Monday, March 26, 2012

I'm an FFA Project, or At Least My Foot Is

I'm hobbling around on crutches. My foot does not even remotely resemble a human foot. The closest I can come to describing the disfigurement and discoloration, which I have been assured is temporary, is that my foot looks almost exactly like the rear foot of the American Spotted Hog my cousin raised for a Future Farmers of America project a couple of years ago.  To me it's ironic that I went through several surgeries to make my leg appear normal after my injuries two years ago, then to have the other foot rendered almost equally hideously unsightly in a freak accident. Still, we're just talking extreme bruising here. Nothing's broken It hurts like hell if I bump it or put any weight on it, so I make it a point not to do much of either of those two things. The pain is at its worst at night, when it has to rest against or on something. Thank God for Vicodin.

It's my first Spring Break as a college student, and I'm spending it in high style on my parents' sofa, or hobbling around on my lovely pink crutches. Seriously, they are lovely. If I have to use crutches, they may as well be pretty crutches. Tomorrow I'm going to my PseudoAunt's and PseudoUncle's house to spend a couple of days. It's unlikely I'll do anything all that exciting there, but a change of scenery will be nice.

Ik ben op zoek naar John.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

One More Performance / Campus Newspaper Review

Our second performance of "Fiddler on the Roof" was discernibly better than our first. For one thing,  the fiddler didn't almost fall off the roof. (I forgot to include that in the last post.0 There weren't any pregnant pauses while actors mentally groped for lines. The energy level was higher, and everyone seemed more confident.

One rather unfortunate happening was when Tevye, in a rush  to get on stage, stepped on my ankle. Tevye is a large man, and he was wearing heavy boots. It was just before intermission, so we had the whole wedding scene to get through with no real time to check in out immediately. I have a relatively high tolerance for pain and knew before even looking at it that  I've suffered much worse injuries, so I made it onstage and tried not to hobble. I must have pulled it off OK, because most of the cast was unaware until intermission that anything was wrong. I hope the audience was equally oblivious.

Someone called my dad, and when i got offstage, he was there. (I know; he doesn't come across as father of the Year by not wanting to catchall eleven of my performances, but basketball or something else kept him ar home.)  He poked and prodded my ankle for a few minutes and pronounced that nothing was broken. If this blog were not written in relative anonymity, he would probably kill me for writing this, but he gave me a shot of local anaesthetic to get me through the show, as I still had the major dance sequence. The shot worked; the dance went, if anything, better than the previous night.

My dad waited around until the show was over. Instead of taking me home, we went directly to the emergency room. "I thought you said that definitely nothing is broken,"  I told him.

"You can't  ever know that without an X-ray," he told me.

"Then why did you say that?" I  asked.

"Because it would have bothered you more if I hadn't said it," he replied. "I knew, even if there is a fracture, that it wouldn't permanently cripple you to finish the show. But you need to remember one thing. If anyone at the ER asks you who gave you the lidocaine shot. I don't know if they'd  report me to the medical board or to CPS, but just say some doctor you don't even know from the audience gave it to you. Stick to the story."
As it ended up, no one even asked.

As I've mentioned before, there are good and bad points to having a father and many other relatives be doctors. Las night was good. We walked pretty much directly in and out of the ER, with a quick stop in radiology.. The X-ray confirmed my dad's suspicion that nothing was fractured, but my left foot looks like someone beat it with a sledgehammer.  I'm spending the day with my foot iced and elevated. i'll get another shot right before I go on, and one right before the dance sequence. After that, there's a week off from school and a ten-day break before our next performance. If I get through tonight, everything will be good. My dad says he's not risking any sort of whitney Houston/Anna Nicole Smith/Michael Jackson incident, but for the performance only, he'll be fairly liberal with pharmaceuticals. I obviously can't have any substance that's mind-altering, but as far as pure pain control, if it's the best thing available approved by the FDA, i can have it.

So now I've missed two cast parties and will probably miss a third one. my mom offered to have the cast and crew here, but they really can't have minors drinking at their home. Jared, my friend who isn't my boyfriend because I'm too young for that, flew out from utah to see the play. He suggested that my parents but food  for the cast, and they can eat here and then, after they're full, they can go somewhere else to get drunk. even though it's kind of pointless gesture, I think I'll take my parents up on the offer. It sucks to miss too many celebrations, even if the one I'm allowed to attend is only the pre-party before the real party.Either way, it was very kind of my parents to offer.

Now, in regard to the campus newspaper's review yesterday . . .  I mentioned that they can be brutal, and the reviewer was at times. He was particularly hard on the fiddler for almost falling off the roof.. He was especially unfavorably toward Golde, the mother of the featured family. Perchik, the young rebel who married my sister in the play, Hodel, was criticized heavily as well. The girls who play my two older sisters and I received favorable reviews. The reviewer wrote that in "Matchmaker," we had what sounded like  a legitimate sibling blend, which is difficult to achieve with non-related people. Hodel has the meatiest role of the three of us, and received the most praise, as she deserved. (Remember that she was a last-minute fill-in. Her predecessor would have been crucified in print.) The reviewer touched upon my age and youthful appearance for the part, but then went on to say that the character of Chava would probably have been only about fourteen, and I don't look that much younger than fourteen. He never mentioned that I'm really seventeen, but then, maybe it's not really pertinent. Then he said that a girl much larger than I would not have pulled off the ballet sequence nearly so beautifully. That's something of a laugh, as the only dance instruction I've had is the minimum that high-level gymnasts have to take. Still, a compliment is a compliment, and I'll take it in whatever form it comes.

So now I'm stuck in a recliner with my ice-packed foot elevated on pillows. It's nice that I have my friend who happens to be a boy to entertain me. I'll be on crutches for a week or so -- I still have the ones I painted pink that I used because of my injuries two years ago -- but for today, I'm only up for absolute essentials. After tonight's performance, I can be on crutches as much as I feel like it. I'm praying that the drugs work as well tonight as they did last night.

Hvordan sier du ... på norsk?

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Not Bad for an Opening Night Performance

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Not Bad for an Opening Night Performance: The vocals were good. The choreography went pretty well. The only things that went wrong were when one of the bottle dancers dropped the bot...

Not Bad for an Opening Night Performance

The vocals were good. The choreography went pretty well. The only things that went wrong were when one of the bottle dancers dropped the bottle off his head  and broke it all over the stage, and when Tevye went totally blank on a line. I did what you're not supposed to do, which is to turn my back on the audience somewhat, but in doing so was able to mount the words to him. The director said I did the right thing.

I had over twenty people from my extended family/pseudo-family in attendance. The cast was going out to dinner, but I went with the family instead because it would have rude of me not to have gone with them. the cast will go out for dinner after several performance.

The student-published daily paper (Monday through Friday) had a reviewer there. It will be interesting to read what they have to say in tomorrow's edition. The local newspaper has a policy of publicizing but not reviewing student performances, They don't want to write anything brutal about student productions, but what would be the point of writing anything at all if they were not honest? I get their point. The student paper is brutally honest. it's OK. I can take it.

We had finals this week, along with our final week of rehearsal. I'm glad  I studied hard early in the trimester. I was able to manage my finals with minimal last-minute cramming, and my projects were all completed long ago.

Spring break has begun. After Saturday night, our play is on hiatus for a week except for two rehearsals. I'm not allowed to go to anyplace for vacation where I'm likely to be pepper-sprayed, so it's just another vacation for me.

Kei hea te wharepaku?  If anyone knows what Maori question means, tell me.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

At This Point, Either We Suck or We don't

Thanks, Amy. I think the leg that I actually did break two years ago was such a wreck of a fracture that it should be worth a great deal of luck on this performance.

I'm offstage for a little while. My homework is caught up, so I have the luxury or being online while others are slaving away at research projects or studying for tests between scenes.

We're having a few meltdowns and some diva-ish behavior. It was freaking me out at first, but a more experiernced castmate told me that it's par for the course for the final rehearsals before performances begin.. In our case, it's mostly about disagreements with the wardrobe people and some of the girls who are a bit vain.  It's not really realistic to expect to appear stylish while at the same time portraying a resident of Anatevka in around 1905..  I have many faults, but my level of vanity is pretty much under control.  I'm not really supposed to be pretty anyway -- just cute --  which isn't so difficult to pull off in Tsarist Russian attire.

I cannot guarantee that no one in the cast will kill another cast member, but I'm fairly certain i'll be neither the killer not the deceased if the worst should happen.

I've been confused about the day of the week since this week began, and it;s only Tuesday.  Let's hope I don't get confused and forget opening night on Thursday.

Go with God.

Monday, March 19, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Down to the Final Three Rehearsals

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Down to the Final Three Rehearsals: I'm resting in my dorm room until 7:00, when tonight's rehearsal begins. I'm going to spend the night on campus. My dad found someone from th...

Down to the Final Three Rehearsals

I'm resting in my dorm room until 7:00, when tonight's rehearsal begins. I'm going to spend the night on campus. My dad found someone from the cast whom he trusts to walk me back to my dorm room.

I'm less apprehensive with each rehearsal. Musically, the production is strong. The acting (except maybe mine) is good as long as soomeone doesn't  forget his or her lines. If the person forgets while I'm onstage, I can usually fix it or subtly remind them fairly easily.

Because my role isn't major, and because I can afford to sit out total group numbers, another guy and I have shared rehearsal pianist duties up to this point. Now we're dealing with the real accompanist and real orchestra. This removes a major burden from my workload (and that of the other rehersal accompanist, I assume). I don't mind accompanying, but I'd rather not do it when I'm in a production. Just being onstage makes it seem almost easy. Acting with emotion is still a challenge for me. My director tells me I've improved tremendously, but what he is kind enough not to say is that there is still room for major improvement.

My saving graces are my singing and dancing ability. Everyone else gets far more criticism than I on our small ensemble singing and dancing sequences. The new Hodel has a more powerful voice than I, but she doesn't have quite as much range, and her voice is a little less sweet. (She's a much better actress, by the way.) I've ended up with most of the high notes in "Matchmaker." The choreographer has added moves to make the dance where Chava leaves the family more complicated, and has added lifts.

We had a minor snafu between our two practice runs on Saturday.  We ate lunch at a restaurant which shall remain nameless because I do not wish to be sued. Even if I were to prevail in the lawsuit, it wouldn't be worth the hassle. Those who were more seriously impacted by what happened may choose to take it to small claims court, but the impact to me personally was small. Anyway, as you may have surmised, most of the cast became sick starting about two hours after the meal. There weren't enough restrooms to accommodate the various needs of the sick people. Rehearsal had to be called off, and people had to be called to transport the cast and crew home or even to the dorm. People were too sick even to walk across campus. I wasn't very hungry, and didn't each much, so I was less sick than most. People are more or  less recovered, although some are still weak. I'm fine.

My dad told me to stay away from the restaurant in question in the future. Did he really think I needed to be told that? Does he think I enjoyed simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea? Sorry for the gross-out factor.

My brother is actually coming to the opening night production of my play. How times change. There was a time when he would have deliberately left town just because it was taking place.

Taka Shi Baba (This doesn't really mean anything. It was the name of a foreign exchange student I once knew. I like the sound of it, so I now use it as a greeting.)

Saturday, March 17, 2012

A Seizure in Real Life

I'm not onstage for the scene right now, so I have a bit of a break. On my way across campus to rehearsal, I saw a girl fall and go into a full-blown grand mal seizure. I think they're officially called tonic-clonic seizures now, because that;s what the doctors on "Houee" call them, and the tV medical programs are usually up on the latest medical terminology.

The girl was maybe 50 feet away from me when i saw her go down, so I called 9-1-1 as I was approaching her. The dispatcher told me to try to roll her on her side if I could, which I did, and to keep my fingers away from her mouth, which I did. Campus police was there quickly, and one of them who came is a trained paramedic. They phoned for also an ambulance. In real life law enforcement personnel, or at least campus security people, don;t refer to ambulances ans buses as is done on Law $ Order. For all I know, the NYPD really does.

The girl regained consciousness in what was probably just three minutes but seemed a lot longer. She said she's never had a seizure before. I felt very sorry for her. One  apparently common seide effect  of grand mal seizures is a loss of control of certain body functions. I had a little blanket with me that had no particular sentimental value, but I was going to use it to stay warm in the theatre between my scenes. I left it with her. I heard the ambulance pulling up  before I reached the theatre.

Rehearsal is going well. I think we'll be ready.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Fruma Sarah Dreams

The play is getting loser and is beginning to get to me. I've begun to have dreams about Fruma Sarah, the late wife of the butcher Tzeitel is slated to marry until Motel and Tzeitel convince Tevye  to come up with a plan that will allow the two of them to marry. Tevye comes up with a fake dream that Fruma Sarah  comes to him from the dead in his dream and tells him that Tzeitel and the butcher will live together for just THREE WEEKS after the wedding until Fruma Sarah pretty much pummels Tzeitel into the ground. Our production's Fruma Sarah character is quite intimidating and is the stuff of which nightmares are made. Last night my dad had to come into my room and play his guitar until I could fall asleep again.  At least if I do "Bye Bye Birdie" or "Seussical," neither is likely to cause me to have nightmares.

I also like Brigadoon, although I have no particular part in mind. I really didn't have a part in mind with "Fiddler on the Roof," either. I thought maybe I could be the fiddler on the roof, since I can play violin, although I certainly didn't have my heart set on the role.

Opening night is Thursday. The change in actresses playing Hodel has made all the difference in the world. It all seems to be coming together. Maybe we won't look like bumbling morons, after all.

My mom's fighting mutiple kidney stones in her  right urinary tract.. I'm not worried about her attending  my play. I just hate to see her  suffer. She should probably take more pain medication than she does, but she's afraid of walking around stones all the time.

Please offer prayers or positive thoughts on my mom's behalf. Becca, if Rachel knows who the patron saint of kidneys is, we can be more specific.

Ego gobis valedico.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Spring Break

Spring Break is coming up sooner than one would think. Different universities now hold their breaks at different times, probably in part to minimize the sort of drunken revelry from the past that rivaled the Mardi Gras on Bourbon Street. Spring Break is almost a redundancy at a party school such as the one I attend. One would leave campus for some vacation site where not half as much is going on as is happening a  block away from campus on any given Wednesday. Still, some of my acquaintances have plans to attempt serious partying in various locales, Palm Springs being one. Why in hell would one leave the coastal paradise of my university to travel to Palm Springs for the purpose of getting drunk?  From what I've been told, the booze here is every bit as potent, and the view is far more scenic.

My spring break will be compromised somewhat by my "Fiddler on the Roof" obligation. Our opening night is March 22, with performances following on the 23rd and 24th. We won't have any more performances until after spring break is over, but we will have two rehearsals during the week. Our next performance will not be until April 7. The scheduling on this was really poor, but there were supposedly problems with booking the venue we needed.

We did find a replacement Hodel after our original Hodel quit in a huff. The new one played the role three years ago and seems to have a remrkable recollection of the lines. She's also far more talented than our original Hodel. In addition to greater acting skills, she has a much bigger and more pleasant voice, which causes me to have to hold back less.  All things considered, our original Chava's departure was a good thing.

My friend Candace's Spring Break coincides with mine, so she's coming here to visit. Her university is in central California , so she's happy for a change of scenery. The cows are starting to get to her.

Au revior!

Monday, March 12, 2012

Upper Division Writing Exam

I took the Upper Division Writing Exam this afternoon. It's not an incredibly high-stakes exam, but a passing score allows a person to skip a few English courses. One never knows exactly how well or poorly one did on the test, as the results are only given as ?pass" or "fail." I'm relatively confident I didn't fail. When I write things out by hand I don't misspell; I'm a horrible typist but actually a decent speller, and usage isn't a problem for me. If I don't know the correct way to word or punctuate something, I just change it to a way I'm certain is standard usage.

Our essay topic was""Describe something you've had to learn the hard way."  There are so many directions I could have gone with this, from not following my instincts and absolutely refusing to obey my parents and stay with my aunt and uncle who practically let me die in their attic to not suspecting that something was up the time my attacker asked to use the restroom right after I did. These subjects and others like them seemed too melodramatic and perhaps even a bit hard to believe for someone who doesn't know me at all. In any event, I didn't want it to appear that I was appealing to the grader's sympathy. Instead I chose a lighter topic.

I think I wrote about this once before, but I'm redundant even on a good day, so what the hell? I'll share it again.  When I was around two-and-one-half, I became convinced that the colored balls inside our Fisher Price popper, which was community property between my brother and me, were actually gum balls. I asked my mother to let me break it open. She told me that my brother still played with it, so she would not allow me to destroy it, but she didn't think I could break it anyway because Fisher Price toys are very sturdily constructed, and besides, the colored balls were most certainly not gum balls. I pleaded with her for months, which turned into years. Dumb old Matthew was four years old and was still pushing the stupid popper around, pretending that he was vacuuming or mowing the lawn. I can remember asking my mother if she wasn't beginning to grow just a bit concerned that Matthew was so easily amused by a baby toy. Her answer was something to the effect of,  "Matthew's not the one of you who concerns me."  Even when I was a toddler, my mother used sarcasm as a major weapon in her arsenal. If anyone wonders where I got it from, look no further.

I continued to nag my mother, but one day midway between our fourth and fifth birthdays, Matthew decided  to move onto bigger and better toys, and that he no longer needed to use the Fisher Price popper. It was one of the happier days of my life that I recall. My mother adapted a pair of my dad's safety goggles so that they would at least remain on my head, not that they actually fit me. Every day after breakfast in the summer and after kindergarten once school began, I went out into the garage, put on my safety goggles that made me look like some sort of space alien (my uncle has a picture of me wearing the things, and they legitimately made me look either like I was from another planet or like I was incredibly special) and went to work on breaking into the Fisher Price popper with my dad's hammer. It kept me out of my mother's hair for so much  time that she surely must have wished she'd either taken the popper away from my brother years earlier or had gone out and bought another one for me to destroy.

After months of hammering,  I seemed to be making no progress at all until one morning shortly after Christmas (I remember that it was after Christmas because my uncle commented that most normal children would be playing with their new Christmas presents and not spending every waking moment attempting to destroy old ones), I noticed the faintest crack in the clear plexiglass cover. From that moment on, nothing would deter me from my mission. Every spare moment of the remainer of Christmas vacation was spent pounding on the popper with my dad's hammer. It nearly killed me to go back to school without having actually broken into the thing, but the very next weekend, I finally broke through it enough that I was able to use the claw end of the hammer to pry the popper open,  I took the eight multi-colored balls out and held them carefully, looking at the colors and wondering which flavor of gum would be most appealing. I finally decided upon red. I put it in my mouth and chewed, curious as to whether it would be strawberry, cherry, or cinnamon flavored. Much to my dismay, it was none of those flavors, nor any other flavor unless one would describe plastic as a flavor.

Matthew apparently noticed that I had broken through the plexiglass, because my mother knew about it. I certainly would not have volunteered the information to her. My mom asked what the colored balls tasted like. I was tempted as strongly as I've ever been tempted to do anything to lie to her and describe all the delicious flavors of the gum balls, but I knew she'd be able to tell that I was lying, so I was forced to admit that she had been correct all along.

I had devoted probably at least three hundred hours trying to get to the gumballs inside the Fisher Price popper that were not actually gumballs at all, and my mother had told me so all along.  I've done many things in my life that have given me a reputation for being stubborn, but the Fisher Price popper incident easily tops the list.

This, of course, is not my exact essay, but the content is essentially the same. I think my only real chance of failing is if the grader finds my stupidity, even as a preschooler, so profound that he refuses to grant a passing grade to such a complete moron.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

drama at the theatre, but not the good kind

An actress and singer in our production of "Fiddler on the Roof," and I'm applying  both terms very loosely, had a major meltdown in the midst of rehearsal today, the end result of which is that she will no longer be playing the role of Hodel. I won't give you too many details of the meltdown, but it reminded me of  the way  my three-year-old cousin behaved when my grandmother's terrier tore her new stuffed bunny to shreds during church on Easter morning a few years ago. The actress' meltdown was all over her wanting to ad lib the lyrics of "Far From the Home I Love," which is something of a classic and not all that conducive to the artistic license of a twenty-one-year-old  neither terribly talented nor inspired novice.

The  loss of Hodel is both good and bad. The good part is that she was easily the weakest link in the lead roles. The bad part is that our opening night is in twelve days, and the role that had probably the third most lines of every role in the play is now vacant. I know the lines and my part has fewer lines, so it would probably be easier to fill my part and move me up. The director even threw this out as an idea. The consensus was, however, that it would look like we were promoting pedophilia with me in the role of Hodel. I'm almost believable as Chava,  but Perchek, Hodel's romantic interest, is twenty-two and could pass for twenty-five. He said he'd probably quit as well if they made me be Hodel. I didn't really take it as an insult. I just look young.

One guy suggested that at least one-fourth of the high schools in the U.S. have probably done a production of "Fiddler on the Roof" in the past four years, and some of those girls who portrayed Hodel have to be here on our campus. We'll have a massive poster campaign advertising  for actresses to audition for the  replacement of Hodel. We'll hit the music and theatre departments and all the vocal performing groups particularly hard, figuring our most promising candidates will be there.

When one thinks about it, if a girl or woman knows the role, it's a good deal. She gets a fairly major role in a university production with having to endure relatively few rehearsals and having to have her life messed up minimally. She'll have to be able to relearn the line immediately and learn the blocking, but the blocking is neither all that innovative nor critical.  Regardless, as i see it, they could put a mannequin on stage with somewhat reading and singing her part into a microphone offstage and it would be an improvement over the previous Hodel.


A Fairly Odd but Nice Gift

My aunt just gave me, of all things, a sewing machine. She bought a new one for herself, so she decided I should be the recipient of her old one. this was a most generous gesture, but I seem an odd choice for such a gift. I can barely sew on a button. my mom isn't a hell of a lot more talented than I am in that department. Fortunately my Aunt Ilianna (neither a biological aunt nor one by marriage, but a real aunt just the same) is quite a skilled seamstress and lives only about a half hour away from me. She's helping me to make a simple baby quilt. She says I  can give it to the next close friend or relative who has a baby, or I can even save it for the day I have a child of my own, but I'm actually making it for the day when my pseudoaunt and uncle either produce or adopt a baby. I should probably give it to someone else and give them the next one I make, because I'll probably get better as I continue to sew.

Sewing is sort of a relaxing activity, but I don't think I want to sew clothing. It's much easier to sew things that are flat than to stictch things to fit various dimensions and shapes. I may stick to quilting, although as I improve, I hope to evolve to sewing more complicated quilted blocks or appliques. It's nice because it's something I can do if I want and not do if I don't want. I don't have many things in my life that are so optional.

My room in our new house has a perfect corner that was unoccupied and is just the right size for my sewing machine. It's almost like the person who designed my room (my aunt, but not the aunt who gave me the sewing machine)  knew I would need that precise space for something in the near future.

By the way, my new baby cousin Blitzen Manx and his family are temporarily gone. They probably left because they're tired of my dad calling their baby "Mutt" instead of his real name. Uncle Mendel thought it was mildly funny, but Aunt Cristelle, was not particularly amused. My dad told her to remember the Trailer Trash Barbie incident, for which she was largely responsible, and to consider the possibility that they're not even yet simply by my dad calling the baby "Mutt." Mendel says they're not leaving Blitzen Manx with my dad at any time near Halloween or any other dress-up occasion because Dad would probably dress the baby up as a drag queen and take multiple pictures. Cristelle, Mendel, and the baby are in Utah visiting my Uncle Michael and his family. They'll probably see my grandparents and the other aunts and uncles once or twice, but they have about as much in common with the Utah branch of the family as I do. I'm really glad my Uncle Michael and his family are getting out of there fairly soon. Aunt Cristelle, Uncle Mendel, and Blitzen Manx are coming back here before they fly back to Europe so that they can watch one of my play performances, which I consider extremely thoughful of them. I hope my dad is helping them out a little with air fares because I don't think they're rolling in dough, although I could be wrong. Come to think of it, I haven't a clue as to their financial status. For all I know, they could be multi-millionaires. I don't think about those things very much.

Malo e  lelei, which, I think, actually means "hello" in Tongan, but I like the sound of it, so I'll end my post with it even if it makes no sense.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Anyone know a quick cure for a broken butt?

My music theory professor broke his coccyx doing the Hokey Pokey at either an ice rink or a roller rink. I didn't get all the details. On Monday class was cancelled. today another professor covered. This guy was so bad (he spent five minutes just playing all the A-flats on the piano and elaborating on what a beautiful tone A-flat is and how it is by far the most sonorous pitch in existence; imagine the "Twilight Zone" music here)  that three different students went to the department head and told them about a lady who covered class for the prof for one session(my mother, of course) who is really good and probably is available to teach the class. The department chair was able to get her contact info through accessing my records. My mother will be teaching the course for roughly the next two weeks.  The good thing is that the other students won't hate me because she's replacing a really bad instructor versus subbing in place of having no class at all. The bad news is the MY MOTHER is teaching my music theory class. If the original prof's tailbone isn't sufficiently recovered in two weeks, my mother's stint could be even longer. So if anyone knows any tips for expediting the healing of a fractured coccyx, please post them to me in the comments section, and I'll see that the prof gets them. We want his coccyx  in one solid peace ASAP.

"Fiddler on the Roof" is coming along, although a few characters are starting to scare me with their lack of knowledge of their lines. if I'm not even onstage, there's little I can do to sue them. What am I supposed to do? Run onstage impromptu and make up some reason I'm supposed to be there while I whisper their lines to them? They simply must learn their lines or we'll all loook like fools. Come to think of it, we may all look like fools, anyway? We're not exactly the most talented cast ever assembled. I can sing and dance, and i know my lines, but I'm not exactly Natalie Portman when it comes to acting. Others are pretty talented actors, but sing like my grandmother, which is not a compliment. We've got until the 29th of this month to pull it together.

Seven people in the cast have joined together to make a five hundred dollar bet with me that i can't recite the entire dialgue of the play, songs included, by March 28. It's a stupid bet on their part, as I could do it today . It's their money, and if they really want to throw it away, I can. We're still hammering out  the terms. I can misspeak as long as I correct myself.  we're hammering out how many conjunctions or prepositions I can mess up on. I think Five is a fair number. They think two. The director will be the final arbiter, although he says he doesn't really want any  part in illegal gambling.  We all have to agree on a really honest person to hold the money, because i don't trust that many people to each come up with their share. my guess is that halfway through my recitation, they'll get bored with listening to it and hand over the money. . could misspeak, but if i'm very areful, it should be easy money. My grandfather once paid me a hundred bucks for memorizing the entire LDS hymnal, both piano/organ music and words. I was eight, and a hundred dollars seemed like a whole lot to earn at that time. Now I'd insist on at least ten times as much. Furthermore, my brain is permanently clogged with words and music of LDS hymns. It's wasted brain space in my opinion. .Someday I'm going to need to remember something, and there won't be any room in my brain for it, because it will be filled with "If You Could hie to Kolob" and other literary and musical gems.

C'est la vie. I end my blogs with that phrase frequently. My dad tried to teach me French one summer. "C'est la vie" is one of the few things I remember. Also, I can ask someone why he or she did not eat lunch in the cafeteria today, or answer the same question.  It was such a valuable use of my dad's time.

Monday, March 5, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Bone One Would Prefer Not to Break

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Bone One Would Prefer Not to Break: Today's session of my music theory course was canceled. Wednesday's class may be canceled as well. i'm not going to tell my mom about this b...

A Bone One Would Prefer Not to Break

Today's session of my music theory course was canceled. Wednesday's class may be canceled as well. i'm not going to tell my mom about this because she might volunteer to teach the class, which would cuse all my classmates to hate me.

Anyway, the professor went to a local roller rink with his kids. At one point during each skating session, they clear the rink and move every skater who is willing participate in a giant game of the Hokey Pokey. My professor unfortunately elected to participate in the Hokey Pokey. equally unfortunately, he fell on his coccyx during the Hokey Pokey dance. The fall must have been particularly hard, as the poor guy fractured his coccyx.

There is a certain honor that comes with some injuries. Most sports injuries, unless they're injuries to unmentionable parts of one's body, carry with them a certain esteem. There is positively no dignity in fracturing one's coccyx doing the Hokey Pokey. Had I been the professor, I probably would have said it was a hip fracture, and I definitely wouldn't admitted even under Chinese water torture that the injury occurred while I was playing the Hokey Pokey and turning myself around, even if that was what it was all about.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Memory Isn't Everything

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Memory Isn't Everything: i was born with strong visual and auditory memory. That gives me certain advantages in life, but it doesn't help me to overcome everything, ...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Memory Isn't Everything

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Memory Isn't Everything: i was born with strong visual and auditory memory. That gives me certain advantages in life, but it doesn't help me to overcome everything, ...

Memory Isn't Everything

i was born with strong visual and auditory memory. That gives me certain advantages in life, but it doesn't help me to overcome everything, and it may even burden me with a few disadvantages. It didn't stop thugs from assaulting me in the bathroom; it did help me to recount everything that was said word-for-word. Part of this was verified by a 9-1-1 tape. now, the problem is that my memory makes it more difficult to get away from some of the unpleasant details. Maybe it's just as bad for anyone else who has experienced something similar. I really don't know. i had an appointment with my shrink yesterday, who suggested that my unusual memory was making things worse. I mentioned to her that on 'House" a person was unable to live a normal life becauase she couldn't forget anything. They eventually diagnosed her with OCD and gave her medicine which deactivated her  remarkable memory but allowed her to live a normal life. My shrink said that was scince fiction - pure made-for-Hollywood medicine. He said if i have OCD at all, it's so minor that it's the least of my problems, and it's not the reason i have an unusual memory. My mom has a memory that functions as mine does, and my shrink said she's not noticeably OCD, either.

Speaking of memories and memorization, we're getting within weeks of opening night, and some characters still have not yet committed their lines to memory. I've picked up a few social skills in the last few years. When I was thirteen, if someone hadn't known a line and I knew what it was, I probably would have hollered it out across the stage. Now I either whisper it or somehow cue them in. If they don't learn their lines, I'll end up with far more lines than were ever written for the character of Chava just by saying things to help the others remember their lines.  The other characters are appreciative of my subtle ways of helping them. Half the time the director doesn't even know it's happening. It's nice that they like me even though I'm younger than they are.

This is my final weekend with no play rehearsals. Next weekend we have a Saturday rehearsal. The following we have Saturday and Sunday rehearsals. Then it's every day or night no matter what. I'm wondering what possessed me to become involved with this production, but I hope that it will all seem worth it once the actual production begins.