I'm sure, after my last post, you've all been dying to know if I've kept to the very stringent and somewhat impractical commandments I set for myself. The short answer? No, but then I wasn't really expecting to; and I have let them influence how I've been living my life. For example, I've definitely been reading more, I've been going out as often as I can, and have been walking more. So, there've definitely been some changes since I finished my exams.
I won't be going to my graduation- I was iffy on the whole situation anyway, as it sounded deathly dull as a ceremony and quite costly, and then I missed the sign up deadline anyway, so it's a done thing. I'm not too beat up about it, to be honest, but I do wonder if, in the future, I'll regret this decision. Only time will tell.
That somewhere in France where I will be moving has been revealed to me, as a quaint town of about 26, 000 inhabitants in Picardy, 90 minutes' train from Paris, 30 minutes from Reims, 150 minutes from Brussels and about 4 hours away from the Hague: I think I might try some exploring while I'm there. I've never been to the Netherlands, or to Germany, and I'll be earning OK money while I'm there, so I might try inter-railing a little bit while I'm there- even though, according to one Richard Hart, interrailling stopped occurring in the seventies.
Lots of my friends have expressed an interest in coming to visit me, and I'd like to have some familiar faces around while I'm here- after all, I won't know anyone, and, unlike Australia, I won't be moving in with a bunch of people my own age who speak the same first language as I do. I'm also hoping I might be able to visit Danielle, whom I haven't seen in four years, since I ended Sixth Form, so that'll be a nice addition.
So, if you wanna come see me in France, hit me up and if I don't secretly hate you (sorry, Poppy) I'll totally be on board.
Monday, 2 June 2014
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
Fifty (part two): My Own Meandering Experience
Welcome back to the fiftieth post.
I am finished with university. At least, for the time being. I sat my final exam today, with unexpected results (I have to go the Doctors tomorrow), but nevertheless it was my final exam of my final term of my final year, which means I am done.
I don't know how I feel- the last few days have been a rollercoaster, even moreso than usual before an exam (see above re: Doctors), and so of course in a way it's just a relief that those stresses cannot hurt me anymore. But I actually just feel completely normal: I imagine it will hit me at some unspecified point in the future; come swooping down from above and knock all the air out of my lungs because OH MY GOD NO MORE UNI but right now I don't feel anything.
I look back on my uni experience and I think I've accomplished most of the things I set out to do: I went on a year abroad, performed at the fringe, recieved a standing ovation, won awards for both writing and acting and got involved in fifty theatrical productions. I know it's terrible and more than slightly pathetic, but I'm proud of myself. I just hope I can continue this trend.
I see this as the beginning of Adult Life- that nebulous, unknowable thing that apparently happens to you when you're least expecting it and are making other plans- and, of course, I have a lot of expectations of myself and my situation which I am hoping to meet now that I am an adult. I want to read more, and use the internet less; I want to eat only healthy foods, exercise every day, and yet somehow still have the money and energy to go out with my friends four evenings out of every five; I want to write something creative everyday, and be involved with some kind of performance every week. I want to follow every single instruction in this song to the fucking letter.
We'll see how many of these I'm still keeping up by the end of the month, shall we?
Working in my favour, with regards to starting Adult Life, I have a proper post-uni job lined up, teaching English in France come October. It's only for a few months and obviously doesn't start for a while, but I hope it'll look good on my CV and will allow me to expand the list of places I have lived, which I want to be as long as possible (another commandment I have set myself by means of guiding my life).
Until then, I'm remaining in Edinburgh as long as possible- hanging out, working the occasional shift in Teviot, maybe doing a show or fifty- pretty much the exact same as before, except now no one's subsidising me.
...Progress?
I am finished with university. At least, for the time being. I sat my final exam today, with unexpected results (I have to go the Doctors tomorrow), but nevertheless it was my final exam of my final term of my final year, which means I am done.
I don't know how I feel- the last few days have been a rollercoaster, even moreso than usual before an exam (see above re: Doctors), and so of course in a way it's just a relief that those stresses cannot hurt me anymore. But I actually just feel completely normal: I imagine it will hit me at some unspecified point in the future; come swooping down from above and knock all the air out of my lungs because OH MY GOD NO MORE UNI but right now I don't feel anything.
I look back on my uni experience and I think I've accomplished most of the things I set out to do: I went on a year abroad, performed at the fringe, recieved a standing ovation, won awards for both writing and acting and got involved in fifty theatrical productions. I know it's terrible and more than slightly pathetic, but I'm proud of myself. I just hope I can continue this trend.
I see this as the beginning of Adult Life- that nebulous, unknowable thing that apparently happens to you when you're least expecting it and are making other plans- and, of course, I have a lot of expectations of myself and my situation which I am hoping to meet now that I am an adult. I want to read more, and use the internet less; I want to eat only healthy foods, exercise every day, and yet somehow still have the money and energy to go out with my friends four evenings out of every five; I want to write something creative everyday, and be involved with some kind of performance every week. I want to follow every single instruction in this song to the fucking letter.
We'll see how many of these I'm still keeping up by the end of the month, shall we?
Working in my favour, with regards to starting Adult Life, I have a proper post-uni job lined up, teaching English in France come October. It's only for a few months and obviously doesn't start for a while, but I hope it'll look good on my CV and will allow me to expand the list of places I have lived, which I want to be as long as possible (another commandment I have set myself by means of guiding my life).
Until then, I'm remaining in Edinburgh as long as possible- hanging out, working the occasional shift in Teviot, maybe doing a show or fifty- pretty much the exact same as before, except now no one's subsidising me.
...Progress?
Sunday, 4 May 2014
Fifty (part one)
You may be confused by this post's title as, if you look to the right and add together the number of posts from 2013 and 2014, you will find they in fact come to 49. You may also be confused by the fact that this post seems to be the first part of a two-parter when the narrative seems to come to a very definite conclusion at the end of this post. Allow me to allay both these confusions at once: this, the 49th Devil's Ink Pots post, is titled Fifty (part one) because, added together with the next post, its second half, it will be the fiftieth post.
Kind of.
You could, of course, argue that they will in fact both be one extended 49th post, and thus the title is not appropriate for either of them, but I wanted this post to be called Fifty, and to be considered as the fiftieth post, for a reason that will become apparent in a moment. And, besides, if you count the post that Rachel forbid me from posting, this would be number fifty anyway, so let's just think of it like that.
I wanted this post to be number fifty, because last night the number of theatrical productions I had been directly involved in since starting university reached fifty. And it was wonderful.
A professional actor mistook me for a professional playwright and, upon discovering that I was still a student, assumed that naturally this was the career path I was going to take. If I could go back and talk to myself after the second time I failed production merit, I'd just tell myself that.
The show got a lot of laughs, which I was really thankful for, because when I was writing it, I really wasn't sure how some of the dialogue would sound spoken aloud; it also received one gasp of genuine indignation at some harsh words spoken during an argument, which I was so, so happy about because the line was one of the nastiest things I've ever written.
Wrapped in an Enigma was directed by Jen McGregor, and starred Susanna Mulvihill, David McFarlane, Alexander Staniforth and William Mitchell; much like when I gave Rob and Roberta to the B.E.S.T.ies, I'm so grateful that such talented people took the time to tackle my work. I know I'm gushing, but I just don't care.
Wrapped in an Enigma, the fiftieth piece to which I have contributed, and the 15th contribution to the Kelly Canon, was about an unemployed woman becoming obsessed with trying to find out the name of one of her one night stands, to the exclusion of all else. Jari, who is about the only person half as interested in the Kelly Canon as I am, has pointed out that, recently, all my protagonists have been shiftless, unemployed losers, usually mooching off of someone else, and desperately trying to stave off adult life. The fact that this shift has coincided with my inevitable transition from student to shiftless, unemployed loser myself will of course be of great interest to future Kelly scholars, and I just know a great many papers will be written about that fact.
There were three other brilliant pieces last night- Exit Pursued by Tom Stoppard by Fiona McDonald, Eve of War by Neil Chue Hong and Wink. Block. Delete by Mark Jeary; it was really lovely to see an another anthology of new writing in Edinburgh, since, after the Ten Minuters failed to return, I'd pretty much only seen such a thing at Candlewasters. However, apparently such a thing is quite common at Discover 21, the theatre where the event was held, so maybe I'll be able to experience more of it in the future.
Kind of.
You could, of course, argue that they will in fact both be one extended 49th post, and thus the title is not appropriate for either of them, but I wanted this post to be called Fifty, and to be considered as the fiftieth post, for a reason that will become apparent in a moment. And, besides, if you count the post that Rachel forbid me from posting, this would be number fifty anyway, so let's just think of it like that.
I wanted this post to be number fifty, because last night the number of theatrical productions I had been directly involved in since starting university reached fifty. And it was wonderful.
 |
| I tried to make a big '50' out of the posters of all the plays I've been in, but it looked awful- if someone with an eye for graphic design wants to make one for me, that'd be swell. |
The show got a lot of laughs, which I was really thankful for, because when I was writing it, I really wasn't sure how some of the dialogue would sound spoken aloud; it also received one gasp of genuine indignation at some harsh words spoken during an argument, which I was so, so happy about because the line was one of the nastiest things I've ever written.
Wrapped in an Enigma was directed by Jen McGregor, and starred Susanna Mulvihill, David McFarlane, Alexander Staniforth and William Mitchell; much like when I gave Rob and Roberta to the B.E.S.T.ies, I'm so grateful that such talented people took the time to tackle my work. I know I'm gushing, but I just don't care.
Wrapped in an Enigma, the fiftieth piece to which I have contributed, and the 15th contribution to the Kelly Canon, was about an unemployed woman becoming obsessed with trying to find out the name of one of her one night stands, to the exclusion of all else. Jari, who is about the only person half as interested in the Kelly Canon as I am, has pointed out that, recently, all my protagonists have been shiftless, unemployed losers, usually mooching off of someone else, and desperately trying to stave off adult life. The fact that this shift has coincided with my inevitable transition from student to shiftless, unemployed loser myself will of course be of great interest to future Kelly scholars, and I just know a great many papers will be written about that fact.
There were three other brilliant pieces last night- Exit Pursued by Tom Stoppard by Fiona McDonald, Eve of War by Neil Chue Hong and Wink. Block. Delete by Mark Jeary; it was really lovely to see an another anthology of new writing in Edinburgh, since, after the Ten Minuters failed to return, I'd pretty much only seen such a thing at Candlewasters. However, apparently such a thing is quite common at Discover 21, the theatre where the event was held, so maybe I'll be able to experience more of it in the future.
Sunday, 20 April 2014
Hail the Sunshine
These past two days have been glorious: the sunshine has been belting out over Edinburgh; I sat for hours in the meadows, just chatting with my friends or reading; I even got slightly burnt, which was not something I ever thought I'd be happy about. It's continuing today, but of course one can't just sit in the meadows all the time when there's revision to be done. Although, one might well try anyway- Poppy is making a valiant effort to actually accomplish things in the meadows, and if she manages to break any kind of ground, perhaps I'll join her.
On Friday, there was a script reading day at a theatre called Discovery 21- I submitted a new script I'd just finished called Wrapped in an Enigma. There were seven scripts read in total and the overall standard was extremely high- somehow, though, mine was selected to be performed in May. This may sound like crocodile modesty or worse that I am fishing for compliments, but honestly I genuinely didn't expect mine to be chosen: I was very much expecting to have pull a Helen Mirren.
But instead I literally did a double take as my script was announced to be one of three being produced. It's going on the 3rd May for one night- this is splendid because it gives me something to look forward to in the middle of my exams, and also, since it will be produced before my exams finished, it means that I'll reach my 50 productions before I graduate, and it's always nice to achieve goals, no matter how completely arbitrary.
While at the reading day I received what I think might have been the nicest review of my life- and remember, I 've been compared to Robbie Coltrane. Twice.
For some reason, one of the actors at the reading day had brought his two children with him, the younger of whom looked to be eight or nine. I was a bit perturbed by this, since my script contained a lot of sexual references and bad language, but their father said it was fine, so they sat through my script and five more after that. I have to admit that they behaved themselves very well throughout the evening- much better than I ever did when my parents took me to cultural events at their age; afterwards, the younger one walked up to me and pronounced 'I thought you wrote a very interesting piece'. I was very tempted to ask him if he'd understood what my script had been about but my mother taught me to just take compliments, so I decided not to question his dramaturgical qualifications. I tried to think of something to say other than 'thank you' and so asked him if the actor who'd bought him was his father- he replied 'yes, he's very funny: he talks to cupboards.' I had no reply to this.
This conversation reiterated a point that has become clear to me over the past few years: I have no idea how to talk to children. I can talk to babies and toddlers, because they can only respond rudimentarily, but when they can actually contribute to the discussion, I become lost about what to talk about with them. I'm reminded of when I met one of my neighbours' grandsons and said, in quite a patronising tone, 'you've got nice hair, haven't you?' He said 'yes, I do' and I couldn't help but feel that he'd won- he was evidently more conversationally adept than I was, in addition to possessing a self-confidence beyond his years and nice hair. My inability to converse with children will of course become more of an obstacle as Travis grows older. He starts school next week (and, trust me, that makes me feel old) and the last time I saw him, he was able to pull off some pretty neat conversational tricks- including telling jokes at Mel's expense- so it may soon be that I will be at a loss as to what to talk about with him, and this just as he finally learns who I am and what my name is.
On Friday, there was a script reading day at a theatre called Discovery 21- I submitted a new script I'd just finished called Wrapped in an Enigma. There were seven scripts read in total and the overall standard was extremely high- somehow, though, mine was selected to be performed in May. This may sound like crocodile modesty or worse that I am fishing for compliments, but honestly I genuinely didn't expect mine to be chosen: I was very much expecting to have pull a Helen Mirren.
While at the reading day I received what I think might have been the nicest review of my life- and remember, I 've been compared to Robbie Coltrane. Twice.
For some reason, one of the actors at the reading day had brought his two children with him, the younger of whom looked to be eight or nine. I was a bit perturbed by this, since my script contained a lot of sexual references and bad language, but their father said it was fine, so they sat through my script and five more after that. I have to admit that they behaved themselves very well throughout the evening- much better than I ever did when my parents took me to cultural events at their age; afterwards, the younger one walked up to me and pronounced 'I thought you wrote a very interesting piece'. I was very tempted to ask him if he'd understood what my script had been about but my mother taught me to just take compliments, so I decided not to question his dramaturgical qualifications. I tried to think of something to say other than 'thank you' and so asked him if the actor who'd bought him was his father- he replied 'yes, he's very funny: he talks to cupboards.' I had no reply to this.
This conversation reiterated a point that has become clear to me over the past few years: I have no idea how to talk to children. I can talk to babies and toddlers, because they can only respond rudimentarily, but when they can actually contribute to the discussion, I become lost about what to talk about with them. I'm reminded of when I met one of my neighbours' grandsons and said, in quite a patronising tone, 'you've got nice hair, haven't you?' He said 'yes, I do' and I couldn't help but feel that he'd won- he was evidently more conversationally adept than I was, in addition to possessing a self-confidence beyond his years and nice hair. My inability to converse with children will of course become more of an obstacle as Travis grows older. He starts school next week (and, trust me, that makes me feel old) and the last time I saw him, he was able to pull off some pretty neat conversational tricks- including telling jokes at Mel's expense- so it may soon be that I will be at a loss as to what to talk about with him, and this just as he finally learns who I am and what my name is.
Friday, 11 April 2014
Niceties
Bedlam, Reduced
I already wrote a long post about this, so I'm gonna keep it relatively brief: Bedlam Reduced happened, and so I am now finished with Bedlam shows as far as I can tell. Of course, I've been told 'never say never', so who knows when I will actually say goodbye to Bedlam, but for the moment I cannot see a situation in which I would return.
BedRed itself went quite well, although we got our fair share of backlash for some of the more biting satire. One of the actors in the original Bedlam Reduced spoke about how the audience gasped after they had just uttered a barb at the expense of another Edinburgh Student Theatre Company, and how ever since they had wanted to recapture the moment of having shocked people. I found this interesting, because I felt the exact same when I got an audible 'ooooh' for one of my off-the-cuff remarks about a show that I actually didn't even see: I wanted to dish out more bile, just to get them even more riled. I can't help but wonder if this is a natural human emotion- the urge to shock- or if it's conditioned into us by the competition of society and a system that equates attention with worth. Certainly, I received a huge thrill from throwing out "controversial" quips and I can see how some comedians get off on saying the most vile thing imaginable and watching the audience go wild. I don't want to ever be like them, though.
Epiphany
It's my current plan that I won't be in Edinburgh for too much longer: I have exams, and then no other real commitments, so I kind of want to wrap things up here and head out for new pastures. It occurred to me the other day at five a.m., when all the really good epiphanies take place, that, much like Melbourne, I would have the chance to completely reinvent myself wherever I ended up- unless it's Shropshire, of course (I hope to God it's not Shropshire).
And I decided I wanted to be nice. In Edinburgh, people know me as being somewhat acerbic and a slightly stuck-up- I think most people work out that it is, for the most part, a persona that I'm playing for laughs, but next time I'd kind of like to try being a genuinely nice person. However, the reasons for this are all self-serving and not because I want to genuinely be a positive force in other people's lives, which I guess kind of defies the point.
Anyway, as I said, I came to this realisation early in the morning, and when I properly began the day the first person I ran into was a very real test of my abilities to be cordial, let alone nice and I realised that I can wait until I move and don't have to start now.
Panto
We had a reunion for (most of) the cast of Scooby Panto on Tuesday, where we rewatched the show and I was relieved to find that I still think it's funny. A lot of art in which I participate later leaves me feeling cold, but I was genuinely snorting and roaring with laughter- sometimes even at my own jokes (I really am turning into my father). It was nice to see the cast and crew again, although to be honest most of them had been involved with Bedlam Reduced in some capacity, so it hadn't been too long in most cases since I'd seen them.
Daphne actually reappeared in BedRed- four times, in fact- and so when I said she'd be the last part I played on the Bedlam Stage I wasn't entirely wrong. Being technical, as one always should be, the last part I played was Rosie Pierce (another member of the BedRed cast); however, just before this, Lauren (yet another castmate) did an impression of me as Daphne, so in a way, the last words said by 'me' were from Daphne. That counts, right?
On the way back from the panto reunion, Julia and I had an enlightening conversation. She was upset because I'd had a cheap laugh at her expense in BedRed and had said something genuinely offensive. At first I defended myself and said that was the point of the show, but soon I relented and apologised. I felt rotten that I'd hurt her and really tried to stress how ashamed I was- but I don't know if I'd do the same for everyone if they asked me to. For example, the person I met after my epiphany was derided quite sharply in Bedlam Reduced and they'll swallow arsenic before I will ever try and appease them. This is a morality that I've long held true, but that has gotten me in trouble several times: I have no qualms about doing bad things to bad people. The supposed moral inequities of this position have been pointed out to me numerous times, but I just don't see it. Some say that this will prevent me from ever being a nice person (see above), but honestly if being kind to pricks is what qualifies me, then count me out.
Poetry
I've uploaded Bedlam, Bloody Bedlam here (you can also find it on the Writings page).
I already wrote a long post about this, so I'm gonna keep it relatively brief: Bedlam Reduced happened, and so I am now finished with Bedlam shows as far as I can tell. Of course, I've been told 'never say never', so who knows when I will actually say goodbye to Bedlam, but for the moment I cannot see a situation in which I would return.
BedRed itself went quite well, although we got our fair share of backlash for some of the more biting satire. One of the actors in the original Bedlam Reduced spoke about how the audience gasped after they had just uttered a barb at the expense of another Edinburgh Student Theatre Company, and how ever since they had wanted to recapture the moment of having shocked people. I found this interesting, because I felt the exact same when I got an audible 'ooooh' for one of my off-the-cuff remarks about a show that I actually didn't even see: I wanted to dish out more bile, just to get them even more riled. I can't help but wonder if this is a natural human emotion- the urge to shock- or if it's conditioned into us by the competition of society and a system that equates attention with worth. Certainly, I received a huge thrill from throwing out "controversial" quips and I can see how some comedians get off on saying the most vile thing imaginable and watching the audience go wild. I don't want to ever be like them, though.
Epiphany
It's my current plan that I won't be in Edinburgh for too much longer: I have exams, and then no other real commitments, so I kind of want to wrap things up here and head out for new pastures. It occurred to me the other day at five a.m., when all the really good epiphanies take place, that, much like Melbourne, I would have the chance to completely reinvent myself wherever I ended up- unless it's Shropshire, of course (I hope to God it's not Shropshire).
And I decided I wanted to be nice. In Edinburgh, people know me as being somewhat acerbic and a slightly stuck-up- I think most people work out that it is, for the most part, a persona that I'm playing for laughs, but next time I'd kind of like to try being a genuinely nice person. However, the reasons for this are all self-serving and not because I want to genuinely be a positive force in other people's lives, which I guess kind of defies the point.
Anyway, as I said, I came to this realisation early in the morning, and when I properly began the day the first person I ran into was a very real test of my abilities to be cordial, let alone nice and I realised that I can wait until I move and don't have to start now.
Panto
We had a reunion for (most of) the cast of Scooby Panto on Tuesday, where we rewatched the show and I was relieved to find that I still think it's funny. A lot of art in which I participate later leaves me feeling cold, but I was genuinely snorting and roaring with laughter- sometimes even at my own jokes (I really am turning into my father). It was nice to see the cast and crew again, although to be honest most of them had been involved with Bedlam Reduced in some capacity, so it hadn't been too long in most cases since I'd seen them.
Daphne actually reappeared in BedRed- four times, in fact- and so when I said she'd be the last part I played on the Bedlam Stage I wasn't entirely wrong. Being technical, as one always should be, the last part I played was Rosie Pierce (another member of the BedRed cast); however, just before this, Lauren (yet another castmate) did an impression of me as Daphne, so in a way, the last words said by 'me' were from Daphne. That counts, right?
On the way back from the panto reunion, Julia and I had an enlightening conversation. She was upset because I'd had a cheap laugh at her expense in BedRed and had said something genuinely offensive. At first I defended myself and said that was the point of the show, but soon I relented and apologised. I felt rotten that I'd hurt her and really tried to stress how ashamed I was- but I don't know if I'd do the same for everyone if they asked me to. For example, the person I met after my epiphany was derided quite sharply in Bedlam Reduced and they'll swallow arsenic before I will ever try and appease them. This is a morality that I've long held true, but that has gotten me in trouble several times: I have no qualms about doing bad things to bad people. The supposed moral inequities of this position have been pointed out to me numerous times, but I just don't see it. Some say that this will prevent me from ever being a nice person (see above), but honestly if being kind to pricks is what qualifies me, then count me out.
Poetry
I've uploaded Bedlam, Bloody Bedlam here (you can also find it on the Writings page).
Friday, 4 April 2014
Bright Young Thing
My dissertation is in. Actually, it's been in for two days at this point, but I took some time off to just enjoy not having an essay due before remembering that I hadn't updated this thing in a good long while. Like last time, which I had to reread just to remember what was said, it's been so long since I last updates, a lot has happened and I want to try and cover all of it, but I may forget something, so I'm sorry if I leave out some vital information.
Farewell, Poodles
Rik has returned to Blairgowrie so that he can complete his solicitor training and become the Scottish Elle Woods. Rik and I met in my second week of Uni, as part of the cast of Amadeus, and became fast friends. He's smart and erudite and wicked cultured, and he was my most frequent collaborator theatrically and I will miss him immensely. Thankfully, that production of Amadeus provided me with the most fitting music to describe my mood since his exit.
This is also appropriate because it's in Latin and is therefore classy. Just like Rik.
Boomerang/Nautilus
My new Candlewaster went up a couple of weeks ago, and I think it went down pretty well: Vlada did a briliant job in bringing a frankly weird idea to life and grounding it. I love seeing how other people interpret my writing, and this was a really interesting interpretation cos the script was just so strange. Well done, Vlada, Lucija, Rafal, Finlay and Chris- as a reward, you get a mention on the blog.
After the pemiere of Boomerang/Nautilus, Jari and I went for drinks and discussed the themes of the play and I got to talk for an hour about my writing process and someone actually listened. That right there is the dream. I then went to a 1920s-themed jazz party where they were playing 'Sing, Sing, Sing' as I entered and the combination of the premiere and the Benny Goodman and the glorious flappers dancing around me made me feel very much like I was in an Evelyn Waugh novel.
I arrived drunk and danced so much and so hard that it was literally three days later before I could move the same again. I had an awful lot of fun and it really was a brilliant way to round off the year: I just wish that my dissertation hadn't been in two days later so I could've partied with a guilt free conscience. Speaking of...
Dissertation
As stated in the first paragraph, my dissertation is done. I had to go home for a few days to force my words out; it took a long time and made me have anxiety dreams about being stabbed in the abdomen (true story!), but it's in now and I don't have to look at it anymore.
On that note, I want to stress how much my supervisors oversold the time needed to bind the damn thing: I was told to leave half a day and it took literally 15 minutes.
My Father Retires
My father has retired, at the age of 64. However, he has immediately started doing consultancy work and has landed a lush position in Panama for 10 days- it's alright for some!
Fat Cat
Show number 48 is completed, with an epic one-off poem describing my time at Bedlam in three acts. I will be adding it to this site's writings section as soon as I'm back on the machine on which I wrote it. I also may or may not paint it on the walls of the cafe in luminous paint so, like the Northern Lights, the glow never quite fades, no matter how much you scrub your eyes.
Farewell, Poodles
Rik has returned to Blairgowrie so that he can complete his solicitor training and become the Scottish Elle Woods. Rik and I met in my second week of Uni, as part of the cast of Amadeus, and became fast friends. He's smart and erudite and wicked cultured, and he was my most frequent collaborator theatrically and I will miss him immensely. Thankfully, that production of Amadeus provided me with the most fitting music to describe my mood since his exit.
Boomerang/Nautilus
My new Candlewaster went up a couple of weeks ago, and I think it went down pretty well: Vlada did a briliant job in bringing a frankly weird idea to life and grounding it. I love seeing how other people interpret my writing, and this was a really interesting interpretation cos the script was just so strange. Well done, Vlada, Lucija, Rafal, Finlay and Chris- as a reward, you get a mention on the blog.
After the pemiere of Boomerang/Nautilus, Jari and I went for drinks and discussed the themes of the play and I got to talk for an hour about my writing process and someone actually listened. That right there is the dream. I then went to a 1920s-themed jazz party where they were playing 'Sing, Sing, Sing' as I entered and the combination of the premiere and the Benny Goodman and the glorious flappers dancing around me made me feel very much like I was in an Evelyn Waugh novel.
It was exactly like that.
You Shall Go to the Ball
Also kind of like that was the Bedlam Ball.
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| Above: The REAL Bright Young Things. |
Dissertation
As stated in the first paragraph, my dissertation is done. I had to go home for a few days to force my words out; it took a long time and made me have anxiety dreams about being stabbed in the abdomen (true story!), but it's in now and I don't have to look at it anymore.
On that note, I want to stress how much my supervisors oversold the time needed to bind the damn thing: I was told to leave half a day and it took literally 15 minutes.
My Father Retires
My father has retired, at the age of 64. However, he has immediately started doing consultancy work and has landed a lush position in Panama for 10 days- it's alright for some!
Fat Cat
Show number 48 is completed, with an epic one-off poem describing my time at Bedlam in three acts. I will be adding it to this site's writings section as soon as I'm back on the machine on which I wrote it. I also may or may not paint it on the walls of the cafe in luminous paint so, like the Northern Lights, the glow never quite fades, no matter how much you scrub your eyes.
Saturday, 15 March 2014
Get Back to Work, Rory
Quite a lot has happened in the past couple of weeks, but I don't have much time so, in contrast to my usual filibustering over nothing, you'll now find me skipping over relatively important details in my haste to get everything out there.
We are now in the closing weeks of this term- I have 18 days to complete my dissertation, and from now on my supervisor is on Adoption Leave.
Fuck.
I wrote Lauren, my supervisor, a card to say congratulations, on the advice of my mother. I couldn't decide whether or not to add in a poem, which is my usual trick when writing people cards, but seemed oddly intimate for a uni professor. However, having a child is a happy occasion, and I really want Lauren to like me, so, after much umming and ahhing, I added in a little 4 line ditty, which went thus:
In other news, I have found gainful employment working for EUSA. Not too gainful, mind you: only £6.31 an hour, which is exactly minimum wage for my age. This is, somewhat painfully, my first ever minimum wage job, and I was surprised to find out how much work you have to do to draw even the lowest wage legally allowable. Also, for something that's supposedly 'unskilled' you certainly have to do a lot of training and remember an awful lot of things. Oh, well. At least I'll have a job for when I leave university, and won't just have to return home to live with my parents.
Speaking of the end of uni, mine will occur on the 19th May, at 16.30 after my Sociolinguistics of Bilingualism exam. I cannot describe to you, dear reader, the feeling of an end date being attached to one's education, eighteen years after it began. It's a bit like when Frodo and Gollum start wrestling in Mount Doom, getting closer and closer to the edge, and you know that this thing, this massive thing that you've invested years of your life into, that has made you laugh and cry and think and bored, and now it's all rocketing towards a finale, suddenly, out of nowhere; the filler scenes are done- no more elves, no more Bombadil- and now you don't want it to be finite. You want to know it will go on forever and you can just continue on like this forever, a new instalment every year, with some things changing but no real progress happening but at the same time you just want the fucking ring to land in the fucking lava so you can leave the cinema and get on with your fucking life. And they teeter on the brink, and you teeter on the brink, and you're stressed and there are essays due and you don't know which way you want them to fall. It's overwhelming, it's tiring and, worst of all, I actually have no say over whether it finishes or not, so it's pointless to think like this.
I am up to 49 shows since I started uni, since I wrote another candlewaster- Boomerang/Nautilus- which is being directed by someone else, which has become sort of a thing with me recently, and am now involved Bedlam Reduced and The Fat Cat Cabaret, which isn't a theatrical performance in and of itself but is happening on the Bedlam stage, and I will be performing, so fuck it, I'm counting it. 49 is sort of appropriate thematically, being Bedlam's Fringe Venue number, but I do really wish I could reach the big five oh before graduating, but there aren't really any other shows to audition for, so I'll just have to make the best of it. It's still quite a few.
Poppy got me addicted to a quiz online where one tries to name all the countries in the world in 17 minutes, and, let me tell you it is difficult. The first time I tried, I managed to get 98 out of 197 (apparently, the total number of countries in the world is a somewhat controversial subject matter). I've been trying once a day every day since and managed yesterday to reach 192, which is pretty good, except that I missed out Belgium.
Some of you may point out that, instead of trying to name all the countries in the world, I should be writing my dissertation. In fact, some of you may point out that, instead of minutely and obsessively documenting what's been going on in my life, I should be writing my dissertation. Hence this post's title. Say it with me now:
GET BACK TO WORK, RORY!
Will do, gang. Will do.
We are now in the closing weeks of this term- I have 18 days to complete my dissertation, and from now on my supervisor is on Adoption Leave.
Fuck.
I wrote Lauren, my supervisor, a card to say congratulations, on the advice of my mother. I couldn't decide whether or not to add in a poem, which is my usual trick when writing people cards, but seemed oddly intimate for a uni professor. However, having a child is a happy occasion, and I really want Lauren to like me, so, after much umming and ahhing, I added in a little 4 line ditty, which went thus:
"Roses are Red
(And sometimes grow wild)
Thanks for your help
And congratulations on your child"Not exactly Shakespeare, but then Shakespeare rhymed 'truth' and 'doth', so what does he know? Anyway, Lauren loved the poem and, even if I haven't improved our relations, at least I didn't ruin them.
In other news, I have found gainful employment working for EUSA. Not too gainful, mind you: only £6.31 an hour, which is exactly minimum wage for my age. This is, somewhat painfully, my first ever minimum wage job, and I was surprised to find out how much work you have to do to draw even the lowest wage legally allowable. Also, for something that's supposedly 'unskilled' you certainly have to do a lot of training and remember an awful lot of things. Oh, well. At least I'll have a job for when I leave university, and won't just have to return home to live with my parents.
Speaking of the end of uni, mine will occur on the 19th May, at 16.30 after my Sociolinguistics of Bilingualism exam. I cannot describe to you, dear reader, the feeling of an end date being attached to one's education, eighteen years after it began. It's a bit like when Frodo and Gollum start wrestling in Mount Doom, getting closer and closer to the edge, and you know that this thing, this massive thing that you've invested years of your life into, that has made you laugh and cry and think and bored, and now it's all rocketing towards a finale, suddenly, out of nowhere; the filler scenes are done- no more elves, no more Bombadil- and now you don't want it to be finite. You want to know it will go on forever and you can just continue on like this forever, a new instalment every year, with some things changing but no real progress happening but at the same time you just want the fucking ring to land in the fucking lava so you can leave the cinema and get on with your fucking life. And they teeter on the brink, and you teeter on the brink, and you're stressed and there are essays due and you don't know which way you want them to fall. It's overwhelming, it's tiring and, worst of all, I actually have no say over whether it finishes or not, so it's pointless to think like this.
I am up to 49 shows since I started uni, since I wrote another candlewaster- Boomerang/Nautilus- which is being directed by someone else, which has become sort of a thing with me recently, and am now involved Bedlam Reduced and The Fat Cat Cabaret, which isn't a theatrical performance in and of itself but is happening on the Bedlam stage, and I will be performing, so fuck it, I'm counting it. 49 is sort of appropriate thematically, being Bedlam's Fringe Venue number, but I do really wish I could reach the big five oh before graduating, but there aren't really any other shows to audition for, so I'll just have to make the best of it. It's still quite a few.
Poppy got me addicted to a quiz online where one tries to name all the countries in the world in 17 minutes, and, let me tell you it is difficult. The first time I tried, I managed to get 98 out of 197 (apparently, the total number of countries in the world is a somewhat controversial subject matter). I've been trying once a day every day since and managed yesterday to reach 192, which is pretty good, except that I missed out Belgium.
Some of you may point out that, instead of trying to name all the countries in the world, I should be writing my dissertation. In fact, some of you may point out that, instead of minutely and obsessively documenting what's been going on in my life, I should be writing my dissertation. Hence this post's title. Say it with me now:
GET BACK TO WORK, RORY!
Will do, gang. Will do.
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