More At Last, Hooray, Ooh Boy, Big Whoopie, Who Gives A ...!
Sorry again. I’m late again. Yet, then again, I was always a late starter. Later than my friends did I enter into puberty. Again, I was probably the last one of my friends to lose my virginity after a ludicrous amount of missed opportunities where I was far too timid and gentlemanly for my own libido’s good. I am the tortoise, not the hare; through patience I hope to succeed where certain others rush about madly, like ol’ Busy Backson, Rabbit, woodland friend of Pooh Bear, with no clear goals in mind and not actually achieving anything really worthwhile. Don’t misunderstand me, please, for I know I am not guaranteed of creating anything really worthwhile either, but I think the slow but sure path is the best way to high quality, truly professional work, and go suck eggs if you don’t agree, hee-hee.
Anyway, I have been quite busy of late. Uni. has been winding down for the year. Or should I say, rather, winding up, because end of semester is always the most stressful time on the scholastic clock. Theatre is finished with for the year. Our last production saw me directing for the most part, with only a small speaking role and also an onstage appearance as a dead man. The play was “Mad Forest” by Carol Churchill. It seemed to have gone across well.
I puttered along to the uni. bar afterwards with other budding thespians and got thoroughly trashed, a rare occurrence for me because I generally find bars and the people who go there a terrible bore (ooh, how Evelyn Waugh of me!), but I liked my drama class this semester and it was a good night. I wouldn’t want to do it very often, though. Me, an unexciting homebody? To some, perhaps. But not to the ones who matter to me. I like my hobbit-hole, that’s for sure. Yet, I am also aware of the importance of getting out there a bit and mingling with dickhead society every now and again, if only to make me vomit up a bit of chutney or something I’d gotten lodged in my throat. Ah, psychotic humanity! When will sanity and peace reign strong?
I am currently writing an autobiographical short story about ‘a place that has a particularly resonant presence in my memory,’ to quote from the question I am answering for English 12WYL. The story is about ‘a dark and mysterious place which my semiliterate adoptive father used to refer to as, “The lowboar’”. This place was a weird area of our abode that my siblings and I hadn’t really explored before.’ This place was on the ground floor of my double-storey, very Nineteen-Seventies, suburban Australian childhood house.
‘One of the bricks constituting the far wall was vented, and sharp pricks of light serrated the gloom of the room from out of the vent holes in the brick. Looking through the little windows in the vented brick one day, I espied green shrubs and yearned for the vast lush jungle lands beyond, which I could barely glimpse.’
I hope I can make it better than it is at present. I mean, I quite like the segments I quote here but, over-all, she’s kinda shaky.
More soon, Daddy-O’s!
Anyway, I have been quite busy of late. Uni. has been winding down for the year. Or should I say, rather, winding up, because end of semester is always the most stressful time on the scholastic clock. Theatre is finished with for the year. Our last production saw me directing for the most part, with only a small speaking role and also an onstage appearance as a dead man. The play was “Mad Forest” by Carol Churchill. It seemed to have gone across well.
I puttered along to the uni. bar afterwards with other budding thespians and got thoroughly trashed, a rare occurrence for me because I generally find bars and the people who go there a terrible bore (ooh, how Evelyn Waugh of me!), but I liked my drama class this semester and it was a good night. I wouldn’t want to do it very often, though. Me, an unexciting homebody? To some, perhaps. But not to the ones who matter to me. I like my hobbit-hole, that’s for sure. Yet, I am also aware of the importance of getting out there a bit and mingling with dickhead society every now and again, if only to make me vomit up a bit of chutney or something I’d gotten lodged in my throat. Ah, psychotic humanity! When will sanity and peace reign strong?
I am currently writing an autobiographical short story about ‘a place that has a particularly resonant presence in my memory,’ to quote from the question I am answering for English 12WYL. The story is about ‘a dark and mysterious place which my semiliterate adoptive father used to refer to as, “The lowboar’”. This place was a weird area of our abode that my siblings and I hadn’t really explored before.’ This place was on the ground floor of my double-storey, very Nineteen-Seventies, suburban Australian childhood house.
‘One of the bricks constituting the far wall was vented, and sharp pricks of light serrated the gloom of the room from out of the vent holes in the brick. Looking through the little windows in the vented brick one day, I espied green shrubs and yearned for the vast lush jungle lands beyond, which I could barely glimpse.’
I hope I can make it better than it is at present. I mean, I quite like the segments I quote here but, over-all, she’s kinda shaky.
More soon, Daddy-O’s!
posted by S. Gregory | 1:27 am
2 Comments:
damn thespians
I don't know about that entirely, but I think whether you work fast or slow regardless doesn't matter, it's more what you are doing and what you want to do. The ones who race and rush, or the ones who chew slowly away at 9 to 5 jobs are perhaps the ones at a loss here.
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