Whoa, It's Actually Totally There...

...and all this time I thought my pile of crap was levitating in mid-air:

I finally cleaned and organized my desk! It's back in the working condition it should have been in for the entire semester.

Holy smokes, SNOW:

It
just
keeps
coming.

Not A Profession, or Round Peg in A Square Hole

So, it seems appropriate to reflect upon this now that I'm done graduated:
What the hell do I do now?
And what the hell do I do with a degree in theatre? (The short and uncomplicated answer to that question is: "uh...theatre.")

So, I've had plenty of people over the years tell me that there's no future in theatre. I've had plenty of people tell me I've wasted my education, my money. I've had people call me straight up stupid for pursuing a degree and life in theatre and the arts. It comes with the territory, I get it. I'm not going to be a doctor and find a cure for AIDS or cancer. I'm not going to be a lawyer and litigate a super important civil rights case. I'm not going to become the new CEO of Ford and save it from destruction and in doing so, fix the economy and save America (sorry, Obama that's still on your list). So in some people's heads that makes me a waste of space. Unfortunately, in America there's not an overwhelming respect for artistry. I get it. We have quarterbacks to pay. I've accepted this about my country.
And while I feel no need to directly respond comments on my stupidity or lack of a future, while I feel no need to justify the reasons I do what I do, I will say: No job is "safe" anymore. You're better off just doing what you love. You'll be happier for it. And the world will be happier to have you in it (aka: I'm damn glad I didn't spend the last four years learning to be an investor)).
*Insert Awkward Dance Here*

Still not buying it? Still think I'll be on welfare and food stamps in three years?? Still think I'll be living under the interstate?
Ok.
Theatre, for me, is not a profession.
Please, allow me to explain.
I was listening to npr today and they were talking to Daniel Barenboim, who is a pretty solid dude. He's a famous pianist and conductor. He was the music director of the CSO (Chicago Symphony Orchestra) for a while. Not only his he a brilliant musician but he's also done much to bridge the divide between Jews and Arabs (like putting together an orchestra of Jewish/Arab musicians (that's a big deal)).
Anyway. So he was actually here in Chicago yesterday (I think) to play a concert and stopped by the local npr station to do an interview. I don't have a transcript in front of me, so I can't do exact quotes but, this dude said some interesting stuff that really struck me. He was talking about how his father taught him to play piano. And more than just teaching him to play, he taught him how to "think in music." He went on to say that for him, music is NOT a profession. It's a mode of existence, a way of thinking, a way of life, a way of operating.
This is how I think about my life and theatre in my life.
For me, theatre is not a profession.
Some people see the world in numbers. Some see it in music. Some see it molecules.
I see the world in theatre.
Now you're like, "What the crap does that mean, Amy?"
Well, I'll tell you.
I see the world in words, in language, in relationships (of people to people and people to environment). I see the world in story. I know how to problem solve creatively. I can think on my feet.
More than just learning how to "act", how to "direct", how to "do" theatre, I've also been trained in a manner of thinking. My brain works creatively, this is the way I was born. I've spent the last four years developing and training this aspect of myself. This brain training and skill set is thus applicable way beyond the boards of a stage. Trying to train my brain to do otherwise, trying to train my brain to think in numbers or molecules or litigation or logic would be like trying to shove a round peg through a square hole.
Could you force a round peg into a square hole?
Yeah.
But not without somehow damaging or altering the round peg or square hole.
And I don't know about you but a world full or critically injured round pegs and permanently maimed square holes, doesn't sound like a very happy place to me.

Do I know I'm an idealist?
Yup. It's a label I wear with pride.
Am I still slightly naive?
Duh, I'm 23 freakin' years old. I feel bad for people my age who aren't slightly naive.
Am I comfortable with these things?
Yeah.
Do I know exactly what I want to do or where I want to be in five years?
No.
Am I sure of who I am, who I want to be, the little I know, and the hefty infinite pile of things I don't know?
You're damn skippy.


...and if it ever ends up that somehow, by some strange twist of fate I do become the CEO of Ford (ha), I know I'll have climbed that ladder using my theatre brain and will run that company with my theatre brain.

I think my good pal Van Gogh said it best, "I consciously choose the dog's path through life. I shall be poor. I shall be a painter..."


Oh, speaking of dogs...THIS. There should be a law against that kind of cuteness. My heart can't take it. SHEESH.

Excuse Me, Is That a Tattoo on Your Face?

So...
I have bizarre dreams.
This is not news.
When I'm stressed/nervous/tense they're usually about ten times more bizarre.
So last night, while I wasn't totally stressed, the stress was running out of my body (and can now be felt in every place of my back).
One recurring dream I have is that I, in a fit of mental instability, get a tattoo and then am later very angry at myself, because, I don't know if you're aware but those things don't come off. I spend the rest of the dream fretting about the permanence of my inked skin. Because, usually, it's some place awkward...like my hand.
But last night was the most awkward place of all...my face.
I got some weird sort of skyline on the side of my FACE.
I know.
I am crazy. Well aware, thanks.
So in the dream, I get this tattoo and while I'm getting it (and feeling the "tingly" on my face from the tattoo needle (yup, seriously)) I'm thinking, "this was the best idea EVER."
Then I look at the tattoo in the mirror.
And I don't remember what I wanted, but it wasn't what I wanted. It's some form of a bo-jank skyline.
I was really upset.
And when I got the tattoo and went to pay the artist she was like, "That will be 480 dollars please." I was like, "Really?" She's like, "Face tattoos are expensive." So I HAD to pay because the tattoo was already on my face and then I'm literally so upset I feel sick because:
a) I was like, "Well, guess I'm not going to Ireland anymore since I bought this 500 dollar face tattoo"
b) "This tattoo is really ugly and now is on my face forever."
c) "Holy shit my mom is going to be so pissed at me." (My mom makes random dream appearances, while I always understand that she is "dead", for some reason, sometimes she's just there. I guess to be like, "Why the hell did you get a face tattoo??")
d) "Yikes, I don't have the money to pay for tattoo removal and neither does Dad. Also...I don't have health insurance anymore WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

AND THEN in the dream I was like, "Well Amy, you've really done it this time. I mean you've had dreams where this has happened before, but this is real life now. This is not a dream. Because if it was you'd have woken up already. Nope, this is real life. Guess you've got a tattoo on your face forever. Genius."

I spent the rest of the dream trying to hide the one half of my face a la Phantom of the Opera.

Needless to say, I was so very happy when I actually woke up and discovered the side of my face was NOT tattooed with a weird skyline and in fact just my normal Amy face.

All that said, I'd like to go ahead and take a poll. You know. Just in case...
POLL: Would you still love Amy if she had a face tattoo?
a) Absolutely not.
b) It would depend on the tattoo.
c) Of course. I love Amy for her sparkling personality and not her poorly chosen body art.

It's 2pm on a Sunday

...and I've just about done it.

Let me give you a run-down of the last two days.

Friday.
2:45am-Wake up. Yup. I was dumb and said I could work a special shift at work that started at 3:30am. It was actually fun to be there so early and be a part of this special event BUT I was dumb to schedule myself then with so much going on this week.
3:30am-7am-Work.
7am-Leave for school.
9:00am-11am-Final for a class.
11am-1pm-Furiously try and make copies for my chapbook (I've had numerous complaints about the use of the word "Chapbook" so I've had a request to name it after David. This request came from...well, David. It shall henceforth be referred to as the "David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings"). Anyway. I fail at making copies, more than once. Finally, I get what I need and its off to...
1pm-2:10ish-Final for another class.
2:10-Run south to pick up headshots from David, then home. (My headshot looks AWESOME by the way. Many thanks to David A for taking them and freezing his butt off with me (we went and took them last Friday, which if you live in Chicago and remember...it was like 12 degrees that day.))
3:45-HOME long enough to freakin' SHOWER and EAT.
5:30-10pm-Back at work. Yes. Seriously.
10:30-Home. Run over monologues for Saturday.
11pm-I am a 8 ton of bricks on my bed.

Saturday
6am-Wake up, dressed, shower, get in car-go to school.
9am-11:30-Perform final monologue for class.
Then...
Get changed, jump on the train, get off, stop at UPS store make copies for the cover of my David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings (thank you nice UPS store lady who helped me copy my cover onto cardstock and was super mellow to my insanity). Get back on the train, get off, go to Starbucks, sit and work for a while on said books, go over monologue for...
1:40pm-AUDITION AUDITION AUDITION
Back on train. Back to school for...
4pm-Degree Completion Ceremony. Years of busting my ass and look, I got a keychain:

I will treasure it forever. My school is lovely. I owe it my education, but I gotta say this keychain was a little mean considering we DID NOT get caps and gowns NOR did we get to walk across a stage and get a fake diploma and that some of us likely won't be around in May to do that. Little mean, school. Little mean. BUT at the ceremony there were brownies, so I suppose I can't be too mad. Also, there were chocolate covered strawberries. Which are delicious.
THEN after the ceremony my Dad and I (after eating homemade empanadas (yum)) met my cousins at the ZOO! For ZOO LIGHTS! (The decorate the zoo with lights and you can go say hi to the animals. It was fun, even though it was raining. I got to groove with my little cousins and meet this dude:

All the monkeys were sleeeeeeeeping (well, apes). The chimps were sprawled out on the ground, mouths agape passed the heck out. It was pretty funny.
Then I came home, glued some stuff together for my David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings, talked to some lovely people, and WENT TO BED.
10:00-I am passed out.

Sunday-
11am-I wake up after sleeping like a rock
Work on David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings, GET THEM DONE! THAT'S RIGHT! THEY'RE DONE! Behold:
Front Cover (drawn and then copied, care of nice lady at the UPS store):

Back Cover:

Inside Covers (these are hand drawn with white colored pencil, cause it was easier than trying to copy onto black paper):

Amy Cover:

Yup. I had to make 16 of those. I made 20 just in case I get attacked by bear on the way to school who eats 4 of them. I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. Hooray! They're DONE! Now, all I have to do is turn 'em in and I'll be DONE.


...it STILL hasn't set in how "done" I am.
BUT I am finally starting to slow down a little bit.


...my back hurts.

Sarah Palin Brain: The Second

Please.
Reserve your judgement.
I just completed my last week of undergrad classes...

Wednesday night.
I'm driving home.
I notice the road is awful dark in front of me.
Flick my lights.
They go...

BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off

Flick my lights again to the one between "brights" and "everything totally off" and try and see based on the reflection off the car in front of me, if my lights are indeed "nothing" or if I'm just imagining things. It's hard to tell.
Flick again...

BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off

Finally I pull off to the side of the road and get out and yup...
Both my headlights are dead.
Pull into a service gas station.
They check my bulbs.
Allegedly, they're odd, so they don't stock them and will have to order them. They'll be in by tomorrow.
They tell me to drive home with my brights and come back the next day.
So I do.

Home.
Sleep.
Last day of classes.

Drive to school, using my brights halfway before it's light enough to turn them off.
Get to school.
Go to classes.
Finish.
Can't let the fact I've finished settle in because I have to get my car from Roger's Park to Park Ridge to get my headlights changed then come back to city to have dinner with Meghan and David.
Get in car.
Drive.
Flick lights.

BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off

Drive to Park Ridge.
They take my car.
5 minutes go by.
"Um, mam? Your lights are working."
Man takes me to garage, shows me brights (whoa) shows me normal lights that, yes, are indeed working.
He says, "I don't want to charge you for bulbs you don't need and send you on your way because you might have a larger problem."
Me, "Oh."
In my mind I'm going over flicking the lights back and forth in my head and trying to convince myself that they were INDEED really out...
He walks around the back of my car, "But you have two tail-lights out. I sure hope you don't drink, girl. You'll get pulled over."
Me (thinking), "I drive alone. When the hell would I ever notice that I have two tail-lights out, jerk?...Please don't look at my oil sticker and notice that I was due for a change in Novemeber. Also, please don't say anything about the fact that my check-engine light is on."
DISCLAIMER: My check engine light as been on for like...two years. Somewhere, deep inside the Soobs, a sensor is out of whack. Everytime we've had it fixed (like...four) it just pops on again two weeks later. So the long and short is: I don't care that my check engine light is on. I realize the problem this presents when something IS actually wrong with my engine, but it's been this way for two years, so the long and short is: oh well.
He says, "We'll change those for you."
I say, "Thanks."
He says, "So both lights were out yesterday?"
I say *shifty eyes*, "Yeah."
He says, "I think you might have a bigger problem. You may want to take it somewhere and get it checked out. I'm not gonna change your bulbs and charge you but if you hit a bump these things could go out again."
Me thinking, "The bigger problem could well be that I am I am just a dipshit."
Me, "Ok."
He says, "I'll give you my card, so you can have whoever call me and I'll talk to 'em."
Me, "Thanks."
My tail-lights get changed.
He says (to mechanic), "How many blubs?"
Mechanic, "Three"
He says, "Psshh. Tell you what. Give me 10 bucks. Just to keep you honest."
I pay 10 dollars and am sent on my way.
Get in car.
Lights are on.
Look at stick.
Realize I did NOT have my lights properly turned on Wednesday night.
The stick had been flicked/jostled (unbeknownst to me) into "Brights" mode. So that when I turned my lights "on" my brights came up.
This had severely confused my damaged brain and sent me into panic mode.
I swear, I'm much smarter than this.
...but I probably shouldn't tell you about the things I messed up at work Saturday.

Sarah Palin Brain

So I've been working like mad the past three days, trying to get everything done I need to for this, my final week of classes. When I run this way, I pretty much never allow my brain to rest. Which I know is a bad thing. And even though I know it would not kill me to chill out for 20 minutes, I can't make my brain stop. I would sit on the couch and twitch, so it's just better to keep going.
As such:
Sunday night while working on my set model for design I had chips and a diet coke for dinner.
Monday night I threw two frozen burritos in the microwave while working and ate them while working and then forgot I was eating them and two hours later was left with a weird stale burrito mass on my plate.
Last night I attempted to make eggs. But I did this, again, while working-cutting things with an X-acto, painting, and pasting. My eggs didn't turn out. I tried to eat them anyway. Bad idea. Diet coke and cookies for dinner!
I know.
I know.
It's DISGUSTING.
I'll have a major project out of the way after today so I'm going to make up for the above nastiness by stopping at the grocery store, picking up some polenta, mushrooms and peppers and making something hearty and delicious for dinner tonight. I can't wait.

David's appropriately coined my brain right now, "Sarah Palin" brain. I'm saying things that don't make sense at all and stumbling through the world.

Want evidence?

This happened last night...
I listed my facebook status as, "Amy is a maniac, turning out papers and projects. But it should be noted her hair is out of control and she's only wearing one sock."
Meghan was on AIM at the time...

Meghan (9:43:38 PM): you're only wearing one sock?

Amy (9:43:43 PM): um.
Amy (9:43:44 PM): yes.
Amy (9:43:57 PM): i remember taking one off with the intention of taking the other off
Amy (9:44:04 PM): but then i got distracted

Meghan (9:44:05 PM): it happens

Amy (9:44:54 PM): it happens
Amy (9:45:01 PM): life gets in the way of these simple tasks

Meghan (9:45:08 PM): it does

Amy (9:45:14 PM): normally i could multi task and take off the sock while doing something else
Amy (9:45:23 PM): but with my mind in the state its in right now...

Meghan (9:45:24 PM): OKAY here's a plan:

Amy (9:45:29 PM): OKAY!

Meghan (9:45:31 PM): the next time you start to type at me over IM
Meghan (9:45:36 PM): take off your sock
Meghan (9:45:51 PM): is it off?! it better be off.

Amy (9:45:53 PM): um ok im typing now and trying to take my sock off
Amy (9:45:58 PM): its not off yet

Meghan (9:46:07 PM): you need drugs.

Amy (9:46:17 PM): ok its off
Amy (9:46:23 PM): i had to concentrate though

Meghan (9:46:24 PM): but now your feet are cold, no?
Meghan (9:46:31 PM): go get that sock and the other sock and put the two back on.

Amy (9:46:47 PM): no my feet are fine
Amy (9:46:49 PM): socks annoy me
Amy (9:46:59 PM): in a past life i was a bare foot hillbilly

Meghan:
Dear Loyola,
Give Amy her degree already. She's out of her mind.
Love,
Meghan


Also, when my brain is running like this I have this weird thing where I sleep really really HARD but also am still sort of awake at the same time. I know, it's bizarre. Here's how I can explain it (yes this really happened):
I'm sleeping. Dreaming weird things. I have a dream I'm in my bed doing homework, like I was right before I fell asleep. I open something (I think it was a book or a box) and see SPIDERS! SPIDERS unleash themselves in my bed in my dream!! (This, seriously, is like one of my worst "this could really happen" nightmares) SO, in REAL LIFE I literally go from sleeping like a rock to FLYING out of my bed. No joke, I JUMP out of bed, spastically brushing "spiders" off me and fly to my light switch and turn on the light. No joke. And as soon as the light turns on and I look at my clock and see "1:45am" I "wake up", realize I was dreaming, turn off the light, fall back into bed, and PASS OUT. You would think having such an arresting nightmare would make it hard to fall back asleep. Nope. Not when you're Amy.

Tomorrow is my last day of classes.
Then two tests.
Then the making of 16 chapbooks (Anyone want a copy of my lame poetry book? Let me know and I'll make one for you. You can save it and use it as "make fun of Amy ammo").
One turning of a paper from a rough draft into a real draft.
One composing of a "Life List" and putting it together in project form.
One performance of a Greek Monologue.
THEN FOR REAL DONE!!!!

...crap. I still have a lot to do.
But first...
presenting my design project.
heading to one more class.
driving home, stopping at the grocery store.
a sit down good and hot MEAL.

Trying to Write One of Two Final Undergrad Papers At 9:30 on a Saturday Night: A Study

Paper 1:
A literary criticism paper on The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Great book. I recommend it. But I hate being forced to write in such a structural, regimented way. Currently, I'm doing a rough/draft outline that will be filled out over the next few days.

Here is a "sentence" I wrote:
"At the novel’s end, Pecola, with the weight of history on her and the knowledge. She goes crazy. "

Here is how the construction of that sentence went in my brain:
"At the novel's end, Pecola, with the weight of her parental history...no...just history. Don't want to be too wordy...with the weight of history on her...on her?....on her...and the knowledge she will never have blue eyes...but wait...at the end she thinks she has blue eyes...but she's crazy...so...she's just crazy? Ugh. With the weight of history on her and the knowledge...the knowledge...screw this...SHE GOES CRAZY."

Uggghhhh...
Am I done yet? Can I have my degree now PLEASE!!?

And you know what I'm doing right now, right??
Procrastinating. I've got about a page of sentences and fragments constructed like the above delightful piece of insight. I need seven.
And that's just the one paper.

Holy Toledo. I love school. I love learning. But I will NOT miss writing academic papers.

Dear God,
Please send me a paper-writing elf.
Love,
Amy
P.S. If they don't exist you should make them. 'Cause you're God and allowed to do that.


My mind is so out to lunch right now. I know I don't have much left to do, I know I just need to sit my ass down and DO IT and get it DONE so I can be DONE.
But seriously?
Right now my brain is running through fragrant meadows and spinning in circles while humming to itself.

Thankful/Not Thankful: A List

So it's Thanksgiving. A day to give thanks. It seems like a good idea to list the things I'm thankful for. Mostly, 'cause I haven't had to list the things I'm thankful for since like...5th grade. If this were a sheet of paper and not a blog it would probably be accompanied by a hand-trace-turkey with different colored finger feathers...

Ok. So here are the things I am thankful for:

1. In keeping with the traditional sense of thanksgiving I will say that I am thankful I am not dead. And thankful that I do not have smallpox. And that indians have not taken my scalp.

2. I am thankful I am not a pilgrim.

3. I am thankful, oh so thankful, that I am done with school in two weeks. Like, for undergrad good done. I am thankful for my education and I am thankful that I now get to put that education to work. I am thankful for all the opportunities that are before me.

4. I am thankful for A Muppet Christmas Carol. And the fact that the whole thing is on youtube. I am especially thankful for this song in A Muppet Christmas Carol:

It's true where ever you find love it feels like Christmas....

5. I am thankful that I can now listen to Christmas music!

6. I am thankful for the many special people in my life. Friends. Family. Blog Readers. Life is more beautiful with you in it.

7. I am thankful for laughter. All the time. Every day.

8. For Christmas. For lights and trees and decorations. Christmas makes me feel fuzzy and happy and peaceful.

9. I am thankful for Jimmy John's. I am thankful for their tuna sandwich and their jalapeno chips. I am thankful they are two blocks away from work. I am thankful they deliver. Subs so fast you'll freak.

10. I am thankful for Obama. And the hope he's brought to the country.

11. I am thankful for puppies.

12. I am thankful for the small simple moments that make me heart and soul happy. Like seeing an autumn tree lit by sunlight.

13. I am thankful for little kids who insist on calling me, "Jamie".

14. I am thankful for my comfy bed. Inside my warm house. I am thankful for my dogbear, who is my night time snuggle buddy.

15. I am thankful for my brain. And that I don't have to thing about using my lungs or pumping my heart. Thanks, brain! You're pretty swell too, spinal cord, thanks for keepin' brain in touch with the bod!

16. I am thankful for art. Art is like my glasses, I'd be sorta blind without it, bumpin' into crap and squinting my way through life. Theatre. Theatre. Theatre. Writing. Poetry. LORCA. DUENDE. I AM THANKFUL FOR DUENDE. Music. Oh music. Painting. Drawing. Creativity. I am happy these things exist.

17. I am thankful for potential.

18. I am thankful for love. LOVE. Love for life. Love for people. Love. Love. Love. It's why I get out of bed in the morning.


And just so we're clear...

Things I am NOT thankful for:

1. People who are unkind and disrespectful to others.

2. Poorly designed parking garages (seriously) (they make me so mad)

My Life Right Now...

Looks like this:


Things I love about this:
a) Cross-eyed count.
b) That everyone's name is also their occupation. "Count, I'm Police Chief." "I'm Mayor."
c) "You are most beautiful".
d) That there are a copious amount of pies just sitting on tables for no reason at all.
e) That the cops respond to the pie fight like a damn SWAT team.

Remember When Your Mom Made You Clean Your Room?

There's a reason for it.

So...
From the lack of blog-age lately (I've got a couple posts I'm working on, swear) you may think that I've neglected my blog and you.
Not so.
Truth is, two weeks from tomorow I will walk out of my last undergrad class.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Aside from the heinous amount of end-of-semester work this involves, this realization that I will be done with something I've been doing for the last 18 years of my life (until when and if I decide to go to grad school) has left my brain when not distracted by said heinous amounts of work-slightly comatose. Like-I have a heart palpitation every time I realize that December 4th is...like...soon. Ah! There it was again. I may or may not go into cardiac arrest at 4:00 on Thursday December 4th. I should probably take some Bayer for that in advance.
It's kind of crazy when I think all the way back to the beginning of my epic degree journey in the Fall of 2004. Lots of shit can happen in four and a half years and lots of shit DID happen. There were days I didn't think I'd be where I am today. There were days when everything was so hard, I thought getting my degree was pointless. I came pretty close to quitting. More than once.
Thank god for the people around me. 'Cause I would not and could not have done this without them. But I'll save this stuff for the day I ACTUALLY am HOLDING my degree. Because I know damn well something could happen tomorrow and the university could decide I need to take a Home Ec class before they grant me my B.A. I will be angry as hell. But I will bake that cake and diaper that baby until I hold that stupid piece of paper in my hands.

ANYWAY!
All this to say-no, I'm not dead. I'm just busy. I've been piecing together a couple posts that should come up in the next few days.
So, all this to say...
When I get busy...well, my room basically turns into the epicenter my madness.
My room is always a bit mad. I can never seem to keep it organized, but when I'm busy my, what I call "organized disorganization", pretty much implodes.
My room is pretty small. And, as you may imagine, is where I keep all my stuff.
I'd post pictures of the madness in my room now, but really...it's just too embarrassing.
Even for me.
Right now I operate by clearing just enough space on my desk to accomplish the work I need to accomplish.
Papers, books, art supplies, computer accoutrement, pens, pencils are quite literally spilled across my desk and dripping onto the floor. Dripping onto the floor into pools of hazard.
"What sort of hazard, Amy?"
Scale rule hazard.
What's a scale rule?
Well, if you put an extra long Star Wars TIE fighter [which is also applicable because the Imperial March of DOOM plays in my head whenever I have to use a scale rule...or it might just be the sound effect I make as I fly my scale rule TIE fighter through the air] and a ruler in a blender...you'd get a scale rule. It's used for, well, uh figuring out scale. I don't like it very much cause it involves numbers and remembering what side of the ruler to use and what numbers stand for what and how many feet and how many inches and shut the heck up scale rule I'm sick of your sass.
Then scale rule, sitting precariously in a pool of hazard on my floor (along with a metal box that contained X-ACTO knives (yipes) (that coulda been bad) (good thing my odd OCD had kicked in and I had taped it shut with red duct tape because I was worried it would open in my bag) (phew)) tripped me.
Or, I guess you could say I tripped over it.
And lesson of the day is: clean your room. And talk nicely to your scale rule.
Because even though it's made of plastic it still has the power to put a gash in your foot. And then you drip blood on your cream colored rug. And then you feel dumb in movement class when you take off your socks and have a dramatically bandaged foot.

Clean your room kids.
Or, at the very least...if you must litter your room, do so with pillows, teddy bears, and cotton candy.

The Muppets: They Will Cure What Ails Ye

So...Ariana showed me this video the other day and we both watched it over and over and over and cracked up. A lot:

"OH YEEAAAHHHHH....sorry 'bout that." Cracks. Me. UP.

And then I found this:


And then I realized...
I am this crazy orange haired fuzzy green guy.
Like...especially when he runs to the background and is just like, "ba da da da da da da Da bee dee rup bud dah dah"

And then I realized...
Those little pink guys? Probably David. Like the subtext of what they're saying when crazy orange haired fuzzy green guy riffs is, "Ma-goo!"
Or Sara. Those little pink guys could be Sara too. In fact the look the pink guys give the crazy orange haired fuzzy green guy I've seen on Sara's face. More than once.


...and now I'm currently watching/guilty-pleasure addicted to "First Comes Love" on Logo (Big Gay Channel) about couples (gay ones) who want to get married. Most of the time the couples go to Canada...since, you know...it's legal there. But still its super cute. And it's hosted by Elvira Kurt who is hilarious.

Hooray!

Thoughts on the Election

I am elated about our new President elect.
Some of my friends have said that they're finally proud to be an American. And since we all know what the right "gotcha" media will do with that statement, I won't say it.
What I will say?
For the first time in my life I understand what it is to be an American. The American ideals I've read about in history books all my life, the supposed American ideals that this country has always stood for-I finally see in my country, my generation, my new president. It's the first time in my life I feel like I can even say "my president" instead of "the president".
I am so proud of my generation.
I am so proud that America elected a BLACK MAN.
I am so proud Obama proved the impossible.
I am proud that as a nation-not matter you voted for, no matter where you sit in politics-that we cared and showed up to the polls in record numbers.
For the first time in my life I understand what it is to be an American.
This election is an amazing triumph-for America, for the world, for minorities. But mostly for hope and the hopeful who proved to be a big loud collective majority last night instead of the quiet voice in the corner.
Hell.
Yes.
And! AND! AND!!!
There will be puppies.
Like you do much better.
Ok?
Ok.
Look.
I'm not a dummy and Obama ain't Superman.
We got a lot of work to do.
And I'm not elated about the election results because I believe he is the be all end all solution.
I'm not elated about the election results because he's a democrat and is going to rule the country with a liberal agenda.
I'm elated about the election results because I believe he will be the inspiration and instigation for change that will continue for generations.
I'm elated because he's helped people believe in their country, believe in each other, and believe in the power of hope.
That's pretty freakin' awesome.
Will he fix the economy in four years?
Maybe. But probably not.
Will every single American have health care and a job in four years?
I'm not holding my breath.
But he's planted some pretty powerful seeds and now it's up to US as AMERICANS to help them grow. That's probably a lame metaphor. My poetry teacher would underline it and write, "cliche!" but you get my point.


However.
I'm certainly not feeling all peaches and roses at the moment.
Proposition 8 passed in California.
So my elation is mixed with some serious heartbreak.
Proposition 8 will put an AMENDMENT on California's CONSTITUTION that bans same-sex marriage.
Why is this a big deal?
Because California will put an amendment on their constitution LIMITING and DENYING rights. Forget what you think about marriage and the gays...that's SCARY.
It kills me that on some level America (even blue-state California) sees something so wrong with homosexuality that they have to amend their constitutions.
What the hell?!
I'm afraid if I start to write too much on this my post will turn super angry and that's not what I want it to be.
I am angry.
I am hurt.
The election of Obama and defeat of Prop 8 don't belong in the same election for me. My hope for America includes equality for all. My hope for America includes recognition of my love and of my rights-and of all gays, queers, lesbos, dykes, and queens.
Progress comes in baby steps I know: three steps forward and two steps backward. I know. I get it.
But it doesn't make it suck any less to be on the losing side of the progress that's not only close to your heart but a part of your very make-up and who you are.
I have enormous faith and hope in Obama and his presidency. He will do monumental things for this country and abroad and more importantly, he will inspire Americans to do monumental things for this country and abroad. I believe this and am thankful for this. An optimistic dude who believe in ideals and hope is my kind of dude.
And in believing this I guess I ultimately have to trust that the way I am will one day not be seen as less.
I have so much love in my life. I am lucky to be loved by so many wonderful people who would not care if I were purple with a third arm growing out of my forehead. I just cannot wait for the day when the rest of the country will catch up and understand, just as so many people in my life do, I'm just me. And that other gays are just who they are, same as anyone.
I'm not trying to stage a coop or overthrow traditional values or re-write the Bible. What I would like is to exist in the world with the same rights and opportunities as any one else without ever compromising who I am. Is that too much to ask?!

Halloween Photo Contest RESULTS POST

Here are the results for the Halloween Photo Contest:




Congrats, Sara! You are a much more awesome Sara than the the Sarah Palin. Mostly, 'cause you don't like to shoot me.
You shall get a prize! Send me your address and you will get something super awesome. Excited? YOU SHOULD BE.

Thank you to everyone who submitted pictures! I do declare it a mighty fine contest.

A special thank you to Sarah Palin for helping me announce the winner.

Here she is simultaneously hunting and eating Moose. Way to go, you Maverick. Most people like to make sure their meat is dead before they eat it. Then they usually like to cook it. And most of the time...people don't eat antlers. Even if they're just made of bristol board and felt.


...and yeah, I realize I am the most bo-jank Moose in the history of the universe. That's what 20 bucks'll get ya for a Halloween Costume.

Keith Richards aka Moose's Dad would also like to say hello:

Maybe one day your Old Man Band will be as big as the Stones.
Maybe one day I will be a real Moose.

It's TIME

As promised (and for once actually ON TIME) here are the entries for the Halloween Picture Contest! Excited? You SHOULD be. Ok, today's post is just the entries. I'm hoping to have the winner posted tomorrow but it might be Sunday. The winner will be announced by a special guest. Intrigued? You SHOULD be. Ok. Thank you so much to everyone who submitted pictures. You all win points in the "Amy's Favorite People" book of life and we all know that at the end of the day, what I think about you is what's most important. Oh yeesh. I can't even take myself seriously when I talk like that. Seriously, thanks for submitting. They were so much fun to get and I'm so happy to post these. Pictures are fun.

WITHOUT FURTHER POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE...

Ha! Get it?


Carly sent me this picture:

This is Carly and some of her friends/family dressed as bunnies. With balloon ears. Genius.



My Auntie Bena sent this picture:

These are my other grandparents (Dad's folks). They are dressed as Wayne and Garth. The answer to your question is: Yeah. It is pretty much the best thing ever.



This picture is from Claire:

Oh Claire. How I adore puppies. And how your puppies are so adorable. They are looking super fine in their Halloween get-ups.



These pictures came from Ariana:



I have no words. Except that I really want to see these dogs RUN in these costumes. Because I think it would be a hilarious. Preferably, it should happen with the soundtrack from their respective movies playing in the background. Preferably, it should also happen that they have an epic duel with their respective evil nemesis who is (preferably) another dog dressed in costume.



These two came from Sara:



Sara. Sara. Sara. I have a whole knew respect for you. A dragon?! When you said you were going to submit a picture I thought I was going to get something cute like a princess or a kitten or a fairy. No. I get DRAGON. My friend, you are way more hardcore than I thought you were. Way more hardcore than I. I think will all remember what I was dressing up as at this age. Also, if I may say so, you are one cute dragon kid.



These two pictures came from Meghan (after much nagging from me):

Smart Ass.


Here is Meghan as Wendy from Peter Pan. She has plopped herself in the center of the circle. I love it. You are also one freakin' cute-ass kid. However, I cannot say you are as hardcore as Sara. I mean...maybe if you went as the crocodile from Peter Pan...but Wendy?



Look for the results post this weekend! Thanks again for submitting!

Fierce Firey Amy (Apparently)

So my pal David sent me a facebook message this morning.

The subject of it was:
Um...this is how fierce you are btw...

And inside the message was this video:


So I sent him a message back that said:
Seriously...you think I'm that fierce???

He said:
Even more than that.

And then I felt pretty dang good because "fierce" and the ability to ninja up walls would not be things I'd put on the list of "Amy Assets".
Thanks, David! This made my morning.


Also not on that list?
Firey.

But apparently...

So, withhold your "Ugh, theatre people are SO WEIRD" reaction and go with me for just a moment...
So I'm in this movement class. And we've been doing some "elemental" work, which basically means running around the room (or being very still) as air, water, earth, and fire. It's a way to think about movement, to think about how characters move, what moving as those elements does to your body and to your internal emotion.
Yeah?
Yeah.
So, before we started this, I thought..."I'm such an earth person. I'll be all over that, that'll feel real good to me. I'm grounded. Duh. Certainly not airy and Lord know I don't know my hips exist so why the hell would I be water?"
But then came the fire day.
And that felt way more awesome than being a tree.
Or air.
Or a river.
Please. Continue to withhold your, "Ugh, theatre people are SO WEIRD. What the hell is that shit ABOUT?" feeling that I KNOW is going through your head right now. Be honest. How do I know it's going through your head right now?
'Cause it goes through my head on a pretty regular basis too....
"Um, you want me to what, professor? Stand in front of the class and be the flame of a candle?? Um...ok. If you say so."
(Yeah Dad, that's what tuition is paying for.)
ANYWAY.
Since doing the elements we've moved onto other stuff...namely, colors. We had a day where we made paintings out of movement. That day was pretty badass. Now, over halfway through the semester, we've started working again with words (cause I hear those are important onstage) and how they relate to and/inform movement. And what sounds "move" like.
Yeah?
Yeah.
ANYWAY.
I had a meeting with my movement professor today, to talk about where I'm at in the class, for her to give me some feedback, what I'm having trouble with- that sort of deal.
And she said to me, "There's fire in everything you do."

"There's fire in everything that you do."
What?
Seriously?
Me?
FIRE?!?

Hm.

...I'm ok with that.

Muahahahahahahaha...
Look OUT. Apparently, I'm fierce and firey.
Whoa.


Reminder again:
Halloween pictures to me at:
Magoo1001@gmail.com
Multiple pictures? A-Ok.
Pictures of your dogs dressed up? A-Ok.

SEND 'EM IN! SEND 'EM IN! SEND 'EM IN!

Special Message From Some Old Time-y Sunbathers

Amy's classy Grandparents would like to remind you that the DEADLINE for the Halloween Photo Contest is fast approaching. Get 'yo pictures IN. I've had some requests and I'm willing to extend the deadline slightly to give you all extra time to scan and such. The post with all the pictures will go up on the 31st. I will announce the winner on November 1st. So to give me time to download/post/judge have all pictures in by October 30th at the LATEST. Sound cool?? Good. I'm starting to get more entries! Keep 'em coming!
ALSO in regards to the Halloween Photo Contest, I had this question in my comment box:
"Can you send multiple pictures if you can't decide on one? Also, can I send in a picture of my dogs dressed up if I don't have kids? "
The answer is YES on both counts. And that is a very emphatic YES for pictures of your dogs dressed up. I am way excited to get these pictures. Please, please, please...SEND THEM. The more, the merrier-especially if cute puppies are involved.


...Oh and by the way? Yes. My grandparents ARE the coolest ever. Just so you know...that's what happens when an Italian from da city of Chicago marries a sweet Irish lass from the farmlands of Wisconsin. Seriously. Yeah. I'm not sure how they pulled that off either or convinced the 'rents it would all be ok.
These two give me faith that people can be together and love each other for a very long time. Not that relationships are always peaches and cupcakes. But the duration of love?? Yeah. It happens. Observe my grandparents dressed to go to a party as old time-y sunbathers. Brilliance.
You know what's sorta funny about this picture? Looking at it I see my face in my Grandpa's. But maybe that's just his slight awkwardness-in-the-presence-of-a-beautiful-woman coming through. Aw, Grandpa. I'm right there with you.


QUOTE OF THE DAY

Meghan and I were heading to a coffee shop. The place we want to go to is closed so we decide to hop in my car and drive somewhere...
ME: Ok. Just...don't judge me by the state of my car.
*Meghan shoots me a look like "Give me a break*
ME: I'm just sayin'.
*Meghan looks in my backseat and starts laughing*
MEGHAN: Aww...Amy...it's like your little moveable home!

The Big Gay Marriage Debate

All right. I'm going to blog about it. I'm gonna do my best to keep it articulate and intelligent because I'm not the liberal "gotcha" media. I'm just a twenty-something lesbian trying to make sense of an issue that's important to me.

So...
Gay Marriage.
*Gasp*
The scandal!

Where to even start?

Let me start by saying this:
I ain't a-gunnin' to stick a ring on a girl's finger. I wouldn't call marriage a "life goal" of mine, meaning it's not something I have on "GOTTA DO THIS!" list. I don't equate marriage with being a "life step" like purchasing my own car or starting my 401K or buying a house.
To me, marriage is much more powerful than that. And rather than it being a step I HAVE to take...I hope it's a step I'll be LUCKY enough to take. And not "lucky" in the sense of it being legal. "Lucky" in the sense of finding that person willing to say, "I do." To me, marriage and potentially finding someone willing to put up with my shit forever, stick with me in good and bad, to be that one person who will always be there, to grate my last nerve and make me weak in the knees all in same day- is incredibly powerful.
To me, marriage is not about religion, it's not about a contract, it's not about economics or insurance. It is unequivocally and completely about love. And should the day ever come where I decide to share my life with someone I know in my heart what will be important is not the legalities of the matter. What will be important is the beautiful woman who will say to me, "Yeah Amy, I'll put up with your shit" and who I will say to, "Yeah beautiful woman, I'll put up with your shit too." The important thing will be our love and the celebration of it.
Ok?
That's where I stand on marriage. And while I've learned never to say never and while I know things and people change I do feel pretty strongly that marriage is a one-time thing. It's not something I take lightly, it's not something I would do in Vegas, and it is not a system I would take advantage of (ie I wouldn't marry David just to reap whatever benefits he might have at his place of employment or file joint taxes).
Yeah?
Yeah.

So...honestly? There are some days where I say to myself, "Amy, do you really care about the legalities? Is it really THAT important?"
I know there is no law or person that could ever take away the love I'd have for the person I'd marry.
And it would be over my cold dead body that any law or person would try and take that person away from me.
I know both these points as fact.
I know that (sorry America) there is no law that could ever preserve the sanctity of marriage. Because the sanctity of marriage is preserved by the couple in the union and by no one and nothing else.
This also is a fact.
Abuse. Incest. Infidelity. Divorce.
And you're trying to prevent me from getting married because somehow the fact that I'd want to marry a woman destroys the sanctity of marriage? Sorry, but it seems to me like the heterosexual married world has got some work to do on the "sanctity of marriage" front before they start preaching to me about what is or is not "holy."
...so I guess it isn't so much that if I got married I wouldn't have those legalities but it kinda shatters my heart that the world wouldn't see the love I have for that beautiful woman I'd marry as wonderful and WORTHY of those legalities.
And while my mother always told me it isn't important what others think as long as you're down with who you are and what you're up to in life...it hurts.

And then there's the whole issue of RIGHTS and it being ridiculous that those same rights heterosexuals enjoy in their marriage wouldn't extend to me and my partner. I could beat this out till I'm blue in the face. Suffice it to say...I'd like my wife to be able to get into the hospital to see me should I ever get hit by a bus. It'd be nice to come have her hold my hand.

Phew.

As a lesbian. This makes voting difficult.
I refuse to be the one issue voter. I know the issues at hand in the world today are greater than singular issues and greater than me. And it seems a little selfish to be concerned about my marriage rights when the world is blowing up.
I get that. I recognize that. I'm not righteous enough to be blind to that.
But dang.
I'm forced to choose between throwing away my vote or giving my vote to someone who, in some capacity, is saying that the love of same-sex couples isn't worthy of full blown marriage rights. And maybe said candidate (ahem ahem...Obama) doesn't really believe in his heart that such love is unworthy. But...that's what he has to say.
What a moral conundrum.

I don't know if what I just blogged made any sense. But it's all rolling around in my head right now.
I gotta head to the polls in a couple weeks and decide what to do about this.
I don't think I gotta go into what McCain says about the gays.
But, if you're curious about what Obama says you can read about it HERE. He does support civil unions, he does support the gays on a lot of important legislation. But there is something he does oppose. And it's marriage. And I realize he can't support gay marriage. I realize that's political suicide. I get it, I get it, I get it.
It just makes little sense.


QUOTES OF THE DAY

On AIM with David...
DAVID: sent u a text earlier!
ME: really?!
DAVID:you didn't answer
ME:....oh.
ME: oh.
ME: that MIGHT have something to do with my text box being full
DAVID: magoo! delete some! what if i was texting you to tell u ponies were being given away!?


David and I went to see a show together. At some point in the show, this actor in a really awesome full-body-suit puppet came out. She was a monster. Apparently, I got real excited. And apparently, I was moving my head around to track the monster's every move and see around the person in front me...
DAVID: I thought you were gonna jump right down to the first row when that monster came out on stage. You were way excited.
ME: Don't make fun of me! That monster was awesome!
DAVID: I'm not making fun, it was fabulous...I felt like I was with an eight year old at Walking With Dinosaurs.


I'll post a reminder picture later BUT here is ANOTHER reminder for the Halloween Photo Contest. Send all pictures to me, Amy, at:
Magoo1001@gmail.com

Chucking a Bouncy Ball at a Wall

I apologize for the serious lack of blogage of late.
I hate saying, "I've been busy" because I enjoy blogging and like to make time for it even when life is slightly nuts, but...*sigh* I've been busy.
I like to make sure you get the best possible blogage from Confusing Ideas and sometimes after a day of school/work/homework/rehearsal...that just isn't possible. Not even because I don't have the time but because my brain gets tired after working all day and says to me, "God. Amy! I need a break. Will you let me just chuck a bouncy ball at a wall for a little while??" And I say, "Ok, brain. Here's a bouncy ball. Have at it."


REMINDER
All right guys. I have two entries for the Halloween Photo Contest. I need more. I'm not gonna lie...the competition is fierce. You should make it even fiercer and send me your pictures. People have said to me, "Amy! I would love to send you a picture, but my Halloween pictures are not digital! How am I supposed to send it to you? Woe is me."
Two things:
a) A scanner. They're really easy to use. So if you have one, or your parents/friends have one, or if your local library has one-that's one way to do it. It goes like this: lift scanner lid, put picture on scanner screen, hook scanner into your computer, press "scan" on scanner, photo will appear on your computer. Done and done.
b) ALSO you can take them into Walgreens or Jewel Osco or whatevs and get them put onto a media CD or your little USB dude. This also is really easy and if you are confused I'm sure an enthusiastic member of the costumer service squad would be happy to assist you.
Ok? So it CAN be done. So...do it. Remember...there IS a prize which I will ACTUALLY send to you (yes, a real palpable prize) if you're comfortable giving me your address. If not, well...let's be honest. If you're just in it for the prize you best not play. The GLORY is really what it's all about.


Ahhh yes. How perfectly typical. Amy is dressed and ready to take on Halloween as Patch from 101 Dalmatians and Jimmy is...still in his pajamas with only his Scarecrow hat on.

Fall Colors: Red, Yellow, Orange, Brown, and...Pink?

*DISCLAIMER: This post is slightly more personal than the usual here at Confusing Ideas.*

Well, it's that time again.
The trees are turning lovely shades of orange, yellow, red, and brown and the store shelves are turning pink.
Yup, that's right.
It's BREAST CANCER AWARENESS TIME!!

So...I made it pretty clear in a post last year how I feel about certain aspects of BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH! (I think it helps to say BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH like you're a monster truck rally commentator).

I do have some slightly more intelligent things to say on the matter now that I've aged a bit.
Ok...here's the deal...
For 12 years of my life my mom had cancer on and off. I never really gave a damn during those 12 years (and still don't give a damn) that companies make over their products in pink for a month out of the year. Yes, in the end, I know I can't be too snippy about it because it does raise funds for important organizations. I get that. (But I still say, "Dyson my mom didn't die so you could sell a vacuum.")
I have to say...what made the difference for me for those 12 years were people.
People who cooked dinners for my family during times my mom was really really ill.
People who sent cards.
People who called.
And even though it ain't my thing...people who prayed.
Such people made it easier for me to sleep at night.
I am unable to even fully express how grateful I am to everyone who supported and helped my family.
...and while I appreciate the thought of making the world over in pink and sellin' shit to give portions of the proceeds to cancer organizations...
I could never be a fraction as grateful for that as I am for the people who were there for my mother.
They mean more to me than a pink vacuum cleaner ever could.

I don't live my life weighed down by grief. It's not in my personality number one. I find it infinitely easier to be upbeat that I do to be a debbie downer. Being weighed down by grief is not what my mother would want and it's not what I want. I am so excited to get up in the morning and see what potential each day has to offer and I am very much looking forward to my life and my future...
But I will be sore until the day I die.
And until the day I die, not a day will go by that I won't miss her or wish she were here.
And I know that it is this soreness that feeds my cynicism over Breast Cancer Awareness month. Because I know, like too many people know, that breast cancer couldn't be farther fluffy pink-ness.
Breast Cancer ain't pretty. Even in pink. (Is that a pun? Sort of? No? Ok. (I'm just funny))

I also feel like I need to say that I don't remember those 12 years as an awful horrible time period in my life.
Truthfully, I remember them as really happy and always filled with love- with some spots of scary and badness. And not the other way around. I think that's a huge testament to my mother and dad. They never let cancer take over and run our lives and for that I got pretty kick-ass childhood.

There. I said my piece. I vow never to speak on Breast Cancer Awareness month again unless I see something really ridiculous like pink puppies bred for breast cancer awareness.

AND

In light of breast cancer awareness, I feel it is only fitting to give a Breast Cancer Awareness PSA in Confusing Ideas fashion:



Elf Amy would like to remind you there's nothing funny about having a mother with cancer.

...but she IS wearing her mother's post-chemo wig under that elf hat AND wearing her mothers "bangs" as a beard.
But again...nothing funny about this.
At all.

Please.

Be aware of Breast Cancer.

Children shouldn't have the option of wearing their mother's post-chemo wigs as part of their Halloween costume.
...even if it is slightly amusing.
Which it isn't.
At all.

This One Time...I Did Actually Grow

This is proof that at some point in my life...I did actually grow. You'll notice this is the same unicorn outfit from the previous pictures I posted. Only, I'm like three years older and four inches taller. Oops.
I love my super colorful jacket. I loved that jacket. Hi, my name is Amy I was a kid in the late 80s early 90s, observe my flashy jacket.
...also observe my socks.
Classy.
I love that my brother's costumes always involve trying to cram that large noggin of his into something. I love that he is eating candy.

this is another reminder to submit your Halloween photos for the CONTEST!! You've got until the 25th! I still only have one entry.

Mickey Mouse, Unicorn, and Super Dog Here With a Special Message

Amy is glad to be a unicorn. Because unicorns are related to ponies.
Jimmy could not be more excited to be Mickey Mouse. Someone get that kid a fun size kitkat bar.
Cory, golden retriever extraordinaire, cannot be anyone but herself on Halloween and must survey the scene and protect the chillens.


I should have been a model.
(In the background you can see the scary ass Sears mannequin my Dad turned into a vampire. He resided in our basement from November to September and made playing down there alone impossible. Much like a picture of Jesus, his eyes followed you no matter where you went.)

SEND ME YOUR HALLOWEEN PICTURES FOR THE CONFUSING IDEAS HALLOWEEN CONTEST!!! (Click on that guy for rules and stuff)
Send all pictures by October 25th to Magoo1001@gmail.com
The winner will be announced on October 31st!

Remember...anyone and everyone is welcome to submit. If you are reading these words right now, YOU can enter. I've got one entry so far. This is not enough to have a contest. Send me your pictures!

In Search Of Duende, Because Nobody Likes Meat-Sack Poetry.

So I'm in this poetry class. And my professor is constantly talking about how he expects us to write good poetry (duh). He says, "Like..doves bursting out of your chest good."

This is not an easy task.

To do such a thing, one needs a lot of what Lorca called, "duende". Duende is more than inspiration, it's more than an bright idea. It's the blood and guts and pulse you gotta put in your poetry (and not just poetry, duende applies to any and every kind of art) to make it good. Without duende, your poetry is pretty much just a sack of meat and bones. And nobody likes meat-sack poetry. Or acting. Or painting. Or music.
Lorca was a master and blood and guts poetry. Probably, because he's Spanish and the Spanish are like RAAWRR I'M SO DAMN PASSIONATE AND FEEL EVERYTHING LIKE RAAAWWWRRR. RAWWWRRR I'M GOING TO DANCE FLAMENCO!! I'M THE MOON AND I LIKE BLOOD. I'M A GUITAR AND I'M CRYING. I'M A GYPSY!!! I'M DAWN IN NEW YORK AND COME WITH FOUR COLUMNS OF SLIIMMMMMMMMEEEEEEE. RAAAWWWWWRRRRRR.
And that's about the only way I can describe Lorca's work.
When you read Lorca's writing, ain't no doves bursting out of your chest. Dude writes, you read, and mother freakin' HAWK rips itself out of your chest. For real. I read his stuff, and (because I'm a nerd) giggle with glee because it's so turbulent and emotional and filled with hardcore duende.
Anyway.
As you may imagine...
Duende is very elusive.
Especially when you're a 22 year old college student feeling your way through poetry and not some genius master of awesome Spanish writer.

With possibly the most difficult poem of the semester assigned this past weekend...I needed some serious DUENDDEEEEE (it helps to say the word "duende" in your most hardcore voice possible) (ask me next time I see you, I will demonstrate).

So this weekend, I went in search of some duende...
*Annddd cue the incidental music (which is probably all wrong if you're on a search for duende)*


Heelllllooo...duendeeeee? Are you here?







(These above pictures are my answer to anyone who asks, "Why do you get up early to be at school earlier than you have to?" Um...because I'd miss this. I'm sorry, but the lake does not look like this at any other time of day and its ok with me that it happens to be between the hours of 7am and 9am.)

Waiting for duende at the lake...

But no duende came. Why? Because this is my "cliche" face and not my "duende" face. Duende face needs to be 80 times more intense. This is the face I would make if I wanted to go write a pastoral. Oh wait, I had to do that too. And it SUCKED. Ugh. Pastorals. You are dumb and lame and Lorca would probably piss on you. Ok, wait...Lorca could probably write a kick ass pastoral. It would be freaky as hell. But kick-ass...But he would definitely piss on Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love." Sorry, Marlowe. But it's sorta true.


BACK TO THE SEARCH FOR DUENDE


Are you backstage, duende?? Where I spent my entire weekend?????




Negative.
...backstage was where duende went to die.


Are you in the garbage with the squirrels, duende?


No. No duende, here. And squirrels? It's really ok...I do not want your half eaten brown apple or bag of old Cheeto crumbs, so stop staring at me like I'm going to steal your children. Maybe if you gave me some duende I'd give you my goldfish crackers. Too bad for you.


Is there some duende in here? In this little room I'd never been in before? That I stumbled upon in a campus building by accident? And was shocked, surprised, and tickled to discover???







Oh yes. In here...I found some serious duende. At least...I think/hope.





POP QUIZ TIME

What don't these guys have in their song?



If you answered, "duende" you would be right.
Sorry, Sonseed. You read Marlowe, don't you?
Although...I'm sort of frightened to admit this but...the song IS kind of catchy. BUT catchy DOES NOT EQUAL duende.
Things that make this video so genius:
a) "Zap!"
b) Dude rocking out to the two chords he knows on guitar. Way to play with fervor and gusto, man.
c) The backup singers. And their one line. And their individual close-ups throughout the video.
d) Casio keyboard ROCK OUT.
e) I could be totally off on this...but I feel like the lead singer of Sonseed just recently came to America, learned english and is pulling himself up by the boot straps through catchy christian bubble gum pop.

DUUUEEENNNDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE





IN OTHER NEWS:
I am exhausted.
Today, when it came time to get up, my body started moving before my brain. I'm not even kidding you. I was laying in bed, my brain pretty much out cold. And (IN BED, STILL) felt my muscles moving and contracting as though I were walking. Seriously. I was sleep-walking in bed. Who does that?
Oh.
Right.
Amy.

"Number 2 On The Back and Sides. Scissors On Top."

Cracked me up.


In other news...I got my haircut. Which is good. Because when I start to look like a walking Q-Tip I have a hard time existing in the world with grace and poise. Ok, so, I always have a hard time existing in the world with grace and poise but more so when my the goings-on on the top of my head are out of control. So I went and got my haircut yesterday at this place by my school.
Here is what I love about having short hair...
I walk into a shop. I sit down. Stylist says, "How do you like it?"
I say, "Number 2 on the back on sides, scissors on top."
Done and done.
None of this language I don't understand about layers and whatever and hair stuff and what I want done and which way I part and which way I want my sides to slope and should the back be this or that blah blah blah. None of that awkward shit I went through when my hair was longer where stylists were constantly trying to make my hair "more feminine". Seriously. One time I went to a place and the stylist was like, "Oh, well I'll do this, this way to make it look a little more feminine. Because you don't want...well, I just make it look more feminine." And I'm sitting there like, "Ummmm...I don't think you understand."
It's one of the things I find most interesting about, not even being gay but...just looking more boy-ish/androgynous/non-girl-ish (whatever you want to call it). People aren't at all malicious about it, but I've had such weird experiences where people suggest that somehow I don't know how to look like a girl or be a girl and they have to help with that. They have to help me be more like a girl, because that's what I am. They have to help me and/or suggest ways that I can fit in and be how they think I should be. I need to stress that these experiences have been in no way mean or nasty. They're meant totally well and they don't necessarily bother me, I just find them very interesting.
To be more concise: It's hard for people to wrap their brains around the fact that: Hey, I look this way because I want to. This is what's comfortable for me. The way you're suggesting for me to look/be (whatever) feels wrong and uncomfortable to me deep down inside. When I tell people this...that wearing dresses and makeup is totally uncomfortable for me, that I don't want to wear a boost-ee-a (I don't know how to spell that so I just put the sounds there. Sorry. Didn't want to look it up, but you know you love me) because I don't want my boobs to look bigger, in fact I'm sorta totally fine being flat-chested...they're, frankly, shocked. 9 times of 10 if I explain to someone that I haven't worn a dress in years because it makes me uncomfortable on a deeper level than just "this dress itches" they're reaction is, "Reeaaalllly???"
Yes.
Really.
When I try to explain to people by saying, I would be at a loss in the role of Juliet but give my left arm to play Romeo..."Reaallllly???"
Yes.
Really.
I mean let's face, it's mostly 'cause dude gets to SWORD FIGHT on stage, but YES I would rather play Romeo.
It doesn't make me not a girl. It doesn't make me a boy. It doesn't make me anything but me.
This all is a lot to explain. I do and don't feel the need to explain myself. It depends on the situation. And sometimes it's hard to explain because it's still something I'm trying to figure out too, honestly.
Which is why I LOVE how easy it is to say...
"Number 2, scissors on top."
It's sort of glorious.

Anyway. This place I went to (to get my haircut) (which is where this story started) (before it was derailed by my strange thoughts on gender) was a "first time" affair for me. Normally, I just get my butt into a Hair Cuttery, but this week is slightly nuts, so I just needed to get it done and had no time to search God's green earth for a Hair Cuttery. I go in and get a stylist, who is pretty nice. She's doing my hair, cuttin' away...

HER: Is this your natural color?
ME: Yes.
HER: Really?
ME: Yes.
HER: You've never put anything in it?
ME: I had highlights once a long time ago and at one point dyed it red-ish but that was several years ago.
HER: But this is natural now?
ME: Yup.
HER: Wow. You have a great hair color.
ME: Thank you.
HER: It's really nice. Really nice. (As she's inspecting my hair with her comb)
ME: (What I wanted to say) Please don't take my hair.
ME: (What I said) Thanks.

Anyway. Aside from her infatuation with my hair color, this stylist was actually pretty nice. She did a good job, she did it fast, and she was really friendly (see above conversation about my hair color). She asked my name and introduced herself as Gina.
Dear Gina,
You still can't have my hair. No, Gina...I would not like to get my eyebrows threaded today. I know they are as O.C. (outta control) as my hair was when I walked in and I will fix that myself later. Beauty is pain and when it comes to my beauty any necessary pain will be dolled out by me and no one else. So drop your tweezers and dental floss.
Love,
Amy
But P.S. I still think you're nice and might come back and see you again.

Anyway. So it comes time for me to pay, and she goes...
GINA: What do they normally charge you?
Ok. I don't hear well. I'm in a salon with hair dryers and what I think is Indian music playing over the speakers. And Gina has an accent....
ME: Pardon?
GINA: What do they normally charge you...for cut?
ME: (On the inside) Oh Gina, I normally go to Hair Cuttery. Do you really want the answer to this question?
ME: (For real) Like...13 dollars?
GINA: Oh. It will be 18. Is that ok?
ME: (On the inside) Now I feel awkward. Why did you ask? Ahhh!
ME: Oh yeah, that's fine.
INDIAN-MAN (I think)-BEHIND-COUNTER-WHO-I'VE-GATHERED-IS-SHOPS-OWNER: I only charge you 18. For men haircut. Would not be fair to charge you for women's because (he gestures to my head).
(Now, I gathered that Gina was trying to figure out if I get charged for a women's hair cut or a man's. Oh Gina! Don't you know when you go to Hair Cuttery you can get a cut and wash for a mere 13 dollars no matter what you've got between your legs?)
ME: (on the inside) I feel awkward again. Thanks?
ME: (For real) Thanks. I appreciate that.
INDIAN-MAN (I think)-BEHIND-COUNTER-WHO-I'VE-GATHERED-IS-SHOPS-OWNER: Well, is not fair. You get card come in 4 times, have hair cut for 16 dollars.
ME: Sounds great.
(And now the boring business of me paying, tipping, and leaving not knowing quite how I feel about my experience in the shop)

Ahhhh!! I wish the rest of existence were are easy as saying "Number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."

"What do they normally charge you for a haircut?"
"They charge me for a number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."

"Why don't you like to where a dress?"
"Because number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."

"Are you a boy or a girl?"
"I'm a number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."

...not that I want to be defined by my chosen hairstyle. "Definition" is the very thing I'm rallying against. And I guess, if you really sit down and think about it hard "definitions" don't exist for anyone. BUT in terms of gender, where the mainstream belief is one or the other it gets a little frustrating to not be able to say, "I'm a number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on the top."