I've missed the deadline AGAIN. I feel terrible now. I said that I would never miss one again, and here I am in this situation. I mean, I've been very busy, but that's no excuse. Wow. Punish away, then, Adam.
♥
Thursday 27 November 2008
Wednesday 5 November 2008
Haikus for Reese
I missed the deadline
(obviously), of which I
am very ashamed.
Yes, I am aware
that these haikus aren’t proper
ones, but I don’t care
frankly. You did not
specify a minimum
amount of verses,
so I shall use my
judgement, and stop when I can’t
construct any more.
There is no way I
am going to write ‘how I
feel’ about affairs.
I think perhaps if
I were to write about no-
thing, and merely use
nonsense to enforce
the pattern of the poem,
that would be better.
I hicwite paituc
a sexy mxeal ayoubl.
Zpy hih nou ho lpic?
Cpawn i cloj lpic boz?
I ho lpibt i dellux pah.
Kaxe zeww lo nou aww.
(obviously), of which I
am very ashamed.
Yes, I am aware
that these haikus aren’t proper
ones, but I don’t care
frankly. You did not
specify a minimum
amount of verses,
so I shall use my
judgement, and stop when I can’t
construct any more.
There is no way I
am going to write ‘how I
feel’ about affairs.
I think perhaps if
I were to write about no-
thing, and merely use
nonsense to enforce
the pattern of the poem,
that would be better.
I hicwite paituc
a sexy mxeal ayoubl.
Zpy hih nou ho lpic?
Cpawn i cloj lpic boz?
I ho lpibt i dellux pah.
Kaxe zeww lo nou aww.
Which I hope well is not enrolled there
It delights me profoundly to greet you once more, from the comfort of this lovely blog. How are you? No, really. Comment and let me know.
As you very probably already know, Reader, I missed my last deadline in astounding style, and am therefore being punished by Reese. After this post will be one made entirely of haikus, the Devil’s personal choice of poetry.
I am so delighted, unimaginably elated, to say that this morning Senator Barack Obama was elected President of the United States of America, as I’m sure you are very much aware. To see him elected live was a tremendous honour and joy for me. Even though I am not a part of that great nation, I feel intrinsically connected to it, and I hope that we will all see a positive change in the coming months and years.
This is what msnbc.com looked like when Obama won, by the way, Reese:
I could not stop smiling for hours afterward.
My recent holiday to Stratford-upon-Avon was incredibly enjoyable, also. I saw ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost’, both of which were RSC productions, and therefore astonishing. ‘Dream’ was magnificent: probably the greatest performance I have ever seen. The lighting and costumes were unthinkably beautiful. ‘Labour’ was a joy to see, too. David Tennant’s energy never faltered, which is incredible, for he did a lot of jumping around and running, as well as most of the talking.
It was an odd experience returning to Stratford in so different a season. Last time I went, it was the hottest week of the year. This time, it snowed. Last time, crowds filled almost every inch of every street (perhaps a slight exaggeration), taking delighted photographs of their delighted selves before Shakespeare’s birthplace, Anne Hathaway’s cottage, the Shakespeare Library, a café, a bus stop, a road bollard, pointing to perfectly ordinary things like phone masts and smiling at the thought that Shakespeare too looked upon that same phone mast. This time, there was less of that, but still enough to make my stomach crawl inside its cavity, and still more than enough to keep that wonderful human statue of the Bard in business.
Oh, and I met Patrick Stewart. Lovely man.
I recently purchased an old Corona 4 typewriter, for a very good price. It looks beautiful, pulchritudinous, in fact, but that’s as far as it goes. As typewriter repair services are scarce in the country, let alone a single forgotten little county like Cornwall, I have had to abandon my No. 4 and purchase another one, which happens to be a No. 3 Corona (which is far more charming, actually). Perhaps then I will actually get on with some decent writing. Who knows? (Not me, that’s for certain. Perhaps President Obama knows. And whyever not? He’s made of awesome.)
We seem to have passed something with the event of Obama’s election. It’s as though for so long we’ve been approaching the summit of a hill, and now we are over it. Everything and everyone seems to be in utter relief, and I can genuinely say that I have never seen humanity in such a wonderful state as now. We have hope now, and it’s going to be so great to witness the fulfilment of that hope.
QUESTION 9:
What are your five favourite YouTube channels? Haikus are welcome.
(I shall leave the haikus for a later time, if you don’t mind.)
1. jimmy0010. One of the best comedians on YouTube, I think.
2. frezned. Again, one of the best comedians on the site, but he is also in possession of one of the keenest minds on YouTube, too.
3. vlogbrothers. Obviously I was going to choose them. They are the kings of the nerdfighters, and idols to all.
4. cutewithchris. He’s an incredible performer, and I enjoy every single one of his videos.
5. missxrojas (my computer would rather spell that ‘miss Rojas’). Not only a very intelligent, passionate and beautiful girl, but a lovely human being.
QUESTION 10:
What is the earliest memory that you have?
My one is not particularly pleasant, and has actually had quite a large impact on my perception of the school environment (as well as many other horrid things). It is from the very first school I went to, Springfield, when I was four years old. I remember that we ate our packed lunches in our classroom, for some reason (I don’t know if that’s conventional practice or not), and when I had my lunch (sandwiches), I never ate the crusts of the bread. Instead, I would of course put them back into my lunch box. For some reason, my teacher took a dislike to this, and asked me to finish my lunch. When I refused (amiably, of course), she threatened to make me sit at the back of the class and do mathematics, which would obviously result in immense humiliation. I ate the crusts, and avoided developing a profound distaste for and fear of mathematics. That privilege went to schools in general.
Well, enough about me and my deeply unsettling childhood experiences. Onward to haikus, and I look forward to reading your reply.
With perceptible and incessant veneration and affection,
Your friend,
Adam.
P.S. I shall be going back to Stratford in January to see ‘Romeo and Juliet’, by the way, which should be spectacular. My sister is startlingly excited about it.
Wednesday 29 October 2008
Updates and a Rather Kind Punishment
Hello, readers.
Frankly, it has been much too long.
First, updates are in order.
I have decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. I'm already ridiculously busy as it is, but I've decided to take on the challenge. The plot is still a bit fuzzy and requires much sorting out, but I will be sure to share portions of it as I write. Moving on...
A certain event has occurred, as many of you probably already know, between the time that that the last blog was posted and now. Wait for it. Waaait for iiit...
I MET JOHN GREEN.
I didn't truly come to terms with the fact that I was meeting John until about two days beforehand. The whole experience had seemed so distant for so long that I had become numb to the news, but I properly spazzed when I started to gather my books together for him to sign (Yes, I created my bookstack days in advance). The entire day preceding the evening signing, I was in a trance. My focus was purely on getting through the day, playing my Powderpuff game (We won 27-0), and meeting John.
I arrived at Books & Books promptly at six o' clock, took a seat in the front row and waited. I was deep in conversation with some Nerdfighters who had driven 2 hours from Jupiter, Florida to see him when John nonchalantly waltzed into the room with his Powerbook in tow. I didn't realize it was him at first, for he was wearing the same colour green as a group of the employees. But, once I did knock myself out of the initial state of shock, I took pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. At that point, this was the only one worth keeping.
This blog is coming to an end. I believe I'm going to be having curry in a moment or so, so I shall bid you farewell, readers.
DFTBA,
♥,
Reese
P.S. PUNISHMENT INFORMATION: Adam, I'm going to be very kind. Too kind, actually. You were moving house, and that's very stressful. I cannot possibly punish you cruelly. For your punishment, I'd like you to reply to my last blog as you would normally, but you must write another blog written entirely in haikus. It can be about whatever you please and can contain images, but everything must be written in the short, lovely, and Japanese form of poetry, the haiku. Not too bad, is it? I desperately hope it won't be of much inconvenience or result in too much suffering.
Frankly, it has been much too long.
First, updates are in order.
I have decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. I'm already ridiculously busy as it is, but I've decided to take on the challenge. The plot is still a bit fuzzy and requires much sorting out, but I will be sure to share portions of it as I write. Moving on...
A certain event has occurred, as many of you probably already know, between the time that that the last blog was posted and now. Wait for it. Waaait for iiit...
I MET JOHN GREEN.
I didn't truly come to terms with the fact that I was meeting John until about two days beforehand. The whole experience had seemed so distant for so long that I had become numb to the news, but I properly spazzed when I started to gather my books together for him to sign (Yes, I created my bookstack days in advance). The entire day preceding the evening signing, I was in a trance. My focus was purely on getting through the day, playing my Powderpuff game (We won 27-0), and meeting John.
I arrived at Books & Books promptly at six o' clock, took a seat in the front row and waited. I was deep in conversation with some Nerdfighters who had driven 2 hours from Jupiter, Florida to see him when John nonchalantly waltzed into the room with his Powerbook in tow. I didn't realize it was him at first, for he was wearing the same colour green as a group of the employees. But, once I did knock myself out of the initial state of shock, I took pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. At that point, this was the only one worth keeping.
From there, he tested the internet in the back room, returned, set up his computer for the BlogTV broadcast, and began.
I did take video of most of the night, but I shall not embed them all here. I will, however, link you to the YouTube playlist I created for the footage of the event.
Following a reading of Paper Towns and a Q&A session, we lined up to get our books signed. Naturally, I fought through the crowd and worked my way up to almost the front of the fangirl/fanboy blob that had formed at the 2 foot by 2 foot table that had been set up for John. On said table stood John's laptop in all its shiny, Apple glory. I took it upon myself to start speaking to the lovely people in the main room on BlogTV and made some shoutouts (UnityOfEffect, ChristianTheHeretic, and of course, you, Adam). My dear friend, Victoria, then joined me in entertaining our virtual guests. One highlight of the whole experience was Rosi recognising me! It was a minor detail, but I was a little flattered. :] I had to say goodbye to the main room eventually and take my place, book bag in hand, in front of John.
On my way out, I saw the sign publicising the event to the public. I asked the store manager if I could have it, and she, rather quizzically, allowed me to take it home and cherish it forever. Well, I don't think she said it that, but that's how it sounded to me. I rode home in the car accompanied by all my spoils.
This blog is coming to an end. I believe I'm going to be having curry in a moment or so, so I shall bid you farewell, readers.
DFTBA,
♥,
Reese
P.S. PUNISHMENT INFORMATION: Adam, I'm going to be very kind. Too kind, actually. You were moving house, and that's very stressful. I cannot possibly punish you cruelly. For your punishment, I'd like you to reply to my last blog as you would normally, but you must write another blog written entirely in haikus. It can be about whatever you please and can contain images, but everything must be written in the short, lovely, and Japanese form of poetry, the haiku. Not too bad, is it? I desperately hope it won't be of much inconvenience or result in too much suffering.
Thursday 16 October 2008
I'm back, and I missed the deadline
Yes, I have been away for a while. I moved house (yes, it's wonderful, thank you), and for some odd reason I failed to inform anyone of this fact before the internet was cut off from our old house. The internet has only just been re-connected, and I am about to be punished in any way that Reese sees fit.
And don't hold back, Reese. Keep in mind what I did when you missed the deadline. That really was cruel.
And don't hold back, Reese. Keep in mind what I did when you missed the deadline. That really was cruel.
Saturday 6 September 2008
I have a moo cow, a new cow, a true cow named Caroline
Hello, all.
This blog has been held off for too long, but this time, Consequent Bloggers has been fortified with vital excuses!
You see, dear, dear readers that I have begun school once again. The summer has effortlessly run away with my idle hours, and it saddens me deeply. Now, nearly all my days are filled with speaking to people I would much prefer not to even see, teachers who have absolutely no idea what the hell they're doing, and studying subjects that I'd rather not hear of again. Ever.
So, 75% of my time spent on the computer is spent off the internet writing 800-word papers on comparisons between the political situations in the early Classical civilizations of Asia and composing my future in present-tense prose. As you can well assume, Adam, I'd prefer waiting for you to come online than writing down one more blasted thing about Han China.
Mini rant has ceased.
Maureen is thoroughly made of awesome, Adam. Showing you that autograph just further reassures us of her Secret Sister status. Maureen, if you're reading this, A.) You are simply glorious. 2.) Thank you for reading our humble blog, and C.) Your Scarlett Fever updates on Twitter are making me anxious.
OOH TWITTER, the phenomenon. Has there ever been something that's easier to be addicted to? Twitter does not empty its users' pockets of money. It is not harmful to your health or to others. The site makes sure that each update stays short and to the point (Only 140 words?! ARE THEY CRAZY?), so it's much easier to update more frequently. Do people actually want to know what you're doing at every moment of every day. My followers collectively say, "Yes."
Follow me. Adam, think about getting Twitter. Even if you don't use it very often, your Tweets will be epic and extremely special.
On to Warwickshire!
I'm glad you enjoyed your stay. I was only there for about 8 hours, but the enitre town truly was amazing, even though it did seem a bit commercialized in some bits of it, too many gift shops containing Shakespeare cutouts and quote mugs. Everything was extremely beautiful, though, and secretly, I wanted that action figure.
I saw that Twelfth Night guest house. Tis so amazing that even the simplest things tie us together, Adam. The note, the house, the blog, Nerdfighteria. Wonderous.
Hamlet is altogether incredible on it's own, but accompanied by Tennant, Stewart, and the incomperable RSC, It can only be described as truly-phenomenal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Honestly, Adam, I read that dream with squinted eyes and an agape mouth. How odd! One night, you have a dream concerning the universe and its collapse. Another night, you're being yelled at about your vegetarianism and anticipating being coated in tomato ketchup. Funny, isn't it, how we can still be entirely surprised my the makings of our own minds?
I've been anticipating those Captain Hook photos (complete with full-length coat, this time) for quite a while. They still make me smile.
On to your question, now, I suppose.
QUESTION 8:
Where would you like to live for the rest of your life? Is it the same as where you live now? Why would you like to live there?
I must say now that I would not like to live where I live currently for a number of reasons.
I've lived here my entire life. This place knows me too well. I can go anywhere, and I know where I am. There is no opportunity for exploration, let alone growth. I need a place that's familiar enough to be comfortable living there, but it still must hold a sense saying, "There is something greater here. Look. Listen. Touch. Smell. Taste. Do whatever you must to find it, and you will find it. I promise." I know that's a lot to ask of a place, but if I'm spending the rest of my life there, I have the right to be picky.
This may be an obvious answer coming from me, but can you blame me?
DisneyKid1
This blog has been held off for too long, but this time, Consequent Bloggers has been fortified with vital excuses!
You see, dear, dear readers that I have begun school once again. The summer has effortlessly run away with my idle hours, and it saddens me deeply. Now, nearly all my days are filled with speaking to people I would much prefer not to even see, teachers who have absolutely no idea what the hell they're doing, and studying subjects that I'd rather not hear of again. Ever.
So, 75% of my time spent on the computer is spent off the internet writing 800-word papers on comparisons between the political situations in the early Classical civilizations of Asia and composing my future in present-tense prose. As you can well assume, Adam, I'd prefer waiting for you to come online than writing down one more blasted thing about Han China.
Mini rant has ceased.
Maureen is thoroughly made of awesome, Adam. Showing you that autograph just further reassures us of her Secret Sister status. Maureen, if you're reading this, A.) You are simply glorious. 2.) Thank you for reading our humble blog, and C.) Your Scarlett Fever updates on Twitter are making me anxious.
OOH TWITTER, the phenomenon. Has there ever been something that's easier to be addicted to? Twitter does not empty its users' pockets of money. It is not harmful to your health or to others. The site makes sure that each update stays short and to the point (Only 140 words?! ARE THEY CRAZY?), so it's much easier to update more frequently. Do people actually want to know what you're doing at every moment of every day. My followers collectively say, "Yes."
Follow me. Adam, think about getting Twitter. Even if you don't use it very often, your Tweets will be epic and extremely special.
On to Warwickshire!
I'm glad you enjoyed your stay. I was only there for about 8 hours, but the enitre town truly was amazing, even though it did seem a bit commercialized in some bits of it, too many gift shops containing Shakespeare cutouts and quote mugs. Everything was extremely beautiful, though, and secretly, I wanted that action figure.
I saw that Twelfth Night guest house. Tis so amazing that even the simplest things tie us together, Adam. The note, the house, the blog, Nerdfighteria. Wonderous.
Hamlet is altogether incredible on it's own, but accompanied by Tennant, Stewart, and the incomperable RSC, It can only be described as truly-phenomenal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Honestly, Adam, I read that dream with squinted eyes and an agape mouth. How odd! One night, you have a dream concerning the universe and its collapse. Another night, you're being yelled at about your vegetarianism and anticipating being coated in tomato ketchup. Funny, isn't it, how we can still be entirely surprised my the makings of our own minds?
I've been anticipating those Captain Hook photos (complete with full-length coat, this time) for quite a while. They still make me smile.
On to your question, now, I suppose.
QUESTION 8:
Where would you like to live for the rest of your life? Is it the same as where you live now? Why would you like to live there?
I must say now that I would not like to live where I live currently for a number of reasons.
I've lived here my entire life. This place knows me too well. I can go anywhere, and I know where I am. There is no opportunity for exploration, let alone growth. I need a place that's familiar enough to be comfortable living there, but it still must hold a sense saying, "There is something greater here. Look. Listen. Touch. Smell. Taste. Do whatever you must to find it, and you will find it. I promise." I know that's a lot to ask of a place, but if I'm spending the rest of my life there, I have the right to be picky.
This may be an obvious answer coming from me, but can you blame me?
Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America, North America, Earth, Universe
If there is one place in the world that says:
"There is something greater here. Look. Listen. Touch. Smell. Taste. Do whatever you must to find it, and you will find it. I promise."
...it is New York City. I was there for a week two years ago, in December. I moment I stepped outside JFK, I knew. I knew I'd be happy there. Even in the pictures, you could tell that, in Manhattan, something changed me. I looked more content. I was complete.
As for the more practical requirements, I can handle the weather and am skilled in self-defense and apt to memorizing maps and such.
I can see my career taking off there. I can see myself meeting the most-amazing people and establishing life-long relationships with them. I can see myself finding refuge in the city. Most of all, I can see myself building a prosperous life there.
And now for the main event...
QUESTION 9:
What are your 5 favourite YouTube channels? Haikus are welcome.
John and Hank are fun
They are made of awesome, yes?
NFs for the win.
Her name's Hayley, dog
Witty, Clever, and Perfect
5AG for life.
Broadway Deconstruct
Seth knows what he's talking 'bout.
He is Ahmahzing.
Secret Sis Rosi
She loves books quite a lot, non?
HP and DW
DisneyKid1
Joe loves Pokemon.
He is adorably sweet.
Too funny and real
Well, Adam, you know how difficult is was for me to post this, so I'm going to end this here. I'm so looking forward to your response, and I thank you again for the extension(s).
Great love,
Thank you, Readers,
Reese
P.S. I've decided to start playing around with my sister's camera, so that I can record and edit with ease when I meet John next month on his book tour. Oh, YES, readers, I have the opportunity to meet John when he comes to my city in October! I'll be sure to post pictures accompanying a blog soon thereafter.
Saturday 9 August 2008
Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief
(I cannot wait any longer to write this, so please forgive my haste.)
Once more I am here, back at my own desk, after the short holiday which I recently enjoyed in the splendid county of Warwickshire (Shakespeare’s county, as I was so alarmingly assured by the sign beside the road whose purpose it is to enlighten the traveller on the identity of the village, town, city, borough, or county into which they are about to venture).
The purpose of our visit was primarily to see the Royal Shakespeare Company’s current production of ‘Hamlet’, starring David Ten-Inch as the lead, something which——
Oh, while I remember: a gargantuan thank you goes to the utterly lovely Maureen Johnson for the unbelievably excellent gift of a signed picture of the beautiful Jeremy Brett—
(I apologise for not thanking you sooner, Maureen, but I wanted to do so by the current method.)
Reasons Why Maureen Johnson is Wonderful:
1. The above picture.
2. She’s considerate and polite.
3. She reads this blog (and even takes the time to comment).
4. She’s beautiful.
5. Have you read her books?
I think that’s about enough.
Where was I? Oh, of course—
——was admittedly (and unashamedly) a great influence on our decision to go and see it.
We stayed in a delightful hotel (run by a woman who didn’t quite meet my eyes and interrupted me whenever she fancied) in Stratford-upon-Avon. The weather was pathetically glorious the entire time.
On the first day we arrived at Stratford at about half-past-four, after a four-hour drive, so (not surprisingly) we didn’t do very much, except walk down into Shottery and have dinner outside The Bell, which is near Anne Hathaway’s cottage (which we visited on the third day).
The second day was far more eventful. We walked into the town centre and meandered about the many streets, most of which were lined with very alarming shops which are exceptionally commercial and entirely incongruous with their surroundings. I managed to pull my tibialis anterior muscle, however, and so walked with a limp the entire time (although, as John said, so does 50 Cent, and he’s done all right for himself).
I was pleased to see that the shops weren’t all named in such a manner as to be related to Shakespeare (although I did see a guest house called ‘Twelfth Night’). When I visited Tintagel in Cornwall for the first time, for instance, I was appalled and dismayed to discover that there were such places as ‘Merlin’s Gift Shop’ and ‘King Arthur’s Bistro’ (I am certain King Arthur never owned a bistro in his life). But it is to be expected, I suppose. The most I spotted in Stratford were roads and avenues called ‘Scholar’s Lane’ and ‘Bard’s Walk’, and that sort of thing, which is tasteful and acceptable.
We visited Holy Trinity Church, in which Shakespeare is buried. I stood before his grave entirely alone, my footsteps echoing restlessly around the silent building. It is such a modest tomb: a dull slab of stone in the ground with a short verse carved into it informing people that they would be cursed if they removed the bones. He lies next to his wife, Anne Hathaway.
It is such a wonderful thing to be able to stand mere centimetres from the bones of that great man, to walk upon the same earth as he did, to view the same scenes as he did. He was only a human being, and so why should it matter that I am touching a tree that he might have touched? It shouldn’t, but it does—it most absolutely does.
It was the same when I visited the museum in Truro a while ago. They had recently attained ten pages from the notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, and were displaying them in a private room. I had seen the pages before, in books and on the internet, but there they were: the actual pages, directly before me. These were the very pieces of paper that Da Vinci had touched, had drawn and written upon. There was even an inky fingerprint upon one of them—every magnificent ridge of skin could be seen clearly. Why should this matter? Why should I be awed by the simple act of observing the same thing that he did, five hundred years ago? Again: it shouldn’t, logically, but it does nonetheless.
Put simply—Hamlet was phenomenal. Put lengthily—
The Courtyard Theatre was teeming with people and excitement, and an air of wondrous anticipation lay upon us. Seven o’clock came, and we entered the theatre. The stage was bare (there was no curtain, just a large stage in the centre of the room, allowing for a more personal performance). I wondered how Rosianna and Kayley must have felt as they sat down merely two rows from the stage. We were on the ground floor, directly beside one of the two walkways which led to the stage, along which the actors walked frequently.
The lights dropped, and Francisco entered the stage holding a large torch, the light from which he directed over the audience in his nightly search of Elsinore castle. A bang sounded, the words “Who’s there?” were shouted into the silence, followed by “Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself”, and the play was begun.
The dress was entirely modern. David Tennant wore a black suit in his first scene, his hair combed back (making him look like Barty Crouch Junior). It was very cleverly done.
The whole production was very cleverly done, though. The play was acted with such modernity that I admit I forgot at certain times that it was Shakespeare I was watching. The actors—especially David—introduced immense humour to speeches and scenes previously without it. David’s interpretation of Hamlet’s subtle decline into madness was beautiful to watch—he delivered the famous ‘To be or not to be’ soliloquy barefoot and wearing turned-up jeans and a red t-shirt with muscles printed on it, his hair crazed and loose. He spoke in a neutral English accent, with upper-class twangs to it—which was a surprise, for I assumed that his natural Scottish accent would have sufficed. Many times he passed directly beside me, even pausing occasionally, so much so that I could have touched or spoken to him. I did neither, of course.
The quality of the acting, from every actor, was superb. Patrick Stewart, who played Claudius, was extraordinary to watch, and David was of course magnificent. His performance alone was one of the greatest acting performances I have ever witnessed.
There were signings afterwards of course (after at least five rounds of bowing and applause, three of which were initiated solely by David, for he kept returning to the stage), and he was polite and witty and considerate as one would expect him to be.
I felt utterly absurd afterwards. Why? I suppose it was because I had stood inches from someone whom I have come to greatly respect and admire, and it awed me.
And that is why standing beside Shakespeare’s grave is so remarkable and important: because it is the nearest I will ever get to meeting him.
QUESTION 7:
Have you ever had a dream you could remember distinctly? If you have, can you describe it for (the readers) and me? Illustrations are very much appreciated.
I have dreams very rarely, for I hardly ever wake up during REM sleep, and so do not consciously experience my subconscious amblings and escapades. However, on the odd occasion that I do wake up in this phase of sleep, and subsequently catch my mind in the middle of its nightly shuffling and sorting of information, I experience very hazy thoughts. They are more like ideas than any ordered plot, with characters and such. I will wake up with an emotion, or with the feeling of someone’s presence. Sometimes a particular voice will reside within me, or even a word or sentence. Some of these I use in my writing, but most of them I ignore. A while ago I awoke with a very vivid character in my mind; he even had a name. But I decided to use him in a short story (which you will read in good time).
But there was one dream I had when I was nine years old, which stands plainly and unashamedly in my memory, and which I will now expound for you (right, that’s the last time I use ‘expound’ this month. It’s just getting silly now).
I was gliding in silence, surrounded by the entire universe. I was at the very centre of it, the absolute core of creation, hovering weightlessly in the near darkness. Stars stretched all around me and away into infinity (perhaps, although that’s still thoroughly disputed). I was at peace. I was not God, but I was not Man. I observed the life around me, unaffected by it, and yet entirely linked with it.
And then a sense of dread came upon me, such as I had never felt before, or indeed have never felt since. Utter horror filled me, welled up within me until I trembled. But everything was still.
And then everything began to fall. Slowly, the universe collapsed upon me, gathering speed constantly. Soon it was a dizzying whirl of mass, flying uncontrollably and folding upon itself. I did not move, but stared in terror as the whole of creation fell on me. Afterwards, nothing but darkness was left: an awful silence and finality. But I was still there, in the centre of it all.
And I awoke, the scene before me swimming as it had in the dream, convinced that I was still there, and that I was doomed. I have had a terror of all thoughts of infinity ever since, from infinite numbers to infinite space, and I blame that dream.
Illustrations are neither necessary or possible for that dream, I’m afraid. I hope you will forgive me, and accept my utter acclamation for your drawings.
Last night, however, I actually had probably the most frightening and peculiar dream of my life (apart from the one I just told you about). It began with me sitting in a supermarket (don’t ask me where I was sitting, exactly, because I don’t actually know) watching and listening to two members of staff having an argument over the Tannoy system, so that everybody in the supermarket could hear. My situation was already perfectly clear to me, as it usually is in dreams: I was dating a girl, the ten brothers of whom I was currently standing with. They didn’t like me.
For some reason we decided to buy lunch, and we began discussing our decisions. Then someone turned to me and asked, “What are you going to have for lunch, then?” I thought for a moment, and then said, “Oh, just whatever vegetarian option they have, please.” Everyone became silent. “Vegetarian?” was said by every person at different times, gathering in strength and volume and becoming “You’re a vegetarian?” I was then grabbed by my shoulders and forced to walk backwards by the entire group of brothers. “You’re dating my sister, and you’re a vegetarian?!” they cried, pushing me back through the supermarket (which now no longer resembled a supermarket, but the entrance hall of an old house). I was pushed into a back room and surrounded by the brothers, who all looked decidedly menacing. I knew somehow that they were going to kill me. He pulled out a vegetarian sausage and waved it at me. “Is this what you meant?” he yelled. “What’s this, eh?”
“It’s just a vegetarian sausage!” I said desperately, but to no avail. He left the room and returned with a large white sheet, which he presently threw over me. I was terrified, for I knew that he was about to murder me, but it was at this moment that I awoke. The odd thing was that I awoke with an absolute certainty that all he was going to do was pour tomato ketchup over me and leave the room.
Whichever part of my brain that originated from, I would like to know, for it was really quite odd.
Regarding your dream, Reese, I am completely fascinated. The precision of it is startling, as is the clarity of emotion. It is as if you stumbled upon a point in history, and observed particular events. Perhaps you did—who knows? But it certainly is incredible. There are certain points to it that make it entirely yours, though, such as the fact that Dream Reese was like you, and the woman looked like someone you know, and that the mansion was like somewhere you have visited. Your brain was obviously sorting through memories of those things when you disturbed it.
Yes indeed, Reese, I could be more adorable.
I was completely in the mindset of Captain Hook that day. Just look at the menacingly brooding expression on my face in the first one: who needs Dustin Hoffman, eh?
QUESTION 8:
Where would you like to live for the rest of your life? Is it the same as where you live now? Why would you like to live there?
The answer to the second question, simply, is no. I currently live in Cornwall, which is a splendid place, of course, and I thoroughly enjoy it here, especially as it’s so close to Devon, which is much nicer. But my affection lies with Suffolk, and always will. This question was born simply from my need to talk about Suffolk, so please excuse me.
I do not love Suffolk purely for its natural wonder, for most of my affection for it comes from living there my whole life. It is very dear to me, and suits me perfectly: it is the homeland of Constable, Gainsborough, Bloomfield, Britten—all of whom are influences on me, and very similar to me in attitude and style. It is where one would expect to find me, I suppose: wandering about a meadow, or rowing along the dark river beneath the willow. This is all very good, of course, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I should live there. But added to that is my need to live there, for my own happiness, and so I shall. For now, Cornwall will suffice, but eventually I will go back.
I apologise if I bore you, Reader. Perhaps I am being selfish asking that question. But I look forward, as ever, to reading Reese’s answer.
And now I must leave you once again, to depart from your consciousness with a last sad gesticulation of farewell, and an assurance that the brief reference to thievery and stereos last time was but a metaphor (but I certainly agree, Reese, that thieves are just substandard pirates).
With all appropriate and justified ♥,
Adam.
P.S. Why do I always have to make such a big deal about saying goodbye? Talk about a drama queen. I’m actually quite relieved to be going, and I’m sure you are as well.
P.P.S. I love the banner, Reese, and feel free to use it whenever you post a blog (and feel free to change anything about the site, too, not that you need any form of permission from me whatsoever).
P.P.P.S. I cannot believe I forgot to include this in the main part of this post, for it was one of the highlights of my holiday (in fact I was looking forward to this more than seeing Hamlet): when Reese came over to England a month ago, she left a small note for me at Stratford Station. On our second day there, we walked up the hill to the station and followed the directions. It was in the waiting room for the ladies' toilets, and was tucked in the frame of the door.
Thank you once again, Reese, for this lovely, lovely thing.
Once more I am here, back at my own desk, after the short holiday which I recently enjoyed in the splendid county of Warwickshire (Shakespeare’s county, as I was so alarmingly assured by the sign beside the road whose purpose it is to enlighten the traveller on the identity of the village, town, city, borough, or county into which they are about to venture).
The purpose of our visit was primarily to see the Royal Shakespeare Company’s current production of ‘Hamlet’, starring David Ten-Inch as the lead, something which——
Oh, while I remember: a gargantuan thank you goes to the utterly lovely Maureen Johnson for the unbelievably excellent gift of a signed picture of the beautiful Jeremy Brett—
(I apologise for not thanking you sooner, Maureen, but I wanted to do so by the current method.)
Reasons Why Maureen Johnson is Wonderful:
1. The above picture.
2. She’s considerate and polite.
3. She reads this blog (and even takes the time to comment).
4. She’s beautiful.
5. Have you read her books?
I think that’s about enough.
Where was I? Oh, of course—
——was admittedly (and unashamedly) a great influence on our decision to go and see it.
We stayed in a delightful hotel (run by a woman who didn’t quite meet my eyes and interrupted me whenever she fancied) in Stratford-upon-Avon. The weather was pathetically glorious the entire time.
On the first day we arrived at Stratford at about half-past-four, after a four-hour drive, so (not surprisingly) we didn’t do very much, except walk down into Shottery and have dinner outside The Bell, which is near Anne Hathaway’s cottage (which we visited on the third day).
The second day was far more eventful. We walked into the town centre and meandered about the many streets, most of which were lined with very alarming shops which are exceptionally commercial and entirely incongruous with their surroundings. I managed to pull my tibialis anterior muscle, however, and so walked with a limp the entire time (although, as John said, so does 50 Cent, and he’s done all right for himself).
I was pleased to see that the shops weren’t all named in such a manner as to be related to Shakespeare (although I did see a guest house called ‘Twelfth Night’). When I visited Tintagel in Cornwall for the first time, for instance, I was appalled and dismayed to discover that there were such places as ‘Merlin’s Gift Shop’ and ‘King Arthur’s Bistro’ (I am certain King Arthur never owned a bistro in his life). But it is to be expected, I suppose. The most I spotted in Stratford were roads and avenues called ‘Scholar’s Lane’ and ‘Bard’s Walk’, and that sort of thing, which is tasteful and acceptable.
We visited Holy Trinity Church, in which Shakespeare is buried. I stood before his grave entirely alone, my footsteps echoing restlessly around the silent building. It is such a modest tomb: a dull slab of stone in the ground with a short verse carved into it informing people that they would be cursed if they removed the bones. He lies next to his wife, Anne Hathaway.
It is such a wonderful thing to be able to stand mere centimetres from the bones of that great man, to walk upon the same earth as he did, to view the same scenes as he did. He was only a human being, and so why should it matter that I am touching a tree that he might have touched? It shouldn’t, but it does—it most absolutely does.
It was the same when I visited the museum in Truro a while ago. They had recently attained ten pages from the notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, and were displaying them in a private room. I had seen the pages before, in books and on the internet, but there they were: the actual pages, directly before me. These were the very pieces of paper that Da Vinci had touched, had drawn and written upon. There was even an inky fingerprint upon one of them—every magnificent ridge of skin could be seen clearly. Why should this matter? Why should I be awed by the simple act of observing the same thing that he did, five hundred years ago? Again: it shouldn’t, logically, but it does nonetheless.
Put simply—Hamlet was phenomenal. Put lengthily—
The Courtyard Theatre was teeming with people and excitement, and an air of wondrous anticipation lay upon us. Seven o’clock came, and we entered the theatre. The stage was bare (there was no curtain, just a large stage in the centre of the room, allowing for a more personal performance). I wondered how Rosianna and Kayley must have felt as they sat down merely two rows from the stage. We were on the ground floor, directly beside one of the two walkways which led to the stage, along which the actors walked frequently.
The lights dropped, and Francisco entered the stage holding a large torch, the light from which he directed over the audience in his nightly search of Elsinore castle. A bang sounded, the words “Who’s there?” were shouted into the silence, followed by “Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself”, and the play was begun.
The dress was entirely modern. David Tennant wore a black suit in his first scene, his hair combed back (making him look like Barty Crouch Junior). It was very cleverly done.
The whole production was very cleverly done, though. The play was acted with such modernity that I admit I forgot at certain times that it was Shakespeare I was watching. The actors—especially David—introduced immense humour to speeches and scenes previously without it. David’s interpretation of Hamlet’s subtle decline into madness was beautiful to watch—he delivered the famous ‘To be or not to be’ soliloquy barefoot and wearing turned-up jeans and a red t-shirt with muscles printed on it, his hair crazed and loose. He spoke in a neutral English accent, with upper-class twangs to it—which was a surprise, for I assumed that his natural Scottish accent would have sufficed. Many times he passed directly beside me, even pausing occasionally, so much so that I could have touched or spoken to him. I did neither, of course.
The quality of the acting, from every actor, was superb. Patrick Stewart, who played Claudius, was extraordinary to watch, and David was of course magnificent. His performance alone was one of the greatest acting performances I have ever witnessed.
There were signings afterwards of course (after at least five rounds of bowing and applause, three of which were initiated solely by David, for he kept returning to the stage), and he was polite and witty and considerate as one would expect him to be.
I felt utterly absurd afterwards. Why? I suppose it was because I had stood inches from someone whom I have come to greatly respect and admire, and it awed me.
And that is why standing beside Shakespeare’s grave is so remarkable and important: because it is the nearest I will ever get to meeting him.
QUESTION 7:
Have you ever had a dream you could remember distinctly? If you have, can you describe it for (the readers) and me? Illustrations are very much appreciated.
I have dreams very rarely, for I hardly ever wake up during REM sleep, and so do not consciously experience my subconscious amblings and escapades. However, on the odd occasion that I do wake up in this phase of sleep, and subsequently catch my mind in the middle of its nightly shuffling and sorting of information, I experience very hazy thoughts. They are more like ideas than any ordered plot, with characters and such. I will wake up with an emotion, or with the feeling of someone’s presence. Sometimes a particular voice will reside within me, or even a word or sentence. Some of these I use in my writing, but most of them I ignore. A while ago I awoke with a very vivid character in my mind; he even had a name. But I decided to use him in a short story (which you will read in good time).
But there was one dream I had when I was nine years old, which stands plainly and unashamedly in my memory, and which I will now expound for you (right, that’s the last time I use ‘expound’ this month. It’s just getting silly now).
I was gliding in silence, surrounded by the entire universe. I was at the very centre of it, the absolute core of creation, hovering weightlessly in the near darkness. Stars stretched all around me and away into infinity (perhaps, although that’s still thoroughly disputed). I was at peace. I was not God, but I was not Man. I observed the life around me, unaffected by it, and yet entirely linked with it.
And then a sense of dread came upon me, such as I had never felt before, or indeed have never felt since. Utter horror filled me, welled up within me until I trembled. But everything was still.
And then everything began to fall. Slowly, the universe collapsed upon me, gathering speed constantly. Soon it was a dizzying whirl of mass, flying uncontrollably and folding upon itself. I did not move, but stared in terror as the whole of creation fell on me. Afterwards, nothing but darkness was left: an awful silence and finality. But I was still there, in the centre of it all.
And I awoke, the scene before me swimming as it had in the dream, convinced that I was still there, and that I was doomed. I have had a terror of all thoughts of infinity ever since, from infinite numbers to infinite space, and I blame that dream.
Illustrations are neither necessary or possible for that dream, I’m afraid. I hope you will forgive me, and accept my utter acclamation for your drawings.
Last night, however, I actually had probably the most frightening and peculiar dream of my life (apart from the one I just told you about). It began with me sitting in a supermarket (don’t ask me where I was sitting, exactly, because I don’t actually know) watching and listening to two members of staff having an argument over the Tannoy system, so that everybody in the supermarket could hear. My situation was already perfectly clear to me, as it usually is in dreams: I was dating a girl, the ten brothers of whom I was currently standing with. They didn’t like me.
For some reason we decided to buy lunch, and we began discussing our decisions. Then someone turned to me and asked, “What are you going to have for lunch, then?” I thought for a moment, and then said, “Oh, just whatever vegetarian option they have, please.” Everyone became silent. “Vegetarian?” was said by every person at different times, gathering in strength and volume and becoming “You’re a vegetarian?” I was then grabbed by my shoulders and forced to walk backwards by the entire group of brothers. “You’re dating my sister, and you’re a vegetarian?!” they cried, pushing me back through the supermarket (which now no longer resembled a supermarket, but the entrance hall of an old house). I was pushed into a back room and surrounded by the brothers, who all looked decidedly menacing. I knew somehow that they were going to kill me. He pulled out a vegetarian sausage and waved it at me. “Is this what you meant?” he yelled. “What’s this, eh?”
“It’s just a vegetarian sausage!” I said desperately, but to no avail. He left the room and returned with a large white sheet, which he presently threw over me. I was terrified, for I knew that he was about to murder me, but it was at this moment that I awoke. The odd thing was that I awoke with an absolute certainty that all he was going to do was pour tomato ketchup over me and leave the room.
Whichever part of my brain that originated from, I would like to know, for it was really quite odd.
Regarding your dream, Reese, I am completely fascinated. The precision of it is startling, as is the clarity of emotion. It is as if you stumbled upon a point in history, and observed particular events. Perhaps you did—who knows? But it certainly is incredible. There are certain points to it that make it entirely yours, though, such as the fact that Dream Reese was like you, and the woman looked like someone you know, and that the mansion was like somewhere you have visited. Your brain was obviously sorting through memories of those things when you disturbed it.
Yes indeed, Reese, I could be more adorable.
I was completely in the mindset of Captain Hook that day. Just look at the menacingly brooding expression on my face in the first one: who needs Dustin Hoffman, eh?
QUESTION 8:
Where would you like to live for the rest of your life? Is it the same as where you live now? Why would you like to live there?
The answer to the second question, simply, is no. I currently live in Cornwall, which is a splendid place, of course, and I thoroughly enjoy it here, especially as it’s so close to Devon, which is much nicer. But my affection lies with Suffolk, and always will. This question was born simply from my need to talk about Suffolk, so please excuse me.
I do not love Suffolk purely for its natural wonder, for most of my affection for it comes from living there my whole life. It is very dear to me, and suits me perfectly: it is the homeland of Constable, Gainsborough, Bloomfield, Britten—all of whom are influences on me, and very similar to me in attitude and style. It is where one would expect to find me, I suppose: wandering about a meadow, or rowing along the dark river beneath the willow. This is all very good, of course, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I should live there. But added to that is my need to live there, for my own happiness, and so I shall. For now, Cornwall will suffice, but eventually I will go back.
I apologise if I bore you, Reader. Perhaps I am being selfish asking that question. But I look forward, as ever, to reading Reese’s answer.
And now I must leave you once again, to depart from your consciousness with a last sad gesticulation of farewell, and an assurance that the brief reference to thievery and stereos last time was but a metaphor (but I certainly agree, Reese, that thieves are just substandard pirates).
With all appropriate and justified ♥,
Adam.
P.S. Why do I always have to make such a big deal about saying goodbye? Talk about a drama queen. I’m actually quite relieved to be going, and I’m sure you are as well.
P.P.S. I love the banner, Reese, and feel free to use it whenever you post a blog (and feel free to change anything about the site, too, not that you need any form of permission from me whatsoever).
P.P.P.S. I cannot believe I forgot to include this in the main part of this post, for it was one of the highlights of my holiday (in fact I was looking forward to this more than seeing Hamlet): when Reese came over to England a month ago, she left a small note for me at Stratford Station. On our second day there, we walked up the hill to the station and followed the directions. It was in the waiting room for the ladies' toilets, and was tucked in the frame of the door.
Thank you once again, Reese, for this lovely, lovely thing.
Thursday 7 August 2008
Tree-saw has returned bearing funny pictures and prolix dreams.
It has been entirely too long since I have written one of my Consequent Bloggers blogs. As one half of this Nerdfighter collaboration, I feel as if I've let you down by leaving you hanging for over a month. I cannot be excused entirely, but I do have my reasons. Mostly, my absence has been due to a combination of deciding on an answer to your last question (which was, actually, surprisingly difficult) and my terrible procrastination, a habit I must break as soon as possible. I'm sorry for making you wait, but I'm back and ready to head into this project again at full speed. Wow. I'm making this sound like we're steering a large aquatic vessel.
Those who have read the last few editions of Consequent Bloggers are aware of my punishment, the entirely-painful, annoying, pout-inducing punishment that I had to endure for...wait for it...one day. I know I sound absurd, for this was a generally simple challenge that is completed my millions of indifferent preteens everyday. To me, communicating with someone should require effort. Does it really take that long to use vowels in words like "people" and "text"? Can it be that much of an inconvenience to utilize commas and apostrophes? I just can't wrap my mind around how they can get through the day talking like that over the internet or through text messages. The upsides are 1.) I have completed the punishment with success and lived and 2.) I will, most likely, never have to be punished again (after this one, I have no idea what Adam will have planned, and I don't want to find out). Moving on.
I'm very glad that you've accompished moving house (and connecting to the internet rather quickly, might I add). The news about the stereo, however, made me sad. House thieves are just pirates without the plus side of having an abundance of eye patches and rum available to them and the epic, wooden ships. Tsk.
Adam, could you possibly be more adorable? I'm just not sure by looking at those pictures.
Alright, because I've been away for so long, some updates are in order, non? Just two, I promise.
Those who have read the last few editions of Consequent Bloggers are aware of my punishment, the entirely-painful, annoying, pout-inducing punishment that I had to endure for...wait for it...one day. I know I sound absurd, for this was a generally simple challenge that is completed my millions of indifferent preteens everyday. To me, communicating with someone should require effort. Does it really take that long to use vowels in words like "people" and "text"? Can it be that much of an inconvenience to utilize commas and apostrophes? I just can't wrap my mind around how they can get through the day talking like that over the internet or through text messages. The upsides are 1.) I have completed the punishment with success and lived and 2.) I will, most likely, never have to be punished again (after this one, I have no idea what Adam will have planned, and I don't want to find out). Moving on.
I'm very glad that you've accompished moving house (and connecting to the internet rather quickly, might I add). The news about the stereo, however, made me sad. House thieves are just pirates without the plus side of having an abundance of eye patches and rum available to them and the epic, wooden ships. Tsk.
Adam, could you possibly be more adorable? I'm just not sure by looking at those pictures.
Alright, because I've been away for so long, some updates are in order, non? Just two, I promise.
1. I spent at least 5 hours in a bookstore with three of my friends awaiting the release of Breaking Dawn, the final instalment of the Twilight saga. Now, I like Twilight, don't get me wrong, but I'm not all fangirly for it like I was during the three other midnight book releases to which I've been (all of them Harry Potter [OOTP, HBP, and DH]). It was a great night with my comrades, nevertheless. We even got interviewed for a local teen magazine that none of us heard of before! I made sure that I plugged Nerdfighters, John and Hank, and the Five Awesome Girls while they spoke to me, for they all (mostly 5AG) suggested that I put Twilight on my to-read shelf. I've been stopped at Chapter 31 for the past three days, though. I blame your amazing writing, Maureen (I finished Girl at Sea this morning). I will be finished with the book in the next couple of days, hopefully.
2. Mandy Patinkin, Patti LuPone, and Stephen Sondheim. Mandy Patinkin, Patti LuPone, and Stephen Sondheim. Coming here. Near my city. Next year. In the months of February and March, respectively. Need I say more? 'T'will be surreal. Fiercely surreal.
Now, I'll be turning back the elephant in the room. (I've never actually used that idiom. Hmm.)
QUESTION 6:
Apart from Emma Thompson, who is your favourite actor/actress, and why?
Now, I'm paying close attention to the wording of this question. You asked what my favourite actor/actress is and not the best actor/actress in my opinion. My favourite actor is, not surprisingly, Alan Rickman. Alan's body of work is positively astounding. His film and television career started 30 years ago and is still going strong. He has also appeared in over 50 plays. Plus, who can resist that strong, mellifluous voice (which was caused by the very tight jaw he had when he was younger; it is considered a speech impediment) he has? I've decided to include some visuals along with the textual answer to your question.
My Favourite Images of Alan:
Classic. Clean. Alan.
Alan is happy dancing, maybe?
Alan with Richard Attenborough doing...I have no idea what.
Alan Rickman and Emma Thompson. Yes.
My own illustration. Huzzah!
Now, it's my turn, Adam.
Question 6:
Have you ever had a dream you could remember distinctly? If you have, can you describe it for (the readers) and me? Illustrations are very much appreciated.
I recently had a dream that I could distinctly recall. It was unnerving how detailed everything was.
The dream was set in 1980, yet I couldn't really tell by what I saw or what occurred in the dream. Let's name the main character Dream Reese (she is never given a name). So, Dream Reese looked exactly like me but dressed differently. We were completely different people mentally. Anyways, the dream began from Dream Reese's perspective looking up towards the ceiling. She was sitting on the floor of a subtly ornate hallway with white walls and opulent crown moulding. The floor was carpeted blue and bronze in a Victorian sort of pattern. The lighting in the hallway seemed to glow gold. About six feet to Dream Reese's left was a stretch of blindingly-shiny, white tile flooring with a ceiling-to-floor window looking out onto the water. This body of water was a remarkable sight. Ocean-like yet entirely consisting of freshwater. Into the water, from a point in the large, doughnut-shaped structure that was the building, descended a racing green, wooden staircase onto a large, free-standing platform of the same colour in the same material as the staircase. Now, I must describe the building before I proceed in the narrative. It is oblong in shape with a hollow center. There were many strange qualities about this building. For one, it was separated into two parts: a public, residential area and a private mansion. Second, the mansion looked like this:
This is the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina, USA, by the way. I've actually been there.
It was connected to the residential area like a diamond in a ring, protruding and gorgeous out of something mildly plain. Thirdly, the entire structure was suspended above the water about twenty feet by thick wooden planks. The building was also extremely white on the outside, completely brilliant. Lastly, the structure was isolated, an island with no access to civilization outside of this glamourous little universe they've created. Back to Dream Reese...
As she got up from the floor, our perspective changed. We are now looking at her; we can see her entire body in relation to the landscape. As she rises from the floor, two people run, in a frolicking manner, down the hallway, one male and one female, roughly 20-something years old, holding hands. Now, I'm not sure how, but we recognize them to be brother and sister. They live in the mansion, and have one other sister that we never hear from or see during the course of the dream. The male was wearing dark-blue, almost indigo, dress pants with a white Oxford shirt and black patent leather shoes. His sister was wearing a linen dress in orange-scarlett with clotted-cream-coloured trim. Yes, I remember exactly what they were wearing (illustrations to follow). They ran straight through the front door with one quick turn of the key without so much as one look at Dream Reese. Curious, Dream Reese followed. The front door was extremely magnificent, over-sized and was this colour. I'm not quite sure what happened between looking at the front door and ending up on the floor in the middle of this room, but I can only make rational assumptions (Victoria, my real-life Nerdfighter confidante, thought I had apparated). The room was enormous with very high ceilings and two swinging doors that faced each other on the far left of the room. There were large French doors on opposite sides of the room as well. Bursting from one of the swinging doors, triumphantly, came a regal woman dressed in an, almost, military-style uniform. Here, I provide a visual.
As a huge surprise to me, this woman looks exactly like someone I know; she just looks the same. As soon as she entered from one side of the room, her two children (the ones we saw before, still holding hands) rush through the door opposite her. She said something inaudible to them, and the two of them left. Looking around the room, her eyes locked on me. Whispering, yet still far away, she stated, "Stay as long as you'd like." Then, the woman ran out of the room. Its carpet was jade and navy blue for those who would like to know.
The dream becomes fuzzy again here. I end up at the opposite side of the mansion on a different day. I'm standing, staring at the locked entrance in a sort of trance-like state. All of sudden, I start moving towards an unnoticed part of the entrance. I push down on one corner to reveal a secret opening to the room adjacent to the one she had just left. What did she discover (forgive me for going all sermocinatrix on you)? A vintage bowling alley filled with people dressed like they were all from the twenties and thirties. Waiters, who all looked like tuxedoed Frank Sinatras with skinny moustaches, floated throughout the room carrying trays of cocktails and passing around cigarettes drawn from long, shallow, open boxes that hung from their necks. The party was a mixture of sport and mingling (which is basically a sport in itself). Everyone was standing around in small, intimate circles drinking and gossiping while occasionally taking turns throwing a ball down the lane. This place had the same glow as the hallway in which we began our story. Dream Reese crawled through that 3x3 space she found and marveled in what she saw. She took her place, quietly in the corner, and observed. As Dream Reese glanced towards her left, the regal woman of the mansion, wearing the most glorious gown and fur wrap, weaved carefully in and out of the crowd coming towards her determinedly. The woman of the mansion stopped in her tracks about 3 feet in front of Dream Reese, and looked straight passed her. She had a look of anger and shame on her face that was directed towards someone behind her. Slowly, the people in the room silenced and became very still; they turned their heads to witness what was occuring in the far corner. Dream Reese was the last one to have the nerve to turn her head and see who was right behind her. The brother and sister. The children of the woman of the mansion. They still held hands (honestly, I thought they were into incest) and looked at Dream Reese as if she was the scum of the earth, an intruder onto their precious, pristine territory. The woman of the mansion carefully turned her expression from her children to Dream Reese. Her face had changed; it was nearly apologetic. The woman turned her head from view and walked away. The end.
I woke up at that point. I figured out later what had happened exactly. The woman doesn't mind that I'm hanging around her mansion, but her kids, obviously do. In the last scene, the children had done something to sabotage Dream Reese (I didn't find out what), and their mother knows it and is disgusted with them. The ending feels incomplete, but that's how it happened, so don't attack (a lot, at least) in the comments. Here are some more illustrations.
This is my own original illustration. The top left figure is Dream Reese. The figure on the far right is the woman of the mansion, and on the very bottom is her daughter.
This one just explains the colours (all of them mixed by me) of all the costumes and who is who.
This the gorgeous gown that the woman of the mansion wears in the bowling alley scene. The children and Dream Reese don't change costume, by the way. I forgot to say that earlier.
This is the colour I mixed for the gown.
I am definitely wrapping this blog up right here. I think I'm trying to make up for all the lack of blog around here. I hope that this didn't bore you too much. I've just spent 5 hours writing all of this and adding pictures, so I hope that someone benefited, even if it's just me.
Thank you for reading (even if you just scrolled through the dull bits)!
Looking forward to your next blog,
♥,
Reese
P.S. What do you think? A new banner perhaps?
Wednesday 16 July 2008
Reese's Punishment
This post is purely to expound the very simple details of Reese's punishment for missing the deadline.
For a whole day, starting tomorrow (if you will be online tomorrow), anything you write on the Internet will have to be in txt tlk.
i tthnk tats aproprait dont u?
Good luck.
Adam.
P.S. I will be posting properly soon, don't worry.
For a whole day, starting tomorrow (if you will be online tomorrow), anything you write on the Internet will have to be in txt tlk.
i tthnk tats aproprait dont u?
Good luck.
Adam.
P.S. I will be posting properly soon, don't worry.
Friday 11 July 2008
I have missed the deadline. Please, don't eat me; I already have a sunburn.
Shock ensues. I have just checked my calendar and have realized that I have missed my 2-week deadline. Please, don't be upset with me, Adam; I am so sorry. I forgot to tell you that I was invited to stay on holiday at the beach with a close friend and her family these passed four days. It's my fault that I didn't ask for an extension again. I'm willing to take whatever punishment you (and our readers) throw at me.
This hasn't happened before, so I'm not sure what action I should take. Should I wait for you to punish me in a public blog? Privately through e-mail or other means? Will our readers choose the punishment? Should we have a poll of the punishment possibilities on the side of the Consequent Bloggers main page from which our readers can choose my fate? Will I even be punished (YES, I should be)?
I know that you're are busy moving house, but let me know when you've read this blog. Readers, leave your opinions/punishment suggestions in the comments, just in case.
I'm sorry,
Forgive me,
♥♥♥♥♥,
Reese
P.S. Hello again, returning and new readers, including Maureen (if you're actually reading this, comment please). Forgive me for tarnishing my reputation as a positive contributing part of this wonderful Nerdfighter Project. This punishment should be quite amusing. I have no idea what Adam has planned, but I know that he has a wild imagination and a beautifully-descriptive rhetoric.
This hasn't happened before, so I'm not sure what action I should take. Should I wait for you to punish me in a public blog? Privately through e-mail or other means? Will our readers choose the punishment? Should we have a poll of the punishment possibilities on the side of the Consequent Bloggers main page from which our readers can choose my fate? Will I even be punished (YES, I should be)?
I know that you're are busy moving house, but let me know when you've read this blog. Readers, leave your opinions/punishment suggestions in the comments, just in case.
I'm sorry,
Forgive me,
♥♥♥♥♥,
Reese
P.S. Hello again, returning and new readers, including Maureen (if you're actually reading this, comment please). Forgive me for tarnishing my reputation as a positive contributing part of this wonderful Nerdfighter Project. This punishment should be quite amusing. I have no idea what Adam has planned, but I know that he has a wild imagination and a beautifully-descriptive rhetoric.
Thursday 26 June 2008
At nine my little doings are begun
I have just realised how close I came to breaking the time limit, and I apologise profusely. I should imagine you were getting quite worried. "Where is darling Adam’s blog post?" you must have been moaning in a pool of tears. "I do so miss his wonderful words." Well, you need no longer fear, for I am wholly and utterly here. React to this fact however you see fit (leap about with joy, smile distractedly, sigh with annoyance, stop reading in violent anger, etc.).
My life is dismantling around me. Boxes tower cheerlessly, figures smiling inanely from their sheer cardboard faces, whilst secretly sneering at me as they withhold my most precious and bliss-inducing items. But I must not complain, for two very good reasons:
1. This is extremely temporary, and I will be unpacking in a new room in just a few days.
2. I have already told you all about this, Reese, and I do not wish to bore you.
I have also just realised that my tea is cold. Damn and custard.
I'm glad to know that more people are reading this than just me and Reese. In my last post I asked you all to leave a comment, which turned out to be a foolish thing for me to do since the settings were such that only people with certain accounts could comment. It is now set so that anybody can leave a comment, so please feel uninhabited to do so.
On that note, Reese recently emailed John and/or Hank about this glorious project, so there is a good chance that they're reading this as well. If this is the case, please accept a special personal invitation from me to leave a comment below. It really would exhilarate both of us.
As a little treat today I'm including in this post a picture of me dressed as Captain Hook on the occasion of my seventh birthday:
Unfortunately I couldn't find a full-length one of me (those ones are the best, really, since I had an excellent coat which went with the outfit), but that one will suffice. As another bonus, and to make up for the lack of a full outfit, here’s another one of me when I was a lot younger:
Yes, I know. I was adorable (I still am, of course).
QUESTION 5:
What do/would you do when something or someone you've been earnestly supporting loses or fails at what they or he/she/it are/is trying to achieve? What do/would you do when they or he/she/it do/does achieve their or his/hers/its goal(s)? Be specific, if possible.
Well, that's an interesting question, because it has an interesting answer.
It really depends upon how I learn about the news. If I'm watching an awards ceremony and someone whom I greatly admire and adore fails to attain a particular award, I usually go bananas. My throat is normally sore five minutes later because of my shouting. This is, of course, due to the tension which builds up during a ceremony like this. If, however, I hear about it on the radio, in a newspaper, by word of mouth, or on the internet, I am much calmer. I'm dying inside, you understand, but I am calm about it. Slight shouting, but overall very composed. General grumpiness will often ensue.
If someone whom I greatly admire and adore succeeds at something, it is the same case, but for different reasons. I will shout at the television, but in joy. I will calmly accept the news, but I will smile. I will then proceed to skip about in a bubble of euphoria.
It's now time for . . .
Well, today on Interesting Picture Time, we have this little treat for you:
Yes, your eyes are fine. That is indeed sheep made from old telephones. What is the artist trying to say here, do you think?
QUESTION 6:
Apart from Emma Thompson, who is your favourite actor/actress, and why?
Yes, I know; simple, basic, shallow question. But it's what I want to ask, so there.
My favourite actor – or, more specifically, the actor I hold in the highest regard – is a man named Jeremy Brett. He was quite simply magnificent, and there will never again exist an actor with his level of skill and charisma (though many can come close).
Jeremy Brett's Wikipedia page
There's nothing much more to say than that. I'm sure you'll find much more to say about your chosen actor/actress than I have done.
Reese, I am awed by your Perfect Day, and only wish that I was with you in your hypothetical world.
Well, what a melancholy occasion this is. Time, like a thief in the night, has smashed our near-side window, and stolen thence the stereo from our dashboard therein. Wiping a sad, soft, salt tear from my crimsoning cheek, I bid you, dear reading several, a disastrously gentle and gently horrified farewell, in anticipation of our future encounter on the highway of time. (Oh shut up, Adam. Where do you get off on that sort of language? Hmm? "The highway of time"? Really? Jesus . . .)
♥ always, Adam.
P.S. Congratulations go to Patti Lupwn for winning the Tony Award.
P.P.S. The title of this blog is from an E. B. White poem, by the way.
P.P.P.S. Take the pumpkin!
My life is dismantling around me. Boxes tower cheerlessly, figures smiling inanely from their sheer cardboard faces, whilst secretly sneering at me as they withhold my most precious and bliss-inducing items. But I must not complain, for two very good reasons:
1. This is extremely temporary, and I will be unpacking in a new room in just a few days.
2. I have already told you all about this, Reese, and I do not wish to bore you.
I have also just realised that my tea is cold. Damn and custard.
I'm glad to know that more people are reading this than just me and Reese. In my last post I asked you all to leave a comment, which turned out to be a foolish thing for me to do since the settings were such that only people with certain accounts could comment. It is now set so that anybody can leave a comment, so please feel uninhabited to do so.
On that note, Reese recently emailed John and/or Hank about this glorious project, so there is a good chance that they're reading this as well. If this is the case, please accept a special personal invitation from me to leave a comment below. It really would exhilarate both of us.
As a little treat today I'm including in this post a picture of me dressed as Captain Hook on the occasion of my seventh birthday:
Unfortunately I couldn't find a full-length one of me (those ones are the best, really, since I had an excellent coat which went with the outfit), but that one will suffice. As another bonus, and to make up for the lack of a full outfit, here’s another one of me when I was a lot younger:
Yes, I know. I was adorable (I still am, of course).
QUESTION 5:
What do/would you do when something or someone you've been earnestly supporting loses or fails at what they or he/she/it are/is trying to achieve? What do/would you do when they or he/she/it do/does achieve their or his/hers/its goal(s)? Be specific, if possible.
Well, that's an interesting question, because it has an interesting answer.
It really depends upon how I learn about the news. If I'm watching an awards ceremony and someone whom I greatly admire and adore fails to attain a particular award, I usually go bananas. My throat is normally sore five minutes later because of my shouting. This is, of course, due to the tension which builds up during a ceremony like this. If, however, I hear about it on the radio, in a newspaper, by word of mouth, or on the internet, I am much calmer. I'm dying inside, you understand, but I am calm about it. Slight shouting, but overall very composed. General grumpiness will often ensue.
If someone whom I greatly admire and adore succeeds at something, it is the same case, but for different reasons. I will shout at the television, but in joy. I will calmly accept the news, but I will smile. I will then proceed to skip about in a bubble of euphoria.
It's now time for . . .
Well, today on Interesting Picture Time, we have this little treat for you:
Yes, your eyes are fine. That is indeed sheep made from old telephones. What is the artist trying to say here, do you think?
QUESTION 6:
Apart from Emma Thompson, who is your favourite actor/actress, and why?
Yes, I know; simple, basic, shallow question. But it's what I want to ask, so there.
My favourite actor – or, more specifically, the actor I hold in the highest regard – is a man named Jeremy Brett. He was quite simply magnificent, and there will never again exist an actor with his level of skill and charisma (though many can come close).
Jeremy Brett's Wikipedia page
There's nothing much more to say than that. I'm sure you'll find much more to say about your chosen actor/actress than I have done.
Reese, I am awed by your Perfect Day, and only wish that I was with you in your hypothetical world.
Well, what a melancholy occasion this is. Time, like a thief in the night, has smashed our near-side window, and stolen thence the stereo from our dashboard therein. Wiping a sad, soft, salt tear from my crimsoning cheek, I bid you, dear reading several, a disastrously gentle and gently horrified farewell, in anticipation of our future encounter on the highway of time. (Oh shut up, Adam. Where do you get off on that sort of language? Hmm? "The highway of time"? Really? Jesus . . .)
♥ always, Adam.
P.S. Congratulations go to Patti Lupwn for winning the Tony Award.
P.P.S. The title of this blog is from an E. B. White poem, by the way.
P.P.P.S. Take the pumpkin!
Friday 13 June 2008
Before I die of either excitement or grief...
Salve! Scisne Latine? I sure don't.
I do hope we've gained more readers over the course of this blog correspondence. I've been finding it very informative and quite enjoyable and hope that you, dear reader, think likewise. I still cannot fully grasp what it is we're doing here and how in the world we came to be. We seem to go through life believing that things will never just fall into our laps, that all things, good or bad, must be fought for and attained for ourselves. Yes, it is wonderful to have something amazing result from persistent and difficult dedication, but do we not all dream to have it simply and willingly given to us without having to be indebted in one way or another?
This, my friend, is what we have right here.
I met Adam on the Nerdfighter Ning's new member's page by chance (links to our pages in the right sidebar--I've always wanted to say that). I must admit that, when I find myself with no good films or videos to watch or books to read, I go onto other Nerdfighters' profiles and listen to music, look at pictures, read the "About Me" sections, etc... This day, however, I had decided to say, "Hello!" and "Welcome!" to any new members that I found. I picked at random and found Adam. We soon began leaving each other extremely lengthy (and absolutely fantastic) comments and becoming great friends. Ultimately, we decided to channel our loves for writing too much and talking about anything and everything into one string of corresponding blogs, one consequent to the other and so forth. Thus, the project of Consequent Bloggers began.
It is magnificent, Adam, doing this with you. This is not work. It is not difficult.
Consequent Bloggers: The Nerdfighter Project is wondrous.
I'm not exactly sure why I had to write that this morning, but I did. I hope you don't mind. ♥
Change in topic...NOW.
Comments would be too wonderful. I'd love to read what other people think of this blog, especially John and Hank. Adam, do you think we need more exposure? Could this blog be on the list of Nerdfighter Projects on the Nerdfighter Ning's main page? Is that only reserved for VLogs? Do you have any idea on how we can do this? Leave us what you think about this in the comments, reader(s), please. :]
Adam, you deserve the most stupendous birthdays in the world. I do desire that this past one was and more. I've always believed that age is all in the mind. Physical age is nearly irrelevant. I've always felt older than what I actually am. I don't think that meditating on your physical age makes you appreciate your youth more, but it does make you come to terms with the fact that you've reached that point where you realize that you have all the potential you could ever possibly want and all the time in the world to use it. How resplendent!
That cake sounded too delicious. We need smell-o-vision and/or taste-o-vision. Now.
Lanhydrock House is too gorgeous. I should have taken a train to visit the house when I could. :/
I love that sort of weather. I guess it's because I don't get a lot of it where I live. When people go inside when it rains, I bask in the glory of the small, gleaming droplets of water lazily dripping from the clouds. I'd love to see little you in a Captain Hook costume with an eye-liner moustache.
I'm terribly happy that you would go to the Wizarding World. We should go together. :]
Moving on to the stalk of this head of broccoli...
QUESTION 4:
What would be your idea of a perfect day?
My perfect day consits of many simple things that, probably, only I will love.
I'd wake up, alone, early in the morning, only to find that right outside my window is the most glorious environment: comfortably cold, soft winds, and only the slightest slivers of sunlight peeking through the great thickness of clouds, gently illuminating every inch of the rolling, hilly landscape that is complete with cows, horses, deer, wild rabbits, and, of course, sheep. I'd get dressed in my favourite clothing and head upstairs to discover my breakfast comrade lounging in the parlour in one of the armchairs near the mid-morning spread of fresh fruit, pastries, and good coffee and the Steinway baby grand (which I have in my own house, by the way). He is Stephen Sondheim. We'd spend the next couple of hours eating, drinking, laughing, singing, playing the piano, sharing stories, telling secrets, giving and taking advice, creating lasting memories. This would last for hours. During the next part of my day, I'd paint, on a very large canvas, something absolutely brilliant that Steve and I had discussed previously in the day with great poise and knowledge. Following that experience, with dry paint still left on my hands, I'd write outside, on a simple wooden table in a comfortable chair. The chair and table would be waiting for me in the center of an almost ethereal, windless, pleasantly-cold moor. I don't think that I would write a novel, though. I'd write anything that pops into my head, all of it excellent and thoughtful. To finish my day, I'd apparate effortlessly from my home into a private box of my favourite theatre in the city. There, I'd see all my favourite shows, one after the other. No one would get tired, and we would all be enjoying every minute of it. After the last performance, I'd teleport home and take a walk outside, ultimately laying out in the field of grass, breathing in the scent of the coming morning dew. There, I would stare at the heavens, looking at the stars, close my eyes, and sleep the heaviest, most-satisfying sleep not even a human is capable of.
QUESTION 5:
Here is a question asked and answered in honor of the Tonys:
What do/would you do when something or someone you've been earnestly supporting loses or fails at what they or he/she/it are/is trying to acheive? What do/would you do when they or he/she/it do/does acheive their or his/hers/its goal(s)? Be specific, if possible.
Sorry for all the forward slashes. :]
Anyone who has ever seen my Ning profile or spoken to me for over five minutes knows of my deep admiration and love for an incredibly talented woman named Patti LuPone. She is one of just three women who have influenced me greatly artistically over the past eight or nine years(the other two being J.K. Rowling and Emma Thompson). LuPone is also nominated this year in one of the many categories for Antoinette Perry Awards for Excellence in Theatre which are being presented this Sunday during a live telecast starting at 8pm Eastern Standard Time. I can proudly say that I am supporting her 100%. There is one thought, though, that came to me recently in a moment of weakness.
"What if she doesn't win?"
My initial thought is the following:
"I'd die."
More realistically, I'd shut myself in my room, in complete darkness, wrap myself in my comforter with only my face peeking through, sit directly in front of the television, pop in the DVD and watch Sweeney Todd Live in Concert on a loop until I feel well enough to come out of my hovel. In the week after it occurs, my demeanor would probably change for the worse. I would be distant and quiet and use very few words (which is very off-colour for me). Maybe, just maybe, a bit after that, I'd begin speaking normally again and continue in my usual routine.
If (WHEN) she wins, I'd tell everyone I know even if they don't know her. Then, I'd send her an e-mail congratualting her. Following that, I'd listen to everything she's ever recorded in celebration. I may even hold a party with my Patti-loving friends.
I wanted to write this before I knew if she won or not. If she loses, and I had planned to write this blog on Monday instead of today, this blog would be extremely short and entirely uncolouful. This could also go the other way. I could write WAY too much about topics that would be completely irrevelvant in the sheer exctiement of it all.
Well, I have to go unpack now (I got home yesterday), and the extension you gave me was perfect. I really hope that you're having as grand a time with this as I am.
Speak to you soon, I hope
♥, Reese
P.S. Patti LuPwns, and I love the new banner. :]
I do hope we've gained more readers over the course of this blog correspondence. I've been finding it very informative and quite enjoyable and hope that you, dear reader, think likewise. I still cannot fully grasp what it is we're doing here and how in the world we came to be. We seem to go through life believing that things will never just fall into our laps, that all things, good or bad, must be fought for and attained for ourselves. Yes, it is wonderful to have something amazing result from persistent and difficult dedication, but do we not all dream to have it simply and willingly given to us without having to be indebted in one way or another?
This, my friend, is what we have right here.
I met Adam on the Nerdfighter Ning's new member's page by chance (links to our pages in the right sidebar--I've always wanted to say that). I must admit that, when I find myself with no good films or videos to watch or books to read, I go onto other Nerdfighters' profiles and listen to music, look at pictures, read the "About Me" sections, etc... This day, however, I had decided to say, "Hello!" and "Welcome!" to any new members that I found. I picked at random and found Adam. We soon began leaving each other extremely lengthy (and absolutely fantastic) comments and becoming great friends. Ultimately, we decided to channel our loves for writing too much and talking about anything and everything into one string of corresponding blogs, one consequent to the other and so forth. Thus, the project of Consequent Bloggers began.
It is magnificent, Adam, doing this with you. This is not work. It is not difficult.
Consequent Bloggers: The Nerdfighter Project is wondrous.
I'm not exactly sure why I had to write that this morning, but I did. I hope you don't mind. ♥
Change in topic...NOW.
Comments would be too wonderful. I'd love to read what other people think of this blog, especially John and Hank. Adam, do you think we need more exposure? Could this blog be on the list of Nerdfighter Projects on the Nerdfighter Ning's main page? Is that only reserved for VLogs? Do you have any idea on how we can do this? Leave us what you think about this in the comments, reader(s), please. :]
Adam, you deserve the most stupendous birthdays in the world. I do desire that this past one was and more. I've always believed that age is all in the mind. Physical age is nearly irrelevant. I've always felt older than what I actually am. I don't think that meditating on your physical age makes you appreciate your youth more, but it does make you come to terms with the fact that you've reached that point where you realize that you have all the potential you could ever possibly want and all the time in the world to use it. How resplendent!
That cake sounded too delicious. We need smell-o-vision and/or taste-o-vision. Now.
Lanhydrock House is too gorgeous. I should have taken a train to visit the house when I could. :/
I love that sort of weather. I guess it's because I don't get a lot of it where I live. When people go inside when it rains, I bask in the glory of the small, gleaming droplets of water lazily dripping from the clouds. I'd love to see little you in a Captain Hook costume with an eye-liner moustache.
I'm terribly happy that you would go to the Wizarding World. We should go together. :]
Moving on to the stalk of this head of broccoli...
QUESTION 4:
What would be your idea of a perfect day?
My perfect day consits of many simple things that, probably, only I will love.
I'd wake up, alone, early in the morning, only to find that right outside my window is the most glorious environment: comfortably cold, soft winds, and only the slightest slivers of sunlight peeking through the great thickness of clouds, gently illuminating every inch of the rolling, hilly landscape that is complete with cows, horses, deer, wild rabbits, and, of course, sheep. I'd get dressed in my favourite clothing and head upstairs to discover my breakfast comrade lounging in the parlour in one of the armchairs near the mid-morning spread of fresh fruit, pastries, and good coffee and the Steinway baby grand (which I have in my own house, by the way). He is Stephen Sondheim. We'd spend the next couple of hours eating, drinking, laughing, singing, playing the piano, sharing stories, telling secrets, giving and taking advice, creating lasting memories. This would last for hours. During the next part of my day, I'd paint, on a very large canvas, something absolutely brilliant that Steve and I had discussed previously in the day with great poise and knowledge. Following that experience, with dry paint still left on my hands, I'd write outside, on a simple wooden table in a comfortable chair. The chair and table would be waiting for me in the center of an almost ethereal, windless, pleasantly-cold moor. I don't think that I would write a novel, though. I'd write anything that pops into my head, all of it excellent and thoughtful. To finish my day, I'd apparate effortlessly from my home into a private box of my favourite theatre in the city. There, I'd see all my favourite shows, one after the other. No one would get tired, and we would all be enjoying every minute of it. After the last performance, I'd teleport home and take a walk outside, ultimately laying out in the field of grass, breathing in the scent of the coming morning dew. There, I would stare at the heavens, looking at the stars, close my eyes, and sleep the heaviest, most-satisfying sleep not even a human is capable of.
QUESTION 5:
Here is a question asked and answered in honor of the Tonys:
What do/would you do when something or someone you've been earnestly supporting loses or fails at what they or he/she/it are/is trying to acheive? What do/would you do when they or he/she/it do/does acheive their or his/hers/its goal(s)? Be specific, if possible.
Sorry for all the forward slashes. :]
Anyone who has ever seen my Ning profile or spoken to me for over five minutes knows of my deep admiration and love for an incredibly talented woman named Patti LuPone. She is one of just three women who have influenced me greatly artistically over the past eight or nine years(the other two being J.K. Rowling and Emma Thompson). LuPone is also nominated this year in one of the many categories for Antoinette Perry Awards for Excellence in Theatre which are being presented this Sunday during a live telecast starting at 8pm Eastern Standard Time. I can proudly say that I am supporting her 100%. There is one thought, though, that came to me recently in a moment of weakness.
"What if she doesn't win?"
My initial thought is the following:
"I'd die."
More realistically, I'd shut myself in my room, in complete darkness, wrap myself in my comforter with only my face peeking through, sit directly in front of the television, pop in the DVD and watch Sweeney Todd Live in Concert on a loop until I feel well enough to come out of my hovel. In the week after it occurs, my demeanor would probably change for the worse. I would be distant and quiet and use very few words (which is very off-colour for me). Maybe, just maybe, a bit after that, I'd begin speaking normally again and continue in my usual routine.
If (WHEN) she wins, I'd tell everyone I know even if they don't know her. Then, I'd send her an e-mail congratualting her. Following that, I'd listen to everything she's ever recorded in celebration. I may even hold a party with my Patti-loving friends.
I wanted to write this before I knew if she won or not. If she loses, and I had planned to write this blog on Monday instead of today, this blog would be extremely short and entirely uncolouful. This could also go the other way. I could write WAY too much about topics that would be completely irrevelvant in the sheer exctiement of it all.
Well, I have to go unpack now (I got home yesterday), and the extension you gave me was perfect. I really hope that you're having as grand a time with this as I am.
Speak to you soon, I hope
♥, Reese
P.S. Patti LuPwns, and I love the new banner. :]
Monday 26 May 2008
May 26th, 2008 — Recollections and Responses (I do so love alliteration)
Greetings, greetings; compliments and adulations. Once again, I find myself here, writing this article, this blog, this assembly of words, for you, Reese, and for whomever may be fortunate enough to be reading this.
On that note, for a little experiment, I wonder if anybody reading this would be so kind as to comment on this humble discourse below, merely for my own knowledge and pleasure.
Well, I am writing this on Monday 26th May 2008, the last day I have before I turn sixteen. Strange as it seems, the progression from fifteen to sixteen isn’t substantially important to me: I suppose it’s because I’ve never really thought of myself as fifteen years old. One might say that this depletes my appreciation of my youth, but this is not true. Anyway, enough of my wretched musings.
It has come to my knowledge that every year my birthday week brings with it the most miserable, dreary, and cheerless weather that our great atmosphere is able to bestow upon us. This makes it incredibly hard to hold a successful birthday party. I have had gatherings in the garden with my friends, many years ago, where the wretchedness has descended upon us, forcing us inside the house. Gazebos have been worshipped like gods that will save us from the agony of standing in the rain wearing only a polyester Cinderella costume bought in Woolworths (I am not, unfortunately, referring to myself; I was clad in a very fetching Captain Hook outfit, complete with eye-liner moustache). Bouncy castles have been abandoned and left to grow limp and wet, whilst barbeques have been transferred to the oven and frying pan, causing widespread disappointment. One year, we had the foresight to book a splendid little hall in which we held a delightful fancy-dress party; the only problem was that it was gloriously sunny outside.
Previously on Consequent Bloggers:
QUESTION 3:
If you were given two tickets to travel to any place at any time (fictional or non-fictional), who would you take, where would go you and why?
A wonderful question, and one which I pondered for a considerable amount of time. At last I concluded that I would have to agree with you: France in the late twentieth century, Cheshire in the late eighteenth century, or London in the early twentieth century, cannot compare to the majesty of the Wizarding World.
On that note, for a little experiment, I wonder if anybody reading this would be so kind as to comment on this humble discourse below, merely for my own knowledge and pleasure.
Well, I am writing this on Monday 26th May 2008, the last day I have before I turn sixteen. Strange as it seems, the progression from fifteen to sixteen isn’t substantially important to me: I suppose it’s because I’ve never really thought of myself as fifteen years old. One might say that this depletes my appreciation of my youth, but this is not true. Anyway, enough of my wretched musings.
It has come to my knowledge that every year my birthday week brings with it the most miserable, dreary, and cheerless weather that our great atmosphere is able to bestow upon us. This makes it incredibly hard to hold a successful birthday party. I have had gatherings in the garden with my friends, many years ago, where the wretchedness has descended upon us, forcing us inside the house. Gazebos have been worshipped like gods that will save us from the agony of standing in the rain wearing only a polyester Cinderella costume bought in Woolworths (I am not, unfortunately, referring to myself; I was clad in a very fetching Captain Hook outfit, complete with eye-liner moustache). Bouncy castles have been abandoned and left to grow limp and wet, whilst barbeques have been transferred to the oven and frying pan, causing widespread disappointment. One year, we had the foresight to book a splendid little hall in which we held a delightful fancy-dress party; the only problem was that it was gloriously sunny outside.
Previously on Consequent Bloggers:
QUESTION 3:
If you were given two tickets to travel to any place at any time (fictional or non-fictional), who would you take, where would go you and why?
A wonderful question, and one which I pondered for a considerable amount of time. At last I concluded that I would have to agree with you: France in the late twentieth century, Cheshire in the late eighteenth century, or London in the early twentieth century, cannot compare to the majesty of the Wizarding World.
Hello. My name is Adam, and I am a Harry Potter fanboy.
I would not like to travel into the future, for it is a dangerous place in which, or with which, to meddle. So that leaves either the present or the past, as is a painfully obvious fact. I suppose I would go with what you said: I would go to just after the war, so that I could experience the beginning of a new age without the fear of Voldemort and his followers. It’s bizarre, really, that out of every location and time period on, and in the history of, this planet, we chose a place which, in essence, doesn’t exist. But I think this just demonstrates J. K. Rowling’s extraordinary achievement in creating a world which does seem real, and does seem appealing to us. I would take my sister, Jessica, for she too delights in this world.
On an entirely different subject, we went to Lanhydrock House yesterday, in Bodmin. It’s the most glorious building: built in the seventeenth century, and containing many years of life and progression. Most of it inside is late Victorian, but the gardens are timeless. Unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera with me, so the only photographs I have are by other people—
All the way around, all me and my sister could think of was stories: histories to dozens of rooms and hundreds of items; sinister murders in the grounds and secret affairs in the bed chambers. But my sister (who is also a writer) managed to attain some very good plot ideas, or sparks of ideas, so it seems our slight lack of interest in some parts of the building were for good reason. 
QUESTION 4:
What would be your idea of a perfect day?
I think this is a really interesting question, and one which can obviously tell you a lot about a person. You can do anything you want, Reese. Think carefully.
My answer is as follows.
Most of my day would involve writing. I would wake up refreshed and sparkling, with a great new idea for my novel. I would sit down and write at least two thousand words, before taking a break to eat a highly satisfying lunch. After that, a good dose of efficient composing would be nice, before a few hours spent in good company in generally pleasant surroundings. Perhaps I might see a play, have a meal, and discover at the most unexpected moment that that twenty pound note which I hideously mislaid several weeks ago was, in fact, in my coat pocket all along, and I would spend it on others (something which is usually very gratifying). I do not ask for much: you will not find me wishing to win the lottery, or to spend the night with a Brazilian lap-dancer. Heaven forbid.
My chocolate birthday cake is cooking, now, and a sublime scent of warm chocolate is spreading throughout the house. I must go, but not to eat the cake (I shall be doing so tomorrow, after I have spent the day traipsing around the streets of Exeter, leaving with several books, no doubt, and a rather lighter wallet).
As an ending note, I am officially modifying the time-limit rule so as to accommodate your holiday. You have until Monday 16th June to write your blog; is that enough time? If not, feel uninhibited to notify me, and I will amend the rule appropriately.
Until then, your friend,
Adam.
P.S. Reader, don’t forget to comment, if it’s not too much trouble. It will be appreciated, I can assure you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
