Are YOU a bare bodkin?

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.

October 2_?

I wonder what today's date is. I suppose I could minimize this window and just look at the bottom-right corner of the screen, where I have my handy-dandy windows gadgets, but why be conventional? I'll wait, and see what date blogspot labels it under when I publish this post. There's just something so--I don't know--daring about this mystery that enshrouds my knowledge of time at this particular moment. One loses count of the days, soon the hours. It's after midnight, I know that by looking at the toolbar at the bottom of the screen. I didn't have to minimize a window to do that.

But when you don't know the date--doesn't it just throw you into this emboldened yet terrified state?

Okay, slight overstatement, perhaps. But that's because Peter Lorre is my favorite actor.

Don't expect to find a connection between Peter Lorre and my not knowing the date. Well, I guess you could, if you really stretched it, say that time is a central motif of M in which Peter Lorre starred, only that wouldn't really work because everyone knew what time it was. Always. Wouldn't you, if your child was an hour late from school, and you lived in Dusseldorf? The infamous child murders?

Bitch, please. You'd know the time so well, people would wonder if you'd swallowed a clock. But, anyway, Peter Lorre is amazing and you should see every movie he's ever been in, especially M, The Maltese Falcon, and Arsenic and Old Lace. He's just so good at playing these creepy parts, you know, the ones that leave you wondering "what happened to so-and-so in his childood? Freudian analysis! Go!"

Also, why does he look so different in each of his movies? I didn't even recognize him in Falcon after seeing M.

I think I'm going to go to sleep now. And do you know why? Because I just tried to spell "now" like "know" and vice versa.

Linguistics: Lesson 1

I FORGOT TO NUMBER MY PAGES!!!!!! For my play. I totally forgot. And I just checked Blackboard (the place where teachers post asssignements), and it told us to make sure we numbered our pages, starting on page 2. WTFFF? If I told my computer to do that, it would looka at me (I'll get back to you soon on the location of its eyes) and squawk "What the hell kind of an arbitrary number is 2? Why start with the second page? BLANK PIECE OF PAPER!"

I would look back at the computer, and remember, this is all theoretical because I wouldn't even be posting this if I'd remembered to NUMBER MY PAGES, and I would say, "Well, at least I'm not an OATMEAL COOKIE!!!"

That made perfect sense, and you know it. You're dazzled at my incandescent brilliance. It emanates from my extra-long eyeballs.

eeegeeGEEgee!

But this mistake is also proof of Divine Grace. You see, I've been trying to think of ways I could insert a Spanish Language lesson into my blog. Particularly, one about how people should convey the fact they've made a mistake. I now have the perfect example. Thank you, Jesus.

A Spanish speaker would never say, "I forgot to number my pages." Oh, no. Instead, they'd say "Se me olvidaron a numerar mis paginas." Roughly, "My pages forgot to number themselves on me."

No wonder Europe is so secular. Gosh darn it! They have no sense of guilt.

Psychology of Perception--the musical!

My eyeballs are too long.

According to my psychology textbook, people with myopia (nearsightedness) have eyeballs that are so freakin' long that when they stare at something the image goes crazy and misses the retina or goes behind it. Something like that.

All I can say is, I thought everything about me was short.

Weird.

I finished editing my ten minute play today, which I cleverly called Egress. Thank you, Mr. Eynon (my AP English Lit teacher. He had a set of rules, one of which was "place your backpacks under the desk in order to facilitate ingress and egress"). No, really. Thanks, because up until twelfth grade, I thought that an Egress was a type of exotic bird.

Today I bought a book at the bookstore (NO!!!! Existential DOUBT!!) entitled "The Career Guide for Creative and Unconventional People".

When I spotted it across the room, I could only read "Creative and Unconventional People" and I was like, damn right you're unconventional if you can transform yourself into a book. Like, whoah.

And when I brought it back to my room, it insisted on testing gravity by jumping off my bed every time I moved (I had a lot of stuff on my bed). So I guess it is kinda unconventional. Then again, I just looked at it now and read "The Career Guide for Creative and Unintentional People." Ooops! Mom didn't use birth control.

Also, I learned today that Sergei Eisenstein (remember him? The penis guy?) directed a production of Die Valkure in Russia. I was like, ????

Wagner and Eisenstein go together like Lady Catherine de Berg and Soviet sex toys.

Take my word for it.

Blank Piece of PAPER!

Did you know that bloggers on blogspot have a choice to post in English or...Hindi?

I was very tempted to post in Hindi, but I'm not entirely sure if that would mean all my posts would be in Hindi from now on.

So I wrote the first draft of my ten minute play. I've written a play. I've written a PLAY? When did that happen? I've never, ever, written an entire play before (though I've written scenes longer than this one). I hope it's good. It's my midterm.

By the way, I'm really confused about my final exams. We have one scheduled for Stagecraft: Costume Techniques. What, is the teacher going to see how fast we can sew a zipper? I have yet to sew a buttonhole. That's pretty much the only thing I can't do. That's a total lie. I can't sew for shit. Well, I can sew if you help me with every single tiny step.

See how indescicive I am? And how bad I am at spelling?

Sometimes I'm just going to write for fun. I hope soon, but for now, I have more writing to do for school; this one a screenplay for the feature film the MFA (Mighty Fine Ass, known in some circles as Muhlenberg Film Association) is producing this year. I have organized what some might call a studio system of production. I am very proud of myself right now.

She came in through the bathroom window

There's a little phrase that pops up when I log in to blogspot. It happily informs me how many posts I've...er, posted. Twelve posts! It giggles. Twelve? TWELVE?!? Wow, I'm not a very prolific blogger. Sorry, guys.

Well, I'm happy that people are going to help me out with that, because so far, three people have expressed interest in guest-blogging. Let's bring that number up higher, people! I mean, it's a one-night stand. No commitment, people.

I should be working on my ten-minute play. It's my Dramatic Writing midterm. It's driving me crazy, just like my film paper from last week (I did well on that, by the way, gracias a dios), probably because it's a midterm. A midterm is very scary for Katie. She is not sure if she can write a play. A scene, fine, but a whole play, even one ten minutes long, is a tad daunting for her.

I'm sorry if I just sounded like an arrogant fish.

It won't happen again.

See? I'm going insane. I'll just keep writing. I got my shades fixed. It was nice. Great success!

Like, the coolest idea ever

Yeah, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. Really, I am. It's quite theraputic for me. But my homework level just jumped a few degrees, again, so I've been kinda preoccupied with that lately.

But guess what? I've thought of a cool idea, one that would promote cross-blog fertilization and diversity in this voluptous digital age. Yes, voluptous. And synergy. Because that was just such a crazy word in In Good Company. Are you ready for this?

Guest blogging!

Here's the concept: Once a month, or more frequently if there's enough interest, one of you lucky people will write a guest blog entry, that is, a post that will go up on my blog. So it better be good. Anyone can write one, just comment on this post expressing your interest, and you can write an email to me and I'll cut and paste your blog post onto my blog!! WEEE!!! You can write about anything you want, so long as it's not porn. That's Maddie's territory. Or, more specifically, gnome porn.

So if anyone's interested, let me know. If you already have a blog, great, you can take this opportunity to spread the word about it. And if not, who cares? Let this be your proxy-blog. Your step-blog. Your I-have-a-plant-but-I-only-water-it-sometimes blog. Because even if you're not ready to commit to a full blog, you can get that one great post out of your head, and into the creepy world of cyberspace!!! WOOOHOOO!