Speech Defined

                Speech. Defined by dictionary.com as “any single utterance of an actor in the course of a play, motion picture, etc.” Drama freaks such as myself come together for one reason: Speech season. For the next three and a half months, we will poor our hearts and souls into our acting and script writing. We put in at least four hours each week after school to perfect our group efforts. Our weekends are spent without sleeping in, as we need the extra morning practices to prepare for competition. We carry our scripts with us at all times, and recite our lines to ourselves whenever possible. Of course, you can’t start any of this until after your audition- that is, if you get in.

                Speech. It all starts with the auditions, which people seem to stress over more than necessary. The more relaxed you are, the better you do. Your voice will take on that special oomph the judges look for, and your face will twist into whatever expression you need it to be. The more you stress about it, the less realistic the audition will be, and the less likely you will be able to act in your choice category.

                Speech. One of the hardest, most exciting things I have ever been a part of. The challenge of harmonizing your voice with another’s, the effort put into committing the routines to memory, and the determination needed to fight the urge to give up- these are just a few of the qualities every speech team member possess. Honestly, follow a member around and you will see the wrinkles in their forehead as they stare in frustration at a worn-out script. You will hear them chant their lines over and over until they are committed to memory.

                Speech. An event outsiders don’t understand. A test we are terrified to fail on, yet can’t seem to stop from taking each year. A perfect mixture of people who know absolutely nothing about each other, yet are able to come together and create a beautiful finished product.

                Speech. It’s from our sweat, blood, and tears that we find who we really are. It’s from waking up before the crack of dawn to put on our costumes and transform our faces into something we’re not. It’s from eating twice as much dinner after burning through all your calories during practice. It’s from rushing to rehearsal so that your coach won’t yell at you. But most of all, Speech is being who you want to be with the people who could care less what you look like and where you came from. Speech is our home.

 

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Monday's Purple Iron

                Hello Friends!

                I realize it has been awhile since I’ve written, but I’m happy (ish) to announce that my Monday posts will be returning! For those of you just joining in on the fun that is my blog, let me explain something to you: every single Monday, I blog about whatever ghastly things have occurred for me. Mondays and I are not well acquainted, and try as I might, I strongly believe Monday wishes to keep it that way.

                In the past my Mondays have included broken alarm clocks, burnt fingers, and bruises the size of softballs. Today, all three of these combined into one fabulously horrible day.

                The alarm clock. Though I have recently purchased a new alarm clock, I can’t seem to figure it out. Honestly, you would think the snooze button would be huge and easy to find…but no. Apparently the alarm clock company decided they wanted to make us poor, tired civilians work for our sleep. I vow to read the label next time I buy an alarm clock, as I should have noticed the abnormally small snooze button BEFORE I made my purchase.

                The burnt finger. Today I didn’t actually burn myself- but I came so close that I almost gave myself a heart attack. The hair contraption blazed at 356°, and just about hit my arm; but it didn’t, and I’m okay. Barely dodged a bullet with that one.

                Last but not least, the bruise. Two months ago, I tried to donate blood…and things didn’t go well. I ended up with a giant bruise that hurt like nobody’s business. I went back today to attempt to donate blood again, and AGAIN it didn’t work. This time, I was sure to drink a ton of water so that I would be nice and hydrated and my veins would be nice and plump and ready for sticking. Before you can donate though, the nurses have to prick your finger and make sure your hemoglobin levels are high enough. After four (FOUR!!) finger pricks, the nurses determined my hemoglobin was .2 too low to donate. Point two. They said it was because I didn’t have enough iron in my system due to Mother Nature’s monthly cycle. Lovely right? Yeah, my bruised fingertips would agree.

                All in all, this Monday was the perfect way to start off the new term on the wrong foot. I hope you remember to read the labels on your alarm clocks so you be sure you are getting something worth waking up to. Try not to burn your pretty little fingers- obviously you need to save them and keep them looking attractive so that nurses can stab them and make them turn purple. But hey, it’s not like I’m speaking from experience or anything.

 

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