I haven't posted a blog in like a month and a half. I guess that's because I spent most of August traveling. I think in 31 days of August, I spent 10 or 11 at home - and most of those were spent getting ready to travel.
BUT. I'm in Madrid. I can't say I'm loving every minute of it, but I am loving generally almost every hour of it. I go out late, sleep in, take naps, drink a lot of wine. Do nothing pretty frequently, which is taking more getting used to than almost anything else about being in Spain. I know I should dare complain about having three (possibly soon to be four) day weekends, but I suck suck suck at free time. I've done some exploring of Madrid on my own, but I'd much rather share the experiences with friends, and as we all have to pay for each individual text message we send and phone call we make, things get tricky. I do enjoy time on my own and really don't mind spending hours on end by myself, but I also want to make friends and get to know these people I'll be spending the next three months with, not to mention I would LOVE to meet some Spanish people.
Not being able to text friends all the time is strange. But I have been skyping with people every once in a while, which is really fun. It's nice to see people's faces that I haven't seen in many months. Hopefully some friends are coming to visit - I look forward to showing people around my surrogate city. Sometimes things here feel like New York and sometimes they don't. School actually feels a lot like high school because it's so confined and groups have formed into kind of cliques rather quickly. There's actually probably at least a dozen students here from other schools as well, and it's interesting to see how they are similar to or different from NYU kids.
I've been thinking a lot about love, passion, sensuality, and temporality lately, but that's no surprise as I'm reading Federico García Lorca's Blood Wedding this weekend for my Lorca class. Spaniards know how to do passion, man. And you can feel it in their writing if you read it in Spanish. I'm reading Blood Wedding in English but we read a couple poems in Spanish and I'm familiar with some Spanish works, and can just tell. It's something in the sounds of Spanish words too. Lots of long sounds because vowels are really important to the Spanish language.
I suppose I should have a lot more to say, like about all the crazy things that happened in August including my brother starting college, but I just realized how tired I am even though it's only a little after 10 here. I think I'm going to snuggle up with some Lorca for a bit and just see how the night goes. More soon though, as I have loads of free time.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Addiction
I had been thinking for the last month or so that I should maybe be concerned because junkies and I seem to have similar personality traits. Upon further investigation, it seems I only have personality traits similar to Nikki Sixx specifically, and as he's been a rock star for 30 years and is also a photographer, radio host, and owns a clothing line (not to mention has died twice and is now ten years sober), I am no longer so worried. Maybe our addictive personalities are good for us.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Potter Generation
There is not a doubt in my mind that kids will read Harry Potter for ages to come, just like we still read Goodnight Moon and The Wind in the Willows and The Chronicles of Narnia and so many others. Of course Harry's got staying power, or he wouldn't have become this big. Children and teenagers aren't patient. They don't want to wait years for the next installment of a story when they can't even wait a week for the next episode of a TV show. But what I've been thinking about for the last couple weeks is that the waiting, the anticipation, is exactly what shaped so much of this experience and created a phenomenon the world had never seen before. The waiting is what makes me a part of the luckiest generation of kids.
The first three books came fast and furious - Philosopher's Stone finally found a publisher in 1997 in Britain. October 1998 saw the American release of Sorcerer's Stone. By June of 1999, America had received Chamber of Secrets and just a year after the first Potter book crossed the ocean, in October of 1999 we had Prisoner of Azkaban. Beyond that, all future Potter books would be released in America and Britain - and soon in the rest of the world - at the same time.
Anyone who knows me - in fact, practically anyone who has ever met me - knows I was one of the lucky few to lay hands on a first American edition of Sorcerer's Stone in 1998. And once I started reading Potter, I didn't stop. I read and reread them constantly, combing the pages for clues of what was to come. And thanks to the newly-popular internet, I wasn't alone. My family got the internet when I was about ten, and all I did online for several years (pre-myspace, mind you) was spend hours on Harry Potter fan sites, including one of my own creation, which, at its most popular, had at least 500 members. Not bad for an eleven-year-old.
These websites were hotbeds for rumors, theories, every word JK Rowling had ever said copied to be deciphered. I found a post it note in my room once with rumored titles for the fourth book, including Harry Potter and the Triwizard Tournament. There was the ever-raging debate about Snape's true loyalties. And why were Harry's eyes so important, as we were told they were? Thanks to long lapses beginning with the Goblet of Fire-to-Order of the Phoenix three years, fans' imaginations ran even wilder trying to predict what would happen in the rest of the series, searching everywhere for clues or missed information. This led to a new series of books: published collections of theories, using FBI-intensity research of any resource to be found. 2001 produced a rash of books from the religious populace, either condemning the series for championing delinquents and witchcraft, or heralding the boy wizard's story as a tale of love, courage, and loyalty seldom found in such complex form in childrens' books. I have previously ranted my feelings (in at least two separate posts) about those.
But the thing about these websites and books is they brought together kids all over the world - through books. Because of what they were reading. And we were waiting, desperately, counting down the days to the next part of the story. In 2001 came the first film, helping to ease just slightly the painful wait between books. And the Potter fanbase grew to even more epic proportions. But think back, if you can, to ten years ago. We only had four books - no one knew what the Order of the Phoenix was or who the Half-Blood Prince was, Voldemort had just come back, and Dumbledore was invincible.
Kids will read these books in the future. It blows my mind to think about it, but there are kids reading the books now who weren't born when I started reading them. The huge difference is they will be able to read them for the first time as fast as I read them now. Generally I read the entire series over a period of about four weeks; this time I did it in about three. There is no more waiting. And now, with the release of Deathly Hallows Part II on film, we have no more films to wait for. Our anticipation turns, now, to Pottermore - the elusive, mysterious new website set up by JK Rowling to "enhance" our rereadings of the books. But no one is quite sure what this means. She's doing something that's never been done before because books have never been done this way before. So we wait, with bated breath, without really knowing what we're waiting for.
There won't be another July 15, 2011 or another July 21, 2007. I can't imagine anything else having such a singularly important date as these releases have. (It was only because of my desire to make the last book last more than 24 hours that I didn't spend the entirety of my brother's 14th birthday reading Deathly Hallows.) The trailers and ads for the last film were traumatizing for many of my generation, boldly emblazoned with the tagline "IT ALL ENDS." I refused to watch trailers that included those words, because I refused to face the idea of the end before I was sitting in a movie theatre at midnight on July 15th. But the thing is, it hasn't ended. A lot of people have treated this final movie as the end of an era. In some ways, that's what I've been writing about - it's the end of the the anticipation. But people seem to ignore the fact that these books came into existence for three or four years before the first film existed. The Potter legacy extends beyond the ten years of films. This is the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
Harry Potter will only truly be gone when none here are loyal to him.
Mischief Managed.
The first three books came fast and furious - Philosopher's Stone finally found a publisher in 1997 in Britain. October 1998 saw the American release of Sorcerer's Stone. By June of 1999, America had received Chamber of Secrets and just a year after the first Potter book crossed the ocean, in October of 1999 we had Prisoner of Azkaban. Beyond that, all future Potter books would be released in America and Britain - and soon in the rest of the world - at the same time.
Anyone who knows me - in fact, practically anyone who has ever met me - knows I was one of the lucky few to lay hands on a first American edition of Sorcerer's Stone in 1998. And once I started reading Potter, I didn't stop. I read and reread them constantly, combing the pages for clues of what was to come. And thanks to the newly-popular internet, I wasn't alone. My family got the internet when I was about ten, and all I did online for several years (pre-myspace, mind you) was spend hours on Harry Potter fan sites, including one of my own creation, which, at its most popular, had at least 500 members. Not bad for an eleven-year-old.
These websites were hotbeds for rumors, theories, every word JK Rowling had ever said copied to be deciphered. I found a post it note in my room once with rumored titles for the fourth book, including Harry Potter and the Triwizard Tournament. There was the ever-raging debate about Snape's true loyalties. And why were Harry's eyes so important, as we were told they were? Thanks to long lapses beginning with the Goblet of Fire-to-Order of the Phoenix three years, fans' imaginations ran even wilder trying to predict what would happen in the rest of the series, searching everywhere for clues or missed information. This led to a new series of books: published collections of theories, using FBI-intensity research of any resource to be found. 2001 produced a rash of books from the religious populace, either condemning the series for championing delinquents and witchcraft, or heralding the boy wizard's story as a tale of love, courage, and loyalty seldom found in such complex form in childrens' books. I have previously ranted my feelings (in at least two separate posts) about those.
But the thing about these websites and books is they brought together kids all over the world - through books. Because of what they were reading. And we were waiting, desperately, counting down the days to the next part of the story. In 2001 came the first film, helping to ease just slightly the painful wait between books. And the Potter fanbase grew to even more epic proportions. But think back, if you can, to ten years ago. We only had four books - no one knew what the Order of the Phoenix was or who the Half-Blood Prince was, Voldemort had just come back, and Dumbledore was invincible.
Kids will read these books in the future. It blows my mind to think about it, but there are kids reading the books now who weren't born when I started reading them. The huge difference is they will be able to read them for the first time as fast as I read them now. Generally I read the entire series over a period of about four weeks; this time I did it in about three. There is no more waiting. And now, with the release of Deathly Hallows Part II on film, we have no more films to wait for. Our anticipation turns, now, to Pottermore - the elusive, mysterious new website set up by JK Rowling to "enhance" our rereadings of the books. But no one is quite sure what this means. She's doing something that's never been done before because books have never been done this way before. So we wait, with bated breath, without really knowing what we're waiting for.
There won't be another July 15, 2011 or another July 21, 2007. I can't imagine anything else having such a singularly important date as these releases have. (It was only because of my desire to make the last book last more than 24 hours that I didn't spend the entirety of my brother's 14th birthday reading Deathly Hallows.) The trailers and ads for the last film were traumatizing for many of my generation, boldly emblazoned with the tagline "IT ALL ENDS." I refused to watch trailers that included those words, because I refused to face the idea of the end before I was sitting in a movie theatre at midnight on July 15th. But the thing is, it hasn't ended. A lot of people have treated this final movie as the end of an era. In some ways, that's what I've been writing about - it's the end of the the anticipation. But people seem to ignore the fact that these books came into existence for three or four years before the first film existed. The Potter legacy extends beyond the ten years of films. This is the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
Harry Potter will only truly be gone when none here are loyal to him.
Mischief Managed.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Too Fast For Love
I am starting to believe I only like bands that are older than I am (or would be if they were still kicking).
Tuesday night I went to the Motley Crue/Poison/New York Dolls show in St. Louis and it was undeniably the most epic thing I have ever experienced. NYD rocked while it was still light out. Bret Michaels ran around like he was still 25. As I've mentioned, "Talk Dirty to Me" is one of the most played songs in my iTunes, but the real draw was of course the masters of metal, Motley Crue. And let me just say, the gods were with my friend Brianna and I - we had scored lawn seats for like $16 that magically got upgraded to (only mildly shitty) seats, and then twenty minutes into the NYD set, we moved closer to the stage and closer to center... And stayed there the rest of the night, with no seats in front of us (meaning no tall people to block our view of any epic moment of the next three hours).
And then in the middle of some song playing over the speakers (possibly Guns 'n' Roses, I can't remember), the house lights go out, the stage explodes, the scrim is gone, and Motley Crue is playing "Wild Side," and it's the loudest thing I have ever fucking heard. There's fog. There's fire. There's Vince Niel. In silver pants. Mick Mars is hiding under sunglasses and a top hat and standing in a corner... and there's Nikki Sixx, in a long coat and something with silver sequins.
The "Glam-A-Gaddeon" Tour is celebrating Motley's 30th anniversary... This band was making music for almost ten years before I was born. (Nikki Sixx was born the same year as my mom...) I honestly didn't become a huge Motley fan until recently, but when I like something, I like it right, and therefore was obsessed by the time I got to the show. And how can you not be when this happens:
It's fire. Fire. Everywhere. (And again I'm pretty sure that's Nikki's silhouette.) Poison had some pyro, but it looked like kid stuff compared to the flames and fireworks that the Crue threw at us.
This photo I include purely in honor of the woman standing a few rows behind us who wouldn't stop shouting "Tommy Lee!" and was also drunk enough to not realize that Motley played "Shout at the Devil" pretty early in their set, so she kept shouting "Shout at the Devil!" too.
This picture would have been a lot more epic about ten seconds earlier, but as the night wore on some fucker decided he would occasionally come stand in front of me to take pictures. And he was probably three times my weight, so I just leaned around him.
The Crue show was directed and choreographed and designed like nobody's business. Media, Tommy Lee's drum kit, flashing signs, a shadow box... So I got inspired to get a little artsy myself and the lighting designer came out in me... I LOVE backlight, it's incredibly theatrical and dramatic, and in this case makes the night look about as amazing as it felt. Fuck yeah.
Tuesday night I went to the Motley Crue/Poison/New York Dolls show in St. Louis and it was undeniably the most epic thing I have ever experienced. NYD rocked while it was still light out. Bret Michaels ran around like he was still 25. As I've mentioned, "Talk Dirty to Me" is one of the most played songs in my iTunes, but the real draw was of course the masters of metal, Motley Crue. And let me just say, the gods were with my friend Brianna and I - we had scored lawn seats for like $16 that magically got upgraded to (only mildly shitty) seats, and then twenty minutes into the NYD set, we moved closer to the stage and closer to center... And stayed there the rest of the night, with no seats in front of us (meaning no tall people to block our view of any epic moment of the next three hours).Changeover from Poison's set was so epic that they threw up a scrim to hide the action:
And then in the middle of some song playing over the speakers (possibly Guns 'n' Roses, I can't remember), the house lights go out, the stage explodes, the scrim is gone, and Motley Crue is playing "Wild Side," and it's the loudest thing I have ever fucking heard. There's fog. There's fire. There's Vince Niel. In silver pants. Mick Mars is hiding under sunglasses and a top hat and standing in a corner... and there's Nikki Sixx, in a long coat and something with silver sequins.
This wasn't their first song, but the lighting was too epic to handle. That's Nikki down on the left.
The "Glam-A-Gaddeon" Tour is celebrating Motley's 30th anniversary... This band was making music for almost ten years before I was born. (Nikki Sixx was born the same year as my mom...) I honestly didn't become a huge Motley fan until recently, but when I like something, I like it right, and therefore was obsessed by the time I got to the show. And how can you not be when this happens:
It's fire. Fire. Everywhere. (And again I'm pretty sure that's Nikki's silhouette.) Poison had some pyro, but it looked like kid stuff compared to the flames and fireworks that the Crue threw at us.
They had blackouts between most of their songs, but they can even make darkness look epic:
This photo I include purely in honor of the woman standing a few rows behind us who wouldn't stop shouting "Tommy Lee!" and was also drunk enough to not realize that Motley played "Shout at the Devil" pretty early in their set, so she kept shouting "Shout at the Devil!" too.
This picture would have been a lot more epic about ten seconds earlier, but as the night wore on some fucker decided he would occasionally come stand in front of me to take pictures. And he was probably three times my weight, so I just leaned around him.
Nikki being intense:
"Home Sweet Home" was really epic live. And made me like the recording better, and gain a little more respect for ballads:
If Nikki mother-fucking Sixx tells you to sit the fuck down, you do.
The Crue show was directed and choreographed and designed like nobody's business. Media, Tommy Lee's drum kit, flashing signs, a shadow box... So I got inspired to get a little artsy myself and the lighting designer came out in me... I LOVE backlight, it's incredibly theatrical and dramatic, and in this case makes the night look about as amazing as it felt. Fuck yeah.Things that are EPIC: Everything about Motley Crue:
They played (in no particular order) "Dr. Feelgood." "Shout at the Devil." "Too Fast for Love." "Saints of Los Angeles" "Girls, Girls, Girls,""Wild Side," "Ten Seconds to Love" "Home Sweet Home" "Smokin' in the Boys Room" "Looks that Kill" (one of my faves) and closed with "Kickstart my Heart." They only missed about two songs I wish they had played, and gracefully glossed over their '90s releases that I don't love as much as Dr. Feelgood or Saints of Los Angeles, which, though recorded 20 years apart, are equally kickass.
I rocked so hard I thought my legs were going to fall off on the way to the car and my arms wouldn't be able to get me into it. We got back from the show a little over 24 hours ago (it took over an hour just to get out of the parking lot) and I'm still on a metal high. My hearing is probably going to get back to normal right around next Friday, when I hope to be at the Tour stop in Chicago. Until then...
Rock like there's no tomorrow.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Potter and More
I am unapologetically pretentious when it comes Harry Potter. I am aware of this fact. That is my only disclaimer to the rest of this post.
I went on one of my occasional requesting sprees through the library catalog a few days ago, and as a result today picked up six books and three films. Three of the books have come to resume my study of books about Harry Potter. I haven't read more than the back cover/inside flap/first page of the introduction to any of these books, but I still find them all a little insufferable. As I've said before, most of these books were published in the 2000-2002 era, in the unprecedentedly long lull between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, when JKR was busy getting married and having a baby, in addition to writing her longest installment yet. This obviously means that a lot of Potter analysis is missing (the more significant) half of the story. This is not the biggest issue I have, however; I don't fault people for not knowing information that didn't exist publicly yet. When you're writing about pop culture, your work becomes dated pretty fast.
The problem I face is that before I've read a word of what these people have to say, I feel like I know more than them. They weren't eight years old when Harry got his first letter from Hogwarts, or eleven when we first watched eleven-year-old Harry enter the Hogwarts we had only dreamed about, or seventeen when seventeen-year-old Harry left school and almost everyone he loved to destroy the most evil wizard who ever lived. While anyone born before probably 1993 will be able to remember the development of the series, its explosion into film, midnight releases, and Potter parties, there is only a very small window of my generation that truly grew up with our beloved Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
I feel extremely lucky to be a part of the probably five (maybe seven or eight) year window of kids (now young adults) who got to be young enough to experience magic and wonder but also old enough to realize that this was a big deal, that this was changing our culture and our world and especially (at least in my case) our individual lives. I of course have memories from before I turned eight, but I have a hard time recalling what life in general was like before I started obsessively reading and rereading every word J.K. Rowling put in front of me, desperately waiting for the newest moment in the story. And these experiences, I know, are a rare privilege. But, like I've said, they've also given me a serious superiority complex about anything and everything Potter related. I'm pretty sure I've reached a level of fanaticism that (despite my *I think* articulateness about the whole thing) means I mostly have to hold my tongue in Harry-related conversations. Once I start, talking about Harry Potter becomes an involuntary bodily function.
I was out tonight and someone said J.K. Rowling would probably basically fall off the face of the earth about five minutes after the final film is released in July (less than a month, God help me), and then would resurface again eventually once she started missing being famous. I thought pretty much everything about this statement was wrong, but didn't think it important to start an argument about JKR's dislike of fame or the staying power of Potter and the inevitable notoriety that will probably always glow around JKR, even if she's not always recognized in the street.
Today I found out about Pottermore. As usual, J.K Rowling has something up her sleeve and, because she knows people like me will hang on to anything she gives us, she's dangling an empty website at us. I can practically feel her cheshire cat grin upon creating the site and announcing that something new is coming. We'll find out on Thursday, around 2 am Eastern time, according to the taunting countdown on youtube. Right now we don't even know what we're counting down to, but Potter fans are excited. Very. Excited. Maybe it's the encyclopedia of lore. Perhaps a new RPG. Whatever it is, Pottermore is sure to not disappoint, and I'm counting down the days, hours, and minutes. (Incidentally, I'll be in St. Louis visiting a friend when this news breaks, and we'll just be getting back from a Motley Crue/Poison/New York Dolls concert. It's going to be an extremely intense night all around.)
5 days. 5 hours. 17 minutes. 17 seconds.
I went on one of my occasional requesting sprees through the library catalog a few days ago, and as a result today picked up six books and three films. Three of the books have come to resume my study of books about Harry Potter. I haven't read more than the back cover/inside flap/first page of the introduction to any of these books, but I still find them all a little insufferable. As I've said before, most of these books were published in the 2000-2002 era, in the unprecedentedly long lull between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, when JKR was busy getting married and having a baby, in addition to writing her longest installment yet. This obviously means that a lot of Potter analysis is missing (the more significant) half of the story. This is not the biggest issue I have, however; I don't fault people for not knowing information that didn't exist publicly yet. When you're writing about pop culture, your work becomes dated pretty fast.
The problem I face is that before I've read a word of what these people have to say, I feel like I know more than them. They weren't eight years old when Harry got his first letter from Hogwarts, or eleven when we first watched eleven-year-old Harry enter the Hogwarts we had only dreamed about, or seventeen when seventeen-year-old Harry left school and almost everyone he loved to destroy the most evil wizard who ever lived. While anyone born before probably 1993 will be able to remember the development of the series, its explosion into film, midnight releases, and Potter parties, there is only a very small window of my generation that truly grew up with our beloved Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
I feel extremely lucky to be a part of the probably five (maybe seven or eight) year window of kids (now young adults) who got to be young enough to experience magic and wonder but also old enough to realize that this was a big deal, that this was changing our culture and our world and especially (at least in my case) our individual lives. I of course have memories from before I turned eight, but I have a hard time recalling what life in general was like before I started obsessively reading and rereading every word J.K. Rowling put in front of me, desperately waiting for the newest moment in the story. And these experiences, I know, are a rare privilege. But, like I've said, they've also given me a serious superiority complex about anything and everything Potter related. I'm pretty sure I've reached a level of fanaticism that (despite my *I think* articulateness about the whole thing) means I mostly have to hold my tongue in Harry-related conversations. Once I start, talking about Harry Potter becomes an involuntary bodily function.
I was out tonight and someone said J.K. Rowling would probably basically fall off the face of the earth about five minutes after the final film is released in July (less than a month, God help me), and then would resurface again eventually once she started missing being famous. I thought pretty much everything about this statement was wrong, but didn't think it important to start an argument about JKR's dislike of fame or the staying power of Potter and the inevitable notoriety that will probably always glow around JKR, even if she's not always recognized in the street.
Today I found out about Pottermore. As usual, J.K Rowling has something up her sleeve and, because she knows people like me will hang on to anything she gives us, she's dangling an empty website at us. I can practically feel her cheshire cat grin upon creating the site and announcing that something new is coming. We'll find out on Thursday, around 2 am Eastern time, according to the taunting countdown on youtube. Right now we don't even know what we're counting down to, but Potter fans are excited. Very. Excited. Maybe it's the encyclopedia of lore. Perhaps a new RPG. Whatever it is, Pottermore is sure to not disappoint, and I'm counting down the days, hours, and minutes. (Incidentally, I'll be in St. Louis visiting a friend when this news breaks, and we'll just be getting back from a Motley Crue/Poison/New York Dolls concert. It's going to be an extremely intense night all around.)
5 days. 5 hours. 17 minutes. 17 seconds.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Enough
"It is the artist's responsibility to balance mystical communication and the labor of creation." - Patti Smith
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Commencement
Three years ago, I wrote a post about packing up all my remaining school stuff into a cardboard box. Putting thirteen years of education and accomplishment into one tiny space. And I was freaking out about being able to reduce all my hard work to that. I wondered what it meant that everything which seemed to be important was so small.
I don't know that I could, from the future, tell my past self anything about the size of accomplishments, or qualm fears about the meaninglessness of being left with nothing but a box to show for thirteen years of work and life. But what I can say now is that what we do in life is a lot bigger than what lives on paper as some singular record of what we've done.
There's no way to put what we learn in a box. There's no way to put the value of friendship into a box, or onto a piece of paper with a grade or an award. College has widened my vision so far beyond paper.
I thought about that when I looked at my brother's diploma - or rather his diploma cover. IMSA did the same thing my high school did, which is at the ceremony you get handed the fancy-looking embossed cover for your diploma, but the diploma gets mailed to your house later. After they've made sure you're not going to fuck anything up and they know for sure they're not revoking your right to graduate or whatever. So even in this big, supposedly important ceremony, this great symbol of accomplishment is false. The piece of paper (that you don't even have yet) means very little.
Next year I'll graduate from NYU. I'll get a diploma that says I went to Tisch School of the Arts and, if things continue on their current course, it'll say I graduated with honors. But there's no way to fit onto that piece of paper all the achievements of anyone who graduates from Playwrights, or any other truly unique and rigorous and holistic intensive program. So I don't care much for paper. I have three manila envelopes full of all of my awards from my time in school before college. I never look at them, and to be honest the perfect attendance ones mean more than the ones for straight A's, because that's what was harder. My name on any letter-sized piece of paper (or I guess any size) could mean something if I wanted it to.
In the last couple days I was at my brother's graduation from the Illinois Math and Science Academy as well as the senior banquet the night before. They constantly referred to "the best students in the state," and I would get momentarily disgruntled each time because I felt like I was being written off just because I chose to go to my regular public high school, as if that meant I wasn't smart. But then I reminded myself I go to one of the top universities in the country; I accumulated 28 points of college credit by the time I graduated high school. I may not be able to do half the math my brother can at this point, but I can write circles around most people, and I have a love of history and sometimes even an interest in biology. Not going to IMSA allowed me to continue to work at the local equity theatre where I learned a ton of skills I could never have learned in school. I think I've turned out fine.
I'm extremely proud of my brother. He's done a lot in his years at IMSA, and he even got an A in his English class this semester - which happened to be "Modern Theatre" (and involved seeing As You Like It at Chicago Shakespeare, for some reason, so I'm not sure what we're calling "modern"). I can't wait to see what he ends up doing in life. He's going to love college. My little brother is going to college?! 21 shouldn't feel this old.
I don't know that I could, from the future, tell my past self anything about the size of accomplishments, or qualm fears about the meaninglessness of being left with nothing but a box to show for thirteen years of work and life. But what I can say now is that what we do in life is a lot bigger than what lives on paper as some singular record of what we've done.
There's no way to put what we learn in a box. There's no way to put the value of friendship into a box, or onto a piece of paper with a grade or an award. College has widened my vision so far beyond paper.
I thought about that when I looked at my brother's diploma - or rather his diploma cover. IMSA did the same thing my high school did, which is at the ceremony you get handed the fancy-looking embossed cover for your diploma, but the diploma gets mailed to your house later. After they've made sure you're not going to fuck anything up and they know for sure they're not revoking your right to graduate or whatever. So even in this big, supposedly important ceremony, this great symbol of accomplishment is false. The piece of paper (that you don't even have yet) means very little.
Next year I'll graduate from NYU. I'll get a diploma that says I went to Tisch School of the Arts and, if things continue on their current course, it'll say I graduated with honors. But there's no way to fit onto that piece of paper all the achievements of anyone who graduates from Playwrights, or any other truly unique and rigorous and holistic intensive program. So I don't care much for paper. I have three manila envelopes full of all of my awards from my time in school before college. I never look at them, and to be honest the perfect attendance ones mean more than the ones for straight A's, because that's what was harder. My name on any letter-sized piece of paper (or I guess any size) could mean something if I wanted it to.
In the last couple days I was at my brother's graduation from the Illinois Math and Science Academy as well as the senior banquet the night before. They constantly referred to "the best students in the state," and I would get momentarily disgruntled each time because I felt like I was being written off just because I chose to go to my regular public high school, as if that meant I wasn't smart. But then I reminded myself I go to one of the top universities in the country; I accumulated 28 points of college credit by the time I graduated high school. I may not be able to do half the math my brother can at this point, but I can write circles around most people, and I have a love of history and sometimes even an interest in biology. Not going to IMSA allowed me to continue to work at the local equity theatre where I learned a ton of skills I could never have learned in school. I think I've turned out fine.
I'm extremely proud of my brother. He's done a lot in his years at IMSA, and he even got an A in his English class this semester - which happened to be "Modern Theatre" (and involved seeing As You Like It at Chicago Shakespeare, for some reason, so I'm not sure what we're calling "modern"). I can't wait to see what he ends up doing in life. He's going to love college. My little brother is going to college?! 21 shouldn't feel this old.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Nevermind, Girls
I just realized today that I have probably always thought never mind was one word because of Nirvana. I'm currently listening to their 1991 release, Nevermind, which I have never actually listened to in its entirety. The only Nirvana album I'm actually quite familiar with is Nirvana, a compilation of their greatest hits or best known songs or something, four of which come from Nevermind. I think I listened to it in junior high when I vaguely cared about music (and then in high school I got distracted by theatre or something).
A thunderstorm is currently raging outside my bedroom, rain banging on the windows and sliding down blurry glass. Thunder is rumbling aggressively across the empty fields of Illinois, and I saw a few cracks of lightning earlier. It's a good afternoon for reading, and I just finished a second read of Chuck Klosterman's Fargo Rock City, a book I last read in the summer of 2009 (which, I think, is when I read everything he'd ever written with the exception of his one novel that I read last summer). This time through, I thought more and more about my affinity for 80s rock music - or, more specifically, metal. This genre is slangily and less-than-lovingly referred to as cock rock. The point, which I can't really argue with, is that all the music, and more importantly, the persona, the aesthetic of metal was about getting girls. Lots and lots of girls. Motley Crue in fact released an album entitled Girls, Girls, Girls. (The title song is still played on classic rock stations - at least the ones that lean more towards Van Halen and less towards Bruce Springsteen.)
Anyone who's met me knows I'm a feminist. I don't even really actively try to be, I just am. In the meeting I had with faculty after my first directing project, one of my teachers said it was definitely a "feminist take" on the play. I didn't do that on purpose, it just happened. So logic would dictate that I wouldn't be so into a genre that is almost exclusively about the masculine power to attract sexy playmates (and doing drugs).
But it's my favorite kind of music.
Klosterman argues that metal wasn't really about the song lyrics but the attitude. And while that may still have been about masculine power and attracting fuck buddies, it was also about being loud and fast and 100% whatever you were. Glam metal was the height of the constructed artistic image, but whatever a band was, if they were successful, it was because they were completely and utterly their aesthetic. And in the 80s, fans tended to hate it when their favorite bands strayed from whatever the expected image was. All this tangent is to say is I like loud, I like fast, and I'm all about being 100% whatever you are. That may seem a little off coming from someone who calls herself an actor/designer/director (not always in that order) but I'm 100% invested in doing anything that fulfills me artistically and allows me to create a gift for the audience, as big and bold as possible. I haven't figured out how to totally succeed yet, but I try as best I can.
I don't know much about music. I haven't taken any classes or studied music theory. All I really know about music I've learned from reading Klosterman's books and talking to my musically-oriented friends. Not much of it ever seems to stick, but I know what I like, even if I can't very articulately explain why. Recently I've done a lot of driving by myself in our 1996 used car which got renovated with a pretty decent sound system before we bought it. All week I've been listening to rock music really loudly. Louder than I ever can in my house or my dorm room or when I have headphones actually in my ears, because I sort of need my hearing. Car listening is awesome though, because you can feel the music while cruising down the highway. I don't think you're supposed to amp up the bass when listening to hard rock, but I do, because I went to a high school that only listened to R&B and rap, and I need bass in my system. Music sounds completely different when it's really loud. And I don't just mean it sounds louder. It sounds fiercer, stronger, meaner, more serious.
For the last several years, I've much preferred listening to music from before I was born to anything from the last decade. The first nine most-played songs on my iTunes are all 80s gems, starting with "Cum on Feel the Noize," "Any Way You Want It," and "Talk Dirty to Me." I'm unsure how "Don't Stop Believing" is only at number six. In any case, my musical tastes create the interesting game any time we're on a road trip of trying to find a good rock station as we drive across the country and in and out of range of major cities. Once you get out of range of Chicago, it's hard to find a good station anywhere in Indiana, eastern Ohio, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, Georgia, or northern Florida. There's actually a good rock station that broadcasts out of somewhere near my grandma's house in southern Florida. Stations out of Cleveland and Akron, OH are not bad. The entirety of PA is a disaster because of mountains; we have to find a new station every twenty minutes, inevitably as soon as a Bon Jovi song comes on (which is almost always "Living on a Prayer" or "Wanted Dead or Alive"). Around home we've got the Drive, which is alright, but on the lighter side of "classic rock," and the Loop, which is my station of choice now that Jack FM is gone. Jack played almost exclusively songs I know and love, so of course it became an oldies station sometime between January and March. The Loop plays a fair amount of early 70s stuff I don't know, but also a lot of Pink Floyd, Van Halen, and Poison, so I don't complain.
At some point this all might have been leading to some philosophical point, given that Nirvana isn't even a metal band, but I got distracted by the rain for a while and forgot where I was going. In fact I think I might have even intended to talk about my brother's graduation (another post, I suppose), but maybe I just really wanted to talk about rock music. Probably. My love of major league baseball, specifically the White Sox, and my affinity for glam rock are the only things even slightly out of line with the rest of my personality. And I'll grant that the glam part makes sense. I blame Hedwig, but what else is new?
A thunderstorm is currently raging outside my bedroom, rain banging on the windows and sliding down blurry glass. Thunder is rumbling aggressively across the empty fields of Illinois, and I saw a few cracks of lightning earlier. It's a good afternoon for reading, and I just finished a second read of Chuck Klosterman's Fargo Rock City, a book I last read in the summer of 2009 (which, I think, is when I read everything he'd ever written with the exception of his one novel that I read last summer). This time through, I thought more and more about my affinity for 80s rock music - or, more specifically, metal. This genre is slangily and less-than-lovingly referred to as cock rock. The point, which I can't really argue with, is that all the music, and more importantly, the persona, the aesthetic of metal was about getting girls. Lots and lots of girls. Motley Crue in fact released an album entitled Girls, Girls, Girls. (The title song is still played on classic rock stations - at least the ones that lean more towards Van Halen and less towards Bruce Springsteen.)
Anyone who's met me knows I'm a feminist. I don't even really actively try to be, I just am. In the meeting I had with faculty after my first directing project, one of my teachers said it was definitely a "feminist take" on the play. I didn't do that on purpose, it just happened. So logic would dictate that I wouldn't be so into a genre that is almost exclusively about the masculine power to attract sexy playmates (and doing drugs).
But it's my favorite kind of music.
Klosterman argues that metal wasn't really about the song lyrics but the attitude. And while that may still have been about masculine power and attracting fuck buddies, it was also about being loud and fast and 100% whatever you were. Glam metal was the height of the constructed artistic image, but whatever a band was, if they were successful, it was because they were completely and utterly their aesthetic. And in the 80s, fans tended to hate it when their favorite bands strayed from whatever the expected image was. All this tangent is to say is I like loud, I like fast, and I'm all about being 100% whatever you are. That may seem a little off coming from someone who calls herself an actor/designer/director (not always in that order) but I'm 100% invested in doing anything that fulfills me artistically and allows me to create a gift for the audience, as big and bold as possible. I haven't figured out how to totally succeed yet, but I try as best I can.
I don't know much about music. I haven't taken any classes or studied music theory. All I really know about music I've learned from reading Klosterman's books and talking to my musically-oriented friends. Not much of it ever seems to stick, but I know what I like, even if I can't very articulately explain why. Recently I've done a lot of driving by myself in our 1996 used car which got renovated with a pretty decent sound system before we bought it. All week I've been listening to rock music really loudly. Louder than I ever can in my house or my dorm room or when I have headphones actually in my ears, because I sort of need my hearing. Car listening is awesome though, because you can feel the music while cruising down the highway. I don't think you're supposed to amp up the bass when listening to hard rock, but I do, because I went to a high school that only listened to R&B and rap, and I need bass in my system. Music sounds completely different when it's really loud. And I don't just mean it sounds louder. It sounds fiercer, stronger, meaner, more serious.
For the last several years, I've much preferred listening to music from before I was born to anything from the last decade. The first nine most-played songs on my iTunes are all 80s gems, starting with "Cum on Feel the Noize," "Any Way You Want It," and "Talk Dirty to Me." I'm unsure how "Don't Stop Believing" is only at number six. In any case, my musical tastes create the interesting game any time we're on a road trip of trying to find a good rock station as we drive across the country and in and out of range of major cities. Once you get out of range of Chicago, it's hard to find a good station anywhere in Indiana, eastern Ohio, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, Georgia, or northern Florida. There's actually a good rock station that broadcasts out of somewhere near my grandma's house in southern Florida. Stations out of Cleveland and Akron, OH are not bad. The entirety of PA is a disaster because of mountains; we have to find a new station every twenty minutes, inevitably as soon as a Bon Jovi song comes on (which is almost always "Living on a Prayer" or "Wanted Dead or Alive"). Around home we've got the Drive, which is alright, but on the lighter side of "classic rock," and the Loop, which is my station of choice now that Jack FM is gone. Jack played almost exclusively songs I know and love, so of course it became an oldies station sometime between January and March. The Loop plays a fair amount of early 70s stuff I don't know, but also a lot of Pink Floyd, Van Halen, and Poison, so I don't complain.
At some point this all might have been leading to some philosophical point, given that Nirvana isn't even a metal band, but I got distracted by the rain for a while and forgot where I was going. In fact I think I might have even intended to talk about my brother's graduation (another post, I suppose), but maybe I just really wanted to talk about rock music. Probably. My love of major league baseball, specifically the White Sox, and my affinity for glam rock are the only things even slightly out of line with the rest of my personality. And I'll grant that the glam part makes sense. I blame Hedwig, but what else is new?
Monday, May 30, 2011
Memorial
When I was 16, I did a summer production of A Midsummer Night's Dream at the theatre I'd been working at for several years. Every year the theatre does an outdoor Shakespeare production on the stage of the downtown green/lawn, which happens to be right outside the theatre. The production was fine, I had a good time, met some nice people, and worked on my first Shakespeare play. But I had no way of knowing at this time that I would meet one of the most influential people in my life, my (former) best friend, Jack.
The rest of that story is for another post. The point is that Jack was five years older than me, and for the first time I was extremely close to someone who was not either significantly older than me or still in high school. We hung out almost every day all summer. One day in September my mom and I went to a reading of a play about the NYC firefighters on 9/11. It talked about the many men and women who had died, and particularly several young men in their late teens and early twenties. I became severely distraught at the idea of losing my best friend who was only 21. The idea of the death of young people suddenly became a very personal possible reality.
Shortly after my 17th birthday my friendship with Jack abruptly and painfully ended. That whole event is for the next post, but over the last four years I have thought of Jack often. I would hear a blurb on the news about some twenty-something who died overseas fighting for our country. My senior year of high school I switched to a different church, and every Sunday they read from the Book of the People the names and ages of those who have died in service in the last week. Most of them are between 20 and 30 years old. I always thought about Jack when I heard those names and, after graduation, about the several classmates I knew were joining the military.
Yesterday I went to service at that church for the first time in probably almost a year. They read from the Book of the People as always, and while I thought about those people as always, and Jack, who is now 26, I also realized that now I am 21, I am as old as Jack was when I met him, I am old enough to be those people who died in combat. And I prayed for the families of those who lost their sons so young, and thanked God for all those he keeps safe, and hoped that Jack is still alive, wherever he is.
The rest of that story is for another post. The point is that Jack was five years older than me, and for the first time I was extremely close to someone who was not either significantly older than me or still in high school. We hung out almost every day all summer. One day in September my mom and I went to a reading of a play about the NYC firefighters on 9/11. It talked about the many men and women who had died, and particularly several young men in their late teens and early twenties. I became severely distraught at the idea of losing my best friend who was only 21. The idea of the death of young people suddenly became a very personal possible reality.
Shortly after my 17th birthday my friendship with Jack abruptly and painfully ended. That whole event is for the next post, but over the last four years I have thought of Jack often. I would hear a blurb on the news about some twenty-something who died overseas fighting for our country. My senior year of high school I switched to a different church, and every Sunday they read from the Book of the People the names and ages of those who have died in service in the last week. Most of them are between 20 and 30 years old. I always thought about Jack when I heard those names and, after graduation, about the several classmates I knew were joining the military.
Yesterday I went to service at that church for the first time in probably almost a year. They read from the Book of the People as always, and while I thought about those people as always, and Jack, who is now 26, I also realized that now I am 21, I am as old as Jack was when I met him, I am old enough to be those people who died in combat. And I prayed for the families of those who lost their sons so young, and thanked God for all those he keeps safe, and hoped that Jack is still alive, wherever he is.
The Lullaby of Broadway
So it's been a while, and I'm home for the summer. Time for a theatre recap and some philosophizing. In the last year, I saw (on or off-Broadway) Abraham Lincoln's Big Gay Dance Party (which was one of the weirdest things I've ever seen, and was trying really hard to be smart, actually, but didn't quite succeed), The Language Archive (which made me cry, though it may not have actually been a great play), The Scottsboro Boys (which still managed to get nominated for 12 Tonys even though it closed in December, because it was that good), Angels In America: Perestroika (which was surprisingly disappointing, Michael Greif), Fela! (which was wonderfully interactive and vibrant and an impressive use of media, actually), Blood From a Stone (where the most interesting thing was Ralph Finnes sitting right behind me in the audience), Rock of Ages (which I had seen twice before, but not in over a year and not since it moved from the Brooks Atkinson to the Helen Hayes, and I still loved it), The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures (which I loved, and will write about later), Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (which was the GAYest thing I've ever seen, and I don't mean that as an insult, just as a fact), The House of Blue Leaves (which I didn't like, though the acting was fine), How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying (which was quite possibly the most fun I've ever had in a theatre), and American Idiot, seven times. Yes, seven, and I'm not going to argue about it. If I ever get my room unpacked there will be a lengthy post about my relationship with the Idiots.
In addition, I saw more student productions at Playwrights/ETW/Tisch than I can count, and many many shows outside of school created by friends/PHTS alumni/etc. Not to mention the 16 shows I worked on as a director/designer/actor this year.
Playwrights often seems to instill a pretentious disdain for Broadway in its students. "We're theatre students, we pay obscene amounts of money to go to art school, and we know more than you and better than Broadway." And... I would probably (inevitably pretentiously) say that that's true. However, I have to confess that I still like going to a Broadway show once in a while. I get excited.
I mentioned somewhat flippantly earlier that How to Succeed was the most fun I've ever had in the theatre. And I mean that. I got to see my first childhood crush (who I've now watched grow up for ten years) singing and dancing right in front of me. And being ridiculous (and ridiculously short) with John Laroquette (who is ridiculously tall). Now, because I go to theatre school and have been well-trained to see harder than most people, I thought about the sets and the costumes and the lights and the sound. I cared about more than just the performances. The collaboration between the set and lighting designers was really smart. The sound drove what the performances were doing. The costumes helped you pay attention to whoever was important when there were something like 30 people on stage. Rob Ashford (the director) made some smart choices to get us on J. Pierrepont's side as he climbs the business ladder without doing any work in a time when people are working their asses off to get by.
Here's the thing. I'm not at all an exclusively Broadway junkie. I still see downtown shows, random things no one has heard of, anything I can get a free ticket to, anything a friend of mine has worked on if I can afford it (which almost without exception I can). But unlike a lot of the better-educated or more-cultured of my classmates, I didn't know about La Mama or The Public or Ellen Stewart or the Belarus Free Theatre before I came to school. Already in these years my horizons even just within New York have expanded immeasurably because every one of my teachers told me there was more than Broadway. I go see everything I can now, even if it's not brilliant, because I know I can learn from it and see new things that do work and things that don't. I went to see Holly Hughes in December and Laurie Anderson over winter break. That would never have happened before PHTS.
But I like Broadway. I do. There is something to be said for reaching an audience of that size. There is something to be said for the bat-shit crazy things Kevin Adams can do because he has a seemingly infinite amount of funds to do so. When my friend Kayla and I saw Priscilla, every time something ridiculous showed up on stage, one of us would lean over and say casually, "Hi, I'd like a flip flop dress, okay, thanks, bye." "Hey lighting designer, could we light the whole house with a disco ball? No? What if it was a REALLY REALLY BIG disco ball. Okay great!" And I don't think that's unfair, or that there's no value in Broadway just because it's commercial. The problem is that the majority of Broadway ticket buyers don't know about or write off off-Broadway (and definitely off-off-Broadway, and theatres that don't have "Broadway" anywhere in their qualifiers) as not as good because they're not as big. And I think that's wrong. Just as there is value in being a product of CAP 21 who will be perfectly castable in the chorus of anything, there is value in being a (minorly confused) actor-director-lighting designer(-stage manager?) who wants to and tries to do everything.
We are who we are.
(This post almost finished, oh, a week ago, but never posted.)
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Te Falto
The words "I miss you" are highly insufficient. Like many things, it's better in Spanish - Te falto means, literally, "You are lacking to me" or "You are absent from me." There's something about the tangible absence when someone's presence is missing. I've found myself saying "I miss you" a lot lately and feeling like people don't really know what I mean. This is a problem with all of those things people say so often just to be polite but only sometimes truly mean, like "Hope all is well" or "We should get coffee soon" or even "I love you."
I'm trying to stop saying things I don't mean, to stop exaggerating so much. Words can be powerful if we really say what we mean. I don't know if it's my generation or this modern society, or if it's always been this way, but I feel like people are so wasteful, not least of all with their words. I think it's more prevalent now that we have so many ways of throwing words around indirectly.
And then there's the fact that I've felt people's absence a lot lately. Even when I've been surrounded by people, in the last month I have felt very lonely. Most of my amazing, intelligent, talented friends seem to have their lives together. They're graduating or making plans for the summer or both, getting apartments, going away for the summer, knowing what they want to do post-school. I don't know what I want to do after school. I don't even know what I'm doing for the summer. I feel more uncertain about my life than almost ever before. I feel uninspired and unmotivated. And I know I'm smart and I know I have talent, but I feel so far behind my friends right now, and that's weird. I'm not sure why it's been such a solitary semester, but it has been, somehow.
This past weekend a childhood friend of mine that I hadn't really seen in a couple years came to visit. It was really odd and wonderful to have someone around who's known me almost my whole life and actually really truly understands that I've been obsessed with Harry Potter since I was eight and in love with Daniel Radcliffe since I was ten, and she knows because she was there. I don't have many friends like that left anymore. I really appreciated her being here this weekend.
I think God is trying to teach me to be okay with being uncomfortable. Which, of course, is not easy. But I'm trying, and fidgeting, and crying, and breathing, and it's going to be okay, eventually, somehow.
I'm trying to stop saying things I don't mean, to stop exaggerating so much. Words can be powerful if we really say what we mean. I don't know if it's my generation or this modern society, or if it's always been this way, but I feel like people are so wasteful, not least of all with their words. I think it's more prevalent now that we have so many ways of throwing words around indirectly.
And then there's the fact that I've felt people's absence a lot lately. Even when I've been surrounded by people, in the last month I have felt very lonely. Most of my amazing, intelligent, talented friends seem to have their lives together. They're graduating or making plans for the summer or both, getting apartments, going away for the summer, knowing what they want to do post-school. I don't know what I want to do after school. I don't even know what I'm doing for the summer. I feel more uncertain about my life than almost ever before. I feel uninspired and unmotivated. And I know I'm smart and I know I have talent, but I feel so far behind my friends right now, and that's weird. I'm not sure why it's been such a solitary semester, but it has been, somehow.
This past weekend a childhood friend of mine that I hadn't really seen in a couple years came to visit. It was really odd and wonderful to have someone around who's known me almost my whole life and actually really truly understands that I've been obsessed with Harry Potter since I was eight and in love with Daniel Radcliffe since I was ten, and she knows because she was there. I don't have many friends like that left anymore. I really appreciated her being here this weekend.
I think God is trying to teach me to be okay with being uncomfortable. Which, of course, is not easy. But I'm trying, and fidgeting, and crying, and breathing, and it's going to be okay, eventually, somehow.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
For Three Years I Was an Only Child
Things that remind me of my brother:
I'm really confused about life.
- Any Black Eyed Peas song from their The E.N.D. album (especially "Imma Be")
- The song "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz or anything having to do with putting your hands up in the air sometimes.
- Beagles
- Baseball (particularly Brent Lillibridge of the Chicago White Sox, and the Cubs in general)
- Nerdy math jokes
- Pokemon
- A lot of other things
I'm really confused about life.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Love
Love is the most important thing. It's done for love for love for love. Keep loving keep loving keep loving. It's not a question or a request it's a truth.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
101 Dalmations
My last post was my 100th, making this 101. Thinking about 101 Dalmations, which I watched as a kid so many times that the VHS TAPE (yeah, cause I'm old now) started to have trouble playing in spots. This also started to happen with my obc RENT cd's, but fortunately mp3s came along just in time for me to turn La Vie Boheme digital before the cd could crap out completely. I love things to exhaustion.
Been prone to bouts of loneliness lately. I think it means I'm not working on enough things. If I have that much time to be alone and think about being alone, I don't have enough work to do. And really, I'm only doing three shows in a longer span of time than I did six in last semester, so it makes sense. I need more things to do. My brain is starting to waste time on emotions that aren't helpful. Also should not solve problems by drinking alcohol. Let's not downward spiral like this time last year. No need for it. Must find more work.
I love things to exhaustion.
Been prone to bouts of loneliness lately. I think it means I'm not working on enough things. If I have that much time to be alone and think about being alone, I don't have enough work to do. And really, I'm only doing three shows in a longer span of time than I did six in last semester, so it makes sense. I need more things to do. My brain is starting to waste time on emotions that aren't helpful. Also should not solve problems by drinking alcohol. Let's not downward spiral like this time last year. No need for it. Must find more work.
I love things to exhaustion.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The World
"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy the world. The bird flies to god."
Eggs are tough.
So many fascinating things happening in life. Trying to figure out what I'm doing with my summer, or the rest of the semester, or the rest of the day. Not working on enough shows and getting totally lost in my Early History of God class. How do people do real college all the time?
My brain is moving in slow motion, which is driving me nuts. I prefer hyperspeed. Not sure if that's a generational thing or a me thing, or both.
I can't remember where this was going. More later. I'll be home in about 36 hours.
Hello, March.
Eggs are tough.
So many fascinating things happening in life. Trying to figure out what I'm doing with my summer, or the rest of the semester, or the rest of the day. Not working on enough shows and getting totally lost in my Early History of God class. How do people do real college all the time?
My brain is moving in slow motion, which is driving me nuts. I prefer hyperspeed. Not sure if that's a generational thing or a me thing, or both.
I can't remember where this was going. More later. I'll be home in about 36 hours.
Hello, March.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Real Life
I volunteered to usher last minute at a play at The Rattlestick last night. Ushers are called an hour before curtain, and house doesn't open until half hour, so I mostly spent half an hour sitting in the theatre (because it's in a west village brownstone and there is no lobby) watching the crew/team set up. This play is the third in a trilogy and on Saturdays and Sundays they run all three in repertory, and thus have to changeover between each play. I could easily pick out the SM and ASM, the hair/make-up person, a couple crew members, actors, the house manager, and the director (who was there, I imagine, because they just opened this past week or so). It was remarkably akin to what long days at Playwrights are like during tech/performance runs. I'm not sure if it's comforting or not to know that the "real world" is not that different from what we're doing in school on a daily basis. I kept hearing things the team were saying in passing, and kind of sheepishly nodding my head in a knowing way - yeah, I know changeover sucks. Yeah, I know that's got to be perfectly clean and the angle's got to be just right, and we don't want to see that part of the blanket yet. So, on the one hand, I'm clearly being very well trained to deal with what making theatre off-off Broadway will be like, which is encouraging. I have the tools I need. (Classes at this point are really more reminders of our first three semesters than they are new ideas, for the most part.) On the other hand, it's a little discouraging to know I'll be dealing with the same crap out of school that I have to deal with now. There's not enough gaff tape. That light keeps getting knocked out of focus. Why are all those lights coming on instead of just that one? CHANGEOVER. Ah well. I'll take the blessing of the education and just use it to make good art the best way I can.
So then the audience came in, and then the play happened. I think I was sitting next to a critic from The New Yorker. I peeked at a few of his notes, curious what he thought since there were several moments when he seemed particularly intrigued, but also several moments when he was bored. This was an Adam Rapp play, and I know his work rather well at this point - there was a phase in my life where I read every play and novel of his I could get my hands on. (These haven't been published before.) I know his writing style, and he grew up about fifteen minutes from where I live, so he often makes references to things I know well, like towns and highways and such that I grew up with. I know there will probably be nudity, ineffectual women, sexually frustrated men, and more than likely excessive bodily fluids behaving badly. (All of the above were present in this play, as they are in almost every one of his plays.)
When it was over, I thought about what I could say to Adam about his play - he was in the audience. "Great work, Mr. Rapp, I really like your writing." Well, that is far less true now than it used to be. He needs to figure out how to deal with women in real life or stop writing them in his plays. And even though they are not all the same play, there is much about his style that is predictable.
"Well done, Mr. Rapp." Fine, but he hears that all the time, so why do I need to say it?
"Why did you write this play?" He would probably just glare at me. He's really antisocial and doesn't like talking.
"I once wrote you a letter; I've been interested in your work for a long time." Most likely would just be awkward.
I mean, if I had Adam Rapp to myself for an hour or two, I would have plenty of intelligent, in-depth questions to ask. There are all sorts of stylistic things we could talk about, or we could talk about the south suburbs of Chicago, or about the challenges of writing plays that don't change location, which he likes to do a lot. We would not talk about his brother, even though that's the reason I started reading his plays in the first place. I have questions about what he thinks about the world and the future (well, less so after the play last night). Just like big questions about life. But I had nothing of consequence to say in the moment when I could have said something. Perhaps a certain teacher of mine would be proud I no longer have to talk anytime the opportunity presents itself. Ooohhh, more growth. Lalala, school works, or something...
So then the audience came in, and then the play happened. I think I was sitting next to a critic from The New Yorker. I peeked at a few of his notes, curious what he thought since there were several moments when he seemed particularly intrigued, but also several moments when he was bored. This was an Adam Rapp play, and I know his work rather well at this point - there was a phase in my life where I read every play and novel of his I could get my hands on. (These haven't been published before.) I know his writing style, and he grew up about fifteen minutes from where I live, so he often makes references to things I know well, like towns and highways and such that I grew up with. I know there will probably be nudity, ineffectual women, sexually frustrated men, and more than likely excessive bodily fluids behaving badly. (All of the above were present in this play, as they are in almost every one of his plays.)
When it was over, I thought about what I could say to Adam about his play - he was in the audience. "Great work, Mr. Rapp, I really like your writing." Well, that is far less true now than it used to be. He needs to figure out how to deal with women in real life or stop writing them in his plays. And even though they are not all the same play, there is much about his style that is predictable.
"Well done, Mr. Rapp." Fine, but he hears that all the time, so why do I need to say it?
"Why did you write this play?" He would probably just glare at me. He's really antisocial and doesn't like talking.
"I once wrote you a letter; I've been interested in your work for a long time." Most likely would just be awkward.
I mean, if I had Adam Rapp to myself for an hour or two, I would have plenty of intelligent, in-depth questions to ask. There are all sorts of stylistic things we could talk about, or we could talk about the south suburbs of Chicago, or about the challenges of writing plays that don't change location, which he likes to do a lot. We would not talk about his brother, even though that's the reason I started reading his plays in the first place. I have questions about what he thinks about the world and the future (well, less so after the play last night). Just like big questions about life. But I had nothing of consequence to say in the moment when I could have said something. Perhaps a certain teacher of mine would be proud I no longer have to talk anytime the opportunity presents itself. Ooohhh, more growth. Lalala, school works, or something...
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Birth, the Beginning of Mother Issues
Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly? Why did the knees prevent me? or why the breasts that I should suck? For now should I have lain still and been quiet, I should have slept: then had I been at rest, With kings and counsellers of the earth, which built desolate places for themselves; Or with princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver: Or as an hidden untimely birth I had not been; as infants which never saw light. There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor. The small and great are there; and the servant is free from his master. Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul; Which long for death, but it cometh not; and dig for it more than for hid treasures; Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad, when they can find the grave? Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?Job 3:11-23
Words
Eskimos have a lot of words for snow.
I think if we made up a language, Playwrights kids would have a lot of words for sleep deprivation, while rest/sleep/nap etc. would all be one word. Design and collaboration would probably also have several words. There would be a word for that feeling you get when you're still up working on your (as an example) design homework at 3 am and have rehearsal for your directing scene at 8:30.
Language is a curious thing. I've been thinking a lot about Judith Butler and theories of the construction of gender and how our language has forced it into a coded binary that doesn't effectively describe our reality. What is reality beyond language? Performance beyond language? Oh wait, I wrote a sermon about this... it's religion, and it's theatre, and they're quite alike.
I think if we made up a language, Playwrights kids would have a lot of words for sleep deprivation, while rest/sleep/nap etc. would all be one word. Design and collaboration would probably also have several words. There would be a word for that feeling you get when you're still up working on your (as an example) design homework at 3 am and have rehearsal for your directing scene at 8:30.
Language is a curious thing. I've been thinking a lot about Judith Butler and theories of the construction of gender and how our language has forced it into a coded binary that doesn't effectively describe our reality. What is reality beyond language? Performance beyond language? Oh wait, I wrote a sermon about this... it's religion, and it's theatre, and they're quite alike.
Embarrassment
I still can't spell embarrassment correctly on the first try. It's always missing a letter. Anyway.
Anne Bogart (I want to spell her last name with two g's so badly.) is a genius goddess.
Here I am, trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life, or even just my play (I guess they're really the same thing), and in waltzes Anne with all the answers and understandings.
Anne Bogart (I want to spell her last name with two g's so badly.) is a genius goddess.
Here I am, trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life, or even just my play (I guess they're really the same thing), and in waltzes Anne with all the answers and understandings.
When you grapple with something that is just out of your reach, you find yourself entangled in something that you haven't yet mastered.Also,
If I adopt the attitude that the project is an adventure larger than anything I might imagine, an entity that will challenge me to find an instinctual path through it, the project will be allowed its proper magnitude.Oh and,
A director cannot hide from an audience because intentions are always visible, palpable... You must have a reason to do what it is you do because these reasons are felt by anyone who comes in contact with your work. It matters how you treat people, how you take responsibility in a crisis, what values you develop, your politics, what you read, how you speak and even which words you choose.There are several more. But I shall temper myself with that for now, because I now need to figure out what I'm doing in my rehearsal for class tomorrow... Lalala can't I just do my play? (Also, can it be set in the 80's? I mean, it kind of can. And I kind of want to kind of set it in an anachronistic 80s. Yeah? Okay.)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Searching
It has something to do with leaving home and finding home somewhere else. It has something to do with getting away from the familiar, and allowing the familiar to become unfamiliar. Coming home and realizing all your high school friends are gone, that that life is gone. That your relationship to your parents has changed. That the kid you were when you left has gone through a death too. What if the ghost is the journeyor's former self? When we leave home, do we leave parts of ourselves behind?
"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God." - Demian, Herman Hesse
That's probably relevant. It seems it always is, in my life.
"...for by acting the god, by presenting his external form, he becomes the god, the form fills with its content, and as the god he performs the acts that fulfill the divine will with all its beneficent results for the community." - The Treasures of Darkness, Thorklid Jakobsen
That also has something to do with it.
Figuring it out, a little at a time.
"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God." - Demian, Herman Hesse
That's probably relevant. It seems it always is, in my life.
"...for by acting the god, by presenting his external form, he becomes the god, the form fills with its content, and as the god he performs the acts that fulfill the divine will with all its beneficent results for the community." - The Treasures of Darkness, Thorklid Jakobsen
That also has something to do with it.
Figuring it out, a little at a time.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Immediacy
Sometimes things that are taken forgranted by my generation baffle me.
This comes to mind today particularly because of Christina Aguilerra and the Super Bowl. No one was watching the Super Bowl in my room, but thanks to Facebook, my roommate found out about Christina's national anthem flub pretty immediately. And then, thanks to youtube, before the game was even over, she was able to watch the embarrassing moment online. (As I type this post, my roommate is talking about how she can't believe it happened.)
There is no margin of error anymore. There is no room to make a mistake. What perhaps might have once been a small newspaper article that got half-read by the types who read newspapers became immediately accessible to pretty much anyone who has the internet. How do people survive the public eye? I have no idea.
This comes to mind today particularly because of Christina Aguilerra and the Super Bowl. No one was watching the Super Bowl in my room, but thanks to Facebook, my roommate found out about Christina's national anthem flub pretty immediately. And then, thanks to youtube, before the game was even over, she was able to watch the embarrassing moment online. (As I type this post, my roommate is talking about how she can't believe it happened.)
There is no margin of error anymore. There is no room to make a mistake. What perhaps might have once been a small newspaper article that got half-read by the types who read newspapers became immediately accessible to pretty much anyone who has the internet. How do people survive the public eye? I have no idea.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
An Ode to Billy Hart
Reasons We Are The Same Person:
1. My entire history at Playwrights Horizons Theatre School, excluding my color group.
2. I am a skilled gift wrapper, and like wrapping gifts.
3. I taught myself piano at a young age.
4. I love Halloween.
5. RENT was my first Broadway musical.
6. I pay for my own vacations that aren't with my family.
7. I half hate those fortunes in fortune cookies that aren't really fortunes, they're random advice.
8. I have concerns about money.
9. I love Johnny Depp movies.
10. I have wanted to be a drag queen for a long time.
11. I like boys more than girls, but I like girls too.
12. I have this one really cool impulse image that I used for a show...
13. I sleep in a ball.
14. I enjoy watching Project Runway and Tabitha's Salon Takeover
15. I LOVE the Amazing Race, and I'm going to run it in 2012.
16. I am a narcissist.
17. I really like the movie "The Little Princess."
18. I don't believe in getting sick.
19. I've been dancing for forever.
20. I'm probably a lot smarter and cooler than you.
Happy birthday, Billy. <3
1. My entire history at Playwrights Horizons Theatre School, excluding my color group.
2. I am a skilled gift wrapper, and like wrapping gifts.
3. I taught myself piano at a young age.
4. I love Halloween.
5. RENT was my first Broadway musical.
6. I pay for my own vacations that aren't with my family.
7. I half hate those fortunes in fortune cookies that aren't really fortunes, they're random advice.
8. I have concerns about money.
9. I love Johnny Depp movies.
10. I have wanted to be a drag queen for a long time.
11. I like boys more than girls, but I like girls too.
12. I have this one really cool impulse image that I used for a show...
13. I sleep in a ball.
14. I enjoy watching Project Runway and Tabitha's Salon Takeover
15. I LOVE the Amazing Race, and I'm going to run it in 2012.
16. I am a narcissist.
17. I really like the movie "The Little Princess."
18. I don't believe in getting sick.
19. I've been dancing for forever.
20. I'm probably a lot smarter and cooler than you.
Happy birthday, Billy. <3
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Live From New York, It's Saturday Night
New York! Saturday night!
And I'm exhausted. I spent more of the day traveling than usual this time, because the cheapest and least inconvenient flight of the day was one that involved a connection through Baltimore. Upon return to my apartment, I was greeted by a full load of laundry I didn't do before I left. I thought about putting it off because I'm tired and don't feel well, but I know I'll never have time to do it later, so I did the laundry. I unpacked. I called customer service to deal with a faulty piece of merchandise from Bed Bath and Beyond.
So I'm not so much partying tonight. Going to sleep. Trying to regain my health before school begins full force on Monday and kicks my ass. (I already have a design meeting tomorrow.)
Not like I can lie around tomorrow, anyway. Gotta get some textbooks, some groceries, fun stuff like that. Woo. Buenas noches.
And I'm exhausted. I spent more of the day traveling than usual this time, because the cheapest and least inconvenient flight of the day was one that involved a connection through Baltimore. Upon return to my apartment, I was greeted by a full load of laundry I didn't do before I left. I thought about putting it off because I'm tired and don't feel well, but I know I'll never have time to do it later, so I did the laundry. I unpacked. I called customer service to deal with a faulty piece of merchandise from Bed Bath and Beyond.
So I'm not so much partying tonight. Going to sleep. Trying to regain my health before school begins full force on Monday and kicks my ass. (I already have a design meeting tomorrow.)
Not like I can lie around tomorrow, anyway. Gotta get some textbooks, some groceries, fun stuff like that. Woo. Buenas noches.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Meeting Sarah
Some of you know I spent the last few days reading Sarah Palin's autobiography. I was inspired to pick it up while still on vacation, when my family was sitting in our hotel room one night after a fun but tiring day at Universal - while channel surfing, my mom hit Sarah Palin's Alaska, her reality show on TLC. She chose to watch what turned out to be several episodes in a row, and I, who had been looking for something new to read, decided that upon our return home I would check out Going Rogue: An American Life.
Going Rogue is called Palin's autobiography, but is really a chapter of her family history followed by five chapters following her political journey in the last fifteen or so years and a chapter strictly pushing her politics in a way that clearly shows she assumes anyone reading her book agrees with her. I, of course, don't, pretty much at all. Truthfully, before reading her book, I pretty much hated her. Or at least I thought she was an idiot, and I'm not a big fan of idiots.
Reading Palin's book didn't change my mind about her politics or politics, but I do have a newfound sense of respect for the ex-governor. While I don't want to see her as president, I think she probably was really good for Alaska and hopefully will continue to be. In some ways, I think she is "so Alaska" as she seems to be trying to prove herself to be, that her policies and politics don't fit the rest of the country. Though I know she was often treated unfairly by the media, I don't think she has the experience with national politics to speak for the entire country. I appreciate her drive to do what she believes is best for her country. But I'm not sure that she realizes that what's best for Alaska isn't always what's best for the country, just as she knows the opposite to be true.
While Going Rogue is littered throughout with politics I staunchly disagree with, I got through the 400 pages in four days. I knew reading the book would be an interesting intellectual experiment, but I hadn't thought about the social experiment of carrying around a book with possibly the most famous female Republican on the cover. I tend to travel in rather liberal circles. In fact, when I was at my Unitarian Universalist church on Sunday, I mostly kept the book in my purse. I found just holding the book I felt a sense of guilt by association. Just as Sarah figured her readers agreed with her, I thought people would think I agreed with her, and I certainly didn't want to deal with that misunderstanding, for some reason.
I've been interested in politics for a long time. When Palin talked about previous elections, I remembered caring about them. Of course it mattered in 2004, when I couldn't stand the thought of four more Bush-years, but then I realized at that time Kerry was his opponent. It kind of surprised me yesterday to remember how vividly I remember the 2000 election and how desperately I wanted Al Gore to win. I was ten years old, in fifth grade. I voted for Al Gore in my elementary school's simulated election, and was very curious about what hanging chads were, and why Florida couldn't get its act together. For a while in high school I thought about majoring in international relations, combining my love of politics, cultures, and languages. I think I know now that I don't have the patience necessary for politics, but I still pay attention.
Sarah Palin's Alaska is an interesting campaign strategy, I think. I kind of wonder if people in politics can do anything without it being seen as political. I can't watch her show without thinking she's using it as a ploy to show herself and her family as an all-American picture of perfection. She loves her kids and the outdoors and perhaps most importantly, AMERICA. Look at how much we love Alaska, the biggest part of America. We are so Alaskan and we love it.
Well I take everything she says with several grains of salt, but she is certainly an interesting woman. I'm already keeping my eye out for the 2012 primary races to start, if they're following the 2008 schedule at all. (Yeah, remember in 2007 when each party had about ten presidential candidates, including Mitt Romney, Ron Paul, and Rudy Guiliani, and John Edwards, Bill Richardson, and Dennis Kucinich?!) It's not too soon for the madness to start.
Sarah might have gotten to me a little though. Today I took my dog for a run even though it's in the 20s outside. I don't like running or the cold, but Sarah sure loves running, even in early Alaskan winter (so... September). Well, I still don't like running or winter, so I think my democratic tendencies are probably still safe, too.
Going Rogue is called Palin's autobiography, but is really a chapter of her family history followed by five chapters following her political journey in the last fifteen or so years and a chapter strictly pushing her politics in a way that clearly shows she assumes anyone reading her book agrees with her. I, of course, don't, pretty much at all. Truthfully, before reading her book, I pretty much hated her. Or at least I thought she was an idiot, and I'm not a big fan of idiots.
Reading Palin's book didn't change my mind about her politics or politics, but I do have a newfound sense of respect for the ex-governor. While I don't want to see her as president, I think she probably was really good for Alaska and hopefully will continue to be. In some ways, I think she is "so Alaska" as she seems to be trying to prove herself to be, that her policies and politics don't fit the rest of the country. Though I know she was often treated unfairly by the media, I don't think she has the experience with national politics to speak for the entire country. I appreciate her drive to do what she believes is best for her country. But I'm not sure that she realizes that what's best for Alaska isn't always what's best for the country, just as she knows the opposite to be true.
While Going Rogue is littered throughout with politics I staunchly disagree with, I got through the 400 pages in four days. I knew reading the book would be an interesting intellectual experiment, but I hadn't thought about the social experiment of carrying around a book with possibly the most famous female Republican on the cover. I tend to travel in rather liberal circles. In fact, when I was at my Unitarian Universalist church on Sunday, I mostly kept the book in my purse. I found just holding the book I felt a sense of guilt by association. Just as Sarah figured her readers agreed with her, I thought people would think I agreed with her, and I certainly didn't want to deal with that misunderstanding, for some reason.
I've been interested in politics for a long time. When Palin talked about previous elections, I remembered caring about them. Of course it mattered in 2004, when I couldn't stand the thought of four more Bush-years, but then I realized at that time Kerry was his opponent. It kind of surprised me yesterday to remember how vividly I remember the 2000 election and how desperately I wanted Al Gore to win. I was ten years old, in fifth grade. I voted for Al Gore in my elementary school's simulated election, and was very curious about what hanging chads were, and why Florida couldn't get its act together. For a while in high school I thought about majoring in international relations, combining my love of politics, cultures, and languages. I think I know now that I don't have the patience necessary for politics, but I still pay attention.
Sarah Palin's Alaska is an interesting campaign strategy, I think. I kind of wonder if people in politics can do anything without it being seen as political. I can't watch her show without thinking she's using it as a ploy to show herself and her family as an all-American picture of perfection. She loves her kids and the outdoors and perhaps most importantly, AMERICA. Look at how much we love Alaska, the biggest part of America. We are so Alaskan and we love it.
Well I take everything she says with several grains of salt, but she is certainly an interesting woman. I'm already keeping my eye out for the 2012 primary races to start, if they're following the 2008 schedule at all. (Yeah, remember in 2007 when each party had about ten presidential candidates, including Mitt Romney, Ron Paul, and Rudy Guiliani, and John Edwards, Bill Richardson, and Dennis Kucinich?!) It's not too soon for the madness to start.
Sarah might have gotten to me a little though. Today I took my dog for a run even though it's in the 20s outside. I don't like running or the cold, but Sarah sure loves running, even in early Alaskan winter (so... September). Well, I still don't like running or winter, so I think my democratic tendencies are probably still safe, too.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Metropolis
Why are all of my high school friends getting married and moving to Indiana?
This is a serious concern.
This is a serious concern.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Realities and Un-Truths
The new year has come and gone, and at five days old the fresh baby skin of 2011 is starting to harden in winter winds. After two and a half years as a Playwrights student, staying up until midnight has become the least remarkable part of New Year's Eve. And since that's kind of the point... NYE has become a little anti-climactic. Reality check: New Year's Rockin Eve, the big party of the year, mostly involves being packed into Times Square like sardines for hours on end in the cold with two people you know and a million you don't. Unless you're Ryan Seacrest or some band I probably haven't heard of, or of course dear Dick Clark, God bless him.
The best part of both my NYE and NYD was the beach. First of all, I still can't really wrap my brain around being at the beach in December or January (or any month that isn't June, July, or August, really). Warmth, sun, sea, sand (I actually don't like sand), my family. LIGHT. Reflections, of many kinds. Seeing the last dawn of 2010 and the first dawn of 2011, reveling in the beauty of the ocean and the sky.
The new year continues to call up thoughts of this time last year. Travel tends to cause my family to watch the news more than we usually do, to catch weather and traffic reports in the morning before we head out for the day. Lately I've seen a lot of stories about skiing, which reminds me that J. is probably skiing with his dad right now. Sunny days, theme parks, and daily trips to the pool prove much more distracting than dreary car rides.
I mentioned before how one can be so solitary when with other people. Today I was driving in Georgia, through mostly-dead trees, brown grass, under cloudy skies and indecisive rain/spray from the combination of the wet highway and innumerable trucks. The road can be a cold companion, even with other people in the car. Lonely thoughts grew with each passing mile. The rain and fog left my field of vision softened to a small arena in front of my car. We passed through various rock stations. The Gater. The Eagle. The Hawk. I contemplated the connection between classic rock stations and aggressive animals. Our classic rock stations back home (three of them, because we're in a blue state) are The Drive, The Loop, and Jack FM. No animals. Hmm. I think I am falling in love, cyclically, with several of my past romantic interests. I have mixed feelings about this.
It's getting late, or I think so. I'm not really so sure what time it is anymore. The road does weird things like that to your brain, and to time itself. All I know is we have another 700 miles to go tomorrow, so I should get some sleep. More musings later.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Old Years and New
Never been to the beach for New Year's Eve or day...
(The last one is at a wetlands nearby.) More about all that soon.
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