day 25: my day, in (relative) detail

Have you ever had anyone come at you with a metal object that may or may not (but definitely may) look something like a large butter knife, and then proceed to scrape it across various muscle masses on your body?

Neither have I. Until today.

I started my regimen of physical therapy today, to treat that dad-gum ankle I injured so long ago on January 18 while rehearsing Urinetown. My strength and range of motion of my left ankle is laughable (though Ames finds no reason to laugh--sweet, sweet Ames). Luckily, after an hour-long wait in the waiting room for some mysterious reason we may never know, I was able to visit with D. Neeley who checked me out (my foot, doi, not me me) and said the best treatment would various strength and stretch exercises in addition to the muscle scraping he would like to do twice a week for the next month.

The dance trainer at BYU rolls out the knots in peoples' calves with a rolling pin. A literal rolling pin. And that's why it didn't really surprise me that the metal tools he pulled out to scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape over various ligaments and a particularly nasty, tender muscle up my calf. This is to break up scar tissue so the strength and stretch exercises actually have a chance to work. Makes sense. Sounds hardcore, yeah? I am, thank you.

For reference in your future: butter knives hurt way worse on calf muscles than rolling pins.

After this test of pain tolerance (turns out, my tolerance is pretty high, at least so far, so that's a thumbs up), they hooked me up to an electrotherapy machine to prevent bruising while icing my leg to freeze that anti-scar tissue into place or whatever. Felt weird. Made my toes twitch.

Anyway, so that's what I did today. After that I came back to work and worked FURIOUSLY on a grant proposal worth a couple thou which, I'm proud to say, we submitted on time. So there's that.

Also, we woke up this morning and Ames was afraid the snail in our fish tank, Harvey, had shriveled and died in his pretty gold shell. I wasn't so convinced. And I'm very glad to tell you, Harvey is not dead and he's happily slurping up all the algae in our tank.

Blunt-edged butter knives, writing so fast there was literal (well, figurative) smoke rising from the keyboard, and no escargot on my dinner menu for tonight.

And that was my day.

day 24: fancy tickling

You know, even on days like today, when I can tickle my fancy or your fancy or our collective fancies (not fannies, mind you), I feel pretty constricted by this blog-a-day thing and feel like a need "a topic." Like Linda Richman-- Rhode Island. Neither a Road, nor an Island. Discuss. Someday I'll start writing things that people care about, or that might actually be interesting or funny or poignant or meaningful. Writing about Diet Coke is probably not meaningful. I'm starting to concoct ideas for blog-essays again, but I'm still scared of it, having fallen out of practice, so I just gotta work up to it, see.

I've decided to try and network a bit. Like, my blog. And myself. I want to network myself and my blog. Is that weird to publicize? Is that weird to tell the world? Frankly,

Dear World,
I want you to read my blog. I want to be frequented. I want to be read. I want to do super awesome giveaways and have 3298728957 hits a day. Does this make me narcissistic? Does this make me self-centered? Maybe. But it also makes me ambitious, conscious of how a successful blog can become a successful book deal, a successful reviewer, a successful opinion of society!!

But listen-- I'm willing to work both ways, World. So let me read your blogs too, okay? You read mine, I read yours, we follow each other, and never have itchy backs.I really feel like we can work something out here, so let's brainstorm, yeah?
Love, Emily

What do I intend to "get" out of this, other than personal satisfaction and validation of the popularity I must have apparently lacked in high school? Well.

I intend to:
1. write better.
2. write more frequently
3. write more essayistically.
4. cultivate career goals that involve/focus on writing.
5. get into grad school since my grades maybe weren't awesome.
6. appreciate other good writers and interesting people.
7. gather new ideas.
8. become less petty.
9. make friends.
10. write a book.

And I've somehow got it in my head that sniffing around the blogosphere is the way to do it. Or at least, it's certainly A way to do it. Because while a desk job is pretty okay since we don't have to pay for Hub to go to school, and while I really love the department I work for, and while I'm working in theatre (which is my other career goal in life), and writing grants do improve certain technical writing skills that I probably don't pay attention to in my personal writing, it feels kind of constricting and impersonal.

Also, blogging tickles my fancy, and we've made it full circle.

day 23: a youtube video (and more)

It is so sad that the audio card in my work computer is busted (and always has been, in 7.5 weeks I've been working here at Oo-Voo), because I had forgotten how much I love this video, and why the theme song was Jeremy's ringtone on the phone I lost in England.



So, so sad.

This morning I had a 44oz Diet Coke (shocker) in hand before 8:30am. I have to hunker down and write a grant proposal today that might get us upwards of $10,000, so it's kind of a big deal. I have a feeling I won't have any patience for Pepsi Island today.

A bag of Honey BBQ Flavor Twisted Fritos somehow wound up in my purse too. Don't know how that happened. Can't account for it. Don't mind it. Need to keep my energy up.

That's how I get through these kinds of things: type furiously, stop to think, crunch crunch crunch, typetypetypetypebackspacetypetypetypebackbackbackbacktype, think, crunch, SLUUUUUUURP, typetypetype.

I'll have you know that I read 3/4 of Quotidiana last night. I was reading The Best American Essays 2009 and in the middle of an essay about a guy being kidnapped and held at gunpoint during the Civil Rights Movement, it occurred to me that all I wanted in the whole entire world was to go to the library. So I did, and came home not 20 minutes later, Quotidiana and two Antonia Fraser books in hand. I am set for the next few weeks. I intend to be one of those girls who has read every single book written by or with contributions by Antonia Fraser. So what? I'm a fangirl of history. So what?

But Madden-- he's got this essay called Gravity and Distance, which is downright heartbreaking, and I've read it before, and maybe I cried about it. I love these lines:

"Isaac was delivered; Abraham was delivered, from on high. Of the many reasons explanations excuses I have heard, one sticks in my mind: God wanted, it is said, one earthly father to know his pain, what it was like to sacrifice his only son."

What this has to do with Planet Unicorn, I can't even tell you, but I'm not sure it matters.

day 22: a website

Can I be honest about something?

I'm really boring on the internet.

For real, I am. I only really check about six sites frequently-- facebook, gmail, twitter, livejournal, this blog, and postsecret like clockwork every Sunday. I also use the UVU website a lot because of work, which I guess makes sense.

I do read a lot of blogs, but not as many as I could, or nearly as many as I should if I want other people to read mine and then I can become a magical blog goddess.

So what website should I blog about that doesn't make me sound boring? Or pretentious (because I have frequented The New Yorker in the past hair toss cigarette tap. Which reminds me I should frequent it again. Hmmmmm).

THIS ONE.

I've mentioned it here and there on this blog since it and I were introduced my junior year at BYU, Winter semester 2008. This is the semester I discovered essays, which topic I've also mentioned here and there on this blog. QUOTIDIANA is a website dedicated to the collection of classical essays, interviews with essayists, selections and links to the "Essayist American Essays," and writing of Patrick Madden-- my former professor who taught me what an essay is.

A note on Patrick Madden: he has published a number of essays in a number of journals, and has recently published a book called, appropriately, Quotidiana (available on amazon.com). I took his Creative Non-fiction writing class, as well as his History and Theory of the Essay class, both of which changed my life (though clearly not enough to avoid such a cliche that grosses me out). Frankly, I'm afraid my participation in both classes didn't exactly prove this, which may be partly due to how formidable I found him, which will probably be a shock to Dr. Madden if he ever reads this because he was just about the most laid-back professor ever since we'd just sit around in a circle and discuss essays. Also he likes to be called Pat, which is difficult for me to call him because somehow I feel like I shouldn't feel so familiar with him, given how far I have to go in writing, see. But for real, visiting his office or turning in work was always terrifying to me (in the best way possible) because of my high opinion. We did really cool projects, like interviewing practicing and publishing essayists, and we always had to be writing writing writing so that pretty soon all I could think about was essays essays essays, which is not really a bad thing. He'll probably laugh at me for this-- if he ever reads it.

Anyway.

This website.

It's really good for passing time but not wasting it. There are lots of poignant essays, and funny ones, and sarcastic-but-true, and they tend to be universal. And I mean, you start reading enough and then you can start quoting (essays are always quotable), which makes you sound really smart and well-read-- which you will be, when you start reading essays. You've heard of Francis Bacon, haven't you? Well, haven't you? And probably Jonathan Swift, and A. A. Milne, and T. S. Eliot, and Oliver Goldsmith, and Mark Twain? Essayist, essayist, essayist, essayist, essayist, essayist.

It's too bad E. B. White is too contemporary (thus, copyrighted) so his work can't really be posted because he is just a delight, I tell you, a delight. So you can go pick up a book of his essays somewhere like Borders, but not on the website, which this post is about.

But yes. If you like websites, this is a good one for you to browse. And you might just become an Essay Person like me (thanks to Patrick Madden).

day 21: a recipe

This is me, with my friends Julie and Heidi. Heidi is my greatest friend for needing to know how to do things. Like, anything. Like, any single thing you need to know, Heidi will know it.

Do you need to know how to get candle wax out of your carpet? Don't worry-- just take your iron and a brown paper bag (newspaper can work too), and it'll come right out!

Do you need to know about the psychology of 19th century clothing? Fear not-- Heidi might even get a DEGREE on the subject, so just wait a few years and you can have a pretty impressive thesis to read.

Do you need a wedding dress? It's fine-- Heidi can MAKE IT.

She's also handy for recipes, which is why I was able to make a delicious rotini lasagna for dinner last night.

1 lb. rotini
8 oz cream cheese
16 oz sour cream
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 lb. ground beef (or turkey)
1 can tomato sauce

Cook noodles. Mix with softened cream cheese, sour cream and cream of mushroom soup.

Brown meat. Mix with tomato sauce.

Layer noodles and sauce mixture in 9x13" pan. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Cook for 40 minutes at 350 degrees.


DELICIOUS, you guys, and keeps well for lots of leftovers.

i wrote a review of a play

So remember how I said a few posts ago that I was going to write a review for this new website, the Utah Theater Bloggers Association?

Well I did it.

And here it is.

Go read it, then validate my opinions as a theater-goer and my ability as a theater reviewer.

Browse around the rest of the site for a while, too. It's brand new, but it's pretty shiny and cool, I think.

day 20: a hobby of yours

I'm tempted to post that Steve Brule video again, just because I like to shrug and say "It's a puzzle of yours!" Maybe you'll get it at the end, if you're lucky...

This is a hobby of mine.

I drink Diet Coke from Wendy's (my favorite) while hangin' out backstage with my friend Katie Sue.

(grossest picture of me ever, if you couldn't tell)

I'm good at drinking Diet Coke with Anne in Stratford, England, out of glass bottles and straws, with wildish looking hair.

I drink Diet Coke with Jeremy at Hooters when we meet Melinda and Matt for dinner before going to see movies like The Dark Knight at the IMAX (where I drink more Diet Coke, probably).

When I hang out with Madison and Katie days before my 23rd birthday, sometimes I drink Diet Coke-- and take a wacky picture while doing it!

I love drinking Diet Coke in France because the bottles are in French, you guys! And even though I'm eating a croissant in this picture, Chris is drinking a regular Coke, and Alta's back there with a Diet one, so you can see that we Americans got the best of those French by purchasing American products while abroad.


UVU, where I work and spend my days, is what my friend Mel likes to call Pepsi Island, where Diet Coke is rarely available-- certainly not on tap! When I have lunch with Ames, I have to settle for Diet Pepsi. Not preferable, but better than nothing. I'll even smile about it!

This is how I really feel about Diet Pepsi though: I let my Shia-from-Indiana-Jones action figure (with knife throwing action) take on Diet Pepsi (especially caffeine free).

You might say I'm a big supporter of the cola industry. What's funny is, I didn't even like cola until the summer of folk dance before my sophomore year of college! Though my parents have raised us to be a Coke Family, I always preferred Sprite or orange soda. I'm not sure what triggered the change, but the change was triggered, and I haven't looked back.

The beauty of the Diet Coke is that it is delicious, it is satisfying, and it doesn't even cost you a single calorie! Sure, it's got preservatives like crazy and it's probably pickling my insides, but I just love it.

I'm lucky to have other Coke Loving People in my life, aside from my family. Specifically, my friend Emilie who was the blessing of my life this summer when I came to Seven Peaks to work as HR and she was there, waiting and ready to be my friend and my ass(istant). Maybe we kept 44 oz cups in our office so we could go to the food stands promptly at 11 AM to get $1 refills. Every day. Sometimes more than once a day. Especially on payroll days. Don't even get me started on payroll days.

Occasionally I wonder how much time and money I've spent pursuing the acquisition of Diet Coke in my life. I mean, even just my time in Europe in 2008 where everything was exactly 2x the price of things in the US and I would regularly spend about $5 on a 20 oz bottle, multiple times a day. Then there were those times we went to those pubs and paid a cover charge, only to spend the evening downing Diet Coke instead of alcohol, which definitely costs a lot more than Diet Coke, except I spent the same amount on it anyway.

There's a Coke store in Vegas. My mom got me a pen and a pin from the Coke store. I wonder how many things I'd be tempted to buy at the Coke store. Probably the whole store.

My friend Ashley is a Coke lover-- especially Diet Coke with real limes squeezed in. She has said that she'd like to have red, black, and silver as her wedding colors so she can serve Diet Coke at the reception. I think it's a pretty fancy idea, and original. I'd go to that wedding, you guys. (I mean, I'll go anyway, but especially if it's Coke themed.)

When I found out I have a broken thyroid hanging out in my neck, I was told to lay off the stuff-- or at least the caffeinated stuff. That lasted for a while... I have to confess, I'm back on the caffeine, though I do try to make a concerted effort to avoid the caffeinated Diet Coke after 6pm. Sometimes I'm successful.

I always order "light ice" at restaurants, especially fast food when I'm on the go. I'm very particular about my Coke-to-ice ratio, in that I like more Diet Coke than I like ice. I've been known to send my drink back for more drink and less ice-- especially at Sonic. When they get it right, BOY do they get it right, which is why it's so very disappointing that they get it wrong more often than they get it right. Wendy's delivers a consistent and dependable ratio, which is why it's probably my favorite. They also offer a great fountain mix, which cannot be said about all places. Most places, it's blah. Wendy's, it's perfection.

It's nice how quickly the young man Ames learned to order for me, and he's very emphatic about the light ice. Quite nice diction, that one has. He doesn't think my behavior is dependent so much as it's selectively independent. I appreciate that. It makes it so much easier when I just can't drink another sip of boring gross water that I'm trying to trick myself into drinking because it's "better for me." Sometimes I just need a Diet Coke, okay? Which the young man will provide.

Maybe some might think it's silly that I refer to Diet Coke as one of my hobbies but you know, I think hobby is a much nicer word than habit. That's why headbands and cardigans are also hobbies.

And okay, I won't post that Steve Brule video again. BUT I'LL POST A DIFFERENT ONE!

day 19: a talent of yours

The title for this blog a day reminds me of this clip.



It's a puzzle of yours!

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about how I'm really talented at picking out glasses. It's because I have a face that's really good for wearing glasses, which is good, since I've been wearing glasses since second grade.Do you see how they are perfectly-shaped O frames? They were also purple. They still exist somewhere. Please also note my grandma's glasses-- which are awesomely quintessential Old Lady Glasses-- and her hair-- which is purple.

That was back when I only really wore glasses when I needed them. Then I started to need glasses every day, so I got something a little more versatile.

I think it's really effective that I'm in the background of these pictures so far. Okay, okay-- focus on Lizzy for a second and her equally enormous glasses on her eyes-closed face and no teeth (she lost both her front teeth on Christmas Eve) . She's also wearing my favorite sundress I ever had in my whole life, but that's beside the point. MY GLASSES ate my face, but at least there's a certain little subtlety that the mid-nineties offered with a dainty frame. These frames broke just in time for me to begin embracing my inner retro.

This is kind of a poor scan, but it comes to straight from Trevor Nelson's scanner/computer. Thank you Trevor Nelson. Please note the subtle cat-eye shape to these glasses, to compliment my cheek bones and eyes and layered hair inspired by MK&A Olson. This is where my talent really started developing, because my mom pretty much picked out my first two pairs of glasses for me.

I was SUPER OBSESSED with Austin Powers in my early high school years, which lead to the purchase of these glasses:

[unpictured due to lack of photographic evidence]

They were awesome, that's my point, okay? Dark blue chunky retro frames in a time when retro was not as "in" as it is "in" now. This is about the time I started wearing my contacts all the time, so not many pictures exist at all of me wearing glasses. It's a problem, okay, I get it.

When I was over the Austin Powers glasses phase, I got the coolest frameless glasses that ever existed. To be honest, I'm not sure there's a single picture anywhere of me wearing those glasses, but suffice it to say, they looked like this:

Please keep in mind that this is not a photo of me. I know I may come across a certain way, but I'm not Asian, I don't have a beard, nor am I, in fact, a man. I just happened to have glasses like this once.

THEN CAME MY BREAKTHROUGH. Having grown up and into a human with a budding sense of self, I got these little beauties.

Are they not the greatest? Also I'd be lying if I said I'm not obsessed with my hair and I want that hair cut and color again immediately please. And I'll have you know, this was welllllllllllllllllllll before it was super awesome to have enormous retro frames again. In fact, these are actually MEN'S GLASSES because I couldn't find women's glasses big enough. This was at the point in my life where I had just finished my first semester as a declared English Major and I was thrilled about it, so I needed to improve my look so that I could look like an English Major. They are very heavy, because I have thick lenses, and they kind of hurt my ears/head, but I think it adds to the flavor.

I also have a knack for putting cool sunglasses on my face.

Greatest. Sunglasses. Evar. You guys.

And because I'm so talented at putting glasses on my face, I've decided to get new ones, probably at the start of next month. They're a risk, they're certainly stylized, they remind me of my grandpa.

OMG I'M OBSESSED ABOUT THEM RIGHT NOWWWWWW. And here's hoping, with a few extra trips to the gym, they'll make me look a little like Olivia Williams in An Education.


This woman makes plain and prude look gooooooooooooooooooooooood.

day 18: something that tickles your fancy

Okay, blog stalkers. Let's all take a breath because we did it-- we made it to another wild card on Blog-a-Day. WE MADE IT! So let's just settle in with a bottle of Diet Coke and a pink blanket that your old roommate made you and a nice warm heating pad on your back while The Prestige plays in the background.

But for real, about the heating pad. My back is kiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllllllllinnnnnnnngggg meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, you guys.

Today, this necklace is tickling my fancy.

It was Valentine's Day gifted to me by husband Ames. I actually picked it out for myself because he's been gone all week so we went After Valentine's Day shopping at Target today because
1. Husband Ames has been gone in St. George acting all week.
2. I went and visited St. George but it was about the acting and not about shmoopy shopping.
3. We had the last of our wedding gift cards left and it was $50 to Target.
4. Target is the greatest store that ever existed and being there lifts my heart. Maybe it shouldn't but it does.

But isn't it darling and wonderful? I think it may become one of my go-to necklaces. Also it will remind me that I can do hard things, because I can, and husband Ames knows I can too.

We also got a snail for our fish tank, because the algae problem is a little out of control. The snail is named Harvey, because we watched Milk last night, and all the fish in our tank are boy fish. Harvey is the most romantic After Valentine's Day present ever.

Other than the necklace and the snail, my fancy is tickled by my stat counter which informed me that I've had 702 hits on this very here blog since February 1. 362 of them have been first-time visitors. I feel really cool about that. I also feel mystified because

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE!

I'd just love to know who's reading this little blog of mine-- you know, for curiosity's sake! What do you like about this blog? What would you like to see more/less of on this blog? Are the short entries better than the long ones? Are you visual blog readers and would like to see more pictures? Do you like it when I talk about Ames and post cute pictures of him? Please let me know.

The fact is: I know you exist, but you don't comment very much, so I don't even know who you are. But I want to know, and then I can blog-stalk you too! I really do actually keep up with all the blogs on my blog roll, and I fully intend to expand my blog reading.

Introduce yourself. Let's be blog-friends (especially if we're real-life friends), yeah?

day 17: an art piece

In order to find the specific picture I wanted to use for this post, I was forced-- FORCED, I tell you-- to look through my "i love art in paris" album on facebook, in which I posted pictures of lots of the art I saw in Paris. I have made two conclusions:

1. I didn't give Paris enough of a chance, and I bet it is really a whole lot better when you can be there with your sweetheart.
2. I love art and need to view it more frequently.

We are, at the moment, in the process of improving our home quite a bit. You know-- settling in, putting things on the wall, actually having useful furniture. We've begun a wall in our living room (living area, really, but what's the difference) which is to be dedicated to travel and foreign things. We've got lots of framed pictures of us (but not too many, because that's super annoying in a newlywed home). I'm dying to have framed artwork. My parents raised me in homes filled with lots of frames artwork. My uncle is an artist. My parents took me to the huge Monet exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Art when I was in fourth grade. We took our bridal/groomals at the Springville Art Museum. I like art.

This is my favorite.
Lest you be tricked into thinking I was alone while I traipsed around the Louvre, I wasn't. (Yes, I said traipsed in reference to being at the Louvre. It's a little bit of an exaggeration-- frankly, I took the place at a dead run because I couldn't handle the MASSES UPON MASSES UPON MASSES of people who were pushing and shoving and smelly, so I saw what I needed to see, had life-changing moments at the base of a handful of pieces, and then enjoyed a French bread pizza and Diet Coke in the cafe in the basement for 16E which was like $24 on the exchange. Does this make me an art unenthusiast? Does this make me a Europe unenthusiast?? No, this makes me unwilling to deal with tourists who don't know museum etiquette. Also, it made me hungry.) I'm just snappy with a camera and managed to capture this, in the breathtaking light of the window right there to the right. Can you handle it? I can't handle it. I mean, look.

I could die of happiness.

I'd go back to Paris to see this again. Also to see Versailles. Finally. But don't even get me started on that.

What's funny about art is that it's kind of subjective. I say "kind of" because there is some art that is not really subjectively beautiful. The David is beautiful. Cupid and Psyche is beautiful. Venus de Milo is beautiful. This is because they have a reputation for beauty, I think, and so even people who don't know why it's beautiful, know it's beautiful. Pieces become mainstream, and then they're mainstream for a few hundred years, and then they gain notoriety for being mainstream and beautiful, so other people take the Louvre at a dead run because they only want to see a few things they recognize, and don't stop to look at all the other lovely things that aren't familiar. Take this little buddy:

Do you even know who he is? I'm sorry to tell you, I don't even know who he is either. I saw him praying in a corner of the Musee d'Orsay and found him so very charming, but then didn't even write down his name. That was a mistake for me. It makes me feel like I don't appreciate him or his artist enough. Clearly I don't.

What is art, anyway? Is it sculpture? Because that's all I've been posting about just now. Obviously oils and watercolors and charcoal, etc etc etc. Art is film. Art is dance. Art is theatre. Art is literature and writing. Or it can be all those things, anyway. And all art is subjective, to some degree. It's beautiful or meaningful to people who find beauty and meaning in it, and means nothing to people who don't. Is mere opinion the basis for classifying something as "art"?

It's something I've been considering a lot lately because I've found all this ambition inside me again. For a long time I wanted to become a trained and successful actress who also writes a lot, and well. Ambition slipped for a while, but after the whole Urinetown thing, and with some interesting literary prospects, I'm finding that ambition is back within my grasp. I love to write, you guys. I love to write. I don't even know if I'm really any good at it, but I do love it.

I guess I might be a little bit good at it because I've recently been asked to contribute to a few blogs. One of them is Utah Theater Bloggers which is an up-and-coming site for reviews of theater in Utah. My friend Mel recommended me for some crazy reason, so I'll be attending Barefoot in the Park next week and posting a prompt (but well-thought) review. This is a real challenge for me since art is subjective, but now-- I'm going to be publicly vocal about it. It's a scary responsibility!

It's one thing to be like I love Cupid and Psyche, you guys, and it's quite another to take this piece of theater-- a piece of art, with real live people instead of marble ones-- and tell the world This was great. Or maybe, this wasn't so great... Cupid doesn't care if you don't think he's very beautiful because he is cold and fake (and is beautiful so your argument is not even valid [that is to say, sound]), but real live people who have to perform another ten shows do care if they're beautiful and meaningful. Theater is not performed without intention. The amount of work to produce a show is not sacrificed without hope in mind that someone may leave the theater without anything in hand or heart or head. Something should be taken away with art, or what's the purpose? Is it just art for art's sake-- theater for theater's sake--which still is art and theater for something's sake?

It's this funny, little intricate puzzle, where I feel like who am I? but also empowered because art is empowering and who am I to not have an opinion to share? I'm all kinds of insecure about my writing, though publicly anxious to be a Blog of Note, and given opportunities to write more. And then there's this even funnier intricacy of meta-art-- knowing that words on a page are art of some kind (or can be), and a well-written, literary review on a piece of art can then become a piece of art itself. Art being art talking about art performing art art art. It makes my brains hurt.

So I guess my point is,

Dear World,
I'm going to write a review about a play, and maybe I'll make it publicly known, and maybe I'm terrified about it. But I still want to be a Blog of Note, even if my opinion/review sucks.
Love, Emily

And also, that I love being involved in this terrifying and beautiful world where all I have to do is think about art and how terrifying and beautiful it is.

day 16: a song that makes you cry

Well frankly, I don't feel like talking about crying today, you blog-a-day challenge, because I'm feeling all jumbly inside and maybe I cried during Young Victoria when I watched it with Mel today and then maybe a few more drops squeezed out of my eyes while I was driving back to school-- maybe they did, you don't know, but I know, and by my knowing, you all know, so I guess you know that they did, not even maybe.

But since I don't want to talk about crying, I'd better get this out of the way so that we're done with it. It's not a song, so much as it's a piece of music that makes me cry every time I hear it and that is Valley of the Shadow from Little Women by Thomas Newman when Beth dies. Also, Hand of Fate Part II from Signs by James Newton Howard. Also, Finale from Big Fish by Danny Elfman, or maybe it's just the scene that makes me cry and not necessarily the music all its own by itself.

At any rate, those are my answers.

So here I am at work, not wanting to work, not wanting to go back to my empty house even though it is kind of cozy and I could just work on making that Snuggie of mine with the fabric that reminds me of New Orleans Square at Disneyland which is why I got it. I finished disk 2 of season 3 of The Tudors last night and have to wait a few days for disk 3 to come in the mail. I do have that Wives of Henry VIII book to read, which is just getting really fascinating (Anne is losing favor, Jane is pleading marriage, Henry is very bald, it's all very thrilling), and I guess I could just read that in my office for a while but I've lost interest in that too.

I could reorganize all the clothes in our house. That would keep me busy for a long time.

Boring!

Anyway, all these options are just making me all confused because I'm mildly interested in doing them all but none of them at the same time.

The young man has been away 27 hours and I'm completely falling apart!

(This is where you go "awwwwwwwwwwww!" and then I make a face like "yeah yeah go on.")

Also my phone is acting up and not sending texts.

I want to start working on another show right away, but I'm also liking the idea of free time in the evenings for a while-- except not this free time where I just feel useless and kind of empty.

This is not anyone's fault. This is a learning experience. We're learning, we're learning, we're growing, we're coping.

Seriously though, that scene with Victoria and Albert after they come inside from being in the rain and they just talk.

Sometimes I feel a little bit like since the show has closed, I'm walking this weird social line. I'm not a student here, I've never been a student here, but while I was in the show, it was more like I'm student age and can hang out with students, and in the week the show's been over it's like there's been this little subtle change which I actually kind of wanted, where people treat me less like a student because I'm not a student, at least while we're at school, but it's okay for people to be my friend, even when I'm not a student, which is always, especially when we're not at school. And I guess I could be more proactive about socializing too, but it's weird when people all of a sudden are hanging out in groups and you start to feel like you haven't really been invited or you might be stepping on toes if you find a way to show interest like you'd like to be included too.

This is awkward. I'm awkward. I'm afraid I'm making things awkward.

In some ways I feel like just going to home to embrace that crying thing-- like, making it happen on purpose so we can get it all out of the ol' system and just move on. It's not just separation anxiety, I think it's just been a long time since I had it out with a good cry. It's cathartic, yeah? A good cry? Maybe I'll just throw in Big Fish for the sole purpose of watching that Finale scene, or at least break one a little Brian Doyle who writes so beautifully I could cry just cry and sometimes do.

But I've already written a few entries about essays lately, so I won't bore you with another based around Brian Doyle.

day 15: (not) a fanfic

Today Ames Bell went down to St. George to compete in the Irene Ryan Acting Scholarship whatever as part of the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival. He'll be gone till Sunday. It's kind of a big deal for him. We had to print out 40 headshots and resumes so that he can also take this big cattle call audition for lots of companies and troupes who might want to hire him. Who wouldn't want to hire him?Of course, this trip means we'll be separated for the first time in almost a year. Like for real-- I have seen this man every day for almost a year. This is also kind of a big deal. I miss him already. Slop slop sob sob okay now I'll act like a grown up.

Also, I went to the doctor today re: the ankle I sprained during Urinetown rehearsals. Luckily, we have found out it truly was just a sprain, not a break or a fracture like I worried it might be, three weeks after it happened. I'm being sent to physical therapy and can look forward to some prescription anti-inflammatory. Of course the next step will be to figure out what's misaligned in my back (probably related to babying my foot for the better part of a month), but that's another story and will likely involve a chiropractor.

But this post is supposed to be about a fanfic. Fanfic? I don't think so. I'm not into fanfic, though I will admit:
1. I used to be (for certain books/movies)
2. My senior paper for my English degree at BYU had to do with fanfic.

Only in the broadest sense. I was researching Sherlock Holmes and how Holmesian culture has inspired pop culture today. (It's widespread, I tell you, but you can read the paper if you're actually interested in knowing more.) Essentially, Holmes fanatics were among the first to find ways of publishing their fan fiction, even while Sir A.C.D. was still alive. Of course, today people publish their various works online and in fanfic journals, and Holmes fans continue to write in the spirit of its creator. In fact, I'm sure there's a recent resurgence in Holmes fan fiction since the new movie was released. Fanfic communities are fascinating for sure. Can get a little weird, but fascinating.

That said, I don't have a fanfic to post or recommend. So. I hope my thoughts about fan fiction communities, however brief, was enlightening.

What I really want to discuss today (again, in brief) is the benefit-- nay, the necessity-- of dating people your own age. It really bugs me when people date other people who are not even really within their same age range. You know when you fill out surveys or you register your iPod or whatever, and you have to tell them how old you are, and it's like, 18-25, 26-32, 33-39-- or whatever. If you are one age and the person of interest is another age that cannot be considered within a reasonable age range, you should not be dating them.

I mean, I'm all about occasionally goofing around, particularly when you know you're goofing around. But when you start to develop any kind of real feelings, a real attachment, get out while you still can. I don't care who you are-- no 18-year old is on the same emotional/spiritual/grammatical level as a 35-year old. That's the bottom line.

And if you find you are exclusively attracted to people who are 10+ years younger than you, it might be time to find a new social circle.

Although I'll hand it to you-- an inappropriate relationship probably makes for great fanfiction. Someone go take An Education as inspiration and set your story at Hogwarts or on a pirate ship or Pemberly. They'd probably publish it at fanfiction.net if you felt so inclined.

day 14: a non-fictional book

Since my post yesterday about a fictional book actually became an ode to non-fiction, and I went a little crazy making some non-fictional recommendations, I think it best to turn Day 14: A Non-fictional Book into

Day 14: A Non-fictional Authoress
Namely, Lady Antonia Fraser

Why are all intelligent British women quite so elegant? Isn't she elegant? Her accent is even more elegant. If you watch the Special Features on the Marie Antoinette dvd, you'll see what I mean. And her writing is so elegant too! You would hope that an elegantly spoken woman would write elegantly as well, but non-fiction can be so difficult to make interesting-- to say nothing of making it elegant-- especially when you have to differentiate between the 919247817263714 Marys, Margarets, Catherines, and Annes who lived in the 16th century. But she manages!

(I bet hers would be a Blog of Note too, but that's beside the point.)

The point is that, if you want to read anything non-fictional/biographical, immediately dig up something this woman is written. Luckily, you won't have a hard time finding something because she's hugely prolific. (She would have to be, being Harold Pinter's widow and all.) About a month ago, I recommended Erik Larson and his various crime-related non-fiction books that read like novels, and I still stick to that, particularly if you're just getting into the field of non-fiction and are overwhelmed, which is understandable. BUT. If you're into anything historical and romantical and royal and dishy, Antonia Fraser is your girl.

This is the book I mentioned yesterday, which I am currently reading:Totally brill, you guys. Instead of writing everything we already know about Henry VIII and his subsequent six ill-fated marriages, she focuses on each woman individually without "the rest of the story" in mind as she writes about them. Of course, almost the first half of the book is dedicated to Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn, but considering Henry was married to Catherine for twenty years before he decided to go all infidel on her A, that makes sense. I'm especially excited to learn about Catherine Parr, because she is awesome, and out-lived the king, and was married like four times. Also her wax figure which hangs out at various castles is just lovely. I saw it at Warwick in August 2008:

Jane, Kitty, Anne of Cleves, and Katherine. Doesn't Kat look like she's just about to open her mouth and say something very stuffy and British with a little chuckle to herself? Doesn't she just? She could make oversized hats with big feathers come back in a big way, I think.

Lady Antonia also wrote this little book which I love just love:
Which book went on to be the sole inspiration for this movie which I also love just love:Forget the fact that real-Antoinette and Kirsten Dunst-Antoinette look nothing alike, the representation of the woman perfectly comes to life off the pages of that biography. It too is elegant, with all kinds of phrases in French (fittingly), and expressed in such a way that you kind of feel like maybe you are living right there in Versailles. Or maybe you just wish you had been living there right there in Versailles (sans revolution). Lady Antonia makes Antoinette very sympathetic, but not obnoxiously so, which is a really nice representation of her, I think. Probably accurate. Who knows.

She's written a total of I don't know how many books. A lot, though. These are among those I plan to read next:

Remember, remember, the fifth of November.

I can't wait to get to the part about du Barry with her red stockings, or at least that's what she wears in the movie of Marie Antoinette and makes me wish I had them too. Let's be honest with ourselves-- the Sun King was pretty good looking, even by today's standards. I wouldn't mind meeting him someday on the other side when I can slap hands with him and ask if he really was the Man in the Iron Mask after all.

I hope this was an adequate day 14: a nonfictional-book recommendation. These should keep you busy for a while, at least. Go. Read. Become elegant.

day 13: a fictional book

There is one book that I have had sitting on the shelf-- or, more recently, next to my bed-- for years now, literally years, that I have not been able to get into.

Ironically, I'm desperate to be into it. Firstly, there's this little thing called Masterpiece Theater which played the recent BBC miniseries based on this book, which miniseries my mom and I spent weeks and weeks following every Sunday night. It was so good, you guys. So gripping and beautifully acted and gorgeously designed...

Secondly, I get into late Victorian/early Modern British literature in a big way. This novel sits right on the fence of that era, which is so interesting in its own way from a literary historical perspective which I, of course, love because I am nerdtastique. This is a would-be perfect fit.

Thirdly, I've wanted to read the thing for so long that you would expect me to have just hunkered down to plow through it (so to speak, since it's a pretty long book so I'm not sure how much plowing could actually be done). This is not the case, however. I think I know why.

I don't like fiction anymore.

WHAT!, you say, WHAT?!! Well, it's true. I even have a hard time getting very far into Little Women or Emily of New Moon-- it's better lately to just read parts of it.

GASP!, you gasp, GASP!?!! Well I know, right?

I've been spoiled by The Essay. I have been spoiled by non-fiction and the very many interesting real-life things that have and are happening, that it's been hard for me to just let go and read about something not-real. That's not to say I don't read any fiction at all. But the fiction to non-fiction ratio is highly imbalanced and again, it's because I've been spoiled by The Essay.

In fact, here's a link to a very interesting website where you can find just hundreds and hundreds of delightful essays. I recommend (as I always do) A. A. Milne and W. N. P. Barbellion and maybe a bit of G. K. Chesterton. I apparently have a fondness for essayists who publish their works with initials instead of their names. Vernon Lee is also just wonderful and very funny. Also William Hazlitt, who is a cynical as you can get in the most amusing way, and his BFF Charles Lamb, who wrote possibly the most breathtaking and achingly beautiful essay of them all called Dream Children:A reverie. Read it.

Read it now.

Stop reading this and go read that.










Okay well hopefully you've read that by now and so you'll come back to this, inspired. Not by me, by Chuck Lamb. He's inspiring, I am not. If he had a blog, his would be a Blog of Note.

So my point is-- Dream Children: A reverie is part of the reason why I just have a hard time getting into fictional books like The Forsythe Saga, no matter how hard I want to read them. It.

There's also the little problem of Antonia Fraser, who writes biographies of people like Marie Antoinette. I'm currently plowing through (for real, I am) her Wives of Henry VIII, which is fitting since Henry VIII's death day was just recently. Her books are so riveting and interesting that why would I want to read a fictional book about Kitty Howard and her cheating on the big fatty King of England with a gross injured leg, when I could just read the facts? The straight facts? The cold, hard, dishy facts??

I'll make The Forsythe Saga my summer reading. And if I don't finish it this summer, then I'll make it next year's fall break reading. And if that doesn't happen, I know I'll have a lot of time during Christmas break to finish it. Someday.

i have a confession

I really want to be named a Blog of Note by blogger.com.

What do I have to do to be named a Blog of Note by blogger.com?

And does it make me selfish to want to be named a Blog of Note by blogger.com?

This is Urinetown

I'm taking a break from blog-a-day to comment on the project which has been mentioned recently, which our cast has spent the last 4+ working on.

Urinetown the Musical

Granted, I haven't blog-a-day'ed in a few days anyway due to reasons which I'll get to in a few lines, but suffice it to say, Urinetown has been the best and probably most difficult show process I've ever been a part of-- which is why it's lucky that it was unequivocally also the most rewarding.

This is a show that I wasn't even sure I should audition for, it being a UVU student production, and me not being a UVU student or even a student of any kind (with a degree already hair toss cigarette tap). I auditioned anyway, hoping to work with Dave Tinney and Jeremy Showgren again, as well as hoping to finally have a chance to work with Ames, having been skunked on every attempt to work together since we met. I was called back, but around noon on the day of call backs, I started throwing up more than I have ever in my life, and wasn't able to even drag my sorry self out of bed enough to show my face. I was disappointed, but figured it would, as ever, turn out for the best.

And it did, since Ames was cast as the narrator-cop, and I was cast in a supporting role, Little Becky Two-Shoes, the pregnant, smoking, jump-roping-and-singing rebel who actually wore a black shoe and a red shoe (and awesome/ripped up fishnet stockings) by the time we got to performances.

I've already posted this picture. I invite you to look at it again.

This was a turning point for me as a performer in the last year or so. I'll be honest-- it was an incredibly difficult year, having come off of nine shows in one year (with relatively decent roles, I'll just be honest), to not being cast in anything I auditioned for. First of all, the audition itself was an achievement for me, and I left feeling like part of me had been restored, regardless of how the cast might turn out. Throughout the rehearsal process, I re-secured a lot of the insecurities I had developed about my voice and what I'm basically capable of.

WARNING: I get that this is going to sound like me feeling like I'm awesome. That is not how I feel. This is merely an expression of how my opinions of myself and recognition of my abilities has changed and improved.

Though my part wasn't hugely important-- I was no Bobby Strong, that's for true-- it was important to me to feel comfortable and settled and like I was able to achieve some kind of real character development. Particularly once we got into performances, I really feel like I had accomplished that, even if it was for no one but myself. I got to sing this crazy kick-ah song called "Snuff the Girl" with my friend Jacob, without whom I'm sure I couldn't have reached certain places in my performance. Look how awesome he looked in this show, you guys.
He had one of the best costumes in the whole show. Actually all the costumes in this show were phenomenal, and we were so filthy with stage dirt, all the time. And sorry ladies-- Jake is totally off the market!

Our opening weekend was a dream come true, with the attendance of 400 screaming high school students for two nights, who were participants at this year's Utah Theatre Association conference, which was held at UVU. It was definitely surreal, and set a standard for us as a cast which may or may not have been realistic... But for real, the show was consistently brilliant. We consistently had compliments comparing us to the original and national touring casts. People thought this was the best college theater performance they had seen in Utah, if not ever. I have never been more excited or proud to be a part of a show.

Let me take a moment to tell you about my friend Ashley, who played Penelope Pennywise for her senior project this year.

Doesn't she look like a crazy hot 1930's post-apocalypse Ursula from The Little Mermaid? Yes. HOT.

Ashley was stage managing UVU's Something Wicked This Way Comes when we started rehearsing Urinetown and popped into the process like a rock star about a month later. She was really able to reach some very interesting and emotional places as the one time lover of Caldwell B. Cladwell. She was awesome. Really gross and nasty and sympathetic and tender and sad and funny, all at the same time, with a tearing voice, you guys. She became my friend, which I was really excited about because everyone wants to be her friend and not everyone gets to be.

This past Wednesday, Ashley was hurt during Act I of our performance and had to be taken to the hospital. She's the kind of girl whose head could fall off in the middle of a show and she'd be like, "Oh could someone get that? I have to go sing now," and she'd run onstage for her cue-- so this was kind of a really big deal for her, and for us as a cast. We were told we wouldn't be able to continue the show that night, and with inexpressibly heavy hearts, we packed up our bags and left.

This is where my story gets particularly interesting for me, and potentially braggy from the perspectives of others. This is not my purpose.

Our director Dave told me that night to go home and review the role of Ms. Pennywise, and to meet in his office 9am Thursday morning, so we could rehearse the show just in case. Friend Aubrey in the ensemble (with a killer voice, I'll have you know) was also asked to come so she could learn Little Becky Two-Shoes. We rehearsed for a number of hours Thursday, and by Thursday night, we went on to do the show.

Note how I am in no way crazy hot 1930's post-apocalypse Ursula. Note the script in my hand (which maybe was hidden onstage with me sometimes, you don't know maybe it was). Note how nervous I look. Note all of these things.

And here's the thing: WE DID IT, you guys. We didn't just walk through and do it, we did it. Hell and high water came, and we did it. It was the most nerve-wracking experience of my life. Admittedly, I had a little come-apart around 5:15 PM when I realized, Oh my hell, I have to do this. This is happening. You know, maybe it wasn't the best performance we'd had up till that point. Let's be honest-- Pennywise wasn't as hard-A as she's been for the last four months, and maybe she dropped a line or two. But let me toot my own horn and say, having gone out there to perform some parts of the show that I hadn't even rehearsed before, I did a good job, dammit. The show came together. It was a true testament to the power and mind-set of theater people when the show must go on.

I had some incredibly supportive people in the audience that night, and for the rest of the run, and so many texts and tweets and hugs and love-squeezes on my arm. I can't even begin to express how grateful I am to everyone in the whole process who helped Aubrey and me manage to give some pretty great performances, all things considered. Chase and Chase were my right and left arms for that and all the rest of our performances. Katie Sue talked me off some emotional cliffs in the dressing room and I bet she didn't even know it. Jordan and Jordan and Kelly were my cheerleaders, and PHIL, and everyone in the cast for being nice and supportive and helping me take this on in the midst of a real loss. And Ames, who didn't even let me have the option to fail even for one single second. Jeremy made sure I was all set to go if I needed music rehearsal, and Dave was the single greatest vote of confidence I have ever had in my life, on so many levels. He trusted me to somehow take this already hugely successful show and keep that bar raised to the standard of expectation audiences had become used to. He trusted me to take a role that had already been established and committed and wonderful, and make the show not suck without Ashley. I have never been so scared or honored in my life.

We approached the character from a very different perspective, mostly because there would be no way I could gather the strength and depth Ashley had developed over four months. Dave stuck an enormous wad of gum in my mouth for the entire show, and we approached it like Urinetown starring Anne Baxter as Ms. Pennywise. By closing night, I was running around the stage (when directed, of course) like Gone with the Wind. And you know-- by closing night, I was having fun, you guys. That show was damn fun. And I think it's okay to admit to myself: I did a good job. And that's okay.

It was a lesson to myself about myself and what I, myself, am capable of. Do you know what I'm capable of?
- I'm capable of pulling a solid performance out from somewhere hidden.
- I'm capable of pretending like I'm confident and commanding a stage, even when I'm falling apart inside.
- I'm capable of setting goals, no matter how small, and achieving them.
- I'm capable of holding it together when people make me feel guilty for doing well, and knowing that job done well is not the same as a job done better.
- I'm capable of belting a high G.
- I'm capable of balancing the thrill of accomplishing well something difficult with the recognition of the disappointing and sad events that got me there.

Bottom line? I'm so incredibly grateful for all the wonderful people in my life who literally made this show possible for me-- for all the past experiences I had, for the process of rehearsing and the closeness of the company, for Ash who established such an incredibly grounded character that it was possible to easily and quickly take something from that strength.

And on a final note, let me introduce you to my bruises, which prove to the world what a LEGIT dance show this really was. This is the most color my legs have probably ever had, being pasty and white.

right leg left leg

It was a magical experience to be a part of something so important and thrilling. I LOVE YOU ALL.