If I am the rhythm,
then you are the lead.
If you were the cymbals
would you crash into me?
If I am the chord,
then you are the riff.
If I was the stereo
would you have to push all of my buttons?
If I was a neck,
would you pick me apart?
Would you write me a
pre-chorus and post-breakup,
a post-breakdown?
I’m always at my cutest when you’re not around to seduce.
You are the wait.
I am time it will take to get back to this.
If you would cross lines,
then maybe I could stay.
I am the clasp.
You are the puzzle solver.
If I am the pillow chasing forfeit,
then you are the lip, twice bitten.
If I was the breath,
would you lose to me?
Would you measure me in holds or catches,
or would you just take me away?
Aunt Em, the chickens are gone!
If I am the zinnia,
then you are the sun.
If you were a sore throat,
I would be your chamomile.
If I am a waffle,
then you are the sweet tooth.
If you were the claw game,
I’d be the teddy bear that you won. Finally.
If you are the smile,
then I am not the face
that can get whatever I want
and some that I don’t.
Let it go girl, he doesn’t even know why you’re mad.
If you are the question,
then I am the hours
that you spent mulling over a solution.
You are always a question…
If you are the rust,
I am always the tin can.
If you are the awkward situation,
I am consistently the laugh that bails you out.
I am the bandaid when you skin your knee.
I am the inbox when you say hello.
I am the sift when you lose your heart in the sand,
Will you be nothing but my goodnight kiss?
He would never drive that distance for you.
I cannot be held accountable
for these things that I wish,
for fantasy is but a battlefield and imagination a tool.
If my eyes are the weapon,
then this lyric, your defense.
If I am the morning,
then you are the absence.
Next to me a list
of all the perfect words
that you never said, that I have yet to write.
I will never go back to Kansas.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
You can't go forcing something if it's just not right...
Sunday morning.
I have the urge to reference Timmy's blog, because I knew what kind of day it'd be before I even opened my eyes. I think we decided last night that it's alright to alluded to each other's respective good lines. We had to dig to write them, we'd love you to repeat your favorites.
So it's sounds that get me out of bed...because I never want to miss anything. This morning I didn't hear my mother already blow drying her hair, or my father cooking some ridiculous omelet concoction. I didn't hear my brother singing Christina Aguilera in the shower. And I didn't hear SportsCenter blasting over all of that. But I did hear Ashley flipping through her gossip magazine, and Craig flipping between Last Comic Standing and Top 10 Greatest Dallas Cowboys. I smiled and got up, too hungry to stay under the covers anyways.
"Good morning, Family." I joked, instantly thinking of my other 2 families. The one upstate who are definitely drying, cooking, and singing as mentioned, and the one that doesn't wake up before noon and who will let me know they're awake by tweeting 7 times in a half hour. I love them both dearly. This new Sunday morning group is different for me, and it's probably something I'm going to have to get used to starting next weekend. Starting Saturday the rules are going to have to change.
The smells of Sunday interest me too. Bread in the toaster makes my stomach think it's getting Dad's...innovative...breakfast set in front of me. But it settles for this toast and iced coffee from my favorite DD worker. She's adorable, I want to win the lottery just so I can tip her more. New traditions. As my eyes get ready for the day, I see this mornings past, present, and future. Past; evidence of last night in my phone and on my nightstand. Texts for the heart and water for the throat. Present; pretty soon Emily comes down and curls back up on Craig's stomach. She looks like a cat but this morning it doesn't bother me. Future; my dresser is STILL in a box in the middle of my bedroom floor.
I glare out the window at passing cars like my mother does. "Who the HELL is that?" I wonder what she'd say about this poem I can't seem to be happy with. She'd say, you better get that done today because I'm sick of your attitude. I'm going to the store, have it done when I get back. And for heavens sake, pick up your room Erica!
But this is a new Sunday. And last night I wasn't sitting in the woods with Luke D'Imperio around a campfire we built outta his daddy's old bed frame. So this morning I let my poem marinate in the frustration zone a little longer. I'll finish this iced coffee (it's the best when that adorable DD worker puts the sugar on the top not the bottom) and get in the shower since last night I only took half of one cuz I got bored as soon as my feet smelled better. And then I'll write out these unsatisfying stanzas to play with during my...less than awesome close at work. Ugh new Sundays.
Last night Timmy let himself in the house and stayed until 2:30am. Yes, we talked about all of you as you slept and finally stopped tweeting. 140 characters is so not enough for what we have to say. So keep coming back to this archaic social networking site where you actually have to think about what we're putting out there for you. And please, leave us some comments!
Poem post: TBA
...Ricky.
"When I Come Around" by: my favorites.
I have the urge to reference Timmy's blog, because I knew what kind of day it'd be before I even opened my eyes. I think we decided last night that it's alright to alluded to each other's respective good lines. We had to dig to write them, we'd love you to repeat your favorites.
So it's sounds that get me out of bed...because I never want to miss anything. This morning I didn't hear my mother already blow drying her hair, or my father cooking some ridiculous omelet concoction. I didn't hear my brother singing Christina Aguilera in the shower. And I didn't hear SportsCenter blasting over all of that. But I did hear Ashley flipping through her gossip magazine, and Craig flipping between Last Comic Standing and Top 10 Greatest Dallas Cowboys. I smiled and got up, too hungry to stay under the covers anyways.
"Good morning, Family." I joked, instantly thinking of my other 2 families. The one upstate who are definitely drying, cooking, and singing as mentioned, and the one that doesn't wake up before noon and who will let me know they're awake by tweeting 7 times in a half hour. I love them both dearly. This new Sunday morning group is different for me, and it's probably something I'm going to have to get used to starting next weekend. Starting Saturday the rules are going to have to change.
The smells of Sunday interest me too. Bread in the toaster makes my stomach think it's getting Dad's...innovative...breakfast set in front of me. But it settles for this toast and iced coffee from my favorite DD worker. She's adorable, I want to win the lottery just so I can tip her more. New traditions. As my eyes get ready for the day, I see this mornings past, present, and future. Past; evidence of last night in my phone and on my nightstand. Texts for the heart and water for the throat. Present; pretty soon Emily comes down and curls back up on Craig's stomach. She looks like a cat but this morning it doesn't bother me. Future; my dresser is STILL in a box in the middle of my bedroom floor.
I glare out the window at passing cars like my mother does. "Who the HELL is that?" I wonder what she'd say about this poem I can't seem to be happy with. She'd say, you better get that done today because I'm sick of your attitude. I'm going to the store, have it done when I get back. And for heavens sake, pick up your room Erica!
But this is a new Sunday. And last night I wasn't sitting in the woods with Luke D'Imperio around a campfire we built outta his daddy's old bed frame. So this morning I let my poem marinate in the frustration zone a little longer. I'll finish this iced coffee (it's the best when that adorable DD worker puts the sugar on the top not the bottom) and get in the shower since last night I only took half of one cuz I got bored as soon as my feet smelled better. And then I'll write out these unsatisfying stanzas to play with during my...less than awesome close at work. Ugh new Sundays.
Last night Timmy let himself in the house and stayed until 2:30am. Yes, we talked about all of you as you slept and finally stopped tweeting. 140 characters is so not enough for what we have to say. So keep coming back to this archaic social networking site where you actually have to think about what we're putting out there for you. And please, leave us some comments!
Poem post: TBA
...Ricky.
"When I Come Around" by: my favorites.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Let it be, you will see
So. I'm writing...sporadically yet not as disjointedly as I expected. Work in process. Until then this poem, which I love and you should make your own opinion of. I believe words come to us at just the right time. Or make sense just in the nick of time.
Remiss Rebut
by: Harriet Zinnes
Remiss rebut.
It is over and done for,
and the glory gone,
the seaweed fowl,
the sea itself
a symbol in your dream.
Let it be,
and behind it all,
you will see
the globe,
an earth becoming slowly
a real world,
undreamed of but beheld.
...Ricky.
Remiss Rebut
by: Harriet Zinnes
Remiss rebut.
It is over and done for,
and the glory gone,
the seaweed fowl,
the sea itself
a symbol in your dream.
Let it be,
and behind it all,
you will see
the globe,
an earth becoming slowly
a real world,
undreamed of but beheld.
...Ricky.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Purple, Green, and...Yellow
I came across a beat up and coffee stained yellow folder in all the packing, moving, and unpacking. My writing folder. What are the chances? It was full of things I wrote when I could remember how to turn a word. I read some sheets over coffee; laughing at the piece on me yelling at my inhibitions and smiling difficultly at the ones about the playground. I fell quiet over the one's about the all-nighters I pulled trying to get him to love me. And then there's one about my mother. Which, is just...well just Roxy, because it's impossible to write her as anything but that. And since many of you have had the hilarity of meeting her, I thought I'd try to get myself back into a more eloquent word by posting some of the old things. Hope you're entertained aaand, don't forget to comment!
On A Sunny Day I Think of Her
Sometimes I wished I could stop you from talking
when I heard all the silly things you said.
"But I'm so funny!" you remarked as that cackle cascaded from your face
and fell in slippery pools of sarcasm at my feet.
I remember thinking you'd always have those young girl's eyes,
blending margaritas and causing little earthquakes in your daughter's seriousness.
"I'll do it Monday," my teacher did reply
and sunk into her Adirondack chair on that same old summer vacation morning.
She snuck me sips from her bottle of lessons and when it was time,
I heard her say, "Hey, the city's alright."
So I moved on to carry Rummy cards for everyone to see and took
a shallow dive in the lake while humming, "Sugar, We're Going Down,"
trying to follow in her perfect feet
and leaving gratitudes in countless matinee programs.
But from time to time I can feel the distance getting close
with the scent of Home Sweet Home candles
that you left burning because somebody had to leave the light on
for a stubborn girl's restitution
on those same old summer vacation mornings
where I will find you
blending margaritas and causing little earthquakes in your daughter's seriousness.
...Ricky.
"These Eyes" by: The Guess Who
On A Sunny Day I Think of Her
Sometimes I wished I could stop you from talking
when I heard all the silly things you said.
"But I'm so funny!" you remarked as that cackle cascaded from your face
and fell in slippery pools of sarcasm at my feet.
I remember thinking you'd always have those young girl's eyes,
blending margaritas and causing little earthquakes in your daughter's seriousness.
"I'll do it Monday," my teacher did reply
and sunk into her Adirondack chair on that same old summer vacation morning.
She snuck me sips from her bottle of lessons and when it was time,
I heard her say, "Hey, the city's alright."
So I moved on to carry Rummy cards for everyone to see and took
a shallow dive in the lake while humming, "Sugar, We're Going Down,"
trying to follow in her perfect feet
and leaving gratitudes in countless matinee programs.
But from time to time I can feel the distance getting close
with the scent of Home Sweet Home candles
that you left burning because somebody had to leave the light on
for a stubborn girl's restitution
on those same old summer vacation mornings
where I will find you
blending margaritas and causing little earthquakes in your daughter's seriousness.
...Ricky.
"These Eyes" by: The Guess Who
Saturday, May 23, 2009
"Faith gets tested hard when you're living for the moment." -tygb
"Every first kiss...."
It started with a song. It always starts with a song.
I've been writing at random all day long, trying to get back to something I wanna say to you guys. I haven't really written in a while, I've reported. And while I am so grateful for readers new and old, I feel like it's more my job to make you think, as opposed to give you what you want to hear. My nose wrinkles at this even now, because all I want is to be wrapped up in them for 2 more weeks. But if I don't push myself, then how can I push you.
"Every love sick note..."
What would happen if I posted all your secrets? All the scandals that the books hold, the reasons I won't any one else even hold them. What would happen? If I described last week's hookup and this week's honest fears. Would the truth make you want more or think less of me? Nate thinks maybe the secrets aren't that important at all. That maybe I am holding onto nothing and that my workaholic becoming the job analogy doesn't make sense. But I think he's wrong.
"I can barely make a move, by the time she opens up her eyes..."
Secrets may only matter to the person keeping them, but that is still one person. One man's junk... I think of the "fine" answers I keep getting and I wonder why you never let me be upset. Why is it so terrible to feel stressed, frustrated, or hurt? Nobody ever healed without bleeding a little first. I need to be allowed to feel this out.
"You're all of my days."
The secrets don't define me. True there are some days I feel they are all I'm worth, I feel that I am them. That I am Mike's camouflage and Nicky's in confidence. That I'm Andre's alibi and Jay's excuse. Tonight I'm Ryan's rationale. But that's some days. Other days I wish I didn't think so much, I wish I couldn't see so far and that I really was just at the show for the cute boys. Lol. But then, I play this freakin' song again and I know I'd be miserable as anyone else but this me.
"There's never been a better time to get it on..."
I moved into a house off Covert Ave. Covert; a secret. And my first guest was Nate Cyphert. Cipher; to figure out code.
"oh girl, well let's just sing about it."
May tomorrow bring sun and inspiration.
...Ricky.
my Myspace playlist by: awesome people, put together by me.
It started with a song. It always starts with a song.
I've been writing at random all day long, trying to get back to something I wanna say to you guys. I haven't really written in a while, I've reported. And while I am so grateful for readers new and old, I feel like it's more my job to make you think, as opposed to give you what you want to hear. My nose wrinkles at this even now, because all I want is to be wrapped up in them for 2 more weeks. But if I don't push myself, then how can I push you.
"Every love sick note..."
What would happen if I posted all your secrets? All the scandals that the books hold, the reasons I won't any one else even hold them. What would happen? If I described last week's hookup and this week's honest fears. Would the truth make you want more or think less of me? Nate thinks maybe the secrets aren't that important at all. That maybe I am holding onto nothing and that my workaholic becoming the job analogy doesn't make sense. But I think he's wrong.
"I can barely make a move, by the time she opens up her eyes..."
Secrets may only matter to the person keeping them, but that is still one person. One man's junk... I think of the "fine" answers I keep getting and I wonder why you never let me be upset. Why is it so terrible to feel stressed, frustrated, or hurt? Nobody ever healed without bleeding a little first. I need to be allowed to feel this out.
"You're all of my days."
The secrets don't define me. True there are some days I feel they are all I'm worth, I feel that I am them. That I am Mike's camouflage and Nicky's in confidence. That I'm Andre's alibi and Jay's excuse. Tonight I'm Ryan's rationale. But that's some days. Other days I wish I didn't think so much, I wish I couldn't see so far and that I really was just at the show for the cute boys. Lol. But then, I play this freakin' song again and I know I'd be miserable as anyone else but this me.
"There's never been a better time to get it on..."
I moved into a house off Covert Ave. Covert; a secret. And my first guest was Nate Cyphert. Cipher; to figure out code.
"oh girl, well let's just sing about it."
May tomorrow bring sun and inspiration.
...Ricky.
my Myspace playlist by: awesome people, put together by me.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Oh please can't I keep them all here like this?
Notes on a productive practice.
"This Condition practices? Don't they like, never practice?" -Ryan24
It's funny that these are the same boys I knew a year ago. It's funny to know the live band they are in the scene and then get to see them in a dim basement like this. It's anything but funny that even in the cluttered setting I see them in grand halls and sold out ballrooms. It's definately funny that Nate air guitars to his own band.
I don't know about them, but I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. I am adjacent to Stevie who has lots of hair but sad eyes. He tunes his drums. I am directly across from Nicky C. who probably is the most onto the words I am writing. He looks down at his bass when I look at him. I am diagonal from Anthony who wants me to laugh and joke with him. He forgets I'm trying to be neither seen nor heard. I am right behind Mike and though I know a bunch of people will have something to say about it, I feel safe in my spot. He flips his hair. I am not in the eyeline of Nate who is busy clearing his throat, taking a swig of water, fussing with his hair, and clearing his throat again. They are ready.
Tonight they are practing Starting Line songs for the previously titled Dobwink...which I guess now technically needs to be referred to as Dob's Cover Show...Thing. Regardless, you should get pumped. It's gonna be a fun fun show! Nate asks for help with the pitch of the 1st verse of Best of Me. "Is it up or down?" But instead of just answering him, all 4 of his bandmates come out singing the notes together. Lol, it's decently amusing. They start Best of Me again, after I get up and play-pause-rewind-play the CD for them to hear. Nate goes to sing the intro but Steve is off on a tinny tangent. "Come on Steve!!" Nate hollers and flings his hands into the air. The situation is corrected with a quick and routine "sorry." from Steve and they dive...well they re-dive into it.
"Tell me what you thought about!"
Nate wants everything to have something acoustic in it. I remember Mike and Nicky making separate comments to me on the matter. Now, Nate tosses his idea out there, "And maybe I could play in the beginning of this?" I laugh, hushing myself almost instantly remembering it's a priviledge to be here.
I catch both Nick and Mike check themselves out in the mirror hanging on the wall. It. is. hysterical. Ant gets caught not knowing where he is or what he's supposed to be playing because he's goofing off to me. His hip shaking and dweeby faces don't bail him out though when we both look in wide-eyed panic at each other with every wrong attempt at the right chord. I adore Ant's "oh shit" face. Nate mouths 'bridge' to him before any of the others- and by others I mean Mike- can yell at him.
Nate's ability to hold rule is terribly interesting and, kinda cute. While Anthony and Mike are debating the guitar parts, Stevie gets bored and starts to slam around his set like a 4-year old. Nate puts one finger up and he stops. Nicky steals the book to read it and I don't jump. But Nate reaches in, takes it swiftly away from him and puts it back in front of me. And when Nick starts to protest in defense, Nate's eyebrows go up only ever so slightly and Nick zips it.
Again, I note Ant's facial expressions. This is his, "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing but maybe if I make this face and don't say anything but uhhh...no one will notice." Word from the watcher Ant, they know.
The Conditions are choreographers. Nick takes a wide power stance facing Steve and says, "Let's do THIS-" They call it "THIS." Genius.(The brilliant dance move will be withheld with hopes that THIS will actually be performed onstage Sunday.) "Are we doing THIS at the beginning of this song?" Mike asks and takes the stance as well. They take the mini routine for a test run and Nate nearly falls off his stool begging in laughter, "Can you please?? OMG can you really please?!" How could you say no to that? "Wait wait! Right left?" Nicky needs to know. Ant has issues with THIS but to Nathen's and my great amusement, the 3 of them give it a go. Nicky by far leads the THIS. I can't even bury this laughter in words, but I try. I focus into my page for a while and when I sense to look up, Nates eyes are...right there. I hardly ever know what to do when he sings so close to me. He always wins the staring game. Mike though, doesn't, and when he tests me we go for a long time until finally a wrong note plinks out of his guitar and he shouts, "Damnit!"
Island. I think Nate likes this song because it's about ships and floating and like, palm trees and smiling. It's a Nate kind of song. He gets all shaky and has to get up and bounce around cuz he's too excited. Steve uses his whistle necklace to call a flag on the play and I have to run back to the CD player to check a part because all 5 of them are yelling like men at a football game. Band boys are just as rowdy as other boys. I never knew there was a cliche disgruntled neighbor. Apparently they start complaining at 9:30pm but we can push it until 10pm. They say they have little kids, "but it's the weekend mon!"
God I wish I'd kept a tally of how many times they had to wave Steve off to shut up on his drums! My smiles come from everywhere but the majority of my laughs come from this drummer's inability to sit still. I also laugh when....
Nicky thinks his bass sounds amazing. Nate tells him if he took a shit, that that's what it would sound like.
They all know what I'm doing and they're pretty comfortable with the Book by now. I commend them too because it's not always enjoyable to have someone sitting with an open book staring at you. Nicky picks on me mid-chorus and motions a scribbling hand across an invisible page. Mike laughs and I blush guiltily.
I like the way they laugh at each other in practice. I like the way they fight too. I share my space with extra basses and guitars, merch bins and open road cases. And I really don't mind a bit. I love how Nicky smiles when he sees me smiling. I like how we all fit in here.
Oh please can't I keep them all here like this? I have never been in so much love. I've never smiled so deeply. It's like the corners of my mouth marionette my heart because everytime I smile at them it leaps up a little. "Please don't leave me, without saying goodbye." It occues to me that this feeling is stagnant in this family. Stagnant love. Even in fights and so-called 'off times' it is "only love could be this strong." This realization makes me breath and not worry that this will all end too soon. It'll end when it's ready to. "We WILL ring out here!" -Mike. I look at the 2 boys who have upset me the most and I feel where the scars they left remain. But I gotta say, I feel nothing but love for them. That is my revenge. And this right now, this is the sun after the storm.
"The worst is over, you can have the best of me."
...Ricky.
"Up and Go" by The Starting Line
"This Condition practices? Don't they like, never practice?" -Ryan24
It's funny that these are the same boys I knew a year ago. It's funny to know the live band they are in the scene and then get to see them in a dim basement like this. It's anything but funny that even in the cluttered setting I see them in grand halls and sold out ballrooms. It's definately funny that Nate air guitars to his own band.
I don't know about them, but I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. I am adjacent to Stevie who has lots of hair but sad eyes. He tunes his drums. I am directly across from Nicky C. who probably is the most onto the words I am writing. He looks down at his bass when I look at him. I am diagonal from Anthony who wants me to laugh and joke with him. He forgets I'm trying to be neither seen nor heard. I am right behind Mike and though I know a bunch of people will have something to say about it, I feel safe in my spot. He flips his hair. I am not in the eyeline of Nate who is busy clearing his throat, taking a swig of water, fussing with his hair, and clearing his throat again. They are ready.
Tonight they are practing Starting Line songs for the previously titled Dobwink...which I guess now technically needs to be referred to as Dob's Cover Show...Thing. Regardless, you should get pumped. It's gonna be a fun fun show! Nate asks for help with the pitch of the 1st verse of Best of Me. "Is it up or down?" But instead of just answering him, all 4 of his bandmates come out singing the notes together. Lol, it's decently amusing. They start Best of Me again, after I get up and play-pause-rewind-play the CD for them to hear. Nate goes to sing the intro but Steve is off on a tinny tangent. "Come on Steve!!" Nate hollers and flings his hands into the air. The situation is corrected with a quick and routine "sorry." from Steve and they dive...well they re-dive into it.
"Tell me what you thought about!"
Nate wants everything to have something acoustic in it. I remember Mike and Nicky making separate comments to me on the matter. Now, Nate tosses his idea out there, "And maybe I could play in the beginning of this?" I laugh, hushing myself almost instantly remembering it's a priviledge to be here.
I catch both Nick and Mike check themselves out in the mirror hanging on the wall. It. is. hysterical. Ant gets caught not knowing where he is or what he's supposed to be playing because he's goofing off to me. His hip shaking and dweeby faces don't bail him out though when we both look in wide-eyed panic at each other with every wrong attempt at the right chord. I adore Ant's "oh shit" face. Nate mouths 'bridge' to him before any of the others- and by others I mean Mike- can yell at him.
Nate's ability to hold rule is terribly interesting and, kinda cute. While Anthony and Mike are debating the guitar parts, Stevie gets bored and starts to slam around his set like a 4-year old. Nate puts one finger up and he stops. Nicky steals the book to read it and I don't jump. But Nate reaches in, takes it swiftly away from him and puts it back in front of me. And when Nick starts to protest in defense, Nate's eyebrows go up only ever so slightly and Nick zips it.
Again, I note Ant's facial expressions. This is his, "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing but maybe if I make this face and don't say anything but uhhh...no one will notice." Word from the watcher Ant, they know.
The Conditions are choreographers. Nick takes a wide power stance facing Steve and says, "Let's do THIS-" They call it "THIS." Genius.(The brilliant dance move will be withheld with hopes that THIS will actually be performed onstage Sunday.) "Are we doing THIS at the beginning of this song?" Mike asks and takes the stance as well. They take the mini routine for a test run and Nate nearly falls off his stool begging in laughter, "Can you please?? OMG can you really please?!" How could you say no to that? "Wait wait! Right left?" Nicky needs to know. Ant has issues with THIS but to Nathen's and my great amusement, the 3 of them give it a go. Nicky by far leads the THIS. I can't even bury this laughter in words, but I try. I focus into my page for a while and when I sense to look up, Nates eyes are...right there. I hardly ever know what to do when he sings so close to me. He always wins the staring game. Mike though, doesn't, and when he tests me we go for a long time until finally a wrong note plinks out of his guitar and he shouts, "Damnit!"
Island. I think Nate likes this song because it's about ships and floating and like, palm trees and smiling. It's a Nate kind of song. He gets all shaky and has to get up and bounce around cuz he's too excited. Steve uses his whistle necklace to call a flag on the play and I have to run back to the CD player to check a part because all 5 of them are yelling like men at a football game. Band boys are just as rowdy as other boys. I never knew there was a cliche disgruntled neighbor. Apparently they start complaining at 9:30pm but we can push it until 10pm. They say they have little kids, "but it's the weekend mon!"
God I wish I'd kept a tally of how many times they had to wave Steve off to shut up on his drums! My smiles come from everywhere but the majority of my laughs come from this drummer's inability to sit still. I also laugh when....
Nicky thinks his bass sounds amazing. Nate tells him if he took a shit, that that's what it would sound like.
They all know what I'm doing and they're pretty comfortable with the Book by now. I commend them too because it's not always enjoyable to have someone sitting with an open book staring at you. Nicky picks on me mid-chorus and motions a scribbling hand across an invisible page. Mike laughs and I blush guiltily.
I like the way they laugh at each other in practice. I like the way they fight too. I share my space with extra basses and guitars, merch bins and open road cases. And I really don't mind a bit. I love how Nicky smiles when he sees me smiling. I like how we all fit in here.
Oh please can't I keep them all here like this? I have never been in so much love. I've never smiled so deeply. It's like the corners of my mouth marionette my heart because everytime I smile at them it leaps up a little. "Please don't leave me, without saying goodbye." It occues to me that this feeling is stagnant in this family. Stagnant love. Even in fights and so-called 'off times' it is "only love could be this strong." This realization makes me breath and not worry that this will all end too soon. It'll end when it's ready to. "We WILL ring out here!" -Mike. I look at the 2 boys who have upset me the most and I feel where the scars they left remain. But I gotta say, I feel nothing but love for them. That is my revenge. And this right now, this is the sun after the storm.
"The worst is over, you can have the best of me."
...Ricky.
"Up and Go" by The Starting Line
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Green mic cables and yellow magic wands!
11:28am and a college girl, at least for a few more days, rolls outta bed in little black underwear and her daddy's big white t-shirt. There's a mess of colors on top of her head and in her eyes. She likes the way her bare feet slap the cold tiled floor in this abandoned box in the sky. 4am was goodnight after another good night, and she wonders if people in other lifestyles smile as simply as she does when she wakes up.
Two of the best of the best are already IMing her, and her smile separates; they mean different loves to her. She sits, folding her legs and hunching over these keys, chuckling at the passionate little mess of life that is this particular band boy. She thinks, maybe she'll just talk to him all day and not do a thing, but something catches her attention.
A red book just beginning to fray at the bindings is staring at her. The book mark seems to be giving her the come hither finger and she scowls at it; that's a creepy way for a book to asked to be opened. Today she has 2 jobs: get her life ready to move on and post that book. She'll start with the latter.
Friday, May 15, a perfect day to party.
This mixtape is too loud and my hair color is too new. I'm just a scene girl behind the scenes and I smile knowing they have no idea of the things I do to get to them all the time.
I get to Ryan24's house and the first thing he says to me is, "I've checked your blog. You haven't written in a while. Why?" Haha this one goes out to you creep <3. Jaybird, Andrebaby, TomLoaded, Ryan24 and I are waiting for Paul24 to get his slow ass here. We're watching Rob24 throw things into the ceiling fan; balloon, pen, sneaker?? How smart. But seriously, how hilarious! They are the most annoying immature people I know, second only to The Bride Wore Black of course. lol. Whyy the fuck do they talk in that voice??!! I think I'm gonna choke Rob in 2 seconds but I choke on laughter myself first because it's hilarious to hear how funny Jay thinks they are. You know the Jay laugh I'm talking about. Jay laughs when nothing is even that funny, that's why him and Andre are this scene's cutest couple.
About an hour later they finally go downstairs to practice. It's 4pm and they think maybe they have to be in Islip at 5pm. Band boys do everything when they want. If dancers have rehearsal at 3, they gotta get there by at least 2:30 to warm up and get ready. If they have a show at 5, they gotta be in costume and makeup at 4. Band boys in the same situation, apparently, plug in at leisure, run through the new song once with Rob dweebing around on the vocals, then say okay, uhhhh, wanna load the van? They wear their costumes, otherwise known as show outfits, all day. What idiots. New category; bands boys at practice the day of a show trying not to get their show outfits sweaty. Summer in the scene brings up so many precautions and tactics. The vets known what to do; Andre carries his "purse" full of extra white tshirts and socks. Ryan has taken into careful consideration the length and style of his cutoff jeans, and he describes the process he took to arrive at this final look to me in detail. They are soo the perfect length, Ry. I can't figure out why Tom is still wearing a hoodie. "What are you thinking?", I demand to know. They are all whining about how hot it is and how frazzled they are beginning to look a they wheel out amps and lift heads in the van. "Why don't you all put on other shirts until we get there?" I suggest. They all stop. And ponder, taking in this apparently revolutionary concept. "That's not a bad idea" Rob decides. But instead of changing shirts they all just take off the ones they have on leaving me and the neighbors with a bunch of scrawny over exposed geniuses. It's all good though, and you know why? Cuz Score 24 likes to party.
During their 3 minute practice I wrote:
I love when singers shout out their greeting over the ringing cymbal crashes of a killer intro. Ahh I am in love again! Not with someone, but with this. Nobody can touch this; Frank can't slap a pair of pink tights on it and call it classical, Starbucks can't pull it's hair back and call it normal. This just is. And it's perfect. They play one song and are sweaty, and I think it's hush-hush funny that everyone's cases read the names of their past bands or owners. It makes it so that even though this is just Score here, the remains of Stereo Skyline, Caesari, and Set in Color are here too. Tom's phone rings out some super pop song ringtone and everyone goes quiet and stares at him. Then Rob screams, "K Tom's out!" and the carnival continues. I tweet, "Shut up @robscore24!" lol. They start throwing a softball at each other but they warn, "Hey! hey! Come one there's a girl over here!" I never thought I wouldn't mind hearing that, I always toughed up to boys as a kid. It would be these guys that I allow classify me.
We are ready to go and I run back to my car to grab a sweater. Suddenly this is a moment I hope I remember for the remainder of my days. Everything about it. The heat and the way I know my scene hair is reflecting the late afternoon light. I am walking down the middle of the pavement with an iced coffee in hand late, but not needing to go fast, towards a big white van full of boys I adore. I know they are talking about penises or pooping, but I don't think of that now. I just smile through this seasons' shades and acknowledge what a kickass life I lead. Score.
I ride with Jay, who follows the van to the show. He cutely knows to put on happier, more upbeat music when I'm in the car with him. Jay looks...great in his converted summer sceneness of light skinny jeans and an orange stripped V-neck. And of course, the ever necessary penis hat. It's the way his Manchester Orchestra ink peeks out of his short sleeves that makes me think to write, or breathe. I want to remember every detail of every day with these boys just so when I'm old I can come back and visit whenever I like. Or so someone else can read what it was like.
Venue: Higbie Center. Home of the awkward memories.
I have been here before. Tweet: At somewhere I've been before with people I like much better. Sweet Hollow Drive I don't mind so much, it's certain members that urk me. But as I've been noticing more and more, my past is much overshadowed by my present and before I have to face the ex band boy Rob24 sweeps me away in some ridiculous and victorious laughter and I am brought back to the safety of the Valet Parking-Score 24-Patent Pending-Anthony Pasini circle. Jerry dumps cheerios all over his head but it's the fact that he ate them and we don't know where Rob found them or how long they'd been there that worries me. The most interesting part about this venue is that there's no cursing allowed. It's a school? Idk. But the bands are always asked to mind their language. So obviously, Jerry uses "fuck" in all it's derivatives and Ryan and Rob favor the sexual frequency words like "whore" and "slutty mo' fo''"
Ryan gets me inside by sneaking me through the side door and mission impossible covering me as I slip out the stage door and into the assorted public of the auditorium. At the merch table Andre cuts up his Laffy Taffy wrapper and tapes it around my wrist so at first glance I seem to have the pink bracelet that everyone else paid for. Joey and Trey in Color show up with their new under-management haircuts and I honestly get bummed seeing the severed locks. I miss Joey's long cuteness when it was him making up his own style, but I hug him tight because it's been a week or so and that's too long in our scene. What will I do without these boys when they all go out on the road? Andre kisses his finger then smacks me in the forehead with it, Paul considers taking my hand for a slow dance, and Pasini literally picks me up and shakes me in a hug when I pout over Royal Assassin's breakup announcement. What will I do without them? Ha, I'll worry about that after I figure out what to do WITH them first!
Valet Parking- my first set.
I know only one song by lyric but it makes me happy. I like the way Jerry kills on the microphone like they're playing a sold out arena. I like the big dreams feel. I don't like the non-sceneness of some of the member's appearances, but I only write that because I've been conditioned to think something off about Valet Parking. I see Chris drop a stick and roll his eyes at himself. I mentally tell him that nobody saw. I like summer boys who jump around onstage because they love where they are. They make me love where I am. They make later not matter. I enjoy the excessive vox, it's sweeping and...here's my song! I'm not gonna lie- all I can really think of when I look at them is Taco Bell. But luckily it's not gordita crunches I want more of...it's Valet Parking.
Sweet Hollow Drive.
Nate says he never hears me talk bad about any band save for one certain Queens hailing sticker that I like to cover up or peel off of merch bins and telephone poles. Well you're about to hear of number 2. Not only are they becoming notorious for being dicks offstage, but news flash, you sound like a cluttered mess. Clean up your act. I wrote fiercely in the Book of how as soon as they got offstage their guitarist was going to hear from me. But thinking WWtcD, I decided it wouldn't be worth it and sat down behind Score's merch. Yet as I continued to observe my surroundings, I watched that guitarist ignore fans. Honestly, who makes a little girl asking for the third time if you could sign her poster wait? I watch him harshly say to her, "Can't you wait like 2 minutes?!" and then walk right past her 10 minutes later. I see everything. You guys know that. Don't be a prick in front of me and expect not to read about it. I guess the rule goes; Mess with me- fine. Mess with them- we've got things to talk about. The guitarist tried to come up and hug me but with one stiff arm and an attitude laden "no thank you" from me, we launched into a screaming fight. I apologize to Andre, who felt the awkwardness and excused himself from behind the table and to the Valet Parking merch table that got a full view of the show. I don't apologize to the Sweet Hollow Drive table that got together and decided to give me dirty looks for the rest of the night.
The rest of the night was fun, however, despite any amount of worked up attitude I had inside of me. I made notes about how Tom carries his hair brush around with him everywhere, how it sat on his amp during the set and everything. And about Rob's antics as a frontman. Rob 1, Ricky 0...he IS a dancer. I talked about how Joey sang and how the Foxes are as brothers after the storm. I rode home in the van next to Andre, who put his arm around me while we laughed at our own inside jokes. "Blow me....but not really." And we ended the adventure at Rob's house, because it was his birthday after all, with Andre eating too much cake and Score playing hot potato with the yellow vibrator Ryan and Paul got Rob as a Happy 20th. Did I mention how ridiculous they are?
...Ricky.
"What Happen In ___ Stays In ___ " by: The Years Gone By
Two of the best of the best are already IMing her, and her smile separates; they mean different loves to her. She sits, folding her legs and hunching over these keys, chuckling at the passionate little mess of life that is this particular band boy. She thinks, maybe she'll just talk to him all day and not do a thing, but something catches her attention.
A red book just beginning to fray at the bindings is staring at her. The book mark seems to be giving her the come hither finger and she scowls at it; that's a creepy way for a book to asked to be opened. Today she has 2 jobs: get her life ready to move on and post that book. She'll start with the latter.
Friday, May 15, a perfect day to party.
This mixtape is too loud and my hair color is too new. I'm just a scene girl behind the scenes and I smile knowing they have no idea of the things I do to get to them all the time.
I get to Ryan24's house and the first thing he says to me is, "I've checked your blog. You haven't written in a while. Why?" Haha this one goes out to you creep <3. Jaybird, Andrebaby, TomLoaded, Ryan24 and I are waiting for Paul24 to get his slow ass here. We're watching Rob24 throw things into the ceiling fan; balloon, pen, sneaker?? How smart. But seriously, how hilarious! They are the most annoying immature people I know, second only to The Bride Wore Black of course. lol. Whyy the fuck do they talk in that voice??!! I think I'm gonna choke Rob in 2 seconds but I choke on laughter myself first because it's hilarious to hear how funny Jay thinks they are. You know the Jay laugh I'm talking about. Jay laughs when nothing is even that funny, that's why him and Andre are this scene's cutest couple.
About an hour later they finally go downstairs to practice. It's 4pm and they think maybe they have to be in Islip at 5pm. Band boys do everything when they want. If dancers have rehearsal at 3, they gotta get there by at least 2:30 to warm up and get ready. If they have a show at 5, they gotta be in costume and makeup at 4. Band boys in the same situation, apparently, plug in at leisure, run through the new song once with Rob dweebing around on the vocals, then say okay, uhhhh, wanna load the van? They wear their costumes, otherwise known as show outfits, all day. What idiots. New category; bands boys at practice the day of a show trying not to get their show outfits sweaty. Summer in the scene brings up so many precautions and tactics. The vets known what to do; Andre carries his "purse" full of extra white tshirts and socks. Ryan has taken into careful consideration the length and style of his cutoff jeans, and he describes the process he took to arrive at this final look to me in detail. They are soo the perfect length, Ry. I can't figure out why Tom is still wearing a hoodie. "What are you thinking?", I demand to know. They are all whining about how hot it is and how frazzled they are beginning to look a they wheel out amps and lift heads in the van. "Why don't you all put on other shirts until we get there?" I suggest. They all stop. And ponder, taking in this apparently revolutionary concept. "That's not a bad idea" Rob decides. But instead of changing shirts they all just take off the ones they have on leaving me and the neighbors with a bunch of scrawny over exposed geniuses. It's all good though, and you know why? Cuz Score 24 likes to party.
During their 3 minute practice I wrote:
I love when singers shout out their greeting over the ringing cymbal crashes of a killer intro. Ahh I am in love again! Not with someone, but with this. Nobody can touch this; Frank can't slap a pair of pink tights on it and call it classical, Starbucks can't pull it's hair back and call it normal. This just is. And it's perfect. They play one song and are sweaty, and I think it's hush-hush funny that everyone's cases read the names of their past bands or owners. It makes it so that even though this is just Score here, the remains of Stereo Skyline, Caesari, and Set in Color are here too. Tom's phone rings out some super pop song ringtone and everyone goes quiet and stares at him. Then Rob screams, "K Tom's out!" and the carnival continues. I tweet, "Shut up @robscore24!" lol. They start throwing a softball at each other but they warn, "Hey! hey! Come one there's a girl over here!" I never thought I wouldn't mind hearing that, I always toughed up to boys as a kid. It would be these guys that I allow classify me.
We are ready to go and I run back to my car to grab a sweater. Suddenly this is a moment I hope I remember for the remainder of my days. Everything about it. The heat and the way I know my scene hair is reflecting the late afternoon light. I am walking down the middle of the pavement with an iced coffee in hand late, but not needing to go fast, towards a big white van full of boys I adore. I know they are talking about penises or pooping, but I don't think of that now. I just smile through this seasons' shades and acknowledge what a kickass life I lead. Score.
I ride with Jay, who follows the van to the show. He cutely knows to put on happier, more upbeat music when I'm in the car with him. Jay looks...great in his converted summer sceneness of light skinny jeans and an orange stripped V-neck. And of course, the ever necessary penis hat. It's the way his Manchester Orchestra ink peeks out of his short sleeves that makes me think to write, or breathe. I want to remember every detail of every day with these boys just so when I'm old I can come back and visit whenever I like. Or so someone else can read what it was like.
Venue: Higbie Center. Home of the awkward memories.
I have been here before. Tweet: At somewhere I've been before with people I like much better. Sweet Hollow Drive I don't mind so much, it's certain members that urk me. But as I've been noticing more and more, my past is much overshadowed by my present and before I have to face the ex band boy Rob24 sweeps me away in some ridiculous and victorious laughter and I am brought back to the safety of the Valet Parking-Score 24-Patent Pending-Anthony Pasini circle. Jerry dumps cheerios all over his head but it's the fact that he ate them and we don't know where Rob found them or how long they'd been there that worries me. The most interesting part about this venue is that there's no cursing allowed. It's a school? Idk. But the bands are always asked to mind their language. So obviously, Jerry uses "fuck" in all it's derivatives and Ryan and Rob favor the sexual frequency words like "whore" and "slutty mo' fo''"
Ryan gets me inside by sneaking me through the side door and mission impossible covering me as I slip out the stage door and into the assorted public of the auditorium. At the merch table Andre cuts up his Laffy Taffy wrapper and tapes it around my wrist so at first glance I seem to have the pink bracelet that everyone else paid for. Joey and Trey in Color show up with their new under-management haircuts and I honestly get bummed seeing the severed locks. I miss Joey's long cuteness when it was him making up his own style, but I hug him tight because it's been a week or so and that's too long in our scene. What will I do without these boys when they all go out on the road? Andre kisses his finger then smacks me in the forehead with it, Paul considers taking my hand for a slow dance, and Pasini literally picks me up and shakes me in a hug when I pout over Royal Assassin's breakup announcement. What will I do without them? Ha, I'll worry about that after I figure out what to do WITH them first!
Valet Parking- my first set.
I know only one song by lyric but it makes me happy. I like the way Jerry kills on the microphone like they're playing a sold out arena. I like the big dreams feel. I don't like the non-sceneness of some of the member's appearances, but I only write that because I've been conditioned to think something off about Valet Parking. I see Chris drop a stick and roll his eyes at himself. I mentally tell him that nobody saw. I like summer boys who jump around onstage because they love where they are. They make me love where I am. They make later not matter. I enjoy the excessive vox, it's sweeping and...here's my song! I'm not gonna lie- all I can really think of when I look at them is Taco Bell. But luckily it's not gordita crunches I want more of...it's Valet Parking.
Sweet Hollow Drive.
Nate says he never hears me talk bad about any band save for one certain Queens hailing sticker that I like to cover up or peel off of merch bins and telephone poles. Well you're about to hear of number 2. Not only are they becoming notorious for being dicks offstage, but news flash, you sound like a cluttered mess. Clean up your act. I wrote fiercely in the Book of how as soon as they got offstage their guitarist was going to hear from me. But thinking WWtcD, I decided it wouldn't be worth it and sat down behind Score's merch. Yet as I continued to observe my surroundings, I watched that guitarist ignore fans. Honestly, who makes a little girl asking for the third time if you could sign her poster wait? I watch him harshly say to her, "Can't you wait like 2 minutes?!" and then walk right past her 10 minutes later. I see everything. You guys know that. Don't be a prick in front of me and expect not to read about it. I guess the rule goes; Mess with me- fine. Mess with them- we've got things to talk about. The guitarist tried to come up and hug me but with one stiff arm and an attitude laden "no thank you" from me, we launched into a screaming fight. I apologize to Andre, who felt the awkwardness and excused himself from behind the table and to the Valet Parking merch table that got a full view of the show. I don't apologize to the Sweet Hollow Drive table that got together and decided to give me dirty looks for the rest of the night.
The rest of the night was fun, however, despite any amount of worked up attitude I had inside of me. I made notes about how Tom carries his hair brush around with him everywhere, how it sat on his amp during the set and everything. And about Rob's antics as a frontman. Rob 1, Ricky 0...he IS a dancer. I talked about how Joey sang and how the Foxes are as brothers after the storm. I rode home in the van next to Andre, who put his arm around me while we laughed at our own inside jokes. "Blow me....but not really." And we ended the adventure at Rob's house, because it was his birthday after all, with Andre eating too much cake and Score playing hot potato with the yellow vibrator Ryan and Paul got Rob as a Happy 20th. Did I mention how ridiculous they are?
...Ricky.
"What Happen In ___ Stays In ___ " by: The Years Gone By
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Normale.
They say after a while a workaholic becomes their job. Well I have become the secret. Of course it is taboo to say much more because, after all, it is a secret. Another one. But in a time where there is so much going on in my head and heart that I don't wanna write at all, you guys keep inviting me places that beg for documentation. I think you're doing it on purpose. Thus, I have 17 pages from the past 48 hours alone, 8 of which I let Mike Condition read on the car ride home tonight. That makes 2 Conditions and zero regular people that I've ever let read The Book. And while my mind is of little use to me tonight (especially after those last texts and songs), I wanted to tide us over with:
11 things I Love:
1. The blue star sticker on the Listerine bottle Andre stole from work to cure my gingivitis.
2. The fact that you guys tell me when you've "caught up on" reading my blogs, and then ask me to text you when there's a new one up.
3. That certain band boys took it upon themselves to decide they should autograph the inside cover of The Book, and that the rest have you have followed.
4. That Devin gets excited when I @reply him. lol. really.
5. That one year later I have upgraded to living in a house, rather than in my car.
6. That Mike and Andre love those 6 songs as much as I do.
7. That Jay knows when I'm sad it just means I'm tired and he tells me to go to bed lol.
8. "You greedy Americans, you think you're so entitled." "A lot of us feel really bad about that."
9. That no matter what happens, there's a song for that.
10. 11:11, 8:08, and 1:43
11. That he loves me anyway.
...Ricky.
"Island" by: Starting Line
11 things I Love:
1. The blue star sticker on the Listerine bottle Andre stole from work to cure my gingivitis.
2. The fact that you guys tell me when you've "caught up on" reading my blogs, and then ask me to text you when there's a new one up.
3. That certain band boys took it upon themselves to decide they should autograph the inside cover of The Book, and that the rest have you have followed.
4. That Devin gets excited when I @reply him. lol. really.
5. That one year later I have upgraded to living in a house, rather than in my car.
6. That Mike and Andre love those 6 songs as much as I do.
7. That Jay knows when I'm sad it just means I'm tired and he tells me to go to bed lol.
8. "You greedy Americans, you think you're so entitled." "A lot of us feel really bad about that."
9. That no matter what happens, there's a song for that.
10. 11:11, 8:08, and 1:43
11. That he loves me anyway.
...Ricky.
"Island" by: Starting Line
Sunday, May 10, 2009
From Yesterday...
I've been looking for words for Devin, trying to let come to me any little bit of something to breathe the sadness of his situation. Even as I write this I'm unsure of what I'm going to say or how I can put it, but Nate seems to believe that I will find a way. So I will.
3 hours and 4 pages of zero-ness later:
I'm looking for words for Devin, because I can't stop thinking about him today. About how today is Mother's Day and how I would do anything to take some of the hurt from him. I called my own mother and started to cry over her story about a BBQ at my Gramma's. When she asked why the tears, I sobbed about the guilt of unfairness I felt being able to talk to my mom when he couldn't. Then she did as mother's do and had a way of putting things a way I would understand. She put it into Erica language. And then I got to thinking...
Things that mothers do, things they say, the way they took care of us before we can even remember...those things stay with us.They set a backbone so we can go off and riff and solo where ever and whenever we want to. So in a way, mothers are like the drums of our songs, keeping a rhythm that holds you in place even in times like these. And drums, they are the heartbeats in the song; keeping the time an organism with so many intricate parts. So if mothers are drums, and drums are heartbeats, then mothers are definitely in heartbeats. And we can conveniently take those where ever we go.
One day and only this draft later...
I was looking for words for Devin and this is all I could find. They don't make clear sense to me, so they probably won't make clear sense to anyone else. But I asked for words, and words these are. Next time I should ask for complete sentences.
...Ricky.
3 hours and 4 pages of zero-ness later:
I'm looking for words for Devin, because I can't stop thinking about him today. About how today is Mother's Day and how I would do anything to take some of the hurt from him. I called my own mother and started to cry over her story about a BBQ at my Gramma's. When she asked why the tears, I sobbed about the guilt of unfairness I felt being able to talk to my mom when he couldn't. Then she did as mother's do and had a way of putting things a way I would understand. She put it into Erica language. And then I got to thinking...
Things that mothers do, things they say, the way they took care of us before we can even remember...those things stay with us.They set a backbone so we can go off and riff and solo where ever and whenever we want to. So in a way, mothers are like the drums of our songs, keeping a rhythm that holds you in place even in times like these. And drums, they are the heartbeats in the song; keeping the time an organism with so many intricate parts. So if mothers are drums, and drums are heartbeats, then mothers are definitely in heartbeats. And we can conveniently take those where ever we go.
One day and only this draft later...
I was looking for words for Devin and this is all I could find. They don't make clear sense to me, so they probably won't make clear sense to anyone else. But I asked for words, and words these are. Next time I should ask for complete sentences.
...Ricky.
Friday, May 8, 2009
I kept it here incase I'd run into you.
When life gives you lemons, you don't always have to make lemonade. You can make martgueritas if you want.
Sometimes. Hm. Sometimes the wrong things happen for the right reasons. I have been through so many emotions already this morning and I've only been awake for an hour. I woke up pissed, bc that oh so familiar "Dakota" alarm tone blared just as he was going to kiss me. And then I was reflective, of the days leading up to this one. It was the thought of this work that actually got my ass outta bed. I was nervous in the shower, not because I have to play the ukulele in front of an unsuspecting audience in a few hours, but bc I am assured by my clumsy record that I would slip and break my pancreas in the shower. Then I was happy, with fan mail from my baby cousins on my desk, freshly colored kittens and princesses to hang on my wall. And then I was humbled. Maybe even regretful, getting a facebook message that made me wish I could say something to make it better. I often feel like I have all these words and can't say the right thing to a friend in pain. I'm looking for the right ones.
Today is the infamous Student Choreography Workshop and after that, the curious Say It Was Love... at 7pm. You should come, I hear the artist director is real cute.
...Ricky.
"Fear of Flying" A Rocket to the Moon
Sometimes. Hm. Sometimes the wrong things happen for the right reasons. I have been through so many emotions already this morning and I've only been awake for an hour. I woke up pissed, bc that oh so familiar "Dakota" alarm tone blared just as he was going to kiss me. And then I was reflective, of the days leading up to this one. It was the thought of this work that actually got my ass outta bed. I was nervous in the shower, not because I have to play the ukulele in front of an unsuspecting audience in a few hours, but bc I am assured by my clumsy record that I would slip and break my pancreas in the shower. Then I was happy, with fan mail from my baby cousins on my desk, freshly colored kittens and princesses to hang on my wall. And then I was humbled. Maybe even regretful, getting a facebook message that made me wish I could say something to make it better. I often feel like I have all these words and can't say the right thing to a friend in pain. I'm looking for the right ones.
Today is the infamous Student Choreography Workshop and after that, the curious Say It Was Love... at 7pm. You should come, I hear the artist director is real cute.
...Ricky.
"Fear of Flying" A Rocket to the Moon
Monday, May 4, 2009
We'll say it was love...
The dancers have commandeered the light.
But in a world that just keeps getting darker and darker, where do we even find a glimmer to steal? As a department we have seen many rough times; when we learned classical techniques in an unventilated attic for hours everyday, when we had to perform in the gym and got kicked out bc boys lacrosse wanted to stretch. We stuck together when they denied our right to perform on the main stage as equals to the acting and music departments, and through having to bypass the American College Dance Festival because of a lack of support from our own teachers. Yet through all this, all our fighting has been respectable. We have petitioned, set up meetings, and taken collective deep breaths when our fighting failed and we once again had to bite the bullet and take what we were handed. We wondered when enough was going to be enough.
This is enough.
When I came to Adelphi, the biannual Student Choreography Workshop was but a required final for no more than 6 students in dance composition classes. Since then the Workshop has grown into this amazing chance for us to show what we feel, finally say what we want to in whatever way we chose. Last semester there were close to 20 original pieces in the Workshop and while it was admittedly lengthy, to see so many young artists putting themselves out there was incredible. It is what I am most proud of in any legacy my class is leaving here. Today were the auditions for this spring's Student Choreography Workshop. While previously a formality and part of the learning process, we were informed this semester that they would be taken more seriously.
The "backstage" room during the auditions made me sick to my stomach. All my friends running around, beyond frazzled, making themselves ill worrying about how 3 smug superiors would react to their raw pieces. I looked around and saw people running phrases I'd seen them dance perfectly in rehearsal, I saw them forget easy steps and get upset at themselves. I saw choreographers not knowing what to say to calm down their psyched out dancers. And when it was my turn to go into to dreaded audition studio, I saw a couple of men who'd judged me before the music even came on. And while I giggled and fell in love with phrases of my pieces all over again, they sat there silent, expressionless, and checked me off a list.
A few hours later my phone was bombarded with unanswerable text messages. "Look at the list." "How can they do that to us?" "Help me understand." I nervously made my way to the dance office, abandoned by 3 in the afternoon, and sought out this list of who'd passed the morning's audition. I literally spent a good 30 seconds searching for the other half of this list. Less than a half of sheet of paper, the list shunned so many choreographers who had had something to tell an audience. The piece dearest to me was included in those rejected. I thought of all the nights we stayed in the studios till closing time just to run it one more time through. I saw all my dancers sweaty and sore, hungry but hopeful that these hours would be rewarding in the end. I thought of all the voices that had something to say and that were being told they were not good enough to speak out. And I felt adrenaline searing through my bloodstream with knowing intent of what I had to do.
In the calm before a rebellion, take your final deep breath.
We are having our own show. "Say It Was Love..." will be Friday, May 8th at 7pm in the PAC as an informal, chill get together of whoever has something to show. Think open mic night. Any pieces that were turned away from the department workshop are welcome, as are those that made it and wish to show again. Old pieces from workshops may visit as old friends would, as may classic diva impersonations and infamous air bands. Any audience members may pull up a chair and an acoustic guitar and tell us what they have to say. As an artist I prefer to see misfortunes as opportunities, and in response to this situation I'd like to invite anyone and everyone to join us in our humbled setting and enjoy the expressions of a handful of emerging voices.
"She said let's change our luck
This night is all we've got
Drive fast until we crash
This dead end life
Sweet dreams that won't come true
I'd leave it all for you
Brick walls are closing in
Let's make a run tonight.
Cuz if you jump, I will jump too
We will fall together
From the building's ledge
Never looking back at what we've done
We'll say it was love
Cause I would die for you
On Skyway Avenue"
...Ricky.
"Skyway Avenue" by: We The Kings
But in a world that just keeps getting darker and darker, where do we even find a glimmer to steal? As a department we have seen many rough times; when we learned classical techniques in an unventilated attic for hours everyday, when we had to perform in the gym and got kicked out bc boys lacrosse wanted to stretch. We stuck together when they denied our right to perform on the main stage as equals to the acting and music departments, and through having to bypass the American College Dance Festival because of a lack of support from our own teachers. Yet through all this, all our fighting has been respectable. We have petitioned, set up meetings, and taken collective deep breaths when our fighting failed and we once again had to bite the bullet and take what we were handed. We wondered when enough was going to be enough.
This is enough.
When I came to Adelphi, the biannual Student Choreography Workshop was but a required final for no more than 6 students in dance composition classes. Since then the Workshop has grown into this amazing chance for us to show what we feel, finally say what we want to in whatever way we chose. Last semester there were close to 20 original pieces in the Workshop and while it was admittedly lengthy, to see so many young artists putting themselves out there was incredible. It is what I am most proud of in any legacy my class is leaving here. Today were the auditions for this spring's Student Choreography Workshop. While previously a formality and part of the learning process, we were informed this semester that they would be taken more seriously.
The "backstage" room during the auditions made me sick to my stomach. All my friends running around, beyond frazzled, making themselves ill worrying about how 3 smug superiors would react to their raw pieces. I looked around and saw people running phrases I'd seen them dance perfectly in rehearsal, I saw them forget easy steps and get upset at themselves. I saw choreographers not knowing what to say to calm down their psyched out dancers. And when it was my turn to go into to dreaded audition studio, I saw a couple of men who'd judged me before the music even came on. And while I giggled and fell in love with phrases of my pieces all over again, they sat there silent, expressionless, and checked me off a list.
A few hours later my phone was bombarded with unanswerable text messages. "Look at the list." "How can they do that to us?" "Help me understand." I nervously made my way to the dance office, abandoned by 3 in the afternoon, and sought out this list of who'd passed the morning's audition. I literally spent a good 30 seconds searching for the other half of this list. Less than a half of sheet of paper, the list shunned so many choreographers who had had something to tell an audience. The piece dearest to me was included in those rejected. I thought of all the nights we stayed in the studios till closing time just to run it one more time through. I saw all my dancers sweaty and sore, hungry but hopeful that these hours would be rewarding in the end. I thought of all the voices that had something to say and that were being told they were not good enough to speak out. And I felt adrenaline searing through my bloodstream with knowing intent of what I had to do.
In the calm before a rebellion, take your final deep breath.
We are having our own show. "Say It Was Love..." will be Friday, May 8th at 7pm in the PAC as an informal, chill get together of whoever has something to show. Think open mic night. Any pieces that were turned away from the department workshop are welcome, as are those that made it and wish to show again. Old pieces from workshops may visit as old friends would, as may classic diva impersonations and infamous air bands. Any audience members may pull up a chair and an acoustic guitar and tell us what they have to say. As an artist I prefer to see misfortunes as opportunities, and in response to this situation I'd like to invite anyone and everyone to join us in our humbled setting and enjoy the expressions of a handful of emerging voices.
"She said let's change our luck
This night is all we've got
Drive fast until we crash
This dead end life
Sweet dreams that won't come true
I'd leave it all for you
Brick walls are closing in
Let's make a run tonight.
Cuz if you jump, I will jump too
We will fall together
From the building's ledge
Never looking back at what we've done
We'll say it was love
Cause I would die for you
On Skyway Avenue"
...Ricky.
"Skyway Avenue" by: We The Kings
Friday, May 1, 2009
But girl it wasn't a joke when you kissed me in your room and replied "I love you too."
Relationships...are a real funny thing. I look at my friend, one of my best friends, who naps quietly, finally peaceful after so much strain these past few months. I know most of her story should be kept to myself, because she is not to be made example of. But I see her with this ragged stuffed...I'm actually not sure what type of animal it was at one time, but I know that she's had it her whole life. She has her now grown up arms wrapped around this tiny little piece of something, and I know it has a huge part in why she's finally at ease. And I know exactly what it is in a time like this, it's a tiny little piece of hope.
A band boy, who will remain anonymous, showed me his ragged stuffed something recently. It was this that actually won me over, because a boy who sends a picture message of the stuffed rabbit he's had since birth is either really cute, or just really smart. In this case it's both. I cannot disclose the bunny's name, for this cannot be traced back to the publicly smug skinny wearing scene kid. I will say though, that relationships...are a real silly thing.
I know a boy whose girlfriend gave him a stuffed animal to remind him of their relationship when they had to be apart. That animal has never sat a day on his bed once. I don't think I'd ever give a boy a stuffed animal. I feel like that's just asking to get made fun of behind your back. I have 10 boy cousins and 1 brother and I think two of them take care of the stuffed animals their chicks have given them. Mostly they can't remember which chick gave them which one. So I would never give a boy a stuffed animal. No.
I like getting stuffed animals from boys, though. I have a collection, and I'm not sure if it's a collection of shame or just a visual documentation of past failed relationships. What funny things they are. I have one teddy wearing a Brown University t-shirt from the frontman turned rugby sell out. I will always hate that school. I have a little Spiderman from a touring bassist turned secret keeper. It'll probably stay behind the television where I threw it when I found out until the day I move out. I have one adorable Fancy Pants from the only boy I will probably never try to date, sadly lol. Fancy Pants is a rabbit dog with no neck and stuffing popping out. The boy who freed him from the claw game for me on our anniversary tied a heart around his neck and promises to stitch him up soon. Fancy Pants is somewhere in my bed every night and I cuddle with him pretty much every nap time. I would say my relationship with Fancy Pants is the best one I've had in years.
It's the relationships I wish I could hold onto that I don't have a little piece of hope for. That dirty upstate boy that I love so much, I have 2 of his t-shirts, one hoodie, and a letter he sent to me when I went back to college. I'd like to give those shirts back, if not just to see him one more time. But when I left he told me to keep what I wanted, to not try to find him. I love these stolen clothes because I've been asked not to love him anymore.
Relationships are not made of stuffing. They can't really be sewn up at the seams and they aren't always there to cuddle you to sleep. Last night Christofer Drew decidedly announced that relationships were awesome. At the time I was disappointed in him for saying so, but one night later I can't help but wonder if I should believe him or not. I believe in his songs, why not the mentalities behind them? And I believe in love, why not the bonds it creates? I have a relationship with the choices I've made and the person I've chosen to become. It will only be these things, Fancy Pants, and one Christofer Drew song with me in bed tonight.
...Ricky.
"Your Biggest Fan" by: Nevershoutnever!
A band boy, who will remain anonymous, showed me his ragged stuffed something recently. It was this that actually won me over, because a boy who sends a picture message of the stuffed rabbit he's had since birth is either really cute, or just really smart. In this case it's both. I cannot disclose the bunny's name, for this cannot be traced back to the publicly smug skinny wearing scene kid. I will say though, that relationships...are a real silly thing.
I know a boy whose girlfriend gave him a stuffed animal to remind him of their relationship when they had to be apart. That animal has never sat a day on his bed once. I don't think I'd ever give a boy a stuffed animal. I feel like that's just asking to get made fun of behind your back. I have 10 boy cousins and 1 brother and I think two of them take care of the stuffed animals their chicks have given them. Mostly they can't remember which chick gave them which one. So I would never give a boy a stuffed animal. No.
I like getting stuffed animals from boys, though. I have a collection, and I'm not sure if it's a collection of shame or just a visual documentation of past failed relationships. What funny things they are. I have one teddy wearing a Brown University t-shirt from the frontman turned rugby sell out. I will always hate that school. I have a little Spiderman from a touring bassist turned secret keeper. It'll probably stay behind the television where I threw it when I found out until the day I move out. I have one adorable Fancy Pants from the only boy I will probably never try to date, sadly lol. Fancy Pants is a rabbit dog with no neck and stuffing popping out. The boy who freed him from the claw game for me on our anniversary tied a heart around his neck and promises to stitch him up soon. Fancy Pants is somewhere in my bed every night and I cuddle with him pretty much every nap time. I would say my relationship with Fancy Pants is the best one I've had in years.
It's the relationships I wish I could hold onto that I don't have a little piece of hope for. That dirty upstate boy that I love so much, I have 2 of his t-shirts, one hoodie, and a letter he sent to me when I went back to college. I'd like to give those shirts back, if not just to see him one more time. But when I left he told me to keep what I wanted, to not try to find him. I love these stolen clothes because I've been asked not to love him anymore.
Relationships are not made of stuffing. They can't really be sewn up at the seams and they aren't always there to cuddle you to sleep. Last night Christofer Drew decidedly announced that relationships were awesome. At the time I was disappointed in him for saying so, but one night later I can't help but wonder if I should believe him or not. I believe in his songs, why not the mentalities behind them? And I believe in love, why not the bonds it creates? I have a relationship with the choices I've made and the person I've chosen to become. It will only be these things, Fancy Pants, and one Christofer Drew song with me in bed tonight.
...Ricky.
"Your Biggest Fan" by: Nevershoutnever!
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