SCHOOOOOOL’S OUT FOR THE…well, for the next handful of days. Then it’s straight back to Belmont four hours every Tuesday night for my “Way of the Earth” class, where we will apparently discuss Gaia concepts and nature in spirituality, and probably wear hemp clothing and braid daisies into each other’s hair and start using alternative deodorants. Then again, it’s taught by a nun, so maybe it’ll just be four hours of corporal punishment utilizing switches from a variety of indigenous trees. Either way, my Religion graduation requirement gets met, so I’m cool.
I am within spitting distance of losing twenty pounds, which is pretty fucking incredible if, like me, you have no willpower, no follow-through, and no metabolism to speak of. I’ve decided to be an insane person this summer and take my six-week CSM English class at 8:00 in the morning so that I can zip over to NDNU and flail around in MTC‘s dance classes for two-and-a-half hours right after. This will also be during the final weeks of Curtains rehearsals, going into tech and opening, so if you come to see that, you’ll be able to recognize me by my uncontrollable, exhausted sobbing and my tendency to wander hollow-eyed and bewildered through scenes I’m not actually in, possibly wetting myself in the process. It’s a character choice. I’ll make it work.
Though I’ve got grand plans for being a responsible adult over the next few months, Netflix is certainly doing its damnedest to derail them. They just put all of Cheers on their streaming service. Cheers! I watched that show all the time as a kid. Which, in retrospect, is kind of weird, because it’s not like a four year old should really be able to relate that much to a pack of hardened drinkers, no matter how lovable. Still. The desire to do nothing but sit in front of my computer and power through all 100-something glorious hours is unbearably strong. They’ve also got the full original Twilight Zone. And Scrubs, and Wings, and Roseanne, and The Cosby Show, and 3rd Rock From the Sun, and Married…With Children, and The Dick Van Dyke Show, and fuck you Netflix, is basically what I’m trying to say here.
Hugh Jackman at the Curran tonight. I’d like to jack his man, if you know what I mean. And if you do, please tell me, because I don’t have a clue as to what the hell I’m talking about at this point.