I wish I lived in a world where you could walk up to people and, without being embarrassed or obnoxious, tell them exactly what you think is so special about them. I know this girl: she's my friend, but we don't hang out outside of school or anything. But the thing is, she is an example for me like no one else has been. I have learned things from her that I never expected to find in any human being. So even if she never reads this--or if she does--here are the things I admire about her:
She's cheerful. Not obnoxious, "you're-a-bad-person-for-not-taking-joy-in-every-second-of-every-day" cheerful that makes the people around her feel bad. She's genuinely cheery, and she makes you feel better by just saying hello.
She's sweet. To everyone, not just her close friends. She can make a person feel like they are liked and appreciated (even if they aren't) because she's so sincere and kind. I've never heard her put someone down for no reason.
She's outgoing and confident. When our drama department at school went to festival and all the casts/crews got together for a Q&A, she popped right up and won over everyone in the room in a heartbeat. I felt proud to be associated with her. She set an image for herself and for us, and everyone was happy that she was on OUR side.
She's strong. She doesn't put up with any bullshit, not even from her best friends. She'll also stand up for kids around her who have to deal with bullshit, from strangers to friends (like me) to close friends. She's not afraid to give someone a helping hand.
She's honest.
She's smart.
She's kind.
She's understanding.
And she can meet someone and be ready to like them and get to know them; she doesn't judge. That is such a rare quality nowadays.
This girl isn't perfect. She has as many flaws as the rest of us, and I don't even know her that well; I'm probably full of crap. But she's human, and that's probably the best quality of all. I like her and admire her because I understand a lot about her. All these things that I think she is...whether or not she actually is them, she's one of the best examples of a good person I've ever met. I hope that I'll remember her for as long as I think I will, and I hope I can learn from her. People like this girl don't come around very often. I feel lucky to know her.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
RENT
This year, I hardly celebrated April 29th, RENT’s Broadway birthday. I didn’t have time to something big; that was my excuse. But I did have time. And I could have.
So why didn’t I?
Recently, I’ve become sort of scared. My RENThead identity—the part of me that lived this show, knew this show, loved this show—has started to feeling paler and smaller, like it’s fading. I know what the rational thing to say it: I’m growing up, moving on. RENT was an obsession that lasted for a few years, nothing more, nothing less. It made me happy, made me smile, but now I go on to bigger and better things.
I write these words, and I hate them.
It’s true; I have a lot of mini-obsessions that last for a month or so. Lord of the Rings, Narnia, Avatar, Lost…they all capture me, and then they let me go. Before RENT, I loved Phantom, Wicked, Pocahontas. They lasted maybe five or six months each.
RENT has lasted for almost four years.
That’s pretty short, I know. There are RENTheads who have loved the show for more than a decade. But for me, the girl from Cambridge who stumbled across a musical that shaped her and changed her into a different person, a new person…for me, four years isn’t short. For me, four years is an eternity.
I listen to a song by Jonathan Larson every night before I go to sleep. Even if I want to listen to other songs, even if I want something else, the last music I hear is written by Jonathan Larson.
I still have all my RENT stuff on a special shelf in my bookcase. I also have RENT pictures and playbills on my walls and in picture frames.
I’m going to see the RENT tour three times this summer.
It’s been a while since my last big RENT extravaganza. The reason for this—the real reason—is that I don’t want the emotional upheaval. The feelings of sadness and regret that I feel when I realize how long it’s been since RENT was new, how much I’ve missed over the years. The feelings of love and pain when I watch the original Broadway cast, who I’ve felt so close to and who I can never talk to or get to know. The feelings of intensity, spreading through my veins like air being pumped into a tire. The whole thing leaves me drained and sad.
RENT doesn’t make me sad. I do that to myself. RENT makes me so happy. And I love it.
It’s like a friend who you’re close to: really close, closer than anyone else. You know everything about them: their secrets, their embarrassments, their quirks, their beauties. You know them as well as you know yourself.
Sooner or later, it all becomes settled, like sediment at the bottom of a pond. You can’t find the thrill of discovering new stuff, because you know it all. Even though you love this friend, depend on them, need them, you begin to drift away.
My connections with the original Broadway cast feel different now, less personal. My connections with the songs are soft, sweet, not as fiery as before. I feel like I’m slipping away, losing contact, turning down the volume…
And then I crack open my RENT bible, turn on Finale B, and bawl my eyes out.
It’s gone too deep. It’s affected me too much. I can forget the lyrics, forget the characters, forget the amazing, beautiful story, and it’ll still be with me. I can tighten my shoulders, clench my jaw ‘til I frown, let go…and not drown. RENT is holding me up, understanding me and guiding me like the light at the end of the tunnel.
My Jesse is still my Jesse. My Wilson and Idina and Taye and Anthony and Adam and Daphne and Fredi and Gwen and Byron and Aiko and Kristen and Gilles and Toby and Rodney…I still know their names. I still know their faces. And in a single second, I can pull them close to my heart and feel the pulse of life within a show they created years ago.
I haven’t seen the show in ages. When it went off Broadway, something died a little. The magic of knowing it was always there, a distant loved one tethering me to a past long lost…it faded when the Nederlander went dark. But god, I will never know anything so wonderful as the feelings it gives me. I will never find new characters that touch me so deeply and become so dear to me. I will never lose this. Because it’s hidden inside me, somewhere that nothing can touch it.
I love RENT. I know now I always will. And if being whiny and unappreciative and preachy is what it took to realize that, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it.
Thank you, Jonathan Larson. Thank you so much.
So why didn’t I?
Recently, I’ve become sort of scared. My RENThead identity—the part of me that lived this show, knew this show, loved this show—has started to feeling paler and smaller, like it’s fading. I know what the rational thing to say it: I’m growing up, moving on. RENT was an obsession that lasted for a few years, nothing more, nothing less. It made me happy, made me smile, but now I go on to bigger and better things.
I write these words, and I hate them.
It’s true; I have a lot of mini-obsessions that last for a month or so. Lord of the Rings, Narnia, Avatar, Lost…they all capture me, and then they let me go. Before RENT, I loved Phantom, Wicked, Pocahontas. They lasted maybe five or six months each.
RENT has lasted for almost four years.
That’s pretty short, I know. There are RENTheads who have loved the show for more than a decade. But for me, the girl from Cambridge who stumbled across a musical that shaped her and changed her into a different person, a new person…for me, four years isn’t short. For me, four years is an eternity.
I listen to a song by Jonathan Larson every night before I go to sleep. Even if I want to listen to other songs, even if I want something else, the last music I hear is written by Jonathan Larson.
I still have all my RENT stuff on a special shelf in my bookcase. I also have RENT pictures and playbills on my walls and in picture frames.
I’m going to see the RENT tour three times this summer.
It’s been a while since my last big RENT extravaganza. The reason for this—the real reason—is that I don’t want the emotional upheaval. The feelings of sadness and regret that I feel when I realize how long it’s been since RENT was new, how much I’ve missed over the years. The feelings of love and pain when I watch the original Broadway cast, who I’ve felt so close to and who I can never talk to or get to know. The feelings of intensity, spreading through my veins like air being pumped into a tire. The whole thing leaves me drained and sad.
RENT doesn’t make me sad. I do that to myself. RENT makes me so happy. And I love it.
It’s like a friend who you’re close to: really close, closer than anyone else. You know everything about them: their secrets, their embarrassments, their quirks, their beauties. You know them as well as you know yourself.
Sooner or later, it all becomes settled, like sediment at the bottom of a pond. You can’t find the thrill of discovering new stuff, because you know it all. Even though you love this friend, depend on them, need them, you begin to drift away.
My connections with the original Broadway cast feel different now, less personal. My connections with the songs are soft, sweet, not as fiery as before. I feel like I’m slipping away, losing contact, turning down the volume…
And then I crack open my RENT bible, turn on Finale B, and bawl my eyes out.
It’s gone too deep. It’s affected me too much. I can forget the lyrics, forget the characters, forget the amazing, beautiful story, and it’ll still be with me. I can tighten my shoulders, clench my jaw ‘til I frown, let go…and not drown. RENT is holding me up, understanding me and guiding me like the light at the end of the tunnel.
My Jesse is still my Jesse. My Wilson and Idina and Taye and Anthony and Adam and Daphne and Fredi and Gwen and Byron and Aiko and Kristen and Gilles and Toby and Rodney…I still know their names. I still know their faces. And in a single second, I can pull them close to my heart and feel the pulse of life within a show they created years ago.
I haven’t seen the show in ages. When it went off Broadway, something died a little. The magic of knowing it was always there, a distant loved one tethering me to a past long lost…it faded when the Nederlander went dark. But god, I will never know anything so wonderful as the feelings it gives me. I will never find new characters that touch me so deeply and become so dear to me. I will never lose this. Because it’s hidden inside me, somewhere that nothing can touch it.
I love RENT. I know now I always will. And if being whiny and unappreciative and preachy is what it took to realize that, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it.
Thank you, Jonathan Larson. Thank you so much.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
*headdesk*
So...reasonably good day. Fell asleep in photo. Fell asleep in chem. Fell asleep in lit. BUT NOT IN FRENCH! WIN!
Yeah, so I came home feeling sort like, "Wow, I'm too much a procrastinator to do my hw (which I still haven't done) before I go to this banquet thing tonight that I REALLY don't want to get dressed up for, but 1) my friend/my friend's mom is throwing it and if I show up grungy they might get mad and b) all the people in our drama department will be there looking shmancy and I will feel STOOPID NEXT TO THEM. WAAAAAH."
But yeah, I came home sad, and then I checked my email, and my friend Sarah, whom I love to death but haven't talked to in ages and is currently in Italy had sent me a message about how I'm awesome and why even though I feel bad, I'm the Esther people know and love. Needless to say, I don't appreciate my friends enough. Dagnabbit, now I want to send her a fruitbasket or something.
Why is analysis so incredibly irritating in school? We have to do thirty different kinds of analysis for lit, and it's only gonna get worse come college. I'm this close to analyzing myself out a window or something...like, "When Esther threw herself from the second story window, this symbolized the bathsit insanity that had gripped her because Lit 2 HN sucks. In conclusion, please dial 911." Yeah, I'm morbid, but so is my book about child soldiers and their dead friends. If I have to read that, you have to read me.
Hmmm...what else? I have playwriter's block. My genius father says there's no such thing, and he's a writer. And yet, I can't write a single word (other than this.) I mean, what am I supposed to do? Sit here listening to Dr. Horrible and bang my head against the desk?
...Okay then. I'll just do that.
"I cannot believe my eyes...is the world finally growing wise..."
*headdesk*
*headdesk*
Yeah, so I came home feeling sort like, "Wow, I'm too much a procrastinator to do my hw (which I still haven't done) before I go to this banquet thing tonight that I REALLY don't want to get dressed up for, but 1) my friend/my friend's mom is throwing it and if I show up grungy they might get mad and b) all the people in our drama department will be there looking shmancy and I will feel STOOPID NEXT TO THEM. WAAAAAH."
But yeah, I came home sad, and then I checked my email, and my friend Sarah, whom I love to death but haven't talked to in ages and is currently in Italy had sent me a message about how I'm awesome and why even though I feel bad, I'm the Esther people know and love. Needless to say, I don't appreciate my friends enough. Dagnabbit, now I want to send her a fruitbasket or something.
Why is analysis so incredibly irritating in school? We have to do thirty different kinds of analysis for lit, and it's only gonna get worse come college. I'm this close to analyzing myself out a window or something...like, "When Esther threw herself from the second story window, this symbolized the bathsit insanity that had gripped her because Lit 2 HN sucks. In conclusion, please dial 911." Yeah, I'm morbid, but so is my book about child soldiers and their dead friends. If I have to read that, you have to read me.
Hmmm...what else? I have playwriter's block. My genius father says there's no such thing, and he's a writer. And yet, I can't write a single word (other than this.) I mean, what am I supposed to do? Sit here listening to Dr. Horrible and bang my head against the desk?
...Okay then. I'll just do that.
"I cannot believe my eyes...is the world finally growing wise..."
*headdesk*
*headdesk*
Monday, May 4, 2009
So...First Blog. Wow. FUN.
Yeah, so, blogging. Wow. Interesting feeling, sharing my thoughts and deepest emotions with the whole wide blogosphere.
Yeah, so what I do is rant. A lot. Like, every single frigging day. Thus, the name of my blog. Also, for those who know me, it might as well be called Adventures in RENTing, so get your mockery out now. That's it, let the cruel laughter and teasing out of your system...you done? Good.
First thing to rant about: obsessions.
So I get obsessed with stuff. So? I tell you what, I have had about six different mini-obsessions in the last couple years. And GOD, do they annoy my loved ones. Hee.
(Also, my blog might be funny, but tonight it's not that funny. Sorry.)
1) Pocahontas
Okay, I admit this one freely now. Yes, the Disney movie about love and equality and Swirling Aqua-Colored Leaves of Communication Goodness was my reason for living for a few months. Don't ask me why. I think I was sort of like, "Whoa, two lovers separated by fate! Snarky, amusing back-up characters! ANIMALS! Oh gosh, the ANIMALS!" Also, the songs are pretty good (won an Oscar for one) and it's got some nice art. No, I don't know exactly why I wrote stories about me and John Smith and our wacky adventures in the forest (and for those of you who go "THERE", I'm gay, so NO). No, I can't explain why I feverishly spammed lovers of the sequel, which was historically accurately innaccurate CRAP, by the way. And no, I never crusied Pocahontas fan sites, bought the DVD for the special features, memorized how to spell Kocuoum, and wrote backstories froM every character from Thomas to Feather Ponytail Warrior Guy. Never did any of it. Ever. Nada. Well, maybe a little. FINE, I did it all. Except memorize that f#Y*&^%ing name.
2) Star Wars.
I have two words: Harrison Ford. Also, I have part of a sentence: is made of solid MAGNIFICENCENT, SPLENDIFOROUS, AWESOME SNARK.
Yeah, I did the whole thing. I hated the new sequels, I denounced George Lucas as a wackjob sellout, I read Carrie Fisher's book (blame Phia for that, and it was surprisingly funny). I bemoaned the fact that, beside Harrison TheSexMan Ford, pretty much all the actors' careers went downhill (actually Mark Hamill continues to voice some of the best villains in existence). I actually got some of the books from the library. The BOOKS. I think I'll be bargaining with Satan over that one.
3) Lord of the Rings
Another word: hobbits.
Viggo Mortenson, Dominc Monaghan, Billy Boyd, made of awesome, yada yada yada...HOBBITS. Oh sweet holy Jesus, HOBBITS.
I have many more, but I am le tired. Will continue tomorrow or whenever. Marlees, whatever happens on this blog is YOUR fault, because you led me here.
Yeah, so what I do is rant. A lot. Like, every single frigging day. Thus, the name of my blog. Also, for those who know me, it might as well be called Adventures in RENTing, so get your mockery out now. That's it, let the cruel laughter and teasing out of your system...you done? Good.
First thing to rant about: obsessions.
So I get obsessed with stuff. So? I tell you what, I have had about six different mini-obsessions in the last couple years. And GOD, do they annoy my loved ones. Hee.
(Also, my blog might be funny, but tonight it's not that funny. Sorry.)
1) Pocahontas
Okay, I admit this one freely now. Yes, the Disney movie about love and equality and Swirling Aqua-Colored Leaves of Communication Goodness was my reason for living for a few months. Don't ask me why. I think I was sort of like, "Whoa, two lovers separated by fate! Snarky, amusing back-up characters! ANIMALS! Oh gosh, the ANIMALS!" Also, the songs are pretty good (won an Oscar for one) and it's got some nice art. No, I don't know exactly why I wrote stories about me and John Smith and our wacky adventures in the forest (and for those of you who go "THERE", I'm gay, so NO). No, I can't explain why I feverishly spammed lovers of the sequel, which was historically accurately innaccurate CRAP, by the way. And no, I never crusied Pocahontas fan sites, bought the DVD for the special features, memorized how to spell Kocuoum, and wrote backstories froM every character from Thomas to Feather Ponytail Warrior Guy. Never did any of it. Ever. Nada. Well, maybe a little. FINE, I did it all. Except memorize that f#Y*&^%ing name.
2) Star Wars.
I have two words: Harrison Ford. Also, I have part of a sentence: is made of solid MAGNIFICENCENT, SPLENDIFOROUS, AWESOME SNARK.
Yeah, I did the whole thing. I hated the new sequels, I denounced George Lucas as a wackjob sellout, I read Carrie Fisher's book (blame Phia for that, and it was surprisingly funny). I bemoaned the fact that, beside Harrison TheSexMan Ford, pretty much all the actors' careers went downhill (actually Mark Hamill continues to voice some of the best villains in existence). I actually got some of the books from the library. The BOOKS. I think I'll be bargaining with Satan over that one.
3) Lord of the Rings
Another word: hobbits.
Viggo Mortenson, Dominc Monaghan, Billy Boyd, made of awesome, yada yada yada...HOBBITS. Oh sweet holy Jesus, HOBBITS.
I have many more, but I am le tired. Will continue tomorrow or whenever. Marlees, whatever happens on this blog is YOUR fault, because you led me here.
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