I think I must have jinxed myself last night. My glass is half-empty again... maybe more than half. The coaster is wet. A leak, perhaps?
Don't misunderstand; my weekend was truly refreshing. But like a good song, the Roman empire and Arrested Development, all good things must come to an end.
I had numerous wonderful conversations, several of them with my friend Henley (formerly known as Steven). It was good to talk about this and that and realize that there are other people who share some of the same feelings and experiences as me. But then on the drive home this afternoon, I had two and a half hours to reflect on a lot of things. In a lot of ways, I feel much more content than I have in a long time. And yet, reflecting on these discussions, I have come to realize that there is a lot about myself and my life that I am not content with.
I am a strong believer in the concept that we are all ultimately in control of our situation. Of course, there are elements we cannot predict or control, but how we cope with these is up to us. If you're not happy, do something about it. If you want a change, make one occur. Everyone has the right to feel unhappy or upset, but that can only last before so long before it becomes one's life. I don't want perpetual unhappiness to become my life.
As much as I would love to deny it, I am not very self-motivated at all. I seem to be waiting on some kind of external boost or something... but that's not going to happen. I need to follow my own advice. I have to initiate the boost. Bizarre though he may be, I think Patrick Wolf said it well: "Let no foot mark your ground / Let no hand hold you down." My own feet are marking my ground, and my own hands are holding me down. I can't let that happen! I hear you, Patrick! I was paying attention!
Looks like I need to find a new glass. I wonder where to look for one? I could also stand to find a new analogy.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
RAAH RAAAH RAA-AA-AAHH
Blog. Blog. Bloggity blog, DUMBLEDORE!
I am currently sitting in my dear friend Steven's dorm room, apparently attending an unannounced two-person blogging party. I know as I type this that Steven's post will most likely be substantially more thoughtful and insightful than mine. I don't really have anything specific to say, but I do feel like this is an interesting moment that I would like to record while the opportunity is presenting itself.
As this day draws to a close, I would like to say that this weekend has been quite satisfying. I began some new friendships and strengthened some old ones. I learned the difference between "who" and "whom." I was exposed to some crazy music. I attended a musical. I learned the correct nonsensical syllables in that Lady GaGa song. I tried bruschetta for the first time, and loved it. I witnessed the first snow of the year. I reminisced. I was mesmerized by something called a Panic Mouse. I got yelled at for saying "that" instead of "who." I had meaningful discussions about hopes, dreams, life, lifestyles, tears and fears. And television. Questions have been answered and feelings affirmed. I am, for the most part, content. I know that these things often have a nasty way of falling apart, but for now I'm just enjoying the general wellness of this moment.
As usual, my brain is all over the place and this entry is wrought with frivolity and blather. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Well, something perhaps, but nothing that is easy for me to define in my current state of mind.
Well, shoot. I thought that Steven might be done composing his entry by the time I finished typing these thoughts. He's concentrating very hard, so I'll be patient and wait for him to finish before starting any conversation. Goodnight folks, and may your glass be half-full.
I am currently sitting in my dear friend Steven's dorm room, apparently attending an unannounced two-person blogging party. I know as I type this that Steven's post will most likely be substantially more thoughtful and insightful than mine. I don't really have anything specific to say, but I do feel like this is an interesting moment that I would like to record while the opportunity is presenting itself.
As this day draws to a close, I would like to say that this weekend has been quite satisfying. I began some new friendships and strengthened some old ones. I learned the difference between "who" and "whom." I was exposed to some crazy music. I attended a musical. I learned the correct nonsensical syllables in that Lady GaGa song. I tried bruschetta for the first time, and loved it. I witnessed the first snow of the year. I reminisced. I was mesmerized by something called a Panic Mouse. I got yelled at for saying "that" instead of "who." I had meaningful discussions about hopes, dreams, life, lifestyles, tears and fears. And television. Questions have been answered and feelings affirmed. I am, for the most part, content. I know that these things often have a nasty way of falling apart, but for now I'm just enjoying the general wellness of this moment.
As usual, my brain is all over the place and this entry is wrought with frivolity and blather. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Well, something perhaps, but nothing that is easy for me to define in my current state of mind.
Well, shoot. I thought that Steven might be done composing his entry by the time I finished typing these thoughts. He's concentrating very hard, so I'll be patient and wait for him to finish before starting any conversation. Goodnight folks, and may your glass be half-full.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I Saw The Sign
Hello, blog! It's been much too long.
I don't have anything groundbreakingly interesting to say today, but I did come to a realization that has been on my mind for a couple of hours now. I have to get it out of me or I might go insane.
As I was driving home from watching "Dexter" at my friend's house this evening, I saw one of those yellow "animal crossing" signs. This particular sign featured a horse with a supposedly human rider on its back (shown above).
Now why is it that the silhouette of the horse appears to be quite realistic, while the rider looks like a bathroom sign man? And not even a normal bathroom sign man... This dude is slouching and his arm is crazy-long. I mean here you've got this guy who we're used to seeing on school crossing signs, pedestrian crossing signs and bathroom signs, and it doesn't bother us at all that his head just mysteriously floats over his neckless upper body. When he's on his own or surrounded by other pedestrian lookalikes, nothing seems amiss. But suddenly he's riding Black Beauty, whose head is seemingly very much attached to his/her body, and something just feels wrong. If you looked at the shadow of this horse in real life, it would look like a legit horse, but if you were to look at the humanoid's shadow, you might freak out and call the Ghostbusters or something.
Now that I think about it, all animal crossing signs depict their animals' forms quite accurately. So why is it that we can get away with having freaky decapitated humans on signs, but sign animals have to look like they were traced straight out of Ranger Rick?
I'm going to try my hardest not to dwell on this.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Remember The Time
This entry has been a couple of weeks in the making... I've just needed some time to let my thoughts gather and settle. Yep... It's about Michael Jackson.
Let me go ahead and get this out of the way... It's sad about Billy Mays and Ms. Fawcett as well, but I just wasn't as familiar with them. I'm sure they were great. I would also like to throw in a little side note here before I get rolling. I know this will seem morbid, but I would also like to state here, for anyone who may read this if I should die for any reason, that I would like for Diana Ross' "If We Hold On Together" to be played at my funeral. All right, here we go.
Now, I believe it is very sad when anyone dies. Michael Jackson was a human like all of us, after all. But there's just something so devastating when someone beloved by millions passes away. Yes, he was a strange man with a strange appearance. Yes, he was an entertainer of dynamic proportions. But he was also a sibling, a son, a parent, and a friend. We should respect that about all people, famous and otherwise.
I was somewhat numb to everything people were saying during the days following his death, but I was troubled by the jokes and vulturous discussion of how much money his estate would make, how much of him was made of plastic, etc. And about that plastic thing-- does it really matter what he looked like? Was his odd appearance doing damage to you? Do you need others' approval to have the face you have? I didn't think so.
At first I didn't believe that he was even dead; rumors like that go around all the time and only about an eighth of them turn out to be true. It finally hit me several days later that this was the real deal.Suddenly something dumped a huge mixed bag of all kinds of unexpected emotions on me. I was shocked. I was in denial. I was sad. I was infuriated. I was irritated that so many people acted like they were Jackson's best friend and knew everything about him, and even more irritated by the plastic surgery and pedophilia jokes. I was a little disenchanted by the announcement of the upcoming televised memorial service.
The more I thought about it, the more I made peace with at least the part about the public memorial service. The majority of fans didn't know him in person, but I think we all felt like we did, so public was his private life. And he always talked about how important his fans were to him, and it is clear that he meant a lot to many and made a huge difference in countless people's lives and broke all kinds of barriers, so I don't feel like he would have minded his public getting some kind of closure to his grand career. And I suppose it only seems appropriate, in a way, that a life spent onstage should end onstage. I do still feel, however, that those close to him should be able to mourn him privately if they so choose, without newsfolk pestering them for statements and such. I also think it's a bit of a shame that his children are being thrust into the media so drastically after he spent the last however many years of his life trying to shield them from becoming news stories.
I didn't know the man personally or anything, but I know I have countless treasured memories that came to pass because of Jackson's work. My younger brother idolized him as a performer. I can see little 8-year-old Jake teaching himself to moonwalk with the sequined glove Mom made him. I remember watching Jackson's 2001 televised concert on tape with Jake over and over and over, making fun of the ridiculous "Heal The World" tribute and laughing at the woman in the front row who was so excited when Jackson appeared onstage that she looked like she was going to toss her dinner. I remember watching that concert and seeing Liza Minnelli for the first time, hearing Billy Gilman sing "Ben" and listening to my parents talk about how much they loved "Ben" as a song but not as a movie. I remember the four of us sitting around and trying to figure out what Michael Jackson video was the one where he smashes a car to pieces and then turns into a panther (we had this discussion again last week). "Thriller" was the only record album both of my parents already independently owned when they got married. We didn't really keep up with his tabloid life, but we were certainly fans of his work. To us, he was first and foremost an entertainer. And boy, were we entertained. I resisted for a while, but I have finally caved and joined the billions listening to their favorite MJ tracks as they go about their daily tasks. I can't help it... As much as I could try to deny it, his music has kind of been a big deal to me.
I am not a religious person by any means, but I have to say that I have experienced something almost spiritual through all of this hubbub. When I got home from class today I watched some of the memorial service, and felt very moved by what many had to say. And when Jennifer Hudson sang "Will You Be There," my personal favorite Michael Jackson song, I couldn't help but get a little choked up. When the recording of Michael speaking at the end of the song finally came, my room resembled the Hoover Dam breaking. I hadn't really thought of the song in such a serious context before. I was also very moved by Maya Angelou's poem "We Had Him."
There are people who claim to be glad he's dead, and they have the right to that opinion, but I think that it is most important for us to realize that we are all human, we are all flawed, we will all die, and our lives are all worth something. We don't have to like everyone around us, but everyone deserves respect. It is up to us to make the most of what we have, as we can never know how much time we have left here. We can all start with the man (or woman or whatever) in the mirror.
Let me go ahead and get this out of the way... It's sad about Billy Mays and Ms. Fawcett as well, but I just wasn't as familiar with them. I'm sure they were great. I would also like to throw in a little side note here before I get rolling. I know this will seem morbid, but I would also like to state here, for anyone who may read this if I should die for any reason, that I would like for Diana Ross' "If We Hold On Together" to be played at my funeral. All right, here we go.
Now, I believe it is very sad when anyone dies. Michael Jackson was a human like all of us, after all. But there's just something so devastating when someone beloved by millions passes away. Yes, he was a strange man with a strange appearance. Yes, he was an entertainer of dynamic proportions. But he was also a sibling, a son, a parent, and a friend. We should respect that about all people, famous and otherwise.
I was somewhat numb to everything people were saying during the days following his death, but I was troubled by the jokes and vulturous discussion of how much money his estate would make, how much of him was made of plastic, etc. And about that plastic thing-- does it really matter what he looked like? Was his odd appearance doing damage to you? Do you need others' approval to have the face you have? I didn't think so.
At first I didn't believe that he was even dead; rumors like that go around all the time and only about an eighth of them turn out to be true. It finally hit me several days later that this was the real deal.Suddenly something dumped a huge mixed bag of all kinds of unexpected emotions on me. I was shocked. I was in denial. I was sad. I was infuriated. I was irritated that so many people acted like they were Jackson's best friend and knew everything about him, and even more irritated by the plastic surgery and pedophilia jokes. I was a little disenchanted by the announcement of the upcoming televised memorial service.
The more I thought about it, the more I made peace with at least the part about the public memorial service. The majority of fans didn't know him in person, but I think we all felt like we did, so public was his private life. And he always talked about how important his fans were to him, and it is clear that he meant a lot to many and made a huge difference in countless people's lives and broke all kinds of barriers, so I don't feel like he would have minded his public getting some kind of closure to his grand career. And I suppose it only seems appropriate, in a way, that a life spent onstage should end onstage. I do still feel, however, that those close to him should be able to mourn him privately if they so choose, without newsfolk pestering them for statements and such. I also think it's a bit of a shame that his children are being thrust into the media so drastically after he spent the last however many years of his life trying to shield them from becoming news stories.
I didn't know the man personally or anything, but I know I have countless treasured memories that came to pass because of Jackson's work. My younger brother idolized him as a performer. I can see little 8-year-old Jake teaching himself to moonwalk with the sequined glove Mom made him. I remember watching Jackson's 2001 televised concert on tape with Jake over and over and over, making fun of the ridiculous "Heal The World" tribute and laughing at the woman in the front row who was so excited when Jackson appeared onstage that she looked like she was going to toss her dinner. I remember watching that concert and seeing Liza Minnelli for the first time, hearing Billy Gilman sing "Ben" and listening to my parents talk about how much they loved "Ben" as a song but not as a movie. I remember the four of us sitting around and trying to figure out what Michael Jackson video was the one where he smashes a car to pieces and then turns into a panther (we had this discussion again last week). "Thriller" was the only record album both of my parents already independently owned when they got married. We didn't really keep up with his tabloid life, but we were certainly fans of his work. To us, he was first and foremost an entertainer. And boy, were we entertained. I resisted for a while, but I have finally caved and joined the billions listening to their favorite MJ tracks as they go about their daily tasks. I can't help it... As much as I could try to deny it, his music has kind of been a big deal to me.
I am not a religious person by any means, but I have to say that I have experienced something almost spiritual through all of this hubbub. When I got home from class today I watched some of the memorial service, and felt very moved by what many had to say. And when Jennifer Hudson sang "Will You Be There," my personal favorite Michael Jackson song, I couldn't help but get a little choked up. When the recording of Michael speaking at the end of the song finally came, my room resembled the Hoover Dam breaking. I hadn't really thought of the song in such a serious context before. I was also very moved by Maya Angelou's poem "We Had Him."
There are people who claim to be glad he's dead, and they have the right to that opinion, but I think that it is most important for us to realize that we are all human, we are all flawed, we will all die, and our lives are all worth something. We don't have to like everyone around us, but everyone deserves respect. It is up to us to make the most of what we have, as we can never know how much time we have left here. We can all start with the man (or woman or whatever) in the mirror.
Friday, May 22, 2009
The Sprout and the Bra
All right, if it wasn't official before, it's official now.
I am sick of commercials.
I'm sure no one really looks forward to commercial breaks on TV (unless the Super Bowl's on), but I've never really consciously thought about it until today.
Well okay, so I guess there are some commercials that I enjoy, like the McDonald's one with the singing fish and that one a few years back with the car falling to the center of the earth. Oh, and Nanerpus. I guess what I'm actually sick of is the fact that commercials like to ruin songs for me.
Several years back, I remember really enjoying the Jewel song "Intuition" (don't judge). I liked it for a solid year or so, and then it popped up in a female razor commercial. Now I have nothing against shaving or hygiene, but I don't need to picture women shaving their legs in a bathtub whenever I hear a song I like. I guess some people might feel the same way about those "Venus" commercials, but I never really cared for that song in the first place. Anyway, that was years ago, before I really had very many opinions.
All right, now flash forward to 2009. I've got opinions out the wazoo, so every little thing bothers me. Back in '08, I fell in love with a song by Joanna Newsom called "The Sprout and the Bean." If I was the type of person who makes annual top 10 lists of favorite songs, this one would definitely have been on mine for 2008. So one day while watching a recorded episode of "The Office," a commercial break occurred. I lifted the remote to fast-forward through it, but I heard "Sprout" playing and was momentarily mystified. Then I realized I was watching a bra commercial. Again, bras are a very important part of our culture, but they are one of the last things I want to think about while I'm listening to this soothing masterpiece.
So I guess I just wish commercials would just start composing their own original music, or at least choose songs I don't love. Or find a song that matches the commercial and doesn't make you feel weird about liking the song. Like that one car commercial from a few years ago with the rose petals and the Dirty Vegas song. I might not think "rose petals and cars" when I hear "Without You," but at least i'm not bombarded with images of female undergarments or leg-shaving.
UPDATE: Let's just go ahead and add Santogold's "Lights Out" to the list. Freaking Budweiser.
I am sick of commercials.
I'm sure no one really looks forward to commercial breaks on TV (unless the Super Bowl's on), but I've never really consciously thought about it until today.
Well okay, so I guess there are some commercials that I enjoy, like the McDonald's one with the singing fish and that one a few years back with the car falling to the center of the earth. Oh, and Nanerpus. I guess what I'm actually sick of is the fact that commercials like to ruin songs for me.
Several years back, I remember really enjoying the Jewel song "Intuition" (don't judge). I liked it for a solid year or so, and then it popped up in a female razor commercial. Now I have nothing against shaving or hygiene, but I don't need to picture women shaving their legs in a bathtub whenever I hear a song I like. I guess some people might feel the same way about those "Venus" commercials, but I never really cared for that song in the first place. Anyway, that was years ago, before I really had very many opinions.
All right, now flash forward to 2009. I've got opinions out the wazoo, so every little thing bothers me. Back in '08, I fell in love with a song by Joanna Newsom called "The Sprout and the Bean." If I was the type of person who makes annual top 10 lists of favorite songs, this one would definitely have been on mine for 2008. So one day while watching a recorded episode of "The Office," a commercial break occurred. I lifted the remote to fast-forward through it, but I heard "Sprout" playing and was momentarily mystified. Then I realized I was watching a bra commercial. Again, bras are a very important part of our culture, but they are one of the last things I want to think about while I'm listening to this soothing masterpiece.
So I guess I just wish commercials would just start composing their own original music, or at least choose songs I don't love. Or find a song that matches the commercial and doesn't make you feel weird about liking the song. Like that one car commercial from a few years ago with the rose petals and the Dirty Vegas song. I might not think "rose petals and cars" when I hear "Without You," but at least i'm not bombarded with images of female undergarments or leg-shaving.
UPDATE: Let's just go ahead and add Santogold's "Lights Out" to the list. Freaking Budweiser.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Decency, People!
Hello all (at this point, I don’t think anyone is actually reading any of this, but I can pretend)! I recently had the great pleasure of watching my brother in his high school production of the musical “The Scarlet Pimpernel.” Let me start by saying that despite a couple of catastrophic technical mishaps, I loved the show all three times I saw it.
And now for the downside.
The first two nights I was in attendance, the audience was very mature and respectful. But last night, I almost blew a casket. Firstly, someone brought a baby. And we’re not talking a quiet baby. A quite loud baby. It’s one thing to bring a small child into the theater when free babysitting is offered across the hall, but a baby? I can understand not wanting to leave your baby in the hands of a high school girl you don’t know, but honestly – What do you do with your baby when you go to work? I have a feeling you don’t keep him in your desk drawer all day.
But I can’t really blame the baby. At least the baby isn’t really able to control itself. I would think parents would be able to keep themselves under control, but alas, it seems that this is not the case. A family in front of me was obviously related to one of the performers, because every time he was onstage, they would whip out their phones and take videos of him, and shout “That’s my boy!” during applause. And yet this is still not the most unbelievable offense to me. At least they waited until the right moment to make noise.
Several parents were taking pictures during the performance. And not silent phone pictures. At least the phone doesn’t make noise when you press “record.” These people brought their big nice photo cameras, complete with extra-large zoom lenses. Not only do you get that initial sound of the camera beeping as it focuses, but you also get the freakishly loud sound of the shutter in action. It would have been one thing to snap a picture or two during applause when no one is really going to notice, but I guess that wasn’t enough. We have to click loudly during tender dramatic scenes and important plot points. Would you take pictures in a movie theater? I mean, it’s illegal there too, but at least you’re not going to distract Brad Pitt and ruin the moment. And it’s not like I can buy the DVD when it comes out to hear what important details I missed while your shutter was going off in my ear.
I understand that a high school play has a primarily parental audience. I understand that you’re proud of your little performer(s) and you want to remember this night forever. But I would think you would also want to refrain from distracting your kid and ruining the show. I was this close to turning and saying something between scenes, but I didn’t want to turn into “that guy.” But honestly, a part of me really wished I had telekinetic powers like Matilda so I could blow their cameras up with my mind, or that one of the actors would go all Patti LuPone on these people. I talked to Mom about it at intermission, and she said this was how it always was in the audience at our theatre. Rude.
What a sad state of affairs we’re in.
And now for the downside.
The first two nights I was in attendance, the audience was very mature and respectful. But last night, I almost blew a casket. Firstly, someone brought a baby. And we’re not talking a quiet baby. A quite loud baby. It’s one thing to bring a small child into the theater when free babysitting is offered across the hall, but a baby? I can understand not wanting to leave your baby in the hands of a high school girl you don’t know, but honestly – What do you do with your baby when you go to work? I have a feeling you don’t keep him in your desk drawer all day.
But I can’t really blame the baby. At least the baby isn’t really able to control itself. I would think parents would be able to keep themselves under control, but alas, it seems that this is not the case. A family in front of me was obviously related to one of the performers, because every time he was onstage, they would whip out their phones and take videos of him, and shout “That’s my boy!” during applause. And yet this is still not the most unbelievable offense to me. At least they waited until the right moment to make noise.
Several parents were taking pictures during the performance. And not silent phone pictures. At least the phone doesn’t make noise when you press “record.” These people brought their big nice photo cameras, complete with extra-large zoom lenses. Not only do you get that initial sound of the camera beeping as it focuses, but you also get the freakishly loud sound of the shutter in action. It would have been one thing to snap a picture or two during applause when no one is really going to notice, but I guess that wasn’t enough. We have to click loudly during tender dramatic scenes and important plot points. Would you take pictures in a movie theater? I mean, it’s illegal there too, but at least you’re not going to distract Brad Pitt and ruin the moment. And it’s not like I can buy the DVD when it comes out to hear what important details I missed while your shutter was going off in my ear.
I understand that a high school play has a primarily parental audience. I understand that you’re proud of your little performer(s) and you want to remember this night forever. But I would think you would also want to refrain from distracting your kid and ruining the show. I was this close to turning and saying something between scenes, but I didn’t want to turn into “that guy.” But honestly, a part of me really wished I had telekinetic powers like Matilda so I could blow their cameras up with my mind, or that one of the actors would go all Patti LuPone on these people. I talked to Mom about it at intermission, and she said this was how it always was in the audience at our theatre. Rude.
What a sad state of affairs we’re in.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
No Song Unsung, No Wine Untasted
All right... This entry will probably be a little different from any so far. Today was pretty calm, but I was just exposed to something that really got me worked up, and I felt I should write about it to get it out of my system before I go to bed.
During my conversation with my mother when she got home from work, Mom told me about this story she saw on the news, and I was intrigued. She just told me to look up this woman's name (Susan Boyle) online and I'd find what she was talking about. So I did as she said and found a clip from "Britain's Got Talent."
So this woman comes out and introduces herself as Susan Boyle, aged 47. This woman is not what most would call physically attractive (even my mother compared her to the bowing lady toward the end of "The Sound of Music"). This woman says she dreams of being a professional singer. The audience snickers and gapes at her with disgust and disapproval. Even the judges give her some pretty ugly looks when she reveals her age and ambitions. The woman hasn't even performed yet, and my heart is just aching at the theater's response to her presence.
Finally, after this dismaying prologue, Ms. Boyle begins to sing. It's "I Dreamed a Dream" from "Les Miserables," and it is absolutely beautiful. As she sings, they show the audience. Jaws are on the floor. She gets a standing ovation after the first few bars. Spontaneous applause erupts throughout the whole song. The audience can't help but get involved, so moving and unexpected is this performance. And as she finished the last heartwrenching notes, tears were streaming down my face as I sat in front of my computer screen.
Now I'm sure the editors of the show have been careful to manipulate me into feeling this way, but this knowledge does not undo the fact that I felt so emotionally invested in this act. This woman has touched my soul, and there's nothing I can do about it. And I thought to myself, "this woman has done such a brave thing in getting up there and doing this."
And then I thought about it. Why should she have to be braver than anyone else? It takes a lot of courage to get up and sing in front of thousands of people (plus countless home viewers) no matter how old you are or what you look like, and we love to encourage performers to do well. And yet this audience seemed to be against this lady from the moment she walked out onstage! Why? Because she wasn't young or young-looking. She wasn't made up all fancy. Her clothes were nothing flashy. She wasn't skinny. She wasn't glamorous. Why should these things matter in a talent competition?
I don't think they should. I'm watching "Britain's Got Talent," not "Britain's Got Hotties." I guess the judges' reactions support my feelings, because all three (even Simon) each gave Susan Boyle a resounding "YES." I just think it's sad that we had to be surprised into realizing that someone who is over 40 and isn't Madonna can actually be a talented performer. I am also reminded of Julia Child, who revolutionized the way our nation thinks about cooking, despite her ungainly personage and unusual way of speaking.
I think every human being has something to offer this world, and we do ourselves a great disservice by focusing only on judging appearances and knocking other people down. Let's do ourselves and the world a huge favor and not do that anymore! And as for Susan Boyle, let's not kill the dream she dreams.
Whew, glad I got that off my chest... Goodnight world!
During my conversation with my mother when she got home from work, Mom told me about this story she saw on the news, and I was intrigued. She just told me to look up this woman's name (Susan Boyle) online and I'd find what she was talking about. So I did as she said and found a clip from "Britain's Got Talent."
So this woman comes out and introduces herself as Susan Boyle, aged 47. This woman is not what most would call physically attractive (even my mother compared her to the bowing lady toward the end of "The Sound of Music"). This woman says she dreams of being a professional singer. The audience snickers and gapes at her with disgust and disapproval. Even the judges give her some pretty ugly looks when she reveals her age and ambitions. The woman hasn't even performed yet, and my heart is just aching at the theater's response to her presence.
Finally, after this dismaying prologue, Ms. Boyle begins to sing. It's "I Dreamed a Dream" from "Les Miserables," and it is absolutely beautiful. As she sings, they show the audience. Jaws are on the floor. She gets a standing ovation after the first few bars. Spontaneous applause erupts throughout the whole song. The audience can't help but get involved, so moving and unexpected is this performance. And as she finished the last heartwrenching notes, tears were streaming down my face as I sat in front of my computer screen.
Now I'm sure the editors of the show have been careful to manipulate me into feeling this way, but this knowledge does not undo the fact that I felt so emotionally invested in this act. This woman has touched my soul, and there's nothing I can do about it. And I thought to myself, "this woman has done such a brave thing in getting up there and doing this."
And then I thought about it. Why should she have to be braver than anyone else? It takes a lot of courage to get up and sing in front of thousands of people (plus countless home viewers) no matter how old you are or what you look like, and we love to encourage performers to do well. And yet this audience seemed to be against this lady from the moment she walked out onstage! Why? Because she wasn't young or young-looking. She wasn't made up all fancy. Her clothes were nothing flashy. She wasn't skinny. She wasn't glamorous. Why should these things matter in a talent competition?
I don't think they should. I'm watching "Britain's Got Talent," not "Britain's Got Hotties." I guess the judges' reactions support my feelings, because all three (even Simon) each gave Susan Boyle a resounding "YES." I just think it's sad that we had to be surprised into realizing that someone who is over 40 and isn't Madonna can actually be a talented performer. I am also reminded of Julia Child, who revolutionized the way our nation thinks about cooking, despite her ungainly personage and unusual way of speaking.
I think every human being has something to offer this world, and we do ourselves a great disservice by focusing only on judging appearances and knocking other people down. Let's do ourselves and the world a huge favor and not do that anymore! And as for Susan Boyle, let's not kill the dream she dreams.
Whew, glad I got that off my chest... Goodnight world!
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