Solstice

Happy Winter Solstice to everyone. :)

Fall semester is officially over. Somehow I lived. Home for the holidays and some desperately needed R&R for a week or so before I return to NYC for work and homework. I have much to do. Caesar needs to be tackled soon, I have acting assignments and music to learn, and right now I'm battling the sudden, random onset of some sickness. I think I'm having a bad reaction to our Christmas tree. Or I'm catching whatever my mom and brother had.

School is out. One more semester. Brutus is coming. Ain't no rest for the wicked. I'm in love. Christmas in a few days. Quality family time. Quality homefriends time. Lots of work to be done.

Did I mention I'm in love? For the first time. And it terrifies me. But I'm happy. Which is a weird, weird feeling. :)

Et tu?

Brute.

Mau

Last year I discovered that this lovely critter is my spirit animal. Call it pagan, shamanistic, New Age-y if you want, but I has a smiling spotted kitty for a soul. And I know it.

Been reading about cats and how they're proven to actually be extremely beneficial to emotional health. Maybe that's why I've been pining for my fluffy babies back home.

Lense

First day back, and it only took five minutes to want to be home again. I'm like, the greatest, most independent and self-sufficient college kid ever. LET'S GO HOME SOME MORE!!! But I love home, so whatever. Three more weeks and then it's holiday time and I will get more kitty cuddles and homemade food and blah blah blah.

High point of the day - acting class. We did the Uta Hagen Respect for Acting "Three Entrances" exercise with a bonus object exercise all last week and the beginning of this class. I'd done them before, back at SCSU and last year, and it wasn't until this year when I really truly think I understood what this exercise was about. ((Sidenote, I keep getting corrected for my spelling of "exercise" - I wanna type it "exercize" but apparently that's wrong. Come on, google, I like my z's.))

I'll add to this post later (after I get SOME homework done) with the Three Entrances exercise as written in Uta's book. It's incredibly useful at bringing life onto the stage, even if it does take you four damn years to understand it.

So, in short, I did the exercise, honestly didn't think much of my work, but I wasn't about to apologize for anything I did, since that just looks lame if you're all like "well, I wasn't really feeling it, so if it sucked, sorry." But some of the feedback I got was really nice- pointed out what makes my work individual and dynamic in a way that was more than just "you did really well."

The ease of my presentation, the natural quality of my actions, the complete lack of indication or needing "to explain" my actions - I was surprised any of that came across, to be honest, but I'm glad it did. And one of my classmates said something really quite special - how everything I did, the feelings I brought into the exercise with me, they all really affected her, and how I have this quality to really change the motion of an entire room when I come in.

My teacher followed that up with some astute observations on the next step I can take in practicing and doing my work, but also another flattering and surprising comment. He was discussing (in his superfluously verbose sort of way) how each human being has a unique light that only they can bring to the universe, and to slouch or break at the waist or lose posture is bringing that light back in upon themselves and "depriving the world of that indelibly unique light that is you." He said that I do not do that at all, that I have a grace about me (no idea how I got to be graceful in any way, he must not have seen the bruises on my legs from walking into things and tripping) and that I am open and share that unique quality of myself that makes my actions compelling.

Not to say that I don't have miles to go in terms of my skills, but those were very nice things to hear, you know? For many reasons, I've been examining my own self lately and the person I see is not a pretty one. My personal lense is pretty distorted, as are all of our own lenses, so perhaps to get the clearest view it takes many eyes.

So that was my positive thing for the day. We won't talk about ballet or tap. HAH.

Also we got to sing Sweeney Todd in class today. That was also a positive thing. SWEENEY! SWEENEY! SWEEEEEENEEEEEEEEEEY!

Much love.

Rhyme & Reason

Hello.

I think I dropped off the planet for a while there.

My bad.

_

In brief, my November has been chock full of still being employed at Halloween Adventure, auditioning for the sophomore studio projects (called back for The Seven and Julius Caesar [or FemCaesar as I call it, since it's an all female cast]), trying to work out the Freeplay projects, homework, exceptionally deep tissue blisters, Commando coming to visit twice, final semester schedule, Thanksgiving break, broken shoes, overscheduling, not enough cleaning, auditioning at Audible.com, too much food, not enough food, my academic classes being loserfaces, finals, long term projects, considering my living situation for next year (do I have to think about this ALREADY?!), and now, trying to learn how to use a smartphone. IT'S TOO FANCY.

So I actually don't have much to report on, yet. Plenty has been going on, but until I can put the pieces of my brain back together I can't formulate any good life lessons or anything. Hopefully things will level out soon enough. But I really just want to be on break again. Thanksgiving was just a teaser for winter break. So much wonderful, not enough time.

Love to you.

Droog

Happy Halloween, my darlings. My costume last year cannot be beat, but my overall Halloween this year will take an act of the gods to top. What a night. What a month. What a feeling. What fucking fun.

Partied at SLEEP NO MORE - if you're in NYC, check it out. Unlike anything you'll ever see. Ever. And I got to party and dance and drink and feel like a real person, and feel pretty, and I rocked my Clockwork Orange getup.

I love Halloween. I truly do.

Animals

It's 12:30 on a school night. I got home less than an hour ago. My stomach is incredibly unsettled so sleep eludes me for a bit. This is the final week of Halloween Adventure. I don't think I'm going to survive. I've become an essential member of the team, but I'm falling apart. Work is mindless and it's an act I have perfected at a rapid pace - the face of retail, willing to be treated less than human for 8 glorious dollars an hour. The mindlessness is what soothes me, along with the separation from theatre overload. But now I have theatre overload and Halloween overload, and nowhere to escape either, so both have to suffer. And I'm not okay with that.

Happy Halloween. I'm cracking into pieces and trying to balance to keep them together.

I guess I wanted this, though. To have to run and fly and fall with no one to catch me and only me to answer for what I live through. That's the real world, and even though I'm graduating in a matter of months, I still feel like I can't do anything on my own.

At least the weather is pretty.

Danger Danger

A few things.

Egon Schiele. New artistic obsession. Also GERMAN EXPRESSIONISM. I think I have found the equivalent vibration to my art-soul, and it is very dark and twisty and beloved to me.

Somehow I'm incredibly behind in all of my schoolwork, even as I struggle to keep up. Entire projects have caught me blindsided, grades hover tremulously on a knife edge, my perfectionist self is wrestling with what must be sacrificed for the overall good, what classes do I need to skip to catch up, how will I keep up, then? I'm running into the ground but I have no choice but to keep running.

Work is 11 days away from reaching it's end. Within those eleven days, if I don't completely snap or die, it will be a miracle. Even with the absurd hours (hello, 12 hour shift) the money is barely enough to keep me fed and clean and bills paid. I gotta just hang on.

A song. Indelibly.

Maybe The Fall

One of those days. I couldn't make myself stand, so I stayed here. Getting things done. Trying to piece my brain together and steady the world so I can keep going. It's been a rough week. But I'll get through. I always do.

Breathing. One two three. Breathing. Four five six. Breathing.

Day Off

Happy Columbus Day!*

*Happy Celebration of the Raping and Pillaging and Syphilis Spreading to an Already Populated Hemisphere with a Rich and Vibrant Culture!

I get the day off though, so I shouldn't bitch too much. First full day off in over a week. Between studio and work, it's going to put me in a straightjacket before too long, but I'm pretty happy, in spite of my crazy.

My allergies are either horrifically awful or they have progressed into a slight cold, since my voice vanished completely yesterday and I sounded like Fran Drescher with laryngitis at work. Not appealing to customers when they think I'm going to infect them with the black plague or something. Stuffy nose and a creeping cough, too. :( So today I'm going to go on vocal rest for as long as I possibly can. Tea, honey, Ricola and rest is priority number one for today. I have a shitton of homework to do also, but at least none of it requires speaking.

Halloween costume ideas - I have one idea to do at work with the girls, and one for my studio friends. A green witch to match the witches of Leg Avenue, but then I also want to do post-apocalyptic Disney Princesses. A tattered, weaponized and knife wielding Belle, with beast pelt cloak and the rose in her hair.

I meant to write about this the other day but I never found time - my physical acting class with Orlando Pabotoy has been doing really amazing work (similar to Ken Schatz) in lowering the inhibitions and silencing the inner critic and allowing for mistakes to be made and to truly live in them, fully. Because the mistakes he's guiding us into making are wonderful and fun and proving the point that mistakes are more engaging and beautiful than taking everything too seriously.

Love love.

I'm Lacking Inspiration, Today

Yesterday was a good day, today was an okay day. Creatively I'm just pooped. Exhausted. I want to sleep all the time and I dread the physical exertion of the next day. I'm emotional eating. I'm bored eating. I'm eating. MUNCHIES.

I think I'm going to grow out my hair. Maybe go until my birthday without cutting any significant length off of it. See what happens.

Here are a few things to share with you while I work out my artistic kinks.

_

A song they used in New York Theatre Workshop and Elevator Repair Service's THE SELECT - THE SUN ALSO RISES.

_

A link to an interesting blog post by one of my favorite haunted house creators in NYC - it's about the theatrical experience, not just pop scares, and that I appreciate. He writes about his artistic struggle to maintain his vision and storytelling truth instead of resorting to gore-tastic pop scares. CLICK TO READ.

_

Some quotes by Harold Pinter from a speech he made at the National Student Drama Festival in Bristol, 1962.

"We don't carry labels on our chests, and even though they are continually fixed to us by others, they convince nobody."

"I suggest there can be no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false."

_

A quote from Maria Irene Fornes, playwright.

"Art is completely religion."

_

And last but not least, a quote from George Clooney, as written in an interview conducted by Parade Magazine.

I was a baseball player in school. I had a good arm, I could catch anything, but I was having trouble hitting, I would be like, "I wonder if I'll hit it; just let me hit the ball." And then I went away for the fall, learned how to hit, and by my sophomore year I'd come to the plate and think, "I wonder where I want to hit the ball, to the left or right?" Just that little bit of skill and confidence changed everything. Well, I had to treat acting like that. I had to stop going to auditions thinking, "Oh, I hope they like me." I had to go in thinking I was the answer to their problem. You could feel the difference in the room almost immediately.

The greatest lesson I learned was that sometimes you have to fake it. And you have to be willing to fail.

Physical Exposure 2

So I went back to reread THIS (click) post before writing this one.

I stripped down again for my art (I did this summer as well, in Note to Self, but with a sheet wrapped around me I was more covered than I normally am) yesterday. I performed an autodrama for my acting class with Kent Gash (I did one last year as well, and it would appear I didn't bother blogging about my experience with it, which is unfortunate, because it was quite a moment) - to explain briefly, it's a themed, theatrical performance of the high points or influential moments of your life, done in ten minutes, and no more.

Last year my life metaphor was a script with the scenes out of order, this year it was removing the armor I have created because of things that have happened to me. I'll get pictures of the suit up soon - it's stashed at school since I didn't have a chance to bring it home. As my pieces of armor were taken off, I told the stories that had affected me to create my psychological and emotional armor in my life, and beneath my armor I was in nothing but my bra and underwear. I had decided that if I was going to be exposing myself emotionally by telling these exceptionally painful and unflattering stories of myself, why not go all the way and show off my whole body? Physical exposure was a part of my stories, it mirrored what my brain was doing, so I decided to brave my class staring at the completely exposed version of myself.

I've gotten stark on stage before, so why was this different? I was being overtly sexual in Some Girl(s), I was standing still while speaking in my autodrama. Why was it a different kind of danger?

Because it was all me. It was my life, it was my face, they were my words. I couldn't hide behind a script, I couldn't blame it on a character. Whatever they got to see was me and no one else, whatever ugliness and shame and hurt and strangeness they got to see could not be tucked away or filtered. It was not just for audiences of people I did not know - it was for peers I have to face every day and socially survive with.

But I chose to do it for myself, to challenge and be real and risk things I would never have done years ago. I'm so glad I did it.

Kind of neat to have a follow-up blog post about a topic I got to explore down the road. Maybe there will be a part 3 someday if they make me go nudist on y'all.

Love love.

An Addendum

Words are dangerous. I, of all people, should realize that. I won't fluff this up with my usual bullshit imagery or emotional, hipster, useless language crap.

I write/post spur of the moment. Because of that, I fucked up. I fucked it up with this, so I'm going to apologize with this too. I should have been a little more aware and less caught up in my own griping and problems to know that emphatic words need to be used only when they're really meant.

You deserve better than the result of an in the moment splat of unfair shit. If I'd actually meant any of it, I wouldn't be bothered by your hurt. I deserve what you're giving me. So I apologize. I'm actually super proud of you for what you have accomplished. That's what should have come out.

Next set of paints is on me.

Store In A Cool, Dry Place

And NYC is NOT a cool, dry place. Damned humidity and lingering summer ick.

Been hella busy around here - insanely busy. Everyone in my studio is getting sick, and I'm just praying I can balance everything enough to remain healthy, because getting sick is the absolute last thing I can deal with right now.

Some updates on the Life.

- Studio 30 hours a week

Capoeira

Physical Acting

Jazz

Ballet

Tap

Song Performance

Collaboration class with the Graduate Musical Theatre Writing program

Sight Singing

Music Theory

Keyboards

Speech

Acting

- Auditions for school productions

(Fruitless, as of yet.)

- Work

Halloween Adventure NYC 12 hours a week (and it's getting wild in there...)

- Academic Classes

Avant-Garde

(too much theoretical reading!!! SHUT UP WAGNER. WE KNOW HOW YOU FEEL.)

Playwrighting Practicum

Yay creative writing :)

- Homework

Readings, writings, textbook work, projects, assigned shows to go see

-Sleep

Wait, what's that?

So, yeah. There's all that. Plus wanting to maintain friendships so finding time to visit with people. Plus extra stuff I want to do, like workshops with Audible.com and arranging auditions with them so I can try to be an audiobook narrator. Like readings for musicals (cheesy though they may be) and recordings of the numbers.

I've got a lot on my plate and it's beginning to take its toll, but all I can do is keep trying and hope for the best. My heart aches sometimes, just because I know life isn't slowing down and I've chosen to be this crazy and busy but I still miss being with people and having friends when I need them there. I miss Commando and Unicorn. I miss friends my own age. I love my studio friends so, so much, but they are only just 18, some of them, and I need my older friends. There is a very large difference between almost 19 and almost 22.

Sending all my love. Keep the strength, gotta keep fighting. Art is resisting me this year. I have Senioritis. I want my life.

In Plaster

There is literally no excuse for my cliche-emo-middle-schooler-obsession with Sylvia Plath and her tragic genius, except for the fact that I love her for the purity of her art and how she dredged her pain for the joy of her writing, and how, in essence, all artist's pain becomes their joy, and when we find it, we play.

Also, this particular poem is so FUCKING incredible I can't even think about anything else right now. It's going in my autodrama project. Oh yes, oh yes it is.

Sylvia Plath

In Plaster

I shall never get out of this!  There are two of me now:

 This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one,

 And the white person is certainly the superior one.

 She doesn't need food, she is one of the real saints.

 At the beginning I hated her, she had no personality --

 She lay in bed with me like a dead body

 And I was scared, because she was shaped just the way I was

  Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no complaints.

 I couldn't sleep for a week, she was so cold.

 I blamed her for everything, but she didn't answer.

 I couldn't understand her stupid behavior!

 When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist.

 Then I realized what she wanted was for me to love her:

 She began to warm up, and I saw her advantages.

  Without me, she wouldn't exist, so of course she was grateful.

 I gave her a soul, I bloomed out of her as a rose

 Blooms out of a vase of not very valuable porcelain,

 And it was I who attracted everybody's attention,

 Not her whiteness and beauty, as I had at first supposed.

 I patronized her a little, and she lapped it up --

 You could tell almost at once she had a slave mentality.

  I didn't mind her waiting on me, and she adored it.

 In the morning she woke me early, reflecting the sun

 From her amazingly white torso, and I couldn't help but notice

 Her tidiness and her calmness and her patience:

 She humored my weakness like the best of nurses,

 Holding my bones in place so they would mend properly.

 In time our relationship grew more intense.

  She stopped fitting me so closely and seemed offish.

 I felt her criticizing me in spite of herself,

 As if my habits offended her in some way.

 She let in the drafts and became more and more absent-minded.

 And my skin itched and flaked away in soft pieces

 Simply because she looked after me so badly.

 Then I saw what the trouble was:  she thought she was immortal.

  She wanted to leave me, she thought she was superior,

 And I'd been keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful --

 Wasting her days waiting on a half-corpse!

 And secretly she began to hope I'd die.

 Then she could cover my mouth and eyes, cover me entirely,

 And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case

 Wears the face of a pharaoh, though it's made of mud and water.

  I wasn't in any position to get rid of her.

 She'd supported me for so long I was quite limp --

 I had forgotten how to walk or sit,

 So I was careful not to upset her in any way

 Or brag ahead of time how I'd avenge myself.

 Living with her was like living with my own coffin:

 Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully.

  I used to think we might make a go of it together --

 After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close.

 Now I see it must be one or the other of us.

 She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy,

 But she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit.

 I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her,

 And she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me.

On The State of Art Today

"Where the Grecian artist found his only reward in the masterpiece, in its success, and the public aprobation: we have the modern artist, boarded, lodged and - paid. And thus we reach the central distinction between the two: with the Greeks their public art was very Art, with us it is artistic - Handicraft."

- Richard Wagner, Art and Revolution

The theatre is so commercialized. To perform on a big stage in New York you have to have a celebrity, or multiple smaller celebrities, or no one will risk your production. If it's a challenging, polarizing work, you'll be lucky to get it staged anywhere but a downtown studio, unless you have the money. Art for the appreciation of art has been relegated to a stereotype. Very rarely do you find something that is art and squeezes its way through the bars society has placed around the 'public art,' but when you do find it, hold on with everything you've got. Art is not easy. Art requires effort, on the part of the creator and the viewer.

I'm Ready Whenever You Are, Autumn

I am in desperate need of a doctor for my hips. And back. Hopefully my schedule will allow for medicinal aid in the very, very near future. I have been googling my symptoms and who knows what I managed to fuck up inside my body this time.

Some quotes, to close the day. I'm exhausted and hurting and overwhelmed and realizing I am showing every symptom of Senioritis - I need a cookie and I don't have ANY.

"Don't aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally." - David Frost

"Flaming enthusiasm, backed up by horse sense and persistence, is the quality that most frequently makes for success." - Dale Carnegie

"Sometimes I worry about being a success in a mediocre world. " - Lily Tomlin

My Mask Is Breaking Down

Insidious

So, this isn't really a news flash of any kind, considering my personality and disposition, but HOLY CRAP THIS BUSINESS GIVES ME ANXIETY ISSUES.

Auditions stress me out; must pick perfect material, must have enough material to choose from, must have perfect performance of material for particular audition, must have perfect outfit to project perfect image, must have perfect entrance to the audition room, must not overanalyze post-audition.

Let's say I manage not to fuck up the majority of the previous requirements in drastically irreversible ways -THEN comes what I have diagnosed as SOPAAD: Sudden Onset Post-Audition Anxiety Disorder. (This may or may not be indicative of actual anxiety issues, but I am my own doctor, dammit) Symptoms include nervousness, irritability, fidgeting, headaches, discomfort, and frequent checking of email and social networking communications in the hopes that the cure will arrive any minute now.

I become positively beastly sometimes, and depending on the SOPAAD trigger, the levels of my bestial behavior can vary from occasional obvious sighing to general fussing and pacing all the way to sudden sharp outbursts that may or may not take the form of actual words. They can be interpreted as growling.

JUST EMAIL ME YOU STUPID CASTING DIRECTORS A;LSKDNFA;UGUAERJNAAO[WEIH

Ubu

"... if you are absolutely determined to give the public an inkling of something, you must explain it... beforehand."

"They pretend to think writers and artists a lot of crackpots, and some of them would like to purge all works of art and everything spontaneous and quintessential, of every sign of superiority, and to bowdlerize them so that they could have been written by the public in collaboration. That is their point of view, and that of certain plagiarists, conscious and unconscious. Have we no right to consider the public from our point of view? - the public that claims that we are madmen suffering from a surfeit of what it regards as hallucinatory sensations produced in us by our exacerbated senses. From our point of view it is they who are the mad men, but of the opposite sort - what scientists would call idiots. They are suffering from a dearth of sensations, for their senses have remained so rudimentary that they can perceive nothing but immediate impressions. Does progress for them consist in drawing nearer to the brute beast or in gradually developing their embryonic cerebral convolutions?"

"Light is active and shade is passive, and light is not detached from shadow but, given sufficient time, penetrates it."

Snippets from Alfred Jarry

Spurs in my intercostals

I'll keep this brief and to the point, with a tidbit or two I have to share from my first few days back at the madhouse known as NYU Tisch NSB. It feels wonderful to be finding a groove again.

Ceiling patched - room rearranging to commence when they prime the plaster. Yay for clean spaces.

I'm taking capoeira now, and holy hell does my body hurt. I have never felt muscle pain like this in my life. All my summer workouts probably saved me from complete physical collapse, but they didn't prepare me for the madness that is this art form. Standing hurts, sitting hurts, lying down hurts, breathing too deep hurts - and I can't figure out how to stretch my butt to make it loosen up!

I need to get a chiropractor and a physician to work on my back and figure out what's up with my hips, since both of those physical features are causing me severe issues already.

I have my starting schedule for my new job at Halloween Adventure NYC - but this did take away an opportunity for a new reading I was supposed to take part in. It's a give and take, and I'm disappointed, but grateful for what I do have right now.

A note on acting from my new acting teacher, Kent Gash, specifically on the topic of crying and being able to cry onstage, as prompted by a fellow classmate:

"Nobody in life ever tries to cry - we're always trying not to cry. That's what it is."

Long Live the Queen

First day of senior year - one would expect me to be filled with mixed feelings, some apprehension, the same drive I always have. This is true, but today there's more of a "kick ass and take names" vibe to my being. And I like that.

The reason for this bear-wrestling attitude is partly because it is His Majesty and Patron Saint of Badassery Freddie Mercury's 65th birthday today, and my heart is just full to the brim with love and respect. He is outsinging every angel in heaven, and I'll bet he's loving it.

The other reason for the she-hulk stance on life is that part of my ceiling caved in this morning. So that's super awesome - there's a hole in the ceiling and shattered plaster all over the floor.

I painted again last night - I got brave and tried shading and it didn't come out half bad. :) Our apartment is going to be filled with so much art it's vomitously wonderful.

Audition for A Bright Room Called Day tonight - and I intend to kick ass and take names.

Love! Go crank some Queen and bask in the heat from raw, undeniable talent. That's my plan, anyway.

Home Is Where the Art Is

My roommate flew in from Washington state yesterday, and already we've managed to designate a weekly/biweekly/monthly/whenever the hell we feel like it ART evening. When the ragged comforter gets spread on the floor, it's time to put on the tea kettle, pop in some music, and pull out our paints. It was so soothing - even though we have a CRAPTON to do before school (it's actually nauseatingly terrifying, thinking of all the things I need to do), it's quite necessary to create a zone of quiet, escapist happy. So I painted. :)

That's a crappy webcam of it. I think it's full title is "The First (A Tribute to Plaid/Highland Rape)." Alexander McQueen had a line called Highland Rape and it was beautiful. And very plaid. I don't paint much, so I paint abstract to avoid coping with my lack of acrylic ability. We have lots of cardboard, plenty of paint, and LOTS of wallspace, so who knows how many more there might be. If we have time.

I also landed a job yesterday, which is fucking fantastic. :) I have some paperwork to do before I can start, obviously, but hopefully the week after next I'll be starting a couple shifts at Halloween Adventure, NYC. I feel so much better already, knowing that I'll have even a tiny little paycheck coming in. It's something (and it's the EFFING HALLOWEEN STORE I'M SO STOKED.)

I have way too much to do today (work to do, people to see ((text me, George! I'm sorry!!!)), monologues to memorize, plays to get, it never ends), so I'm going to go do some of it and try not to go crazy in the process. Classes haven't even started yet (and classes are going to be a madhouse this year), I can't lose my marbles quite yet.

Love to you.

Avant

Something funky fresh that won't send me into a tailspin. Let's give it a shot. Pale skin, red hair, colorful eyes and red lips. Let's see if I can't set my own fashion.

Having a welcome back/housewarming party this evening. I love having my own space, but it's getting a bit lonely, so I'm filling this tiny apartment up with my music theatre studio friends to share summer stories and feel the love. Because there is lots and lots of love to be had.

Here's hoping I get a job interview soon. I need one so badly. Got my fingers crossed!

Landed one theatrical project already - a reading of a new musical. I'm very excited. Time to dust off the acting chops and see what's cooking inside.

Cheers and love! More info when I get it. Getting some new books for school soon, and at least one of them has been on my WANTNOWPLEASE list for a while, so I'll share that when I get my hands on it.

One Year Ago

Exactly one year ago, today, I was waking up in NYC alone for the first time. I'd moved into my new dorm on Lafayette Street and was more than a little nervous.

Oh, how times have changed.

It always amazes me, how things change in one year - every year it just floors me and I know it shouldn't surprise me anymore, but it does. Weird. Rolling right along, we are.

Beautiful day today - got a workout to do, school stuff to prep, and I definitely want to get outside today.

I'm feeling better already.

Have some music it's impossible not to smile to. Now I want to dance. My darling Michelle gets here on Friday and I can't waitttt :)

Blow Myself Away

Hurricane Irene was a little bit of a let down - some late night gusting had me edgy for my windows, but New York made it out only slightly waterlogged. Everyone I know is safe, and now my hometown is waiting for the battering to be over.

Hurricane Harley, however, is another story.

I've had a melodramatic, confusing couple of days. I feel like all the stress of the past few weeks has just been bubbling up and bubbling up and in one, fell, disastrous swoop, it all came to a peak and forced me to sit down and examine what's going on in my head and my life.

Trying too hard to fix something has the distinct probability of only making things worse - I've never gone wrong letting life play out, and I should keep that in mind, from now on. That doesn't mean letting everything happen passively, hell no, but it means trusting where I'm going a little more than I have been.

Doing my first work out session in probably over a month. My body is aching for movement, for release. The joys of a yoga ball - simple happiness in plastic rubber sticking to my humid skin and my muscles burning. I'm going to work out until I can't think, and then I'm going to eat lunch, shower, and possibly investigate the streets of the Village to see what it's like, post-storm. It's like investigating myself, after Hurricane Harley has passed over.

My theatrical passion is, in fact, a metaphor for my own life, methinks. Trying so hard to force a mask to fit, to squeeze into a personality, it just looks false and ends badly. Peeling off layers is gentler, more freeing, and far closer to the truth.

Let's straighten up, Harlequin baby. One more year at NYU and then you're a real person, with a piece of paper that says so and everything! We have to make it worth it.

Love to you.

Irene

I take a leap and extend myself, reach out, try to shake things up, expand who I am a little, and, in response, the universe throws shock and shame and embarrassment my way in forms I could never imagine. Unfortunate coincidence of timing? Probably. But that doesn't make me feel better.

It's a curious coincidence that, for major expansive movements I try to make, personally, where I try to stretch and see if I can't change my shape, something crashes down that makes me want to retreat into the safety of my antisocial, geeky, artistic little shell and remain as I am. Mistakes or coincidence or happenstance, whatever it is that messes so fully with me, it gets me good. I don't know whether it's a test for me to keep pushing, or if it's a warning to stop losing my balance.

In conjunction with my stormy mental/emotional state, there is a hurricane creeping up the east coast, and the rain has begun here in Manhattan. All transportation has been cut. No trains in or out, no subways anywhere on the island. Battery Park and Staten Island and parts of Brooklyn have been issued mandatory evacuations (though anyone who is still here is stuck - no transport).

I'm not too worried - I have food and water and enough of it to last for a good few days, worst case scenario. I just wish I weren't by myself. Kinda sucks on my own right now. Too much thinking, not enough living.

Have some music. Long live the Lizard King.

Cosmic Love

Some words from the Village Voice for my star sign.

"If you're in the mood for outlandish feats and exotic adventures (which I suspect you might be), I suggest you try something more life-enhancing, like making love for an hour, eating an organic gourmet feast, then making love for another hour. It's a good time for you to be wild, maybe even extreme, about getting the healing you need."

And some music for the day.

Contents May Settle

Back in New York, New York, and I'm closer to content. Somehow it's soothing here. I'm restless and shaken and bothered, but being here makes me feel better, I guess.

I received a new deck in the mail yesterday, and I did myself a reading this morning. It's going to take a while to learn the cards and get used to them, but I think they'll be good for me. I'm starting something new, they said, but I'm confused and unsure (90% were reversed, how fun) and I feel stuck by a lot of things out of my control. I just have to keep going, though, and it won't end pretty, I just have to keep trying.

I need to shake up my life. The past few days at home really rattled me, and I feel like I need to find the seam of myself and rip it open, pull myself out of whatever I am right now and become the next phase of me. I need something dangerous, I need something new, I need to be doing.

The job hunt continues and success continues to elude me. I feel out of shape - I've been eating emotionally for weeks now. So much for all the work I did earlier in the summer.

Shake it up like a bottle of paint, splatter the canvas and see what happens to me.

The Look

That tried and true and ever impossible question has arisen again - to cut or not to cut?

Part of me wants long, thick, shiny hair, as far as it will go. Gorgeous artsy waterfall hair to catch the light. The other part of me wants to hack it off and give it shaggy, sharp edges, short and quirky and dangerous.

I've wanted both extremes for a while, but always been too indecisive to really have either. So here I am, hours before a hair appointment (the last for a while, since I never make it home during the semester), debating.

The main factor influencing my decision is always the theatre. What look do I need? What look will get me parts? How do I flaunt my best features with what I can manipulate on my body? What look is manageable? What look will limit roles for me? That's why I'm afraid to hack it off. Wigs exist, but I'd rather not bank on those. I'll talk to my hairdresser and see what she thinks.

This trip home has not been what I expected it to be. The past few days in particular - I feel like someone drained my brain out, or drained something out of me. I think it's time to head back to the city. I can't find too much peace anywhere, but peaceful isn't for me, perhaps.

And today is the birthday of a very wonderful and magical unicorn. :) Happy Birthday, Jen!

Looking for Light

We are not saints, we are not heroes. Our lives are lived in the quiet corners of the ordinary. We build tiny hearth fires, sometimes barely strong enough to give off warmth. But to the person lost in the darkness, our tiny flame may be the road to safety, the path to salvation. It is not given us to know who is lost in the darkness that surrounds us or even if our light is seen. We can only know that against even the smallest of lights, darkness cannot stand. A sailor lost at sea can be guided home by a single candle. A person lost in a wood can be led to safety by a flickering flame. It is not an issue of quality or intensity or purity. It is simply an issue of the presence of light.

Kent Nerburn

No Exit

I should write a play about the people who have exited my life. More have left because I love them than those who have left because of dislike.

"Life isn't fair. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something."

I learned that when I was eight years old, reading The Princess Bride. Hit me in the face with it one more time, universe, why don't you. Stop making me bitter before my time. Let me feel something good.

Did some splatter painting yesterday, as part of the decor for my apartment (home in CT covering pegboard with color to make some storage in my teeny space), and I understand now why Pollock painted the way he did, or any violent abstract artist does what they do. It's fun to fling and twist and throw and let your anger or joy fly out of you with the motions you make. It's a release. It's almost a more pure representation of emotion, because the brain can't get in the way by trying to make it something else than what it is.

I have to check on it, see how it dried, and then decide if it needs more color. It might. I want lots of color. Today will be an artsy day. A crafty day. I want to make things. I want to paint my face. I want to vomit my feelings where others have to see them, have to feel them, have to wonder what makes that kind of thing happen.

I understand why he has to leave. It just sucks. Again, Harley? Again. You were drunk, but not that drunk. You heard him.

Seeing my photog darling Karen Schlink this afternoon, hopefully. :) Some shutter speed smiles for me will be nice.

Rust

I have this vibrating, almost painful mess of creativity storming around inside of me, and yet my eyes keep closing and I have to file the ideas away until I'm not too weary or too busy or too unsure to go do.

I'm home, now. Home home, "away from the rat race," as dad calls it. I see New York on TV shows and I see it as my new home, bent through the filter of editing so that strangers get a tiny slice of the funky pie. They don't see my quiet street, or the hollow sidewalks, or hot nights and empty beds. New York is a strange beast, and it's odd to see it through a stranger's eyes.

Home is nice. Home is my cats. Home is real food, and space to spread out. Home is a secret pocket tucked far away from where my world can batter it into numbness with horns and lights and sore heels.

I haven't told too many people I'm home. I like my time here to belong to me. I will see who I want to see. I have things to do and this is my recovery time. A recharge. A sweetness.

Summer, without projects, makes me languid. The heat pushes me downward until I flatten myself against the crevices in the floor of my life to try and escape the sunburn and the humidity and the stink of sweat. Distractions help me fight the season that seeks to atrophy me. And I only say this now because I have too much time until my next project begins. I need something now. I need to be doing to be living.

I can only finish writing under pressure of a deadline. I should start self-imposing deadlines and see what comes out.

Et cetera. Exeterra. I'm itching to just run and run and run and go and leap and fly and fall completely out of control, just to exist in my full capacity. But my body says no, you need to recharge your battery or you will burn out, and then what good are you to anyone?

I've been free of this internship for a matter of days and already I feel myself beginning to rust over. I hated it, wanted to escape, and now look at me, antsy as hell and clawing through pages of books and pounds of food and galaxies of ideas, just to feel alive.

I don't handle boredom well.

Guilding

I've been having a hell of a time dealing with technological deficiencies in my new apartment (ungrounded plugs, cable with no TV, internet with no compatible drivers to make it work), but a few updates prior to my vanishing into the wilds of the unplugged world again.

Move = success! I need storage, since I'm living in a minefield of boxes, but it's a lovely little place and I can't wait to be truly comfortable there. Air conditioning is working, too.

Internship = over! I miss my friends. The last week was a bit of an emotional upheaval, for no apparent reason, other than I reached that edge where I looked out and saw how strangely incapable I am at interpersonal relationships, sometimes. I don't miss the managerial bullshit, but I do miss performing and I miss my new friends. I want to be going on tour.

Job = impossible to find! Work-study, don't fail me now... I don't have the schedule flexibility or the talent or desire to become a pole dancer.

And I am also apparently eligible to become a legit member of the Dramatists Guild of America, since I have now had a work staged in front of a paying audience in New York City. Not just student or associate, but full member. I'm currently too poor to join up (130/yr for full members), but it's really pretty cool.

I'm really feeling rather shitty at the moment, so I'm going to head back home (holing up in Tisch is fun and all, but I just want home internet, please), possibly eat something or take a shower, just to wipe away this feeling. Whatever it is.

I'll be headed back to the homestead in a day or two. I love New York, but I need a break before I actually do go crazy. I can feel it creeping up on me like a shadow.

Mm. I'd like some edamame. Nom.

On your mark.

Get set.

GO.

(Moving day. Cross your fingers everyone survives.)

Kiss Me

NY Times article about the delicacies of a stage kiss. CLICK.

Excerpts:

But in the theater, as in life, a kiss is hardly just a kiss. Whether bestowed on the lips, the cheek, the hand or any other part of the anatomy, the simple application of the lips to someone else’s body can illuminate all sorts of different, and often contradictory, feelings.

About Sydney Theatre Company's Uncle Vanya, the kiss between Cate Blanchette's Yelena and Hugo Weaving's Astrov:

She agrees to kiss him goodbye. She tosses her purse onto the sofa (as a vigilant fashion plate should) and leans into a kiss. Their lips almost meet, but then she turns her head and the image becomes absurd. You are acutely conscious of those two mouths that didn’t connect. They seem almost to hover grotesquely on their own, like lips from a Surrealist painting.

But there’s more. Yelena and Astrov kiss again, abruptly – and fully – and it’s like two planets colliding. Ms. Blanchett and Mr. Weaving tumble through the room, limbs flailing, like a single runaway vehicle, falling apart as it hurtles forward. Ms. Blanchett winds up on the floor, alone. And I felt the humor, heroism and pure loneliness of love according to Chekhov as I never had before.

(Yes, Harlequin still uses the Spotlight as a method of sharing theatrical learnings and musings as well, not just her own crazy summer foibles.)

T-minus...

Harlequin is officially on the move (finally - never again, NY real estate, NEVER AGAIN). The parentals are coming in a U-Haul at 7am tomorrow and I am never, EVER going back to dorm living. I'm 21 years old, a senior in college, and so done with room inspections, signing my guests in, signing my guests out, liquor rules, window lock rules, roommate agreement contracts, shitty roommates, less than zero privacy, dorm parties, and everything else stupid that goes with living by school rules. I'm an adult. More of an adult than some people I've met who are far older than me.

Picture courtesy of Lindsey - it's a very empty little space, right now, and it feels a bit alien and inhospitable as of yet, but hopefully by the end of the weekend I'll be able to call it home. I want a place to call home. Dorm does not equal home. Home home is almost a vacation spot now. I need a New York home.

Second to last performance of my summer festival tonight. I got a darling surprise in the form of my high school director and some old friends making an impromptu appearance to come see me perform last night, and it made me all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

I'm supposed to be getting lunch uptown with a friend in an hour. We'll see how that goes, if I can get ready quick enough with the maintenance suddenly going on in my kitchen. :P

Love. Always.

Mah Boomstick

Inspired by Bruce Campbell and Hyperbole and a Half. It should probably say "This is one reason why..."

I'm in a quirky sort of mood today. Cheers! :D

Halfy Birthday

I am exactly twenty one and one half years old today. Six months from this moment I will be twenty two. It is my half birthday. I didn't even realize that.

Sat in a diner with a friend and watched the sky turn pale over the buildings this morning. I haven't watched a night come and go like that for a very long time. My body will be punishing me for the next day or so, messing with my sleep schedule like this, but I could use a little detox anyway.

Wanted to mark the day somehow - it was a long night but it was wonderful, just to sit and talk. I haven't told my story to anyone new for a long time, and it hurt and was an interesting examination, seeing his reactions to some of the things I would say, but it's necessary to understand at least a little of how I appear to others. I certainly don't attract good men into my life, we discovered upon rehashing my story, hahaha.

I think I'm going to go crawl into the shower and soak until everything bad in my body just starts to ooze out of my pores or my eyes. All the grease, the anger, the excess sugar, the liquor, the frustration, the ache. Soak and scrub and condition and steam and then do some yoga and have some tea. If I didn't have to eat all of my food so moving is easier on Friday, I would try to do one of those 3-day-detox things. Liquid food until all of the toxins are purged from my system. I don't have an issue with ingesting toxins, because I feel you have to so that your body understands and can deal with it (and also because some toxins are delicious and don't you take away my yummies), and it's inevitable, in our society, but that being conscious of what you put in and how you need to compensate or take care of yourself is extremely important. Maybe I'll detox after the internship is over. I could seriously use it.

Somebody

Styx

Today has been quite a day. I spent the majority of it glued to this computer and my phone, battling miscommunications and waiting on other people, hoping and cursing and generally in a frenzy.

About my angst and rage last night – it has come to a conclusion, and there isn’t any way around it, that I can’t do the show. It just won’t work. I either take the semester off or I stay here. Since taking the semester off is not an option, there is only one option, so I’m staying here to finish school.

It hurts, a lot, because it’s the first (definitely just typed “fiar” whilst listening to Queen’s “Liar,” haha) taste of real working actor life that I’ve had, and it was already out of my reach even before I began. It feels silly to have been so worked up, and I still feel foolish for having such unbelievable emotions about it, but I can’t help it. That ration versus emotion thing again.

That novel of emotional word vomit is mildly embarrassing, but I have to look at it and honor it and realize that they were (and still are) valid feelings. Just one more step in this process, and it kind of blows, but it’s meant to be, I guess. I’m so close to finishing school, and that’s what’s supposed to happen for me. That purple diploma.

I’m still a bit frenzied (I have the dumbest broker in all of NYC, I swear) from everything today, but I have a show tonight so I have to relax a bit and get focused. Also, if traffic cooperates, my unicorn will be visiting me. :)

Just gotta breathe. Ain’t no greener over the river Styx, little girl. Don’t forget.

My Contract With The Gods

It’s so fitting. So fucking fitting.

I don’t even know how to describe my feelings right now. I’m like, so torn up that it just burns and burns and hurts and I want to scream and cry but I can’t because there is nothing to say. Logically, rationally, I know what will happen and I know what choice I have to make and there isn’t any way around it, really. But emotionally, even spiritually, it feels like, I just want to howl my rage and frustration and collapse to the ground, clawing at those sons of bitches gods above for the games they play with mortal man.

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason – fate has dealt her hand and even when I can’t see the cards it’s always turned out for the better. I’ve always believed that. So for what fucked up reason would this happen? What does the universe need to prove? How can logic and emotion be so pitted against one another?

I was offered a part in a Greek Chorus of Iphegenia this evening, a production that is touring for a month or so across the US before returning to an Off-Broadway stage.

I signed my apartment lease this morning, for 12 months, legally binding me to the building.

We can only afford the apartment through my financial aid, since I am still enrolled in school and it counts as school housing.

If I take Iphegenia, I will have to take academic leave or withdraw for a semester, which means my financial aid will fall through, and we can’t pay rent without the aid. I have to be a student to afford housing right now.

School, or show.

My plan, or my dream.

One mind-blowing opportunity, or another.

I want this so bad. These sort of things don’t just fall into the laps of unsuspecting, naïve, young actresses every day. I don’t want to have to make a choice, and then regret my decision a year from now. I don’t want there to have to be a choice. I wish he’d never asked me. It wouldn’t hurt so bad.

I’m not a greedy, selfish, spoiled little girl trying to bleed her family dry to follow her dreams. It sounds that way. I feel like a parasite. But this – this is the thing my soul burns to do, perform, professionally, share that art with others, to do this FOR REAL. It’s what I’m here at school to do, and yet, school is here first. Financially, it comes first. I’m going to get information, see what loopholes I can duck through, but I know, in my heart, that this cannot happen, and the logic is strangling the emotion while my emotion smothers my logic.

Why do I have to choose? Why was I presented with this… this thing? This incredibly fortunate and beautiful and flattering opportunity, this dream (Greek theatre on the road? WTF!!!), this glimmer of my future, but knowing full well I cannot, in good conscience, even consider accepting when there is no way?

And the people involved… I know they are talented. I’ve worked with a few of them. I would kill to stay close with them. I’m getting all worked up again just thinking about it. I’m so young, and I feel trapped by this. And NYU is a dream too! Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade this place or the experiences there for anything – without it, I wouldn’t be having this meltdown of emotion and rational thought. NYU was the first big dream that came true, and opportunities are bubbling up around me that I can’t snag because I belong to the violet dream first. I am a baby leech, attached to my family and being transformed from an ugly leech into a vampire finch (look it up, bloodsuckers are damn cute). I’m everything and nothing. I’m free and living a dream but standing on the sidelines, watching them float in front of my nose.

I don’t know. I do know – that’s the problem. I do know, but my heart is thrashing and refusing to accept defeat, refusing to accept no as an answer.

After Josette Bushell-Mingo’s workshop on Greek theatre, this is too perfect and poignant and painful. We went so deep into the Greeks, and I stood and reached for the sky and roared my grief and rage to the gods who watched silently as we suffered. Here I am, a chance to be that very thing on stage, and yet I am reduced to being that thing in my dorm room, my heart howling while my brain tries to cut off the flow of emotion before it kills me. I look to the sky and feel my teeth press against each other, my jaw stiffening and my lips thinning, my fingers clawing compulsively into my sheets and my skin as I battle myself over what is and isn’t. I am two beings, with these two choices, and these two controlling forces, my head and my heart. I feel schizophrenic and sick, I’m so torn in half.

But there isn’t anything to be torn about. I hate being a rational and an emotional being. It makes things so hard to understand.

Josette would have us walk the streets of Thebes, the timpani moving our blood more than our own heartbeat. And in her grounded, deep, beautiful voice, she would command us to “Stop. Make your contract with the gods.” And we would. I looked through that black ceiling into the face of whatever was there, and I was hurting, and I am hurting now. Those faces never met our eyes, though. Those gods, all powerful though they were, left mortal man to find their own way. I’m not going to get answers. No one will tell me how this should be, so I have to do my best, as I always do. Accept what happens. Fight. But not be stupid.

Being logical just fucking hurts! Dammit, I can’t be over emotional and just let it out because then my brain is like, knock it off, you’re being absurd. So I’m like, oh yes, that’s right, but when I try to rationalize away the hurting, it rears up and says but look at what could be, look what is here and why you are hurting!

So I’ll leave it at that. I’m looking for my contract with the gods and I’m getting no answers. I had a piece of cake. It didn’t make me feel much better.

I hate feelings.

Happiness Hit Her Like a Bullet In The Back

Just one more reason I'm completely, totally, and unfailingly in love with this woman. Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine.

Time to joydance.

Claws

I've reached critical mass in terms of this internship - once I started really looking at apartments, and now that I have one, my mind has shifted into school mode and art mode again. My patience for the absurdities and inefficiencies at this theatre has reached an end, and, though I'm trying to fight it and stay dedicated, mentally I'm just not there anymore.

Performing isn't a problem - every performance is a test of my education and willpower and a chance to prove myself one more time, so performing is just as focused as ever (though the children's show leaves something to be desired...). Just the managerial crap, and tolerating people who don't deserve any tolerance, and faking smiles and subservience, and having no desire to help people who refused to help me.

As I was discussing with my dad this morning, I realized "When I was little i thought the grown up world was all professional, and that the stupid, mean kids would grow out of it. Now I know that those stupid, mean kids just grow up and take their petty, lazy behaviour with them, it just changes form. And it's not a fun moment of being disillusioned when you find out grown ups are just as awful as kids, they just have more power to make your life miserable or difficult." So what is a disillusioned, solitary young woman to do? Tighten my bootstraps and keep on keepin' on. Heavy sigh. That seems to always be the answer to my frustrations. Just hang on. Dig your claws in and hang on for dear life.

I had my tarot read the other day, and I find it interesting that every time I get a general spread done, the cards pick the exact same focal point to talk to me about. It's always "something you're determined to do, a project, or a serious focus." Yup. "You might be willing to be malicious about it." Yup. "You have to keep fighting, it's an uphill thing, but you're going to keep doing it." Yup. My whole being, all of my energy just points to this life I want to be living. I need to ask the cards about my emotional life, since, well, that seems to be what's getting sacrificed and where I'm hurting the most.

I really want a personal tarot deck. One that I can bond with and fits my personality and energy. My little beginner deck is great, but it's not me. I don't know where to find one I can love.

Waiting for a Mista Jay, or a Peter Parker to come find me. Or to find him.

I haven't got too much on my to-do list, at least not until I move and this internship is over, but I have enough to keep me occupied, if not a tad lonesome. Yoga, find a job, schedule my move, pack all of my stuff, find a job, write a recommendation for myself (since the woman who will sign it won't write it herself. Very professional, lady.), start the internship paper to earn my 8 credits, find a job. I guess I am pretty occupied, after all.

Love to you.

Captain America

I'm signing the lease on my new apartment tomorrow at 2pm. I can't figure out if I'm terrified or giddy.

The show and gala went very well last night - both of my shows, Rewind and Note to Self: Enunciate, are getting very positive feedback. That's all I can ask for, really. Recognition and positive feedback. And everyone devoured my brownies.

A new friend of mine (in another show in the festival) wants to help me get my ducks in a row so I can start hunting for an agent, since he was extremely disappointed to find out I wasn't signed yet. Apparently wearing my fire engine red pencil skirt is a good way to get noticed. ;)

Seeing Captain America with my co-star tonight after the show - he's the sock one. Also a geek. Why aren't we soulmates. Seriously.

I'm gonna have my very first apartment soon. I'm like, a bit overwhelmed, but so freaking excited. NO MORE DORMS. FINALLY. And, the best part? I HAVE A FIRE ESCAPE!!!

Stress Level Nine

Apartment hunting makes me see the world of rental listings like that. The next 24 hours, I am hoping against hope, will go better than anticipated. I might turn feral in the middle of the street if it gets too insane.

CHEERS.

Tower Defense

I think I'm in the middle of a silent battle for the integrity of my own work, and I have this burning, all consuming, violent need to protect my play. I may not have maternal instincts in terms of human children, but when it comes to my creative work I feel like a poked honey badger. Go look up honey badgers, if you don't think that's a big deal.

Someone is, once again, threatened by my devotion to my art.

Seriously? Seriously.

Their threatened state is threatening my play, Rewind, and I'm not okay with that. Take your issues out on me and me alone, not the condition of my play. Do not ignore me. Do not shut me out of the creative process. Do not get passive-aggressive with me. I don't play passive. I play aggressive. Do not try to turn the cast against me. And above all, do not think I will step back when you do these things, because you have seriously underestimated who I am and how strongly I feel for my art.

Honey badger. Honey. Badger. Bitch.

This internship may not ultimately matter, but do not, under any circumstance, fuck with my art. Don't even go there. Because I will not play nice anymore.

Heat Wave

Heat Index of 109 degrees today.

One hundred. And nine. Degrees.

I'm sorry, Nature, but you seriously suck right now.

___

Clickable things!

Facebook Event.

Craigslist ad.

Show Website.

I made the ad, and did most of the FB event. The website is not finished yet (if I'd been in charge it would have been done a week ago), so it's kind of wimpy looking. But at least we've got stuff out there on the interwebs.

First two performances went well. Averaging 6 people in the audience a night, but we're hoping it will pick up. It better pick up. Actors are threatening to leave if we don't have audiences. I don't blame them, either. It's really unfortunate, since so many of the shows are so good. If you read this and you're in New York, it's good, cheap entertainment, and we could really use the love.

Here, have our dramamine-inducing preview.

That's me. In the red sheet. Not wearing clothes. Yet again.

But tonight, there is no show, so I am lounging in the A/C of my dorm room and trying to soothe my back, which is behaving quite badly today. Tweaked a muscle, the right hand side erector spinae, it feels like, and it's making life a bit difficult. Lucky me I can nap and read and do something for myself today, instead of flying around the theatre like a headless chicken.

Possibly snagging tickets to see Jerusalem again. Crossing my fingers for a double miracle.

I've got one more script to read, and three evaluations left to type up after that. Only one of the plays was any good, so far. I'm praying this next one doesn't hurt to read like the others did. I understand that creating a good script is a work in progress that requires editing and revising multiple times, but you can't edit and revise your way out of having no talent. Heavy sigh.

Love to you. Keep cool, everyone. It's dangerous outside.

Holy Crap.

So it took a skype conversation with my dad this morning for me to actually realize something, since I've been blinded by the filter of my frustration and the haze of asinine behaviour I've been living in for about two months now.

Tonight is my NYC debut, and the play I've written, Rewind, is opening in an Off-Off-Broadway theatre, fully produced and staged. It's more of a big deal than I thought.

Yeah, it's a junky little theatre on the edge of collapse. Yeah, it's as low budget as low budget comes. Yeah, it's been like herding cats trying to get anything done. Yeah, I've become one of the Saints of the Overworked and Unappreciated.

But when I sit and look at it for a moment, and realize where I am and what I'm doing, and that I can punch this into my resume, and I can call myself a playwright and a New York actress - it's almost completely unbelievable, but there it is. Black and white, in that program I spent 3 weeks making.

So, in the end, here I am. One step closer to living that dream that burns inside of me like a sickness, but the kind of sickness I have to suffer in order to live.

__

So now that my awe has passed, I have a crapton to do today. I want to run and get the new issue of the NYU ID card, do my laundry, sort out the concessions bar issue we're currently having (out of pocket expenses, woo), make the tag for the headshot wall, set my costume clothes and props (I'm trying to figure out how I can swing it so I won't have to tote them back and forth anymore), and possibly grocery shop. Though, since my stomach refuses to accept most forms of food on show days, we'll see how much I can force down so I don't get all shaky onstage.

Also, if you've been following me for this long, thank you. If you're new, thank you. If you've ever read anything I've written here, if you accidentally found yourself on this blog, thank you. It's a journey, and you're incredibly kind and loving to have come along with me. I hope this inspires someone else the way I've been inspired. It's like sparks spitting out of my bones someday - I can never, ever stop.

Love to you, darling readers.

Preview

I'm going to hell in a handbasket and frankly, je ne give a damn pas!

That's my director and fellow performer in the show I'm in. From left to right, Saint Marlee of the Unappreciated, Saint Daniel of Collateral Damage, and Saint Harlequin of the Overworked. I make a cute saint.

If you're in NYC, feel free to see the product of my summer months at this hole-in-the-wall theatre. We just repainted the bathrooms, they're pretty. Come see our bathrooms.

Tickets, if you're determined. CLICK.

Southern in the Kitchen

It's been days since I've done my yoga/dance morning workout. I feel like a lardcake and it makes me very unhappy. I've also been eating more than I normally do, so I'm worried I'm going to screw up all the work I've been doing this summer to tone my body. So after this I will do a nice hard session and I'll feel better. Yes.

Thank you, unicorn, for showing this to me. Now she makes me happy and weepy all at the same time. Art keeps paralleling my life. And I'm okay with that.

Tech begins today for the festival at my internship. I keep being told by family and close friends I'm getting too invested in how much this place is frustrating me and disappointing me, and I know it shouldn't shock or surprise me anymore, but it still does. I guess I just don't have it in me to stop fighting for my high standards. I've never understood apathy or giving up. I don't know if I ever will.

Luckily I've found some people who have helped me make it through these past few agonizing months, who are running their skulls into the same brick walls I am, and we share our anger and we drink together and bond over how much better we are for doing it and then leaving this place. Cheers.

I went home for about 36 hours to see HP7 with my family. All hell broke loose at the internship while I was gone, but I wouldn't trade having movie night with my parents and unicorn for anything in the world. It was so worth every minute of train time and headache and frustration. I miss them very much. Home is quite wonderful.

Speaking of home, the apartment search is full steam ahead, but on pause for a week or so, since I'm waiting for the right move-in date to show up so I can go look at potential places. I want to move. I want my own place. I really want my own bedroom, but I don't know if that's gonna happen. I want to decorate. CAN I DECORATE PLEASE THANK YOU.

Also got new jeans. The hole in my heart (and my butt) has been healed, thanks to mama. :)

Wishing for some peace of mind and some love of soul, and all the same for you, dear reader. <3

What Makes A Man

Had to share that before anything else gets written this morning - This song breaks my heart every time I hear it, but in the best kind of painfully gorgeous raw-emotion-leaking-from-my-art-organs heartbreak.

Ah. I've been on such a good aural-art kick the past few days. It makes my blood hum something delicious and warm.

Anywho.

The summer is slowly wrapping itself up - it hasn't been exactly what I expected, or necessarily wanted it to be, and it has been a frustrating, hair-pulling, teeth-gnashing, tear-sobbing experience at times, but I've met some amazing people and am in an amazing little play right now, and I'm getting my 8 credits so I can graduate next May (eep, that's terrifying), and I have, in fact, earned many of those fabulous buzzwords to put on a resume (group coordinator! multi-faceted! management!).

So I haven't really given Summer '11 a verdict yet, since there is still about one month to go before I can call it quits and start hunkering down to prep for school again. And god knows what can happen in one month. I'm hoping it maintains the balance it's currently in; fairly even with the good/bad ratio, but with a couple of sprinkles of good every so often to keep my spirits up.

And my scene partner in the play I'm doing also has a debilitating knee-high sock fetish. Why aren't we soulmates? I do not know. GAH.

Love love.