Leaving On A Jet Plane

Well, today I leave the country for 4 months.

It's kind of funny, actually. This semester abroad is something I've wanted to do since I was 17, and now it's finally here, so part of me is so excited that it barely let me sleep at all the past two days. The other part wants to throw up from nerves.

I know I really should be fine on this trip. The plane leaves tonight and gets there tomorrow morning. My family threw me a really lovely dinner and going away party (Mum wanted to call it my 'Last Supper', but I vehemently objected, settling instead for 'A Long Expected Party'). I couldn't be more thrilled with what I got, including a rather angry looking 'Angry Birds' sleep mask, a travel alarm with an alarm tone that gets louder (thank you Dad!), a pair of handmade Dobby Socks, and a travel altar.

I still say I have the best family in the world.

I was talking last week about my anxieties to Mum, and she said I ought to think about Rose Tyler and do a comparison for my blog. I thought it was a fantastic idea... and then didn't write anything. I couldn't come up with just the right song, so I figured "What the Hell" and put it in with this entry.

Rose does think twice about travelling with the Doctor, but when she finally decides to follow him, she has nothing packed, no money but what's in her wallet and only the clothes on her back. She had serious guts to follow and not look back. I kind of want to emulate her in this respect because I can't seem to shake my anxiety no matter how hard I try.

I know it will all go away in good time, and soon I'll laugh at how nervous I was/am, but I'm about to say goodbye for 4 entire months; I've never been away from home or from my family for that long. Maybe it's a good thing, an experience to push me out the door and help me to grow up... or perhaps it's just me getting in my own way,.

I'm going to England. I'm going for 4 months. I'm turning 21 in 25 days (and YES I know I can drink over there already, don't say it), and I'm going to grow up.

"Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again."

Shake it Out

Today has been, for lack of a better word, interesting.

Although, enlightening and revealing are probably better terms.

I'm sitting in the kitchen in dry clothes, wet hair dripping on my shoulders, listening to Florence + The Machine on repeat, eating a truly delicious piece of cake and grinning ear to ear. Those who've seen me recently can tell you that this has not been my normal expression. Sure I've smiled, but it hasn't really reached my eyes, you know? It's that smile, the one you use to say everything is fine when it's far from fine.

I will say this for myself though: I've been lost.

It's going to sound terribly dramatic and sappy and poetic, but I've been wandering through the paths in my mind, searching for the way out of the Winterlands. I've tried to lose myself in food and isolation and television, and they do work for a time, but once they're done, I'm just reminded of why I went to them in the first place.

This is the first time since the beginning of May that I've felt this liberated, this free...the first time since getting my report card for the Spring Semester.

Now, most people would say that all A's and one B- is a fantastic report card...but not for me it isn't, not when all I've received for 3 straight semesters are A's and A-'s. This grading period broke my streak and dropped my GPA, and while I am perfectly aware of my friends who struggle with their grades, this one really hit me where it hurt.

I'm hard on myself. Everyone who knows me can tell you that. My Dad says on a regular basis that he's never seen anyone beat up on themselves as much as I do. I'm very...strict with myself in that I hold myself to very high standards in academics. For me, anything less than an A is tantamount to failure.

Yeah, I'm a bit nuts.

Anyhow, I went in a bit of a downward spiral, landing myself back in therapy a month later. I'm not ashamed to admit that I went back because I'm doing much better. I've rediscovered writing recently, and I now write a little bit everyday of this and that, mostly fantasy and imaginings and things, but I'm getting better. I'm trying new things, hanging out with new friends (meeting my Braintwin (love you dear)), and I'm finally starting to confront something about myself that terrifies me.

My Shadow Side.

Everyone has one. Twin's is very developed and fully embraced, and believe you me: she can be terrifying when she wants to be. I've never thought of half the stuff she has, and when we're talking and making stuff up, she can certainly surprise me while I, on the other hand, my Shadow Side contains all of my anger, my fear, my insecurities, and even harder...the darkest part of me that had me on the edge of suicide twice in the last eight months.

I think it's safe to say that I really don't like my Shadow Side, but the more I try to ignore it, the stronger it gets...think I'll call that "The Monster Under the Bed" Effect. The more you try to ignore it or pretend it doesn't exist, the stronger it grows. The Shadow Side feeds off fear, and i have plenty of it.

Writing, in some ways, is therapeutic. (Don't tell my Mum I just said that. She'll say she told me so). It's a way to work through my feelings and emotions safely. I don't have to unload them on anyone else, and writing every single day for the past 4 months has done wonders for my skill, confidence, and typing speed...for the first time in my life, I can look around the room and type. I don't have to stare at the keys all the time anymore!

Anyway, after all of that, to return to the whole reason I sat down to write this entry today, I'm sitting for this wonderful dog who likes to play outside. I don't. I really hate being outdoors, preferring the inside and a book and a mug of tea (ever so British of me). But today, I was gone for several hours and came back and took her outside to throw a tennis ball, and I had to water the flowers. So, I did, and then I remembered what the owners said about her loving water. What ensued was half an hour of soaking the dog several times, watching her try and catch the water in her mouth/try to eat the stream, and me giggling and shrieking with laughter.

I'm sure my family is going: okay, who are you and what have you done with our daughter.

I'm still here. I just let the child that never was out to play and had a freaking blast. And this will knock their socks off: I soaked myself.

I haven't played with a water hose in years, so it took a few minutes of experimenting with my finger in the stream to figure out what pressures caused what reactions, but soon I was a natural, creating different types of water spray patterns and such. And it's fairly warm out today, so I stuck the hose up above my head and let the thin spray pour down on me.

It was such a liberating feeling. I absolutely hate getting wet with my clothes on, but I did it today. I let the sun pour down with the water, watched the rainbows form in the spray, and let myself actually live for thirty minutes.

I chose the title for today because I was singing this song while I was outside, dancing in the grass, giggling like a four-year-old, playing with the dog, and shaking out the devils in me to mix and mingle with the rest of my mind for the first time in my life.

On my way inside to change from my completely soaked through clothes, I came up with this little mantra:

Guide me through the trials and tasks, and help me smile if I finish last. Make my days of joy and laughter, fill my life with endless rapture.

The only way to survive and be a whole person is to embrace the shadow side and everything that comes with it, and when I asked myself if I were ready to work to become a real girl once and for all, I only had three words to say.

Bring. It. On.

"Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I'm always dragging that horse around

And our love is pastured such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

So I like to keep my issues strong

But it's always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

Cause I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/f/florence_and_the_machine/shake_it_out.html ]

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

And given half the chance would I take any of it back

It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone

It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh woah, oh woah... 

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh woah"

Hey, Soul Sister

This one has been a long time overdue. At least two weeks now. But better late than never, right?

On the 13th of this month, I made my first solo road trip to Connecticut to visit a friend. Now, the special thing about this friend (well, there are probably a billion things), but the first is that we met over the internet.

*le gasp!* I know, but calm down. We met chatting about Sherlock and within the first hour of talking traded Tumblr IDs. So, following each other there, we got to setting up daily times to talk, usually in the evenings when we were both done with the trials of the day, or, as it was April, school. It's now three months later, and we could not be closer friends.

The best discover I think we made in all of our hours and hours of talking is that we are Brain Twins. I lost count after the first week of how many times we told each other to get out of the other's head...if that sentence makes any sense. We finish each other's sentences, grab quotes from thin air, have inside jokes (soup jobson...you had to be there). It's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and a lot has happened to me.

So, it wasn't really a surprise that we had trouble working out a visit. My parents were strangely okay with me visiting, but hers put their foot down. Really didn't surprise me. I figured at least one set if not both would.  Then on one of the two times we've Skyped face to face (we traded Skype IDs after about a month), she took me around to meet her Mum and Brother. After confirming that I'm not a middle-aged man in a basement somewhere, we got the all clear.

The drive sucked. There is no other way to describe it. Stuck in Friday afternoon traffic and getting lost several times even with the GPS, the trip too 5 1/2 hours (to compare, the trip home took 2 3/4 hours). I did have good tunes, though, and the scenery was pretty enough, but after the long haul, I made it.

We were inseparable for the 36 hours or so that I was there. Twin's family was wonderful and kind, more than gracious in accepting me into their home and making me feel like one of the family. Her siblings were amazing and clever and just as big fans of things as I am. I wore my "Doctor Pooh" shirt on Saturday to everyone's delight. I even cooked them dinner on Saturday, my way of saying thanks; I even taught Twin the dishes and left recipes.

It didn't last nearly long enough, and all too soon I had to leave. We still talk every day by text or by Skype, usually both. I get flack from my parents about not talking face to face or voice to voice enough, but how can I make them understand that talking through text is enough right now? Save face to face for when we can sit on the sofa and talk about everything and nothing until two in the morning. Save face to face for when we're cooking together and dancing to my iPod. Save face to face for when we're driving in the car or strolling through the mall. Save voice to voice for when I'm lost on the highway and need to let Twin know I'm eventually going to make it there. In order to be friends, we don't have to see or hear each other.

We just have to be there when the other needs us. And that is enough.

"You see, I can be myself now finally/ In fact there's nothing I can't be/ I want the world to see you'll be with me/ Hey, soul sister..."

Drumming Song/ The Sound of Drums

"Is there hope of our parents ever understanding the world we live in as we see it? Understanding that we have thousands and thousands of friends and that it's possible to be friends with them and never meet or speak? To follow them on Tumblr or leave comments on their writing or artwork is enough?"


I was going to do a different topic with this particular song combination, but in light of a recent fight with my parents (specifically my Mum), I felt a short rant was called for.


I'm not proud of the fact that I fight with my parents on a regular basis. Mum says it's normal and part of growing up, but when I wake up each day not knowing if I'm going to be best friends or worst enemies with my parents (again, usually my Mum), it tends to put a girl on edge.


I will admit that I have problems with communication on a regular basis. You happy now? So what if I planned to have the leftover London broil for my lunch today? It wasn't out on the counter, it wasn't labeled with a post-it, there wasn't a meal plan on the fridge. I had no idea it was intended for the salad until Mum said something. And yes, I did overreact a bit, but I'm not in the best head space today. I know that isn't an excuse, but I'm really trying here. When i said she could go ahead and use some of it, she said no, I could have it.


That's the one thing I don't get, no matter what she says to explain it. I'm offering back what I feel I messed up with, and she's telling me know. The look on her face as well: resigned, frustrated, trying not to take it out on me. And she'll deny that was the face she was making. he'll say that I'm reading into it too much and making things up, seeing what's not there.


Then, after lunch, I'm trying to explain why I'm so excited to be a part of fandoms like "Doctor Who" and "Sherlock", talking about the group in terms of "we," and she doesn't understand it! It seems to baffle her that I consider myself part of this huge group of people, most of which has never met face to face.


Why does being friends or being connected with other people have to hinge on meeting face to face or talking over the phone? Why can't she understand that the world is changing? I get that she was never a big part of fan bases like I am, but why can't she try and get that it is something that makes me happy? Makes my life better? Gives me a place to channel excess emotions and energy in healthy ways?


Anyway, the point of all this is I just need to vent and I'm tired of feeling misunderstood by my parents and by other adults alike. Sometimes, it feels like all of the disapproval and side glances and incredulous looks just reinforce the noise in my head. I chose the songs by Florence + the Machine and by Chameleon Circuit because they both work. They fit together very well to illustrate the pounding in my head from not being heard...and not being able to hear myself.

"Louder than sirens, louder than bells/ Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell..."

"Can you hear them? They're coming, they're in the signal. They're in my head..."

The Beauty Underneath

So, while sitting at my friend's house watching a The Phantom of the Opera double feature (Phantom and Love Never Dies, the sequel), I had a sudden thought. I've always loved the story of the twisted genius or transformed prince or deformed creature: Frankenstein, Dracula, Sherlock Holmes (yes, he counts), The Phantom of the Opera, King Kong, all of them And I finally realized the connection...Beauty and the Beast.

That's right. In some way or other, they are all variations on that fundamental story that has shaped my life since the time I was a two-month-old baby in Mom's tummy carrier in the cinema. It was the first film I ever saw, and it was the first one I ever memorized. I can still play that movie in my head practically frame for frame, note for note, line for line because I watched it so many times when I was a child. In my head, I was Belle, beautiful, kind, smart, loving, outcast Belle with her nose in a book.

Coincidentally (or maybe not), I learned how to read when I was about three, maybe three-and-a-half years old. Even then, books were my favorite thing, my passion that could transcend and transport me beyond this realm into another, into millions of others for that matter. Even now when I'm finding it difficult to focus my attention long enough to sink my teeth into a new book, I still find other things to read and devour, all fantasy and fiction and mystery and science fiction. Anything that doesn't exactly have to do with dates and history and who did what where and when and with what. When I read, I want to go somewhere else, be someone else, even for a short while.

Seem like a strange thing to want? It's not, even though it feels like it might be from time to time. I could blame my parents for that particular sentiment because they were and are always the ones telling me not to get invested in things that aren't real, but how does an eight-year-old explain that she is being bullied and doesn't understand it and the only place she feels safe is off with a book? Escaping to a distant land where magic is clearly present and does exist? I didn't know how. I couldn't figure out the words required to do it.  So, instead of forcing myself to face the bullies or deal with them or try to make things different or better, I closed up and turned to the written word that I trusted because it wasn't mine; it was someone else's.


I had a teacher that terrible year who didn't like what I wrote or how I wrote; I can remember my Halloween short story having heavy Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone influences since we had only finished it for the first time a week or two before. It's taken me until the past six months to rediscover a true love of writing and creating things through words in myself. I can speak just fine, construct arguments and such, but ask me to sit down and write out a paper or a speech and I'll dig in my heels and give many suffering sighs and fight every step of the way...remnants of the Monday evening vocabulary assignments in third grade. We all dreaded the Monday vocabulary paragraph; an assignment that could easily have taken ten minutes took me three hours of screaming and protesting and insisting that it was stupid and I shouldn't have to do it. I was rather petulant, but I couldn't tell them what was wrong. I perfected the art of faking the stomach ache instead, trying to skip school and avoid the torture of facing my tormentors, students and teachers alike. I got yelled at in art class because I colored the sky in two different directions, another time for wasting valuable class time; in my defense, I used the class time well as we were making clay pots and I spent the whole time working on mine, but more than halfway through the class, I collapsed my work and started over because I was dissatisfied with the product...apparently that meant, according to what I heard my art teacher saying to my head teacher, that I was wasting time and wasn't focusing or on task. I pulled a tooth in science class because we were learning something about the ocean or a marsh; all I remember was a bird in the book and I was bored, so bored, bored enough to pull my tooth and brave the physical pain I feared just to get out for a few minutes. I remember being put in GT (gifted and talented), but I don't remember much of what we did aside from learning about Hiroshima and reading "Stories with Holes" out loud. I read the Goosebumps books looking for a distraction but all I secured was a deep seated fear of dummies and masks and dark corners. When my parents finally wrested the truth from me about how miserable I was, they made arrangements and pulled me from school. I was home schooled from 2000-2003 when I decided to return to public school at the other elementary school in town. And even though I still had issues with bullies, I did make a few friends who helped me get through the year...even if I felt like more of an outsider than ever before.


Adults and educators and others always complain about the level of bullying that goes on in schools, but they never, ever seem to understand the issue beneath it. Children are petty and cruel and selfish and it shows. The decent ones have to work really hard to stay that way or they wind up eating lunch in the principal's office for kicking a boy in the jewels at recess or hitting another girl in the face with a chunk of ice because it slipped while they were playing catch or forgetting to come back to class because they went to the bathroom with a book under their shirt and read so long their bum went numb. All are true. And all have happened to me. The kids don't want to talk because they know for a fact that things will only get worse, the bullies will be more subtle, and they will know who ratted them out. I don't think people give children enough credit for their intelligence. Children are brilliant and see things far clearer than many adults.


The worst form of bullying is the verbal/emotional kind. Cuts and cruises and broken bones can heal, but other scars run far deeper. The worst kind I can remember were all of the taunts about just how "different" I was. According to them, my laugh was weird, it was wrong to read so much, I spelled my name wrong (that might have been me more than them as there was a girl in my class with my name spelled differently), I was friend with the wrong people, I wasn't cool in the slightest because my family didn't do Pokemon or watch Nickelodeon. You wouldn't believe the looks I get now from my peers when I say I didn't grow up on the Rugrats or the Wild Thornberries or even Barney because I was watching Lambchop, Mr. Rodgers (who I got to meet in person twice!), The Puzzle Place, Arthur, Winnie the Pooh, Thomas the Tank Engine, classic Disney Cartoons, Sesame Street, and others I probably can't even remember anymore. I believed in magic and tried my best to be nice and polite and kind, but they kept coming with the never ending whispers and glances and stares and smirks. They tried to mold me and shape me into their idea of who I should be. I told one girl to shove off because she wasn't the boss of me and I wasn't her clone and I made friends with another girl even though I had no less than six people telling me she was bad news and I should stay away from the new girl.Still others would come up to me and say, "You know so-and-so was saying this about you earlier"  including my "best friend" because she said she was looking out for me. How does that make it better?! And there I was, a year younger than all my peers and hopelessly confused and scared and frustrated because I couldn't find anyone to really be a real friend except the new girl, and she transferred schools a few months before the end of the year. I sat in the same place in the cafeteria for the rest of the year, not caring that I sat alone. I got the "three heads stare" already and the fact that I went through a kick of eating cheese and ketchup sandwiches every day didn't help my reputation as the school freak in the slightest.

In terms of my life through literature, my one trustworthy friend through the hell and torment of trying to learn the ropes without getting cut or burned, the year I turned eight, my grandfather gave me the first Harry Potter book, a series which has since shaped me in more ways than I can count including being the subject of two Honors papers that I've presented through college. I read The American Girl and Little House books with my mom, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings with my Dad. I snuck Captain Underpants books home and read them under my bed at night because for a short time they were banned in our house. Eventually I consumed the entire Series of Unfortunate Events, The Bartimaeus Trilogy, The House of Night Series, Abarat, and anything I could get my hands on by Gail Carson Levine, Eoin Colfer, Lois Lowry, Dr. Seuss, Michael Crichton, Susan Cooper, and many, many more books and authors that grace the shelves in my room and in the library and in my parent's office (and yes, I did go through a Twilight phase, don't judge me). Hundreds upon hundreds of paper-clad friends with adventures new and old to be had. And the library had even MORE! I can still remember the first book I consciously remember reading silently. I loved Jim Henson's Labyrinth as a child, and we had an illustrated book of the film. I was sitting on my bed and realized that I had been reading for at least ten minutes without speaking or moving my lips. It felt like the greatest discovery of my life.


So, here at the end of all of this, I'm sitting on my friend's couch falling in love with the song "The Beauty Underneath" from Love Never Dies, and it hits me. I love the stories because I wish I could be the girl, but I see myself as the villain, the twisted mockery of humanity in some cases who just wants to be loved. And someday I'll find it outside of my family and the few close friends I trust now and things will be different. But somewhere in this body, is a shunned eight-year-old who just wants one friend she can trust and talk to that isn't made of tree pulp.

"When the dark unfold its wings,/ Do you sense the strangest things?/ Things no one would ever guess,/ Things that words cannot express?"

Stayin' Alive

So, I realized that I have never done an entry about this particular TV show. I did Doctor Who ages ago, last spring in fact, but this show has been a more recent obsession of mine.

It's a little something called Sherlock.

Co-created by Steven Moffat (current head writer for Doctor Who) and Mark Gatiss (pronounced GAY-tiss), it sets the classic Sir Arthur Conan Doyle tales of the great Sherlock Holmes in present day London. Now, before you go off and say "But that doesn't work! It must be terrible," I can bloody well assure you it isn't; if anything, it is one of the greatest shows out there. Sherlock (played magnificently by Benedict Cumberbatch) is a modern man, up to date with the latest technology, preferring to text his replies to cases rather than talk. He still lives at 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson is still his landlady, and he still plays the violin at all hours of the day and night when he's thinking. He's obnoxious, has no concept of what is inappropriate to say and has an arsenal of insults at the ready detailing how he is far superior in his intellect to the rest of the world. He has a website (http://www.thescienceofdeduction.co.uk/....contains minor spoilers for Series 1) which is quite fun to look at and which John Watson goes to when he Googles the detective after their first meeting.

What makes this Sherlock very special and memorable is his ability to observe and mimic body language, manipulating those around him without having to resort to elaborate disguises. He can conjure tears to get the answers he seeks or flirt when he wants something. He doesn't truly understand what love is or what it means but understands what the result is for those in it or moved by it. It is incredible to watch, truly astounding.

At his side is the illustrious Dr. John Watson (played by Martin Freeman in this BAFTA winning role). Instead of a diary or journal, Dr. Watson keeps a blog of everything that happens to him, eventually catapulting him and Sherlock into internet fame in Series 2 (http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/.....Moffat and Gatiss truly think of everything. It is current with the end of Series 2, so if you don't want spoilers, then wait until you are caught up to check it out, and look for the hat tips to the hiatus between Series 1 and Series 2 and to Martin Freeman filming The Hobbit in New Zealand). John is still a former army doctor, a veteran of the Afghanistan war struggling to integrate back into society after being wounded in action. Quiet, stoic, caring, he is the perfect counterpoint to the blustering, quick thinking, verbose Holmes.

And, of course, it would not be a Sherlock Holmes story without the great Jim Moriarty (Andrew Scott deserves all the awards for this role, especially with his performance in the Series 2 Finale). I'm doing my best to avoid spoilers, but I will say that Scott's Moriarty is incredibly dangerous, a master of disguise, and every bit as smart as Sherlock is. He ascribes to the theory of chaos while Sherlock is all about logical thinking. To Jim, this is all just one big game, and he likes watching Sherlock dance for him.

There have been 2 Series so far (in Britain, a Season is a Series). Each episode is 90 minutes, so you essentially get three full-length feature films each time, each episode more gripping and thrilling than the last and cleverly updated and woven with others. Each episode is many references to others; no story is purely translated, another reason why the adaptations are so complex and intricate and why an hour-and-a-half is required for their telling.

Series 1:

1. A Study in Pink (A Study in Scarlet)
2. The Blind Banker (combo of The Valley of Fear and The Adventure of the Dancing Man)
3. The Great Game (a mixture of about 7 or 8 different stories, ending in a very charged cliffhanger that was unresolved for 18 months)

Series 2:

1. A Scandal In Belgravia (Irene Adler)
2. The Hounds of Baskerville (self-explanatory)
3. The Reichenbach Fall (The Final Problem)

Needless to say, the Series 2 finale left many fans shocked and furious (if you don't know it, READ AND/OR WATCH, well, definitely read the stories because they are completely brilliant, but I won't divulge the episode here, only to say that it is some of the best acting I've ever seen in my life and left me with more emotions than I knew what to do with).

The rest of the cast is stunning: Una Stubbs (Mrs. Hudson), Rupert Graves (DI Lestrade), Lara Pulver (Irene Adler), Louise Brealey (Molly Hooper) and the rest all bringing their own life and vivacity to the party, creating a colorful background of people for Holmes and Watson to join in their adventures.

As for the title of this entry...well, you just ought to get caught up. The Sherlockians who see this will know what it means because until Series 3 comes out, it's all we can do, just manage to somehow Stay Alive.

"Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin' and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive"

Getting Better

I can finally say it out loud: I changed my major.

I've been sitting on this decision since the 5th of April, debating whether or not to follow through with it, and I finally filled out the paperwork a week ago today. I'm now a Secondary Education English Major with a Minor in theater.

I haven't really told my friends yet; only a few of them know because I asked them for advice while trying to make up my mind about the whole situation. I also refused to tell everyone until I spoke with my acting professor and mentor. It only felt right that she should really be the first one to know.

I won't deny that I was scared to talk to her. I respect and love her and hold her in the highest regard, but I was so worried that she would be disappointed with me. I don't do well confronting authority figures, especially when I'm telling them something really difficult. Hell, I can barely stand up to my mom to tell her I disagree about something. This was, this was infinitely harder because I felt her opinion of me hung in the balance. I know it really shouldn't matter what other people think, but I really value her opinion.

She was really supportive of my choice; now, I could tell she was worried that I was making this decision based on my issues in Directing, but that's just the icing on the cake. Honestly, little thoughts of this decision have been getting more and more vocal since my breakdown in November. It just took until now for my brain to catch up. I've been saying for ages that I want to teach High School English and act on the weekends; I guess I just wasn't ready to let those thoughts in completely.

This is the first really big decision I've made for myself, and hopefully it'll be the first of many more.

Now, yesterday sucked royally, especially since I got severely reprimanded in both of my classes. Now, since the 5th and I hit my transformation/revelation, I've been better, happier than I've been since I was three years old. This past week, with the stress of knowing I had to tell my acting professor on top of the nightmare that was Directing, it's the closest I've been to those old feelings since the beginning of the month, and it was terrifying. I thought I was going to relapse, that I wouldn't even make it three weeks before reverting to my old habits, but on the way to my car, something fantastic happened.

I was in a right state after Directing and was talking out the inner monologue because it helps me sort out y thoughts. When the words, "I'm the biggest **** up in the world. I can't believe how much of a **** up I am," I stopped, I literally stopped in my tracks. Where had those thoughts come from? Without thinking, I shot back, "Get the hell out of my head! I don't need you anymore. That's not true." And the thoughts went away. Now, I felt like I'd been run over by a car the rest of the day, but there was something very empowering about telling the nasty voices in my head to stuff it and having it actually work.

I've been paying attention to how I feel lately, mostly to make sure I don't relapse into my old behavior. With this revelation came the feeling that my heart was whole for the first time I can remember. I no longer eat because I'm upset as dinner proved last night, and my chest doesn't feel empty anymore. I know things are changing, and instead of running from the change, I'm embracing it. I'm growing up.

Things are getting better.

"It's getting better all the time."

Do You Hear the People Sing?

I'm in a class in school right now called "The American Experience" and our homework for this past Monday was to read the Roe v. Wade and BSA v. Dale Supreme Court decisions. I decided to write one of my journals based on my reaction to these readings and to the class discussion. A note on the song choice: I had some difficulty choosing a song to represent this rant; it really is a rant. I felt this particular song from Les Miserables works because it is a call to arms. This assignment felt to me like a call to arms to fight for what I believe is right. Here it is.

 Controversy in the Court

            When I first sat down to read through the Roe v. Wade and BSA v. Dale decisions, it did not take long for me to start seeing red; I have not been that angry in a very long time. Now, I knew that the Boy Scouts are a very Christian group and do not condone homosexuality, but I didn't understand the extent of their prejudice and bigotry. As for Roe v. Wade, I am acutely aware that it may be overturned in my lifetime, and that is very scary. As a woman, I feel I have the right to decide what I do with my body, not to have a court of mostly old, white men tell me I have to carry through with a pregnancy I don't want/can't afford/am not ready for. These decisions really pissed me off and, at least with BSA v. Dale, strike me as incredibly unfair and discriminatory.

            Some of my very best friends are gay; I have no problem with this. They are clever, funny, and some of the nicest people I know. They also treat me with more kindness and respect than 98% of the heterosexual people I am acquainted with. I know gay rights is a huge issue right now, but it baffles me that people are so threatened by something that is not genetic or inherited but is simply a choice and a preference. America is supposed to be this free country where we can be whatever we want to be; isn't that the whole point of the American Dream? This ruling sends the message that "being gay is not ok if you want to ever be included." It is small minded and discriminatory. Unfortunately, it is also as hotly contested (if not more so) than the Civil Rights movement 50 years ago.

            In the case of Roe v. Wade, I tend to get hung up on the term "viable" and what it implies in the decision. Yes, a fetus may be viable at 23 weeks, but the repercussions of such an early delivery can result in lifelong health problems or the death of the fetus. Neither the court nor the state is even required to help out with any of the medical bills that would result from such an early delivery; the result is a broke, scornful new mother with an unwanted, sickly child. Is that fair to either party? The child will spend its entire life feeling unwanted while the mother will have a grudge against the court and the child; it is not fair. Unfortunately, unfair will only get me so far, but all of these conservative, right-wing groups that say life is a gift and any form of it should be considered a blessing: they need to carry a baby for nine months and give birth to it. Most of the major proponents in the government are MEN. Men should not have a say in what women do with their bodies. The only man who should have a say in that decision is the boyfriend or the father. That's it. Something like this is a private matter that should not have to be made public. By forcing women to fight for control of their bodies, they are objectified and treated as property. Women are people, too.

            I can argue this all day, and it is something that I get really fired up about; I want to have a family someday, be it in 5 years or 15, but the point is I want to be able to keep my right to choose when to have that family. Contraceptives aren't intended to "kill babies," they are to prevent unwanted pregnancies and extensive trauma for unwanted children. Men who like men or women who like women or people who are bi, transgender, transsexual or any of the other types of sexuality that exist should not be discriminated against because they have made a choice different from the norm, but if the norm is heterosexuality based on what a few old, white men decided, then it is time for that to change. They aren't aliens or vermin: they are PEOPLE, human beings who are entitled to the same rights and experiences as those considered "acceptable."

"When the beating of your heart/ Echoes the beating of the drums/ There is a life about to start/ When tomorrow comes."

Marching On

This is my first post in a few months, but I figured missing Leap Day for a post would be rather foolish. so here it is! Happy Leap Day, everyone! (Even so, It's taken me nearly 10 hours to get this written...)

My life has been one big event after the other since school started. From Wardrobe Supervisor for Spelling Bee to Vee Talbott to Harmonium to the Christmas Pageant to my first Field Experience to Black History, Black Voices 3 all on top of homework, papers, babysitting, auditions, rehearsals, honors papers, Wroxton applications, counseling, and hundreds of other little things, it's amazing I've even slept at all.

Tonight is the first night I've really been home in the last month. I've been so involved with school and rehearsals that I've been getting in at 11pm and leaving before 8 the next morning. I've been so busy that on a day like today where I suddenly have free time, I end up spending that time relaxing as opposed to doing work to stay caught up. I'm just so worn out that I don't have the wherewithal to push myself so hard anymore. I can't wait for break...even though I'll be teching  and doing props for a show all week. My life never ends.


"For those days we felt like a mistake,/Those times when love's what you hate,/Somehow,/We keep marching on."

Breathe (2AM)

I think all college students heading into finals should be required to listen to this one, mostly for the refrain. It is so easy to get swept up into the stress and exhaustion of the exams.

I've had an interesting few days, mostly because last night at dinner was the first real meal I've been able to eat in 3 days. I know my parents read this sometimes, so I don't want to worry them and I don't have an eating disorder, I promise, but I've eaten very little in the last three days, mostly liquids and small snacks. As my Basic Acting II final wound down yesterday, I realized that I had been far more nervous for it than I originally thought. I know I felt prepared for most of it (I still hate Actions and Objectives) and I knew my partner and I would be fine, but I was still incredibly nervous for it; it went really well. As soon as I relaxed, my stomach did not stop growling for a full hour. Food fail for sure.

I'm down to 3 finals: 2 in class and 1 paper. I'm hoping to knock the paper out today, leaving my Lit I and Stagecraft finals. I'm more than happy to work on Stagecraft, but I don't want to study for Lit. That class has been...interesting, to say the least. I was thrilled to be in a class where the assignments were all stories, some of which I was familiar with, but many of the readings wound up being dull and dry. I'm a personal fan of lectures with class participation in the form of questions where I can take real notes on what the teacher is looking for. I have no real notes from this class. Tons of doodles in my notebook, but no real notes. It is very frustrating.

I know it seems like I'm complaining (and I am), but I am very opinionated when it comes to teaching and to teaching styles. I'm heading into my first Field Experiences in January and I've taken 2 Education classes already at school. I even wrote my first lesson plan this semester and taught 15 minutes of my second lesson plan to the class. The more I learn about teaching, the more I look for the teachers that inspire me and the more I try to figure out why they are so amazing. My Acting Professor, my high school English/Latin teacher, my Honors Algebra II/BC Calculus teacher, my middle school French teacher, my high school choir director, my current choir director/boss, my Honors US I teacher, my music theory teacher, my 8th grade English teacher. They have all made a difference in my school career and have driven me to emulate their profession.

I love learning. I want learning to be fun and accessible and understandable for everyone, so when I am stuck in a class where I have no motivation and am not passionate, school becomes a chore. I'm not paying thousands of dollars to do chores. The point of college is to learn what you can in order to prepare for life. I shouldn't be something we do because we have to. That's what k-12 is for. College is optional and really freaking expensive, so the least we can do is have fun while learning.

"And breathe. Just breathe."

Down To The River To Pray

Any time you are in a show, life can be pretty difficult. There are lines to memorize, histories to craft, relationships to build, blocking to learn, sets to build, lights to hang, costumes to find and fit, sounds to design, and so many other things. it really is amazing just how much goes into producing and putting up a show.

The show I'm in right now, Orpheus Descending by Tennessee Williams, goes up this week, so we are in full blown production mode, and with full blown production mode actually comes a great deal of down time, surprisingly enough. There are two characters that are onstage for almost the entire show (one of them is in every single scene), so for all of the other townsfolk, it allows for some freedom. For example, I wrote most of a lesson plan during yesterday's 12 hour tech rehearsal.

This show is also very challenging. For me and my character, Vee Talbott, I've been on quite a journey. This is a woman who has visions from God, visions of Jesus and the Holy Ghost and of spiritual things, but she is also beaten by her husband and shunned by the rest of the town; they all think she is crazy. The only solace she finds is in her paintings. Her visions inspire her to paint, and while she is at her easel trying to recapture the  mystery and excitement of her visions, she feels complete and unique. Oh, and did I mention she is a devout Episcopalian?

As always, I look to music for my connections first. I find that creating a character soundtrack can give me all of the inspiration I need to finalize all of the other necessary details. One of the songs that jumped out at me for this part is "Down To The River To Pray." I first remember hearing this song on the soundtrack for "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" With its laid back tempo and open chords, it is the embodiment of old Southern tunes for me.

I really love this particular piece of music, even more with everything that has been going on in my life lately. With freak snowstorms, avalanches of homework, stress-inducing rehearsals, nervous breakdowns, floods and the like, any source of calm is greatly welcomed and treasured.

With any luck, life will go back to some semblance of normal after the show this weekend. I look forward to it, but I know some part of me will miss all this. I always do.

"As I went down to the river to pray/ Studyin' about that good ol' way/ And who shall wear the starry crown/ Good Lord, show me the way."

Jack Sparrow

So, my brothers have recently introduced me to the group The Lonely Island. Kind of funny, kind of awkward. there are clean versions of their songs out there, but most of them are fairly explicit. It's not really cursing and stuff for cursing's sake. The group got started on SNL and have since release 2 albums of their raps. It's all funny, it's all comedy, it's all very...crude I guess is the best word. But it's fluffing HILARIOUS.

My first introduction to TLI was the Jack Sparrow song, featuring Michael Bolton. the group is trying to record a "serious" rap and suddenly Bolton breaks out into "This is the tale of Captain Jack Sparrow." Sooooooo funny. Because after they convinced him to drop the Pirates of the Caribbean thing, he goes to other films. As a heads up, it is explicit, so view at your own discretion, but it is really, really funny.

I think it is interesting to see reactions to comedy that contains profanity. I used to watch it and not tell my parents until they started showing me comedians like Lewis Black and Russell Peters who use language in their routines. There's always a big debate on crude material versus clean material, but just like banned books, ignoring the problem in hopes that it will go away won't solve the problem...

"This is the tale of Captain Jack Sparrow/ Pirate so brave on the seven seas/ A mythical quest to the Isle of Tortuga/ Raven locks sway on the ocean's breeze."

Half-Life

Usually, everyone sees me as this bright, energetic, happy, busy person, always excited to work and help out any way I can. Sometimes, I can even see how they think that. Most times, though, I wonder where they come up with that impression; it just feels like a character I'm playing to hide the real me, the side I never want them to see.

I feel like I'm fighting really hard to find that happy girl nowadays. I've been looking at a picture from when I was about 1 year old and I just can't fathom that happy child, probably laughing because her Papa was making a goofy face behind the cameraman the way he always does. She didn't worry about grades or friends or driving or work or stress or sleep or eating right or finding love or money or debt or any of the things that invade my psyche on a daily basis.

I know part of the current problem is that I feel lonely. I see all of my friends with their groups and their inside jokes and feel so far removed that I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I feel like an outsider looking in the window of a really great party where everyone speaks a different language from me. I know that all I want is to feel like I belong, but I feel like I'm lacking something in that particular department. Maybe it's my sense of humor, maybe it's my laugh, maybe it's my lagging social skills, maybe it's my tendency to sit and listen when my friends talk and not feel like I can interject with my own opinions and have them be taken as seriously as the conversation was before I opened my mouth. Of course, I could just be flipping out over nothing at all.

There are some days when I long for the simplicity of life the way it used to be, before I wanted to grow up to be a perfectionist.

"Maybe I need to see the daylight/ Leave behind the half-life/ Don't you see I'm breaking down?/ Oh lately, something here don't feel right./ This is just a half life./ Is there really no escape,/ No escape from time of any kind?"

Make Them Hear You

Hello again!!! I'm aware that I've taken a rather long hiatus from my blog. To be honest, I didn't really feel like I had anything important to write about for the majority of my summer, but more on that later. I actually have something I really want to write about and share with you, my readers.

Every year at my old school, students have the opportunity to lead the school in the Pledge of Allegiance and read the morning announcements over the PA system. I had the honor of holding this position my Senior year.

The tradition has continued since my graduation, and I happen to personally know the student who applied for the job this year; let's call him Bob. Now, in attempt to change things up a bit, Bob obtained permission from the powers that be in the school to practice his astounding talent for voices and impressions during the announcement portion of the broadcast. Since every day would be different (Sean Connery, British, Midwestern, etc.) the idea was that students would listen attentively each morning to hear what was coming next. From what i hear, it was working beautifully. Students who generally talk and goof off during the announcements were listening attentively and enjoying the announcements.

I wish I'd had that idea, not that I have any talents with voices. The idea itself is simply inspired, geared toward making the humdrum school day more interesting and exciting. Having listened to the announcements myself for three years, I know how dull it can be, especially since the bell is about to ring. My attempt to change things around my Senior year came during the production of the Fall play. I wrote an announcement for each day of the week to be read by different characters, of course promoting the show, and the turnout that year was unparalleled. But, back to Bob.

Now, unfortunately for Bob, things did not work out so well. Apparently, a few teachers called in with complaints. Why, I do not know. He was not offensive or rude or cruel in any of his announcements or accents/impressions; in fact, he is one of the most responsible and respectful people I know. But, not only has he been banned from doing voices, but two of his peers have also been brought in to share the job. there is already talk of a petition to get his voices back on the air, and he has support from a majority of students from all grade levels.

I don't know why certain teachers had a problem with Bob's voices. He wasn't doing them during the Pledge, just during the announcement portion. He was trying to add a little personality and special flavor to the dull, daily routine.

I wish I could give the teachers who complained about Bob a piece of my mind, but that would be disrespectful and out of place, so I am sharing Bob's story instead to see what you think. Part of why I am studying Education in college right now is so that I can grow into a supportive, influential, force for good in schools, fostering individuality, creativity, and motivation in my future students. Bob has received the exact opposite of this. Is this what our schools are coming to? Machines to squelch individuality, turning the children into proverbial Cybermen (Google it)? If so, is it even worth becoming a teacher?

"Your sword can be a sermon/ Or the power of the pen./ Teach every child to raise his voice/ And then, my brothers, then/ Will justice be demanded/ By ten million righteous men?/ Make them hear you."

The Lazy Song

Definitely been a busy week, and things are only going up from here. I began brainstorming ideas for a new story to write today. As time goes on, I'll see where it ends up. Maybe I'll post previews of it here.

Even with everything I had to do today, I just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. If I could have spent the day in bed, I would have, but I had church and choir rehearsal and it was/is Father's Day, so I had to get up for all that.

If feels like my life got a lot simpler once school ended. I haven't really felt like I've had much to write here. Work is going to pick up this week, so I might have some stories from that, or maybe not.

I was just thinking about something a good friend of mine once said: "Never regret anything because at one time it was exactly what you wanted." I'm not sure why I started thinking about it. I think it's very profound and true. I know I spend a great deal of my time worrying about the future and regretting past actions and it really doesn't seem to be the way to go. Huh. Maybe I'll ponder it some more. Maybe it'll end up in my story. Maybe I'll sleep on it and see how I feel when the sun is up again.

"Today I don't feel like doing anything./ I just want to lay in my bed."

Written in the Stars

I feel like I've been slacking here. I post, blink my eyes, and it's a week later with no new entries. I'm either just that busy or just that lazy. Right now, it's a combination of the two.

I've been thinking about writing another short story (for my most recent one, read the entry So They Say. It's back in March). I'd never had a story write itself before, but I had 3 very clear images in my head of where the story was headed. I guess I'm looking for a similar inspiration for another story, maybe one that could turn out to be longer or head to a later work/ collection of stories, etc. You know, trying to keep my options open.

I've been thinking of doing reviews on here of books/shows/movies. that could be a great deal of fun and would certainly begin soon. Now that church choir is "over" for the summer and I'm not rehearsing all the time for one choir or another, I'll have more time to write. Or maybe more time to watch TV or read a good book. ;)

Have a good one!

"Written in the stars/ A million miles away/ A message to the man/ Seasons come and go/ But I will never change/ 'Cause I'm on my way."

Coney Island Baby

At my church, we are lucky enough to be blessed with a multitude of children and teens (and adults) in the choir. The youngest ones are 3 or 4 years old!!! When I joined my church three years ago, I was not expecting the volume or talent of musicians present.

The choirs are split up as such: 3-7 year olds, 2nd-5th grades, 6th-8th grades, high school girls, boys whose voices have changed/are changing, and adults. We will sing anywhere from 1 to 4 or 5 prepared pieces on any given Sunday (aside from the hymns). Solos go out across the age groups and are always up for grabs; a good incentive to show up early for the Sunday morning call is to offer out solos to the first arrivals.

Most of these kids have grown up together and are really good friends. My siblings and I joined the church three years ago, but we were welcomes with open arms and a great deal of joyful noise. Back then, one brother was a tenor (now a baritone) and the other was a boy soprano (now a BASS II). I'm still a soprano/alto/tenor, or as my parents once called it, a trans-SECTION-al (hahaha).

The way I remember that my brother was a boy soprano that year was because we sang the Rutter Requiem for the All saints Day concert, and he had the high solo at the end of the Pie Jesu (it goes up to a nice high A flat). It's hard to believe how quickly his voice has changed.

Anyway, the teen boys rehearse after the adult choir rehearsal each week. They have a fair amount of religious and spiritual songs in their repertoire, but they also have some contemporary songs as well: Stand by Me, Wonderful World, Banana Boat, and Coney Island Baby to name a few. One of the coolest things about the contemporary pieces (aside form the great harmonies and awesome soloists) is the choral-ography. It just makes the piece, and the boys sing it so well; you can tell they are having a blast.

I can remember hearing Banana Boat back in 2007 when the boys did a joint concert with my old youth choir. I thought they were brilliant, hamming it up for the audience and generally enjoying themselves (at least THEY were smiling and moving around while they sang, and they still do).

As a sidenote: in case you haven't noticed, I don't use names and places in my blog. I use general descriptions and such. If the people mentioned indirectly want to claim their references, they are more than welcome to. I'll leave it up to them. It really should be their decision anyway...

"Farewell my Coney Island baby. Farewell my own true love."

Dreams

I've been a bit lax about writing frequently. I think the fact that I finished the school year made me realize how much I needed to relax and let down. Well, I really should put "let down" in quotes because I'm still working and singing and reading and cleaning and living my normal, busy life. the only difference is that I don't have papers due every day.

I'm prepping for a concert weekend. it's going to be amazing, and I'm sure to have an entry on it. More on that as the week progresses.

My dreams are getting steadily stranger the longer I'm out of school. Mixtures of outer Space and Planet earth, doctor Who and choir rehearsals, trips around the world and people I know, everything all mixed up in a jumble that only seems really screwed up when the sunlight streams in through the window.

Usually, I love dreams. They are bizarre and interesting, a whole new story and way to escape the humdrum of reality. Sometimes, they help me work out my problems and offer solutions to my life. Other ones wake me up in a cold sweat. I've gotten to the point where I can usually tell what certain things mean in my dreams. Sharks are a fear of things changing or a fear of something beyond my control. Flying is something I want: maybe adventure or courage to reach beyond my perceived limits. The Weeping Angels (Doctor Who: look 'em up!) are a fear of what I can't see, what I can't predict: the knot of fear when you are alone int he house. Very few dreams stick around very long when I wake up, but sometimes I can etch certain details into my memory. I can still remember fragments of dreams I had as a kid. Or a recent dream that had a strong effect on me.

I thought that dairy before bed was what triggered the really scary dreams, but I think that other factors (like temperature) can trigger the bad ones. meditation or storytelling does help, but not always. Sometimes I just can't shake the scary feelings.

Actually, since the upcoming concert I'm in is called "Dreams and Visions," it has given me a chance to really think about my own dreams, especially the ones when I'm fast asleep. Maybe I'll crack the code soon on how to avoid the bad dreams all together. Or, maybe not.

"Hold fast to dreams."

Thankful

While cleaning the house today and listening to Lady Gaga, I did spend some time thinking about what I was thankful for.

I'm thankful for a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in the kitchen.
I'm thankful for my ability to cook.
I'm thankful for my family: my parents and my siblings, through thick and thin, we are together.
I'm thankful for my two wonderful, dogs: Dumbo and Dingbat (not their actual names)
I'm thankful for my music: words cannot describe how much this means to me. It makes me tick.
I'm thankful for my education: all three elementary schools, middle school, high school, and college.
I'm thankful for my friends: past, present, and future. You are the best support system I could wish for.
I'm thankful for my choir friends. They are a whole category in and of themselves.
I'm thankful for my job: the people I work with and the kids I teach.
I'm thankful for my mentors: you come in many shapes and forms, and you have all been completely inspiring.
I'm thankful for my ability to drive: with or without a car, it is a helpful thing to know.
I'm thankful for my study habits: they get me great grades and opportunities in life.
I'm thankful for my acting talent: I love finding new lives in the imaginary world.
I'm thankful for clever jokes I find on Facebook (like the following:

• I've had a horribly busy day converting oxygen into carbon dioxide.
• Forgive me for ignoring you. I was Writing in my head.
• Sometimes your "Knight in Shining Armor" is just a "Retard in Tin Foil."
• :(: Bipolar

"So for tonight, we pray for/ What we know can be,/ And on this day we hope for/ What we still can't see./ It's up to us to be the change/ And even though we all can still do more,/ There's so much to be thankful for."

Judas

So, Lady Gag's new album "Born This Way" was officially released today. I've heard some of the songs on the radio as they've been released (Born This Way which has already be parodied by "Weird Al" Yankovic in Perform This Way, Edge of Glory), but one that I had not heard as much was Judas.

Amazon was running a deal today, so I got the album and has already begun slowly working my way through it. Taking a hint from the name, I began to listen closely to the lyrics of the song, expecting a religious theme, seeing as Judas betrayed Jesus at Gethsemane. what i found was incredibly interesting. The lyrics are filled with references to the story of Jesus and his disciples during Holy Week. This was more than I was ever able to get listening to it once or twice on the radio while driving to work (which is probably a good thing as I should probably focus on the road while driving).

The link above is for the music video. The video itself essentially depicts Jesus and his disciples as a motorcycle gang with Gaga as Mary Magdalene. each disciple has his name on the back of his jacket, and "Jesus" has a crown of thorns on his head. Gaga, in addition to all of her crazy costumes that are the norm in her videos (and in pretty much all of her public appearances) has one outfit that is a red bandanna and a blue headscarf/shawl. Jesus is always trying to break up fights and use peace to keep everyone together. Judas is your typical "bad boy:" drinking, starting fights, and staring lustily at women.

While I think we have all come to expect really crazy things from Lady Gaga, I don't know if people were prepared for this particular video. Considering the amount of religious tension that can be seen everywhere on a day to day basis, I wondered how people would be reacting to the song and the video. On Youtube, the video has over 75,000 dislikes to its 235,000 likes. The comments are filled with arguments over whether or not people like Gaga (and a fair amount of curse words are thrown around as people try to defend their positions). My favorite comment is as follows:

"Why is everyone so against this song? She's basically saying that even though she tries to be good, everyone is tempted by the bad at certain times.Using Judas and Jesus' names were just a metaphor for the good and the bad. What's so wrong about that???"

I think this perfectly describes what she's getting at in the song. I don't think it's any kind of religious crack or commentary. Judas and Jesus happen to be one of the most well known pairs of good versus bad (I know it's more complex than that, but stay with me here). I have yet to meet someone who was not at least slightly tempted by something bad or forbidden; that is what Judas represents. Jesus is the symbol for the right path, the path of what is healthy and smart and good. However, that being said, it is very difficult to stick to the straight and narrow at any point in time; that's where choice comes in.  It's up to us to choose the good over the very tempting thing that might not be good for us: the bad boy, drugs, sex, food, etc. In the end, I think it is a clever, expressive way to describe a very prevalent issue. I personally like this song. I like Lady Gaga as an artist and for her bold self-expression. I mean, come on. What other artist could pull off a dress made of raw meat?

"I'm just a Holy fool/ Oh baby he's so cruel but/ I'm still in love with Judas baby."