, I much prefer the novel form for sheer asthetics as well as interior monologue and narrative voice, and as much as I enjoy drawing I do so only as a hobby and not as a compulsion - I see a picture and tend to write a story about it!

That is not to say, then, that we ought like the modern Europeans eschew all interests but one in our studies. There is still room for "Renaissance Men" (our age would call them less poetically "multi-hyphenate," but that sounds rather like you've some sort of cancer in your pancreas and not like you're uber-artistic!). And your lesser or sub-interests will only help you to achieve and appreciate your main vocation more. Had I no interest in screenwriting, I should have missed out on the use of visuals in directing. Had I no interest in fine art, I should have disgusting sets. Rather like good friends who each bring out another aspect of your personality, so different interests serve to illumine your vocation.

Which is to say in a rather roundabout manner that last Thursday night, this morning, this afternoon, and Wednesday night I have/will be solving a few of my favorite problems re: directing. Jill asked me for help with her Shakespeare monologue - Rosalind, the marks of a man, WHOOPEE! - and this morning I helped with the movement and diction for Ashley's audition song - "When You're Good to Mama," golly that's a low alto song! - and Wed. I'll be running Jill's again. Understand, I'm assisting, being an "audience of one" in my house, in my downstairs large room. OK - the world would call this weird. Not weird if they looked at me merely as a director, but since I've the addendum of "teacher to my title (BTW: bought supplies today! Yee-haw! And they had some nice religious stuff for once. The bulletin board paper was almost out, however - no surprise - only the large rolls of orange were left. Fortunately I wanted green in smaller rolls)....

Well. What a society we have. Days were our teachers were our parents, or if you were rich, a single tutor who became something like a parent and something like a friend and something like your conscience. Even when Kant usurped Rousseau with the help of Dewey, the segregation of the ages wasn't quite as great, since one woman would have the care of many students of all ages. But in our modern schooling system, we have managed to instill in our children's very natures the mentality of "cubicle world," of terrible segregation - not between races anymore, but between the child and everyone else. Student is pitted against student with the competitive, ruthlessly "progressing" nature of the classroom that advances the student but not necessarily his understanding or even his self-esteem. Students must vie for the attention of a teacher who is most likely schooled herself less in her subject as in the prevailing modern (read: this year's) theory on how to teach.

Students are pulled apart by class: this is the only system wherein one's age determines who one may associate with. How can a student look up to an older peer, or mentor a younger one, or even feel justified engaging someone out of their "grade" in conversation when we have literally enforced a class system? Certainly, extracurricular activities help alleviate the Western castes, but even so older students and many coaches presume that the greater honors ought to go to the seniors or the rare junior not on a meritocracy but on primogeniture. I've first hand experience of the quiet hostility projected upon casting a Freshman in the lead rather than the Senior. It may not be a LOUD rebuke, but it is a very violent sullenness.

We divide our subjects and hustle students from one to the other before they have the opportunity to settle into any one mode of thinking. Thus, we divide our teachers from each other as well, into departments or groups. And the teachers are divided from the students by the fear of a law case. "Don't touch the child physically or otherwise. Someone might sue." It doesn't help when those in authority do betray such trusts. Those very few - teachers, priests, senators, presidents - do so much more harm, segregate, split, divide...and conquor. And after a while, we teachers get tired and give in and simply teach our same-old-same-old curriculum and never make a move TO move lives. Perhaps teachers sometimes maintain a greater gulf of distance for the benefit of authority. Yet I have found - both in teaching and directing, which require similar techniques - that distance gives but the facade of authority. The students are quiet and tractable because they are dead, not because they are respectful. Not that I advocate those who become so buddy-buddy that the entire class ends up being about the Mets or the teacher's boyfriend or any other distraction. Rather, there ought to be life, communication, excitement AND respect, authority and admiration stemming from both sides.

How can the students admire their teachers, however, if their teachers disdain them? I myself have no respect for teachers who think little of me, while I work myself to the bone for those professors I've had who think more of me than I do of myself - and who make me live up to their rightful expectations. But that's the trick: the teacher must have a rightful expectation for the student, not merely a fabricated goal imposed by the state or social mores or the SAT. I've a second double cousin once removed on my mother's side (no joke - hey, I'm the daughter of a geneologist, deal!) who also teaches. God bless her! She teaches Special Education. And the state tells her that their test rates "aren't up to par" and thus the school is obviously not doing their job. But as my cousin said, "I managed to get Bobby to sit in his seat. For him, that is the greatest accomplishment and no less deserving of admiration than the genius who aced all is tests."

I've a gripe with Rousseau, but in regards to the belief that the only way to teach a child is to teach THAT child specifically, individually, with care and respect and patience and adaptability, rather than the mass-production Kant desired (and achieved), I must agree with that Frankish nutcase. I try. God knows I try in my classroom. And I know that I fail miserably many days, perhaps with many students. I know there are so many things I still need to improve in my presentation, my knowledge and independent study, my enthusiasm and discipline. (I've only also been teaching two full years, so...!) But I've also seen those students who have, thank God, been affected in some small way in my classroom or in my theatre. And that I love.

Ashley is an example. She is going to make a fabulous drama student. And I'm honored to have watched her grow, and to have given her opportunity to grow, both as an actress and as a young woman. I remember how she attended my Theatre Class and I set them all homework to take a risk that week (the HW that Mr. Dougherty had given us in Acting I) and she returned the next week saying that she had decided to throw herself completely into Olivia in Twelfth Night. And boy did she ever! Since then she's done nothing but impress me. Or I'm thinking of Andy, my Cowardly Lion, or Shawn, my Sebastian, both of whom were shy as anything and who after braving out the theatre came out as the most charming, gentlemanly, outgoing men I know. Or Jon who the other teacher's couldn't stand because he was so rude, and who stood up to defend my honor in front of the "King" of the eighth grade because I didn't hate him. Or even Ryan who (kind of) curbed his tongue around me because he knew I didn't tolerate crude language. Or all the students who - for better or for worse - have learned that "God is Pro-Life."

Because as a teacher, you're constantly reminded that your every action is under scrutiny. Esp. for a religion teacher: the students want to know if you're sincere or if you're a hypocrite. And they are quite right in suspiciously sniffing out the truth about their teacher. We teachers - as indeed everyone who lives - ought to be aware that we are accountable for all our actions. Our lives cannot be shams if we expect our students to be upstanding. Our lives cannot be shams, because one day we will all face Truth and He will have no patience for our pretenses. Is it tough. Oh, good golly, yes! Would that humanity had not fallen. But, oh happy fall! That it should have demanded God become Man to save us! O necessary sin of Adam! O Mary, ever virgin, pray for us that we may one day be worthy to see the Face of God.

So, this is a wonderful thing: to be honored to realize that I can touch lives. (Everyone can and should - that is the spirit of evangelism. To preach always and sometimes use words. No man is an island, as much as our schooling may attempt to promote otherwise.) And it is rather like seeing a baby's first real smile, or - as Mom recounts the story - the first time I hugged Mom back.

I'm thinking of what happened when I walked into the mall today after getting school supplies and driving around to the other side then walking in to visit Jules at work. I was passing by Friday's where there was a boy and girl who were seated in an utter reverse of A Lunch in Pisa - that is to say, the girl was sitting on a large flower urn and the boy was kneeling before her, holding her hands. Simply sweet. He lowered his head and kissed her hand - one than the other. Then he lifted her hands and pulled them to his lips. She continued talking, obviously a little distressed, and so he - sensing that they were bound to be sitting there for some time - sat down to ease his knees, and wrapped his legs around her ankles. It was like watching a Pre-Raphaelite painting in life. It was gentle and romantic. It was lovely. Anywho, I'm passing by this couple, attempting not to obviously stare in fascination, and so instead I shift my attention to my weak reflection in the glass of the doors. My hair is swinging nicely, I thought. I actually look somewhat put together. (Realize that theatre people are almost always looking in any reflective surface. Go ahead and ask a theatre person who's on stage in some capacity. You'll generally find it's true.) So my attention was diverted as I walked through the second set of doors, smiling happily thinking of the Pre-Raph. couple and my bouncy hair and embroidered matching clothes....

When all of a sudden there's this huge commotion behind me as the doors are flung open noisily, someone starts booking it down the corridor, and shouting a name...my name! I whirl but don't recognize the middling-tall young man dragging the petite girl in the wash of light through the glass doors. Who the...? Suddenly, they rush at me and I'm swept up into these two great hugs, and when I'm let down I see that it's Rachel and Trav. (I swear Trav's grown two inches this past month. And become more solid in his joints.) It was so sweet. I'd missed them since Bearskin, and hadn't expected to see them again until the next Hudson High play. We chatted for a bit, and I discovered that Trav and Jill will be coming over tomorrow to go out with Jules to take some pictures (along the order of the pictures Jules and Jill took the other day), which is cool.

As we parted, I couldn't help laughing, though. Think of what those terrified school official types from the government would make of that encounter! I'm most likely going to have Trav's sister next year, and I highly doubt that she'll be rushing at me in the mall and sweeping me into hugs. Whenever I see my students at the mall, there's a moment of polite, distanced nodding - for those who are a bit closer we'll probably stop and chat amicably - but head-on embraces? Oh, supreme court - what will you make of that? Will your fear tear that from me as well? And yet, for what reason? To what cause?

Our world lacks the virtue of touch. We are a tactile people. We have nerve endings. We are not meant to live in a physical vacuum. We know that babies who are not touched and hugged and kissed actually wither and die. Why do we presume, then, that when we are grown we are in any less need of touch? And yet our society tells us - in part thanks to our educational state, ugh! - that the only acceptable touch, indeed the only possible touch is sexual. If I touch your arm, I must be coming on to you, rather than perhaps getting your attention or comforting you. If I give you a hug, I must obviously be horny. Ugh! No wonder so many people, in desperate need for something they do not even realize they lack, seek the sexual favors of each other. They are merely babies, trying frantically to live, and wondering why the touch they have acquired does not fill the void. Because by narrowing touch merely to the conjugal act, we are limiting also the spiritual touch. How can I touch your soul if I'm afraid to touch your arm? How can I touch you at all if I am told that I must keep distance in ALL respects? Again - we are a cubicled people. We pride ourselves that we have no slaves in America any more. Wrong - we enslave ourselves. And when we venture freedom, we end up in the slavery of liberality, even further from true desired liberty.

Enough! It is a vile thing what vice does to virtue! It limits, it narrows, it destroys, defaces. Enough! Had I whip, I should whip it from the Temple courtyard. I do not want narrowness. I do not want to be told that such and such a virtue is only able to express this or that. Virtue is a wide sea, it has no horizon, it has no bounds although it has channels and currants and rivulets in deep sea beds. The sea of virtue has no doldrums, and all its winds are fair. But we have taken the sails from our ships, we have thrown our oars in the sea, we straddle the "equator" and wonder why we stagnate. As for me an my house, we will follow the Lord. And if our ship should slip from the edge of the world into the very Heavens, who is to say but that the Hand of God will not hold us still aloft?

Mood: Headachy, but verging dangerously towards Warm and Fuzzy
Music: Godspell twice now
What I'd Also Like: For Adobe Photoshop Elements not to freak out on my computer quite so much. Ah well, it drives me to distraction and out of doors! :D

Pixelterior Decoration

Don't anyone dare tell me I've been "whimsical"! ;)

No, seriously, just redecorated The Symposium, my web forum, in order to add in two new forums which are in cahoots with the traffic garnered from the Christian Guide to Fantasy, and also to make another pass at a few of the forums with whose lay-out I've not been particularly happy. You can see everything I did over there. Thanks to Julie for the pic of the Jeanie Johnston.

Rather frustrating experience last night: my computer ate this awesome blog I had. It was finished, it was poetic, it was deep - it was eaten. See what I mean about putting your trust in things that will certainly let you down? Anywho, so I've got another way to approach the subject, but the writing of it will have to wait. I'm going off to bed *gasp* but will leave me with these thoughts.

1) Good golly I love the ocean. And the color blue. And the blue of the ocean. And Bellwether Blue most of all. And if I could drown in the color blue, I'd be happy. All shades, all comers, all varieties - every tint and hue. I've a blue mouse and a blue cup and a wardrobe that's half that color - although I look better in creams and pinks *sigh.* Little wonder the Heavens hold such majesty! All hail oxygen which spurns that color and gives it back to us! Huzzah!

2) I'd forgotten that the Charlotte Church "Best of" CD is really very good. And I am fortunate to have a father who doesn't mind that I play the CD five times in a row.

3) Today was simply glorious. I couldn't quite figure out what country it reminded me of - somewhere between Stratford and Rome, I think (or rather, the prelude to Rome). Marvellous. I needed to be seeing the sights of Bath. Instead, I went for a walk with Peter - but not to the graveyard, merely around the triangle. Why not to my old haunt? Because...

4) ...of a very grave matter. Remember the guy with weasels on leashes? I've seen him and his buds around there again. Creepy. I called the police over it - no idea how that turned out, but I don't often get "bad spiritual vibes" - but these were just POURING off of them. Very creepy. I hope they're gone.

5) I've decided to definitely make a plea for First Friday adoration, during the school hours. I'll bring up my kids, and get the other religion teachers to do so as well, and we can advertise at the parish, and begin and end with benediction, whilst each class during their period can do a decade of the rosary, a reading from the Bible, and perhaps intercessions, as well as silent adoration. But, oh Lord! I need prayers and Your words to soften the hearts of those with whom I will speak! Please please let it happen! There is no greater teacher than You, Lord - and You is Who they need. Amen.

6) Still can't find my Complete Works of Shakespeare. Very odd. But I picked up some material yesterday from Wal-Mart for Midsummer Night's Dream. Six yards of this green fiery leafy material for Oberon's court, three yards of hot pink fiery material for one of Titania's court (potentially), and three yards of this AWFUL striped white, yellow, light blue and navy - all pretty colors in themselves, but it smacks of a desperate nautical designer. It'll be perfect for somewhere in Pyramus and Thisbe.

7) I am now networked again to the other computers and their files. And we are glad.

Mood: Achy, but content
Music: Tuck Everlasting - gorgeous! So odd to see Elspeth's face staring at me, however, whenever I look at the cover for that movie.
What is Good: Although my computer is hesitant about working with other hardware, it is letting me use a real mouse! And my tunnelling carp are in part vanquished!
Today's Link: Cool blog here about today's readings and The Secret Lives of Dentists. As well as here about the artistry of one's life.

Saturday, August 23, 2003

The Poetry of Motion

All hail ingenuity! Or, as Viggo Mortenson put it, "Adapt and Overcome." Such is the life of a theatre person - although everyone could more or less lay claim to such a mantra. But since I've experienced it even more in theatre than, say, in writing (which is in some senses more controlled merely by being a somewhat solitary action - barring unforeseen character stubborness), I'll claim it for the theatre. (Hmmm, I may put that on the wall in my classroom - I begin decorating on Tuesday. Ah, the joy!)

Those who've been skimming these weighty annals will know of the titanic struggle in which I am engaged between the laptop and the camcorder. Indeed, the battle is becoming so epic that one is tempted to converse in Grecian hexameter. But one will refrain from begging the muses to sing of the rage of Achilles, and instead note that a concord has been made to some degree in this particular: the two machines are willing to let me video capture. From Salome I initially captured something like 1,906 pictures, which I then whittled down to about 500 (for my own private files), which is then whittled down to about 100 (for public consumption). The reason for such the bloated original number? The only way to capture via Ulead Video Studio 5.0 is to let the video tantalizingly run (tantalizing because it will run video but won't capture running video - truly, this is beginning to feel like that Hellenic Hell!) and press the "capture button" wildly, hoping that ONE of the ten pictures will be worth keeping. But this is really good because now I can tell the story visually - through the Poetry of Movement (more on that in a minute) - more clearly than my original, and badly scanned, photoshoot was able to do. I haven't put up a page for the new pics yet, but I'll put links to what I have as of this moment here:

  • Opening Dance
  • How white the moon is - she is like a dead woman
  • The Tetrarch is looking at something. He is looking at some one.
  • You must not look at the Princess!
  • Who dared kill the King's brother? That man, Naaman.
  • She is like a little white dove.
  • How sweet the air is here - I can breathe here.
  • Inside there are Egyptians, with long nails and gold eyes.
  • Something terrible will happen - I know it!
  • We cannot let the Prophet come out, Princess.
  • Thou wilt do this thing for me, Naraboth.
  • I know thou wilt do this thing.
  • He says terrible things about my mother, does he not?
  • Where is the harlot? Where is the whore of Babylon?
  • Tell her to rise up from the bed of her iniquities.
  • He is terrible, terrible!
  • I must look more at him.
  • Who is this woman looking at me? I will not have her look at me!
  • Angel of Death! Whom do you seek in this place?
  • I hate thy body! It is thy hair I desire, Jokanaan.
  • It is thy lips I desire, Jokanaan.
  • Suffer me to kiss thy lips, Jokanaan.
  • Princess, do not do this thing!
  • The Young Syrian has slain himself!
  • Well I knew the moon was seeking a dead thing, but I knew not it was he whom she sought!
  • Suffer me to kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan.
  • Seek out the Son of Man - for to all who call on Him, He does come!
  • Suffer me to kiss thy lips, Jokanaan...!
  • Away from me, daughter of Babylon!
  • Thou art accursed, Salome. Thou art accursed.
  • Suffer me to....
  • We must move him. The Tetrarch does not like to look on dead bodies.
  • Where is Salome? Why does she not attend the feast as I commanded her?
  • You are looking at my daughter again. You look too much at her.
  • Why is this body here? Away with him!

    And I just finished video capturing for Twelfth Night. Alas, the quality is lesser because it was just a rehearsal with no spots, no background (such as there was of it), and so forth. But there are still quite a few good shots, and many better than what I had in the way of pictures. (Gah.) I'm going to pick up just a few for Brigadoon and Bearskin - like three from specific scenes that were completely missed by the photograph's camera: the Chase & Death, the Happy Ending; the "death" of the Gypsy.

    But alas, although Circuit City - d*** you and your wiley ways! - claimed they fixed my computer, I note that the DVD drive STILL skips. Meaning that I watched Chicago last night on it and the picture was stuttering, although the audio wasn't. Go figure. Stupid extras - what I wanted to see was more rehearsal tapes, uncut footage, etc. - a la the terrific DVD for Moulin Rouge! However, Mirimax *muttergrumble* isn't particularly known for putting out good DVD's at all. I had to scoff *scoffscoff* at one of their "previews" - it was basically a tally of all the Oscar nominations (not awards) it's gotten. "Over 200 Oscar nominations!" Woo-hoo...let's go peek at WB or MGM shall we? Oy. I'm sorry, but that company is so stuck up. Gag me.

    Right, back to poetry of movement. Perhaps it's because I spent a semester learning sign language from Susan & Rosie, and they mentioned how there was someone who was trying to create sign language poetry - wherein the "rhymes" would be created by similar signs, such as light and dark, or glory and praise, or "Hell fire, dark fire" or any thing along those lines. It was an intriguing idea to me. And I've found that poetry of motion is an EXCELLENT blocking tool. Basically to have certain movement patterns act rather like kinetic leitmotifs. So for example in Salome you have the Syrian kissing Salome's hand, which is reversed when Salome reaches for Jokanaan, which is again reversed when Herod tries to seduce Salome.

    Similar idea for the Maggie/Harry dance (signature move), which is then violently repeated in the Funeral Dance (which, of course, I don't have a picture of yet). The "crucifixion" mode was something we used a lot to represent grief: Harry pining over Bonnie Jean, Maggie "conjuring" the searchers during the Chase, Maggie grieving over Harry, and then sharing that grief with a repentant Jeff. More comically is the idea that if you like a girl, you dip or lift her: Harry lifts Maggie quite a few times, Tommy dips Fiona during "Heather on the Hill", which is immediately followed by Meg Brockie dipping Jeff! (the pic is diff. - must video capture for actual dip), and then Charlie lifting Jean at the Wedding Dance (which, of course, I seemed to have not scanned either. Must get that through video capture it seems).

    Bearskin used this quite a bit, I'll point to the more obvious ones. The ubiquitous dip: Flipote, Florette and the Gypsy claim their men, Mireille wishes she could join in the fun, and then has her wish fulfilled, soon followed by her body and soul (and his) all in one big "I'm attracted to you!" accord. We vary it for humor with Flipote, Florette and Henri, soon to be replaced by rather more serious prelude to dipping. However, Henri makes it more fatal, the Gypsy makes a final bid, and although it's stretching it a tad, poor Bearskin's really beaten into the ground! Shorter is the "Gypsy Taking Control of the Shadow's Body and Soul" move in the Opening Dance, and then in the final temptation. Of course, Bearskin IS an opera/ballet - there had better be rhyming motion!

    I put this up for a few reasons: one, to analyze what I've done (so I don't over do the dip thing, perchance? ;), and also to remind myself to continue this idea. I think, really, it's crucial to blocking. Oh, of course you can do without, and some plays will lend themselves better to such an idea than others.... But we're taught as directors/designers to "establish" an area of the stage as "so and so's" place, or a certain color in costuming or lighting to tie events or people together. If we study music, we learn about leitmotifs. But in blocking...? Perhaps it simply wasn't emphasized at my school - entirely possible. Certainly, Sam West at the RSC knew about it! (I know he didn't direct it, but I BET he put a LOT of that "input" he said the entire cast had...!) Anyway, I'm thinking of the repetition of sitting on the throne/box and saying, "I am considering how I might compare this prison in which I live unto the world - and for because the world is populous, and here is not a person but myself...I cannot do it. Yet I will hammer it OUT!" (FWAH!)

    But I maintain that poetry in motion - and rhyming poetry in particular - is crucial to the director who wants to make more of his blocking. And of course, it's even better if you can get several bits of "poetry" going on the stage at the same time, rather like Wagner - stupid person, but made good use of his leitmotifs - would have several playing together in harmony. Makes it all that much richer, deeper. And it frequently works on a subconscious level, rather like music.

    Unfortunately, the ballets I've seen rarely use this - they stick to their rigid movements without really telling the story, or at least telling the story and then consantly interrupting themselves to show off their technical - but not lyrical or poetical - achievements. Perhaps I've just seen half-done ballets. I would hope so! Chicago used poetry in motion, mainly for transitions, but I think it worked overall. Although it was amusing to listen to the commentary and basically hear them NOT speak about technical elements or anecdotes (grrrr), but to pat themselves on the back. I suppose I've done so here, as well, so I shouldn't chortle at them overmuch!

    I could put in a bunch of other newsy stuff, but my tunnels are being carped and so I think I'll bid my older self and any chance wanderers adieu.

    Mood: Fair
    Music: Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (Extended Version)
    Weather: Very nice, thank you. I may take another walk tonight.

  • Wednesday, August 20, 2003

    There are some deep thoughts here...just wait while I rummage

    Sad, isn't it? Posting twice in one day? Ah well. I'll start with the most inane and hopefully work my way to better. Voila! Apparently je suis:

    Merry is in your nature!  You are a strong person, and rarely show weakness.  You can brave tight situations, and come out undaunted.  Within your personality is a flair of mishchief,
    Merry is in your nature! You are a strong person,
    and rarely show weakness. You can brave tight
    situations, and come out undaunted with ease.
    Skewered into your personality is a flair of
    mischief, which often brings you into trouble!
    Despite popular belief - you are a very big
    person - and have quite a skilled hand when it
    comes to negotiating.


    Which Fellowship Hobbit is in Your Nature?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    "I don't know what it is, but in this frame I simply look GOOD!"

    Right, I've discovered that, if nothing else, I can do jpeg shots from the camera, even if capturing video is still *sigh* out of the question. But this is great! This means that I can grab all these Salome pics, which I thought completely inaccessable! Huzzah! (A moment while I go put Loreena McKennit's Elemental on repeat.) So, new pics up soon on the net. Good stuff.

    And >drumroll please< I actually buckled down and made some sense of my living quarters. Honestly, I will do almost anything to avoid keeping my space in some sort of order. Everything else in order - yes. But my own area? There's a sense to it, but rather spread out. I'm a bag queen - don't know what to do with it at the moment, stick it in a bag with similar items. I simply need to convert bags to labelled boxes, I think. More aesthetically and organizationally pleasing. When we have the funds, precious. But the room is much more roomy, which is marvy and....

    I have room to dance! More to the point, I have heel to dance. Well, no, the heel isn't completely...ahem...healed yet, but it was feeling rather better today, and well "Sway With Me" as sung by Michael Buble was on and the lights were throwing interesting shadows on the wall and I had all this unused space now.... I think I may just take a dance class this upcoming year after all.

    Actually, I was thinking about that on the way back from the RenFest: taking a dance class, that is. Chicago was playing, "All that Jazz" and I was - as usual - choreographing in my head, but decided to insert myself into the scenario as Velma Kelly. I should very much like to play that role. Unfortunately, I'd have to make sure the director would take a correct view of Chicago before accepting said role - or direct and act myself, which would be a pain. But it's got great songs, it has a very good moral if you make sure you play the last few minutes hollowly - perhaps with people turning their back and leaving those "Babes of Jazz" alone as they desperately call out, "Thank you! Thank you!" >shiver< Good stuff. But were I to take such a part - or were I to perform such a number in this area - I'm afraid that those who know me as Miss Religion Teacher would either be shocked or think that I'm a complete hypocrite.

    There is a fundamental confusion among those who aren't religious themselves to believe that those who are religious are prudes. It's rather as though they think God never laughs, or at least doesn't want those who believe in Him to do much of anything. So many of my students have asked me with every sincerity if I want to become a nun. It's a fine line to trod to hold back my emphatic "NO!" (I simply am not called to that vocation) while still attempting to explain to them that just because I am not called to that vocation does not make the religious vocation at all lesser or something to be avoided.

    AUGH! The world views things in black and white! You either have fun or you're religious. You either have a life or you're religious. You either have sex or you're religious. Stupid stupid stupid. St. Francis had fun! St. Theresa of Avila would break out the castanets and have her sisters dance in the great hall when they looked down and out. She also said, "God and chocolate is better than just God." (Tee hee hee!) St. Thomas More knew that he'd better be married because he'd make a horrible celebate. St. Monica was married, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton had lots of kids, and St. Theresa of the Little Flower's parents are up for canonization. (In fact, the Pope is on a search for married candidates for canonization. Canonization, BTW, doesn't mean that the Church puts so and so in Heaven and makes them a saint, but rather the Church saying, "Yup, this person is definitely in Heaven." Read more about that here.) Heck, the Pope himself was an actor and a playwrite before ever becoming a priest!

    So, would it be hypocritical to take a part such as Velma Kelly in such a play as Chicago provided the director had a correct vision? No, not at all. In fact, it would be a duty to God to play that role - were I, please God! - ever cast so. I should be required to play up to the hilt this depraved woman, this desperate murderer, this unrepentant - in order to show the hollowness, the grasping, the "you don't want to end up like me, boys and girls" aspect of her. And yet, to keep her utterly human, not merely a stick figure - someone sympathetic, which is what makes the horror of her hollowness more, because the audience can see how she became a shell of a woman, how someone with so much potential is still in a prison of her own devising. No hypocricy.

    Still, it's frustrating that there is this worldly twisted black-and-white vision of folks who happen to really really believe in - no, not believe, but know - God. Nor is this view of the religious personality perpetrated only by those without concrete faith. Those who likewise strive after God, my very fellow Christians, will also look cross-eyed at such an act, will - indeed - cry outrage without even giving it a moment's consideration. They're doing so now to Mel Gibson with his Passion! Gah. There's so much fear driving everything - and fear paralyzes so that nothing ever gets done. St. Theresa! Help us! Let nothing worry thee, let nothing fright thee - all things are passing. God alone remains.

    Which brings me to this evening. I was simply uptight - les units parentals were so I was, y'know - that and I was nervous about tonight's Savoyard's board meeting. (See what I mean about fear? Ugh! Spare us!) So I headed off, way too early, but I wanted time in case I got turned around in Sudbury looking for the house. I found the house about 20 min. too early, so I decided to stop into the Catholic Church (St. Anselm's) around the corner. The doors were, alas, not open at 7:10 p.m., but I parked beside it and got in some good prayer time, the like of which I've not for way too long. I should have liked to have been before the tabernacle better, but this will have to do. And did well. I came out very peaceful, and sang as many "I Surrender" type songs as I could remember the lyrics to. (It's little wonder that those who have a faith of some sort statistically live longer and happier lives! Scientific fact. Scout's honor.) And of course the meeting went just fine, and I returned home in a good mood and set about cleaning out my space. So yes, I think I needed to stop and maybe pay my creator, my lover and my God just a wee bit of my time on loan. Hmmm? Oy - I can be SOOOOO thick sometimes.

    Hopefully will be getting up with Mom and Jules for mass tomorrow. I am so grateful I'm Catholic and have access to daily mass! Thank God for the sacraments - visible signs of invisible grace! I went to confession last Saturday - I've been going behind the screen for a year or two now, the better to focus on the fact that it's Jesus I'm confessing to - and it was rather amusing that Fr. Larry, after the sacrament, addressed me sweetly. No hiding! He knows my voice. John 10:4, eh? No, but it was really nice, and after confession I didn't feel like I quite deserved the nice thing he said to me, but that's true humility, eh? Not just beating yourself up (all the time, that is), but standing TRULY as who you are before God. Far more frightening to see all things - good and bad - laid out before you.

    I've been writing a lot about God lately. I guess in some regards, however, it's just an indication of what's important, caught up, indispensable, at one with your life. I write a lot about theatre and Julie and novels and the state of my computer and my room too, and no one would think these are too awfully weird. They might think I'm a little obsessive, but if they were honest they'd then look to their own journals or conversations and see what topics continually crop up - sports, music, etc. So then, why not God? It's getting so that I have a difficult time keeping Him OUT of my conversation. I do my best to tone down, but I do miss being with my HH sisters and buddies at FUS, just being able to flip from one topic to another with the lovely thread of God weaving it all together, invisible places and visible in others, with no apology for His presence in our lives at all - any more than we might apologize for the need to use breath to speak or words. Ah well.

    I'm off to greedily garner more pictures and then probably by Monday I hope to send off my bid to HDW. >crosses fingers whilst looking imploringly upward< All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

    Mood: The Peace that Surpasses All Understanding
    Music: "Lullaby" from Elemental by Loreena McKennit - sigh! 3/4 music forever!
    What Made My Day: Randomly discovering that Brave Hearts: New Scots Music had at some point been returned to me!

    Bring Me the Head of Jokanaan!

    So last night, after said interview (which went well, we'll have an answer by next week, depending if she wants to make a bid for Ruth or not), I came home, collected Jules, traipsed over to Friendly's in Sudbury...where no one knows me (this is important - working in one's hometown has its disadvantages when grocery shopping)...and then came back happily marshmallow-mollified, attempted to capture images on Dad's computer, realized the keyboard wasn't plugged in and I didn't have the brains to try to plug it in, turned the whole thing off instead (oh the shock!), and then decided to watch Salome to put me to sleep.

    I know, I know. I'm always talking about Salome. Get this girl a life, eh? But curiously, the past few years, whenever I sit down before putting on a play to watch selections of what I've done before (it's become something of a ritual - see where I've been, remind myself that I'm not heinous, etc.), I've only watched maybe the first fifteen minutes of Salome. The reason? I've been watching it off of the video tape we made from the HI-8. Bad quality. Tape-to-tape simply is. But last night I watched the original tape on the camcorder - what better quality! And watched the whole thing.

    It was fascinating to me as an archaeological examination. Salome was the place where I first experimented with underscoring the entire play - something that I've more-or-less done for pretty much every play since then - and many places it worked. There were equally places where the music didn't work. But then, I remember that a) my musical library was far smaller then than it is now; b) the sound equippment was, by today's standards, ancient, so fine-tuning was nearly impossible and my sound technician achieved a miracle with all I desired of her THEN; c) I felt obliged to use somewhere Strauss's opera's "Dance of the Seven Veils" which - sorry Straussy babe - is simply bad music, no rhythm, no flow, no rise and swell, just a bunch of randomly strung together notes that occasionally elephant trumpet blast, gah. But I felt obliged for some obscure reason to use it. Whatever.

    For the actual dance itself, I used "Carmina Burana: O Fortuna" which, were I to do it again, I might consider still using, but the dance...oy. Alright, I had an interesting idea for it, but I had no self-confidence in this aspect. I was so afraid of that d*** dance! Mainly because I thought I knew nothing about dance - and perhaps, at that time, I didn't (or not as much as I know now). And so that part, rewatching it, is laughably slow, clunky, poorly done, etc. Some interesting moves - things I might steal from myself later on! (If I've a guy big enough to sling a girl over his back and a girl strong enough to let herself down off his shoulders slowly.) But it doesn't have the flow that the blocking has! Silly. So it's nice to see I've improved in that, too.

    The costumes, oh the costumes! With the possible exception of Bob's (the Cappadocian) scarves which come out mustard-yellow on the screen, I'm happy with the costumes. (Oh, and I would have gotten another cape for Salome pre-dance, but that's neither here nor there.) Lovely, flowey, rich vibrant colors - purple and red and gold make for a very great barbarism! And I'd forgotten all the jewelry we loaded on Herodias - only two fingers without rings, I think, and slave-bracelets all up her arm. Very happy with those. Had I the opportunity, I think I should have gotten gauntlets for Herod, but ah well. I also should have kept Salome's hair down during the dance - I think we tied it back because otherwise she wouldn't have been able to see what she was doing with all the flips, etc.

    The set I would have decorated better, to make it just a tad less student-ish. But then, I had no money. The lights I was uber duber pleased with - true, there could have been more subtlety, but I miss really GOOD ellipsoidals and fresnels and the occasional par! Je detest le spot-lumier! It has its place, of course, but it is so NOT my first choice. It'll be nice to do Pirates with REAL lights - aaaaaaaaalelluia! And the strobe, and the knife - geesh. I'm predictable. As bad as Spielberg's backlit doors. Oy. Speaking of which, I'd forgotten that the backlit cyc essentially MADE shadows - I'm just always using shadows - but then I was watching a tad of Disney's Cinderella, and THEY use shadows and so does Gone with the Wind so nyah. *hrumph*

    I was very pleased with the actors. Oh sure, there was this or that where I would have tweaked this or that but...gee, it was nice to work with actors who took everything and made it their own. It was a GREAT cast all over. I am so very proud of them! What wonderful things they played with, and their voices! Oh, I miss a good theatre space that doesn't eat sound! *sniffle* But as much as I was looking at the wonderful ease (wrought with NO ease at all, alas - at least I've learned to be more laid-back, thank God!), I could also see where I'd improved or developed in understanding, as well as what I'd nearly forgotten while doing mostly "big shows."

    (Side note - wow, the animation for Treasure Planet is so good. Better than many of the "Golden Age" of Disney. Jules is watching it now - it grows on me every viewing. *sigh* Why wasn't it better received? It's so good! Should have won the best animated film for the Oscars, but NO - they go for what's the biggest box office. GAH!)

    Which brings me back to theatre. (It's my blog, I'm obsessive compulsive, deal. Curious, this need since blogging is public to apologize for one's thoughts. Give me Christendom, when we should have just said, "Ah yes, coz, thou art focussed on what work God hath ordained for thee!" Sayers - where art thou?) Pirates esp. Whilst chatting with the potential assistant director to ascertain if we would work compatibly together - something that cannot be wholly ascertained until one actually works together and see if heads are butted or butts are kicked or what - I decided to risk straying onto my view of theatre as a whole. I might, I conceded, have frighted the potential AD off. Because, as I've said elsewhere, I'm interested in the final product, true, but I've come to see that the process is as important. (Hmmm, is this tied up with Scripture and Tradition? ;) In a nutshell:

    The process is the thing.

    Basically, I truly, truly believe that God has a rather large hand (no pun intended) when it comes to casting whom He will in a play. He will use the process as well as the performance to help mold the actor as a human, to teach him something, to guide him in some way, to open up an opportunity, to make him realize a part of his own personality. The casting is - by and large - not random, but merely a search for who God wants. I'm not going to negate, however, that capability, etc. come into it. It would be STUPID of me to knowingly cast someone who wasn't up to the part - please don't think that realism isn't important as well - but rather that while I'm working on all the technical stuff, God's quietly pushing this person to the forefront of my notice.

    But a lot of actors - a lot of people in the world! - are afraid of such a concept. Actors spend so much of their day being someone else, and if they are wholly themselves a lot of them are actually creating a persona of who they wish they were or how they wish to be perceived, and so this is a mask as well. (I use a lot of masks in my plays as well - oy - those and capes - I think it's a hang over from frustrations with high schools. Lots of poetry on masks then, too.) For myself, as a director, I want my actor to put on the right mask (the Greeks knew something, mes chers) for the performance - but the simply, objective FACT is that he, the human, will continue after the play. The performances will run out, the person will not. And unless the person becomes honest with himself, he cannot become fully honest with his part. Yes, it should be a frightening thing. To have a good play, we will ALL change in some way. We will go DEEPER in - without the need for Freud, thank you very much! Keep thy vile couches to thyself, sirrah! - and in such manner search for truth. No telegraphing here, nor bleak "reality" a la Zola - but TRUTH in all areas. Ah, if I could go into the rafters and shout out TRUTH with George Emerson! (I should most like fall out of the rafters, as he fell out of the tree, but one would hope not.)

    So, I think I might have affrighted the potential AD (the PAD?), but oh well. I'm inviting all comers to go on the most amazing journey ever. We're going to put on the most amazing, fun, silly, deep, sorrowful, amazing, hand-clapping, foot-stomping, eye-tearing, heart-pounding show ever - and we're going to make you come alive as well. If you sign on with me, you sign on to change lives - the audiences, your own, mine, too. Further up and further in! And for those times I've just "thrown off" a play - forgive me for not doing my part. And for those future, I shall do my best endeavour to give you all that can be given, to offer all that is the best, and to drag you up to the rafters with me to call out like Jokanaan himself the greatness and splendour of TRUTH.

    Mood: Triumphant. (And now to the task of cleaning the chamber. Again. And laundry and.... %)
    Music: Treasure Planet
    What is Good: Emma Thompson as the Captain Smollet figure. Finishing Ashley's tape of plays she's done with me between 2002-2003. Having long fingernails to scratch one's arm with. Dangling prepositions. ;D

    Tuesday, August 19, 2003

    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!
    chain holding jack
    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?
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