breaking the carefully constructed order

It's the same day the post (should) say it is, May 27th, though my watch and the computer agree about the "just after nine" status you Midwesterners won't see for, oh, six hours. Anyway. I simply, and in short for time constraints terms, must crow about my real life Bono miracle of seeing the U2 frontman in Temple Bar yesterday evening after realizing the tourism camera/cellphone frenzy must mean something more than the weird guy with the guitar was back. He was enjoying a pint, he was enjoying the attention, he was wearing the sunglasses.

Then we left and saw "Brick" at the Irish Film Institute, which I think should be seen by anyone who has even the most basic knowledge of film noir. It's as fabulous as people say it is. I just ended a sentence with a preposition.

We jet out of the city tomorrow for small town Ireland, Wexford, followed by "Church Day, Pub Night" on Tuesday. I love theming.

have I mentioned how hard it is to get to a computer?

A love letter

5-20-06, 12:46 a.m.

I realize we haven't known each other for long, and I'm not the type of girl who normally does such things--talk to, well, anyone--but we don't have much time and....Really, the point is, I love you. There, I said it. I love all of you, London, from your freezing, rainy mornings with everyone's umbrella raised as they dodge traffic to the hole-in-the-wall restaurants so fab they'd be bustling with diners anywhere smaller. It might be that vastness I love best--how you cover everything from the deeply historical (your serious, brainy side) to they kitschy and lights factor (the playful part I already inhabit so well.)

"Where did this come from?" I hear you ponder, "What was the grand breaking point?" \truly, it happened this evening, dodging traffic and pedestrians in Piccadilly. We'd finished The Crucible (where--don't be jealous--I also fell for the set's lift-the-flap type workings) and poured out into a slight rain, just enouch for slower walkers to pull out umbrellas. The lights, the night, the heaping plate of noodles resting in my tummy met in a cosmic event and the abiding joy within me meant one thing. I never want to leave.

So, what do you say? BF/GF?

earlier week drafting, ten minute shift, let's go

FUN FACT: British pollen is so much worse than American pollen, I can't even describe it. No, really.
5-18-06, 10:05 p.m. LON

My original plan was to write this on the balcony (FUN FACT: not so much a balcony as a thick rain gutter with solid pipe handholds)--not to be confused with the downstairs computer connection I'm using right now. The group, however, voted I was too sleep-deprived wonky to be allowed onto such locations, and I agreed. This show of logic mearly proves we're not totally gone, but it's close.

Wed/Thur melded into the same day, between the time zones and long flight and attempting to stay up before realizing sleep was a better option (SIDE FACT: I fell asleep to Freebird, woke up with Good Morning, Baltimore, and ate half-frozen oranges for breakfast.) The more I move around, the less sleep I become, and--I guess--my body remembers it should be enjoying a Midwestern afternoon and chooses to ignore the sweet, sweet picture of London at night. (FURTHER SIDE FACT: My stomach refused to stop gurgling, sensing afternoon snack time despite everything else I've shoved into it already. PERTINENT FACT: It still hasn't hit me that I'm here. Maybe when I'm awake and able to be trusted with "balconies"?)

any odd comments are because the person next to me keeps looking over to see what I'm doing (that's one way to wait for a page to load)

In other news, this is probably the last ditch time when I'll be online prior to flying to London and hopefully not crashing on some weird island run by lions with machine guns. Also, Joe Pini's CD is amazing.

Meredith just today sent me a message along the lines of "Wait--why didn't we plan more?! Oh, for randomness to ensue. Right." To her I say: We've planned where we're going to sleep, and have a day officially nicknamed "Russian Roulette Day." Let's do this thing!

Seriously, though, I do have a list of quality vintage clothing stores, so I don't see why she's concerned about our travel planning. Maybe because the only thing we have planned for Dublin is arriving/sleeping/leaving arrangements. So, whenever someone ends up with a postcard from Venice or Portugal or Argentina, you know what happened.

Seriously-seriously: I could not be more excited. Or non-packed.

my thoughts are cluttered

"Hurry up and wait" seemed to be the theme of the day, between the cattle wrangling in Baldwin before the drawn out nostalgia tour of campus to lead to the stadium and then the sitting through speeches and names for a two second pocket of glory snatched away again to hear more names and slight alumni propaganda and the eventual walk back out into the sea of chaos known as the cheering mob. Jeepers. (I'm not going to edit the supreme length of anything that falls out tonight, based on that "sentence" alone.) The ceremony was potentially shorter than the organization of all of us black robes, though only the pre-ceremony part featured masking tape art and Dana running through the quad in her academic regalia.

"Hurry up and wait" seems to be the theme for the future as well, since I've been tossed into the so-called "real world" and now have to wait on applications, interviews, trip plans, and finding a way to see various shows this summer. I'm officially calling these next three-ish months a break from my own working in theatre, since I haven't had a true halt from such since....wait, when was I last not thinking about a show? Pre-one act?

Anyway, it still leaves me sans job, sans car (harder to road trip), and sans lots of space to not notice the previous two. Thanks, apartment. I know I'm going to pull out all sorts of truly fantastic stuff during my life, just wait, and the Reader's Digest cover in the grandparents' basement says that I can live that much longer through laughter alone, so we know I have plenty of time to accomplish whatever. It's simply a matter of taking that breath, walking out in faith, and finding a Bono miracle of my own. (I'm also not caring about any in-jokes that might confuse the majority of people.)

I'm off to finish the current chapter of "The Princess Bride," re-read for time #???; blow my nose, since I've also been working on this whole "don't cry don't cry don't cry" thing all day; and fall asleep a little.

catching up

The birthday was fabulous (low-key was definitely what I wanted this year, and the introduction to "Firefly" equalled icing). Finals are finished. I have a phone interview with the Texas theatre on Tuesday.

I'm not completely packed yet. I'm not certain what the weather's going to do today. I'm not sure how my emotions are going to hold up today, though I've already hit two crying jags in the past week.

Maybe if I liked my friends less....

Anyway, goodbye quick internet, goodbye Truman campus, and goodbye people who always made the Truman campus worthwhile. If I randomly show up on your doorstop this summer, will you mind?

REC

I have a casette tape from last night's campout. I was quite amused when it started out with an original haiku, nevermind proper meter or line length. I was bummed when it apparently stopped recording before two conversations I really wanted to keep. I do have one person singing "Happy Birthday" to the tune of "Defying Gravity" (loudly) and another person singing sections of "Bye Bye Bye."

Plus, do I really sound like that all the time? You can hear the sarcasim dripping off every word, even when I'm being completely sincere. (I am starting to see the Sarah Vowell comparisons, though.)

Road Trip - 4/7/06

Turn up the volume and sing along.

written on your wall...

Nothing fills your email quite like Facebook people wishing you happy birthday.

Back in Black

The theatre banquet, by virtue of finals week/one-acts, has a knack for landing around my birthday. Likewise, I pick my motto for the year based on whichever song I hear first (technically, in its entirety) on the actual date. I'm starting to think--based on what Merv attempted to serve up this year--I should just base it on whatever I hear last at the banquet. Anyway, a few other highlights:

* Sophomore year we didn't stay at the dance long enough to see midnight there (others were tired, I had a portfolio to finish throwing together, etc.), but I was still in my dress when "Only the Good Die Young" came on at 12:01. I like to believe this explains some of my actions over the year, such as several car "altercations" during gypsy moth/snow, taking on way more crazy amounts of shows than before, and kinda sorta gettign "married" at the following theatre banquet.

* Again ending at my birthday's doorstep, the junior year banquet started with many declined offers of now-legal beverages and "Don't Let Go," a fairly appropriate motto for the extent of my senior year. It's actually a bit too good, like my life is the class yearbook. I like to think the car sing-along while in sparkily dresses makes up for any losses.

* This year, technically I heard the road trip version of "500 Miles" (saved on my phone since April) first, but it only features a snippet of chorus and is thus denied availability. The London Symphony Orchestra's version of "Stairway to Heaven" was next on my player, paused from earlier in the day (pre-cupcake making), and again breaking the rules. So, officially, my theme song should be "Back in Black," but it makes less than sense for a year motto. Invoking a new rule, I've decided to let my exit music for the banquet count instead. Greetings, two-and-twenty....don't stop me now.

Livin' on a Prayer

Forget the last day of classes, theatre banquet was the real "first of the ends."

I'm going to go sleep and/or cry now.

Don't think about why I'm posting at six a.m. Actually, don't focus on any time issues.

I can tell when the next batch of caffeine starts hitting my system because I suddenly don't need to close my eyes while typing quite as much as before.

personal amusement outweights historical accuracy

I just referenced the zombie show in my Shakespeare play. This adds to the list of referencing various other Shakespeare plays based on their insults to the characters or stage directions, making Lady Macbeth OCD, and one decently-placed Jedi mind trick. This might be better than last year when I referenced "Notting Hill" in the paper on ancient Egypt!

He Who Must Not Pollinate

It's allergy season in full force, and I totally blame that for me feeling less than spectacular (of course it's not the lack of sleep). Anyway, I was walking to Hist/Lit today where the [whatever it is] tree has dumped all sorts of long-ish green things that I can only assume are bursting with pollen. As I hopped up the steps into OP, I noticed that the green had formed an odd shape. Upon closer examination, I realized with horror that it bared a striking similarity to the dark mark.

Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm, but I think Voldemort is behind allergy season.

sleep number: zero

I pulled a full eight hours of sleep last night. I don't know when this happened last, let alone when it happened last during a show week. The world is full of miracles.

Sadly, by the end of the week, it may also be the combined number of hours I sleep total (between a Cymbeline paper, Hist/Lit paper, senior sem paper, banquet dress), but at least I'll be entertaining to those around me. That's often enough of a win.

tonight is called "Hannah goes to bed before one a.m."

* One Acts open tomorrow/tonight (depending on your time view) and I'm excited. I also appreciate that the first night doesn't have many crazy sound cues, so I might do some homework at the same time.

* My page-a-day calendar still hasn't moved from Sunday, but I'm quite fond of the picture of the 25 pound ball of duct tape now.

* The new Hanso website for the LOST online game gets a bit spooky at times. (Also, your password is "breaking strain.")

No barbequed ponies!

Normally this is the time of year when I put together my list of impossible (yet still craved) birthday presents for the frustration of all those who pester me about what I want. Twenty-one was pretty sweet to me, what with the typewriter and impending "European adventure" trip amassed during the year, so I think I can forgive the lack of a Vespa this year.

Instead, if you could convert whatever you were going to send into traveller's checks or pounds or Euros or whatever, that'd be appreciated. Also, whoever's looking for something in particular as their trip-gained shiny: if you could let me know what I should watch for, that'd be lovely. I'd like to know how many British copies of Harry Potter I'm toting home.

Reaffirming

I still don't like cool ranch doritos.