Spotlight Sunburn

Paris Makes Me Feel Like Dancing

2012-01-15T15:36:00.002-05:00

Another example of why I love music from overseas. I cannot get enough.

13

2012-01-13T11:23:00.002-05:00

Happy Friday the Thirteenth! :)

Just an update post (mostly to motivate myself and rewrite and organize my To-Do list FOR THE FORTY FIFTH TIME THIS WEEK) on what I'm doing:

PRO: One internship application sent out!

CON: They begin reviewing them March 9th.

PRO: Figured out one project monologue to do!

CON: Sacrificing Caesar time in order to do it.

PRO: Contacted teachers who I need information from!

CON: They won't email me back.

PRO: Began working on class music!

CON: It's impossibly complicated and stupidly long and I hate it and can't play piano.

PRO: Have a to-do list!

CON: Keep revising it to make compromises because there's no way in hell it's all getting done to my standards.

PRO: Have an idea for my big acting project!

CON: IT'S NEVER GETTING DONE IT'S NOT RIGHT I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING READY I NEED EMAILED ANSWERS PLEEEEEEASE

PRO: 24 hour trip to SCSU next week!

CON: ... Only 24 hours?

Yuuup.

Magic

2012-01-10T14:05:00.002-05:00

I'm just bad at posting regularly.

Some magical moments from my winter break.

Got to see this fantastic, mind blowing production before I came home for break, and literally the only words I had to describe it afterwards were "baptized with joy." It's beyond explanation - "Fuerza Bruta" means "brute force" in Spanish, and the whole thing is simply an explosion of non-stop visual, audible, and emotional impact. I'm a better person, somehow, for having seen it.

Got about two and a half weeks of hometown happiness with my family and cats for the holidays. We all managed to get sick in rotation, so that kind of sucked, but it was wonderful being home.

Back in NYC now, got to spend the weekend with Commando (who I saw Fuerza with and don't have the words for how much I love him), and went to the most magical little gathering I've ever been to on Sunday night.

Ken Schatz (the one and only, who else?) hosts an event known as Exceedingly Good Song Night, in which men and women of every age and creed cozy up in a tiny back room of a bar, drink beer, eat food, and entertain with folk tunes and sea shanties. A concertina ( CLICK THIS LINK ) appeared from the recesses of the group, two guitars, and one instrument I can't quite name, something like a fretted dulcimer, but part of it was upright, and they would join in when they knew the song. It was close and warm and almost hazy, and the songs had such history and some were so rollicking I could hardly keep in my chair. But that room seemed a step out of time when some of the men closed their eyes and in their old, rocky voices began singing ballads of miners and Irish pubs and friends lost in war - I've never seen anything like it, and I'm dying for next month's installment. Perhaps next time I'll have a ditty prepared and earn a few friends in the folk tune crowd.

Hunkering down in my quiet apartment and trying to get a lot of schoolwork done today. But my heart isn't in it. I ache in lots of ways. When I bid Ken goodbye after the folk songs, he hugged me and asked, "When are you free of this school? The school that is holding you down and keeping you away from making art?" Slightly in jest, of course, but he did mean it. He introduced me to his fellow theatre friends as 'a very good actress' and he has never once seen me act. I want my own life. I know I need to be here right now, but I want my own bedroom, I want to work normal hours, have weekends off, live the life I want to live. I'm trapped in a cage I put myself in and pushed the key just out of my reach, all on purpose. And it's just a matter of hanging in there for a few more months, but I'm itching to scream and have what I want.

A week or so of freedom before I'm pinned down again. Let's see what I can do until then.

Solstice

2011-12-21T21:09:00.002-05:00

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?

2011-12-13T10:53:00.001-05:00

Brute.

Mau

2011-11-29T19:38:00.002-05:00

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

2011-11-28T20:17:00.002-05:00

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

2011-11-27T19:02:00.002-05:00

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

2011-11-01T02:34:00.002-04:00

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

2011-10-26T00:28:00.002-04:00

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

2011-10-19T23:56:00.002-04:00

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

2011-10-14T12:27:00.002-04:00

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

2011-10-10T08:52:00.002-04:00

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

2011-10-04T20:33:00.003-04:00

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

2011-09-27T22:15:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-25T21:22:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-25T10:03:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-16T22:55:00.003-04:00

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

2011-09-16T19:05:00.002-04:00

"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

2011-09-14T21:23:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-12T21:11:00.000-04:00

Insidious

2011-09-11T01:49:00.003-04:00

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

2011-09-10T12:01:00.002-04:00

"... 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

2011-09-08T22:15:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-06T09:46:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-04T09:16:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-30T15:39:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-29T09:14:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-28T12:28:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-27T20:07:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-26T12:21:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-24T13:07:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-23T09:51:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-23T00:38:00.001-04:00

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

2011-08-22T10:30:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-18T22:57:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-17T19:58:00.002-04:00

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.

2011-08-12T06:52:00.001-04:00

Get set.

GO.

(Moving day. Cross your fingers everyone survives.)

Kiss Me

2011-08-11T17:20:00.002-04:00

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...

2011-08-11T09:53:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-09T15:04:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-09T10:33:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-07T12:06:00.001-04:00

Styx

2011-08-04T17:23:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-03T22:53:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-02T13:54:00.003-04:00

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

2011-08-02T10:38:00.003-04:00

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

2011-07-28T14:19:00.003-04:00

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

2011-07-25T22:25:00.002-04:00

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

2011-07-23T15:02:00.003-04:00

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

2011-07-22T13:54:00.004-04:00

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.

2011-07-20T09:20:00.003-04:00

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

2011-07-19T11:04:00.005-04:00

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

2011-07-17T09:08:00.002-04:00

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

2011-07-13T10:26:00.002-04:00

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.

Sacrifice

2011-07-09T20:07:00.003-04:00

Aside from my patience, sanity, health and well-being, this internship has now taken something else from me. Something far, far more difficult to regain. Something that hurts.

My best blue skinny jeans. The shame. The sorrow. THEY FIT SO PERFECTLY HOW WILL I EVER FIND ANOTHER PAIR LIKE YOU.

Regardless. The things I sacrifice for the betterment of this theatre...

Enunciate

2011-07-04T15:27:00.003-04:00

Source. Oh, the things I feel in a matter of 24 hours. The capacity of the human mind and heart to feel is just astounding. Cracking open my acting textbook again to work on my latest role, who, somehow, is my doppelganger in spirit. I forgot how beautiful it can be to feel.

Note to Self

2011-07-03T18:48:00.002-04:00

A Cautionary Tale

2011-06-29T14:29:00.003-04:00

Got this in an email from the director of the short play I'm about to begin working on. Broke my heart in more ways than one.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/i-dated-my-best-friend-a-cautionary-tale/

A sobering, thoughtfully written example of pure emotion in words, by Kat George.

Jiggity Jig

2011-06-25T13:46:00.003-04:00

Just returned to NYC after almost a week back home. I've never been so reluctant to leave my family before - clearly this long term not visiting thing is a bit much for me. I MISS MY KITTIES. I'm already trying to plan my next venture home, but who knows when that will happen. My schedule is extremely limiting in regards to more than a few days away from the city.

Had the children's show this morning. It was an interesting experience, I wanted to make note of it before I forget.

We had at least 10 kids, which was a big deal, since the most we've had is 3, and they were very interactive and sounded like they loved it. But what made me really perk up was after the show, when we sit out and talk to the kids and parents, one of the women asked if I did such and such pirate show, because she thought she recognized me. I want to do a pirate show. Hell yes please! And I had convinced at least two of the parents that my characters, the fox and the pig, were played by two different people. Good to know character work is effective even under low budget scenarios.

I'm exhausted. I do have to run out and get bread and milk, though. It might be beans and onions for a good while, methinks. But grilled cheese is a possibility too. So I need bread.

Tony Night

2011-06-12T22:58:00.002-04:00

A third post?!

It's Tony Awards night, the biggest awards night in theatre, so I figured that it's worthy of a Spotlight.

All I have to say right now is that I have a warm-fuzzy-feeling-inducing acceptance speech story prepared now for the day when I walk up onto that stage. My first summer living in New York City, and I don't have a TV, and the Tony's aren't online. So my dad makes a Skype and holds it up to the TV at home so I can see Sutton Foster dance and sing, and I realize that I have the greatest parents in the world, and without them, I don't even know what I'd do. They marveled at the puppetry of War Horse and I explained about who I wanted to win and we laughed at NPH, and he made sure I could see the Tony's even as far away as I was.

So thank you, mom. Thank you, dad. If I can grow up to be half as loving and fun as you, I will be a fulfilled woman.

Congratulations to all of the winners (I knew Mormon was gonna sweep it, and there was no way in hell Mark Rylance wasn't getting his award), and a special congratulations to my teacher Sutton Foster for her second Tony. :) We miss you at New Studio!

Lobotomy

2011-06-12T10:19:00.002-04:00

Two posts? Well, gol-ly it must be something good.

Aside from my delicious bean sandwich yesterday, it was a rather emotional and pleasantly solitary day. After fleeing the theatre, I found myself glued to Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and then, after I'd finished it, found myself hiding in my bathroom, crying silently so my roomie wouldn't think I'm weirder than I already am.

It hit a similar chord as Next to Normal always does with me. I have a feeling it'll be another one where the more I read it and the more I watch it (I made the heartwrenching mistake of watching the Jack Nicholson film immediately after reading it) that it will sucker punch me more every time.

What is crazy. And I cried some more, knowing that taking away laughter and hurting and crazy makes someone worse than dead. "Because he knows you have to laugh at the things that hurt you to keep yourself in balance, just to keep the world from running you plumb crazy."

I looked up lobotomies and EST, reading how, before chemicals could run through our blood, they would shock and cut up the brain matter of people like me. Is it self-awareness, now, that makes me different?

Also, I'm not actually insane.

Also, without my brand of crazy, I wouldn't be half the artist I am. It's as much a part of me as my DNA. Oh wait, it's in my DNA.

And, basking in the warmth that feeling a lot of emotions all at once tends to create inside me, like some engine hidden under a dusty old blanket was finally uncovered and was glowing in my core, still chugging away, I found myself lying awake, watching the play of headlights and streetlamps sliding in blind-bars across my ceiling. Thinking too much? Can't sleep? Think some more!

So I got to thinking, not about what constitutes crazy, but about things I shouldn't think much about, exes and flings and mistakes, and I found the root of a certain kind of hurting inside of me. Why I act, maybe, and about my high standards, and about how my heart is slowly growing a coating of jade plating. I'm not sure that, except for brief moments, I have ever felt like every ounce of me is enough. That my mind, my body and my spirit, combined into the entirety that is me, has ever been completely enough for anyone. So I'm in this constant uphill battle to find the face I need to wear, or the words I need to say, or the gestures I need to enact to be enough for myself and someone else. It's not an incompleteness. It's like rearranging a tangram puzzle into a new outline, but with all the same pieces as before.

Which is funny, since I know, deep, deep down, that (and I can't find the blog post about it, but it's around the archives somewhere from this past semester) I am not broken. I do not need to be fixed. I sure feel like I'm missing something, most days.

So. I'll hopefully spend today being productive and not thinking quite so much.

Lots of love.

My horse is tall.

2011-06-12T09:44:00.006-04:00

I discovered the joy of cooking poor man's food yesterday. There's this silly little surge of pride within me whenever I successfully make myself a meal of some sort. Shows you how much I do on my own.

The children's show at 13th Street "opened" yesterday. We were told there was going to be a birthday party (in which part of the party package at the theatre includes the children's show), but the darling old woman in charge, 94-year-old Edith, had gotten confused and told us the wrong day. The birthday party is today, not yesterday. We did a rehearsal run through, and then another run through for our director's mother. I felt some kind of anger turning my insides crisp and black.

I come to everything thinking it will be as professional as I am, with this organized, focused attitude and the talent to make it happen, and I find that I am being repeatedly disappointed by maintaining my high standards. Whether it be for the theatre or just for people in general. Like I keep having rocks chucked at me to try and knock me off my high horse, what the hell am I thinking for having such outlandish expectations of the world? (It would explain the random bruises I keep finding all over my arms and legs...)

And it makes me miss high school. Why? Because there, under the cynical and sharp eye of my director, everyone was held to that standard, and a professional, high bar attitude was branded into us. I guess, from then on, I've expected the bigger world to be the same way, and it is on rare occasions that I find anything that lives up to that standard. A blessing or a curse, I can't figure out what it is.

And my darling mama sees me through with a long-distance hug, saying "Having such high standards is bound to cause that [disappointment] more often than not - but you can never compromise either."

And I suppose that's one of the more overarching lessons I'm learning. It's not one giant, brutal moment where a lesson is clear - it's this perpetual, dull beating of something trying to make me compromise, and the success is simply in never collapsing in on myself and allowing myself to.

This internship is kind of a "find what needs to be done and go do it because you're our free labor and the more you volunteer for things around here the more you'll learn." Not what I was expecting, or really exactly in the mood for, considering it's a professional theatre, but hot damn give me my 8 credits and I'll do just about anything.

Headed back to CT for a home-cation in seven days.

Projects

2011-06-07T10:39:00.002-04:00

Had a "class" with my intern advisor, Janice yesterday. It's NYU's way of making sure we're actually learning stuff, which I appreciate. Though the 8 page paper is gonna suck.

Got me thinking, since, in listening to the other two intern students who were there, I realized my internship at 13th Street is very much not the typical internship. Janice gave me the project of an organizational chart, to work out exactly who does what around the theatre, including all 30 something interns and whoever actually works there. Because honestly, I have no freaking idea what's going on at 13th, other than it's more than slightly unorganized and I get this atmosphere of unprofessionalism whenever I show up. ((The children's show has been pushed back one more weekend due to poor planning.))

So I'm putting on my Nancy Drew/Mystery Machine Gang hat and I'm going to get to the bottom of this and see exactly how this off-off theatre keeps itself going.

___

Have to have a reading of my short play tonight with the other interns. I really dislike this play, and I wish I didn't have to share it. I know it's probably awful, and will get torn to shreds, because me + romcom = super awkward.

I also recently was reading a bunch about the psychology of solitude versus loneliness (click it), and how one does not innately indicate the other, since I have found myself on my own quite a bit this summer (sometimes entire days go by when I don't actually speak a single word to another human, just songs to myself), and I have often wondered if this is weird or unhealthy or something. But liking my space and quiet and time to myself isn't weird at all. I prefer it to lots of company, always have. Small gatherings are much more pleasant than rowdy parties, or bar scenes, or large crowds of people. So I'm actually okay with most of my quiet time.

But then there are the moments when I realize that I do actually pine for someone's company. I don't need someone around all the time, I don't need to constantly talk, or be doing something, but to at least have someone accessible with whom I can communicate and just sit with, that would be nice. I'm not that far away from the people I miss, since it's truly just a train ride and some schedule planning away from seeing them, but there are definitely days when I feel like there is a giant glass wall between me and the world. Texting fades as other people keep themselves occupied, the internet is no escape, and I read the entirety of Frankenstein in two days because at least then it was like there was someone with me.

So I spend a lot of time reflecting on my own needs as a human and what feelings are valid and what are not.

Now that I've wasted my morning, I'm going to go do my yoga and ballet and plan for my afternoon. A run to Staples to print, possibly grocery shopping for cereal, maybe a long walk up Broadway for no reason other than I want to get out. Or laundry. Laundry is cheaper here than it was in my other building.

Love.

Nobody's Perfect

2011-06-05T10:20:00.003-04:00

Been a while since I updated - I'm just really bad at this during the summer, I guess.

Going to an indie flick audition at noon - should be interesting, never auditioned for film before, never done film before, so this should be good experience, at least.

Children's show opens in a week. Woo. I'm so thrilled.

Finished a really crappy first draft script for the literary part of my internship, hopefully it's not too stupid to warrant being produced.

I ran out of milk last night and I forgot about it this morning, so I haven't had breakfast and I am sad.

I'm antsy, lately. This new dorm is fabulous (there's an unfinished post about moving still sitting in the drafts on here... whoops), the location is perfect, everything is smoothed out for now, but I still feel like I just want to get moving and be doing something, though I'm not sure what that something is.

Regardless, I'll use that pent up energy later to buy milk, then hardcore clean the kitchen and bathroom. Too much sticky. Too much shed hair. Ugh.

The glamour of living as a theatre student in New York. Lovely, isn't it?

Howl

2011-05-30T23:33:00.002-04:00

the saints can't help me now

the ropes have been unbound

i hunt for you with bloodied feet

across the hallowed ground

It's been an interesting day. This is when I need to wail my power ballads, but my voice just stays curled up in my heart, trying to keep it warm.

Transposing Graph

2011-05-25T10:27:00.003-04:00

New link in the Starry Eyed Idiot box to Shane McDonald's Transposition Graph. I've been on the hunt for some music for Michael's summer homework, and I'm going to need to transpose, most likely. This will make the initial process slightly easier, but a whole song? Maybe I'll just call up J and plead for assistance.

Also, Roger Daltrey is playing at the Hartford XL Center in September. Not only is he performing, he is performing THE ENTIRETY OF TOMMY.

It would be the coolest thing ever. Basically.

Freak

2011-05-19T10:36:00.001-04:00

(A gift from Ken Schatz at my request - a letter from Ani DiFranco to Ms. Magazine. Part of my pure joy this morning.)

From the Ron E., the Righteous Babe Records Minister of Communications:

The li'l folksinger has asked me to distribute the text of this open letter to the editor of MS, in response to a short paragraph in their Sept./Oct. 97 issue. It's a tad long for email, but Ani wanted folks to be able to read the entirety of her message instead of an edited version. We would really like to see this posted on websites wherever possible. **You may distribute or forward the following as long as you do not alter or edit it.**

------------------------------

November 5, 1997

Marcia Ann Gillespie

Editor in Chief

Ms. Magazine

135 W. 50th Street

16th Floor

New York, NY 10020

So I'm poring through the 25th anniversary issue of Ms. (on some airplane going somewhere in the amorphous blur that amounts to my life) and I'm finding it endlessly enlightening and stimulating as always, when, whaddaya know, I come across a little picture of little me. I was flattered to be included in that issue's "21 Feminists for the 21st Century" thingybob. I think ya'll are runnin the most bold and babe-olishious magazine around, after all.

Problem is, I couldn't help but be a little weirded out by the paragraph next to my head that summed up her me-ness and my relationship to the feminist continuum. What got me was that it largely detailed my financial successes and sales statistics. My achievements were represented by the fact that I "make more money per album sold than Hootie and the Blowfish," and that my catalogue sales exceed 3/4 of a million. It was specified that I don't just have my own record company but my own "profitable" record company. Still, the ironic conclusion of the aforementioned blurb is a quote from me insisting "it's not about the money." Why then, I ask myself, must "the money" be the focus of so much of the media that surrounds me? Why can't I escape it, even in the hallowed pages of Ms.?

Firstly, this "Hootie and the Blowfish" business was not my doing. The LA Times financial section wrote an article about my record label, Righteous Babe Records, in which they raved about the business savvy of a singer (me) who thwarted the corporate overhead by choosing to remain independent, thereby pocketing $4.25 per unit, as opposed to the $1.25 made by Hootie or the $2.00 made by Michael Jackson. This story was then picked up and reprinted by The New York Times, Forbes magazine, the Financial News Network, and (lo and behold) Ms.

So here I am, publicly morphing into some kinda Fortune 500-young-entrepreneur-from-hell, and all along I thought I was just a folksinger !

Ok, it's true. I do make a much larger profit (percentage-wise) than the Hootster. What's even more astounding is that there are thousands of musicians out there who make an even higher profit percentage than me! How many local, musicians are there in your community who play gigs in bars and coffee shops about town? I bet lots of them have made cassettes or CDS which they'll happily sell to you with a personal smile from the edge of the stage or back at the bar after their set. Would you believe these shrewd, profit-minded wheeler-dealers are pocketing a whopping _100%_ of the profits on the sales of those puppies?! Wait till the Financial News Network gets a whiff of _them_!

I sell approximately 2.5% of the albums that a Joan Jewelanis Morrisette sells and get about .05% of the airplay royalties, so obviously if it all comes down to dollars and cents, I've led a wholly unremarkable life. Yet I choose relative statistical mediocrity over fame and fortune because I have a bigger purpose in mind. Imagine how strange it must be for a girl who has spent 10 years fighting as hard as she could against the lure of the corporate carrot and the almighty forces of capital, only to be eventually recognized by the power structure as a business pioneer.

I have indeed sold enough records to open a small office on the half-abandoned main street in the dilapidated urban center of my hometown, Buffalo, N.Y. I am able to hire 15 or so folks to run and constantly reinvent the place while I drive around and play music for people. I am able to give stimulating business to local printers and manufacturers and to employ the services of independent distributors, promoters, booking agents and publicists. I was able to quit my day job and devote myself to what I love.

And yes, we are enjoying modest profits these days, affording us the opportunity to reinvest in innumerable political and artistic endeavors. RBR is no Warner Bros. But it is a going concern, and for me, it is a vehicle for redefining the relationship between art and commerce in my own life. It is a record company which is the product not just of my own imagination, but that of my friend and manager Scot Fisher and of all the people who work there. People who incorporate and coordinate politics, art and media every day into a people-friendly, sub-corporate, woman-informed, queer-happy small business that puts music before rock stardom and ideology before profit.

And me. I'm just a folksinger, not an entrepreneur. My hope is that my music and poetry will be enjoyable and/or meaningful to someone, somewhere, not that I maximize my profit margins. It was 15 years and 11 albums getting to this place of notoriety and, if anything, I think I was happier way back when. Not that I regret any of my decisions, mind you. I'm glad I didn't sign on to the corporate army. I mourn the commodification and homogenization of music by the music industry, and I fear the manufacture of consent by the corporately-controlled media. Last thing I want to do is feed the machine.

I was recently mortified while waiting in the dressing room before one of my own shows. Some putz suddenly takes the stage to announce me and exclaim excitedly that this was my "largest sold-out crowd to date!" "Oh, really?," I'm thinking to myself, "that's interesting...too bad it's not the point." All of my achievements are artistic, as are all of my failures.

That's just the way I see it. Statistical plateau or no. I'll bust ass for 60 people, or 6,000, watch me.

I have so much respect for Ms. magazine. If I couldn't pick it up at newsstands my brain probably would've atrophied by now on some trans-Atlantic flight and I would be lying limp and twitchy in a bed of constant travel, staring blankly into the abyss of the gossip magazines. Ms. is a structure of media wherein women are able to define themselves, and articulate for themselves those definitions. We wouldn't point to 21 of the feminists moving into the 21st century and define them in terms of "Here's Becky Ballbuster from Iowa City, she's got a great ass and a cute little button nose..." No ma'am. We've gone beyond the limited perceptions of sexism and so we should move beyond the language and perspective of the corporate patriarchy. The Financial News Network may be ultimately impressed with me now that I've proven to them that there's a life beyond the auspices of papa Sony, but do I really have to prove this to _you_?

We have the ability and the opportunity to recognize women not just for the financial successes of their work but for the work itself. We have the facility to judge each other by entirely different criteria than those is imposed upon us by the superstructure of society. We have a view which reaches beyond profit margins into poetry, and a vocabulary to articulate the difference.

Thanks for including me, Ms., really. But just promise me one thing; if I drop dead tomorrow, tell me my grave stone won't read:

ani d.

CEO.

Please let it read:

songwriter

musicmaker

storyteller

freak.

- Ani DiFranco

It is, in fact, a Good Morning

2011-05-19T10:10:00.002-04:00

Had my first full day of interning yesterday - box office duty in the morning (which, on a Wednesday, was fairly quiet, so I got through a huge chunk of Elegance of the Hedgehog) and rehearsal for the children's show yesterday night. I'm playing a pig celebrating her 4th birthday, and also playing a fox who has a penchant for stealing birthday cakes. It should be cute. There is a play festival later in the summer and I'm looking forward to possibly getting my hands on meatier roles (the Hijabi Monologues, possibly). But who doesn't love a cake stealing fox?

Had an odd encounter yesterday, and I won't go into detail, but as a result, I got some phenomenal advice and support from my teachers and friends. I woke up this morning to an amazing message from Ken Schatz, and it made me smile so much I didn't know what to do. So I got up, popped in my iPod and did some yoga/dance. Dance comes so much easier to me when I find my inner joy. I'll keep that in mind for class next year. :)

Part of my joy today came from the weirdness yesterday, and being confronted with something that made me really examine myself and my art and why I'm doing this. I did most of the soul searching afterwards, because I had a reflexive reaction that was so definitive and powerful that I almost didn't recognize it at first. My art is mine, and my own. I will never take money over art. I would be miserable being anything than what I am.

It was such a solid thought that it didn't even register as a thought, but as a feeling in my gut and heart. And it may be the harder road to take, but it's the road I want.

I have the day off, so I'll probably spend it learning lines and packing my things. I move into my new dorm on Sunday. SO EXCITED to get out of Chinatown.

Whoops.

2011-05-17T00:32:00.001-04:00

So, all the advice I read about working out prior to bed indicated it was a 50/50 shot at being totally fine to sleep or being totally screwed and wide awake.

Guess which percentile I fall under?

An adjustment in the routine will be in order...

Rag Doll

2011-05-16T22:22:00.004-04:00

So, in order to keep my gloriously toned figure in photoshoot condition,* I have decided to try and make a routine for myself for this summer, since I will not have the luxury of three dance classes a week while school is out of session.

I'm not comfortable enough with my skills (or budget) to go pick up an outside class yet, so for now it will be working on the technical things I'm not so good at with the hopes of being able to pick up where we left off and continue improving.

I began tonight, and discovered something that works super well; AEROSMITH. Nothing like doing the plie footwork, flex/point work, some stretching, and then Byron's super crazy ab workout with Steven Tyler wailing in the background, pushing me to be as BADASS as he is. Try doing a plank series by alternating between normal plank for a verse, then side plank with leg balance for a verse, for the entirety of Jaded. Hurt like a bitch (since I've been resting for a week) but was totally awesome. I finished my 40 minute session with some cool down yoga after working on my split stretch, and then danced around my room like a maniac singing into my brush/microphone to Dude Looks Like A Lady. Cliche? Maybe. Awesome? You freaking bet.

I think tomorrow I'll do some ballet barre work to Rag Doll (that video is worth watching just for "my pants are so tight, I'll hit all the high notes tonight!").

Start 13th Street tomorrow - I'm excited but nervous. I have no idea what I'm walking into, but I hope it's good, since I'm there all summer. I want it to be great, I'd love to do something amazing this summer.

* "gloriously toned" may be an exaggeration, as may be "photoshoot condition." A more accurate phrasing to consider is "mostly fit" and "not repulsive to look at," but you, the reader, may decide which to read.

Spotlight: Postsecret

2011-05-15T09:36:00.003-04:00

Postsecret. Updated every Sunday. I want to know who sent this one because I realized something the other day, and I'm glad I finally realized it.

I realized that I wouldn't be half the artist I am without my diagnosed clinical depression. And there is nothing wrong with admitting it. Because crazy is perfect, and fucked up is perfect. And I want to tell this person that. I know how they feel. When I was diagnosed, my deepest fear of being put on medication came from the not knowing if these chemicals were going to change me, make me feel less. Because without my art (and without everything that comes with art), I would have nothing left inside of me. And I was so afraid of that, because, above all, I knew I wouldn't survive without being able to spew art out of myself in some capacity.

But here I am. Alive, well, on my way to living my dreams and happy. Sometimes it gets rough, but I am still here and I might be fucked up, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

And I wish I could share that with this person.

Goodnight

2011-05-14T23:59:00.001-04:00

Lucky 13

2011-05-14T21:54:00.003-04:00

That is my best attempt at portraying my absurd happiness and relief at this moment in time. My hair is a mess and it looks like I have no bottom teeth. HAH.

In light of recent events, including the Barbara McNamara internship falling through, I have spent the past two days alternately scrambling wildly, freaking out, or sitting blankly with my computer, waiting for communications from people in positions of authority.

As of half an hour ago, I secured an internship with 13th STREET REPERTORY COMPANY (Click it, fools!) for the summer, as an acting intern and a literary manager's assistant. This means I will be performing in children's theatre, critiquing and writing for the playwrights festival, and performing in a fundraiser cabaret.

Um, cool. Time to celebrate.

Cuz I'm the coolest cat I know. Aside from Kitty here, of course. Viva la Theatre!

How Things Change

2011-05-14T15:07:00.002-04:00

I feel like my life is some Felicity-style college sitcom, or dramedy would probably be more accurate.

The universe just chucked a big ol' handful of cayenne into my life, so I'm trying to work out the kinks as I type. Internship just got all effed up, and now I'm working overtime to try and figure out what to do and fix things.

I had an audition today, for a play in Brooklyn called Turtleback High (I'm pretty sure I mentioned this yesterday, but with all the cayenne up my nose, who knows what's even going on anymore), and I wanted to just update on the audition experience.

The auditions were at some studios up on 39th street, and when I got there it was chock full of small children at dance class or something. I've never seen so many stage moms in one place before, and it was a little scary. I found the studio being used, and sat on a bench outside of it to go over my sides and get grounded. (All of my acting training was being put to good use - I did a bunch of chakra work before I left and kept all of them activated for the characters, but more on that in a minute) A girl named Lauren was sitting next to me, and we started chatting about auditions and living in the city. Long story short, it turns out she was at KCACTF at the same time I was in 2010 (see my previous post "Durham, One Week."), because she went to New Paltz, and we were reminiscing about good and bad shows. Small world, man.

Another girl who was there was talking to us, and we were sharing where we were each from. As soon as I said I went to NYU this girl put up a wall and kind of tuned out to me. The condescension was tangible. My first run in with a real NYU stereotype. I'm a rich suburban white girl from CT whose daddy was paying for her to go to a big acting school in the big city. I was surprised and kind of offended by her sudden attitude, but I ignored it and just kept talking to Lauren. Hooray stereotypes. She doesn't know me. She has no idea I'm none of those things.

The audition itself was in a teeny weeny room, in folding chairs, with name tags we propped up on the floor in front of us. There were 5 girls and 2 guys in our reading, plus the writer and director. Since there are only 3 girl roles, we all rotated between reading girl parts and guy parts. A little awkward and ungainly, but it was quite fun nonetheless. Less pressure without memorization, and swapping roles gave me a chance to stretch and show my versatility with character choices. I gave each character a chakra center, just to kind of give each one a base so they would all be different. I think I read well, and I'll hopefully hear from these guys within the next few days, so crossing my fingers on that one.

I'm playing dice with Fate right now, and I totally don't know the rules. :P

Summer

2011-05-13T17:27:00.002-04:00

Finals are complete, out-of-towners are hopping planes back home, and my head is spinning. Lots to update on. I have so much packing to do.

As I said, I got a summer internship at Barbara McNamara Casting, so that will be starting up within a week or so. I have some paperwork to fill out in order to get summer credit for it, but I'm working on it as best I can without a working printer.

As of five seconds ago, I was just assigned summer housing over in Union Square, so I have a phone call for mum and dad, actually.

I'm waiting on a final acting evaluation from Ms. Shay, and it's making me quite anxious. My other teachers had final conferences, and all of them said basically what I assumed they would say, but since I identify as an actress who sings, my acting work is something I truly prize and I am dying to find out if all of my work this semester has paid off.

Been inspired by a friend of mine to write these past few days. I'd have preferred it if the "inspiration" hadn't happened, but hey, life is art. So far the working titles of my ideas are The Toy Box and Martyrology. If I don't get much of them done this summer, I can work on one or both of them in my Playwriting class next year. Hooray. :)

I saw Billy Elliot on Broadway the other night, which was lovely and very inspiring, since I'm still mediocre at dancing. Watching these children and adults prance around with so much love for the art of dance was just amazing, and I'm going to work hard to maintain my fitness and what dance moves and warm-ups I can do.

I have an audition for a play called Turtleback High tomorrow. Hopefully it goes well. I'd like to finally get my butt back onstage.

Looking forward to my first summer away from home - it feels weird not going home, but it's nice, having something to do here in the city. I'm going to load up on theatre, that's for sure. :)

Dia de las Madres

2011-05-08T09:16:00.002-04:00

There aren't enough pictures of me and my mom. She's pretty much the greatest woman to ever walk the earth, in my opinion. She's my mom and my best friend. And also absurdly tan in this picture. The mind of a mom and the heart of a six year old - who could ask for more?

I love you , mama - I can never thank you enough for being as amazing as you are. Hopefully I'll get to say your name one day as I weep my way through some awards ceremony. <3

Brief Hiatus

2011-05-07T11:14:00.000-04:00

From cracked.com.

Kyle and Jennifer

2011-05-02T09:30:00.000-04:00

Freddie

2011-04-30T08:20:00.004-04:00

Never did finish my update the other day. Whoops.

Yesterday was exhausting, but ultimately not a bad day whatsoever. I moaned and groaned about spending a six hour workshop listening to our studio classmates sing; those six hours could be used for finals work and essay writing, et cetera.

So at 3:30 we all marched in to the theatre and sat in the rows of chairs, tired and grumbling about the next six hours sitting in chairs with no food and no break from studio, but with absolutely no idea of the ridiculously fabulous woman who was about to walk in and rock our socks. Her name is Liz Caplan. I highly recommend checking out the website, or just freaking googling her. She's been called "the musical theatre ghost whisperer," and when I pick my jaw up off the floor I can say I'd have to agree. And each of us only got 5 minutes with her.

I can't say the hours flew by (we were actually there for 7 to make sure everyone could go), and by the end I was shaky and starving, but SHE'S GOING TO BE OUR TEACHER NEXT YEAR.

Let me share with you what she said when I sang. I sang "No One But You" by Queen (click to see Kerry Ellis' rendition), my staple power ballad that has an MT flair. Second verse. I finished and everybody clapped (most people within the studio have never heard each other sing before - we're in different classes so we don't get to see each other perform), and Liz Caplan smiled and said "That song is beautiful in your voice, really good choice. Freddie would be proud."

What.

I almost died on the spot. This woman, who has trained a zillion of the most amazing performers of our time, telling me that I would have made Freddie proud. WHAT.

But she worked with me on loosening my body because I was freezing cold (the AC was on and it was probably 50 degrees in that room), and even with a quick warm up session my second rendition was deeper and more resonant. The stuff she managed to do in 5 or 7 minutes was literally mind-bending. The simplest things changed sounds so much. And we're all so absurdly talented, I can't even IMAGINE what we'll be like after next year, with her as a regular teacher.

So it wasn't so bad. :)

Oh, and I got the interning position with Barbara McNamara Casting. :D

High

2011-04-23T18:01:00.001-04:00

This post will be added to, but for now, here.

ART HARD

2011-04-21T21:05:00.002-04:00

With great love to Alpha Tiger, aka Jesse, my fellow artist.

We have a habit of finding the most mind-bending or blatantly artsy art and sending it to each other while textually shouting "ART" at one another across the internet. One-upping him on the artfulness of something is quite a feat. These are the videos from our latest exchange; first my contributions, then his.

A trilogy of performances by Teatro da Vertagem (Vertigo Theatre) of Sao Paulo, Brazil. Paraiso Perdido (Paradise Lost), Livro de Jo (the Book of Job), and Apocalipse 1,11 (Revelations 1,11). Extremely graphic in nature. Also in Spanish, so I can't tell you what they're saying. It's truly amazing, however.

And Jesse's rebuttal, No Reward for Good Behavior.

The artist's blurb is what truly makes this art:

"One of the things that impresses me most in other people is seeing someone passionately engaged in a fruitless activity. When someone is obsessed with something even though there is no benefit, whether selfish or altrusitic, other than the simple feeling of participating in the action, I feel a kindred spirit. In many ways, my art-making is an absurd obsession; the resultant object aside, the process is the most important, yet irrational, activity in my life. And so, many of the sculptures I make are not only products of that paradox, but expressions of it. No Reward for Good Behavior, an overly-complex machine containing weeks-worth of fabricating and finishing, accomlishes a tiny, ridiculous task: walking these small figures around in a circle. And yet I am proud to have made something so nonsensical: there is so much forced meaningfulness out there. Sometimes one needs a break."

No Reward for Good Behavior from Ben Cowden on Vimeo.

I gotta start creating more or I'll go crazy. No more of this sitting around. I'm getting the message loud and clear, universe. Just give me the chance.

Also, on a separate note, I have an interview for an internship position with Barbara McNamara Casting on Monday at noon. Here's to hoping.

And For The Kids at Home

2011-04-20T23:38:00.000-04:00

Say Yes

2011-04-20T23:22:00.002-04:00

By The Way, Meet Vera Stark, Second Stage Theatres. Twenty dollar student rush, with, of course, the ineffable Raji again (what am I going to do with my free time when he returns to the West Coast? GASP.)

I'll keep this brief - it's late, and I have class at 8:30 tomorrow morning, but it's something I have to share. Another stage door adventure, this time with Stephanie J. Block. Her advice to us, as she watched us sincerely from under the brim of her Mets hat, was "say yes to everything." Every opportunity, every benefit, every free thing, every class, absolutely everything, say yes, because that's how you meet people, that's how you make that one connection who will remember you and call you someday in the future and say would you like to do this project? Say yes to the work.

XO, Stephanie - thank you. I have a warm glow inside and it's because I know this is right.

Suicide is not the answer.

2011-04-18T11:09:00.004-04:00

I will never understand suicide.

Coffee Shop art turned something awful.

I'm not even sure why I wanted to share this, but something about it stung and just makes me wonder. Because there was also the performance art by Chris Burden in 1971 called Shoot, in which Burden was shot in the arm by an assistant from 15 feet away. Where does art end and something else begin?

And how can we keep things like this young man's death from happening? Nineteen years old. That was me two years ago.

I send everyone affected love and strength.

I don't know why I needed to share this. But I did.

(Remember, lots of things are clickable, if you want more info.)

You Can Do Anything

2011-04-17T11:09:00.004-04:00

I think I just need to put up a permanent link to Jason's blog - the things he finds and says are just so inspiring. CLICK. (EDIT: Permanent link to Jason's blog filed under Starry Eyed Idiot) This little girl just truly melted my heart, and made me want to be less of a sharp edged person. She motivated me on a Sunday morning, and maybe, after I do some homework and practice, I'll go have another lovely afternoon to myself and appreciate the me and us and that essential self I neglect. I want to go find her and hug her and say thank you, that I draw pictures too, and I sing. I'm good at singing.

Last night Raji and I went to see JERUSALEM on Broadway last night, with Mark Rylance, Mackenzie Crook and John Gallagher Jr., to name a few of the actors. An exceptional play, decidedly English, to be sure, but brilliant and totally moving, even to a little New Yorker like me. I am honored to have witnessed Mark Rylance perform. He has a command of the stage like I have never seen in another human. Like I always write, if you get the chance, please see it. It hits you something fierce and you're never quite sure what it was, but it was powerful beyond words.

Post show, Raji and I embraced our theatre student nerdiness and braved the torrential downpour to stand by the backstage door, while most all of the other patrons hopped into cabs or scurried down the sidewalk. I always want to meet the performers, though I never know what to say to them. Raji, however, has it down to a science, and I will be taking a leaf out of his book from now on. Part of the cast was chatting on the sidewalk under the overhang, so we joined them for a bit. Raji has a staple question he asks all working actors he meets, and tonight was no different; "What advice do you have for young actors just starting out?"

Charlotte Mills told us we should just see as much brilliant theatre as we can ("Which you're apparently already doing, so you're doing it right so far."), so we can just immerse ourselves in the world of what we want to do. Molly Ranson told us we shouldn't worry about what anybody else would do, and just really stay true to the choices and things that feel right to us.

We stood in the rain for quite a long time, not even sure if everyone would come out due to the weather, but John Gallagher Jr. did finally come out, without an umbrella, and before he could dash away down the sidewalk Raji had called him over so we could congratulate him and talk to him. He was surprisingly chatty and genuinely sincere, which was so wonderful. He told us to stay true in ourselves, and not let everything get to our heads ("because, you know, we all have those days, like, even I have them sometimes, like every other week, or sometimes, when you just ask yourself 'should I just quit?' But don't let it get to your head, just do it."). And he was saying how he truly believes there is a place for everyone who wants to do this, and works hard enough at it, no matter how long it takes ("People say 'oh, you're doing so well so young, four Broadway shows in a row, and I'm 26, but people don't realize I started auditioning when I was 13. Sometimes it takes a really long time to find out where you really fit into with this stuff, but I really believe there's a place for everyone who does it and really does it, you know?") It was a wonderful conversation, and he was so sweet.

It makes my heart swell and ache when I talk to working actors. I just want it so badly. Not fame, not oodles of money, but just to live that art and to love. To be DOING it. I say that like, every blog post. But it's true. It just helps me understand this is exactly where I belong, and these are the people I want to be with and work with. Because we're all exactly the same. We're connected, as the little girl in that video up top said.

So. With that, I'm off to do some homework, shower, then get some artsy fartsy crap and high tail it to a park. It's beautiful today. I want to see the flowers and the sun. Carpe Diem, motherfuckers. Love to each and every one of you. <3

Wings

2011-04-14T22:21:00.002-04:00

Today was a shitty day. It was also an enlightened day. My days are bipolar. Lucky I'm not.

In spite of all the potholes and bitch slaps the universe decided to dish my way today, it also helped me to see something with clear and open eyes for the first time. It's a rather important thing, and it's going to take a while to really set in, but once I can accept this and start moving forward, things will be better than they are.

Chakra acting work with Laura Fine today, higher self and lower self. And I realized a basic truth I guess life has made me forget: That all aspects of me, internal, external, spiritual, mental, emotional, all of these things exist, and they are all real, and however they are is the way they are, and not wrong. I do not need to be fixed. I am not broken.

The deepest part of me knows this. I just have to learn to live it. I am real, I feel, I love, I breathe, I am. It won't be an easy road. Saying it won't make my brain believe it. But getting my heart to believe it might be a start.

I am not broken. And I have believed that for so long.

NO +

2011-04-13T19:06:00.002-04:00

I felt my soul under my skin in class the other day. I like art. I also think my subconscious is in the shape of a bronze Egyptian mau.

I would share all my glorious teachings about chakra work and lower self work and internal discovery and how the human experience is to seek love and acceptance, and art is a linear route to that, and blah blah blah

BUT

academia sets her glorious Chanel heel down square on my eardrum and says "EXCUSE ME, PRIVATE UNIVERSITY STUDENT, but you think you can get away from the stricture of culture so easily?" And so, syllabi stalk the halls, grades begin to loom in a very non-liberal arts college sort of way, and curriculi begin to swirl and seethe as foaming tablets of ADJUSTMENT get dropped in every other week.

I'm still sick. Possible ear infection. More on that after what I hope will be a successful health center trip tomorrow. Along with being sick, I have three upcoming workshops to slide into my schedule, along with a current workshop this week during my acting classes in which I must memorize two extraneous monologues, along with my music memorization and primary scene memorization. Also still scuffing along the bottom in regards to music theory and those related classes, so studying and practicing piano and homework is essential, but when? Along with a final project and paper on CADA's "No +" movement for Latin American Theatre, and potentially a final paper for Contemporary American Playwrights, all in the next three weeks.

I'm losing my mind. Truly. My ear aches and I'm going insane.

Please watch the CADA video. Political activism has such an artistic quality to it. I love it. I'm making t-shirts for my project. NO + means No mas, or No more.

NO + NO + NO + NO + NO + NO + NO + NO +

Home Free at Last

2011-04-12T08:06:00.002-04:00

I can't believe I missed this when it happened - Lanford Wilson died at the age of 73. More on Wilson here.

I have not read much of his, but what I know has moved me. Burn This and Home Free. Home Free still haunts me, and it was the first time, as an actor, I felt immersed in every fiber of a character to the point where it affected my daily life. I love Joanna and always will. The butterfly monologue of Burn This I need to keep forever. It's beautiful and disturbing in the most lovely of ways.

I should read more of his. It speaks to me.

Rest in peace, Lanford Wilson. The playwrighting community has lost a true artist.

Etre

2011-04-09T15:21:00.002-04:00

"To be separate is to not believe in Love."

I want to be as close to knowing Love as this man is. He knows art; he lives it and breathes it and has become a part of the world in a way I wish my young, spastic little brain could accept.

Taking a couple days back in CT to heal my sickness. Also to do laundry. And homework. Developing my skills in transcribing the International Phonetic Alphabet. I'm such a nerd and I LOVE IT.

While My Body is Away

2011-04-07T16:06:00.002-04:00

I'm sick today. And because my body is out of commission, my brain is on overload.

Art. There is so much ART in this city, and I've seen almost none of it. I have to change that.

Some combinations of words, or words I've made up, or words together with connotations or sounds or things that I think are pretty.

secondhand voodoo

suburban surrealism

Njū

halcyon homicide

homo sapiens pastiche

ailurophile

penumbra

syzygy

Bacchae

Things I must go see soon.

Seance on a Wet Afternoon, a new opera by Stephen Schwartz.

Epona's Labyrinth, a Kafkaesque vision of modern medicine and modern life.

And basically anything at the opera. Cheap tix to Rigoletto through my dorm hall, so I might organize my life and go see that.

A worn out sole

2011-04-06T21:00:00.000-04:00

"Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one."

- Stella Adler

Seeking A Mr. Fix-it

2011-04-06T10:55:00.004-04:00

My computer is acting up again... I have it running in safe mode with networking, just so I can access my email and important things, but who knows how long this will last? It is almost 4 years old, and laptops don't have very long life spans. We'll see how long I can fudge it running like this.

Saw Next to Normal on tour this past Saturday, seeing Born Yesterday with Robert Sean Leonard and Jim Belushi tonight (for free! Thanks, NYU) EDIT: Staying home. I am so damn sick. Hopefully my sudden allergy attack and general feeling of crappiness won't hinder my attending. Free Broadway is freaking hard to come by. Well. We saw how that worked out. Got free tix to Black Watch in a few weeks. That'll make up for it.

Tyger Tyger Burning Bright

2011-03-30T23:31:00.002-04:00

Amazing show, amazing performances, shocking and hilarious and truly sad. Go see it.

BENGAL TIGER AT THE BAGHDAD ZOO

And I totally met Robin Williams. Oh hi, I totally remember seeing Aladdin in theatres. Talk about comedic genius, holy shit, man.

And as incredible as Mr. Williams is as the Tiger, it's truly the rest of the cast who make this show phenomenal. Particularly, in my opinion, Arian Moayed as Musa. Truly, truly incredible performances by all involved. Beautiful set. Beautiful direction. Stunning show.

And I met Robin Williams. I wished him good luck for their opening performance tomorrow night, and he seemed surprised that I didn't just tell him how wonderful he was or how long I've loved his work.

I need to see more shows.

Warpaint

2011-03-28T19:10:00.003-04:00

I have to roar and roar and roar, and God help me if someone ever actually hears it.

Coming to the realization that there are, perhaps, three people on this entire earth who truly know me. And that one of those three is not me.

Also I should wear warpaint more often. I should do an urban art installation. The Face of New York: Refracted Youth. Or something existential like that. With a hat on the ground for donations, but I label it RECYCLABLES. I'm such an artist. I want to puke.

Finalizing the touches to my intern application. Possibly scoping some out in NYC. We'll see. Still mad at the universe. Looking for my puzzle pieces and they're like, halfway across the globe, probably.

[Is it so wrong to want to play by my rules, now? Don't give me that look when I stand my ground, dammit. Don't talk around me like I don't know. Skanky bitch, I am not. Assertive and independent, I would like to be. I just hover in this grey area of inaction.]

I will be uploading more class discussions with playwrights. Our discussion with Rajiv Joseph today was really fascinating. His play Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo opens this Thursday starring Robin Williams as the Tiger.

Okay. Focus. Intern application. GO.

I Know the Universe, and Her Name is Irony

2011-03-27T03:59:00.004-04:00

I understand that, as an artist, having honest, open, and fully real life experiences is essential to developing the muscle of expression. I get it. I'm still a baby, I'm working on it.

I understand that, as a human, emotional blogging is a pain in the ass and nobody gives two shits about my bad days or what I had for lunch or whether my face hurts today or whatever. I'm working on it.

I also understand that, in the effort to share my artistic journey, there are going to be awkward combinations of the two above situations. Unfortunately, more often than not. My regurgitating of information simply becomes whining about lack of work ethic or how singing is hard with a sore throat or how I suck at dancing.

So, if that isn't what you hoped for when you got into this, I'm sorry, because it wasn't what I anticipated either. I imagined repeating lessons for you, sharing what I'm learning.

But I guess sharing what I'm learning is more about dragging you along the journey through myself, since that's what art is. And I do this for art.

So discover yourself through my discovering of myself. See how bad I fuck up and know that it happens and is supposed to happen. I'm a freaking hypocrite and complain about how hard it all is and fuss fuss fuss and my feet hurt and I wish people were nicer, but I'm giving you life advice I wish someone would give me and I could actually listen to.

And all of this is coming from one unexpected text yesterday and one slightly expected realization tonight. Unrelated, but, as usual, a murky fork in the road.

Why do good things happen to me in a way that makes it hurt? Why is there always a crossroads, a confusing, unclear, grey area I can't step through without hurting myself or someone else?

UNIVERSE. MAKE UP YOUR MIND. Cuz I did. AND IT'S ART.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This 2.0

2011-03-23T09:33:00.003-04:00

I had two dreams that I vaguely remember - one involved Doctor Who (don't ask me which Doctor he was, I don't know the numbers well) saving me from some mundane existence involving small rooms, dull people, unfolded laundry and luggage, and then dragging me about on an adventure of some sort where I was leaping from industrial platforms. He was very attractive.

The other involved getting a callback to Rent - I received the call through a phone and an old truck's radio, people at my house were skeptical and mean, I went to the callback and it was like, a cafeteria filled with as many people as were at the initial auditions, and we were supposed to bring sheet music or scripts and I didn't have either.

I hate weird dreams. I spend all my energy trying to analyze them and get nowhere.

ANTHROPOPHAGIZE IT, SUCKA

2011-03-22T23:19:00.002-04:00

Just defeated an abysmal paper, so while I would like to celebrate, I have concluded that the appropriate celebration is to collapse and sleep for 10 hours straight. Which I will do, as soon as my bathroom is not occupied. Who knew that metaphorical conceptual cannibalism could be so damn boring? But I have conquered it, and I feel like shredding the textbook with my teeth while laughing and roaring my victory. I'm a bit tired, can't you tell?

It felt very good to be back in the swing of things, in spite of how exhausted I am. I got a little delirious and giddy, but overall it's nice to have some kind of direction to be going in. Though there was the female open call for the national tour of Rock of Ages today and I was thinking about that for much of the morning, but soon that fantasy passed and I was back to studying.

My audition and subsequent first round callback was a topic of much discussion in studio today. I am proud of my achievement, but I wish people would stop talking about it and making it a big deal. I try to be humble (and it was one little callback, so why shouldn't I be humble? It's not like I was just offered all of Broadway on a silver platter) about everything I do, and I mean, I don't know why I dislike their admiration so much, but I just want to keep it in perspective, and wish they could too.

The weather is wreaking havoc with my throat and general well-being. Pounding down the vitamin C and D and hoping I can battle my impulsive sugar cravings long enough to keep me healthy until the weather turns. I've started taking my allergy meds again as well, to beat pollen to the punch. No miserable, runny nose days for me. No sir.

Off to try and catch up on some sleep and let my body recharge. Lots more work to be done tomorrow; it never ends. Internship work is my priority, unless something comes up that demands my immediate attention. Which it very well might.

The name of the game is the peppermint twist.

Weekend Update

2011-03-21T10:12:00.003-04:00

So I meant to sit back last night and just type out what I've been thinking about these past few days, but since I hadn't been to bed before 4am for two days and last night managed to be another post-midnight evening, sleep was just too sweet to ignore, even for the pressing thoughts in my head.

This weekend was wonderful, but had an almost bittersweet tone to it. Not maudlin, but more melancholy aftertaste. The audition Friday was quite the experience (and no, I did not receive a follow-up call, but that's probably all for the best anyway), and was similar to Circle last year in that it was an experience that just gave me a taste of what can be out there and how much I want it.

Meg came to visit, and we hit the town and I realized how much I have yet to learn as a functioning, social human being. A man bought me a drink because I looked "bored out of my mind." I'm quite the social butterfly, if you couldn't tell. It was wonderful to see her. She'd been in Australia for most of the past year and I missed her very, very much. We went to see Treasure Island on Saturday night because she was also in Ken's Circle class last year, and we went for drinks with him afterwards and chatted and caught up and it was wonderful beyond words. I really do enjoy quiet, relaxed company talking about everything and nothing rather than braving bar scenes. But I'll have to learn it all, I suppose. Not the city to be quiet and meek in.

Sunday she went home, and I spent some time doing homework and feeling rather sad because I was by myself again, and it made me realize how much I miss having company I can talk to. I love my classmates here so much, but I'm not in the mindset of an 18-year old anymore. Even when I was 18, 19, I don't think I was the typical example of that age range anyway.

I think I am having a young adult life crisis? I don't know what you'd call it. This absolute burning need to have my own place, be working, paying my own bills, running the auditions circuit, taking classes, living my own life. Maybe baby bird has finally grown in her pinion feathers and is sick of watching the trees from far away. One of the most alluring things about the Rent auditions and the faint hope of possibly being cast was having to shift everything and live in New York, just to have this life of my own. I've realized I'm trying to figure out exactly what would make me the happiest, and what I have to do to get me to that point, and none of it is clear.

I dunno. Just one of those things simmering around inside my head.

Back to the grind now - I need to apply for internships ASAP or I'm totally fucked. I just scheduled an advisement appointment for class scheduling for next year. I have a voice lesson in an hour. Studio tomorrow. So my longing for my own life will have to be put on hold for a while, I guess.

EDIT: A little additional note I wanted to add after coming back to this from my day; I don't want this to sound like I'm truly unhappy, because I'm not. The audition gave me a bright validation that yes, with time and effort I can do this. I'm receiving praise and note from classmates, and my voice teacher is unsurprisingly quite pleased. It's just that I feel like I'm missing a piece of something, and I don't know what it is.

Whoa

2011-03-18T17:04:00.002-04:00

So I auditioned for RENT this morning, got a first round callback, then sang for the head of Bernard Tesley Casting.

Not bad for my first big girl audition. :)

Not sure what happens from here, but regardless, I am happy with how I did and amazed that they asked me to be called back, even if it was only quick and for a short time.