So Long…

It has been so long, and so much has happened..

So Much.

Especially this week.

I feel funny and tangled, and excited and happy and small and ridiculous.

And I hear a familiar squeak. But it is unannounced, so probably my imagination.

But I’ll investigate anyway.

A false alarm, it seems. Just the reversing tone of an annoying truck as it works tirelessly to de-forest my neighbourhood.

That thing…

You know that thing I do?

Where I ignore the world, faff aimlessly, don’t look after my body, eat everything in sight, get really annoyed at everything, and sit in front of my computer, amidst mountains of crap, wondering why I even bother getting out of bed.

Today is one of those days.

I just don’t care.

And I don’t know where this came from.

Hello Mr. Doctor, would you like three vials of my blood, and one cup of pee… OK.

Bloody hives.

Bloody blood.

And the cards told me to stop and smell the roses. THERE ARE NO ROSES!

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Battle Scar

I have unfortunately acquired the most ridiculous performance-related injury known to man.

Whilst completing the violently joyous mardi gras-inspired dance break in the finale of ‘The Little Dragon’, I happened to connect my left thumbnail with the underside of my left eyebrow (the bit NOT covered in hair).

The pain indicated that there was something wrong almost immediately, but it wasn’t until blood started to obscure my vision several steps later, that I relised that I had caused an injury to myself. I completed the latter half of the routine, including an exremely fast puppet acquision and the first curtaincall , huddled behind my dragonfly, blood slowly trickling down my face and mingling with the copious sweat to find its way to the corner of my mouth.

 I raced off stage to the dressing room, where I mopped up most of the blood, and had a plaster applied to my face, all the while trying to convince the Korean office staff that I had NOT fended off attack from a ninja hoard whilst defending the honour of our lead actress, but had merely misjudged the ferocity of my own thumbnail. When this became clear, the male stagehands dissolved into laughter, and I ran back on stage in shame, to perform the last workshop number and final curtaincall.  Which proved rather difficult as the plaster seriously limited the movement of my upper eyelid, and resulted in an awkward squinting motion being imposed on my naturally expressive face (probably for the better, lets be honest).

So committed was I to maiming myself, that I not only have an ugly looking gash on my eyelid, but a bruised graze running from it, through my eyebrow and onto my expansive forehead.

I guess it’s all part of growing up and being Australian.

(IDIOT)

Sunday Morning

I just found out that I can make a farting noise with the concave space between my shoulder and my neck.

An annoying way to disturb sleeping persons.

LAST DAY!!! TWO SHOWS!!!

ahem

Visit Gwangju!

Visit Gwangju: Icicle City of Death and Incompetence.

Here, you can stay at the beautiful Regent Tourist Hotel where the hot-water boiler will only be turned on for the morning shower, and the heater will only be activated at 10 pm, even though the temperature outside is below freezing.

“Is that Snow”
“YES, that’s snow”
“Does this mean they will turn on the heat”
“NO, it doesn’t”

Especially good if you need a reason to cry after completing a days worth of shows and you need to soak your head free of three layers of cosmetics and hair products.

Penguins anyone? I know my room contained at least three.

Discussions were held two days in a row, after which it was generlaly decided that we would move one block to the ‘Gwangju Metrolopolis Prince Hotel’. That’s not a spelling mistake, the translation is actually Metrolopolis.

You may also want to check out the Gwangju Cultural Art Centre, where there is only two dressing rooms, neither of which have a shower, or hot water, but where the water DOES run brown. Smells of urine. That is, the WHOLE CENTRE smells of urine, not just the male dressing room where the cast is situated. (Our crew staked out the female amenities).

They don’t train their staff here, not in anything useful to running a theatre that is. You may bolt off stage to change into a fiberglass and lycra costume resembling a rhinoceros beetle, only to have the overweight and short-sighted venue stage manager practically standing IN your costume in a bid to be a part of EVERY piece of off-stage business. It didn’t take us long to realise that if you run into him at full-pelt, wielding various musical paraphernalia, he generally spends the rest of the show sitting down, or eating a bag of crisps.

Also, when the venue staff take their 90 minute lunch break at 12, the entire heating system goes with them as well. It’s policy. It is also policy to yell at the actors 20 minutes after coming off the last show of the day because you are hungry, and you want to go home.

Gwangju: City of Dreams.

INTERNET!!!

I just lost a long draft of a meaningful and insightful entry to the dark halls of irretrievable cyberspace.

I will leave this PC Cafe now before I throw something at the over-sized, yet under priced Windows Machine I am sitting at.

Two shows tomorrow.

Relationship Issues…

Hillary and I are not talking…

It’s a little awkward, as we occupy the same small apartment, but I have been playing with her all day, to the point that I needed to construct a hand-sock to prevent chafing.