Writing. Depression. Internet.

It seems like a semi-vicious cycle when you're a creative person who's driven and has nothing to occupy the mind with. Take me: I am trying to keep busy and upbeat since I am currently not working and if my brain is mush come fall, I'm a goner. Also, I have been planning on using the summer to write and continue working on projects from the spring. Now why is it that when I barely had time to sleep and eat I was writing profusely, but now, when I barely do anything other than eat and sleep I can't so much as write an intro paragraph!

The vacuum my friends, the vacuum of KFCKD radio is swirling around me and all I hear is the white noise of Bear Delaware. Its not that I'm not inspired by normalcy, despite my obsession with fantasy, I write realism (dang it). It's rather that the everyday shmah of sleep/eat makes me feel so worthless. Enter the cycle.

Now, this is just what I thought before I began the post. "I should write something. Anything. Rework a few monologues in the play? Yes. But if I go upstairs I'll want to clean. Cleaning is good. Cleaning gets my blood going and lines pop into my head. Yes, I'll clean. But I came down here to check my email. By the time I check my email I'll just want to be lazy again. So, write, then email, clean later. No, my room is a mess. I can't write with a messy room. Apple Orange Banana 8663. I should watch HIMYM. Those stories are so wild and witty. No, I'll read. That will truly inspire me. No, I should write. Anything. Emails are anything. I'll blog! But if I poor out my thoughts onto the internet instead of paper isn't that just like channeling into a black hole? What's the point. Maybe facebook is the reason I don't write anymore? In my attempt to communicate am I actually shutting myself down?"

Well?

Galway... City of Wonder

I am utterly mistified by the hold this city has on my imagination. It makes me frolic, dream, and suddenly become quit while I watch crowds roll by me. I feel, proper time permitted, I could come to some conclusion about the existence of music if I were to rest here long enough. Note to self: take a trip just to Kilarney, Galway, and Dublin someday. Three completely different places, all the country inbetween.
We spent the past five days in Sligo and Droheda. Both cities, or towns I would call them, are near some amazing neolithic cites: such as New Grange and some lovely Victorian places (Yeats' church/ burial and Sligo Abbey where Bram Stoker was born); none of them, however, are very healthy places. You feel dirty the entire time (despite the beauty they are near) it's always grey (rather like Detroit), and there's really not much to do. Always the low point of the trip. But now we're in Galway and it's beauty from here on out.
The streets all run into one another to avoid the river and the pubs are filled with music, old men, and tourists. Twentysomethings mill about looking for purpose and find it through every means of expression you can imagine while the old men smile at them. I think there's some sort of instant agifier in Western Ireland. You are young, young, young, and then old! Not a bad way. I can't wait to be old, I am enjoying being young, I dread middle age. Yikes.
The radio is Ireland's only major downside. So much talking! Three songs, then ten minutes of gab, two songs (the ends usually cut off with talking) and then the news. So sad. However, we have heard everything from Will Smith to Abba to Frank Sinatra, so props to the DJs when they actually choose the music.
We went to the cliff's of Moher today, that's a post to itself. Tomorrow is Coole Park where Lady Gregory lived and hosted the famous creative genius of Ireland. So excited. Swans.
I love Galway, I still miss Dublin a bit. I have a lot of gift shopping to do.
The ocean side has made me very sick for the Chesapeake bay. Odd how we find our home's landscape in the most foreign places.
I do apologize for any spelling errors. I simply don't feel like fixing them.
Cheers!
hannah.abigail.margaret.oliver.depp.

Auntie Naomi and Dublin

Very sad news from home today. My lovely little Aunt Naomi died a few days ago. She was utterly ready to go Home, but it's hard to imagine family life without her fantastic, quietly sarcastic and bitchy self. She taught me the art of retort and hated holding hands.
We leave for the west of Ireland today. Dublin has been a fantastic host as usual. I'm exhausted from explaining how to walk, though. Yesterday several of us just got up and began walking like normal people. 5 of us would arrive at a site and then 5 minutes later the rest of the herd would show up. It's not hard. I'm always mistified by Carson-Newman students difficulty with walking.
I will miss Avalon house (our current hostil). Swell people who play great music and people from Glasgow who speak Spanish.
Next hostil doesn't have internet and money will be tight, as my bank account is in a sense frozen until my mother gets back from Aunt Naomi's funeral. I had expected more to go into my checking account for the second half of the trip, but more important things are being taken care of! Luckily the west is about a quartar of the price of Dublin. I wish we hadn't started out with the most expensive city first. The trip definitely works better starting in the country and heading east.
In other notes, St. Patty's cathedral has 3 candles lit for my Irish Studies professor at his request. The man is a lovely arse and I'm happy to oblidge. We ate Fish and Chips yesterday, salty, hot, vinegar goodness.The Dublin Writers Museum is beautiful; filled with quotes, portraits, timelines and crossovers. I would live there.
The Irish Uprising of Easter 1916 is a main topic of study on the trip, so we had a tour with Lorcan Collins, a major Dubliner and historian. He's a friend of the college and has a major gift of gab. I loved talking with him, it is certainly an excercise in sarcasm and BS. Beautiful. I wish we had more time just to hang out with him, but this trip he has kids to take care of. Even Lorcan is growing up, sheesh.
Must log off now. I am finding the real impact of this trip inexplainable. Perhaps philosophy will poor forth soon. Suffice to say the pace of Dublin and the beauty of Saint Stevens Green (filled with statues of Oscar Wilde and riddled with bullet holes from several risings) fits my post undergrad mind quite well.
Slante-
hannah.abigail.margaret/ HaRingo/ HAMO/ whatever endearment you've come up with...

Greenland Calls my name!

Back in Ireland after two years. Dublin remains much the same, but the commercial McDonaldization continues to spread into the otherwise pure city.
We landed at 9 AM Irish time (4 AM Eastern Central US) and made for the hostel. By 12 we had shopped, made lunch, settled in and were off to see Trinity College Dublin. I am a little week on my feet, partly due to the exhaustion of graduation/ goodbyes and a cross oceanic flight! It's all worth it though.
I wish I could describe the smell of the long room to you. It's like... well, perhaps you don't have my obsession with old books? Think of your favorite smell wafting toward you from afar. Now, think of being in your favorite place. Combine the two. Now mutliply by 10 and compact it all into a three story, 200 foot long room built just to suit your taste and subconscious... I wander that room and all of my dreams are brushing against my ankles, welcoming me home.
If I ever dissapeare, first check the Young Republicans of Carson-Newman College. If it turns out they didn't murder me, look for me in the Long Room. I may be past out somewhere neer the Yeats collection.
They were also having a special exhibit on both the book of Kells (amazing early Latin translation of the first four gospels) and on Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Age of Detective fiction.
Sherlock was my first literary crush. He even predates (and outlives) Mr. Darcy. Who wants undying affection when you can have footprints and cruel wit?
That's not healthy, but I'm tired.
We discuss Oscar Wilde today in class ("class" means us sitting down and talking about the days reading) and I will have to control myself from weeping "he's beautiful!" over and over.
Alright, I am utterly exhausted and will ramble until dawn, but it's rude to use the public computer for too long. If you are reading this, chances are I love you immensly and thank you for taking the time to worry about me.
The green continues tomorrow- Vikings!
Cheers,
Hannah.a.m.o.Depp.

Posters!

Well, we successfully finished a read through of Private Lives with my whole cast and crew. My fantastic friend Jennifer (who stars as Amanda) made the six main posters we will cover my campus with in the coming month. We are also having postcards and smaller teaser posters (these will be 17 inch). Monday begins the full on rehearsals and the test of my skills as a director and therefor communicator. It is terrifying, to say the least. 

main poster- will be poster Feb. 2

Sybil, the flighty, teaser.

Louise, the angry french maid, teaser

Amanda, the bitch, teaser

Elyot, the suave, teaser poster

Victor, the gentleman, teaser

Private Lives Photoshoot

The cast of my senior show, Noel Coward's Private Lives, agreeably posed for a midnight photoshoot the last night of finals. I am quite blessed to have such a talented, and may I say attractive, group of actors. I think we all rather enjoyed ourselves. Here are a few snippets. I will be posting the promotional posters when i receive them from the multi-talented Jennifer.

Enjoy! 

The soul of the mad hatter & the suave of Noel Coward; Destry plays Elyot, the male lead.

Nothing wrong with a good pair o legs! Rachel gamely plays the ingenue, Sybil.

Jennifer, perfectly capturing the female lead Amanda

"Are we human, or are we dancer?" The boys have some fun.

Katie Mitchell cleverly plays the snarky French maid Louise, who will only take to Elyot

The battle of the sexes never looked so good!

These two deliver some of the wittiest bickering ever written.

David, playing Victor, is ready to battle with Elyot for Amanda's hand. Elyot couldn't care less.

She's got him right where she wants him.

Ah, complications.

The fabulous photographer Shannon Ochs and I fight bad stage lighting and rock top hats. Many thanks to Shannon for your work!

Dance puppets, dance! I love being a director...

Some close up time with the Theatre kids favorite photographer.

I have a feeling this project is going to involve a lot of work for yours truly...

Or we could just be sexist and pawn it off on the guys...

Sybil & Victor are oddly terrified of the tiny frenchwoman. So am I!