Yesterday, I participated in the filming of an independent movie. Granted, my only duties were to act like I was at a huge party while the leads acted out their lines. But for free food and drinks......I'm there. Not to mention my uncle's office is producing the film, so I do get to meet everyone and attempt to keep them sane. The sanity part would be the difficult part.
The final beach party shoot was to take place at a popular bayside restaraunt in the afternoon. Unfortunatly, rain set in and refused to give in to the prayer and pleas of all involved. The decision was made to edit the script and adapt the scene for a deck party. After numerous phone calls to area vendors, a suitable place was found with a covered deck and a waterside view. Brief celebrations ensued as that was the last day of production and the scene had to be completed.
I arrived a little before 5pm to aid in setup, directing other extras and general goofing off. The goofing off occured after setup with the two crew interns, director and assistant director. Apparently, the guy with the handheld camera and the guy purchasing extra props were late. So, we had time to kill. No visible damage was incurred by the restaraunt although the owner didn't seem to thrilled that his establishment was half-empty for over 2 hours.
Finally, everyone arrived and shooting could actually begin. I don't think I'm at liberty to revealed dialogue or the purpose of this particular scene......so keep your eyes open for Sweet Good Fortune! I'll be the one holding a Coke in a glass with a straw.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Monday, June 27, 2005
Simon of Space
Simon of Space
I ramble about this site enough to warrant a whole entry to it. So, for all 1 of you who actually read this blog, check out this site too.
Simon aka Cheeseburger Brown masterfully recounts each day's activity through his tiny plastic diary. He is the first person to lose his memory while traveling through a hyperspatial gate and has spent the first 5 weeks of his new life in the brain trauma ward of the hospital. When threatened with a mandatory return to his foreign home and unfamiliar family, Simon panics and escapes into the journey of a lifetime.
Cheeseburger Brown, otherwise known as Matthew Frederick Davis Hemming, has an addictively intoxicating writing style that is filled with humor, intrigue, adventure and pieces of the human soul. He is also the author of I Am A Cheeseburger, The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster, and 17 Drawings.
I ramble about this site enough to warrant a whole entry to it. So, for all 1 of you who actually read this blog, check out this site too.
Simon aka Cheeseburger Brown masterfully recounts each day's activity through his tiny plastic diary. He is the first person to lose his memory while traveling through a hyperspatial gate and has spent the first 5 weeks of his new life in the brain trauma ward of the hospital. When threatened with a mandatory return to his foreign home and unfamiliar family, Simon panics and escapes into the journey of a lifetime.
Cheeseburger Brown, otherwise known as Matthew Frederick Davis Hemming, has an addictively intoxicating writing style that is filled with humor, intrigue, adventure and pieces of the human soul. He is also the author of I Am A Cheeseburger, The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster, and 17 Drawings.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Welcome home! Now, take them back.
The parental units have returned and I gladly resign my post as interim-parent. These past few days were not terrible by any means, but sleep deprivation has kicked in with an angst-filled vengeance. I concede that parenting is a difficult job, although the challenges with this particular example formed around the basis that I am not the kids' parent. Rule enforcement and delegation are nearly impossible without the divine right of real parents. Especially if you are their sister.
I've learned to love delegation through the years and thought it would be the simplest way to accomplish all the tasks and chores by the prescribed reintroduction. I still believe that I am right, but no one else agreed. It was the unspoken dissent that destroyed my sleep. The possibility of the house in shambles as my parents crossed the threshold was not something I desired as a reality. So, the laundry, dishes, and general cleaning were done by none other than me. The boys did mow the lawn which was a ploy to soften the parents by doing something unasked. Their plan only worked so well.....thanks were given, after which life continued as if the act never occurred.
Mom has not noticed or mentioned the cleanliness of the refrigerator. This confuses, angers, and relieves me. Confusion is a reaction to the obvious before/after visual difference, anger for the lack of appreciation, and relief at the avoidance of a long and drawn-out explanation of why it was necessary. She did however notice the handle missing. My sources have not confirmed how the top portion was broken off, but my bets are on a stray lightsaber blade.
With the return off the parents has come the return of their form of chaos. I awoke this morning to my father flashing my lights and informing me loudly that the air-conditioning repairman was on his way. I was forewarned that the repairman would need access to the attic, which is solely through my room, and would be arriving "early." "Early" did not have a definite time, but my father estimated last night about 8:30-9am. As I rolled over to alleviate the burning sensation in my retinas, I glanced at the large 7 glaring at me from the clock. Must the repairman come at 7am? And should he find that necessary, shouldn't he have the common decency to relay that information prior to the appointment? And if he should find the audacity to wake me early on my sleep deprivation extermination day, shouldn't I be allowed to strangle him?
But I digress.
I had just enough time to get dressed and make my bed before the invasion of my morning. I ate my breakfast while checking email and other blog updates. The dished were put away in the cabinets, dirty ones shoved in the washer, and the hound's water supply replenished.
The repairman arrived and spent 2 hours tinkering with the A/C unit. Apparently, it works better, but I haven't notice a difference in functionality. There was a distinct difference in the appearance of my carpet which was promptly vacuumed to eliminate the massive amounts of insulation tracked onto it. At least I have my room back....I'll let you know when the A/C unit explodes.
I've learned to love delegation through the years and thought it would be the simplest way to accomplish all the tasks and chores by the prescribed reintroduction. I still believe that I am right, but no one else agreed. It was the unspoken dissent that destroyed my sleep. The possibility of the house in shambles as my parents crossed the threshold was not something I desired as a reality. So, the laundry, dishes, and general cleaning were done by none other than me. The boys did mow the lawn which was a ploy to soften the parents by doing something unasked. Their plan only worked so well.....thanks were given, after which life continued as if the act never occurred.
Mom has not noticed or mentioned the cleanliness of the refrigerator. This confuses, angers, and relieves me. Confusion is a reaction to the obvious before/after visual difference, anger for the lack of appreciation, and relief at the avoidance of a long and drawn-out explanation of why it was necessary. She did however notice the handle missing. My sources have not confirmed how the top portion was broken off, but my bets are on a stray lightsaber blade.
With the return off the parents has come the return of their form of chaos. I awoke this morning to my father flashing my lights and informing me loudly that the air-conditioning repairman was on his way. I was forewarned that the repairman would need access to the attic, which is solely through my room, and would be arriving "early." "Early" did not have a definite time, but my father estimated last night about 8:30-9am. As I rolled over to alleviate the burning sensation in my retinas, I glanced at the large 7 glaring at me from the clock. Must the repairman come at 7am? And should he find that necessary, shouldn't he have the common decency to relay that information prior to the appointment? And if he should find the audacity to wake me early on my sleep deprivation extermination day, shouldn't I be allowed to strangle him?
But I digress.
I had just enough time to get dressed and make my bed before the invasion of my morning. I ate my breakfast while checking email and other blog updates. The dished were put away in the cabinets, dirty ones shoved in the washer, and the hound's water supply replenished.
The repairman arrived and spent 2 hours tinkering with the A/C unit. Apparently, it works better, but I haven't notice a difference in functionality. There was a distinct difference in the appearance of my carpet which was promptly vacuumed to eliminate the massive amounts of insulation tracked onto it. At least I have my room back....I'll let you know when the A/C unit explodes.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Stormy Weather
Yesterday began with the buzzing of my alarm at 6:30am, a time with which I am not accustomed. Matthew was easy to wake; Christopher resisted a bit. Reinforcements arrived momentarily, climbed into bed, and whispered, "I love you" in a babyish voice.
"I hate you," smirked Chris as he pushed Joey off his bed. They groomed themselves and ate breakfast. It was a pleasant morning.
I arrived at work with my main purpose already having been designated as "John's perpetual reminder service." That doesn't guarantee that he actually accomplished anything on my To Do List for him. This just created a generalized edginess on my part for the possible blame that could be cast on me. So, I decided to read The Darth Side and Simon of Space for a while.
The rain began soon after lunch and worsened until torrents of water, thunder and lightning plagued the city. Personally, I enjoy a good storm every now and again, but this would easily wreak havoc during rush hour. The final crescendo and climax was felt by all around. Instinctively, I jerked my hands away from the computer keyboard as lightning struck something in the parking lot seconds later. The florescent lights blinked, the computers buzzed, and the floor shook. I froze in my seat. A few minutes later, the sky cleared as if by magical touch.
"You can't do that...I cut off your arm!" screamed Christopher as I returned home later that day.
"I have a robotic one!" replied Matthew as he swung his lightsaber toward his opponent’s head. Chris blocked and retaliated. I calmly strolled past, considering my newfound parental obligations. Deciding what had to be done, I raced upstairs to change my clothes. Comfortably clad in jeans, t-shirt, and a ponytail, I raced back to the kitchen.
"You know you're not supposed to be fighting in the house," I started. They dropped their guard just long enough for me to produce my lightsaber and commence a surprise-attack. Ironically, they're both Jedi Masters compared to my youngling skills. I died fairly quickly. Yet, this game is very similar to a video game: you die, you start over. I managed to beat Chris once, but I think I will have to become Matthew's padawan before I stand a real chance.
The night ended with laughter as Joey, Matt, and I watched Family Guy.
"I hate you," smirked Chris as he pushed Joey off his bed. They groomed themselves and ate breakfast. It was a pleasant morning.
I arrived at work with my main purpose already having been designated as "John's perpetual reminder service." That doesn't guarantee that he actually accomplished anything on my To Do List for him. This just created a generalized edginess on my part for the possible blame that could be cast on me. So, I decided to read The Darth Side and Simon of Space for a while.
The rain began soon after lunch and worsened until torrents of water, thunder and lightning plagued the city. Personally, I enjoy a good storm every now and again, but this would easily wreak havoc during rush hour. The final crescendo and climax was felt by all around. Instinctively, I jerked my hands away from the computer keyboard as lightning struck something in the parking lot seconds later. The florescent lights blinked, the computers buzzed, and the floor shook. I froze in my seat. A few minutes later, the sky cleared as if by magical touch.
"You can't do that...I cut off your arm!" screamed Christopher as I returned home later that day.
"I have a robotic one!" replied Matthew as he swung his lightsaber toward his opponent’s head. Chris blocked and retaliated. I calmly strolled past, considering my newfound parental obligations. Deciding what had to be done, I raced upstairs to change my clothes. Comfortably clad in jeans, t-shirt, and a ponytail, I raced back to the kitchen.
"You know you're not supposed to be fighting in the house," I started. They dropped their guard just long enough for me to produce my lightsaber and commence a surprise-attack. Ironically, they're both Jedi Masters compared to my youngling skills. I died fairly quickly. Yet, this game is very similar to a video game: you die, you start over. I managed to beat Chris once, but I think I will have to become Matthew's padawan before I stand a real chance.
The night ended with laughter as Joey, Matt, and I watched Family Guy.
Monday, June 06, 2005
When the Cat's Away
"Evil Dictator."
This is the sound of my siblings rebelling to my instructions. Never mind that I was simply the messenger of Mom.....I'm in charge for a little while, so apparently, the boys should be allowed to slack off and trash the place.
Overall, this job hasn't been too hard. Exhausting, but not exasperating. The challenge has been a matter of enforcement: I'm not Mom, so I can't do anything. If Chris pushes his luck too hard, then he'll learn to retract that statement.
On a non-sibling related tangent, I discovered the joys of cleaning a much-in-need refrigerator last night. Let's just say that my current headache is probably directly related to the amount of Clorox I inhaled. Needless to say, I'm only so focused at work....assuming that I'm actually doing something...
Positive note: Matt was in the paper this weekend. He's the sophomore valedictorian....we'll see if he keeps his position next year...Congrats, Matt!
This is the sound of my siblings rebelling to my instructions. Never mind that I was simply the messenger of Mom.....I'm in charge for a little while, so apparently, the boys should be allowed to slack off and trash the place.
Overall, this job hasn't been too hard. Exhausting, but not exasperating. The challenge has been a matter of enforcement: I'm not Mom, so I can't do anything. If Chris pushes his luck too hard, then he'll learn to retract that statement.
On a non-sibling related tangent, I discovered the joys of cleaning a much-in-need refrigerator last night. Let's just say that my current headache is probably directly related to the amount of Clorox I inhaled. Needless to say, I'm only so focused at work....assuming that I'm actually doing something...
Positive note: Matt was in the paper this weekend. He's the sophomore valedictorian....we'll see if he keeps his position next year...Congrats, Matt!
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Taking Charge
I don't particularly understand what has happened to me this summer. I feel stifled, I guess. I just haven't really done anything creative or intellectually stimulating. The constant physical and emotional pull from my family probably claims much of the blame as well as my general fatigue from sleep deprivation. Funny how talking late on a cell phone effects one's sleep patterns....
All who know me well know that this situation can't last long without a loss of sanity (assuming its there to begin with). I can't practice for the opera like this either; it'll wear on my voice.....I know this from recent experience. So, I've determined that I must take action: force myself beyond all restraining influences. I need to paint, draw, sing, play, write. Speaking of writing, I am taking suggestions for a pen name....I'm terrible at stuff like that and my name is irritatingly generic. Or, I could just stick with "Sash".....
Anyway, I have to drive to the airport way too damn early in the morning, so I must end this now. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!
All who know me well know that this situation can't last long without a loss of sanity (assuming its there to begin with). I can't practice for the opera like this either; it'll wear on my voice.....I know this from recent experience. So, I've determined that I must take action: force myself beyond all restraining influences. I need to paint, draw, sing, play, write. Speaking of writing, I am taking suggestions for a pen name....I'm terrible at stuff like that and my name is irritatingly generic. Or, I could just stick with "Sash".....
Anyway, I have to drive to the airport way too damn early in the morning, so I must end this now. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!
Thursday, June 02, 2005
European flair
So, I took all my old postcards from Europe and made a piece for my wall. The walls are bland and this is a rental-friendly way to fix things a bit. One, maybe two little nails tops. And I get to daydream about returning to all those places and others instead of doing homework.
Its been rainy and cold here all week. I'm used to 85 degree temperatures this time of year and the daily high has hovered around 65. What gives! Although, its probably a good thing since the AC at my parents' house has been malfunctioning. A have a theory: I kill most house plants (there is that unidentifiable one that's thriving) and AC systems. The AC in my apartment took its good ole time to kick in and my poor roommate about died of heat stroke. I was quite alright since I'm fairly immune to the summer heat....I still wear long jeans. Yet, I'm aware that the cosmic payback will be a bitch since I will freeze to death whenever I visit Jim way up north, probably in December at this rate........but that explaination would fill a whole other entry with its stupidity and aggravation.....
Its been rainy and cold here all week. I'm used to 85 degree temperatures this time of year and the daily high has hovered around 65. What gives! Although, its probably a good thing since the AC at my parents' house has been malfunctioning. A have a theory: I kill most house plants (there is that unidentifiable one that's thriving) and AC systems. The AC in my apartment took its good ole time to kick in and my poor roommate about died of heat stroke. I was quite alright since I'm fairly immune to the summer heat....I still wear long jeans. Yet, I'm aware that the cosmic payback will be a bitch since I will freeze to death whenever I visit Jim way up north, probably in December at this rate........but that explaination would fill a whole other entry with its stupidity and aggravation.....
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Deep Thoughts...
I'm going to sing for a funeral today. Apparently, the church has 2, but I can only get off to sing one. They're both supposed to be huge with "standing room only." I have never heard that phrase in conjunction with a funeral. It makes you wonder about your own life....does a large mass of sobbing people make you a better person? I know these 2 were wonderful people, but still...would they be considered less if fewer came to their funeral?
One a completely different tangent, why does every available man or teenage boy flirt with you when you have a boyfriend? This phenomenon doesn't occur when you're single...wouldn't that help a little? Its just obnoxious now. Not that it would have been particularly welcome before, the sleezbags like to flirt with you all the time anyway...yet, the nice guys wait until the moment of certain rejection. Either way, I really don't care too much, I'm very happy with my boyfriend...I'm just amused by the amount of irony involved in this strategy...
One a completely different tangent, why does every available man or teenage boy flirt with you when you have a boyfriend? This phenomenon doesn't occur when you're single...wouldn't that help a little? Its just obnoxious now. Not that it would have been particularly welcome before, the sleezbags like to flirt with you all the time anyway...yet, the nice guys wait until the moment of certain rejection. Either way, I really don't care too much, I'm very happy with my boyfriend...I'm just amused by the amount of irony involved in this strategy...
Monday, May 30, 2005
Beach Day!!!
We're all heading down to the beach for Memorial Day...too bad I didn't realize we were going until maybe 30 minutes ago. No one tells me anything. They all assume I know what's going on when I'm truly clueless. At least I'll get to see my week-old baby cousin, Julianne and Alyssa and Jack. The babies keep me entertained. Well, I should get ready to go.....
Thursday, May 12, 2005
10 Rules For Dating My Daughter
I finally found this list of rules on the internet. So far, I can't find out who actually wrote them, but, if anyone knows, please let me know. To whomever wrote this.....this is frickin' hysterical....good job!
Rule One
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.
Rule Two
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.
Rule Four
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five
In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."
Rule Six
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Seven
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pot-bellied, balding, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
Rule One
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.
Rule Two
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.
Rule Four
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five
In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."
Rule Six
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Seven
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
- Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.
- Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
- Places where there is darkness.
- Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.
- Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
- Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay.
- Hockey games are okay.
- Old folks homes are better.
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pot-bellied, balding, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Vanity Sizes
Have you ever wondered how clothing companies compete with each other? The first, most obvious way is to create a line of fun, flattering, and comfortable clothing. This method has been on its way out and I believe completely died in the 1970's Annie Hall craze. Clothes no longer need to match or even cover everything that truly should be covered. They don't need to be functional or comfortable as long as movie stars get one photograph printed in them. Don't believe me? Just take a stroll down the preteen aisle. You'll notice the ultra-low rise, worn-out looking, or barely-there type items. What has happened to our sense of style?
But, there has always been a single ray of hope: the blue jeans. Yes, there are drastically altered forms of the classic, but the basic set of jeans are modest, comfortable and flattering on most people. They are incredibly versital as work clothes, club outfits, casual Friday ensembles...the list goes on and on. How could the clothing company add frustration to this seemingly simple piece of cotton canvas?
Before I answer this question, please understand that I am a small person. I typically wear sizes ranging from 0 - 2 and those are already hard to find. One store in particular (we will not mention names) has created something called "vanity sizes." In this concept, someone who normally wears a size 10 can wear an 8 because the 10 is now labeled as an 8. This is done to make the shopper feel better about themselves, spend obscene amounts of money and return to the store.
This is the bane of my shopping experience. My sizes have now disappeared from the shelves. It wouldn't be so disgusting if it were just dresses and the like, but NO. The blue jeans are the items affected by the "America is generally overweight, so we'll boost their self-esteem to sell more stuff" mentality. What is wrong with people??? They will still be the same obeese people whether their jeans say size 100 or 98. Are we that lazy that we resort to sewing a new tag into clothing to raise the level of our self-esteem? And since when did size make us better people? I'm a short underweight Italian, but I work hard to sing and accomplish a 4.0 every semester. That makes me feel wonderful about myself.
I firmly believe our culture is based too heavily on appearance and social status and too little on life, individuality, and self-respect. To Hell with the brand-name blue jeans!!! I will buy my clothing in a store that does not lie to me about my size or resort to sewing them myself!!!
Monday, March 21, 2005
Speechless
Yet again, I return from time spent at home sick. Not sick in the contagious, "you've caught something" sense, but in the "I can't sing" sense. This has happened three times this semester - enough is enough. I've had the same symptoms every time, so I decided to do my own investigating. As it turns out, there is mold in my bedroom window at my parents' house. It wasn't difficult to discover where it came from either. The last major hurricane cracked the double-paned window, allowing moisture to slowly creap in. This moisture created a "fogged" look to the window - one I had been complaining about since - and encouraged the growth of something reddish-brown in the base of the frame. Voila! the reason I get sick.
The hard part is that I can't sing....I'm a singer, this is a problem. A friend also told me not to talk because my speaking voice sounds fairly rough as well. Anyone who knows me knows that this is impossible.....I just figure I'll talk a lot less and speak softer to avoid extra damage. Wish me luck!
The hard part is that I can't sing....I'm a singer, this is a problem. A friend also told me not to talk because my speaking voice sounds fairly rough as well. Anyone who knows me knows that this is impossible.....I just figure I'll talk a lot less and speak softer to avoid extra damage. Wish me luck!
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Human Annoyance
There are people in this world that annoy me beyond the point of exasperation...don't get me wrong, these people do have redeeming qualities. Its just that they chose not to show them around me. Those that don't know when to shut up are my particular favorite. They nag you about something you said which, by the way, THEY took to the extreme no one else came near. And why? Because it makes them feel important and superior to you. Aren't there better ways to raise self-esteem while minding your own affairs? I'm sure there are because I do not consider myself one of these obnoxious people - I'm certain someone will contradict that statement. My reply would be, "Bugger off and get a life!"
On a brighter note, the opera went exceedingly well. Thank you to all who came and supported us. I did manage to trip at least once a performance, but luckily it was at the beginning of an entrance where few would notice. Go figure. Major kudos to Mrs. Shaw who filled in on practically no notice. Without you, we wouldn't have had a show (Don't worry, Erica, we all love you and get well soon - I'll keep shouting for you as long as it takes!) Great job cast! Enjoy the vacation - God knows we need it!
On a brighter note, the opera went exceedingly well. Thank you to all who came and supported us. I did manage to trip at least once a performance, but luckily it was at the beginning of an entrance where few would notice. Go figure. Major kudos to Mrs. Shaw who filled in on practically no notice. Without you, we wouldn't have had a show (Don't worry, Erica, we all love you and get well soon - I'll keep shouting for you as long as it takes!) Great job cast! Enjoy the vacation - God knows we need it!
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Plug For My Store
Yes, I have my own store and this is a shameless plug for it. I create designs for mugs, journals, bumper stickers, greeting cards, etc. I also sell prints of my original artwork online. This is a continual work in progress and I add designs and items frequently. If you want me to design something especially for you, let me know. Check it out - if nothing else, it makes me feel important that people are looking at my site. Here's the address and feel free to leave comments:
http://www.cafepress.com/cachinnation
http://www.cafepress.com/cachinnation
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Classroom Stress
Ever been in a class where you feel like you're the only intelligent person? I have...every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. This is getting to be too much to handle. I can see little bits of my brain dripping from my ears onto the floor. The pinnacle of today's class was this quote: "I guess my roommate isn't that good of a Catholic because she didn't wake up with ashes on her forehead this morning." Go ahead, laugh. Its real - every word. The worst part was that the class neither laughed or corrected her. Don't misunderstand me, I wish no one public humiliation....but there should have been some sort of reaction from the class. Yet, none came. Just the eerie silence of mutual understanding and acceptance. As a friend of mine later stated, "What did they think happens? The Ashes Fairy comes in the middle of the night, puts a cross on your forehead, and leaves a quarter under your pillow?" I determined, as the lone Catholic in the room, that the task of enlightening this young women fell to me. I told her very gently that most of us go to a Church service to receive our ashes - and that this event usually occurred noon or after. I have determined that this situation is what my hell would be like, giving me the motivation to strive to be better than I am.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
No Pain, No Gain
I will be the first to admit that I have hundreds of little quirks...ok, some aren't so little. Yet, I never realized that I don't stand up straight. How did I miss that??? This discovery, among others, came during my weekly vocal lesson. I have trouble releasing my jaw; I don't breathe quite as well as I should; I stand in a way that hampers all my other efforts. Murphy's law has struck again, but don't worry....this problem can be fixed and we attempted it in class. Let's just say that it involved me standing with my back and head against the wall with my feet out a little ways in front of me. And in the mirror, it looked normal....to me, it was incredibly painful. Why? Because I've done it wrong for over 20 years and my body doesn't want to change itself. Wish me luck 'cause I have to practice this.
Monday, January 31, 2005
For Rai...
I had to put this act of human stupidity into writing. A few days ago, some redneck decided that it was a good idea to spit directly in front of me. Doesn't anyone else find this disgusting? I managed to avoid stepping into that visual representation of his intelligence, but a year or so back, my friend, Rai, wasn't so lucky. In fact, that incident caused to her to seriously damage her knee and use crutches for several months. The over-salivator didn't even stop to see if she was ok. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to expectorate in public? And if you decided to be that shameless, you should at least apologize for causing injury to another person. This is for you, Rai, that no more spit may cross your path!
Rai's sites:
http://www.snarkage.com
http://glittersavior.blogspot.com/
Rai's sites:
http://www.snarkage.com
http://glittersavior.blogspot.com/
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Tempest of the Mind
The winds blow all around us. They shape us, pull us one way, push us another, and spin us until we don't understand where we are or where we were going. This chaotic whirlwind continues to confuse us until the day we get it right. On that day, the wind is at our backs, pushing us to who we really are and who we'll be. The path becomes clear to see and our purpose is found. But that day is not today. Today, the winds twist and swirl, obscuring my sight.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Damn You, Jack Frost
What the hell is wrong with this weather? Its well below freezing outside and we've had precipitation, yet not the kind for which we have been longing and praying. These frigid temperatures have no other purpose than to provide snow...and kill mosquitos, but that's a another post. SO, WHERE IS THE SNOW?! My siblings got a school day for a measly 1/8 of an inch. I just want enough to close the university for a day. Then, Mother Nature can kick Jack Frost out and let things warm up. I don't care as long as it snows. Winter cold isn't complete without a little snow, so bring it on.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
It's Such a Bad Idea to Give Me Free Web Space
I've apparently lost my mind. What could convince me to spend time I don't have to write commentaries that probably no one will ever read? Its free. That blessed four-letter word can make almost anything enticing. Seriously, what did I have to lose...besides all respectibility and the illusion that I'm a quiet, sweet-natured young woman? I think what got me to this point was the simple fact that I write a lot. I scribble my thoughts in a journal, write rants on my yahoo notepad, talk ears off anyone naively willing to listen. Life can get stressful and I lack an effective way of expressing that daily frustration. Not to mention, I can drive everyone surrounding me completely insane. This seemed like a viable solution - and a awesome way to zone out in class. So, for now I close my very first post, my stepstone to the world of the computer savy. Welcome to my blog....God help us all.
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