Well, prom is tomorrow. HOORAY! I did NOT finish knitting the dress in time (I should have finished yesterday and I would be sewing right now), but I'm kind of in love with the dress I got on Saturday, so it's fine. I am kind of excited. Except for the super-long photo op that my mother is going to demand of us. That won't be so much fun. But after we survive that, it should be fine. Hopefully. :)
Anyway, in other news, I'm attempting to write a script. For what? I have no idea. I may use it for my senior project next year, but I don't know yet. I'm not yet a senior. I still have a week and a half of school before the summer, which is very saddening because it means that I will be a senior. I mean, I AM excited to be a senior, but I'm also not because it means that it's my last year at the school where I have essentially done all of my growing up. I have gone to the same school since sixth grade and I really do not want to leave.
I guess I have to value the last year for what it's worth. But the last year isn't here yet, so in the mean time, I'm going to go crazy to the best of my ability! (also, turn in my physics stuff so I won't get a D. That would be good.)
Anyway, the script is sort of based off of the Electra and Orestes myth, where Orestes kills Clytemnestra and Aigisthos (spelling?) for killing Agamemnon. It's kind of dark, and Electra is really troubled and annoyed and stuff. Well, who wouldn't be, when (at least in this version) their parents are dead, their stepdad (no, he doesn't die in this) is negligent, and their older brother (who's still around) is sort of a psycho?
Yeah...
Anyway, that's what I have for now. More later. Maybe.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
progress...?
Well, last night I finished the front of my prom dress. HOORAY! Although I'm quite pleased that the front is done, I'm fully aware that it should have happened on Tuesday. Now I have four days (today, tomorrow, Saturday, and Sunday - Monday will be dedicated to sewing) to make the back. I'll have to do about 5400 stitches a day - somewhere between three and five hours of work per day - in order to finish.
Although I knit a lot, I don't knit THAT much.
My record in one day is 4400 stitches.
Yeah, this won't end well.
If I'm not done with at least half the bodice by Saturday afternoon, though, Mom and I have agreed that we're going to go and buy a dress.
I think Mom would kind of prefer that I buy the dress rather than make it, despite what she says to the contrary. I think she wants to talk me out of knitting my prom dress, but I think she knows that it won't work because I'm not the kind of person who'll give up on this that easily.
That being said, I kind of feel like I may not finish the dress.
Having said that, I'm now going to stop blogging, then waste some time, and then knit ALL AFTERNOON (except when I'm going to line up my schedule. We the students assign our own classes to our own blocks, and that's happening today). YAY SCHEDULING!
Now on to knitting my hands off. Only 4000 more stitches to go...
Farewell for now.
Photos to come.
Maybe.
Although I knit a lot, I don't knit THAT much.
My record in one day is 4400 stitches.
Yeah, this won't end well.
If I'm not done with at least half the bodice by Saturday afternoon, though, Mom and I have agreed that we're going to go and buy a dress.
I think Mom would kind of prefer that I buy the dress rather than make it, despite what she says to the contrary. I think she wants to talk me out of knitting my prom dress, but I think she knows that it won't work because I'm not the kind of person who'll give up on this that easily.
That being said, I kind of feel like I may not finish the dress.
Having said that, I'm now going to stop blogging, then waste some time, and then knit ALL AFTERNOON (except when I'm going to line up my schedule. We the students assign our own classes to our own blocks, and that's happening today). YAY SCHEDULING!
Now on to knitting my hands off. Only 4000 more stitches to go...
Farewell for now.
Photos to come.
Maybe.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Prom knitting!
Well, next Tuesday (not day after tomorrow Tuesday - Tuesday the 14th) is prom. Yes, I know that it's unconventional to have prom on a Tuesday, but my school's awesome and that's what we do. Also, I don't think our school is important enough (and I don't think the seniors have enough money) to shut down the venue on a weekend for prom. It's at the Kennedy Center. Which is kind of awesome in itself - it's like DC's Broadway.
Anyway, since I can (and because I want to, and because I don't think anyone else has ever tried), I'm knitting my dress for prom. I don't have a backup, yet, but I've made an agreement with my mother that if I haven't done at least half of the back bodice by Saturday, we're going to go buy a dress. Either way, we have to go out and get shoes - my date and I are about the same height, so I can't wear heels, and I don't have formal flats. I was sort of considering wearing hi tops, but then my brother and my mom and the mother I babysit for talked me out of it.
And I also found out that he isn't going to wear hi tops (he's the kind of guy who'd go either way), so it would look really weird. So yeah. I need proper flats.
I really want to knit the dress, though. I mean, not only will it get me super awesome creative points, it'll also be totally unique - nobody else will have a dress exactly like mine, because I designed it and made it myself (Okay, I didn't design the lace bit. So I designed MOST of it. But still).
Also, some underclassmen may see the dress and ask me to do their fall formal dresses, which'll help me pay for college! (As much as I love my underclass friends, they'll still have to pay. It won't be as much as they probably have to pay for a normal dress... or maybe it will, because it's handmade... I'll figure that out later) Win-win!
Also, I want to finish knitting my dress just so I can say that I made something cool. Regardless of who is wearing it when, making something cool is really fun. And awesome. And stuff.
Needless to say, if you were considering asking me to knit something, you have to wait until after next Tuesday. If you were considering asking me to knit your prom dress... ask me next April.
Anyway, since I can (and because I want to, and because I don't think anyone else has ever tried), I'm knitting my dress for prom. I don't have a backup, yet, but I've made an agreement with my mother that if I haven't done at least half of the back bodice by Saturday, we're going to go buy a dress. Either way, we have to go out and get shoes - my date and I are about the same height, so I can't wear heels, and I don't have formal flats. I was sort of considering wearing hi tops, but then my brother and my mom and the mother I babysit for talked me out of it.
And I also found out that he isn't going to wear hi tops (he's the kind of guy who'd go either way), so it would look really weird. So yeah. I need proper flats.
I really want to knit the dress, though. I mean, not only will it get me super awesome creative points, it'll also be totally unique - nobody else will have a dress exactly like mine, because I designed it and made it myself (Okay, I didn't design the lace bit. So I designed MOST of it. But still).
Also, some underclassmen may see the dress and ask me to do their fall formal dresses, which'll help me pay for college! (As much as I love my underclass friends, they'll still have to pay. It won't be as much as they probably have to pay for a normal dress... or maybe it will, because it's handmade... I'll figure that out later) Win-win!
Also, I want to finish knitting my dress just so I can say that I made something cool. Regardless of who is wearing it when, making something cool is really fun. And awesome. And stuff.
Needless to say, if you were considering asking me to knit something, you have to wait until after next Tuesday. If you were considering asking me to knit your prom dress... ask me next April.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Literary stuff!
So for Creative Writing, we are doing Satire. This is my *very lame* attempt at doing a satirical version of "Cinderella." I'm not horridly familiar with satire (I've probably seen some stuff, but I didn't directly associate it with satire/ wasn't told directly, "THIS IS A SATIRE OF ______"), so this may be a bit horrendous. Or it could be good. Either one.
Once upon a time in the faraway land of the DC Metro area, there was a girl whose name was Nicole (or Nik for short). When Nik was seventeen and a junior in high school, she decided that she would go to the prom, because she probably would never get another chance to go to the prom at the Kennedy Center (though that was the only reason she was bothering to go at all).
The trouble was, Nik had a rehearsal schedule that wouldn’t allow this to happen, and eventually she became used to the idea of not going to prom, and made other plans involving a Friday night in front of the TV.
Why couldn’t she go, exactly?
Well, prom started at eight, and rehearsal ended at nine.
However, Nik’s faerie godmother was able to talk to her director, and between the two of them, they were able to make all the necessary arrangements to let all the prom-bound upper-class-people out of rehearsal on the Friday in question.
The faerie godmother also managed to get a really expensive dress from a designer store for a fraction of the real cost, and also some cool shoes.
When Nik learned about this, she became very confused. Her director was not the kind of person who would cancel rehearsal ever; in fact, he was the kind of person who would plan a dawn-to-dusk run on a summer solstice apocalypse on purpose.
When Nik saw her dress, she became even more confused. Not only was a ridiculously expensive dress laid out for her on her bed, this ridiculously expensive dress was perhaps the ugliest shade of puke-colored blue-green that she had ever seen in her life, and was twelve sizes too big for her and had a long train and lots of ruffles, which Nik hated.
The only cool thing that Nik saw that could come out of this not-prom was that she now had a cool pair of bronze gladiator sandals and no rehearsal on Friday night, which meant she could watch lots of reruns of MythBusters and actually sleep before midnight.
On Friday, when the whole school was buzzing about prom this and prom that and prom-I-do-not-know-what-shoes-to-wear, Nik was looking immensely forward to the afternoon she would be spending watching Jamie Hyneman and Adam Savage blow stuff up on public television. She wasn’t worried about prom, or where she would go to have dinner, since her parents were already going out – Nik decided she’d call the Chinese restaurant down the street from school once class let out, and then eat spring rolls and watch TV all afternoon.
When Nik got home after school that day, armed with four spring rolls, a large serving of fried rice, a large serving of lo mein, and an eager curiosity about what would go down on MythBusters, she found that the size eighteen dress was on her bed and her faerie godmother was standing in the kitchen, armed for the biggest Prom Attendance Battle ever to take place in the history of the world. Nik and the godmother would probably wind up on the history channel.
The faerie godmother assured Nik that her parents would know where she had gone and that Happily Ever After awaited her on the roof of the Kennedy Center.
“But I don’t WANT a Happily Ever After like that!” Nik complained. “My Happily Ever After involves Chinese takeout and the Discovery Channel!”
“Well, deal with it,” the godmother said. “This is my job. I’m trying to make a living doing this. If you don’t go to that dance, I don’t get paid, and if I don’t get paid, I’ll starve next month, and if I starve next month, that means I’m not going to be able to help you next year when you want to go to prom! So you’re going to GO TO PROM, MISSIE!”
“I have an idea,” Nik said, “You can have two spring rolls and my lo mein, and eat half a bite of spring roll and one noodle every day while you go and help your next charge, and then you’ll get paid next month, and then you can pay me the twelve dollars back then. Okay?”
“No, that’s NOT OKAY!” the godmother said. “I’m also about to get kicked out of the World Union of Faerie Godmothers!”
“You have a UNION?” Nik exclaimed in confusion.
“How ELSE could we manage to get so many Cinderellas to so many balls, dances, proms, festivals, celebrations, fairs, carnivals, parties, galas, and general events involving merrymaking and get PAID as well? Now, my Union Card will get you a better dress – I’m sorry I got the wrong size – I didn’t know what size you were, so I just guessed. We can fix that, though. And the shoes – what size are you?”
“Eight. But why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m getting paid, and I want to eat. Now, the shoes should fit. You should start to eat; I’ll handle the dress and makeup and hair. Don’t go ANYWHERE; I’ll be back in three hours.”
Nik looked at her watch. It was about 3:30. She wasn’t hungry enough to eat dinner yet, but she resigned herself to the fact that she’d have to do this over pain of death, and morosely began to consume a spring roll.
Three hours later, the faerie godmother returned with a new dress and what looked like the entire stock of the cosmetics store and the hair care store combined.
The faerie godmother then set about putting far too much makeup on Nik, and then told her to change clothes, and then did her hair, and then sent her on her way.
Nik arrived at the Kennedy Center in good time. She figured out where the dance was being held and proceeded to go to the location in question.
She spent five minutes perusing the perimeter of the dance floor, and then decided that she was a lot more bored than she would have been if she’d had her afternoon the way she would have liked, and proceeded to bum some free soda and chocolate before attempting to leave the building.
Then she was stopped by the assistant director of the show, whose name was Jake. They had a reasonably intelligent half-hour discussion about MythBusters and other good shows on TV, and then they both decided that the dance was really, REALLY loud, so they went up to the top of the roof to continue their discussion of physics and other interesting matters that good, solid, curious students who like to act would normally discuss. When they arrived on the roof, the magic of the faerie godmother was enacted, and a small jazz band consisting of Nik’s three friends, who began to attempt to serenade Nik and Jake as they walked around the roof.
However, this didn’t really work, as the jazz trio hadn’t rehearsed at all, so after about ten minutes of attempting to play some mushy romantic songs and having them sound like something out of a horror movie, the jazz trio returned to the dance so they could get some more chocolate and some caffeine.
After about twenty more minutes of discussing a great variety of stuff, Nik and Jake decided to go back home – first to Nik’s house, so she could change, and then to Jake’s house, so he could change and so they could have a Star Wars marathon while eating ice cream, Girl Scout cookies, fortune cookies, and all of the Chinese food that Nik hadn’t eaten earlier.
Once upon a time in the faraway land of the DC Metro area, there was a girl whose name was Nicole (or Nik for short). When Nik was seventeen and a junior in high school, she decided that she would go to the prom, because she probably would never get another chance to go to the prom at the Kennedy Center (though that was the only reason she was bothering to go at all).
The trouble was, Nik had a rehearsal schedule that wouldn’t allow this to happen, and eventually she became used to the idea of not going to prom, and made other plans involving a Friday night in front of the TV.
Why couldn’t she go, exactly?
Well, prom started at eight, and rehearsal ended at nine.
However, Nik’s faerie godmother was able to talk to her director, and between the two of them, they were able to make all the necessary arrangements to let all the prom-bound upper-class-people out of rehearsal on the Friday in question.
The faerie godmother also managed to get a really expensive dress from a designer store for a fraction of the real cost, and also some cool shoes.
When Nik learned about this, she became very confused. Her director was not the kind of person who would cancel rehearsal ever; in fact, he was the kind of person who would plan a dawn-to-dusk run on a summer solstice apocalypse on purpose.
When Nik saw her dress, she became even more confused. Not only was a ridiculously expensive dress laid out for her on her bed, this ridiculously expensive dress was perhaps the ugliest shade of puke-colored blue-green that she had ever seen in her life, and was twelve sizes too big for her and had a long train and lots of ruffles, which Nik hated.
The only cool thing that Nik saw that could come out of this not-prom was that she now had a cool pair of bronze gladiator sandals and no rehearsal on Friday night, which meant she could watch lots of reruns of MythBusters and actually sleep before midnight.
On Friday, when the whole school was buzzing about prom this and prom that and prom-I-do-not-know-what-shoes-to-wear, Nik was looking immensely forward to the afternoon she would be spending watching Jamie Hyneman and Adam Savage blow stuff up on public television. She wasn’t worried about prom, or where she would go to have dinner, since her parents were already going out – Nik decided she’d call the Chinese restaurant down the street from school once class let out, and then eat spring rolls and watch TV all afternoon.
When Nik got home after school that day, armed with four spring rolls, a large serving of fried rice, a large serving of lo mein, and an eager curiosity about what would go down on MythBusters, she found that the size eighteen dress was on her bed and her faerie godmother was standing in the kitchen, armed for the biggest Prom Attendance Battle ever to take place in the history of the world. Nik and the godmother would probably wind up on the history channel.
The faerie godmother assured Nik that her parents would know where she had gone and that Happily Ever After awaited her on the roof of the Kennedy Center.
“But I don’t WANT a Happily Ever After like that!” Nik complained. “My Happily Ever After involves Chinese takeout and the Discovery Channel!”
“Well, deal with it,” the godmother said. “This is my job. I’m trying to make a living doing this. If you don’t go to that dance, I don’t get paid, and if I don’t get paid, I’ll starve next month, and if I starve next month, that means I’m not going to be able to help you next year when you want to go to prom! So you’re going to GO TO PROM, MISSIE!”
“I have an idea,” Nik said, “You can have two spring rolls and my lo mein, and eat half a bite of spring roll and one noodle every day while you go and help your next charge, and then you’ll get paid next month, and then you can pay me the twelve dollars back then. Okay?”
“No, that’s NOT OKAY!” the godmother said. “I’m also about to get kicked out of the World Union of Faerie Godmothers!”
“You have a UNION?” Nik exclaimed in confusion.
“How ELSE could we manage to get so many Cinderellas to so many balls, dances, proms, festivals, celebrations, fairs, carnivals, parties, galas, and general events involving merrymaking and get PAID as well? Now, my Union Card will get you a better dress – I’m sorry I got the wrong size – I didn’t know what size you were, so I just guessed. We can fix that, though. And the shoes – what size are you?”
“Eight. But why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m getting paid, and I want to eat. Now, the shoes should fit. You should start to eat; I’ll handle the dress and makeup and hair. Don’t go ANYWHERE; I’ll be back in three hours.”
Nik looked at her watch. It was about 3:30. She wasn’t hungry enough to eat dinner yet, but she resigned herself to the fact that she’d have to do this over pain of death, and morosely began to consume a spring roll.
Three hours later, the faerie godmother returned with a new dress and what looked like the entire stock of the cosmetics store and the hair care store combined.
The faerie godmother then set about putting far too much makeup on Nik, and then told her to change clothes, and then did her hair, and then sent her on her way.
Nik arrived at the Kennedy Center in good time. She figured out where the dance was being held and proceeded to go to the location in question.
She spent five minutes perusing the perimeter of the dance floor, and then decided that she was a lot more bored than she would have been if she’d had her afternoon the way she would have liked, and proceeded to bum some free soda and chocolate before attempting to leave the building.
Then she was stopped by the assistant director of the show, whose name was Jake. They had a reasonably intelligent half-hour discussion about MythBusters and other good shows on TV, and then they both decided that the dance was really, REALLY loud, so they went up to the top of the roof to continue their discussion of physics and other interesting matters that good, solid, curious students who like to act would normally discuss. When they arrived on the roof, the magic of the faerie godmother was enacted, and a small jazz band consisting of Nik’s three friends, who began to attempt to serenade Nik and Jake as they walked around the roof.
However, this didn’t really work, as the jazz trio hadn’t rehearsed at all, so after about ten minutes of attempting to play some mushy romantic songs and having them sound like something out of a horror movie, the jazz trio returned to the dance so they could get some more chocolate and some caffeine.
After about twenty more minutes of discussing a great variety of stuff, Nik and Jake decided to go back home – first to Nik’s house, so she could change, and then to Jake’s house, so he could change and so they could have a Star Wars marathon while eating ice cream, Girl Scout cookies, fortune cookies, and all of the Chinese food that Nik hadn’t eaten earlier.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
climbing and rocking and getting bruises
Well, for the second weekend in a row, I have returned to school with lots of bruises on my knees. First it was because I'm incapable of doing an adequate stage death; for this past weekend, it was because I was climbing a Via Ferrata. A Via Ferrata is an "Iron Mountain," and this past weekend, I also got a nasty cut on my knee that bled for five minutes because I had no time to clean it because I was climbing up a sheer rock face and fearing for my life.
There are a lot of Via Ferratas in Europe - during World War Two, people really wanted to stealthily kill each other, so they put iron rungs into nearly-vertical rock faces and climbed over the mountains. They must really have wanted to do some serious killing, because Via Ferratas are HARD (both physically and mentally).
Any altophobes would either be dead by the time the group reached the other side, or be cured of their altophobia by the time they reached the other side. Or be so affected by their altophobia that they went insane and were shot in the head for their own good.
Although the Via Ferrata in West Virginia that we went to wasn't used during World War Two (and is allegedly more intense than the ones in Europe), it's a similar sort of shindig: the iron rungs, sheer cliff faces, and the only things stopping you from a 200 + foot fall to your death being airplane wire and a pair of carabeaners (though that might be an added bonus for us crazy people who find some entertainment in climbing mountains). Although I'm AWARE that each length of airplane wire can hold up to seven tons and I KNOW that it was EXTREMELY unlikely that the beaners would fail, I was still scared gutless for at least half my climb. I chickened out - yes, I'm willing to admit that I'm a chicken - at the halfway point and took the last escape route - there was no WAY I was going on an airplane wire bridge 150 feet long and 200 feet from anything that could break a fall.
I really shouldn't have, because apparently it got easier, but I was still recovering from the shock of going around Scheize Notch.
And yes, that's German. I'm not going to tell you the translation, because if I do, my mom will succeed in killing me, even though the Notch didn't.
Why's it called Scheize Notch?
Well...
The German-speaking climbers who were psyched about the climb would go around the Notch and say, "Oh, Scheize, that's a really nice view!"
The more timid German speakers would look down and say, "oooooh Scheize, that's a really long drop!"
The absolutely terrified German speakers (and the non-German speakers who also happened to be completely terrified) would look down, let out a long and loud and terrified wail, and go Scheize in their pants.
I was in the second category.
Despite the fact that I completely chickened out, I really kind of enjoyed the climb. And despite the whole heights thing. I really shouldn't have dropped out, though - I'm probably never going to get another chance to go back and get over the Scheize, and I really kind of want to. I know I sound crazy when I say that, but it's totally true.
Maybe the climb is easier the second time around.
There are a lot of Via Ferratas in Europe - during World War Two, people really wanted to stealthily kill each other, so they put iron rungs into nearly-vertical rock faces and climbed over the mountains. They must really have wanted to do some serious killing, because Via Ferratas are HARD (both physically and mentally).
Any altophobes would either be dead by the time the group reached the other side, or be cured of their altophobia by the time they reached the other side. Or be so affected by their altophobia that they went insane and were shot in the head for their own good.
Although the Via Ferrata in West Virginia that we went to wasn't used during World War Two (and is allegedly more intense than the ones in Europe), it's a similar sort of shindig: the iron rungs, sheer cliff faces, and the only things stopping you from a 200 + foot fall to your death being airplane wire and a pair of carabeaners (though that might be an added bonus for us crazy people who find some entertainment in climbing mountains). Although I'm AWARE that each length of airplane wire can hold up to seven tons and I KNOW that it was EXTREMELY unlikely that the beaners would fail, I was still scared gutless for at least half my climb. I chickened out - yes, I'm willing to admit that I'm a chicken - at the halfway point and took the last escape route - there was no WAY I was going on an airplane wire bridge 150 feet long and 200 feet from anything that could break a fall.
I really shouldn't have, because apparently it got easier, but I was still recovering from the shock of going around Scheize Notch.
And yes, that's German. I'm not going to tell you the translation, because if I do, my mom will succeed in killing me, even though the Notch didn't.
Why's it called Scheize Notch?
Well...
The German-speaking climbers who were psyched about the climb would go around the Notch and say, "Oh, Scheize, that's a really nice view!"
The more timid German speakers would look down and say, "oooooh Scheize, that's a really long drop!"
The absolutely terrified German speakers (and the non-German speakers who also happened to be completely terrified) would look down, let out a long and loud and terrified wail, and go Scheize in their pants.
I was in the second category.
Despite the fact that I completely chickened out, I really kind of enjoyed the climb. And despite the whole heights thing. I really shouldn't have dropped out, though - I'm probably never going to get another chance to go back and get over the Scheize, and I really kind of want to. I know I sound crazy when I say that, but it's totally true.
Maybe the climb is easier the second time around.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Proms and such
I don't remember if I said this earlier: my friends and I were contemplating crashing prom, but we decided against it. I was still kind of into the idea of going, but I decided that I wouldn't go unless someone asked me.
Well, I just got asked. By a guy. That I reasonably like. And I said yes. So yes, I am going to prom.
WOOHOO!!
Well, I just got asked. By a guy. That I reasonably like. And I said yes. So yes, I am going to prom.
WOOHOO!!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
I can't believe it's over...
Wow. The world premiere of "Benagridazir" is over. I cannot believe it's done. I really have yet to get my head around it. Honestly, it's kind of like... AAAHHH!!! I'm not sure whether to be happy about the time that I now have to read about dead Greek guys, do psychotherapy for mathematics, and study stuff that happened in the US fifty years ago, or to be sad that I no longer will have a connection to Piper, or to anyone else in the cast, or to just say goodbye to the show in general. It makes me exceedingly sad to say goodbye to Piper - I know it sounds weird to talk about my character as an actual person, but it feels like she is. I think she's too much a part of me to not be an actual person in some sense. Does that sound strange? I don't care if I'm going slightly mad - everyone needs to be slightly insane in order to survive.
Closing night went really well. I kept having this feeling that someone I knew from forever ago would come see the show, or that something amazingly epic would happen during or after the show or something, but it didn't.
Well, nothing EXCEEDINGLY epic.
The biggest thing that happened is that I got some mini motivational monologues because I was kind of nervous for some reason, and also none of the sound effects worked, so the lights were up for like three minutes before I went on for the first time, because I was waiting for the sound cue that didn't come.
Which sucked.
But whatever.
The show went on, and we survived, and it was wonderful.
The cast party was held at a minor character's house, and it was kind of amazing in its own right because her house is HUGE. They have a backyard the size of my house that contains a trampoline and a half-size basketball court.
Since it was warm out, we did the paper plate awards on the basketball court (I think it was also because that was the only well-lit area that could hold everybody).
We did paper plates a bit differently this time - instead of the director coming up with good paper plates for half the cast and lousy ones for the other half, she just announced who was getting the plate and had members of the cast suggest the award, and then she wrote down a few of them on the plate, so we each got seven warm and fuzzies on one paper plate award. It was also a good way to do warm and fuzzies without actually saying that we were doing warm and fuzzies.
For those of you who don't know what warm and fuzzies are... they're when you say lots of nice stuff about other people in your group; they usually happen on mission trips or at cast parties and stuff - places where people feel like they've become each other's unbiological family.
It tends to happen a lot with shows and, apparently, in movies - I think I read some Johnny Depp or Gene Wilder quote that supports the claim that your castmates are your temporary unbiological family.
And any other actor can probably vouch for me as well.
Closing night went really well. I kept having this feeling that someone I knew from forever ago would come see the show, or that something amazingly epic would happen during or after the show or something, but it didn't.
Well, nothing EXCEEDINGLY epic.
The biggest thing that happened is that I got some mini motivational monologues because I was kind of nervous for some reason, and also none of the sound effects worked, so the lights were up for like three minutes before I went on for the first time, because I was waiting for the sound cue that didn't come.
Which sucked.
But whatever.
The show went on, and we survived, and it was wonderful.
The cast party was held at a minor character's house, and it was kind of amazing in its own right because her house is HUGE. They have a backyard the size of my house that contains a trampoline and a half-size basketball court.
Since it was warm out, we did the paper plate awards on the basketball court (I think it was also because that was the only well-lit area that could hold everybody).
We did paper plates a bit differently this time - instead of the director coming up with good paper plates for half the cast and lousy ones for the other half, she just announced who was getting the plate and had members of the cast suggest the award, and then she wrote down a few of them on the plate, so we each got seven warm and fuzzies on one paper plate award. It was also a good way to do warm and fuzzies without actually saying that we were doing warm and fuzzies.
For those of you who don't know what warm and fuzzies are... they're when you say lots of nice stuff about other people in your group; they usually happen on mission trips or at cast parties and stuff - places where people feel like they've become each other's unbiological family.
It tends to happen a lot with shows and, apparently, in movies - I think I read some Johnny Depp or Gene Wilder quote that supports the claim that your castmates are your temporary unbiological family.
And any other actor can probably vouch for me as well.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Two shows down...
Tonight was the mid-night. Last night was opening night. It was INSANE!!!
I feel like we had a LOT more energy last night than we did tonight, but tonight was generally better because we didn't rush too many of the lines.
Also, the love interest DID tell me to kiss him tonight (he forgot to last night). So yeah.
I think the bigger energy yesterday came from the fact that yesterday was opening night, and the general meh energy tonight is the fact that it's Middle Night. It's not closing night; it's not opening night. It's just... here. And we're just... performing.
True, there was probably a bigger crowd tonight than there was last night, but still. I feel like there was less anticipation tonight because we knew we could totally pull this shindig off.
And we DID pull it off.
And it was awesome.
I think my favorite part of the night was when I was hug-attacked by a bunch of my friends tonight - a few of them knew each other, but I was hug-attacked by like five friends within a few minutes of each other, so it was like, "ATTACK THE STAR!!! YAY!!!"
I was also told I had done well by several younger siblings and a lot of parents too, which was kind of... wow. The only time I've been told I've done well in a show by a younger sibling was when I had twelve lines as a robot in eighth grade. I wasn't a big part then, but I had to have the most character. I was a freaking tempramental ROBOT!!!
By the way, it was one of my most favorite (favoritest?) parts EVER. Except for this one, of course. :)
In other news, this is one of the few times that I didn't go to Silver Diner after a Friday show. I really don't feel like going - not only is it going to be loud and crowded and a hassle, AND I have no cash, I'm going to get back at midnight and then get like two hours of sleep and then run on complete adrenaline all day tomorrow, which really sucks.
I mean, running on adrenaline is fine, except when you have a three-hour rehearsal and also a closing performance in which you are the main character.
Yeah, adrenaline running? Not so fun then.
I feel like we had a LOT more energy last night than we did tonight, but tonight was generally better because we didn't rush too many of the lines.
Also, the love interest DID tell me to kiss him tonight (he forgot to last night). So yeah.
I think the bigger energy yesterday came from the fact that yesterday was opening night, and the general meh energy tonight is the fact that it's Middle Night. It's not closing night; it's not opening night. It's just... here. And we're just... performing.
True, there was probably a bigger crowd tonight than there was last night, but still. I feel like there was less anticipation tonight because we knew we could totally pull this shindig off.
And we DID pull it off.
And it was awesome.
I think my favorite part of the night was when I was hug-attacked by a bunch of my friends tonight - a few of them knew each other, but I was hug-attacked by like five friends within a few minutes of each other, so it was like, "ATTACK THE STAR!!! YAY!!!"
I was also told I had done well by several younger siblings and a lot of parents too, which was kind of... wow. The only time I've been told I've done well in a show by a younger sibling was when I had twelve lines as a robot in eighth grade. I wasn't a big part then, but I had to have the most character. I was a freaking tempramental ROBOT!!!
By the way, it was one of my most favorite (favoritest?) parts EVER. Except for this one, of course. :)
In other news, this is one of the few times that I didn't go to Silver Diner after a Friday show. I really don't feel like going - not only is it going to be loud and crowded and a hassle, AND I have no cash, I'm going to get back at midnight and then get like two hours of sleep and then run on complete adrenaline all day tomorrow, which really sucks.
I mean, running on adrenaline is fine, except when you have a three-hour rehearsal and also a closing performance in which you are the main character.
Yeah, adrenaline running? Not so fun then.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Opening NIGHT!
Well, tonight is opening night. I'm kind of psyched, but I'm also kind of nervous. I didn't say this earlier because I was in denial about it, but the love interest had to drop out last Saturday because of some family issues. He was replaced by the director's son, who is two years younger than me and clearly didn't want to do the role OR the show (probably partially because his mom wrote the show and was the director and was making him kiss someone). The son is good, but the awkward kiss scene... the awkwardness is still there, but it's a different sort of awkwardness - more like "Hi! I'm supposed to have a crush on/ kiss the director's son!" instead of "Hi! You're an attractive senior, and I'm actually sort of nervous around you! And now I have to kiss you! AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!"
But still, the show must go on. And so it's going on in five hours. I have to be here an hour and a half early, of course - I'll be arriving at six to change and do makeup before a 6:15 fight call.
And then the show goes up.
I'm still kind of in denial. It's really hard to believe that the show is going up. I mean, we only rehearsed for like a month and a bit. Having been in more school musicals than school plays, I'm used to having two-hour rehearsals nearly every day for a minimum of two months (usually around 2.5 months), and then three-hour rehearsals, then four-hour rehearsals, then five-hour rehearsals during tech week. But with this show, we did two-hour rehearsals two or three times a week for a month and a half, and then three- or four-hour rehearsals this week.
So part of the reason I'm kind of like "whoa, this is opening night" is because there wasn't as much buildup to it.
I mean, yes, there was buildup, but... yesterday, I got home at around seven thirty. During tech week of the musical, I got home at around ten.
I feel about the same amount of pressure for this show as I did for the musical, just in a different way. In this show, I'm one of two people who really drives the production, because I'm the main character. If I flub, I have to cover, and it's really awkward. In the musical, if I flub up, the choreography looks weird or props don't get taken onstage or something, and then the entire scene looks horrid because a minor actress missed something. Trust me, it happens.
So no pressure or anything.
Also, COME SEE THE SHOW!
But still, the show must go on. And so it's going on in five hours. I have to be here an hour and a half early, of course - I'll be arriving at six to change and do makeup before a 6:15 fight call.
And then the show goes up.
I'm still kind of in denial. It's really hard to believe that the show is going up. I mean, we only rehearsed for like a month and a bit. Having been in more school musicals than school plays, I'm used to having two-hour rehearsals nearly every day for a minimum of two months (usually around 2.5 months), and then three-hour rehearsals, then four-hour rehearsals, then five-hour rehearsals during tech week. But with this show, we did two-hour rehearsals two or three times a week for a month and a half, and then three- or four-hour rehearsals this week.
So part of the reason I'm kind of like "whoa, this is opening night" is because there wasn't as much buildup to it.
I mean, yes, there was buildup, but... yesterday, I got home at around seven thirty. During tech week of the musical, I got home at around ten.
I feel about the same amount of pressure for this show as I did for the musical, just in a different way. In this show, I'm one of two people who really drives the production, because I'm the main character. If I flub, I have to cover, and it's really awkward. In the musical, if I flub up, the choreography looks weird or props don't get taken onstage or something, and then the entire scene looks horrid because a minor actress missed something. Trust me, it happens.
So no pressure or anything.
Also, COME SEE THE SHOW!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Literary Update!
well... here is the Beginnings of the Fairy Godmother story. Hope you like it. It's nowhere near done, obviously, and I'm quite sure it's not going to be close to finished for a while. But here it is.
Chapter 1
One could say that the reason high school really sucks for the fantasy-loving girl is because it is definitely not like the fairy tales they read about as kids. There are no fairy godmothers that carry magic wands, no princes that can come along to sweep a hard working and deserving young lady off her feet and into a Wedding-Bound Happily Ever After. Life just does not work like that for most people.
For other girls, fairy tales are stuff to laugh at. And, honestly, I sometimes wish I could be you.
But for kids like me… fairy tales are the reason we're dorks. They are things to analyze from a literary perspective and to study for the archetypes and motifs and themes that come up. I have never really believed in fairy tales and happy endings; I have never really bothered fantasizing about getting carried off into a Happily Ever After. It just seems like taking the easy way out to let a man do all the dirty work.
If truth be told, I really wanted the girl to shove the prince off the horse, take the reins, and gallop off to do her best to save the world on her own terms at least once in at least one of the stories. The Savior of the World did not have to succeed; I just wanted a girl to attempt to fill the role for a change.
This would also be a wonderful time to point out that nowhere in any volume of Grimm’s tales, Andersen’s tales, and most volumes of folk tales does anything remotely like having a butt-kicking female exist.
Which, I might add, really sucks.
High school can suck, do not get me wrong – but what I've learned is that everyone could use a little magic. And, generally, I'm the one who has to provide that magic – it's an occupational hazard.
I know, I know – all you skeptics are saying, “Oh, fairy tales are just fiction” and “These fairy tales would never work out in the twenty-first century” and “Fairy Godmothers don't exist at all.” But you're wrong – I know that for a fact. I've already done enough to realize that how wrong the third statement is.
You see, I am a fairy godmother.
It all started when I walked into a tree on the last day of eighth grade.
Yes, a tree.
In the middle of the sidewalk.
Where did this tree come from?
I had no clue whatsoever.
But this tree changed my life.
Like most people would, I became very confused. Why was there a tree in the middle of a sidewalk? Why did it look like this particular tree had ALWAYS been in the middle of this very sidewalk, when I knew for a fact that it had not been there the day before?
And then a little man with a crooked nose, sagging skin, irate black eyes and a scraggly beard poked his head out of a knot in the tree and said in a deep voice that had a bit of a Brooklyn accent, “Oh, wonderful. She's here!”
“Um… what?” I said. This was even more confusing – this tree housed a little man, and both of them looked like they had been here since forever even though they most assuredly had NOT been in this very location twenty-four hours ago.
“You're here!” he cried again.
“Um… yeah…” I said. “Were you expecting me?”
“Of course we were,” the little man exclaimed with glee. “Why wouldn't we be?”
Um… because I don't know any little people who live in trees? And also, I don't know anyone who lives in a tree, period? And also, I have no idea who you are? “Uh… I think you have the wrong person…”
“You are Ericka Rose Dalnorn, address is 25 Rosenburg Street?” he confirmed.
Yeeesss…” I said slowly.
“Yes, we were expecting you,” he said briskly. “Come on in, and we shall get this interview started.”
“Um... like a job interview?” I asked cautiously. I was also becoming wary of the long-imprinted Mom-Quote: “do NOT enter anyone’s house if you don't know who they are.”
“What other sort of interview is there?” he answered.
“Uh…”
“Don't answer that. Come inside.” He disappeared from view and reappeared a few moments later from a small door near the base of the tree.
“Um, I didn't apply for any job. I think you have the wrong person,” I said as I ducked into the tree, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the situation.
“No, you are Ericka Rose Dalnorn, and you live on Rosenburg Street, and your appearance matches our descriptions. This meeting is scheduled.”
“Then why was I not informed of it?” I asked. I felt I had a right to know.
“Because your guardians are stupid humans. Take a seat anywhere.” He gestured around the room. Unfortunately, all the furniture looked as if it were better suited for someone more the size of – there’s really no other word for it – the dwarf, who was currently telling me that I had applied for a job.
“Now,” said the dwarf, settling himself on a small wooden rocking chair and giving me a critical look as he pulled out a clipboard, “Basic questions. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” I said slowly.
“Do you have a best friend?”
“Yes.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.”
The dwarf gave me a sharp look. “Name?”
“Alexander James Nolanew.”
“Any romantic interest in Alexander James Nolanew?”
“No…” Alex and I had been friends since kindergarten, and nothing had changed since then. I mean, I had thought about liking him, but the idea died three seconds after it came into existence.
“I see,” the dwarf said skeptically and made a note on his clipboard. “Anyway… age?”
“Fourteen.”
“Hair…” he glanced up. “Straight and coppery. Eyes…”
“Hazel,” I said.
He squinted at me for a second or two. “Green. With glasses.”
“Hazel,” I insisted. “With glasses.”
“Oh, very well,” he sighed, then added something like, “Hazel-eyed blahblahblah my arse,” under his breath. The “blahblahblah” sounded kind of like “godmother,” but I wasn’t entirely sure. “Height…”
“Five foot seven and growing.”
“What height do you expect to be at in four years?” he inquired.
“Um… I don’t know. Five-nine, maybe?”
“It doesn’t have to be definite.”
“Then go with five-nine,” I decided.
“Body type…”
“Body type?” I repeated. “Why do you need to know my body type? I don’t even know what my body type IS.”
The dwarf gave me a long, searching look, as if he were sizing me up, which he probably was. “Hourglass,” he concluded after a few moments of staring awkwardly at my midsection. “And it is part of the archetype identification. It has no lasting effect on whether you get hired; it is only to identify which archetype you will receive.”
“Archetype identification?” I repeated. “WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?”
“Do you know nothing, Miss Dalnorn?” the dwarf asked in an exasperated tone.
“Apparently,” I answered in equal irritation. “Would you care to inform me, or do I have to figure it out for myself?”
“Well, since you're here, I guess I should be the one to tell you,” the dwarf mused. “Very well, then. Take a seat.”
Chapter 1
One could say that the reason high school really sucks for the fantasy-loving girl is because it is definitely not like the fairy tales they read about as kids. There are no fairy godmothers that carry magic wands, no princes that can come along to sweep a hard working and deserving young lady off her feet and into a Wedding-Bound Happily Ever After. Life just does not work like that for most people.
For other girls, fairy tales are stuff to laugh at. And, honestly, I sometimes wish I could be you.
But for kids like me… fairy tales are the reason we're dorks. They are things to analyze from a literary perspective and to study for the archetypes and motifs and themes that come up. I have never really believed in fairy tales and happy endings; I have never really bothered fantasizing about getting carried off into a Happily Ever After. It just seems like taking the easy way out to let a man do all the dirty work.
If truth be told, I really wanted the girl to shove the prince off the horse, take the reins, and gallop off to do her best to save the world on her own terms at least once in at least one of the stories. The Savior of the World did not have to succeed; I just wanted a girl to attempt to fill the role for a change.
This would also be a wonderful time to point out that nowhere in any volume of Grimm’s tales, Andersen’s tales, and most volumes of folk tales does anything remotely like having a butt-kicking female exist.
Which, I might add, really sucks.
High school can suck, do not get me wrong – but what I've learned is that everyone could use a little magic. And, generally, I'm the one who has to provide that magic – it's an occupational hazard.
I know, I know – all you skeptics are saying, “Oh, fairy tales are just fiction” and “These fairy tales would never work out in the twenty-first century” and “Fairy Godmothers don't exist at all.” But you're wrong – I know that for a fact. I've already done enough to realize that how wrong the third statement is.
You see, I am a fairy godmother.
It all started when I walked into a tree on the last day of eighth grade.
Yes, a tree.
In the middle of the sidewalk.
Where did this tree come from?
I had no clue whatsoever.
But this tree changed my life.
Like most people would, I became very confused. Why was there a tree in the middle of a sidewalk? Why did it look like this particular tree had ALWAYS been in the middle of this very sidewalk, when I knew for a fact that it had not been there the day before?
And then a little man with a crooked nose, sagging skin, irate black eyes and a scraggly beard poked his head out of a knot in the tree and said in a deep voice that had a bit of a Brooklyn accent, “Oh, wonderful. She's here!”
“Um… what?” I said. This was even more confusing – this tree housed a little man, and both of them looked like they had been here since forever even though they most assuredly had NOT been in this very location twenty-four hours ago.
“You're here!” he cried again.
“Um… yeah…” I said. “Were you expecting me?”
“Of course we were,” the little man exclaimed with glee. “Why wouldn't we be?”
Um… because I don't know any little people who live in trees? And also, I don't know anyone who lives in a tree, period? And also, I have no idea who you are? “Uh… I think you have the wrong person…”
“You are Ericka Rose Dalnorn, address is 25 Rosenburg Street?” he confirmed.
Yeeesss…” I said slowly.
“Yes, we were expecting you,” he said briskly. “Come on in, and we shall get this interview started.”
“Um... like a job interview?” I asked cautiously. I was also becoming wary of the long-imprinted Mom-Quote: “do NOT enter anyone’s house if you don't know who they are.”
“What other sort of interview is there?” he answered.
“Uh…”
“Don't answer that. Come inside.” He disappeared from view and reappeared a few moments later from a small door near the base of the tree.
“Um, I didn't apply for any job. I think you have the wrong person,” I said as I ducked into the tree, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the situation.
“No, you are Ericka Rose Dalnorn, and you live on Rosenburg Street, and your appearance matches our descriptions. This meeting is scheduled.”
“Then why was I not informed of it?” I asked. I felt I had a right to know.
“Because your guardians are stupid humans. Take a seat anywhere.” He gestured around the room. Unfortunately, all the furniture looked as if it were better suited for someone more the size of – there’s really no other word for it – the dwarf, who was currently telling me that I had applied for a job.
“Now,” said the dwarf, settling himself on a small wooden rocking chair and giving me a critical look as he pulled out a clipboard, “Basic questions. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” I said slowly.
“Do you have a best friend?”
“Yes.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.”
The dwarf gave me a sharp look. “Name?”
“Alexander James Nolanew.”
“Any romantic interest in Alexander James Nolanew?”
“No…” Alex and I had been friends since kindergarten, and nothing had changed since then. I mean, I had thought about liking him, but the idea died three seconds after it came into existence.
“I see,” the dwarf said skeptically and made a note on his clipboard. “Anyway… age?”
“Fourteen.”
“Hair…” he glanced up. “Straight and coppery. Eyes…”
“Hazel,” I said.
He squinted at me for a second or two. “Green. With glasses.”
“Hazel,” I insisted. “With glasses.”
“Oh, very well,” he sighed, then added something like, “Hazel-eyed blahblahblah my arse,” under his breath. The “blahblahblah” sounded kind of like “godmother,” but I wasn’t entirely sure. “Height…”
“Five foot seven and growing.”
“What height do you expect to be at in four years?” he inquired.
“Um… I don’t know. Five-nine, maybe?”
“It doesn’t have to be definite.”
“Then go with five-nine,” I decided.
“Body type…”
“Body type?” I repeated. “Why do you need to know my body type? I don’t even know what my body type IS.”
The dwarf gave me a long, searching look, as if he were sizing me up, which he probably was. “Hourglass,” he concluded after a few moments of staring awkwardly at my midsection. “And it is part of the archetype identification. It has no lasting effect on whether you get hired; it is only to identify which archetype you will receive.”
“Archetype identification?” I repeated. “WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?”
“Do you know nothing, Miss Dalnorn?” the dwarf asked in an exasperated tone.
“Apparently,” I answered in equal irritation. “Would you care to inform me, or do I have to figure it out for myself?”
“Well, since you're here, I guess I should be the one to tell you,” the dwarf mused. “Very well, then. Take a seat.”
Friday, May 13, 2011
Challenges and hilarosity
Hilarosity... hilariousness... hilarity? Whatever. Anyway, that essentially describes fight rehearsal yesterday. See, all our fights - or most of them - have gotten to the point where we just need to run them a few times for nit-picking stuff and then we're done.
Except for my last fight, which isn't really a fight.
So our fight choreographer, who also graduated from our school last year and is also kind of another director but not really, essentially turned 'fight rehearsal' into 'flirt rehearsal' for the last hour.
And NOT in a weird way!
She helped us run the scene with my last not-really-a-fight, where I have to flirt with someone.
I learned that I can't flirt to save my life.
Wait, I already knew that. Never mind.
Anyway, while the guys were practicing doing front shoulder rolls, she and I had a not-very-long and somewhat-intense discussion about WHY I couldn't tell someone they looked good shirtless without laughing my head off in nerves. This happened on Wednesday during rehearsal. Twice. (yes, one of my lines IS "you look really good with your shirt off") It was kind of annoying but also kind of funny. For the record, I don't know WHY I couldn't say it with a straight face.
But that's beside the point.
The point is, I got a challenge: today and tomorrow and every day/ rehearsal until the show, I have to go up to as many guys in the production as I can find and say some variant on "you look really good with your shirt off," and I have to keep a straight face while doing so. So far, I've said it to eight guys, and I only cracked up twice - one's reaction was really funny, and one was the guy I have to say it to in the actual production, and for some reason I couldn't keep a straight face, probably because I was so nervous.
But I'm getting better.
Hopefully tomorrow will not be as bad as Wednesday.
And hopefully tomorrow I won't crack up on the flirt scene either.
I just can't let myself slip into 'me' mode - I have to stay in CHARACTER, because that's what actors DO.
So far, this is the only show where I have had trouble consistently staying in character, simply because Piper pulls off things that I wouldn't do.
Like kissing someone I hardly know and flirting with a random, creepy-looking guard to get past them and kick their boss' butt.
And telling reasonably attractive guys that they look good shirtless.
Anyway, I'll get better. I hope.
And if I don't... then it's probably worth the laugh.
Except for my last fight, which isn't really a fight.
So our fight choreographer, who also graduated from our school last year and is also kind of another director but not really, essentially turned 'fight rehearsal' into 'flirt rehearsal' for the last hour.
And NOT in a weird way!
She helped us run the scene with my last not-really-a-fight, where I have to flirt with someone.
I learned that I can't flirt to save my life.
Wait, I already knew that. Never mind.
Anyway, while the guys were practicing doing front shoulder rolls, she and I had a not-very-long and somewhat-intense discussion about WHY I couldn't tell someone they looked good shirtless without laughing my head off in nerves. This happened on Wednesday during rehearsal. Twice. (yes, one of my lines IS "you look really good with your shirt off") It was kind of annoying but also kind of funny. For the record, I don't know WHY I couldn't say it with a straight face.
But that's beside the point.
The point is, I got a challenge: today and tomorrow and every day/ rehearsal until the show, I have to go up to as many guys in the production as I can find and say some variant on "you look really good with your shirt off," and I have to keep a straight face while doing so. So far, I've said it to eight guys, and I only cracked up twice - one's reaction was really funny, and one was the guy I have to say it to in the actual production, and for some reason I couldn't keep a straight face, probably because I was so nervous.
But I'm getting better.
Hopefully tomorrow will not be as bad as Wednesday.
And hopefully tomorrow I won't crack up on the flirt scene either.
I just can't let myself slip into 'me' mode - I have to stay in CHARACTER, because that's what actors DO.
So far, this is the only show where I have had trouble consistently staying in character, simply because Piper pulls off things that I wouldn't do.
Like kissing someone I hardly know and flirting with a random, creepy-looking guard to get past them and kick their boss' butt.
And telling reasonably attractive guys that they look good shirtless.
Anyway, I'll get better. I hope.
And if I don't... then it's probably worth the laugh.
Monday, May 9, 2011
time... :P
I could be reading "The Odyssey." I could be looking up qualities of heroes. I could be doing precalculus. I could be studying the cold war for a test next week. I could be studying for a physics test next Friday. I could be doing a physics lab. But instead, I'm blogging!
See, the annoying thing about the end of the year - and maybe it's just the end of THIS year, or maybe it's just me - is that the all-grades show goes up in a week and a half, and this week and next week are the ones in which I have three tests, three worksheets, four (and a little extra) books to read of "the Odyssey," and nine full runs of the show, counting the performance days. It's kind of exhausting. At the same time, constant rehearsal is the reason I can keep my grades up. It may sound counter-intuitive, but it's true. See, with less time to do homework, I have less time to procrastinate. If I procrastinate less, then I get more homework done. If I get more homework done, I'm more likely to turn more homework in, which means I'm more likely to get good grades, which is more likely to get me into a good college, which is more likely to get me a good job, which... yeah.
Anyway, on a different note, you should ALL come see the all-grades show, because it shall be amazing and wonderful and fantabulous and full of complete and utter awesomeness. It'll be even more amazingly fantabulous if I ever get time to learn my fights! That would be wonderful!
We have another full run today, which means I'm going to be performing for almost all of the two hours we are going to be rehearsing. Wait... two and a half. Yay for almost-tech-week! It's a long and difficult time, but it's fun. Normally. Unless I don't get something to eat beforehand. Then it just sucks, because I'm irritated ALL THE TIME, which sucks.
However, I did bring my last prop today: girl scout cookies. Yes, girl scout cookies.
In the alternate universe into which I fall, they do not call them Thin Mints, or even cookies. They call them Dumplings. And I get to eat them. YAY!
I just hope they don't all get eaten backstage before show night.
See, the annoying thing about the end of the year - and maybe it's just the end of THIS year, or maybe it's just me - is that the all-grades show goes up in a week and a half, and this week and next week are the ones in which I have three tests, three worksheets, four (and a little extra) books to read of "the Odyssey," and nine full runs of the show, counting the performance days. It's kind of exhausting. At the same time, constant rehearsal is the reason I can keep my grades up. It may sound counter-intuitive, but it's true. See, with less time to do homework, I have less time to procrastinate. If I procrastinate less, then I get more homework done. If I get more homework done, I'm more likely to turn more homework in, which means I'm more likely to get good grades, which is more likely to get me into a good college, which is more likely to get me a good job, which... yeah.
Anyway, on a different note, you should ALL come see the all-grades show, because it shall be amazing and wonderful and fantabulous and full of complete and utter awesomeness. It'll be even more amazingly fantabulous if I ever get time to learn my fights! That would be wonderful!
We have another full run today, which means I'm going to be performing for almost all of the two hours we are going to be rehearsing. Wait... two and a half. Yay for almost-tech-week! It's a long and difficult time, but it's fun. Normally. Unless I don't get something to eat beforehand. Then it just sucks, because I'm irritated ALL THE TIME, which sucks.
However, I did bring my last prop today: girl scout cookies. Yes, girl scout cookies.
In the alternate universe into which I fall, they do not call them Thin Mints, or even cookies. They call them Dumplings. And I get to eat them. YAY!
I just hope they don't all get eaten backstage before show night.
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