Dear Jack,
I just applied to Yale, School of Drama.
I, Megan Lee, just applied for admission to the 2008-2009 academic program to receive my MFA in Acting from Yale, School of Drama.
I just paid $100 to have my application rejected from Yale, School of Drama.Excuse me just a minute, won't you? I think I have to vomit.
Why on earth did I just do this? Why? I'm not getting in. They only take 16 people. 16!!!! 16 of the most talented individuals across the country, and some are Yale undergrads to boot. They're going to find people with real theatre degrees, not me!
I need to vomit again.
The good news is I have a month to prepare for my audition.
Holy shit. I only have a month.
I just applied to Yale, School of Drama, with only a month to prepare... Yes, I definitely need to vomit.
Always,
John
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Argh
Dear Jack,
No time. The inn flooded a few weeks ago, boss shanghied laptop. Trying to keep up, but no use so far. Not ignoring you, love you and Harry Potter.
Always,
John
No time. The inn flooded a few weeks ago, boss shanghied laptop. Trying to keep up, but no use so far. Not ignoring you, love you and Harry Potter.
Always,
John
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wildlife
Dear Jack,
I think I have just completed the mandatory course of country living. Up until now, I have simply been a lost city girl parading around Salado as nothing more than someone who thought she truly didn't belong there. I mean, every time I see a deer in the road, I freeze up, slam on my brakes, and pray that it runs the other way. I've seen squirrels, wild birds (turkeys!), armadillos, a squished turtle or two, but tonight took the cake.
Tonight I was silent witness to the running of the skunk.
Everyone with a nose knows that they exist. Every now and again there is a smell emanating from a dark carcass on the side of the road, but a real, live skunk? Never. They are the chupacabra of country living, the Loch Ness Monster. A legend of mythic proportions, something one knows exists, but never actually sees.
I don't know what scared this little guy, but shy friend of Bambi, this Flower was not. As I was driving home tonight, I slowed on Center Circle, scanning the sides of the road closely for deer when all of a sudden he (for I have deemed him male whether or not he likes it) bolted from the side of the road. Of course, my first thought was "Deer!", but then my brain caught up with my reflexes and I realized that the "deer" was a little short. And dark, and had a bizarre white stripe any hairstylist would love to study and attempt to duplicate to create Hollywood's next hair craze.
He was gone before I could really get a good look at him, but I couldn't get over the fact that I had seen a skunk. I guess there's a first time for everything.
Now if only I knew whether or not this encounter would bring about luck of any kind.
Always,
John
I think I have just completed the mandatory course of country living. Up until now, I have simply been a lost city girl parading around Salado as nothing more than someone who thought she truly didn't belong there. I mean, every time I see a deer in the road, I freeze up, slam on my brakes, and pray that it runs the other way. I've seen squirrels, wild birds (turkeys!), armadillos, a squished turtle or two, but tonight took the cake.
Tonight I was silent witness to the running of the skunk.
Everyone with a nose knows that they exist. Every now and again there is a smell emanating from a dark carcass on the side of the road, but a real, live skunk? Never. They are the chupacabra of country living, the Loch Ness Monster. A legend of mythic proportions, something one knows exists, but never actually sees.
I don't know what scared this little guy, but shy friend of Bambi, this Flower was not. As I was driving home tonight, I slowed on Center Circle, scanning the sides of the road closely for deer when all of a sudden he (for I have deemed him male whether or not he likes it) bolted from the side of the road. Of course, my first thought was "Deer!", but then my brain caught up with my reflexes and I realized that the "deer" was a little short. And dark, and had a bizarre white stripe any hairstylist would love to study and attempt to duplicate to create Hollywood's next hair craze.
He was gone before I could really get a good look at him, but I couldn't get over the fact that I had seen a skunk. I guess there's a first time for everything.
Now if only I knew whether or not this encounter would bring about luck of any kind.
Always,
John
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Nostalgia
Dear Jack,
I can divide my life into two categories- BA and AA. I've said this for a long time, and while the obvious abbreviations are misleading, (neither stand for Bachelor of Arts nor Alcoholics Anonymous) both are extremely accurate. Ten years ago today I will have left for Australia and New Zealand. My life easily falls into the before and after categories of that excursion.
I've realized this for a long time, but nothing brought it as clearly to mind as a discussion I just finished with my boss. We were talking about my current production and my multiple year goal set and plans. He made the statement that even though I'm talented, he didn't feel I was ready to branch out to New York yet. I agreed, and said that was why my plan was a multi-year set. I have some growing to do.
Our conversation progressed, each of us telling formative stories from our childhood. His involved his struggle with his sexuality, mine involved an outward expression of behavior based on an older sister whose behavior left much to be desired. But, ultimately, I said- I make decisions based on who I am and what I believe to be right.
He became very quiet. For a moment, neither of us said a word. Finally, he just sighed and said that he made his decisions based on what his current life position demanded of him.
I just looked at him for a moment before saying, "You don't know who you are, do you?"
His eyes found mine, quizzical. I tried to explain as best I could. For as much as I am the Weekend Manager of Inn on the Creek, or an actress, I am first and foremost Megan. There are fundamental things about me that will never change. Will is so caught up in being what he is that he has neglected to find out who he is. I told him that this made me sad for him.
For as much as both of our journeys are ones of discovery, my journey is from myself, to discover the world around me. Will has found the world, but lost himself. And I realized in that moment, that a similar moment has shaped my life more than I ever thought possible.
Ten years ago today, I left for Australia and never looked back.
Always,
John
I can divide my life into two categories- BA and AA. I've said this for a long time, and while the obvious abbreviations are misleading, (neither stand for Bachelor of Arts nor Alcoholics Anonymous) both are extremely accurate. Ten years ago today I will have left for Australia and New Zealand. My life easily falls into the before and after categories of that excursion.
I've realized this for a long time, but nothing brought it as clearly to mind as a discussion I just finished with my boss. We were talking about my current production and my multiple year goal set and plans. He made the statement that even though I'm talented, he didn't feel I was ready to branch out to New York yet. I agreed, and said that was why my plan was a multi-year set. I have some growing to do.
Our conversation progressed, each of us telling formative stories from our childhood. His involved his struggle with his sexuality, mine involved an outward expression of behavior based on an older sister whose behavior left much to be desired. But, ultimately, I said- I make decisions based on who I am and what I believe to be right.
He became very quiet. For a moment, neither of us said a word. Finally, he just sighed and said that he made his decisions based on what his current life position demanded of him.
I just looked at him for a moment before saying, "You don't know who you are, do you?"
His eyes found mine, quizzical. I tried to explain as best I could. For as much as I am the Weekend Manager of Inn on the Creek, or an actress, I am first and foremost Megan. There are fundamental things about me that will never change. Will is so caught up in being what he is that he has neglected to find out who he is. I told him that this made me sad for him.
For as much as both of our journeys are ones of discovery, my journey is from myself, to discover the world around me. Will has found the world, but lost himself. And I realized in that moment, that a similar moment has shaped my life more than I ever thought possible.
Ten years ago today, I left for Australia and never looked back.
Always,
John
Monday, May 28, 2007
Stress
Dear Jack,
Right now I am sitting quietly, listening to the rain, with my feet propped up on the coffee table. This is the first time I have had in over a week to simply sit and breathe. With my luck though, the phone will ring at any moment, destroying the semblance of calm I have finally managed to at least fictionalize for myself.
My boss' mother-in-law (or would be his mother-in-law if those kind of marriages were legal here) has brain cancer. They discovered it three weeks ago and my boss and his partner have been running back and forth from Salado to Tyler nonstop since. It's been rough of all of us, them especially. Will has left me in charge of the Inn, which is fine, but tiring. And the play is opening this weekend. Right now I don't know how that's going to work. My guess is not well.
I'm at such as loss as to what to do for them. All I can do is try to keep things running here as smoothly as possible. We shall see.
Right now, I'm going to concentrate on breathing.
Always,
John
Right now I am sitting quietly, listening to the rain, with my feet propped up on the coffee table. This is the first time I have had in over a week to simply sit and breathe. With my luck though, the phone will ring at any moment, destroying the semblance of calm I have finally managed to at least fictionalize for myself.
My boss' mother-in-law (or would be his mother-in-law if those kind of marriages were legal here) has brain cancer. They discovered it three weeks ago and my boss and his partner have been running back and forth from Salado to Tyler nonstop since. It's been rough of all of us, them especially. Will has left me in charge of the Inn, which is fine, but tiring. And the play is opening this weekend. Right now I don't know how that's going to work. My guess is not well.
I'm at such as loss as to what to do for them. All I can do is try to keep things running here as smoothly as possible. We shall see.
Right now, I'm going to concentrate on breathing.
Always,
John
Friday, May 18, 2007
Frustration
Dear Jack,
Right now I want to rip out my eyes, dangle them in front of a rabid dog, and see what comes of all the blood, gore, and decimation. *sigh* There are times when I really hate being management. As a mere peon, one can be slightly rude, or say things like "I don't know, allow me to get the manager for you." When you are the manager, there is no such reprieve.
Take, for instance, the fact that I just spent the last hour showing a couple around the inn. They had already booked separate rooms for this evening and tomorrow evening in order to "see more of our quaint establishment." That's fine, no big deal, happens all the time. BUT! When they got here, the wife saw that there was a bathtub with a handheld shower instead of a walk-in shower. She threw a hissy fit and demanded to see other rooms that were available. So, being the kind, patient, professional that I am, I showed them around to other rooms in which no one was staying this evening. Three rooms later they finally decided to stay in the same room which they had rented for tomorrow night.
My patience level has gotten dangerously low. This is how weekends work. I have just enough patience to go from Friday morning at 11am to Sunday afternoon at roughly 3pm before I start losing it. That is on nice, relaxing weekends in which guests are the pleasant people that I'm sure God intended them to be. In busier, more combustible weekends my patience level has been known to take severely damaging beatings that end in tears for my staff (they are the only ones who can here me bitch, because if I said exactly what I wanted when I wanted to to guests, I would no longer be employed).
This weekend is going to be a doozy.
Not to mention this new play has caused a crisis of conscience and self-doubt. I know I'm a decent actress, but it's a nice thing to actually hear from a director on occasion, and all I'm hearing from him is that I need to project. I AM TALKING PLENTY LOUD, GET A HEARING AID!
Blah.
I need a vacation.
Always,
John
Right now I want to rip out my eyes, dangle them in front of a rabid dog, and see what comes of all the blood, gore, and decimation. *sigh* There are times when I really hate being management. As a mere peon, one can be slightly rude, or say things like "I don't know, allow me to get the manager for you." When you are the manager, there is no such reprieve.
Take, for instance, the fact that I just spent the last hour showing a couple around the inn. They had already booked separate rooms for this evening and tomorrow evening in order to "see more of our quaint establishment." That's fine, no big deal, happens all the time. BUT! When they got here, the wife saw that there was a bathtub with a handheld shower instead of a walk-in shower. She threw a hissy fit and demanded to see other rooms that were available. So, being the kind, patient, professional that I am, I showed them around to other rooms in which no one was staying this evening. Three rooms later they finally decided to stay in the same room which they had rented for tomorrow night.
My patience level has gotten dangerously low. This is how weekends work. I have just enough patience to go from Friday morning at 11am to Sunday afternoon at roughly 3pm before I start losing it. That is on nice, relaxing weekends in which guests are the pleasant people that I'm sure God intended them to be. In busier, more combustible weekends my patience level has been known to take severely damaging beatings that end in tears for my staff (they are the only ones who can here me bitch, because if I said exactly what I wanted when I wanted to to guests, I would no longer be employed).
This weekend is going to be a doozy.
Not to mention this new play has caused a crisis of conscience and self-doubt. I know I'm a decent actress, but it's a nice thing to actually hear from a director on occasion, and all I'm hearing from him is that I need to project. I AM TALKING PLENTY LOUD, GET A HEARING AID!
Blah.
I need a vacation.
Always,
John
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Radar
Dear Jack,
I have just finished watching my favorite (and most heart-wrenching) episode of MASH. It is the episode where Radar leaves to go back home, and in the process of saying goodbye, the choppers start to bring in wounded, preempting the party fellow 4077 peeps had planned. Even now, thinking on the goodbyes my eyes well up with tears. This episode of MASH is so moving, it's almost astonishing. From the kisses for Peg and Erin to the salute from Hawkeye, to the final symbolic movement of Radar's journey from boy to man by leaving his teddy bear behind, I find that each segment of this episode to be equally moving and brilliant.
I always cry whenever I catch this episode. Something about it is inherently sad and joyous at the same time. But the piece that always moves me the most is the teddy bear that it left behind. My tears always turn to full, uncontrollable sobs at that point. Always for the same reason - the loss of innocence.
I don't know if you have ever had the pleasure of seeing Johnny Depp's Finding Neverland. If you have not, I highly recommend it. There is a similar scene in the movie in which George, the eldest of Kate Winslet's children comes to Depp's character (author of Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie) and voices his concerns about his mother, grandmother, and younger brothers. Depp sadness is profound, as is his silence. George simply looks at him, his voice steady and heavy with responsibility. Depp simply sighs and says that George has grown up, "the boy has become a man". And in that moment, you know that he can never go back to being what he once was, and you also know that the child was too young for that kind of decision.
George became the name of the father in the play, whereas his younger brother's namesakes in the play became John, Peter, and Michael.
Who, I wonder, was the truest of the lost boys...
It has been a few weeks since my last post, and for that I am sorry. Got caught up with the play, and with becoming Emily. She was so unlike me, and yet... not. She was a challenge, but one that I hoped I stood up to and claimed as my own. I miss her voice in my head. Perhaps the sobbing tonight brought her near for one last goodbye.
I had dinner with an old friend tonight. I was reminded of why we were friends all these years, and even more so why we do not communicate as easily as we once did. Some say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I actually think it's the promise of reunification that brings about happy, nostalgic memories. Wild fantasies that abound with what could have been, and then the reality comes with what is most decidedly not...
That's all human being are... just blind people. That's what Emily thinks, and that's what I think as well. Blind people who walk themselves into the same mistakes over and over again, if to only be reminded at the end why things didn't go the way of the illustrious "what if"...
And yet, there is something inherently human about wanting something that you can't have. Why? I don't know. Maybe for the challenge of it all. Maybe for the hope of someday being able to attain the unattainable. Maybe because being all alone in Harry Potter's cupboard, it's the only thing you have to hold onto some days. "Who knows... down the block, down the street, maybe tonight..." Tony sings to Maria.
"Maybe tonight...."
Always,
John
I have just finished watching my favorite (and most heart-wrenching) episode of MASH. It is the episode where Radar leaves to go back home, and in the process of saying goodbye, the choppers start to bring in wounded, preempting the party fellow 4077 peeps had planned. Even now, thinking on the goodbyes my eyes well up with tears. This episode of MASH is so moving, it's almost astonishing. From the kisses for Peg and Erin to the salute from Hawkeye, to the final symbolic movement of Radar's journey from boy to man by leaving his teddy bear behind, I find that each segment of this episode to be equally moving and brilliant.
I always cry whenever I catch this episode. Something about it is inherently sad and joyous at the same time. But the piece that always moves me the most is the teddy bear that it left behind. My tears always turn to full, uncontrollable sobs at that point. Always for the same reason - the loss of innocence.
I don't know if you have ever had the pleasure of seeing Johnny Depp's Finding Neverland. If you have not, I highly recommend it. There is a similar scene in the movie in which George, the eldest of Kate Winslet's children comes to Depp's character (author of Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie) and voices his concerns about his mother, grandmother, and younger brothers. Depp sadness is profound, as is his silence. George simply looks at him, his voice steady and heavy with responsibility. Depp simply sighs and says that George has grown up, "the boy has become a man". And in that moment, you know that he can never go back to being what he once was, and you also know that the child was too young for that kind of decision.
George became the name of the father in the play, whereas his younger brother's namesakes in the play became John, Peter, and Michael.
Who, I wonder, was the truest of the lost boys...
It has been a few weeks since my last post, and for that I am sorry. Got caught up with the play, and with becoming Emily. She was so unlike me, and yet... not. She was a challenge, but one that I hoped I stood up to and claimed as my own. I miss her voice in my head. Perhaps the sobbing tonight brought her near for one last goodbye.
I had dinner with an old friend tonight. I was reminded of why we were friends all these years, and even more so why we do not communicate as easily as we once did. Some say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I actually think it's the promise of reunification that brings about happy, nostalgic memories. Wild fantasies that abound with what could have been, and then the reality comes with what is most decidedly not...
That's all human being are... just blind people. That's what Emily thinks, and that's what I think as well. Blind people who walk themselves into the same mistakes over and over again, if to only be reminded at the end why things didn't go the way of the illustrious "what if"...
And yet, there is something inherently human about wanting something that you can't have. Why? I don't know. Maybe for the challenge of it all. Maybe for the hope of someday being able to attain the unattainable. Maybe because being all alone in Harry Potter's cupboard, it's the only thing you have to hold onto some days. "Who knows... down the block, down the street, maybe tonight..." Tony sings to Maria.
"Maybe tonight...."
Always,
John
Friday, March 16, 2007
Importance
Dear Jack,
I find it an easy task to fall into obscurity.
I find it difficult to take the obscure and turn it into the paramount.
But, I find it paramount to find meaning and importance in obscurity.
Always trying,
John
I find it an easy task to fall into obscurity.
I find it difficult to take the obscure and turn it into the paramount.
But, I find it paramount to find meaning and importance in obscurity.
Always trying,
John
Friday, March 2, 2007
Inconvenient
Dear Jack,
I feel like writing today, but that is unfortunate because I am down a finger with which to type. You see, this morning, I had borrowed my boss' swiss army knife in order to open some obstinate packaging. Grand- just one problem. In my haste to open said package, I neglected to observe which way the inordinately sharp knife was facing. After applying much pressure and moving what I thought was the correct and proper way, I felt a searing pain coming from my right index finger. Astonished, I looked down only to find my poor, sad, now abused digit drowning in a sea of my own blood.
I immediately applied pressure to the [quite deep] wound and waited for the bleeding to at least slow before I attemtped to wash it out. The process took quite a bit of time actually, what with the inevitable search for antiseptic, neosporin, and a band-aid. Now my finger is very sore, and virtually inoperable. Not only did I slice the fingertip, but I somehow either a) sliced completely through my finger and cut through the nail as well (something I find unlikely given that the bleeding did eventually stop and I do not have any visual on having 2 right index fingers); or b) when I pulled my finger away from the blade, I rolled my finger and then split the nail all the way down to the nail bed (I think this the more likely of the 2 possibilities).
Either way, I hope to save the nail. I doubt it will grow back in time for the production, and it just would not do to have Emily Webb looking as though she lost a finger to gangrenous case of frostbite. Nevertheless- my finger does hurt quite a bit, and I am just now discovering how ungrateful I am towards just this one finger. For instance, I did not realize that the right index finger is the one that I use primarily while typing. I'm getting along all right, but my third finger is not used to the adaptation yet. My injured finger is the finger I use to put my contacts in, to apply the needed pressure while writing anything, to point or indicate direction (all right, so that one still works), to turn pages in books, to press buttons, to move the mouse on my laptop... The list conceivably goes on forever... And I am at a loss.
I bought 2 movies and a clothes rack yesterday. The formers were luxuries needed to keep my sanity intact while in this stage of my existence, and the latter was something desperately craved because I have no closet.
No, wait. Strike that. I do have a closet, the only problem is I live in it. But, I cannot complain as I do not have to pay any type of rent whatsoever. I have reached an unspoken agreement with my boss. Instead of staying in a room in the inn proper and moving every time my room is rented out, I have moved into what is lovingly referred to as "The Baby Room." The name was agreed upon not because it was ever intended for and/or used as a nursery, but instead refers to its size. The room is a 10ft by 4ft room, with sloped ceilings that mean I can only stand upright in the very middle of the eaves. In this room as 1 twin bed, a nightstand, 1 dresser, a small tv stand and an old but still functional television.
It's... cozy...
Needless to say, all of my clothes do not fit into said dresser, so the clothes rack was bought to bring about some semblance of normalcy. Just one problem... it's too tall for the room. BUT! I have not given up hope yet. On my days off this week (Monday and Tuesday), I plan on a massive rearrangement- or more accurately misappropriation of my things. Hopefully the room and I can come to some sort of unspoken agreement.
I'm staring at one of the dvd's I got yesterday- Stranger than Fiction. I don't know if you ever had a chance to see that one. If not, go out and rent it tonight. It's worth at least one, if not multiple viewings. The basic premise of the movie is that life is fleeting, and we should make the most of it while we are able. One of those universal archetypes. I find myself agreeing- not because of any new discovery or epiphany, simply because it should be recognized.
Many people find the play Our Town to be boring and old fashioned, but I disagree. Not just because I'm now in it, mind you, but because of this similar timeless message. It's eternal message. That's actually my favorite part of the entire play. Allow me to explain-
The Stage Manager has just opened Act 3- Emily Webb has died in childbirth, and the fleetingness of life is at the forefront of everyone's minds. Just when we hit the brink of despair, Wilder and the Stage Manager find it paramount to remind us that even though things appear bleak- "We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars-- everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always letting go of that fact. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."
I don't really know how to conclude these thoughts. I just find that passage so moving. Every night I sit backstage waiting to go on and join the rest of the dead souls lying in wait, and I know... Eternity is waiting.
Always,
John
I feel like writing today, but that is unfortunate because I am down a finger with which to type. You see, this morning, I had borrowed my boss' swiss army knife in order to open some obstinate packaging. Grand- just one problem. In my haste to open said package, I neglected to observe which way the inordinately sharp knife was facing. After applying much pressure and moving what I thought was the correct and proper way, I felt a searing pain coming from my right index finger. Astonished, I looked down only to find my poor, sad, now abused digit drowning in a sea of my own blood.
I immediately applied pressure to the [quite deep] wound and waited for the bleeding to at least slow before I attemtped to wash it out. The process took quite a bit of time actually, what with the inevitable search for antiseptic, neosporin, and a band-aid. Now my finger is very sore, and virtually inoperable. Not only did I slice the fingertip, but I somehow either a) sliced completely through my finger and cut through the nail as well (something I find unlikely given that the bleeding did eventually stop and I do not have any visual on having 2 right index fingers); or b) when I pulled my finger away from the blade, I rolled my finger and then split the nail all the way down to the nail bed (I think this the more likely of the 2 possibilities).
Either way, I hope to save the nail. I doubt it will grow back in time for the production, and it just would not do to have Emily Webb looking as though she lost a finger to gangrenous case of frostbite. Nevertheless- my finger does hurt quite a bit, and I am just now discovering how ungrateful I am towards just this one finger. For instance, I did not realize that the right index finger is the one that I use primarily while typing. I'm getting along all right, but my third finger is not used to the adaptation yet. My injured finger is the finger I use to put my contacts in, to apply the needed pressure while writing anything, to point or indicate direction (all right, so that one still works), to turn pages in books, to press buttons, to move the mouse on my laptop... The list conceivably goes on forever... And I am at a loss.
I bought 2 movies and a clothes rack yesterday. The formers were luxuries needed to keep my sanity intact while in this stage of my existence, and the latter was something desperately craved because I have no closet.
No, wait. Strike that. I do have a closet, the only problem is I live in it. But, I cannot complain as I do not have to pay any type of rent whatsoever. I have reached an unspoken agreement with my boss. Instead of staying in a room in the inn proper and moving every time my room is rented out, I have moved into what is lovingly referred to as "The Baby Room." The name was agreed upon not because it was ever intended for and/or used as a nursery, but instead refers to its size. The room is a 10ft by 4ft room, with sloped ceilings that mean I can only stand upright in the very middle of the eaves. In this room as 1 twin bed, a nightstand, 1 dresser, a small tv stand and an old but still functional television.
It's... cozy...
Needless to say, all of my clothes do not fit into said dresser, so the clothes rack was bought to bring about some semblance of normalcy. Just one problem... it's too tall for the room. BUT! I have not given up hope yet. On my days off this week (Monday and Tuesday), I plan on a massive rearrangement- or more accurately misappropriation of my things. Hopefully the room and I can come to some sort of unspoken agreement.
I'm staring at one of the dvd's I got yesterday- Stranger than Fiction. I don't know if you ever had a chance to see that one. If not, go out and rent it tonight. It's worth at least one, if not multiple viewings. The basic premise of the movie is that life is fleeting, and we should make the most of it while we are able. One of those universal archetypes. I find myself agreeing- not because of any new discovery or epiphany, simply because it should be recognized.
Many people find the play Our Town to be boring and old fashioned, but I disagree. Not just because I'm now in it, mind you, but because of this similar timeless message. It's eternal message. That's actually my favorite part of the entire play. Allow me to explain-
The Stage Manager has just opened Act 3- Emily Webb has died in childbirth, and the fleetingness of life is at the forefront of everyone's minds. Just when we hit the brink of despair, Wilder and the Stage Manager find it paramount to remind us that even though things appear bleak- "We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars-- everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always letting go of that fact. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."
I don't really know how to conclude these thoughts. I just find that passage so moving. Every night I sit backstage waiting to go on and join the rest of the dead souls lying in wait, and I know... Eternity is waiting.
Always,
John
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Hope
Dear Jack,
Today I was tasked with a weekly chore. Go to the grocery store and Sam's a pick up all the supplies needed for the restaurant for the upcoming week. The list is normally long, and finding some of the obscure things (such as a can of capers... what are those things anyways?) can be a tedious task. Nonetheless, it is something that must be done, and for all of my complaining, I do enjoy it. For some reason, I love wandering up and down the aisles of a grocery store, surrounded by vibrant colors, exotic smells, and chaotic people.
Things were different today though. My wanderings were not as relaxing as they normally were, mainly because I was having to do an enormous amount of counting. (e.g. 80 handfuls of fresh green beans, 20 cucumbers, 15 grapefruits, etc.). I was shoveling green beans into a bag when a woman with long hair struck up a conversation with me. It started out mundane enough- Isn't this disgusting- the green beans aren't what they should be given the droughts that have been plagueing the world as of late.
I simply nodded. Texas is always in a state of drought, although I had no idea the rest of the world was also suffering from a disturbing lack of liquid. Then, this woman morphed before my eyes. All of a sudden, she changed from a middle aged Central Texas housewife, to hippie extraordinaire/Al Gore's biggest fan ever. I think she must have watched the Oscar's on Sunday night, gone out and rented An Inconvenient Truth, and memorized it on the spot, for very suddenly, I was on the receiving end of a very vocal, liberal environmentalist tirade. In the middle of HEB.
I kept nodding, mainly because I didn't know what to say in response. She started to protest the war, citing that it was "all about oil" and then rounded the island of greenbeans to come to my side.
Now is the time that I should tell you I'm out of clean clothes, and that means that for some reason, I own a pair of camo pants. They are always the last thing I wear, but today I had no other choice. She then mistakenly took me for an army personnel and changed tune slightly, saying that she supported the troops, but if every person did not protest any way that they could then the world would soon be ending in fire and water.
I watched an episode of LOST last night. It was a Hurley episode which I enjoyed very much. The message of that episode last night was one of hope. Hurley tried desperately to help restore the hope that the group had lost lately, and very likely succeeded. He broke his own curse, if only for now. He found hope for himself, and for others.
I wish that I could have found a way to express that to the woman at the grocery store. Even when things seem bleak, whether they really are, or are just a product of an overactive imagination, find hope. Sometimes it is hidden well, but I always find that if you look hard enough, it can't evade you forever.
Always,
John
Today I was tasked with a weekly chore. Go to the grocery store and Sam's a pick up all the supplies needed for the restaurant for the upcoming week. The list is normally long, and finding some of the obscure things (such as a can of capers... what are those things anyways?) can be a tedious task. Nonetheless, it is something that must be done, and for all of my complaining, I do enjoy it. For some reason, I love wandering up and down the aisles of a grocery store, surrounded by vibrant colors, exotic smells, and chaotic people.
Things were different today though. My wanderings were not as relaxing as they normally were, mainly because I was having to do an enormous amount of counting. (e.g. 80 handfuls of fresh green beans, 20 cucumbers, 15 grapefruits, etc.). I was shoveling green beans into a bag when a woman with long hair struck up a conversation with me. It started out mundane enough- Isn't this disgusting- the green beans aren't what they should be given the droughts that have been plagueing the world as of late.
I simply nodded. Texas is always in a state of drought, although I had no idea the rest of the world was also suffering from a disturbing lack of liquid. Then, this woman morphed before my eyes. All of a sudden, she changed from a middle aged Central Texas housewife, to hippie extraordinaire/Al Gore's biggest fan ever. I think she must have watched the Oscar's on Sunday night, gone out and rented An Inconvenient Truth, and memorized it on the spot, for very suddenly, I was on the receiving end of a very vocal, liberal environmentalist tirade. In the middle of HEB.
I kept nodding, mainly because I didn't know what to say in response. She started to protest the war, citing that it was "all about oil" and then rounded the island of greenbeans to come to my side.
Now is the time that I should tell you I'm out of clean clothes, and that means that for some reason, I own a pair of camo pants. They are always the last thing I wear, but today I had no other choice. She then mistakenly took me for an army personnel and changed tune slightly, saying that she supported the troops, but if every person did not protest any way that they could then the world would soon be ending in fire and water.
I watched an episode of LOST last night. It was a Hurley episode which I enjoyed very much. The message of that episode last night was one of hope. Hurley tried desperately to help restore the hope that the group had lost lately, and very likely succeeded. He broke his own curse, if only for now. He found hope for himself, and for others.
I wish that I could have found a way to express that to the woman at the grocery store. Even when things seem bleak, whether they really are, or are just a product of an overactive imagination, find hope. Sometimes it is hidden well, but I always find that if you look hard enough, it can't evade you forever.
Always,
John
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Passion
Dear Jack,
First off, some UMHB English gossip I think you would be interesting in knowing. Dr. Lewis is thinking about teaching a summer course for your namesake. I'm completely excited. If she does end up teaching it, I'm sneaking into that class everyday. I can't wait to see what she does with Screwtape and Mere Christianity. I would love for her to go over Narnia, but I think that might be getting my hopes up a bit high.
Second, a little bit of something random. Lord Voldemort stayed in my B&B last night. Oh yesssssssss... Tom Riddle and wife stayed in our Honeymoon suite last night. I was hilariously amused. I really hope that You Know Who did not commit You Know What... I had to clean the room as we were a bit short staffed this weekend.
Third, now that I have the gossipy bits out of the way, I have news. I decided that I had had enough of not doing what I have wanted to. So, I made a list of all the local auditions for plays around here. Theater is my life and it was slowly killing me not being involved. Well, I auditioned for VLA in Killeen for the production of Our Town... and... I got the lead. I'm so excited, and the part is so good. I don't know of you're familiar with it at all, but my character is Emily Webb, and Our Town basically follows her life, love, and death. Some of the stuff is so profound it's hard to express.
We go up at the end of March and I'm so excited. I wish you were here, because I know I could trust you to get all the delicate nuances of every line. And trust me, some of them are delicate. I know why some people positively despise this play, but I love the language that Wilder uses... so much about this play speaks to me.
I'm excited for this. Hopefully other people will be as well.
Always,
John
First off, some UMHB English gossip I think you would be interesting in knowing. Dr. Lewis is thinking about teaching a summer course for your namesake. I'm completely excited. If she does end up teaching it, I'm sneaking into that class everyday. I can't wait to see what she does with Screwtape and Mere Christianity. I would love for her to go over Narnia, but I think that might be getting my hopes up a bit high.
Second, a little bit of something random. Lord Voldemort stayed in my B&B last night. Oh yesssssssss... Tom Riddle and wife stayed in our Honeymoon suite last night. I was hilariously amused. I really hope that You Know Who did not commit You Know What... I had to clean the room as we were a bit short staffed this weekend.
Third, now that I have the gossipy bits out of the way, I have news. I decided that I had had enough of not doing what I have wanted to. So, I made a list of all the local auditions for plays around here. Theater is my life and it was slowly killing me not being involved. Well, I auditioned for VLA in Killeen for the production of Our Town... and... I got the lead. I'm so excited, and the part is so good. I don't know of you're familiar with it at all, but my character is Emily Webb, and Our Town basically follows her life, love, and death. Some of the stuff is so profound it's hard to express.
We go up at the end of March and I'm so excited. I wish you were here, because I know I could trust you to get all the delicate nuances of every line. And trust me, some of them are delicate. I know why some people positively despise this play, but I love the language that Wilder uses... so much about this play speaks to me.
I'm excited for this. Hopefully other people will be as well.
Always,
John
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Inhibition
Dear Jack,
Have you ever wanted to dance naked in the moonlight? I'm laughing as I type that, because tonight, it's not a metaphorical question. Tonight the moon is almost full, the clouds around it are lending to it an air of mystery and beauty, not danger and horror. Tonight the temperature is well above what would be considered normal (even in Texas), with only a slight breeze to give it a crisp, clean feeling.
Tonight would be the night to do it, if one so desired. A part of me really does, but there is too much holding me back. Literally and figuratively.
There are times in life when I wish that artistic expression could be recognized for just that, and that people who do things in the name of art were all wonderful human beings dedicated to that art, instead of a few psychos who have given us all bad names.
Sometimes I think that I romanticize life too much. But then again, a true romantic would never think that. I once described myself to Dr. Lewis as a Realist with Romantic tendancies. I wonder on nights like these if perhaps the two are not reversed. I wish I knew, regardless.
I wish I knew many things. I wish I knew the square root of 467, I wish I knew what happened on the last season of Alias, I wish I knew that life truly does have meaning, and what that meaning is. 42 notwithstanding, of course.
Tonight I wish I could dance naked in the moonlight, and tonight I wish I knew that if I did, no one would be watching.
Always the ballerina,
John
Have you ever wanted to dance naked in the moonlight? I'm laughing as I type that, because tonight, it's not a metaphorical question. Tonight the moon is almost full, the clouds around it are lending to it an air of mystery and beauty, not danger and horror. Tonight the temperature is well above what would be considered normal (even in Texas), with only a slight breeze to give it a crisp, clean feeling.
Tonight would be the night to do it, if one so desired. A part of me really does, but there is too much holding me back. Literally and figuratively.
There are times in life when I wish that artistic expression could be recognized for just that, and that people who do things in the name of art were all wonderful human beings dedicated to that art, instead of a few psychos who have given us all bad names.
Sometimes I think that I romanticize life too much. But then again, a true romantic would never think that. I once described myself to Dr. Lewis as a Realist with Romantic tendancies. I wonder on nights like these if perhaps the two are not reversed. I wish I knew, regardless.
I wish I knew many things. I wish I knew the square root of 467, I wish I knew what happened on the last season of Alias, I wish I knew that life truly does have meaning, and what that meaning is. 42 notwithstanding, of course.
Tonight I wish I could dance naked in the moonlight, and tonight I wish I knew that if I did, no one would be watching.
Always the ballerina,
John
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Through the Wardrobe
Dear Jack,
I got together with some old roommates from college today. It was a girl's day through and through, which was great. I hadn't seen Lacey since the summer, and Seanna and Marianna since I moved to Salado a month and a half ago. Sara was the only one missing. She's actually in California visiting family and doing some sort of Catholic mission. She was missed.
As I was sitting at dinner with Seanna (the other girls had to leave a bit earlier, longer drives than I had), I was struck by the fact that out of all the "friends" I had in college, my circle of influence remained quite small. I can name 5 people who I actually attempt to keep in touch with. Everyone else has simply faded away, as if I never really knew them in the first place.
A small part of me wonders if I did, or if any of them truly knew me.
I explained to Seanna that I thought it really wasn't that odd that I came away from college with so few people that I considered a friend... I know to some people I seem crass, superficial, judgemental, or superior minded. What these other people never realized was that there are different levels to a person. It's always easy to assume that "what you see is what you get", but in my case, that was just not so. My friends are the people that bothered to look past those fronts, to scale the depths to find what was truly me.
All of those things I am, but there is also a part of me that has to knock on the back of every wardrobe door because I'm convinced that there is a portal to Narnia out there, somewhere. I just have to keep looking to find it. The people that go through the wardrobe and look into my soul... those are the people worth keeping as friends.
Always,
John (someone who considers you a friend) :)
I got together with some old roommates from college today. It was a girl's day through and through, which was great. I hadn't seen Lacey since the summer, and Seanna and Marianna since I moved to Salado a month and a half ago. Sara was the only one missing. She's actually in California visiting family and doing some sort of Catholic mission. She was missed.
As I was sitting at dinner with Seanna (the other girls had to leave a bit earlier, longer drives than I had), I was struck by the fact that out of all the "friends" I had in college, my circle of influence remained quite small. I can name 5 people who I actually attempt to keep in touch with. Everyone else has simply faded away, as if I never really knew them in the first place.
A small part of me wonders if I did, or if any of them truly knew me.
I explained to Seanna that I thought it really wasn't that odd that I came away from college with so few people that I considered a friend... I know to some people I seem crass, superficial, judgemental, or superior minded. What these other people never realized was that there are different levels to a person. It's always easy to assume that "what you see is what you get", but in my case, that was just not so. My friends are the people that bothered to look past those fronts, to scale the depths to find what was truly me.
All of those things I am, but there is also a part of me that has to knock on the back of every wardrobe door because I'm convinced that there is a portal to Narnia out there, somewhere. I just have to keep looking to find it. The people that go through the wardrobe and look into my soul... those are the people worth keeping as friends.
Always,
John (someone who considers you a friend) :)
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Politics
Dear Jack,
Forgive the ranting. My temper has flared in the most eloquent ex-English major way, and I'm about to vent against the politicians of the world. I don't care whether they are right-wing conservatives, left-wing radicals, zealots, terrorists, or just someone with a different political world view than the one I hold... There is a certain level of decorum which I expect to be upheld in this country, and frankly, I find it insulting when it is not.
When did politics cease to be about the issues at hand, both in the world at large and in our home country? Yes, President Bush just addressed countless issues in his State of the Union address, but was I the only one who seemed to think that he said a whole lot without saying anything? Granted, I was silently protesting by reading Entertainment Weekly during the majority of the speech, but I figured (being a Republican by a naturally conservative nature) that I would tend to agree with him on the majority of issues which he addressed.
And really, I'm not here to talk about the issues. I'll leave that to people more politically aware than I am, but seriously. All this talk about the war and what we are doing that is both right and wrong in Iraq has got to stop. The facts are these. We are there, whether or not we like it, and as pulling out completely and all at once is a suicidal option for not only the Iraqi people, but the United States as a whole, we need to freaking shut up about it. But I'm going to stop talking about things which I really know nothing about. I think that other people (especially those in positions of political power) should FOLLOW MY LEAD.
When I was little, I wanted to be the first woman President of the United States. I can honestly say that is a job I no longer wish to apply for. When did politicians cease to be people? Real people with feelings, and convictions, and emotions? When did a simple question like "How is your son?" suddenly morph into a political soapbox for an already explosive issue? How can it be that propaganda has replaced a forum in which it is correct to speak civilly about issues? And yes, I realize that the rhetorical values of the President asking about another senator's son is really just a tool to perpetuate goodwill, I do not think that he did it with any intention to throw the fact that this senator's son was still in Iraq. Yes, emotions run high in situations like these, but why drag an innocent question of a HUMAN BEING'S health into a political circus, simply to convey a point which we, as the INTELLIGENT American public already know that you hold.
Which, conveniently brings me to my next point. When did we, as American citizens, suddenly morph into the mindset of a twelve year old. I don't know about you, but I hold two college degrees. I am perfectly capable of not only constructing a complex sentence, but I can (contrary to popular belief) understand them. I recognize when I am being insulted, and coddled, and lied to. And, if Jim Webb thinks that he is the be-all-to-end-all voice of the democrats of the world, let me tell you a little thing or two about rhetoric and the use of the word proper...
The belief systems held in the world are as varying as the people in it. That is what makes this country great. The second that you start forcing your belief system on me (and by the use of the word "proper" in reference to how you think the war in Iraq should be ended), that is the second that I start to be insulted.
What if I don't agree with what you think is proper? Does that make me wrong, and therefore "improper"...? There is no room left for error there. Either you are right, or you are wrong. Count me among the simpletons, but maybe, just maybe, to a Texas girl like me, that phrase does not really cross those party lines and heal old wounds. Just because you think that something is right does not necessarily make it so. The same goes for me. I want the name of your speech writer and your rhetorician... They both need to consider the future outcomes of the job they are doing.
Always,
A very testy,
John
Forgive the ranting. My temper has flared in the most eloquent ex-English major way, and I'm about to vent against the politicians of the world. I don't care whether they are right-wing conservatives, left-wing radicals, zealots, terrorists, or just someone with a different political world view than the one I hold... There is a certain level of decorum which I expect to be upheld in this country, and frankly, I find it insulting when it is not.
When did politics cease to be about the issues at hand, both in the world at large and in our home country? Yes, President Bush just addressed countless issues in his State of the Union address, but was I the only one who seemed to think that he said a whole lot without saying anything? Granted, I was silently protesting by reading Entertainment Weekly during the majority of the speech, but I figured (being a Republican by a naturally conservative nature) that I would tend to agree with him on the majority of issues which he addressed.
And really, I'm not here to talk about the issues. I'll leave that to people more politically aware than I am, but seriously. All this talk about the war and what we are doing that is both right and wrong in Iraq has got to stop. The facts are these. We are there, whether or not we like it, and as pulling out completely and all at once is a suicidal option for not only the Iraqi people, but the United States as a whole, we need to freaking shut up about it. But I'm going to stop talking about things which I really know nothing about. I think that other people (especially those in positions of political power) should FOLLOW MY LEAD.
When I was little, I wanted to be the first woman President of the United States. I can honestly say that is a job I no longer wish to apply for. When did politicians cease to be people? Real people with feelings, and convictions, and emotions? When did a simple question like "How is your son?" suddenly morph into a political soapbox for an already explosive issue? How can it be that propaganda has replaced a forum in which it is correct to speak civilly about issues? And yes, I realize that the rhetorical values of the President asking about another senator's son is really just a tool to perpetuate goodwill, I do not think that he did it with any intention to throw the fact that this senator's son was still in Iraq. Yes, emotions run high in situations like these, but why drag an innocent question of a HUMAN BEING'S health into a political circus, simply to convey a point which we, as the INTELLIGENT American public already know that you hold.
Which, conveniently brings me to my next point. When did we, as American citizens, suddenly morph into the mindset of a twelve year old. I don't know about you, but I hold two college degrees. I am perfectly capable of not only constructing a complex sentence, but I can (contrary to popular belief) understand them. I recognize when I am being insulted, and coddled, and lied to. And, if Jim Webb thinks that he is the be-all-to-end-all voice of the democrats of the world, let me tell you a little thing or two about rhetoric and the use of the word proper...
The belief systems held in the world are as varying as the people in it. That is what makes this country great. The second that you start forcing your belief system on me (and by the use of the word "proper" in reference to how you think the war in Iraq should be ended), that is the second that I start to be insulted.
What if I don't agree with what you think is proper? Does that make me wrong, and therefore "improper"...? There is no room left for error there. Either you are right, or you are wrong. Count me among the simpletons, but maybe, just maybe, to a Texas girl like me, that phrase does not really cross those party lines and heal old wounds. Just because you think that something is right does not necessarily make it so. The same goes for me. I want the name of your speech writer and your rhetorician... They both need to consider the future outcomes of the job they are doing.
Always,
A very testy,
John
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
It's Gonna Be a Happy New Year...
Dear Jack,
(I've decided that all these blogs are going to be addressed to you specifically, whether they are actually for you, or not. Think something like The Screwtape Letters. Yes, as we are contemporaries, I thought I'd give your style a shot.)
It's turned cold here. We 've been moderately iced in for two days now. It's odd to think that when you look at the weather radar map, all of the white that stands for snow and the pink that represents ice has conglomerated in one spot, right here, deep in the heart of Texas (clapclapclapclap). Normally I love it when things like this happen, but sitting here, looking deep into a roaring fire just isn't the same when your boss is pacing around the living room, deeply concerned for the whereabouts of his partner.
It always amazes me the depths of emotion that one experiences when the safety of a loved one is on the line. The tension here is running deep. I wish he would stop pacing, but I can't deny him the one ounce of control that he has over the situation. He can't control the ice, he can't control his partner, but when it all comes down to it, he can control his reaction.
Apparently, his reaction is to pace. Alot.
What also amazes me is the fine line between worry and anger. Deep anxiety that easily changes to fear, frustration, and things you say that you didn't mean to at the time. Sometimes I think Thumper's Mom hit the nail on the head. "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say nothing at all."
My kitten is also cold. I know this because she has curled up in my lap and buried her precious little nose into my leg. She's never quiet, or still, but today she is both. Wonders never cease.
This is so funny. I don't know what I'm writing about, Jack. All I know is that I have Peterson's voice in my ear saying "Just write. Who gives a crap? Something will come out of nothing, but you just have to keep on writing..." I wonder if he listens to his own mantras. I wonder how many freshmen he has corrupted with his "interesting" points of view. I wish I were back there somehow, talking to him. Me and you against the rest of the class. We were right more than we were wrong.
I miss that.
I don't wish that I could go back to college though, honestly. What I wish for is the companionship that college brought. People my age were never far away, whereas now people my age seem a lifetime away. I guess that's what I get for moving to Salado (aka, God's Waiting Room...). Being in New York again a week ago has made me realize again just how much I want to be there. Maybe I should reconsider my not wanting a Masters... I could go to NYU.
Whatever I decide, one thing is for sure. 2007 is going to be an interesting year. I like years that end in 7's. The last one changed my life, for the better. I hope it happens again. Somehow.
Always,
John
(I've decided that all these blogs are going to be addressed to you specifically, whether they are actually for you, or not. Think something like The Screwtape Letters. Yes, as we are contemporaries, I thought I'd give your style a shot.)
It's turned cold here. We 've been moderately iced in for two days now. It's odd to think that when you look at the weather radar map, all of the white that stands for snow and the pink that represents ice has conglomerated in one spot, right here, deep in the heart of Texas (clapclapclapclap). Normally I love it when things like this happen, but sitting here, looking deep into a roaring fire just isn't the same when your boss is pacing around the living room, deeply concerned for the whereabouts of his partner.
It always amazes me the depths of emotion that one experiences when the safety of a loved one is on the line. The tension here is running deep. I wish he would stop pacing, but I can't deny him the one ounce of control that he has over the situation. He can't control the ice, he can't control his partner, but when it all comes down to it, he can control his reaction.
Apparently, his reaction is to pace. Alot.
What also amazes me is the fine line between worry and anger. Deep anxiety that easily changes to fear, frustration, and things you say that you didn't mean to at the time. Sometimes I think Thumper's Mom hit the nail on the head. "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say nothing at all."
My kitten is also cold. I know this because she has curled up in my lap and buried her precious little nose into my leg. She's never quiet, or still, but today she is both. Wonders never cease.
This is so funny. I don't know what I'm writing about, Jack. All I know is that I have Peterson's voice in my ear saying "Just write. Who gives a crap? Something will come out of nothing, but you just have to keep on writing..." I wonder if he listens to his own mantras. I wonder how many freshmen he has corrupted with his "interesting" points of view. I wish I were back there somehow, talking to him. Me and you against the rest of the class. We were right more than we were wrong.
I miss that.
I don't wish that I could go back to college though, honestly. What I wish for is the companionship that college brought. People my age were never far away, whereas now people my age seem a lifetime away. I guess that's what I get for moving to Salado (aka, God's Waiting Room...). Being in New York again a week ago has made me realize again just how much I want to be there. Maybe I should reconsider my not wanting a Masters... I could go to NYU.
Whatever I decide, one thing is for sure. 2007 is going to be an interesting year. I like years that end in 7's. The last one changed my life, for the better. I hope it happens again. Somehow.
Always,
John
Monday, January 15, 2007
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