Maybe I'm going to get shot for this, and I'm going to do a more complete rundown tomorrow morning, but am I the only person who has ever seen Billy Elliot: The Musical that didn't like it? I liked the movie and I think that the show works well with what it's got, but I think it's both overly-sentimental and ultimately forgettable. Although, I will have to say that the boys who play Billy are amazing.
Congratulations to all the winners at the 63rd Tony Awards, and look for an update on what I liked (Angela Lansberry, Next to Normal) and what I didn't (the road pieces, the presentation for "Best Featured Actress")
Views on a Judge, Hope, and a Drunk Club Girl
I am not built for sleep. Once upon a time, maybe, but not anymore. I'm so used to going a million miles every day and squeezing everything from every moment that having an abundance of time makes me go crazy. Tonight, I was hanging out with Mandy, Ty, and Andrew and I got really tired at about 12:30, so I came home. I was just going to check my e-mail...and then I got sucked in and I've been doing stuff for the last five hours (I also swept the house because the dirt on my feet was grossing me out). So, anywho, I figured I'd update.
I have a couple of brief thoughts, some serious, some not, to catch you up on my current state of mind:
Nomination of Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court will probably pass. I am begrudgingly supportive of this move. I like that she is a hispanic woman who has a rise-above past and a solid basis in legal theory and practice. I appreciate that she has been a sitting judge for many years. I, however, wish that the chance had been taken to establish a much more progressive or liberal canditate for this office...the conservative slant of the Roberts Court is unlikely to change in the near future, so what is the harm in stacking it to the left to balance it out? What is the problem with a legislative battle for confirmation as opposed to her just sailing through? Democrats have the power...why aren't they trying to use it?
The more I hear the song "Just Dance" by Lada GaGa, the more I'm concerned for the main character. This woman has lost her phone, drink, man, and keys, she doesn't remember the name of the club, she can't see straight, and, at some point, her shirt got turned inside-out. Her solution to this dilemma is to "just dance." I feel like this girl needs help...maybe a taxi home...a good counselor to work out some deep-seated emotional problems. Actually, I was talking to Mandy earlier, and she said that she thought that the cops had busted in during this song, and this girl was the only one still dancing because she was so blasted and that the second verse is her continuing to dance as the entire club gets put in jail. Interesting theory...but it doesn't lessen my concern.
I support the general message of President Obama's Cairo speech. I think it's a good step towards diplomacy. However, I'm getting a little tired of the lack of tangible planning that is visible to the American people. So far, there is no tangible health care plan, immigration reform, education initiative, or withdrawal plan from Afghanistan or Iraq. Don't Ask, Don't Tell has not been repealed despite the ease of its dismissal (having been enacted by executive order). And I'm little tired of platitudes. Further, the President's bungling of his support of same sex marriage on the federal level during his recent NBC interview has only served to sharpen my suspicion. I feel like something tangible should be done...and if nothing is...well, hope can only sustain national pride for so long. I need something to be proud of...something daring. Something...audacious.
I'm going to go to bed, eat lunch with Mandy in a few hours, and send her off to Twin City.
I have a couple of brief thoughts, some serious, some not, to catch you up on my current state of mind:
Nomination of Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court will probably pass. I am begrudgingly supportive of this move. I like that she is a hispanic woman who has a rise-above past and a solid basis in legal theory and practice. I appreciate that she has been a sitting judge for many years. I, however, wish that the chance had been taken to establish a much more progressive or liberal canditate for this office...the conservative slant of the Roberts Court is unlikely to change in the near future, so what is the harm in stacking it to the left to balance it out? What is the problem with a legislative battle for confirmation as opposed to her just sailing through? Democrats have the power...why aren't they trying to use it?
The more I hear the song "Just Dance" by Lada GaGa, the more I'm concerned for the main character. This woman has lost her phone, drink, man, and keys, she doesn't remember the name of the club, she can't see straight, and, at some point, her shirt got turned inside-out. Her solution to this dilemma is to "just dance." I feel like this girl needs help...maybe a taxi home...a good counselor to work out some deep-seated emotional problems. Actually, I was talking to Mandy earlier, and she said that she thought that the cops had busted in during this song, and this girl was the only one still dancing because she was so blasted and that the second verse is her continuing to dance as the entire club gets put in jail. Interesting theory...but it doesn't lessen my concern.
I support the general message of President Obama's Cairo speech. I think it's a good step towards diplomacy. However, I'm getting a little tired of the lack of tangible planning that is visible to the American people. So far, there is no tangible health care plan, immigration reform, education initiative, or withdrawal plan from Afghanistan or Iraq. Don't Ask, Don't Tell has not been repealed despite the ease of its dismissal (having been enacted by executive order). And I'm little tired of platitudes. Further, the President's bungling of his support of same sex marriage on the federal level during his recent NBC interview has only served to sharpen my suspicion. I feel like something tangible should be done...and if nothing is...well, hope can only sustain national pride for so long. I need something to be proud of...something daring. Something...audacious.
I'm going to go to bed, eat lunch with Mandy in a few hours, and send her off to Twin City.
College Advising
I have a lot of critiques about Shorter College which, on a long enough timeline, I will air all over this blog. But don't get me wrong: I loved college. When I go back, I'm going to love it some more. It was by far the best four years out of the twenty I've lived, and it doesn't hold a candle to high school. Yet, for all of my praise and all of my critique, something that has proven to be a hassle for so many of my friends was never an issue for me. And that's the subject of today's post: College Advising.
Full confession: I was a double major and for every semester after my initial semester at Shorter, I owned my advising. I registered for classes before meeting with my advisor and I only met with them so they could sign off on my forms. I had done a graduation check-out a class plan before either of them had thought about it.
I had two advisors, so whenever one of them gave me an answer that wasn't going to work for me, I ignored it and went to the other advisor and tried to receive a more favorable response. Also, I often requested blank reforms because both my advisor and I were in a hurry, and I would fill it in with different information than I had admitted (for instance, I used a blank add form to jump from 18 to 26 hours one semester). And everything was good. And everything was fine.
Every semester, I had to go by the Provost's office and smile while he smiled his chilly shark smile at me and asked me how many hours I was taking...I mean, I was managing a paltry 3.9 GPA, so I understand why we each needed to take time out of our busy lives to go through this rigamarole every semester. But whatever.
I understood academic advising so intuitively, that I advised several of my friends and build class plans for them in under twenty minutes based off of a transcript a degree requirement sheet. I understand that professor advisors are busy, but it really isn't that hard...it takes a little time up front, but its nothing once you sit down and work on it. And my advisors tended to be good at this, they just didn't have to be for me.
Contrast this with my friend Elizabeth's story at ABAC: She arrived her first day to register for classes to be told (after she had paid) that her degree program had been cancelled. Or take Ty at GCSU who had all of his summer classes cancelled and most of his department's faculty leave in the same month. Or Mandy at SCAD who have not only pushed her a quarter behind on graduation due to not realizing that a pre-requisite should come before her other classes, but now, she's pushed furhter behind because her summer quarter classes have been cancelled.
For those of you about to enter college or are already enrolled, do the following ASAP:
You know, there are a lot of things I didn't appreciate about Shorter College, but at least my education was never sabotaged by an ineptness in simply trying to get me in classes. At least they're good at that.
Full confession: I was a double major and for every semester after my initial semester at Shorter, I owned my advising. I registered for classes before meeting with my advisor and I only met with them so they could sign off on my forms. I had done a graduation check-out a class plan before either of them had thought about it.
I had two advisors, so whenever one of them gave me an answer that wasn't going to work for me, I ignored it and went to the other advisor and tried to receive a more favorable response. Also, I often requested blank reforms because both my advisor and I were in a hurry, and I would fill it in with different information than I had admitted (for instance, I used a blank add form to jump from 18 to 26 hours one semester). And everything was good. And everything was fine.
Every semester, I had to go by the Provost's office and smile while he smiled his chilly shark smile at me and asked me how many hours I was taking...I mean, I was managing a paltry 3.9 GPA, so I understand why we each needed to take time out of our busy lives to go through this rigamarole every semester. But whatever.
I understood academic advising so intuitively, that I advised several of my friends and build class plans for them in under twenty minutes based off of a transcript a degree requirement sheet. I understand that professor advisors are busy, but it really isn't that hard...it takes a little time up front, but its nothing once you sit down and work on it. And my advisors tended to be good at this, they just didn't have to be for me.
Contrast this with my friend Elizabeth's story at ABAC: She arrived her first day to register for classes to be told (after she had paid) that her degree program had been cancelled. Or take Ty at GCSU who had all of his summer classes cancelled and most of his department's faculty leave in the same month. Or Mandy at SCAD who have not only pushed her a quarter behind on graduation due to not realizing that a pre-requisite should come before her other classes, but now, she's pushed furhter behind because her summer quarter classes have been cancelled.
For those of you about to enter college or are already enrolled, do the following ASAP:
- Plan your own class schedule: no one knows your goals like you do.
- You can do more than your advisor says is full-time: no one ever fell apart at 12-15 hours. Pump it up and get out early. Don't pay for more than you have to.
- Contact your department to get the degree requirement sheet: Course catalogues often have out-dated lists. Check the website and compare it to the class requirement sheet for your entrance year. If they don't match, get an answer from the Registrar's Office before being forced into classes you may not need.
- Keep the plan updated as you move on.
You know, there are a lot of things I didn't appreciate about Shorter College, but at least my education was never sabotaged by an ineptness in simply trying to get me in classes. At least they're good at that.
Stories from the Past: Coming Out Cow
My senior year of high school, the theatre director a TCHS declared that we would do a one-act version of the three-hour Sondheim monster Into the Woods. Because I didn't sing, I would be the Narrator for the play, and she had planned to enlist all of the pretty, preppy, show choir kids to play most of the parts. The traditional corps of the department would serve as back-up artists and crew...which, while crappy, was better than an earlier idea to dress them all up as trees and have them dance around as different parts of the scenery.
Just like this...but made of dancing high school theatre kids. Image via Wikipedia
Anyway, I had decided months ago that I was going to come out before my senior year started because I was tired of living the lie. So, on Sunday, August 8th, 2004, I told my parents, which is another story for another day. It intersects with Into the Woods because I was working on that show at the time. In fact, I was the theatre intern with my friend Alisabeth. Between us and Mandy, we were given the job of doing the cow.
For those of you who aren't very familiar with Into the Woods, it's a musical mash-up of the stories of Jack, Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Little Red Riding Hood all going into the woods to get their dreams. Okay, well, Jack obviously has to have a cow because he's going to the market to sell his cow for food for him and his mother. Now, there are two ways that you can do this. You can either hire an actor to play the part of the cow or you can build a cow prop.
We, sadly, attempted the latter. It was maybe the most dangerous weapon that I've ever seen on wheels. Made of two-by-four, chicken wire, plaster, paper-mache, and white paint, more people bled on this cow than I would have thought possible. It was a hot disaster. The casters wouldn't stay straight, the back of the cow buckled, and it needed so much plaster to make it look like a cow verses a box covered in chicken wire that that was what I was assigned to do with Alisabeth for the second week of school.
Friday, we were sitting out in the courtyard outside the drama room. This was right after the outdoor furniture that had been used at the previous year's prom had been donated to the school but before they screwed on that brass nameplate that dedicated it to that kid that died. Alisabeth and I are slathering plaster on the cow and talking about the election. She had proven to be mostly conservative, and this being 2004, my senior class could vote for the first time, and it was shaping up to be an important decision: you could either vote for President Bush or you could vote against him (Kerry not actually counting as a canditate because he stood for nothing). Although we could agree on the upcoming pro-liquor referendum for Tift County (which was dry at that time), we eventually ended up on thornier subjects. Like gay marriage.
Obviously, I defended gay marriage against her arguments, but at the same time, I had to admit to myself that it looked like it was going to be an uphill battle, even for civil unions. I mean, two of the four states to have same sex marriage have happened in 2009, and this was five years ago. If I'm not mistaken, Massachusettes was the only state to have anything like this going on. My fervent support made Alisabeth ask me if I was gay. To which I immediately replied "no."
I started to kick myself and got really quiet. I guess Alisabeth was either embarassed that she had asked and I wasn't or didn't know what to say because she knew I was closetted. I actually surprised most people when I came out. And I had promised myself that although I wasn't going to throw myself a "coming out" party like a debutante, I also wasn't going to deny it any longer if anyone asked me. And this was my first test, and I had already screwed it up. After another couple of minutes of silence, I back-tracked:
"Wait, scratch that."
"Scratch what?"
"I am gay. Not many people know. Don't spread it around."
"Okay..."
We talked about my coming out for a little bit. I didn't want the news to get around because I was afraid, this being the deep South, that I'd be harrassed. But, I didn't trust this girl, and the circle of people who knew was getting big. Soon, it was going to explode. But for now, I was just another guy covered in plaster, trying to make a cow for the musical theatre. And the future was a story for another day.
By the way, the cow never did become satisfactory. Instead, we dressed up a short girl like a cow. She did a much better job than a plaster representation.
Just like this...but made of dancing high school theatre kids. Image via WikipediaAnyway, I had decided months ago that I was going to come out before my senior year started because I was tired of living the lie. So, on Sunday, August 8th, 2004, I told my parents, which is another story for another day. It intersects with Into the Woods because I was working on that show at the time. In fact, I was the theatre intern with my friend Alisabeth. Between us and Mandy, we were given the job of doing the cow.
For those of you who aren't very familiar with Into the Woods, it's a musical mash-up of the stories of Jack, Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Little Red Riding Hood all going into the woods to get their dreams. Okay, well, Jack obviously has to have a cow because he's going to the market to sell his cow for food for him and his mother. Now, there are two ways that you can do this. You can either hire an actor to play the part of the cow or you can build a cow prop.
We, sadly, attempted the latter. It was maybe the most dangerous weapon that I've ever seen on wheels. Made of two-by-four, chicken wire, plaster, paper-mache, and white paint, more people bled on this cow than I would have thought possible. It was a hot disaster. The casters wouldn't stay straight, the back of the cow buckled, and it needed so much plaster to make it look like a cow verses a box covered in chicken wire that that was what I was assigned to do with Alisabeth for the second week of school.
Friday, we were sitting out in the courtyard outside the drama room. This was right after the outdoor furniture that had been used at the previous year's prom had been donated to the school but before they screwed on that brass nameplate that dedicated it to that kid that died. Alisabeth and I are slathering plaster on the cow and talking about the election. She had proven to be mostly conservative, and this being 2004, my senior class could vote for the first time, and it was shaping up to be an important decision: you could either vote for President Bush or you could vote against him (Kerry not actually counting as a canditate because he stood for nothing). Although we could agree on the upcoming pro-liquor referendum for Tift County (which was dry at that time), we eventually ended up on thornier subjects. Like gay marriage.
Obviously, I defended gay marriage against her arguments, but at the same time, I had to admit to myself that it looked like it was going to be an uphill battle, even for civil unions. I mean, two of the four states to have same sex marriage have happened in 2009, and this was five years ago. If I'm not mistaken, Massachusettes was the only state to have anything like this going on. My fervent support made Alisabeth ask me if I was gay. To which I immediately replied "no."
I started to kick myself and got really quiet. I guess Alisabeth was either embarassed that she had asked and I wasn't or didn't know what to say because she knew I was closetted. I actually surprised most people when I came out. And I had promised myself that although I wasn't going to throw myself a "coming out" party like a debutante, I also wasn't going to deny it any longer if anyone asked me. And this was my first test, and I had already screwed it up. After another couple of minutes of silence, I back-tracked:
"Wait, scratch that."
"Scratch what?"
"I am gay. Not many people know. Don't spread it around."
"Okay..."
We talked about my coming out for a little bit. I didn't want the news to get around because I was afraid, this being the deep South, that I'd be harrassed. But, I didn't trust this girl, and the circle of people who knew was getting big. Soon, it was going to explode. But for now, I was just another guy covered in plaster, trying to make a cow for the musical theatre. And the future was a story for another day.
By the way, the cow never did become satisfactory. Instead, we dressed up a short girl like a cow. She did a much better job than a plaster representation.
Reccomended: Abandoned Theatre Photos
For all of my fellow theatre people, check this photo project out.
www.abandonedtheaters.com
It's a set of about thirty pictures (it's only as a slideshow, so I couldn't tell exactly how many there were). I thing that they're beautiful in a completely destroyed way. Plus, it reminds me of how many different performance spaces there are in the world. I wish I could recover one of the sites and make it awesome again, but sadly, I don't have the contracting skills or the money.
One day, though...
www.abandonedtheaters.com
It's a set of about thirty pictures (it's only as a slideshow, so I couldn't tell exactly how many there were). I thing that they're beautiful in a completely destroyed way. Plus, it reminds me of how many different performance spaces there are in the world. I wish I could recover one of the sites and make it awesome again, but sadly, I don't have the contracting skills or the money.
One day, though...
Weekend Recap: Catie and Paul Move-In
Alternate title: Golden Child Proves Pyrite, Lives in Sin
Okay, so here's how this weekend went.
First off, I rolled out of bed at my parent's apartment at 11 AM. I would rather have gone home, but my mother didn't want me to drive considering that I had just finished a margarita roughly the size of a fish bowl. Had to be real fast when I didn't have my ID and all that, but anywho, spent most of Friday evening with my parents, having dinner at Sonny's, have a drink, and then headed to their apartment. Plus, I couldn't go home until I taught my little sister all of the yoga poses that I know and a basic tango step. I mean, you have to keep your priorities straight.
Rolled out, packed at my house really fast, went and got about six inches of my hair chopped off, and got on the road. By the time I got to Macon, they were mostly done moving in. I hung some curtains and went on an expedition out into the middle of nowhere to get a table. But, for the most part, I just stayed out of the way. Catie, I have always known, is anal-retentive about where her stuff goes. Turns out, so is Paul. While we were getting the table, her mother and sister unpacked the kitchen. In the 24 hours between then and when I left, most of the stuff in the kitchen had been moved to a new, better location. Plus, the tension between Catie and her mom (who doesn't agree with Catie moving in with her boyfriend whom she is not married to) could have been cut with a knife and slathered on corn, so rich and creamy was its texture.
Anywho, we did dinner at Ron and Chang's, a combination Chinese and home-cooking diner. It was really good, and I think orange chicken, mashed potatoes, and okra is a too-long-overlooked dinner selection.
One of my other friends that I've met that was hanging out after the move is what really piqued my interest though. She's been dating this guy for about six months now, and they've gotten to the point to where they don't know exactly whether or not it's going to be super long-term. Well, that's putting it mildly. My friend wants to breakup with her boyfriend because she misses the chase. She provokes him into fights so that maybe things will get bad enough that they'll just fall apart. She wants out, because she doesn't believe that this is forever. I mean, she hadn't gone so far as to delete the naked picture of him from her phone, but she was bored and this girl who had never done the relationship was ready to move on.
And then, in a moment that I think is beautiful, we were sitting in the living room, bitching the past year, and she started smelling the blanket she was wrapped up in. When I gave her a look of "what-the-hell-are-you-doing," she explained: "It doesn't smell like (boyfriend's name) anymore."
"You are a veritable bundle of contradictions," I responded. I mean, maybe I get it. It's new and whatnot, but right now, I can't explain it. And it's mostly intriguing me.
The thing that I love about going to hang out with my best friends is that there is never an agenda of things that we're going to do to have a good time together. There doesn't have to be one, and to make one would fly in the face of what makes us such good friends. It makes me sad that I don't carry a tape recorder to record what's said and what we talk about while I'm with them. Since I don't live with any of these fantastic people any longer and we're spreading out to the corners of the known world, I feel like I should write down every witty thing said in case I never get to hear it again. Plus, it takes a while to break in new people so that you know that you can talk about anything, transitioning easily from the concept of reach-arounds and how best to prep for anal sex into what is metaphysically troubling us about the future and our friendships. Whatever, this is getting a little heavy for what I wanted to write about.
Later on, I had poured with too heavy a hand, and since the world wouldn't stop spinning, I made myself throw up so that I wouldn't go too far down the rabbit hole.
Next day, did Mexican, Lowe's, came back to apartment, read Remains of the Day, played some Wii, went home, watched Forensic Files with mom, came home, went to sleep in the recliner in the living room with my glasses still on.
Okay, so here's how this weekend went.
First off, I rolled out of bed at my parent's apartment at 11 AM. I would rather have gone home, but my mother didn't want me to drive considering that I had just finished a margarita roughly the size of a fish bowl. Had to be real fast when I didn't have my ID and all that, but anywho, spent most of Friday evening with my parents, having dinner at Sonny's, have a drink, and then headed to their apartment. Plus, I couldn't go home until I taught my little sister all of the yoga poses that I know and a basic tango step. I mean, you have to keep your priorities straight.
Rolled out, packed at my house really fast, went and got about six inches of my hair chopped off, and got on the road. By the time I got to Macon, they were mostly done moving in. I hung some curtains and went on an expedition out into the middle of nowhere to get a table. But, for the most part, I just stayed out of the way. Catie, I have always known, is anal-retentive about where her stuff goes. Turns out, so is Paul. While we were getting the table, her mother and sister unpacked the kitchen. In the 24 hours between then and when I left, most of the stuff in the kitchen had been moved to a new, better location. Plus, the tension between Catie and her mom (who doesn't agree with Catie moving in with her boyfriend whom she is not married to) could have been cut with a knife and slathered on corn, so rich and creamy was its texture.
Anywho, we did dinner at Ron and Chang's, a combination Chinese and home-cooking diner. It was really good, and I think orange chicken, mashed potatoes, and okra is a too-long-overlooked dinner selection.
One of my other friends that I've met that was hanging out after the move is what really piqued my interest though. She's been dating this guy for about six months now, and they've gotten to the point to where they don't know exactly whether or not it's going to be super long-term. Well, that's putting it mildly. My friend wants to breakup with her boyfriend because she misses the chase. She provokes him into fights so that maybe things will get bad enough that they'll just fall apart. She wants out, because she doesn't believe that this is forever. I mean, she hadn't gone so far as to delete the naked picture of him from her phone, but she was bored and this girl who had never done the relationship was ready to move on.
And then, in a moment that I think is beautiful, we were sitting in the living room, bitching the past year, and she started smelling the blanket she was wrapped up in. When I gave her a look of "what-the-hell-are-you-doing," she explained: "It doesn't smell like (boyfriend's name) anymore."
"You are a veritable bundle of contradictions," I responded. I mean, maybe I get it. It's new and whatnot, but right now, I can't explain it. And it's mostly intriguing me.
The thing that I love about going to hang out with my best friends is that there is never an agenda of things that we're going to do to have a good time together. There doesn't have to be one, and to make one would fly in the face of what makes us such good friends. It makes me sad that I don't carry a tape recorder to record what's said and what we talk about while I'm with them. Since I don't live with any of these fantastic people any longer and we're spreading out to the corners of the known world, I feel like I should write down every witty thing said in case I never get to hear it again. Plus, it takes a while to break in new people so that you know that you can talk about anything, transitioning easily from the concept of reach-arounds and how best to prep for anal sex into what is metaphysically troubling us about the future and our friendships. Whatever, this is getting a little heavy for what I wanted to write about.
Later on, I had poured with too heavy a hand, and since the world wouldn't stop spinning, I made myself throw up so that I wouldn't go too far down the rabbit hole.
Next day, did Mexican, Lowe's, came back to apartment, read Remains of the Day, played some Wii, went home, watched Forensic Files with mom, came home, went to sleep in the recliner in the living room with my glasses still on.
Songs of My Life
I, like almost everyone else on the planet, have certain songs that take me into very specific places in my past. They're not even all songs that I necessarily like, but as soon as the introductory music starts, I'm taken back. A few examples:
"The Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse--This just came on my Pandora station (a modified Hold Steady group). This is the song that I quoted on the title page of Edgar's Ashes. I was exhausted, sitting in the Mac Lab, writing out Matthew's storyline in maroon crayon when this song came on. Modest Mouse didn't usually come on that channel, so I had to tab over and see what was playing. And I loved it. Sure, it's from an album that a lot of people didn't really enjoy, but the line "You waste life, why wouldn't you waste death?" became the dedicatory quote for the play. And hearing it takes me back to those exhausted, middle-of-the-night writing marathons where I was putting that show together. It feels like a burned mouth from too much coffee
Eddie Izzard's Definite Article CD--For a while in the spring of 2007, I fell asleep every night listening to spoken word stuff. It usually was an Eddie Izzard CD, because I enjoyed it but I knew the CD well enough that it wouldn't keep me awake. I did this for a few months until I slung my mp3 player across the room in my sleep and broke it.
"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morrissette--My senior year in high school (2004-2005), I began listening to this CD non-stop for about two months while I was doing errands around town or driving to-and-from school. Mix that in with my expressive interpretations and the fact that it looked like I was screaming at invisible people in my car when I was driving led to some interesting conversations with people that I knew that had seen me driving. I eventually had to take this CD out because it was making me too angry and it was starting to make men piss me off as a general concept. Needless to say, that wasn't going to work any longer.
"The Pineapple Song" from Cabaret--This song actually has little to do with me, but it does go into that same era when I first got a car in high school and I fully believed that the most important part of driving was what you were listening to. I permanently cured my brother of worrying about driving with reckless drivers because I would veer into oncoming traffic if I didn't like the song tha twas on. Well, I would always sing full-out. And after a few months, he started lightly singing along. Then, I wouldn't sing a certain song or whatever, and I catch him singing. And the moment that I knew that I had infected him, at least a little bit, is when we were driving home from the S-curve in front of The Little Pantry and he asked if we could listen to this song because he thought it was hysterical. Score one for musical theatre.
"The Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse--This just came on my Pandora station (a modified Hold Steady group). This is the song that I quoted on the title page of Edgar's Ashes. I was exhausted, sitting in the Mac Lab, writing out Matthew's storyline in maroon crayon when this song came on. Modest Mouse didn't usually come on that channel, so I had to tab over and see what was playing. And I loved it. Sure, it's from an album that a lot of people didn't really enjoy, but the line "You waste life, why wouldn't you waste death?" became the dedicatory quote for the play. And hearing it takes me back to those exhausted, middle-of-the-night writing marathons where I was putting that show together. It feels like a burned mouth from too much coffee
Eddie Izzard's Definite Article CD--For a while in the spring of 2007, I fell asleep every night listening to spoken word stuff. It usually was an Eddie Izzard CD, because I enjoyed it but I knew the CD well enough that it wouldn't keep me awake. I did this for a few months until I slung my mp3 player across the room in my sleep and broke it.
"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morrissette--My senior year in high school (2004-2005), I began listening to this CD non-stop for about two months while I was doing errands around town or driving to-and-from school. Mix that in with my expressive interpretations and the fact that it looked like I was screaming at invisible people in my car when I was driving led to some interesting conversations with people that I knew that had seen me driving. I eventually had to take this CD out because it was making me too angry and it was starting to make men piss me off as a general concept. Needless to say, that wasn't going to work any longer.
"The Pineapple Song" from Cabaret--This song actually has little to do with me, but it does go into that same era when I first got a car in high school and I fully believed that the most important part of driving was what you were listening to. I permanently cured my brother of worrying about driving with reckless drivers because I would veer into oncoming traffic if I didn't like the song tha twas on. Well, I would always sing full-out. And after a few months, he started lightly singing along. Then, I wouldn't sing a certain song or whatever, and I catch him singing. And the moment that I knew that I had infected him, at least a little bit, is when we were driving home from the S-curve in front of The Little Pantry and he asked if we could listen to this song because he thought it was hysterical. Score one for musical theatre.
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