Father Time

First off, I'd like to let you all know that I lied to you. I am not going to talk about ancient Chinese religon today. So there. Got that out of your system? Good.

 

I discovered this afternoon that my adjudicators copies for the Programme Class are due in tomorrow. A brief moment of panic ensued, but it is now in the post. Phewf. Mathew has my syllabus (grr) otherwise I would've checked up on the exact date sooner, but I thought it was a bit furthur away. I probably looked at it and thought June 1st. Ah, that's ages away. No worries. The only problem being that 'ages away' becomes 'tomorrow' remarkably quickly and often without warning. I'm missing Outlook.

 

Shakespeare's Macbeth said "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day / To the last syllable of recorded time; / And all our yesterdays have lighted fools / The way to dusty death."

Macbeth obviously didn't think that time was flying by him, but the sense he gives is of the sheer inexorable weight of time - and that though time changes us all, fundamentally we're the same. Through our weaknesses, by our sins, we will continue 'light fools the way to dusty death'. Individuals shift, change, and are consumed by time, but humanity is strangely impervious to his influence. That's why those who theorised that, given this or that, humans would eventually become perfect unselfish angels, have been proven so dismally wrong. Give it time, they say, and the right circumstances, and it can happen. Ha. Stick that one on a Tui ad. You can have my beer, mate. Yeah right. They use exactly the same reasoning as Darwinian evolutionists. Time + chance = miracle! They misunderstand the function of time. It is not here to change the great things, but the small. Time will kill a pig, but will not transform it into a horse. Time will turn a mans hair white, but won't make him benevolent. It takes outside agents to do that.

In his own realm however, Time reigns supreme. Though men are even now finding ways twist, bend, and otherwise skew time, the Cold Regent merely smiles quietly. He may be manipulated now and again, but the last laugh is his. In the end he will have his due. Perhaps the coins that were once placed on the eyes of the dead to pay the Ferryman would've been put to better use if they'd been offered as a gesture: The windows are broken; the bird is fled. This is the price of Time.

Chinese Heaven

Tonight, I'm afraid, you'll not get the customary sermon and a half; I'm having a good friend from the States over to watch a movie, so I'm sorry people but my time is limited.

 

I did discover something fascinating today though: hundreds of years before the time of Christ, the Chinese largely adhered to a monotheistic religon which bears striking resemblance to the Judaism of the Old Testament. They worshipped 'Heaven', describing him as a personal, but incorporeal being. They attributed to him kindness, compassion, justice, and judgement. Sound familiar? The emperor moreover, was not considered a god (as was the norm in other cultures at the time) but 'The Son of Heaven': the one who would intercede for the people before Heaven. He served the roles of both high priest and king. And some emperors, when they felt that they had sinned against Heaven, resigned their post, and stepped down. Amazing stuff, eh?

But more on this in my next entry. In the meantime, you can all continue to squabble and bicker over whose head goes where.

Heads I Win . . .

I have to say that I'm most honoured by all the criticism and misinterpretation that my last post received. I've always said that you can't call a work 'great' unless it's been vilified and at least two or three heresies have sprouted from it. Now the entry wasn't 'great' and the comments and posts weren't 'heresy' (quite), but you get the idea.

 

On Saturday, while taking a lunch break from my cleaning job, I found an interesting fact among the books and magazines that cluttered the waiting room: Doctors/Scientists (I forget which) believe that they will very soon be able to perform head transplants. As in, someone donates their spare head to someone else who needs one. Or something. The general public response to the first successful head transplant, I'm sure, will be the predictable "My word, the marvels of science. What won't they think of next?" Or perhaps "You think they could put Spots head on my mother-in-law?" But what people won't tend to think of is the vexing identity crisis this could create. Up till now it's been fairly simple. John Smith needs a new liver, and Billy White has just died in a car crash (his drivers license indicates that he's willing to be an organ donor). They flip the liver out of Billy, slip it into John, the problem's solved, and everyone's happy (except maybe Billy, depending on his accommodation).

A head, however, is a slightly different thing. Let's imagine that John Smith was extremely careless and sustained a massive head injury, terminally damaging his brain, et cetera et cetera. Old method: he dies. Sad (perhaps) but inevitable. New method: Jimmy Young has just died in a car accident from major internal hemorrhaging, but the paramedics quickly decapitated him and his head has since been kept on ice (or however else they intend to preserve heads). John needs a new head, Jimmy has vacated his, the doctors stick Jimmys head on John, problem's solved, and everyone's happy. Almost. When 'the creature' wakes up, and bothers to ask one of lifes great questions 'Who am I?' (which he certainly would, if not at first then as soon as he's able to notice a few details), any doctor or psychologist in the world would have to pause for a second. Did John need a new head - or did Jimmy need a new body? It would be easy to say "Oh, Jimmy was dead, so we gave the head to John. This is John Smith." Not so fast. John may have been the one who needed the head - but now Jimmys personality, memories, and mental habits are sitting on top of Johns shoulders, while dear Johns personality, et cetera, is now in the ICU green bin. Who died? And who is it in the hospital bed currently recovering, if only the pesky reporters would leave him alone?

This situation is not only a nightmare for insurance companies, it's also a legal, ethical and theological conundrum. Jimmy was an American citizen - John was a Kiwi. John may lose his job, just because he had an operation. Discrimination? Jimmy was dead - is he now alive?

I don't have any answers. But I won't be clapping in glee like the Littlest Elf when they announce the worlds first head transplant. And I'm jolly well not going to put my head up for donation. I'll keep my head to myself, thank you.

Mars & Venus

So we finally packed Mom off this afternoon, after much coaxing of suitcases and fanangling between bags to get them to sneak in under the weight limits. She should now be in the air en route to the US of A.

It is perhaps of some interest to note that tonight we had fried eggs, fried potatoes, and fried rice for dinner. It's happening already. Not that I'm complaining; I enjoy that style of cooking. Okay, with some fresh stuff thrown in once in a while. Maybe even green coloured stuff. Hey, you've got to appease your conscience somehow.

Things always change a wee bit when Mom has gone and the family tips decidedly into the boys camp (3M vs. 1F). Talking of changes, has anyone else ever noticed that when you separate the sexes (ie groups of only guys, or only girls) for a substantial amount of time, things tend to take a turn for the worse? Now I've never been in an entirely female party (funny that) but from all reports I've heard it seems that those involved become catty and hypersensitive, escalating in time to actively malicious, and the group falls apart. On the other hand if you have a gang of all guys together long enough, hygiene, manners, and language generally slip into the toilet. But everyone's pretty happy about it. Now if you're of the fairer sex you're probably thinking How gross; I'm so glad I'm a woman. Believe me, we men are equally glad that we're guys. But neither scenario would create a very healthy social enviroment, would it? That's why I find the common trend of attempting to blur the line between male and female so absurd. It's the old "I'm as good as you are" syndrome that Lewis discusses so lucidly in 'Screwtape Proposes A Toast'. We have guys desperately trying to be emotionally vulnerable, and girls denying their God-given femininity. Of course you're as good as they are - but differently. Prunes are sweeter than carrots, and if you asked if I'd rather have a handful of prunes or a carrot, I'd pick the prunes straight away. But see how you go trying to eat just prunes for a day. Or two. I'm sure you can visualise.

You need both ends of the spectrum. Adam is our father. But thank God for Eve.

Big Orange

I don't know what I planted, but I seem to be reaping the whirlwind. Having got back into the country Tuesday evening, Mom is shooting off over the seas once more. The plane leaves (hopefully with her on board) tomorrow. Minimum of prep, maximum of stress - and then we do this all again next week when Dad leaves. (Yeah, we're all crazy) This time, to balance out the beautiful Fijian climate, friendly people, and relaxed atmosphere they've just been enjoying, they're going to L.A.

Not that the Big Orange is the worst city in the world (there's always Calcutta) but its main plusses are being a big city with lots of people in it, and calling itself home to a whole bunch of actors and film studios. Advantages which are dubious at best. I've lived there for several years (most of which I can't remember, being rather young at the time) and what I do recall is the fact that I couldn't go outside, even in the back yard, unsupervised, and my parents continual warnings about the dangers of smog. Los Angeles lies in a valley, so all the fumes, gasses, and other unpleasant emissions from the area tend to hang about rather than leaving when they should. The result is that people get stressed, sick, and occasionally asphyxiated. It's a bit like having unwanted visitors.

Having said all that, I would still live there if a job required me to. I can hack the city enviroment. Anyway, at least it's warm, and if it's sunny now, it'll probably be sunny in five minutes, five hours, and five weeks. Here we tend to get weather that resembles a standard cafeteria meal: you never really know what you're gonna get next.

The Leak That Never Was

All references to any particular scene from The Warren have been removed from the previous entry, under threat of a 'dire accident' should they remain. I am not at liberty to disclose who made these threats. In fact, the threats were never made, and no top secret scene was ever mentioned. There are no plans to conceal anything from the general public about this film - everything is perfectly above board and obvious. I am not under duress. I am writing this of my own free will in an effort to be completely upfront with my readers, and no one is currently suspending a grand piano over my head. I am working with a lovely director who is honest, talented, and tall, who would never condescend to such ghastly measures. I also hope that everyone who reads this will buy our director a bar of peppermint chocolate, because he deserves it.

My tertiary plans for next year seem to be solidifying (ha, lets hope it's not just a cruel joke). Not insomuch as knowing exactly where I'm going (what, you expect miracles?) but more knowing basically what field I'll be looking at. Film and Television seems to be where I'm headed, and I'm kind of excited about it. Oh, I know that the industry has been vastly overrated; what could one expect, they are the media. But for a long while I've known that I wanted to tell stories for living - now I think I know how. Having tried writing and acting (and not totally given up on either) I may find my niche in film production. That's what I'd like to do; I'm aware that the first jobs I get will probably be in the television field, but that's not where I'd like to stay. TV is too watery and cheap. We'll see what happens in the end, but why not go for the jugular? As a wise teacher once told me, 'Aim for the stars, that way you'll at least hit the mailbox'.

Rabbits, Richard, and Unexpected News

I wrote some dialogue today for our 'hope it gets finished [fingerscrossed]' movie 'The Warren'. Now, anyone who has checked up on the Warren site in the remotely near past will have noticed that it hasn't been updated in quite some time. For a very simple reason: no filming has taken place for months. There's been a long hiatus in which the movie almost got shelved, but now we're back on track and set to start shooting again June 8th. We have around three quarters of the footage already, so it's just a matter of tidying loose ends up, basically. So check for updates on the site around mid June.

Tonight I'm looking at paying a vist to dear Richard. I've been reading an excellent book by Patsy Rodenburg about speaking Shakespeares works, and am planning to work on using his words more dominantly as opposed to smothering the piece with unnecessary emotional hemming and hawing. The more I find out about playing Shakespeares characters, the more I realise how completely out of my depth I am. My only comfort is that just about everyone else I'm up against is in the same boat as myself.

Oh yeah, and one exciting thing I discovered this afternoon: there is a highly reputable institution that offers five day courses in television production. And one course is scheduled for July. It may be just the stepping stone to CPIT's School of Broadcasting that I was casting around for. It's also expensive. But unless I end up deciding that I don't want to take that avenue afterwards(unlikely) it's great value. So I'm pretty stoked about that.

And the Narnia soundtrack still hasn't arrived. But that's all right. I'm not bitter. I'll get them later.

Rise of the Machine

It's been a quiet weekend (calm before the storm: the folks are back on Tuesday) so I've had a bit of time to reflect on Miss Carsons comments on my last post, and to toy with one or two related ideas.
In 'The Austere Academy', the Baudelaires are informed that all of Count Olafs characteristics (from monobrow to tattooed ankle) have been programmed into an advanced computer, and that therefore they need not fear: Olaf will not be able to reach them. None of the adults in this story (except perhaps Olaf himself) see the gaping hole in this theory: how exactly is a computer (advanced or otherwise) supposed to help you when all it does is recognise your enemy? Any reader will instantly see this, and perhaps be inclined to think those characters a wee bit silly. And of course they are. The sting though, is that we do the very same thing.
Many of us half realise our increasing dependence on The Machine, but largely it's accepted as 'inevitable' and 'maybe not such a bad thing after all'. Now before I lose my entire non-hippie audience (probably everyone, that is), let me just say that The Machine isn't a bad thing. Neither is a rock, or a pool of water. But any of the three can kill a man. And we shouldn't be surprised if a creature made by little flawed gods is more treacherous than the beautifully dangerous creations of The Maker Himself.
The first of The Machines were invented to help us feed our stomachs and clothe our bodies: The wheel, the plough, the loom. Then came those which made life easier: The handcart, and the first of the chariots. In time men made that which was designed to amass wealth: The scale, and counting devices. After this came the engines of war and destruction: the mangonel, advanced ram, and trebuchet. Then almost last, the communication devices: the telegram, telephone, and television. And now - we have a Lord of Machines: the advanced computer, which makes life easier, enables many to amass wealth, can wreak destruction and havoc at the tap of a key, and facilitates communication in so many ways that it's almost absurd. It does not, significantly, clothe or feed us. However, the thing that takes this 'penultimate' Machine one step further than any of its predecessors, is the way it is now coming to dominate our human interaction. I would have said 'social life' but it has gone much further than the narrow sphere that phrase is commonly used for. It is beginning to govern the way we meet people (not just friends, but spouses, business associates, and enemies too), talk to people, share with people, manipulate people, and take from people. Beyond all this though, and more alarming, it enables us to 'change ourselves' to 'master our own image' (Hindi: avatar) to 'be the person we always wanted to be'. And hang it all, God (or fate/chance) must have got it wrong. He obviously mucked up when he made us, and it's lucky that we have modern technology to put things right. - The arrogance. We, the little tin gods, think that we can cover ourselves with mud, and say: Look - we are now ourselves.
So now we stand back and say - 'Naughty Machine! You have corrupted us.' No. It has brought our corruption to the surface. It has given us power, where before we had none. A Machine can do nothing without our command - the advanced computer was never going to catch Olaf and put him in prison. The responsibility to take action, to be who we are rather than who we'd like to be, to live and love like we should, - and the blame for not doing so - rests with us.

Discoveries

I discovered several things today. One was that I have unintentionally memorised my Richard III monologue. I'd been putting it off til later, but today while I was cleaning toilets (no, I don't do it every day, just most) I started reciting it to myself, and was surprised to find that I knew the whole thing!

I also discovered that the swelling in my finger (basketball injury) has now gone down enough that I can easily remove my ring. I couldn't remove it at all for about four days, and I was getting a bit worried that it was constricting bloodflow or something. Being the medically informed person that I am, I had no idea what was going on. But hey, I figured that it had always stopped swelling before (yes, I have a track record of such injuries). Just hope I never get anything serious, cause it'll be like, 'Nah, she'll be right. Can't be bothered talking to the doctor. I've all always come right before.' Which reminds me of a quote that I saw on a T shirt years ago: 'I intend to live forever. So far, so good.' I always thought it would be funny (in a film) to have a person wearing that in while lying in the casket. It might not be so funny for real. Funerals are not good times for laughing, a point which I (sadly) have to remind myself of once in a while. When you're at the back of the room as a sound technician, and you've never heard of the person who's died, and you're dead bored, sometimes funny things sneak into your brain and it's all you can do to stay silent, never mind keep a straight face. I know, I know, I'm a callous monster . . . but have you ever been in that position? No? Well then.

The last thing that I discovered today is that washing windows is much nicer if you think about the sunshine-water bits (admittedly a minor feature) and try not to focus on the window-grime-dirt bits. (Ooommm - The window is not there. It is only in my mind. Pain is an illusion. The world is beautiful. We are all one. Ooommm . . .) It almost works. Which sometimes is near enough.

Snicket & World Peace

I finished Snickets 'The Austere Academy' yesterday evening. It's definitely the best book yet. His dedication was once again priceless (For Beatrice - You will always be in my heart, in my mind, and in your grave.), and he introduced some new characters worth caring about, which he hadn't really done since Book 2 (The Reptile Room). It's a strange experience sometimes, reading those books, because you find yourself taking comfort in the smallest turns of good fortune. You are content, to twist the biblical phrase, to be given a stone instead of a scorpion. In most books, ridding ones room of a harmless fungi, having a quiet afternoon at a library, or talking to a friend during a horrible violin concert would not count as any kind of highlight. But in the world of the Baudelaires, these few events that are not altogether nasty and unlucky hold a great deal more meaning.

I think this principle may work in a similar way in the real world: those who have much less than others are content with some of the small things in life that the rest of us ignore. I know that's a blanket concept and there are exceptions to the rule et cetera et cetera, but just imagine if those of us who are 'well off' (friends, family, toys, enviroment, food...) began to acknowlege, at least, the little priviliges in our lives that more people than we'd like to think miss out on. It would be tempting to say that then the world would be a better place - and maybe it would. Don't shake your heads, cynics. Try it. If it's world peace everyone's crying out for, perhaps we should look closer to home: are we at peace?

Finding Grail

Today for the first time in well over a year, I wrote a poem. I had almost feared that I had 'lost it' so to speak, and wouldn't be able to express myself this way ever again. Because I had tried. I wasn't just sitting on my duff the whole time, but every time I went to write something I felt incredibly empty, as if there was nothing there to spill out on the paper. Actually to be perfectly honest it felt like dry retching. Almost literally. And I love creating poetry. So imagine my joy when this afternoon I gave it another go, and something began to come. It would be lovely to say that it was a trickle at first, and then it widened to a stream which became a flood - but it felt pretty much like a trickle the whole way. But hey, who's complaining? That way it takes a bit longer, but the results are the same in the end. I was grinning like a deranged Cheshire cat when I finished it. So yes, you guessed it, now I'm going to take it out on all of you. It's called Grail, and though the poem has nothing to do with a quest the title seemed serendipitous: after long searching I finally found it.

 

 

Grail

Warm glows waft with scent of aloes,

Brushing well known paths.

Clothed in age worn fur lined robes

Fullsome silence pours his mead

Through night deep caves; sweet wash

Drowning stone and earth. The far sunk

Brown-smooth grail smiles as he is overflowed.

 

Outside a blood slick sun is setting,

Thawing like mud as it slips out of sight.

 

Wind flows safe through crans and hollows,

Spilling life and rest.

Panpipes, mournful-gay and strong,

Breathe a story-blessing; hills

Are raised and streams spring seaward

Gurgling pebble songs. The far sunk

Brown-smooth grail laughs as he drinks in the sound.

 

Outside a wine dark sun is dripping,

Draining the mountains of bounty and light.

 

Soil sows sleep in well ploughed furrows,

Reaping as she plants.

Bacchus, lord of feasts and revels

Lays a table gorge-high filled;

Air and fire, earth and water

Drowse in full fed ease. The far sunk

Brown-smooth grail nods as he closes his eyes.

 

Outside a death-calm sun is fleeing,

Gifting the old world to cold mist and Night.

Actors Block(ing)

This afternoon I watched the LWW DVD with commentary by Andrew Adamson(Director), William Moseley (Peter), Anna Popplewell (Susan), Skandar Keynes (Edmund) and Georgie Henley (Lucy). It was great fun for the group dynamics alone, not to mention all the filming trivia that you pick up. I'll have to listen to the other commentary sometime (the one with the director, producer, DoP, and production designer), but that'll be interesting on a different level. Not quite so light, I'd imagine.

I've begun the process of 'blocking' my Shakespearean monologue for the July comps. As well as arranging props (ie. which goes where), I made extensive notes on my script as to what's actually behind what my character is saying, and how I'd like to interpret the piece. I also have a rough idea of what I'm going to be doing, when. More work is required there. I'm a bit lazy. :-) (uh yeah, and then he ends up at the table. once he gets around the bed. and he'll be holding the beret by then.) This is going to be an fantastic character to play though. Our dear King Richard III. Funny thing is, it's an extremely non-typical piece for Richard as a character, and myself as an actor. Let me explain: Richard III, throughout the whole play (of the same name) is calm, glib, manipulative and generally a very cool and in control slimeball. But in this piece (for once in the whole play) he is completely out of his depth, insecure, guilty and fearful. Talk about out of character. There's an excellent reason why (when were you last visited by the ghosts of people you'd killed who told you that you'd be joining them tomorrow?), but it does make it more difficult. Which is good; I have to dig a bit deeper. And as an actor, anyone with a passing knowledge of my acting history will know that I tend to pick pieces that are intense and verbally violent. This may be intense but he hardly shouts, and it ends with him slinking, rather than storming, off to eavesdrop on his army "to see if any mean to shrink from me". Actually there are some interesting parallels there between Richard and Shakespeares Henry V. Similar situation, totally different responses. Another challenge is posture. Now some smart mouth is going to say that I shouldn't have a problem in that department, but when your character has people refer to him as a 'bunch backed toad', you know it goes a little bit beyond not sitting up straight at the table. I think I can pull it off without prosthetics (ie. foam hump under shirt) but it will take a lot of concentration. As for the shrivelled arm . . . not hard physically, and even keeping it the same is okay - the main trouble is doing everything with one hand. At an early stage I was going to be tying my bootlaces onstage. Maybe not a great idea at the best of times, but with one hand . . . needless to say, it ended up on the cutting room floor. Putting a beret on with kingly dignity and one hand also takes some work, but I think I've got a system down; now all I have to do is practice. Take 27 . . .

And some good news. 'The Austere Academy' has (finally) arrived at my local library. It's on hold . . . for me! Books 5, 6, 7, and 8, here I come! Oh, but I'll be spending most of my time working. Really. I would never let a book get in the way of practice. Promise. [crossedfingers]

Would You Skin A Cat?

The folks were off to Fiji today, so a good chunk of the morning was spent helping them leave. Cleaning bathrooms apparently helps them on their way. Strange, but must be true. Maybe they don't think we'll do it while they're gone. Yes, I am the toilet scrubber at home as well. I sometimes wonder if God is trying to drop subtle hints. [deep booming voice]: "Thou shalt be a janitor all the days of thy life and clean up the mess of others forever." I could even find a verse for it. Something about cleansing the temple, perhaps . . . Or not.

 

Ooo, in other exciting but totally irrelevant news, on Saturday I got a huge Chronicles of Narnia cardboard poster. (yeah, I know it's not listed in my favourite movies; for some crazy reason it just won't display) It's about four and half foot high by at least two foot wide. It's pretty cool. :-) Miss Carson, no drooling on my blog please. Some people. So where do I fit the thing? Errm, yes, that is the question. At the moment it's kind of propped up on my desk leaning against the wall. Temporary quarters, pretty much. But how in the fat are you supposed to display something like that without causing permanent carnage to your wall/and keep the poster nice? Tacks are out of the question; the thing's too thick. Tape would be ugly and damage the poster. Blue tac is too weak. Nails are an option, but making big holes in the wall is a frowned upon practice here. Hmm. Maybe while they're away though . . .  ]:-) More'n one way to skin a cat.

Which brings up an interesting point. Has anyone ever wondered why the person who originated that proverb wanted to skin a cat? I mean, by all accounts they taste horrible. So that's reason one taken care of. Cats fur isn't particularly warm, not compared to say wool for example (and sheep don't make funny noises when you try to take their coat). Reason two down. But then . . . if they persist in excavating your garden, fighting/mating (it sounds the same) on your roof, and piddling on your barbeque . . . then yeah, I can begin to understand why you'd want to skin a cat several different ways. Otherwise it would get boring.

 

Disclaimer: The writer of this blog will not be held responsible for any emotional trauma caused to felinophiles. Or anyone who likes cats. Or anyone who is disturbed at the notion of skinning things. Admittedly it is a terrible thing to do. Next time you eat a steak/orange, I hope you feel guilty.

Two Roads Diverged . . .

Today I was just in time to submit my drama class ad for the weekend paper. Ten more minutes and . . . Why do I always leave things to the eleventh hour? To make things worse, I took the wrong copy with me (the flyer edition, not the classified). They were similar though, so between the copy I had and my memory of what I was supposed to have I came out all right. At least it's gone, finished and out of my hands now. Hopefully it works - or I'm out of pocket. They really skin you for advertising these days.

I was thinking today - how many choices we make that irreversibly alter (or shape if you like, as you can't alter something that hasn't happened) the shape of our lives. Robert Frost offered an improbably simplistic scenario in his poem 'The Road Less Travelled'. There were two roads, each clear, distinct and simultaneously in view. Makes for a good poem, and perhaps in some peoples lives there are moments like that. But it is not the norm. There are multiple tracks, small and often unclear, some so well hidden that we miss them entirely. We sometimes see only one, but just a few minutes away there could be five more. And though we can guess where one or another might lead us to, appearances are often decieving; the paths usually vanish quickly around a bend anyway.

In other trivia from my life, I mowed the church lawns today for the first time in a month or more. Now this should have been an unremarkable event. However the [censored] person who'd been mowing while I was away decided to raise the level of the [impolite term removed] lawn mower. This doesn't sound like a heineous sin in itself, but the result was a lawn that is now used to growing fairly long. And it's not supposed to do that. In fact The Boss wants it very short. So. I took the lovely green (long) lawn and hacked at it with a [edited for younger viewers] antiquated mower that was quite possibly used by Captain Cook, until the lush lawns were transformed into something that looked suspiciously like a used battle field. And how many times did the [strong language deleted] catcher have to be emptied? Not twice, no that would be normal. Not four times, which would have been surprising. Not seven times, that would have annoyed me greatly. But - Nine - [expunged for your safety] - Times. Ah yes. I hope the drama class comes off.

9/11 - Fact or Fiction?

I watched an engrossing documentary today - it concerned the 9/11 attacks, and whether or not the story offered to the public by the U.S. government and the media is reliable. The thrust of the doco was that most of the things we've been told about that day either cannot have occurred, or lack any sort of foundation in fact. Radical claims. But they made a very good case for it. Now at this point let me interject and tell you what I am not: I am not a left-wing anti-Bush anti-establishment pro-UN pacifist conspiracy theorist. I am not any one of those things, in fact. No offense to anyone that is. And I'm not a naturally suspicious person (though dint of time has rubbed some cynicism into me). In my perfect world you would not find a single complication, instead, endless complexities; everything would be what it seemed, only much more. However. This Earth is not my perfect world (or anyone else's that I know of. If I find someone like that, remind me to shoot them). To euphemise - stuff happens. And we must keep an open mind. So point by decimating point this documentary calmly and with eyewitness and scientific authority proceeded to tear to quivering ribbons the official version of the story. While they may not have everything right, it is now apparent to me that the mainstream media and the public at large have it very, very wrong. I'll not go into detail here about their specific findings, if you wanted to you could get hold of something similar without much trouble, but in short it claimed that the Trade Center and Pentagon attacks (along with Flight 93) were the product of a carefully orchestrated and meticulously executed plan by the United States government to gain (surprise) power and money. But please don't take my word for it. Look into it yourself, if you're interested. Maybe you'll prove me wrong. Whatever you do, don't say I'm not even going to go there. This is ridiculous anyway; they're just a bunch of conspiracy theorists. Perhaps they are. But what if they're right?

Miserable Marketing

Marketing was a big focus for me today, an area which I am distinctly uncomfortable in. Working up to my adults drama class which will start, if it flies, on the 29th of May. Around 3:00 I was talking to the people at the province-wide newspaper about a classified add, and spent a good deal of time earlier on trying to contact a Rotary Club president. Now that doesn't sound like a hang of a lot of work, however - it's never that simple is it. It was a battle for the phone for most of the day between myself and Mom, who's trying to organise her and Dads upcoming Figi and U.S. trips. Unfortunately in such a battle I'm outranked by default, so things happened a little slower than I might've liked.

On a slightly brighter note: I got the Narnia soundtrack for my birthday yesterday - or so everyone thought. That is, until I read the little words under the lions head: music inspired by . . . ah shoot. So today I tripped down to the CD store to see if I could exchange it for the soundtrack. Turns out that they don't have the soundtrack instore in fact they don't even have the inspired by disc on their system so that shouldn't even be there but the soundtrack is on their system though there's not a single copy in the whole store. Whew. Upshot is that they'll order one in for me and then I can make the exchange.
Another non-marketing highlight to the day was getting Unfortunate Events books 6,7,8 from the library. The only downside is I haven't read 5. Hmm. I may be becoming a junkie. (We wants the book! Yes precious, but the tricksy librarianses won't give it to us. Then we takes it. Err, but all the copieses were marked 'Checked Out', my love. Ashes and dust! We'd forgotten about that.)

And I've got how many other books I am/should be reading? I think I like books.

The Big Two-O

I am sitting at my Dads computer at 11 pm, in a semi-concious, food fogged, doze drowsed daze. But it's my birthday and I'll write if I want to. At this stage you are probably thinking something like "this isn't going to be a very long post". Or maybe just "this idiot should be in bed instead of taking out his altered state of mind on everyone else". In either case you'd be quite right.

 

The day began in fairly none glamourous fashion (ie, scrubbing sinks at 5:30) but even there, Dad volunteered to drive me so I didn't have to bike. The rest of the day was very relaxed (that's about the amount of detail I can remember at the moment), and then by evening Mom and my sister had prepared a marvellous feast for dinner, featuring enchiladas, spanish rice, and - yeah, other nice stuff. The cake they made was/is (we didn't eat all of it) chocolate and chilli with coffee and orange in it. Very nice. Especially with Cadbury icecream. At the end of our gastronomic experience my family, David (an awesome friend that I had around for the dinner) and I were stuffed full and felt it. It's a curious thing, how the stomach affects the mind: after the ceremonial opening of presents, myself, Dave and Dad shifted to the two couches (and floor, respectivly), engaged briefly in a very meaningful dialogue (or series of monologues) that I'm sure a monkey could have understood and then drifted off to sleep. I woke at 10:45, looked over, and Dave was still snoozing. I roused him, and he took off shortly. Hope he waits to fall asleep again till he gets home.

Someone asked me today (I turned 20) how it felt on "the other side". My reply? "All tingly."

Rosencrantz Is Dead (but the bypass wasn't built)

This morning I managed to finish memorising my prose piece for the Comps; a wickedly funny little section from 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. A book which you should never read if you think you're sane, but which you'll love if you've accepted that sanity is not really that important after all. This particular bit is, in my opinion, the best part in the whole thing. Arthur Dent is lying in front of bulldozers ('making occasional demands to see his lawyer, his mother, or a good book') in an attempt to stop his house being destroyed to make way for a bypass. Meanwhile, the Earth itself about to be obliterated to make way for a slightly larger bypass . . .

Another piece I was working on was my Rosencrantz monologue from Stoppards famous play. I've been having a lot of fun with this, though it's challenged me no end. One of the toughest aspects for me, interestingly, is coming to grips with the characters physicality. Rosencrantz and I are extremely dissimilar. While I tend to be contained, laconic and a bit stiff, Rosencrantz is a bouncing ball of energy who wears his psychiatric disturbances on his sleeve and thinks best while talking out loud. So adapting has taken a bit of work. Some of the models that I borrow elements from to keep him different are Jim Carreys 'Count Olaf' and Johnny Depps 'Jack Sparrow'. He should be a very interesting fellow, in the end.

 

Oh, and just one other thing - I had to share this gem of a quote from Lemony Snickets 'The Wide Window' (yes, I'm on the fourth book now): "If you are allergic to a thing, it is best not to put that thing in your mouth, particularly if the thing is cats." So true.

Darling, Dearest, Dead

Yesterday I began (and finished) 'The Bad Beginning', the first book in Lemony Snicket's 'Series of Unfortunate Events'. The author sets the tone for the book in the dedication: To Beatrice: darling, dearest, dead. His dry and slightly dark sense of humour is what really makes this book, and any adults who look down on it as being a 'kids book' are just being snobbish. To paraphrase C. S. Lewis, all good childrens books can be enjoyed by adults. Classics such as 'Winnie the Pooh', 'The Wind in the Willows', and 'The Hobbit' are read by school kid and scholar alike. Anyway, I intend to read the whole series now. :-)

 

Today though it was back to the grind with my Saturday work. I'd been enjoying the break, and had got a bit spoiled. Ah well, at least it was over and done with in four and a half hours, a far cry from the six it used to take me when I started. Unfortunately I didn't get in till late as I slept in this morning. I've been feeling a bit off colour for a few days now, so I'm glad I got the extra sleep. Double doses of the Master Tonic for me, I'm afraid. If you haven't heard of this fiery (but effective) concoction, let me just say that it can scare the flu out of you. Or whatever else you happen to have. In fact if you videoed a string of 'first reactions' to the Tonic you could probably win first prize on America's Funniest Videos. You could also probably be arrested for cruel and unnatural torture, and inflicting bodily trauma. "Yes, but it's good for them!" Uh huh. That's what the Inquisitors said.

Tsunamis and Techno-Elves

Today started out rather interesting: as I was on my way to work (on my bike, at 5:00 am; yes I am crazy) Mom called me on my cellphone to let me know that there had been a magnitude 7.9 earthquake near Tonga, and that Fiji and New Zealand were on tsunami alert. I work on the 7th floor of a building about 200m from the waterfront, so this was a slight concern. The 'alert' had not yet escalated to a 'warning' though, so I continued my journey, got to work, and began cleaning. It was interesting to meditate (while scrubbing sinks and emptying waste bins) on what could occur. Caught up in that was the thought that it would only take a series of unfortunate (but not too unlikely) events and I wouldn't get to enjoy the sunrise that morning, or any other. In my defense, I'll say right now that I'm not morbid or melodramatic; I was not frightened or even concerned. I knew that while a tsunami (even one large enough cause major damage to the building) was possible, I didn't really believe that it would happen. Nevertheless it was absorbing to speculate. Needless to say, nothing came of the whole thing except for a lot of people evacuating their homes unnecessarily though not unwisely.

 

The rest of the day has been a little more mundane. I've been preparing my programme (Fern Hill; a monologue by Rosencrantz from 'Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead'; and an extract from 'The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy) for the Performing Arts Comps in July, and reading a very interesting (for LoTR fans and science geeks) book called 'The Science of Middle-Earth'. Its goal was to show how many of the phenomenon of Tolkien's famous writings could indeed have been possible, and have a scientific explanation. This was not the killjoy that it seems; it enhances rather than detracts from the wonder of these works, and is written by an author who knows when to admit that he is out of his depth. My favourite section was when he attempted to find a substance/substances that Feanor could actually have made the palantiri from. He made quite a good show of it in the end, and was very convincing. Perhaps the bit that made me laugh the most though was when he proposed the theory that all orcs were females. No, he's not sexist and neither am I, but I did get a good kick out of that section. My sister didn't find it so amusing.

To Make a Drama Class

At the moment I'm trying (with partial success) to construct the outline for a drama class that I hope to be running by mid-late May. It will be based largely on Viola Spolin's 'Improvisation for the Theatre'. An excellent resource, and I'd recommend it to anyone who has anything to do with performance. Or public speaking. Come to think of it, they're the same thing aren't they? Persuading an audience to suspend their disbelief and engage imaginatively in a fiction . . .

 

But frankly at the moment the whole job is giving me a headache. The only thing that's keeping me going is the thought of all that lovely money that people will be chucking in my direction if the thing gets off the ground. My good friend Luke, who specialises in marketing, thinks I could skin people for quite a few bucks more than I was planning. I was dubious, but when I asked for a passage from the Bible for guidance the bit that sprang immediately (no, not eagerly) to mind was when the children of Israel fleeced the Egyptians before heading off to the Promised Land, cf. Exodus somethingorother. I would've laughed if I hadn't had a dental drill in my mouth. I wonder how many other people pray (probably in their head, considering the circumstances) when visiting the dentist. I would imagine that it's almost universal. As Confucius (or someone who's name starts with C) once said "There are no atheists in dental clinics . . ."

"The Inaugural Post" ;-)

Well, here it is: the very first post. I wonder how many people will look back in the months or years to come, and search this post out just so they can see the "one that started it all".

I haven't really had grand aspirations to do a blog in the past. I've know about them of course, but the real stone got rolling when I picked up "Blogging for Dummies". LOL. I wonder how many others started the same way.

The web address for the blog comes from a line in my favourite poem, Dylan Thomas' 'Fern Hill':
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

This blog is pretty basic at the mo, but I'll keep plugging away at it and one day maybe it'll be worth looking at.

I don't promise sanity or objectivity, but I will give you frankness and honesty (except when it gets in the way of a really good story).

So enjoy.