It's a Great Day for Baseball


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Thursday, March 13, 2003

This is the product of a tired individual.

Some lucky ducks are travelling to London tomorrow morning. Some are in Hawaii as we speak. I, of course, am sticking 'round for awhile. I'm following Erik Weihenmayer around tomorrow, listening to him closely as he talks about his triumph over adversity. He's blind and climbed Mt. Everest. He seems like a pret-ty cool guy.

Then on Tuesday, I hop on a plane to...Washington, DC! Me so excited! I'm flying all by myself, and while I've done it before, I've never flown so far alone. And I haven't been back East since I was 12. Considering it's where I'd like to spend four years of my academic future, maybe I should go there more often. COUGHCOUGHNEWYORKCOUGHCOUGH. Ahem. Allergies.

There's a difference between me and some people. Some write things when they are tired and they you say? Ah yes, entertaining. Me, not so much.

Incoherency is a good thing, yes? Oui?

But seriously, what is the deal with "Freedom Fries?" Are you joking me?

Ohhhh, tomorrow I have to pay $80 for an AP test I'm going to fail. Whoop-dee-dooooo.

Man, if my heart didn't recklessly belong to one particular individual, I'd be all over this guy at my church. Rumor has it he is going to join the priesthood. I hate it when perfectly eligible guys do that. Screw you, Hot Priesthood Man!

The dishwasher is up and running. Finally.

Today at the Improv Show (twas Western Night, folks!), I was the "typewriter" girl. I made up a story as a bunch of awesome kids acted it out behind me. One of the scariest things I've ever done, and yet, it turned out OK in the end.

You know how there's a American/British spelling difference in the word "gray/grey"? Well, what if it was "okay" and "okey" or "day" and "dey."

There's definitely no difference between "Jaclyn" and "dumb."

"LiKe OmG tHeRe WaS tHiS gUy @ tHiS pLaCe N hE wAs ToTaLLy HiTtIn On Me CuZ iM hOtt." said my brother's fellow sixth grade companion, who just IM'd me. Apparently, my brother doles out my screenname freely. How nice.
"This isn't Ben."
"WhO iS iT? Y r U oN hIs Sn?"
"This is his sister. And it's my sn."
"Ur LyInG. bEn Ur So ImMaTure."

Oh, the life I lead.

If I were a cool singer that did all the little clubs in London, you'd find me listed under either Horrible Punk Covers or Really Cool Nora Jones Deep Throated Jazz Music. If I were a punk cover band, I'd possibly name it PORNAGON TRAIL! Our first real written single would be "Trail of Porn," inspired Many Moons Ago by both Amanda and the Bye Bye Birdie Boys vs. Girls war-type thing (which was one-sided for the most part).

And I love. And I dance. And I write.

True playa 4 real. Horrid post. I'm out. Have fun on Spring Break, kids!

Monday, March 10, 2003

The whole concept of chorus is really abnormal. I like being onstage and trying my hand at singing and dancing at the same time, but I always feel inadequate when I'm singing and dancing next to someone who can do both better than me. Sometimes, when I sing, my voice cracks really badly. Why oh why must I sing like a feo hombre instead of a bonita senorita? Why do "bonita" and "senorita" rhyme? Do you think it's the plan of some corporate Latino machine that monitors the creation of Spanish pop songs? Hmm. I wonder.

Sunil Gopal, the infamous Indian Pimp-Masta, pointed out something not too long ago about my reading audition for the musical. When my turn came around, I did some random character movement that most everyone else after me copied. I'm not too sure on what the movement was, but that means I "set a trend," or something. They wanted to do something I started. I remember when I would copy the gestures of everyone who auditioned before me, and I, surprisingly enough, would be shunned in the callback process. It may not sound like much to you, but I guess I've come a long way since those fateful days of freshman year. Woo, instincts.

It's hard to believe how pompous one can be as a freshman. I remember scoffing when I didn't get cast in The Dining Room, as if to say, "Geez, they obviously don't know anything for not casting me. I mean, I already know everything about theatre. They're just stupid." I was a weird kid. And then, when I did get cast in a show, a one act called 1492 Blues, I was in awe of everyone and I was too intimidated to speak to anyone, in fear of their awesome Skills. I don't think I've ever jumped that fence. I'm still a wee bit nervous around all the talented kids, as though they'll drive me out of town a miserable, untalented failure, as they laugh and point big sticks at me. Or something. I guess, in my hasty fear, I sometimes forget that some of those very talented people are actually human, and not just Gods of Theatre. On another, slightly related note, freshmen are really weird sometimes.

I'm reading The Great Gatsby for English. I haven't stayed up until midnight reading a book in a really long time.

"They had forgotten me but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didn't know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them there together."

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