WEST SIDE STORY

Set in the Upper West Side of New York City in the late 1950s, West Side Story is a modern-day reinterpretation of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet tragedy of feuding families. With conflict between rival street gangs rather than families, West Side Story is about star-crossed lovers forced to deal with the disapproval of family and friends while blindly in love with each other.

Confrontation, murder and revenge propel the action forward in this musical, based on a conception by JEROME ROBBINS, novelized by ARTHUR LAURENTS with lyrics by STEPHEN SONDHEIM and composer LEONARD BERNSTEIN. West Side Story remains a powerfully gripping theatrical experience about the quest for love despite the odds.


ACSian Theatre’s production of WEST SIDE STORY draws upon the talents of current students and the Alumni of Anglo–Chinese Junior College. The production showcases the talents of a directorial, design and performance team who are committed to their craft and the creation of theatre magic. ACSian Theatre is the repertory arm of the Anglo–Chinese Junior College Drama Elective Programme and a proud member of the performance arts culture of the college.


Venue: DBS Arts Centre, Home of the Singapore Repertory Theatre
Evening (8pm): 4th (Wed), 5th (Thurs), 6th (Fri) and 7th (Sat) April 2007
Matinee (2pm): 7th April (Sat) 2007

Tickets: $32 for the evening of 4th, 5th, and afternoon of 7th
$52 for the evening of the 6th and 7th
Tickets available from www.GATECRASH.com.sg

For more details, please contact:
Sangeetha (67750511)
Noel Ng (97663543)

I AM HERE(click on the words, doofus)

I AM HERE

replies (which're probably all this blog is gonig to be used for from now on)

huili: Girl, I know. It's so annoying! I already got rid of one lot and the next lot just plonked down. Ugh.

ling: done! When're you back next? sorry i couldn't meet you the last tine round!

Jin: respect, seriously. Do you know how much Pat Sum coos over your essays? I respect him a lot but every time I come out of GP lessons I feel totally useless. Barrrrhhhh.

shuuuuuen: Here you go

I'm finally making this official, I suppose. It's been tentative for a little while.

I'm moving to www.krazycows.livejournal.com.

I might move back here soon, who knows?

Lots of fodder for thought have sprouted up in the last few days; it's made me consider quitting blogging. Pat Sum (GP teacher) says that I need a paradigm shift, and blogging isn't helping, because it's made me accustomed to just spewing out my two cents worth with no care for form, structure or substantiation. It would be alright if I could compartmentalize my diary/blog writing and school work, but unfortunately, it's carrying over to my essay writing. I'm writing down my opinion, and it adds nothing to the general comprehension of my essays. Then comes the SAT essay, which is a world away from A Level essays: there's no way even someone like Lifeng would get full marks on a GP essay, but it's perfectly possible to get 6 out of 6 for a SAT essay. Written in 25 mins. With no real need for proper spelling, punctuation or polish. How more different can it be?

Daaaaartmouth. I want.

Hours in a black hole.
Tired soles from dancing bare-footed day after day on a painted wooden set.
Broken thong - foot thongs, that is.
Two weeks of bad food and three days of good ones thanks to the beautiful parents.
Sitting on the roadside eating a pathetic dinner looking like queer vagabonds/circus escapees with gold glitter.
The insidious, omnipresent sparkledust.
Night after night of dragging weary bodies home, then dragging them to school again.
Surreality (is there such a word?) of living in a state where theatre is your universe and you live in limbo between the stage and dressing rooms, school is a vague dream.
Running up and down the crowded corridor looking for the glitter spray! where's the blue eye shadow?? i need the silver eyeliner now!
Warm ups on a crowded stage to blastings of 'Purple Rain'.
Bright, bare bulbs burning the plastic into bad smells.
People, shut up!
Stretch, my wing muscles hurt from flapping like a goose; ah, but I dance like a duck.
Nose breath in, mouth breath out.
Slither on stage in a moment of captured magic, truly fairies.
Why is it that characterization feels infinitely more real than the play itself?
Liberation through movement, and truly owning the stage for once.
Arabesque, pirouette, lay out, one two three one two three one two three POSE!
Giggling in defiance of reputation.
PPP: my very last one.
4 hours of sleep in 40 hours.

I got lost in the smoke. I came in with clear vision, knowing where I was and what I was doing. Then with a hiss... it started. The smoke got in the way and in the process of turning direction disappeared. Spinning, disorientated, directionless, I lost myself in the smoke.


ACSian Theatre - The Tempest.
"...heart sorrow
And a clear life ensuing"

I'm tempeted to switch to LJ, sorely tempted. I mean, I've already got an account, but it's more comatose than me in math class. The thing that really bugs me about LJ though, is that I can't change the layout, and whatever I have now (it doesn't deserved to be called a layout) is uber fugly. It literally is an eyesore, I get a headache looking at it.

I should be doing my SBQ; I came online with the intent of doing research on why the UN took so long to kick Pol Pot out of Cambodia, but I only have a little while - a very very little while - before I've got to mosey off to SRT for tech run.

ASK ME FOR TEMPEST TICKETS.

The first-time junkie wanders unwittingly into the realm of the dragon, the blind fool seduced by promises of a brilliant, urbane, intriguing world in the land of do-as-you-please.

In Changi prison, a whole cell block is devoted solely to junkies.

Lord, what fools us mortals be!

My life's being eaten up bit by bit, by a voracious, insatiable creature. Yet in someways, I want it. One could argue that I've given myself up like... well, not exactly a lamb, but something for sacrifice; but it's not that noble. I do have ulterior motives even if they're passive.

Swirled round and round in the the tornado, like Dorothy, transported to a surreal, removed, world. In the vortex, your only surroundings are the chaos around you, all you see is the objects in the tornado, and the outside world is obscured from view. In Oz, Dorothy tried to get home, but she got distracted along the way.

Today, I caught a glimpse of the outside world. It was like a wake up call, a reminder that beyond what I see, a whole wrold lies wating, if only I jump out of the incredible force.

I miss Nanayang.