The Alias

When asking for clarification on who a certain person is, to which you get the answer "the penis breather," a statement taken as nothing out of the ordinary, you are hit with the realization of just what kind of friends you have.

Item one up for auction

After calling my bank to inquire about my account, I've discovered that I don't even have enough money to buy gas to get home. And Christmas is coming up.

I'll now be offering my body to the highest bidder. I could always see about that job at NDC's porn company.....

Let the peasants rejoice

Alert the media: L1 has a blog. Holy mother of god. Welcome to the community, L, hope you're enjoying your ride on the bandwagon.

Initiation rites begin tomorrow and will include (but are not limited to): ritual animal sacrifice, naked carthweels (in the rain), bloodletting, interesting activities invloving copious amounts of vaseline and 3 aa batteries, an 8mm copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and an electric razor.

Obligatory Holiday Summary

Is it wrong to get excited about demonstrating intellectual prowess over siblings who are 10 years my junior? Because if it is......I'm not sorry. I totally kicked their asses as Lord of the Rings Monopoly. Just try and get past my 3 strongholds on Minas Tirith, bitch!

Normally we've got about 20 people in our house for Thanksgiving, each branch of the family supplying an plethora of holiday goodies, but this year it was just the five of us and we had a normal meal. Normal as in we didn't eat leftover turkey for 3 days afterwords. It was one of the most depressing days ever.

New house is cool. Big. Colorful. 13 acres of property which we don't need and I have no idea what we'll do with. It'll be great for extended family-wide games of flashlight tag.

Applied for jobs for over Christmas, which lead me on the verge of killing myself. Since I don't live there, people are pretty hesitant to hire me, and opportunity to come in for interviews is limited. My favorite part was applying to the local movie theatre, and talking to the manager, only to find out that she doesn't think I have any skills that would make hiring me at this time beneficial. WTF! Did you not read the part on my application where it states that I worked at an AMC for 28 months?! At that moment every annoyed/pissed off feeling I'd suppressed all holiday came to the surface. I couldn't get myself to stop thing about the kids torturing the cat, step-dad making fun of my chosen field of study, the 5 people who cut me off on my way home, the 20 minute wait for a manager at Carino's before finding out that they wouldn't hire me anyway, the dogs schlepping mud all over my Audrey Hepburn-esque shirt, shopping for a suitable white shirt in 12 minutes for family pictures after aforementioned shirt was ruined, my father either avoiding my calls or just not available at all 4 numbers, hair falling out by the fistfulls, being stung by a wasp for the first time.......


Breathe.

Not a bad holiday, but not that great either. Just mediocre, which for some reason feels worse. *now attempts to not sound like a whiny bitch*

On the upside, NBC's version of A Christmas Carol airs tonight, and I'm ridiculously excited. And I had a dream of the almost Peter Jennings variety (almost) about my beloved David Hyde Pierce.

An ode to a pair of pants

Some actors, though brilliantly talented, are forced into the shadows through physical limitations. Such is the case of Trousers. Through my work on Six Characters, I've learned what an amazing performer he is, and how deep he can make his character, especially considering that, while an integral character, he had no lines, and was stationary for the vast majority of his time on stage. Without words he created something so beautiful and effective, it was profound. However, Trousers has the misfortune of being graced with the frame of a pre-pubescant boy, a gift to some, but not in this case; Trousers is cursed with being cast as the perpetual 13 year old. And I have never seen him complain about it. Ever. He takes every role with grace and throws his balls to the wall every time. I'm not idealistic enough to rant that he should get the opportunity to play Macbeth, Azdak, etc., but I do mourn the fact that his chances at success are largely challenged. From what I am given to uderstand, he didn't get the internship with Rose Bruford Theatre Institue in London. I understand, but it doesn't keep me from being upset.

Trousers is one of those people who I greatly esteem as an artist, a statement that I can't say about many. I wish him all the best in everything he does.

I'll take some sheepish with a side of humble

Note to self:

When superiors (i.e. Dr. Neilson) attempt to compliment your work, learn to accept praise gracefully (i.e. not bumbling about thanks like a magnificent dumbass).

A return to normalcy

My snowflake is back around my neck and my mother's rings are on my finger after an eight day absence. It feels so strange; I'm back to being myself again.

Still slightly melancholic. I feel like I have no purpose; for the past few weeks I've had this enormous goal in front of me, a reason for being. Now it's gone, and I'm not sure what to do with myself. I've been up since 6 this morning, but I can't take a nap because I don't have a reason to be well rested. I've been lounging around aimlessly in this kind of slump. The Ls came in earlier and started talking to me and I bit their heads off for cracking jokes about my big tonsil debut and then later randomly burst into tears all in the span of five minutes.

Is this some sort of quasi-post partum depression?

The Post-Production Blues

I don't want it to be over. Last night I wanted to be happy, and I was, but it was trumped my this overwhelming sadness. This has been the best, most rewarding, trying labor of love in my entire life. And now it's gone. There is no proper way to articulate everything I want to say, to express my profound gratitude to all involved. Words are inadequate, actions are too. Just know that I love you all very much and that I've had the time of my life.

Effing gun didn't go off and projector was out of focus. I felt really good about my performance, about everyone's, but those two glitches really got me down. But, as The Phocian says, we can only control what we can control.

Mom liked it, thought it was good. Not exactly a gushing review, but I wasn't expecting one. I'm happiest with the fact that she got the in-joke; yeah, she knew "Save the Life of my Child" (don't know why I'm so excited about that). Brother and sister really enjoyed it, and I know it's just because they're seeing their big sister on the stage (they're 10 and 8), but I don't care. I'm so glad that they are getting exposed to things like this.

After much planning, a puta and I finally peed in the woods. Very fulfilling. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Tried to go to the cast party. I'm not very social, and subsequently not into parties, but I went anyway; I earned this one. However, I was feeling so melancholy about everything, I couldn't have a good time. Gah. I don't know what's good for me. The Boy was there, but didn't give me the time of day, though he did spend most of the time with one of my fellow putas (perhaps she was consoling him over something), so that made me happy - putas need to share the love. The Boy Blew me off completely. What a douche. People always told me he was a jerk, but I never saw it. I'm turning into a stereotypical girl. The thing is I never was sad that The Boy and I broke up, I never really cared enough about the relationship. Meh, whatev. And for the first time ever, I really wanted to drink, get insanely inebriated. Well, sort of. I figured it might take some of my pissy mood away. But, ever the responsible one, I desisted. Would have been a silly thing to do, anyway.

IHOP this morning with the family. I got recognized. Random person #3 said the show really made them think. It made me happy.

Two more nights till sanity

After an impressive opening night, and a rather dismal second night slump, I am finally satisfied, not just satisfied, but happy. Third night. I thought it was my personal best, but then again I thought yesterday was repulsive, and The Phocian saw otherwise. But, too much happiness tempts the Fates - the gun didn't go off (I'm guessing a blank was lodged in the chamber again). We had the back up sound cue, but it was so effing anti-climactic. Audience seemed to enjoy it, though. The Ls in the house tonight. They were floored; gushing messages from them during both intermissions. Here's to hoping everything goes off without a hitch tomorrow.....

On a related note, Ballad of a Thin Man is my new favorite song.

Are you there, mediocrity? It's me, Margaret.

Show went well. Everyone was on their game; I was off, though. Meh. Tomorrow will be better.

One more step into Faith

When one comes home from final dress to find that a picture of a man's testicles and the words "Balls to the Wall" have been added to the decor, one knows one has the greatest friends ever. The Ls have outdone themselves. 10 snowflakes have been placed around the room, as well as a banner bearing the legend "Break a leg!!" and evenly dispersed 5 pictures of legs that have been cut in half. I walked in and completely lost it. The Ls came over later and presented me with a card, a new purse, and cheesecake bites. I lost it again. It means so much to me for them to be this supportive and excited and happy for me, especially when my family isn't. I love you guys. This performance is all for you.

Final dress was.....dismal. Intensity was up, energy was up, focus sucked more than a drunk cheerleader (and that's a lot of cock). There were mistakes - lots of them. But, as the superstition goes, "bad dress, good show." I can feel it, tonight we're going to throw it down.

The finality of all this is finally setting in on me. This is it; this is almost over - done. I've had the greatest time during the past 5 1/2 weeks. Learned so much from everyone and completely grew as an artist; if I'm worth anything up there tonight it's because of those around me. Especially The Phocian. He's guided me along unbelievably, giving me the freedom to make my own choices, and nudging me the other way when he knew I was making the wrong ones. Strophius, if you're reading (which you probably aren't): Thank you for my wings. Now it's time to use them.

And to everyone else: go out there tonight and bring it. We've worked hard for this, and it's our time. Break a leg, guys, and remember: don't look down.

Say my name, bitch

There was some severe anal rapage that went on today during my Geology test, and this time it was the other way around. I raped it. We're talking the two-fisted, no lube, prison variety rape. Take it all, you metamorphic plasmas!!!!

And now for something completely different. We open with the show tomorrow. I'm really scared. Nervous. I haven't been nervous since the 3rd grade Thanksgiving pageant when my only line was "A is for 'apple', so juicy and sweet." Excited, of course, but I'm coming to the realization that there is a lot at stake with this one, especially for me; make or break situation, this. Other profs. could see me and either think, "who let that garbage in here?" or "hot damn, she's got something. I want to have sex with her and then cast her in all my shows." Hopefully, they'll see the latter (some of it, anyway). The show is ready, it's watchable, it's good, but as The Phocian says, "we've still got 2 more steps of faith to take." And I can't look down.

Numerology

Days until we open: 3

# of times I've said "fuck" about above statement: 37

Notes recieved at the end of tonight's rehearsal: 2

# of minutes spent fantasizing about worst-case scenarios in which viewers fall fast asleep /start snoring loudly / leave the house / yell out loud “this play suuuucks!” : too many to count

# of minutes spent fantasizing about idyllic scenarios in which viewers perform a standing ovation / shower the cast with laudatory comments / thow undergarments at the stage during curtain call: more than would openly admit

# of minutes spent fantasizing about realistic scenarios : 0

Nights slept entirely through since production began: 5

Family members attending performance: 0

Required page length of Soc. paper that's due Thurs., which I haven't started writing: 5

# of times I've said "fuck" about said paper: 29

Bottles of water consumed to get rid of plegm in throat: 4 (today)

# of times having successfully obtained "magic bubble": 0

Show's current running time: 1 hr., 54 mins.

# of times I refer to torment or remorse ("all his spiritual torment, his celebrated torment"; "his noble remorse, his moral torment", etc): 6

# of relaxing days will have in the immediate future : none

# of expletives shouted by The Phocian: 5 (today)

Minutes spent fantasizing about Thanksgiving, i.e. post-show, with scenarios that involve self lying on a hammock by the beach somewhere in Hawaii, only fixed appointment in date book being with Swedish masseur : not nearly enough

I was this close

Another incident of me wanting to do something wholly rude an incivilized, if laugh-inducing:

Walking from the theatre building to the UC, noticed a cluster of people around a table in the free speech area, playing Native American tribal music, and playing drums - the American Indian student association. Feeling a surge of evil, I felt the strange desire to run over and start pushing them all out of the free speech area, taking over their table, yelling out, "Look familiar!?" and proceed to set up my own camp there. "I need to manifest my destiny, bitch."

Excuse the childish histrionics, I'll be back soon

Theatre was never something that my mom and step-dad were really interested in. When I was in H.S. they came to shows, but didn't really say anything about them - I never got praise, criticism, "that sucked", anything. My mom tried, but still never got into it. I never really held it against them or anything, it just wasn't their thing, and I accept that, much the way I don't give a rat's ass about who won the Michigan/Georgia football game, but I appreciate that they do. My dad and step-mom, on the other hand have always been totally geeked about the whole theatre thing, and were very encouraging, but that's only because we only see eachother once a year; they feel like they need to compensate, or they aren't used to theatre 24/7 from me, so it's all a new, interesting world to them, where as it's old new to my mom and step-dad.

Anyway.

Last year I didn't mind when they (Mom and Step-dad) didn't come to see Pericles or The Fifth Sun. Of course I would have liked them to go, but.....whatever. However I've been super psyched about Six Characters in a way that I haven't been in a really long time. This was sort of me proving to them that I can do this, that I'm not here taking up basket-weaving. And Mom seemed really excited, too. When I got cast I ran away right after looking at the list and called her, not that she knew anything about the show, but I just wanted to say "Look! See what I can do! This is big!" and she was genuinely happy for me.They aren't coming.

Got e-mail today. And I'm upset. Really upset. I don't know why I'm so upset. Well, okay, I do, but I don't want that to matter to me. I really wanted them to be there this time. And Brother and Sister, too; I want them to be exposed to theatre. I don't want to be feeling the way I do, but I am. I never thought it would matter this much to me, but it does. What makes it worse is that Audrey's family has been to every one of my shows. All of them. And they're coming to this one, too.

Gah. Stop crying, you're being ridiculous.

Forget the whips and chains

I have transcended mere tiredness and reached the quintessence of exhaustion.

Surfing the crimson wave and having to wear a corset while sitting down and then trying to lift a cast member and put them into a fountain has surpassed benign gangleonic cyst surgery as the most painful and uncomfortable experience of my life.

Time to bring out the hagen das, anaprox, granny panties, and When Harry Met Sally...

Hey baby I hear the blues are callin' tossed salads and scrambled eggs

I would like to take this time to address something which heretofore has only been hinted at in the : my undying love for David Hyde Pierce. I'm sure most of you have heard me speak of my strange fascination with this man, but I'm not sure I have ever explained why, or to what extent. Let me educate you.

(Insert stream-of-consciousness gushing)

David Hyde Pierce is the coolest cat on the planet. Some may say that he's old, but what about all those people with affinities for Sean Connery? DHP can pull off suspenders, which are HOT. I don't think Mr. Connery can do that, not many people can. There is speculation that Pierce is gay, to which I reply with one word: metrosexual. He's just a cultured man who happens to have an exceptionally good dress sense. And I'll have you know, he has been known to wear many a pair of jeans and plain white t-shirt. And he's tall in skinny, which is so incredibly attractive in that James Stewart, Ray Bolger sort of way. He's got this voice which is refreshingly devoid of any hint of accent, and very articulate, without sounding pretentious or condescending. Incredibly intelligent man, and wickedly witty, but also with a self-deprecating side.

David Hyde Pierce, I love you with every fiber of my being. To paraphrase a puta, "if my love were chocolate, it would take 10,000 bottles of Yoohoo! to reach my level of milk chocolatey goodness." I would give up doing naked cartwheels in the woods with The Vag if it displeased you. I must ask: Will you marry me?

Sirius Black

There is a reason why I say that Harry Potter is the basis of my happiness . This is one of them.

"That''' do pig, that'll do."

As much as I don't particularly enjoy this self-imposed analogy (see Babe), I feel it appropriate considering the goings on of tonight's rehearsal. I gave opprobrium a thorough lashing. Despite the personal joygasm I felt, even more exhilarating was the approval that I recieved from The Phocian. I feel like I should bear his children, bake him a cake, or buy him a small country. After finally accepting that he cast me for my talent, not my appearance or enormous sex appeal (see the entry of Oct. 30th). Opening night is in 8 days and it's time to Fuck the Audience.

Rocks my socks

Sleep evades those with much to think about, and it is usually those people who are in need of sleep the most. Such is my life at the moment. Ever the hard sleeper, it takes me quite a long time to get to a blissful state of unconsciousness. However, I think I may have found a cure for all my problems, and could perhaps launch the biggest trend of the 21st century. Or just a cure for all my problems.

Though my body is perpetually cold, (especially while in bed, layereing blankets upon my person), I never sleep with socks on. Ever. Something about the feeling of fabric against my appendages just doesn't sit well with me while I'm trying to sleep. And though I cannot vouch from personal experience, I can imagine that sleeping with some one wearing socks ins't the most pleasurable sensation. The other night after rehearsals, I undressed and got into bed, completely neglecting to remove my thick, woolen socks (so worn due to cold temperatures finally arriving to this accursed region).

I have discovered that the wearing of socks is directly proportional to sleeping well at night. After waking up the next morning completely refreshed, having slept throught the entire night soundly, I realized that said appendage coverings were still in place. "Hhmm" I though to myself, "must try this again tonight." And so I did. Oh frabjous day, I recieved another night of contented slumber. I have since worn socks every evening when climbing into bed (save one night when I thought it was too warm, and ended up tossing and turning for hours).

Conclusion: there is a direst correlation to the wearing of sock (esp. thick woollen) and blissful sleep.

Now that I've got this one finished, off to go work on that incrediblt time machine, make a turkey sandwich, and rid the world of lepoard print. And Cher.

Transcending the Coyote

The Phocian has a tendency to make analogies that either make no sense or are completely hilarious (usually both) such as "theatre is like a birthday cake......" and "studying is like an orgasm....". During rehearsal tonight, he gave a speech (in that not-really-meaning-to way, which made it even more powerful) that brought me to tears, and reminded me of exactly why I do what I do, and what we need to do to make what we do great. Of course, in comes one of those metaphors, which in any other context would have sounded trite and ridiculous:

"This show is a Roadrunner cartoon. You guys are the Coyote, right after he's run off the cliff. And you can't look down. Make youselves fly."

Lately I've been feeling a bit melancholic about my work on Six Characters (still am, come to that), but his words have put such a spark in me. I'm still not sure where to go with some of these scenes, but I now know which direction to turn.

On a completely unrelated note, the French toast in the UC today changed my life. I now know why Pirandello, though born in Italy, wrote in French. It was all for the toast.

Thank you, Strophius

So I'm watching a little TV before I am foisted into the deep dark expanses of the StageCraft midterm study materials. There's a storm in the area. So Weather Bimbette comes on and says people should go inside... all of which leads me to wonder: are there really lots of people who watch TV outdoors, after dark, in the rain?

Class today with Professor McDouchebag was spent, as usual, staring off into space, save this one moment of temporary amusement.

"The French can have a candidate win an election with only a 25% majority. How does that work? Is it because they're metric?"

Probably the most clever thing Douchey has ever said, and it wasn't even that good. I then resumed thinking about ways to overthrow the lecture hall. If we all threw our pencils at the same time..........