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A notice of secession

So, friendslist? You might want to head over to citharize, as I'm moving journals over there. Some (read: almost all of you) are already friended over there, and if you're not and you'd like to be, let me know by commenting on this post or on the new journal. The switch isn't to avoid anyone, to escape any past drama, or anything like that. It's just that I've had this journal for five years and it's time for a change.
It's been a frustrating day. I've broken several pieces of furniture while moving them, and I'm having difficulty dealing with my Spanish teacher-- I understand her not giving credit for the class unless you have the homework finished, yes. What I do not understand is why she refused to accept my homework when I went to turn it in, because it was "the wrong ones" and I had to "do it from the book". I'm not sure how checking her website and the syllabus and doing the homework as she assigned it and turning it in is doing the assignment inaccurately, but apparently it is. What the hell. If she doesn't accept it tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do, but if it means sitting in her office and trying to explain the problem in Spanish (which, given my previous two years' study, I can speak better than most of the students in the class), I will.

However, that's not really important. What is important is that I have six people in my life whom I love in ways I can't even describe, and to ignore that today of all days would be something akin to criminal.

This, like a penis, is long, personal, and full of love, and like a penis, it's getting cut.Collapse )

And back to normalcy.

Cabaret vs. The Cure at Troy, a modern adaptation of Sophocles' Philoctetes. This weekend I got to watch a musical about sex in Nazi Germany and a play about a soldier with a stinky foot. For all intents and purposes, The Cure at Troy should've been awesome-- local theatre, actors I know, a story I had to read for class last year, and one of the most elaborately beautiful sets I've seen in ages. I've spent the last two days wondering how you build a hill, complete with cave, out of loose stones on a slanted stage. Unfortunately, Troy was pretty miserable-- Hans Altwies was great to see again, as always, although I don't think he really got Odysseus quite right-- a little too brusque, a little too angry, a little too much of a commandant. If I hadn't known who he was cast as, I would've thought that he was Menelaus or one of the Atreidae. Neoptolemus was not badly acted, because he did carry the story well, but he was one of those characters that you just sort of want to smack upside the head. And Philoctetes... um. There's more to acting than yelling and throwing yourself on the ground, dude, even if that is all the character does.

Also, they stole the fucking deus ex machina! Hercules was supposed to pop out of the volcano and start doling out heavenly orders at the end, and instead the chorus just showed up and quoted him. Instead of a literal god out of a machine, I got a half-assed "HERCULES SAYS GO TO TROY, BITCH" and Philoctetes did. Where was my incredibly cheesy god popping out of nowhere? I wanted that, dammit!

The rest of my daily life has been low-key if frustrating (why would you schedule an exam for today and tell your students when they're scheduled to take it that you've decided to give on Wednesday instead?). I've been keeping myself busy as much as possible: we're painting my room yellow, I'm prepping a new LJ, I'm jobhunting and working on the bass a bit (I've progressed to the point where I've got the finger strength and the agility to play it, I just don't know how to use it musically yet). And I suppose one knows they have weird hobbies when they're linked on the Wikipedia cannibals list and are able to say "I know all of this already!"

Conversations with my father.

"Your mom and I went and saw Smart People last night."

"How was that?"

"Depressing." My dad pauses, swallowing. "It's about a burnt-out English professor and his daughter, who's growing up just as solitary and unhappy as her dad."

I can't help laughing. So that's two roles scarily close to my life that Ellen Page has played.

Tags:

Wow, this day has been crazy. One good thing followed by one bad thing in quick succession.

School followed by torturous bus rides followed by getting to hold a cool bird getting ditched by friends followed by getting lunch followed by getting snarked at for asking a store employee a question about a sign. Then there was the job interview, which was both good and bad. Good because I think they loved me, bad because they're not willing to pay me enough and I would be "eligible for a raise in six months to two years" if I worked there. (For those of you just tuning in, I'm trying to wrangle something around $9-10/hour.) It's a bright side in and of itself, though, because I keep dropping off applications and knocking on doors and despite the fact that EVERYONE is hiring and that I have a good skill set and education for a 19-year-old, no one seems to have any work for me.

They want me back for another interview on Tuesday. I said I'd go, and I suppose I'll accept the job as a last resort.

Then there was me coming home (good thing) in a bit of a huff (bad thing) and being so huffy that I pulled my hoodie off too fast and snagged my face on the zipper, tearing my cheek open (for me, this is definitely good). I'm now walking around with this awesome gash on my face. I look like a pirate. Of course, pirates are still rather silly, sensitive little girls who sometimes don't have the strength to deal with people, so I'm being a reclusive pirate, but I'm still a fucking pirate, thanks. The snake and I both got dinner (good thing; on a given day, only one of us eats, and even then it's usually one meal), and I got a shipment of bras I bought off eBay (amazing; order D-cup bras online and they actually fit and are cute? Gasp!). The rest is... well, the rest is not really notable.

Dreams.

Upon waking up this morning (well, afternoon... being unemployed and not in school contributes to an interesting sleeping schedule), I had to remind myself that:

  • my girlfriend was not dead, thank Heaven,
  • I hadn't gotten into a car accident, and the other driver had not been so angry that he would punch me, and
  • God had not caught me having sex in the girls' bathroom at school.


Stupid subconscious.

Tags:

Audition went... okay, I guess. The two professors seemed to like the pieces I chose, and were even laughing when I did the Jane Martin piece, especially when I flipped them off at the end. They wanted me to tap into more rage when I did the Shepard piece, encouraging me to get really loud and physical. The interview portion went less than swimmingly-- it descended into awkwardness when they started asking me about my goals as an artist. I'm mostly sure they were looking for an answer like "I'm going to use my art to raise awareness about the genocide in Sudan!" but I've never been that kind of artist. I just create art, which probably means I'll never be a great artist or produce anything that lasts too long (not necessarily a bad thing, but a bit disheartening). I remember reading that art for art's sake is either propaganda or pornography, and-- I've never found that to be the case, but it seems to be what most people believe. Art has to be for a cause, it can't exist on its own terms.

All my personal experience has always gone against that. For some reason, it didn't seem as if it'd fly to tell these professors, "I really don't have any big dreams. I just want to learn this craft and other ones as well as I can and learn more about the world while I do it; I'll let the ambition come on its own, later".

They told me, rather dismissively, to have a nice day as I walked out.

Anyway, it's that sour note that's been setting my evening off (that, and the fact that I had a horrible case of loneliness and nervous energy afterwards and there was nowhere to go and no close-by friends availiable). So I've mostly just been drinking, which is so pathetic my mom came upstairs and offered to "hug it better".

I'm supposed to be writing now, but I'm aware that I can't write well when I'm angry and depressed, so it'll have to wait until early tomorrow morning or late tonight. I'm not sure if it's a pass-out-early night or stay-up-until-two-tomorrow-afternoon night. Suppose it doesn't matter much either way; church tomorrow is the only thing I've really got to do for the rest of the week.

And in this vein, we continue.

Ganked from eremon_lass.

Shakespeare meme: Bold the ones you've seen stage productions of, italicize the ones you've seen movies of, underline the ones you've read or listened to, asterisk (*) the ones you've performed sections from.

Bill's plays, under the cut.Collapse )

Memememe.

Like a good little girl, I'm supposed to be working. However, I am not a good little girl, I'm a rather mercurial blogger, so I'm wasting time.

Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, favorite type of underwear, graphic techniques, etc.

Rather like wolfychan, I doubt there's much I either haven't touched on or that anyone really would care to hear about, but if there's something you'd like to know, go ahead and ask!

And from peridium:
a. List seven of your habits/quirks or seven facts about yourself.
b. Tag seven people to do the same.
c. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say you tag 'whoever wants to do it.'


1. I'm not a dedicated musician, I'm not a huge fan of any particular band or genre, but I can't go a day without listening to my iPod. I've dragged it literally almost everywhere I ever go: camping, school, my job, and once on a safari in South Africa.

2. Basically all my inanimate objects have names. The car I drive most regularly goes by the name "Baby," in that I go "Oh, good baby, good job, that's my girl!" when we make it up a particularly treacherous hill or there's that weird delayed shift in transmission at around 35 mph. My computer is Elijah; my iPod is St. Jimmy; my harp is Hermia. I used to have a phone named Gabriel, but I upgraded and never named the new one.

3. If you've been around this journal for any length of time you probably know this, but I've got a tattoo and seven piercings, and I'm not sure why that's all I have at this point in time.

4. I've lived in the same house my entire life. It's a blue suburban two-story deal, and it's a nice comfortable house, except in the winter when the furnace decides that it just doesn't want to heat the top story at all (which is where my room is).

5. I eat salt plain. I've been doing this for as long as I can remember, just because I liked the taste of it. When I was a kid I got a battery of tests done on me and the doctor came back a bit confused: no sodium deficiency, no nutrition problems at all. Apparently I just really liked salt, so I was allowed to eat as much of it as I want. For all that, I prefer my food mild and salted to taste.

6. I once dated my former state senator's grandson. I didn't know about this until after we'd broken up.

7. Heights are absolutely the most frightening thing in the world to me. I'm no big fan of spiders either, but I can't stand to even watch people be up in high places, and I've freaked out from standing on a chair before.
Thanks to everyone who held on without getting a proper introduction post. Hi, guys! My life's been a bit, uh, weird the last couple of days. Not that it isn't usually, but the kind of weird that doesn't steer me towards updating.

At any rate, I'm Marika, I'm 19, and I'm a college dropout/theater student, writer, poet, tentative musician of some sort, and Shakespeare fanatic. I like a variety of folk, punk, and alternative bands; I also like opera and classical music, and my fandoms are usually the more clever and entertaining TV shows (Firefly, Heroes, Dead Like Me) or especially fun books (Brite, Fforde, and dare I admit Rowling?). My favorite living author is David Sedaris, and my two vices are coffee and beer. I literally just quit my job as a telemarketer this morning, because a) I want to spend more time doing what I actually want to do, and b) I want a job that doesn't tire me out and require me to accost people at home. I tend to tag my posts with lyrics from songs and quotes from books, TV shows, and plays. If you want a better mental image of me, here is a picture of me with a snake on my head. (And no matter what anyone says, I'm not scary! Just a little weird.)

So at any rate! I'm newly unemployed. I also just bought a $45 used bass, which I cannot play. Do I look like a college dropout yet? (Not especially, as part of the reason I quit work was so I can concentrate on going back to classes at the community college-- stupid basic requirements that I might as well get out of the way anyway, nrargh nrargh nrargh). The other reasons are that I need to job-hunt, and being stranded in the morning and at work in the afternoon and evening doesn't make that too possible.

There's also the audition for the theatre department of my dream school, which I hope to spend the week preparing. The process involves the memorization of two monologues (one they give me, another that I choose) and 16 bars of a song. The monologues won't be too difficult, I don't think-- I basically just need to practice, but jiasachan gave me one that I think I might do, or I might just wade through a few of my plays to find something I like. The song's giving me trouble-- the purpose of it is more to see how well the actor can "instinctually" act something that's not usually done in a play. Therefore, the school's acting for a verse and a chorus of a song wherein the songwriter/singer wants and is working for something. It's getting hard to pick something-- one suggestion was "There is Life Outside Your Apartment" from Avenue Q, and another was "I'm So Tired," by the Beatles, but I'm not sure if either of those is quite what I'm looking for. Anyone have any suggestions? I know my flist is good with music...

And happy St. Patrick's Day, even though I'll admit that this is a holiday I've never quite understood. It's also happy my-dad's-60th-birthday, and I'm going to have to write him a poem before he gets home from work tonight.

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