Lend Me a Life Decision

In August, I was debating what to do with my life (again. always. because that's what I do.). My main goals were 1) save money for grad school, and 2) get involved in theatre. While juggling job and school and scholarship applications, and jumping around the country to see friends and family, I found the websites for a couple community theatres, including one called Lake City Playhouse.

They were holding auditions for a show called Lend Me a Tenor, and another theatre had auditions the following night. I decided I would audition for Lake City Playhouse, and if I didn't get a callback, I'd audition for the other the next night. Having never heard of Lend Me a Tenor (yeah, I definitely need to brush up on my theatre knowledge), I started searching out anything I could find, which turned up some really poor quality youtube versions and a few pages of the script.

After a few days of monologuing my heart out to the bookcases, I suddenly found myself driving circles around the playhouse trying to find the entrance to the parking lot. Eventually I did, and since I'd given myself about an extra 40 minutes to make up for my propensity to get lost, I waited in my car for a while and then went in only about 20 minutes early, as confidently as my shaky legs would allow.

Of course, I was the first hopeful to arrive, so I awkwardly introduced myself to the two people I assumed were running the audition, filled out a form, sat down awkwardly, and awkwardly tried to make conversation. Luckily a few other people (all women) showed up, and the audition got started with exactly what I had most dreaded: a group improv. It involved the word "cavalcade," but the end result was more "catastrophe." When that was finally over, we were paired up and given sides to do a cold reading, which was even more entertaining thanks to the lack of a male presence in the auditioning group.

Afterward, I felt like I'd made a couple friends and hadn't embarrassed myself too badly (probably because my memory immediately blocked out most of the cavalcade incident), but really had no idea what to expect. Then a few minutes later, I got a call and an invitation to callbacks the next night. Most of the same women were there for callbacks, along with a few men who'd been begged and probably blackmailed into showing up. In a few days, the director called to offer me a part, and my life decision was made for me, at least for the next two months.

Aaaaaand it was a pretty awesome life decision.

I experienced the amazing process of putting a play together out of a few strangers and some words on a page (which deserves its own post later). At the first rehearsal, everyone was talking about intention and all the thought they'd put into their character, and beats, and motivation, and line-thrus, and all manner of things I didn't understand, and I thought "Oh no. I've made a terrible mistake." So I wiped out the drama section of the local library (which is like three books, so not very impressive) and started watching lots of clips of Katharine Hepburn. But mostly I stood in awe of the incredible talent of the others and tried to remember to actually say my lines instead of just watching my castmates.

Plus I got to wear awesome costumes and run around the stage and slam a LOT of doors.

But the best part by far was actually becoming friends with these people by whom I'd been so intimidated; they are not only some of the most gifted people I've ever met, they are also friendly and open and welcoming and funny and I'm so lucky to have been able to spend so many nights of rehearsal and performance with them.

So to all of the Lend Me a Tenor-ites, thank you. Thanks for the backstage rituals (morta, morta, morta!), for all the advice (eye contact!), the never-ending laughs, the encouragement, the opportunity, and the friendship.Thanks for letting me tag along and welcoming me into the Lake City Playhouse family. It was an honor to work with you, and I can't wait to do it again. So I won't even say goodbye, just... au revoir!

photo by Scott Martinez

SLAM!

bonnie scotland

Here are some shots of places I've wandered in the recent past. 

The Irish Sea

These ruins of a 12th century church are my favorite place in the whole town.

My shadow kind of looks like Moaning Myrtle. 

"Gamboling" really is the only word to describe how happy little lambs run about.

Basically, I'm in love with Scotland.

hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home

I just about, almost heard JK Rowling speak these words nearly two years ago in London, but instead I was standing, rain-soaked, just a kilometre away, waiting for the actors of the Harry Potter films to walk by on their way into the theater for the premiere.

But they're still just as true, and I'm still waiting for my acceptance letter.

In the meantime, I went to the Harry Potter Studio Tour and lived out my childhood (and current...) fantasy.

a horribly myspace-worthy selfie in the dressing room, but HEY I'M WEARING A GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH SWEATER

these chess pieces are gigantic. probably three times as tall as me.

the cupboard under the stairs

helena bonham carter's wig. I'm obsessed with her. 

gryffindor common room

magic is might

4 Privet Drive

the completely creepy and totally lifelike models for when the characters are dead/underwater/petrified, etc. 

walking down Diagon Alley was easily the most magical moment of my life. 

the normandy experience

"You're pathetic," said the old man sitting across the square countertop from me. I paused; I'd never actually been insulted to my face before, and it was a moment to savor. Because right then, as this old man I'd met just over a week before, spewed out his vitriol, I felt nothing more than the annoyance of that one mosquito in your room when you're trying to sleep.

If this had happened a year, or maybe even 6 months ago, I likely would have been in tears by that point, questioning my entire identity. But now, I knew that it didn't matter what he thought of me; he was wrong. I could tell that I would never convince him otherwise, and so I didn't try. Some people are smart enough to realize this when they are kids, or when they are at a normal job, or some night when they're lying in their beds. I wasn't quite there yet, so I had to be at a B&B in rural France.

monaco doesn't suck either

then one day I took a train to Monaco (not the day I planned, because that day all the trains in France were on strike. Le sigh.)

The blue one's mine.

This is the back of the Monte Carlo casino. I figured I'd give you a warm up before showing you the front. And when I got there I didn't know it wasn't the front, so it's all chronologically accurate.

That's the front. I should have panorama-ed all the billion dollars worth of cars in front of it, too. 

This is me, clearly looking like I will never belong there.

Walked up the route of the Grand Prix. And saw lots of other fancy cars. 

Even the dog club gets a fancy sign in Monaco. 

Let's get rich and buy our parents yachts in Monaco?

Nice is good.

I was feeling very adventuresome, alone on a train next to the mediterranean. And it was gorgeous.

I'd heard the beaches of Nice were rocky. And I was wearing my superfrenchgirl bensimon tennis shoes. I love them.

I vandalized some rocks. 

and climbed to the top of the town

and the bottom.

and it was bright and colorful and warm and I love it. 

And I want to go back and get a job on a fancy yacht like that girl in the hostel did. Cool? Cool.

mountains to sea

From Grenoble to Cannes

An early morning bus ride from the Grenoble station, for the very last time. 

It's raining (of course). 

Côte d'or chocolate really improves the situation.

A thunderstorm is forecast for Cannes.

The train between Marseilles and Cannes is packed with sweaty humans, and pickpockets, if we're gauging from the emergency announcement from the conductor. 

The arrival in Cannes is less warm than expected, and we peer through the scratched train windows, examining the clouds for any hint of blue. 

Some blue appears, and the mediterranean says, "good to see you again, too," as we sit in rapture before it.

Our apartment, just around the corner from the largest produce market, is placed perkily atop a restaurant called Maître Renard, and is graced nightly with the sounds of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald wafting through the open shutters. 

Cannes gives us everything we hoped for in Grenoble. Quaint streets, some sunshine, and some nice people. And lots of pictures of celebrities.

I's cannes go back to Cannes, plz?

picnic in vizille

"Well, googlemaps says the castle is .4 km away...Should we just get off the bus here?"


"Yeah, that'll do."

"You've got the food?"

"Yeah, you have the chocolate, right?"

"Ben oui."

"Let's keep it in the basket so the sun doesn't melt it."

"Good idea."

"Is this a good spot? "

"I think so."

constants

There are a few constants in my life here in Grenoble. You know, the little things that make it different from a long vacation and turn it into a life.

Things like...

Dog poop. Dog. Poop. Dog poop everywhere. I've really never seen so much dog poop in my whole life. And I have yet to see anyone clean up after their pup. Although I did just hear about one chivalrous gentleman who pulled out some newspaper, bent down over the wreckage left by his dog, and... covered it up. Didn't pick it up, just put the newspaper on top of it. Trop de classe, monsieur. But at least the dog poop means that there are...

Dogs! So many dogs! And French people have the cutest dogs in the whole world. Not exaggerating. They're all small or medium-sized, and kind of fluffy, and curly-haired, and they all have teddy-bear faces. And apparently they all poop a lot.

Having to repeat myself every time I order something in a bakery or a restaurant because I apparently completely mispronounce every single French word ever. Hasn't made me stop going to the bakeries or restaurants though. Which brings me to the next constant...

Food. Everywhere. (But not before noon, or between 3:00pm and 7:pm or after 8:30pm). Buttery, flaky, crunchy, creamy, sweet, savoury, chocolatey, fruity- it's all here. And usually in my mouth. I've grown particularly fond of something called an apricotine, which appears to be apricots mushed in some green almond paste. And the classic croissant amande, a croissant basically filled with almond paste and sugar. And of course, pain au chocolat, because well, c'est un must. Even the grocery store brand bags of 8 are so good, you couldn't be blamed for eating an entire bag in one sitting. Which I have certainly never done. And I am going to be in such a depression when there is no longer a bakery on literally every corner. I don't know what I'm going to do.

Work. Especially of the paper variety. France loooves its paperwork. I have a folder bulging with documents I have to keep, including an x-ray of my lungs. Mhm. If I had every piece of paper and every identity photo I've had to hand over to the French government, that folder would be the size of a small buffalo. It's pretty intense.

Kids. So many kids. I work with over 100 students each week in 16 different classes. And for the most part, they are just ridiculously adorable. There are so many great things about being just a temporary, part-time teacher; the kids do not have time to get sick of you, and so they love you. And give you drawings and bisous and leg hugs and run after you yelling "Hellowhatsyourname mynameis." Plus I babysit 3 kids for 17 hours each week, and the best way I can explain that is to say that, well, 17 hours is a looot of time to spend with 3 kids in a two-room apartment. And 8 year-old boys really never. shut. up.

Construction. The city is working on a new tram line on the road I use to get to all of my schools, so it will be amazing and so convenient when it's done... in 2014. Right now, it's a giant mess of temporary bus stops and traffic cones and big machinery and noise that makes the whole area look like a ghetto. Enjoy it in 2014, Grenoble, because it is a paaaain in 2013.

Cool people. I meet a lot of really cool people here whose lives are about as different from mine as I could ever imagine, except that we've all ended up in this kind of run-down city that really just wishes it was still 1968 so it was still famous for having the winter olympics. We've got people from everywhere- Europe, Syria, Kazakhstan, Macedonia, India, etc, and they are all so nice (except the girl from Greece, I can't figure out what her problem is).

So that's that. I live here. It's dirty and cold and kind of boring sometimes, but it's also pretty cool and I like it.

la raquette

Last week, one of my schools graciously invited me to go snowshoeing with them in the Alps. I jumped at the chance, and felt like quite the grenobloise marching through the city in my puffy winter coat, borrowed snow boots and snow pants.

I met up with the classes early in the morning, and we all loaded onto the charter bus (there aren't any school busses here because there are lots of tiny schools, and the kids can all either walk or take public transportation).  I ended up sitting by a mom-chaperone I'd met while I was babysitting the other day due to a teacher strike (more on those later), which is how I thankfully avoided becoming a vomit-covered version of myself.

In case you were unsure, when you put 50 kids under the age of 7 on a bus and then drive that bus for over an hour on winding mountain roads in a blizzard and the driver gets lost and turns around a couple times and there are only three plastic bags on board...there is going to be a lot of vomit. Because when one kid goes, there go the rest of them. It was pretty miraculous I didn't fall victim, in fact. It got so bad, and the driver was so lost, that the teachers had him pull the bus over; we let the kids get out and play in the snow on the side of the road while the teachers (I excluded myself from them for this excitement) used snow to clear all the vomit off the floor of the bus. So fun.

But the driver did finally manage to conquer the blizzard and find where to let us off (which happened to be the place where we had turned around earlier, the Chamrousse ski resort... ) and we hopped out to see where our rented snowshoes would take us.

Well, it took us here...

 and here...

and here...

so all in all, I'd say it was a preeeeetty decent trip, even with the vomit. 

And how has no one ever told me how great snowshoeing is?! It's so great, I'm telling you right now so you don't have to ask that question in the future. You can go back in all those cool little parts you wouldn't be able to ski on, and you don't have to worry about people mowing you down, and there are no chair lifts, and you feel like a magician being able to walk on the powder like that, and it is literally so easy that the 6 year olds who had just thrown up could do it. I'm officially a snowshoeing fan now. 

A perk of going on a field trip is that there's a guide there who has all sorts of fun things to teach the kids. Like the fact that snow is mostly air, so when you step on it, you let the air escape and the snow compresses, which is why you sink. That air is also the reason why snow caves can keep you warm, and why layering is the best way to dress for the cold. 

The only thing this place was missing was a real, honest to goodness ski lodge. Because really, that's the best part of any snowy mountain activity. This one was mostly just a log cabin-esque square room with some tables and a co-ed bathroom. But I digress. The main point of all of this is that snowshoeing is awesome and it made me actually even enjoy the snow (a little bit). Which is a pretty big accomplishment.