(no subject)
No one could tell this story better than Jenna, so all hail the goddess of the "Cult-like Movement Class" story.
"All classes pale in comparison to "that class", which will forever be known as the day that PeterBass came into class on something. We tried to figure out what it was. Pot. No, too animated. Acid? Cocaine? Ecstacy? Maybe. Let's take this one step at a time. As we all step into the lovely movement room, with its usual blanket temperature growing closer to that of a sauna, PeterBass is overcome with insane anger at Jason, who was, at that time, absent from class. "Damned Jason! Ruins everything!" It is at this point that people started to look over and question his sanity. Maybe he'd finally snapped? Maybe he was just in a really good mood. No. No, this was much- well, not worse, but more (to put it nicely) extreme. His eyes dart around the room, at students, around the circle we created like he's watching a tennis match. He's wired. We are told to take our monologues that we had brought (or rather fished out of a monologue book about 10 seconds before class began) and a notebook and sit down. We are told not to listen to Paul. We fold a piece of paper into 16ths, all the while PeterBass keeps asking Paul for directions, like he hasn't been teaching this class for (probably) over 16 years. "Fold it again- hamburger fold." I become angry at the food metamphors. It is close to lunch time and I haven't eaten. PeterBass makes us race to see who could rip the 16 pieces neatly first. Paul explains that this was their only way to have a little fun in the class. Way to cover up for PeterBass' drug trip, Paul. At the end, Scott is the only one left and PeterBass makes us chant "Go Scott Go!" over and over. When someone doesn't join in, he screams, "CHANT!" into their face. If they aren't interested before that, they are now. The thought of having PeterBass, who tells everyone how much potential they have in class and has never raised his voice unless to outtalk the drums, scream crazily at you is scary enough. To pass the time inbetween crazy outbursts, Ellie and I talk about her going just by her middle/nickname "Bangi" (I am so off on the spelling here). "Oh, I gave up my slave name." When Scott finishes, we are given another task, to write phrases on all 16 of these little papers from our monologues. The directions are simple, but, well, crazy. "You can write one word. Or you can write a phrase. You can write a phrase with two words. Or you can write a phrase with three words. Or you can write a phrase with four words. You can write a phrase with five words. But six words, six words is too much." Right, so we write our phrases. We write em with one word. We write em with two words. Three words maybe even. We write em with four and five words. But do we write em with six? No. Why not? Because PeterBass is nuts. This time I win the fastest competition and when we are waiting for the last few to finish, PeterBass crouches down in a squatting position and readies his hands to clap. He urges- crazily- for everyone else to do as he does. We all slowly get into position. Then, when the last person finishes, we all clap. He announces that he needs hats- the deepest hat. We show him three hats. "I'm going to use all of them!" He places one hat into another and then goes over to Anne, telling her to place all of her pieces of paper into the hat. When, at one point, someone cannot do this in the time period allotted by the BassMaster, he shouts, "STICK IT IN!" This riffs into "Stick. It. In. Oh yes!" and, my personal favorite, "Stick it in, boy." to, I believe, Chris. When this is done, he motions Jazz, Scott and I apologize to the last person who I don't remember to come into the center. He says, as calmly as possible, "Touch my head." They do, probably afraid of the consequences if they don't. He tells them to go around in a circle, then yells at the others in the outside circle to run around in the opposite direction. At one point during one part, Anne starts yelling, "Kill the pig! Spill it's blood!" and Peter, and thus everyone else, joins in. We were told to pick pieces of paper to create poems (which were as coherent as everything we learned in first semester). Somebody mentioned that this was "like magnetic poetry, except more fun." Ellie said it was "paper poetry" and PeterBass' face lit up. "Paper poetry! Yes, let's call it that." Towards the end of class, when Peter tried to start a whole new stanza of poetry with ten minutes left, Paul told him that we didn't have time. Peter, in turn, gave Paul a pretty vicious look, as if to say, "Paul, Paul, Paul, haven't you learned anything? We're going to have to start all over. And I had so much faith in you." After class, I asked Paul what the hell that was. He laughed and walked away. I yelled after him that he didn't answer because even he doesn't know. He didn't turn around or say anything, but I'm sure it was an understood silent agreement."
Yes. Let it be known that every single word of that is true. I would have written my own account, but 1, I'm too lazy, and 2 I'm too lazy. So suck on that.
Last night I came back from studio and ate my dinner. Afterwars, I fell asleep from seven pm to midnight. I got up, watched TV until 4 in the morning, and then went to be when I was tired enough again. How insane is that? I never just waste time with sleep. I'm probably going to pay for it tomorrow when I have to get some of my applications for internships done and I get tired at random times.
My friend Laura is coming up from Providence this weekend and it's going to be a blast because she RULES. We worked together at Camp "Seafairy" and she's pretty awesome... and British. Then again, the two go hand in hand. I really want to get some stuff together for her visit... but I have no idea how to plan festivities. In regards to festivities, I am a loser.
I had a random fit of missing Tabor A LOT yesterday after I finalized my plans to go to Ireland with the Madrigals over Spring Break. I mean, I was organizing a trip to be with my friends and at the same time, I just ended up being really depressed by missing them. Well, atleast the catalyst with remedy the "catalyzed."
I am incredibly sore from African dance today. I had planned to go to the gym, but instead, I... well... I just didn't, ok? Grrr. I'm so angry at myself. Plus in the last couple of days, I have consumed horrors. Pizza, Chalupa... AHHHH! I'm going to be fat forever. I need to get control over myself. That's it. I have spoken. I'm going to get back on track... I'm just not going to the gym today or atleast this morning because my leg feels like I pulled something rather important and my arms refuse to move.
Right, well. There you have it.
"All classes pale in comparison to "that class", which will forever be known as the day that PeterBass came into class on something. We tried to figure out what it was. Pot. No, too animated. Acid? Cocaine? Ecstacy? Maybe. Let's take this one step at a time. As we all step into the lovely movement room, with its usual blanket temperature growing closer to that of a sauna, PeterBass is overcome with insane anger at Jason, who was, at that time, absent from class. "Damned Jason! Ruins everything!" It is at this point that people started to look over and question his sanity. Maybe he'd finally snapped? Maybe he was just in a really good mood. No. No, this was much- well, not worse, but more (to put it nicely) extreme. His eyes dart around the room, at students, around the circle we created like he's watching a tennis match. He's wired. We are told to take our monologues that we had brought (or rather fished out of a monologue book about 10 seconds before class began) and a notebook and sit down. We are told not to listen to Paul. We fold a piece of paper into 16ths, all the while PeterBass keeps asking Paul for directions, like he hasn't been teaching this class for (probably) over 16 years. "Fold it again- hamburger fold." I become angry at the food metamphors. It is close to lunch time and I haven't eaten. PeterBass makes us race to see who could rip the 16 pieces neatly first. Paul explains that this was their only way to have a little fun in the class. Way to cover up for PeterBass' drug trip, Paul. At the end, Scott is the only one left and PeterBass makes us chant "Go Scott Go!" over and over. When someone doesn't join in, he screams, "CHANT!" into their face. If they aren't interested before that, they are now. The thought of having PeterBass, who tells everyone how much potential they have in class and has never raised his voice unless to outtalk the drums, scream crazily at you is scary enough. To pass the time inbetween crazy outbursts, Ellie and I talk about her going just by her middle/nickname "Bangi" (I am so off on the spelling here). "Oh, I gave up my slave name." When Scott finishes, we are given another task, to write phrases on all 16 of these little papers from our monologues. The directions are simple, but, well, crazy. "You can write one word. Or you can write a phrase. You can write a phrase with two words. Or you can write a phrase with three words. Or you can write a phrase with four words. You can write a phrase with five words. But six words, six words is too much." Right, so we write our phrases. We write em with one word. We write em with two words. Three words maybe even. We write em with four and five words. But do we write em with six? No. Why not? Because PeterBass is nuts. This time I win the fastest competition and when we are waiting for the last few to finish, PeterBass crouches down in a squatting position and readies his hands to clap. He urges- crazily- for everyone else to do as he does. We all slowly get into position. Then, when the last person finishes, we all clap. He announces that he needs hats- the deepest hat. We show him three hats. "I'm going to use all of them!" He places one hat into another and then goes over to Anne, telling her to place all of her pieces of paper into the hat. When, at one point, someone cannot do this in the time period allotted by the BassMaster, he shouts, "STICK IT IN!" This riffs into "Stick. It. In. Oh yes!" and, my personal favorite, "Stick it in, boy." to, I believe, Chris. When this is done, he motions Jazz, Scott and I apologize to the last person who I don't remember to come into the center. He says, as calmly as possible, "Touch my head." They do, probably afraid of the consequences if they don't. He tells them to go around in a circle, then yells at the others in the outside circle to run around in the opposite direction. At one point during one part, Anne starts yelling, "Kill the pig! Spill it's blood!" and Peter, and thus everyone else, joins in. We were told to pick pieces of paper to create poems (which were as coherent as everything we learned in first semester). Somebody mentioned that this was "like magnetic poetry, except more fun." Ellie said it was "paper poetry" and PeterBass' face lit up. "Paper poetry! Yes, let's call it that." Towards the end of class, when Peter tried to start a whole new stanza of poetry with ten minutes left, Paul told him that we didn't have time. Peter, in turn, gave Paul a pretty vicious look, as if to say, "Paul, Paul, Paul, haven't you learned anything? We're going to have to start all over. And I had so much faith in you." After class, I asked Paul what the hell that was. He laughed and walked away. I yelled after him that he didn't answer because even he doesn't know. He didn't turn around or say anything, but I'm sure it was an understood silent agreement."
Yes. Let it be known that every single word of that is true. I would have written my own account, but 1, I'm too lazy, and 2 I'm too lazy. So suck on that.
Last night I came back from studio and ate my dinner. Afterwars, I fell asleep from seven pm to midnight. I got up, watched TV until 4 in the morning, and then went to be when I was tired enough again. How insane is that? I never just waste time with sleep. I'm probably going to pay for it tomorrow when I have to get some of my applications for internships done and I get tired at random times.
My friend Laura is coming up from Providence this weekend and it's going to be a blast because she RULES. We worked together at Camp "Seafairy" and she's pretty awesome... and British. Then again, the two go hand in hand. I really want to get some stuff together for her visit... but I have no idea how to plan festivities. In regards to festivities, I am a loser.
I had a random fit of missing Tabor A LOT yesterday after I finalized my plans to go to Ireland with the Madrigals over Spring Break. I mean, I was organizing a trip to be with my friends and at the same time, I just ended up being really depressed by missing them. Well, atleast the catalyst with remedy the "catalyzed."
I am incredibly sore from African dance today. I had planned to go to the gym, but instead, I... well... I just didn't, ok? Grrr. I'm so angry at myself. Plus in the last couple of days, I have consumed horrors. Pizza, Chalupa... AHHHH! I'm going to be fat forever. I need to get control over myself. That's it. I have spoken. I'm going to get back on track... I'm just not going to the gym today or atleast this morning because my leg feels like I pulled something rather important and my arms refuse to move.
Right, well. There you have it.