tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37685403969699276782024-02-20T22:23:56.423-08:00Wordschad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-14380426378948101782011-11-19T10:50:00.001-08:002011-11-20T20:28:51.770-08:00speeding up while slowing down (or vice versa)Clocking in at about two and a half months after my most recent post, and everything has changed (while staying, so it feels, almost exactly the same).<br />
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What I left out of that recent post: I wrote it after a serious mental breakdown in a cafe parking lot. Following an absurdly disturbing interview at Barney's, NY, where I was deemed unworthy to work 'real' retail, I returned to my post at a local cafe to plunge ahead with several internship applications in the hope of finding something in the city worth my time and energy - something that would lift me out of uncertainty and give my life some kind of purpose. As I compiled my application, reading through the various attachments required for my submittal, I read a letter of recommendation from my adviser at the Parkside Tutoring Center. She spoke with genuine reverence about my abilities, noting not only my qualities as a tutor, but as a human being. I sat back and took in what she said about me, what she implied about my future endeavors and the great tasks I was meant to accomplish... and in the midst of all that, I was faced with the reality of living on a couch in Chicago, working part-time at Old Navy and having (within the last three hours) been told by a highly plasticized HR Representative from a high-end retail store that <i>I was not a qualified candidate for the position they hoped to fill. </i>And for some reason, I felt like I had betrayed everything I was supposed to be. <br />
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I walked out of the cafe, called my mom, and the instant I heard her voice I began to cry. I cried because I felt terrified that no one would ever want to give me a job that could help me afford to pursue my dreams and also give me some sort of personal satisfaction. I cried because I felt like I was freeloading on my friends in Chicago, taking advantage of their hospitality and unending kindness for the sake of furthering my own aimless goals. I cried because every passing minute reminded me how "important" money is, and also that I had very little of it. I cried because I didn't understand why someone from a place of higher learning could say such wonderfully genuine things about my professional and personal qualities, while some faceless HR rep. from a stupid high-end retail store could be so cold and indifferent to my talents. I cried because I wanted to be an actor, but was so focused on my own financial instability that pursuing theatre with a stable mind was not an option at that time. I cried because I wanted to be in love, but instead I was feeling more alone than ever. I cried because I felt like I wasted my education. I cried <i>because </i>I was crying. <br />
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And later that night, I wrote that post; I refused to acknowledge anything less than inspiring about my day, because I couldn't face the reality of living a less than inspiring - and positive - life. <br />
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Jump ahead to the present: Right now I'm at the Java House in Iowa City, visiting a place that has left one of the warmest hand prints I have ever known upon my heart. It's strange to be here in the fall; the faces are, for the most part, unfamiliar. There are no leaves on the trees, the fountains have dried and there are no pianos in the streets. I am staying with the Burfords, who are (thankfully) unchanged, and it brings me such a wonderful sense of peace to be in their house. <br />
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I am here because it was time to get out of the city. In contrast to my lifestyle in my most recent post - as well as in any post that preceded it between the months of July and August - I've become quite busy. I live in my own apartment now, with two dear friends, just as we had planned to do. I've got a <i>real </i>job working as a business development assistant for an engineering firm (which happens to be fascinating and a constant learning experience, to say the least), and <i>on top of all of that, </i>I had a successful month of auditions in October, receiving several call backs for various shows. I worked my way through a quirky two weeks of workshopping for a screenplay reading and am now preparing for a two-month contract with Pegasus Players for their annual Young Playwrights Festival in January. I recently completed my second call back for a lead role with a company I'd love to work with, and there are many more opportunities on the horizon. <br />
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The past two and a half months of <i>really </i>working in the city have had a profound effect on my view of the world. My initial thoughts on moving to a bustling city like Chicago had me convinced that I was going to instantly become one of the high-stressed, impatient movers and shakers in the city, constantly pushing my way through to get from point A to point B while agonizing over the most insignificant setbacks. <br />
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Essentially, this would just be an opportunity for my type-A personality to flourish and take over my way of life to an insane degree.<br />
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BUT -- it hasn't worked that way, at least not yet. On the contrary, I've found a wholly new sense of peace within myself and within the city, itself. Chicago is a constant reminder of the size of the world - there is a vastness to this place that incessantly reminds me that the options at my disposal (for anything) are as varied as these skyscrapers are tall. I listen to the relentless honking of impatient drivers, see the flustered reactions of business men at my office who are dismayed by the line at Starbucks every day at 7:52am, and I realize - every day - that I am now a cog in this machine. I ride the train, stand on the escalators and j-walk through the busy streets with these crazed city-slickers who have no worries outside of what something may cost and how long it might take. I feared that this sort of lifestyle would also consume me. I worried that by taking this 'corporate' job in the city I'd leave behind personal pursuits for the demands of working full-time, but, it just doesn't feel like it will happen. <br />
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Although I'm busier than I've been in quite some time (work, along with my commute, takes up 50-60 hours of my week. On a good week I've got 2-4 auditions on top of that), my mind has finally slowed down. My free time is more easily given over to reading for pleasure - Uta Hagen is currently at the top of my list, followed by Marjorie Garber and more more MORE Jonathan Safran Foer - and very seriously working on audition pieces and other artistic endeavors. Settling into this job and moving into my own place has put a lot of aspects of my life into perspective that had recently been up for debate. I had feared that the security of this job would give me permission to let myself slip out of the theatre world all-together; I spent most of my undergrad wondering if I was really as passionate or dedicated to theatre as a person needs to be in order to succeed. I questioned my confidence in myself and in my abilities to adapt to the constant setbacks and rejection that are inherent in the profession. If I settled into a full-time job at which I excelled, was mildly interested in and took up most of my days anyway, wouldn't it be easy enough to let theatre fall to the wayside?<br />
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Absolutely not. Being stable <i>is</i> great -- <i>I needed to be stable, I will never contest that. </i>And this job - my apartment - has afforded me that comfort. But within days of finally achieving that level of stability, I was antsy again, ready for another challenge that would displace me from complacency and, so, my audition submissions began. For an entire month I felt like I was running an audition marathon - at times it was great, at others it was awkward; but it was always fulfilling. I am learning more now about myself as an actor - as a person - than I did when I was in school (is that good, or bad? I really don't know). <br />
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And here's the other thing. I really don't want to get all J.K. Rowling up this blog, but, friendship is probably the coolest and most powerful thing on this planet. Every single fucking day I am reminded how lucky I am to be in this city and, in large part, that is due to the presence of the beautiful friends I live and play with. The life I'm living today is the life I had imagined for myself several years down the road from graduation, not several months. And yet, here I am doing it. And I couldn't have done it without the support of several people: my parents, my sister; Amy, Dylan; Cathlyn; and so many others. Their emotional, spiritual, and practical contributions to my search for a place in this city made so many things possible for me in such an insanely short amount of time. <br />
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I am still pushing ahead, paradoxically searching for opportunities to throw myself into challenging situations that constantly force me to re-evaluate myself and my abilities while embracing moments of stability and ease... but I'm doing it with the knowledge that I've got one of the most supportive networks of friends and family I could ever have. The days are flying faster than ever before, but each day that passes provides more reasons for slowing down and cherishing every second and acknowledging the people and events that make my progress possible.<br />
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Every day I walk down my street and I say to myself: <i>I can't believe I live here. </i>When I leave auditions, I'm always elated - regardless of how I think the audition went - because I'm out here doing what so many people hope to do but don't. And when I leave my office, even after a boring day of work that leaves me antsy for a challenge, I look down Michigan Avenue at the beautiful high rises and remind myself<i> </i>that I have been so lucky, every step of the way.<br />
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So, in the spirit of the upcoming holiday: Here's to being thankful for what we have, and for being able to acknowledge the priorities in our lives that bring us unrelenting joy. To the pursuit of passion and art and the stability of friendship. To my family, who I love more than anything, and to my friends, who are no different than family in their closeness to me. I am thankful to be able to slow things down and see each moment for what it is. I am thankful that I cried in that parking lot on September 2, because it fueled me with the knowledge that <i>I will not give up until I've conquered every obstacle I choose to face. </i><br />
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That feels really, really good.<br />
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<br />chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-50430430458034860362011-09-02T14:49:00.000-07:002011-09-02T14:53:47.105-07:00New Perspectives - or - "Life and Love are Everywhere"So, I guess I'm checking in just under a month after my most recent post. Not the greatest discipline I've ever subjected myself to; there were plenty of August afternoons during which I felt the itch to write about recent happenings in my life: new developments in my job hunt, beautiful sunsets beyond the city skyline and reverential moons floating above Lake Michigan, blissful nights with irreplaceable friends - all these singular moments that make up the bulk of unique experiences that provide daily reminders whispering reassuringly, "this is where you're supposed to be."<br />
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However, it wasn't until yesterday that I had an experience which really threw me out of my day-to-day funk and into serious contemplation about life's obstacles and how I ( how you /<b>how </b><i><b>we</b> </i>) endeavor to overcome them.<br />
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My day was a mish-mash of work, internship applications, a job interview, and several trips back and forth on the Red Line. So, basically, an ordinary day in my "exciting" life. <br />
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BUT WAIT:</div>
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In the early afternoon, I boarded the train to head back toward the loop for an interview at Barneys New York when I witnessed something so simply profound that it filled me with supreme joy. At the Berwyn stop - which is just south of my current stomping grounds on West Thorndale Avenue - a blind woman boarded the train, her trusty guide dog in-tow. The day was hot and this dog looked exhausted, but, he guided his master onto the train and directly to an open seat across from me. He watched her with diligent concentration as she made sure her bag would fit between herself and the seat next to her; she folded up her cane, sat down on the seat, and began thumbing through the contents of her bag in pursuit of a massive book.<br />
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I've never actually seen a book printed (written? published? I'm aware that these are all synonyms...) in Braille before. The bulk of it covered her entire lap; it looked about two inches thick at the very least, and, as she flipped it over in her hands, I saw in bold black lettering across the front: NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC. She opened it up to her bookmarked page, and began running her fingers gingerly across the bleached-white pages, all blank save for the slight texture created by the raised lettering running over the sheets. <br />
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I watched this woman reading National Geographic for about 25 minutes, and even now I'm still unsure as to why this moment was so awe-inspiring to me. I wanted to hug her, I wanted to touch the pages and experience National Geographic - a magazine that I have seen, whose pictures I have gushed over - the way that she does: through her sense of touch and pure imagination. What must it be like to read a magazine that is so heavily visual when you cannot see it with your eyes? This moment - this woman, her magazine - said very plainly to me:<br />
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<i>When an obstacle is in your path, adjust your perspective and find a way to see around it.</i></div>
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It's as simple as that. </div>
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And that, I think, is just really damn cool. There's not much else to say about it. I'm still basking in the glow of that experience; it was so refreshing. I was so grateful to have witnessed such a simple act performed in a way entirely different from anything I've ever had to do. <i> </i></div>
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--</div>
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On an unrelated-yet-related note, I also had this experience on the train: While reading 'Broadway Bound,' the third installment in Neil Simon's autobiographical trilogy, I stumbled upon this dialogue which immediately struck my heart and made it smile:</div>
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Eugene: <i>I just want to say one thing, Ma - </i></div>
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Kate: <i>Don't say anything. You know me. I don't deal with these things too good.</i></div>
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Eugene: <i>It's not that horrible. And it's quick: </i><i style="font-weight: bold;">I love you. </i><i>Okay? That wasn't so bad, was it?</i></div>
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Upon finishing this play, I moved on to the forward from my collection of Chekhov plays, which included some biographical information about Anton Chekhov and his wife, which read: <i>They fell in love and quietly married in 1901, but were mostly kept apart by Chekhov's doctors' insistence that, for his health, he must live in Yalta, which he bitterly called his 'warm Siberia.' He wanted Olga to continue her career, though she was more than prepared to abandon it, to help nurse him or simply </i><b>be</b> <i>with him. They built their relationship through occasional meetings, but even more, perhaps, through their many letters, filled with vivid expressions of love, longing, sorrow, frustration, a saving humour, and some equally saving, not wholly serious, quarreling. </i></div>
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Isn't love the coolest thing on this planet? There's a lot I want to say about love as of late, but, since I've already rambled enough today, I'll simply say this: This most recent chapter of my life has reacquainted me with love - with my ability to love - in unexpected ways. And for that, I am incredibly grateful. For so long, I took my capacity for intimacy for granted, even to the point of throwing it to the wayside to be ignored and forgotten. But I am back in the swing of life and I see love everywhere. It intoxicates me day in and day out, and it has awakened a new clarity within me that, while I'm still attempting to trust and understand, is really helping me settle into myself. Life and love are everywhere. People are living and loving - both fictional and real, past and present, and they are overcoming personal obstacles every day, in ways big and small, and I am happy to say I am one of them. </div>
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I love - both people and life itself - hard. I forgot that about myself, for a very long time. </div>
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And it's good to be reminded. </div>
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<br />chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-91560592376142699922011-08-11T08:35:00.000-07:002011-08-11T09:46:06.911-07:00watching the world go byHow long has it been since my last post? 11 years? <div>
<br /></div><div>Maybe just short of 9. As of late, it feels as if my life has been thrown into a strange time vortex; the days pass by incredibly slowly - I am aware of every second that ticks by, each one marking another moment in time when I'm still feeling lost and unfocused - yet the weeks, as a whole, keep flying. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It is almost mid-August. (what the Hell?) I suppose that doesn't mean 'anything', in the grand scheme of things. I have personal deadlines, but they're all adjustable. I keep forgetting that the beginning of September no longer holds any major sway over my life - no more school, no more relocating, and no more homework. I think that's the strangest thing to get used to: When I have downtime, <i>it is actually real downtime. </i>Of course, I keep trying to fill it with runs on the beach, fruitless job searches and the occasional train-ride-to-nowhere ... but at the end of the day, the wasted time adds up to just that: time I wasted, or, I guess what most people would call "leisure time."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I don't like leisure time. It makes me anxious.</div><div>
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<br /></div><div>But at any rate, I'm back in Chicago again! Days after my return to Wisconsin, I got the chance to go back to the city for an interview with Old Navy. I'm sure you've heard of it. Long story short: I'm now a member of the Old Navy Logistics Team; I take in new inventory, restock shelves, and basically run around making things look nice, all before any normal person would even THINK about being out of bed! Isn't that great? </div><div>
<br /></div><div>...... </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Well, it's something. It will feed me. It will ... 'keep me busy.' This morning was my first shift post-orientation. My alarm went off at 4:10, and during a surprisingly easy 20 minute time frame I got dressed, had some yogurt, managed a few sets of push-ups, stocked my backpack with books to read, my iPod, and a handful of Clif Bars and, by 4:50, I was standing on the Red Line platform at Thorndale Avenue, watching the city skyline slumber beneath the deepest shade of royal blue I've ever seen. The train ride into the city was fast; the trains move much more quickly when there's no one at the stations to clamor aboard at every stop. When I emerged from the Lake Street Red Line stop and came up onto State Street, just a block away from Macy's and a stone's throw from Millenium Park, the sky had lightened just a bit. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Actually, let me rephrase that: the sky was positively glowing. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The horizon line reflected an unseen rising sun somewhere west of Lake Michigan; the blue was absolutely electric and the tall skyscrapers with their shorter, stone and mortar counterparts still laid dormant, black and brown beneath a rapidly brightening canopy of indigos and royal blues. In those few short minutes walking past the doors of Macy's and the silhouette of the Festival Stage in Millennium Park, I had the whole of Chicago's heart within my grasp, and it was beating solely for me. It's 11am now; the sun is shining, there are people everywhere, and the sounds of taxis honking, sirens blaring, and trains flying by on the elevated tracks over Wabash Avenue are incessant. It's a rapid pulse of surging energy from every direction. But for a few brief moments, only hours ago, the streets were empty and these few city blocks belonged to me.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So, this early morning stocking position has got that going for it, at least. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Each time I passed the windows with my rolling rack of fashion-savvy polos and T's, the streets had brightened just a bit, the taxis became more frequent and, at last (!) the sun was up and so were the city's nine-to-fivers and the myriad street people who frequent the corners with bibles to give away, cups to fill with cash, and sad stories to share with anyone willing to spare a few minutes (and, of course, a quarter or two). It's a strange city, Chicago; at times I feel very happy here - I feel busy and elated, full of possibility. At others, I look around at the strangers on the train and think to myself "I am alone here and I'm not quite sure I know what I'm doing." I miss my family and my friends, I miss the certainty of September and the comfort of the many places I've called 'home' over the last few years. I know I'm on my way to building a new home in the city, but taking stock of what I need to build that home is a daunting task. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>That being said, the past week has been filled with emotional ups and downs - some caused by the angst of the ongoing search for employment, others by the heart pangs of longing for a hand to hold while I wade through all this lonely muck we all get stuck in day after day. But when I sit down, like I am right now, and watch the world go by, it all seems a bit easier. I am so full of love for many things and people that my heart sometimes feel like it could burst from my chest. The quiet moments on the streets in the early morning, running out on the beach and watching the waves crash against the sand, or simply being with old friends (<i>Amy and Dylan, I simply couldn't be doing this without you. I don't know how I'll ever repay you for your kindness, for the shelter of your hearts and home</i>): these moments remind me that all is not lost and that, actually, everything's pretty damn peachy when I remember to sit back and take a look at things through the right perspective. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So I'll go back to watching the world drive, walk, fly - <i>go - </i>by my shady perch at the corner of Wabash and Washington. I've got the whole day ahead of me. </div><div>
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<br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-73748830267790086712011-07-29T08:51:00.002-07:002011-07-30T00:07:43.963-07:00Bring on the Blog<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZO8NsAMzmEdM6OteEVr5Ww6y7cEqepPBuISEmk6-DUFAtDWbUzWxl_7fBZ1w573nEZFRcoo3QlJ2CKVKEFnYE3-hEfcuycNqCi8VKvE3sbr39ovns8FgJwDAU0kfIjCSYLxbAuRR3rM/s1600/IMG_8188_glow.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZO8NsAMzmEdM6OteEVr5Ww6y7cEqepPBuISEmk6-DUFAtDWbUzWxl_7fBZ1w573nEZFRcoo3QlJ2CKVKEFnYE3-hEfcuycNqCi8VKvE3sbr39ovns8FgJwDAU0kfIjCSYLxbAuRR3rM/s400/IMG_8188_glow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634830565743702002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">[taken in on a side street filled with flowers, downtown Iowa City]</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>For weeks now, I've been contemplating my inevitable return to my blog. Maybe inevitable isn't the right word; 'inevitable,' to me, summons up a great sense of foreboding. Let's go with .... highly anticipated? 'Highly anticipated.'<div><br /></div><div>That's better.</div><div><br /></div><div>The final days of my second summer with the Riverside Theatre Shakespeare Festival left a lump in my throat and unstoppable lightness in my heart. Though my first few days of post-grad life and my return to the glorious Iowa City filled me with trepidation - "what the hell am I doing? did I really just graduate? why would anyone give ME a diploma, and what am I supposed to do with <i>that </i>now?" - the summer proved to be a time of openness and of growth, of sharing and trusting. Those eight weeks played out in outstanding contrast to the muddied and exhausting months that passed during my last year of college; it's a time about which, even now, I can't remember much specifically unless I really sit and think about it. And even when I do remember, my memories of 'then' are filtered by the overwhelming influence of 'now'. Once again, I failed to keep track; once again, I find myself on a new precipice attempting to write, to remember, and to reflect.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, about the last few weeks; about happiness:</div><div><br /></div><div>The last four weeks have been, for many reasons, an incredible release of old demons that really, truly needed to take their cue and get the Hell out of my life. And now they have. Sometimes all it takes is someone from the outside looking in to remind you of what you've got going on inside of you. Perspective is a strange and complicated beast. I spent the last two years readjusting my perspective in an attempt to move forward and improve myself, to pull myself up off the floor and just 'be a better person' because I had been made to believe that I was falling short of basic satisfactory human standards. This very blog, in fact, marks the beginning of that journey for me. Just a few weeks ago I read my entire blog through from beginning to end. It's a pretty subtle (perhaps even uneventful) journey, but, man oh MAN can I see exactly what was going on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Summer 2009 was when I started this venture in self-reflection. The posts are lengthy and complicated, often times trying <i>so hard </i>to be intelligent and make a point. When I read it now, I can recall that maybe I didn't realize at the time that I was pushing so intensely. But I remember what I was after during that first summer: I was trying to reinvent myself. In the wake of personal disaster, I was absolutely drowning in the unknown, feeling too insignificant to save myself and too stupid to think it was worth it. And so the blog became a place to explore my intellect and <i>prove to someone that I was just a really insightful, profound person of worth, DAMN IT. </i>I took up writing plays and short stories because 'I was inspired,' but really I was just sad and needed a way to deal with that. The plays weren't any good, and the short stories never amounted to anything more than a few lengthy descriptions of particular moments in my past life that I clung to in that new and lonely summer. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still, I was making myself happy. It may have been forced, but I had to try out new perspectives and be something that wasn't quite 'me' (yet, or ever, or ... yeah). It moved me out of who I was and toward what I am <i>right now, </i>though, so it wasn't all bad. </div><div><br /></div><div>When school started up again, the blog quickly dropped out, save for an entry or two about stress and self-doubt, the ambiguity of education and my inability to believe in myself (strangely enough, the SAME thing happened this past school year, too). </div><div><br /></div><div>Summer 2010 was my first trip to Riverside. It was a time of breaking down personal boundaries and exploring as an artist again - and in many ways, for the first time - and finally feeling separated from everything I tried to run away from the summer before when I'd escaped to American Players Theatre to play in the woods. From start to finish, I was beyond happy to be a part of the Riverside Theatre family and feel comfortable in exploring creatively and fearlessly. My blog, then, became a place to ponder the insights I had gained. It was a place of saturation for new ideas. The blog was empowering. That <i>summer </i>was empowering; it was a period of professional and artistic growth, and I entered the following school year (my last, in fact) feeling more capable and aware. </div><div><br /></div><div>The school year was another series of 'rinse and repeat' fears and trepidations (what a <i>great </i>word) that stood in my way as a student and artist. That, in addition to mounting graduation pressures and the anticlimactic end to my undergraduate career, brought me BACK to Iowa City in a strange haze. I'd lost a part of myself that I'd spent the last two years constructing; I would later discover that the part of myself I'd lost was something I'd forgotten had ever even existed. It's truly remarkable, the influence another human mind and heart can have on your own. That's a lesson I am so very thankful to have relearned, and am still basking in today. It's part of what made me want to come back to the blog and get my thoughts back on track. </div><div><br /></div><div>I returned home at the end of my summer gig to find I had a potential job opportunity in Chicago, the very place I want to move to! I felt as if things really were too good to be true. There was a lot of happy going on in this young man's life. Oh, those ancient days of my youth... So, I went to Chicago to interview, I stayed with my dear friends Amy and Dylan, very quickly drawing up the plans in my head for what my life in Chicago would be like - runs along the beach, trips to the grocery store, and even the excitement of commuting on the train included - and all the while I'm thinking "It's time to get back to my blog and start writing again. I'm in a great place, I'm having a wonderful time, and life is changing so fast right now, <i>I want to remember this exactly as it was." </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>And then I didn't get the job. It totally sucked. And every happy thought I had about a triumphant return to my blog, complete with news of my first job in Chicago and the beginning of my real 'adult' life, was tossed into Lake Michigan. Boo. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here's the lesson: don't procrastinate, not even about stupid things like a blog update. My LAST entry was months ago, and it reflects a time of insecurity and doubt. And because of that, I think, I was unable to continue writing. As a dear friend has told me many times: <i>You cannot grow from negativity. </i>And that's why this blog update (which should have happened weeks ago) was so important to me. It was a chance to reflect on positivity in my life and nurture that energy in order to continue forward. My blog has been, almost entirely, a positive resource for me. Even the entries that tread that line of 'emo Livejournal rant' are fighting to find a silver lining, to glean <i>something </i>from the wreckage of whatever mundane BS is blocking my way. But now, here I am, compelled to write because of stress and doubt; because something went wrong and I'm feeling worse off for it. </div><div><br /></div><div>BUT IT WILL NOT CONQUER ME, DAMN IT! Ha. Which is WHY I've returned now. I figure it's now or never and, quite frankly, the last few days of uncertainty have been so stressful that writing about it seems like the only thing I <i>can </i>do to keep myself from falling into a a paranoid daze and giving myself 12 ulcers and a heart attack. In real life, in the moment, uncertainty terrifies me -- but when I can reflect on it, I can see it for its actual size and get a grip on myself and the situation... and that, my friends, is a way out of negative energy and into something positive.</div><div><br /></div><div>Right? </div><div><br /></div><div>So, let's take a look at what's happening: Money's running dry. No job possibilities on the horizon (save for the 12 or so applications I've completed in the last 48 hours following my Chicago job interview), and I have a goal of moving into my own apartment in Chicago on November 1. </div><div><br /></div><div>There it is. My problems can be summed up in three lines of text. That's it. Just three. And the goal?: To be ready to move in November, to be prepared for hardship (because none of this has really been <i>hard </i>yet), and to never lose sight of what I'm going after. If anything, my three day trip to Chicago reminded me of how important this move is to me. It means artistic opportunity, personal challenge, and, obviously, a great, big, new adventure. Those are all really cool things and, by achieving them, I'll become a cooler person. At least to myself... and that will be awesome! </div><div><br /></div><div>So, no more procrastinating. Not with job opportunities, not with risk taking, and not even with this silly blog. Ted told me this summer that it was time for me to redefine <i>progress </i>in my life. I couldn't agree more. </div><div><br /></div><div>Bring on the part-time job apps. Bring on the challenge. Bring on the Blog. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-23586214266197656342011-03-27T22:33:00.000-07:002011-03-27T23:22:08.706-07:00I know it ain't easy giving up your heart.If there was a time to write, tonight would be the time. <div><br /></div><div>I cannot, cannot, CANNOT ever update this thing when I'm in school. If I attempted to count up the number of unfinished draft posts I've accumulated on this account this semester alone, I'd run out of fingers to do so with. </div><div><br /></div><div>Each time, I sit down to write. Each time, I get a start; I see some sort of 'goal;' I feel some kind of emotion that begs to be tackled. </div><div><br /></div><div>Each time, <i>I give up</i>. And why?: Because I tell myself it doesn't matter. The words don't come to me and I say to myself "It's all good. Just go to sleep instead. Just do your homework instead. Just stare at the wall instead. It's just your blog. It doesn't matter." Well, as I'm sure all we 'educated' folk know, NOTHING <i>really </i>"matters" at all - it's all about personal perspective. And that, my friends, is just relative anyway. Personal importance is relative. Personal significance is relative. </div><div><br /></div><div>Personal progress is relative.</div><div><br /></div><div>And mine, at some level, has been brought to a dead halt. I don't know what it is about being in school that just lays on the stress to a debilitating degree, but my ability to process stimulants in a productive manner goes out the window. What does this mean in relation to my little blog, here? Well, each time I've sat down, I do so with a certain topic or theme in mind; something's been on my mind for the day, or that week, or a matter of seconds - whatever - and I need to work it out. But as soon as I start, I get to root of the problem: frustration. Ultimately, I find myself in some predicament of frustration or depression about <i>some aspect of my life that's going down the hole </i>and I cannot bring myself to take it on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why?</div><div><br /></div><div>This blog has been, ultimately, positive. When I was in Iowa City, my posts were expository reflections of my personal growth as an artist. When I was at American Players Theatre, my posts were about the joys of new surroundings and people. When I was home, my posts were about reconnecting with a part of myself that had been lost and, in doing so, finding my way back to my family. </div><div><br /></div><div>The last few years have been a period of personal hardship, gratification, discovery, and risk-taking. I am trying to find a way into myself. I am trying to find a consistent sense of ownership in my work and in my thoughts as a human being. Writing about positive experiences in my life has helped me work toward that. Or, at least, I had thought it was. But now, at school, in an environment which has become in some ways monotonous - while in others still quite challenging - I am lost in critical introspection that <i>I cannot seem to touch. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>What I realized today while I was driving in circles by the lake after sunset was that its about time I began taking on that darker stuff. Yes, I must own my artistry - it is a positive part of myself. It is, perhaps, one of the most valued facets of myself (for me personally), and it is also what I am most afraid of. Ergo, I've attempted to stay positive and avoid dipping into the rants and self-destruction; the unabated insecurities that actually follow me every day, no matter where I go. </div><div><br /></div><div>But this avoidance has done me a great disservice. Here I am, preparing to graduate, and what I've done for myself this year is build a protective barrier that's only paper thin - yes, I've encircled myself with a wall of meticulously crafted (and unbelievably fragile) self-worth, but, <i>I'm still stuck in the middle of it with all this shit that bogs me down and stops me from actually, truly, really putting one foot in front of the other and saying goodbye to the crap and hello to something better. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>If I expect to own anything about myself - my creativity, my compassion, humility, intellect, drive, WHATEVER - then I have to own the bad stuff, too. I have to acknowledge it. I cannot let 'frustration' turn me down side roads that only keep me from reaching the finish line. </div><div><br /></div><div>Right? Something like that. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-38226062418646722922011-02-03T11:37:00.000-08:002011-02-07T00:43:05.413-08:00Organized Chaos<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUZbu62JvEJB_5vcSBvVrFN14CAkvqL5EmrkNhTN-iO4Zr2p87Uur_NLKJS9VcIf8hbbBsS6n0uSQ7o82StTTe0tgTLPBdGHGt3_xv07Dj0HTna1uHnYAkSLkEeG6jWBTBHCVIjx6LlM/s1600/IMG_5987_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUZbu62JvEJB_5vcSBvVrFN14CAkvqL5EmrkNhTN-iO4Zr2p87Uur_NLKJS9VcIf8hbbBsS6n0uSQ7o82StTTe0tgTLPBdGHGt3_xv07Dj0HTna1uHnYAkSLkEeG6jWBTBHCVIjx6LlM/s400/IMG_5987_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570862688148737906" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">[organized chaos. no particular method to the madness, but I know where everything is]</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">***note: THAT'S the desk I salvaged and refinished this past summer. Not too bad, if I say so myself :)</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I've done a lot of documentation of my thoughts recently - completely in my head. Each time thinking to myself "Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold onto that thought; you'll write it down later." <div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, here we are. </div><div style="text-align: center;">And here I am. </div><div style="text-align: center;">...but where did those thoughts go? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And where have I gone/did I go/am I now? In a very literal sense, I am currently at my desk, in my room - at about 2am - attempting to process both the freshly-ended weekend and plan out the upcoming week. (Mental preparation is key.) We are THREE rehearsals away from the sitzprobe and proceeding tech weekend for <i>Company, </i>which means that we are 11 days away from opening, 14 days away from the first rehearsal for Hamlet, and 19 days away from <i>Company's </i>closing performance. There are 71 days until I turn 23, and 96 days until graduation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But who's counting?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So far, I'm much more sane than I thought I would be at this point in the semester - we're three weeks in, but, it feels like it may as well have been three years. Or maybe three hours? I'm not sure. At any rate, being enrolled in two classes is definitely a major factor in my higher-than-average sanity level. But there are many other contributing factors as well:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">1) Physical discipline (which was almost the title of this post, but felt too thematically constricting). A dancer, I am not. A sword fighter, I am not. And yet, this semester finds me attempting to do both of these things. The result?: soar ankles, tight thighs, and an overwhelming awareness of my own lack of coordination and physical prowess. There's clearly some sort of short circuit between my brain and my limbs; it's a bit embarrassing, but, I'm powering through AND I JUST DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE THINKS SO THERE. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That being said, I'm a bit disappointed in my inability to execute synchronized kicks and pull off a casual-yet-sophisticated jazz square without nearly tripping on my own feet and impaling myself on my cane. Thanks, <i>Company. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">So what's the solution to all of this? Well, mostly it's all about really trying to <i>focus </i>(what a concept) during class/rehearsal and repeat repeat repeat repeat EVERYTHING until it feels "natural" - or at least not like an out of body experience. But really, what this run-in with my physical self has done for me is remind me that <i>I really miss being physically active </i>and, oh yeah, <i>physical activity is GOOD FOR YOU. </i>In response to this delightful realization, I'm working myself back into a nice work out routine and (!!!!) I'm running again. And it's been a long time since I've done that. AND... it feels great. I've only been running for about a week now, but, already I'm at a point where I look forward to going out and getting a run in before classes every day. The first day was more work than anything, but every day after that has been an incredible release of emotion. The days are more vibrant, I feel focused and energized, and everything just seems easier after a cathartic run (albeit under the dismal fluorescent glow of our gym's track lights). Aside from production work, this addition to my daily habits is the highlight of each day. I am thrilled, thrilled, thrilled to be challenging and taking care of my body this way, for the first time in so long. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">2. <i>Company</i> has, so far, been an escape from stress, rather than a source of stress. Maybe I'll feel differently when rehearsals are ending and we're <i>really </i>getting to the wire, but, for now each rehearsal is a welcomed challenge. For that feeling, I owe the most thanks to our incredible music director. This man has given so much to the cast - so, so much. Everyday he reminds me what the term "artist" truly means; he carries more energy, vibrancy, and love within each of his strides than our cast could muster in an entire day. He doesn't take no, or, I'm afraid for an answer. And from that I have learned that there is truly no limit to what you can do when settling for less than your absolute best is completely ruled out as an option. The man is 66, and he leads our rehearsals like a freight train from beginning to end; how do you say thank you to someone who brings so much to the table in that way? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">3. I love my friends. I'm not sure what else to say about that except that I am truly blessed to have each and every one of them. The trust and unending support we share is invaluable to me (and hopefully to them). Both new and old, I just cannot - say - enough - how - happy - I - am - to - know - these - people. To work, live, and play with them is what gets me up every day and keeps me pushing ahead through the snow, the work, and the angst of life's daily blizzards of catastrophe. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You may have heard that there was a blizzard last week (what?!). In those three days that Parkside's campus sat dormant in the drifts, I spent my time on campus with my friends; we cooked and cleaned together, dug cars out of snow banks, drank hot chocolate, cuddled during movies, and, sometimes, sat in complete silence, basking in the glow of 72 hours of absolute nothingness. As I was cleaning the stove the first night of the storm, watching some folks tidying up the kitchen as others simultaneously prepared food for the group, I thought about how wonderful it is to work with the people I love. Some of us spend nearly every waking hour together - we go to class together, have rehearsal, and go home to the same apartments, always together... and it just feels right. How often can someone say that their job is where their passion is? How often do coworkers and friends become family in the truest sense of the word? Maybe it's more often than I think, but, nonetheless I can't help feeling incredibly special when these days and nights arise when we become our own commune of escape from all the junk that's constantly knocking us down. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anton Chekhov said: <i>Any idiot can face a crisis; it's this day to day living that wears you out. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">The man knew what was up (duh). And I, for one, would like to say it is my friends (coworkers/family/commune) that get me through the day to day living. Each and every time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well, them... and the vodka. We're talking about Chekhov, after all.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpBst7N2VWzYKkdbU5L0-mmoPbt_LE6JR_OIZKizjllkQ0bSYad6F3lsNEnHZVtRRPeZ4WA2d4O1htq0XFk2sD6_kyM_FBHSDxs8VXsXLJPaXSkM2hdTFb3H3ojxZt8bcFMM6koPFcs4/s400/IMG_5965_2.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">[I love the way the paper from these sketches has aged over the past year. I also love the middle sketch's absolute refusal to sit parallel to the others. It's the little things, I guess.]</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-34964275614422503622011-01-09T17:59:00.000-08:002011-01-09T18:52:40.101-08:00The importance of breathing; or, moving on.This may or may not have anything to do with the title. <div><br /></div><div>[EDIT: okay, <i>it does, </i>but only subtextually. so, sorry about that.]</div><div><br /></div><div>We've just returned from ACTF at Michigan State University. It was a whirlwind of a week; we had quite a few successful designers and actors which kept us all bouncing from presentation to presentation, squeezing in workshops, productions, and (sometimes) food whenever possible. It was my last ACTF, and only my second, but we've had a good run together - great people, great theatre, and great inspiration.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's not much else to ask for, is there? </div><div><br /></div><div>Dean joined us briefly during our time in Michigan because he was being honored with the KCACTF Gold Medallion Award for service to the program. I haven't seen Dean in so long; his stint as the interim Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at UWP has shut him away from the theatre program pretty much entirely. But getting to hang out with him, see shows with him, and <i>having him</i> <i>at my final design presentation for support </i>was absolutely wonderful. That man inspires me like no one else and, as scary as it sometimes is to contemplate, I can see myself being very much like Dean when I'm a 'grown up.' I am forever indebted to him for accepting me into this program and challenging me on stage, in the classroom, and in life in general. People like Dean Yohnk come along only every once and a while, and I am forever grateful to him. </div><div><br /></div><div> *abrupt shift*</div><div><br /></div><div>"Company" begins in a week. That's 7 days. We're to arrive off book, music memorized, ready to hit the ground running (perhaps breaking the sound barrier?), and I have to say I haven't been this anxious about a rehearsal process before. It will be my first real musical experience, aside from understudying the illustrious Harold Hill in <i>The Music Man, </i>and I have to say I'm not sure what to expect quite yet. Except that I will have my butt kicked. At the same time, though, I feel ready for it... Or, at least braced for it. Is that the same thing? I know I'm going to have a handful of my own personal barriers to break down during this process, but, what better environment to do that in than one in which no other choice is really acceptable, right? Over the last few weeks I've been reading and rereading the notes I took this past summer during my classical acting classes with Ted Swetz. Over and over again, I return to the idea of greatness. Ted spoke to the interns extensively about the importance of abandoning the term 'perfection' and replacing it with 'greatness.' Theatre is <i>not </i>about being perfect. Theatre is about being great. It's about making exciting choices and taking risks and <i>knowing that failure is inevitable in the face of exploration. </i>Fear of failure only holds us back from finding the truth. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have feared failure in nearly every area of life since the moment I appeared on Earth. I'm not sure what that's all about, but I've always felt that an inability to succeed or complete something 'perfectly' not only let myself down, but disappointed others around me, as well. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know I've contemplated this idea too many times to count, so, I'll just move ahead: I am ready to kick my own ass and really rock it this semester, in every way possible. I've had almost an entire semester off from doing what challenges/scares/inspires me the most, and now I've got two amazing opportunities in front of me during my final semester in college to learn and <i>do </i>as much as possible before I'm catapulted into the big, scary, unforgiving world of professional theatre and part-time jobs. Yeesh.</div><div><br /></div><div>As a capper to this emptying of my thoughts, I'd like to say that I'm feeling really happy right now. There are a lot of complex layers and facets that accompany this blanket emotion, but, on the surface of it all, I'm feeling refreshed and overjoyed at the prospects of the immediate future. I've finally really (like, as in, <i>actually for real this time</i>) let quite a few big chips fall off my shoulder and I feel, for the first time in a long time, alive. This past week was a big part of that - being somewhere new with lots of foreign stimuli is always good for getting oneself to shake off old junk and become more open to what else is out there - and the next week will be, too, as I very completely dive into preparing for "Company" and "Hamlet." I'm hoping to have some camera adventures this week, too, so I can start figuring out this fancy new lens I got for Christmas... photo adventures are always a good mood booster. </div><div><br /></div><div>And finally, in the words of Neil Patrick Harris: <i>When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. </i>Seems like a good mantra for the semester. </div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-19147246066108476932011-01-02T17:16:00.000-08:002011-01-02T19:51:47.720-08:002011 is knocking. Well, actually, he's already on the couch with his feet up on the table. My move...<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Introducing my anticlimactic return to the blog-o-sphere...</div><div><br /></div>I keep dreaming about Lawrence University - it's amazing how much the mind is able to forget remembering... until some bizarre dream brings it back to the forefront of your thoughts. At least I was recalling happy memories, right?<div><br /><div>So, today has been a bizarre sort of looking-back/looking-forward sort of day, which I guess is what this entire break (thus far) has been about.</div><div><br /></div><div>This past semester of classes totally owned me; definitely a lot going on, at times bordering on <i>too much </i>going on, but I made it through and have spent enough days sleeping, vegging, and being non-active that I can now start feeling like I'm up to trying to get back up on my feet again. Dramaturgy was a great, productive exploration, and definitely stretched some parts of my brain that don't get a lot of use, but being in rehearsals and watching the actors and, toward the latter part the semester, getting out into Milwaukee for auditions really got me itching to get back on that side of things. And this next semester, I will be. So there.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Speaking of this next semester... it's my last semester. Of college. Ever. Unless I fail Astronomy of Non-Western Cultures, I'm pretty much guaranteed to walk across that little stage, shake some hands, and get a piece of paper that says the last five years of equal parts stress, glory, angst, ambiguity, and blind faith have been totally worth it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder what a college education is <i>actually </i>worth? Especially in an arts field - well, any field really. Everything I've learned in school could have been learned independently through a variety of venues. My mother worries that I didn't get my English or Digital Arts degree to accompany this little 'theatre thing' I like to do, but, I figure that with or without that extra degree, I'm going to know what I know and, ultimately, be just as capable of reading, writing, or digital art-ing (okay, not true - just stick with the reading and writing part) as I would be otherwise. Right? Ah.... subjectivity.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Here's a thought: Why don't they give a free apartment to every person who successfully completes a BA degree and promises to try their best all time in life, regardless of the outcome? Then I definitely could say that all the stress, glory, angst, ambiguity, and blind faith has been totally worth it. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaszI7-9U-wLSV-3npd5RHJi5fzZQQAUSGaszipo_UyeqbG2n5oq3tMmC4qN1nW1Y3EAw3uxtEDMy-NE9srW5569X6SF6xUIxdWWnQJoErxqSR-58eJHfwEz411CtQvo1oKaxTwpXb0Y/s400/IMG_4781.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557770403370430770" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This picture is neat for a variety of reasons:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>1) It's a clock from the 50's that I salvaged and gave to my dad for Christmas.</div><div><br /></div><div>2) I took this photo with my NEW CAMERA LENS that my parents got me, a lens that I actually haven't a clue about using correctly. It's very fancy. ....too fancy..</div><div><br /></div><div>3) Clocks are the most blatant symbolic representation of time passing... because clocks were made to show that time is passing.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And guess what? <i>Time is passing. </i>!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I really don't have a lot to say (obviously)... </div><div>Just reminding myself and others that I'm not dead.</div><div>More to come. </div></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-29510896410869315612010-10-03T19:36:00.000-07:002010-10-05T05:22:28.148-07:00lake michigan<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JHO_p6gmNAnqHhryH6JZO-MaVW972ds_biDnzgkn6EMMZISl8FmKouMCp8s0P3vDs9AwpmwvqypTASM5mDVr5_3xSh1M2-Yx6SE6Phd76g3FOUEstrnb-Fs8WvsHm9w3sQPav4Dd950/s400/IMG_3429.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524019270919946850" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaOu7tZusm_vju-ZtzScWSqj1_BMV_rMIVPButETfsXANm5SXE3XvK4VY_9TvYa-EKozXiyaWNbnvZb41qj2pcDMOR-G76N9Rjnc3D1H6lcqGMVNqtlxpa03_YW82NKV5uSjZx_0g8zY/s1600/IMG_3492.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaOu7tZusm_vju-ZtzScWSqj1_BMV_rMIVPButETfsXANm5SXE3XvK4VY_9TvYa-EKozXiyaWNbnvZb41qj2pcDMOR-G76N9Rjnc3D1H6lcqGMVNqtlxpa03_YW82NKV5uSjZx_0g8zY/s400/IMG_3492.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524019282009201170" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8qOZo4mfQnD9HlWtc0kE6-3WoKxGiZkpS7q968pgSDTLDV83hFFE9J85Nku_UjR6PRXq7fkY2dt10ayoTp76pHRZ0slQZCSw5yY40Ejaf_p_P_Le29-mPjdae-nPCiKO24KwWLe9k_4/s1600/IMG_3498.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8qOZo4mfQnD9HlWtc0kE6-3WoKxGiZkpS7q968pgSDTLDV83hFFE9J85Nku_UjR6PRXq7fkY2dt10ayoTp76pHRZ0slQZCSw5yY40Ejaf_p_P_Le29-mPjdae-nPCiKO24KwWLe9k_4/s400/IMG_3498.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524019262690923698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwpRwiItBwSeO44zLQLh9nNlqd7chkx_JhyphenhyphenVcYDxV5lao5qxCprOHCG7m0XB4lUnuw1ciK-d-Hk-o7vBcAbkB0pD2aDzD978x5g1VD2wItxRlCe_Bri04LS_cEHRGWWC0RJWkVbVzLEho/s1600/IMG_3414.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwpRwiItBwSeO44zLQLh9nNlqd7chkx_JhyphenhyphenVcYDxV5lao5qxCprOHCG7m0XB4lUnuw1ciK-d-Hk-o7vBcAbkB0pD2aDzD978x5g1VD2wItxRlCe_Bri04LS_cEHRGWWC0RJWkVbVzLEho/s400/IMG_3414.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524019251922449330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Z1UxONZI_OqrXVv05ugNkXPb4oUYZkotJZUxVKzlVnNginHvxDNuxAPgmCxU708gQYXLWjx5ZiOTTKR7CI00e5Q0O1nSMstah9X6CnKO5tiq1ipMGeOk9vwwY8XZQ2nGrXE205pETt8/s1600/IMG_3410.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Z1UxONZI_OqrXVv05ugNkXPb4oUYZkotJZUxVKzlVnNginHvxDNuxAPgmCxU708gQYXLWjx5ZiOTTKR7CI00e5Q0O1nSMstah9X6CnKO5tiq1ipMGeOk9vwwY8XZQ2nGrXE205pETt8/s400/IMG_3410.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524015986395530146" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0V77TYIWPJ7GjmC17oroHvfF9cRxe2SPInIY2-e7N5QkbB-vku9cCLl9P97OS3MfGpmpnapb7UHBvBvBXI9oQHi_1YuF18TjQ5stI1WzGlYiakb_p6uaZ1Jv3gN9mcfWPQj-b-hcCtoQ/s1600/IMG_3519.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0V77TYIWPJ7GjmC17oroHvfF9cRxe2SPInIY2-e7N5QkbB-vku9cCLl9P97OS3MfGpmpnapb7UHBvBvBXI9oQHi_1YuF18TjQ5stI1WzGlYiakb_p6uaZ1Jv3gN9mcfWPQj-b-hcCtoQ/s400/IMG_3519.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524014810344435554" /></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9jJKIbebOUWLoVQ9OFX857cfhW_6Noihs9wiZzwOJZHD65k7JRnIy3e0gc74J22_uCJHtXMsARXtxGvTghH-rFiOuRNbwWdjDmivLSyORvdIbK4TVhBeGX5Qi5DGB330IV8uOw710KpE/s400/IMG_3497.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524015992024328258" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWn8BAhL2FNubesie7JTctzMU2x0ZJNmbbQgYbik9BqXUEd2nJFg91X_nJ43LmHkTs64LwkGJZVYnMyqW04gaFE0qOPPex55yatiC-isExc4_PelSV7rfVYs1Tqc0vZ3YQIyQm7b5d7k/s400/IMG_3409.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524016001561264418" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing to say at present. I spent some time on the water today. Took some pictures. Here are a few of the highlights. Great colors, beautiful clouds, and endless waters... pretty relaxing Sunday. </div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-13819638914379876462010-09-19T10:21:00.000-07:002010-09-19T22:31:40.920-07:00- untitled.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRGcn2tA4jshwU-oYdvxfp-Ipwz4zhExiGspUB6eEeyvXgL6N84OOaM5kr_NRInlFAgRP30nukIoJazkZ4YsnYFexVs5RNgP7-LylNWru8k5xvz2NV_RW2qWnd854Pwumr6z9znRbqes/s1600/IMG_1470+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRGcn2tA4jshwU-oYdvxfp-Ipwz4zhExiGspUB6eEeyvXgL6N84OOaM5kr_NRInlFAgRP30nukIoJazkZ4YsnYFexVs5RNgP7-LylNWru8k5xvz2NV_RW2qWnd854Pwumr6z9znRbqes/s400/IMG_1470+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518680065869879394" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">[This photo has nothing to do with the following entry. </div><div style="text-align: center;">That being said, I need to get out with my camera sometime soon]</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I want to start a photo blog. But 1) Allison Hipple just started a photo blog. Do I want to look like a creativity thief? 2) I'd really have to challenge myself to get into a routine. I can't even keep track of updating THIS blog. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">The neighbors are screaming. Possibly jumping.</div><div style="text-align: right;">Actually, it sounds like they might be herding elephants.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">I must be back in Racine.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Why do people blog? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> I just finished watching <i>Julie and Julia </i>this morning, a movie which I referenced well over a year ago in one of my first blogs. I believe that at that time, I was contemplating the usefulness of blogging as a means for developing my skills as a writer. Over a year later, I've finally seen that movie and, between then and now, have written a very unsubstantial amount in comparison to the type of venture Julie Powell undertook when she began cooking and blogging her way through Julia Child's cookbook over the course of 365 days. I guess I'm not the kind of person who can stick to any sort of regiment without some outside force breathing down my neck and making me feel more guilty than I usually do at any given time through my own self-demoralization. Oh well. I think most people are that way, until the day when some particularly ass-kicking event comes along and, well, <i>kicks them in the ass</i>, and then they suddenly realize: "By golly, I've gotta pick myself up and stop being so lazy or some loser is going to step all over my face and leave me on the sidewalk to die!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I continually wait for that day to come, some kind of devastating "I told you so" circumstance delivered directly to my doorstep by the cosmos, but, here I am... still kind of floating without any real attachment to any concrete goals. And I seem to be just fine. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In answer to my own question: I don't know why people blog - I guess some people, in the dawn of this fantastical Facebook/Twitter/yesofcourseyourfriendswanttoknowwhatyou'redoingateverymoment world we've fallen into, think it's really important to let everyone on earth have access to their day-to-day collisions. I have a hard time writing that way, or thinking that way. I usually sit down determined to write about <i>what has happened since the last time I blogged. </i>Instead, what comes out tends to be some sort of repetitive, open-ended or otherwise rhetorical examination of my own ponderings about why I'm here (both here, and, you know... <i>here) </i>and what the Hell I want to do with my life. It makes me feel like I'm not making any progress, but, I guess I am. Both with this little blog and in the real world, too. Right? Either way, it's nice to be able to look back and remember what I was feeling on that warm July afternoon in 2009, rather than recalling some completed to-do list or activity. Give me the consequences of action to consider; I'll fill in the rest. Or something.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">School started on the 2nd. Or the 3rd. It was one of those early dates in September at any rate. In that time, I've read enough history books to fill my personal quota (though there are SO many more on the horizon, it's actually a little bit daunting), played the role of Benedick in a two-weeks-of-rehearsal-production of <i>Much Ado About Nothing </i>- complete with post-rehearsal breakdowns in a dark and empty theater - I've settled into a new apartment, been angstfully torn between the past and present, and, of course, looked toward the future with (albeit positive) uncertainty. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I just invented the word "angstfully."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I went to The Steppenwolf yesterday with Karl, Maddie and Allison. The entire venture was executed on a whim, with hopes of snagging discounted tickets to a show called <i>Detroit </i>starring Laurie Metcalf, among others. Happily, the whim proved fruitful, and we had a pleasant afternoon in Chicago and, on top of that, saw a pretty great piece of new theatre. <i>Detroit </i>took some time to settle with me, but when it did, I just thought: Man, that was <i>us. </i>This play was onto something, both relating to the state of the world today and the state of theatre -where it must be headed in the decades to come. Seeing good theatre has a completely paradoxical effect on me. On one hand, it inspires me to great heights; it makes me feel like anything is possible here - that we, as people; as a community of human beings - are capable of achieving anything, of communicating, connecting, and living boldly in the face of so many terrifying outside elements which threaten our humanity every day. On the other hand, great theatre always serves as a reminder for the greatness I <i>must </i>achieve if I ever want to be a part of this community of artistic gurus. I am constantly reminded of the hard work and dedication that is demanded and required in the theatre and, as always, I feel terrified that I may not be able to stand up to that. I've never been capable of owning my own artistry. Granted, I'm getting better about it, but, there's still a part of me that always feels so hesitant to bravely state, "I am an actor." I often feel undeserving of that title - not that it's a title, per say, but you know what I mean - and shy away from that spotlight for fear of being called a phony. Why? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Pursuing Dramaturgy has been the equalizer for me. It's a form of artistry, yes, but there's something concrete about it - you can be good at it or not, and you can easily see what is a success and what isn't, and there's something about that certainty that makes me less afraid of tackling it. I can read a history book and I can analyze information. I can put it on paper and know immediately whether what I've said is useful or not. It demands a lot of work, but not in the way that acting does. I hate it when people assume acting is just some really easy pastime, because it can just be utterly terrifying (and beautiful and wonderful and completely mysterious and rewarding). I am always afraid. At least this summer I've had a chance to face those fears in a different arena. And that experience has given me more confidence, more understanding, and a better grip on myself than I had ever had before. Maybe returning to school just brings back old patterns of behavior and thought, and in a few weeks I'll get back into myself and let that new-found part of myself shine through. I can tell that this semester, serving as Dramaturg for two shows in a row, will leave me aching to get back on the stage for whatever inexplicable reason there is; but getting on that stage isn't guaranteed, and there's a lot to accomplish between now and then. As there always is. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Until then, though, I'll just keep thinking and (hopefully) writing, reading, watching, listening, and whatever else I/you/we do when caught in a sort of inexplicable limbo. I feel like I'm on the very edge of my next big self-discovery - just looking for the right combination of steps that will give me the courage to jump off. </div><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-74693038174816652632010-08-20T20:20:00.000-07:002010-08-20T22:34:01.167-07:00"Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11cpbNWA_p57q1wvS5a4GHTSTX5uZ7z9f-dLoL3bV3Az627uEiNO1h_1Cl5pDAPcwDILdRpjV_ImiaOH9N7U5sVMN8SgVPliziuECdVloo6TOjaHhw9_PQPvMC_fUcjEu4nQ7dDg76J0/s1600/blog082010.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 104px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11cpbNWA_p57q1wvS5a4GHTSTX5uZ7z9f-dLoL3bV3Az627uEiNO1h_1Cl5pDAPcwDILdRpjV_ImiaOH9N7U5sVMN8SgVPliziuECdVloo6TOjaHhw9_PQPvMC_fUcjEu4nQ7dDg76J0/s400/blog082010.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507730868265471138" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Taken in Plain, WI, at dusk, summer 2009 - </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I love this photo, and this place. I hope I will return some day.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm not really sure what this will be about. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">On July 12, I said goodbye to Iowa City, packing what little I brought with me back into the Prizm, saying a tearful goodbye to my host family (I still miss you guys) and the city itself. Iowa City gave me more than I knew it had; it wasn't until I came home that its hand print showed itself ingrained upon my heart and soul. But more on that later - I am home now, with my family, and have only a handful of days to go until I am once again uprooted and return to Parkside for what I'm anticipating to be a fulfilling, exciting, and challenging year. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Home feels good. This is the longest stretch of time I've spent at home since the summer after my sophomore year of college. That's not too far off, of course, but it's long enough to make this return a special one; more specifically, it's been a wonderful one. I admit I had my apprehensions about returning - left to my own devices at home, I am anxious. I can't stay in, I cannot focus, I just do. not. function. here. At least, not before. This summer, though, home has been "home" in the truest sense. I am not constantly leaving the house in search of ways to occupy my mind and time, warding off unnamed fears and unnecessary mental traffic that so often accompanies my time spent here. Instead, I am content to watch the hours crawl by in the shade of the porch, drinking coffee and reading anything I can get my hands on. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am so happy to be spending time with my parents. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">They are the greatest in the world, and there's a lot I could not do without them. I feel focused on preparing my future, but immediately content to be in the present. The past is the past, of course, and pops up now and again as the past does tend to do, but it just doesn't bother me like it used to. Everything is here now, and all of it is moving forward.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am moving forward. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Okay, that's what this entry is about. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I can't really say when the last time is that I've suddenly been thrown into an uncontrollable fit of happiness for no concrete reason. Actually, I can't really say that this is something I've ever been known to do at all. But in the last four weeks of being home, I have been overcome so powerfully by things as simple as a beautiful sky, or a song on the radio, that the positive energy of that moment has carried me through entire days and given me comfort I cannot describe. For the first time in a quite a while, especially in the last year, I feel extremely connected to my emotions and, more importantly, am not afraid of them. My feelings are worth something. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am worth something </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">when </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is the last time I was able to say </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">that??</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">). And with this knowledge fresh in my mind, I have felt free from so much unnecessary baggage that has followed me for the past few years. I am, at last, able to say that I value myself for being me, and am proud of myself for my accomplishments and, though it's a stretch, am ready to give up my overly-critical attacks against myself. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, okay; baby steps here. We'll see what happens when I get back into school and am </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">actually </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">feeling the stress of my school work/projects - but I'm feeling pretty optimistic about the whole darn thing. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But let's get back to discussing the sky. Seriously. Have you </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">seen </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">it? I mean, have you really ever taken a moment, on your walk down the sidewalk downtown (in any town) to just look up and get lost in layers of cloud and strands of sunlight shining through to earth, and just think "Holy crap this is beautiful. This, right here, is a moment that I've got all to myself"? I was driving through the East Towne Mall parking lot on my way to work and actually stopped to watch the clouds drift by for 15 minutes last week, and I'd say it was one of the best 15-minute segments of that week. And each night when I get home from work, I relish the time it takes me to walk from my car up onto the porch, because I get to see the stars and listen to all the little critters that scurry through our gardens and the cornfield, and it makes me feel so incredibly lucky to be where I am and know, at least in the short-term, where I'm going.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And the sky will always be there when everything else around me gets too close for comfort. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am bursting at the seams with positive energy and so much love. Thank you, Iowa City, thank you to you and your city dwellers, to the out-of-towners like myself; to my parents, my sister, and my cat; to my </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">wonderful</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> friends, old and new and everyone inbetween: this summer has been the cure for all maladies of the heart and mind. I am ready for anything. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thank you</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">[My entry title is a line from "Our Town." </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> It is the truth of all things. Therefore, read it]</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-80362869407766662882010-06-28T19:49:00.000-07:002010-06-28T21:04:24.498-07:00Time to Breathe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPuT0hm9uzGRmC7y5NNurzo6q5Qt1jDGbFWqNyVAfv6AkjrBrIYXgQ5o_sFh8MfcVQcZumuhb8X6xALNtfFDxTlPYoZttev1r9Xwu5dfut5yVEpVXSYBTkrU91CqvZkF4Bk47KfCw3dHA/s1600/IMG_0256.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPuT0hm9uzGRmC7y5NNurzo6q5Qt1jDGbFWqNyVAfv6AkjrBrIYXgQ5o_sFh8MfcVQcZumuhb8X6xALNtfFDxTlPYoZttev1r9Xwu5dfut5yVEpVXSYBTkrU91CqvZkF4Bk47KfCw3dHA/s400/IMG_0256.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488022928152957234" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">[taken at approx. 2:47am, June 26, mid-rainstorm]</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We hit the ground running during tech, and from there on out the weeks have been a blur of eat, sleep, build, repair, rehearse, and perform. There were other bits and pieces in between, but they've been mashed into a confusion of verbs. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>What has happened:</i> We opened<i> Love's Labour's Lost</i> successfully, which - after opening night - presented me with an opportunity to begin understudying one of the main characters in lieu of an actor leaving town at some point during our run. Tech week for <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> was filled with morning shop calls, afternoon rehearsals, and evening dress runs of the show - not to mention learning my newly assigned understudy role in <i>Love's Labour's</i> - until opening night when we were rained out and forced to begin our opening night party a few hours ahead of schedule. The thunder and rain may have waterlogged the stage, but proved unable to dampen our spirits as we set forth to drink and be merry into the late hours of the night. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's hard to recall an accurate timeline of events between our opening night party and this very moment. Needless to say, things went by quickly. I survived understudy line-throughs of both shows, an understudy run-through of <i>Romeo and Juliet</i>, and a performance as Dumaine in <i>Love's Labour's Lost </i>this past Friday. My parents were able to attend, my host family came to cheer me on, and the cast/crew were unendingly supportive. I had a three day notice and rehearsal process before the performance (with only one afternoon to actually rehearse with the cast); it was quite the experience, to say the least. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have spent more time getting to know members of the company, teared up at <i>Toy Story 3 </i>(according <i>Entertainment Weekly, </i>that's totally acceptable), received a great massage, continued my exploration of yoga, napped in the sun, played in the rain, seen an old friend, spent time with my family, watched some good movies, and purchased several new plays. All in all, the weeks have been full. Trying to recall everything now, though, makes me wish I could add "updated my blog" to the list of things I've done recently...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>What I'm feeling: </i>Short answer - happy. Longer answer? ah - it's strange to think that in two weeks I'll be packing up my belongings and heading back to Madison to finish out the summer before I begin my last year of undergraduate classes. Each day reveals new reasons to be thankful for the opportunity to spend my summer with this group of artists; there is so much comradeship and constant giving. Recently I've been reminded of the chapters in <i>The Gift </i>(Lewis Hyde) that discuss the differences between a community and society. I've written about these topics before, so I won't take time to discuss them now. What I will say, though, is that as of late I've become very aware of the importance of a community bond between collaborative artists. It's also nice to be able to say that there is certainly a strong community among our company here at Riverside. We find support in each other in all instances; whether someone is offering to share a meal, give someone a lift, lend a hand, or use their own talents to benefit others, there's a lot of gift exchange between us, and each day it leaves me with richer experiences and ideas to reflect upon. Two of the other acting interns here have recently finished reading <i>The Gift </i>after having it recommended by me, and their enthusiasm for its ideas have made me very eager to reread the book - I look forward to seeing how my perceptions of the book's application to my life may have deepened in the year since my first read. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I do not ever want to work a regular 9-5 job again. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i></i>Not for any long period of time. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Not as a way of "making a living." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This summer has definitely solidified my desire to work (and, consequently, live) in the theatre. Earlier in the summer, I wrote about searching for the ability to take chances and make mistakes without fear of failure. Performing in <i>Love's Labour's </i>was the biggest leap in the dark I've ever taken as an actor; I should have been terrified. Or, at least, I would have thought that I would be, given my track record with stage fright when given weeks of rehearsal time for a role. But something about this experience was so freeing and, dare I say it: a complete and total blast. Yes, I stressed about the lines and blocking, and I spent three sleepless nights tossing and turning over the impending performance; but when the costume was on and I waited backstage with the three guys who would be my partners in crime for the proceeding two and a half hours, I felt excited and completely ready for the plunge. For the first time, I understood what it means to "forget" everything you know before stepping on stage for the first performance. I felt present and in tune with the story, I matched the cast's energy and tempo, and I didn't hesitate. Was it perfect? I have no clue - for the first time, I just didn't care or even think about perfection. I thought about having fun and telling a story. It was exactly what I needed: to be pushed off the edge and grow wings on the way down, as Ted Swetz would say. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Today, three days after the big performance, I am caught up on sleep, re-energized for the coming week, and anticipating more relaxing afternoons and playful evenings on the stage. It's been a great day of "me time" with friends, food, and drink, and I hope I'm able to stretch these last two weeks and make the moments last as long as possible. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-39343531382333062022010-06-02T20:42:00.000-07:002010-06-02T21:32:50.038-07:00thunderstorms and other pleasantriesIn the last few days I've attempted several times to update this thing, each time abandoning my drafts because I'm at a loss for words (the proper ones, at least). Today, I've decided screw it, especially since one promise I've made myself this past week is to stop being so damned hesitant about creative impulses. During my second class with Ted last week, he asked us to share any realizations we had experienced in the week between our meetings with him. I shared that I've realized my fear of being wrong can sometimes become so overwhelming that I choose to remain inactive; I avoid making active choices on stage for fear of being told I'm wrong, or the impulse was stupid, or incorrect, or whatever. Ted is helping me to throw away this perceived importance of perfection. He also pointed out, very wisely, that my decision to remain inactive causes me to fail twice: not only am I failing by fearing creativity, but the act of remaining inactive in lieu of that fear is another failure, worse than any perceived failure in being told I've made a choice that "doesn't work." <div><br /></div><div>He's a smart man. (Obviously, this lesson is, as most things with Ted seem to be, a lesson not only in acting, but in life. I won't go into that, though.)</div><div><br /></div><div>We're quickly reaching tech time for Love's Labour's Lost, and intern schedules are about to get a bit hectic. I'm not worried, though. Two weeks from now, both shows will be opening and life will be free and easy until my time in Iowa City comes to an end. I'm settling in more and more here, in many different respects. Walking through the downtown to get from place to place has been a relaxing and well-needed break from driving myself everywhere I go. My walks are a great time for contemplation and much needed musical interludes in my life - I've busted out my old-school headphones and have been making pretty good use of my iPod on a regular basis. The local grocery stores and restaurants are constantly offering up deliciously simplistic sensory experiences which - as Stella Adler has dictated - I am taking in to the fullest extent. I walked through the rain during last night's thunderstorm and watched the lightning over the skyline, feeling very connected to my environment and the "vibe" of this chilled-out hipster city. I'm getting to know my host family a little more each day, have finally figured out which names belong to each of their six cats, and am feeling more at home in a home that is not mine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kalen, an actor in the company at RTSF this summer, has been kind enough to start leading half-hour yoga sessions between rehearsal sessions. I've always had an interest in yoga, but have been afraid to actually jump in and give it a shot (yadda yadda, am I just afraid of everything?). I've now attended three of her sessions and, while short, she does a great job of introducing a variety of techniques and really getting her handful of fellow yoga-ers to relax, reconnect, and find grounding in our bodies. It's been really exciting to work on my breathing especially; this past school year, I was constantly told that I had trouble connecting with my breath on stage. During <i>All My Sons, </i>the anxiety I experienced during rehearsals and some performances lead to horrible tension that closed my body off from my breath almost entirely, and I struggled to understand exactly what was causing all of this to happen. Kalen's sessions have really helped me start to comprehend <i>what good breathing actually feels like</i>. I'm very quickly finding myself much more in-tune with my core and my own breath. I look forward to working more with her on this in whatever capacity possible as the summer rolls on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Along with swearing off hesitant behavior, I'm really trying to stop being a lazy procrastinator. This is, of course, the most painful adjustment to try and make in my routine. Little by little, though, I'm finding ways of avoiding sitting in front of my computer for hours on end, or laying in bed until the very last second possible, and getting much better at taking on the day's activities in a more aggressive manner. It's definitely not helping that I keep adding to my to-do lists in quantities that seem entirely impossible to complete in a day (or handful of days, or even a week), but the impetus is there. Working with professionals outside of the school environment has definitely changed my perspective of what hard work and dedication to one's own artistry truly is. In no way am I saying that the students I work with at Parkside aren't dedicated; I've simply observed that removing elements such as classes, homework, part-time jobs, and social whatevers definitely changes the way colleagues I am currently working with attack their work and the amount of time in the day they are both able and willing to apply to their craft. It's altogether intimidating, inspiring, and admirable - at times I feel like I might not be cut out (ie <i>good enough) </i>for such dedicated, hard work. Can I reach their level of dedication? Would I be allowed such ownership and creative license? The mere though of being told "no" in response to either of these queries is earth shattering. </div><div><br /></div><div>But then I remember: If I don't give it a try, then I'll never know.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I've said previously that I'm finding joy in my work again. This is definitely still true, and this evolving joy constantly gives way to curiosity and questions - questions I feel immediately compelled to seek-out answers to. This little theatre in this little town has SO much to offer me. I really do feel so lucky to be here with this incredible group of artists, and I don't want a day to go by that makes me feel like I've wasted opportunities to grow, to explore, or even - dare I say it - fail and <i>learn </i>from my own daring. </div><div><br /></div><div>For now, though, it's time to curl up with <i>The Complete Sherlock Holmes </i>and get ready for another long day tomorrow. Scenic building at the Festival Stage, intern rehearsal, yoga, and R&J rehearsal tomorrow, followed by a home-cooked meal for my host family (Chicken Adobo, don't fail me now.)</div><div><br /></div><div>3 days 'til tech. 7 days 'til <i>Love's Labour's Lost </i>opening. 14 days 'til <i>Romeo and Juliet. </i> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-77209509805409864782010-05-25T21:05:00.000-07:002010-05-25T21:40:02.517-07:00scenes from lifeWhat's a good opening sentence? Too tired to figure one out.<div><br /></div><div>This week - this day - (nay, this... summer?) has been ripe with new experiences, perspectives, and questions that have left me in a complete daze; I am all at once aware of so much more about myself and those around me, but this same discovery has also lead - as such things often do - to a larger awareness of what is <i>still </i>out there that I do not know. It's always interesting to me that when one door opens, there's usually a corridor of locked doors waiting behind it. The journey never ends.. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway - today: 8:00am load-in at the festival stage; hauling in scenery, constructing set pieces, installing lights; all under the blazing midwestern sun. 5:00pm; end of load-in, dinner with Scott Irelan, the Riverside Theatre's dramaturg for the festival. 7:00pm; rehearsal on the festival stage - fight choreography and scene work. 11:00pm; home, sandwhich, hungry cats, bed.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's been a long day. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The load-in today was great. 1) It reminded me of those good old days as a Production Assistant at APT; though I was there only one year ago, it seems decades away. 2) The manual labor was a much needed break from sitting in a stuffy theatre, and 3) I always enjoy the comradeship that thrives on days like these. Actors, interns, and technicians come together to work as a unit for an entire day; yes, the work is hard, but in sharing that load we become closer, appreciate everyone's contributions, and we bring ourselves that much closer to our end product. It's an exciting part of the process, and it's great to shake things up every once and a while. </div><div><br /></div><div>My short time here - as I think is the result any time I find myself away from the "norm" - has made me, once again, aware of the extraordinary quality of every day moments in my life. My walks to and from the theatre, lunch with friends, or just being able to sit in the park and read and write! - these small scenes that make up my life are where I find my solitude and peace of mind. Every day has brought me new clarity about where I'm headed in the coming year and what needs to happen in order to make those ventures possible. Last week I received my final grades for the spring semester, meaning that school is officially over and I am free to explore what's in front of me without what's left behind looming over my head. This past Saturday, my dad paid me a surprise visit and took me out for breakfast. When he left town, I retreated to the park across from my host home and napped in the shade on a picnic bench. The sounds of the neighborhood were positively invigorating. I sincerely feel renewed energetically, spiritually, and physically. It's great to be myself again, and to take joy in restfulness and leisure, to pursue my "work" with happy dedication without whatever myriad anxieties usually cloud my plane. </div><div><br /></div><div>There have been many "happy collisions" so far this summer - one such collision has come from the man who introduced me to this phrase: Ted Swetz. He is the director of <i>Love's Labors Lost, </i>one of the original founders of APT, a student of Stella Adler, and, as luck would have it, he's my monologue coach this summer. The acting interns have the great fortune of spending a handful of afternoons with Ted, at which he shares his philosophies and life lessons, his secrets and his methods, and I am soaking up his gospel with all my might. I have been writing like a fiend these last seven days, taking note of every new insight, specific moments, and new questions provoked by chance encounters. Stella Adler, with so much passion, urged her students to <i>listen with their blood</i> - Ted's approach to acting, to teaching, is very clearly derived from such a passionate instruction and I am happy to say that this passion's contagion continues to progress. </div><div>Another such collision has been with Scott Irelan. Today we got together so that I could pick his brain and learn more about the role of Dramaturg in a theatrical production. Scott had great insights to share and great tips for me as I prepare for two dramaturgical processes this coming fall. Immediately after our meeting I called my professor, Lisa, to tell her about this great encounter. More research, writing, and teaching on the horizon, and I couldn't be more excited. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's hard to believe I'm having such a great time in Iowa. It's hard to believe that such a small theatre could be offering me such a hugely exciting theatrical/life experience. This place and these people are truly teaching me, day by day, that theatre and life must merge in order for the experience of the theatre to be passionate and engaging, for it to be real, and for it to warm you. "All creativity must come from joy," Ted told us actor-hopefuls. "Nothing comes from negativity." I am happy here; dare I say it: joyful. In this joy and learning I'm rediscovering confidence in myself, and in that confidence more creativity.</div><div><br /></div><div>Doors within doors, and always something just beyond. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-28970742576166479492010-05-17T21:53:00.000-07:002010-05-17T22:32:26.994-07:00Sunshine, at lastWeek 1 has officially ended; my second Tuesday has begun (as of 30 minutes ago) and already I am preparing for the day ahead (a classical monologue workshop, followed by a few hours in the scene shop and R&J rehearsal are on special today). This past week has floated by; not because of any sort of slack in my workload, but simply because I'm feeling very restful here, and finding my way into myself again (I hope that makes sense. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe I'll clarify). <div><br /></div><div>I'm very happy to be a part of the company at Riverside Theatre. I feel completely engaged in the rehearsal/artistic/collaborative process of this theatre's summer festival, and already I am learning myriad valuable lessons from my new colleagues. On Sunday during the intern production rehearsal, I was thinking about this group of 8 young actors I have the privilege to learn and perform with this summer. - Okay, first, they made me think about the students at Parkside I've been working with. Over the past two years, I have worked side-by-side with the same group of artists in a familiar environment, processing new information and its application to myself as a human and an artist and, furthermore, attempting to open myself as an individual to these people. Two years, and at times I still find it hard to be as openly expressive as I feel capable of being; two years, and although I'm comfortable at Parkside, there are still parts of myself as a performer - as a human - that are difficult to connect to and feel safe enough to expose to those around me. And now I find myself in a new city, faced with this same challenge, but with different peers in an alien setting (and only a few weeks to find and embrace that comfortability that is so necessary to the execution of this craft). I watch the acting company during R&J rehearsals and I am amazed by their abilities to be unabashedly open with their emotions; on stage they play and connect and effect each other almost instantaneously. There is an unspoken agreement amongst them all that, whether they succeed or fail, the aim is to believe in one's own power of humanity and ignite passion between us all. </div><div><br /></div><div>How brave a thing it is to be human and, beyond that, to reach out to others knowing full well that all might be for naught. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wrote once about the difference between being vulnerable and becoming receptive. Now, this summer, is the time to put my perceptions of these ideas into play and step out of my comfort zone to be open and receptive, but also to give myself wholly to others around me. The last seven days have been pleasant and enlightening - I have observed new things and taken note, but I have yet to put these acknowledged insights into action and advance myself actively in my pursuit of performance skill and understanding. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've been journaling a lot in this past week, and it's been good for me. I write about myself, about the play, and other things as well. Every fiber of my being is bent on absorbing every moment I experience here, and I am determined to glean as much knowledge from these fleeting instances as possible. </div><div><br /></div><div>I look forward to this week; more challenges, and more opportunities to push the boundaries of my experiences and learn a bit more about my abilities. It really is now or never, after all. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-34211771882781321232010-05-10T19:53:00.000-07:002010-05-10T20:25:14.505-07:00and a second summer away from home begins...There is a long-haired tabby sleeping in my lap. Rain is gently tapping at the windows and the creeks and groans of my home-away-from-home are helping me settle in to these new surroundings. For the first time in many months, I feel very at peace with the "here and now."<div><br /></div><div>This afternoon I arrived in Iowa City to begin my 10 week stay while I intern with The Riverside Theatre as an actor in their production of "Romeo and Juliet." The last few days have been filled with numerous stimuli - the pressure to complete my semester's work a week earlier than scheduled, the joy of coming home to see my family for two short days, the anxiety of moving out of my apartment and ensuring that all will be well during the last few weeks of our lease, and the looming anticipation of today, which has arrived, commenced, and is now coming to a close. Tomorrow is the next step, and I'm glad to say that the fear I've carried with me was washed away with today's spring rain, and I look forward to the new faces, new opportunities, and new self-revelations that this experience is bound to unfold.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two things so far: this city, and this family. I arrived in Iowa City a few hours ahead of schedule, greeted by wind and rain, and so I retreated to a cafe near the theatre to take a breather and collect my thoughts. For that period of time, a lot of anxieties and insecurities led my train of thought and, for a moment, I felt my inner introvert attempting to take over and send me into panic. </div><div><br /></div><div> All of that was thrown aside, however, when I got to my host family's home. I am staying with Kevin and Helen Burford, who own a beautiful Victorian home a few blocks from the University Campus, where Kevin works at the Law Library. Helen works for a Historical preservation association and their daughter, Maddy, works in a daycare. The family took me on a walking tour of the downtown on our way to dinner, and I enjoyed their anecdotes about the city, the buildings, and the history of the area. Iowa City is absolutely gorgeous; its a place that vividly reflects the character of its rich history - beautiful victorian homes, neoclassical style buildings, the wonderful campus (all of which Helen had stories about to share!) - but is electrified by the hustle and bustle of today. This family and this city find meaning and wonder in their history, and I appreciate and am overjoyed by that. I look forward to spending time with them (they are constantly working on renovating their beautiful home, and I have offered up my services to them whenever they find them necessary) and learning more about this city and its unique character.</div><div><br /></div><div>This week will be a hectic one, but I'm looking forward to every second of it; classes with the company actors, hours in the shop, time in the rehearsal hall, and best of all: my days start at noon! This means, I hope, that my mornings will be spent exploring the city and getting to know the Burfords. </div><div><br /></div><div>If this damn weather ever cheers up, I may even go for a run through City Park.</div><div><br /></div><div>Long live summer :)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-56339806091232088252010-03-17T00:07:00.000-07:002010-03-17T00:42:00.089-07:00Among other news: Spring is here (what?)The semester is half over. Woah.<div><br /></div><div>A lot has happened since my last post. I'll try to give a brief synopsis:</div><div><br /></div><div>My winter vacation was consumed by preparations for the ACTF Festival in Michigan. I had the opportunity to compete as an actor for the Irene Ryan scholarships, bringing sophomore Maddie Wakley (my friend, cohort, partner in crime, emotional rock, etc) as my partner. Although I was sick for the entire week preceding the festival (and through most of our time in Michigan as well), we made it to semifinals, and then we made it to finals. Great experience! Next was dramaturgical work for <i>Cloud 9, </i>directed by Lisa Kornetsky. The project was larger than I anticipated, but certainly a successful first stab at dramaturgy. I provided program notes, an online study guide, and lobby display for the show which, I am pleased to say, were noticed AND READ by several community members. Score again! Now I am in the very beginnings of rehearsals for <i>As You Like It </i>in which I am playing Touchstone (!!!!). It's my first Shakespearience and I'm feeling a bit intimidated, but ultimately enthused about the project.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was also promoted to head writing tutor in the Parkside Writing Center. This really doesn't mean too much and hasn't changed much of what I do, but it's cool that they asked me to do it. I like working there. </div><div><br /></div><div>There's a lot of things I could write about (and most likely will in future posts), but what I want to focus on right now is the latter: my position as head writing tutor. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, not so much that particular position, but my job in the Writing Center and the questions it prompts on a daily basis and how it's reshaped the way I perceive the many possibilities for my future. Easy enough, yes? We'll see.</div><div><br /></div><div>I really, really like teaching. Even more pleasant than this discovery, I've realized I may just have a natural knack for it, too! I used to think I wanted to be a high school teacher, but now that I've spent so much time working in the tutoring center - teaching outside of the classroom setting - I've realized that I don't need that structure in my life in order to achieve this goal. This acknowledgment has been quite freeing and is helping me open a lot of doors for possible career options. I am excited by the possibilities that exist for teachers in a non-classroom setting, and I thrive on the challenges that individual students' capacities to be open to learning present to me as a communicator. Every day I work with students of all kinds - some are looking for a quick edit-and-go, others arrive because they are seeking an understanding of a skill they have not yet mastered, and others come because they are forced. Their willingness to engage in a dialogue about their writing style, the process of writing, or anything remotely related to printed words on paper varies and, at times, my efforts end up being fruitless even after countless sessions with the same student. But there's always one kid - maybe it's only one that day, or only one the entire week - who suddenly 'gets it.' He or she puts two and two together in such a way which catalyzes a sudden burst of enlightenment, and feel - often for the first time - that they can do it. That they can do <i>something. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i></i>Being able to provide my peers with that first sense of academic confidence is so exhilarating and rewarding to me. I can't even say for sure why that is, but when a student leaves the Writing Center smiling because they've suddenly done something they couldn't do before, and furthermore, they found their way to action through their own thought process, I feel elated. There's something very gratifying about finding true confidence in one's self - whether of an academic nature or otherwise. </div><div><br /></div><div>This, at least for the moment, is what I want to do with my life. I want to inspire confidence and help others process their own patterns of thought and perception so that they can express those perceptions in comprehensible ways. We live in a world that is quickly becoming void of thoughtful communication; I want to stop that from happening. I want to give young people the artistic, creative, intellectual, <i>whatever </i>license to think and dream and command that others listen when they speak because their ideas are important to someone, somewhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want a lot of things, apparently.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When I was in high school, I used to spend my summers as a counselor at our community's summer theatre camp. I worked with kids of all ages, all backgrounds, some of whom were handicapped in some way, and others who were just downright shy. Whatever their stories were at the beginning the summer, their experiences at camp gave them the ability to rewrite a part of themselves and emerge as stronger, more confident individuals. Its amazing how quickly a dedication to some form of artistic expression can change the way people see themselves. Communicating creatively builds communities, friendships, and a sense of individuality that is incredibly difficult to disassemble once the foundation is laid. </div><div><br /></div><div>I spend a lot of time lately reflecting on what theatre has meant to me, both personally and professionally. I've always seen my participation in the theatre as the first spark of individuality that I could identify within myself. Theatre gave me the confidence to explore the world around me and ask questions about the way things are, but until now I never really thought about using theatre in my own professional life in order to give this kind of power to others. Until recently, I've viewed my education as an opportunity to hone my acting skills so that I could enter the "real world" as a professional, working actor. Is that still a goal now? Certainly. Is it the end-all, be-all that it once was? Not in any way. I want to act - I enjoy it very much. But the sense of purpose that education gives me can't be compared to anything else. At least not yet. My Dramaturgical work for <i>Cloud 9, </i>too, was an opportunity to test my skills as a sort of educator, and I enjoyed it a great deal. I loved being a part of rehearsals in a way that, while not involving myself actively on stage, was still collaborative and insightful. It was exciting to help others gain new perspectives about the text of the play, the messages it presented, and the world they would inhabit during their rehearsal period and run of the show. There's a lot to learn out there, and a lot to share. </div><div><br /></div><div>Dramaturgy, educational outreach, tutoring, <i>whatever. </i>Doors are opening. It's a cool feeling. </div><div> </div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-67359854236039780552009-12-03T11:22:00.000-08:002009-12-03T11:47:39.600-08:00Eh.This is my third attempt at updating this thing since my last post.<br /><br />I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed by school right now; the semester is coming to a close, <em>All My Sons </em>is opening tomorrow morning (!!?!), and I'm terrified about finding summer work that will be 1) artistically fulfilling 2) also fill my belly with food. If you know what I mean.<br /><br />It's quite possible that I'm going through some weird midlife crisis right now - what do you call a midlife crisis at 21? A fourth-of-the-way-though-lifecrisis? Maybe. If so, that's what I'm having. A few weeks ago I hit the breaking point with my workload and just gave up for a few days and went into hibernation mode. Since then, I've been trying to get all my work done to the best of my abilities, but have been fighting the urge to just "be" for a while and stop worrying about all of this stuff.<br /><br />Stuff gets me down.<br /><br />The other week, though, I drove out to the beach past Carthage College. It was about 11pm or so. There was a mist coming off the water and the beach was completely deserted. I reminded myself of Edmond from <em>Long Day's Journey Into Night; </em>I was a ghost in the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. And yes, it did in fact feel damn peaceful. I've been going out of my way to find moments for this kind of solitude as of late. I think I need to simplify my life, or my priorities. Is my life just one big list of priorities? I guess it is; I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but maybe making some adjustments to my perceptions of how these priorities rank will help me chill out.<br /><br />Anyway, the beach: I stood on the edge of the sand right where the waves were washing in and out. I really love Lake Michigan. Through the fog on the water, I could just barely see the blinking lighthouses in downtown Kenosha. There wasn't a boat on the water or a car on the road - I was completely alone with the waves and mist, and I felt really, really good. I could have cried, and that probably would have been helpful, but the happiness that consumed me was so effortless and pure that I didn't want to risk turning my night into a mess due to overflowing emotional baggage. I stayed there for about a half an hour, just myself and the rhythm of the lake.<br /><br /><br /><br />I'm very ready to be happy. A lot of this semester has been fruitless self-pity and self-induced pressure to succeed at all costs. It's going to hurt me academically, but I'm determined to keep myself afloat and not let it get to me. I put too much stock in being a really good student. That whole "proof is in the pudding" thing gets a bit exhausting as far as final grades are concerned.<br /><br />Time to enjoy the process. Right?chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-50245956216667803222009-08-14T00:03:00.000-07:002009-08-15T09:23:47.028-07:00Art<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJJdXp_6eR252nYBv_izdRTZs7l7M3VDG7o0GglWj8n-7nc3env6H_gbW_uiye75yHGp6sfjDRx1CkkPe9bzE7WLeKjBpV0ny320ry2LiISEzgioJ5mmooNg4psCu45AVdpuBaZnBbWU/s1600-h/blog6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJJdXp_6eR252nYBv_izdRTZs7l7M3VDG7o0GglWj8n-7nc3env6H_gbW_uiye75yHGp6sfjDRx1CkkPe9bzE7WLeKjBpV0ny320ry2LiISEzgioJ5mmooNg4psCu45AVdpuBaZnBbWU/s400/blog6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370226889644536098" border="0" /></a><br />The other day my friend Jaclyn and I went to Red Squared, the art gallery in downtown Spring Green which is currently host to an exhibit by students of Frank Lloyd Wright's Hillside School of Architecture. The exhibit is great - photography, mixed media, oil paintings, architectural designs, and other projects fill the space.<br /><br />This marked my second visit to the exhibit, and once again I was intrigued by the varying types of people I saw perusing the art just as much as I was intrigued by the art itself. There were, of course, the students whose art is hanging in the exhibit. They stood by the door, greeting guests, perhaps flanked by family members or friends, talking about their latest work, their education at the Hillside School, or other artists they know who are currently working in the "real world" else where in the country.<br /><br />Both times now that I have seen the exhibit, I've also been in cohorts with an older set, a group that to my eyes seems uninterested in the purpose of the art and more concerned with being a part of the artistic, cultured world. They drink wine from plastic cups, inquiring about prices for certain works, and all the while they meander without committing themselves to their surroundings. They are aware of the art, but they do not seem to interact with it. I see no connection being made. Why are they there? The idea of being cultured, I think, can become misconstrued, and I see these people as a prime example of the misinterpretation. Suddenly, being part of these artists' domain becomes a recognition of status; they can afford to turn the art into a commodity with a monetary value which they believe will give them access to an artistic world to which they've given nothing of real worth in exchange . Perhaps that's a hasty generalization, but feel as though I see it happening. It may also be that I've got <span style="font-style: italic;">The Gift </span>on the brain, and so now I'm constantly on the look out for artistic phonies.<br /><br />I think that people-watching is fascinating. Lots of food for thought and a great source for creativity.<br /><br />And then there are those perusing the gallery like myself and Jaclyn, a younger generation with much less money and perhaps a lot less concern for being considered "cultured" (what does it even mean to be "cultured," anyway?). We wander back and forth, considering each piece. I am fascinated most by the smaller projects which look, at first, as if they could have been created some lazy afternoon in front of the TV, but after a closer examination the intricacy of the detail is revealed and the art becomes a puzzle. How was this wall of tiles, each covered with 1/8" strips of magazine shreddings, brought to fruition? What message is this artist trying to relay? Does that pattern of the tiles as a whole mean something, or is it within each individual tile that an independent story lays waiting to be discovered? Are the patterns meant to be decoded? And why has this artist chosen to create large paintings using bright and cheerful colors which look charming and upbeat from a distance when the actual subject of these works, upon closer inspection, turns out to be the depressed neighborhoods of Brooklyn?<br /><br />Most of the time, I can't really come up with answers for the questions the art seems to prompt. It all feels subjective anyway, since my own answers manifest themselves through my own personal perspective and experiences. But just the same, I'm happy that I'm able to consider the provocative nature of art. I hope that other people are doing so, too.<br /><br />Going to the gallery reminded me how very much I enjoy all artistic mediums. I get really wound up in theatre a lot of the time, and I forget about the other forms of artistic expression that exist. I'm hoping that this school year I can make trips the Milwaukee Museum and perhaps to some in Chicago, too. I've also been thinking about Andy Warhol a lot lately, which is strange considering I really don't know much about him. So, I think I'll start exploring his life and work when I get back to school.<br /><br />I don't think I'm going to have time to sleep this semester... but that's cool. Lots of reading, writing, and creating on the horizon; I really can't complain.chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-7188434796493167022009-08-12T12:16:00.001-07:002009-08-14T07:04:47.283-07:00Edward Albee and other distractions<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfXRLctYigCMAa-NVPhFfsi0pYcvRmr9DFgUfw_2gNMz9zd_g-kCHPndsfoCnwdv1KSqCdEPewA_eMgF4zFfY6tia7Sn4453h8sc0pbNDr7e9pfF-rR84rbkV5lLj_qgsgAgkwqyTnz0/s1600-h/blog5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfXRLctYigCMAa-NVPhFfsi0pYcvRmr9DFgUfw_2gNMz9zd_g-kCHPndsfoCnwdv1KSqCdEPewA_eMgF4zFfY6tia7Sn4453h8sc0pbNDr7e9pfF-rR84rbkV5lLj_qgsgAgkwqyTnz0/s400/blog5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369322454796986674" border="0" /></a>Is anybody reading this? Eh.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I spent most of my afternoon thumbing through course catalogs and schedules, trying to figure out what to do about this upcoming year. The result? Even if I only major in Theatre and get no other minor, I won't be graduating in the spring of 2010. Here's to the class of 2011, I guess. And that's enough about that.<br /><br />I read a play this week that I found particularly interesting: "The Goat, or Who is Silvia?" by Edward Albee. He also wrote - among many others - "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woof," which I read back in 2007 and would like to read again soon after reading "The Goat." The very small amount of information supplied by my textbook about Albee gave me a bit of insight into his work overall. An absurdist playwright, Albee had an extreme dislike for conventional heterosexual marriage, and, for the most part, all things considered conventional in modern American life. "The Goat" certainly attacks conventional morals and marriage - the play follows Martin, a successful architect, who has just admitted to his best friend that he is having an affair with a goat named Sylvia. Obviously, his best friend is repulsed by this and immediately writes a letter to Martin's wife, Stevie, letting her in on the affair. From there, the play gets pretty bizarre. Emotions run high and irreversible damage is done to their marriage as Martin and Stevie confront the existence of Sylvia. Meanwhile, they deal with their 17 year old gay son, Billy, who is called a stupid faggot by both his father and his father's friend. To make a long story short, nobody comes out of this play remotely happy.<br /><br />As the play develops, each of the family members (and Martin's friend, Ross) must confront their values and ideals and are left grasping at answers for what is right and what is wrong. They are emotionally charged characters who are torn between instinctual lust (or is it love?) and the restraints that society has put upon them - in this way, Albee seems to be asking his audience to reflect on their own values, too. How can we define love, and how can we define the role of sex within love? Sex, as a symbol, is extremely important in both modern society and in Albee's play, but perhaps for different reasons within each. The play's final scene, in which the son forgives his father for his actions and they share an embrace with evolves into a sensual kiss in front of Ross, is especially heartbreaking and somewhat repulsive, but at the same time it is very poignant. It stirs up a lot of questions and emotions and, for me, the answers are not readily available. The play takes time to digest and, as soon as possible, I hope to find someone else who is familiar with this play so that I can discuss it further.<br /><br />After reading this play, I feel that I will definitely be reading more of Albee's work this semester as well as adding him to the list of playwrights I want to explore in my independent study I'm planning. It is my hope to work with a few dedicated students this spring on a research project that will examine modern/post-modern theatre in the US and in Europe. I want to compare and contrast their playwrights, styles, and themes, and, as a final project, present some sort of lecture which would include scene work from key playwrights and their respective plays that would represent the body of work we studied as a whole. I'm working with one of my professors, Lisa Kornetsky, on filling in the blanks and coming up with a better angle for this project, but for now that is my main objective. I really enjoy working with classical text, but I've found a niche with modern playwrights that I want to continue researching. I find modern drama to be more immediately relevant to today's issues and am also interested in learning more about how the boundaries of theatre performance are being crossed by current playwrights and their styles.<br /><br />In other news, my writing has come to a bit of a standstill. I haven't done any writing in the last few days, and it certainly is apparent. I need to get back in the habit of writing a few pages every day to keep my brain well lubricated. I actually just read an article in the paper about Julie Powell, who provides the inspiration for the new film <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjvJHsJD8ic">Julie and Julia</a>. </span>The film is based on the book, which is based on the blog written by Powell during the year she decided to cook every single one of Julia Child's recipes within 365 days. In the article, Powell explained that the blog gave her a chance to hone her writing skills and become confident in her writing. She hadn't planned on making a movie, or even being a cook, she just wanted to become a writer and the blog helped her cultivate her talents. I don't really know if I'll see the movie, but I thought the article was interesting anyhow.<br /><br />I wish I could be a writer, too. But, of course, the best way to become something is to just do what it takes to get there. So, here I am. Something I read in The Gift recently reminds me of my current problem as a writer (I'm nearing the end of the book - hopefully I'll be done by middle of next week). In one section of the book, Hyde discusses the role of will power in the work of an artist. He explains that the initial inspiration for art must arrive when the will is suspended; an artist who forces or wills creation will not develop anything worth while. It is after the inspiration that will power comes into play because, more often than not, inspiration arrives in small snippets without any real coherence. An artist must piece them together to create a cohesive piece.<br /><br />This is definitely my main problem right now. My play, as an example, came to me over many days of random "inspiration;" scenes and moods popped into my head at the strangest of times, and i often had to scramble to grab pen and paper to scribble them down before they disappeared. Although I saw how they could all fit together, the blanks still needed a bit of filling and, of course, nothing came to me in an order that made sense. I was very excited during this period. I thought I was really on to something and piled up a great deal of ideas, dialogue, and other nonsense. But when I sat down two days ago to begin the process of tieing things together, fleshing out characters, or even creating some sort of throughline for the story, I felt like someone threw a wrench into my machinery and I was all jammed up. I'm up against self-doubt, a short attention span, and many other outside forces that could hinder me from stringing my ideas together. My hope is that I can start writing about a page or two a day for this play, not necessarily in any order, but just expanding sections I've already roughed out, with the hope that it will get easier every day. I may start writing here every day, too. But if I do, I will be cutting back on how much I write. I need to learn to be more succinct - think a thought, develop it, and share it, simply and without too much superfluous language.<br /><br />Will power, man. Will power.<br /><br />That's all for now. I hope things get a bit more exciting in the days to come, though I'm sure they won't. Hopefully next week I'll have some short story or section of my play to share here.<br /><br />Moving back to Racine in about 16 days, though. Weird.<br /><br /><br /></div></div>chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-46233650580521456382009-08-06T11:28:00.000-07:002009-08-12T17:36:02.841-07:00Double wammy Thursday...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF5_CSTkSGEz9w1GQhMCrTcRgSIigZakHFY-56ys7EsbSMpianYSeq3uKH6l5H1hYFDsFJG1JoKfobvL2mi7q6w63BsVfDtKjYd8VI9hIBEQhtlMqWCmhI6T4g9qmQPq2Rel78WgwbQk/s1600-h/blog+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF5_CSTkSGEz9w1GQhMCrTcRgSIigZakHFY-56ys7EsbSMpianYSeq3uKH6l5H1hYFDsFJG1JoKfobvL2mi7q6w63BsVfDtKjYd8VI9hIBEQhtlMqWCmhI6T4g9qmQPq2Rel78WgwbQk/s400/blog+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369240641964750754" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I thought I'd throw another post on here that might shed some light on what I've been doing lately, rather than just gushing about personal epiphanies and the like.<br /><br />It has recently occurred to me that my summer is about three weeks away from completion. My contract is up on the 29 of this month and then it will be time to pack up the very few belongings I took with me on this journey and make my way back across to the state to Racine to begin another school year.<br /><br />To be more specific, it's my senior year. Kind of. There is no way I'll make it out in two semesters if I want to graduate with a Theatre major and a minor in, well, anything, really - but for the moment I'm hoping for graphic design. The art department at Parkside, much like at any school I would imagine, is very popular. It is host to a slew of talented professors from all over the country who have somehow found themselves nestled between Milwaukee and Chicago at this small Wisconsin public school. From what I see and what I hear, the program is great and provides many great resources, and I think I could learn a great deal from their graphic design professors. Getting into the program is proving difficult, at least for now. I waited until the end of May to ditch my English minor in favor of this more "useful" one (though truly my reasons for leaving English behind have nothing to do with use, but more to do with academic/creative engagement and stimulation), and now nearly all the art classes are overflowing with students, leaving me with a handful of classes that, if I do make this switch into the art department, will be useless to me. With only three weeks to go and a newly-received email from Parkside announcing that their online system will be down for most of August, I'm a little panicked about changing my schedule around and figuring out what exactly is happening with my fall semester.<br /><br />At the same time, though, I don't feel too bothered. It will be what it will be, and I guess if I really get screwed over I can take a bunch of online classes to fill the void. I'm trying not to get too worked up over it. As long as I can take the art classes at some point and get out of Kenosha before 2011, I'll be satisfied.<br /><br />Earlier this week I experienced a bit of a breakthrough in my writing - I abandoned my short stories (for the moment) in lieu of a play that began to fester in and eventually overwhelm my thoughts this past Monday. I wrote about 15 pages out hand-written the other night, most of which are just quick short-hand descriptions of key scenes and characters. It's slightly influenced by Tracy Letts and Sam Shepard, but I have a feeling that my writing won't be nearly as dark. It will be a family drama with some comic moments, but ultimately a coming of age story about two siblings who are ripped apart by adolescence (sexuality, the ever-looming "real world," and an increasing gap between parent and child) who, through each other, must find a way to regain individual identity in order to find bigger and better things (though they know not what, at least for the time being). For now, the working title is "Far from the Tree." We'll see where it goes. I'm really excited about it, actually! I think that writing plays is exceedingly difficult, mostly because I know that as a writer I tend to focus on details that relate to developing locations and moods; I use metaphors too much and (as I've mentioned in a previous blog) I tend to let the action stagnate. Writing a play requires not only the ability to create action, but to do it primarily through dialogue - a very daunting task. But I'm doing it, and will keep working with it for as long as I can. My hope would be to find some Parkside actors to workshop bits and pieces of it with me during the first semester so that I can spend a portion of my winter break refining it and working toward tieing together loose ends. Cool!<br /><br />This week has been a relaxing one, as far as work goes. Last week Noel Coward's <span style="font-style: italic;">Hay Fever </span>had its tech rehearsals and first preview performance, and this week marks tech time for <span style="font-style: italic;">Henry V. </span>I am not involved in either of these shows, so I've worked, at most, about 3 hours a day. I spent most of my time sleeping in order to catch up on some z's and also cure a bit of a cough I aquired a few weeks ago. I also discovered a new television show on Discovery Channel called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Colony, </span>an experiment which puts a handful of strangers in a post-apocolyspse scenario in which they must rebuild their "society" and survive without outside help. It takes place in what appears to be a gaint abandoned industrial park in California. It's really interesting. Oh, entertainment.<br /><br />I've also been taking walks a lot, disappearing on my own to just be away from everything. I've really come to enjoy living a more "simplified" life - as simplified as things can be in this day and age at any rate. It's just good to be away from the malls and department stores and all those other things I'm used to cushioning my life with. I cook for myself, get a lot more exercise every day than I normally would in a city where I can drive right up to any building I want to enter, and the fresh air has done wonders for my nerves. I am much more at peace these days. There is a lot less anxiety. Perhaps I'm just letting my brain float away into la la land, and my re-entry into "regular life" this fall will be some kind of weird jolt to my senses, but I doubt it. For now I'm enjoying appreciating a quiet existence, and I hope that this ability to simply be content with my thoughts and a good book to keep me company will stick with me when I return to the chaos.<br /><br />On my most recent walk I took some pictures with my shoddy digital camera - I used photoshop to try and spruce them up a bit, but I'm definitely ready to upgrade my camera (didn't I just say I'm happy living a more simplified life? Oops). The photos were taken near my summer residence in Plain, WI - I will post them sometime soon, once I figure out the best place to post them online. It's a beautiful place, and a lovely sight every morning when I wake up to get ready for my day.chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-21417542400460106352009-08-06T10:11:00.001-07:002009-08-06T14:05:30.714-07:00And one man in his time plays many parts<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCMkoSid8XqSZkx97VLTnCXrnsGjmnkEwx_UPo5lM9Kr8LJbSH7jW1aqzo-Xc1_qedf_ivOQ45s-UxHp4EVd1VQI7VV-TpibzLH-3XXuXigaiF0r53NBh8kTFP9WdRSdDYVoiNyEXz1s/s1600-h/blog1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCMkoSid8XqSZkx97VLTnCXrnsGjmnkEwx_UPo5lM9Kr8LJbSH7jW1aqzo-Xc1_qedf_ivOQ45s-UxHp4EVd1VQI7VV-TpibzLH-3XXuXigaiF0r53NBh8kTFP9WdRSdDYVoiNyEXz1s/s400/blog1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366911625812377650" border="0" /></a></div><br />Although I am not doing any acting this summer, I feel like I've really had some time to digest and better understand the acting principles I received during the last school year. Or, if not better understand them, at least gain a better perspective of how they serve me as an actor (and, of course, as a human). A lot of what we learned in my acting classes through lecture was that acting is 'doing' - that is to say that an actor's job is to create change in another individual by putting action to the words -<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature</span> - Hamlet Act III, Scene ii<br /><br />- in order to create a reaction within other actors. So then, of course, that actor receiving action must be receptive to that actor's intentions and react equally (or perhaps with even more intensity) in a physical and emotional manner.<br /><br />Here, the word 'vulnerable' comes into play. The idea of being vulnerable was tossed around in class quite a bit, and I spent a large amount of time during my rehearsals for <span style="font-style: italic;">The Seagull</span> trying to master my own vulnerability in order to open myself up to the emotional powers of my comrades.<br /><br />Looking back, after finishing the school year, reflecting on my performances (the challenges, the successes, and, of course, those moments when I could not take myself to the 'place' I knew I needed to go to), and observing the remarkable talents of the American Players Theatre acting company, I visualize this idea of vulnerability in a different way. I've discovered that I never really understood being vulnerable as simply being receptive; instead I viewed my own vulnerability as an actor in the same way I perceive my vulnerability in every day life. That is to say, I bred fear within myself whose origins could not be seperated between the world of the play and the world that I, the actor, reside in. Instead of being receptive, I often times muffled my own ability to connect with my collegues as characters because I carried energy from the outside world into my performance.<br /><br />During my talent review at the end of second semester, Jamie, my acting professor, told me that I always push myself in new directions, but I seldom know how to really get to where I'm going; there is too much "Chad" in what I do, and I need to let go of that.<br /><br />Colleen Madden, an actor at APT who I have admired for several years, discussed with me her graduate training, where the only true theory she was taught to follow was to "just speak the words." I feel that Colleen truly puts this theory into motion - her actions are simple, driven by her words and her ability to penetrate an other with a fine sense of focused purpose. She is receptive without being fearful and vulnerable without losing her footing. In person, she is perhaps no taller than 5'4" with a tiny build and spritely demeanor, but on stage she is immediately 10 feet tall and her stance is solid, never stumbling. I find her captivating and certainly a force to be reckoned with on the stage. Her art seems effortless (though I know that she rehearses to the bone, always pushing herself to the limits and testing her abilities) during performance. It is truly and honor to see her on the stage.<br /><br />She's really cool to sit and chat with, too, which is also a plus. She is just a person, and I like that very much.<br /><br />What I must regain in order to speak simply and be receptive, to create action from idle text and drive toward an objective and avoid all superfluous exersion, is a sense of groundedness; a sense of complete power and confidence within myself. In the past year I have grown tremendously, perhaps learning more about myself and this ridiculous art that I pursue than I really thought possible. But now that I have had the priveledge of expanding my mind, I see how much more there is (and always will be) to learn, and I also see how everything I experience in my life plays a role in what I can give back to others through work in the theatre.<br /><br />In a way, I'm still very focused on myself - I want to improve my skills, both artistically and academically - but I've also lifted the weight off my shoulders; I do not need to wear my vulnerability like a veil of self-consciousness. Instead, I can utilize my ability to receive experience and emotion and reflect it, as Shakespeare has said, like a mirror onto nature.<br /><br />It's hard to explain how the ego plays a role in what I do (what I try to do, what I hope to do for years to come); for a very long time, I took to the stage because of the elation I felt from a round of applause or a burst of laughter, and it was during this time that I never really understood how much work was involved in the craft of acting. Now, I shy away from those self-indulgent aspects of theatre I once enjoyed - I am no longer tickled by those who might gush over my own comedic timing or something or other - instead I am pleased when audiences walk away feeling as though they've been affected by the action of the play, that it has given them ideas to consider and a new perspective they might apply to their own lives. I work harder now in the classroom and rehearsal hall, because I want to be the best that I can be for my own sake. But when I am performing, I think that from now on I will always strive to have the power to stand my ground and address an equally receptive audience. I want to give back, because giving creates such a satisfying feeling within my self.chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-1860192873037180002009-07-28T12:44:00.000-07:002009-07-29T19:23:56.261-07:00More of the same<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjherCJP1UtNUuQ5bcj04Gz9Gzn_CienPOfmZN-kxbLvbuQliF0ilTnABJsNoGXbs8aImDlRLWaMm3VhfDeKvEigNqtJhYPeiSnw_m3LuTPH44NArXc6YHHcI5fKdQlTWi264EpwQtJuwA/s1600-h/octobersky.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjherCJP1UtNUuQ5bcj04Gz9Gzn_CienPOfmZN-kxbLvbuQliF0ilTnABJsNoGXbs8aImDlRLWaMm3VhfDeKvEigNqtJhYPeiSnw_m3LuTPH44NArXc6YHHcI5fKdQlTWi264EpwQtJuwA/s400/octobersky.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364073215578551890" border="0" /></a>Here is a picture of my feet. I miss Lake Michigan, strangely enough. Anyway:<br /></div><br /><br />I have been relocated. My usual perch at The General Store has been usurped by “paying” customers (apparently, paying $1.75 for a ginger peach iced tea will not guarantee one’s spot in the dining room come lunch time when hoards of hungry tourists arrive ready to empty their pockets for larger meals), and so I am now sitting in a dimly lit bar known as The Shed. It is the hang-out spot for most American Players Theatre staff members at a long day’s end and, when I stop in, it is usually quite lively. At two in the afternoon on a Tuesday, however? Three different news channels muted above the bar hum methodically against the muffled clinks and clanks of pans in the kitchen. A few middle aged men are huddled at a table behind mine, talking about sports and local government. Aside from these noted aspects of my surroundings, I am alone.<br /><br />There is a stark contrast between these two locations, even though (by day) they serve the same basic purpose. But it is obvious that they cater to a different group of people. I don’t think I’m in the mood to completely dissect the difference between these two groups, spaced only three small-town blocks apart, but I do delight in people watching.<br /><br />However, it would be helpful if there were people here to watch. At The General Store, with crowds of people coming and going, I could disappear completely from the radar as I watched frustrated mothers with their overenthusiastic children trying to order food, get hands washed, and find a suitable table without losing an arm, an eye, or even an entire child. I could listen to the older women in the corner gush about their grandchildren and boast about the plentiful gardens they’ve planted this summer (and how their husbands, of course, have taken no notice). Here, though, in the low, yellow lights of the bar, I am too aware of my presence. It is too quiet, and it is too dark. The swaying stained-glass lamp above my table provides an unwelcomed lime light for my afternoon of introspective solitude.<br /><br />Also, my coffee is burnt.<br /><br />My afternoon set-backs aside, “things,” in general, are good. In the last few days I have visited with old friends, taken a brief-yet-exciting jet-ski adventure on the Wisconsin River, found pants that fit (one of the most arduous journeys of my life, I assure you), and have experienced many a great night of reading and writing.<br /><br />The latter activity, writing, has been a source of great challenge, but never anxiety, which is nice. I think that reading The Gift in tandem with my “first” ("serious") writing endeavor has been a really great experience. I am now into book II of The Gift, which takes the historic and anthropologic discussions from book I and applies the ideas to two artists (Walt Whitman is the writer we’re currently exploring) and their work. This book has really given me a new perspective on the creative process and the role of the artist (both to himself and to his community). Right now I’m reading about the role of “divine” inspiration in tandem with the artist’s craft – his ability to hone what has been “given” in order to create art that may affect his community. It’s all very fascinating and while, at times, I feel that some of it might go over my head, I like to pretend that I am understanding Hyde’s wisdom and am in fact learning a thing or two about myself.<br /><br />My writing has been off-and-on. I have moments when I will construct an entire paragraph or scene in my head with great detail; I end up running to the nearest notebook (I always try to keep one handy) or driving home as quickly as possible to write everything down. I try to elaborate as much as I can and add details to a superfluous degree, so that I can cut and paste and “slim” down my narration at a later time. Other days I discover a sentence or a single moment that seems usable, though I know not where, but I document it anyhow. One day, it will all come together. And if not, well, I’m just hoping all this exercise for my brain will serve me well one day soon.<br /><br />I often trip over my own words when I’m writing. I get so caught up in the details, trying to catch every moment in its entirety; I end up losing sight of the movement of the piece and the writing becomes stagnant. Too many words. I’ll write a page or two, look back on it, and more often than not I find myself asking “So what?” What a troubling question, and applicable to so many things.<br /><br />I decided many things this past week (what a statement), but one of the more important things I have decided is that I am officially excited for the upcoming school year. No more complacency or self-pity over my discontent; there isn’t time and it’s a waste of energy. There are many exciting school productions to take part in, and I am planning some of my own. I had a talk with Terrance today - who has been writing music this summer and hopes for lyric/vocal support from myself and our other roommates - we discussed the possibility of producing some absurdist films this first semester, and I have started outlining a (hopefully) exciting photography project for myself when I return to Racine. I’ve also got some independent studies in the works and have gotten myself in gear exploring how to go about completing a minor in graphic design in a timely fashion.<br /><br />Gotta keep moving.chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-33001940503585086512009-07-21T16:20:00.000-07:002009-07-29T19:33:46.945-07:00Ramble Ramble Ramble<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWQWzQYrQ-zMFlL89PJGBlKxR1N1kVBjT9g0JWOsSVeqfUiz6SFTRu3HTu_1iAvqZRlj0Z2eTZJ1Iw7V4xb4cnY_fMHPwx7qEx2mIm6t242WdlR9u5iIuoKmuvG3KRkKCbHA6BKdWApI/s1600-h/blog3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWQWzQYrQ-zMFlL89PJGBlKxR1N1kVBjT9g0JWOsSVeqfUiz6SFTRu3HTu_1iAvqZRlj0Z2eTZJ1Iw7V4xb4cnY_fMHPwx7qEx2mIm6t242WdlR9u5iIuoKmuvG3KRkKCbHA6BKdWApI/s400/blog3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364075803190621762" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have a lot of things on my mind. This should make it easier for me to update this blog, but really it just complicates things... I can't decide which topic to start with, whether or not I should pile everything into one entry or split them up into groups, etc. etc. etc.<br /><br />So, instead of writing about my own thoughts, I'll write about somebody elses. Lewis Hyde's, to be exact:<br /><br />As I said in my last entry, I'm currently reading <em>The Gift. </em>I've conquered nearly half of it in the past week, but I seem to be hitting a rough patch. I enjoy reading non-fiction, but it requires a lot more concentration, which is something 1) I don't often have too much of to begin with and 2) is difficult to harness when I'm at work (which is where I end up doing most of my reading). But so far, this book has given me a remarkably eye-opening perspective on the history of gift-giving and its evolution into commodity exchange (and the importance of art - in all its forms - as a form of gift giving in modern society). It's also made me view the way I live my life in my community/society in different ways, as well.<br /><br />My favorite chapter so far<em>, The Bond</em>, focuses on the connection that is created between two (or more) people through gift exchange. Hyde begins the chapter by stating that "It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people, while the sale of a commodity leaves no necessary connection." This idea seems pretty basic, and it is. Hyde uses several examples (such as walking into a hardware store to buy *you guessed it* hardware from a salesperson, or a child giving a kidney to her mother when she is in need) to highlight the degree of experienced emotional attachment through commodity or gift exchange.<br /><br />What I love most about this chapter is Hyde's discussion of commodities in regards to the United States (the "free world," as he calls it). The following is a series of chunks from a few paragraphs about this topic:<br /><br /><em>Because of the bonding power of gifts and the detached nature of commodity exchange, gifts have become associated with community and with being obliged to others, while commodities are associated with alienation and freedom. The bonds established by a gift can maintain old identity and limit our freedom of motion. </em>[...]<em> It seems no misnomer that we have called those nations known for their commodities "the free world." The phrase doesn't seem to refer to political freedoms; it indicates that the dominant form of exchange in these lands does not bind the individual in any way - to his family, to his community, or to the state.</em> [...]<em> The excitement of commodities is the excitement of possibility, of floating away from the particular to taste the range of available life. </em>[...] A<em>ll youth wants, once, to be alienated from the bonds of nurture, to be the prodigal son. Sometimes we go to the market to taste estrangement, if only to fantasize what our next attachment might be. It's a free country, you can do what you want: get married, get divorced, settle down, leave town, ski, farm, talk on the radio, buy the radio; the problem is to find someone to do it with. In this old lover's quarrel between liberty and community, Westerneres are those who defend freedom and long for attachment.</em><br /><em></em><br />This selection spans about three pages of the book, and it's one of my favorites. I think it offers a lot of interesting insight into the individualistic perspective that we aquire as Americans and with that, I think, why so many people in this country are bursting with patriotism. By being patriotic, we are able to create that attachment that we all want to have along with the ability to be free. But, because we are a capitalist nation we deal in commodities (which is accompanied by the need for a power structure, reciprocity, payments, etc). Therefore, this patriotic family is a superficial one, yes? I guess that's how it's always felt to me. And yet there are times, such as 9/11, when members of our nation do rally together to give to one another and work together for the sake of others and create that attachment.<br /><br />It would be times like this, then, that I think Hyde might say that Americans break free of society and become a true community. In earlier sections of the book he explains the difference between society and community, stating that a society is structured through commodity exchange, whereas communities are founded upon gift giving. Gift giving creates a bond between one or more people, and so when gifts are constantly circulated throughout the community, they keep every member tied to the others in some way or another.<br /><br />Hyde also speaks about anarchy in reference to gift-exchange communities, which I found interesting as well. I took an American Politics class this past semester, and did a bit of reading about anarchy in my textbook. The authors of the book gave a bleak description of a life without government: buildings burning, cars being stolen, children attacking old women for loose change, parents stealing TV's from their neighbors houses, etc. But in Hyde's book, his discussion of anarchy refers to any tribe or community that was either in existence before traditional forms of government appeared or any group existing now outside the Western world that still utilizes gift-exchange. His accounts of many of these types of groups are peaceful and eye-opening. One anthropologist, Lorna Marshall, spent many years in the 1950's with Bushmen in South Africa. When she left, she gave each of the women in the band a supply of shells to make themselves their own necklaces. A year later when she returned, she found that the shells had been spread amongst everyone in the band - no one in the band had more than one or two shells each. Obviously, this is a completely different society than the one that I live in. About this "phenomenon," Hyde says, "If we take the synthetic power of gifts, which establish and maintain the bonds of affection between friends, lovers, comrades, and if we add to these a circulation wider than a binary give-and-take, we shall soon derive society, or at least those societies - family, guild, fraternity, sorority, band, community - that cohere through faithfulness and gratitude."<br /><br />To put it simply, I think that's pretty sweet. Anarchy without mayhem. These kind of things do happen in the United States when, as I mentioned above, there is some sort of disaster which demands unification in order to persevere. But they are rare. One of the unique aspects of 9/11's aftermath was the true coming-together of so many strangers in order to help others. It was an historic day which led to Americans banding together across the nation to help those in need without (I would hope) any expectation of synthetic or capitalistic gain in return. On that day, and for years afterward, American citizens worked together for the sake of comradery, faith, community, and gratitude.<br /><br />I will return, then, to my American Politics textbook reference. After reading about Lorna Marshall's experience with the Bushmen, I was immediately reminded of my textbook's violent depiction of anarchy, and was slightly disgusted to realize that at the time I found it perfectly plausible and logical to assume that anarchy would create such a chaotic scene. Because my mind (and the minds of almost every other Westerner) has been trained to think about capital and power from early on, I could not function without government the way that these tribes do (Or, if I could, it would take a very, very long time to convert). Our lives in the "free world" have been under the shadow of government ruling and large corporations for so long that it seems impossible to imagine existing without it.<br /><br />The question is, then: Is this individual identity that I have had the freedom and liberty to create really my own? What else could I truly learn about myself if I was only worried about fitting in with a community instead of with society? Is my individual identity "better" than the collective identity created through connections to my family (who are the true gift-givers in my life with whom I exchange constantly but still feel the need to escape from)? And why, then, do we value commodity exchange over gift giving when giving back (such as with 9/11) creates a real connection at a "spiritual" level? We connect, but then we let go; we go back to working for ourselves to get ahead, only to be bombarded by others who are doing the same. We all think of people such as the Bushmen as being very primitive or inferior to us. But, in regards to how to run a community, it seems like they really do know a thing or two (or more).chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3768540396969927678.post-11837471257806092272009-07-15T11:24:00.000-07:002009-07-29T19:34:38.901-07:00The first one<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7x_KvDIcmFaaEqiXrcU7TFeKN_7FWMUqaNutq9Y6azs5p-TU6-ugOWGxcixoOANyOEd_gGF6gxeIN8e7nJvyemene2GPufpNS5j-YLrwrZhOosCpC2nOjok9cTvrXh_bHfA8K0cCA3Pk/s1600-h/blog2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7x_KvDIcmFaaEqiXrcU7TFeKN_7FWMUqaNutq9Y6azs5p-TU6-ugOWGxcixoOANyOEd_gGF6gxeIN8e7nJvyemene2GPufpNS5j-YLrwrZhOosCpC2nOjok9cTvrXh_bHfA8K0cCA3Pk/s400/blog2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364076012618690866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, here goes the first post. I hope I keep up with this.<br /><br />I think that writing is a terrifying thing; the documentation of my own thoughts often leads me to introspection and self-criticism. But I am doing this 1) because it's time to conquer that ridiculous fear and 2) because the more I write, (I hope) the easier it will become.<br /><br />The summer of 2009 has brought about many changes in my life, and so I have chosen to begin documenting my thoughts and reactions to these shifts that I've experienced. I began my summer by moving into my first apartment with a couple of collegues (and plan to stay there while I continue toward recieving my BA from UW-Parkside in Kenosha, WI), but then moved to Spring Green, WI for the remainder of the summer to work at The American Players Theatre. I'm working a lot of hours (I'm a Production Assistant - which basically means that I'm manual labor), but in my downtime I'm finally reading, writing, and thinking - all of which are things I wanted to do during this past school year but never really "made the time" to do.<br /><br />In reference to the latter of my activities - thinking - mainly I'm spending a lot of time trying to figure out "who I am" and "where I'm going," both of which seem to be questions that shouldn't ever have concrete answers, but they're still interesting to consider. Living out in the small town of Spring Green for these past few weeks has given me time to step back from the "chaos" of life and really evaluate what I've been doing, both on a day-to-day basis and on the larger scale. I want to gain a better understanding of what it is in life that I value and what seems to be worth pursuing. There are so many things I take for granted, so many things that end up overpowering my life, and I want to learn about those things and gain a wider perspective. I want to enter the "real world" with a better scope of what is out there and what I am capable of being a part of, and understand what is truly fundamental to achieving a fulfilling existence.<br /><br />As part of this journey toward self-discovery, I've started writing a series of short stories (or is it a screenplay/a novel/a play? at this point, I don't really know) which are largely autobiographical, but with extreme artistic license. What began as just a journal documenting my experiences in the last few years of my young adulthood has transformed into an exploration of the human experience and how "we" discover who we are and the impact the people around us have on that process. I know that seems ridiculously cliche and, in fact, I'm pretty much 100% sure it is cliche. But they're still my stories and they are feelings I want to dissect and understand, and writing about them seems to be the best way to do that (what better way to try and understand the way that my life has panned out than by deconstructing and rewriting my own history, right?). As they are developed and hashed over, perhaps I'll post some of my writing here.<br /><br />A lot of these desires have been motivated by some of the books I've recently read. I just finished <em>Middlesex, </em>by Jeffry Eugenides, and <em>The Beautiful Miscellaneous, </em>by Dominic Smith. I found both books to be very thought-provoking and, most importantly, I thought that both authors handled the coming-of-age tales of their respective "unique" protagonists with wonderfully detailed eloquence. The journaling that I've been doing follows somewhat the same vein that these authors have taken with their stories, and it makes me wonder how autobiographical the characters and events in their own novels are.<br /><br />At the moment, I'm working my way through <em>The Gift, </em>by Lewis Hyde. It is, to quote the back of the book, "a brilliant defense of the value of creativitiy and its importance in a culture increasingly governed by money and overrun with commodities." I'm about 100 pages in, and I find it fascinating. There are a lot of sections from the book that have offered a lot of food for thought, and I hope to write about them here later after I've had time to digest them.<br /><br />I think this all I want to share at the moment, though my mind is currently writing volumes ;)<br /><br />More soon.chad thomas bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01948832604795889357noreply@blogger.com0