Nice To Meet You. Again.

I stayed in and instead of doing homework or obsessively running lines I talked to my roommates.  Now don't get me wrong - it's not as though I usually ignore them or there is some sort of tension.  Nor are we all particularly quiet people. . .

But life is busy.  It's so busy.  Especially the way we each choose to live it, all of us some combination of taking maximum credits, being on Dean's List, performing in at least one show, being involved with two or three, working one or two jobs, and juggling long (and well loved) lists of friends and even trying to squeeze in things like hobbies, the gym, etc.  And while they are a couple, and in all of the same classes, and happen to be performing in the same show (I am doing lighting for it and haven't been at rehearsals yet, not for another few days) I am in none of their classes. And I'm won't be onstage with them.  So even though we share this apartment - these couches, cabinets, and chores - and even though we see each other on a daily basis, and even though we're truly close friends sometimes we become the proverbial ships in the night, passing each other on our separate voyages.  

Me stumbling groggily to the kettle while he fumbles for the coffee maker.  Nods of acknowledgement.  "How was your day," "oh good xyz happened, yours?" "mmm," exchanged between her and I.  Notes as though written by phantoms, left in the place of a roommate  as reminders for cable and keys, thanks for thoughtful gestures, questions about schedules.

To put a face to the notes again: to let my eyes really see the lines of his jaw and the quirk of his eyebrows when he's amused or the twist of them when he's contemplating.  To readjust to the sight of how beautiful she really is, how lovely and glowing and the way any interesting conversation animates her.  

 Falling into each other's cadences again, and remembering why we chose to live together in the first place: the quirks and oddities and habits, the ticks and jokes and ideas that made us think forming a little home, a little family, together in this apartment was a good idea.

She & I laying on beds, feet in the air, sweat pants on and make up off, fantasizing about how to spend a trillion dollars.

Sitting on counter tops across from each other, my legs criss crossed and pulled to my chest while his long ones hang over the edge, discussing nothing at all with total seriousness and earnestness.  

Stopping the busy to find each other, and going to bed remembering why we came together to begin with.  

I suddenly and more clearly appreciate what people mean when they say "making time for each other." or "taking the time to get reacquainted," with someone.  Relationships - even the most secure, the most steady, the most even and gentle and the ones that can be reduced to grunts over coffee and nods over homework - require special love and care and tending.  Tonight has inspired me to take the time more often to simply speak, with no intention other than a.) to be heard and then b.) to listen intently and freely and without any other objective.  It is amazing what you can learn, even about the people you share the most intimate parts of your life with, this way.

Pneumonia Sucks, Festival Rocks.

These are the lessons the waning days of January and the opening days of February taught me.  To summarize briefly why I have been absent since my last, rather exuberant and somewhat scattered, post, I will simply say: bacterial bronchitis.  pneumonia.

Remember my post about being sick from a few weeks back?  In it I explained that the last three weeks of my winter break were devoted entirely to bed rest as I got the nasty flu that had been terrorizing the eastern seaboard.  Unfortunately, because my "health insurance" is somewhere between joke and sham, as most college coverage plans are, I could't afford treatment.  That + resuming a daunting schedule + the grips of winter = the flu deteriorating in to laryngitis and fatigue which slowly evolved itself into a nasty form of bacterial bronchitis and pneumonia.  Well, in theory it includes pneumonia. . . I can't actually afford both the testing and the medication, you see.  So we opted to proceed as though I have pneumonia, which seemed incredibly likely as I lay in Wellness coughing until my diaphragm spazzed out, I vomited, and started seeing stars.

Again.

Ahem.

But the second part of this post's title is "Festival Rocks."  So let's talk about that now shall we???

Festival - the nickname for KCACTF or The Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival is something you can read more about in the link imbedded above: my school is part of Region 1 and we got to spend our week of acting, stage craft, competing, performing, master classes, workshops, lectures, and networking in Cape Cod MA.  I attended KCACTF as a Stage Management Fellowship Nominee and Irene Ryan scene partner  which are both competitions, one for stage managing (obviously) and the other for acting. My Festival Week went as follows:

Tuesday: final rehearsal for Irene Ryans rounds.  Review materials for my book and display.  Load in to the car with my darling Louque Gaga (nickname for one of my friends here on campus. He's marvelous). Spend almost two hours singing showtunes obnoxiously.  Arrive at our hotel, check in, find our roomates for the week (my actualy roomate + a fellow senior + an alum here to compete in the Ryans).  Unpack, do final prep on my production book, have a group rehearsal for Irene Ryans, eat pizza that Papa Jim (one of our two accompanying faculty members) bought us all.  Try to sleep.

Wednesday: Up at 6am w/Lil. Gym. Back to the room to do hair, makeup, and get dressed. 7:30 last minute run through of Irene Ryans scene w/the nominee.  7:45 check in for our round.  8:00am curtains up.  9:30 - 11:15 Ryans response (this is where specially trained and selected "real world grown ups" meaning faculty and directors from other schools, give feedback, critiques, and opinions on how each competitor and their partners did.  Incredibly insightful). 11:15 - 11:25 runlikehelltochangeoutfit. 11:30 - 1:00pm set up for the Design Management and Tech Expo (DMT for short).  1:00pm - 1:00am nap, workshops, continue refining book and display, watch other Ryans rounds, find out nominee and I didn't move on in the Ryans but my two roommates (real life roommates, not Festival roomates) did and so did one of the other seniors competing and her partner. Eat something, meet up with friends old and new, go to bed.

Thursday: Up at 7:00am. Gym. Work DMT as part of my Stage Management Fellowship nomination with Louque-Gaga.  All. Damn. Day. And. Evening. When it finally ends, eat something, stretch, go over game plan for interview portion of the SMF competition.  Watch semi-finals of Irene Ryans.  See friends kick ass. Take a Fosse workshop and get offered a spot in the Boston Theater Project's Summer Intensive in Tampa FL. Resume friendseeking/making/hanging out with from the night before. Get really anxious for interview. Finally fall asleep with lights on: Lil and I are snug in our bed, other roommates never reappear after dinner.  

Friday: Other two roommates fine, found old friends from HS.  Continue running DMT as part of competition. Have interview portion. Find out the senior girl and her partner (both of whom I've been friends with since freshman year) have moved on to finals.  Freak out. Cheer on other contestants in the DMT's final day, many of whom are now my friends.  Finally get to see a show ("The Foreigner"), laugh ass off, at intermission boldly march up to some fellow Ryans and tell them how much I loved their stuff and it's a pity they didn't move on.  Repeat the friends thing. Sleep.

Saturday: strike DMT. Cross fingers/pray for Senior Duo to Kick. Ass. at the finals, and for all my friends in Ten Minute Plays to be awesome. Audition for Commonwealth Shakespeare Company's Summer Apprenticeship.  Find out one of the adjudicators of the DMT wants my resume and contact information. Am tentatively offered a potential job in NYC post graduation with a lighting firm. Give in to days of hunger and exhaustion: split chicken tenders and fries with Lil.  Take nap. Hit hot tub.  Lil convinces me to do my hair and put on a dress, though I decide not to wear makeup.  Go to Awards Ceremony, which is the first part of closing out Festival.

At Awards Ceremony: cheer like a lunatic for my friends who won things in the DMT (Louque and I don't win for stage managing: we didn't expect to, we're our school's first ever representatives and we're just really amazed to even be there). Then acting awards start being handed out.  The first is Commonwealth Shakespeare Company, who announce the two people they've selected to be their apprentices and to receive scholarships to the summer training course to boot.

- Immediately go in to shock as my Theatre Department erupts in screams and applause as my name is called as one of the 2013 CSC Interns.  This gives me guaranteed performances within a few weeks of graduation, will help me earn almost all my Equity Eligibility Points, reduces my cost of training by more than half, and launches me full-steam-ahead in to the world of Shakespearean Theatre.  Eventually, I have the good sense to cry.  

- My roommate (not Lil, but the other one - Thing 1, I call him) receives an award for his vocal work as an Irene Ryan.

-My dear friend Robby receives Merit Award for his performance in the Music Theatre Initiative/Richard Maltby Jr competition. 

-Senior nominee wins Best Comedic Actress.  At this point, my entire school is crying more or less.  Most of us have very little voices left.  There are bruises from hands being held too tight and too rowdy rounds of applause.

-The Senior duo wins. My beloved department will be representing our entire regionin Washington D.C. in a few weeks, as two of my most longterm college friends grace the Kennedy Center as the best actress and best partner in the region.  My beloved department, whose BA is less than a year old.  My girl who has had her heart broken and remade before my eyes.  My dear friend who was almost unable to graduate with us, and has served his nominee as a perfect partner.  They received the last and most prestigious award of the night.  I received the first and newest.  Eventually the President of our College herself writes to tell us how proud she is of our class. 

- Then it's the dance.  To read more fully about everything that night felt like, you can read here.  It was magic, I tell you.

Sunday: we pack up, hug it out, hand in keys, and drive home again.  Hearts light and minds filled, I breathe as slowly as I can while Louque speeds along the highway, trying to relish the impact of this last golden Festival.

Such an experience, dear readers, such joy, I wish to you all. 

Sights and Sounds and Sudden Joy.

Oh, oh, and oh! once again.  What a lovely past few weeks - and what an inspiring past few days.  And what an incredible night.  The sound of my name, coming across the audience.  The way my stomach - fwoosshh - swept out from me, falling beneath the floor which somehow I seemed to be floating above, as my heart, clearly in response to this new zero gravity feeling rose up in to my throat.  My hands flew to my face and I became acutely aware of the shouts, screams, hollers, and many clapping, slapping, squeezing hands of my Theatre department.  Searching wildly for my Professor's eyes, and my roomates' eyes, someone to look at me and tell me without words - for I could not hear them if they'd been spoken, such was the ruckus around me - that I hadn't imagined it.

"Stand up!  You have to go onstage!" and then "Oh! Oh my God!" and instead of standing I dip my head briefly between my knees and only then push myself up, thinking thank goodness that my roomate did my hair and insisted I wear heels.

The walk to the stairs and suddenly understanding yes, yes, good God yes, my friends from school are loud - but there are other voices, too, other faces, and as I take the row of high fives and then half-trip my way up the stairs, my eyes scan and pick out faces.  Faces from this summer, a boy who worked on a show with me.  And the kid whose costume design I loved, and the girl whose voice makes me weep, and the two boys whose acting was technical and passionate, and the kid from the shuttle and the teachers I worked with and they're clapping, too.  They're screaming my name and waving their hands and I feel the tears start to come and with shaking hands I take my folder, from the lady, bathed in stage lights, who extends it to me.

And then my Professor is hugging me and tears are in his eyes and my hand is still shaking and my God, it's really really real.  And then the names keep coming - awards and honors and scholarships and competitions, my roomates and my yearmates and my beloved friends are awash in accolades, festooning our school and department in honor.

And then we are dancing, all of us, singing along and hoisting our main prize winner, a wonderful girl, high in the air.  And sometimes I am in the air too - whirled and twirled and tossed by the friends I have made here, this week, these five glorious days of Festival, and they ask for a dance or if I'd like a drink and tell me how pleased they are someone they knew has won, has been recognized.  And the girls from school hold my hands and cry and offer to give me their tips until I have the last little bit of money I'll need, and the boys sling their arms around my shoulders or hoist me in the air and proudly spin me around, as though I am the most wonderful thing they've ever seen and my heart squeezes almost as tightly as my hand is held as I rest my head against various shoulders, trying valiantly to breathe.  The Professor and the Department Head hug me and tell me they're proud, and I get light headed to think I have done something right, and the Professor kisses the top of my head and urges me back to friends, new and old.

My Boyfriend tries to make sense of my words, from hundreds of miles away, and my sisters give their praises and my big brother cheers from the other end of the phone. Mum tries to take it all in.

And then I'm dancing again, and singing again, and the lights are beautiful and the winter night air is sharp and stinging and cold and I run out in to it, like a child, to swirl around in the snow and catch flakes on my tongue.  The music echoes in my heart and my friends' faces (new & old) swirl into a blur before my teary eyes as I climb the stairs to bed, the warm pressure of half a dozen goodbye-hugs pressed against me.

I am happy.  And so lucky.  And I promise, dear readers, to make more sense in the morning - for the sun will be rising soon and while I can, I must steal just a few hours rest.

Here Goes Everything/Nothing

Have you ever heard the expression "here goes nothing," before?  I assume you have - it's a pretty popular phrase, and it's often used when we are actually most anxious, nervous, or scared to do something.  It's a phrase used before "popping the question," or heading into an important interview or talking to someone who makes you nervous.  Why is it that the English language so strange?  Why do we construct phrases whose literal meaning is totally different than what we, well, mean?

And what the heck inspired this rant?  Once I've finished work (I'm typing this during my lunch break, on someone else's phone) I have a meeting for Festival (more on that some other time) and then I'm catching a train that will take me to my bus which will bring me to NYC.  There I will be auditioning for Columbia University's MFA in Theatre, with a concentration in Acting.  And I have a healthy understanding of the fact that thousands of people apply and hundreds of people audition and then less than two dozen are accepted in to this program.  I have plans to move to the city, to get work, to support myself and further my hopes, dreams, goals and plans, as though Columbia is a place I've never heard of.

And yet. . . this is still the most important audition of my life so far.  And while I try to tell myself "here goes nothing," as I pack and figure and sort and plan, I know deep down in my heart that what I really mean is "here goes everything."

Here is my passion, my talent, my art, on display for you to be judged, weighed, measured.  Let me stand before you and sing, dance, tell you a story so you can decide, quite literally, if I am good enough.  Here is my dream: it's in your hand and a single check mark can make it a reality or a faint wiggling regret to sigh in the back of my mind.  Here goes hundreds of dollars - in applications fees, voice lessons, dresses, headshots - here goes two days of my life aboard public transportation, sleeping away from my bed, standing in line wondering.

Here. You get to make a decision that could impact almost every detail of my relationships: how often and when and where I see my Boyfriend, my mother, my siblings, my friends.

Here.

Here.

Here is everything.

And there is something liberating about that: about looking at what I'm doing and instead of thinking here goes nothing, allowing myself to feel its weight, and solidness, to let the repercussions of the next few days vibrate and ripple through my being.  Somehow, it is as though by giving you everything I truly have given everything - the heaviness is gone.  And I can plunge ahead, free and unimpeded. . . carrying with me nothing but myself because, a vessel ready to receive what lies ahead.

So. . . here goes nothing.  See you on the other side.

Sick & Sore & So Much More

So I've had the flu - as in "THE" flu, the one that caused the City of Boston to declare state of emergency, the one that has been nicknamed "the killer flu" - since I got back from my wonderful trip about three weeks ago. Since then I've tried, more than once, to publish a post.  About being sick and wanting to feel better, what my comforts are when I'm ill, how I never in my entire existence on planet earth have had the flu, about the things I was trying to do while I lay in bed for weeks which by the way was also a first for me.  And I hated it.

On Monday I moved back to school for my last semester - and the flu moved with me.  I was almost-but-not-quite better yet and with a schedule that includes 20+ credits, multiple shows, multiple jobs, multiple blogs, Honors status, an Independent Study, grad school auditions, and off-campus commitments I sort of knew I'd be looking at a less-than-restful, hardly ideal jolt to my system.

Which brings me to today, when I finally couldn't take laying awake in my room whimpering to myself because my throat hurt so badly instead of sleeping and then waking up voiceless with a sore, swollen eye (yeah I look cute).  So I dragged myself after my morning ballet class to Wellness where I was promptly diagnosed with laryngitis, pink eye (not the super contagious form, ThankAllThatIsHoly,  and a pretty mild case), a fever, and a completely swollen left side of my head, meaning the glands are so inflamed in my throat and ear canal that my whole left side is enlarged and clogged.  Incidentally that's the same side that has conjuntivitis so I can't hear, breathe, or see well out of that side and both my depth perception and balance are screwy.

Lovely. 

Because of all the havoc being wreaked on my body internally, my technique classes - every single one of them the most advanced, rigorous, and demanding level my college offers - have been devastating on my body.  I am not truly sore.  Rather I've passed that in to just straight on pain: soreness, muscles that have atrophied (I had a PT once tell me for every two or so days of bed rest it takes about a week to get your body back to it's pre-bed rest condition. I've been on my ass for 2.5 weeks which suddenly seems a lot longer), difficulty breathing.

I'm doing my best to get better: tea (in a myriad of types/flavors/brews), hot water with honey and lemon, all natural cough drops, compresses for my eye, vocal rest, oranges for Vitman C, pears to help my throat, gargling warm salt water to reduce infection, not wearing headphones, hot showers, gentle stretching, meditating, well balanced and regular meals, no dairy, no spice, nothing crunchy or crispy or greasy, and I'm sure i'll be up and running soon - hopefully in time for my major grad school audition on Saturday!  

Now I know the most important thing is rest, which I unfortunately cannot get a whole lot of right now. . .  but do you, dear readers have any other home advice?

What medicines should I be taking? Anything I should be eating or avoiding? Tips or tricks?  Lay'em on me!

Destino

I don't really have words for this piece, other than the standard, basic ones.  Beautiful. Inspiring. Surreal. Tragic. Tender.  Oh, I don't know I'm not a wordsmith people.  But this is wonderful so you should watch it.

"Destino," by Walt Disney and Slavador Dali

Happiness Is A Place You Can Go

"They say happiness is a thing you can't see / A thing you can't touch / I disagree . . . they say happiness is the folly of fools / pity poor me / one of the fools,"

-"Happiness," Scrooge the Musical

I love to travel.  For anybody who knows me  - or the handful of loyal souls who've been following this blog all along - this is no surprise.  If I sit still for too long, I start to go crazy: even if I'm busy as can be, like when I'm at school.  Go-go-go from 7am to 3am is a typical day. . . but even that can feel boring if it's in the same place.  On the other hand, most of my very happiest memories in life involve me getting on a plane or bus or some other form of transportation and ending up in an entirely new place.  The very best thing is when I can end up somewhere new with someone I love to explore with.  

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to travel as much as I'd like: however, my few trips have all been amazing trips to fabulous locations with wonderful people.  My first big trip was my sophomore year, to Trinidad & Tobago for Carnival with my former roommate and one of our dearest friends:

Other trips have included to NYC this fall for my senior class trip:

AAaaaannnnddd this past weekend which included the exotic and sunny Minneapolis, Minnesota as end destination:

(yeah I know. we're pretty hot.)

So how the hell did I get from Smalltown NE where I was perfectly mild mannered (cough cough) and demure (cough cough cough!) to being ridiculous in a photo booth in Minneapolis?  Well, I have the best and dearest friends in the world.  So when the stunner in the stunner shades, above, realized she couldn't fly from Chicago (!) to my tiny New England college for my Senior Showcase performance, she instead bought me a plane ticket to visit her in Chicago.  Which would've been epic adventure enough, but see she bought these tickets for a very special date, the day one of our super wonderful friends* got married.  So come last Friday I was tossing a few last-minute items into my bag (fleece lined tights? Check. Gum for the flight? Check.) and then tossing my bag into the car, which I hopped out of with a kiss for Boyfriend at the bus station, which brought me to Logan Airport where I flew to Ohare International.  Then I got to bond with the girl who is in every conceivable way, minus genetics, my big sister.  I accompanied her and her mom to a home-bible study and then did a drive-through tour of Chicago at night:

(low-quality iPhone pic of me at the gorgeous Chicago Water Tower)

Before heading back to get some sleep because we had to pick up this amazing woman:

(read more about her here)

So the three of us could drive to Minnesota to meet up with the fourth friend we were sharing our hotel with for the weekend.

(The four of us all dressed up for the wedding!  I'm the short one whose obnoxiously beveling her foot, in case you couldn't tell. Also, yes those are the fleece lined tights, yes they were warm and comfy, no I did not keep them on to dance the night away).

When the entire group of Friends-Of-The-Groom finally got together, it looked something like this:

(I promise we behaved at the wedding)

The wedding itself was wonderful.  Not a dry eye in the house as the world's sweetest couple said "I do," in a ceremony that fit them like a glove: Brass Quintet, snowy backdrop, laughter, and even a quick "Mazel Tov!" Then it was pictures for the couple and cocktail hour for the guests, which is where we discovered the photo booth. And hot chocolate. And other delightful surprises.  There was dancing - hours and hours of dancing.  There was toasting, and more laughing, and reminiscing and hugging.  I went to my "happy place," that is any place, preferably new, that I am discovering with people I love best and who love me back in the same fierce, silly, honest, loyal, ridiculous way.  

Starting the long journey "home" was, as ever, so difficult.  Hugs and kisses and then hours in the car, but Chicago was still waiting and still wonderful.  I even got to try true Deep Dish Pizza!  See!

(Please ignore how disgusting I look.  All I can say is I spent a LOT of hours in a car.)

Then it was home again home again jiggity jig. Car. Airport. Bus. Car. Bed.  And sweet dreams of happiness.

*guys, when I say "super wonderful," I mean at this man's wedding every toast ended with the same description "he's the consummate good guy." He's the smartest dude I've ever met (seriously, went to an elite private college, double major trip minored, plays an instrument. . .you get the picture), and probably the least assuming and most sincere. He believes that the world is a good place, that you hold doors for other people, endangered species should be saved, football is good, and his new wife is the best thing ever placed on earth.