Too pooped to party.

Lately, I've been working hard, and this weekend was just the kicker. It was dress rehearsal, and not only did we do three full runthroughs, but there my also have been onsening, karaoke and poker involved. I have developed a name for myself as quite a dangerous poker player, apparently: dangerous in the way a three-year-old with plastique would be.

anyway, i'm tired, so I haven't been posting. but I promise that will change, soon, after golden week for sure...

Newsflash!

Pepsi have finally introduced a diet version of their cola for the Japanese market. And in a rush of inspiration, they have named the new drink (which tastes suspiciously identical to diet Pepsi twist)…wait for it… NEX! Uhhm… Nex? As in... Nexus? Next… Nexatious…. Nexcrophiliac? I suppose it sounded good, and vaguely Englishy, and maybe a bit oooooh, you know, space age and stuff, but really it gives the impression of having been named by a 12-year-old boy with an Asimov fixation. And it should be a (loyal) robot, not a fizzy drink. Was it meant to fit the general theme started by Pepsi max? Should we look forward to Pepsi Sox, Pepsi Dux, and god forbid, Pepsi Cox?

If the shoe fits, then buy it.

I don’t have many weaknesses. Well, I do, but let’s pretend that I don’t because a) that makes me seem more perfect haha and b) it adds punch to my opening paragraph. The one weakness I finds that tends to dominate my spine-tingling little existence more than any other is, well, shoes. That’s right, those little scraps of canvas and leather that protect your feet from dirt and wet and dog poo. Shoes. Skoene. Chaussures. Zapata.. Kutsu. Millinery. No wait that’s hats.

In any case, show me a pair of Manolo’s or Patrick Cox’s or...*drool* Marc Jacobs’ and my eyes will glaze over with something akin to carnal desire. I don’t list it on my resume, but my ideal ideal job would be as Marc’s muse. You know, getting paid to go to parties and wear Marc Jacobs clothes and shoes and be adorable and witty, while wearing Marc Jacobs clothes and shoes, which I get for free, in exchange for being an inspiration to Marc, thus leading him to new heights of genius, and to me receiving more Marc Jacobs clothes and shoes, which I would then wear.

Such shoes are so beautiful that they make me sad. Because I can’t have them. Well, I can, but then I can’t eat, be warm, or leave the house. Dang it. So, I have to become successful in life, so I can earn a good enough salary to justify the occasional unjustifiably expensive pair of shoes. I also want a job where I can where said shoes (no sneakers or workboots, although do have the cutest pair of dotted wellies). Honestly, whenever I watched SATC and Carrie had some sort of shoe related crisis (remember when she stole the shoes from the magazine closet?), I never once thought her plight seemed unrealistic.

I would probably never date a man who didn’t like my shoes- how could I possibly trust him? I could never be a Buddhist monk, or engage in any religion with “shoe issues”. I’m wary of barefoot hippies (although that could be more of a hygiene issue, tell truth). Bad shoes (stripper shoes, grey plastic loafers, dirty old plastic trainers, those chunky boots from 1997 that some people are still wearing damnit!) give me actual physical pain, deep in my gut, or sometimes just a headache.

Brogues, sandals, flats, heels, stilettos, boots, kitten heels, laced, Velcroed: apparently there are no limits to my love.

The problem is that I live in Japan, where you spend more time taking off your shoes and walking around in slippers that you do in actual shoe-wearage. Which is great for carpets, I suppose, and extending shoe life. But not so much fun for me. I await the day when I can wear whatever shoes I like, regardless of how practical they are for dealing with snow, and whether or not I will have to unlace them/ remove them more than seven times in an afternoon.

I don’t think that’s asking too much.

I don’t have a problem, I swear!

"you know it's hard out here fo' a ninja"

Things are hotting up in musical-land. This past weekend we had our final rehearsal before Dress. Things went better than I expected, although there's still a lot of work to be done. However, we won't be putting out the 5-hour version that seemed such a possibility before. If everybody learns their lines before the Dress, we should be fine.

I was disappointed in myself though. I'd spent the last few weeks drilling the lines into my head and worrying about my attitude and emoting and projection and "actingess", all the while neglecting my dancing and singing, because, you know, I knew those already. I guess the next two weeks are going to be a little hectic, what with baby showers and singing and dancing and getting those lines 100% perfect... And then after Dress is the Golden week Road trip, then performances start: all inspiring that vague buring sensation in my stomach that could not possibly be described as "butterflies", unless these are the Viet Cong Butterflies, them of their Napalm and razor wire.

In any case, I am exhausted, what with the rehearsal, full run-through, workshop and Ninja activity (it's harder than it looks and now my knee is all bruised). I think at some point I might just need to sleep late, or possibly for the whole day... I kinda miss having no social life and being able to sleep the entire weekend... And, you know, to have the energy to clean my apartment.

Classes also start this week, which I am looking forward to, but also not. New students, new courses a fresh perspective, all of which equals "yay"dom. But self-introductions? Getting a bit tired of those... Yeah, I know, strange to be tired of talking about myself, eh?