School so far is filled with pure AWESOME. So great is this AWESOME that to even begin to describe it reduces one to a gibbering mess; causing one to lose control of one's bowels periodically.
I hope no one notices the smell anytime soon.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Today's Muse: Still along the lines of RAPP RAPP RAPP
I wandered into the comic section and felt so disillusioned.
Curious.
Why am I not at comic-con? No, don't answer that, just let me wobble a bit. Wobble.
Not even those amusing rating communities cheered me. Read Jung. Still in a funk. Ought to write out proper sentences. Oh dear. Why am I not in San Diego, getting into trouble with the rest of 'em? Itchy. Should go and do laundry. Argh I just fucked up my shoulder. Argh.
Let's try this again.
You ever have one of those days when you wake up and everything, and I do mean everything suddenly takes on new meaning - double meanings - triple meanings? You're walking down the street and you can't stop seeing the poetry in every bloody little thing. The careless way the guard holds his rifle at the pearly gate. The light glinting off the cars whizzing past. How a tree branch seems to frame the sky. How you slip and nearly land in the mud. And you can't turn it off! You just keep waxing lyrical about fuck-all.
And your brain seems to be floating at least a mile up above your skull, and you bump into lamps and small children and you can't stop smiling and generally giving off creepy vibes. And small children pee in their fright at your creepiness. PEE.
But! You wander into the comic section and your brain comes crashing back to earth. SPLAT. SPOOSH. PWISHOOM.
And you come home and try to put it all into words and you read what you've written and realised it's a load of crap but publish it anyway and go off to do the laundry like you should have.
I wandered into the comic section and felt so disillusioned.
Curious.
Why am I not at comic-con? No, don't answer that, just let me wobble a bit. Wobble.
Not even those amusing rating communities cheered me. Read Jung. Still in a funk. Ought to write out proper sentences. Oh dear. Why am I not in San Diego, getting into trouble with the rest of 'em? Itchy. Should go and do laundry. Argh I just fucked up my shoulder. Argh.
Let's try this again.
You ever have one of those days when you wake up and everything, and I do mean everything suddenly takes on new meaning - double meanings - triple meanings? You're walking down the street and you can't stop seeing the poetry in every bloody little thing. The careless way the guard holds his rifle at the pearly gate. The light glinting off the cars whizzing past. How a tree branch seems to frame the sky. How you slip and nearly land in the mud. And you can't turn it off! You just keep waxing lyrical about fuck-all.
And your brain seems to be floating at least a mile up above your skull, and you bump into lamps and small children and you can't stop smiling and generally giving off creepy vibes. And small children pee in their fright at your creepiness. PEE.
But! You wander into the comic section and your brain comes crashing back to earth. SPLAT. SPOOSH. PWISHOOM.
And you come home and try to put it all into words and you read what you've written and realised it's a load of crap but publish it anyway and go off to do the laundry like you should have.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Today's Muse: RAPP RAPP RAPP
Crazeee week.
Car died. Too expensive to fix. Scrapped. Ma fell, hurt her knee. She's zen about it. Niece Tara was hospitalized. Nothing serious, just for observation. She had a ball of a time. Baby niece, bad constipation. Feverish. Da on edge. Kim stinky feet. Me trying to figure the difference between the System and the Method. Car car car fight fight rargh.
Oh yeah, orientation.
"We expect you to want to change the world."
What you said, babeh!
Classes start proper next week. Twenty-four theatre students in Foundation. Hmm.
So much for an introspective post.
Crazeee week.
Car died. Too expensive to fix. Scrapped. Ma fell, hurt her knee. She's zen about it. Niece Tara was hospitalized. Nothing serious, just for observation. She had a ball of a time. Baby niece, bad constipation. Feverish. Da on edge. Kim stinky feet. Me trying to figure the difference between the System and the Method. Car car car fight fight rargh.
Oh yeah, orientation.
"We expect you to want to change the world."
What you said, babeh!
Classes start proper next week. Twenty-four theatre students in Foundation. Hmm.
So much for an introspective post.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Today's Muse: Pan Left, zoom in on the steeple of the church
You know, I can put MSI or the Seventh on at full blast (in my futile bid to strike back at the dude downstairs with EVERY FUCKING radio compilation ever spewed) and for the niece to dance to, and no one bats an eyelid.
Then I put on the RENT soundtrack and people come down to my floor asking me to turn it down.
But - Nnngh, I can't get enough of that thing. So, suffer, family!
Hm.
Okay: At the end of last week LASALLE calls and asks if I'd like to take part in a last-minute workshop conducted by a foreign lecturer who was in town to take part in the women's theatre - can't remember the name - festival. Naturally I jumped at it.
It's a bit surreal; watching Christina speak in Italian gesturing violently, then turning to Bruna for the translation. They're part of a theatre company with rather unconventional methods: None of their plays are scripted or plotted. Instead, a series of improv exercises are used and are built upon each other until they... until they have enough for a performance.
Emphasis is put on using only the body. No interacting with the wall, the floor, other people, imagined and mimed objects. Convey the story using just expressions and movements. It's a lot more difficult than it sounds... How does one show the need for attention without pandering to an audience of some sort? How does one laugh at something if there's nothing to be laughed at?
Conventional movements and expressions are frowned upon. Don't show you're happy just by smiling. Swing your arms! Roll around on the ground! Gurgle like a baby!
And the story, the story... What was it that Christina said? "It does not matter if the audience does not understand. What is important is the movement, the things you do matter to you. To the actor. It must signify something important to you."
She likened it to Pablo Picasso's deconstruction of the human face. I don't know exactly how to put it into words. But at that moment, with Christina's face like a rubber band and thin, wiry arms waving around, constantly resting in her grey mane - "Like a lion!" thought I - you get it. You don't understand, but you get it. Do you understand that?
Ach. I'm still not sure where this is going. It's both unsettling and exciting. Who knows what'll happen in the next two days?
There's a great exercise we do before we dive into the improv bits. Working on reaction. Conditioning the body to react instinctively, instead of stopping to think about it. BOOM! Jump! BOOM! Get down! BOOM! Fucking ace, man.
Man, that was vague.
Ten theatre foundation students so far, ranging in age from 17 to 26. One has a driver's license and a huge vehicle. Sweet.
Three days to orientation. Woo bweee. Two weeks to the recital. Woo fuckery.
You know, I can put MSI or the Seventh on at full blast (in my futile bid to strike back at the dude downstairs with EVERY FUCKING radio compilation ever spewed) and for the niece to dance to, and no one bats an eyelid.
Then I put on the RENT soundtrack and people come down to my floor asking me to turn it down.
But - Nnngh, I can't get enough of that thing. So, suffer, family!
Hm.
Okay: At the end of last week LASALLE calls and asks if I'd like to take part in a last-minute workshop conducted by a foreign lecturer who was in town to take part in the women's theatre - can't remember the name - festival. Naturally I jumped at it.
It's a bit surreal; watching Christina speak in Italian gesturing violently, then turning to Bruna for the translation. They're part of a theatre company with rather unconventional methods: None of their plays are scripted or plotted. Instead, a series of improv exercises are used and are built upon each other until they... until they have enough for a performance.
Emphasis is put on using only the body. No interacting with the wall, the floor, other people, imagined and mimed objects. Convey the story using just expressions and movements. It's a lot more difficult than it sounds... How does one show the need for attention without pandering to an audience of some sort? How does one laugh at something if there's nothing to be laughed at?
Conventional movements and expressions are frowned upon. Don't show you're happy just by smiling. Swing your arms! Roll around on the ground! Gurgle like a baby!
And the story, the story... What was it that Christina said? "It does not matter if the audience does not understand. What is important is the movement, the things you do matter to you. To the actor. It must signify something important to you."
She likened it to Pablo Picasso's deconstruction of the human face. I don't know exactly how to put it into words. But at that moment, with Christina's face like a rubber band and thin, wiry arms waving around, constantly resting in her grey mane - "Like a lion!" thought I - you get it. You don't understand, but you get it. Do you understand that?
Ach. I'm still not sure where this is going. It's both unsettling and exciting. Who knows what'll happen in the next two days?
There's a great exercise we do before we dive into the improv bits. Working on reaction. Conditioning the body to react instinctively, instead of stopping to think about it. BOOM! Jump! BOOM! Get down! BOOM! Fucking ace, man.
Man, that was vague.
Ten theatre foundation students so far, ranging in age from 17 to 26. One has a driver's license and a huge vehicle. Sweet.
Three days to orientation. Woo bweee. Two weeks to the recital. Woo fuckery.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
Today's Muse: HAIL ME!
I did something stupid today.
Eeeeheeeheehee.
EDIT:
Well, that's the ivelostcountactually time some one's told me that LASALLE-SIA is tosh.
Although my intial reaction is to yell "BALLS!" and tackle them in a fit of rage one can only learn from comic books ("I love you!" "RAAAAARRR!" *fling!* ") , I supress it. I pause, and think: Am I really justified in attacking the other person? Okay, I don't really look all that dignified thinking that - my eyes tend to gloss over the same way they do when I break my brain.
I haven't even begun classes at LASALLE (And I'll keep the caps, thank you). I haven't a clue what it'll be like. The opinions on why it's tosh range from "Oh. It sucks" to "After attending their performing arts showcase, I feel that it is infinitely inferior to the stature of So-and-so school's drama club". Even if I were to defend LASALLE, I can't really think of anything to retort with other than "Nuh-uh, it doesn't" which makes me wonder why I bother to read so much.
I could have gone to a Junior College of my choice, kept drama as a CCA or even offered it as an subject. But I chose LASALLE. Not NAFA, not a JC. Why?
Because I didn't want to.
It's as simple as that.
Between going through rote learning for another two years to ultimately sit for yet another major exam and taking a giant leap into pursuing something I am so passionate about full-time and not as a sideline to be pushed aside for more "important" activities like "studying" - The choice is easy, no?
And in LASALLE what I love best is the studying.
I could have gone through JC, gotten my 'A' Level certification and THEN enrolled in LASALLE, with the cert as a "fallback". I was encouraged to choose this route; also to use the time to consider going into the arts. This was an option I took pretty seriously. Was I really sure about pursuing acting - and all to do with it - as a career?
Impatience won out. I loved the stage, on it and off, and if I could get started quicker on that road, why the fuck not?
And after LASALLE, where to?
Who can tell? I have a bunch of information books from schools in Australia, with way too many post-its in 'em. I keep smelly old articles on various art programmes in universities. I devour blogs by students at some of these schools, and blogs by people who are living the stage, in one way or another.
I read loads of comic books, too.
I don't know what LASALLE will be like. Some nights I stay up worrying about it - with so that much talent in one room, will I stand out? Will I get along with people there?
Will I be happy?
But hey, the future's the future, and I'm not regretting my choice.
Occasionally I do feel something close to it, though, when I hear or read about what some of my ex-school mates are up to in their new places. Some of them have done so much, and I'm just here. Waiting.
Ahhh, feck it. This year I have:
1. being a back-up singer with the rest of Vox for Rock Opera - and that was awesome in so many ways: seeing the huge soundstage backstage of the Esplanade; singing my heart out at the finale with everyone else; the mints! Who can forget the CHEWER? And on the Vox note the weekly rehearsals. Woo. Balls.
2. attempted to build a robot, and learnt loads of useless miscelly in the process
3. discovered all sorts of music aside from the stuff you hear on the car radio
4. finally got round to demolishing the reading list - why is Don Quixote is always checked out?
5. pierced my ears. Annnnnd still no end in sight.
6. seen Mediacorp from the dirty, boring, grimy inside
7. finally seen Tiananmen Square
8. stayed in a boutique hotel in the heart of Hong Kong - Go connections!
9. read an eloquent poem of protest graffiti'd on the pavement
10. immersed myself into the comic world - it's gotten so bad I can't write a decent story unless I picture it in comic form.
11. etc.
I don't think it's being such a waste of a year. I've picked up a couple of skills, corresponded with a bunch of cool people, thought a lot.
And while we're counting, this is the againlostcount time I'm online past 1am. Damnit. So much for New Year Resolutions.
I did something stupid today.
Eeeeheeeheehee.
EDIT:
Well, that's the ivelostcountactually time some one's told me that LASALLE-SIA is tosh.
Although my intial reaction is to yell "BALLS!" and tackle them in a fit of rage one can only learn from comic books ("I love you!" "RAAAAARRR!" *fling!* ") , I supress it. I pause, and think: Am I really justified in attacking the other person? Okay, I don't really look all that dignified thinking that - my eyes tend to gloss over the same way they do when I break my brain.
I haven't even begun classes at LASALLE (And I'll keep the caps, thank you). I haven't a clue what it'll be like. The opinions on why it's tosh range from "Oh. It sucks" to "After attending their performing arts showcase, I feel that it is infinitely inferior to the stature of So-and-so school's drama club". Even if I were to defend LASALLE, I can't really think of anything to retort with other than "Nuh-uh, it doesn't" which makes me wonder why I bother to read so much.
I could have gone to a Junior College of my choice, kept drama as a CCA or even offered it as an subject. But I chose LASALLE. Not NAFA, not a JC. Why?
Because I didn't want to.
It's as simple as that.
Between going through rote learning for another two years to ultimately sit for yet another major exam and taking a giant leap into pursuing something I am so passionate about full-time and not as a sideline to be pushed aside for more "important" activities like "studying" - The choice is easy, no?
And in LASALLE what I love best is the studying.
I could have gone through JC, gotten my 'A' Level certification and THEN enrolled in LASALLE, with the cert as a "fallback". I was encouraged to choose this route; also to use the time to consider going into the arts. This was an option I took pretty seriously. Was I really sure about pursuing acting - and all to do with it - as a career?
Impatience won out. I loved the stage, on it and off, and if I could get started quicker on that road, why the fuck not?
And after LASALLE, where to?
Who can tell? I have a bunch of information books from schools in Australia, with way too many post-its in 'em. I keep smelly old articles on various art programmes in universities. I devour blogs by students at some of these schools, and blogs by people who are living the stage, in one way or another.
I read loads of comic books, too.
I don't know what LASALLE will be like. Some nights I stay up worrying about it - with so that much talent in one room, will I stand out? Will I get along with people there?
Will I be happy?
But hey, the future's the future, and I'm not regretting my choice.
Occasionally I do feel something close to it, though, when I hear or read about what some of my ex-school mates are up to in their new places. Some of them have done so much, and I'm just here. Waiting.
Ahhh, feck it. This year I have:
1. being a back-up singer with the rest of Vox for Rock Opera - and that was awesome in so many ways: seeing the huge soundstage backstage of the Esplanade; singing my heart out at the finale with everyone else; the mints! Who can forget the CHEWER? And on the Vox note the weekly rehearsals. Woo. Balls.
2. attempted to build a robot, and learnt loads of useless miscelly in the process
3. discovered all sorts of music aside from the stuff you hear on the car radio
4. finally got round to demolishing the reading list - why is Don Quixote is always checked out?
5. pierced my ears. Annnnnd still no end in sight.
6. seen Mediacorp from the dirty, boring, grimy inside
7. finally seen Tiananmen Square
8. stayed in a boutique hotel in the heart of Hong Kong - Go connections!
9. read an eloquent poem of protest graffiti'd on the pavement
10. immersed myself into the comic world - it's gotten so bad I can't write a decent story unless I picture it in comic form.
11. etc.
I don't think it's being such a waste of a year. I've picked up a couple of skills, corresponded with a bunch of cool people, thought a lot.
And while we're counting, this is the againlostcount time I'm online past 1am. Damnit. So much for New Year Resolutions.