People Who Have Awesome People

Note: all names in this post are possibly misspelled, because they are awesomely crazy names and I am dumb. Also, I may possibly confuse several marital/social relationships. Forgive me, I am dumb, as previously stated.

I'm a person who doesn't like change. AT ALL. I find something I like and I stick with it through hell and high water; when that stuff gets taken away somehow, I am not happy. In fact, I am closer to ESTHER SMASH RAAAAH than I am to ESTHER IS QUITE MIFFED.

But if there is one aspect of my life I'm glad has changed and yet stayed wonderfully the same, it's the Gregory family.

My dad met Probyn Gregory when they were fourteen/thirteen, at their music camp, Merrywood. They became friends and soon started visiting each other. I guess it was about that time when Dad found out that Probyn's family was a little...unorthodox, shall we say (in the very, very best sense of the word). Probyn had five siblings: Cady (Cadigan), Bran (Branwyn), Ro (Rohan), Wusky (Erophan), and Tal (Taliasen). His mother, Mary, was married to David; her earlier husband was Probyn and Cady's father, while David was Bran, Ro, Wusky, and Tal's father. This family lived in upstate New Hampshire. And they were insane.

You think I'm kidding? Oh no. They were literally as insane as they come. They were also a group of the most wonderful and incredible individuals I have ever met.

Almost forty years later, my dad and Probyn are still close friends. The Gregory family is basically my family; if you asked me what my relationships to them are, I would answer honestly that they feel like a bunch of aunts and uncles, and in some ways more than that. The same goes for Sean (Cady's husband), Kelly (Bran's husband), Julia (Probyn's wife), Heidi (Tal's wife) and Susan (Ro's wife). Loey (Loica), Cady's daughter, and Aimen, Bran's son, feel like my younger cousins.

I am so, so, so happy to be a part of the Gregory family. They are such wonderful people, and have been since they first met me...which was when I was born. Growing up, they were always there, popping in and out of my life and making everything that much better. Seeing Loey grow up has been insane; she's so mature and lovely now, and I remember her when she was a hyper little kid who wouldn't stop bugging me to play hide and seek. Aimen...well, my first memory of him is watching Bran's change his diaper when he was months old, and now he's six and a half. Crazy, I tell you!

The antics among those people are rather epic. But that's a story for another time, because I'm so tired my brain is melting. More tomorrow. Good night.

More RENT

Goddamn. This week has been incredible. Three RENT shows. My head is bursting.

I'm not panicking as much as I thought I would. That's nice. When I say "panicking", I'm talking about my reaction to my last show. For the foreseeable future, this is the last time I will see RENT onstage. It's terrifying. Yet somehow, I'm not weeping right now. I'm just...happy.

I'm young, and I'm nowhere near started on my path of life. But around this age, many people find something to relate to, something to take comfort in, something that they love. I have loved RENT for years. I am so lucky to have it. I am so lucky to have seen it. I am so lucky.

It makes me want to be a better person. It makes me feel loved. The music is fucking incredible. The characters are wonderful. The history is almost as dramatic as the show itself. The entire thing is part of who I am. You can't separate me from the changes RENT has made in my life. I am a product of RENT in many ways.

After so long, it's hard for me to appreciate the OBC for what they were. These fifteen people were an abnormality; their relationships and actions are not to be found more than once in a several decades. The love they had for each other. The chemistry they had with each other. What they created. What they meant to all of us. Every little bit of it endures. Wilson and Jesse's I'll Cover You is never any less wonderful. Anthony's Mark is never any else crazy and awesome. Adam and Daphne's Another Day is never any less intense. Idina and Fredi's Take Me Or Leave Me is never any less powerful. The entire cast inspire feelings in me I can't find anywhere else. RENT fulfills a need I didn't know I had.

I am giving in to love. I am refusing the live in fear. I can't control my destiny. My only goal is just to be.

Listening to I'll Cover You right now is making my chest hurt. This is the thing: the sadness, the longing, the regret, are all mingled with the love and celebration. I am going to read Harry Potter and detach from RENT right now, because I don't want to sob and feel full of loss. I am not going to sit here thinking my way through I'll Cover You for the millionth time, because although it doesn't make me unhappy, it...I don't know. It's a perfect and painful feeling. It's impossible to describe, but I can't feel it right now. I don't want to keep repeating the same thing. I want to detach right now so that I can preserve my feelings of content happiness.

This feels like denying emotion and being numb, but I don't think it is. I love I'll Cover You, and Wilson and Jesse, and RENT. God, I love them so much. But sometimes you just don't want to go there. You want to turn off the insense, wonderful emotions and let your brain recover. I cannot count how many times I have let those strong feelings about RENT take over. They're not going anywhere. No day but today is right, and I feel a little like I'm delaying and putting this off, which is against RENTian principle; but I think Jonathan Larson would understand. I honestly do. And god, I love his work. I love them. I love him. I have so much fucking love it's ridiculous. But after everything today, I need to rest. I'll come back to these crazy loves. But I need to regenerate.

RENT will always be there. My memories, my emotions, my connections to RENT will stop it from leaving me. I am a RENThead. I am proud. I love this show, and these people, and the magic they made. I love it. And I will always, ALWAYS have that with me.

"I've longed to discover something as true as this is."

Thank you, Jonathan Larson.

I Just Realized

I have two amazing friends who I promised to mention in my blog, and I haven't.

Becky is an amazing person. I am so, so lucky to know her and have this friendship with her. I hope it'll last a good long time. I would say more, but I think she has a letter that mostly covers how I feel.

Sierra: I love you like crazy, I miss you like crazy, and I can't wait for you to get home and tell me all about your crazy English hijinks! I also have a shitload to tell you...but again, all shall be said when you get your booty home!

No Words

Saw it again. There are no words for how it makes me feel. If I was a better writer, I could find these elusive words. But I can't.

It's part of who I am. It has made me a different person. And it is where I belong. I have a whole life ahead of me, but I won't belong anywhere in the same way I belong with RENT.

No words. No. Fucking. Words.

Bleh

Went camping. Very, very tired. Itchy from bug bites. Sunburnt. Broke the washer. Going crazy about RENT and Anthony. Bought the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack. Tiiiiiiiiiired.

All I Can Think Of To Say

THANK YOU JONATHAN LARSON.

I'll Cover You

There is a line in the song "I'll Cover You": Collins and Angel, as they lead up to the final refrain, say, "I've longed to discover something as true as this is." Musically, it's a beautiful line, with the music conveying a sense of complete happiness and trust from the singers. Literally, it's sweet and loving, perhaps the tiniest bit sappy but much less so than other words. For me, though, this line comes back time and again as a moment that expresses absolutely what I feel about RENT. I have longed, for as long as I can remember, to discover something as true as the feelings and emotions and experiences that RENT gives me. I've longed to discover something as true as this is, and though I may forget sometimes how deeply it has affected me, I know that nothing else will ever change me in that same way. Nothing else will ever be true in the way that RENT is, in the way it has been and in the way it will be for years and years to come.

And one of the most inspiring and magnetic parts of the RENT experience is the actors.

I've seen quite a few RENT casts: tour ones, Broadway ones, original members, celebrities, old favorites, newbies, the works. I have a favorite Maureen (Nicolette Hart), a favorite Mimi (Karmine Alers), even a favorite Squeegee Man (Telly Leung). I can name or recognize the names of most RENT actors, be they past, present, or tour. I've only seen the show nine times so far, but I'm a virtual connoisseur of RENT performers. And yet I will never find a Collins and an Angel who make the same magic and give me the same sense of pure, sweet happiness and joy that Jesse L. Martin and Wilson Jermaine Heredia do.

The Original Broadway Cast (OBC) truly is the only one for me. I've seen all the bootlegs there are to be found of them, learned their bios, read their interviews, done everything but stalk them (okay, I've stalked a little, but it was good stalking). I've seen Gwen Stewart (Soloist #1, Mrs. Jefferson, and Others), Rodney Hicks (OBC Paul and Others, but I saw him as Benny), Anthony Rapp as Mark, Adam Pascal as Roger...they're all incredible. I love and appreciate many other RENT actors past and present, but the OBC are forever at the top of my ladder. I feel (as I'm sure many RENTheads do) that I know them, and that, like old friends, they'll be there for me whenever I need them, and they'll forgive me when I don't pay attention to them for a little while. I feel connected to them. I love them. And I know that sounds weird, but it's true. In whatever twisted way my little RENThead mind can love people I don't know (or barely know) but who have changed my life completely, I love them.

Jesse and Wilson are OBC members. Wilson is a Dominican guy from Brooklyn who worked as a dispatcher before RENT and threw on Angel's platform heels without a second thought. Jesse is a black, Southern-bred, Buffalo-raised guy who almost didn't do RENT. They're perfect. They are Angel and Collins. There's no pretense about that. They just became those characters so perfectly that to me, every other actor (even Justin Johnston and Michael McElroy, my favorite Angel/Collins duo that I have seen) can't compare; they just seem a little bit off, like impersonators or mimics. The real thing has been there and gone.

I watch the OBC opening night bootleg, and I see Jesse and Wilson perform I'll Cover You. It's unbelievable, how complete they are. Even I, who can never stop thinking about the actors for a second, get lost in the moment as Angel and Collins fall in love before my eyes. From "I've been hearing violins all night" to "No, you'll be my queen and I'll be your moat", the lines just FIT. Other people sometimes make them sound hokey or uncomfortable, but Jesse and Wilson just look so natural and happy that I can't doubt them for a second. God, they're incredible. And they bring the song, with all its love and emotion, to life. Jonathan's brilliance, sweetness, and utter belief in the power of love shine here, in this pure, uncomplicated love song. There's no hemming and hawing and hesitance here like with Roger and Mimi's "I Should Tell You." There's no angry dueling and raunchy teasing like Maureen and Joanne's "Take Me Or Leave Me." There's just happiness and love and trust and acceptance. I can't even find the right words to describe how this song makes me feel. It's a blank for me.

Jesse and Wilson are also completely comfortable with each other, which is very, very important for Collins and Angel. I've seen Angels and Collinses who seem afraid or reluctant to touch each other, and it just wrecks the song. They also kiss for about half a second, which sucks. Wilson and Jesse kissed worth half a damn, and that sets them up on a whole new level right there. They weren't nervous or afraid or embarrassed. Wilson touches Jesse's chest and face, Jesse puts his fingers at the corners of Wilson's lips (best gesture EVER right there, by the way), and they hold hands like it's the best thing in the world. Jesse just wraps his arms around Wilson's waist and smiles his big, open, heart-melting smile. And at that moment, when Jesse is hugging Wilson from behind and they're swaying to the music and singing, you can see it. In the way Jesse leans his face against Wilson and closes his eyes, in the barely repressed grin on Wilson's face, and on the way their hands link in the front...it's there. When Wilson strokes Jesse's face and cups his hand around his neck when they kiss, and after a second their arms just go up and around each other, there's something real there. Not just two guys dancing around beaming and singing at each other. Two real people, sharing a single space in time where everything fits perfectly.

Make no mistake: I'm not one of those people who are like "OMG THEY R SO GAY THEYRE IN LUUUUUV." I'm one of the "please shoot and kill people like that and then bury their bodies under the foundations of the Nederlander" RENTheads. Jesse and Wilson are both straight. I know this, and I happily accept it. But here's where loads of people will call me a gullible romanticist. See, if you read the RENT Bible (and partially memorize it *cough*), you hear a lot about how close this cast was. The OBC, I mean. When Jonathan Larson died, they cemented close to each other, and when RENT became a huge hit, they were a real family. The cynic in me says that at least some of it has to be a schtick or something, because that kind of stuff is great for PR. But the rest of me believes it. For a few reasons.

For one thing, none of these people seem like PR whores. Not only that, but they don't and didn't need to be. RENT was already a smash, they didn't need to hype anymore. And I can see it happening too: in the way they were onstage (THANK GOD FOR BOOTLEGS), in Anthony Rapp's book, in the pictures (not the staged ones, but yeah, even those a bit), and just from what I know of them. It was a crazy, insane ride, and they were either flying solo or all together for it. Wilson said, "I felt for once like I was part of the club." Fredi Walker (original Joanne, and one of the performers that I identify with and love in a different way than the others) said, "There will never be a cast of RENT like this one. Instead of breaking apart because of the success, we've come closer together." Adam Pascal said, "The connection we have offstage transfers. People ask if we love each other as much as we look like we do, and we do." I just see it, and I believe it. Maybe I'm stupid, maybe I'm naive, but I believe it. And somehow it gives me comfort.

Wilson and Jesse were part of that family, and when they performed those parts, there was real love there. No, not romantic love, but feelings between two human beings. They loved each other like they loved the rest of those thirteen people they were onstage with every night. And it shows. It shows.

Sometimes I get so sad about RENT it physically hurts. I'm sad it's been so long since the OBC, sad it's closed, sad about other things, sad sad sad sad sad. But it happened. It happened, and it existed, and those magical times of the OBC, they're not gone. They're past, and the world they existed in is past, but they were and are real. I have that. And as sad as I'll ever get, and as happy as I'll ever get, the love will always be there. Jesse and Wilson will always be there, those two men who created something I've never seen or felt before and set it free. I love them, and I love RENT, and I thank Jonathan Larson that I have them in my life.

RENThead OUT. For now, at least.

My Mind, She Is Blown

First, I saw RENT tonight. I have blathered so much about it already that I have no more words. Let's say this: I had an amazing time, and realized that no matter how I change and how I grow, my heart will always settle with RENT. It's part of me now. I thought I'd left that frantic, crazy fangirl behind me and was more blase, chill RENThead...but I was wrong. I am a RENThead through thick and thin, as a stalker and as a singer, as a fangirl and as a person. The show, the history, the actors...that's just all there is for me. I love it. C'est la vie.

Then when I got home, Becky wrote an amazing blog post that sort of made me cry and is the kind of thing that everyone should have done for them at least once in life. I will treasure it--and my friendship with her--for a very, very long time. College is dumb. It takes all the awesome people away!

Wow. I'm a crazy, crazy lady.

YUSS.

Rather Soap Opera-y Play, But Whatever

Lights up. Mark, a young man wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, is standing at a kitchen table. He is shuffling cards. He looks unhappy.

Enter Beth, his girlfriend, wearing slippers and a bathrobe over pajamas. She walks up and hugs him from behind. He jumps and spins around, forcing her to let go. The cards fall onto the table.

Mark:

Jesus Christ!

Beth:

Sorry!

They face each other for a moment: Beth smiling playfully, Mark unhappy. He turns back to the table and begins picking up the cards. She advances.

Beth:

Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. (no response) Don’t get all hot and bothered about it…(she reaches to hug him again, but he grabs her wrists to stop her. After a brief moment of hesitation, he lets go and allows her to embrace him.)

Mark:

I’m not hot and bothered. You just sort of snuck up on me, that’s all.

Beth:

It’s easy to get sort of jittery when you’re up at two in the morning.

Mark:

It’s this house. Too many bad memories. I can’t sleep.

Beth:

Me neither. (Mark turns and frowns, concerned. He takes hold of her shoulders.)

Mark:

You can’t sleep? Are you feeling sick again? Did you throw up? (Beth smiles and hugs him again.)

Beth:

No, I feel fine. I woke up after you left. I can’t sleep without someone kicking and shoving and snoring next to me all night.

Mark:

Oh. Sorry.

Beth:

No worries. I’ll forgive you, eventually. (She tries to kiss him, but he turns his face away. Freeing himself from the embrace, Mark walks around the table and sits down. He begins to gather up the cards. Beth is still for a moment, then silently sits in the chair beside him. He finishes gathering the cards, shuffles once, and looks at Beth.)

Mark:

Wanna play?

Beth:

Well, that depends. What’d you have in mind? Seven card stud? Five card draw? Texas hold-em?

Mark:

Go fish.

Beth:

Ah, just like the cowboys used to play in the saloons out west. (Mark doesn’t react.) Sure, why not. (Mark shuffles. Beth gets up and walks behind him, resting her arms on his shoulders. He ignores her and continues to shuffle.) You gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to guess until I hit the bulls-eye?

Mark:

Nothing’s up, Beth.

Beth:

What was the point of coming all the way down here if you weren’t going to talk to anyone? I swear, your mom is this close to spiking your coffee with Jack Daniels or something. At least then you might yell drunkenly at her instead of giving her the silent treatment.

Mark:

I talk to you.

Beth:

I don’t count. I’m not family.

Mark:

What’s so special about family?

Beth:

Do you know what Paul asked me last night? He wanted to know if you were high. You’re acting so weird your own brother thinks you’re under the influence of something illegal.

Mark:

(beginning to deal) I just don’t feel like getting into the whole how’ve-you-been, what’s-the-buzz, look-at-the-happy-family-Christmas-card holiday kind of thing. I’m not in the mood.

Beth:

Christmas card? You’re Jewish.

Mark:

Pick up your cards. You go first.

Beth:

Seriously, Mark, can’t you tell me—

Mark:

It’s your turn. (Beth hesitates, then sighs and sits back down in her chair. She picks up her cards and fans them, then considers them.)

Beth:

Got any threes?

Mark:

Go fish.

Beth:

You never have threes.

Mark:

Luck of the draw, I guess.

Beth:

Some luck.

They play a few turns: tens, sixes, queens. When it’s Mark’s turn again, he doesn’t move. He is thinking.

Beth:

Hey? Honey? Your move?

Mark:

I was thinking…do we really need to bother moving everything else in? I mean, I do have a lot of shit, and your place isn’t huge or anything. I don’t want to crowd all your stuff.

Beth:

It’s our stuff, babe. Seriously. I keep telling you not to sweat it. Believe me, I went through the whole codependency paranoia garbage too. It’ll pass.

Mark:

But—I mean—won’t Rory want more space? I don’t want him pissing all over my couch because he’s…um…

Beth:

Pissed off?

Mark:

He’s already gonna be annoyed with us for ditching him for a week. That kennel was nasty as hell.

Beth:

You know, much as I love our little hell-dog, I’m not going to force any of my friends to take care of a bitchy old beagle with bad bladder control. Not for a whole week, anyway. I mean, these are people I would prefer to remain friends with.

Mark:

Yeah. I guess so. Makes sense. (he stares down at the table, thinking. Beth is obviously troubled by his silence.)

Beth:

Mark? Is that what’s wrong?

Mark:

Huh?

Beth:

Is it…moving in? Are you upset about it? Too big a change, too fast?

Mark:

Beth, that’s not the problem.

Beth:

Because it’s totally okay if you want to slow down the process a bit. You know, sleep at Jonathan’s a couple nights a week or something. I wouldn’t mind.

Mark:

(laughing without humor)

Trust me, sleeping at Jonathan’s would not solve anything here.

Beth:

So you admit there’s a problem and it needs to be solved.

Mark:

Jesus Christ, what am I supposed to say? I’m not a goddamn course model in shrink school, okay? You can’t wrap me up in a tidy little pile of depression or denial or whatever you people have in there.

Beth:

I wasn’t trying to do that.

Mark:

Just stop trying to analyze me.

Beth:

If you stop yelling and try to not to wake the whole house up, it’s a deal.

Mark looks like he’s about to get mad again; Beth is sitting silently, looking at her cards. After a pause, Mark picks up his cards.

Mark:

Any jacks?

Beth:

Go fish.

Mark picks up a card and looks to Beth. She’s shuffling her cards and doesn’t go. He sighs and reaches out to put one hand over hers.

Mark:

Sorry. I’m sorry I’m such a spaz. Peace?

Beth:

Mark—

Mark:

Wait. Peace?

Beth:

(smiling a little)

Peace. (looking at her cards) Got any sevens?

Mark:

I do, actually. (hands her cards, then plays a turn; Beth is distracted and does not take her turn) Okay, seriously, I said sorry. I thought you peaced.

Beth:

I did peace. It’s not that.

Mark:

So what’s wrong? (realizes what’s going on) Hey, role reversal! That’s a shrink thing, right?

Beth:

Um, sorta. I’m proud of you. (still thinking) Mark, I want to ask you about something.

Mark:

Yeah?

Beth:

What do you think is scarier: commitment or uncertainty?

Mark:

I don’t…Beth, what are you talking about?

Beth:

With uncertainty, you don’t know what you can and can’t do, or can and can’t say. Even to someone you love. Because if there’s no real commitment, there’s nothing to stop them from running for the hills if they don’t hear something they like. You know? You don’t know if anything will be okay, there’s no guarantee that it will, or that they will. It’s sort of terrifying, actually.

Mark:

(clearly very affected by what she’s saying)

I think I know the feeling.

Beth:

But with commitment, you might be safe, but you’re sort of stuck. There’s a guarantee for both you and the other guy. They can’t run, but neither can you. And if it turns out to be something you don’t want…something that you can’t live with, or makes you into a person you don’t want to be, then you can’t run either. You’re just as committed as everyone else.

Mark:

(getting up)

Like even when you think you might want commitment, if you were thinking it might make everything better…it turns out you were wrong. You were kidding yourself.

Beth:

(getting a little excited)

Exactly.

Mark:

And even if what’s wrong with the whole thing is beyond your control, and it’s something you hate and want to just go away…when you’re committed, there’s no excuse. For running away, I mean.

Beth:

But what if the problem…what if it’s not always a bad thing? What if it seems scary at first, and huge, and completely inescapable, but it turns out to be…the best thing that ever happened to you? To us?

Mark:

(not looking at her, upset, didn’t catch the last two words)

That doesn’t happen. These kinds of problems never get better. They never go away. They’re just there, and you can’t change yourself. You can’t get rid of it.

Beth:

(confused, standing)

It? What’s “it”? What are you talking about?

Mark:

(turning to look at her)

Wait, what are you talking about? What’s this commitment-uncertainty stuff?

Beth:

(coming towards him)

This stuff is about us. It’s about something amazing that could happen…something that seems really big and bad and…uncertain. Something that makes you uncertain and committed at the same time.

Mark:

You’re freaking me out, okay? Just letting you know.

Beth:

You don’t need to be freaked out. (goes up to him, takes his hands) I promise. Actually, it freaked me out at first, but then I started thinking. And I realized how wonderful it is. Mark, it’s beautiful.

Mark:

Beautiful? What’s—what’s beautiful?

Beth:

(putting her arms around him, getting a little jokey)

C’mon, babe. You can’t be this thick. I mean, I’ve known for at least a couple weeks, and I’m not even the one living with me.

Mark:

(suddenly very, very wary, almost shocked)

Wait—are you talking about—are you saying what I think you are? (Beth nods) And you’re okay with it? Now that you know, after all this time?

Beth:

I wasn’t in the beginning. But like I said, I started thinking. And I saw that it could be the best thing in the world. It could be perfect for us.

Mark:

(aghast)

Perfect for us? Perfect? Are you insane? What’s wrong with you? (he pulls away and runs to the other side of the table: Beth is confused) This isn’t perfect. This is sick and wrong and…and…I can’t believe I did this to you. And I really, really can’t believe you’re not trying to kill me right now.

Beth:

Mark, what the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand.

Mark:

This isn’t beautiful, Beth, it’s not wonderful. It’s unnatural. I’m disgusting. I thought I could make it all better, so I didn’t let you go when I had the chance and now you’re stuck and you’re committed and I love you so much. I never wanted to do this to you, okay? I want you to know that. If I could change one thing about this, I would make it so you didn’t have to be a part of it. I used you, and I’m sorry, and if I’d known that you knew I would have said sorry a long time ago. God, I’m such a fuck-up, I’m so sorry. Beth, I’m sorry.

Beth:

(completely overwhelmed, holding onto a chair)

You’re not making any sense. I can’t understand you.

Mark:

I’m not okay with it, Beth. I know you might think it’s all right, for other people, but I’m not okay with it. It’s wrong, it’s not just…it’s wrong. I hate it.

Beth:

But I thought…I thought you would be happy. I thought you would want this.

Mark:

You thought I would want what? For you to be all right with all of this? Because I—oh god, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted that. I’m a selfish son of a bitch, I know. I love you, and I’ve never met anyone else that I—that I wanted to tell. I’ve never wanted anyone to tell me it was all okay as much as I wanted you to tell me that. But I can’t ask it of you. Don’t you get it? I can’t ask you to do that for me.

Beth:

You—wanted to tell me—what?

Mark:

But you know now. Christ, I can’t even imagine how you found out. Did you talk to Jonathan, did he tell you? Did Paul tell you about when I—(decides not to continue) or did you just guess? Could you tell when you met me?

Beth:

(suddenly understanding, completely overwhelmed)

Oh my god.

Mark:

I know. I know, oh god, Beth, I’m so sorry.

Beth:

Jonathan…and you…and…oh my god, oh Jesus Christ, this is not happening. This is—-this is—-such bull.

Mark:

(realizing something is wrong)

Beth? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just exploded like that. But this month or two, it’s just been…and then coming here, being with my family, I couldn’t handle it, I just shut down. I can’t believe that you knew, all this time. I had no idea.

Beth:

Neither did I.

Mark:

What?

Beth:

I can’t believe it. I cannot believe that this is my life. I thought I knew every possible way the world could blow up in my face, but screw that. I don’t know shit.

Mark:

What are you talking about?

Beth:

You know, I actually have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m having trouble thinking clearly right now, because I’m nine weeks pregnant and my boyfriend is a faggot.

Long silence. Mark is unable to speak; he stands beside the table, watching Beth. Beth picks up her cards, fans them out, and examines them. Then she picks up Mark’s cards and looks at them. She takes two out and holds them up.

Beth:

Thanks for the threes.

She walks past Mark without looking at him. He turns to watch her go, then sits down and brings all the cards together. He begins to shuffle. Lights down.

I don't want to make my blog private. I want people to be able to find it and, if they enjoy it, stay and read it, But if all it's going to do is cause my life to explode over and over, then I guess I should rip the fucking thing down and be done with it.

There's no expectation of privacy on the net. I KNOW THAT. REALLY, I DO. But maybe I was stupid enough to think that one little post, hidden with about twenty in June, wouldn't be read by one of, like, two people in the world who it would ruin. Yeah, crazy, right?

I'm at my wits' end. I don't know what to do. And why am I posting this on my blog, you ask? Well, it's because I'm a fucking idiot. Get used to it.

Brain Typhoon

Sometimes I wake up and everything is great. Everything feels right, everything is gonna work out for the best, everything is where it should be.

Sometimes I wake up and I feel like crying. I feel like hiding under the covers until I don't exist anymore, and I would...except that would make me feel even worse.

My mood swings like a freakin' pendulum. One minute I love all my friends to death and feel like the luckiest girl in the world. The next minute I'm jealous of them and want them to feel just as crappy as I do, just so I'm not alone. What is WRONG with me?

Is it okay to want people to want you more than you want them? Is it okay to want so much to know what the secret is? Is it so bad to feel smug because for once, I'm happier than the people around me?

Today, my dad, sister, and I went to the pool beside what used to be my grandparents' house before they both died and we had to sell the house because the world sucks (now the lawn is completely unkempt and the whole place looks haunted; great). This is the pool where I learned how to swim, and where I first passed a deep-end test, and where I spent a huge amount of time when I was younger. It felt so, so weird being back. Like I was suddenly ten years old again. The trees were too tall. They cut off the sun. I had a board-battle with my dad and we came to a stalemate; I learned from the best. My sister and I messed around and had a great time. It was so nice.

Some people are performing two of my short plays. This should make me happy, but it just makes me wracked with embarrassment and uncertainty. They hate it, don't they? They're just feeling sorry for me. Oh my god, this is awful writing, what was I THINKING? Yeah, that was running on a loop through my head the whole time.

I miss Sierra. I wonder if she's reading this. I hope she's having a wonderful time in Oxford. Her blog posts seemed to say she was. I can't wait until we have her back home.

On Friday I hung with Leora and Will and just generally was so, so happy because they are both amazing. Then Will and I dropped Leora off and went to dinner with Ian and Emma at Le's, which used to be Pho Pasteur. Their noodles are good, I stole some of Emma's.

Yesterday, I hung out with Mira, Phia, and Jess. I missed them all so much, I can't even tell you. What is my PROBLEM? I stay away from some of the people I love the most in the world. Then I hung with Roze, Shawn, and Benjy. Same question as previously. We saw Public Enemies, which pretty much sucked, except for me being able to stare at Johnny Depp's chiseled gorgeousness for two-something hours. Even lesbians love this guy; I think that says something for him indeed.

I'm listening to "Still I Can't Be Still", by Idina Menzel. I love her so much. I also love this song. I listened to it a lot when I was in Greece a while ago. God, Greece is beautiful. The Mediterranean is the most wonderful sea in the world: its water is pure, rich blue, deeper than chlorine and much more natural. It's warmer than it should be, and...it is just beyond words. When my family and I were in Greece, we stayed on this island called Helki. Though it did its best to be a tourist trap, there were precious few cars, cats, everywhere, and just enough lack of civilization for it to be unspoiled. I hope it's still that way.

Most mornings, I would get up and walk down the path to the little wharf and waterfront. I'd buy something from the bakery, maybe a ham and cheese croissant, and go sit on the edge of the wharf with my legs dangling over the edge and that brilliant blue water washing up against the concrete. I'd throw little bits of my croissant into the water and soon enough, there would be a hundred different kinds of fish swimming right beneath my feet. It was incredible to watch. Dad almost died by lionfish and Halie almost died by sea urchin. The kitties were everywhere. I made friends with the local kids. There was a goat-tanning building. My older cousin Nina made friends with this Irish guy Patrick, and we hung with him for a while. On the bus back from the ferry, we passed loads of brown brush and dry fields. "Still I Can't Be Still" brings me right back there.

On Tuesday I'm seeing RENT. I haven't allowed myself to think about it very much. For one thing, I'll be going alone, which is hard. For another, the emotional wrecking ball will hit pretty damn hard, and if I want to function, I have to hold it back for as long as possible. I'm taking ym Mark Scarf. Yuss.

I finished a bit of my AP Bio summer work. Go me.

I just watched five episodes of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air with my little sister. She really is my best friend. That sounds so very cliche, but it's true. We get each other so well. And we've been through the same shit together.

There's a lot more to say. But I have to go to bed. G'night.

Stuff

It's funny how relative our lives are. High school...adolescence...freedom and yet ennui...it all seems to take so long. I was talking to my dad about college, and how it's only two years away. And I was thinking, "Man, two long years..." and then I suddenly realized, "Oh my god, ONLY TWO YEARS?"

Everything happens slow and fast, slow and fast. It's hugely disorienting sometimes. Like, I want to smush my head against the wall one second, I want to skip around and hug the world the next. You'd think I'd get whiplash, but nooooo. I'm not that lucky.

These two little twins I babysit--and that I babysat tonight--sort of brought that concept home to me. I've known them since they were born, and I've been babysitting them since they were three. Now they're eight, and they have, like...thoughts and emotions and ideas and shit like that. It's thrilling and frightening at the same time. I mean, I love these two girls to the end of the earth and back, and they basically feel a bit like younger cousins or something. But sooner than I might think, they won't need me anymore. We won't be sitting on their smooshy red couch, with them cuddled up next to me while we watch RENT (gah feelings HELP) on their dad's computer. I won't sing them "A, Alligators All Around" and various RENT songs for bedtime anymore, and I won't be able to carry one twin on my shoulders to Pemberton Market and the other on my shoulders on the way home while they chatter about elves and vampires and such. Their innocence and simplicity, which is so endearing right now, will be replaced with depth as they mature and grow into themselves. And I can't wait to see the wonderful young women they become...but I'll always have those memories of when they were young enough to need me and that was all.

Coincidentally, these two little girls are rocking the Cambridge boat. They've been cast in a movie as the daughter of Ben Barnes (the guy who played Prince Caspian; I know, right?). And not so recently, one of them has dumped her boyfriend for a girl. They're also obsessed with RENT, just like me. Great, aren't they?

Also, on the topic of movie musicals: I HAVE FIGURED OUT WHY "RENT" DID NOT DO WELL. Or rather, I have figured out how to make a successful movie musical. See, what many mainstream movie audiences don't identify with is people randomly bursting out into song in the middle of real life. Successful movie musicals, like "Chicago" and "Dreamgirls" and "Cabaret", all incorporated the musical numbers into the story as either 1) performances by the characters, such as The Dreams or Sally Bowles at the club or 2) out-of-body-and/or-storyline experiences, such as the "Chicago" thing of having all the characters, like, perform the songs in a surreal theater setting. RENT is sort of inseparable from its songs, like "Light My Candle" and "I Should Tell You" and so on. It's also set in a time period that hasn't yet been romanticized; a lot of adults today experienced the 90's and the shit that came with them, and they're not ready yet to accept a musical about it all. All of the "people, stop whining about your rent and grow up" complainers don't seem to be able to sympathize with the emotional parts of the show, which is where its real appeal is. But whatever, Ilove RENT and anyone who doesn't...is dumb.

G'night!

Your Eyes

You know, it's weird...I'm sitting here and looking at a picture of Michael Jackson from the cover of the Thriller album--which, by the way, is the featured article on Wikipedia today--and I noticed something: even after all the ways he screwed around with his own face, the pain and trauma he put it through, and the hatred he must have felt for himself, he always had the same eyes. This sounds incredibly cheesy, but look closely. On the Thriller cover, he has this look on his face that, yes, is probably the product of a million makeup artists and photo assistants and cover art-artists...but still, there's something there. His eyes are very dark and very deep, and very...well, very knowing. Not only that, they're cool. Not a lot of warmth in those eyes.

Much later on, when he was this twisted little husk of a human body, he still had those eyes. He still had that far-reaching, focused stare that you can see in the young man with the white glove.

Dunno. Just dunno.

Gah, I Tell You. GAH.

Ever find that one song that doesn't get old for you, ever? Like, you still enjoy it during fads and trends and all that, and it just frigging endures for you? I have that song. It is called "Never Leave Your Heart Alone", by Butterfly Boucher, this Christian rock band from Australia. Yeah, Christian rock? Not usually my thing. This song, however, is. I found it on the Grey's Anatomy soundtrack (so sue me) and it's all thumpy and piano-y and harmony-y and generally sort of cool. I don't know WHY I'm so into it, but I am. I just never get tired of it.

Other songs that clutter up my earphones recently: I Kissed A Girl by Katy Perry, The First Single by The Format, Undead by Brynna Campbell, Strangers Like Me by Phil Collins, RENT/Spring Awakening (as per usual, at least in relation to the RENT), and Wicked Little Town from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Some of these are longtimes listens, some are not. Whatever, they're all kick-ass.

Okay, so here's a NEWish problem. Yeah, I bitch about my problems with my dad a lot. Whatever, everyone has shit to deal with. The thing is, I know he loves me and my sister more than pretty much anything else in the world, and I love him too. That's not the issue; the issue is that he tends to act like the biggest of wankers, but I digress. The point is, he may be an idiot at times, but he's not a bad person. In fact, he's a wonderful man. A genuinely screwed up, sometimes childish, wonderful man. It's who he is.

But with the summer approaching in full force, I realize that he's actually very smothering in some ways. Think about it: I'm a divorced kid. Most divorced kids spend weekends and holidays with one parent. I switch back and forth halfway through the week. It's extremely stressful, and usually results in my stuff getting lost and my plans being screwed up. I miss my dad, but I AM NOT ELEVEN YEARS OLD ANYMORE. I need my freedom, I need to be able to say, "No, Dad, I want to be away from you for a while, and that needs to be okay." I was on vacation with him for a full week, without seeing anyone other than my family, and now he has a camping trip planned in the middle of my work schedule. If I say anything about feeling obligated to spend too much time with the family and at home, he pulls a sad face and starts going on about accepting he is of the time I want to spend with my friends, and he knows I want to have time to myself, and he gives me that, and it's not too much to ask for for me to be at home every once in a while, is it?

Dad, you plan family excursions every chance you get and never let me not go without feeling hugely guilty. The more time I spend around you, the less I actually enjoy. You're smothering me. I know I need to be "accountable" to you like you say, but I'm growing up. You can't keep planning my life out for me. I need to make my own mistakes and take action on my own behalf. I don't want you to do all this. Let me go, Dad. Please.

4th of July

Awesome, awesome 4th of July. Okay, maybe not totally and completely awesome, but still pretty awesome.

I spent about seven hours hanging around on the waterfront right near MIT. At first it was me, Will, Christine, and and Ariel; then Ariel left and we were very sad to see her go. Then it was me, Will, and Christine for many, many hours, and let me tell you, there are not many in the people in the world that I can have that much fun with for that long. J squared (Julia and Joe) joined us about half an hour before the fireworks.

Okay, what exactly did we spend all that time doing? Well...not much, really. Mostly we chomped on homemade fried chicken (thank you, Will) pretty colored marshmallows (thank you, Ariel) and yummy fluffy chocolate cake (thank you--oh wait, that was me). We all lay down on each other, which was really comfy: Will and Christine are both EXCELLENT pillows, especially Christine, because she is abnormally adorable and squeaks a lot and gets all jumpy when she laughs which is fun when you are lying with your head on her tummy. We also discussed Will being weirdly similar to Christine's boyfriend and generally awesome person, Dan (who couldn't be there, damn his eyes) and sang musicals and had oodles of fun. When Julia and Joe finally showed, there was even more lying on each other and laughing and hitting people; Joe has had way too many concussions and I KEPT HITTING HIM ON THE HEAD BECAUSE I FORGOT, and luckily he was a good sport and did not snap my hand off at the wrist, as some people might have done around the fourth or fifth time.

The fireworks were gorgeous; we ooooohed and aaaaahed, and Julia pointed out how bad it was the environment, and we shushed her. And Will and I kept boosting Christine up, because she is vertically challenged, shall we say, and we might have been boosting her against her will, but we meant well, so it doesn't matter. I also spent most of the time hugging Will, who is an excellent tool for keeping warm. He's also FUZZY.

After the fireworks, we hung out at the river for a while longer and then traipsed up the river to Trader Joe's, where J squared and Christine met their ride. Will walked me home, gentleman that he is, and now here I am.

The awesome of tonght was lessened because I ditched anther group of friends in a thoroughly scummy way--not like I was purposefully trying to ditch them and was mean about it, but like I kept promising I would show and then didn't and basically acted like a douchebag of utter douchey-ness. It seems some other people caught the Jerk Flu, so at least I wasn't the only one. On the other hand, that means the non-jerk people suffered even more...ah, whatever. It was bad, I will try to make up for it, end of story.

Something happened today that made me think a bit. The music from the Shell, or from somewhere, whatever, was echoing over to us, and at one point they started playing the national anthem. Loads of people around us were standing up and putting their hands over their hearts, singing along with the music. Christine and I sat up; that was it. And I realized: I am not ready to stand up and salute to the national anthem just yet.

I know how this sounds. "Spoiled liberal American girl is whining about her country that gives her more benefits than any other nation on earth! What right could she possibly have to act all high and mighty about the country where she has rights and luxuries many kids her age will never dream about, let alone actually have?" But the thing is--you know what, I can't believe I am doing this, but I will. I am going to use Ally McBeal as an example.

In this show, one female character is ranting about all her problems to her female friend. Her issues are, in fact, rather petty. While her friend doesn't say a word, she finishes her speech and says, "Thanks, I feel a lot better." Her friend then asks, "Ally, what exactly makes your problems so much bigger than anyone else's?" With a completely straight face, Ally replies, "They're mine."

A kid in Uganda has problems I could never imagine. I have luxuries that kid could never imagine. But that doesn't mean bad things can't happen to me, and I'm not allowed to be unhappy or angry about those things. It also doesn't mean that kid in Uganda can't be really happy about good things. We all have our lives to live; and while we shouldn't be allowed to forget and ignore people who have real, terrible stuff to deal with (war, starvation, AIDS, and sexual abuse, just to name a casual few) which is actually a big danger of the apathy in the American public, we can't let our attention to other people's problems stop us from paying attention to ourselves. I want to be happy and sad about my own life; and I also want to do things to help people who are in much worse situations than I am. I can do both. I will do both.

This country is taking stpes forward, but we are leagues away from being something that, morally, I can be proud of. These rights and luxuries we take for granted come from a ton of corrupt sources, and truthfully, I think ending that suffering and corruption is more important than some of the benefits we get for living in the US. Like, for instance, cable T.V. And laptops. And central air-conditioning. Honestly, we can do without those things. We may not want to, but hey, even without them we are WAY better off than the rest of the world.

I'm sort of wallowing in my own hypocrisy, I know. The thing is, I don't think I'm the kind of person who will be able to make a big change. I don't have that kind of fire inside me. But I want to do what I can without letting my guilt and feelings of obligation push me into something that I'm not the right person for. Hey, maybe I am actually the right person. But I'm not even legally allowed to drive yet. I think I need some time to figure out what role I'll have in making the world a better place.

Wow, off on a crazy tangent. My point (and I do have): I'm not ready to salute the anthem or the flag. So sue me. Hypocrite I may be, but I'm a hypocrite with opinions. Plus, I live in Massachusetts, where you don't get dirty looks for ignoring the Pledge of Allegiance.

I have more to say, but I'm too tired. I'm gonna go to bed now. Also, a shout out to Sierra, who's in England now! I love you, babe, have a great time! I'll write, I promise!

Goddamnit

This is wrong. This is INSANE. On the one hand, none of us are being abused physically or stolen from or anything, and no one in the family is an alcoholic/addicted to meth or something. On the other hand, this can't go on. IT CAN'T. Our problems may not be Oprah-worthy, but they sure as hell are serious. This can't go on.

The cops. THE COPS wondered what was wrong. And now she's packing, tramping around the house shoveling books and clothing into bags to make it look like she doesn't live here. What the fucking kind of person does that?

I want him to admit she has a problem. I want her to get help. I don't want this endless merry-go-round of "it's okay, everything's better, we're fine now, seriously, Es, believe us" to "*giant huge screaming battle of the ages*" to "*crying and whimpering in closed rooms*" to "I don't know what to do, everything's my fault, I try so hard" to "nothing feels better, but it looks better" to the beginning. It's awful. It's horrible. And unlike my sister and I, our stepsibs can't escape. They're basically trapped here.

THIS. HAS. TO. END. NOW.