" And all the men and women merely players."
Last week I had the pleasure of going to The Drowned Man, an immersive theatre production by Punchdrunk, with my beau (J-) and his sister (E-). I had no idea what to expect.
We arrived at this old warehouse, checked in our bags in the timber cloakroom and joined the queue for admission. We were handed a slip of paper outlining a plot, a tragic love story which I assumed would be the plot of the play. The paper was black one side and white the other. I read one side and glanced at the other. I was partly right.
I was a touch overexcited about the whole thing (and I REALLY needed to wee) so as we queued I think I was a little annoying... I felt as if we were queuing for a roller coaster. E- had just stepped off a flight from Los Angeles and had been awake for two days straight so we made interesting (if slightly opposing) companions for J-.
Before long we were at the front. We were handed a white mask and ushered into a dark doorway. There was one man in front of me, who I was thankful for as we were in a twisting turning passageway and everything was almost pitch black. There was an almost deafening cacophony of discordant tones and the only light came from reddish-orange lights that were round the next corner -- if I had been leading I would have walked mask-first into the wall several times. Eventually we reached a room with a group of other masked people. To be honest, it was fucking scary; a group of faceless strangers all turning to look at you simultaneously? Urrgh. Even turning to J- and E- was freaky; you forgot so quickly about the masks. And you couldn't see any facial expressions, couldn't hear what anyone might be saying...there was no opportunity to crack a joke, pull a face, or find any other way to make light of your situation. It was very unsettling, and you could not make it otherwise.
After a welcome speech from (I think) one of the "owners" of the "film studio" we were at, we were told to make our way to the bar for the "wrap party" we were to attend. She then hauled open the heavy lift door, and out we blindly stumbled. I happened to be one of the first, wandering in the dark corridors, picking cryptic papers up off the floor and letting myself in to offices and various "behind the scenes" rooms.
I won't dictate everything I saw, as it's better to be surprised and I wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone who might read this before seeing it (not that anyone's reading this, but still). The audience wandered freely over 4 or 5 floors, in and out through film sets, props, dressing rooms....and occasionally you would stumble upon the characters themselves (or they would suddenly appear in the room with you) acting out various scenarios. The loud soundtrack wiped out any hope of hearing dialogue so you were forced to understand through their movements. Wonderful, confusing movements.
I saw a woman in a hag mask, another spiralling in a beautiful ballet on fake snow, a man scattering his clothes and raining sand on his naked body. I saw a heavily choreographed dance number, a drunken party, a human doodle and possibly a murder. What is "real" and what is "film"? And where did the audience fit in?
I love the immersive aspect, and I love the mystery...but I came away so unsatisfied. I wanted the whole plot. I didn't know I was supposed to follow the actors; I thought as much information could be gleaned from the sets. Once I got home I looked back at the black and white piece of paper, the one that I assumed had "the plot" on it. I remember seeing these characters, could put the bits I saw into the narrative....but who were the other characters? How did they fit in? Idly I turn the paper over. Another storyline. Different characters. A mirrored plotline. Although this solves some of my confusion (and mentally I kick myself HARD for missing it) there are still some characters left out...
I would recommend The Drowned Man, but I would advise you not to expect to "get it". You are an audience and, despite being given free reign of the internal workings of the entire set, you remain outside.
"Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."
* Quote from William Shakespeare
Wednesday, 7 August 2013
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
"Looks like I can take you..."
"Heh heh, yeah, keep looking"
It's only been a week, but I am officially A Gym User.
I go, I pick things up, sweat a bit and put them down. I walk on a machine, then run on the machine, and finish by sitting next to the machine with my head between my knees trying not to be sick. Truly I am living the dream.
But despite these obviously uplifting experiences, I seem to suffer from a lack of motivation - if I don't trot myself off to the gym first thing in the morning I will just put it off all day and have a little cloud of guilt hanging over me. I think I might be more inspired to go if I listened to the Pumping Iron soundtrack every meal time. I could wake up to it, enjoy my post-lunch cup of tea to its funky tones, and play it in the kitchen while I prepare my dinner. Pull some poses, you know? Strut my muscular stuff (NB I do not have muscular stuff to strut) And even though I fear this might trigger me talking like Arnie for a large portion of the day, perhaps it would be worth it.
Or maybe I should start my own gym, purely based on the fantastic feeling of The Pump. Hey, if it works forSwarzegener Schwartzeneggor Schwartzenegger Schwarzenegger, why can't it work for others? And boy does it work for...the aforementioned hard-to-spell individual; he is coming day and night - "Can you believe how much I am in heaven?"
So we could place a larger than life sized gold plated statue of Mr. S in the centre -- ooh ooh! which could double up as a water dispenser! A new motivational quote would be championed each day ("Milk is for babies. When you grow up you have to drink beer") and everyone would work towards achieving The Pump. We could put little speakers in all the weight machines and when you reach a certain level of "pump" (yet to be established) the twangs of Pumping Iron could filter their way into the individual's sweaty brain and they would know they had made 70's Arnie proud. And let's face it, who wouldn't want that? Is there any greater satisfaction? Well, actually, maybe the orgasm-like 'pump' we have been striving to achieve...
In any case, I need to stop muttering "if it jiggles it's fat" at fellow gym members.
* Quotes from Arnold Schwarzenegger
It's only been a week, but I am officially A Gym User.
I go, I pick things up, sweat a bit and put them down. I walk on a machine, then run on the machine, and finish by sitting next to the machine with my head between my knees trying not to be sick. Truly I am living the dream.
But despite these obviously uplifting experiences, I seem to suffer from a lack of motivation - if I don't trot myself off to the gym first thing in the morning I will just put it off all day and have a little cloud of guilt hanging over me. I think I might be more inspired to go if I listened to the Pumping Iron soundtrack every meal time. I could wake up to it, enjoy my post-lunch cup of tea to its funky tones, and play it in the kitchen while I prepare my dinner. Pull some poses, you know? Strut my muscular stuff (NB I do not have muscular stuff to strut) And even though I fear this might trigger me talking like Arnie for a large portion of the day, perhaps it would be worth it.
Or maybe I should start my own gym, purely based on the fantastic feeling of The Pump. Hey, if it works for
So we could place a larger than life sized gold plated statue of Mr. S in the centre -- ooh ooh! which could double up as a water dispenser! A new motivational quote would be championed each day ("Milk is for babies. When you grow up you have to drink beer") and everyone would work towards achieving The Pump. We could put little speakers in all the weight machines and when you reach a certain level of "pump" (yet to be established) the twangs of Pumping Iron could filter their way into the individual's sweaty brain and they would know they had made 70's Arnie proud. And let's face it, who wouldn't want that? Is there any greater satisfaction? Well, actually, maybe the orgasm-like 'pump' we have been striving to achieve...
In any case, I need to stop muttering "if it jiggles it's fat" at fellow gym members.
* Quotes from Arnold Schwarzenegger
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
"We live in deeds, not years: in thoughts, not breaths..."
"...In feelings, not in figures on a dial."
Well, I don't know about you but I seem to live in computer screens, rumpled duvets and large cups of tea.
*Quote from Philip James Bailey
Well, I don't know about you but I seem to live in computer screens, rumpled duvets and large cups of tea.
*Quote from Philip James Bailey
Thursday, 20 June 2013
"Workin' 9 to 5..."
"...What a way to make a livin'."
I sit here shivering in my little pink cardi and backless dress, chewing on my pen and lamenting the deceptive sun that shone through my window this morning. A line of drool dribbles down the macerated ballpoint and onto the minutes I’m editing. It lands in a doodle of transvestite fish with legs and a top hat inked earlier in red, which adds a sort of ‘Jack the Ripper-esque’ touch that usually escapes my scribbles. After admiring the artwork, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and surreptitiously glance around to see if anyone noticed. They didn’t; the fish and I are safe.
A little later, and no further with my editing, my skin is complaining of goose pimples and my tummy is gurgling. My mind instantly connects the two and produces a picture of a cup of tea. My mouth, delighted by the image, celebrates by acting independently of said brain and loudly announces its desire:
“TEA!”
I have not said this quietly. I have shouted “TEA” in a surprisingly deep voice apropos of (apparently) nothing. I cover brilliantly, obviously, and enquire as to the beverage requirements of the room. I’ve been in the office for 2 hours now and this is my third cup of the day, which is pretty much par for the course to be honest. I try to average one cup an hour as I’ve found this is a steady enough stream to keep the shakes at bay, but is occasional enough to keep colleagues from making snarky comments (these begin in jest but soon take on an edge of realism concerning contributions to the tea club kitty I’m just not comfortable with).
Another 10 minutes tick by, a few more red scrawls are added to the soggy document. I suddenly become aware that my left foot, curled up beneath me on my wheelie chair, has gone to sleep and I am faced with the eternal dilemma: do I leave it there and let the numbness grow, or do I move now and suffer the pain?
The world now splits into two – one universe follows the Philly who extricates the foot, digging her fingernails into her palms until the pain subsides, and doggedly continuing her procrastination.
The other universe follows the Philly who remains on the dead foot until the numbness progresses to her knee, forcing her to disentangle it manually. This Philly is then subject to the weekly fire alarm test which (despite hearing it every Friday at 11am) still makes her jump. This results in her good leg shooting out and kicking the desk, which provides the propulsion to rocket the wheelie chair backwards into a wall, the impact of which topples her from said chair which, owing to the aforementioned dead leg, she then struggles to climb back into.
I will leave it to you, dear reader, to judge which of these universes we live in.
*Quote from Dolly Parton
I sit here shivering in my little pink cardi and backless dress, chewing on my pen and lamenting the deceptive sun that shone through my window this morning. A line of drool dribbles down the macerated ballpoint and onto the minutes I’m editing. It lands in a doodle of transvestite fish with legs and a top hat inked earlier in red, which adds a sort of ‘Jack the Ripper-esque’ touch that usually escapes my scribbles. After admiring the artwork, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and surreptitiously glance around to see if anyone noticed. They didn’t; the fish and I are safe.
A little later, and no further with my editing, my skin is complaining of goose pimples and my tummy is gurgling. My mind instantly connects the two and produces a picture of a cup of tea. My mouth, delighted by the image, celebrates by acting independently of said brain and loudly announces its desire:
“TEA!”
I have not said this quietly. I have shouted “TEA” in a surprisingly deep voice apropos of (apparently) nothing. I cover brilliantly, obviously, and enquire as to the beverage requirements of the room. I’ve been in the office for 2 hours now and this is my third cup of the day, which is pretty much par for the course to be honest. I try to average one cup an hour as I’ve found this is a steady enough stream to keep the shakes at bay, but is occasional enough to keep colleagues from making snarky comments (these begin in jest but soon take on an edge of realism concerning contributions to the tea club kitty I’m just not comfortable with).
Another 10 minutes tick by, a few more red scrawls are added to the soggy document. I suddenly become aware that my left foot, curled up beneath me on my wheelie chair, has gone to sleep and I am faced with the eternal dilemma: do I leave it there and let the numbness grow, or do I move now and suffer the pain?
The world now splits into two – one universe follows the Philly who extricates the foot, digging her fingernails into her palms until the pain subsides, and doggedly continuing her procrastination.
The other universe follows the Philly who remains on the dead foot until the numbness progresses to her knee, forcing her to disentangle it manually. This Philly is then subject to the weekly fire alarm test which (despite hearing it every Friday at 11am) still makes her jump. This results in her good leg shooting out and kicking the desk, which provides the propulsion to rocket the wheelie chair backwards into a wall, the impact of which topples her from said chair which, owing to the aforementioned dead leg, she then struggles to climb back into.
I will leave it to you, dear reader, to judge which of these universes we live in.
*Quote from Dolly Parton
Tuesday, 11 June 2013
"So this is the New Year..."
"...and I don't feel any different."
Last year my only New Years Resolution was to “not die” and, as I achieved it, I planned to follow it this year with the inspiring “take care of myself”. I have since come to the conclusion that perhaps I should try to be a bit more ambitious. So here, much belatedly, I will define certain features of “taking care or myself”.
1) Spend more time with loved onesI have an uncanny ability to drop out of existence for weeks at a time. Although this is slightly beyond my control, I often find that the best way to pull yourself out of an antisocial fug is to force yourself to be social. I always know I’ll have a good time when I get there, it’s the effort of dragging myself out of the house first…
2) Improve my sense of well beingAs well as assuming everyone around me is immortal, I need to stop believing my sedentary, food-focussed lifestyle won’t have any adverse effects. Unfortunately this involves finding a way to enjoy eating better and doing regular exercise, in order to ultimately be happy in my own skin.
3) Make better use of my timeAs anyone who has lived with me can testify, there’s nothing I like better than sleeping late into the morning. There’s also few things I hate more than feeling I’ve slept my day away. I know I don’t make the most of my time and I would love to do more - be more productive, less slug-like. I like who I am, but I’d like it if that person could have a little more drive and energy. (I would also like to clarify – spending time completing video games counts as productive).
4) Utilise opportunitiesMy mood concerning my job fluctuates quite drastically. I won’t say I want a new career path, but I want to know I’m making the most out of every opportunity that comes up.
What are you mid-year resolutions??
* Quote from Death Cab for Cutie
Last year my only New Years Resolution was to “not die” and, as I achieved it, I planned to follow it this year with the inspiring “take care of myself”. I have since come to the conclusion that perhaps I should try to be a bit more ambitious. So here, much belatedly, I will define certain features of “taking care or myself”.
1) Spend more time with loved onesI have an uncanny ability to drop out of existence for weeks at a time. Although this is slightly beyond my control, I often find that the best way to pull yourself out of an antisocial fug is to force yourself to be social. I always know I’ll have a good time when I get there, it’s the effort of dragging myself out of the house first…
2) Improve my sense of well beingAs well as assuming everyone around me is immortal, I need to stop believing my sedentary, food-focussed lifestyle won’t have any adverse effects. Unfortunately this involves finding a way to enjoy eating better and doing regular exercise, in order to ultimately be happy in my own skin.
3) Make better use of my timeAs anyone who has lived with me can testify, there’s nothing I like better than sleeping late into the morning. There’s also few things I hate more than feeling I’ve slept my day away. I know I don’t make the most of my time and I would love to do more - be more productive, less slug-like. I like who I am, but I’d like it if that person could have a little more drive and energy. (I would also like to clarify – spending time completing video games counts as productive).
4) Utilise opportunitiesMy mood concerning my job fluctuates quite drastically. I won’t say I want a new career path, but I want to know I’m making the most out of every opportunity that comes up.
What are you mid-year resolutions??
* Quote from Death Cab for Cutie
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
"'Cause I'm as free as a bird now..."
"...and this bird you cannot change."
My life is soon to take a bit of a turn. Recently I was offered a job, similar to the post I currently hold but at a faster paced and more innovative Local Authority. And I jumped.
Now I'm suffering the fallout of leaving my current job. Some people know and are happy for me, some are unaware which makes me feel like a traitor and a liar, and some know and are setting out to make the move as difficult as possible.
Every time I get upset I think, "go to the mattresses" - it's not personal, it's business. It's not personal, it's business. And if I had enjoyed my current post more then I wouldn't be leaving. Nothing people do or say now can change the dissatisfaction I've been dealing with for the past 18 months.
Every time I feel unsure whether I'm making the right choice I think, "Free Bird" - I can't let the fear of something new keep me down, I'd rather try and fail than never try at all.
Even though it's only a new job, I'm using it to spring clean my life. I've signed my contract to live in London for another year, I've cut my hair to my shoulders and I'm currently gutting my possessions. Everyone I know seems to be moving forward in their lives - with partners, careers, commitment, property... It's time to stop dreaming of what I want to be when I grow up, and realise that I've done all my growing. I'm 25, I am what I am, and I need to take control over my life and the world around me.
Throughout my career I've been plagued by people looking down at me and assuming I didn't know what I was doing. Maybe that owed a little to my age, or to my gender, but I believe that people will take you as they see you. If I feel confident and in control, others won't doubt me.
Tune in next time for my mental breakdown...?
* Quote from Lynyrd Skynyrd
My life is soon to take a bit of a turn. Recently I was offered a job, similar to the post I currently hold but at a faster paced and more innovative Local Authority. And I jumped.
Now I'm suffering the fallout of leaving my current job. Some people know and are happy for me, some are unaware which makes me feel like a traitor and a liar, and some know and are setting out to make the move as difficult as possible.
Every time I get upset I think, "go to the mattresses" - it's not personal, it's business. It's not personal, it's business. And if I had enjoyed my current post more then I wouldn't be leaving. Nothing people do or say now can change the dissatisfaction I've been dealing with for the past 18 months.
Every time I feel unsure whether I'm making the right choice I think, "Free Bird" - I can't let the fear of something new keep me down, I'd rather try and fail than never try at all.
Even though it's only a new job, I'm using it to spring clean my life. I've signed my contract to live in London for another year, I've cut my hair to my shoulders and I'm currently gutting my possessions. Everyone I know seems to be moving forward in their lives - with partners, careers, commitment, property... It's time to stop dreaming of what I want to be when I grow up, and realise that I've done all my growing. I'm 25, I am what I am, and I need to take control over my life and the world around me.
Throughout my career I've been plagued by people looking down at me and assuming I didn't know what I was doing. Maybe that owed a little to my age, or to my gender, but I believe that people will take you as they see you. If I feel confident and in control, others won't doubt me.
Tune in next time for my mental breakdown...?
* Quote from Lynyrd Skynyrd
Friday, 3 May 2013
"I'm the best there is at what I do.."
"...But what I do best isn't very nice."
So I've mentioned my MOOC before - this bloglet is one of my assignments. I had to "Create a comic based on a story regarding gender you or a close friend/family member has experienced." Mine is based on an experience from work.
For any non-British readers (ha! As if I have readers!) it's worth mentioning that I work in Local Government, and our Local politicians are given the title of "Councillor". I work in politics, not mental health!
Also worth mentioning, I have terrible handwriting and I'm not great at drawing. Anyway, whining and apologies over, bask in the glory of the wonderful thing I created:
Toodles x.x.x
*Quote from Uncanny X-Men #162
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