So, I spoke with an ROTC representative on Friday. He answered a lot of my questions and what it comes down to is that the Army will pay for my senior year, but only in exchange for eight years of my life. It comes down to this:
1. Roughly $4500 to $5000 yearly, to be paid in monthly increments
2. $600 per semester for books
3. A uniform fund
All this will be paid to me in exchange for:
1. Eight years of my life
2. A summer of officer training
3. Training to become an Army chaplain (assuming I get into the program)
4. Four years of active duty (and if I'm a chaplain, anywhere I want), and four years of reserve.
So, I'm still debating. The money looks pretty sweet, and I'll have a retirement fund, AND I'll sort of be set up for life, AND they'll pay for whatever grad school I want to attend. BUT this is all assuming that I a.) live through the experience, and b.) feel like turning over EIGHT GODDAMN YEARS OF MY LIFE TO THE US ARMY. My alternative, at this point, is a shitload of loans. I have a few days to decide, so we'll see. I'm in contact with Major B., so if I have any more questions, I can ask him.
In other news, I'm working on another show. No, I'm not in it - I'm actually having a little bit of fun on this one. It's called "Side by Side" and it's a Sondheim revue (unfortunately written pre-Sweeney Todd). P. asked me to help him work lights, and I'm regretting saying yes JUST a tad - it will require me to stay here three days longer than I'd planned, which I didn't want to do. However, I'm having fun with it - I'm working follow spot, and I helped install/patch lights together. It's a good time and I like the people - P. is nice, as is the man running the other follow spot. Plus, it's a good show, so I'm enjoying watching it every night. The only unfortunate thing is that I have given over my entire weekend to the hanging of lights and now I am EXHAUSTED.
Friday night was S.'s birthday party and I had a BLAST. Note to self: Jagermeister+151=BAD THINGS. Seriously. And that is all.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Venty Vent Vent Vent
You know what one of the most aggravating things in the world is? When people don't talk to each other. For example - if you have a problem with me, I'd much appreciate being informed of that problem by you. Not the grapevine. I don't want to hear from a friend of a friend of a friend's mother's cousin' uncle's little sister's vague acquaintance's mutual friend that you've been saying some very uncomplimentary things behind my back.
The theatre is possibly the home of the bitchiest people in the world. I'm not pointing fingers, because I will openly admit that I am one of them. But during a show, I greatly dislike hearing bad things about people because it distracts me. So when somebody comes over to me and either tells me that someone has been talking about me, or that "so-and-so did so-and-such to that girl over there and OMFG can you believe it?!" I tend to get a little short-tempered. Unfortunately, the downfall to being in the middle of a show is that a great many bitchy people are gathered together in a very small place for great lengths of time, resulting in uber-bitchy behavior.
Which, let me tell you, is unfortunate. Most of the time, I love these people. I love this theatre. I've never actually lived with another theatre person before this semester, so when the theatre gossip follows me home, I tend to get impatient. When I'm at home, I just want to leave work at work - which is why I'm never, ever going to date another actor.
In other news, to top off this exceptionally pessimistic post, I learned last night that I didn't get the RA job I wanted to help me pay for school next year. I'm looking at my options and I've come down to two:
1. Prostitution/expensive call-girl
2. Army ROTC.
It's a bitch, this major o' mine. Please remind me - somebody, ANYBODY - why I do this?
The theatre is possibly the home of the bitchiest people in the world. I'm not pointing fingers, because I will openly admit that I am one of them. But during a show, I greatly dislike hearing bad things about people because it distracts me. So when somebody comes over to me and either tells me that someone has been talking about me, or that "so-and-so did so-and-such to that girl over there and OMFG can you believe it?!" I tend to get a little short-tempered. Unfortunately, the downfall to being in the middle of a show is that a great many bitchy people are gathered together in a very small place for great lengths of time, resulting in uber-bitchy behavior.
Which, let me tell you, is unfortunate. Most of the time, I love these people. I love this theatre. I've never actually lived with another theatre person before this semester, so when the theatre gossip follows me home, I tend to get impatient. When I'm at home, I just want to leave work at work - which is why I'm never, ever going to date another actor.
In other news, to top off this exceptionally pessimistic post, I learned last night that I didn't get the RA job I wanted to help me pay for school next year. I'm looking at my options and I've come down to two:
1. Prostitution/expensive call-girl
2. Army ROTC.
It's a bitch, this major o' mine. Please remind me - somebody, ANYBODY - why I do this?
Monday, February 11, 2008
Faceplant
....I fell on my face while iceskating. No, seriously. I was doing a lunge-glide, a move that I have not yet mastered due to my lack of flexibility, and my blade caught on the ice when the side of my skate should have been on the ice instead. I slid off-course and then lost my balance and slammed face-first into the ice.
Luckily, I didn't hit my nose, but I knocked my cheekbone and my chin pretty hard and I have a couple of shiny new bruises for my trouble. However - and yes, I am bragging - I am far ahead of the class's skill-level and have been asked by the coaches to please continue classes after this course is done, because I'm damn good. (Pleased? Me? Naw.)
In other news, the show run has gone well so far. I auditioned for the one-acts tonight (which irritates me, I dislike having auditions for another show mid-run), and it went fairly well. The actual show is exhausting, but rewarding. The whole cast is doing a good job. I'm no longer scared.
The other night, a very select group of us went to spend the evening following the show at the Southeringtons' house and most of us ended up staying until about 3:30am. It was wonderful. There was fun conversation and bitching about theatre in the area (as we do) and drinks flowed freely. I discovered some very useful information.
1. Frank likes me. And not in a creepy, skeezy way - I said something (I don't even remember what it was), and he looked at me with a big smile and said, "I like you. I don't know if I've said it, but I find you delightful." It made me happy.
2. He is determined that I reread "Tess of the D'Ubervilles", which I loathed when I read it at the tender age of fifteen. Frank studied Thomas Hardy intensively (he studied Hardy for his doctorate and did a very good - published - translation of "Jude the Obscure", which he insists I read after I'm done with "Tess") and disapproves a LOT of my sincere dislike of him. So we'll work on that.
3. I asked him very nicely to direct my senior project next year - we had a long, serious discussion over which play he wanted to direct, and he is thinking of "Miss Julie" by Strinberg, or something by Ibsen - I would love to do "A Doll's House", because Nora is fascinating. I wouldn't mind doing "Miss Julie", because of the creative effort that would be required, but I did dislike studying that play in "Modern Theatre" with Dr. Fran. (Then again, I disliked "The Cherry Orchard", too, and Frank changed my mind. So we'll see.)
4. Frank Southerington is my hero. I adore that man. The end.
So the night was fun and I had a great time. Frank gave me a ride home and when I told P.S. that he did the next day, he gave me an odd look (he had been there) and said, "I would've given you a ride, but you disappeared." Which I hadn't, but whatever. Frank is nicer than P.S. anyway, especially since he has no designs on me whatsoever.
Luckily, I didn't hit my nose, but I knocked my cheekbone and my chin pretty hard and I have a couple of shiny new bruises for my trouble. However - and yes, I am bragging - I am far ahead of the class's skill-level and have been asked by the coaches to please continue classes after this course is done, because I'm damn good. (Pleased? Me? Naw.)
In other news, the show run has gone well so far. I auditioned for the one-acts tonight (which irritates me, I dislike having auditions for another show mid-run), and it went fairly well. The actual show is exhausting, but rewarding. The whole cast is doing a good job. I'm no longer scared.
The other night, a very select group of us went to spend the evening following the show at the Southeringtons' house and most of us ended up staying until about 3:30am. It was wonderful. There was fun conversation and bitching about theatre in the area (as we do) and drinks flowed freely. I discovered some very useful information.
1. Frank likes me. And not in a creepy, skeezy way - I said something (I don't even remember what it was), and he looked at me with a big smile and said, "I like you. I don't know if I've said it, but I find you delightful." It made me happy.
2. He is determined that I reread "Tess of the D'Ubervilles", which I loathed when I read it at the tender age of fifteen. Frank studied Thomas Hardy intensively (he studied Hardy for his doctorate and did a very good - published - translation of "Jude the Obscure", which he insists I read after I'm done with "Tess") and disapproves a LOT of my sincere dislike of him. So we'll work on that.
3. I asked him very nicely to direct my senior project next year - we had a long, serious discussion over which play he wanted to direct, and he is thinking of "Miss Julie" by Strinberg, or something by Ibsen - I would love to do "A Doll's House", because Nora is fascinating. I wouldn't mind doing "Miss Julie", because of the creative effort that would be required, but I did dislike studying that play in "Modern Theatre" with Dr. Fran. (Then again, I disliked "The Cherry Orchard", too, and Frank changed my mind. So we'll see.)
4. Frank Southerington is my hero. I adore that man. The end.
So the night was fun and I had a great time. Frank gave me a ride home and when I told P.S. that he did the next day, he gave me an odd look (he had been there) and said, "I would've given you a ride, but you disappeared." Which I hadn't, but whatever. Frank is nicer than P.S. anyway, especially since he has no designs on me whatsoever.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Pissed Off? What?
It figures. It just frelling figures that the first time I get a real soprano lead, I GET SICK. Yes, my friends. Illness beckons me and my body is heeding its call. AGAIN. Why didn't I get sick over Christmas? Or right afterwards? WHY NOW????
In other news, fainting is weird. Discovered that tonight. Wholly unpleasant, really. Why in the world was it accepted practice in the good ol' days?
Our one lead, Dr. D has been missing rehearsals consistently. The past three nights (this included) he has been absent from rehearsal. We have run our duet and a trio involving him, me, and my male lead Alexis, ONCE. ONCE. WE OPEN ON FRIDAY. I HATE SHOW-BUSINESS.
And may I just state that no, my dear Musical Director, I will NOT be reaching full-voice when I HAVE BEEN PLACED ON VOCAL REST AND WILL LOSE MY VOICE IF I SING LOUDLY. Do we want me to have my voice on Friday? Yes, yes we do. And since I am at rehearsal with a fever and DOCTOR DALY is frelling home with a migraine for three days (I have no sympathy, if he wants my migraine drugs, he is more than welcome to them), I think we should be cutting me a little slack and just be happy that I am present and know my part.
Oh. I love Frank Southerington. That is all.
Whew. I, for one, feel better about myself.
In other news, fainting is weird. Discovered that tonight. Wholly unpleasant, really. Why in the world was it accepted practice in the good ol' days?
Our one lead, Dr. D has been missing rehearsals consistently. The past three nights (this included) he has been absent from rehearsal. We have run our duet and a trio involving him, me, and my male lead Alexis, ONCE. ONCE. WE OPEN ON FRIDAY. I HATE SHOW-BUSINESS.
And may I just state that no, my dear Musical Director, I will NOT be reaching full-voice when I HAVE BEEN PLACED ON VOCAL REST AND WILL LOSE MY VOICE IF I SING LOUDLY. Do we want me to have my voice on Friday? Yes, yes we do. And since I am at rehearsal with a fever and DOCTOR DALY is frelling home with a migraine for three days (I have no sympathy, if he wants my migraine drugs, he is more than welcome to them), I think we should be cutting me a little slack and just be happy that I am present and know my part.
Oh. I love Frank Southerington. That is all.
Whew. I, for one, feel better about myself.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Human Nature (And All That Jazz)
It's human nature, I suppose, to make mistakes. I think that I've made more than my fair share, especially this year. When I get tangled up in emotional matters, my automatic instinct is to fix what's wrong - and human nature never fails me: If the emotional matters belong to someone else, I can generally fix them or offer advice that will lead to them being fixed. If the emotional matters belong to me, however, I have the horrible tendency towards being unable to fix them - and making them worse, if that is even possible.
I won't offer examples; in part because this journal is public and I really don't like the idea of people I might not even know (or even people I know) reading about my personal matters and analyzing them to death - or laughing - and also because, well, they just don't need to be harped upon anymore. I've made a few decisions, though.
First of all, I've sent in my application to Colonial Williamsburg. We'll see how that goes - I'm sorely underqualified for the position I'm applying for, but they do offer training and if nothing else, I'm enthusiastic. But if I don't get the job, that's okay. I'm almost ready to go to Camp Krislund as a counselor. I miss Krislund and it would make for a fun summer - something which I haven't really had in a while, come to think of it.
Secondly, I need to give some serious thought to my post-graduate life. People keep asking me what I'm going to do with my theatre major and I have to keep replying that I JUST DON'T KNOW. It's kind of a pain in the ass. I'm pretty sure I won't be going to grad school - at least, not yet - but there's the whole conundrum of FINDING SOMETHING TO DO that kind of blows my mind.
Thirdly, there are emotional matters to consider. I stated in an earlier post that I was done with significant others until such a time as I felt I could handle them, which I still agree with. However, recent events have clued me into the fact that just maybe I need to be more vigilant when it comes to guarding against those complications. Okay. Not maybe. Definitely need to be more guarded.
I'm exhausted. I'm worn-out. I just want to be done with this show so that I can give my academics the attention that they deserve. This semester, it is my goal to get my GPA up to a 3.0 once more and I WILL succeed. I'm tired of feeling overwhelmed, and while that seems to be my natural state (22.5 credit hours will do that to you), I would like my natural state to turn into something a little bit more... relaxed, shall we say.
I won't offer examples; in part because this journal is public and I really don't like the idea of people I might not even know (or even people I know) reading about my personal matters and analyzing them to death - or laughing - and also because, well, they just don't need to be harped upon anymore. I've made a few decisions, though.
First of all, I've sent in my application to Colonial Williamsburg. We'll see how that goes - I'm sorely underqualified for the position I'm applying for, but they do offer training and if nothing else, I'm enthusiastic. But if I don't get the job, that's okay. I'm almost ready to go to Camp Krislund as a counselor. I miss Krislund and it would make for a fun summer - something which I haven't really had in a while, come to think of it.
Secondly, I need to give some serious thought to my post-graduate life. People keep asking me what I'm going to do with my theatre major and I have to keep replying that I JUST DON'T KNOW. It's kind of a pain in the ass. I'm pretty sure I won't be going to grad school - at least, not yet - but there's the whole conundrum of FINDING SOMETHING TO DO that kind of blows my mind.
Thirdly, there are emotional matters to consider. I stated in an earlier post that I was done with significant others until such a time as I felt I could handle them, which I still agree with. However, recent events have clued me into the fact that just maybe I need to be more vigilant when it comes to guarding against those complications. Okay. Not maybe. Definitely need to be more guarded.
I'm exhausted. I'm worn-out. I just want to be done with this show so that I can give my academics the attention that they deserve. This semester, it is my goal to get my GPA up to a 3.0 once more and I WILL succeed. I'm tired of feeling overwhelmed, and while that seems to be my natural state (22.5 credit hours will do that to you), I would like my natural state to turn into something a little bit more... relaxed, shall we say.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Signature Ball
More traditions were honored at Mary Baldwin College this past weekend - Signature Ball, our annual formal dance, occurred Saturday night from 10pm to 2am. I was shanghaied for the event - I told everyone I wouldn't go sans date, because what's the fun in going to a couples dance with no partner? - and two of my friends asked me to go with them, so I really didn't have a leg to stand on. So E. and I, and a largeish group of people attended the dance together.
I didn't intend upon staying any longer than an hour or so, because I didn't expect to have a very good time at all. But then S. and A. arrived with their dates - and a spare, who had been dragged along by Steph's date at the last minute. We sort of latched onto one another, since neither of us technically had dates, and we actually had a very good time together. I stayed until about 1:30 or so, then M. and I headed on to another party at J. and B.'s.
The rest of the evening I won't detail. I have only to say that only my luck would allow such a good night to go to pot. And I really can't think of any other way that I could have hurt more people that I love in one go - short of dropping an atom bomb on Staunton, that is.
I didn't intend upon staying any longer than an hour or so, because I didn't expect to have a very good time at all. But then S. and A. arrived with their dates - and a spare, who had been dragged along by Steph's date at the last minute. We sort of latched onto one another, since neither of us technically had dates, and we actually had a very good time together. I stayed until about 1:30 or so, then M. and I headed on to another party at J. and B.'s.
The rest of the evening I won't detail. I have only to say that only my luck would allow such a good night to go to pot. And I really can't think of any other way that I could have hurt more people that I love in one go - short of dropping an atom bomb on Staunton, that is.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Therapy Sessions
When I am exceptionally stressed, it is always a relief to know that I have Clinton to go to and vent. All of us do that, because he is always willing and ready to listen to us just ramble on about our lives. There are mornings that I just wander into his office and start talking at him - he's always concerned, and always wanting to know what the music department has done this time. I went in this morning to have one of these "therapy sessions" with him, because in the two weeks that the semester has been going on, it has felt like two months.
Yes. It's been that bad.
I don't know why Clinton likes us to go and vent our spleens on him. I've broken it down, trying to figure out how his mind works on this: My first idea is that he likes knowing everything about us. He likes to get into our brains and his god-complex makes him enjoy fiddling around and making things better. The second idea is that he just misses being a student. He's rather fresh out of grad-school and I think he might miss student life a little bit, so he likes listening to us and imparting the wisdom that he gained while he was a student. It helps that we all latched onto him so quickly - it's hard to believe that he arrived last year.
After I went in and vented to Clinton, I discovered that I had lost track of time and had missed US Foreign Policy - so, naturally, I decided to be a very good girl and read up on what I had missed. Not ten minutes later, I was dead to the world. I woke up underneath my friend E.'s coat and when I asked muzzily, "E, when did your coat happen?", she replied, "You looked cold. And you were cute."
According to several other sources, I'm cute when I sleep. I don't quite understand why (I was curled up in a little ball on the green room sofa with my head on my US Foreign Policy text, probably drooling or snoring or something), but apparently small and sleepy = cute. I'm really just tired because I'm worn-out from yesterday - I worked out (yes, with equipment and movement, etc) for the first time in ten years at 7 am yesterday. And I hurt. A LOT.
This whole "getting in shape" thing is due to a love I have had for a long time: Figure skating. I'm fulfilling my phys.ed. credit by taking an iceskating course, and come to find out I'm rather good at it. Good enough for the instructor to ask me if I'd like private lessons for a somewhat reduced rate after the six-week course is finished. It's a rather novel experience to be good at an actual sport, after spending all my life being the "artsy child". However, I'm not nearly flexible enough to be able to accomplish all of the moves I would like to do and so have decided to get back into shape. It's slow going and it hurts - a lot - but I think it might be worth it.
And someday, I might be able to do a backflip on the ice like Scott Hamilton. Wouldn't that just be awesome?
This entry has very little direction to it. I just felt in the mood to babble some more, as though I did not do enough of that earlier.
Yes. It's been that bad.
I don't know why Clinton likes us to go and vent our spleens on him. I've broken it down, trying to figure out how his mind works on this: My first idea is that he likes knowing everything about us. He likes to get into our brains and his god-complex makes him enjoy fiddling around and making things better. The second idea is that he just misses being a student. He's rather fresh out of grad-school and I think he might miss student life a little bit, so he likes listening to us and imparting the wisdom that he gained while he was a student. It helps that we all latched onto him so quickly - it's hard to believe that he arrived last year.
After I went in and vented to Clinton, I discovered that I had lost track of time and had missed US Foreign Policy - so, naturally, I decided to be a very good girl and read up on what I had missed. Not ten minutes later, I was dead to the world. I woke up underneath my friend E.'s coat and when I asked muzzily, "E, when did your coat happen?", she replied, "You looked cold. And you were cute."
According to several other sources, I'm cute when I sleep. I don't quite understand why (I was curled up in a little ball on the green room sofa with my head on my US Foreign Policy text, probably drooling or snoring or something), but apparently small and sleepy = cute. I'm really just tired because I'm worn-out from yesterday - I worked out (yes, with equipment and movement, etc) for the first time in ten years at 7 am yesterday. And I hurt. A LOT.
This whole "getting in shape" thing is due to a love I have had for a long time: Figure skating. I'm fulfilling my phys.ed. credit by taking an iceskating course, and come to find out I'm rather good at it. Good enough for the instructor to ask me if I'd like private lessons for a somewhat reduced rate after the six-week course is finished. It's a rather novel experience to be good at an actual sport, after spending all my life being the "artsy child". However, I'm not nearly flexible enough to be able to accomplish all of the moves I would like to do and so have decided to get back into shape. It's slow going and it hurts - a lot - but I think it might be worth it.
And someday, I might be able to do a backflip on the ice like Scott Hamilton. Wouldn't that just be awesome?
This entry has very little direction to it. I just felt in the mood to babble some more, as though I did not do enough of that earlier.
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