I walk in the air, between the rain, through myself and back again. Where? I don't know.

Vinegar Tom and Starfish

I finally read the review for "Vinegar Tom," and it was worse than I'd have thought possible. The critic apparently missed the point of the play, misquoted lines, didn't know who had really designed the set (what set, furthermore?), didn't know anything about what the play was supposed to be.... Called the stereotypes "cardboard" characters... I mean.... *sighs disgustedly* Drama critics. Jerks.

So tonight is the final evening performance, and then we have a matinee. I'm not sick of the show yet, which is a good thing, and I'm still blown away by the performance of the cast. However, don't go see the show. It's one of those things I can't recommend in good conscience.

On Monday, we're starting high-gear preparation for Alice in Wonderland. The caterpillar setup is finished, as are the pink flamingoes/croquet mallets. The tea service is coming along (and let me just say that it's not easy to make a tea service that's three times too large). Bleh. That's a lot of work to be done.

Do you ever feel like almost everyone you know is just missing the point? I know that's vague, but it's the best I can do for now. It seems like people around me aren't seeing the important things, and I know I'm not. We just sort of shuffle about out daily routine, not really taking any of it in, not really caring if we ever do, and not really noticing that we don't. People mill about, completely lost, and we do almost nothing to help them. I'm feeling good because I've made awesome connections with three people over the last WEEK. Only three! I feel like such an idiot for being so pleased when compared to how many people I pass, three almost doesn't count....
But then I remember the story of the starfish. If you've never heard it, read on.

A young man was walking along an endless beach. The beach was littered with stranded starfish as far as the eye could see, and the waves weren't coming high enough to touch them. The young man patiently stopped, picked up a starfish, and hurled it out into the ocean. He smiled, stooped, and repeated the process over and over. After a while, an old man walked up to the young man and shook his head. "Son," said the old man, "this beach is covered in starfish. You cannot possibly make a difference. Just quit and go do something that matters!" The young man regarded the old man, an odd mixture of calm, pity and sadness on his face. He didn't say a word at first; he just bent down and gently picked up another starfish and tossed it out into the water. Then he turned back to the old man, looked him in the eyes, and smiled a bit. "It mattered to that one."

posted by Emma @ Saturday, October 25, 2003