It's always pretty until it hits the ground....

Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?

Now I don't mean this as a literal question. In fact, it is a lyric from the song Glitter in the Air by Pink/Alecia Moore.

I have a lot of respect for classy people, and in my opinion Alecia Moore is a classy chick. There are several of her songs that mean quite a bit to me and I hope to potentially dissect them and their significance in future posts. For now though: Glitter in the Air.

This song in general seems to me like a desperate call to others to feel reassured about insecurities. The song asks a myriad of questions, three per verse to be exact. The first always feels like an admission of some kind of guilt. Begging someone else to speak up and say that they can relate. The second and third questions feel almost like an attempt to justify the first question. An example?

"Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said 'I just don't care'?"

The first line is perhaps not literal (Holy crap! I actually learned to analyze things in sophomore english. However, I will try my hardest to not beat the dead horse of over-analyzation like the semi-crazed teacher I had that year did. Because of her, "Lord of the Flies" will - to me - forever be interchangeable with vile curse words.) and perhaps is more of an admission of devotion. Being willing to do anything for the person you love, or have some kind of crazy crush on. The second and third questions seem like they are comparing the first to doing something reckless. In the moment. Throwing a fistful of glitter in the air would be gorgeous for seconds as it caught the light and shimmered to the ground. But then you gotta clean it up. And glitter is a pain in the ass to get off of anything (exhibit A: the carpet of our basement where I do all my painting and my glittering of cards, presents, and projects). Looking fear in the face would certainly be reckless. Telling it that you don't care, even more so. Washing your hands of the "responsibility" of keeping up with criticism and judgment. In doing such a thing you would be opening yourself up to even more criticism and judgment, but the noble part is having the bravery to not give a damn.

There are a few lines of this song that resonate with me especially.

"Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone"

Quite a few times I have found myself checking my phone every few minutes to see if a certain person had texted me back yet. I wind up thinking that I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, take it out, check it, sigh in disappointment, and return it to my pocket. At first it just seems like I'm just overcome by some irrational teenaged crush symptoms. But beneath it I guess I'm thinking that if I get that text back then it means that someone out there is capable of caring about me. In short, proving that I'm not alone. It's not logical to think like this, but I think it's almost subconscious. I know that many people in the world care about me, but for some reason, this text, from this person, makes it all true.

"Have you ever wished for an endless night?"

Every single effing night of my life. Nighttime is safe for me. I'm not talking about the entire time the sun is down, mostly just between 1am and 6am. That's when I essentially have the house to myself. When I can get things done. When I don't have to talk to anyone, or share my thoughts, or pretend I give a flying shit about anything. If I had the power to stop time, I wouldn't just stop time anywhere in the day. I would stop time at night, and forever have control over everything in my life. My life would be all mine, and I wouldn't have to live for other people like I do during the day. Granted, night isn't all safe because I am fairly afraid of the dark (which, nighttime usually tends to have an abundance of), but at night I can handle my fears without the pressure of other people. I wouldn't feel the need to shut down when I'm upset like I do now. When I'm upset in public, I stop talking, cross my arms, and pray that time will go faster so I can get away from everyone. When I'm upset and I'm by myself, I can cry, I can shout curses at the world. And above everything else, I can go into the dance studio downstairs, turn my music up obscenely loud, and dance, and dance, and dance until I feel better. An endless night would be all mine.

Have I ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air? I think so. But depending on where you're standing, you're never seeing the same sparkle as someone else.

Crescendo!!!! Pivot turn, 3, 4, Jazz hands, 6, 7, 8!!!

So I know I haven't posted in quite a while. Sorry. I have a life. But I have things to say, so here we are.



I also know that I have written a bit about show choir in the past, and this post is going to be sort of a show choir 101.



But first, some exciting news! (Those of you who know all about this, please bear with me. I know there are some people who read my blog who don't live in Delaware, so the explanation is for them.) The Delaware Gazette has this cool thing called Teen of the Week. Every Saturday a local teenager from Delaware county is chosen for this minor - but still pretty awesome - title. In September, seniors from all over Delaware county fill out an application and write two short essays to submit to the Gazette for Teen of the Week. Then, each week of the school year a new student is chosen, interviewed, photographed, and the article appears in that Saturday's Gazette. At the end of the year there is a ceremony where all the "Teens of the Week" are invited and honored. Also at this ceremony the "Teen of the Year" is chosen and given a scholarship that is sometimes up to several thousand dollars. Last Monday I received a call from a woman at the Gazette telling me that I had been chosen for this week's Teen of the Week! She came and interviewed me at school on Wednesday and the article comes out tomorrow. I'll try to link it to a post on here if I can.



Okay now onto the main point of this post. Show choir.



Glee's got it all wrong. While I like the show, Hollywood is Hollywood and they haven't done all their research. No show choir has like five new songs every week. Also, competitions would never have just three schools, nor would they be judged by popular vote. Don't get me wrong though, I really do like the show, but it's interesting to see Hollywood's fairly unrealistic take on it all.



Show choirs tend to have very "visionary" names, the irony of this being that our show choir is called the Visions. Other popular names include things like, Sound Sensations, Vocal Intensity, Accents, Classics, Illuminations, First Edition, Premiere, Dynamics, etc. The most popular name - in many different combinations mind you - is probably Express. ie. Express Varsity, Sound Express, [insert name of school here] Express. There's a million of 'em.



Show choir is also very expensive and a lot of work. The fees for our two different costumes, shoes, tights, shorts, earrings, makeup, t-shirts, and  pay-to-play adds up to a decent chunk of money. Our costumes are custom made, and custom does not come cheap. Show choir hair is straight up ridiculous. Think Irish dancer curls, and runway-model bouffant.

All the choir reps in their costumes, waiting to accept awards. The Buckeye Valley Visions reps (Austin and Kaitlyn) are the two on the far right in the silver vest and the turquoise dress.

We work just as hard, and probably harder than any other sports team. We work in class everyday, after school for three hours at least once a week, and usually have a practice the day before a competition. We sing, dance, sweat, yell, and obsess over tiny details until it seems like we can't anymore. Sometimes, we get so obsessive over the process that we get seriously on edge. This week's practice was really intense. Last Saturday we went to a competition and didn't do too well. We got fourth place in our division....not so good. So this week the pressure's on. And we certainly felt the pressure on Wednesday at practice. There was quite a bit of drama, but it wound up helping us in the long run I think. We are feeling much better about things and we hope to to well tomorrow.

Cross your fingers for us!

Where are the effing balloon animals!

I am terrified of clowns.

The curious part about this is that I was not afraid of clowns when I was younger, as with most coulrophobics (people who suffer from a fear of clowns).

When I was little my family was actually fairly close with a woman who worked as a clown. Her name was Jeanie and when she was working one of our birthday parties or making us balloon animals at Wendy's she had pink hair. I remember once seeing a picture of her dressed normally and I was shocked to discover that her real hair was brown. My sense of logic and reality was somewhat skewed at the time, due to the fact that I was probably about three years old. I remember the first time I encountered someone who was afraid of clowns. There was another little girl at Wendy's with her mother, and her mother came up and requested a balloon animal for her daughter, explaining that her daughter was a little scared by clowns. It had never occurred to me before that being scared of clowns was even an option. Spiders? Yes. The dark? Of course. Nick Nolte's mugshot? A given. But clowns??? Why?

Now, as I got older - I don't even know how it evolved really but - I started to realize that the sight of clowns made me uneasy, jumpy, and downright terrified. These days it's quite easy for me to answer the - at the time - rhetorical question I asked above. To jog your memories, if you're too lazy to scroll up four lines, "...But clowns??? Why?". These days clowns are creepy, evil, murderous, and Juggalos.

The last of which is beyond terrifying. The lack of class and etiquette possessed by this group of semi-musical miscreants astounds me. Juggalos and Juggalettes - yes, that really is what they call themselves - are the cult-like followers of the Insane Clown Posse. ICP is composed of Detroit natives Joseph Bruce and Joseph Utsler who perform with the names "Violent J" and "Shaggy 2 Dope". They wear black and white clown-like face paint and perform a fairly violent and scary brand of hip hop dubbed "horrorcore". ICP is signed, appropriately so, under Psychopathic Records. They are also, for some stupid reason, known for drinking Faygo soda (I know, WTF?).

Classy. Bunch. Of. People.

To give further example of ICP's exorbitant ability to epically fail, I will turn to their "music". Most of their "horrorcore" lyrics are just blatantly violent and uncreative:

"My axe is my buddy, I bring him when I walk
me and my axe will leave your head outlined in chalk
My axe is my buddy, he always makes me laugh
me and my axe cut bigot spinal chords in half"
(An excerpt from the ICP winner of a song called My Axe)

I would first like to point out the grammatical errors in the second and fourth lines of that section. It should be, "my axe and I". Also, the personification of a deadly weapon is downright frightening. Also, also, those lyrics show no actual ability to sustain creative thought.

Sometimes Juggalos will try to justify the "deepness" of the "message" in ICP's song Miracles. An example of this "deepness"? :

"I fed a fish to a pelican at Frisco bay
It tried to eat my cell phone, he ran away"

That's deep man. Really effing deep.

I noticed that in this post I have used an abnormal number of quotations marks. I am aware. Don't judge. If you want to judge, get your own blog. (No, really! I highly recommend it! Blogging is great!)

Just a few days ago my best friend's band played a sort of "battle of the bands" kind of show in Columbus, where a group of Juggalos was also performing. Apparently at some point during the evening, a fight broke out between the Juggalos and  the metal fans. I don't think anyone was seriously injured but gunshots were heard. Like I said, classy people.

Most of the people who read my blog are probably aware of my impatience for ignorant, uncultured people. Thus my distaste for the entire "culture" of Juggaloism. They are a prime example of trashy people at their finest.

Worst of all? They don't even have the decency to make balloon animals.

Opening up about closure

I need closure.

In pretty much everything I do, I am not finished with it until I have closure.

If I don't get that closure, then for whatever it is, I can't stop thinking about it. I think about it almost constantly, until either I get the closure I need, or enough time passes. But it would have to be A LOT of time. There are things that happened maybe a couple of years ago that I never got the closure for, and while they don't nag my every thought, they do frequent my thoughts more than one might assume.

It's quite annoying actually. It makes me feel obsessive, or possessive (and if I had another word that both rhymed and fit the situation, I am sure that it would make me feel that too). Really though it's just a feeling of incompleteness. Like when you wake up in the middle of a very vivid dream, and want to finish it. But all too soon you find your grasp on the details of the dream slipping, and it becomes lost in the recesses of your mind. Whenever that happens to me, I find myself daydreaming all day long. Trying to weave possible endings to the unfinished dream in my mind. I get very zoned-out and distracted for the entirety of the day, which is, by the way, a big freaking problem.

My behavior in the dream situation above, may help account for my behavior in situations lacking closure. In my spare moments during the day I find myself imagining conversations, or unlikely encounters with long-out-of-touch acquaintances, and the words or actions that would make everything finished. Much of the time, I feel I need to prove myself to offender/offended. Show them how I've changed, or how I haven't; Show them what they missed, or what they are missing. To make things better, or even in some situations, make things worse to an end.

I may be insane. I probably am insane. Okay, yes, I know I am insane. But this is how I feel.

On some level I feel that I never really lost my imagination the way many do as they grow up. I believe I may have uncovered some sort of explanation-like excuse for it too. There are millions and millions of creative souls out there. Musicians, artists, dancers, scientists, inventors, writers, and even (as I have learned though very close familial experience) mathematicians. They all create some kind of something. A kind of something that they contribute to the world at large...or the world at small.

In the name of throwing all modesty out the imaginary window next to me (Yes, there is one. It has pink glass, and green curtains), I am proficient in many of these creative fields. I play instruments, and sing, and write music when i feel so-inspired, and dance, and draw, and paint, and according to the existence of this blog I write too. I even enjoy, and am fairly good at math.........as long as I'm not getting graded on it. I am also aware of the fact that a lot of the time, I just wind up being good at things, out of pure luck and chance. I tried dance, or painting, or guitar, and fell into a good rhythm with it. And I try not to take it for granted. I feel incredibly blessed. But that is not the point I am trying to make.

The point I am trying to make is that I create so many different somethings, that it keeps that many more parts of my imagination alive. I exercise the musical part of my imagination, or the choreographic part of my imagination, or the artistic part of my imagination so much that I just never lost much of my child-like, all-encompassing, to-hell-with-inhibitions imagination at all.

This is the part of the blog where I remember that this post was originally about my great need for closure, and that I should relate both points sometime soon here as to risk less confusion on the part of my readers.

Sorry guys.

I would say "it won't happen again" but, let's be honest, we all know it will.

This imagination that I still miraculously possess is likely the culprit behind the need for closure. I can't just stop thinking about the event, or imagining/hoping for an end to it. Falling-outs with friends? I can't help wondering if That Preppy Chick and I would still be friends had either one of us said something different. Breakups or situations of the like? I can't stop thinking about what a total self-centered douchebag That One Guy was, or of what could have been with That Other Guy.

The facts?

I'm kind of glad That Preppy Chick aren't super close anymore. We talk occasionally, and we're perfectly civil. But we wound up in totally different places in life.

That One Guy really is a totally self-centered douchebag, and I couldn't be more happy that things didn't work out. I didn't realize until way later than I should have that his ego was really a bottomless pit of narcissism, and how everything we talked about, somehow wound up being all about him.

That Other Guy? I think about him everyday. I hope he thinks about me too. I wish I could talk to him, but I am afraid that we would just fall back into the bad pattern we were in before. I wonder if he reads my blog. I wonder if he would know I'm talking about him.

I need closure.