Archive for November, 2006

Thursday, November 16th, 2006

First of all, Daddy commented:

“Uh. Mouse? The list shows, “Thirty-seven Plays”. I think you have read many more than thirty seven plays.”

Of course. Of course I have read more than thirty-seven plays. However, those just happen to be the 37 (or 39, counting The Oresteia as three plays. I love The Eumenides, but I still say that Euripides’ Electra is *infinitely* better than Sophocles’ Electra and Aeschylus’ The Libation Bearers) plays that I have read within the last nine weeks. I think you’ll all agree that there is a considerable difference between the plays that I have read and the plays that I have read in the last nine weeks. =D

Second of all, today is a day that I shall never miss when it ends. Yes, there are a lot of those, it is true, but that does not make life any less frustrating. Don’t even ask. It’s over, and therefore not important.

Finally, I am far far far behind on showing you my knitting progress. So, I plan to show you one project a day for the next three days. This is good for two reasons. Firstly because it is the end of the quarter and I have little posting time, and secondly because spreading them out will make it all the more exciting.  Without further ado, the first picture.  These have been finished, with the exception of one afterthought heel, for…well…since move-in.  Shush, you.  I finally put the heel on the other day, and they are now one of my favorite pairs.


Excitingly, I failed to rotate this picture.  I think it was an incredibly artistic mishap, and simply cannot bear to go back and correct it… 

Thirty-seven Plays

Tuesday, November 14th, 2006

That I have read/will have read by next Monday, listed by author’s last name:

Aeschylus – The Oresteia**
Baraka, Amiri – Dutchman
Beckett, Samuel – Endgame
Beckett, Samuel – Waiting for Godot
Boccioni, Umberto – Genius and Culture*
Brecht, Bertolt – Galileo
Cangiullo, Francesco – Detonation*
Churchill, Caryl – Cloud 9
Euripides – Electra
Euripides – Iphigenia
Euripides – Trojan Women
Frayn, Michael – Copenhagen
Genet, Jean – The Balcony
Glaspell, Susan – Trifles
Hauptmann, Gerhardt – The Weavers
Homer – The Iliad
Isben, Henrik – Ghosts
Jones, Tom and Harvey Schmidt – The Fantasticks
Maeterlinck, Maurice – The Intruder
Marinetti, Filippo – Feet*
Mee, Charles L. – Agamemnon 2.0
Pinter, Harold – The Homecoming
Pirandello, Luigi – Six Characters in Search of an Author
Shange, Ntozake – spell #7
Simon, Neil – I Ought to be in Pictures
Smith, Anna Deavere – Fires in the Mirror
Sophocles – Ajax
Sophocles – Electra
Sophocles – Philoctetes
Stein, Gertrude – Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights
Stoppard, Tom – Travesties
Tzara, Tristan – The Gas Heart
Wasserstein, Wendy – Uncommon Women and Others
Wilde, Oscar – The Importance of Being Earnest
Wilson, August – Fences

** The Oresteia consists of three plays: Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, and The Eumenides

*Very short Dada pieces. Oh, Tristan Tzara…


Saturday, November 11th, 2006

Every so often (or perhaps slightly more often than that) our cafeteria serves “dynosaurs”. They are, in short, dinosaur shaped SpaghettiOs.

I have many SpaghettiOs memories, most of them taking place at the beach. I’m sure that I am mixing all sorts of memories here, but we used to drag the little white stool out so that we could see over the stove (!!), and cook heat them. Then we’d sit at the table and pretend that we were civilized human beings. We even got Flintstones vitamins on our napkins!! I also remember, in particular, the time that we brought our SpaghettiOs to Barbara Mullen’s house to cook and eat them *there*, on the porch. Don’t ask me why because I have absolutely no idea.

Sadly, SpaghettiOs now do not live up to my childish memories. In fact, I find them mildly disgusting. So, my question today would have to be this: If I don’t like them, then why on earth am I so compelled to eat “dynosaurs” when the cafeteria serves them?

It could be nostalgia.

Or perhaps it is the fact that they are called “dynosaurs” combined with the fact that I am still a complete child, and cannot possibly resist their satisfying dino-y shapes swimming imaginitively in their pool of tomato-y primordial goop. Oh no Mr. Pterodactyl, watch out!! Here comes my spoon!!

Mmm, prehistoric creatures in my belly.

Yes thank you, I like my food.

Thursday, November 9th, 2006

–I have been in the makeup room trying to convince boys not to use pink lipstick.  Stage makeup is meant to make you look “normal”, not “transvestite”.

–Why are the journal articles at WMU off-limits to K students?  This is my education here.  Contrary to popular belief, I am not attempting to valdalize your materials or to steal them.  I just need to write a paper.

–On the same note, why on earth doesn’t K have *any* journal articles on Megan Terry as the “mother of feminist theatre”, despite the fact that everyone else on earth references her as such *without explaining why*.  NOT USEFUL.  It only has to be five pages…I’ll be alright as long as I can refrain from writing eight.

–Last night, a random girl that I do not know and have never seen before asked me if I was recovering from an eating disorder.  Rather than a)pointing out that I was, in fact, quite obviously in the process of devouring a panini in the least delicate manner possibly, b)replying by telling her that “no, I’ve always eaten twice my body weight at every meal”, or c)screaming…I just said “uhm…no.”  *Proceeds to eat at an accellerated rate.*  I do NOT look like I have an eating disorder.  At all.  Who SAYS that.

–To classssssssssssssssssssssssssssss


Monday, November 6th, 2006
Yes, I am.  Not just the knitting.  I am swamped in an ocean, and it is full of STUDY.
Rather, that is the ocean that is looming over my head.  In all honesty, I only read five pages total this weekend.  So, sue me.

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Sunday, November 5th, 2006

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Thanks, universe.

Sunday, November 5th, 2006

Actually, yes. That *would* be a chip out of my glasses. On top of everything else…there is now a chip out of my glasses. I have no idea how it happened.

I hereby proclaim, openly and directly, the completeness of my spite for the universe and all the crap it tries.

GO PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE. (heh.) Otherwise I shall be forced to take drastic measures. I have fiber! I have needles! I have anger and an inability to suppress myself when I feel strongly about a subject, even if it’s the worst time or place that you could ever possibly imagine.

I have done nothing (do you hear me? NOTHING) to deserve this. If I *could* just keep them on my face, I would. I am shaking my fist, I am gnashing my teeth, I am pulling my hair, I am throwing my head back and ceasing to breathe. I am gasping with indignity.

This. Means. WAR.

(Yes, thank you, I do realize that I am asking for it.)

Eighth Week

Saturday, November 4th, 2006

I am about to go into eighth week. Being generally unbearable and despised by all, it is impossible to have a decent outlook on life when considering the sheer misery of what is to come in the most digusting and inevitable fashion.

With that said, I have lived through worse eighth weeks. This quarter is easier than some because I have not had rehearsal, but at the same time it is much much harder. Because I have not had rehearsal.

If I don’t fill the entire space of time during which normal healthy people are awake, it becomes almost impossible to get anything done at all. Why? Go ask someone who cares to know. I don’t have the spare thought to figure it out.

Apparently, I also lack the sanity to post. I start writing about something, then half a post later it ceases to carry any meaning whatsoever. In reality I don’t think this is any different from usual, I just don’t seem to be able to ignore it at the moment. Tough cookies!!

While Emily watches with one grudging eye (she refuses to get up at 1:15 AM just for a photo session), I present to you my minimal progress on Sarcelle:


As one should never doubt the good sense of a Yarn Duck, I am off to bed. And don’t tell anyone (especially me), but I didn’t do any work today.


Wednesday, November 1st, 2006

Watch me as I take a sudden and panicked stumbling dive into a large, pointy pile of books. (The “pointy” comes from the implied knitting needles mixed throughout, in case anyone was left in the dark.)

How did this happen? Not to mention that I have been seriously neglectful of birthdays. No, really. There were at least three in October. I was even writing a post entitled “seriously neglectful” to mark them. But you know what? Good. Neither do I.

What do I do with November…I write at least three more large papers and at least three more small papers. I read at least five million more plays/texts and go to at least five million more classes (surely, surely “five million” is accurate) and do a final complete scene design project including a model and numerous drawings of different sorts.

I also pretend that I am alive, and continue to respond to the question “how are you?” with the phrase “I’m still breathing” to prove it. It’s the cheater’s way out, but it’s true. If I am breathing I must living, and therefore I am fine. This response makes no reference to whatever mental/emotional state I may be in, good or bad, and is therefore “safe”.

Productivity? Not in this world. Maybe the next one…or the next…or the next…

Ah, societal habits.