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Saturday, April 20, 2002
This, no longer around, was the site of what I realized today, coming home on the PATH, was a pivotal moment in my life. It's perhaps the single strongest memory I have of being a child. I don't really need to put it down here since I've always had it, but I guess I will anyway because Kirsten is taking forever to put her goddamn makeup on.
It was on maybe our second trip to Disney World, so we were four years old. We were in EPCOT, and Kirsten wanted to be one of the kids in Dreamfinder's School of Drama, an interactive exhibit at the Imagination pavilion, wherein children lined up in front of a blue screen on a black line painted in the carpet, and, in the video monitors in front of them, watched themselves be inserted into various pre-taped "adventures". At the beginning of each new group cycle, the children were asked to choose from three of such adventures: outer space, the old West and a fairy tale. Kirsten's group went to outer space. I stood on the sidelines watching on the monitors provided for the audience of parents, because I was too shy to participate. (I was the shy one; Kirsten was the fearless one.)
As I watched, through the magic of chromakey, my sister and her group of strangers traveled through outer space, battling evil anti-imagination space villains. Only through the powers of their imaginations could they escape! "Use your imaginations, now!" urged Dreamfinder from the video screen. "Go on, put your hands to your head, like this"-- he pressed his white-gloved fingers to his forehead-- "and imagine that they're disappearing! Go on!" And all the children pressed their hands to their foreheads, and I watched, transfixed, as my sister did this, and I could almost see the power of her imagination reaching out like an electric arm and zap those villains away. It was something real I was seeing, this power of imagination. I had never felt anything so magical. I had never been so jealous of my sister, who got to be there in outer space and fight the bad guys with Dreamfinder and the rest of the kids.
Now, I was four years old, but I was not a stupid four years old. I knew, rationally, that my sister was not really in outer space, because I could see her on the blue carpet in front of me. But at the same time, she was. She was there, and she was part of something fantastical and unreal and I wasn't, because I'd been too afraid. That moment when she pressed her hands into her forehead, and the music was playing, and the stars were all around her on the screen, it's burned somewhere very deeply into me. It was real, true, live magic. It was the first time I'd reached that duality of thought, where I could know one thing with my head, and at the same time I could believe another thing, with something other than my head.
Every year after that I always was first in line to be in Dreamfinder's Drama School. It was a ridiculous thing to be shy about; shyness was what kept me out of that marvelous adventure that first year, and I would never let it happen again. Even when I went to EPCOT later, as a teenager, with my friends (hi Ags!), before they took down the old Imageworks and put up that new crap in its place, we would go and stand towering above the small children, goofing off and pretending to be part of the adventure. Even after it was just a silly joke, some part of it wasn't. Because I think that that moment I described is what I've been chasing after since then. I think it's the reason I love EPCOT, and that my anxiety dreams are about EPCOT, and that I like to draw and that I read fantasy books and watch fantasy movies and am fascinated by the theatre and the magic created by a good group of performers. I'm chasing that one moment when I watched my sister's imagination destroy the bad guys, and I knew that I could do that, too.
Corny as shit, but it's utterly sincere, that. I've been trying to relive that moment since then, in various ways. It's in the back of every fantasy, every story, every movie, every adventure. I want to press my hands to my forehead and save the day.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:56 PM | shower me with attention
It was on maybe our second trip to Disney World, so we were four years old. We were in EPCOT, and Kirsten wanted to be one of the kids in Dreamfinder's School of Drama, an interactive exhibit at the Imagination pavilion, wherein children lined up in front of a blue screen on a black line painted in the carpet, and, in the video monitors in front of them, watched themselves be inserted into various pre-taped "adventures". At the beginning of each new group cycle, the children were asked to choose from three of such adventures: outer space, the old West and a fairy tale. Kirsten's group went to outer space. I stood on the sidelines watching on the monitors provided for the audience of parents, because I was too shy to participate. (I was the shy one; Kirsten was the fearless one.)
As I watched, through the magic of chromakey, my sister and her group of strangers traveled through outer space, battling evil anti-imagination space villains. Only through the powers of their imaginations could they escape! "Use your imaginations, now!" urged Dreamfinder from the video screen. "Go on, put your hands to your head, like this"-- he pressed his white-gloved fingers to his forehead-- "and imagine that they're disappearing! Go on!" And all the children pressed their hands to their foreheads, and I watched, transfixed, as my sister did this, and I could almost see the power of her imagination reaching out like an electric arm and zap those villains away. It was something real I was seeing, this power of imagination. I had never felt anything so magical. I had never been so jealous of my sister, who got to be there in outer space and fight the bad guys with Dreamfinder and the rest of the kids.
Now, I was four years old, but I was not a stupid four years old. I knew, rationally, that my sister was not really in outer space, because I could see her on the blue carpet in front of me. But at the same time, she was. She was there, and she was part of something fantastical and unreal and I wasn't, because I'd been too afraid. That moment when she pressed her hands into her forehead, and the music was playing, and the stars were all around her on the screen, it's burned somewhere very deeply into me. It was real, true, live magic. It was the first time I'd reached that duality of thought, where I could know one thing with my head, and at the same time I could believe another thing, with something other than my head.
Every year after that I always was first in line to be in Dreamfinder's Drama School. It was a ridiculous thing to be shy about; shyness was what kept me out of that marvelous adventure that first year, and I would never let it happen again. Even when I went to EPCOT later, as a teenager, with my friends (hi Ags!), before they took down the old Imageworks and put up that new crap in its place, we would go and stand towering above the small children, goofing off and pretending to be part of the adventure. Even after it was just a silly joke, some part of it wasn't. Because I think that that moment I described is what I've been chasing after since then. I think it's the reason I love EPCOT, and that my anxiety dreams are about EPCOT, and that I like to draw and that I read fantasy books and watch fantasy movies and am fascinated by the theatre and the magic created by a good group of performers. I'm chasing that one moment when I watched my sister's imagination destroy the bad guys, and I knew that I could do that, too.
Corny as shit, but it's utterly sincere, that. I've been trying to relive that moment since then, in various ways. It's in the back of every fantasy, every story, every movie, every adventure. I want to press my hands to my forehead and save the day.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:56 PM | shower me with attention
Kirsten and I came home from Mint Manor because Kirsten has tickets to the opera with Tante Joan tonight and they've invited me along for tapas, which I believe are Greek appetizers. I'm going to assume there will be food there I can eat. I hope I get back in time for Trading Spaces.
So we're home now and Kirsten's getting ready, all dolled up like Cher in Moonstruck. She really looks stunning. My sister cleans up quite nicely. She's got an ivory lace blouse under a black leather bodice and this drapey, gauzy black skirt. She can really pull off stuff like that very well.
As for me, I think I ruined a blouse in the laundry last night because I was lazy and tried to just will the colours not to run instead of washing the blouse by hand. That's me in a nutshell, I think.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:21 PM | shower me with attention
So we're home now and Kirsten's getting ready, all dolled up like Cher in Moonstruck. She really looks stunning. My sister cleans up quite nicely. She's got an ivory lace blouse under a black leather bodice and this drapey, gauzy black skirt. She can really pull off stuff like that very well.
As for me, I think I ruined a blouse in the laundry last night because I was lazy and tried to just will the colours not to run instead of washing the blouse by hand. That's me in a nutshell, I think.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:21 PM | shower me with attention
Friday, April 19, 2002
Craig talks like a caveman in his latest journal entry. I love it when people talk like cavemen. This is my favourite part:
Scott get black eye from fall on chair in dark in hotel room. He not cry.
Me love Craig.
When me try talk like caveman me sound like Cookie Monster.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:52 PM | shower me with attention
Scott get black eye from fall on chair in dark in hotel room. He not cry.
Me love Craig.
When me try talk like caveman me sound like Cookie Monster.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:52 PM | shower me with attention
The Phillips Twins at Mint Manor! It's like a Nancy Drew book, but not. At all.
It feels like summertime, and yet Summertime is not playing on tv. However, Bringing up Baby just ended and now The Philadelphia Story is on and that, my friends, is one of my definitions of heaven.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:22 PM | shower me with attention
It feels like summertime, and yet Summertime is not playing on tv. However, Bringing up Baby just ended and now The Philadelphia Story is on and that, my friends, is one of my definitions of heaven.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:22 PM | shower me with attention
Thursday, April 18, 2002
I am trying for most Amys linked in a single blog list. The Amys will soon outnumber the Sarahs in this world, and then where will we be?
I'll tell you where I'll be: tasting toothpaste instead of squeezed-out lemons.
Figure it out for yourself.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:55 PM | shower me with attention
I'll tell you where I'll be: tasting toothpaste instead of squeezed-out lemons.
Figure it out for yourself.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:55 PM | shower me with attention
I was thinking the other day about whether or not I am a snob. I am not a snob. Anyone with any sort of sense would know everything I like is shit, not "the shit," and I don't give a shit (again: not "the shit") about quality. So there you go. I am granted license to make fun of whatever I want. I hate you.
And I love you. Snob.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:51 PM | shower me with attention
And I love you. Snob.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:51 PM | shower me with attention
Hello, Terrence.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:53 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:53 PM | shower me with attention
These days are what my mom refers to as "turtle weather", and so it was that this late afternoon found me on the strip of lawn by the river's edge, the one with the rows of cherry trees, now in full blossom. (My old friend, Yorick, resides here, missing a few limbs but still flowering beautifully.)
Progo attracted a lot of attention from the passersby, particularly the children. He showed off, charming all around him, racing around and regarding everyone and everything with suspicion. He learned much on this outing: particularly, that cherry blossom petals may look delicious, but do not make for a sumptuous turtle snack.
He's a cute little bugger, even when he's spitting out pink chewed-up tatters.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:48 PM | shower me with attention
Progo attracted a lot of attention from the passersby, particularly the children. He showed off, charming all around him, racing around and regarding everyone and everything with suspicion. He learned much on this outing: particularly, that cherry blossom petals may look delicious, but do not make for a sumptuous turtle snack.
He's a cute little bugger, even when he's spitting out pink chewed-up tatters.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:48 PM | shower me with attention
There's something very freeing about a tank top.
Most people own at least a few sleeveless shirts, which tend to make for more comfortable summer months, but as for me, the tank top I am currently wearing is the first sleeveless shirt I have owned since I was ten years old. It's nightwear, a gift from my mother; it goes with the pajama pants my thoughtful mum got me as a gift from Old Navy several weeks ago. (I don't really like Old Navy, but they do know their pajama pants.)
The cool air on my arms is very pleasant.
I wouldn't even wear a sleeveless shirt as pajamas before. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I hate my arms that much. So this is a step of some sort; some sort of
progress in the effort to hate one's body less. I must, if I'm able to wear a sleeveless shirt around the house. That's something.
The smaller the garment, the larger the self-acceptance.
Gosh, but my arms are white.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:17 AM | shower me with attention
Most people own at least a few sleeveless shirts, which tend to make for more comfortable summer months, but as for me, the tank top I am currently wearing is the first sleeveless shirt I have owned since I was ten years old. It's nightwear, a gift from my mother; it goes with the pajama pants my thoughtful mum got me as a gift from Old Navy several weeks ago. (I don't really like Old Navy, but they do know their pajama pants.)
The cool air on my arms is very pleasant.
I wouldn't even wear a sleeveless shirt as pajamas before. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I hate my arms that much. So this is a step of some sort; some sort of
progress in the effort to hate one's body less. I must, if I'm able to wear a sleeveless shirt around the house. That's something.
The smaller the garment, the larger the self-acceptance.
Gosh, but my arms are white.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:17 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
I'm sure the Earth is hurtling towards the sun now. Soon we will all be bacon.
Tonight was some fine improv at the UCB Theatre with erin and sarah and erin's Dave. The air conditioning was cold and the comedy was hot. Together they evened out to create that much-longed-for 72 degrees in my head.
Kirsten made dinner when I got home, something I can eat, and delicious it was, too. She's a fine cook.
Still no urge to read poetry assignments or idea what exactly I'm going to write my final paper on. Ulp.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:12 PM | shower me with attention
Tonight was some fine improv at the UCB Theatre with erin and sarah and erin's Dave. The air conditioning was cold and the comedy was hot. Together they evened out to create that much-longed-for 72 degrees in my head.
Kirsten made dinner when I got home, something I can eat, and delicious it was, too. She's a fine cook.
Still no urge to read poetry assignments or idea what exactly I'm going to write my final paper on. Ulp.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:12 PM | shower me with attention
Last night, Scott-Jesus yelled, "LET'S ROLL, NEW YORK!" At every other show it was "let's rock".
I like to think it was in deference to Miss Frank.
In other news, I am tired beyond all reckoning, head aching, eyes burning, and yet Sleep, that bitch goddess, she is avoiding me tonight. Perhaps because I kept refusing to return her phone calls this weekend.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:27 AM | shower me with attention
I like to think it was in deference to Miss Frank.
In other news, I am tired beyond all reckoning, head aching, eyes burning, and yet Sleep, that bitch goddess, she is avoiding me tonight. Perhaps because I kept refusing to return her phone calls this weekend.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:27 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
Have been corresponding with my parents via email while they are at sea on their cruise. My father doesn't even know how to turn a computer on, but he's sending me email. Got the following message from him today:
Following up w/snail-mail to each of you--old habits R hard to break.
Few people reading this know my father, but this made me laugh almost as hard as Kevin McDonald's attempts to hide his open fly with his necktie on stage at the KITH show last night. My father is not one who uses abbreviations, and especially avoids new conventions such as the shortening of the word "are" to a single letter.
It's truly hilarious, this.
Elsewise:
It is funny you should mention it because Steve and I were just strolling down the street missing you yesterday. I can't remember if it was before or after we saw Beauty and the Beast on IMAX (finally.)
Yesterday. A wonderful day. Heterosexual lifemate had to work but I skipped class to soak up the time with Cheryl, Mike and Steve. We raced into the city in time to catch the 3 o'clock IMAX showing of aforementioned film, which Steve, Gina and I had been wanting to see since Christmastime. (Yes, I'm going again with Gina.)
I cried three times during the movie. Perhaps I'm hormonal. I know you're laughing at me now, but I don't give a hoot. It's my favourite Dizzerney full-length animated feature. I saw it five times in its original theatrical release. That's more times than I've seen any other movie in a theatre. (Except maybe Rocky Horror. Not sure.)
Anyhoo, then it was magical KITHy time, and magical it was. My favourite part of the day was when Mark saw us at the Xando's a few blocks away from the theatre and ran over to chat us up. Them's the warm fuzzies. But the whole day was simply brilliant.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:22 PM | shower me with attention
Following up w/snail-mail to each of you--old habits R hard to break.
Few people reading this know my father, but this made me laugh almost as hard as Kevin McDonald's attempts to hide his open fly with his necktie on stage at the KITH show last night. My father is not one who uses abbreviations, and especially avoids new conventions such as the shortening of the word "are" to a single letter.
It's truly hilarious, this.
Elsewise:
It is funny you should mention it because Steve and I were just strolling down the street missing you yesterday. I can't remember if it was before or after we saw Beauty and the Beast on IMAX (finally.)
Yesterday. A wonderful day. Heterosexual lifemate had to work but I skipped class to soak up the time with Cheryl, Mike and Steve. We raced into the city in time to catch the 3 o'clock IMAX showing of aforementioned film, which Steve, Gina and I had been wanting to see since Christmastime. (Yes, I'm going again with Gina.)
I cried three times during the movie. Perhaps I'm hormonal. I know you're laughing at me now, but I don't give a hoot. It's my favourite Dizzerney full-length animated feature. I saw it five times in its original theatrical release. That's more times than I've seen any other movie in a theatre. (Except maybe Rocky Horror. Not sure.)
Anyhoo, then it was magical KITHy time, and magical it was. My favourite part of the day was when Mark saw us at the Xando's a few blocks away from the theatre and ran over to chat us up. Them's the warm fuzzies. But the whole day was simply brilliant.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:22 PM | shower me with attention
One more thing, my hero (one of two) has eased my mind about her future. I sing the news like Julie Andrews on the mountain, spinning, arms flung wide, one hand atop my sun-kissed head...
The hills are alive with the sound of honking.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:05 AM | shower me with attention
The hills are alive with the sound of honking.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:05 AM | shower me with attention
I swear I will post properly on the morrow.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:01 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:01 AM | shower me with attention
A heady night. Good friends and good times; slight awkwardness, drowned out by the sweetness of a martini-addled head and the warmth of friends and admirees.
Mark McKinney, I do so love you.
The experience of being in a long row with my friends, from sarah to Steve is the stuff I'll take away with me. I love these people.
hic
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:00 AM | shower me with attention
Mark McKinney, I do so love you.
The experience of being in a long row with my friends, from sarah to Steve is the stuff I'll take away with me. I love these people.
hic
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:00 AM | shower me with attention
Monday, April 15, 2002
I'm so tired. I feel like I should blog something, but I don't know exactly what. I've met a lot of great people in the last few days and seen some amazing shows. I love my gang and I wish we could always be together, all the time. I miss the people who aren't here and should be. They know who they are.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:34 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:34 AM | shower me with attention
