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28 April 2014

:: jane eyre. the amazingest musical* ::

(*caveat: the amazingest musical since the other really good ones. like especially not better than phantom or les mis or even joseph, so just remember that I love it, but not that much.)

my sister just turned sixteen! sixteen -- wow. she's almost a grownup. maybe soon she'll start acting like one.

ha ha. I love you, jess :)

for her birthday, my current favorite friend amanda gave us her the 'jane eyre' musical soundtrack and we've spent good hours and a half listening through it. dude, if you've never listened to it, go do it, like, now. it's fantastic.

somehow they express, through a combination of words and music, the story of jane eyre as it was, is, and always will be -- like, this is what I would have made it, could I have made it. remember our a tree grows in brooklyn concept? if ATGIB were jane eyre, and we made it into a musical, it would be this; and I solemnly swear -- my love will endure --

no, no, without bursting into song, I mean it.
   forget the "not bursting into song" part. I'm thrilled. I'm enchanted. enraptured! excited! gratified. tickled. and now you're invited: be charmed! be disarmed! …'jane eyre'. I'm delighted!!

they put all the right imagery in there. example: the chestnut tree, struck in two by lightning. whoop whoop. they make use of brilliant foreshadowing in the lyrics. take "I hear your cherished voice across the moorland skies" -- literally occurring later on in their relationship. a few lines later,

and I wash my hands
of every evil crime
defy them all
God will give me time
and you will lead me blind

and we all know she does!
   nor could I fail to mention just how many times they directly paraphrase -- or even quote -- the book. "if I had a string under my ribs, knotted to you, connecting our frames…" "then, as the days went along, like it or not I was not as depressed; and soon after that, we were finally blessed with little adele!" "she was my flame, my gallic sylph." "your logic's fading by the hour, and to no avail, jane! poor, blind puppy!"

"and when our firstborn was placed into his arms, he could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes: large, brilliant, and black."

and I quote!

the music, as far as it goes in the context of musicals, is also fantastic. varied styles, some humor, utterly singable, it has the themes that are the glue of all good serial songs. you know how in phantom it doesn't really matter what song you're singing, you can stick the "he's here, the phantom of the operaaaaaa" part in just about anywhere? while I don't equate 'jane eyre' with pto, you can definitely detect the riffs and tune-foreshadowing that pepper the music. what's even more amazing, those are the tunes that go to the words that relate to the house that jack built current song!
   for example -- when jane tells rochester she's got to leave thornfield because he's marrying blanche ingram, and he's all, "yep, and you're going to ireland! have fun! …wait. that's not good. mmmmwhy, jane?" she says,

yes, it is [a tear], and I cry
because the pain
because the grief
is slowly turning to rage
I'm like a bird upon the brief
who wishes she were never born into this cage

the imagery recalls the swallow she "yearns" to be -- "and go where I am not allowed; over mountains, over oceans; heaven, take me away; for I long for my liberty, for sweet liberty I pray!" the tune, though, just for those few middle lines are identical to lines from "brave enough for love"!
   if all that didn't make sense, you obviously just have to listen to it, because I can't describe it. I'm kind of on an emotional high right now, so I blather. (are you talking to me? I'm a little bit deaf.)

one last amazing thing about this musical. we got the original broadway cast -- which I think is the only version available, heh -- and I really really really like this cast. needless to say, I can pick voices I like better for the parts, but since this is what I have to work with, it's way not bad at all. marla schaffel is superb, and james barbour is surprisingly not bad. sure, "nothing is so bad as 'not so bad'", but I have a long-standing grudge against this someone so audacious, bold and ungracious, to play sydney carton with a face like that. sorry, dude. I don't like rating guys by their looks, but really? hey, it makes him kind of perfect for edward fairfax rochester.
   I did watch him acting the part in a (terrible) recording of the play. I must say: he was stupendous. (but well-performed, don't you think?) he had me crying. great actor, yes. syndey carton, NO NO NO. no. aesthetics won't let it be more than a friendship. you'd better forget it.
   my favorite part is the ritual jess and I have -- when we hear "across the moors" sung (gloriously) by Everybody's Favorite Greek God Look-Alike, we look at each other and say emphatically, "STEPHEN. BUNTROCK." it's great fun, and also… well… it's stephen buntrock. what more can I say. (other than: there is a back story. we are not rating him on his looks.)

I wish everyone in my life could read, hear, and see this thing. I think we'd all be better people. so rest now in peace. our secrets will keep till we speak again (or sing) tomorrow.

you know, the only people I feel worse for than you, having to endure all this, are those in my family. poor sisters. *james barbour laugh*

21 April 2014

:: we wish you a happy birthday ::

we wish you a happy birthday
we wish you a happy birthday
and a happy restofthe year!

because "it's this boy's birthday!" yes, folks: hadley fraser had another one, and I feel we should all join in giving him the highest of fives. really, he's just that awesome.

jessa and I celebrated thusly (and I tell you because you obviously care): 
we listened to lots of amazing songs (stars. born to the battle. beyond the door. oh what a beautiful morning). 
then we lighted two candles in a cupcake.
then we sang happy birthday. 
then we blew out the candles and made a wish.
then we lit them again, blew them out again, and made a wish for hadley. 
then we ate the cupcake. 

I almost wished to have the cupcake turn into carrot cake and guinness and manchego cheese. but I didn't. we'll see if my real wish comes true.

and now. hadley, if you're reading this: please take good care of rudy manchego; we've grown attached to him. (no pun intended, although you'd appreciate that.) 
   and, you know, sierra's coming back as christine. so… enchant us once again. think of your public, for there's a public who needs you! WILL YOU PLEASE COME BACK, TOO??

which may or may not have been my wish. I preserve an obstinate silence, except to say --

hey hadley. have a fantastic birthday.

17 April 2014

:: how do I love thee? ::

in spring, a young [wo]man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. aka poetry.

today, I bring you my thoughts on elizabeth barrett browning's "how do I love thee" -- which was a poem I liked for a long time, but I think I love now.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being, and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

she wants to "count the ways", list inclusively, how she loves him. ...it's hard for me to choose which way to read it: personally, as from the author to her husband (she did write it personally; and it took her years to muster up the courage to give it to him), or impersonally, as some "she" to her "him". so I'll use pronouns, and you pick which you like better.

she begins the list. (it's easier to read without formatting.)

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of Being, and ideal Grace.

she loves him beyond what she merely sees, to the very edges of what she can feel -- and with her (farther-reaching) soul: to the very ends of her be-ing, her very existence, and as much as she can in as close to perfection as she has come. to clarify: she is not perfect, but as she reaches for perfection ("ideal Grace"), her love expands with that reaching -- always to her ultimate capacity.

that's pretty all-encompassing right there. but then she goes from the cosmic to the minuscule: "I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light." 
   light. what is more plebeian, taken for granted, and yet universally necessary? light keeps us alive; light allows us to then live productively; but it's a quiet need. we implicitly trust it will be there tomorrow -- and the day after -- and don't consider how necessary it is. she's realizing her need for him, though, and in a sweet understatement says she loves him as she loves her life; needs him as she needs the sun; a small statement. enormous in its implications.

she continues to describe the nature of her love: "freely, as men strive for Right." whatever our standards for right and wrong, we pursue what we think "Right" (good, best, correct) utterly, with our whole hearts. when I strive for something, I am throwing my whole self into obtaining that thing, not holding back. this is how she loves him: utterly. in abandon. without reserve. and she strives for him, pursues him, because he is her "Right".

true humility doesn't feel entitled; it says, "I am grateful for everything, because I don't deserve anything." when men "purely…turn from praise", they really believe they don't deserve it. (the key word here is purely.) 
   her love for him is of this same purity. she loves him unselfishly, not trying to get something back; she loves him humbly, not trying to prove her worth to him or get him to feel lucky. she feels lucky, because she can't believe that someone like her could ever be loved by someone like him. (NB: if both significant other and better half feel this way, you've got a recipe for a lasting relationship right there.)

from the nature of her love, she turns to the strength of it, beginning in childhood. first, she loves him "with the passion put to use in my old griefs". this implies two things to me: her feelings are strong. her feelings are lasting.
   the use of passion in context of "my old griefs" calls to mind a child whose emotions are wildly stirred up over an offense, and whose entire self is filled with it: thinking about it constantly, and even when time has passed, when they recall it, feeling the same emotion (sadness, anger) fill them just as potently. 
   and isn't it true that "old griefs" from when we were young are often fresher in memory that later ones? I remember with perfect clarity the time a "friend" of mine told me, laughing, that my teeth were so yellow! remembering even now gives me the same dead, sick feeling in my stomach and I blush. now. ten years later
   that whole-self passion of childhood is the strength with which she loves him, and her feelings aren't passing with time. she has invested all of her in loving him, as a child completely abandons rational thought, to unreasoningly lose herself in focusing on him. 
   but if "griefs" is too negative a picture, she continues with softer feelings -- "and with my childhood's faith". the simplicity and innocent trust of children is proverbial: children accept things as so because they're so. there is no suspicion in a child. they hear a statement made, and they believe it, because it was stated; without looking for innuendoes or deeper meanings, or even demanding complete understanding before they accept it. 
   she simply loves him. she doesn't look for why or how or what is love, anyway? she has no ulterior motive. she has no schedule or plan or explanation; it just is. and that's fine with her. 

the next stage of her love's strength is in adolescence, when our "childhood's faith" in our heroes, our saints, is sometimes dashed. her "lost saints", fallen from their pedestals, first taught her cynicism and seemed to kill the whole-hearted, simple love (admiration? hero-worship?) she'd been able to have. now it has returned, and she can look up to him without worrying he won't come through, since he has proven her trust. (well, she doesn't say that. but if you read this personally, the brownings did stay married, and she obviously thought he was The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread, so I'm speculating the teeniest bit. it's called the Poetic Interpretation License, which really is a thing. my thing.)

"I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life." it's like she's run out of words, out of meaningful comparisons and similes and she has to wave her arms around and say, "just… EVERYTHING, okay? I love you with EVERYTHING!" she feels her love so much that she can't really express it (although so far she's done a better job than I could ever do). with all of her, her childhood, her growing-up, what made and does make her who she is, she loves him.

in the last line, she sums it all up. she's talked about the love coming, absorbing her whole life from childhood to now, and then she looks to the end of her life.
   her love, she's already said, isn't the flame of a heart that burns hot but wastes away to ashes. this love  will quietly but completely last for the rest of her life; and, she hopes -- prays -- believes -- even beyond it. she loves him imperfectly on this earth, but will be wholly perfected after death: and then her love for him will become perfect.


15 April 2014

:: moonlight ::

awed by her splendor 

stars near the lovely
moon cover their own
bright faces
                         when she
is roundest and lights
earth with her silver
- - -

12 April 2014

:: the bathroom is my favorite room in the house ::

= a freewritten essay, sort of =

is that weird? I feel like for most people their favorite room would be their room -- or kitchen -- or studio. yet my reasons for my favorite are just as good as theirs. probably better.
   the bathroom is my favorite room because it has almost everything, not just necessary for survival (like water), but the luxurious extras. 
   aspirin. for when you have headaches.
   hairspray. to cause headaches.
   mouthwash. to taste horrible.
   toothbrushes. to get rid of the mouthwash.
   toilet plungers. for aesthetics.
all you have to do is install a fridge -- or just carry in a plate -- and you'll never have to go. (I mean "leave". not "relieve".) 
   next, I love the bathroom because it's nigh unto impossible to stay in there and not get clean. I love to be clean, and the bathroom provides a near-infinite array of options unto that end. also cleanliness is next to godliness, an added bonus.
   the bathroom is awesome too because it becomes a sanctuary for all my deepest thoughts. why do I blossom into The World's Next Most Influential Metaphysicist, Philosopher, And General Genius With All The Answers while in the bathroom? maybe it's something in the air, or the toothpaste (I buy crest whitening with scope, if you're interested). I don't know, but the bathroom always elevates my mind to soar beyond previously-discovered intellectual heights as my physical self stands firmly planted in reality (or possibly sits). ironic, perhaps. nonetheless true.  
   therefore I love the bathroom. its promotion of cleanliness, deep thinking, and privacy has quickly propelled it to become my favorite room in the house; also the fact that I always leave the bathroom feeling better than when I entered it. 
   that's a hard act to follow.
- - -

02 April 2014

:: back to the drawing board, literally ::

when I was a young warthog, still looking into colleges and wondering how in the world I was going to pass for a college student -- because I can't be college-age yet, that's too old. and also because I was a warthog -- I corresponded once or twice with the head of the eku art dept., herb goodman (thanks, professor! it was really helpful!). his last advice to me: "draw every day."

yeah, every day sounds easy. it also sounds fun, especially for someone who claims that's what she wants to do for, like, the rest of her life, world without end, amen.

but I have failed miserably at this.
MISERABLY.
I essentially put the "miserable" in "les miserables". if only because "les miserables" contains "miserable", and like nothing else does, and because I can relate to everyone in the story, between my conflictedness and guilt and singing in the rain.
-- if you have a come-on-with-the-rain-I've-a-smile-on-my-face kind of song in your head right now, you have the wrong musical. I feel much more the-rain-will-make-the-flowers-drown at the moment.

to get myself out of this slump, I'm going to do this 30-day drawing challenge. I need to get my hand back in and this is a way to make me do it. accountability is everything. I hope.

so: KEEP ME ACCOUNTABLE. hey, you draw, too, and it will be like us doing it together. except we're not really together. that would be weird. (all right, all right. I just have austen on my mind, I guess. bear with me.) I'm actually rereading dune, so things are going to get real intense, real fast. "'No more terrible disaster could befall your people than for them to fall into the hands of a Hero….'"