I’m disappointed. I took the Evil Criminal Test that Sara linked to on her page, and according to the test, I’m the Evil Criminal Imelda Marcos. I mean, come on. I hate shoes.
So, my scene partner for Acting and I absolutely do not mesh. She’s nice enough, but anal as hell and in love with rigid structure. Lewd. You know what I mean, though. We were going over what props to bring and such the other day, and she was writing everything down in her planner very neatly, while I was just storing everything in my head. Nothing is wrong with this contrast except for the fact that she freaked when I wasn’t writing anything down and then wrote my information down for me. And now she wants to rehearse in the wee hours of the morning tomorrow. Right.
Anyway. Randomness. Oh, so, yesterday my car did a 360 on the ice on the street and I hit a nice elderly man. No cars or people were harmed, but it still kept me from driving home from rehearsal, out of fear of Minnesota. I instead got a ride with this freshman running crew guy, who seems to be in awe of me because I am an Older Experienced Woman. It’s cute.
Opening for the show tonight! Woo! I’m excited. It makes such a difference when there’s an audience, even for the lowly running crew – though this running crew is a bit different because we have costumes and get to act out bits in between scenes. But yay!
The snow has calmed a bit and the plows have made the snow brown and muddy. But there will be more snow, oh yes.
So. Blizzard outside. It’s made for interesting driving. I almost skidded off into oblivion on the way home from school yesterday. I think people see my Southern license plates, note the fact that I’m crawling at a grand fifteen miles per hour and shake their head in shame.
So, the show I’m on running crew for – The Movie Game – opens tomorrow night. Woo! It’s Abbey’s first time as a stage manager, so I’m extra proud of her. Golf claps and all.
Three weeks of school left. Right. Still haven’t decided how I’m getting home. I suppose I should eventually. I’m turning 21 over Christmas Break. Anyone wanna come over and take me out on the town?
The snow really is calming in a blank sort of way (ha. I amaze myself everyday with my fantastic writing). When I was younger, I loved loved loved snow, mostly because I never lived in place that really got any. Seriously. I would chose places like North Dakota and Canada for school reports (because, in my six year old head, those were the only places that got snow) and read the Babysitter’s Club Special Edition Snowbound until it fell apart. And now I would give anything for a tanktop and natural heat.
Nothing exciting to say, kids. Someone wrote me and told me that they wanted less chit-chat and more nude pictures. Yes. I’ll work on that.
It’s snowing! And unlike the last time I announced that, I think it’s here to stay.
This morning, I was running late and grumpy and freezing my hands off trying to hold coffee and a script I was memorizing last minute. I suddenly stopped, french vanilla on my tongue, snow nesting in my hair. Twenty years from now, I hope it’ll be moments like that I remember.
Long long day of moving scenery and running around and I am a tired tired girl, but my body is thanking me for activity that included something besides slouching in my chair and staring at my computer screen. I have lots of e-mail to respond to, but I’m a sleepy girl. Abbey is also a sleepy girl because she is the stage manager for the show we’re working on right now.
Mmm, bed.
Hi, kids. I hope the American-type folk had a good Thanksgiving and the non-American type folk had an excellent Thursday.
So, sickness, hi, still here. I thought I was getting better over the holiday, but now I’m back to feeling like I’m being pureed, which does not make me eager to get up at 8 AM tomorrow to participate in a 15-hour day (tech weekend for a show). But the show must go on, etc., etc., corny theatre pep talk, etc.
I was indecisive to the very second on whether I wanted to go home with Erik for Thanksgiving, but at the last moment it was decided that I would drive down with Erik and take a Greyhound bus back up.
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I’m going home with Erik for Thanksgiving – driving down with him and then taking a bus back up early because I have to be back for this running crew thing I’m involved in. I feel like hell, but free food and family can’t be denied.
Have a good week and I’ll be back on Friday.
Hi to everyone coming from the link to my page on the Sunny Wicked site – hope I’ve never said anything catty about you. Heh.
Thanks for the concern about my imminent death. I’m coughing and hacking like a smoker, but I’ll live. Beth and I are sharing this disease, poor child.
I had my first meeting for Top Girls tonight, woo-hoo. The fun part is that we get to eat a six course meal every night ’cause the first act is a dinner scene and the director wants it to be as real as possible. The downside is that I’ll probably have to consume meaty animal flesh in the form of steak, but, again, I’ll live.
Thanksgiving, you say? Well, if I’m going home with Erik, I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon and coming back up Friday night. But we’ll see. I would kinda like a few chill days before the crunch comes, but I also don’t want to be in an empty house on Thanksgiving (though Abbey would be up here, yay!). We shall see. I’ll let you know either way because I know you are just salivating and losing sleep over my whereabouts.
I’m still deciding whether or not to fly home for Christmas. I can’t quite catch the vibe either way. What do you think? Either way, I’m getting excited to be home. I want to see my dogs and my family and old boyfriends and old haunts and the such. Maybe scandal will occur.
‘night, kids.
I find it highly odd that I’m in a rather good mood when this should’ve been ultimately a shitty day.
Here are the reasons it should’ve been shitty:
1. Duh, I’m sick. Sometimes I like being sick because then you have an excuse to miss school and sleep for hours on end, but I can’t miss school because the theatre program is do or die. Death is really the only viable reason to miss a class.
2. I did pretty badly on my Speech test, which isn’t so great ’cause the grading scale is strict strict strict.
3. I’m failing a class. Eep.
4. How am I getting home for Christmas? Good question.
5. I am so broke that I’m going to have to work out installment plans to pay utilities.
But, really, I’m in a great mood, none of this withstanding. As long as my lungs don’t come flying out my mouth as it seems they’re trying to, I’ll be fantastic.
Oh. I registered for classes. Wanna know what I’m taking? You do. Okay:
Acting III
Stage Make-Up
Dramatic and Performance Theory
Interpersonal Communications
Intro to Environmental Science
Back to coffee.
PS: Dane is a funny kid. Here’s what he had to say about me being sick, via IM:
The Great Sun: What if… you inhaled the flu fairy, and now she’s inside of you, and everytime you cough, you cough out sparkles and sequins and stuff because everyone knows that that is what fairies are made of and it’s funny because fairies and now prostitutes always wear sparkly stuff on their clothes and in their eyes and use colored mascara so I walk up to freshwomen and say ‘HEY YOUR HOT” and they say back to me “BACK OFF I”M NOT A FRESHWOMAN I’M A WHORE AND OR A FAIRY” and I say my mistake and continue searching for the perfect female companion… EVEN THOUGH SHE HAS BEEN INHALED BY ZOSIA BLUE NO NONO! You inhaled my soulmate prepare to die via flu fairy inhalation!
The Great Sun: now I’m going to make a sandwich
Holy crap, it’s close to 70 degrees! In Duluth! In November! That’s almost absurd. This time last year, and probably the years before, the ground was already smothered in snow and ice. Today I went outside in a t-shirt and was almost hot. Global warming has it’s positive sides, at least until we all burn to human crisps.
Anyway. Erik is out of town, as I’ve mentioned and I always suddenly become more active when he’s gone. I have no clue why.
Last night was fun. The art of conversation was revived. Beth, Corina and I had girl talk for a few hours, and then later on in the night, Corina, Jesse, Jason, Matt and I sat around and reminisced about things. The girls and I became excited when we realized we had all read the same Christopher Pike and Babysitter Club books when we were little. How awesome is Christopher Pike?
Today I woke up to Erik calling to tell me he hated me for getting to sleep in. It’s our little dumb joke – he always has class before me in the mornings, so while he’s getting reading, I’m all half-asleep and snuggled under the covers. A long time ago, I told him the story of how I used to irrationally hate my dogs in the mornings when I had to get up for school because they got to sleep when I didn’t. Ever since, then Erik tells me he hates me in the morning. It’s cute.
I cleaned my car out a bit and then got gas from the nicest gas station in Duluth (Mobil on the corner of 12th Ave). Seriously. The people there are so damn nice and the gas is always cheap and the coffee is only 50 cents. While I was pumping the gas, two guys with a baby carriage (and, consequently, a baby) walked by and started yelling things at me, such as, “Hey, baby, want me to pump that gas for you? Can I get your number? We should go to lunch!” Right. I suppose I assumed if a person had a baby with them, they wouldn’t yell things like that. But I supposed wrong.
Then I went to Wal-Green’s and bought Things.
It’s beautiful beautiful beautiful outside and I’m a little sick, which can’t happen because the next few weeks will be busy as hell. But I think I’m gonna go play now. You should, too
Luke wanted something juicy to read at work tonight. I’m not sure I have anything particularly juicy in me, but I sure can ramble for a bit to entertain him.
Until the age of 20 and three quarters, I loved night time. I mean, seriously loved it. I thought daylight was invasive and too all-telling and not mysterious enough. I would float through the day and when the moon took her post, so did I. I can’t count the amount of times I sat on my front porch reading by the streetlight or the midnight walks I took through my neighborhood. I was never scared of the dark. Never.
And now at the age of 20 and three quarters, I get a sense of dis-ease when dusk hits. Like now, it’s not quite light and not quite dark and I’m thoroughly creeped out, and I realize I’ve been thoroughly creeped out at dusk for months now. Night is not romantic to me anymore. Night is beginning to remind me that the world is naturally dark and all light we have is artificial, even the sun in it’s own way. Night isn’t cloaking any hidden kisses or illicit affairs for me; it’s beginning to represent another day passed in which I haven’t gotten done what I needed to get done.
That’s really depressing, isn’t it? Maybe I need a drink. There’s another thing that I used to romanticize: alcoholism. Isn’t that weird? I come from a family of Irish alcoholics (though I grew up in a household with absolutely no alcohol because my mother gave it up years before I was born, and my Dad was never more than an occasional beer drinker), and saw the consequences of alcoholism, yet I still grew up thinking there was something mysterious and beautifully sad about drinking too much, with emphasis on the “beautifully.” This could because I read too much about F. Scott and Zelda when I was younger.
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Okay, I had to take a break in writing my paper on The Cherry Orchard to tell you that I’m listening to an absolutely beautiful song that is giving me goosebumps (which are not, I promise, a result of my open window in November in Duluth). I love love music and every month or so, there’s just a song that knocks me down for a little bit.
It’s John Mayer’s (acoustic guitarist from Atlanta) song Comfortable. I’ll put the lyrics here, but you really should download it. It’s delicious.
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Happy Birthday to Nick, who is 21 today. Ah, I remember in the days of yore when he was a 15-year-old gangly kid with big glasses and braces. How times flies. ::sniff::
So much to do! And I have so little to say, but there’s a direct correlation between me updating and having so much to do.
I don’t have even a few interesting words in me right now (sorry, Luke), so I’ll leave with a quotation I heard in the hallway yesterday:
GUY: Wow. I can’t believe it.
GIRL: What?
GUY: I’m actually having a Mac Attack.
GIRL: Really?
So. I got the part I wanted in Top Girls. Yay! I play two characters, a butch Slavic woman (to be specific, I’m the living version of the woman in this painting) and also a 16-year-old rather schizophrenic girl named Angie. Yay! Rehearsals won’t really begin until after Winter Break, but that’s okay. I’m just excited to be back into the swing of the theatre-type things.
Plane crash in New York. If it’s just a coincidence, what an absolutely unfortunate coincidence. I keep thinking: those people were flying, congratulating themselves on being brave enough to fly and not giving into the terrorist hype because they had been told a million times right now is the “safest time to fly,” and the thought of mechanical failure or whatever it might have been never crossed their minds. You know? I always think that way. On a more selfish and probably irrational note (but ohwell), I will not be flying to Virginia for Christmas. Amtrak and I are buddies right now, despite the fact the trip will take two days.
I finished Memoirs of Geisha which was an excellent book, though a little difficult to get through. My one major qualm with it is the ending, and it’s a qualm I have with a lot of endings. Sometimes it seems when authors can’t think of a great way to end a story, they try to moralize; as in, use the end-of-the-family-sitcom “what did we learn today?” method. Ugh. It feels preachy to me.
I had more to say, but now I can’t think of it.
Oh funny. There’s this one girl in the department who, for no apparent reason I can discern, refuses to acknowledge my presence, which is all fine and good with me because I don’t really care about those things. But she got cast as my aunt in the play and has to be in a bunch of scenes with me. Ha! Try to ignore me now, Ignorer-of-Me Girl!
That’s right.
Time to tackle A Brave New World for class tomorrow.
So, as I was telling a friend in an e-mail earlier, I realized that when I actually do everything I’m supposed to do (i.e. homework and other responsibilities), I have barely any time for the internet. I found this so blasphemous that I decided that productivity wasn’t the route for me, and I’ve returned to my lovely state of waking late and staying glued to my computer for hours on end. Are you proud? I sure am.
The big thing this week for me was auditions. How did they go, you ask? Well.
First of all, I have to re-state this fact for the billionth time: the director of Romeo and Juliet (one of the spring productions at my school), who also happens to be my Speech professor, has an extreme dislike for me and the feeling is absolutely mutual. We clash on everything and she basically told me a million trillion times in a million different ways she would not put me in her production. And for some reason, I think on some deeper level, I didn’t believe this.
With that said, my audition rocked. I changed my audition piece for the other spring show, Top Girls (a feminist piece by British writer Caryl Churchill) at the very last minute, taking an absolute risk by performing a Ted Hughes’ poem called Perfect Light. This was a risk because using poems for auditions pieces is looked down upon, but I didn’t care. My Acting teacher (spoken of before as “Sexy Man,” which he still, of course, is) gave this inspiring speech the day before about breaking rules and boundaries and dagnabit, that’s exactly what I intended to do.
My audition rocked. One of the best auditions I’ve ever done. My Romeo and Juliet piece especially rocked. I’m extremely critical of myself, so it’s honestly a lot for me to compliment myself. But, seriously: there was no way I couldn’t have gotten called back for Romeo and Juliet.
Lo and behold, however, when I checked the callback lists, I was called back for a number of parts in Top Girls and absolutely none for Romeo and Juliet. And though Top Girls was what I really really wanted to be in and the idea of working with my Speech professor in a show made my stomach turn, I was still disappointed. And kind of pissed, actually, and I showed my pissed-offness by not going to Speech. Ha! That showed her.
Not really.
Anyway, I got over that disappointment because my callback for Top Girls yesterday was incredible. I had so much fun and felt like I did a great job. And my inside source on casting told me after auditions that it’s between me and this freshman girl for the part. I won’t, however, know until Monday night or Tuesday morning. Damn the agony!
Hmm, anything else? Not really. I have so much work to do today. I say that everytime, though, don’t I?
I use a lot of commas.
Anyway, I think I’m off to Barnes and Noble with Erik. But we’ll see.
Lots to say, but I think I slept a total of 30 minutes last night, so I need to nap. Auditions were last night. I got called back for the show I wanted, but there was much controversy with the other show.
Stories to follow, sleep to happen now
I’m a fucking ball of blubbering mush, but I can’t help it. I love this quotation and have loved it ever since I first saw the movie:
“My darling, I’m waiting for you. How long is a day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone now and I’m horribly cold. I really ought to drag myself outside – but then there would be the sun. I’m afraid I waste the light on the paintings and on writing these words.
We die, we die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed . . . bodies we have entered and swum up like rivers, fears we have hidden in like this wretched cave . . . I want all this marked on my body. We are the real countries, not the boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men.
I know you will come and carry me out into the palace of winds . . . that’s all I’ve wanted – to walk in such a place with you, with friends, an earth without maps.
The lamp’s gone out . . . and I’m writing in the darkness.”
The English Patient
I’ve been really nostalgic as of late, and I’m not sure that’s necessarily a good thing. I used to be the epitome of a mushy, nostalgic, memory pack rat back in the day and in the past year and half or so, I’ve really forced myself into thinking only ahead and in the present. So it’s been a strange thing for me to suddenly be reading over my web journal archives from high school and looking at old pictures and feeling twinges of something undefinable in the pit of my stomach.
What have I been thinking of? I’ve been thinking of Clint, who was my first “real” boyfriend in high school. He was a year older than me and we dated for two months, but remained good friends afterwards. I remember how excited I got when he told a mutual friend he thought I was pretty and then she told me. I remember having my first taste of alcohol at his house and consequently breaking his shower curtain. Waking up in his parents’ bed, having truly only physically slept next to each other and nothing else, and him commenting how grown-up he felt. Sitting on the jungle gym in the playground and spilling our secrets. Me sitting at the bar of the coffee ship he worked at, blushing every time he looked at me. Him playing piano in a distinctly golden light and my heart falling to the floor.
And there’s Geoffrey and his house, which I have come to realize was, and is still mentally, a source of comfort for me. Nick and I used to run through his huge lawn late at night, listening to the train that ran literally two feet from his backyard. As I’ve mentioned before, I had an incredible week with Geoffrey once while Nick was on vacation and I don’t really feel like I’ve bonded with a single person like that again.
Grant. The school’s class clown. Popular, amazingly funny, the world’s nicest guy. A preacher’s son who wasn’t trapped by his religion. We became friends my senior year of high school over Instant Messenger and there was an attraction there, though I think it mostly stemmed from the fact that I was desperately unhappy and felt Nick pulling away from me. Grant asked me to go shopping with him in Carytown one day in English class, and we had some bizarre, but surprisingly sweet two week affair. I remember laying in bed, just imagining what it would be like to kiss him. He took me home one night from something or other, and in the darkness of my driveway, I decided to forgo everything and kiss him. I missed. I slobbered on his nose. That missed-kiss was, and still remains, the source of amusement for both of us. But we did kiss, eventually, on his living room floor, one bright afternoon when we both skipped English to have grilled cheese sandwiches and watch movies. And we kissed again in his computer room a few days later, while slow dancing to Harry Connick, JR and then slow dancing to silence when a sudden power outage killed the music.
And there’s Nick. Always Nick.
This is all I’m going to allow of myself for nostalgia. It’s dangerous for me, to be like this. I get caught up in my head so strongly that I lose track of time.
I was going to write about the party this weekend, but I can’t really find anything consequential to write about. Erik changes when he’s in the studio. It’s the type of change that I don’t know how well I’ll be able to handle when he’s back in the studio full time. I’m trying to concentrate on being in the moment for now, however. Auditions are on Thursday and my head is swimming.
My head will swim, no matter.
Hi. I’m back and drinking orange tea whilst in butterfly pajamas. It’s nice to be home and in a familiar place, with familiar people.
The weekend was . . . okay? I’ll write more about it tomorrow, but I suppose it was an extremely moody weekend, full of ups and downs and beer and spicy food.
For now, however, I’m off to not do all the homework that has piled up and instead read one of the two new books I acquired over the weekend – Memoirs of a Geisha (I know, I’m behind in the trend) and a biography on Zelda Fitzgerald.
I have six dollars in my bank account. But I saw a blood red sunrise over Lake Superior Friday morning that hasn’t left my mind. Erik was gone and I was sleeping by myself. Something woke me at 6:53 AM on the dot and the whole wall in front of me was bathed in deep red light. I turned to look out the window and there was the sun, blood red and huge, reflecting on the water. It’s the first sunrise I’ve ever seen. I’m 20 years old. What have I been doing all my life?
Randomness for you, which probably indicates I need to read and then sleep. Till tomorrow.
So, I’m going down to Minneapolis tomorrow for the weekend. After a huge fight in which I completely lost my temper, Erik left tonight for the Cities and I’ll be meeting him there. I should mention, however, that the fight was resolved. I think.
My roommates rock. A nice thing about Erik being away is that I tend to spend more time with the girls of the house, something I miss from this summer. We used to have marathon talks about girl stuff and anti-boy stuff and it was lovely to revisit that.
Someone smashed our pumpkins on the porch, including the one that Jason carved for Corina with their initials on it, since Halloween was their two-year anniversary. Jerks! (the pumpkins smashers, not the couple). Isn’t smashing pumpkins blasé by now?
The Halloween party last night was fun. I was apprehensive because it was full of people I didn’t know, but I figured if Erik was brave enough to go to a theatre party, which is wild and scandalous, I could withstand a student board party. We played dirty Jenga and I ended up having to switch clothes with Erik and then some random guy named Sam to my right. I also got a bit drunk on this odd mixture of Blackberry Brandy, vodka and Chambord, since my Scotch (drink of choice) was at Abbey’s place. It was weird to drink on a school night. Made me feel like freshman year again, when drinking was an every day occurrence, whether class was the next day or not. One of the sober kids drove us home and then Erik woke me up early to fetch his car for him, which I didn’t mind, except we got into the first fight of the day on the way and that just sucked.
We really don’t fight that often. It just feels like it. Really.
Auditions for the spring plays are next week. I’m ready for the Romeo and Juliet auditions, though I won’t be cast because it’s become a known fact that the director pretty much hates me. Lovely. Ohwell, I’d rather be in Top Girls, anyway, I suppose. It’s feminist and hardcore and experimental. Yes.
I should sleep. I hate when Erik leaves because he takes his good down comforter and I’m left with a sucky regular one. And the bed is expansive and cold, but I believe I’ve mentioned that.
I drank too much tea and coffee tonight and my heart is racing. Sleep should be attempted.
Macbeth lines have been running through my head ever since my Speech teacher mentioned it in class. Nick and I did a racy and interesting modernized video version of it for a class project, involving me in a black bra and both of us in a hot tub, making out. I don’t know how we got away with showing that in school. Makes me miss Nick, sometimes. We were crazy kids. So much in love with each other and with the concept of first love. It’s funny how you think feelings like that will last forever.
(insert corny, sad violin music)
Anyway, I’m off to sleep. I only meant to mention that I was going down to the Cities and here I am, rambling away.
Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight.
So, Erik and I went to a party last night given by people from the school board he’s on. None of the pictures came out real well, mostly because any picture including me always seems to come out whack, so I decided to put up our “mad face” picture. I think it’s a great picture for a number of reasons, from our facial expressions to the Tampax box in the background. Erik went as a Sound Guy in a Red Raincoat and I went as a Girl In Her Mother’s 70s Jacket. Creative kids, we are.
More to say, but a shower awaits.