Tonight We Cry Together

Thank you, Mr. President.

There are no words to express the grief that our country feels today.  My heart goes out to the families and friends of the victims and to the survivors who now must overcome, I'm sure, a combination of survivor's guilt and the loss of their innocence.  Prayers can't bring twenty children and six adults back to life, but I'm praying anyway.  May God be with the families affected by this tragic and meaningless act of violence.  And as for the shooter.  I'll pray for him too: that his soul can be healed.  No one in their right mind would do such a thing - whatever was hurting that poor man so much that he acted out in violence and even took his own life...  well.  I'm including him in my prayers because there's nothing we can do to change what's happened.  God help us all.

12:12 12/12/2012

So do I get 12 wishes?  No.  How about 12 hopes.  Fine then.  Here's 12 awesome things about anything and everything.

1.  I love who I am and I'm always looking to grow as an individual.

2.  When I was little I invented (in my brain) a transport system that worked with magnets.

3.  Nearly every time I look up at the stars I think about the Doctor.

4.  I wish I could fly.

5.  No matter how much I complain about papers, I enjoy writing them, finishing them, turning them in, and crossing my fingers for a good grade.

6.  Sometimes I think I would give up several years of my life if I could eat pizza whenever I wanted without the pesky side-effects of a dairy and gluten allergy.  Then I reconsider.

7.  Every year on my birthday I think to myself,  "This year's wish ought to be a good one.  It'll come true within the year, I know it."  And by the next day I've already forgotten what I've wished for.  It's quite possible that every wish of mine has come true.  I'll never know.

8.  I love waking up and remembering my dreams.  It happens quite often.  I like it even better when the dream is so good that I feel the need to share it.

9.  This is fun.  I feel like I'm writing in my journal in the final moments before the New Year.

10.  Someday I will write something that will touch lives around the world.  My words will inspire others to greatness.

11.  I don't care how many people say that world peace is impossible.  Peace is always an option.  It starts inside each heart and blossoms from there.

12.  I will never stop believing in myself.


12:12.  I'm taking a deep breath and am happy to have fallen victim to a silly superstition about numbers and patterns.  Here's to being human.

Boil 'Em, Mash 'Em, Stick 'Em in a Stew

Potatoes!

That's right.  Mashed potatoes.

That's also how I've been approaching the homework assignments that have taken a back seat to "How I Learned to Drive"  I would say pun intended, but it happened by happy accident.  Drive has honestly been one of the best experiences of my life.  My fellow actors, our director and stage manager, assistant stage manager, run crew, tech crew - everyone was so wonderful.  It was such a pleasure to work with them all.  It was a fantastic show, really well written, designed fabulously, working alongside brilliant actors.... quite the experience.  I can't believe it's over.  I'm ready for my next project!  Well, actually I'd like a break first.  So here's to Drive.  Cheers.

 

We're pretty cool kids.

So when it's all said and done, I love the life I have.  And no matter how stressful, I know that it's worth it.  Not only do I have a story to tell, I have a story to create.  Each day that I'm not dead in the ground, I get to make my life.  And that's the most frightening thing there is.  But also the most exciting.

PS.  We got fifteen inches of snow.  No school was cancelled.  Oh Missouri, what would you ever do with fifteen inches of snow?  

See you next time, Riverside.  Midsummer Night's Dream.
Come at me, Shakespeare.
Opera first, of course.

Is It Yesterday Yet?

Spent my Saturday morning at the library....  This library to be precise.

 Only - with color.

I honestly felt like the only person in the world.  I love the smell of McIntyre Library.  To be quite frank, it sometimes makes me sneeze, but the musty smell of books and old carpets is just heaven.  I love walking through the aisles and looking up on each side of me at the books I can't even reach.  And then, when I have finally found the sections of call numbers that I'm looking for, I can just grab books off the shelf willy-nilly and find everything I've ever wanted.

The Tempest.  That's what I got to spend my time researching.  And research, in it's preliminary stages, is just fantastic.  I love flipping through books and making stacks around myself so that no matter how hard anyone tries, they would not be able to get around me.  Not of course, that anyone has ever tried - like I said, Saturday mornings on the fourth floor of the library is like living on Mars.

Then I missed the most beautiful day we've had all month because I was stuck inside watching movies.  Okay, that might sound like a good thing until I say it was four hours and forty five minutes of horror movies.  Still sound like a good thing?  Yeah.  I know, so it probably would have been a good thing.  But I was freaking out internally about the research situation and then I had to work by 5:30 and then the day was gone because of daylight savings.  I miss the sun.

I've been thinking about mashed potatoes a lot recently.  Do you think that maybe my mind is on Thanksgiving?  Well it's not.  It's on mashed potatoes.  Home is awesome too... but somehow those creamy, steamy, lovely mashed potatoes make me want to diet all week and eat mashed potatoes all day  Thursday.  I could pretty much skip everything else.  Just mashed potatoes.

And maybe some pie.

And of course my fuzzy fix.  The stupid dude below.

This monster is mine!

Life, Love, and Washing Dishes

There is absolutely NOTHING better than cake, fresh out of the oven, for dinner.

Except perhaps being sore from an excellent dance audition 10 hours earlier.

Still obsessed with this song.  Whenever I hear it, I turn it up and sing it really really loudly.  Please, click and listen and share in my joy!

I'm sidetracked easily.

The reason I started writing today was to complain about all of the nonsense in my life.  But I don't want to complain because that's just negative reinforcement.  So instead, let's talk about the good.  I already mentioned cake and the wonderful feeling of sore muscles - and no that's not sarcasm.  But there's also philosophical conversations with roommates about life, love, and washing dishes.

And then there's the show.

How I Learned to Drive.  It's draining, but fantastic.  I'm losing my mind, I'm behind in school work, and I'm living in a disaster of a room, but I'm loving it.  The show is dark.  It's hilarious.  It's so incredibly thought provoking that each night that I'm lucky enough to have my car, I drive home the few short blocks and wish I was driving a hundred miles more.  Instead I sit in the dark and let whatever song happens to be on play out and watch the minutes turn over on the dashboard clock.  I think about the way love functions in the play.  I think about how love functions in my life.  I think about how much I hate people.  And how much I need them.  I think about how I wish I could write something with meaning.  I think about how I want to change the world.  I think about coffee.  And I think about my mother.  I think about how easy it would be to just start up the car and drive the 14 hours to Rolla.  I think about how much pain there is in the world.  I think about how often I waste my time and energy.  I think about a time when I'll love someone so much that my soul will break when they're gone.  I think about cooking and candles and how to make decisions.  I think about how good it would feel to cry.  I think about how that seems to be universal.  And I think about how to move forward.

I think that's all I have to say right now.

Sailing, Sailing...

EARTH:  I've fallen off the face of it.

Here's why:

I MADE CALLBACKS!

*Update

I FREAKING MADE IT INTO THE SHOOOOOW!!!!

*Update

I FREAKING JUST TURNED 21!!!

*Update

FREAKING FREAKITY FREAK!  aka I GOT TO SEE MY MOMMY!!!

*Update

OPERA AUDITIONS + ME = CALLBACKS!

*Update

I MADE IT INTO THE OPERA!!! (with a baby part  :)!!!)

*Update

So.  Tired.

*Update

My room is a disaster.  What does that say about my head?

*Update

That giant project is due when?  I have to be off book by when?  Oh the same time.  Perfect.

*Update

Huh?

*Update

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

This is how I feel.  Now, if only I looked as awesome...

PS.  That "do to" list?  Yeah I can put a lovely check mark next to each of those.

What a Life

TO DO:

Lady Anne Monologue for Styles in Acting
Get "A" on Knife Fight for Stage Combat
Monologue for "How I Learned to Drive" Audition
Song for "How I Learned to Drive" Audition
Make it to Callbacks "How I Learned to Drive"

Make Plans for 21st Birthday
Have Awesome 21st Birthday
Get "A" on Lady Anne Monologue
Think About Halloween Plans
Celebrate Halloween
Audition for Dance Works
Meet with Advisor
Register for Spring Classes
Buy Brother Birthday Present
Be Awesome


Let's talk about Halloween.

Worked at my professor's daughter's school's haunted house party!
I did face painting.  My friend gave me an octopus
and I gave myself a colorful hedgehog!  

Halloween has got to be one of the best inventions ever.  For all of the non-theatre people of the world who don't get to dress up and become someone else every other day, it's a great way to express creativity.  Unfortunately I've come to realize that a huge number of people who don't share my views actually exist.  Okay.  I know that there are people who think Halloween is dumb, but my brain only justifies this by considering that their childhood experiences of Halloween must have had something to do with it.  The other day I was trying to remember all of the Halloween costumes I've ever had.



In no particular order:
Pocahontas
Devil
Black Cat
Saint Francis
Witch
Belly Dancer
Geisha
Sam from LOTR
Fairy
Flapper
Pirate
Alice in Wonderland -------------------->

That's all I could come up with.  When I was thinking about Halloween for this year, I originally planned on making a Marilyn Monroe dress (the white one from The Seven Year Itch) but that never happened.  My little brother is going as Link from Zelda this year.  I brought an ice skating costume back to school with me - it's the one my sister wore for the circus themed auction my church/school had back in the day. I also have a black and white stripped shirt that I could wear and be a bandit or a ref, but that's not very original.  But since I have the googly eye headband now, I'm thinking purple people eater...  Shucks, I love Halloween!

Note to self - don't go out in public without makeup assuming you won't see anyone who matters.  Rather, go out into public without makeup knowing you're gorgeous anyway.  <3

Enter Witty Title Here

The most beautiful campus in Wisconsin.  And it's all mine!
(The bright red in the foreground is Sumac by the way.)

Fall is dwindling down to brown.  But this picture is still gorgeous.

Still fixated on The Tempest.  It inspired this poem.  We've moved on from Sonnets and now are in to Villanelles.  Soon to be out of Villanelles and into free verse - that should be interesting.

Prospero's Goodbye

I wish I'd seen the scene of your goodbye.
Your sidelong glance is dolor now defined -
It purged your heart and left your tear ducts dry.

Beloved spirit from the sea and sky
obeys you, lord - You master of mankind.
I wish I'd seen the scene of your goodbye.

Just waiting there, your features all awry,
to kiss the lips of lives you left behind.
Was your heart purged and were your tear ducts dry?

You'd kill the thing that dies without a cry -
the book, you drowned. Your power you resigned.
I wish I'd seen the scene of your goodbye.

The question. I see it in your aged eye.
Where really lies the thing for which you pined?
Just purge your heart and let your tear ducts dry.

I left you at your isle.  I can't deny
it's tripping to the forefront of my mind:
I wish I'd seen the scene of your goodbye
to purge my heart and drain my tear ducts dry.

In my Shakespeare class we're moving on to monologues.  Initial showing are this week.  I'm very excited to see what everyone has done.  What I like the best about watching others perform Shakespeare, is analyzing what works and what doesn't.  The best are the ones where I know exactly what they're saying without having read the particular play.  The problem in my case is, I'm doing a Lady Anne Monologue from Richard III and I haven't read that one yet.

wretch.

However.  I was one of the few to volunteer to present for day one of initial showings (mostly because we didn't have a whole lot of time after finishing up our scenes.)  So I was the forth and last to go.  And I amazed myself.  Yup.  I'll just say that for not having worked on it at all besides reading through it several times to get comfortable with the words I was surprised by the emotion I summoned.  Real tears, folks.  That's what Shakespeare does for me.

Short, sweet, and to the point.  Cheers, friends.

Reasons to be Brilliant

According to my preschool journal, I wanted to be a dentist.  Sadly, I didn't remember that at all.  I always tell people that when I was little I wanted to be a vet, which is true, it's just apparently not my original dream job.  Then I think I narrowed it down to a famous dolphin trainer.  Somehow it turned into English teacher, then English professor, then famous novelist, then famous dancer, then famous actor, then famous costume designer (somehow the word "famous" made it into a lot of my dreams)... I finally spiraled into the frightening world of "who knows."  If you haven't noticed, the name of my blog is Word Words Words.  However, since that was already taken for the URL, I chose "reasons to be brilliant."  This is one of my reasons to be brilliant:  When you're brilliant, you don't have to chose one dream life - you can have it all.  So I recently decided that after graduation I will do anything and everything and it will bring me joy.

I wrote this little poem two years ago in a journal for a philosophy class that
was supposed to represent who I was at that time in my life.

This realization made me realize that I no longer agree with myself.  What would it mean to be the last person on earth?  I've finally been able to put my finger on the true source of joy in my life: people.  No matter how many times I say that I hate people, I can't convince myself that I really do.  I have this issue with humanity as a whole sometimes.  Sometimes I have doubts about whether humans are inherently good or not.  Sometimes I think we go about living in all the wrong ways.  Sometimes I think money is the worst invention in the history of the world.  But when push comes to shove, it's human interaction that creates beauty.  It's laughter that is the universal language.  It's compassion that helps me know that I'm no different than anyone else - even the people I know who drive me crazy.  I don't want to be alone.  Not really alone.  And the nice part is... I don't think I ever am.

So.  Let's add that little epiphany to my list of reasons to be brilliant.  Brilliance leads to happiness.  So do hedgehogs.

(and rainbows!)

More Hair Than Wit?

There are two options in life when it comes to hair... Cut it or don't.  Until about thirty minutes ago, I was in the NO SCISSORS! phase of life in hopes of growing it out to where it was before I hit the CUT IT ALL OFF! phase two and a half years ago.  However.  Growing out hair is frustrating and unattractive (in all honesty).  As I look back through pictures of my 'shorter than it is now' hair I say to myself, "CUT IT ALL OFF!"  Then I look at my 'longest it's ever been' hair and I say, "NO SCISSORS!"  What's a girl to do.  Oh, that's right.  Read The Tempest instead.

As it turns out, The Tempest has actually joined my list of favorites when it comes to Shakespeare.  I look forward to watching Julie Taymor's new version of the play... She used Helen Mirren as Prospero (well in this case Prospera).  I've seen clips and it seems psychedelic and amazing.

"I'll drown my book"

To tie this back into the "hair" rant... I love Mirren's hair in this role.  If my hair wasn't curly I'd have this cut in a heartbeat.  I plan on filing this look away in my memory bank though for when I'm older and go grey.  It's such a great short cut because it's not so severe like ever other old lady's cut.

Moving on.

Last time I promised the poem about the Van Gogh painting.  My professor, again, loved my work.  Again, he raved over it.  And again he gave me a 3++ on a scale of 1-3.  (Every other poem I've seen so far has either gotten a 2+, a 3-, or a 3+)  Unfortunately my classmates did not really agree.  It was completely silent for about 40 seconds when my workshop started.  (Yes.  I counted.)  Of course I knew that meant they either hated it or didn't understand it.  Or both.  So I was getting comments like "I really loved this but I didn't really get it."  "Who was Vincent supposed to be?"  "I felt like it was really good but the words were wasted on the setting."  What?  After my professor explained that it was about a Vincent Van Gogh painting they were like "Ooooh!"  I wasn't allowed to speak through any of this but I can say that it was still plenty frustrating that my work makes so much sense to me but my peers never "get it."  I really don't think that my poetry is that complex.  Sure it's more complicated than "you're breaking up with me and my heart hurts because of it" but it's not really that hard to understand.  I'm not E.E. Cummings.  But what of it.  Here's my poem.  

The Cafe Terrace

With cold, white linen set in front of you - 

How did you learn to see the glow of stars?

Somehow you broke my heart.  Reaching through bars

to kiss the colors - mix each vibrant hue.

The blushing gold that drips into the blue

and fades to black as thick and deep as tar

pleads, 'Stop. Stop, you demons - Au revoir.

These tortured nights, I pray this drink subdues.'

Sweet Vincent. I can hear your crying now.

Drowned in swirling light that choked your mind

and forced you soul out through your fingertips.

Yes. I can feel its weight upon your brow

to have no voice inside a world that's blind -

to speak a sorrow ne'er to pass your lips.

Believe it or not I can actually connect this back to hair.  Van Gogh was a ginger.

"I dream my paintings and I paint my dream"

To Sonnet or Not To Sonnet

Yay Macbeth!

Dear Chris Richman,

You don't know me, and I don't know you.  However.  I am terribly offended by your lack of a brain.  I have recently become the new owner of a book you chose to scribble all over.  This book is the wonderful text: Macbeth text and contexts by our beloved William Shakespeare.  Of course it's apparent that you could have cared less.  I just spent thirty minutes erasing (mercifully you wrote in pencil) your idiotic comments about how Lady Macbeth is a cow and a b**** and various other opinions on the characters too offensive to mention.  I'd just like to let you know that most of your naivete has been expelled from the text.  I hope that the next time you decide to spill your idiotic thoughts out onto a page written by my friend Shakespeare, you're smart enough to not write your name in the front cover.  Unfortunately, the name Chris Richman is incredibly common and there is no way for me to track you down and smack you.  You might also want to work on your cursive.  You have the handwriting of a five-year-old.

"I will kill you  Do not touch"  says Chris.  I say "fair is foul, and foul is fair"

Moving on then.
As I was musing over the fair and cruel Lady Macbeth, trying with all my might to use her as an inspiration for a sonnet, I realized that Shakespeare is far superior to me when it comes to language.  Therefore, writing poetry about his work is pointless.  When I came to my senses I found myself staring at this lovely picture.

Van Gogh - The Cafe Terrace

It hangs in my bedroom by my closet/at the foot of my bed.  Besides exerting such mastery over color and contrast, I think that my dear friend Vincent had a fabulous eye for beauty in the world.  And not just beauty, but a certain sense of sorrow that leaks into his work.  So I wrote a little sonnet about it for class.  Since it won't be work-shopped for two weeks... I'll give you the poem from last week.  It's a sonnet that doesn't exactly adhere to the proper form.  I took some liberties.  But my professor raved about it nonetheless.

A Disappointed Life

There is an ocean in my way.
Its tides are like the doubts within my heart -
They swell and fade, resilient though, to part.
I wish to find a place without decay
To which I can escape.  I want to stay -
To sit and wonder why things fall apart.
My wings are sore.  My shoes, my blisters, smart.
I fear the endless shades of blue and grey.
So now I hang like lonely portraits do
In empty rooms where dust falls in my eyes.
I am the one who leans her longing on
The window ledge and watches people through
The polished glass.  And as they age and die
I am protected from the burning sun.

Three cheers for poetry!  Now it's time for The Tempest!

Here's a baby rhino for your enjoyment!

Concerning Homecoming and Poetry

      What a crazy, random happenstance!  You've stumbled upon my life!

UWEC Players Frying Pan

 Unfortunately, you're not the only one stumbling around today.  The good people of UWEC are drunk on sidewalks, on porches, on roofs, and even wait for it... in cars!  Yes, friends, beware.  The parade has finished and the pre-gaming has begun.  The party buses are queuing up.  Girls are wearing matching T-shirts with stupid sayings on them (appropriately slashed up.)  Boys are wearing sunglasses and boxers.  The occasional hipster wannabe sings songs out of tune.  All this before 1:00 in the afternoon.  

So here I am - curled up on the couch with a mug of Irish Breakfast Tea reading my classmates' attempts at Italian Sonnets.  Here are some of my favorite lines:  "Dating a Backstreet Boy is but a dream."  "With arms too short to reach her toy, Pam fell in the pool."  "The breath I gather remains in my chest."  Really.  Out of context they sound ridiculous of course (but sadly - context doesn't help much.)  Now, I don't mean to be mean, but really?  I mean, really.  Some of the poems are rather good.  No one has even close to the mastery of language that Shakespeare had, but some of the poems were fine.  Such a restricting form is hard for people who consider themselves prose writers.  But let me tell you that after three years of writing courses with these folks.  Well, let's just say "good" is a matter of perspective.  

"Good" is the script I'm trying to memorize for class.  "Good" is learning how to choke to death (strangled by a phone cord) on stage without actually getting hurt.  "Good" is knowing how to scan Shakespeare and spout out Sonnets with proper unstressed and stressed syllables.  "Good" is sunshine and toes free from socks.

It's also not dying during this weekend of craziness.  It's saying, "Sorry, I don't drink.  I'll be twenty one in a month though."  It's saying, "Be safe!" to your roommates as they head out into the night.  "Good" is being good.  (Woah - that just reminded me of Good Dog Carl!  What a great life!)

       So Happy Homecoming, everybody!  Here's where I toast with my tea.  Cheers!

He looks a little like my Stanley Boy!