I invested some time yesterday in attempting to dye my hair black. It came out sort of purple, which, while not black, is a significant improvement on the outcome of my last attempt to dye my hair black, in which I managed to dye my hair blood red. I told an engineer that story, and I'm given to understand that it's currently being shaped into a skit for the revue.
My experiences with the revue have been mixed. A lot of my mates are involved in the revue - or at any rate, it seems like a lot. It may have something to do with just how overwhelming the couple of them that do the revue are, that it seems like a lot.
My first introduction was in first year, when I was still an engineer - albeit a slightly renegade one who got through computing classes on sheer force of personality (ah, Josh - the Matlab tutor who fixed my assignment before he marked it), cut down a lecturer who tried to kick me out of class for talking (I had been, but he wanted to kick me out for talking the day before - that wasn't me!), and was probably most famous for skipping my maths lectures in favour of English (that I wasn't enrolled in). That, or turning up to 8am maths classes on Mondays in pyjamas, thongs, and with a coffee - and then going home to bed. It seems like there's a certain type of girl who does engineering, and I'm apparently not it. Nor one for the work of overturning stereotypes - someone else can do that.
Anyhow, my introduction to the revue. I was literally dragged into a revue meeting by one ankle and deposited unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. I picked myself up and withdrew from the room with what little dignity remained.
The next year - actually, I don't recall what happened the next year.
But last year, last year I went along with a Norwegian engineer friend of mine. He's a former revue-participant - is, in fact, the guy that dragged me into the meeting by my ankle back in the day. Norwegians are, I have to say, awesome. It's like on The Simpsons - "We work hard, we play hard" - except that I've never met a Norwegian who was a camp gay steelworker. Yet. I should like to (email me!). Anyhow, went along to the revue. Sat in our crappy seats (the year before, he'd talked us into much, much better seats. Didn't happen this time.). Sat through quite a lot of quite funny engineering jokes, a few digs at arts students, a few musical numbers. Then a voice spoke from above, and it said:
"Are you bored?"
And I said:
"Yes."
In a very small voice, mind you. I didn't think anyone'd hear it. It wasn't a heckle for public consumption. It was a heckle for my own private glee.
At the pub, later, the Sarge (the Norwegian engineer, so known because during his stint of national service as an MP he achieved the lofty rank of Sergeant) stood on a chair and yelled to a couple of mates that were in the show, "Did you hear Beck's heckle?" Everyone gathered around. "No, what'd she say?" (My failure to heckle in previous years had been a huge drama.) "Well, you know, when the voice said, are you bored, she said yes."
"Beck! That was you?!"
"You couldn't've heard that," I said. "I only said it in a very small voice."
Nope. It's on the tape of that night. It's completely audible. The tape recorder was, for reference, miles away, down the front. It seems like my very small voice is not so small after all.
For the rest of the night, anyone that came near us was treated to the story of Baby's First Heckle.
This year's revue is on in a couple of months. The engineers want me to get involved. My brother wants to come up to watch. I'm not sure if I should be excited, or afraid.
My experiences with the revue have been mixed. A lot of my mates are involved in the revue - or at any rate, it seems like a lot. It may have something to do with just how overwhelming the couple of them that do the revue are, that it seems like a lot.
My first introduction was in first year, when I was still an engineer - albeit a slightly renegade one who got through computing classes on sheer force of personality (ah, Josh - the Matlab tutor who fixed my assignment before he marked it), cut down a lecturer who tried to kick me out of class for talking (I had been, but he wanted to kick me out for talking the day before - that wasn't me!), and was probably most famous for skipping my maths lectures in favour of English (that I wasn't enrolled in). That, or turning up to 8am maths classes on Mondays in pyjamas, thongs, and with a coffee - and then going home to bed. It seems like there's a certain type of girl who does engineering, and I'm apparently not it. Nor one for the work of overturning stereotypes - someone else can do that.
Anyhow, my introduction to the revue. I was literally dragged into a revue meeting by one ankle and deposited unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. I picked myself up and withdrew from the room with what little dignity remained.
The next year - actually, I don't recall what happened the next year.
But last year, last year I went along with a Norwegian engineer friend of mine. He's a former revue-participant - is, in fact, the guy that dragged me into the meeting by my ankle back in the day. Norwegians are, I have to say, awesome. It's like on The Simpsons - "We work hard, we play hard" - except that I've never met a Norwegian who was a camp gay steelworker. Yet. I should like to (email me!). Anyhow, went along to the revue. Sat in our crappy seats (the year before, he'd talked us into much, much better seats. Didn't happen this time.). Sat through quite a lot of quite funny engineering jokes, a few digs at arts students, a few musical numbers. Then a voice spoke from above, and it said:
"Are you bored?"
And I said:
"Yes."
In a very small voice, mind you. I didn't think anyone'd hear it. It wasn't a heckle for public consumption. It was a heckle for my own private glee.
At the pub, later, the Sarge (the Norwegian engineer, so known because during his stint of national service as an MP he achieved the lofty rank of Sergeant) stood on a chair and yelled to a couple of mates that were in the show, "Did you hear Beck's heckle?" Everyone gathered around. "No, what'd she say?" (My failure to heckle in previous years had been a huge drama.) "Well, you know, when the voice said, are you bored, she said yes."
"Beck! That was you?!"
"You couldn't've heard that," I said. "I only said it in a very small voice."
Nope. It's on the tape of that night. It's completely audible. The tape recorder was, for reference, miles away, down the front. It seems like my very small voice is not so small after all.
For the rest of the night, anyone that came near us was treated to the story of Baby's First Heckle.
This year's revue is on in a couple of months. The engineers want me to get involved. My brother wants to come up to watch. I'm not sure if I should be excited, or afraid.
posted by beck at 2:16 pm
4 Comments:
hehe... reminds me of when I went to see Dangerous Liaisons with Zak and Cat at UWA. At one point in the play, the male lead revealed that he'd been in a threesome with the mother of the female lead, and I uttered (totally under my breath of course) "I fucked your mum!"
Then the guys in front of me heard it, and they repeated it to each other more loudly, and by the intermission, everyone knew that someone, somewhere had uttered those immortal words. I don't know if everyone heard what I'd said originally, or if it was just repeated throughout the audience. But at any rate, seems even the slightest murmur can be a deafening roar if you pick your moments right.
oops. forgot that I'm anonymous here. That was me. Tim. bobvonunheil, on Livejournal. :)
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
'Cos I stuffed up the order of my words. You'd think I'd've learnt by now that multitasking doesn't always work for me.
Anyhow, I wanted to say, Hi! And welcome to my underpopulated corner of the web. Zak is trying to claim credit for drawing you over here ... note, trying.
I think my most memorable theatre experience has to be seeing 'The Real Inspector Hound' at uni with my (good) then-flatmate and a mutual friend a couple years ago. Our uni theatre (like most, I imagine) is minute, and so I found myself sitting hunched up, halfway under a chair that two cast-members were sitting on (d'you know the play? At one point they're actually in the audience). They had candy as a prop, and passed some of it down to me. It almost made up for sitting hunched up halfway under a chair ...
Great performance, too.
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