Our faithful director Rosemary was having a
meltdown today. Which is nothing new, save for the moment when a booming
voice from the audience erupted into "How dare you roll your eyes at
me! That is rude, disrespectful and downright rude."
Thankfully I was cut from the scene they practiced and got to experience
firsthand what it's like to be the director.
First off, you're surrounded by a posse of six
or seven people that basically share the same sentiments as you. A number
of "yes-men" to boost a director's self-confidence in her
vision. Secondly, there is the secretary who just scribbles incessantly
in crude symbols that no one else can decode. And finally there is
everyone else, who orbit around you in one bothersome circle. And so the
dance at gym scene looked good dance-wise, but lacked any real depth, so she
took three hours to discover the "depth" in the trivial characters-
the couple holding hands near the wall, for example. Perfectly aesthetically
pleasing doing nothing and having no idea why. But it's been a long time
since I've ever seen people give a truly dumbfounded look and an old English
teacher shouting "What is the thematic significance of your characters in
this scene?" only make their blank stare even more sweet.
But I still don't have a costume, and now that it's been two days people are
coming to the realization that I do not own "tight" pants.
Which are 1950's in style. Or converse low-top shoes. Which are
also a 1950's style. Or a pastel colored dress shirt. And so I
figure the only way around it now is to just avoid the costumers until I can
steal someone else's pants. Meghan has already volunteered to aid my
pantless foundation, but there's no rush since we're both aware that excessive
expressive-era dancing ruins acid-washed pants and gives everyone a signature
tear.
Crouch rips are the second most embarrassing thing to ever occur on
stage. The first is to kiss your ex-girlfriend, while dressed in only
boxers and holding a sword. The sexual innuendos are numerous and
belligerent. And speaking in a British accent only exasperates the
situation. Trust me. Bad experiences.
So Brit, my current girlfriend, was out with a chest cold today, and this made
day two of tech fortnight fairly uninteresting. But in other news, today
was National Toaster Day, which is a holiday invented by someone else I dated a
long time ago. Essentially, it's for supporting the multigrain
industries, but hugging toasters seems to be the hipster thing to do.
It's supposed to occur the day after Valentine's Day, but was postponed because
of snow, long weekends, and troublesome failures. It's not really that
big of a deal, but toast-shaped cookies are hard to resist and make you seem
like a real badass for having celebrated a holiday that technically doesn't
exist.
Another occurrence bothered me today. I was walking through the hall
between classes and was about to walk through a doorway where a nice Junior boy
was holding open the door, when the girl in front of me stopped dead in her
tracks about a foot from the door frame. The girl stared him down, and he
smiled in return from a generally pleasant demeanor. But the girl
wouldn't budge. She tried to burn a hole in his face and once it became
apparent he was far too unaware to be taught a lesson in Feminism, she resorted
to growling out bitter words. "Chivalry is dead."
The boy stared her down, regardless, and she eventually caved in and used the
other door. And he kept standing there, leaning, deep in muddied
thought. In those moments I wish I could've taken his place. And
looked that girl up and down myself and tell her that chivalry was never
actuality, merely an ideal. It began with Don Quixote, and ended with Don
Quixote. She would say that it is dead and triumphantly I'd respond
"But common courtesy isn't." And that would be that.
It's one thing to believe in a certain way, but to behave in a fashion that
disrupts the order of places and things is too much. It's disrespectful
to hate someone doing you a favor, in my moral code and although chivalry
probably doesn't exist anymore, it's not a good excuse to be rude or to roll your
eyes at a director.
The other occurrence from today was pleasant. I take pictures.
Photography is part of my canon, and I wield my DSLR like a sniper, just one
with more pizzazz and a 70 mm lens. I've taken around 2500 photos, to put
my senior year into an unforgettable past. Somehow, it is my way of
achieving immortality. But today, I got a Facebook message requesting the
originals for a picture of a girl on a swing. It 's the first request for
the originals I've ever gotten, and it kind of validates all the time I've
spent slaving over a hot Adobe Bridge.
So I leave you with that same picture of the girl on the swing, which is kind
of a beginning of sorts for me. A moment when the lines between who we
are & what we became blur significantly.
I was quite pleased with that sounding so
disgustingly cliché.
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