Let's Do My Musical

Last week I made the first move.

With an inspirational muttering to myself (something like "let's improvise") I walked up to Trisha Todd after class and told her the entire deal. I was a nervous mess so all the points were out of order, but the information I relayed was as follows:

• I am currently writing the libretto, lyrics, and music for a musical
• I think it's good
• I'm almost finished
• I want you to help me edit/finish it
• I want it performed at Grant

What is the first step?

It was hard because I was asking so many things of her at once: I was asking her to trust that it actually was good, I was asking her to commit to helping me even before she saw any of the project, and I was asking her to either produce it on the Grant stage or reject me (either option being a whole lot of work).

I was very proud of myself for on-the-spot coming up with my actual question: What is the first step. It made this project seem a lot more manageable to just start with the first baby step, I'm sure for the both of us.

Todd told me to show her a summary and play some of the music. It was awesome. If everything works out, we'll get this baby done and in the process become best friends forever. The future looks good.

Engraver

Circumcision

With the uncovering of the injustice of racism, homophobia, and the gender binary, I'm surprised that the issue of male circumcision hasn't come to light. I am against circumcision (not counting voluntary circumcision as an adult) and I am confused why anyone isn't.

Basically, when an XY child is born, the parents get to make a decision; Whether to circumcise or not. When the baby is circumcised, its foreskin is removed in a safe medical procedure. About 8/10 penises in USA are circumcised, and 3/10 in the whole world.

There are several reasons one might circumcise their child and I'm about to explain why each one is stupid. "It's more hygienic and smells better that way." Not true. To clean the head of an uncircumcised penis, there are two steps: Pull back the foreskin, and rinse. The foreskin actually helps the penis stay cleaner by protecting it from dirt and bacteria. "It looks better that way." Well that's dumb. Obviously butt implants make a person's ass look better but it's not like I'm going to send in my baby to surgery to get that big booty. Your personal preference does not give you the right to cut off part of your baby, right? There's no way that logic flies, right? There's no reason circumcision needs to still exist, right?

But sadly, the most common reason to circumcise is tradition. "His dad's circumcised, so he should be too." Wrong! Genital mutilation is not genetic!

So here are the benefits of foreskin. Under the foreskin is a mucus membrane (wet all the time) and that mucus keeps the head of the penis safe and protected and cozy in its little blankie. When you cut it off, the head of the penis becomes desensitized and dry, which makes it very vulnerable and actually lessens sexual pleasure.

The most obvious disclaimer of all, I certainly hope, is that a baby is unable to give consent. Basically, if you circumcise your child you are literally cutting off a part of their body before they are able to talk. You solely are making the decision that they don't get to have a foreskin even if they want one. Why? WHy do wE DO ThiS! If a parent were to get their newborn's ears pierced they would be faced with all kinds of judgment and a knock on the door from Child Services, but when it comes to chopping of parts of penises (an action that is more painful and much more permanent) nobody blinks an eye.

Please do not do this to your child. Please just let your poor kid's penis be. Mother nature knows what she's doing.

Engraver

Kelso's Choice

When I was in kindergarten, we spent a long time learning about conflict resolution. If two students had a disagreement, there was protocol. You could of course try the 'Make a Deal' solution, one that usually felt mature and cool to execute properly, or the popular 'Tell Them To Stop' (because if they then didn't, you could get them in TROUBLE), or my favorite, the 'Go To Another Game' (with optional blowing of hair out of face and then making a big show about how this new game was vastly superior and that other game was last week's trash). Our options were clear. We even had a wheel diagram as a reminder because in grade school, circles=learning:

For those hard of reading, you can see the exaggerated actions of our role model Kelso The Frog. The idea was that if there was ever a problem, we would try one of the strategies that worked for Kelso. If that didn't work, we were supposed to try another one, and another until we had 40°ed our way through the problem. If we got through the whole wheel, it was time to tell a teacher. Genius, right? Even though the conflicts we had then were miniscule, the lesson was important.

As things progressed, we slowly forgot about Kelso. Once we all got to middle school, we usually cried until a teacher stepped in and took our side, or maybe subtweeted the other person. It was never really a problem, though, because in middle school our priorities were all wrong.

These days it seems like Kelso and his wise demonstrations are forgotten completely. For high schoolers, personal conflict is a daily. Of course, some options like 'Share and Take Turns' or 'Go To Another Game' aren't exactly relevant anymore, but even tried-and-true classics like 'Ignore It' and 'Walk Away' and 'Apologize' are absent from a teenager's problem-solving vocabulary. I personally reference the wheel all the time and I'm not quite sure why my peers don't.

From my experience in high school, the wheel has evolved a little:

As you can see, there are now only four options: 'Gossip', 'Steal Their Shit', 'Emo Tumblr Post', and 'Panic Attack'. I haven't seen one of these hanging up in the hall like I used to, but I'm certain everyone else must have a wallet-sized version that they refer to because these four solutions ("solutions") are actually the only ways teenagers try to solve their problems.

But I have to admit, high school conflict can be confusing and scary and sometimes there doesn't seem to be a "right" option. Starting vicious rumors about a person who hurt your feelings is much easier (not to mention much more fun) than working out the problem and you'll just move on to another spat tomorrow anyway.

So I've decided that I'm done with high school drama. There's always a solution, even if it's not in plain sight. 

I've created a much more effective wheel for my fellow high schoolers who find themself in a conflict. It should efficiently solve any and every teenage conflict that could possibly exist.

Engraver

Printer Connection

Short post:

I'm in the College and Career Center (CCC, not to be confused with the Columbia Community College Chamber Choir, or CCCCC) and some teacher is printing 4,000 copies of something and I spent a good 4 minutes being annoyed at the loud-ass printer but then I started to groove, finding an obvious syncopated 4/4 jam with it and the repetition was relaxing. What do you know, there's music everywhere.

Engraver

Tanner (name rant 2)

I've known two Tanners, and neither of them were very important or interesting.

The first Tanner I met was my "long-lost cousin". He was really the grandchild of my mother's second cousins, so the blood relation was close to a milliliter. We met at the wedding of my second cousin when I was maybe 9. I had met her indifferently a few times and she was marrying a man who I didn't care about. They refused to take my cryptic flower-throw fortunes so I made a point to remove myself from the wedding operation altogether.

I'm certain I had a crush on him. He made me feel adventurous and masculine and like a bad kid and it was exciting. I vividly remember the mixed faces of my parents when I relayed Tanner's hilarious observation the the beatboxer's solo sounded a lot like the word "bitch" over and over again.

I also remember that I was scarred by that party. Tanner had introduced me to his toy gun, a small black pistol with an orange tip he had taped over to make it look more realistic. We were playing with the gun and I found a knothole in the side of the [barn I guess?] in which the wedding was taking place. And suddenly there was a pushing from the other side. I looked to see a stranger's hand, no body visible, with long black fingernails and a reptilian wrinkled texture wrapped around the end of my gun, disapprovingly pushing it back in the building towards me. I dropped it and stood there, shocked. Tanner hadn't seen. I was very scared.

I remember trying to tell Tanner what had happened but for some reason (terror, maybe) I just couldn't. I don't think I've ever told my parents. As a 16-year-old, I can't decode this stranger's odd actions. I can't even formulate the questions I have, literally. I haven't since seen Tanner and I don't need to (I'll make a post about my stance on incest later).

There's another Tanner who appeared in Jangano Marimba at the beginning of last year. He was from Sellwood, a school with a large Marimba program led by a white lady who didn't understand Zimbabwean rhythm. He came with Kristin and both, who claimed to know Isi Tauya Pano, played their parts with a western gait that was positively awful.

And Tanner, of course, was the center of Ricky's gaze. He was everything he ever looked for; Bony with a pointy face, athletic, weird and awkward (and not in a cute way) and a victim of gay voice. I thought he was terrible but had to push those thoughts away to agree with Ricky's then-favorite phrase: "He's athletic and beautiful". No, really. He said those exact words ALL THE TIME. I guess it's good that everyone has their own preferences, but I still don't get it.


Engraver

Isaiah (name rant 1)

Isaiah is the name of two people I know.

The first is the baby who I'm connected to by a confusing string of blood. The child is a living and evolving example of alarming gender stereotypes.

They were born in California to my musical and humanitarian aunt JoanMarie (of my mom's side) and introverted author uncle Jay. Their upraisal is a point of disagreement in me. Circumcised, first of all. And raised with a very very caring touch. More an attitude of "Don't" and less a (more preferable to me) attitude of "Whatever". A child should be exposed, not protected. A child should be allowed freedom, not pampering. A child should start to experience the world as an adult as early as possible in order to transcend into a hyper-adult when it is time (and subsequently conquer the world, of course). A child should experience loss. A child should experience dirt. The ground. The feeling of possessing something broken.

And even though the parents are absolutely progressive, the entire notion of raising a baby gendered seems so, first of all, pointless, and second of all, problematic and unhealthy. A song written about a baby boy that I was unable to appreciate because to my understanding, baby boys don't exist, like baby girls. Babies are babies. They don't fucking need pronouns and they don't need stupid gender roles and they don't need color coding. Babies. Are. Genderless. (well, I also think that adults are somewhat genderless too, but that's another blog post)

Positively, the child is smart and creative and an awesome potential collaborator. I became sad to learn that they had achieved the point of embarrassment over feminine interests, what a tragedy. I hope that they will grow out of their parents.

The second Isaiah was abruptly introduced into my life like a new character in a play at the beginning of last year. He had left a Christian school to come to ratchet ass Grant and was accepted happily into both A Cappella and Royal Blues choirs. He's a chocolatey baritone.

Immediately, his defining personality trait was homosexual. I tried to dislike him for it but I quickly realized that he is smart, creative, talented, and obsessed with musical theatre. We're completely similar.

This year in student leadership I was eager to join the Clubs & Services committee with him as the leader. We're also still in both choirs together as well as choir board, Hooked on Harmonics (the all-men a cappella group that he's now the president of) and Thespian Club (which he somehow became president of last year, one month into his first year at Grant). He's a superstar.

Out of all the phases he's gone through, I like him best with blond hair. He dyed it lighter from his natural medium brown right before his Royal Blues callback last year, and then moved on to black, and then black with a green tuft in the front when he played the role of Audrey II in the ratchet ass Grant production of Little Shop of Horrors. This school year, I was excited to see it back at a simple blond. I think simplicity is good for his aesthetic because his personality is so outwardly complex and attention-demanding. He is a good friend and a valuable team member.

Engraver

Vertei

Vertei was my first full-length project. It was a mix of songs written for the album and songs collected from previously that were thematically cohesive. The work was themed around cycles, things that spin or repeat or always come back around. Other secondary themes are nature, daydreams, and wistful observation. Tracks 2-8 chronologically tell the story of a few introspective days in my life and 10-11 and 12-13 are also short plotlines.

1. Heavenly Bodies
The longest track on the album, I think this song accurately summarizes the rest of the album's journey. The particular cycle in question is the solar system. As proven by the largest manipulative objects we know of, planets, things that exist are meant to spin. The earth and the moon and the asteroid belts, all spinning, spinning forever. It's scary and peaceful.

The mantra "I have nothing against you" repeated throughout is an edition of the phrase "I am nothing against you", meaning instead of the nonexistent rivalry between space and one's existence, it's one's knowledge that is only an iota of what outer space holds.

Other than that, the song is purely pleasant and no hard-hitting, cathartic, or meaningful statements are included.

2. Cycle ft. Maia Dooney
I'm pretty sure I know what this song is about. It's an observation by a particularly pessimistic child about the tomfoolery of daily human life. Wake up, go to school and feel bettered, go to sleep. And for what? What difference does it actually make? It also outlines the hilarity of fighting for justice and the inevitability of wrongdoings, no matter the pushback.

The inspiration for this song was the idea of a duet and the other singer Maia was the voice I had in mind when writing it. Her aura is of a confident and articulate philosophy about life and the world, but in an incognito way, providing the understated social comment of this song.

3. Sominex (Moment 1)
This is a glimpse into the struggle of a person battling depression and the rollercoaster of medication that only gives birth to other problems. The last sentence trails off because the speaker is fading away, unheard. This track was inspired by the stories of a friend.

This is also the first of two track featuring the accordion, which duets with the vocals in a haunting way.

4. Petal Prophecy
The lyrics on this track are pretty straightforward, especially with its title in mind. God, I'm a sucker for alliteration. This is an example of a song written in history class while Mr. Lewis begs us to consider thinking from the point of view of the aborted baby ("How would you like it?"). The lyrics were written start to finish with no revisions, and with a piece so raw and honest I think any type of editing would have been insincere.

The instrumentation is largely voice, with interspersed sounds of marimba and "bass drum" (I typically use my house as a bass drum, I find stomping on a hardwood floor to sound more full and scary than the instrument). It was difficult to fruitize the atmosphere of the song because it was very specific in my mind, but I think I succeeded.

5. Obsession (Moment 2)
Obsession is too a cycle. A small one, but in the moment neverending and never-beginning, timeless, singular, omnipotent... The parting words of Track 4 "He loves everyone / Does everyone mean me or not?" the speaker is driven into a small infatuation with being infatuated, and much later bittersweet thoughts about him linger at a party in Track 6.

6. In Delirium
This piece was inspired by a title. On the album, this piece stands out because it is shallow and removed, being in a vivid setting but having philosophical mental meanderings about existence.

The instrumentation for this piece is baritone marimba, which I chose for its haunting, dreamlike tone and fullness. I later added retro bass synthesizer to simulate the low hum of mild discomfort and the ending with an organ-like synth solo and cups shaking is the growing feeling of impending followed by a sudden clink of leaving the party.

7. I Feel Generally Pleasant (Moment 3)
And then, a slight breeze.

8. Old Growth City
After the speaker leaves the party, they feel strangely more wise. They walk along the streets and develop a philosophy about the cyclical energy of a city.

The instrumentation on Old Growth City is very simple, just piano and one vocal track. It is meant to be intimate, like a secret is being whispered to you.

9. Walking Song
The strength of Walking Song is the lyrics. It's the story of a person and a dog and their companionship through the repeating seasons. It is sung with 4-part vocals and a djembe drum, and the brisk pace meanders through 5/4 and 3/4 with little pattern. This is one of my favorite songs to sing.

10. Footsteps (Moment 4)
This track simulates a complete overstimulation attack. The sounds of the surroundings layer in slowly to a driving 12-beat cycle. The produced screams coupled with a high-pitched whistle and meant to create a sense of panic, but the emotion is all internal.

11. Industrial Chasm
Once again the accordion is used, and this time it is the sole instrument of the track. This song is the flipside of Footsteps, an odd but ultimately relaxing fantasy of falling into an alley between buildings and dying, appreciating the strange tiny details of the world. Much like Mailboat, the thought is comforting because death is inevitable, so there's no need to worry anymore.

The star of this track is the vocals. The theme at it's core and the way the song is sung sounds tortured and sad, a juxtaposition with the matter-of-fact style of lyrics.

12. Always
This track is inspired by baby spiders parachuting their way into the world to create a new life, the spread of dandelion seeds, and the journey of a salmon back to its home. The version of the song on the album is a bit different from my original vision and how I wish the song to be performed; It is meant to be sung by a large choir at a slightly slower, walking-down-the-aisle pace.

13. Go Back
This track was a last-minute addition to the album after the song first planned to wrap it up ("Aragneti", about the cycle of a spider's web) didn't make the cut. Go Back is a song written at a wedding and is about the sadness and happiness that accompanies nostalgia. Its form is very simple, with one verse, and is a sweet dessert to serve after the constructions of Heavenly Bodies, Cycle, In Delirium, and Walking Song and the catharses of Petal Prophecy, Old Growth City, Footsteps, Industrial Chasm, and Always. It is a small touch that really rounds out the album I think.

I Poop A Lot

Pooping is by far one of my least favorite activities. It's boring, unproductive, uncomfortable, and impossible to escape or speed up. I have enough projects on my plate, it's not like I want to spend 15 minutes just sitting, thinking about the cinematic masterpiece of Futurama and what imbecile in their right mind would cancel it.

And yes, 15 minutes. My poo time is my thinking time (hey, if I have to have it at all I might at least be reevaulating my friend choices) and that's alright because I also masturbate a lot less than most people (I think. If only there was a real-life Truman Show for ten different diverse test subjects I would know for sure.) and that's the same kind of activity.

Story: Once when I was in 8th grade we were doing computer tests in the library and I finished my test with 30 extra minutes to spare, with no homework to do and no talking to be allowed. So I thought it would be good to excuse myself to take a #2. I wasn't rushing. When I came back I was loudly chastised for taking a long time by Doug "Happily Divorced" Ingamells and it was really embarrassing. Anyway who's he to judge, his poops are probably white and smell like chalk, the old cunt.

And I poop twice a day. Every day. To my knowledge, this is uncommon. And not two little rabbit poops, either; full on curl-top soft serve mediums. I really don't know why; I don't eat that much. Maybe God knew I needed that extra thinking time and if I didn't have it I would be rocking in the corner right now, mumbling satan valentines. So thanks God, I guess.

Engraver

Mercedes de Acosta

I don't consider myself to be a particularly emotional person. I've never been much of a cryer even as a child, and I've always found myself feeling pretty indifferent about movie moments that were supposed to make me laugh or cry or go "awwwww". But recently I've been repeatedly embarrassing myself diving deep into wikipedia and then reading through my tears about lesbian poets from the 1900s who were cast out of society and died in poverty.

My weak emotional spots are art and underappreciation. I cry for the amazingly talented black musicians of the 60s whose music was stolen and popularized by Elvis Presley with even a reference to the original artist, I cry for the dishonest life of Elton John in a heterosexual marriage, I cry for Vermeer and Bach and Van Gogh and Edgar Allan Poe and the generations of geniuses at their caliber to come that are doomed to die without recognition for their unmatchable art.

I read these articles and cry. Then I click the link to the last paragraphs of their unsuccessful autobiographies and cry more. Then I scan the "related articles" list for more people to cry about. A few weeks ago I thought it might be fun to visit the history museum and on the top floor in the exhibit about life for African-Americans in Portland through the ages I found myself crying, loudly, looking at the charming smiles of 5 black dancers and singers crouched around a piano, the names of whom I didn't know because their accomplishments were never even acknowledged.

But Titanic? No emotional response. Marley and Me? Nothing. Les Miserables? I was checking my watch.

Engraver

My "Free Time"

This is year is the craziest so far. My ex-currics are piling up and I haven't even gone to school on a Wednesday yet. And now I'm in charge of a lot of things and am dating someone. On the relieving hand, I've also given up caring about extraneities like my appearance, my reputation, and the pitch of my voice so I can work on the real shit.

I'm on student leadership. Half of the class is Da Vincians (duh). There's a lot less room for my own new ideas than I was hoping but it's fun to be helpful anyway. I'm on clubs and services led by Isaiah, the only other useful gay in the school. He's apparently super conservative and for everything I'm not (except the homophobia, I guess...) but in the only experiences I've had with him he's shown himself to be smart, efficient, productive, and creative. And I can't wait to work under him. Figuratively.

The switch to Marshal campus is throwing a big wrench into all of my leadership projects. I want to secure a reasonable amount of single-person restrooms in the school (for girls with dicks/people who don't believe in gender/unwrapping tampons/cry seshes/making out at school for kids with parents who don't want their icky sex in their house for some ballistic reason/literally anyone who ever needs some privacy, meaning literally everyone) but that is turning out to be complicated because in two years Grant will take place down at 82nd and two years after that, we're moving back to Grant campus but the school will be an LA housewife after a field day of botox. And I have absolutely no intention of extending my stay at ratchet ass GHS, even for the well-being of my fellow genital people.

I'd also like to get some good murals on the walls (All of the walls! No blank space!) so that there's something to look at other than b&w pics of the 1940 Grant rugby team and their weirdly shaped crotches. Visual arts just don't get enough exposure at grant and it looks as if I have made this speech so many times that even typing is making me want to gag. Anyway, what with this year's walls being two years from retirement I'm not sure how to get that done. I no way in hell trust the future leadership classes of grant (or even this year's, to be honest. Finn is kind of a controlling dick and he's not even smart.) to get my projects done satisfactorily. As for the bathrooms, the Grant redesign team rejected by application so clearly my input isn't going to be a part of that endeavor. Maybe it was God.

I'm finding it harder and harder to care about the future of a high school that has treated me so poorly. Does an organization with such a haphazard manor even deserve my help? I'll mail this question with all of my others to Mr. I Don't Wanna, 1234 Procrastination Lane for approval.

Marimba's starting up this year. MyLinda only let in one new 5th grader with sticks this year, so we might have a chance at not starting from the beginning like most years. She's been really set on getting Africa Party playable so I guess that's happening. We're also bringing back Earth. If we manage to spell Immi's name right and get a better than Fred-quality recording I might raise my chances of getting noticed to a substancial 1%. What a dream come true.

Piano lessons will be the same, maybe with more direction. I'll leech off of my mom's material too and make it worthwhile. I always do. But I do hate the way Mike talks about money.

Tabletop club is off to a rocky start. Before the first day of school, a regular at club named Cameron (my long time crush on him is still making its way out the door, dragging each step like a rude zombie) began a facebook group message with some of the members and started coordinating a meeting day, as well as suggesting the number of club presidents be increased to 5 (pretty much appointing himself as the made-up "game master". "Alright, Thursday it is," he said, as me and Georgia exchanged cellular glances, pondering this new change of regime. Me and Georgia are a well-working team, each supplying for the other's downfalls. We created the club in an excited passing time verbal dodgeball and made it happen with our own communication, game carrying skills, mobile coordination, and hard work pestering our friends to attend. The club is our baby and Cameron was trying to adopt it from us, without our permission. I explained that scheduling couldn't be finalized because Me and Georgia didn't know what our calendars looked like, and obviously we were the priority. He responded with a restatement of his make-me-an-authority-figure idea, enlightening us with the basic logic of our attendance being irrelevant if he were also in charge. I laid down the deal and told him straight-up that his proposal (demand, rather) was just not going to happen. Georgia is really the one who put it most eloquently: "One does not simply promote oneself."

A new addition this year, me and my tap team Lucy and Finn (from DV of course) have officially begun a tap dance club. I think it will be a lot more informal than the other two are expecting. So far the only definite newcomer I know of is Hailey (/Haley/Hayley/Haileigh/Heyli or whatever the fuck. I really don't care) from Hollywood Studio. She's a good dancer for sure, but my infatuation with the girl stems from her lowkey but aggressive anxiety. There have been a few moments when I've noticed her have a privileged retireee-style meltdown, screaming and kicking and crying multiple liquids, but it's all just in her eyes. Her posture remains calm and composed and though stress is replacing the blood in her veins by the second, she tries with every ounce of her to keep it under wrap, and even thinks it's working. In the the two situations at hand, one was a complete overreacting, an on-the-spot moment in class that was really no pressure at all but by the time her 1 minute of messups was over she was slipping in her own sweat. The other time, however, was in my opinion a drastic underreaction. She had found out earlier that day that her dad was addicted to meth. I envision her learning the news and forbidding her tear ducts to do their work, making it through the day at school as an adult with nothing on her mind, breaking down inside. By the time she got to class the tension was so great that she gave one sentence about her predicament and immediately started crying. She's an excellent character. And she kind of idolizes me, I think. She thanked me profusely for giving her the lowdown on tap club (totally unnecessary, I despise being thanked for something more than once) and I think she was really nervous for high school. Girl will be running the school in senior year.

On Tuesdays I'll be doing hourlong tap classes at Hollywood and then two-hour Royal Blues rehearsals. I'll be tired but that's not new. I probably won't remember that I should do all my homework on Monday but maybe.

Ugh there's a tiny spider on my spacebar and I don't want to squish it

ok it's gone now

So, I guess I'm stepping up to be a leader. I've always kind of had the mindset that I would rather closely follow a competent leader than be one, but as I enter adulthood I'm finding that to be more and more rare. Sometimes I'm think I'm in good hands a slowly discover that the one I had trusted turned out to be a bumbling idiot all along. A reluctant leader just isn't as good as a passionate one, but sometimes even my reluctance is a more powerful force than someone else's complete conviction. I wonder if I'll be remembered as arrogant.

Engraver