“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.
Sunday, October 26, 2003
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.