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Dr. Strangelivejournal
Sep. 28th, 2010
12:11 am - Bipedal personalities and poorly-concealed cogs.
I've recently discovered a peculiar and alarmingly-unhelpful talent that I possess: the ability to give people the precisely opposite impression of myself to what I intend to give. I seem to employ this skill mostly in job interview situations or similar, and two such occasions have transpired recently, and the feedback from these and another about ten months ago has been the same, leading to this realisation.
To begin with, I am rubbish at interviews. I think I am the sort of person you might be unsure about, but if you do choose me then you'll be pleasantly surprised. I suspect part of the problem is that I get stuck in this strange loop where I anticipate what I imagine the interviewers want to hear and say what I think that is. But clearly what it actually is isn't that. I should probably just say some stuff, without all the second-guessing, and damn the consequences. Thing is, I believe the model of a job interview is often a poor one for revealing the good candidates - unless, that is, the job to be filled requires the same skillset that is required to perform well in interviews. An interview will reveal precisely two things: 1) the approximate personality of the person, and 2) whether they can do interviews.
Of course, you might argue that I just wasn't the best person for the job. Which might be valid, and yet when I hear feedback like "you're obviously x" or "you're clearly not y", comments that directly contradict facts about myself as I from my singularly-privileged vantage know them to be, it's hard not to wonder what exactly I am saying that is so goddamn wrong, so very far from the mark. Wherever indeed the mark is.
A further thought that occurs to me is that I'm possibly not as good with rejection as I've imagined myself to be. I think that with most things in life you improve with practice, and I've made many calculated manoeuvers in my life to date to avoid failure, disappointment and rejection as much as possible. In jobs, in relationships, in general, taking the safe route has been my speciality. So I am very much out of practice.
Maybe the calculation in my responses, my statements considered and re-considered to the point that they become essentially meaningless, maybe these truths are not as well-concealed as I have thought them to be. And maybe I just need to learn to be more direct, more gutsy. Let my raw under-the-mask personality show a bit more leg.
Sep. 15th, 2010
11:22 pm - Turtle position ninja.
A 7.1-magnitude earthquake is as good an event as any to inspire a return to this journal after more than a year of wanton neglect. ( Read more... )
Jul. 29th, 2009
Jul. 2nd, 2009
07:25 am - Late June. So late it's, you know, fictional.
I have a voucher for buy-one-get-one-free coffee at the new and improved Riccarton Mall. The voucher has an expiry date of June 31 2009. As June 31 2009 is not likely to happen any time soon, I guess this will be valid for quite some time.
May. 6th, 2009
09:17 am - Swine Flu Over The Cuckoo's Nest.
I've had an annoying cough for the past couple of weeks, one of those dry tickles that never dislodges anything of substance from one's gullet, instead merely eliciting rounds of explosive spluttering. I took one day off work for good measure, but it's still hanging in there. People at work have been looking sideways at me in that cautious, survival-motivated judgmental way. Of course, what would be really hilarious is that, just as the panic and suspicions abate, it turned out that yes! indeed I do in fact have a highly infectious strain of Killer Lurgy. Well, okay, it would be hilarious for just a brief moment, until it started do what Killer Lurgies tend to do, which is to kill lurgily.
Played Scriptless on Friday, one of the most satisfying performances I've done in a while. It wasn't a great show, just a really good, solid one I think, with a cast that were just really comfortable with each other. I didn't feel like I had to try too hard, in fact it felt more like a Jesters workshop than a show, and this is a good thing, and a difficult state of mind to achieve for me. Having a cup of water thrown in my face onstage might have helped a little bit too.
Also at the Court, I saw the final night of The Gods Of Warm Beer, approached with diminished expectations based upon the rather mixed reviews I had heard. But as it turned out it was a very enjoyable piece of theatre, if a rather strange one. It took me a couple of scenes to figure out what was going on (lack of knowledge of 1950s NZ was a hinderance), but once I got to know the characters everything started to bounce along. There were a lot of very Gumbley-esque (Gumblesque?) theatrical touches, especially with the chalk-drawn 'props' and dressings, and in fact in an odd way the show reminded me quite a lot of The Thirty-nine Steps from last year. And it's always nice when live theatre truly shocks in a visceral way, as this show did with the very sudden death of Sandra Rasmussen's tragic Elizabeth-Taylor-from-Who'sAfraidOfVirginiaWoolf-impersonation character; I was even at the sufficiently right angle that the Zack Snyder-esque blood splatter worked perfectly. Stylistically some of the characters were a bit uneven, especially Gary's Pook who was some bizarre caricature who'd accidentally walked onto the wrong stage, but generally the whole thing worked very well.
Mar. 6th, 2009
05:28 pm - Superheroes, adapted and improvised.
The complaints of a sleep-deprived body would not prevail last night as I defiantly/foolishly decided I could wait not a single day, and had to see Watchmen immediately. Slumber is for weekends, fanboy satisfaction is for the now. The movie is a monster of a thing, a sprawling, dense epic which is faithful to the original material in ways that I assumed it wasn't possible to be. It doesn't keep everything the same, but most of the changes make cinematic sense (the most talked-about change, the ending, makes a lot of sense, and indeed the book's ending probably would never have worked onscreen). Perhaps my biggest complaints are of one or two clunky (but probably necessary) lines of expository dialogue early on, and some dodgy makeup/prosthetic ageing jobs on a couple of actors. Maybe a few misjudged music cues. Beyond that, my grumble list grows thin. It's certainly an unconventional blockbuster, with a weird, steady, at times almost languid pace. The most critical unknown for me as I sat watching, alongside friends whom had all read the book, was whether this would make any sense whatsoever to a novice to the story. In any case, if nothing else I'm sure it will bring new readers to the original material, which can't be a terrible thing.
In fact Superheroes have surrounded me it seems on all sides lately. I was approached to direct a longform improvised superhero show for Dramasoc for a last-minute stopgap Orientation production. It was only after I had said that magic word that is always easier to say than "no" that I discovered that I wasn't just agreeing to perform the role of the director, but to actually be the director. And it turns out that directing an improv show is hard. Mostly because the convenient restriction and holy writ of a pre-existing text simply doesn't exist, leaving you freefalling in "What shall we do now?"-land. I guess it's like rehearsing jazz. You're rehearsing structure, you're trying out flourishes and ways in which the instruments might work together, you're trying to predict a few of the changes in advance, somehow give yourself an edge. But you're also trying to teach everyone to embrace the unrehearsables, to make them realise that these are often the very thing which people most enjoy seeing in improv - the pleasure of watching performers enjoy their mistakes, their failures.
Opening night was pretty much our first proper dress/tech run, and the season was essentially a period of developing the material, culminating in a final night show in which we finally nailed it pretty much, a show which was immensely satisfying to be a part of.
Feb. 12th, 2009
08:35 pm - Survival of the stubbornest.
Happy two-hundredth birthday, Mister Darwin. If he were alive today then, well, I suppose that might be a bother for all that "survival of the fittest" carry-on. Unless he was a real looker in his old age. But as it is, "survival of the alive-est" continues to hold true.
I saw Faust Chroma on Saturday night. It's a Free Theatre show; in fact I realised that it was probably the first Free Theatre (as in the group/collective, rather than the venue (although it was also staged in the venue of the same name (which incidentally does usually cost money to attend shows within))) production I'd ever seen. I went along with next to no expectations, which is really the only kind of mindset appropriate for experimental theatre, and I was treated to a remarkably intense, imaginative and playful piece. No point discussing the script or themes, since I'm not entirely sure what they were, but that's no matter, I just had a terrific time with the theatricality of it all. Highlights included Ryan's performance (featuring a staggering volume of (sometimes necessarily very precisely delivered) lines learned, and a volatile performance which was often exhausting to watch), some early scenes in which actors performed a language-shifted but storyboard-unchanged echo of scenes from an old film projected onto a veil right in front of them (very difficult to describe, but very cool to see), a woman hanging upside-down for five minutes and singing in a seemingly-unaffected-by-inversion strong classical voice, and a live soundtrack performed centre stage by a single musician on a prepared piano and accompanying percussion and found instruments. The biggest letdown of the whole thing was that, after a couple of hours of inhabiting a wondrous and abstract world which was essentially midcentury Germany, the very last spoken words of the entire piece was a throwaway reference to "New Zealand", pretty much utterly out of the blue and wildly jarring and inappropriate. I had to blink and wonder if I'd heard it right, it was so incongruous. I think there was a double disappointment because the speaker of the line was one of the less accomplished performers of the cast, and the delivery was rather muddy and careless, while in the preceding fifteen or so minutes there had been a seeming cascade of perfectly pitched potential cadences to end upon.
Anyway, the cast buggered off stage and I already knew not to expect a curtain call, but what followed the ostensible end of the show was the musician continuing his (presumably improvised) soundtrack for perhaps another ten minutes. The lights remained low and I for one was still completely entranced by what this guy was coming up with, I'm sure I could have listened for another half hour. Others, especially those familiar only with the standard conventions of theatre attendance, shuffled uncomfortably, muttered, tried to start claps unsuccessfully, and eventually left. It seemed like some battle of wills, a game of chicken, who would give up first? Then again, to be somewhat charitable towards my fellow patrons, it was conceivable that the musician may have been instructed to keep playing until the house was empty, and towards the end even I began to fill with doubt, although my stubbornness was ultimately rewarded.
"So on and so forth" - is that tautology? Surely "so on" is equal in meaning to "so forth", but if not, what is the difference between them? This has been niggling at me for some time. Thankfully, it has not begun nibbling at me just yet.
Feb. 4th, 2009
10:44 am - Lave Journe aux, f'all
Finally saw The Court's La Cage aux Folles last night, which turned out to be a very different show to what I had expected. It's a surprisingly 'boutique' musical, with its big glam numbers as a dressing only, its substance to be found in the intimately observed relationship between the central couple. In this way comparisons to last year's Producers are utterly meaningless in all but its surface features. It's not really a showstopper in the same way for one thing, with a fairly small cast and a very small cast of significant characters. And the narrative is so compact, so focussed, more like a play, which is frankly very refreshing to see in a modern musical.
At its core are the performances of George Henare and Paul Barrett, and I'm probably just parrotting what other reviews have already said in saying that they are both superb, playing out a relationship full of truth and naked tenderness, and deftly eschewing all the usual stereotypes of gay couples. It's incredibly affecting. The other standout feature of the show for me was the music, a few key songs in particular, with real potential to become musical theatre classics (if they're not already). The very frenchness of the music is very effectively pulled off also. Actually the french setting of the show was something I wasn't aware of at all, and was a nice point of difference from most American musicals, even despite a few dodgy accents.
Jan. 19th, 2009
11:24 am - The weather's warm, the feet are cold, the groom will do just what he's told.
Married off, honeymooned out, back at work. One frequent question I keep getting is "so, does it feel any different?", to which I want to answer with some kind of reflective ponderance, but in truth all that is required is a pert "no". Because frankly, we've been effectively married for a few years now. And I'm not even the one who is changing their name.
Back up slightly: the week leading up to the wedding. Andrea was getting a bit stressed with the innumerable silly but seemingly critical errands that the modern wedding machine demands (including the pretty-much daily dress fittings), and I was still working so was hardly much help. My birthday popped up in the middle of all this, and I arranged a casual gathering of friends to mark the occasion, rather pleasant sitting about at home in the balmy, sunny weather, evening in name only. Then the night proceeded on to my rather halfbaked plan of a soiree, a format not fully understood by all in attendance, nor perhaps even myself. Still, some lovely highlights, including a few spirited poetry and prose readings and a bunch of great musical performances. Next time I'll corral the attendees into a well-oiled performance-sharing machine.
New Year's the next day was necessarily a bit of a non-event, spent quietly(-ish) with friends, and then the final preparations began. On the Friday, the day before the Big Day, I suddenly found myself almost getting stressed myself, heaven forbid, as I began to realise that some of the things I wanted/needed to get done could not all get done in time. And of course early-to-bed was never going to happen. But at least my vows were written (though, significantly, not yet learned, as they would remain til moments before the ceremony, and even then my memorisation was shakey at best).
The day itself (third of January, for the record) dawned with an uncertain meteorology in its countenance, and I was up early and with no promise of a slow and relaxing morning of golf or similar groomly pursuit, instead getting stuck into setup at the reception venue. Tech stuff was the one thing that was sadly neglected right at the end, both in the music and visuals departments (a digital projector and screen stood ready but unused on the night, and my music playlist (something I should have atteneded to long before) was still in the embryonic stages of assembly). Never mind. Through all of it, I put faith in my experience with the lastminuteness of theatre production to ensure that everything would come together alright, and this faith was well-founded it seems, since I managed to maintain a sense of perspective throughout the day, knowing that if all the Really Important Things came together then the rest wouldn't really matter.
Next: The heavens tease. Then they open. Then they just keep on opening. Denny's makes a friend.
Dec. 29th, 2008
07:25 am - Mice are people too.
So I had a wee stag night on Saturday. The mantra of the day was manliness, and I suspect I roundly failed the majority of the manliness challenges laid before me. I partly blame residual tiredness from lack of sleep compounded over the several days preceding it, plus exhaustion from boxing (yes, actual boxing, one of my more successful manly endeavours of the day), plus a different kind of exhaustion from unloading the contents of my stomach into the toilets of the Lone Star restaurant. These things made it difficult for me to even attempt to fireman lift a stranger and carry them ten metres down the street; they were also the catalyst for me falling asleep for an hour or so sometime during the evening. But it was manly sleeping, I'm sure.
A few days earlier was of course Christmas, this year a small one by Koorey standards, only fifteen people. Enjoyable enough, and a surprisingly low chocolate intake for a Christmas day, although really all these things (Christmas, plus the impending birthday and New Year) feel like little more than sideshows along the road to the wedding this weekend. Yes, golly, "this weekend". It's that bizarre slap-in-the-face time when those dates that we've been so familiar with all year suddenly metamorphose into such alarmingly immediate phrases like "next Tuesday" and "tomorrow". When all counting down can be done on one hand. But nothing to worry about. In some ways I'm almost impatient to get to it. Not quite impatient to get it over and done with, because I very much intend to enjoy the day, although occasional frustration at those parts of the preparatory and organisational 'process' that seem unnecessary or overpriced have given rise to empathy for the clever people who choose the elopement road. But no, it will be a great day, and thinking it will make it so. Although I suspect much of it will have to be appreciated retrospectively and vicariously through the media of photographs, videos and the anecdotes of those who will no doubt be less besieged than we by the 'business' of the day.
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