Almost... just a little bit more...

My term is officially over. Bye-Bye Screenwriting and hello Playwriting. I didn't think I would enjoy or learn as much as I had in the screenwriting term, having studied film production as an undergrad I never really took to screenwriting but now I'm thinking I get it.

However, I wanted to go back to school to study playwriting, something I have always done but never learned how to do in a classroom setting. So I am very excited for the next term. But I haven't even finished reading the books for this one, let alone start the long list of books and plays for next year. So much for a winter vacation.

My time will be divided between painting the apartment and while it dries getting my paper for this term done and reading that long list of books for next term. Then more painting and redecorating the place back in NYC. Sounds busy but I think it will be fun. I have a secrete love of redecorating and being able to do a whole apartment, yippy! Pics of before and after to come...
Oh I forgot and playing with the pups! And friends, and GT!

The Lost Monarchy

I was watching the new show “Monarchy” the behinds the scenes life of the Royal Family and it showed Her Majesty’s visit to the USA this past year. I can’t help but notice how compared to the Queen, the President is shown as an Average Joe. (Well, which he is, and that is the point.)

But I wonder do I view this as strange because I am American? We are always taught about the glitz, glamour, secrets of the white house and how untouchable and unapproachable a President is. In this documentary, since it was following the Queen, we see the behind the scenes of her life and shown side by side with the Presidents, it was very clear, we are but children playing a grown ups game. The President even said “I see her as a mother.” And for some reason I get that.

Although watching them interview the American bystanders and hearing them talk in various twangs without really saying anything and showing their ignorance was pretty funny. It kind of made me home sick. My dopey child waiting, bright eyed and always optimistic.

Then I began to think, this lady is 80 something, and she’s probably got a good ten years left and then what? Something remarkable will be lost. A tradition, a history gone. Not so much because she is the Queen, born to her title and you must respect her for being born. Not at all, you must respect her for being a Woman, a Mother and a head Public Figure for over 50 some years. A lot rides on her shoulders, she may not make laws but she is a symbol of something steadfast and strong. Seeing it side by side with the kid brother USA really made me glad I got out of the country, if only for a year to experience and witness other points of view. To take in the full picture.

What really sold me on this program was Her Majesty flew British Airways. If it’s good enough for her then it’s defiantly good enough for me. A few days from now I am to board and head back over The Pond for a visit. Frightened to death of flying I think 'Well if the Queen trusts British Airways then so can I.'

I may enjoy being away from home but at the end of the day I know where I belong… ya’ll!
After all I'm royalty too... A Jewish American Princess, truly isn't that the best kind? (Best not to answer that... especially you GT.)

Munchkin Blood

When I was born, on Friday the 13th, I was named after my mother’s uncle, Henry Kramer. He died a few years before my birth leaving behind his wife Dolly Kramer. Uncle Henry was the manager to Aunt Dolly, a midget and former vaudeville star who was billed as a Tiny Sophie Tucker.

Aunt Dolly is my great grandmothers sister. Younger or older we never found out, as the two had a long-standing feud. Miss Bessie (my great grandmother) as she liked to be called insisted she was younger, jealous of her smaller sister’s talent and success. When I was small I never thought much about the two old ladies just that I had to smile and be polite.

Older and obsessed with American theater history I would like to explore Aunt Dolly’s life. For now I’d like to take a minute and congratulate her (even though she’s been dead since the nineties) on her recent star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. You see like most midgets (or height challenged) performers of her day, she played a munchkin in the film Wizard of Oz. On Nov 20, 2007 several years after her death and 70 years after the film was made they were honored.

Only a few survive now but when I was a kid we would go to a munchkin reunion, most had retired in Florida which is the custom with old people and retired circus performers. At the time this just seemed like any other forced family event. If only I was smart enough to take notes, ask questions. A witness to history and I didn’t know it. Well now I have to do real work because most the people from her life are dead.

I was there when Aunt Dolly died. She left me her wedding ring on her deathbed. I’ve never understood why. I have two cousins and two aunts, why me? Was it because I was named after her husband? With Henry and Dolly combined to Hollie I feel perhaps it’s fitting I hold onto her ring, her photos, and hopefully her memories.

It was the Best of Times it Was the Worst of Times

Events in life happen in unexpected ways, as they ought to. However, for me it seems backwards, all the major events one normally marks on a calendar are small and easily forgotten. But what should be the day to day grind of getting somewhere on time or doing this and doing that are what become a truly memorable adventure.

It has always been this way for me; losing my virginity, my first kiss, winning awards, celebrations, birthdays, holidays, notches on the stick can melt in and out. I’m horrible with calendars and remembering whose special day is when. Some may call it selfish and they would be right. My world is but the adventures I have, though vast they may be, they seem to over shadow what should be the grand events.

For instance, a fresh milestone, I can report in detail because it has only just happened. So small I wonder if I did not keep journals would I remember how and when?

Just yesterday, GT asked me to move in with him, and I had already seen it coming. Three months ago he said he had a “Proposition” for me but he didn’t want to tell me until I saw him in person. He tried to surprise me for my birthday earlier this year with tickets to see Spam-o-lot and I had figured it out as soon as he had. So keeping that in mind he dropped the subject of his “Proportion” hoping I would forget. Being of the female specious that is hardly plausible. When a boyfriend says to his girlfriend I have a “Proposition” we are hardly ever to forget, even if it is whispered once and not spoken again for many years. Three months pass and he appears in London. The week flies by and in preparation to leave there was no mention of the "Proposition". Already knowing what it is, I must ask him to say it because so much is involved with moving in together, that the sooner I know, the sooner I can stop pretending not to know and prepare so things run smoothly.
“I thought you forgot that?”
“Nope, so spill it”
A coy smile. “It’s part of the surprise I have waiting for you back at the house. You’ll see it when you come in ten days.”
No dice kiddo. I need to bring things home when I come, so I need to know.
“Please tell me. Please!” A coy look, a flirty smile, a hint of cleavage.
“Will you move in with me?”
“I knew it!” Okay not the romantic response but I did know it. Hugs and kisses, smiles galore. We rejoice as a couple in love would do. (The sneaky devil still has a surprise when I come home in a few days. For once I have no clue!)

Regardless this is another millstone and yet it slid by in moments. Twenty five years old, I moved to a foreign country to get my masters degree, I have my first two plays published and I got my first tattoo and now my first proposal of living together as a couple all in such a short span of time and yet it seems the in between is all I can re-call. The missing of buses, the frustration of things misplaced, the paper work piling up, the shoes that keep making my ankles bleed, the crappy dorm life, the constant need for something more or something less. To be where ever I am not and to want whatever I do not have, but have had before.

Some one said to me this is one of those moments when down the road I will look back and say 'this was the best time of my life'. My reply was “I’ve had best times, this isn’t one of them.” Then I wonder can you have more then one? Isn’t an adventure no matter how small or big, or painful or fun, a time in which is best to remember? One can't see they are in something bigger then life until it's over, only by then it's some one else whose looking back and remembering.

I Got You Babe

A long week just flashed by. From all my ramblings and online blogging of my day-to-day struggle with London and the transit system GT thought I had made it all up.

This was his first time in London. Of course the trains and buses behaved accordingly until today that is when he had to leave. We could not get to the airport because of train service, so several tube lines, a taxi, and 40 pounds later we got him to his plane on time. His arrival however was smooth, effortless. I promptly snuck him into my dorms and we gushed over the fact that he was not on the other side of my computer screen, where he had been since my three months here.

I took him all over London; Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street; Covenant Garden, Camden Town, the Tate, British Museum and the shops around Angel station. Our travels to all locations were uneventful. So his impression of London was delightful. For me I got to finally see it in a more relaxed environment. Every restaurant we ate at was amazing. I have to say American’s think the food is crap in London but that is a lie kids. I’d say the food in NYC can be pretty bad most of the time but in London you’re really not going to regret eating out, even the beef! (I think I gained back the last five pounds I recently lost but it was worth it.)

The one thing that has set him off was his only London West End experience, seeing “Lord of the Rings the Musical”. This show is some ones practical joke. The acting was horrific, it was as if they pulled a guy off the street and said 'here, play an elf and a hobbit.' I mean what was this monstrosity? Special effects galore sure but what good is that when you have a plot riddled with exposition. Just because it is a well-known story doesn’t mean you should tell it from beginning to end with everything in between. They could have taken a section of this mammoth epic and allowed the time to focus on characters development and themes, not just shoving every piece of information at us unskillfully as possible. The music was forgettable and at times laughable. In telling such an epic one would relish being able to use music as a means to move the story along with song. None of the songs moved anything along; they had no purpose other then to say what a character (that we barely meet) felt. I wish Frank Wildhorn had written this score the production team of Wicked took over. This was an overproduced mess! How it lasted this long I have no idea. I could go on for ages about the trainwerck that is "Lord of The Rings The Musical" but I’ll spare us all.

I did see two good movies with GT, Lions for Lambs and Beowulf. Both used excellent forms of story telling. They were engaging, thought provoking and entertaining. Lions for Lambs was a bit preachy but I anticipated that going in and as I agree with the message I didn’t have a problem with it. Besides it’s Streep and Redford need I say more? As for Beowolf they had me until Angelina Jolie appeared in spike heels and a tail. It was too distracting and took me out of the story. But then again this is a boy toy story... isn't?

Overall a good week with tasty food and fun times. Now back to reality, alone in the dorm room with so much work to catch up on, and five pounds to lose, again. Off I go. One week of class left for the term and then back to NYC for a month where I am to move in with GT. It’s comforting to know that after what feels like a a life time of (six years) roommates, apartments, cities, states, coaches, storage units, I finally have a home. Only it’s still months and miles away. I exit after this year of school in London and enter domesticity and what I hope to be a fulfilling life long career in scripts writing/development but until then, London you’re stuck with me babe.

Big Brother and the Neon Vest of Doom

Apparently Big brother is everywhere. I got an email from the Oysterman; I guess he reads my blog because the email was all about topping up your oyster card, directed to Miss Hollie. It was a very nice email but it didn’t answer my question. My question was not how to top up online or in a store but how to retrieve the top up. Can I just go straight away to my bus and touch my card to the pad and it’s going to say ‘yes, we see money and we takith it away’? Or do I have to go touch it to the tubes, which I do not use, and stand in line to have the money put back on?

See Mr. Oysterman that is where I am confused. But since you are a reader of my blog apparently, you can’t be all bad. I forgive you. Mainly because that frightens me. I can imagine all the bus drivers I have encountered, all lined up from biggest to smallest, thrashing bus auto parts in their greased hands chanting “Get the American girl. Get the stupid American girl.” There is nowhere to run because an army of red devils is roaming the streets looking for me. Well, Mr. Oyster did I mention how flattering that neon yellow is on you? It really downplays the hips.

Ah well off to get GT from the airport. That involves how many modes of public transportation? Right, better blend in.

Wave a white flag, it's all I can do

I can’t win here. Yesterday having been kicked off the bus for having no money on my card and had to walk to my destination, was not some fluke accident. It’s part of a never-ending battle, me vs. the world.

Today I took my only two-pound coin and stuck it in the bus machine. Of course what happened? The little bastard ate it. I smacked the unmoved machine like a disobedient child, cursing at it to no avail. It didn’t even make me feel better. Destroying things normally does. A guy in broken English said, “It is. It is.” It is what you jerk? He kept shrugging and repeating his mantra. A bus came and I said f*ck it. It’s taking me to class whether it likes it or not. Luckily, it was a long bus, not a double Decker, so you can hop on in the back. I did but not after explaining to Broken English Guy that “I f*cking hate this city.” He gave me a look of ‘well then go home you bitch.’ I rode to school, well to the gym then to school. Class was fine. It began to rain on my way home, no umbrella, what else is new?

At home, in the dorm, I see the kitchen is destroyed, some one else’s food is on my shelf in the tiny fridge and in my cupboard my red pepper shaker is almost empty with my garlic shaker nowhere to be found. Oh I found it all right, mixed with my missing pepper on some one else’s side of the kitchen. They went into my cupboard and destroyed my condiments. I’m not one to enjoy living with strangers, so far so good. No one messed with my stuff until now. But this? I don’t like feeling like a victim no matter how small the matter. This of course, taking my things and destroying them, is a huge pet peeve of mine, especially when it comes to food. You don’t mess with food and me people. You will regret it, and so will these idiots.

I moved into this crap hole because it said, private bathrooms, and grad student housing. I arrive and it’s a toilet in the shower and undergraduates galore. They have a large kitchen with two tiny mini frigs for five large people to share. It’s like who designed this place? What moron thought that was okay? What moron of a flatmate, do I have, that insist on buying industrial size milk so no one else can fit any of their own drinks? These people are not courteous, they are messy and just plane old jerks. Their friends come like kids and ring the door bell to our floor in a rapid motion for an unusually long period of time. I think my nerves have snapped a long time ago.

I’ve had a lifetime or roommates (well six years) and it never gets better. But this? I’m too old for this crap. By crap I mean being poor, living in a dorm and having to depend on spare change to get me by. Enough world, what do you want me to do wave a white flag! (There’s another reason for my grumpiness, more then GT has come to visit me this week. Ugh you’ve got to be kidding me! Stupid Irony! See “lets talk about sex” and you will know.)

The Worst Transit System in the World!

Being a model of good behavior I decided to reward myself with a trip out of my prison and to the local shops, (if nothing else but to look at pretty objects I cannot afford.) Freezing out (I grew up in Miami - 40 degrees is freezing.) I bundled myself up nice and tight, took a few photos in the bathroom mirror to remember my cuteness and headed out the door. Excited for what the day may hold, a day not locked up in solitude, I added an extra bounce in my step.

I got to the bus stop and immediately noticed the horrid of people, all bundled and up waiting. I thought ‘well the bus will be here any minute because look at all the people who have already been waiting forever.’ Twenty minutes roll by; I’m an icicle, realizing all the skin I have exposed, (should have added that second sweeter!) The bus decides, like a diva, it’s time for her grand entrance as the crowd, less then impressed, has quadrupled since my arrival.

Not one but all of the buses come at once, like a grand parade. My pick, what a wonderful treat, we won’t all be smashed inside together. I skip on, touch my Oyster Card to the little doohickey and it beeps something awful, as if I had pissed him off, and the wrong color lights flare. I walk away hoping the driver didn’t catch it, this pig of what used to be a woman, a blob in her controllers box screams out. “Touch it again.” - but with a more 1800’s street urchin’s twang. (Or so it sounded to me). I oblige, frighten she might let loose her Jabba tongue and swallow me whole. The same dreadful sound appears. “Did it work?” innocent and wide eyed, I reply. A glare, she knows I know. “You’re out of money.” That was it. Nothing. I of course turned off the cutesy girl routine. “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me!” I almost screamed like a nut. I stormed off. I waited twenty minutes in the cold and Jabbette Da Hut of the bus wouldn’t let me slide.

What makes it worse is this city has the shittiest transit system in the world. I’ve lived in five other major cities and this is the only one where when you add money to your travel card (online, in a tube station, or some deli store) you then have to go to a tube station and touch the pad to activate it. It won’t just put the money on the card. And it can usually not be activated until the next day. Ludicrous! As I had no cash (because lets face it I’m dirt poor, I can’t even afford to pay for school in March.) I had no choice but to either walk to my destination or head back to the dorms.

After acting insane as I walked down the street, I almost threw down my oyster card and stomped it out as if it were on fire. But having a wind of sanity, I continued to clutch it tight and just waved it around, letting out some primitive guttural sounds.

I headed to one of the little deli’s (well in NYC they’d be a deli. But here they don’t cut deli food, so it’s the same type of shop but I can’t think of the name of it, so I will continue to call it a deli, my mind must be blocked with rage.) and add money, using a credit card, (what else) to my Oyster Card. But as I stated before it will not go on it until I head to the tube station, (this is what it says online and what the people in the store say. Locals is this true? I never tried touching it to the bus and seeing if it would work right away, some one would have told me if that was the case, right? I don’t want to be swallowed whole for not having it work again.)

Nonetheless not needing to ride the tube - because I only have once since I got here - I sulked all the way to my destination, in the cold, on foot. Luckily, I will use the tube when I go fetch GT from the airport TOMORROW to activate my card. (The only bit of good thoughts from yesterday.) So today I might have to walk to school. I refuse to go to an ATM, take out cash, go to a store, buy something to get three pounds change and buy a day pass. (On second thought it’s raining out and cold. Blast! Damn you evil transits system.)

I know it’s a small thing to get so annoyed at but it isn’t when it comes to ones livelihood. If you put money on a card it should just be on the card. What idiot thought, ‘Right, once they put it on, then they have to go elsewhere, touch it to a pad and say these magical words ‘London blows!’.’ F*cking idiots.

(I don’t ride the tubes! Why would I touch my card there? Then it charges me for a ride, then I have to stand in line and have the charge removed. I actually did all this before and the guy in the booth just shrugged. He knew it was insane but ‘that was the only way’ he said. Please someone tell me this isn’t true and you will have good things happen to you!)

All I want for Christmas is “Green Finch and Linnet Bird…”

“….Nightingale, blackbird, How is it you sing? How can you jubilate, Sitting in cages, Never taking wing?.....”

Who is super, mega, excited about an upcoming movie? Why it’s me! So this of course is the ultimate! My favorite director Tim Burton is making my favorite musical Sweeney Todd, written by my favorite composer Sondheim into a movie musical. I know this isn’t new news but who cares! It’s awesome.

I was reading an article on playbill.com (another one of my online happy places) where Timmy had a screening of first cuts from the film. The journalist described it as a cross between “Sleepy Hollow” and “The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Of course that has me jumping out of my skin. How awesome is this film going to be! Granted Depp isn’t a singer but in this role I can forgive that because of the emotional content in which all these songs are sung. This isn’t a musical about frivolous songs, like any golden age musical, this is Sondheim people and if he gives JD his blessing, then so do I, right?

I know a lot of people (whom I do not like) hate the idea of the movie musicals, saying to save it for the stage. Especially, back in the day, when I was a kid the only musical that other kids watched was Annie, (though the freakishly red-haired star hurt my street cred, it never stopped me from my love affair of the two combined). Unlike other snot-nosed brats, I would watch “On a Clear Day You Can See Forever”, “Gypsy”, “Meet Me in Saint Louis” and the list goes on and on because lets face it, once you go “Singing in The Rain” you don’t go back to just plopping along in boring dialogue or worse, silence! No my friends the movie musical is a blessing not a curse. It doesn’t take sales away from stage shows, it enhances them, and educates others, who may not have an extra hundred dollars to see a glimpse of it’s glory live, (to learn about and appreciate all that is Show and Sing.) But of course I digress, nowadays with the success of “Chicago”, “Dream Girls”, "Phantom of the Opera" and the continuing success of cartoon movie musicals I find it hard to have to argue my love for this genre… so please all other enthusiasts of Burton, Sondheim, Depp, the Stage and The Silver Screen clap your hands, hold your breathe, and try not to poo your pants. I bring you SWEENEY TODD THE Demon Barber of Fleet... Street!


"Green finch and linnet bird, Nightingale, blackbird, Teach me how to sing. If I cannot fly, Let me sing ..."

How I Lost Ten Pounds

Ten pounds lighter.

Strange I haven’t weighed this since high school. I'm not the type of person to go on crash diets, buy diet books or join a center where they watch your weight for a fee and then shout it out to the world because I have never been fat, just a little plump around the edges. I think the heaviest I have ever been was 148 pounds and I'm 5'4 so it shows. (That was two or three years ago.) Recently it's been around 140... until now.

I think I could stand to lose another five pounds (all in the belly) and that’s it. I still want an inch to pinch, you know. No need to be skin and bones, I like the curve look. Besides who wants to lose the junk in the trunk, there would go all my best dance moves.

I didn’t really do much to lose the ten pounds over five months. I just gradually introduced working out (or really running on the treadmill) into my life. I probably go about 3 to 4 (or sometimes more) times a week; for 30 or 60 minutes. On top of that I cut out Starbucks (my precious), Pringles and other snacks. I have coffee and toast (sometimes eggs) for breakfast and smaller portions of some sort of chicken or fish meal, pasta and beef added once in a while to spice it up. It’s really just the portion sizes I changed. Instead of a full plate, heaping with food, that I force myself to eat until I want to die, it's like a quarter of my large plate, that is very satisfying and doesn't leave me keeled over in a corner somewhere. In between meals it’s a banana (cuz it’s the only fruit/veggie I like) or yogurt, cereal, these little crabsticks they have here and maybe a hot coco; only one of these, not all of course. (But I don't believe in cutting out certain foods, in order to lose, that's stupid. Unless, it's from a doctor saying don't eat that, I'm gonna eat it. Life is too short to skip all the foods you love. I just don't have them all the time. Once in awhile and smaller bits of it. Somehow it tastes even better that way.)

I’m also a very active person. I walk fast and I don’t stop moving; even in the dorm I pace like a caged animal or bounce my leg (I probably have restless leg syndrome… it’s real.) Most of this transformation is due to my friend HR, (not to be confused with me. Very similar though, eerily so.) She’s now a personal trainer in NYC and I crashed on her couch this summer as her Guinea pig. She made me work out for way more then I ever did on my own. Not only that she had me doing lifting, squats, leg lifts and other funny positions. Then when I got to London I kept the gym bit but nixed all the other funny stuff and stuck to running. I did this because I’m not a hardcore gym goer, so if I force myself to do a bunch of things I hate I’ll surely never go. But I really do like to jog/run, it feels good and it seemed to be all my body needed to shed the extra (sweet tooth) weight I’ve been hoarding around for a few years now. Since I have all the time in the world here in London, I actually make the effort to continue my lazy version of the routine.

So it is unusual circumstances in which I lost the weight. I also don’t go out much here, I don’t really drink a lot, or eat out with friends, no job to sit at (unfortunately) so I’m not tired at the end of the day, I’m wired. I am pretty sure when I get back State Side I’ll gain it/some back. I hope not, but I wont throw away my size ten pants just yet.

Lets Talk About Sex Baby…

“…Lets talk about you and me. Lets talk about sex!” - I’ll stop there only because I don’t know the rest of the song, and I’m too lazy to look it up online. Otherwise I would have had to enforce the Cyber Sing Along Time… again. But I shall spare you… this time.

GT comes here in four days and counting. I’m not going to lie; it’s been a very long three months. I don’t mean to harp on this but having had regular “relations” for two years and then all the sudden, having to go cold turkey, is indeed a shock to the system. This isn’t to say we didn’t try to be inventive.

In this modern day world sex can be had anyway you like; online, off line, above the line, under the line, whatever. I even saw a news special about people who have become addicted to cyber sex but if it isn’t actually, physically with another person wouldn’t that just be a fancy term for masturbation? I’m just saying.

I often wonder about couple’s years ago, not even hundreds, just fifty to thirty years ago. How did they connect with out cell phones and live video chat? Did they write each other erotic mail? What if they wrote a cliffhanger? The other person would then have to wait a few weeks for release. Oy! I can’t even think about it.

Though GT and I have tried to endure this separation with the obvious live chat, erotic stories, dirty talk, they sometimes seem to end in comedic, less then sexy results resembling a serial sitcom instead of a skin-o-max flick. When using video chat for less then wholesome needs, my mother decided at that moment, she would discover how to use the device herself and phoned in. Luckily, the call does not open automatically; needless to say it was a buzz kill. Yet, I couldn’t help but imagine how that scenario would have played out on screen. Mom innocently clicking to see her daughter live on video, finding more then a smiling face on the other end, most mothers would collapse, I’m pretty sure mine would call some one over and say “Does Hollie look fat to you?”

More then just video we attempted the erotic story swap. I wonder if this has ended relationships before? I can picture a man (sorry chaps it always is you) getting very carried away with his end of the story, adding in some other girl’s names and images that resemble German Fetishes, things he never shared with his girlfriend before, after her having read them, he never will. They can also be a way to get out your secret fantasy without having to say it out loud, if you are too shy. (I think we have concluded 'I ain’t shy about nothing.' So this is all theoretical)

Long distance relationships can be tough but I seem okay with this. I mean at times it gets hard, having had enough of ‘all work and no play’ you feel the walls close in on you. Resulting in madness. But on the other end, I’m getting a lot of work done. Work that would probably take me double the time at home, because of all the distractions.

Like a good girl, my work is done, so I’m all set to enjoy our time together.... because....

“.... I’m bringing sexy back….” Okay I don’t know the rest of those lyrics either… blast!

Which Way to Go?

My 1st term in grad school is almost over, only four classes left. I already finished my projects that are due on Nov 28. Though that should comfort me, it doesn’t because I found the scripts very easy to write. Which of course makes me wonder have I done something horribly wrong?

I, like most people, am a horrible judge of my own work. I never know if it’s good or bad. I never know when people tell me what they think if it’s a lie or not. As I seem to be the only person directing my plays and short films, I’m going to have to go with the negative view on this one. It’s a tough call because I read about great writers and even not so great ones that spent years only receiving little nasty “No thank you. Your work isn’t what we are looking for at this time, so sod off,” letters. I know this too should comfort me because then out of nowhere little by little the letters started to say “Okay, fine send it in. I give up.” And with that, their work is done, and it snow balls. But I bet there are millions of people who just get rejections and nothing else. We never hear about them because well, who the hell are they. You know?

I’m not saying all this because I just received a rejection in the mail, I haven’t. Then again I haven’t received an acceptance in a long time either. I’m saying this because I received honest feedback, praising my work in one field and not in another. I wonder am I taking a step back by focusing on something that may not be my strong suite? Have I just set myself up for a life of frustration or worse, failure? Or even worse then that, mediocrity? At least failure is beautifully tragic and has a winning shot of getting your work done after you’re dead but mediocrity is like limbo, you never rise above and you never go below. If you don’t know which level you are at, how can you know which direction to follow?

Limbo: How Low Can You Go?

The crash came pretty quickly. I should have expected it. But I didn’t. I began riding the end of my high from yesterday’s mar-o-thon by doing my re-writes for class. I had enough wind in me to finish them and happily crossed them off my list.

Next on my to do: fix resume. ‘Meh. I’m tired. I’ll do it later.’ Okay below that it says: research job possibilities. ‘Well, I can’t really do that if I didn’t fix my resume yet. Now can I?’ What else? Find a doctor to subscribe Xanax so I can fly in December. ‘No. I don’t feel like dealing with nurses and office assistances; they’re always so mean and pushy.’

This continued all the way down my list. I decided to take a break from productivity and lay in bed staring at nothing. Bored, I thought ‘lets go to school and print out my submission papers’. I’m not normally at school so early, that and the whole sunlight thing threw me. In a daze I wonder into the computer lab, it is beyond packed, not a spare seat. So I head out in search of the other computer rooms. I see it’s full but walk in anyway. I get to the middle of the room and see an older man, looking like a teacher. He begins to approach me. “Oh is this a class?” they all glare at me. So I hightailed it out of there.

Having found no computer free and already a classroom topic I wasn’t really in the mood for a work out. Instead I headed back to the dorms. For some reason, when I got back, I was too tired to function. So at around 6pm I fell asleep. I was then woken up an hour later by GT on the skype call. After some chitchat I passed out again. Needless to say at 3am I was up. Now I’m too tired to work but too awake to sleep.

The 26 Hour Hollie-A-Thon

For some reason, yesterday was deemed Productive Day. Although I stayed awake for 26 hours, it was actually a good day. No. Not good, it was GREAT! No misshapes, no casualties, and best of all, no fires.

I finished the latest version of my play, even figuring out how to save it as a PDF file to send to my readers. Who were very relived, as my doc’s normally become a mess on the page because my files are made in Final Draft. I have a very definitive hate / love relationship with this program. I’m starting to think, for the cost of it, it’s less then love. I don’t understand some it’s automatic changes in format, especially when I am pasting in a script from word, that’s already in the correct format! It changes it completely and so I must go line by line to fix. But once I start a script in it, the difference is apparent. It does in the long run make my life easier. It’s just converting it back into a word doc so other people can read it, that’s the headache. But no more! Thanks to my PDF discovery.

With that small accomplishment I thought well, it’s about 6am and I’m feeling good. Lets get the heck out of this sleeping for four hours during the day and staying awake through the night phase, shall we? Lets pull an all day'er! This of course lead me to being awake at 9am so I could finally call the Career Advisors office at school, to make an appointment for that day. On top of crossing that off twenty of my old to do lists, I thought of an idea for my next play! Promptly the wheels were and are turning. I even got my research material yesterday.

So accomplishing goals and setting new ones can lead to a bit of excitement, this is how I sailed through the many hours of sleep deprivation. When I got to school I printed out my play and mailed it off to a development competition. Another gold star! (It’s not whether it gets picked, it’s that I’m submitting my work again.)

Then off to my advisor appointment where upon first meeting her, I wasn’t sure this woman was going to be much help. It turned out to be (what else), a productive twenty minutes. She showed me how to make my resume more appealing to the jobs I go after, instead of being so generic. She also seemed impressed with the amount of work I have done since high school and the broadness to it. I’m glad she’s impressed because frankly, I’m not. All that work and I’m here, poor, not even poor, I’m in debt and going to school again. So what was all that running around, fetching important people their coffee, for??

It seems all my peers are moving up the ladder because they stayed with one thing. They stuck it out, no matter how bad it got and now have jobs that are a step closer to their goal. Where am I? I did everything and anything I could get my hands on, in any of my fields, I’m now here, having to get help on my resume because no one will even send me a rejection slip, let alone an offer.

But then I think, ‘Well, no. I am focusing on one thing. At least now I am. That’s why I’m in the MA program.’ I’ve always been a playwright but never officially studied it in a school setting. So here I am, I guess.

With that bit of self-encouragement, my sails were lifted once again. I went on to the gym, nothing to interesting there, except a large guy on the treadmill next to me smelt like rotten onions and I think he kept farting on top of it. So needless to say it was a short work out, that and I was too sleep deprived to continue.
Off to wait for class. Of course, our teacher decided that in this class he was going to spend a whole chunk of time reading one of my assignments. Which means, it was pick apart Hollie’s work time. For some people that would be a step back in their day. Not me. That’s actually a good thing. I really needed the feedback, having written it so easily, I thought this can’t be right. I was surprised when the things that needed fixing didn’t seem to be too much. More productivity, hurrah!

Then the most beautiful thing happened after class. I went home and at 10pm, I crawled into bed and fell asleep! It gets better! I remained asleep until 6am. So strange because I have never been a morning person but my eyes shot open today and like a little girl I sat up and said “I’m done.” (To myself of course.) At first I was scared it was a trick and I was going to look at the clock and it read ‘1 AM’ because it was still dark out and that has happened every other time, but not today.

So now here I am 7am, already writing a blog, and I went through NYCplaywrights.org to organize my next batch of submissions. Sitting next to me are my tasks for the day. What I am to do after typing here, re-write my class assignments based on the notes from yesterday's class, re-write my resume based on the notes from yesterday's advisor meeting and start work on my new play from yesterday's epiphany. Lets see how long this new trend lasts. Morning!

P.S.
Having been what felt like to me an unproductive, procrastinating, sleepless three months was like being constipated and yesterday I took a nice, big, long one. You know those feel good. Enjoy your breakfast. =)

WGA Strike and Me

What do we want? Money for our work! When do we want it? Uh, now. Duh.

I’m all about the WGA (Writers Guild of America) strike because say I land a dream job writing for a sitcom, (“Tina can you hear me?”) well that means if they get what they want, basically compensation for web content and a higher percentage of DVD residual to name a few, then so do I (in the hopefully not so distant future).

But I see all these pictures in the media of TV actors standing on the picket line with their shows writers, only they're the ones photographed. Not the writers whose fight it is. Then I think, of course, most the actors I see are not leads or are leads in an ensemble based show, so they will of course buddy up to the writer. I mean, who do you think gives them their lines, or the number of lines I should say. Not only that, they direct the way that actors character’s storyline goes. If you’re really nice to the writer you’ll get a death-mourning scene, where you can show off your acting chops. If you piss them off (by stealing the last glazed donut or sleeping with their wife) it’s your death scene another actor is mourning over and that means so long job. Naturally, an actor wants to be super, super, nice, especially around sweeps weeks, when those nominations for best actor and supporting go out. But this only applies to TV writer/actors, not Film. In film the writers are treated like grunts. Until I see a big A-list movie star standing with a screenwriter, picketing, I’m not impressed.

Then I think ‘oh, no. They're on strike, what will I do if it last forever and I have no new “Ugly Betty” to watch or “30 Rock” (with awesome Tina Fey - I have my motives... job please!) or “Conan”, or I can’t even say this without crying THE SIMPSONS! (they say if the srtike lasts the show may not.) Oh my God’. Breathe. Breathe... at a girl. Right. Oh, but all is not lost, I always have repeats. Blah!

I read they might be bringing in the big guns to negotiate this through; my long lost father Bill Clinton. (Hey, I’m a kid of the nineties, okay. I worked on his grass roots campaign in Miami when visiting my dad on the weekends, a little nostalgia please.) Though old Billy may not do it if his wife’s team deems it inappropriate for her campaign (I always thought of her as an un-welcomed stepmother. Interested in seeing how the polls play out on that one. Then again, I’d rather her over any Republican, they’ve done enough damage. So in that case, go for it Hill Dog.)

But I’m off track. The sad thing about this whole ordeal is I’m in London, as the world well knows and I get only a few of my favorite American shows here. So to learn I may not even have those is a bit frightening. I mean, I’ve watched British TV and I’m sorry but it’s pretty bad kids. The filming is so uncomfortable to watch, like a soap opera’s and the edits are crude and the stories weak. Although some of the comedy is way funnier, I can’t deny that. Now combine it with our production values, story line writers, actors and well you got a hit. So far I’ve never seen that happen. So I’m like the child in a divorce settlement wondering where I’m going to live.

This is a tough one for me but I’ll pull through because I think this is important. If they can ride this thing out, so can I. The problem is, my mother writers aren’t getting squat when we download movies and TV shows online. Yet they get the same pay as if the Internet did not exist. Come on!

The reason I like half these shows is the witty banter, originality and character development based on the writers work! Since living in London all I do is download shows and movies. It almost makes me sad to know the studio is getting richer and richer and not sharing with the people who are the reason they get to enjoy such splendors. I can’t stop downloading because I shouldn’t have too, but the studio should share! Or they are going to get a time out. Oh wait! They already are!

To the Studio:
No one likes a deadbeat dad so pay your ex-wife her due for creating a nice home for you to live in and your kids for doing all the chores! A decent alimony and child support checks will do just fine. Because if word gets around about your stingy shenanigans you ain’t getting laid by anyone. So pay up pops or it’s going be a long, lonely, cold winter.

Buzz Kill

Emerging into the real world is always a sobering experience. It didn’t take long for the goofy grin to disappear from my face. If I wasn’t so desperate to get out of the dorms I might have stayed in, riding the high.

I made the leap to school in order to print out the latest draft of my play, (Several deadlines are fastly approaching, so ready or not I have to continue my edit.) I normally avoid the school during daylight because of the undergraduate student body, which mirror high school freshmen at their worst, with their rude, loud and obnoxious behavior. By the way I don’t remember my peers in undergrad being that way. (That can only mean one thing. I have become an old lady.)

Having to sit amongst the rabble of chaos I attempt to do work, on school equipment, which made me wonder why I left my bed at all. I got through the ordeal fine and headed to the gym. Thirty minutes and it was back home again jiggity jig. My buzz long gone, I felt too tired to look over the material I had printed out. So I passed out at around 5:30 pm. Which lead too I the strangest sleep.

I felt as if I was in a permanent state of hallucination. First it began in a motel, watching as my family left me behind. Suddenly, I’m whisked in front of an old time barbershop. I turned to my left; this sweet old lady turns to me. “Have you looked up at the buildings?” “No.” I reply. She points her finger as if Spielberg were directing her up, up and way. So I follow, both eyes look up to a modern skyline. Only it goes for thousands of miles up into the air. With buildings towering higher and higher, Vertigo kicks in and I find myself on the concrete floor. Then we both lay side by side looking at the world above us. She calls me by my name and I wonder how she knows it. Perhaps she’s a relative I did not remember meeting, or a shyster, (then I remember, I’ve got nothing to steal)

Suddenly, she’s gone and I’m in my bed back at the dorms. I think I’m awake but it’s still a dream. A speaker goes off, two students are on the other end, pulling a prank, only they don’t know what to say. Then I think we don’t have speakers in the rooms, or anywhere for that matter. I hear the voices in the hall of my flat mates and I toss and turn; yet it’s still a dream. Then strange girls enter my bathroom. I try to get them to leave but they don’t give a toss. I look down and an envelope is pushed through the door. A letter from the dorms saying if I set off the smoke detector again I will be fined 25 pounds. How did they know it was me? I enter my bathroom and suddenly a wall is a window and the two girls are making out on my bed. I think I’ve entered the body of a sixteen year old boy, that or my boyfriend is rubbing off on me. I turn the corner and they're gone.

Suddenly, all things merge into one, the voices from the hallway become clear. Awake. For real? It took me ten minutes to realize, yes, this is reality and so is the letter from the dorms. They actually sent me a letter saying they know my “cooking” set off the alarms and if it happens again I have to pay up. I told the resident guy yesterday it wasn’t my cooking, it was faulty equipment, that set on fire. Not just smoke but a huge fire! I wonder why I’m living in this crappy place. Suddenly I think why did I wake up again?

The Sun Will Come Out.. toDAY!

I can’t get this stupid grin off my face for one simple reason, it’s noon and I am awake. I don’t mean I’ve stayed awake, I mean I fell asleep at around maybe 5am and WOKE UP at noon. For some reason I feel beyond energetic and it’s sunny out, which equals the smile on my face. Did I mention how good this feels?

Do not be surprise to find in the newspaper “Strange American Girl Found Doing Bizarre Dance in Street”. I just shake my bum to the left, now to the right, throw my hands in the air and jump around. Oh yea I jump around. Too much? I don’t think so because it feels soooooo right. Come on. Everybody! “I think I’ll go for a walk outside now the summer sun's calling my name… la la la la..” And swing your hips to the front and now to the back, oh shimmy shake ya’ll! Off to spread my song and dance with the world! (That's when you'll find me on the telly, for having been locked up for public display of lunacy... again.)

What Now?

Tired from nearly setting the dorms on fire I passed out at around 9am. I forced myself to remain asleep, so I could gain back a little bit of sanity, until 5pm. Needless to say it is now 2am and I am wide-awake. Being a night owl isn’t as much fun as I would hope. It’s much too cold out to go trotting around the city, and as I am a hot - young – woman, it probably isn’t safe either. None of my friends are here, so going out in packs is out (as if they would be crazy enough to be wide awake at 2am.)
Trapped in the dorms, still smelling of smoke, I finished my homework, worked on my play, re-did my website www.hollierosenberg.com and added some fun things to my blog. (Look to the right. There you go. See. Fun.) I even added a poll, so take it; lets see where you would all rather live.
Now what? I feel like a shut in. I wonder how long it would take me to crack… hmm 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… (That’s what I thought.)

Fire in the Dorms.. my bad

I swear I didn’t mean to nearly burn down the dorms and have the fire alarm wake everyone up at 6am. But that’s what happened a few minutes ago.

Since moving from NYC to London I have become an insomniac. I tried very heard to go to bed like a normal person but it seems an impossible task. So lately, rather then add any more stress to my life, I decided to sleep only when I am tired and awake when I cannot sleep anymore. A simple concept, yet I hear groans of envy. Don’t be, the whole situation is bloody murder on my mental well-being. Nonetheless I have learned to adapt.

It was 6 AM a short while ago and I was craving coffee, eggs and toast (why an insomniac would want to drink coffee is beyond me as well.) Needless to say, I tried to suppress this urge but I am too weak. I mean, what harm could breakfast cause? (Then we must add into the equation that I am accident-prone.)

I hopped into the kitchen, noted my bowls soaking and figured I might as well clean while I’m at it. After finishing off the pile I set my toast into the toaster oven (that cost me 4 pounds) and went about my duties; setting up a bowl with eggs, making my coffee (with an added touch of Mint Baileys), and emptied the eggs into the pan. As I waited for the pan to get hot, I decided to soak my newly dirty bowl. I almost cleaned it fully but realized it would be easier to put water in it and come back to it later.

Then I noticed small wafts of smoke. ‘Oh, my water is ready to be poured in to my mug.’ More smoke. ‘Oh, my eggs are ready to be scrambled. So strange still so much smoke in the air.’ So I turn on the fan.

I started to put two and two together, there still seemed to be grey clouds in the air, and yet I didn’t see it coming from the pan. So I rush to the window to let it out. Then I turn back and see my little toaster is up in flames! I screamed ‘”Fire. Fire Help.” Nothing. Lazy assess in bed. Fine. I’ll do it. I looked around the counter for a towel to throw on it, thinking I could smother it. Then I thought ‘what if it just adds to the fire instead? Better not.’ Then I thought ‘I really need water or a fire extinguisher’ but I couldn’t remember where any could be found (I was standing in a kitchen with two large sinks a foot away. To defend myself, I am sleep deprived and therefor crazy.)

As the smoke began to billow around me I remembered, you usually die from smoke asphyxiation, not the fire itself. ‘I should really wet a towel and cover my mouth.’ Suddenly, I head to the sink. (A little slow on the uptake, I know.)

That’s when I spotted it. My laziness had saved my life! A bowl already full of water just sitting there. I grabbed it up, ‘no time to be clumsy Hollie. Steady girl.’ I thought as I victoriously splashed the water onto the fire, putting it out. (Hurrah for me. No applause. Oh right I’m alone.) Yet, I didn’t leave the kitchen. Smoke was still overwhelming me but all I could think about were my eggs. They weren’t done yet.

Next bright Idea, ‘I’ll open the kitchen door so the smoke will fly out and I can continue my cooking.’ Yes the smoke filed out but it also set off the fire alarm and leaked into the adjourning rooms. My flat mates emerged, surprisingly in good spirits, thinking I am little nutty but harmless. We stood in the front door and watched as other students emerged from their flats, without a sense of humor, I might add.

After, I told them I had already put out the fire. It took them a beat to realize I should have said this to them five minutes ago. They went back into their rooms, probably to lie on their beds, wide-awake and curse the ceiling. I went back into the kitchen to continue my cooking.

A resident dorm guy came and said “you shouldn’t prop the door open.” “But there was a fire in here.” I said. He continued, “Exactly, it’s a fire door.” “Right. (Beat.) Eggs?” I said, holding up the burnt little guys. Well, I guess he wasn’t a breakfast person; out he went shutting the door on me, leaving me in the company of the grey monster.

To be fair I didn’t set the fire, the toaster was faulty. The toaster company may be added to the list with Verizon Wireless as my arch nemesis but I’m afraid I just made the top ten of a few hundred students lists. Sheesh! I guess no one likes breakfast anymore. Ah well, more for me.

P.S. It really did hit the spot, although my hair still smells like burning.

Keep On Rockin Me Baby

(that's only the title because I can't get it out of my head but it kind of fits.)

Update and all things hollie-go-lightly

My new nemesis Verizon Wireless emailed to apologize and accredited my account. They didn’t send me around in circles, they just answered all my questions and did what I asked. Ok, you’re still my nemesis but I’ll let you live (for now.)

In other good news GT is headed over the pond to visit little old me. In 12 days no less! I am super excited to show him around London, it’s his first time. I told him I’d be gentle because I’m kind of popping his cherry.

Though first times can be scary, they can be very, very nice, if you know what I mean, exploring all the possibilities and thinking ‘wow how come I’ve never done this before,’ (clearly I am refering to his first time to London, you dirty kids you.)

I think I’ll play tour guide and show him the must sees and then we can do the fun stuff like yelling names to the guards at Buckingham Palace, or talking really dirty too them. Then when that’s over and after we make bail from the Tower of London we can go catch Lord of The Rings the musical, then I’ll say ‘ok that was a joke lets go to Billy Elliot instead’ (the best musical I have seen in years.)

We will also have to hit up Camden Town, so he can get his gothic metal on, then a little trip to the theater museum for me, and a whole lot of lovin’. Yea I went there. Wow, I think that pretty much sums it up, as he will only be here for a week. Did I mention we haven’t seen each other in three months. I said I’d be gentle but I’m pretty sure that’s a lie.

I’m being robbed by Verizon Wireless

Having to leave the country for ten months (for gradschool), I called verizon wireless and told them to put my cell phone service on hold, for the 90 days they allow. No problem. Yet, I am still being charged. On top of that I just realized I’m being charged double! My plan says 59.99 for my verizon access service, which is what I agreed to and is what is listed as my current plan on my account, yet in the bill they say $91.99 for verizon access service and several other numbers for taxes and other bullshit leaving a grand total of $122.00 this month for a phone that has not been used.

It’s sitting, turned off, in my drawer, in London, where it doesn't get any service even if it was on, since Sept 2007. They know it hasn’t been used because in my account; it says 0 minutes used. 0 texts sent. 0 incoming calls. 0 out going calls and yet they charged me $122.00? When my plan is $59.99 and when I asked them to stop service two months ago?

They never stopped it. Last month my bill was $104.00 and this month $122.00. The worst part is I can’t call them from here. I tried on my UK cell phone but it’s useless. So I emailed an angry letter to them but that’s all I can do and it leaves me feeling very frustrated and helpless.

My already non-existing pile of money is getting less and less. I think what Verizon Wirelss is doing is a mix of bad business, robbery and very shady. (Where is Robin Hood and his merry men when you need them??)

It makes me wonder why cell phone companies charge us by minutes! This in itself is shady and we as consumers should stop it before it gets worse. How?

I also have a past history with Verizon changing my plan without notifying me and without my consent. I would not recommend them to any one. As soon as I can I am changing to a new provider (I doubt I will get any better service but) I urge other people who have had shaddy dealings with them to do as well. The only way to stop a bully is to stopping giving him your money!

How to Pay for Grad school

My classmates and I went out for a drink after class yesterday in celebration of Guy Fawkes Day, a holiday that makes just as much sense as our Thanksgiving Day. Instead of celebrating the rape and pillage of a whole society, like we American’s do, they celebrate one man’s failure to blow the government up. What does a card look like for this occasion “Dear Guy, you gave it your best shot. Better luck next year. Lets get a pint. Love the people.”

Regardless for the first time we all managed to meet in one place other then the classroom. It was a nice break from the norm. I asked the bar tender for his cheapest half glass of red wine. 3.30 pounds. Not too bad. I let him keep the change, normally in NYC I would have had daggers thrown at me for such a small tip but this guy was delighted because apparently this country isn’t a tipping society.

One of my fellow classmates informed me he probably hasn’t had a single tip in ages. Strange? I wouldn’t tip the guy at a fast food restaurant, or an ice cream bar scooper but I feel compelled to tip a bartender that served me a glass of wine. No cooking or running about just open the bottle and top it off.

After I felt really good about myself, a little classy if you will, but then a sudden reversal came upon me. I spent 70pents on a tip when I have yet to find a job, and still have to come up with and pay $25,000 dollars to complete my masters (Not including the already $20,000 I had to take out in loans!) Suddenly, I wondered what would happen if I asked for it back, probably a broken bottle over the head.

I’ve been trying for three years to do research on scholarships but I don’t seem to qualify for any of them. If it’s for women, its usually something not in the arts, if it’s for the arts it’s normally for Blacks, Hispanics or Asians. If it’s for American’s you have to be smart, I mean top in the country smart. If it’s for Jews it’s for real ones, not pretend ones like me, who were just raised Jewish but are really atheists.

What’s a girl too do? I can’t be a hooker because I don’t want to do it with ugly men, I can’t be as stripper because I have small tata’s and no coordination, I can’t sell drugs because well I just won’t, I can’t hmmm I can’t pay for college that’s what I can’t do and I gave a tip. Further more I spent 3.30 on a crappy cup of wine!

So this only means one thing, shameless promotion time, Hollie Style! Here are things you can buy in which I make royalties off of, the first two more the last one. In this way you are helping, a poor me continue my education and lessening the amount of debt stacking against me: Just click on the book you are interested in for the link to buy or click here for just bedpan palace and the london claender. http://stores.lulu.com/hbeth813 (My store on lulu.com)


BEDPAN PALACE (Full Length Play) Print: $13.04 Download: $6.25
“Bedpan Palace” is an ensemble comedy that follows Rose, an elderly woman, who has been forced into an assisted living facility called the Sagging Willow. While continually plotting her escape, she befriends the other residents, starting a new chapter in what society normally deems the end of her life. Full length (6w/4m)




London (calendar) Print: $13.00 Wonderful photographs showing the many sights of London, one of the worlds most amazing cities. All photo’s taken by me.





The Best Plays From The Strawberry One-Act Festival: Volume Four (Paperback) This book has several of the best one acts from the competition including my play “Dirty Laundry On The Crazy Girl’s Line”. Synopsis: (2W/2M) Crazy Girl explores her current predicament of being emotionally unbalanced and single. (This has some great monologue for woman, Heather Rosen who played Crazy Girl was nominated for best Actress in the festival.) Click the link to learn about the other plays inside or to purchase a copy. (I make the least from this purchase but it’s nice to have my work read.)

How to Blog Like a....

I noticed I only get the urge to blog when something pisses me off. Strange, no? That’s why most of my posts are about the stupidity of life and the people in it. I was trying to break from that and focus on a positive way of thinking and writing. The problem with that is, I then don’t get the urge to purge, if you know what I mean. (I don’t mean my eggs and toast. Yeah it’s 4pm and I just had breakfast.)

See I’m too much of a mess to be a happy, golly, hollie and I’m ok with that. In its own way coming to terms with my bitterness has made me, I think, kind of positive, which then rules out anything I just said. So in that case, never mind.

Didn’t they tell us as kids if we eat breakfast we will be smarter? Smarter then those who don’t? I think I just proved that theory wrong. (More on the joys of filling kids head with baloney later. mmmmm balony…. )

Regardless, bitter or joyful off too class I go, to be enlightened and find out if my assignments were for crap. I can see it now.
"Ok Class, everyone listen up. We are going to talk about characters and their soul... oh every one except Hollie. Thanks for coming to London but you can go home now. I don't think it's going to work out. It's not us, it really is you." Ah even in my dreams I'm bitter....

Plane... Write...

My dreams as of late do not involve me floating in a crashing plane, watching a plane crashing or just missing a plane crashing. Now I just sit happily feeling as if the bumps are like waves in the ocean, we gently float safely around. Then I say ‘this isn’t so bad.’ But usually the planes don’t go very high, so I don’t know how accurate my dreams are. Regardless, I think that means my daily affirmations of “I think I can. I think I can”... fly with out going crazy are working.

In other news I have delved right into my major assignments at school. One three-minute silent film, a 20 min original film and paper comparing something (I’m not to sure about the last one.) But I started to think about my choice of topics and all my past scripts (which I feel need re-working) and wonder, am I on the right track? I’m scared I’m a really bad singer on American Idol and no ones ever told me. SO I go on national TV, belt my little heart out, only to have it chewed up and thrown away. Broken, I head home and end it all. I’d hope if I were bad at this whole writing scripts thing some one would tell me. Please!

So adding to my “I think I can, I think I can…” not go crazy on a plane is “I think I can, I think I can…” write awesome scripts. I wonder if my dreams will start to incorporate my new affirmation. I’ll stand in the back of a Broadway house watching the opening night of a play I wrote, naked, of course and then wait for the laugh or applause that never comes; only silence and I go mad. Then as time goes on my dream shifts and I’m now at the Tony awards, naked, and the award goes too… not me… and if it is me, it’s a mistake which they correct only while I’m at the podium, naked… and they go on to say what a really big mistake as I wasn’t even nominated because I don’t even have a play out because I’m rubbish.” Awe well… I always have singing… ‘I think I can I think I can.”