(no subject)

You know, it occurs to me that Johnny Depp only has to do one more movie about an innocent, childlike man who entertains children and between that, Finding Neverland, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, he'll have a proper trilogy of live-action classics.

It's tempting to suggest The Michael Jackson Story, since it's not like Depp couldn't portray him (his nose is too normal, but that's fixable), except there's no way to make Michael Jackson not be creepy on a much worse level than Willy Wonka could ever attain.

He could be the Cheshire Cat in a proper version of Alice in Wonderland, except it's a cat.

Who's got ideas?

(no subject)

New life in the world! Welcome and congratulations, Miz heidi8 junior, who was born today.

I hope the world is to your liking, because I'm afraid we haven't any spares. We'll try to keep it tidy for you until you're ready to tackle it yourself.

(no subject)

Well, the thesis is formatted for submission, the forms are all printed out, my nice clothes are hanging unwrinkled by the door, and I've located the graduate office I need to take the forms to once they're signed.

The glue is drying on the Thesis Mask -- a physical execution of some of the theories I discuss towards the end of the final chapter. A nice visual, and a prop to hide behind.

Thank goodness the ribbon for the ties showed up today, or it would have been leather bootlaces bought from Walgreens on the way to school tomorrow.

I'm not moving on in education this time; I'm not sure what I'm doing, but I know that it means tomorrow is the culmination of seven years' work, which began with the phrase "Why don't you stop fucking around and admit you're a theatre major?" and the injunction to buy The Empty Space. My copy has at least three separate shades of ink in it -- first-reading underlines, annotations after study, and highlighting from a time I wrote a paper on it.

In that slim volume, Peter Brook says that "A word does not start as a word -- it is an end product which begins as an impulse, stimulated by attitude and behaviour which dictate the need for expression." The words I'm defending tomorrow -- thirty-two thousand and one of them, to be precise -- began as an impulse seven years ago to do not what was merely bearable because I was good at it, but what I could build a passion for -- what fulfilled my need for expression.

And I would have made a wretched psychologist, anyway.

I suppose I ought to be nervous, but I'm just numb, other than not being able to sleep. If I fail now it's going to be tragically anticlimactic.