How are you? We haven't typed in awhile, I know. I'm quite sorry for that. I fell ill on Sunday of last week FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST TWO YEARS!!! And have been retaining my energy for rehearsal.
Thus, no blogs.
So I'm here. Alive ... mostly. I'm actually doing better ... I refuse to think that I have any variety of flu traveling around, so I'm calling it a chest/head cold. I sounded like a man-goose for awhile. That was fun.
I may actually have a day off this weekend ... which is both necessary and greatly wanted. Through this sickly process, I experienced my first over-the-counter-drug-buzz, and I'm not so keen to have a repeat performance.
That's really it for now... plodding along at whatever speed I can find in the moment.
This is officially the lamest blog post I've written to date.
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Friday, October 30, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Hi. My name is Alyssa, and I am addicted to Fantasy Hockey.
I have three teams. As of today I am 4th out of 10, 5th out of 8, and 3rd out of 12, in that order. I really have nothing else to say about this, except that I drafted really well on all of my teams, and the players who are projected to score the most points ... are all very silent at the moment. This makes me very sad, and at a loss for strategy.
Do I trade? Do I drop? Or do I hang on for dear life, and hope that they wake up? I fear that if I trade/drop, my players will magically wake up just in time to positively effect someone else's roster. Conversely, I fear that if I don't trade/drop them, they will sit there, looking back at me, laughing. As if to say, "Yeah, as though we're actually going to DO anything..." Yeah, I'm looking at you Henrik Zetterberg.
Gay Rage. Has not continued at all this week.* There are, however some new prospects for arch nemeses... interestingly enough, these new people are actually people I do NOT like in real life. Handy, no? Yet another example of how comic books can be used as a coping tool. I may call them "Troll Man" and "Douche Boy."
Did you know I can use power tools? Well ... I can. And I'm going to be using them a lot, I think, over the next couple of days. I will be attending two set builds (one of them is for the school I'm at) and a stage painting day. Power tools are not generally needed for painting days, but power tools are cooler than paint brushes ... to me. Because of this, I'm not really sure how I'm going to get my laundry/grocery shopping done... but isn't that just the joy of artistry?
Yeah, I have no answers for that either.
We had two days of surprisingly warm temperatures, and even a warm, zephyr-like wind ... and as of this morning, it's gone. It's back to being just cold. And at some point, it would behoove me to purchase some long underwear.
And that's all I have to say about that.
* Tracy, of COURSE you can be in it ... think up a character, and let me know! Oh ... and the Love Monkey will be making an appearance soooooon.... :D
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Monday, October 19, 2009
I have suddenly (and by suddenly, I mean as of three weeks ago) found myself to be the leading super-hero in a real life comic book called "GAY RAGE!"
Me: One of the things we do here during meetings is make up games. It just helps the meetings go by faster. Not broadcast, everyone-can-play! games, I mean privatized games. One such game popped up at a production meeting three weeks ago. My friend Tom and I were randomly talking about the gay population, in the context of second class citizens, and I said something along the lines of, "I'm not really an angry person, except for when my civil liberties are being violated..." and out of that spawned Gay Hulk ... whom no one would like when she's angry.
Now, since there's already Hulk, and this Hulk is heavily copyrighted, branded, and lawyered to death - Gay Hulk is now Gay Rage.
Allow me to illustrate how far this life comic has spread.
Gay Rage has a side-kick (Tom) named Angry Man. He looks like a homeless lumberjack, drinks a lot of Jameson, and gets really angry on behalf of the socially disenfranchised. Gay Rage has arch nemeses: Mr. Peterman (Enrico), the closeted Washington D.C. lobbyist who actively fights against the Equal Marriage Lobby, and Kitty Coolidge (Kelley, my housemate) the New Jersey Mom who wreaks havoc with huge hair and too much make-up (who Gay Rage is simultaneously repulsed by and attracted to*)...
Gay Rage's mild-mannered alter-ego is Wellesley Professor of English Literature and Poetry, Angela Derrick. Professor Derrick's star student, Wendy Windsor (Kelly, partner), serves as Gay Rage's personal assistant and information source. When someone is being oppressed, Wendy knows the who and where of the situation, and is quick to inform Gay Rage and Angry Man.
Wendy and Angry Man have an on-again, off-again affair.
Gay Rage/Angela also have a ghostly mentor. Literally. Skulking in and around the halls of Wellesley is Amelia Bouchard (Meg), a Wellesley Professor who died in 1919, who, whispily, has taught (and continues to teach) Angela/Gay Rage everything she knows.
There are several more characters in development.
This went from being a funny, tongue-in-cheek joke to becoming a thing ... that nearly everyone I've come across wants to be a character in. I've been given several suggestions that this should become an actual comic book. I've even had suggestions that it should be turned into claymation, puppet theatre, and a youtube video.
Oh ... there is more to come, my friends.
A Theme Song is in the works. And I am SOOOOO not kidding.
*It was dictated to me by my cohorts that every super hero is supposed to have an arch nemesis that they are attracted to. This is just in the comic book, not in life-life. I love you, Monkey! :)
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Monday, October 12, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
There are some things in life that completely escape me; things that escape the world of logic, reason, and even self-respect. Some of these things set me off like a bottle rocket - I am an Aries, after all, it's a part of my protocol. A few of these things (exactly three, to be precise ... things are always better in threes...) have cropped up in the past few days. The first of these has to do with laundry.
I have been doing my own laundry since I was about 10. It's just one of those chores I've always done - like dishes. I love doing the dishes. I am guaranteed to feel accomplished, clean and productive. Laundry is much the same way. In fact, I would argue that laundry goes so far as to instill a huge sense of self-respect. Seriously. It's one of those tasks that says, "I'm an adult! I can clean my own clothes, present myself in a matter befitting my level of responsibility; and all it takes is soap and fabric softener!"
Well ... maybe only fabric softener if you're feeling super fancy, but I digress.
Today is Sunday; my day off. On Sundays, I go to the Lenox Laundromat to achieve that all self-respecting of self-respecting duties. I talk with the Laundromat attendant about inane, yet interesting things like sports and the weather. We're on a first name basis, she and I. Today, the subject was the Angel's/Red Sox game (YAY ANGELS!). Also involved in this conversation, was an older gentleman who was concerned with the Giant's/Raider's Football game (He was a Giant's Fan). I was breezing through the last issue of TIME Magazine, reading about a group in London who sifts through the mud of the Thames looking for artifacts (I think they called themselves the Mud Larks) ... the leader of this group has been named The Mud God (interesting, no?!) ... and in from the street come two college students. And within the first couple of minutes, it was painfully obvious that neither of them knew how to do their laundry. One of them walked up to my Laundry attendant friend, a garment in hand, and said, "Uhm, excuse me, but how do I wash this?" My laundry attendant friend looked at the tag on the back of the garment, and said, "Well, it says Dry Clean Only, so you shouldn't wash it."
The other student came up to me and asked if it was safe to wash all colors in cold water. In fact, the way the question was posed to me was like this:
"Is it true that if you wash clothes in cold water, the colors won't run?" As though washing clothes had some great mythological property to it ... full of magical, mysterious rumors that only well-schooled practitioners of laundry are privy to. I essentially told him that yes, that was true, unless there was a brand-new garment involved, or colors with a lot of dye ... like red.
This all seems rather innocuous, so what, if anything, is my rant about?
Two young adults. In college. Completely ignorant of how to do laundry. Now, I realize that I learned to do laundry at a particularly young age, and that my experience is most likely an anomaly. I can understand not learning until high school. I can even understand not learning until college ... kind of. Some mothers take great love in doing their family's laundry ... I didn't have one of those mothers, and so therefore, I learned on my own. I can *imagine* the naivety in such a circumstance; however, I would hope that at a certain age ... say, legal adulthood ... the young adult in question would need to learn what this whole, mysterious laundry thing is about ... more specifically, how to do it, the simple process involved, and/or the wherewithal to research such private, well-guarded information. There is a point in which the young adult needs to stop the chain of helplessness. There is a point in which the young adult needs to figure things out for themselves. There is a point in which EVERYONE needs to take their head out of their chosen body part, climb down from their privileged parapet, and learn first hand the satisfaction that comes from the researching and consequential completion of laundry. Read the label, buy the soap, put the quarters into the machine. This is not a complicated skill like building a camp fire or latching twigs together. This is LAUNDRY, for frak's sake! The machine does 90% of the work FOR you!
Yet another reason why the internet is a beautiful thing: http://www.ehow.com/how_46_laundry.html
And now I move on to rant #2: Obama wins the Nobel Peace Prize.
For WHAT?! WHAT in the hell did he *do* to win the Nobel Peace Prize?! According to the AP, it's for his change of approach and policy in the Middle East. Really?! For a change in a policy?! Jimmy Carter got Israel and Egypt to talk and play nice, he gave the Panama Canal back to Panama, he helps the impoverished and hungry ... STILL ... and the man is in his 90's. Gandhi starved himself for Peace. And Obama changed policy. Has he changed DOMA or Don't Ask, Don't Tell*? The Health Care debate is still in tragic stalemate, AND I read (in the aforementioned TIME Magazine) that his promise of closing Gitmo probably won't happen by the Jan. 22nd deadline. I know he's working on it, and I know his plate is abnormally huge. But I again argue: He hasn't *DONE* anything.
Another problem I have with this, is that had Hillary been elected, and had she changed policy in the Middle East (as she most likely would have done), there would be no Nobel Peace Prize. Nor should there be. But the inequity is quite acute.
*Apparently Mr. Obama issued a statement this weekend, that he's planning on repealing Don't Ask, Don't Tell. For those who might not know, DADT is an executive order that was put forth by Bill Clinton. As an executive order, Mr. Obama could have repealed it as soon as he took office, saving dozens of officers their loss in pay, benefits, rank, retirement, and the embarrassment of trial. I know I'm just being picky, but I don't think stories like this should exist:
Lt Colonel Victor Fehrenbach - Gay Discharge - 05-19-09 - Watch today’s top amazing videos here
And finally, Rant #3 ... The Heathen East.
There are three things I will never get used to out here. No helpful locks on gas pumps (you have to hold the handle the WHOLE time you're pumping gas, which gets COLD in Fall/Winter!), no wax seat covers in the Women's restrooms (which is either highly sanitary, or highly wasteful, depending on your point of view), and the complete and utter lack of recycling. While the former two issues are more of a mild annoyance, the last point is completely inconceivable.
My housemates and I had accrued quite the collection of cans and glass/plastic bottles, and left them sitting by the trashcan for the last three weeks. I went grocery shopping last night, and decided that I had had enough of the recycling treasure pile we were continuing to build ... so I thought I'd be a good housemate, and take the recyclables to the recycling center by the Stop & Shop. I put the bottles and cans in the machine, and all but 4 were denied. The store, apparently, only takes certain brands. So the rest of the recycling? Yep. Had to be tossed. And I can't even begin to tell you how completely reprehensible, evil, and dirty I felt doing this. I literally had NO alternative ... there's no recycling option by way of trashcans for the houses of Lenox. There's not a central area (that I've found) to take recyclables. I'm at a loss, and I HATE it.
And for such a wonderful, progressive, liberal state, Massachusetts sure fails the ecology grade. One of my housemates said that in Boston, you can't walk down the street without finding a recycling bin, which says to me that it's a flaw in state law.
I actually thought of an intelligence trade, today, involving California's far superior recycling program, and Massachusett's far superior social and civil rights laws.
I volunteer myself for mediation.
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Wednesday, October 7, 2009
I'm sitting in front of a giant bay window at the main office of the Company, looking out onto a steel-gray sky. There are two (count, two) trees on campus which have bloomed over the past two days into the most brilliant yellow/orange (pictures to come soon, I promise!), and I can see them fully from where I'm sitting. Against the dark, the trees are even more brilliant, especially as random bolts of sun burst through cloud openings.
The Kings of Leon rolled onto my itunes play list, my earbuds securely in place, the epicness of my heart reflected back at me, thrumming through music.
In this moment, I am grateful. I am joyous. I am alive. And I have never been more enthralled and inspired to be so.
I have $26.00 in my bank account. I work 13-14 hour days. I am far from the ones I love. But God is here ... right here ... in this moment with me. And in this moment, I am perfect.
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Sunday, October 4, 2009
My journey out here was a new experience. I couldn't quite say it was something I'd like to replicate again, though I'm sure at some point I will. The entire day went from 4:30 a.m. Mountain Standard Time to 9:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time ... which roughly amounts to 15 hours of total travel time.
Leg one: Calgary International to Phoenix (Sky Harbor)
The Calgary Airport is a functional, easy-t0-navigate airport. The Customs line for all international flights is somewhat reminiscent of the DMV and/or social security office ... long, winding, and seemingly never ending. But besides the hour-long drain of your life while awaiting probing questions by an over-caffeinated security officer, I do enjoy the Calgary Airport; though admittedly, I enjoy flying IN to Calgary MUCH better than I enjoy flying out.
The flight was fine, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep as listened to a playlist on my ipod. Missing my monkey.
Note to self: Do NOT pack for a two-month gig using duffel bags. Heavy, impossible to carry. You'd think with all the flying I do, I'd know better.
PS - US Airways charges a ridiculous amount for checking bags. Ye've been warned.
Leg two: Phoenix (Sky Harbor) to Hopkins International (Cleveland)
Let me get this out of the way right now: I HATE the Phoenix Airport. I HATE it. And here's why: I landed on time, and upon exit went to look at the call board for my next flight. I came to discover that I was in the US Airways terminal ... and they had no other flights listed. So i went to the information desk, and asked how to get to the Continental Terminal. Through a garble of indiscriminate directions, I gleaned I should go down to baggage claim, exit the airport, hop on a bus, and take it to the C Terminal. Which then meant that when I finally got to the terminal I had to get to, I had to GO BACK through security. So. LAME. And unlike the Calgary Airport, completely inefficient. If you, dear reader, ever have to fly and transfer in Phoenix, my advice is to keep finding the volunteers along the way. Don't look for signs telling you where to go - in Phoenix, they apparently value human help above that of the power of arrows.
The problem with this, is that in my experience, the arrows would be infinitely more helpful.
Note to self: Flying out of Phoenix is ridiculously bumpy. Why? I don't know. You'd think that a sunny desert would be ideal flying conditions. But no.
Leg Three: Phoenix (Sky Harbor) to Hopkins International (Cleveland)
Once again, I pretended to sleep as I listened to my ipod. The flight was quite lovely. I had been to Ohio before, but never to Cleveland. There are a lot of trees in Cleveland. I waved to my friend H, who only works about 10 minutes away from the Cleveland Airport. Unfortunately, I only had a 45 minute layover in Cleveland, so visiting was not an option. I waited 30 minutes, then boarded the smallest plane I've ever been on.
Note to self: Don't buy panini's at the Cleveland Airport. Over priced, and crappy tomatoes.
Leg Four: Hopkins International to Albany International
The shortest flight on my 15 hour odyssey. Again, on the smallest plane I've ever been on. The over-head compartments didn't open and close ... no no ... there was a sliding compartment, about the size of a backpack. TINY. It only takes about an hour to fly from Cleveland to Albany. Albany is also the smallest airport I've ever been to ... and that includes the Spokane Airport. Tiny.
I love traveling. But again, I don't know if I could be prevailed upon to switch that many times again. This will happen again, I'm sure, as there are no direct flights from Albany to Calgary. Grrr.
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