All entries for February 2007

February 28, 2007

Bat Boy – Notice The Absence Of A "ty"

It’s just past midnight on the last Tuesday/Wednesday of February and I’m listening to Les Misérables. Could it get much better than this?

Well, apparently if you Google something along the lines of ‘Warwick’ and ‘Bat Boy’, the first thing that comes up on the serach results is this blog. How cool is that? That said, I am the poor bastard directing it, so it stands to reason that it should happen, but I was still impressed.

On the subject, Bat Boy is going really well. We’ve not had too many rehearsals just yet and the scripts are being somewhat problematic, but that aside, I’m having a hell of a lot of fun. And I’m so pleased with the cast – I don’t feel like I’ve made do with anyone and everyone fits their parts and as far as I know (from observation and feedback from them) they’re all really excited to be part of it. Which is always good.

When, on Sunday afternoon I stood in the Ensemble Room in the Music Centre, I saw Hold Me Bat Boy choreographed, I got very excited! This has been so long in the making – I first mentioned that I would want to direct it last August and so we’re going into month 7 of the Bat Boy creation project.

Just as an aside, I’ve learnt that if you say “Ich freue mich wie ein Schneekönig” it means “I’m as pleased as punch” – how cool is that?!

I’ve not really got anything else to write, other than I hope everyone it good; just thought I’d catch you all up on my new baby (Bat Boy, that is – I’ve not impregnanted some “big-breasted co-ed” as my favourite blogger told me I should have). Of course I will let you all know when it is on, but by that time there will be a Facebook event and you’ll all have been invited anyway, but you get my drift.


February 18, 2007

Fie On You, Sundays!

It is no secret that I despise the seventh (or first, depending on your way of looking) day of the week. Sunday and I have this unsaid hatred that lies deep in the very bellies of our souls. The day annoys me. Maybe it harks back to a time when I had to go to church on this day and listen to how I was guilty of heinous sins and unless I repented like the sinning little bitch that I was, I would burn for all eternity in the firey pits of Hell. It may also be down to the fact that when I think of Sundays, I think of all the crap television that I had to sit through on Sunday afternoons (possibly the worst time on Sundays), or at least flick through to check out what other tripe was being broadcast. Songs of Praise, Antiques Roadshow, Channel 4 Racing. I am, however, pretty certain that most of my detestation of this, the horror of all horrors is the fact that nothing is open. And if it deigns it necessary to open, it shuts at 4pm. That means that you have to plan in advance the fact that later, you’re going to want chocolate or ice cream or cheese on toast or just something that isn’t goddamn, motherfucking Snack-a-Jacks-because-someone-decided-they-were-going-to-try-and-be-healthy-and-then-stopped-when-they-got-ill-and-just-couldn’t-be-arsed-to-start-it-up-again. It gets to about 7pm and one’s mind turns to dinner and what you’re going to have. However, the laugh is on you because you forgot to plan ridiculously in advance and now you’re left with the options of eating that minging bit of chicken you’ve left in the back of the freezer for ages in the hope that it’ll piss someone off and they can throw it out so you don’t have to, or your left arm. Needless to say, you can only partake of the latter once and so you’ve got to bide your time well, because you never know when you may be stuck in the desert, or the jungle, or chained to an Iranian’s radiator and you need the sustenance that your limb would provide.

So after eating my steamed meal, followed by Snack-a-Jack popcorn (don’t even get me started) and a Ryvita bar (resembling vaguely cherry flavoured slabs of nutty cardboard) I’m sat here in a state of despair. Judi did give me the idea of trekking to the library and using the vending machines there, but part of me just can’t be arsed. But then the other side of me (you know, the side that used to weigh as much as a medium-sized hippo and consumed roughly the same amount os Uganda per month) is telling me to get off my fat arse and go and get some chocolate. Or sweets. Or just something that will sate my clawing, yearning desire to eat something so bad for me that just looking at it may send me into wild, uncontrollable convulsions. I would, after all, be burning off calories on the journey to and from the machines. But I can’t. Not really. Can I?

On other issues, I think everyone should be watching Heroes. I’m really starting to get into it – it’s a little bit like Lost and X-Men combined, although any questions it poses, it seems to answer (I’m hoping that this trend continues of course).

I went out to Nightingales last night in Brum. Although a good night was had by all, it still was nowhere near as auspiscious as a) I had hoped it would be or b)other nights out have been before. Never, really, have I had a good night at “the Gale”. Not in the class of Bows or DV8, dives as they very well may be. There’s just something about Gales that doesn’t sit right with me. Oh, and the drinks are really expensive. And there’s a piano-playing tranny, but I’m pretty certain that goes in the club’s favour.

Week 7 starts tomorrow and it’s starting to get a bit scary. I did very little in Reading Week and rehearsals for Bat Boy start on Tuesday. I need to get a degree as well as preparing a show for a week before my exams. Quiote stressful, I can tell you, but I refuse to let myself get bogged under – other people have done it, why shouldn’t I? I’m just hoping that the show will end up kicking ass, because otherwise, failing my degree for it may have been a futile waste. At least if it’s good, I can get some sort of pleasure knowing that I wasted 4 years of my life for something that people enjoyed – ever the submissive martyr, that’s me!

Right – I’m going to sign off and battle with my inner demons against the powers that want chocolate. Hope everyone is staying well!


February 15, 2007

Is It Coincidence That VD Means Both Valentine's Day And Venereal Disease?

Now, I know what you’re thinking and I can assure you that it’s not going to happen – you’re not going to have to read the bitter moanings of the eternal singleton.

Last night, Richy and I decided to celebrate our own Anti-Valentine’s Day Day – we bought Ben and Jerry’s and alcohol, and sat down in front of Mean Girls and Legally Blonde and bitched a little bit. Then we made popcorn. All in all, quite a productive evening.

In the midst of all this jollyness, I couldn’t help but wonder about the sales of ice cream such as Haagen Dazs or B&J’s on 14th February. There are millions of single guys and gals out there who mope about on that day – the people who make that stuff must be rolling in it after the sales of just one day per year!

Most of my VD (and here, I’m meaning the day, as opposed to the disease) was spent in London. I had an interview at the Japanese Embassy to ascertain whether or not I was a liability to send to Japan to teach English for a year (or 3). My train was majorly delayed, but my age-old adage came into play – getting annoyed isn’t going to make the train arrive any quicker. When I got on the train, I was beset by thickly-accented chavs who were supposed to alight at Milton Keynes but instead, dicked about a bit and consequently missed their stop. At first, I branded them as the general loud youth-scum one finds anywhere in Coventry. However, some of them actually resembled human beings and they were generally quite nice and quite funny. It made my journey go a little bit quicker, observing how they interacted with each other. If it wouldn’t’ve been such a waste of three years, I should have done Sociology (however, as anyone who knows me will know, that wouldn’t happen, as I flunked it at AS Level and got an E! Oh, that, and I hated every minute of it).

When I arrived in the Big Smoke, I quickly made my way over to Covent Garden, where I ordered a table for one at my most frequented Wagamamas. From there, I headed on over to Green Park (saw the Ritz, where I’ll be heading in a few weeks for afternoon tea!) and sat reading The Bell Jar in the Starbucks there whilst waiting for my interview time to roll around. I then strolled on over to the Japanese Embassy, went through all of their security procedure things and checked my phone in at reception. God, Japanese people are friendly.

As I sat waiting for someone to come and fetch me, I had a look at the stuff they had there and took a shine to a couple of maps they had lying around. They’re now sat next to me, but I’m pretty certain I was allowed to take them – sort of free literature that these places leave for you to pick up. A nice girl called Tilly (apparently she’d never met a person called Mitch before) came and found me and took me upstairs. There, I took an English grammar test that wasn’t too hard (I got confused on some of the spelling questions because they gave you three options and they all looked so similar, I had to take some time out to think about how I would spell it on my own – luckily my speeling is good) and watched a video. Well, when I say “watched a video” I mean, I chatted to Tilly about what she did in Japan. Then I had to sit on a little chair until my interviewers were ready for me. An American girl who looked remarkably like my friend Esther came out and told me that she used to be on the JET programme and would be taking my interview. Then she introduced me to this Japanese dude who seemed a little reluctant to be there. Generally, it went OK – the questions were pretty standard and I think I conveyed how excited I am by the possibility that I may be spending a year in the Orient. Then, the Japanese guy dealt his deathly blow – after professing to love the country so much, he asked me who the Prime Minister was. Now, I could tell you how many inhabitants there were in Tokyo, or even in Japan itself. I could also tell you the annual GDP and the fact that Japan has the second largest economy in the world. But I had no clue who fucking runs the country. After telling him that I simply didn’t know (there was no way on Earth I could’ve guessed), he gave me a second chance to prove myself on the all-things-Japanese front: name 3 famous Japanese people. Now forgive me for being dense, but other than Mr Miyagi from The Karate Kid, I was stumped. Luckily, I managed to pull two out of a hat, but a third just eluded me. No doubt, if I Wiki it later on, there will be heaps of people I knew, but when I was in there, I coouldn’t for the life of me think. However, other than those two questions, I reckon I answered all the others quite well. At one point I was asked if I minded being sent to rural areas. Now, I was always taught that you should always prove yourself to being amenable, so I said yes. Why did I say yes? If I get sent to some mountain-side shanty town, I’m not going to be impressed. I did stress that I grew up in a big city and find it easier to adapt and settle into new surroundings if they’re bustling, but I’m starting to dread saying that I’m up for rural. Although, if I’d said that no I wasn’t, that may have been the dealbreaker itself.

Afterwards I met up with Krystle, who I haven’t seen since the end of my second year. We caught up over a KFC and then I headed back to Coventry where I met up with Richy.

Reading Week is drawing to a close. Already. This term is flying by and I have done nothing. I started researching my essay the other day in the library but ended up playing Feeding Frenzy (you’re a fish and you have to eat fish smaller than you and avoid fish bigger than you, until you grow big enough to eat them as well – great fun!). Seeing as Bat Boy rehearsals start THIS SUNDAY I should really be making a concerted effort. In fact, I’m going to force myself back there today to do some studying. Force myself. First of all I need a shower, but then I’m going to head over.

On Saturday I think we’re heading into Birmingham for a gay night out for Robbie’s birthday – hopefully, we’ll be going for a meal beforehand at a restaurant called Malaysian Delight (sounds like a whorehouse, no?).

Well, this has been quite a long one, but I figured that it was the best way to let people know how the interview went without having to relive it constantly. This will also test how many people read this thing – hopefully more people than normal do because my blog is now streamed onto my facebook profile, but I still think people ignore it. Bastards!

Anyhoo – I hope everyone is OK and that Reading Weeks are going well for everyone that gets one.


P.S. – I wrote “speeling” earlier on – for those of you who missed it, it was irony.

February 2007

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