friends, theater, tangents, a waltz


(I’m continuing this post after having started it a few weeks ago, so sorry if it starts sounding awkward around halfway through.)

At this point, my posts seem to have three defined parts.  First, there’s the recentness-of-the-post beginning, where I a) triumphantly exclaim about how I’m posting again (!!!) or b) make a sad attempt at giving this odd, awkward apology for lack of recent postage (posting?).  Then, there’s part two–where I’ll start going over my day but quickly get sidetracked and start to go off on some tangent (recent examples include how the beginning of the school day typically goes, diaries, the tone a blogger needs to affect, the definition of artsy…).  Part Three is when I get myself together and dutifully go through my day, attempting charmingly sardonic side-comments which usually end up sounding like one of those movie-commentaries that nobody ever listens to.

Now that I’ve realized this three-part situation, I don’t really know how to go about things.  I could try to embrace it and further define the three parts with labels (PART ONE: RECENT POSTING UPDATE.  PART TWO: TANGENT, etc.) or I could try to ignore this recognition entirely and just, well, go about my posting as I normally do.  Option one would be cliche.  Plus, how are you supposed to go off on a worthwhile tangent when there’s a heading saying PART TWO: TANGENT staring down at you?  Going off on tangents…it’s an art.  Seriously.  But then again, option two might be more awkward-sounding than option one.  See, if I just “go about my posting”, then I’ll still be subconciously aware of how weird and ridiculous this whole thing is, which will seriously limit my going-off-on-a-tangent possibilities.

Both of them are equally odd.   So I guess I’ll do neither.  I’ll just, well, start talking about whatever comes to mind and see what happens.  Then I’ll throw in a few obnoxious “I’m pretty sure that this is the tangent” comments and, well, try to accept–not just accept, embrace–that this is by nature an odd post.  It happens, I guess.

My cousin and aunt are in town, which means, among other things, skipping camp on Friday.  Camp is Lookinglass theater camp, which is four weeks.  We’re really getting into it now–the name games are long over.  Everything’s starting to come together, I guess, although that’s the cheesiest possible way of saying so.  I’ve worked passionately on two-d mini horses with big butts, sang a duet with my brother at a talent show (which sounds so much like something from a disney movie.  it was actually really fun, because i’m not usually a talent-show kind of person, but once we really got into it we just had a crazy, fun time), written a song about being dumped (which was really satisfying and liberating, too) and made a loose, exciting group of friends.

Exciting….I don’t really know what that means when it comes to friends.  All I know is that it definitely applies here.  It’s like…like one of those circles of friends on TV, sort of, but only because everyone has this distinct personality, which gets churned up into the craziness of the general group–not forgotten or anything, just added to the mix and tossed about.  Geez, it sounds like I’m making a salad here–just added to the mix and tossed around. But yeah.  I guess one of the things I’ve learned at this camp (perhaps a bit too late) is that nobody has one personality.  Everyone has one sliver of their personality that somehow defines them, or maybe that’s just how it is in middle school.  For instance, there’s E, with this fantastic sense of humor-very dry, sardonic, that kinda thing-but also really smart, and has this funny, articulate way of describing everything.  There’s S, who’s super talented and modest, fun to talk to because you can have both a girl-talk and a substantial kind of conversation with her.  With some people, it’s only girltalk, which can be really, really fun…for awhile, until you start running out of gossip and you kind of want to talk about something real, but you’re not really sure, so the conversation trails to this awkward stopping point.  But only substantial conversations, while better…well, sometimes you just need some girl-talk.  That’s just me, though.  Some people are vehemently one way or the other, I guess, and some probably don’t really care.

Anyway, yeah.  There’s more–a guy who tells the greatest, funniest, most quirky (and longest, but somehow he manages not to make them trail on in the least) stories you’ll ever hear, a striking girl who just stands out in general, a quirky guy who has an interesting point of view, an older girl who everyone, (excuse the cheesiness), respects, I guess.  And I don’t mean that everyone is perfect by any means.  We’ve gone through waves of awkwardness, waves where we spend all our time together, then waves where we’ll branch off.  I have some really nice pictures, but I want to ask the people in the pictures before I post them (is that necessary? or is it one of those, of course not.  an amateur mistake, my clueless friend kinds of thingsnot that they’re actually very many an amateur mistake, my clueless friend kinds of things–but I sort of had to say so to complete the thought.Oh–can’t give up this opportunity.  Here I go, speaking these words with a passion–well, typing, that is, even though that sort of ruins the general effect…who types words with a passion?–relishing every syllable…

Yup.  Here goes.

I’m pretty sure this is the tangent.

Ha!  Yes!  Anyway.

In camp, we did a play called Bontsha the Silent, which is this story of a guy who goes through life completely meek–silent.  We, being a crazy camp of 7-15 year olds, interpreted that in the most literal way–that he never uttered a word.  We could’ve interpreted it as sure, he says stuff, but never anything significant, and never at the parts when it really matters.  But anyway, yeah, he goes through life silent, and all these terrible things happen to him.  Y’know, the usual.  Gets ridiculed, then thrown out of the house by his drunk dad (my mom said after the show that she’s never seen a kids production where there isn’t a goofy drunk guy. is that true?  maybe it’s one of those awkward, sort of funny things that are designated to make both the parents and the kids laugh?), then, starving, is falsely accused and thrown into jail, then gets a horrible job from a sleezy employer, who never pays him, and a horrible, gold-digging wife (forced to marry him…it’s a long story) who leaves him alone with an (adopted) baby boy, brokeOh, and he ends up getting run over by a carriage.  Nice life, right?

But all this is revealed during a trial, in heaven.  There’s an evil prosecuter angel, who questions his entrance into heaven, and a sweet defense, who praises him and uses his horrible life as a sympathetic picture, and also talks about some of the “good deeds” he’s done (most of which happen by accident.  hm..).  So it’s told in the courtroom and in flashbacks.  Throw in five songs (written by us–with, of course, much help from our fantastic music teacher) and a quirky, comedy-ified script, and you’ve got our production.

Our song–that is, my age groups–was a waltz.  You don’t have to be interested at all, but just in case someone stumbles by this blog and is just fascinated, here are the lyrics…

(The bold was sung by the gold-digging wife, everything else was sung by the background singers or the whole group.  This explains the random transitions from third to first person.)

Get out of my life, you speechless wretch.

Why should I stay if you’ve nothing to say?

Her loving you was really a stretch

I have something to say-

I’m leaving today.

She’s packing her bags, she’s going out the door.

She’s pleading with Bontsha to say something more.

And just as she started to go on her way…

Bontsha the Silent knelt down to pray.

This is when there’s this musical waltzy interlude, and the background singers start laughing, like, “Oh.  My.  God.  He’s PRAYING!”

His praying in agony left her unphased.

She said now to Bonstsha

Get out of my way

I’m here for the money and at this point

Since there’s no more

I’m leaving this joint.

I’m a gold-digger

Proud of it, too

I need some cash for my nails and my ‘do.

With little emotion she walked out the door

Then to Bontsha the Silent

She said nothing morrrrrre!!!

On that lovely note, well, see ya.  And sorry for the awkwardness of this post.  AND sorry for the lack of recent postage.  So much for the whole, gungho three times a week!  thing.

Hope August is going okay for you, and you’re not (like me) totally depressed about the rapidly approaching schoolyear.


my cat, juno, enjoying a sunny afternoon.

so dramatic!!



About talesfromtheflatlands

hm. how to start...? i'm a middle schooler caught in the middle of typical dramas and trying to balance work, friends, disorganization, and all that good stuff. yeah. enough said on that front... i live in a somewhat boring neighborhood in a somewhat interesting city chock-full of chain stores and odd buildings. i have a brother, parents, and a cat, and (not to be forgotten) a rag doll. i love tea, hot chocolate (see my blog for my recipe), collages, creative writing, bake sales, dystopian novels, Jane Eyre, Glee, Top Chef All-Stars (vehemently cheering on Antonia...), snickerdoodles, The Beatles, old movies, chatting with books falling out of my arms on the way to class, debates, and education reform. the list goes on... well? what about you? great to meet you, whoever's reading this... have a nice rest of day. -talesfromtheflatlands

5 responses »

  1. Thanks, Zoe!
    1. i have to learn more about this whole tangent business….
    2. why thank you. we’ve had her for a year or so, and my favorite part about her is how her green eyes glow somewhat creepily in the dark.
    3. for whatever reason, my hair drives me INSANE. (to the point that i bought a shirt that says “I HATE MY HAIR.”) It’s not curly enough so that you can really call it curly, yet it’s not straight enough so that you can just wear it down all the time and go with it. but thanks! maybe some day i’ll learn to appreciate it…..

  2. Don’t hate your hair…your hair is so unique and fantastic! (Sorry–don’t mean to sound like an obnoxious parent.) But I totally know that feeling–that burning rage toward your hair! I got the shirt at this place in New York City, probably the only place where you could find a t-shirt that says “I Hate My Hair”.
    And thanks!!!! 😀

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