Last night, my cousin and I saw So You Think You Can Dance on tour. Which was wildly satisfying, if for no other reason than that they performed the entire Thriller dance break as their encore. Plus, I want to squish Gev. He is so adorable.
But at one point, all I could think was: I hope they're all voting. How will that work? Did they register absentee, as soon as they knew they'd be going on tour, so they'd be able to vote from wherever they are on November 4?
More news on the theater front: I've auditioned twice for shows on campus (Much Ado About Nothing and the mini-musical showcase for the directing class), to no avail. BUT, I'll be assistant directing my friend's mini-musical, Cradle Will Rock.
OK, this isn't exactly a conversation, just a comment left by my acting teacher on one of my weekly reflection papers.
"If all divorced kids are as smart as you, I think that we should require families to bust up . . . okay, that's not really what I mean but you get the point I hope. In order to have the level of openness and compassion that one needs to do the type of work that you would like to do with children, I find it imperative that one is as honest and clear as you are about what your motives are and where in your own life these motives come from. Stay with it. I really think that this program is a good place for you."
At work, I've discovered that the facilitator of one of the classes I attended during my visit to UT Austin is a colleague of RM's. His class was one of the highlights of my trip there, and I was disappointed to hear that he'd be leaving Austin at the end of the year to take up a position in New York.
Now, I regularly get emails from him through RM.
Of course, I shouldn't be surprised. RM knows everyone who's anyone.
Today I will see friends from college that I haven't seen in almost 3 years; I know my high school crush lost a ton of weight and looks amazing; I discovered my oldest friend in the world lives in Boston.
At 10:12 PM, I finally submitted to the ridiculous amounts of pressure to set-up a Facebook page. (I know the hour and minute because it's taunting me with that information right on my homepage on Facebook.)
After spending an hour making probably 30 friend requests, I'm already experiencing buyer's remorse.
Apparently, I'm not connected enough, even though I have a blog I write on, with devotion and regularity.
Tuesdays are my long day. I'm on campus from 9 AM to 10 PM, with two hour-long breaks for meals. Yesterday, after working until 5 in the department office, I just headed straight to where my acting class happens at 6 and tried to get some reading done.
Emerson has pretty established BFA programs, in both acting and musical theater. I was sitting in the small, fluorescently-lit hallway for about an hour, surrounded by the cacophonous noise of beginning acting and voice classes: chords of "Tomorrow," followed by the beginning of "Far From the Home I Love," capped off with "Memory." I was unimpressed with the choices. Doesn't anyone sing anything good in those classes?
But it was nothing compared to the screaming coming from the acting class: "I have a red shirt; YOU have a red shirt!" "I have my bag; YOU have YOUR bag!" "I have glue on my hands; YOU HAVE GLUE ON YOUR HANDS!" (Like the world was ending. Several times in a row. For MINUTES on end.) I can only imagine it was some kind of exercise about objectives in a scene. Or subtext.