Again, please accept my apologies for lack of frequent writing. I was busy, um, FORMATTING A SCRIPT AND SUBMITTING IT TO THE TEN MINUTE PLAY CONTEST SPONSORED BY ACTORS THEATRE OF LOUISVILLE. And I found out yesterday, when I thought it needed to be postmarked by November 5, and when it was still happily unformatted, that postmarking needed to have taken place by November 1. I got to really appreciate keyboard shortcuts after that.
They kindly inform entrants that they will be notified of the play's having been accepted or...er, unaccepted by November...2008.
I'll be almost twenty then.
Continuing with my list of excuses (and you must understand that I am not exaggerating in any way, I love writing my blog, it's just that there are these little things called priorities), my first psych paper was due yesterday, and I have auditions for next semester all this week. Wooohooooo!
I did something amazing yesterday in the costume shop. I machine-stitched the most delectable, glorious, perfect button holes. And I used a buttonhole dial, not a buttonhole presser foot. I did it the HARD way. I made two of them. It would be enough to make Edith Head cry (and if you don't know who she is, you should. She created most of Audrey Hepburn's costumes [and then there was that guy...what's his name, Givenchy, yeah...he created the rest]). They rested on the cloth like cats resting on a pile of hangars. Yes, hangars. My cats love 'em. And those buttonholes are a lot like my cats. Sturdy, yet fashionable.
But I digress. From what? I'm not really sure anymore.
Would my blog be more artsy and raw if I didn't spell check it? Or would that just make it stoopid?
It would probably just make it stoopid. But the thing is, I can't spell, and this could lead to hilarious effect in this blog, I'm sure. For example, I can't spell the name of today's holiday. I also can't remember (or I just never learned) whether hangar is spelled differently when referring to something that hangs clothing or acts as an airplane womb.
And in an unbelievable act of double revelation, my psychology class now knows that not only can I not spell, I can't solve puzzles either. We were given a jumbled word. ANIAEV, I think it was. Sounds like Dziga Vertov's brother, or something. But it wasn't. It was 'naive'. And due to my aforementioned faults, I was the only person in my twenty nine student class who could not unscramble this word. Durh.
I am a chameleon. I am also Annie Hall. For the-holiday-whose-name-I-lack-the-ability-to-spell. One person got it. Everyone else either thought I was being myself (of course, I wear ties all the time), or Harry Potter. Which is strange, because my roommate had a dream about Harry Potter last night. GASP!!! Spooky. I was also subjected to remarks such as "you look Prussian" and "you actually look nice in corduroy! That's unusual, for a girl".
Anthony didn't actually say I looked Prussian. He said I looked professional, but I swear, that boy couldn't mumble more if I stuffed his mouth with strawberries. Which would be funny, because Anthony doesn't really like strawberries.
I am now going to awkwardly state the fact that this is a long post. I know we all realize this. I am only still writing because it is a good tool for procrastination.