There remains only a single weekend in the run of the show. There is a certain tristesse to the end of a production, but the last day is one of the best days on a project. There will be people that I miss, of course, and those that I hope to retain as friends once everything is finished. It's hard to predict how our cast will scatter. In any case, I've decided to burn a compilation cd of the music that I've played during sound check (aka the time when everyone sits around in the house and watches intense darts matches onstage). I got some very clever blank cds that are made to look like vinyl, with a fake label and groove, etc. I understand that it is a gimmick, but I still fell for it.

My long awaited order from Amazon.com arrived today. I'm listening to the Badly Drawn Boy cd as I write. The unfortunate thing is that the delivery man tried to slam the storm door on the package and broke the closer mechanism on the door. My mother is understandably upset, as the closer has an impossible bend in it and must be replaced.

I watched the Oscars with Lewis last night. I was shocked by the number of underdog winners. Adrien Brody was the only first-time nominee in his category, so his win was a bit of an upset. As was the best song award to Eminem. They usually give the award to the worst piece of schmaltz nominated. The biggest shock of the evening was the best director award for Roman Polanski. Given his legal/political situation, he seemed a quite unlikely winner. As for the ceremony itself, it seemed poorly produced, lagging in spots and featuring bad follow spot work in the number from Chicago. I missed the glitz of past ceremonies, with the hours of pre-show and red carpet. The idea of scaling back the ceremony because of the current military engagement is ridiculous. Don't people need escapism more during times of war and economic depression?

I have tomorrow completely unplanned. Perhaps I will begin my new book, though I feel that I should finish the one I am currently reading out of duty. I'm rereading one of my old favorites, Song of the Lark by Willa Cather. It's a carefully written story of a young swedish woman outgrowing her small frontier town and following her talents to Chicago. Cather shows great understanding in the character's struggles and growth in her artistic pursuits. That is perhaps not the best description of the book. Let's just say that it isn't as lugubrious as the novel of hers that I was made to read in high school. If you are interested in the bildungsroman, this is a nice example of that form.


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