persephone33 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
persephone33) wrote2011-03-15 09:21 am
persephone33) wrote2011-03-15 09:21 am
Entry tags:
Memory...
If you saw the title of this blog post and belted out "...All alone in the mooooonlight!" a la Betty Buckley, then... you would be like me. Ten points. Brava.
This is not a post about overused lines from musicals of the eighties. Some of you sigh with relief. Some of you are saying, "Darn it!" I fall into both categories, oddly enough. No, I'm using the quiet of my home during this Spring Break morning to talk about memory.
Or the lack thereof.
I had a brief conversation with another actor last night who is in the midst of memorizing Mamet's American Buffalo. That's tough stuff, right there. Lots of words, and conversational dialogue, being interrupted a lot, if I remember correctly. He said that he's struggling, and that got me thinking. My memory isn't what it used to be.
It's selective memory failure, because I still remember entire passages from college plays (My dialogue and others). I remember the telephone number from the house I grew up in. I remember scholarship audition monologues. I remember (usually) without fail, when I have an appointment to get my hair colored. ( I do NOT get my hair colored! I don't know what you're talking about! This is all natural!)
But the things I don't remember? Oh, LHM. That'd fill up a few buckets, if you know what I mean.
First of all, can I tell you a secret? Since this blog is read by literally tens of people daily it won't be much of one anymore, but here it is: I DON'T REMEMBER YOUR NAME.
If you think I might be talking about you, you'd be right.
Unless I use it when I greet you, chances are, I've forgotten it. There are people that I know, that I LOVE, adore and cherish their friendship beyond words, and when I look at them, their name goes RIGHT out of my head. I've become that girl. The girl that uses sweetie, babe and darlin' when I'm talking to you. Or worse, "Hey, you! How are YOU?"
That "you" is just me mentally scrambling for your name and failing miserably to come up with it.
My students know that it doesn't lessen my love for them when I point to them in the middle of class and make a sound of agony because I can't remember what they're called. It has nothing to do with them, or you, dear reader. It has to do with the fact that the old girl's getting up there in years and we're gonna be headed toward the glue factory, soon.
Hm. That horse metaphor doesn't work with people.
Anyway, another thing I don't remember is why I'm irritated with you. I know that I'm pissed off, but the why and wherefore are fuzzy. This works to Nolan's advantage all the time, because if I'm irritated and can't tell him why, I usually just give it up altogether.
Also, some of you facebook friends? I don't remember you. Nope. Not even a little. I see that we have umpteen gillion friends in common that went to our high school/college/place of employment, and I go ahead and click that little button that says that I remember who you are, but rest assured that I do not. I do love that little button, but most of the time, it's a lie. I live in delirious oblivion.
That'd be a good name for a band. Delirious Oblivion. Dibs on that one.
The reason for this long, rambling, nebulous confessional (sorry), is that I now have a boatload of very difficult music to memorize. Words with music is easy. The harmony? Well, let's just say I'll have to listen to it at every available opportunity until the show goes up if I don't want to be that actress on the stage just mouthing the words.
Not that I've ever done that.
Well, you can't prove it.
What I'm saying is that my memory is all full up, for the moment, and so I won't be remembering your name.
Or why I'm mad at you.
So it all works out. :)
This is not a post about overused lines from musicals of the eighties. Some of you sigh with relief. Some of you are saying, "Darn it!" I fall into both categories, oddly enough. No, I'm using the quiet of my home during this Spring Break morning to talk about memory.
Or the lack thereof.
I had a brief conversation with another actor last night who is in the midst of memorizing Mamet's American Buffalo. That's tough stuff, right there. Lots of words, and conversational dialogue, being interrupted a lot, if I remember correctly. He said that he's struggling, and that got me thinking. My memory isn't what it used to be.
It's selective memory failure, because I still remember entire passages from college plays (My dialogue and others). I remember the telephone number from the house I grew up in. I remember scholarship audition monologues. I remember (usually) without fail, when I have an appointment to get my hair colored. ( I do NOT get my hair colored! I don't know what you're talking about! This is all natural!)
But the things I don't remember? Oh, LHM. That'd fill up a few buckets, if you know what I mean.
First of all, can I tell you a secret? Since this blog is read by literally tens of people daily it won't be much of one anymore, but here it is: I DON'T REMEMBER YOUR NAME.
If you think I might be talking about you, you'd be right.
Unless I use it when I greet you, chances are, I've forgotten it. There are people that I know, that I LOVE, adore and cherish their friendship beyond words, and when I look at them, their name goes RIGHT out of my head. I've become that girl. The girl that uses sweetie, babe and darlin' when I'm talking to you. Or worse, "Hey, you! How are YOU?"
That "you" is just me mentally scrambling for your name and failing miserably to come up with it.
My students know that it doesn't lessen my love for them when I point to them in the middle of class and make a sound of agony because I can't remember what they're called. It has nothing to do with them, or you, dear reader. It has to do with the fact that the old girl's getting up there in years and we're gonna be headed toward the glue factory, soon.
Hm. That horse metaphor doesn't work with people.
Anyway, another thing I don't remember is why I'm irritated with you. I know that I'm pissed off, but the why and wherefore are fuzzy. This works to Nolan's advantage all the time, because if I'm irritated and can't tell him why, I usually just give it up altogether.
Also, some of you facebook friends? I don't remember you. Nope. Not even a little. I see that we have umpteen gillion friends in common that went to our high school/college/place of employment, and I go ahead and click that little button that says that I remember who you are, but rest assured that I do not. I do love that little button, but most of the time, it's a lie. I live in delirious oblivion.
That'd be a good name for a band. Delirious Oblivion. Dibs on that one.
The reason for this long, rambling, nebulous confessional (sorry), is that I now have a boatload of very difficult music to memorize. Words with music is easy. The harmony? Well, let's just say I'll have to listen to it at every available opportunity until the show goes up if I don't want to be that actress on the stage just mouthing the words.
Not that I've ever done that.
Well, you can't prove it.
What I'm saying is that my memory is all full up, for the moment, and so I won't be remembering your name.
Or why I'm mad at you.
So it all works out. :)