I often sing to myself while I'm sorting my laundry. "Light, dark, dark, light..."
And then I pick up the black and white hounds tooth skirt, and there's my brain all over the bed.
Don't you all worry now. I'm alright. I'm beyond the illusion that life is black and white. We all find and live in new shades of gray every day. But I've been thinking about last week's episode of Dexter. No spoilers here, and if you don't watch the show, it doesn't matter either. He's just been contemplating the darkness and light in people a lot. And I've found myself doing the same thing. I think human instinct begs us to pick ourselves up out of the darkness and run toward the light. But what if you have to embrace your dark side, cast a few shadows, on your way to the brighter path? It can be so clear which way you need to run, but that doesn't mean the path is white. I guess I'm really talking about the whole means to an end thing, aren't I? I guess I am. And suddenly, this feels much less interesting. But that doesn't make it less true, does it? I guess not. But now I've lost interest...
Do you think this whole black and white thing would be less of an issue if we didn't set up norms? Do you think we've made it harder for ourselves? If we're not kind people who pair up and procreate by a certain time period, then, for some, we're not doing it right. So what if the shadows are just different, not dark? What if white is archaic? Or maybe, we bash the norms so that we have an excuse for running them over. Maybe we accept shades of gray because we know we're incapable of living another way. Maybe we've set things up so that our failures are the failures of the system instead of ourselves. Maybe...
Something to end on:
I'm reminding myself more and more lately how precious life is. I tend to tread carefully because of that, attempting to avoid wrong turns. But I think I'm starting to trust my sense of direction and show life how much I care by just embracing it really hard... in one of those hugs you never want to end. The ones where you breath in. And sigh out. And there's life.
Oh, and:
On a somewhat unrelated note, sometimes music and silence speak volumes. I know it's an old saying or something, but in case it doesn't come up again for a while, I just wanted to tuck that thought in here. And now, I shall tuck me in, too.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
propaganda...
it's science that's to blame.
not intentions or choices or actions,
not logic or emotion,
but chemistry,
stopping time as flesh reacts.
particles form symphony, and there's singing unexpectedly.
there's a hum. a buzz. and a quickening somewhere.
hard science, foreign to the oblivious artist, sets something in motion.
we're grinning puppets
further spellbound with each inhalation.
and it's involuntary, so it's that much more real.
it's ancient and human,
chemicals coursing through veins instructing bodies.
it's how we know to run or stay.
it's how we know it's undeniable.
protons are purists and cannot tell a lie.
so we can't blame the puppets or the strings or ourselves.
it's all an experiment, isn't it?
so we stir up some questionable solution.
we clink our glasses. take a sip. and smile.
not intentions or choices or actions,
not logic or emotion,
but chemistry,
stopping time as flesh reacts.
particles form symphony, and there's singing unexpectedly.
there's a hum. a buzz. and a quickening somewhere.
hard science, foreign to the oblivious artist, sets something in motion.
we're grinning puppets
further spellbound with each inhalation.
and it's involuntary, so it's that much more real.
it's ancient and human,
chemicals coursing through veins instructing bodies.
it's how we know to run or stay.
it's how we know it's undeniable.
protons are purists and cannot tell a lie.
so we can't blame the puppets or the strings or ourselves.
it's all an experiment, isn't it?
so we stir up some questionable solution.
we clink our glasses. take a sip. and smile.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
My body Myself...
It's pouring opportunities right now. It's what I always hope for. Then when it happens, I remember how crazy and weird being an actor can be sometimes...
I've been called back for two projects this week. The first is a commercial campaign that has to do with a healthy eating plan. I could legit stand to lose five pounds of fat and put on some muscle, so I definitely qualify. But to try to bloat up just a little more noticeably, I spent the entire week stuffing my face and hoping it would help.
I got called in for project two today. Project two includes a bedroom scene--nothing too risque, but I'd likely be in my underwear. On film. On Friday! Just that possibility makes me want to start working out right now and not stop, like, ever, regardless of whether or not I get either job.
I used to think it was crazy for actors to put on or take off weight for a role. I totally buy into that whole body as a temple thing. And here I am playing the game without even thinking about it--until today. I guess it was easy to embrace the whole "eat whatever you want" thing because food is awesome. But it would be much easier to embrace any future scantily clad experiences if I were in prime shape. I guess what I'm saying is that I should probably just be my best self until anyone asks me to do otherwise. It's tempting, you know? We want to work. We want to be right for the part. And we want to dive in. But seriously, I've gotta just be my health food munching self... plus cookies... until further notice.
On the other side of the table (no pun intended), I've realized lately how much I prepared myself for this career as a child. Or more accurately, that my playful self was doing exactly the things people are asking me to do now.
Exhibit A) My mom, my sister, and I played this game growing up. We'd go around the house singing instead of speaking. We'd pick a theme like "Modern Dissonant Opera" and communicate as such until we were laughing too hard to continue. A couple weeks ago in my Second City class, one of the Music Directors came by to do some musical improvisation with our class. And the final challenge? Improvised opera. I was probably the only person in the room who was thinking to myself, "Psh, I've done this a million times." It was certainly still challenging, but I was laughing the whole time in my head imagining I'd be the first person to reveal that I'd done it before--and not in a class. I didn't tell my story because it didn't matter. But I laughed. Because as ridiculous as everyone thought it was, we never once thought it was ridiculous in my house. : )
Exhibit B) As a child, I would often disappear into one of the bathrooms at home. Fast forward a half hour to my mom knocking on the door asking if I was alright. I was fine. I was merely going through every product on the counter and doing commercials for them in the mirror. I'd read the bottles to my mirror audience, and I'd add my own touches and personal endorsements here and there. This week's commercial audition was completely unscripted, but I found myself so comfortable, selling the product off the top of my head. Sure, it took every bit of concentration and creativity I had in me. But I felt like I was in the suburbs--I felt right at home.
I'm constantly fascinated by the work/life dynamic. Sometimes, the two worlds seem worlds apart, one real life, one something plastic and fantastical. And sometimes the fabrics find each other, and while your head is turned, they weave themselves together and wait for you to notice. Sure, you were the one who put them there to begin with, but they found each other seemingly seamlessly. This week I turned back to find mine laced there, natural as can be. Everything is starting to fit...
I've been called back for two projects this week. The first is a commercial campaign that has to do with a healthy eating plan. I could legit stand to lose five pounds of fat and put on some muscle, so I definitely qualify. But to try to bloat up just a little more noticeably, I spent the entire week stuffing my face and hoping it would help.
I got called in for project two today. Project two includes a bedroom scene--nothing too risque, but I'd likely be in my underwear. On film. On Friday! Just that possibility makes me want to start working out right now and not stop, like, ever, regardless of whether or not I get either job.
I used to think it was crazy for actors to put on or take off weight for a role. I totally buy into that whole body as a temple thing. And here I am playing the game without even thinking about it--until today. I guess it was easy to embrace the whole "eat whatever you want" thing because food is awesome. But it would be much easier to embrace any future scantily clad experiences if I were in prime shape. I guess what I'm saying is that I should probably just be my best self until anyone asks me to do otherwise. It's tempting, you know? We want to work. We want to be right for the part. And we want to dive in. But seriously, I've gotta just be my health food munching self... plus cookies... until further notice.
On the other side of the table (no pun intended), I've realized lately how much I prepared myself for this career as a child. Or more accurately, that my playful self was doing exactly the things people are asking me to do now.
Exhibit A) My mom, my sister, and I played this game growing up. We'd go around the house singing instead of speaking. We'd pick a theme like "Modern Dissonant Opera" and communicate as such until we were laughing too hard to continue. A couple weeks ago in my Second City class, one of the Music Directors came by to do some musical improvisation with our class. And the final challenge? Improvised opera. I was probably the only person in the room who was thinking to myself, "Psh, I've done this a million times." It was certainly still challenging, but I was laughing the whole time in my head imagining I'd be the first person to reveal that I'd done it before--and not in a class. I didn't tell my story because it didn't matter. But I laughed. Because as ridiculous as everyone thought it was, we never once thought it was ridiculous in my house. : )
Exhibit B) As a child, I would often disappear into one of the bathrooms at home. Fast forward a half hour to my mom knocking on the door asking if I was alright. I was fine. I was merely going through every product on the counter and doing commercials for them in the mirror. I'd read the bottles to my mirror audience, and I'd add my own touches and personal endorsements here and there. This week's commercial audition was completely unscripted, but I found myself so comfortable, selling the product off the top of my head. Sure, it took every bit of concentration and creativity I had in me. But I felt like I was in the suburbs--I felt right at home.
I'm constantly fascinated by the work/life dynamic. Sometimes, the two worlds seem worlds apart, one real life, one something plastic and fantastical. And sometimes the fabrics find each other, and while your head is turned, they weave themselves together and wait for you to notice. Sure, you were the one who put them there to begin with, but they found each other seemingly seamlessly. This week I turned back to find mine laced there, natural as can be. Everything is starting to fit...
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The creativity curse...
Children have so much imagination. As my improv teacher, Michael, reminded us our first day of class, kids are the best actors. They assign the roles of Mommy and Daddy, set the location--a house--and they live it. But what about imagination as an adult? As adults, particularly adult actors, we have to see the potential for a scenario to go in any number of directions. We read into what our partner says, we dwell on history and subtext. We fill in the blanks.
But I'm afraid that's become second nature to me... the filling in the blanks. I remind myself I have to talk to Bob about the leaky wall. I play out the conversation in my head, and I find myself reacting, feeling that conversation. If I know Bob, I'm probably just using the facts, what I know about him, to predict and prepare for what's next. But as I return to daily life, I've started thinking about Bob in terms of that conversation. And it's not just Bob. I can think myself into worrying over nothing, and I can think the problems away until I believe everything is just fine. But it's all in my head. Am I crazy? No. Am I am over-thinker? Yes. Do I have an "overactive" imagination? Maybe...
What does that mean anyway... overactive? Imagination is beautiful. And it happens to be one of the things I was gifted with. If not for my imagination, I would not create. The more I embrace this gift, the more active I let it become, cultivate it to become, the more I grow into what I love to be. But living in my head, I can make something of nothing and nothing of something. I can think my way into a corner or into judgment. I'm just a child with an imaginary friend... and then what does reality matter? Or what if it matters tremendously as reality collides head on with what I've been brewing all on my own? What happens when I meet the characters face to face, and I can't remember which version of themselves they actually are--one of my creations, exactly as I remember them, or some stranger? But strangers can become friends when I close my eyes. And those closest to me can become unrecognizable when I open them again.
Making something of nothing and nothing of something... creativity at it's finest and most confusing. And where am I in this--running around playing with all that I've made or sitting in the corner with my eyes closed imagining I am?
But I'm afraid that's become second nature to me... the filling in the blanks. I remind myself I have to talk to Bob about the leaky wall. I play out the conversation in my head, and I find myself reacting, feeling that conversation. If I know Bob, I'm probably just using the facts, what I know about him, to predict and prepare for what's next. But as I return to daily life, I've started thinking about Bob in terms of that conversation. And it's not just Bob. I can think myself into worrying over nothing, and I can think the problems away until I believe everything is just fine. But it's all in my head. Am I crazy? No. Am I am over-thinker? Yes. Do I have an "overactive" imagination? Maybe...
What does that mean anyway... overactive? Imagination is beautiful. And it happens to be one of the things I was gifted with. If not for my imagination, I would not create. The more I embrace this gift, the more active I let it become, cultivate it to become, the more I grow into what I love to be. But living in my head, I can make something of nothing and nothing of something. I can think my way into a corner or into judgment. I'm just a child with an imaginary friend... and then what does reality matter? Or what if it matters tremendously as reality collides head on with what I've been brewing all on my own? What happens when I meet the characters face to face, and I can't remember which version of themselves they actually are--one of my creations, exactly as I remember them, or some stranger? But strangers can become friends when I close my eyes. And those closest to me can become unrecognizable when I open them again.
Making something of nothing and nothing of something... creativity at it's finest and most confusing. And where am I in this--running around playing with all that I've made or sitting in the corner with my eyes closed imagining I am?
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I miss you...
I'm not often lost for words. And it's not that I am now, but I'm trying to turn some awfully swirly thoughts into a clear post.
Let's start here: Today, I rocked an audition. I rocked it so hard.
Remember I mentioned my Grandma was a singer? She died before I was born. Throughout the years, every time I've come across someone who knew her, they only have the most wonderful, magical things to say about her. It seems she lit up a room brighter than anyone and touched everyone she met.
One day my senior year at NU, I brought in her copy of "My Funny Valentine" to Music Theatre class. It must have been from the 50's or 60's, a little browned, with her original markings in it. I set it down on the piano for Patrick (who had been accompanying these classes and my lessons on and off for two years) to play. He handled it like I imagine an Archeologist would handle a fossil. I think he told me I shouldn't have even brought the original in, but it was still cool. Anyway, I mentioned it was my grandma's, that she had been a singer around Chicago. He asked her name.
"Phyllis Spellman," I said. "But her stage name was Phyllis Parker."
He gasped.
"Phyllis Parker was your grandmother?!" I had stirred the soft spoken right out of him.
In the day of the big bands in ballrooms, I guess they all knew each other. Plus, I think Patrick and my grandma worked on a TV show together, too.
Ever since then, when I see Patrick at an audition, I treasure that for that 30 seconds, I'm performing with someone who knew my grandma, who respected her, and who lived through the things she did. (Of course, I've been doing this with my mom my whole life, but not at an audition, you know?)
So today, I get to my audition, I walk in, and (I've already ruined my punchline, but...) I see that the accompanist listed for the day is Patrick. There's a little tug on my heartstrings.
I greet a friend I haven't seen in far too long. A few minutes later, it's goodbye again, with a hug and three words whispered in my ear that give another bigger tug.
I think about the song I'm about to sing. It's about a pianist, but I've been thinking all week that it's actually a great description of what it feels like for me to sing. Tapping into that passion and emotion has already come easily. But on audition day, I, more often than not, fall victim to some amount of nerves that either leaves me feeling like I wasn't absolutely, completely in the moment, or I under or over sang just a little bit. Yes I'm hard on myself, but I know my 100%, and I don't often hit it when I get in the audition room. I know that's my job and all, but you all know I've been on this mission to be back to my old self, not me at 85% or even 90%.
So there I was, with this perfect material, this screaming heart, and a very warm welcome when I walked into the room.
Patrick and I were so, so in synch, building the song together as if we'd rehearsed it. It was effortless. And beautiful. And I was completely there, soul and voice.
I've said this before--I love the way it physically feels to sing. And I love to sing emotion--I've always felt the music along with the text. Today, I let myself go and do exactly what I love to do. No stifling of any sort. Just me, as I should/can be every time, pouring out... everything. And it wasn't just an audition win--I was able to enjoy the ride... so, so much.
Patrick told me after that I brightened his day, and when he told me I was great, he had that look in his face that meant it was more than a courtesy compliment. I really nailed it...
There are two reasons we don't get hired: 1) The audition wasn't great. 2) We just weren't right for the job (or someone else was more right).
Job or no job, this time I know I did everything I could. That's a pretty great feeling. And I am going to carry that feeling to the next one and as many more as I possibly can. Confidence goes a long way, and what I did today leaves me both hungry for more and very, very satisfied.
So... who wants to come tug at my heart next week? Actually, never mind. I think I've got it.
Let's start here: Today, I rocked an audition. I rocked it so hard.
Remember I mentioned my Grandma was a singer? She died before I was born. Throughout the years, every time I've come across someone who knew her, they only have the most wonderful, magical things to say about her. It seems she lit up a room brighter than anyone and touched everyone she met.
One day my senior year at NU, I brought in her copy of "My Funny Valentine" to Music Theatre class. It must have been from the 50's or 60's, a little browned, with her original markings in it. I set it down on the piano for Patrick (who had been accompanying these classes and my lessons on and off for two years) to play. He handled it like I imagine an Archeologist would handle a fossil. I think he told me I shouldn't have even brought the original in, but it was still cool. Anyway, I mentioned it was my grandma's, that she had been a singer around Chicago. He asked her name.
"Phyllis Spellman," I said. "But her stage name was Phyllis Parker."
He gasped.
"Phyllis Parker was your grandmother?!" I had stirred the soft spoken right out of him.
In the day of the big bands in ballrooms, I guess they all knew each other. Plus, I think Patrick and my grandma worked on a TV show together, too.
Ever since then, when I see Patrick at an audition, I treasure that for that 30 seconds, I'm performing with someone who knew my grandma, who respected her, and who lived through the things she did. (Of course, I've been doing this with my mom my whole life, but not at an audition, you know?)
So today, I get to my audition, I walk in, and (I've already ruined my punchline, but...) I see that the accompanist listed for the day is Patrick. There's a little tug on my heartstrings.
I greet a friend I haven't seen in far too long. A few minutes later, it's goodbye again, with a hug and three words whispered in my ear that give another bigger tug.
I think about the song I'm about to sing. It's about a pianist, but I've been thinking all week that it's actually a great description of what it feels like for me to sing. Tapping into that passion and emotion has already come easily. But on audition day, I, more often than not, fall victim to some amount of nerves that either leaves me feeling like I wasn't absolutely, completely in the moment, or I under or over sang just a little bit. Yes I'm hard on myself, but I know my 100%, and I don't often hit it when I get in the audition room. I know that's my job and all, but you all know I've been on this mission to be back to my old self, not me at 85% or even 90%.
So there I was, with this perfect material, this screaming heart, and a very warm welcome when I walked into the room.
Patrick and I were so, so in synch, building the song together as if we'd rehearsed it. It was effortless. And beautiful. And I was completely there, soul and voice.
I've said this before--I love the way it physically feels to sing. And I love to sing emotion--I've always felt the music along with the text. Today, I let myself go and do exactly what I love to do. No stifling of any sort. Just me, as I should/can be every time, pouring out... everything. And it wasn't just an audition win--I was able to enjoy the ride... so, so much.
Patrick told me after that I brightened his day, and when he told me I was great, he had that look in his face that meant it was more than a courtesy compliment. I really nailed it...
There are two reasons we don't get hired: 1) The audition wasn't great. 2) We just weren't right for the job (or someone else was more right).
Job or no job, this time I know I did everything I could. That's a pretty great feeling. And I am going to carry that feeling to the next one and as many more as I possibly can. Confidence goes a long way, and what I did today leaves me both hungry for more and very, very satisfied.
So... who wants to come tug at my heart next week? Actually, never mind. I think I've got it.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Ode to my audition book...
My music sleeps in a white binder that is falling apart.
I've had it for years. It's been carried through Chicago and New York and Chicago again.
The front cover is one of those where you can insert a page or a picture. Mine holds the photo and resume of my mom's mom and a picture of my parents so that I have my musical genetics with me at all times (I keep meaning to put something of my grandfather's in there). The back cover has this Queen Victoria cartoon my mom gave me one day, and there's an old guest pass from when Equity was in the CPS building that I think has become permanently attached.
Songs have come and gone, but I've stuffed more and more pages into that book... and I've noticed a few times that it's showing its age. But until just now, sitting here thinking about replacing it, I never realized how much it means to me that it's been with me through my whole post-college (maybe even some of college?) life. Take an already sentimental person, and hand them an object that's literally been in their arms through so many emotional peaks. Toss in a little stage superstition, too. And I'm suddenly thinking of space age duct tape and a book that wears its battle wounds rather than facing the black hole of a garbage chute.
It's funny sometimes how the casual thought of replacing something can bring on a flood of memories and attachment and an entire blog entry. But I think maybe some of you out there can understand how between those two flaps of plastic, I've built the library of songs that make up my life. I think a little part of me lives in that library, too, and I don't think I'm quite ready to relocate just yet.
I've had it for years. It's been carried through Chicago and New York and Chicago again.
The front cover is one of those where you can insert a page or a picture. Mine holds the photo and resume of my mom's mom and a picture of my parents so that I have my musical genetics with me at all times (I keep meaning to put something of my grandfather's in there). The back cover has this Queen Victoria cartoon my mom gave me one day, and there's an old guest pass from when Equity was in the CPS building that I think has become permanently attached.
Songs have come and gone, but I've stuffed more and more pages into that book... and I've noticed a few times that it's showing its age. But until just now, sitting here thinking about replacing it, I never realized how much it means to me that it's been with me through my whole post-college (maybe even some of college?) life. Take an already sentimental person, and hand them an object that's literally been in their arms through so many emotional peaks. Toss in a little stage superstition, too. And I'm suddenly thinking of space age duct tape and a book that wears its battle wounds rather than facing the black hole of a garbage chute.
It's funny sometimes how the casual thought of replacing something can bring on a flood of memories and attachment and an entire blog entry. But I think maybe some of you out there can understand how between those two flaps of plastic, I've built the library of songs that make up my life. I think a little part of me lives in that library, too, and I don't think I'm quite ready to relocate just yet.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The end of fatty vacationitis...
I haven't written in a while.
Why?
Because I've been doing things. Things like reading and researching and singing and auditioning and working out and writing and actually completing songs. So instead of stopping to write about what I've been up to, I've gotten up to something else. It's been great and busy, and there have been twists and turns both personal and professional. And maybe I'll delve into those later. What I will say is that I've been very busy. And my calendar tells me that's going to continue.
My life right now is at a point that can best be compared to cleaning out an office. First, it looks like a paper explosion, piles everywhere... And then, items find and take their places, and it's all in line again, a working machine. I've been doing so much, and I have a lot of projects in the air without much product to show for it yet. So when asked what's new, all I can say is that I've been doing a lot. And something will be new soon.
And you know what? I'm proud of myself.
Anyway, I've started some big things, but I find it's the little everyday stories I always wish I wrote down. So I'm here tonight to do that.
Oh, the fatty vacationitis thing? That's what I'm calling the phase between surgery and when I was able to get back to business.
So, the everyday things:
First of all, I need to add an addendum to my last post. Part of the reason I thought to write about my days as a Lyric kid again is because sitting at Ravinia, trying to articulate my feelings to my friends, I had a realization. No matter how perfect my descriptions, there are only a handful of people who actually know what I'm talking about from experience, and I think the only one I'm still in touch with is my sister. There's no facebook group for Lyric alums, so JPL's the only one I can talk to about it. She's wonderful and all. It just got me thinking about the importance of having people around who can truly relate to your life. I have more 9-5er friends than I do performer friends. Close friends, I mean. I know all my 9-5ers are there for me, though sometimes I can't imagine they truly get it. Then sometimes I think they do. And sometimes I think it doesn't matter either way. But sometimes I feel that desire to tell someone something like, "it was just like Lyric," and know they can understand, know that we've had a shared experience as well as a shared appreciation of each other.
Shoot. There's so much more to write, but I had to take a break to walk the pup. Now my eyelids are getting heavy. I'll leave you with a story and continue the update tomorrow.
A few days ago, I was walking Blitz. We came upon a lady with her little dog. The boys sniffed each other in a very common dog greeting. The odd part came from the human. Without having ever seen me before, before even sharing her name, this lady began thus:
"I was just reading about the Shepherd who got decapitated. (Continuation of gruesome story of a few people torturing dogs around the city.) And one of the guys was already wanted on another count. All these people are against gun control, but if we all had guns, we could just shoot people like that. And Quinn's against the death penalty. Someone's gonna shoot him. We're already living with socialism with Obama."
After a moment of silence, I believe I uttered something to the effect of, "Well, alright, bye."
In the middle of Chicago, having never met me... that rant... I just don't understand people sometimes.
I made it about half a block before realizing what I should have done was turn to Blitz and say, "Come on Barack." Next time...
Why?
Because I've been doing things. Things like reading and researching and singing and auditioning and working out and writing and actually completing songs. So instead of stopping to write about what I've been up to, I've gotten up to something else. It's been great and busy, and there have been twists and turns both personal and professional. And maybe I'll delve into those later. What I will say is that I've been very busy. And my calendar tells me that's going to continue.
My life right now is at a point that can best be compared to cleaning out an office. First, it looks like a paper explosion, piles everywhere... And then, items find and take their places, and it's all in line again, a working machine. I've been doing so much, and I have a lot of projects in the air without much product to show for it yet. So when asked what's new, all I can say is that I've been doing a lot. And something will be new soon.
And you know what? I'm proud of myself.
Anyway, I've started some big things, but I find it's the little everyday stories I always wish I wrote down. So I'm here tonight to do that.
Oh, the fatty vacationitis thing? That's what I'm calling the phase between surgery and when I was able to get back to business.
So, the everyday things:
First of all, I need to add an addendum to my last post. Part of the reason I thought to write about my days as a Lyric kid again is because sitting at Ravinia, trying to articulate my feelings to my friends, I had a realization. No matter how perfect my descriptions, there are only a handful of people who actually know what I'm talking about from experience, and I think the only one I'm still in touch with is my sister. There's no facebook group for Lyric alums, so JPL's the only one I can talk to about it. She's wonderful and all. It just got me thinking about the importance of having people around who can truly relate to your life. I have more 9-5er friends than I do performer friends. Close friends, I mean. I know all my 9-5ers are there for me, though sometimes I can't imagine they truly get it. Then sometimes I think they do. And sometimes I think it doesn't matter either way. But sometimes I feel that desire to tell someone something like, "it was just like Lyric," and know they can understand, know that we've had a shared experience as well as a shared appreciation of each other.
Shoot. There's so much more to write, but I had to take a break to walk the pup. Now my eyelids are getting heavy. I'll leave you with a story and continue the update tomorrow.
A few days ago, I was walking Blitz. We came upon a lady with her little dog. The boys sniffed each other in a very common dog greeting. The odd part came from the human. Without having ever seen me before, before even sharing her name, this lady began thus:
"I was just reading about the Shepherd who got decapitated. (Continuation of gruesome story of a few people torturing dogs around the city.) And one of the guys was already wanted on another count. All these people are against gun control, but if we all had guns, we could just shoot people like that. And Quinn's against the death penalty. Someone's gonna shoot him. We're already living with socialism with Obama."
After a moment of silence, I believe I uttered something to the effect of, "Well, alright, bye."
In the middle of Chicago, having never met me... that rant... I just don't understand people sometimes.
I made it about half a block before realizing what I should have done was turn to Blitz and say, "Come on Barack." Next time...
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