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.
Thursday, January 25, 2018
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.
Thursday, July 20, 2017
Revival and Renovations
The other day while working at
Barnes and Noble I was stared down by a rack of cards for graduation. They all
had motivating words about graduating, heading down the road to success, and
encouraged following your dreams. Now, as a senior in college this has officially
become one of my biggest fears. Because, not only am I a senior, but I am a
senior in the school of creative writing, which isn’t exactly a common degree
with a set career path. So, yeah. In a year not only will I have to start adulating
(hardcore), but I will also have to put some serious work in towards my dreams
and goals. Work I should’ve been putting in these past three years (if not
more). But I haven’t. So here we are.
I
started this blog my senior year of high school and have since let it go. But, I’d
like to revive it. It started as a feminism blog, but I think I’d like to get
more creative with my posting. I am not sure what I will write, maybe some book reviews, maybe just my thoughts about people's graphic t-shirt choices, maybe a poem about my Memaw. I don't know yet, but I know I just
need to write. And I need to get my writing out into the world, and this blog
is the best way to do so. Now, as most of you know since you follow me on
social media, I do not post a lot. I am very shy and quiet, but that shit ain’t
gonna fly in the real world. It’s time to put on my big girl pants and not be
afraid of posting opinions, weird thoughts, and my creative writing. Woo! Terrifying.
So,
here it goes. As I like to say to my sister’s dog when I have to pull him out
from under the couch to take him on a walk, “It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s
fine. It’s fine. It's fine.”
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