tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56589556525865772782024-03-13T18:01:30.940-07:00all for the low price of your soulI'm an aspiring playwright and aspiring adult and I like Post-its and tea cozies and teetering around in stilettos and it'sverynicetomeetyou.The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.comBlogger203125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-74988853704617567082013-08-05T10:50:00.001-07:002013-08-05T10:50:10.507-07:00Summer-style Five by Five1) For my friend’s bachelorette party, we went to the beach and filmed a Spice Girls music video. There was much attitude, leopard print, and semi-inappropriate dancing in front of strangers and their families. <br />
<br />
2) I broke into my own house last week. Least graceful thing I’ve ever done in a skirt. <br />
<br />
3) At my friend’s wedding, I caught a third of the bouquet and then <i>dropped that shit </i>because I have no immediate plans for marriage and the other two girls looked like they might eat me.<br />
<br />
4) I got sick the day before our biggest summer festival that I co-organize at work. We did an hourly raffle all day, both days, during which I handed out germs and misery in the form of raffle tickets, and ate too many granola bars because they were there and you can’t sneeze if you’re chewing. <br />
<br />
By the end of the weekend, I was so out of it that I had to take the entire rest of the week off work to recuperate. I watched two seasons of <i>The Good Wife</i>, painted my nails repeatedly because I <i>could not smell the fumes whatsoever</i> and discovered that the ringing in my ears got worse when I tilted my head to the left.<br />
<br />
5) My sister asked me to make a blue, heart-shaped cake for her friend’s birthday, which sounds great, if a little odd, until you see the final product:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ADC5xiPPjSS7SJX6FKmn5Gc64uf7V2Rw-F_qg1T4a87AGsYWXbV3f-veoCK3ukDPfmS2ex4MTsRVXEfXnFCR5Xb9Q_3zG8RlColrXY_mZdVXpx-fA4QSXnVLkXVBi76-Jo0NVaI3ApXY/s1600/unicorn+split+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ADC5xiPPjSS7SJX6FKmn5Gc64uf7V2Rw-F_qg1T4a87AGsYWXbV3f-veoCK3ukDPfmS2ex4MTsRVXEfXnFCR5Xb9Q_3zG8RlColrXY_mZdVXpx-fA4QSXnVLkXVBi76-Jo0NVaI3ApXY/s320/unicorn+split+picture.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top: Original on Internet; Bottom: Our version - happy birthday!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We’re a classy household over here.The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-49905035221406189402013-08-05T08:43:00.000-07:002013-08-05T08:43:48.683-07:00Imagine this was posted last Christmas, okay?My sister dropped me off at my friend’s house much earlier than I’d planned. There was snow and slush everywhere, and I was still wearing my fancy outfit for our family picture, including skirt and non-waterproof shoes. <br />
<br />
I knocked on the front door as my sister drove off. My hands were already cold and pink. No answer. <br />
<br />
I knocked again, then phoned my friend’s cell. She answered, half an hour away at a Christmas tree lot. <br />
<br />
My grandparents live one block over so I figured I’d walk over, have tea, change into my other outfit, and then come back later. No problem.<br />
<br />
It was only a one block walk, but have you ever walked one block in sopping shoes and tights, through slushie snow, carrying a stuffed purse full of clothes you can’t wear yet, wondering how long it takes to get frostbite on your toes? It’s a long walk.<br />
<br />
I made it to my grandparents, imagining tea and chocolate biscuits and warm carpet, and then they didn’t answer the doorbell. <br />
<br />
So I rang again and peeked in the window. No lights, no movement.<br />
<br />
Well, shit. <br />
<br />
There was nowhere else to go so my wet feet and I headed around the back, through the gate, to the garden. My grandfather has a beautiful garden that was entirely covered in snow, except for the porch. <br />
<br />
I had to get out of my clothes. I needed to get dry, and get dry now. <br />
<br />
So in the back of my grandfather’s garden, huddled in the partially covered porch, I stripped off my tights and shoes, and changed into pants, socks and boots. <br />
<br />
For any neighbours who may have glanced out their window at that time, I am very sorry. Very sorry.<br />
<br />
I didn’t have a jacket but I had a light sweater so I sat on the back of the porch, overlooking the snow-covered garden and rocked back and forth while singing along to country songs on my iPod. Country songs know all about misery. <br />
<br />
I texted my sister for some sympathy and she thought it was hysterical. Just as I was considering some form of self-cannibalism (approximately twenty minutes had past; I was desperate), I heard noise and realized my grandparents had arrived home, and got a text from my friend saying she was home too.<br />
<br />
At the same time, I stopped myself from crying from joy, mostly because I was afraid the tears would freeze even though I know that’s not possible because they’re salty. Delirium had set in.<br />
<br />
Then we went to a kids indoor carnival and I played with guns.<br />
<br />
The end. The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-61607613245016788952013-05-15T08:31:00.000-07:002013-08-05T08:31:57.151-07:00Spring 2013, otherwise known as the semester without a show This semester I studied human trafficking, advanced corrections, communities and crime, and psychological explanations of crime. <br />
<br />
That’s a fancy way of saying three seminars and a first-year course.<br />
<br />
Human trafficking was interesting because the whole class focused on misinformation and the lack of human trafficking and what that actually means. But mostly it focused on the prof’s dissertation. <br />
<br />
My corrections class was unfortunate. Despite the interesting subject, the prof was such a newb. He’s the only prof I’ve ever had who’s given our papers back immediately before professor evaluations. Also, next person who says group project is getting punched in the face. <br />
<br />
Communities and crime. In case you’re wondering what this class is about, so am I. The end.<br />
<br />
My last class, a Psych-Crim hybrid, was fantastically easy. Bring on the PowerPoint notes! I wrote the paper in a day, the final in an hour, and then officially became a Crim major. And it only took four years! The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-84217026748067445002013-05-13T10:32:00.000-07:002013-08-05T10:33:25.794-07:00Five by Five1) I hate it when people post pictures of their new tattoos on Facebook and it takes me a minute to realize that that’s not their <i>arm</i> I’m staring at…<br />
<br />
2) On my paper, the prof wrote that it was “beautifully written, and a pleasure to read.” And that it was short and underdeveloped, but hey, <i>beautifully written and a pleasure to read!</i> <br />
<br />
3) At the skytrain platform: “So, didja hear about those stabbings on the skytrain?” <br />
<br />
No, strange man, I had not. Excuse me as I back away slowly.<br />
<br />
4) At my very last exam, I wore a pretty summer dress, anticipating the relief of the end of school. I finished the exam, prof wished me a happy summer, then I skipped out of the classroom only to discover that it was snowing outside. Snowing! SNOWING!<br />
<br />
5) Today, I sang Les Mis like a boss. That’s right. <i>Like a boss.</i>The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-45489086912947355432013-04-20T14:43:00.000-07:002013-04-20T14:43:09.877-07:00We're gonna be the greatest aunts.<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript"></script>
My 3-month-old niece (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oh
hey! I’m an aunt now!) </i>got hiccups so my sister and I brainstormed all our
favourite cures and how they could be misconstrued as child abuse:<br />
<br />
- Frighten her.<br />
- Hold her upside down and make her swallow
water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
- Suffocate her (temporarily).<br />
<br />
I think she’s stuck with hiccups. <o:p></o:p><br />
The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-77607078456601048152013-03-07T22:47:00.000-08:002013-03-07T22:47:53.884-08:00Fall 2012 - Shit My Teachers Taught Me<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">During this semester, the TA (teachers assistants) union went on
strike repeatedly, stopped reporting grades, and caused general confusion and
frustration. I have no particular stance on unions except that not getting my
midterm mark until finals may have resulted in Hulk-like behaviour. (If we wanted to see our
marks, students could put in a special written request to a union <i>who does
not represent us</i> who would then consider for six to eight weeks until
giving us the marks we need to graduate. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe</i>.)
</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My classes were Intro to Sociology, Quantitative Research Methods,
Qualitative Research Methods, and Prostitution.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes, I said prostitution. Yes, everyone makes me repeat that.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Intro to Sociology<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am so glad Crim is
not a sub-set of Sociology anymore.<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Final project was to "be creative" on a posterboard.
Because apparently posterboard is still an acceptable means of reporting
knowledge.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
Moving on...<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Quantitative Research
Methods in Criminology</span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My prof liked to point out fancy words (like "bivariate
regression" and "kurtosis") that we could use in casual
conversation with our parents so they'd feel like we're actually learning
stuff. I've already forgotten what those words mean but I plan to keep using
them.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My tutorial was named "Raspberry”—as opposed to
"Tutorial #4"—because we were awesome and sleep-deprived like that. Someone
gave the TA a bottle of raspberry Smirnoff during the last tutorial. Isn't
university great!</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At the final exam, my nerves were making me queasy. Or maybe it my
hang-over. Either way, the prof stopped and asked if I was okay because he had
a girl faint once and it was real pain for him. </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Qualitative Research Methods
in Criminology</span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Every time my Jamaican TA said "faculty" it sounded like
"fuc-ulty." That is all I learnt in this class. </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh, and transcription's a bitch. </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I also wrote a 20 page research project that consumed my life for
a month. I was so relieved to hand it in, until I got it back and it was full
of red marks correcting my "misuse" of commas. Except there was no
misuse. I know my commas. Tsk, tsk, TA Marker. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Prostitution in Canada</span></b><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fighting to get into this class was so worth it. The prof
is one of the few Canadian experts on the subject, plus he’s super old,
British, and swears constantly. </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His favourite “argument” was how without prostitution men would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">explode!</i> He would act it out. Classic.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I loved that the class had such a specific topic. I feel like I
understand the whole issue now, not just as the textbook or the professor sees
it. I also wrote a 15 page paper on what I think Canadian prostitution law
should be that took every fiber of my student-being to write but that I’m
actually quite proud of now. And it got an A! </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The prof laid out all the marked papers just outside the
exam room and when I picked mine up, I noticed that the one beside it had “prostitution”
misspelled in the title. The prof had circled it and written “ouch...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Did you know that if you are discussing selling/buying sex with
someone in your home and the curtains are open to the street that that is
illegal? But if you shut the curtains, it’s not? </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Facts:</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Prostitution
is legal in Canada.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Prostitution
law in Canada has no clear purpose and is horribly contradictory. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Prof’s
second favourite “argument” was that women don’t buy prostitutes because they
don’t want to pay for a lousy service. Heh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p></o:p>And that’s what my teachers taught me!<o:p></o:p></div>
The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-22741720150700673192013-01-23T14:59:00.000-08:002013-01-23T14:59:03.710-08:00A Midsummer Night's Dream<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The “Dream” Cast</b><br />
<br />
Five days after Mikado closed, I got lost in a forest trying to find my
audition location.<br />
<br />
But I got a part in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Midsummer
Night's Dream</i>! I’m Peaseblossom and Fairy. I think I do fae better than
human. Too much glitter as a child? <br />
<br />
Also, did you know that an entire Shakespeare play can be read in one go?
That it does not have to be broken down and spread out over a semester? And
that it can be fun? Someone needs to tell the English departments asap.<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Rehearsals</b><br />
<strong></strong><br />
Rehearsals were held at an old camp with a big grassy field
surrounded by cabins. June flew by because I had all of two rehearsals, and
then rehearsals (for me, at least) began in earnest in July. The cast was an
odd mixture of G&S people and former students of the directors. And all
were extremely good-looking. Am I allowed to say that? I’ve never been in such
an attractive cast. <br />
<br />
My scenes were mostly with the Fairy Queen and the other
three fairies. We also had two dances—choreography was killer indoors without
A/C—and one song that we created ourselves using a background track and a
shorter version of Shakespeare’s lyrics.<br />
<br />
There was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lot</i> of
music in the show. I’m not sure what soundtrack they used, but most was quite
light with a Celtic feel. The fairy entrance music got to the point where we’d
wake up—leap up—just hearing it. <br />
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When we were able to, we rehearsed outdoors on the grass. So
freeing! And dirty! But freeing! Fairies do much better with space to play and
frolic and the show became more cohesive as larger chunks were played out at
once.</div>
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Unfortunately, working outside meant working with outside
noises. Once during our lullaby, a group of motorcycles drove past. During one
of Helena’s speeches, an airplane flew overhead, a truck drove past, and a
nearby train blasted its horn. She paused for each, and kept going.</div>
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We did a photoshoot in costume on the beach for promo
shots—fun but a little awkward as it was one of the first rehearsals and the
fairies didn’t all know each other. One picture was of all five of us—fairies
with Queen—jumping off a log and “flying.” As I learned much, much later, the
other four were going for a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">floaty</i>
look, whereas I went for a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">spread</i>-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">eagle</i> look. Sigh.</div>
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<br />
We also practiced using “magic dust” for the scenes with
spells. The only characters who got mic’d were Oberon—the Fairy King—Titania and
Puck, and only when they were saying spells. It was a cool effect but glitter
in the eye still sucks. A couple different types were tried out and a couple
different cast mates ended up with glitter permanently embedded in their skin. </div>
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During our first full-costume rehearsal, there was a
thunderstorm. Drenching rain, hissing wind, shining lightning, the whole
shebang. Suddenly the magical scenes became so much more magical. And awesome!</div>
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…Especially since I had a ride home that night. Most nights,
I took two buses each way, about an hour in transit. This was only bearable
since two—sometimes more!—of us took the same route and there was a Tim Hortons
halfway through.</div>
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<br />
This was my first real play and my first Shakespeare, so I
was getting nervous. My scene with Puck opened with me dancing and being silly
until she interrupted me. To be honest, dancing and being silly—silently—was my
favourite part of the scene. But the rest of it was still fun. Puck’s miming of
acorn cups always got a laugh and we were plain goofy.</div>
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Meanwhile, the lovers scenes were becoming more and more
established. The amount of lines they memorized—and understood—was crazy
intimidating but it made so much more sense with their physicality. There was a
fight scene between Lysander and Demetrius where they bitch slapped and pinched
and punched and then attempted to canoodle with Helena. And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> of Helena’s scenes were spectacular.
Girl could recite a grocery list and still have presence.</div>
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There was a slight hitch when Demetrius showed up at
rehearsal with half—just half!—of his hair shorn off. Right side of his head
was shaggy. Left side was bald with bangs. This was eventually solved with a
surprisingly realistic comb-over in which everyone breathed a sigh of relief and
the stage managers sent out a stern email about appearances.</div>
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A few weeks before opening, the fairies had a make-up
rehearsal in which we all met up at a school and played with glitter while
back-combing our hair. The directors wanted untraditional make-up, more animalistic
than girly. I ended up with a firebird on my nose—gold and brown wings—with
peacock circles on one side, and golden, glittering fake eyelashes. </div>
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And did I mention glitter? And more glitter? And—oh look!
More glitter!</div>
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<br />
Since the society was brand new—Midsummer was their first
show—we didn’t know how ticket sales would go. But within days of tickets being
released online, all five shows sold out completely! Over a thousand tickets!</div>
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On the Sunday before opening, we got to rehearse at the
venue for the first time. It was spectacular. The stage was built outdoors on
the edge of the beach, under a great big white tent so that the audience could
look past the actors at the water.<br />
<br />
The greenroom was another tent blocked off by potted trees,
with corners curtained off for changing and plastic interlocking flooring with bottles
of glitter hairspray <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everywhere</i>. The
outside, where the audience members would come in towards the main tent, was
decorated with flags and candles and signs with fancy old-English-style
writing. Considering a week beforehand it had been nothing but a gravel lot,
it was startling pretty, especially during sunset. The only downside to the
venue was, alas, the port-a-pottys.</div>
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For that rehearsal--the last normal rehearsal--I came straight from work, which made for
the start of a long week. I was nervous because we were days from opening and I
was still getting the same note from the directors since we’d begun: be louder.
For months, every rehearsal, same note; and it was wearing on me that I couldn’t
seem to improve. </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tech Rehearsal</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">(Monday)</b></div>
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<br />
At tech rehearsal, we had bigger problems than projection.
Some of the Rude Mechanicals had taken to playing and experimenting onstage during
their scenes, instead of what the directors had preferred in earlier rehearsals.
This caused some issues since playing made the show longer, and because the
amount of physicality meant that deviating could be dangerous. Also, kinda unprofessional.</div>
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…which led to friction between actors which led to tech
rehearsal being stopped entirely. Drama! </div>
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Eventually, things were tentatively worked out and rehearsal
resumed amidst considerable tension and gossip. The gossip was typical, but the
tension was new.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Dress Rehearsal
(Tuesday)</b></div>
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<br />
At dress rehearsal, relations amongst the cast improved,
while I fretted over shoes and lines. I was wearing soft jazz shoes, that are
really just cloth with elastic overtop. I wore them in Mikado, but here we were
walking outdoors on gravel and it was uncomfortable, sometimes painful.</div>
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The costumers couldn’t do anything about my shoes or the
gravel, but I was able to talk directly with one of the directors about
projection. Specifically, my lack of projection and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why am I such a failure</i>. She gave me some pointers and
reminded me that I’m up against an ocean.</div>
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That night I didn’t feel nervous. My scene went great. It felt great. I projected the crap
outta it, as loud as I could, and at intermission, one of the directors told me
I’d nailed it. </div>
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Ready for Opening Night!<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Opening Night!
(Wednesday)</b></div>
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We got a standing ovation! </div>
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Our first real audience—who all had real sunglasses. Their
gorgeous view of the stage in front of the water was hindered by the full blast
of the sun at sunset, so everyone was given a pair. It worked
fine, but for us on stage, it made them all look like secret agents. <br />
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<br />
I almost—but didn’t!— slip during one of the dances. The
stage is particularly slippery because it’s dusty and our jazz shoes have
become increasingly less stable as they become smoother with wear. In one
dance, I have to run all the way around the stage, a big circle where I run
behind Stumpy-the-Chair, right at the far edge of the stage. </div>
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The stage is six feet high and does not have a railing. Or a
safety net for clumsy fairies. </div>
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I did not fall, thankfully, although I did do a wacky arm
movement for balance. Running around the edge will now be considerably slower...</div>
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<br />
We also experienced the singular experience of Hermia’s
burping. Hermia—a very sweet woman who wears an elaborate blonde wig for each
show—gets nervous before and during shows and it makes her burp. Loudly. It’s
actually quite impressive for such a loud sound to come from such a petite
body. </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Second show
(Thursday)</b> </div>
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<br />
I made the ‘projection team!’ During a pre-show group talk
with the directors, they pointed me out as being one of the loudest in the
cast. Finally!<br />
<br />
We did a group warm-up, the fairies ran through our lullaby
harmonies, I ran through my mini-monologue, and Helena, Hermia and Puck
squatted and made very low frog sounds. Everyone has their own warm-up. Don’t
judge. </div>
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My costume was easy as I didn’t have any changes during the
show. It was a green bodysuit with “seaweed” all over it (but I am not a frog
and will not respond to ‘Froggy’). The lovers and their entourage all had to
change into formal wear for the last act however, and the rude mechanicals had
to get into their play-within-a-play costumes. The fairies helped by putting
lipstick on a man and helping the lion get his roar on. Always fun.<span style="color: red;"> </span></div>
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<br />
This show was particularly nerve-wracking as my sister and
our choreographer were coming. But it went well! No major slip-ups and I projected
the hell outta that stage!<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Third Show (Friday)</b></div>
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Another sold-out crowd, another standing ovation!</div>
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It’s a little weird sitting side by side with my boyfriend
while we both do our make-up. I guess that’s show business, but it’s still
weird. Once when I was half-way through my make-up, with mostly browns on my
face, he turned to me and said, “You look like I beat you.” </div>
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<br />
We did our group warm-up, which ended with everyone shouting
“came in her eye!” before separating. Immature maybe, but it’s an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actual line in the show.</i></div>
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Not actual lines include a game sometimes played while
everyone did their make-up: replace a word in a line with ‘butthole.’ Also
immature. Also fun. (“Now the hungry butthole roars...” “You juggler! You
canker-blossom! You butthole!”)</div>
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The lovers had a bit of a flub during their scene, when a
line was missed and the rhythm stuttered until they got back into it. It was a
tiny flub, but Shakespeare is so particular that there’s no ad libbing
possible. </div>
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Near the very end of the show, Puck has a monologue where
she whispers spookily, “Now the hungry lion <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">roars</i>,
and the wolf howls at the moon.” Tonight, she said, “Not the hungry lion <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">roars</i>,” and immediately a speedboat off
on the water started up its engine making a huge roaring sound! So perfect it
sounded rigged!</div>
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After the standing O, we ran offstage after the bows, into
the greenroom, and everyone danced and chanted, “Bergomask!” over and over
again until we were happily exhausted. A perfect ending to a great night!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Fourth Show
(Saturday)</b></div>
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It was much breezier tonight, meaning more waves and
therefore more background noise to overcome. But fewer mosquitos! </div>
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With the wind came some angry clouds but—luckily—no
thunderstorms. Even light rain would make the show difficult as there’s no
cover between the greenroom and any entrance to the stage. But any lightning
would mean the whole show would have to be canceled because our tent is held up
by lovely metal poles.</div>
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The audience was absolutely fantastic, very responsive. They
laughed right at the start of my scene with Puck and again at Puck’s acorn
cups. They’re funny moments but it’s the first time the audience sees fairies—any
fairy—so often they don’t get many laughs. But not tonight! </div>
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Puck was played by a woman—not entirely uncommon—who was
incredibly flexible and could contort herself into the oddest positions. She
clapped with her feet, leaped fearlessly, and made a green spandex bodysuit
look good (I know, I didn’t think I could be done either). The bows were
originally staged to have the lovers bow last but this was changed after a few
shows—on recommendation from the lovers—that she take the last bow. And from
the audience’s reaction to her, they agreed. </div>
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<br />
Unfortunately, during the last act during the wedding
entertainment tonight, one of the lovers’ goblets of water was knocked over.
There wasn’t much water in it, and nothing they could do about it at the time. </div>
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In itself, not a big deal. Until us fairies came on after
them to dance, and one of us slipped. Not me! She was up in a snap but the thud
gave it away. In other news, we got a review praising the entire show,
including the fairies lullaby for our harmonies!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Closing Night
(Sunday)</b></div>
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<br />
The end is nigh! </div>
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We got to set super early for the cast photo and so we could
do our make-up in the squishy greenroom (seven mirrors, twenty odd cast
members…) in peace. I ended up spending most of the afternoon talking with my
Fairy Queen, who’d I gotten to know fairly well, and taking many, many
pictures.</div>
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The stage manager played 90’s rock hits over the speaker
while our other stage manager danced with us—spontaneous dancing was her specialty—as
we got ready. My hair doubles in size when I backcomb it. Sad, yet impressive.</div>
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During the show, we can hear what’s going on through the
speakers and we can sneak behind the tent and peek through to watch. I usually
only watched a few scenes a night, depending on when I was ready and what else
there was to do. Some of the others played Headbands backstage, and Philostrate
used to read Plato (and she finished it too!). </div>
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There were a few scenes that I just loved to watch. The
opening where Theseus chases the giggling Hippolyta onstage and attempts to
steal her apple. The lovers fights—between Lysander and Demetrius, and between
Hermia and Helena—were so much fun and a prime example of why Shakespeare
should be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seen</i> and not just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">read</i> (ahem, every English department
ever).</div>
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Near the beginning, Helena tells Dementius that she is
utterly willing and would be happy if he treated her merely as a dog. It’s a
scene I never particularly liked until Helena brought out her puppy dog eyes
and looked so adorable imitating a cocker spaniel that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how could you not want her!</i> There was also a scene where
Lysander—under a spell—takes a look at Hermia and is so disgusted with her that
he almost vomits as he exits. Priceless. </div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The play-within-a-play scene was utter ridiculousness. I
still don’t know what ‘loam’ is and suspect the others don’t either, but it
must be impressive. Plus, the Wall got both his ears kissed by men. Always fun.
Meanwhile, the Director character mouthed along the lines with the actors in
the corner, the lion roared, the man used falsetto, the woman (but not the
woman character) snapped, and Bottom died. Insanity. <br />
<br />
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<a href="http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a380/Cooper_666/photo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a380/Cooper_666/photo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
A wonderful way to spend the summer! </div>
The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-91553136866480494722013-01-19T16:07:00.000-08:002013-01-19T16:07:58.792-08:00Um...<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript">
</script>Things That Make Our City Awesome:<br />
<br />
- The woman at the bus stop with the massive white furry teddy bear plopped beside her. Size of a small child. Everyone else standing around as if that's totally normal. Just another day, just another teddy bear. <br />
<br />
<br />
Things That Make Our City, uh, <em>less</em> Awesome<br />
<br />
- Um...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8n8wlSek7PADlNDhPWDIciIFIN871cuZuw0dBLiOgGedU1Mctwoo2pMYPBbJk1WKx0d5w4px7qTs8p_tBk6p3pKcTwgrWvjvW2EQ60ry5pBtri43VP6pmAOUL-fEMrE_ZQgJ6Xg3Y5m9/s1600/IMG_3750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8n8wlSek7PADlNDhPWDIciIFIN871cuZuw0dBLiOgGedU1Mctwoo2pMYPBbJk1WKx0d5w4px7qTs8p_tBk6p3pKcTwgrWvjvW2EQ60ry5pBtri43VP6pmAOUL-fEMrE_ZQgJ6Xg3Y5m9/s320/IMG_3750.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
...but seriously, you should have seen the size of this teddy bear!The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-51333947121249759232013-01-11T13:45:00.001-08:002013-01-11T13:45:51.750-08:00(This is what happens when I save something as a draft and a year goes by before I see it again...)My day started so well. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmtgFfz_yIbuhVZn80IOnv9gdDRnk3PdVrd9jd9ZMg-csyPvmCnHoHUNAt6OgaopZ-1B50U82NBkMj0hOZYIiRPTQ9QdoRTYMZQ38czHkbl58v8axPm2uT33thjcjYXMO9SGY4g3J4hBN/s1600/IMG_2584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmtgFfz_yIbuhVZn80IOnv9gdDRnk3PdVrd9jd9ZMg-csyPvmCnHoHUNAt6OgaopZ-1B50U82NBkMj0hOZYIiRPTQ9QdoRTYMZQ38czHkbl58v8axPm2uT33thjcjYXMO9SGY4g3J4hBN/s320/IMG_2584.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Statistics. Today's class wasn't so bad since the midterm is Thursday so all the prof did was review and remind us to stay calm. He's very soothing like that. He doesn't get gruff till the results are posted and everyone protests the marking scheme.<br />
<br />
Then I walked outside and was greeted with this:<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
My bus drove for all of ninety seconds before pulling over. Driver walked out. I sat there. Driver walked in, said we ain't going no where till the salt truck goes down first, so I went to get some coffee. Sometimes I think they really didn't think it through when they built a school on a mountain. <br />
<br />
My boot was feeling kinda funny, but it wasn't until after the bus made it down the mountain and the skytrain made it all the way back, that I realized why.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I went into Emergency Shopping Mode (that's the best mode, FYI) and bought a new pair of flats. Then I took my beloved over-the-knee boots that had gotten me through the winter and threw them in the trash. It was bittersweet. <br />
<br />
In my next class, we spent two hours watching a movie about the '60s. I took notes about hippies, the Beatles and birth control pills. Why do I go to school again?The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-24747550999817388632013-01-09T21:17:00.000-08:002013-01-11T13:18:53.010-08:00Five by Five<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript">
</script>1) I spent an hour this morning moving thousands of dollars worth of paintings into a washroom. Ain't art grand?<br />
<br />
2) When my doctor walked in, I automatically asked him how he was and he said, "Better than you because my blood work ain't all over the place." Well, shit.<br />
<br />
3) On my way to an audition, I got lost in a forest. Again. <em>How come this keeps happening?</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<em></em><br />
4) Walked into Step class drinking Starbucks. Something's wrong here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br />
5) I feel bad for making the eye doctor wait while I'm crying, dabbing Kleenex and
blinking frantically up at the ceiling. But at the same time—<em>you stuck a needle in my eye.</em> An actual
needle. In my actual eye. You can gimme a minute. <o:p></o:p></div>
The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-89759277347180842952013-01-03T01:30:00.001-08:002013-01-03T01:30:59.744-08:00"Brilliant"<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript">
</script>I have a 4.0 GPA, have read all of Edgar Allan Poe's poetry, and have been referred to as a walking-talking-dictionary.<br />
<br />
And it took me twenty minutes to assemble this box. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqN09vHDBjprX-UD-RjO-XsRytjSzAqs2P616FMVGQ63A4VDjsCww31KF4OeyDM5NYt29iGt7TPgJJ1r2dlaipqeSJyB65t0zuU0YqO7LyvMad2lDmiEjtMl-cflAxXXSB1GLKacVbUGGT/s1600/IMG_3866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqN09vHDBjprX-UD-RjO-XsRytjSzAqs2P616FMVGQ63A4VDjsCww31KF4OeyDM5NYt29iGt7TPgJJ1r2dlaipqeSJyB65t0zuU0YqO7LyvMad2lDmiEjtMl-cflAxXXSB1GLKacVbUGGT/s320/IMG_3866.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-69865814739595503952012-09-17T22:20:00.001-07:002012-09-17T22:20:53.132-07:00Chapters makes me happy for so many reasons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYxX2Lj0aZ1QK6LkerQQB9M-72Zf4N3Ai04RdHBCJGI-4zyHgbUTOY2_aI_YYyu6zGRDAbcoXod5OmtKMLcBzFo3WQqir0A0y150Ao_fogwxpfbv71sno6If8VENI3WrGndzqt3hHCNvf/s1600/non-fiction...jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYxX2Lj0aZ1QK6LkerQQB9M-72Zf4N3Ai04RdHBCJGI-4zyHgbUTOY2_aI_YYyu6zGRDAbcoXod5OmtKMLcBzFo3WQqir0A0y150Ao_fogwxpfbv71sno6If8VENI3WrGndzqt3hHCNvf/s320/non-fiction...jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript"></script><br />The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-19727277913530582702012-09-05T20:23:00.000-07:002012-09-17T22:09:56.065-07:00Shit My Teachers Taught Me: Spring 2012Last semester I took Criminal Law, Sociological Explanations of Criminal Behavior, and Stats for Dummies. I mean Stats.<br />
<br />
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/nAS7z_nmJhs/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nAS7z_nmJhs&fs=1&source=uds" />
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<embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nAS7z_nmJhs&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div>
<br />
The man in the blue-green spandex was my Criminal Law professor.<br />
<br />
And that was Spring 2012.The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-15871921996723875482012-06-21T18:12:00.003-07:002012-06-21T18:22:48.754-07:00The Mikado: Week One<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>DRESS REHEARSAL</strong></div>
<br />
It's here! Dress rehearsal is supposed to be as close to a proper show as can be, so everyone wore full make-up and costume.<br />
<br />
The dressing room was one large co-ed room, with props--not ours--<em>everywhere</em>. Stacks of boxes labeled "feather boas" and "4-person dragon costume" and "french maid outfits." In the ladies fitting room, I used to leave my day clothes on a knight's shield. There was a a large rack in the main room filled entirely with dusty glasses. Champagne glasses, wine goblets, beer mugs, all with a sign that read DO NOT USE! ...BUT IF YOU DO, WASH AND REPLACE WHERE YOU FOUND IT.<br />
<br />
Our wigs were set up at our station when we walked in. Isn't it pretty! It didn't feel pretty. It felt like a mushroom on my head.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-CVuBAhfJqqrSAnWuY0Ll71Xv6L_7F7JZxoHZVJoJQsmWAmylXLhmCuqO1MFyZusPwTamfv_E7OcYI10qM08okqLMt7JpQFI3Bf1wwlJjZqrxuTEx3PDeYCnGUyudpExBQoYPMv_Jz9o/s320/IMG_3467.JPG" width="240" /></div>
<br />
My poor dance partner had to apply make-up for the very first time. He lifted the lip liner to his face, stared hard at the mirror, and said, "I'm an artist, I should be able to do this."<br />
<br />
Another male chorus member, a 6'4" teenage boy, held up the pair of ballet tights he was expected to wear. They were approximately two feet long. And pink. The look on his face of utter disbelief. I promised him they'd stretch.<br />
<br />
Our Pooh-Bah is more familiar with putting on stage make-up, but not with putting on a long handlebar moustache. The glue didn't work very well tonight. So we turned it into a unibrow. And then made it crooked. And stuck it on his nose. Upside down. <br />
<br />
For my part, I have a gorgeous lime green kimono--but no obi. It's not ready yet. Without the obi to secure it better, my kimono kept flashing lots of leg every time I kneeled. Or moved. Or sat or stood or walked or danced or polka'ed. Yup. I'm <em>that</em> schoolgirl.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4D8DEtLBHu0vChuxvxfaE2HZCcfgcj5vr0D6L9yo0oAjuUiagrLsubFFAqHtSaHZni-6QOlx-2POKuPc8vlF-F0tb0UNBG8G8NkZ4qiP-g_izHxcXFmhykl0UGKRf0koI9X5nDrkk7HBL/s1600/IMG_3473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4D8DEtLBHu0vChuxvxfaE2HZCcfgcj5vr0D6L9yo0oAjuUiagrLsubFFAqHtSaHZni-6QOlx-2POKuPc8vlF-F0tb0UNBG8G8NkZ4qiP-g_izHxcXFmhykl0UGKRf0koI9X5nDrkk7HBL/s320/IMG_3473.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>PREVIEW NIGHT</strong><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tonight's show was...interesting. Isn't that a good word? Interesting.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The stage is definitely smaller than expected. It's narrower and the set--two sets of stairs with sliding screen doors--takes up a lot of space. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At intermission, our choreographer stepped into the greenroom and said, "What do you people have against the <em>damn stairs!</em>" and for the first time since we've moved in, the greenroom went dead silent.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
...So during Act II, we made sure there were always lots of people standing on the stairs! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Also during Act II, the Lord High Executioner announces to the Mikado that the coroner has just handed him the death certificate. And that would be when Pooh-Bah, aka the coroner, hands him the death certificate.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
...Unless Pooh-Bah forgets the death certificate. Unless the death certificate is currently lying on the props table off stage left. Since there was really no way to continue the scene--which involves <em>reading</em> the death certificate--Pooh-Bah scrambled up, snatched it from offstage, and came back in record time while everyone paused and tried not to panic under the stage lights and the audience's stares.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Also, later on Pooh-Bah's moustache fell off so far, he ripped it right off onstage, and I nearly did a faceplant through the screendoor while I balanced on a stack of plywood. Actual plywood. During Yum-Yum's solo, two of us kneel behind the screendoors and a backlight casts our shadow while we do a pretty little fan dance.<br />
<br /></div>
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<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>OPENING NIGHT</strong></div>
<br />
Apparently, yesterday sucked. In fact, it sucked so much that the choreographer came in with seven pages worth of changes tonight, which included taking two thirds of the chorus and sticking them on the stairs, where they will stand for the big dance numbers. Six chorus members, myself included, still get to dance. <br />
<br />
After quickly marking through the changes on stage after vocal warm-up, we finished getting ready and played on our gameboys. Well, one Japanese eighteen-and-under schoolgirl did, in full costume. The rest of us just took pictures. The show went much smoother than last night's, despite the last minute changes. It helped that when it came time to dance, there was actually space to dance in. Always a plus. In fact, our choreographer said we looked like "a company." Yay!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>GALA!</strong><br />
<br /></div>
Gala began with daffodils and Mini Eggs--that's guarantees a good show, right? <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyu6QvGTQDMZG28daviips8Lx0TQZUw3uzDgsAGDUP6EG4B9-QCz-hM2VD_nlT94pqnipnKDftsFnrC3CZdm0iZS3wDulIY9FqshTXb5-6eCI7BhBUXDlGd1lUN0fjzajMe_C33dDg3jH/s1600/IMG_3343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyu6QvGTQDMZG28daviips8Lx0TQZUw3uzDgsAGDUP6EG4B9-QCz-hM2VD_nlT94pqnipnKDftsFnrC3CZdm0iZS3wDulIY9FqshTXb5-6eCI7BhBUXDlGd1lUN0fjzajMe_C33dDg3jH/s320/IMG_3343.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The audience was filled with VIPs: former directors, producers and actors. Anyone who's been someone. They know all the lyrics and all the dialogue so for heaven's sake <em>do not screw up!</em><br />
<br />
KoKo, the Lord High Executioner, was feeling the pressure. He has a line right before the girls entrance where he says that his bride and her sisters approach. Except tonight, he said his <em>daughters</em> and her bride approach. <br />
<br />
Any other night, that could have been covered up. But on Gala, it had to be acknowledged--and got a good laugh.<br />
<br />
I hadn't gotten too nervous during the shows yet...until our first entrance tonight when I ran out and immediately started recognizing people all over the place. The knowledge of who was out there was nervewracking. I had to force myself not to search faces because it would only freak me out more. <br />
<br />
When the final curtain closed, we <em>raced</em> up to the dressing room. I mean, we <em>booked it</em> up there. I had everything planned so I could get ready in record time and for once, it actually worked. I wore a floor length, black gown. What is it about floor length that makes all dresses seem so much fancier?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>SHOW FOUR (Saturday Night)</strong></div>
<br />
Figures the night I screw up is the night my parents come.<br />
<br />
During the Act 1 finale, my fan fell and skidded downstage centre. I picked it up moments later when I flirt with Nanki-Poo, but then once the couples dancing started, my partner's fan slipped from his obi and thudded onto the ground. I picked up his too, and then moments after that, Nanki-Poos fan went flying and my partner picked it up. <br />
<br />
It was not good a night for fans. <br />
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<br />
<br />
Also, the safety pin on my kimono came undone and kept stabbing me. Then, the Mikado decided to spice things up by ad libbing a long a cappella solo that the chorus was unprepared for--warning would be nice, thanks--and during one part where two girls make a bridge with their parasols and we all run under, the top of my wig smacked against the parasols when I went through.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Overall, it was a great show but for me...an awful, <em>awful</em> show. I ate three cookies, 1 bag of mini eggs, and may or may not have ended the night with a shot of tequila.<br />
<br />
Oh show business, thou art a heartless bitch.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>SHOW FIVE (Sunday Matinee)</strong></div>
<br />
We spent half an hour at the beach before heading to the theatre today. I think some time at the ocean was well-appreciated since performing full-out every night has started to catch up to us. The male lead is sick, and a few of the others are coughing. My voice was definitely not as strong as usual. <br />
<br />
One of the show's most iconic songs is KoKo's "I've Got A Little List," where he names all the people who, if they died, no one would care about. Our version includes 90-lb models who think they're fat, the entire cast of Jersey Shore, and directors who change the lyrics to songs. Everything rhymes with missed or list until "that really gets me--<em>mad</em>." Love that line.<br />
<br />
There was one goof at the start of the third number that the ladies chorus is in. It starts with one of the guys dancing funny and then we imitate him. Except tonight, the music was late to start so he started dancing...and then danced some more until the music came in. <br />
<br />
The silhouette scene seemed to go better--blind synchronization has not been our friend. However, my mother, my sister and my boyfriend all thought I was the silhouette on house right. I'm not! House left, stage right!<br />
<br />
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And if that's too confusing, I'm the one doing it <em>correctly</em>. (Did I say that?)The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-8063477176572210612012-06-21T18:04:00.002-07:002012-06-21T18:25:45.015-07:00The Mikado: Week Two<div style="text-align: center;">
<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript">
</script><strong>SHOW SIX (Wednesday evening)</strong></div>
<br />
Packed house--it is so weird to have a balcony. I keep forgetting they're there and then suddenly I'll see light flashing off of someone's watch and it totally throws me off.<br />
<br />
My parents came again tonight so my dance partner and I made a pack before going on that we<em> would not drop our fans </em>and it totally worked. <br />
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<br />
<br />
Act two went smoothly--except for the Mikado's ad libbed cadenza which confuzzles the heck out of the chorus still. Whoops.<br />
<br />
The male lead is now feeling better, but the Mikado is now feeling worse. Peep Bo is now over her cold, Peep Bo Unofficial Understudy now has a cold. I hardly had a voice yesterday morning, but it got better and I refuse to think of illness as a possibility. I am not going to get sick. Decision made.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>SHOW SEVEN (Thursday evening)</strong></div>
<br />
After a warning of <em>no more ad libbing!</em> (a rule, along with <em>underwear is mandator</em>y) and a re-visit of "Mi-ya Sa-ma" choreography, we all finished getting ready as the audience piled in. Another fantastically crowded audience, albeit a quieter one than we've been having lately. <br />
<br />
Backstage, we had fun gossiping about about the back story of the prego chorusgirl. In reality, she's married; in the show, she's the slutty schoolgirl who had a fling with Nanki-Poo, which accidentally led to the incarceration of KoKo. Unless KoKo's really the father. Scandal in Titti-Poo! <br />
<br />
Everything went fine until the Act I finale. At the end, Katisha barrels through the crowd, whacking at people, threatening everyone, and being generally angry and violent. Since my dance partner is the farthest stage right, they discussed shoving him so that he could fall back and emphasis her strength even more. Tonight, she growled and burst through us, shoving him aside. He flew back onto the floor, his kimono flipping up, legs sprawled out and showing a great deal of ballet pink tights.<br />
<br />
There is a very good reason why underwear is mandatory. <br />
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<br />
Thankfully, he had remembered underwear but forgotten to wear shorts under his kimono, as everyone usually does. Since his kimono doesn't typically flap about too much, he also didn't pin it together so there was nothing holding it in place as he fell backwards.<br />
<br />
That's one way to end Act I!<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>SHOW EIGHT (Friday evening)</strong></div>
<br />
I forgot to wash my tights last night, and when I got home from work, I opened the fridge door and there was note taped inside that read, "YOUR TIGHTS ARE IN THE DRYER!" There was another tape to my bathroom mirror. Thanks, Mom!<br />
<br />
Our make-up for the show involves cat eyes and bow lips, which are super cute. But if you mess up with liquid eyeliner, there's only so many times you can fix it before you look like a victim from Law and Order. <br />
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<br />
<br />
No kimono flashing tonight! However, Yum-Yum broke her mirror and promptly stole the next line, one of my bosses sat front row centre, and I sniffled and smiled and tried not to be sick.<br />
<br />
(But I'm totally sick.)<br />
<br />
(Blefhg!)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>CLOSING NIGHT</strong> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Runny noses on stage are not fun. </div>
<br />
BUT closing shows? <em>So</em> much fun! Every time we rushed off the stage, everyone would burst into "That's the last time I'll faint in your arms!" "That's the end of our train of little ladies!" "That's my last death scene! ...Hopefully."<br />
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<br />
<br />
As the curtain closed at the end of the show, we waited until the audience cleared out to take our cast photo. Then we booked it to the dressing room! Obis got packed, kimono sleeves were flying all over the place, shoes were manhandled (literally, one guy took off his ballet shoes and pitched them into the trash). <br />
<br />
I got dressed and leaped out of the dressing room all the way to the lobby to meet my brother and his girlfriend. When I got back to the dressing room, I finished wiping off my stage make-up and promptly replaced it with normal make-up, much to the amusement of my dance partner, who is very thankful to <em>never wear stage foundation ever again, thank you very much</em>. <br />
<br />
Striking the set is beautifully choreographed chaos in which I take no part. I put my props away, clear my station, and help with the cleaning. I stay far away from power drills, splintering wood, and any kind of lifting that involves multiple people on the count of three. <br />
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<br />
The goal was to get everything loaded into the truck as quickly as possible--so we could all go to Boston Pizza and start partying. We were doing well until my friend--also my ride--realized she'd locked her keys in her car.<br />
<br />
Uh...<br />
<br />
Our Lord High Executioner thought he could open it with a coat hanger, and our set builder went all MacGyver with a plastic bottle and double sided tape, but neither of them could break in. A dozen people from our cast and crew gathered and after about half an hour of waiting and hoping, BCAA arrived and popped open the passenger door. <br />
<br />
Despite the late start, everyone was still in full adrenaline mode and wide awake when we finally all got to the restaurant. The director began with everyone's favourite part of the cast party: the crudes.<br />
<br />
C.R.U.D.E's. Creative Really <em>Unusual</em> Dramatic Entertainment. <br />
<br />
For Best Use of a Prop Without the Aid of a Director, I was nominated for dropping my fan and nearly killing the male lead, one of the girls was nominated for smacking one of the others in the face with a parasol, and the Yum-Yum won for breaking her hand mirror onstage and then promptly becoming so flustered that she gave away the punchline. <br />
<br />
For Best Dialogue Without the Aid of a Script, KoKo, Pish-Tush and Pooh-Bah were nominated for threatening to behead an audience member ("Substitute!") when their cellphone rang mid-scene, KoKo was nominated for adding Nickleback to his list of people who wouldn't be missed, Pooh-Bah was nominated for using the word 'versimilatude' five times in one line, and KoKo won for calling the entire female chorus his "daughters."<br />
<br />
My dance partner won for flashing the audience--repeatedly!--and then the ultimate CRUDE, the I-Wrote-The-Words-On-My-Gloves Award, was bestowed upon Pooh-Bah for his Preview Night slip-up when he forgot his scroll and had to scamper offstage to get it while everyone waited onstage.<br />
<br />
After CRUDEs, came the Harmony award (to the male lead), the scholarship (to me!) and a special thank-you plaque to our choreographer for years of love, dedication, and general putting up with us. <br />
<br />
One by one, people left. Some made speeches, most gave hugs, and eventually our Mikado family dispersed.<br />
<br />
Till next show.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtuDlllGVNh-jpBWsZECC25FeXxldTkaA3M1DKzV_5lyWgyRJthi62A5BtdYu6UVB0IdHcR4LdAo6i17LUntxnYQV6PN8ruOgbj4KhLfKHxwo_NAf8IQx8-9OJFqZaNgG68y0nj-O_z5H/s1600/postertop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtuDlllGVNh-jpBWsZECC25FeXxldTkaA3M1DKzV_5lyWgyRJthi62A5BtdYu6UVB0IdHcR4LdAo6i17LUntxnYQV6PN8ruOgbj4KhLfKHxwo_NAf8IQx8-9OJFqZaNgG68y0nj-O_z5H/s320/postertop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-58932341103580782232012-06-02T00:00:00.000-07:002012-06-02T00:00:36.519-07:00Five-by-Five1) I fail at yoga. Such fail. I think I need a hip replacement. <br />
<br />
2) Smuggled Tim Hortons coffees into a movie theatre--that's how you know you're a grown-up, when you smuggle <em>coffee</em> instead of <em>Jub-Jubs</em>.<br />
<br />3) If only all physical violence involved pirouettes and plies like in West Side Story, the world would be a better place.<br />
<br />4) The next generation isn't going to know Pluto or pennies. Is it even worth having children?<br />
<br />5) If you run choreography underwater, the lifeguards wonder if you're drowning.The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-46164603174126447272012-05-28T23:40:00.000-07:002012-05-28T23:45:54.176-07:00What happens at rehearsal... (pretend this was posted 2 months ago, k?)The men were having issues with one of their dance numbers because one guy was missing and it was throwing off the formations. There was one part in particular where two of the other men lift him. So I--in my skirt and heels--jumped in and tried to act like a man. Wide stance. Shoulders back. Be, um...manly.<br />
<br />
(It's possible I don't know how to be manly.)<br />
<br />
(But I tried anyway.)<br />
<br />
Song began and choreography went much smoother till we shifted into the next half of the song, which changes a bit. I'd only seen the guys do it once so I got into place and then--oh shit.<br />
<br />
I remember this part now. It's the part where the guy I'm filling in for gets lifted.<br />
<br />
And the moment I realize this--on video--I very clearly swear. <br />
<br />
Whoops...The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-2393032330586264372012-05-01T16:51:00.000-07:002012-05-01T16:51:15.727-07:00I may have a problem.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Tp8GFGl3HvLV2uj00iyBSZXiEoNkMF4-4cpbfSx6YS8OCdlAXAuwNE9BZP_9605vyIbIDiizU9Q9hF2UBaNKzPkSihGhRLAPW88ts5jHTgAeCjI4dQ-2yjujP2ZcQHOjf4LbBJfochFh/s1600/belts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Tp8GFGl3HvLV2uj00iyBSZXiEoNkMF4-4cpbfSx6YS8OCdlAXAuwNE9BZP_9605vyIbIDiizU9Q9hF2UBaNKzPkSihGhRLAPW88ts5jHTgAeCjI4dQ-2yjujP2ZcQHOjf4LbBJfochFh/s320/belts.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-23677014372020343712012-04-27T13:37:00.002-07:002012-04-27T13:37:19.056-07:00It didn't go off though! That means it worked, right?I set fire to a yam. Not on purpose, I mean, <em>why would anyone try to set a yam on fire on purpose?</em> I stuck a plate in the microwave with cut up pieces of yam on it and thirty seconds later, a corner of one of the pieces was totally black. Just a tiny little speck. Except that speck reeked of smoke that went straight to the smoke detector directly above the microwave, which made me panic.<br />
<br />
You know in stereotypical pagan ceremonies where women dance all naked and "free" and worship the moon? I looked like that, but with clothes on and waving a towel at the smoke detector.<br />
<br />The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-84368354713584435042012-04-18T22:26:00.002-07:002012-04-19T22:58:32.755-07:00I have a love/hate relationship with bike helmets. I hate them because they're disgustingly ugly, but I love NOT being injured.One time I rode smack into the back of my dad's pick-up. Another time I tried to do a one-handed maneuver and now I still have the scar on my knee. And one time I rode straight into a telephone pole and chipped my front tooth. <br />
<br />
So now that I've been biking again, I've been reluctantly wearing the helmet. <br />
<br />
Last week, I fell off my bike, scratched up my legs, got dirt everywhere including <em>inside</em> the handlebars, and broke the chains that attach to the pedals. But I'm okay because I was <em>wearing the friggin' helmet!</em>The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-39047135276787420832012-04-08T20:03:00.000-07:002012-04-08T20:03:41.665-07:00I have a thing for talking inanimate objects.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They just make life better, you know?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaY7ujYYh6nU6X00W_ExP-OQHEwgRESojJdcP7W0tNz6BhKH2F8A7994YuSLDToxwV6H0L1-cE0Z6QnoHbtY9RqdtDN75NLnoc09TyzK0SS8cIIn8CF9q2ggUyqhQvu3y9obpb28rQ_vfw/s1600/IMG_2992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaY7ujYYh6nU6X00W_ExP-OQHEwgRESojJdcP7W0tNz6BhKH2F8A7994YuSLDToxwV6H0L1-cE0Z6QnoHbtY9RqdtDN75NLnoc09TyzK0SS8cIIn8CF9q2ggUyqhQvu3y9obpb28rQ_vfw/s320/IMG_2992.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This one I found outside of the Education wing at school. It's such an Education-major thing to do too, you'd never find it in the Crim wing. We just post newspaper clippings of weird ways to kill people.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzh-SRZniEhu38638SIp-5glSsPrQxAN42lwmHQxJ6_0T_XLK-Ihyphenhyphen2aBIuCPDme7EFepkD0Fs13gWXzFDvYvreYNmHMNjHpXdbsSBnpJbmA3rbHetR5siQC4NCqhiYWJppnc5MoT536gE_/s1600/IMG_2266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzh-SRZniEhu38638SIp-5glSsPrQxAN42lwmHQxJ6_0T_XLK-Ihyphenhyphen2aBIuCPDme7EFepkD0Fs13gWXzFDvYvreYNmHMNjHpXdbsSBnpJbmA3rbHetR5siQC4NCqhiYWJppnc5MoT536gE_/s320/IMG_2266.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Also found at school, the existentialist garbage bin:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSax8uCQznQhDPySTB5GmlWu3M3xVnAupwD8bCHHkHZgYfTEI_cny8ZGeCx9gicOSwu9k6KIKN7ZYVxM8-S8qMUM-BAFxaklRjZkqsyK3N59MYCwJMB6crLtiyoIvy1qsKhVyTNkUjRTe/s1600/IMG_2295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSax8uCQznQhDPySTB5GmlWu3M3xVnAupwD8bCHHkHZgYfTEI_cny8ZGeCx9gicOSwu9k6KIKN7ZYVxM8-S8qMUM-BAFxaklRjZkqsyK3N59MYCwJMB6crLtiyoIvy1qsKhVyTNkUjRTe/s320/IMG_2295.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a legit staircase that legit leads to the Chamber of Secrets. I'm 99% certain. Not 100% though because there's no way in holy hell I'm going down there to find out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUKpYP0JBjm-2n8UXPY1N6QKTM5vkvW3RanhUUNLv6qQa9iCbZSbr0xxsL31tT7UyqPD5ytWHPVRMz9SlJlo1AMFwapPtwCvpm2b07BrGoVUAVDAazoNL8r-G18NPoHxvSx8NR9ozmHRG/s1600/IMG_1904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUKpYP0JBjm-2n8UXPY1N6QKTM5vkvW3RanhUUNLv6qQa9iCbZSbr0xxsL31tT7UyqPD5ytWHPVRMz9SlJlo1AMFwapPtwCvpm2b07BrGoVUAVDAazoNL8r-G18NPoHxvSx8NR9ozmHRG/s320/IMG_1904.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">See? Make. Life. Better.</div>The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-6569441036388177782012-03-10T21:17:00.005-08:002012-03-10T21:35:21.250-08:00Happy 27thI asked my brother what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, and he sent me this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9Tsjd4R6G-2vqsgaRkRDZ3YOMVC4z7xRX3AB_MZJyZEdfd9KrZP9mi6yLovR0CXpxpY7aMKO1PpsKKswq95gWv2snbSM3JJoe6iIPCTNJpDSN3xegSo8BLYqLt1qrTwrBAnrrBjI5Kno/s1600/Reeses+Pieces+cake.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9Tsjd4R6G-2vqsgaRkRDZ3YOMVC4z7xRX3AB_MZJyZEdfd9KrZP9mi6yLovR0CXpxpY7aMKO1PpsKKswq95gWv2snbSM3JJoe6iIPCTNJpDSN3xegSo8BLYqLt1qrTwrBAnrrBjI5Kno/s320/Reeses+Pieces+cake.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://foodbeast.com/content/2012/02/20/an-oversized-peanut-butter-cup-cake/">(source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I said um, <em>no</em>. Acceptable answers would have included "chocolate," "vanilla," and "Dairy Queen."<br />
<br />
Eventually I got my act together and spent several hours googling peanut butter. Did you know if you use natural peanut butter in baking, it'll separate and be yucky? So you can't even pretend it's healthy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjTiPXmjkDwJEI7Y5L7IuStxBv5c_n2uEQRDXVmSfKQM2E1mumWPQ_ltWBr_1vBMk9_IdU7okzJ7ggEWofBkqLIbZUWrePUww21zEwPKtvD8nStSYBfdei641McWKMASptKrpkZbpR5FZ/s1600/IMG_2417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjTiPXmjkDwJEI7Y5L7IuStxBv5c_n2uEQRDXVmSfKQM2E1mumWPQ_ltWBr_1vBMk9_IdU7okzJ7ggEWofBkqLIbZUWrePUww21zEwPKtvD8nStSYBfdei641McWKMASptKrpkZbpR5FZ/s320/IMG_2417.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I made two cakes, two frostings, and one fitness bootcamp. That's balance, right?The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-24790564885408334882012-03-03T22:02:00.004-08:002012-04-05T00:01:15.492-07:00Five by Five1) I saw a guy walking down the street literally stop and smell the roses. Either that or he thought he could snort them. Hard to tell.<br />
<br />
2) I am the photocopy machine whisperer. <em>Feel</em> the photocopy machine. <em>Be</em> the photocopy machine.<br />
<br />
3) Why does everyone hate on February? It's the month of <em>love</em>, people. Love and reading breaks. Best. Month. Ever. <br />
<br />
4) There are three important arts reporters in the city and one of them called me at home. I mumbled "Hello..." then did that frantic <em>oh shit</em> cough and attempted to sound like I wasn't still lounging in bed watching the Family channel and downloading the Twilight movies at one in the afternoon. <br />
<br />
5) Roll Up The Rim is back and I'm 0 for 6. Statistically, 1 in 6 is a winner. Statistically, I'm getting my ass kicked by paper cups. <strong>Update:</strong><strike> 0 for 8</strike> 0 for 16!The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-23604060805865423382012-02-28T23:17:00.000-08:002012-02-28T23:17:43.454-08:00And then I melted into the carpet and was never seen again.After a break, all the women were called back to rehearsal. I tucked my water bottle under my seat, and flipped open my score.<br />
<br />
And hiccuped.<br />
<br />
Loudly.<br />
<br />
Flushing, I pursed my lips and tried to listen to the music director discussing the rhythm of a particular section. We'd had issues getting the timing right and it--<em>hiccup!</em>--didn't help that the words were in Japanese. Meanwhile, I was trapped in the middle of a row of seats, surrounded--<em>hiccup!</em>--by the alto section on my left and the rest of the sopranos on my--<em>hiccup!</em>--right, with no means of slipping out quickly.<br />
<br />
Or quietly. <br />
<br />
I tried concentrating on my breathing; I tried not singing; I tried clutching my score to my chest like a blankie. My face felt hot and red. <br />
<br />
For a minute, I thought maybe they'd gone away so I sang, "O ni! Bikkuri shakkuri--<em>hiccup!</em>"<br />
<br />
Even the music director snickered.<br />
<br />
And then I died. The end.<script src="http://track4.mybloglog.com/js/jsserv.php?mblID=2011021512552926" type="text/javascript">
</script>The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658955652586577278.post-70293202125406082202012-02-23T11:22:00.000-08:002012-02-23T11:22:09.101-08:00This is what happens when I go unsupervised.- Get off at the wrong bus stop because apparently there are <em>two</em> 148th streets. <br />
- Spend half an hour walking through the suburbs looking for a shopping mall. <br />
- Realize a shopping mall is unlikely to be located in suburbia. <br />
- Find the <em>other</em> 148th street, find the mall, only to remember I'm a broke-ass student. <br />
- Head back to bus stop.<br />
- Realize student ID card (with Upass) has fallen out of pocket. <br />
- Panic. <br />
- Power-walk back to mall, frantically scanning the sidewalk with big bug-eyes.<br />
- Panic some more.<br />
- Spot student ID card on the other side of the street, at the corner of an intersection. <br />
- Sprint towards it without checking traffic.<br />
- Narrowly avoid getting smushed into pavement by red car.<br />
- Snatch up student ID card. <br />
- Skip home.The Ousted Princesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222532156757542373noreply@blogger.com0