I’m currently going through my mid-mid-life crisis (thanks Rebecca). That’s not a typo, this is the quarter way point of my life (based on current estimates) and I’m starting to get a little edgy.

Okay, that’s a total understatement. Several things are happening all at once. I’ve turned 21, and I think I have the option of graduating soon with just my Creative Arts degree and not a whole lot more. My living situation is also up in the air, and I don’t know where I’ll be in one to two weeks time, and even that is more than likely going to be temporary. Just tonight as I cracked open the textbook for an upcoming exam, I felt something binding my wrists more than usual. This wasn’t just procrastination, but a real fear that I was wasting my time and pouring my energy into the wrong thing.

What I’ll do next, I have no idea. I have no plans, just aspirations. No strategies, just limitations.

If only I was taking drugs, because then at least I’d have something to blame all of this on in ten years.

I just got back from Sydney where Chae spoiled me yet again, this time with a free ticket to see Priscilla with Tim. If those boys don’t stop spoiling me, I’ll forget how to use my wallet. Nevermind, there’s always Amazon for that.

I must admit that in spite of all the excellent reviews I had heard from people who really know what they are doing, I was a little cautious of it being a semi-jukebox musical. I don’t go for spectacle shows, and for that reason The Lion King fell flat for me. I also wasn’t particularly familiar with the classic film, which in the end, made it all the better. I was completely expecting extravagant sets, costumes and lighting. In that department, I was not let down at all. I was particularly fond of the cockatoo costumes, and the men in giant cupcakes. What I wasn’t expecting was to experience a tight, involving and ultimately moving show with wonderful performances. As with The Producers, Tony Sheldon was the best thing on stage, delivering such a delicate and sensitive performance that was so focussed and small it gave you a chance to take a break from the hugeness of everything else. His romance with Michael Caton’s character Bob was very touching.

My litmus test for jukebox musicals is to take the songs out and see if the material could still be fashioned into a workable play. In this case, the various plots and subplots were captivating and strong, even more so because I, unlike other members of the audience, did not know every line before it came. Fellow audience members loved it and gave a standing ovation, though I dare say if the bus could have taken a bow it would have had the biggest cheer. A woman behind me cheered “Bravo!” after the eight-piece band (with heavy MIDI supplementation) finished every song, and after visiting the “Priscilla Bar” during intermission, she returned to call out “Happy Easter, Tony!” when there wasn’t the slightest chance of him hearing. The material and the way it was treated was so strong that everyone from this drunk bogan to myself, a self diagnosed theatre snob, could find the show entertaining.

The only let down of the evening was due to my skill for always picking the worst meal on the menu at a resturant. I ordered “Noodles in Soup with Vegetables”. What they meant was “Noodles in stinky, fish water with the stem of one vegetable that happens to taste like regurgitated vomit (yes, that means two regurgitations in total)”. I ordered vegetarian after seeing the various deceased animals hanging in the window. Tim tried to comfort me saying “It’s okay - they aren’t coming back to life.” “That’s the problem,” I explained. Last time I went out for dinner before a show I had Chicken and Cashews in Penrith. I’m not entirely sure which part of the chicken they were referring to, and it would have been nice to have a sauce other than MSG to help it slide down the gullet. Maybe I should stick to dinner after a show, as my post-Hedwig indian meal was delightful.

Happy Festival of Chocolate to all! (Remember, I like dark chocolate)

Tick Tick Boom is over, all too quickly. Houses were a little low, but we got some really genuine and moving responses which I haven’t had since my days of doing straight theatre. Ultimately, I was extremely proud to have done it because it’s a message that certainly resonates with me. Working with the small cast, crew and band was a joy because it was something everyone was so passionate about. One for the bio, for sure.

We bumped out Tick Tick Boom on Saturday night after the final show. I had Sunday to sleep and generally potter around in a daze before starting the very next show Monday (last night). I didn’t write about it here because I was so busy with TTB, but just over a week ago I auditioned for a show written by two friends, “The Last Eisteddfod”. I successfully went for the role of Jack, the Eisteddfod accompanist. Rehearsals started last night and it couldn’t be more of a contrast to TTB, with a large cast, loads of dancing and plenty chorus numbers. It’s something I’m very excited about, and it should be a nice relaxing rehearsal period, at least until things start to kick up a gear.

I’m so over uni. I have one particular tutor who refuses to teach. Instead, she spends her time abusing students for not already knowing the course content. While other tutors use their time to work through the concepts and theories in the course, helping everyone though it, this tutor sits and issues more work to people to do. When they do it and get anything wrong she barks “I don’t think so! No!”. I felt sorry for this guy last week who she was laying into for his answer to a question, when in fact she had not read the question properly. I was sitting next to another member of this guy’s group, whom we shall call Uber Nerd (or Uber for short). As soon as the tutor started coughing up her protestations, Uber put his head on his desk repeatedly wailing “There go my marks!”. If he weren’t such a rude arrogant guy I would have explained how this nasty woman’s comments mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. I can easily imagine Uber in the future sitting in his grimy, cockroach-ridden one bedroom apartment in the outer suburbs telling someone on MSN how this guy who stood before this horrendous woman had destroyed his grades and prevented him from getting a successful job with IBM.

As for the moving house front, no major news, just that one wall of my room is filling up with boxes.