marvinstwin: (Default)
I think that sums it up pretty well, really. This week has been pure, unadulterated crap. I love working on shows, I do. What I do not like is working on them ALL DAY LONG because there is just that much work to do. And, to be honest with you, I probably wouldn't mind that either, if I didn't have so much homework on top of it all.

I have, in fact, done the absolute minimum of homework this past... week and a half? Fuck. This show is so utterly ridiculous. Putting on a production of this scale is more work than is technically feasible in our tiny, understaffed shop. And, of course, because I'm managing wardrobe for the show I have to go do everyone's laundry in a few hours, which is stupid because I haven't even done my own and I barely have any clothing left.

Cynthia, I miss you. I know you're not a theatre nerd, but you've been there. You get it. You've seen me during Hell week. You've been the Best Big Brother Ever(tm) and bought me coffee and taken me out for Red Robin and a movie when I can no longer deal. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much because all I want right now is a hug and some coffee and some time spent talking about boy!touching and how much missing the Rock Band Tour blows and I'm not going to get it without you here.

I'm so disconnected. I realized that this is the first show EVER where I haven't had my support network with me to help me deal with the stress. This is going to sound terribly emo, but nobody gets it here. Nobody understands how exhausting working on a show is. Nobody understands that I take this shit pretty fucking seriously and that even when I hate the cast and the crew and the director and myself, I still feel the need to pull a Nicholas Cage, do a good job, and make it the best fucking production of whatever crap it is that you have ever seen.

The cast is good. With the exception of a particularly bitchy 13 year old, they're all good people. They're respectful. They mind me and everyone else. It's so much better than at the Academy... but it's also very much worse. I don't know any of these people other than Maryse and Kate. And I only know Rob on crew. There's nobody to snark and snerk and generally dick around with between scenes. I don't know everybody enough to give them hugs and to out to IHOP and generally kvetch about what crazy shit this show involves.

I guess... I just don't feel like this show is, in any way, mine. I mean, yes, I worked on the costumes. I made all of that ridiculously awful striped fabric. I tried to make the seriously terrible pattern someone made work for Catherine's atrocious bathing suit. I just... I miss doing everything. I liked working at the Academy because I had creative control. I got to both design and make the costumes: pluck them from the ether and make them a reality. I liked doing that. That's why I'm switching my major to costume design. I want to get better at doing that. I want to take the ideas swirling around in my head and do something with them. I want the blissful euphoria of making the show's world come together with fabric and notions and things that sparkle under the stage lights.

This show has felt like absolute drudgery.

They spelled my name wrong in the program.

The costume designer thinks I'm stupid. Bitch, please. I know more about period clothing than she does. She has no right to lecture me and patronize me like I'm some sort of fashion virgin.

And the fucktards who keep bringing food for the actors to eat while in costume (which they aren't supposed to be doing) and don't do a damn thing for the crew, who don't get to eat food ever because WE'RE THERE ALL FUCKING DAY LONG? Fuck you. Don't make my job harder. I already want to shoot someone. You're moving up the list.

Grrr.

*sighs* That was a lot of navel gazing. I'm sorry. I've just been bottling this crap up for a while and I needed to let it out before I exploded all over the place and got stains on the walls.

Right now, I want a hug. A snuggle. A snug? And, to paraphrase our favorite version of Brian, a coffee as big as my head.

Damn. Off to the shop. See you on the flipside.
marvinstwin: (Default)
No offense meant to anyone who likes goats like that.

FUCK YOU, UNIVERSE. FUCK YOU SO HARD WITH A GOAT. THE WHOLE GOAT. YES, THAT MENTAL IMAGE HURTS ME TOO.

Guys, I have unexpected tech rehearsals all weekend. Not only that, but I have to finish that dress. And in case you didn't hear, I also have to design something (fuck knows what for WUDT next weekend, but rehearsals are at the WORST TIME EVER because I have to work on this fucking show every fucking night next week. Oh, and I'm missing Michelle's Birthday. PLEASE TO BE KILLING ME NOW.

On the bright side, the stupidity has abated somewhat? We're acting like normal, rational human beings again. Nothing beats a night of YouTube that includes some truly monophrenic mime by the Umbilical Brothers, and skits that involve the words 'arse bandit' used in an example of the Great English Sentence ala Fry and Laurie.

Fucktasm.

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marvinstwin

May 2009

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