Monday 15 August 2011

My autobiography

Nearly a year ago I came up with an idea to busy myself: write an on-going autobiography. The difference was that it had to be told with a photo, which I described for at least 1000 words (thus embodying 'a picture is worth 1000 words'). This was my first entry:

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The picture above was taken in my last A-Level Drama lesson and basically exemplifies how we spent 4 hours a week in school: pissing around with our friends and teachers, who were also our friends.

It was one of the saddest moments, walking out of the Drama Studio which had a knack of smelling like 13 year old trying-to-cover-their-puberty-smell-with-Lynx-and-hopelessly-failing boys, realising I would never return as a student.

It was also very sad finding out I got a fucking B in Drama.

I have loved acting for as long as I can remember, which is why it’s kind of depressing I’ve fallen out of it and actually become shy. I don’t know when I had that turning point. I doubt many would have foreseen that change of heart when I was acting out ‘Cinderella’, throwing my shoe so excitedly that it hit the chandelier in our living room as my Prince Charming (portrayed brilliantly by my older brother – something which has only just dawned on me is slightly inappropriate) ran after me.

I doubt my mum would have foreseen that either. I still remember her face floating in the audience whilst I was acting like a child who was mentally, and literally, torn in half by her divorcing parents (an idea, by the way, conjured by a 10 year old me... directorial genius, obviously). Or the other time I decided to brat out and refuse to give up a prop WHILST ON STAGE because my head was screaming ‘it’s pretty, keep it!’. To be fair, it was a pretty ring – therefore Daniel’s embarrassment (at being made to think it was his fault the ring wouldn’t come off my finger) was totally worth it.

Thinking about it now, it wouldn’t surprise me if I stopped liking to act because I simply became a typical teenager aware of the fact that we are always being judged. Despite my middle-child-syndrome (it DOES EXIST) and constant desire for approval, despite my noticeable attire which is too big and/or colourful and/or clashing and despite wearing little makeup in order to ‘present my ugliness to the world so that they become accustomed to it’, I am a massive pansy who does not like judgement in people’s eyes.

Why, people in ‘The Trial’, do you think I hated being the stripper?! Thank you for that Miss. I appreciate the casting...especially when Mr scary bald Italian/Canadian head of year approached me immediately after the performance saying ‘I felt uncomfortable watching you’. Thanks Sir. Thanks for eradicating that awkward moment of my life with an un-awkward comment.

That, by the way, is sarcasm.

The seven years that I studied Drama were...interesting. I had five teachers from start to finish, three men and two women. I’m pretty sure two of those men were gay and at least two teachers were mentally unstable – though casual reminiscing makes me question if that is, in fact, accurate. I’m debating whether or not to backspace and type ‘all’. I think you have to be a little bit insane because of the knobhead children you’re bound to teach.

I was a bit of a moron sometimes...hard to believe, I know.

Cue a list of some of the reasons I got into trouble with these crazy and/or gay teachers:

1) Not being able to work out whether or not my hand was larger than another boy’s. It wasn’t. This was my first ever lone detention and was massively crushing to the soul.
2) Not doing homework (x many)
3) Running out of class without asking. I had a sudden desire to vomit. I did not make it to the toilets and still remember the awkwardness of walking around my own bile-y puddle after class pretending it did not belong to me. Skills.
4) Dropping a microphone when specifically being told not to literally seconds before. This resulted in Crazy Man 1 screaming ‘FUCKKKKKK!’ at me as the feedback blared from the speakers, echoing and amplifying as if acting as backing music. It is still a moment I wish I was not such a retard about. I knew the wire was there so why the hell did I still stumble over it?!
5) Messing around in rehearsals and performances. To everyone I ever worked with who complained about this: shut up. I was good MOST of the time. In fairness, gobbing over everyone whilst laughing hysterically was unprofessional...

Teachers definitely needed a sense of organised chaos. ‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in ’t’. I wish we did Shakespeare for one of our performances; how can you take Drama and Theatre Studies without performing a bit of the cliché pieces?! The closest we ever came was watching and reviewing the Royal Shakespeare Company’s 2009 version of ‘The Taming of the Shrew’. I can say with great authority: it was a piece of shit. In fact I recall writing in the exam ‘Stephen Boxer was the only redeeming aspect of this performance’ and then went on to insulting everything. It was awful. My eyes glazed over. They don’t even glaze over when I’m watching DIY SOS.

Post-exam talk made me feel ridiculously panicky...everyone seemed to have said they liked it! Shit. Have I just talked myself into failing? Dun dun duuuun.

Answer: No. It was my coursework that got me that bastard B.

Saying all of this however, studying Drama for A-Levels was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I mock everyone who mocked Drama for being easy (which it’s not! Try rehearsing with some of the monkeys I had in class and doing tonnes of coursework for a play you struggle to remember 10 weeks later), took Chemistry despite hating it, and will have a life in a career they don’t enjoy.

That’s what subject snobbery does to you.

I did something I like and go to a comparatively crap university than many of my counterparts. BUT while you were fawning over a Bunsen burner and examining disulphide bridges, I made an amazing group of friends and exercised my gaydar skills.

Par.

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