Why Can't I be French-Canadian?

1. Talking to my baby sister reminds me of the essential fact that college is a lot like middle school, only there's more alcohol involved and the boys are taller than the girls.

I think I've mentioned this many times before but it only gets more true.

2. Thank you, Disney, for bringing me clarity via "Au dela de la Riviere." And besides, I just really like translations.

"J'attends, j'espère
Qu'au détour de la rivière
Il sera là
Venant de la mer
Rien que pour moi
Dans un rêve de lumière
Au détour de la rivière
Au détour de la rivière"

is not the same as

"Je vois au loin,
Au-delà de la rivière
Tout mon destin,
Au-delà des mers.
Que vais-je faire?
Pourquoi donc mes rêves vont-ils
Au-delà de la rivière?
Au-delà de la rivière"

is not the same as

"I look once more
Just around the riverbend
Beyond the shore
Somewhere past the sea
Don't know what for ...
Why do all my dreams extend
Just around the riverbend?
Just around the riverbend"

So how do you understand it all? How do you recraft songs, lines? I'm kind of mesmerized. I'm going to go ahead and say I'd be really bad at this, but I like the art and the science of it.

3. Confusion is contagious. In a bad way. I think John Patrick Shanley would agree. I read something in the preface of Doubt about it.

4. Speaking of translations, I would have gotten into the musical Tanz der Vampire a heck of a lot earlier--as in, a really long time ago, had I realized it had "Total Eclipse of the Heart" in it. I mean, what the... ? It's trippin'. It makes me laugh. I mean, you're wearing FANGS and you're singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart!"

I'm not a vampire person, but if I ever were to work on a vampire show, this would probably be it.

Ok. I'm a sellout so I will probably work on a vampire show, and it will probably be Lestat. Who am I kidding? I want to be the best dramaturg--ever--and I want to work in a big city.

It'll be Lestat.

It won't be Frank Wildhorn's Dracula. (Thank goodness.)

But I'll wish it was Tanz der Vampire.

(Dang, now that I think about it, the past ten years have had a lot of pretty horrible vampire musicals.)

(Vampire musicals seem to now be on the outs; it's all about zombies now. Evil Dead The Musical was only the beginning. I'm calling it.)

5. I can't wait for the summer because I'll have time to read G.K. Chesterton again. How exciting.

Reasons to Be Okay

I might screw up--and I have, royally--and I don't know what to do...

but these things are still true and they are glorious.

A. The news will go on.

Biased the media may be, but so are we all. It's always good to be informed, especially by Brian Williams.

And the BBC is so lovely in the morning.

But mostly for the Brian Williams.

B. I will dance next semester.

Maybe only a little bit.

But still.

It's enough to make me want to eat a hoagie.

C. Dave's show has rekindled my interest in my musical roots. There are some good renditions of Wayfaring Stranger out there.


D. Oh! Desserts may never be the same; I NOW HAVE MICHAEL'S RECIPE FOR CHOCOLATE TRUFFLE CAKE. It's a no-flour chocolate heart attack. Immediately after consuming it I start to have withdrawal symptoms. There are some serious cravings, yo.

Thank God for Jewish dietary restrictions, huh?

Denouement

I think perhaps the school year may begin to calm itself down now.

I've run myself ragged, yes, but I think I'm getting less and less stressed and more... well... creatively enterprising.

I'd like to point out that despite any and all stories from Italy, I am not a lush. I will probably never have turbo coffee ever again.

Four cups was fine, thank you.

I am so excited about The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. I've been looking at pictures. I'm pleased to report that the Pevensie kids STILL look like they are related to me. I'm not sure how I feel about Ben Barnes yet. He has pretty bone structure, he didn't do much in Stardust but he didn't annoy me either... but his hair has some serious Puppy Bouf-Bouf action going on in the trailer. Just sayin'.

Tonight I went to my school's One-Act Play Festival, put on by the talented Directing II class.

It made me wish I could write plays.

The denouement is when you finally see that an end will come.

confuzzled.

A) I am working hard, not hardly working.

B) I am mixed up. I am often confused about life but now I am confused about dreadlocks. No, I won't get them; you cannot dread a pixie cut. It won't lock.

However, I'm pretty sure that I really, really like them.

I don't watch American Idol, so this has very little to do with Jason Castro.

My problem with dating a dreaded boy is that I've never met one that didn't sort of stink.

I'm sure they exist. They'll just have to prove it to me.

C) So... I love this.


Sorry, Dad. I know the original version of this movie scarred you for life. But-- "Nourris-moi, Seymour"-- I just love how the plant pronounces "Seymour." And the "Quelle question, quelle situation..." is just so funny.

D) Well, back to work--loads and loads of work.

Life Is Beautiful

Sometimes things happen to make life better. Little things. Embrace the little, funny things, because if you don't, you're both more bored and more serious than the people who do.



One of those little funny things is a Port City Java Slush'n'Joe. I am going broke and will have to stop all of my other habits--the soda--the gum--the office supplies--in order to keep getting my espresso fix. But I will keep it or die trying.

Another thing is my professor in drag. I don't know how Dayna convinced Dave to do this, but it resulted in pictures like this:



And another thing is Playwriting, even though I attack it with fear and trembling.

Ever just wait for the rest of your life?

And you think, "I'm just wasting my time, I'm wasting being me, being this beautiful age?"

You feel guilty.

And stuck.

Shouldn't I be making an amazing mess of myself? Shouldn't I be giving my life away? Whatever happened to the girl who wanted to do that?

I toy with wanting to be the best ever at something sometimes.

But I'm not; I'm flaky instead.

Oh, I'm very aware I'm too hard on myself for no apparent reason. And I know it sounds like I'm discontent; I'm really not. On the inside, I'm happy and confused and looking.

So here is my Playwriting homework

4 Page Treatment

“I AM AWESOME

THE END.”

I don’t think that was 4 pages.

Why do I have so much bad ideas? I don’t think so. So many bad ideas.

I Have No Taste and I Like It That Way

So, I've interspersed my normal German-musical regimen with a dash of We Will Rock You, the Queen jukebox musical.

It's delightfully cheesy.

And it's Queen.

I can't get enough.

Although, I'm pretty sure Tony Vincent is the original Pete Wentz, in which case, we have him to blame and should probably punish that overuse of hair straightener.

I can, however, get enough of schoolwork.

This is REALLY HARD, guys.

Do I really like Serkan Kaya as a performer, or do I really not?

I cannot decide.

I'm still on the fence after a month of Serksposure.

You know how I wanted to go to that grad school? And then I decided, no, I really didn't?

Well, now I kind of want to again.

And I'm thinking about why.

Why go to grad school? Why do I want to go to that grad school?

I want to go to grad school because I like studying. I'm a big old McNerd.

I want to go to grad school because I want to be around people who like studying and are big old McNerds.

I think I could fall in love with a big old McNerd.

I want to go to grad school because I have hopes that my ultimate purpose in life somehow involves being a big old McNerd.

I want to go to grad school because I want to translate and adapt and edit and write dissertations and think a lot.

I'll have to learn grammar; I hope I'll be OK.

I have this thing.

It's not necessarily a habit; it's definitely not a decision.

It's just something I fall into.

I tend to fall in love every day.

A little bit. Or a lot bit. With something or someone.

Languages. Paint-spattered overalls. A smatter of blackberry flavoring in coffee. A boy. Pom-poms on tobaggans.

And I've always been ok with that. It helps to keep life interesting.

But now, I'm not sure.

I just discovered fashion.

I, a self-proclaimed style ignoramus whose idea of dressing up is wearing a sweatshirt and jeans that do not have Artist's Choice spattered across the elbows and rear end, stumbled across Scott Schuman's famous (apparently--I had no clue) blog The Sartorialist.

And, oh, I mean, periodically I find the need to retire my extensive collection of large t-shirts. Pretty much every summer. But this summer, this one will be the one when I finally develop my Very Defined, Very Me sense of definitive personal style.

I think between my trip to Italy, my advancing age, and Scott Schuman, I am finally finding it necessary to invest in an image. A dirt-cheap, thrift store image.

It's not about following trends. It's about following my inner artist, the visual nut in me that appreciates silhouette and color and line.

And cute hats.