CAKE BALLLLLLLLLS!

Ok... my world was just rocked today. And here is why. Kathy (of theurbanpantry.blogspot.com) introduced me to cake balls. Now, Kathy is a coworker, and she's also a better blogger than I am. She's a solid writer and her blog has a topic instead of being poopy and unfunny like mine. I've just backslidden, guys; I think I'll redeem my blog one of these days. Her new thing is making, like, all of Bobby Flay's burgers.

Plus, she and her husband Brian are (at the risk of embarrassing either or both of them) a really great couple. She picks out his shoes, guys.

Anyway. Cake Balls. You make cake from a mix and, while it is still warm, just kind of smoosh it with a tub of the icing of your choice, form balls out of it, and dunk the balls in almond bark/chocolate/something that hardens, making eating mass quantities feasibly neat. How American. How genius. Who invented these again?

(Warning to men: I am going to mention PMS in the next paragraph.)

This is the perfect PMS food. Cake balls could have stopped all angry eighties she-rock from ever being written. I don't think you can listen to Joan Jett and eat cake balls at the same time. I could be wrong.

"The deepest cuts are human made," Pat? Cake balls, oddly enough, are ALSO human made. Want one? Crisis averted, problem solved.

CAAAAAAAAAAAAKEBALLS.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what blogging on a sugar high looks like.

a. It's killing me that I'm not back at school right now.

I don't wish I was back at school all the time or even most of the time, but I do miss my friends there... I miss my class and how cool we were... I miss the department... I miss getting to welcome the first-years and seeing how they grow over a semester dedicated to the culler of the herd, Miss Pax Xxda*, drama, and stagecraft...

I even miss reading science fiction for Schroeder. I don't always appreciate science fiction--too many bogus terms and made-up names, it's a recipe for nerddom disaster, what's next? cons?--but I look back fondly on Marxist criticism...

In dealing with this, I've been watching MissShanna's makeup tutorials on youtube... it doesn't make me miss her voice or her Coastal Scents palette any less... but it's how I deal.

Actually, youtube is a pretty important coping mechanism. As the form that my grief is taking, I watch any and all videos linked to from Twitter, etc. I just watched Mike's link--a video of his boyfriend, Gavin--last night. And then I looked up the name of my school and watched all the illegal videos of productions, which made me feel incredibly rebellious.

b. Don't tell me what I can't do. Becoming a theme in my life.

c. Reasons to love Publix: the natural section with steel cut oats**, the giant scale in front (what? I'm curious), the fresh sushi, the feeling I get when I shop there instead of Walmart. Grocery stores down here are infinitely better than the ones up there. However, I just realized with a pang that I'm farther away from Wawa. UGH.

d. How about that nighttime shuttle launch? Now I can say I've seen one and will never have to stay up for one again... oh wait... it's the LAST ONE.

e. My latest thing is vegan marshmallow brownies from here: http://www.drunkenmonkeycoffee.com/
I haven't found a coffee beverage that I love yet... but I'm young, give me time...
But yeah... vegan brownies are so good, I may just actually try to make some one day.

*Triple Xs notwithstanding, not a porn star
**Steel Cut Oats would be an awesome band name... it's a little bluegrass, hippie and rock at the same time...

at work and play

The 411...

I moved, a little over a week ago.

I drove in what appeared to me to be a torrential rainstorm. In hindsight... this opinion may change as hurricane season comes upon me and I get to experience what real rain really is.

Through it all, God... and my confidence in Him... has been pretty incredible. These past few weeks have been full of firsts and full of what I can only describe as "adulthood"--thinking about insurance and checking my radiator fluid and moving my bed away from the window to keep far away from the bugs... and ultimately, I have peace about where I am.

I do sort of miss being a student, and I most definitely miss theatre. I, obviously, am not working a theatre job right now. This was my choice and I'm totally excited about my present job and my future in the arts. However... this is not an artistic borough. It's new, it's developing, and it's a little suburban. Too far away from Disney for the Disney performers to come and detox with the production of real art. We'll see... maybe I can find my theatre after all...

Figuring things out... my nose ring is on the right side (the left) and I haven't starved yet... so I must be doing something right.

I think I want to read C.S. Lewis' Til We Have Faces again. I read it in high school, which is to say that I never really read it... from the quotes that I read from it recently, I think that TWHF really describes the bitterness that a religious person can have... so yeah, thoughts may be forthcoming.

I have been rereading Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Apparently graduating college makes me regress to high school... but I have this new translation that I'm excited about... and Underground Man reminds me of Jordan Hunt... and we all miss Jordan.

This week is wack.

For those of you who know me, and who pay attention, you know this is the last week of my internship. Then, I'm coming back for a week. Then, I'm leaving to start my job here.

It's a tad stressful... and it doesn't help that Florida is kind of Jurassic Park-ish, with these crazy, baldheaded birds, and I can see all the vultures ominously staring down my back, wondering if I can get everything done or if I am the next roadkill.

Something isn't right. Maybe it's my hair--blond again. Too blond? Not blond enough?

Maybe it's the coffee. Too dark? Not dark enough?

Something doesn't seem to fit... and it's not the opportunities that I'm confident God has given me... it's the waiting for them.

Truly Great Discovery of the Week: soy milk lattes. OMGOMGOMGOMG guys! It's the best thing since Matthew Morrison decided to do musicals. Soy milk foams way, way better than real milk, and it doesn't have the hot-milk taste... it does, however, taste like soy milk.

Budget: I have been trying to make one for the fall. It looks like I will be living on tap water, bananas and the occasional Lance cracker. Shame, because there's a Dunkin' Donuts on every street corner and I prefer that SO much to Starbucks.

Reinventing myself: I'm basically the same as I always was, but I'm not as scared of some things... like running.

Florida is turning me into a hippie, sans use of recreational drugs and/or that natural rock deodorant junk... so maybe I'm a hipster instead? I don't know.

I knew this would happen as soon as I got my nose pierced.

Part of it is that I royally stink at being at least a little bit sporty... like 70% of the girls I live with are... so I'm looking for an alternative to that...

Part of it is that I can drink loose-leaf tea with agave nectar and not gag. And also I'm looking to live overseas and make no money.

But yeah, mostly it's the piercing.

--Still trying, a bit unsuccessfully, to find Orlando theatre I'm interested in... um... is it sad that the only play I really want to see is the 40-minute Finding Nemo in Animal Kingdom?!

--My nose is pierced, and there are gross pictures of the process. Now I'm praying it doesn't get infected; I religiously clean it. I want a hole in my nose forever.

--I just--like just now-- got some bad news; so pray for me.

into:

art deco

this verse-- For God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us so that whether we are awake or asleep we might live with Him. 1 Thessalonians 5:9-10... snicker if you will, faith in Jesus is what is keeping me from going crazy wondering what the heck is going to happen to me in seven weeks.

Thai (the food, the language, the prospect of taking a couple of classes at Payap University in Chiang Mai... jealous much? Yes, yes, you are!)

canoeing (but not so much steering)

my housemates... these girls are golden!

living life to the fullest!

Updates from the Field

Did you know that there is a Rosalind Avenue in Orlando? Well, there is. I think of Shakespeare approximately twice every day here.

It is also part-time-monsoon season here.

And the for-real part of my internship is starting tomorrow... no more team-building exercises that leave you soaking wet, no more trips to theme-parks that result in meeting lots of international new friends... just, no more. But the exciting part is that the for-real part of my internship is starting. And the exciting-verging-on-terrifying part is that in nine weeks, I'll be somewhere that is heretofore unknown. It's like God's keeping secrets from me, but in a good way.

Did you know that Hershey's now makes 60-calorie dark chocolate sticks that, like Mary Poppins, are practically perfect in every way?

Just sayin'.

I also wanted to clarify what I said earlier about doubt. Full-on, inhibiting doubt should never be a destination because that's not healthy for my soul and it doesn't glorify God, but I don't think there's any shame in having some doubt in transit.

My brother, who is reading over my shoulder, wants me to "put in some kind words" about him. So here goes. I am so proud of this kid: he's a musical genius, a scathing critic, a high school graduate. He's come so far from the silent muse with melted chocolate for eyes, so far from the holy terror, so far from everything he's been. He touches my heart and makes me laugh every time I see him. Even if he makes me laugh because he whispers that I smell like livestock or something else that's just blatantly socially unacceptable. I wouldn't laugh if anybody else in the world told me I smelled "like cattle, like horse poo," as John once did.

I'm going to be making at least one major move soon, but I can tell you now that looking for a new church is going to be excruciating. I have so many ties to this one. These people have loved me through many heinous haircuts and bad attitudes. AND... AND... my pastor introduced me to this youtube video:



I love this song. Usually I don't love reinterpretations of The Beatles. Sometimes I like reinterpretations of The Beatles, because good songs can stand good covers. But usually the covers are not good. (The Jonas Brothers singing Hello Goodbye for Target commercials? I was nauseated for a month. It was like being pregnant without the excuse to eat for two.)And I'd imagine it'd be even harder to cover a Beatles tune that Eric Clapton played lead guitar for... but I like this, nonetheless.

a. The only reading I've been able to do:
William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury. No, I had never read it. I agree, I really wasn't a Southerner all those years. It's perfectly, hopelessly flawed: one of those stirring novels that says a thousand things in a thousand different ways, but when it is coherent, it is heartbreakingly so. I loved it. Oprah loved it in 2005. The sticker on the front said so.

G.K. Chesterton's The Four Faultless Felons. Now, I really like a lot of G.K. Chesterton's writings, because he's really fat and happy*, but these brief, related novellas were some exceptions. There was a lot of anti-Semitic rhetoric and characterizations throughout the stories that weren't relevant and were really disheartening. I haven't noticed this in my preferred Chesterton offerings but it might color my rereadings of those books (Orthodoxy, The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond, The Man Who Was Thursday).

*read: the anti-Dostoevsky. You can't subsist on Fyodor alone. That is, I can't. I love him, but sometimes I need a break.

And I picked up this Bible study on faith. I'll have to look up its name because it has some pretty dap quotes from Flannery O'Connor and a lot of ideas that I agree with, such as the Descartian idea that doubt is part of any journey of faith, and some ideas that took me aback, but in a good way.

b. Public service announcement: Starbucks is offering 1.95$ grande iced coffees with milk through June! See? Such expressions of benevolence can't be from a corporate monster! (Although I do miss that cash-only-please coffee place on Main with the generous espresso artist.) My sister and I took advantage of the special the other day. Fact I found out in the course of drinking our caramel, skim milk iced coffees: she considers coffee shops to be perfect date destinations. (Incidental fact: I do, too. Actually, though, I'll get coffee with anyone for any occasion at all...)

c. I miss downtowns.

thoughts on magna cum laude

How could I get this old so fast? Time seems to get wasted like a prospective playing Circle of Death.

I mean, it's cool. I'm ready for the new... for brand-new chances to collaborate and fall in love and write. I'd like to move on to the new sprinklers that I can dance in at night. I hope Orlando has a lot of those.

I think that a lot of my friends and my professors and I would agree that I need a big challenge and a big move... something big to help me grow even more. I'd like to experiment with translation and formally seek God and further Christian training and work in emerging, workshop collaboratives and listen to jazz all the time... and now I can!

But the leaving will always be leaving... and leaving, for me, has always been hard. Some goodbyes were easier than I thought they'd be, and others were every bit as difficult as I'd feared.

But I'm excited.

Thank you, my friends. I know you've always believed the best of me, and, I promise, I have and will continue to believe the best of you.

Here's to the wild successes and the wild failures on the horizon.

Here's to all the mistakes I've learned from over the past four years.

Here's to that night in the computer lab right before the Fundies lighting final.

Here's to the Shakespeares, the satires, the 6330s.

iloveyouall.

Freshmen, sophomores and juniors: advocate!

One. Scott Bakula is on Chuck. There is absolutely no way I can un-addict myself from television now.

Two. I had a series of nightmares last night. The first was so bad that I couldn't go back to sleep for forty-five minutes after I shook myself awake. It'll sound silly, but I dreamed that I went to a party with my dad and he got so drunk that he didn't remember me, and it was absolutely terrifying. The second was your garden variety supernatural serial killer dream. The only weak spots the shape-shifter had were his eyes and mouth, both endless black hollows. The only way to infiltrate the weak spots was to strike them directly. You couldn't second-guess yourself or be afraid of the killer's teeth. You just had to punch.

Three. I think the one thing that I wish I could have remembered to tell the little kids at senior forum was this: you are your own best advocate. I'm on the B.A. student advocacy council. Sometimes I forget that I am because no one ever comes to me with any problems about the department (but maybe they should...) Anyway, once or twice I was grousing to myself about things I was going through in productions, and then I thought, "Wait. I can do something about this. I can try my hardest to consistently be a pleasant person to work with and I can communicate with my professors if something legitimately doesn't work for me." You can be your own best answer to your problem. It's not anybody else's job to keep you engaged and working in theatre productively. It's yours. So be nice, work hard, talk.

Things about College that I'll Miss

I'm mostly trying to restrict this to non-people... because that's the "well, duh" that I'll miss and people deserve their own entries.

1. Oreo Mint milkshakes from Cook-Out. Otherwise known as Three AM Delight. Otherwise known as the Freshman Fifteen. Cook-Out may claim it offers forty-six or whatever flavors... no, no, it doesn't. It offers one flavor, and that flavor is Oreo Mint.

2. While I do not miss that WYSIWYG all-nighter for Fundies--when Zink came over on a Sunday night to help us out and Jesse's computer flipped out--I will, however, miss being able to tell that story to freshmen/theatre majors at other schools/anyone who knows what WYSIWYG is.

3. Listening to/halfway watching Arrested Development episodes while theoretically "writing a paper." Right now I'm watching the episode when Buster inadvertently flirts with Lucille 2 by not wearing his glasses.

4. Rocking out to German musicals while cleaning the room.

5. Recycle bins everywhere.

6. The fort.

7. Onion rings, mini corn dogs, birthday cake ice cream: what the caf does right.

8. Blueberry coffee from "Le Cafe Bibliotheque"--the stupidest name for a cafe at the library ever.

By the Numbers!

Number One Thing I'm TO'd I Didn't Get A Screencap Of:

I was on facebook/doing homework at one-ish one recent night. My brother had written on my wall at 12:17am, right? Well, you know how FB says "SoandSo wrote on your wall at suchandsuch time on Wednesday or yesterday or Saturday," right?

It said this:

"H--- N----- wrote on your wall at 12:17am tomorrow." Think about it.

It kind of reminds me of Future Dwight on The Office. And I didn't get a screencap. This is one of the stupidest decisions I have ever made in my life, aside from drinking three energy drinks in one day. (Sophomore year, Mom. I promise that never happens anymore.)

--and--

5 Reasons It Will Be A Little Hard to Leave the Theatre Department (as much as I'm ready for the next thing and possibly that grad program I've been dreaming of...)

5. But...but... but our theatre department has its own set of twins! You can't say that about just any theatre department.
4. It has never been conclusively proven that our department chair is a ninja... or Buddha... or a Jedi master. However, it has never been conclusively proven that he is none of those things. Someone has to find out, and now it's not going to be me.
3. I think I left some of my own personal possessions (or my heart, whichever) in Pandemonium.
2. My work call overalls cannot stand on their own yet. I wanted them to be predominately latex paint, carpenter's glue, and sweat before I graduated.
1. I never got to have a pink mohawk for a show. >:(

(Oh, wait...)

I will always love Jean Seberg for two reasons.

One. She took being young, kind of pathetic, American, and gamine to a whole new level.

Two. In A Bout de Souffle, she was the first woman to wear a t-shirt in a movie. (The sassy ribbed number above.) I kind of really want a New York Herald Tribune t-shirt now.

more than meets the eye

My favorite, favorite, favorite song ever at this second and the primary reason for this post:

The Transformers theme cover by Mute Math. It's on my playlist--give it a listen, especially if you're like me and your brain is fried from antibiotics, thesis defenses, and chesty coughs. But you know what? God is so good. My family got to see me present my thesis--AND my classmate's mom came to see her present, too, so it wasn't as weird--and it was just so refreshing to see them. It was the best remedy for a day of feeling puny, insubstantial, mentally foggy, and coughtastic. (And my hair wasn't behaving at all!)

I highly recommend families.

Even though my thesis presentation itself ended in verbal diarrhea (gross?), I have embarrassed myself far, far more in my life.

And now for a recommended reading. I like to think my heart's cry for understanding inspired this particular entry on Joseph's blog. In any case, it's an engrossing review of the outside of the aluminum-packaged beverage I (and Dr. Schroeder and Amanda and Chris Herring) know and love. How cool would it be to drink out of one of those badboy cans at the dupe?! Can you see it or what?
http://www.trendsettingonline.com/2009/03/mountain-dew-can-logo-history/

One of my favorite moments:
Me: I should come and visit your house in all weather. Then I could get snowed in and stay for so long, I'd have to do chores.

Cheyenne: Then you could really be my big sister! ...Well, you kind of are already.

One of my favorite things about Christianity:
Christians get what they really want out of life. If "I'd rather have Jesus than silver or gold" rings true for you, you're in luck. I might never, ever get silver or gold. I can guarantee you that I will never, ever be the king of a vast domain. But, boy, do I have Jesus.

One of the things that's probably going to happen tomorrow:
My best non-sequiter friend is going to get his wisdom teeth removed tomorrow; if he says funny stuff like David After Dentist, I want to know.

One of my favorite things about music:
Concept albums/rock operas; people do not make enough. I wonder if there's something significant about a fascination in works where music is just as much a character as anybody else, where music is the plot, where there isn't a thirty-person ensemble.

Currently On the Brain

Ethnodramatology. It's one of those big-word disciplines that makes my heart beat faster. In the Christian sense, it encompasses the idea that there isn't one universal, God-blessed form of drama that speaks to people. In both Christian and secular senses, it's the study of the performative rituals of a variety of cultures, on as much of their own terms as possible, without the intent of Westernizing a theatre that's so important to people.

Road trip. Wait for it. With my brother.

Ricky Gervais. I think I just decided I didn't really like him as David Brent or as Andy Millman. I just think those characters come across as very similar and they're pretty scummy individuals. It's hard for me to relate--or to want to relate--with insensitive protagonists. Most shows centered around scummy individuals just don't really work for me, I guess.


The Avett Brothers. Better than The Jonas Brothers, these guys serve enigmatic heartbreak with a side of North Carolina. The Avett Brothers sound like a Southern summer; warm, sleepy and good with lemonade.

KYO. Not the random, fifty-eleven solo artists. The now-defunct French band. I tried to like the new band, but their songs are all in English. Lame. Even the name is lame... Empyr. Um, ew.

Where's my M(oun)t(ai)n Dew?

This bodes well for a retraction of the redesign of "Mtn Dew", which is also a Pepsico product. As long as bloggers like me keep trying to stick it to the man.

"Mtn Dew" was formerly known as Mountain Dew. But then Pepsi apparently decided it was too good for efficient, clear, beautiful design. They changed the trade name of Mountain Dew to "mtn Dew" and redesigned the can of "mtn Dew" in some pretty heinous ways. It makes me steamed.

Dear Pepsi,
You're like someone's mom trying to send text messages. Useless abbreviations are not cool and irritate those of us who prefer marketing that follows standard rules of spelling and grammar. You know what's right, Pepsi. You're just a poser rebel, and it's lame.

Furthermore, realize that there is a large market of girls (ok... maybe just me) who drink Diet Mountain Dew like it's ambrosia. And we feel alienated by the hyper-masculine image Mtn Dew is putting out there! Gaming? Sports? The Adventures of Darrell Waltrip and Grease Monkey? Drinking Mtn Dew is like bad hair days, sweatpants, and NFL: it's frumpiness in a can. No matter how much I may LIKE sweatpants and the NFL, I don't necessarily look good liking it.

You know what girly soda looks like? Tab. Tab is a girly energy drink. You know who makes Tab? Coca-motherloving-Cola. Fortunately for you, Tab is an acquired taste. Once you acquire a craving for liquid Smarties... and metal... and butt... then the problem is solved. Until then... I want my Diet Mountain Dew back. The old one. With the swirly green logo with "Mountain Dew" in the middle. Even if it did look like the New York City Cyclones logo... it was still better than this disjointed green crap.

I hate you, Pepsi! And I hate that I'm completely addicted!

love,
claire

Dear proletariat and 18-25 age bracket,

Pepsi wants our money. They suck for taking the oun and ai out of our beverage of choice. Are we going to stand for this? No! Blog!

love,
claire

WATCHING

"Pushing Daisies." Say you like slightly macabre entertainment with a punch or two of the grotesque... like James and the Giant Peach or Nicholas Nickleby. Also, let's say you love musicals, like Little Shop of Horrors and Grease. Oh! I forgot. You also like a really strong but also kind of ambiguous design fifties-futuristic design concept. Lucky you. You've found your favorite cancelled show. Oh, wait. You probably found it while it was still on. Aren't you smart?

Also, Lee Pace wears clothes that would make my sister swoon. Namely, button-up shirts with rolled-up sleeves.

READING

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. No, I'd never read it before. Say F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jane Austen had a literary baby. That literary baby would probably look a little like The Age of Innocence. My favorite quote, thus far, describes why an evening's opera diva is singing in Italian:

"An unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences."

The book actually has a lot of theatrical motifs; I think Wharton was probably a really smart gal to hype up the theatrical context to show that everyone in the novel is essentially an actor.

LISTENING
"Flood," by Jars of Clay. Because, sometimes, at the height of college work and college stress, one needs the quintessential thoughty 90's college band and their quintessential vague and thoughty hit.

I Need... A Break

So, I did that thing where you type in your name plus "needs" into a search engine just to see what pops up.

Boy, am I glad my name is Claire.

The first one was "Claire needs a visit to the bunny planet," which is, I believe, the title of a story by Peter Balestrieri.

"Claire needs private support"... "Claire needs Facebook"... "Claire needs a boyfriend"... "Claire needs help"... and, my favorite, "Claire needs booze to kiss."

All these things, which, to be fair, are fairly universal things to need... and none of them are really what I need right now, I think.

I need some good, anti-thesis, worship music. I need downtown time.

Incidentally, I went to sleep joyfully praising God... and then I dreamed that I had a birthday party that was really horrible, one of my secret minor crushes was there, looking very suavely grungy and vaguely European, and he was flirting with a high school student ("Don't you know that's illegal?") Mrs. Bell moved to Atlanta (without Mr. Bell and all the children) ("Don't you know you're not cut out to be a heartless, Atlanta-living career woman? Whatever happened to Bellhaven?") and nobody would swing dance with me except my dad. Fortunately, he was remarkably spry in my subconscious. And at least I spoke my mind.

hunger

Cravings are the weirdest thing:

Right now, I have a sinking feeling that I will never possibly be satiated except with a pecan waffle from Waffle House, of all places.

I am my grandfather's progeny, that is for sure. Minus the trucker cap and safety pin-and-duct-tape wardrobe. (He's the original punk. Yes, I'm proud.)

And he loves Waffle House. In fact, you can't imagine the family drama that has taken place at Waffle House, and I'm not going to tell you.

I went to Waffle House on prom night with one of the nicest, most personable writers to hit the planet. It was deliciously sketch and the pecan waffle was incredible.

Going to the Waffle House is sometimes like flirting with death, but in the best way possible. It's like speeding on the Blue Ridge Parkway or eating M&Ms that drop on the floor.

And I will never be happy unless I eat a pecan waffle. Right now.

the american college theatre festival: a critique

1) Too much writing reviews; too little theme parties. What kind of theatre kid am I?

2) Fell mildly in love with boys for their punctuation. Bad idea, Claire. Usually, if their punctuation is that good, they've never heard of Chuck Taylors, the Beatles... or they like boys.

3) You write plays? You need a dramaturg. Here's my facebook. You're a dramaturg? You need a dramaturg. Here's my facebook. You're a random professor from a school I've never heard of? Hi, I'm Claire, and I'm a dramaturg.

4) Apparently, at other schools, Alpha Psi Omega members come to a consensus and agree on t-shirts. I know, weird.

(This said, I may never agree to a long-sleeved t-shirt. Suckas.)

5) My own personal paradise will include a Tate Street Coffee. That accepts debit cards. It will have forty-seven paintings on the wall and a barista with impeccable eyebrows.

6) So a professor here was trying to defend someone else's script because she knew him or whatever. I said that it had potential but was undeveloped. "Well, that's the point." Um, no. Ambiguity can sometimes be the goal but some scripts just seem sloppy and unfinished. I know this because every single play I've ever written has been both ambiguous AND sloppy/unfinished and they are different entities.

7) My professional, ambitious heart was broken when someone who is not me mislaid my dramaturgy packet. Arguably, this needed to happen. I didn't like my professional, ambitious heart and wanted to return to my apathetic one.

Still, it left me emotionally drained and exhausted on many levels. I will consume comfort food for an entire week, gaining about nineteen pounds of fat: Brach's gummi bears, cheap-o gas station cappuccinos, Pillsbury crescent rolls--and I will look for Vaughn every day, because I need a long-arm hug. I also bought eyeshadow.

8) I realized that I write criticism like a dramaturg: basically, "OohprettylightsIguessIlikedititwasgood... but the script needs ______." This is why I never win Critics and will never compete as one again. I just do it because I like to see plays and critique my own writing.

9) I like college kids. I hope when I graduate, I'll find out that twentysomethings are cool, too.

They call this... fear?

I'm so excited!!!!!!!!!!

...I guess I'm scared.

Scared that what I wanted so intensely is too big, too smart, too religious for me and my attached mistakes.

Scared that it's not meant to be and that I'll get burned.

I don't need or want anyone to tell me I'm big enough, smart enough, or Christian enough for this. I need people to pray that God would change my heart to want what He wants. That every struggle would end with a limp--a permanent change in me thanks to a ridiculous encounter.

Occupational hazard of being a passionate person, I guess. I've fallen in over my head for a dream I know is the real thing. I just don't know what to do with it.

I keep seeing myself as so much bigger than I really am. I hate that.

I, I, I, I, I.

Grody.

95 Theses

I am hammering out my thesis... well, granted, not as we speak, but off and on throughout my day.

It is hard to come up with a lot of smart things to say. It is even harder to do so quickly and with originality. It makes me wonder for about half a second why on earth I didn't go into biology.

And then I remember that I loathe, loathe, loathe biology. And that it's good to finish what I start and knowledge and discipline are never worthless. And that I felt good about doing this thesis. Once upon a time, before I was beating myself up over the particulars.

And I am resisting doing that 25 Things About Me thing on Facebook because no one wants to read twenty-five things about me in a row. So I will give you two.

1. I fully intend to name any pets (probably cats, all female) I may have in my life after The Beatles. Maxwell Silverhammer I may be gone now, but I'm open to a second. Other possible names include Lucinda Sky (LSD for short), Father McKenzie, Rigby, Jude Refrain, Rocky Raccoon, The Walrus (Wally for short), Mr. Kite...

2. I really like dreads. (They don't have to be dirty and gross. If they're gross and dirty, you're doing them wrong.) If I had long hair, I would have dreads, but there is no way I will grow out my hair. Since I am committed to not growing out my hair... I'm contenting myself with looking for the one guy out there who has blond dreads but doesn't smoke pot and loves Jesus.

Back to the thesis grind....

Words Without Boundaries

I was sitting in grammar, minding my own business, taking notes on infinitives, when my professor said something along the lines of, "Put your pens down. I'm going to give you a question to think about for Tuesday." I finished my sentence, listening for the question while looking scrutinizingly into his sociolinguistics eyes for the answer.

"Is there a difference between 'infinity' and 'eternity?'"

My first thought was that he had gotten himself into a bet with the philosophy professor and had waded into deeper waters than he could handle alone. Fortunately, he's too cool for that and was merely having an in-class existential crisis, I'm pretty sure. I have a fairly brief attention span myself and have been known to ponder such questions while appearing to study infinitives.

But I did ask him why he asked us this.

"Well, if there's a difference, it's got to be a pretty important one, right?"

I've been thinking about it all day, whenever I get bored with writing the first draft of my thesis. I think I may have a hunch.

I think "eternity" can only mean "atemporal," while "infinity" can apply to time and space. And Merriam-Webster says quantity as well.

Hmm. "An infinite quantity...." Does that work? I don't know.

An Open Letter

... to the MLA Format and Style, Newly Updated:

You really have made my life so much easier easier when it comes to online databases, online periodicals, and no-pagination websites. Thank you, thank you, thank you. If I was going to graduate school immediately, I'd thank you even more.

There's just one thing. You got rid of underlining. Sure, underlining is "gauche." We have computers now instead of typewriters! We can italicize! Huzzah! Whoop-dee-freaking-doo.

I'm going to miss underlining. Underlining is retro and cute, emphatic without being offputting.So you messed up on your bibliography? You can last-minute underline it in pen. You can't hand-italicize.

I am so depressed about this. You do not even know. I'm going to have to listen to a lot of The Beatles before I feel remotely ok about this.

Love,
-------, Claire. "An Open Letter." Razhumikin Razzmatazz (2009): n. pag. Web. 27 January 2009.

the next five years

So, my assignment this weekend for senior seminar is to write a five-year plan. I have, thus far, muddled through life without any kind of real plan whatsoever, and now I have to write one. But what I wanted to write and what I will turn in tomorrow are two slightly different things. The latter will have such things as "financial responsibility" and "setting up savings" and "work on a film." The former looks like this:

I want to be stylish. Like featured-on-the-Sartorialist-twice stylish. Like distinctive, wear Chucks every day stylish. I want to have confidence in my own skin as I face the realization every day that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I want to be as fearless as freedom feels. I want to eat rice and beans most days. I want to be really, really excited about what God's doing. I want to have lots of old friends and lots of new ones. I kind of really want to be married in the next five years. I want to be wildly creative. I want to smell lots and lots of coffee. I want to be the best witness that I possibly can that God is real. I want to live with purpose and passion. I want to blog about the most interesting things ever. I want to lapse at will into a completely different language with ridiculous ease. I want to be very well read.

Observations

1. I have accomplished watching the first season of Robin Hood and we are now onto the second season. (I know. I'm late. Don't give me any spoilers.) Everyone's hair is longer and Djaq has moved on from her Boy Scout vest to embrace her femininity with bangs and woman clothes. I can't decide if Robin has become more or less cocky...

2. My friend/my roommate's boyfriend has Mario sleep pants. They're fleecy. Isn't he cool?

3. Speaking of books I wouldn't be ashamed to be caught dead reading, I've been starting on Orson Scott Card beyond Ender's Game. Specifically, Ender's Shadow, which is about Bean. More on that when I've formulated an opinion. Everyone I know says Bean is better than Ender.

4. All of the Owens I know are adorable.

5. Grammar is mystifying. We acquire language with seeming effortlessness and there's a ridiculous amount of rules that we know that we don't know that we know. And there's things that slip through the cracks. And there's intentional slaps in the face of the rules. Like sentence fragments. I've learned by taking grammar that I suck at categorizing and memorizing the nomenclature of these rules. Oh, well.

Life is Buttercream

--I can't remember who it was who thought the last line of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" was "Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is buttercream."

--I could have sworn I heard a male voice call out my first and last name twice in a public place and I stopped abruptly and looked around but nobody fessed up to it. Rachel didn't hear it, but she says I have bat ears. My dear roomie also, similarly, heard a male voice call out her name today. None of these summons preceded apocalyptic prophecies, unfortunately.

If this happens again, I'm going to call it a hallucination and cut back on caffeine.

--Dinner? Two servings of ice cream. I'm making up for two whole days of healthy, well-balanced meals (which have included chicken, salad, wild rice, green beans, corn...)

--Latest report? "Vague snowlike substance. It's snowish."

current events

1. Circuit City: Unplugged and In Canada. It sounds like an album, but what it really means is 34,000 lost jobs and a ton of going out of business sales. And fact, I do need a laptop--with a webcam for Skype. I promised my roommate.

2. I got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart, down in my heart, down in my heart, down in my heart to stay.

I could sing unending songs of how you saved my soul and I could dance a thousand miles because of your great love.

Joy is so inexplicably good to see and touch and hear. And the only thing better than experiencing it for yourself is experiencing it with and through other people. I love rejoicing with my friends!

3. This is the week of the truce: not only did Israeli and Gaza Strip militants take a breath, but Warner Bros. and 20th Century Fox also reached a deal about Watchmen. The only graphic novel I've really ever read has been Persepolis, but I've heard really, really good things about Watchmen, so I'm looking into it. Literacy is good, and reading "noncanonical" texts for American Novel is already making me feel like I should read more.

4. For theatre people, this weekend's action verbs: to junk food, to not slack, to sloth, to therapy, to praise, to laugh at Bruce Willis.

new year's resolution #156

Don't go to an airport without actually intending to fly. You can't take it.

I met a dear at the airport yesterday. C'etait... qu'est-ce que c'est "torture?" Even with am overpriced Starbucks caramel macchiato with loads of foam, the experience was difficult.

I guess it's the aviator in my blood, or the immigrant, or both--but I was filled with a wistful ache, my feet possessing an irresistible itch to walk everywhere. I glared at the posh people whose suitcases were stacked neatly, their European business suits and Spartan luggage organization betraying the fact that they do this all the time. I heard two sets of people speak French.

I love airports too much. The leaving. The coming back. You hear more interesting conversations in an airport than almost anywhere else. The gift shops."Notre nature," said Pascal, "est dans le mouvement; la repose entier est la mort."

Two things I know: God is in control, and traveling is imperative. Maybe next year I will know more.

.......

I'm already bored with schoolwork.

Classes start on Wednesday. Bad sign?

(Next year, en Maroc, peut-etre? Sans les devoirs?)

In lieu of homework, I have been watching webisodes of The Guild. Not as intellectually stimulating, perhaps, but it also doesn't cause a lick of deadline stress. Nice'd.

Wikipedia.org is available in Esperanto. True fact.

The charade is over; it is time to stop pretending to do schoolwork and start watching movies.

fascinations

the mildly abstract--

see below.

ink--

can I just say that I'm done with this ballpoint bull? I'm starting to dabble in calligraphy and the scritchy unreliability of nibs and wet watery colors floating at forty-five degree slants across the page is an irresistible combination. I swear those pens flirt with me. And I'm still obsessed with the black Sharpie pen... that felt tip number has feeling and verve and I'm starting to draw mildly abstract things with it, mostly rock stars with intense eyes that stare off from the page with black, felt-tipped moodiness.

two thousand nine--

I'm done thinking that this year will just make me another year older. Watch out, world. I'm almost free.