I strive to always be available to my friends. If they really need me for anything, they can just call, send me a text, or just come over. I love to listen and I try to give good advice when I'm able. If nothing else I'm good for a hug and some company.
On the other hand, I expect the same in return. I expect that if I give up my time and energy—and emotional stability—to help you, you can do the same for me when I need it. It's unfortunate that sometimes this give-take facet of a relationship (called "friendship," by the way) ends up being give, give, give. One person cannot be the only one working in a relationship if you want the relationship to survive. Can't. It just doesn't work that way.
----
Recently, I found myself in a poor situation. My then-best friend was having a rough time with his own life—trying to maintain his academics (which is a terribly stressful activity at Westminster Choir College), trying to maintain friendly relationships with those around him, and making a solid concerted effort to dispel a negative atmosphere people had created over one mistake.
Through it all, I tried to be the best friend. I defended him to others when he wasn't around. I encouraged his endeavors into building other friendships. I tried so hard to get him and those around him to do the right thing. I ensured him that though he had made mistakes, he wasn't a bad person because of them, that his feelings aren't wrong, that he could make it through it all, that no one hates him for anything, that I'd always be there for him if he needed to talk or cry or anything at all.
I did everything I could to try to be the best friend. I wanted to be the one he could go to if he needed to talk or just wanted to hang out. I wanted to be the one he could tell anything to without risk of judgment.
Apparently whatever I did wasn't enough. We are no longer best friends. He can't talk to me. He won't listen to me. He thinks I've changed my view of him as a person somewhere in the mix of things. He doesn't honestly like me as a person enough to ever hang out with me. Not to mention he directly stated that he no longer considers me his best friend.
I can tell when he needs help or a talk, but I know that I'm always the secondary or even tertiary friend in those situations. He has never come to me to talk. I always have to force myself in.
Perhaps in dealing with his other issues he forgets or puts aside our friendship, but that's not okay to me. Being second in priority to other people is not okay. I would gladly be second to his emotional or physical health, but that's not what it is.
And I'm done. I'm done trying. I'm done with being available to him. I'm done putting in so much effort that never has any returns. I'm done being an outlying figure he titled "best friend." I give up. I'm obviously not good enough to be there anyway. There is nothing else I can do.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The One Thing My Friends Can't Say
I am extremely liberal. I honestly don't care what people say or do as long as they don't hurt others intentionally or infringe on others' ability to say or do what they want.
Go get drunk.
Go fuck the entire cheer squad.
Go smoke weed and meander around campus high as a bird.
Tell me about all of it.
It's cool. Have fun. Do what you want; it's your life.
This is true in all cases but one. The one sole statement I can't ever deal with hearing from my friends, the one thing that will immediately change my mood to angry and depressed is "I'm gonna kill myself."
I don't care if they're joking. I don't care if it was just a statement in passing. I don't care how many times they say "I don't really mean it! I'm just kidding!"
Fuck you. DO NOT JOKE ABOUT KILLING YOURSELF. EVER.
I have had so many friends who have called me in the middle of the night to tell me they were about to drive to the nearest bridge, to tell me they wanted to die right then, that they hate their life and they hate feeling helpless and they hate being alone and they feel like no one loves them and no one cares and that no one would be there for them and that no one would care if they just died right then.
And every time I got a call and I heard the sobbing, frantic, or just apathetic voice I dipped into that feeling of loneliness, of helplessness. I couldn't help them. I didn't know what to do to help them. They weren't always best friends...they occasionally were acquaintances who just felt like they could talk to me. But all the same, my love for life and living made it so difficult to deal with the idea of someone I know ending his life--oddly enough, all of the calls were from guys. I just had to listen and talk to them. Calm them down and try my damnedest to reaffirm their appreciation of life.
So now, whenever someone I know, particularly when they are personally close to me, says that they are going to commit suicide, that they wish they were dead, that they're going to jump off a building, or slit their wrists, all of these emotions and feelings of helplessness, all the sleepless nights and teary conversations, all the fear of what might happen between when I hung up and when I saw them next, come flooding back to me full force. I go to bed and I worry. I can't even contemplate what I would do if someone ever said it and then went through with it. It's unthinkable.
I again state, DO NOT JOKE ABOUT KILLING YOURSELF.
It's stupid. It hurts. It's not funny.
Go get drunk.
Go fuck the entire cheer squad.
Go smoke weed and meander around campus high as a bird.
Tell me about all of it.
It's cool. Have fun. Do what you want; it's your life.
This is true in all cases but one. The one sole statement I can't ever deal with hearing from my friends, the one thing that will immediately change my mood to angry and depressed is "I'm gonna kill myself."
I don't care if they're joking. I don't care if it was just a statement in passing. I don't care how many times they say "I don't really mean it! I'm just kidding!"
Fuck you. DO NOT JOKE ABOUT KILLING YOURSELF. EVER.
I have had so many friends who have called me in the middle of the night to tell me they were about to drive to the nearest bridge, to tell me they wanted to die right then, that they hate their life and they hate feeling helpless and they hate being alone and they feel like no one loves them and no one cares and that no one would be there for them and that no one would care if they just died right then.
And every time I got a call and I heard the sobbing, frantic, or just apathetic voice I dipped into that feeling of loneliness, of helplessness. I couldn't help them. I didn't know what to do to help them. They weren't always best friends...they occasionally were acquaintances who just felt like they could talk to me. But all the same, my love for life and living made it so difficult to deal with the idea of someone I know ending his life--oddly enough, all of the calls were from guys. I just had to listen and talk to them. Calm them down and try my damnedest to reaffirm their appreciation of life.
So now, whenever someone I know, particularly when they are personally close to me, says that they are going to commit suicide, that they wish they were dead, that they're going to jump off a building, or slit their wrists, all of these emotions and feelings of helplessness, all the sleepless nights and teary conversations, all the fear of what might happen between when I hung up and when I saw them next, come flooding back to me full force. I go to bed and I worry. I can't even contemplate what I would do if someone ever said it and then went through with it. It's unthinkable.
I again state, DO NOT JOKE ABOUT KILLING YOURSELF.
It's stupid. It hurts. It's not funny.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
If You Seek Amy's Disco Stick
I always told myself I'd never like Britney Spears or anyone like her. That pop diva crap was just not my thing back in the day. Once again, the public school system corrupted my innocent mind (lol). Why, despite my adamant reproach of all things Britney, did fucking Amy stay in my head? Why do I still feel the urge to take a ride on your disco stick? How come I can't hold a single conversation without repeating "you're a jerk"?
Pop culture has finally managed to take over! For years I've avoided its grasp, blaring symphonies in the car while the car next to mine caused earthquakes in China with their frickin' massive bass. But it isn't for lack of trying that I've fallen to this level of cultural morass. It's my survival instinct, my need for a connection to "the group," which has forced upon me the likes of Britney Spears and Stefania Gabriella Germanotta and all the other artists I'm now enjoying, though I can't remember most of their names.
I'm justifying this new...music by maintaining my firm belief that as long as you keep a good variety, all you're doing is making sure you're well rounded. There's nothing wrong with recognizing and enjoying crap as long as that's not all you listen to.
So I'll keep listening to Love Game and Toxic, always keeping Mozart and Liszt in the forefront of my mind. :)
Pop culture has finally managed to take over! For years I've avoided its grasp, blaring symphonies in the car while the car next to mine caused earthquakes in China with their frickin' massive bass. But it isn't for lack of trying that I've fallen to this level of cultural morass. It's my survival instinct, my need for a connection to "the group," which has forced upon me the likes of Britney Spears and Stefania Gabriella Germanotta and all the other artists I'm now enjoying, though I can't remember most of their names.
I'm justifying this new...music by maintaining my firm belief that as long as you keep a good variety, all you're doing is making sure you're well rounded. There's nothing wrong with recognizing and enjoying crap as long as that's not all you listen to.
So I'll keep listening to Love Game and Toxic, always keeping Mozart and Liszt in the forefront of my mind. :)
Friday, June 12, 2009
Hugs
Some people see a hug as merely a form of greeting, like a handshake. Some people see it as a farewell. I'm a bit more romantic than these people in that I see a hug as something so much more intimate (not in the I'm-in-love-with-you way)..so much more personal and meaningful. It is a symbol of love and affection, of shared memories and mutual friendliness.
As this school year came to a close, I started receiving waaaay more hugs than I was used to! It wasn't so much a shock to the system as a desensitization. This isn't a bad thing per se, but it was a little disconcerting. To not appear rude or (more) obnoxious, I can't deny a hug just because others see them as a way to great people. I accepted them all and returned them all, even though some of them came from people I barely know...no offense meant if you were one of these people.
To be completely honest, I really love hugs...but only if they mean something, or if the person giving them means something to me. In the past few days, I've had about a hundred "okay, 2 seconds is long enough get off me" hugs. That seems like a lot, but I've been around a ton of people lately. :)
Of the others, I can truly say that I didn't want to let go sometimes. The hug(s) just meant so much more than just "seeya later!" Twice I wanted to cry because I felt like there just wasn't going to be another one like it once we've all left for college. I'm having difficulties expressing myself: so much for having a big vocabulary!
Well, I just wanted to describe what a hug means to me. It's a whole lot more than just a quick embrace and it touches me more than some of you could imagine. Don't waste them!
As this school year came to a close, I started receiving waaaay more hugs than I was used to! It wasn't so much a shock to the system as a desensitization. This isn't a bad thing per se, but it was a little disconcerting. To not appear rude or (more) obnoxious, I can't deny a hug just because others see them as a way to great people. I accepted them all and returned them all, even though some of them came from people I barely know...no offense meant if you were one of these people.
To be completely honest, I really love hugs...but only if they mean something, or if the person giving them means something to me. In the past few days, I've had about a hundred "okay, 2 seconds is long enough get off me" hugs. That seems like a lot, but I've been around a ton of people lately. :)
Of the others, I can truly say that I didn't want to let go sometimes. The hug(s) just meant so much more than just "seeya later!" Twice I wanted to cry because I felt like there just wasn't going to be another one like it once we've all left for college. I'm having difficulties expressing myself: so much for having a big vocabulary!
Well, I just wanted to describe what a hug means to me. It's a whole lot more than just a quick embrace and it touches me more than some of you could imagine. Don't waste them!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The End of a Beginning
I take my title from the intentionally inverted title of my most recent performance: a joint senior recital with Byron Wigfall. It is the last time I will get to sing on that stage, or perform in that theatre; the last time I will be a Woodside student performer; the last time I will have an audience in high school. Though I wished for this day to come, I begged for the school year to end, I cannot help but feel saddened at the end to my beginning.
Over the four years I've spent at Woodside, I have made countless friends, though only a few whom I will consider my friends for life. I have had so many experiences and have overcome so many changes and personal decisions. Through it all, two groups of people have stuck with me: my parents, who will always be there, and my friends, who in just a few short days will be scattered across the country. Many of these people I intend to see in the future, somehow. Many of them will never cross my path again.
I shed a tear for my lost friends and another for my future prospects. Life comes in pairs of opposites, bittersweet till the end. As my carefully tended relationships are forcefully rent, I am following my dream and my ambition into one of the greatest music schools in the country—Westminster Choir College.
I love my friends, from the bottom of my heart. Though I may not always show it—yeah, I know I can be a bit of a smart-ass jerk with no feelings sometimes—I will truly miss all of them more than anything else as I make the journey to college. From my oldest, closest companions—some of whom have been with me since day 1—to the people I've only known since the beginning of this semester, all of them will share a place in my memories and I—damnit I'm gonna cry—hope that they all keep in contact.
It's so very hard to say goodbye and I'm really tired of using clichés and idioms to describe what I'm feeling. So rather than saying something like, "this isn't goodbye" or whatever crap that is, I'm going to just say farewell the way it should be said.
Goodbye. I will love you always and forever.
Over the four years I've spent at Woodside, I have made countless friends, though only a few whom I will consider my friends for life. I have had so many experiences and have overcome so many changes and personal decisions. Through it all, two groups of people have stuck with me: my parents, who will always be there, and my friends, who in just a few short days will be scattered across the country. Many of these people I intend to see in the future, somehow. Many of them will never cross my path again.
I shed a tear for my lost friends and another for my future prospects. Life comes in pairs of opposites, bittersweet till the end. As my carefully tended relationships are forcefully rent, I am following my dream and my ambition into one of the greatest music schools in the country—Westminster Choir College.
I love my friends, from the bottom of my heart. Though I may not always show it—yeah, I know I can be a bit of a smart-ass jerk with no feelings sometimes—I will truly miss all of them more than anything else as I make the journey to college. From my oldest, closest companions—some of whom have been with me since day 1—to the people I've only known since the beginning of this semester, all of them will share a place in my memories and I—damnit I'm gonna cry—hope that they all keep in contact.
It's so very hard to say goodbye and I'm really tired of using clichés and idioms to describe what I'm feeling. So rather than saying something like, "this isn't goodbye" or whatever crap that is, I'm going to just say farewell the way it should be said.
Goodbye. I will love you always and forever.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Prom!
Oh boy! Was prom an experience! It was most definitely the greatest dance I've had the pleasure of attending.
Normally, when I go to a dance, it's for the social aspect of it. I go to say "hi" to people and to say that I went at all. I'm not as socially awkward as I once was and can now enjoy myself a bit more. At prom, I just let go of some of my inhibitions and allowed myself to just have fun instead of worrying (as much) about what people were thinking.
I know I can't dance, everyone around me could see that I couldn't dance, and there was little chance of rectifying this in the four hours I was there. So, rather than worry about the fact that I look weird when I try to dance, I just did it and hoped no one cared. I first tried the good-ol' two step bit that uses just a basic bob and step to keep rhythm. This got boring very quickly. I normally don't advocate having sex on the dance floor—which is what dancing seems to have become—but tonight I figured what the hell. Grinding. Yes. It is fun. Believe it or not, like it or not, participate or not, it's there and it made my night so much better. A few of my girl friends—and surprisingly one of my straight guy friends...—forced me to try it. Despite my inability to move multiple parts of my body in rhythm in a way that doesn't make me look completely stupid, I managed to grind satisfactorily...and I enjoyed it.
For the rest of the night, I was grabbed by various people (who I fortunately knew) to grind. I've never been so frickin' close to the middle of a dance floor orgy in my life! Haha! A few people pulled me in to dance who I was not exactly expecting, and whether it was just to be nice or they actually wanted to dance with me, I had a helluva lot of fun and for the first time felt like I belonged in such a group setting. I was waaaay out of my comfort zone, but in a good way. Cute boys dancin' on me; cute girls dancin' on me; my sad attempts to reciprocate; it's all good.
Following this wonderful experience, I enjoyed a few hours of afterprom–the school's attempt to keep students from doing stupid stuff after prom. I left early from that to go to IHop at 3:30. Oh happy days! I was back in my comfort zone. Food.
And so, I will try to add a moral to this story to make it worth the time spent reading it:
Don't let your inhibitions keep you from enjoying yourself. If you do, you'll be left with nothing but a bunch of boredom and bad memories to reminisce upon when you're all alone.
Normally, when I go to a dance, it's for the social aspect of it. I go to say "hi" to people and to say that I went at all. I'm not as socially awkward as I once was and can now enjoy myself a bit more. At prom, I just let go of some of my inhibitions and allowed myself to just have fun instead of worrying (as much) about what people were thinking.
I know I can't dance, everyone around me could see that I couldn't dance, and there was little chance of rectifying this in the four hours I was there. So, rather than worry about the fact that I look weird when I try to dance, I just did it and hoped no one cared. I first tried the good-ol' two step bit that uses just a basic bob and step to keep rhythm. This got boring very quickly. I normally don't advocate having sex on the dance floor—which is what dancing seems to have become—but tonight I figured what the hell. Grinding. Yes. It is fun. Believe it or not, like it or not, participate or not, it's there and it made my night so much better. A few of my girl friends—and surprisingly one of my straight guy friends...—forced me to try it. Despite my inability to move multiple parts of my body in rhythm in a way that doesn't make me look completely stupid, I managed to grind satisfactorily...and I enjoyed it.
For the rest of the night, I was grabbed by various people (who I fortunately knew) to grind. I've never been so frickin' close to the middle of a dance floor orgy in my life! Haha! A few people pulled me in to dance who I was not exactly expecting, and whether it was just to be nice or they actually wanted to dance with me, I had a helluva lot of fun and for the first time felt like I belonged in such a group setting. I was waaaay out of my comfort zone, but in a good way. Cute boys dancin' on me; cute girls dancin' on me; my sad attempts to reciprocate; it's all good.
Following this wonderful experience, I enjoyed a few hours of afterprom–the school's attempt to keep students from doing stupid stuff after prom. I left early from that to go to IHop at 3:30. Oh happy days! I was back in my comfort zone. Food.
And so, I will try to add a moral to this story to make it worth the time spent reading it:
Don't let your inhibitions keep you from enjoying yourself. If you do, you'll be left with nothing but a bunch of boredom and bad memories to reminisce upon when you're all alone.
Monday, May 25, 2009
It Has Been a While
How glorious it is to be experiencing the final movement of dependency and teenage drama! These past four years have, in my opinion, dragged by in a painfully slow fashion until this year, and I am quite ready for it all to be over and done with so I can finally move on to bigger and better things.
You may be wondering, though probably not, what has occupied my time since my last post about two months ago:
Shew! Glad that little "me me me" bit is over.
Recently, procrastination and a bit of apathy has begun to plague my existence. Such horrible traits can be aptly attributed to a disease of the mind called "senioritis." This affliction tears at one's mind forcing him or her to abandon many of the tasks he or she may have been assigned. For instance, following the AP Calculus exams, my wonderful teacher gave us about 3 classes of break, and has once again resumed teaching and assigning homework. This is utterly useless to me, as I've already taken the test the class was designed for and I will not remember anything taught between now and graduation anyway. I understand why teachers must continue to teach, but that doesn't mean that what they teach is going to be of any use to anyone.
From what I've seen of the world so far, integration doesn't come up very often as a necessity to continuing the day. Why couldn't there be a project like in all the other AP classes? In English we are making "Totem Cords," which are 6 foot long ropes that will have ~10 items that represent the maker hanging from them. In Physics we are making trebuchets in groups. Ah...what a lamentable travesty it is to have such a waste of time occurring in the school building.
Fortunately, I'm an auditory learner and can simply sit and listen to the explanations and, with very little effort, pass all the quizzes and tests.
Further fortune is found in the literature with which I have recently been drawn to (not that I would ever read in class! That would be wrong! ;) ). Using alibris.com, I managed to purchase six books for $28, including shipping. Fabulous! Winter Birds by Jim Grimsley, Boulevard by Jim Grimsley, A Boy's Own Story by Edmund White, Justine by Marquis de Sade, Rainbow High by Alex Sanchez, and Rainbow Road by Alex Sanchez. Along with the other books I purchased at a different time (Dream Boy by Jim Grimsley, Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchez, and a Russian verbs and grammar dictionary) I've had plenty to procrastinate with. I would easily recommend all of these books, though particularly the Jim Grimsley novels. They are just so spectacularly written—very detail and imagery oriented, he leaves nothing out. It is all important and goes very far in creating the story for the reader. Most of the above, by the way, is gay literature. They are either coming-to-terms/of-age type stories or they are gay experience type stories. They've made me happy and sad and all of the various (and more descriptive) emotions that fall in between.
I feel like I'm ranting a bit too much about stuff that doesn't really matter and isn't very interesting, so that's the end of this message.
You may be wondering, though probably not, what has occupied my time since my last post about two months ago:
- I got a boyfriend! :D
- I lost a boyfriend. :(
- I started working again! :D
- I'm really not convinced I like my job anymore. :(
- I've completed everything except orientation for college! :D
- I'm learning Russian! :D
- I'm finally competent with the piano piece I've been working on for over a year (Debussy's La Cathedrale Engloutie)! :D
- I've had three lovely AP exams (English, Physics B and Calculus AB). :(
- Mrs. Grigg (AP English) loves assigning projects. I've had lots of them. Fun.
- I've gone to All State Chorus and the chorus spring trip and was a lead in a musical (Sir Harry: Once Upon A Mattress).
Shew! Glad that little "me me me" bit is over.
Recently, procrastination and a bit of apathy has begun to plague my existence. Such horrible traits can be aptly attributed to a disease of the mind called "senioritis." This affliction tears at one's mind forcing him or her to abandon many of the tasks he or she may have been assigned. For instance, following the AP Calculus exams, my wonderful teacher gave us about 3 classes of break, and has once again resumed teaching and assigning homework. This is utterly useless to me, as I've already taken the test the class was designed for and I will not remember anything taught between now and graduation anyway. I understand why teachers must continue to teach, but that doesn't mean that what they teach is going to be of any use to anyone.
From what I've seen of the world so far, integration doesn't come up very often as a necessity to continuing the day. Why couldn't there be a project like in all the other AP classes? In English we are making "Totem Cords," which are 6 foot long ropes that will have ~10 items that represent the maker hanging from them. In Physics we are making trebuchets in groups. Ah...what a lamentable travesty it is to have such a waste of time occurring in the school building.
Fortunately, I'm an auditory learner and can simply sit and listen to the explanations and, with very little effort, pass all the quizzes and tests.
Further fortune is found in the literature with which I have recently been drawn to (not that I would ever read in class! That would be wrong! ;) ). Using alibris.com, I managed to purchase six books for $28, including shipping. Fabulous! Winter Birds by Jim Grimsley, Boulevard by Jim Grimsley, A Boy's Own Story by Edmund White, Justine by Marquis de Sade, Rainbow High by Alex Sanchez, and Rainbow Road by Alex Sanchez. Along with the other books I purchased at a different time (Dream Boy by Jim Grimsley, Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchez, and a Russian verbs and grammar dictionary) I've had plenty to procrastinate with. I would easily recommend all of these books, though particularly the Jim Grimsley novels. They are just so spectacularly written—very detail and imagery oriented, he leaves nothing out. It is all important and goes very far in creating the story for the reader. Most of the above, by the way, is gay literature. They are either coming-to-terms/of-age type stories or they are gay experience type stories. They've made me happy and sad and all of the various (and more descriptive) emotions that fall in between.
I feel like I'm ranting a bit too much about stuff that doesn't really matter and isn't very interesting, so that's the end of this message.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Love
Love is interesting. It's both colloquially used and indefinable. It's frequently misconstrued and often empty of any real emotion. And yet, when it is used with all of the emotional ties and contextual appropriateness, you know it. Despite how recurrent the word "love" is in general conversations—ranging from food (I love cheesecake!) to movies (I love that new movie, "Doubt.") to idols (I love Meryl Streep.) to that feeling between two teens in high school who started dating last week (I love him/her more than anything else!)—you can always tell sincere, real love from the general "off-brand" love.
Reflect a bit on how often you use the word "love" in a day and, depending on how well you watch your tongue, you may be surprised by how often it pops up. I recently did a bit of introspection on what/who I actually love and what/who I "love."
Loves
Love-nots
There are many other things I could say I don't love, but that seems like a waste of cyber-space.
I have many likes and I have liked many, but of love I have encountered not five. There are myriad people I could say I like. There are couple I could say I like a lot. But to incite love, I must feel the same in return: reciprocation, if you will. This isn't to say I want something from anyone I might love, but I could never love someone who doesn't love me in return.
Following on this train of thought is the idea of "making love." This is most certainly a misnomer as the act of inserting ones...phallus into an...orifice (this is my attempt to use euphemisms to keep my blog relatively work-friendly) is purely hedonistic. It's fun, it feels good, woot woot! But no love. Which is why intercourse of any kind shall only occur between lovers (in my case). Pointless, loveless sex just causes problems. Falling in love first will make it so much more exciting—and therefore more loving (you get the whole love of experience in there).
"Love thy neighbor." No. I will not. I will be friendly with my neighbor. That's all.
Reflect a bit on how often you use the word "love" in a day and, depending on how well you watch your tongue, you may be surprised by how often it pops up. I recently did a bit of introspection on what/who I actually love and what/who I "love."
Loves
- Mom & Dad
- Sure it's a standard, but it's a standard for a reason. Unless your parents are in some way abusive, they are probably doing whatever they are doing because they love you and are attempting to help you make yourself better. I love my parents and I know they love me back.
- Life
- Despite numerous complaints, I cannot honestly say I don't enjoy life. Every minute of every day gives me new insight into myself and others. I am constantly learning new things—not that I will ever need calculus or physics in my career. I love to see things happen and experience everything. Paradoxically, while I may not like certain things, I love feeling and experiencing them nonetheless.
- Art
- I truly love all forms of art and expression. It amazes me that something so simple as words on a page, dots on a staff, people on a stage, or color on a canvas can tell so much to so many. Art, in all its shapes, creates a world of experience and understanding. If fewer people spent time glued to their trash TV (sorry, but I cannot call any form of reality television "art" in even its broadest form) and dollar menu meals, and instead read a book, watched a meaningful movie, or went to an opera the world could be a better place. Artists (poets, musicians, actors, painters, sculptors, authors, etc.) have been creating messages for as long as art has existed, for as long as mankind has had the mental capacity to understand the abstract. I have never felt so emotional as when I read a phenomenally written book, or finished a spectacular movie, or played/sang an extraordinary piece of music.
- Language
- As a sort of subset to Art, language is an expression, a representation of thoughts in a form understood by billions. It provides for every form of an idea one might have, though bearing the flaws inherent in expressing the abstract. It molds itself around the culture and has yet to fail me.
Love-nots
- Food
- While I love the experience that comes with food, I can't say that I feel any sort of emotional attraction to it. It's tasty and that's all.
- People
- My daily mantra, as all of my friends know, is "I hate people." This isn't true, of course, but as with all jokes there is an element of truth: while I like people generally, I will never be able to say I love people as a whole. And until I get to know someone very well and actually develop that emotional connection to him, I will never be able to say I love any person (with the exception being my family).
- Things
- There are many important objects in my life: cell phone, laptop, books (referential), vehicle (I hope it dies and burns in hell—yes I know I'm personifying the damned thing), iPod, camera, pen/pencil, piano, etc. These things play a great role in my day-to-day functions, and yet, I feel as if they are merely amenities making life easier, but not any more fulfilling. I do not feel a connection to these objects, and I bear no love for them at all.
There are many other things I could say I don't love, but that seems like a waste of cyber-space.
I have many likes and I have liked many, but of love I have encountered not five. There are myriad people I could say I like. There are couple I could say I like a lot. But to incite love, I must feel the same in return: reciprocation, if you will. This isn't to say I want something from anyone I might love, but I could never love someone who doesn't love me in return.
Following on this train of thought is the idea of "making love." This is most certainly a misnomer as the act of inserting ones...phallus into an...orifice (this is my attempt to use euphemisms to keep my blog relatively work-friendly) is purely hedonistic. It's fun, it feels good, woot woot! But no love. Which is why intercourse of any kind shall only occur between lovers (in my case). Pointless, loveless sex just causes problems. Falling in love first will make it so much more exciting—and therefore more loving (you get the whole love of experience in there).
"Love thy neighbor." No. I will not. I will be friendly with my neighbor. That's all.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Leave Me Alone!
As a teenager nearing the age of liberation from my 18-year imprisonment (I mean this in the fondest fashion), I often wish to scream out obscenities and "leave me alone!"s as my days progress. At the end of a particularly long day, the last thing I need is for someone to start talking to me about what I should be doing, what I need to do, what I forgot to do, etc. It's analogous to taunting a black bear.
Similarly, I am NOT a morning person. DO NOT MESS WITH ME BEFORE 10 O'CLOCK, as a general rule. I do not appreciate taunting, teasing, superfluous questioning, or anything remotely resembling such things. It's just not a good time for that.
Well, if you subtract all morning hours, and all afternoon hours, you're left with a relatively small window in which to ask for things or give orders. I recognize this, and so withhold my vociferation.
Unfortunately, holding back the onslaught of emotion and hormones causes them to build up like water behind a dam. And while my dam is very well reinforced, these feelings still cause great amounts of stress. The only tried-and-true relief for such an immense structural stressor is complete apathy to what is currently happening. By allowing myself to mentally release all care for my immediate situation, I empty the dam and rejuvenate my mind.
It is rare (nigh impossible) to find someone who can be completely calm and stress-free all the time. Everyone has off days and everyone gets upset. The only thing to do is release and allow your body and mind to return to a neutral state, if not a jocund state. Take things as they come. Don't forget what's coming at you, but when thinking about things isn't pertinent, allow your mind to let it all go and simply stop caring for a little while.
Similarly, I am NOT a morning person. DO NOT MESS WITH ME BEFORE 10 O'CLOCK, as a general rule. I do not appreciate taunting, teasing, superfluous questioning, or anything remotely resembling such things. It's just not a good time for that.
Well, if you subtract all morning hours, and all afternoon hours, you're left with a relatively small window in which to ask for things or give orders. I recognize this, and so withhold my vociferation.
Unfortunately, holding back the onslaught of emotion and hormones causes them to build up like water behind a dam. And while my dam is very well reinforced, these feelings still cause great amounts of stress. The only tried-and-true relief for such an immense structural stressor is complete apathy to what is currently happening. By allowing myself to mentally release all care for my immediate situation, I empty the dam and rejuvenate my mind.
Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it.
Jane Wagner, (and Lily Tomlin)
It is rare (nigh impossible) to find someone who can be completely calm and stress-free all the time. Everyone has off days and everyone gets upset. The only thing to do is release and allow your body and mind to return to a neutral state, if not a jocund state. Take things as they come. Don't forget what's coming at you, but when thinking about things isn't pertinent, allow your mind to let it all go and simply stop caring for a little while.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
He Sees Me
He sees me.
I hide
In the dark.
Like a child,
The quiet solitude keeps them out,
But I
Can’t feel.
I move it.
He sees me.
My hands rise
To keep the pulsing
In the dark.
And I
Remain hidden.
I drop them.
I follow.
He sees me
And I
Stop the sound
Which threatens the earth.
And I…
They part.
In the dark–
Can't speak.
He sees me.
And I
Turn away
To distractions.
And I
Look back.
And I
See the stars.
He sees me
And I
Make a mistake.
It rushes,
The sanguine stampede.
And I
Crumble.
The weight.
He sees me.
And I…
Sickening fall.
The earth shivering.
Like Pompeii,
All is lost.
And I
Wait.
He sees me.
I hide
In the dark.
Like a child,
The quiet solitude keeps them out,
But I
Can’t feel.
I move it.
He sees me.
My hands rise
To keep the pulsing
In the dark.
And I
Remain hidden.
I drop them.
I follow.
He sees me
And I
Stop the sound
Which threatens the earth.
And I…
They part.
In the dark–
Can't speak.
He sees me.
And I
Turn away
To distractions.
And I
Look back.
And I
See the stars.
He sees me
And I
Make a mistake.
It rushes,
The sanguine stampede.
And I
Crumble.
The weight.
He sees me.
And I…
Sickening fall.
The earth shivering.
Like Pompeii,
All is lost.
And I
Wait.
He sees me.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My "Straight" Friend…
In the Queer world, one can find any number of different categories under which one might find oneself: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transexual, Intersexed, Bi-Curious, etc. One of the labels I never really understood, or perhaps hadn't seen in practical use, is "Questioning." The "Q" in LGBTQ.
Recently, I've realized one of my friends doesn't quite fit into any of the general categories, but, like the tapestry of life, is woven right into the "Q" category. He presents himself as positively heterosexual, but privately may think otherwise.
The object of this post, though, isn't a case study of the aforementioned companion, but the presentation of a personal belief.
Despite my friend's questionable sexual orientation, I refuse to push him in either direction. Occasionally I may kid, but never in a way that might alter his perception of himself.
In general, it is never the right or proper thing to do to influence a person's introspective views. Accept others as they are; never attempt to change that. No matter what he finally decides defines him, I'll accept him, and so will all of his other good friends.
Expansion to a universal level:
No matter a person's beliefs or views or orientation or other immutable characteristic, the only opinion that should ever be expressed to them is positive acceptance. This isn't to say that if they are basing something on a scientific fallacy, I wouldn't correct it. Truth is the ultimate necessity. But as it comes to opinions, it is unjust to the idea of freedom to try to take that away from someone.
To those who feel this is happening to them or has happened to them, never let anyone sway your opinions or beliefs.
This brings to mind the inspiring lyrics to Jason Mraz's "Details in the Fabric."
(retrieved from http://www.metrolyrics.com)
Recently, I've realized one of my friends doesn't quite fit into any of the general categories, but, like the tapestry of life, is woven right into the "Q" category. He presents himself as positively heterosexual, but privately may think otherwise.
The object of this post, though, isn't a case study of the aforementioned companion, but the presentation of a personal belief.
Despite my friend's questionable sexual orientation, I refuse to push him in either direction. Occasionally I may kid, but never in a way that might alter his perception of himself.
In general, it is never the right or proper thing to do to influence a person's introspective views. Accept others as they are; never attempt to change that. No matter what he finally decides defines him, I'll accept him, and so will all of his other good friends.
Expansion to a universal level:
No matter a person's beliefs or views or orientation or other immutable characteristic, the only opinion that should ever be expressed to them is positive acceptance. This isn't to say that if they are basing something on a scientific fallacy, I wouldn't correct it. Truth is the ultimate necessity. But as it comes to opinions, it is unjust to the idea of freedom to try to take that away from someone.
To those who feel this is happening to them or has happened to them, never let anyone sway your opinions or beliefs.
This brings to mind the inspiring lyrics to Jason Mraz's "Details in the Fabric."
Calm down
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed instead
Of running around
And pulling all your threads and
Breaking yourself up
If it's a broken part, replace it
If it's a broken arm then brace it
If it's a broken heart then face it
And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your own name
And go your own way
And everything will be fine
Hang on
Help is on the way
Stay strong
I'm doing everything
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
And everything, everything will be fine
Everything
Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling?
Are the things that make you blow
Hell no reason go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing
Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything
Hold your own
Know your name
Go your own way
Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own)
Are the things that make you panic (Know your name)
Are your thoughts results of static cling? (Go your own way)
Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own)
Are the things that make you panic (Know your name)
Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine? (Go your own way)
Are the things that make you blow (Hold your own)
Hell no reason go on and scream (Know your name)
If you’re shocked it's just the fault (Go your own way)
Of faulty manufacturing
Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold
(retrieved from http://www.metrolyrics.com)
Monday, February 23, 2009
Damn the Internet
I take great joy in being able to write blogs containing my thoughts and views and personal release. I see a blog as a sort of journal, but much more expedient because writing things out causes pain and inherits a legibility speed limit.
I'm able to communicate with distant friends and expand on my feelings about different successes and failures. I can, in effect, communicate my life to others while at the same time complete a research project, chat with a peer, finish the FAFSA, buy a new pair of shoes, and expand my vocabulary near simultaneously and, I must say, quite efficiently.
But this freedom and massive capability has its own pitfalls. And to give a fairly decent analogy, I must give some background:
I am a performer by nature. Almost my entire life I have been singing and acting on the stage of life–recently I've also been acting on an actual stage. As a performer, I had to learn that image plays an enormous part of life. You must make yourself appealing to your audience, no matter who that might be. Otherwise, you may very well end up with no audience at all, and where's the fun in that?
And the more popular you become as a performer, the better you must become as a performer. The wider your audience, the more you must act for them. In the end, you cannot win them all and the only thing you can do is try to make as few as possible hate you.
When it comes to the internet, similar measures must be taken. I write this blog, and because the entire world–including potential future employers and colleges–can peruse at their own caprice, passing judgment on everything I say. My own mother has probably learned a few things about me she did not know (and probably did not want to know). And because I'm forced to perform, I am obliged to censor what I say. I was virtually forced–ah, mother…–to delete or alter one of my 15 things. I understand why: it is nothing but an image. My mother's main lecture point was, "it only takes one person to read your post and then …." So I complied and removed the sentence that in 25 years or so could destroy my life.
What I say in a blog–provided it involves no illegal or immoral activity–really should not have any bearing on what an employer thinks of me. Damn the internet for providing such an amazing chimeric escape for personal thought and reflection on life and giving others the ability to judge your ever word.
I'm able to communicate with distant friends and expand on my feelings about different successes and failures. I can, in effect, communicate my life to others while at the same time complete a research project, chat with a peer, finish the FAFSA, buy a new pair of shoes, and expand my vocabulary near simultaneously and, I must say, quite efficiently.
But this freedom and massive capability has its own pitfalls. And to give a fairly decent analogy, I must give some background:
I am a performer by nature. Almost my entire life I have been singing and acting on the stage of life–recently I've also been acting on an actual stage. As a performer, I had to learn that image plays an enormous part of life. You must make yourself appealing to your audience, no matter who that might be. Otherwise, you may very well end up with no audience at all, and where's the fun in that?
And the more popular you become as a performer, the better you must become as a performer. The wider your audience, the more you must act for them. In the end, you cannot win them all and the only thing you can do is try to make as few as possible hate you.
When it comes to the internet, similar measures must be taken. I write this blog, and because the entire world–including potential future employers and colleges–can peruse at their own caprice, passing judgment on everything I say. My own mother has probably learned a few things about me she did not know (and probably did not want to know). And because I'm forced to perform, I am obliged to censor what I say. I was virtually forced–ah, mother…–to delete or alter one of my 15 things. I understand why: it is nothing but an image. My mother's main lecture point was, "it only takes one person to read your post and then …." So I complied and removed the sentence that in 25 years or so could destroy my life.
What I say in a blog–provided it involves no illegal or immoral activity–really should not have any bearing on what an employer thinks of me. Damn the internet for providing such an amazing chimeric escape for personal thought and reflection on life and giving others the ability to judge your ever word.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
I'm Singin' in the Morn'!
As a tenor, I am wielder of one of the most difficult voice parts (say what you want others, tenor's the hardest). When used properly and with the proper warm-up, it can sound amazing and is well worth the immense effort one must put into it. This is not to say the other parts don't have to work as hard, it is only to say that it is harder for tenors to get to their peak and easier for them to die (vocally, that is).
That said, the morning-time is the worst time for any singer to sing (unless they're nocturnal). It would be difficult for even the world's best soprano to sing a difficult aria early in the morning.
Recently, I was at a vocal performance audition for one of the top music schools in the country, Oberlin Conservatory in Ohio. Though I got up at 7:30 and the audition wasn't until 10:40, for some reason I could not get warmed up well enough by audition time and ended up cracking on every high note in Mozart's Il Mio Tesoro Intanto. Most notably was my high A, the favorite note of this piece. My runs were choppy and overall the song was terrible.
To top this off, the other piece I auditioned with was Ständchen, by Franz Shubert. It is a great piece I've performed numerous times and auditioned with prior to the Oberlin audition. Yet, on this very important day, I forget an entire phrase. Completely blanked, I stand there with my mouth open, the blood draining from my face. "Damn!" I say in my mind. Fortunately, I was able to remember the next phrases and could keep going till the end, even with the knowledge that there was no way Oberlin was going to accept me with that audition.
Two days ago I redeemed myself with my audition at Westminster Choir College, also one of the premier music colleges of America. This is probably because I took a lesson from Oberlin and woke up at 5:00 instead for an audition at approximately the same time. I warmed up for an hour at home, then another 45 minutes there. My repertoire was Il Mio Tesoro Intanto, Mozart; Ständchen, Shubert; Bright is the Ring of Words, Vaughan Williams; and Total Eclipse, Handel. I was fully prepared, with all of my music memorized and my shattered confidence rebuilt after a morning of preparation: hot and steamy shower, green tea and raw honey, slow and steady warm up to a high B.
The audition went phenomenally. I had an interview with the director of music education, Dr. Abrahams, then the vocal audition with three judges whose names I unfortunately cannot recall, then the Advanced Measures of Music Audiation (AMMA) exam. Dr. Abrahams was great; he guided the conversation quite well, and I followed suit answering the questions quickly and with confidence and understanding (hopefully, the fact that he hates my choir director, Mr. Dungee, won't impact my aid). The vocal audition, though shorter than I would have hoped, allowed me to demonstrate my abilities and range and understanding of the pieces I performed. I was allowed to choose the first piece, Ständchen, then they picked the order of the rest. They only wanted to here Bright is the Ring of words, then they told me they had heard enough and from what I could tell, they were pleased.
The AMMA exam was daunting in the respect that it was so terribly easy and so very repetitive. They play a few measures of music, then they play the same measures but with a slight variation in either tonality or rhythm. We had to choose whether the second play was the same, tonally different, or rhythmically different. Quite simple.
Finally, though, to the point of this post. If ever you must sing (or if you know a singer who, perhaps, is unaware) before noon. Ensure that they get the proper amount of rest and that they have at least 4 hours to warm up after they wake up. I, personally, will never make that mistake again. At the time of this post, I am probably just waking up to prepare for a competition at 2:00. Because of my silly inaction, I will probably not be going to my top choice school. Fortunately, Westminster is a spectacular school as well, and I have no inhibitions in following in two of my favorite teachers' footsteps. Thank you Scott Williamson and Jason Dungee for all you've done for me.
That said, the morning-time is the worst time for any singer to sing (unless they're nocturnal). It would be difficult for even the world's best soprano to sing a difficult aria early in the morning.
Recently, I was at a vocal performance audition for one of the top music schools in the country, Oberlin Conservatory in Ohio. Though I got up at 7:30 and the audition wasn't until 10:40, for some reason I could not get warmed up well enough by audition time and ended up cracking on every high note in Mozart's Il Mio Tesoro Intanto. Most notably was my high A, the favorite note of this piece. My runs were choppy and overall the song was terrible.
To top this off, the other piece I auditioned with was Ständchen, by Franz Shubert. It is a great piece I've performed numerous times and auditioned with prior to the Oberlin audition. Yet, on this very important day, I forget an entire phrase. Completely blanked, I stand there with my mouth open, the blood draining from my face. "Damn!" I say in my mind. Fortunately, I was able to remember the next phrases and could keep going till the end, even with the knowledge that there was no way Oberlin was going to accept me with that audition.
Two days ago I redeemed myself with my audition at Westminster Choir College, also one of the premier music colleges of America. This is probably because I took a lesson from Oberlin and woke up at 5:00 instead for an audition at approximately the same time. I warmed up for an hour at home, then another 45 minutes there. My repertoire was Il Mio Tesoro Intanto, Mozart; Ständchen, Shubert; Bright is the Ring of Words, Vaughan Williams; and Total Eclipse, Handel. I was fully prepared, with all of my music memorized and my shattered confidence rebuilt after a morning of preparation: hot and steamy shower, green tea and raw honey, slow and steady warm up to a high B.
The audition went phenomenally. I had an interview with the director of music education, Dr. Abrahams, then the vocal audition with three judges whose names I unfortunately cannot recall, then the Advanced Measures of Music Audiation (AMMA) exam. Dr. Abrahams was great; he guided the conversation quite well, and I followed suit answering the questions quickly and with confidence and understanding (hopefully, the fact that he hates my choir director, Mr. Dungee, won't impact my aid). The vocal audition, though shorter than I would have hoped, allowed me to demonstrate my abilities and range and understanding of the pieces I performed. I was allowed to choose the first piece, Ständchen, then they picked the order of the rest. They only wanted to here Bright is the Ring of words, then they told me they had heard enough and from what I could tell, they were pleased.
The AMMA exam was daunting in the respect that it was so terribly easy and so very repetitive. They play a few measures of music, then they play the same measures but with a slight variation in either tonality or rhythm. We had to choose whether the second play was the same, tonally different, or rhythmically different. Quite simple.
Finally, though, to the point of this post. If ever you must sing (or if you know a singer who, perhaps, is unaware) before noon. Ensure that they get the proper amount of rest and that they have at least 4 hours to warm up after they wake up. I, personally, will never make that mistake again. At the time of this post, I am probably just waking up to prepare for a competition at 2:00. Because of my silly inaction, I will probably not be going to my top choice school. Fortunately, Westminster is a spectacular school as well, and I have no inhibitions in following in two of my favorite teachers' footsteps. Thank you Scott Williamson and Jason Dungee for all you've done for me.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I Cried For the First Time
For the first time in my life, I had enough emotional investment in a movie to create tears with. I was watching Prayers for Bobby on Lifetime.com and I connected with Bobby, the gay main character, on a level I've never had the pleasure to experience with anyone in real life or even in other movies or books.
I understood his plight, his feelings of desperate loneliness and the ceaseless sting of being rejected by those close to you.
Bobby was raised under the religious direction of his mother, Mary, whose interpretation of the bible did not leave room for homosexuality. Without ruining the movie, this perspective is present in so many people in today's day and age, but especially in the time setting of this movie.
The monologue that really set the tears rolling was Mary's, as she speaks to a panel about her son:
Never before have I experienced such a flood of emotions! The somewhat ironic realization that her son was the same Bobby before and after, he was the same boy with the same love. It was only her fear of the stigma of homosexuality that destroyed her relationship with her son, and led to his ultimate suicide.
The scary idea is that adolescents across the country, across the world!, are going through this same issue every day. No one should have to suffer like these people did. The negative connotations, stigmas, stereotypes, and prejudices should not be permitted to escape the mouth of another without harsh rebuttal.
I urge everyone to watch this movie. It is available free on Lifetime.com in eight 20 minute segments (unfortunately with commercials...but what can you do?).
I understood his plight, his feelings of desperate loneliness and the ceaseless sting of being rejected by those close to you.
Bobby was raised under the religious direction of his mother, Mary, whose interpretation of the bible did not leave room for homosexuality. Without ruining the movie, this perspective is present in so many people in today's day and age, but especially in the time setting of this movie.
The monologue that really set the tears rolling was Mary's, as she speaks to a panel about her son:
Homosexuality is a sin. Homosexuals are doomed to spend eternity in hell. If they wanted to change, they could be healed of their evil ways. If they would turn away from temptation, they could be normal again if only they would try and try harder if it doesn't work. These are all the things I said to my son Bobby when I found out he was gay. When he told me he was homosexual my world fell apart. I did everything I could to cure him of his sickness. Eight months ago my son jumped off a bridge and killed himself. I deeply regret my lack of knowledge about gay and lesbian people. I see that everything I was taught and told was bigotry and de-humanizing slander. If I had investigated beyond what I was told, if I had just listened to my son when he poured his heart out to me I would not be standing here today with you filled with regret. I believe that God was pleased with Bobby's kind and loving spirit. In God's eyes kindness and love are what it's all about. I didn't know that each time I echoed eternal damnation for gay people each time I referred to Bobby as sick and perverted and a danger to our children. His self esteem and sense of worth were being destroyed. And finally his spirit broke beyond repair. It was not God's will that Bobby climbed over the side of a freeway overpass and jumped directly into the path of an eighteen-wheel truck which killed him instantly. Bobby's death was the direct result of his parent's ignorance and fear of the word gay. He wanted to be a writer. His hopes and dreams should not have been taken from him but they were. There are children, like Bobby, sitting in your congregations. Unknown to you they will be listening as you echo "amen" and that will soon silence their prayers. Their prayers to God for understanding and acceptance and for your love but your hatred and fear and ignorance of the word gay, will silence those prayers. So, before you echo "amen" in your home and place of worship. Think. Think and remember a child is listening.
Never before have I experienced such a flood of emotions! The somewhat ironic realization that her son was the same Bobby before and after, he was the same boy with the same love. It was only her fear of the stigma of homosexuality that destroyed her relationship with her son, and led to his ultimate suicide.
The scary idea is that adolescents across the country, across the world!, are going through this same issue every day. No one should have to suffer like these people did. The negative connotations, stigmas, stereotypes, and prejudices should not be permitted to escape the mouth of another without harsh rebuttal.
I urge everyone to watch this movie. It is available free on Lifetime.com in eight 20 minute segments (unfortunately with commercials...but what can you do?).
Monday, February 2, 2009
15 Things?
Recently on Facebook, I have noticed the reincarnation of the [some number] things lists appearing. The object of such lists is to have the writer divulge [some number] little-known truths about themselves in a note. They will then tag [some number] people to do the same.
These lists have continually amazed me since the first time I perused one. They have tended, in my experience, to detail some of the very private emotions and ideas people have about life and their experiences. I have created one such list before, though I kept it very superficial—things most of my friends already knew about me.
In an attempt to rectify this, I have created another list, which more accurately describes me and who I really am. I believe this is an extremely useful exercise in introspection and I think anyone who truly believes they know themselves (and their friends) should spend a half hour or so coming up with 15 things most people don't know about them.
These lists have continually amazed me since the first time I perused one. They have tended, in my experience, to detail some of the very private emotions and ideas people have about life and their experiences. I have created one such list before, though I kept it very superficial—things most of my friends already knew about me.
In an attempt to rectify this, I have created another list, which more accurately describes me and who I really am. I believe this is an extremely useful exercise in introspection and I think anyone who truly believes they know themselves (and their friends) should spend a half hour or so coming up with 15 things most people don't know about them.
- The greatest influences on my career choice have been the music staff at Woodside High School. Prior to entering Woodside, I wanted to be a computer programmer with a mathematics degree. I look back and think to myself what an awful decision that would have been. My life is music and the only time I am truly happy is when I am making it.
- I have known my sexual preference is for men since late elementary school. I have hidden it for nearly a decade and when I finally came out of the closet I felt relieved. My friends didn't leave me or view me any differently. I still had my life together exactly as I wanted it. Unfortunately, despite my joy at being openly gay finally, I still feel like it's not what I really wanted. I have spent hours contemplating my life if I were "normal." Maybe I'd have had my first kiss already. Maybe I wouldn't feel so damned alone sometimes.
- When it comes to school, I wish I could give my abilities to someone who could use them more constructively. I dislike math, but I'm doing quite well in both AP Calculus and AP Physics B. I don't like social studies classes, yet I have no problems with Government. And then I have friends who study for hours a day and struggle for grades my parents would kill me for. It seems mightily unfair.
- Despite how much I fawn over Corbin Bleu, Jake Silbermann, Jake Gyllenhaal, Russian accents, etc. I am really not that superficial. They are admittedly quite good-looking, but aesthetics are fairly low on the list of things I am looking for in a person. Personality comes first, then your ability to hold a conversation, then your general intelligence (I'm not looking for much here, but you really gotta know the difference between a microwave oven and a toaster oven), then maybe aspirations, and perhaps then would be your aesthetic appeal.
- I am an extreme sycophant. It is very rare when someone asks me for something or to do something and I respond with a flat "no." I generally will do everything within my power to be able to do what you want me to do.
- I desperately want to spend the rest of my life with someone great, sharing my joys and tribulations, successes and failures, desires and impossible dreams with him until the day we die. I would love to one day have kids.
- It truly angers me when people are intentionally ignorant. It is the 21st century, so there is no good reason for anyone to be stupid and apathetic towards their own situation. I hate people who believe something just because they are told to believe it. I hate people who have the opportunity to do something to better themselves and yet turn it down out of laziness of mind and body. I hate people who are actually intelligent and refuse to do anything with their lives. I hate how in this day and age, people are still mistreated because of their race, gender, religion, age, sexual orientation, etc. It sickens me.
- Never once did I believe in the existence of an omnipotent being. From the first time my mother taught me about God, I questioned the probability of his existence. I determined at a very young age that there was no way I could make my brain accept the ideas of creationism. It was just too unexplainable. I have been much happier with my scientific, logically based views on life.
*NOTE: I don't care what views you have. If you know me, you'll understand that what you choose to believe in has no bearing on how I view you. - I love oldies, classic rock, pop, classical, country, and opera. Many people don't see me as a Janis Joplin, Beatles, or Queen fan, though they seem to have no problem understanding my fondness for classical music and opera. This is odd to me, since I don't believe in musical stereotyping. I have opera friends who listen to screamo and punk friends who like Beethoven. There's no way to judge a person's musical like's and dislikes.
- I think the secret to looking intelligent is simply knowing how to speak well. If you can reduce the number of times "like" and "um" appear in your sentences and try to introduce some vocabulary above the middle school lexicon, you can easily make it appear that you know what you're talking about even if you don't.
- My greatest fear is rejection. Though I am outwardly quite confident, I haven't gone a day in years where I didn't go home and privately beat myself up to be better. I don't know what my reaction to rejection would be if the rejector were something important, i.e. a college.
- … And that is something only my closest friends will ever know more about.
- My favorite animal is the wolf. Beautiful, beautiful creature.
- I haven't cried in 6 years. The last time was when I was at a birthday party and, while dancing, someone kicked me in the balls. Quite hard. Needless to say, they were tears of pain, so I don't think that counts.
- I don't lie. I deceive. Yes, there's a difference. Lying completely defaces a truth by presenting something not true as if it were fact. I simply answer the questions literally. Ask the right questions and you'll get the right answers. Therefore, if you ever want to know something about me, I'll always tell you the answer to the question you ask.
Auditions—Fear
Never before in my—admittedly short—life have I been this anxious. The most important month of my life thus far is February of 2009. I will be auditioning for Oberlin Conservatory, Westminster Choir College, and James Madison University with the hope that one of these fine institutions (preferably one of the former two) accepts me.
My dream for this stage of my life is to matriculate to Oberlin Conservatory in Ohio for my bachelors in Music (vocal performance and music theory), to be followed by a Masters in Opera Theatre, Choral Conducting, and Music Education.
Since early childhood I have been a rather fearless individual. Physical things could never really frighten me. Shock me, perhaps, but never frighten me. But when it comes to being judged, I have always done my utmost to impress anyone and everyone around me. I had to be the best at whatever I did. I have excelled in school for as long as I can remember, I have always been looked at as one of the talented singers and overall musicians, I absorb information aurally and so am fairly well rounded knowledge-wise.
This urge, this drive, this need to excel has, I believe, been manifested not as a desire to please my parents and peers, but out of the constant fear of rejection that courses through my mind each and every day. The thought that I might not be good enough, or rather, that I might not be good is enough to give me an ulcer. My abdomen tightens and my entire body tenses when I imagine myself in positions where I am being judged.
For my upcoming auditions, the adjudication process will be what causes me to develop panic attacks. My life lies in each of the adjudicator's hands.
I cannot help but ruminate over the possibility of receiving three letters of declination, each not a strike against my ego or my humility, but a bludgeon to my very being. My colleagues and instructors all tell me I'm going to do fine, they're going to love me, I'm gonna make it; and yet, no matter how many times I hear this, it does not help one iota. I still have trouble sleeping each night because every muscle in my body tenses simultaneously, my teeth clench, my eyes are squeezed shut as I suffer through another wave of pure anxious fear.
I breathe deeply a few times, in an attempt to relax. Eventually I unilaterally relax each individual muscle and calm down.
It is difficult to put into words my feelings in a way that others can understand fully. If you were to see me in some public venue, you would never know of the struggle I put myself through. Outwardly, I am constantly engaged in a masquerade. Life is but a play where one must always maintain character. I put on the façade of the big-headed, confident performer and bottle all of my emotions.
C'est la vie.
Enough with my rant on my life and its struggle.
The point of the narrative bit was to express that I honestly think I think too much. If only the world could just slow down a bit, relax, take a breath. But that is not how it works. The world will not break for those who can't keep up—and by this I in NO WAY imply that the world should be a dog-eat-dog, only the strong survive type world. I only imply that if I, or anyone else, ever stop to let things just pass me by, there is no way in hell I could ever make it.
My dream for this stage of my life is to matriculate to Oberlin Conservatory in Ohio for my bachelors in Music (vocal performance and music theory), to be followed by a Masters in Opera Theatre, Choral Conducting, and Music Education.
Since early childhood I have been a rather fearless individual. Physical things could never really frighten me. Shock me, perhaps, but never frighten me. But when it comes to being judged, I have always done my utmost to impress anyone and everyone around me. I had to be the best at whatever I did. I have excelled in school for as long as I can remember, I have always been looked at as one of the talented singers and overall musicians, I absorb information aurally and so am fairly well rounded knowledge-wise.
This urge, this drive, this need to excel has, I believe, been manifested not as a desire to please my parents and peers, but out of the constant fear of rejection that courses through my mind each and every day. The thought that I might not be good enough, or rather, that I might not be good is enough to give me an ulcer. My abdomen tightens and my entire body tenses when I imagine myself in positions where I am being judged.
For my upcoming auditions, the adjudication process will be what causes me to develop panic attacks. My life lies in each of the adjudicator's hands.
I cannot help but ruminate over the possibility of receiving three letters of declination, each not a strike against my ego or my humility, but a bludgeon to my very being. My colleagues and instructors all tell me I'm going to do fine, they're going to love me, I'm gonna make it; and yet, no matter how many times I hear this, it does not help one iota. I still have trouble sleeping each night because every muscle in my body tenses simultaneously, my teeth clench, my eyes are squeezed shut as I suffer through another wave of pure anxious fear.
I breathe deeply a few times, in an attempt to relax. Eventually I unilaterally relax each individual muscle and calm down.
It is difficult to put into words my feelings in a way that others can understand fully. If you were to see me in some public venue, you would never know of the struggle I put myself through. Outwardly, I am constantly engaged in a masquerade. Life is but a play where one must always maintain character. I put on the façade of the big-headed, confident performer and bottle all of my emotions.
C'est la vie.
Enough with my rant on my life and its struggle.
The point of the narrative bit was to express that I honestly think I think too much. If only the world could just slow down a bit, relax, take a breath. But that is not how it works. The world will not break for those who can't keep up—and by this I in NO WAY imply that the world should be a dog-eat-dog, only the strong survive type world. I only imply that if I, or anyone else, ever stop to let things just pass me by, there is no way in hell I could ever make it.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Destruction of Narnia
In general, music is one of the most powerful tools for quick emotional development in the movie-maker's arsenal. By simply changing the music, a movie can oscillate between joy and sadness, comedy and drama, fun and fear without ever altering the action or the dialogue. Music keeps the viewer's ears interested even when there is little happening.
It is truly amazing how great movies all have great music underneath. It is also truly amazing how even a great movie—or perhaps even only a moderately decent movie—can be completely ruined by one bad song. For instance, the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.
This adaptation of C. S. Lewis's story of the same name was very well done! It had plot, subplot, allusions, depth, action, romance, honor and valor, glory and power, treachery and deceit and vengeance! And to lead the way for an emotional and mental attachment to the characters and their plight was a glorious orchestration.
I thoroughly enjoyed this film … until the end. During the final scene, when High Queen Susan finally kisses her dreamy crush, Prince Caspian, a song began to play: Regina Spektor's "The Call".
Not a bad song, in and of itself, it completely ruined the movie for me. The Chronicles of Narnia is not about Susan and her new boyfriend. It is about the fight for life! It is about the pure defiance of evil! It is about the strength of the righteous, no matter how small or outnumbered they may be!
With "The Call," the focus instantly transitioned from the beauty of the sacrifice the kings and queens were making to the cute kiss and the glimmer of a relationship had between Susan and Caspian. The marvel of the movie was the fight for all of Aslan's creatures against insurmountable odds—and how simply believing in Aslan can give even a small child the power to fight an army (biblical allusions of many, many sorts pervade this movie).
If they had only chosen a different song …. It sucked the very essence of the true meaning behind the battle and Lucy's singular belief in the power of Aslan and created a standard teenage love story. Disappointing, though not unexpected, of Disney.
It is truly amazing how great movies all have great music underneath. It is also truly amazing how even a great movie—or perhaps even only a moderately decent movie—can be completely ruined by one bad song. For instance, the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.
This adaptation of C. S. Lewis's story of the same name was very well done! It had plot, subplot, allusions, depth, action, romance, honor and valor, glory and power, treachery and deceit and vengeance! And to lead the way for an emotional and mental attachment to the characters and their plight was a glorious orchestration.
I thoroughly enjoyed this film … until the end. During the final scene, when High Queen Susan finally kisses her dreamy crush, Prince Caspian, a song began to play: Regina Spektor's "The Call".
Not a bad song, in and of itself, it completely ruined the movie for me. The Chronicles of Narnia is not about Susan and her new boyfriend. It is about the fight for life! It is about the pure defiance of evil! It is about the strength of the righteous, no matter how small or outnumbered they may be!
With "The Call," the focus instantly transitioned from the beauty of the sacrifice the kings and queens were making to the cute kiss and the glimmer of a relationship had between Susan and Caspian. The marvel of the movie was the fight for all of Aslan's creatures against insurmountable odds—and how simply believing in Aslan can give even a small child the power to fight an army (biblical allusions of many, many sorts pervade this movie).
If they had only chosen a different song …. It sucked the very essence of the true meaning behind the battle and Lucy's singular belief in the power of Aslan and created a standard teenage love story. Disappointing, though not unexpected, of Disney.
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