It's the Craft Center Friday. First week of classes done. 8 hours in the hot shop so far, and it's more like riding a bicycle than I expected. In that I'm not very good at it, it makes me tired and sweaty, and more often than not I end up in a ditch. You'd never know I'd been doing it with some modicum of regularity for four years. Blowing glass that is, I've barely touched my bike.
So far my directing class is hilarious. 7 people. On the first day we were waiting around for some guy named Lucas, and in walked the notorious Mr. Flatt. Small fuckin' world. We enjoyed one of those strange early morning and out-of-context recognition moments and went on with our lives, and went out for soup after class. Thank You, Five Minutes should be required reading because we have four people from Knoxville of late, and three who don't feel much like sharing. Topics included, but were not limited to: How the Tennessee Stage Company exerts so much effort and remains so lackluster, Is ANYONE reviewing theatre in Knoxville, how awesome was Hedwig, Hedwig was awesome, Urinetown is the best musical ever, and there is no "theatre community" in Knoxville because they all hate each other. This is what I've learned so far. Our first assignment is to write a review of a show, and I just happen to be seeing Unidentified Human Remains And The True Nature Of Love twice this weekend. Coincidence? Or fair warning?
Slate is publishing a new chapter of The 9/11 Report, A Graphic Adaptation every day until 9/7. It's an interesting read, and a good one, if you're into that.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I fall back into the old routine. Per usual there is a dance party slated for this evening, and I hear the first rumblings of booty shaking out there. Guess it's time to hit that wonderful shower, pick some mint from the garden, and make my first of several mojitos.
Can't shake the booty proper without mojitos.