I'll Blog About It

Faith

2011-07-21T00:04:00.000-04:00

The first definition of "faith" in the Oxford American Dictionary is "complete trust or confidence in someone or something." This, I believe, is the definition people are referring to when they speak of their "faith in humanity." Having faith in one's fellow human beings is something that bonds large groups of people together and separates others.

Enough with the lecture.

I don't know how this works for other people, but I occasionally need reminding that the world isn't all bad; that not all people are stupid cynics with a vendetta against joy; that there is still beauty and innocence left; and that that innocence and beauty still has the opportunity to flourish, overcoming the negative.

Recently my faith in humanity was renewed. As I've mentioned in previous posts (however long ago those occurred...), children are my weakness. They are the purity and beauty that can bring me out of any state of depression. They are wonderful.

I haven't seen my family in nearly six months and I have missed my siblings dearly. My older little sister is now 17(!) and is a rising senior in high school. That's nuts. I have no idea where the in-between time went. She's been having a rough time because the family currently lives somewhere where there aren't very many kids, particularly in her age group. But she's grown so much in maturity and independence! She has a job and she's doing an internship later this summer. I'm so proud of her and I'm really glad to see her.

My younger little sister is now 9. She has all the attitude in the world and a crazy drive and motivation. She has clearly inherited the Wanger competitiveness and my dad's outdoorsy-naturey side. I foresee sports in her future....

And last but not least, the only one who can bring a smile to my face at 8:00 AM, my little brother. He is four and a half and he is the most adorable kid I know. The last time I saw him, he was still having issues forming coherent sentences. Now he's telling me what he thinks and asking me to do things. It's chilling, really... such drastic changes occur in that in-between time from winter to summer.

My little brother is the impetus for this post. The other day, the family and I went to ride the Mountain Coaster in McHenry, MD, where we are vacationing this summer. We arrive and get in line to buy tickets. Little bro being the ray of sunshine he is, immediately hopped up by the counter to ask the woman at the register what her name was and how she was doing. "What are you working on?" he asks. Everyone smiled as the woman and he had a conversation about her job.

Then we had to fill out liability waivers, which he obviously did not need to be involved in. So while the big kids filled out paperwork, Little bro ran up to a few random strangers and started talking to them about their day. I chased him down and headed outside towards the coaster. I'm riding with him because little ones need partners. I can tell he's somewhat frightened as we head up the side of the mountain, but as soon as we head down he starts screaming with excitement.

And now for the real reason he renewed my faith in humanity (sorry if the build-up doesn't match the climax): while we waited for the rest of the family to finish their rides, Little bro and I went to the playground nearby. The first thing he does is walk up to a woman who looked like she had been having a rough day and just wanted to go home. He says, "Hi! What's your name?" She responds quickly. After a moment he says to her, "be happy! ... smile!" And she does. Not that making me cry is difficult, but it nearly brought a tear to my eye. Fortunately, crying in public is not a possibility.

After a few moments of play, he sees a little boy a year or so younger than he. After walking carefully across the wobbly bridge, he tells the little boy to be careful and that it was his turn. He then watches to see if the boy makes it across safely.

GAH. I love him. I love kids. They make me love the world a little more.

Note to self: when married and financially secure, adopt a child every 3 or 4 years. Save a life, provide a home, bring joy to the world.

Giving

2011-05-23T12:48:00.000-04:00

When asked for spare change on a bus, do you give it in the hopes that the receiver uses it to improve his or her own situation? Or do you assume that the receiver will use it for nefarious purposes and save your change for something better or someone more deserving? Are you morally obliged to give to the have-nots if you have? Some interesting questions, I think. I'd love a discussion.

Yesterday afternoon I walked to Marion Square in Charleston, SC. I brought my Kindle, my Bärenreiter score for Die Zauberflöte, a Bobble water bottle, and a can of Arizona tea. I was wearing pretty nice summer clothes: white shorts, button up shirt, black glasses, and red and black converse-qua-sperry shoes. This detail is all important because I postulate that it affected the following discourse.

I'm sitting on a bench near a hexagonal fountain (that ironically had engravings of great moral questions on each side) reading Gulliver's Travels when a man walks up to me. His look is rather disheveled, his shirt is dirty and ripped in places, his pants are far too large for him, and he's missing some teeth. I'm not frightened so much as I am cautious. He asks me a question I don't quite hear; it had something to do with being a student or a musician. He then asks my name, shakes my hand, asks if I'm in college. I answer his questions as politely as I can to a stranger who so abruptly appeared and interrupted my book. Then, he quickly veered the conversation towards his actual intent: "do you have 60¢ so I can ride the bus?"

I knew it was coming, though I suppose I should say I assumed it was coming. It is very rare for a stranger to approach me, inquire into my well-being, and not ask for money.

I tell him the truth, "I'm sorry, man, I don't have any money on me at all." That should be the end of the conversation. Perhaps he could say, "thanks anyway," or something along those lines. But that would make for a boring story, now wouldn't it?

He doubts me and proceeds to ask about my possessions. Pointing to my 99¢ can of tea, he asks me where I got it (the tone of his voice implied he thought I must have some change if I bought a can of tea). I told him I brought it from home. He asks me about the Kindle and if I was reading a novel (again, the tone of his voice implied his disbelief that someone with a Kindle could be changeless). In other words, he refused to give me the benefit of the doubt.

I understand his situation and I sympathize. Even if I can't empathize, I can understand that begging for bus money from strangers is not the way he would like to live his life.

Or, at least that is what I choose to believe.

I have no problem giving money away to people who need it. I have no qualms about helping someone out with a few dollars. I do it all the time. Every time I go to NYC, I bring a pocketful of change because I know someone is going to ask for 50¢ to ride the bus or $1.00 so he or she can get something to eat. I choose to believe that this change is going where they say it's going. I don't really have the time or patience (or attention span) to watch them or take other measures to ensure it isn't spent on drugs or alcohol. I give them the benefit of the doubt because taking a pessimistic view of humanity is not only depressing, but it supports a negative expectation, which inevitably leads to a negative outcome.

I did not appreciate the questioning. He said, "alright, I believe you..." as if he actually did not believe me, but couldn't really do anything about it. My immediate thought was, "I have no obligation to provide you with bus money and I have no obligation to explain myself to you." In reality, I do feel I have an obligation to give if I have. How I give is debatably "good" or "bad," but I do feel that I must give. But! I have no obligation at all to explain to someone why I won't or can't give them money.

----

A friend asked me after I recounted the story to him whether giving money to beggars is promoting laziness and perpetual poverty.

This is an interesting and easily debatable topic...

The answer is twofold: yes and no. By giving money to anyone who asks, I am certainly making it far too easy for them to survive that way with no desire or need to improve their own situations. At the same time, what if no one gave any of them anything? Should we leave them to die on the streets? The guy sleeping in the train station has no home to go to and has no food or money with which to acquire it. I suppose I could direct him to a shelter or food bank, but these are always overcrowded and rarely adequate.

It is a moral battle I will think about more in the coming months.

Smiles and Good Cheer...

2010-12-27T05:10:00.000-05:00

What is a smile if it is not the ultimate expression of life?

Each and every day we are presented with a panoply of faces. Each face has a person behind it with their own personality, their own ideas and ideals, their own views and opinions. Each person also has their own story. There are a tremendous number of factors that have gone into who a person is when you finally meet and interact with them. Every interlocution you engage in will affect your day; it is the same for those with whom you have conversed.

Our personalities, our moods, our mannerisms are infectious. When we engage in a dialogue with someone, we naturally observe their emotions before, during, and after speaking. If someone looks upset, that will affect how we begin talking to them. If this person becomes upset while we are speaking with them, that will affect how or whether we continue. There are a great many possible implications that may or may not come from being upset after a conversation has ended….

I would venture to say, though, that most people do not try to make others upset and that upon finding an upset person, most people will do their best to rectify the situation… to make the other person smile. A smile is a symbol of good intentions. It is a symbol of happiness. It is a symbol of pleasure. It is a symbol of agreement, approval, understanding, encouragement, pride, love, lust, desire, thanks, sarcasm, playfulness, jocularity. It is a symbol of life. What is it we pursue most in life? Money? Success? Love? Understanding? Peace? What are all these things but extensions of happiness, and what is the ultimate symbol for life and happiness? A smile.

I frequently say "smiles and good cheer" to people I encounter in my day. I'm sure plenty of people think I'm annoying, but the funny thing is they usually listen. Even if they are only smiling because of the sometimes sarcastic nature of the phrase, they smile nonetheless. It is an amazing thing to change a mood. The power we have over each other is undeniably huge when you look at how easy it is to make a person go from content to ridiculously angry, or tearfully sad to hopeful and content. It isn't just a silly phrase I made up, though. It is a verbal cue that has brought about plenty of smiles and a healthy amount of good cheer.

In a world where so much importance is placed on the extreme emotions, where is the simple smile placed? It is far more common, but not for lack of value. In fact, the smile—and it's implications—is quite possibly more important than the majority of our other expressions—and concurrent emotions.

Smiles are the ultimate expression of life. They show that you care about what you are doing and the life you are living. What better way to make your own personal world a better place than to smile and make others' worlds better?

----

I WILL be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down! --Edna St. Vincent Millay

----

Smiles and good cheer to all!

It's Christmas?

2010-12-25T04:34:00.000-05:00

For the past 19 years, I have been surrounded by people for the holidays. If I was at home, I had all my siblings and my parents and maybe a relative or two. Every year I would be in bed by eleven, pretending that Santa still exists (because the fat man doesn't deliver the goods if you don't believe he's real!) because I wanted to wake up the next morning and see a room full of shiny boxes and wonderful decorations. If I went to my cousin's house, we'd spend the morning driving packed into large box on wheels. When it came time to open presents, there were somewhere around 20 people in one room. Boxes were everywhere. A torrential paper storm ensued as everyone quickly shredded the beautiful wrapping paper for all of their lovely gifts. Smiles and good cheer permeated the air. The room was warm with love and joy as four generations of people shared such a wonderful time together.

Never did I imagine that would ever be different...

I'm older now. 20 to be exact... I'm by no means "aged" or "wise" or any of that, but I do have a collection of new responsibilities and complications in my life. I'm about to be an honors triple major in school. I take 20 credits a semester. I have three jobs. My family lives in Cuba. And I don't have a car. Bear in mind that a lot of that is my own decision and I'm not complaining in the slightest.

This is the first year I don't get to wake up at home with my family.... I don't get to walk into the living room and smell the live Christmas tree. I don't get to pour out my stuffed stocking onto the breakfast table, which is already covered in delectable goodies. And I don't get to see my siblings' faces as they open their presents. I miss them a lot. I got to see them a few days ago. My mom and siblings made a special trip up from Cuba just to see me for a couple days. They got to come to concert and we went to the mall and had a lot of fun shopping.

This year, I will wake up in my dorm room. I'll pack up all my stuff, clean my room, wash the dirty dishes, and wait for my aunt to pick me up and take me to my cousins' house. After that, I'm off to spend the rest of December with grandpa.

Again, it might sound like I'm complaining...or like I'm sad. I'm not. These are all results of decisions I've made. My church job has kept me on campus until Christmas and that couldn't be helped. The point of this post is just to reflect on how different my life is now and specifically how different this Christmas is... it's the first time I've ever been away from my family for Christmas....

Honestly, I didn't even realize it was Christmas until yesterday and even then it didn't feel like it. I couldn't really describe why, but it just didn't feel like that special holiday I remember from childhood. There's no Christmas tree or fancy decorations. The jolly music isn't playing and I've yet to see any Santas walking around.

I think this is a good time to say that we should all reflect on our lives and how different we are today from yesterday or last week or last month or year or decade. Things change so much as we grow older and more mature. Even if the traditions you personally have haven't changed, you as a person surely have. I know I have. And what better time of year is there to celebrate everything you have and have become?

Smiles and good cheer for everyone. :)

Merry Christmas! I love you all and I hope you have a marvelous holiday.

----

Those hours when happy hours were my estate,—
Entailed, as proper, for the next in line,
Yet mine the harvest, and the title mine—
Those acres, fertile, and the furrow straight,
From which the lark would rise—all of my late
Enchantments, still, in brilliant colours, shine,
But striped with black, the tulip, lawn and vine,
Like gardens looked at through an iron gate.
Yet not as one who never sojourned there
I view the lovely segments of a past
I lived with all my senses, well aware
That this was perfect, and it would not last:
I smell the flower, through vacuum-still the air;
I feel its texture, though the gate is fast.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay

What I Don't Understand…

2010-10-21T21:04:00.001-04:00

In the past month, there have been seven publicized suicides by gay (or perceived gay) teenagers around the country.

Billy Lucas (15)

Cody Barker (17)

Seth Walsh (13)

Tyler Clementi (18)

Asher Brown (13)

Raymond Chase (19)

Zach Harrington (19)

All seven of these kids were promising individuals. With the exception of Raymond^*, these kids were subjected to cruel bullying and a harsh school environment. With little or no hope for the bullying to cease and real kindness to set in, each one of these kids took his own life.

I am not going to recount each of their stories here. I have included links to articles about their tragic deaths.

This post is meant to focus on something else, though. Seven people lost their lives. Seven families are mourning the loss, and will never be the same again. Seven circles of acquaintances and friends have lost whatever may have someday come from their relationships with these people.

Why.

What caused them to feel they had no other options? How much tormenting does it take for someone to feel that they are alone and helpless in the world? How much self-deprecation is produced by a hateful, unaccepting and intolerant environment?

These are all very reasonable questions in my opinion. These teens, three of whom were not even in high school yet, suffered needlessly at the hands of their fellows and could find no respite from the ever-present invective surrounding them in school, in society, in religious institutions, and in the media. They died because they saw no other options.

When things like this happen, I immediately wonder how the world could be so cruel. Because it's never just one cruel moment or one hateful being. It's always a majority of intolerant people whose opinions rake the souls of the innocent. And it's always the innocent who are left feeling alone and as if they are worthless, insignificant, solitary, abnormal, disgusting, or any number of adjectives.

Why do people do this?

There are so many reasons why people believe it's ok to berate people because of the way they are: their own insecurities, the discomfort felt around differences, a perceived religious right to dictate to others how they should or should not be, a misunderstanding between what is innate and what is adapted, a simple pleasure in making others feel low (shadenfreude, if you will), a false sense of superiority created by a skewed sense of majority, societal conditioning, etc.

What doesn't make sense, though is how any sane person could use any of the aforementioned reasons... any logically minded person could see that berating others for such ill-founded reasons is morally wrong by anyone's standards (besides, perhaps, the Westboro Baptist Church members). Therein lies the problem, though. People aren't thinking. And worse yet, many of the culprits of bullying are barely mature enough to comprehend the mental, physical, and moral consequences of their actions. The fault then lies with their environment. The area where they live, the school they attend, the news they watch, the church they attend—if they attend one—and of course, the family. The environment by which one is surrounded from birth to adulthood affects how one thinks, acts, feels, and understands an issue. The old cliché, it takes a village to raise a child, fits perfectly here. In the end, though, it is the parents and the teachers that mold the individual. One may like to think of the individual as predestined to a certain mindset or ideal, but that really is making the issue at hand far simpler than it is.

Take a child, any child will do. Put him in a situation where he is unwelcome. Where people all around him call him names like "faggot," and tell him he is going to hell where he belongs (because he likes boys?). Where those who love him for who he is are few and far between. Where those who would support and protect him can't and those who would deprecate do. Where those whose responsibility it is to provide safety and authority don't and those who bear ill will fire unrestrained.

What do you expect to come of this child‽

* * *

Joel Burns gave a beautifully heart-felt and honest speech at a city council meeting recently. In it he tells a bit of his own experience with bullying. He stops short of telling those present about his own attempt at suicide.

His speech is one of many contributions to the It Gets Better Project, where adults from around the world have been leaving their own heart-felt messages about how no matter how tough life seems, it gets better. You grow up, you leave the hate behind, and you move on to the greatest experiences life can offer you.

* * *

There is nothing more heart-wrenching to me than the death of an innocent. Nothing. As each of the stories about the teens entered my life, it felt like pieces of my heart were being shattered. I spent more than one night crying because there was nothing I could do. I felt helpless. I wished I could just go back in time and tell each of these boys that they weren't alone and that it gets better.

I try to hold the world as a whole in high esteem. I love life. I love people. I love the concept of living. But it becomes so much more difficult to keep loving a world that can allow something like this to happen. And it's not just these! Sure, these hit a bit harder to home because of the similarities I share with the victims, but it's the same with the endless religious and cultural warfare, sexism, racism, etc.

None of them should have died. And no more should be added to the list. Life gets so much better and there will always be someone who loves you. Always. You just have to wait it out. Push through. Be strong. To get to the special moments that fill your life with meaning, you first have to survive.

What I don't understand is why this type of thing is still up for discussion. People are people. We are all different. You don't need to love your neighbor. You don't even need to like your neighbor. What you need to do is respect your neighbor's right to exist and be happy in this world. That is where the real change will come from.

* * *

Broadway sings "It Gets Better" for the Trevor Project.

* Raymond was fortunate enough to have a wide circle of accepting friends in a friendly environment. The exact reasons for his suicide are unknown to me.

Read on Your Phone

Perfection

2010-09-10T17:00:00.001-04:00

I came to a realization today: my standards are really high. I hold everyone around me to a very high standard of excellence and ability. I push people to do the best at what they're doing with the mentality that if you aren't doing your absolute best to your fullest potential, you're wasting your time and mine. I strive for perfection for myself in whatever I do. I am very detail oriented when it comes to my own creations because it is the details that make something great into something perfect.

But, by doing this I force those around me to see me as something I'm not. I am NOT judgmental of others' abilities. I am not so high-headed that I can't settle for less than stellar. I do demand a higher than average level for things, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate less...

This realization came after a few incidents of the past couple months. My older cousin (once removed) won't sing in front of me because she thinks I'll judge or criticize her. Honestly I won't... believe it or not, I am capable of separating and distinguishing between a trained singer and a church singer and I hold different standards for each.

Later in the summer, the same cousin almost wouldn't tell me what batter she used for the waffles I was eating. It was really out of pure curiosity and I would not have been upset or anything had she said Aunt Jamima or whatever. It turned out it was Bisquick, a perfectly legitimate and deliciously simple boxed flour product that makes wonderful pancakes and dinner rolls. I think she did these things because when I talk about the choirs at my school or the food I make, I get rather intense about how the singers are perfectly in tune and the ingredients I use must be wonderful and fresh. That doesn't mean that everything has to be perfect throughout my life... that would be crazy.

I'm at my grandfather's house writing this because a few minutes ago he asked me if I could eat a boxed chicken and mushroom lasagna for dinner tonight. I replied, "well yeah, that sounds tasty." It's really ok... I'm not trying to make people feel the need to overdo everything. I like to cook fresh, but that doesn't mean I won't eat a boxed meal...every once in a while.

For the record, I love Aunt Jamima. I think Uncle Ben's minute rice is delicious. I won't eat fast food on principal, but the burgers still call to me when I pass by. You don't have to be perfect for me. My standards for perfection are more for myself than for anyone else...

Love

2010-09-02T18:00:00.004-04:00

"They ask me how I know its love. I tell them if I knew how to describe it, it wouldn't be love."

--@TeensInLove on Twitter

So all of my posts recently have been on the topic of love. Obviously this is something that has been on my mind and which I wish to explore.

How do you know if you love someone? The above quote I almost glanced over. Instead, I went back and actually read it. It not only made sense, but it made me feel substantially better about my own situation. I could not answer the question "how do you know you love him?" because I can't answer it. It is impossible to describe my emotions or my feelings with the current collection of words with which English has provided me. Something like 750000 words just don't cut it.

I am hard-pressed to think of an occasion where it becomes impossible to describe something as what it is. Love is so intense and powerful and pure that it's inherently indescribable. How do you describe perfection?

Question for you as readers: can you describe love? can you describe what makes it love? Please comment.

Baring My Soul

2010-08-22T02:20:00.000-04:00

"To the world I can open my heart up in a second...but to someone close...it takes a while."

-- @TeensInLove on Twitter

"'How true, yes how true,' said the Sour Kangaroo."

-- Seussical, Jr.

Ok. Done with the quotes...

This is in part based on the post I wrote before this one, Somebody. It is also based on my life in general. In Somebody, I basically expressed my undying love for someone who doesn't know I love him. Even though our relationship is nothing beyond basic friendship at the moment, he makes me smile when I see him. He makes me feel special even though that's probably not at all what he's intending to do. It's so hard to talk to him because...well, to be cliché, he is constantly taking my breath away (I definitely stole that from either @TeensInLove or "cute texts from out of the blue").

For some reason, it wasn't difficult to write that out on my blog. It was, at times, troublesome coming up with how I wanted to say something or how I could make my ideas flow into something readable and understandable. But the act of writing it and clicking "Publish Post" was simple and was only mildly uncomfortable.

Why, then, is it so damned difficult to do this in person? Why can't I just walk up to him and say, "hey. I think you're cute. I really like you and I think we should do dinner some time."

My theory is that it is because he matters to me. His opinion matters to me. His presence in my life matters to me. While remaining "just friends" means I won't ever get more than that, it also means he'll always be there. If I told him I like him, what if he responds negatively? Could I deal with being just friends, knowing full well that he knows I like him? I think so, if I'm following my own advice. But then, what if he feels awkward around me afterward? I potentially could cause the end of our friendship and forever more be known as "that guy who liked me." But you, my dear readers (however few of you there are), I am not afraid of losing. I can tell you all of my secrets. I can tell you about every embarrassing thing I've ever done. At the end of the day, though, none of that matters between friends. When you're more than a friend, though... that's when it matters. That's when I become careful and nervous. I may constantly seem frazzled or lost because I'm thinking about how to be impressive for you...how to make you want me.

But this post isn't about him. Although it seems like it, it's just about how easy it is to bare my soul to the world, but harder than anything else to just talk to someone already close to my soul.

Somebody

2010-08-15T23:40:00.000-04:00

I think most people have a need or desire to be loved. Or perhaps it's more of a desire to be wanted. Perhaps both. I know for me it's a bit of both. I need it.

From birth I've moved around a lot. I've lived in Arizona; Pennsylvania; South Carolina; Coltsneck, New Jersey; Christiansburg, Virginia; Mississippi; Newport News, Virginia; and now I go back and forth between Flemington and Princeton, New Jersey (with frequent visits to New York City, New York and various places in Pennsylvania). Technically I live with my cousins in New Jersey, but my family lives in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Gotta love being a Navy brat.

This lifestyle has been a bit tough on my emotions. I didn't have many opportunities to become part of the community or to make many friends. I never got involved in sports (besides the short spurts of baseball, soccer, martial arts, cross country, or swimming). And after the third or fourth time saying goodbye to everyone I thought of as a friend, I sorta just gave up being really close to people. It hurts too much.

I could always rely on my mom and my sisters (and now my brother) to be there. I love my dad. He's always been a support (though occasionally a rough one—silly straight men feel the need to show off their buff muscles on their poor, innocent children who obviously could not defend themselves [love you, dad]), but early in my childhood he was away a lot. I think I missed out on something there.

Even so, I tended to shy away from physical contact and statements of affection. My friends were more acquaintances then actual friends. I didn't make real friends until late in high school. With only a couple exceptions, my life-long friends and life-long colleagues are the ones I've made in college. I can honestly say that I love my real friends with all my heart.

There is another kind of love, though, that I have found particularly difficult to pursue. In high school I had two "boyfriends." One was extremely short-lived because our schedules clashed horribly. Sad, really... he was a good guy. The other was very cute. A little young for me, but we got along really well and we had a lot of fun. Left him for college. I can't say I loved either of them because I didn't get to know either of them on that level.

In college, I have "liked" a few people to a mild degree. I have liked a few others to a stronger degree. But in the end, I have only fallen in love once. That is where I am now. I am in love with a guy I don't know how to get. I love a guy who probably has no idea I even think of him beyond friend. Will he read this? I hope so. Will he know it's about him? Who knows.... I just know I go to bed alone.

.....

I dream about him sometimes. Not the creepy sex dreams. No... I dream about being held forever. I dream that he loves me the way I love him. I dream that he wants me the way I want him.

I dream that one day I have the guts to say something. And I dream that I'm good enough to be loved in return.

I think I've fallen in love with you. Let's do dinner some time? movie?

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." --eden ahbez

A Sad Story Indeed: Reflecting on the Education System

2010-08-10T19:13:00.004-04:00

Recently I was driving around with a friend. We stopped somewhere, rolled up the windows--with the old-style manual windows--and turned off the car. In that order. My friend says to me with a laugh, "I felt like I had to roll the window up before you turned off the car or it just wouldn't go." It was at this time that I realized, "crap. I'm doing that, too." For the majority of my life, I have been in vehicles with automatic windows, which must be rolled up while the car is on. Despite the fact that I've been driving this old-school car for a couple months now, I still roll up my windows before turning it off.

Why do I do this? Because I have been trained by my former vehicles to leave the car on until all of the windows are fully closed. It is very difficult to break the habit that this training has instilled in me.

What the heck does this have to do with the education system? This may be a teensy weensy bit of a stretch, but these two things are fundamentally similar in principal. In the same way that I learned to leave the car on because of the negative results (negative stimuli, punishment) I received when I forgot, many students learn math and science and history. The Skinner philosophy of teaching relies on a punishment/rewards system, where students who do well are rewarded and students who do not are punished.

While this ideal is dying, in favor of more student-centered ideals and a less demeaning way of looking at a students psyche, many teachers still think in this way. Many, though, don't know that they're doing it. The majority of teachers will naturally teach in the way in which they themselves learn. Or in this case, learned. So if a teacher was taught using the rewards/punishment method, he or she will likely think that's the way everyone learns or should learn.

I am currently attending Westminster Choir College (WCC) for Music Education. The teaching ideal taught at WCC is critical pedagogy. Critical pedagogy brings students to the forefront of learning, using their world and what they know as teaching devices. It is no longer all about the teacher and the pupil—the dictator and the prole. Instead, it is about everyone learning and everyone teaching. Critical thinking and dialogue are tenets of critical pedagogy. This ideal is my goal in all of my studies and in any classroom in which I teach.

Why am I talking this? Because it's important to me. The idea that students are being forced into classrooms where they are spoon fed information they don't want or need only to reiterate said information on biased, non-representative exams later is preposterous and idiotic. I love life and I love learning. Trying to incite the same passion for exploration and understanding in others is my life. My experience with the car windows has merely reminded me that conditioning is everywhere, not just in our classrooms. We must be wary of allowing ourselves to bend to the whims of the world. Analyze everything.

Such a Sap...

2010-06-21T18:00:00.000-04:00

Prior to college I never cried. Never. I guess I had detached myself emotionally from the world so that I wouldn't get hurt. It was tough growing up. I moved every two years, about, and so had to make friends and leave them before ever really growing close to them. So why bother feeling anything at all? (This wasn't intentional, by the way. It kinda just happened.)

Anyway, once I hit senior year in high school, I started emotionally investing myself in the world again because I had developed real friendships and I had begun to understand myself much more than before.

As soon as college hit, I started crying about everything! I don't really understand why, but if a book or movie is exceptionally inspirational, or someone says or does something particularly hurtful, I'll cry (not in front of them, of course). Recently, I went to see Toy Story 3. Having grown up watching Toy Storys 1 and 2, Toy Story 3 hit me hard. Pixar planned this movie well. The generation who grew up with Andy and Woody and Buzz is now sitting in theaters watching Andy go to college. Just like us. At the end of the movie, Andy makes the tough decision to part with all of his childhood playthings, passing them on to a little girl nearby. Watching this step into the grown-up life made me bawl. Hardcore. Tears were streaming from everyone in my generation in the theater.

Less than two days later, I read a moderately inspirational article on how to treat others. The third one, "Remember Those Who Serve," and the final one, "Giving When it Counts," almost made me cry. I had to force myself to stop to protect my pride.

What this has taught me is that children make me cry. Both of the aforementioned lessons on how to treat others involved children who did things purely and genuinely for no other reason than the kindness of their hearts.

This isn't to say I only cry for children (I cried during Prayers for Bobby, Brokeback Mountain, and Miracle. I also cried while reading Where the Red Fern Grows). It's just... I connect especially well to children.

What do you think? What makes you cry?

Special

2010-06-20T02:27:00.004-04:00

Children are the most amazing creatures on the planet in my opinion. From birth they are innocent and pure. Until they become tainted by reality, they bear the most inquisitive eyes and adorable demeanor. It is an incredible thing to watch a child grow from baby to toddler to child to adolescent and beyond.

They are special in every way possible.

I know that if ever I am fortunate enough to be a dad I will spoil my child to no end because there is no one I could ever love more.

I do have a point to make, no worries. My recent post entitled ""Your Baby Can Read"" criticized the use of any product that takes time away from your child, who deserves nothing less than your full attention every hour of the day (though obviously this isn't always possible). I now must criticize America in general.

While this doesn't apply to every single parent in the country, it does apply to a great many.

How many of you played a sport when you were younger? Those in generations before mine remember a time when you got a trophy and a pizza party if you won and you went home if you lost. Those in my generation will recall that trophies were handed out to every child on every time regardless of how well the child did or how well the team did. Why is this? Why do children who failed at their jobs get trophies and congratulations and parties and whatnot? I was on a soccer team for one season. The team was awful as a whole. I am not sports-minded at all, so I certainly didn't contribute. We lost every game but one with zero points to our name. The one we didn't lose we tied 0-0. At the end of the season I was rather disappointed in myself and my team, but being a realist I said c'est la vie and told myself I'd work harder next time. Despite our many consecutive losses, we all got engraved trophies to take home. Even then I asked why we were getting trophies.

It doesn't make sense to reward failure. I'm not saying to give children a hard time if they don't do well with something, but don't baby them either! They deserve the respect of knowing what's going on in reality. As much as I love the idea of child-innocence and the preservation of youth, I hate the fact that parents across the country are setting their children up to fail in the future. By giving them a prize for losing and assuring them that everyone is amazing in their own way, you demean them and create an unfortunate mentality that it's ok to fail because you'll get a prize anyway.

Yes, it is okay to fail. But that should motivate you to do better the next time, not provide you with the same rewards as succeeding. Please, shower your children with all the love and affection they desire. Give them your heart and soul. Make them feel how much you care and how special they really are to you. But don't create in them an everyone's-a-winner mentality because that will just lead to hardship later on in life.

"Your Baby Can Read"

2010-06-19T01:36:00.004-04:00

On a recent drive to work, I was listening to a pop station on the radio. During a commercial brake, an ad for a product called "Your Baby Can Read" was played. At first, the product seemed useful—teaching your child to read young so they develop the skill quickly and early so they progress through school in the same manner. As the commercial progressed though I became steadily more appalled and ended up being rather sad.

What hit me the most in this ad was the testimonial where a mother was asked "did you have to do anything?" and she responded, "no! I didn't have to do a thing!" As if parents needed another thing to separate them from their children. My mind doesn't grasp the concept of neglect. Perhaps "neglect" is to strong a word... but in a way it isn't. I don't understand parents who don't give their children attention. I don't understand how you can bring a child into the world and NOT give it every waking moment of your attention. Though I don't readily admit to liking kids (because I don't really want to end up babysitting...), every time I see a child my heart flutters and I am happy. Watching a child learn is, to me, one of the most amazing things you can ever see. As it relates to learning to read, watching a machine teach a child to read seems like a travesty.

On a more personal note, I realize and have accepted the fact that I will probably never have natural blood-related children. It's even a stretch to hope to ever have children at all. This is saddening all in its own. But then, the fact that so many parents have children and don't treat them the way they should or give them the attention they deserve just makes it worse.

Another commercial I heard a few years ago advertised a book of 60 second bedtime stories. What? What kind of parent can only spare 60 seconds of their precious night time to read to their child? Why read at all?

I just felt I should share my feelings on this type of product. In my opinion, anything that uses less time with your child as a way to sell itself is sick and wrong. As I said earlier: I can't imagine ever having a child and not giving it every ounce of my love and attention. If you want to teach your child to read, read to them. Anything and everything. Just read.

I don't wanna talk about it...

2010-05-21T19:47:00.002-04:00

There have been many situations where I was asked, "what's wrong?" or "are you ok?" Yes. I'm fine. If I weren't fine, you'd know already. I am allowed to be upset, angry, sad, jealous, or just plain "blah" without discussing it with everyone. Rarely do I get asked about why I'm happy or why I look so excited. What is the difference here? If you want to care about how I'm feeling, care all the time, not just when I'm in a mood.

Recently, yes, I've gone through a couple mood swings: happy and excited one day, mopey the next. It's really nothing to worry about. I have plenty of what I feel are good reasons to feel the way I do and I don't always have a desire to share these with the world—and by world I mean the one or two people who have seen me and asked. I'm not being emo. I'm being normal.

And if I say it's nothing and that I don't want to talk about it, it'd be nice if that were respected. Thanks.

As my favorite roomy ever used to say: "I'm over it."

Grudge

2010-02-24T15:07:00.002-05:00

No matter how hard I try, I find it utterly impossible to hold a grudge. I don't think, in the entirety of my life, that I have been able to be angry at someone for more than a day, two at the most. It comes down to whether or not I want to sleep at night. If there is anything wrong—I'm sad about something, someone upset me, I got angry at someone/something/myself, or if I'm just frustrated—I cannot sleep. It's terribly inconvenient, because it seems to happen a lot in college. Once sleep hits me, I'm dead until my alarm goes off. Getting to sleep seems to be the issue….

In relation to grudges, I either have to give up and just forgive and forget or I will spend the entire night rolling around angry at the world. Everything will be a distraction from what is generally a deep and dreamless slumber.

Sometimes, though, it really isn't fair that I can't just stay angry at someone for a while. There is a certain satisfaction gleaned from being mad at someone who knows and acknowledges that you are mad at them. How short-lived is this satisfaction if it only lasts until my head hits the pillow…. What can I do, though? I consistently wake up happy for the day, and ready for good things to transpire. I know that I have amazing friends who have never drifted from me or left my thoughts for an instant—some older, some made fewer than six months ago. It is probably this knowledge and the knowledge that at the end of the day, it will all go away and I will rest and awake joyous that keeps me from being an angry person. This is not to say that the majority of my emotions are positive, but that generally I start my day quite content. It is only the occurrences of the day that alter this state of emotions. Some people like drama where drama is clearly unneeded. It is their prerogative to disturb the balance of goodness and happiness. It must be a terribly unfortunate affliction to be one of these people….

At the end of the day, though, how can I be angry? How could I in good conscience (and for my own peace of mind) allow myself to hold any kind of angst against someone? I can't. And even if at the time I really want to just be mad, I won't. Forgive and forget… a motto to live by. It certainly allows me to smile more. People should try it more often.

The Little Things

2010-02-11T17:42:00.002-05:00

I recently had the pleasure of watching a great video on youtube called Katrina Kenison - The Gift of an Ordinary Day. It's a woman speaking from her book by the same name. It is incredibly heartwarming and actually brought a tear to my eye. The book is about how as one's children grow up and move out, one begins to realize that it wasn't the photographed, posed, picture-framed memories that made all of those years special. It was the little things, the memories that "no one thought to photograph" that made the time amazing.

This made me think about my childhood and what I considered special and what I knew I would remember forever. It wasn't the vacations or the expensive Christmases or the extravagantly planned birthdays, but the times when we were just playing with each other or hanging out together. There was nothing special about these times, but they are truly what made my life as a kid.

This is a rather short post, as it's really only a reminder to myself and whoever reads this to cherish those moments that aren't "special." Embrace the times when you are with the people you care about, whether or not you are "doing something." Love the present and don't worry so much about what happened in the past, or where you fear the future might be going.

Perception of Perfection

2010-02-08T14:53:00.002-05:00

I believe there is an innate desire in most people to achieve. While not everyone has the drive to better themselves, the vast majority of the people I have come across in my life (not that I have many years to boast) seem to desire to be better at something. They strive for the best grades, they practice endlessly to be the best at singing or playing the piano or playing the violin, they study constantly to insure they master the material, they inquire and research so they can have a broad knowledge base from which to pull. One can almost say it is a competition between the person and his or her peers, or, even better, between a person and his or her self.

Everyone who falls into the self-improvement category has to have a goal they intend to reach. Whether that is to be better than they are currently, or whether it is to be better than everyone around them is really a matter of personality. It is my firm belief that the broad categories of "type A" and "type B" personalities cannot possibly cover all of the mindsets of all of the people. At the same time, one can very loosely cover most people with these labels.

I, personally, fall into the "type A" category. Some days I feel as if this is an unfortunate affliction that prevents me from enjoying my life quite as much as I should. At the same time, I see it is a great thing that keeps me motivated to be successful in school and in life.

I have a constant need to feel like I'm doing something. I am somewhat of a perfectionist, so any work I do, I do with as much precision and accuracy as possible. I have a strong desire to learn about pretty much anything. I love all kinds of music and all kinds of instruments and all kinds of people because they are all interesting in their own respects.

On the other side of the "type A" spectrum, I have very low confidence in myself. And when I fail at something, I fail hard (particularly if I failed because of stupid mistakes rather than an actual lack of knowledge). A lack of knowledge I can deal with. I can learn more. I can practice more. I can study more. I can pay more attention. Stupid, careless errors, on the other hand are a product of my need for speed, pardon the expression. Since the beginning of school, I've had to change my entire mindset on practicing. "SLOW IT DOWN," I keep telling myself. And to my constant disbelief, I find that things come out so much better that way. Continuing on the previous train of thought, my low confidence puts me in a very tough position. I don't pursue many opportunities because I don't believe I could possibly be good enough to make it. It took every friend I had to convince me to try out for my first musical my Junior year in high school—my first legitimate solo performance. Fortunately, I've gained a bit more confidence in my abilities as a performer, so trying out for solos and choirs and other things is much easier. Unfortunately, this doesn't correlate to confidence in other areas. I will maintain a crush on someone for months and never do anything about it unless someone else forces me to (besides this obvious allusion to said crush). I will know an answer to a question in class and not speak up for fear of being wrong.

It's crippling in practice, and I do not recommend it.

Recently, my confidence was struck by a less-than-satisfactory grade on a Theory quiz. I don't do bad grades. That's a no-no. And yet, there it was. Besides the fact that I despise the teacher's teaching-style (TANGENTS AND BANKING), a bad grade means to me that I am not good enough. That I am less than I should be. This point-of-view SUCKS. I know it's not true, and yet I can't help feeling that way about the whole situation. Fortunately, my glorious friends, whose mere presence provides me with a comfort and joy indescribable in a blog post, are always there for me.

Whew, what a tangent! There is a point to this rather lengthy post, I promise.

The meaning of the title:

Everyone has a perception of perfection, so to speak. What I mean is, everyone looks at the world differently, and those who strive for "perfection" all view it [perfection] differently. My view of perfection is to be my own best. Unfortunately, I tend to base my best off of my peers' best, rather than comparing it to where I have come from. I'm working on it, though.

As we grow older, we will come across many, many others who will be greater than we are in many aspects. At Westminster, in particular, there is so much talent in so many people. In so many ways, I am honored to have this experience. At the same time, this raises my personal bar. I knew leaving high school that I was no longer going to be "the best." I'm not the best vocalist, I'm not the best pianist, I'm not the smartest or most driven. But I'm certainly going to try to be.

Two days ago, this was going to be a long, pathetic rant about how I suck at life and I fail at everything I try to do because I don't have the confidence to do it well. Now, gladly, this is a post about how despite my own imperfections (and my occasionally unfortunate affliction of a personality) I'm going to continue to strive to be better at everything I do. I'm also going to attempt to be more confident with everything I do. Currently, this means more assertively pursuing what I want—or more specifically, who I want. :-)

I think this is a long enough post, and I hope that anyone who actually took the time to read it got something out of it. I try to be clear in my thoughts with these things, but it's not an essay or anything, so I'm not going to go back and make sure all of my points were covered or that my logic isn't flawed. Lol.

Introspection After a Long Day

2010-02-03T23:21:00.002-05:00

It has been a very long day, as every Wednesday this semester will be.

I lie awake in bed, contemplating life yet again...introspecting, if you will. At the moment, all I wish is to fall asleep, so I can have a good night tonight and a better day tomorrow. This is not going to be the case because I can't sleep when my mind isn't settled. The people I would normally talk to about this are all busy. So, I go to my old friend, upon whose presence I can always count: my blog. I can tell my blog anything and never receive a negative judgment in return. I can trust that I'll be heard out, however long it takes me to say what I want to say. The only thing I can't expect is comfort. Thank goodness for fleece blankets.

So much is running through my mind right now. It's tying my stomach into knots. If I didn't have a vocal career to think about, I would be in a practice room working on my comfort composition—one I started when I was rather depressed, and which I work on whenever I'm in a mood—belting out whatever emotion is preventing my rest.

I'm thinking about the past. There is so much I regret not doing. So many times when, if I had had the courage, I could have done something I really wanted to do. My lack of confidence (socially, mostly, but in other areas as well) has plagued me all my life. I didn't have real friends until junior year in high school because I was too shy to introduce myself or talk to people before they talked to me. I didn't do anything performance-wise (besides choir) until late in high school either. I doubted my abilities, my ideas, my looks, my intellect, etc. to the point where I literally spent the majority of my time in school, studying, or volunteering as an administrator for a now-huge online non-prof organization.

I'm thinking about today. I don't know exactly how I'm going to make it through this semester, let alone the next 6 or so. I'm going to be struggling...seemingly alone in the hopes that it'll all be better one day. On top of this, I still have to force myself to break away from my shy, rather meek outward personality. This is probably the worst thing I deal with from day to day. A lack of confidence in myself automatically makes everything my fault. If something doesn't work out, it's because I'm not good enough. If I get a low grade, it's because I'm not good enough. If plans fall through with a friend, it's because I'm not good enough. If I sing a run wrong, it's because I'm not good enough. Why do I think this? Good question. The only thing, I think, that keeps me sane is the fact that I know I can sing. I have a vocal talent and I have a good voice. Other than that, what have I got? I'm mediocre at theory. I suck at history. I'm decent with diction. I'm too shy to talk to the guy I like—who, as far as i know, has no idea I like him.

I'm thinking about tomorrow. I have a theory lab I'm unprepared for. I have readings to do for class. I have a job. I'm still struggling with myself personally. What the hell am I doing? Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Maybe I'll feel renewed energy towards self-improvement. Maybe I'll have more confidence in myself. Maybe not. Who knows.

Will I ever be good enough? My damn type-A personality says no. No matter what I accomplish, I'm never going to feel like it was enough. But when I really think about what I want right now—perhaps my goals are skewed, but—I don't think about my long-term future. I don't think about singing. I don't think about composing. I don't think about being the best at something. I don't think about getting good grades, or making a good impression, or changing the world. I think about how all I want is someone to hold me and tell me they love me. And mean it in the same way I do every time I say those words.

Maybe now, after writing out my feelings, I'll be able to sleep... it's going to be a long night, I think. Goodnight.

Nothing Left to Do

2009-12-06T08:37:00.003-05:00

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.

The One Thing My Friends Can't Say

2009-12-03T12:06:00.003-05:00

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.

If You Seek Amy's Disco Stick

2009-06-13T05:00:00.000-04:00

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. :)

Hugs

2009-06-12T05:00:00.000-04:00

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!

The End of a Beginning

2009-06-11T05:00:00.000-04:00

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.

Prom!

2009-06-03T20:21:00.003-04:00

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.

It Has Been a While

2009-05-25T18:35:00.004-04:00

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:

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.

Love

2009-03-14T16:06:00.002-04:00

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

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.

Leave Me Alone!

2009-03-04T15:12:00.001-05:00

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.

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.

He Sees Me

2009-02-25T10:00:00.000-05:00

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.

My "Straight" Friend…

2009-02-24T10:00:00.001-05:00

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."

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)

Damn the Internet

2009-02-23T10:00:00.002-05:00

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 Singin' in the Morn'!

2009-02-08T10:00:00.001-05:00

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.

I Cried For the First Time

2009-02-05T05:00:00.000-05:00

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:

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?).

15 Things?

2009-02-02T22:00:00.003-05:00

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.

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 21^st 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

2009-02-02T10:00:00.000-05:00

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.

The Destruction of Narnia

2009-02-01T04:00:00.000-05:00

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.