A hit new pop opera!

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It's

BEAR: THE MUSICAL!Chock full of angst-ridden characters, including

-Pregnant bitch bear
-Gay bear
-In-the-closet bear
-Crazy black nun bear
-Jock bear
-Homophobic mother bear
-Crack dealer bear
and of course, who can forget
-Panda bear (because Bear: The Musical is ethnically diverse)


With all new, pop-rock songs like "Touch My Fur", "God Don't Make No Homophobic Bears", and "All Grown Up... Before I Eat A Bunch Of Campers"

It's groundbreaking. It's packed full of drama. And it's about BEARS.


" GO SEE BEAR THE MUSICAL MOTHERFUCKER RAAAWRRR"


Playing nowhere near you.

Our next President should be a Green Party Muslim Mexican Midget Lesbian.

And since the title of this post has absolutely nothing to do with its content, I shall now continue.

This post is actually about weird men on the street.

How many times, New York women, has this happened to you?

I'm walking through Central Park in the mid-70s on a beautiful gray snowy day. A light flurry of snow has started to fall and everything is white and pretty and I'm taking pictures of squirrels (okay, you probably don't take pictures of squirrels, but anyway) and just walking along, minding my own business.

There's a guy walking by himself a little up ahead, heading in my direction. Now, there are plenty of people around, and it's the middle of the day, so it's not like I feel super-threatened right now or anything. Then he stops, and I have no choice but to keep walking towards him, because anything else would be awkward and totally obvious. So he's just stopped and as I come towards him he says "Hey, cutie" in a totally creepy middle-aged man way, turning in my direction, always facing me, and turning around when I pass him. I furrow my brow, in my best hostile don't-fuck-with-me face, don't look at him, and walk past him. Then I hear "Hey, I SAID HELLO! HELLOOO??! HEY! What the fuck..." I keep walking. "Ice-cold..." he mutters.

So then I'm preoccupied thinking about this loser weirdo and a minute later I think, "who the hell is this guy to take my mind from this beautiful park? I WAS HAPPY THINKING ABOUT NATURE UNTIL I STARTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT A FREAKING TARGET I AM FOR RAPISTS! THANKS A BUNCH OLD GUY!"

Needless to say, this happens a lot. Here are some of the reasons I think I am a prime rape target:

1. I am a young female
2. [I think] I am [relatively] attractive [on good days]
3. I am a pretty small/weak person
4. I have an iphone (they could be looking to score some free electronics after they kill me)


ANOTHER STORY, EXCEPT WITH A KID MY AGE: I was walking along home from school and reading at the same time. I hear a guy, who I think is another student or maybe a tourist asking for directions, say "hey! Miss! Excuse me! Can I ask you a question?" so I look up and say "sure". It's this twenty-something with a stupid sideways grin on his face, catching up beside me and he asks, "Where have you been all my life?" I roll my eyes and walk away. "You're beautiful!" He yells after. In retrospect I wanted to say something snarky, but couldn't think of anything quite threatening or sassy enough. Ok, so this was one of the classier catcalls, and I didn't have any reason to rip his balls off or anything. It was kind of sweet. But all the rest of 'em are just lame, and unoriginal, such as the trucker who, when I ran by because I forgot a paper for class, said, "Whoa, tits." Not even "sugartits" or "Hey there, tits". Just "Whoa, tits" like he was a twelve year old boy who'd never seen 'em. YES, I HAVE TITS. AND THEY ARE NICE. WHATEVER.

WHY DON'T THEY HASSLE OTHER WOMEN ON THE STREET AND NOT THE ONE WHO IS ALREADY TERRIFIED OF EVERY MAN ON THE STREET BEING A LUNATIC RAPIST?



I don't get this. See, here's my question:
Why do these men do this?
Construction workers, random guys... I was trying to look as sour and unpleasant as possible and they still stop to call me "cutie" or something equally odd.

Also, it's always cutie. I look like a very young teenager on the street, so why do all of these weird old men always stop to say things like this? Do they do this to every freakin' female they pass walking by herself? WHY? WHAT IS THEIR MOTIVATION?

Are ALL of them sad lonely men who have absolutely no women in their lives, so they go out walking looking for vulnerable young girls to heckle? If so, it seems like there are just hundreds of weird rapists walking around heckling girls all the time. Which is a bit unsettling. Or are they normal people?

I just want to know, in their right minds, what on earth they hope to achieve by doing this. Also, they get really pissed off when you ignore them, so I'd just like to know why this is. Seriously.

Because of this issue, I have taken it upon myself to only associate with flaming homos. Or people who are older than me who I know are classy. Whatever.



And, like I said I took, here are some pictures of Central Park wildlife.

Random screen captures from my desktop

This is me and my friend Lauren! <3

Wtf? Why would someone want to click on something like this?

My mom made a poster for Darling. Haha.

This is a very happy turtle. I like strawberries too.

This one boggles my brain.

Ok, let me get something straight here. I am twelve years old in this picture. TWELVE. By the time a child is twelve, they are almost thirteen, hence almost a teenager. Hence, they usually look something like a PRETEEN, and not a BABY. I look seven years old. End of rant.

Everything I have to do

1. Sightread and memorize"Easter Parade"
2. Buy two books, a manuscript book, and a pitch pipe
3. Transpose "Easter Parade" into E flat and F
4. Memorize descending solfege in 2nds, 3rds, and 5ths
5. Write out interval sheet
6. Write out 13798 in G and D
7. Write out 2566flat58 in F and B flat
8. Compose 8 bars of rhythm that follow a song pattern
9. Finish writing and memorize monologue for Acting
10. Read entire "On the Road" by Kerouac

That isn't too much for one night, right?

"Somewhere a clock ticks,
and soon Darling is gone,
there's so much we could share now
in the time before dawn..."

RSO has written a fabulous musical. Needless to say, the past two weeks of my life have been insanely fun, rewarding, and completely hectic.

I thought it would be a cold, lonely fortnight of rehearsals. Before this show, I had a few friends in the program— now I feel like I have a place, you know? (Ok, back to the snarky cynicism)

I'm looking forward to my life. Not necessarily this coming semester, or even this summer, but definitely whatever is beyond that. Some things I've predicted, others I couldn't. There are people I'm going to leave waiting by the window and people who will never grow up. There are people I'll fly away with and until I do, I'm going to be working on being whoever it is I want to be.

URRRGHMPHGARBLEGARBLE

*Does small satisfied-dance, then collapses into bed out of sheer exhaustion*

The Asian War

My roommates, Aude and Nicole, are convinced that I am an Asian person in disguise. The conversation of Aude's first accusation must have gone something like this...

A: "You're such an Asian."
K: "No, I'm not. You actually are Asian."
A: "No, I'm Philippino. That's totally different."
K: "But you look Asian."
A: "I only look Asian! You ACT Asian!"
K: "I do not!"
A: "Do too! You are such an Asian wannabe!"
K: "If you look Asian, you basically are Asian..."
Nicole: "What do I look like?"
K: "Spanish. You're just Spanish."

Now, understandably, if I were Asian for reals it would be a hell of a lot easier to get cast as Fontine in Les Mis or that girl who speaks six languages in Spelling Bee. But with the current state of Broadway, the only racism is against people who aren't green. (Cough, Shrek, Elphaba...)


Let's look at both sides of the argument: The true test to see who is more Asian.


Side: "Aude is more Asian than Kate"

1. AUDE REALLY IS ASIAN.
And so is her family.



2. She has Hello Kitty stuff near her printer.

3. She has these things hanging near her desk. TOTALLY Asian-cutesy.
Look! There's even a PANDA among them!! How is that NOT Asian??!


And, well... that's basically it in my argument against Aude.

Now for the other side.


Side: "Reasons Kate would be more Asian than Aude" (filthy lie)


1. I have sushi pajamas.

But they're so warm and comfy...


2. I have a Hello Kitty T-shirt (so sue me. It was from DELIA'S.)


3. I have this... thing.

4. There are sometimes weird Asian snacks at the nearby grocery store and I like them cuz they're so odd and tasty and you can't read what's inside of them.

From left to right: Pocky, nameless chocolate filled things and fake strawberry chocolates.

5. I have a rice cooker in which I often make myself rice.
And I love my rice cooker.



6. My favorite blogger is in Singapore. And she goes by the Chinese name Xiaxue. (But her blog is funny, and snarky. The fact that it's a Singaporean blog has little to do with the content)


ALSO, I do voiceovers for anime cartoons, but that does NOT count against me in the Asian War because they are recorded in English and the recording station is all in Texas. And Texas is the farthest thing from Asian culture one can possibly get. I was born in Texas, Aude was born in Dubai. Which is closer to Asia? DUBAI.

;-)

The verdict:

Point systems are not being used because AUDE IS MORE ASIAN THAN KATE. THE END.


(Postscript: Please note that Asian is in no way being used as a derogatory term. So don't get offended if you are an actual fo-realz Asian person. I am just a nerdy little white girl who really does often wish she had something other than pasty whiteness in her.)

Scandal in the world of Theater People

I don't like the musical Carousel.

Scandalous, right? Now, don't leap up and kill me right now, all my theater people: HEAR ME OUT. These are only MY PERSONAL REASONS for having problems with the show. I understand that the music is lovely, which it is. It is very beautiful music (but not ALL of it is beautiful- just see the list). This is just about the show itself, and why I truly think it shouldn't be called the Great American Musical or whatever it's been called.

Reasons I personally don't like the musical Carousel:

1. They have a song about clams.

2. Much of the plot rests around this asshole who beats his wife. Actually, he's the main character, and he IS an asshole, and he DOES beat up his wife a whole bunch.

3. What does the wife do? Love him anyway. DUMB BITCH!

4. They have a song about clams.

5. Another big element of the plot is that the character Julie or whatever decides that even though the going gets tough, she should still be completely devoted to her asswipe of a husband who slaps her around. WHAT KIND OF MESSAGE IS THIS??!

4. June is Bustin' Out All Over. 'Nuff said.

5. Did I mention they sing about clams? ...For a really long time?

6. The asswipe finally dies-- oh goody! Does this mean justice will be served?

No. He goes back down to Earth a couple years later and beats his daughter.

7. What does the daughter say in response to this? "The slap was like a kiss... it's like you know he loved you." WHAT KIND OF MISOGYNIST CRAP IS THIS??!

and lastly,

8. It took about nine hours to tell the whole story.


Fin.

Can't go back now

I want to be in a book club. Unfortunately my school has no such thing, and even if it did, I doubt anyone would care or read anything. Also unfortunately, I'm always worried if I go to one outside of school it'll end up being a big hoax and I'll be stabbed. ...To death. ...In a Barnes & Noble. ...Because that happens in Barnes & Nobles.


Darling is going well, except that I realize I've had this inflated view of my actual contribution to the show by learning all of the lead female's parts. By doing so, I've forgotten that without actually playing Darling, I am just a very small, unseen chorus member singing in the wings behind a music stand. Oh, and for two lines in the second act I play an Irish nun. ...God, it's so weird.


It's four, and as you can tell, we've all been let out early for rehearsal. And yeah, I really want to be in a book club, eventually. Perhaps it could be called Disgruntled College Students and Voracious Readers who want more friends and literary discussion outside their school with other disgruntled voracious-reading college students! (What a title.) At any rate, that's probably a dumb idea for someone who should be auditioning more and more. I'm probably going to be busy this coming semester, too, with 'Beats, Bongos & Buddhism', online computer classes (as if anyone in our generation needs to know MORE about using a computer), voice lessons, sight singing (SNORE, do they not know about All State?) ballet II, acting II, and... something else, maybe. Or whatever.

But I've realized something: I don't want to go back to Texas.

Yes, I miss my family and whatnot, but now I feel like all the unfinished business I had back home has just been... wrapped up. But it isn't. In a way. I still have to wrap some things up. But now I've come to the point where I'm willing to transition the majority of my life, and all my focus, into being here. There aren't any more strings. At least, not really. And I'm happy here, and probably will be happier as things move along and I get more of a routine. And who knows, maybe I'll really start going to all the honors college meetings and start a book club, or a Scrabble club ;-) (and kick their ASSES, muahaha!) But at any rate, it's me, Brandon, the cast, Rachel, Megan, Kelly, Ashley a.k.a. Osh Kosh (the Palestinian Princess, fluent in Arabic), Karla a.k.a. Karlissima (the only one in her family who is a US citizen, how cool is that), Justin the ambiguous guido, Lexi the queen of Long Island, and roommates Nicole and Aude who I am in a war with over who is more Asian (future post material, right there) and many other intruiging characters in the might-as-well-be-a-piece-of-fiction that is my life...

I don't wanna go back to Texas. Isn't that a good thing?

I <3 Flight of the Conchords

And thus I present to you... Bret's acid trip in episode 10.

"You're the high priestess of tinsel!"







[EDIT] ALSO.... Today we had a beautiful fluffy, light snow in New York! :D




Check out this. The general amount of odd things one can find is so, so vast...



See the panda? He was just hangin' around near the Wall Street bull. Just chillin'. Like a panda. Keep on keepin' on, mr. Panda.

Things I do other than read

So, in my own sort of post script to my last entry, here are some of my worldly vices that I enjoy other than reading:

1. I love video games. I'm sorry, but it's true. I never play that often but when someone hands me a controller, you can be sure I'm about to kick your ass at Super Smash Bros. by using Pikachu or Link in the Yoshi's palace level. I like really weird games like Katamari Damacy and Okami for the PS2. I'm also very bad at the Mortal Combat style games, but there's that one that has Star Wars characters in it that's really fun.

2. I watch a lot of South Park and Scrubs. Those are the only two shows I will watch on television, however, and I believe almost everything else on TV is refried crap on toast.

3. .............. Ok, I guess I really can't think of any other worldly non-reading vices I have. Haha.

Literary Fever

I've become the kind of person I've always hung around and have even been raised by. And no, I'm not talking about Republicans. I've always had this condition but now it's become so severe that I can hardly go anywhere without carrying one around so I can get my fix, like my friends in Texas would. I'm talking, of course, about books, and the condition of being a bookworm.

Yes, I've always loved reading, but I was usually bad about setting aside time to read. Sometime this past year, or maybe just semester, I've become voracious. I devoured the Poisonwood Bible in six days and ran to Borders for more. Now I'm nearly halfway through Reading Lolita in Tehran and I'll have to coincide this with The Best American Non-Required Reading of 2008 in between the other one's chapters so I don't breeze through it and end up depressing myself.

It isn't that I love classic literature or things they teach in school— I hated Hamlet, Heart of Darkness and those damned Canterbury Pilgrims (which we had to memorize the old english text of- what bullshit is that?). No, I just love a good story. That's all anyone loves. Oprah's book club be damned— I'll trade literary merit for an enticing plotline any day.

When my friends in Texas bragged about speeding through a book a week, I would often roll my eyes and think "you think you're so smart, you smart-alec showoff bastard" while silently admiring them at the same time. And I've always admired my dad for the way he reads every day, in his peaceful, ceaseless ritual, even though his books are always beefy he-man novels about war and spies and exploding helicopters.

But maybe it was something about having lots of spare time that made me want to read more. Maybe it was realizing that people SHOULD value reading and learning things. Or maybe I was lonely, so I would turn to books instead of people. Most of all, though, I think I started reading more because moving to the city, completely changing my life, left the need for me to fill a void, to ground myself in something I could always turn to. And that thing is books, I guess. I've always loved them, but now I dig them more than cupcakes. (Sorry, cupcakes).

Now I'm not lonely anymore, and I have a handful of good friends and a giant family in the cast of the show I'm in right now, who are all really fun to be around. But I still look forward to going home after a long day of rehearsal and dinner with people, and [after watching an episode or two of South Park online, which is my other addiction but totally isn't as good blog material] curling up somewhere with the story of rebellious Iranian women who get together to read illegal Western classics.

This entry probably sounds totally pretentious and lame, like some bookish nerd who thinks they're smarter than most people. Well... I am a bookish nerd. The good thing is that most everyone I hang around with is smarter than the average rabbit too. So it's okay.

One more thing, though. This is unrelated to being grammatically elitist. That's a whole nudda entry. Baahaha.

Peace.


[Edit]
P.S. I only disliked Hamlet. Not hated. Sort of.

The baby face complex

Darling is going pretty well! It snowed a little today, but only from the view of the top floors; once you get to street level it becomes a light sleety rain. I think a bunch of us from the show are going to see Songs for a New World somewhere uptown tonight; either way, I've got to clean and read books and print more music. So, that's pretty fun.

So here's the thing that's frustrating me: my chances of getting in Bare, it seems to me, are growing bleak, simply because Bare is set in a high school, not a middle school. And I. Look. Twelve. Years. Old. Especially next to all of the other students, who have a mature look and can all definitely play older.

Dammit.

In Darling, we were sectioning off who got to be what stripper (they have different names) and immediately Amy said "well, I know Kate's going to be Baby Irene" (whose line is "I'm just a young little thing!" in a Shirley Temple voice, while the other strippers wax about their marriages or S&M fetishes). That was the only stripper she assigned, the first one. And in the first number, the girl playing Ursula is a senior who looks old but Ursula is supposed to be sixteen. And everyone else is a party guest around her parents' age. Amy instructed us, "Okay, so you're all playing twenties, thirties, probably forties too... so you'll all be playing very old and dignified, especially because we have to contrast this and make Ursula really seem 16." Until she looked at me. "Well, except you... you can be a younger party guest... I guess." And everyone sort of laughed, myself included.

On the inside I cursed and prayed that one day when we're all middle aged I can be raking in the big money finaly playing teenagers in musicals.

January and February are the worst months to live in New York.
It is gray. It is depressing. And it is cold.

I am in New York. It is the beginning of January.
And I am all alone.

I don't know what I want to do with my life.

Stay still, for things were meant to be this way.
Eventually you'll find the ship
and sail to shore on what you know.
Don't ask, don't sigh, head high and straight ahead,
at least until morning.
The world spins on, gate closed, but smile;
the cicatrice and capable impressure thy palm some moment keeps.