Is This A Riddle? September 27, 2007

This morning, I woke up a bit later than I meant to; still plenty of time to get to class, but it would be tight. After throwing some clothes on that looked clean enough, I grabbed the door knob to exit my bedroom, and the door knob promptly fell off into my hand. Gently, I tried to maneuver a connection with the male part of the door knob, on the other side of the door, and succeeded only in pushing the other side out. And then I was trapped in my bedroom. My roommate left while I was putting on clothes, about two minutes after I woke up; I heard the door slam on his way out, and since it’s a seven minute drive to school, chances were good he was already there. He certainly wasn’t going to miss class to let me out of my bedroom. So I went back to bed, it being 7:45 and all. I woke up at nine, started to panic as my lighting design course started at ten, and in my frustration, I kicked the door. It swung right open.

Fast forward ten hours. I arrived at Anchors house, laundry in tow, for an evening of studying and cable TV. We decided to grab some dinner about forty five seconds after I put my laundry in, so we grabbed purses and headed out the door. I volunteered to drive, dug deep in my small cavern of a handbag, and realized I’d locked my keys in my car. This is number 16 in the past 24 months…I would guess AAA thinks I’m The Most Forgetful Motorist in town. It was no real hassle to deal with; the guy got my car open in under three minutes, with his fancy slim jim. Every time I lock my keys in my car, I always think, “I should get one of those…” when I see the slim jim in action, but then I remember I would inevitably store it in my car, where it would do no good whatsoever.

Is the universe trying to tell me something? A lock-in and a lock-out all in the same day? I bet a psychoanalyst could have a field day with That One. I don’t feel trapped. I don’t think I’m shutting anything away that I ought to bring out into the light. These past three weeks haven’t been the easiest I’ve ever encountered, but I’m feeling more like there are almost too many open doors in my path, not the opposite.

Also, I can’t sleep lately. I thought it was the full moon, but that was one or two nights ago.

Nugget of knowledge from today: watts=volts(amps)
I have a ridiculously hard time grasping the fact that magnets spinning around a wire make the lights turn on.

The Revolution Will Be Televised September 25, 2007

Warning: there are spoilers contained in this post, from tonight’s episode of Weeds.

Once again, I have to say, I fucking love this show. In my opinion, it is the edgiest, best written melodrama on TV in the past decade. What I love so dearly is the fact that this show has the balls to talk about what everyone is doing anyway, and just not talking about.

Topics dealt with in this evening’s thirty minute installment included a) the federal government’s continued support of school programs that have forgotten about that little clause detailing how Church and State can’t be in the same room together in order to receive federal funding, b) this country’s obsession with porn—in light of, or because of?— the puritanical leanings of government regulations in regards to nudity and sexuality, and c) a realistic portrayal of a woman having sexual needs outside the confines of marriage, or even a relationship, that is purely, selfishly pleasure based (and she doesn’t apologize for it!!). Bravo, Showtime, I would give you Respect Knuckles if I saw you on the street.

Yes, I agree, this representation of the Family Structure is totally and completely fucked; Nancy is a neglectful mother that consistently makes poor decisions, endangering herself and her children. I wish I didn’t believe this model applied to a frighteningly large portion of the population, but I’ve known people like her, myself, and I can only imagine that the Legions of Teenaged Parents in this country are making some pretty bad mistakes themselves. Before I’m misunderstood, I will add this disclaimer: I am aware that there are many millions of people in this country that would make good parents, but they don’t seem to be the people having babies (for the most part) these days, at least in my tiny chunk of the world. Sure, there are lots and lots of exceptions to this vast generalization I’ve just made, but I’ll stick to it, because I hear the stories from my friends who teach elementary education, and I see that something is going Very Wrong with the youth of America. God, I sound so old. My grandmother probably said the same thing in the sixties, when the kids were all smoking dope and having sex in the grass…but they were getting high and making love. Now a days, you only hear about how second graders are stabbing each other with their No. 2 pencils, and how fifth graders are getting knocked up. Where does the responsibility for that failing lie except with the parents? Ooh it’s ugly, it’s a harsh reality, a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s not going away.

Sure, the show Weeds takes place in an affluent suburb in California, but the problems are the same everywhere; we’re all being brain-washed by TV’s and magazines and advertisements selling us the Beauty Standard and our religion, and everyone is susceptible to those numbing, apathy-inducing trends. We’ve all fallen prey. Nancy Botwin is a drug dealer and a mother, and I’d guess that a cursory glance at prison stats would reveal there’s a lot of women in this country who’ve had to make similar decisions. Is she making good choices? No. Does it really happen? All the time. Do we talk about it? No. Why not? Because if we truly recognized that this country is going to hell in a sanitized, homogenized, medicated, Star Spangled handbasket, we might actually have to step away from the TV and the Internet and do something about it. I’m guilty of this. We all fall prey.

I’ve gotten a bit off topic…This is what I’m trying to say: I was truly excited to see full frontal nudity, both male and female, and hear factual, intelligent criticism of the aggressive Christian take-over (from the mouth of a 10 year old, no less!) inside the same thirty minutes of Prime Time. It might be cable, but at least it’s on the air. When Andy caters the porn shoot, and we see the Giant Black Cock and the Two Hairless Pussies, pounding away, I wanted to clap. I’m sure it will be reviled as pornography; I say it’s a relevant and accurate cross-section of a huge population of Americans. You know you’ve watched some porn. Chances are good you might have even liked it; there’s so much of it available, there’s a kink for everybody. Men, women, children, we’re all watching porn. Isn’t it time to stop vilifying sex and a plant with medicinal and agricultural value, and start vilifying violence, poverty, and religious rule?

Weeds says yes.

PS–When MLP’s panties came off at the end, I almost wet myself. That woman is a fearless actress. She does need to eat a cheeseburger or two, however…

Woah Times A Million September 18, 2007

This last, my senior year, is gonna be a bitch. I can tell already. Currently, I am locking the trays in place and returning my seat to an upright position. This could be a hard landing.

Check this shit out: so I’m required to take this class called Arts and Artifacts. They don’t offer the class this year. I am, therefore, enrolled in Art History, which will waive my requirement to take this class. However, Art History credits don’t waive the three credit hours associated with the class they’re not offering, so now I have to find a way to make up the three credit hours. Doesn’t sound like such a large feat; I can break it down over the three terms, taking a one credit hour arts elective each term…except for the fact that there are no arts classes offered at a time I can take them, that i haven’t already taken before. Literally, not one. Out of 85 or 90 arts classes, not ONE fit into my schedule. I have been in a mad scramble to create and get approval on an independent study before the last day to add (tomorrow) and I managed to finagle an independent study in pop art rendering (awesome…), but it has created a rather tight schedule for me. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I have no less than ten consecutive hours of obligation (class and crew) with no more than a ten minute break in between any one thing. Ouch. On Thursday, oh happy day, I have a fourteen hour day with nary a break. Literally, not one. I am, indeed, partially responsible for this crunch; I allowed academics to be second priority, and as such, I have to take more academics this year than any senior ever should. But I’m not responsible for the flubbery with Arts and Artifacts (or the fact that this piece of vital information was never announced to any of us–approximately 25 of the 38 people in my graduating class are in the same boat as I…Arts and Artifacts was just created last year, and already they can’t offer it to us, but still require it. What?!), yet I’m still suffering. My classes, all year long, are as follows: art history, theater history, western thought, scene painting III, professional career development (they’re gonna make me start fixing my credit…), lighting design for the non-major, independent study in rendering each term (i’m thinking surrealism and chiaroscuro for winter and spring terms), and costume shop management. As a full time student here, it is usual to have no more than ten hours, due to the time vacuum of Crew. I have to take 16 each term. I kind of want to shoot myself. No, that’s not true.

Part of me is excited by this seemingly impossible challenge, with surgery and graduation the two landmarks I have to reach. I think I can focus up, I think I can make the jump shot in the last three seconds of the game. I think I can ‘wow’ them in the end. I think I will have to be a recluse who carries text books every where she goes. I think I will have to become a morning person.

In other news, today I beat YYZ, on Guitar Hero 2, on expert setting. I feel like I can officially say now, I Fucking Rock. Sometimes, I wonder why I can wail on a plastic guitar, and suck on a wooden one. Meh. I can rock on expert. That’s not entirely trivial, right?

Ultra Clutch September 12, 2007

I went to see Hairspray, The Musical this evening, with a group of wig and makeup and stage management students. We were the only ones in the theater. Ox sang in his glorious, perfect falsetto for the duration. As a die-hard fan of the original Hairspray, produced in 1988, directed by the legendary John Waters, I had a chip on my shoulder, lets say. I feel that 19 years is not necessarily a long enough amount of time before movies start being reproduced. Write something original, someone. Also, the gritty slums of Baltimore are polished up and made to sparkle, ala musical theater; anyone who has visited Baltimore knows that it resembles John Waters version much more closely in real life. Yeah, they added some rats and a tipped over trashcan, but it lacked The Filth that John Waters always favored in his Baltimore. I won’t say that I didn’t enjoy it…I did. Any mainstream movie that casts a pretty fat girl as the lead gets my vote; the addition of the formidable Allison Janey certainly helps, and Queen Latifah sealed the deal (I like to call her Velvet Thunder, in my head). However, that being said, I disliked two things, primarily.

1. I thought it was a little tacky to bring so many of the actors from Hairspray ‘88 into the mix. These are two completely different movies. The locale and the characters names are the same, the general gist is there from one to the next, but they are not the same story. To have John Waters portray a flasher during the ‘Good Morning Baltimore’ number was a stroke of Hitchcockian genius; when Jerry Stiller showed up as Mr. Pinky, and Ricki Lake as a brooding talent scout, the gag had gone too far.

2. The trend of putting famous skinny people into fat suits needs to come to it’s ridiculous end. There are plenty of great fat actors; use them. No, they will not have the name recognition of John Travolta, but I guarantee they will be more convincing in their roles. How many fat drag queens have I seen in my lifetime? I mean, dozens. Drag queens can dance just as good as John Travolta (sometimes), and they usually end up looking more like Tina Turner; high kicks and lots of rapid, tiny steps in their high-high heels. It has been suggested that JT was cast because of his dancing abilities, but I don’t buy it. His big number at the end was totally lackluster…a queen from Trailer Trash drag night could have outshone him. His facial prosthetics made his eyes look much too close together, and his affected effeminate lilt was obnoxious and made him sound mildly retarded on a few occasions. All in all, I found it offensive; get a real drag queen to play the role of the mom, or else get a real woman…a straight man was not the right choice there. Divine must be rolling over in her grave, having the likes of Revolta replace him.

Oh, but Velvet Thunder looked delicious in her final costume…gold metallic fabric and brilliant red plumes everywhere. Yum.

I’m glad I got a student discount price. My opinion: not worth $9, definitely worth matinee or $2 shows.

Today, I only cried once. Things are looking up.

School Is Back In Session September 11, 2007

Well, not officially til Thursday, but I have obligations there every day this week, anyway. I just got finished doing course planning and advising with HoJo, and this year is gonna be a doozy. The dean of academics, last year, had done a bit of wheeling and dealing with me (she said she knew just by talking to me that I had a more well-rounded body of knowledge than the usual 18 year old incoming student, and as such, we could modify my academic requirements), but she’s not the dean anymore, so those deals are null and void. And it’s kind of like I’m starting from scratch, my senior year. So this will be a year of 22 credit hours, each semester. Is it possible? Maybe not. Am I going to try? Oh, hell yes. I can’t fathom the thought of a fifth year at this school, not because of pride, but because I’m tired. This conservatory experience is so fucking brutal; it consumes your life, every waking moment, and I’m Just Too Old to keep pulling all-nighters to get my work done. I need my beauty sleep, people! The bright side is that I get to charge the two shows in the thrust this year, which are the largest shows we do on campus. Good portfolio material!!

I woke up upset this morning, but HoJo managed to bring me out of it, bless him. He reminded me that as I have the busiest senior year I could have possibly scheduled for myself, that I will hardly have time for anything but my studies. And he’s right. It would have been impossible to maintain a relationship with anyone this coming year. 22 credit hours a term, plus a life-changing surgery in December; I’d say I have a pretty full plate on the horizon without a strained and complicated romantic relationship to consider. Absorbing myself in my work will probably be the best way to avert the Depression that would have inevitably followed this heartbreak, so I suppose it’s all for the best.

I will have to remember how to relieve stress, all on my own. I should stock up on ‘C’ batteries, that’s for sure.

… September 9, 2007

So, the shock has worn off, officially. I made myself cook dinner tonight, including an apple pie because I knew I might need it, and once it was out of the oven, piping hot, all I could think was that it was the saddest apple pie I’d ever seen. That single thought triggered the uprising of the Strongest Emotion I have ever had in my life. It almost knocked me to my knees. Anchors and the Ox are coming over later, bless their hearts. I might cry a lot in front of other people today. At least I held my shit together on the river. That could be one of those defining moments in life. “I made it down The River, I can do this, too”, or something.

I maybe shouldn’t document this break-up on my anonymous blog for all to see, JJJ could be offended by it, but I’m trying to practice what I preach: honesty. I’ll lay out there, what the hell. Here’s my disclaimer, before my posts of the next few weeks (months) are rambly and melancholy and possibly boring, while I exorcise my heartbreak with words: I love JJJ so much that even now, with a funny little pit of anger and bile in my stomach, I can’t find it in me to dislike her. Usually, when someone has hurt me on this level, my heart does a Cauterizing Dance, and neatly seals off the wound. The Icy Chaser follows that, and then I’m left with hard nuggets of memories, of which I can neatly dispose. Sure, I remember every single person that has wounded me greatly, but I feel different this time. I don’t know what to do with that. I can recognize the fatal damage that has been done, and I see that we simply cannot be together in the near future (ever?), but I don’t have it in me to cut her out of my life. I almost wish that I did, right now, this minute, while I’m watching the minutes flow by on the clock, and I’m wishing that I wasn’t scared to go lay down alone and face the dark of my small room.

Shit. Nobody wants to read this.

I’m not writing this for anyone but myself. Yeah, sure.

I shouldn’t be typing right now. This is something akin to drunken texting, it could go so wrong.

Here’s what it all boils down to: I thought I had loved Those Other Women before her, and I realize now that no , before Jane I hadn’t met a partner that I was capable of loving unconditionally. I’m humiliated, and my trust in the human race has been shaken strong enough that I may have lost something I’ll never regain, and still I love her. I think I might have seen a person in her that no one else has ever looked upon, and while all of this might sound like a bizarre Victim Mentality, I have discovered what it means to love someone of my choosing, unconditionally. I couldn’t realize that until tonight, when I saw her again, and I knew that regardless of what has passed, I can’t not give her a shot at redemption. I think that redemption could be years in the making, but I believe it could happen. I want it to happen. I want to trust her again, and have the life we dreamed together for the last year.

I’ve never felt this way before. It’s throwing me for a loop. It’s not all that often that I enter completely uncharted regions of my emotions.

iTunes has a sense of humor tonight. It’s playing the soundtrack to The Breakup so perfectly.

National Day of Rest is guuuuuud September 4, 2007

So, aside from almost being too broke to pay for gas to get there, JJJ and I ventured to my grandmother’s house this weekend. My sweet lady had first time introductions to my grandmother, crazy aunt PeeWee, my waste of space uncle, and my young cousin J. Granted, only my aunt knew previously that JJJ is my girlfriend, and my grandmother and I have still never Had That Conversation, but it went really well. It was actually a whole lot of fun. My mom was there, and in good spirits…we laughed a lot, drank several pitchers of fresh peach daquiris, and played card games and Scrabble so constantly that, for the first time in a long time, we weren’t parked in front of the TV after dinner, til bed. Of course, I had to weather the requisite Food Coma (meant in the highest regards, naturally) that my grandmother’s cooking induces, twice a day, yet we managed to pack some good times into the day. My aunt, whom I absolutely adore, has just purchased a Playstation 3, never having been a gamer before in her life (she says it’s for the blueray technology), and brought the system so that I could get her past the profile stages of her three video games; that was fun. The graphics are really pretty impressive (although I’m not sold on it’s superiority to the XBox 360) but the controls are so extensive and complicated that I tired of each game after about ten or fifteen minutes. Also, PeeWee had her new-ish rottweiler puppy with her, and it was difficult to tear myself away from his soft, droopy, puppy eyes for too long when he was in the room with me. Such a peach. He’s seven months old, and 100 lbs of shiny black cuddles. I had a great time rolling around on the floor with him. His breed gets such a bad rap…two of the sweetest, smartest dogs I’ve ever known are Rotties. However, this weekend also proved the hypothesis that Rottweiler’s have the most frequent and worst smelling gas of any dogs on Earth. Granted, they’ve been PeeWee’s dogs, and PeeWee idolizes the Dog Whisperer, and trains her dogs with his TV guidance…his shit works, that’s all I know.

I’ve gotten so off-topic. It was interesting being at my grandma’s with JJJ. It was all very pleasant and easy-going, but still. I have a very good relationship with my grandma, and I don’t believe that her love for me could waver if we admitted to each other that I know that she knows, but it would most likely make some tiny waves if I actually said it out loud. However, Southern Etiquette and the fact that JJJ is charming made for a good weekend. My cousin, J, who I also have a good relationship with, wouldn’t stop staring at my girlfriend’s hot rack, so after ten hours or so, while we were playing cards on Grandma’s porch, I asked J if he knew that JJJ is my girlfriend. Oh, the look on his face was priceless, truly priceless. I can’t decide how the chips will fall from that question, but I guess I’ll find out. He loves me, we have a special relationship that we both value, and I think I’ve probably only given him pause for thought. I’m left feeling like the coming out process can be gradual, delicious anxiety that lasts for years. Tiers of Coming Out, you know. Progress, any way you look at it, and I feel good.

The biggest highlight of the weekend: four hours stolen at the public access of a particularly delightful beach. Perfect air and water temperature, a picnic lunch, and a boogie board…good times. We are both windburnt, which is better than sunburnt, because fire doesn’t come out of your soul through your derma, you just look like it does. Sandblasted might be a better explanation. Totally worth it, at any rate. We finished off our soujourn by eating Fried Seafood, complete with a view. My stomach hurts now from the amount of grease I ate, but once again, totally worth it.