"Oh, self-discovery / what a joy it is!"

Hey there -- I was surprised to see how many of you are still using LiveJournal and so glad to read about your lives from my lonely 116th street temp room. The whole of Columbia/Barnard moved out just in time for me to bring my stuff down the hall and take to my bed for 48 hours with a nasty head cold, and the complete isolation I've been in - and to be fair, I slept 22 of the last 24 hours - has made me put everything in perspective, reevaluate, and make a mental list of everyone I've got to call or write or bring flowers to, or all of the above. There are a lot of you.

Is anyone left in the city? I'm in New York until June 2, and seriously, I know no one. I'm reading one of Alain de Botton's novels, and there's a passage that really struck me when the heroine remarks that if she tripped and fell off the earth, no one would really notice. She's also lovelorn and very melancholy. We have quite a bit in common.

Anyway -- this is just to say that I'm very much missing you all and enjoyed reading your most recent posts (catching up a little bit) and that I'll be excited to see you at home this summer. Until then, I'll be holed up fighting this nasty cold, watching Tricia Walsh-Smith's YouTube videos and wishing I knew how to write plays. Maybe if I'm feeling particularly gutsy, I'll take myself out to see "Saved!" Provided that I no longer have to breathe out of my mouth.

I miss you. I love you.
m

I AM GOING TO BARNARD.

Greetings from exotic Poughkeepsie, New York! Vassar is beautiful, but the only thing I miss as much as my friends and family is air conditioning. If being trained to be a playwright means learning to live without unnecessary pleasures - and as long as, unlike the professionals, we can be guaranteed a place to live and dinner on the table - then I am willing to make the sacrifce.

I just returned from the second of five readings here as part of the Powerhouse program. Vassar and New York Stage & Film produce a theatre series each summer composed of readings of new works, world premieres, and workshops and invite about 40 apprentices to work and study under the watch of the countless actors, directors, stage managers, technicians, and playwrights running on and off campus over a busy six weeks. And I have never felt more ignorant in my entire life. If you think you know the theatre type, you've never met the people I've come to know here, whose knowledge of classical and comtemporary work, actors, directors, producers, technique and theory is so expansive that they really do seem - and I say this in the very best possible way - to have dropped off another planet.

I was only eager to send my regards to all of you - I miss my home and friends like crazy, especially Johnnycake vets and contemporaries - from this very bizarre and professional place where I'll be spending the next five weeks. My first piece, "An Amorous Discourse (in eight minutes or less)," premieres tomorrow, and I am quite excited.

Hope you're doing well. Love and best wishes, as always ~ m

My head makes a funny sort of creaking noise when I turn it. I'm pretty sure that's a good sign of sleep deprivation. I'm also pretty sure that over the last two months, I've brushed off not only my creaks and pains but also my newly-surfacing quirks with the wonderfully vesatile sleep-deprivation excuse.

Hey, LiveJournal friends, I have something to remind you, and I think the second-semester-junior creaks were simply God's way of reminding me. Come two weeks from now, every one of you will have left me here, in the dust, alone and lost in the newly-renovated storied cloisters. And though I'm sure that you'll ever-mindful be of what greatness St. John's has so lovingly hammered into you, you needn't forget your little friend who followed in your footsteps and added her commentary to your sagely LJ posts.

I will miss you dearly, Class of '06. I think that's what I've really been eager to say all along. And to my friends from '05, I can't wait to see you again. SJS without the two classes preceeding mine will be a radically different place than it was a year ago, one without the energy and talent that made me love this place to begin with.

On another note, Matt failed to mention that his tireless work for The Laramie Project really, really shows, even with lines unlearned (my lines unlearned, I might add, lines that will be learned quite soon). His devotion is absolutely astounding, and I think it really comes across. You really ought to come see it on Saturday. For now, I'm surrendering myself to Tycho Brahe and the Copernican Revolution in hopes that the grade I make on the Modern European AP exam will exceed the number of days from until the show, which - egads - is a challenge on dual fronts. With love, always ~ m

Hi. First things first. I made this greeting for my host sister in Spain:
( Mis primos dice... )

And second.

For my sake as well as yours, I want to ask a favor of you. Third quarter is hard. Apps are in and letters are coming out. The musical is around the corner ("Stupid actors. All there is is drama."). Alumni are going in and out and stirring up what they left behind. I'm tired and so stressed, and at this point in time, I need a little bit of support. And what would be better than anything would be to see you all happy. There is absolutely nothing worse than seeing any of you down, and if I can be of any help to you in return, just ask. We'll go for ice cream. Or I'll make you a pie (after I get to Collin's). Or we'll ride the light rail or watch Gilmore Girls or swing in the park or queso (I queso, you queso, he/she/it quesoes).

I mean it. Improve my day by improving yours. That's all I ask for.

With love, as always.

Zah! I'm in such a rush, but I wanted to wish you all happy holidays before I left. I don't want to say that I'm going to Paris because then I might sound like one of those people who, you know, goes to Paris. And I certainly am not the kind of person who "goes to Paris." Heavens no.

So: I am doing a study of sociology for the next week...I will be out of the office and in crowded cafés, studying people for a novel I have yet to write...I will be working on my phony French accent from now until the first...I am looking for the perfect beret, and I am told the only place I can find one is...you know...

And by the way, I hope that next year you all can meet the other side of my family, which is perhaps even more fun than the parading Seusses. I realized this as I was trimming a tree with Dixie cups the other night. But that's a whole other entry.

Now to pack. All the best ~
morgan

Apparently a few of you read this! I'm really flattered. So I thought I'd start out with a rewarding little piece of information I obtained courtesy of reference.com:

Did you know that the list of rejected Dwarf names for the 1939 film "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves" includes Wheezy, Puffy, Baldy, Jumpy, Gabby, Nifty, Stumpy, Stuffy, and Biggo-Ego?

Just thought you might find that as intruiging as I did.

My Camry, believe it or not, is going to be repaired. And I'm completely shocked - I'm not sure anything under the hood is salvagable, although maybe the mess wasn't as melted as it looked last time I saw it. It looked pretty bad. I think I'll take the bus driver who put my car out a Christmas gift when we get back to school. And also learn his name.

I really appreciated your responses to that "Respond with a memory of me" meme! Since all of that was screened, I'm going to respond to you without naming you (because it's in the same vein and because it's just fun): I called you Al? I can't believe I'm revamping that club after logging so many wasted hours! We were always the only ones to set up those chairs. I was so shocked when you didn't realize I was new! Hey, sign up for the book fair again this year so we can chat again! Yep, still hate Valentine's Day. It was so great having hot chocolate with you again. Let me drive you home again sometime so we can have even more bushels of fun. Next time we go to Spain, we should have gofres together. And Anonymous, I'd love to hear more from you.

Love, love, love, as always.

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a memory of you and me. It can be anything you want, either good or bad. IRL-memory or e-memory.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people remember about you.

Comments screened.

Wow. That is wonderful.

Which Name Suits You? The Quizilla Quiz says...

Thomas / Rachel


What name suits you! there are tons on here so you will get a unique one!
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Back to work.

2:30 a.m. and my caffeine of choice is Silk Soylatte. I've cranked out two pies and twelve "tartletts," made a mess of the kitchen, and determined that sleep on the night before Thanksgiving is really rather unnecessary - after all, everyone consumes more under extreme exhaustion, and I may just save myself from that last turkey sandwich in mid-January by keeping myself up another hour tonight. My father's got the right idea. He's still planning on seasoning the turkey sometime before dawn.

For someone who seriously lost her car in the Edwards Cinema parking garage tonight - and not just her car, mind you, but her mother's car, which was NOT melted in an unfortunate Monday morning near-catastrophe - it's a miracle these pies came out at all. I am pleased to report that not once did I burn my hand on the stove or my tongue on a half-baked tartlett. No, another burn is not what I need (it's not a hickey on my face, thank you). I am ever-so-pleased that I did find my car in time enough to shuffle to Pappasito's and plead with that policeman - someone really ought to have subdued him with a margarita - and see the lovely Miss French. Katie, it is always a pleasure. I apologize for the bizarre state in which I came and left this evening; I had pie on my mind and was thinking, "My word, if that policeman knew the Frenches, he would certainly understand."

I was thinking of something corny and trite I could say about being thankful for all of you, my LiveJournal friends (plus John Allman, who is swell enough to read my LJ even though he doesn't have one of his own), but I'll refrain. This time of year I tend to slip up into tryptophan-induced sentimentality. So it's not that I don't love you - it's that the chemicals are talking.

All kidding aside, I really am so grateful for all of you. Happiest of Thanksgivings, and much love~

Morgan

Will anyone see RENT with me tomorrow night?

A little known fact that I determined in my own "spare time":
.000000000008195% of the world's population will begin their freshman year at Harvard next fall.

We are specks, my friends. Specks.

And in the grand scheme of things, my English paper due tomorrow is even a smaller speck in my own speck of being. Donna Harati was right again. And to the woman who told us that the world used to be made of circles but that it is now becoming a world of squares, I still have to argue that we're in circle mode because I now know that I am one of an infinite number of points equidistant from this one unreachable point. And speaking of unreachable points - hoo boy, this English paper I'm writing...

That didn't make any sense at all. I need some tea. Love always.

Many thanks to Chris, who taught me how upload pictures and perform the LJ cut.

( This brings a smile to my face. )

Love always.

Did they bring back the Yoplait women who sit around and talk about how good their yogurt is? The ones who say, "Hon, this is like shoe-shopping for a first date good" and then laugh hysterically like it is so cute? I saw one of these the other day and I had to avert my eyes because it was so definitely not good.

Seriously, I've had a problem with these women from the get-go. They even inspired a Bad Poem I wrote a couple of years ago, which is now seriously outdated:

To Yoplait, On Pop Culture

This poem is so bad.
Honey, you said it –
This poem is choking on a pretzel bad.
This is Michael Jackson’s fourth nose job bad.
This is Bennifer bad.
This is so bad.
This is, like, chads in Florida bad.
This is low-carb ice cream bad.
This is what Martha Stewart would call a bad thing.
This poem is, like,
Bad yogurt commercial bad.
It is so bad.

I think I'll give up TV altogether because I am so frightened of these women. Cockroaches, failure, Yoplait commercials. It's all the same.

As a comment, please share one thing you love about Julia Kahn.

9:15. Chris and I have worn ourselves out and have resorted to homework. She's making very odd groaning noises. I've given myself a paper cut.

Chris just completed her first spaz attack of the evening. She made it all the way until 9:00.

I'll fill in this weekend. That's Friday. I promise.

1. I'll respond with something random about you.

2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.

3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.

4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.

5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.

6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.

7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.

8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written.

It's when you're stuck at home with a cold that you find things like the Captain Morgan Childs pirate costume. Arrr.
http://www.costumeshopper.com/prods/ch00481.html

Alright, whether Bad Poetry Day is on the 18th or the 21st is unimportant. The fact that there has been conflicting information in the world of Bad Poetry only furthers my belief that this is, whatever day it may be, the most wonderful and underappreciated holiday the United States recognizes. I have a dream that one day all children will have the day off from school to write poetry that makes the general public gag, and this day, Sunday, is one of those days dreams come true.

Happy Bad Poetry Day 2005!

Time to dig out the bongos and the beatnik chic...more later, man.