(no subject)
Mood: irritated
Music: some crap Elena is playing
Theater class today was unbearable. I was proud of myself and filled with good feeling when I arrived, because I managed to write what in my opinion is a perfectly competent, articulate review of The Bay at Nice (play by David Hare starring Estelle Parsons that we saw in Hartford a couple weeks ago) in about an hour, half late last night and half during lunch today. But then we had to have this insipid discussion that dragged on for what felt like eternities upon eternities.
Mostly, it's just the palpable ego in that class that makes it sometimes near impossible to stomach. If these people said anything that was actually intelligent, I might be able to look past it, but they sit there and state the fucking obvious in unbearably smug, self-satisfied ways, and I can feel my mind disintegrating on the spot with sheer frustration and boredom. Sometimes the level of discussion doesn't seem much higher than the level of discussion in freshman classes in high school.
I should have started with a performance-based class instead, I now realize. I want to develop my acting ability, not sit around watching a bunch of people take notes on what blocking is when I've known what it is since age seven. Urgh.
I don't get why people take so many damn notes in class anyway--in any class. I never take notes and it's never been a problem. Some of these people scribble away religiously, as though they need to write down every single thing that the professor says, even the interjections between words. And half of this in classes where there aren't even any midterms or finals.
I guess it's their wrist muscles and their pencil lead and their notebook paper that they are wasting--but it remains incomprehensible.
Sorry. I'm just in an incredibly bad humor.
At least I'm seeing Terry tonight. But I'd rather I was going up to Amherst. Terry's roomie, Nat, is so much more understanding and cooperative than Elena is. I like Elena a lot--but I wish she would either stop acting like she's so open when she isn't, or just be really blunt and offensive. Either one would make things far, far easier. And I need to hook up the cordless Terry gave me to the phone jack. It's just that I don't want to crawl around under the bed, the land of dust bunnies and cardboard boxes and flat beer. Goddam.
Music: some crap Elena is playing
Theater class today was unbearable. I was proud of myself and filled with good feeling when I arrived, because I managed to write what in my opinion is a perfectly competent, articulate review of The Bay at Nice (play by David Hare starring Estelle Parsons that we saw in Hartford a couple weeks ago) in about an hour, half late last night and half during lunch today. But then we had to have this insipid discussion that dragged on for what felt like eternities upon eternities.
Mostly, it's just the palpable ego in that class that makes it sometimes near impossible to stomach. If these people said anything that was actually intelligent, I might be able to look past it, but they sit there and state the fucking obvious in unbearably smug, self-satisfied ways, and I can feel my mind disintegrating on the spot with sheer frustration and boredom. Sometimes the level of discussion doesn't seem much higher than the level of discussion in freshman classes in high school.
I should have started with a performance-based class instead, I now realize. I want to develop my acting ability, not sit around watching a bunch of people take notes on what blocking is when I've known what it is since age seven. Urgh.
I don't get why people take so many damn notes in class anyway--in any class. I never take notes and it's never been a problem. Some of these people scribble away religiously, as though they need to write down every single thing that the professor says, even the interjections between words. And half of this in classes where there aren't even any midterms or finals.
I guess it's their wrist muscles and their pencil lead and their notebook paper that they are wasting--but it remains incomprehensible.
Sorry. I'm just in an incredibly bad humor.
At least I'm seeing Terry tonight. But I'd rather I was going up to Amherst. Terry's roomie, Nat, is so much more understanding and cooperative than Elena is. I like Elena a lot--but I wish she would either stop acting like she's so open when she isn't, or just be really blunt and offensive. Either one would make things far, far easier. And I need to hook up the cordless Terry gave me to the phone jack. It's just that I don't want to crawl around under the bed, the land of dust bunnies and cardboard boxes and flat beer. Goddam.