The Christmas Wish List 2008

The house on the next block has officially turned on enough Christmas lights to rival the Griswold's of National Lampoon's fame which means: it's time to publish the annual Christmas Wish List!

• a calendar (retro art nouveau or art deco poster reproductions or non-Ansel Adams black and white photography)
• a new watch (I'm pretty sure this one is already spoken for...)
  
• a new wallet
• The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K. Rowling
• Photoshop
• Leatherman Serac S3 Flashlight (because I work in a dark theatre. Also, I like toys.)
  

Springtime

It's beginning to feel very Spring-ish in this part of the country. As I locked up my classroom this evening the cool breeze carried the smell of growing things across my face. Grass, freshly churned dirt. I thought of the family of raccoons living under the portables behind the PAC and I wondered if they love this weather as much as I do. It seems odd that I haven't named them yet. I've been too busy to think about that kind of thing, I guess. Anyway, it's feeling Spring-ish. I'm sure that before too long, the Florida weather will turn again, and the heat will beat down on that freshly churned dirt.

This week has been gorgeous, in spite of what promises to follow. Weeks like this make me wish I lived my life in the sunshine, instead of in the deep shadow and bright lights of a theatre, or under the drab fluorescent tubes of my classroom. I can't help but think that I would be happier if I spent more time outdoors.

Today was a day for peaceful airy music played by a string quartet, for long hair left free to dance in the breeze, for jeans, a t-shirt, and a sun-kissed glow. I drove home with the window rolled down (except on the highway because that's not as aerodynamic and therefore less fuel efficient) thinking of the Tallahassee spring and the thick layer of pollen which turned my white car green for a several months in the year, and feeling the wind whip across my shoulders after going up the sleeve covering the arm draped out the window. Yes, I love Spring. It has so many possibilities. Memories, if they felt like anything physical, would feel like a cool breeze caressing my face on a Spring afternoon.

Scrawl

I remember wanting to write from a young age. Before I learned my alphabet, I would sit in my room and scribble 'words' across pages, doting and crossing my imaginary 'i's and 't's in my childish approximation of cursive handwriting. Those scrawled words would have meaning for the few moments that I could remember them, and I would read my stories to the host of stuffed animals that sat attentively on my bed, the children for my personal library story time.

As I've gotten older, I still write quite a lot. Much of the time it ends up in this blog or my personal journal. I don't ever really write anything creative, which makes me sad. I guess as I have gotten older, the childhood dream has gotten muddled in everything else. Maybe that's just how life goes sometimes.

Christmas Wish List 2007

Wal-Mart has started playing Christmas music, which means: it's time to publish the annual Christmas Wish List! This is seriously a wish list. I don't really expect to get most of it.

• a laptop bag
• an Apple Wireless Mighty Mouse
• a digital camera
• Guitar Hero III
• Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on DVD
• Stranger Than Fiction on DVD
• a drafting board (or something like it, you should talk to me...)
• a calender (with retro poster art or black and white photography)
• tools (pliers, side cutters, wrenches, a socket set, etc.)
• Photoshop

Guess What...

I got a call today from the Assistant Principal at Colonial High School offering me the job as the new drama teacher. So, I guess I'm a teacher now. When I woke up this morning, I was a college grad looking for a job. Now I'm employed and am responsible for all of the students in the drama program, as well as the theater, the dressing rooms, the power tools (oh! the power tools!)...everything. I will have more keys on my key ring than I've ever had before. Students...my students...will hear me coming my the jingle of my keys.

I bounced (literally) around the office for a good half hour today, down to the machine room, up to the verifiers cave, back to the seasonal/on-call cube. I didn't sit down for an hour. I couldn't. When I finally got my sizable butt back into my chair and the euphoria began to wear off, I got this horrible sense of fear. A man just called to tell me that they've decided to give me more responsibility than I've ever had in my life. And it's just me. I'm flying solo.

I've never directed a play before. Or designed a set. Or taught a class.

This year will be a year of firsts.

Solitude

I've been living alone for several weeks now. Part of me says, this is amazing. I get to sit around at home and do whatever I want: play piano at 11PM (well, I'd do that anyway, just not as loud), watch The Simpsons while eating a dinner of cottage cheese and apple sauce, read without interruption anywhere in the house, or blast my music at 7:30 in the morning when I'm making my lunch. And I like driving myself to work in utter silence, or listening to a podcast on my iPod, or the radio instead of thirty minutes of political drivel, or "I'll tell you what," or "that's what I'm saying," or "weelll, looks like it'll rain today" (my internal reaction: no shit, Sherlock, it's central Florida in the summer). I used to get these pounding headaches at work that wouldn't go away until I went to sleep, but I haven't had one since I started driving myself. Maybe it's to do with being on my own schedule, or just not having to listen to the inevitably painful conversation in the carpool. I hate the carpool. All this to say, it's been nice, and I've found myself in a better mood for almost a month now.

The downside to being alone is I don't ever see anyone outside of work. Let's face it, I'm not what one might call a social butterfly. I don't make friends quickly. I can count on my two hands the number of people I met in college with whom I hope to stay in touch. That is not an exaggeration. My friends from home have continued on with their lives, moving on to other states or countries (or are already there). I hesitate to search for new friends since I don't know what this next year will look like, and people are hard work. They suck the life out of me.

So, it appears that I'm alone down here. I haven't spent an evening away from home for two weeks. In that time I have retreated into my books, imagining myself a part of worlds that will never exist outside of the imagination. It seems like I'm happier there, lost in my thoughts.

As for the work situation, I haven't heard from them yet. With every passing day the shadow of doubt grows in my mind. Two weeks ago I was hopeful, now I'm just frustrated. So much for making a decision soon.

The Job Search and a Mild Obsession

I am finally getting the wheels rolling on this whole teaching thing. I spent half of this afternoon calling local high schools to see if they have open positions and had a moment or two of grinning hope coupled with several moments of mild panic when I heard receptionist after receptionist say, "No, all of our teaching positions are filled." But there remain a select few high schools that still need teachers, so I am resting on those few.

On a pseudo-whim, I called Focus on the Family to see if they had internships available for Adventures in Odyssey. This, I have to say, has been a dream of mine since childhood (hence pseudo-whim). Well, not an internship specifically, more like a job, but I will start with small steps. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting in the kitchen on a Saturday morning listening to Odyssey and playing paper football with Paul. I remember also setting the alarm on my watch so that I would remember to come inside at 3:30 or 4:30 or 5:30 (I don't remember which) every weekday afternoon to listen to the reruns. I still listen to them online at work. I got Adventures in Odyssey CD or tape sets every Christmas until my second year of college. And I actually listened to them. A lot. (Oh, parents, by the way, they have the old classics out on CD now, it's called the Gold Audio Series, I think. I want them :-). And a MacBook.) Most of the tape sets are incomplete because we listened to them so many times that they wore out, or were eaten by the tape player. I learned half of my vocabulary from Eugene Meltsener, and I know Isaiah 41:10 in some random version because that's what was on Odyssey. I know who many of the actors are (at least the old ones), and in some cases I could tell you who else they've voiced. It's a little sad, actually.

Random anecdote, I was watching some old episodes of Quantum Leap or maybe 21 Jump Street with one of my roommates and I hear this voice, and I'm thinking, I've heard this voice. So I sit there for a minute and then I realize, this guy was on Odyssey! He played Horatio Spafford on the episode, "It Is Well" (and many others I'm sure).

Honestly, I think it was Adventures in Odyssey that started my love for the theatre and performing arts in general.

Anyway, that's what I did today, other than work. I really should have written a cover letter, but I fell asleep after I got home and then ended up watching The Office Marathon on NBC, because, well, who doesn't like The Office?

Trying to Meet My Quota

I decided several weeks ago when I was making changes (I'll call them structural changes) to my blog that I would try to post at least six times a month. So I'm writing in an attempt to meet my quota. That sounds bad, but when I read about writers or hear interviews I'm struck by how many of them had to force themselves to write at the beginnings of their careers. They would set a word quota, or a page quota and just sit and write. No matter what. Whether they had something to write about or not, they would write. Even if they knew that the words they put down on the page would more than likely be cut in subsequent revision, they would write. I sometimes marvel at people who have that kind of willpower. I certainly don't. I would always set goals for myself in my homework when finals week rolled around and everything started getting crazy, but I seldom met those goals.

Now that I'm out of college, I might try setting a quota, perhaps daily or weekly. My playwriting professor said that if you never wrote anything, you were never going to become a good writer. Like anything else, writing takes practice. I should practice more.

And that reminds me, I have yet to post about graduation. I'll get around to it, maybe that will be May post #2.

An (Imaginary) Rabid Fan Attack at the Coffee Pub

I sat in the corner of the Coffee Pub today feeling horribly artistic with my legs draped over the chair arm, Mrs. Dalloway resting in my lap, hot tea in my hand (to pay the rent), and Iron and Wine pumping into my ears. Horribly, horribly artistic. In those two and a half hours I spent reading, my mind kept wandering to an imaginary conversation in my head that featured a rabid fan praising the play that I wrote while sitting in the corner of the Coffee Pub feeling horrible artistic. This RF gushed over the humor intertwined with literary and historical allusions, reminiscent of Beckett in it's pretentious inaccessibility that I succeeded in capturing in poignant scene after poignant scene. During this whole imaginary conversation I was magnanimous and condescending, deigning to grant an autograph to the RF and being every bit as witty and engaging as the witty and engaging characters in my witty and engaging play. 'Beckett used to be my favorite,' said the RF, 'but now it's you.'

And then I would be snapped back to real life by the realization that I have no idea who Septimus is and I probably should, since he just jumped out of a window. Actually, that is a lie. I haven't gotten that far in Mrs. Dalloway, but I'm going to trust SparkNotes and say that Septimus jumped out of a window. I had planned to speed read and finish tonight, but it's quite a difficult book to understand when reading at leisure speed, and let's face it, I'm not a very good speed reader anyway. I did finish Murphy and more than half of Mrs. Dalloway, so I'm hoping that that will be enough to get me an A on my exam tomorrow. I'll plan on answering as many Murphy questions as possible. We get to chose 14 out of 30 to answer, and there are only two books on this exam, so theoretically I could answer all Murphy questions and still be totally fine. I've been especially apathetic this past weekend about school and such. Perhaps it is the Senioritis setting in full force.

A Dream Differed

For a long time I wanted to be a photographer. I pictured myself jetting around the world doing exciting things in dangerous places. Taking pictures of people that the whole world would see. I would flip through the pages of National Geographic, looking at the images of animals, a tribe in the Sahara Desert, a funeral in Bosnia. I wanted to take those pictures someday. I would look at a subject and see an amazing photograph waiting to be taken. When I finally got a camera into my hands, the amazing picture that was in my head somehow got lost in the lens of my Dad's old Canon A-1. No matter how much I wanted those images to make it to the film, it never quite got there. I would be zoomed in too much, or not enough, or it would be only just out of focus.

I realized fairly quickly that photography was not for me. I didn't understand enough about the sunlight, f-stops and apertures. It never looked quite right.

I've been thinking about getting a camera. A point and shoot digital, something I can drop in my pocket and take along for the ride. Then again I want to have control. I want that flower to be out of focus, dang it. I can't do that with a point and shoot. But if I ever got a camera where I had to do more than that, the pictures in my head would never make it to the film, or pixels, however those things work. It's not like I have the money to throw away on a camera anyway.

It would be nice though, to be able to get that image on to film or pixel. If only I had the patience to learn.