I Had Hot Chocolate This Morning.

So that means I’m going to post a blog post… post a blog post. Post a blog? Post on my blog? Write a post for my blog?

Whatever. I’m excited not only about the hot chocolate, but what that represents. So this post is coming to you in three parts.

Part the First:

The literal hot chocolate. I got some from the gas station just next to the Hellmouth (that is, my work place), which I would usually consider a cop-out because I can just make my own and if you can get like 12 packets of hot chocolate for $3.99, it seems almost ridiculous to pay $0.99 for one cup, but I was unfortunately out of hot chocolate mix this morning and then tried to use chocolate milk mix with warm water, but the end result was sort of like really weak tea, which is odd, considering tea shouldn’t taste like chocolate.

(Have I mentioned lately that I’m an English major and a tutor at my university’s writing center? Doesn’t matter. William Faulkner made a career out of run-on sentences, did he not?)

So, I had hot chocolate because I can’t stand coffee or tea and I’m sick and I legitimately think it helped. It’s like the Power of Positive Thinking–which is, in fact, bullshit–but for colds. I think, “This hot chocolate will make me feel better when I drink it.” And poof! The medicine that I took earlier this morning kicks in just as I’m gulping down my sweet, sugary nectar of the Gods.

The drinking of warm(ish) liquids also somewhat functions as a harbinger to colder weather. And I would say this is my case, but at the moment, Georgia doesn’t know where the hell it is. The whole of October has gone from jacket-and-scarf weather (fave) one day to tank-and-shorts weather the next. Consistency, weather, that is all I beg of you. Pick one and stick to it.

Part the Second:

Hot chocolate is a prop in a ten-minute play I wrote earlier this year that I have since entered into my school’s One Act Play Festival, and has been chosen. Two, in fact, have been chosen, though the other doesn’t feature hot chocolate.

The One Act Play Festival often becomes my reason for living in October. I love every part of it. It is student-run, written, directed, and acted. No faculties about it. It has yielded some really interesting and some really awful theatre. But this year, it’s different. Because I’m like 99.9% certain all of it is going to be epic. And not just because two of my plays are being performed.

On the subject of playwriting, I say this. I don’t know that I will ever get used to (or even want to get used to) being surprised that my brain’s thoughts are onstage. My imagination is coming to life in wonderful technicolor and eye-popping 3D, but with a stunningly low budget (eat my dust, James Cameron). And I always get worried during read-throughs that people just won’t get it, you know? I write comedy–or… try to–and I have a fairly particular sense of humor. I prefer smirk-comedy to “lol”-comedy. I used to dream one day of being Tom Stoppard… or, as equally unlikely, Aaron Sorkin. Or Joss Whedon.


My brain onstage! Even if I’m writing about something absolutely the farthest away from anything I’ve ever done, said, or experienced, everything still seems so personal. I am giving part of who I am to a director and three/four actors and letting them use it as a playground. What I think is so obviously said one way can be interpreted in another. Sometimes I have trouble accepting that my work can be done in a billion different ways. Sometimes I want to run up onto the stage and shout, “NO NO NO! FASTER YOU MUST SAY IT FASTER!” That’s not my place.

Sometimes it’s best to let somebody say, “Wingadrium Levio-sar” and not “Wingardium Levi-o-sa”.

Part the Third:

But my playwright’s attention span usually lasts about ten pages (this is why ten-minute play festivals are where it’s at) so I would prefer to be a dramaturg. This next bit is my second reason for living–for the Oct/Nov. period.

I am dramaturg’n it up in the production of Thomas Middleton’s Women Beware Women at school, updating it to a Napoleonic Era tragedy. So basic responsibilities include general research on the original play’s setting and the new setting, on costuming, on morality, on literary criticism, on textual meaning, and so on. I have… probably around 100 pages of stuff to read before next week, summarize it all into a nice neat packet of stuff, and set this packet free on my actors.

I. Love. Thomas. Middleton. I also love Women Beware, so really this is like an all around win. It is my hope not to get too boggled down and try to do more than I’m supposed to. I have this strange feeling that when I walk into rehearsals next week, my director is going to laugh at exactly how prepared I’ll be. I’m aiming to be a walking encyclopedia of all things Women Beware Women.¬† It’s such a great show, full of intrigue and incest, immorality and immaturity. And Middleton is such a great playwright–he has a rich history as a victim of censorship, so you know he’s gotta be at least a little bit good. Some scholarly scholars of scholarship refer to him as second only to Shakespeare, so stick that in your pipe but don’t smoke it ’cause smokin’s bad for ya. Gives ya cancer.

You see what I did there? I started with a seemingly innocent post about  hot chocolate and then hit you with some major 17th Century drama. What a blog ninja.

Anyway, for vids of One Act Festivals past (and, post-Oct 23, this years’ plays), you can hit up my Youtube page, which, if I have tamed this beast enough, should be somewhere in the doobly-doo on the right.


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