the good. and the ugly.

Today was the dress rehearsal (odd; dreamily stressful, as tech/dress so often is)& the showcase--it went well, all the tutors were pleased. Amanda was there & we all crowded around her afterward to talk because we clearly all missed her like mad. She gave us advice (Go back & say this is what I did, & this is what I want to do! And they'll respect you. And say ok. And you'll do it), and told us to keep in touch. And said we were talented. And that she'd missed us. Oh Amanda. Bah. Mom, I found an acting teacher...can I take her home with me?

Then an extremely long & fancy dinner, much fun...I am fond of fancy dinners on someone else's dime (well, I suppose mine as I am paying IES, but I'd prefer to think of it the other way). I went out with Cozy & Kate for a few hours, then left them to come home to pack a little and sleep.

And then I found out that Terry Pratchett is less than well (though of course announcing it with all his usual humor). I am still packing, but am less happy. Dammit, world. Stop messing with my favorite authors this year. I swear I'll get back at you.

blood and books.

So far, today, I have cut myself twice and did one thing I ought to have done sixteen weeks ago.

My first cut was on my thumb, trying to open a can of tuna fish with Sarah's camping pseudo-can-opener-ripping-instrument. That was just silly.

The second cut was a scrape on my finger while climbing Oscar Wilde's rock. That I am more proud of, and makes a better story, so I will be sticking with that one & ignoring the tuna fish can.

Also today I went, finally, to the National Library, to see the Reading Room (a small version of the glory that is the Reading Room of the British Museum, which sometimes makes me weak-kneed in memory). It was gorgeous, but I felt a little silly lurking in the doorway with no point to being there besides gawking at the architecture and books.

When I went back downstairs to pick up my bag from the cloakroom-man he started talking to me (and lord do the Irish talk), about a woman he was just helping; he told her where her house was, since he knew her family in north Mayo, like, and then he asked me whether I had Irish roots, you know (having ferreted out of me earlier that I was from Seattle, and then of course referencing Sleepless in Seattle, it's either that or Frasier), & then telling me I ought to go use the geneaology service except there was no one there. When he found out I was studying theater he said that there was loads of that in the reading room, I should get a ticket, so--he'd give me the forms and everything.

Of course the form wants a permanent Irish address. And you get a free ticket for a year. And of course I should have done this months ago, and then I could have gone to the reading room any time I wanted to read anything they have there. Well, damn.

I guess it just means I'll have to come back for a while. Thing I'll miss about Ireland today: Museums that are free.