Christmas is here, and with it comes another year of realizing the simultaneously dynamic and consistent nature of family. It is only Christmas Eve and yet I've already noticed as many significant changes as there are reassuring constants.
We arrived Saturday and started our visits at my Uncle Frank's house. Saturday night was the whatever-th Annual McCarthy Christmas, in which I partake despite the fact that my last name is Fahey. Everyone was in familiar spirits...not to mention consuming familiar spirits, as drinking is an inevitable part of McCarthy Christmas and frankly makes everyone get along a little better. The big change this year was that my cousin and I, fresh off of our first college semester were allowed to drink if we wanted to, as we are considered adults by the family. For my part, I opted against it because A) I still am not much of a drinker and B) even if I was, I wouldn't be comfortable drinking with family for a variety of reasons. Anyhow, my Uncle Don was entertaining, my Uncle Kevin quick-witted, my Uncle Bob...insightful, perhaps, and my Uncle Frank jovial, which is the one word that completely defines him during Christmas in my mind. The house is beautifully decorated, with a large tree, decorations aplenty and neverending amounts of food.
I spent a great deal of the night with the cousins downstairs, playing video games and goofing around, but I also managed to work in a lot of voluntary surface time with the adults, which is always a lot of fun. Whether recounting the old days of my mother and uncles in their little house in Darby, or just spouting opinions on everything under the sun, my family is a riot just to hear.
The next day, we made our way over Uncle Kevin's and spent a few days bumming around there. Then Tuesday began with a trip to see my grandmother at her nursing home, which was surprisingly productive as she was more alert than I've seen her in a long time and looked at my mother with a genuine recognition that I didn't think her eyes were capable of anymore. Nonetheless, I still felt my characteristic stoicism towards the whole situation. I can't feel pain for a person that died for me long ago. I hate saying that, but it's true. I just want her suffering to end by whatever natural means that might entail.
That night, we made it back to Voorhees, New Jersey and the holiday cheer of Uncle Frank's. As Steve was recovering from an all night LAN party, Erin was sick with the flu, and the adults made plans for the evening, I spent the night reading Master and Commander in the family room with the occasional breaks to pet Shamrock, the golden retriever and princess of the house. It was quiet, relaxing and endlessly soothing to have right in the middle of the constant flow of family events. Upon the return of the elders, I retreated to the basement, spent some time IMing the world and listening to Johnny Depp Commentary for Pirates, and then drifted off to sleep.
Today, I saw Return of the King again. Still phenomenal and breathtaking. I honestly choked back tears at "'You bow to no one." Some of the aspects of this particular movie are moving in ways that even the first two movies couldn't have prepared me for. Hats off to that living hobbit, Peter Jackson. We then went to church, which was nice in spite of the pointless homily and the singer who sounded like the voice of Aladdin in "A Whole New World." After a relaxing Christmas Eve replete with a delectable Italian dinner, I find myself here, in the basement again, pondering a few things I've learned thus far in the trip.
The main thing is, my mother and I seemed to have switched places. I feel like I'm the one reprimanding her all the time now for things I see as inconsiderate, dangerous, or otherwise unthinking. To be sure, my mother has becoming a lot more endearing to be around since the college shift as the pressure's off now, so it seems the change might be in me. Either way, I find myself taking a more controlling or perhaps just a less acquiescent role in the dynamic. For instance, my mom is baking cookies, pulls a sheet out of the oven, which slips, so she goes to catch it with her unmitted hand and burns her fingers. I run into the kitchen and tell her to run it under cold water. She then proceeds to try and get the sheet back on the oven rack, which caused me to say, in a tone of voice that surprised both of us, "Mom, stop messing with the cookies and take care of your hand!" I guess it seems like nothing, as do all the little instances themselves, but as a whole, it makes me wonder. I also find myself saying things like "Keep your hands on the wheel, I'll hold your drink, " and "I've got the bags, you get inside. You guys need to get on your way to dinner." The more I write these, the less my idea makes any sense. Something has clearly changed, however, as Erin pointed out that I am more "sarcastic"' now when mom tells me to do things. I guess I finally crossed some line between being obedient and being tired of getting spoken to as if I am incapable of rationality. We're in church and mom gives me money to put in the collection basket five minutes before it comes around. So I pocket it until then because I don't want to be standing there with a five in my hand. The next thing I know, she turns to me and says, "Wait, what are you doing? Did you put it in already?" Now the basket is two rows ahead, something she clearly knows as evidenced byt he next statement, "Why'd you put it in your pocket?" I respond with, "I didn't feel like holding it when the basket is nowhere near us." This incident is brought up by mom when Erin suggests the theory of Ian's rising sarcasm. Granted, I believe the whole conversation was in jest, but all the same, I don't want my mom to feel any disrespect, but I also feel that I'm just responding with logic, which is seen as sarcastic impertinence. Weird.
Well, all I know is that it is now officially Christmas, and within the next twelve hours, I will be getting some fun new things to entertain myself with, including a predictable pile of DVDs (WOOHOO!). I hope tomorrow is once again relaxing, comfortable and fun. I also look forward to seeing all of my friends upon my return, and I hope the holidays find them all well.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Well, I’ve been home for the better part of a week now and I’ve settled past the initial contemplative feelings into a daily routine of ennui. Thus, I decided I need to do something to pass the time, so why not reflect just a bit more?
One thing I’ve noticed about being back with my friends is that I cannot shake the feeling that someone’s missing. Now, I know that we haven’t had a full assemblage of the group yet, but I have this nagging intuition that even if we were to pull together every last member of the A kids, it would feel like someone wasn’t there. I can’t explain why or where this comes from, but I got that feeling after seeing almost everyone at one point or another. Maybe I’m wrong and a total group get-together will feel complete, but I somehow doubt it. It’s not like it’s a terrible thing, but more like I have stronger individual ties these days. Well, to make things abundantly clear, it must be assured that I have loved seeing each and every person again recently and I hope they feel the same way.
What else is there? My visits to school have been fairly decent. I finally feel no attachment to the school itself. The halls and rooms hold nothing for me but the teachers with whom I still correspond. I just realized that I didn’t even give the F hall a second glance the two times I passed it. I also learned how specific teachers react to my visits. They seemed to be related to their roles as teachers for me. Typical of me to analyse like this, but here goes.
Friedman is almost a form letter person to visit. I think he’s a brilliant teacher and I attribute my English passions to his class; however, when one goes to visit him, it warms for a bit, but then you get the feeling that you just need to leave. I think this is because Friedman’s class is something you need at one point in your life. He is meant to guide you on a specific portion of your journey and then he turns from you and walks back to guide the next batch. Granted, he shares pieces of his past classes with his current ones, but he feels like Milton, my time for him has passed.
Mrs. Crockett is always a catch-up session. It always seems like I run through my life with her, ask about her classes and wrap up. It’s nice and reliable and she’s one of the nicest people at Milton, especially with her enthusiastic desire to hear about our college experiences. Even when I specifically go to her room to say hello, the conversation seems like on you have with someone you run into in the mall. I can’t exactly figure out where I’m going with the connotations this has with her teaching. Right.
Jones is a friend. I’ve come to realize that now, that Mr. Jones is a good friend. Sterling mused on this in the back of Jones’s pickup while setting up for graduation. He said that the difference between Friedman and Jones was the difference between a mentor and a friend. I did catch up with Jones when I first went back, but otherwise he carries that same feeling of picking up where we left off that all of my closest friends and I have. I never much cared for the content of his precal class and Lord knows I probably LOST brain cells in his tech class, but it was never really about the class. He acknowledged that to me once, that he didn’t think he ever taught me much about math. There’s truth to that, but he taught me something.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
One thing I’ve noticed about being back with my friends is that I cannot shake the feeling that someone’s missing. Now, I know that we haven’t had a full assemblage of the group yet, but I have this nagging intuition that even if we were to pull together every last member of the A kids, it would feel like someone wasn’t there. I can’t explain why or where this comes from, but I got that feeling after seeing almost everyone at one point or another. Maybe I’m wrong and a total group get-together will feel complete, but I somehow doubt it. It’s not like it’s a terrible thing, but more like I have stronger individual ties these days. Well, to make things abundantly clear, it must be assured that I have loved seeing each and every person again recently and I hope they feel the same way.
What else is there? My visits to school have been fairly decent. I finally feel no attachment to the school itself. The halls and rooms hold nothing for me but the teachers with whom I still correspond. I just realized that I didn’t even give the F hall a second glance the two times I passed it. I also learned how specific teachers react to my visits. They seemed to be related to their roles as teachers for me. Typical of me to analyse like this, but here goes.
Friedman is almost a form letter person to visit. I think he’s a brilliant teacher and I attribute my English passions to his class; however, when one goes to visit him, it warms for a bit, but then you get the feeling that you just need to leave. I think this is because Friedman’s class is something you need at one point in your life. He is meant to guide you on a specific portion of your journey and then he turns from you and walks back to guide the next batch. Granted, he shares pieces of his past classes with his current ones, but he feels like Milton, my time for him has passed.
Mrs. Crockett is always a catch-up session. It always seems like I run through my life with her, ask about her classes and wrap up. It’s nice and reliable and she’s one of the nicest people at Milton, especially with her enthusiastic desire to hear about our college experiences. Even when I specifically go to her room to say hello, the conversation seems like on you have with someone you run into in the mall. I can’t exactly figure out where I’m going with the connotations this has with her teaching. Right.
Jones is a friend. I’ve come to realize that now, that Mr. Jones is a good friend. Sterling mused on this in the back of Jones’s pickup while setting up for graduation. He said that the difference between Friedman and Jones was the difference between a mentor and a friend. I did catch up with Jones when I first went back, but otherwise he carries that same feeling of picking up where we left off that all of my closest friends and I have. I never much cared for the content of his precal class and Lord knows I probably LOST brain cells in his tech class, but it was never really about the class. He acknowledged that to me once, that he didn’t think he ever taught me much about math. There’s truth to that, but he taught me something.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
Saturday, December 06, 2003
I'm home. It feels really bizarre to be back in Alpharetta. I'm trying to nail the feeling, but it's elusive. Why do I feel simultaneously like a stranger and like I belong here? It's not the people, or at least not yet. I picked up with the guys at Tech just fine last night and we had a great time, right from where we left off. The silent times are what caused me confusion and contemplation. I'd be looking out the window as we coursed up 400, sped down North Point, pulled in to Steak and Shake, and I'd feel lost. It's similar to how I felt when everyone was already at school and I hadn't left yet, as if the fact that my friends weren't home reduced my claim to Alpharetta as a whole. But what's more is the feeling that if my friends were home, places still wouldn't be the same. Someone on a blog mentioned that we college students and Alpharetta have grown separate to one another. Somehow, I think it'd be closer to say that Alpharetta hasn't changed much at all. Change is part of Alpharetta, has been for years now. There were plenty of times when I'd gone to a part of the town I hadn't been to in a while and it looked different, but it was still home. I think Alpharetta's stayed the same, but that I've changed too much. Too much for what? I don't know. Too much to look out of the window of our office and feel like it was any other day. Too much to just ignore and get too work on the ten million things I must do this weekend. I just wish I could feel like I fit again. I want to take Alpharetta for granted again, because that's definitely a part of what I feel. I look out the window and I think, "God, it's beautiful here, so much more beautiful than almost any day in Washington since I've been there." I don't mean to downplay Georgetown or my friends there, but what I wouldn't give to go downstairs, lay down on the couch in my living room, fall asleep, and wake up in last year. It's not about high school this time. That's another thing and I think when I go back to Milton monday, that will be a whole 'nother entry. This is about home, and the role Alpharetta played in it that I never realized. I miss this place. I miss it so much I could spend forever lying in every field, leaning on every tree, walking every sidewalk and road. I never realized how much it meant to me.
Monday, December 01, 2003
In the spirit of Sterling I have decided to try and figure what sort of voices are vying for control of my mind. So here we go.
Ian (6th grade): Like Sterling, I too have a persona that just wants acceptance and attention. Unfortunately, if Sterling's little guy is a mega-ton warhead, mine would have to be a whole planet. This is the person that needs a little too much to be noticed and appreciated. He comes out less and less in conversations these days, but still makes an appearance whenever I fail at something trivial....such as bowling.
Will: named for Will Hunting. This is where the obsession with learning comes from. Not a boy genius, but having that same thirst for knowledge. Will is the reason I'm at Georgetown, yet he's also the guiding force behind my skipping. His academia only goes as far as his interest in the subject. Will is the one who gets lost in math class and is surprised when class is over. Will also desires safety. Will is threatened by going outside of his comfort zone and avoids confrontation, content to stick to what he knows he can do well.
The Blade: The name for the incredibly Romantic (note the capital R) film-influenced version of me. This same mind can entertain a fantastically vivid and incredible daydream of being a pirate one minute, and then can be in the dining hall picturing how he could drop his tray and kick it forward into a random passerby and then erupt into a huge martial arts brawl. This is the dreamer in me, the one who feels dissatisfied with the dirth of mettle-testing situations in today's world, and who will still exist even when all of my realistic aspirations are met. The upside of this character is that he is the protector of my ideals and morals. Chivalry, Dependability, and everything along those lines flows from this idealistic version of myself.
Mr. H: That guy who comes out when I am extremely tired and comfortable with the person I'm chilling with. The rationality stands back and he takes over. I don't think he means to be an asshole, because I don't think any part of me likes being an asshole, but he just manages to hurt people. Or rather, one of the more rational personas has to hurt people after Mr. H is done. Sadly, this was the first discernible persona to come to mind.
Now, I don't mean to say that at any given moment, one and only one of these mental states exists, but these are the components to Ian. My actions and thoughts are usually some sort of appeal to one of these. I couldn't think of an evil component of myself. Will is the closest with his tendency towards indifference and consistency. So yeah, any input is appreciated.
Ian (6th grade): Like Sterling, I too have a persona that just wants acceptance and attention. Unfortunately, if Sterling's little guy is a mega-ton warhead, mine would have to be a whole planet. This is the person that needs a little too much to be noticed and appreciated. He comes out less and less in conversations these days, but still makes an appearance whenever I fail at something trivial....such as bowling.
Will: named for Will Hunting. This is where the obsession with learning comes from. Not a boy genius, but having that same thirst for knowledge. Will is the reason I'm at Georgetown, yet he's also the guiding force behind my skipping. His academia only goes as far as his interest in the subject. Will is the one who gets lost in math class and is surprised when class is over. Will also desires safety. Will is threatened by going outside of his comfort zone and avoids confrontation, content to stick to what he knows he can do well.
The Blade: The name for the incredibly Romantic (note the capital R) film-influenced version of me. This same mind can entertain a fantastically vivid and incredible daydream of being a pirate one minute, and then can be in the dining hall picturing how he could drop his tray and kick it forward into a random passerby and then erupt into a huge martial arts brawl. This is the dreamer in me, the one who feels dissatisfied with the dirth of mettle-testing situations in today's world, and who will still exist even when all of my realistic aspirations are met. The upside of this character is that he is the protector of my ideals and morals. Chivalry, Dependability, and everything along those lines flows from this idealistic version of myself.
Mr. H: That guy who comes out when I am extremely tired and comfortable with the person I'm chilling with. The rationality stands back and he takes over. I don't think he means to be an asshole, because I don't think any part of me likes being an asshole, but he just manages to hurt people. Or rather, one of the more rational personas has to hurt people after Mr. H is done. Sadly, this was the first discernible persona to come to mind.
Now, I don't mean to say that at any given moment, one and only one of these mental states exists, but these are the components to Ian. My actions and thoughts are usually some sort of appeal to one of these. I couldn't think of an evil component of myself. Will is the closest with his tendency towards indifference and consistency. So yeah, any input is appreciated.
Sunday, November 30, 2003
Well, I’m back from Thanksgiving. Family was family, nothing terribly new or exciting. The only change I can ever see anymore is my cousins growing up. While this is fascinating, it can also be discouraging when you come to understand the people they’re growing up into. I also appreciate having a cousin my age, not to mention at school with me. I love my family dearly. They made me who I am today, but at some point the torch was passed to my friends. Now my family
offers me constancy, which has a purpose in that I remember where I came from.
I think somewhere along the line Sterling and I traded places in terms of our approach towards the nuclear family. He has a newfound appreciation for his family, and for that I am very relieved. Why, then, at the same time, do I find my patience ever-waning when I’m with my mother? For this entire weekend, I have felt a bit aggravated due to the common occurrence of my mom asking about some aspect of my life. She asks, I start talking and at some point, we reach a point of maximum conversation and she will turn and ask my Uncle Frank a question in the middle of something I’m saying specifically to her. She makes such a big deal about missing me and wishing I was home and then shuts me down when I am finally around her. Thus, I find that I grumble about her more and more….wow, case in point.
So let’s recap: Wednesday, I got off of the train in Wilmington to find my mom and my cousin Sean waiting on the platform. Sean, Mom and I then go out to eat with my curmudgeonly Uncle Don. Once again, I listened to my uncle’s cynical views on life and sarcastic ferocity that has imprinted on me in the form of playfully scathing humor. One has to admire Uncle Don for telling it like it is. When we were at my graduation party, my Uncle Frank asked him how the beer he gave him was and Uncle Don replied, “Not that good, Uncle Frank, how about you get me a Coors Light so I can stop drinking it.” Charming. I say that now, but I laughed when it happened. He’s a funny guy and I actually enjoy being around him a lot, despite his dark humor.
After lunch, Mom, Sean and I drove to Uncle Kevin’s. Once we arrived, Sean and I played PS2 until Brian came home, whereupon we played more PS2. Nothing interesting took place for the rest of the day. We watched Donnie Darko, which was slightly wasteful and irresponsible to show to kids their age, but I never said I was a perfect cousin.
Thanksgiving was pretty cool. My Uncle Bob showed up a bit late, but the McCarthy Thanksgiving football game went on as planned. As usual, we has the “what the hell are we thinking” teams of Brian and I versus Sean and Colin. Yes that’s a college freshman and a high school freshman against a 6th grader and a 5th grader. Problems? Anyone? Bueller? Well, an hour or so later, after Sean’s nose dive into animal dung and Brian’s accidental leveling of Colin after the little guy tried to blitz, Brian and I won the game, with decent thanks to me. Yes, I can play football, if only against kids.
The meal was excellent, but didn’t feel like a big deal. It was just a family eating together, laughing at my uncles and talking about school. Pretty standard. My uncles were actually very supportive and enthusiastic about my acting stories. I thought that my uncles would be joking about the whole tights thing, but my Uncle Bob did theater in
college and still does tech work for the high school where he teaches, so he thought it was great.
Friday, Mom and I drove down to Stone Harbor. For the first time in years, my Uncle Frank and his family beat us to their house. In fact, we were so far behind that we went straight to the traditional restaurant, and thus I didn’t see their great shore house or my beloved Jersey Shore. My mom, my cousins and I went shopping for a while. I didn’t buy much, except for some fudge for the addict at Tech. Then Mom, Erin, Steve and I drove to their house in Voorhees.
That night, Steve and I tagged along with Erin to eat dinner with her friends and see Love Actually, which is such a good movie. Damn my undaunted appreciation of Hugh Grant and my Keira Knightley fixation. She looked absolutely gorgeous in the movie. I know I sound like….something weird, but that’s how it is.
I crashed with Steve in the basement, as is tradition, and we awoke the next morning for the Christmas decorations. It’s great to know that a family’s decorating is postponed so that you can come and lug stuff around their house. Of course, I love doing it and it’s really great to see a house with that much Christmas spirit.
Saturday night, we went to a Mexican place for dinner and, as usual, ate far too much. I really wish that part of the tradition could be avoided, but how do you say no to Queso? How?! Then Steve and I rented Super Troopers and laughed our asses off for the rest of the night.
I really like staying at Uncle Frank’s. It’s just nice to be with cousins more my age so it’s more like people hanging out than Ian taking care of the little cousins and being subjected, once again, to bodily harm, party-style. Steve’s old enough that we can just hang out and Erin and I always have school to talk about. I don’t know. There are parts I like about staying at Uncle Kevin’s too.
Then, today, Erin and I took a train out of Philly back to DC. I now have a week of heavy work ahead, which is bad considering that my work ethic suffered from Thanksgiving depreciation. The solace I can take is that in five days, I will be home…my real home. I was thinking today about how family is home in a way, one’s roots. Now Georgetown is also a home to me. I have often slipped up and said, “It’s good to be home,” in reference to campus. Despite all this, however, my real home is in Alpharetta. Maybe my home is in certain people and Alpharetta is naught but a staging ground for that, but either way, one thing is certain: I’m coming home.
offers me constancy, which has a purpose in that I remember where I came from.
I think somewhere along the line Sterling and I traded places in terms of our approach towards the nuclear family. He has a newfound appreciation for his family, and for that I am very relieved. Why, then, at the same time, do I find my patience ever-waning when I’m with my mother? For this entire weekend, I have felt a bit aggravated due to the common occurrence of my mom asking about some aspect of my life. She asks, I start talking and at some point, we reach a point of maximum conversation and she will turn and ask my Uncle Frank a question in the middle of something I’m saying specifically to her. She makes such a big deal about missing me and wishing I was home and then shuts me down when I am finally around her. Thus, I find that I grumble about her more and more….wow, case in point.
So let’s recap: Wednesday, I got off of the train in Wilmington to find my mom and my cousin Sean waiting on the platform. Sean, Mom and I then go out to eat with my curmudgeonly Uncle Don. Once again, I listened to my uncle’s cynical views on life and sarcastic ferocity that has imprinted on me in the form of playfully scathing humor. One has to admire Uncle Don for telling it like it is. When we were at my graduation party, my Uncle Frank asked him how the beer he gave him was and Uncle Don replied, “Not that good, Uncle Frank, how about you get me a Coors Light so I can stop drinking it.” Charming. I say that now, but I laughed when it happened. He’s a funny guy and I actually enjoy being around him a lot, despite his dark humor.
After lunch, Mom, Sean and I drove to Uncle Kevin’s. Once we arrived, Sean and I played PS2 until Brian came home, whereupon we played more PS2. Nothing interesting took place for the rest of the day. We watched Donnie Darko, which was slightly wasteful and irresponsible to show to kids their age, but I never said I was a perfect cousin.
Thanksgiving was pretty cool. My Uncle Bob showed up a bit late, but the McCarthy Thanksgiving football game went on as planned. As usual, we has the “what the hell are we thinking” teams of Brian and I versus Sean and Colin. Yes that’s a college freshman and a high school freshman against a 6th grader and a 5th grader. Problems? Anyone? Bueller? Well, an hour or so later, after Sean’s nose dive into animal dung and Brian’s accidental leveling of Colin after the little guy tried to blitz, Brian and I won the game, with decent thanks to me. Yes, I can play football, if only against kids.
The meal was excellent, but didn’t feel like a big deal. It was just a family eating together, laughing at my uncles and talking about school. Pretty standard. My uncles were actually very supportive and enthusiastic about my acting stories. I thought that my uncles would be joking about the whole tights thing, but my Uncle Bob did theater in
college and still does tech work for the high school where he teaches, so he thought it was great.
Friday, Mom and I drove down to Stone Harbor. For the first time in years, my Uncle Frank and his family beat us to their house. In fact, we were so far behind that we went straight to the traditional restaurant, and thus I didn’t see their great shore house or my beloved Jersey Shore. My mom, my cousins and I went shopping for a while. I didn’t buy much, except for some fudge for the addict at Tech. Then Mom, Erin, Steve and I drove to their house in Voorhees.
That night, Steve and I tagged along with Erin to eat dinner with her friends and see Love Actually, which is such a good movie. Damn my undaunted appreciation of Hugh Grant and my Keira Knightley fixation. She looked absolutely gorgeous in the movie. I know I sound like….something weird, but that’s how it is.
I crashed with Steve in the basement, as is tradition, and we awoke the next morning for the Christmas decorations. It’s great to know that a family’s decorating is postponed so that you can come and lug stuff around their house. Of course, I love doing it and it’s really great to see a house with that much Christmas spirit.
Saturday night, we went to a Mexican place for dinner and, as usual, ate far too much. I really wish that part of the tradition could be avoided, but how do you say no to Queso? How?! Then Steve and I rented Super Troopers and laughed our asses off for the rest of the night.
I really like staying at Uncle Frank’s. It’s just nice to be with cousins more my age so it’s more like people hanging out than Ian taking care of the little cousins and being subjected, once again, to bodily harm, party-style. Steve’s old enough that we can just hang out and Erin and I always have school to talk about. I don’t know. There are parts I like about staying at Uncle Kevin’s too.
Then, today, Erin and I took a train out of Philly back to DC. I now have a week of heavy work ahead, which is bad considering that my work ethic suffered from Thanksgiving depreciation. The solace I can take is that in five days, I will be home…my real home. I was thinking today about how family is home in a way, one’s roots. Now Georgetown is also a home to me. I have often slipped up and said, “It’s good to be home,” in reference to campus. Despite all this, however, my real home is in Alpharetta. Maybe my home is in certain people and Alpharetta is naught but a staging ground for that, but either way, one thing is certain: I’m coming home.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
"Wait, you mean not only is Ian going to be in Alpharetta for his study days December 5th-9th, but..."
"That's right, he's also coming home the 11th and leaving for Pennsylvania a week and a half after that."
"But how did he manage that?"
"Well, he only has two finals, both on the 10th and the rest are papers, also due on the 10th."
"Wow, so he'll get to come home and see people?"
"Seems that way"
"Excellent!!....hey, wait a second, this isn't actually quoted from anything, is it?"
"Fraid not, Ian's just using dialogue because he thinks it's a clever way to tell people from home."
"Oh...that's sorta sad"
"Yes, yes it is"
"That's right, he's also coming home the 11th and leaving for Pennsylvania a week and a half after that."
"But how did he manage that?"
"Well, he only has two finals, both on the 10th and the rest are papers, also due on the 10th."
"Wow, so he'll get to come home and see people?"
"Seems that way"
"Excellent!!....hey, wait a second, this isn't actually quoted from anything, is it?"
"Fraid not, Ian's just using dialogue because he thinks it's a clever way to tell people from home."
"Oh...that's sorta sad"
"Yes, yes it is"
Monday, November 24, 2003
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
11/18 – pool-pah. n. (1) The Wrath of God (2) a shit-storm.
Today I called my mom in the last morning to ask her whether or not she thought that 19 credits would be too much for next semester if I were to take a theater class I’m considering. She said that it was my choice and that she thought theater was a fine class to take because she’d been convinced that I was good at it. I found that comforting, and yet I would find that this feeling really only served as a contrast to what was to come. As we were about to say goodbye, Mom suddenly remembered something she wanted to tell me. She then proceeded to explain that she had asked her bosses to be transferred up north, to either Wilmington or Burlington, thus implying that she would move to work in their offices in one of those two places. This is how my mother casually informed me that we were moving. Granted, I knew Mom wanted to move back north at some point because she wanted to be near family again now that I’m gone, and I was ok with this general idea of the distant future. However, she had assured me that it wouldn’t be for a few years and that I would have the summer after freshman year to be with my friends back home in Alpharetta. Furthermore, her recent success with crafting had me thinking that a move wouldn’t be necessary for her to feel better about my being gone. All these things were racing through my head, as well as the fact that she had not said that she was considering asking for relocation, but that she had already done so without ever mentioning it to me, thus leaving me completely out of the loop for something that is going to seriously affect my life. I just can’t believe that she told me after the fact, because she obviously had to have considered it ahead of time. One doesn’t look up from one’s desk in the middle of the day and say. “Hmmm, I think I’ll go ask to be transferred to a completely new city.” I didn’t express any indignation at the time and just quietly listened to her suggestions that I can rent a house at Stone Harbor for the summer and have friends there. That’s such a relief that my friends will have to go out of their way to come see me. I’m more likely to find some way to stay in Georgia. A family’s moving during high school is hard, but new friends can eventually be made at school. Where am I going to make friends in Baltimore or Wilmington? And who says I want to make new friends? God damn it, I know I’m being selfish about this, but I would have appreciated some bit of consultation, especially since mom always makes such a big deal about how she has a say in what classes I should take because it’s her investment. Well, since it’s this job that provides an education to me, perhaps I should be at least informed about how things might change as opposed to being told they probably will.
FUCK!
Today I called my mom in the last morning to ask her whether or not she thought that 19 credits would be too much for next semester if I were to take a theater class I’m considering. She said that it was my choice and that she thought theater was a fine class to take because she’d been convinced that I was good at it. I found that comforting, and yet I would find that this feeling really only served as a contrast to what was to come. As we were about to say goodbye, Mom suddenly remembered something she wanted to tell me. She then proceeded to explain that she had asked her bosses to be transferred up north, to either Wilmington or Burlington, thus implying that she would move to work in their offices in one of those two places. This is how my mother casually informed me that we were moving. Granted, I knew Mom wanted to move back north at some point because she wanted to be near family again now that I’m gone, and I was ok with this general idea of the distant future. However, she had assured me that it wouldn’t be for a few years and that I would have the summer after freshman year to be with my friends back home in Alpharetta. Furthermore, her recent success with crafting had me thinking that a move wouldn’t be necessary for her to feel better about my being gone. All these things were racing through my head, as well as the fact that she had not said that she was considering asking for relocation, but that she had already done so without ever mentioning it to me, thus leaving me completely out of the loop for something that is going to seriously affect my life. I just can’t believe that she told me after the fact, because she obviously had to have considered it ahead of time. One doesn’t look up from one’s desk in the middle of the day and say. “Hmmm, I think I’ll go ask to be transferred to a completely new city.” I didn’t express any indignation at the time and just quietly listened to her suggestions that I can rent a house at Stone Harbor for the summer and have friends there. That’s such a relief that my friends will have to go out of their way to come see me. I’m more likely to find some way to stay in Georgia. A family’s moving during high school is hard, but new friends can eventually be made at school. Where am I going to make friends in Baltimore or Wilmington? And who says I want to make new friends? God damn it, I know I’m being selfish about this, but I would have appreciated some bit of consultation, especially since mom always makes such a big deal about how she has a say in what classes I should take because it’s her investment. Well, since it’s this job that provides an education to me, perhaps I should be at least informed about how things might change as opposed to being told they probably will.
FUCK!
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Since last I wrote my journal, I’ve done a few things of varying significance. First of all, I pre-registered for next semester. This involved decided how much General Education requirements I can get through without overloading myself with classes I hate. Granted, my two major classes should be spectacular next semester. My next math class, Linear Algebra, should be a lot of fun because, let’s face it, I find math fun. For instance, this week I learned how to calculate the maximum and minimum of multi-dimensional surfaces, which is just as thrilling as it sounds. Not sure if I’m being serious or mocking my own fascination with such things…probably both. So if I find that interesting, Linear Algebra will probably just be that much more interesting. As for English, I’m hoping for this amazing class about story-telling and narrative writing. The class covers everything from Homer to blogging. It sounds right up my alley, especially considering the fact that I have a fascination with the writing style.
My other three classes, on the other hand, are going to be general education. There’s my Intro to Economics class, which sounds like it will be fantastically boring. I’m also taking the first class of my Theology requirements, which is just going to be one of the countless Problem of God classes. I tried to pick one that actually sounded interesting and hopefully I succeeded, as it has potential to be an interesting course topic, but could just as easily be made tedious. Here’s to hoping. Finally, I selected an Introduction to Ethics course that goes over Aristotle and Kant, and since they’re pretty intelligent guys, I figure a class about them is worth it.
In addition to the wonders of pre-registration, I also have gotten back to acting after only a month or so of not having theater consume my very existence. Granted, I’m working on a Midnight Theater piece and it’s only a two week process, but that actually makes things more rushed, so it sort of evens out. Anyhow, I am in the play Pope and Anti-pope, which is about the Great Schism of the Catholic Church. Three cheers for historical drama! Too bad this doesn’t exactly fit into that category. It’s actually very satirical and involves such anachronisms as watches, Alexander the Great, Caligula and Jesus, all during the Schism ordeal. It’s an incredibly funny play that has the two popes and their respective scribes on opposite ends of the stage. The scenes just shift back and forth, usually whenever one pope writes a letter to accost the other. My role is that of Benedict, “meek yet sarcastic” scribe to the Avignon pope Clement, who is actually insane Roman emperor Caligula. That, however, is not at all the most shocking aspect of my role. Benedict and Caligula also happen to be homosexual lovers, so yay acting challenges.
The only other interesting thing that’s happened recently is the fact that today I got to attend a workshop on audition techniques led by John Carroll Lynch, who appeared in Fargo and, probably more recognizably, played Drew Carey’s brother on the Drew Carey Show. I found that pretty cool and I made sure to get him to sign my friend’s copy of Fargo that I had borrowed. It was actually bizarre that I watched the movie yesterday and then only learned today that he was going to be on campus. The workshop was helpful, though more oriented towards people considering professional acting. I’m definitely not in that category, as Mom flipped out when I said my friend was trying to convince me to take sculpting with him. Nonetheless, it was interesting to learn techniques and to appreciate the audition itself instead of what it might lead to.
My other three classes, on the other hand, are going to be general education. There’s my Intro to Economics class, which sounds like it will be fantastically boring. I’m also taking the first class of my Theology requirements, which is just going to be one of the countless Problem of God classes. I tried to pick one that actually sounded interesting and hopefully I succeeded, as it has potential to be an interesting course topic, but could just as easily be made tedious. Here’s to hoping. Finally, I selected an Introduction to Ethics course that goes over Aristotle and Kant, and since they’re pretty intelligent guys, I figure a class about them is worth it.
In addition to the wonders of pre-registration, I also have gotten back to acting after only a month or so of not having theater consume my very existence. Granted, I’m working on a Midnight Theater piece and it’s only a two week process, but that actually makes things more rushed, so it sort of evens out. Anyhow, I am in the play Pope and Anti-pope, which is about the Great Schism of the Catholic Church. Three cheers for historical drama! Too bad this doesn’t exactly fit into that category. It’s actually very satirical and involves such anachronisms as watches, Alexander the Great, Caligula and Jesus, all during the Schism ordeal. It’s an incredibly funny play that has the two popes and their respective scribes on opposite ends of the stage. The scenes just shift back and forth, usually whenever one pope writes a letter to accost the other. My role is that of Benedict, “meek yet sarcastic” scribe to the Avignon pope Clement, who is actually insane Roman emperor Caligula. That, however, is not at all the most shocking aspect of my role. Benedict and Caligula also happen to be homosexual lovers, so yay acting challenges.
The only other interesting thing that’s happened recently is the fact that today I got to attend a workshop on audition techniques led by John Carroll Lynch, who appeared in Fargo and, probably more recognizably, played Drew Carey’s brother on the Drew Carey Show. I found that pretty cool and I made sure to get him to sign my friend’s copy of Fargo that I had borrowed. It was actually bizarre that I watched the movie yesterday and then only learned today that he was going to be on campus. The workshop was helpful, though more oriented towards people considering professional acting. I’m definitely not in that category, as Mom flipped out when I said my friend was trying to convince me to take sculpting with him. Nonetheless, it was interesting to learn techniques and to appreciate the audition itself instead of what it might lead to.
Ok, this is my warning. Do NOT click the Freakishly Accurate link in my profile. It is a link to a "crush compatibility" site that if you should put names of your crushes into, it sends those names to me. This is all the warning I'm giving people, because I would like to get someone with it as I was heartlessly tricked by someone.
Saturday, November 08, 2003
I really don't care what anyone else says. I loved The Matrix Revolutions. Sure, some things were cliche, but frankly, I'm tired of people saying that about movies. A whole lot of things have been said and done in movies and it's difficult to just come up with a completely new way to express something that in the real world would be expressed just like a cliche. So why laugh when someone says "I love you" as if it's some cheesy overdone line. Yeah, it is overdone, because love is a huge part of movies, and unless some script writer decides to write a new way to say it, then I think the normal way is great. That goes for a whole lot of other lines in the movie as well. And as for people who thought that it was just an action movie. It was about a war. Wars tend to have action in them. I had no problem with that. Maybe my mind just decided that it wasn't going to overanalyse the places where the fighting was unnecessary, but looking back, I still have trouble deciding just where that would be. Finally, as for the ending, I think it was fantastic. Someone told me that it was good until the last scene, so I was waiting for some crazy The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen-esque scene, but it was a perfectly fine ending. It was resolved in a way that was consistent with the story and I'm fine with it.
So hey, go see it. Like it, don't like it, but if you see it, don't go in expecting to see this awful movie everyone's been telling you about, even if that means not taking my review to heart either. It's about choice...ironically.
So hey, go see it. Like it, don't like it, but if you see it, don't go in expecting to see this awful movie everyone's been telling you about, even if that means not taking my review to heart either. It's about choice...ironically.
Friday, November 07, 2003
All Time Top Five List of Word Play Songs (in no particular order)
Meat Loaf - Paradise by the Dashboard Light ("Love you till the end of time")
Barenaked Ladies - Tonight is the Night I Fell Asleep at the Wheel ("You're the last thing on my mind")
Eve 6 - Promise (The fan joke)
Barenaked Ladies - Pinch Me ("I could hide out under there")
Eve 6 - Open Road Song ("I crack a window and feel the cool air cleanse my every pore, as I pour my poor heart out")
Any more that people like?
Meat Loaf - Paradise by the Dashboard Light ("Love you till the end of time")
Barenaked Ladies - Tonight is the Night I Fell Asleep at the Wheel ("You're the last thing on my mind")
Eve 6 - Promise (The fan joke)
Barenaked Ladies - Pinch Me ("I could hide out under there")
Eve 6 - Open Road Song ("I crack a window and feel the cool air cleanse my every pore, as I pour my poor heart out")
Any more that people like?
Monday, November 03, 2003
As usual, when the pace of life picks up a bit, my journal gets left by the wayside for a while. Maybe I just haven’t had anything interesting to say lately. Things here at Georgetown are pretty regular these days, with the exception of Halloween.
Ah, Halloween, the day of the year that I get to dress up, become someone else, and…only be recognized by a handful of people. I mean, I explained my costume to some, but only a few people knew I was a Boondock Saint purely based on my tattoos, which, admittedly, is the only thing that would indicate I’m not just wearing normal clothes. The girl in my philosophy class who pulled me aside after class to compliment my tattoo job made my day. I should have gotten her name, but I’m kind of thoughtless these days. I don’t know; after a certain number of weeks, I stopped learning names with that Orientation-prompted absorption, so that now if I am introduced to someone, I forget their name before the conversation is over. Some internal thing just says, “I have enough friends,” I guess, which is sort of ridiculous, because who can have too many friends, or at least people to nod or smile at when you pass them (something that thankfully requires no name recognition).
Anyway, Friday I walked to the waterfront with some friends, then rerouted myself back towards campus to meet theater people for their pregaming of the Trojan Women Opening Night Halloween Party. On the way through the overrun and often completely halted streets of Georgetown proper, I spoke with Miss Hanley Smith on the phone, which thankfully lifted me out of the crazed world of costumed strangers. Once I arrived at Henle Village, I sat for a while until John Dzundza and BTA came along, whereupon I went into Joe’s.
It was fun. We played “I’ve never” as a pseudo-drinking game. Those of us who didn’t feel like drinking could just use fingers, though occasionally I partook of the delectable (“as was the first”) drink the masterful Chris Hajduk had concocted for me. Some things were funny for me, like someone selecting the use of food in a sexual situation. I figured that, at Sterling’s party, the caramel situation, though Truth or Dare, was more sexual then culinary, or so it was intended when Katie and I created the Dare. Interesting…I’ve never thought of how it’s sort of funny that Katie and I, after writing the slips, got that one.
I like hanging out with theater people. I haven’t felt this welcome in an already existing group since St. Benedict’s teen group, and that was a great experience, despite my change in beliefs since then. I guess I like the environment because of the varying ages, something also present at church. It’s just cool to hang out with people regardless of age. It also gives a sense of connection to the future when you hang with some of the seniors who, theoretically, are on the cusp of real life. Of course, by real life, I mean grad school or jobs. Real life in its purest sense often hits a lot earlier than college. Anyway, to be able to chill with Haj, Joe and the others always leads to a subconscious consideration of my own future. Where will I be in my senior year? I must say interaction with younger people was a bit of a problem for me at church. I mean, I hung out with a lot of people a year younger than me, but after that, I didn’t really have so much of a devotion to the younger members. Maybe that contributed in a minor way to the death of the teen group, as it was. I didn’t really reach out to people the way Matt, Meghan, Andrew and others reached out to me.
Well, back to Halloween. I meant to go to the Exorcist with my Harbin friends, but I got sidetracked by a phone call and I had to miss the Georgetown tradition. Damn it, that really bothers me, especially since I still haven’t seen it. As I was waiting outside for my friends after getting off the phone, theater folk wandered my way and I went with them to the Trojan Women party.
At the house, I got a few comments about my costume, which was reassuring. Almost everyone who knew what I was thought it was great, even the other two Boondock Saints I had run into before dinner, who thought my arm cross was impressive. Am I gloating? Oh yes I am. The party was cool. Joe’s Frank the demonic rabbit suit was awesome, as was the girl who came as Trinity. The resemblance was uncanny. After some dancing, mostly in a circle with Illusion cast members, a few of us made our way back to campus. I believe I then went to sleep, but I may have stayed up and played around on the computer as I always do.
The rest of the weekend went well. I didn’t have a great deal of work, so I relaxed a lot, taking advantage of God’s fascination with screwing up the weather patterns. Celeste, James and I took a walk to the monuments Saturday, bringing along some interesting conversations. We strode through the FDR memorial, took a picture of James standing in the bread line with a bunch of statues and then turned back towards the hilltop. Saturday night, I went to see The Shining, which scared me out of my wits once again. For the rest of the night, we stayed in (yeah, I know, but I liked it) to play some Cranium, which I believe is one of the greatest games ever made. I got back to my room and was getting ready for bed when I noticed I had a voicemail. I heard John on the other end thanking me sarcastically for being at the Play in a Day competition, which I had missed to play Cranium. I called him back and he said he was just joking, but that a bunch of people were at Tomasina’s house, so despite the hour and the original plan for sleeping, I walked all the way out to T street and watched people play old school Nintendo for a few hours, heckling them all the while.
This was a really good weekend, in retrospect. I guess I should have gotten more work done. I’ve gotten this reputation as a serious slacker. I skip classes, and almost always opt to do things besides homework. So far, I have gotten my work done for my classes and I never skip a class I think of as important. Well, at least I haven’t since I missed a really important day in math. I guess I just seem really laid back about work to people. Senior year just made me realize that some things are more important than others to me. I’m not saying the people who work hard are wrong. On the contrary, I admire them for having that will. As for me, I guess I do things my way. Wow, a lot of first person pronouns there. So far, my grades are doing well. I get A’s pretty constantly in Spanish. I think my Calc average will be 100, but I’m getting my second test back tomorrow. I am more than a bit disappointed about my B- on my first English paper, but I understand the grade, not to mention the fact that this in no longer high school and the work isn’t supposed to be a breeze. Nonetheless it takes a lot to get used to getting B’s on my papers. Damn, this college thing is hard…wow, that’s deep.
Ah, Halloween, the day of the year that I get to dress up, become someone else, and…only be recognized by a handful of people. I mean, I explained my costume to some, but only a few people knew I was a Boondock Saint purely based on my tattoos, which, admittedly, is the only thing that would indicate I’m not just wearing normal clothes. The girl in my philosophy class who pulled me aside after class to compliment my tattoo job made my day. I should have gotten her name, but I’m kind of thoughtless these days. I don’t know; after a certain number of weeks, I stopped learning names with that Orientation-prompted absorption, so that now if I am introduced to someone, I forget their name before the conversation is over. Some internal thing just says, “I have enough friends,” I guess, which is sort of ridiculous, because who can have too many friends, or at least people to nod or smile at when you pass them (something that thankfully requires no name recognition).
Anyway, Friday I walked to the waterfront with some friends, then rerouted myself back towards campus to meet theater people for their pregaming of the Trojan Women Opening Night Halloween Party. On the way through the overrun and often completely halted streets of Georgetown proper, I spoke with Miss Hanley Smith on the phone, which thankfully lifted me out of the crazed world of costumed strangers. Once I arrived at Henle Village, I sat for a while until John Dzundza and BTA came along, whereupon I went into Joe’s.
It was fun. We played “I’ve never” as a pseudo-drinking game. Those of us who didn’t feel like drinking could just use fingers, though occasionally I partook of the delectable (“as was the first”) drink the masterful Chris Hajduk had concocted for me. Some things were funny for me, like someone selecting the use of food in a sexual situation. I figured that, at Sterling’s party, the caramel situation, though Truth or Dare, was more sexual then culinary, or so it was intended when Katie and I created the Dare. Interesting…I’ve never thought of how it’s sort of funny that Katie and I, after writing the slips, got that one.
I like hanging out with theater people. I haven’t felt this welcome in an already existing group since St. Benedict’s teen group, and that was a great experience, despite my change in beliefs since then. I guess I like the environment because of the varying ages, something also present at church. It’s just cool to hang out with people regardless of age. It also gives a sense of connection to the future when you hang with some of the seniors who, theoretically, are on the cusp of real life. Of course, by real life, I mean grad school or jobs. Real life in its purest sense often hits a lot earlier than college. Anyway, to be able to chill with Haj, Joe and the others always leads to a subconscious consideration of my own future. Where will I be in my senior year? I must say interaction with younger people was a bit of a problem for me at church. I mean, I hung out with a lot of people a year younger than me, but after that, I didn’t really have so much of a devotion to the younger members. Maybe that contributed in a minor way to the death of the teen group, as it was. I didn’t really reach out to people the way Matt, Meghan, Andrew and others reached out to me.
Well, back to Halloween. I meant to go to the Exorcist with my Harbin friends, but I got sidetracked by a phone call and I had to miss the Georgetown tradition. Damn it, that really bothers me, especially since I still haven’t seen it. As I was waiting outside for my friends after getting off the phone, theater folk wandered my way and I went with them to the Trojan Women party.
At the house, I got a few comments about my costume, which was reassuring. Almost everyone who knew what I was thought it was great, even the other two Boondock Saints I had run into before dinner, who thought my arm cross was impressive. Am I gloating? Oh yes I am. The party was cool. Joe’s Frank the demonic rabbit suit was awesome, as was the girl who came as Trinity. The resemblance was uncanny. After some dancing, mostly in a circle with Illusion cast members, a few of us made our way back to campus. I believe I then went to sleep, but I may have stayed up and played around on the computer as I always do.
The rest of the weekend went well. I didn’t have a great deal of work, so I relaxed a lot, taking advantage of God’s fascination with screwing up the weather patterns. Celeste, James and I took a walk to the monuments Saturday, bringing along some interesting conversations. We strode through the FDR memorial, took a picture of James standing in the bread line with a bunch of statues and then turned back towards the hilltop. Saturday night, I went to see The Shining, which scared me out of my wits once again. For the rest of the night, we stayed in (yeah, I know, but I liked it) to play some Cranium, which I believe is one of the greatest games ever made. I got back to my room and was getting ready for bed when I noticed I had a voicemail. I heard John on the other end thanking me sarcastically for being at the Play in a Day competition, which I had missed to play Cranium. I called him back and he said he was just joking, but that a bunch of people were at Tomasina’s house, so despite the hour and the original plan for sleeping, I walked all the way out to T street and watched people play old school Nintendo for a few hours, heckling them all the while.
This was a really good weekend, in retrospect. I guess I should have gotten more work done. I’ve gotten this reputation as a serious slacker. I skip classes, and almost always opt to do things besides homework. So far, I have gotten my work done for my classes and I never skip a class I think of as important. Well, at least I haven’t since I missed a really important day in math. I guess I just seem really laid back about work to people. Senior year just made me realize that some things are more important than others to me. I’m not saying the people who work hard are wrong. On the contrary, I admire them for having that will. As for me, I guess I do things my way. Wow, a lot of first person pronouns there. So far, my grades are doing well. I get A’s pretty constantly in Spanish. I think my Calc average will be 100, but I’m getting my second test back tomorrow. I am more than a bit disappointed about my B- on my first English paper, but I understand the grade, not to mention the fact that this in no longer high school and the work isn’t supposed to be a breeze. Nonetheless it takes a lot to get used to getting B’s on my papers. Damn, this college thing is hard…wow, that’s deep.
Sunday, October 26, 2003
“What in this world is not evanescent? What in this world is real and not seeming? Love, which seems the realest thing, is really nothing at all; a simple gray rock is a thousand times more tangible than love is; and the earth is such a rock, and love only a breeze that dreams over its surface, weightless and traceless. And yet…love’s more mineral, more dense, more veined with gold and corrupted with lead, more bitter and more weighty than earth’s profoundest matter. Love is a sea of desire stretched between two shores – only the shores are real, but how much more compelling is the sea! Love is the world’s infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood. A dream with makes the world seem…an illusion. The art of illusion is the art of love, and the art of love is the blood-red heart of the world. At times…I think there’s nothing else.”
-Alcandre The Illusion
It is finished. This incredible juggernaut that has consumed my life for months has come to an abrupt halt, leaving me with a case of exhausted spiritual whiplash. Ok, so it’s not exactly like that, I just liked the metaphor. The Illusion is over, however. We performed our last show last night, to what I believe was a full house, or close to it.
After thanking our friends who stayed to congratulate us, the cast and crew, along with the huge group doing The Cradle Will Rock, set about striking our set. First, Alcandre’s cave was stripped bare of its walls of black masking, dissolving the “cold and haunted emptiness” that set such a perfect tone. Then the set itself was deconstructed, demolishing the great ambience of the bastard child of a wine cellar and a Renaissance theater that was Tomasina’s lovely set. I didn’t really think about these things at the time. I was too busy going nuts with a screw gun or carrying unbelievably heavy platforms and beams through the streets of Georgetown. It was only after the completion of our strike and Cradle’s move-in that I stepped into the space and noticed that it was truly gone.
Maybe I gave it so much thought because this was my first play ever, my first chance to make an illusion of my own after years of being amazed at Milton’s finest. Maybe it was because the play itself was so pertinent to theater. Whatever the reason, standing there in the space, looking at the bare floor and the new platforms against the wall, it almost seemed as if, instead of the previous hours of heavy lifting, Alcandre had simply snapped his fingers, and The Illusion had vanished.
My feelings about the end of the show were and still are predictably bittersweet. I’m glad to get some time back in my day, and by time I mean a good 4 or 5 hours of my evening. However, this play gave me so much while I was a part of it. Granted, many things still remain. I still have all of these great new theater friends, who have not only made me feel welcome amongst them, but equal. I have a great award given to me by the executive board, commemorating my whiny entrance line. I even hope to walk away with my ostentatious staff if I can pull that off. However, I no longer have the release and the freedom that the characters gave me. I mean, how often do I get to do a whiny Pleribo voice and act ridiculous, all from behind the relative anonymity of a mask? How often do I get to become a character of driving anger, only to step out of it afterwards feeling much lighter in general? And how many times do I get to sword fight, for God’s sake?
Theater may be mostly for the audience, but I must say I was selfish in my interests. From having a great time with the duel, to saying that final speech along with Chris every night, I just savored every moment and I’m going to miss having that in my life. I hope everyone involved in the play knows how much I appreciate everything they did to make my first Mask and Bauble play one of the greatest things I’ve ever been a part of.
-Alcandre The Illusion
It is finished. This incredible juggernaut that has consumed my life for months has come to an abrupt halt, leaving me with a case of exhausted spiritual whiplash. Ok, so it’s not exactly like that, I just liked the metaphor. The Illusion is over, however. We performed our last show last night, to what I believe was a full house, or close to it.
After thanking our friends who stayed to congratulate us, the cast and crew, along with the huge group doing The Cradle Will Rock, set about striking our set. First, Alcandre’s cave was stripped bare of its walls of black masking, dissolving the “cold and haunted emptiness” that set such a perfect tone. Then the set itself was deconstructed, demolishing the great ambience of the bastard child of a wine cellar and a Renaissance theater that was Tomasina’s lovely set. I didn’t really think about these things at the time. I was too busy going nuts with a screw gun or carrying unbelievably heavy platforms and beams through the streets of Georgetown. It was only after the completion of our strike and Cradle’s move-in that I stepped into the space and noticed that it was truly gone.
Maybe I gave it so much thought because this was my first play ever, my first chance to make an illusion of my own after years of being amazed at Milton’s finest. Maybe it was because the play itself was so pertinent to theater. Whatever the reason, standing there in the space, looking at the bare floor and the new platforms against the wall, it almost seemed as if, instead of the previous hours of heavy lifting, Alcandre had simply snapped his fingers, and The Illusion had vanished.
My feelings about the end of the show were and still are predictably bittersweet. I’m glad to get some time back in my day, and by time I mean a good 4 or 5 hours of my evening. However, this play gave me so much while I was a part of it. Granted, many things still remain. I still have all of these great new theater friends, who have not only made me feel welcome amongst them, but equal. I have a great award given to me by the executive board, commemorating my whiny entrance line. I even hope to walk away with my ostentatious staff if I can pull that off. However, I no longer have the release and the freedom that the characters gave me. I mean, how often do I get to do a whiny Pleribo voice and act ridiculous, all from behind the relative anonymity of a mask? How often do I get to become a character of driving anger, only to step out of it afterwards feeling much lighter in general? And how many times do I get to sword fight, for God’s sake?
Theater may be mostly for the audience, but I must say I was selfish in my interests. From having a great time with the duel, to saying that final speech along with Chris every night, I just savored every moment and I’m going to miss having that in my life. I hope everyone involved in the play knows how much I appreciate everything they did to make my first Mask and Bauble play one of the greatest things I’ve ever been a part of.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Let’s face it. College is full of changes. From the daily routine to the things we say, we’ve changed. Last year I was a grunt for Milton; now I’m on stage for more than just tossing books all over the set (which was still one of my finest moments), and I’m loving it. It’s these changes that make our lives unique, I suppose, and at the same time, I find myself in mourning.
I wish to write this with a disclaimer, or perhaps a few. First of all, I love my friends. Nothing changes that. My love for them withstands any onslaught and I guarantee that their place in my heart is irreplaceable. In addition, I will address the fact that parts of this may seem hypocritical. I try my best to avoid it, but it happens. I am not perfect, even if I wish to be. Finally, this doesn’t apply to everyone, nor is it meant to insult anyone. These are my thoughts, plain and simple.
It seems that one of the pillars of our group, our high school bands of brothers, as it was in its prime, was our belief that substances that held the ability to change our behavior were foolish and unnecessary aspects of life. Maybe that was part of our elitism, although most of that was a simple belief that our standards in general were higher, and many of them still are.
Why then has our Babel-esque tower fallen for so many, including myself? Why have we changed something’s role from unnecessary to commonplace, if not almost necessary? I am, of course, referring to alcohol. From social drinkers to mild drunks, it seems that many of us have crossed that bridge that we easily scoffed throughout the reign of the A Kids. I do indeed wonder what has changed about us to take up the habit.
For my part, I don’t ascribe to that common Georgetown custom of going out to a party simply to find some beer and get drunk. I still believe that if you have no business being at a party, then…you have no business being there. My experience has so far always been within a theater setting and I seriously doubt it shall venture far from it. When I drink, it is usually only a drink or two, literally, and usually mixed by myself or people I trust. Same goes for the general parties. Theater is a crazy group, but it’s a safe group and thus, I have no qualms about the dangerous side of alcohol.
But what about our old standards? What about the belief that losing control in any way was something we couldn’t bring ourselves to do? What about the notion that drinking changes who we are? These things can still be true. In fact, they are the main reasons I keep my drinking to a minimum. Even a slight stumble would be enough to kick myself the next day, and not just because of a hangover. However, a drink can help ease a little tension off of a hard weekend, such as it did at the show’s after party.
It’s because of my personal albeit minor drinking that I feel more than a bit ludicrous when I sigh at the sight or sound of drunkenness. However, I feel no sadness at seeing theater people drunk. It’s simply when I notice the changes in my closest dearest friends. At those moments, I can’t help but find myself torn. I love my friends and thus, I trust their decisions, however, changes can be noticeable. Granted, these changes aren’t always because of the drinking. In fact, the changes and the drinking can exist in a sort of chicken and the egg relationship. Either way, some part of me wonders what our standards, and I do mean OUR as I definitely include myself, were really there for if they are so easily subject to a change in environment.
I’d like to say “in conclusion,” but I’m not even really sure what I’ve said here, so I could hardly find the point to it. I’m just confused is all, and a bit sad. Granted, the changes we’re all going through, for the most part, will alter who we are, so that we can never attain what the group was. However, there seems to be some difference between understanding the general changes along the way and taking a good long look at our drinking habits, however they may be, and wondering.
I wish to write this with a disclaimer, or perhaps a few. First of all, I love my friends. Nothing changes that. My love for them withstands any onslaught and I guarantee that their place in my heart is irreplaceable. In addition, I will address the fact that parts of this may seem hypocritical. I try my best to avoid it, but it happens. I am not perfect, even if I wish to be. Finally, this doesn’t apply to everyone, nor is it meant to insult anyone. These are my thoughts, plain and simple.
It seems that one of the pillars of our group, our high school bands of brothers, as it was in its prime, was our belief that substances that held the ability to change our behavior were foolish and unnecessary aspects of life. Maybe that was part of our elitism, although most of that was a simple belief that our standards in general were higher, and many of them still are.
Why then has our Babel-esque tower fallen for so many, including myself? Why have we changed something’s role from unnecessary to commonplace, if not almost necessary? I am, of course, referring to alcohol. From social drinkers to mild drunks, it seems that many of us have crossed that bridge that we easily scoffed throughout the reign of the A Kids. I do indeed wonder what has changed about us to take up the habit.
For my part, I don’t ascribe to that common Georgetown custom of going out to a party simply to find some beer and get drunk. I still believe that if you have no business being at a party, then…you have no business being there. My experience has so far always been within a theater setting and I seriously doubt it shall venture far from it. When I drink, it is usually only a drink or two, literally, and usually mixed by myself or people I trust. Same goes for the general parties. Theater is a crazy group, but it’s a safe group and thus, I have no qualms about the dangerous side of alcohol.
But what about our old standards? What about the belief that losing control in any way was something we couldn’t bring ourselves to do? What about the notion that drinking changes who we are? These things can still be true. In fact, they are the main reasons I keep my drinking to a minimum. Even a slight stumble would be enough to kick myself the next day, and not just because of a hangover. However, a drink can help ease a little tension off of a hard weekend, such as it did at the show’s after party.
It’s because of my personal albeit minor drinking that I feel more than a bit ludicrous when I sigh at the sight or sound of drunkenness. However, I feel no sadness at seeing theater people drunk. It’s simply when I notice the changes in my closest dearest friends. At those moments, I can’t help but find myself torn. I love my friends and thus, I trust their decisions, however, changes can be noticeable. Granted, these changes aren’t always because of the drinking. In fact, the changes and the drinking can exist in a sort of chicken and the egg relationship. Either way, some part of me wonders what our standards, and I do mean OUR as I definitely include myself, were really there for if they are so easily subject to a change in environment.
I’d like to say “in conclusion,” but I’m not even really sure what I’ve said here, so I could hardly find the point to it. I’m just confused is all, and a bit sad. Granted, the changes we’re all going through, for the most part, will alter who we are, so that we can never attain what the group was. However, there seems to be some difference between understanding the general changes along the way and taking a good long look at our drinking habits, however they may be, and wondering.
Part Two
Upon our arrival at the theater Sunday morning, we had another pseudo-run, to get the blocking down. Brendan and I also ran the fight SEVERAL more times in order to prevent any possibility of audience maiming. Finally, after the run, we got on make-up and costumes in a whirlwind of anxiety, and it was show time.
Admittedly, we were all nervous. We had been rushed into the matinee and we were just flustered. Things went well, however, and the audience enjoyed the show. On the other hand, the actors were not impressed with the performance. For myself, I was too busy nursing the humiliation of tripping up the stairs during an exit and kicking myself internally for forgetting a prop, despite my perfectly decent ad-lib. Then there was the duel.
I think the matinee duel was just blessed by the divine, because the general feeling of the actors, by which I mean what I knew I felt, could have made that scene dangerous. In fact, it was very befitting of the internal chaos when my sword sent Brendan’s dagger flying unexpectedly. Luckily, it flew into the stage and not through the head of Georgetown Theater’s greatest benefactor. That would have hurt donations. Brendan ad-libbed as brilliantly as anyone could ad-lib a freaking sword fight. He just made up for where the dagger plays a part, disarmed me successfully and the rest is bloody history. As I exited, God smiled one final time as I found the dagger in the dark and got it offstage.
So the matinee ended and we took our bows with what was referred to as funereal faces. We thanked the members of the crowd who stayed to commend us and then shuffled through the city to our newly adopted burger and pizza joint. I wonder, looking back, what the guy behind the counter thought about the kid in the full acting make-up who asked, in a deep voice, for the bacon cheeseburger. Then again, it’s New York.
The evening show went beautifully, I thought, and the audience responded well, which basically makes a show like ours, as the nature of the stage, in New York as well as in Poulton Hall, is such that we are on their level, not higher like Milton’s theatre. I felt very good about my performance, even more so afterwards, talking with Daniel Glenn, who probably doesn’t understand the true importance of his praise. I respect Dan as an actor and as a friend and to hear him compliment me on that just made my weekend.
After Dan left, I helped load up the Ryder truck, as we were asked to clear the theater by midnight. We finished almost an hour early, whereupon we all split up to celebrate the success of Mask and Bauble’s first NY show since 1910. I joined a group that found a little NY bar that didn’t card and sat back, basking in the glory that is New York and the wonder of the whole crazy theater ride. After sharing moments with Tom, Kathryn and Sarah, I left with the director for our living quarters and eventually crawled under my sheets, tired out of my mind and dreading the wake-up call in less than 6 hours.
The events of Monday weren’t terribly special. The whole voyage home was uneventful and long. The bus ride was only fun during our picnic game and even that took all the energy I could muster. After unloading the truck and building the set one final time, I found my room, hit my bed, and drifted off to peaceful, blissful dreams. I lead quite a lucky life, I guess.
Upon our arrival at the theater Sunday morning, we had another pseudo-run, to get the blocking down. Brendan and I also ran the fight SEVERAL more times in order to prevent any possibility of audience maiming. Finally, after the run, we got on make-up and costumes in a whirlwind of anxiety, and it was show time.
Admittedly, we were all nervous. We had been rushed into the matinee and we were just flustered. Things went well, however, and the audience enjoyed the show. On the other hand, the actors were not impressed with the performance. For myself, I was too busy nursing the humiliation of tripping up the stairs during an exit and kicking myself internally for forgetting a prop, despite my perfectly decent ad-lib. Then there was the duel.
I think the matinee duel was just blessed by the divine, because the general feeling of the actors, by which I mean what I knew I felt, could have made that scene dangerous. In fact, it was very befitting of the internal chaos when my sword sent Brendan’s dagger flying unexpectedly. Luckily, it flew into the stage and not through the head of Georgetown Theater’s greatest benefactor. That would have hurt donations. Brendan ad-libbed as brilliantly as anyone could ad-lib a freaking sword fight. He just made up for where the dagger plays a part, disarmed me successfully and the rest is bloody history. As I exited, God smiled one final time as I found the dagger in the dark and got it offstage.
So the matinee ended and we took our bows with what was referred to as funereal faces. We thanked the members of the crowd who stayed to commend us and then shuffled through the city to our newly adopted burger and pizza joint. I wonder, looking back, what the guy behind the counter thought about the kid in the full acting make-up who asked, in a deep voice, for the bacon cheeseburger. Then again, it’s New York.
The evening show went beautifully, I thought, and the audience responded well, which basically makes a show like ours, as the nature of the stage, in New York as well as in Poulton Hall, is such that we are on their level, not higher like Milton’s theatre. I felt very good about my performance, even more so afterwards, talking with Daniel Glenn, who probably doesn’t understand the true importance of his praise. I respect Dan as an actor and as a friend and to hear him compliment me on that just made my weekend.
After Dan left, I helped load up the Ryder truck, as we were asked to clear the theater by midnight. We finished almost an hour early, whereupon we all split up to celebrate the success of Mask and Bauble’s first NY show since 1910. I joined a group that found a little NY bar that didn’t card and sat back, basking in the glory that is New York and the wonder of the whole crazy theater ride. After sharing moments with Tom, Kathryn and Sarah, I left with the director for our living quarters and eventually crawled under my sheets, tired out of my mind and dreading the wake-up call in less than 6 hours.
The events of Monday weren’t terribly special. The whole voyage home was uneventful and long. The bus ride was only fun during our picnic game and even that took all the energy I could muster. After unloading the truck and building the set one final time, I found my room, hit my bed, and drifted off to peaceful, blissful dreams. I lead quite a lucky life, I guess.
Thursday, October 16, 2003
RAGE
It's all I feel. It's consuming me at the moment because something core to me has been challenged. I know I'm a freshman who's going to have to deal with prostituting himself for the whims of his professors, and I can ascribe to the basic outline of papers that a professors prefers. However, I cannot stand anything along the lines of the remarks attached to my philosophy paper:
"Also, your writing is a bit confusing (ungrammatical) in places. It is often best to keep sentences short and words and phrases simple. These are best for the sake of clarity."
Excuse me? Ungrammatical? MY writing? Sure, I may sound really conceited right now, but for God's sakes. My writing may be and, let's face it, IS complex. My sentences are long and have several clauses, BUT the organization is perfectly grammatical. Secondly, how the FUCK dare someone restrict vocabulary? On a philosophy paper no less. I have to read pointless and overblown diatribes endlessly for that class, written by people who like to hear the sound of 5-syllable words strung together. I know what the fuck I'm saying when I write. My diction is my own, not simply a sampling of Webster's finest. I'm not going to dumb down my paper because it would be easier that way. It is my writing, and the things pointed out above have never been deemed problematic before.
Here is a sample of my apparently unwieldy, oh, wait, that's a big word....difficult....no, wait...bad writing:
"However, Russell opts instead to offer the work of such men as Bishop Berkeley, who, although believing that 'the existence of matter is capable of being denied without absurdity,' nonetheless argued that there is something universal and independent of the human mind that perceives of its sensations, existing in the mind of God."
Ok, besides the obviously weighty subject matter, I believe that sentence to be pretty clear that Russell referenced some guy named Berkeley who said "matter's existence can be denied," but also said that there is a bigger thing outside of our minds and their senses, and that big thing is in God's mind. I really like how the excerpt I used from Berkeley isn't exactly dumbed down.
Sorry if this seems like a childish rant to anyone, but damn it, I've always been proud of my writing, especially in regards to grammar and diction. Even if I'm bullshitting, I can bullshit with sound writing style. I am angered beyond belief at this request for me to not only change my writing style, but to, as I see it, tear it down to an ugly core.
It's all I feel. It's consuming me at the moment because something core to me has been challenged. I know I'm a freshman who's going to have to deal with prostituting himself for the whims of his professors, and I can ascribe to the basic outline of papers that a professors prefers. However, I cannot stand anything along the lines of the remarks attached to my philosophy paper:
"Also, your writing is a bit confusing (ungrammatical) in places. It is often best to keep sentences short and words and phrases simple. These are best for the sake of clarity."
Excuse me? Ungrammatical? MY writing? Sure, I may sound really conceited right now, but for God's sakes. My writing may be and, let's face it, IS complex. My sentences are long and have several clauses, BUT the organization is perfectly grammatical. Secondly, how the FUCK dare someone restrict vocabulary? On a philosophy paper no less. I have to read pointless and overblown diatribes endlessly for that class, written by people who like to hear the sound of 5-syllable words strung together. I know what the fuck I'm saying when I write. My diction is my own, not simply a sampling of Webster's finest. I'm not going to dumb down my paper because it would be easier that way. It is my writing, and the things pointed out above have never been deemed problematic before.
Here is a sample of my apparently unwieldy, oh, wait, that's a big word....difficult....no, wait...bad writing:
"However, Russell opts instead to offer the work of such men as Bishop Berkeley, who, although believing that 'the existence of matter is capable of being denied without absurdity,' nonetheless argued that there is something universal and independent of the human mind that perceives of its sensations, existing in the mind of God."
Ok, besides the obviously weighty subject matter, I believe that sentence to be pretty clear that Russell referenced some guy named Berkeley who said "matter's existence can be denied," but also said that there is a bigger thing outside of our minds and their senses, and that big thing is in God's mind. I really like how the excerpt I used from Berkeley isn't exactly dumbed down.
Sorry if this seems like a childish rant to anyone, but damn it, I've always been proud of my writing, especially in regards to grammar and diction. Even if I'm bullshitting, I can bullshit with sound writing style. I am angered beyond belief at this request for me to not only change my writing style, but to, as I see it, tear it down to an ugly core.
We knew it all from a little thing
It was everything in our first minute
And it took us to another place
Yeah another place and we fell in it
How dare you not remember
How dare you walk away
We adored every little thing
Every little thing would leave us breathless
Every dawn split another day
And in another day we weren’t so restless
How dare you not remember
How dare you walk away
And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
We walked around in a heavy haze
We were stuck in days of so much warring
We got lost in a tricky maze
Yeah a tricky maze that was so scarring
How come you can’t remember
How dare you walk away
Then you start to add the little things
Add the little things and trip the mighty
Now we got a little bitter thing
A little bitter thing that grew like ivy
And how dare you not remember
How dare you walk away
And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
Yeah and apathy grows quietly
Where rapture used to fly
Oh and promises and certainty
Have left love here to die
Won’t you stay
And don’t let this one fall away
And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
Yeah and I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
Yeah well life got in the way
- "Life Got in the Way" Sister Hazel
Just because I can't take its beak from out my....head.
It was everything in our first minute
And it took us to another place
Yeah another place and we fell in it
How dare you not remember
How dare you walk away
We adored every little thing
Every little thing would leave us breathless
Every dawn split another day
And in another day we weren’t so restless
How dare you not remember
How dare you walk away
And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
We walked around in a heavy haze
We were stuck in days of so much warring
We got lost in a tricky maze
Yeah a tricky maze that was so scarring
How come you can’t remember
How dare you walk away
Then you start to add the little things
Add the little things and trip the mighty
Now we got a little bitter thing
A little bitter thing that grew like ivy
And how dare you not remember
How dare you walk away
And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
Yeah and apathy grows quietly
Where rapture used to fly
Oh and promises and certainty
Have left love here to die
Won’t you stay
And don’t let this one fall away
And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
Yeah and I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about
I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way
Yeah well life got in the way
- "Life Got in the Way" Sister Hazel
Just because I can't take its beak from out my....head.
Well, I just returned from the second of our two press run, which was also the last run before we open in DC. I’m unbelievably ecstatic about opening because I feel that, from an acting perspective, we’re all so ready it’s ridiculous, primarily because we already performed in front of an audience in New York.
Oh, New York, what an amazing trip that was. First of all, I’ve never been to New York, a fact that caused many incredulous stares from cast members and friends alike. Therefore, despite the fact that I had to wake up at quarter to five Saturday morning, I was still incredibly anticipatory. We all huddled around in the Greyhound station, hoping to look as inconspicuous as a huddled mass of college student can look. Once upon the bus, I fought my way through some math and then drifted away into a pleasant slumber.
I awoke to the sounds of crazy banter on the part of my fellow cast members, something about going on a picnic and taking testicular cancer. I decided I wanted to divert my attentions elsewhere, so I took in the scenery, which was difficult, as we were passing through New Jersey (ZING). Finally, we rounded a stretch of highway and the others pointed to a cluster of buildings, saying, “Look, Ian, New York!” However, I was for some reason mistrusting and scoffed at what I thought to be a shameless attempt to gull the freshman. Eventually, I figured it out, just in time for a tunnel to cut off the view. Nicely done, Ian.
During our cab ride from the Port Authority, which began with the cabbie telling us that our destination didn’t exist, which was cute (to use a Sterling expression), I gazed out the window, taking in the sights and tabulating the tip I should give the man, as I had really stiffed the one in Washington. Luckily, the lovely JEN ROGERS (see, I mention you now, trull) paid for it and all was good.
Upon first glance of the inside of our theater, I could only stand postulating how on earth we could possibly do our play in what had to be a fourth of our normal acting space. That was before the set was up, which lowered it to about one sixth. The duel seemed to be a lost cause. However, I was assured we’d keep all we could. Thus, we set about the task of loading into the theater, which was crazy because our set is basically a study in big heavy wooden platforms and beams. I must say, however much I may bitch, it looks incredible when together and I love Tomasina for her vision in it. It was also a pain because of the ever-present Tony, the manager of the theater, who was just an asshole about anything and everything we did. I mean, even if we are hitting lights with our posts, you can say something nicer than, “Tomasina, that’s three times.” Maybe that’s just me. I took my lunch break with half the group and enjoyed some nice greasy New York food, totally loving the atmosphere. We found the set nearing completion when we returned and it seemed miniscule. After a few more finishing touches, we met and eventually had a block-through to determine how our blocking would change. Boy did it change, and I’m still amazed that Brendan and I not only both kept our stage rolls in, but also successfully ran the duel without killing anyone in the cast or anyone sitting in the house.
After the block-through, and other things I can’t recall, Tom, BTA and I set off for Union Square to find our quarters, an NYU dorm. I called Daniel Glenn to let him know of my rapid approach to the NYU campus, and after a procession of minor events, I eventually met him at the Union Square subway station area. We walked to his dorm and I must say I relished my first conversation with Daniel since what had to have been my birthday. After dropping my stuff in his INCREDIBLE room (at least compared to the Dirty), we met up with some girls on his floor. We went out to dinner with one girl and her friend, which pretty much devolved into two separate conversations, even as we ate. I didn’t care, because I only had limited time and Dan and I spoke of a great many things.
Once we returned to his dorm, we decided to go catch a movie. The original plan was Kill Bill, but Dan and I ended up seeing Intolerable Cruelty instead. I liked it, and that’s really all I feel like saying. Dan and I talked about the movie and more random stuff on the way back to his dorm, then I got my stuff and, well, we talked some more on our way to the dorm I was planning to stay in. Sure, all we did was talk a lot, but speech with Daniel Glenn, at the risk of sounding odd, is something I relish now that it is no longer a part of my daily life. I reiterated the location of the theater and we said our “until tomorrow.”
After a night of sleeping on the floor of my director’s friend’s apartment, I awoke with great anxiety concerning the day’s shows, especially because we would never do a full run of the show before we put on our matinee. Tom, BTA, and I once again took to the streets, finding a nice place to get a quick breakfast, followed by the trek back to 11th Avenue and the theater.
Oh, New York, what an amazing trip that was. First of all, I’ve never been to New York, a fact that caused many incredulous stares from cast members and friends alike. Therefore, despite the fact that I had to wake up at quarter to five Saturday morning, I was still incredibly anticipatory. We all huddled around in the Greyhound station, hoping to look as inconspicuous as a huddled mass of college student can look. Once upon the bus, I fought my way through some math and then drifted away into a pleasant slumber.
I awoke to the sounds of crazy banter on the part of my fellow cast members, something about going on a picnic and taking testicular cancer. I decided I wanted to divert my attentions elsewhere, so I took in the scenery, which was difficult, as we were passing through New Jersey (ZING). Finally, we rounded a stretch of highway and the others pointed to a cluster of buildings, saying, “Look, Ian, New York!” However, I was for some reason mistrusting and scoffed at what I thought to be a shameless attempt to gull the freshman. Eventually, I figured it out, just in time for a tunnel to cut off the view. Nicely done, Ian.
During our cab ride from the Port Authority, which began with the cabbie telling us that our destination didn’t exist, which was cute (to use a Sterling expression), I gazed out the window, taking in the sights and tabulating the tip I should give the man, as I had really stiffed the one in Washington. Luckily, the lovely JEN ROGERS (see, I mention you now, trull) paid for it and all was good.
Upon first glance of the inside of our theater, I could only stand postulating how on earth we could possibly do our play in what had to be a fourth of our normal acting space. That was before the set was up, which lowered it to about one sixth. The duel seemed to be a lost cause. However, I was assured we’d keep all we could. Thus, we set about the task of loading into the theater, which was crazy because our set is basically a study in big heavy wooden platforms and beams. I must say, however much I may bitch, it looks incredible when together and I love Tomasina for her vision in it. It was also a pain because of the ever-present Tony, the manager of the theater, who was just an asshole about anything and everything we did. I mean, even if we are hitting lights with our posts, you can say something nicer than, “Tomasina, that’s three times.” Maybe that’s just me. I took my lunch break with half the group and enjoyed some nice greasy New York food, totally loving the atmosphere. We found the set nearing completion when we returned and it seemed miniscule. After a few more finishing touches, we met and eventually had a block-through to determine how our blocking would change. Boy did it change, and I’m still amazed that Brendan and I not only both kept our stage rolls in, but also successfully ran the duel without killing anyone in the cast or anyone sitting in the house.
After the block-through, and other things I can’t recall, Tom, BTA and I set off for Union Square to find our quarters, an NYU dorm. I called Daniel Glenn to let him know of my rapid approach to the NYU campus, and after a procession of minor events, I eventually met him at the Union Square subway station area. We walked to his dorm and I must say I relished my first conversation with Daniel since what had to have been my birthday. After dropping my stuff in his INCREDIBLE room (at least compared to the Dirty), we met up with some girls on his floor. We went out to dinner with one girl and her friend, which pretty much devolved into two separate conversations, even as we ate. I didn’t care, because I only had limited time and Dan and I spoke of a great many things.
Once we returned to his dorm, we decided to go catch a movie. The original plan was Kill Bill, but Dan and I ended up seeing Intolerable Cruelty instead. I liked it, and that’s really all I feel like saying. Dan and I talked about the movie and more random stuff on the way back to his dorm, then I got my stuff and, well, we talked some more on our way to the dorm I was planning to stay in. Sure, all we did was talk a lot, but speech with Daniel Glenn, at the risk of sounding odd, is something I relish now that it is no longer a part of my daily life. I reiterated the location of the theater and we said our “until tomorrow.”
After a night of sleeping on the floor of my director’s friend’s apartment, I awoke with great anxiety concerning the day’s shows, especially because we would never do a full run of the show before we put on our matinee. Tom, BTA, and I once again took to the streets, finding a nice place to get a quick breakfast, followed by the trek back to 11th Avenue and the theater.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Just for the record...
Ian Fahey (The Rival) – Ian would like to thank his director, assistant director, stage manager and producer for taking a chance on an inexperienced actor like himself. He would also like to thank his cast and crew for making him feel so at home that he can use all of those scathing (and usually fruitless) jokes with the understanding that there is love beneath the “punny” exterior. Ian would also like to thank his family, especially his supportive and loving mom, his Harbin foster friends, his band of brothers (and sisters) in the A Kids, and everyone who has been behind him or beside him along the way. I love you all. “I am the luckiest” –Ben Folds
New York stories to come, but I'm tired.
Ian Fahey (The Rival) – Ian would like to thank his director, assistant director, stage manager and producer for taking a chance on an inexperienced actor like himself. He would also like to thank his cast and crew for making him feel so at home that he can use all of those scathing (and usually fruitless) jokes with the understanding that there is love beneath the “punny” exterior. Ian would also like to thank his family, especially his supportive and loving mom, his Harbin foster friends, his band of brothers (and sisters) in the A Kids, and everyone who has been behind him or beside him along the way. I love you all. “I am the luckiest” –Ben Folds
New York stories to come, but I'm tired.
Saturday, October 11, 2003
Sister Hazel Rocks!!!!!
Ok, so there are a myriad other things in my life that are important enough to blog about, but I have too much reminding me of the concert at the moment. First of all, my voice is gone from screaming the lyrics to all but two of Sister Hazel's songs and the songs by Trian and Vertical Horizon that I knew. I have a list of the songs Sister Hazel played scrawled across the back of a ticket AND a meningitis information sheet. I have a backstage CD with the cover signed by all the members of the band, as well as a ticket signed by the lead singer. I have the humorous memory of my wallet falling open while paying for the CD and having the lead singer of one of the best bands (in my opinion) comment on how Kate was cute, as her picture is the first in my hall of lovely ladies.
The music was incredible, although I wish they had played "Hopeless," a song I really love and that I might slip into my CD of the songs they played. Here's the playlist for ANYONE who might actually care.
Life Got in the Way
Just Remember
Your Mistake
Champagne High
Strange Cup of Tea
Come Around
Change Your Mind
Your Winter
Everybody
All For You
Happy (the last two were blended together, which was AWESOME)
I was surprised how much I enjoyed Vertical Horizon, as I only really liked You're a God. However, Everything You Want was great live. Train is just a good live band, even though I don't necessarily like any of their songs. When they played Aerosmith's "Dream On," it was amazing, and I have to agree with what I believe Sterling told me once, which is that the lead singer of Train is a sex god on stage. I wanted his babies....no, I'm kidding.
In other news, yes, I'm going to New York this weekend to put on our show in a NEW YORK THEATER!!!!! I'm so psyched, despite my bad cold and my now hoarse voice. Even something as unnerving as taking the metro to a theater store to buy....ballet slippers to wear with my.....tights, actually turned out to be an exciting experience simply because it's part of this whole amazing process that has just overwhelmed me. How did I go from the techie to an actor, much less an actor with a rather large role, and especially an actor that gets to put on the show in New York. I'm so thankful for everything. It's just amazing. Oh, and I look badass during my duel....or so I like to think. So I shall return Monday, if anyone wants to get in touch with me, it'll have to be by phone or just upon my return. Oh, and Daniel Glenn....I'm coming for you.
Ok, so there are a myriad other things in my life that are important enough to blog about, but I have too much reminding me of the concert at the moment. First of all, my voice is gone from screaming the lyrics to all but two of Sister Hazel's songs and the songs by Trian and Vertical Horizon that I knew. I have a list of the songs Sister Hazel played scrawled across the back of a ticket AND a meningitis information sheet. I have a backstage CD with the cover signed by all the members of the band, as well as a ticket signed by the lead singer. I have the humorous memory of my wallet falling open while paying for the CD and having the lead singer of one of the best bands (in my opinion) comment on how Kate was cute, as her picture is the first in my hall of lovely ladies.
The music was incredible, although I wish they had played "Hopeless," a song I really love and that I might slip into my CD of the songs they played. Here's the playlist for ANYONE who might actually care.
Life Got in the Way
Just Remember
Your Mistake
Champagne High
Strange Cup of Tea
Come Around
Change Your Mind
Your Winter
Everybody
All For You
Happy (the last two were blended together, which was AWESOME)
I was surprised how much I enjoyed Vertical Horizon, as I only really liked You're a God. However, Everything You Want was great live. Train is just a good live band, even though I don't necessarily like any of their songs. When they played Aerosmith's "Dream On," it was amazing, and I have to agree with what I believe Sterling told me once, which is that the lead singer of Train is a sex god on stage. I wanted his babies....no, I'm kidding.
In other news, yes, I'm going to New York this weekend to put on our show in a NEW YORK THEATER!!!!! I'm so psyched, despite my bad cold and my now hoarse voice. Even something as unnerving as taking the metro to a theater store to buy....ballet slippers to wear with my.....tights, actually turned out to be an exciting experience simply because it's part of this whole amazing process that has just overwhelmed me. How did I go from the techie to an actor, much less an actor with a rather large role, and especially an actor that gets to put on the show in New York. I'm so thankful for everything. It's just amazing. Oh, and I look badass during my duel....or so I like to think. So I shall return Monday, if anyone wants to get in touch with me, it'll have to be by phone or just upon my return. Oh, and Daniel Glenn....I'm coming for you.
Friday, October 03, 2003
Stupid cold. I hate being sick. It just puts a damper on anything and everything in the course of the day. Even if a half-naked woman ran up to me holding a can of whipped cream, I’d probably be like, “SNIFFFFF….SNORT…SNGGG…um, maybe later.”
Everything else is going well, however. The play is coming along wonderfully. We’ve recently completed two runs of it and everything’s really coming together. I finally found my voice for the second scene of the illusion, something with which I was having a world of trouble. Last night, however, I felt more comfortable in the voice and now I just need to integrate that with my objectives. Yeah, so I’m sure that was thrilling to read. The somewhat lighter side of the rehearsal was that Brendan, acting the part of the Hero, was having some trouble with the line between reality and acting. Not only did he actually trip me when I’m supposed to stage a fall, but he also groped the Maid during their suggestive scene. In his final overzealous move, he managed to hit me during his final stab of our duel. There was a noticeable pause before I hit my knees because I was actually testing for whether or not I was bleeding. ‘Tis but a scratch, but it kind of freaked me out because that could be really painful if he actually stabs me during a show. We all laughed it off because it was pretty funny to see all of us backstage gathered around my stomach looking at the mark.
Classes too are going well, though I’m skipping math at the very moment I’m writing this. Just didn’t feel like going today, like my own personal Office Space. I’m still enjoying most of my classes. I have a paper coming up for English about Edward II, and that’s going to be interesting to write, as it is basically expanding upon the topic we began with our in-class writing. Philosophy is becoming more tolerable, although I think people in the class probably hate me because I apparently think along the same like as my professor. For instance, when she said, “Descartes says that body and mind are separate because bodies are divisible, but minds are not. So let’s talk about that,” something bothered me about that, so I raised my hand and said, “So how did Descartes apply for multiple personality disorder?” My teacher just smiled and said, “You just circumvented about ten minutes of discussion that I was going to lead towards disproving that.” I didn’t mean to, but it happened, and keeps happening. Today she asked me if I had ever taken philosophy before. Long story short, I blame Sterling.
I also had my four-year plan recently. This was a meeting with a dean to discuss where my life is going, which is good, because I like direction and purpose. I found out that I have 47 credits and 14 classes coming into college because of APs; that’s almost a year and a half, apparently. I thought that my AP work would really be about par here, that everyone had worked like that. Apparently I’m almost breaking a record for AP credit. That was sort of a stunner. The dean and I mixed my English Major Requirements with my Math Major and found out that by senior year, I can potentially take 3 classes a semester, and therefore try an internship. I was amazed; I thought that the double major I wanted would be incredibly difficult due to the lack of overlap in material. However, busting my ass in high school is paying off huge as I’m not only going to be able to complete both majors, but do so with a great deal of flexibility. I’ll be through with my general education requirements in my Sophomore year and from there, it’s all math and English. I hear there is an incredible English department here, and the math comes easily enough that I’ll be able to get by, I hope. The meeting really did a lot for me, because it showed me not only where I’m going, but where I’m coming from. I felt a great deal of gratitude to all of my teachers at Milton, as well as for my mom, for pushing and challenging me enough to open these doors for me now.
Everything else is going well, however. The play is coming along wonderfully. We’ve recently completed two runs of it and everything’s really coming together. I finally found my voice for the second scene of the illusion, something with which I was having a world of trouble. Last night, however, I felt more comfortable in the voice and now I just need to integrate that with my objectives. Yeah, so I’m sure that was thrilling to read. The somewhat lighter side of the rehearsal was that Brendan, acting the part of the Hero, was having some trouble with the line between reality and acting. Not only did he actually trip me when I’m supposed to stage a fall, but he also groped the Maid during their suggestive scene. In his final overzealous move, he managed to hit me during his final stab of our duel. There was a noticeable pause before I hit my knees because I was actually testing for whether or not I was bleeding. ‘Tis but a scratch, but it kind of freaked me out because that could be really painful if he actually stabs me during a show. We all laughed it off because it was pretty funny to see all of us backstage gathered around my stomach looking at the mark.
Classes too are going well, though I’m skipping math at the very moment I’m writing this. Just didn’t feel like going today, like my own personal Office Space. I’m still enjoying most of my classes. I have a paper coming up for English about Edward II, and that’s going to be interesting to write, as it is basically expanding upon the topic we began with our in-class writing. Philosophy is becoming more tolerable, although I think people in the class probably hate me because I apparently think along the same like as my professor. For instance, when she said, “Descartes says that body and mind are separate because bodies are divisible, but minds are not. So let’s talk about that,” something bothered me about that, so I raised my hand and said, “So how did Descartes apply for multiple personality disorder?” My teacher just smiled and said, “You just circumvented about ten minutes of discussion that I was going to lead towards disproving that.” I didn’t mean to, but it happened, and keeps happening. Today she asked me if I had ever taken philosophy before. Long story short, I blame Sterling.
I also had my four-year plan recently. This was a meeting with a dean to discuss where my life is going, which is good, because I like direction and purpose. I found out that I have 47 credits and 14 classes coming into college because of APs; that’s almost a year and a half, apparently. I thought that my AP work would really be about par here, that everyone had worked like that. Apparently I’m almost breaking a record for AP credit. That was sort of a stunner. The dean and I mixed my English Major Requirements with my Math Major and found out that by senior year, I can potentially take 3 classes a semester, and therefore try an internship. I was amazed; I thought that the double major I wanted would be incredibly difficult due to the lack of overlap in material. However, busting my ass in high school is paying off huge as I’m not only going to be able to complete both majors, but do so with a great deal of flexibility. I’ll be through with my general education requirements in my Sophomore year and from there, it’s all math and English. I hear there is an incredible English department here, and the math comes easily enough that I’ll be able to get by, I hope. The meeting really did a lot for me, because it showed me not only where I’m going, but where I’m coming from. I felt a great deal of gratitude to all of my teachers at Milton, as well as for my mom, for pushing and challenging me enough to open these doors for me now.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Here are the official procedures for joking and mirth within my group of friends at Georgetown.
1. If a bad joke is told, that is, a joke that derives no laughter whatsoever, excepting laughter at how badly the joke failed, then any of the listeners must hold up one finger, indicating that the person telling the joke has received his or her first warning.
1a. Should a bad joke not receive a finger, but a gesture of the Saturday Night Fever Arm Wave, then the person who told the joke must dance like Ben Affleck in Chasing Amy, no matter how public the setting may be. He or she may additionally say "Let's see you do better, you fuckmook!"
2. If a person makes a second awful joke after his or her first warning, then that person then receives a signal of two fingers, indicating both the second bad joke and the subsequent second warning.
3. Should a person twice warned utter a third bad joke in succession, then a third finger is raised and that person is subject to one of the following punishments:
1) they must endure a forceful punch to the arm by one of the listeners, preferably James (note: should James receive a third finger, then Ian is allowed to punish him) or
2)if the person is female, or otherwise inclined against the punch, then their mouth must be duct taped shut for a period deemed acceptable by all who were subjected to their horrible humor.
3) If anyone else ever agrees to it, Tom will staple the joker's mouth shut, after which Tom will be committed to a mental institution due to his proclivities towards stapler-related mutilation.
4. Most importantly, a person may wipe their slate clean finger-wise if they tell a good joke anywhere along the process. Listeners may choose to show this exoneration through a gesture of "wiping clean."
5. Whenever a finger is given, usually as a second or third, the joke teller may challenge that they have told a good joke since their last finger. Judgment is made on the part of the listeners and is based on the Georgetown Honor Code. If it is agreed that they have cleaned their slate, the finger will be applied accordingly (ie as one finger in a new succession of bad humor).
So that's the process. We live by it, sadly enough, and it hasn't reduced the quantity of absolutely stupid jokes during conversation. I like how it sort of emulates the point system used by Kris Johnson.
1. If a bad joke is told, that is, a joke that derives no laughter whatsoever, excepting laughter at how badly the joke failed, then any of the listeners must hold up one finger, indicating that the person telling the joke has received his or her first warning.
1a. Should a bad joke not receive a finger, but a gesture of the Saturday Night Fever Arm Wave, then the person who told the joke must dance like Ben Affleck in Chasing Amy, no matter how public the setting may be. He or she may additionally say "Let's see you do better, you fuckmook!"
2. If a person makes a second awful joke after his or her first warning, then that person then receives a signal of two fingers, indicating both the second bad joke and the subsequent second warning.
3. Should a person twice warned utter a third bad joke in succession, then a third finger is raised and that person is subject to one of the following punishments:
1) they must endure a forceful punch to the arm by one of the listeners, preferably James (note: should James receive a third finger, then Ian is allowed to punish him) or
2)if the person is female, or otherwise inclined against the punch, then their mouth must be duct taped shut for a period deemed acceptable by all who were subjected to their horrible humor.
3) If anyone else ever agrees to it, Tom will staple the joker's mouth shut, after which Tom will be committed to a mental institution due to his proclivities towards stapler-related mutilation.
4. Most importantly, a person may wipe their slate clean finger-wise if they tell a good joke anywhere along the process. Listeners may choose to show this exoneration through a gesture of "wiping clean."
5. Whenever a finger is given, usually as a second or third, the joke teller may challenge that they have told a good joke since their last finger. Judgment is made on the part of the listeners and is based on the Georgetown Honor Code. If it is agreed that they have cleaned their slate, the finger will be applied accordingly (ie as one finger in a new succession of bad humor).
So that's the process. We live by it, sadly enough, and it hasn't reduced the quantity of absolutely stupid jokes during conversation. I like how it sort of emulates the point system used by Kris Johnson.
Sunday, September 21, 2003
I survived the mighty hurricane Isabel. I must admit that, considering the danger and proximity, I was actually quite worried for some time. However, once it became clear that the effects of the storm would only be mildly strong here, I simply became entranced in making the most out of the two hurricane days off from school. Before I continue, I must say that it is a tragedy that human lives were lost in this natural disaster and I do not mean in any way to make light of an event that was so costly, but I also did my best to make the most of the opportunities provided by the hurricane.
That being said, the mood shift occurred at about 8 pm on Wednesday when a friend from Harbin informed me over AIM that classes were cancelled. I immediately shouted the good news to my hall and then proceeded to haul ass over to Harbin. Wednesday night was mainly comprised of singing around a guitar and then watching movies. The next morning, I made an executive decision and moved into Harbin temporarily. I packed a backpack with movies and, as an afterthought, things I’d actually need for sleeping. I also lugged my laptop over so that I could, in a show of true and flawless nerdiness, catch up on homework during my day off. My diligence, however, was greatly rewarded, as I ended up sitting with my friends in a group study hall in the lounge of Harbin 3, listening to the playlist on my laptop and generally enjoying not only intelligent, but amusing company. We watched Dogma, which was met with mixed reactions from my more religious friends, and laughs from guys like James. I keep getting this feeling like James and I are on the same page on a lot of issues, including religion, which I found out later that night in really big way.
After the movie, someone suggested one of those myriad “get to know each other” games that, despite different names and rules, become the same game once you dump the rules and just go around reading cards. Between that and the ensuing game of “I’ve Never...” I learned enough about my new crowd to know two things. First of all, they’re all very similar to me in beliefs and lifestyles, and secondly, they could never be a replacement for my A Kids, simply because it would be an injustice to both groups to consider them interchangeable.
Once we had lost a few people to sleep and work, it came to pass that a great religious conversation arose, one that would end only after FIVE hours of deep theological interchange. The four main participants were myself, James (the aforementioned), Celeste, who is Catholic, and Saad, who is Muslim, a title which is something of an understatement considering what I’ve learned about him since that conversation began. We went from the loss of organized religion in the current age to the idea of a basic moral ground that must first be obtained before discoursing on the truth of any given religion and on the difference between Muslim and Christian beliefs. The main topic of debate was how, based on a Christian outlook, James and I are going to hell, despite being moral people, because we don’t accept Christ as our savior and redeemer, while a morally corrupt person who pledges belief in Jesus has a place in God’s house. Muslim beliefs, however, place us in heaven under titles of morally correct nonbelievers. I’m not converting to a Muslim belief, let it be known, but I simply reaffirmed that my not believing in Christ as a redeemer of the world’s sins is not cause for my damnation, especially since I believe that Christ did come to this world in order to bring the knowledge of God to man and to teach the world how to better love one another, which is his final commandment to the apostles. One of the best points made was that of “the man on the mountain,” that is, how a moral hermit living in a cave who had never been exposed to religion would be damned to hell for his guiltless ignorance by Christians, but would be considered worthy of heaven by Muslims and by my standards. Just thought it was interesting.
During the last hour of the great conclave, as I prefer to think of it, Saad revealed that the reason for his extensive knowledge of Muslim teachings and history, and thus his ability to not defend, but share his faith, is a very important one. My new friend Saad is apparently a high ranked leader of the Young Muslims North America Organization, and studies every three months with none other than Cat Stevens. So, to make it simpler, or perhaps more incredible, I spent all night debating religion and morality with a man who may become the Muslim leader of our generation. It’s things such as that night that make me truly glad that I am here at Georgetown.
That being said, the mood shift occurred at about 8 pm on Wednesday when a friend from Harbin informed me over AIM that classes were cancelled. I immediately shouted the good news to my hall and then proceeded to haul ass over to Harbin. Wednesday night was mainly comprised of singing around a guitar and then watching movies. The next morning, I made an executive decision and moved into Harbin temporarily. I packed a backpack with movies and, as an afterthought, things I’d actually need for sleeping. I also lugged my laptop over so that I could, in a show of true and flawless nerdiness, catch up on homework during my day off. My diligence, however, was greatly rewarded, as I ended up sitting with my friends in a group study hall in the lounge of Harbin 3, listening to the playlist on my laptop and generally enjoying not only intelligent, but amusing company. We watched Dogma, which was met with mixed reactions from my more religious friends, and laughs from guys like James. I keep getting this feeling like James and I are on the same page on a lot of issues, including religion, which I found out later that night in really big way.
After the movie, someone suggested one of those myriad “get to know each other” games that, despite different names and rules, become the same game once you dump the rules and just go around reading cards. Between that and the ensuing game of “I’ve Never...” I learned enough about my new crowd to know two things. First of all, they’re all very similar to me in beliefs and lifestyles, and secondly, they could never be a replacement for my A Kids, simply because it would be an injustice to both groups to consider them interchangeable.
Once we had lost a few people to sleep and work, it came to pass that a great religious conversation arose, one that would end only after FIVE hours of deep theological interchange. The four main participants were myself, James (the aforementioned), Celeste, who is Catholic, and Saad, who is Muslim, a title which is something of an understatement considering what I’ve learned about him since that conversation began. We went from the loss of organized religion in the current age to the idea of a basic moral ground that must first be obtained before discoursing on the truth of any given religion and on the difference between Muslim and Christian beliefs. The main topic of debate was how, based on a Christian outlook, James and I are going to hell, despite being moral people, because we don’t accept Christ as our savior and redeemer, while a morally corrupt person who pledges belief in Jesus has a place in God’s house. Muslim beliefs, however, place us in heaven under titles of morally correct nonbelievers. I’m not converting to a Muslim belief, let it be known, but I simply reaffirmed that my not believing in Christ as a redeemer of the world’s sins is not cause for my damnation, especially since I believe that Christ did come to this world in order to bring the knowledge of God to man and to teach the world how to better love one another, which is his final commandment to the apostles. One of the best points made was that of “the man on the mountain,” that is, how a moral hermit living in a cave who had never been exposed to religion would be damned to hell for his guiltless ignorance by Christians, but would be considered worthy of heaven by Muslims and by my standards. Just thought it was interesting.
During the last hour of the great conclave, as I prefer to think of it, Saad revealed that the reason for his extensive knowledge of Muslim teachings and history, and thus his ability to not defend, but share his faith, is a very important one. My new friend Saad is apparently a high ranked leader of the Young Muslims North America Organization, and studies every three months with none other than Cat Stevens. So, to make it simpler, or perhaps more incredible, I spent all night debating religion and morality with a man who may become the Muslim leader of our generation. It’s things such as that night that make me truly glad that I am here at Georgetown.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
Normally I wouldn't post an online quiz, but come on...
Are You A Sex God?
Hark - the oracle speaks! A bolt of lightning falls from the sky! SHAZAAM! As the smoke clears, the hidden deity in you emerges and is revealed to be:
EROS, God of Love.
As a devotee of this long-neglected virtue, you are a committed romantic. You prefer to savor the joys of seduction before you step into the bedroom. This quality makes you incredibly attractive to women, who seem to melt in your presence. They sense your strong character and respect your ideals. They dream of stealing you away and making dreamy love to you all day long. Not to say you wouldn't be happy to oblige, but you want to make sure that there's some emotional or intellectual compatibility between you and your partner to carry the relationship along. By the time you are ready to show them your godly performance, they're hooked. You take sex seriously and show your lucky woman a passion that has only existed in her wildest dreams. You are probably an emotionally expressive and sensitive person whose pleasure comes from pleasing others. Your chivalrous ways have probably earned you a following of fans and a trail of satisfied mortals in your wake.
It's something to work for at least...
Are You A Sex God?
Hark - the oracle speaks! A bolt of lightning falls from the sky! SHAZAAM! As the smoke clears, the hidden deity in you emerges and is revealed to be:
EROS, God of Love.
As a devotee of this long-neglected virtue, you are a committed romantic. You prefer to savor the joys of seduction before you step into the bedroom. This quality makes you incredibly attractive to women, who seem to melt in your presence. They sense your strong character and respect your ideals. They dream of stealing you away and making dreamy love to you all day long. Not to say you wouldn't be happy to oblige, but you want to make sure that there's some emotional or intellectual compatibility between you and your partner to carry the relationship along. By the time you are ready to show them your godly performance, they're hooked. You take sex seriously and show your lucky woman a passion that has only existed in her wildest dreams. You are probably an emotionally expressive and sensitive person whose pleasure comes from pleasing others. Your chivalrous ways have probably earned you a following of fans and a trail of satisfied mortals in your wake.
It's something to work for at least...
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
What a difference three days makes. I think my current state could be best summed up by William Shakespeare:
“I am a man more sinned against than sinning” -King Lear
“When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
but in battalions” - Hamlet
The first quote is in regards to the fact than somehow, in less than a month after I arrived, I am already embroiled in drama so extreme that it seems almost like a nightmare to me. As some of my friends know, I had a particular incident with a young lady sleeping over in my room, “sleeping” actually being a literal term for the most part. Those friends who know might also be familiar with the penance I exacted upon myself the next day in the form of beating myself up mentally. I considered this necessary as I found it awful, by no fault of the particular girl, that I had been so weak as to become involved with someone I’d known for a few hours at the most.
Now, I feel no need to justify the actual events further. My feelings on the matter are known. However, when the girl’s friend comes to my door and says that she and my bedmate had heard that I said that I was angry that I didn’t “get any,” things took a turn for the spectacularly awful. That’s correct: I’ve been accused of being a womanizer who was disappointed that this girl had not given me all that my lecherous heart desired. Amazing that people could know me SO well after only a few weeks.
I immediately dropped my initiative of avoiding situations with this girl, the point of which was to prevent further failures of character, and called her up to explain that this terrible defamation of my character was untrue. I’m fairly sure looking back that I was very pissed off at whoever had began such a rumor. Not only was my character being called into question, but specifically that aspect of my character that I hold so dear, that is, the way I view and treat women. The girl who had originally clued me in told me that her “reliable source” was a guy I had met previously and who was friends with my group from the Harbin dorm. With half of my mind ready for confrontation and the other desiring only to explain the truth, I sought out this first link in the gossip chain. As I was sidetracked along the way, by the time I got to his room, the girl who had originally told me was there talking to him. Suddenly, the “wronged” girl came around the corner, leading to me once again asserting that I in no way had expected something of her in that regard. Unfortunately, she seemed to just roll her eyes and say, “It’s fine” in that way that told me that she didn’t believe me and was content to dismiss me as that asshole who used her. How marvelous.
When she had arrived, this guy had closed his door so we could talk in the hall. After we had finished talking, he came out and I told him, looking him dead in the eye, that what he heard was grossly mistaken. I’m not sure whether he took my word, but he wasn’t as apt to scoff as the girl herself had been. I ended up walking back to my dorm amazed that I had just been required to basically defend the fact that I am a decent guy.
I guess this is the downside of that chance to start over that college provides. Sure, there are no negative preconceived notions of you left over from high school and you start with a clean slate amongst new people, but what if your old slate wasn’t dirty? What if what was wiped away was a reputation as a decent, dependable person? We literally have to start over, or at least make sure we are living life the way we claim to be. I can’t greet each person with assertions of my worth as a person. I simply must show them, even when the qualities are things I take for granted about myself. I may have a whole board full of pictures of my life in high school, and to me, it symbolizes the person that became through those years. But I can’t carry the board with me, nor can I even begin to describe the full relevance of each person or event. It is something of a shame that I had to come about this realization in such a personally wounding way, but perhaps now I’ll remember that it takes more than a senior superlative to make a man, especially amongst people for whom the name has no meaning.
(Sorry if it's a bit confusing with no names, but I have enough personal quality to find it wrong to put names on such a volatile and personal situation)
“I am a man more sinned against than sinning” -King Lear
“When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
but in battalions” - Hamlet
The first quote is in regards to the fact than somehow, in less than a month after I arrived, I am already embroiled in drama so extreme that it seems almost like a nightmare to me. As some of my friends know, I had a particular incident with a young lady sleeping over in my room, “sleeping” actually being a literal term for the most part. Those friends who know might also be familiar with the penance I exacted upon myself the next day in the form of beating myself up mentally. I considered this necessary as I found it awful, by no fault of the particular girl, that I had been so weak as to become involved with someone I’d known for a few hours at the most.
Now, I feel no need to justify the actual events further. My feelings on the matter are known. However, when the girl’s friend comes to my door and says that she and my bedmate had heard that I said that I was angry that I didn’t “get any,” things took a turn for the spectacularly awful. That’s correct: I’ve been accused of being a womanizer who was disappointed that this girl had not given me all that my lecherous heart desired. Amazing that people could know me SO well after only a few weeks.
I immediately dropped my initiative of avoiding situations with this girl, the point of which was to prevent further failures of character, and called her up to explain that this terrible defamation of my character was untrue. I’m fairly sure looking back that I was very pissed off at whoever had began such a rumor. Not only was my character being called into question, but specifically that aspect of my character that I hold so dear, that is, the way I view and treat women. The girl who had originally clued me in told me that her “reliable source” was a guy I had met previously and who was friends with my group from the Harbin dorm. With half of my mind ready for confrontation and the other desiring only to explain the truth, I sought out this first link in the gossip chain. As I was sidetracked along the way, by the time I got to his room, the girl who had originally told me was there talking to him. Suddenly, the “wronged” girl came around the corner, leading to me once again asserting that I in no way had expected something of her in that regard. Unfortunately, she seemed to just roll her eyes and say, “It’s fine” in that way that told me that she didn’t believe me and was content to dismiss me as that asshole who used her. How marvelous.
When she had arrived, this guy had closed his door so we could talk in the hall. After we had finished talking, he came out and I told him, looking him dead in the eye, that what he heard was grossly mistaken. I’m not sure whether he took my word, but he wasn’t as apt to scoff as the girl herself had been. I ended up walking back to my dorm amazed that I had just been required to basically defend the fact that I am a decent guy.
I guess this is the downside of that chance to start over that college provides. Sure, there are no negative preconceived notions of you left over from high school and you start with a clean slate amongst new people, but what if your old slate wasn’t dirty? What if what was wiped away was a reputation as a decent, dependable person? We literally have to start over, or at least make sure we are living life the way we claim to be. I can’t greet each person with assertions of my worth as a person. I simply must show them, even when the qualities are things I take for granted about myself. I may have a whole board full of pictures of my life in high school, and to me, it symbolizes the person that became through those years. But I can’t carry the board with me, nor can I even begin to describe the full relevance of each person or event. It is something of a shame that I had to come about this realization in such a personally wounding way, but perhaps now I’ll remember that it takes more than a senior superlative to make a man, especially amongst people for whom the name has no meaning.
(Sorry if it's a bit confusing with no names, but I have enough personal quality to find it wrong to put names on such a volatile and personal situation)
Monday, September 15, 2003
So what do spinning parries, hilt blows, diving somersaults, a plethora of parries, a ton of thrusts, a thrilling disarm and a horrifying death have in common? Well, they are all a part of my fight choreography for my play, The Illusion. I had four hours of intense blocking today. I have to be “tripped” by my adversary so that I hit the floor hard enough to be believed. I must defend my honor and privilege in a mighty duel, only to fall with my love’s name upon my lips. Finally, I must return as another character to exact final revenge. It’s all so much fun to go through and my fellow actor and I are totally committed to making it a perfect...illusion, if you will. Hopefully some friends from home will come to see it along with what I hope to be a big turnout of my Georgetown friends and acquaintances.
Otherwise, things are good. I’m wearing myself down with crew and theater together. I got a cold from running to the memorials and back in the rain at practice Friday, so I decided to sleep in through the next practice on Saturday. I talked to my coach about the fact that my play will start causing conflicts, including the first race I would participate in. I would feel awful if I was responsible for the team and I couldn’t make it to practices or regattas. Coach, however, told me to stick with practice and let him worry about it, so I guess for now, I’ll just be subjecting myself to this crazy schedule full of things that are great in and of themselves, but draining altogether. I figure either my body and mind will reach the pinnacle of human accomplishment, or OR I’m heading for a terrible crash and burn. We shall see.
Otherwise, things are good. I’m wearing myself down with crew and theater together. I got a cold from running to the memorials and back in the rain at practice Friday, so I decided to sleep in through the next practice on Saturday. I talked to my coach about the fact that my play will start causing conflicts, including the first race I would participate in. I would feel awful if I was responsible for the team and I couldn’t make it to practices or regattas. Coach, however, told me to stick with practice and let him worry about it, so I guess for now, I’ll just be subjecting myself to this crazy schedule full of things that are great in and of themselves, but draining altogether. I figure either my body and mind will reach the pinnacle of human accomplishment, or OR I’m heading for a terrible crash and burn. We shall see.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
It's no Goo Goo Dolls, which apparently is the blog band of choice, but I found it poignant at the time."Change Your Mind"
Hey, Hey
Did you ever think
There might be another way
To just feel better,
Just feel better about today
Oh no-
If you never want to have
To turn and go away
You might feel better,
Might feel better if you stay
[Pre-chorus]
Yeah yeah
I bet you haven't heard
A word I've said
Yeah yeah
If you've had enough
Of all your tryin'
Just give up
The state of mind you're in:
[Chorus]
If you want to be somebody else,
If you're tired of fighting battles with yourself
If you want to be somebody else
Change your mind...
Hey hey-
Have you ever danced in the rain
Or thanked the sun
Just for shining- just for shining
Or the sea?
Oh no- take it all in
The world's a show
And yeah, you look much better,
Look much better when you glow
[Pre-chorus/chorus]
Hey hey-
what ya say
We both go and seize the day
'cause what's your hurry
what's your hurry anyway
[Pre-chorus/chorus]
Sister Hazel (who's coming here for Homecoming!!!!!!!!!!!)
Hey, Hey
Did you ever think
There might be another way
To just feel better,
Just feel better about today
Oh no-
If you never want to have
To turn and go away
You might feel better,
Might feel better if you stay
[Pre-chorus]
Yeah yeah
I bet you haven't heard
A word I've said
Yeah yeah
If you've had enough
Of all your tryin'
Just give up
The state of mind you're in:
[Chorus]
If you want to be somebody else,
If you're tired of fighting battles with yourself
If you want to be somebody else
Change your mind...
Hey hey-
Have you ever danced in the rain
Or thanked the sun
Just for shining- just for shining
Or the sea?
Oh no- take it all in
The world's a show
And yeah, you look much better,
Look much better when you glow
[Pre-chorus/chorus]
Hey hey-
what ya say
We both go and seize the day
'cause what's your hurry
what's your hurry anyway
[Pre-chorus/chorus]
Sister Hazel (who's coming here for Homecoming!!!!!!!!!!!)
Sunday, September 07, 2003
I finally made it. It took me a while, admittedly. In fact, there were times when my confidence failed me and I thought I may have made am irreversible mistake. Last night, however, everything changed. Things became clear and I found that magic that made me want to come here all those months ago, that special something that made me feel like I could be part of this place, and that it had so much to offer me in return.
Last night, after having a slightly solitary dinner at the dining hall, I called one of the people I’ve met, James. I placed the call with some trepidation concerning whether it would be viewed as a pathetic cry for something to do on a Saturday night. Now, this is foolish in hindsight. It wasn’t the first time we’d all hung out together. We’d actually all watched Princess Bride together the night before, and James and I did crew together, but that’s just how I am. It takes me a while to believe that someone actually likes hanging out will me. When James returned my call a few minutes later, he enthusiastically invited me to go to dinner with the group. Granted, I had just eaten, but the chance to hang out with some of the cool people I’d met sort of overrode my food logic. I met them on the patio at Harbin Patio, as all but two of our crowd live in Harbin, which lends itself to many jokes on my part about my being part of the New South Outreach Program.
We all herded towards the bus stop beyond the gates and waited patiently for our transportation to Dupont Circle for some chow. However, a few very enthusiastic conversations later, no bus had arrived and the restlessness overwhelmed the group. We decided to abandon the Dupont Circle plan and just find somewhere on M Street. Someone suggested Johnny Rocket’s and we all agreed that it would work for a quick dinner. I munched some onion rings and slurped a milkshake that Steak and Shake would have been ashamed to serve, but it was still interesting to hang out and reflect on the 9/11 footage playing on the TV above our heads, thanks to the tact of CNN.
Once we had finished, we made another abrupt decision to make a momentous march to the monuments. James and I led the group down to the river, as we had to run to the monuments for crew. Speaking of which, I find it easy to run when you pass Watergate, the Kennedy Center and the Lincoln Memorial before turning back. The river was beautiful at night and soon the back of the Lincoln Memorial appeared before us.
There are few man-made things on earth that I find truly inspiring, but the Lincoln Memorial never fails to fill me with emotions I can’t even begin to explain. I think it’s the eloquence that gets me. When I read the Gettysburg Address, immortalized in marble, I almost feel like kneeling before it; its power and meaning transcending the words, though they too are elegant and well-crafted. I came upon the line Mr. Friedman used as an illusion, and though I adore my allusions, that line isn’t nearly as striking as it is upon that monstrous wall. It nearly moved to me to tears, and I maintained relative silence as we walked down the stairs, simply relishing the inspiration.
The tears fell, however, at our next stop. Where the Lincoln Memorial uplifts me, the Vietnam Memorial sobers me. The silent sadness and rueful reverence of the atmosphere always catches me off guard. It still amazes me how one single panel of the wall has enough names to constitute a terrible tragedy and yet the wall goes on in both directions, challenging every person that comes along to question more than just politics. From determining with the others how the number of Georgetown freshmen was only a small piece of the wall to finding the name “William R. Fahey” and suddenly realizing that he was most likely a guy my age whose life was ended before it even got off the ground, it was all an awesomely gut-wrenching experience. Our group moved on eventually, meanwhile discussing the incredible implications that the memorial had suggested.
Once we had gotten lost in the dark pathways around the National Mall, we decided to head back into the city to hop the metro back home. On our way, we were surprised to find ourselves crossing Pennsylvania Avenue, which then led us to detour past the White House to spend a few moments contemplating just how far you’d get if you tried to hop the fence. It’s just what you think of standing there, after all that “home of one of the most powerful men in the free world” stuff.
One metro ride later, we found ourselves in Rosslyn, across the Key Bridge from home sweet home in Georgetown. Some of the group jumped on a metrobus to the University, but 5 of us decided just to make the walk back. We sang, joked and reflected on the night’s adventure, which was simple as the Washington Monument loomed tall in the distance, acting temporarily as a marker of how far we had trekked earlier in the evening. The walking group also got a few extra treats. Not only did we get to take a picture with the randomly parked Oscar Mayer Weinermobile, but we also ran up The Exorcist stairs, stepping over a bum on the way, who has some admitted gall for sleeping on stairs legendary for their steep fall. Finally, as we crossed campus, we decided to embrace tradition and waded in Dahlgren fountain, one of the rites of passage not endorsed by the administration.
So, in reference to my first paragraph, this entire night reintroduced me to everything that gave Georgetown a place in my heart from the moment I stepped on campus. Before these adventures, I had yet to feel like I was in DC, like I had truly made it, or like I had a somewhat concrete friend base. However, it was last night’s combination of new friends, great experiences and intense emotions, not the least of which being happiness, that made me finally feel at home here. What was at first a loose affiliation due to classes and club involvement is not a true bond with this place, and I’m so happy to be here.
Last night, after having a slightly solitary dinner at the dining hall, I called one of the people I’ve met, James. I placed the call with some trepidation concerning whether it would be viewed as a pathetic cry for something to do on a Saturday night. Now, this is foolish in hindsight. It wasn’t the first time we’d all hung out together. We’d actually all watched Princess Bride together the night before, and James and I did crew together, but that’s just how I am. It takes me a while to believe that someone actually likes hanging out will me. When James returned my call a few minutes later, he enthusiastically invited me to go to dinner with the group. Granted, I had just eaten, but the chance to hang out with some of the cool people I’d met sort of overrode my food logic. I met them on the patio at Harbin Patio, as all but two of our crowd live in Harbin, which lends itself to many jokes on my part about my being part of the New South Outreach Program.
We all herded towards the bus stop beyond the gates and waited patiently for our transportation to Dupont Circle for some chow. However, a few very enthusiastic conversations later, no bus had arrived and the restlessness overwhelmed the group. We decided to abandon the Dupont Circle plan and just find somewhere on M Street. Someone suggested Johnny Rocket’s and we all agreed that it would work for a quick dinner. I munched some onion rings and slurped a milkshake that Steak and Shake would have been ashamed to serve, but it was still interesting to hang out and reflect on the 9/11 footage playing on the TV above our heads, thanks to the tact of CNN.
Once we had finished, we made another abrupt decision to make a momentous march to the monuments. James and I led the group down to the river, as we had to run to the monuments for crew. Speaking of which, I find it easy to run when you pass Watergate, the Kennedy Center and the Lincoln Memorial before turning back. The river was beautiful at night and soon the back of the Lincoln Memorial appeared before us.
There are few man-made things on earth that I find truly inspiring, but the Lincoln Memorial never fails to fill me with emotions I can’t even begin to explain. I think it’s the eloquence that gets me. When I read the Gettysburg Address, immortalized in marble, I almost feel like kneeling before it; its power and meaning transcending the words, though they too are elegant and well-crafted. I came upon the line Mr. Friedman used as an illusion, and though I adore my allusions, that line isn’t nearly as striking as it is upon that monstrous wall. It nearly moved to me to tears, and I maintained relative silence as we walked down the stairs, simply relishing the inspiration.
The tears fell, however, at our next stop. Where the Lincoln Memorial uplifts me, the Vietnam Memorial sobers me. The silent sadness and rueful reverence of the atmosphere always catches me off guard. It still amazes me how one single panel of the wall has enough names to constitute a terrible tragedy and yet the wall goes on in both directions, challenging every person that comes along to question more than just politics. From determining with the others how the number of Georgetown freshmen was only a small piece of the wall to finding the name “William R. Fahey” and suddenly realizing that he was most likely a guy my age whose life was ended before it even got off the ground, it was all an awesomely gut-wrenching experience. Our group moved on eventually, meanwhile discussing the incredible implications that the memorial had suggested.
Once we had gotten lost in the dark pathways around the National Mall, we decided to head back into the city to hop the metro back home. On our way, we were surprised to find ourselves crossing Pennsylvania Avenue, which then led us to detour past the White House to spend a few moments contemplating just how far you’d get if you tried to hop the fence. It’s just what you think of standing there, after all that “home of one of the most powerful men in the free world” stuff.
One metro ride later, we found ourselves in Rosslyn, across the Key Bridge from home sweet home in Georgetown. Some of the group jumped on a metrobus to the University, but 5 of us decided just to make the walk back. We sang, joked and reflected on the night’s adventure, which was simple as the Washington Monument loomed tall in the distance, acting temporarily as a marker of how far we had trekked earlier in the evening. The walking group also got a few extra treats. Not only did we get to take a picture with the randomly parked Oscar Mayer Weinermobile, but we also ran up The Exorcist stairs, stepping over a bum on the way, who has some admitted gall for sleeping on stairs legendary for their steep fall. Finally, as we crossed campus, we decided to embrace tradition and waded in Dahlgren fountain, one of the rites of passage not endorsed by the administration.
So, in reference to my first paragraph, this entire night reintroduced me to everything that gave Georgetown a place in my heart from the moment I stepped on campus. Before these adventures, I had yet to feel like I was in DC, like I had truly made it, or like I had a somewhat concrete friend base. However, it was last night’s combination of new friends, great experiences and intense emotions, not the least of which being happiness, that made me finally feel at home here. What was at first a loose affiliation due to classes and club involvement is not a true bond with this place, and I’m so happy to be here.
Friday, September 05, 2003
It’s been a really cool day for me. I don’t know why, but it’s as if the powers that be thought, “Wow, we made Tuesday awful for Ian; let’s give the kid a break.” I had two easy classes in the morning. First was Sociology, which I still dislike due to its ambiguity, but today I just tended to my own affairs while the professor lectured straight from the reading I had done during breakfast. Then came Philosophy. I was slightly worried that I had missed something important Tuesday and that I would be lost in class. However, my teacher came in, put on The Matrix and left, so it wasn’t bad at all.
After sort of lounging around for the afternoon (and watching the commentary on The Boondock Saints for the first time), I went to crew. When I arrived, I found out heavyweights had to start by running. Now, any of my friends would say that I do a lot of things, some quite well, but running does not fall within the scope of Ian’s proficiency. However, I actually made a decent effort for the 2.5 miles we had to run, meaning I actually ran straight for the first mile and a half. This was huge for my personal perception of my ability. Anyway, upon returning to the boathouse, we went out on the barge and proceeded to row one handed to get a feel for the process. The coach is really great about working with us and says I have the power, but I need to harness it. Maybe I’m like the Neo of crew...then again, maybe not.
Tonight was Late Night at Leavey, a big ordeal that supposedly is a party, but turned out to be a big club fair. I got a lot of free things such as cups and frisbees, but the highlight of the experience was signing up for Georgetown Assassins. As awful a thing as that might sound, it is actually quite decent and incredibly cool.
The basic idea is that you have your picture taken with your number, which is 75 in my case. Then this picture is given to another participant along with your dorm. This person must then hunt you down and attack you with a water gun. If they succeed, they not only receive credit, but they are then given your target to hunt, so if you get your quarry, you keep going. It should be really fun, but dangerous as hell and crazy once people start resorting to actual tricks to get each other. I’m thinking of using my concession stand trick of hiding my water gun in a cup and calmly drinking from it, seemingly innocent. It’s very disarming, more so than I am normally...right.
After leaving Leavey, despite a slight urge to stay and sing along again, I hung out with some cool kids in my pseudo-group, a bunch of people I’ve gone out with several times. After joking around in Red Square, we went back to this girl Steph’s room to watch the South Park movie. Steph is a really cool and sweet girl, who isn’t afraid to laugh at somewhat dirty humor. There’s a plus already.
Finally, I decided to go home and call it a night. I passed my cousin’s dorm and found her outside with her friends. My cousin informed me that I’m somewhat popular and that the theater group was referring to me as “Hot New Ian.” This was bewildering to me, because I totally wasn’t getting those vibes at all, but hey, if it is true, that’s kind of cool.
And by the way, to my friends that are a fan of my Rafter's pick up line, I met a guy named Ian today, and he was from SCOTLAND! I don't think that justifies anything, but when he said it was such a common name in Scotland, I couldn't help but smile.
After sort of lounging around for the afternoon (and watching the commentary on The Boondock Saints for the first time), I went to crew. When I arrived, I found out heavyweights had to start by running. Now, any of my friends would say that I do a lot of things, some quite well, but running does not fall within the scope of Ian’s proficiency. However, I actually made a decent effort for the 2.5 miles we had to run, meaning I actually ran straight for the first mile and a half. This was huge for my personal perception of my ability. Anyway, upon returning to the boathouse, we went out on the barge and proceeded to row one handed to get a feel for the process. The coach is really great about working with us and says I have the power, but I need to harness it. Maybe I’m like the Neo of crew...then again, maybe not.
Tonight was Late Night at Leavey, a big ordeal that supposedly is a party, but turned out to be a big club fair. I got a lot of free things such as cups and frisbees, but the highlight of the experience was signing up for Georgetown Assassins. As awful a thing as that might sound, it is actually quite decent and incredibly cool.
The basic idea is that you have your picture taken with your number, which is 75 in my case. Then this picture is given to another participant along with your dorm. This person must then hunt you down and attack you with a water gun. If they succeed, they not only receive credit, but they are then given your target to hunt, so if you get your quarry, you keep going. It should be really fun, but dangerous as hell and crazy once people start resorting to actual tricks to get each other. I’m thinking of using my concession stand trick of hiding my water gun in a cup and calmly drinking from it, seemingly innocent. It’s very disarming, more so than I am normally...right.
After leaving Leavey, despite a slight urge to stay and sing along again, I hung out with some cool kids in my pseudo-group, a bunch of people I’ve gone out with several times. After joking around in Red Square, we went back to this girl Steph’s room to watch the South Park movie. Steph is a really cool and sweet girl, who isn’t afraid to laugh at somewhat dirty humor. There’s a plus already.
Finally, I decided to go home and call it a night. I passed my cousin’s dorm and found her outside with her friends. My cousin informed me that I’m somewhat popular and that the theater group was referring to me as “Hot New Ian.” This was bewildering to me, because I totally wasn’t getting those vibes at all, but hey, if it is true, that’s kind of cool.
And by the way, to my friends that are a fan of my Rafter's pick up line, I met a guy named Ian today, and he was from SCOTLAND! I don't think that justifies anything, but when he said it was such a common name in Scotland, I couldn't help but smile.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Ah, college is definitely a different place. If it weren’t for the new experiences college provides, I wouldn’t be having as much fun as I’m having. At the same time, however, the distinguishable nature of college was the very cause of all of the events of yesterday, which is from this day forth to be known as one of the worst days, or at least mornings, of all time.
I woke up at about 8:20 in the morning, which came as a big surprise to me because I wanted to wake up at 6:20 for crew practice. I stumbled over to my alarm and then realized I had set it for 6:20 PM. While cursing my luck on that account, I realized I was having trouble walking. I looked down and found that the cut I had acquired on my heel during ultimate frisbee (due to my new shoes scraping my achilles') was seriously infected and that walking was impossible without excruciating pain. In this state, I made my way to breakfast and my first class, Sociology at 8:50, deciding along the way that I would go to the crew practice scheduled for 2 pm (although with a completely useless Achilles tendon, my ability to row would be sketchy at best), then hang with JJ, who was coming up to see me, then read through the play from 8 to 11.
At 10:05, my Soci. class ended and I made my way over to the student center grocery to pick up bandaids, Neosporin and Tylenol for the pain. I limped down to the dining hall to drown my sorrows in Pink Lemonade (and to consume the tylenol). I then got back to my room and decided to hang until 11, when I would leave for my 11:15 Philosophy class.
Well, it turns out I had a mental block, because my philosophy class was at 10:15, not 11:15. Therefore, at 11:00, I realized that I had missed the class during my first aid and lemonade adventures. Much cursing and exasperation ensued. So, at that point, I had an hour until my math class, which really was at 12:15, just enough time to feel like shit about how much can happen to a guy within 3 hours.
Luckily, crew was a really good time. We got out on the barge, which is two boats fastened together so the coach can walk between them and help out. Then JJ came, which provided me with a well-needed chill break. We basically just hung out for a few hours and then I rode with her on the GUTS bus over to the metro station. After saying our goodbyes, however, my bad day struck one final blow as the bus driver yelled at me for riding just to keep a friend company. Apparently I was taking up valuable seats, and I couldn’t use the excuse that I had paid good money, because Georgetown students ride free. I apologized sincerely to the irate transportation specialist, but the damage had been done. I just hope things aren’t awkward between us now, you know, if we see each other at a party or something.....what in God’s name am I talking about?
My day ended with a laid-back read through of our play. I’m really psyched that I get to play the rival. Not only do I get to overact as the pretentious rival, but I come back later in the play to be a suitor who is actually seriously hurt by how callous the woman is with his heart. Then, the absolute coolest thing about my part is the fact that I, Ian Fahey, get to live my dream and perform a sword fight! We were reading the scripts for the first time and I suddenly looked up and asked Tom, our director, “Hey Tom, what’s this part about ‘they proceed to duel?’” Tom smiled and said, “You get to fence with each other, what else?” I just about lost it. I’m so psyched about it! Of course, I do end up losing the duel. However, as the rival is a threefold part, I return as a different rival to a different girl against a different hero, and in that scene, I get the upper hand. It’s an incredible play, and if all that wasn’t enough, we also may be taking a trip to New York to perform the play on a real stage in the city! DAMN STRAIGHT!!!!!
I woke up at about 8:20 in the morning, which came as a big surprise to me because I wanted to wake up at 6:20 for crew practice. I stumbled over to my alarm and then realized I had set it for 6:20 PM. While cursing my luck on that account, I realized I was having trouble walking. I looked down and found that the cut I had acquired on my heel during ultimate frisbee (due to my new shoes scraping my achilles') was seriously infected and that walking was impossible without excruciating pain. In this state, I made my way to breakfast and my first class, Sociology at 8:50, deciding along the way that I would go to the crew practice scheduled for 2 pm (although with a completely useless Achilles tendon, my ability to row would be sketchy at best), then hang with JJ, who was coming up to see me, then read through the play from 8 to 11.
At 10:05, my Soci. class ended and I made my way over to the student center grocery to pick up bandaids, Neosporin and Tylenol for the pain. I limped down to the dining hall to drown my sorrows in Pink Lemonade (and to consume the tylenol). I then got back to my room and decided to hang until 11, when I would leave for my 11:15 Philosophy class.
Well, it turns out I had a mental block, because my philosophy class was at 10:15, not 11:15. Therefore, at 11:00, I realized that I had missed the class during my first aid and lemonade adventures. Much cursing and exasperation ensued. So, at that point, I had an hour until my math class, which really was at 12:15, just enough time to feel like shit about how much can happen to a guy within 3 hours.
Luckily, crew was a really good time. We got out on the barge, which is two boats fastened together so the coach can walk between them and help out. Then JJ came, which provided me with a well-needed chill break. We basically just hung out for a few hours and then I rode with her on the GUTS bus over to the metro station. After saying our goodbyes, however, my bad day struck one final blow as the bus driver yelled at me for riding just to keep a friend company. Apparently I was taking up valuable seats, and I couldn’t use the excuse that I had paid good money, because Georgetown students ride free. I apologized sincerely to the irate transportation specialist, but the damage had been done. I just hope things aren’t awkward between us now, you know, if we see each other at a party or something.....what in God’s name am I talking about?
My day ended with a laid-back read through of our play. I’m really psyched that I get to play the rival. Not only do I get to overact as the pretentious rival, but I come back later in the play to be a suitor who is actually seriously hurt by how callous the woman is with his heart. Then, the absolute coolest thing about my part is the fact that I, Ian Fahey, get to live my dream and perform a sword fight! We were reading the scripts for the first time and I suddenly looked up and asked Tom, our director, “Hey Tom, what’s this part about ‘they proceed to duel?’” Tom smiled and said, “You get to fence with each other, what else?” I just about lost it. I’m so psyched about it! Of course, I do end up losing the duel. However, as the rival is a threefold part, I return as a different rival to a different girl against a different hero, and in that scene, I get the upper hand. It’s an incredible play, and if all that wasn’t enough, we also may be taking a trip to New York to perform the play on a real stage in the city! DAMN STRAIGHT!!!!!
Monday, September 01, 2003
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Here it’s another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody....for real. Ah, well. I’ve just become somewhat accustomed to this on-again-off-again social scene at Georgetown. As I haven’t really found consistent friends, my activities are reliant on what club is having a meeting/party or who I happen to run into that is going somewhere. I guess I’m just not the type to hunt down parties to hang out. This would make me feel like a loser if I actually thought I was a loser. In reality, I’m just bored as all hell and somewhat envious of those who can just go out. If only I could call someone just to have that “We want to do something, but we don’t know what to do” conversation, just for old times’ sake.
However, things in general are pretty sweet. I just found out that I am playing the part of a rival in Mask and Bauble’s play The Illusion, which is really exciting, I think. I believe my part involves first being pretentious and haughty, then once I’m confronted, I become sniveling, cowardly and weak. During the call-back reading, there was a point at which I was supposed to be slapped by the hero, a fellow suitor of a certain lovely lady. The other actor and I agreed that I would take the slap. Granted, I agreed to this believing it would be either a stage slap or at least a slap I could take. When the time came, I turned to leave, the other actor grabbed my arm, spun me around and drove his palm into my face. The directors and producers all jumped and stopped the scene to see if I was alright. I was fine, still on my feet and cognizant, more surprised than anything else and actually disappointed that I had forgotten the next line in my disoriented state. I assured everyone I wasn’t seriously hurt and that it was all in the spirit of acting and we moved on, but it became a running joke for the day, which only made the cool bond I have made with the theater people stronger. See, there you go, I don’t know what I’m talking about socially. I totally now have people to hang with.
In other interesting and uplifting news, I have my first crew practice/orientation on the water on Tuesday, as well as the Ultimate Frisbee meeting tomorrow. Still waiting for math to pick up past vector addition and multiplication, as well as for Wednesday when we get to discuss the Spanish Tragedy in English, which is such a good play. All in all, I’m psyched and I’ve gone through quite a mood shift since I started the entry.
However, things in general are pretty sweet. I just found out that I am playing the part of a rival in Mask and Bauble’s play The Illusion, which is really exciting, I think. I believe my part involves first being pretentious and haughty, then once I’m confronted, I become sniveling, cowardly and weak. During the call-back reading, there was a point at which I was supposed to be slapped by the hero, a fellow suitor of a certain lovely lady. The other actor and I agreed that I would take the slap. Granted, I agreed to this believing it would be either a stage slap or at least a slap I could take. When the time came, I turned to leave, the other actor grabbed my arm, spun me around and drove his palm into my face. The directors and producers all jumped and stopped the scene to see if I was alright. I was fine, still on my feet and cognizant, more surprised than anything else and actually disappointed that I had forgotten the next line in my disoriented state. I assured everyone I wasn’t seriously hurt and that it was all in the spirit of acting and we moved on, but it became a running joke for the day, which only made the cool bond I have made with the theater people stronger. See, there you go, I don’t know what I’m talking about socially. I totally now have people to hang with.
In other interesting and uplifting news, I have my first crew practice/orientation on the water on Tuesday, as well as the Ultimate Frisbee meeting tomorrow. Still waiting for math to pick up past vector addition and multiplication, as well as for Wednesday when we get to discuss the Spanish Tragedy in English, which is such a good play. All in all, I’m psyched and I’ve gone through quite a mood shift since I started the entry.