Play Review of the Winter Play

  I promise, I'm not doing this to torture you. I'm doing it so that I can get a good grade in my AP English class.

What makes a good story?  This is a question that has many answers, and each person has a different variety of things they think makes an interesting story.  The most popular answers include action, mystery, romance, and magic.  The Tempest by William Shakespeare has all of these qualities, and more.  And what better way to experience that than by seeing it?  Taylorsville High School just recently performed this play.  Since we just read the play in our AP English class, what better way to reinforce the story than making us pay six dollars to go see it?

The story of this specific performance was simple.  The story begins with a ship and quite a collection of passengers: King Alonso of Naples (played by Karl Gardener); his son Ferdinand (played by Seth Jones); the duke of Milan--and Prospero’s brother--Antonio (played by Wyatt Stensrud); Sebastian, Alonso’s brother (played by Lauryn Nebeker); Gonzalo, Alonso’s councilor (played by Sam Schmuhl); Trinculo, a jester in Alonso’s court (played by Natalie Andersen); Stephano, a butler to Alonso (played by Rockwell Strunk); two lords in attendance on Gonzalo, Adrian (played by Jaden Jensen) and Francisco (played by Landon Briggs); three mariners (Megan Atkinson, Sophie Micheel, and Megan McArthur); and the boatswain (played by Makoda Maus).

Anyway...the ship is in the middle of a storm, and everyone argues for a while, but then the ship wrecks, and the group is split up all around this enchanted island, where the only inhabitants are a magician named Prospero (played by Spencer Myers), his daughter Miranda (played by Miranda Prows), his powerful servant-spirit Ariel (played by Jessie Marchant), and his slave Caliban (played by Tynan Portillo).

It turns out that Prospero was the duke of Milan, until Antonio got rid of him and Miranda (Alonso played some sort of role in that as well, but they weren’t terribly clear on that).  Gonzalo had helped them escape, and Prospero and Miranda had come to this island.  Prospero was essentially taking revenge on them by splitting them up.  Ferdinand was all by himself, assuming that everyone else had died.  He comes upon Prospero and Miranda, and he and Miranda immediately fall in love.  Prospero pretends to be all huffy about it and tries really hard to convince Miranda that Ferdinand must be a terrible human being (in reality, this is his plan).  He “enslaves” him for a time, but Ferdinand and Miranda continue falling in love.

Prospero makes Ariel follow the others around and make sure that everything goes as planned.  He also promises to free him after two days if he does everything faithfully.  He also makes Caliban (who’s part fish, part human) get wood, much to Caliban’s annoyance.

Meanwhile, Alonso, Antonio, Sebastian, Gonzalo, Adrian, and Francisco stayed together, assuming that everyone else had died.  Alonso is distraught (and completely useless) because he mourns his son.  Antonio and Sebastian are frustrated (and completely useless) and secretly plot with each other to kill their companions so that they can be the rulers of Naples and Milan (even though Antonio already kind of is...I don’t know), but they’re thwarted by Gonzalo waking up a little too soon (thanks to Ariel).  They cover it up, and continue wandering the island.

On yet another part of the island, Trinculo is trying to hide from an approaching storm and ends up hiding under the blanket (or cloak, maybe) that Caliban is hiding under (since he heard Trinculo coming and thought it was a spirit come to torment him).  Along comes Stephano, singing loudly with a bottle of alcohol in his hand.  He sees four legs poking out from underneath the blanket-cloak thing and kind of screams a lot.  Trinculo, however, hearing a familiar voice, pops out, and the two of them converse and drink, and Caliban eventually pops out as well and scares them, and through a strange turn of events, gets drunk as well and swears servitude to Stephano, much to Trinculo’s annoyance.

After extensions of these (including a very surprising plot twist with flying, black demon things coming out of nowhere and scaring the crap out of Alonso, his group, and the audience), Ferdinand and Miranda get married, and as they do, three...female figures come out and sing to them.  They’re apparently named Iris, Ceres, and Juno (and played by Megan McArthur, Sophie Micheel, and Megan Atkinson, respectively).  Eventually, the groups all meet up together.  I don’t want to spoil anything, so I’ll stop there.

The acting was quite impressive for the most part.  The facial expressions and body language were very believable and greatly enhanced the story.   I enjoyed the set mainly for two reasons: the large amount of books in the background and the actual pool in the front.  The music was...fine?  It didn’t really play much of a role, so I didn’t pay much attention.  The sound and lights were...fantastic.  It was really hot because of the lights, since it’s a really small room and there were lots of people added to the already warm lights.  The costumes were realistic, the excellent directing shone through their obvious excitement to be acting, and I usually understood what was going on, except for the first ten minutes.

So, what makes a good theater production?  According to me, at least, a good theater production needs good talent but also good attitudes.  There ought to be minimal technical difficulties, memorization problems, and otherwise other bloopers.  The time and effort put in should be impressive, not distracting.  It should be fun (notice I didn’t say funny) and interesting to watch.  It shouldn’t be too overly dramatic.  Really, I just want everyone involved to look like they’re enjoying it.  And with The Tempest, they truly achieved that.  Definitely a four star performance...even with Natalie Andersen’s slip that turned out to not be part of the script.

I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Frosting

     Can we just talk about the sad lack of frosting in this world?
     Don't look at me like that.  I'm being serious!
     I'm one of those people that will take a large slice of cake just to get more frosting.  I judge my cakes based on their frosting.  Don't get me wrong: cake is great.  But frosting is...well, it's the icing on the cake.
     There's just something about frosting that's just fantastically wonderful.  It's just so smooth, and even when it's not necessarily smooth, it just melts in your mouth the perfect amount: it doesn't turn immediately to liquid, but it melts just enough.  And it just tastes beautiful.
     I don't get the frosting bashing.  "Nah, the cake is the best part!"  "Are you crazy?  Frosting's not even that good!"  "The frosting only tastes good because it's with the cake!"
     No, no, and...no.
     If I'm going to eat a spoonful of frosting, I guarantee it's not because the spoon is cake-flavored.
     Frosting is aesthetically pleasing too!  Have you ever seen a beautifully decorated cake?  It is not the cake you are attracted to because you often can't see it underneath the heavenly swirls of cream cheese or chocolate or vanilla goodness.
     And frosting has so many uses.  You can write with frosting.  Do you understand what I'm telling you?  You can literally write with frosting.  Granted, you can't just write a novel with frosting...but to a little kid, "Happy birthday" written on their cake is better than any novel you could come up with.
     There are some people that actually don't like huge amounts of frosting; and what's worse, there are some people that don't like any amount of frosting because they think it's gross.  These people go in the same category as people who don't like chocolate, teachers who worship Cornell notes, and people who cut/fold pages in books to make "art."
     Heathens.
     They're entitled to their opinions, of course.  They just can't get mad at me when they're being punished in the depths of Hades.
     I'm kidding.  Take a chill pill.
     And frosting is the ultimate chill pill.  Like, forget me ever getting addicted to drugs: I've already got frosting.  (No, I'm not comparing drugs to frosting...technically.)
     Well.  That was fun.  Go eat some frosting to celebrate your Friday.  And if it's not Friday right now, celebrate it anyway.  I guarantee that Friday does not mind being celebrated at other times during the week.
     I know that this was short, but I really don't think I need to write six-page posts all the time.  Sometimes, being concise is better than filling up good writing with word fluff.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Just a Reminder of Whose Blog You're Reading

     Today is going to be a little bit of a rant.  Just so you know.  It's more cathartic than anything--I'm not actually angry.

     Let's get something straight: this is my blog.  The name was Odessa's Blog before I came up with something more "interesting."  (I'll be switching it back to Odessa's Blog as soon as I'm done with this AP English class, just so you know.)  Odessa Taylor is the creator of this blog, and the sole author.  The things I write are about--guess who--Odessa Taylor.

     Forgive me if that sounds way conceited, but I'm getting to the point, where I hope I'll sound a little less so.

     This is not a blog written by my followers, even if they are the ones who read it.  This is not the official United States of America blog, even if that's where I live.  And this is certainly not my English teacher's blog, even if he was the one that made me start it.

     If you came here and thought that I would be writing about current events, you are so severely wrong.  I am not going to be writing about that, and I don't care if that's what you want to read or not because that's not what I want to write--and this is my blog.

     So, if you don't mind, I'm going to be writing about things I like, stories that have happened to me, and things that I find enjoyable.

     Don't get me wrong: current events are important.  But everyone else is fully aware of that, and you can find an update on current events anywhere.  You can also find people's opinions on current events everywhere.  You don't need mine added to the mix.

     My blog is a place where I can write what I want without feeling pressured--or, at least, it should be.  And I want my blog to be sarcastic and funny (like me) even while being about serious stuff on occasion (like me).

     I am so sick of seeing current events plastered all over the place.  They're informative up to a point, and then they just start causing problems because they elicit all these negative feelings towards people with different opinions and just cause controversy that doesn't need to be there.  People need to chill.

     And that's part of the reason why I want to write.

     I don't want to help contribute to the angry, hateful world that's out there.  There's plenty of that already.  What there isn't enough of are places where you can read something just to read something--something that will help you realize that there's still normal people leading normal lives in this world.

     And that's what I want my blog to be: a safe haven for people who don't want to be constantly reminded of everything that's going on in this messed up world.  I want people's weary, red eyes to brighten up when they see that Odessa Taylor has a new blog post.  I want people to find some sort of odd solace in my blog.  I don't want people to be afraid to read my blog in case I start talking about something terrible.  I mean, what's the most controversial thing I'll write about?  I don't even know.

     "But Odessa, don't you want to look back and see how you lived through certain events and how you felt about them?"  Right.  'Cause I want to remember all the terrible things that have been happening the past few years.  Like I need or want a reminder of how I felt about them.  Wow, you've got me there.

     I don't want to remember the political debates and the attacks that happen on a daily basis.  I want to remember what I did in Spanish, or the things I did with my friends, or the songs I sang in choir, or the normal and boring things I did on a daily basis because it was those things that kept me sane and gave me hope that there is a light at the end of the dark tunnel that this world is becoming, and there's nothing I can do to stop the darkness or the light.  I'm moving forward, and I honestly have given up trying to care about whether or not the world follows me.  All I know is, I'm not following the world down whatever path it's currently traveling.

     My point is, I'm not going to write about world events.  If you care about my opinion on something, find a way to ask me.  I'm not going to tell you how I feel about current events, except that I hate talking about current events, especially through such a medium as my own blog.

     Maybe you've forgotten that.  This is my blog.  This is my territory.  And I'll chase away anyone who threatens that.  You want me to write a blog?  Then let me write the blog.
     You're in my world now.

     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

The Sad Tale of Odess Taylors

     Towards the end of eighth grade, I received a rather official letter in the mail, which was exciting enough as it was.  It was a very formal letter, informing me that my U.S. history teacher had nominated me to do this six-day summer program where I would go to one of the colleges listed and do some academically-driven stuff (I forget the details).  I wasn't interested.
     But you know what bothered me most?
     It wasn't that it was mostly math and science stuff, which doesn't thrill me in any way.  It wasn't that it had been my history teacher nominating me (I hadn't been terribly fond of him).  It wasn't even that the closest college was California (I don't like being away from family/home like that).
     It was that they spelled my name "Odess Taylors."
     In what universe is that a name?
     I don't know where it went wrong.  Was my history teacher under the impression that that was my name?  I'm 99.9 percent sure he knew I was Odessa Taylor.  Did he say it over the phone and it got kind of garbled?  Somehow, I don't think that's it.  Maybe he had really weird handwriting?  I don't think anyone has handwriting that bad.
     I'm sure many of you are thinking, "Oh my word, Odessa, it's not even that big of a deal.  So what if your name got butchered?  You gave up an excellent academic opportunity over something that trivial?"  Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.
     There were other factors, of course (see above).  And my name has been messed up plenty of times (see previous blog posts).  But this one really grated me the wrong way.
     Odess Taylors.  Seventeen years of being Odessa Taylor, I've gotten pretty used to the words.  (I am fully aware I was fourteen at the time.  Chill.)  I know how they feel in my mouth.  The way my lips open and the way my tongue moves when I say it.  I didn't realize how familiar it was until I saw it completely demolished before my eyes.  My mouth doesn't open enough.  My teeth touch too much.  It's wrong.  So let's make that crystal clear: I hate the name Odess Taylors.  Hate it, hate it, hate it.  Keep that in mind.
     And the entire letter was like that.  Whenever they felt the need to address me directly, it was something along the lines of, "We hope you're considering this excellent opportunity, Odess."  It didn't even feel directed to me.
     I'm rather protective of my name, in case you couldn't tell.
     So, now I'm a junior, and colleges are showing interest in me.  I've gotten so many brochures and pamphlets and enthusiastic "Come to our school!" things in the mail, it's crazy.  And I have to admit, I rather like seeing "Odessa Taylor" all official on an envelope and everything.
     Except that I'm not looking forward to college at all.
     Don't get me wrong, I'm excited for the opportunities that college offers.  But I'm fine with how my life is now.  I like independence up to a point, and college doesn't give me the safe wall I like building around me.  I don't like being away from home for extended periods of time (unless it's something really exciting or interesting).  I'll probably never see my closest friends.  Depending on where I go, I might have to get a second job or quit my current one altogether--which I do not want to do.  Not in the slightest.
     So, I sit at the kitchen table, looking at the unopened envelopes from the University of Denver and Southern Utah University and Brandeis University and all the others that suddenly are interested in what my plans for the future are, despite never knowing who I am.  They all say "Odessa Taylor" on the front, perfectly typed out, but they don't even know what that means.
     As foreign as Odess Taylors looked to me, I knew that it came from someone who knew me--even if it wasn't well and even if it was someone I really did not like.  My eighth grade U.S. history teacher knew who I was and he knew who he was talking about when he nominated me.  These universities?  What do they know about me?  My grades?  The classes I've taken?  Probably more, but I doubt they even really know what I look like.  And why do they want me?  Because they believe that I can be an advantage to their school?
     Don't get me wrong: I love that there are colleges interested in me because it's been such a big fear that I'll never get into college.  This calms those fears.  Also, don't think I'm saying something praiseworthy of my eighth grade U.S. history teacher (I'm looking at you, Alida Nesbitt).
     So it's a torn decision.  Would I rather sit at the kitchen table, looking in disgust at Odess Taylors being invited to a six-day summer program, or would I rather sit at the kitchen table, looking in shock at Odessa Taylor being invited to attend colleges?
     I remember pacing the kitchen with that letter, exclaiming "Odess Taylors?!" to anyone who'd listen.  It really bothered me.  It's fun to joke about now (I'm looking at you, Bailey Donaldson), but at the time, it was a very touchy subject.
     But the biggest thing is, for the couple months that there was at least one person in the world who believed I was named Odess Taylors, I was in eighth grade.  Back in junior high.  Back where I felt like I belonged.  Back to the place where I actually felt like I could make a difference in the world and where I was genuinely happy.
     Now, there are people all over the country interested in Odessa Taylor.  But it's because she's moving on.  She's almost finished with high school.  She's going to be going on to college.  To many people, this means that she's truly starting her life.  She does not feel the way about high school that she felt about junior high.
     Is high school fun?  Sure.  But not like junior high was.  Is high school exciting?  I guess so.  But so was junior high.  So many people hate junior high, but I would give just about anything to go back.  I'd change my name to Odess Taylors in a heartbeat if I could stay in junior high for the rest of my life.
     But I am Odessa Taylor.  Odess Taylors does not exist.  The colleges got it right, not my eighth grade U.S. history teacher.  And as much as a small part of me wishes it was different, I am not Odess Taylors.  Odess Taylors only lived for a short time, and she technically never even lived.
     So, this is Odessa Taylor, bidding farewell.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

The Worth of a Thousand Words

     You know what one of my biggest pet peeves is?  The phrase "A picture is worth a thousand words."  I get it, you want to give recognition to the beauty of a picture, but don't degrade words in the process.
     "But Odessa, have you ever seen a beautiful picture before, such as a sunset or a field of flowers?  Can you even find the words to express it?"
     This is true.  There are some scenes of beauty that surpass even the most eloquent description, and it's difficult to fully formulate cohesive sentences to help express how beautiful the said picture is.  For example...

     Of course, I'm sure there is someone out there who could do these pictures at least a bit of justice with their words, but it's true: some pictures simply can't be expressed with words.
     But to say that, in general, pictures are worth a thousand words just isn't true.  For example, say you're reading a book, and you come across this line: "Even just looking at the forest gave off an air of the whole thing being alive.  The branches and trunks stood solid, gleaming with their chestnut colors in the light of the rising sun.  The leaves, with their healthy deep green, were tinged with gold as the morning sunlight was filtered through them to cast dancing shadows upon the earthy ground that was strewn with stray leaves and small fruits that hadn't clung to their branches long enough."
     Whether you think it's beautiful or not, do you need a picture to see that forest?  Does there need to be a picture for you to visualize this scene?  If so, then that's an entirely different issue.  Of course, it's highly unlikely you'll visualize the same forest that I did, but that doesn't matter.  That's the point.  You and I can see the same winter scene and sunset above.  Certainly they mean something different to each of us, but we both see the same picture.  With the words above, neither of us see the same thing.
     Also, pictures can only appeal to one of your five senses.  Can you take a picture of sounds (and not sound waves, jerk), or smells, or tastes, or textures?
     What if I were to say, "Her voice, though soft, carried smoothly to all within its reach, as clear and lovely as a silver bell.  The gentle music of her voice was enough to make even the deafest man perk up."  You can show me a picture of the girl talking/singing, and the people lifting their heads, but you can't take a picture of her voice.
     Or what if I were to say, "The stink of the dungeon made him cringe in disgust.  The musty odor of mold, the acrid smell of unwashed bodies, and the distinctive stink of rats all combined together in an unpleasant jumble, nearly making him vomit up the small lunch he'd eaten earlier."
     Or, "The small berries burst in their mouths, their juicy middles permeating with a sweet taste and soothing flavor, calming the burning from the earlier meat."
     Or even, "The water flowed over my fingertips, chilling them.  It was smooth and quick, and the feeling of it running through my fingertips was like liquid silk flowing as a stream."
     You see?  Just because there are pictures words can't describe doesn't mean that words have no ability to describe.  Words wield more power than we give them credit, and the people who use them are the ones who've truly mastered it--and they're the ones who take a little bit of offense when informed that a picture is worth one thousand of their words.
     In truth, a picture will never achieve the same effect that a thousand words will.  Not to degrade pictures at all, but a thousand words, when placed in such a way, can cause anyone to see something, or hear something, or feel something.  Pictures can only give you so much.
     I mean, isn't it usually a little disappointing when you go see a movie based on a book you love?  Characters and places you imagined as you read are so different on the screen.  And while sometimes you appreciate the fact that it's been brought to life and in front of your eyes, it often destroys what you first imagined it to be.  You very rarely remember those characters and places the way you did when you read the book.
     So really, pictures and words shouldn't even be compared.  Pictures appeal to the eyes, but words appeal more to the soul.  And both have their place in the world in helping us capture the beauty of each precious moment.
     A picture worth a thousand words is an extraordinary value indeed.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.