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This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
Age 23, living in sin in Twickenham with Cheesy
Likes
Movies
Books
Writing
Theatre
Hugs
Kittens
Chess
Scrabble (mostly beating Cheesy's butt)
Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Dislikes
Vegetables
Arguments
Cleaning
Trashy TV
Pretensions
Public Transport
Pets
Rabbits-Bambi, Fern, Sooty, Pippa-all deceased
Dog-Sammy-deceased :(
Fish-CatFlap-recently (and finally!) deceased
Cat-Tiggy-still scratching
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Technically Rachel
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Sunday, May 30, 2004
Day After Tomorrow
So... interesting movie. Now, have to say - I enjoyed this movie. In pretty much the same way I enjoyed Independance Day - nothing in the movie is groundbreaking, the script is typically cliched, the characters pretty shallow - but all made up for by very pretty mass destruction. To be fair, the special effects and action sequences in this movie are brilliant (the only exception be the weird-ass wolves) - and it's always breath-taking watching whole cities being destroyed, especially by something as intangible as nature. It tries to drive home it's moral message a little too much for my liking, although it does bother me that while things may not happen as portrayed in the movie, there is no doubt that we're royally screwing up this planet's eco-system, and could well one day be facing some drastic weather conditions. One thing I did find very amusing in the film was the politcal reversal, with the third world countries suddenly being the ones closing their barriers and suffering the problems of illegal immigration. Of course, eventually they do the "right" thing, and open their countries to the refugees of the United States. Fools. You just know ten years down the line, they'll slowly take over and kick out the original habitants into the cold northern states. See how long the europeans take to throw their weight around Africa too. They'll regret letting them in. Just watch the sequel.
Acting wise, Jake Gyllenhaal is always worth watching, and Emmy Rossum is disgustingly attractive and charming, damn her. My confidence in her ability to play Christine in Phantom however, is now peaked. (Yes, I am looking forward to that movie, despite the fact it may well be lame as hell, it is after the musical I just watched again and again when I was little and totally fell in love with the Phantom when I was a teen - see, I was attracted to evil geniuses even then ;) Cheesy has a predecessor)
The Core
So, Core Group Soho Theatre seems to be back on again. After thinking I'd been discarded, seems the selection process is now going ahead. I get to meet with the guys next week, so fingers crossed I won't make a pig's ear of it. And that they won't think my job takes up too much of my time. Here's hoping! I'd so hate it if my job got in the way of this. It's quite difficult really, trying to balance dreams with realism.
Here's the thing - I didn't grow up poor. But, we were a working class family, and we struggled. Father an electrician who had to work most evenings aswell as days to keep enough money coming in; Mother tripped on a misplaced pram at work and slipped a disc in her back in the pre-compensation era. Meaning she didn't get a penny, and has been unable to work ever since. We lived in a small Lancashire village, so hardly a strain on the income, but two growing, demanding daughters is hardly relaxing on a household's income levels. As a child and a teen, I loved acting and writing. I would've loved to go for them both properly - go to a theatre school or something, take Drama at A level, the whole lot. But at some stupidly early age, I made a decision. That I was going to make money. That I would be self-sufficient and successful, and have enough money to look after my parents when the benefits system eventually crumpled around them. I guess that was at 16. So all my A levels were career orientated. As was my degree. And though I never let the drama and the writing go, it did take a back seat. When I write now, I don't write to be famous, or remembered. I write cause I love doing it. And when occasionally someone else takes an interest, it throws everything a bit weird. Being able to write for a career would be a dream. And when you suddenly kind of see the possibility, and completely going for it can mean letting go of something else, it's scary. I've been so lucky to find a job I actually enjoy and that pays well, and will only pay me better the longer I do it. It's the security I've strived for. So, what happens when one negates the other?
I've heard it said that to be a true writer, you have to give it everything - you can't have another job, it has to be your only aim, otherwise you don't really want it. I say bull-shit. I say anyone who says that either has some weird obsessive compulsive disorder, or has lived with a silver spoon in their mouth. It's all very well and good to do nothing but write when you've got mummy and daddy paying the rent, but when the only money you get comes from yourself it's not so easy. I'm not suggesting my parents wouldn't find the money if they knew I needed it - they would, it's what they do. But I never want them to. I don't want them funding my ambitions to be a writer - I will fund myself. I'm 24 years old - and I will not let myself be their responsibility anymore. I think there's a more important time in every persons life when they have to let go of their parents and stand alone, rather than the other way round. I don't think any parent really does ever let go, so often it's up to the child to make the move.
Man, this is way too self-reflective for a Sunday afternoon. I'm gonna go eat some chocolate.
4:41 pm
Friday, May 28, 2004
It's the coolest blog ever!
8:59 am
Monday, May 24, 2004
Like An Old Tramp
Apologies to the avid Madonna fans out there (who are usually quite avid indeed), but her tour sounds like it's gonna suck big time. Heard on the radio today it's going to be an "amazing spectacle". Hmmm. American Life is going to be performed to sounds of bombs, and pictures of soldiers fighting in Iraq (yawn, predictable); there'll be pictures of starving children while she dares to sing John Lennon's "Imagine" (so many many things wrong with this - including the exploitation of those pictures, and the utter stupidity of performing a song that should only ever be performed by one man), one of her songs is being performed with Bagpipes, it's something like "Holiday" - I like listening to bag-pipes. When I'm in Scotland, as no doubt I will do this year in Edinburgh. Used to liven up a tired pop hit though, sounds hideous. And then there'll be "Like A Virgin", with loads of pregnant women in wedding dresses on stage (YAWN!) - it's so trite and ultimately boring when tired celebrities try too hard - she should let her material stand on its own... oh wait, now I see!
8:34 pm
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Don't you hate it when you're bored because you're too sodding bone-idle to find something to do? Or because you've done everything you wanted to already.
Fat Ass and Billy Zane were supposed to be staying with us this weekend - I have no doubt the weekend would be as traumatic as it always is whenever my sister stays with me*, but at least it's something to do
*The Trials of Fat Ass
Whenever, and I mean, whenever my sister stays with me - there's trauma. The kind of trauma that makes me feel like I'm the older sister by six years.
1. When I was living in my totally ace student house in Manchester (we were in student-heaven with this place-another time perhaps), and my sister wanted to stay over at mine, sleep on my floor, after a night out with some of her mates. She estimated she would be home about 1 or 2 in the morning. I set up her bed, so she could crash straight away, and went to sleep. I woke in the morning to find her bed empty, and to further discover she had not come back. No messages on my mobile, no messages from other housemates. Nothing. Started calling her mobile - no answer. Now, when things like this happen, you try very much not to panic and imagine the worst. But this was my 26 year old sister, who although terminally late for every appointment ever, is usually quite responsible. Maybe she just got too pissed and stayed at a mates? But she would have called, surely? And why was her phone unanswered - because she's been mugged and murdered and they STOLE her phone and she's dead in a gutter in Moss Side!. 1pm (bloody 1pm!) I finally get a phone call. Of course - she decided to stay at a friends.
Where are you?
Why didn't you call me?!
Why didn't you call me this morning instead of leaving me to wonder where you were after you didn't come home when you said you would?!
It suddenly became frightfully clear that I was going to become a very stressed mother one day - however, I did not appreciate being a stressed mother over a 26 year old who hadn't called because she "didn't want to wake me" - no, no, leaving me worrying for 6 hours is a much better solution than a loss of one minute's sleep.
2. Foolishly, I said she could stay again. Only this time - to be fair - she told me she had decided to stay at a friends well in advance of her due-home time. Except, that this time she did the reverse of the last story. 6am in the morning, there's banging at the front door. And a lifting of the lettebox and a "Hellooooooo"! echoing in the corridor. I'm a heavy sleeper and at the back of the house (yes, it was that big), so I don't hear. If I remember correctly, Tall Boy, ignored her. However, other housemate, whom I shall call Huggy Boobs, did hear, and let her in. Fat Ass was drunk and talking in the typical non-stop way the women in my family do when they've had a few - Huggy Boobs is NOT a morning person AT ALL. Already unimpressed by being woken up at 6am, now she had to listen to a housemate's sister talk at her. Sister didn't go to sleep until the hangover kicked in, sometime midday probably. Fun.
3. The first (and last) London stay over. My sister scooted down to London to join me at the Ali G premier (after demanding her right to a premier ticket for a year, purely on the grounds that she was my sister "so there" - I finally relented. The evening was good, although I left with a bruised arm from FA grabbing my arm every five minutes and going "Look, look over there!", only for me to catch sight of some actor from Holby City or fucking Hollyoaks. Next morning I went to work, leaving FA in the flat. A few hours into the morning, I get a call. "Your flat's flooding". I was certain for ages it was something she had done, but to her credit, it was a burst pipe from the flat above (though it took the Estate Agent a whole 12 hours before he would admit that was the case-cretin). I asked her to stay in the flat to wait for the fix-it guy, and also to keep an eye out in case any other leaks started. This is where the problem started, cause of course she had better things to do and sitting around my soggy flat wasn't one of them. Although I think the row started because she told me I should be more grateful that she had wasted her day doing this for me. I hate that. I hate being told when I should and shouldn't be grateful - I don't like being beholden to anyone, or having anyone beholden to me. I am a quietly grateful person, I don't gush or thank profusely, cause I find it embarassing, and usually fake in others. I will be grateful by returning favours, and doing other nice things. I will not however, be grateful just because I'm expected to be. Especially when she was being hypocritical anyway since I'd taken her out the night before. So we had a very big argument, that ended with me hanging up on her, and both of us complaining to our Momo for the rest of the day. We didn't speak to eachother for a month after that. Fun.
So I might have had some fun tales to tell from this weekend, but alas, all I have is me being bored. I got up this morning, went to the farmer's market, went to the building society, emailed a whole bunch of production accountants in job related stuff, and then sat down at 1pm with nothing else specific to do. Hmm. There's loads I could do, but I now have a lethargic cloud over my head that has left me sat here, talking about me sister, who most the time is a perfectly acceptable sister despite the stories. Especially now I know how to finish arguments with her. She gains momentum and ferocity the longer an argument goes on. Ignoring the argument, or making a rude irrelevant comment cuts off her tirade. I find "Bite me" to be especially effective.
4:05 pm
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Just been touching up my car (with paint - weirdos). I'm not sure of its success yet. I think up close it's gonna look pretty crappy but at least from a distance people can't tell I'm a useless girl who's managed to scratch her car numerous times along the same damn brick wall. The first time a result of my complete loss of temper over my useless parking skills. Matters weren't helped by the three work men chopping down a tree who took it upon themselves to make generously sexist comments about women driving while I painted. I also was chatted at for five minutes by an elderly gentleman who by the end of his conversation seemed to think I'd agreed to touch up his car (with paint - weirdos).
Today is my day off - I am now enforced part time - so I'm trying to make good use of the time, since no doubt I will soon be broke as a result of my vastly reduced salary. Fun. But tomorrow I get to meet up with La Bron for theatre outings, so should be fun.
Oh yeah - the tree. They're chopping down the tree that's in front of our flat. Nests and all. Now I know pigeons are generally considered rats with wings, but even I think it's a little harsh to kick them from their nest when they're just babies. Apparently the tree is a nuisance. Firstly because it houses too many birds (how dare it!) which are noisy and dirty, and apparently also affects the drains around the building. The real reason is because "Pat" or whoever, can't see properly out of her window. Personally I would much rather look out of my window at lovely green leaves and buds that the smelly main road filled with congested cars - but hey, each to their own. The bloody tree was there first anyway. And as for the birds, I'm sure we wouldn't mind our homes being destroyed if our neighbours disliked our presence. I realise I am actually quite cross. It's a beautiful tree, and yes we do get woken up in the morning by the pigeons, but so what? At least that way we can vaguely pretend we're living in the country and not in some built up, stinkpot city.
10:28 am
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Well... despite my inate paranoia that the whole Edinburgh thing was gonna fall through, it all seems to be still on track. It's not that I lack faith in the thing - I just have a natural pessimism that seeps through sometimes.
So, I am putting a final call to Edinburgh for those who wanna come share a flat from 28th-31st August and come and have some festival fun. Current definites are myself, Cheesy, the Small Yappa Type Dog and her Rockenspiel, and Mishka+1.
Had a nice weekend with Cheesy's folks. Gorgeous summer weather which goes just nicely with the Somerset area, and a good drive there and back. His ma makes possibly the best home cooked food ever, and I always leaved feeling stuffed full of goodness. I even ate asparagus, and those who know my vegetable aversions will no doubt be impressed. His ma's also thinking of buying a Smart Car, at the behest of his pa. Wise people. Am so jealous.
My sister just turned 30 - so now I feel old, even though there's a big gap between her. Also, my sister always gets in such a grump if you don't show suitable appreciation for gifts she has bought - but did I get a phone call thanking me for mine - an extremely well thought out present? Nooooooo. Humph. Well, it's the giving, right?
7:32 pm
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Aaah - new pictures. Got this from Oogly Googly, which has some great art work on it - go check it out.
On another note - The guy who sounds like Kermit in our building I discovered today also looks like the rapper guy from Linkin Park. It's messing with my head!
7:36 pm
Monday, May 10, 2004
Waaaaaaaaaaaa! My picture's gone. Booooooooooooooooooooo.
Must find new picture then. Hmmmm.
2:35 pm
Oooooooh. New blogger-ness. Hmmm. Not decided yet if I like it.
Sooo, AUDITIONS! We had them, and they went a lot better than we hoped. I've forgotten how much I miss this stuff. I love auditions - I love watching people try, and I love being surprised and finding the perfect person to fit. Sometimes auditions can be heart-wretchingly awful and painful, and there are always moments, but I love the theatre so much. What the heck I'm doing in film I don't know! It's the only reveries where I truly wish I had money - enough to invest, and have a go at this stuff properly. But, tis life, and dwelling on what we can't have is never healthy (although very difficult not to do). But this will certainly do for now. So, for those of you in the know - here's the cast. For the feisty bitch from hell Louise, we have the delicious Rachael Hilton. This girl is gonna go far, you mark it now. If she isn't a ridiculously well respected actress in five years I'll eat my own foot. The girl swans off for Drama School in September - I wouldn't be surprised if you know her name before she even graduates. For our bitter single dumped on girl Sarah, we have Charlotte Knowles - another sickeningly gorgeous girl who's currently studying at LIPA, can sing, dance and is generally very annoyingly talented (can you tell I'm not bitter). Our bouncy giggly (never to be replaced by the original) Samantha is being played by a lady from the theatre who I don't actually know, called Zoe Duffin. But from the audition she seemed ace, and has a cool little voice - and she's short - so yay! The poisoned dwarf lives!
The very delectable and often confused as gay Tom Cohen steps into the very delectable and often confused as gay Julian's shoes - not type casting at all then. Teehee. He's a good lad and I think he'll surprise a lot of people with this outing - although him and Rach have a history more complicated than the characters, so it should all be rather amusing.
The bastard who doesn't want to be a bastard, Dickiebird No1 Peter is being played by a complete newbie called Tony (surname escapes me at the mo) - this guy was ace. Sooo funny. Really looking forward to seeing what he does. Plus he had great chemistry with Mike Wignall, who's playing his best bud and Dickiebird No2 Paul. Again, know very little about Mike, but he totally nailed Paul in the audition - and I really look forward to seeing what he can do.
So... Cast and done. Now I leave it all in the very capable hands of La Bron. After I write the sodding ending that is.
8:38 am
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
La Spice's birthday was at the weekend - was indeed mucho fun. Twas indeed an amusing sight to see the Limpit being carried by the little yappa dog. Poor boy injured himself at a football match. Technically, before the match. Exercising. Ain't that like a footballer.
Auditions this Saturday for the Chorley folk.
Hmmm. Not writing much at all. I lack inspiration this week.
I wish I lived in Manchester.
Ooooooh. I remembered some news. This is for those of the Royal Exchange era. Last week, I was watching an episode of Bad Girls (understand "watching" at home indicates "ignoring" what Fat Ass decides is worthy television; so don't judge me harshly on this), and who should I see but Tristan Sturrock. I completely fell in lust with this guy when I was a mere usherette on "As You Like It", when he was the lovely Orlando. Total crush. Which is odd for me - I rarely fall in lust. Especially when I don't know the guy. Anyway - I always feel like a giggly schoolgirl when I remember Tristan - lots of whispering and giggling amongst the girls on that show. Was very upset of course when the show ended. I say all this safe in the knowledge that Cheesy can't get grumpy at this, since at the time he had a girlfriend, and I fancied him anyway, and had fancied him when he was single only he went and snogged Emily - so there! Rargh.
7:16 pm
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Sorry for the absence. Funerals tend to make you self-orientated for a while. Sometimes I wish I was more religious, then I could maybe get something out of the funeral process instead of getting pissed off. I don't want to hear about sodding Jesus and his trials on a day like that. I wanna hear about my Aunty and nothing else. Still, bitterness isn't the place for it. So, I shan't go down that rant. It was a horrid day, I suppose, but what else could it be? But still, I have no wish to be depressing, so I shall leave that subject well alone till it cuts less.
Not Really Cutting It
I loved the last two series of Cutting It - it was always a bit bonkers, and entirely romantically complicated. But the opening episode for the new series was beyond ridiculous. Allie's home birth was just stupid - why is calling a doctor is considered unnecessary when your insides are about to burst open with a little person? Not only was it stupid on behalf of the mother, but what about the baby? If there had been any complications the kid would have been screwed. It's a shame they skipped over the cutting of the umbilical cord - which I can only guess was done with a pair of kitchen scissors. Ridiculousness. And of course the other one walking about with her baby mere hours after birth, after screaming the place down. I know - "suspension of reality". But, jeez, it only goes so far. So the new series - unimpressed so far.
Edinburgh
As previously mentioned, got a bit of a thing on at the Edinburgh Festival this year - am planning on booking a place for the last 5 days of the festival, and wanted a show of hands. Some of those among my gossip circle have expressed an interest in joining me up there, so I wanted to get a rough idea of numbers. Let me know if you fancy it.
8:43 am
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