Rabbiting of a Temporary Ex-Pat

"Oh but then/As my life has been altered once/It can change again"

2009-11-12T16:40:00.006Z

The title to this, the final entry of this blog, is a nod back to my musical theatre days. ("Oh, musical theatre--what a bitch lover performance genre you are.")

I fly back to the States tomorrow morning. I'm taking a car to the airport, because I'll be damned if I lug my life--which, after much gift giving, charity shop drop-offs, and trashing, I have neatly compacted into two large pieces of luggage and a carry-on--to the tube and wait out that journey. Yes, totally over that. The worst part of going to the airport is getting there. Once you've checked your bags and gotten to your gate, you're golden (Though I personally live for that moment when you feel the wheels of the plane lose contact from the ground at take off. It is one of my favorite physical sensations). Before that, though: CHAOS.

The decision to go home was long in coming, but necessary. It is, perhaps, the most adult decision I have ever made, which is why I believe it was so hard to make and why I put it off for so long. Professionally it makes better sense: I know more people in New York, I understand the industry there, and the work there (whatever work that exists in this climate) I think more closely aligns with what I want to be doing right now for where I am in my career. And financially speaking it makes better sense: instead of worrying about where rent will come from, or where I'll actually live, I'll be having an extended sojourn at my parents until I scrimp enough money together to move on out of the house (again) and into New York (again).

I have a terrible habit of not finishing things. It is my one of my major flaws (though perhaps that is compelling in some dramatic character structure way...perhaps...). When I thought about leaving, I thought I was giving up, not finishing something here. And that is partially true of some things--some relationships, some work, remain unfinished, put on hold. But it doesn't mean those things are over completely, that I've given them up, or that they'll drop out of my scope completely just because I'm on the other side of the ocean. At the same time, not going back to New York felt very much like giving up on that life that I had just started to build there before I put it down, possibly for good, and ran to another part of the world. After a little more than a year, I am finally ready to admit to myself that though various demons sent me away, they needn't keep me away forever, nor should they. So I'm putting on my game face again and attempting re-entry. <--Is it just me, or does that sound like a really bad joke/line from some frat boy? My apologies.

So yes: New York/New Jersey living yet again. If all goes well, I will hopefully be moved back by the spring, and my life won't turn into my worst nightmare, an image I have described to a couple friends of mine in e-mails wherein I was debating the choice to go back:

" I think it has to do with the fear that I won't actually leave again, that I'll get caught up in comfort and complacency, and I will slowly die, rotting away in a not-so-truly fulfilling marriage, Sunday luncheons, carpooling, and QVC purchases...I worry most of all that I will become a case of wasted potential, one of those women I saw growing up who had more on her mind for her life than what she ended up with, and consequently was phenomenally unhappy about it, and became a drunk."

I don't intend on being a casualty of the suburbs. Getting out will entail endurance, stamina, and a sense of patience I don't think I've learned yet. But I'm still young, so now is probably a good time to learn. And in the meantime, at least I'll be watching TCM every day. Oh my God, how I am looking forward to that, as well as many things about American living. Last night a British friend of mine met me for drinks and asked me to list ten things I'd miss about London, and ten I wouldn't miss. There was a watershed moment when I commented that I wouldn't miss the state of the fast food in this country, where there are no Wendy's (!!!), and the KFCs are seriously confused. At that point I told him that the problems with the KFCs here, as I've mentioned before, is that there are no mashed potatoes, gravy, or Southern biscuits therein. His face changed, filled with a combination of shock, awe, and (perhaps) a touch of hurt. He said simply:

"Your KFCs have mashed potatoes?"

It was as if I had brought the Word to this man, so great was this revelation. We were a couple drinks in, but still, it seemed like earth shattering news. I did not talk about the extra, artificial butter we had at movie theatres for our popcorn--I feel that would have been too much, too fast, too soon. You have to ease into it.<--Again, another frat boy line. Sorry, sorry.

Besides the fast food, I'm looking forward to seeing my friends, family, and familiar scenery. I am not looking forward to the BITTER, BITTER COLD of US Northeastern winters (or the fact that I have lost a bet, and have to figure out how to go ice fishing in Maine before the season is over {Amy Lee, I may need to do this next winter...}). I will miss nights at Gordon's Wine Bar, walking Southbank at night, and concession theatre tickets for the unemployed (cultural revelation for me). And I will miss the friends I've gained here, the sense of home I finally attained in this city while still feeling enough of a stranger to maintain a sense of wonder at it all.

It is that last thing, that sense of wonder or discovery, that was the greatest thing about this journey--there was a renewing of that in myself, something I think is quintessentially a part of me, and something that I had lost, or covered up, or forgotten about at the time I left New York. It was necessary to come here to give that back to myself, to listen to my artistic voice again, to see it was still there. And luckily enough: it was. Underneath layers of cynicism, self-loathing, self-doubt, and massive fear (for the last time: I *am* an actor), there it was, sitting in a chair, waiting to be noticed again.

Thank God that happened. Thank God this happened. Thank God I don't know if I believe in God, because otherwise those first two sentences would be sins. But I digress, and now is the time to stop digressing.

In closing, I'd like to thank those of you who bothered to read this, loyally or not so loyally, responded here, on Facebook, through e-mail, or remained silent. It's nice to know people are interested, entertained, bemused in what I have to say, or may just be keeping an eye out. I may return to blogging later, (in truth, it probably will happen, but I need some time off and some actual fodder to write about), but if/when it does, it will be at a different web address with a different topic, as this story is over. Right now, anyway. And that is alright. "Right now," does not mean "forever." I am not finished. I am just turning to the next chapter.

That's enough inspirational, metaphorical, blahblahblah. I'm rabbited out. Goodbye, Great Britain. America: I'll see you tomorrow.

Handbag: Redux

2009-10-18T22:04:00.006+01:00

Tomorrow Handbag goes up again. If you find yourself in South London in the evening with not much else to do, please join myself and Ms. Lisa Castle (and several other ladies and gentlemen) for this performance event. Info below on the e-flyer I was sent (which for some reason was made up of several images...). Or you could just go here.

Posting this actually reminds me: I don't own a handbag that will go with the dress I'm wearing *still.* Yeep.

In brief:

2009-10-15T06:16:00.007+01:00

Here's what I've been up to lately, and some stuff that's coming up.

1) Still no job, so don't ask.

2) Still no idea where I'll be living in November, so don't ask that either.

3) This week I've been stage managing an R&D process for a relatively young company that seems to be a fan of the site-specific genre. My friend Max was brought on as designer for the show by the co-director/writer Poppy, who went to Central with us. There are several other Centralites knocking about in the cast of this show as well. Overwhelmed with boredom by lack of a job/daily routine, I asked Max if I could sit in on rehearsals. He mentioned it to the director, and I was offered this job. I snatched it up, I was so desperate for a purpose.

Anyway, one of the company members works for the Lyric Hammersmith, and so they're using the studio there as rehearsal/performance space. They show for potential backers and producing bodies three times on this Friday. I say "stage managing," but at the moment I'm just an extra pair of hands. The showing has not been completed (probably today they'll have the sequence of their lines down, and the staging refined), so there isn't anything that really needs stage managing as of yet. So I've just been around, kind of listening, acting as a sounding board, and being put to task when needed. Yesterday, I painted this table top:

I also painted a door and a chair. I suspect today there will be a bit more work closer to the heading of my job, but just in case I'll be bringing the spare pants I got paint on yesterday.

4) My friend Jen is in town this week in preliminary meetings for an opera she's designing the lighting for at ENO. I don't like to name drop, but Jen is awesome and I'm super proud of her. If you're in London come June-time, 2010, go see Bizet's The Pearl Fishers! The production will be great, and the lighting will be AMAZING, I just know it.

5) I've started doing work exchange at a yoga studio. It's not a real job in that it doesn't equate to £££, but I do get free classes, which I am in dire need of right now (physically, mentally, and emotionally). It's nothing new: straighten the props, check the flyers, light the incense. I like it though: it's really humbling work, and meditative in its way. I actually always enjoyed folding the blankets at my other studio during the down time we had there. So it's nice in that way. And that wall of props was fucking *stellar* when I was done with it, no doubt.

6) Handbag returns! Yes, the performance event I took part in May is being done again at the BAC on the 19th. I'm not wearing white this time, though--no way. And frankly: I need a new handbag. Mine does not work for this season. A trip to Primark seems in order. (Though, if I do purchase one there, it shall be a wonder if it lasts till the performance. Hmmmm...)

Well, that was a noble try a best I think to throw something up here. I feel like other stuff has happened, and I've thought, "I should blog that," but I have forgotten it now. Alas. Perhaps another time.

Sometimes--there's [capitalism]--so quickly.

2009-10-12T22:43:00.006+01:00

Walking on my way to Hammersmith today, and passed by a storefront with this window display:

It heartened me, and I just thought I'd share it.

"Let's not talk about the passing time."

2009-10-07T15:19:00.011+01:00

Back in London after the few days in Paris. Had a nice time visiting my mom and seeing her for the first time since April (next time, Dad--next time). Thanks largely to the drive of my mother, we visited Victor Hugo's house, Napoleon's tomb, and the Musée Rodin. I requested a trip up to Montmartre (as it is the setting of my favorite noir film), so we went up there on Saturday, wandered around a bit, rode the funicular, bought some creme brulee-type sweets and ate them in the cemetery there. On Sunday we met Caitlin and Heidi (who were in Paris for the weekend themselves) in the Musée de l'Orangerie after seeing the Water Lilies. Overall it was a nice mini-break, and I even got a chance to read some of the planned Orwell and skulk in a couple cafes.

I feel like I should be writing more, telling you about the small snafu that nearly made me miss my train and could have cost me the trip; how I got caught in the pouring rain while trying to find Oscar Wilde's grave; how I saw the most attractive butcher ever (*Insert crude sausage innuendo here*); or how I had "Little Water Song" stuck in my head for most of the trip. But I don't feel like it.

I'm in a bad way right now, and as I've discussed previously, I can't unpack my heart with words here. And lately I have found this forum distracting. I may try tomorrow, or over the next couple days to recalculate a plan of attack for this blog, but at the moment there's just too much going on. What it comes down to is this: I used to know someone who kept a blog, and would on occasion list grievances he had with certain aspects of his life. And that is fine--it is within his right to do so, absolutely. But what began to worry me was that I was finding out more about him from his blog than what he'd share with me in person--we would meet, and I would ask him questions about his life that I knew part of the answers to because of what he posted on the Internet, and he would only half respond. He was my friend, and I didn't understand why it was easier for him to put on the 'net, probably knowing I'd have read it, but wouldn't talk to me about it in person. And in this world, where I seem to in effect be stalking my friends over the Facebook, finding out about babies and marriages and engagements there first instead of from the people themselves--I don't know, it just seems like the wrong order. It doesn't seem right to not turn to the help available to you, to the people available to you when you need them, directly, and instead: opting to hope that they'll follow up on something with you after you've left a huge hint for them laid out in bright, red, flashing neon letters. Not to be too crass about it, but that's just kind of fucked up in my opinion. And I don't want to cut my friends out of my life because I suddenly have a better relationship with them through my blog. That just doesn't seem fair, and isn't how I want to run the business of my life. And of course, it is far distant from the topic of this blog anyway...

...and just what was that again anyway?

I have some things I need to unload somewhere, and I know it can't be here. So I'm going to try to go and do that and come back here when it's settled. Or when I have any news of real note.

And with that: I'm out.

DARWIN: The Musical!

2009-09-30T09:30:00.007+01:00

In the shower today, I had an idea for a showtune for a musical about the life of Charles Darwin. It would be for mezzo-soprano with a bit of a belt, and there would be a lot of brass and a bit of swing to it. The song would be sung by Darwin's wife, Emma, and it would be called, "Natural Selection ~or~ Why Our Love Will Survive the Evolutionary Process." So far I only have the final lyrics and the reprise lyrics (which, not surprisingly, are exactly the same but with different notes). Here is what I have:

Yes, I'm naturally selective,
No need to be objective,
'Cause I'm naturally selectively yours!

What do you think?

The Road to Madness is paved with Boredom.*

2009-09-29T10:33:00.007+01:00

You know that whole saying about idle hands? Well, if the devil's work is watching copious American television on my computer, then somebody better find a priest to save my soul!

Yeah.

It's been a pretty quiet week all in all, mostly on purpose. After nearly a year of soul searching and work, I feel like I've earned some sort of a respite. Despite the odd group dinner here and there (I cooked Cuban again for some friends last Thursday, and another friend had some of us over to her new apartment Saturday night for a meal) or submitting a few online applications for jobs, the majority of my time has been spent lounging in my bed, watching surfthechannel.com, or anything I've downloaded off of iTunes lately: the new Mad Men episodes, both seasons of Extras, and the pilots for both Mercy (which takes place in NJ) and The Good Wife (which stars Julianna Margulies--I have missed you so much, Julianna!!!). The last two titles were free, and the rest was purchased mostly with the iTunes gift cards I received for my birthday--always the greatest and most necessary gift, as iTunes downloads are like my crack. Mom, Dad, Grandma: thank you for feeding my addiction.

I've been reading books lately, another indicator that I'm not up to much. I've been slowly working my way through the copy of The Eaten Heart, a birthday gift from my friend Mauro. The book is a collection of stories from Giovanni Boccaccio's Decameron, and so far has featured of a lot of little humorous, racy stories written in 1300s Italy. Rather predictably, the plot lines usually center around two young people who would like to have sex, but who aren't able to because of whatever obstacle/arcane 1300s-type rule standing in their way, and how they get around it. The translation (and I have a feeling, the original text as well) has a very tongue-in-cheek air about it, which makes it a really engaging, but still light and easy read. I have also started taking another birthday gift to bed with me--a copy of Jamie Oliver's new cookbook, Jamie's America. It is surprisingly nice to read before sleep, like culinary bedtime stories ("Oh, Jamie! Tell me about grilling the perfect ribs again, over a near seven hour process with a rub and marinade! I love that one!").

I also started reading the newspaper again, and that's when I know I really have too much time on my hands: I never read current periodicals with any kind of regularity unless I literally have nothing else to do. A couple years ago I took a trip to Italy with my dear friend Katie (you remember Katie, don't you?), and the most impressive part of the trip to me was not the gorgeous countryside, the hundreds-of-years old architecture, the food, the people, the glaring sun. No, the most impressive part was that the trip afforded me the opportunity to actually read an entire copy of "The Economist" (and understand it!) over the flights/journey. Don't get me wrong, I like all that other stuff, but whoever really takes the time to read "The Economist" who doesn't have a job that vaguely deals with the state of the national ecomony? (Point of fact: all jobs have something to do with the national economy, but let's not get distracted, shall we?) No one.

However, while I've generally become a more entertained, more informed person over the past week or so, I wonder if this is totally a good thing if extended over a long period of time. I'm not good at relaxing, and when I do for a while I become a bit lost and morose. I'm never happier than when I'm busy and just a little stressed. It feeds my soul, because I know things are depending on me, and I can see the repercussions of what I do: there's a value to it, good or bad. But having nothing pressing occupying my time makes me bored, then depressed, then too lazy to ever find anything to occupy myself ever. And that's a frightening thought.

Tomorrow and Thursday I'll be helping present "Organism," and then off to Paris for a few days. Hopefully I'll be able to lay out an active plan of attack on my new life (like some stealth hunter) over that time, and when I emerge from days of croissant eating and beret wearing I'll be ready to take it on, full force. Until then, I will try to do something productive. If only I could figure out what that would be...

*It should be noted I have written a large part of this entry while watching The Bold and the Beautiful on the couch with my flatmates. How I was blessed to live with people who also watch my favourtie childhood soap, I do not know, but I am grateful for it.

"It ends as nothing."

2009-09-26T09:38:00.007+01:00

That's the final line of the section I contributed to "Organism," the Festival of piece that I'm involved in. Foreboding, isn't it?

My apologies over the relative silence I've thrown your way past few days. Alongside writing the dissertation, there's been a lot of activity in my personal life (aka: the life I make a conscious effort to keep off this blog), and so while I haven't really had the time to write and reflect what I was doing and what was happening, the material at hand was largely inappropriate to this forum and I just didn't want to write about it--lots and lots of introspection, that would largely be interest and concern only to me. It has always been a strange struggle, attempting to balance a certain reserve here about how I'm doing personally, while still not being totally dishonest about exactly what it is I'm going through. When I don't know how to do that, I go quiet. This is just fact.

Other facts that currently make up my life:

I am job seeking. I'm trying to find something essentially full time, because now that I'm out of uni I have to take care of myself, pay my own rent, start paying of my student loan (eventually...I don't actually know when that has to start, but the day approaches like Malcolm's army to Dunsinane--minus the trees), all of this. I also just want to buckle down for the next few months, be a real person, and set up a financial base for myself in this country, which will be necessary for the visa process I've decided to go through. I've done the lot of it before, but as with all new beginnings, the whole thing seems daunting and overwhelming, and I don't like it. To put this reality off a bit longer, I am...
...going to Paris next week. My mother will be there on business, so I'll stay with her and wander the city during the day, reading a copy of Down and Out in Paris and London in different cafes along the boulevard (remember: I am dramatic).
I will be staying in the apartment I'm in for one more month, but have no idea where I'll be for November, and this fact (though not quite as harsh as is being interpreted) is vomit inducing to me, in a nerves way. I think about the potential of couch hopping over Thanksgiving and am depressed. (Ah! I've shown you too much sentiment! Quickly, read something here* to distract from the potential of unbridled emotion!)
I'm 25 now. Nothing is really different, and I feel the way I have felt since I turned 23. I have continued in my tradition of creating a New Year's Resolution for myself on this day (something I've done since I turned 22, and really needed an active focus/change in my life). This year it's: "Come out of hiding." It's not entirely clear to me what that means, but it seems to make sense on a few levels and I respond to it, so I'll run with it. A few friends took me out to a great NY style martini bar on the day, and then last night a few more who had missed because they were writing their dissertations, met up with me at the Swan (the bar next to the Globe) for a few drinks. It was lovely seeing everyone, and sharing these couple days with people who've become important to me over the past year or so (or in Heidi's case, the past eight+ years). And Jason gave me my coffee for free on the day! Whoo hoo!

There must be more things going on that I'm not sharing with you, but they either fall into the category of "too personal for the Internet," or I've clean forgotten them. I'll try to update you in turn, as I remember them, or they become applicable to this arena.

In other news, pertinent to this blog, I've been debating closing it down. I started it so I could talk about going to grad school in England. Now that's over. So what is next? Why bother? Is a reflective blog a good thing to keep going after a certain age, or should one simply stick to creative writing or discussing one's career--subjects that provide release on the part of the blogger, with some veiled sense that that information is being received, that they are being heard. I started these entries as letters to my friends back home, but now I wonder why I don't just do those monthly update e-mails instead (oh, but those bore me to tears--to write, AND to read). I don't know. I'll give it a think, and let you know what happens. Would you bother to keep reading this blog, even after I get my final grade back? And just who are you anyway?

*PS: That blog is amazing. I've been reading it for the past few months and it never fails to make me laugh out loud. My favorite entry shows owls to be the disrespectful creatures that they really are, bastards.

Done.

2009-09-21T18:18:00.000+01:00

Late night drive by--

2009-09-17T23:30:00.004+01:00

Many things, all at once:

1) I am only about 28% done with my dissertation and have three days left to finish it.
2) I will not be back in the states until February 2010.
3) I have to move in twelve days, and I don't know where to, and I don't know how, being unemployed as I am.
4) I am turning twenty-five in this time zone in less than thirty minutes.

Oof.

And now: I am going to bed.

Welcome to my little corner of Hell

2009-09-15T21:29:00.005+01:00

Thought I would just give you a taste of what I'm doing. Here's a shot of the brainstorming I've done for the third and final section of the portfolio (dissertation), wherein I lay out a 5 year plan for my career/future in 2,000 words. I open each section with a quote, but before I ever write anything useful, I just put down filler. Here's what exists in this space thus far (click on picture to enlarge):

Time to get back to it.

Too pretty to not write about.

2009-09-10T19:31:00.007+01:00

I have a penchant for decaying buildings. I couldn't tell you why, but I've always loved old things: old houses, old furniture, old wine, old(er) men...I digress. Anyway, I was struck with awe and wonder this afternoon walking into the space where we'll be performing "Organism" for The Festival Of... Below is some footage I took at St. Leonard's Church,Shoreditch (which has its own tribute to the acting profession within), my newest old love.

269 years old, and still HAWT. I know in the video I said, The Festival of What--but trust me when I tell you, the festival is simply titled, The Festival Of... A little confusing, I know. But I think it will be good.

I make it rain indoors. Truth.

(And check out my new glasses! w00t! After 1.75 years of squinting I can finally see! Oh, rapture!)

Sunday (Not) Funday

2009-09-06T15:06:00.008+01:00

Things I've learned this week while writing (or not writing) my dissertation:

In the award for best drink to consume while writing, Barcardi and Cola will never, ever beat a Jack and Coke. Sadly, there is nothing but rum in the house, and I long for whiskey. Oh, Jack Daniels: my heart and liver belong to you alone!
Peter Brook is pretty smart.
I can be easily distracted by television on my computer.
Ricky Gervais is sometimes my only solace.*
I don't think I'll be getting my doctorate anytime soon.
I am consumed with the dread of failing at this.
My birthday, which is coming up, depresses me.
The old adage about theatre making is true about life as well: there is never enough time, and there is never enough money.
I want out.
Nothing is better or more comforting than a good cup of coffee from Jason on the worst of days.
I need a hug. Or several. Several would be good.

Right. Back to work.

*NOTE: I just want to say, while my love for Stephen Merchant is as endless and boundless as the sea, I have been watching a lot of Ricky Gervais on the web lately, and that it's nothing against Stephen (who holds my heart so completely in his giant-like hand), but simply because I've already watched every video of him online, and can't afford the Extras DVDs right now to continue to satiate myself with his genius. So I've moved on to his writing partner. Momentarily anyway. Yes.

("No one cares, Lea. No one cares...")

Deloitte Ignite Festival '09

2009-09-03T13:30:00.004+01:00

Shameless plug:

Head over to the Royal Opera House this weekend and check out the Deloitte Ignite '09 Festival and catch various artists and acts! It's being curated by Time Out, so you know everything will be full of hipness. Here's a run down of what's being offered over the three days.

The short film I shot last week will show as part of the site-specific performance of Absent, dreamthinkspeak's offering to the festival. You can find a summary of it here.

If seeing me in a dress in a movie isn't reason enough to go, you should also know that most of the events are FREE! Heck, that's why I'm going.

"We give our testimony to the end of summer..."

2009-09-01T18:21:00.016+01:00

September is here, and your time is up summer! I wanted to quickly throw down something about my doings over the end of August, as quite a bit happened, and I was too, too busy to actually write anything. Also, I know I joke about it constantly, but in all seriousness I don't know when I'll be able to blog anything again, coherently anyway, what with entering dissertation crunch time and all (count down=T-minus 20 days...), so again I must beg your indulgence for what will probably be a long absence. Many apologies in advance.

August 22-23:
Traveled to Hove to participate in a research workshop led by Nia Lynn, and MA at Central on the Voice Studies course. The research was for her dissertation, and basically consisted of examining the application of the ujai breath in text work. It was lovely to get out of London almost immediately after returning to it from Edinburgh, and the second and final day of the workshop Nia, myself, and fellow MA-er and workshop participant Alex walked over to the beach after a lovely home cooked meal (provided by our host, Ms. Lynn) and went swimming. I haven't gone swimming in the longest time, and it's been several years since I was last in the sea. The water was lovely, the perfect temperature, and totally worth braving the painfully pebbly beach side to get to the water.

August 24th:
Back to Central to rehearse the piece I'm working on for the Festival of Emergent Arts. We had one of Lou's (our director) course tutors come watch our work to offer some feedback. It was the second time we had a guest in rehearsal, and the first time it was with a tutor. My work involves a lot of props, and I didn't feel wholly confident about how I had used everything, and the recording of my text I'd made wouldn't play. Basically, it didn't come off the way I'd like, and that frustrated me a lot. We have about a month left to really cement this, and it still feels like it has a long way to go. It will get there, hopefully right when it needs to, but I'm feeling uninspired about it. My ensemble members are great for this, though, and keep suggesting changes and providing feedback. It's helping to keep my head in the game, at the very least.

August 25th:
Fitting and rehearsal at the Royal Opera House for the short film that will play as part of dreamthinkspeak's site specific piece, Absent. The piece will be performed in the ROH on the 5th and 6th of September, as part of the Deloitte Ignite '09 Festival. It's set in the 1950s, and everyone was attired as such. This is me, in my dress--it was a lovely green, but they shot the film in sepia, so I've coloured it to give a sense of what I should look like on film. It was a four hour day, and it was super easy and chill, and everyone was really nice and fun to work with. It is always such a nice surprise when you get on well with the strangers you are sometimes thrown together with on acting jobs, and this was such an experience.

I also made a visit to Primark this day--my first since I got to this country. Primark is essentially an Incredibly Cheap clothing store that sells a lot of items that look stylish, but will probably fall apart after four wearings. But at their prices, four wearings is completely worth it. However, due to all of the incredible bargains (the women in my family would go CRAZY in there), walking through the store is very much like one of the following: 1) What it must have been like to push through a mob to receive rations during war time; 2) What it must be like during a time of mass looting. Not a terribly ideal shopping environment for me who hates both crowds *and* lines (I waited 15 minutes for a changing room--I know, it's a tragedy), but worth it to obtain a costume for the zombie film (sweater, t-shirt, pair of jeans) for LESS THAN FOURTEEN POUNDS (that's less than $22 American). Oh heck yes. I survived, and the McKenna blood in me, reared on outlet shopping and coupon flyers, danced through my veins this day.

(That being said, the jeans were an awful cut and the fly would not stay closed during the shoot. But they were only 5.87GBP!!!)

August 26th:
Did some filming today for a ballet that will premiere in Houston this fall, that is currently rehearsing in Paris. It's a re-imagining of The Firebird, and the designer wanted to include projections of women passing apples and taking bites out of them. The projections were being shot as Chinese shadows, so the designer was looking for women who looked like women: "i.e. breasts" was what the e-mail notice said, actually. So, there I was, in my bra and underwear and high heels with two other girls, standing behind a sheet, moving in place, passing apples and biting into them for about an hour. The projections themselves are only going to last around fifteen seconds. After this work, I was very set on finding a Pilates class.

Later in the day I picked up the zombie contacts from Baby's First Steps director Stephen, and when I got home called Max for help getting them in. The call had nothing to do with Max's intense knowledge of zombies, and everything to do with the fact he wears contacts and I do not. After a seemingly endless struggle, I finally got one in. And then I wanted to die. You have to understand, I've never worn contacts before, so the initial and instinctual rejection of having a foreign object in my eye filled me quite to the brim. Also, the contacts have white irises (hence the fright factor), and so not only was something on my eye, but something was on my eye that was obscuring my vision some how. It was strangely scary process (even more scary when I looked at myself with both of them in my eyes), but I don't think I would have been a terribly convincing zombie without them. Once I calmed myself down, they were fine, and I wore them for a couple hours and watched TV. Very easy. I'd do it again.

August 27th:
Shooting the party sequence for Absent. This day really showcased the importance of working with people you get on with, and again what a treat that is. I was stationed at a table with two guys, Charlie and Conor, and they were great the whole day. Because of the nature of the piece (and because it's film) the director had us doing basically the same few actions over and over again for about six hours. If I had ended up with people who were less relaxed, less fun, and less engaging in our constant random conversation (the film's only soundtrack is a big band swing song, so we talked about anything and everything else during the shoot), this day would have been really draining and long and awfully boring. Instead, I had a great time (up until the end when I was so full on the Ribena that had been standing in for the wine on our tables that I wanted to crash from the sugar while peeing), laughed a lot, and got to wear a pretty, pretty dress while doing it. If only my real life were more like these days--except there would be real wine, damn it!

August 29th:
Filmed the exterior crowd scene for Absent. Several of us turned up on both filming dates to essentially play different people and provide more filler for the beginning of the film. This is me in my second costume--I have on another, different green dress, but again I have sepia-ed myself. Despite several delays that broke up filming (people walking into shot, traffic, some police coming by to see if we were filming legally), we managed to wrap early, and I had no trouble making my second scheduled event of the day, which was seeing my friend Laurel (that's her there, looking all pretty) in an independent horror film she's a lead in that screened at the Film 4 FrightFest. The movie had some problems (I think they're going back into post to make some adjustments after the London screenings), but she was great and it was lovely to see someone I cared about do so well at something we both care about a great deal. And it made me miss her.

August 30th:
Back to Primark for more zombie clothing. Stephen texted me Saturday and said our make up artist Faye had requested more than one top as there would be bloodying and we may need a spare. It turned out we did, so despite escaping within barely an inch of my life (never go to Primark on a weekend), it was totally worth it. And again, it was incredibly cheap.

That night, Caitlin and my friend Jake came over and I cooked them dinner. Jake is a temporary transplant from the states, in the UK on what I gather is essentially a business exchange with his company, where a UK worker goes to NYC to get trained at his job, and Jake comes here and does his job until the Brit is tip top and ready to come back. It was nice seeing a familiar and friendly face, and I hope to see a bit of him while he's about the next couple of months.

August 31st:
Shooting Baby's First Steps. We were shooting in Stephen's flat, and my call was at 7AM. It was hard getting up early--especially after having awful nightmares about a zombie apocalypse the whole night--but I got there right on time and again lucked out that all of the people I worked with that day were fun, relaxed, and focused. Life is so much easier when people are awesome. I only hope I was the best zombie I could be for them! I'm excited to see the final cut of the film (though a little scared to see me as a zombie) and hopefully all will go well with it.

And that, my friends, is how everyone should end their summer.

The Day I Became Undead

2009-08-31T21:37:00.009+01:00

August went out with a bang, as this last week was beyond full. I'll catch you up on the majority of it soon, but I thought I'd just throw up something quick from today, when the zombie film Baby's First Steps was shot. I woke up this morning at 5:30 AM from several zombie nightmares, to shower and get ready to make my 7 AM call. We finally wrapped at around 6:15. It was a really easy and fun shoot, and the small crew--director Stephen, producer Stephen (a different one), DP Mark, and the fabulous Faye who did my make up--were great to work with. Below you can follow my transformation from human to zombie. Enjoy!

First I was made paler than I usually am, with a slight green tint for the just-turned-into-a-zombie feel.

A little red around the eyes.

Veins were applied thickly, but would be faded a little bit later. I had some painted on my arms/hands as well. (Don't I look like such a charming zombie in this shot?)

Add contacts, and voila: instant zombie! And check out the blood covering my hand! This shot was taken in the middle of the day, during some of my down time. The contacts were really terrible for about the first twenty minutes, which was surprising as I had been putting them in and leaving them for increasing periods of time the whole week leading up to the shoot. Eventually I adjusted and was fine for the remainder of the day.

E-burgh, baby. E-burgh.

2009-08-30T09:42:00.003+01:00

"I know, I've been neglecting you. I'm sorry. I don't mean to do it. Things just get out of hand sometimes, you know? I know I've said before that I would change, and that I haven't. Well, that's to be expected: people don't change. I won't ask for your forgiveness, because I don't want it. All I really want is your understanding. And your acceptance. This is just me, baby. Take me for the good and the bad. But when I'm not around, you gotta believe that I'm thinking about you. For reals."

If my blog and I were in a relationship, I'd do that little song and dance just above, and would hope it would hold us together till we got back from that mutual friend's destination wedding. After that though, all bets are off.

I know I haven't been around. The week in Scotland was a nice change of pace, caught some good theatre, caught some bad theatre, caught some things that I wouldn't necessarily label "theatre" ever, Ever, EVER. Here's a drive-by of what I did/saw on the trip:

Thursday, 13 August: Fly from Luton Airport (the silliest airport to ever have its own TV show), and land in Edinburgh with Amy, Max, and their friend from the states, Ashley (who was my awesome roomie during this trip). We took a bus into the city proper, then walked to our digs and headed out, looking for dinner. We ended up at probably the worst Indian restaurant I've ever been to, where the food was LONG in coming and then had no taste when it finally arrived. The only redeeming part of the evening was the terribly pornographic mural we ended up sitting under. Here it is:

(Those are Max and Amy's heads, cut off down there. They were feigning a pose so I could take this picture in a less obvious way.)

Friday, 14 August:
Walked up Royal Mile to the Hub, where the Edinburgh International Festival Centre is located to meet our friend Mauro, who was able to wrangle us some tickets for a couple shows. That evening we caught part of the Gate's Friel trilogy, his play Faith Healer. I love Brien Friel (Translations may in fact be my most favourite play), and was sad to have missed Faith Healer during its run on Broadway a couple seasons back, starring Ralph Fiennes as Frank Hardy, a traveling faith healer--part con man, part miracle worker. The acting in this current production was great, and of course the Friel dialogue was both real and poetic. The set design was a little disorienting, though. The play is delivered in four monologues, the first and the last from Frank, the second from his wife Grace, the third from his manager Teddy. As the play progresses, you realize two of the three speakers are dead. Each of the characters sits in a space that resembles a meeting hall (presumably where Frank would have performed a show), but is then given certain props and set pieces that places them in another, specific place. It was off putting to see such specific and detailed set dressing in an environment that appeared to otherwise act as a non-space, perhaps even a kind of limbo. It wasn't terrible--just curious, and little distracting somehow. Still, a nice opportunity to catch a traditional piece of theatre, something I haven't taken in too much of since I got here and began exploring the avant garde, the inventive, and the devised.

The Hub--home of the International Festival

After the show, we met Mauro for a drink at the bar of the Traverse Theatre, marking mine and Max's first foray into the world of good, Scottish whisky. Then Mauro took me off to the Assembly's Supper Club, a late night cabaret, where we took in a couple of acts. It was late by the time we got out, and I was hit with my traditional "late-night-drunken-hankering-for-fried-food." I told Mauro this, and he said, "Let's go to the Techno Chippy."

I present to you: "The Techno Chippy."

Above is the establishment we visited. Mauro's nickname for the chippy was due to the fact that there was a man DJing our eating a experience, on two turn tables, with hot techno music. You can see the sound system in the windows on the left. A very strange and wonderful place, Cafe Piccante has several locations (New Yorkers: go find yours) and offers a number of fried delights. Scotland is famous for its chippys, where you can take any number of food items in and request that they be submerged to crisp, greasy perfection. The most famous of these novelty normal-to-fried foods is of course the deep friend Mars Bar. Oh but yes. After devouring some pizza (not fried, alas!), I delved into my Mars Bar (which Max would later liken to, perhaps not completely inaccurately, a deep fried turd).

Oh, the disgusting goodness.

It really wasn't bad, I promise. It was a very satisfying way to end the first night of our adventure.

Saturday, 15 August:
Today we caught our first Fringe show, The Tale of Lady Stardust, another straight play, apparently written by a fellow Centralite on the MA writing course. It was a fun little show about a couple guys who thought David Bowie was a prophet. A nice afternoon. That evening we caught our second International production, Diaspora, a really lovely show that combined live music, projection, movement, short film, and acting in a discussion about personal identity and national heritage.

The ceiling of the Playhouse Theatre, where Diaspora was presented.

After the show, the group of us went back home to watch my very first zombie movie ever. I had bought a few at a nearby HMV to do research. That evening we watched the original Night of the Living Dead. The trailer reads kind of hilariously kitsch nowadays, and we laughed at the movie more than gasped I think it's fair to say. Still, I got into bed as quickly as possible that night, and made peace with the idea that if I was bitten, I hoped Max would have the decency to kill me quickly. I should mention that Max is pretty much a zombie expert. He helped me select all of the zombie films in my research arsenal, and discussed with me different kinds of zombies and their movement. He also taught me how to create an effective zombie escape plan--apparently he creates one of these for every home he lives in. Yes, my friends are pretty much brilliant (albeit occasionally strange).

Sunday, 16 August:
Got up early to go for a jog through the city, and attempt to get tickets to Barfly, a site-specific theatre piece that used a bunch of Bukowski short stories as its source material. A pretty perfect theatrical event for me (and yes: it was performed in a bar), but alas it was sold out. So I ended up wandering around the city before heading back to the flat, and stumbled upon Greyfriars cemetery. My mother and I used to go for drives, pull over at cemeteries and walk through them, reading the gravestones and making up stories about how the people died if a cause wasn't cited on the stone. It's something I still do today. Gravestones are such interesting things: the fact that a whole human life is meant to be represented by a piece of rock, that that is what's left for us to remember them by. But those things don't last, of course--many of the older cemeteries contain gravestones that have been totally eroded. It is such an effort spent in vain, like so many human acts. Very fascinating. I could go on about this forever, but I won't.

I've truly come home.

Anyway, spent some time there before walking back in the rain (it rained everyday we were there), and headed out later to the Scottish Whisky Experience with Max and Ashley. It was basically a tour (with a ride!) that taught you about the distillation process, the flavour difference between the four main regional sources for whisky (there was a tasting), and the Guiness World Record's Largest Whisky Collection. Seriously: there was a crap ton of whisky in this place.

Sampling some delights...

Ashley and Max offer a toast.

We left the SWE and met Amy at the Baked Potato Shop, where you can get a baked potato slathered in nearly any topping of your choice. It was a nice follow up to the afternoon spent drinking various whiskies. Then the three of us trekked up to the top of Arthur's Seat, and got a beautiful view over the whole of the city. It was wicked windy, but the rain held off while we were there, so it turned out to be a great hike.

("Such great heights...")

We climbed down the peak, grabbed dinner, and caught the Little Angel's Puppet Grinder Cabaret, which had been directed and featured an act by my puppetry course teacher.

Monday, 17 August:
Today we encountered the perils of festival going, when you have several shows grouped under one venue name, while that solitary name has in reality several locations. We ended up at the wrong spot and had to dash several blocks to make it just in time for Earnest and the Pale Moon. I really enjoyed this show. There were a lot of live action sound effects, the acting was really good, and it was just a fun time. There were a couple questions I had about a couple plot points, but generally it was just nice to see such effective story telling done so simply. It was a fine example that you can still succeed in making a piece of theatre with energetic actors and very little props, costumes, and sets. I would have found them a new lighting designer though. But I left the theatre feeling better than I had before I got there, and sometimes when a piece of theatre helps you enjoy an afternoon, it's gift enough.

That evening we caught Suckerville, a transplant from my own MA's Turbulence Festival back in June. It was interesting to see this piece simply because of how much it had changed. The play presented in Scotland was unrecognizable as the piece I had seen a couple months earlier, which just goes to show: you never really know at what point in a piece's development you're catching something. It's weird to think about that. Rowan Atkinson's great sketch, "A Small Rewrite" comes to mind.

Finally, to finish off the evening, I caught the fabulous Camille O'Sullivan. I must start by saying, I have the hugest lesbian crush on this woman, I would absolutely go gay for her, no question. She's an amazingly talented singer, has phenomenal presence, and a pretty killer wardrobe. I first heard her sing the first time I caught Absinthe at the Spiegeltent in New York. I had no idea who she was, but she sang a version of Jaques Brel's "Ne Me Quitte Pas" that ripped my soul apart and has stayed with me for the past few years. A friend of mine recommended her show to me and I realized that she was the same singer I had heard oh so long ago, and I was determined to catch her. She had such an inviting and personable stage persona (this was probably aided by the fact that I also believe she was very drunk during her performance), and gave every song its due. In short (like her skirt), she was pretty much perfect. Thanks to the concert I now also have a recording of her "Ne Me Quitte Pas"--she didn't perform it, but I bought a CD afterwards. If they ever make a movie of her life, I would like to play her. That is all.

Tuesday, 18 August:
Because of the very random nature of the Fringe Festival, with shows coming from all over the world and at all different levels of skill and composition (and again, to use Suckerville as an example, at different stages of development), your experience doesn't seem truly complete until you see an awful, soul wrenching, maddeningly bad piece of theatre. Our last Fringe show filled this slot nicely, and how. It was called The Grind Show, and I won't even get into it. The good thing about seeing significantly bad theatre (truly) is that you remember what good theatre is, and what makes it good. It is absolutely a learning situation. The bond amongst the people you see it with also strengthens, too, by having jointly experienced such a huge amount of trauma. Still, that solace won't get me back the hour of my life stolen from me--that I paid to have stolen from me. My new rule for theatre festival going: No more student productions.*

*(And touching on that, briefly--I won't go see a revival at a festival either {And most revivals/Shakespeare plays done at festivals ARE student productions, FYI}. What is the point in seeing a revival of something in a FESTIVAL, that is usually meant to be about new, original work? It just seems silly.)

Spent the afternoon and evening with Mauro (who also accompanied us to The Grind Show--our bond is stronger than ever!), hopping from various Mexican restaurants (yes, they have those here), and then went home and watched another zombie movie. For the record, I watched all four zombie films over the course of that week, and they were as follows: Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Shaun of the Dead, and 28 Days Later. I can now say I really like zombie movies, and am sad that I've missed them for this long. However, I still don't think I'm brave enough to watch something like Dead Snow, a movie about Nazi zombies--at least not brave enough to watch it by myself. Any volunteers?

Wednesday, 19 August:
Our last day in Edinburgh, we took it pretty easy. I did a little more zombie research (this was less research, and more me watching every DVD extra on Shaun of the Dead), Amy, Max and I grabbed dinner, caught our flight, and landed that evening back in Lon-don-towne, ready to ease our way back into our normal, sadly less theatre filled lives.

That was a rather large nutshell, and you should be commended for getting through this entry. I'd commend myself for writing it, but considering how long it took me to post it, I won't. Happy?

Last blog before Scotland

2009-08-12T16:07:00.006+01:00

I leave for Scotland tomorrow, and will be gone for about a week. I'm putting myself under internet quarantine (I need it) so don't fret that you don't hear from me in the interim.

Randomness: I booked a short film for the Zone Horror Short Film Competition. I'm waiting to hear from the director the exact date of filming, but it looks like it'll happen sometime in September. I play a zombie. I am very excited about this, but it is also completely unfamiliar territory since I have never seen a zombie movie. Yes, it's true. Please don't hit me too hard. I need to do some research, maybe while I'm up north.

Below are some lovely pictures taken of Hampstead Heath, where I've been spending a lot of time lately for rehearsal/research for the festival piece I'm working on for Central in September, on picnics with friends, and for walks. Enjoy.

"Do you realize that you have the most beautiful [type] face?"

2009-08-03T02:13:00.002+01:00

It’s funny how the mind can play tricks on you. What’s stranger perhaps is how dependant we are on our minds to create a logical, structured understanding of our surroundings in order to become oriented. If we can change how we process information, or if we actively choose to acknowledge or apply a different meaning to something other than its common, accepted definition, given enough time we can literally redefine our surroundings. It makes one (who watches BSG) think of the Cylon’s ability to project—to literally create a different perception of their location to wherever they choose to be. It implies a certain amount of psychological escapism, I suppose, to try and change your surroundings by imagining you are somewhere else. But what if you’re not doing it on purpose?

Lately, I keep thinking I’m in New York. Not to any extreme—I don’t wake up thinking I live in Brooklyn around Park Slope (it would explain all the trees I live near), plan to hop on the subway to get to the island and wander around downtown somewhere, looking to satiate a hankering for a hot dog (“Mmmmm…hot dog…”). But there are moments I’ll be walking down a certain street in the center of London, and it will remind me of New York so much that for a moment or a little bit more I will forget that I’m on this side of the proverbial pond. It happened the other day on Dean Street—I was hunting around for the Soho Theatre to catch a play with my friends Lisa and Ronan, and I suddenly felt like I was somewhere around the Lower West Side. It confused me for a second or two, and though I shook it off rather quickly, something still lingered.

I’ve been missing New York in the strangest ways recently. London doesn’t seem to move quite fast enough, and maneuvering the sidewalks is a joke—it’s like people don’t know how to walk here. I still haven’t found a good bagel. I’d like to go out for a drink with someone at 10PM, and not worry about there being no room in the bar, or the fact that it’s going to close in half-an-hour. I miss travel after midnight that doesn’t involve buses. I dislike reading the New Yorker online, but can’t afford to buy imported copies of it, thus negating the joy I get out of the process of reading the magazine—carrying it around in your bag all week, folding it in half so you can read it column by column, getting residual ink on your hands, tearing out cartoons and poems and saving them for journals or bulletin boards or refrigerator doors. In the same vein, I bought the International Herald Tribune the other day because I missed the New York Times’s typeface. Yes: the typeface.

These things seem small, I know, but they are those parts of your everyday experience, the items and actions that beget living habits, that make you feel at home. I am, after ten months, still looking for New York in London. It must be said, the two cities are more similar than they are dissimilar. Both are extremely “international,” have tons of cultural offerings, etc. But still, there is something completely different in the air in London (::insert joke about Thames fumes here::), and I think it has something to do with the layout of the city. New York is a city built on top of itself, with buildings so tall and dense that at some locations you can’t see the next block over from the ground. Sometimes you’ll go for hours and not see the sun. Aside from the financial district, this sort of layout of structures seems far less frequent in London, and the city therefore, aided by its watery bisection, feels more open and spread out. New York towers over you and creates secrets as it looms; London is public and open and available. You can easily feel anonymous in any large city, but in New York you can almost feel anonymous even to yourself. While that can be lonely, there’s also something safe in that, a specific kind of detachment that I had come to know during my sojourn there, and one I cannot seem to replicate here. I don’t know quite why I seek to find this security of solitude, especially as one who is so often lonely, but I do, and London doesn’t cut it the same way.

Now, it must be said: I am far more anonymous in London than I am in New York, if we’re just going on the basis of the number of people I’m acquainted with out of the total population of either city. But London, with its open air and visible sunlight (when there is sunlight), seems to receive me more as a friend than New York did. You can’t lose yourself in the architecture here, perhaps because so much of it is largely historic. Maybe the only way to lose yourself in this city is not to the corners of the unknown, but instead, to the past. To really grasp London, you have to let yourself be transported, daily, back generations or decades, and being young myself (and young to this city), I still perhaps don’t have the experience enough to fully comprehend that.

The musings about these cities and what each has to offer is a topic not new to me or to the returning readers of this blog. It again surfaces as I begin my last couple months of my dissertation work, and my fellow immigrants are discussing their futures. Some seem set on eventually returning to their country of origin, but many of us are looking to be here long term. I’ve started talking to some other American ex-pats, and the UK visa process keeps coming up in discussion. Most of us are confused by what we have to do, or are daunted by it, or frustrated already. Others look at it like a crap shoot—we’ll try for it and figure the odds as best we can, but in the end know that we have less control over the dice than we’d like and we’ll just have to see what we end up with. To call back to BSG again: “Sometimes you have to roll the hard six.” But even if my visa does come through, the question that really lies at the heart of this is: what would I have to discover about London to really make it feel like a home? Or on the other hand, what would I have to be prepared to perceive about London to have it show me these things?

I had a strange run in with a man the other week, who drunkenly engaged me in very pleasant (albeit repetitive) conversation when I was running late to see Lament for Medea at the Arcola. We had ended up on a bus together, and he reminded me (over and over) that if I loved London, it would love me right back. When I went to get off the bus, he gave me a twenty pound note to take a cab to the theatre so I wouldn’t have to wait for the Overground. He kissed my hand as he did it. If that’s London loving me, London is kind of creepy. But at least he’s looking out and taking care of me on some level. On a kind of weird, creepy level, but yeah.*

Now if he could just serve me up a good bagel, I’d move right in.

*(For the record the guy was actually really nice and not at all inappropriate as we spoke, and I do believe the gesture came from a genuine place. He said someone had helped him when he was younger and that someday I’d do the same thing for someone else. Dear God, I hated Pay it Forward, but now it looks like I’ve made a bargain I’ll have to fulfill someday. That’s alright—but I’ll try to be sober when I do it.)

Oh, Augusta...

2009-08-02T13:14:00.009+01:00

In front of the TV watching the American version of The Office, drinking a bottle of white wine alone, as all of my friends are in America, or Spain, or Scotland, or Cyprus. I am trying to distract myself from my woes by working (hard now, considering I have about 4oz. left of the Chardonnay I cracked open earlier), reading articles on phenomenology (we're talking Merleau-Ponty, baby), and eating a lot of choccy biccies. I'm also trying to focus on what I've got going on this month:

Spending a week in Edinburgh with my friends Amy and Max, catching shows at the International and Fringe Festivals, and visiting my friend Mauro who is handling press for the International Fest.
Heading to Brighton for a weekend, to assist in a fellow MA's research, concerning the ujiah breath, and its possible application in acting work--a topic that really excites me.
Shooting a short film in and around the Royal Opera House as part of dreamthinkspeak's site specific theatre piece for the Ignite Festival. The film will play during the piece, and is set in the late 1950s, early 1960s. I am overwhelming excited about my fitting. There are no words. If I come out looking like Joan from Mad Men, I will be beyond happy. (The resemblance is really uncanny.)

So things are good. Sure. Of course.

(In other news: I love this picture of Stephen Merchant that was posted on the Rick Gervais website. That is all.)

Dissertation? I have no idea what you're talking about...

2009-07-29T12:38:00.009+01:00

I've come to terms with the fact that I've basically taken July off. I have gone to a concert, thrown a dinner party, seen two plays, been to talks about the futures of documentary and animation, gone to the movies (A LOT), done a lot of jogging, gone to a talk about The Wire that featured David Simon and George Pelecanos, have started a rehearsal & generative process for a festival of work that will go up at the end of September, auditioned, and started reading a really good novel. What I have not done is an extensive amount of any work on my dissertation. I did manage to contact my interview subject over the Facebook (Yes: the Facebook) and have sent him off a list of questions. This man is actually important, and very busy, and I will not be in the same country as him for a time, so e-mail interview it is. Now I'm just awaiting his response. I have also gone to the V&A's Theatre Archives, located at Hammersmith in the magnificent Blythe House to watch recordings of Improbable shows, which I thought would help in my dissertation, but upon viewing I've found that they probably won't. The two performances I watched were great, but had little to do with what I'm actually writing my dissertation on. Still, any excuse and opportunity to see Improbable's work is a good one, and I enjoyed that morning.

However, aside from sending off the interview questions, and the occassional skimming of some critical or theoretical text, I have really done nothing. I acknowledge this and accept it (there's really nothing I can do about it now), and plan to change. Yes, I will alter this downward spiral I'm riding and turn around and go upupup to academic and theatrical glory. And this journey will start soon, almost immediately. In three days. But August 1st, that's the day, the flood waters will hit and everything will start to fall into place. This is the plan.

It's unfortunate that hardly anything I ever plan on ends up happening. Alas.

That being said, I plan to get my head in gear about my work shortly. I also plan to blog a bit more. I'm really going to try--truly, I am. I know I always say it, but this time I mean it. I've changed. Can't we give it one more chance? Please?

A Story About a Pencil: REDUX

2009-07-18T00:57:00.000+01:00

As promised:

It is essentially the exact same film as before, but cut a little differently. I literally had to go back and piece it together from scratch ("Oh iMovie, why do you hate me so much?"), but I used the previous film as a guide. As I post this, around 1AM in London, I am also GChatting with Marley Magaziner (yes: that is her real name), who is sitting in a black box in New York, co-hosting the Tank's Silent Night event, and has looped my film to play 15 times in a row as people are getting in and settling themselves down for an evening of silent entertainment. I am sitting in my bed, snuggled up in my pajamas under my duvet. The modern age astonishes me.

To those in the States--Goodnight.

To those in the UK--Good morning.

The Pencil Film LIVES!!! (But silently still...)

2009-07-14T14:56:00.008+01:00

My little pencil film will have a transatlantic showing this Friday as part of The Tank's Silent Night fundraiser. Basically the venue (home of SLAM!, a weekly competitive playwrighting competition I used to frequent) has been getting complaints from the neighbors about the noise. Yes, those theatrical types can be awfully rowdy. So organizers Stefania and Marley have arranged to hold a fundraiser of completely silent performances. Since the film still exists without a soundtrack (I can't get ahold of an organ--or an organist), I offered it up for the evening's agenda. I've spent the last couple days re-cutting the thing (I wasn't totally happy with how it came out the first time), and I'll post the new version on Saturday, after the fundraiser. If you're in NYC, head down to 345 W. 45th St. at 8PM on Friday, and remember: keep it down!

Accidental Art--an Experiment in Theatre Making

2009-07-13T12:18:00.002+01:00

A nice interview with project leader Nessah Muthy, Ph.D. student Tania Batzoglou, director Anouke Brook, and myself did for the London Theatre Blog about the Accidental Festival piece I did, Accidental Art. Go here.

A Look at the New Homestead

2009-07-12T22:11:00.004+01:00

As per requested by my parents, here's a little tour of the flat I'm holed up at the moment. My flatmate Loukia makes a brief appearance as well.

I'll try to write a real entry tomorrow. I promise. To try.

Desperate Housewife-dom

2009-07-09T18:18:00.006+01:00

I finished moving into my new flat Saturday morning, and have been essentially nesting this past week. I cannot express in words adequately how overjoyed I am to have a kitchen again--it makes all the difference in the world. I have bought groceries several times this week and have been relishing being able to cook food for myself, so much so that I will be having a little dinner party next week, complete with friends, liquor, and a lot of home cooked Cuban food courtesy of me. May my abuela, the greatest cook who ever lived, smile down on me from heaven that day, and guide my hands as I season, stir, and saute up a storm. I'm really excited: I do love being a domestic.

Just to catch up what's gone on the past couple weeks, the Turbulence Festival closed nicely with England 2009, a performance composed of short vignettes that were devised during the day of the performance using assigned stimuli that were collected from various locations across England. My group got a box full of chalk from the white cliffs of Dover<--and yes, the only thing I knew about Dover up until that day was the song named after said cliffs. Rather predictably, dealing with the chalk (and flour substituting for chalk) was a focal point of what my ensemble produced, and as in Stage Two, I ended the performance covered in stuff:

Looks like a bad minstrel show.

The Fourth of July here was nice. After dropping of my last bag and unpacking a bit in the new flat, I headed out to Camden to Max and Amy's for an American celebration and gathering. En route, I bought a huge case of Budweiser and two six packs of Coke--classic flavours of American culture.

An American super-hero.

I made salsa and platanos, a favorite Cuban snack that will also be a fixture at the dinner I host next week. You may ask, why serve a Cuban dish at an American celebration. Well, firstly, they are delicious. Secondly, the Cubans, like the Americans, were also revolutionaries. And thirdly, they were fried: very American indeed.

Fried bananas=Deliciousness.

We were joined by US citizens Heidi, Caitlin, and Elizabeths Fazzio and Gibbs, as well as the ever fabulous Greek, Maria. We cooked, drank, ate (a lot--it was an American holiday, after all), and finished off the evening by emptying bags of English Breakfast tea into the Regent's Canal while yelling "No taxation without representation!", followed by setting off a large confetti shooter. It was a delightful evening, and even though it didn't supply the light show of Macy's, it was definitely a great substitute.

I will try to update more over the next few days to make up for my near non-existence over the past couple weeks. Right now, though--I should go clean my kitchen from today's culinary flurry.

What I do when I put off work:

2009-07-02T00:29:00.005+01:00

It's past midnight, and I have just over twelve hours before the paper I'm writing about character building in a devising process on is due. Predictably, I've been putting it off. I wrote a strong outline, but then thought of a great cover page image, and have spent about an hour working on that.

Lame? Perhaps. Completely human? Absolutely. Here's what I've come up with so far:

Completely narcissistic? Could be. But I don't kid around when I call myself an actor, alright?

In the saddest news I've heard in some time, Karl Malden is dead. More on this tomorrow (today).

Play Reading Challenge: Momentary Break

2009-07-01T10:38:00.002+01:00

I'm not reading any more plays this week. I'll make it up to you--and to me, I promise. The week is just too full, and there isn't any time for it.

That being said, I will leave you now.

"Please don't go. We'll eat you up. We love you so."

2009-06-30T00:00:00.000+01:00

Didn't get a play in today, and may have to cool it on my personal challenge for a bit. I've way too much else to do, but I'll try to hunt down the recommendation from Ms. Jen S. in good time.

Still have to write a paper due for Thursday, and this evening during my puppetry class I found out that I have to be moved out of my halls by Saturday morning. I had thought I had till next week. Like with so many other things recently: I was wrong. Things in this country have been kind of crap as of late, and I actually feel as though the nation is conspiring to repel me from this island (though with the consistent heat and noxious humidity, conditions are perfect for a New York summer, so it that respect I feel right at home). It's not all bad, though--at the very least, I do have somewhere to move to, and a lovely flatmate to cook Mediterranean inspired meals with. My God, but there will be dinner parties! And the best part about the flat I'm moving into: a double-bed. Hello feelings of adulthood: my goodness, but I've missed you.

Ignoring that final statement, here's part of Where the Wild Things Are, as interpreted by myself and two cohorts through the medium of shadow puppets. Those who know the story will hear a distinct narrative cock-up. Forgive it, please: it was a rehearsal, and he's Canadian.

29 June Play-->Noel Coward's "Private Lives"

2009-06-29T23:19:00.004+01:00

Reading this play was a nice little escape from the doldrums of paper writing and festival feedback meetings (truly: a bore). It also made me want to sip cocktails somewhere on the continent.

No monologues in this play, but who cares with Coward's gift for witty banter. Amanda and Elyot are great, and really prove that it takes a really big love to make that big a hate.

I honestly don't have too much to say about this play, other than it was a lovely and much needed distraction, and I'll probably be reading more Coward this week to garner more of that.

Now I should really write something. Or read something. Or go to bed. "The party's over now..."

General Update--Winding down

2009-06-26T16:11:00.006+01:00

I do actually have more in my life besides reading a play a day. I swear. Tonight I'll be in a three hour acting workshop about emotional access (cut to me, sobbing on the floor-->let's be honest: it will happen), and then an hour-long meeting about England 2009, the final offering on the Turbulence Festival programing. Similar to my stint with the Accidental Festival, we will meet up at 9:30AM tomorrow morning for breakfast, be broken up into companies, and devise a piece about England (the clue is in the title, get it?) which will be performed Saturday evening at 7PM. Tonight's meeting I think is just to go over logistics with us--though I'm not entirely sure what we're doing. And next week I have to hand in a paper reflecting on my Stage Three Practice, and outlining my dissertation writing. When will I write this? Who knows. Will I be seeing Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen this weekend, if only just to mock it? Abso-frickin'-lutely.

That's all for now. I'll come back when I'm fully conscious. Promise.

26 June Play-->David Mamet's "Speed-the-Plow"

2009-06-26T13:08:00.006+01:00

Another great Mamet, and brings up a question that I've been asking myself a bit lately: is there room for idealism in this business? The main character, Bob Gould, Head of Production at the studio, is torn between green lighting a film that will probably make him and his friend Charlie Fox incredibly rich, but based on a script full of predictable violence and smut, or pushing through an adaptation of a densely written book about the end of the world that discusses "how we all feel." The only reason he considers the second option is when his temp, Karen, who he's assigned to read the book and pitch it back to him (and who he must sleep with to win a $500 bet with Fox), meets him the evening before the big meeting and seems to actually reach to the last piece of humanity that may be left after all those years in the business. It ends the way you would expect. At least, it ended the way I expected.

Now, I'm a romantic--truly, I am. And it is hard to maintain a certain sense of romanticism while working in this business, though sometimes that's the only reason you keep on doing it. I can only speak for the theatre, which no one gets into "for the money." (And if they did, God bless them, but what were they thinking, really?) Sometimes you only do this work for the sake of your soul--and often, you're soul doesn't seem to be worth very much, monetarily speaking. But you can usually feel good enough about what you've done, what you're trying to do, to sustain yourself.

And yet, this is not always the case. If we've learned anything from Entourage, we know that movie deals can be made and unmade based on one remark said to someone's daughter, or a bad gift given at a birthday party--things are that precious and tenuious. Fortunes are earned and destroyed everyday with one decision. It's a high pressure business that demands a lot of energy (no wonder there is so much coke), and often to survive it you seem to need to trade off pieces of yourself, bit by bit. How much can you compromise, and how much do you still need to be able to wake up and consider yourself a person? Hollywood seems rife for this sort of moral dilema, but I think the "problems" we associate with that kind of lifestyle can echo in many other places, for many other people, who have nothing to do with the film industry.

Good stuff: There are moments when reading the script where I was getting Fox and Gould confused, they spoke so much alike. There was something really great there, in that you understood that these men had spent a lot of time in this industry, learning how to "communicate appropriately." Such a starck contrast to the simple, earnest approach of Karen's dialogue throughout. Makes me wonder how Madonna handled it back in the 80's...

Monologues: 1 for Karen, a woman in her twenties (whoo hoo!), but it's a little one-note. Maybe appropriate for another Mamet audition, because at least you'll show you know the writer. Yuo could break it up with actioning, though.

25 June Play-->Conor McPherson's "The Weir"

2009-06-25T21:40:00.004+01:00

I liked this play a lot, but I think out of the McPherson I've read, I prefer The Seafarer, simply because of the more pronounced arch. The play is set in pub in a small Irish village, some miles outside of Dublin. The kind of place where the darkness and the quiet encompass you once the sun goes down, so far removed from an urban environment you are. The play is basically built around stories told by the characters in the bar, each one (excepting the bartender, Brendan) taking a turn at recounting some happening--most of them have a ghostly nature or local folklore feel to them. Similar to The Seafarer and its question of potential damnation (sorry if I ruined that for anyone out there), there are somethings you just believe more about this play because it is coming out of Irish mouths, from an Irish writer. There is that strange, "old world" mysticism that still exists as very much a part of Ireland's identity, and I suspect is one of the larger draw for tourists to the country. This play made me want to go out and buy a book on Irish myths.

What was really wonderful about the play was how each one of these stories drew me in as a reader, and you could tell just from the writing how it was affecting the speaker. For a writer to be that attuned to his characters is great--and rarer than you'd think, or perhaps would like to believe. You can tell that McPherson knows these men and knows these stories. He presents them with a kind of understanding reverence that's really beautiful. One of the best attributes of this play is how simple it is--just a few people, having a few drinks, shooting the shit. We have all been there. This action is completely relatable. And somehow, in that air of simplicity, some very personal admissions can arise (I will reveal no more here...). It was a nice, short play. I liked it.

But I liked The Seafarer better.

Monologues: A long one (about three pages, that I don't know could be cut down) for an Irish woman in her thirties (Valerie). Not age appropriate for me, and generally, probably not audition appropriate unless you were auditioning for this play and had been asked to prepare it. An enjoyable afternoon, nonetheless.

24 June Play-->David Mamet's "American Buffalo"

2009-06-25T00:20:00.006+01:00

Wow--what a great play. Totally makes up for yesterday's Miller disappointment (sounds as if I've had a bad beer, or something). Mamet has such a distinct style, and such a corner on the American voice. I don't know how else to describe it--it's some meld of desperation and undying hope, and an overwhelming need for respect or peace or love, from characters who don't know how to ask for it in a nice way. That lack of eloquence, and the lack of any shame that comes with it, is just so wonderful to hear.

I've enjoyed Mamet since I had to read Oleanna in my Modern Drama class in high school. I have always been attracted to voices of male writers that don't talk about nice things in "ugly" or unconventional ways: Irvine Welsh, Bret Easton Ellis, Bukowski, etc. Don't know why, but I have always better identified with those voices than I ever did with any female writer I've perused (however, I am, again, woefully under read, so that may be why...). And Mamet appeals to that angry young man I have inside me, I suppose.

Favorite moment while reading the play: Realizing this was where "Action talks and bullshit walks" comes from. My father says that sometimes, and I don't think he knows it comes from a play. Maybe if he did, he'd go to the theatre more! It's the little things...

Monologue: No luck, as there are no women in this play. It's alright, though--it was so good, that it doesn't matter, and I've already filled my quota for the week anyway.

23 June Play--> Arthur Miller's "After the Fall"

2009-06-23T18:08:00.008+01:00

This play was one hot mess, and felt like it's how Miller got over his sense of guilt of possibly contributing to Marilyn Monroe's death. I wonder if it would have come off well as a film or a novel on some level, but as live theatre I just don't see it really working. The play is episodic, and takes place in the mind of the Miller figure Quentin, with characters from his life walking in and out of view. Some of the characters were clearly stage representations of people I'm aware of in Miller's own life, and others were not. It was not quite as scathing of Elia Kazan (whose dopelganger Mickey appears for only one scene, and then briefly as a recurring memory later) as I had anticipated, which may have been one of the reasons he accepted directing the thing. On the whole, however, it seemed to paint Quentin/Miller as this "upstanding" moral figure, who had been a victim his whole life simply by trying to do right by women who never seem to get enough of his love. His character is essentially struggling to accept and offer love again, by trying to work through these past incidents (there's also the minor sub-plot about naming names that would probably have made for a much more compeling topic, but I guess he already wrote that play, so oh well). It's hard to not be put off by Miller after reading this-->Quentin does not read as a sympathetic character, and is painted as an earnest man who never seems to showcase any character flaw except for his incessant talking and perhaps caring too much. And his quest for innocence for himself and for his relationships throughout the play just comes off as...boring? I suppose the problem is that there seems to be little sense of humility in the character, and the audience never really sees him do anything rash or, dare I say it, HUMAN, so there's no investment in watching to see if he redeems himself since he never seems to do anything wrong in the first place. He neglects his first wife because of his work, and his second wife Maggie--based on Monroe--is too destructive to accept the love he tries to offer her. But that affection seems disingenuous, undermined by the impression the audience gets that Quentin believes Maggie is just what he keeps telling her she isn't: a slut, dumb, used, etc. The fact is, Quentin seems to grapple with only the problems he manifests in his own mind by over thinking every relationship/incident in his life, and not the black-and-white situations staring him in the face that he had a hand in on some level. But maybe that's the point--to show the character completely devoid of this simple self-awareness. It may be a nuance that can only come out of seeing a performance. But I wouldn't put all my eggs in that basket.

Some positive things: The ripple effect Miller achieved by having characters enter and say lines from scenes previously staged for the audience to reinforce the effect/hold Quentin's past had on him was really interesting, and took the play deeper in terms of a psychological journey into this character's mind, and gave a sense of frenzy that probably helps the pacing at certain points.

All in all, this play could have used a dramaturge when it was first being written. Sadly, back in 1964, that job title didn't really exist. It's a shame, too--it's Miller, so the writing isn't bad, necessarily. The play's just a bit overfull, and was exhausting to read, and I suspect would be exhausting to sit through. I know I said A View from the Bridge was depressing, but it was still a very good play. This, in comparison, feels preachy, self-indulgent and self-serving, and just...unimportant. The best two lines in my opinion are the final two pieces of dialogue between Quentin and potential lover Holga. That says something all on its own.

Monologues: 1 for Holga, a German woman in her late thirties, early forties, but not for me. Alas--it might have made the Fall worth it.

"The play's the thing..."

2009-06-23T11:01:00.004+01:00

Last summer I got all ambitious and set out to read one play a day. Didn't happen. After spending a lot of time trying to dig up a decent monologue of a certain length for last week's audition, I was once again confronted by how dreadfully under read I am. I mean it. It's almost embarrassing. So this summer I'm going to try once again, and attempt to read one play for every day of the working week. This will hopefully expand my general theatrical knowledge, and assist in the finding of more useful monologues--though the young, female comedic continues to elude me. (Seriously: girls in their teens talk a lot and are sometimes funny when they're not talking about being molested or having an abortion, thirty-somethings are neurotic about men and potential spinsterhood, and older female parts are ornery. But a monologue that's comedic and written for a woman in her twenties: they don't seem to exist. For reals. What the hell? Why is no one writing these? We are real, damn it!)

Anyway, the stipulations of this self-imposed challenge is that I read five plays a week, Monday through Friday, and that I log/blog what I've read to prove that I have read it. I also cannot read a play I have already read (even if it's a different translation of something I've read before--doesn't count), though I can count plays I've never read the entirety of but have worked scenes from in various academic situations (yes: I should have read the whole play at that juncture, but I used to be a slacker--what do you want?). I can also read plays I read a long time ago but have, in fact, completely forgotten (it happens). My hope is to find one monologue a week<--and quite frankly, that's pretty ambitious, really, considering the ratio of male to female parts in plays to begin with, and then making sure it's actually a good, audition-appropriate monologue. I could go into what makes for an appropriate audition monologue right now, but I won't--because I have to start reading a play, and soon!

I began yesterday with A View From the Bridge by Arthur Miller. Boy, that was depressing. I really wanted to read Odets (Odets, Odets, Odets!) so I chose a play I had on me by an author with a similar voice. The overlying difference between Odets and Miller though is that while they both present characters who at times have to call into question their own idealism because of their "real world" circumstances, some of Odets's characters are actually successful in getting out and moving away from whatever may be plaguing them--or if they can't, by the end of the play there is usually a sense of renewed hope or drive (disregard Paradise Lost, please). With Miller, they're all pretty much doomed from the beginning. Still, there was a good monologue in this play--good for auditions for plays of that ilk--for someone my age, so I've already filled my quota for the week. Huzzah!

Today, another Miller: After the Fall. This play is terribly autobigraphical, even though Miller largely denied that when he wrote it, and it is supposed to suck. We shall see. If anything, I'd like to read his whole cannon this summer, as I'm really only familiar with All My Sons, Death of a Salesman, and The Crucible--those three standards. I have also seen The Misfits. Meh.

"I have of late, wherefore I know not..."

2009-06-22T18:05:00.010+01:00

I don't normally talk about this sort of thing here, but for the sake of honesty (and honestly, I've nothing else to talk about right now) I'm going to indulge today. Because it does have something to do with theatre, and because I need it.

I've been feeling pretty down lately. Not all the time, but I have definitely been going through a general malaise for a little over a week. There's always a little sense of post-show depression after something you've done has closed, but it usually doesn't start for a couple days after the final curtain falls and you slowly begin to realize that you have nothing to do with your time. It happens to most professionals in any field, but actors--whose personal identities are so tightly woven up with their job description--are often left with struggling to define themselves in a world where they feel they can't refer to themselves by their chosen job title unless they actually have a gig. That being said, this is not what has taken hold of me this time. It's is something else.

It started a couple days before the Festival opened. I was feeling anxious for seemingly no reason<--That statement strikes me as ridiculous, seeing as how I had plenty to be anxious about: my final performance for my master's degree was going up in a matter of days, and was still very much working itself out; I was waiting on Loukia to make sure everything was going through for the room in her flat; I was debating whether to or what job to pursue this summer; my loan check that was made out in US dollars and could only be made out to me was traveling over the sea to be deposited in a bank stateside by Brian, and I was waiting to hear that it had gotten there safely; and finally, and something I discuss reluctantly here, I had an audition last Friday at the Old Vic that I was incredibly nervous about. The overlying sentiment behind all of these pressures is that sense of seemingly chronic waiting, where I had no power over the majority of what was happening and simply had to hope for the best. I hate that.

Then last Tuesday we had an invited dress for the show, and afterwards I went out with my ensemble and the participating guests for several drinks. I woke up the next day around 4AM, and couldn't fall back to sleep. So I decided to make the most of it and go for a jog down to the Old Vic, partly for inspiration and partly so I'd know exactly where to go on Friday morning. So at 5AM, I was out on the street, running from my home down to the Thames, past the Southbank Centre and the BFI and the National, finally ending up at the theatre. (Let me just take a moment to say I feel incredibly lucky that I can get up and jog to the National-fucking-Theatre. That amazes me.) 5AM in London is quiet--like New York on Sunday mornings. It's great, but you still have to get up at 5AM to see it. But I digress. As I jogged along, I started thinking about theatre, and living for art, and all that really deep stuff, and I came to a somewhat bittersweet conclusion, one that I've come to before: that no piece of theatre is actually fulfilling to me because it's just artificial.

Now, let me say: yes, this statement seems pretty obvious. And this sense of artifice is actually what gives theatre all its power. To paraphrase Peter Brook, if a play is completely naturalistic, then what is the point? If there is nothing heightened, nothing distorted in the reality, then why stage it? I mean, in a simply practical sense, if I see a play with no element of theatricality in it, can't I just stay at home and watch my own life and get the same effect? Surely--and I'll save money doing it. No, you go to the theatre to of course suspend your disbelief and for a couple hours sit on the outside of life to reflect--a reflection aided by various theatrical devices. In the end, however, this is not the artifice to which I am referring.

No, it's far more simple than that. It's just all fake. You show up, put on your make up, do a tap dance for some people who are hopefully paying you, then get off stage, slap on the cold cream, and go home. Nothing has really happened--you just "acted" for two hours, and then went home and may do it again tomorrow. Nothing has really changed. I mean, there is more to it than that. But then sometimes, there's not.

I'm usually far more idealistic about the theatre. Don't get me wrong--I think it can still change things, still alter people's perspectives. Look at Angels in America. Look at The Laramie Project. Look at Waiting for Lefty--that audience on opening night all standing up, yelling "STRIKE!" to the actors on stage. (Every day, I wish I was reading Odets. I miss him.) I guess what bothers me is that those examples are so rare, so, so rare, and in the end are so fleeting--again, one of the things that makes theatre theatre is that it needs an audience to exist. A film can still be projected onto a screen without anyone watching it--it still happens. But theatre does not. And then it's there one moment, and the next: POOF. Gone.

This consistent sense of transience that has pretty much accompanied me through the past twelve years of my life (half my lifetime at present, it should be noted) has caused me to consider over the past few years what really matters to me--what I really want. These things include, but are not limited to the following:

A husband
A house (Own outright--not rent or mortgage)
A baby

Two things should be said: I know that actually acquiring any of these things will not guarantee happiness, and I also know that these are not necessarily things that should be established on a check-list of the things to get in before you die. I also don't believe in living my life on a timeline, ala, "I have to be married by the time I'm thirty!" Why put so much pressure on yourself?! These things will happen when they are meant to happen, not a moment before and not a moment after. And considering the era we live in, I'm a little too young to be preoccupied with the thought of becoming a crazy cat woman. Yet, I am now strangely impatient. And thinking again about the ever-ephemeral theatre, I find myself desperately clinging to these things which are somehow meant to last. And of course, that's a big fat lie.

My friend Mauro told me over dinner tonight that it was because I was turning 25. He said he went through the same thing then, and something similar when he turned 30. It may be that impending adulthood is causing me to wonder about the future. (I see it, there, at the end of that long tunnel--don't look directly at it, or you'll turn to stone!) But to me, there is also a sense of needing to re-evaluate what I'm doing right now--and what I may not be doing is making enough room for a life that expands outside my job or identity as an artist. Consequently, my work and art loses all of its value, practically and personally.

Which brings me to something else. I found out that a friend of mine that I'd grown up with's father died on the 9th of this month. I didn't find out until 21 June (Father's Day, of all days). I hadn't spoken to her in a while, but she's still someone I had been terribly close with at a time, had always been there when I needed a friend, and is one of the few people from my hometown I try to always see whenever I'm back in that neck of the woods. I found out because of the Facebook, because I got to thinking about her, pulled up her profile, and there as her picture was a tree with a ribbon tied around it--a memorial for her dad. I couldn't believe that this had happened and I hadn't heard about it sooner, and am confused that I ended up finding out about it because of the Facebook. I felt many things--that I should have known sooner, that I should have kept in better contact with her, that someone should have told me, and that I was a bad friend because I hadn't known and hadn't been there for her when she probably needed someone. I can understand the rational argument against this sense of guilt--that I am an ocean away, that we hadn't talked in a while, that we are no longer as close, and that our families weren't close enough for my parents to know this happened (I called them when I found out, and they hadn't heard about it). And still, I feel badly. I feel like that relationship, that so many relationships, was left untended. You can't keep in contact with everyone you know all of the time, of course, but surely a larger effort to let people know that you're thinking of them and they are important in your life is a good thing. I don't know if that would have changed this specific situation, but that's where I'm at with it.

Aaaaaahhhhh--this entry has gone on forever, and has been full of only a single and somewhat vague connection to the theatre! How about this one: to accurately convey something on stage, one must have a sense of life that exists off stage so that one has something to offer. I want a larger definition than just my job title. So for the sake of being a better actor, I have to start taking better care of my life outside the work, because that's what'll make the work valuable anyway. And besides, you can't take an audience home with you. Right? I mean, I guess you could take some of the audience home with you. Hopefully they're worth it.

I know, I know: life's just a bowl of cherries, and I need to let go-go-go. In the meanwhile, it's wicked late, and I'm headed to bed.

Post-Festival Talk

2009-06-21T16:54:00.002+01:00

First week of the Turbulence Festival is over, and my performance event One Thing May Lead To Another ended last night. It went off rather well—we had to add an extra seat at the table both Friday and Saturday nights to fit in extra bodies. As per usual with shows that have extremely limited runs, we finally got it the night we had to close it down. Having only three performances seems a little disappointing, considering how many hours we spent working on it, but such is the ephemeral nature of theatre, particularly the unfunded kind. That said, I’m glad to have next week off to catch some of the other offerings on the Festival schedule, particularly Little Dark Deeds, a performance centered around the action that takes place in and around a Victorian toy theatre. The audience functions as voyeurs while sitting in a wagon, where a series of panels open around them, displaying the toy theatre and several live staged scenes. Many of my friends worked on this, and it has the distinction of being the only show in the festival featuring an element of puppetry. So I’m psyched for that, and the extra loafing I’ll be able to get in before the last week of this term.

The summer term is coming up, and I’ll be spending most of my time reading, researching, and writing parts of my dissertation, but during this I hope to still be able to find the time to explore the city more, and maybe travel for a few days, either to Ireland or Paris←all for you, Clayton. I’ll be staying with my friend and fellow classmate Loukia until the end of August at least, which will put me closer to school and secure access to television. Which means I can watch trash. It is wrong how excited I am at this prospect, but there’s nothing better to do while forcing yourself to lift and do sit-ups.

Which brings up something else I need to turn my attention to this summer: getting into shape. Again. My body is definitely a casualty of the theatrical process—not enough sleep, eating whatever crap is cheap and available at all hours of the night, never having enough time (or motivation) to work out during the small amount of downtime you get since all said downtime is devoted exclusively to being as inactive and un-contemplative as humanly possible. Basically, I have slowly turned into a slug, and fear I am on my way to Jabba-the-Hutness. This is perhaps an exaggeration, but nonetheless, I just don’t feel well, and I know that can change. That still doesn’t make the prospect of working out consistently any less obnoxious. But if you weigh that option against the facts—like having eaten an Entire pizza today--it’s probably completely necessary.

That’s it, kids. I’ll be back when I have something more compelling to share. Peace out for now.

You ask, "Why have you forsaken me?" and I tell you, I have not.

2009-06-13T01:16:00.008+01:00

Up way too late (early) doing some work on the "script"* for the play, and realized it'd been a while since I threw something up here. My apologies for my silence, it has been so busy I'm surprised I've been able to get through the week at all. Many, many things have happened.

The day following my blog entry from the 4th, we finally did our first showing with a test audience. The experience was very surprising, and we basically got the complete opposite reaction from them than what we had expected. We had been working with a really crazy, HUGE narrative (that I will someday regale you with, but not here, not today) that held the back story as to why this dinner had come about, why the audience were guests at it, etc, and we had been convinced that it was going to be like pulling teeth (that's actually a hint at said narrative) to get a reaction from them. The audience ended up being very vocal and participatory, and we found that because of this we couldn't actually get nearly any of the narrative across in the moments we had planned during the part that we showed. The focus was too split, and suddenly what we were trying to do seemed largely inappropriate. After our feedback from this group, we started talking about this, and gradually came to the conclusion that we needed to be economical with what we were sharing with the audience, make sure it was really important, and that only those moments would be the ones that were kept. But then nothing we had done seemed useful. I made a comment saying, "Well, I've always been the kind of person who, if it's not working at the eleventh hour, would go in and say, 'Let's throw everything out!'" Lisa suddenly spoke up: "I was thinking the same thing!"

And so it came to pass that we literally threw out all of the story and character development that we had been doing for about three weeks previous (in what is essentially a six week process, that is a crapload of time). I was kind of so blown away by the prospect I went home and fell asleep at 8PM. It's all well and good to talk about cutting everything, but when you decide to do it two weeks before you open, an understandable amount of apprehension plagues you, no doubt. I don't know if this sort of thing happens in traditional theatre. I'm sure it must in some form, but I've never encountered it. I think part of what makes devised theatre the beast it is is that apparent fluidity--that it can and does change every day you are in the rehearsal room. But sometimes that is hard to accept, especially when those changes are so drastic and monumental in size. Recently, I have been constantly comparing the devising process to bipolar disorder: the highs are amazing, but the lows make you want to kill yourself. Everyone I've said this to on the course seems to consider it an accurate statement, so I express it here in full confidence of its validity.

Anyway, we decided on Thursday to cut everything, I went home and slept for about fourteen hours, got up the next day, met Amy Lee for one last coffee before she headed back to the states, and then had an amazing rehearsal with my company wherein we re-wrote the entire performance. It was pretty awesome, though at the end of it, again, I was completely drained. We ended up going back to an idea we had initially, trying to align that with the audience's action during our showing, and also choosing what we already had in place in the performance that was worth keeping and would serve this new direction. In the end, it is a simpler idea, and hopefully more meaningful.

So yes, things were headed in the right direction after that rehearsal and they continue to be. I look forward to the run, and while I'm nervous, I think it will be alright. It must be. Where is Geoffrey Rush to tell me so?!

Seriously, though: we can pull this off. I know it.

In other news:

The great hunt for housing has begun. Went to look at a room in a private residence today up in Willesden Green. The proprietor was a very sweet, older woman, and the price was good, but I've lived above another older woman before and had a pretty unpleasant experience with that. There's also the thing about living in a private residence: you always feel like you're a guest in some one's home, and that you don't have you're own space. I don't know if I could relax (or come home drunk) in a situation like that. I'm seeing another place Sunday afternoon, so I may have a better idea then if this is the direction I'm headed in. Yeep. I hate moving. So much.
The project I was meant to work on that was slated to travel to Germany is not happening. This is not so much a surprise, but it is disappointing, and raises the question: what am I going to do with myself during the summer? I asked myself this question in my head, and responded aloud with, "Get a job, you lazy immigrant!" I can be so unnecessarily abusive sometimes. A job is an option. But whatever I do, the dissertation is going to have to be the first priority, and as the work I was going to do on proposed project was meant to be part of my research (damn it) I have to figure out how to make up for that. I think I can manage it somehow with something, but it's got to be really good.

I'm sure there must be more I should/could tell you, but it's now 2AM, and I have to get to sleep. I'll try to drop by next week and let you guys know what goes on, but if I don't please know: it's not you, it's me. I mean, I just need some time off, you know? To think things through. I mean, things have just been going so fast and well, maybe we just need to take a step back. And also: you could be a little less clingy.

Until then, enjoy this.

*Since there is very little scripted dialogue in the performance, it feels wrong using the word "script" to its full value in terms of normal understanding. Perhaps what we have been piecing together is closer to a "running document," reflecting what goes on in the show more objectively?<--Can you tell I go to grad school? What a piece of theoretical bs. And yet: there is sense to it.

Quote of the Day

2009-06-12T01:19:00.001+01:00

Again, something I could only say while studying what I do:

"We need to talk about the dramaturgy of the spoons."

--Me, to my company regarding a pressing matter of design during rehearsal today.
Lay your fears to rest: we solved this one.

What a difference a day makes...

2009-06-03T23:47:00.005+01:00

Had a killer day--in a good way! A quick overview: met Amy Lee, grabbed coffee at Jason's stall, went over to Sir John Soane's Museum, walked up to Farringdon for some gluten-free beer, had high tea at Athenaeum, and then ended up at SHUNT for this month's D&D and some kick ass music from a band that's so new (it was only their second gig) that they didn't even have a name yet. I was worried about taking the day off completely from work, but it was so nice to have a release, and because of it (and the wisdom and reassurance gleamed from the D&D session) I feel more ready to take on the rest of this process to the end--even if it gets a little choppy along the way. Bring it, bitches.

I wish I had more time/energy to blog about specifics, but sadly, I don't. I'm hitting my bed NOW because I need the sleep, but I feel really revved up and excited for everything to come. More another time, perhaps, when I'm not passing out as I write this...

One More Time

2009-06-02T23:06:00.005+01:00

At the request of Ms. Jen Schriever, I'm throwing this up here. It's all I'll have to offer for the next few days. Please forgive the quality and general rambleness--I desperately need a vacation, and also desperately need to make up the work I neglected while doing this.

In reality though, I don't need a vacation. All I really want is a salad. Okay, and maybe also a cheeseburger. I have always been a woman of simple needs.

(Mike--if you have watched this, you will have noticed: the video is doing that thing AGAIN. What the frak is wrong?!)

Postcards from the Edge

2009-05-28T10:43:00.007+01:00

I filmed this last night, but didn't edit/post till today (obviously). It's been a long week, and if I'm not completely unconscious on Sunday, it will be a frakkin' miracle. My apologies that this is such a poor quality vlog--I was barely usable when I shot it. But trust me: you don't want to see the footage I threw out.

Pep talk from Chinaski

2009-05-25T20:33:00.004+01:00

Because sometimes you need to be reminded.

this moment

it's a farce, the great actors, the great poets, the great
statesmen, the great painters, the great composers, the
great loves,
it's a farce, a farce, a farce,
history and the recording of it,
forget it, forget it.

you must begin all over again.
throw all that out.
all of them out.

you are alone with now.

look at your fingernails.
touch your nose.

begin.

the day flings itself upon
you.

-C. Bukowski

The Long (Theatre) Weekend

2009-05-24T23:29:00.006+01:00

It's Memorial Day weekend in the States, and it's another Bank Holiday weekend in the UK. So again, I have Monday off from school--whoo hoo! I should spend the day focusing on plot/script/character development for One Thing May Lead to Another (which goes up in less than a month's time), but let's be honest and up-front: I probably won't. The most I may be able to get myself to do is read a couple chapters in my Charlie Chaplin book and call it "research." (Incidentally, that was how I justified dedicating a week's worth of free time to watch all four seasons of Jeeves and Wooster. Thank goodness British television only ever lasts 6 episodes a season, otherwise I'd be way behind.) It feels almost indulgent to be neglecting work on a day that is so open for getting some done, but what it comes down to is:

I'm frakkin' tired.

Friday was twelve-and-a-half hours of theatre making (in at 9:00, released at 21:40), that basically ended with a near twelve minute devised telling of the Oedipus story. Yes, that's right: we averaged about one minute of performance per hour in rehearsal (a number that actually doesn't seem too far fetched if you really think about it). What we ended up with was still a bit raw, and clearly in a workshopy place in aesthetic and execution, but was actually a complete performance with some interesting moments of theatricality in it. Considering the length of time we had to develop the work, I'm quite proud of what we generated. The director, psychologist, and other actors were all great to work with, as was the project's facilitator Nessah. My friends Caitlin, Heidi, Loukia and Max were in the audience on Saturday, and I was touched that they came out to support me. And Simon McBurney was there, which was pretty bemusing to me.

I got a couple hours break after the performance ended Saturday afternoon, and then headed off to rehearsal at Central. I was only going in for an hour, to really catch up with what my ensemble members had done while I was gone--they had rehearsed Friday without me, as well as earlier in the day on Saturday. I arrived, they showed me some footage of scenes they'd improvised in character, we talked a little about my character and how she needs to fit in/serve the structure of the plot (which is a place of debate and confusion for me as of late) in order to justify her existence. I'm more than a little stressed about this, but more about that some other time. Anyway, finished rehearsal, went home for a couple hours, then hit up the Camden Odeon for Angels and Demons. My recommendation: It's a pass. Majorly. Unless you're homesick for Rome. And if you're wondering: no, there was sadly no melted butter to save the experience this time, though Max and I were masters the MST3K-style commentary. (God I miss that show...)

Today, after a lame jog with Max (my fault) and banging my left knee a couple times--rather magnificently in each instance I must add--I went down to the BAC to rehearse for an "event" I'll be participating in this Thursday and Friday as part of the BURST Festival. "Event" is in quotations because the artist who conceived it described it as such today, rather than calling it a "performance." It's called Handbag Scratch. I should explain something--in the UK, a scratch is basically an evening hosted for the sake of a group of artists (most often writers) who are creating new material and want to see what works and what doesn't. The BAC is big on helping artists develop new work, and the institution hosts several "scratch night" evenings to accommodate this. (For all my NY theatre peeps out there, this would be a non-competitive version of SLAM!) So the "event" is still in development, but is pretty cute as it stands. I won't divulge the details until it's done, but I will say that the women over sixty who are participating in it make the whole thing for me. It was a quick and easy rehearsal, and we (Loukia is also performing in the "event") were out of there in just under two hours. Amazing. Then tonight I headed back to Camden for the Accidental Festival closing night party with Heidi, and now am curling up for bed.

I'm sure there's a moral to this weekend, and I probably know what it is, but I'm too out of it to write it to you now. Good night, friends.

Accidental Fest

2009-05-22T00:00:00.000+01:00

No time to update for reals (hopefully can carve out an hour or so for this over the upcoming weekend) but just to keep you abreast: tomorrow (today) I head into a twelve hour rehearsal for the Accidental Festival, 12 hours that will also generate the entire performance that will be shown on the following day from 12:30-2:30 (including a post-show talk about our process). The director has asked that I learn the two phrases for tomorrow:

"Lovely, lonely, lovely, lonely, lovely, lonely."
"I will be ruthless in my search. I am always diligent."

What does this mean? I have no idea. But: tickets are still available!

I love you all. But I wish I was asleep.

Space (the Final Frontier)!

2009-05-14T17:40:00.005+01:00

(Had to get that in there.)

My ensemble got confirmation on its space today for our site-specific work! Huzzah! It is costing us a pretty penny (pence) and will eat a chunk of our budget, but with booking in for three evenings, as well as having access to it for rehearsal time on specific nights, it really comes out as a bargain. I feel confident that now this is sorted other parts of the production will start to drop into place accordingly.

And if you're wondering: no, I still haven't written my paper. And yes, it's due tomorrow.

Right.

Another for Zuzu*

2009-05-13T18:26:00.003+01:00

Saw these shoes on a curb outside on my way home from my puppetry class last night, and they just sang to me of America and lost youth. Also of drunkeness followed by the loss of shoes. What does it say to you?

Papers and Puppets

2009-05-13T09:46:00.009+01:00

I'm posting before I start a paper I've been putting off for a bit that's due Friday. Basically, we're meant to present an outline (in 1,500 words) of how we plan to proceed as artists in our practice past graduation, and how we will prepare for that in terms of our research for our dissertation by stating what we will research, how and why. This work is also meant to contribute to our Practitioner Portfolio, wherein we talk a lot about a practitioner we like, how awesome they are, why they are awesome, and why someday we would like to be awesome like them, too. This paper would seem daunting--having to make a HUGE, almost blanket statement about "What I want to do as a grown-up artist and here is how I will do it" does seem a bit overwhelming--but it's really not. At the end of the brief, the following is stated:

"...Please note that we recognize that plans and research imperatives may change. You Scheme of Work does not commit you to following through exactly in the terms that you describe when you come to write up your portfolio..."

So: one could stress over writing 1,500 words, but since in the end one won't necessarily be held accountable for anything stated, surmised, or generally declared therein, one comes to care less. Which makes one feel more annoyed by the prospect of writing this paper than worried. Which, in turn, makes one procrastinate.

(My apologies for the "one"-ness of the last few sentences. I've been watching a lot of Jeeves and Wooster lately, and can only surmise that the source lies there.)

Last night, Ronnie Le Drew guest-lectured at my puppetry class. He came in to talk to us about marionettes, as well as his work on various projects in television, commercials, and film. At one point he mentioned having worked as Zippy in Rainbow, and everyone in the class let out excited gasps. I just stood there being American and not getting the reference. Rainbow is essentially a children's show with puppets, that seems to run in a similar vain to Captain Kangaroo, not quite Sesame Street, though I suspect meeting Ronnie for these folks would be akin to me meeting Caroll Spinney).

Ronnie has been a puppeteer his whole life since having knocked on the door of the Little Angel Theatre at 15, and I don't think there could be a better spokesperson for the lifestyle. He started by showing us some old footage of the Little Angel, then moved on to recent commercials he's done. Ronnie is especially gifted in working with marionette puppets, something he learned at Little Angel, and a rare commodity of specialization in the world of puppets today, where hand or rod puppets are most commonly seen. Below is some footage of Ronnie and a marionette he brought in, while he discusses operating it and his work on Animo, an Improbable show from a few years back (again: all roads lead back to Improbable).

Here's another video of Ronnie, talking about his audition for and working on Labyrinth. He introduced the topic by bringing out a beaver puppet (who had "lost" his tale). Having a beaver puppet myself, I took out my camera to catch the action. The reason this video starts with the sound of my raucous (and ridiculous) laughter is because the beaver saw me turning on my camera, became excited, and in full Muppet-like fashion (complete with flailing arms) squealed with excitement: "You're gonna take a PICTUUUURRRRRRREEEE???!!!"

No doubt, that little guy was cute, but fret not, Bobby: you shall always be the first in my heart.

We didn't do any hands-on yesterday, but it didn't matter--Ronnie was so entertaining and everyone loved hearing his stories. He'll be back next week, and we'll work with some marionettes then.

I'm going to end this entry quickly and abruptly--not because I'm dashing off to write a paper, but because I seem to have come down with a bit of a head cold, and I have to lie down before I fall over.

Toodlepip!

"Everything's as if we never said goodbye"

2009-05-08T21:00:00.007+01:00

Hedva, Lisa, and Maria hard at work on our devised Turbulence Festival work, One May Lead to Another.

It’s a fortnight into the third term, and the day after the conclusion of my Geektastic week. Things are moving steadily (albeit slowly) along for the festival piece, One May Lead to Another. My company members are great. They really care about the work, and definitely want to not only do this production, but do it well. For the first time in a while it’s like I’m focused on actually working to create something, and that feels good. Not that I wasn’t trying to create something last term, or even during RMO necessarily, but there’s something about actually building a piece of theatre that is satisfying in a very different way than cobbling together certain pieces of experimentation, (Stage Two) or conducting and analyzing research (RMO). It feels more propelling than either of those things, and it’s something I’ve missed for a while now←I realize as I write that, the last time I performed in a play was in May of last year (Oh my God, it has been a YEAR?! {*Succumbs to anxiety attack*}), and the last time I did a reading was in September. That’s a long time to be out of the game, silent. I’m happy to be finally diving back in.

Despite this renewed sense of theatrical creativity now eeking out of my every pore (it’s pretty disgusting, actually) I’m still making a point of filling my life with a million other little things. This is pretty typical of me, and I hope I can make a point of carving out some time to really follow through with the work that I’m setting out to do and that I want to do for this piece. This weekend I’ll be going for my traditional weekend jog with Max, getting my haircut (for the first time in months—literally, the last time I had a trim was on September 30th, the day I left for the UK the first time), seeing my course tutor in a performance, catching Handa’s Hen at the Little Angel Theatre (a perk from my puppetry class), and seeing The Spy Who Loved Me at the BFI. There’s gotta be an hour in there somewhere when I can read some Stanislavski. Right?

Theatre Design Expo

2009-05-08T09:36:00.002+01:00

My friends Max and Caitlin, both scenographers on the MA-ATP, were showing off their work at Central's Design Expo yesterday. It was a really nice event to attend, as it highlighted an aspect of theatre that doesn't get nearly as much note as it should. Let's face it: if you didn't direct something, act in something, or write something, most people outside of the world of performing art don't have a clue all the things that are taken into account when doing all of those other jobs that make a piece of theatre happen (although, it could be argued--and fairly--that those people also don't really know what it is to direct, act, or write either...). As an actor, I'm just as guilty of having little knowledge of how a designer does their job and what they try to explore while doing it, and it was a real treat to see so many examples of the process and product designers at Central had created all in one place, to allow for closer examination of those aspects the majority of the theatre-going world often takes for granted, not excluding myself.

Both Caitlin and Max showed parts of their Narcissus and Echo project, and Caitlin, who had worked on Stage Two Practice in the same ensemble I was in, showed off a lot of pictures of myself and Ronan and the infamous Perspex. It looked pretty shrine-like to me, and I took a picture to feed my ego.

Seriously, though: a couple candles and it would be complete. I wonder if a designer's narcissism is anywhere near an actor's...

No, that's impossible. Now there's something designers will never understand about acting.

Week of Geek

2009-05-07T22:14:00.006+01:00

The Geektastic week has finally come to a close. That there’s a picture of eyes we used to practice our focus skills at my puppetry class last week. I hadn’t had a chance to post it earlier, but I wanted to make sure I got it up there. I don’t think puppetry has a reputation of being “geeky” necessarily, but it is a performance convention that tends to attract a large audience of people with very specialized knowledge of the topic, which links somehow to my idea of geekdom. Perhaps Simon Pegg has said it best:

“Geek is just a dirty word for enthusiast.”

In any case, it’s cool image, and so I posted it. So there!

Wednesday was the second (or first, if you really can’t get behind the puppetry argument) day of my Geektastic week, wherein NASH went out to see Wolverine together in the afternoon. This was an especially cathartic thing for me, as it was a few hours after having finished my conference presentation and was meant to be majorly de-stressing. Max melted butter and brought it in a plastic container to pour on our popcorn, as the British movie theaters don’t seem to have caught on to the trend of pouring melted butter—A LOT of melted butter—onto your movie popcorn and the goodness that comes with such gluttony. To any British readers, this will seem absurd (and to my mother, a health nut, this will seem especially disgusting), but to any warm-blooded American reading this, you will understand the necessity of “liquid gold,” as Heidi has coined it, on popcorn in a movie theater situation, just as you will understand the necessity of KFCs to offer biscuits and mashed potatoes with gravy! But there was Max, showing off that American ingenuity: making things happen when otherwise they wouldn’t.

What a shame the movie was so bad.

I won’t go into it, just in case there are people who are actually looking forward to seeing it, but it definitely took a lot of liberties, the dialogue was WAY hokey at times, and some things just did not make sense. The movie also could not stand alone in any way, and was totally dependent on the other X-Men movies' existence in order to justify it at all--thus leading me to believe that this would have made a fine DVD extra, but why pay 8GBP for it? At least there was butter and Hugh Jackman's upper torso, and the understanding that I am through with research conference presentations, hopefully forever.

But Three Mile Island? Come on!

Friday marked the second event of my geek-themed week, wherein I caught the London run of Waiting for Godot, a production currently touring England with a pretty ridiculous cast in tow. Simon Callow is a gem as Pozzo, but the reason this production supports the theme of the week is because the two leads, Didi and Gogo were played by none other than Professor X and Magneto respectively. Oh that's right: Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen together, on stage, playing off eachother's antics. This was a geeky experience two-fold. For obvious reasons, this is comic book geeky, given these actors' portrayal of two of the most iconic comic characters in the Marvel Universe. Secondly, it was theatrically geeky: here were two of the greatest actors of their generation, foundation stones of the RSC's reputation, and artists who I've not only dreamed about working with but about being on some level (yes, sometimes I think about being a man--but only for all of the parts!). Seeing them doing their work live, and sharing the stage, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I'm so thankful I had it.

"How do we act so well?"

Tuesday of this week brought another puppetry class. Again, not necessarily falling into the definition of "mainstream geek," but in keeping with my earlier paragraph, I'm highlighting it again. That evening I worked with three other students to create a praying mantis-like puppet named Albert out of newspaper. Albert was pretty awesome, and if I can get my hands on some of the pictures taken of him, I'll throw some up here post-haste.

The final day of the Week of Geek took place today at midnight. Heidi and I headed down to Southbank to see Star Trek at the BFI IMAX. If you're wondering, yes: there was melted butter brought into the theater. But this time, our condiment didn't have to salvage the experience: the movie was AWESOME. Good writing, good acting, good design, nice special effects (although the vastness of the IMAX screen made some of the battle sequences too overwhelming to really understand visually). I had been really worried that it would suck, as JJ Abrams had admitted to not really being a fan of the show in an interview at some point, and that the writers on the project had no Trek lineage: neither of them had written for any of the franchise's many series. But it turned out great, and they built something into the narrative (no spoilers here!) that essentially cleaned the slate for them completely, thus reviving the timeline. I've heard some fans were upset about the goodness of the movie, because the film was actually able to make this story appealing to a mainstream audience, an audience that didn't need the "privileged" knowledge to understand what was going on in the film. I see their point, but I do think it's kind of ridiculous: at the end of the day, the chance of being able to talk about Star Trek to more people and not be openly mocked, and being able to share with people a mythology that is so dear to my heart is more valuable to me than being a keeper of knowledge. Also, there's a greater chance that this will revive the franchise, and with that will come more films and possibly more television shows, and perhaps, someday, if I'm a good girl and if I work very hard and hold on tight to my dreams, I will finally fulfill that childhood goal of being in an episode of Star Trek. Patrick Stewart doesn't even have to be on set, I just want to say that I've done that. Overall, this movie is great fun for anyone with an imagination and I highly recommend it, and not solely because of its Trek-based merits. And it was a great and appropriate way to end the week.

Bank Holiday

2009-05-04T08:58:00.005+01:00

Disillusioned with only being offered a "place at the table," many of the knights left Arthur's employ to follow Merlin, who offered not only magic, but viable real estate opportunities.

The above is something else I passed by during my journey on foot to my puppetry class last week.

It's Early May Bank Holiday here in England, which essentially equates to America's Labor Day. Meaning: I have the day off! w00t! If I had a back yard, I'd be getting ready to grill and drink the day away with friends over games of badminton while Bruce Springsteen played in the background. Alas, this is not to be. But considering the work my company and I have in front of us for the next month, I am looking forward to having a day where I can get some reading done to prepare for this onslaught of devised theatre. So today is all about me, outside, in the sunshine...with a book.

I haven't been updating too much lately as I've been having a geektastic week, and it's not over yet. I will submit a report in full, probably on this coming Thursday. Till then, you'll just have to sit on your hands and wait.

I just found out the other day that Zuzu* will be coming to town the first week of June. I'm excited to show her around the city, mostly to use her as an excuse to do even more touristy things I've been meaning to get to but have neglected. This news also came on the same day my mother e-mailed me to tell me she wasn't going to Paris this coming weekend for business as originally planned, where I was meant to visit her (damn swine flu). So it was nice to have that disappointment replaced with something to look forward to for next month.

Before I head out into the world, I just want to give a nod to my two new followers: hello, and welcome! It's lovely to see you here! Do drop by often!

This one's for Zuzu*.

2009-04-28T23:00:00.006+01:00

Saw this on the way to my puppetry class.

Anyone looking to rent an angel?

The Flashband

2009-04-27T23:35:00.005+01:00

Here's the video I edited this evening of all those beat experiments my research group did. We'll be showing it as part of our conference presentation. Never mind me--the real star of this is my friend Lisa, who is pretty much a genius.

If you're lucky, someday I'll explain what this is all about.

Accidental Art

2009-04-27T17:03:00.007+01:00

As mentioned about a month ago, I'll be a participating artist in the Accidental Festival, a joint venture between the Roundhouse and CSSD. The piece I'm involved in is called Accidental Art, and will be generated in a twelve hour rehearsal the day before we perform it (similar in vein to the 24 hour play format that's become so popular over the past few years). So I literally can't tell you anything about what it will be about because: I don't know yet.

If you'll be in London on the 23rd, go here for tickets.

Wisdom from someone who knows more than I do.

2009-04-26T00:07:00.000+01:00

I grabbed this quote to use for my paper, but ended up passing it off to a friend instead. Still, I liked it an awful lot, so I'm posting it here.

"One can say that a true artist is always ready to make any number of sacrifices in order to reach a moment of creativity. The mediocre artist prefers not to take risks, which is why he in conventional. Everything that is conventional, everything that is mediocre, is linked to this fear. The conventional actor puts a seal on his work, and sealing is a defensive act. To protect oneself, one 'builds' and one 'seals'. To open oneself, one must knock down the walls."

-Peter Brook, There Are No Secrets: Thoughts on Acting and Theatre

Pictures for Sad Children

2009-04-25T21:11:00.003+01:00

I clearly suck at staying off the Internet. Clearly, I suck at this.

Also: I hate Power Point.

The descent into madness is a road laid with paper.

2009-04-25T10:41:00.003+01:00

I am under self-imposed house arrest and Internet quarantine (so difficult!) to finish my school work this weekend. I have a paper due Monday, and the research presentation is next Wednesday, and as well as just being behind generally, I have to cobble together a power point, provided meaningful feedback to my group members' work, and finish editing a video I don't have all of the footage for and in a program I'm pretty sure is corrupted somehow (despite all the help I received at the Apple Store on Regent Street from a certain Genius, it's still not working properly). To keep from despairing completely, I did give myself the morning off and watched all of the videos here to occupy my time, as I'd already seen the Ricky Gervais video podcast touching on it previous (which is hilarious). I'm going out to the farmer's market briefly to buy supplies for this encampment, but could any kind soul please check in with me on Monday at least? Just to make sure I'm still alive...

Mankind is No Island

2009-04-23T23:49:00.005+01:00

My friend Mauro shared with me this video today. It's a short film (another favorite cinematic genre), an award winner, and was made for a total budget of $57, using camera phones as the only means of shooting. Pretty much a brilliant and affective piece of art, and if I don't someday have that song on my iPod, I may be a lesser woman for it.

Mauro thought of me after seeing it, having remembered my fascination with the homeless. The word "fascination" doesn't sit right with me, but I struggle with an appropriate adjective to really capture how I feel about this section of society. Being "fascinated by the homeless" leaves one with the mental image of a person walking down the street, coming across a someone begging, pointing at them and yelling, "OOOOooooohhhh! A homeless person! Look! Look! How fascinating!"

That's not it.

When I lived in New York, I saw my fair share of homeless people. Anyone who's visited that city can tell you, it's pretty much part of the experience of the place. There they were, every day: on the train platform headed to work, in the subway car I sat in, in the station that I changed at, at the corner before I got to my building. I once had to step over a man passed out on the ground to get where I was going, and to this day I still wonder if maybe he was dead. All of these bodies, littering the streets: in New York, you sometimes stop thinking you are surrounded by people, and start only seeing bodies. (And when you start seeing the bodies as sheep, then maybe you need to quit your job as an MTA employee.)

I used to journal every day on the subway, mostly during my near-hour commute each way, to and from work. Several of my entries mention, touch-on, or solely occupy themselves with the homeless person I happened the encounter during that ride. Sometimes I sketched them, taking pains to note how their spines were shaped in a seat, or how their facial features were laid out. Sometimes what struck me were their voices. I watched one man over a period of about three months totally alter. He had a voice like a sideshow barker, and his clothing went from a wrinkled-but-tailored suit, to sweats. He would ask for food or money, and would end several of these calls for assistance with, "even a penny!" One day near Christmas in 2006, I remember seeing him on the train I was riding, when someone offered him a candy bar. He yelled (barked) at the person for giving him a "piece of crap," complaining how he needed a piece of fruit or something healthy. It was our fault he didn't have a proper diet. He still took the candy bar.

What struck me most of the time, and what I have most frequently recorded, is dialogue. Things you'd never imagine could come out of a human's mouth--certainly not out of your mouth--you hear from the homeless and desperate. Once a woman (high or coming down, or something) came onto the train I was riding and was near tears begging for help, for money, and she just kept repeating, "It's all my fault. I know it's all my fault." It felt like she was pleading with us while she confessed this, but we couldn't save her, not in the way she really needed to be saved anyway.

I am deathly afraid of becoming homeless someday. It's one of my top anxieties about life, alongside being completely alone and pissing away my potential. And both of those fears somehow correspond to the fear of homelessness in my mind: piss away your potential and fail at life, and you'll become homeless; a large part of being homeless is being completely isolated and alone, sometimes even from yourself. And I think the number one reason people turn away when they see someone on the street, or turn up their iPod, or pretends to be asleep, or is thankful that their sunglasses are dark enough that their eyes don't show through them when someone comes by with a paper cup on the subway, is because the homeless serve as a reminder to us that yes: this does happen; and yes: it could happen to you.

There are less homeless people to be found in London. I won't make the claim that there are less homeless, but there are less to be found--you don't see them nearly as frequently as you do in New York. London comes off, by and large, as a "cleaner" city, even if at times you can't find a trash bin if your life depended on it. Consequently, none of my journals since October mention any homeless people at all. Yet still the fear remains: I was walking to the tube from school the other day and passed a girl seated on the sidewalk, coat over her legs, holding a paper cup. She was had my color hair, my hair length, and looked about my age. And it shook me. I always figured I'd get around to making some piece of art about all of it someday--that I'd write a play about a homeless man, or that I'd play a homeless woman, that I would somehow examine that way of life that terrifies me. It hasn't happened yet.

I'm not an activist. I'm just an artist. While some people identify themselves as both, or feel it's part of their responsibility by identifying with the latter to fulfil some promise of the former, I have never really felt morally obligated to make people feel one way or the other about anything. To me it was just always more important to try to present something as honest as possible, and to just get people to feel, period, which can sometimes be a hard enough job in it of itself. As a society, we tend to dull ourselves a little bit (or more than a little bit) just to get by. I don't want to make up some one's mind about something, but I would like them to think. This film affected me that way. I don't believe I'll go out and help out a soup kitchen, but I may. In the meanwhile, I'm thinking again. That has to count for something.

And a Happy Bardday to you!

2009-04-23T10:40:00.004+01:00

Not only is today St. George's Day, the celebration of the patron saint of England who is accredited with killing the last dragon (though why one would celebrate the man who is guilty of killing the last dragon is beyond me), it is also the day that people commemorate Shakespeare's birthday.

We don't actually know when Shakespeare was born, just when he was baptised and when he died (the latter also taking place on this date in 1616), but the 23rd is a good estimation, given the date of the recorded baptism, of the date that he may have been born on. So crank your hurdy gurdy, sponsor a bear baiting, and dance a jig in the street with a pint of ale in your hand whilst reciting a sonnet! Huzzah for Shakespeare!

(NOTE: I was kidding about the bear baiting. That stuff's pretty awful. The Elizabethans were hardcore.)

Just a reminder of the kind of mind you're dealing with...

2009-04-21T16:51:00.004+01:00

From my journal today. It struck me as humorous for some reason, so I post it here for you. Enjoy.

Had strange dreams [last night]. Can't remember all of them. In one I went to go see Tommy Sparks, but his show ended up being weird--more like a piece of musical theatre than anything else. And he had a woman singing/dancing/performing with him, who seemed like a lesbian to me. It was being done in a space similar to the Hoxton, but they were performing on the floor. And I was with some people, and we were sitting at a table, and suddenly Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie walked in. The paparazzi swarmed them, and they smiled these plastic smiles (they looked REALLY fake--artificial--honestly) and Angelina walked off. And for some reason Brad Pitt came and sat with us. I was in shock, and hoped one of the boys I was with would offer to buy him a drink. He turned to me and asked me, "What's your poison?" I said vodka gimlet--which is not true, that's Heidi's drink, not mine. And he said, "Well," and gestured to the bar, like, it's all yours sweetie, whatever you want. I walked to the bar* and tried to order a drink, but the bartenders wouldn't listen to me--they just stared at my chest (I was wearing something low cut). When I put my hand over my clevege, they looked right into my face like nothing had happened. I removed my hand, their eyes returned, put my hand back, they looked me in the face again. I yelled at them, "Brad Pitt wants to buy me a drink, so make me a Glenlivet!"<--which was of course, not the drink I had originally told Brad Pitt about.

Very strange, I know.

I dreamt some other stuff, too, but I can't remember any more now.

*In retrospect, Brad Pitt was not much of a gentleman, since he sent me to get my own drink, and into such a pack of wolves.

The 4-1-1 on the last couple of weeks.

2009-04-19T16:48:00.000+01:00

Yes, yes: the prodigal son has returned. This is going to be a quickie entry, that will hopefully cover a lot of ground very fast. Here we go:

I went back to the hat exhibit with Lisa, and bought some embroidery patterns by a whimsical Austin-based company. My antics with Herman have sparked the crafting bug in me, and I intend to get through a set of napkins and place mats and set them aside for my next friend that I hear is moving into an apartment. This sounds like something my mother would do, and to come to this place of pre-domesticity (buying/preparing gifts in advance of a recipient) causes me to wonder about myself. In the meanwhile: I LOVE embroidering.

I finished The Wire, and while it did not alight my heart the way BSG did for so many years, that was some DAMN GOOD television. I have also started in on Brotherhood, an attempt by Showtime to blend the themes of both The Sopranos and The Wire, and have begun to wonder: are there any good American male TV actors out there? The brothers concerned on Brotherhood are playing men who grew up in a working class Irish family in Providence, R.I., but the roles have been filled by an Englishman and an Australian. The Wire's lead was British, as was one of it's key supporting players for three seasons. And this phenomenon is present in a crap load of other shows out there. Seriously, what is the deal? What do these actors have that American actors do not? Are they cheaper? Are they better trained? Or do they just happen to be right for the part? I ponder this.

I signed up for a puppetry class at the Little Angel Theatre. I am excited and also scared, but mostly excited.

Spent a Saturday evening at the BFI, at a self-imposed double feature of French New Wave (my favorite genre of foreign cinema). Saw Et Dieu...crea la femme, and Bob le Flambeur, the first foreign film at saw the art house cinema I used to frequent in Pennsylvania which, like The Maltese Falcon, is a movie I will always go out of my way to see on the big screen. Have decided I need to dress like Brigitte Bardot. But perhaps *with* a bra.

On Easter, my parents came into town, and we covered a LOT of ground. A short list of what we did:

Visited the Tower of London
Strolled outside in Whitehall
Saw War Horse (which was great)
Visited Windsor Castle
Visited Stonehenge (less impressive than you'd think)
Visited the Roman Baths...in Bath
As a family, picked out a flask for my father
Bought me my first pair of Converse (which I'm still getting used too--a pair of shoes has never made me feel so young in my entire life)
Got coffee at Jason's stall Wednesday morning, before their flight

It was a nice visit that was just long enough, I think, and I enjoyed seeing them after so many months.

I helped another RMO group with their research. They were looking at the different work involved in film acting and stage acting. They wrote a script, and the first day we worked they filmed our dialogue, and then the second day they had us perform in front of an audience. The screen acting was H-A-R-D: I haven't been thrown like that in a long time, and I felt just awful about it. I had no idea what I was doing with my body in terms of continuity, and felt like I had no time to prepare, couldn't set any choices about movement that would affect editing, etc. It was crazy, and I was way off my game. And it made me hungry to do it right. After this overload with American TV via iTunes, all I keep thinking about is how badly I've wanted to do television work for so long, but always wrote it off: I'm too fat/not pretty enough for film. Those have always been the chief reasons/excuses to not bother about it. But for the first time in a long time, I did something wrong and wanted to get it right. I don't expect a career change anytime soon, but certainly I have a broader focus that I did before, and there's always a benefit in that.

Have decided to try to build a puppet of a coot, my favorite waterfowl I continually encounter during my jogs through Regent's Park. They have the strangest feet, and make a noise akin to a bicycle horn. Yes, yes: these birds are for me!

We performed again at The Great Orchidaceous Travesty, and now are gearing up for our major research presentation that's scheduled about a week from now.

Work continues on The One Thing May Lead to Another in discussion over a blog we built. Once RMO presentations are done, we'll probably jump into this, head first. But for now, we are strictly in development, throwing around ideas and suggestions for exercises. We don't have a director on this piece, and I admit that this makes me nervous. But so far everyone has been focused and enthusiastic about what we could create, and that's been good.

Also: lots of introspection going on. But let's save that for another entry, shall we?

Recall

2009-04-16T18:29:00.003+01:00

Returning to New York is back on the table as a seriously viable option. I may be ice fishing come winter 2010, but NYC is definitely back in the running as a choice of home post-third term in the UK.

A greater update on all of my activities soon.

Love B.C.

2009-04-09T16:09:00.004+01:00

The quality is bad, but here is the result of the Barbican workshop. If anyone knows how to adjust this, I would appreciate the help.

Herman is so cute.

And how are you feeling today?

2009-04-08T11:43:00.003+01:00

Is the possibility of change ever so huge and daunting that you find yourself clinging to things so hard--things that may not even exist anymore--and that by putting all of your energy into holding on, you find it difficult to get through your day-to-day because you're otherwise completely spent?

Yeah. That's where I am right now. Somewhere in the middle of my own grasping fist.

Easter Holidays: Week 2

2009-04-05T21:41:00.010+01:00

Another pretty full week, though this one mostly of fun and friends. Which was a nice change. I did put in two days of transcription for the school, taking the whole ten hours I was scheduled to work to type up and format a 56 minute long round table discussion that had been held at Central in January about developing new work. Considering it's usually an average of 3-4 hours to type an hour's worth of material, my average is pretty pathetic. That being said, it's really hard work to do because people don't speak the way they write. How do you punctuate modern speech so full of waffling? And you sit for HOURS at a time. My friend Abby has her own business providing transcription services, and bless her little heart: I don't know how she does it. The topic was interesting, it's true, but the action was tedious and boring. Which is probably another reason why it was so hard to get through. Also: theatre people are long winded and they talk Really Fast, which I am certain added to the sheer amount of text to type out. But I'll stop defending myself now and move on...

WEDNESDAY

Max, Amy and I headed over to SHUNT for a quiet session of D&D, the first session I've caught this year since the weekend-long event in January. Even though attendence was low, the old Open Space Technology motto of "Whoever comes are the right people," still rang true, and I attended a conversation about the ups and downs of being devoted to a 400 year old play, as well as hosting a conversation concerning where one could find affordable rehearsal space in this city. Both were delightful. One of the most notable parts of the evening was meeting an alumnis of the course I'm on. While this is just generally good and interesting all on its own, I was initially drawn to her by the jumper she was wearing, a creation of her own design and knit-loving hands. It was genius, and you can find it and her blog here. I want one, but I don't know if I could wait 14 months for it. Or learn how to knit that well in that time, either.

THURSDAY

I headed out to Bethnal Green with the majority of my RMO group and one stand in (Elizabeth Gibbs for Ronan), to attend and perform at The Great Orchidaceous Travesty! I expressed a bit ago the sentiment of being nervous about what would happen at the event, but all went well and I look forward to returning on the 16th to repeat the performance. My group-mates and I wore hats:

There's Lisa and I, attired as such. You can see I really went for the beatneck look, influenced by the French poets/mimes of the 50's and 60's. Maria went for something a little more European:

Oh, the Greeks.

The other acts on that evening were so spectacularly avant-garde and artsy (save an adorable and hilarious guitarist named Tom McDonnell who played a set akin to the wares of Flight of the Conchords, and who may draw me back to the Great OT this Thursday, just to hear his set again), that no one really noticed us when were were doing ours. We got a couple backwards glances from people seated nearby, but for the most part we were left alone, and that was perfect. The nature of our act is not to "perform" for an audience, but to simply express what we feel in a space, and so we just did that without worrying about being entertaining. So it worked out devinely.

"O I am out of breath from doing this monolgue again..."

FRIDAY

I spent nearly the entire weekend at the Barbican, starting with Friday, when I caught Romeo Castellucci's Inferno there. It was the first in his trilogy of work running through the 9th, taking it's inspiration from Dante's Divine Comedy works. It was aesthetically asserting, hyper-theatrical in its staging and effect, and was a really pretty piece of theatre in its use of scale and spectacle. If you asked me what it was about, however, my answer would be vague and non-commital. It was very European, in that it was high in aesthtic quality, but didn't necessarily strive for...a point. But that's alright, because it was *real* pretty, and I got to see a fellow classmate of mine onstage as one of the chorus of volunteers they recruited for the show. And the opening sequence to the piece can't be beat: a man walked on stage, said, "I am Romeo Castellucci," and was then fitted with a suit while 8-10 German shephards were led onto stage, and then chained in place along the apron. Castellucci waited while the dogs began to bark, becoming louder and more frenzied. Suddenly, a dog runs on from stage right, and grabs Castellucci's inner thigh with his jaw. Another follows and grabs his arm, then another which gets his shoulders. The dogs (aided by Castellucci) are able to rotate him in place on stage, and then are called off. Oh yes: My name is Romeo Castellucci, and I am about to have myself mauled by dogs for the sake of performance. Pretty crazy, but also a little more than awesome. Now that's a risk, people!

SATURDAY

"I've got a new way to walk--Walk! Walk!"

Day 2 of the weekend at the Barbican was really more of a walk-by. Thanks to Time Out London, I had a few walks I had wanted to try over parts of the city I hadn't seen yet. I chose a wander around the financial district, and was joined by Max, Amy, and Caitlin. Now, since it was a Saturday, and we were in the financial district, there was literally nothing open, which was very disappointing and made me wish I'd picked a different walk. We diverged at one point to stop for food near the already closing Borough Market, and ended up at The George, to drinks of stale, awful beer, a long line with cutters, and two packets of crisps. It was a horrible place and I will never return to it again. You know a place is bad when all of your complaints are ones your mother would make: "It's so dank in here and smells like mildew! I waited in line for fifteen minutes, and kept getting cut by people who just shoved their way up to the bar! It was like, 'Hello? Haven't you seen me standing here for the past ten minutes? Make them wait!'"

(Seriously, my mom sounds just like that sometimes. And that was the whole monologue running in my head while we were there. Another reason to never go back: I will, without a doubt, turn into my mother.)

We got back on the vaguely established trail (thank you for nothing, Time Out London) set down in the magazine. Max got caught behind some bars:

And we also found this really racist street:

When the walk came to an uneventful close, we tubed ourselves out to Paddington and ate well-deserved Indian food. It was a full day, and we were exhausted by the time we sat down to dinner. The sights along the walk may have been uninspiring, but it was still nice to be outside on such a pleasant day, meandering with friends.

But screw The George: that place is awful.

SUNDAY

"Everything I know about eyebrows I learned from Gromit."

Today was my favorite day at the Barbican out of the whole weekend. I went to a two hour workshop on plasticine animation (claymation, for the majority of the US citizens reading this) for adults. It wasn't terribly in-depth, and I'm glad I knew a little something about the form thanks to this book, and this video I watched this morning. But it was still so fun. Being a stop-motion animator still ranks up there as one of the jobs I'd love to have if I wasn't an actor, and occasionally trades off for the top slot on that list, traditionally held by "Being a Muppeteer."

(But only on occasion. The Jim Henson Company can have my soul if it wants it.)

So today I got to pretend that I worked for Aardman, built my own figure, and animated it using Mac software (God bless you, Macintosh), a video camera (I need one of those), and a partner (a fine architect student from Spain named Isabel). Together, Isabel and I crafted a dinosaur romance. The pictures below chronicle the phases of my own dinosaur, Herman.

First, I made the basic form for the body using polystyrene (Styrofoam) for the body, aluminum wires for the legs, arms, and neck, and one of those faux, practice golf balls for the head.
(NOTE: the holes became problematic later, and I would use more polystyrene instead if I had my way.)

Next, I started to cover the polystyrene with plasticine (clay). You build a model and cover it with clay, rather than making the model clay all the way through for a couple reasons. Firstly, the clay gets heavy if you use that much, making the model cumbersome to move. It also retains the figure's shape better, and eases the fluidity of motion. It also helps in terms of continuity: with a skeletal structure in place, an arm won't suddenly become shorter if you bend it and then bend it back.
In this picture you can see I've also hot glued the aluminum wire into place--the holes had gotten too large, and the legs were moving too much or slipping out, so I had to secure them.

Here's a shot of me continuing to cover the rest of the skeletal frame with clay.

Finish the head, a few other detail touches, and voila! Herman!

Here he is with his lady love just in the background.

Oh, but they are quite the pair!

Just an overview of our workspace, with some of the animation pieces we used.

We filmed last in the workshop, and consequently were rushed, and I'm not totally 100% pleased with our finished product. But for the amount of time we actually had to work on it, it's really not bad. The short should be up on the Barbican website sometime this week (the others looked really great, too, I must say, as many of the attendees looked to be art/former art students) and we're supposed to be getting our individual clips e-mailed to us. I'll post it if it comes in. This workshop was so much fun, and makes me want to become an animator again. Oh, if only there was enough time and money to stay in school forever...

To complete the plasticine themed day, Caitlin and I caught "Dark Dreams in Plasticine," a series of plasticine animated shorts from a bunch of different artists, all of them subversive or scary or simply disturbing. The most eerie films were by a man named Robert Morgan, who makes me want to drink myself to sleep, simply because I don't know how I'll be able to get to bed without one this evening. Very Brothers Quay. Also represented were the bolexbrothers and Suzie Templeton, people I hadn't heard of before but enjoyed. There was also a short featuring Sir Ian MacKellen voicing crow. Very strange indeed. Not your typical idea of a grand day out, but great exposure to using this art form to show a less cuddly side of the world. I quite liked it.

That's all there is to report for this week. Though in other news, I think I'm swearing off men for awhile. At least ridiculous ones. But it's alright: I have Herman to comfort me.

"Keep on running/Keep on running/There's no place like home/There's no place like home"

2009-04-03T13:14:00.003+01:00

Okay, decision has been made: I'm gonna try and stick it out.

But there WILL be a visit to the states sometime in the fall. Because otherwise I think I'll just burst.

Thanks for all the friendly input on this one, guys. Please visit if you can. It gets lonesome in all the fog coming in from the Thames.

Okay, but seriously now: To Stay, or To Go?

2009-03-31T23:02:00.005+01:00

Okay, let us speak plainly. I've come to a crossroads, and I'm not sure what road to take.

In one direction: Democracy, friends, Central Park, 24-hr. mass transit, Comedy Central programing on a timely basis, and *REAL* bagels. Also in this direction are the personal demons, the baggage, the shitty winters, and fucking hipsters (FUCK. YOU. HIPSTERS.<--My hatred has only grown since my time away.). Not to mention the fare hikes that will cost the monthly Metrocard user $103 every thirty days to re-up. It makes you wish there really were MTA Service Specialists. My friend Jenna said it best, I think: "But seriously, for $103 a month I want someone to give me pretzels."

Now, in the other direction lies buildings low enough to see stars at night, culturecultureculture, easy access to Europe, fried fish (I am a sucker for fried food), the best coffee I've ever had (Jason: I love you), and a government that funds its art scene. But this direction has its downfalls, too: A subway system that closes down at midnight, sidewalks that are too narrow with ne'er a trash bin to be found, KFCs that don't have mashed potatoes or biscuits, OR extra-crispy chicken (What is the *point* then?), and fewer friends--still lovely, but small in numbers.

And then there's the whole visa thing.

As I've noted before, I can't work in this country as an actress under my student visa.

Wait. Back up. Let's re-phrase that:

I can't work for MONEY in this country as an actress under my student visa. I know what you'll say:

YOU:
Well, then get another visa!

To which I will respond:

ME:
It's not that easy.

You see, to claim another visa as a "post-study worker," I would need a total of 75 points on my application to be eligible for consideration, not to mention that teensy processing fee of 800GBP. Oh but yes. If you consider that sum at the highest and lowest I've seen the exchange rate since starting out on this little venture, that's anywhere between $1,680 and $1,096 (currently, it would come to $1,146.11). Here's what the UK Border Agency has to say about eligibility:

To apply under our points-based system and be accepted into the post-study worker category, you must pass a points-based assessment.

You must score:

75 points for your attributes, which are a United Kingdom qualification, study at a United Kingdom institution, your immigration status during United Kingdom study and/or research, and the date of award of the qualification; and
10 points for English language; and
10 points for available maintenance (funds)

The whole thing is daunting, and reeks of impossibility. But more than that: it smells like adulthood. What? Actually working for something over long term suffering and sacrifice? Seriously? Don't you know I'm an only child? I'm not into that.

But aside this being a hard process, and therefore unappealing, even after spending the money, getting a job that will help me gather the funds to prove that I can support myself to the border officials, there is still a chance that I will be rejected. And it looks like I can't actually apply until I have my MA documentation--which will not exist until December. So post Germany, I'll have at least four months of doing other things besides trying to pursue acting as my sole career, and if anything does come up I won't be able to take it if there's pay involved, because legally I can't receive any. And quite frankly, I've already done this.

The big reason to get the MA--the HUGE one--was to feel like a legitimate actor. Much of this has to do with what I always saw being the difference between myself and the actors I caught in major regional theatre productions: they had MAs or MFAs, and I did not. I once asked a former colleague of mine to see if she could get me an audition for such a gig, and she told me flat out that I had no chance of getting seen because they were only going to call in people with masters degrees. So from the time I was young (about the 11th grade), I always knew that getting an MA or an MFA was a must, because those were the kind of houses I wanted to play in, and that was the kind of money I wanted to make. Let us forget for a moment that much more of a theatre practitioner's life, particularly an actor's, is left to chance, more so than most any other occupation. So let us not waste time debating the finer points of this argument by citing (as we all can) our *one* friend who made it big on nothing more than a BA or a couple classes at the Neighborhood Playhouse. Let us simply acknowledge this as an established convention of casting, and move on. So you see, to me a huge part of what I wanted for my career involved working in specific houses across the country, with specific reputations. And these places also meant a specific perk: a paycheck.

Now, don't get me wrong: unpaid acting is still acting if you're putting the work in. I've done a lot of it, seen a lot of unpaid performances, and have a lot of friends who do it, and I know this to be true. But it's not what I want, not for my career, and not for my life, and gaining an MA was a step to leaving that part of the industry, only to return when between paying gigs or to fulfill an artistic desire. The wisest man I ever knew once told me:

THE WISEST MAN EVER:

Lea, don't be a drama slut, be a drama whore. Whores get paid.

Basically his advice was, if it pays nothing but it gives you something for your soul, than it's worth it; if it pays you a lot, and gives you nothing for your soul, except a chance to fulfil it at another time because you'll be able to support yourself for a little while, then it's worth it. But if you're not getting either of these two compensations, turn around and Run in the other direction.

I've been through the ringer. I've done a lot of theatre that gave me nothing in return except a few embittered jokes and another credit on my resume. I've had my soul ripped out and built up again and again. I won't dwell on this too long, because every actor has known pain, and everyone who has had to sit and listen to them ramble on about their pain is almost instantly bored. But I got into a rut in New York that I couldn't shake, and a large reason for the change in scenery was to get out of it--and also to try to take steps to live a little more like a whore, in the monetary sense.

So here I am, sitting next to big change, on the brink of something I have no understanding of, and because of legal reasons I'm at the exact same place I was in New York. Now, there are a couple budding artistic relationships that might be good to see through here--partly because of the work that could be generated within those relationships, and partly because of my sheer enjoyment of working with those people. And so the soul has the potential to be paid. But sitting around, generating work that would possibly have to transfer to New York to ever see the light of day with me making any bank on it--it just doesn't quite work for me. Maybe I'm too impatient. But at twenty-four and a half, I already feel too old to pussy-foot about. I'll be the first to identify that statement as concerning myself and not anybody else. But as it is my life, and as it is how I feel about it, I can't shake the feeling that that many months without having some prospect of paid work, not even an opportunity, is exactly what I don't want. And I don't think pushing a piece of chalk around the drawing board of new work is going to cut it for me.

This sudden state of crisis that I've come to with all of this was brought on by Spotlight. Months in advance of publication, Spotlight gathers its clients information, headshots, and money, in order to print a large book listing all the registered actors in the UK. And there are a lot of us. I received a notice in the mail the other day informing me that to make it into the Actresses book that would be published in October, I would have to confirm by the last week in April. The books last for a year. If I spent the money--to me it's an investment--then that is like saying I am going to try to get a new visa and stay here through October 2010, the cost and potential agony be damned! But the unknown is frightening, and not *completely* appealing, I might add. And in truth: I don't know if I want to stay.

London is fine. It's great. But I miss my friends, I miss the grid system, and I miss REAL pizza (and again, *bagels*). Maybe it's just homesickness, but this not knowing when I'll return makes it hard to decide if I should stay, too. Though in truth--New York is just as much an unknown as London is in some ways. I have nothing to go back to: not a serious job prospect, not an apartment, not even a boyfriend or some kind of distant lover I could finally culminate things with and settle down with accordingly. I don't have those things here, either, but at least in America there's already a chance I could get paid acting work, and my accent wouldn't be working against me: one of the other Americans at the ADR work I booked the other day told me that many American actors were over here hiding their accents because they wouldn't be seen for British roles if the director knew they were American. That is a stressful prospect. But it's not worth stressing about, if you can't even get an audition because of your "alien" status.

I have a bet running with a certain someone regarding the date of my return, and if I headed back before March 2010, I'd lose it. The consequences aren't entirely unpleasant, but I'm not looking forward to what awaits me if I fail. Also: I hate losing. HATE IT. But to stay in a place simply out of stubbornness over a bet seems ridiculous, and further highlights the most important part of this decision: that whatever I end up choosing, must be my choice, and not something I submitted to or felt I should do, or whatever. And once I've made that choice, I have to commit to getting it done. If it means trying to stay here, then that's what I do: I work to stay here. If it means going back to the states, then it is with the understanding that I am going to make some large changes in my life, and that I will not return to the way I was running shop before (which was fine and all, but not nearly pro-active enough).

Either direction is hard to walk in. Now it's just a matter of knowing where to aim the first step.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

2009-03-31T18:23:00.003+01:00

Get your own Poll!

I could use some help. Feel free to cast your vote. Details re: this quandary to follow at a later date.

"Vacation, all I ever wanted..."

2009-03-29T17:44:00.008+01:00

The first week of break turned out to be not very break-like, but more of a preparation for the rest of my time off from school—time off that seems like it will be pretty full, dominated by work that is going to lay the foundation for a lot that I need to accomplish in the upcoming third term.

The first few days were pretty loose and relaxed. I slept A LOT, napping more than once a day on occasion. I read the Guardian most mornings, and plodded through the web-based copy of the New Yorker I receive (thank you, online subscription). I spent a lot of time in coffee shops, trying to convince myself to go do something, then failing and not caring. One of the more productive things that hasn’t got anything to do with schoolwork: my friend Max and I have taken up jogging together on Sundays (we were at it again today). Max is a pretty big runner, and I can usually get myself out two, three times a week, but we’d both fallen out of the habit during our respective Stage Two Practices that essentially took over our hearts, bodies, and souls February onward. As one of my goals during this break was to get back into shape, having a running buddy seemed a very novel indeed, especially considering how much I loathe running. Truly: there’s nothing I dislike greater than starting running again after a long absence—but then after it becomes a routine, I start craving it like a crack fiend. Addictive, but at least it’s a healthier habit. But starting out is always so dreadful. Having company at least once a week is nice. And in all truth, we came to the decision to run together in order to “train” for a hash.

My friend Abby first told me about hashing when I visited her this summer while she was doing Doubt in Cape May, where she is huge. We got onto the topic of things I needed to do while I was over here, and suddenly she gasped and squealed out: “You have to go on a hash!” Now, before your mind wanders to illicit places, no, “hashing” has nothing to do with marijuana, though it does involve some kind of substance abuse. Essentially, you follow a path that has been laid down for you on the road with chalk markings or piles of sawdust (apparently) and you jog for quite a while. The catch is: the path always leads to a pub. So after you’ve jogged for a substantial amount of time, you drink. I think it’s genius, and all the more reason to bother with running in the first place. And I’m pretty sure Max agrees with this. Abby did tell me, however, that on your first hash, you’re meant to drink your first pint from your shoe, which sounds just awful. I’ll keep you lot posted on our progress.

In my effort to get into shape, I also registered for some yoga classes. The first day I went, I saw a London fox standing by the entry way to the studio. My deep-rooted affection for these little guys makes me believe this was a very fortuitous sign. The studio I’m going to is kind of a trip, in that the company seems to be the UK equivalent to the yoga corporation I used to work for (strange that phrase: “yoga corporation…”), which is both reassuring in its familiarity, and bizarre in some strange, almost cross-dimensional sense. “Yes, Spock—it would appear they promote the practice of yoga on this planet, too…” I hope it won’t take too long to get my practice up to snuff, and I think that the yoga will compliment the running nicely. I may even go to Pilates. But let’s not push it just yet.

But as I said, so many paragraphs ago: meetings. Wednesday I sat down with classmates Ariana, Poppy, and Loukia and discussed plans on developing work we’d started to touch on and generate during last term (a concept that is Ariana’s, so details will be scant here). Ariana is looking to have us present the piece in both London and in a couple towns in Germany this August, which means I won’t be flying home in July as originally planned. (The topic of when I’m actually going back to the states is a pretty hot one right now, but we’ll get to that in another entry.) The work that we’re doing with Ariana is new to me (here’s a hint: it’s largely NOT text based), is pretty exciting because of the newness, and I really like the concept she’s shooting for. Even the challenge of working in this manner is pretty freeing all on its own, and that’s been great so far. I look forward to more of the same over the coming months.

That evening I also caught The Lady From Shanghi at the BFI, and am once again convinced that I need a wardrobe akin to the women of Noir cinema. And a gun. Yeah, that would be good…

Thursday I met with Nick Wood, head of our course, alongside my fellow Space (in) Between cohort Mauro, to feedback on the success of the sessions, and in an effort to get The Space incorporated into next year’s first term offerings. The school is currently reviewing, revising, and re-writing the course as it stands, so there may be room to squeeze it in. Or there may not be. Either way, it was a good meeting, and it was nice to see that the head of the course would take the time out of his very busy week to discuss our findings and the possibility of adding this program to the schedule. We’ll see what comes of it.

Friday consisted of back-to-back meetings of my Stage Three Practice group, and my RMO group. In the first meeting, Chad, Maria, Hedva, Lisa and I basically discussed what attracted us to the project we’re going to be working on, and what our personal goals were as artists concerning our work for the piece. Then we generated a list of movies, plays, anything really that we knew about that dealt with a meal or consumption.

The second meeting with my RMO group was to discuss the upcoming "Great Orchidaceous Travesty," where THE BAND, our research experiment of beat-like quality, will be making its debut to an organized audience. I say “organized audience” because we always perform in public, gleaming our audience members from passers by, or unsuspecting produce shoppers, but this will be the first time we play in a venue where people will actually be watching us as part of an evening of bizarre cabaret acts. I am, admittedly, nervous. We’ve never really “performed” like this before, and will be short one group member, who’ll be replaced by another classmate who’s never seen our work and hasn’t rehearsed with us yet. It will all turn out one way or the other, I suppose. And if something does go terribly wrong, we’ll have a chance to redeem ourselves, as we perform again for a second time a fortnight later on the final night of the "Travesty." Anyway we’ll be wearing hats, so that’ll be good.

And speaking of hats, on Friday I also visited the Victoria and Albert Museum with my friend Caitlin to peruse a hat exhibit that is currently going on there. It was great, and if you’re in London reading this, please try to check it out before it goes away on June 1st.

Friday night I also caught the first half of a student production of Hamlet. I say “first half” because I left during intermission and held up in the theatre bar for the rest of the show. I may just be burnt out on the play (it is my favorite, and I even carry a miniature copy of it around in my purse—God Bless the Globe gift shop), so that may have been why I felt the need to leave. That being said, I have only ever walked out on two pieces of theatre, and this was the second. I actually have a lot of opinions on certain choices (mostly directorial) made during the time between 1.1 and the middle of 3.2 (they cut right after "Give me some light: away!"), but I’ll keep them to myself. I will say, though, keep an eye out for one George Taylor. He played Polonius and was by far the best thing up there in my opinion, and was the one actor that made me think, “Maybe I should stay...just until after the arras scene.”

The rest of the weekend was quite literally spent wholly confined to my dorm room, while I cleaned, read, and continued to sleep for a good long while, when not watching downloaded American television on iTunes. And touching on that briefly: some of you may have noted an absence in any blog entry relating to the finale of Battlestar Galactica. I have had so many random post-finale discussions, that to delve into one here just seems wasteful. Be that as it may, I will say I enjoyed it, though could have done without the coda, and that I also sobbed through the last thirty minutes or so. And no: I am not ashamed.

Rest in peace, Galactica.

This week I am meeting my RMO group to discuss how our dry run of our research presentation went, and prep a little for our final presentation. I have two meetings with the Ariana group scheduled, THE BAND will perform, and I’ll be catching the first part of Romeo Castellucci’s trilogy of Dante’s Divine Comedy, Inferno at the Barbican. I also have a couple days of transcription work at Central, typing out some research presentation or other for £££.

That was a long entry and is probably just an indicator of what the next few weeks will bring: massive fullness. But this I vow: I’ll keep finding time for naps somehow.

"...I ain't lost, just wandering."

2009-03-21T12:52:00.003Z

Okay, so break has officially started, and I've decided to fall back into step as a tourist in the fine city of London. Much like the last few months I spent in New York, I'm going to try to embark on "London events." It will help pass break by more quickly and enjoyably, and will also distract from the working out I plan to do (yeep). Again, I'm open for any recommendations from people, and will report my own findings upon discovery.

"And as for me/I made my mind up back in Chelsea/When I go, I'm going like Elsie..."

2009-03-19T11:15:00.001Z

I can't really believe Natasha Richardson is dead. With all the rumors flying around the past couple days, I had been hoping to discover that she had turned around and would soon be on her way to a full recovery. It was such a freak accident kind of thing, and so unexpected. I'm reminded of mine and my friends' reactions back in New York last year when Heath Ledger died, just as unexpected, and just as seemingly unfair--though more unfair, of course, to his family and friends than to the masses. Still, there is strange sense of loss to the acting world, and particularly to the world of Central, where Richardson was educated, and whose name I walk over ever time I mount the steps to the front entrance to the school (as evidenced above).

The saddest thing to me is that she was still so young. Forty-five is really nothing, and considering how much she'd accomplished in her career already, I think most of the world was excited by what she would deliver in the latter days of her life. She was also a woman not to emulate solely in her career, but in her personal life: she had a husband and two children, and somehow balanced that while working. These are things that I want for myself, and to have someone embody those ideals so well, and with so much class, talent, and poise...it's just hard to see that dissolve in a moment.

It's sad losing two alumni this academic year (first Pinter, now Richardson), and especially two alumni who did so much for the industry. As I post this, the school has yet to make any kind of formalized statement to the student body about how they will be honoring the passing of Richardson. I for one will try to be there for whatever it is they do. And until then, I'll probably be listening to the Cabaret soundtrack nonstop.

"You only live twice, or so it seems/One life for yourself, and one for your dreams..."

2009-03-18T23:03:00.006Z

"Can you direct me to Mr. Craig's trailer, please?"

Sadly, I will not be featured in next James Bond movie, but that is me outside the sound stage at Pinewood Studios where they've shot several sequences for the majority of the Bond films, as well as The Fortress of Solitude from both Superman and Superman II. For a more in depth look at the history of the 007 Stage, go here.

I was at Pinewood this afternoon doing ADR work for an upcoming film, set on a New England college campus (title upon request). The movie was actually shot entirely in the UK--I'm guessing it was probably cheaper that way. For those of you who don't know, ADR stands for "Automated Dialogue Replacement." Basically, it's part of the dubbing process when making a film, and can be anything from a lead actor coming in to re-record dialogue that's audio was shaky during shooting, or to add dialogue into certain scenes to aid in continuity or atmosphere. It was for this last reason that I was hanging around Pinewood.

Whenever you have extras in the background of a shot, they are almost always asked to act silently, while the lead characters are the only ones being followed by the boom. The majority of the time, the sounds the crowd makes are added during post-production. So if you have two actors in the foreground having a plot-based conversation, and you hear from behind them, "Hey! Two beers here, please," that line of dialogue, shown through mimed action on set in November, will finally be recorded by a completely different person come March. Or, if there was an actor who had a single line of dialogue in a shot, but the sound editor hates their voice and wants to replace it, chances are they will be dubbed over as well. This was something else I did today.

I got the job through Spotlight, an online database that almost every UK based actor seems to be on. (The US equivalent in NYCasting, for those who ponder such things.) I got called because I had the right accent--finally, New Jersey pays off! Sadly, due to my student visa standing, I was unable to work for monies. Oh, but yes. You see, under the student visa, you cannot work as an "entertainer" or be "self-employed," both of which kind of describe the field of industry in which I exist and function accordingly in. Upon this realization, I called the company that had booked me to turn down the job, but they very graciously offered to let me come along and work for free. Truth be told, they were probably strapped to find Northeastern accents, but never mind it. I had never done this kind of work before and it seemed like a fun prospect, so why not gain a little experience? So now I have a credit for my CV, working knowledge, and the understanding with myself that since I've done it once, I never have to feel like I need to do this work for free ever again.

There were about twelve of us actors, mostly from America, but a couple from other countries but with accessible US accents from one of their parents. The sound technicians recorded us tons of different ways: put us in separate rooms talking and carried the boom up and down the hallway to get the effect of a dorm hall; had us walk down the hall talking; had us walk up stairs talking; had us talk and walk into a building from outside; had us run by the boom laughing, pretending to get into all kinds of shenanigans at night; had us make snarky remarks about one of the leads we saw in some footage. All of this took a little over 2 hours, and was done around various locations on the studio lot.

Pinewood Studios, showing off it's Slumdog pride.
(This parking lot was one area we recorded in, to get that outdoor feel.)

Then the lot of us were taken over to a recording stage, where we were held in a green room of sorts, and one by one were taken into the recording studio. I got led in by the sound editor who showed me a piece of footage and identified the line she wanted me to replace and ad lib after. The actress who they had filmed speaking the line had a somewhat pronounced "Baaaastan" accent, which didn't sit well with the designer at all. What happens when you dub over dialogue is you watch the footage you're dubbing to on a screen and wait for a white line to cross from one side of the screen to meet a stationary line on the other. Once the lines meet, you start speaking, and hopefully you give them something useful. If a character is moving around on screen, you move your upper body while keeping your feet planted firmly on the ground. This affects your breathing and how you use your voice, and generally comes off more "realistic sounding." Apparently. After about seven takes, she was satisfied, and I walked back into the green room to wait with the other actors to be called in for a couple more crowd recordings, and then we were released.

I have to be honest: I had a great time today, and since voice over work is something I've been seriously considering exploring as of late, this opportunity came at a really perfect time. And it was just fun, which is what acting is meant to be after all. Right? So upon release, hopefully in a few months time, you'll be able to hear my voice laid out over other people's bodies on film! Unless, of course, I get dubbed over by then.

St. Patrick's Day in the UK

2009-03-17T23:04:00.000Z

Ah, the luck of the Irish.

St. Patrick's was pretty uneventful, but spent amongst friends and over alcohol, and therefore just right. (Above: Maria and Ronan start the festivities after a beat experiment. Maria had Ronan use his accent to get that hat. Oh, the exploitation of the Irish continues...)

When done with school for the day, I headed over with Caitlin to Filthy MacNasty's, a Scottish bar, where you could get a Guinness and a bowl of Irish stew for 5GBP, and be serenaded by a Pete Doherty look-alike, even if you didn't order that. (Sorry: Pete-R Doherty, now. Apparently the "r" is essential.) We joined Max and Heidi, who had gotten there about an hour before us, and were later joined by Ronan, who was possibly the only actual Irishman in the place (and subsequently got all his Guinnesses served to him in actual glass glasses--the rest of us had to settle for plastic knock-offs). I grabbed a cab and headed home early, and my driver only charged me for half the fare after we had a lovely chat about drama schools--he'll be auditioning for one in a couple months. I didn't see quite the widespread drunkenness that you can usually catch in NYC, but considering the Peter Doherty look-alike had been in the pub since 10AM, I'd say the spirit of the day was most definitely still maintained.

No Guinness-staches here!

"And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents - your dinner!"

2009-03-15T22:06:00.000Z

Word on the festival proposals came through yesterday. Out of the three my name had been attached to, the one I was least involved in regarding development and the drawing up of the proposal was of course the one that went through. That's life, eh? Doesn't matter, as the company at hand I'll be working with include the ever fabulous creative producer, Maria, and my friend and fellow performing cohort, Lisa, both of whom went through Stage 2 with me, and both of whom I thoroughly enjoy working with in a devising process and on a personal level. The piece has the distinction being the only site-specific offering at this point (it was the only one pitched as such, though others may develop into site-specific work if space is an issue, or if they head in that direction), and revolves around the dramatic repercussions of what can happen over dinner. What will those repercussions be? What space will we finally end up in? What will we cook up for this less-than metaphorical dinner? Who knows. All of these questions will be discovered in the devising process, and I'll tell you when and what we find (without giving too much away, mind). Some of the personal goals I'm setting for myself for this project are the following:

To have nothing to do with the actual act of cooking the meal (though I am ready and willing to make cocktails)
To have an ambient soundtrack, full of jazz standards ranging from the 1930s-1950s in recording
To have Maria sing a song in a very lounge acty kind of way (she does this often on her own without prompting, and it would be lovely to tap into such a natural gift)
To create a distinct, interesting, slightly absurdist character for the show. Think Gormenghast.

The last one is a big deal to me, as we haven't really looked at character development and it's something I'm interested in returning to for the sake of my own training and my own sense of what I want my work to be about. Since the course is so focused on teaching us how to work in a devising process with other practitioners with different skill sets, some of our own skill sets get put down or brushed aside for the sake of just creating a "whole" piece of theatre. I feel like I've done a lot of things, but if you flat out asked me if I felt I spent a lot of time actually acting (or at least what I define as "acting") then I'd have to answer you, "No." I understand dramaturgy even more than before I came here, and certain working methodologies have been introduced to me, so that's great. But fine tuning my specific craft? No. No that hasn't happened. So I'm going to try to take this opportunity to make something that really calls on my discipline as an actor AND a deviser. It won't be a French candlestick but it'll be something.

Happy Birthday, my little blog.

2009-03-12T13:27:00.003Z

I realized today that I had walked over my blog's one year anniversary without so much as an acknowledgement. Whoops. I guess it's still surprising that I started this thing at all, and have tried to keep it up as best I can. In commemoration of the one year aniversary, I have changed the image at the top of the page (you noticed, I'm sure). That little text box describing myself as a "little American girl" growing up and all that--gone. It wasn't sitting with me properly the last few months, and I'm not sure it was even accurate when I first started this thing. The "little girl" part, anyway. Growing up is something I've been doing and will continue to do for a long time. And maybe I'll never get there completely. And I'm kind of alright with that.

Thanks to everyone who's been stopping by and giving this blog a purpose, as small as it may be. Those of you in the states: I miss the lot of you most days, and am happy we can communicate even if it means over this medium. I love you guys!!!

Just a quickie.

2009-03-11T12:03:00.009Z

Stage 2 presentation went up yesterday (that's me, post showing, covered in lipstick from all the plexi sex). To add to our theme of web based communication, a couple audience members Skyped in and watched via web cam from laptops in the audience. Here's to Jenna and Amy, our fabulous audience members across the sea!!! Huzzah! (Incidentally, Amy was sadly cut off early due to a faulty connection. Don't worry, dear: I am told there will be a DVD.<--That is not a joke.) It went over well, it seems. More importantly than it going over well is it being over, leaving more time for research (which I don't remember how to do, anyway) and other things, like sleep. My sense of bodily maintenance has also gone out the window during this process, and I haven't felt this sluggish and out of shape in months. But spring is starting to take hold of the weather over here, and I have promised myself that I will, for the first time in Y-E-A-R-S, be wearing a bikini this summer, and that I will have the body to feel good about it, damn it! Life is too short to not wear bikinis while one is still young and virile and all that. Perhaps it will even be pink.

Well, let's not push it.

In any case, I plan on spending a lot of the extra time I have on my hands now (and over spring break--w00t!) trying to get back in shape. It's mostly a vanity thing, I won't lie. But by and large, it is important in terms of my chosen profession, and I respect the beast that the thing is and will play by its rules.

Word came in today that I will be involved in the Accidental Festival this year, taking place in late May. I had assisted a fellow Central student with their research regarding how they would address the process they would implement for the piece they were doing for it, and she offered me a place in the project. So I'm looking forward to that.

That, and some sit-ups.

I am lost/In a rainbow/Now the rainbow is gone

2009-03-06T16:59:00.013Z

Title of this entry comes from lyrics from the band that's currently changing my life, who I'm heading out to see play live in a couple weeks with members of NASH. For a great clip from the Shelly Love (somebody else currently changing my life) film that they scored and the song these lyrics come from, please go here and enjoy. For reals.

I have felt lost lately, but not in any kind of a rainbow. The grind of school has been overwhelming over the last few weeks, and that, compounded with other activities and the lack of Internet in my room (how I survived that, I will truly never know) has obviously infringed on the bloggation of late. My apologies, but there just wasn't the time. I'll have to give a briefbrief overview of my doings, so as to not completely discredit these past few weeks.

Hotel Medea:

Headed out to the Arcola the first weekend in February for some hardcore theatre going, as evidenced by our blazoned fists.

(Photo courtesy of Heidi O'Connell's iPhone.)

The production was a six hour-long extravaganza, with three twenty-minute breaks, and a breakfast spread<--Did I mention the play started at 11:59PM? I couldn't do justice to the show if I tried to give you a synopsis here, but needless to say the sheer stamina of the performers was beyond impressive, particularly Medea who was at least five months pregnant, if not more. Both she and Jason got totally naked at one point--whoa. The production was also really great at creating an all-encompassing experience for the audience. At one point we were all taken in turn, tucked into cots in pairs, read a bedtime story while we held our own stuffed animals and sipped cocoa--we were Medea and Jason's children, overhearing our parents having an argument with our eyes closed. My friend Max died (Not really: they just used him as one of Medea's children at the very end, and we built a funeral memorial around him. His wife Amy was not amused.). We got stranded in the morning because London is not New York, and there were no trains running to the area of the city we were in on Sunday. Ridiculous. WiFi at McDonalds and Heidi's iPhone saved us. We got home around 8AM and were out of commission for the rest of the weekend.

Complicite Workshop:

Complicite is an institution in England, in terms of the top "known" theatre companies in the country. After seeing A Disappearing Number at the Barbican this past fall, I totally jumped on to the Complicite bandwagon (despite the slight over-use of projection in that production). Their last show that ran at the Barbican this past month, Shun-kin, based on a Japanese story, featuring an all Japanese cast and some puppets by Blind Summit Theatre, prompted a short workshop that introduced and instructed on aspects of said production. Basically, it was an auditorium of students, mostly high schoolers, and a handful of Central-ites, that turned up to listen to Simon McBurney (AD of Complicite, and the director of Broadway's latest revival of All My Sons--hence the projections used in said production...) walk us through the first part of the show, and then call some of us up on stage to demonstrate some of the techniques used in rehearsal, both with the actors (none of whom spoke fluent English) and when dealing with the puppets used in the show. Heidi and her iPhone were there, and caught all the action.

(That's Simon McBurney waving his arms.)

The next day Mark Down, one of the founding members of Blind Summit (pictured above in the foreground all the way to the left) came out to CSSD and did an hour lecture on puppetry that was terribly amusing and informative. The day after I caught Shun-kin, and was happy I'd been able to catch Simon McBurney the day before doing his introduction/summary. As the piece was entirely in Japanese, and I was sat all the way to the side on audience left, I:

often couldn't see what was going on/being projected onto the stage.
was too far back to read any of the translation text that was being projected on the sides of the stage.

Now, as I've said repeatedly before, I need glasses. This evening confirmed this fact yet again. However, there was a lot of dialogue in the show, too much even for the fully optically functional 20/20 viewing audience, and McBurney, in my humble opinion, did not make up for the fact with his staging. If you looked away from the stage, you missed part of the story for the sake of the text. If you missed part of the text, you missed part of the story in terms of the staging. And neither were totally decipherable all on their own. It was a little like a poorly staged opera that way. I will also say that I think there were one too many narrators. But I'll go no further than that. It was in all ways a Complicite production, and therefore good enough to be one of the better productions I've seen while over here.

Valentine's Day with Tom Stoppard

I spent basically all of Valentine's Day at the National at various events that all had one common thread: the playwright Tom Stoppard. First, myself and others caught a production of Stoppard's play Every Good Boy Deserves Favour, a play for actors and an orchestra, featuring none other than our very own guest tutor, Toby Jones! My only complaint was that the piece wasn't longer--I could have stayed in the Olivier for hours listening to that music and that text. After that, we sat in on a talk back with the man himself. Stoppard is everything you'd envision in a playwright, right down to the baggy, old man sweater and the slip-on suede shoes that look more like slippers than outerwear. He rolls his r's, probably left over from his Czechoslovakian roots. He reduced Rozencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead as just "a play about two courtiers trying to entertain themselves in a boring place." He owns an iPhone, which rang during the talk. He was great. Afterwards, several of us went out to dinner and then returned to the National to watch Shakespeare in Love (co-scribed {or mostly scribed} by Stoppard) from one of the terraces, as it was projected on the side of the fly space of the Lyttleton (one of the spaces in the National). Heidi's iPhone was once again on the scene to catch all the action.

It was a delightful day, full of great art, and a truly unique experience that makes it my top Valentine's Day of all time.<--That statement clearly evidences the fact that I have never had a boyfriend around that date. But no matter. For one day, Top Stoppard was my boyfriend. And I loved him.

Visit from a New Yorker

Right around Valentine's Day, my friend Jen came into town with the transfer of an opera that had just finished it's run at the Met in New York, Doctor Atomic. She had worked on that production and was over here with light plot in hand, and tourist demands. I was happy to oblige her, as I never do anything too too touristy, and it was nice to have the excuse. We spent a lovely day together, watching a busker with a giant unicycle and a chainsaw in Convent Garden, traipsing about the Tower of London, walking along a considerable extent of the Thames, and sharing in a lovely meal. A couple days later, thanks to Jen, I caught Doctor Atomic's dress rehearsal from the best seat I will ever have in that opera house--the stalls, which at this house means orchestra level seating. The design by Improbable's Julian Crouch was great (it always comes back to Improbable, doesn't it?), and baritone Gerald Finley had the most dreamy tone quality. It was far more enjoyable than my last foray at the Coliseum. The final evening I spent with Jen during her visit, we headed over to Gordon's Wine Bar, the oldest wine bar in London. It's largely underground, in catacomb like structures, and you buy a bottle and crouch under brick archways at candlelit tables that are surrounded by mismatched chairs, all the while being dripped on by erosion from above. It was delightful. Moreover, it was wonderful to see a familiar face, and to share part of this experience with someone from home. It gives this journey some context somehow, and is a reminder that there is another world outside this place, and one that's possible to go back to, should I choose to go.

Incidentally...

The evening I caught the dress rehearsal for the opera, I was standing behind a man on the tube who looked staggeringly familiar. I tried my best not to stare or lean into him that much, but I kept glancing to him, trying to catch the side of his face, which he was clearly trying to shield. Suddenly at a stop, he turned his head for a moment and then got off. I instantly recognized his left cheek bone: it was Jamie Bamber, aka Lee "Apollo" Adama, the hottest of the hot, the CAG himself, soon to be president of the twelve colonies, and a cast member of the greatest TV show of the last few years of my life. For days I convinced myself if couldn't have been him (too short), but through Internet snooping I found a picture of him wearing the exact same jacket he was wearing on the tube, and since he's in town shooting Law and Order: UK, I have come to the conclusion that it was none other than the man himself. So close, and still so far...

And yes, I did just say: "Law and Order: UK." To be Dick York right now, I swear...

As far as school is concerned--

Term 2 is winding down in the next couple weeks. Our Stage Two Practice showcases our work Tuesday, for three performances. The piece focuses on web-based culture, activity, and identity. The most compelling part for me as an actor is a sequence where myself and my fellow collaborator Ronan perform a movement piece that's basically meant to simulate cybersex. It's really artfully done, I swear. We intend to film it, but due to intellectual copyrighting, there ain't no way that stuff is going to end up here. Also, my parents and relatives read my blog, so to save them from any possible embarrassment, I will avoid posting it. But for anyone curious (I'm seriously serious when I say it's artfully done, truly), I can figure out a way to show you the footage somehow, promise. Don't expect too much in certain areas--we are fully clothed all the time. But there is a vast amount of lipstick used.

The research group continues to plug along, performing our beat-like experiments (sorry I've still not thrown up any video), and the practice conference is fast approaching. We'll see what comes of that.

Third Term Festival proposals went in today at noon. My name is on three (I think...), and if any of them get selected--there were several submissions, but only ten will be accepted--I'll be a happy duck. Hopefully everything will work out. I will say no more on that topic, as I am a deep believer in the fates, and don't want to jinx anything.

................................

And that's really it from here. It's a lot--I realize that was basically a month's worth of stuff I just kind of threw out there--but in reality, it feels like everything happens so fast that almost nothing has happened at all.

Word keeps coming in from New York, and none of it seems to bode well. Jobs are lost, unavailable, or tightening in terms of hours. Less Equity contracts are being issued for summer seasons (because Equity actors demand a living wage and are therefore more expensive than non-union, and therefore at times unprotected, actors), and arts funding is even less existent than it was before. Everyone keeps plugging and/or struggling along, but the realization that for several life is changing drastically is ever prevalent. It makes me appreciate the somewhat insular environment I've holed up in for the year, despite the occasionally stagnant, claustrophobic, and down right irritating nature it can be at times. Putting up with a little aggravation and being spared wondering where the next meal is coming from is a blessing in it of itself. Even if that meal is disgusting cafeteria food from downstairs.

In the coming weeks I will do my best to be more diligent in my updates. Again, I apologize for having lapsed this long. But hopefully all can and will be forgiven. Take care, my dears.

"I'm not dead just yet"

2009-02-27T09:38:00.004Z

I'm alive. I promise. The internet has been down at the halls this week, and I've been super busy and crazied with school. Hopefully Saturday I'll be able to update. I'm sorry for my lack of attendence. I have not abandoned you!!!

A little something to tide you over...

2009-02-14T00:23:00.003Z

I know I've been away, but look what I made for you while I was gone:

There's no audio, but I didn't have the time to score it. My apologies. Maybe someday.

For more information about the generation of this piece, please go here.

Happy Valentine's Day, friends.

Because art doesn't think up itself...

2009-02-05T00:32:00.006Z

One of the Five Sentences for this week's Space (in) Between restrictions is: "You must use a chair in an unconventional way (IE: do not just sit in it)." I thought it up myself, thank you very much. Here's me in process, trying to work this out with the assistance of my MacBook camera. I'm putting it here because:

I think it's interesting showing the struggle people go through to make anything.
As an actor, I have to try to not worry about looking like an idiot. So here's testimony to possible idiocy.

Enjoy--even if it's only in a snarky way.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind...

2009-02-02T10:11:00.005Z

So I got up this morning to snow. A lot of snow. It had started late last night and had still been going in the early AM when I finally got to bed. When I got up, it was still going. I have been telling people repeatedly in New York that London doesn't get snow the way we do back in the states, and that's mostly true most of the time. But today I trekked out in ankle-deep white to catch the tube to school early, only to be greeted by a series of hurdles that should have been indicators to turn around and snuggle back into bed.

First, there was breakfast. In the cafe in my halls, breakfast is served from 7:45-9AM Monday through Friday. But it was dark and vacated when I got down there at a quarter to eight. Other students stood around with me, until I finally left because I didn't want to be late getting out the door. I got outside, and despite the hour, the roads and sidewalks were covered with snow. I got to the tube station and needed to top up (refill) my Oyster (Metro) Card, and there was no one in the booths to do so, just a sign with the hours of operation for the booth, showing me that whoever was meant to be working was half an hour late. I couldn't figure out the automatic machine for ticketing and ended up spending £4 to get a single fair to school, which is ridiculous since the student weekly unlimited, what I had been planning to buy, is £18. When I got to the first station I change at, I wandered over to my transfer to find the entire platform blocked off. I went to another platform to get onto a different train line that wasn't suspended. When I got off that train they had closed up the station I arrived at: a mob of people stood out front the entrance behind the accordion gates, while a TFL employee spoke into a megaphone to give updates on the various lines. It was like wartime! I got to Central and found out my appointment was cancelled, as was my first class session for the day, and that the school itself would probably close sooner rather than later. So I went to the library and got some scanning done for The Space's blog, and have been holed up here ever since (at time of publication, about two hours).

It seems ridiculous that a major metropolis should have so many problems over a little snow. It may be steady, it may be sticky, but it's not all that heavy and it is most certainly not a blizzard--I've lived through several, including one in which my parents and I had to sleep in our living room as our heater was out, with only our fire place for warmth, drinking water my mother had pumped herself into buckets from a well that fed our neighbor's horse trough. Oh yes, I know a blizzard, and this is nowhere near that. All in all, I was struck with the rather pathetic nature of this city to deal with this kind of weather, and mostly I'm confused. Snow isn't totally foreign to these people, so seriously, what's the deal? Still, after thinking about it a bit, London and it's relationship to snow is similar to that of New York and it's relationship with rain. As soon as it starts, suddenly everything stops. Subways are delayed, no one wants to go anywhere, every one's twenty minutes late or they reschedule for next week. It's ridiculous. Where is the gumption, people? It's just a little precipitation.

I am also effectively stranded here, not knowing how to walk home from this area, and also not having any trains to take. And also, apparently the buses are severely delayed, not that I'd know what to take anyway. And now I'm groaning like everybody else I've been complaining about. Screw this: I'm off to find a cappuccino and maybe see a movie, if I can find anywhere with any employees to provide me with such things. My sleeping bag coat is kind of like a bed. Or maybe I'll stay in the library till they close, watching old productions of Shakespeare. There must be some thing to do, even with an entire city shut down. I'm off to hunt it out.