Saturday, June 27, 2009

Do I Creep You Out?

This is the coolest song. Of all time.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Arts at the Darts 2009

Yesterday, I was a fairy for three hours.

Darts Hill is this massive, gorgeous garden that's privately owned. A couple times a year they open it to the public for cool events like last night's Arts at the Darts.

There were paintings, jazz, dancers and (most importantly in my opinion) fairies.

We did our hair all crazy (I put mind in lopsided pigtails hehe) and ugly, drew on our faces and then struggled in Iolanthe costumes.

Iolanthe costumes. Right. Last year, when we struggled out of them ("Thank God I will never wear that bodysuit ever EVER again!"), that was supposed to be the end, but when given the choice between ditzy Disney fairies and earthy, realistic fairies, we totally had to be the ugly ones. I mean, the realistic ones. Waaay more fun to be had.

The Disney fairies, of which there were four, were pretty and friendly and much more relaxed with the public.

Yeah, we weren't.

There were three of us to begin with.

We'd sneak around the paths until we saw someone coming (or more importantly, until they saw us coming), then we'd panic and hide behind a leaf or a twig. Ans hid behind my hair a couple times.

It became a lot of fun, and quite the work out. We scurried and teetered and froze and pranced and scared several people. We were quite shy but posed well for photographers (including one who we thought had a Nikon D80, but no, just a Canon. Pfft.)

Then the kids got a hold of us.

"Hey, a fairy! Get it!"

Oh no. No, no, no, this is not good. Smt sprinted one way, Ans and I hid while the kids followed her, then raced down another path after hearing more kids coming down ours.

There were people everywhere. It's really hard to re-group when you have to keep stopping every twenty seconds and hiding. And you can't just hide, you have to hide then peak then hide again.

We went all over these paths but couldn't find Smt anywhere, so eventually we gave up and headed back to the tent but were ambushed before we could get there by these two girls.

Pink Girl (maybe 8-9 years old?) and Blue Girl (her older sister, maybe 13 or so) decided they were going to follow us and imitate us.

Woah. We are the entertainment here, okay, not the toys.

It was cute at first, I started imitating them imitating us. Then Pink started doing ballet moves which I badly repeated and gave us the first clues of her attitude ("I do ballet too, I'm really good."). It was sorta fun to play with them 'cause we kept frustrating them with our muteness ("I know you can talk. Talk! Pleeeease talk? I just want to hear your voice. No, I've already heard you laugh, that doesn't count! C'mon, just say something. I know you're just a performer, I dance, I'm a performer too but I still talk. ...Talk!)

Once we were surprised by this old guy walking along so we hid behind a bird feeder and heard him say, "I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in pixies..."

So we stalked him for a bit.

Then later we made our way down towards the art booths where one guy, holding several paintings cried, "Ahh! Don't eat me!"

Dude, we're fairies. We're vegetarians.

Pink Girl and Blue Girl (and now their friends and brother) found us again just as we found Smt and Eml, the third and fourth Iolanthe fairies.

Pink would not leave me alone. She tried to act like a fairy with me, she tried to teach me high fives (mohahaha, I would not do it correctly), she even tried to convince me that I should stop pretending with her. She wiped her finger across my cheek, smearing my make-up, and held it up, "Look, it's just eyeshadow."

Well, duh.

But I couldn't say that, so I became in awe at the sparkles on her finger instead. Oo, shiny.

By the time it was over, I was exhausted. The constant crouching, jumping, running from really energetic kids (where were their parents?!) wasn't what I had expected so Ans, Smt and I were ready to get the hell out of there and specifically out of our body suits.

Walking out of the park was really funny. We still had make-up and hair (I had a very leafy fairy wand in mine too), but normal clothes, and there were still people hanging around the parking lots packing up.

I heard that we, the Iolanthe fairies, were the favourite fairies though, so it made it worthwhile.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Don't Follow In My Footsteps, I Run Into Walls.

I ran into a door once.

It was pretty spectacular. We were playing truth or dare in a really crowded room but most people were just chatting. One of the girls looked at me, with pathetic big eyes, and said she wanted to dare me to do something cool.

What, I asked.

I don't know, she admitted. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she grabbed my hand. Please, please?

So I hopped up and ran into a door.

The entire room went dead silent.

And then there was the girl bursting into laughter, barely able to stay on her seat.

The funny thing was that only her and I knew it was a dare. No one else knew for sure if it was a dare or if I was really that clumsy.

I've also fallen up stairs, and tripped over flat surfaces. But that's not funny, that's just me.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Out damned spot, out I say!

Shakespeare hates your emo poems.

I'm just putting that out there.

When I started writing, I wrote bad poetry. And I mean truly, excruiatingly bad. Everything revolved around whatever words rhymed (they were bad rhymes too, oh man), there was no proper rhyme scheme, and certainly no rhythm.

At least it wasn't emo. Most of my poems were about things around me, like flowers, holidays, my cat etc. Shakespeare probably would have hated them too.

I think this is the big difference between people and writers. Not that writers aren't people, we're just...weird people. We're quiet and morbid and we think too much in general, or at least I do.

I had a point, right?

Right. I know that those poems were bad. I know how to write decent poetry now, I've studied and Google'd it, and I know to avoid the kind of poetry that gives poetry a bad name. I'm certainly no poet, but I get by.

But most people don't ever look back at their bad poetry, so they never learn how to make good poetry.

So that's the difference.

Anyway, Shakespeare rocks. But he could get away with anything. For example:

Guy get's stabbed: 'Oh, I am slain!'

And then he's dead. Seriously. End scene.

Shakespeare wrote that (Hamlet). The plot of Macbeth revolved around a c-section. He ranted about suicide over and over and over again. And how many times did we have to watch a play within a play?

We worship him, and deservedly so, but honestly, if I pulled any of that crap...

PS: ...whenever I take off really heavy stage make-up, I alway quote Lady Macbeth.

Tis now the very witching time of night
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world. Now, could I drink hot blood
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on.