Ebb and flow

I've got a bit of a blog backlog building up.  The reason? I'm back in Farfara and the term's about to begin.  Turns out that it's the perfect formula for overwhelming chore-doing.

But I may have a bit of a triage problem. There are syllabi that need to be finalized but instead I find myself doing VITALLY IMPORTANT things like this:

Putting up the hammock.  Now we just need to get a chainsaw so that we can clear up that view of the ocean.

Or this:

I am a stenciling queen!  La Divine Sarah is unimpressed.

Which means, [cough], that I need to get back to working on my syllabi now.

OMG ERTHQK

When I woke up this morning, I learned about my hometown's earthquake via Twitter as it happened. (In Honolulu it's, well, exactly like every other day of the year in Oahu.  Balmy and peaceful.)  I called my mother in Washington to see whether she felt it.  "YES!" she said, "I rushed in to protect the Italian plates, which were rattling on the shelves.  Then I thought, 'wait - this isn't a good idea,' and ran out the door."

Theatricality and Time Capsuling

More than just playwrights are buried here.

You may remember (because it was the subject of my only post - TO DATE! - about my London theatravaganza) that the Bush theatre is migrating to a new home in a former library just down the street from their old pub theatre.  While they were mucking about in the shell of the old library, what should they come upon but a time capsule.  A Victorian time capsule that everyone had forgotten was there!

If this isn't the best sort of time capsule, I don't know what is.

And isn't there something particularly marvelous about a theatre discovering a library's time capsule?  The living archive picking up the trace of the documentary archive, forgotten but not erased?  Is a time capsule a variety of performance?  A medium until itself?