One Thing Really Quick

I really shouldn't even be contemplating writing in this blog at the moment, for it is but a few hours until I have to wake up to get ready to go to Campus Crusade's annual Atlanta Christmas Conference for all the schools in the southeast. Anyway, I should be sleeping right now, but I was doing laundry for until the wee hours of the morning, and now I've just finished packing and am getting everything in order to leave (money wise..making sure there's enough money in the checking account, that kind of thing). My room however, will remain a disaster area until I get back (and in reality probably till I go back to school, I mean, let's be honest, when you're living out of a suitcase, it's hard to not have clothes all over the floor. Anyway, must go, have some Z's to catch before leaving. I'll let you know how the conference goes.

A Strange Evening

I spent the evening at the home of my middle school youth pastor who has just moved back to Orlando after pastoring [mental note: check correctness of words "pastoring" and "correctness"] in Georgia for several years. Having not seen him and his wife for any length of time in as many years, it was strange being back to six years ago, hanging out and just chatting. Many things have changed. They now have two absolutely adorable children who are destined to be a rabid football fans; they have grown older as have the students they cared for back in the day, though not as visibly; they have passed through many fires, been refined, and become more wise, although I'm sure they would be the first to say that wisdom is not something that is gained over a few years. In other ways, they remain the same. He still has that crazy southern accent, which has been cultivated by the years in Georgia; she still looks the same, despite two pregnancies and the stress that accompanies the resulting children.

Adding to the weirdness of seeing them again was seeing that particular group of people again. I went to high school with many of them, but the years between middle school and now have created chasms between us, save a few people who have remained my close friends. I saw them for four more years along with many new faces from high school. Some people I didn't really know well in middle school; others I considered my best friends. In fact members of that group of people helped mold me into who I am today. Their personalities and resilience against embarrassment bent me to a point that I too seldom get embarrassed, especially when compared to the frightened child might blush at the mention of underwear many years ago. It saddened me how little I spoke to people on whom I once depended for much of my human interaction. I wish that things had not turned out the way they did in high school and consequently in college, but c'est la vie. I am reminded of a Shakespeare quote that goes something like this, [pardon me for butchering it which I know is inevitable] "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more." It's as if their lives simply pranced across the stage of mine, and are now waiting in the wings for something else to happen; either their triumphant return to the stage, or their quiet exit from the theatre of my perception. In high school people change, roads split. Mine went one way, theirs the other.

This week has been a return to the past for me. Last Saturday I went to D.'s house for a small gathering to see the gang again before people left for Christmas vacation with family. At this event I hung out with people I haven't talked to recently due to distance both physically and emotionally. On this occasion we made a brief journey back to the middle school years and certain things that happened on school camping trips, all of which were, in my humble opinion, the result of overactive hormones which were at the time untamed (everyone's are in middle school), and all the drama that springs from the teen angst and love triangles which characterize any group where the guy-to-girl ratio is roughly 3-to-9.

It has been simultaneously fun and sad to wistfully remember the days of yore. I am most certainly glad that those days are over, that I don't have to worry about that brand of angst any longer. But deep down some part of me, probably the part that still wants to play pirate in the loft with Johnny Depp, longs for the days of youth when a glance from a certain boy would shake my world and a night out with the girls meant sleeping on someone's floor in a sleeping bag eating popcorn and watching overly sappy movies till saltwater fish could swim in our puddles of tears.

Artistic 3.0 (with semirelated tangent)

I find that when I'm trying to be artistic, it just doesn't work. I don't know why. It kind of sucks really. I feel like some of my best writing comes when I'm not even thinking about what I'm writing, just letting it flow, being myself. When I am myself strange things begin to happen. My imagination goes crazy, my mind wanders to some place far far away that is somehow reachable if I can only detatch myself from reality a little farther. I saw Finding Neverland a week ago and absolutely adored it; not because of the sterling performances of Johnny Depp and that one kid, but because I identify with the J.M. Barrie character deep down inside. I'm a child trapped in a college student's body (I won't say that I'm an adult, the prospect of being grown up is frightening and more than a little depressing). Perhaps that's why I loved Big Fish so much: I saw myself in those crazy stories. Based in reality, but so much more. Life would be boring without an imagination. I love my imagination.

I propose we have a national "Love Your Imagination" Day. Kids today are denied the opportunity to use their imaginations by being spoon fed everything through a screen or talking gizmo. If the kid can talk, he's doesn't need a talking Elmo anymore (and frankly they're creepy...there's actually a story behind my fear of talking stuffed animals; ask me some time), why provide Elmo with a voice when someone can do it for him. Somebody should sell stuffed animals with a tagline like "Says an infinate number of phrases when you provide the voice!" or "Says anything you want him to!" All of this to say, excercise your imagination, it's like cardio...for the brain!

Relaxing Christmas Vacation?

I got home from school last Friday. It was nice. My totally awesome roommate drove me home. We missed the I-75 exit, so we got to backtrack. I was highly amused. Anyway, that's not really the point of me writing this blog.

Anyway, at the moment, I am exhausted. Alright, I know exhaustion is not really surprising around Christmas time, but the cause for exhaustion is not shopping or decorating, but painting. Painting. I spent most of my day 8 feet off the ground on a ladder and scaffolding. My feet hurt from standing on a one inch wide piece of metal for too long. My knee hurts from going up and down a ladder all day.

I came home for the break and the house was clean, but disheveled. There weren't any decorations up. It didn't really feel like Christmas. Hopefully we'll rectify that situation before the end of the week. I just hope I don't have to stand on a ladder too much...again. I had to paint above my parents shower, so we had the ladder in the shower, and it slipped a little when I was on it and I flipped out. Eight feet in the air is a bad place to practically have a heart attack. Needless to say I made quick work of painting up there and got down as quickly as possible. Anyway, I don't mind doing it. It's kind of fun really, I just wish I didn't have to get up so early, and spend so much time that high up. I been on high ladders before, but I've never really been that comfortable that high up, the squirt was always the one who was good at climbing trees and such.

Well, it's time for me to go to bed, because as I've already mentioned, I get to do the same tomorrow. Good night, everyone, sleep well, be good.

A List of Wonderings

This is my list of wondering. Most of these wonderings have to do with things which I know will be detrimental to my health, sanity or sleep cycles. So here goes the list.

I'm wondering:
-why I keep putting off writing papers until the last minute. I have again avoided writing a lengthy paper to the last minute. Methods of stalling have varied somewhat; instead of playing Minesweeper I watched Cold Mountain with some of my roommates. Awesome movie, bad timing.

-why in the world I chose to write about Shakespeare's ideal leader for this paper. What was I thinking? There are like eight possible leaders in King Lear alone! I'm considering checking in to the local psychiatric ward and getting my head checked out for making stupid academic choices.

-why I'm writing in my blog when I should be writing about Shakespeare. This remains to be solved, let me know if you figure it out.

-why some birds fly (farther) south in the winter and others (the not as pretty ones) stay here all winter. Clementine left, if you hadn't heard. She's now been replaced by a pigeon who we've named Rufus (in honor of my grandfather, who I never met...hope he doesn't mind). Anyway, gray bird vs. brown/yellow/orange bird, who do you think wins the battle for my affections?

-why my left shift key is being retarded. I've always been nice to you shift key, why are you getting back at me for always being kind and loving? Some things just don't make sense.

Ok, enough wondering for now, it's really time for me to get back to work...actually it was time for me to get back to work about three hours ago, but well, I didn't then, so why start now? Oh, right, my paper's due in twelve hours. That's a good reason I guess.

Phantom Anyone?

I have yet to decide quite how I feel about the musical theatre classic Phantom of the Opera being transposed to the silver screen. Part of me says it will attract more people to musical theatre which is always good for potential starving artists such as myself. It's a great way to expose people to a whole other genre of art which seems to have fallen to wayside as ticket prices to Broadway shows (and any other stage performance for that matter) skyrocket. And who knows, maybe it will make people love theatre as much as I love theatre. Another part of me (the pretentious/elitist part) says that it's a travesty to do that to Phantom. So much of seeing Phantom for me was watching the candles rise out of the stage, gazing as the chandelier careened to the floor (although wasn't as impressive as I had imagined) and seeing the Phantom and Christine glide around on a boat live on stage. There's something magical that happens when you know that there is no editing that goes on before the action reaches your eyes, when you know that what you see is what you get, when you know that the person you're watching is also watching you, when you know that if you throw a tomato at them, it'll actually go splat.

You probably think from the what I've been saying that Phantom is my favorite musical. Well, it's not. I love the music (props to Andrew Lloyd Webber) but think the plot was gutted and filleted in the process (shame on you Andrew Lloyd Webber, you need to apologize to Gaston Leroux). I actually can't really say what my favorite musical is. I adore Les Miserables, partially because I was in it in high school, partially because it is a fantastic musical that everyone should see at some point in their life (too bad it's not on Broadway anymore, but just wait a few years, it'll be back, it made too much money to not). Aida was my first encounter with a Broadway production, and I loved it. But that was before I became overly analytical about everything, thanks to my theatrical training in which we are taught to watch everything like it was under a microscope. Anyway, Aida, unlike Phantom, has great plot and music (props to Elton John and Tim Rice, and whoever wrote the original opera on which it is based).

Anyway, I'll probably write something regarding this topic after I've actually seen the movie version. And now, back to my paper, which is still incomplete.

60 to 0 in Half a Second

I don't know why, but I've just been hit with a strong feeling of dysphoria. This afternoon I was super hyper (example, I orchestrated a countdown to dinner time New Years Eve style). Now I'm completely exhausted, a little stressed, and rather antsy.
Possible reasons:
1. Health/expanding waist line
2. Looming finals week
3. Good old lack of fuel
4. 2 humongo papers awaiting me
5. The cough I'm just now getting over
6. A mild argument with roommate during dinner time (in front of whole house)

On the topic of humongo papers, J., my play analysis teacher announced today that our final exam has been cancelled [hurray!] and our final papers now count for 400 points [oh crap!]. The paper that I am currently avoiding is worth 40% of my final grade. In the words of Strong Bad, "Holy holy holy holy holy crap!!!" Anyway, I'm stressing just a little bit about this. I can just imagine myself walking to the FAB (how funny is it that the drama building is call the FAB?), crossing the street only to be hit by one of the crazy TalTran bus drivers who don't pay much attention to anything smaller than a Mack truck, and FAILING Play Analysis because of it. Ok, so maybe my imagination is getting away with me just a little bit, but that doesn't change the fact that there is a lot riding on this one paper, which is due in under 5 days and has yet to be undertook, not to mention finished.

Anyway, time to get some work done.