Where have all the cowboys gone?
I was going to rant about Mom's computer eating an entry I had started writing back on Friday, but it appears it doesn't matter. It would have been eaten by Pitas, anyway. And it appears my page hasn't been cached since a month ago, so there's no getting them back that way. In a way it's fortunate I've been so lax with the entries lately because of life in general...if Pitas can't recover them, I'll have only lost a couple.
It does make me want to back my previous entries up myself, though.
Sooo...what's happened since my last update? Hard to tell, since I don't remember when that was. Fall break was this weekend, which was good. That's a long and involved lazy story that I don't feel like typing up right now.
I did go to the Highland Games at Stone Mountain this weekend, though, so I've felt in touch with my roots for the past few days. I invested in some Scottish paraphrenalia, mostly for the clan my grandmother is descended from because I liked their crest best. So when you see someone walking around Rhodes in a tartan tam, you'll know it's me.
Anyway, I need to unpack and see what's smelling so bad in the fridge. Good luck to everyone on recovering their posts and such, and good luck to Pitas as far as getting things working again. Cheers.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, October 21, 2003 07:04 p.m.
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Batman returns!
And by "Batman," I mean me, and by "returns," I mean in reference to, "the internet."
Apparently the helpdesk flunkie I spoke to last week forgot to submit my ticket, so they had no idea I was languishing in prehistoric internetless darkness here.
Human error is human error, but this is the INTERNET. You don't fuck around with someone's connection. It's like starving a monkey and then expecting it to dance to cheesy calliope music. It's not going to dance. It's going to start chewing on your vital parts with its little pointy monkey-teeth.
You have my utmost sympathies. I couldn't survive a week without my connection without getting inordinately cranky. You're a stronger person than I am.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, October 7, 2003 03:01 p.m.
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Silly English kniggits!
This makes me laugh.
You are the French Guard.
Slightly off, living in an area you really don't belong in, you lie and taunt those around you. From all the cruel memories of your childhood, you decide to take revenge on cute furry farm animals. They make good cannonballs. Ppffftt!
What Monty Python Holy Grail Quest Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
I am about to go raise some hell with the ITS helpdesk. Wish me luck.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, October 7, 2003 12:18 p.m.
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Wai!
Currently munching on Pocky from the fantastic Catt and delivered intact by the postal service. Your character designs look wonderful! I can't wait to see the scans on your site.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Monday, October 6, 2003 01:38 p.m.
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Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder
Still no doctor for my poor computer. Paige's keyboard is gimp, and the E key is stiff so I never press it all the way. I don't want to know why it's like that.
Ne, Catt, I'm glad Angel's Gate is back up and functioning. I'm even more glad that you're planning on a mad update spree, and even further glad that I have Pocky coming from you.
It makes me laugh that your brother has the typical theatre major's taste in alcohol. And tell him absinthe is BAD. Just say no. If you need a reason, I can gather several testimonials from my fellow theatre majors here at Rhodes who would be more than happy to expound on how terrible their absinthe experience was.
Had a very strange dream between hammerings of the snooze button...I'm not sure if I remember it correctly, but it involved Greek deities in modern clothing...well, in Aphrodite's case it wasn't much clothing at all...and I'm quite sure I remember seeing someone who could have been a werewolf. Hmmmmmm. Looks like I need to draw bits of this out on paper.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Monday, October 6, 2003 10:03 a.m.
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Peter the Great should have been a pirate.
I have done absolutely nothing this weekend, and you know what? It feels absolutely wonderful. No major papers or tests this coming week, my reading for the next two days is already complete...after rehearsal this morning I came home, cleaned the living room, made cinnamon toast, and watched a History channel special on Russia.
I am the consummate dork.
Time soon for a new layout...I'm thinking something Beatle-centric, since fall always makes me think of George.
Time for food, and to let Paige have her computer back. Stupid virus, eat my shorts.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Sunday, October 5, 2003 06:34 p.m.
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Argh. And also, argh.
Haven't posted in a few days due to the fact that my internet and e-mail stopped working suddenly two days ago...and I only this morning discovered a trojan horse had been the culprit. Now I have to get ITS to turn my port back on.
Also, this has been the week from hell. Two papers, a major test, tons of reading, HORSE HEADS, rehearsals, no internet, no sleep, no clean socks because there's not free time, everybody getting ancy and catty because doing two shows at once was a stupid fucking idea, and the faculty breathing down my neck because I don't have all the horse heads done yet. So they need two more. This show opens in a MONTH. You will have all five of your goddamned horse heads.
On the bright side, the Coke machine in East Village gave me the drink appropriate to the button I pushed (which is rare), and there was mint chocolate chip ice cream at the Rat today. So maybe things are looking up...I hope so, I have tons to do this weekend and I can't handle it all sucking royally.
And I think I did well on my work this week, too...even if I had to fight the urge to slip into Joyce's version of stream-of-consciousness while writing a paper on Dubliners. And though I might have blanked on a couple questions dealing with our education textbook, I nailed the legislation we had to know. This is because I memorized them...all of them...at about four in the morning the night before. If you asked me to recite them now, I would fail miserably.
I love you and you Pocky is greatly appreciated, no matter what state it arrives in.
Class. Argh.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, October 3, 2003 01:26 p.m.
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Hear Me Lord
John came by to fix the idiocy that is Norton Corporate Edition...this problem that I've had since last year, that everyone was telling me involved dissection and prayer and the grace of Bill Gates, took all of two minutes to fix. D'oh. And now my room smells like boy.
Something about this weather has made me go out and buy the 30th anniversary remastered edition of George Harrison's All Things Must Pass. Despite the creepy little garden gnomes on the cover, I'm glad I did. This is perfect driving music for when it's crisp outside.
There's something else about Fall, too, that brings nostalgia. Probably because the season always makes me think of all the shit Michelle and I ended up getting into at Darlington during the fall...sneaking onto the football field on dark nights, rolling in the leaves on the chapel lawn, driving entirely too fast around Horseleg Creek and Black's Bluff just because we could. It makes me think of Morgan Sisley, too, and how fascinated she was when the first frost came. The novelty of crunchy white grass never wore off for her.
Maybe it's because of Laramie that I'm thinking about her so much lately. That's the only thing I've had in my life that might come remotely close to what the people interviewed in Laramie have gone through. It wasn't a hate crime in any way, but it was a death that was wrong. It's the kind of thing that would inspire plagues in Greek tragedy. Thinking about her, and about her mom, and what her mom went through and all of our reactions to it...and how fucking hard it was to drive on the highway next to trucks without thinking of the gory details of what happened to her...and how hard it was just be able to sign my name at the end of the letters I'd write to her mom because I didn't want to upset her.
And that one line in Laramie, where Rulon Stacey has to read that statement given by Judy Shepard, and Rulon says, "And I thought about...you, know, 'go home and hug your kids.' And...oh, she doesn't have her kid anymore.'" That line gets me every time, because that's exactly the way I felt when I gave Mom a hug after she told me what had happened to Sisley. And afterward, Michelle was so upset, and I was too, but I didn't feel I had the right to feel that shitty, like I wasn't as close to Sisley as Michelle had been. That's the way Zubaida Ula feels about attending the candle vigil for Matthew. And I can relate to that, I really can.
So in a way this play is so much more of a challenge for us because not only do we have to face the part of ourselves that could fathom doing what Henderson and McKinney did, we have to face the part of ourselves that understands the consequences we've seen played out in our own lives, and how hard it is to heal. I don't know if anyone else in the cast has had a similar experience, but I think it's fairly easy to tell who has had nothing to relate to this...or is too afraid to try it.
It's a gorgeous day outside, and I have errands to run. Time to roll the windows down.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, September 30, 2003 03:11 p.m.
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The mind recoils in horror...
Ever have a pretty hot dream about someone you'd never be caught dead thinking those things about in real life?
Yeah.
I don't know how I feel about this...must be the stress. Or I could get analytical and blame it on the fact that the last guy I was interested in was pretty much the exact opposite of this particular person...eeeurgh.
It's the stress, it's the stress... XD
Morgan crashed the officers' club Monday, September 29, 2003 09:10 a.m.
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The dilemma that is a lucid imagination...
So I've accomplished nothing this weekend. Not good. The only thing I did manage to do was watch the first X-Men movie again this morning while we were all attempting to function properly. And then this happened...
Me: That was fun. I need to look up Hugh Jackman eye candy later...but now I have soooooo much work to do...
Inner Tom: 'Ello, Love.
Me: NOT NOW. Go away.
Inner Tom: I've decided I'm not mad at you for ignoring me anymore. On the contrary, I think I need to encourage this fascination your currently have with that eyeliner-wearing swish.
Me: *suspicious glare* You mean Jack?
Inner Tom: Of course! In fact, I thought I'd help you along a bit by suggesting you draw a little something...
Me: NO. Don't you dare.
Inner Tom: ...that involves both your swashbuckling pansy and your feral little superhero. Wouldn't that just be too pretty to stand?
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I'm going to kill you off now, you realize that?
Inner Tom: *shrug* Just something to think about, Love.
Me: I hate you.
Inner Tom: Bwahahahahaha.
I'm not talking crossover here, in any sense...well, maybe in the sense of, "Gee, I've been working on a pic of a young Jack Sparrow, and now I have to work in Hugh Jackman somehow, just for the sake of aesthetics."
Christ, I'm never going to get anything done.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Sunday, September 28, 2003 05:37 p.m.
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Don't you wish there were ellipses there? I know I do.
Subject of this entry brought to you by Professor Shaffer, whom I have for 20th century Brit lit this semester. I love this man.
I feel like total butt, as Helen would put it. My head started hurting like a bitch earlier this afternoon, so I've been popping various painkillers in an attempt to stop it. When they didn't work, I decided perhaps it was allergies, so I took some Benadryl sinus headache cocktail or another.
Suffice it to say that I should know by now that Benadryl makes me act like Hunter S. Thompson of Fear and Loathing fame. The last time I took Benadryl was my freshman year of high school, and I was muttering about the color orange and how I didn't care if he was wearing a, "goddamned pink bunny suit"...and no, I don't know to whom I was referring or why it mattered what he was wearing.
So. It is taking a concerted effort to type, spell, and form sentences correctly.
To answer your question about Cookie, Catt, she's still here. She was just under the weather this week, so I desperately need to discuss some costume issues with her. The whole e-mail thing has blown over, but not without some heated discussions between all of us. No harm done, and I'm staring at copper tubing right now wondering if I should take advantage of my drugged state and work of the masks now. They would certainly be avant garde.
On a final note, the Donnellys sent me a care package. John has worked on several plays with us and has difficulty remembering his lines, so when I assitant directed Cuckoo's Nest, I would e-mail him pointers on how to think logically about what you're saying in hopes of remembering it easier. Apparently it helped more than I realized, because he and his wife sent me a box of food and one of the Mexican blankets she makes for everybody they know. I'm snuggled down eating a Kit-Kat right now, watching the pretty colors.
I should be doing work. Blargh.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, September 26, 2003 09:07 p.m.
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Still Addicted to Love
Robert Palmer died this morning. My little 80s-lovin' heart weeps for him. Who's going to make GQ videos now wearing skinny ties with miniskirted backup singers in glossy makeup?
Oh, right. The art of the music video is suffering from elephantitis. I forgot.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, September 26, 2003 10:20 a.m.
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Helen can't drink Beefeater, she's a vegetarian.
I really don't know what to say about the past few days, other than they've been hectic as all hell. There was a little commotion created when Ms. Laura for a number of reasons sent out a group e-mail to the crews involved in the productions this semester expressing concern over the progress of the costumes. This didn't go over well, because a) she might be the Theatre Director, but she's not head of the costume shop, and b) if you have a problem, don't send out a fucking group e-mail. Just because the work is not going on right under your nose does not mean it's not getting done.
I was pretty pissed for a bit, but then I went in and rather than telling her as much, I dumped all the research, sketches, mock-ups, and measurements I had on the greenroom table. It was fairly satisfying.
Besides that, the only thing has been Anders issues in rehearsals again...not that it's surprising. That he's missing rehearsals for Kyle and showing disrespect by talking and acting up during rehearsals and notes is nothing new, but I can guarantee you he doesn't do that with Cookie. So we're ignoring it/him. It's hard to do because he's so damn funny, but if he doesn't get a reaction, he won't do it anymore...little idiot. And Kyle's handling it so well, mostly because this show is going to be fucking GOOD and we all know it. He has nothing to lose.
Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ, I have a lot of work to do. But Friday night is MINE. I'm crashing that night. Saturday I have rehearsals and shit, but NOTHING is getting in the way of my Cheap Wine, Cheap Date with Depp via DVD night. NOTHING.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Thursday, September 25, 2003 11:33 p.m.
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HTML from scratch is a BITCH.
Now I remember why I didn't have thumbnails in the gallery.
They're a fucking pain in the arse to write HTML for.
But they're there, now. That's right, kids, the gallery has been redone. Not everything is up yet, namely the fiction, which I'm posting there in addition to its home on FF.net.
But it's there. And so are a couple new oekakis, and the layout image that I slaved over for hours to get the purple shadows just damned right.
My God, I need to do real work. And sleep. That would be nice, too.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Wednesday, September 24, 2003 12:03 a.m.
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Dear Jesus God
Horse masks, horse masks, horse masks. Aaaaaah.
Expect a more detailed rant/vent/panic attack later, when I'm not up to my eyeballs in copper wire and suede.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Monday, September 22, 2003 11:02 a.m.
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Avast!
Arr, 'tis Talk Like a Pirate Day, mateys. I keep running into occasional pirates on campus, costumes and all. I'm dressed up, as well (I'll post a photo shortly)...some idiot was like, "It's TALK like a pirate day, not DRESS like one." I said, "Arr, it's the Fourth of July, not explode shit in the sky day, but that doesn't stop anybody, does it?" He shut up. I rejoiced.
Overhauling the gallery still. It should be posted sometime this weekend.
We're up to inopportune and false fire alarm number seven here in East Village building A...I'm getting royally irritated.
Off to read Joyce. Arrrr.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, September 19, 2003 01:13 p.m.
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Inquiring minds
This is something my room mates and I have discussed on a couple of occasions...who reads your blog? You, personally. Mostly web people? E-mail buddies? Friends you have known from real life with whom you keep in touch? Friends you see every day?
I just think it's interesting to see what kind of an audience we all write to.
As I have said on my away message, it smells like Fall here. It is glorious, indeed.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Wednesday, September 17, 2003 05:41 p.m.
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Yikes.
I repeat, yikes. I don't think I've ever met a Wal-Mart associate and thought, "Gee, I wish they'd pose nude." Eeeeurgh.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, September 16, 2003 11:32 a.m.
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I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Nothing much to say...just felt like updating.
Kudos to Catt for her visit to the GC oekaki. And the idea that my subconscious is in fact my Inner Tom Riddle is somewhat thrilling.
IT: Feed me babies.
Me: You don't eat babies. You kill Muggles.
IT: Oh. Right.
Anyway, I am indeed working on a new look for the gallery. Seeing as I haven't done any Bebop art in over six months, I should probably remove Spike from the title graphic.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Sunday, September 14, 2003 02:39 p.m.
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Multi-colored mirrors on his hobnail boots
Sizeable update...three new oekaki in the gallery. I have GOT to rework that thing...the big-ass list of HP oekaki is driving me nuts in its asymmetry.
Also, Paige made eggplant parmesan tonight for dinner to commemorate her one-year anniversary as a vegetarian. It was outstanding...I'd never had it before and it was amazing. I still like my meat, though.
It's margarita night here in the apartment, and we're all sitting down to watch the VH1 Storytellers with Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. The world lost a great man today.
Hannah tried drinking tequila today, decided it was nasty, and then came to the conclusion that it's better with sugar. She didn't believe me when I said salt was better.
I received three compliments today. The first two were rare in that Kyle and Matt said I looked nice today...Kyle notices these things occasionally, but Matt? Never. That was the first time he's ever told me I looked either nice or like shit. The third was from Travis, and I write a direct transcription below:
Travis: Man, you're so Beat when you smoke.
Me: What does that mean?
Travis: I mean I could totally see you smoking with Jack Kerouac.
Me: Oh. Thanks.
Ben: Because it's not like Kerouac smoked or anything.
Travis: Yes, he did.
Ben: Sit your musical snob ass down, boy, I was kidding.
Travis: Oh. Right.
Anyway, that's about it. It feels like it should be much, much later than it actually is, perhaps because I didn't sleep much last night. I think I'll go party a little more with the Future Betty Ford Patients of America before I hit the sack.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, September 12, 2003 09:25 p.m.
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Plato needs some lovin'.
Either that, or I want to lock him in a room with Bruce Banner.
Plato: Emotion is weak!
Bruce: You wouldn't like me when I'm angry, you ignorant slut.
By the way, the "ignorant slut" bit is what Ms. Laura thinks of Plato. I love having a theatrical theory class with her...she doesn't mince words.
In response to your pledge comments, Twig, I remember rote bleating, as well. What was worse was the national anthem...for some reason the school thought it might get in touch with its elementary-age students and their trends, so "The Star-Spangled Banner" as sung by Whitney Houston at some sporting event or another came over the intercom every morning at 7:45. That woke our asses up for penmanship.
Badger, badger, badger...dear Lord, make it stop. Paige has GOT to tire of this at some point in the near future.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, September 9, 2003 11:40 a.m.
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Badger, badger, badger...mushroom.
I have a couple more oekaki to post, but I don't feel like dealing with FTP right now.
The apartment is ridiculously clean. It was either that or deal with leftovers in the fridge that were this short of sentient.
I've been useless this weekend. Costume designs? Nah. Homework? Rather than reading "Heart of Darkness," I figured I'd watch Apocalypse Now. That's such a damn cool movie...follow that up with Se7en and you get my brain in serial killer megalomaniac mode. I want to write Voldemort in his prime, and if I could have Martin Sheen meet him, that would make my millenium.
Speaking of Vols, Catt, I got your IM. I cherish your feedback.
Right. Since I obviously have nothing of real importance to say tonight, I'll leave you all with this lovely piece of animation...and no, there's nothing else to it. That's it. Thanks go to Paige for finding this and playing it incessantly for the last three days. -_-;;
Morgan crashed the officers' club Sunday, September 7, 2003 11:00 p.m.
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Don't know much trigonometry
First astronomy lab was tonight...Jesus God, it's a good thing I never have to take the SAT again. I'd just commit seppuku over the math section and write my suicide note in blood on the scantron. I've forgotten more algebra than I ever thought I knew at any given point.
First Laramie rehearsal was outstanding. This is going to fucking rock.
We had another charming apartment moment this afternoon. The four of us were talking about a mutual friend who had his first homosexual experience this summer, and whom we secretly think has a crush on Helen's boyfriend.
Paige: He's always said he'd 'go gay' for Ben.
Helen: What?! That's my boyfriend! When did he tell you this?!
Paige: It was pillowtalk. He told me all about how being on bottom with a man has made him a better lover for girls...which is pretty much bullshit.
Hannah: Yeah, man. That's the way to a woman's heart, is through another man's ass.
I have also just checked some away messages, and have been unduly creeped out by Stout's: "Makin luv, Drinkin brews,
Smokin nugs & Singin the blues! [smileyface with sunglasses]thats for you McCrary!"
Man, I need a bodyguard and/or significant other. First, I need a beer.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Thursday, September 4, 2003 11:31 p.m.
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He's also not really a doctor...
As promised, a very small bit of Gilgamesh. I'm down to writing the silly plot-advancing connective tissue now to fill gaps between melodramatic angsty scenes between Tom and Harry. It's significantly harder to write plot than smut.
I currently have the dilemma of needing to do homework, but being just tired enough that doing any of it will put me out like a light. Or like a boner in sweatpants, as Jonathan used to say, but light is such a nicer simile.
So instead of homework, it's time to don the hat and dance around to Sinatra.
Room mate quote of the evening: "So I was thinking, 'You've both seen me naked...and I find both of you repulsive.' It was a little awkward. Okay, it was a lot awkward."
Morgan crashed the officers' club Wednesday, September 3, 2003 11:19 p.m.
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On the cover of the Roll-ing Stone...
My Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show CD, for which I paid a grand total of four dollars, is broken. So is my heart.
Travis and I entered the Lennon vs. McCartney argument yesterday. This has the potential to last months and be very ugly.
Speaking of Paul (and I'm assuming you know the rumor that he's dead and has been so since about 1966), this is the first evidence I've ever seen that actaully made me stop and go, "hmm." This boy has entirely too much time on his hands.
I have to present my preliminary research on the Equus costumes today. I need to organize this stuff so I'm not dragging out huge primitive art journals with magazine subscription cards marking my place.
We have new drills. Hell, I'm excited. They have a little magnet to hold a handful of screws while you work. That's just nifty.
Proofing a Gilgamesh snippet between classes today...will be posted sometime before tomorrow.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Wednesday, September 3, 2003 10:10 a.m.
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A shady lane...everybody wants one.
Dear Lord, I've had that song stuck in my head for three days now, thanks to Helen's boyfriend. Curse you, Ben Tanner, curse you.
I am (un)officially part of the Laramie cast. I say "un" because the cast list won't be posted until tomorrow, but Kyle told us after callbacks that we were essentially the cast, minus a few minor parts that had already been filled. This is going to be one interesting ride.
This weekend has been...bizarre. Willett had a friend from home in town (he's from Oklahoma and his name is Tim Ward...he even LOOKED like Michelle...I have to investigate this). Unfortunately, this meant Friday night was, for Tim, spent in our apartment while Willett was drunk out of his mind for twelve straight hours. I felt sorry for him, so I talked to him for quite a while. Nice kid. Then I snuck out to check the Laramie callback list and find my way over to Sandi and Katie's, where I was for most of the night. It's so nice to be living in the same building as most of my friends.
I am inordinately irritated with Alexi. Bah.
I need to drag my butt to the library to do some research for Equus. Glad to hear everyone is settled in, if not wired, and good luck to all on their classes.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Monday, September 1, 2003 10:34 a.m.
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Doodles and heavy theatrical theory
Two new oekaki up in the gallery.
The first night of auditions for Laramie Project was tonight...man, this is going to be gut-wrenching. We played a few games when we first began, mostly to warm us up and break the ice. Then Kyle sat us down and read us an exerpt from a book he'd read on hate crime, about the man who was dragged behind a truck in Texas for nearly four miles.
That settled us down right quick. And for the rest of the audition, I kept thinking about how horrific these things are that have been done to these people...and it's hard to imagine it. I can imagine what they look like, what physically happens, how they died, all that...what I can't imagine is why someone would do that to another human being. How someone could hate that much. How someone could override that instinct that keeps violence in thoughts and out of actions.
I understand killing in defense. I understand killing in war, where it's removed and objective and done with machines and guns and explosives. I cannot understand attacking someone with your bare hands and torturing them to death because they looked at you the wrong way.
To do these people justice, we're going to have to dig around in some very messy things. We have to try to understand how this happens, and why. We can't glorify the villains, but we can't glorify the victims, either. We have to find something painful of ours to which we can relate their pain. We're going to have to get up on that stage and fucking bleed.
And we wouldn't have it any other way.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Wednesday, August 27, 2003 09:17 p.m.
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Back on the chain gang (oogh...ugh)
Despite the fact that it is the title of this post, I never really liked the Pretenders song. Ah, well.
I'm sticking to the bare facts with this post, since so much has been going on here lately. All my roomies are settled in and classes start tomorrow (joy).
The Ostranders (the awards given by the Memphis Area Arts Council for local professional and college theatre) were Sunday. Rhodes went as a herd...we stood in the corner, most of us with a drink, and were loud and overly-excited whenever one of our nominees was announced. We were insane whenever we won and award. The opera took home two awards, and Hamlet took six (lighting, choreography, supporting actor, lead actor, director, and best dramatic production). We went nuts.
Kyle and Matt also surprised us with the fact that Jonathan was in town for the weekend, which made me very happy. I miss the pretentious bastard.
The last two days have been occupied by cleaning out the theatre. Jesus God, I wish I knew what idiots came in and trashed the place. It's probably from the retirement party that was thrown in there without Ms. Laura's knowledge. The tool room was a mess, gels were on the floor, we can't find ANY of our drill chargers or wrenches to take down the lighting instruments, the booth was a mess, and there was a Starbucks cup left in the dressing room that could have walked out on its own.
It's SPOTLESS now. We even cleaned out the annex in the back. I re-sorted all the gels into their appropriate folders with Caleb's help. That was hilarious, because he had finished his job in the annex and wanted something to do, but he was convinced he couldn't help me because he's colorblind. He was overjoyed when he realized that they're all numbered, so he could help.
The weather here is ridiculous. I'm not kidding about trying to find an internship in the Pacific Northwest next summer.
Anyway, that's life right now. Gilgamesh has been on the back burner because of all of this, and it's probably going to stay that way with classes starting and SIX DAYS OF AUDITIONS coming up...ergh. But I can get through it all with the help of Paige's Super Nintendo...I was Nintendo-deprived as a child, though I made up for it with all the damn computer games I played. Having one of these in the apartment is sooooo not a good idea...
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, August 26, 2003 04:15 p.m.
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Anticlimactic...what?
You mean I was all prepared to go on my soapbox for a car ad?!
I feel cheated.
Anyway, good luck with the move-in, and here's to hoping you get Clef prepared for his quest to join the school network.
Speaking of networks, is there a reason computer viruses aren't considered a form of terrorism? Like techno-bioterrorism or something like that? The school had the things under (relative) control...and then the freshmen came. They descended from eleven countries and twenty-nine states, bringing with them computers sadly unequipped to work with the network. And there was much weeping and wailing and pulling of hair by the returning students bombarded by e-mails, and the IT reps did beat their chests.
...or something like that. Seriously, though, whoever made these damn things? I appreciate the fact that you're making a "point", that you're trying not to let "the man" get you down, but please...this is about as everyman-friendly as Stalin.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Saturday, August 23, 2003 03:13 p.m.
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It's raining in Baltimore fifteen miles east
You know I've started spending too much time in the shop at the theatre when I turn out more screws from my pockets than any other object.
I am officially doing the costumes for Equus. I couldn't be happier if I had a monkey smeared with peanut butter.
I don't know what that meant, in case anyone is wondering.
I also don't know about smarter, Thorne. For my part it's merely my super-powered-up-mega-dork mode manifesting itself online for once. This happens occasionally, mostly when I don't have a class in which to turn intellectual snob.
And as for you, I'm trying, I'm trying! ^_^
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, August 22, 2003 05:03 p.m.
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We can't stop here! It's bat country!
Watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas again last night. Call me Captain Obvious, but after having taken some acting classes dealing with character movement and where it comes from and how to keep it real and consistent...Depp is bloody brilliant. I will be an awed puddle of goo if he accepts the part of Willy Wonka.
Also, there's a new oekaki in the gallery...a little Jack Sparrow to test the waters in the Conjunction's new oekaki board.
On the Gilgamesh front, Harry just met the basilisk. Not sure if I like it and/or will keep it in there (might be too cheesy), but we'll see.
Basilisk: Hello. Horrid weather we're having, eh?
Harry: [eyes squeezed shut] Don'tkillmedon'tkillme...
Basilisk: How rude.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, August 22, 2003 10:12 a.m.
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I'll stop after this...no, really.
Despite having said in a previous post that I wouldn't get caught up in details...but I'm in research mode for set design already, and this was just too cool not to look up.
I found this statement in the HP Lexicon:
JKR made this comment during the Jeremy Paxman interview on the BBC, Thursday night, June 19, 2003, while looking at some of her notes on the books: "...here is the history of the Death Eaters and I don't know that I'll ever actually need it - but at some point - which were once called something different - they were called the Knights of Walpurgis. I don't know if I'll need it. But I like knowing it. I like to keep that sort of stuff on hand."
Of course, I wondered what the hell the "Knights of Walpurgis" were...some digging around online told me it's one of those plays on words of which JKR is so fond. Walpurgis Night is celebrated on 30 April, the night before May Day. It's a pagan sabbat that was the night witches supposedly flew, but was re-shaped by Christianity (go figure) and named a holiday in honor of St. Walpuga, who did something of so-so importance. It's mentioned in Faust. Think Halloween but without the whole costumes thing...I think people mostly sprinkled grain or sand in their doorways to stop the witches from entering their homes.
It's also, interestingly enough, celebrated mostly in Germany. Know what else happened in Germany on 30 April? Hitler committed suicide in 1945. Yeah, it's a stretch of a connection, but I thought it interesting that the dates matched. There has been quite a bit of speculation about the similarities between Voldemort and his followers and Hitler's Third Reich...obsession with pure blood, blame of misfortune on those who don't fit that category, and an elite group of trusted followers such as the SS or the Death Eaters.
So of course I started wondering about the similarities between the two. Apparently the SS (schutzstaffel, literally "protection relay") had three divisions or so. The most elite of these was the Totenkompfverbande, which oversaw the concentration camps and the elimination of Jewish enemies.
Totenkompfverbande happens to translate to, "death's head federation." The emblem they wore on their uniforms? A skull.
Too smooth, JKR.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Thursday, August 21, 2003 12:04 a.m.
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And so it begins...
Was up until 4ish this morning working on the set for Real Rhodes. It's incredibly funny to watch a group of pseudo-OCD perfectionists working on a set for a fucking orientation skit, trying desperately not to care that the couches aren't symmetrical. Hey, I can't say anything, I painted a backdrop for the "newsroom"...you know, one of those hideous cityscapes that every newsroom has? It's mostly black with just lights showing, like the bridge over the MIssissippi, the pyramid, and some signs from Beale St. It turned out pretty damn cool, but it took FOREVER to dry because I painted it a la Jackson Polluck...fun with spatter.
I then came home, laid in bed for almost two hours unable to sleep, then had to get up again 10:00 meeting with my advisor. The only thing that made getting out of bed worthwhile were some kind words of encouragement from you and the beautiful phrase, "Taste the power of my cheekbones."
Tom: I can't help it if I'm a stud. *wink*
Morgan crashed the officers' club Wednesday, August 20, 2003 01:50 p.m.
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Woes of the writer...
Nothing particularly big to announce or post...this is mostly just a post for me to figure out my current writer's block on Gilgamesh. I know WHY I've been having problems with it. I'm back at school which means less time to write despite the fact that classes haven't started yet. That, and I'm doing what I always do.
I think too much. I get caught up in logistics and details and I lose the momentum I've gained from writing the stuff that doesn't require all that double-checking. And then, because I'm in Logical!Morgan-mode, when I try to write the emotional scenes, they feel campy and melodramatic.
So, I've decided to cut down on the amount of detail I can get caught up in...meaning I'm trimming the timeframe to half. Yes, you read that right, half. I was trying to build in enough time for the relationship between Tom and Harry to build realistically, but shit...if Romeo and Juliet can meet, fall in love, start a gang war, and die in the course of a week, Tom and Harry can work their shit out by January or so. That, and for some odd reason, I want one particular scene near the end to be in snow. This I attribute to having watched the Kenshin OVA again...damn, that's beautiful stuff.
I'm thinking I can keep the references that ground the action in the WWII time period to newpapers and propaganda posters like the ones I discussed in jest with you. Screw developing the "bad guy," the biggest bad guy Harry has to face is his hesitation to just give in and make mad, passionate love to Tom.
And so I'll leave you with that visual...and a lovely one it is...to go attempt to churn out enough of this thing to post.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, August 19, 2003 10:53 p.m.
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Shoo, lawd. I got de western nile.
I am having issues with flying critters. My feet have once again been eaten up by mosquitoes, this time in the theatre during Real Rhodes rehearsals. Little bastards. I also have one on my wrist, so when I scratch it I look like I'm contemplating suicide or something. To the contrary...I'm contemplating purchasing a can of Raid and going berserk on those motherfuckers.
In addition to this, there are fruitflies in our apartment. From what Hannah tells me they appeared when one of their summer room mates refused to take out the trash in her room, and they've been hovering around to some degree ever since. I've killed six while typing this.
I have the sudden urge to wash my hands and keyboard.
On a less parasitic note, books for this semester aren't going to be too terribly bad...and it was so nice to be able to wander through the bookstore without tripping over confused freshmen.
Time to go paint the set. Hooray for fumes.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Tuesday, August 19, 2003 11:53 a.m.
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Essay on that Stupid Thrice-Damned Veil
If you haven't read Order of the Phoenix, don't read this entry. It won't make sense and it will spoil your dinner. Shame on you.
I was putting my books away when I thought again about what I mentioned to you about the last battle in OotP...my questions about that idiot veil. So, I sat down and re-read that section. This is what I found:
- Neville is just too damn cool for his own good.
- There appears to be two types of curses used in the battle between the D.A. and the Death Eaters: Avada Kedavra, which makes green light, and others like Stupefy, which make red light and are not fatal.
- Anytime the killing curse is used, the words are at least partially written.
- The adults, at least, seem to know what the hell that veil is.
All this leads me to think it was the veil, not Bella's curse, that was the "end" of Sirius. The text specifically says Sirius ducks a red jet of light cast by her, but, "the second jet of light hit him squarely in the chest." It doesn't say what color. The syntax would make one think it was red, as well.
Which means it is NOT Avada Kedavra. I doubt there's another fatal spell like that one; it's called THE killing curse, and it's the only one of the three Unforgiveables that's immediately fatal. I'm sure Cruciatus could kill, but not instantaneously like that.
Why doesn't Bella use the killing curse when other Death Eaters seem to? My only guess is that she seems to like to...play with her victims. Charming lady. In any case, both she and Lupin immediately react as if Sirius has died ("Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream,"..."There's nothing you can do, Harry...nothing...he's gone.").
The evidence seems to cement the theory that the veil is a gateway between two worlds, between life and death. It's a one-way path, which is supported by what Nick tells Harry about only coming back as a ghost if you're afraid of death or something similar. Sirius never had the chance to hesitate at the threshold, he just went.
Unless, of course, the adults don't know as much about the veil as they seem to, and what really killed Sirius was the power of suggestion. We think Sirius is dead because JKR was quite vocal about a character kicking the bucket in book five. Is this a twist in which Sirius might come back? Am I just deluding myself? Probably. But I still think the whole thing stinks of either errors (which JKR is known to have made in the HP books) or a plot twist that will beat us over the head in book six.
Dear God, don't make us wait very long.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Sunday, August 17, 2003 10:03 p.m.
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Stuff...and also stuff.
I understand exactly what you're saying about the pre-maid OCD, Danielle. I'm here in the apartment, and housekeeping is supposedly coming at some point to get the rooms ready for the folks who haven't arrived yet, and I contemplated cleaning before they came Monday because it was just grungy. Then I came to my senses, moved the still-packed boxes from the hall into the living room, and hung a pine tree air freshener in the bathroom. My work here is done.
There's apparently a SUPER K-mart here of which I was previously ignorant. I have this weird prejudice against Wal-Mart...probably because I always end up with a facial twitch of some sort by the time I negotiate the store. That, and K-mart got me through high school. So when I found this one, I was inordinately excited...then proceeded to spend entirely too much money on stuff because it's the first time I've ever bought groceries for MY kitchen.
I mean, I bought meat. It's mine. Really mine, because I'm living with two vegetarians of the only fish-eating degree (lacto-ovo-tuna salado-what have you) and one who doesn't eat red meat. So that steak is bloody well mine, savvy?
Oh. Speaking of savvy...and I'm not going into detail on this one...it is infinitely easier to imitate Jack Sparrow when inebriated. Go figure. I mean, the hand motions even came easier. And when I got up this morning it felt awkward not to be swaying like I had no bones in my body.
Inner Jack: 'ello, love, miss me?
Inner Tom: Can't say I did. You're depriving me of my angst. She can't write my depression when she's thinking about yours.
Inner Jack: Oh, no worries. I've got enough angst just reading the Pirates section on FF.net.
Arrrr, indeed. Anyway, I've got to go finish scrubbing my shower because it's practically sentient.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Saturday, August 16, 2003 10:55 p.m.
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There's no earthly way of knowing...
Heard a rumor yesterday that someone's thinking of doing a remake of Willy Wonka...with Johnny Depp in the title role.
[insert fit of overly excited bouncing here]
That would create a passtime to a new generation of stoners everywhere. Beautiful.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Saturday, August 16, 2003 09:52 a.m.
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The more, the merrier this hell.
All moved into the apartment...well, my stuff's in the door, anyway. It's getting put away little by little, and I refuse to deal with the kitchen right now. *shudder*
And it is so nice to be just a stone's throw away from the theatre. I rolled out of bed this morning and staggered to the orientation meeting faster than you can say, "lazy half-dressed bum."
News on the Gilgamesh front is...interesting. I've been writing mostly the connections between the larger Tom and Harry chunks. This involves a little more research into what exactly was going on in Britain circa 1942...which led to the discovery of a lesser-known contributor to the deception bit of WWII. Apparently this guy, Jasper Maskelyne, was a popular stage magician whose family was mostly royally-sponsored magicians going back to an astronomer in some century in the teens. The British Secret Service recruited him to pull all these stunts to confuse the Axis...he made the Suez Canal "disappear," among other things. The full bio is here.
My point is that I have found a real, live instance of wizardry in WWII. He even has a cool name. I'd be nuts not to use this. Now, how to work him in without blowing what I've written to hell.
I need sleep like nobody's business. Gilgamesh must wait for the sake of my sanity.
Morgan crashed the officers' club Friday, August 15, 2003 12:39 a.m.
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It's silent at the Cotton Club tonight...
Gregory Hines died. That makes me want to go rent his performances and watch them all in a popcorn-fueled vigil. He was one of the last great Renaissance men of the stage, a dancer, singer, actor and an amazing personality. He was Fred Astaire with soul.
Anyway, thought I might change the layout so Danielle can read ALL of the entries, not just what fits in the first pane of the window. That, and I'm pissed that FX isn't showing M*A*S*H in the a.m. anymore. This won't matter once the Season 5 DVD is released...then I can see Winchester anytime I damn well please.
Leaving for Memphis sometime tomorrow...probably won't be back online until Wednesday night when I manage to get things set up and working in the apartment (wheeee!).
Morgan crashed the officers' club Monday, August 11, 2003 08:49 a.m.
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