I'm not sure when or if I'll share this blog with others again. Definitely will tell my best friends, close family, and that kid I really, really like, Duffy. But who knows. For now I will enjoy this privacy, this secrecy that I have created.
Of course, I've shared this blog with potential employers, so they may be taking a peek every now and again, but I'm not sure they will go very deep. It's likely I lost them at the first sentence, maybe even the title, possibly the link to a blog stupidly named "JustPaigenThru." But oh well.
Why am I doing this now? Why have I revived this blog and not told a single soul? Was it just to go on a couple more feminist rant and one giant retelling of a mere 36 hours of my life? No. I started writing on here again because I had a realization: I don't have to share the blog posts on social media. I don't have to tell people that I'm writing and publishing a single thing. That was always what caught me up, because I was afraid of people judging me and thinking I'm incorrect in my opinion and very, very stupid. But, no one regularly checks the blog, and I wasn't actually obliged to share my blog on Facebook.
Maybe before I tell anyone someone will stumble upon the blog, and ask me why I hadn't shared, but I hope they don't. I'd like to tell people just as I'm telling you: as if it was a secret.
One time when I was typing Duffy asked what I was doing. We were at Quills and my laptop wasn't facing him, as I had been engrossed in another rewatching of CATS (I'm sorry guys, it's just been a big part of my life this month), so I just smiled. He took the smile to mean I'd restarted the movie and was watching it again, but really I was typing up my final post about seeing the show. I considered telling him, but I thought it'd be best to get some non-CATS content out before doing that.
The best thing about not telling people is I can say any thought that comes to my head, and not worry someone will judge it. I wrote about abortion without thinking about what my sweet Mother would think. I wrote four extensive posts about a Broadway show, and explored telling partially my own story of being a woman in American within certain groups. But, I can also say things like I feel personally attacked when my music on shuffle plays Christmas music.
I love Christmas music, and I save listening to it until Thanksgiving morning when i turn on 106.9Play, Louisville's Christmas music station. This year I was fed up with new music that wasn't from my childhood, so I made my own playlist. Then, when the season ended I didn't want to have to go through the hassle of re-collecting all that music, so I left the playlist on my phone. Of course, this means it's still in my library, which means it has every right to pop up when my songs are on shuffle. But goddammit if I didn't think the device would be smart enough to know that's not what I want to listen to! Not only am I offended, but I'm disappointed when multiple Christmas songs play in a row. I thought my smart phone could do anything these days!
See? I just shared a relatively stupid shot, and suffer no fear that someone will notice or say something. So, there you have it folks. I'm writing now, because it's somewhat private, and I am enjoying sharing my thoughts without fear. It's like a diary, but future employers might see it. Well, I hope they like it. And, I hope when/if I do re-share this blog it will be like in Night at the Museum when Larry basically re-invents the museum and everyone has a renewed love for the museum. So, like, ideally, I will get all these views on my posts and everyone will be reading and commenting really positively like, "Wow, mom! I didn't know that statues could be this fun and that I'd learn so much!" And, "I know honey. I used to love this place when I was a kid... Oh look cavemen!" But like, with my blog and my words.
That'd be cool.
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Sunday, January 28, 2018
If You Gather A Group of Women
Here is something I've noticed in the groups I've been a part of: We all have our stories.
Now, this can mean when you gather a group of Assumption High School alums together they all have memories of favorite teachers, classes, and lunches, or complaints of the uniform rules, or anything similar. Stories can always be great, but sometimes stories aren't sweet memories that one has grown fond of. Sometimes they're realities that should be addressed and demolished. Allow me to give some examples of these stories.
If you gather a group of female dancers together they each have stories of facing body issues. Times when they looked in the mirror and hated the shape of their body. Days when their butts were too big, stomach too bloated, calves too small, thighs too big. Others, fall to eating disorders. Some dancers have stories of other people noticing and commenting on their weight, whether it was a fellow dancer, or even a teacher. Some handle these in healthy manners: improved diet, targeted exercises. But we each have these stories, because they are held to high standards as not only dancers, but as women. Especially as young women, budding trends who have found an interest in boys or girls, and have been bombarded with messages from pop culture and the media of what the perfect body should be. Inside and outside the dance studio these women are aware of their bodies, what they're doing, and what they look like.
It doesn't stop there. When you gather a group of poets and writers-- some of the most creative minds-- and ask them one thing they'd like to change about themselves they will all go around the room and mention a body part. Each will give an answer similar to "flatter stomach," "well-defined arms," or "Carrie Underwood legs." None will think of maybe adding something, like the ability to read minds, or fairy wings. None will think about changing their attitudes, or how fast they can run. They'd just like to look more like the models on magazine covers.
Now, internal struggles are not the only thing women talk about. The first time I realized groups of women had their stories was when I was at my retail job.
If you gather a group of retail working women they will all have their stories of feeling uncomfortable with a male customer. Sometimes it's because they flirt, ask for your number so many times you have to call a manager over to get him to leave, or just don't like they way he stands so close or makes eye contact across the aisle. Other times it's because he's reached for your breast, or visits far too often, waiting to bump into you and not allowing any other worker to help him. The work environment is very safe, as managers are prepared to do what it takes to get the person off your back, and will always listen if you have a problem, and these situations can be few and far between. But, still, we all somehow collect these stories that are either just a case of being uncomfortable, or a situation that is far worse. Because, sometimes being friendly for your job comes across as invitations to ask you out, or even prompt a "If you and your boyfriend weren't dating I'd ask you out in a heartbeat." It may be cute in the movies, but those are scripted, and romanticized. And, we are rarely vibing off of that, just trying to get you to buy our product, and not complain to the manager that we had been rude. But, those are a whole other type of story that us women have.
If you gather a group of women together, and certain topics come up, they all have their stories. Listen. And hope that one day the numbers dwindle.
Now, this can mean when you gather a group of Assumption High School alums together they all have memories of favorite teachers, classes, and lunches, or complaints of the uniform rules, or anything similar. Stories can always be great, but sometimes stories aren't sweet memories that one has grown fond of. Sometimes they're realities that should be addressed and demolished. Allow me to give some examples of these stories.
If you gather a group of female dancers together they each have stories of facing body issues. Times when they looked in the mirror and hated the shape of their body. Days when their butts were too big, stomach too bloated, calves too small, thighs too big. Others, fall to eating disorders. Some dancers have stories of other people noticing and commenting on their weight, whether it was a fellow dancer, or even a teacher. Some handle these in healthy manners: improved diet, targeted exercises. But we each have these stories, because they are held to high standards as not only dancers, but as women. Especially as young women, budding trends who have found an interest in boys or girls, and have been bombarded with messages from pop culture and the media of what the perfect body should be. Inside and outside the dance studio these women are aware of their bodies, what they're doing, and what they look like.
It doesn't stop there. When you gather a group of poets and writers-- some of the most creative minds-- and ask them one thing they'd like to change about themselves they will all go around the room and mention a body part. Each will give an answer similar to "flatter stomach," "well-defined arms," or "Carrie Underwood legs." None will think of maybe adding something, like the ability to read minds, or fairy wings. None will think about changing their attitudes, or how fast they can run. They'd just like to look more like the models on magazine covers.
Now, internal struggles are not the only thing women talk about. The first time I realized groups of women had their stories was when I was at my retail job.
If you gather a group of retail working women they will all have their stories of feeling uncomfortable with a male customer. Sometimes it's because they flirt, ask for your number so many times you have to call a manager over to get him to leave, or just don't like they way he stands so close or makes eye contact across the aisle. Other times it's because he's reached for your breast, or visits far too often, waiting to bump into you and not allowing any other worker to help him. The work environment is very safe, as managers are prepared to do what it takes to get the person off your back, and will always listen if you have a problem, and these situations can be few and far between. But, still, we all somehow collect these stories that are either just a case of being uncomfortable, or a situation that is far worse. Because, sometimes being friendly for your job comes across as invitations to ask you out, or even prompt a "If you and your boyfriend weren't dating I'd ask you out in a heartbeat." It may be cute in the movies, but those are scripted, and romanticized. And, we are rarely vibing off of that, just trying to get you to buy our product, and not complain to the manager that we had been rude. But, those are a whole other type of story that us women have.
If you gather a group of women together, and certain topics come up, they all have their stories. Listen. And hope that one day the numbers dwindle.
Saturday, January 27, 2018
New York Trip: Let the Memory Live Again
When the show ended we stood to applaud the amazing cast. It's hard to forget the flawless grande jete Victoria did as her bow, and the way one of the acrobatic cats did flips across the stage, perfectly timing a suspended high note with a backflip, placing him in suspense with the note. I turned to her and declared, "I'm coming back for the next show." For some odd reason, she was surprised and I was very serious. Tickets were cheaper than the matinee, there was an aisle seat open, and it meant I got to seize every chance I had to see CATS. Part of me wishes I'd entered the lottery for it the night we arrived, but it's okay because Mom and I explored a small portion of the city.
She had to go to the bathroom, and I wanted merch, so we headed to the basement. She told me to think very seriously about this. I didn't, because I'd already made up my mind. I purchased a poster because it says "Now and Forever" on the top, and a program so I could have some pictures of the cast. When she came out of the bathroom I told her I still wanted to return, even if I was alone. She, however, didn't want either of us walking alone on these streets in the dark, so she was coming along. We headed up to the box office, where we could avoid the expensive processing fee of buying tickets online.
The man at the box office recognized us and asked, "Did you all just see the show?"
I couldn't make eye contact as I told him, "Yes. And it was amazing, and I sobbed. This was the closest I could get to fulfilling a childhood dream."
Mom pulled out her card, but I slipped mine to him faster. I had wanted to use the visa gift card my sisters had given me, but he couldn't split the payment, and the gift card would only cover part of one ticket. This was the most, "TAKE MY MONEY" moment I've ever experienced.
Again Mom and I were faced with trying to find somewhere to eat dinner. While in line we'd spotted a cuban restaurant, and decided to check it out. I imagined they'd turn us away, the proximity to the theater should've booked it full constantly. At least, that's how it works in downtown Louisville. If there's a show and you want to eat within a block radius at a nice restaurant, then good luck to ya. But, they seated us immediately, and the tables only started to fill after we'd ordered.
Mom ordered wine, I held back. I ordered a simple (as simple as it got) salad, trying to be easy on my stomach. My heart was still racing from the show, my ears rung from the music, and I couldn't stop thinking about how we were going back. I'd been quiet most of the trip, as Mom does most of the talking, and I enjoy listening to her, while sometimes simultaneously daydreaming. It's comforting to be with my Mom because of this ease of conversation. But, she did get slightly annoyed when I kept picking my phone up, typing away and ignoring her. I was trying to cultivate the perfect message for the CATS instagram page, in hopes that they'd give me special treatment. I was banking on the man who sold us tickets to tell the cast a young girl and her Mom had purchased tickets to see the show back to back and to look out for her seat. But I was hoping for access to stay after the final bow, as some family members and famous people get to do so they can hang out on the stage with cast members.
I didn't get this, though I hoped. I mentioned a ritual assignment I had in a previous post. I had also dreamed, oh so slightly, of asking to go backstage to witness any pre-performance rituals. I do love hanging out backstage. It has such a mysticism to it when you're young, as it's where melodramatic actresses apply lipstick in mirrors surrounded by light bulbs. It's where no one but actors are allowed, as it's their sacred space, and you, the lay person, may not enter. And, it's always full of a mix of energy and zen. Performers hype each other up, and let off steam before going on stage. There are people who prefer quiet, and get in the zone before taking on their roles. It's a truly magical place, and I miss it dearly.
We finished our meals, both were delicious, and even ordered dessert as a special treat. I don't think I thanked my Mom enough on this trip. She had bought the plane tickets, the hotel room, the first CATS tickets, and almost every meal. Whenever I needed something, she offered her money. When we got home, she even tried to give the visa card back to my sisters, but they refused her offer. Her and my Dad made this dream come true, and they are honestly a true blessing. We went to dinner recently, before seeing a choreographer's showcase at the Louisville ballet, and she said grace before the meal. I bowed my head in reverence, but sent a quick note to God before saying Amen. I have already been blessed, and been given many gifts, because my parents are who they are. My Mom should be a saint, solely because she didn't complain once about seeing a show she enjoys, but may not have cared to see twice in a row, all because I love it truly with all my heart, and she didn't want me to be alone at night in a strange city.
I will admit to feeling some doubt about seeing the show twice. When the first song began, I worried it would taint the memory of the first show, or that I'd get bored watching it again. By the time the "Naming of Cats" came around, I had assured myself it was the right choice. I didn't get to touch "paws" with a cat during this performance, but Tantomile, one of the mystic twins, made intense eye contact with me. I wasn't sure if I should mouth along the words to prove I'm a true fan, to look at her as if I was afraid, or to smile. I went with, make-my-eyes-as-big-and-innocent-as-possible-and-try-and-hold-a-brave-face-also-don't-cry-or-do-see-what-happens. I didn't cry, just held eye contact, afraid of losing this connection with a star of CATS. She had thin eyes, just as Tantomile should, and I wondered what she thought of me. Perhaps Samantha Sturm told the others about a crying woman whom she'd touched paws, and the box office man told the cast about the return couple, who cried during the performance, and this attention was my special treatment.
I almost forgot, remember the girls at the first show, with the makeup adn hair and ears? Well, they were outdone. This performance contained a fan in a full Rum Tum Tugger costume. This is beyond extra, allow me to explain.
This is Rum Tum Tugger:
This costume involves a mane, which should make it super weird to wear to a performance. And this person was no amateur. They had the wig, and the mane, and a tail. My Mom thought it might be actual cast member, but I debunked this because I'm the biggest nerd and that the Broadway Tugger (Bottom) has three puff balls on his tail (Which some of the kittens adorably batted around during his song), and the movie (Top) has no puff balls. The person dressed up had the movie tail, therefore they were not part of the Broadway cast. This person also strategically sat in the spot where Tugger usually goes to take pictures with audience members. That was kind of fun, and I wondered how common it was to have cosplayers in the crowd.
On with the performance!
We had shifted sections, from being in Orchestra left, to now center Orchestra, closer to the right side. The seats weren't staggered, as the left and right sections were, so i was stuck right in front of the person in the seat ahead of me. But, we still had amazing seats. I got to see the show from a whole new angle, taking in different aspects of the performance, careful to watch the background cats and their antics. I witnessed one cat grabbed Tugger's attention when they were off to the side, and then grabbing a pole, lifting their legs, and sliding down the pole. Tugger laughed, not audibly, but visibly, at the playful cat.
When intermission came I kind of left Mom in the dust, trying to get up on the stage. Well, I didn't try, I successfully got up there. It's a really amazing set, and I can't imagine how the set crew put it all together. It's a junkyard, and it's from the perspective of cats, so all the objects are random, but way oversized. There's a bra hanging up, a giant baby rattle, an oven, the signature tire and car trunk, and so much more on the set. And you can see where it changes from set to backstage by peeking through the entrance doors. I was afraid to touch the set, but I wanted to climb and explore it so badly. I took pictures with shaky hands, and tried to take a selfie with Deuteronomy, but it was hard with all the people. I walked across the stage, pausing to look out at the crowd, all busy checking phones and playbills, coming and going from the bathroom or bar, or talking about the madness they had just witnessed. The stage is raked, meaning it tilts upwards slightly, and the floor is also covered in painted on trash. I'd practically forgotten that aspect of the set until I looked down while standing on the giant tiger's head. I tried not to linger too long, and made my exit from the stage, returning to my Mom. We hadn't gotten good pictures of me tonight, she had tried to get some of me on stage, but people kept moving around and making the picture blur. And at the first performance we walked up to the stage and took my picture there. I was holding on to my CATS cup and the tissue I'd been crying into. But I'm smiling, and I don't think you can tell I just sobbed my way through act one.
When intermission came I kind of left Mom in the dust, trying to get up on the stage. Well, I didn't try, I successfully got up there. It's a really amazing set, and I can't imagine how the set crew put it all together. It's a junkyard, and it's from the perspective of cats, so all the objects are random, but way oversized. There's a bra hanging up, a giant baby rattle, an oven, the signature tire and car trunk, and so much more on the set. And you can see where it changes from set to backstage by peeking through the entrance doors. I was afraid to touch the set, but I wanted to climb and explore it so badly. I took pictures with shaky hands, and tried to take a selfie with Deuteronomy, but it was hard with all the people. I walked across the stage, pausing to look out at the crowd, all busy checking phones and playbills, coming and going from the bathroom or bar, or talking about the madness they had just witnessed. The stage is raked, meaning it tilts upwards slightly, and the floor is also covered in painted on trash. I'd practically forgotten that aspect of the set until I looked down while standing on the giant tiger's head. I tried not to linger too long, and made my exit from the stage, returning to my Mom. We hadn't gotten good pictures of me tonight, she had tried to get some of me on stage, but people kept moving around and making the picture blur. And at the first performance we walked up to the stage and took my picture there. I was holding on to my CATS cup and the tissue I'd been crying into. But I'm smiling, and I don't think you can tell I just sobbed my way through act one.
During this performance I also fell in love with the people behind me. It seemed to be two couples, and one couple were clearly Broadway regulars. They told their friends about the show, and how it's all singing, as musicals sometimes are. The man described it as, "An intricate rock show," which is extremely accurate. You just meet character after character, and though the plot may not be as strong as other performances, it is still there, and to me, it's entertaining. The man also showed how nerdy he is by saying the second act is the best part. He explained that Mistoflees song is great, "Macavity" is a real jammer, and that Skimbleshank's song is the best song, hands down. It was a nice change of pace after "The slow songs make me want to go to sleep" guy.
I didn't cry as much during this performance, which was good because I could stop watching through wet eyes and worrying that the tissue was making my skin red. Of course, I couldn't help but cry during the final number, "Addressing of Cats." It gets me emotional on the DVD, as it's the end to the show, and the end of our time together. In the DVD it does several close ups of the cat's faces, all looking up to Old Deuteronomy as he sings to them. During this second performance, I tilted my shin up to look directly at Old Deuteronomy, and began to cry, as I was once again as close as I'll ever be to performing on Broadway. My tears didn't bring a cat to touch my hand, as Demeter had done, so I kept an eye on my cat, Sillabub/Jemima. Rarely letting my eyes roam to other cats, thinking of all the years spent looking at the moon, of feeling my heart flutter at the word "memory," and my days of dreaming of being in her place.
The cast took their bows, and it was time to leave the theatre for good. I was thankful for the opportunity to see the show, and then to see it again. It all felt so surreal, and I was blown away with the show, as I had half feared it be like the touring shows. It took us five minutes to return to the hotel, and Mom was very surprised by this, even though everyone she asked said we could definitely walk to the show from the hotel. It was getting late when we returned, and there was about an hour of stress when we realized we hadn't set up the car to pick us up for the airport tomorrow. I tried to avoid the stress, as I was avoiding taking off my dress and my make up. All of this would ruin the magic that had just happened. It would call the night to an end, a return to reality, and I didn't want that. But, I had to give in. One can't linger too long, no matter how grand it may be. I let the night become a memory, one of my most precious memories that I have.
When we returned home the next day I was more quiet than usual. I spent all of my time thinking about the things I didn't want to forget: the types of turns the cast did, the inflection of their lines, the excitement of being in the theatre, or anything i found even remotely important. I think about the moment we landed regularly, as I drive by the airport almost on a daily basis. I think about how I looked at the New York skyline during take off, aching to be back. I daydream about not changing lanes and taking the airport exit, as if I was just back in Louisville for a visit and it was time to return up North. This is, of course, partially because I miss CATS so much, and it breaks my heart to know that the show has closed and it may disappear for another 10+ years if we're lucky.
I will stop writing about CATS now, but now you all know how much it means to me. I know it's dorky, I know it doesn't make a lot of sense and it's weird for people to dress up as cats to dance and hiss across the stage. But it's honestly amazing to me. The dancing is always perfect, choreography executed by skillful dancers, I can't help but sing along to the songs, and over the years I've grown very attached to the characters. I would give anything to see it again on Broadway, but instead, I'll leave my memories of it here, now and forever.
I didn't cry as much during this performance, which was good because I could stop watching through wet eyes and worrying that the tissue was making my skin red. Of course, I couldn't help but cry during the final number, "Addressing of Cats." It gets me emotional on the DVD, as it's the end to the show, and the end of our time together. In the DVD it does several close ups of the cat's faces, all looking up to Old Deuteronomy as he sings to them. During this second performance, I tilted my shin up to look directly at Old Deuteronomy, and began to cry, as I was once again as close as I'll ever be to performing on Broadway. My tears didn't bring a cat to touch my hand, as Demeter had done, so I kept an eye on my cat, Sillabub/Jemima. Rarely letting my eyes roam to other cats, thinking of all the years spent looking at the moon, of feeling my heart flutter at the word "memory," and my days of dreaming of being in her place.
The cast took their bows, and it was time to leave the theatre for good. I was thankful for the opportunity to see the show, and then to see it again. It all felt so surreal, and I was blown away with the show, as I had half feared it be like the touring shows. It took us five minutes to return to the hotel, and Mom was very surprised by this, even though everyone she asked said we could definitely walk to the show from the hotel. It was getting late when we returned, and there was about an hour of stress when we realized we hadn't set up the car to pick us up for the airport tomorrow. I tried to avoid the stress, as I was avoiding taking off my dress and my make up. All of this would ruin the magic that had just happened. It would call the night to an end, a return to reality, and I didn't want that. But, I had to give in. One can't linger too long, no matter how grand it may be. I let the night become a memory, one of my most precious memories that I have.
When we returned home the next day I was more quiet than usual. I spent all of my time thinking about the things I didn't want to forget: the types of turns the cast did, the inflection of their lines, the excitement of being in the theatre, or anything i found even remotely important. I think about the moment we landed regularly, as I drive by the airport almost on a daily basis. I think about how I looked at the New York skyline during take off, aching to be back. I daydream about not changing lanes and taking the airport exit, as if I was just back in Louisville for a visit and it was time to return up North. This is, of course, partially because I miss CATS so much, and it breaks my heart to know that the show has closed and it may disappear for another 10+ years if we're lucky.
I will stop writing about CATS now, but now you all know how much it means to me. I know it's dorky, I know it doesn't make a lot of sense and it's weird for people to dress up as cats to dance and hiss across the stage. But it's honestly amazing to me. The dancing is always perfect, choreography executed by skillful dancers, I can't help but sing along to the songs, and over the years I've grown very attached to the characters. I would give anything to see it again on Broadway, but instead, I'll leave my memories of it here, now and forever.
Friday, January 26, 2018
New York Trip: Achieving Dreams
When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory too
-Memory, CATS
I cannot describe to you the anticipation I felt when I directed my Mother and I towards the Neil Simon Theatre. We enjoyed New York during this time, the crowds weren't too bad in certain spots, and the sun was shining, even though it was cold. The theatre was a couple of blocks away from the Church, but I thought it would never come. I was afraid we'd get lost and not find the Neil Simon, or that we should've taken an Uber to get to our destination. But at the same time, I was relaxed. I even paused to take a photo of some jockey statues (#DerbyCity) and chatted with Mom. Usually when we go to see a show I am stressed, because I want to be there on time, and I'm anxious for the lights to dim to signal the beginning of the show.
Finally, I saw the vertical sign, black with white letters. I only saw "N" and "mon" from a distance, but luckily I'm good with words and letters. We were there. We'd arrived, on Broadway. When I was a kid I thought Broadway was a single theatre, and the shows battled to perform there. And though this isn't the biggest theatre, I was still impressed with it, and so proud of this damn musical for reviving itself.
There was a line, and a man at the front of it telling the crowd doors would open thirty minutes before the show. Mom and I were surprised, we had planned to get here so early so we could find our seats, maybe get something to drink and check out the merchandising stand. Instead, we collected our tickets from will call, and I pictured the announcement boards so I could cross reference it with my playbill. This is just the beginning of my insane picture taking spree. I took pictures of the signs, with Mom in front of the signs, and of anything else of importance.
We hopped in line behind three sisters, who were play bickering and enjoying each other. They were friendly, and we chatted with them, asking where they were from and all those polite questions. Luckily, we didn't have to wait for long for the line to move. I knew that time would pass slowly with this much anticipation inside me, but every time I looked at my clock it seemed that time was jumping forward.
The theatre was packed when we got inside, people were directed upstairs and through doors, trying to get to their seats. Mom and I were walked to our seats, and I took the aisle. It was an intimate theatre, and the set creeped into the sides of the front few rows. The seats filled quickly and Mom went to the bathroom. A man with glasses and a high voice asked adults if they wanted a glass of wine in a CATS wine cup. He praised two girls who sat a little ahead of me, because they had on cat makeup, teased hair, and thin cat ears. I felt like those fans were over-doing it, as I enjoy CATS very privately. I rarely watch it with other people even in the same house as me, and I spent time quietly exploring it on the internet. I spent a lot of time being open about my love for CATS, such as when I was in 8th grade and had a binder covered in pictures from CATS, but I was constantly embarrassed by it, even though I loved the pictures so much. The man with the wine passed me up, as I sat alone and look like I'm about 17. But, when Mom came back I went downstairs to the bar to get a cup.
The man was there, refilling his tray, so I asked to get a glass from him. It was pinot grigio, one of my favorite wines. At our seats again I took pictures of my ticket and playbill, and read through as many bios as I could, and even studied the cast pictures to familiarize myself with them. A couple sat behind us, and the woman was extremely excited for the show, but her partner seemed to be completely new to this show. They kept talking about how she just spent 300$ at the merchandise stand, a feat I was impressed by, but again I thought she was an over-the-top fan. This couple also constantly made noises during the show, and the man said the slow songs made him want to go to sleep. I wanted to tell him to get out, no one disrespects "Memory" or any other tiny detail about CATS. The only song I adamantly hate is "Growltiger's last stand" and that is because it's not in the movie, but is on the original soundtrack and in the touring shows. Every time that song comes on I get angry, it's so dumb and the Pekes are better. ANYWAYS!
I made a list of almost 100 things I want to always remember about the show, but I won't share that here, as it's mostly nonsense that only I understand.
I will share that the show was amazing from start to finish. I love the movie so much, but the show held it's own. It kept key dance moves that made me cry, and reinvented other parts to take the show to a whole new level. The music was even adjusted a little, and I loved every single change made. Sometimes I am sad that the cast I saw wasn't recorded, as I'd love to hear the small changes in drums and additions of other instruments. Every dancer was perfect, executing impossible flips and giving their all throughout the physically grueling musical. Several dance breaks were added, and they're another part of the show I miss. I never really cared for Jennyanydots until she blew me away with a phenomenal tap solo, and Mistofolees made me love him more with his dance breaks and the way he played with the set lights. I'm telling you all, this show was flawless and every performer should be given an award for their hard work and dedication.
As soon as the lights went down, the overture began, and cat eyes lit up I couldn't keep a neutral face. I was fighting tears, causing Mom to lean over and ask how I was. I told her I was fine, just couldn't stop crying. So, she offered me a tissue. I clutched that tissue, hoping my make up wasn't running when I cried during even the happiest of songs. I still remember the taste of smooth pinot grigio, trying not to cry, and thinking about getting a second glass. My eyes roamed the stage, trying to take in every detail, answer any questions, and keep an eye out for my favorite characters. This made me fall in love with characters I'd hardly ever noticed.
With the movie the camera decides who you get to see, and when you get to see them. But, with the live show I got to see Tumblebrutus and Pouncival do handstands onto the stage, and the cats in the background make each other laugh through their antics. To show just how much the individual character was honored, during "The Naming of Cats" when a character name was mentioned, the cat would do a move to signify who it was. Electra did a small, kitten-like jump, Demeter was shy as others looked towards her, and Bombalurina did her own proud stance. So, yeah, it was inevitable that I would grow fond of more than just Sillabub and a few others. I re-fell in love with all of them.
I also truly appreciate costuming, as they kept the costumes classy and not like the puffy and layered tour costumes. I have a lot of problems with the tours I've seen, mostly the costumes and freaking Growltiger. I've seen a touring company 3 times, each time I have enjoyed the show, but none can match the Broadway production, or the movie.
I will have to admit here, that I am sometimes torn when I watch the DVD. They are both excellent, in their own regards, but the show did some really amazing things I wish the movie had taken on. Things like the extra dance breaks, specifically Mistofolees dance. I've always loved Jacob Brent's performance in the movie, but all the late 90s tech they used is nothing compared to the giant silk blanket that covered the stage, the way Mistofolees played with light sources, and even appeared to toss a little spot of light from finger to finger and to the other cats. The finale of Mistofolees, after he's returned Old Dueteronomy (I'm sorry if y'all don't follow) will forever remain in my memory. He steps up to center stage, a single spot light on him, as he carefully compresses it into a smaller, and smaller ball, then gracefully blows it out, as if a candle. Definitley one of the best parts of the stage production.
Before the first act had ended, maybe even before the opening had ended, I realized I had an opportunity to see this show again. This wasn't the first and last time I could see CATS. Though, it eventually did just become a memory, it could be lived again at the evening performance. Just a few more hours to postpone the memory, and live in the moment. When intermission came, I was on my phone looking up ticket availability for the 8PM show. We watched as people went on stage to take pictures with Old Dueteronomy and explore some of the set, I wanted to go up, but the line was growing, and I doubted I'd be able to get up. But, I had the second show to look forward to.
-Memory, CATS
I cannot describe to you the anticipation I felt when I directed my Mother and I towards the Neil Simon Theatre. We enjoyed New York during this time, the crowds weren't too bad in certain spots, and the sun was shining, even though it was cold. The theatre was a couple of blocks away from the Church, but I thought it would never come. I was afraid we'd get lost and not find the Neil Simon, or that we should've taken an Uber to get to our destination. But at the same time, I was relaxed. I even paused to take a photo of some jockey statues (#DerbyCity) and chatted with Mom. Usually when we go to see a show I am stressed, because I want to be there on time, and I'm anxious for the lights to dim to signal the beginning of the show.
Finally, I saw the vertical sign, black with white letters. I only saw "N" and "mon" from a distance, but luckily I'm good with words and letters. We were there. We'd arrived, on Broadway. When I was a kid I thought Broadway was a single theatre, and the shows battled to perform there. And though this isn't the biggest theatre, I was still impressed with it, and so proud of this damn musical for reviving itself.
There was a line, and a man at the front of it telling the crowd doors would open thirty minutes before the show. Mom and I were surprised, we had planned to get here so early so we could find our seats, maybe get something to drink and check out the merchandising stand. Instead, we collected our tickets from will call, and I pictured the announcement boards so I could cross reference it with my playbill. This is just the beginning of my insane picture taking spree. I took pictures of the signs, with Mom in front of the signs, and of anything else of importance.
We hopped in line behind three sisters, who were play bickering and enjoying each other. They were friendly, and we chatted with them, asking where they were from and all those polite questions. Luckily, we didn't have to wait for long for the line to move. I knew that time would pass slowly with this much anticipation inside me, but every time I looked at my clock it seemed that time was jumping forward.
The theatre was packed when we got inside, people were directed upstairs and through doors, trying to get to their seats. Mom and I were walked to our seats, and I took the aisle. It was an intimate theatre, and the set creeped into the sides of the front few rows. The seats filled quickly and Mom went to the bathroom. A man with glasses and a high voice asked adults if they wanted a glass of wine in a CATS wine cup. He praised two girls who sat a little ahead of me, because they had on cat makeup, teased hair, and thin cat ears. I felt like those fans were over-doing it, as I enjoy CATS very privately. I rarely watch it with other people even in the same house as me, and I spent time quietly exploring it on the internet. I spent a lot of time being open about my love for CATS, such as when I was in 8th grade and had a binder covered in pictures from CATS, but I was constantly embarrassed by it, even though I loved the pictures so much. The man with the wine passed me up, as I sat alone and look like I'm about 17. But, when Mom came back I went downstairs to the bar to get a cup.
The man was there, refilling his tray, so I asked to get a glass from him. It was pinot grigio, one of my favorite wines. At our seats again I took pictures of my ticket and playbill, and read through as many bios as I could, and even studied the cast pictures to familiarize myself with them. A couple sat behind us, and the woman was extremely excited for the show, but her partner seemed to be completely new to this show. They kept talking about how she just spent 300$ at the merchandise stand, a feat I was impressed by, but again I thought she was an over-the-top fan. This couple also constantly made noises during the show, and the man said the slow songs made him want to go to sleep. I wanted to tell him to get out, no one disrespects "Memory" or any other tiny detail about CATS. The only song I adamantly hate is "Growltiger's last stand" and that is because it's not in the movie, but is on the original soundtrack and in the touring shows. Every time that song comes on I get angry, it's so dumb and the Pekes are better. ANYWAYS!
I made a list of almost 100 things I want to always remember about the show, but I won't share that here, as it's mostly nonsense that only I understand.
I will share that the show was amazing from start to finish. I love the movie so much, but the show held it's own. It kept key dance moves that made me cry, and reinvented other parts to take the show to a whole new level. The music was even adjusted a little, and I loved every single change made. Sometimes I am sad that the cast I saw wasn't recorded, as I'd love to hear the small changes in drums and additions of other instruments. Every dancer was perfect, executing impossible flips and giving their all throughout the physically grueling musical. Several dance breaks were added, and they're another part of the show I miss. I never really cared for Jennyanydots until she blew me away with a phenomenal tap solo, and Mistofolees made me love him more with his dance breaks and the way he played with the set lights. I'm telling you all, this show was flawless and every performer should be given an award for their hard work and dedication.
As soon as the lights went down, the overture began, and cat eyes lit up I couldn't keep a neutral face. I was fighting tears, causing Mom to lean over and ask how I was. I told her I was fine, just couldn't stop crying. So, she offered me a tissue. I clutched that tissue, hoping my make up wasn't running when I cried during even the happiest of songs. I still remember the taste of smooth pinot grigio, trying not to cry, and thinking about getting a second glass. My eyes roamed the stage, trying to take in every detail, answer any questions, and keep an eye out for my favorite characters. This made me fall in love with characters I'd hardly ever noticed.
With the movie the camera decides who you get to see, and when you get to see them. But, with the live show I got to see Tumblebrutus and Pouncival do handstands onto the stage, and the cats in the background make each other laugh through their antics. To show just how much the individual character was honored, during "The Naming of Cats" when a character name was mentioned, the cat would do a move to signify who it was. Electra did a small, kitten-like jump, Demeter was shy as others looked towards her, and Bombalurina did her own proud stance. So, yeah, it was inevitable that I would grow fond of more than just Sillabub and a few others. I re-fell in love with all of them.
I also truly appreciate costuming, as they kept the costumes classy and not like the puffy and layered tour costumes. I have a lot of problems with the tours I've seen, mostly the costumes and freaking Growltiger. I've seen a touring company 3 times, each time I have enjoyed the show, but none can match the Broadway production, or the movie.
I will have to admit here, that I am sometimes torn when I watch the DVD. They are both excellent, in their own regards, but the show did some really amazing things I wish the movie had taken on. Things like the extra dance breaks, specifically Mistofolees dance. I've always loved Jacob Brent's performance in the movie, but all the late 90s tech they used is nothing compared to the giant silk blanket that covered the stage, the way Mistofolees played with light sources, and even appeared to toss a little spot of light from finger to finger and to the other cats. The finale of Mistofolees, after he's returned Old Dueteronomy (I'm sorry if y'all don't follow) will forever remain in my memory. He steps up to center stage, a single spot light on him, as he carefully compresses it into a smaller, and smaller ball, then gracefully blows it out, as if a candle. Definitley one of the best parts of the stage production.
Before the first act had ended, maybe even before the opening had ended, I realized I had an opportunity to see this show again. This wasn't the first and last time I could see CATS. Though, it eventually did just become a memory, it could be lived again at the evening performance. Just a few more hours to postpone the memory, and live in the moment. When intermission came, I was on my phone looking up ticket availability for the 8PM show. We watched as people went on stage to take pictures with Old Dueteronomy and explore some of the set, I wanted to go up, but the line was growing, and I doubted I'd be able to get up. But, I had the second show to look forward to.
Thursday, January 25, 2018
New York: Exploring it's Wonders
Mom and I lounged in the room for a short time, because even though we'd arrived early in the afternoon New York traffic took up most of our travel time. Whenever I travel I have a tendency to want to stay within the place that I'm sleeping at. Perhaps this is because most of our family trips involved being in a house that was within walking distance to the beach, or at a hotel where there was plenty to entertain. But this trip was different, this was a place I wanted to master, to become a part of, or at least test the waters. And Mom, I had a feeling she also wanted to explore.
This is a bit of a side story, but on this trip I remembered an interview I did with my Mom when I was in seventh grade. She told me that when she was younger she wanted to be a plane hostess, because she wanted to see the world. I had always thought of this moment as I grew to become a feminist, as I related it to the sexism that the women faced in the 60s. But, on this trip I kept thinking about how she wanted to see the world, and explore new places. Now, don't get me wrong, my Mom has lived a wonderful life even if she hasn't traveled as much as she wanted. So, during this trip I wanted to give her as many experiences as possible. (Though, I am slightly sorry we saw CATS twice, which prevented us from having a chance to even peak at Central Park. But CATS, Mom!)
We stayed at a hotel right next to Time Square, which is honestly a horrible place, especially during the holiday season. I felt really good walking there, but I didn't know what to expect. Was this going to be like the opening of the Mary Tyler Moore show where I have room to spin and throw my hat in the air? Was there going to be a performance on the red bleachers? What was the big deal with all the ads? What even is really there that everyone flocks to? From what I can tell, it's just a bucket list item and people go there to be disappointed that it's the literal worst.
I hated pushing through the crowds, worrying about losing Mom, and trying to avoid hitting street vendor tables. There were just groups of other tourists, all holding hands, trying to stay together in this sea of people. And the ads were there, big and bight as all get out, which was... insignificant. Sure the HD screens are cool and draw your attention and any one that featured a Broadway show made my heart soar, but other than that I wasn't sure what to do. Mom and I took a couple of selfies and pictures with the ads and kept an eye out for places to eat. There were familiar restaurants like Olive Garden and TGIF, but I wanted something unfamiliar so I could live up the New York dream. We had spotted a restaurant called "Playwrights" and through it looked swell, and was fitting for the location and reason of travel. So, we turned around and headed towards it.
Mom is a cautious woman, and that makes her a wise woman. But, I have learned to take crosswalk signals as a suggestion here in Louisville. If the street is clear enough, I can make it. New York is different, people do not respect the crosswalk and often stop there car in the middle of it, making it harder for tightly packed crowds to filter through. Mom worried about the cars we maneuvered around, but I told her I wasn't afraid: If they hit me while the walk sign is lit up, they pay my college tuition. (This isn't a for-sure thing, but I have calculated my student debt and I will take any help I can get.)
The place was packed, but we were lucky enough to be seated right away. We sat next to a window in a corner, where a warm vent blew down on us. The Playwright is basically just the upstairs level of a Celtic restaurants, but Mom is very Irish and we were both happy. We ordered wine and pasta, talking about how Dad would be proud of our Irish choice. I told her I'd liked the choice as it honored the woman who switched shifts with me to make this trip possible, as she is a Shakespeare loving actor and writer. And I ordered a mushroom dish, in honor of my sister Emily who loves mushrooms and supported my spontaneous trip idea from the get-go. It was a very honorable meal.
The dinner, though simple, was expensive in our Louisville-LaGrange opinion, but we enjoyed it a lot. Towards the end of the dinner, when I had hoped we'd return to the hotel room, I mentioned the ice skating rink. Mom wanted to go ice skate, so we paid the bill and left with stomachs full, and spirits full of excitement for this iconic New York area.
Fun fact: GPS doesn't work too well in New York, but luckily the streets are numbered. We found where the tree was located and began our trek, following another tourist crowd. There were so many kids, in strollers and on the hips of mothers and fathers, trying to see the lights. Mom and I were surprised at this, and admitted we'd never do that, especially with the strollers. The light show was beautiful, and I wish I'd had a better view, but it was still enjoyable from a distance and with the occasional head bobbing in front of it. We still battled crowds, as people stopped to watch the lights, or began to walk again, hurrying forward. But, once we got to the Rockefeller tree and attempted to take pictures with it, I finally felt like I was part of this community.
See, my fear is not fitting in. This doesn't mean I go to impossible things to be something I'm not just to fit in, it just means that I'm always afraid I will be so different that everyone will think I'm a weird loser. Which is likely, but that's besides the point. I think I realized I fit in with this crowd when I saw a man give a deep and dramatic sigh when his wife asked for them to re-take the family picture. Everyone made that sigh, because pictures are impossible in this location. Someone always walks in front of cameras, or doesn't give enough space for a selfie, or some other small drama. This deep, annoyed sigh was how I felt being an introvert in a crowded city, anxious about traveling and anxious about becoming constipated because I was anxious about traveling. I didn't like the crowd, I thought Time Square was truly pointless and I felt gullible for even going there once in the middle of the holiday season. I was nervous about losing my Mom in the crowd, and so worried I wouldn't like the city. Of course, I did not explore a good part of the city, as I was a pure tourist in this situation, and I barely had time to do any true exploring. But, I laughed whenever I saw someone express these feelings, because I got them, and they got me.
Mom and I snagged a couple of terrible selfies with the tree, and peered down at the ice skating rink. I found it funny that all the movie portray this as a casual date idea, but it's not. I would never take a date to this place, as it's jammed and the line for the ice skating rink was thick and went up the stairs leading to the rink, and morphed into the gigantic crowd. We decided that skating wasn't plausible, but watched for a few minutes, ignoring the ever mobile crowd behind us.
The driver had told us about 5th avenue, where all the high end shopping was done, so we decided to stroll along it. All the stores looked crisp, sparkling with newness and high fashion. I thought it must be terrible to work there, it'd honestly be terrible to work anywhere ordinary in New York. New York is this place where one goes to be extraordinary: A star, a millionaire living in a penthouse, a fashion designer, anything but a concierge or a retail worker. (Yes, that is how I feel about the snooty concierge. He's gonna be all high and mighty when he lives in New York and does customer service for rich people and tourists!)
Mom spotted the Cathedral she wanted to attend Mass at, and we decided to peak inside. Tourists filtered through, pausing to talk to security guards as they warmed up by heaters. It was like a museum, but in this museum the priest and the congregation were all part of the display. People would just look at the space, and then walk out, showing no reverence, just impressed by the architecture. I snapped a photo of the Mass schedule, as I knew Mom wanted to go in the morning, and I was hoping it use this as an example of ritual for a homework assignment.
It was getting late, so we returned to our hotel, using the nifty numbered streets to find our way back. Mom hoped in the shower, and I tried to read some of a book I'd bought. I like to read books on trips too, that way when I come home I can write a note about the trip before I shelve the book. I still haven't finished the book, and I've considered returning it, but if I return it I can't write a note in it, and that's all I really want. She came out feeling refreshed, so I decided to get in as well.
The warm water felt good. I didn't feel dirty, but I felt very clean letting the hot water run over me. Like I'd washed away a thousand exhausting interactions with other people, even if it was just the shared experience of being in a massive New York City tourist crowd. Mom and I probably could've put our names into a couple of Broadway lotteries that night, but instead we went to bed around 8:30. I listened to Mom's breathing change, as I stared out the window, through the yellow blind, trying to hear the hectic New York Streets. I feared that one day I'd return, and live in a crap apartment, and lay like this every night, worried about being there and trying to accomplish my dreams. I texted my boyfriend, Duffy, all of my worries, and all the things I was experiencing in New York.
See, I am still worried about moving to New York. Even though I'm somewhat dying to go back and try it all again, it still scares the shit out of me. Especially if I think of going there alone. But, when I think of going with Duffy, I don't feel scared at all. He knows New York better than I do, and he's confident on the streets, (this could also be because he's a six foot, white, male) which means he would not only make sure I was okay, but motivate me to feel just as confident.
I fell asleep quickly, listening to our neighbors laugh and talk in the neighboring room. I woke up to the sound of one of them vomiting, which was nice. I had anticipated Mom and I going to brunch this morning, but she admitted she'd like to go to the noon Mass, so we could go straight there from the theatre. We laid in bed, taking in the restful time, and trying to figure out the New York weather. When our stomachs started to growl I kicked the idea of brunch to the curb and suggested the small cafe we'd seen on 7th street.
We dressed and walked around the block to the cafe/convenient store. It was full of immigrant workers, all with their own different accent, which made me feel as if we had truly arrived to New York. The buffet offered didn't look high-quality, but I was excited at the opportunity to load up a plate of eggs and tater tots. I paid for breakfast, as I can't afford much, but hated that Mom was so graciously paying for everything. She did, however, tip the woman that checked us out. With our cheap coffee and highly processed food, we sat down by the window so we could people watch. Mostly, we talked fashion, noting people's boots, and Duffy's opinions on New York fashion. But, I brought up immigration and the expense of living in New York. This was where I admitted I wanted to move here for a job or internship, as this was where the big publishers made their headquarters. In fact, my dream publisher, was located just a few blocks away from our hotel. I wouldn't live in this area, as we also discussed most people probably don't because it's so tourist heavy and pricey.
After breakfast, we hung out in the hotel room some more, waiting until practically the last minute to start getting ready for the show. Of course we had the pit stop of Church between then, but I was excited to begin this process.
I hated the tights I'd bought at target. They were shiny and not the right shade for me. But, they were all I had, and the dress I'd packed opens around the legs, so I had little choice. The tights gave minimal (minimal) protection against the wind and cold, but it still counted for something. We were a little late to Church, but we made it nonetheless. The Cathedral had high security, including bag checks and security guards pacing the aisles and standing near the priest during communion. It was hard to see, and it was hard to hear at times. I truly remember this Mass as kind of a big blur, with just the distant sound of someone speaking through a microphone. I remember thinking about how architects and historical preservationists probably gasped with emergency lights, TVs, and speakers were screwed into the pillars in the Cathedral.
When I was a kid, I used to sing really loud in Church. I thought I was an amazing singer, and sometimes I'd imagine a talent agent was sitting in front of me, and if they caught the sound of my angelic voice they'd turn around during the peace offering and offer me a contract or something. That never happened, but New York was the place for that! I sang as best I could, though it's often hard to keep up with the different styles of different Churches. No one offered me a contract, but the peace offerings were very friendly.
Everythign about the Mass was hectic. It was busier than the Louisville airport there! But, we survived it. Onec it was over, Mom signed an electronic guest book, and we walked out the Church.
I got the address for the Neil Simon theatre, and we began our journey.
This is a bit of a side story, but on this trip I remembered an interview I did with my Mom when I was in seventh grade. She told me that when she was younger she wanted to be a plane hostess, because she wanted to see the world. I had always thought of this moment as I grew to become a feminist, as I related it to the sexism that the women faced in the 60s. But, on this trip I kept thinking about how she wanted to see the world, and explore new places. Now, don't get me wrong, my Mom has lived a wonderful life even if she hasn't traveled as much as she wanted. So, during this trip I wanted to give her as many experiences as possible. (Though, I am slightly sorry we saw CATS twice, which prevented us from having a chance to even peak at Central Park. But CATS, Mom!)
We stayed at a hotel right next to Time Square, which is honestly a horrible place, especially during the holiday season. I felt really good walking there, but I didn't know what to expect. Was this going to be like the opening of the Mary Tyler Moore show where I have room to spin and throw my hat in the air? Was there going to be a performance on the red bleachers? What was the big deal with all the ads? What even is really there that everyone flocks to? From what I can tell, it's just a bucket list item and people go there to be disappointed that it's the literal worst.
I hated pushing through the crowds, worrying about losing Mom, and trying to avoid hitting street vendor tables. There were just groups of other tourists, all holding hands, trying to stay together in this sea of people. And the ads were there, big and bight as all get out, which was... insignificant. Sure the HD screens are cool and draw your attention and any one that featured a Broadway show made my heart soar, but other than that I wasn't sure what to do. Mom and I took a couple of selfies and pictures with the ads and kept an eye out for places to eat. There were familiar restaurants like Olive Garden and TGIF, but I wanted something unfamiliar so I could live up the New York dream. We had spotted a restaurant called "Playwrights" and through it looked swell, and was fitting for the location and reason of travel. So, we turned around and headed towards it.
Mom is a cautious woman, and that makes her a wise woman. But, I have learned to take crosswalk signals as a suggestion here in Louisville. If the street is clear enough, I can make it. New York is different, people do not respect the crosswalk and often stop there car in the middle of it, making it harder for tightly packed crowds to filter through. Mom worried about the cars we maneuvered around, but I told her I wasn't afraid: If they hit me while the walk sign is lit up, they pay my college tuition. (This isn't a for-sure thing, but I have calculated my student debt and I will take any help I can get.)
The place was packed, but we were lucky enough to be seated right away. We sat next to a window in a corner, where a warm vent blew down on us. The Playwright is basically just the upstairs level of a Celtic restaurants, but Mom is very Irish and we were both happy. We ordered wine and pasta, talking about how Dad would be proud of our Irish choice. I told her I'd liked the choice as it honored the woman who switched shifts with me to make this trip possible, as she is a Shakespeare loving actor and writer. And I ordered a mushroom dish, in honor of my sister Emily who loves mushrooms and supported my spontaneous trip idea from the get-go. It was a very honorable meal.
The dinner, though simple, was expensive in our Louisville-LaGrange opinion, but we enjoyed it a lot. Towards the end of the dinner, when I had hoped we'd return to the hotel room, I mentioned the ice skating rink. Mom wanted to go ice skate, so we paid the bill and left with stomachs full, and spirits full of excitement for this iconic New York area.
Fun fact: GPS doesn't work too well in New York, but luckily the streets are numbered. We found where the tree was located and began our trek, following another tourist crowd. There were so many kids, in strollers and on the hips of mothers and fathers, trying to see the lights. Mom and I were surprised at this, and admitted we'd never do that, especially with the strollers. The light show was beautiful, and I wish I'd had a better view, but it was still enjoyable from a distance and with the occasional head bobbing in front of it. We still battled crowds, as people stopped to watch the lights, or began to walk again, hurrying forward. But, once we got to the Rockefeller tree and attempted to take pictures with it, I finally felt like I was part of this community.
See, my fear is not fitting in. This doesn't mean I go to impossible things to be something I'm not just to fit in, it just means that I'm always afraid I will be so different that everyone will think I'm a weird loser. Which is likely, but that's besides the point. I think I realized I fit in with this crowd when I saw a man give a deep and dramatic sigh when his wife asked for them to re-take the family picture. Everyone made that sigh, because pictures are impossible in this location. Someone always walks in front of cameras, or doesn't give enough space for a selfie, or some other small drama. This deep, annoyed sigh was how I felt being an introvert in a crowded city, anxious about traveling and anxious about becoming constipated because I was anxious about traveling. I didn't like the crowd, I thought Time Square was truly pointless and I felt gullible for even going there once in the middle of the holiday season. I was nervous about losing my Mom in the crowd, and so worried I wouldn't like the city. Of course, I did not explore a good part of the city, as I was a pure tourist in this situation, and I barely had time to do any true exploring. But, I laughed whenever I saw someone express these feelings, because I got them, and they got me.
Mom and I snagged a couple of terrible selfies with the tree, and peered down at the ice skating rink. I found it funny that all the movie portray this as a casual date idea, but it's not. I would never take a date to this place, as it's jammed and the line for the ice skating rink was thick and went up the stairs leading to the rink, and morphed into the gigantic crowd. We decided that skating wasn't plausible, but watched for a few minutes, ignoring the ever mobile crowd behind us.
The driver had told us about 5th avenue, where all the high end shopping was done, so we decided to stroll along it. All the stores looked crisp, sparkling with newness and high fashion. I thought it must be terrible to work there, it'd honestly be terrible to work anywhere ordinary in New York. New York is this place where one goes to be extraordinary: A star, a millionaire living in a penthouse, a fashion designer, anything but a concierge or a retail worker. (Yes, that is how I feel about the snooty concierge. He's gonna be all high and mighty when he lives in New York and does customer service for rich people and tourists!)
Mom spotted the Cathedral she wanted to attend Mass at, and we decided to peak inside. Tourists filtered through, pausing to talk to security guards as they warmed up by heaters. It was like a museum, but in this museum the priest and the congregation were all part of the display. People would just look at the space, and then walk out, showing no reverence, just impressed by the architecture. I snapped a photo of the Mass schedule, as I knew Mom wanted to go in the morning, and I was hoping it use this as an example of ritual for a homework assignment.
It was getting late, so we returned to our hotel, using the nifty numbered streets to find our way back. Mom hoped in the shower, and I tried to read some of a book I'd bought. I like to read books on trips too, that way when I come home I can write a note about the trip before I shelve the book. I still haven't finished the book, and I've considered returning it, but if I return it I can't write a note in it, and that's all I really want. She came out feeling refreshed, so I decided to get in as well.
The warm water felt good. I didn't feel dirty, but I felt very clean letting the hot water run over me. Like I'd washed away a thousand exhausting interactions with other people, even if it was just the shared experience of being in a massive New York City tourist crowd. Mom and I probably could've put our names into a couple of Broadway lotteries that night, but instead we went to bed around 8:30. I listened to Mom's breathing change, as I stared out the window, through the yellow blind, trying to hear the hectic New York Streets. I feared that one day I'd return, and live in a crap apartment, and lay like this every night, worried about being there and trying to accomplish my dreams. I texted my boyfriend, Duffy, all of my worries, and all the things I was experiencing in New York.
See, I am still worried about moving to New York. Even though I'm somewhat dying to go back and try it all again, it still scares the shit out of me. Especially if I think of going there alone. But, when I think of going with Duffy, I don't feel scared at all. He knows New York better than I do, and he's confident on the streets, (this could also be because he's a six foot, white, male) which means he would not only make sure I was okay, but motivate me to feel just as confident.
I fell asleep quickly, listening to our neighbors laugh and talk in the neighboring room. I woke up to the sound of one of them vomiting, which was nice. I had anticipated Mom and I going to brunch this morning, but she admitted she'd like to go to the noon Mass, so we could go straight there from the theatre. We laid in bed, taking in the restful time, and trying to figure out the New York weather. When our stomachs started to growl I kicked the idea of brunch to the curb and suggested the small cafe we'd seen on 7th street.
We dressed and walked around the block to the cafe/convenient store. It was full of immigrant workers, all with their own different accent, which made me feel as if we had truly arrived to New York. The buffet offered didn't look high-quality, but I was excited at the opportunity to load up a plate of eggs and tater tots. I paid for breakfast, as I can't afford much, but hated that Mom was so graciously paying for everything. She did, however, tip the woman that checked us out. With our cheap coffee and highly processed food, we sat down by the window so we could people watch. Mostly, we talked fashion, noting people's boots, and Duffy's opinions on New York fashion. But, I brought up immigration and the expense of living in New York. This was where I admitted I wanted to move here for a job or internship, as this was where the big publishers made their headquarters. In fact, my dream publisher, was located just a few blocks away from our hotel. I wouldn't live in this area, as we also discussed most people probably don't because it's so tourist heavy and pricey.
After breakfast, we hung out in the hotel room some more, waiting until practically the last minute to start getting ready for the show. Of course we had the pit stop of Church between then, but I was excited to begin this process.
I hated the tights I'd bought at target. They were shiny and not the right shade for me. But, they were all I had, and the dress I'd packed opens around the legs, so I had little choice. The tights gave minimal (minimal) protection against the wind and cold, but it still counted for something. We were a little late to Church, but we made it nonetheless. The Cathedral had high security, including bag checks and security guards pacing the aisles and standing near the priest during communion. It was hard to see, and it was hard to hear at times. I truly remember this Mass as kind of a big blur, with just the distant sound of someone speaking through a microphone. I remember thinking about how architects and historical preservationists probably gasped with emergency lights, TVs, and speakers were screwed into the pillars in the Cathedral.
When I was a kid, I used to sing really loud in Church. I thought I was an amazing singer, and sometimes I'd imagine a talent agent was sitting in front of me, and if they caught the sound of my angelic voice they'd turn around during the peace offering and offer me a contract or something. That never happened, but New York was the place for that! I sang as best I could, though it's often hard to keep up with the different styles of different Churches. No one offered me a contract, but the peace offerings were very friendly.
Everythign about the Mass was hectic. It was busier than the Louisville airport there! But, we survived it. Onec it was over, Mom signed an electronic guest book, and we walked out the Church.
I got the address for the Neil Simon theatre, and we began our journey.
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
New York Trip: Destination Obtained
I came home Friday night and Mom was already there. She was sleeping over since I live only 10 minutes away from the Louisville airport and our flight left early. Of course, none of these precautions are truly necessary for the Louisville airport.
Honestly, after my travels I have decided it is the best airport in the world. There are two wings, A and B, and a Starbucks in the middle. TSA lines may get long since there's only one, but it's not nearly as bad as the hectic Atlanta airport. There are no zipping trains, or busy food courts, or over crowded gates that are trying to board multiple planes within 30 minutes. I love it's simplicity, but hope this post won't bring too much attention to it, as then the ease of this airport could be lost.
Mom and I arrived two hours early for our flight. We checked our bags in with a woman who had a shirt that said, "I'm only a morning person on Christmas" and I was afraid that when my Mom pointed it out the woman, at 6am in the morning, would say, "It's true though." We then meandered to TSA, where Mom and I were approved for pre-check. I thought that wasn't surprising considering my Mom is the least threatening person on the planet. Afterwards we went to Starbucks to get coffee, I ordered something with salted caramel, but was too nervous to drink all of it while we sat waiting at the gate.
Here is the thing, I'm like a nervous Chihuahua. When I travel to new places I just get real anxious and can't stomach a whole lot. I tried to cherish the drink, but in the end I threw it out, and didn't eat my granola bar that I'd packed. I also have a terrible fear of vomiting, and an airplane seems like prime vomiting conditions, and the literal worst vomiting location. So, I played it safe.
The flight to New York was a dream. We flew straight to Chicago, had a nice layover which allowed for us to eat a little more breakfast and drink more coffee. Then we flew straight to New York, landing by 1:30PM. I was excited to have this big chunk of time to explore New York with my Mom, who showed no fear to the city, but I knew she was nervous. We met this woman from AAA, who was going to take us to our car when our bags arrived. Mom told me she had prepared to tip everyone who helped us do anything, as that was how it worked in New York. Like I said, sweetest person ever.
She did embarrass me a little though, as Mom's are inclined to do, intentional or not. The bags were taking their sweet time to get to us, and Mom wasn't going to let us sit in silence. She was chatting with the young woman from AAA, who wore riding boots and winged eyeliners. She wasn't a New York native, but she'd been here a while. I was very intimidated.
My boyfriend, who loves New York and visits as often as he can since his brother goes to school in the Bronx, told me the people of New York are very fashionable. As if movies hadn't shaped my stereotype of these people enough, I now had a witness to them. I wanted to appear cool, I even wore decent clothes on the plane and not super lazy comfy clothes just to impress them. I'm sure I looked very regular. Well, I'm standing quietly, waiting for the bags, and Mom is explaining why we're in New York. It's so I can see CATS on Broadway. I smile meekly at this, it's a very dorky fact, but it's also incredibly true. She tells the woman that I've always wanted to be in the show, and even had my cat picked out. You all know this, I explained it in the post about CATS and my career prospects. But, I was not about to admit it to this woman. I tried to ignore it, but Mom pressed on.
"Which cat was it? Do you remember?" I smiled awkwardly at the woman, and mouthed "No" to my Mother. I was trying to say, "No, I'm not answering that," but that would be way too teenager-ish, even though that's exactly how I felt. Mom was confused, but perhaps she got the message as she changed the topic to living in New York.
I'm not sure how it came to light, but I believe Mom was talking about being nervous in the city. She was likely referring to one way streets and crowds. But, the woman replied with, "Yeah... well you've watched the news these past couple of nights..." This surprised me and my Mom. We had not watched the news, and this woman said this statement so conspicuously. What was on the news? What was happening? Should we grab our bags and go back to the airplane? No. CATS was at stake here.
The woman explained some repeated crime was happening, and finally our bags came. Her job was simple, walk us out the door and to the car that was parked, get us loaded up and return to the office. We said goodbye, and thanked her for all her hard work, and then soaked in the luxury of having a car drive us around New York. Not a cab, not an Uber, an actually driving service.
The driver was very friendly, but he also didn't give us too good an opinion of New York. As we drove painstakingly slow through the highway and into the city (I don't think we ever went over 35mph) I tried to take it all in, thinking this could become my new home. My Mom didn't know it, but her little girl still had dreams of living in the big apple, but this time as an editor and writer. She, of course, chatted with the driver. He had an accent, but explained he had gone to school in Arizona, and then Texas, and now he is here in New York. She asked how he liked it as we battled stop lights, crosswalks, and the groups of people who inhabited it. He said he didn't like it. It was too expensive, and all the money you made went into basic necessities. He explained the high prices of restaurants and rent in certain areas of town. It was all very uplifting as I dreamed, just as I had as a child, of moving to the city and making a name for myself.
We pulled up to the hotel, right next to Time Square. Mom tipped the driver and thanked him, then worried that we should've let the doorman carry our bags, and if she should've tipped him for getting the bags out of the car. I shrugged it off, we were independent women. The hotel was extremely fancy. It had jewelry stores in it, which was wild. It had a gold card member's desk. And the concierges were snooty as could be. I know this because I braved talking to a stranger to ask about affordable dinners in the area. I did not enjoy his condescending tone of voice when he asked what we meant by affordable and then went on about different pricing. He suggested a brunch location for the in the morning and after that I walked back to Mom who was collecting our room keys.
As if the lobby wasn't nice enough, the elevators were high-tech. They each had these long touch screens for one to select their floor number and then it would tell them which elevator to get on. For example, we were on the 6th floor, and it often told us to get on L2 or L5. The room was one of those rooms that had a fridge, but it was full of items for one to purchase for outlandish prices. This is sad because it's impossible to store leftovers in that fridge. I quickly set to unpacking, and Mom called Dad to tell him about our trip. We lounged on the bed for a little bit, taking it all in. Allowing for a moment of peace and rest after the travels, but then... it was time to get up and out into the city.
Honestly, after my travels I have decided it is the best airport in the world. There are two wings, A and B, and a Starbucks in the middle. TSA lines may get long since there's only one, but it's not nearly as bad as the hectic Atlanta airport. There are no zipping trains, or busy food courts, or over crowded gates that are trying to board multiple planes within 30 minutes. I love it's simplicity, but hope this post won't bring too much attention to it, as then the ease of this airport could be lost.
Mom and I arrived two hours early for our flight. We checked our bags in with a woman who had a shirt that said, "I'm only a morning person on Christmas" and I was afraid that when my Mom pointed it out the woman, at 6am in the morning, would say, "It's true though." We then meandered to TSA, where Mom and I were approved for pre-check. I thought that wasn't surprising considering my Mom is the least threatening person on the planet. Afterwards we went to Starbucks to get coffee, I ordered something with salted caramel, but was too nervous to drink all of it while we sat waiting at the gate.
Here is the thing, I'm like a nervous Chihuahua. When I travel to new places I just get real anxious and can't stomach a whole lot. I tried to cherish the drink, but in the end I threw it out, and didn't eat my granola bar that I'd packed. I also have a terrible fear of vomiting, and an airplane seems like prime vomiting conditions, and the literal worst vomiting location. So, I played it safe.
The flight to New York was a dream. We flew straight to Chicago, had a nice layover which allowed for us to eat a little more breakfast and drink more coffee. Then we flew straight to New York, landing by 1:30PM. I was excited to have this big chunk of time to explore New York with my Mom, who showed no fear to the city, but I knew she was nervous. We met this woman from AAA, who was going to take us to our car when our bags arrived. Mom told me she had prepared to tip everyone who helped us do anything, as that was how it worked in New York. Like I said, sweetest person ever.
She did embarrass me a little though, as Mom's are inclined to do, intentional or not. The bags were taking their sweet time to get to us, and Mom wasn't going to let us sit in silence. She was chatting with the young woman from AAA, who wore riding boots and winged eyeliners. She wasn't a New York native, but she'd been here a while. I was very intimidated.
My boyfriend, who loves New York and visits as often as he can since his brother goes to school in the Bronx, told me the people of New York are very fashionable. As if movies hadn't shaped my stereotype of these people enough, I now had a witness to them. I wanted to appear cool, I even wore decent clothes on the plane and not super lazy comfy clothes just to impress them. I'm sure I looked very regular. Well, I'm standing quietly, waiting for the bags, and Mom is explaining why we're in New York. It's so I can see CATS on Broadway. I smile meekly at this, it's a very dorky fact, but it's also incredibly true. She tells the woman that I've always wanted to be in the show, and even had my cat picked out. You all know this, I explained it in the post about CATS and my career prospects. But, I was not about to admit it to this woman. I tried to ignore it, but Mom pressed on.
"Which cat was it? Do you remember?" I smiled awkwardly at the woman, and mouthed "No" to my Mother. I was trying to say, "No, I'm not answering that," but that would be way too teenager-ish, even though that's exactly how I felt. Mom was confused, but perhaps she got the message as she changed the topic to living in New York.
I'm not sure how it came to light, but I believe Mom was talking about being nervous in the city. She was likely referring to one way streets and crowds. But, the woman replied with, "Yeah... well you've watched the news these past couple of nights..." This surprised me and my Mom. We had not watched the news, and this woman said this statement so conspicuously. What was on the news? What was happening? Should we grab our bags and go back to the airplane? No. CATS was at stake here.
The woman explained some repeated crime was happening, and finally our bags came. Her job was simple, walk us out the door and to the car that was parked, get us loaded up and return to the office. We said goodbye, and thanked her for all her hard work, and then soaked in the luxury of having a car drive us around New York. Not a cab, not an Uber, an actually driving service.
The driver was very friendly, but he also didn't give us too good an opinion of New York. As we drove painstakingly slow through the highway and into the city (I don't think we ever went over 35mph) I tried to take it all in, thinking this could become my new home. My Mom didn't know it, but her little girl still had dreams of living in the big apple, but this time as an editor and writer. She, of course, chatted with the driver. He had an accent, but explained he had gone to school in Arizona, and then Texas, and now he is here in New York. She asked how he liked it as we battled stop lights, crosswalks, and the groups of people who inhabited it. He said he didn't like it. It was too expensive, and all the money you made went into basic necessities. He explained the high prices of restaurants and rent in certain areas of town. It was all very uplifting as I dreamed, just as I had as a child, of moving to the city and making a name for myself.
We pulled up to the hotel, right next to Time Square. Mom tipped the driver and thanked him, then worried that we should've let the doorman carry our bags, and if she should've tipped him for getting the bags out of the car. I shrugged it off, we were independent women. The hotel was extremely fancy. It had jewelry stores in it, which was wild. It had a gold card member's desk. And the concierges were snooty as could be. I know this because I braved talking to a stranger to ask about affordable dinners in the area. I did not enjoy his condescending tone of voice when he asked what we meant by affordable and then went on about different pricing. He suggested a brunch location for the in the morning and after that I walked back to Mom who was collecting our room keys.
As if the lobby wasn't nice enough, the elevators were high-tech. They each had these long touch screens for one to select their floor number and then it would tell them which elevator to get on. For example, we were on the 6th floor, and it often told us to get on L2 or L5. The room was one of those rooms that had a fridge, but it was full of items for one to purchase for outlandish prices. This is sad because it's impossible to store leftovers in that fridge. I quickly set to unpacking, and Mom called Dad to tell him about our trip. We lounged on the bed for a little bit, taking it all in. Allowing for a moment of peace and rest after the travels, but then... it was time to get up and out into the city.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
My New York Trip: Set in Motion
I haven't posted anything on social media about this, but I felt like this would be a good space to put the story to words.
Whoever has read these last two posts probably thinks I'm insane because I'm pretty much just writing about my love for CATS. Oh well.
I found out CATS was back on Broadway when scrolling through Instagram's exploring page. My heart raced, because I had this opportunity to go and see it live and on Broadway. But, my stomach also sank, because how would I ever get to New York? I started following the instagram page for the Broadway production, but skipped over the posts as quickly as possible, because my heart and head kept pulling me in opposite ways.
I got close to going when my best friend, Sarah, and I planned a trip to Maine. I figured I could possibly take a train down to New York and see the show one evening, probably by myself. The Maine trip was postponed and the plan fell through. Then, I started babysitting and the parents invited me to go to New York with them, and even get me a ticket for a matinee show to see CATS as part of my payment. They ended up going to Miami instead, and I was unable to go with them. By this time the production had announced it was in it's final few months.
I was aching to get up to New York. Dying to be there. In early December my request for a weekend off had been denied, I work in retail and it was the height of the Christmas season. The weekend off was supposed to be so I could go to Gatlinburg with my boyfriend and his fraternity, so I was upset, but not too upset. Then, my manger realized the mistake and found someone to switch with me, so I could have Saturday and Sunday off to go on the trip. Of course, by this time my spot wasn't available on the trip, so I was to stay home.
So, here I was with a weekend off and nowhere to go. I would spend a lot of time online looking up same day flights to New York, AirBNB's, train rides into New York from Philadelphia, and any other option I had to get to New York. It'd take a huge hit to my bank account, and I had no travel companion. Then, I had an idea. I sent this string of texts to my Mom:
Note: The Pennsylvanians are what we call my Dad's step-sisters who live in Pennsylvania. Also I say "many dreams" because I also really wanna ride on a train.
Mom was all in after that. I sent her the details that I had a vague idea of.
She also knew I needed to be conscious of my car tags. Such a kind woman.
I'd told my sister's, whom I live with, about the trip. They're older than me, and were both much cooler than me in high school. They went on spontaneous trips, they might not have been glamorous, but I'm always so jealous that they have these memories to share and my college career has been safely at home, quiet and mostly alone. Graciously they offered to give me my Christmas gift in advance: 100$ visa gift card to help me get to New York. They even said they don't need Christmas gift's so I could save some money. Of course, I already had their Christmas presents, but that's besides the point. The action made me want to cry, I had so much support coming from these women, it was almost overwhelming.
The next day I called into work, and spoke to a scheduling manager. This is the same woman who got me the weekend off, and now I was looking for her skill in getting someone to swap with me either Monday or Friday. I wanted to keep hours, so I preferred a swap and not for someone to pick up my shift. She seemed somewhat confused when I explained this when she said someone had accepted my Friday shift. But, she was determined to help me get to New York. She got this sweet woman, Megg, to take my Monday shift if I took her Saturday (the Saturday before Christmas) shift. I was beyond thankful to both of them. Now, I had a full three days to do this rush trip to New York.
Finally, things were coming together. I had links to hotels and AirBNB's, I knew the cost of the train from Philadelphia to New York, and I was ready to start looking at tickets. On Thursday I went to school, expecting my Mom and I to work out the details that night. But, I got this text from her:
Whoever has read these last two posts probably thinks I'm insane because I'm pretty much just writing about my love for CATS. Oh well.
I found out CATS was back on Broadway when scrolling through Instagram's exploring page. My heart raced, because I had this opportunity to go and see it live and on Broadway. But, my stomach also sank, because how would I ever get to New York? I started following the instagram page for the Broadway production, but skipped over the posts as quickly as possible, because my heart and head kept pulling me in opposite ways.
I got close to going when my best friend, Sarah, and I planned a trip to Maine. I figured I could possibly take a train down to New York and see the show one evening, probably by myself. The Maine trip was postponed and the plan fell through. Then, I started babysitting and the parents invited me to go to New York with them, and even get me a ticket for a matinee show to see CATS as part of my payment. They ended up going to Miami instead, and I was unable to go with them. By this time the production had announced it was in it's final few months.
I was aching to get up to New York. Dying to be there. In early December my request for a weekend off had been denied, I work in retail and it was the height of the Christmas season. The weekend off was supposed to be so I could go to Gatlinburg with my boyfriend and his fraternity, so I was upset, but not too upset. Then, my manger realized the mistake and found someone to switch with me, so I could have Saturday and Sunday off to go on the trip. Of course, by this time my spot wasn't available on the trip, so I was to stay home.
So, here I was with a weekend off and nowhere to go. I would spend a lot of time online looking up same day flights to New York, AirBNB's, train rides into New York from Philadelphia, and any other option I had to get to New York. It'd take a huge hit to my bank account, and I had no travel companion. Then, I had an idea. I sent this string of texts to my Mom:
Mom was all in after that. I sent her the details that I had a vague idea of.
Not the most solid itinerary. But, this was just a few days before we would have to leave for the performance. I'd never done a spontaneous trip like this, but I was excited to be a part of it. I told my boyfriend with a lot of glee, and a lot of fear. He was skeptical, thinking we couldn't make it happen, as he is always trying to be realistic and practical. It's wonderful, except when your dream is at stake here.
Then, Mom sent this to me.
I saw it after I'd done a very energetic work out, high on the adrenaline of this opportunity I had to seize. It crushed me.
I cried on the drive home, angry at everyone who doubted this. Angry at the fact that she was right, and at the fact that I hadn't planned this trip to occur over the summer or for an actual vacation. I let the text sit when I got home, taking a shower and trying not to think about being a nine year old who had printed out images of her favorite cat hanging on her wall, and above those images the words, "STARRING ON BROADWAY: PAIGE MCWILLIAMS" hung proudly. (I always remember how to spell starring because I'd misspelled it "staring" and my cousin corrected me)
Of course, Mom isn't one to let it go either.
She also knew I needed to be conscious of my car tags. Such a kind woman.
I'd told my sister's, whom I live with, about the trip. They're older than me, and were both much cooler than me in high school. They went on spontaneous trips, they might not have been glamorous, but I'm always so jealous that they have these memories to share and my college career has been safely at home, quiet and mostly alone. Graciously they offered to give me my Christmas gift in advance: 100$ visa gift card to help me get to New York. They even said they don't need Christmas gift's so I could save some money. Of course, I already had their Christmas presents, but that's besides the point. The action made me want to cry, I had so much support coming from these women, it was almost overwhelming.
The next day I called into work, and spoke to a scheduling manager. This is the same woman who got me the weekend off, and now I was looking for her skill in getting someone to swap with me either Monday or Friday. I wanted to keep hours, so I preferred a swap and not for someone to pick up my shift. She seemed somewhat confused when I explained this when she said someone had accepted my Friday shift. But, she was determined to help me get to New York. She got this sweet woman, Megg, to take my Monday shift if I took her Saturday (the Saturday before Christmas) shift. I was beyond thankful to both of them. Now, I had a full three days to do this rush trip to New York.
We were all set! She had gone to AAA (I am very confused about this place now, I thought they were just road side assistance), and had a package put together and made for our travels. We had plane tickets, a hotel room, and now all was missing was our tickets to the show. This was my job.
Surprisingly, the 8PM show was cheaper than the 2PM show on Sunday, but Mom insisted we go to the show during the day as she was weary of New York. She wasn't sure what travel would be like in New York, if we'd walk or ride back to the hotel, so we decided to do the 2PM show, which she paid for since the tickets costed a lot more than I'd anticipated. After I bought the tickets I went downstairs where my sister and her friend were preparing baskets for a raffle they were hosting. I was so excited, and so afraid, and I didn't know how to express myself. So I sat quietly on her bed, watching them work out the details of their fundraiser. I was slowly letting reality sink in. I was leaving for New York Saturday morning, I was seeing CATS Sunday afternoon. I was seeing CATS. On Broadway. Getting as close as I ever would to achieving my childhood dream. I turned to every cat I saw for two days and said, "I'm going to see you on Broadway." Very few cared about this, but I laughed every time.
Friday was spent in anticipation. Trying to get homework done for the weekend, going to work and thinking about all the possibilities of this trip, and then figuring out where I could buy some good skin colored tights for the performance.
This was just the beginning of our whirlwind trip.
Monday, January 22, 2018
My career goals, paired with my affinity for CATS the musical
Hi, my name is Paige (like a book), and when I was a kid I wanted to be a Broadway star, now I want to be an editor and a writer. Now, let me explain how this relates to my deep, deep love for a little musical (that's probably really lame to love this much) called CATS.
It all started when I was small and shy going to visit my Dad's parents. When ever we went over to Grandpa and Grandma Jean's house there were several options for entertainment.
1. The small gazebo and pond, where one could sing Mulan's songs.
2. A decorative wishing well, where one could sing Snow White's song.
3. Pretend playing the organ (I was very talented at this).
4. Looking at Grandma Jean's collection of the trinkets she'd gathered from all across the world. Elephants and fine dolls, everything glittered and highly revered in their glass display cases.
5. Watching CATS on VHS.
Grandma Jean is my step grandmother, and she is so fancy and cultured. She's traveled the world, she wears fur coats, and she has seen several Broadway productions. I don't really remember watching it all that much at her house, because I eventually figured out I could borrow it from her from time to time. When that happened I watched it at least once a day, singing and dancing along. One time I remember her handing it over to me and saying, "Now remember, you have to bring this back." Which surprised me, because obviously I always brought it back, otherwise I wouldn't be borrowing it again. But, then again, I borrowed that shit for a long time. Half because we didn't go over as often as we did to my other grandma's, but also because that VHS was like crack to me.
My entire family knows about CATS, because I'd watched it so much. I even picked out what cat I wanted to be. At first, I wanted to be Victoria, obviously. She's the pure white cat who gets a ballet solo. Then I wanted to be Cassandra, because she had small singing solos and danced just as much as Victoria. Finally, I landed on Jemimia (Sillabub in American productions). She had longer solos, and was also a strong dancer. By nine years old, just a year into my first dance lessons, I had my entire career planned out. But, that plan didn't work out.
I danced at a small studio in my hometown, and I'm so fond of my memories there, but it wasn't as major of a school that one who aimed to have her name in flashing lights all across New York City needed to be in. As I continued into middle school I still held on to this dream, and all of my friends knew about it. I eventually joined a performance troupe in Oldham County that gave me singing and acting background, but by then I was slowly giving up on my dream. I still really, really wanted to dance. But I was beginning to understand that I wasn't the best in my classes, and I wasn't really excelling. I also became really fond of ballet, and it became my focus by the time high school hit. I quit that briefly, trying to re-center myself in jazz and tap. It was a horrible idea, so I went back to ballet, figuring I could be a part of New York City ballet.
This was when I began to write.
When I entered high school I'd just spent the summer taking endless ballet classes at UofL's Dance Academy, and I'd gotten my first laptop. I would stay up late writing these stories that I had made up to put myself to sleep. These stories used to be based on Disney characters and movies, or books I'd read. Then, they turned into me, a girl from Kentucky confidently living in New York, dancing her heart out with a company, falling in love with a lawyer, but waiting until marriage, and she also had great abs. These stories were horrible, but they came from CATS.
I used to make up these stories because I was obsessed with dreams. CATS made me hyper aware of the word "memory," and of the moon in the night sky, and I was a little kid chasing her dreams of getting up on stage dressed in a leotard and wig. And my character always went to New York, because that's where I wanted to be. That's where the Broadway is, so that's where I needed to be. Even if I wasn't on Broadway I just had to be there. Now, as I look for jobs in the publishing world I'm turning back to New York, though the dancing dream has died.
I just went to New York this December. I had a couple of days off one weekend and asked my Mom on a Monday if she wanted to go on this adventure. She was all in. That Friday we were on a plane for New York with tickets to CATS in our pocket. I was afraid, I'd never been to New York, and I knew there was a chance I'd be moving there to follow a career, but I was still so scared of New York. I knew it wouldn't be like my stories, it'd be much harsher and colder. But by the time we left the next Monday I was staring longingly out the plane window at the New York skyline. I wanted to be back there.
Part of that is definitley because CATS was still there. We saw the show during a Sunday matinee, and I cried the entire way through. Etcetera (her real character name, I just figured it out this year and every time I'm like, Eliot and Weber, you nerds) ran down the aisle with glowing eyes as the overture played, and I couldn't hold it in. My Mom leaned over to ask if I was alright, and I said, "Yes. I just started crying." She gave me a tissue and I gripped it the entire show as I sobbed on and off. My heart raced the entire show, and for an hour after the show, because as we watched my shoulders heaved to the music. This was the closest I'd ever get to being in CATS. The closest I got to singing Sillabub's solos was mouthing along with Jessica Cohen. The closest I got to wearing the unitard was Samantha Sturm, who played Demeter, touched my hand as I tried to smile at her through the tears as "The Addressing of Cats" was sang on stage. The show was so amazing.
So, I went to the box office and bought tickets for the evening performance. I cried again, and made intense eye contact with Tantomile, but that's besides the point. CATS steered me back to New York, because I found such joy in that performance I have found joy in the city, and want to return to explore the rest of it, and find my confidence walking the streets, just as my character did in the stories I wrote.
Now, as I mentioned before I had goals of being Jemimia. Physically, Veerle Castelyn, was petite, but she had big eyes that were only made to appear bigger with her stage make up. So, I was already short (in fact I still match the casting call description of Sillabub: under 5'4, youthful apperance), and my eyes were big... but I always wanted them to be bigger. I'd spend time in the mirror lifting my lids as high as they'd go, stretching my eyeballs, willing them to grow. Jem also spent a significant amount of time looking and sining at the moon, so I did that too.
I was mystified by the full moon, staring at it during early car rides to school, and late car rides home from Memaw's house. When I couldn't sleep, I'd go to the window and look at the moon, thinking about dreaming and memories. I'd try and make my eyes as big as the moon, just like a curious kitten. At this point I find it interesting to point out that I am not a night person. Well, I'm more of a night person than a morning person, I hate mornings sometimes, but I don't stay up late. When I was real little I used to be knocked out by no later than 9:30pm. As the seventh child of my family, I'm sure my parents were extremely pleased about this phenomenon. Also, I was always a dog person. My sister was the cat person, so I was the dog person. My mind worked in opposites a lot when it came to my sister, I don't know it's weird. But anyways, despite these facts I was in love with the moon and the stars, so much so that one night when I didn't sleep until literally the next morning I was thrilled. I wasn't angry that I tossed and turned, I was elated to be up with the moon. I'd lazily walk to my window, open the sheer curtains like a rich woman in a 1950s film, and look up to the sky.
That night I also did one of the most extinsive story planning dream sessions based on a book I'd read for Book Bee. I valued myself on not only my dancing and singing, but my creativity and imagination. But, it was because I was going to be a part of a creative field while performing on Broadway (HUGE emphasis on Broadway, younger me was already a diva who would accept nothing less than Broadway!!).
So, this all added up. I spent a lot of time not only being a natural introvert, but one who was similar to a cat. Quiet, but playful. Aloof, but very kind. Occasionally graceful, but typically clumsy. My eyes were already big, as I said above, and I became a daydreaming, book worm. I miss high school a lot because I daydreamed constantly about the stories I was working on, about CATS, about my future as a dancer, and still got A's. Now I have serious participation points to rack up in college classes, and customers to attend to at work. But, I still love to visit the usually empty second floor of the library, or walk through the corner sections of work, taking in a few moments to be pensive. Now, what does all this fester to become? Do strangers and friends alike stop and tell me I remind them of a cat? Or even specifically my dream role from the musical? No. There's another person I've recently been compared to a lot.
I would now like to propose a poll:
Do I have a Luna Lovegood "Vibe"
1. YES! OMG I'VE BEEN RACKING MY BRAIN FOREVER! YOU JUST HAVE HER AIR, YOUR HAIR IS SIMILIAR, YOU EVEN SOUND LIKE HER. (All things people have said to me)
2. No... it's something else. Maybe like a person dressed up as a cat singing and dancing to unpopular, but super iconic, showtunes.
3. Who is Luna Lovegood?
It all started when I was small and shy going to visit my Dad's parents. When ever we went over to Grandpa and Grandma Jean's house there were several options for entertainment.
1. The small gazebo and pond, where one could sing Mulan's songs.
2. A decorative wishing well, where one could sing Snow White's song.
3. Pretend playing the organ (I was very talented at this).
4. Looking at Grandma Jean's collection of the trinkets she'd gathered from all across the world. Elephants and fine dolls, everything glittered and highly revered in their glass display cases.
5. Watching CATS on VHS.
Grandma Jean is my step grandmother, and she is so fancy and cultured. She's traveled the world, she wears fur coats, and she has seen several Broadway productions. I don't really remember watching it all that much at her house, because I eventually figured out I could borrow it from her from time to time. When that happened I watched it at least once a day, singing and dancing along. One time I remember her handing it over to me and saying, "Now remember, you have to bring this back." Which surprised me, because obviously I always brought it back, otherwise I wouldn't be borrowing it again. But, then again, I borrowed that shit for a long time. Half because we didn't go over as often as we did to my other grandma's, but also because that VHS was like crack to me.
My entire family knows about CATS, because I'd watched it so much. I even picked out what cat I wanted to be. At first, I wanted to be Victoria, obviously. She's the pure white cat who gets a ballet solo. Then I wanted to be Cassandra, because she had small singing solos and danced just as much as Victoria. Finally, I landed on Jemimia (Sillabub in American productions). She had longer solos, and was also a strong dancer. By nine years old, just a year into my first dance lessons, I had my entire career planned out. But, that plan didn't work out.
I danced at a small studio in my hometown, and I'm so fond of my memories there, but it wasn't as major of a school that one who aimed to have her name in flashing lights all across New York City needed to be in. As I continued into middle school I still held on to this dream, and all of my friends knew about it. I eventually joined a performance troupe in Oldham County that gave me singing and acting background, but by then I was slowly giving up on my dream. I still really, really wanted to dance. But I was beginning to understand that I wasn't the best in my classes, and I wasn't really excelling. I also became really fond of ballet, and it became my focus by the time high school hit. I quit that briefly, trying to re-center myself in jazz and tap. It was a horrible idea, so I went back to ballet, figuring I could be a part of New York City ballet.
This was when I began to write.
When I entered high school I'd just spent the summer taking endless ballet classes at UofL's Dance Academy, and I'd gotten my first laptop. I would stay up late writing these stories that I had made up to put myself to sleep. These stories used to be based on Disney characters and movies, or books I'd read. Then, they turned into me, a girl from Kentucky confidently living in New York, dancing her heart out with a company, falling in love with a lawyer, but waiting until marriage, and she also had great abs. These stories were horrible, but they came from CATS.
I used to make up these stories because I was obsessed with dreams. CATS made me hyper aware of the word "memory," and of the moon in the night sky, and I was a little kid chasing her dreams of getting up on stage dressed in a leotard and wig. And my character always went to New York, because that's where I wanted to be. That's where the Broadway is, so that's where I needed to be. Even if I wasn't on Broadway I just had to be there. Now, as I look for jobs in the publishing world I'm turning back to New York, though the dancing dream has died.
I just went to New York this December. I had a couple of days off one weekend and asked my Mom on a Monday if she wanted to go on this adventure. She was all in. That Friday we were on a plane for New York with tickets to CATS in our pocket. I was afraid, I'd never been to New York, and I knew there was a chance I'd be moving there to follow a career, but I was still so scared of New York. I knew it wouldn't be like my stories, it'd be much harsher and colder. But by the time we left the next Monday I was staring longingly out the plane window at the New York skyline. I wanted to be back there.
Part of that is definitley because CATS was still there. We saw the show during a Sunday matinee, and I cried the entire way through. Etcetera (her real character name, I just figured it out this year and every time I'm like, Eliot and Weber, you nerds) ran down the aisle with glowing eyes as the overture played, and I couldn't hold it in. My Mom leaned over to ask if I was alright, and I said, "Yes. I just started crying." She gave me a tissue and I gripped it the entire show as I sobbed on and off. My heart raced the entire show, and for an hour after the show, because as we watched my shoulders heaved to the music. This was the closest I'd ever get to being in CATS. The closest I got to singing Sillabub's solos was mouthing along with Jessica Cohen. The closest I got to wearing the unitard was Samantha Sturm, who played Demeter, touched my hand as I tried to smile at her through the tears as "The Addressing of Cats" was sang on stage. The show was so amazing.
So, I went to the box office and bought tickets for the evening performance. I cried again, and made intense eye contact with Tantomile, but that's besides the point. CATS steered me back to New York, because I found such joy in that performance I have found joy in the city, and want to return to explore the rest of it, and find my confidence walking the streets, just as my character did in the stories I wrote.
Now, as I mentioned before I had goals of being Jemimia. Physically, Veerle Castelyn, was petite, but she had big eyes that were only made to appear bigger with her stage make up. So, I was already short (in fact I still match the casting call description of Sillabub: under 5'4, youthful apperance), and my eyes were big... but I always wanted them to be bigger. I'd spend time in the mirror lifting my lids as high as they'd go, stretching my eyeballs, willing them to grow. Jem also spent a significant amount of time looking and sining at the moon, so I did that too.
I was mystified by the full moon, staring at it during early car rides to school, and late car rides home from Memaw's house. When I couldn't sleep, I'd go to the window and look at the moon, thinking about dreaming and memories. I'd try and make my eyes as big as the moon, just like a curious kitten. At this point I find it interesting to point out that I am not a night person. Well, I'm more of a night person than a morning person, I hate mornings sometimes, but I don't stay up late. When I was real little I used to be knocked out by no later than 9:30pm. As the seventh child of my family, I'm sure my parents were extremely pleased about this phenomenon. Also, I was always a dog person. My sister was the cat person, so I was the dog person. My mind worked in opposites a lot when it came to my sister, I don't know it's weird. But anyways, despite these facts I was in love with the moon and the stars, so much so that one night when I didn't sleep until literally the next morning I was thrilled. I wasn't angry that I tossed and turned, I was elated to be up with the moon. I'd lazily walk to my window, open the sheer curtains like a rich woman in a 1950s film, and look up to the sky.
That night I also did one of the most extinsive story planning dream sessions based on a book I'd read for Book Bee. I valued myself on not only my dancing and singing, but my creativity and imagination. But, it was because I was going to be a part of a creative field while performing on Broadway (HUGE emphasis on Broadway, younger me was already a diva who would accept nothing less than Broadway!!).
So, this all added up. I spent a lot of time not only being a natural introvert, but one who was similar to a cat. Quiet, but playful. Aloof, but very kind. Occasionally graceful, but typically clumsy. My eyes were already big, as I said above, and I became a daydreaming, book worm. I miss high school a lot because I daydreamed constantly about the stories I was working on, about CATS, about my future as a dancer, and still got A's. Now I have serious participation points to rack up in college classes, and customers to attend to at work. But, I still love to visit the usually empty second floor of the library, or walk through the corner sections of work, taking in a few moments to be pensive. Now, what does all this fester to become? Do strangers and friends alike stop and tell me I remind them of a cat? Or even specifically my dream role from the musical? No. There's another person I've recently been compared to a lot.
I would now like to propose a poll:
Do I have a Luna Lovegood "Vibe"
1. YES! OMG I'VE BEEN RACKING MY BRAIN FOREVER! YOU JUST HAVE HER AIR, YOUR HAIR IS SIMILIAR, YOU EVEN SOUND LIKE HER. (All things people have said to me)
2. No... it's something else. Maybe like a person dressed up as a cat singing and dancing to unpopular, but super iconic, showtunes.
3. Who is Luna Lovegood?
(I also really love Parks and Recreation a ridiculous amount. But it's honestly nothing compared to my passion for CATS. Trust me. But I keep CATS very private, despite this long post. Parks and Rec is still cool. CATS is v dorky and it took me up until 10th grade to figure that out. But I could watch that shit all day. All day.)
ANYWAYS! My true love and dedication to CATS morphed itself into a literary reference. How ironic! It's as if my name, Paige, wasn't destiny enough, apparently I had to assume the characteristics of a cat character to become a character within my new career path.
I figure a lot of stuff out while watching CATS live on Broadway and crying. I looked up at the Jellicle moon, and realized this show was why I was so in love with the moon all those years ago. The show is why I'm drawn to New York and wrote stories with the setting. It had my butt in dance classes for ten years, loving every second, even the ones I knew my childhood dream was dead. I also realized that Skimbleshanks, the railway cat, doesn't ask train passengers if they want their tea "With a straw" but rather, "Weak or strong."
But most importantly I realized I had a full book of poetry memorized. I still get chills when in a poetry class and a TS Eliot poem is referenced. It always contains lines from "Memory" and makes me want to watch the show again. It makes my heart happy to see those lines and hear them read by other students who might not understand the show, but it's now in their lives too. As I watched the performers give their all on stage I cried, and realized how beautiful it was that the entire time I'd been focusing on the dancing and the singing, I was absorbing a key part of my future career.
I'm currently at Spalding University, working on getting my BFA in Creative Writing, and it's all because when I was a kid I watched a musical that was just a full book of poetry brought to life. Now, I own several TS Eliot books, and enjoy reading his work. And yeah, every now and again I like to indulge in my old dream of bringing that poetry to life through song and dance.
Thank you CATS, for not only being as amazing as I think you are, but for helping me to chase my dreams. I will always be fond of the memories we share, and for the person you've helped me become.
I will love you, Now and Forever.
(P.S. Please come back to Broadway soon! 16 years was too long! Let's say a short two?)
Sunday, January 21, 2018
The meaning of Planned Parenthood
Today, I went to this really great bar and restaurant called "Garage Bar." It's located here in Louisville, and it's kind of a hip joint all the kids go to, and it has very millennial food items. Anyways, I went there because today is the day after the Women's March, and all purchases benefit Planned Parenthood of Indiana and Kentucky. I had to go out and show my support, even if it was just getting an order of beignets to go. (Listen, I wanted to go and get drunk off of basil and lavender drinks, but my parent's are coming over for my birthday dinner so I didn't). So, after circling the block twice looking for a big enough street parking spot to pull into and then giving up and parking in a paid public parking lot which I did not pay for I went to get my beignets.
The first thing I noticed was a family leaving the joint. It was a Mom, a Dad, and two kids under the age of four. They were enjoying time together, Mommy and oldest son running on the sidewalk, Dad behind them joking about how Mommy was wearing the perfect running shoes (she was in a maxi dress with nice flats on). I went inside, and low and behold in the midst of this lunch rush was not just single women wanting to support Planned Parenthood, but families. A lot of families.
Here's why I think this is important: Planned Parenthood isn't just serving a bunch of butch women, or stereotypical sorority girls who are labeled "sluts." The purpose of the institution isn't to just provide abortions in a way to plan parenthood, it's a place to go for all different types of reasons. It's to help men and women when dealing with reproduction. It's also there for people who need STD or HIV testing. It's goal is to help women and men understand birth control, and provide contraception so they don't have to give abortions. You see? It's not just a baby killing factory, it's a baby planning factory.
The problem with people who want to squash PP also want to teach kids abstinence only. Well, this is bullshit. Yes, obviously it's the best method, but there are other methods that are just like .1% less effective. So, if you don't want people to have abortions, then you should at least teach them how to prevent pregnancy. It's extremely uncommon for people to wait until marriage to have sex, even in schools that teach abstinence only. At Catholic schools students actually wait and anticipate who will be the pregnant girl this year, despite the school's teachings. So, if you don't want abortions, tell kids to wrap it before you tap it, or to get a baby zapper whether pill, insert, or implant. We have to be smart about this, guys.
I stand with Planned Parenthood, and I never want to see it go away. I hope it continues to help people plan when they want to be parents, and to help them through the process. I want them to always be available to provide support and education to those who couldn't find it in school or at home. This is why, today, I eat beignets.
The first thing I noticed was a family leaving the joint. It was a Mom, a Dad, and two kids under the age of four. They were enjoying time together, Mommy and oldest son running on the sidewalk, Dad behind them joking about how Mommy was wearing the perfect running shoes (she was in a maxi dress with nice flats on). I went inside, and low and behold in the midst of this lunch rush was not just single women wanting to support Planned Parenthood, but families. A lot of families.
Here's why I think this is important: Planned Parenthood isn't just serving a bunch of butch women, or stereotypical sorority girls who are labeled "sluts." The purpose of the institution isn't to just provide abortions in a way to plan parenthood, it's a place to go for all different types of reasons. It's to help men and women when dealing with reproduction. It's also there for people who need STD or HIV testing. It's goal is to help women and men understand birth control, and provide contraception so they don't have to give abortions. You see? It's not just a baby killing factory, it's a baby planning factory.
The problem with people who want to squash PP also want to teach kids abstinence only. Well, this is bullshit. Yes, obviously it's the best method, but there are other methods that are just like .1% less effective. So, if you don't want people to have abortions, then you should at least teach them how to prevent pregnancy. It's extremely uncommon for people to wait until marriage to have sex, even in schools that teach abstinence only. At Catholic schools students actually wait and anticipate who will be the pregnant girl this year, despite the school's teachings. So, if you don't want abortions, tell kids to wrap it before you tap it, or to get a baby zapper whether pill, insert, or implant. We have to be smart about this, guys.
I stand with Planned Parenthood, and I never want to see it go away. I hope it continues to help people plan when they want to be parents, and to help them through the process. I want them to always be available to provide support and education to those who couldn't find it in school or at home. This is why, today, I eat beignets.
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