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Or rather, we're now being forced to pay for it.
A very nice girl named Nicole Brigge (very nice is an assumption) used to live in our flat, and set up an internet account with provider Tiscali. After she moved back to Australia, or South America, or somewhere equally uncontactable, we asked to change the name of the recipient of the service.
Which we can't do without her consent.
Which we can't get because we have no contact with her.
My english flatmate then said "Okay, we'll pay your bills once they start appearing in my name," and left it at that. They said they would get back to us.
A year later (which prompts me to discover that we were arguing over £10 per month), they cut off our internet. So we're going to go and get a new provider.
Unfortunately for me this means my only communication now is when I find myself near an internet cafe, and I'm back to paying for it again. And owning a laptop is kind of superfluous. It's big and chunky enough to play Dota, which makes it too big and chunky to actually move around much. With laptops (as with many other things) now that I've owned one I know why it isn't the one I actually want. But that's okay, all part of the learning process.
A very nice girl named Nicole Brigge (very nice is an assumption) used to live in our flat, and set up an internet account with provider Tiscali. After she moved back to Australia, or South America, or somewhere equally uncontactable, we asked to change the name of the recipient of the service.
Which we can't do without her consent.
Which we can't get because we have no contact with her.
My english flatmate then said "Okay, we'll pay your bills once they start appearing in my name," and left it at that. They said they would get back to us.
A year later (which prompts me to discover that we were arguing over £10 per month), they cut off our internet. So we're going to go and get a new provider.
Unfortunately for me this means my only communication now is when I find myself near an internet cafe, and I'm back to paying for it again. And owning a laptop is kind of superfluous. It's big and chunky enough to play Dota, which makes it too big and chunky to actually move around much. With laptops (as with many other things) now that I've owned one I know why it isn't the one I actually want. But that's okay, all part of the learning process.
Living in a different country has turned me into a more atypical Australian. While I'm still not a fan of the Rugby and I can't drink beer (although not drinking Fosters is the mark of an Australian, or anyone with taste), I've become louder and more boisterous than I previously was. It's probably showing off, or compensation to the boredom of my working life.
I may have gone too far though. A friend at work said: "James I love how awkward you make people feel." And here I had assumed she was going to say she loved how positive I am. Alas. Boisterousness is not a crime. Especially in my low grade non threatening manner.
At work I've befriended most of the techies, mainly because they're on the whole more interesting than the ushers. I'm not saying that ushers aren't interesting, far from it. All of them have the same story as me - they're either actors between jobs, or actors who are still at school. One of the chaps behind the box office was the villain from this weeks Doctor Who. No, the reason I like the techies is because they're doing what they have been trained to do. Not very high up in the business if they're the lighting op for Thriller:Live, but they're there.
So tonight I was sitting down the front of the auditorium, feet on the seats, chatting with two of them. About photography and sex. While we were there, two of the acts (for the Cabaret show on Monday Nights) came on stage to do their sound checks. The first guy was quite fun, chatted with us a bit while setting up, played his guitar and checked the vocals once or twice, then wandered off. Then the host of the show, Frank Skinner, came on to have done with his. The other two techies had wandered off by this point, to do various interesting technical behind the scenes know how (go buy some maccas) and I was reading Cryptonomicon.
A brief interjection here about Cryptonomicon - it's a fantastic book. By one of my favourite authors, Neil Stephenson. He's into the cyberpunk interesting genre, and his books (like The Gone Away World) are very dense. Reading one isn't something for the faint of heart. I've had to put Cryptonomicon down several times to process where we are, what's happened, and to give myself a bit of an intellectual break. It's like reading Shakespeare, but set during World War II, and today in the Phillippines.
Frank Skinner came centre stage, did his usual talking malarky, and then looked at me. I waved. He said hi, I asked him if he knew what the time was (which he joked about as if the entire audience were present - his humour is basically making fun of people: he's good at it, but it's a form of bullying), one or two other comments were made, he went offstage. I thought nothing more of the entire business.
An hour and a half later (I had to be there early because they asked me to do an hour's work two hours before my shift started, so I had two hours to kill for no reason. Something I'll ask my boss about tomorrow) my manager came up to me and asked about the encounter. Puzzled, I related the pertinent details, and he said that Frank had been quite put off, had a huge rant to the production manager about unprofessionalism etc, who had a huge rant to my manager about unprofessionalism, who was now asking me to not hang out in the auditorium with my mates before the show.
Gah!
After talking with one of the other chaps at the theatre, a man named Richard who is a champ (and gets paid more than we do and is older than us so we look up to him a bit), I'm given to understand that the situation could have been Frank making an off hand comment along the lines of "It was very odd to have an audience during my soundcheck. I had to sparkle wittily which I wasn't prepared for," to the production manager who then had a rant at my manager. Prevailing wisdom and past experience have pegged her as a bit of a bitch. But I hope I'm not ever in a point in my life where being angry and blowing up seems like the best way of resolving an issue. It's such a waste of energy.
On a lighter note, before all this had erupted, one of the sound guys was playing Torn (apparently to check that the cd didn't have any skips in it). Since me and a mate were the only chaps around, I nipped on stage and did that mimed version, courtesy of a performer named David Armand. Imagine my consternation when he came out midway through the show and performed exactly that, but infinitely better. And then Your Song as well. I'm envious, and a little bit embarrassed.
I may have gone too far though. A friend at work said: "James I love how awkward you make people feel." And here I had assumed she was going to say she loved how positive I am. Alas. Boisterousness is not a crime. Especially in my low grade non threatening manner.
At work I've befriended most of the techies, mainly because they're on the whole more interesting than the ushers. I'm not saying that ushers aren't interesting, far from it. All of them have the same story as me - they're either actors between jobs, or actors who are still at school. One of the chaps behind the box office was the villain from this weeks Doctor Who. No, the reason I like the techies is because they're doing what they have been trained to do. Not very high up in the business if they're the lighting op for Thriller:Live, but they're there.
So tonight I was sitting down the front of the auditorium, feet on the seats, chatting with two of them. About photography and sex. While we were there, two of the acts (for the Cabaret show on Monday Nights) came on stage to do their sound checks. The first guy was quite fun, chatted with us a bit while setting up, played his guitar and checked the vocals once or twice, then wandered off. Then the host of the show, Frank Skinner, came on to have done with his. The other two techies had wandered off by this point, to do various interesting technical behind the scenes know how (go buy some maccas) and I was reading Cryptonomicon.
A brief interjection here about Cryptonomicon - it's a fantastic book. By one of my favourite authors, Neil Stephenson. He's into the cyberpunk interesting genre, and his books (like The Gone Away World) are very dense. Reading one isn't something for the faint of heart. I've had to put Cryptonomicon down several times to process where we are, what's happened, and to give myself a bit of an intellectual break. It's like reading Shakespeare, but set during World War II, and today in the Phillippines.
Frank Skinner came centre stage, did his usual talking malarky, and then looked at me. I waved. He said hi, I asked him if he knew what the time was (which he joked about as if the entire audience were present - his humour is basically making fun of people: he's good at it, but it's a form of bullying), one or two other comments were made, he went offstage. I thought nothing more of the entire business.
An hour and a half later (I had to be there early because they asked me to do an hour's work two hours before my shift started, so I had two hours to kill for no reason. Something I'll ask my boss about tomorrow) my manager came up to me and asked about the encounter. Puzzled, I related the pertinent details, and he said that Frank had been quite put off, had a huge rant to the production manager about unprofessionalism etc, who had a huge rant to my manager about unprofessionalism, who was now asking me to not hang out in the auditorium with my mates before the show.
Gah!
After talking with one of the other chaps at the theatre, a man named Richard who is a champ (and gets paid more than we do and is older than us so we look up to him a bit), I'm given to understand that the situation could have been Frank making an off hand comment along the lines of "It was very odd to have an audience during my soundcheck. I had to sparkle wittily which I wasn't prepared for," to the production manager who then had a rant at my manager. Prevailing wisdom and past experience have pegged her as a bit of a bitch. But I hope I'm not ever in a point in my life where being angry and blowing up seems like the best way of resolving an issue. It's such a waste of energy.
On a lighter note, before all this had erupted, one of the sound guys was playing Torn (apparently to check that the cd didn't have any skips in it). Since me and a mate were the only chaps around, I nipped on stage and did that mimed version, courtesy of a performer named David Armand. Imagine my consternation when he came out midway through the show and performed exactly that, but infinitely better. And then Your Song as well. I'm envious, and a little bit embarrassed.
In the future we won't have laptops. Or rather, that's all we'll have. A laptop which is capable of doing basically anything - and the only time's we'll plug it into something at home is to load up some new movies/music etc (making it like a giant ipod).
Our tvs will be our screens for when we're not in bed or on the train.
And these computers of the future will be a penny a piece.
We are almost already there, I admit. But the absolute frustration of not being able to play a game when it comes out is driving me somewhat crazy. I loved modern warfare 1 enough to want to play Modern Warfare 2. And yet... alas. It's just not good enough.
Which I should have seen coming, but I downloaded it anyway just to be sure. And hey, the internet is free over here.
Our tvs will be our screens for when we're not in bed or on the train.
And these computers of the future will be a penny a piece.
We are almost already there, I admit. But the absolute frustration of not being able to play a game when it comes out is driving me somewhat crazy. I loved modern warfare 1 enough to want to play Modern Warfare 2. And yet... alas. It's just not good enough.
Which I should have seen coming, but I downloaded it anyway just to be sure. And hey, the internet is free over here.
The other day at work, while counting money, one of the male co workers approached me. "Can I ask you a personal question?" quoth he. "Sure," I answered, slightly engrossed in my work (money is addictive after all), "what's up?" "I have a friend who's having trouble with his penis..."
While I did answer his question, and knew exactly what to say and how to say it, I also took the time to ask him why the hell he thought I would be good at answering it. Apparently I give off a vibe about being knowledgeable about such things. This is in a work place where I have ensured not to talk about sex (as much as the other ushers, anyway), or flirt with anyone, or... anything, really. I have no idea why this is!
I really hope I'm not still giving off the dominant vibe which one of my friends told me about a year or so ago. That could be awkward.
On a completely unrelated note, I've decided to buy several lengthy lengths of rope, and learn the art of japanese rope binding (otherwise known as Shibari). It just seems like something I wouldn't really like to have on my resume (of sex) that I'm skilled at. Not for any particular reason, I just think it's kind of awesome. And pretty. Now all I need is a platonic friend to practice on... this might be the hardest part.
I've just had my interview with Nida. In eagle eye hindsight, there are lots of things I would have prepared better, and a lot of things I wouldn't have worked so hard on. The interview was an hour ahead of schedule (making me almost choke to death on a cheese and cracker I was eating at the time) although it took them some time to work out how to use Skype. It's the first time they've ever interviewed like that apparently, and it showed a little. They only had one mic/set of headphones, which they then shuffled between each other, and repeated my answers. I think I must have received a little less time because of this.
The interview was... okay. Not brilliant, certainly, but okay. I think I regaled myself well. Egil (I have NO IDEA how to pronounce that) said at the beginning that I seemed very experienced, and wondered why I wanted to go to Nida. At the end though... they asked if there was any questions I wanted to ask them. To which I replied that a friend was getting married in December, and I wanted to be down there for the wedding, but could only take one week off work (etc etc), and if they wanted to see me work with actors, could it be around then. Egil then said "I'm not sure we want to get to that point with you..."
When I receive bad news, I just kind of shut down. I think everyone's a little the same. But I bottle my emotions up inside me really quickly. And I keep smiling. He cited my lack of experience and knowledge of theatrical techniques and design etc... which is why I want to go back to school in the first place. I would love to work with people who can recognise my flaws and help me improve them. And know about things I don't. I guess they want students who are knowledgeable and brilliant... and I'm only pretty smart. Alas.
While I did answer his question, and knew exactly what to say and how to say it, I also took the time to ask him why the hell he thought I would be good at answering it. Apparently I give off a vibe about being knowledgeable about such things. This is in a work place where I have ensured not to talk about sex (as much as the other ushers, anyway), or flirt with anyone, or... anything, really. I have no idea why this is!
I really hope I'm not still giving off the dominant vibe which one of my friends told me about a year or so ago. That could be awkward.
On a completely unrelated note, I've decided to buy several lengthy lengths of rope, and learn the art of japanese rope binding (otherwise known as Shibari). It just seems like something I wouldn't really like to have on my resume (of sex) that I'm skilled at. Not for any particular reason, I just think it's kind of awesome. And pretty. Now all I need is a platonic friend to practice on... this might be the hardest part.
I've just had my interview with Nida. In eagle eye hindsight, there are lots of things I would have prepared better, and a lot of things I wouldn't have worked so hard on. The interview was an hour ahead of schedule (making me almost choke to death on a cheese and cracker I was eating at the time) although it took them some time to work out how to use Skype. It's the first time they've ever interviewed like that apparently, and it showed a little. They only had one mic/set of headphones, which they then shuffled between each other, and repeated my answers. I think I must have received a little less time because of this.
The interview was... okay. Not brilliant, certainly, but okay. I think I regaled myself well. Egil (I have NO IDEA how to pronounce that) said at the beginning that I seemed very experienced, and wondered why I wanted to go to Nida. At the end though... they asked if there was any questions I wanted to ask them. To which I replied that a friend was getting married in December, and I wanted to be down there for the wedding, but could only take one week off work (etc etc), and if they wanted to see me work with actors, could it be around then. Egil then said "I'm not sure we want to get to that point with you..."
When I receive bad news, I just kind of shut down. I think everyone's a little the same. But I bottle my emotions up inside me really quickly. And I keep smiling. He cited my lack of experience and knowledge of theatrical techniques and design etc... which is why I want to go back to school in the first place. I would love to work with people who can recognise my flaws and help me improve them. And know about things I don't. I guess they want students who are knowledgeable and brilliant... and I'm only pretty smart. Alas.
A job recently came up over here - Resident Assistant Director for the Donmar Warehouse. I cannot explain enough how much I want this. It comes with a bursary of £20,085 per year (a very specific number), and they'll be making me watch shows all the theatre I can on top of my normal duties, which will basically be being an assistant director. The application called for Directors at the beginning of their careers.. basically me. I hope.
I'm also applying for Nida. A strange move, I know, considering I am literally on the other side of the world. Because I'm going for the director's course, however, I can do the first interview via webcam (with a chap called Egil - not entirely sure how to pronounce that), and then from that if they like me, they'll ask me to come to Australia and work with some actors there. So if I DO get the position, it will mean flying to Australia, back to London, and then back to Australia. Expensive, but at least living at home won't break into my budget at all.
I will of course be applying for drama schools over here as well, but most (all) of them have an intake in September rather than March, so there's another four months before I need to start thinking about applying for them.
Steph's started on Good Game. I wish I was in Sydney so I could make her waffles, she sounds like she needs them. And even if she doesn't, who says no to waffles?
I'm also applying for Nida. A strange move, I know, considering I am literally on the other side of the world. Because I'm going for the director's course, however, I can do the first interview via webcam (with a chap called Egil - not entirely sure how to pronounce that), and then from that if they like me, they'll ask me to come to Australia and work with some actors there. So if I DO get the position, it will mean flying to Australia, back to London, and then back to Australia. Expensive, but at least living at home won't break into my budget at all.
I will of course be applying for drama schools over here as well, but most (all) of them have an intake in September rather than March, so there's another four months before I need to start thinking about applying for them.
Steph's started on Good Game. I wish I was in Sydney so I could make her waffles, she sounds like she needs them. And even if she doesn't, who says no to waffles?
This may require some explaining.
Two nights ago I dreamt about my father. Or rather, he featured as an extra in a dream I had. In it, I was taking a journalistic friend of mine somewhere (in Sydney, I don't have London dreams yet). We were driving there, and I needed to get the keys from dad. Unfortunately for dream me, this was dad as he was around two years ago. When the Alzheimer's had definitely kicked in hard, but he was still trying to be independent. And so he wasn't letting me drive somewhere.
I woke up incredibly angry, irritated, and frustrated with him. This was a very familiar feeling, as it happened three or four times a week to me over the last eighteen months of his life. And about six or seven times a week with mum (not including the once a week absolute despair and the once a month weeping, which was very scary for me the first couple of times. I'm now more scared that I managed to get used to it.)
My father did not want to live like that. We didn't want him to live like that. And so, a year ago, it was a huge relief when he died. In retrospect, not having the crushing burden of an invalid dependent suddenly being lifted to bias us, I can honestly say exactly the same thing. And it would have been even better if he had died a little sooner.
Two nights ago I dreamt about my father. Or rather, he featured as an extra in a dream I had. In it, I was taking a journalistic friend of mine somewhere (in Sydney, I don't have London dreams yet). We were driving there, and I needed to get the keys from dad. Unfortunately for dream me, this was dad as he was around two years ago. When the Alzheimer's had definitely kicked in hard, but he was still trying to be independent. And so he wasn't letting me drive somewhere.
I woke up incredibly angry, irritated, and frustrated with him. This was a very familiar feeling, as it happened three or four times a week to me over the last eighteen months of his life. And about six or seven times a week with mum (not including the once a week absolute despair and the once a month weeping, which was very scary for me the first couple of times. I'm now more scared that I managed to get used to it.)
My father did not want to live like that. We didn't want him to live like that. And so, a year ago, it was a huge relief when he died. In retrospect, not having the crushing burden of an invalid dependent suddenly being lifted to bias us, I can honestly say exactly the same thing. And it would have been even better if he had died a little sooner.
I'm still not entirely comfortable with blogging: writing without a perceived audience, or no audience at all I find particularly hard. And trying to get away from the first person harder still. Not that this is an excuse for not posting for so long... not that it's a *good* excuse anyway.
Google wave came out a couple of days ago, and I haven't had much sleep since. It's still in a preview form, which means that not all of the fixes and features have been implemented yet. But it's already a fantastic collaborative tool. I'm going to devote some time to actually learning how to use it properly, as opposed to just muddling along like I have for so many other programs I use (such as, but not limited to, Premiere). Used normally it's an incredible tool. Used properly... I don't even know. I can't wait to unleash its full potential.
One of the advantages of having so many people I know work for Google - a lot of my friends are already on the wave (it sounds like a drug). I'm not sure yet how to enable livejournal blogging, or if that is possible yet. Hope it'll be implemented soon.
Each starting account gets 8 invites. So far I've used five - on Nic Newling, Foz, Nick Harkaway, Just Surreal, and Maestro. I'm hoarding the ones I have left - only for people who will actually use it properly. (Although If Stephen Fry asks me for an invite, he gets one no questions asked.)
All the drama schools (Warning: segue!) over here start in September, and close applications around May. So of course now that I've moved to England, I'm applying for Nida again. More specifically, for the director's course this year. I have an interview via webcam in a month, for which I have to create a directors project and fill out a questionaire. They want to know, as well as normal questions like "who is your favourite author" what my theatrical exploits are in incredible detail, which shows influenced me as a child, and who my favourite writers, directors, poets, designers, architects, buildings, music and plays are. I'm a little flummoxed to tell the truth. And since I need to send it off within the next two weeks (hardly any time at all really, I'm not sure how much I trust British Post), I don't have much time to remain flummoxed for.
Google wave came out a couple of days ago, and I haven't had much sleep since. It's still in a preview form, which means that not all of the fixes and features have been implemented yet. But it's already a fantastic collaborative tool. I'm going to devote some time to actually learning how to use it properly, as opposed to just muddling along like I have for so many other programs I use (such as, but not limited to, Premiere). Used normally it's an incredible tool. Used properly... I don't even know. I can't wait to unleash its full potential.
One of the advantages of having so many people I know work for Google - a lot of my friends are already on the wave (it sounds like a drug). I'm not sure yet how to enable livejournal blogging, or if that is possible yet. Hope it'll be implemented soon.
Each starting account gets 8 invites. So far I've used five - on Nic Newling, Foz, Nick Harkaway, Just Surreal, and Maestro. I'm hoarding the ones I have left - only for people who will actually use it properly. (Although If Stephen Fry asks me for an invite, he gets one no questions asked.)
All the drama schools (Warning: segue!) over here start in September, and close applications around May. So of course now that I've moved to England, I'm applying for Nida again. More specifically, for the director's course this year. I have an interview via webcam in a month, for which I have to create a directors project and fill out a questionaire. They want to know, as well as normal questions like "who is your favourite author" what my theatrical exploits are in incredible detail, which shows influenced me as a child, and who my favourite writers, directors, poets, designers, architects, buildings, music and plays are. I'm a little flummoxed to tell the truth. And since I need to send it off within the next two weeks (hardly any time at all really, I'm not sure how much I trust British Post), I don't have much time to remain flummoxed for.
If they like me from the interview (which I'm worried about, to tell the truth), I'll be invited to come into Nida and work with some of their actors in front of a panel. This will involve, for me, a round trip to Australia, in the holiday season, with about a months notice. I'm glad I have some savings left. (If I get in, I'm going to enjoy sticking it absolutely to Nick Foran. That one fact is going to keep me warm during 72 hours of plane flight.)
Given a choice, which I am going to ensure I do get, I'll make my visit to Australia coincide with the wedding of a close friend of mine. It's a testament to how dearly I value her that I'm strongly considering flying to Australiia just for the wedding, regardless of the interview. If she had stayed single for the next four years, I would have proposed to her myself. Alas, I'm not ready for that yet. There are still more things that I want to do, and I'm not interested in partnering with someone on a permanent basis until I've sorted myself out.
Oh well, she can always get divorced. (I'd like to point out that I wish her all the happiness in the world, and she was the one who mentioned the fact that she can get divorced if she has a horrible experience in her first marriage. I'm not waiting, but if the opportunity presents itself, I'm not going to be shy either.)
They're what you look at when you differentiate people. Bodies are mostly the same, some are shorter, some are larger, but individuality is mostly in someone's face. Which is why it's really hard to draw one accurately. I'm now able to draw a face which looks like a face (human at any rate, with no weird ratios all over the place, or subtle missing lines which would add depth) and now I need to learn how to differentiate them. That's going to take more time.
As I write this, there are three guys in the back yard who are practicing flips and other adagio type things. I'm going to ask them what they're practicing for when I go to work.
I wasn't called back for the audition I had last week, which is a bit of bummer. It does mean I have more reason to go out and find myself an agent - or a director's course. It would have been great to be touring Belgium and Holland though.
It would cost me around £600 pounds to travel to Sydney and back at the beginning of December, for a friend's wedding. I'm seriously considering doing this - I wouldn't have minded marrying this girl myself, in the future - and as such have been thinking about all the cool things that I would do with my friends if I was around at the time. But this has merely begged the question - am I living in the right country? There's more work over here, sure, but I'm not getting it yet. And while there is less work in Australia, I do know the people involved in it. And I wouldn't have to work out how to speak in several different accents to get a job (unlesss I want to become a Toohey's spokesperson over here - they all drink it for some insane reason).
I'll do what I should have done at the end of last year - apply for NIDA (as well as all the director's places over here) and if they want to see me in person, after the webcam interview, I'll head on down.
There's a list in one of my books, of projects which I want to be working on. I'm indirectly doing one at the moment by learning how to draw, but I don't have the pull in this country yet to get any of them off the ground. I wonder if I could borrow the monkey Island Script and do that in the Comedy Festival next year?
As I write this, there are three guys in the back yard who are practicing flips and other adagio type things. I'm going to ask them what they're practicing for when I go to work.
I wasn't called back for the audition I had last week, which is a bit of bummer. It does mean I have more reason to go out and find myself an agent - or a director's course. It would have been great to be touring Belgium and Holland though.
It would cost me around £600 pounds to travel to Sydney and back at the beginning of December, for a friend's wedding. I'm seriously considering doing this - I wouldn't have minded marrying this girl myself, in the future - and as such have been thinking about all the cool things that I would do with my friends if I was around at the time. But this has merely begged the question - am I living in the right country? There's more work over here, sure, but I'm not getting it yet. And while there is less work in Australia, I do know the people involved in it. And I wouldn't have to work out how to speak in several different accents to get a job (unlesss I want to become a Toohey's spokesperson over here - they all drink it for some insane reason).
I'll do what I should have done at the end of last year - apply for NIDA (as well as all the director's places over here) and if they want to see me in person, after the webcam interview, I'll head on down.
There's a list in one of my books, of projects which I want to be working on. I'm indirectly doing one at the moment by learning how to draw, but I don't have the pull in this country yet to get any of them off the ground. I wonder if I could borrow the monkey Island Script and do that in the Comedy Festival next year?
Copyright applies to any original work. Not to the idea itself, but to the form that idea takes - be it writing, dance, music, art, photography, film, etc. If you want to use a copyrighted work, you need to pay the copyright holder an agreed upon sum. This is how most authors make their money (the ones who are successful anyway. The unsuccessful ones need to resort to stripping.)
Now copyright only lasts a certain amount of time - after which the work will revert to the public domain. Once a work is in the public domain, it can be used or changed by anyone for anything. A good recent example is the book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
Copyright has had an interesting history. In prehistory, there was a battle over Psalter belonging to an Abbot (and allegedly stolen by St Columba) which led to the deaths of 3000 men. However, the earliest copyright law (from our modern legal system) was the Statute of Anne in 1710. This law, as well as protecting copyright holders (not authors, generally) said that copyright would cease to exist after 14 years, or 21 for works published before the statute, at which point the work would enter the public domain.
In 1790 in the United States, the 14 years was extended to 29 years. In 1831, it became 42 years. In 1909 it was 56 years, and 1976 it was extended to 70 years. This has since been amended, in 1998 to 95/120 years for works held by companies.
There is of course Fair Use, which states that you can use a work, or portion thereof, provided that it doesn't alter the original value of the work in any way, depending on the purpose you're using it for, the nature of the work you're copying, and the amount that you copy. Fair Use does not mean that you won't get sued, it just reduced the chances of the person doing it from winning their case.
Copyright has of course come up recently because of Google - and Google books, which has an opt out policy.
I have ambiguous feelings about copyright. As a writer, I enjoy the feeling of being paid for my work, and being paid in perpetuity as well. A friend of mine, who is an author, rightly states that he sees no problem with his work being associated with him for his entire life, and then being able to provide for at least one generation if not more of his decendants after he's passed away. (I personally think seventy years is a bit much, but still.)
As a director/actor, copyright is irritating. When you see a play on stage, legally the creative crew involved in it aren't allowed to change anything at all, depending on the show. For something like Wicked, or Le Miserables, or Cabaret, dropping a song is tantamount to breaking copyright completely, and means you can be sued for a lot of money (something very similar happened to the Australian company Kookaburra, which has since folded). Personally, this means I can't put on the modern day production of Le Miserables I want to direct/produce. (I'm still sitting on the idea of doing one or two songs for it on film, and posting them on the internet.)
This also makes amateur (and professional) productions of musicals almost cost prohibitive.
Compare this to Shakespeare. Or Gilbert and Sullivan. Though these works appear timeless now, when they were created it would have been improbable to consider resetting the shows anywhere but where the creators envisaged them. No one would have seen Hamlet performed in the bottom of a mine, or Macbeth in the suburbs of Melbourne, or The Mikado in vietnam during the war. And yet those individual shows have helped contribute to our culture, and they constant revival means that they new things are being added to the performances, giving the texts slants they didn't before suggest.
The other problem is that a lot of companies aren't interested in letting you use their copyrighted material. Or, if they are, they throw such huge pricetags on it that the only way to do so is to sell your firstborn son to a deity of choice. The Court Jester was a movie made fifty years ago, very few people now remember it. But if I want to produce an amateur production of it (legally anyway), I need to wait another fifty years before it enters into the public domain.
I prefer doing things legally than not (when it comes to my professional life anyway - the amount of music on my computer begs the question for my own use) but for some of the ideas that I have, I can't afford to. So I'm going to start loosening my morales - very carefully.
Now copyright only lasts a certain amount of time - after which the work will revert to the public domain. Once a work is in the public domain, it can be used or changed by anyone for anything. A good recent example is the book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
Copyright has had an interesting history. In prehistory, there was a battle over Psalter belonging to an Abbot (and allegedly stolen by St Columba) which led to the deaths of 3000 men. However, the earliest copyright law (from our modern legal system) was the Statute of Anne in 1710. This law, as well as protecting copyright holders (not authors, generally) said that copyright would cease to exist after 14 years, or 21 for works published before the statute, at which point the work would enter the public domain.
In 1790 in the United States, the 14 years was extended to 29 years. In 1831, it became 42 years. In 1909 it was 56 years, and 1976 it was extended to 70 years. This has since been amended, in 1998 to 95/120 years for works held by companies.
There is of course Fair Use, which states that you can use a work, or portion thereof, provided that it doesn't alter the original value of the work in any way, depending on the purpose you're using it for, the nature of the work you're copying, and the amount that you copy. Fair Use does not mean that you won't get sued, it just reduced the chances of the person doing it from winning their case.
Copyright has of course come up recently because of Google - and Google books, which has an opt out policy.
I have ambiguous feelings about copyright. As a writer, I enjoy the feeling of being paid for my work, and being paid in perpetuity as well. A friend of mine, who is an author, rightly states that he sees no problem with his work being associated with him for his entire life, and then being able to provide for at least one generation if not more of his decendants after he's passed away. (I personally think seventy years is a bit much, but still.)
As a director/actor, copyright is irritating. When you see a play on stage, legally the creative crew involved in it aren't allowed to change anything at all, depending on the show. For something like Wicked, or Le Miserables, or Cabaret, dropping a song is tantamount to breaking copyright completely, and means you can be sued for a lot of money (something very similar happened to the Australian company Kookaburra, which has since folded). Personally, this means I can't put on the modern day production of Le Miserables I want to direct/produce. (I'm still sitting on the idea of doing one or two songs for it on film, and posting them on the internet.)
This also makes amateur (and professional) productions of musicals almost cost prohibitive.
Compare this to Shakespeare. Or Gilbert and Sullivan. Though these works appear timeless now, when they were created it would have been improbable to consider resetting the shows anywhere but where the creators envisaged them. No one would have seen Hamlet performed in the bottom of a mine, or Macbeth in the suburbs of Melbourne, or The Mikado in vietnam during the war. And yet those individual shows have helped contribute to our culture, and they constant revival means that they new things are being added to the performances, giving the texts slants they didn't before suggest.
The other problem is that a lot of companies aren't interested in letting you use their copyrighted material. Or, if they are, they throw such huge pricetags on it that the only way to do so is to sell your firstborn son to a deity of choice. The Court Jester was a movie made fifty years ago, very few people now remember it. But if I want to produce an amateur production of it (legally anyway), I need to wait another fifty years before it enters into the public domain.
I prefer doing things legally than not (when it comes to my professional life anyway - the amount of music on my computer begs the question for my own use) but for some of the ideas that I have, I can't afford to. So I'm going to start loosening my morales - very carefully.
I had an audition for a Theatre in Education company on sunday - Big Wheel Productions. They'll be getting back to me tomorrow, by email, about callbacks. Which I'm very excited for. I think I did rather well.
It was very non standard as far as auditions went, though. Because the company tours extensively in the continent, after we were introduced and filled in audition forms etc, we were approached by a man (named Roland, I believe) who spoke dutch exclusively. Despite this, we managed a full conversation about how we had all arrived that day (metro and bus for me), where we were from, where we had lived before that, and what we were doing after. We then played a game entitled Balthazar zegt - basically simon says. Again, not hard to figure out.
There was a very competitve vibe in the room though. I felt so amazingly out of my depth when he showed up speaking a different language (turns out he could speak english all along, the bastard) - I'm glad it didn't show on my face. It took a great amount of concentration to both communicate and make a good impression. One of the other auditionees mimed riding a bicycle - bastard! I wish I had thought of that.
Out of the five of us auditioning, I think I had the most game, once we got into improvisational stuff. It took me a little while to get into it (as always), but experience pays off I guess. Did two sketches (out of three) which went really well - to the point that the guy running them commented on both. (I played an aspberger's afflicted professor of pre human life in africa in one, a talk show host in another.)
We also had to converse with a toy monkey entitled Mats. This irritated me slightly, as I really hate talking to toys. I even had to buy him a banana - which I then promptly gave to the other guys, since I don't eat them. More a mango person.
I hear back tomorrow, by email. I'm also heading in to Kensington Gardens tomorrow to see Peter Pan. Hopefully I'll hear back in the morning, so I'll know whether or not I'll need a few stiff drinks before going to work.
It was very non standard as far as auditions went, though. Because the company tours extensively in the continent, after we were introduced and filled in audition forms etc, we were approached by a man (named Roland, I believe) who spoke dutch exclusively. Despite this, we managed a full conversation about how we had all arrived that day (metro and bus for me), where we were from, where we had lived before that, and what we were doing after. We then played a game entitled Balthazar zegt - basically simon says. Again, not hard to figure out.
There was a very competitve vibe in the room though. I felt so amazingly out of my depth when he showed up speaking a different language (turns out he could speak english all along, the bastard) - I'm glad it didn't show on my face. It took a great amount of concentration to both communicate and make a good impression. One of the other auditionees mimed riding a bicycle - bastard! I wish I had thought of that.
Out of the five of us auditioning, I think I had the most game, once we got into improvisational stuff. It took me a little while to get into it (as always), but experience pays off I guess. Did two sketches (out of three) which went really well - to the point that the guy running them commented on both. (I played an aspberger's afflicted professor of pre human life in africa in one, a talk show host in another.)
We also had to converse with a toy monkey entitled Mats. This irritated me slightly, as I really hate talking to toys. I even had to buy him a banana - which I then promptly gave to the other guys, since I don't eat them. More a mango person.
I hear back tomorrow, by email. I'm also heading in to Kensington Gardens tomorrow to see Peter Pan. Hopefully I'll hear back in the morning, so I'll know whether or not I'll need a few stiff drinks before going to work.
My new Drink of Choice is Muscat, or port. I've always liked fortified wines, but only just realised how much better they are than ciders. For some reason, Cider tastes better in a pub than from a bottle shop, which feels like a huge conspiracy on the part of pub owners. Maybe they put a couple of drops of ecstasy into each bottle. Or maybe it just tastes better out of a pint glass (though I've tried this at home - maybe they wash theirs better).
Apologies to anyone reading this - I've read over a few past entires, and seen the spelling mistakes. I'd fix that, but I cannae be bothered. Writing on a laptop makes me more lazy. (Apologies also to just_surreal for calling her on that the first time I read her blog.)
On wednesday I saw a group named The Spooky Men's Chorale (not affiliated with Creepy Men) at the Union Chapel in Islington. It was a really beautiful venue, still used as a chapel, but with seating for a few hundred people and a stage for singers etc. Also, in a connected building, a very nice bar. Beautiful ambience, and great to see that they were using the space instead of just wasting it on gods and dogs (the church over the road from me doubles as a pet day care centre). We also all had dinner at a place called Cock pub, which wasn't very good, but had a great name.
The english also have no knowledge of Chicken Salt - I wonder if I could make millions of dollars from selling it over here. I should probably try. Bring some back with me when I come over from Sydney.
The Spooky Men's Chorale, which I first heard because they did a cover of my favourite poem, Jim, are an interesting group. They do normal Gregorian chants, and then Gregorian chant covers of bands like Abba, and then some of their own compositions. Their wit is incrediby dry - so dry you get a feeling it's been left in Antarctica for several centuries, and has just decided to reanimate and occupy several bearded men from the Blue Mountains.
I liked their stuff, but it was very slow, and not laugh out loud. Most of their songs had one or maybe two jokes or twists, and once you got past that you had to sit there and appreciate their music - something I'm not adequately experienced at.
Living in London is fun, but I'm yet to make any incredibly close friends (though one guy at work is a bit of a champ that way). A lot of my friends from Sydney don't bother to keep in too much contact - I apologise to the half dozen or so with who I'm maintaining links. This is my own fault, for most people I've not been that social for the last few years. I prefer to have lots of acquaintences and few close friends. But that's biting my in the arse a little bit.
It's depressing when you find out that you're the glue binding your friendships together.
The other day at work I took out my fountain pen and started doodling on my arm - specifically the incredibly gorgeous lighting op sitting in front of me. While the drawing wasn't wonderful, it was a lot better than most other things I've drawn, in that I got the proportions mostly right. Though I refused to show it to her when she asked to have a look (I was actually somehat moritifed that she noticed I was drawing her), I was pretty happy with it. To this end I've purchased some pencils and a small sketch book, and I'm going to sketch through as many of the shows as I can. As previously stated, I'm not the greatest of this - I've sketched three times in the last four years, for example - with practice I might get a lot better. And it would be a cool thing to be good at.
Though I worry that I'm filling my life with small achievable goals, and not going out and finding more work as an actor/director. Next week, I promise. (I've said this for the past three weeks I think.)
Something my mother once said to me: I'd be Unstoppable if I could only Get Started.
P.S - Good news re Tax, I called up, they verified who I was, and I'm going to be getting a lot of money back either in one or two weeks.
Apologies to anyone reading this - I've read over a few past entires, and seen the spelling mistakes. I'd fix that, but I cannae be bothered. Writing on a laptop makes me more lazy. (Apologies also to just_surreal for calling her on that the first time I read her blog.)
On wednesday I saw a group named The Spooky Men's Chorale (not affiliated with Creepy Men) at the Union Chapel in Islington. It was a really beautiful venue, still used as a chapel, but with seating for a few hundred people and a stage for singers etc. Also, in a connected building, a very nice bar. Beautiful ambience, and great to see that they were using the space instead of just wasting it on gods and dogs (the church over the road from me doubles as a pet day care centre). We also all had dinner at a place called Cock pub, which wasn't very good, but had a great name.
The english also have no knowledge of Chicken Salt - I wonder if I could make millions of dollars from selling it over here. I should probably try. Bring some back with me when I come over from Sydney.
The Spooky Men's Chorale, which I first heard because they did a cover of my favourite poem, Jim, are an interesting group. They do normal Gregorian chants, and then Gregorian chant covers of bands like Abba, and then some of their own compositions. Their wit is incrediby dry - so dry you get a feeling it's been left in Antarctica for several centuries, and has just decided to reanimate and occupy several bearded men from the Blue Mountains.
I liked their stuff, but it was very slow, and not laugh out loud. Most of their songs had one or maybe two jokes or twists, and once you got past that you had to sit there and appreciate their music - something I'm not adequately experienced at.
Living in London is fun, but I'm yet to make any incredibly close friends (though one guy at work is a bit of a champ that way). A lot of my friends from Sydney don't bother to keep in too much contact - I apologise to the half dozen or so with who I'm maintaining links. This is my own fault, for most people I've not been that social for the last few years. I prefer to have lots of acquaintences and few close friends. But that's biting my in the arse a little bit.
It's depressing when you find out that you're the glue binding your friendships together.
The other day at work I took out my fountain pen and started doodling on my arm - specifically the incredibly gorgeous lighting op sitting in front of me. While the drawing wasn't wonderful, it was a lot better than most other things I've drawn, in that I got the proportions mostly right. Though I refused to show it to her when she asked to have a look (I was actually somehat moritifed that she noticed I was drawing her), I was pretty happy with it. To this end I've purchased some pencils and a small sketch book, and I'm going to sketch through as many of the shows as I can. As previously stated, I'm not the greatest of this - I've sketched three times in the last four years, for example - with practice I might get a lot better. And it would be a cool thing to be good at.
Though I worry that I'm filling my life with small achievable goals, and not going out and finding more work as an actor/director. Next week, I promise. (I've said this for the past three weeks I think.)
Something my mother once said to me: I'd be Unstoppable if I could only Get Started.
P.S - Good news re Tax, I called up, they verified who I was, and I'm going to be getting a lot of money back either in one or two weeks.
Do I listen to NO MUSIC that reminds me of an ex girlfriend? It seems my taste equals "things that remind me of relaitonships" and "musicals and soundtracks". Okay, dreamtheatre doesn't fit this trope, and neither does Muse, but I've listened to them too much, and they're not chill out enough for me at the moment.
My current listening is The Waifs. Western Australian band.
Being an Australian in a different country is a lot of work. There's so much emphasis on the fact you come from a country that literally wants you dead, that you have to live up to it all the time. I'm sorry, I'm an actor. I can speak in an Australian accent, and I know a lot about Australia, but that's not the same thing.
*Edit* In my favour, I do have an awesome Australian Moustache.
I have also committed attempted herbicide on the Orgegano, Basil and Chives I bought for the kitchen. Have put them outside, hoping that the English weather will revive them.
My current listening is The Waifs. Western Australian band.
Being an Australian in a different country is a lot of work. There's so much emphasis on the fact you come from a country that literally wants you dead, that you have to live up to it all the time. I'm sorry, I'm an actor. I can speak in an Australian accent, and I know a lot about Australia, but that's not the same thing.
*Edit* In my favour, I do have an awesome Australian Moustache.
I have also committed attempted herbicide on the Orgegano, Basil and Chives I bought for the kitchen. Have put them outside, hoping that the English weather will revive them.
Eagle Eye Hindsight - something I picked up from a book I saw.
Huw, my co-director for The Elixir Carnivale, sent me a copy of the dvd in the post the other day. (I was quite chuffed, it was the first parcel I had received while over here. Proved the mail works in any case.) And I've since showed some of it (the good bits) to one of my housemates. He enjoyed Sacha twirling around semi clothed, laughed at the bouncing around, and kept saying "Why's he doing that? Why? Why woud he do that?" while Huw was piercing his scrotum.
There are a lot of things I would do differently in that show in retrospect. Most of which is organisation, and some of which is picking different people for different roles. And in teaching the guys how to act, I would have put in a lot more effort into working with scripts, and improvisation. And tried to get the scenes choreographed faster, which would have meant a bigger role as a producer rather than director.
Casting decisions would have been different as well - primarily because of issues in their love lives. Circus people are giant emotionally retarded children, and need to be handled carefully as such. (To all circus people reading this blog, I don't mean YOU of course, you are wonderful and have warmly balanced personalities and I would never dream of insulting someone who could kill me several times with their legs.)
Something I'm going to have to start doing for shows I direct in the future - is recording rehearsals. That way I can go home and watch them obsessively seven or eight times until I know exactly how to make them better, and then fix it at the next rehearsal. It's a slow step on the route to becoming a better director, I guess.
And I have an audition in a week and a bit. If I don't get it... I might actually have to pick up my life and push myself into my proper career.
Huw, my co-director for The Elixir Carnivale, sent me a copy of the dvd in the post the other day. (I was quite chuffed, it was the first parcel I had received while over here. Proved the mail works in any case.) And I've since showed some of it (the good bits) to one of my housemates. He enjoyed Sacha twirling around semi clothed, laughed at the bouncing around, and kept saying "Why's he doing that? Why? Why woud he do that?" while Huw was piercing his scrotum.
There are a lot of things I would do differently in that show in retrospect. Most of which is organisation, and some of which is picking different people for different roles. And in teaching the guys how to act, I would have put in a lot more effort into working with scripts, and improvisation. And tried to get the scenes choreographed faster, which would have meant a bigger role as a producer rather than director.
Casting decisions would have been different as well - primarily because of issues in their love lives. Circus people are giant emotionally retarded children, and need to be handled carefully as such. (To all circus people reading this blog, I don't mean YOU of course, you are wonderful and have warmly balanced personalities and I would never dream of insulting someone who could kill me several times with their legs.)
Something I'm going to have to start doing for shows I direct in the future - is recording rehearsals. That way I can go home and watch them obsessively seven or eight times until I know exactly how to make them better, and then fix it at the next rehearsal. It's a slow step on the route to becoming a better director, I guess.
And I have an audition in a week and a bit. If I don't get it... I might actually have to pick up my life and push myself into my proper career.
The best way to get through the hundredth performance of Thriller! Live is to play hangman thoughout the entire second act with one of the other ushers. There are, alas, only two ushers I can do this with to the point that I don't have to worry about feeling guilty for not working.
While doing this, however, I remember a game from my childhood I used to play in Legal Studies. It has the advantage over hangman in that it doesn't look like a game, just a random word. And it makes you think more (which I'm in general a fan of).
The rules are as follows:
The first player puts a letter on a piece of paper. The second player adds a letter to either side. The first player then adds a letter to either side again. Each player continues to do this.
The trick is: the letters must read as part of a word. If they no longer are, or if you complete a word, then you lose. You can of course bluff your way through, and try and get someone else to add a letter and then ask them what the hell kind of word they're trying to make, but that's always a little bit risky.
Example: Player one writes T. Player one adds to make TT. Player one makes UTT. Player two makes UTTE. Player one makes BUTTE. Player two concedes defeat, not knowing anyway to continue apart from creating the word BUTTER. (Amusingly, though neither knew it, player one has already lost because BUTTE is a word.)
I've also just googled the name James Templeton, since that's what I would want to be knighted as. To my chagrin, there's lots of them. Around a hundred or so on facebook alone. Damnit.
While doing this, however, I remember a game from my childhood I used to play in Legal Studies. It has the advantage over hangman in that it doesn't look like a game, just a random word. And it makes you think more (which I'm in general a fan of).
The rules are as follows:
The first player puts a letter on a piece of paper. The second player adds a letter to either side. The first player then adds a letter to either side again. Each player continues to do this.
The trick is: the letters must read as part of a word. If they no longer are, or if you complete a word, then you lose. You can of course bluff your way through, and try and get someone else to add a letter and then ask them what the hell kind of word they're trying to make, but that's always a little bit risky.
Example: Player one writes T. Player one adds to make TT. Player one makes UTT. Player two makes UTTE. Player one makes BUTTE. Player two concedes defeat, not knowing anyway to continue apart from creating the word BUTTER. (Amusingly, though neither knew it, player one has already lost because BUTTE is a word.)
I've also just googled the name James Templeton, since that's what I would want to be knighted as. To my chagrin, there's lots of them. Around a hundred or so on facebook alone. Damnit.
I've lived and worked in this city for six or seven weeks now. As soon as I got a job, I was informed by my employer than I should run and get a National Insurance Number, which I promptly did so. This stopped me from being taxed at the maximum rate, and also gave me a return on the stupidly large amount of tax I was paying up until that point. Score.
Last night my manager called me into his office. "So," he says, "I'm not sure exactly why, but you're not going to get paid this week."
Wait, what?
It appears that the tax office has changed my tax code again (he doesn't know why, my company has no idea, and I've not the foggiest either), and thus will be decucting around £350 pounds from my income. Which basically means that over the next two weeks I'm going to get approximately £100, or £50 per week for working about 50 hours. Or rather, £1 an hour. I'm getting more than kids in china, but not by much.
When I called up the tax office to ask about this, I went through the rigmarole of proving who I was, and then the lady on the phone told me "Oh, I'm sorry, we don't have enough details about who you are on file. You're going to have to send a letter to our branch in Yorkshire to add some details to your account, and then ring up again." How long will that take, I enquire sweetly.
"About four weeks."
She was apparently locked out of my account, and couldn't tell me why it is that my tax rate is being changed again. My situation/circumstances haven't altered since I changed everything. So... who knows.
What really irritates me about this, though, is that I need to send in a letter with my signature. Because that's how they work out that you are who you say you are. It's not that secure! Signatures aren't easy to fake, sure, but they're definitely not that hard. And they change depending on your mood, how tired you are, how long you've been holding a pen for. Why is it that we hold hand writing in such high regard?
To be perfectly secure, it should be: something you have, something you know, something you are. But then that's very very inefficient to process large amounts of people. Your signature is something you know (technically) but it has the drawback of having to be written down. Which means you need to do things in person or via correspondance, which takes time.
Why can't everyone have a security device like I have for my bank? Seriously.
*Edit* I'm getting £20 over the next two weeks. Which is 20p per hour. Im' pretty sure kids in China get more. Hurray for being below the poverty line.
Last night my manager called me into his office. "So," he says, "I'm not sure exactly why, but you're not going to get paid this week."
Wait, what?
It appears that the tax office has changed my tax code again (he doesn't know why, my company has no idea, and I've not the foggiest either), and thus will be decucting around £350 pounds from my income. Which basically means that over the next two weeks I'm going to get approximately £100, or £50 per week for working about 50 hours. Or rather, £1 an hour. I'm getting more than kids in china, but not by much.
When I called up the tax office to ask about this, I went through the rigmarole of proving who I was, and then the lady on the phone told me "Oh, I'm sorry, we don't have enough details about who you are on file. You're going to have to send a letter to our branch in Yorkshire to add some details to your account, and then ring up again." How long will that take, I enquire sweetly.
"About four weeks."
She was apparently locked out of my account, and couldn't tell me why it is that my tax rate is being changed again. My situation/circumstances haven't altered since I changed everything. So... who knows.
What really irritates me about this, though, is that I need to send in a letter with my signature. Because that's how they work out that you are who you say you are. It's not that secure! Signatures aren't easy to fake, sure, but they're definitely not that hard. And they change depending on your mood, how tired you are, how long you've been holding a pen for. Why is it that we hold hand writing in such high regard?
To be perfectly secure, it should be: something you have, something you know, something you are. But then that's very very inefficient to process large amounts of people. Your signature is something you know (technically) but it has the drawback of having to be written down. Which means you need to do things in person or via correspondance, which takes time.
Why can't everyone have a security device like I have for my bank? Seriously.
*Edit* I'm getting £20 over the next two weeks. Which is 20p per hour. Im' pretty sure kids in China get more. Hurray for being below the poverty line.
Facebook chat is the devil. Completely and utterly.
I bought The Timetraveller's wife yesterday afternoon, and finished reading it this morning at six am. There's part of me which says I should stop doing this, but then I think "It's already four am, I may as well just press on." I've got about six more books to get through, but I think I'm read out at the moment. I might get around to them in a week or so.
This happens to me with music as well. I take my ipod everywhere for a month, then suddenly realise I don't want to listen to it anymore. It's not the music, it's the effect of having something in my ears, which makes me slightly claustrophobic - which is only exacerbated by riding the tube to and from work.
One day I want to have children. And when I do, I'd like to raise them with a group of my friends, preferably who are having children at the same time as I am. It's vaguely how one of my friends was raised (on a kabutz in sydney) and it worked out pretty well for her (desite having incredibly odd parents). I'm not read to start procreating yet, and I'm pretty sure most of my friends aren't either. Also, I'm not exactly sure how to propose this to them. I guess I'll think of a way.
The advantages are: while me and Sam and Joseph can never have children, are children's children will be the most awesome people in the history of the world.
I bought The Timetraveller's wife yesterday afternoon, and finished reading it this morning at six am. There's part of me which says I should stop doing this, but then I think "It's already four am, I may as well just press on." I've got about six more books to get through, but I think I'm read out at the moment. I might get around to them in a week or so.
This happens to me with music as well. I take my ipod everywhere for a month, then suddenly realise I don't want to listen to it anymore. It's not the music, it's the effect of having something in my ears, which makes me slightly claustrophobic - which is only exacerbated by riding the tube to and from work.
One day I want to have children. And when I do, I'd like to raise them with a group of my friends, preferably who are having children at the same time as I am. It's vaguely how one of my friends was raised (on a kabutz in sydney) and it worked out pretty well for her (desite having incredibly odd parents). I'm not read to start procreating yet, and I'm pretty sure most of my friends aren't either. Also, I'm not exactly sure how to propose this to them. I guess I'll think of a way.
The advantages are: while me and Sam and Joseph can never have children, are children's children will be the most awesome people in the history of the world.
Hamlet's playing for the rest of the week. It's starring Jude Law and Judy Dench. If I want tickets, I need to start queing up in an hour or so at the theatre. I mean, hell, I'm awake anyway, right?
Wrong. I'm going to sleep. And not regret the decision one iota.
Today I've bought three new books, and a rulebook for PS 238. Even though it's the same price her as Australia, and even though I earned more per hour in Australia than I do here, it seemed cheaper because the number was smaller. One day I'm going to get used to that. And used to never ever seeing £50 notes.
There's a girl I've been flirting with a little online. I knew her from school, she did fencing as well. One day, when catching the train to our respective stops, and while getting on quite well, she offhandedly asked "What year are you in?" I replied, equally disarmingly "Oh, year eight" (three years below her) and we haven't spoken again until this year online. When I visit Sydney next, I own her a foot massage and we'll get incredibly drunk and silly on wine. It seems like a fun night.
Guys! Foot massages are way easier to do than back massages, it helps if you pick up something nice and cheap from lush before hand, and the girl will think it's such an onerous task that she'll find some fantastic way to reward you. Look into it.
Wrong. I'm going to sleep. And not regret the decision one iota.
Today I've bought three new books, and a rulebook for PS 238. Even though it's the same price her as Australia, and even though I earned more per hour in Australia than I do here, it seemed cheaper because the number was smaller. One day I'm going to get used to that. And used to never ever seeing £50 notes.
There's a girl I've been flirting with a little online. I knew her from school, she did fencing as well. One day, when catching the train to our respective stops, and while getting on quite well, she offhandedly asked "What year are you in?" I replied, equally disarmingly "Oh, year eight" (three years below her) and we haven't spoken again until this year online. When I visit Sydney next, I own her a foot massage and we'll get incredibly drunk and silly on wine. It seems like a fun night.
Guys! Foot massages are way easier to do than back massages, it helps if you pick up something nice and cheap from lush before hand, and the girl will think it's such an onerous task that she'll find some fantastic way to reward you. Look into it.
I'm not sure whether I'm a better writer Long Hand or Typed. I do know I'm more legible when typed, but since I don't have a computer at work, I'm just going to have to hope I can read my hand writing in retrospect.
As previously stated, I'm working at the Lyric Theatre, watching Thriller! Live every night, and twice a day on the weekend. The show isn't bad, but it's not something I would choose to see given the options available to me on the west end at the moment.
That does make this very educational for me though. I'm being exposed to a style of theatre I would never have experienced otherwise, which is a Good Thing. It's given me some new thoughts about dancing and staging.
Whenever you go to the theatre, remember that every usher you see (and most of the bar staff) are either a) students, or b) actors. Or, more commonly, both. (I was quite amused by a woman yesterday who managed to guess, by tone of voice, that i was an actor and had been in Shakespeare. "I'm psychic!" she told me. "Okay," says I, "for the Hatrick, can you tell me where abouts I'm from?" Apparently I was born in Devon.)
One of the guys who was working in the bar here is called Di - a welshman, it's a shortened form for Davey Jones (I'm not making this up). I've been told he's the most stereotypical welshman I'll ever meet - alas, that I don't know what that means.
There are two other dudes here who are voracious fantasy readers (it seemes to be a mostly male genre, in my experience - apologies to just_surreal and foz). One of them is an usher, about five years older than me, who speaks about six languages, and the other is one of the follow spots. Named Mark, he's long haired and incredibly short, much like the other follow spot Laura. I at first thought they were twins, or members of some other, distinct species. Now I'm slightly concerned about hanging out too near the lights in case they're the real cause behind they're physiques.
Most of the staff, cast members and/or tech crew head out once a week (or more in the case of some of them) to the cunningly named Lyric Bar, just next to the stage door. While I'm no longer much of a drinker (I occasionally have a gin and tonic at home), I'm still tempted to go. Unfortunately I'm broke, and have very little in common with most of the other ushers, apart from the aspirations of theatredom. They're the cool actors, I'm the quirky actor who hones his skills by playing dungeons and dragons (something I explained to a friend last night. She didn't get it, so I'm taking her to the orcs nest in Charing Cross).
The prettiest girl in the theatre is one of the techies named Kate. When I say pretty, I do of course mean stunningly beautiful. Her body is expertly proportioned, she wears brightly coloured socks, and has a wonderfully charming personality. She is also engaged to one of the other techies, unfortunately, but in the mean time is the most delicious eye candy while I'm working on the stalls level.
Working in a theatre - and going to many others in the course of my afternoons - has made me want to own one myself. Something like the Seymoure Centre, with a few spaces and lots of bars, but with a much better atmosphere. Theatre bars shouldn't just be open when the performances are on, they should be meeting places for actors and writers and casting agents. You should be able to get private booths, or hire rehearsal spaces, and then do cocktails afterwards. And the boxes in the theatres themselves should be very expensive, and also catered. Make the entire experience a bit more victorian. We can afford to do it in the movies now, so why not the theatre?
I'm pretty sure there's a way to make that dream feasible, even in this economic climate (theatres aren't showing a loss of revenue, rather the opposite - yay for escapism) but I'll need a fair amount of capital first. So: pursue a successful career as an actor/producer/writer/director. I don't think a teacher's salary is going to cut it.
As previously stated, I'm working at the Lyric Theatre, watching Thriller! Live every night, and twice a day on the weekend. The show isn't bad, but it's not something I would choose to see given the options available to me on the west end at the moment.
That does make this very educational for me though. I'm being exposed to a style of theatre I would never have experienced otherwise, which is a Good Thing. It's given me some new thoughts about dancing and staging.
Whenever you go to the theatre, remember that every usher you see (and most of the bar staff) are either a) students, or b) actors. Or, more commonly, both. (I was quite amused by a woman yesterday who managed to guess, by tone of voice, that i was an actor and had been in Shakespeare. "I'm psychic!" she told me. "Okay," says I, "for the Hatrick, can you tell me where abouts I'm from?" Apparently I was born in Devon.)
One of the guys who was working in the bar here is called Di - a welshman, it's a shortened form for Davey Jones (I'm not making this up). I've been told he's the most stereotypical welshman I'll ever meet - alas, that I don't know what that means.
There are two other dudes here who are voracious fantasy readers (it seemes to be a mostly male genre, in my experience - apologies to just_surreal and foz). One of them is an usher, about five years older than me, who speaks about six languages, and the other is one of the follow spots. Named Mark, he's long haired and incredibly short, much like the other follow spot Laura. I at first thought they were twins, or members of some other, distinct species. Now I'm slightly concerned about hanging out too near the lights in case they're the real cause behind they're physiques.
Most of the staff, cast members and/or tech crew head out once a week (or more in the case of some of them) to the cunningly named Lyric Bar, just next to the stage door. While I'm no longer much of a drinker (I occasionally have a gin and tonic at home), I'm still tempted to go. Unfortunately I'm broke, and have very little in common with most of the other ushers, apart from the aspirations of theatredom. They're the cool actors, I'm the quirky actor who hones his skills by playing dungeons and dragons (something I explained to a friend last night. She didn't get it, so I'm taking her to the orcs nest in Charing Cross).
The prettiest girl in the theatre is one of the techies named Kate. When I say pretty, I do of course mean stunningly beautiful. Her body is expertly proportioned, she wears brightly coloured socks, and has a wonderfully charming personality. She is also engaged to one of the other techies, unfortunately, but in the mean time is the most delicious eye candy while I'm working on the stalls level.
Working in a theatre - and going to many others in the course of my afternoons - has made me want to own one myself. Something like the Seymoure Centre, with a few spaces and lots of bars, but with a much better atmosphere. Theatre bars shouldn't just be open when the performances are on, they should be meeting places for actors and writers and casting agents. You should be able to get private booths, or hire rehearsal spaces, and then do cocktails afterwards. And the boxes in the theatres themselves should be very expensive, and also catered. Make the entire experience a bit more victorian. We can afford to do it in the movies now, so why not the theatre?
I'm pretty sure there's a way to make that dream feasible, even in this economic climate (theatres aren't showing a loss of revenue, rather the opposite - yay for escapism) but I'll need a fair amount of capital first. So: pursue a successful career as an actor/producer/writer/director. I don't think a teacher's salary is going to cut it.
I love having a good sense of direction. About six weeks ago, I was looking for somewhere to buy a wok. Not just any wok, but a ok with a curved bottom. Here and there I went all over London, searching, questioning, walking (and seeing a lot of the sites as well, I can multitask like a frauline), and my feet took me to a shop called Divertimenti.
Today, I decided I was finally going to buy myself a waffle maker, and went there again. Hoping that it was roughly near Baker Stree (it sounded familiar, and not just from A C Doyle), I made my way there. And ten minutes later, without really thinking about it, just by walking along familiar looking streets, I was at Divertiment.
They didn't have a waffle iron, but will in about a month or so.
Walking around the very upmarket yuppy kind of area though, I came across a very nice natural foods store, which was selling Chicken Kiev. Score! Exactly what I was looking for.
On a seperate note, England's butchers don't hold a candle to Australia's. But, tonight, I've got Chicken Kiev. And salad, and roast potatoes. It's looking up. Cooking isn't about being able to cook, it's about being able to buy the right ingredients, and then putting them all together at the same time.
Being able to cook also helps.
Today, I decided I was finally going to buy myself a waffle maker, and went there again. Hoping that it was roughly near Baker Stree (it sounded familiar, and not just from A C Doyle), I made my way there. And ten minutes later, without really thinking about it, just by walking along familiar looking streets, I was at Divertiment.
They didn't have a waffle iron, but will in about a month or so.
Walking around the very upmarket yuppy kind of area though, I came across a very nice natural foods store, which was selling Chicken Kiev. Score! Exactly what I was looking for.
On a seperate note, England's butchers don't hold a candle to Australia's. But, tonight, I've got Chicken Kiev. And salad, and roast potatoes. It's looking up. Cooking isn't about being able to cook, it's about being able to buy the right ingredients, and then putting them all together at the same time.
Being able to cook also helps.
I've been in Britain for a while now. And, given the lack of computer (generally), and the lack of friends to hang out with during the day (generally - when I'm not looking for jobs, anyway), I've done quite a lot of reading.
Most of this has been fantasy. Okay, I admit it. I likes me a lot of fantasy. And half of this I've bought (a great series called The Dresden Files by an aptly named Jim Butcher), and the other half I've borrowed from the Follow Spot Guy on Thriller, Mark.
I don't actually know Mark's last name, and we've never done the introductions based thing. I know his name from asking people, he knows mine cause I wear a crappy nametag.
Now one of the books he lent me, not knowing that I had already read it, was The Redemption of Althalus, by David Eddings. (Please look here for fantasy naming conventions.) Not having anything else, I've decided to reread it again.
The Redemption of Althalus was an excellent book when I read it, just after it was first published, in 2000 (though by then, at the age of fifteen, I was already getting fed up with his style). Reading it now is like torture. I know why I liked these books. They're decent, they're high fantasy, they made me laugh. They're also prissy as hell, and follow exactly the same plots and tropes as all his other books. Once you've read one book (or series) of his, you've read them all. Minus a few name changes.
Hell, he even uses the same style of talking for basically all of his characters - and rereading it now, I can see where some of my own phrases and expressions have come from. These are books which influuenced me a lot in my formative years.
I sound irritated about this, but I'm not, really. They were good books for me at the time, they made me want to read more, and they definitely entertained me. They were also a step on the way to me reading and enjoying much more complicated prose and narratives. I now prefer books which are more along the lines of The Gone Away World, but that's only because of Eddings (who sadly died earlier this year).
So what was before Eddings? Cartoons.
Gummi Bears, one of Disney's earliest forays into syndicated cartoons (back in the days where there wasn't nearly as much children's tv) was set in themepark fantasy. It had interesting (relatively) plots for half hour shows. But it also did serials, and created a world which was bigger than just the one which the characters immiediately interacted with (something that a lot of adult shows aren't as good at doing). This was followed up by Duck Tales, which again entertained me hugely, and showed me the way that you could create whole worlds out of various hints and clues given in the TV show. While also being entertaining.
This is probably also where my love of Dungeons and Dragons originated.
(While I'm over here I should try and find a gaming shop, and maybe a group to play with.)
Most of this has been fantasy. Okay, I admit it. I likes me a lot of fantasy. And half of this I've bought (a great series called The Dresden Files by an aptly named Jim Butcher), and the other half I've borrowed from the Follow Spot Guy on Thriller, Mark.
I don't actually know Mark's last name, and we've never done the introductions based thing. I know his name from asking people, he knows mine cause I wear a crappy nametag.
Now one of the books he lent me, not knowing that I had already read it, was The Redemption of Althalus, by David Eddings. (Please look here for fantasy naming conventions.) Not having anything else, I've decided to reread it again.
The Redemption of Althalus was an excellent book when I read it, just after it was first published, in 2000 (though by then, at the age of fifteen, I was already getting fed up with his style). Reading it now is like torture. I know why I liked these books. They're decent, they're high fantasy, they made me laugh. They're also prissy as hell, and follow exactly the same plots and tropes as all his other books. Once you've read one book (or series) of his, you've read them all. Minus a few name changes.
Hell, he even uses the same style of talking for basically all of his characters - and rereading it now, I can see where some of my own phrases and expressions have come from. These are books which influuenced me a lot in my formative years.
I sound irritated about this, but I'm not, really. They were good books for me at the time, they made me want to read more, and they definitely entertained me. They were also a step on the way to me reading and enjoying much more complicated prose and narratives. I now prefer books which are more along the lines of The Gone Away World, but that's only because of Eddings (who sadly died earlier this year).
So what was before Eddings? Cartoons.
Gummi Bears, one of Disney's earliest forays into syndicated cartoons (back in the days where there wasn't nearly as much children's tv) was set in themepark fantasy. It had interesting (relatively) plots for half hour shows. But it also did serials, and created a world which was bigger than just the one which the characters immiediately interacted with (something that a lot of adult shows aren't as good at doing). This was followed up by Duck Tales, which again entertained me hugely, and showed me the way that you could create whole worlds out of various hints and clues given in the TV show. While also being entertaining.
This is probably also where my love of Dungeons and Dragons originated.
(While I'm over here I should try and find a gaming shop, and maybe a group to play with.)
