(no subject)

Back in New Orleans. Did I mention I got up at one this morning? (And went to bed at, uh, eleven?)

*grits teeth* Must -- eat -- food. Must -- do -- homework.

Looks like there isn't any damage, although actually, I think the paint flaked off our windows inside our room, considering it's all over the windowsill and my bedspread. (My bed is right next to the window, BTW.) Otherwise -- all seems quiet at the Tulane campus.

Except for Hurricane Ike.

what happens when theatre and writing collide

OH. MY. GOD. I am doing my homework for my Theatre Arts class, and I want to strangle the writer of the textbook, because his theatre snobbery is clashing with my writing snobbery (which, okay, I knew I had) and he's just...so wrong. So, so wrong.

Such a theatre snob. He goes so far as to say that theatre isn't just a branch on the literary tree (okay, look at that phrase. Tell me how it hurts your brain), but the trunk, and no. No, it's not. The trunk is the story in its purest form; every other literary form -- epic poetry, tragic plays, comedic plays (and if he's going to divide poetry up into epic and lyric, then I can damn well divide theatre up into tragedy and comedy), novels, short stories, dance, music -- expands on that basis, the story. No matter how big of a branch it is, theatre is not the fucking trunk.

Jesus Christ. And I have another seventy pages of this to read.