Saturday, September 29, 2007

Stupid.

As if I weren't getting up early enough already, I set my alarm a half hour earlier than intended.

Friday, September 28, 2007

Shutting up.

Well, it's off to Ashland in...8.5 hours. Yeah, to get there in time for the first play we have to leave at 5:30 in the morning. Whee...

I am going to have to work hard on Billy's last scene in Cuckoo's Nest. He runs off stage to commit suicide, after all, and today didn't feel remotely believable. Finding something to put myself in the right mindset (that being, "as close to total breakdown as possible") will prove quite the challenge.

*cackle*

I just finished my AP Stats quiz. Methinks the teacher should have payed a little more attention when he wrote up that quiz, as one of the questions ended up testing my almighty powers of simple subtraction! It was literally a more wordy version of, "What is 100%-10%?" Not that I'm complaining.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Blech.

Hopefully that name poem will fulfill the assignment reqs, but it's probably the worst I've written in a few years.

The horizon's on fire, and the moon, seeing, has come to smother it.
Some people run, but they'll all float in the same darkness during the last seconds.
Does he even know what he's doing anymore?
C, B, G, Bb, A

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Moon shadow

If you read this in the next couple of nights, when it is night if it isn't already, take a moment, go outside, and appreciate the shadows cast by such a bright moon.

This takes me back to the full moon that shone when we were crossing the Saline Valley. What is that line of Iona's? "Nights so clear and bright you could read a book by the moon?"

*smack*

The following message was on the answering machine when I got home (for a bit of background, my grandmother is 96 and has been in the hospital for a few weeks)

*click* Hello, this is the chaplain from Kaiser. I'm making a call about...oh, I think I have the wrong...wrong patient, sorry. *click*

It's like something out of a comedy sketch (and I'm sure you can find it in one), but I swear I am not making this up!

In other news, I delivered my Richard III monologue this afternoon. One of my props was a cane, so I decided to work on my limp between periods. It was apparently convincing, but that cane is murder on the palm when used for extended periods. In Poetry class I got my sonnets back with positive remarks, so if I ever need a tertiary title I may suggest Peter the Pentameter.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Let's talk.

We wrote "word salad" poems in Poetry today. Mine is in my journal, which I turned in, but I'll post it when I get it back. The three words I submitted to the pool were "thunder," "rotundity," and "crack." Not that I had anything on my mind at the time, oh no.

I recite my Richard III monologue in two days. T has allowed me access to the costume barn, so I found a nice black jacket, a red flower for the lapel, and a cane-stick. I would have preferred a real cane, but there's only one in the theater, and it's splitting apart.

Oh, yes: I finally saw Psycho a couple of nights ago. I can definitely understand why Norman Bates ranked #2 on the list of the top 50 film villains.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Turning, turning, turning through the years...

I repeat myself a lot. Not merely in conversation (though I do tend to forget what I have said to whom), but certain life events see themselves used a fodder for multiple pieces of writing. The night on the trampoline, for instance, is now making its third appearance in a school assignment.

Life goes on

Hm. it's been a while since I updated.

Loyal, Gentleman, and I saw Song for the first time since the cast party on Friday. She was in a very enjoyable production of Oklahoma!

Also on Friday I had a college interview with a representative from St. John's, and yesterday with Reed.

I have also been grappling with a poem for the last few days. I know exactly where to go with it, but I haven't been able to put it into verse yet. Perhaps I can do so now.

...

Eh. It's not one of my better ones. I'll think about posting it.

Sure.

For a long time did I stare at the cliff
That claimed so many before.
Never to fall did I expect
If I not outright so swore.

Then strolling along one day
The edge beneath crumbled away.

In the first few moments I was not sure
What exactly had happened here,
And I asked myself and whoever else heard
How much I had to fear.

(Though at times I'd dreamed while awake
That my ledge might one day break.)

The face of the cliff rushed up and away
I may have caught it to slow my pace
But instead I took a moment to feel
The rush of the wind on my face.

The act was as foolish as brave
When I had myself to save.

In that moment empty of caution
The plummet became my friend,
And I promised myself and the air about me
Never the fall to end.

Then the wind nipped me with its chill
And revealed the potential for ill.

I returned my gaze to the edge above
Now well beyond my reach
And asked myself if I had erred;
Would a hard lesson life to me teach?

Now pondering this is where
You will find me high in the air.

Even so, in my current predicament
With no sign of change for miles around,
I would not wish to end my fall
Lest I may hard hit the ground.

And would the impact bear half as much pain
As tumbling over a cliff again?

Monday, September 17, 2007

Blurbs 1 and 2

1. Musical hasn't started college yet (no fair!), so she was visiting campus today. It was great to see her again.

2. You can make just about anything funny by sticking Gerard Butler's bearded, screaming head onto it. I haven't even seen 300 and these pictures crack me up. I think my favorite is "This is OPERAAAAA!!!" Either that or Chibi Leonidas.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Is this what the school head feels like at the end of the year?

‘Twas only this year in the fine month of May
That America’s abridged history was the school spring play.
The laughs kept on coming, as did the stereotypes
Italian, Indian, and cowboy, but no gripes.
We mangled the national anthem, and could you blame me
When I mangled the letter of obnoxious little Amy?
Early on was crafted a balloon dog sublime
By your own tribal elder, Wears-Sweatpants-all-the-Time.
Then lickety-split, just as quick as you please,
Vince rapped on about the thirteen colonies.
We made a mockery of the Revolutionary War
By filling it with stoners, munchkins, and cross-dressers galore.
We hastily posed for the War Not So Civil
As the announcers were caught up in their personal drivel.
At the end of act one did conspiracies abound
Backed up by creepy voices and an X-files sound.
Post-intermission we ran World War One
And let the audience in on some Super Soaker fun.
From there we moved on to the Great Depression
And Hitler, two centuries too late to be a Hessian.
(That I struggled for a rhyme there you’re well beyond guessin’.)
At last we entered the dramatic home stretch,
And Caitlin did her film noir outfit fetch
To match pace with the shade-wearing, manic and spry
Mix of Gollum and Joker: the Conspirator Guy!
And just as were assassinated civil rights leaders black
Justin was snuffed out before he could bring sexy back.
Spade Diamond was then confronted by Uncle Sam
With questions about the war in Vietnam.
Some years later our hero had a fixin’
To learn about the Cold War from President Nixon.
From there we jump to Bush Senior beggin’
For recognition from a spaced-out Reagan.
Now finally we trekked to the Berlin Wall
Where Uncle Sam and Conspirator Guy to bullets did fall,
But the feeling of conclusion was marred, oh,
By the sudden reappearance of Lucy Ricardo.
In need of a happy ending, the entire cast ran
The American timeline back to where it began.
The performance was wonderful, but I do confess
Between noodles, confetti, whipped cream (none on my dress),
The Altoids meant to be consumed in quantities less,
And who-knows-how-much water, we made a spectacular mess.


The poetry assignment was to write one alluding to a song or literary work of this generation. It got away from me a little, but no complaints.

My post title is a reference ot the school tradition: at the end of each year the head of the upper school writes a poem commemorating every graduating senoir in a manner much like this one and with similar stretches for rhymes. Every year he tries to get out of writing the poem and every time he fails.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Untitled poem

I wrote a few lines of this poem in Humanitas and then expanded it yestersay afternoon.

To know you sense what isn't there
But not to sense the true:
Edification's mockery
With devious rivals few.

This mural of the mind which does
Obscure the world outside
Ignores the plea to end the chain
Of years for which it lied.

Lunging at the veil which dances
Inches out of reach,
I curse the villain who would my
Hallucinations teach,

Content no longer with the dream
My senses sought to give.
You take my life when you do take
The world in which I live!

I pluck my eyes and think to hear
A hungry raven's caw,
For they could only offer lies.
I stumbled when I saw.

This wakingless dementia doth
Provoke my death to call.
I'll have a life upon my terms
Or have no life at all.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

More sonnetry

No rehearsal today: T was sick.

This appears to be Sonnet Week in poetry class. Homework for tomorrow was to write a sonnet on any topic, with love and death as suggestions. Here is my death sonnet:

The disadvantages of death are few,
For corpses have no knowledge of torment,
But this is quite a selfish point of view
If one would leave behind such men as Kent.
‘Tis better dead before senility?
Once there a life cannot be used in full.
Or better to waste no ability
And cowardly to flee the senses dull?
Yet what know I the quality of ends
When I and all my relatives yet live?
And when I pass I cannot make amends
With those who sought my misdeeds to forgive.
And yet I can’t ignore that when I fall
I forfeit joys, potential, mind, and all.


Meh.

I wasn't planning for the Shakespeare allusion, but I wanted the first quatrain to touch on leaving others behind, and torment/Kent was the first rhyming match I could think of.

Snippets of Bat Boy began playing through my head while I was doing my Stats homework. It's been a while since that production: nearly four years. I recall that, after the last song, we added a Jamaican reprise. I never did understand why.

Nostalgia...rising...

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Casting

The results for Cuckoo's Nest are in. I will be playing Bibbit. *smiles* I was quite surprised to see McMurphy go to Uncle Sam and not Vince, but I can't deny that he is appropriate for the role. I agree with the other actors that Bibbit is a good match for me, but I was hoping for more of a character stretch: he is basically a stuttering Oscar on steroids, and I think Oscar is the closest of my roles to what I'm like in real life. Still, there is one area in particular that will be quite a dramatic and emotional challenge (no spoilers in case you haven't seen/read OFotCN). In the meantime, I've gotten rid of my 'stache to play up Bibbit's relative youth, and T is arranging for me to meet with somebody he knows who actually has a stutter. One of her suggestions that he passed on, which makes a lot of sense, is less for the impediment itself than for understanding the psychological baggage that comes with having to interact with others: to use a stutter the next time I talk with people who don't already know me. I'll be meeting a representative of Reed college a couple of weekends from now, but something--I can't put my finger on it--is telling me to speak normally then. Oh, right: common sense.

Hopefully this sore throat will go away soon. It is very annoying, as sore throats are wont to be.

Monday, September 10, 2007

fat lady's warming up

Callbacks Round 2 finished just now, and the cast list will be posted tomorrow afternoon. There were no script readings today; instead we had a series of character improvs, mostly for McMurphy. For the first set, each potential McMurphy present was paired up with a girl from the cast whom he had to try to charm in McMurphy fashion. I don't have much experience in that area, but I tried to channel my performance as Duane Wilson and I believe I did pretty well. The second round was that of McMurphys threatening staff members at the institute. This exercise was necessary for establishing potential to display McMurphy's fighting side, but T's goal of scaring the other actor was not as effective as one would hope, seeing as we were (obviously) forbidden from inflicting bodily harm on our scene partners. I ended my own improv for just that reason: McMurphy would at that point give up with words and beat the attendant to a pulp if he hadn't started already. The table was a popular prop: the other two guys running the scene eachoverturned it, and I picked it up as if to wield as a weapon. Once those were finished we had a couple of group therapy improvs to give the prospective Nurse Ratcheds some practice in addition to the other patients such as Bibbit, Cheswick, and Harding. Vince was a no-show. I'm guessing he had dance.

Sunday, September 09, 2007

Was ever woman in this humor memorized?

All right. Now I have a couple of weeks to work it for quality and entertain a score or two of tailors to study fashions to adorn my body. Our school has a fairly ample costume barn of which I cannot imagine T raising an objection to my ransacking.

Upon its head

The rainy season doth begin anew,
And as a wetness seeks to court the land
A firmament-shed patch of solid blue
Drops from above and ambushes my hand
I cast my vision skyward and I see
That heaven bleeds away its azure face,
Displaying stony vaults while land below
Is covered by this rain without a trace.
Where ground is gone for good some victims fall
Upwards--or is it down?--into the void
While trees of lightning flay their forebears all
As madness with its patient may have toyed.
In vain I pose myself the question, "Why
Does sky become the earth and Earth the sky?"

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Veg bad

I really need to get out more.

Gah. I appear to be developing a sore throat.

Let's discuss some topics in a slightly more positive vein, hmm?

I'll come back to this post when I have something interesting on my mind.

So what was the point of clicking the New Post button in the first place?

Sometimes you just need to talk, and hearing the words bounce off the walls of your room isn't sufficient. Broadcasting in some form or another becomes necessary or else you go stir-crazy. Was it really only yesterday I was at school? I even slept in this morning, and yet the weekend feels as though it has dragged on since Wednesday.

Do you ever have trouble recalling the appearances of people you know well? That is happening to me right now. I remember what they look like, but I can't correctly visualize them for long before the images distort or simplify.

A freewrite would do me some good right now.

The window is open in front. How much attention do passersby pay? Can they hear me talking to myself, and if they looked inside how much would they see? If I knw the answer, would it change how I compose myself in the "privacy" of my own home? At least they cannot take from me the use of mine own house. Ah, here we go: Shakespeare on the brain. I'll be seeing King Lear either next month or at the end of this month with the other Riotous Knights. The old crowd--the Venetians that didn't return this year, that is--has been awfully quiet for the last couple of months. I ought to send them an email. That reminds me that I have a couple of calls to make over the next day or two. But enough about that. Shakespeare is more interesting to think about. So is my style of typing. I never learned how to type properly, but this method seems to work fine. I don't know what my words-per-minute rate is. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. Don't get stuck here. Uncertainty leads to grounding. That seems to be the case in most if not all facets of my life, as opposed merely to acting. Ask me a question that I can't immediately answer, and it's likely that I'll freeze. This can be quite embarassing, which only exacerabtes the situation. I don't know what to write. Freewrites remind me of Softy's upcoming class. All the students who took it last year, were Venetians, and have not gone on to college--all four of us, that is--are returning. Song and Knight have also voiced their interest. I spread news of it to Nixon and Vince as well. Might they be interested? I have no idea. Vince might not, as he'll be performing in Fiddler on the Roof around that same time as the class begins.

Whee.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Are directors normally this candid pre-casting?

I made the callback list, so I'm cast for sure. Yippee!

This afternoon we had various cold readings from Cuckoo's Nest. I read as McMurphy, as Harding, and as a little bit of Billy. I requested to read another Billy piece on Monday, as I felt that two lines did not make for a full respresentation of me as the character, although T said that he saw what he needed to in that respect. Speaking of what T said, afterward he talked pretty openly with me about his thoughts: if from them I could assign percentages to my likelihood of getting cast in this role or that, I would assign them like so: 50% Billy, 45% Harding (that surprised me; I didn't see myself as quite the Harding sort), 5% McMurphy. He's all but cast me already in one of the first two, but McMurphy would be a bit of a stretch from what he's seen of me (and Lear wasn't a stretch!? But I digress.) in terms of the character's physicality. McMurphy's a fighter, and if I really want the part I ought to join the fight club so that I can get it into my body. I'm willing to do that, but my worry is that it could strangle the schedule I've worked to keep wide open this year (and scheduling conflicts--that and our shoo-in for Bromden going AWOL--are the only reason, as far as I can tell, that Vince might not land the role).

Regardless of how the roles are sorted out, I repose my opening question: are directors normally this candid pre-casting?

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Just for the record...

I do not like evaluation forms.

Have a night that is good in nature.

Dummyman

An act that went off without a hitch
An audience all too eager to laugh
A new dummy with a perfect voice
My best night all month
Titles dancing through my head
Chase Philips, World's Most Renowned Ventriloquist!
Departing with elation
A cry of "Encore!"
The manager eagerly waving me back onto the stage
The show's not over while the audience laughs
Repositioning my partner on my knee
The prelude to a second deluge of hilarity
Silence
A prick of embarrassment
Valiantly continuing on
Silence
Beading sweat
A hand feeling cramped inside the dummy
A voice not mine
Confusion
Catcalls from the audience
Eyes drawn downward
A wooden jaw dropping open
"Why so stiff? The show's not over, my man."
Yanking my hand out in horror
Bits of wood clenching tight
Another question bouncing off my eardrums
Standing to flee
Pinned down by so much weight
Gabbling the first words that enter my brain
A wisecrack from two feet above my knee
Laughter
Blank faces above gaping mouths of mirth
"Thank you, thank you."
My unliving partner bows and rambles on
Unable to leave
Crying for help
The audience points and laughs
A hundred faces of painted wood
The jokes run on all night
Punctuated by the occasional call for an encore
Lost count hours ago
The show's not over while the audience laughs

I wanted to make this a structured poem, but it wasn't working out.

Bah!

I just returned from the orthodontist, and it sounds like my braces won't come off until mid-December! I was supposed to be rid of them over a year and a half ago!

Fallen celestials

This poem was inspired by the appearance of the sun through the smoke this morning.

The world looks up at the sun
Bleeding its life away
Masses wonder if this
May be their last crimson day

The blood of the sun washes out
All that we used to believe
Row upon row falls to its knees
Even the madmen grieve

The moon grins in the veil of night
At what its rival became
And now as glory bleeds away
It sets itself aflame

A bleeding sun and a burning moon
Overlook the dying earth
And some newborn babe will know
Nothing but pain from birth

Huh. I didn't envision the poem to go in quite that direction. Other than the break after the second stanza, I rather like it.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Now is the winter of...no, it isn't.

Reading of Richard III has begun. Let it never be said that I do not LOVE this guy! I am absolutely learning "was ever woman in this humor wooed?" for my memo requirement.

Must write poems

Staring through the window screen
Shadows swallow day
Twenty-four more empty hours
Life is drained away

Shutting up the house's ears
Fleeing to the mind
But unable to forget
The world left beind

Opening my house's door
Creeping into night
Eager to go out and live
Bring my world some light

Wand'ring through the city streets
Learning what I lack
Promising upon my life
Never to go back

Fleeing from the raging storm
Of truth that seeks to burn
Poor fools who are unprepared
Home I must return

Tracing back my winding path
Again a living ghost
Up ahead the place I know
And now abhore the most

Staring through the window screen
Haunted by the power
Borne by that one memory
Of living but an hour

My poems seem to have been following a dully dismal trend for a while now. Come on, Peter! You were titled Disconcerting for a reason! Where's the death and gore?

I'll tell you what there is about me.

Divine Comedy: The pholosophical lectures continue. Zeus is giving us a terms quiz on Friday, which shouldn't be an issue.

Classical Worlds: Upcoming quiz here too, although Bloom has said that it will be quite easy.

Stats: Got a head start on homework in class. Problem fourteen was to identify the errors with the above pie chart. Gee, where to begin? The numbers have no context, the pie is not shown head-on, the sections are completely disproportionate to their respective percentages, and the total % is far more than 100.

Lunch: I acquired an audition form from T and worked on filling it out.

Shakespeare: My ears were particularly attuned to whenever somebody spoke in iambic pentameter. Prob'ly because of all the sonnet work we have been doing. I was on a bit of a high as I climbed the hill departing.

Poetry: We've begun watching Journey of Man (a surreal Cirque de Soleil film) and taking notes on what metaphors we see. Charlie was there! Yay! I guess his college schedule is flexible.

PE: Yoga today was only a fifteen-minute orientation, so the instant we were done I set my sights on the theatre.

Audition: Philly gave me a vote of confidence as we passed each other. I didn't see anybody else's audition; I just entered, learned that Charlie will probably help with the production, turned in my audition form, and let rip. I'm a little leery about my audition quality: I took all the notes that Loyal gave me, but I also felt less grounded. I do know that when I was finished, my legs weren't nearly as shaky as on Saturday. T and I talked a little about scheduling, wherein I learned that I'm doing considerably better than those who had come before in that regard--I deliberately eschewed a separate performing art for the sake of the drama curriculum, so I would hope I'm looking good!), and I was on my way. Iona auditioned later, and we seem to have a decent crop of freshmen, as well as a senior who hasn't been in any plays yet but would physically make a good Chief Bromden.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Bring on the iambic pentameter!

My homework for Shakespeare is to write the opening quatrain of a sonnet (can't remember if you get extra points for a full sonnet) that 1) concerns itself with a feeling and 2) contains a simile or metaphor. There are a few ABABs I've written before that would fit perfectly, but I may as well go with a new one for the sake of further experience. Think, Peter.

Kent's last lines in 1.1 have been floating around in my head for some time.

We had a freewrite in poetry today. Apparently, "My wrist has a scar. I knew that already." is funny.

*seven score syllables later*

I got a full sonnet out of it, but the first quatrain ends in mid-sentence. The last quatrain, on the other hand, works fine. It's sufficient to turn in, but I doubt I'll post it.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Freewriting snippets

Where, my children, have you gone?
Papa's lonely, hungry, too.
But all will be well if you
Come back with your prey by dawn.

The above is the result of my twisted little mind at nine in the evening.

Funny how nitrous oxide lets you realize that your mind is being tampered with even as it happens. That makes it not so bad, I suppose. At least you don't hallucinate.

The fourth wall is the most fragile thing in existence. You can't even notice it without breaking it. Or is it the most fragile thing in nonexistence?

When packing for school, my instincts are terrible. If I think I've forgotten something, I never have. The reverse is often true.

How much would you pay for a mobius pretzel? And is that with or without extra salt?

If moths shot arrows, the pantry would be the Battle of Thermopylae. Could a moth-sized arrow kill me?

The numbers don't matter. What the numbers count for matters.

Tomorrow is philosophy all morning. But I won't go to bed at noon.

Shakespeare. Ha. I love it when people use Shakespeare off the stage. Not that I object to Shakespeare onstage.

NO, I DON'T HAVE A QUARTER!

Your guess is as good as mine where I got the above. Sort of like Song's "Nemo, where the fuck are you!?" in acting class.

Miss them all! Lear in September or October?

I wish I were evil. Then belly laughing would be easy.

What was that plum doing on my bed, anyway?

If people could tinker with their emotions and memories at will, how many would better themselves, and how many would destroy themselves?

I don't know kung fu. But my click-pen does.

That's it...you're almost there...just climb over one more body and...Whoops. I got there first. All because I said "please."

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Temporal inconstancy

Today went by WAY too quickly. I was waking up at 6:30 but not climbing out of bed, and suddenly it was 9:30! A few minutes later it was noon, then 1, then 4:30, and now it's almost eight. I think Friday stole some of today's hours.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Ah, weekends, how I miss thee.

Spent the afternoon hanging out with Loyal. She made good on her promise to enlighten me in the ways of Star Trek, and I still can't get over Patrick Stewart actually having hair! Data is awesome. We later watched the Ian Holme version of King Lear. Just watching it tired me out. Yeah. Lear is intense. Loyal was also kind enough to give me some tips on my audition monologue. Main points to work on now are allowing myself to become more vulnerable around the middle and letting my anger escalate to a ten by the end (right now it's topping out around an eight). The monologue as a whole is three minutes, which is a tad on the long side, but there's not much that can be done about that. It's still a great monologue. Draining, though. She asked to see it just after we had finished King Lear, and after running it twice I was quite wobbly in the knees. I will interpret that as a good sign, that I'm really committing to the words.

I finally went to Kinko's the other day and had made the Reindeer Soup shirt that the cast had been imagining.

Long weekend for Labor Day. Yee-hee.

Remember, remember the 3rd of November.

Yahoo! Softy's class has finally appeared on the Cal Shakes website! Registration is possible!