It occured to me yesterday that everyone in my acting class, sans the teacher, takes me as being DEADLY serious. That hasn't quite happened before. I'm taking my quiet badass moments as I can get them, because it's only a matter of time before I just get tired of it. The teacher, the dick, is fully aware that I'm taking precious little seriously in this class, and has begun to look at me as one of those fuck-up types used to make others feel better about themselves. I'm not, by the way; this is one of the few things I'm good at (I love how all the things I'm at all good at have no financial stability whatsoever).
But he's sure I'm one those types, even going out of his way to group me with the others he thinks are like that, and saying as much without actually saying it. He's one of those. We're currently doing trust exercises, because apparently staring at people in the eye for a minute and a half makes you trust people. I'm no expert. We got to act out an imaginary tug of war game as part of this. He made my team from New Jersey, and the other team from Scotland. Why? So he could do the fucking accents. As a person of Scottish descent, bad accents offend me (the things that should offend me are kinda all true, so I just embrace them). How a fake tug of war game makes you either trust people or makes you become a good actor is beyond me. Got to talk to a few of the people, and thank god I'm not alone in my dislike of the teacher. I can now act out with support.
Still confused as hell, and I know exactly why, and I hate it because this is the kind of thing best left being unconfused by. It's very nice...but terrible. Especially when, you know, there are all these oddball signs that only I would take as such. I'm a bit of a loon, you see. But fucking rational thoughts and common sense and there's all these weird mental blocks and things and...you know what? Maybe I'm just preemptively getting senile. I'll be AWESOME at senile.
On the dogshit in the breezeway front, I've been watching, when I can be bothered. I'm now leaning towards a homeless dog, or a homeless man with a homeless by association dog. But...why would a homeless guy and his homeless by association dog hang out right there, and why would the four-legged one shit in our breezeway? I really am not sure about this. Neighbor Girl comes home every night, sings, acts like nothing is wrong. Maybe she has a dog. No, she's got a cat. Fuck. See? This is why I need to edit these things. My mind wanders. And I'm watching "Monk."
Writing some. One's a story I've needed (and been bothered about incessantly) to do for the last few years. The other two are just things I've been playing with, because I've been thinking a lot.
Meh. I'll stop. Sacramento and outerlying people should come to Streets this weekend.
I'm so fucking stupid.
Later.
But he's sure I'm one those types, even going out of his way to group me with the others he thinks are like that, and saying as much without actually saying it. He's one of those. We're currently doing trust exercises, because apparently staring at people in the eye for a minute and a half makes you trust people. I'm no expert. We got to act out an imaginary tug of war game as part of this. He made my team from New Jersey, and the other team from Scotland. Why? So he could do the fucking accents. As a person of Scottish descent, bad accents offend me (the things that should offend me are kinda all true, so I just embrace them). How a fake tug of war game makes you either trust people or makes you become a good actor is beyond me. Got to talk to a few of the people, and thank god I'm not alone in my dislike of the teacher. I can now act out with support.
Still confused as hell, and I know exactly why, and I hate it because this is the kind of thing best left being unconfused by. It's very nice...but terrible. Especially when, you know, there are all these oddball signs that only I would take as such. I'm a bit of a loon, you see. But fucking rational thoughts and common sense and there's all these weird mental blocks and things and...you know what? Maybe I'm just preemptively getting senile. I'll be AWESOME at senile.
On the dogshit in the breezeway front, I've been watching, when I can be bothered. I'm now leaning towards a homeless dog, or a homeless man with a homeless by association dog. But...why would a homeless guy and his homeless by association dog hang out right there, and why would the four-legged one shit in our breezeway? I really am not sure about this. Neighbor Girl comes home every night, sings, acts like nothing is wrong. Maybe she has a dog. No, she's got a cat. Fuck. See? This is why I need to edit these things. My mind wanders. And I'm watching "Monk."
Writing some. One's a story I've needed (and been bothered about incessantly) to do for the last few years. The other two are just things I've been playing with, because I've been thinking a lot.
Meh. I'll stop. Sacramento and outerlying people should come to Streets this weekend.
I'm so fucking stupid.
Later.
Look what I got you. Trashcat is ready to come home.