Art

There is at this moment someone crying hysterically just down the hall from my office. I can hear her clearly. I would be concerned about this except that in all likelihood she's just practicing. I love being in a performing arts building. Never a dull moment. Two days ago I actually walked down the hall to check on an apparent shouting match between two people, complete with shrieks of emotional anguish from the woman, only to find that it was two students rehearsing a scene. Moments like these are complemented by the acting classes that take place one floor above me. There is nothing quite like listening to twenty undergrads do vocal warm-ups (ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-MAAAAAAAAA! ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-MAAAAAAAAA! OH NO, DON'T GOOOOO! OH NO, DON'T GOOOOOO! ) and stomping in unison on the floor in the middle of the day. Good stuff.

Follow-up on the above, ten minutes later: I walked down the hall to get some water to find that the person practicing hysterically crying was, in fact, actually hysterically crying. So now I feel bad. She was working through "an artistic process" of some kind. I didn't ask too many in-depth questions.