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So I’ve survived the last couple of days and am neither pudding nor jello. Though my hands are extremely sore. It was a good day of overtime, with fun music and good silliness, one dark and sarcastic hour, but overall good.

Meanwhile, I have two questions:

Question 1: Where can I find cinderblocks? I’m going to raise my computer desk and turn it into a worktable.

Question 2: I’m creating a mix cd for the costume shop, much like the Monkey disc last year. Can anyone suggest “Fabric” songs? Examples: Blue Velvet, Satin Doll, Cottonwool…
Any: velvet, satin, silk, linen, suede, polyester…

Soon we’ll be in tech! Cymbeline looks beautiful so far…just exhausting.


Jul. 30th, 2004 05:27 pm
sigerson: (Default)
My brain has officially turned into jell-o.

Two more days left in the workweek and I'm jell-o.
You see, we're stitching velvet. lots and lots of velvet. and it all has to be handstitched before machined.

tech is on Tuesday.

I am dangerously close to singing "I'm A Little Fucking Teapot" at the top of my voice; since we border the management offices, that's not a Good Idea.

There are far worse things to be than jell-o.

Tomorrow, perhaps, I will be a pudding pop.
sigerson: (jiggly)
I spent the entire day yesterday at Six Flags Great America.

First a note of great sadness for absent friends, both those near and far to Wisconsin, who couldn't make it. We shall have to do similarly silly things another time. Soon.

Now, on to the best of it.

Thesis statement: Roller coasters may not be better than sex, but the best ones are damn close.

1. Riding the American Eagle (standard wooden roller coaster, backwards and forwards tracks) backwards in the very last seat, so all you see are the tracks wooshing out in front of you.
2. Getting my head smacked around in the Iron Wolf standing ride. Not overall good.
3. Being a scared little wussy girl and not riding the Superman ride, which suspends you and has you going headfirst--a la Superman, duh--through many loops. I don't like resting all my weight on my chest or on the harness. Just don't like it.
4. Riding the Raging Bull twice. Twice. Twice. Yes! Yes! The longest drop in the park, the longest RIDE in the park, and the best spins and turns possible. So very very good. And the second time we rode it was at night.
5. Lines that are less than fortyfive minutes make everything better.
6. Did I mention we rode the Raging Bull twice?

A. Funnel cakes.
B. Caramel apples.
C. Churros.
D. Sodee-pop.

In conclusion: Roller coasters make me very very happy. I must now conserve my neck and back such that I can ride them until I am eighty.

sigerson: (Default)
Watching a play at American Players Theater is unlike any other event. Of course, there are the theatrical pluses: excellent acting, beautiful costumes, etc, etc...but the best part is the setting itself.

Last night I watched "The London Assurance", an 1840s comedy about fashion and manners. I expected to be indifferent; usually that stuff is dry and dull or loaded with childish humor. I loved it. Not only for the plummiest accents ever (haw!), but the actual story was good and fun. The actors were wonderful, playing the aging fop or the bouncing huntress or her doddering husband with great glee. (And the lawyer, Meddle, was excellent--padded butt and everything.)

Last week I saw "Twelfth Night", which has sparked some thinking about how Shakespeare views mockery. I'll ruminate on it further in another post, but to anyone who has seen it--how do _you_ regard Malvolio at the end, especially his "I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you" threat, or the weak apology that Belch makes in saying that it was all done in jest, not for harm.

Plus Orsino, Viola, Olivia, and Sebastian were all damn fun. And in a couple of cases, damned hot. Phew!

Again, though, the best part of seeing a show here is the setting. APT is an outdoor theater, up a hill, surrounded by trees. Walking up the hill in the woods, on a lamplit path from the picnic grounds to the theater, then seeing the clearing and the prairie. The theater area is 'hidden', so until you get to your seat you can't tell what anything really looks like. The 'lobby' has wood-chip floor and a small 'landing'. This landing is used for bug spray. Apply it here, then enter the theater, or spend the night swatting.

Over the course of a show the sun sets. We go from evening brightness to dark, with stars overhead. The whippoorwill calls (driving the audience crazy because he's so damn loud!!) and the owls hoot. Bats flutter through the theater, attracted by all the bugs--which are attracted by the lights. All around the stage is the woods; actors disappear into it, saunter out of it.

And when it's over, the lamplit path leads you down and away.
sigerson: (Default)
Books Read Whilst In Wisconsin, Part 1

Re-read books:
Deed of Paksenarrion, Dreamsnake, and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I turn to familiar fantasy or sf for a break, it seems. Plus there’s wonderful joy in a hammock and J.K. Rowling.

New books, with brief reviews:
Angels and Insects, A.S. Byatt. –The second novella is superior to the first, which struck me as a bit reminiscent of V.C. Andrews’ interminable family sagas. Ruminations on fictions, afterlife, and love versus Love were far more compelling than thwarted dreams, scientific study, and incest.

What Went Wrong? , Bernard Lewis—Interesting and convincing study of possible reasons or contributions to the comparative decline of the Islamic world in the last three centuries. Especially because he doesn’t say “it’s all due to Islam” or, for that matter, any one scapegoat. Clear-eyed and, to an uninformed observer, impartial. Worth a look. (Any recommendations from others on the subject?)

The Red Tent, A. Diamant. Lent to me by my boss when she learned of my prospective fields of study. Good reinterpretation with deep female characters, although the men seem to all get short shrift. I liked it. Not for people queasy about references to menstruation.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom. Lent to me by my housemate after a discussion about death. He said it made him very sad, when considering its philosophy applied to his own life. I can understand that. Pleasing and just deep enough to spark lots of thinking without leaning on specifics. Also good hammock reading.

The Jesus Mysteries, by Freke and Gandy. Um. For this, I’ll need an lj-cut. Short version is, a fascinating theory wrecked by poor arguments. Glah. )
sigerson: (Default)
--More leg room than a plane. About 3’ from my seat to the back of the one ahead. Oooooh yeah. Long-femured people rejoice!
--I got the sucky car, without outlets, so my little cellphone Bigby is going to die a slow death. (I stopped at a Starbucks in Chicago and charged him while I latte-d.)
--Huge windows, of course. Although when greenery is rushing by –directly- outside the window at a dizzying rate, it’s mildly unsettling to the stomach.
--The train is far more worn than any plane I’ve ever been on. Fraying curtains, beading on the upholstery, furnished in late 70s browns and reds. Air travel ends up seeming cleaner.
--Ginormous ceiling racks! Screw this carryon limit shit!!
--Odd reactions to fellow passengers. “I hope they’re nice people. I also hope they get out at Albany.”
--Boston is big sky country too…but we never look at it. That is, our “window” to observe the sky is bounded by high buildings, hills, and only when the sky seems to expand forever outward over the cornfield does it become recognizably big sky country.
--The constant slight jostling that occurs when we’re at certain speeds makes even a half-full bladder very unhappy. And train restrooms…agh…eccch.
--Graffiti under a bridge: Love is like snow. You don’t know how deep it will be or how long it will last.

My main idea about trains is that traveling on one feels like traveling through an infinity of back yards. Affluent, run-down, tired, trimmed, wild, neat, laundry on the line, kids in the pool.
sigerson: (Default)
7/3, 9pm
Entry 1—Just out of Syracuse, on our way to Rochester…

It’s just about firework time, and I’m missing them a great deal. I have less of [Bad username or site: ”fairoriana” @]’s love for the light-them-yourself kind, and more of a passionate love for the huge outdoor variety.
So much of fireworks is linked with being out of town. I can barely remember the halfassed display that Boston puts on at its Esplanade hoopla. Big woop. The city already makes so much light that you miss the deep, deep darkness that fireworks deserve, and Keith Lockhart and his Pops keep ftweeing away.
No, it’s the fireworks in the small town that tears at me. Home, of course, and the wooden grandstands, and Grammy Ronald, I think, waiting with me for the sun to go down. So many years of those, and throwing temper tantrums when it stormed.
Also Peterborough, NH, and the Conval School display. All the mosquitoes, and lying on blankets.
And most close, most recent, most dear perhaps, Oneonta, NY. DaMan came out to Cooperstown for the holiday weekend, and we went down to watch the fireworks and laugh. We braved crowds, picked a likely target, and hugged the whole way through it.
I don’t know what about them affects me so. I ooh and ahh, stripped of irony or selfconsciousness. The sheer glory of the bursts of sparks has me transported. When a year goes by that I don’t see fireworks, I feel gypped. Or worse—as if I’ve let a precious thing break or leave.

So now I find myself watching the sky as we travel through upstate New York, (when I’m not typing, that is), waiting for a burst of gold or blue.

Mile-wide sea urchins. Stars spinning and whistling. Bright flares that are nothing but BANG! Big long draping ones, where the sparks droop so far you worry about the trees. Ones that split into three or four or five separate explosions.

We are often horribly cruel to each other, and terrible to the earth itself; and then we manage to make stars,

Somewhere, I’m still five years old and staring at the sky.
sigerson: (jiggly)
I'll be on my way in about four hours. South Station through Albany through Cleveland to Chicago, roughly.

Posts to LJ will, of course, be sporadic while I'm in WI. I also don't know how much time I'll have to comment, etc, etc, ya ya ya. Whaddya want? You're already getting postcards from me! (Assuming you've emailed me your address...)

I return sometime around 8/16 or so. MrTheMan is being amazing and --driving--to--Wisconsin-- to come and get me! Then we're road-tripping back across the heartland, trying not to hit cows or Detroit. This means I get to show him the great features of Wisconsin. Like The Shed, the local bar. And lunchboxes. And the General Store's pancakes. And ButterBurgers. And custard. And Taliesin. And maybe House on the Rock.

I miss him so much when we're apart. He probably gets the worst of it, since he has to deal with a house where I'm not there, rather than a house where he's never been.

Meanwhile, it's a beautiful day for travelling. 20 hours on a train! I wonder if I'll love it or hate it by the end. My first post will be the collected interesting bits of crosscountry Amtrak.

And [ profile] stealthmuffin made me the coolest mix cd ever for the trip. That, plus the Sherlock Holmes dvds, are the treasured possessions in my backpack today. Ah, Jeremy Brett...


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