...and this is one of them.
You're going to start out with some little frogs. Just wait. Because pretty soon you will see a ballerina dancing on a man's head.
That's right. Dancing on a man's head. She also dances on his arm.
This is me, shaking my head, jaw somewhere in the vicinity of my knees.
God bless YouTube.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Script Frenzy
Back in November I participated in NaNoWriMo--National Novel Writing Month. This April I am challenging myself to take part in the screen/stage play counterpart: Script Frenzy. I have always enjoyed the screenplay format, even though I focus mainly on novels.
The ideas are starting to come together, and the characters are starting to speak to me--tentatively, not quite in full thoughts or with full sentences--but most of all, I'm starting to get excited. Starting a new project is always such a thrill. Even when I know the general gist, the possibility of surprise lurks around every corner, and getting to know new characters and new settings and new situations is magical.
I'm going to attempt to set an even more significant challenge for myself this April: blog more often about the process, the ups and downs, the failures and successes. This poor blog has been so neglected of late. Perhaps this is just what it needs to get itself up and running again. We'll see.
The ideas are starting to come together, and the characters are starting to speak to me--tentatively, not quite in full thoughts or with full sentences--but most of all, I'm starting to get excited. Starting a new project is always such a thrill. Even when I know the general gist, the possibility of surprise lurks around every corner, and getting to know new characters and new settings and new situations is magical.
I'm going to attempt to set an even more significant challenge for myself this April: blog more often about the process, the ups and downs, the failures and successes. This poor blog has been so neglected of late. Perhaps this is just what it needs to get itself up and running again. We'll see.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Do You Know...
What I hate more than jet lag?
Picking up the flu virus (probably from the plane) and then spending the entire week of your in-laws' visit in an agony of fevers over 100 degrees and exhaustion and guilt about not being a better host and not being able to eat and chills and sweating and ...
You get the picture.
Picking up the flu virus (probably from the plane) and then spending the entire week of your in-laws' visit in an agony of fevers over 100 degrees and exhaustion and guilt about not being a better host and not being able to eat and chills and sweating and ...
You get the picture.
Friday, March 14, 2008
I Hate Jet Lag
Jet lag in the same week as daylight savings is wreaking havoc on my brain. As I write this, the clock says 4:12 pm. Oh no. It is still so totally 1:12 pm in my head (or, even, as per DST 12:12). I'm still in my PJs. I didn't have breakfast until noon. I have a headache from oversleeping (better than under-sleeping) and I have absolutely no idea what day it is.
Jet lag. You are cruel.
Aside from the obvious discomfort, however, it is good to be home. When you leave a place for a month, everything seems unfamiliar when you return to it. When I'm away, I remember my apartment smaller and darker than it actually is. I remember my husband hairier (though the shave and the haircut in my absence probably account for this). It feels good to be sitting at my own desk in my own home with my own tea in my own teacup. Even though vacationing is great, and even though all of my family and friends are miraculously generous in their hospitality, there's nothing so lovely as being back in your own space after so much time spent away.
Not so great? The 20 item To Do list (and counting) propped up next to me. Oops. I suppose I should get on with some of it.
I will be here blogging more frequently now. Promise.
Jet lag. You are cruel.
Aside from the obvious discomfort, however, it is good to be home. When you leave a place for a month, everything seems unfamiliar when you return to it. When I'm away, I remember my apartment smaller and darker than it actually is. I remember my husband hairier (though the shave and the haircut in my absence probably account for this). It feels good to be sitting at my own desk in my own home with my own tea in my own teacup. Even though vacationing is great, and even though all of my family and friends are miraculously generous in their hospitality, there's nothing so lovely as being back in your own space after so much time spent away.
Not so great? The 20 item To Do list (and counting) propped up next to me. Oops. I suppose I should get on with some of it.
I will be here blogging more frequently now. Promise.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Home is Where the Heart Is?
I've never really had a home town.
I was born in Swift Current. I lived in Olds, Edmonton (two neighborhoods... something and then Castle Downs), Lashburn, Halifax (Fairview Heights and then Clayton Park), Chilliwack (then across the highway in Sardis), and Vancouver (UBC--four different residences--then Kerrisdale, Downtown, Kitsilano, Kerrisdale again, South Granville and finally Yaletown). Now I live in Brooklyn (Park Slope) and will likely be moving elsewhere in Brooklyn come Sept 1st.
The strange thing is this: I don't like moving. I never have. No matter where I am, I put down roots. I hate having those roots disturbed. But when I move, I move. I don't leave pieces of myself behind, not really. Right now I'm back in Vancouver for a visit, and even though I recognize her, the city no longer feels like home. I lived in half a dozen neighborhoods here over the years. I called Vancouver home for nearly ten years. Now it is a place I come to visit. My friends live here. It's a beautiful city. It's not home. I find myself missing New York even though it's not nearly as familiar as Vancouver, even though it's only been 'home' for seven months.
I'm not sure if this ability to put down roots, to love a place passionately and then leave it behind just as quickly, is admirable or pitiable. My moving years are not finished. I'll be in New York for four or five years, and then it will be on to something, some place, else. My husband will do a post-doc somewhere. A university will offer him a job and a tenure-track position. I will keep digging up my roots--digging and replanting; replanting and redigging.
I wonder where I will end up.
I was born in Swift Current. I lived in Olds, Edmonton (two neighborhoods... something and then Castle Downs), Lashburn, Halifax (Fairview Heights and then Clayton Park), Chilliwack (then across the highway in Sardis), and Vancouver (UBC--four different residences--then Kerrisdale, Downtown, Kitsilano, Kerrisdale again, South Granville and finally Yaletown). Now I live in Brooklyn (Park Slope) and will likely be moving elsewhere in Brooklyn come Sept 1st.
The strange thing is this: I don't like moving. I never have. No matter where I am, I put down roots. I hate having those roots disturbed. But when I move, I move. I don't leave pieces of myself behind, not really. Right now I'm back in Vancouver for a visit, and even though I recognize her, the city no longer feels like home. I lived in half a dozen neighborhoods here over the years. I called Vancouver home for nearly ten years. Now it is a place I come to visit. My friends live here. It's a beautiful city. It's not home. I find myself missing New York even though it's not nearly as familiar as Vancouver, even though it's only been 'home' for seven months.
I'm not sure if this ability to put down roots, to love a place passionately and then leave it behind just as quickly, is admirable or pitiable. My moving years are not finished. I'll be in New York for four or five years, and then it will be on to something, some place, else. My husband will do a post-doc somewhere. A university will offer him a job and a tenure-track position. I will keep digging up my roots--digging and replanting; replanting and redigging.
I wonder where I will end up.
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