Qanzaspeak

I’m geeking out, big time. Colossal. I’m so excited.

There are mysteries that cannot be solved
Beliefs that cannot be trusted
Events that cannot be explained
And a truth that cannot be ignored

July 25th. Know what I‘m sayin’?

Oh yeah, I survived the week, too. If I can make it through the next one, my plans shall not be curtailed.

As long as Intermediate French I isn’t canceled this summer. Mon dieu, mais non!

I’m afraid I won’t be blogging this week due to the enormous amount of work that landed on my shoulders today. To make it up to you, here’s a Peep on red Fiestaware. Just be careful, they don’t like it if you make direct eye contact.

‘Til Saturday,

Easter. Rebirth.

Reminds me of a line from Georgia Rule:

“We can all survive. You just don’t have to be so damn sad doing it.”

Yep. Cheer up. It’s Spring!

Damn! Spam has reached a new low. According to my in-box, I’m sending myself e-mails about penile enlargement. Seems a little virusey. Time for a system scan. Still, now I’m feeling insecure. I imagine my doppelganger typing e-mails to me from another dimension while muttering, “You could always be bigger.”

And he’s not talking about fame.

I took the week off to chill. It’s Spring Break, see? No classes, not a busy time at work, great week to catch up on sleep, and the reading for the rest of the semester. Today I planned to sleep late, sip a little coffee, then hit the grocery store and the vet’s office while the rest of the world is at work. See that? That’s the view out my front window this morning. The city has been replacing sewer line in my neighborhood. I thought our yard was one of the few to be spared. My false security was dashed this morning. The water is turned off and I cannot shower, brush my teeth, shave, nothing. I sit trapped in my own filth. I’m tempted to grab my watering can and straw hat, work myself into tears and then fly out the front door making a beeline for the guy in the hole.

Qanzas [in full gardening outfit, hysterical]: “My peeeeeeonies! My darling, baby, pretty, pink peeeeeeonies!”

City Worker [in hole]: “Um, I’m sorry, mamn?”

No. Instead I’m going to throw some clothes over my stink, buy a cup of coffee from the espresso bar with a drive-thru, and carry on. I keep hearing of a phenomenon called Portland Casual, guess I can look at today as research.

Janelle came over yesterday to film a five minute short of her brilliant screenplay. Working title: Killer Chopsticks, though her Master’s adviser insists she come up with something more thoughtful. We’re pretty sure all the thoughtful titles are already taken: Dead Poets’ Society, Atonement, The Legend of Billie Jean…so Killer Chopsticks it is, at least for now. I mean, didn’t people rally for Snakes on a Plane to remain titled as such? Yes. Yes they did.

Janelle’s actor bailed on her at the eleventh hour. “I can’t. My joints hurt.” For real. What a wad. (Note to self: refer to people as wads more often.) Her crew bailed, too. Wads! Thus, as well as filling the role of writer and director, Janelle became the entire crew. I know what you’re all wondering, what you’re chomping at the bit to confirm, on the edge of your seats to see, wiggling, squirming, giggling, tickling yourselves, squealing, could it be? Well slap yerselves with wet pancakes and buy me a shot of Hot Damn because it’s true! Due to the leading man’s joint pain, Yours Truly is the star.

Without giving too much away, a quiet dinner at home takes a devilish turn when a set of chopsticks exact their revenge on their maker. It’s like if Pinocchio turned on his creator in the name of the trees cut down to make him. Hey! How ’bout Child’s Play Chopsticks. That’s thoughtful! Or The Lorax 2? “I speak for the trees!”

It was so much fun. We filmed from 2PM until 11, and it felt like an hour or so. Since it was just the two of us, we could really focus and collaborate, without twenty other opinions to extinguish moments of inspiration. Admittedly, at first it was boring. Filming is incredibly tedious. So much so that I avoid almost any opportunity to work on a film in favor of theatre. Once we had a few scenes down and could view the footage it became a lot more fun. We started to realize we were actually getting it! Janelle’s script calls for a few tricks that neither of us were sure we’d be able to pull off, but I think she captured what she needed, exceeding my expectations tenfold. I can’t wait for the finished product. I think I have her convinced to put it on YouTube. I’ll post the link if she does. That may not be for a few months, though. We’ve got two more scenes to film, and then she’s got a lot of editing to do. Thankfully, she’s a perfectionist.

So, I’m dipping my toes back into the often annoying, sometimes scalding waters of acting. It’s exciting to me because there are bigger projects out there, burbling, churning, and gestating in the ether. Suffice it to say, if you and I have been kicking around the idea of a l’il bit ‘o drama, I’m readying.

Finally got a new digital camera, so I can start adding some color to liven up these here white pages. Enjoy this first offering and don’t forget to thank me.

This Facebook thing is outta’ hand. After holding out for a long time, I allowed myself to be cajoled into joining. This is my bitchiness ranking on the personality application. I’m not self-aware enough to know if it’s accurate, but I think it’s funny.

Part-Time Bitch
You are half-bitch, half-sweetheart. You know what the nice thing to do is, and will do it… if you feel like it. People are often scared to get to know you, but once they do, they realize you’re not that bitchy all the time!

Part-time, eh? The pay is okay, but there aren’t any benefits. I’m gonna’ have to amp up my bitchiness if I ever want to provide for my family. Wait, what family? Legally I’m not entitled.

Was that bitchy? I’m sorry.

The play completely exceeded my expectations. If anyone’s in the KC area, or anywhere else they’re doing “The Little Dog Laughed,” I recommend it highly. Heart-felt and satirical. Sarcastic and genuine. Strong performances and even stronger writing. (With a really funny line or two about screenwriters.) You’ll shed a tear, and then guffaw thirty seconds later. What fun.

And hey, the full-frontal doesn’t hurt. I could go on and on…for at least twelve inches.

Nicely done.

Assignment: review a live performance. I’m the only one in class not seeing a concert. Apparently “concert” may consist of a couple dudes jamming in a suburban bar while they toss back their earnings. Fine. My sense of superiority will fuel the writing.

If you’re in KC, how ’bout coming to The Unicorn this evening? I’ll be the one wearing platform heels with goldfish swimming in them. It’s so cute, the way they go belly up by intermission. Promises to be a gay old time.

I’m excited. I’ve always had a hard time finding theatre-going pals. Usually when I ask anyone if they’ll go to a play with me, the response ranges from, “Well, I think I have to water my dog that evening, or something. But let’s definitely go sometime,” to “Hell no!” I wonder if these folks have ever been to a good play? Response? “There’s no such thing.”

I’ll show them. I’m going to go to this play and have a blast. The actors always appreciate twenty to thirty “WOOOOOO-HOOOOO’s,” and “You tell ‘em sister’s,” screaming from the audience. Not to mention all of my glowsticks and confetti. Always a hit. Tonight I plan to introduce finger cymbals. They travel much better than the full-size things.

I know it’s not Idol, but we’ve got to fill the other six days with something.