It's never very sensible for me to write a post that hasn't been formulating in my head for at least a day beforehand. Otherwise, I spend a vast amount of time editing and deleting as I go along. However, the pressure of a dated blog has forced my hand and I must write something.
Things are moving on apace, particularly the wedding which is now less than three months away. I don't have a photographer which is something of a worry, but we can always busk it if necessary. People are coming, they have cameras, we'll cope.
I've heard back from somewhere about a placement in casting, yet to hear about dates, something else has popped up that I'm giving serious thought to and I have to redo my CV.
MuleBoy is entirely done, his last five assignments are in and we're feeling all light and happy with the knowledge that people can come round without him having to work it into his schedule. Always a plus.
It's raining but you probably knew that.
I saw Zodiac and it was very good. Dad'll enjoy it immensely, I reckon. Mum'll fall asleep but be insistent that she enjoyed it regardless.
I got very drunk on Sunday and miraculously did not get any form of hangover beside an appetite that felt like a yawning abyss. I was going out for an Italian the next day, though, so it worked out all right.
I'm in a play. I'm finding the lines something of a struggle as my discipline is shot from lack of practice. I've got a week to learn a lot of stuff. I'm sure I'll manage.
I gardened on Saturday and my legs still hurt. This may have been exacerbated by not realising the Greyhound races were outside.
I'm back to Urban Funk after it conflicting with work for several months and shall enjoy the last two weeks of the class enormously. I hope.
I've deleted from GoSupermodels and got addicted from MySpace. I discovered it's actually quite fun there when you start talking to people. Yay for fun.
Umm, let me know if I've left anything out. Perhaps you'd like to hear more about my exploits with an improvisational band known as F*ck Knows and the Dilapitated (sic) Llamas. I would change the spelling but I think it adds to the charm. This was while drunk on Sunday and we created 14 songs, the last of which was called Fifteen Songs because we'd miscounted. Other classics were Chicken Stew and Albino Loving. Strange night: Zombie bouncing down the stairs, magical disappearing pizza, MuleBoy's fanclub, Randy McNewman in the living room. It was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very good.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Things are Starting To Happen
MuleBoy's dissertation is finished. I asked for permission to print it out at work and now have it sitting in a drawer, awaiting one mini-amendment that required a panicky phonecall from his work. He has, by sheer jamminess, managed to get a full time job at the place where he was going to have to quit because they didn't have enough hours. He has but three essays to do and then he will be finished. He is set to graduate on 24 July, a day which I plan to celebrate fully.
The thing that has glued me to my place is done and I am nearly free to pursue other things. But I still don't know what to do. I am so fundamentally struck with ennui at the idea of continuing in admin but am not skilled in any other areas. I've been looking at placements but all are unpaid and we can't afford for either of us to be doing that sort of shenanigans for a while. And the wedding and honeymoon are in the way of most suggested dates. I'd love to join the Actor's Company but that costs 11 grand and, despite the structure of the company which allows people to work part time, that is extremely past my means. And I want a period of living at least a little bit within my means. That'd be nice.
My goal at the moment is to save for a postgraduate course at a drama school. Within this time I plan to look for other things to see if I'm better suited for them instead. I found something quite spectacular at the Donmar Warehouse which is my short-term goal. They've started a new thing, which is a trainee casting person and is supported by a bursary, so is paid. I phoned to find out what I could do to get it next year (it's a year post that starts in February). I'd need some casting experience beyond the amateur dramatics so have emailed a few companies about shadowing them. I think I have the skills for casting, particularly in the way that I can memorise actors and their careers. But it's frustrating that in order to get something paid I have to do something unpaid, which is similar to the sort of jobs that MuleBoy wants to go for. I may also continue to write and read film stuff and, if I do anything good, may send it to people.
I don't know what to do, as long-term readers will be well aware, but at least I am at the point where I can look for stuff rather than just wish for stuff to happen in the future. I've applied for a couple of adminny jobs already in order to make a start in London and can genuinely start to make plans. It's a relief.
The thing that has glued me to my place is done and I am nearly free to pursue other things. But I still don't know what to do. I am so fundamentally struck with ennui at the idea of continuing in admin but am not skilled in any other areas. I've been looking at placements but all are unpaid and we can't afford for either of us to be doing that sort of shenanigans for a while. And the wedding and honeymoon are in the way of most suggested dates. I'd love to join the Actor's Company but that costs 11 grand and, despite the structure of the company which allows people to work part time, that is extremely past my means. And I want a period of living at least a little bit within my means. That'd be nice.
My goal at the moment is to save for a postgraduate course at a drama school. Within this time I plan to look for other things to see if I'm better suited for them instead. I found something quite spectacular at the Donmar Warehouse which is my short-term goal. They've started a new thing, which is a trainee casting person and is supported by a bursary, so is paid. I phoned to find out what I could do to get it next year (it's a year post that starts in February). I'd need some casting experience beyond the amateur dramatics so have emailed a few companies about shadowing them. I think I have the skills for casting, particularly in the way that I can memorise actors and their careers. But it's frustrating that in order to get something paid I have to do something unpaid, which is similar to the sort of jobs that MuleBoy wants to go for. I may also continue to write and read film stuff and, if I do anything good, may send it to people.
I don't know what to do, as long-term readers will be well aware, but at least I am at the point where I can look for stuff rather than just wish for stuff to happen in the future. I've applied for a couple of adminny jobs already in order to make a start in London and can genuinely start to make plans. It's a relief.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
In other news...
We kicked ass at the drama festival thing. Yay. The play what I devised* was recalled and got second best play of the festival, Zombie got best actor, Semolina Broccoli got Best Supporting Player, Mrs FW and I got mentioned as runners-up in the acting categories and Lorraine and Semolina's play won the whole thing and will go through to the next round. This does mean that Working didn't get through because only one team from each company could qualify, but I still get to tag along as a replacement for one of the original cast who can't make it. Which I think qualifies as being jammy.
I'm very excited because Mrs Drunken Accomplice is PREGNANT! From henceforth she shall be The Sober Accomplice until such time as she has ceased breastfeeding. Congratulations to all the Accomplices, especially Foetal Accomplice.
*MuleBoy reminded me of a story I like the other day. Someone I work with met Hello Darling on a train. Hello Darling said that she was going to see The Play Wot I Wrote in London. It later got back to Hello Darling that my colleague had said afterwards that "you'd think she'd have better grammar if she'd written a play". Love it.
I'm very excited because Mrs Drunken Accomplice is PREGNANT! From henceforth she shall be The Sober Accomplice until such time as she has ceased breastfeeding. Congratulations to all the Accomplices, especially Foetal Accomplice.
*MuleBoy reminded me of a story I like the other day. Someone I work with met Hello Darling on a train. Hello Darling said that she was going to see The Play Wot I Wrote in London. It later got back to Hello Darling that my colleague had said afterwards that "you'd think she'd have better grammar if she'd written a play". Love it.
Embarrassing things
So, I shall come clean. I have a tendency, as I think is well documented in here, to doss about a bit on t'internet at work. My current presence on my blog at 9am on a workday morning confirms this, I think. For the last couple of months (deep breath), I have been playing on the world's most embarrassing site for a 27 year old woman who has friends and a boyfriend. But I can't seem to stop. Big Sis accepted this when I told her, knowing my mentality, but Mrs Funny Whistler was rather disconcerted. It is called GoSuperModels and, basically, it's MySpace for people who really want to pretend to be models. Unfortunately this often tends to be 11 year old girls who can't type and overuse smileys. However, this was just my first impression as I used the site merely to play modelling games and buy clothes. Genius concept - play games, buy clothes. Now I'm addicted for an even worse reason than my need to pretend that I'm a model with an easily extendable clothing budget. I've got friends on there. Now, one of my friends is a mother-of-three who goes on there to make sure her daughters are safe and one of them is a 22 year old freelance web-designer who gets bored when she's working from home but the friends that I get on really well with are 14 and 15(!) We have the same music tastes, which is how I got into their club in the first place (clubs are a big thing in GSM) and they genuinely make me laugh. The other thing, quite important to me, is that people aren't allowed in the club unless they type well as the club does not tolerate webspeak.
Obviously, the age thing can make me feel awkward, but I do tell them how old I am and don't pretend to be anyone I'm not. I do get freaked when they start to talk about being alone forever because they don't have boyfriends but have to stop myself from contributing to a discussion about that because I'm sure I was equally melodramatic at that age, if not more, and shouldn't really start saying things like "don't be stupid, you need a slap", if only because people didn't say it to me. So I talk to them about GSM and music, we play word association games and "would you kiss this person?" games, during which I was surprised to find out that someone else would kiss Simon Pegg. There was me thinking he appealed mainly to 20/30 something women. That said, everyone on there is in love with Johnny Depp, which is an age gap and a half for most of these girls.
I think it's probably odd that I never got into MySpace when I'm pretty obsessed with this but there are a couple of reasons why it works better for me. 1) MySpace is about how you look in some ways. I put a Sara Silverman picture on my MySpace profile to begin with and got a deal of response that dropped off after I told people that that isn't me. GSM gives you an avatar and that is your physical identity. I prefer this as I like to pretend that I don't look like me. 2) MySpace doesn't have games or shopping facilities. This is rubbish.
So yes, I am a teenager in an adult's body, but I think you knew this already. I like to think that the GSM thing is more an expression of the part of me that likes to pretend she went to an American High School (seriously) and was a popular girl and is going to be a model. My obsession with America's Next Top Model is probably also an expression of this. Just don't hate me for it.
Obviously, the age thing can make me feel awkward, but I do tell them how old I am and don't pretend to be anyone I'm not. I do get freaked when they start to talk about being alone forever because they don't have boyfriends but have to stop myself from contributing to a discussion about that because I'm sure I was equally melodramatic at that age, if not more, and shouldn't really start saying things like "don't be stupid, you need a slap", if only because people didn't say it to me. So I talk to them about GSM and music, we play word association games and "would you kiss this person?" games, during which I was surprised to find out that someone else would kiss Simon Pegg. There was me thinking he appealed mainly to 20/30 something women. That said, everyone on there is in love with Johnny Depp, which is an age gap and a half for most of these girls.
I think it's probably odd that I never got into MySpace when I'm pretty obsessed with this but there are a couple of reasons why it works better for me. 1) MySpace is about how you look in some ways. I put a Sara Silverman picture on my MySpace profile to begin with and got a deal of response that dropped off after I told people that that isn't me. GSM gives you an avatar and that is your physical identity. I prefer this as I like to pretend that I don't look like me. 2) MySpace doesn't have games or shopping facilities. This is rubbish.
So yes, I am a teenager in an adult's body, but I think you knew this already. I like to think that the GSM thing is more an expression of the part of me that likes to pretend she went to an American High School (seriously) and was a popular girl and is going to be a model. My obsession with America's Next Top Model is probably also an expression of this. Just don't hate me for it.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Strange Pasttimes
So, am living in a small vortex of nerves today. I normally get nervous before performing but there's nothing quite like having no safety net to keep the adrenaline going way in advance of the event. With Dude (an improvisational comedy night along the lines of Whose Line Is It Anyway, in case I haven't mentioned it before), my brain has established a quite remarkable feat which is to suppress any anticipation or knowledge of the event even happening until the day before, ensuring many nights of sleeping where there should be sleeplessness and fear. Unfortunately brain is not performing a similar task at the moment. With our current foray into a local amateur drama festival, we have reprised a piece that I am surprised I said yes to, given the inordinate amount of fear it inspires. I can only justify the decision by saying that I think I forgot how fricking terrifying it is to prepare and perform due to the rose-tinted specs of time and other people saying how much they wanted to see it again. As an actress who loves scripts and generally shouldn't be allowed to talk in real life without an edit function (a recent party where I talked a huge pile of crap really loudly is still making me shudder in recall, particularly where I insisted that meeting me was the highlight of everybody's life and then wouldn't let it go. It was one of those dreadful times when my ego had shouting privileges), I have a certain terror of being script-less. In this sense, scripts are the safety-net whose absence is making me sweat (ooh, it rhymes!) We (Mrs Funny Whistler, Big Sis and I) are embarking on a mostly wordless piece, devised by ourselves about four years ago about two women who piss each other off in the office and then have a bit of a boogie with the cleaner. I suppose I am fairly confident about it - I've been talking myself through it every night before going to sleep, which turns in to a shopping list:
MFW enters, wait for her to shred and type
In (hair in hat*)
Coat
Sit
Bag
Bra
Toys
Hair
Fidget
Magic Piece of Paper
Punch
Windows
Apple
Phone
"Hello. Oh, hi Rob. Yes, I know, I know. Oh yeah. Mmhmm, uh-uh"
SHREDDER
Sneeze
Fan
Filing Cabinet
Text Message
Tape
Revel in Desk Size
Tape War
Dance of the Chairs
*new idea from Big Sis so deserving of parentheses
But, if it isn't funny, what happens then? We had a technical rehearsal on Sunday where we did the Dance of the Chairs and not a smile was cracked, even by friends to make us feel better. Admittedly, the dance works because it comes after a gradual escalation of silliness and doesn't really work on its own but it was a huge blow to our confidence. Dad came to watch our subsequent panic-fuelled run-throughs to give us tips and his main piece of advice, which I am clutching, is that it isn't that funny. I had been playing it like a loon and he said that this gave the wrong impression and that, by toning it down, it would be more quaintly humourous than side-splitting. Oh, the relief. Now, I can quiet it all down, adding pauses and fun rather than clownish expressions and a manic pace. Finally, in our last run-through, we got the tone and pace right - clocking in at the twenty minutes required for the festival's rules. Now, it's just about whether I remember this as we fail to get any laughs tomorrow night. And whether Apple comes after Punch. And I cannot stop worrying.
I guess it has hit me so strongly as tonight I get to see the festival in action for the first time ever. I am nervous for our group who are performing and nervous because it is a reminder of what we have to go through tomorrow. That said, I am really looking forward to tonight because the tantalising glimpses of song, movement, music with wine glasses and the appropriate use of a cast member's hair have whetted my appetite. Let's hope I will be able to concentrate without my mantra of bra, toys, hair...
MFW enters, wait for her to shred and type
In (hair in hat*)
Coat
Sit
Bag
Bra
Toys
Hair
Fidget
Magic Piece of Paper
Punch
Windows
Apple
Phone
"Hello. Oh, hi Rob. Yes, I know, I know. Oh yeah. Mmhmm, uh-uh"
SHREDDER
Sneeze
Fan
Filing Cabinet
Text Message
Tape
Revel in Desk Size
Tape War
Dance of the Chairs
*new idea from Big Sis so deserving of parentheses
But, if it isn't funny, what happens then? We had a technical rehearsal on Sunday where we did the Dance of the Chairs and not a smile was cracked, even by friends to make us feel better. Admittedly, the dance works because it comes after a gradual escalation of silliness and doesn't really work on its own but it was a huge blow to our confidence. Dad came to watch our subsequent panic-fuelled run-throughs to give us tips and his main piece of advice, which I am clutching, is that it isn't that funny. I had been playing it like a loon and he said that this gave the wrong impression and that, by toning it down, it would be more quaintly humourous than side-splitting. Oh, the relief. Now, I can quiet it all down, adding pauses and fun rather than clownish expressions and a manic pace. Finally, in our last run-through, we got the tone and pace right - clocking in at the twenty minutes required for the festival's rules. Now, it's just about whether I remember this as we fail to get any laughs tomorrow night. And whether Apple comes after Punch. And I cannot stop worrying.
I guess it has hit me so strongly as tonight I get to see the festival in action for the first time ever. I am nervous for our group who are performing and nervous because it is a reminder of what we have to go through tomorrow. That said, I am really looking forward to tonight because the tantalising glimpses of song, movement, music with wine glasses and the appropriate use of a cast member's hair have whetted my appetite. Let's hope I will be able to concentrate without my mantra of bra, toys, hair...
Monday, February 26, 2007
Red Carpet
As something of a film fancier and enjoyer of nice dresses, the Oscars is something that I get excited about, although always seem to forget to book time off work in order to be able to stay up and watch it. However, seeing as it overruns by a lot and gets a bit boring, that's probably a good thing as I can still enjoy it without having to sit through it. I've just been reading through a post via my favourite website Go Fug Yourself here (scroll down for Fugging the Oscars), which is a blow-by-blow account that made me laugh quite a lot. Essentially: Helen Mirren and Forest Whittaker won. Big surprise. Alan Arkin won, which is good as Little Miss Sunshine was genius, although I loved Mark Wahlberg so much in The Departed that I was secretly holding out for him. Martin Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker (my favourite editor) both won for The Departed which also won best film. Although there were better films, I'm just really glad it won over Babel and The Queen. I haven't seen either of those for a reason. The fact that Babel was by the same guy who did 21 Grams didn't encourage me to see it as that was one of those films, like Mystic River, that I felt I was supposed to like because it was very serious and important but came out of feeling very let down. I also read a review of Babel that said that if the same idea had been done with a more positive feel, it would have been ridiculously naive, but as it was a depressing subject matter, we're supposed to take it seriously, which is pretty much my feeling about 21 Grams and confirmed my prejudice. And I know I should probably see The Queen and get my ideas changed about her but I don't want to. She's just a woman with a crappy job who's pretty much out of touch with modern Britain for all of her hand-shaking and hospital visiting. I feel sorry for her but I'm not interested enough to spend two hours in her company.
To be honest, the awards are generally a let-down after all the hype and the speeches can be embarrassing but the outfits never let us down. Annoyingly my favourite dress of the year belonged to Reese Witherspoon. And it's dark blue, which I always feel is a back-up black at awards ceremony, i.e. dull. But unfortunately, having looked at several photos, I still love it to bits. It's gorgeous. Cate Blanchett's was much less upsettingly pleasant as it was interesting, unusual and on an actress who I respect and like, and who appears uncredited in Hot Fuzz (it is her - I've had it confirmed. I am no longer the crazy woman ranting about how I know it is her to a defiant MuleBoy. I am now the crazy woman with proof). Gwyneth, Penelope and Jessica Biel all came a cropper to unpleasant shades of pink. I liked both Eva Green and Nicole's dresses but their faces scared me. Cameron Diaz decided to wear white, which always looks bridal, and she managed to get a dress so architectural in structure that she looks like a bride from an awful 80s wedding. Or a really clean version of the Tricorn Centre. And she should stop being brunette. I thought that Helen Mirren looked great but she generally does. Kate Winslet, my favourite red carpet person, looked a bit lacklustre. Mainly because of her hair. But she wore a colour which is the most important thing. My favourite men were Robert Downey Jr, Clive Owen and James McAvoy. Eddie Murphy looks like he thinks that he's still in Dreamgirls and Djimon Hounsou, lucky bastard who got to sit next to Jack Nicholson in the front row (if I ever go to the Oscars, I want to sit there. Can you imagine getting little asides from Jack Nicholson? Also, he always genuinely looks like he's having fun), had shiny edgings to his lapels. Daniel Craig is always gorgeous but, like Eddie, seemed to forget he wasn't actually on set and had dressed Bond-appropriate. I know it's difficult to escape Bond comparisons in a tux but would refer him to Clive Owen's example. The rebel didn't wear a tie of any kind! And it still worked.
I can't wait until the highlights, I want to see the interpretive dance where they make images from recent films. I want to see Abigail Breslin and Jaden Smith be cute together. And I want to see the Dead Person Montage, which, if I'm honest, probably is one of my favourite bits of the show. Even if it isn't as good as what Mark LaMarr used to do on Never Mind the Buzzcocks for all the people he just wished had died over the year.
To be honest, the awards are generally a let-down after all the hype and the speeches can be embarrassing but the outfits never let us down. Annoyingly my favourite dress of the year belonged to Reese Witherspoon. And it's dark blue, which I always feel is a back-up black at awards ceremony, i.e. dull. But unfortunately, having looked at several photos, I still love it to bits. It's gorgeous. Cate Blanchett's was much less upsettingly pleasant as it was interesting, unusual and on an actress who I respect and like, and who appears uncredited in Hot Fuzz (it is her - I've had it confirmed. I am no longer the crazy woman ranting about how I know it is her to a defiant MuleBoy. I am now the crazy woman with proof). Gwyneth, Penelope and Jessica Biel all came a cropper to unpleasant shades of pink. I liked both Eva Green and Nicole's dresses but their faces scared me. Cameron Diaz decided to wear white, which always looks bridal, and she managed to get a dress so architectural in structure that she looks like a bride from an awful 80s wedding. Or a really clean version of the Tricorn Centre. And she should stop being brunette. I thought that Helen Mirren looked great but she generally does. Kate Winslet, my favourite red carpet person, looked a bit lacklustre. Mainly because of her hair. But she wore a colour which is the most important thing. My favourite men were Robert Downey Jr, Clive Owen and James McAvoy. Eddie Murphy looks like he thinks that he's still in Dreamgirls and Djimon Hounsou, lucky bastard who got to sit next to Jack Nicholson in the front row (if I ever go to the Oscars, I want to sit there. Can you imagine getting little asides from Jack Nicholson? Also, he always genuinely looks like he's having fun), had shiny edgings to his lapels. Daniel Craig is always gorgeous but, like Eddie, seemed to forget he wasn't actually on set and had dressed Bond-appropriate. I know it's difficult to escape Bond comparisons in a tux but would refer him to Clive Owen's example. The rebel didn't wear a tie of any kind! And it still worked.
I can't wait until the highlights, I want to see the interpretive dance where they make images from recent films. I want to see Abigail Breslin and Jaden Smith be cute together. And I want to see the Dead Person Montage, which, if I'm honest, probably is one of my favourite bits of the show. Even if it isn't as good as what Mark LaMarr used to do on Never Mind the Buzzcocks for all the people he just wished had died over the year.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Lacking Inspiration
I have been finding it very difficult to do anything recently. My enthusiasm for things has evaporated temporarily. Pretty much the only things I have looked forward to are going to see my Dad and TV programmes (although these are very dependent on mood, except for America's Next Top Model which I could genuinely watch for 24 hours a day without getting bored). Obviously it hasn't been that bleak, I may be exaggerating a little. I went out for a Valentine's Meal with MuleBoy and we've been doing wedding stuff. But I missed an audition for Big Liam's band because I was going to the hospital the day after Dad's op and had spent the morning in floods of tears. I couldn't face getting a part in the next play so pulled out after auditioning. I haven't posted or written anything for a month. I've stopped going to the gym and ate nothing but sugar for about a week before moving on to junk food and cheese for the last three weeks. This, in turn, has led to hours of standing in front of the mirror hating myself, unable to find anything to wear. I am planning to go to the gym today but am finding it hard to shift out of patterns of self-hating leading to binging.
But my Dad is home and, if not entirely himself again, is getting there. Although it has led to some problems in my brain area, this whole experience has not been as bad as it certainly could have been and I have coped. My manager said yesterday that she would have been crying the whole time and I find it hard to believe that I wasn't. I had one bad day and that was it. I just feel like I've been crying the whole time. I have tears that spring into my eyes from time to time caused by random triggers like, for some reason, the end of The Railway Children repeating in my head. I'd walk down the road and "Daddy, Oh my Daddy" would hit me. Seriously, I just typed the blessed thing and it made me go. I think that what I need is some kind of finish to the whole thing. Some kind of train platform reunion where my Dad can dance a jig to prove he's okay and I can hug him and just feel better.
I am having second thoughts about posting this. Obviously, if you're reading this, the first thoughts won out. I saw Dad yesterday and he was up to sitting at the computer and had read my last post, which is good. But I don't want to write a post about how I feel crap because I've been mildly traumatised by my Dad's heart attack and subsequent triple heart bypass and then have him feel guilty when none of this is his fault. But I do need an outlet and this is my forum for my more selfish and self-indulgent thoughts. I just urge you, Dad, to understand that, however much I would wish to protect you from knowing that it was difficult for us, it was hard and we struggled at times but we would willingly go through worse for you to be alright.
But my Dad is home and, if not entirely himself again, is getting there. Although it has led to some problems in my brain area, this whole experience has not been as bad as it certainly could have been and I have coped. My manager said yesterday that she would have been crying the whole time and I find it hard to believe that I wasn't. I had one bad day and that was it. I just feel like I've been crying the whole time. I have tears that spring into my eyes from time to time caused by random triggers like, for some reason, the end of The Railway Children repeating in my head. I'd walk down the road and "Daddy, Oh my Daddy" would hit me. Seriously, I just typed the blessed thing and it made me go. I think that what I need is some kind of finish to the whole thing. Some kind of train platform reunion where my Dad can dance a jig to prove he's okay and I can hug him and just feel better.
I am having second thoughts about posting this. Obviously, if you're reading this, the first thoughts won out. I saw Dad yesterday and he was up to sitting at the computer and had read my last post, which is good. But I don't want to write a post about how I feel crap because I've been mildly traumatised by my Dad's heart attack and subsequent triple heart bypass and then have him feel guilty when none of this is his fault. But I do need an outlet and this is my forum for my more selfish and self-indulgent thoughts. I just urge you, Dad, to understand that, however much I would wish to protect you from knowing that it was difficult for us, it was hard and we struggled at times but we would willingly go through worse for you to be alright.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
When Life Goes Scary
I tried to post yesterday but had to stop as I was on the verge of embarrassing myself in a public place. It was a very bad day yesterday. I cried during the dissertation hand-in, although it was fortunately at a point when students were still lining up at the printers and weren't actually present. My Dad went into hospital on Tuesday night as a result of chest pains and then was told he'd had a heart attack and needed to stay in a week. We were all in a state of high panic but having got to the hospital and having Dad sit with us in the waiting room for a bit we'd all calmed down, but this news suddenly made it seem much more serious.
I closed off yesterday. I couldn't tell anyone except my boss at work so that I could leave early. I hadn't slept particularly well the night before and tiredness combined with a barely suppressed panic meant I just couldn't let anything out or I wouldn't stop. Dad's health since has been really good;, good blood pressure, good heartbeat but it's difficult to relax. I feel more relaxed but there's still a niggling thought in the back of my mind that when I'm not there, anything could happen. I wish I had the tools to defend my family against everything. A doctor and a warrior and a magician all in one. They are so precious.
I would break if anything happened to my Dad. I was trying to phrase it yesterday and couldn't find the words. I can't think of anything that expresses it better. I would break. I do not know anyone with more passion or the ability to express that passion and be so infectious with it. Although he can stumble with the words, his excitement is lifting and his sincerity is palpable. People are drawn to him and his talent and what is an indefinable air of being just kind of cool. Many's the time have I been told by people, or overheard, how awesome my Dad is. He's devoted to my Mum, and she to him, and their relationship is one of the best I've ever seen. Although he sees himself as curmudgeonly and grumpy, which, don't get me wrong, he can easily be, he is an optimistic and romantic bon viveur.
That last point may have to be trimmed somewhat with a post-heart attack diet but what can you do? I think evidence of his awesomeness can be seen in the response to me telling people; emails and phone calls and visitors have been popping in and I'm so grateful for all of this. People are amazing.
I closed off yesterday. I couldn't tell anyone except my boss at work so that I could leave early. I hadn't slept particularly well the night before and tiredness combined with a barely suppressed panic meant I just couldn't let anything out or I wouldn't stop. Dad's health since has been really good;, good blood pressure, good heartbeat but it's difficult to relax. I feel more relaxed but there's still a niggling thought in the back of my mind that when I'm not there, anything could happen. I wish I had the tools to defend my family against everything. A doctor and a warrior and a magician all in one. They are so precious.
I would break if anything happened to my Dad. I was trying to phrase it yesterday and couldn't find the words. I can't think of anything that expresses it better. I would break. I do not know anyone with more passion or the ability to express that passion and be so infectious with it. Although he can stumble with the words, his excitement is lifting and his sincerity is palpable. People are drawn to him and his talent and what is an indefinable air of being just kind of cool. Many's the time have I been told by people, or overheard, how awesome my Dad is. He's devoted to my Mum, and she to him, and their relationship is one of the best I've ever seen. Although he sees himself as curmudgeonly and grumpy, which, don't get me wrong, he can easily be, he is an optimistic and romantic bon viveur.
That last point may have to be trimmed somewhat with a post-heart attack diet but what can you do? I think evidence of his awesomeness can be seen in the response to me telling people; emails and phone calls and visitors have been popping in and I'm so grateful for all of this. People are amazing.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Crazy Lady
So, I'm back on a diet and back to obsessing about food. I'm sure you're not exactly fascinated by this and I know that I can get a bit repetitive but, as with Herself and her drinks list the other day, sometimes it is good to use the blogs for our own means as opposed to providing entertainment. I have managed to eat very little this week, which I am quite surprised by. I was ratty when I came back from a training session this morning because I hadn't eaten and there were biscuits and everything. I have now eaten and my mood has been restored. I'm eating a bowl of cereal for lunch as I hate sandwiches that have been around for a while. I only eat sandwiches at home because they're fresh. I think it has to do with getting cheese and cucumber sandwiches at school; when I got to them at lunch, the bread and cheese would be soggy from the cucumbers. If I remembered, I'd take the cucumbers out when I got to school and store them separately. I can't remember if I ever actually told my Mum or not, that probably would have been easier.
Anyhoo, yesterday was a work hand-in and I was up and down like a yoyo so decided not to do the cereal thing and got a gross wrap that was 9 Weightwatchers points. I threw half of it away so it counts as 4.5, I reckon. Had to do the same thing just now with a sticky toffee Mullerlite thing. There weren't any apples at the corner shop and I'd seen a persuasive advert of a Mullerlite and a chocolate button, saying that they were about the same fat content or something so thought that the Mullerlite would be brilliant because so much more filling. Unfortunately it was really sickly, so have wasted £3.55 this week on food that I have thrown away. Very frustrating. And really, who sells crap yoghurts over apples? I went to Tesco Express while walking in to work this morning (get me) and they didn't have any of the apple type that I am currently eating so didn't get any there. I'm into Granny Smith's at the moment, before that it was Cox's, before that, Gala and Braeburns and I really only ate Granny Smiths in my teenage years. It does make it slightly awkward that not only do I only eat one type of fruit but that I also only eat one type of the one type of fruit that I do eat. Does that make sense?
I have been to the gym Monday and today and walked either to or from work every day. When I get home, MuleBoy has generally cooked something massively unhealthy, so that is something to change for next week! But as a cap to the day I've been having pure sugar. I had five After Eights on Monday and four Minstrels last night. It's something to look forward to. This restraint will last until the weekend, I reckon. Then I'll probably be just as crap as before. But at least I'm trying now.
The cats' diets are going pretty much as I expected. Having been back for their second weigh-in (they have to go every six weeks) Steve has lost 250 grams and Meatball has gained 100. I'm not quite sure how she's managed this. I put on weight because I can go to the shops and buy more food, which I can't really imagine her doing. So we're going to exercise her more, which currently involves us running to the top of the stairs with her food. She stops and looks at us from the bottom and waits for us to come back down again. I was in a rush this morning so gave up after she sat on the fifth step and refused to go any further. In light of this, the cat harness that we've bought in order to walk her is starting to feel like a wasted purchase. I'll give it a go at the weekend, I think. Maybe at night so that no-one can actually see me walking a cat.
Anyhoo, yesterday was a work hand-in and I was up and down like a yoyo so decided not to do the cereal thing and got a gross wrap that was 9 Weightwatchers points. I threw half of it away so it counts as 4.5, I reckon. Had to do the same thing just now with a sticky toffee Mullerlite thing. There weren't any apples at the corner shop and I'd seen a persuasive advert of a Mullerlite and a chocolate button, saying that they were about the same fat content or something so thought that the Mullerlite would be brilliant because so much more filling. Unfortunately it was really sickly, so have wasted £3.55 this week on food that I have thrown away. Very frustrating. And really, who sells crap yoghurts over apples? I went to Tesco Express while walking in to work this morning (get me) and they didn't have any of the apple type that I am currently eating so didn't get any there. I'm into Granny Smith's at the moment, before that it was Cox's, before that, Gala and Braeburns and I really only ate Granny Smiths in my teenage years. It does make it slightly awkward that not only do I only eat one type of fruit but that I also only eat one type of the one type of fruit that I do eat. Does that make sense?
I have been to the gym Monday and today and walked either to or from work every day. When I get home, MuleBoy has generally cooked something massively unhealthy, so that is something to change for next week! But as a cap to the day I've been having pure sugar. I had five After Eights on Monday and four Minstrels last night. It's something to look forward to. This restraint will last until the weekend, I reckon. Then I'll probably be just as crap as before. But at least I'm trying now.
The cats' diets are going pretty much as I expected. Having been back for their second weigh-in (they have to go every six weeks) Steve has lost 250 grams and Meatball has gained 100. I'm not quite sure how she's managed this. I put on weight because I can go to the shops and buy more food, which I can't really imagine her doing. So we're going to exercise her more, which currently involves us running to the top of the stairs with her food. She stops and looks at us from the bottom and waits for us to come back down again. I was in a rush this morning so gave up after she sat on the fifth step and refused to go any further. In light of this, the cat harness that we've bought in order to walk her is starting to feel like a wasted purchase. I'll give it a go at the weekend, I think. Maybe at night so that no-one can actually see me walking a cat.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Waking Up
Happy New Year everybody!
I've been in hibernation. It's been very nice. Taking the first week back at work off is becoming something of a tradition and it is generally extremely lovely. I sleep a lot, eat a lot, play games, spend time with MuleBoy, watch old films, stay up late and avoid the shower. I know, I know, the last bit's gross. It's just really nice falling out of the world for a while.
So now I'm back. Can't say that I've done anything constructive yet, except plan to not eat very much today and I made myself bring in my gym bag. Early days. And to be honest, I'm not really convinced that I'll get very far with any resolutions that I've half-heartedly formed in my head. But I'm currently feeling content and warm-glow-ish, which is worth a lot. Excited by the future and all the possibilities. I can see an end to MuleBoy's degree, he has a new job at the mo, I can see an end to my job and the start of something new. Everything seems shiny and new, just like it should do after a decent hibernation.
I've been in hibernation. It's been very nice. Taking the first week back at work off is becoming something of a tradition and it is generally extremely lovely. I sleep a lot, eat a lot, play games, spend time with MuleBoy, watch old films, stay up late and avoid the shower. I know, I know, the last bit's gross. It's just really nice falling out of the world for a while.
So now I'm back. Can't say that I've done anything constructive yet, except plan to not eat very much today and I made myself bring in my gym bag. Early days. And to be honest, I'm not really convinced that I'll get very far with any resolutions that I've half-heartedly formed in my head. But I'm currently feeling content and warm-glow-ish, which is worth a lot. Excited by the future and all the possibilities. I can see an end to MuleBoy's degree, he has a new job at the mo, I can see an end to my job and the start of something new. Everything seems shiny and new, just like it should do after a decent hibernation.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Identity
So, first night of the play last night. I think it went well, we heard some positive stuff, which was nice. Very difficult to know when you don't spend that much time actually onstage, but the bits I was on for seemed alright.
Finally, to return to my much delayed blog from Wednesday, I am sick of being mistaken, misspelt, mispronounced and misunderstood. I understand, on the phone why someone may get my name wrong as I speak quickly and the sibilance of the end part of my name does run into the word "speaking" so that it often disappears. I do not understand email and letter confusion. It is written down. How, in any way, can people be so dense that they just don't double-check something before they reply? Somehow, they just seem to assume that I've got it wrong.
Similarly, I have a problem with being mistaken for somebody else. This happens a lot as Big Sis and I are similar-looking and for some people this constitutes us being the same person. Every time this happens I go and rant at Big Sis because I don't understand! We have similar faces, similar mannerisms and similar body shapes but there are enough differences to stop us from being the same. I choose to be ginger, she chooses to be blond. I'm three inches taller. I have a much longer face and goofy teeth. She has a smile like a normal person. Part of the problem is that Big Sis has a public role in her job and a number of people around where she works know her. They then see me, not knowing she has a sister, think I'm her, smile and say hello in a friendly way. As I don't know them, I'm not quick enough to twig and will give them a variety of responses a) confused smile, b) confused frown, c) blank face and, on a bad day, d) glare. I worry about this. It concerns me that I reflect badly on my pleasant and personable sister and makes me feel not so much a person in my own right but merely the bad side of her personality.
Of course, it's worse when the person in question does know both of us and still gets us mixed up. Surface differences are all well and good and I do get mistaken for any number of tall red-headed girls my age with glasses, not just for Big Sis. This just confirms my suspicion that people are basically stupid. But after talking to us both a certain amount and seeing us fairly often, I do get insulted when we're mistaken. Our personalities are markedly different and this, in itself, should overcome any superficial similarities of appearance.
I think where my real problem in being referred to by the wrong name or as the wrong person is that it makes me feel diminished. Every time, I feel like my uniqueness and my identity are being eroded. I moved churches aged about 14 because I found somewhere where I wasn't referred to constantly as someone's granddaughter, daughter or sister and wanted to be known in my own right. The main problem being that Granny was in the Guild, Dad was a steward, Mum ran Sunday School and Big Sis did the creche. There was no niche for me so no-one, except my friend FernBoy, knew who I was unless it was in relation to my relations. I didn't really start socialising at the Bench until I got cast in a few things because I didn't want the same thing to happen.
I don't know why I need to have such a fervent ownership of those things that make up who I believe my self to be like my name and appearance. It probably says something about my self perception that I have to have some grip on these relatively unimportant things to know who I am. This extends, unfortunately, to other elements of my life. Once I have got really close to people, I find it difficult when they are close to other people. I need people to tell me that they like me, especially MuleBoy. I remember getting freaked out when I was younger because I realised that other people could sing better than me because this meant that I did not own that talent. It is a constant effort not to touch things and people and aspects of my personality and scream "mine". It is an effort not to show how upset I can get by things that other people don't even notice. My Dad wrote a thank you letter to a family member for a birthday gift and told them what had happened on his birthday. He wrote that Mum cooked the meal, Big Sis baked a cake and Kitten poured the wine. For a start, the wine thing is a very minimal contribution and what was worse, I didn't even pour the wine. I was an afterthought and a slightly grasping conclusion to make a neat sentence. I can still remember how gutted I felt that I was so marginal. I reminded Dad that I had, in fact, written him a poem that had taken me a good deal of head scratching to get right so he wrote an addendum to the sentence that went "and wrote a poem". Now I felt marginalised, my achievement negligible and I had corrupted a nicely paced sentence with my melodramatic response. One of the most striking things about it is that I remember it so clearly now.
What I would like to know is what this says about me, other than deranged. Is this a sign of being spoilt, as my Granny told me and my parents repeatedly as I was growing up? Or is it a sign that I didn't have anything I considered truly mine growing up because everything I did, Big Sis did first or did with me? This would explain my scary need to have friends that are mine because this was one of the many things that we had to be fair about. We still have a number of mutual friends and it is still something that I struggle with. I don't go so far as when I was a teenager and questioned friends about who they liked best and why when Big Sis wasn't there, feeling cheated when they didn't immediately and fervently say that it was me.
Basically, I don't understand how identical twins cope. I love Big Sis to bits and don't resent her for this. I just have to suppress a lot of instincts when dealing with situations and spend a lot of my time angling for praise and reassurances of my place in the world and my position with other people. A lot of this blog is almost making excuses for myself and explaining certain personality quirks. I guess that's not what I intended. I don't want to make excuses for myself but I want to make myself clear. This is me. It's not pretty, it's not rational and I probably am crazy in a lot of ways. I do know that other people have crazy personality quirks and flaws like me and I don't consider myself to be special in this way. But I do like to articulate these quirks because it helps me not over-obsess about things. I've been obsessing about something that happened last week and trying to work out why I felt emotionally bruised by something extremely insignificant. So this is the outpouring of a week of obsession. Sorry.
Finally, to return to my much delayed blog from Wednesday, I am sick of being mistaken, misspelt, mispronounced and misunderstood. I understand, on the phone why someone may get my name wrong as I speak quickly and the sibilance of the end part of my name does run into the word "speaking" so that it often disappears. I do not understand email and letter confusion. It is written down. How, in any way, can people be so dense that they just don't double-check something before they reply? Somehow, they just seem to assume that I've got it wrong.
Similarly, I have a problem with being mistaken for somebody else. This happens a lot as Big Sis and I are similar-looking and for some people this constitutes us being the same person. Every time this happens I go and rant at Big Sis because I don't understand! We have similar faces, similar mannerisms and similar body shapes but there are enough differences to stop us from being the same. I choose to be ginger, she chooses to be blond. I'm three inches taller. I have a much longer face and goofy teeth. She has a smile like a normal person. Part of the problem is that Big Sis has a public role in her job and a number of people around where she works know her. They then see me, not knowing she has a sister, think I'm her, smile and say hello in a friendly way. As I don't know them, I'm not quick enough to twig and will give them a variety of responses a) confused smile, b) confused frown, c) blank face and, on a bad day, d) glare. I worry about this. It concerns me that I reflect badly on my pleasant and personable sister and makes me feel not so much a person in my own right but merely the bad side of her personality.
Of course, it's worse when the person in question does know both of us and still gets us mixed up. Surface differences are all well and good and I do get mistaken for any number of tall red-headed girls my age with glasses, not just for Big Sis. This just confirms my suspicion that people are basically stupid. But after talking to us both a certain amount and seeing us fairly often, I do get insulted when we're mistaken. Our personalities are markedly different and this, in itself, should overcome any superficial similarities of appearance.
I think where my real problem in being referred to by the wrong name or as the wrong person is that it makes me feel diminished. Every time, I feel like my uniqueness and my identity are being eroded. I moved churches aged about 14 because I found somewhere where I wasn't referred to constantly as someone's granddaughter, daughter or sister and wanted to be known in my own right. The main problem being that Granny was in the Guild, Dad was a steward, Mum ran Sunday School and Big Sis did the creche. There was no niche for me so no-one, except my friend FernBoy, knew who I was unless it was in relation to my relations. I didn't really start socialising at the Bench until I got cast in a few things because I didn't want the same thing to happen.
I don't know why I need to have such a fervent ownership of those things that make up who I believe my self to be like my name and appearance. It probably says something about my self perception that I have to have some grip on these relatively unimportant things to know who I am. This extends, unfortunately, to other elements of my life. Once I have got really close to people, I find it difficult when they are close to other people. I need people to tell me that they like me, especially MuleBoy. I remember getting freaked out when I was younger because I realised that other people could sing better than me because this meant that I did not own that talent. It is a constant effort not to touch things and people and aspects of my personality and scream "mine". It is an effort not to show how upset I can get by things that other people don't even notice. My Dad wrote a thank you letter to a family member for a birthday gift and told them what had happened on his birthday. He wrote that Mum cooked the meal, Big Sis baked a cake and Kitten poured the wine. For a start, the wine thing is a very minimal contribution and what was worse, I didn't even pour the wine. I was an afterthought and a slightly grasping conclusion to make a neat sentence. I can still remember how gutted I felt that I was so marginal. I reminded Dad that I had, in fact, written him a poem that had taken me a good deal of head scratching to get right so he wrote an addendum to the sentence that went "and wrote a poem". Now I felt marginalised, my achievement negligible and I had corrupted a nicely paced sentence with my melodramatic response. One of the most striking things about it is that I remember it so clearly now.
What I would like to know is what this says about me, other than deranged. Is this a sign of being spoilt, as my Granny told me and my parents repeatedly as I was growing up? Or is it a sign that I didn't have anything I considered truly mine growing up because everything I did, Big Sis did first or did with me? This would explain my scary need to have friends that are mine because this was one of the many things that we had to be fair about. We still have a number of mutual friends and it is still something that I struggle with. I don't go so far as when I was a teenager and questioned friends about who they liked best and why when Big Sis wasn't there, feeling cheated when they didn't immediately and fervently say that it was me.
Basically, I don't understand how identical twins cope. I love Big Sis to bits and don't resent her for this. I just have to suppress a lot of instincts when dealing with situations and spend a lot of my time angling for praise and reassurances of my place in the world and my position with other people. A lot of this blog is almost making excuses for myself and explaining certain personality quirks. I guess that's not what I intended. I don't want to make excuses for myself but I want to make myself clear. This is me. It's not pretty, it's not rational and I probably am crazy in a lot of ways. I do know that other people have crazy personality quirks and flaws like me and I don't consider myself to be special in this way. But I do like to articulate these quirks because it helps me not over-obsess about things. I've been obsessing about something that happened last week and trying to work out why I felt emotionally bruised by something extremely insignificant. So this is the outpouring of a week of obsession. Sorry.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Mean!
Talking about fist shaking. I was fully intending to kick someone who was rude to a colleague yesterday. Here is a transcript of their conversation, see whether you think it deserves a kicking:
Rude Man: Where are your catering facilities?
Colleague: What do you mean...(intending to ask whether he meant our humble canteen or the official University caterers based in another building)
RM: What part of 'catering facilities' do you not understand?
Colleague pointed him to our canteen, which he dashed to and then dashed from and outside. I saw him out the window and shook my fist. Later on, I saw him again and stared at him in an angry way. I don't like unnecessarily rude people.
This isn't even the thing that I was thinking about posting when I mentioned that I was thinking about posting. This is something else entirely that sprung to mind as a result of the bracketed fist shaking that I perpetrated towards my Pa, almost as proof that fist-shaking does occur in the real world, even though I don't know anyone else apart from me that actually does it. It's a very good way of venting frustration though. Partly because it makes me giggle when I do it so the frustration is vented through the healing power of being an eejit.
Rude Man: Where are your catering facilities?
Colleague: What do you mean...(intending to ask whether he meant our humble canteen or the official University caterers based in another building)
RM: What part of 'catering facilities' do you not understand?
Colleague pointed him to our canteen, which he dashed to and then dashed from and outside. I saw him out the window and shook my fist. Later on, I saw him again and stared at him in an angry way. I don't like unnecessarily rude people.
This isn't even the thing that I was thinking about posting when I mentioned that I was thinking about posting. This is something else entirely that sprung to mind as a result of the bracketed fist shaking that I perpetrated towards my Pa, almost as proof that fist-shaking does occur in the real world, even though I don't know anyone else apart from me that actually does it. It's a very good way of venting frustration though. Partly because it makes me giggle when I do it so the frustration is vented through the healing power of being an eejit.
Kick Off
This is the week that the huge endeavour actually has to happen. No, not my birthday, sillies (it's on Saturday, by the way). The play starts tomorrow, which is somewhat stupefying as it's been something of a Sword of Damocles for a year, hanging over all of our heads, from the production team to the cast members, to the families of the production team and cast members. I've had a slightly special view of it, as have only been a part of Play One (see Boanerges for a more detailed explanation of the play) due to slightly diva-esque tendencies that I have been simultaneously chastising and congratulating myself for as the process has gone on. But it is actually quite nice being part of a production, so getting all the nice stuff that that entails, camaraderie etc, and being able to look forward to seeing the show too.
It was also quite a relief to get some time to finish puppet making last night while everyone else was rehearsing. The wolves (on for three appearances tops) are something of a burden. I was really hoping that I could get away without giving them bodies but the director has requested they be bodied up, so I now have to make bodies and work out the mechanics for the actors holding the bodies so it was good to get cracking on that last night. Wile E. Wolf (the second one I made had a coyote-ish snout, hence the name. The first one was relatively dull so he has been monickered Kevin) also needs a face so I have to get cracking on that, too.
There was another reason for relief as my foot, the one that I busted on holiday, has started playing up. No doubt my antics as a puppeteer have upset it rather but wearing a slight heel yesterday and going over on it probably didn't help. I am now wearing my sports trainers and have a little limp. It'll be fine by tomorrow, I'm sure. Being a puppeteer has been a huge challenge for me but one that I've definitely relished. Considering I did what I thought was a terrible job in the puppeteering part of the audition, I was rather surprised to get one of the main puppets (which basically means one with a line or four). Main problems have been trying to remember I'm invisible, trying to remember I'm invisible but remembering that I can still be in the way, trying to get other people to remember that I'm invisible. Difficult job when a large person already. I've managed on the whole, although a couple of scenes where the introduction of the set changed the physicality have resulted in something slightly nightmarish. Going up and down the (extremely vertical) ladders, playing pass the puppet, very tricky. Going up the stairs, do-able, coming down the stairs, slow and clumpy. The balloon scene, which was re-blocked last week, is a complete nightmare. This is currently my bete noir and I have to spend the interval psyching myself up for it. I have to squat, back against the wall, arm outstretched holding puppet in position in front of me, completely visible albeit in blacks with a hood. This is through the audience coming in after the interval, through voice-over introducing second half, through minute-long conversation. Then I get to move finally because the puppeteer in front of me moves to get into position and makes me less visible, so remove back from wall (hopefully without toppling as I did on Monday) and put weight fully on feet which are starting to go numb. Then have to act with puppet without being able to see puppet (I have a horrible feeling wire and inner workings of puppet are visible) and then, finally, beautifully, I can get up as the set is closed. I then spend the next scene before I go back on, stretching and walking and trying to get some feeling back in to my feet and legs.
Discomfort aside, I have loved doing this play. I enjoyed the day-long puppet making sessions. I enjoyed rehearsals. I like everyone in it, although certain cast members have driven me mad, one in particular who has been getting very stressed (uncharacteristically so, I might add) about people doing things correctly and then who doesn't turn his mobile phone off and does not possess the ability to whisper. My Dad has defended PD, who I personally feel doesn't deserve it. He might have got on a bit better if he'd aimed for the cast-call time rather than the play-start time. That's all I'm saying. I am trying very hard to resist the call of the inner prefect though. I'm not exactly on top of it but I'm getting there.
Wow, this is a very rambly post. Apologies for those reading this who are bored with the play already. I may post again later today. I was going to post about something quite different and then got derailed by reading Boanerges (shakes fist).
It was also quite a relief to get some time to finish puppet making last night while everyone else was rehearsing. The wolves (on for three appearances tops) are something of a burden. I was really hoping that I could get away without giving them bodies but the director has requested they be bodied up, so I now have to make bodies and work out the mechanics for the actors holding the bodies so it was good to get cracking on that last night. Wile E. Wolf (the second one I made had a coyote-ish snout, hence the name. The first one was relatively dull so he has been monickered Kevin) also needs a face so I have to get cracking on that, too.
There was another reason for relief as my foot, the one that I busted on holiday, has started playing up. No doubt my antics as a puppeteer have upset it rather but wearing a slight heel yesterday and going over on it probably didn't help. I am now wearing my sports trainers and have a little limp. It'll be fine by tomorrow, I'm sure. Being a puppeteer has been a huge challenge for me but one that I've definitely relished. Considering I did what I thought was a terrible job in the puppeteering part of the audition, I was rather surprised to get one of the main puppets (which basically means one with a line or four). Main problems have been trying to remember I'm invisible, trying to remember I'm invisible but remembering that I can still be in the way, trying to get other people to remember that I'm invisible. Difficult job when a large person already. I've managed on the whole, although a couple of scenes where the introduction of the set changed the physicality have resulted in something slightly nightmarish. Going up and down the (extremely vertical) ladders, playing pass the puppet, very tricky. Going up the stairs, do-able, coming down the stairs, slow and clumpy. The balloon scene, which was re-blocked last week, is a complete nightmare. This is currently my bete noir and I have to spend the interval psyching myself up for it. I have to squat, back against the wall, arm outstretched holding puppet in position in front of me, completely visible albeit in blacks with a hood. This is through the audience coming in after the interval, through voice-over introducing second half, through minute-long conversation. Then I get to move finally because the puppeteer in front of me moves to get into position and makes me less visible, so remove back from wall (hopefully without toppling as I did on Monday) and put weight fully on feet which are starting to go numb. Then have to act with puppet without being able to see puppet (I have a horrible feeling wire and inner workings of puppet are visible) and then, finally, beautifully, I can get up as the set is closed. I then spend the next scene before I go back on, stretching and walking and trying to get some feeling back in to my feet and legs.
Discomfort aside, I have loved doing this play. I enjoyed the day-long puppet making sessions. I enjoyed rehearsals. I like everyone in it, although certain cast members have driven me mad, one in particular who has been getting very stressed (uncharacteristically so, I might add) about people doing things correctly and then who doesn't turn his mobile phone off and does not possess the ability to whisper. My Dad has defended PD, who I personally feel doesn't deserve it. He might have got on a bit better if he'd aimed for the cast-call time rather than the play-start time. That's all I'm saying. I am trying very hard to resist the call of the inner prefect though. I'm not exactly on top of it but I'm getting there.
Wow, this is a very rambly post. Apologies for those reading this who are bored with the play already. I may post again later today. I was going to post about something quite different and then got derailed by reading Boanerges (shakes fist).
Thursday, December 07, 2006
This week at work...
...I have managed to look through a holiday brochure for the US to get holiday ideas. I'm pretty stuck on Stowe, Vermont and Boston as destinations other than New York. The pictures of Fall leaves make me stroke the pages. Talking about it over with MuleBoy, realised that he has much more confused idea of where everything is than me. Glad I now know where all the states are - yay, the Geography Game (also played at work)
...I have gone back to a story idea that I never got off the ground and have written some actual words. Not many but they exist
...I have designed a Chocolatl (sic) wrapper for the play
...I have requested rights information for a play we're planning to pitch for next year
...I have decided on a new hair colour for when I get my hair done next Friday
...I have hunted eBay for wedding shoes, mainly because the wedding bit in BHS has closed down, which was where I planned to go. Still nervous about buying stuff I haven't tried on so haven't gone so far as to purchase anything yet. Also looked at Irregular Choice shoes. Gorgeous but the ones I really like are so vertiginous, I can't imagine wearing them for more than five minutes at a time. Also looked at possible Best Lady garb for Big Sis. Still haven't found anything that looks right, although looking back at Kate Winslet's Alexander McQueen for Givenchy Oscar outfit, that's kind of what I want. But one that's less likely to keep Big Sis stuck in an embarrassingly lengthy toilet trip a la Kate.
...I have looked for hotels in the area for the wedding night. I am not obsessed. Really.
...I went dancing twice, first at Salsa, second at Urban Funk. First one, not that keen on dancing that close to someone as can't hide sweaty-face easily and not allowed to just do whatever the hell I want. Also, looked down at my feet at the wrong point and realised that dancing partner was slightly more excited than he had any reason to be (I mentioned sweaty-face, did I not?) Made me want to run away and never come back. Urban Funk was blessed relief following that.
...I haven't told anyone that I am bored and have little to do because then they might get a bit suspicious about what I'm actually doing with my time. I have done some work, obviously. I sent some letters out already this morning. I did the post just now. Some students who've left will be getting exit awards. It's all good, it just takes up no time at all.
...I have gone back to a story idea that I never got off the ground and have written some actual words. Not many but they exist
...I have designed a Chocolatl (sic) wrapper for the play
...I have requested rights information for a play we're planning to pitch for next year
...I have decided on a new hair colour for when I get my hair done next Friday
...I have hunted eBay for wedding shoes, mainly because the wedding bit in BHS has closed down, which was where I planned to go. Still nervous about buying stuff I haven't tried on so haven't gone so far as to purchase anything yet. Also looked at Irregular Choice shoes. Gorgeous but the ones I really like are so vertiginous, I can't imagine wearing them for more than five minutes at a time. Also looked at possible Best Lady garb for Big Sis. Still haven't found anything that looks right, although looking back at Kate Winslet's Alexander McQueen for Givenchy Oscar outfit, that's kind of what I want. But one that's less likely to keep Big Sis stuck in an embarrassingly lengthy toilet trip a la Kate.
...I have looked for hotels in the area for the wedding night. I am not obsessed. Really.
...I went dancing twice, first at Salsa, second at Urban Funk. First one, not that keen on dancing that close to someone as can't hide sweaty-face easily and not allowed to just do whatever the hell I want. Also, looked down at my feet at the wrong point and realised that dancing partner was slightly more excited than he had any reason to be (I mentioned sweaty-face, did I not?) Made me want to run away and never come back. Urban Funk was blessed relief following that.
...I haven't told anyone that I am bored and have little to do because then they might get a bit suspicious about what I'm actually doing with my time. I have done some work, obviously. I sent some letters out already this morning. I did the post just now. Some students who've left will be getting exit awards. It's all good, it just takes up no time at all.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Bored now
I am looking at the clock and I am just so bored. I just rang MuleBoy to alleviate the dull and he started talking about dissertations and referencing which didn't exactly work. It isn't like I have nothing to do at work, I just have nothing very satisfying to do. My options are: ringing round and leave messages on students' answerphones for them to never call me back, sorting out a new and exciting way of organising the new annual reports procedure, and filing. I don't have a very good relationship with filing. My appraisal every year consistently contains some approximation of the phrase "I hate filing, please don't make me have to do it any more". I also have to work out how to manage Research people but still don't really understand how the whole thing works and once I've done it, this will involve more filing.
Instead I've spent a large portion of my day looking at things to do once I've left this particular episode of my life. There are so many reasons why I've stayed in this job for longer than I really wanted to and all of those things are still keeping me there, and it is really starting to make me chomp at the bit now. So I've been trying to decide what I want to do next! My plan is to do something postgraduate-y and my train of thought is currently rather bifurcated as I can't decide between two options:
Option No.1 - Study a 1 year diploma/MA type thing at a drama school and do the acting thing. Now this is lifelong dream territory. I have considered the acting malarkey before and have put myself off as I know I am not confident enough to actually do it despite really, really wanting to. I know I'm good but I lack certain other qualities that are necessary, like thick skin and the ability to make a good first impression (on average I'd say I make a good third impression, when the fear has subsided enough for me to not sound like a twat).
Option No.2 - Do an MA in Film Studies and either become a film critic or a film lecturer of some kind. When you start reading someone else's text books (for fun!), you realise that this is something for which you have a more than passing interest in. This is the more practical version but the problem with my practical ideas for a CAREER is that they fall by the wayside when I return again to the fact that I really want to act and that the idea of not acting fills me with horror.
I've also been doing stuff towards my wedding but I'm playing it down because I really don't want to be the sort of person who obsesses about her wedding. I never ever anticipated I'd get this excited about the whole business. I blame the dress.
Instead I've spent a large portion of my day looking at things to do once I've left this particular episode of my life. There are so many reasons why I've stayed in this job for longer than I really wanted to and all of those things are still keeping me there, and it is really starting to make me chomp at the bit now. So I've been trying to decide what I want to do next! My plan is to do something postgraduate-y and my train of thought is currently rather bifurcated as I can't decide between two options:
Option No.1 - Study a 1 year diploma/MA type thing at a drama school and do the acting thing. Now this is lifelong dream territory. I have considered the acting malarkey before and have put myself off as I know I am not confident enough to actually do it despite really, really wanting to. I know I'm good but I lack certain other qualities that are necessary, like thick skin and the ability to make a good first impression (on average I'd say I make a good third impression, when the fear has subsided enough for me to not sound like a twat).
Option No.2 - Do an MA in Film Studies and either become a film critic or a film lecturer of some kind. When you start reading someone else's text books (for fun!), you realise that this is something for which you have a more than passing interest in. This is the more practical version but the problem with my practical ideas for a CAREER is that they fall by the wayside when I return again to the fact that I really want to act and that the idea of not acting fills me with horror.
I've also been doing stuff towards my wedding but I'm playing it down because I really don't want to be the sort of person who obsesses about her wedding. I never ever anticipated I'd get this excited about the whole business. I blame the dress.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I am Bad Mummy
The cats hate me. I'm right there with them.
We went to the vets on Saturday for a booster leukaemia shot (this boggles my mind and makes me want to look into leukaemia more as I didn't think it was something that could be treated preventatively). Afterwards they went in to see the nurse for Weight Clinic. I can't believe that I go to WeightWatchers for me and feel guilty, and then have to go for someone else and feel guilty too. It's like that show about killing the kids, where they torment parents about how terrible they are and how the children are going to die early. They do it for cats too - we got heart failure, diabetes, arthritis so they were really twisting the knife. Our only defence was that we've only had the cats for six months and had adopted both the food and the habits of the previous owners along with the cats themselves.
So we have mended our cat-feeding ways and they shall soon be on the road towards losing half their body weight (a goal which neither of us feels is particularly realistic). But, obviously, not being in control of their own food, they are hating us for the imposed regime. Particularly Meatball, the bigger of the two. She's generally pretty easy-going and will submit to any number of indignities when I'm feeling playful. However, she has turned into psycho cat now and will generally just sit by her bowl in the kitchen watching us with baleful eyes and waiting for us to fill it. Seeing as I have often let my diet slide due to general moodiness and turned back into a normal human being as a result, I can definitely sympathise. But it doesn't stop me from feeling rejected when I pick her up for a cuddle and she wails in her strangled motor way (occasionally she meows like a normal cat, but she's just not very good at it consistently) and struggles to be free. Its very demoralising. Steve, on the other hand, is much less tormented and even eats less than she is given. I spy a future Slimmer of the Year in the making. I wish I was like Steve.
As you can tell, I am turning into someone ever so slightly obsessive about my cats. It's funny though, despite the cat hair, the expense (Meatball needs dental work - oi vey), and the fact that I quite often skip my breakfast in the mornings because I'm giving them theirs, I can absolutely state that they have improved the quality of my life. A few years ago, during a Christmas break from Uni, I sat around with my friends and we made a list of what we predicted for people. Despite not being particularly maternal and having no pets, they all unanimously decreed that I would be the one surrounded by children and animals in a farm somewhere (it was also decided that I'd be the least likely to be gay, which given the company was quite an obvious one). It's an idea that's stuck somehow and has become something of a mini-dream. I guess the cats, and the fact that I can care for them and look after them, has made it feel slightly more achievable.
We went to the vets on Saturday for a booster leukaemia shot (this boggles my mind and makes me want to look into leukaemia more as I didn't think it was something that could be treated preventatively). Afterwards they went in to see the nurse for Weight Clinic. I can't believe that I go to WeightWatchers for me and feel guilty, and then have to go for someone else and feel guilty too. It's like that show about killing the kids, where they torment parents about how terrible they are and how the children are going to die early. They do it for cats too - we got heart failure, diabetes, arthritis so they were really twisting the knife. Our only defence was that we've only had the cats for six months and had adopted both the food and the habits of the previous owners along with the cats themselves.
So we have mended our cat-feeding ways and they shall soon be on the road towards losing half their body weight (a goal which neither of us feels is particularly realistic). But, obviously, not being in control of their own food, they are hating us for the imposed regime. Particularly Meatball, the bigger of the two. She's generally pretty easy-going and will submit to any number of indignities when I'm feeling playful. However, she has turned into psycho cat now and will generally just sit by her bowl in the kitchen watching us with baleful eyes and waiting for us to fill it. Seeing as I have often let my diet slide due to general moodiness and turned back into a normal human being as a result, I can definitely sympathise. But it doesn't stop me from feeling rejected when I pick her up for a cuddle and she wails in her strangled motor way (occasionally she meows like a normal cat, but she's just not very good at it consistently) and struggles to be free. Its very demoralising. Steve, on the other hand, is much less tormented and even eats less than she is given. I spy a future Slimmer of the Year in the making. I wish I was like Steve.
As you can tell, I am turning into someone ever so slightly obsessive about my cats. It's funny though, despite the cat hair, the expense (Meatball needs dental work - oi vey), and the fact that I quite often skip my breakfast in the mornings because I'm giving them theirs, I can absolutely state that they have improved the quality of my life. A few years ago, during a Christmas break from Uni, I sat around with my friends and we made a list of what we predicted for people. Despite not being particularly maternal and having no pets, they all unanimously decreed that I would be the one surrounded by children and animals in a farm somewhere (it was also decided that I'd be the least likely to be gay, which given the company was quite an obvious one). It's an idea that's stuck somehow and has become something of a mini-dream. I guess the cats, and the fact that I can care for them and look after them, has made it feel slightly more achievable.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
I Aten't Dead
Hello. I spoke Mrs Funny Whistler last night who said that she was concerned due to my lack of posting recently. So this is a brief note to confirm that I'm okay. Big sighs of relief all round, I know.
I was off sick last week which meant that I don't have much access to a computer, my home one being booked by MuleBoy permanently for Fantasy Football, MySpace and the occasional essay writing. If I want to use it, I have to undergo a ferocious cross examination and produce a stamped and signed permission slip on request. It's just too much work for a simple post. This week I have been trying to catch up after being off sick for a week which has been a pain, especially considering I'm picking up work for a colleague who's now on holiday for six months (or maternity leave. The one thing that makes me want to get impregnated, especially now it's nine months).
In other news, last night I was talking to Beanie about a part in a play I had really wanted but hadn't got and sounded stupid when he was trying to explain why I hadn't got it. The thing is, I know why I haven't got it and I know that it isn't really about me but about what the director wanted, something I understand even more since directing myself. I understand the reasoning behind it and may have done the same in a similar situation. However, fundamentally, and I know there are actors reading this who can appreciate it, it is always a rejection. I can hear reasons and explanations, even compliments about my audition. But the only thing you really feel is the no.
Well, that's a patchy little post. I promise to do better next time.
I was off sick last week which meant that I don't have much access to a computer, my home one being booked by MuleBoy permanently for Fantasy Football, MySpace and the occasional essay writing. If I want to use it, I have to undergo a ferocious cross examination and produce a stamped and signed permission slip on request. It's just too much work for a simple post. This week I have been trying to catch up after being off sick for a week which has been a pain, especially considering I'm picking up work for a colleague who's now on holiday for six months (or maternity leave. The one thing that makes me want to get impregnated, especially now it's nine months).
In other news, last night I was talking to Beanie about a part in a play I had really wanted but hadn't got and sounded stupid when he was trying to explain why I hadn't got it. The thing is, I know why I haven't got it and I know that it isn't really about me but about what the director wanted, something I understand even more since directing myself. I understand the reasoning behind it and may have done the same in a similar situation. However, fundamentally, and I know there are actors reading this who can appreciate it, it is always a rejection. I can hear reasons and explanations, even compliments about my audition. But the only thing you really feel is the no.
Well, that's a patchy little post. I promise to do better next time.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
I am the REAL Rod Hull
Is it Greeeen jelly?
I am aware that the above reference is slightly obscure but I don't care. You should have watched more Lee and Herring.
Anywho, I am very excited because this week I have discovered a penpal. I did not go out and try to find a penpal, she found me. This came about, I am guessing, because she decided to do that thing that we've all done at some point; typing her name into Google and seeing what comes up (my favourite is still MuleBoy's lifestory on film - it was made in 2002). She spied my work email and decided to make contact - so yes, my penpal has the same name as me. At the moment we're still amused by this and keep signing off our emails with our full name. Unfortunately our middle names are different, sadly for me as hers is particularly pretty, so the similarity ends with our first and last names.
We are very different in terms of lives. She's 13, which makes her half my age, and this, along with a very good standard of written English, makes me think of her as a smaller version of me. Henceforth, she shall be known as Mini-Kitten! She lives in Connecticut, which inspired me to enquire about it as a honeymoon destination as I plan to spend some time looking at trees looking pretty (the plan is also to go to New York so that MuleBoy doesn't go crazy - he's not a big lover of the countryside). She also thinks England is "elegant", which made me chuckle, and is going to be learning about Europe in school this year so "anything she doesn't know about England will be covered, hopefully", which confirmed my feelings about the US perception of Europe. We're very small, apparently. I bit back a comment on that one; she's bright, she'll work it out.
I'm guessing that, being 13, she'll get bored of it quicker than I will. However, it's quite sweet and fun for the moment so I'll keep it going until she stops replying or asks me to stop.
I am aware that the above reference is slightly obscure but I don't care. You should have watched more Lee and Herring.
Anywho, I am very excited because this week I have discovered a penpal. I did not go out and try to find a penpal, she found me. This came about, I am guessing, because she decided to do that thing that we've all done at some point; typing her name into Google and seeing what comes up (my favourite is still MuleBoy's lifestory on film - it was made in 2002). She spied my work email and decided to make contact - so yes, my penpal has the same name as me. At the moment we're still amused by this and keep signing off our emails with our full name. Unfortunately our middle names are different, sadly for me as hers is particularly pretty, so the similarity ends with our first and last names.
We are very different in terms of lives. She's 13, which makes her half my age, and this, along with a very good standard of written English, makes me think of her as a smaller version of me. Henceforth, she shall be known as Mini-Kitten! She lives in Connecticut, which inspired me to enquire about it as a honeymoon destination as I plan to spend some time looking at trees looking pretty (the plan is also to go to New York so that MuleBoy doesn't go crazy - he's not a big lover of the countryside). She also thinks England is "elegant", which made me chuckle, and is going to be learning about Europe in school this year so "anything she doesn't know about England will be covered, hopefully", which confirmed my feelings about the US perception of Europe. We're very small, apparently. I bit back a comment on that one; she's bright, she'll work it out.
I'm guessing that, being 13, she'll get bored of it quicker than I will. However, it's quite sweet and fun for the moment so I'll keep it going until she stops replying or asks me to stop.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
snazzle frazzle mazzle
As said by Mutley.
I had to apologise to my colleagues yesterday. After borrowing Neanderthal Boy's phone directory and then realising it wasn't helpful, I did actually intend to throw it back to him with the intention of hitting both his phone and cup of tea. No accident. I was generally extremely irritable yesterday; I really had to stop myself from screaming at students and just shutting up the office. It may have been because I am trying to kickstart the diet again so my only sustenance during the day was a bowl of cereal and Diet Coke. It may have been because I had spent much of the weekend being grouchy and hungover so hadn't really felt like the weekend had happened, except for the two evenings where I was creating the hangover. It may have also been because Muleboy had come to bed at 4.30am Monday and woken me up, which was fine as I normally go back to sleep again but then he woke me up again because he thought he'd heard something. Of course he'd heard something - we have two overweight but active cats. Anywho - whether it was one or all of these things, it meant that I wasn't in the best mood, exacerbated by the proliferation of new and subsequently confused students needing help and a data-inputting job with a deadline for Friday that I'm only halfway through now despite doing constantly for two weeks.
I have resigned myself to being irritable on occasion. I don't have much control over it and can do nothing except wait for it to be over. I only ask that if you realise that this is my mental state, do not try to see if I'm alright, jolly me through it or tease me. I'm not saying that I will actually rip your throat out, I will just want to. Bizarrely, after years of living with this and occasionally being subjected to me in this state of mind now, Big Sis still does at least one of these things. I have come to the conclusion that she has no sense of self preservation. That, or she is an evil mastermind and, in a twist from my currently perceived view of the situation, I am the good sister (I sense scepticism from my gentle readers). Tips for the future - leave me alone without making it obvious that you are leaving me alone, do not draw attention to mental state in any way, wait until I start laughing at myself and then approach.
I had to apologise to my colleagues yesterday. After borrowing Neanderthal Boy's phone directory and then realising it wasn't helpful, I did actually intend to throw it back to him with the intention of hitting both his phone and cup of tea. No accident. I was generally extremely irritable yesterday; I really had to stop myself from screaming at students and just shutting up the office. It may have been because I am trying to kickstart the diet again so my only sustenance during the day was a bowl of cereal and Diet Coke. It may have been because I had spent much of the weekend being grouchy and hungover so hadn't really felt like the weekend had happened, except for the two evenings where I was creating the hangover. It may have also been because Muleboy had come to bed at 4.30am Monday and woken me up, which was fine as I normally go back to sleep again but then he woke me up again because he thought he'd heard something. Of course he'd heard something - we have two overweight but active cats. Anywho - whether it was one or all of these things, it meant that I wasn't in the best mood, exacerbated by the proliferation of new and subsequently confused students needing help and a data-inputting job with a deadline for Friday that I'm only halfway through now despite doing constantly for two weeks.
I have resigned myself to being irritable on occasion. I don't have much control over it and can do nothing except wait for it to be over. I only ask that if you realise that this is my mental state, do not try to see if I'm alright, jolly me through it or tease me. I'm not saying that I will actually rip your throat out, I will just want to. Bizarrely, after years of living with this and occasionally being subjected to me in this state of mind now, Big Sis still does at least one of these things. I have come to the conclusion that she has no sense of self preservation. That, or she is an evil mastermind and, in a twist from my currently perceived view of the situation, I am the good sister (I sense scepticism from my gentle readers). Tips for the future - leave me alone without making it obvious that you are leaving me alone, do not draw attention to mental state in any way, wait until I start laughing at myself and then approach.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Attitude
Working in an educational establishment as I do can definitely have its ups and downs in terms of how old I feel. On the plus side, people mistake me for a student quite often, I get a student card and can pretend that I am forever 21. However, on the minus side, I can turn up to a class in "Urban Funk" (feel free to laugh at the image of me doing Hip Hop) at the Uni Gym and find myself surrounded by girls whose main aim in life seems to be to make me feel old. The worst part was when the instructor said that she was 21 and I felt very alone. I also struggled to possess any "attitude", a necessity for any dancer of the Hip Hop. The end of the dance routine that was put together was a move full of attitude and yet the only attitude that I had was looking slightly like a little teapot. Bless the students and their ability to look good in jogging trousers while striking poses. I'm going back, though, it's the best class I've done for ages. I may look silly and I may be old but I do like a dance.
Much love to the good people who have been carrying on the nice things. The nice things are reciprocated in triplicate. You are all very lovely.
Much love to the good people who have been carrying on the nice things. The nice things are reciprocated in triplicate. You are all very lovely.
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