ODIN'S AVIARY ~ a home for wayward thoughts & memories
That was my trigger phrase for an Irish dialect when I was in college. The way I was taught, when working on a dialect it's best to establish a phrase that contains the trickier aspects of that dialect, and one which you practice so much you can hardly help but to say it in said dialect. That way, you can create a sort of shortcut to the "muscle memory" of speaking in that fashion. The above phrase is good for a sing-songy, northern Irish dialect. It practically starts out syncopated, with breathy vowels and mincing consonants. Plus, you get that great "points," which comes out more like "pints."
Now me brain is stuck composing this very entry in an Erin fashion....
My point (POYNT) in so quoting myself, however, is to address something 'blog-wise that seems to have thrown a few of you loyal readers (a large portion of all 6 of you) for a bit of a loop. In the spirit of tech week, then, allow me to make the technical points perfectly clear.
I felt compelled last week to implement Blogger's comment moderation feature. This was something I was hoping to avoid. I liked the idea of this 'blog being open to comment from anyone without the complication of wondering who was getting their chance to be heard, and who was not. Occasionally, sure, I got comments from strange women wanting me to check out their naked photos and buy Vicadin from them, but even these I enjoyed responding to in a fantastical sort of mindset. Last week, however, I struck a nerve with someone through my blogination, and their response allowed my imagination to roam into the possibilities for abusing the comments section of the 'blog.
Let me be clear: This commenter didn't abuse the 'blog. Far from it. He or she just allowed me to see how rapidly a comment string could, without supervision, descend into madness. So I enacted the moderation feature shortly thereafter. And it's a good thing, too, because shortly after that decision a dear friend of mine interpreted the comment as something of an attack on me and responded in kind. That comment I did not allow to post.
So let me state the rules for you, dear readers. I will let every comment through that I possibly can. In fact, I hope this en-action of moderation (such a politic word for censorship) encourages those of you who choose to comment to do so without reservation or inhibition. The only rule that should guide you is to avoid personal attacks on anyone associated with this 'blog, including anonymous commenters. That won't be allowed to be posted. Exceptions? Good-spirited-yet-heated discourse on a subject, as long as it remains predominantly on said subject, will be allowed to pass. Personal attacks on me or what I have had to say will also be allowed, believe it or not. Those comments will be judged based on a ratio of relevance/cruelty. If you tear me a new one, but raise what I deem to be a good point with it, it's getting published for all to see.
Sorry to write about technicalities, but I wanted to be clear and direct with my vasty audience. I am off now to tech for fourteen hours. ROCK N' ROLL!
Hello loyal (3-4) readers. I'm sad to report that I have had a tragedy in my life. It seems the pressures and tribulations of working for my boss have forced her full-time assistant (not me--I'm a "paralegal") into the hospital. Yes. I'm being literal. More significantly (to me, anyway), said assistant also quit on Friday.
For those of you in the know, the rest of this entry may be unnecessary, but I cling to the hope that there are people out there who are A) not fully acquainted with the details of my life; and B) reading this 'blog. I cling and I cling, and Rose tells me, "Don't let go, Jack! Never let go!", and I reply "My name's not Jack," as my icy grip perilously weakens moment by moment.
Anyway. My heart
go on. Just ignore it.
Outside "the know"? Then know this: No new 'blog entries for a while, probably. I will be pulling double duty (which, for Mona, pretty much means quadruple duty) until we can find and train a new assistant for her. This, added to the rapidly accelerating rehearsal process for
, equals no time for extra craft work.
I can only hope that Literature can withstand my absence for however long it takes to find a new sucker, er . . . SKILLED OFFICE ADMINISTRATOR.
In the past two months, I have probably matched the combined time I have spent learning about and updating my "web presence" with the amount I have spent on theatre-related activities. It is a bizarrely exciting aspect of networking these days that we needs must have virtual selves as well as actual. In some ways, it's always been this way. Headshots. Business cards. Advertising. It's just that now there's this whole alternate universe, the interwebz, that we ignore at our own risk.
It's the risk that broke me down, made me submit to said interwebz at last. Because frankly, I am not excited by the custom websites, and can't help but be aware that the interwebz market is even more flooded than the acting profession, so the chances of reaching a broad audience are slim-to-none. Ah, but suppose someone wants to find you...and can't? Great, say I. I already have a cell phone surgically grafted to my hand and an email account that gets a hundred offers daily for erection-enhancing lubricants. Let them not find me! I'll be over here behind this tree whistling Django Reinhardt tunes.
Then I remind myself that I'm an actor.
Balls.
So, here's my progress on the whole webby-ness front:
So I would say I'm doing okay on that front. Certainly I've improved it greatly in the past couple of months...with a little help from my friends. Okay: a lot of help. Okay: they did it all, practically. So good. We're good. On the webinetz. Grood.
Non, monsieur. Excusez-moi, mais vous avez tort.
Look, I don't know who this "
" guy is, but he's really pissing me off. Go ride a bike, Jeff Wills! And you, YOU! Whatsyername?
, is it? That's just irresponsible, what you're doing. Besides, don't you have some table to bus, bitch! Your kung fu is no match for mine. Oh! Oh, excuse me, I didn't see you th . . . what are you doing to my leg? My alignment is NOT "all messed up!" Get away from me,
!
Actually, my point is defeated (once again!) by my own link-searching, which revealed that I have rocketed to the #5 slot on Google when you enter "Jeff Wills". I have no idea how that happened, but gift horses, etc. For years now I have struggled to find myself (pun intended) on these widewebberneties search engines, only to have to scroll through pages and pages of other JeffWillseses, the "VARNA cyclist" being the real popular fellow. (He's been working on his presence since 1995.) Somewhere around page 5 or 6, I would find actual mention of me, usually as the director of my friend
second run of
. Which is great, and all, if you're looking to hire a director with one professional credit to his name.
I shall apply defribulation to my point, however (CLEAR!), and see if it can't go on to lead a relatively healthy, normal life. In the struggle to be known, to have the opportunities come to me more than I have to go after them, there's a lot of one's soul to be lost if one is not careful. I see myself through the filters of these sites, and there's very little recognition there for me. Perhaps that's as it should be. They are, to me, mostly marketing tools. The website is pretty (Yes you
are
, you're
pretty
!
) but essentially a best-face-forward kind of tool; a first impression of a careerist. The Onion ad was a lark, and represents me as I am when I'm sort of most casual about things. Friendster I signed up for so long ago (like, whole year or so) I'm not sure who that is at this point. The theatres and their websites are bare mentions of me as someone who acts and travels a bit. And MySpace...well. I can't STAND MySpace. MySpace is my generation gap from the youths--right there. When I finally got that page semi-glossed, friend Nat wrote to me to say (albeit in jest), "You
are
real!" MySpace makes me feel--on a visceral level--like an octogenarian in a discotech.
But this 'blog, at least, is fairly unfiltered and substantial. At times, it's frightening to think that I'm putting myself out to public access daily. (All three of you readers, this is a bond of
trust
.) One of the most anxious thoughts I have has to do with someone I knew years ago, anyone I've lost touch with, reminding me of who I used to be. Why should that be so terrible? I don't know. Maybe I've invested too much into this career that seems to require a polished veneer. Maybe I'm still not successful enough to be satisfied. Or maybe I really am, when it all comes down to it, an introvert.
Hey: It's what the MySpace personality profile tells me.
Ladles and Gentrified, I present to you a special installment of
Odin's Aviary
(r), now with more fibrous additives! A friend of mine is a bit opposed to 'blogs, and uses a brilliantly written bit of dramaturgy to illustrate the extent of his/her/its hatred (names and pronouns have been changed to protect the innocent, and because I like making up names):
I could never love a man with a blog...:
(Jo comes home after a long day of headstand prep. She sees Reginald at the computer.)
Jo
: Hey sweetie, I'm home! What's that you're--
(At the sound of Jo's approach, Reginald quickly slams closed his laptop.)
Reg
: Huh? Oh. Nothing. I missed you.
(He goes to kiss her but she dodges and gets the laptop.)
Jo
: OH--were you looking at
porn
?! Hee Hee Hee!
(She opens laptop and stares. Beat.)
You. You were...blogging? You. You have a blog?
Reg
: I--I can explain. Just let me expla--
Jo
: How could you do this to me?! You know how I feel about this sort of thing!
Reg
: Josephine: it's
just
a blog, for God's sake.
Jo
: First a blog, and then what? Your own SITE?!
(Reginald looks to the ground.)
Oh my God...
Reg
: It's for my career! It's completely valid! This is the way the industry is moving! Why are you being like this?
Jo
: I just can't share you like this! I'm an only child! I--I-- (
She turns to him.
) You have to choose.
Reg
: Between you and my blog?
Jo
: Yes.
Reg
: You can't be serious.
(She glares at him.)
Uh. O--Okay. You. Just. Just let me finish this entry--I'll make it the sign off entry.
(Reginald goes to his computer and sits down. Jo watches, and then begins to gather her things.)
Where are you going?
Jo
: You've made your choice.
Reg
: Josephine, Jo, it's just--
Jo
: --I'm sure you and your three loyal readers will be very happy together!
I'm leaving.
Reg
: Because of this?
Jo
: Yes.
Reg
: But Jo--
(He goes to hold her; she pushes him away.)
Jo
:
(on the verge of tears)
Don't touch me!
(She stares at him as all emotion drains from her face. She is blank.)
I don't even know you.
(She leaves. Reginald stands alone. As the lights fade to black, the only illumination on stage is Reginald's computer glowing in the dark, until that blinks off as well.)
Finis.