Angel Street Review

             Belhaven University’s production of Patrick Hamilton’s Angel Street, or Gas Light as it’s known outside of the United States, was an excellent and thought provoking one. Directed by Ginny Holladay, the story deals with questions of mental health, spousal abuse, and the inter-class relations and gender roles of the 1800s.

             The play opens on the two lead characters, Bella and Jack Manningham, played by Elizabeth Borst and Craig Fairbanks. Bella is very submissive and on edge, while Jack is very calm and controlling. He openly flirts with one of the maids, Nancy, played by Allison Horton, and seems to care little for his wife’s emotions.

He blames Bella for the disappearance of a picture frame from the wall, even though she denies knowing anything about it. A history of mental illness in Bella’s family is alludded to. Jack calls in the maids, Elizabeth, played by Ashley Hester, and Nancy, to question them. Neither know anything about it, and Jack returns to accusing his wife. When Bella finds the picture in the hall, Jack uses that as evidence that she hid it. He is angry and storms out of the house to “work.”

            When a mysterious gentleman, who calls himself Sergeant Rough, played by John Alford, comes to call, he challenges Bella’s belief in her insanity. He reveals himself to be a detective investigating the murder of a woman that occurred fifteen years ago, and that he believes Jack Manningham to be the murderer, come back to the site of the murder to find the jewels he wasn’t able to get a hold of the first time around. The find the jewels, among other items that Bella supposedly misplaced, in a locked drawer in Jack’s desk.

            Jack returns home to find that his desk has been broken into. He reacts violently, shoving Bella and beginning to choke her. Rough bursts into the room with two police officers in tow, and they arrest Jack. Asking them for a moment, Bella confronts Jack, who pleads with her to release him. She plays mind games with him, teasing him with the idea of freedom, but plays the mental patient, and refuses. Rough reenters the room, and drags Jack away, while Elizabeth comforts her mistress.

            The play says several things about the nature of Victorian high society, namely in the realms of the roles of men versus women and social classes and how they interact. Women are shown as inferior to men, even when they assume positions of power. That power is only theirs because the men give it to them. Jack is very domineering, while Bella is very submissive. Even when Bella has the power over Jack, it is only because Rough had him tied up for her. Not even the strongest female character, Nancy, is immune to the dominance of Jack. When she thinks she’s seducing him, the reality is that she is being manipulated to his purposes.

            The class conflict between the upper class and that of the servant class is prevalent throughout the story. Nancy is constantly showing her disdain for Bella, considering herself better than her social superior, and is given a substantial amount of liberty, even going as far as to bring one of her “suitors” into the house with her. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is very set in her position, doing as she is told and keeping her head down, even when Jack makes advances towards her.

            The way the Victorians viewed mental health is shown with stark clarity in this show, though its inclusion is more subtle. The discussions of Bella being taken away, or put in the hospital because she is “sick” have a sense of finality. There’s almost the impression that they are speaking about putting down a rabid dog. The implication is that mental illness was untreatable, or that treatment rarely worked or ended poorly for the patient. This raises the stakes of the show, as the threat of Bella being sent away are constantly hanging in the air.

            The show tells the story of a woman coming to terms with herself, and resisting the image of her that others have placed on her. In accepting the truth of her husband’s identity as a murderer and a thief, and standing up to him and defying his abuse, she matures, no longer being the scared little girl that she is at the beginning of the show. Her decisive action marks a new course for her life. While the play is bleak, the ending has hope that Bella’s life will get better.

Henry V stage

I've been assistant stage managing(ASM) for Belhaven's production of Shakespeare's Henry V for the last couple of months. It's been difficult, but the end product going to be bloody fantastic. Here's a post from our technical director about the painting of the stage. If you're in Jackson, MS this week or next(Or you can get to Jackson, MS this week or next), you should come see it.

Henry V Painting work

Hope is out there.

For at least half my life, I've struggled with depression. While it wasn't until the last year that I've realized what it was, but looking back, it's fairly apparent. It's a hard thing to live with, and it can be difficult to open up about. I've been fortunate recently to have friends willing to bear with me through this.

Another struggle that I've observed first hand is that of self-harm. It's not something I've had to struggle with myself, thankfully, but I've had close friends that have. It's hard to watch, but I've noticed that it can be much worse if they have no one to go to. Unfortunately, it's often difficult for them to find someone to talk to. I've seen relationships damaged because the wrong person was told. My university in particular has been known to be harsh on those who are "found out." Suspension was threatened if it didn't stop in one case, and the counselors on staff are better suited for grief and family counseling than self-harm, and they're understaffed for a campus of this size.

At this point, I'm going to do a bit of name-dropping; you've probably heard of To Write Love On Her Arms. They're an organization dedicated to raising awareness for depression, anxiety, and addiction, and making sure that people have access to the help that they need. They also focus on changing the stigma that tends to surround these issues. These stigmas can make finding help difficult.

This is what TWLOHA means to me. It's a movement to change unhealthy environments, and helping people who are hurting. Cliche as it sounds, they're a beacon of hope. They're a group of people who genuinely care about people that are hurting, and that is a rare and valuable thing in today's world. I, for one, wholeheartedly support this organization and their mission. Their efforts mean a lot to me, personally, and I hope that you would take some time to find out more about what they do, and what they stand for.

To Write Love on Her Arms: Behind The Scenes

This is blog post really spoke to me, especially considering the things that I've been going through lately. Enjoy:

To Write Love on Her Arms: Behind The Scenes:

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Almost Getting Better

You ever wonder if you're a burden? Like you need the people that you care about more than they actually need you? That you're not giving enough into your relationships? It's a hard place to be. How do you resolve it? Will they tell you the truth if you ask? Will they be offended or relieved if you start pulling away or finding other friendships that you might be able to contribute more to? And is that even possible?

It's not something you can easily quantify. The thing I'm starting to realize is that people come to relationships for different reasons, so they may be expecting different things. Whether this makes maintaining relationships easier or harder is a matter of opinion and probably varies from relationship to relationship.

The important thing, I guess, is to try not to be selfish. Trying to make sure that you're not dead weight, and that you're making an effort to invest in their lives.

I know the last few posts have been pretty disjointed, but for now I'm just using this to work through some things. The less I keep in my head, the less stress I have to worry about. Hopefully, this will keep the depressed spirals at bay, and reduce the amount of tension going on in my life. I've had enough interpersonal tension lately, and I'd like a little time to recover.

Life from the Current Perspective

One of the most frustrating things, I think, is to see someone struggling, and to know that they need help, but they refuse it. To know, by experience, the fake smiles, the false enjoyment. That moment when you realize that someone who used to confide in you has given up talking to people. Whether it's just an attempt to deny the issue, or they feel, despite many assurances to the negative, that they're a burden. They try too hard not to hurt anyone, or make anyone worry, that they end up doing exactly that.

On a similar note, I wonder why there're people who don't believe in long-term friendships. Or maybe people worry too much about whether this friend or that friend are short-term or long-term friends, that they really miss the point of the relationship in the first place.

I'll admit, I'm notorious for the automatic withdrawal if I'm worried about getting hurt. The trick is realizing when you're doing that. Sometimes, it's not a lost cause, but to give up and withdraw guarantees that the connection is ended. Or at least irreparably damaged.

It's always worth wondering how your actions and decisions are impacting those you care about. And watch what you say: the ones who care about you most don't accept people bad-mouthing you, and they don't care if you're the one doing it. It WILL upset them, and most of the time it's MORE painful if the words are from your mouth.

The late teens-early twenties are some of the hardest years so far. Everything changes on a year-to-year basis, if not more. Change is good, but too much change leaves you lost with no direction. Finding which things to hold on to, and which to let go isn't easy, but it's necessary. Humanity craves stability, but it also requires change. Balance is the only way to be happy. Or as close as we can get to it.

So keep your head up, and hold on to what matters most. Grades, accomplishments, awards, mistakes; they all fade. Time can't be recovered, and you only have so long to make the connections that matter. Fear can't make your decisions for you. Trust me, I know.

"Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee. And I don't mean to." -Samwise Gamgee, Fellowship of the Ring

Struggling Through the Trenches

Depression is hard. Like, seriously. Don't knock it(or more specifically, those dealing with it) unless you've been through it. And if you still knock it(again, them) then you didn't really go through with it. It's really not as easy as you'd think, to just be happy sometimes. How hard it is to resist something when you don't see it coming until it's there and in full swing. It's tempting to blame it on negativity, or not enough Jesus, but the truth of the matter is that it's not that simple. It's not about how much "Jesus" you have, because I was extremely gung-ho Christian when I first started struggling with it. It took me almost eleven years to realize it for what it was.

The sad thing is that, in my experience, depression isn't just sadness. For me, it also comes with a lot of anger. You're lashing out at the slightest thing like a wounded animal because you have no reason to feel the way you do, and you feel helpless. It's the kind of thing that damages friendships, because they can't understand why you lash out the way you do. And that makes it hard to be on the other side of it, too.

It's a sick, twisted spiral. You lash out without meaning to, they take it personal and start to withdraw, which makes the depression worse, which causes more lashing out. The farther down you go, the tighter the spiral and the faster down it goes, plunging into the abyss at breakneck speed. And from there, suicide isn't so unreasonable. Thank God I'm not there yet.

I want this to stop. I want to stop hurting people. I want to stop being hurt. I want to be able to connect to people when I'm with them, instead of having situations where the signal strength doesn't go beyond my own skin. I just want to get to the end of this horrid mess.

"[I will close my ears and my heart and I will be a stone]Dear God, make me a stone." -River Tam, Serenity. Brackets contain the approximate translation of a Mandarin phrase.

The Overnight Bus

Greyhound; the staple of cross country trips and the choice of runaways and desperate last-shot trips home. It’s like the airport, but if the world forgot that it existed, and only the employees and those who have need of cheap, long distance mass transit know of it. Picture the pristine, secure, massive international airport. You’ve been in one, no doubt, and if you haven’t had the pleasure of taking a commercial airline flight somewhere in your life, you’ve at least seen it in a movie somewhere. So, yeah, picture that. Now make it smaller. Like, really small. Think about something the size of a subway station. It’s better lit than a subway station, but the only reason it smells better is because it’s above ground. Now populate it with a mix of your average cross-country passenger along with a few of the desperate types that probably haven’t had access to a shower in a few days. They’ve managed to scrape together enough money to get themselves to somewhere that promises better opportunity, or maybe they’re crawling back home to the family they tried, and failed, to escape.


My particular trip was from Raleigh, North Carolina to Marietta, Georgia after a particularly straining week of stress that will get its own story in due time. My friend dropped me off an hour before departure so that I could get my ticket and be all set and ready when the time came. After bidding them goodbye, I turned to face the waiting room. My first thought was “it’s just like an airport. A sketchy McSketchsketch Airport.” I proceeded to treat it as such; baggage stays with one’s person at all times, including trips to the bathroom.


This brings me to the first adventure of the night. A muscular African-American man several inches shorter than me had just walked in as I was about to walk out. He wore a white tank top shirt and a pair of long denim shorts. He noticed me and stepped forward. He brought his forearm across his chest, his elbow pointed in my direction. He informed me that he “came in peace” and just wanted to ask for my help. He made a gesture that implied that I was to offer my own elbow, and something along the lines of the popular fist-bump or high-five occurred. He explained to me, and I had a little trouble following his story entirely, so much of this is speculation based on what I did catch, how he had found himself in a bad way(I don’t know if I’m imagining something to do with him just getting out of jail or prison, though he seemed nice enough) and was now on his way back to his wife and daughter, and that the woman at the ticket counter was being a pain, and that he was seven dollars short of the ticket price to get home. Despite my paranoid nature telling me that this man was just trying to get drug money, I reached into my wallet and counted out my ones. I only had six, but it was better than nothing. Thanking me for my kindness, he gave me a man-hug(you know, the one where you shake the other person’s hand, then pull them in to pat them on the back with the other? Yeah, that. Really awkward when there’s a foot difference.) and left.


On the bus, I found the first empty seat, which happened to be next to a middle-eastern man, probably in his thirties, with a shaved head and a goatee beard. He was headed to Miami, and didn't say much after the bus left the terminal. He slept most of the way to Fayetteville, North Carolina.
Across the isle, however, was a pair of middle-aged African-American men who, by the sounds of it, were seasoned veterans of Greyhound travel. Much like the frequent fliers of the airline world, these two men had made such trips as(no joke, he actually mentioned this exact trip) Seattle, Washington to Kingston, Rhode Island.


They discussed the driver's driving and people skills(she was a good driver, but her personality was too flat to be working with the public, they decided.), and then one began to tell the other tales of his life driving semi-trucks. The most interesting story was when he said that those drivers are taught that if someone cuts them off and an accident is inevitable that it is better to hit the person who cut you off than to try to avoid it and cause a larger wreck. DO NOT CUT OFF SEMI TRUCKS. They WILL run you over, and the CAN run over you. I don't care if you're driving daddy's six-inch-lift-seven-hundred-horsepower-glass-pack-diesel Chevy Tahoe. You're gonna get totaled, and if you're extremely lucky. it'll just be the car that gets such.


When we made it in to Fayetteville, I had a three-hour-and-forty-five-minute layover. Around one thirty, this older gentleman comes up to me and tells me that he's a Christian who's trying to get home and needs fifteen dollars to change his ticket out, because he missed the nonstop to Florida that left around one, and there was a death in his family. I wanted to decline at first, but something struck me; Everything that has happened this week has worked out well, even if it wasn't ideal. I've had people all over the place who were able to help me out. So I payed it forward. And I gave him the extra five so he could eat something to eat during his trip to Miami beach that would have come in after midnight the next day.


At 4:05 I boarded the bus that would eventually take me into Atlanta. My evangelical baptist friend would be taking the 4:15 to Orlando. We parted ways, and I ended up sleeping most of the way. The passengers around me weren't of any particular interest. There was the kid who was probably anywhere from sixteen to nineteen with the laptop and smartphone, but he kept to his technology the whole way. We made it into Atlanta just in time to board the bus to Marietta. The driver was in better spirits than the other two combined, despite having a mouthy passenger that didn't really seem to understand how the whole bus system worked. The thirty minute ride was uneventful.

The Inevitable

It's happening: I'm becoming a Potterhead. It's mostly because of the people I hang out with that it's happening now, but it was probably going to happen anyway. Since I have decided to start reading the series, I thought I might do a bit of an analysis as I go. Depending on how it goes with the first book, I may continue.

The opening to Sorcerer's-- ahem, Philosopher's Stone (If I'm going to be 'annoyed' by Lewis changing the name of Maugrim in American editions of Narnia, I might as well get 'annoyed' by the name change in the title of Harry Potter, too :P) is comfortably predictable; standard Juvenile fantasy fare. Hero boy is orphaned, hero boy grows up with over-strict relatives, hero boy has series of mysterious instances alluding to his special nature, hero boy is found by people who usher him towards his destiny.

Mrs. Rowling has a talent for humour (yes, I am using the British spelling), which comes out in her descriptions and in random things that happen that give life to the events. Some of the funniest things make the story most real.

Halfway through reading the third book, and her style is steadily getting better. And more mature. The book grows with the character. I'm looking forward to finishing the series.

Spring Break is Like a Roller Coaster

Spring break is like a roller coaster: it starts off slow, like the first hill. You go up and up and up, and it's slow, and you feel like you're never going to get to the top. You just look around, take in the view, sit back and try to relax, even though you know what's coming at the end of it all. Then you hit Wednesday, and suddenly the whole thing rounds the top of the hill and it all starts careening downwards towards the bottom at break-neck speed, and next thing you know this thirty seconds of thrill ride are over and you're back to reality. And homework. And stress. And responsibility.






Yeah, grammar is just not happening today. Sue me.

The Sins of Sensationalism and Hype

Our culture is one of the Now. What's new, what's cool, what's in? I could go on and on, but it's already been said enough. Instead, my focus is on when this attitude extends over to humanitarian matters. It happens all the time. A huge disaster occurs, a major response is generated, and then, once it's a few weeks old, it all fades away and people forget about it. Often, this leaves the job half done as in New Orleans and Japan and Haiti. There's also a factor of laziness to it, too. So many people think "Oh, I'll just raise awareness, that will be enough." And they post on facebook so much that their friends are all annoyed and they change their profile picture and they put up posters everywhere and they think that they are actually making a difference and it's all absurd. It's stupid and it's naive and they never know what they're talking about beyond the headlines(ignoring the articles themselves) and whatever the first charity they find on the matter spews out to generate interest. They do no research and they're swayed by sensationalist, sentimentalism found in documentaries, but the never actually do any of the footwork.

WHERE IS THE CHANGE?

The answer is nowhere, because we've raised "awareness" so we've done our part. And once everyone is "aware" we can go back to our lives, content that we "did" something to help.

And yes, this frustration is currently directed at this "KONY 2012" campaign that Invisible Children is heading right now. Even IF this campaign get Joseph Kony arrested, then what happens? Can we reasonably expect the LRA to dissolve without him? What if it doesn't, and somebody far worse steps in? And what if it does, and  we've now given aid and helped build up the military of a fascist government that has a human rights violation record of its own? And what are we going to do to help rebuild? Are we going to do anything, or are we just going to "bag and tag" a warlord and get the heck out of dodge? And what about the children who successfully avoided the kidnappings and are now thieves and prostitutes? What are we doing for them?

And who are we to be the world police? Don't people ask that all the time? Then when something like this is resurfaced, we all cry "think of the children" and insist that America send off it's soldiers to take charge and save the world.

Now, I'm all for overthrowing Joseph Kony, and stabilizing that region of Africa. I'm all for saving the children. But I think that you need to be fully informed and have a plan before you can go raising awareness and spreading the word. Knee-jerk reactions don't do anyone any good, and it's better to have a plan before doing something than to doing something but that something doing nothing or worse. Educate yourself on the matter, then you can come talk to me about awareness and activism.

Oh, and Invisible Children? The word you want is "infamous." Connotations and definitions matter.

Pet Peeves

I have a small collection of pet peeves. Everyone does, I suppose. Some of mine are pretty common place. I hate when toothpaste, shaving cream, shampoo, or body wash is allowed to leak out of the container. I hate it when two boxes of the same cereal are open at the same time or if there's more than one roll of TP in use.

I think my biggest pet peeve is by far the most upsetting. I despise it when I'm hanging out with a friend or group of friends and another friend comes along and makes themself the center of attention. You know the type; always have a story for everything, experienced at anything your friends are interested in, or just like to talk. Maybe they're legit. Maybe they have done everything they claim to have done. That's not really the point, though. The point is that you are suddenly not interesting at all and nothing you can say will change that, because, let's face it, all you know is stupid random facts that nobody really cares about except as random interesting tidbits that they aren't ever going to remember. Maybe it's endearing and quirky, but it doesn't mean that you're on the same level as the other person.

Then there's that friend who insists that they be the center of attention and, knowingly or not, belittle you and what you say until you're sitting in the corner watching everything else go on. They tend to not be subtle about these things, either. They want the center of attention, and they take it. Nothing you say or do amounts to much of any importance, and if they decide that what your saying doesn't make sense or is foolish, there's no salvaging your thought, and it's best to let them have their fun and drop it entirely.

Now, that doesn't mean that these people aren't fun to hang around with. Because in the right doses, they are fun. But they can be overbearing and too much. Especially when you're just trying to hang out with your friends and have them actually be YOUR FRIENDS.

C'est la vie. Ce ne fait rien.

Bulba Fett

Quick little jot. Got this link from a friend. Needed the boost to my mood.

Bulba Fett - $17.95 : Shark Robot, T-shirts, Prints, Buttons and More!:

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Politics and Fast Food

I had a rather disturbing conversation this evening. I was hanging out with these two girls from the writing department, Lindsay and Jill, at Taco Bell. For some reason, the conversation turned to politics. We started discussing the welfare system, and I cited this article, which may or may not be true. I haven't really looked into it fully. Though a brief perusal indicates that while the numbers are a bit skewed, the premise is still fairly solid if this is to be believed. Again, I'm just skimming through things dug up through a shallow google search.

Anyway, I digress. Point being, we agreed that the system is broken. We don't believe in a welfare state. We adhere to the belief that people should be allowed to earn their own way. Not nearly to the point of Social Darwinism, but a human being's survival should be his own responsibility. I'm not anti-taxes. I believe that there are some things that a government is required for, and that the citizens are responsible for that government, just as the government is responsible for the citizens. But a government is there to protect and uphold society. People should NOT be able to make a living off of the government, unless they are actively employed by said government.

We also agreed that America is either going to become fascist or communist, depending on which extreme gains control. The only way to stop it would be total reform from the ground up, or a revolution. Either way, things would have to get worse before they got better.

Why is this conversation disturbing, you may ask? Well, it's disturbing because we are the future. We are the rising generation and we have no hope for our society and no faith in our country or government. Where did we go wrong? Like I said, I used to be idealistic, but nowadays, I'm cynical and have little faith in the system as-is. I believe in democracy(to a point. People are stupid.) and I believe in capitalism, as long as there are checks and balances. Sadly, the system is too easy to play, but if everyone plays the system, the system breaks. This leaves decent people breaking their backs to support cheaters and thieves with no reward to show for it.

Maybe someday we'll get this fixed. I hope so. And I hope I live to see it. Sadly, I don't see enough evidence of intelligent people willing to do something. Maybe I'm part of the problem. I probably am. But at least I realize it.