Update

I was pretty good about blogging every day there for a bit. Sometimes more than once a day. Because sometimes being alone leads to great introspective thoughts that weaves itself into insightful prose and relieves the inner tension besides. But then you find all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on youtube and POOF! introspection gone in favor of trashy internet television.

So, an update on my life. I am like 90% certain that I want to double major in Anthropology and Creative Writing. Yay life choices. Don't ask me what I want to, you know, DO with those majors. I don't have to know that yet. I like to write. And I like to study people. That can be enough for the moment.

I dressed as a watermelon for Halloween. A sexy watermelon. That's right. A sexy watermelon. See, I realized AFTER Halloween that I liked the costume because it took the idea of a sexy Halloween costume and mocked it. I mean, there is nothing at all sexy about a watermelon. But someone at the Garment District (costume store in Boston) had the idea to manufacture a skanky little watermelon dress that happened to look great on me. So...I wasn't being a run of the mill slut. I was a slut making an ironic statement about slutty costumes. That's right. Think about THAT.

What else? I went to a meeting for one of the theatre groups on campus. One of the girls who hangs lights with me (Elana) is on the board for Freeplay, and she encouraged me to come. Freeplay specializes in artistically interpreted plays used to make a social statement. Fun, ya? And they need directors. And also writers. Both of which are services I can offer. I think I'm going to try to direct Wedekind's original Spring Awakening(not the Sheik musical, the old one) next semester. I already found someone who potentially wants to stage manage for me. So...potential fun to be had.

It's autumn in Boston. Obviously, it's beautiful. The trees are on fire, and there are crunchy leaves to step on everywhere I go. At night, the campus lights illuminate the yellow leaves from beneath, creating an incredible contrast to the deep blue of the sky. It's so beautiful. It's the time of year that makes me think of pumpkins, and apples, and long walks in the dark with my friends as we try to take advantage of the last moments of warmth in the air.

Hope you all are enjoying your autumn!

Arts Writing

So, I went to an improv comedy show tonight at Brandeis. For anyone not aware, improv(isation) is a form of theatre in which there is no script, nothing prepared at all. The actors just have to think on their feet and go with the flow. It can either be really cool or tank really tragically.

The show I attended mostly fell into the tragic tanking category. Their timing was off, the cast kept laughing at their own jokes, and their humor was really just sort of cheap.

The reason I'm writing clearly is not to praise this troupe. Actually they really don't have much to do with the story. The crux of this is that at the show, I was sitting next to a reporter from the Justice (Brandeis student produced newspaper) who was taking mad notes the whole time. I happened to peek at the notes (hey, I'm considering Journalism. It's not creeping. It's studying.) and was shocked at how harshly this reporter was eviscerating the show.

My first thoughts were in defense of this troupe, they worked hard for this! They're up there performing a show! Then I thought, wait a minute, I don't think they're any good either. Why do I have a problem with this reporter's notes?

Then it hit me. The reason why I will never be an arts reporter. Are you ready for this?

I'm an artist. I'm an actor. I know exactly what it feels like to be up there sweating under the lights, speaking words that seem to come from somewhere deep inside you that you didn't even know existed before. I know exactly how much time, effort, energy, and heart goes into giving a production everything you have, and I know exactly how it feels to be told that it's not enough. Your best wasn't good enough. And you sit there and you put your head in your hands and you beat yourself up and think "What did we do wrong?" until you're dizzy. Then you go home, cry for a night, then go back out and do it all again.

Yes, everyone gets bad reviews. No, not all productions are amazing nor do they all deserve audiences.

But I will not be the one responsible for crushing the dreams of a creative team. I couldn't do it. Art and creativity are too important to discourage anyone from trying their hand at it.

That is all.

On Rejection

That's right kids. Lights Down, my baby (my beloved play that I wrote and got to direct and decided to send to a publisher...) was rejected by Playscripts' Inc. It's a sad thing. I'm very disappointed. I worked hard on Lights Down, and Playscripts' rejected it with a form e-mail. Not even a personal note telling me what was wrong with it. Just a generic, "we don't want it" sort of letter. Thanks for crushing my dreams Playscripts' Inc. Thanks lots.

BUT upon further reflection, I have come to this realization.

The Beatles were rejected once.
J.K. Rowling was rejected NINE TIMES.
Stephen King reportedly has enough rejection letters to paper a room.

Quite frankly, Lights Down has never been in better company.

So I asked the magnificent G (who originally recommended Playscripts') if he knew of any other publishing companies who look at stuff from young new playwrights and he suggested Brooklyn Publishers. I submitted Lights Down last night.

And just a note to Playscripts' Inc, WHEN I MAKE MY MILLIONS AS A WRITER, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST ONES INVITED TO BITE ME.

That is all.

Have a nice day.

A Year

Or very nearly one.

Brendan my dear, nearly and entire year has passed since I got the phone call. That one horrible phone call. Lizz told me you had...I don't even know what phrase to use. "Committed suicide" sounds too...technical, too detached. But "killed yourself" sounds juvenile. I don't know what to call it. I don't want to call it anything.

But she called me, and I slid down the wall in my dorm hallway. Cell service died, because that's what concrete does to cell service. I just sat there on the floor, staring at my knees, unable to believe it. I called Lizz back and we talked for another minute, but neither of us knew what to say.

I walked back into the lounge on my hall(where I had previously been studying) and sat down like nothing had happened. I just stared at my computer, at all the messages scrolling down Facebook. Messages that I now understood. Messages that made me..numb inside. A few of my friends came in and I finally found my words. "One of my high school friends...committed suicide...this morning."

I remember that it was the most beautiful sunny day. Cliched though it is, I sat in my favorite seat by the window and looked out and wondered how the world could not be crying for the loss of you, who were so young and so loved.

So loved, Brendan. It's been nearly one whole year and people still write on your Facebook wall. All the time.

I'm so sorry Brendan. I'm sorry we hadn't talked in a long time. I'm sorry you didn't know how much you meant to me. I'm sorry. I am so very sorry. You touched so many of our lives. Maybe if we had let you know it, you would still be with us.

The rest of that day I was in a daze. I didn't know what to do. My roommates left me alone. I turned off the lights and laid down on my top bunk and stared at the ceiling and thought about you and remembered you and did all the things I thought you were supposed to do when someone dies.

I felt so cut off from everyone. All of our friends at home could grieve together, and there I was, stuck in Boston.

I was so terrified I was going to miss your funeral. I tried my absolute hardest to get my flight rescheduled, but I couldn't do it. I ended up rushing directly from the airport to the church, getting in late. But it didn't matter. As soon as I got there I was crying. Crying so hard I could barely see how packed the church was, how tear-streaked everyone else looked.

I think I'll always remember your funeral. And the day I found out you had died. Some things just don't go away.

You are in my thoughts a lot Brendan. Even now, nearly one year past, I still think of you nearly every day. You are so near to my heart boy. And I bet you didn't even know it.

I hope you found your peace. And I hope you can see how much we all miss you down here. Love you forever kid.

Quincy Square Market

Go there. It's freaking amazing.

Emily and I went on a Halloween costume searching adventure this past weekend and part of our adventure was dinner at Quincy Square Market. What a cool place.

It's a total tourist trap, first of all. But as I learned from my summer in Harpers ferry, tourists can be pretty cool people. The thought of tourists should not necessarily send one running in the other direction. I thought Harpers Ferry was diverse, but oh man. Quincy Square Market is WAY more so. There are people from all over the world gathered in this place. Emily and I heard a French conversation! I didn't understand a word of it, but still. Way cool.

The diversity of the populace is well represented by the services offered in Quincy Square Market. Basically a giant food court, I saw most of the globe represented in culinary form. I decided to go for some Bostonian cuisine. Emily and I both enjoyed soup in sourdough breadbowls. She had clam chowder, I had lobster bisque. Delicious! Maybe it was the soup, but the entire atmosphere just felt so...Boston. As a port city, it makes sense fro Boston to be a gathering a cultures in their more extreme form. As you go farther inland, the different cultures tend to be softened, more combined with US traditions.

In Boston all the culture feels stronger. Maybe that's just because I haven't been in a place that had any noticeable culture to speak of for most of my life. But I don't think that's it. I think Boston is truly a unique place. I really love this city. It has so much to offer, and I plan on exploring more of it as often as I can.

Perfect World

In a perfect world, I would be sitting in a glass room at the top of a tall tower. There are no electric lights. During the day, I can see by the sun and at night I am able to look at the stars without distraction.

The room itself would be simply furnished, with only a giant beanbag chair. Other than that, the room would hold only notebooks, dozens and dozens of notebooks as well as a computer with a word processor, but no internet. No distractions. Only my writing. I could sit for months and just..write. Whatever thoughts flick through my mind would be placed lovingly on paper or typed onto a screen. I would turn simple ideas into characters embroidered with thoughts, feelings, relationships, and ideas all their own. In my glass room, I could create worlds.

Ideally, the room could change locations. Perhaps after several months of gleaning all I could from one locale, the room would simply relocate so that I might have a new landscape to observe.

For nourishment? I would rather not take a break to eat or drink, but eventually my hands would become weak and my thoughts muddled. So, the room would also need an infinite supply of chai tea and wheat thins. Two things I never get sick of.

With my notebooks, computer, and my provisions, I could happily remain in this place until I have written my fingers down to the bone and exhausted my mind.

Then I would take a break. Come down from my glass room and interact with the world for awhile. For where is inspiration but in creating my own interactions to observe?

My notebooks would remain up in the tower. But perhaps during my break I might connect some of my typed writings to the internet that I might get the feedback of others. But most of my writing is for me. Disorganized, often painful, rarely coherent. Simply to create more space in my mind. Dumbledore had his Penseive* and I, I have my notebooks. To be filled over and over and over and over again with my idle musings. Love it or hate it, my notebooks are always written in pen. That way no matter what I write, it can not be erased. For every piece of writing that comes from a writer has a time and a place. It just has to wait to be seen.





*Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster of Hogwarts School in the Harry Potter novels. He was super smart, and sometimes claimed that his head was stuffed too full of thoughts. So he used his magic wand to remove thoughts from his head and place them in a basin called the Penseive. So that explains that.

Love, Love, Love

Sorry to do two so similarly themed posts so close together, but recent events demand it.

As I said at the end of my last post, there are several new Facebook events springing up to support the gay community and try to show solidarity with victims of homophobic bullying. I joined one such group, actually an event. Here's the link if you want to check it out:

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=112861798774522

(Just open a new internet window and copy and paste that link into the address bar.)

Anyway, on the page for the group people are allowed to comment. Because it is an open event, anyone can join and say whatever they want. Freedom of speech.

I was scrolling down the page, reading all of the posts. Most were very kind and loving and supporting. A few, unfortunately, were not. There were several extremely homophobic posts. That's not what really bothered me though.

In reaction to these posts people who claim to be supportive of the gay rights cause became hostile. Many of the responses were threatening and crude. I recommend looking at the site, just for curiosity's sake. I really don't want to repeat some of the nasty stuff. But suffice it to say, the supporters were willing to get just as down and dirty as the ones they are supposedly fighting.

So, I decided to put my two cents in. I left this comment on the page:

" I would just like to take a second to remind the people posting on this wall that the purpose of this group is love. I ally myself with the cause of homosexual rights because members of my family and many of my friends are gay. That does not mean that I hate anyone who is homophobic. It just means that I, along with anyone else who claims to support the cause, have a responsibility to teach the message of love. Supporting gay rights does not equal hating homophobia. Hating those who hate makes us just as bad. Let's share the love, okay? In the words of the eternally wise John Lennon, "All you need is love." "

To which I received the charming comment: "all you need is a dick up your ass"

Really? REALLY?!

I said so many things, yet what you choose to target is JOHN LENNON'S LYRIC?! That sir, is just..GRRRRRRR. Contradict ME all you'd like. But DON'T twist Lennon. THAT SIR is just UNACCEPTABLE.

My point (aside form being mortally sorry for causing John Lennon to roll in his grave) is that those who preach love should practice it.

When I was at the Prop 8 protest a year or so ago, I had a really memorable experience. While we were marching with our rainbow signs, we came across an older couple standing across the street from us. The man grabbed his wife's hand and held it up. "This is marriage!", he yelled. His intention was clearly one of hate. So, laughing, my friends and I all draped our arms around each other and shouted back, "This is love!"

Being a liberal (to me at least) means being open to the other side. Loving your crooked neighbor with all your crooked heart. It's a mean, cruel, hateful world. I don't think that those who are trying to spread a message of love should do so by propagating hate.

In closing, please enjoy a fantastic song by some wonderful men.



Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love.
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game
It's easy.
There's nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you
in time - It's easy.

All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
There's nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
All you need is love (all together now)
All you need is love (everybody)
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.