We now return to your regularly scheduled blog

Today's topic: college griping.

Why do I gripe? I do not like writing these college essays. Not just on principle, but because it feels as though with every college I end up writing the same paragraphs on acting, poetry, acting, Shakespeare, acting, and acting, sometimes two or three times in one app. I can only hope it doesn't look as boring on that end as it feels on this end.

(later)

AT LAST! Every single college application about which I must worry is FINISHED!

[Editor's Note: Barring unforseen or unrecalled circumstaces, you mean.]

[Author's Note: Shut up. *hits editor with frying pan*]

Such classic themes

Semester grades arrived the other day. All things considered, I came through all right, and I'm still on the Dean's List *wipes brow*. But the reason I am posting is one of the comments that came with my grade in Poetry:

"His poems are honest, but deeply personal on the universal themes of love, loneliness, technology, angst of teenage life, repressed emotions, darkness of human nature, and even romantic style gothic ballades."

Wait, back up. Technology? The only poems I can remember writing with any sort of technological bent are The Black Machine, which is symbolic and a reference to Cuckoo's Nest, and my second slam poem, which targets the culture of the Internet. I can't say either of those poems are particularly personal. And since when is technology a universal theme? At any rate, it seems a bit incongruous with its neighbors. *shrug, smile*

grumble, grumble

Three and a half weeks ago did I apply to St. John's. They promised a two-week decision frame. Where is my encouragingly thick package or miserably thin letter, whichever may be the case?

Swing your razor high, Sweeney!

*spoilers ahead*

Sweeney Todd was very good. The following is a rundown of points that caught my eye/ear, for better or for worse.

• It always pleases me when a film does something interesting with the opening credits. They had a thin trail of blood following the path of one of Sweeney's victims while the music to the Ballad of Sweeney Todd played. There were no lyrics in the film version, but one generally wouldn't expect lyrics during the credits.
• Come to think of it, the chorus was done away with in general. Too bad.
• Alan Rickman as the judge (well cast and well played) didn't have his first song about lusting after Johanna. Can't say I was wedded to the song, but I didn't see any reason to cut it. On the other hand, Burton added some dialogue between Turpin and Antony that I though fit quite well.
• Toby has a nice voice for a kid his age when he's not trying to belt.
• You could tell this already from the R rating, but Burton didn't shy away from the throat-slitting. The blood was a little too bright red to be entirely believeable, but it worked very well for Lucy and Todd's deaths, which were more stylized in their flow (in both senses of the word).
• They cut Todd's last line to the beadle: "I am entirely at your disposal." Important? No, but it was a nice line.
• Uh...yow. Sweeney really doesn't like Turpin. You'll see what I mean.
• Applause to Helena Bonham Carter for her performance, particularly when it comes to the deadpan humor.
• Oh, come on. There is no way that Turpin would still be alive after the slashity-slash and a twenty-foot drop on his head.
• Todd's bleeding onto the face of his wife reminded me of a bit from Antigone. I'll have to point that out to my Classical Worlds teacher.

Being lazy

I haven't blogged for the last few days, so here's the lowdown of my life:

• Met up with some friends of friends for an ongoing reading of Hamlet last Friday. It was quite fun.
• That monstrous Sparta essay is finally finished! You know your head has been buried in ancient Greece for too long when you start making jokes about Damocles.
• My body is taking its revenge on me for all those late nights. I couldn't drag myself out of bed untill eleven this morning.
• I've FINALLY organized a reunion with...forgot his pseudonym...with Sheik. It's been about seven and a half months since I saw him last.
• Watched a BBC special titled House of Cards last night. Francis Urquhart is a delicious modern-day Richard III. Next on the viewing list is I, Claudius.
• Started learning my songs for Urinetown.
• Seeing Sweeney Todd with family tomorrow morning.
• Potentially massive Cal Shakes reunion on Sunday.
• Speaking/typing in sentence fragments.

Not that vacation will be entirely carefree. I still need to...

• Write some college essays. More essays...*facewall*
• Memorize my lines for Urinetown.
• Rent and watch The Hudsucker Proxy as character homework for Urinetown.
• Meet with Red and Gerst to finish a project of sorts. That ought to be fun. On the other hand, I don't need to finish it over vacation.
• Start earning money. Turns out my dad needs work done over a long enough timeframe that hell pay me for it. Certainly wins for ease of commute.

*wince*

Well, a family friend has returned from service in Iraq, and he is now married. So why am I wincing? He's...uh...he's nineteen.

He's a nice guy, and I wish both of them the best of luck, but I just don't see this ending well. Married at nineteen...in a year and a few months I'll be nineteen! *winces again*

V, v, 20-31

She should have died hereafter.
There would have been time for such a word.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

--Macbeth

One of the teachers in the Spanish department died of a stroke last night. She will be missed.

Waaa ha ha ha haaa!

My last essay for Zeus is finished! Bleah...nine pages in an evening aren't pleasant.

Must escape crucifixion

Twenty-four more hours and hell--I mean finals--will be over.

Stats wasn't too intimidating, although one question was so misleadingly worded that it took several minutes of bickering with John to understand what it wanted (and then took all of five seconds to finish). Humanitas...the discussion went okay. Otherwise, the less said the better.

Shakespeare and Poetry were yesterday, and both went well (Poetry especially. I will be shocked if I don't get an A in that class). Tomorrow I've got Classical Worlds and Divine Comedy. Speaking of which...*opens up yet another Word document*

Ironic quote of the day, part 2

"So which atheist book would make the best Christmas present?"

Speculations

Over dinner my parents challenged me with using the Venetians/Riotous Knights to cast One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. Here's my list:

McMurphy: Sexmeister.

Ratched: Sunshine.

Chief: Loyal.

Harding: Gift.

Bibbit: Bedlam.

Cheswick: Knight.

Scanlon: Loquacious.

Ruckley: Gentleman.

Spivey: Atlas.

Warren: Slasher.

Williams: Rose.

Candy: Seductress.

Sandy: Pixar.

Turkle: Song.

Contrasts

Last night: Sweeney Todd. Tonight: Handel's Messiah.

When I was a Lad

Greed has overpowered sloth, and the hunt for holiday employment is on. Not much success so far.

Ode to my Braces

So long, suckers!

On the subject of poetry, the contest results were released today. I came in first in form (woot!) and second in haiku. This surprised me a little, as I thought my free-form was a lot better than my haiku. Still, no complaints about twenty-five dollars.

What can I say?

Always wondering. Wondering if I'm wrong for thinking something. Wondering if I'm wrong about what I think of what I think. Wondering if I'm telling myself what to think when I try to let go. Wondering if I'm wrong for what I feel. Wondering if I'm wrong for what I don't feel. Wondering if I'm wrong for what I dream. Wondering if I'm too eager to attach meaning to things. Wondering if I'm too reluctant to attach meaning to other things. Wondering if I overthink. Wondering if I think about the wrong things. Wondering if I sabotage myself. Wondering if I'm really sane.

I've been looking at the description of the schizoid personality disorder. I see a fair few matches in the clinical features, but unlike the described typical sufferer I have no interest whatsoever in drugs, alchohol, or other mind-altering substances. "Oh, that way madness lies! Let me shun that!" So why didn't I mind being given nitrous oxide when I had my wisdom teeth removed? It certainly altered my consciousness. But I could tell exactly when it started up and when it ebbed briefly an comment on it. Lucid madness. Heh. I wasn't worried before the mask went on because I didn't know exactly what to expect; that's clear enough.

I ought to go.

More sound bites

Apparently my Black Machine poem is not merely blues, but "punk rock postmodernist blues." *shrug*

I got a 100% on my Taming of the Shrew test. Woohoo!

Either tomorrow or Friday I give a PowerPoint presentation on Shakespeare's applications of meter versus prose.

Hahaha

First read-through for Urinetown was today, and I can tell that I will enjoy playing Caldwell VERY much. I get to sing a song about killing bunnies, for crying out loud!

Finally we have returned to meditations in Humanitas. Today was more disturbing than previous days. From when I entered the meditation to when I opened my eyes I felt a bit scared for no discernible reason. It was similar to the meditation I tried just before the Friday performance of Cuckoo's Nest. I have identified two recurring figures in these exercises: the zombies and the Black Cloud. I haven't yet figured out what the Black Cloud is, but it's connected to the zombies and I think it has something to do with guilt. I'll have to keep an eye on where I go in upcoming exercises.

The following poem is the result of an exercise during a Shel Silverstein presentation in Poetry:

I'm back, little kid--don't you remember?
I'm the snowman you made and forgot last December.
I started to melt the very next day,
So I hopped on the train to Canada. Eh?
Some older kids wanted to play a mean joke,
So they gave me a beer and taught me to smoke.
My top hat is ragged; my eyes are not coal,
But rather some Agent Smith glasses they stole.
My poor Christmas spirit is as dead as an ember,
So take better care of what you make in December.

If only all colleges were this eager...

Willamette had been placed low enough on my list to drop altogether, but despite my lack of response to their emails they are practically foaming at the mouth to see my application, and now that it's reached the point of waiving both the application fee AND the essay...might as well play the system.

Finished. See post title, please.

And now for something completely different: I got cast as Mr. Caldwell! Yahoo!

And now for something completely the same: Cheswick got cast as a horny guy. This is her fourth consecutive production as a horny guy. What gives?

Cleaning leaves off the roof

*puts of high-traction shoes* "I'll head up now." *goes outside*

"Forgot the ladder."

*goes back to the door, which is locked* "Hello?"

*is let in* "Thanks." *gets a ladder, goes back outside*

*sets up ladder* "Forgot a rake."

*goes back inside, gets rake* "Now I have everything!" *goes back outside*

*climbs onto roof* "Forgot gloves."

For a Mr. Photographic Memory, I can be awfully absent-minded.