| (no subject) |
[Aug. 26th, 2009|08:59 pm] |
we have to use a key to go to the bathroom at work because the bathroom is down the hall and not in our offices. i actually have no idea who else uses it because there are hardly any businesses in our building anymore. and we're leaving at the end of the month. (the building is so ridiculously poorly-managed -- we've had major water leaks in our offices that have killed printers and servers, etc.)
anyway, we have to walk all the way down the crazy used-to-be-a-furniture-store?-but-is-now-poorly-designed-office-building-with-70's-decor hallway to the bathroom and unlock it with a key. and being awesome, graywolf has a plastic wolf about three inches tall with the key on a string around its neck. this is so no one puts the key in their pocket, forgets about it, and we lose the bathroom key. so you have to carry the whole wolf when you go to the bathroom.
and today, when i went to the bathroom with the wolf, i totally knocked it into the toilet.
i knew it was going to happen sometime, and it has now. it's okay, though, because i knocked it into a clean toilet -- i hadn't even pulled down my pants -- but i still squealed and washed it in the sink and laughed at myself. oh, wolf. you have less than two weeks left on your prison sentence of accompanying everyone to the bathroom! i'm sorry for knocking you into the toilet, buddy -- even if it was clean water. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 24th, 2008|08:16 pm] |
i feel like i'm in a relationship with theatre and that right now it's a little rocky. maybe we need to take a break.
mostly i'm feeling guilty for being a theatre snob, which i totally am. i made fun of a lot of bad acting and bad writing and bad directing when i was at this theatre conference thing in omaha earlier this week. and it was all from college students, so i know there's been worse. i never wanted to be the stuck-up bitch who snickers mercilessly at a person's honest attempt to convey emotion. and it has happened.
it's normal to experience burnout, right? how can you ever avoid it? maybe it's just because the sides of theatre that i'm experiencing now are the intern-thankless-grunt-work side and the schmoozy-network-at-the-opening-night-party side. i don't like either of those sides and they're both extremely integral to the theatre scene and my survival in it. suck.
again, i wish i didn't have to work a job for the rest of my life. i feel like no matter what i do, it will suck because i will have to do it so much. if working in theatre can turn me against theatre, nothing is sacred.
this is such a melodramatic post. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 19th, 2007|04:09 pm] |
This is long (and I even cut out some of the more boring stanzas), but also hilarious. The Guthrie is a great place to work, everyone. Merry Christmas! :) Leslie
Disclaimer:
The following holiday poem is a work of fiction, a weak attempt at humor and should be taken with a grain of salt. The contents expressed therein are the work of the author and in no way represent the Guthrie Theater, its management, staff or board of directors.
Twas the night before Christmas, now stop me if you’ve heard this before,
There were shows in the theaters, I was there at stagedoor.
A gentle snow drifted down, blanketed the Gold Medal Park,
Another hour or two and the theater’d be dark.
…
The lobby lights seemed to flicker, a smell of brimstone filled the air
The concierge at the deck was consumed with despair
When what to my horror and great apprehension
Should walk through the doors – the Republican National convention.
At the front stood lord Vader, followed close by Bush’s brainy
In the flesh stood Karl Rove, and the hunter Dick Cheney
And then faster then roaches his minions, they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name,
Now Rumsfield, now Gonzales, now Condie you Vixen,
On Huckabee, on Romney and the Ghost of Richard M Nixon
To the top of the escalators, to the studio on nine
Larry Craig hit the mensroom, saying “I’ll never resign”
…
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof,
With a thump and a bump, the landing of Marine Force One
Twas the Decider himself – the excitement had only begun.
…
Oh his eyes how they twinkled, oh his dimples so merry,
And blank vacant stare so like Moe, Curley, Larry
He was happy and jolly with a spring in his stride
As if the last eight years were a source of national pride.
Oh he smiled and waved til he reached the end of the observation deck
When his demeanor transformed, his lip quivered, then heck
I believe I could see in his eye the glimmer of tear
When he spoke, his voice quavered and was difficult to hear.
“Gosh” he said “standing here at the end of this here endless bridge at the end”
“I sure hope this here structure is something we can mend.”
“Cause standing here looking out over the river is tough,”
“Knowing that the rest of this bridge collapsed and stuff.”
I tried to interrupt, to correct him, explain,
But he shushed me and continued in a voice that was plain.
“But people I tell you, you have my personal guarantee,”
This theater will once more be connected to interstate 35- E”
Well they all started clapping, then they started to cheer
Halliburton could have the theater torn down inside of a year.
Through the hubbub and clamor, a small voice rose over the din
Standing small but quite proud was our own Tiny Tim.
Mr. President sir, I hate to interrupt you you know,
But perhaps I could invite you and your friends to our show
I would never presume to tell you that it is something you need,
But it does deal directly with the subject of greed.
Well they all filed in and watched from the top to the bow
And I’ll be damned if they play didn’t effect them somehow
As they watched something happened, the story warming their hearts
They left thinking of health care and funding the arts.
But then all of a sudden I awoke with a snap,
Turns out was having my afternoon nap.
All the people and places and things that I’d seen
Turned out to be nothing more than a dream.
No premonition I hope,
nothing psychic my dear,
So happy holidays to all
And a happy new year.
-- Steve Sweere 2007 |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 3rd, 2007|07:40 pm] |
st. paul, st. paul! i love you so. why don't you have any jobs for me?! should i apply for lovely job in philadelphia, where i know no one, which is very far away, where i would have to move, or should i just be a secretary here and make some money and then go to grad school? decisions decisions.
i don't actually have to make any of these choices now, even, but soon. soon my unpaid internship will be done and i will (hopefully) make some actual money. AAAAAAAHHHH broke. broke broke broken bank account, you are no good to me.
but i want to start looking for a job now! |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 8th, 2007|07:17 pm] |
you guys, i have this sneaking feeling that i only need "alone time" to sit around and think about myself. is this true? do people who don't need alone time not wallow in their own dramas as much? i don't know.
also, there have been so many "omg, it's a small world" scenarios going on that i'm suspecting divine intervention. example A: lisa, my lovely wonderful friend from iowa, has a little sister. her little sister just started at the univ. of minn. her roommate at the univ. of minn. is jessica oster, little sister of nathaniel oster, of ames high school fame. WHAT?
example B: my friend mel, a friend i met in cork, lives in the twin cities. she has a job working for veteran's affairs. in the cubicle right next to her, a girl named lauren tobin works. tobin is lisa's best friend from high school in missouri and i went out to eat with her last week. WHATWHATWHAT? there are some bizarre things going on here.
but even with the coincidences, in fact, perhaps because of them, i love st. paul. it's lovely. maybe i was just sick of isolation and loneliness (hello, central city, colorado), but i really like living here.
and yet i still spend hours thinking about my life and things i've left behind and people i miss and i write dramatic things in my journal. hmmm. |
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| y'all should go see... |
[Jun. 25th, 2007|10:58 pm] |
ONCE.
It is a fabulous independent Irish film, and I highly recommend it. |
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| you know... |
[Feb. 7th, 2007|05:12 am] |
anyone read the terrible comic b.c. in the desmoines register? regardless. in b.c., there are frequently 2-panel comics that say something like, "you know..." // "You know you are obese when you can't fit through the door" or something lame and obvious like that. well, here are my "you know..."s from today:
You know you're pathetic when the only thing that can cheer you up is a network television show. (you know. thursday night, 7:30, nbc.)
You know you're upset when you slam doors. (who the hell still does this? apparently me.)
You know you're trying pretty damn hard when you wait around in a lobby on the off-chance of seeing someone.
You know you're passive aggressive when you avoid that lobby. |
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| happy armistice day! |
[Nov. 11th, 2006|08:43 pm] |
i really miss ireland. like really. i miss the weather and the buildings and the food and the bulmer's and sitting around watching oprah and going to shows at the granary and i miss irene and paula and liz and katie and well, everything. i miss the way it made me feel -- tiny and independent and amazing and scared and invincible and alone.
i found out that a 10-min. play of mine made it into the undergrad 10-min. play festival in february and i'm psyched, but i want a director who understands what it's like to be cut off from everything familiar for 6 months. i want a director who's studied abroad, basically, since my play takes place after this guy gets back from studying in germany, but hardly anyone in the theatre dept. has! it's so sad. we're all so focused on our own little paths (auditions, callbacks, mainstages -- oh my!). i'm sad to be back in that myself. and goddamn, i miss cork. |
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| i do not know |
[Oct. 11th, 2006|02:20 pm] |
why i decided to eat a bunch of e.l. fudge cookies before my costume fitting.
and for breakfast! |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2006|11:01 pm] |
"In this book are sung the real modern wonders of the world. What are the modern seven wonders of the world?
We suggest as the seven modern wonders:
the increasing recognition that equal, unrestricted opportunity belongs to all individuals of all races and creeds or lack of creed;
the labor movement;
the rising opposition to violence and murder, whether they be expressed in lynching, capital punishment, or war;
the emancipation of women;
modern psychology and the extensions of consciousness;
birth control;
and the development of machinery to lessen labor and increase production.
The poet who cannot find inspiration in these wonders is no seer, no humanist, no prophet, no voice of the spirit crying aloud in the wilderness--in short no true poet."
--Lucia Trent and Ralph Cheyney
Excerpts from the Introduction to An Anthology of Revolutionary Poetry
true? |
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