"Suuuu-rounded by acres of clams..."
May. 31st, 2002 06:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaalaThe zoo trip last weekend was low-key but fun and interesting. Highlights included a tour of the elephant house (where they go at night), and a chance to touch a rhinoceros.
It was a veritable trip down memory lane at times, because our family were members for several years back when I when I was a young child. I felt the loss of the monorail train ride keenly, but went all giggly with childish excitement at the prospect of a first-ever Zoomobile ride.
As I expected, I didn't need to act as a leader much, but then neither did anybody other than the two guides provided by the zoo. Mostly, I acted as Pathfinder unit photographer.
* * *
Later on the same day that the (one-night) zoo trip ended, I got a drive* to Finch station and took myself down to Toronto to see the season finale of Sin City: The Live Improvised Soap OperaTM. This show used to play in the Tim Sims theatre next to the Second City mainstage, so obviously I've known about it for several years. It is improvised and features Canadian actors I'm familiar with from other venues, so naturally I've really really wanted to see it for all those years. What further impelled me was a chat last year with one of the actors, the exceptionally nice and very talented Peter Oldring, in which he personally recommended the series it as the best show he's ever done. Albert Howell (also present, also in the show) pitched in and recommended it as well.
It was fabulous, of course, and worth more than the $10 I paid for a ticket. I can easily see how the show is habit-forming (as I've seen reported numerous times), and if I were living in Toronto or even here at home during the school year, I would go to see it as often as possible. Each actor assumes a character for the entire year, and it's evident how completely they've developed their personas. Though it was light comedy, there was considerable acting skill being employed in the interest of character and plot development, obviously more than in short-form improv, and probably more than in a lot of long-form (though I'm no expert). I heard one of the actors afterwards asking a friend if she had been realistic enough in a scene in which her character gave birth. Another character, a mentally deficient youngster named Juniper Bush, was (despite being riotously funny) so believable that several woeful situations into which she got herself elicited fairly sincere "awwww..."s from the the audience. I also loved how the actors were able to cope with all the hurdles Ian Ferguson (the director, interrupts with suggestions over a microphone) threw at them, especially (though I'm biased, see above) Peter Oldring.
Highlights included...oh, they were so many of them. I talked myself hoarse telling Mum about it on the drive home from Finch. (Though that wasn't especially difficult; I was, unfortunately, engaged in a constant struggle not to cough during the show.) One highlight was definitely pretty well everything having to do with the...uh...whirlwind romance between Peter Oldring's character Bucky and Rebecca Northan's (who was a special guest) Tessa. It involved donuts, the smell of tea, sucking/licking each other's hair (with some "pimping" from Ian), and a wedding ceremony also featuring donuts in a novel twist on "you may kiss the bride"--the mental images will haunt me for a long time. Another highlight was when, as per Ian's directions, Al Howell's character Bert (usually a deadpan straight man) "got the giggles for the first time". Anyone who has ever heard him will know that Al has a marvellously deep voice, and he distorted it to hilarious effect.
The Poor Alex theatre is very small, and I sat in the second row. I could have reached out and touched the actors at several points. And to top it all off, a very nice young man sat next to me and we had a pleasant conversation before the show. I was rather proud of myself for recognizing Rebecca Northan despite her absence from the program, and I probably weirded him out a tad.
* * *
On Thursday, it was off to see my sister dance in the second act of Swan Lake along with another ballet and jazz number. Again. Mum and I saw basically the same show a couple weeks back, but this was a benefit (and therefore not expensive) and we like seeing her dance. It's amazing how much she has progressed this past year at ballet school. She had a featured role in the jazz number, because she's "good at jazz"; this is ironic, because she struggled with the stylistic differences of jazz in high school.
Mum and I had about as much fun as it is possible to have while driving for three hours on the 401. I deliberately brought CDs which can be sung along with, and despite our sore throats, that's what we did.
* * *
I'm off to see the Arrogant Worms (yay!) tomorrow, and dragging my dad (who's never seen them) along with me. That is, unless he decides at the last minute, as is his wont, that he doesn't want to go.
This journal is taking on the character of a travelogue. I also almost always write ridiculously long entries, but infrequently. How irritating.
* * *
After my first summer flute lesson, I practiced fairly diligently for about a week and a half. Then I got a cold bad enough to inhibit my breathing to the point where I couldn't play. Then a couple days ago, just as the cold was starting to clear up enough to allow me to practice, I developed killer cold sores. Now they're just about healed, leaving me one day to try to catch up again. To my flute teacher, it will seem as if I didn't practice at all. Not only that, but I'm frustrated at being back where I started, because I want to make some progress in my playing.
* No, I cannot drive. Yes, I feel sheepish about it. I haven't had the time to learn until this year. I intend to take the first (written) test sometime this summer. Anything more than that would probably be too ambitious.
It was a veritable trip down memory lane at times, because our family were members for several years back when I when I was a young child. I felt the loss of the monorail train ride keenly, but went all giggly with childish excitement at the prospect of a first-ever Zoomobile ride.
As I expected, I didn't need to act as a leader much, but then neither did anybody other than the two guides provided by the zoo. Mostly, I acted as Pathfinder unit photographer.
* * *
Later on the same day that the (one-night) zoo trip ended, I got a drive* to Finch station and took myself down to Toronto to see the season finale of Sin City: The Live Improvised Soap OperaTM. This show used to play in the Tim Sims theatre next to the Second City mainstage, so obviously I've known about it for several years. It is improvised and features Canadian actors I'm familiar with from other venues, so naturally I've really really wanted to see it for all those years. What further impelled me was a chat last year with one of the actors, the exceptionally nice and very talented Peter Oldring, in which he personally recommended the series it as the best show he's ever done. Albert Howell (also present, also in the show) pitched in and recommended it as well.
Side note: Have I ever mentioned how nice and humble practically every improv actor I've ever encountered was? Well, they were and are. Andrew Currie thought I was weird, I think, but that's hardly surprising...
It was fabulous, of course, and worth more than the $10 I paid for a ticket. I can easily see how the show is habit-forming (as I've seen reported numerous times), and if I were living in Toronto or even here at home during the school year, I would go to see it as often as possible. Each actor assumes a character for the entire year, and it's evident how completely they've developed their personas. Though it was light comedy, there was considerable acting skill being employed in the interest of character and plot development, obviously more than in short-form improv, and probably more than in a lot of long-form (though I'm no expert). I heard one of the actors afterwards asking a friend if she had been realistic enough in a scene in which her character gave birth. Another character, a mentally deficient youngster named Juniper Bush, was (despite being riotously funny) so believable that several woeful situations into which she got herself elicited fairly sincere "awwww..."s from the the audience. I also loved how the actors were able to cope with all the hurdles Ian Ferguson (the director, interrupts with suggestions over a microphone) threw at them, especially (though I'm biased, see above) Peter Oldring.
Highlights included...oh, they were so many of them. I talked myself hoarse telling Mum about it on the drive home from Finch. (Though that wasn't especially difficult; I was, unfortunately, engaged in a constant struggle not to cough during the show.) One highlight was definitely pretty well everything having to do with the...uh...whirlwind romance between Peter Oldring's character Bucky and Rebecca Northan's (who was a special guest) Tessa. It involved donuts, the smell of tea, sucking/licking each other's hair (with some "pimping" from Ian), and a wedding ceremony also featuring donuts in a novel twist on "you may kiss the bride"--the mental images will haunt me for a long time. Another highlight was when, as per Ian's directions, Al Howell's character Bert (usually a deadpan straight man) "got the giggles for the first time". Anyone who has ever heard him will know that Al has a marvellously deep voice, and he distorted it to hilarious effect.
The Poor Alex theatre is very small, and I sat in the second row. I could have reached out and touched the actors at several points. And to top it all off, a very nice young man sat next to me and we had a pleasant conversation before the show. I was rather proud of myself for recognizing Rebecca Northan despite her absence from the program, and I probably weirded him out a tad.
* * *
On Thursday, it was off to see my sister dance in the second act of Swan Lake along with another ballet and jazz number. Again. Mum and I saw basically the same show a couple weeks back, but this was a benefit (and therefore not expensive) and we like seeing her dance. It's amazing how much she has progressed this past year at ballet school. She had a featured role in the jazz number, because she's "good at jazz"; this is ironic, because she struggled with the stylistic differences of jazz in high school.
Mum and I had about as much fun as it is possible to have while driving for three hours on the 401. I deliberately brought CDs which can be sung along with, and despite our sore throats, that's what we did.
* * *
I'm off to see the Arrogant Worms (yay!) tomorrow, and dragging my dad (who's never seen them) along with me. That is, unless he decides at the last minute, as is his wont, that he doesn't want to go.
This journal is taking on the character of a travelogue. I also almost always write ridiculously long entries, but infrequently. How irritating.
* * *
After my first summer flute lesson, I practiced fairly diligently for about a week and a half. Then I got a cold bad enough to inhibit my breathing to the point where I couldn't play. Then a couple days ago, just as the cold was starting to clear up enough to allow me to practice, I developed killer cold sores. Now they're just about healed, leaving me one day to try to catch up again. To my flute teacher, it will seem as if I didn't practice at all. Not only that, but I'm frustrated at being back where I started, because I want to make some progress in my playing.
* No, I cannot drive. Yes, I feel sheepish about it. I haven't had the time to learn until this year. I intend to take the first (written) test sometime this summer. Anything more than that would probably be too ambitious.
