Quickley breathes a sigh of relief for friendly suppliers who deliver manuals directly to her inbox. B-Bye, weekend long headache!
I’m private
Well.... that went well.
I'd even say 24 hours was too much time to accomplish what we had to do. We ended up taking a lot of breaks. As a director, I've discovered I'm pretty laissez-faire. From what I can tell, people do best what they think is best, and if they need direction or help, they'll ask for it. And that's when I'd know to step in.
That is, unless they're doing it all wrong. Which they weren't.
Got lots of laughs, which is the way for a lot of things I do, which is good. So, I'm either a loser, or hilarious, either way, they're laughing.
The cabaret was otherwise dissapointing, content-wise I thought. True, not all 24-hour Theatre sketches were gold, but the only other acts were (albeit fabulous) "Works in progress" by the Contemporary Dance kids. It makes me sad. I'm a sucker for a bad art film or an overdressed jazz zinger. Come on, Fine Arts Students. Show us whatcha got.
There'll be another 24 hr challenge in January they tell me. They also tell me you don't have to be a student to play. So... pass it along.
Come play with me.
In other thoughts... I've decided I love Dive bars, because although I wouldn't say I fit in, I don't feel out of place either. I love Karaokee, because signing is a release like nothing else, and my audience's reaction is part of what I need to really feel relieved. Maybe some sort of legitimate accompaniment would add some sense of pride to this feeling. Hmmm. Furthermore, I've decided that I hate about beer that it both acts as a truth serum, and induces amnesia. I hate that I remember things that other people don't.
That's all. Goodnight.
I'd even say 24 hours was too much time to accomplish what we had to do. We ended up taking a lot of breaks. As a director, I've discovered I'm pretty laissez-faire. From what I can tell, people do best what they think is best, and if they need direction or help, they'll ask for it. And that's when I'd know to step in.
That is, unless they're doing it all wrong. Which they weren't.
Got lots of laughs, which is the way for a lot of things I do, which is good. So, I'm either a loser, or hilarious, either way, they're laughing.
The cabaret was otherwise dissapointing, content-wise I thought. True, not all 24-hour Theatre sketches were gold, but the only other acts were (albeit fabulous) "Works in progress" by the Contemporary Dance kids. It makes me sad. I'm a sucker for a bad art film or an overdressed jazz zinger. Come on, Fine Arts Students. Show us whatcha got.
There'll be another 24 hr challenge in January they tell me. They also tell me you don't have to be a student to play. So... pass it along.
Come play with me.
In other thoughts... I've decided I love Dive bars, because although I wouldn't say I fit in, I don't feel out of place either. I love Karaokee, because signing is a release like nothing else, and my audience's reaction is part of what I need to really feel relieved. Maybe some sort of legitimate accompaniment would add some sense of pride to this feeling. Hmmm. Furthermore, I've decided that I hate about beer that it both acts as a truth serum, and induces amnesia. I hate that I remember things that other people don't.
That's all. Goodnight.
Ooh Ooh Ooh! How very exciting!
The CAST (Concordia Association of Students of the Theatre) 24-hour Theatre challenge is this weekend! This event, I've been looking forward to since realizing I missed last year's, and it goes a little like this...
We've got playwrights, directors, designers and actors signed up to perform their respective duties.
At 8 pm on Friday night, Playwrights gather and do their thing which, by 8 am Saturday, should result in something resembling a script or three.
At 9am, Directors (that's ME!) & designers get the script and have 'til 10 to read it, and figure out what to do with it.
At 10, Actors show up, get cast, and have the rest of the day to rehearse and fine-tune, with a mandatory break or two thrown in. (It's so cool... since they're training us to be professionals, we follow Equity rules for breaks and things. AND free pizza. Sweeeet)
At 8 pm, we present the day's work to the public, as part of the Fine Arts Student Alliance's (henceforth refered to as FASA) Cabaret. You should come, and bring all your friends, and tell me that I have a real future as a director, or not, depending on what you really think. And please tell me what you really think. There's nothing less useful to an artist than the comment "Great Job!" I'll even be so bold as to post it in "events" and see what happens.
So... do it! Come watch me do my thing! the FASA Cabaret will feature the outcomes of the CAST 24-hour Theatre challenge, as well as works in progress by all sorts of Fine Arts Students... contemporary dancers, (there's usually some pretty awesome breakdancers) singers and musicians of all shapes and sizes, film students screening their things, and there will possibly be some gallery action goin' on too.
The downside to this, of course, is that it means I have to get up on Saturday, and am busy all day. Had to cancel 2 hot dates! Gah! Looks like this social-life building experiment is going well for me.
In other news, I'm tired. You know, for a bonafide coffee connoiseur and certified snob, I really can't handle the stuff. 2 cups of coffee was sufficient for an all-nighter, which led to a day where 2 more cups were consumed in the interest of staying upright for lack of sleep, which led, of course, to another sleepless night. 4 cups, in 2 days, and I don't sleep for 3. What the hell?
My dreadies need help. They went all weird on me. I've decided therefore, that they must be male, as is the tendancy for males to get weird on me. Furthering this notion that my hair can be gendered, are the following: I haven't quite decided if I like them yet; I'm questioning if I'll ever fall in love with them, I'm sincerely doubtful that I'll be able to commit tp them for more than a few months. (I've already been looking elsewhere...) and they make me scratch my head.
That is all.
Oh, wait... no it's not...
The FASA Cabaret will take place at 8 pm at the TJ Building, on the corner of West Broadway and Terrebonne on the Loyola Campus of Concordia (that's the one in NDG. You can take the shuttle from the downtown campus, and it takes you there quicker than transit) on Saturday night at 8.
ok, I'm done.
Ha!
There we go. So accomplished am I today, that I finished my paper a whole six hours before my midnight deadline, and furthermore, managed to fix a pic of myself so that I don't look so smushed. Ok, hair's completely different, you're missin' out on all the metal in my face, I look a little stoned, maybe, but certainly not smushed.
What am I saying, I always look stoned.
Ah, yes, so four cups of coffee and no sleep later, I'm done, done done done the schoolwork for Current Canadian Theater. It's unfortunate. Current Canadian Theatre is the class that every theatre student needs to take in order to find out what they're getting into. Sadly, what we learn is how to use Moodle, and how little relevance the course has to what's actually going on out there.
SO! A bit about me for all of you who've been so kind as to add me to their friends list.
I'm from the Maritimes and have been living wickedly anti-socially in Montreal for just over a year. I love it here, I could stay for a very long time and not get bored. (whether I will has yet to be decided) and have recently decided that, in the interest of my mental health and fabulosity, I need more people in my life. Me Voila. I came from NB to study Theatre, although I haven't been able to get more specific than that. I act, I design, I build. I don't care what I do, really, so long as I'm involved. Theatre, I noticed, when I came, is the only thing (Well... no... but occupationally, yes) that I do, that when I'm doing it, I don't spend my time wishing I was doing something else. This is a good thing. I am empassioned. It's made a flake out of me, but that's ok, 'cause I'm cute.
Hmm. What else can I tell you?
20 interesting things about me that you don't already know?
1) I grew up in a beauty school. I was a guinnea pig.
2) I once owned a cat named Trip who liked to sleep in the fridge.
3) I learned to speak, read and write in French first, although you'd never know it to hear me speak English. Or French.
4) I was adopted. I have a well-to-do long lost father who lives on a tropical island in the middle of the ocean.
5) I have an accent, which is characterized by my truncating my syllables. This is what my voice teacher tells me.
6) I think most of my classes are flaky and retarded, but I love them anyway.
7) I have a bad m'fuckin sweet tooth.
8) I'm addicted to the pot, and sometimes it bothers me. Although not enough to stop.
9) My heart knows I'll never get over it, and my head says I will, but my head knows one very important thing: My head makes mistakes, my heart does not.
10) Except for one brief, fleeting moment, I've never felt at home or like I belonged anywhere.
11) I went to France just for the cheese.
12) I was a journalist, with my own beat, and my own office, complete with brass plaque that said (no lie) "Mild Mannered Reporter."
13) Nobody in my life currently knows me very well. I'm tough that way. Not usually forthcomming with information, usually because I believe that knowing random bits of trivia about me isn't at all like knowing me. I'm wide open, but silent. You'll figure me out through careful observation. If you're paying close attention, I'll know, and I'll love you for it. No one has been paying attention.
14) I love to sing. I love to sing more than I love Theatre. That being said... I'm in Theatre and not singing 'cause I couldn't handle the sheer bliss of doing it and nothing else.
15) I've never been parking. I've been TO Parking... but that's different.
16) I can count the people who've seen me naked on one hand. May or may not do something about that.
17) My first words were "Woof Woof"
18) As a child, I was often shut up by my older brothers with "Quit Cryin! Be A Man!"
19) I own my own tools. Cordless drill, tape measure, hammer all that stuff. I even know the difference between a robertson and a phillips screwdriver, AND what a cheesborough is.
20) If I believe in re-incarnation (IF) I'm convinced, for a variety or reasons, that this is my last time around.
And voila. That's what you're gettin' for now.
There we go. So accomplished am I today, that I finished my paper a whole six hours before my midnight deadline, and furthermore, managed to fix a pic of myself so that I don't look so smushed. Ok, hair's completely different, you're missin' out on all the metal in my face, I look a little stoned, maybe, but certainly not smushed.
What am I saying, I always look stoned.
Ah, yes, so four cups of coffee and no sleep later, I'm done, done done done the schoolwork for Current Canadian Theater. It's unfortunate. Current Canadian Theatre is the class that every theatre student needs to take in order to find out what they're getting into. Sadly, what we learn is how to use Moodle, and how little relevance the course has to what's actually going on out there.
SO! A bit about me for all of you who've been so kind as to add me to their friends list.
I'm from the Maritimes and have been living wickedly anti-socially in Montreal for just over a year. I love it here, I could stay for a very long time and not get bored. (whether I will has yet to be decided) and have recently decided that, in the interest of my mental health and fabulosity, I need more people in my life. Me Voila. I came from NB to study Theatre, although I haven't been able to get more specific than that. I act, I design, I build. I don't care what I do, really, so long as I'm involved. Theatre, I noticed, when I came, is the only thing (Well... no... but occupationally, yes) that I do, that when I'm doing it, I don't spend my time wishing I was doing something else. This is a good thing. I am empassioned. It's made a flake out of me, but that's ok, 'cause I'm cute.
Hmm. What else can I tell you?
20 interesting things about me that you don't already know?
1) I grew up in a beauty school. I was a guinnea pig.
2) I once owned a cat named Trip who liked to sleep in the fridge.
3) I learned to speak, read and write in French first, although you'd never know it to hear me speak English. Or French.
4) I was adopted. I have a well-to-do long lost father who lives on a tropical island in the middle of the ocean.
5) I have an accent, which is characterized by my truncating my syllables. This is what my voice teacher tells me.
6) I think most of my classes are flaky and retarded, but I love them anyway.
7) I have a bad m'fuckin sweet tooth.
8) I'm addicted to the pot, and sometimes it bothers me. Although not enough to stop.
9) My heart knows I'll never get over it, and my head says I will, but my head knows one very important thing: My head makes mistakes, my heart does not.
10) Except for one brief, fleeting moment, I've never felt at home or like I belonged anywhere.
11) I went to France just for the cheese.
12) I was a journalist, with my own beat, and my own office, complete with brass plaque that said (no lie) "Mild Mannered Reporter."
13) Nobody in my life currently knows me very well. I'm tough that way. Not usually forthcomming with information, usually because I believe that knowing random bits of trivia about me isn't at all like knowing me. I'm wide open, but silent. You'll figure me out through careful observation. If you're paying close attention, I'll know, and I'll love you for it. No one has been paying attention.
14) I love to sing. I love to sing more than I love Theatre. That being said... I'm in Theatre and not singing 'cause I couldn't handle the sheer bliss of doing it and nothing else.
15) I've never been parking. I've been TO Parking... but that's different.
16) I can count the people who've seen me naked on one hand. May or may not do something about that.
17) My first words were "Woof Woof"
18) As a child, I was often shut up by my older brothers with "Quit Cryin! Be A Man!"
19) I own my own tools. Cordless drill, tape measure, hammer all that stuff. I even know the difference between a robertson and a phillips screwdriver, AND what a cheesborough is.
20) If I believe in re-incarnation (IF) I'm convinced, for a variety or reasons, that this is my last time around.
And voila. That's what you're gettin' for now.
Must.... cease.. procrastination...
These Naked ladies will are the bane of my existance. It's 3:30 am, and I've still got nothin' but a guglin' belly fulla coffee... which isn't getting me closer to the 800 words or less on the plight of the actor in musical theatre, except than to discern that there are fewer than 800 words published on the topic.
Nope. Not me. All I've got is a face fulla distraction and the urge to take my clothes off for money on the internet.
Oh, and freckles. Tons of them.
Oh, Yesterday was a good day.
I received a handy-dandy travel-muggy coffee maker in the mail, an early christmas present from home. Took some time to actually do some housework and some homework (hmmm...) wishing that at some point, I could just get both things done once and for all.
Feeling accomplished, I took the afternoon to dye the dreds bright poppy red, in honour of our veterans. (no... not really)There's something very cathartic about dying my hair red. I've been doing it forever, and the cleanse of a fresh colour never gets old. It's a mess, there are latex gloves involved, the bathroom looks like a crime scene, and briefly, I feel like I'm bleeding buckets out of my head and all over myself. I love it.
It's very Greek, very Theban.
All it needs is laurels and sandals.
Oi... oi... oi...
Ok, so the colour had nothing to do with Rememberance day, although I did spend the process listening to the CBC, as I tend to do. I was vaguely moved, not so much by the subject, as the usually, calm, cool, collected reporters' deeply emotional response to the interviews she was conducting. I heard them say in the distance (although this could be wrong) that there are no more Great War vets left, which makes me kind of sad. I've been, as I imagine others are as well, more prone to taking a minute on Rememberance day in the past few years. I've been known to surround myself with wonderful, noble, conscious, litterate, traveled and friendly army bucks. The reality of what they do's become more aparent in the past little while. Some have ran away to war on me. War Sucks. Unfortunately, sometimes, someone has to do it. It's a very ancient feeling to watch the men in your life take up arms and leave home.
So.. sophoclitic?
So, now I've got a bit of a rageddy-ann thing going, and I like it. And I'm glad that I like it, because at it's orange-pink tinge, I was starting to feel really icky and wanting to forgo the dredhead all together. Fret not! I love it. So far, so good. I was deeply dissapointed that the camera I'd been using to document my latest transformation was, this whole time, void of film. The badnews is, no one gets to see my super awesome rock-star, pre-dread 'do, the goodnews is that no one gets to see the wretched bit.
Christos came over and shared some stouts, joints and riveting philosophical conversation before heading over to the Bell centre for the NIN concert. Oh gee. Just thinking about it makes my heart pound in my chest. It was fabulous. NIN, above any else, stands as my favorite bands of all time, and Trent Reznor an important influence during those formative plastic-pant face-paint, poetry-in-the-dark, angsty-goth years. It was quite something to see this force move, produce real sound, be alive and fill this enormous room. The setlist was nostalgic and therapeutic. Hah. Mr. Reznor, father my children.
The lightshow blew me away, I still can't believe it. The board-op was a madcap, must've had 'er brains connected to the boards by elecrodes, it makes me gasp. Many inspirationings and fabulous ideas are emerging for Theban Cycle. What a glorious and relevant opportunity to geek out, I'll never recover. And I think the most interesting effect was being in the red section when lighters sparked up all around the arena like stars... Nothing new to some, but I'd only ever seen this on TV. What an effect.
I'll never get over it. I could rant for days.
Christos says he owes me dinner... we'll see.
I received a handy-dandy travel-muggy coffee maker in the mail, an early christmas present from home. Took some time to actually do some housework and some homework (hmmm...) wishing that at some point, I could just get both things done once and for all.
Feeling accomplished, I took the afternoon to dye the dreds bright poppy red, in honour of our veterans. (no... not really)There's something very cathartic about dying my hair red. I've been doing it forever, and the cleanse of a fresh colour never gets old. It's a mess, there are latex gloves involved, the bathroom looks like a crime scene, and briefly, I feel like I'm bleeding buckets out of my head and all over myself. I love it.
It's very Greek, very Theban.
All it needs is laurels and sandals.
Oi... oi... oi...
Ok, so the colour had nothing to do with Rememberance day, although I did spend the process listening to the CBC, as I tend to do. I was vaguely moved, not so much by the subject, as the usually, calm, cool, collected reporters' deeply emotional response to the interviews she was conducting. I heard them say in the distance (although this could be wrong) that there are no more Great War vets left, which makes me kind of sad. I've been, as I imagine others are as well, more prone to taking a minute on Rememberance day in the past few years. I've been known to surround myself with wonderful, noble, conscious, litterate, traveled and friendly army bucks. The reality of what they do's become more aparent in the past little while. Some have ran away to war on me. War Sucks. Unfortunately, sometimes, someone has to do it. It's a very ancient feeling to watch the men in your life take up arms and leave home.
So.. sophoclitic?
So, now I've got a bit of a rageddy-ann thing going, and I like it. And I'm glad that I like it, because at it's orange-pink tinge, I was starting to feel really icky and wanting to forgo the dredhead all together. Fret not! I love it. So far, so good. I was deeply dissapointed that the camera I'd been using to document my latest transformation was, this whole time, void of film. The badnews is, no one gets to see my super awesome rock-star, pre-dread 'do, the goodnews is that no one gets to see the wretched bit.
Christos came over and shared some stouts, joints and riveting philosophical conversation before heading over to the Bell centre for the NIN concert. Oh gee. Just thinking about it makes my heart pound in my chest. It was fabulous. NIN, above any else, stands as my favorite bands of all time, and Trent Reznor an important influence during those formative plastic-pant face-paint, poetry-in-the-dark, angsty-goth years. It was quite something to see this force move, produce real sound, be alive and fill this enormous room. The setlist was nostalgic and therapeutic. Hah. Mr. Reznor, father my children.
The lightshow blew me away, I still can't believe it. The board-op was a madcap, must've had 'er brains connected to the boards by elecrodes, it makes me gasp. Many inspirationings and fabulous ideas are emerging for Theban Cycle. What a glorious and relevant opportunity to geek out, I'll never recover. And I think the most interesting effect was being in the red section when lighters sparked up all around the arena like stars... Nothing new to some, but I'd only ever seen this on TV. What an effect.
I'll never get over it. I could rant for days.
Christos says he owes me dinner... we'll see.
You know what?
Fuck it.
I've been rudely lurking here for far too long.
I was mistaken today, on the metro, for zak's sister. Something needed to be done.
Here I am, SG. Whaddya gonna do about it?
