DIRECTIONS FOR A SUCCESSFUL [DAY] [ANNIVERSARY] [NOVEMBER 3RD].

1. Attempt to leave Speech Communications 101 ten minutes early.
2. Get moderately lost on I95.
3. Lose the car that is following you.
4. Yell at your passenger. Loudly.
5. Gently rear-end an SUV.
6. Take a Shakespearean Performance workshop.
7. Decide how and why Mr. and Mrs. Macbeth lost their child.
8. Notice the ping-pong shaped hole in your orange vehicle.
9. Try to relax. Shop. Good combinations like that.
10. Eat dinner at a loud, busy, expensive restaurant.
11. Plant a dead battery in your car.
12. Call AAA. Jump start the mother-effer.
13. Drive home in relative silence/embarrassment.
14. Watch a scary movie. "Rosemary's Baby," or something comparative.
15. Sleep.

PICTURES.

A hodge-podge of the week with a new camera phone that I would "know biblically" if that were possible.

HALLOWEEN.

I can't fathom what has actually come to pass in the past ten days. Not that anything of major significance has occurred, but I can't even gather the time to recount all that these last days have entailed. I've worked non-stop (and enjoyed the benefits of that work), surrounded myself with relatively good thoughts, and fought to enjoy myself as well as those around me.
I wasn't happy for a while, but I think I am right now.
Happy, that is.
Not exuberant, mind you, but happy. I'm enjoying the prospects of this week and work and interaction with the people I am growing to care more and more about. I'm glad to feel proud of myself now and again, to feel as though I'm earnestly producing and harvesting the things that I am responsible, but also the things that are bound to make me a better, fuller individual.

Cryptic.

Then again, what would Halloween be without intrigue or mystery?
A veiled piece of crap. Uh-huh.

AND...

I am the definition of emotional instability.

EMOTIONALLY GENERALISTIC ENTRY.

It's been many a time recently when I've stumbled upon the knowledge that I lack the words to convey adequately how I am feeling at one point in time or another. The truth of the matter, I'm finding, is not only that I lack descriptive entities for those emotions, but the understanding of what those diversions from rationality are actually, physically composed of. I have, in earnest, no idea what I am feeling, or how to realistically and objectively react to the world around me.

This, dare I sound obvious, is frustrating.

I possess passion and drive- this I know for certain. I also am blessed with the desire to want good and positive things for those around me. I fear that I've come to a point in my existence where I must let those two things intersect, and then, finally, diverge from one another, lest I watch my resolve chip away one bit at a time, leaving my own sense of pride and confidence unrecognizable to its proverbial friends and loved ones.

I have to take myself into consideration right now.
I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I really, truly hope that I can figure it out.

I need a good cry, a weekend of sleep, and the knowledge that I will come out of this with people who are willing to reciprocate my efforts.
Realistically speaking, at least two out of those three will do.
In my experience, number three is next to impossible.

TONIGHT.

I need a cat named "Murray."

And that's just the way it is.

SPECIAL.

I happen to be typing on the front steps of the auditorium.
Which, in my opinion, makes this post pretty damn special.
It's rather interesting how the day has progressed thus far. It has been tiring, as most days are, but I feel relatively secure in the scheme of things. Not in the mentality that life is solid and confidently accurate in my line of vision, but comfortable. I know that whatever is going on, whatever might be exploding around me, I'm oddly serene. Life will continue, people will progress, and so will the life I choose to lead.
I can take whatever is thrown at me, and, as I have said many times before, I welcome the opportunity to catch the metaphorical sphere of athleticism.

I'm glad that I still retain the ability to make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

UNTITLED POST.

ELEVEN.

You've grown accustomed to my face.
I wish it so.
Packing a suitcase that seems as temporary as it is finite.
I glance over, unaware and still presumptuous.
I wish it perpetually so, ritualistic as it is terrifying and wonderful.
Yours is the only face I shall ever let see me like this.
You will never cease to frighten me.
With so much more than I could ask of any other human beings.
I was serenely independent before we met.
Content is something merely to bargain with, for I had known nothing of this world.
Like breathing in and breathing out, in and out, out and in.
Your terse and cold glare that never ceases to soften every part of me.
The image that sits lumped in my throat, frightened of disappearing.
Never again may I be content with something less.
Accustomed, perhaps.
I pray it so.
For I've grown accustomed to yours, as well.

THANK YOU, THEATRE HISTORY I TEXTBOOK!

I was a patsy.
Actually, I, and several others who purchased books off of Half.com (A website which I still adore, mind you.) from a particular seller ("diablosd5", just in case you were wondering.) are all laying wait until we're able to file claims against someone who I will eloquently deem a "dickwad."
Hmm. Something less harsh.
Perhaps, "dork-face?"
Better. Much, much better.
That whole situation is hardly of consequence, however, and I'll probably get my money back as soon as I am able to complain officially to the gods of cheap books.

It's amazing how passive I can be about this. Until recently, I would have been yelling at my computer or shaking babies, or taking some sort of action that would adequately express my rage and frustration over said internet bull. But, the fact of the matter is that I am unequivocally exhausted, overly content with life thus far, and rearing for more petty excitement to fuel my day.

This weekend holds the promise of little rest, a bit of Departmental Proclamation via Campus Visit Day, and possibly, if I'm lucky, some pie.
Pie. Ha.
Chicken nuggets. Salad. Something appetizing.

Fear not, gentle soul. I remain the eternal fat kid.

POST NUMBER 700, BETCH.

Given my daily state of affairs, seven hundred posts in close to three years seems viable and responsible enough a catalog of my life thus far.
So, as an educated and mature response, I include this video.

Enjoy.

"A WAY BACK TO THEN."

In these trappings of evening that have left me feeling less and less human, and increasingly inconsequential as the minutes tick by, at least I have managed to find something that perpetuates my heart's relentless sigh.



What would I do without [title of show]?

HUGH THE FISH (SEPTEMBER 30TH, 2005- SEPTEMBER 12TH, 2006)

We had a nice long run together, Hugh.
You will be loved and missed.
Go blow bubbles in that big ocean in the sky, and I'll see you again someday.


Here's to you, my friend.

DANDY.

It is eternally comforting to know that I will always, without fail, contain the capacity to make a veritable buffoon of myself.
Endlessly thankful, I sit basking in the relatively impartial knowledge that regardless of my understanding of life thus far, I'm pretty much ready for whatever this humbling existence has to throw at me. I'm intentionally casting myself in the way of positivity and personal interaction, and I cannot be more thankful for the things and people it has allotted me in this short span of time.

I welcome tomorrow, and the next day.

BASICALLY, I'M DYING.

There have been moments, and, in fact, days of my life where I have felt better than I do right now.
Much better. Significantly better. Muy bueno. Tres bien.
(Neither of which are literal translations of anything.)

I am consistently drugged, and have been for the last forty-eight hours, all in hopes of recovering some sort of state of physical health or poise.
Not that I expect said attempts to help, but...

Wow. Tylenol PM is fun.
NyQuil is, too.
Kelley sleepy.

DEVOID.

What can I possibly force myself to say, and how can I humanly make sense of any situation that could approach me right now?
I am spinning in every legitmate and metaphorical realm, and I need my phone to start ringing at this very instant.
This place (emotionally speaking), in the purest of logical terms, is "doing me in."

INTENSE LEARNING AHEAD.

I've finally garnered a few moments to transcribe my thoughts, feelings, or even understandings of the past days.
And, of course, I'm absolutely clueless of what to say.
I am, as was expected, exhausted, but I'm also enjoying the company of some of my favorite people ever, and that, in itself, has left me buoyant and joyful enough to compensate for any discrepancies.

My preparation for speech (at this moment) consists of [title of show]-ing myself to death, playing a speed round of sudoku, and watching as roomie decorates her span of the pad. She made me coffee this morning, which was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me at ten AM. Thanks, roomie.

I am unbelievably thankful that today is Friday. Perhaps that shows a sign of weakness, seeing as we're roughly three days into the semester, but I'd like to think of it as a willingness to invigorate myself in preparation for the intense learning ahead.

Intense learning. Ha. That should be a contact sport, a la dodgeball.
Later.

WELL...

At this moment, to fathom practicality in a great depth of reflection is something even I am forced to scoff over.

The scholarly, back-to-chaos events of the past few days have been enough to compose lyrical banter upon witty trash-talks, and yet, I have sufficiently drained myself of the human will and eagerness required to present said treasures to the world at large.

I just moved in.
I'm exhausted.
I'll talk to you later, okay?

Thanks.

FAMILY MATTERS.

This evening- well, to be totally honest, merely the last twenty minutes of this evening- has left me nothing short of mind-numbingly conflicted. Looming in the horizon sat the reality I am now facing, with resolution on either of the two ends of the idiotic spectrum. Both colors of this metaphor are currently kindergarten-finger-smeared all over someone who, for many years reigning and even more to come, will remain a fixture of my life and its understanding forthwith. I've been left with no choice but to deem someone, a person I find a rather ingenuous mix of cosmic creativity and reverent logic, the ultimate doo-doo head.

With sheer brilliance must also come sheer moron-acy. Moron-itis. Moron-ness.

My point- why are smart people total and complete knuckle-sandwiches? With cheese? And why do the chips they come with never suit my at-the-moment tastes? Why not potato salad? Or vegetables on the side?

Why must these infernal banes of my existence always keep me craving for robust and more inviting expansions in their future, only to exhaust all my trust and succumb to the pressures of all things peer?
And why do I keep speaking of these things in multiples? Do I have more than one doo-doo head, finger-painted, metaphorical mess in my life right now?
No. Just the one. And I want to cut his adolescent little face off for being so careless.

It is very obviously one in the morning, and I am very obviously disappointed with someone I care about greatly.

Cue "perfect excuse to stop writing scathingly and play sudoku."
And...

Go.

RECUPERATION.

I certainly am one to recognize that it's been a few days since I arrived back from my trip, but, to be honest, I've fallen back into the realm of complete and utter exhaustion.
Something that, dare I be the first to say it, is not entirely productive towards human interaction.

Here is a tiny bit of photographic evidence of my exploits, more of which can be found via Facebook here and here.







If I was ambitious, I would post more. However, I simply don't see that being an option.
Word.

I'M IN A NEW YORK STATE OF MIND.

Gerard and I head out for PA and, in time, New York, at around 5:00 PM.
Which, dare I say it, is pretty damned exciting.

For the most part, I hope that this trip proves the veritable antithesis of my summer thus far: gripping, tactile, enamoring, exhilarating, and best yet, NEW YORK CITY.

[Editor's Note: Don't try to make sense of that statement. I will sing showtunes if you try to make sense out of it. Seriously. Don't dare me. I'll take you down.]

Whereas the rabid energy and relentless giddiness have yet to appear, I do have some sort of a nervous tension has situated itself in my gut, indicating nothing but poor diet and holistic planning. Or nervousness. Whatever.

To be brief (That which I am never, nor will ever be...), I'm ready to spend a week stalking theatrical marvels, singing like the utter geek I am, snapping memories quicker than I can take coinciding photographs, and loving the people I am with and without the best that I can.

This is my chance to be human again.
I am so out of here.

HA.

Ha.
Ha, ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.


I have The Mononucleosis.
Hence the perpetually crappy and formulaic existence.

Explanations are sweet like candy. Sweet, sweet candy.

FORTUNATE.

This is basically what my evening consisted of.


Luckily, my dinner was kind enough to make it all better for me.
Sort of.

"The cure for greif is motion."

I'll feel better tomorrow.
I have to.

"LIZ-ARD LICKS HIS EYE-BALL."

I'm frantically eager to write something this morning. Nothing of consequence, mind you, but something that I can at least validate as a stipend of my own thought, the dull inkling of mental capacity that I have stored up somewhere in my relatively snug cranium.

[Editor's Note: Ha. I just received a piece of spam with the subject title of "peepee growth." Also front-runners in the subject box were, "Screwme PLease" and "INTERIORDESIGNERYOUARENOW." Mind you, their titles was not nearly as grammatically correct or sound as the first, but I thought it was a meritous effort from all three nonetheless.]

Despite the fact that medicinal necessity has left me poked, prodded, and pining for blood this morning, I'm in a realistically sound mood. The prospect of my older brother visiting on Friday is a nice twist to scenario, as is the idea that I have a mere five days to wait until PA, New York City, and all the glorious things that go along with that: Michael Time, Gerard Time, etc. (Although similar in sound, I assure you that "Time" with these two men is vastly different in its content and disposition. In every essence of the word "different." Promise.)

I know that there are most certainly other factors accumulating to form my rather good-natured energy and positive force at the moment, I'm just not exactly sure what those factors have been spun of.

Also, and MOST DEFINITELY a factor of my recent mood, I've managed to catch Burt Bacharach's latest televised endeavors via the Geico commercial where he plays a little ditty about lizards licking eyeballs and getting rear-ended (Dirty!) and such. Contrary to popular belief, it basically validates my existence.



Alright.
I'm good.

I AM NOT POSTING FROM AFRICA.

Believe it or not, that is an issue I'm currently trying to battle through.
I am forced to demand of myself the sort of arrogance that allows me to deem this self-destructive tribute to my ambitions I call "summer break" as something less than the ultimate waste of my gifts as a human being.
Wordy.
I dictate thoughts on a rather infrequent basis as it is, but something inside of me deems it worthy.


I think I have the tendency to come across as an ass. I'm not considering the idea that I genuinely am an ass, simply because I realize that it's so finite in my mind that it can't even be an option worth consideration. But something in me, the part that demands me to make something more of this miraculous time (for, in honesty, that's all that time can be) begs me to fight for life that doesn't leave me lonely and, well, ass-like in disposition and character.
I don't know how successful I'm ever going to be in that particular exploit.
But, I suppose it doesn't really matter.


I'm just going to do my god-damned best.
I think that has to be good enough.

THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY.

Thank you, Fox News, for retaining your title as complete and utter sucker-faced-idiots.

My hysteria, as tame as it might be, stems directly from the fact that the conservative news channel "edited" some of Congressman Robert Wexler's responses to Stephen Colbert on The Colbert Report so as to portray him in a relatively negative and immoral light, versus the entirely comic one that Colbert set out to portray on his program.

Instead of the commentary of others, I've chosen simply to place the full and aired question and answer session with Wexler, which proves to be far more humorous and intelligent than the animalistic frenzy might have you believe.



The true and genuine beauty of the entire situation is the mere fact that what Fox News accomplished was EXACTLY (I'm sure) what Colbert hoped would happen. They fell right into his witty, liberal clutches.

And, on that note, thank you perpetually, Stephen Colbert, for being the greatest human being alive.

INCAPACITATED.

I have experienced some of the most legitimately enlightening moments of thought-provoking discussion ever this evening.
I am also blitzed beyond recognition.
I welcome the diversity.

SOUBRETTE.

While it is most definitely a bonus to be back in St. Augustine, a part of me feels relatively isolated from everything going on.
The exposition:
I spent an entirely enjoyable evening with three of my favorite individuals, and everything was genuinely dandy: we ordered non-alcoholic beverages with less-than-deliriously funny names, attempted to foam-proof a dishwasher, and discussed more than enough random topics to keep me entertained. All, to say the least, accumulating to a lovely welcome home.
The thought-provoking jargon:
I am, however, torn in my realistic face-value. That is to say that I'm not sure where I fit into the scheme of things. Not that I am an entirely disposable entity, but a part of me has to wonder just where my importance as a human being can possibly come into play, and just who as an individual could reasonably value my company.
The resolution:
That said, a good night's worth of sleep and recuperation from our travels will certainly lend itself to an immense amount of fun in the coming days- I just need to let it amount to that.
Regardless, I daresay I will always feel like the sidekick.
The titular tie-in:
Soubrette. Enough said.

THIS IS HARDLY PUZZLING.

I woke up from my nap about twenty minutes ago, and my parents were working on the crossword.
My big contribution to the whole thing was when my dad off-handedly mentioned "Freudian subject, six letters."

I screamed out "libido" before I knew what was going on.



It was pretty damn awkward.

VERONICA TALK.

"She said 'interections.' Oh, my God, she just said 'interections.'"

All I can say is, three more days.

I JUST VOTED FOR JOSH BLUE. SWEET.

That was, basically, the happiest moment of my life.

"Hi. This is Josh Blue, and you've made the right decision. Thanks for voting for me!"

Besides the fact that it was unbelievably freakish to hear his voice pick up on the other end (and because I thought he would tell me that I'm going to hell for my pity vote), that was dandy.

BLATANT SIGNS OF WHAT IS CLEARLY MINOR DEPRESSION AND/OR INSANITY.

1. Stopping to yell at passer-bys in Kmart.
2. Spending an entire day making posters for a production I would rather vomit all over than waste productive funding on.
3. Making faces with my family members whilst "talking" on the phone with a loathed human being for over two god-forsaken hours.
4. Sobbing all throughout Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.
5. Running into the kitchen to disguise said sobbing as a craving for perogies.
6. Savoring the five minute drive it takes to get from Home Of Doom to the very edge of the city of Dunedin.
7. Bidding on seventeen new cellular telephones via eBay, and purchasing none.
8. Stopping to yell at passer-bys in CVS.
9. And in Target.
10. Sam's Club.
11. Publix.
12. Basically, any time I get to stop and yell at passing individuals should be accounted for at this junction.
13. Ruining a favorite outfit with the keen utilization of White-Out.
14. Calling someone's number four times to no avail in the course of one afternoon.
15. Cramming every multivitamin into my daily regime that is humanly possible, and some that are not.
16. Sleeping for far less time than I work.
17. Contemplating considerable pain and suffering.
18. Recognizing my immunities.
19. Hurting.
20. A lot.
21. Going to sleep, expecting a change once awoken.
22. Going to sleep, knowing that change is bound to happen.
23. Sleeping.

TALK AMONGST YOURSELVES.

Finally, the first week of my child-care hell has come to an end.
I have to admit, the most enticing part of this weekend is the mere fact that I have no designated hour to awaken in the morning.
Brilliant planning on my part, primarily, followed closely by a generic dispatch of Tylenol PM.
Ha. Drugs. How funny when taken out of context!
Continuing...
I daresay I'm lacking most cognitive function whilst typing, but never shall come the day when a lack of cognition would halt my communication.
Except it would. Especially in circumstances such as this.

Hmm. My words aren't making sense to me, even in my heightened state of babbling. That must indicate something. But what, exactly?
What, indeed.

I will have amassed a reasonable amount of funding come the conclusion of next Friday's festivities, and that, dear self, is enough to allow for the thorough enjoyment of a night of incapacitated exhaustion. I have done my best to remain healthy thus far, but now, it is all up to miraculous chemicals to ease my brain on down the road.
So to speak.
Like I said, "delirious."

Actually, I don't think I ever called myself delirious.
Huh. I'm mentally jumping the proverbial gun.
Effing sweet.

[Editor's Note: Mentally, and for the sake of everyone who couldn't possibly care less, I must also note that New York, S-Man, and Boyfriend Time come in less than a month. I could not possibly be more ecstatic. Unless I get a pony sometime in the next few weeks. I might boycott joy for a pony. But only as long as it has spots. Simply put, "make it so, Number One."]

"WE'VE BOOKED PASSAGE FOR FOUR ON THE TIDEWATER MAJESTY."

Maybe not, but I have my plane ticket.
And, right now, that is the single greatest thought roaming through my mind.
Regardless of how this "camp" atmosphere works, regardless of whether I have the adequate training or am forced to merely throw their crap together, I am happy.
And I am happy because I know that less from a month from now, I will be in his arms.
Like I said, "happy."
It's a good thing.
I should remind myself to try it once in a while.

WONKETTE IS MY CONDI-BASHING REFUGE.

I am only moderately joking. Wonkette has been my eternal source for happiness and guidance in the last few days, and I have no better way to pledge my love than to shamelessly plug them over and over again.

CHENEY TOTALLY DOESN'T GET CONDI 'N' CHERTOFF'S INSIDE JOKES.

Yeah. They're making fun of him.

"COMPROMISED."

After last night's festivities, I have the greatest honor of knowing that I have honest individuals around me who care enough to protect me in some varied way, shape, or form. Even if protecting me means letting me make a teensy fool of myself.
I have to admit, it was one of the best nights I have had in a long, long time.
Gracious Theatrical God On High, I swear to refrain from further lushy-ness.
Promise.

THE FOURTH OF JULY, TWO THOUSAND AND SIX.

Let this be an indication of my evening:


Ha.

"BETRAYED," CRIES NATHAN LANE. OH, AND MYSELF.

There were opportune moments in my life thus far when I have felt compelled to use the term "screwed over."
Never before has that terminology proven such an accurate depiction of my being:

My mental health is in absolute shambles, pending the idea that I had any sort of coveted "mental health" to begin with.
Emotionally speaking, I might as well be silent.
The few, remote entities that I desire any remote connection with are either too far away to bestow it upon such as myself (hence "remote"), or, as of late, rather unworthy of my time.
Oh, and I think I might have killed my mother's cat in an indirect fashion.

Needless to say, this has been slightly less entertaining or productive an evening than I might have hoped. Desired. Envisioned.
A veritable catastrophe, as it were.

Ta-da! Welcome to Hell, Miss Smith! May I take your coat? Excess baggage? Promises you don't intend to keep? Unrequited adoration? Hopeless fantasies?

To quote myself in a conversation from last evening that has already had the privilege of being made quite painfully public on its own accord:

I have reciprocation issues, I think.

WATCH WHILE I OVERDOSE ON COMMERCIALISM.

Or, listen. Your choice.

I decided to drop more cash than I probably have to spend (one of the vain advantages to my summer with the "rents") on the musical ditties and reasonably-notorious garments I've yet to purchase for my own exceedingly witty pleasure. Here's a taste:
The local library was kind enough to let me "borrow" (Read: "borrow") Starlight Express and the famously delightful Smokey Joe's Cafe. Starlight is really just so that I can laugh for a few hours, but as a result of the aneurysm-inducing sluggishness I've experienced in past weeks, I have decidedly earned said laughter.
Barnes and Noble bombarded me (entirely against my will, I assure you) with sale prices galore. I had no choice but to bring home the ever-scrumptious Stephen Lynch and The Wedding Singer ensemble at large. And, dare I say it, the score is absolutely adorable. I was enduringly unreceptive to the mildly-recognized show at first, but the music itself is leading me towards proverbial "wedded bliss." Damn you, quirky 80's spunk.
And if one were to hypothisize that three cast albums were suitable for a single day, they would be wrong. And stupid. The Drowsy Chaperone left with me, and whereas its outlook was slightly less fertile than Wedding Singer, perhaps it, too, will shoot me out of a cannon and gliding into a cheese-like moon. Of cheese. Because Drowsy Chaperone will be nothing but pure Velveeta.


See? Proof positive.

[Editor's Note: iTunes has just guided me through my first complete Wedding Singer experience, and I might as well give up the grudge against humanity at large and stand outside of TKTS to get inexpensive loser seating for this painfully enduring production. Ugh. It's so cute.]

Also on the list of needless items I now own is a delicate, tasteful shirt that productively declares, "I blogged your mom." Like I said, delightfully tasteful.
And, in accordance with nerdly statutes everywhere, I will gracefully proclaim the glory of Samberg and Parnell, "Double True!"

It might be reasonably impossible for me to be much more awesome. Except for the fact that no brilliantly-minded individual in the universe would agree.
Ha. Geniuses. What do they know?

THE WAITING GAME.

This week shall consist of dramatic immersion (Read: Script Scouring), job interviews, and working my rear off in hopes of launching a successful "Drama Camp" for the Palm Harbor YMCA.
Needless to say, I am more than eager to find myself employed and busy. The days cannot pass by any more quickly, I assure one and all.
Sleep. I need sleep.
I need painkillers, too, but sleep is much less expensive, I've found.

Fierce.

THIS IS WHY I GO TO A CHIROPRACTOR.

I managed to practically adjust my own back via laughter while I was told this story.
In the words of Dr. McCutcheon, "you can't make crap like that up."

BUENOS AIRES - A dog that fell from a 13th-floor balcony Friday night triggered three deaths in central Buenos Aires, police and witnesses said. The dog, a poodle named Cachi, hit 75-year-old Marta Espina on the head, and both the woman and the dog died instantly, a police officer said. Edith Sola, 46, was knocked down by a bus while standing in the middle of the street at the edge of a crowd that had gathered to watch the scene, police said. And an unidentified man who saw both incidents suffered a heart attack and died in the ambulance on his way to hospital. It was not immediately clear why the dog fell.

Thank you, oh, God, thank you St. Petersburg Times Archives.

AND I AM TELLING YOU...

...I feel so very insignificant.



And I think Jennifer Holliday is the only human being that can make that an okay thing.

[Editor's Note: The only possible thing I can say is "thank you, You Tube, for rectifying so much of my musical obsession." Finally, the one place on earth I can find forgotten Tony performances. The internet is for theatre.]

LIBRARY MUSICAL.

Just when I think that life is lacking purpose, I find something as ingeniously wonderful as this.
And, luckily for us, there is a sequel to this brilliance.
Praise Prangstgrüp.

MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY.

It's always amazing to me how a single day can prove so entirely inconsequential. Stitting in my mother's car this evening, I found myself pondering over and over again exactly what words I could possibly synthesize to make sense of my overwhelmed persona and introspective hell.
Ironically enough, I've come to discover yesterday's entry.
After twenty-four hours, absolutely nothing in my life has changed.
How remarkably pathetic.

SHE CRIES.

There are moments when I despise life for appearing in such black and white terms: stark observations of exactly what, where, how, and why things are happening. Perhaps it isn't life's fault for these conditional settings. Maybe my own mind has deemed them necessary, and treats them as definitive requirements for happy and successful life.
I wish I could abolish those terms more than anything else I've ever wished before. They have set the conventional standard for my livelihood, and now, without them, I am forced to set a halt to all progression, expression, and vivacious living.
Of these parameters sits one of great paramount, of ever-desirable consequence: love. I have finally reached the point of love in my life where these guidelines abolish any prosperity without said object of adoration. In that sense, every moment I face without that emotional-keystone is one in which my conscience deems lacking, or, along that same line of thought, incomplete. I am, so to speak, invalidly functioning without this new, learned composition of my personality.
Effing tears.

[Editor's Note: Where would I be without A Mighty Wind? This movie is the only thing that's gotten me through the last few days. Christopher Guest is my homeboy.]

LIFE IS SO FREAKING GOOD.

Official IMDB listing for Kelley L. Smith.

Here's hoping that I get to add some actual credits to it someday.

Ha.

"LOCH NESS IMPOSTER."

I just indulged in my t-shirt fancy and found this beauty via Threadless.



How sweet it is.

WELCOME, RUFUS HARVEY BRANAGH.

Yep. Mom bought me an iDog.
He's unbearably adorable.
You'll just have to deal with it, Haters.

HEARTLESS? LET'S TRY "CALCULATED."

Why is it that I am so quick to deem myself inferior when someone comes my way with a problem or difficulty that I simply can't emotionally relate to? What is it about me that forces some sort of hedonistic inadequacy into my system, bent on guilting me for all eternity, merely because I do not fall prey to an emotionally distraught plane over one singular occurrence that, surely, will not be the end of the universe, nor anything that will prove mortal or disfiguring? Do I have any sympathy left in this cold, hardened shell? Do I even care enough to continue asking that question?

The world may never know.

TONY, TONY, TONY, TONY, TONY...

The Play-By-Play(-By-Musical) That No One Wants To Read:

1. Harry Connick, Jr. looks like an addict. Scary. Give us an actor, please.
2. DAVID HYDE-PIERCE!!!!!
3. Kera Sedgwick and Josh Lucas are stars? I'm confused.
4. Please, let Barnet win.
5. He's really hot.
6. Ooh. So is Gleason.
7. Tight category. Very good looking men. Who gets it?
8. Ian. Gotcha.
9. Oh, Frank Langella. If you weren't so damn mean in Dave, we would still love you.
10. Shut up, Rogue.
11. Francis de la Tour is my pick. Please, let the crazy woman win.
12. Yay!
13. I calls 'em like I sees 'em.
14. Be-otches.
15. Joe Pesci? Ha.
16. The pre-show mentioned commercial expertise. I am so not impressed. Except for the fact that it was totally Michael Hitchcock ducking from the rain. Hot.
17. "Let's not wait until we sit through another crappy commercial!"
18. The New Adventures Of Old Christine looks like yet another CBS show I will not be watching. Thanks, Network Television!
19. Jane, I don't really like you. But Michael Jeter is my favorite dead man in the universe. Good God, he was amazing.
20. Chita. Oh, Chita.
21. Bob Fosse said "Dance expresses joy better than anything else." Except, I think, the bald, joy-filled, and gleeful face on Casey Nicholaw right before Kathleen Marshall stole away his category.
22. Stop talking, Kathleen.
23. All of these Great Quotes In Tony Winning History are killing me. Give me awkward scripting or give me death, American Theatre Wing!
24. "Stupendous." That just made my night.
25. Oh, Drowsy Chaperone. "Show-off"! Thank GOD!
26. Sutton rocks my proverbial socks.
27. She is easily my favorite female in Musical Theatre right now. Gorgeous, cute, talented, lovely, and engaged to the cutest male nerd in theatrical history.
28. This show is boring me, I'm afraid. It's perfect star-vehicle for Sutton, but other than that...
29. I just love her. That's all there is to it.
30. AND THEY FLASHED CHRISTIAN RIGHT AT THE LAST MOMENT, LOOKING ALL CUTE AND PROUD! GAH! CBS! THEY'RE SO DAMN CUTE.
31. I think I can restrain myself, A Chorus Line commercial. Same with Mary Poppins, you silly network advertisements!
32. "I promise to be a rat dog." Nice one, Cesar.
33. AIM away message reads, "Watching the Tonys. Interrupt me and die."
34. Oh, Paul Rudd. You can't read. And you "need Lasik." How endearing.
35. "I really do need that surgery." If you have to admit it on national television, then, yes, you do. Good thing they included it in the gift bags.
36. Um. A win for Drowsy Chaperone. Hmm. Don't expect that to win. "Literally."
37. "Deported back to Canada." I love them.
38. Barbara Cook. You're so colorful.
39. And Paul Shaffer. You're so bald.
40. Ha. Lloyd Webber certainly didn't show up for Woman In White. Do I blame him? No.
41. Drowsy Chaperone?! Are you as wonderful as the Tony Voters would have me believe? Only an album release will convince me.
42. JOANNE! I MISSED YOU! And NEIL! Yay!
43. SWEENEY! Now everyone will see why I loved it so much. Ha.
44. THE OPENING!!!! AHHHHH!!!!!!!
45. And "The Worst Pies In London." It is so my night.
46. This has got to be the most amazing Tony Performance Concoction EVER.
47. I have to go take a shower. Because, I mean, CHRIST: THAT WAS HOT.
48. The Lion King. Right. This has to be the first year of constant show ads. I'm Lovin' It. And now, I owe McDonald's money.
49. Why haven't I been watching How I Met Your Mother?
50. Oh, Liza. What a crazy.
51. Rosie, you drive me insane. And not because I like you.
52. "The Year In Plays!"
53. Hank and Oliver- Hottest Character Actors.
54. And John Doyle must win.
55. And...He does. Good.
56. And...He gives an honest, admirable speech. Sweet.
57. Jersey Boys introducing Jersey Boys. Loves it.
58. John Lloyd Young, may I jump you, please?
59. Oh, Jersey Boys. You are my Four Seasons of Wonderful-ness. If it doesn't win Best Musical, I will cry.
60. Who loves you, pretty baby? I do. Yep.
61. Mandy Patinkin can Crestor my blood pressure any time.
62. Broadway Across America is trying to get the family vote. Freaking Conservatives.
63. HARVEY!!! "A gay man's work is never done." He is my favorite. Seriously.
64. Angela Lansbury. My dearest.
65. "One Day More". And "And I Am Telling You". Basically amazing.
66. Mary Lane! I mean, Kristen Bell! How cute is she? She thinks that this guy is so damn freaky. And rightly so.
67. You might as well be buried, Hal Holbreck. But you're still amazing.
68. Awake And Sing. Okay.
69. Molly Ringwald has big eyes. And is probably insane. Because I say so.
70. "Your Wedding Day". The only good number in the show. I love life.
71. Stephen Lynch, I will have you.
72. Seriously, I heard this number months ago, and I knew then that it would be the only good song. And of course, I was correct. At least it's fun. And it sounds great. The only song that does, but still.
73. Jimmy Woods! I will watch your crappy CBS show, but only because you were Hades at one point in your career. That takes balls.
74. Ha. Broderick. He's like, ten.
75. Hooray for Simon Beale! Christopher Seiber! I missed you! Oh, Spamalot was such a fun show. But they really need to stop inviting the former Musical winners to talk about the American Theatre Wing. It's just kind of sad.
76. Sara is wonderfully large. And he (T-something) makes my life, but only because he's so wonderfully comic.
77. Drowsy Chaperone is driving me crazy this evening. It has to be better than that number, because this is insane.
78. "EAHhHh." She just gave the greatest speech ever.
79. Jim and Anna make me the happiest little theatrical geek alive.
80. Alan Cumming. You are so gay. And I am okay with that.
81. Cyndi Lauper, your voice is gone. I'm sorry. But, I thought you should know.
82. This number may very well be as boring as the thought of Alan Cumming kissing a woman. Ha! It just happened! I am a genius.
83. And now he's kissing a man. Much better.
84. Oh, please, Gods Of Television, give me another A Chorus Line commercial. What?! Huzzah! It worked!
85. We're already half-way through and I've only screamed once or twice. Talk about your uneventful Tony Award Ceremony.
86. Here's the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center season: Monty Python's Spamalot, The 25th Annual Putnum County Spelling Bee, On Golden Pond, The Light In The Piazza, Doubt, and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Who, may I ask, slept with the entire American Theatre Wing to get that schedule?
87. Here's hoping that The History Boys takes home the Tony.
88. Wait. "Murder over cat"? How did Stanley Tucci get through that with a straight face?
89. Oh, return of The Dioramas!
90. "A Republican puppet. That rings a bell." Hooray for Christine Ebersol and the best line of the evening.
91. "The lights, the costumes, Alan Cuming...Call me!" Rod, you will forever be a presenter, won't you?
92. Christian Hoff?! I am so excited for him, but what the crap!? YAY!!!
93. Score one for my Jersey Boys.
94. Brian Stokes Mitchell: My Man of La Mancha. And hottness.
95. That was the greatest Hal Prince no-named-actor-stand-in-montage ever.
96. And, of course, we have to sit through "Music of the Night." Why God, why? Not really- he's good. Ooh. Really good.
97. DREAMGIRLS PREVIEW!!! Ugh. My life just got so much better. I've been waiting for that teaser for at least a year. Happy Kelley.
98. Ben Vereen...Why do I not see you more often?
99. "Ahh! What joy!" Ha! So, they DID give out a "replacement Tony" this year.
100. She's such a cute old lady. I have to become her best friend.
101. WHAT?! Cynthia Nixon! That's the second big steal of the evening. Wow. That's all I can say.
102. I love me some really tanned Tyne Daly.
103. Cynthia Nixon is a cute theatre junkie. And I think I like her.
104. Not like that.
105. Julia, stop sucking up because nobody likes you. Now.
106. Richard! Hooray! Now little kids will have an excuse to love you. Well, any kids that watch the Tony Awards. So, really, little kids will still hate you. Sorry. But I love you.
107. Griffiths is the funniest man alive. Thank God I'm taping this ceremony.
108. McKean! I love you oh-so-much!
109. But I hate The Pajama Game. How much can they slide those octives? Eww.
110. Yes, we know he plays the piano. Wow. Big Whoop.
111. He is most definitely an addict. I mean, look at him. Jeez.
112. "Ole!" No, "olay," as in, "Oil Of Olay." Something Harry might want to look into if he wants to destroy those bags under his eyes.
113. There is no business like show business, CBS. Advertisers, you might want to remember that.
114. The Color Purple is the only number yet to perform. Let's hope that LaChanze blows us away. She should. I don't have any doubts.
115. Groucho. You ham.
116. Norbert! Victoria! I saw you at a bus stop! No, not you, Norbert.
117. Ha. I watched the early show. So, there. I was at the clam-bake.
118. Costume Designers looked pretty scary tonight. Hmm.
119. Jonathan Pryce is my choice for Never-Ending-Love-Affair.
120. PAJAMA GAME? What kind of crap is that?! Sweeney Todd was horribly robbed. I wonder if Roundabout has it rigged by now?
121. Alfrie comes out to make us sad about death. This will be heartfelt, I'm sure.
122. James Earl Jones is the greatest actor ever. Honestly. He's unbelievable.
123. Oh, but they forget to mention that August Wilson didn't like white people very much. Something about "racism," if I remember correctly. He would have cut Cynthia Nixon. Cut her with a spoon. And Alfrie would have laughed.
124. SO MANY DEAD PEOPLE. My goodness. I am saddened.
125. DAVID. I would have your logical, dead-pan children.
126. Yay for The History Boys!
127. Oprah and her shimmery dress are only relatively captivating. But, I must admit, she's the most compelling announcer thus far.
128. "Hell no." Damn, she's unbelievable. Yep, The Color Purple is going to win. Sorry, Jersey Boys.
129. Bernadette...GROSS!
130. My father says that I have to say just how much I hate Bernadette Peters. And so, I will. I hate her a lot.
131. Glen Close has guns.
132. YAYAYAYAY! John Lloyd Young! I love you! Yay for winning! You're amazing! Please, let me jump on you.
133. This is the greatest acceptance speech ever. He makes me so happy.
134. Bernadette is...Ugh. Let's just hope that Patti wins.
135. LaChanze. Okay. I can deal with that. Ooh, standing ovation, too. Loves it.
136. Oh, Julie Andrews! Must we wait through commercials to see your shining face?
137. Wow. A whole ceremony without Nathan. I think I might cry.
138. Yay! Julie! She's so red!
139. "Oh! Those dear boys have lost her talent!" How much do I love Mary Martin?
140. JERSEY BOYS TOOK IT! YES! HAZAAH! THAT MAKES MY LIFE! Oh, life is good!
141. And we get another shot of the gorgeous Lloyd Young. Mmm.
142. Christian Hoff, I love you, too. You don't have to say it.
143. Oh, Oprah is going to cut a bitch. Cynthia Nixon- watch out.
144. American Theatre Wing, if you've learned anything tonight, it is obviously that you need a host to keep my focus. Hell, I'll even deal with Jackman. Just make it cohesive. Love, Kelley.

That will do it, darlings. To steal from the darling Julie Andrews, "until next year."

THE 60TH ANNUAL TONY AWARDS: CELEBRATING EXCELLENCE ON BROADWAY.

Aww. My favorite day of the year.



Luckily for me, festivities will begin somewhere around 6:00PM this evening, providing me with at least five hours of theatrical oggling and giddy, rambunctious excitement.
Tonight, only gay men and divas hold my interest, and those who fall somewhere in-between will be forced to fight for the honor. This is the one evening every year where I can yell at my television screen because Hugh Jackman is simply not flamboyant enough (Ha! I kid!), condemn Bernadette Peters for her infernal ability to convince others that she's talented, drool every time Nathan Lane appears onscreen, and, in a nutshell, admit to my couch and other living room furniture just how many psychological issues I face on a daily basis.

Like I said, my favorite day of the year.

Tune into CBS at 8:00PM for the fruity, flaming, fantabulous fun.
(Alliteration kicks ass, be-otches. Deal.)

CRAP.

I can already tell that this is going to be a rough day.



So lonely.

SMILE.

This made my heart soar.
Eternal Love to Post Secret.

LIFE IS PANDEMONIUM.

Ugh.
Ignore, if you can, the blatant insanity of my earlier post. I am, dare I say it, starved for human attention at this point, leaving me with nothing but my iPod and a laptop just daring me to type up whacky Excel files for all the world to witness.
It has been a rather harrowing few weeks.
Would that someone, anyone, come to my rescue. But, alas.
Freaking poetic tone.

THIS IS NOT PATHETIC, RIGHT?

I found some illegitimate joke of a survey demanding to know the extent of my musical knowledge. Needless to say, I kicked its sorry quizzical ass into the gutter, and comprised my own, relatively comprehensive, list of all the musicals I happen to know.

Yes. This is how I spend my Friday afternoons.
Deal.

1776
70, Girls, 70
110 In The Shade
42nd Street
A Chorus Line
A Class Act
A Day In Hollywood/A Night In The Ukraine
A Doll's Life
A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum
A Grand Night For Singing
A Hand Is On The Gate
A Joyful Noise
A Little Night Music
A New Brain
A Year With Frog And Toad
A, My Name Is Alice
Aida
Ain't Misbehavin'
Ain't Supposed To Die A Natural Death
All American
All Shook Up
Allegro
Altar Boyz
Amen Corner
Amour
Angel
Angel In The Wings
Anna Karenina
Annie Get Your Gun
Anything Goes
Applause
Aspects Of Love
Assassins
Avenue Q
Baby
Ballroom
Bajour
Baker Street
Bare
Barnum
Bat Boy
Beauty And The Beast
Bells Are Ringing
Big
Big Deal
Big River
Black And Blue
Blast
Blood Brothers
Blues In The Night
Bombay Dreams
Bounce
Boys From Syracuse
Brigadoon
Bring Back Birdie
Bring In 'Da Noise/Bring In 'Da Funk
Brooklyn
Bubbling Brown Sugar
Buddy
By Jeeves
Bye, Bye Birdie
Cabaret
Camelot
Can-Can
Candide
Canterbury Tales
Carnival
Carnival In Flanders
Caroline, Or Change
Carousel
Carrie
Catch A Star
Cats
Chess
Chicago
Children Of Eden
Chita Rivera: The Dancer's Life
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Chronicle Of A Death Foretold
Cinderella
City Of Angels
Coco
Comin' Uptown
Company
Contact
Copacabana
Cradle Will Rock
Crazy For You
Cry For Us All
Cyrano
Dames At Sea
Damn Yankees
Dance Of The Vampires
Dancin'
Darling Of The Day
Das Barbecu
Dear World
Destry Rides Again
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Do Re Mi
Do I Hear A Waltz?
Doctor Jazz
Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope
Doonesbury
Dracula
Dreamgirls
Eating Raoul
Elegies
Enter The Guardsmen
Eubie
Evening Primrose
Evita
Falsettoland
Fame
Fanny
Fiddler On The Roof
Finian's Rainbow
Fiorello!
Five Guys Named Moe
Flora And The Red Menace
Flower Drum Song
Follies
Footloose
Forever Plaid
Forever Tango
Fosse
Foxy
From The Second City
Funny Girl
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
George M!
Georgy
Gigi
Godspell
Golden Boy
Goldilocks
Good Vibrations
Goodtime Charley
Grand Hotel
Grease
Grind
Guys And Dolls
Gypsy
Hair
Hairspray
Half A Sixpence
Hallelujah, Baby!
Happy End
Hazel Flagg
Hedwig And The Angry Inch
Hello, Dolly
Henry, Sweet Henry
High Society
High Spirits
Honk!
Hot Feet
How Now, Dow Jones
How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying
I Can Get It For You Wholesale
I Do! I Do!
I Had A Ball
I Love My Wife
I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change
I Remember Mama
Illya, Darling
In My Life
Inner City
Into The Woods
Irene
Irma La Douce
It Ain't Nothin' But The Blues
Jamaica
James Joyce's The Dead
Jane Eyre
Jekyll And Hyde
Jelly's Last Jam
Jerome Kern Goes to Hollywood
Jerome Robbins' Broadway
Jerry Springer: The Opera
Jerry's Girls
Jersey Boys
Jesus Christ Superstar
Jon And Jen
Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
Juan Darien
Kean
King Of Hearts
Kismet
Kiss Me, Kate
Kiss Of The Spiderwoman
La Boheme
La Cage Aux Folles
La Plume De Ma Tante
Leader Of The Pack
Legs Diamond
Lennon
Les Miserables
Lestat
Let Em' Eat Cake
Little Me
Little Women
Loot
Loreli
Lost In The Stars
Love Life
Lovely Ladies, Kind Gentleman
Lucky Stiff
Mack and Mabel
Maggie Flynn
Mama Mia
Mame
Man Of La Mancha
March Of The Falsettos
Marie Christine
Marlene
Marlowe
Martin Guerre
Mary Poppins
Me And Juliet
Me And My Girl
Meet Me In St. Louis
Merlin
Merrily We Roll Along
Milk And Honey
Miss Saigon
Moby Dick
Monty Python's Spamalot
Movin' Out
Mr. President
My Fair Lady
My Favorite Year
My Old Friends
My One And Only
Naked Boys Singing
Never Gonna Dance
New Girl In Town
News
Nick And Nora
Nine
No Strings
No, No, Nanette
Nunsense
Nunsense 2: The Sequel
Of Thee I Sing
Oh, Captain!
Oh, Coward!
Oh, Kay!
Oh, What A Lovely War
Oklahoma!
Oliver!
On A Clear Day You Can See Forever
On The Town
On The Twentieth Century
On Your Toes
Once On This Island
Once Upon A Mattress
Over Here!
Pacific Overtures
Pal Joey
Parade
Passion
Peter Pan
Phantom
Phoenix '55
Pickwick
Pipe Dream
Pippin
Platinum
Play On
Porgy And Bess
Promises, Promises
Pump Boys and Dinettes
Purlie
Quilters
Ragtime
Rags
Raisin
Redhead
Reefer Madness
RENT
Ring Of Fire
Riverdance
Romance/Romance
Rumple
Runaways
Ruthless
Sail Away
Sarafina!
Sarava
Saturday Night
Saturday Night Fever
Scrooge
Seesaw
Seussical The Musical
Seven Brides For Seven Brothers
She Loves Me
Shelter
Shenandoah
Shogun: The Musical
Show Girl
Showboat
Side By Side By Sondheim
Sideshow
Singin' In The Rain
Skyscraper
Smile
Smokey Joe's Cafe
Snoopy
Song And Dance
Songs For A New World
Sophisticated Ladies
South Pacific
Souvenir
Starlight Express
Starmites
State Fair
Steel Pier
Stomp
Stop The World- I Want To Get Off
Subways Are For Sleeping
Sugar
Sugar Babies
Sunday In The Park With George
Sunset Boulevard
Superman
Swan Lake
Sweeney Todd
Sweet Charity
Sweet Smell Of Success
Swing
Swinging On A Star
Taboo
Take Me Along
Tango Argentino
Tarzan
Teddy And Alice
Tenderloin
The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
The Act
The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer
The Apple Tree
The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public
The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas
The Boy Friend
The Boy From Oz
The Civil War
The Color Purple
The Drowsy Chaperone
The Fantasticks
The Fig Leaves Are Falling
The Frogs
The Full Monty
The Gay Life
The Gift
The Girl Who Came To Supper
The Goodbye Girl
The Grand Music Hall Of Israel
The Grand Tour
The Great American Trailer Park Musical
The Happy Time
The High Rollers Social And Pleasure Club
The King And I
The Last Five Years
The Lieutenant
The Light In The Piazza
The Lion King
The Me Nobody Knows
The Merry Widow
The Mikado
The Most Happy Fella
The Music Man
The Mystery Of Edwin Drood
The Night That Made America Famous
The Pajama Game
The Phantom Of The Opera
The Pirates Of Penzance
The Producers
The Rink
The Roar Of The Greasepaint - The Smell Of The Crowd
The Robber Bridegroom
The Rocky Horror Show
The Rothschilds
The Scarlet Pimpernel
The Secret Garden
The Sound Of Music
The Tap Dance Kid
The Threepenny Opera
The Unsinkable Molly Brown
The Vamp
The Wedding Singer
The Who's Tommy
The Wild Party
The Wild Party
The Will Rogers Follies
The Witches Of Eastwick
The Wiz
The Wizard Of Oz
The Woman In White
They're Playing Our Song
Thoroughly Modern Millie
Thou Shalt Not
Tick, Tick...BOOM!
Timbuktu!
Tintypes
Titanic
Top Banana
Tovarich
Triumph Of Love
Two Gentlemen Of Verona
Two If By Sea
Uptown…It's Hot!
Urban Cowboy
Urinetown
Very Good Eddie
Victor/Victoria
Walking Happy
West Side Story
What Makes Sammy Run
Where's Charley?
Whistle Down The Wind
Whoop-Up
Wicked
Wish You Were Here
Woman Of The Year
Wonderful Town
Working
You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown
Your Arm's Too Short To Box With God
Zanna, Don't!
Ziegfeld Follies
Zorba

[Editor's Note: This is not the end-all or be-all of lists. I'm adding to it as the day continues, as a matter of fact. If you want to find some sort of realistic and comprehensive listing of musicals, take a gander at Musicals 101. They have, by far, one of the most thorough and complete lists of shows in the musical theatre realm, and far beyond that of the Internet Broadway Database, if not merely for the fact that 101 caters to international theatre.]

PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE RAMPANT POSTING.

If I can manage one blog, why not a second?

Actually, it seems reasonable for me to double-post my entries whenever I have the opportunity, so, hopefully they will begin to show up both at the LiveJournal account and, as always, here at my best friend, Blogger.

It's summer.
I'm bored.
Give me a break.

GROUNDHOG DAY.

After a day in absolute pain and dissolution, I sat down this evening to watch "Groundhog Day" for the first time in years. I have to acknowledge Andrea, as she was completely and infinitely correct: it's one of Bill Murray's greatest performances, not to mention one of my favorite movies. In the realm of redemption, it's one of the few plots essentially conveyed with enough taste and enthusiasm to leave me with a resolute feeling of possibility and hopeless romanticism. In this very instant, I'm convinced that I'll wake up tomorrow facing the same issues I dealt with already, plotting merely to tie up all loose ends before the clock strikes six in the morning.
Ridiculous? Yes.
But, honestly, how wonderful is the thought that life is set before us with no determining factors except for the underlying hope that we will bring definitive good to those around us, and will work for the betterment of their lives in order for ours, ultimately, to succeed. I want to fight unceasingly for those surrounding me, not because of what they will provide me with if I do so, but entirely for their own good, and the mere fact that taking care of others is, essentially, the only "right" thing to do.
There is a legitimate surge within me to take action and do for others what I might otherwise deem as an unfortunate waste of my time. How odd that these thoughts are evoked via the medium of film, and one with a helm of downright absurdity at that! Genuinely, I am left with this cynically-diminished grin on my face, with tailored thoughts of exactly how my "infinite day" would be spent. How silly.
How wonderfully, wonderfully silly.

HOME, HOME ON THE PORCH.

I slept for fourteen hours last night. I got in around seven, and I was just out.
Needless to say, it had been an interesting day spending time with just my father at Epcot. We had an agreeable time, and I enjoy his company, but he is most definitely capable of pissing me off and wearing me to the core.
Other than that, life was lovely.
I am at a point where I can literally do nothing but wait. The pospect of Starbucks seems rather ripe for the taking, and might prove fruitful if this manager decides to call back yet again, but this time, whispering those sweet, sweet words, "you're hired."
Ugh. It's still early in the morning. I should be sleeping.
I've had enough sleep to subdue a cat. I think I am officially awake.

TIRED OF IT.

I'm getting sick.
Not physically, although aliments could be discussed in either sense.
I'm sick of being walked all over.
I'm tired of putting out all the effort humanly possible in relationships, only to have them smack me around and force me to doubt that which is good within me.
I'm sick of having my pride dangled in front of my face without the promise of any sort of compensation.
I've finally found another human being who seems to care unconditionally and give out what they've promised, and every other relationship pales in comparison to it. For some reason, Michael has forced me to realize that I deserve so much more than I've ever let myself take from other people. I may be demanding and bossy, but that doesn't mean that what I have to offer counts for anything less than it should.
I refuse to continue to be hurt by people who mean more to me than I seem to mean to them. It has to stop. I deserve so much more than that, and it's taken me a year of growth to really, genuinely realize that.
I refuse to be walked upon any longer.

HELLO, CITY.

It's so difficult to juggle turmoil and pain from twelve-hundred miles away.

I'm finally in an up-swing.
I can only wish the same for others.

I miss you and love you infinitely.
And although you already know that (and won't be reading it here, for that matter), I just needed to say it again.

SNL SKITS FROM JESUS.

"PRESIDENTIAL OUTTAKES"


"IF AL GORE WAS PRESIDENT"


Perhaps they didn't come directly from Jesus, but they might as well have.
Thank you SNL, and even bigger thanks to Daily Motion.

CENSUS, SCHMENSUS.

I'm on a rather insane quest for genealogy material for my grandmother, seeking to construct the missing pieces of her rather vast family tree. Despite the fact that I am killing myself over not being able to find the exact records that she needs, I have to stop and wonder if some day, my own genetic line will seek my family history out, and wonder just why it is they're all drunken, bi-polar, depressed, divorced nut-cases (so to speak) who aren't even punny.

Because that is my extended family at large.

Good times.

NOT SO STUCK IN A MOMENT I CAN'T GET OUT OF.

Finally got a call back from The Bucks of Star. The prospect of actual, legitimate work that will take up my time is beyond exciting. Exhilarating, even. I can't find the words to express the feeling of legitimate solace that overwhelms me when I think of productivity and my pursuit of such. I am so very ready to work, to do things that will legitimize my time here.

I have to essentially shift my train of thought because I've just finished watching the Conan O'Brien repeat episode with U2 as the guest stars, encompassing the entire show. Genuinely, the closing number at the end of that particular show is probably my favorite television moment ever. Hearing a very cut-and-dry acoustic version of "Stuck in a Moment (You Can't Get Out Of)" has to be the most amazing thing ever. I love it. It is, without question, one of my most revered songs, and I basically want to jump The Edge whenever I see this episode and hear that song.

And...It's sleep time.

EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT.

If you haven't found some way to get involved with The 1 Second Film, do so immediately.

Before I kick you.

Not kidding.

[Editor's Note: I'm an Associate Producer, which means practically nothing, but it's $1.00 towards an awesome cause, and I can submit my name for credit on IMDB. How freaking awesome is that? Pretty freaking awesome.]

I WANT TO BREAK FREE.

I am having an entirely awful day today.
Why?
Don't ask me- I have no idea why.
Well, there I go lying: I know exactly why I'm feeling the way I am, but everything I've ever known tells me to suck it up and stop being wussy.
I don't think I've used the word "wussy" in quite some time. I'll get on that.

I feel so disgustingly stagnant. I sit, waiting for applications to process, waiting for things to happen that I have absolutely no control over. And until things start moving, I am stuck in a place where I have no one, where I feel as though I know nothing, and where there is so little for me to do that is in any way productive.
I understand the way Michael feels in PA, but at least he has the opportunity to bury himself in work. Right now, I don't have that. The second I do, it will be absolutely all I care about. Until that moment, however, I am increasingly depressed.

I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to be with anyone- not anyone here, at least. I feel as though I'm trapped in a place without a single person I genuinely trust, and that is driving me insane. I'm sleeping on a porch. Two people I love dearly are over a thousand miles away. Others are close to two hundred miles from me, a distance which my family seems bent on prohibiting me from traveling. I am immersed with "family time," and it has taken that to allow me to realize just how much I need to get away from this place. I have grown up so dramatically in the last year that it pains me to be back in a place that forces me to be twelve again. I have no friends or activities that allow me to escape, only a family with the intention of keeping me as close to them as humanly possible.

I cannot take it much longer.
I need something, anything that is going to make this less painful.
I can't sleep.
I have to get out of here. Now.

I HAVE A DREAMSICLE.

I'm on a Colbert posting-frenzy. Deal with it.
Better yet, enjoy.
Thanks a million, You Tube.

"TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT COMMANDMENTS."

Okay.
This is amazing.



Mad props to You Tube.

PAUSING.

In total honesty, the act of summoning up all the buying power in my life seems a bit more destructive than productive at the moment. I feel compelled to postpone the rather intense "buying spree," and just to focus on that which I do have. Which is, at the moment, not too much.
Oh, well.

WHY I LOVE STEPHEN COLBERT:

Because he even makes a hot 80's rocker.

He should be singing to "Kelley," but I'll get over it.

DAY TWO: $2000.00

1. Sweeney Todd 2005 Broadway Revival Cast Recording. [$25.00, ordered off of the production's website.]

After seeing this on Broadway a few weeks ago, I have no stronger desire than to be able to listen to it over and over again, something one might have expected me to already have done. However, money being what it is (non-existent), I am forced to wait temporarily.

2. 60GB Black iPod. [$399.00 from The Apple Store.]

Gluttonous as some may find it, I don't have enough space to store my musical library on the 20GB U2 Special Edition iPod I currently own. It's running on two years old, and now, it has begun to freeze occasionally, something which can prove devastating when I use it on the road.

3. Team Zissou Baseball shirt. [$17.99, finely crafted by the good people at ThreadPit.]

I haven't bought an amazing t-shirt like this one in quite some time. And along that same vein, I still need to purchase the film it so quip-i-ly takes after, but have not been monetarially able at this point. Perhaps tomorrow?

4. Motorola PEBL U6 Orange Phone. [$399.99, available for pre-order at Simon Cells.]

Ever since I set eyes on the PEBL, I've desperately desired it as a cellular companion. They're just so damn sleek and cuddly! Like a koala! Except with a camera, voice-activated dialing, and buttons. Koalas don't tend to have buttons.

5. Bragada Twin size Memory Foam mattress. [$392.43, via the Bragada site online.]

At the ripe old age of nineteen, my back has already been giving me trouble for years now. I continually find myself in pain even after a good night's sleep, and a really amazing mattress would be a first for me.

6. One ticket to the 2006 Tony Awards Ceremony on June 11th at Radio City Music Hall. [$550.00, found through any of the millions of online ticket brokers via Google.]

Tony Awards Ceremony = The Stuff Kelley's Dreams Are Made Of. In all actuality, though, that is one of those cool things I would absolutely never get the chance to see without optimal funding to do so. I would love more than anything to do so, and beyond that, I'm dying to find out if they announce a host for the show along with the nominees tomorrow morning. It's not Oprah, it's not Jackman, and, much to my dismay, it probably won't be Lane either. But, I can dream, can I not?

7. Donation to Kid's House of Seminole. [$215.59, made through the Kid's House of Seminole website.]

As a member of last year's Drama IV Class at Lyman High School, we adopted A Kid's House as our end-of-the-year charity to donate to. Our show ended up as a total incorporation of child-abuse awareness, and I continually wish we could have done even more to help and assist.

DAY TWO- TOTAL SPENT: $2000.00

THIS IS NOT FUN.

I sit, almost positive that I will be screwed out of federal aid for the next semester of school.
This is going to suck.
I might cry.
Not yet, but soon.

DAY ONE: $1000.00

1. Round-Trip flight to East Stroudsburg, PA. [$260.00, booked on Travelocity.]

What more can I say? I want to visit Michael again [Editor's Note: AND RACHEL. FORGET MICHAEL. I ONLY WANT TO VISIT RACHEL. BECAUSE SHE IS WAY HOT.] in late August before classes start up, and feasibly, I want to purchase the most affordable ticket available.

2. Plastic Fantastic Deluxe photography package. [$350.00, from the Lomographic Society International.]

Lomography is, according to Urban Dictionary, "a type of art photography in which color is emphasized. Traditionally, cameras such as the Holga, Lomo, Colorsplash, and Supersampler are used to create strange and unusual photographs. Lomographic photos are primarily characterized by vignettes (blurry and faded edges), random subjects, and nonadherance to traditional photography rules." I've been entirely fascinated with these cameras for as long as I can remember, and I desperately want to purchase at least one so that I can expand some of my picture-taking beyond the picture-phone realm.

3. Luxury Light Warmth Queen Size Down Comforter. [$250.00, purchased from Bed Bath & Beyond.]

With my handy, reliable down comforter at the ripe age of 30 years old (It went to college with my mother as well.) and feathers spitting out of several tears that I've hand-sewn, I would love an equally comfortable replacement.

4. Donation to Parners In Health. [$140.00, via the PIH website.]

I can't speak loudly enough for the work that this organization has done in terms of Haitian relief, not to mention their perpetual fight against TB. Plus, I sat through I-Robot with Paul Farmer. He bought me a chocolate milkshake. I figure I owe him a few dollars.

DAY ONE- TOTAL SPENT: $1000.00

IF I HAD A THOUSAND DOLLARS...

One of my personal favorites, Mr. Gene Monterastelli, has come up with a game I find rather interesting. It's the exploration of becoming comfortable with abundance and just what we, as individuals, find as our spending priorities. In an excerpt from a page on his website devoted to the game, he explains:

"Many of us are not comfortable with money and/or abundance.

We feel guilty because we have too much, because others have less than us.

We feel powerless because others have too much.

We feel like we can't have what we need for happiness because we don't have the money to get the education, experiences, or stuff to provide that happiness.

We feel like we are compared to others by how much we have.

We feel bad talking about it, but feel victimized when we aren't paid what we are worth."

"The idea is simple. Everyday you spend time pretending to spending money. Each day to start the exercise you make deposit into an imaginary checking account (filling out a bank ledger). Then you find what you want, you write checks for it, and you see what it feels like to have it.

The first day you spend $1000. On the second day you spend $1000 (for a total of $2000 on day 2). On the third day you spend $1000 more (for a total of $3000 on day 3). On the 365th day you spend $365,000, making the grand total almost $6.7 million dollars.

All of this is not to say that money and material possessions are the end all be all of existence or happiness. If we are not careful we can make them our God and have them control our lives. This does not mean it is bad. Money and stuff are just tools. If we have it we can do and help in ways we couldn't without it. [This paragraph was written because 1) I think it is an important point and 2) it is rooted in the desire to not come across as a money-grubber. Again, there is my fear of what others will think.]"

I find the idea one of such interest, I feel the desire to complete a similar exercise of my own, utilizing most of Mr. Monterastelli's rules/guidelines. His rules are as follows:

"The Rules
1) Each day I will spend $1000 more than the day before.
2) I can't buy the same thing twice.
3) I can't buy multiples of the same items unless it is reasonable to own more than one. (Ex: I can't buy 7 speed boats, but I could buy 6 chairs for my kitchen)
4) I must give away 10% each day.
5) I can give to an organization only once.
6) I must spend 95% of the money for the day, with the remanding money carrying over to the next day.
7) I must write a check for each purchase and write what the check is for on the memo line.
8) I will have fun."

Sounds interesting, right?
Right.

THE LIFE UNCOMMON.

I sat within the walls of a church this morning, something I have neglected to do for quite some time now. It is absolutely astounding to me how strong the call to service still is within me. I wouldn't have believed it if you had told me that over the past few months, still harbored within me is this genuine urgency to do something remotely humanitarian, and at the very least, substantial with my life.
I wanted to be a priest so, so badly. Not even a priest for what was required by the Catholic faith and teachings, but for the incentives of human interaction. By that, I mean to say, the opportunity to work with so many different individuals hands-on and in a very personal, legitimate, spiritual sense. To immerse myself in the strife and joy of human beings on a very frequent basis, and to allow them to find some sort of solace and companionship in my presence.

Basically, I just want to "do good."

I guess that was a bit of my secret in high school- here's a crazy teenage girl who wants to enter the seminary. Not realistically, seeing as the Catholic church still offers very little for women who choose a religious life (Not entirely true, though. I merely speak of the pastoral responsibilities as something more engaging than life as a sister or a seminary-trained female. I wanted to be more prominent than that, I suppose. Selfish of me? Perhaps, but I've always felt as though women deserve more responsibility in the church. Hopefully, someday, that will come about.).

I think what influenced that drive the most was growing up around these men who were so very devoted to the people they served in almost every imaginable capacity. I know more priests than I can count, a large number of whom I managed to chat with again this morning. At a very young age, they became for me not only friends, but models for what I wanted to be, well-springs of the goodness I believed was within each individual and merely waiting to surface.

Over the years, that concept has been betrayed a few times, as I am sure happens with every bit of the "stuff dreams are made of." Some of these men, I feel, cheated others out of some of the joys and responsibilities they should have enjoyed. Some found heavily weighing voices more important than those whom they were supposedly responsible for serving. Some, dare I say it, simply changed, as though help and compassion simply weren't enough motivation for them any longer. I have watched these men progress, and regardless of their own transformations, I, too, have grown. I know more about myself, about the tolerances I allow around me, and how willing and open I have become to things I might have forever closed myself to. I have learned to be hurt. I have fallen in love. I have made wrong decisions, and I have ultimately learned to shape myself as the human being I desire to be. Along that path, somewhere, I found a bit of the capability and drive to be all of those things I hoped to encompass without the aide of the church. Not literally, of course, but without the legitimate sacramental notation that I once deemed essential and necessary in preserving the essence of what I wanted to be as an individual who is decent, compassionate, and eternally giving.

I continue to strive toward that, regardless of what life requires of me in order to do so.

"FAMOUS." WHATEVER THAT MEANS.

There is an over-abundance of media exposure that has led me to the belief that celebrity status in the universe is not only attainable, but relatively happenstance.
Not necessarily- but in the last few days, I've been reading Live From New York, an "uncensored" pseudo-biography of Saturday Night Live from its conception to its eventual established niche in popular culture, written by Tom Shales and James Andrew Miller. I'm fascinated for obvious reasons, the primary being the establishment of the notorious seven original Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time Players, some of whom remain my greatest improvisational heroes to date.

What continues to eat at me, page after page, is how intensely easeless some of these performers made their work history out to be. That last sentence probably makes no sense, but what I'm trying to say is that there seems to be this collective of innately talented individuals who simply showed up and watched this wonderful and exclusive world build up around them. I am not saying that they did not have the talent, ambition, or work ethic to be there- hardly. What I have difficulty understanding is how all of these vastly illuminate individuals managed to find each other so perfectly and with such immense precision; how, at twenty-one years of age, these people were writing for a nationally syndicated program or doing absolutely incredible work that surpasses some of my more creative fantasies. I remain legitimately baffled.

And honestly, it's not just the book that has brought all of this rapid-fire deduction on: I feel absolutely bombarded with the concept of "mediazation" of an individual(In my own words, the intense and repeated inundation of individuals in society by means of television, internet, movies, media of other sources, etcetera. Naked Chronicles defines it as "the way in which symbolic forms in modern society have become increasingly mediated by mechanisms and institutions of mass communication") to the degree where they have no course but to become "famous" by whatever social public exists.

I have no difficulty with these levels of "fame" that might as well be attained on a day-to-day basis. The fact is, I desire very little of that sort of public identification. What I so desperately seek is the kind of artistically-driven atmosphere that seemed to exist in this SNL reality within the late seventies, a world that housed some notoriously incredible minds with what seemed to be great ease. I simply cannot imagine the abundance of talent that appeared to merely gravitate towards one another. It seems a rather impossible feat, to be honest. But, good heavens, how I would kill for it.

I have a considerable envy for those with whom everything appears to merely fall into place. I am sure that the situations are certainly skewed from that sort of simplicity, but there are so many instances where everything looks as though an individual with some sort of god-given talent just met the right people at the right time and managed to get what they needed with so little extraneous effort. Seamless goal accomplishment, if you will.

All of this just seems to drive home the fact that I need to continue to work unceasingly and unwaveringly in my efforts towards whatever it is I so desperately desire. I have to work and work and work. But I'm not really concerned with that. I just need it. More than anything. And therefore, it is my responsibility to make it happen. Period. Simple as that.
Good.

IT'S BEEN A LONG DAY.

Back in Dunedin at last after a good two hours of flight delay.
Tired as all get-out.
Sad to be away from a loved one, but that's just the way it goes.

Stupid human beings continue to leave me comments on just how atrocious a fellow human being I happen to be. Just another reminder of why I despise people, and certain individuals on top of that.
It's nice not to care what people think, at least for the moment.
[Editor's Note: I'm on summer vacation- if someone wants to give me crap, let them attack me long-distance so that they remain safe and protected. Regardless, they appear to be little girly-girls with a lack of gonads and a perpetually high-school mentality. Fun.]

On another note, I'm so very illiterate tonight. This morning. Whatever. I've lost all ability to be cognitive at this point, so it's not really worth typing too much more. I'll find some way to make sense of everything in the morning.

SNOOPY ROCKS MY SOCKS.

Delay in updates?
You better freaking believe it.

Monday, we were lazy. Get over it.
Tuesday was an all-day-palooza at the Shawnee Playhouse. I read a book, and it was lovely. The end.
Wednesday, praise Jesus, was lazy. Deal, be-otches.
Thursday we had yet another all-day-palooza at the Shawnee Playhouse. I hung and sorted and cleared to my heart's content, and then I did not. 'Tis as simple as that.
Friday led me into the grand land of Harrisburg, where I attended a college graduation and ate crappy food with my dearest love, Annie. And then, of course, a little drinking.
Yesterday was spent tromping around Dorney Park (which, luckily for me, is basically Snoopy-dominated). It was easily one of the best days I've had here in PA, despite the fact that I am completely devoid of energy and/or funding from here on out in my stay.
Today was time spent in The City. "Time spent" does not exactly constitute "time well spent," but that's simply my burden to deal with. And then, there was a little drinking.
In remaining ambiguous, I hold power. Tee hee.
And tonight, I sleep for hours and hours on end. Possibly days. Maybe months.
Actually, just hours. That works.

"I ALWAYS KNEW JESUS WAS ASIAN."

Broadway Double Header = Freaking Amazing.

The 25th Annual Putnum County Spelling Bee
Aside from a bit too much audience participation, this was an immense amount of fun. Met Jesse Tyler Ferguson, sat close enough to have Barfee spit come flying at me, and genuinely enjoyed finally seeing the production live. Environmental staff kicks ass.

Sweeny Todd
Easily the nicest production I have ever seen. A few little quirky details ran amiss, but Michael Cerveris is now my homeboy. Met He, Patty LuPone, Alex G., and several others. It basically made my life.

I promise of more details to come, but I'm way too exhausted to stay up any longer.

HUH?

I am currently lounging around in East Stroudsburg, PA.
When did that happen, you ask?
Just about a week ago.
In the midst of cramming my hapless brain for exams and other such wonderful fun, I managed to sneak my way into another state.
Not exactly the truth, but I don't have time to type.
Later, internet.

CLASSWORK.

This morning held excitement in the realm of a visiting writer who was to speak to our English class. I was hopeful, merely because she prolonged the due date of a rough draft, but also because she happened to be Canadian.
And you know how "I love me some" Canadians.
She had us work on an individual assignment- a "to do" list of sorts, with either concrete or whimsical foundations. The basic absurdity of sitting in the classroom led me to what you see below.

How To Make Sense Of Somewhat (Read: Entirely) Ridiculous Course Content:

1. Breathe. You only have three more years.
2. Breathe again. You will never have to take another English course again unless so desired.
3. These people have doctorates, right?
4. Obviously, you, too, can hold your own doctorate someday.
5. “Words, words, words,” said William Shakespeare.
6. Fucking artist.
7. Management positions typically do not require the writing of research papers, right?
8. At least Stanislavski thinks you’re cool.
9. You can always make the entire experience sound okay when you edit the facts in your blog.
10. Hemming-who?
11. Prose: huh? What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again, now.
12. You have never looked good in ink stains.
13. You have a minor in Business Administration. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. (Squared.) Bitches.

IT'S NO LONGER MARCH, BE-OTCH.

Seventy billion things have happened in the last month, and I, being as irresponsible as people can get, have hardly taken the time to address them with the maturity or gravity that they should obviously be subject to. For this reason, among many others, I shall attempt to recapture the last few weeks of activity in a nutshell.

Thirty-one statements for thirty-one days? I think it's a fair trade-off.

1. My time has been non-existent.
2. Brigadoon is completed to everyone's great joy and enthusiasm.
3. Conflicts have ensued in various fashions, like they do.
4. I was tapped as a pledge for Alpha Psi Omega.
5. I'm doing considerably well in Business Math.
6. My movie collection has expanded exponentially.
7. Michael and I are wonderful.
8. (And at five months to date.)
9. I wrote a paper on Celebrity Worship Syndrome, only to discover that I suffer from the disease myself.
10. I've been to Dunedin.
11. I've been to Orlando.
12. Directing shows are two days out.
13. Conservatory shows are a week and three days out.
14. I'm considerably excited about both.
15. Rachel and I should be rooming together next semester if we ever find two minutes to talk to Student Services.
16. I'll be spending the first two weeks out of school in PA, and then heading back for work at home.
17. I've discovered that I have difficulty sleeping without a sleep mask of some sort. I suppose that makes me sufficiently wimpy.
18. My room has been relatively clean for the past month.
19. I have been living by myself for the past month.
20. The combination of #18 and #19 is rather remarkable.
21. Frasier is the cutest dog alive, but is also Satan incarnate.
22. I make a kick-ass pot of Macaroni & Cheese.
23. I am continually roped into amazing Theatre Party pictures, and I'm loving every minute of it.
24. For probably the first time in my life, I forgot about April Fool's Day.
25. I love my weekends in St. Augustine.
26. After a six-hour conversation with Michael, I've concluded that I want more than anything to direct.
27. I love pie.
28. Poker Nights have been some of my favorite times this semester.
29. I finally feel as though I have a base of people who care about me and respect me for who I am.
30. I have to be up really soon.
31. And I think it's time for bed.

That should satisfy, I hope.
If not, deal with it.