going on record

i'm still here, though you can't tell. not yet anyway. but i wanted to go on record saying the following:
the reason i have become a teacher is to be given the opportunity to help young people to realise that the world is a place we must navigate. there is no one way to perceive an idea. we must communicate ourselves as best we can, but even then, our articulation only takes us the point of the listeners' ears. and when we are the listeners, we must form our own understanding. hear the ideas. process them. consider them. find reasons not to judge. question our perceptions. question the idea-makers and the ideas themselves. consider the language, consider how the language might shape the idea. consider everything. at least for a fleeting moment.

and find beauty in the differences we all share in this communication and perception of ideas.
and understand why that makes us all so special, unique, and difficult.
and know when to shut up.

-- R.

so much to say, but i'm in a rush.

at the moment, i am rushing. rushing to make it, to the train station, to the costume department, to rehearsal, to work, to uni. i am rushing to bed to get as much sleep as i can possibly squeeze in, in readiness to rush right back out of it.

and when people ask me how i am, i am fine, i am busy, i am happy. but when i have a moment or two, moments just enough to dwell and consider, i am not fine. fine is not a word that describes anything remotely close to what i am. i am reaching my potential. i am allowing opportunities in, and i am not saying no. i am feverishly working to say yes, to everything, to everyone, so that i can help the people around me to reach their potential. the show in particular has a potential that needs to be reached. and we are reaching it, but it takes rushing to get there. and every now and then, when these one-or-two brief moments align to allow me to breathe, to think, i realise that the real world, however it looks, is out there somewhere. and when i have time to slow down, i would like to reside somewhere in that real world.

and there is so much i want to share. like my birthday, or our trivia night, or my stint on sbs television, or being back at uni (can i get a halleluya?), or just how flipping good it feels to have something to rush for, to work hard and heavy for. but for now, i am happy to stay in my busy little cocoon, busting my moves to get it all done. and to leave y'all with a happy little montage of rehearsal snaps from this weekend.

octave theatre presents floyd collins, 17-21 august @ chapel off chapel

if you've learned something (anything) from my little blog this past almost-year, then trust me. this is a show that, no matter how many times you've seen it (say, four times in one week, for example), will still make you weep hard and laugh hard and think really, really hard. i love a show that encourages a little self-discovery. obviously.

--R.

the universe gives.

when it's cold out, and you're snuggly and warm inside, and your sister sleeps on the couch next to you, and you remember that you have to venture out into that cold to return her whence she came, well...

the universe gives.





a mist in st kilda like i have never seen before.
to the point that i was excited. and a little scared.
to the point that the whole four minute drive home, i continued to exclaim, over and over, "have you ever seen anything like this before!? in st kilda!? in the dark!?"
and, like children, we gasped and giggled each time we noticed something else amazing about the deep, dense fog. sillhouettes. the blurring of the street lamps. the way car headlights seemed to operate like follow spots, sharply cutting through the night, their edges crisp and tangible.

wow. the universe gives.



-- R.

when life gives you crumbled cupcakes, make cakeballs. (also known as the very long post that doesn't say too much).

a couple of days ago one of our all-time favourite cast members turned 30. and at octave theatre, well, we celebrate milestones. even if there are only three people called for a rehearsal. so i went about making this hellish recipe for devil's food cupcakes (see what i did there?). and for the amount of butter, sugar and actual lindt chocolate that went into the batter and the icing, well, you'd expect them to taste... orgasmic. or at least good. and given that ella couldn't even identify what they were supposed to be, i'm guessing that this recipe will not be making its way onto my frequently baked list. 


anyway. instead of curving upwards like regular, happy cupcakes (an upside down smile, if you will), they totally flopped and caved in on themselves, creating some very sad looking craters (you might refer to them as upside down frowns...). and to make matters worse, the cupcake tops all spread out over the muffin pan and made for one giant, deformed cupcake top, connecting the twelve round little bodies that lay beneath. 


needless to say this impatient brute could not get them all out in one piece. so. i salvaged those that i could. and i did what i could with them (that is, to turn them into unidentifiable, weird-shaped brown muffin things with a chocolate freckle on top). and as for the rest, well, i nearly hurled the tin with the mess of crumbled cupcake stuck in its caverns at my kitchen wall. but i had already created so much mess with the recipe (like, we're talking six different bowls, some of them washed and re-used mid recipe... i'm normally a one-bowl-wonder kinda gal) that i was too tired/traumatised to think about washing down a wall of cupcake splatterings. 


(wow this is getting long). so instead. inspired by our special friend shara all the way over in san diego, i scooped the cupcake shards out of their cocoons, crumbled them into the bowl of leftover icing, and beat like hell. then, i took the sloppy mixture, rolled it into balls, and froze. today, i melted more chocolate, dipped each little ball in, and voilà. cakeballs. 



now, maybe i'm a bit behind with the times, because these cakeballs certainly feel very... "seventies novelty food". but i have to say, they were delicious. and moist. (and kinda weird, but for the sake of the blog and where this whole thing is headed, let's just pretend they were immaculate okay?). 


practically speaking, next time your cake flops, do this. it saves you from throwing out a perfectly good cakeball cake. and, metaphorically speaking, i mean come on... when your cake flops, make cake balls! it doesn't get more afterschool special than that. it's all about seeing the potential in our own failures. and not taking it all too seriously.


and that's the end of the (very long, overkilled) story.
and happy birthday to karl. you see what i went through for you?


-- R.

something to be proud of

while i was moonlighting as a single toorak mother, i found a moment to squeeze in a photoshoot for the show we're working on at the moment.

tyson was a great sport, letting me dribble fake blood (chocolate syrup and red food dye) on his hands, and lying on the concrete in the middle of a cold, cold night. and in the end, the best shot was one that incorporated neither of these things. 'cus that's just how i roll.

and i'm really really proud of this image. but what i'm especially excited about is the show it promotes. i caught a sneak peak of a couple'a scenes tonight and, boy oh boy. the acting sent shivers down my spine. actual shivers down my actual spine.

soon i'll plug the show right here and ask y'all to book your tickets. but for now, just the image. tinkered with by the magnificent karl, who made it feel more cave-y (quite important to the plot, as you'll see when you come watch it. not that i'm pluggin' it tonight.)



and if, for whatever reason, you're feelin' clicky, and you'd like to know more, well then, here you go. and i'll plug it another time. not tonight.


-- R.

and then there was music. and it was good.

well, i may not exactly be what you'd call tech-savvy (in fact, i spent the better part of an hour yelling at the screen and skov yesterday when google decided to split my account in two... surprisingly or not, it didn't help even a little bit). but i've worked out how to add a new somethin'-somethin' to you, dear blog. now you make noise. pretty noise. and i like it.


(if you, too, are a technological bubba amongst us, then scroll down to the bottom of the page to check out my new playlist function. it should start automatically when you visit.)

it's the kind of noise that makes me want to put on red lipstick and pout my lips and play the role of rearview mirror self-seductress. don't mind if i do.


last night, the beginning of goodbyes to the beautiful jodi, who is embarking on her own ballistically brave journey this week.




and if the music and the lipstick don't get you in the mood, then this just might...
is there anything better in this world than melted cheese? puh-lease. i think not.


and finally, as if that wasn't enough, this is gone...



and, with a second coat of moxa happily slapped on this afternoon, my tortured, pulled-apart, plastic-ed living room has almost returned to its former normality.


well, cat has bullied her way onto my lap, is purring incessantly and is begging for attention. i will happily comply. and with that, i bid you adieu.

-- R.

meaningful connections

the number of times i wrote that phrase, "meaningful connections", throughout my education degree would make you want to vomit. but actually, now that i think about it, i think it was perfectly proportional. i found myself typing that string of 21 letters and a space over and over.... soandso argues that it is important to.... in order for students to make meaningful connections with the content of their work, their peers, and their environment..." 

and i felt like a hack writing the same thing over and over. but i had to. because in the above sentence, the "soandso" can be replaced with the name of every educational theorist, philosopher, working teacher and downright nice guy that walked the planet in the last hundred years. (and that's alotta people.)

and my previous entry gave me a little mini aha moment (thanks oprah). i started by writing about that washer. the one that i removed from the shower head to fix the water pressure. and i made a (you guessed it) meaningful connection with my life. remove the washer. the thing that is making the water flow slowly. remove the washer.

sounds crazy and over-analytical, i know. but hear me out. i think that, no matter who you are, no matter how you're feeling -- whatever the overarching mood is in your life for the moment, we can all do with a bit of self-reflection. think about what it is that is preventing you from achieving something. whatever that something is. mine is simple. being able to be happy on my own. to make myself happy. so that i can make the most of this one wild and precious life unconditionally. and what is it that is preventing me from achieving it? well, i'm sure there are a few things. but the things that stand out most of all right now, are giving myself credit, feeling worthy, and being independent.

and since yanking that washer out of that showerhead, i've felt a gush of the latter. independence. i am capable, i am intelligent and i am perfectly able to control my own pathway. i don't need other people to do it for me (of course it is nice to have support and a bit of love along the way...) and knowing that, well, knowing that makes me feel good. which is a nice change from the previous couple'a months.

and speaking of nice changes...


that there's the gash.

this here's what we used to cover it. moxa. i just looked up the name of the colour in the hopes that it would make some meaningful connection to my life, but the best it came up with was an industrial ethernet service. well. whatever, universe. i don't even care.


this one was quite happy to supervise while this one rolled himself into a moxa-induced frenzy.

and no, the wall doesn't look perfect. there is still a noticeable mound where the scar now lies, running from top to bottom. but it's a bit of a battle wound. and in all of its imperfection, i love it.

and that's that.

-- R.