2001-04-17 - 10:11 a.m.
You know, I think I'm actually starting to like this whole updating every few days thing more than updating on a more regular basis. I think that it gives me more time to reflect on what I actually want to say, what I want to have matter 12 years from now, assuming I live that long (which would be no mean feat, in and of itself.)
This weekend was chock full o'manic/depressive goodness, with a veritable rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows.
Activation occured, and was relatively painless, compared to the first year that I did pledge coordinating. And I was happy to see that, and relieved that my duties were finished for the year. At the same time, I was a little blue to see it be done, cause there's no way in hell I'll do the job again, I don't care how much people might want me to do it.
It is my firm belief that the offices of our house should not be held by the same person for more than two years. Everyone should branch out and learn different things, and new people should be given a chance to try to do their civic duties. It makes us more well rounded.
I was nominated for the office of President, but I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'll do it if elected, but would I make a good president? I'm not much of a leader.
Enough about stuff that only Taus would care about. I got to DJ at a party for the first time this weekend, too. That was...interesting. It was kind of nerve wracking at first, but then it turned out that I was pretty good at it. I guess I have a lot of music in my collection that people can agree on. Whether that's good or bad, I haven't decided.
I admire Jon so much for building such a cool collection of really good music, and he's one of my favorite people ever, but somethings just didn't seem to click while he was DJing. I think it's cause good music isn't necessarily good party music, and people don't like to dance to songs they don't know. No matter how good they actually are.
On the low end of the spectrum, something disastrous happened between me and a close friend this weekend, and now I don't know what to think about us anymore. Do I even want us to be friends anymore? I can't talk it over right now because I'm still reeling.
On the plus side, I have a date to formal now. I had thought I wanted to go alone, but then I was given strong hints by Tammy that I should ask her because she found herself dateless. (something along the lines of, "I have no date. Ask me to formal." Yeah, so what if she's a lesbian and that means I won't get anywhere that night. I still get to say that I managed to con a lesbian into a date with me, because I am that damn desirable.
I also found out that one of my stories will be seeing the light of print. It's essentially a retelling of the Thanksgiving entry of this diary, but it does mark two years in a row for me. (The first being my horribly disturbing poem about a man singing love songs to his blow up doll. So I think outside the box. Sue me.)
Yesterday in theatre, we read a review of Beckett's play "Endgame" which is remarkably similar to Sartre's "No Exit", but better. The play is about a family living in a fallout shelter after nuclear holocaust. BK, you should read it if you haven't already. It's quite good.
Anyhow, the play is chock full of interesting themes, complex emotional tones, and all the other stuff that makes theatre great. I loved it.
The review, however, sucked ass. I hate it when people use really long, convoluted sentences full of big words and references to other artists and critics to describe art of any kind. In the end, if you look closely at what they're saying, none of it really makes any sense, and it's all there just to cover up the fact that these pompous pricks have no idea what the art means or what the hell they're talking about.
"A play like "Endgame" has become a shaft driven deep into the core of being, that is why it exists on a multitude of leves, revealing new ones as it is more closely studied. What at first might have appeared as obscurity or lack of definition is later recognized as the very hallmark of the density of texture....that springs from a truly creative imagination as distinct from a merely imitative one."
What a total load of crap. Those words could describe any decent play that's ever been written in human history, or anything Hemingway ever wrote. I just want to smack people who talk like that.
You know who you are. I saw you at Statewide Auditions in Madison. You were wearing all black, including some dumbass little black beret, carrying a satchel full of classic plays that you've probably never even read, let alone thought about. "Look at me! I'm an actor! I'm so artistic and sensitive! Pity me! Worship me! I'm probaby just doing this to get laid, or because I can't get laid! I'm so obsessed with the idea of leading the artistic, actor's lifestyle that I've gone right into it and bypassed the fact that I have no talent. I overact and indulge on-stage and think I'm making some grand statement about the human condition. My life is a living drama!" In other words, you're 100% phony and devoid of true emotion, just like your acting is 100% phony and devoid of true emotion.
Sorry about that rant, but the next time I see one of those pretentious little theatre school pricks I'm going to strangle him with his own black turtleneck. But not before I make him eat that silly little beret first.
Well, that's enough for now. More tomorrow, I promise.
Ken
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