I am extraordinarily conflicted, but it's complicated. I don't quite know what to do or what to say or how to do anything other than chew at myself. I know it's got to come from the inside out but it's the outside that I want to hack away at. Damn process.
The worst thing is I can't talk about it. This isn't a cry for help, this is a genuine puzzlement. Maybe it would seem less like a cry for help if I outlined some details, but I don't have the strength at this time of night. In all honesty, I'm only awake because Mike's birthday is in 6 minutes.
I'll work it all out in the morning. I'll put down the fork and pick up the knife and carve out an existence for myself and it won't be perfect but it'll be mine, and that has to be good enough.
I'm having a great time at NEYT! First week flew by and, as I approach week two, I'm trying desperately to catch up with myself. For instance, Nick and I went to Ithaca last week and I didn't even say a word!
One of these days, I'll blog from work. It'll be epic (or something like that). For now, I'm going to watch Family Guy.
Now, I'm not one for a letter campaign, but I highly recommend writing to the radio station. This is just too disgusting to ignore. Their address is as follows.
KRXQ 98.5 FM 5345 Madison Avenue Sacramento, California 95841
I'd also recommend forwarding this article along. Just a suggestion.
On a happier note . . . woo New Hampshire! We are one state away from a gay-marriage-friendly New England. It's about time.
My first vlog isn't quite typical. It's a recap of my weekend. I think I'll do a more traditional "Oh hai youtube" video later. But for now, my shenanigans are documented all over the webz. Username is somewaywardtraveler.
I think I'm in a flux phase and showing little patience. I'd say this doesn't bode well, but it's only temporary. I know that with the next shift I'll snap out of it.
I feel like I'm back in 8th grade, writing cryptic blog posts. They aren't meant to be cryptic. I just feel stuck. I know I'll stop feeling stuck soon, I just don't have the patience for time to fix this. Le grand sigh.
I'm (briefly) road tripping tomorrow. Documentation is a must. Along with good jams.
I almost feel like I'm melting. This is the slowest melt ever.
Maybe I should allow myself a break. Lord knows it's been a while. But I'm starting to tire of it already. I haven't done much beyond needlepointing, watching Law & Order and occasionally venturing out to see people. I have projects in the works, but I'm waiting for my new computer to arrive in the mail. I have a new phone with a jazzy new ringtone, but it's not ringing very often. I have the Priscilla cast album from Australia and a newly activated Netflix account.
Basically, everything's great and I should stop bitching.
I don't really know if this counts as bitching.
Regardless, I have a lot and I want a lot. That leaves me somewhere between pleased and malcontent. I think I can live with that for now.
Maybe I'm just bored. Maybe that's not the worst thing in the world.
I've been back in the 'burbs for less than 3 days and I'm already getting antsy. My discomfort is three-pronged.
PRONG ONE: Metropolis vs. Suburbia.
I never realized how starkly different the adjustment back to a bustling town would be. I think that I just transitioned so easily into city life when I moved to London that it never occurred to me that the switch back might be difficult. I keep talking about making a cultural adjustment, but it's not that. Yes, I do have to get used to America's puritanical views on drinking and the fact that 40% of people I see everyday aren't smoking, but other than that I think I've been alright. I pride myself on my ability to re-acclimate myself quickly. I think it's just the lack of buzz, public transportation and the ability to wander without looking like a crazy person. The fact that I need a car to get anywhere or that this town shuts down at 10 PM were small details that I had almost forgotten about. I've been forced to remember abruptly.
PRONG TWO: The Generation Gap.
I am at an awkward age. I am too old to be in high school yet too young to (realistically) have kids. Because I am in this odd middle range, this town doesn't know what to do with me. I no longer fit here. This feeling gets worse every year. I'm sure this concept will become more pronounced and justified once I've graduated from college. For now, it's not pressing, it's just uncomfortable.
I've been getting this vibe a lot. I'm not saying that small town America has no place for 20-somethings. On the contrary. I am a big fan of small town America, romanticized or no. I don't want to be an outsider, but in my specific community I am. It's no ones fault, they just literally don't really know what to do with me. I also don't really know what to do with myself. I guess it's a double-edged sword.
PRONG THREE: The Shame Complex.
Of all the prongs, this one makes the least sense. For some reason, I don't feel like myself here. I feel like I'm hiding bits of myself from judgmental, cardigan-clad gazes. This makes no sense at all. This is my home. Though the number of people I know in this town is dwindling, it's ridiculous to think that the people I grew up with would turn their backs on me for no reason. It's even more ludicrous because I've spent so much of my life not giving a fuck what they think. Even if I've always secretly cared (just a bit), I am quick to denounce them if they try to change me. I'm obnoxiously stubborn and quite happy with the person I am becoming every day. If they don't like it, they can suck it. I've always thought this. I think that's why this shame that's creeping up on me is freaking me out so much. I already feel stifled and I haven't even done anything.
I'm about to spend a month at home. In the year 2008, I spent a total of four weeks (maybe four and a half) in Sudbury. I'm gearing up for a big shift. In preparation, I am assembling a list of projects. Aside from personal goals, I intend on spending the next month reading plays, hanging out with some ridiculous people and teaching myself needlepoint. Yes, you read correctly. Why? It seems like the type of thing one would do in Vermont. Cross-stitching pillows or whatever is part of my emotional prep for the big move. Silly? Yes. Productive? Absolutely.
I'm including a song at the close of this entry. Not because it has any specific relevance to what I've been saying, but just because it's on my mind. Jay Brannan has a gift for making me feel. He doesn't always make me feel good, and he doesn't always make me feel bad. He just always makes me feel, which is more than I can say about plenty of things.
Exactly one year ago today, I was awkwardly stumbling my way through my first day at California Shakespeare Theatre. I was picked up by Daunielle and (slowly) whisked through traffic to the office. I got the grand tour (which lasted all of five minutes) and was thrown into rehearsal for Pericles. The first thing Scott every asked me was "have you ever been on book before?" Clearly, I had, so I began work right away. I still remember the scene. It was the top of Act III, prologue into scene one. Gower spoke of a sea-tossed ship and threw a pole to Pericles, who was flanked by two sailors also carrying poles. There were thunderous sound effects and, despite the torn jeans and baggy sweatshirts, I was completely entranced. I was officially hooked.
I often say that Cal Shakes was the best thing I ever did for myself. I know it's only been a year, but I still believe it. Dropping pretty much everything and moving across the country was a big kick in the ass for me. It terrified me, so obviously I had to do it. I find the things that scare me the most are usually the best for me. This was no exception.
There is nothing that can beat those people, those shows, that environment. From vaccumming those fucking runners to typing line notes at 4 AM, I loved every second of it. Late nights around the patio table by the dressing rooms and nearly setting my apartment on fire at 2 in the morning on multiple occasions added up to precious moments that I will never forget. I hate using that word: precious. It makes it sound like I'm cheapening this experience to a Hallmark card, but I can't think of another way to describe it. Everything about the summer reaffirmed why I'm doing what I'm doing. It inspired me and moved me and showed me that non-profit theatre can not only survive but flourish in the United States. I am sure that much of my reminiscence sounds like romantic blather and honestly, I could give two shits. It was life changing, so suck it. I loved it so much, this east coast girl is considering moving out there next year. We'll see.
I am eternally grateful to everything and everyone that made California possible for me. I won't be going back this year and I miss everyone desperately. I am confident, however, that life will go on. I'm sure I'm going to love Vermont and, by the time I'm done, NEYT won't know what hit it. All I can do is smile back on last summer and stare this one straight in the face. Believe me, I'm ready.
I am back in Ithaca. It really hasn't felt like I've been away that long. I won't go so far as to say that it feels like I never left, but it's still odd. You know how sometimes you don't see a close friend for a really long time and you come back and you just pick up from where you left off, no questions, no apprehensions? It's sort of like that. Times 50.
London almost doesn't feel real. It still hasn't really sunken in that I lived in London for nearly four months. I don't really know if I saw that many shows, or functioned in a big city, or never got mugged. It's settling in but right now it's in this hazy place. I don't know how to feel about it.
I am, remarkably, still healthy. RIGHT when I got home I developed viral pink eye. That was my body saying "Kristin, if you don't slow the fuck down I'ma make your eyes juicy." It was unpleasant but it's gone now. The worst part of it was I got treated like a leper. Sad face.
The great traveling continues! I'm moving down to the Farm tonight, back to Sudbury on Thursday and then doing home-type things. Like getting a new computer. That's the big one. I'm so excited.
Yesterday, as I sat on a plane taxi-ing away from Heathrow, I realized something. I hate take offs. I hate leaving. I am so overcome when I can look out my window and see my former home shrinking as I rapidly fly away. The only exception I've ever had to this rule was my 36-hour-12th-Night-Extravaganza in September, and that was only because I was so excited to be going and knew I'd be back in Ithaca soon. My heart ripped right out again when I left San Francisco. I do, however, love landings. Landing is the best feeling in the whole world. It may even be more excited than seeing people at the airport. It's just so euphoric, knowing that it's all right there and watching yourself get closer and closer to home. Yesterday, I nearly peed myself when I saw a baseball field. It's the little things, really.
I made it back to the 'bury in one piece. I was extremely jet-lagged and slightly delusional and really hilarious to the rest of my family. In one sense, London felt like this really long, really bizarre, really amazing dream. On the other hand, it felt like I could go outside, walk for a little while and hop on the tube to go back home to my flat. I'm feeling juxaposed and wierd. I think I'll be able to reflect more when I'm less jetlagged.
I now commense the final leg of my Sherry Party pilgrammage. One layover at LaGuardia stands between me and home. My body's starting to shut down, but I will persever!
I work in Earl's Court. I live in Bayswater. Usually, this takes half an hour if I'm slow. I left get-out/get-in early enough to catch the last tube home. Until the tubes decided to fuck with me.
So I hoped on the last possible train and went to the only place I know how to catch a bus from: Charing Cross Railway Station. This is where you go to googlemaps or whatever and see just how far that is from work and home. It is, however, very close to Heaven, so therefore I know how to get home.
2 buses, 1 half hour wait and a can of pringles later, and I'm home.
Oh, and it's raining.
Oh, and I have to be at work at 10 AM. It's 2 AM now.
This is not a rant about my job. I love my job. This is in no way meant to reflect poorly on my theatre nor is it meant to be taken as me lashing out at my pitiful internship experience. This is me cataloguing an epic FML moment.
(FML stands for "fuck my life," for those who are not up to date with the lingo)
So now I'm going to eat another pringle and go to bed. Then in the morning, I'll get up, go to work and then write papers on my non-existent computer.
Do you sense a theme?
PS - I consider the can of pringles to be the biggest failure of the night. I refuse to eat my feelings.
So, I finally took Lappy to the doctor. The prognosis was not good.
My motherboard is dead. Fried. Kaput. Gone by the wayside.
It's too expensive to fix and I'm computerless. So, no more photos til I get back from London. No more youtube-ing. No more Skype (unless I mooch computers). No more late nights doing nothing and no more obsessive email checking.
I can still use my roommates computers if they'll let me, so I won't be ENTIRELY cut off. I just won't be able to do things like . . . write my art history paper at home. That'll be fun.
It's a gross grey day and this is a total FML moment, but I seem to be taking it all in stride. I think this is going to be OK.
I depart for Stratford-upon-Avon in 8 hours. But first! This needed to be posted.
I am in love. His name is Jay Brannan and he doesn't know I exist.
In all seriousness, Jay Brannan is an amazingly talented singer/songwriter and actor. I first met him via Shortbus (an excellent movie, by the by) and it was love at first sight. Or rather, first song. In the movie, there's a short scene in which Jay sings a song called "Soda Shop." I immediately looked him up and bought everything he ever recorded.
Jay has released 2 EPs and one full-length album. His debut album, goddamned came out this summer. One of the remarkable things about Jay as an artist is his label. When conventional record labels wouldn't sign him without compromising his art, Jay took the profits from live gigs and EP sales and started a record label, Great Depression Records. He is a one-man operation, just trying to get his music out there. He really is phenomenal and I highly recommend that you, like I, go out and buy everything he's ever recorded. Honestly, he's worth the money and you're supporting a fantastic talent.
Anyway, he's just released a new music video for "Can't Have It All," one of my favorite songs off his album. Please check it out. Also, check out his website. And his blog. I follow his blog so you can find it through here but I'll post the website link below the video.
www.jaybrannan.com
In other news . . .
I have half a liter of Sangria in the fridge, a band-aid on my foot and a backpack full of underwear. It's Stratford time.
Last night, I went to see a new musical called "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert." You don't have to know me very well to know that this is the type of show that I hate. An old movie being musicalized, stuck up on stage and glossed over in merchandise is not my idea of theatre. I have nothing against musicals. I have something against the direction that "new" musical theatre is going. Last semester, I did a very angry (but quite witty) powerpoint presentation on Jukebox Musicals and why they can suck it (for the record, this was not the title of my presentation).
I decided to give Priscilla a chance. I had never seen the movie, but I had seen that sparkling, 20 foot high LED pump they have up on the marquee. That shining high heel is on of my landmarks when locating G-A-Y. Seriously, you can't miss this thing. Despite my moral opposition to Priscilla as a piece of art, I figured that drag queens are sort of my bag, so why not.
God, am I glad I went.
I was astonished. I was amazed. I laughed. I cried (from laughing). I almost peed myself. It was just brilliant. It was spectacle the likes of which I have NEVER before seen in my life, and yet I loved every second of it. It was just what I needed at that moment.
I think the appeal of Priscilla (at least for me) was all in the camp. This show was sparkle, shine and glitter. There was big hair and bigger dresses. It was absolutely ridiculous. There was a very sweet story buried underneath all that sequins, but it never took itself seriously for more than 30 seconds. One moment you were touched and the next moment leather clad chorus boys singing "Venus" reminded you exactly where you were. And it was beautiful.
I am very embarrassed to make the following statement. But I'm going to do it anyway.
Seeing "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: the musical" reminded me why I want to do theatre for the rest of my life.
Now, I know this is a ludicrous statement. Trust me, I know. But you haven't seen the show. So don't judge. OK, so I know you're going to judge anyway, but nothing can describe the sheer joy I felt sitting in that theatre. It was really magical and ridiculous and . . . I think it's the elation. It's that feeling of elation that makes me want to keep going forever and ever and ever.
In non-Priscilla news, lappy's still busted. I think I'm going to try to get her fixed (at least temporarily) tomorrow. The G20 summit is in town (as are the Obamas). I had to walk by a police barricade on my way to work, so that was fun? Oh, and I'm trying desperately to sublet the Bungalow for the summer. But at least we have a full house for next year!!
One month and counting til I'm back in Ithaca. When did that happen?
My computer died. Like, HARDCORE died. It's been acting futzy for quite some time, but now it's gone. It won't hold a charge and I can't even turn in on.
This sucks a) because I can't afford a new computer and b) because my level of communication with the old country is going to drop significantly. So sad.
So, today, I guess I'm making it work without a computer.
PS - I've recently started watching 5awesomegays on youtube, and after watching this video, I think I'm starting to sound like them. A bit. Freaky? Yup.
