adiva_calandia

Please send any and all good theatrical vibes you have to Pittsburgh today at 2 PM EST, when Bad Hamlet performs. Thanks -- all of us who are shaky on our lines will appreciate it.

In 2006, I did CMU Drama's Pre-College program as a Design/PTM student. It wasn't the first time I'd worked in a scene shop, but it was the first time I worked with power tools more intimidating than a power drill. I used bandsaws, tablesaws, pneumatic staplers, nail guns, a cold saw, a drill press, a metal grinder.

But what I was really excited for was welding. Why? I don't know. Welding sounded like fun, was all. It makes sparks and involves making useful things out of metal. Cool skill, right? Who wouldn't want to know how to weld?

Turned out, thanks to the horror stories of our teacher ("A little ball of molten metal comes off of that and gets into your ear and then you've got a hole burned through your eardrum. So that's why we always wear earplugs!") that almost no one in our group wanted to learn how to weld. We got to do two tiny spot welds each -- I think it was probably MIG welding, because I don't remember using filler rods, but I might be wrong -- and that was it. I was sorely disappointed that I had spent six weeks in Steel City and had only gotten to get my hands on actual molten steel that once.

Fast forward to 2010, when I registered for classes for my final semester. There was a welding class that fit into my schedule and by god, I was going to take it. I signed up, jumped through the necessary hoops with the School of Drama registrar to get into a class mostly taken by tech kids, and went home for winter break with a glad heart.

Every time I went to a party or a dinner with my parents and got into a conversation with my parents' friends, my mother insisted, "Tell them what you're taking next semester."

I'd shrug and say, "Women's Health in America, this media design class called Future Stages, ummm . . . a class on monsters in theatre and literature . . ."

"No, no, tell them what else."

I'd sigh. "Welding and weight training."

She just couldn't get enough of telling people that I was taking those two classes. Mostly I figured she wanted me to talk about them because they sound like fluff classes, the kind of classes that scream "I'm a senior and I'm done with my credits and I can do whatever the heck I want!" $50,000 dollars a year so I can take PE and shop class: that's hilarity.

Then I got back to school, back to hanging out with drama people. And when I told them that I was taking welding, I got the same reactions I got from my parents' lawyer/doctor/activist/professional friends: "Woah."

What is it about welding that makes people look so surprised when they hear I'm taking it? It has something to do with masculinity, I know, but it doesn't make sense. It's not like I'm lifting huge pieces of metal or doing anything that requires enormous upper-body strength. I'm not . . . I don't know, I just sat here for about three minutes trying to think of the manliest activity I could. I'm not taking a riflery class or playing football. I'm learning a skill. Why is this skill so much more impressive than learning, say, to dye cloth like the costume designers do? Or to program in Java the way my housemate JDG did?

So then a couple things happened. Last week, I got burned on my collarbone -- second degree! It blistered! -- by a piece of hot slag. I'll be honest, I showed it off and I bragged about it.

And then I watched this:



Hearing a girl say "I don't want to die without any scars" solidified it a little for me. I don't want to die without any scars. And welding is dangerous. Welding is liable to hurt you. And I guess, from the reaction I've been getting, women who are five feet tall don't do things that are liable to hurt them, apparently.

Is it something else? Why does welding get such a reaction?

Things that are official (FINALLY):

Bad Hamlet is going to the Last Frontier Theatre Conference.

:D :D :D :D :D :D :D

Doc: TOTAL SIDENOTE -- Epimetheus is married to a woman made for him named Helen.

Me: ... Pandora?

Doc: PANDORA. Right. And she and Epimetheus are a perfect match. Because they're both IDIOTS.

Me: *face in hands giggling*

And now he's going through how Deukalion = Noah and Japeth = Iapetus.

ETA: Further choice quotes.

Doc: This is the important part of Prometheus' tragic nature -- that when he goes to steal the fire from the gods, he knows everything that's going to happen to him.

Doc: Dr. Manhattan is very much a Promethean figure. ... He's got that really annoying way of talking. Having a conversation with Prometheus is like having a metaphysical conversation with the Devil. "Well maybe God is a substance or force--" "Nah." And with Prometheus it's like "Well maybe these actions are going to result in--" "Nah." "Or maybe it'll--" "Nah." Right? "So, Dr. Manhattan? Did I do right, in the end?" "End? Nothing ever ends." "Fuck you! You know what we do to people like you? We chain them to rocks and have an eagle eat their liver once a day!"

Doc: I am forty years old. That's forty stony gray steps towards the grave.
Me: *snickering*
Doc: A3?
Me: Yup.

Doc: [extended discussion of Prometheus deliberately using Christ metaphors]

Successfully did oxyacetylene welding today! One step closer to becoming Kaylee Frye. :D

( Zombies, Cthulhu, and It ramblings )

Yeah, this is a fun class.

. . . Or I could pull of eight A's out of eleven classes. (One Pass, two B's to round out the rest.) Final QPA: 3.87; cumulative QPA: 3.91.

HELLS YEAH.

. . . Apparently Tom Waits wrote the music for an opera called Alice. (ETA: spfffft directed by Robert Wilson no less. That must've been a trip and a half.)



It also includes the following song:



which includes the following lyrics:

Oh, they called her Rosie when she was a girl
For her bright red cheeks and her strawberry curls
When she would laugh the river would run
She said she'd be a comedian
Oh what a pity, oh what a shame
When she said, ‘come calling’, nobody came
Now her bright red cheeks are painted on
And she's laughing her head off in the Reeperbahn

Am I the only person who thinks that Tom Waits songs sound like Dave McKean pictures look?

ETA 2: For my own reference: