You know, I think I need a boyfriend.
I'm not pining because I'm lonely, don't get me wrong. I was just thinking the other night, a lot of what I haven't experienced in life that most other people my age have is due to the fact that I've never really had a relationship. (Okay, it sounds like I'm pining, but I swear I'm not so stick with me here). It was a very honest revelation, and I just wanted to say it. Or write it, whatever.
Now, on to other things.
I wonder how many people have been to every single country in the world. Probably no Americans (since we can't go to Cuba). But how cool would that be? It would take probably an entire lifetime if you wanted to really see each country--which, who freaking wouldn't?!--but to say that you have done it, and that you have experienced every culture that our planet has to offer... I mean, what kind of a person would that produce? I imagine a very wise, tolerant person would emerge. Well-learned and well-read. The person would probably end up with a very practiced, if not refined, palate. It's not something I think I could ever do, financially speaking, but it's something I wonder about.
I'd like to try to visit every country in Europe if I could. Technically I could say I already have the UK and France under my belt, but I won't. I barely even got to see London (we were only there for five hours), and the only part of France I saw was Paris. If I want France down, I think I'd have to go to wine country and see at least one French chateau. And I do want to go back to Paris so I could see a few things I didn't get to see the first time around. But forget seeing Paris, I'd love to live there. I think that might be a part of my retirement plan.
In personal news, I went to Grand Island this weekend to see my dad get married to his long-time girlfriend, Cheri. It was really nice. The wedding ceremony was very small, it lasted only 15 minutes, we got to wear jeans, and it was just a nice day with a few members of the family. I'm really, really happy for my dad.
It is a little strange to have new step-siblings. I've only met them twice now, and even though I can tell they're both really nice people, we haven't really had proper conversations with each other. We're Facebook buddies now, so hopefully that can progress a little bit. It's not something to be forced by any means, but I'd like to make sure that come Christmas-time, we'll have something to say to each other.
That's about it for now. Stay classy, San Diego.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
A Love Letter (No, it's not to a person.)
So, I should maybe be blogging about how ITAs went (good) or my future plans (Chicago) or how I'm feeling right now (nervous) or what kind of woes I'm feeling (money troubles), but I'm not going to do that today. I'm going to write about something that makes me happy, that has always made me happy, and I think this is something everyone can appreciate.
Dear Musical Theatre,
I've always adored you. I really, truly have. When I was a child, you were there for me, always. I knew all of the words to The Little Mermaid, Pocahontas, Beauty and the Beast, and all of those other mezzo-soprano-animated heroines Disney pooped out through the 90s. I saw the beauty of Mary Poppins even though my mother hated the movie, and you opened my eyes to the fact that my parents were people before I existed. My dad played Will Parker in Oklahoma! when he was in high school, and my aunt Lesa was his Ado Annie (on my mom's side, don't worry, no incest here). And you brought me The Wizard of Oz, the first old movie I voluntarily sat down and watched, and to this day Judy Garland still kills me with "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." And--confession alert--I still enjoy Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, the only Andrew Lloyd Weber musical I think I could ever enjoy because it was the first show I ever saw.
Through high school, you were my dearest friend. It was easily the toughest time of my life, especially when I moved to a new school that proved to me that every cliched high school movie actually had a ground in reality, with the cruelty of the popular kids, the cliques that never tell you how to become a part of the group. But you saw me through it. Through Cole Porter, George and Ira Gershwin, Rogers and Hammerstein, Adam Guettel, and most especially Stephen Sondheim, you opened my eyes and ears to a world of art and expression.
Sure, I became a hoity-toity know-it-all about musical theatre. I might even act that way sometimes today. But I am 100% positive that I became a better person, a better performer, a better artist because of you.
I never was cast in a musical during college. I've heard rumors that I came very close my first Summer Theatre, which maybe would have changed the kind of performer I am today, the kind of college experience I would have had. Even though I've felt plenty discouraged, I'm still convinced that I will someday have a career, if only a very brief one, in musical theatre.
And despite my confidence in you... not everyone loves you. Some will say you're old hat. That you're not relevent today. That you're a lesser form of art (someone else's words, not mine). Musical theatre, don't listen. These are people speaking out of ignorance, who have clearly never seen shows like Next to Normal or Spring Awakening. These shows both have very clear, very powerful, very relevent messages that concern today's audiences and will concern audiences in the future, and believe me when I say that they aren't the only shows that do this.
I think people forget sometimes that theatre (not just musical theatre) was created as an escape. People come in, they see a story told, they relate to it, they laugh, they cry, they clap, and then they leave the theatre changed, if only for a moment. So what is it that makes you so irrelevent, but a straight play is always relevent? Nothing. Both forms of theatre are escapist forms of art, and I've begun to get increasingly irritated with the argument, "That sort of thing doesn't happen in real-life" or "I didn't like that because it wasn't real."
Well, audiences of today, I have news for you: these plays, these movies, those television shows you watch are not real. You are watching a play on reality, not a depiction of it. It's up to you to dedicate yourself to this story. It's up to you to suspend yourself from reality. And a musical just takes that suspension of reality a step farther than a straight play can go. Instead of watching people go through conflict like they would in real life (which, don't get me wrong, can be equally fantastic), you are seeing these characters truly express themselves in ways that words can't. Happy, sad, comforting, passionate performances through song and dance that take a whole new dimension of talent to perform.
Musical theatre, forget about your waning audiences. I know you're suffering through the idea that all musicals must have spectacle, that all a person needs to be cast in a show is one high note, that Broadway has become a stomping ground for American Idol has-beens. But there are talented people out there who believe in you as I do. We're here, and we understand you, through old splashy movie musicals and new, edgy works that wrench the hearts of audiences.
So if anyone ever insults you, just tell me, and I will beat them up for you. Jets-style.
Love,
Lindsay
P.S. I know this was long... but I really wanted to say everything I felt.
Dear Musical Theatre,
I've always adored you. I really, truly have. When I was a child, you were there for me, always. I knew all of the words to The Little Mermaid, Pocahontas, Beauty and the Beast, and all of those other mezzo-soprano-animated heroines Disney pooped out through the 90s. I saw the beauty of Mary Poppins even though my mother hated the movie, and you opened my eyes to the fact that my parents were people before I existed. My dad played Will Parker in Oklahoma! when he was in high school, and my aunt Lesa was his Ado Annie (on my mom's side, don't worry, no incest here). And you brought me The Wizard of Oz, the first old movie I voluntarily sat down and watched, and to this day Judy Garland still kills me with "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." And--confession alert--I still enjoy Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, the only Andrew Lloyd Weber musical I think I could ever enjoy because it was the first show I ever saw.
Through high school, you were my dearest friend. It was easily the toughest time of my life, especially when I moved to a new school that proved to me that every cliched high school movie actually had a ground in reality, with the cruelty of the popular kids, the cliques that never tell you how to become a part of the group. But you saw me through it. Through Cole Porter, George and Ira Gershwin, Rogers and Hammerstein, Adam Guettel, and most especially Stephen Sondheim, you opened my eyes and ears to a world of art and expression.
Sure, I became a hoity-toity know-it-all about musical theatre. I might even act that way sometimes today. But I am 100% positive that I became a better person, a better performer, a better artist because of you.
I never was cast in a musical during college. I've heard rumors that I came very close my first Summer Theatre, which maybe would have changed the kind of performer I am today, the kind of college experience I would have had. Even though I've felt plenty discouraged, I'm still convinced that I will someday have a career, if only a very brief one, in musical theatre.
And despite my confidence in you... not everyone loves you. Some will say you're old hat. That you're not relevent today. That you're a lesser form of art (someone else's words, not mine). Musical theatre, don't listen. These are people speaking out of ignorance, who have clearly never seen shows like Next to Normal or Spring Awakening. These shows both have very clear, very powerful, very relevent messages that concern today's audiences and will concern audiences in the future, and believe me when I say that they aren't the only shows that do this.
I think people forget sometimes that theatre (not just musical theatre) was created as an escape. People come in, they see a story told, they relate to it, they laugh, they cry, they clap, and then they leave the theatre changed, if only for a moment. So what is it that makes you so irrelevent, but a straight play is always relevent? Nothing. Both forms of theatre are escapist forms of art, and I've begun to get increasingly irritated with the argument, "That sort of thing doesn't happen in real-life" or "I didn't like that because it wasn't real."
Well, audiences of today, I have news for you: these plays, these movies, those television shows you watch are not real. You are watching a play on reality, not a depiction of it. It's up to you to dedicate yourself to this story. It's up to you to suspend yourself from reality. And a musical just takes that suspension of reality a step farther than a straight play can go. Instead of watching people go through conflict like they would in real life (which, don't get me wrong, can be equally fantastic), you are seeing these characters truly express themselves in ways that words can't. Happy, sad, comforting, passionate performances through song and dance that take a whole new dimension of talent to perform.
Musical theatre, forget about your waning audiences. I know you're suffering through the idea that all musicals must have spectacle, that all a person needs to be cast in a show is one high note, that Broadway has become a stomping ground for American Idol has-beens. But there are talented people out there who believe in you as I do. We're here, and we understand you, through old splashy movie musicals and new, edgy works that wrench the hearts of audiences.
So if anyone ever insults you, just tell me, and I will beat them up for you. Jets-style.
Love,
Lindsay
P.S. I know this was long... but I really wanted to say everything I felt.
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