Zombie Gauguin?!
One glass of wine and a splitting headache in the morning? What deity did I piss off to deserve this beaut?! So not to be too terribly blunt, but since some of you I consider close confidants that I don't get to talk to or see too often, here the thing. Chris and I have kind of split. We do still live right next to one another, but beyond that we're still close and are supportive of one another. It is definitely strange and difficult as these things are and ought to be, but seem to getting easier. I think we both really love having time for ourselves again, though I am infinitly grateful for Erica being just a door knock away!
Other than that, I am having too much fun in "The Scarlet Pimpernel" cast which is comming up soon (Aug 3-5th & 10-12th), and to which I will be berating you ALL to come ^_^ Apart from loving me too much to miss it, it's a stellar musical extravaganza and I have a feeling our three leads especially are going to blow even the toughest of your musical and theatrical sensibilities away. Don't miss it. Seriously.
Tonight I am feeling so damned fierce, but way too pensive for comfort, as I have been pondering and jotting down all the live-long day what I think of Gauguin and his work, namely Mahana No Atua (The Day of the Gods), and how to put into words why I really, tuly do not care for it or his style whatsoever. Why do I feel more nervous questioning artists than I do questioning God?! I think I feel like he's going rise from the dead to cuss me out in Tahitian and French all in one for my blasphemy. I don't know what my problem is. Art is meant to be considered, interpreted, and questioned, but I'm still so damned self-conscience about my critiques. Oh fuck it all, I'm over it.