Once again, I post when I should be in bed, but sometimes I just can't help myself. I'm feeling angry tonight - mostly with myself, some with my Movement partner, and a little with the state of the world. Acting has...not been fun for me lately. In all honesty, I don't think I've committed myself to the work as much as I should be, and I think that if I could, it might be fun again. It's just...hard...personalizing the lines, the imagery, and trying to get everything in order so that they happen in a way that's at least appropriate to the script. I really don't know why it always seem so difficult to find personalizations that seem to affect me...I keep meaning to try using a bit of music to help me relax into it. Perhaps I'll wake early tomorrow in order to do so.
Anyway, I'm currently angry with myself because I'm such a damn pushover. I want people to like me, and I hate doing things that may make people DISLIKE me. I know - it's sad. I can rationalize it all I want - I can say I don't confront my partner because I don't want to make working with her any more difficult and trying than it already is - but the fact is I just don't like confronting people. Especially when they are trying to make it work out, or at least seem like they are. If she were unceasingly difficult, that would make it much easier to just call her out on it. Bah! Part of me just wants to go to the instructor and say, "It's been an incredible hell of a time trying to get together with her, work with her, and generally just agree to something," but I keep feeling like that's a betrayal of...something. I dunno. I'm always entirely too eager to take things upon myself rather than let them go where they most logically should go.
Aagh! I'm just so damn FRUSTRATED with everything! I mean EVERYTHING! Part of me wonders what the hell I'm doing in second year. Why am I here?! Do I belong here? I look at every other scene around me and it's like everyone is getting SOMETHING, some aspect of their work that's making them stronger actors, and I am just stuck. I say to my acting teacher: "I think I'm making some progress," but I am getting to believe that less and less. Acting just doesn't feel as...smooth...to me as it used to. And if Todd (my quirky, Freudian Acting Styles instructor) is to be believed, a large part of that is because my emotional prep isn't helping me. Well, I knew that. My prep has never helped me. Trying to get into my prep is an exercise in futility. Trying to find something that actually affects me on an emotional level is like chipping away at an ice berg with a toothpick. GRAAAGH! (Hmmmmm...where DID
Yes, I can see the irony of this, thank you. I think I just need to relax. That's the key to everything. Relax and breathe from the core, and focus on the images for just a bit, and maybe...just maybe...they'll be there for me. Take what I need off my partner, and hopefully everything will be fine. Commit - commit to SOMETHING, and...it will be okay. Everything will be okay. Optimism wins out over everything, in the end.
Anyway - off to bed with me. Six hours of sleep isn't bad.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Monday, November 21, 2005
On possible bellyflops
It's 4:51 am, and I have to be at school in exactly 4 hours, 9 minutes. I have, in theory, three hours and 5 minutes to sleep, assuming I want to catch the 8 am subway and I pack everything I need well ahead of time.
Why am I typing instead of going to bed? Some weird sense of masochism, undoubtedly. I think it's also because when I'm suffering the effects of sleep deprivation, my inner censors go into standby, and I become much more likely to just type whatever comes into my head without wondering whether it's really the right thing to say. And some days, I just want to talk.
I was thinking about writing earlier today, which isn't surprising since I was reading Stephen King's book "On Writing." As usual, the most prominent detail is that in order to become a good writer, one must write. Simple, no? And also a matter of common sense, since one can hardly get better at something one doesn't do. What it ultimately brings back, however, is the simple fact that a) I have but so many hours in the day and b) I'm a lazy, procrastinating bastard. A is not easily solved, unless someone out there knows a way to build a time machine from home appliances. B, however...well...B isn't easily solved either, as I find the will the change can be a remarkably difficult thing to muster. Change doesn't come easily to me, particularly not changes in habits, and to start writing again - writing properly - would require me to abandon a lot of vices I seem to have accumulated since I moved out of my mother's house. Every part of me recognizes what a wonderful thing it would really be, to be writing again...but I'm scared of it.
So there, total honesty. I'm scared I'm going to fall flat on my face, and write crap. All evidence points to the contrary, that I am actually a rather competent writer with enough talent to become a good (possibly even great) one. But I'm afraid to take that step, and commit. It's like I'm standing on the edge of a ten meter platform, looking down at that teal blue water, and feeling my heart clinging onto my esophagus for dear life. A bellyflop at this distance would hurt...a lot. And I'm so very tired of getting hurt.
I should be to bed.
Why am I typing instead of going to bed? Some weird sense of masochism, undoubtedly. I think it's also because when I'm suffering the effects of sleep deprivation, my inner censors go into standby, and I become much more likely to just type whatever comes into my head without wondering whether it's really the right thing to say. And some days, I just want to talk.
I was thinking about writing earlier today, which isn't surprising since I was reading Stephen King's book "On Writing." As usual, the most prominent detail is that in order to become a good writer, one must write. Simple, no? And also a matter of common sense, since one can hardly get better at something one doesn't do. What it ultimately brings back, however, is the simple fact that a) I have but so many hours in the day and b) I'm a lazy, procrastinating bastard. A is not easily solved, unless someone out there knows a way to build a time machine from home appliances. B, however...well...B isn't easily solved either, as I find the will the change can be a remarkably difficult thing to muster. Change doesn't come easily to me, particularly not changes in habits, and to start writing again - writing properly - would require me to abandon a lot of vices I seem to have accumulated since I moved out of my mother's house. Every part of me recognizes what a wonderful thing it would really be, to be writing again...but I'm scared of it.
So there, total honesty. I'm scared I'm going to fall flat on my face, and write crap. All evidence points to the contrary, that I am actually a rather competent writer with enough talent to become a good (possibly even great) one. But I'm afraid to take that step, and commit. It's like I'm standing on the edge of a ten meter platform, looking down at that teal blue water, and feeling my heart clinging onto my esophagus for dear life. A bellyflop at this distance would hurt...a lot. And I'm so very tired of getting hurt.
I should be to bed.
Monday, October 10, 2005
On petty aggravations
Grraaagggghhhhhh! I knew it! I knew it! I knew something was going to happen. I could feel it when I got up - that sense of general wrongness when my microcosm decides to realign itself. Okay, it's fine. I KNEW this was going to happen, sooner or later. It was an eventuality that I just didn't allow myself to consciously allow, and therefore it's come back to bite me on the ass. Well IT'S OKAY, because I'm FINE with it. I will simply adjust, and that will be that.
The situation? Basically, I've been subletting from someone. It probably isn't legal, but hell, it is cheap. So be it. Anyway, the guy is apparently now POSSIBLY getting evicted due to his propensity to sublet, and something about "undue wear and tear" from his landlord. Yeah, whatever. Anyway...okay, it's probably too soon to jump to conclusions, but I think this is basically my second cosmic warning (my first being a possible inspection from the landlord some two or three months ago for which I decided to depart the apartment for the time being). So anyway, I'm not really supposed to be here, and he's not really supposed to allow me to be here, and I've just got too much crap in the room to easily move elsewhere. So I think it's time to pack up everything that I don't use, or even can use but not on a regular basis, and prepare myself to vacate the premises on VERY short notice. Same day, if necessary. Shuffle some of my things into storage, and others into a cab if I have to. Thank God some of my things are in my locker at the school, and therefore saves me a box or two.
The key thing here is books and clothes. Maybe leave a week's worth of clothes lying out for general use, and pack all the rest for that eventuality when I have to hastily depart. Ugh. I hate uprooting myself, but I was just remarking only a (okay, something like nine) months ago how most of my worldly belongings could fit into a van if I needed them to. Well, it's entirely probable that I will now need them to. I'm not gonna move out immediately, and if the worst happens I DO have friends I can crash with for at least a little while am I'm looking for a place, or I can stay at a hostel...but I can't begin to emphasize how much things like this grate on my nerves. I'm in a constant balance between statis and dynamism, and I don't mind it so much while on the move but the need to go from stasis TO dynamism irritates me. Always. I hate transition periods if I don't have a solid grounding somewhere, with the grounding in this case being a place to live.
I'll talk to my landlord tomorrow, see what I might need to do. Perhaps I'll make up a checklist so I don't have to keep reminding myself of what needs to be done. I have no idea who at the school is still looking for a place to live, and I REALLY don't want to announce myself to someone I barely know...but ugh! Okay. I shall continue to rant as I see fit to maintain my cool exterior in the physical world, and proceed with a) getting a good night's rest and b) starting to pack my unnecessaries tomorrow. And sticking them into storage if need be.
The situation? Basically, I've been subletting from someone. It probably isn't legal, but hell, it is cheap. So be it. Anyway, the guy is apparently now POSSIBLY getting evicted due to his propensity to sublet, and something about "undue wear and tear" from his landlord. Yeah, whatever. Anyway...okay, it's probably too soon to jump to conclusions, but I think this is basically my second cosmic warning (my first being a possible inspection from the landlord some two or three months ago for which I decided to depart the apartment for the time being). So anyway, I'm not really supposed to be here, and he's not really supposed to allow me to be here, and I've just got too much crap in the room to easily move elsewhere. So I think it's time to pack up everything that I don't use, or even can use but not on a regular basis, and prepare myself to vacate the premises on VERY short notice. Same day, if necessary. Shuffle some of my things into storage, and others into a cab if I have to. Thank God some of my things are in my locker at the school, and therefore saves me a box or two.
The key thing here is books and clothes. Maybe leave a week's worth of clothes lying out for general use, and pack all the rest for that eventuality when I have to hastily depart. Ugh. I hate uprooting myself, but I was just remarking only a (okay, something like nine) months ago how most of my worldly belongings could fit into a van if I needed them to. Well, it's entirely probable that I will now need them to. I'm not gonna move out immediately, and if the worst happens I DO have friends I can crash with for at least a little while am I'm looking for a place, or I can stay at a hostel...but I can't begin to emphasize how much things like this grate on my nerves. I'm in a constant balance between statis and dynamism, and I don't mind it so much while on the move but the need to go from stasis TO dynamism irritates me. Always. I hate transition periods if I don't have a solid grounding somewhere, with the grounding in this case being a place to live.
I'll talk to my landlord tomorrow, see what I might need to do. Perhaps I'll make up a checklist so I don't have to keep reminding myself of what needs to be done. I have no idea who at the school is still looking for a place to live, and I REALLY don't want to announce myself to someone I barely know...but ugh! Okay. I shall continue to rant as I see fit to maintain my cool exterior in the physical world, and proceed with a) getting a good night's rest and b) starting to pack my unnecessaries tomorrow. And sticking them into storage if need be.
Friday, September 30, 2005
On good film
Serenity was incredibly, incredibly good. Ah, where do I begin? The acting was superb, the storyline spectacular, and the technical stuff rather good. I say only rather good because the cinematography and camera work felt shaky, and the first 15 minutes or so was wobbly. I wouldn't put it at jello wobbly, though. More like...Italian cheese cake wobbly. So it was a little soft, but moist and oh so delectable.
I get off topic. What I really like about it, I think, is that it's not one of those black and white action sci-fi movies. It has implications, and impact, and levels. Sometimes they seem painfully obvious, but the more I sit on it the more texture the movie seems to acquire. The characters, of course, are absolutely loveable in their utter humanity. Their heroism, their virtues, their idiosyncrasies, and their flaws. I love them. I find something totally enjoyable and fascinating about each of the characters - even the ones with but a little air time seems to me people with depth and meaning. Joss Whedon's directorial abilities may not be top notch, but his vision is definitely engaging.
This is one of those few movies that I will definitely buy on DVD.
I get off topic. What I really like about it, I think, is that it's not one of those black and white action sci-fi movies. It has implications, and impact, and levels. Sometimes they seem painfully obvious, but the more I sit on it the more texture the movie seems to acquire. The characters, of course, are absolutely loveable in their utter humanity. Their heroism, their virtues, their idiosyncrasies, and their flaws. I love them. I find something totally enjoyable and fascinating about each of the characters - even the ones with but a little air time seems to me people with depth and meaning. Joss Whedon's directorial abilities may not be top notch, but his vision is definitely engaging.
This is one of those few movies that I will definitely buy on DVD.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
On upheavals
This is absolutely surreal, like watching the Twin Towers fall again in slow motion. The last time I felt like this...okay, the last time I felt like this was when I momentarily became convinced that all my views about the world were actually wrong: that the world really isn't ultimately a...fair place? Something like that. Or maybe just that people ultimately only look out for themselves, not for anyone else, and all of my optimism up to this point was just childish bullshit. My sense of the universe, of my own self-worth, and of the worthiness of everything momentarily become completely skewed, and I think I actually fell into a state of despair for the first time in...well, a long time. I desperately, desperately wanted someone to talk to, and wouldn't you know it but it was three AM and none of my friends were online.
I rode it out, as I do all my little emotional ups and downs, and I remain happily optimistic.
Seems like complete tripe right now. I can't even place this. 80% of New Orleans is underwater. Bodies piling up in the streets. People shooting at the helicopters, just so someone would actually come and help their families. I mean, holy hell in a bloody fucking handbasket. Is this the US? We who have mastery of everything that is, was, and shall be? Jesus Christ.
I donated some money to the Red Cross, but it seems woefully inadequate. I can rationalize it, of course - I'm a student at a very expensive school, making just enough money every month to cover my rent and expenses. I donated some of what I had after rent, food, and so forth...but not all of it. And I have credit cards. I can stand dumping a little more into them - my credit line is ridiculously good for a student, after all.
It's totally irrational, but I find myself halfway contemplating the merits of hopping a plane down into the region of New Orleans and joining the Red Cross. Maybe if I weren't convinced that I'd have no idea what to do or where to go, and that I'd probably just end up being more of a hazard than a help to the people around me. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so I don't feel like such a shit for NOT actually hopping a plane, flying down to New Orleans, and fucking ladling soup to people. Or maxxing out my credit cards on the Red Cross. Shit. I don't know.
God, I'm whining, and I'm not even IN New Orleans. Fuck this.
I rode it out, as I do all my little emotional ups and downs, and I remain happily optimistic.
Seems like complete tripe right now. I can't even place this. 80% of New Orleans is underwater. Bodies piling up in the streets. People shooting at the helicopters, just so someone would actually come and help their families. I mean, holy hell in a bloody fucking handbasket. Is this the US? We who have mastery of everything that is, was, and shall be? Jesus Christ.
I donated some money to the Red Cross, but it seems woefully inadequate. I can rationalize it, of course - I'm a student at a very expensive school, making just enough money every month to cover my rent and expenses. I donated some of what I had after rent, food, and so forth...but not all of it. And I have credit cards. I can stand dumping a little more into them - my credit line is ridiculously good for a student, after all.
It's totally irrational, but I find myself halfway contemplating the merits of hopping a plane down into the region of New Orleans and joining the Red Cross. Maybe if I weren't convinced that I'd have no idea what to do or where to go, and that I'd probably just end up being more of a hazard than a help to the people around me. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so I don't feel like such a shit for NOT actually hopping a plane, flying down to New Orleans, and fucking ladling soup to people. Or maxxing out my credit cards on the Red Cross. Shit. I don't know.
God, I'm whining, and I'm not even IN New Orleans. Fuck this.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
On pretty pretty templates
The template I have decided to use is so...so...clean! I love it! I'm sure 248,148,171 other people have also decided to use said template, but I can't help it. There's just that attracts me to it. It's so preeetttttyyyy...
I think I've said everything I wanted to say today already, so let me just inaugurate the commencement of this, what I consider to be my online journal and commentary when I really want to write a lot very quickly, as in much faster than I could possibly do by hand and remain legible. I shall also inaugurate this as the commencement of many long, complex, and highly run-on sentences. They are a favorite of mine, a bad habit, and something I fully intend to divest myself of given much time and writing experience. It just so happens that every now and again, I do want to write simply for the sake of writing, and not say say something like, "He waved his hand with frightening casualness. The earth tore, and the sky burst into flames." I'm obviously very fond of a) godlike powers and b) purple prose. You end up with very purple gods doing things to entire worlds that, were they done by human hands, would be proclaimed wildly homosexual.
Speaking of wildly homosexual, I think I need an enterprising gay man to go through my closet. There are unspeakable things in there - things that must never again be shown the light of day. The safest thing to do is to burn them, mix the ashes into concrete, and then encase the whole thing in a foot of lead before burying them in a secret storage chamber underneath the Sierra Nevada mountains. I can see the movie title already: "Tacky Jeans from the Deep!" I would do it myself if I weren't very lazy and, ultimately, largely indifferent to the way I look.
Consistency is for small minds.
I think I've said everything I wanted to say today already, so let me just inaugurate the commencement of this, what I consider to be my online journal and commentary when I really want to write a lot very quickly, as in much faster than I could possibly do by hand and remain legible. I shall also inaugurate this as the commencement of many long, complex, and highly run-on sentences. They are a favorite of mine, a bad habit, and something I fully intend to divest myself of given much time and writing experience. It just so happens that every now and again, I do want to write simply for the sake of writing, and not say say something like, "He waved his hand with frightening casualness. The earth tore, and the sky burst into flames." I'm obviously very fond of a) godlike powers and b) purple prose. You end up with very purple gods doing things to entire worlds that, were they done by human hands, would be proclaimed wildly homosexual.
Speaking of wildly homosexual, I think I need an enterprising gay man to go through my closet. There are unspeakable things in there - things that must never again be shown the light of day. The safest thing to do is to burn them, mix the ashes into concrete, and then encase the whole thing in a foot of lead before burying them in a secret storage chamber underneath the Sierra Nevada mountains. I can see the movie title already: "Tacky Jeans from the Deep!" I would do it myself if I weren't very lazy and, ultimately, largely indifferent to the way I look.
Consistency is for small minds.
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