Criminal Acts

Hello my long-neglected blog!!! I have missed you so, but my life has been so unbelievably busy. Because I have been so busy, It’ll probably take a few posts to really catch everyone up. This post summarizes the first of many life changing experiences that you will be reading about this on this fine blog. I hope to update soon! I produced, directed, and starred in my own show at my school. It was an amazing experience. I really went all out and made a show that was truly enjoyable. I also gave the best performance I’ve ever given in my entire life. My whole family has started taking my goals really seriously for the first time. The show was “Crimes of the Heart” written by Beth Henley.

The show is about a family of three sisters who reunite after my character, Babe Botrelle (the youngest sister) shoots her husband for reasons that are not immediately clear. He’s fine, for the record. The show promotes female empowerment. I chose to put on the show, because my school has a really exclusive theatre program that isn’t actually very good at all. I wanted to give more opportunities for non-theatre majors to continue their involvement (or get involved in) the arts. It was a smash! We also made a set out of mostly recycled materials and charged a can or more of food as admission so that we could donate the food to a local homeless shelter.

Why Lenorah Josephine! Don’t be such a noodle!

“Don’t you just hate his voice?”

“We used up a whole big box of Kleenexes!”

Tension you could cut with a kife!

“He say’s he’s got some blackenin’ evidence he’s gonna use to help convict me of attemptin to murder him in the first degree!”

Sure, it’s no Broadway set. But with our budget it was a freakin’ miracle!

The wonderful and incomparable Matty Mouse was my Technical Director. And Val was my life-saving Stage Manager. I think we were all surprised by how professional the show turned out to be despite the fact that we were working with a gaggle of people who didn’t have the benefit of working in theatre for the past fourteen years (like yours truly).

One major obstacle to overcome in our staging of the show were the insane stage-dimensions. The venue is the only one we could afford and Matty put it best when he said:

This place was designed by someone with no experience in theatre to make a lecture hall look like a theatre.

Anybody who knows anything about theatre knows that this stage is awkardly long, unusually thin, and crazily curvy. Also, there is no wingspace. Still, we managed to fit a fridge, shelving, a stove, counter, sink, table and chairs in there while still having room to act! Go us!

Despite the fact that Matty, Val, and I have a combined experience in the business of more than 27 years, this is the first show that we’ve ever put on without adult supervision. Rather, we were the adult supervision. We all learned so much.

"He say's he's got some blackenin' evidence he's gonna use to help convict me of attemptin to murder him in the first degree!"

I learned that I can, in fact, cry on cue when I’m in the moment, I’m capable of managing tons of people (even if they have no idea what they’re doing), I’m  great director who can pull amazing performances out of first-timers, and (most surprisingly) people take me seriously and respect my work. Oh! Also, I learned how to build a couch and a cot (that you can actually sit on) completely out of cardboard scraps, but more on that later…

Matty learned that he can build and paint things. This is no small feat. “But Eden, why would you ever have a technical director who didn’t already know how to build and paint things?” Well, for one: Matty has been working in technical theatre for years. Candidly, I assumed that he was well-versed in stagecraft even though his obvious specialty was lighting and sound design. Apart from that, we went to high school together and he was in charge of a tech department that, because of his dedication and astounding work, now awards the certification required to work on Broadway. He really stepped up to the plate (after freaking out) and helped us accomplish some amazing things. We painted a desk and some cardboard to make it look like a granite countertop with a stove and a sink, among other things. Not bad for a budget of basically $200!

Sure, it's no Broadway set. But with our budget it was a freakin' miracle!

Val was instrumental in helping all of us to avoid nervous breakdowns. She’s our build-expert, and the one who taught me how to make a cot out of cardboard boxes. We dumpster-dove until 2am finding cardboard boxes to cut up and stuff into other cardboard boxes. It was amazing. We actually got some unintentional publicity for the show because so many people in my dorm (where we were building) were confused by the sheer number of cardboard boxes we kept bringing through the door. Her big revelation was when she realized that one could actually put on a show where the director never raises her voice once and everything still goes off without a hitch. This is because, to reiterate, I’m a freaking fabulous director. Haha! She actually called Matt the day of the show and said:

Matt! Something’s wrong with the show! I saw Eden today and she was totally calm! Something must be wrong. She must have forgotten something crucial.

Then he went over the dorm, checked on all the props and set before checking that everything was okay with the venue only to conclude that we all (much to are surprise) knew exactly what we were doing!

The show opened and had an amazing run. People came down from home to see the show, which got AMAZING reviews. We had huge audiences both nights (60 people the first night, 85 the second; the venue was very small).

Why Lenorah Josephine! Don't be such a noodle!

I worked with my dorm’s Hall Council which was ridiculous. Nobody helped out or did their job and they all complained the whole time, which really just makes the job that Matt, Val, and I did more incredible. None of them even came to see the show. I think they were resentful that I had to work with people from other dorms, because they didn’t know what they were doing. People don’t expect a show to be as much work as it is. I wound up putting in about 45 hours a week on top of schoolwork (if you include the   15 hours a week of rehearsal that I ran).

Rehearsals were really a blast though. They took my mind off of all the stressful stuff that was happening on the technical side. My “co-director” only came a few times, so I got billed as “Director” in the end, which was pretty cool. It was so necessary to be able to stop living my life and start living someone else’s. You can only deal with your own stress for so long, y’know?

"Don't you just hate his voice?"

My cast, however was astonishingly helpful. They helped sew/find costumes and brought in props to help us with our small budget. I became really close with everyone in the cast, especially the girls. The two who played my sisters are even sharing an apartment next year. It is a strange feeling to know that something I created actually changed people’s lives.

At the time, I thought I’d never do anything that time-consuming or stressful again (just because I didn’t freak out doesn’t mean I wasn’t continually on the verge of a heart attack). However, now I know that my dreams of being a showrunner are totally possible and I’d definitely do another show one day… in a few years… 

I got all my sistas with me!

Joss Quote

And Spike jumps over the whole defensive crazy line to land in the thick of the minions, just fists and fury. (Fists, in fact, OF fury.)(Not David Fury.)(Though his fists are formidable.)(What, no, I’m not sleepy! Hey, I’m in CHARGE, here!)

-Action (stage direction) from Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 5 Episode 22, “The Gift.”

Thank you, Joss Whedon, for existing.

A Rebuttal, Dollhouse, and Nature vs. Nurture [SPOILERS]

Step One: Read This Article

Step Two: Watch me rant

“Considering everything, I was hopeful that Dollhouse might finally live up to its potential. Whedon himself wrote and directed the second-season premiere, and it looked promising. But the second episode sucked, and far too literally. Echo was imprinted to be the mother of a newborn baby, complete with nursing the baby. Echo goes nuts and kidnaps the baby and … who cares? It was that episode that may well have sealed Dollhouse‘s fate.”

Whatever. Or, more indicative of how I feel, What (the fuck) ever. OK, so that episode probably did seal Dollhouse‘s fate, but not really. The stupidity of Americans who don’t understand genius when they see it are really to blame.

1. The nursing was explained. And it was explained VERY well I might add.  (Background: Breastfeeding didn’t just happen because she was magically imprinted as a new mother. Topher had to work really hard to make that happen, because it was highly unusual. He did it because it was necessary for her or anybody else to believe that she really was a new mother. Also, the chemicals released during breastfeeding deepen the bond between mother and child. I think that’s a very sufficient explanation).

2.  Learn how to write, you idiot.

“Echo was imprinted to be the mother of a newborn baby, complete with nursing the baby.”

The correct way to make that sentence happen is: ‘Echo’s imprint was a new mother and even came with the actual ability to nurse.’

3. Echo doesn’t go nuts! (A little louder now…) ECHO DIDN’T GO NUTS! I’m sorry, but if you thought someone was trying to steal your baby and kill it (and possibly you), what would you do!? If you’re going to argue that her imprint was justified, but Echo (the doll) was crazy then you’d be wandering into my next point. See below.

4. “…who cares?” Who cares? Who cares!? I FUCKING CARE! Or, at least, I did when the episode aired. I cared, because that episode (more than any prior episodes) showed how Echo was evolving. And I mean “how” in every sense. It showed the rate at which she evolved. The aspect of her that allowed her to evolve (the ability to retain imprints after being wiped). In what way she was evolving (i.e. the affect that this ability to retain imprints was having on her emotionally). How deeply she felt these imprints. So Echo didn’t go crazy. She had a breakthrough in evolution.

Most importantly, it showed what she was evolving into and inspired some profound questions about the nature of humanity itself. That might sound a bit extreme to most people, but true Joss Whedon fans should be well aware of Joss’ willingness to go to the most extreme places in order to advance dialogue and philosophy regarding the deepest aspects and dilemmas of the human condition. My brain exploded after that episode. Things bouncing around my brain included (but are not limited too): Are we all, in some sense, products of our environment? If we could remove extensive personal histories from our brain would we be the same people we once were? How much does my subconscious influence who I am? How much of “me” is my subconscious? Am I really a student? Am I really my gender? Am I really a writer? An actor? Are any of these things who I really am? How deep do these traits exist? How much of identity is a surface construction, and how much of it is an unchanging part of who you are?

The episode was a gift to TV. And it was wrapped in irony and tied with a bow of wit. No joke. It was brilliant exploration of the nature vs. nurture debate. The episode’s storyline mirrored the exploration itself. Playing the role of “nature” was the concept of the deep bond between mother and child. Playing the role of “nurture” was the awareness of a false environment brought to courtesy of The Dollhouse. Playing the gray area in between were the characters of Echo and ‘her’ baby. Both represent human souls who have only briefly been exposed to an environment. How many times have we all looked at baby and thought, My gosh. It’s so innocent.When did that innocence go away, and why did it have to take away that unique contentment, optimism, and altruism that came with it? Why did I lose that. Even if you don’t think that when you look at a baby, something else deep inside of you does.

Some people look at people like me (Whedonites) and they just…don’t get it. “You’re over-thinking it.” “Weirdo.” “Whatever. Who cares?” All of these are thoughts that non-Whedonites might (and have) thought. Maybe the questions that I have aren’t the ones Joss intended for me to ask. Maybe I missed the point entirely. But one thing that I am 100% sure of is that Joss did intend for me to ask questions. He did intend to make a point. I may have mis-thunk (I just made that word up) it, but I definitely didn’t over-think it. I don’t even remember if Joss himself wrote the episode. But its irrelevant, because I know he oversees and approves the plot-lines to all of the episodes of his shows.

Joss wanted his viewers to learn something about themselves. Dollhouse was a wonderful concept, because it challenged his viewers to delve deep and discover something about their truest selves. It is only through this type of discovery and awareness that the world can become a better place. I truly believe that. Whether or not that was Joss’ intention is meaningless, because it’s the truth. And, you know what? I did learn something about myself on that deep level. I learned something, because that episode inspired me to talk with my mother about something. I don’t remember what our conversation was about, but I learned that I don’t cry when I’m sad. I don’t cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m frustrated, angry, stressed, disappointed, disillusioned, surprised, or confused. When I’m sad, I feel a self-loathing that is steeped in bleakness and spiced with just a hint of numbed detachment. When I’m happy, I want to talk (A LOT). I want to jump around. I want to kiss somebody. I want the ability to fly, and I feel like I have it. But I don’t want to cry in either case. Sometimes I might wanna hurl, but not cry. I felt so victorious after I figured that out about myself, because it was a feature truly indicative of me. I felt like I knew myself better. This realization and awareness made me more confident as a human being in ways that I can’t express in words. After this realization, I changed. Like he did so many times with episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Firefly, and with his films, Joss Whedon succeeded in changing my life and making me a more caring, complete person. And he did it while entertaining me.

So, yeah. I fucking cared. And if stupid American viewers were willing to use their brains to do the thinking G-d intended them for, they would fucking care too. Instead, they saw what they always see: the surface of their lives. They see the imprint, not the person buried underneath. Until you see the imprint, you are the imprint.

5. On the story-writing front, it was the extremeness with which Echo acted that allowed her status as Caroline’s subconscious to morph into that of Echo: the human being. Also, it aligned Paul’s goals with Echo’s. It brought him one step closer to finding Caroline, while adding more steps to finding her.

As an aside, the article also contained these words:

“Whedon and his writers began truly embracing what Dollhouse had the potential to be: a story about what might happen if the technology to control people got loose in the world.”

The show was about the humanity of identity. The exploration was fueled by technology. (BTW: I’m not grasping at straws. Joss has confirmed this in the special-release DVDs of the first season. Unfortunately, I don’t own these DVDs. My friend does, so I can’t give you the word-for-word, but the DVDs come with a letter that basically says, “People are always saying that they wish they could get inside my head. Dollhouse takes you there, to the deep, philosphical, dark-twisty places that exist in my soul. Any questions you have about me or the things I think are in this series.”

The episode was brilliant. The article was idiotic. If I were Joss, I would have been combative, too.

In short: SciFi Wire can kiss my ass. Also, they can suck it (the “it” is the proverbial ‘it,’ not my ass).

P.S. Ignore my previous post. The idea I had before was dumb.

Joss Whedon Quote

About Dollhouse.

“It’s important to me that every episode has a stand-alone element. This week Echo is this, and she’s trying to accomplish this, but wrapped around that is the stuff we were able to do in the second half of the first season, which is all the workings of the Dollhouse, how it impacts people. … What can she be that will shine some light on who her character is or is trying to become? And how are we different at the end of this episode? What have we felt or touched on or … how have we moved the chess pieces forward? We don’t want to just hit reset, but at the same time, we do want that mission accomplished, that guest star either serviced or killed or whatever. You want every episode to be satisfying in and of itself, and not just a bunch of threads to keep unspooling.” -Joss Whedon

Not Forgotten (short post)

FYI! I SOOOOOOOOOOO have NOT forgotten that this blog exists. Sorry for being so busy and seldom updating (not that I actually have any readers…) lol. To readers that I don’t have: sorry you can’t not read my posts. Finals are CRAZINESS! They’re not actually that bad; they’re just time consuming.

The very act of blogging makes one feel like they have an audience… then one looks at one’s stats… Well, at least I amuse myself. P.S. I’m thinking of adopting a new blogging style. Very “Are You There G-d? It’s me, Margaret” but much less a coming of age story and more of a random combination of stuff. Also…not written to G-d. I’ll elaborate later!

G2g

Archaeology study group!

My Sex in the City Moment©

How hard can it be to find the right man? I mean really, why are we so picky? Why do their little habits annoy us so much? Is it them, or is it us? “Self,”

My dating history has been…average.

Some Highlights (A.K.A. “low-lights”):

Boy #1) Great guy! We adored each other. We could talk on the phone for hours at a time, stopping only when the familiar refrain of “You’re running up the phone bill!” appeared (courtesy of parents). Deal-breaker: He couldn’t kiss to save his life. In fact, it was so bad we’re probably just lucky it hasn’t taken one by now.

Boy #2) Fun guy! I was his first girlfriend but he was hunky, tall, built, French AND English, and an Olympic fencer. He moved really slowly, which is just what I like. I like to build a friendship first. Deal-breaker: His other ladies and lax dental hygiene. He didn’t cheat on me, but he would talk about his mom, friends, sister, MY FRIENDS all the time. I was left with the constant urge to say, “remember me!?” Also, the fact that you have a girlfriend doesn’t mean that you get to forget to brush your teeth. Come on people!

Boy #3) Sweet guy! Sweet guy also had ZERO dating experience. He’d call me several times daily, yet when we were together he’d have nothing to say. Whenever he walked me back to my door he’d say his good-byes and continue to stand there. After he left, you could bet he’d knock on the door again within the next five minutes. I was always left with the feeling that he called his mom after our dates, and he asked if we could schedule our classes together…ON THE THIRD DATE. Deal-breaker: Everything about him. That boy had to go.

“Self,” I say to myself, “I’m sick of dating inexperienced dudes who expect me to do all the work in a relationship.” I pleaded with The Power(s) That Be for a decent guy, with some experience and dental hygiene. If he happened to like “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and other products of Joss Whedon, who was I to complain? I was sick of dating the safe guy, but I didn’t want a bad boy.

Then I get what I want. I get an experienced guy who’s been through his own dark times. He’s older and smart. He’s not a hunkity hunk, but he is pretty cute. He knows his way around both a kiss and a toothbrush. He wants to be with me, but not in a smothery way. He gets my jokes. He likes Joss Whedon. What in the name of high heaven could be the problem?

I don’t have an answer for that specifically. Welcome to my first, real-life dating dilemma. There doesn’t seem to be something wrong, at least nothing major, except for the fact that something’s wrong. I suppose it could be that we have no history.

The major vibe I’m getting right now is that, while it’s not his sole goal in life to get into my pants it’s definitely still on his to do list. This is the first time I’ve ever felt like I’m something a guy wants to conquer. Also, both he and guy #3 do this weird look that signifies that they’re about to do something romantic. I suppose Boy #1 did the same “I’m staring deeply into your eyes” thing, but that’s because he loved me. Or maybe I just bought it because I loved him back. I think it must have been some combination thereof. But with Boys #3 and #4 It’s like they’re imitation their concept of love.

Also, I’ve seen Boy #4 talk about previous girlfriends and I’m not a fan of how he talks about them. He’s not mean, but they have no names. They’re “my ex” or “my last girl” or some such thing. Never, “this girl I once dated” or (god(s) forbid) her name!

I feel this weird pressure to do things that I’m just not ready to do and that I frankly won’t be ready to do for a good long while.

I’m probably the only person I know who has chosen abstinence for reasons that aren’t religious. I’m just too highly motivated to deal with the downside of sex right now. I have goals and ambitions and a deep desire not to get pregnant or infected with HIV/AIDS right now. I know: “use a condom,” “take birth-control,” and “get tested.” But I’m still hearing, “only 98% percent effective,” “putting it on wrong,” “wrong results.”

I have no plans to be celibate for the rest of my life. I don’t even plan to wait until marriage. But is it really such a crime to want to wait until I’m both in love with a guy and have a degree? I think not. Are the only people who wait losers, geeks, and religious freaks? Again, I’m sensing misnomer. Is sex really so important that it has to occur within a certain time frame? Puberty and menopause are the only relevant time frames that come to mind. Most importantly, is a relationship only a relationship if there’s sex? If so, then why is it me who has to sacrifice my safety? If not, then what’s all the hubbub about? I’m just selective with my partners, and I’m putting my foot down. I’m responsible, not a future spinster. I’m motivated, not a ball basher. I’m a woman, not a blow-up doll. I want to have kids one day. I’d be a kick ass mom, but that day is not anywhere close to my near future.

I’m re-evaluating my image of the perfect guy (while noting that this is subject to change): All of the above requests are still valid. Also, a guy with a similar background (in terms of political views and personal values) is a must. A guy that cares about the people in his life, but wants to make room for me is preferred. Someone with siblings would be sweet. Someone older, but not in a creepy way. Someone who knows what he could have (sex, sex, and more sex) and has had it before, but is willing to wait for me to be ready, no matter how long it takes. I want a friend who’s my boyfriend, but different. It’s vague, but it’s true. Is it really that unattainable? I doubt it.

But I am really finally seeing why finding the right guy is so difficult. It’s the same reason that people want to have sex before they’re ready. It’s so hard to date anyone. And by that I mean that the majority of people you’ll date aren’t actually people; they’re manifestations of what people expect they should be: whores, players, good girls, bad boys, and the one’s your mom will love. When you finally do find someone who is willing to stop acting, there’s the whole matter of deciding if that’s what you want from a guy. It looks like I’ve got a whole lot of work ahead of me. When practicality becomes, a view that’s “so romantic that it’s unrealistic,” then I entreat society to re-evaluate its expectations and stop expecting me to change mine. All I’m expecting is good people behaving sensibly. It’s really not that romantic.

So my answer to the giant question mark that is the world of dating is: It’s not me, it’s you.

Moving On©

 

I wrote that last post hurriedly, because it has been something in my brain for a while, but is becoming less and less true. To put it bluntly, sorrow has not found a comfortable home in me. It just doesn’t take. It festers like a sore for a little while then gets bored and moves on.

I am a woman of action. If I’m dissatisfied there is only so long I can talk about it before I fix it. College is getting more bearable and I’m finding myself again. I’m learning not to take everything so seriously. Rather than worrying about whether or not my acting dreams will come true, I’ve returned to my original assumption that they will. That idea is much more comfortable to wear. For me, success is much easier to visualize than failure.

My writing and sense of humor have abounded in the college atmosphere. So I’m working on that. Everyone here is kind of a characature. Every interaction fodder for the digital, word-processed tomes. The awesome, multi-lingual, super-cultural roommate. The professor on pot. The girl in the dorm who lacks awareneess, hygene, and the ability to contribute to a conversation. The lecturer who’s name must be something like Mabel or Fanny or Beatrice. People that the school must have let in on accident, because they are  so very very dumb. A lecturer who emphasizes key points with volume rather than inflection. The TA who cares. The TA who doesn’t. The professor who thinks he’s the coolest guy in the world. The professor who is the coolest guy ever, but has no idea. The kids with bikes who wouldn’t hesitate for a second at the prospect of running over a pedestrian. The skateboarders who eat pavement daily. The couple of (what are obviously) freshman who thought it would be a really great idea to bring a Razor scooter to college. The tailgaters. The party dorm. The students who only speak Chinese. The Jesus-freaks and televangelists. The sorority girls. Oh the sorority girls… The frat boys who don’t drink (a new species of man!?). And a plethora of others that find themselves in the unedited novel that is the college experience.

I finished Cider With Rosie and it was perfect. It was so wonderful. Please read this book. It is officially my favorite book of all time. The author, Laurie Lee (a man) somehow made murder a charming winter occurance and grandmothers the most vicious of creatures. He made a woman with an aversion to cleanliness, a propensity for lateness, and an assortment of profoundly deep personal losses the source of the same feeling that one gets from watching a two year old boy play with a new puppy. Cider With Rosie defies description and may be the best kept secret of modern literature. Imagine if Angela’s Ashes inspired you to cry with joy at every point without the novel without changing a single part of the plot. Imagine Joni Mitchell with the same impact but without the sorrow. Imagine The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn more exciting and without any of the adventures. Imagine wishing that you could eat sentences. Imagine a world without cynisism or optimism. Reading Cider With Rosie was like reading high tea, a French impressionist painting, or an independent film. Better yet, reading Cider With Rosie was akin to being five years old and eating a piece of candy made by the candyshop owner while you walk home alone down a trail within a field of wildflowers on the English countryside, alive yet drowsy in the late-afternoon of Springtime.

If and when you buy the novel, do your best to buy the version published by Random House as a one of the “Vintage Classics.” It has a picture of a curly-haired toddler superimposed of a field of golden wheat.

Here are some quotes from the book, to spark your interest.

Rather than an acknowlegment section or a a prologue, Lee writes the note, “The book is a recollection of early boyhood, and some of the facts may be distorted by time.” – This clues you into the fact that this may technically be an autobiography, but in reality is the voice of the countryside.

The opening sentence and first paragraph:

I was set down from the carrier’s cart at the age of three; and there with a sense of bewilderment and terror my life in the village began.

     The June grass, amongst which I stood, was taller than I was, and I wept. I had never been so close to grass before. It towered above me and all around me, each blade tattooed with tiger-skins of sunlight. It was a knife-edged, dark, and a wicked green, thick as a forest and alive with grasshoppers that chirped and chattered and leapt through the air like monkeys.

  Off page 19:

He talked something of battles and of flying in the air, and it was all wonderful to us…He was no man from these parts. He had appeared on the doorstep one early morning, asking for a cup of tea. Our Mother had brought him in and given him a whole breakfast. There had been blood on his face and he had seemed very weak. Now he was in the kitchen and with a woman and a lot of children, and his eyes shone brightly, and his whiskers smiled. He told us he was sleeping in the wood, which seemed to me a good idea. And he was a soldier, because Mother had said so.

READ THIS BOOK!

Follow Up©

So… Long time, no write. I know… But I’ve been busy. I’m still pretty busy, actually. So the last post was written solely so that any readers of this blog could fully understand and appreciate the specificity of the reference in the following statement:

Now is the school year of my discontent yet to be made glorious summer by the end of classes.

Anybody in the world who knows me is aware that I just might be the second happiest, most optimistic person in the entire world (the identity of the ACTUAL most optimistic person in the entire world belongs to one of my bestest besty bestiful best friends who shall remain nameless).

College should be where people go to shed the apathy and cynicism they cloaked themselves in while they were in high school. I waited four not-so-hellish high school years to get here. Now, much to my dismay, I’m becoming a cynic.

That’s not true. I’m not even becoming cynical. I’m just losing my optimism. I don’t want to hear any of that “it’s not pessimism; it’s realism” bull shit, because that’s stupid. I don’t think hope or happiness is unrealistic. I think that people who do think that way might be clinically depressed.

Why do I find this recognition of an unhappy worldview so disturbing to me?

First of all, it flies in the face of every thought I’ve had or action I’ve carried out in the history of my life. My entire outlook on life is founded upon the fact that human happiness in inevitable and natural (that might give you some insight into the depth of my optimism).

Second, I’m kind of an emotional miracle in my family. One of my great grandmothers, who I adored and love and admire, was probably an undiagnosed depressive. In retrospect, she probably felt very self-loathing about her cultural heritage. Her own mother had been very demanding and distant. Her two children definitely have mental issues fundamentally related to what I term a depressimistic mentality. My mother is wonderful. She is not a depressimist, but was raised around them and sometimes needs a little encouragement from the divine hand of happiness. Then there’s me: immutably, purely, infinitely happy. I was just born that way. That being said, I can credit the maintenence of this happiness to my bestyiest best friend who I mentioned earlier.

I have this strange anxious fear cracking inside of me about my future and where I’ll end up. I’ve heard some call this “angst.” Gross. This conjures up images of emo-gothic high schoolers watching Heathers (with Wynona Ryder), not because of its 1980s hilarity, but because they think it’s a profound statement on humanity.

But my “angst” is more legit., because it’s collegiate, right?

Shakespeare Lesson

This post serves as a prologue to my next post. Also, I think this is one of the most beautiful set of words ever compiled, and if you’d like to be more cultured you should read this post.

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York; and all the clouds that lour’d upon our house: in the deep bosom of the ocean buried…But I, — that am not shap’d for sportive trick, nor made to court an amorous looking glass; I, that am stamped, and want love’s majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature, deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time, into this breathing scarce half made up, and that so lamely unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by them; — Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, have no delight to pass away the time, unless to spy my shadow in the sun, and descant on mine own deformity: and therefore, –since I cannot prove a lover, – to entertain these fair, well-spoken days — I am determined to prove a villain and hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots I have laid, inductions dangerous, by drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams…dive, thoughts, down to my soul!

– William Shakespeare, Richard III, Act I, Scene I

This is, without question, my favorite Shakespeare quote. Richard himself speaks this monologue as the first lines of the play. For those of you who “don’t do Shakespeare,” I shall explain the majestic beauty of this line by telling you what the heck it means. The first line (“Now is the winter…sun of York”) has many meanings, and I don’t know if any other Shakespeare line has more. This is my favorite literary quote of all time.

1) The dreadful winter is ending and summer is beginning her in this town named York

2) The long, bitter war in which our nation has been engaged has finally ended and we members of the city of York have brave soldiers that have brought us glorious victory.

3) The long, bitter war in which our nation has been engaged has ended and we are free to live in peacetime thanks to this man, my brother, leader of England, titan of the battlefield, King Edward, a member of the House of York  (aka the York Family), who has helped us defeat our enemies.

4) King Edward has contracted a fever from the battlefield and has been suffering on his deathbed for several months. At last his suffering is coming to a close and a new King, a relative of mine from the House of York will rise, like the sun, to power.

4) We, the members of the royal family, have spent our winter taking care of our poor, wick King Edward who we love dearly. It has been difficult, but now that his death is imminent another of us Yorks has come to lead us back to joy.

5) Soon, King Edward’s long suffering will end and one of his two sons (a son of York) will become ruler of this nation. But, being aged only 12 and 9, they are both unfit to rule alone. As such, I get to rule on  behalf of the oldest child until he comes of age. I, a son of York, get to enjoy all the powers of being king!

6) All winter I have been discontented as King Edward takes babysteps towards death each day. Alone I sat all season, scheming and plotting. Now, after a lifetime of being the forgotten child, I this son York (son of our father who was also a member of the House of York) can carry out the evil and mischivous plot to kill my nephews and become the sole heir to the throne, as I will be the only surviving member of the York family. Yippee!

He goes on to detail that he is different from the rest of his family as he was born deformed (usually depicted as a hunchback). No woman will have him and mirrors crack for his ugliness is so great. While everyone else celebrates the coming “summer” he shuns the sun for it gives him nothing but the shadow of his deformed self. There is no creature in the world who will be his lover, and he may not even be physically able to have sex, so he has spent his summer fashioning a master evil plan to kill his brother and two young nephews and become the sole heir to the throne.

As he hears someone walking by, Richard uses his final line (“Plots I have laid…my soul.”) to command all of his evil, murderous thoughts and plans to leave the forefront of his mind and to hide themselves within the recesses of his subconcious. This reveals to the audience that he never said anything at all. He has merely thought his above monologue with such vigor that we (the audience) were able to hear them aloud and, should his thoughts remain so intensley present in his mind, the person walking by will no doubt take one look at Richard and understand not only the purpose of his plan but also his absolutely immutable intent on seeing it through.

How powerful is that!?

Consent to Succeed, Breakthrough Apparent, Coming Full Circle©

I take stock of myself for a moment, alone. I hear the schoolroom’s beehive hum. Of course I don’t really belong to that lot at all; I know I’m something special, a young king perhaps placed secretly here in order to mix with the commoners. There is clearly a mystery about my birth, I feel so unique and majestic. One day, I know, the secret will be told. A coach with footmen will appear suddenly at our cottage, and Mother (my mother?) will weep. The family will stand very solemn and respectful, and I shall drive off to take up my throne. I’ll be generous, of course, not proud at all; for my brothers there shall be no dungeons. Rather will I feed them on cakes and jellies, and I’ll provide all my sisters with princes. Sovereign mercy shall be their portion, little though they deserve it…

Thus wrote Laurie Lee in his exceptional boyhood memoir, Cider with Rosie (the book, insanely, is only available for purchase within the UK. Buy it). 

I don’t know if everyone feels some secret power within themselves, but I most certainly identify with Mr. Lee. Given that information, I experienced something remarkable last night.

I found an old article online, out of boredom, from the New York Times.  Said article contained a ten question interview with Joss Whedon. In response to some question, Mr. Whedon basically said that its better to let the ideas for a TV series flow than try to plan them seasons in advance. A light went on in my brain. In fact, thousands of light bulbs and alarm bells and an audience applauded and a chorus began to sing and some hidden part of me, tucked deep within the this abandoned auditorium in my brain, started mocking me.

Here’s the background: I began writing a TV series six years ago (no way I’m ever going to write about its content on this blog!). It has always been a dream of mine (one of many, but no less important) to bring this series to TV. Real TV. Not cable channel 23093842. Then I discovered Buffy the Vampire Slayer and (consequently) Joss Whedon.

At first, I was simply enthralled by the way he layered comedy and wit over a serious, substantive topic. He made TV relevant in a way I’d never seen. Then I realized that the reason I was so drawn to his work was that we share the same style and goal in our work. When I realized I was comparing my work and brain to the work and brain of what I consider the Zeus of scripted television I immediately decided it was inappropriate. How could I ever come close to that!?

I spent a lot of time over the next few years trying to get inside his head, trying to figure out where his ideas came from. I yearned to understand what I needed to share his creative power. I once read something that said that he’d thought of a certain storyline seasons before he actually wrote it. I stared at my scripts. How is that possible? I was so enjoying the way the characters wrote themselves. I found it so surprising when they’d advance the plot in ways I never expected. How far in advance was I supposed to think? Was I supposed to take a more hands-on role in the architecture of the piece? Is that what it takes to match Joss’s brilliance? It must have been, right? I tried to construct storylines and plan ahead. Every avenue dead-ended. Writer’s Berlin Wall went up. I had so many ideas, but I had no idea where they were going. Each time I’d try to construct a plot element, the series would lose the gravity it needed, becoming more than a fluffy adventure. If I concentrated on the serious bit, the show dragged and disintegrated to philosophy which is no fun for me or the viewers at home. I knew this was silly of me, that TV execs change a lot of what’s written anyway. But I don’t settle for being anything other than my best. I had, and still have a writing partner. But I’ve always been the optimist, and when I lost  hope then motivation was also lost for us both. The most darkly defeatist attitude I’ve ever had. The series was eventually shelved.

Discontentedly, I resigned myself to pondering with amazement at the Awesomeness of Joss. That, I thought, must be what separates the men from the naïve schoolgirls. Occassionally, I would cast a wistful glance at the scripts. Recently, I found a friend, who shall not identify his/herself ( ;) ), who inspired me to give it another go. Long story short, he/she read the script and loved it. He/she joined the creative fold and the series had new life. Still, ideas remained mostly on the brainstorming section of my notebook. I felt so invigorated when I was able to finish the last, unfinished episode and begin the next one. But then I started to stagnate again, as the specter of Buffy the Vampire Slayercame back to haunt me, shape-shifting into such amazingness as Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog and Firefly. The series redoubled its path to stagnation.

Then I read that simple sentence in The New York Times. It was all I really needed to hear (or, more accurately, read). I’ve been told this before, but when I heard it from friends, family, teachers, (etc.) they lose power. In a way, I needed to hear this from someone who didn’t know me. Someone who wasn’t trying to excuse my actions or sooth my bruised ego, but also someone who I respect. I would not be comforted by someone successful if I did not believe their work was worthwhile. Then, straight from the horse’s interview…Its OK to be unsure of what happens next. Its OK to have ideas for things you have no idea how to fit into the story. Its okay to keep these thoughts at the back of your brain until you need them. It wasn’t just anyone who said it. It was Joss. It was the source of all my inferiority-anxiety now floating into the stratosphere where it will burst like a balloon. And now I can hardly wait to write. There is absolutely no reason that I can’t be as great as Joss. There is no reason that my style can’t be better than his. I’m not a schoolgirl anymore. I can feel great about what I write. Now that I know this, I can write what I want (rather than what I should).

No. I am not a freak who spent six full years primarily focused on the thought-process of a man who I don’t know. I acted, which (if I absolutely had to choose) is what I prefer anyway. But I’m an actress and a writer. Actors act. Writers write. I wrote other things: short stories, poems, bits of novels, other scripts. I won awards for these pursuits and I kicked some serious scholastic tush, but that script always haunted me. It was my best creative endeavor, rotting somewhere inside my closet. I discovered other authors to admire (Laurie Lee, Virginia Woolf, others). Now, as my own worst critic, I have a new realization: if I think my work is just as good, then it probably is. Suck on that! (I needed a dramatic ending there…hmm….that was an interesting choice.)