Something I thought about today:

Finding someone in a crowd sucks if you’re not the kind of person who is good at finding someone in a crowd. You could be looking for your best friend. She could be directly in front of you; she could be wearing purple pants. But the sensory overload from the hundreds of people who are alarmingly not her is so great that your brain goes into the state where it can only make broken, grammatically inept shells of simple sentences.

Friend?

No can find best friend.

Friend with the pants.

Purple ones.

You implore yourself to look harder but you know you won’t be able to find her. You get frustrated.

I have this best friend. We’ll call her Kate mostly because her name actually is Kate. I feel like Kate could find me in a crowd pretty easily. I could be lurking in a corner as I often do. I could be wearing atrociously boring, nondescript colors as I often do. There could be a man off to my left with his hair on fire. Kate would find me.

I don’t know if the ability to find someone in a crowd has anything to do with intelligence. I don’t know if it’s an ability that can be learned. But I do know that the lack of this ability creates a kind of separation anxiety.

Person B: I have to go to the bathroom.

Person A: I’LL GO WITH YOU.

Person B: Do you even have to go to the bathroom?

Person A: *looks away*

Person B: Stay. You’ll be fine.

Person A: But…

Person B: I’ll be right back.

Person A: (almost shouting) But you know I won’t be able to find you!

Person B: I’ll find you.

Now that is trust.

"Is to turn her into literature"

So what will become of the dreams that never

could wake and rise into day?

Of tears spilled onto already slick pillowcases

and bottles that glimmer with the light dawn reflects

off of their hollow shells?

What will become of the words I never

had the courage to utter or the chance

I never saw it fit to give?

Will these ever amount to anything

or will they fade as the pink does from this macadam

in the last light of this old, worn out day like

lost hope or a love never returned?

The lack of sleep

I saw ‘The Time Traveler’s Wife’ today with Amy. I’ve thought for a while now that the measure of good movie is how long it stays with you. I’ve seen movies that I initially thought were great until I realized that they had provoked no further thought. I’ve ripped movies for patches of weak dialogue while watching them and then stayed up for hours subsequent nights thinking about them. Tonight ‘The Time Traveler’s Wife’ had me thinking about what knowledge I would pass on to my younger self if I was in the same position as Henry.

I initially thought of these:

Stick with CHCC. I know you cried for six hours straight after your first shift and I know you begged your father to not make you go back. Go back. You could never imagine the character you can build scraping plates and hauling garbage.

Her death was in no way your fault.

Take amazing care of your pets, you’ll feel empty when they’re gone.

God is there. The only thing you have to do is ask from an honest place.

Shortcuts almost never work.

It is impossible to feel happy all the time and you should never want to.

Never give up, no matter how impossible it might seem that things will ever get better. They will.

You cannot look at your shoes forever.

Take out all the words you don’t need.

If you’re truly meant to be friends with someone, six months apart isn’t going to change that.

Do whatever you must to keep living. It is a privilege many aren’t afforded.

Maybe I wouldn’t tell my younger self any of these things. There is a reason I learned each of these things at a specific time in my life. There is a reason I have been given this set of tools to work with now. It has long been my theory that life keeps repeating a lesson until you learn it. It has also been my theory that these lessons build on one another and that you’ll never be faced with a harder one than you can handle, you just may not know it at the time.

The death of a family member is a weird occurrence. Besides causing many different emotions, it can also really make a person think. Even if the person doing the thinking never had a good relationship with the person who recently did the dying.

This past Wednesday my grandfather died. It would be inaccurate to say that we just weren’t close. The truth was we made it a point to keep our distance from one another. We never saw anything that happened or anyone in our overlapped lives the same way. In many ways it felt as though he and I lived in two different worlds. My initial reaction to his death was anger. I told my father that I felt as though my grandfather had never given me anything and that because of this I felt I didn’t owe him anything in return.

My grandfather had in fact slipped money into every card for every birthday I’ve had in my twenty years. My grandfather had signed his name to many checks given to me on many Christmases. When I spoke to my father, I meant that my grandfather had never given me his love. He had never given me his admiration. The man had seldom ever even given me his full attention.

I’ve been thinking about what I might feel when I get down to the end of my life. I’ve been thinking about what I hope I will feel and the path I will take in life that might lead me to that end. There are so many things I want to do and roles that I want to fill.

After my anger subsided, I felt a little lost. I sat down and impulsively began to scribble a list of things I want to do in my life. There were things like going to Maine with Amy and hiking and kayaking there together. Things like going to lots of concerts and art museums and *~movies~* with Kate. There were also bigger things to do on my list, like being the absolute best God Mother/Fake Aunt for Amy’s kids as I possibly can.

I will never have the built in grandparent/grandkid relationship. But I hope to do infinitely better than my grandfather did with me. When I die, I hope that Amy’s kids will feel like I really did give them all the things my grandfather never gave me. I hope they will remember the games and recitals I went to, the water balloons I threw at them, the cuts I bandaged for them, the places I took them, the closets I checked for monsters and the silly pictures we took together. Most of all I hope they will remember the times I will spend truly listening with every fiber of my being to whatever they want to say to me.

My grandfather’s death has made me reevaluate my life and the things I hope to do in it. Most of all, his death has made me grateful for the friends I love dearly and the ever-expanding life that I already have. Because of this, I realize that my grandfather has given me very much.

A Rambling About RENT

It’s hard to describe exactly what Rent means to me. The truth is that it has been so much a part of me these last few years, the most important years of my life thus far, that at times I almost forget about it. I just kind of breathe it.

I vaguely remember clicking on an article about Rent four years ago. I’m pretty sure I had heard about it in passing before, but at the time I had no idea what it was about. I read in the snippet below the link that Rent’s story included well-rounded gay characters and clicked for the hell of it.

Rent’s inclusion and positive portrayal of gay and lesbian characters was initially what drew me to it.

To faggots, lezzies, dykes, cross dressers too /
To me / To me / To me /
To you, and you, and you, you and you

I began falling in love with Rent at the same time I began the process of coming out to my friends. In a very real way, the family of friends the main characters are a part of is what I was longing for.

To being an us for once / Instead of a them

The love the characters have for one another transcends the specifics of who they are. It would be hard to find a group of people more different, and yet they recognize the fact that they are all, in so many ways, the same. When I first found Rent I was mainly attracted to its subversive themes. Years later, if I had to describe what Rent is about, I would merely answer “love.” The most universal aspect of the show has become my favorite.

As I’ve grown as a person the depth I’m able to find in Rent has only increased. There is always another facet to discover. Listening to Rent I often find myself thinking that it is the only story I will ever truly need. It has gotten me through the toughest period of my life. In many ways, I feel like it is my religion. There was the summer I couldn’t listen to “Without You” without bursting into tears.

Without you / The seeds root

The flowers bloom / The children play / 

The stars gleam / The poets dream / 

The eagles fly / Without you

The Earth turns / The sun burns

But I die / Without you

There was the winter I kept having a recurring dream of meeting Angel. The only way I could describe it was to call it the exact opposite of a nightmare. I still remember her, dressed in her Santa suit and zebra stripe tights. I remember what it felt like hugging her, afraid that her smaller frame would break with the strength of my hug. Like hugging Amy. I would wake up feeling so peaceful. I would wake up with tears in my eyes and a warm current of energy passing through me. The only other time I’ve felt this was the night I found God. So now, sometimes, when I pray, I pray to Angel. And I hope that when I get to heaven someday that’s what it will feel like: love. Love and hugging Amy.

The filmmaker cannot see / And the songwriter cannot hear /

Yet I see Mimi everywhere / Angel's voice is in my ear

I love that I stumbled upon Rent almost by accident. I’ve always felt that it was one of those things that was out of my control and yet bound to happen to me.

I can’t control / My destiny / 

I trust my soul / My only goal / 

Is just to be

Like the 50’s video that threw Amy and I together or Kate sitting down next to me solely in hopes of finding a working computer.

Why are entire years strewn / on the cutting room floor of memory /
When single frames from one magic night /
Forever flicker in close-up / On the 3-D Imax of my mind? /

That’s poetic / That’s pathetic / Why did Mimi knock on Roger's door /
And Collins choose that phone booth / Back where Angel set up his drums? /
Why did Maureen's equipment break down? /

Just as Rent has made me recognize that chance has played a large role in many of the most important moments in my life, it has also made me recognize what I’ve had all along. Rent truly has been the most important means of connecting me to my mom. It has helped her so much with coming to grips with my being gay. But it has also allowed me to see her in a different light. I love that we’ve nicknamed each other Mark and Roger. I love that she connects so much with Roger’s character.

Find / The One Song /
Before The Virus Takes Hold / Glory /
Like A Sunset / One Song /
To Redeem This Empty Life

I’m grateful that Rent has given her another means of accepting her illness and the fragile nature of life that applies to us all.

The heart may freeze or it can burn /
The pain will ease if I can learn /
There is no future / There is no past /
I live this moment / As my last

Rent has helped me cope with her illness and the few times that I’ve nearly lost her.

To people living with, living with, living with / Not dying from disease

I feel like I’ve turned a new corner in my life this year and that Rent has come along for the ride with me. I find myself frequently looking for the courage to go forward.

Forget regret / Or life is yours to miss

And I am often angry at myself when I sink back into old habits.

How do you leave the past behind /
When it keeps finding ways to get to your heart? /
It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out /
’Til you're torn apart /

Rent has given me a sense of belonging. It is always reminding me that I do fit into this world. It is constantly reminding me that we all exist on a plane far above how we define ourselves and the roles that we play. It is constantly reminding me how much good there is in life.

I remember the first time I heard “Seasons of Love.” I had bought the movie soundtrack mostly on a whim. I put the soundtrack in basically for background noise. And “Seasons” caught me completely off guard. I just sat down on my bedroom floor and cried.

In daylights / In sunsets / In midnights /
In cups of coffee / In inches /

In miles / In laughter / In strife

In five hundred twenty-five thousand/
Six hundred minutes /
How do you measure a year in the life? /
How about love? / How about love? /
How about love? / Measure in love /
Seasons of love / Seasons of love

I’m seeing Rent tomorrow with Kate. We hadn’t planned on seeing it together but now that we are it feels very right. I’m excited to share something I love very much with someone I love very much. Someone, who is in fact, constantly reminding me of the same ideas Rent does.

I know this is the last time I will ever see Anthony Rapp in the role he originated, in the role that I most identify with. I know this is the last time I will see Rent for possibly a few years. But I’m not in the least bit worried about the possibility of losing my connection with Rent. After all, I just kind of breathe it.

It's time now - to sing out / Tho’ the story never ends /
Let's celebrate / Remember a year in the life of friends

A list

I think owning a desktop, a laptop, and a netbook is stupid. I will soon own all of these things.

I played with the remote control cars from my childhood Sunday night and it was awesome.

Captain and I have been racing remote control boats.

I am once again completely getting along with Thursday.

I have come to the conclusion that I like the beach the best in the wintertime, when I can damn near have it to myself.

Part of me is looking forward to school in September. Another part of me wants to cry when I think about it.

I ate the most amazing cheese pizza last night.

I bought lottery tickets tonight because all of my friends need money.

Tomorrow I’m buying $60 sneakers. Part of me thinks spending more than $50 on any pair of shoes is ridiculous. The other part of me thinks that if it were legal to marry a pair of shoes then these Vans and I would surely be wed.

I want a sexy watch, damn it.

I’ve started apologizing to telemarketers before I hang up on them – “Kimberly? You sound like a very nice person so don’t take it personally when I hang up on you now. Sorry. It’s not you, it’s me….really.”

I don’t know what podcasts to download besides Rachel Maddow and Target Women. I feel like they’re free so damn it, I should subscribe to a ton of them even if I never watch/listen to them.

I am super excited that Halloween is on a Saturday this year.

I spent an hour washing dishes today. I really want Captain and The So to invest in a dishwasher.

Grey’s Anatomy has once again taken me back. I’ve promised to never cheat again.

Something I thought about today:

At work tonight the new kid Tim (tall, skater Tim who talks like *~this~*) explained to me that he was wearing a rubber band around his wrist because a teacher told him to snap it every time he thinks of a girl he’s trying to get over. Seriously. It was like I was looking at myself two years ago, only male and taller. I told him it wouldn’t work and that his wrist would balloon up from snapping it every 30 seconds.

Now, unrelated to this fact is that because we now I have Verizon at my house we now have all the channels of *~all the world~*. And because we now have the National Geographic Channel (aka Nat Geo, to all the cool peeps) (Amy, stick with this post) I’ve been addicted to Cesar Millan the Dog Whisperer.

Now, these two things are related only because after I watched Tim snap himself and wince approximately 30 times during only the first hour of work it made me think of Cesar. And his dog whispering. Because the wrist snapping is a means of behavior modification. And I feel like it’s similar to methods used to train dogs. But the problem for Tall Tim (and old me) is that we’re not dogs. We’re people. So why the fuck did one of the smartest people I’ve ever met instruct me to snap myself hundreds of times a day?

*Think of “Something I thought about today” as a new bi-weekly column. It won’t always be pretty and it certainly won’t always be profound. But it’ll be fun, dang it.

Just beyond the silhouettes that dark the sun

I have been obsessed with the graphic novel series Strangers in Paradise for the last few weeks. Once in a while I'll read a passage from a novel and immediately know that I'll always remember where I was the first time I read it. I just know that it will always mean something to me. I think it was Kurt Vonnegut who spoke of the miracle that is reading something so powerful it makes you feel grateful to be alive, no matter what else is going on in your life or the world. That's exactly how I felt when I read this:

When I was thirteen I watched a classmate die on the concrete beside a school bus. In the noise and play of pushing children the little boy had been thrust before the approaching bus and run over. Waiting for the ambulance, we stood around him like a wall of life and watched him die.

At first he groaned and couldn’t move, his eyes shut tight. But as the crowd recalled the horrific moment again and again from various points of view, the boy grew silent. He opened his eyes and looked beyond our silhouettes to watch the sun with a peaceful calm. Then I realized he no longer saw the sky or felt the autumn breeze, nor did he feel any pain or hear the sound of teachers crying.

I don’t know what fabric lies beneath the life we live, but on the other side of our mortal pain is a place of sanctuary. I know because I stood beside a little boy and watched him find it once.

Years later I held Emma’s hand until she found sanctuary in the snow falling outside her window. Then I found it in the backseat of a speeding police car, under Francine’s tears.

I guess that’s why I came back. There’s something more important than the work we do and the roles we play. There’s something more than how we move or where. There’s something about who we touch and why, and it matters more than we can understand or perhaps remember.

So it doesn’t matter what happened or what was said that awful summer ten years before, if Francine needs me I’ll be here for her. To hold her hand and let her know she’s not alone. I owe her that much, don’t you see? In her eyes I found sanctuary. And now, when life is shadows in the sun, Francine looks for it, too. But isn’t it ironic she looks to me for something I saw in her all along?

I don’t know, maybe sanctuary isn’t really found in the sun or snow or a loved one’s tears. Maybe, when the moment’s right these things merely catch a reflection of our own soul and remind us of who we really are and that home is never all that far away – just beyond the silhouettes that dark the sun.

I'm back

I opened my old blog by accident tonight and ended up skimming some of the entries. It was a weird experience due to the fact that I can hardly recognize the person who wrote all of the early entries and even some of the ones near the end. I had strong opinions on topics that I knew nothing about. I had no idea how I fit into the world. I didn't know that life had yet to truly beat the shit out of me or that finally, in my 20th year I would find happiness. I can find very few similarities with myself now and the person I was five years ago. But I still think this picture is fucking awesome.

More posts to follow soon.

Come back

I saw this posted on a blog I read and I thought it was beautiful. And true.

Just this feeling when you part ways with people you care about, people you love. "Get home safe." "Take care." "Be good." Go back out into the world away from me, and come back to me soon and in one piece. Come back with fun stories, and let's make some fun stories of our own. Come back with a tan, come back with a new job or a new adventure or your hair different. Just come back at some point.
Come back.