A post

This is a post that was solely created for the sake of creating a post. I have not updated this neglected blog in a long while. So, instead of thinking of a creative concept to write about or a mundane occurrence that brought a slightly new perspective, I will be recording marginalia as if it mattered. It doesn’t.
The last two weeks I have had Phantom of the Opera singing inside of my head. Not constantly but often enough to start to listen a bit too much. I don’t think things originating inside of my head should be given more attention time than things in the outside world, but my attention often disagrees. My brain can amuse me for hours. Far too many hours.
Finally “Abide With Me” would occasionally supplant Phantom, but didn’t oust it entirely. It wasn’t until the Tony Awards on Sunday when the number “I Believe” from the Book of Mormon musical took over my brain. I have been slowly trying to listen to the other numbers from the musical, but haven’t yet.
I am supposed to be studying for the GRE. I’m not. Well, I am learning vocab, but that’s about it. I think I should give up on math. I haven’t studied any since I was 16 or 17. I lie about my age consistently, but that was more than a decade ago.
I am trying to catch up with all the cycling races that are currently on my DVR. I recently reduced my hours so I could sleep, so I’m still catching up from that. I have one stage left of the Giro d’Italia, four stages of the Criterium de Dauphine, and the first four stages of le Tour de Suisse. So, lots of television time, during which I will be learning lines.
I finished the last performance of The Merchant of Venice from Utah Shakespeare in the Park on Saturday and rehearsals for All’s Well That Ends Well started Monday. I have a small part, which means more time to study for the GRE (watch le Tour de France). I am usually a pretty good student, but since school ended in April, I have felt particularly unmotivated.
My supposed life goal is to get a doctorate in English, but I keep forgetting that with the sun shining and the pool beckoning with it’s chlorine fumes. Also the mountains just keep staring at me, daring me to climb them. And the sun is a temptress – seducing me to go outside where I can lay down all afternoon and sleep in the grass. My favorite shorts have grass stains.
So that is the conclusion of the meaningless nothings that should not be noted.

Best Conversation of the Month

Me: I wish Pizzeria 712 was open really late so I could get their pizza for my hypothetical pizza party.
Lawrence: You mean the one where it's going to be Mexican food or pizza?
Me: Yeah. . . Wait, how did you know about my hypothetical pizza party?
Lawrence: I checked your messages.

(phone was in my backpack during rehearsal)

Weddings

I thought my next blog entry would be a rant about the royal wedding and the pageantry involved. But after only watching a few arrivals, I was in awe over the utter pointlessness of ceremony, and felt sorry for the two fools smiling for the cameras. This cemented my plans to elope to Vegas and be married by Elvis. Vegas has great deals on hotel rooms and buffets. No planning needed. Some may argue that Vegas is commercial and crass, but after watching the 24-hour coverage of the royal wedding and seeing many couples spend thousands of dollars on the perfect wedding, I wonder what the difference is between Vegas and the thirty-million dollar picture-perfect, 700-guest, gourmet catered wedding on the beach in Maui complete with doves. Vegas is obviously commercial, but is commercial for the masses, compared to the selectivity that most people desire as an ambiance at their wedding. The white-robed bride is supposed to be detached from the problems that are going to be inherent in marriage. Weddings cost a fortune, but instead of being realistic as to their income, the couple (for a day or week) pretends to a much higher standard of wealth than they possess. I want weddings to start off in the seeming mundane reality. All romance stories end at the wedding or the consummation because after that everything gets “boring.” But everyday, especially those where nothing happens, is like the first morning of snowfall for the winter. It has happened before, and it will happen again. We will eventually come to hate snow for the extra time needed every morning to scrape and shovel it away, but for a few moments it is a sudden miracle. Like brushing your teeth with someone, or finding a good song on the radio – miracles are mundane. They are everywhere and all the time and every morning there is snow in May, we forget about miracles because who wants to wear a parka on top of a sunburn. So, instead of planning a wedding like many other girls do, I will dream instead about a crappy apartment in a complex populated by the Mexican gangs, whom I will probably get along with. I will dream about a sofa that was retrieved from a junk pile and sags in the middle and stacks of books all around because we don’t have shelves. I dream about having a horribly miraculous reality to share with someone.

Tragedy

I’ve been watching several Zhang Yimou movies and I wonder why do all Chinese love stories end in tragedy? The happiest couples end in death together, love consummated in spiritual eternity together. Somehow watching the tragic end of young couples moves us more than watching a couple live together, have children, have fights about toast and doing the dishes, and grow old. These couples eventually leave all drama with years they gain. Slowly they grow accustomed to everything they used to hate about each other. Toilet seats are now left up and toilet paper rolls are never replaced. Car attention lights are ignored and boxes are not flattened. It is all so mundane and boring. Each moment could be beautiful. Moment after moment leads to millions of moments and they all blend together and become unremarkable. But in tragedy, love is confined to only a few moments, so every moment is whirling kisses and dancing under rainbows in fields of poppies. Instead of taxes and grocery shopping, the only moments are those of incapacitating emotion. Beautiful moments are rare moments. If they happened every day, they would be as beautiful as taking the garbage out. But why isn’t taking out the garbage beautiful? Why can’t we slowly gather the plastic bag, then tie it up, hold it together and waltz out into the rain where we will run out to the can, then joyfully fling the bag into the can before we clang the lid down. Garbage duty would then be a wonderful thing.