Well it's happened. Now any sober person, who is a friend of a freind of a friend of whomever posted it, sitting in their room, with a laptop, can see me dirty dancing.
You know what I don't understand? Why people don't get why this pisses me off. Facebook has always pissed me off- there used to be a time when you couldn't publish a picture in a newspaper without the permission of every person in that picture. How is it that posting a picture on a website isn't the same thing? How is it that posting a VIDEO isn't the same thing?
These are not new feelings. Anyone who knows me cannot have escaped having this sort of conversation with me- but now that it's personal, it's even more infuriating, because it brings home the core of the issue: privacy.
We have never been able to control our image; I'm not so naive as to believe we have. But it never used to be so easy to publicly embarrass and humiliate. We didn't use to live in a digital age. And now that we do, and the rules haven't caught up with us yet, and everyone is racing after any little bit of attention they can get, we have let human decency fall by the wayside. What we are playing at now is just gossip on steroids. Now, instead of telling everybody how drunk so-and-so got last night, we can post visuals! And not only did you record it on your video cellphone without their permission, you posted it on your website without their permission. And here is the saddest part: no one seems to have a problem with it.
So what's the solution? Censor our behaviour? Never swear, or have a drink, or pick your nose? Never take off your clothes, or have sex, or eat food off the floor? Never squeeze a pimple or cheat on your boyfriend? Well in my case, it's never dirty dance again. Because I'm going to be a lawyer, and law firms are now scouring the internet looking for anything about future employees that might be embarrassing. My entire future rests on trusting that the world is going to be responsible with my image. And since I've learned only recently that I can't even trust people I counted on as friends to do that- I'm hard pressed to believe it of strangers.
This will be my last post.
I am done with the lack of respect. I am done with shallowness of friendship. I am done with this whole world of uploading and downloading and file sharing. From now on if you want to know what my life is like, you'll have to pick up a phone. I didn't want to become a twenty-first century luddite, but this is the position I have found myself in.
So goodbye- not that there is anyone left on livejournal to read it. You're all too busy on facebook- soberly watching me dance.
You know what's amazing? How common our experiences all are. I just finished reading my friends page, and here are both Stephanie and Lindsay experiencing the exact same thing. That separation, that sense of belonging to a different place and the knowledge of the cliff just beyond the horizon. I remember it SO well. And I gotta tell you- your few friends that you manage to maintain from all these different places you've been and different lives you've lead become so precious. And you can end up clinging to them. A barely ex from Banff called the other day- I hadn't spoken to him for about a year and we weren't together very long, but it was so important to talk to someone who knew me from that stage in my life. Because otherwise it's gone. I was there for a year and a half. A year and a half which contained so many firsts and then I left it, only existing in memories. Same with university, and Belgium, and home, and where I was born. You do it again and again and it becomes the way you live your life. I've always mocked reunions, but I think I'm starting to come around. Because if you can't share your experiences, it's as if they never happened.
Anyway, back to the Hour.
1. YOUR REAL NAME
2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (first 3 letters of real name plus izzle.)
3. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (fav color and fav animal)
The Blue Sloth
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, and current street name)
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom's maiden name)
6. YOUR SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
7. YOUR IRAQI NAME: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of you dads middle name, last letter of your moms middle name)
8. YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mothers middle name)
9. YOUR GOTH NAME: (black, and the name of one your pets)
So I haven't written for awhile. I guess that's what happens when you work so much you don't have time to cook food and do laundry, let alone... communicate. But I've taken advantage of being sick to refuse to do any extra hours this weekend and have had some semblance of a day off. (I've got to leave for work in half an hour, thus only a semblance). But that didn't stop me from going out till 4:00 in the morning last night. Let's just say hanging out with actors has its advantages: private parties. I have had my first velvet rope experience, and it was quite a lot of fun. And now to work! Just wanted to let it out there that I'm still alive.
I just got a crew call e-mail from Banff. Is it worth it to fly back there for four days? I don't think so. Very, very amused at this moment.
Well that was just about the most excruciating thing I've ever had to do. Following my interview with Repercussion Theatre yesterday, I had to send an e-mail to the managing director entailing why I wanted the job and why I would be good at it. So I just spent an hour working on that and I have absolutely no idea whatsoever if I went the right way with it or not. It's well written, but I don't know if I took it seriously enough, or too seriously, whether I talked about non theatre too much, whether I went on too long, or not long enough. Basically I'm all tied up in knots because now I really want this job, while simultaneously knowing I'm not ready for it. But maybe I could be, if just given the opportunity. I've been bored out of my mind these last two years. I've been wowing people at jobs for dummies, wanting to bore through my head with an electric drill. So maybe being way over my head would be great. Maybe I'd grow- or something.
Anyway, suffice to say, there is no way I'm going to sleep tonight- which is bad because I've worked ten hour days all this week, and I still have a couple more before my seven hour one on Saturday- but guess what comes after that? Christmas! Oh glorious Christmas! My first day off in over a month! How I love and adore you! You are everything to me!
That's really all I have to say about that. I have an interview tomorrow morning at Repercussion Theatre. check them out at repercussiontheatre.com (I think) Still not getting excited.
I got a very interesting phone call today. There I was, at the Infinitheatre office, finishing up for the day, when my cellphone rang. I picked it up and thought "Who could be calling me from Ottawa? I've only been thinking about joining the public service; I haven't actually done it yet." No it wasn't a bureaucrat soothsayer, it was Kevin Orr, the new artistic director at Repercussion Theatre. If you know Montréal theatre at all, these are the big summer park guys, Shakespeare in twenty two parks sort of thing. He got my name from Howard at Centaur Theatre. They're looking for a production manager, and he asked me to send my resumé to his assistant. Production manager! For an outdoor park summer/aiming for the rest of the year, Shakespeare, bilingual, touring theatre. Can anyone think of a single theatre job that sounds more like what I should be doing? Now I just need to get it. I refuse to count my chickens. Never mind the artistic director phoned me. Never mind he got excited when I said I'd worked for previous Shakespeare in the park productions. Never mind he got excited when I said I spoke french. I didn't even get a chance to tell him that I've been a tour manager for a bilingual play! But no- I refuse to get excited. Instead I will eat my dinner and then go to Dollarama. The job I will quit if I get this one. Oh the very thought of it! No- not getting excited. I refuse.
So that job I'm applying for- turns out I need to be a quebec resident. So today I dragged myself up to Henri-Bourassa to the SAAQ to switch over my license. Oh how I long for small towns: stupid me didn't think to make an appointment. After waiting in line I was pointed towards a phone on the wall and finally got ahold of an agent and set an appointment for next week. Which means more time I need to block off from work, and also means that when I head to the unemployment office tomorrow I will have no acceptable proof that I live here. Which will greatly decrease my chances of getting the job. What sort of sad world do we live in when I can't even get a minimum wage job in my field?
Anyway, I did get a reply from one of my resumes- to volunteer with OUTproductions. There is a Halloween cabaret this weekend I might be helping out with at the SalaRosa. Something to get me out of the house at least.
Wow, just got finished going through my daily routing (checking my e-mail and then reading everyone's journal entries) and I discovered everyone is writing incredibly long entires. Novellas even. It's as if suddenly everyone has something to say, and needs someone to say it to. Which makes me feel as if I should. As I face hour number twelve at work today, with three more to go, I am more weary and bleary-eyed than thoughtful. These past few months have made me mourn my brain. Not that I was ever academic or even enthusiastic about school, I just liked being there among people who were. Here it seems we are all numb, drained by dullness and repetition, longing for something else.
Or maybe I just feel that way because this is day number three of the Canadian Rocky Mountain Festival and I've been surrounded by six thousand high-school and younger students with their conductors and herding mothers. I can't remember what silence sounds like. My few moments outside are like visits to another planet. I'm so very tired of minesweeper and am only mildly amused by Mordecai Richler. Will this day never end? My soul is being nibbled away day by day. It's been two or three weeks since I even worked a Playbill, let alone something remotely resembling theatre. Why oh why oh why oh why...