New Clive Barker book!

I am thrilled to share that Clive Barker, possibly my favorite author, has a new book due out at the end of October. There's a nice summary on skullring. It's called Mister B. Gone. Now I have some serious incentive to finish my applications and to make some time for this little adventure.

I'm still hoping for the final installment in the trilogy of The Art as well as the next book of the Abarat series, but this next one sounds like a wonderful addition to my Halloween celebrations.

Deviations from the plan

I had intended this blog to be a means of communicating with my family and friends about my whereabouts while I was studying in Ireland. Because I am still a student while my dissertation is in review, I figure it is technically appropriate to continue to post to it, even while I am not living in Ireland. I find it appropriate emotionally as well because I feel that part of me is still living in Dublin until my degree is complete.

I'm not sure how much I will post about it, but I am in Hong Kong visiting a dear friend who is teaching theatre here. She has invited me to go with her to one of her classes next week which I think will be interesting on many levels (academically, socially, culturally, and interpersonally). I have explored little at this point as I have been off the plane for less than a day, but the bit I have seen of Hong Kong and Lamma Island is intriguing. The sun is starting to break through and I will probably take a walk later with Jean's exuberant and affectionate dogs. Meanwhile, I will try to relax and to settle myself before I do much more work.

Another Dublin farewell

It was more difficult to know I was leaving Dublin after this brief return. Perhaps it was the parallels between my initial arrival that left me excited about what could follow if I stayed for another year. Part of me did want to stay! Apart from the practical things like being a US citizen trying to stay in Ireland or finding a job, the idea of staying in Dublin as a non-student would be a nice way to spend some time. Yet I know that's what it would be: spending time. I know my next steps in life and in my career will lead me away from Dublin and away from the wonderful folks I have come to know and to cherish. I already look forward to being there again for a visit.

And only time will tell if I will return again for more than a visit. I certainly hope I will.

Fragements of Beckett directed by Brook

Legendary director Peter Brook directed a few selections by Samuel Beckett recently. The original production was in French and now there is a tour of an English version. Historically controversial, Brook was expected to do something interesting and challenging in this project.

For those unfamiliar with the theatrical works of Beckett, he is explicit about the settings, the words, and the gestures of the performers. Productions of his plays that do not adhere to the text in staging (including by changing the gender of a character/performer) have been shut down by the estate. It is not uncommon for discussions of his work to be focused on seemingly minute details because Beckett managed to strip away all the unessential elements for performance. Unfortunately, this means there is little in the text or staging to protect a production that does not thoroughly understand the essential nature of the included components.

This production included four theatre pieces and one prose piece. The arrangement of pieces shifted between the two men and the woman alone with the final piece including all three performers. The pieces with the men involved extensive physical performance, particularly Act Without Words II in which there are no words spoken. The woman performed Rockaby and the prose piece. The final performance of Come and Go defied Beckett's instructions and used this mixed-gender cast in women's dress.

Overall, the most impressive thing about this production was the execution of comedy without playing for comedic effect. The performers were clearly well-trained in clowning, but they didn't let their abilities impede upon the other layers of the text. Yes, Beckett enjoyed music hall and the physical performances of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. But it was wonderful to see the darker elements of Rough for Theatre I exist in an occasionally odd union with the humorous moments. It was measured without feeling restrained and affectionate without being overly reverent. The entire performance finished in under one hour, as advertised, and there was a palpable pleasure in the audience members both for what was seen and in the fading wish there had been more.

Peter Brook was there for the performance. I found it difficult to not observe him in part because he was so unobtrusive. He seemed intent to maintain a low-profile. When I was at the Stag's Head later, I had a wonderful conversation with a gentleman who also saw the performance and who proudly noted he shook hands with Brook. It's amazing how such a small thing can at once be accepted as relatively insignificant while still being worth cherishing. Perhaps that was the theme for the evening.

small metal objects

I almost didn't make it to this show because Ruth and I went on an epic walk around south Dublin. In the end, I got to the venue just before they started the performance. The venue was a temporary structure in Mayor Square outside the National College of Ireland in the Docklands. There were seats for about seventy although it was only half full. (The half of the seating that was full was the section where there was full sun for most of the performance. Clearly that dreary summer has left Dubliners sun-hungry.) At each seat was a set of headphones.

For those unfamiliar with this area it is important to know it is primarily a business neighborhood which means the performance occurs during the lunch hour of local office workers. The audience was oriented to look down a long footpath between the NCI and some shops which was full of folks going to and from their meals. Before the performance began, there was an interesting voyeur experience to this location.

Immediately prior to the performance, a man wheeled out a handtruck with a few large signs. A sign instructed the audience members to put on headphones. A sign informing us that there should be music coming from both ears. (To my surprise, I could hear the opening notes of "Shaft" coming through clearly.) A sign said the raising of a hand would signal an usher to come correct any problems. And finally we were assured that the performance would begin shortly.

The music became more of an ambient soundscape while we watched the space in front of us. Eventually we heard voices with the other sounds and the music. The conversation was about making a rice dish for an anniversary, about one of the two men (Gary) being married and having kids, about the other (Steve) wanting a girlfriend. It was clear to me by the tone of voice and the delivery of words that the voices belonged to individuals who were slightly simple. This dialogue continued to shift between lapses of silence and careful conversation with the soundscape in the background. Eventually I realize that two of the individuals in the lunch-hour chaos are speaking in sync with the audio in my ears. The performance emerged unexpectedly from the quotidian.

The plot thickens with an attempted drug deal. Again, we hear the voice of a man, Alan, on the phone with Gary, before we see him. There is even a man sitting in profile on a nearby bench who could have been the owner of the voice. Eventually, Alan emerges from the pedestrian background. The phone call has ended and we hear and see him walk up to random men in his attempt to identify Gary. There is some social manipulation when the deal is jeopardized because Steve refuses to leave the spot where he is standing in contemplation and Gary refuses to leave Steve alone (though he does stand a fair distance from Steve during this period of contemplation).

It was an interesting story about boundaries and desires and what is socially acceptable behavior. There were points during the performance that pedestrians inadvertently became part of the action. It was an interesting experience to have the office workers looking at the audience members because, for most of the performance, it was unclear who was performing.

Private Peaceful

In all the tickets I booked for the theatre festival, I made an effort to see a diversity of performances. Part of this effort included attending one of the family shows. Private Peaceful is an adaptation of a book about a young man who joins the English Army to fight in World War I. The story moves between him keeping track of time passing as an adult and moments from his youth or adolescence. It is a one-man show of approximately 80 minutes.

The performer, Alexander Campbell, was impressive in his range, in his precision, and in his intensity. He moved smoothly through the character transitions, embodying a stern community elder or the just-school-age Tommo with equal aplomb. Despite the audience's vigorous applause, he declined to return to the stage a third time which, to me, showed a combination of exhaustion and humility that were both reinforced during the talk-back discussion.

There were lots of adults asking questions, but he answered each question with respect (for himself, for the work, and for the speaker). I was particularly struck by two of his answers. To a question about how he keeps his energy up during the show with no one else on stage, he responded that there is fear but there is also the accountability to the material, to those who served and died in World War I, and to the audience. To a question about whether or not he feels Tommo's feelings during the show, he responded about how it varies by space, by audience, and by night because all these factors affect his feeling of safety.

Tonight was the first time in quite a long time that I really wanted to just sit with an actor and have a chat. Each actor I know who has worked on educational and family theatre has told me about how difficult it can be to maintain energy and focus during a tour. Alexander Campbell exuded a passion and respect for his work that was both charming and inspirational. And the queue of audience members who went to talk with him personally makes me think I wasn't the only one who was grateful for his efforts.

The Newlyweds

I was walking back to Rathgar after the show the evening when I saw a friend and his wife walking down the street. I suppose this wouldn't have been a bit deal had this friend not been from California and had I known he would be in Dublin. I let loose an array of expletives that would be common chatting for us back in our days at college. We laughed and made plans to meet tomorrow morning. So funny! I really feel like it's a small world now.

BLACKland

This Hungarian production was well-designed to accommodate different sensibilities. It was performed in a sterile environment with a white floor and white doors along the three walls of the stage. The back wall had thirteen doors with slightly high handles and the doors on stage left and right did not have obviously visible handles. Between and above the doors was pink carpeting and a border of children near the ceiling. The cast was dressed in formal wear (black dresses and tuxedos).

The performance was sterile and polite with some extremes such as a rendition of 'Hit Me Baby (One More Time)' with lyrics about sexual abuse against women in Hungary and the violence they take out on their fathers-abuser. Another extreme included three men whose hands were bound (very politely) and then a woman took down their trousers and underpants then used their penises as guns while another man videoed the antics. During all of this, a fellow played acoustic guitar while singing bastardized lyrics to 'Old MacDonald'. At the end of this lengthy scene which involved many denigrating activities with the bound men, the screen upstage left put up a message about George W. Bush being re-elected to presidency.

It was an interesting performance that, while it might have benefited from some editing, was effective. It was playful and serious by turns with an enduring sense of humor and intelligence about contemporary affairs in Hungary and the rest of the world.

I am still processing this performance and may write more later. For now, know that I lapsed into silence throughout the evening because there was so much to be considered.

The Pride of Parnell Street

This was an interesting story performed by strong actors (she was in Noah and the Tower Flower and he was in Oedipus Loves You), yet I felt there was something unfulfilling about the experience. The story follows anecdotes from the lives of a wife and her husband in Dublin. Each tells her/his own experience and the focus shifts between them for the entire 100 minutes of performance. I am not opposed to monologue plays as a form, but it is something that I think is best used selectively. There is something in the bearing witness that can be moving, but I didn't feel like it was effective in the majority of this play.

The play circled through some themes such as how violence can destroy a community while an individual's act of compassion in the face of destruction can change someone's life. There was pride in belonging, pride in surviving, and pride in not giving up hope. In the final moments of the play, their stories are still told separately but the actors are in contact for the first and only moment in the play. It was a tender and sad moment that brought me to tears.

Perhaps my frustration is that these talented actors might have done something really powerful if they had been able to interact throughout the play. Perhaps I wouldn't mind the separation if the stories were edited and streamlined a bit more. Perhaps it was the swelling dramatic music that accompanied the closing of each segment of a monologue immediately before switching focus. Perhaps I was unable to access the local significance of the story to an extent that could hold my attention through tangents in their lives.

I am hoping that through further reflection I will find more clarity in this production. In the meantime, I have seen so many good shows in the past year and in the past week that I don't mind too much if this one play lingers in an unresolved place in my mind, especially if that means I can understand it better.

The Playboy of the Western World

The new version of Playboy by Bisi Adigun and Roddy Doyle is very witty in its contemporary parallels. They managed to transition J.M. Synge's original from its rural West to urban Dublin while maintaining the familial tensions, xenophobia, and violence. Though this production avoided much of the grittiness that can be culled from the text (and that was present in the 2005 DruidSynge production), it seems the text itself maintains the possibility of such a reading.

This production seemed to celebrate the original while finding incisive parallels to the original circumstances in contemporary Dublin. The setting of the play was no longer an illicit bar but a legal bar with illicit crime. There was an amplification of the xenophobia by making Christy an asylum seeker from Nigeria who hopes to locate his distant relatives supposedly living in Dublin. There were a few memorable lines that were very close to the original text while there were also striking deviations, notably the line about 'shifts' and the final lamentation by Pegeen Mike.

While watching the production and laughing aloud, I wondered how this version would play to audiences outside of Dublin. Sure I don't understand all the local references, but I understood enough of them from having lived in Dublin to be aware these jokes will require some dramaturgical endeavours. Of course, this is also true of original plays such as those of Martin McDonagh in which images of contemporary Ireland confront the enduring images of old Ireland. The accounts of terrible productions of McDonagh's work in the US fueled my concern for this new adaptation and the untested ignorance of some theatre-makers.

My fears for its future aside, I delighted at the interesting choices made in the production. The social triumph of Christy through a street fight rather than through a horse race became more striking as the local girls use their mobile phones to show the recordings they had made. This was not only an interesting commentary on local entertainment but it allowed for a staging similar to the effect of everyone gathered around the window to watch the race go past.

There was some awkwardness in the production, but overall it was quite enjoyable and impressively solid for a world premiere.

Long Day's Journey Into Night

I was really looking forward to seeing this production for a few reasons. It was hyped immensely because Garry Hynes of Druid Theatre was directing and the cast featured seasoned professionals such as James Cromwell and Marie Mullen. I had never seen a Eugene O'Neill play performed and this was being performed in its entirety which means it lasted more than four hours with two intervals. The added bonus was that Aidan Kelly (whom I have seen and adored in Doubt, a parable and in Terminus) played the elder son Jaime.

As I was watching the performance I recalled reading the play years ago and barely getting through it because I had difficulty grasping the nature of the dialogue. Much as Chekhov and Ibsen are performed as overly dramatic and lacking in comedy, so too is the danger with O'Neill. It was wonderful to see and to hear these fine actors enjoying the rhythms of speech and the familiar banter of family. Of course, it was painful to be caught in the midst of lies, exaggerations, and injuries but it was because their performances were so good that the tensions could mount.

The layering of responses and information throughout the play is interesting and trying at once. The characters discuss the same anecdote or memory multiple times and with variations each time depending on who is present and what the speaker hopes to gain. This was something that was particularly well done in most of the play particularly as the momentum of the exchanges increased. As the energy and attention was more focused, the tragedy of this family became more palpable, more painful. Their history of pride, deception, and complicity in substance abuse became all the more difficult to watch as the characters each reveal past injuries, dashed hopes, and anticipated sorrows. It is an epic tale and truly a long journey towards an ending, though not necessarily to a resolution.

The cast was very strong. James Cromwell's powerful cadence and resonance assured he was a strong presence aurally in addition to the strong physical presence he provides with his stature. Marie Mullen was unexpectedly formidable at times. Aidan Kelly was delightfully affable with a malign edge. Michael Esper managed his turns from advocate to adversary in the familial machinations with intensity and conviction. Overall, it was a solid production and an enjoyable evening that left me painfully aware of the oft barbed interactions of desperate and injured individuals.

Actor Tom Murphy died

I don't know the details but an actor I have been fortunate enough to see a few times since being in Dublin died today. Tom Murphy, sometimes billed as Tom Jordan Murphy, won a Tony award in 1998 for his performance in The Beauty Queen of Leenane by Martin McDonagh. He is also in the film Adam and Paul and was in the Corn Exchange's Everyday. During the curtain call of multiple performances in the Dublin Theatre Festival this evening, the actors asked the audience to remember him and his work with a round of applause. It was very sad and is a painful loss to the theatre community.

James, Son of James

Fabulous Beast is an Irish company who created a trilogy of performances set in the mid-lands of Ireland, yet they could have happened almost anywhere and are not entirely location-specific. I did not see the first two but have heard them discussed, especially in the past few months as the anticipation of the third production, James, Son of James, grew. What I had gathered was their work is ensemble-based with some narrative elements and lots of movement. In many ways it reminded me of Corn Exchange's Everyday which I saw in the festival last year. There was even one actor who appeared in both productions and for whom I have a tender affection. (He is excellent at performing vulnerability and in his comic timing.) This story also dealt with the interconnectedness of lives in a community though the consequences and media were different.

I found the production to be a sensual and evenly-created presentation. There were sounds and colors and textures constantly being used in the space in interesting ways. The set was a partial frame to a house, mostly made of raw pine which, from the front row, released a faint scent into the air. There were strings of work lights hanging or bundled. The actors sometimes sat at the edge of the stage in chairs. There were three aligned sections in the floor at centre stage that could be opened, two of which contained water. There was a feeling of transparency but there were also things that could not be seen.

I found the story handled the biblical inspirations simply, almost as if the references were only a fleeting parallel. I loved that the movement was used the way music is used: to express something in a heightened emotional state. There were a few songs which had simple tunes and arrangements that belied the witty or pointed lyrics. There was more dialogue than I had expected and I know it bothered some folks. Indeed it was the weakest point in the production, yet I enjoyed their work immensely.

The cast was diverse in countries of origin though the story did not require it. They brilliantly cast an Irish woman opposite an Eastern European man where he was the native person and she was the immigrant seeking work. This subtle displacement reinforced the tension between the transparent and the obscured that was present in the set and elsewhere in the story. Overall, it was a wonderful experience that I hope will have tremendous success in its tour.

Traces

I arrived in Dublin anticipating severe jet lag because that's been the case the past two times I flew over. I was so certain I would be exhausted that I didn't book any tickets for that first night in town. Much to my surprise, I was able to take a brief nap in the afternoon and then get a little work done. I even went to coffee with Pippa and Gabry. Later that night, as I was getting myself dinner in town, I decided to see if there were still tickets for this acrobatic performance Gabry had seen. And so I went to see Traces.

As it turns out it was a wonderful combination of circus skills, dance, and dialogue. The performers started training at early ages which meant the cast was all in their early 20s but could perform with the passionate precision of someone who has been studying for 15 years. They combined personal stories and anecdotes with hilariously timed exchanges. They did tumbling, weight transfers, flips, lifts, pole climbing, dancing, skateboarding, and played music.

This production took the elements that I love about circus (that is, the immediacy and truthfulness of it) to another level by incorporating so many diverse abilities into one performance. Part of my pleasure in juggling and feats of human strength and agility is that these things are actually happening and are not easily faked. There is an honesty and tenacity to these performers and it was a pleasure to bear witness.

The bonus was learning that four of the five performers trained in San Francisco at the circus school and the co-director has ties to the New Pickle Family Circus. It is still funny to me that I went halfway around the world to see artists that trained in the same area where I lived. It definitely made me proud to see local folks being successful.

Back in Dublin

I moved my belongings back to California at the beginning of September and started my rediscovery of life there. It felt like a holiday rather than something mundane and I suppose I planned it that way: after about three weeks I left for a three-week trip to Dublin and to Hong Kong.

This return to Dublin is an interesting parallel to my first trip over one year ago. I stayed at the same hostel where I met that wonderful Canadian Stephen and I am attending plays at the Dublin Theatre Festival again. I am spending time with my classmates, including Nick whom I met initially at the Dublin Fringe Festival last year. A part of me wishes I were going to stay on in Dublin because I have enjoyed it once I got settled, but a part of me knows it's time for me to take another step towards my goals and that means not being in Dublin.

And so I am soaking up enough Dublin to keep me company in the coming months while I am away. I am going back to restaurants I have enjoyed and walking down familiar streets and discovering how much I have absorbed in the past year. I'm glad to have this week to ease my transition from Dublin and to enjoy a little more of the art and the community that is so much a part of the city in my memories.

Stateside

I've been back in California for more than four days now and it's still a little strange. The landscape is still pleasantly surprising after the relative flatness of Ireland. I somehow had forgotten that I grew up amongst foothills and minor mountains. There have been a few days of warmth but the weather turned rather cold today. Autumn is definitely in the air.

I find myself censoring the Irish-isms that have been incorporated into my vocabulary. Surprisingly it's the 'your man' and 'sure' that come out with the greatest frequency. And I almost always get a strange reaction to mentioning the 'toilet' rather than the 'restroom' out here.

Mostly I am pleasantly surprised at how easily I am picking up with my loved ones. I have also been fortunate to bump into many familiar faces from previous lives. I'm on such a giddy high being back from the novelty of everything and of everyone...I don't know how long it will last or how long I can sustain this level of absorption of stimulus. I think it will last a few days more. And I think I can make it.

Packing, packing, packing

I leave Dublin in approximately 36 hours and find myself resisting packing. It's one of those things I don't particularly enjoy anyway, but I didn't expect the emotions to come so freely and so painfully. I look around this tiny flat and find little memories that I didn't anticipate lingering in my mind. I didn't realise leaving would feel so strange.

In some ways, I feel like I was just getting settled during this past month, finally feeling at home in Dublin. I guess that makes sense because it coincided with feeling settled in my work. Perhaps this connection is part of the pain I feel in my heart. This city (and this country) feels like a creeping vine that has worked its way into my heart and made a pretty little home there. I don't know if it will survive the distance.

Meanwhile, the minutes keep passing and my bags will not pack themselves. So I finish this journey as it began: alone and ambitious, hurting and hopeful, loved yet lonely.

Carmelised biscuits

So Bewley's makes these little carmelised biscuits with a touch of cinnamon. They are delicious! But they are not available for purchase at the Bewley's cafe in Dublin...

And then I found Rombout's biscuits at Dunnes Stores! They are almost identical in flavour. The individual packaging seems a bit unnecessary, but that means the entire package won't go stale before I get these back to the States to share.

whirlwind travels

My sisters and Jeff came to visit for the past week and it was great fun. We covered a lot of kilometres and had a lot of laughs. Who knew watching Die Hard at a B&B in Dingle could be such fun?

It was a nice farewell to Ireland to be able to share the things I know and love about my year here. They said they had a good time, but I don't really know what their experience was because mine was so different.

I am sad to go, but I know that now is the time. I can always come back to visit.

The Battered Sausage and Beer

So Emer recently tried her first battered sausage and we've had some chats about them and their effects on the body, etc. I've noticed them in the chipper but never gave them a try.

UNTIL TONIGHT! To be fair, I tried a bite of Emer's last week and it's a similar concept to corn dogs in the States: bread-like substance wrapped around a sausage and deep fried. The breading is a bit more tough than corn dogs typically are because the breading is rather thin.

Anyway, I decided to enjoy a beer tonight and went all out with the chips and the battered sausage for my little celebration. I can't remember the last time I was home for a full three hours of sunlight in the evening... I am pleasantly full of salt and beer and vinegar. I will watch a little telly and then have a delicious sleep.

Lunar eclipse

I think I submitted my dissertation during the lunar eclipse! I know it was today and I know when it was at it's peak for PST which would be about the time I was turning in my paper... it was a weird experience because it felt so anti-climactic. I sat outside the 1937 chatting with Emer, but mostly just sitting. I don't think it's just the lack of sleep. I think it's that the process was the triumph and today was simply a temporary point of closure.

Interesting synchronicity though...

And...touchdown.

I ended up staying in the Reading Room until almost three the night before last because I was making good progress on my dissertation. Yesterday, I was hard at work a little past noon and didn't take a break until about 8. I was just in that zone where the work is getting done at a steady pace. Not frenetic where I feel like I have to keep up with the ideas, but steadily making progress.

Anyway, I stayed all night working and finished this morning. I got it printed, bound, and submitted before noon. For the moment, I have no obligations.

I am home now, baking some muffins, nibbling on food, and preparing to get some things done before my sisters arrive tomorrow. So, for the moment, I've touched down, but I don't plan on sleeping until later tonight. Right now I've been awake for about thirty hours. I figure if I keep moving, I will make it for at least another five hours. And then I will sleep VERY well. =)

Vegan Muffins!

I have a recipe for vegan muffins/cupcakes and I have made some tasty ones recently. My favorite were the almond, chocolate, and apricot ones. I put a bit of cinnamon and cloves into them and they turned out well. The other batch I made were cherry and almond with spices. Those turned out well, too.

And I make them in my mini-muffin trays which means they are little mouthfuls of joy. =) They are the perfect size for having a nice taste of something. And then you can have one of each!

Croke Park again

I went to the gaelic football match at Croke Park yesterday and cheered on Cork as they won. I had mixed feelings at the beginning, though, because Meath was playing with more elegance and coordinated teamwork. Cork was a bit scrappy the entire time. But Cork took a lot more chances on points and succeeded with more of their tries. AND Cork came back for the second half with much more precision and coordination between their players. Almost cocky, but not too much.

It was fun and Nick was good company. I didn't get nearly as loud as I warned him I might. I do love the public sport!

In the mean time, I am preparing mentally for the Dublin match on Sunday. There don't seem to be more tickets available, but I'll probably head off to a pub to watch it. I even have Dublin colors to wear!

Scientology against Marijuana

I was spacing out in the library from an extensive morning of reading so I decided to take a walk. I walked up to St. Stephen's Green and then onto Grafton Street. I ended up purchasing a pair of shoes that were on sale. While I was paying, I heard a swing band start playing. So I stepped onto Grafton Street and there they were in their matching bright blue zoot-ish suits with Hawaiian shirts underneath. The bass player had a great look going but the rest were either ordinary or smarmy.

Anyway, the event was sponsored by the Church of Scientology as part of a drug awareness campaign, specifically against marijuana. The sign behind the band said they were the number one swing band in the UK and I wondered if that was because they had influential supporters for events like this.

I hung out for a couple songs and wished I didn't have any stuff in my hands so I could go dance. Then I went back to the library and got more reading done. Wee.....

Camaraderie

I've gotten to spend lots more time with Emer lately because we're both working on our papers in the library most days. So we'll go out for a midday coffee break or get lunch or dinner... and we chat about our work, about the world, about whatever comes up. She's such a lovely person! It's always a pleasure to be around her because she is one of the individuals who seems to effortlessly exude honest and positive energy. She's humble and yet can still celebrate her achievements.

When I was preparing for this program, I knew what I really wanted in my next academic experience was a group of peers with whom I could learn and exchange ideas. I found that to a greater extent than I could've anticipated. This group with whom I've gotten to work was diverse and exciting and hilarious...and I feel more confident and prepared to go on with my studies (even with my current paper) in large part because we created a little community of support. We have struggled together through the same material and then through our own research projects. But we've managed to be companions on the journey and I really needed to experience this.

Now that I know it's possible, I want to continue to cultivate a community of camaraderie.

A bit of delirium

I don't know if there's something in the air, in the water, or in the stars...but most everyone at the library today just seemed to be struggling. Everyone seemed a bit weary.

Maybe it's the crazy weather changes. It's gotten really cold since yesterday evening. It feels like winter out there when the wind blows because it's bitterly cold. It didn't rain much, though, and there were patches of good sun earlier in the day.

My poor body is kinda confused. I'm hoping to sleep and awake refreshed and ready to articulate the brilliant thoughts forming in my little noggin. And I hope that everyone else is more focused and awake, too. It can be very depressing to look around the room of despondent, exhausted, and frustrated faces.

The mobile in church

Have you ever seen that TV show with the hidden camera in which a fellow is in places with an enormous mobile phone? My favorite is in the church and the Nokia ringtone goes off. And then he pulls out this faux mobile that is about half his size and he yells into the phone. "Hello? No, I'm in church. I'M IN CHURCH!' It's silly but it always makes me laugh.

Well, I'm in the church in Rathmines the other day. Mid-morning. There's folks cleaning the altar, polishing the marble and whatnot. I'm lighting candles. And I hear the Nokia ringtone. It took all my restraint not to 1) yell out the line from the show, and 2) to not fall into a fit of giggles.

From the safety of home, I gladly fall into a fit of giggles at the memory. =)

Croke Park and my new friends

I was unsure about going to the match without someone sitting with me, but Joanne assured me that I'd get on just fine. And I had friends who were going to the match so we could meet before and after the match. So I went and...sure enough, I made friends.

The first was an older man who was next to me at the crosswalk on our way to Croke Park who invited me to 'fuckin' walk across the street here next to me'. I did...sort of. I think I kinda got ahead of him while Stephen (the fabulous Canadian) covered me.

Then there was your man at the match who was giving me the inside scoop on the hurling. We were cheering for opposite sides (myself for Limerick, him for Waterford) but I guess because he's a Dub and I'm an honorary Dub that it worked out for him.

And, of course, there's Stephen and his friends. More Canadians and his girlfriend. All were very friendly and we had a great time. It ended very quickly as they jumped on their bus, but not before we enjoyed a few pints, some food, and some laughs. I hope to get to see them all again. It might mean a trip to Saskatoon, but I think it'd be worth it.

Be Kind Rewind

My family members will send out links to things on a weekly basis, often with some witty comment. Occasionally the comments are thinly masked sarcasm which can only be understood after viewing the linked material.

One such link was sent to what as "Ummmm, yeah, the best new movie ever". Knowing my family, I thought this was going to be a trailer for a movie that looks like it will be wonderfully terrible (think Snakes on a Plane). I was surprised to find the trailer for Be Kind Rewind and it looks really fun. There's also something kinda great about watching it on YouTube because it is very much celebrating the culture that is in that community of DIY filmmakers and spoof-artists.

Laughing with the Ladies

Spending more time in the Reading Room with the postgraduates also means that I get to spend more time with these hilarious and intelligent women. Not just the ladies from my course, but these women from other disciplines. It's really neat. And the relationships we all have a really low-key. Like work buddies because we see each other at work. But where work relationships are strained by the interactions of work, this is like seeing folks from another project on a smoke break. We only interact to say hello, share common interests (i.e. whose mobile was that?), and otherwise just enjoy the moments we have together. I don't know how many of these relationships will survive outside the demands of postgraduate research and the smile-and-nod interactions of our daily lives, but it's been just right for this time and place. And that appreciation will last even after we loose contact.

Back at the Reading Room

Back in the winter of '06, I spent a lot of time in the Reading Room working on my essays and such. Even in early '07 I was in there a lot. And then I found myself less interested in being inside to work and less able to keep focused and comfortable there. So I worked from home and enjoyed the bright, cozy setting of my kitchen.

Now I am back into high gear and am back at the Reading Room. And it is amazing! It's great to see the same faces each day. There is this community of folks making small steps each day and supporting each other. There's lots of us who don't know each other's names but recognize each other's faces. There's others of us who have introduced ourselves and know that the other is researching so we can do a bit more support.

There's something really great about those days when you can feel the folks around you are getting stuff done. There's this palpable success in the air like a collective hitting of our stride. I will miss this.

Barry broke the record

In front of a hometown crowd, Barry Bonds hit his 756th career home run which brought him past Hand Aaron's record of 755. Barry Bonds holds numerous other elite records in baseball as well. He is also at the centre of a performance-enhancing drug scandal. He used some performance-enhancing substances that weren't illegal by the letter of the law, though many consider them to have been illegal in the spirit of the regulations. Add to this complex situation that he may have perjured himself in front of a federal Grand Jury over said drug use.

And herein lies the dilemma for many baseball fans: can we celebrate the achievements of a fellow who has questionable integrity? What kind of role model is he? Is this good for the image of baseball?

Frankly, I'm amazed that he hit that many. Yes, he clearly bulked up a lot in recent history. Yes, he's been hounded by the media and ended up saying some rude things that got published. Yes, he has played a lot of baseball and accomplished much. I'm glad it happened in San Francisco, though I would've preferred a local catch the ball rather than a guy from Queens.

I'm also glad that he's passed the mark and will probably retire which means the Giants will have more money for building a younger team next season so we can go from being in the dregs of the National League Worst...er, West.

Wedlock of the Gods

I saw Wedlock of the Gods by Zulu Sofola at the Project Arts Centre tonight. There were some stunning performances and I enjoyed myself. Though the production was not polished, there were some electric moments in which the entire room seemed frozen.

I was particularly struck by the moments of intense emotional release. There was a palpable taboo being broken and a keening that increased to an uncomfortable level: it was what I would've hoped to have experienced in the Abbey Theatre's recent production of The Crucible. It was refreshing to experience the (a)live part of live theatre. In those moments I didn't care that the set wasn't fancy or that some of the women were having issues with their costumes. I was confronted with an intensity of feeling and felt the weight of my passivity.

Sweeney Todd at ACT in San Francisco

I just found out that the Broadway production is touring and that it begins in San Francisco at the end of August. What a freakin' amazing homecoming! I was lucky enough to see this production in New York last year and it was one of those rare evenings of brilliant theatricality.

Those who know me or have read my posts about theatre probably know that I can be a harsh critic. I can get lost in my frustration of opportunity lost or potential unrealized. But this production was stunning. There were many simple choices that had lasting effects on me. Again, it was full of deliciously theatrical moments but didn't get lost in self-reflexivity to the point that it became camp.

I'm certain the cast will be different but this production concept is strong and the directing in the original production leads me to have great confidence in the director. If you want to book tickets, here's the link.

Feeling more like myself than usual

I eased myself into the day today knowing what my plan was for the day. I started a routine last week which I intend to maintain and that made it even easier to rest and to not rush myself needlessly. I got to the library before the rush and settled into a computer on the quieter side of the building. By the time I stopped for lunch at 2pm I had almost finished editing the first sub-chapter of my paper to send to my advisor. I thought about stopping early because I had completed that goal, but I decided to push on and into the next section. I managed to make some advances in the next section before I stopped for the day.

On my way home I listened to The Music Man. And then I watched Home for the Holidays, which I had been wanting to do for a couple days now. And then I had the revelation that I am going to be 28 this autumn. And I find that funny, somehow. And in that moment, catching my reflection in the mirror, I laughed because I realized that I have been here before.

Since my dear friend Leah gave me a copy of this movie more than six years ago, I have come home many times to curl inside myself for a little while and let it warm my heart. And now, in this moment, I can remember those past moments and this present one and it's like I am experiencing them in layers but at the same time. I feel myself at these different ages and places and I've never been where I would've thought I would end up. And I find that funny. And comforting. In all these years I still surprise myself with the smallest revelations. And I feel more at home in myself right now than I have in months. It's nice.

Schematics of a Script

I am working on some graphs and charts for my dissertation. Some of you may be wondering how a theatre paper and schematics combine. To be honest, they probably won't combine very much. Most of the data and the graphs will be in an appendix to the actual body of the paper. But they'll be there! And they'll be relevant and helpful for anyone interested in accessing information about word counts and closing punctuation in Doubt, a parable.

And I won't stop there! I'm also planning to do schematics of the plot structure. Those will feature more prominently in the paper, but are still just part of the support for my larger argument.

I realize it might seem silly to go through all of this work when it isn't the explicit point of my research. But when part of my point is that this work can be helpful in analysis of a play and in mounting a production, it is a vital step in my process. Unfortunately, I haven't actually finished making my argument in my paper so I can't be any more helpful at the moment in explaining the connection. But I'll get there soon and then I can explain it, schematics and all.

Weird dreams

I have been having abnormally violent dreams lately. This is not me being violent; rather, these are scenes of horrific, gore-filled destruction of human bodies. Before you start thinking I'm weird for that, it's important to add that these violent, bloody scenes become creative endeavours somehow. Now, by all means, initiate the "she's crazy" thoughts.

Last night I dreamt this really elaborate combination of a CSI episode and a revenge mini-series. After all the violence and blood-letting, I found myself as a CSI-type lackey working with/for a besuited Jeff Goldblum. He proceeded to massage the pile of the carpeting to reveal empty shells from the murder weapon. Then we found these tiny blue and purple metal pieces that seemed to screw together. And then it became about making jewelry by screwing these metal pieces together. (Me, not Jeff. He kept working on the crime stuff.) They were rather lovely necklaces.

Then I became aware that folks were still dealing with the murders in the other room. I stopped making jewelry long enough to get re-acclimated to the situation. Just when I was about to be a valuable member of the crime-fighting team, I woke up.

I don't mind the horrific parts because they always turn into something constructive rather than creepy. (I anticipate some of you may be considering different definitions of "creepy" when I'm talking about scenes of graphic violence in my dreams. You're welcome to your own definition. I'll explain mine:) I don't like the creepy, I'm being stalked or attacked kind of dreams. In the dreams I've been having lately, the potentially creepy stuff is going on around me, which is not the most comfortable thing, but it ends up being something creative and constructive so I don't mind that I have to get through the icky stuff to get there.

And it makes going to sleep kinda exciting because I never know what's going to happen next.

Looking for "home"

It's funny that being away from the places with which I am most familiar did prompt some revelations. Even though I am thrilled to be returning to California, the place I most think of as "home" is San Francisco and I only technically lived there for a couple years. I worked there for years and have family who live there so I have spent plenty of time there.

The suburbs where I marked the time of my youth and adolescence holds little draw for me. I know those places, but they don't fill me with the electric and comforting feeling I think I am supposed to feel at the thought of "home".

Have I spent too much time with books and movies and artistic conceptions of "home"? Have I internalized some fabrication of reality? Have I internalized the kitch version rather than the pure expression of that electric feeling?

I don't think I am alone in feeling like the place doesn't really matter, especially when it all looks the same and has the same vague concept of personality. I think that's why San Francisco feels like home for me...because it is real for so many people. Walking though San Francisco, I can feel there are people around me who believe in it and like it. I don't feel that much in Dublin and I didn't feel that much in the suburbs where I was raised.

I'm looking forward to going home. I'm going to be a tourist in my city and get to know it again. We've been apart for a little while and need to get reacquainted. And I think I'll be welcome.

Lighting Candles

I have long enjoyed lighting candles in churches and saying a little prayer for someone. There's something comforting and beautiful about watching the wick catch and seeing the smoke rising like the thoughts in my heart and in my mind. I have lit a few candles since I came to live in Dublin, especially for my Grandma Alice whom I miss dearly.

Yesterday morning I had a strong urge to go light candles and offer a little prayer for each person who was on my mind. So I walked to the beautiful church in Rathmines (which I think is the church of Christ the King...the same name as my primary school in California) and lit my candles and said my prayers.

When I woke up this morning, I felt the urge to do it again. So I walked down again, timing it today so I would be there for the mid-morning mass. It was the first mass in years I've attended that wasn't a funeral. I remembered all the prayers with only a few stumbles over the Confiteor (I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters...) which we never said with regularity in my parishes.

I don't know if this is going to become a habit, but it does feel good to make this little offering to my loved ones, especially when I am caught up in my own business most of the time.

Imaginary Relationships

When I moved to Ireland, I knew I was embarking on a new phase in some of my relationships: the mostly imaginary phase.

For the relationships in which we check in with each other once or twice a year, nothing would really change. For the relationships with more frequent contact, this is where the change would be most evident. For the daily relationships...well, I knew it would require an act of faith every day to keep those relationships functioning. Luckily, however, I have very few daily-contact relationships unless they are in the workplace or in the home.

As I prepare to return home, I am aware that there may be a slight collision of different worlds because for every imaginary relationship I've been maintaining, chances are the other person has been maintaining one, too. It will be an interesting journey to figure out how and where our imaginary relationships still fit together, if at all.

Horrible Histories

I've seen the Horrible Histories books many times since I came to Ireland but they still surprise me.

When my parents were visiting we saw a wide variety of them on sale at one of the OPW maintained castles which struck me as a hilarious sign of the times: at an Irish government-funded and -maintained site, a visitor can purchase The Cut-Throat Celts Sticker-Activity Book.

This is the kind of thing I would've loved as a kid and it makes the little girl in me positively gleeful. Okay, it makes the adult me gleeful, too, especially when I think that these books provide an information that might help children realize that history books are edited and composed like any other work of fiction.

Anyway, I thought there might be some of you out there who would get a warm-and-fuzzy feeling from knowing these books exist. (And you can send an Evil E-card from their site!)

Exceptions to the Rule(s)

The more I read articles, essays, and books by established authors, the more I realize they all violate some of the rules by which I judge my writing and my thought. This is not to say that they violate all rules. My realization is simply this: sometimes I focus on attempting to pass in academia rather than simply writing what I think.

This is something I observed during the Graduate Certificate Program at UC Santa Cruz and it's something that still affects me. At a certain point I will internalize that I can move beyond a hoop-jumping mentality. Or I will decide that I will deal with miscommunications after they happen rather then spend time contorting my thoughts to fit a paradigm that may or may not be in effect.

I am learning to trust my voice. I remember when I got to interview theatre director Anne Bogart for my introduction to directing class. I asked her about how she got to where she was and she basically responded: by directing. She acknowledged that studies could be helpful but that, ultimately, it was by actually directing that she learned the most. And I think that's what I'm doing here: learning by doing.

Oh, wonderful teapot...

As I worked at home today, looking out my large kitchen window at the variations in weather throughout the day (of which there were many), I enjoyed multiple pots of tea in my cute little teapot. It's nothing fancy. I bought it at Dunnes Stores for about €8. But it has been such good company! And it continues to keep me going through my research and writing.

Sometimes it's those simple pleasures that make the biggest difference, including being able to laugh at how simple this pleasure is.

Fears named

The following is an excerpt from Umberto Eco's essay "Analysis of Poetic Language" in The Open Work in which he discusses what happens when the same piece of music is listened to for years and the ability of its form to inspire pleasure has been exhausted.

"Often, to rejuvenate our dulled sensibility, we need to put it in quarantine. [...] But time might not be enough to reawaken pleasure and surprise and to resurrect a particular form for us, which means either that our intellectual development as atrophied or that the work, as organization of stimuli, was addressed to an ideal addressee who does not correspond to what we have become. This might in turn mean that that particular form, aimed at a particular cultural context, is no longer effective for us, though it might yet find some resonance in the future."

Here I am: working on my dissertation which I left in quarantine and finding myself still sifting through layers of stimuli, of form, of organization...and I am afraid that I will find the forms I anticipated will no longer be effective for the communication I set out to achieve.

Of course, this is part of any writing process with a duration that can encompass a significant shift in sensibility or in understanding. Who doesn't approach the end of a dissertation or thesis and not see a very different and less problematic means of completing the project? It is, nonetheless, still daunting to find myself doubting myself and my process. Yes, Mr. Eco proffers that sensibilities will likely shift again and what is dull at present may yet be resonant in a future context, but this does not alter my fear that my moment of intelligibility has passed.

Endgame at du Players

I saw a production of Samuel Beckett's Endgame at duPlayers on Tuesday night. I think it was actually a group renting the space and attempting to get tourists to see the show; the advert featured an artist's rendering of a well-known image of Beckett, this time with a slight smile that made the whole thing look slightly cartoonish. (A couple months ago a met a group of tourists from San Jose, CA and they were looking for an Irish play to see and there weren't any on that weekend. They probably would've been very excited if Endgame had been playing then. Of course what was playing at duPlayers that weekend was the production of Brilliant Traces which I had seen at the Rathmines Festival and which I recommended wholeheartedly.)

The ticket cost most than most shows at the Project Art Centre and had a lower production value which was disappointing. Overall, it was enjoyable, especially Nag. Mostly I enjoyed seeing Beckett staged. I forget how used to Hamm with glasses I become until those few moments during which he removes them and then I feel uncomfortable. There's lots of those small revelations throughout that are disconcerting while drawing me in to pay closer attention.

I was slightly disappointed when there were entire pages of dialogue or monologue in which the actor(s) seemed to have not found a point. I recalled a comment made by a friend about the pain of sitting through bad Beckett. I recalled the underwhelming production Allergic to Beckett that I saw at Bewley's. And then I marveled at the human capacity for self-deception that I see so often in the theatre: did that actor really believe he was conveying some deep truth simply by articulating lines written by Beckett? did that woman sitting in my row who continuously sifted through her large handbag believe she was paying attention to the performance? did I think that seeing a performance is ever less than the entire experience of audience, script, and performance?

Perhaps it's the point I am at in my dissertation or the many conversations I've had recently about the nature of theatre and theatre audiences... I don't know why I find myself dazed in the face of analysis. Saying I did or did not enjoy the experience doesn't convey much information of any use to anyone else. And yet I don't know that I have any commentary or criticism that will offer anything of use or value. Of course if someone happens to read this who was considering attending the production of Endgame it might be of value to her/him.

Revisiting The Crucible

After an initial reaction of strong frustration to the Abbey Theatre's recent production of Arthur Miller's The Crucible I have had multiple conversations with individuals who had and hadn't seen the production. Most of them eventually did and then we could return to the discussion with their fresh insights to the evolving production (as all live theatre grows and changes through the span of its performances).

Admittedly, when I went to see the production I was hoping for something that was unlikely to happen: a production of the play that highlighted ambiguities while avoiding a caricature of hysteria. This seemed more possible when I saw that Ruth Negga was in the show and, based on the production stills, seemingly in the role of Abigail Williams. Admittedly not the best performance by which to judge a production as there are anxieties that can make the performances stiff as well as the fact that the actors are still exploring their roles and how they interact in performance, what I did see on the opening night performance were two things I've seen often enough in Dublin to make my heart ache: an enormous Abbey set and actors working REALLY hard.

For those unfamiliar with the Abbey Theatre in Dublin it has what must be an enormous stage (some joke it was to compensate for the shockingly tiny stage at the original theatre) and the sets are often larger than is useful or effective for the performances. When so much of the audience's view is filled by the scenography, is it not logical that it would pull focus? For The Crucible it was a lot of mottled, glossy black walls which, when revealed fully looked like a giant chimney, perhaps intended as a giant crucible. There was an overhead beam suggestive of Puritan homes but there was also a large wedge cutting across the roof space of the Proctor's home that looked like a giant guillotine blade looming over the scene. The costuming was mostly a "period" Puritan look with the striking exception of John Proctor who wore a leather coat and hat which lent him the look of a highwayman more than a farmer.

As for my comment about those hard-working actors, I can't stress enough the ability and effort evident in the performance. A friend who saw it roughly one month into the run of performances said the relationship between John and Elizabeth Proctor had evolved into something profound and nuanced from their first scene to their last when she found it difficult to resist tears. I have been fortunate enough to have seen many of the actors in other productions and was glad to see them again. On the opening night, however, I was aware of the spaces between the actors and gaps in intelligibility of the text.

The most problematic scene for me was the scene in the foyer or antechamber outside the courtroom. In the Abbey production they used the entire stage which seemed a bit large for a Puritan community in 1692. While it accommodated the large cast present during the scene, there was no feeling of tension as to where the characters were positioned in the space and in relation to each other. Proctor and his cohorts mostly occupied stage right while Abigail and her cohorts mostly occupied stage left; Judge Danforth presided over the middle of the stage while a smattering of others filled the gaps in such a way that it became a large muddled crowd with little distinction between the factions rendering it difficult to locate a point of focus during much of the scene.

From my position as an outsider it is difficult to assess precisely how the production with so much potential, so many resources, ended up leaving me unfulfilled and disheartened. In my mind and based on my training, I hold the director accountable for the large-scale lack of integration between the production elements and the points of emphasis in the production. I know this is somewhat unfair because there is much that is beyond the director's control, yet I find the director's task is to navigate through any plans, discoveries, and obstacles to help form a solid production. Ultimately, I don't think I understood what Patrick Mason and his production team were trying to do in the production despite my efforts to do so.

My conversations with trusted and insightful individuals who also saw the production often included encouragement for me to see the show again in its more integrated and evolved state. I did consider it but never made it a high enough priority. But these conversations all helped me articulate myself better, to explain better how it wasn't a question of what I would've done and how it would've been better, but my frustration with seeing so many under-utilized resources, especially the actors. With that pool of talent there was much potential to invigorate that script and challenge the assumptions about the characters (Abigail is a harlot/the devil, Elizabeth Proctor is frigid/depressed, and John Proctor is the hero with a pure heart). To be fair, I've yet to see a production that does this consistently. But I remain hopeful that I will someday get to see a production that does.

The Eiffel Tower

Did I mention that I went to the top floor of the Eiffel Tower? It was neat. I don't have any of the pictures from that part of the trip, but I will get them eventually. None of them were very good because the tower moves slightly at that height making the slow-exposure, low-light pictures kinda blurred. Or maybe that was just me unable to hold the camera steady for the ten-second-exposure.

For now, here is a picture of the regular night lighting and the special hourly additional lighting.

Memories with Mike

I was just glancing through the pictures from my recent travels and am amazed at how vibrantly I remember everything. I forget how much my senses are dulled by my ability to tune out the daily disturbances versus the heightened awareness of traveling in a new place where I don't speak the language and where there is so much for me to consider.

I am amazed that the trip could've been so simple. We went together and enjoyed almost every minute of it. There were some creepy hotels and some tensions of interpreting directions/maps, but, overall, it went so smoothly that I had to consciously remind myself that it would only last a few weeks. Of course, I quickly decided to enjoy it rather than anticipate its end.

This is a picture of the sunset from Per San Marco in Venice. It was breath-takingly beautiful plaza and the picture doesn't really do it justice. But it gives a suggestion.

Changes in the air

Dublin's weather changes frequently, but I notice the extremity of it more since I've returned. I think there is a real change and not just the shift in my perspective. There will be slashing rain and heavy winds and general high clouds/overcast periods all of which has been a regular occurrence. But there will be a warmth in the air that reminds me it is summer. The humidity can be oppressive at times. And then the sun can come out and I will find myself too warm sitting in the sun and wanting to sit in the shade where, of course, it is colder than I would like. It's difficult to find balance these days.

The changes in how I relate to Dublin and to the people around me is present in my heart and in my mind as well. I don't know how much is that I know I will be leaving soon and how much is processing that some of my friends have already left. I find myself wanting to be alone with my thoughts more often than not only to then find myself struck by the overwhelming desire for someone to comfort me in my ambivalence. I'm realizing it is unfair to pounce on another the way my emotions seem to ambush me and that those (un)fortunate friends cannot really offer the comfort I seek because I can only find that in myself.

So here I am in the midst of fickle weather and fickle emotions: both have patterns if I can find the perspective and peace necessary to reach an understanding. For now, I will try to be patient and to not make any plans that cannot be changed based on the weather or my mood.

Hello again.

I've been working and traveling and working and...here I am: a little muddled and having trouble keeping track of which day is which. For the most part this is not an issue because most services (i.e. food) are available every day. It does get a little annoying when I need the library or the bank so I make the extra effort to arrange those errands successfully.

I had a lot of fun traveling around Ireland a bit as well as Italy, a bit of France and a second trip to Amsterdam. I had serious difficulty remembering which language I should speak, even once I got back to Ireland. I was walking through Dublin and thinking I needed to translate into the few words I have in other languages.

I enjoyed some of the silence of being in the midst of people and not speaking because I don't really speak the language(s). I am enjoying the time in my apartment to regroup and get back to my dissertation. The time off was nice in that I could forget some of the details I was agonizing over and focus on the stuff that's remained strongest. My advisor is on vacation, but he assured me that he will be accessing his email so he can help support me in this.

I hope this finds you all well. And I hope no one worried about my lapse into silence. I'm still here and still sane. I am intensely ambivalent about life after August 30th and that's an interesting experience. I really enjoy being in Ireland, but I really miss being able to wrap my arms around my loved ones. And I miss San Francisco. I know I'll come back to Ireland again soon and that makes this all a lot easier. It still hurts, but it's a little easier.

FootNotes for Solstice

I celebrated the Summer Solstice with a show co-choreographed by and featuring my advisor Eric. It was a tap performance with a jazz quartet so there was some improvisation as well as well choreographed pieces. It was a lovely performance, especially to see the different physicalities of the five dancers performing the same choreography.

It was a nice bit of whimsy for this special day.

Deepa Mehta's trilogy

Yesterday I completed my three consecutive Saturday viewings of Deepa Mehta's trilogy (Fire, Earth, Water). It is a beautiful series. The music and cinematography are excellent. The stories are nuanced and interesting. They are definitely worth seeing, especially in the movie theatre. (The opening credits for Earth were impressive on the big screen.)

If you want to see more films that have a wonderful humanity and awareness, though very different, Mira Nair is another great filmmaker, also born in India. I've seen at least three films by her, though none more recent than Monsoon Wedding, and she often addresses personal desires and familial/cultural expectations through interesting stories.

Communication Frustration

I have been processing a minor revelation about the extent to which miscommunication occurs. The trigger for this revelation was a conversation with the head of my program and the discovery that one of my projects was evaluated on terms I did not attempt/intend to meet. Let me make this more clear: I was trying to discuss the context for a performance while he evaluated me for a performance analysis. I spent more time discussing the reviews, articles published in the local papers during the performances, and the introductory words from the playwright (preface to the script and published in the programme); I didn't actually discuss audience reception much nor did I discuss details of the performance except in relation to reviews. Clearly, this was a bad approach to performance analysis in which presenting details of the performance are key.

I recently read an essay by Roland Barthes in which he comments on something very similar. He says criticizing a person's poor French when the person is speaking Chinese will yield an evaluation of poor French skills. It's a great example of hearing what you want to hear more than what the other person is saying. Or missing a key piece of information that would clarify things and make them less difficult/confusing.

I don't suppose this would bother me as much if I didn't take communication so seriously (and personally). Now I am psyching myself up to write my dissertation which I intended to be a continuation of the previously mentioned work. I am currently having doubts about this choice because I don't know if I want to risk being misunderstood again. On the other hand, the head of department assured me that he thinks I am bright.

Sweet, sweet Sweeney!

Just happened to discover that Tim Burton is directing a film version of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd that is set to be released in January 2008. For those who are interested or intrigued (or both), the cast includes Johnny Depp as Sweeney, Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs. Lovett, Alan Rickman as Judge Turpin, and Sacha Baron Cohen as Pirelli.

Can you guess where I'll be on 11 January, 2008?

Sweeney Todd at the Gate

I saw my first performance at the Gate Theatre last night. It was an acclaimed production of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd. It was bold and interesting. I was surprised to see Barry McGovern as the Judge. I was also surprised to see dance numbers and enactments of almost every referenced scene in the play. It's once thing to have a younger Mrs. Lovett mirroring actions in spaced defined as the historical shop space (that is, when Benjamin Barker and his wife Lucy were the occupants); it is another thing to stage an elaborate swimsuit dance number to accompany Mrs. Lovett's song 'By the Sea'.

Overall, however, I did enjoy the show. They opted to use flour (and wig removal, which I will explain if you are interested) to signify death/murder which made an interesting complicity with Mrs. Lovett's pie shop. There were some unintentional uses of it as well (such as Anthony accidentally wearing some of the flour left by Pirelli in a previous scene). There was clearly lots of thought and effort in the production. And it's a great piece of theatre.

I encouraged some non-musical-theatre-lovers to attend this production. All of them enjoyed it, though this was usually followed by the disclaimer that they still have issues with musical theatre as a form. And I must agree that there are plenty of issues to be had. But there's lots of enjoyment to be had as well.

(Relative) Absence of Updates

My recent absence of updates is largely related to my state of mental chaos regarding my dissertation: it is the final project of my tenure in Dublin and is not developing as I had hoped.

I have discovered, though, in my state of mental chaos that I have a much wider circle of intellectual support than I had realized previously. Perhaps this is the silver lining to shimmer in the torrential downpour. So shimmer it does and drenched I am; nevertheless, I am feeling optimistic in some small way and I shall cling to that.

Hope you are all well. I'll try to post some antics or insights, but I make no promises as part of my current state is a lack of certainty as to how I am actually going to progress.

Defiance is in print!

For those who have been reading my blog since the fall, you know that I am quite passionate about John Patrick Shanley's play Doubt, a parable. After writing it, Shanley realized it was really part of a larger trilogy about coming of age and the related issues. So Doubt leads to Defiance. The first is set in a Catholic parish in the Bronx; the second is set in the Marine Corps in North Carolina. The third, alas, has not been announced.

But Defiance is available in print as of today. And I have, indeed, ordered my copy.

Argh.

In my most Charlie Brown moments there is nothing more appropriate than a well-placed "Argh". And my pursuit of a career in academics feels like Charlie Brown's own quest to kick the football. Just when I think I've got my strategy all figured out, I keep running into the same problem: it's difficult to kick a ball that gets moved from in front of my foot.

And so I continue to research and attempt to write. No matter how much I try to make my objectives small and attainable, I find myself drawn to conceptions of changing the world and discovering theatre that affects me with its passion and power. Those who know me know well my potential for binging on the critical side of a discussion--often emphasizing what didn't work over what did--in my attempt to understand how the production missed the passionate aim.

But I am really committed to this effort and if my life continues to be punctuated with falling on my rear after another attempt to kick the bloody football...well, I think there are worse things.

Migraines may improve memory

I just read an article about an article in which a study inadvertently discovered that women who experienced migraines had better memory after 12 years than women who didn't experience migraines. I am hoping to track down the original article in the April publication of Neurology to understand better what the study findings were and how they are being interpreted. In the mean time, it's a nice thought that all this pain has been for some benefit.

The Crucible at the Abbey

After much anticipation and anxiety, I got to see the new Abbey Theatre production of The Crucible last night on its opening night. Overall, there was clearly a great deal of effort put into the production but the stakes never managed to get to a height that made it compelling.

In preparation for this production and my intent to write about it for my dissertation, I have (re)read Arthur Miller's script multiple times. It is an incredibly difficult text for a few reasons:
1.) It is not historically accurate. While Miller himself acknowledges that he based his characters on actual events, he also insists that this is a work of fiction and that it was, in part, an exercise in language as well as in discussing social dynamics. This ambiguously historical piece then makes it difficult for the production team to discern how much emphasis should be placed on the accuracy with which they present Puritanism and the Puritan lifestyle.
2.) Miller chooses to emphasize lust/lechery over other political issues. Many books have been published about the Salem witch trials that began in 1692 and most of them discuss the deep political, economic, and personal rifts within the Salem Town and Village. Without delving into the actual history of the accusations, trials, and murders it is difficult to discern the points of significance (that is, where Miller explicitly deviates from history and where he adheres to it). I find it interesting that Miller finds adultery and sexual miscommunications/violations more stable ground for this play about a society willing to believe delusions of Satan. Also, a sexual relationship between Abigail Williams and John Proctor seems to have no basis in historical fact. Historically, Abigail was 11 or 12 and living with her uncle Rev. Samuel Parris while Proctor was in his sixties and there is no record of Abigail working for the Proctors.
3.) The argument continues that The Crucible is about McCarthyism. Rather than view this as a piece of art that speaks its own message, many prefer to interpret this play as an explicit parallel to the HUAC interrogations and black listing of the 1950s in the US. But very little of the play actually happens in a trial. Most of the play is about the interpersonal (re)actions to the escalating fear of one another. I find it interesting to consider Miller's choice to emphasize the underlying concern for (marital) vows over other witch-hunt issues especially in light of the betrayal by his close friend Elia Kazan who did name names in the HUAC meetings thereby assuring he would not be black-listed and could continue to direct films in Hollywood.

I don't feel like discussing much more about the production at the moment because I am saddened and confused by the production for different reasons and am still sorting that out for myself. I am not sure if I will write about it for my dissertation. It's all a bit cloudy at the moment. I might go see the show again later in its run to see how it has developed. I may decide I would rather spend my time and money elsewhere. Only time and reflection will tell.

Deepa Mehta's film Water

I got to see this film last Saturday. It is strikingly beautiful in images, music, and story. It is set in 1938 in India near the end of British rule as Gandhi is becoming more well-known and influential. The film follows a few different characters while focusing mostly on the women living in an ashram, where widows spend their lives after their husband's death.

The director, Deepa Mehta, also directed films entitled Earth and Fire which I have heard are very good as well. She began filming in 2000, but was disrupted by protests and there was an attempt by the Indian government to shut down production. Finally, three or four years later, production of the film resumed in Sri Lanka.

Her daughter, Devyani Saltzman, wrote a book Shooting Water: A Memoir of Second Chances, Family, and Filmmaking in which she parallels the journey of making the film with her own journey to re-establish her relationship with her mother.

Saved at the Abbey

I saw Edward Bond's controversial play Saved at the Abbey last Thursday. While I feel I need to read the play before coming to certain conclusions about the play and the production, I feel confident saying there was some excellent work being done by the actors and a poor job done by the director. There was a striking set (which didn't entirely work for me) that required 2-3 minute scene changes between almost every scene thereby destroying any possible momentum between the scenes. I realize this may have been a directorial choice, but it didn't seem to serve the story or to fit with other production choices; it seemed there was a bold choice for the set of the home and that meant elaborate/lengthy scene changes.

I felt so sad for the actors, though, because they were working so hard to make the production work when the director has set these needless obstacles in their way. I have been fortunate enough to see some of these actors in other productions and continue to be impressed with the caliber of work. There was one scene between the characters of Fred and Len after Fred has just left prison and it left me without words it was so powerful.

One more directorial gaff and then I will let it go: violence is a mark of this play and why it continues to be controversial. There is a moment in the building to climax in which a wife strikes her husband on the head with a teapot AND THEY DIDN'T DO IT. It was so clear that there was no connection. There was no blood despite repeated lines about the blood. How can you stage a production known for its violence without treating the violence as a valuable and important part of the production?

I am interested to read the play to explore more of my conflicted feelings about the production. I can understand, however, how Edward Bond is one of the inspirations for Neil LaBute.

Back in the Positive

After losing sight on some of my goals for self-care, I am back on track. =) And it feels really good, too. I've been making time for my wellbeing, for reflection, and for pleasure. My sister sent me the link to a site for helping to focus on health and wellbeing so that's been a good reinforcement as well.

I just had a couple really good exchanges in which I expressed my wants without being aggressive or oppressive and that feels really good. When I get overwhelmed or burned out or too sensitive I experience severe self-doubt about communication and expression (which are, for me, very emotional things as well as being mental). I can tell that I am more centered and confident from these last few days of staying close to home and nurturing myself.

Part of what is great about forgetting to make myself a priority is that I get to try again once I become aware of the shift. And I get to (re)learn when I make choices that exhaust, challenge, and/or sustain me. And sustainability is the goal for me: find a way to make living a good experience for as long (and as often) as possible.

Pink Martini with the SF Symphony

Gabry introduced me to this wonderful band from Portland, Oregon. How's that for interculturalism!

The band is Pink Martini and they are currently a twelve-piece group that capture in their rich sounds a seamless combination of original and cover songs with the magic of 1940s-50s musicals, the swank of the 1960s, and the multiculturalism of the contemporary era. They are a fabulous combination of passionate, lounge-y, majestic, and playful. AND they will be playing with the SF Symphony on 6-7 July! (And the tickets are only about $20!)

Their latest album has songs in English as well as in Japanese, French, Portuguese, Arabic... it's eclectic in its sources, but it is coherent and enjoyable as an album.

Piano Bar fun at Confirmation party

At the party after Gabry's niece's confirmation there was a piano player. He was so loud you could hear him three floors down when you entered the building. Upstairs, he jauntily played some Italian standards, ragtime, and other songs to a roomful of folks who hardly acknowledged him, despite the near-deafening volume. While some folks were singing along from their seats, eventually, the singing began in earnest.

Gabry and Ludy were having fun singing Italian songs. I got to hear "Volare" in the version that is popular over there (different from the Dean Martin version heard in the US). And then the piano player started playing something I recognized that had English lyrics so Gabry pulled me into the room to sing. That was weird, to sing a song I know in front of folks who, for the most part, couldn't understand what I was singing. (An important side note is that most of the songs on the radio in Italy are in English. When I was in Rovigo with Gabry, we were out with a guy from the theatre company and they sang me a little medley of songs I never would've imagined they would know. It's a little terrifying to know some of the songs that were exported over the years...)

The piano player started chatting me up. His name was Charlie and I don't think he could've been more of a stereotype of a piano bar piano player if he tried. He's from Milan and he's been playing piano for nine years. Unfortunately, he could play the songs in the key in which they were written rather than in a sing-able key. He also jumped through the song rather than play it all the way through. And he played everything at a rapid pace that made it difficult to follow, especially when I was trying to remember lyrics at the same time as trying to keep up with him.

Overall, it was fun, but it made me miss Rod and The Alley in Oakland. Rod really is a gem! I didn't realize how spoiled I was to sing with him. I can't wait to get home and go enjoy an evening at The Alley.

Another dog-shoe incident

While in Rovigo, we went to lunch with some of the company members are their home which has a large garden with various fruit trees. It was lush and inviting in the 36.5 degree heat.

During the meal, Gabry leapt out of her chair (and halfway into my lap) with a bit of a scream. Turns out the dog was curled under the table by her foot without her knowing it; she moved and accidentally nudged the dog which was interpreted by the dog as an attack. So the dog bit her foot. Luckily he didn't break through or draw blood, but there are bite marks on her shoe to recall the occasion.

Teatro del Lemming

I got to see two of their shows while in Italy (in a small city called Rovigo). We saw an adaptation of The Unbearable Lightness of Being as well as the one-audience-person performance of the Oedipus story. They even learned some English translations for me for the Oedipus performance. Both were amazing performances with an emphasis on engaging the audience members. They are visually arresting and sensual experiences (involving sights, sounds, smells, touching, etc.).

The members of the company were very welcoming and entertained me when we joined them for food after the first show. Most of the entertainment came from translations of "games" into English. The funniest was one in which the person was anointed with oil, naked, riding a horse and attempting to stay upright while "squishing" from the oil while someone was pushing from behind. This was, of course, first explained in Italian with as many gestures and enactments as possible and then translated into English with Boris's variation/interpretation of gestures/enactments. After I responded then Boris would translate back into Italian. This cycle of laughter continued for more than an hour.

The company has a strong sense of community and self-sufficiency that reminded me of Santa Cruz. It was really nice to experience, as much as I could with a language barrier.

Back in Dublin, back in the cool weather

I am back and still getting used to being in Dublin again. The weather was 13 degrees different between Milan and Dublin when we flew back (from a sunny, warm 26 degrees to an overcast, windy 13 degrees...) and it was a bit of a shock to the system.

We're back to typical Dublin weather of bits of rain (almost daily) with frequent patches of sun, occasional warmth, and lots of wind. It's nice although, again, a bit of a shock after the 26-36 degrees of warmth in Italy.

I'll try to post some of the funny stories from the trip. I didn't take many pictures because there just wasn't much I was interested in chronicling. But I did take a couple pictures so those will be forthcoming as well.

Good for the soul

I have had some really good chats with Ruth in the past few weeks. She's a lovely postgrad at Trinity and I feel a bit of home when I am with her. I feel emotionally safe with her in a way that I feel with Wolfgang or Suzi. It's different, but there is something there, even some similarities in vocabulary. But it's been really nice. And it's often unexpected which works out even better when I am trying to write because I have a tendency to push myself to grind out the paper even though I know it is a creative process; when I have the unexpected but intensely honest moments with Ruth, I walk away lighter and ready to work.

And then I will be going to Italy with Gabry so I might not be posting for a little while, as usual when I travel. But trust that I will return refreshed and full of stories to share.

Broken Flowers

I decided to follow some good advice and enjoy a little laughter therapy. I got a couple known entities, but I also took the chance on a new one. Broken Flowers is a Jim Jarmusch film from 2005 and, while it isn't hilarious in the belly-laugh kinda way, it is still charming and funny and it lingers in my mind. I really liked the soundtrack, too. It was a nice little adventure for my mind today and good for the soul.

CAKE B-sides and Rarities

CAKE has a new album out of B-sides and Rarities including "Mahna Mahna"...of which you can hear a sample. It's eclectic with the classic CAKE horns and whatnot...and it's silly which is possibly why I enjoy it so much. They also do "Strangers in the Night" which reminds me ever-so-slightly of the Perry and Kingsley version. There is "Never Never Gonna Give You Up" which is just strange to hear, especially after months of listening to Barry White while working at Betty's.

Career Info

I just found out about this website run by the US government where you can search for information on different careers in different states including pay scales. I know when I have gone for interviews or considered different career paths, I have often wondered what could be expected if I pursued this path.

There is also a site by the Bureau of Labor Statistics called the Occupation Outlook Handbook in which you can search different jobs for educational requirements, work environments, related occupations, etc. It points out important things such as most positions for postsecondary teachers (i.e. beyond high school) will be part-time or non-tenure track positions.

Attempts on Her Life

I saw the Rough Magic production of Martin Crimp's play Attempts on Her Life at the Project on Friday night. After a day of postgraduate research presentations, I was looking forward to seeing this show, especially because I have been walking past a poster on my way to campus for more than a month.

It's an interesting piece in that it offers lots of information with very little restrictions. Each audience member gets to navigate the varied if not contradictory information from each of 17 scenes. Each scene has a different tone or style while the content all circles around Anne. There was so much about the performance that was pleasurable that I cannot wait to see another version of the play in order to more fully appreciate the magnitude of the achievement.

In a discussion with one my department-mates, he suggested that this kind of play is most enjoyed by academics and critics who enjoy analyzing productions. I think that, had this production more prepared the audience for the responsibility of experiencing the unfolding of the stories, any theatre-goer could enjoy the production. I find there is much anxiety (for theatre professionals, academics, and "lay" persons) about not understanding the message of a play and that is part of why I find pieces like this so important: it resists a singular message and invites a multiplicity of reactions. There is the possibility in production to accentuate the ever widening maw of uncertainty or fragility in the possession of knowledge; this production did not emphasize this as much as I think the script allows, but I still appreciated the choices they did make.

They introduced comic extremes from the beginning (the second scene features a woman in green opposite a man in orange on an almost entirely white set; in the following scenes the audience discovers each character wears predominantly one color from a rainbow spectrum). By the time the performance reaches the scene with a rock song, there is an ever increasing sense of uncertainty as to how things will continue to unfold. There is a curved line along the entire back wall of the set; when a car is moved along it, there is a tangible manifestation of the question "How far will they go?" And this discovery is much of the excitement, energy, and enjoyment of watching the production.

Cinco de Mayo

How much do I love that the San Francisco Giants played in "Gigantes" uniforms on Sunday!

It's an interesting thing to be here in Ireland and to observe some of the European perspectives on immigration and multiculturalism. It's also interesting to meet folks who want the anonymity of metropolitan life while others want to suburban community/neighborhood environment while others want to be outside of the rampant consumerism and impersonal interactions of the capital city.

Meanwhile, I think fondly of California and my beloved San Francisco. We're far from having everything sorted, but it's still home in my heart. I guess I did leave my heart in San Francisco!

Dr. Phil and other US exports

For those who didn't know, there is a lot of US television on Irish television. Not only can I watch Dr. Phil mid-morning, but there's Law and Order: SVU, that Gary Cole cop show, Lost, Arrested Development...even Rikki Lake and Who's the Boss! It's kinda hilarious. Especially Who's the Boss...that is rather absurd to me. I'm going to see if I can overhear anyone talking about it because that would possibly be one of the weirdest and most unexpected inter-cultural moments to date.

Natural, Mineral-based sunblock

I finally went into one of my local health-food shops to find some sunblock that wouldn't leave me feeling gross. It's all minerals and essential oils. So far it's working, but I am not really putting it to the test. I am trying to keep to the shade during peak hours and all that fun stuff. My face is still all freckles and my nose seems to always be a little bit pinker than the rest of my face. But no burns yet! The grass at Trinity is starting to yellow in patches because we've had so much consistent sun without much rain. It's kinda sad to see. It makes me think of the drought years in California.

Very stressful and awkward day

Most everyone I've talked with today has confirmed that this was an odd day emotionally. Lots of awkward exchanges, lots of uncertainty, and lots of emotionally stressful stuff. I went on a theatre audio event in Dublin and it was very poorly planned (not enough room for error, not enough consideration of consequences). Rather than have a fun little tour around part of Dublin, I found myself rushing to keep up with the audio track while trying to navigate an unfamiliar part of the city, avoid the rush hour traffic, and stay out of a street fight.

I am safely home now and treated myself to some seeded grapes after my stressful afternoon. I'm trying to let it all go before I go to bed so I don't carry any of the weirdness over into tomorrow. I want a fresh start after a refreshing night of sleep. I want to be alert and prepared for the mini-conference in my department tomorrow in which the PhD candidates will all present on her/his research. If tomorrow is at all like today, I might well freak out in the middle of someone's presentation. Admittedly, it would be an exciting event, but I think I'd rather preserve an illusion of dignity and control.