So, I've got a story.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Brittany. She had two little brothers (names not relevant to this story), a mother and father, and several grandparents. Like any other little girl (we assume, anyway) Brittany went through phases, in her behaviour and speech. At one point, she was saying "Oh, my gosh." A lot. Not really a big deal, right? A little annoying after a while, sure, but basically harmless. Not so much. You see, this little girl's maternal grandmother was very christian. Brittany's parents had been raised to different religions, and the topic didn't come up much at home, so all that Brittany knew of religion came from going to church with her grandparents when she spent time with them during the summers. (More on that in another post... someday.) Now one day, Brittany's grandmother had called the family, just to chat and catch up. She talked to Brittany's mother first, and then the phone was handed over to Brittany. Just before this, though, the girl was informed that she was not to say "oh my gosh" to her grandmother. She was confused, but agreed. She made it through several minutes of conversation with her grandmother, and then tragedy struck. One of her brothers came down the hall wearing heels and a large floppy hat, and Brittany's immediate reaction was an automatic "Oh, my gosh." Her grandmother didn't comment on it, and the girl barely noticed. Later, however, she would ask her mother why she wasn't supposed to say that to her grandmother. Brittany's mother told her that because of the grandmother's religion, the phrase "oh, my gosh" would be offensive, seeing as it was a small step away from being "oh, my god." Brittany accepted this, and learned to censor herself while around her family. But she would forever worry that her grandmother hated her for letting an "oh, my gosh" slip on the phone that once.
True story. And the thing is, I think that may have been the beginning of my inability to be "myself", whoever that is. I am a different person depending on who I'm with. There are things I would never say to some of my friends that I don't think twice about when I'm with other friends. And I've noticed recently that the things I laugh at when I'm alone differ vastly from what I'll allow myself to find funny when I'm with people. More than that, I really like to read, and I try to have a book with me at all times. Depending on who I'm going to see, the books I carry will change, to the point where I'll start a new book and read two at once for the length of time that I'm around people, just to avoid them seeing what I'm actually reading. So, I've a question. Am I the only one that does this? How about to this extent?
Oh, and I'm still pretty sure my grandmother is convinced that I'm going to hell. My comments to her have gotten a smidge stronger than "gosh", though...
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Random, and mostly useless, update.
So, I'm still pretending to be Rumpleteazer. Still working. Still mostly enjoying work, for a wonderment. Actually hanging out with friends every now and again. Discovering that I really like baking, especially if I can blast showtunes and dance around while I do so. Working the theater again, as a stage manager. The director is someone who actually likes me, too, so hopefully I'll get to finish this one. Finally got around to both cleaning my room, and actually hanging stuff on the walls. Ran across a collection of the songs Hugh Laurie sang when he was still doing A Bit of Fry and Laurie. Laughed hysterically at "Little Girl." Still as funny five hundred times later... Re-watched a handful of movies, which led to me finally figuring out part of why I have such unrealistic expectations for romance. Shrugged it off and went on dreaming. At this point in my life, I'm all right with holding out for the Baron, really. (If you don't get the reference, go watch The Cat Returns. It's fabulous.)The fun part about expectations is that they can always be lowered later in life... And on that depressingly cynical note...
I feel the need to babble further about Rumpleteazer. So. The thing about Cats is that it was based off of a T.S. Elliot book called "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats", which is a collection of poems about the various different types of Jellicles. All Andrew Lloyd Webber did was to take those poems (along with a couple others not in the book, such as Grizabella's song, mainly to give the illusion of a story.) and turn them into songs , which he strung together into a semi-story that all takes place over the course of a day. Which is all very well and good, until you realize that leaves idiots like me with absolutely no back story. Now, I've more or less created my own (killing off random characters as it suited me. I'm mean to my characters...), but it makes it A: difficult to explain to people who haven't read the poems and B: way too easy to Mary-Sue. And while I think I've managed to avoid that for the most part, I don't really like the feeling that it could happen at any point. And the sad thing here is that only people who actually know me would be able to tell, since they'd be the only ones who could possibly notice that Teazer's manner and style of talking/writing matches mine almost perfectly. Having said that, though, I actually don't think she and I are all that alike. Admittedly, there are some very similar speech patterns (go figure), but she is a lot more open and loving than I could ever be, and far better at living her life. She's a lot better with people, which is sort of sad, considering she didn't meet a human until she was midway through her teens (Sort of. Ages are tricky, because of what I've done with them.), and she spent years of her life on the run from a monster (more on that later) and able to trust basically no one, then her own family kicked her out because of said monster, and she's still better at meeting new people than me. Says a lot about the both of us, really...
So, a couple of backstory bits. First, the age thing. The thing is, I'm working with three different numbers here, and I'm not really sure which one is accurate, or even what one of them should be. See, there's cat years, and human years, and whatever the deal is with Jellicles and their aging process. Now according to Teazer's Facebook page, her birthday is May 24, 1987. This is the birthday she officially picked for things like applying for a job/ getting a licence/ all the other human stuff you'd need a birthday for. She picked it because the date meant something to her (Presumably, anyway. I'm not really sure yet.), not because it had anything to do with when she was actually born. Officially, therefore, in "human years" she is twenty three years old. Okay. Then you've got the cat years. Cats, obviously, don't keep track of when they were born. Dates aren't really important, and they don't celebrate birthdays. In cat years, though, she'd be roughly three and a half years old. Jellicles, meanwhile, have an entirely different way of looking at things. Basically, they don't celebrate birthdays or keep track of dates, much like cats. However, they celebrate important moments. For example, the first time a kitten goes out into the human world, in search (usually) of a job. They put a lot of stock in independence, and in the ability to make one's own way in the world, but also in how one fits with the family. So numbers are tricky.
Then there's the matter of the... whatever it was that attacked her and prompted my entire story. And that's the thing. I haven't the faintest idea of what the beast actually was. *sigh*
Anyway, I am officially rambling, and I've been writing this post for literally weeks now, so I'm going to shut up.
Goddess Bless,
Charlotte
I feel the need to babble further about Rumpleteazer. So. The thing about Cats is that it was based off of a T.S. Elliot book called "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats", which is a collection of poems about the various different types of Jellicles. All Andrew Lloyd Webber did was to take those poems (along with a couple others not in the book, such as Grizabella's song, mainly to give the illusion of a story.) and turn them into songs , which he strung together into a semi-story that all takes place over the course of a day. Which is all very well and good, until you realize that leaves idiots like me with absolutely no back story. Now, I've more or less created my own (killing off random characters as it suited me. I'm mean to my characters...), but it makes it A: difficult to explain to people who haven't read the poems and B: way too easy to Mary-Sue. And while I think I've managed to avoid that for the most part, I don't really like the feeling that it could happen at any point. And the sad thing here is that only people who actually know me would be able to tell, since they'd be the only ones who could possibly notice that Teazer's manner and style of talking/writing matches mine almost perfectly. Having said that, though, I actually don't think she and I are all that alike. Admittedly, there are some very similar speech patterns (go figure), but she is a lot more open and loving than I could ever be, and far better at living her life. She's a lot better with people, which is sort of sad, considering she didn't meet a human until she was midway through her teens (Sort of. Ages are tricky, because of what I've done with them.), and she spent years of her life on the run from a monster (more on that later) and able to trust basically no one, then her own family kicked her out because of said monster, and she's still better at meeting new people than me. Says a lot about the both of us, really...
So, a couple of backstory bits. First, the age thing. The thing is, I'm working with three different numbers here, and I'm not really sure which one is accurate, or even what one of them should be. See, there's cat years, and human years, and whatever the deal is with Jellicles and their aging process. Now according to Teazer's Facebook page, her birthday is May 24, 1987. This is the birthday she officially picked for things like applying for a job/ getting a licence/ all the other human stuff you'd need a birthday for. She picked it because the date meant something to her (Presumably, anyway. I'm not really sure yet.), not because it had anything to do with when she was actually born. Officially, therefore, in "human years" she is twenty three years old. Okay. Then you've got the cat years. Cats, obviously, don't keep track of when they were born. Dates aren't really important, and they don't celebrate birthdays. In cat years, though, she'd be roughly three and a half years old. Jellicles, meanwhile, have an entirely different way of looking at things. Basically, they don't celebrate birthdays or keep track of dates, much like cats. However, they celebrate important moments. For example, the first time a kitten goes out into the human world, in search (usually) of a job. They put a lot of stock in independence, and in the ability to make one's own way in the world, but also in how one fits with the family. So numbers are tricky.
Then there's the matter of the... whatever it was that attacked her and prompted my entire story. And that's the thing. I haven't the faintest idea of what the beast actually was. *sigh*
Anyway, I am officially rambling, and I've been writing this post for literally weeks now, so I'm going to shut up.
Goddess Bless,
Charlotte
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Rumpleteazer
So. How long has it been since I've been on this thing? A while, I'm pretty sure... So here's what's bugging me this time (isn't that always how it turns out. I don't remember the last time I wrote happy stuff... Oh, well.)
I recently caved and joined the community of role-players on Facebook. (Not that kind of roleplay. Get your mind out of the gutter, child...) It seemed like a cool idea at the time, for a couple of reasons.
One: No one really talks to me.
Disclaimer time: that's not strictly true. Shannon, Griff, Shebby, Cally when she has time, etc. I do actually talk to people, far more than I used to. But. I'm speaking only of Facebook right now, simply because I can.
Two: The role-players are, with a very few exceptions, far more entertaining than the real world people I'm Facebook friends with.
Again, speaking about Facebook. Geeze...
Three: Some days I'm just plain tired of being me, and want to pretend to be someone else for a while.
No disclaimer here, that one is just flat truth.
Four: I love the character I chose. Seriously, she's all adorable and fluffy and stuff...
"So what's the problem?" (I hear you yell...)
The problem is that I am a T.S. Elliot character stuck in a land of Marvel and D.C. Which is all very well and good, until you realize that nobody knows who Rumpleteazer is. So no one talks to her, and she doesn't really fit in anywhere, and... Crap. Suddenly I'm right back where I started, huh?
So what do I do? I talk to people, who either reply or they don't, and if they do, I'll continue talking to them. I write bits and pieces of stories, mainly for myself, to explain Teazer's past. I watch as characters move from house to house, mingling together, while I... sort of hover in the aether, actually. And, slowly, I learn to communicate with people. Because Charlotte? Yeah, she's not so good at that. I think one of the things I love most about Rumpleteazer is that when she's sad (which is a lot, really. I'm pretty mean to my characters, even when they're only borrowed) she can cry, and if there's someone else around, she can let them see her cry, and let them try to comfort her if they're so inclined. I've never been able to do that, and I envy her the ability. Through Teazer, I can talk to people I don't know, and I can see the world (or a world) through the eyes of someone who can reach out to people. And I think that's good for me... sorta.
Did this post have a point? Not really. If anything, it was a way for me to justify hanging on to Teazer for a while longer. And possibly as a method of explaining why I'm almost never on Facebook anymore.
In short (too late) sometimes I wish I could step over into the world of the role-players. I wish that I was brave enough for Teazer to be brave enough for her to be able to talk to people, more so than she has been. I wish I didn't need a hypothetical cat to make me feel brave. I wish that I could just end this entry, instead of dragging it on and on and on... Well, one wish can come true, anyway.
Goddess bless,
Charlotte
I recently caved and joined the community of role-players on Facebook. (Not that kind of roleplay. Get your mind out of the gutter, child...) It seemed like a cool idea at the time, for a couple of reasons.
One: No one really talks to me.
Disclaimer time: that's not strictly true. Shannon, Griff, Shebby, Cally when she has time, etc. I do actually talk to people, far more than I used to. But. I'm speaking only of Facebook right now, simply because I can.
Two: The role-players are, with a very few exceptions, far more entertaining than the real world people I'm Facebook friends with.
Again, speaking about Facebook. Geeze...
Three: Some days I'm just plain tired of being me, and want to pretend to be someone else for a while.
No disclaimer here, that one is just flat truth.
Four: I love the character I chose. Seriously, she's all adorable and fluffy and stuff...
"So what's the problem?" (I hear you yell...)
The problem is that I am a T.S. Elliot character stuck in a land of Marvel and D.C. Which is all very well and good, until you realize that nobody knows who Rumpleteazer is. So no one talks to her, and she doesn't really fit in anywhere, and... Crap. Suddenly I'm right back where I started, huh?
So what do I do? I talk to people, who either reply or they don't, and if they do, I'll continue talking to them. I write bits and pieces of stories, mainly for myself, to explain Teazer's past. I watch as characters move from house to house, mingling together, while I... sort of hover in the aether, actually. And, slowly, I learn to communicate with people. Because Charlotte? Yeah, she's not so good at that. I think one of the things I love most about Rumpleteazer is that when she's sad (which is a lot, really. I'm pretty mean to my characters, even when they're only borrowed) she can cry, and if there's someone else around, she can let them see her cry, and let them try to comfort her if they're so inclined. I've never been able to do that, and I envy her the ability. Through Teazer, I can talk to people I don't know, and I can see the world (or a world) through the eyes of someone who can reach out to people. And I think that's good for me... sorta.
Did this post have a point? Not really. If anything, it was a way for me to justify hanging on to Teazer for a while longer. And possibly as a method of explaining why I'm almost never on Facebook anymore.
In short (too late) sometimes I wish I could step over into the world of the role-players. I wish that I was brave enough for Teazer to be brave enough for her to be able to talk to people, more so than she has been. I wish I didn't need a hypothetical cat to make me feel brave. I wish that I could just end this entry, instead of dragging it on and on and on... Well, one wish can come true, anyway.
Goddess bless,
Charlotte
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Friendship, I Guess
First things first. Cuckoo's Nest is AWESOME. And also extending another week. Which I'm not sure I'm happy about, but whatever. Anyway. Couple Dating is going to be very good, I think, as it's rather funny, and you should all come see it. Dooooo iiiiittttt... You know you want to. Moving right along... So, a few days ago, I was rather bored. Now, when I'm bored I either draw or write, and I was pretty much doodled out at that point, so I just picked a starting point and went. I wound up writing almost four pages... It's a bit rough, but I think it has potential, so I'm going to post it here because... Well, just because I bloody well can.
Friendship
Friendship is an interesting thing. It's a word, a term, a description of something that can't be described. To say "Oh, we're friends" is truly one of the most confusing ways to describe a relationship possible, because there are about six million definitions and connotations of the word "friend", and no real way to specify without going into an impressive monologue every time someone asks you if you know someone. Drawing purely from my own experience, I can name at least ten different versions of "friend", and if asked about any one of them, I would be forced to reply with the standard "Well, we're friends." However, there are huge differences, from one person to the next, what the definition of friendship is. For example, Teresa. (Author's Note: Names are not changed to protect the innocent, mainly because I don't know any innocents. However, I won't use last names, and will change a name to an alias if requested. And tipped heavily, naturally.) When I say Teresa is my friend, I mean that we've known each other since forever; that I'd trust her with not only my life, but with my secrets; that we can talk on the phone for hours about absolute nonsense; that we're more like sisters than friends; and that I sometimes think she can read my mind. (Seriously. How else would she know exactly what I'm talking about when I say something along the lines of "Remember that one movie? The one with the actor in it, that guy with the hair? What was it called?" Fairly sure she actually got the name of the movie that time, too... Scary.) Entirely on the other end of the spectrum, you have theater friendships. Now, I don't know if it's different between actors, but tech to actor, or even tech to tech, tends not to work. I've done three plays in Central Oregon now, and the pattern is pretty clear. I started with Steel Magnolias. We had a fabulous time, we all wound up pretty close (I've never seen so many exchanged gifts during a show), and we all swore up and down that we'd keep in touch. Okay. So far so good. The thing is, I'm still regularly in contact with exactly one person from that show, and I think that it's mostly because she was in the next show I did, and because she's directing the next thing I'm doing. While I do talk to Truvy every once in a while, it always winds up rather awkward and stilted, and we never really manage to talk about anything interesting. The next play I did was Harvey. Aside from Susan, the carry-over from Steel Magnolias, I don't talk to anyone from that cast, ever. Currently, I'm teching Cuckoo's Nest, and I can tell you now that I'm going to lose track of most, if not all, of them once it's over. The majority I don't really talk to now, so skipping over them, we have Turkle, Candy, and McMurphy. Turkle I'll hopefully keep in contact with, since he mentioned wanting to use me in a photoshoot. (He's a rather good photographer, so I'm good with it. Hopefully I can get some good shots of myself out of the deal.) Candy has been driving me home, which is part of the reason we actually talk, but we seem to have enough in common that we could theoretically keep in touch after the loony bin closes its doors. As for McMurphy... I don't know. Todd's a difficult one to categorize. I've known him since just before Steel Magnolias, technically (he helped set build, I helped paint), but I don't really know him any better than the rest of the loonies. The thing about Todd is, he's one of the most big hearted people I know. So yeah, he'll give me hugs (when I beg for them. At least he's not laughing at me for it anymore, or not to my face anyway...), and he's generally pretty nice, but when it comes right down to it? Once this is over, we're right back to "he knows me, but he doesn't recognize me..."
At this point, whatever was boring me had ended, so I just stopped writing. A few days after that (so, you know, yesterday.) I decided to condense all my friends down into categories.
Class one: People I've known forever, people I could tell anything.
Class two: What most people would refer to as "best friends." The people I would call if I needed a hug, or someone to talk to.
Class three: Immediate family. Pets.
Class four: Celebrities. People I don't actually know, but I use their movies to cheer myself up, so... It counts. Also includes fictional characters.
Class five: Distant family, and people adopted as family.
Class six: Long distance friends, people met at college, people I see once in a blue moon.
Class seven: Theater friends. Anyone met through the theater who doesn't fit into another category. People I enjoy spending time around, but no guarantees I'll see them after shows close.
Class eight: Facebook friends. Anyone I'm "friends" with on Facebook, but don't really talk to in real life.
Class nine: My head people. The voices in my head, who have gotten me through an awful lot.
So there you have it. The ramblings of a mostly unfiltered mind. Return to what you were doing, since I'm sure it was more interesting than me, and I will see you later... My friend.
~Charlotte the Pirate
Friendship
Friendship is an interesting thing. It's a word, a term, a description of something that can't be described. To say "Oh, we're friends" is truly one of the most confusing ways to describe a relationship possible, because there are about six million definitions and connotations of the word "friend", and no real way to specify without going into an impressive monologue every time someone asks you if you know someone. Drawing purely from my own experience, I can name at least ten different versions of "friend", and if asked about any one of them, I would be forced to reply with the standard "Well, we're friends." However, there are huge differences, from one person to the next, what the definition of friendship is. For example, Teresa. (Author's Note: Names are not changed to protect the innocent, mainly because I don't know any innocents. However, I won't use last names, and will change a name to an alias if requested. And tipped heavily, naturally.) When I say Teresa is my friend, I mean that we've known each other since forever; that I'd trust her with not only my life, but with my secrets; that we can talk on the phone for hours about absolute nonsense; that we're more like sisters than friends; and that I sometimes think she can read my mind. (Seriously. How else would she know exactly what I'm talking about when I say something along the lines of "Remember that one movie? The one with the actor in it, that guy with the hair? What was it called?" Fairly sure she actually got the name of the movie that time, too... Scary.) Entirely on the other end of the spectrum, you have theater friendships. Now, I don't know if it's different between actors, but tech to actor, or even tech to tech, tends not to work. I've done three plays in Central Oregon now, and the pattern is pretty clear. I started with Steel Magnolias. We had a fabulous time, we all wound up pretty close (I've never seen so many exchanged gifts during a show), and we all swore up and down that we'd keep in touch. Okay. So far so good. The thing is, I'm still regularly in contact with exactly one person from that show, and I think that it's mostly because she was in the next show I did, and because she's directing the next thing I'm doing. While I do talk to Truvy every once in a while, it always winds up rather awkward and stilted, and we never really manage to talk about anything interesting. The next play I did was Harvey. Aside from Susan, the carry-over from Steel Magnolias, I don't talk to anyone from that cast, ever. Currently, I'm teching Cuckoo's Nest, and I can tell you now that I'm going to lose track of most, if not all, of them once it's over. The majority I don't really talk to now, so skipping over them, we have Turkle, Candy, and McMurphy. Turkle I'll hopefully keep in contact with, since he mentioned wanting to use me in a photoshoot. (He's a rather good photographer, so I'm good with it. Hopefully I can get some good shots of myself out of the deal.) Candy has been driving me home, which is part of the reason we actually talk, but we seem to have enough in common that we could theoretically keep in touch after the loony bin closes its doors. As for McMurphy... I don't know. Todd's a difficult one to categorize. I've known him since just before Steel Magnolias, technically (he helped set build, I helped paint), but I don't really know him any better than the rest of the loonies. The thing about Todd is, he's one of the most big hearted people I know. So yeah, he'll give me hugs (when I beg for them. At least he's not laughing at me for it anymore, or not to my face anyway...), and he's generally pretty nice, but when it comes right down to it? Once this is over, we're right back to "he knows me, but he doesn't recognize me..."
At this point, whatever was boring me had ended, so I just stopped writing. A few days after that (so, you know, yesterday.) I decided to condense all my friends down into categories.
Class one: People I've known forever, people I could tell anything.
Class two: What most people would refer to as "best friends." The people I would call if I needed a hug, or someone to talk to.
Class three: Immediate family. Pets.
Class four: Celebrities. People I don't actually know, but I use their movies to cheer myself up, so... It counts. Also includes fictional characters.
Class five: Distant family, and people adopted as family.
Class six: Long distance friends, people met at college, people I see once in a blue moon.
Class seven: Theater friends. Anyone met through the theater who doesn't fit into another category. People I enjoy spending time around, but no guarantees I'll see them after shows close.
Class eight: Facebook friends. Anyone I'm "friends" with on Facebook, but don't really talk to in real life.
Class nine: My head people. The voices in my head, who have gotten me through an awful lot.
So there you have it. The ramblings of a mostly unfiltered mind. Return to what you were doing, since I'm sure it was more interesting than me, and I will see you later... My friend.
~Charlotte the Pirate
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Stuck
So there was a meeting at 2nd Street the other day, with the purpose of figuring out a way of continuing as a theater. I went, mainly because I knew I'd never hear the verdict if I didn't, and sat through two hours of complete twaddle. One of the main suggestions floating around was turning it into a repertory theater. For those of you who don't know what this means (I didn't), essentially what it boils down to is that everyone who does anything with the theater is drawn from a pool of paying members. Therefore, if you are not a paying member of the theater, you don't act, you don't tech, you don't direct, etc. This is an exceptionally crap idea for a number of reasons. For one, what about people like Caleb? Caleb is one of the main in-chargy people at CTC, the other community theater, and therefore doesn't do a lot at 2nd Street. Because of this, though, he would never be able to so much as audition for a show, because he wouldn't be a part of the officially sanctioned pool. Then, of course, there's the people who get involved in theater for one show, purely on a whim. Their friend told them they should/they needed something to do nights/they wanted to try something new/whatever. The thing about a repertory theater, though, is that you can't just walk in off the street and audition. So not only are we limiting ourselves to only part of the Central Oregon acting community, but we're also guaranteeing that we'll never get new people in. Finally, you get the people like me. During the discussion, someone mentioned "We'll just have everyone pay $25 a month, which will cover rent for the building, heating, etc. Just 25 dollars each. 25 dollars is nothing." Um... yeah. About that. When I have money, particularly at the beginning of the month, I have a list. I buy a bus pass, if I don't already have one for the month. I buy cat food, since my cat needs to eat. I buy any clothing I have need of (replacement shoes for the ones whose soles have worn through, that kind of thing.) I buy groceries, since people keep telling me that I need to eat. I buy things like toilet paper, or shampoo, or toothpaste, as needed. Then, and only then, do I get to move on to buying things that I want more than need. (More often then not, lately, this has been tea. My excuse is that it's technically good for me.) All of this really doesn't work well with a 25 dollar a month fee to volunteer at a theater, especially when I can, technically, just go over to CTC. They may not be as nice over there, but at least I don't have to pay to be there. There were, of course, other options, most of which didn't require one to shell out cash in order to enter the building, the majority of which I don't understand fully enough to talk good or bad points. (Anyone know a business major who can explain things to me?) Suffice it to say, I am worried. I am afraid that this tiny, wonderful little theater is going to fall through the cracks, just after I found it. I truly hate this town, and I loved the idea of having someplace I could feel at home, if only for a few nights a week. The next meeting is in mid February, so I guess we'll see...
In other news, I finally managed to hear back from the people in charge of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at CTC, and have officially started attending rehearsals. I've seen the movie exactly once, and then only because I felt like I ought to see it before I started helping with the play (it's nice to have a grasp of the story before going into rehearsal, I have found.) so hopefully I won't get too disgustingly tired of this before the end, but we'll see. If nothing else, it gets me out of the house at night, keeps me reasonably entertained (it's a pity live theater can't have a blooper reel, we've already had some rather entertaining moments), and forces me to get at least some exercise most days. I'm also starting work soon (either tomorrow or Monday, I haven't heard yet) so I'll eventually have some cash for that tea habit of mine. It shall be my downfall that Townshend's Tea House is a three minute walk from the theater... I will definitely need the caffeine, though, since I'll be starting work at 7:30 every morning, and getting home from rehearsal around ten. Hopefully, though, I'll be able to take naps in the afternoon most days, since I'm sort of nocturnal at the moment and have issues falling asleep early, as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this at one thirty in the morning.
I guess that's it. In the last month or so (when was the last time I updated this thing?) I have lost some friends, gained some friends, seen a couple fabulous movies, read some phenomenal books, and developed a taste for lychee and rose petal tea. I got Christmas presents before Christmas, on Christmas eve, on Christmas day, after Christmas, and long after Christmas. I found out that opening night of the next show I tech will be on my birthday. I had a really cool dream based on this fact, and woke to the disappointing knowledge that David Bowie will definitely not be showing up at 2nd Street, even for my birthday. I somehow wound up with a massive and deeply annoying computer virus, and have no idea how to fix it, and no money to pay someone else to fix it. I finally got around to putting posters and pictures up on my wall. (Some of those pictures were a gift from my friend Shelby, who is amazingly talented and somehow managed to draw my head-people. Some others are from my friend Shannon, who is also amazingly talented and gave me prints of some of my favorite pictures that she's taken. I loveds my friends.) I gave out spell candles to my friends for Christmas, and got just about every reaction possible when people opened them. (Helen, you definitely win for my favorite. ^-^) The good in my life, amazing though it may seem, currently outweighs the bad. Here's hoping it stays that way...
Goddess bless,
~Char
In other news, I finally managed to hear back from the people in charge of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at CTC, and have officially started attending rehearsals. I've seen the movie exactly once, and then only because I felt like I ought to see it before I started helping with the play (it's nice to have a grasp of the story before going into rehearsal, I have found.) so hopefully I won't get too disgustingly tired of this before the end, but we'll see. If nothing else, it gets me out of the house at night, keeps me reasonably entertained (it's a pity live theater can't have a blooper reel, we've already had some rather entertaining moments), and forces me to get at least some exercise most days. I'm also starting work soon (either tomorrow or Monday, I haven't heard yet) so I'll eventually have some cash for that tea habit of mine. It shall be my downfall that Townshend's Tea House is a three minute walk from the theater... I will definitely need the caffeine, though, since I'll be starting work at 7:30 every morning, and getting home from rehearsal around ten. Hopefully, though, I'll be able to take naps in the afternoon most days, since I'm sort of nocturnal at the moment and have issues falling asleep early, as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this at one thirty in the morning.
I guess that's it. In the last month or so (when was the last time I updated this thing?) I have lost some friends, gained some friends, seen a couple fabulous movies, read some phenomenal books, and developed a taste for lychee and rose petal tea. I got Christmas presents before Christmas, on Christmas eve, on Christmas day, after Christmas, and long after Christmas. I found out that opening night of the next show I tech will be on my birthday. I had a really cool dream based on this fact, and woke to the disappointing knowledge that David Bowie will definitely not be showing up at 2nd Street, even for my birthday. I somehow wound up with a massive and deeply annoying computer virus, and have no idea how to fix it, and no money to pay someone else to fix it. I finally got around to putting posters and pictures up on my wall. (Some of those pictures were a gift from my friend Shelby, who is amazingly talented and somehow managed to draw my head-people. Some others are from my friend Shannon, who is also amazingly talented and gave me prints of some of my favorite pictures that she's taken. I loveds my friends.) I gave out spell candles to my friends for Christmas, and got just about every reaction possible when people opened them. (Helen, you definitely win for my favorite. ^-^) The good in my life, amazing though it may seem, currently outweighs the bad. Here's hoping it stays that way...
Goddess bless,
~Char
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Promises, promises
So in the last post I wrote, the one after the Weekend from Hell, I said I would be more cheerful next time. That, amongst other things, is my excuse for waiting this long to write again. However, at the moment I am in a seriously good mood, for several reasons. First, Alice. It's a new mini-series on the Sci-Fi channel (or Syfy, as they are currently known. I understand WHY they changed it (I'm one of the nerds who actually reads the newsposts...) but I still think it looks silly. Plus, now they can't do the iF thing, and I miss that a lot. But I digress.) It aired tonight, and I am in love. Seriously, the last time I enjoyed tv this much was way back when Tin Man came out... Apparently I just have a thing for twisted re-workings of kids stories. I think I'm okay with that... Anyway, the really good thing about this one is that the Dodo is played by: (drumroll please) Tim Curry. And since I am seriously majorly crushing on him (in a celebrity I've never met and am not likely to ever meet sort of way), that alone would have made it worth watching. Truth be told, that was the main reason I was watching to begin with. However, not five minutes into it and I was completely swept away with the story, and with the rest of the cast of characters. It's always nice to have a heroine who can kick the bad guys' asses for herself, even if she does have the world's most ridiculously inefficient running style. Seriously, she makes me look graceful, and that's quite a feat. And Mad March? Definitely the creepiest thing I've seen in a LONG time. Well worth a watch if you get a chance.
Second, Harvey. I am, once again, deep into the belly of 2nd Street Theater, dressed in black and making things happen. This time, however, there are a few differences. For one thing, I'm not the youngest person involved, which means I am no longer the only one un-invited to the cast/crew drinking party things after performances. It also means I'm not the only one who has to rely on the charity of strangers (or friends. Whichever.) to get me home through three feet of freaking snow. I've always felt bad about having people go out of their way to give me rides home, and having a couple others sponging off of people helps a little. The director (Brian. He's awesome.) is also technically the stage manager, so I can also be just run crew, rather than having to pick up the slack like I did last show. (Admittedly, I really didn't mind doing that. I love Tim, and I do enjoy being stage manager, as long as the actors aren't too annoying...) I'm also the official Script Nazi (my term, not the theater's), the "prospective buyer on the third floor" (I make the noises from offstage), Ed's tea girl (for no apparent reason, I'm always the one he asks to go refill his mug with hot water), and I (sort of) play Harvey. In short, I am the single most important person in that building. (And modest. I'm also really, really amazingly modest. ^_^)
Third, Christmas. Well, sort of. The thing is, I really hate Christmas. However, I found some really good anthologies of horror stories to get me through the first couple weeks of publicly aired Christmas carols, and for once in my life I have a good idea of what I'm getting everyone for presents. I think I can actually afford to do it, too, although I may have to have my dad mail the ones that need to be mailed from his work, since I'm pretty sure he can do that for free...
I certainly hope that's enough cheerful for you all (you all. Ha. I don't even read my blog posts anymore...) I'm actually having a pretty good week, and definitely looking forward to our next show on Wednesday.
Happy Solstice/Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever you happen to want to be happy about
~Charlotte the Pirate
Second, Harvey. I am, once again, deep into the belly of 2nd Street Theater, dressed in black and making things happen. This time, however, there are a few differences. For one thing, I'm not the youngest person involved, which means I am no longer the only one un-invited to the cast/crew drinking party things after performances. It also means I'm not the only one who has to rely on the charity of strangers (or friends. Whichever.) to get me home through three feet of freaking snow. I've always felt bad about having people go out of their way to give me rides home, and having a couple others sponging off of people helps a little. The director (Brian. He's awesome.) is also technically the stage manager, so I can also be just run crew, rather than having to pick up the slack like I did last show. (Admittedly, I really didn't mind doing that. I love Tim, and I do enjoy being stage manager, as long as the actors aren't too annoying...) I'm also the official Script Nazi (my term, not the theater's), the "prospective buyer on the third floor" (I make the noises from offstage), Ed's tea girl (for no apparent reason, I'm always the one he asks to go refill his mug with hot water), and I (sort of) play Harvey. In short, I am the single most important person in that building. (And modest. I'm also really, really amazingly modest. ^_^)
Third, Christmas. Well, sort of. The thing is, I really hate Christmas. However, I found some really good anthologies of horror stories to get me through the first couple weeks of publicly aired Christmas carols, and for once in my life I have a good idea of what I'm getting everyone for presents. I think I can actually afford to do it, too, although I may have to have my dad mail the ones that need to be mailed from his work, since I'm pretty sure he can do that for free...
I certainly hope that's enough cheerful for you all (you all. Ha. I don't even read my blog posts anymore...) I'm actually having a pretty good week, and definitely looking forward to our next show on Wednesday.
Happy Solstice/Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever you happen to want to be happy about
~Charlotte the Pirate
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
That Fabulous Feeling of Complete Helplessness
Here's the deal. I hate confrontation. Always have, in all likelihood always will. It stems, I imagine, mainly from my upbringing. You'd have to meet my mom's side of the family to understand it, but the whole lot of them are big on the "we won't tell you we're mad at you, we'll just talk about you behind your back to everyone else in the family" way of life. I've heard a lot of what they've said about my black sheep aunt, so I shudder to think what they say about me... Anyway, there is a point hidden in here, and that point is that because I grew up around that mentality, it has always been difficult for me to share my feelings with people, and I've never really known how to deal with other people's feelings either. Bearing that in mind, this last weekend was... rough. I'm not going to tell the story here, mainly because I'm not in possession of all the facts or of everyone's point of view. I was not there when it technically started, and I was not there when (I think) it ended, or at least moved on. Suffice it to say, I was present as two of my very best friends in the world broke up. I don't know for sure why they were fighting to begin with, but relatively soon after I got there, it escalated to an actual breakup. So I, along with two more of my friends, got to stand by and watch a relationship implode, while being basically powerless to do anything about it. My friends tried to help, doing what they felt was right and trying to diffuse the situation, and I spent the weekend basically mute and useless. The thing is, though, is that their attempts to help were immediately classified as quote "meddling", and the girlfriend in the situation became quite impressively mad at both of them. However, she recently assured me that she wasn't mad at me, although it would depend on what my part was in the whole fiasco, just at my friends. So now I feel really bad, because my friends lost (or came close to losing) a good friend, and I did not. Not because I'm a more compassionate person, or because I did anything even remotely close to right, but because I can't open my stupid mouth, even when it matters most. I spent the entire weekend (and most of the last couple days) wishing I had the guts to simply speak up, but I never did, and now I feel like a lot of the suffering that went on this weekend was partly my fault. I've never been good at either making or keeping friends, so the prospect of losing the ones I've got now is absolutely terrifying. However, I don't believe that should be an acceptable excuse. Sometimes things need to be said, and as much as it hurts to say them, it's even worse not to. I don't know. Maybe I'll be able to fix my brain enough to be able to function in situations like that, and maybe I won't. I am going to try, though, because I can't sit idly by and watch people I love hurt themselves and each other any more.
Sorry this post is so bleak, it's been a rough couple of days. Next time, I promise, I shall be more cheerful.
Sorry this post is so bleak, it's been a rough couple of days. Next time, I promise, I shall be more cheerful.
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