Shipping Out

In a matter of hours the rental van will be loaded and we will be on the road to dump me in Manhattan. Updates about the coming week may be very, very delayed due to business and sheer WTF factor.

FutureMe

I just got back from the hair salon and was planning on posting a picture of my new hair when I checked my email and got an email from the past. Check this out. I surprise myself sometimes. It's just the kind of boost I needed now that I'm getting nervous to go off to Tisch in a few days.

My relationships with these people have changed very much in the past year, but this has reminded me of what's really important, sometimes.
____

The following is an e-mail from the past, composed on Sunday, October 25, 2009, and sent via FutureMe.org
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hey girl hey -

A few months ago I got a different FutureMe email and it pretty much made my week. I recognized the girl writing that letter but she seemed like someone entirely separate from myself, like it was impossible to have ever been the same person. But I was alive and well, still, and realizing that gave me a smile and some hope.

It's October 25, 2009, 11:27am. I'm sitting in dad's recliner watching Liverpool play Manchester United. I'm home for the first time in months, and it feels so good.

I'm writing to remind you of something I've learned over the past month, because I feel like it's one of the most important things I will ever learn. It isn't fair how I had to learn it, none of it is fair, but I want to make sure I never forget it. I know I probably won't, but I know how things change in a year.

It's been just over three weeks since Mike killed himself. Just over three weeks since that hideous, horrible Saturday morning where life froze and I couldn't breathe. I want to tell you that you're not going to forget him. You're never going to be completely okay with how you never said sorry for being so naive and angry, you'll never be okay with ignoring him at Delaney's that Tuesday, never going to find a way to come to terms with your justified anger and your incredible sorrow all at once.

But life goes on, no matter what. You put on a bangin show that next week - you rocked Desdemona and got yourself an Irene Ryan nomination for it. Classes continue, shows must go on, tears will fall. But you're still okay. Times can be shittier than you can imagine, but you'll be okay, even when you can't imagine how.

(You are a wonderful young actress. Stop being afraid to accept it - never stop working your ass off, but don't cut yourself short. Keep on going, don't you ever stop.)

When you get this, call someone you love. Text them, call them, email them, go see them, for all I care. But remember that in that time of desperate sadness and broken-hearted emptiness, you had each other. You had Kerry and DMD and Eric and Anthony and Jason and Billy. Never miss a chance to show someone how much you care. Forgive; don't forget, but forgive. You don't know how much time anyone has. Love like you don't have any more time. Appreciate the people in your life. Live each day like sundown is your last.

I love you. You love I. Take care of yourself, love the girl you are, whoever she is. She's special. You're beautiful. And as I write that, I truly believe it, so when you read this, you'd better damn well believe it.

See you on the flip side, ginger.

Love,
Me

Unicorns and Glitter

Been a little while since I posted. Packing insanity and last minute figuring out of nonsense. Lot of stuff to keep me busy.

First real goodbye today. Was very abbreviated. I was fine until I walked back in the house and realized I wouldn't be seeing my unicorn every other week anymore. My arm hurts and I'm kind of disoriented. Huh. Unrelated, maybe, but still. I hate goodbyes, even if it's only for a little while. They stress me out.

Happy Birthday to my darling unicorn - you're the bestest ever and we will have Pommes Frites very, very soon. <3

Went into the city to get work study paperwork done, and I needed to have my ID card, so that's what I did first. Ta-dahhhh; official student. With a scarf. It totally should have said Harlequin on it. That would have made me giggle.

That's better.



Went to check out my dorm room as well this Wednesday - I am quite literally a stone's throw from Chinatown. Amazing Asian food, here I come!

Lafayette

80 Lafayette Street, New York, New York - there's a large apartment building overlooking Franklin Street and White Street, and in room 601 is a small room waiting for me to move in. Low cost double housing, apartment style with my own refrigerator, stove, a bathroom to share with only ONE OTHER PERSON, and the NYU campus a meager 20 minute hike away.


Loading pictures on here has always been a slight challenge...

Lafayette Residence Hall and the NYU main campus, or Washington Square Park and the surrounding areas.

I now have a butt-ton of stuff to do. Yes, butt-ton is an actual, scientific measurement of physical matter and also intangible energy output. I need to do the paperwork for the work study job at the Steinhardt theatres, fill out my immunization forms because apparently I'm going to give everyone measles, mumps and rubella if I don't, email my new roomie, one Monique East, deposit my paychecks - three weeks worth, jeez - call about a discrepancy in my transferring credits, figure out if I want a meal plan, figure out when I will be getting my NYU ID card, and also start in on those summer reading books. Lots to do.

Lesson for the day: Do not transfer schools unless you really, really, REALLY want to be going somewhere else. You have to know that the effort required to make everything work out will be worth the reward in going to a new school.

Update.

Harlequin officially has a job as Event Assistant under Shuhei Seo at Steinhardt School of the Arts and Education at NYU - got my confirmation email and paperwork all sent to me today. So stoked.
____

Some issues with scheduling of event assisting and orientation (which is a week long), and my orientation schedule conflicting with itself, but I have sent out a series of emails in the hopes that these issues will be solved in the very near future. I'm nervous enough as it is, I don't need anything else to help me stress, thank you.

Still waiting to hear about housing and where I'll be living and who with. As edgy as I'm starting to get about leaving, I'm in desperate need of some space of my own. I love my family so very, very much and always miss them when I'm gone, but seriously, I need my own bathroom.

Summer reading: I need to get cracking on that. I have to finish Atlas Shrugged first, and I just haven't had the time. I have so much to read. Here's a handful, if I can remember them all.

Krik? Krak! - Edwidge Danticat
A Challenge for the Actor - Uta Hagen
Respect for Acting - Uta Hagen
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - Robert M. Pirsig
Poetics - Aristotle

I only have to read Krik? Krak! for summer reading, but I want to read them all, I just don't have the time to sit and absorb them all like I should. Mum started reading Zen, so I'll see how she likes it. A friend of mine read it for his class last year at Marymount Manhattan and said it changed his life.

I'm in a place right now where I am so happy and I love the people I know and who love me - there is so much love in my life, and I couldn't be more grateful for it. This place I am in also has grey fog fear creeping in around the edges, threatening to take away everything I know and drop me alone in a city that lives to chew up and eat those who dare cross its path. The place I am in knows love, fear, but also sadness. Sadness for some of the love and sadness for the fear. I love my life, but my life confuses me.

Two more weeks of work - then freeeeeeeedoooooooooommmmmmm!

Steinhardt, NYU, NYC

The story of my job interview yesterday, as adapted from a message sent to my dearest darlingest Foxervalls.
____

So I was a stupid nervous wreck all morning because I felt silly wandering around NYU not knowing where I was (my biggest emotional issue, currently, is that I will be very out of my element and feel extremely lost. Which I was.), and it was semi-raining and humid and I was uncomfortable, didn't know where the interview was, blah blah blah. Poor mum hurt her foot two days ago, so walking around was making her miserable, so we were not the happiest of campers, but we managed to poke about NYU and she was happy to see the buildings. She likes the big purple flags. So do I - it makes me feel important.

We went to the NYU bookstore and mum got window clings for the cars so they can show off that I go to NYU, I got a textbook required for class (69 bucks - used!!! Textbooks are such a racket), and I was super happy that they sell intelligent posters, like Renoir, and old school book covers, intelligent movie posters - nerdy NYU kid stuff. Sometimes I think I really will fit in. :)

All right - the nterview. I go to the Steinhardt building at 35 West 4th Street and check in with the security guard, and I ask him where Mr. Shuhei Seo is, and he says he moved to the 6th floor. I was like, ok, cool. The room number I was told was 777, so I would have guessed it was the 7th floor, but I'll take this guy's word for it. Mr. Seo told me the security guard would direct me to him, so I hit the elevator.

6th floor. Definitely not where I'm supposed to be. I don't see anyone, and there's lots of computers and recording equipment behind soundproof glass. I go up to the 7th floor.

This looks more like the right place. Filing cabinets line the walls between piano practice rooms. Secretaries sit down the hall. I ask the girl working the desk about my meeting with Mr. Seo in 777. She looks at me and was like "Shu? He has a meeting with you... here?" Uh. Yeah. "Okay... hey, Cheryl, she says she's got a meeting with Shu here... Suite 777..." At this point I'm thinking uh-oh, I did something seriously wrong. They're confused and incredulous that he would have scheduled something here. So they try to call his office, he's not there. They ask me to wait because if the meeting is here, he'll show up.

3:30 comes and goes. 3:45 arrives. I had gotten there a good 10 minutes early, so I've been waiting a while, scared out of my mind that I'm in the wrong building and I'm going to fuck up this interview before I even find him. They call him again, and someone else who would know where he was. No one answers. I'm putting on my most calm, collected face, like this isn't even remotely a problem to me.

Cheryl walks up to me and has this pitying, mothering tone as she talks to me. "The meeting was here?" I explain it's a work-study interview and that he had explained the address as the footer of his email, 35 West 4th, Suite 777. She goes "Ohhhh okay. He's probably down in the theatre, that's where he usually is, so do you want to go look for him?" She sends me down with this guy who works there to go find him.

There's stuff going on in the theatre - I am intrigued and curious as to what they are doing, but Seo isn't among the people in the house. We poke around the offices at the front of the theatre. Empty. The guy takes me back up to the office upstairs.

"There's stuff going on in the theatre so I didn't go in, but he wasn't there. You think he's in the booth? The door was open, but I didn't go up... Think he's there...? Okay, we'll go check again."

Downstairs. Back to the offices at the front of the theatre. A door is open with a teeeeeny tiny little steel spiral staircase, steep as hell, going up to where the booth is. The guy pokes his head in and listens - there are voices up above.

"Yeah, he's up there. I can hear his voice. I've never been up there before. You can go up if you like. Good luck!" And he walks away.

A few small notes before I continue. It is probably almost 4pm at this point. My meeting was supposed to start half an hour ago. I am dressed in this green and blue swirly tube top dress with a little black short sleeved cardigan, black leggings, and my black pumps. I now have to hike up this terrifyingly tiny steel staircase in three inch heels, not knowing where I'm going to arrive when I reach the top. I am also scared of my heel catching in the steel grating and breaking and me tumbling backwards to an awkward death.

I reach the top of the stairs and see two men, an Asian guy in jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt, and a bald man in a button down and khakis opening boxes amid the organized chaos of a lighting booth. The Asian guy looks up and says hello, his name is Shu, asks me who I am. I say my name and he nods and seems to remember what I'm doing there. He leads me into the other part of the booth, where there is more random crap everywhere, a desk, a computer, three monitors, and windows looking down at the theatre.

"Late?" He asks, with a smile (one of the main points in the job description is being on time), and inside I'm like WTF!!!

"I was waiting upstairs at 777." I said, and he looks at me in mild surprise.

"You were waiting? I'm so sorry."

That begins and ends the awkwardness regarding my showing up in this lighting booth about 40 minutes late.

So I'm sitting in a swivel chair and he's behind the desk and he tells me about how the Steinhardt department is broken down, the theatres they have, what my job will be, then scheduling. He mentions right off that it'll only be 7.50 an hour, but a job is a job and it's in theatre, so I don't really care how crappy the pay is. He makes sure to emphasize that it's the powers way up high that determine pay, not him. I understand completely.

I feel so out of place in super nice clothes in a dusty, messy lighting booth, but at least I look cute.

We talk for probably half an hour - he's really quite nice and seems like the kind of person I would get along with brilliantly. Really thick accent, but he's incredibly intelligent and I was just basking in the company of someone who does their job with passion. He says at the end, with a smile, that I will "probably - yeah, probably - yeah, most likely will be hired." Score.

I shake his hand, clamber back down the staircase, stagger onto the street, and meet mum in a cafe next door.

Later, I also discover that the Tisch building in the heart of the Village that Foxervalls and I found is the other part of my studio. Score.

That is my story. I more than likely have a job at NYU. Wheee.

Three Points

A few topics this evening -

ONE: I am incredibly sorry I am incredibly lame at keeping up with the Spotlight this summer. My summer job had me working 40 hours last week (for a part time summer gig! What gives?), and I've been doing NYU stuff and trying to relax, so all in all it leaves me less time for this, and I wish that weren't the case.

The job, however, is going decently well. Paychecks are lovely. It makes me feel less distraught about my financial situation. Then I remember the bill for NYU and I cry inside. Food service is exhausting, especially for the special needs campers.

TWO: http://lesmisclub.deviantart.com/blog/33633393/
This is the cast list for the 25th Anniversary Les Miserables Concert. I am weeping. They have stepped away from Dreamcast and legitimacy of character and vocal quality and gone for some stunt casting, with the exception of a select few. I can't deal with this.

THREE: I have a job interview for Event Assistant at Steinhardt on Friday for work study. I'm terrified but so stoked.

David Foster Wallace

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Adorable little site. I put in several blog posts to see what I write like, and I got Mr. Wallace, Stephen King, Vladimir Nabokov, and then Mr. Wallace again. I'm intrigued. I might have to play this game some more.

A lot to catch up on, no time to do it. Hopefully I'll get a spare moment this weekend.

Happy Sunburn Season!

Summer is officially here, as is the season that brought about the namesake of this blog. I have several small sunburns across my back from sunscreen failing to do that UV blocking thing it claims to do. Cheers.

I'm reading one of the greatest books I've ever laid my hands on. Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand. It's terrifyingly daunting, but I have never been gripped by a story like this before. Dagny Taggart speaks to my soul. Have a taste - no, not even a taste, two quotes cannot begin to describe what this book is - have a thought or two from this marvel.

"Well, I've always been unpopular in school and it didn't bother me, but now I've discovered the reason. It's an impossible kind of reason. They dislike me, not because I do things badly, but because I do them well. They dislike me because I've always had the best grades in class. I don't even have to study. I always get A's. Do you suppose I should try to get D's and become the most popular girl in school?"
Francisco stopped, looked at her and slapped her face.
__

She could not descend to an existance where her brain would explode under the pressure of forcing herself not to outdistance incompetence. She could not function to the rule of: keep down - slow down - don't do your best, it is not wanted!


My laptop received a new battery via eBay, and it works wonderfully. However, the problem now is that the charger cable remains dead and useless, so this newly functioning laptop cannot be used for fear of draining the battery to dead again. So here I am, making my bi-weekly check of the internet on the upstairs desktop. It's a strange and interesting world without the web. I kind of like it. I also kind of don't.

Work started last week - 8 hours of easy kitchen work in 90 degree weather four days a week is superfun (read: fml), but it pays well for what it is and I'm getting a paycheck on Friday. Money is necessary to this NYU adventure I'm attempting to go on.

And I wanted to share something that was shared with me via email, from the wonderful, incredibly enchanting woman who is my grandmother (and also a reader of this blog). She sends me incredibly inspirational photos and poems and sayings every so often, and I love all of them, but this one seems to play directly into the nature of this blog, so here it is. Life While You Wait.

Life While-You-Wait.

Performance without rehearsal.

Body without alterations.

Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I play.

I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot

just what this play's all about.
Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,

I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.

I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.

I trip at every step over my own ignorance.

I can't conceal my hayseed manners.

My instincts are for happy histrionics.

Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.

Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can't take back,

stars you'll never get counted,

your character like a raincoat you button on the run,

the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,

or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!

But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.

Is it fair, I ask

(my voice a little hoarse,

since I couldn't even clear my throat offstage).
You'd be wrong to think that it's just a slapdash quiz

taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.

I'm standing on the set and I see how strong it is.

The props are surprisingly precise.

The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.

The farthest galaxies have been turned on.

Oh no, there's no question, this must be the premiere.

And whatever I do

will become forever what I've done.

~ Wislawa Szymborska ~