Come to your senses....

Thursday night my life came and circled back 360 degrees to almost exactly 10 years ago. In November of 2003, I had my first kiss and my first date. Mind you, I was in middle school so as far as I and everyone else was concerned, he was my first boyfriend. Two weeks later, we break up and soon after that he comes out as gay. (Cue Gay Boyfriend by Hazzard). It took a while, but I learned to laugh and make jokes about this non-straightforward start to dating. "I was so good looking I turned him straight but then a hot guy walked by us" etc. Oh and if I had to identify with a fairy tale, it would be "The Ugly Duckling" because in high school I became the swan.
In high school, I had guys interested in me. Guys thought I was pretty and I made friends. I thought those dark, lonely middle school days were behind me. Then I fell madly in love with J. If you go back to the early days of this blog, back when it was still called "Living Under A Rock" you'll find various posts about him. I thought I had found the love of my life. A large part of me believes he still is the love of my life, the one that got away, because it's hard to believe that I would willingly give up so much of my life again. I could go on and on about him to try and give you a glimpse of how I felt but maybe I'll just publish some of the poems I wrote then.
Then there was MadDogBV and I think that relationship is fairly well chronicled here as well. It'll suffice to say that J and MadDog were as far away from my first relationship as I ever got. They were based on common interests, genuine affection and concern, and sexual attraction. Let's face it, I was 16 when I first became interested in J, 18 when we got together and put serious effort into making the relationship work despite the war in Iraq, 19 when I lost my virginity to him and I was 20 and in my 3rd year of college when I got together with MadDog, sex was going to enter into the relationship at some point. Sex was something that played into my previous relationships but took the back seat because I wasn't ready for it.
Lastly, there was Frank Sinatra. Not a real relationship because it was based pretty much solely on sex but I fell for him. To this day, I'm not sure why since he's spinning his wheels in a small town, he can't get a job, he was a borderline alcoholic, not very good looking, very weird, and he only paid attention to me when I was in his bed. No, I'll tell you what it was: he could sing Frank Sinatra extraordinarily well, he's a talented artist (acting, directing, singing, and lighting design) and he's truly creative. Everything he works on he wants it to be perfect and show his effort. He doesn't want to half ass anything but does when someone else is in control and( in his mind) doesn't want anything changed. I loved his fire and passion and talent. Eventually, he did start taking me out on something that resembled dates and then he'd do something or say something that would send whatever progress we had made in making the relationship grow back to square one. He knew I loved him; I would tell him and when I would try to help him as a professional friend (telling him about a job) he'd wipe his ass with it and not listen to me. (Cue We Found Love by Rhianna/ Come to Your Senses from Tick Tick Boom). It was tumultuous to say the least, but I got some kind of sick pleasure from it because every time I'd say that I was ending it, he would, with random precision, say or do just the right thing that would compel me to forgive him. I graduated and got a job and moved away, but I still loved him. In February I decided to end it and didn't talk to him for almost 2 months (go me). He did text me for Valentine's Day but I couldn't brush it off as a mass text because it had my name in it and I tersely replied "Same to you." Just as it was finally getting easier, he texts me saying that he's been an asshole. I ask him if that's supposed to be some of apology and he replies that it's the best he could do and I told him not to waste my time.  I was talking to a mutual friend, A and she told me that she had been talking to Frank Sinatra on Facebook the day he texted me and she told me that he wanted to reconcile with me and he tied it to the rock musical "Rooms A Rock Romance" because the male lead was basically him and his life and the icing is the lead female and I have the same name. So, April 1st we had a long conversation where I got to grill his ass and he admitted to using me for sex and attention but it wasn't just my attention for himself, it was the attention our relationship got from other people. He wasn't making out with me in front of half of the people in our college because he was proclaiming his love for me, it was to start gossip and make himself look good. The ugly, weird outcast guy making out with this really pretty girl and leaving with her. We decided to be friends.
Now, this is the climax. I texted him the other night to find out how "Rooms" went, since it was opening up last weekend. He told me that it was interesting but didn't want to go into details because he had a "snuggle date". Ok, fine. The next day I text him asking if he was going to tell me about this date so that I could live vicariously through him or if I was going to have to use my imagination. When he finally does text back he asks me if I remember the dancer from the night we went to this bar to watch his movie. No, I reply but then I remember the gay guy in the corset. Turns out this gay guy was actually a girl who wants to transition to a guy, goes by "Charles" was in Frank's production of "Death of a Salesman" as "Bernard" but she/he is bi! And Frank is "intrigued" by Charles and they've been taking turns staying at each other's place for the past week and a half. And Charles has a girlfriend who lives in Canada (Cue My Girlfriend Who Lives in Canada from Avenue Q) so Frank, Charles, and Miss Canada are in a poly-amorous relationship. First of all, all that identity just fucks with my mind, it took me a little while to get it straight. It's not that he's found someone else that hurts, it's.... who it is. If I look at is as "He's scraping the bottom of the barrel" it begs the question "What am I?" Clearly, I'm not his type because he likes tall women with big boobs and Charles has bigger tits than A and she's like a 34 D. Yes, it makes me feel worthless, like I'm not good enough for him but who gives him moral support? Me. Who encourages him? Me. Who tries to help him find a job? Me. Who believes in him? Me. Who sees beyond his antics and strangeness and sees the talent and potential? Me. It's me, always has been, since the day I met him, I've had faith in him.
So now, ten years later I have come back full circle. But not in the kind of full circle where everything plays itself out exactly the same way as if nothing happened in between the first time and the second time, but the kind that is merely uncanny. This second time around bears the marks of the strange, the absurd, the so impossible it must be true that comes with having a past. It's not a stand alone event, it's a culmination of the past ten years of my dating life events that ended in this. (Cue Don't Bother by Shakira)
Eventually I'll laugh about this. It's so outrageous one can't help but laugh, right? Maybe now that I've finished this cycle of my life, I'll move onto the next one and that one will be more awesome and not nearly as dramatic.

What is Art?

This question was first posed to me my senior year of high school in a class called "Theory of Knowledge". Surely, I'd heard that question before, but it was at that time that I was encouraged to really think about it.
I'm currently majoring in English and theatre and have worked in a number of productions and been an audience member since I was a child. I took a class in art history my spring semester of my freshman year of college as well. My mom has taken me to some of the most prominent art museums in New York and Washington D.C., I danced ballet for 13 years, I also took salsa, swing, hip-hop, and tap. I took piano lessons for 8 years. In short, I fancy myself 'cultured' and 'well-rounded' and a huge supporter of the arts.
It occurred to me today as I was in tech rehearsals for "The Madwoman of Challiot" what art is. Now, please note that this is my personal definition but discussion is welcomed wholeheartedly.
"Art is inspiration seized, molded, and presented in some tangible way."
Everybody has those flashes of ideas. That's inspiration. However, not everyone can recognize the potential of that idea, or they don't know how to express it, they don't have the time to develop it, or they don't have the motivation, etc. Now the person who does recognize the potential of the idea (let's call him/her 'the artist') and knows how to express it in some medium (paint, sculpture, writing, music, dance, theatre etc) has to be able to hold onto this flash and mold it to get at the essence of the idea. Imagine a movie that is trying to portray some theme but gets bogged down because of bad execution in whatever aspect. In much the same way, the artist has to make his art leave out all the unnecessary details, all the fluff that gets in the way of showing the idea. Writers spend countless hours laboring over just the right word.
Art has to be shared. It cannot be locked up and hidden from the world. For me, the wonderful thing about art is that anybody can experience it and have some kind of emotional reaction. It's such a communal and humanistic aspect of our lives. Indeed, I believe the production of art in any way, shape, or form is what separates us from all the other animal species in the world. It was Jules Verne who thought of air travel, submarines, and space travel before the technology had been invented. Artist dream of things for the human race to achieve- be it peace, submarines, equality, or a new perspective. There really is no limit to what the human mind can dream.

Thank you for reading my ramblings. I wish I had a picture to post along with this blog. If I find something, I'll post it. Please comment below and let me know your opinions.

Elephant Man- The story of a dress

I can't believe I've been able to write so many posts the past month or so!
I'm currently involved in a production of "The Elephant Man" as the costume designer. Below is the story of how I got the job, the story of Sundance, and my rescue.

Last year I took the beginning costume class and I really enjoyed it. I knew that I wanted to learn more and really be good at sewing. So this summer I volunteered with a seamstress. During the course of the summer, I found out that I really wanted to sew and work with costumes. How the hell I was going to do that, I didn’t know. I just figured I’d move to New York at some point after graduation and find a costume house that would hire me. But in October I was at the Japanese restaurant formerly known as Shooting Star with my boyfriend, Sam, and the guy that I had been talking to for the past six months, but had only met a few hours ago, Max. At Shooting Star, I saw this guy. I didn’t know his name, or exactly where I knew him from, but he looked really familiar. I leaned over and over the deafening bluegrass music I told Sam “I know that guy. I don’t know how I know him, nor do I know his name, but I know him.” Turns out, Sam knew him from when he volunteered at the Acrosstown Repertoire Theater (ART). I nudged him to go and say hello. Eventually, they come back to where Max and I were sitting. Sam introduces me to Mike and he starts telling me about how he’s going to be directing “The Elephant Man” at ART. So we’re talking about what we’re studying, etc. and it comes back to the play because I tell him that I’m into costumes. He was telling me he wanted to keep it as simple as taking off coats to delineate one character from another since there was going to be a lot of double casting. But I started throwing out ideas and I’m not 100% sure how exactly it happened, but he gave me the job of being the costume designer for this show. Sam and Max are just sitting there in silence watching me magically get this job. I warned them as we were walking to the car that I was going to let out a long, loud, shrill scream.
When I first went to ART, I looked at the costume stock. I found one dress that would work and would not need a lot of fixing. She is Beloved. (Yes, I named some of the costumes.) Then I found 3 wedding dresses and lots of fabric that used to be curtains. I decided in a sheer moment of delusional madness that I’d take these wedding dresses and this fabric and convert them into Victorian gowns. Thus I began to work on Sundance. Mind you, this gown would be on stage for all of 5 minutes in total, I don’t have a sewing machine, this wedding dress looks like the worst of the ‘80’s vomited and that birthed this dress, and I don’t have anybody to help me. This wedding dress has pearl beads, sequins, lace, a long train, poofy shoulders that extend into lace sleeves, and bows. There were 4 Lady Gaga sized bows on the train alone. I took those shits off. They had to go. How did I go about tackling this monstrosity? I turned the train into the bustle for starters. I then put burgundy fabric under the poofy shoulders and am now in the process of adding the same burgundy fabric to the skirt of the dress. It’s actually really starting to take form now.
Mike offered to get in contact with the costume designer at the Hippodrome which I eagerly took the offer without shame. I needed help and lots of it! There was no way in hell I could pull this off by myself. This is my first show, after all. So this past Saturday, we went and raided the costume stock of the Hippodrome. I took several coats, a number of dresses, a couple nun frocks, a bishop’s robes, and a chef coat that will be Merrick’s patient garb. Marilyn was also nice enough to let us borrow the hood she made for the Hipp’s production of “The Elephant Man” thirty-eight years, almost to the date, of our production. She even offered to help me in any way she could including letting me come over to dye Sundance, or use the sewing machines.
So now I can go home on Christmas break, finish up Sundance, and rest easy knowing that I was able to get most of the costumes done. I only have a few loose ends to tie up and then we’re good to go. This is definitely an experience. I figure ‘if I can pull this off when I have so few resources, imagine what I can do when I have more available to me.’ Not only have I learned so much about what it takes to put a show together, but I’ve made valuable connections with people who have worked in the field, out in the real world.

The picture attached is indeed a picture of Sundance before I started working on it.

The Nuances of Life

You ever have those moments when the full symbolism of something in your everyday life hits you? I have a few such examples.

1) I had a beloved little Quaker parrot named Truffaldino. My mom had found him. At the same time, my beloved was getting ready to leave for Iraq. He came back, we went through all the crazy Army bureaucracy bullshit, all the consequences of being out in the front lines etc. Then we break up and that same day my mom calls me and tells me that Truffaldino flew away. It was like Truffaldino was the symbol of our love that escaped from us. I had that bird for the bulk of the relationship and then he flew away when it ended.

2) Last night, I got dumped and the song I wanted to hear was Carrie Underwood's "Cowboy Casanova". One of the lyrics say "A snake with blue eyes". This guy has blue eyes and he saw himself as a snake. I realized the connection as I was listening to the song. All I could say was "Fuck."

I could sit here and talk about how art gives our lives order and points out all the subtleties in our lives we miss because we are too busy occupied with the bulk of the problem. But I'm not. Maybe it is the artist in me that sees all these nuances while everyone else would simply see coincidence, an over-active imagination and point out that the subconscious affects our choices including my choice of songs. I'm sure there are more examples, I just don't feel like digging through the recesses of memory for them.