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January 16, 2008

no other road, no other way, no day but today

I promised myself I wasn't going to turn this website (I'm sorry, I still can't stay blog, but you can feel free) into some big personal tribute to Broadway or musicals in general. I've resisted posting that thesis I mentioned on how a weak show like Wicked could be so well liked. I've resisted making a list of why Julia Murney, Emily Skinner, and Alice Ripley are three of the most amazing women ever and linking to everything and anything about them on the web. I haven't even written about how Patti LuPone played a major influencing part on my young life before I even knew she was a Broadway star (Life Goes On, anyone?). But today I have something Broadway related to write about, and I'm going to, because hopefully even people who aren't musical fans will kind of get it.

Rent is closing on Broadway. Its last show will be June 1st. That gives it a run of just over 12 years, and over 5000 shows. And I have such mixed feelings right now.

The thing is--and I think most people already know this about me--I was one of those RENTheads. I was one of the teenagers who wore out her CDs. When the first national touring company opened, St. Paul was the second city it came to. That was the summer of 1997, and I was sixteen and deep into the angst of being a misunderstood, recently out, depressed, idealistic teenager. I lived and breathed Rent. I spent the majority of that summer camped out on the front sidewalk of the Ordway with a sleeping bag, surrounded by familiar faces, waiting for my front row, $20 tickets. I met some amazing new friends because of Rent. I met the girl I dated that summer because of Rent. And she, in turn, introduced me to the woman who is now my wife.

From 1997 to 1999, I saw Rent in seven cities (mainly by accident--but if I was on a vacation or traveling for some reason and Rent was passing through, I saw it). I've seen the show well over thirty times. I've lost track. I knew certain cast members well enough that by the end of the summer of 1997, they knew me by name, and when I'd see them on tour in other cities, they remembered me. Two of my friends and I got to go backstage to use the bathroom when we were in line overnight and explored a little more than we should have. I own one-of-a-kind memorabilia. When I went to New York for the first time, I did a Rent tour that involved eating at the Life Cafe and buying a t-shirt there. I had my own fansite. I even tried to watch La Boheme. I traded bootleg tapes in the mail, because cassettes were the only way people were recording at the time. I collected video clips of anything on TV with 'my' cast. And the message of Rent was everything to me.

Now, that said, I will admit that I haven't been to see the show in years. The last time I went was because I had a friend who had never been and we took a chance and did the lottery and got tickets. The last several times I saw it, I didn't enjoy it at all. The characterizations seem to have become slightly cartoonish over the years as certain funny understated things the original cast did have become standard and therefore exaggerated. I don't know if all the cast really seems to understand the message anymore, whereas early casts always seemed to be made up of raggedy barely-making-it young actors who were almost living the story. It doesn't have the same emotional punch or impact for me anymore, although if I sit still and listen to the original cast recording, I remember why it changed my life. But the show itself hasn't felt like much of anything to me in a long time, and the movie... yes, I own it--how could a girl with a carefully preserved plastic box of Rent memorabilia not own it?--but I don't watch it. The movie fell flat for me.

So I have mixed feelings about this show closing. In a way, it feels like a door slamming on a time that brought me together with new people, that made me feel a part of something bigger than myself, that gave me hope when I truly wasn't sure if there was any point to anything at all. It's the end of an era, to me. When it first opened, I remember thinking it was going to someday be the longest running show on Broadway (it made it to seventh, which is something anyway, but still). It always kind of made me feel good to know that if Lauren and I ever wanted to see the show that was essentially the reason we met, we could, at any time. But it's not what it used to be, and maybe its time is over. I truly believe it'll be revived someday. I think we're going to start seeing some amazing regional productions that are complete reinterpretations. And it'll be hard and sad, not seeing that metal Christmas tree or not seeing that lit up little "loft", but that doesn't mean those reinterpretations won't be great too.

But I guess... I'm disappointed, maybe just a little devastated... but I think maybe it's okay. I hope I can see it once more, either in New York this spring, or this summer when it comes back to St. Paul as it has every year since its initial run here. But I think... maybe it was time. If it's not having the impact it once did... then it did its job, and it's time to make room for something new. I hope something else comes along in my lifetime that makes that kind of impact. But the only way to find out is to make way, right? So for once in my life, I'm going to let go of something in a timely manner. And maybe prove to myself that the world won't implode if I don't cling to something a little too long.

Then again--check back with me come July when I'm freaking out about how Rent has died. By then, it may be an entirely different story.

Posted to Nostalgia at 12:21 PM | Comments (2)

December 30, 2007

Return to Nesting

This weekend is a very special time for me. Not because of New Year's--that's nice and all, but eh. No, what's significant about this time is that as of this past Thursday, it has been eighteen months since we moved into our current apartment. I know, that doesn't seem all that exciting. But it is. And here's why:

This is the first time in ten years that I've lived somewhere for that long without moving.

Seriously. Ten years. Since March of 1998, I've been moving with such regularity that it's amazing I didn't just buy an RV and move into it. I'd like to present a log of my moves over the last ten years, so that you can all see just how crazy it's been. I'd also like to point out that while, yes, all college students move between home and school every year, my situation was a bit different. That's because after the summer after my freshman year, I lost my bedroom. My brother moved into it, my things were... well, not there anymore, and when I was at home, I was sleeping in either my dad's office or a den. That means that for the entirety of college, all of the belongings I wanted access to were with me at college. I didn't leave clothes at home, I didn't leave keepsakes at home, I either boxed them up and stored them, or moved them at the beginning and end of every school year. That said, here we go:

March 1998: from Plymouth, where I'd lived for 12 years, to a house in St. Louis Park
August 1999: to an apartment in Toledo, Ohio, for college
October 1999: to a dorm at UToledo, because my apartment roommates were homophobic party girls who exploded my microwave and expected me to cover for them when the cops came a-knockin and they were drunk
May 2000: home! to my room, for the last time
August 2000: to a dorm in Oberlin, Ohio
June 2001: home! but... to my dad's office
August 2001: to a different dorm in Oberlin
January 2002: to another different dorm in Oberlin when I got a promotion that involved a move
April 2002: home, to my brother's abandoned room, when I had a nervous breakdown
August 2002: back to a dorm in Oberlin, the same one as the previous August
May 2003: graduation! off to an apartment in Hopkins, MN with Lauren
August 2004: wow, a record! over a year in one place! but now off to a dorm at Augsburg when I got an RD job
October 2004: hmmm, another promotion that involves moving to a new dorm...
January 2005: and another nervous breakdown that involves quitting and moving. this time to a fabulous apartment in Minneapolis near 50th & France
July 2005: sadly, we have to leave the great apartment when Lauren gets an RD job in, sigh, Oberlin
June 2006: and that was all the Oberlin we could handle. off to our new apartment in a res hall at the U of MN, where Lauren got a new job

And here we still are today. And here we will stay at least through June, if not for another year, depending on whether or not they move Lauren after this year.

All I care about is this--I have not had to pack, search for movers, pay movers, or tear my hair out about how to set up a NEW living space in 18 months. It's too bad this apartment isn't the most livable place and has no storage or closets... But it's still a wonderful feeling, to be in one place so long. It still doesn't feel like home. I guess maybe knowing that we could be moved any given year, combined with the fact that it's... well, a dorm, kind of means it might not ever feel like home. But it's still been nice to stay still.

And maybe that's why I've been looking for houses again lately, stalking edinarealty.com like a deranged person. Maybe that's why for the first time in a year and a half, I feel like I can look toward the future. Maybe feeling just a little bit more stable has been good for me and I can finally, finally relax enough to start feeling like I'm not running a marathon just to keep up with where life is taking us. It's a really nice feeling.

Posted to Minnesota & Nesting & Nostalgia & Oberlin at 06:54 PM | Comments (1)

September 11, 2007

Whenever I see a huge lime green plastic cup, I am reminded...

I've been in full-on nostalgia mode lately. Partly because I have PMS, and when I have PMS, I have three modes--maudlin, shouting, and sentimental. Usually all three at once. But more than that, it's this time of year. Something about it makes me start recalling previous years and I tend to sort of lose myself in those memories. I wish I could say it was the high holidays, but it's not. It's convenient that they follow it immediately, at a time when I'm ready to start looking forward, but it's the start of school that gets to me.

As usual, on the Tuesday after Labor Day, I found myself thinking about school. I loved school. School was good to me. Every year from 1983-2004, on the Tuesday after Labor Day, I was heading off to my first day of a new year of school. When you think about the fact that I'm 26 and that's 22 years of my life that I went to school... Man, is it really any wonder that I've had trouble adjusting to Life After School? I really do miss school. I would kill to go back.

But this year, a completely different experience sent me back into the land of "oh my god, I'm OLD!" in relation to school starting. On September first, the freshmen here moved in and invaded our building, turning it from an 800-capacity building with 30 summer residents to a building that was full to bursting with eager eighteen year olds. They were loud. Oh, were they loud. This entry has, in fact, taken me a week to write because it's taken me this long to adjust to the new noise level around here--although this building apparently has--gasp!--insulation and venting systems that don't mean I can hear every single word the people around me are saying, unlike Oberlin.

But let's not get into that. That's not the point. The point is that they moved in, I sighed and stared out the window and muttered under my breath like an old woman on her porch shaking her cane at the younguns about how back in my day, I only brought a duffel bag and a trunk and a computer with me to Oberlin and I made due just fine without a billion boxes and a U-HAUL (I wish I was kidding). And I moved on with my day. And then my night. And then, because I'm a terrible insomniac, as I was crawling into bed at four a.m., my attention was drawn to our open window because I heard kids out there talking and laughing, and drunkenly shouting. And as I pulled the covers up, I grumbled again--"they just moved in today; are they really partying already??"

And then it hit me. A flashback, hard, shooting right across my brain. Of my first night of college, at Toledo. I had been placed in overflow housing in an apartment building, a two-bedroom apartment with three other girls, who I'm going to politely call K, M, & S. And ho-ly shit did those girls get drunk. They didn't bother unpacking anything but their colored plastic cups and we all sat out on the balcony while two of them smoked and the three of them, plus M's friend D and K's cousin, drank beer and called down to every boy who passed by. M & D drank, if I remember right, an entire bottle of vodka, and neither had had anything to drink before. They invited strange boys up to our apartment and after awhile, S, K, and K's cousin went out to get more beer and I do believe stopped off at a party, and I was left with M & D, the former of whom became nearly unconscious within minutes of everyone else leaving. I knew nothing about alcohol poisoning at the time, all I knew was to get her to eat some bread, to not let her sleep on her back, and to stay with her.

There was so much more to that night than that, but wow. How could I have almost forgotten that night? How could I be so surprised that freshmen are out partying on their first night when my own first night was so... overwhelming? And what is wrong in general that that's what eighteen year olds do on their first night at college?

Oh, and is it any wonder that I only lasted a month in that apartment (oh, the stories I could tell about that month) before moving into the first opening in a decent dorm and living with three devout Christians who I barely had a thing in common with? Yeah. I thought not.

Posted to Nostalgia at 04:35 PM | Comments (0)

August 14, 2007

Addendum

Carly has indeed taken me up on my offer to answer an additional question, and so here we have it:

I don't know why I was thinking about this, but I don't think we've ever really discussed prom... Not that it's a super important thing. But anyway, did you go to your prom? If so, who did you go with? If not, why not? Tell me about it.

The arts high didn't have a prom, per se. We had this thing called Gala that was basically a half-assed prom. No dinner, no fancy clothes (well, some people did), no special transportation, no corsages, very few dates, no court and crowning, just a dance. In... man, I don't even remember where it was. I went my junior year, with a group of friends--I think the people I rode with were Jesse, Krissti, and Alan? But I hung out with my friend Devin most of the night, I believe. I was pretty miserable if I remember right. (Devin, are you reading this? I was miserable, right?) I didn't go my senior year because, well, I was miserable. I did, however, help several of my friends prepare for their proms. That's about it.

A huge part of me wished I could go to Armstrong's prom, just for the whole experience, and because all my friends were going. In fact, I was kinda peeved that I didn't get invited as the non-date of a few single friends. But in hindsight, this was probably for the best. I would have been so uncomfortable all night, and probably not very happy. I was not a party girl, I probably would have dragged down my friends' nights. So it's for the best, but... yeah. Somehow even though I didn't really go to prom, I have bittersweet feelings about it anyway.

For added fun? My Gala pictures are online, starting here.

Posted to Nostalgia at 10:52 PM | Comments (2)

Getting to know all about you...

Oops, I forgot to come back and post my answers to Carly's questions. Here they are, questions now, answers after the cut, and same thing applies as the last one if you want to be interviewed in return.

Carly's questions:

1. Is rabbinical school still on the table? Say more about that :-)
2. Think about yourself ten years ago. What advice would you give that Rebecca if you could?
3. What is it about Lauren that made you fall in love with her?
4. What's your favorite thing about yourself?
5. Do you think you'll stay in MN? If not, where would you like to go? And why?

1. Is rabbinical school still on the table? Say more about that :-)

Sigh. I covered that pretty thoroughly on my last post. If you want a new question, I will answer, otherwise, see below.

2. Think about yourself ten years ago. What advice would you give that Rebecca if you could?

In the words of the great Leila Green, "It's not that deep." No, actually, ten years ago today, I was preparing for my first trip to New York City, I was falling in love with my now-wife and trying to figure out if I would ever tell her so, I was seeing Rent on a weekly basis and had a community of fellow Rentheads who did the line with me overnight at the Ordway, and I was weeks away from entering the arts high school. My life was about the best it had been in almost ten whole years prior to that. And yet I was miserable. I don't know if anything I could go back and tell myself would change that much, though. Even telling myself to take it easy wouldn't have helped. So maybe what I'd say is, "You're no diferent from everyone else in your pain, but you're very different from everyone else in ways you don't even understand. And it just doesn't matter, so try to connect with people instead of thinking you're so alone." Sigh. Very emo of me, huh? But I was a pretty miserable 16 year old and I could have stood to hear it.

3. What is it about Lauren that made you fall in love with her?

You know, it's kinda hard to say. It's been ten years, and neither of us are the same people we were then, honestly. I truly think it was one of those situations where we were just right together. There were a lot of circumstances, too, that really makes it hard to say what first made me fall in love with her. But I do know the things that make me still love her as much right now as I did then. I love her cheerfulness, and the way nothing can ever really get her down for long. I love the way she draws people in and makes them want to talk to her. I love that she can eavesdrop on strangers and then cut into their conversations, and rather than getting mad, they get excited to talk to her. I love that she's intensely optimistic but often assumes or expects the worst--that kind of contradiction is endearing to me. I love that she would put other people first to an extent so ridiculous that I think she deserves someone who would do the same (I would not, I admit) just so that someone puts her first all the time. I love that she cracks herself up in her sleep. I love that even when she has no idea what she's talking about, she'll find something to say. I love that she loves my family and tries really hard to understand what it means to be a sibling to my brothers. I love that she can be righteously indignant in one moment and then have let it go and be laughing or grumbling or who knows what in the next. I love that she's patient with me when I can't be with myself. And I love that even though she would probably be the last person to say this about herself, there is no challenge that she isn't up for.

4. What's your favorite thing about yourself?

You know, you kinda stumped me here. Not because there's nothing I like about myself, but because all the things that I like about myself are ultimately problematic, because they're the things that don't really fit well into The World. So I guess my favorite thing is the way my brain works. I feel like sometimes I see things that other people don't see. Now granted, I don't see 90% of what most other people do, and that's hard, and it's hard to never be able to explain myself, but I like the world that my head is in. I like the way everything makes sense and I like the way I come at trying to figure out the things that don't make sense. It makes it really really hard to live in a world with people who I can't explain myself to, but to me, it's a really comfortable place to be and I like how I think.

5. Do you think you'll stay in MN? If not, where would you like to go? And why?

I'd like to think so. This is home. Despite my feelings about the Jewish community here, it has everything else going for it. I would hate to be without a communal spiritual life for the rest of my life, but compared with what I'd be giving up elsewhere, I'll take it. That said, where would I go? Well, do you know of any cities that are as full of greenery and lakes as this one and have a gay population who's more distributed than concentrated and has a lot of theatre and other artistic stuff going on, and is considered to be in a liberal area? Probably not.

Places I might consider though... Western Massachusetts still, I really did like Northampton even though I didn't feel cool enough to be there, but I really would rather be near a city about the size of Minneapolis. Decatur, GA still intrigues me although it seems that once you're outside of the actual little tiny main part of the city, it could be Any Suburb. Lauren wants to consider Denver. I've never been, but it's someplace that's always interested me. Same applies to Santa Fe. I'd consider cities like Boston, Providence, Baltimore, and DC. I liked Oakland, CA a lot. And Orlando has the bonus of Disney World being right there. Realistically, though, unless my parents move somewhere else... no, I don't really want to move away from here again.

Posted to Lauren & Mental Health & Minnesota & Miscellaneous & Nostalgia at 12:37 PM | Comments (4)

August 11, 2007

Getting to know you...

It seems that that whole 5 questions interview thing is going around again, and I'm a sucker for not having to think about what to talk about, so I'm doing it. In fact, I requested questions from two people, and if you request questions from me and then do it yourself, I'll probably ask for some in return.

Here's how it goes:
1. Leave me a comment and I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better.
2. Update your website or blog or LJ or whatever with the answers to the questions.
3. Include this explanation and when others comment asking to be asked, you in turn ask them five questions.

**REMINDER: This isn't LJ--if you comment asking for questions, you won't get an email in response when I answer you, you'll have to remember to check back here.

And here are Amanda's questions for me:

1) When an artifact from your childhood (like a certain type of toy, or a television or book series) enjoys a resurgence in popularity, does it make you feel happy and nostalgic or angry and nostalgic? Why?
2) Are you still pursuing rabbinical school? If so, how is that coming along? If not, why did you decide to put that goal on the backburner?
3) I just read on your deliciously.org 'blog that you are a Harry Potter fan. What is your opinion of the last book? What, if anything, would you have changed about the outcome?
4) If you had to change your name, what alternate name would you select? Do you feel intimately connected to your name?
5) What cancelled television program do you wish could be revived (or, if you'd rather, would have lasted longer in the first place)?

Answers after the cut, and yes, obviously, #3 will have spoilers for Harry Potter. Answers to Carly's questions coming in a post soon.

This may make me a horrible person, but I usually feel angry. It's the same feeling I get when someone tells me that they're a fan of Rent but I find out they've never seen the play or they didn't see it for the first time until years after I did. I don't really do anything with Rent anymore, but did they sleep out on the sidewalk every Tuesday for an entire summer to see the show? No, I don't think so. Bite me. Anyway, my point is, I get very possessive. I end up feeling like the kids who get to enjoy it now Just Don't Get what it really is all about. Plus, all too often, it's altered to be rereleased, which I just can't stand.

2) Are you still pursuing rabbinical school? If so, how is that coming along? If not, why did you decide to put that goal on the backburner?

Carly asked me this too, so I know it must be glaringly obvious that I haven't talked about it in awhile. There are basically two answers to this question. The first answer is that I'm not pursuing anything except breathing right now. I am currently deep in the trenches of figuring out if I can ever work, if I can ever be a parent, if I can ever be anything other than a resource draining lump. And if I sound depressed there, it's because I am. I'm really pretty unhappy about where I'm at on this whole journey and issue but basically... I have no plans or lack of plans.

The second answer is... IF I got to a place where I feel like I can work and I do decide to pursue a career path... The rabbinate is still really really appealing to me. I feel like the actual schooling is a terrific fit for me. I also feel like I really don't want to live in Philly for six years, and having lived somewhere I was miserable last year and now being back here, I'm not sure I'd give up six years living somewhere else for anything. I might. I really don't know. But that leads me to the last issue... I had forgotten, while I was in Oberlin, just HOW much I hate the Jewish community in the Twin Cities. Being back here, Judaism has been much less a part of my life, even internally. I don't like the community or the synagogues or the people I'd be working with. And if I want to live here long term (which... I think we do), there's really no point in being a rabbi because I would never want to work in this community. Right now for me, Judaism is really... whatever the opposite of salient is.

So in sum? I have no idea. It's not off the list of possibilities, it's still the thing I would most like to do. But it's not likely.

3) I just read on your deliciously.org 'blog that you are a Harry Potter fan. What is your opinion of the last book? What, if anything, would you have changed about the outcome?

Wifey, if you're reading this, just skip to the next question. Basically I feel like JK Rowling set herself up for failure. There's no way she could have pleased me. I feel like Harry should have died. However, if he had, I'd have been pissed as hell. I do feel, though, that at the very least he should have been the one to deliver the curse that killed Voldemort, but what can ya do? I feel like the pacing of the book was really bad. I missed that heart attack-y feeling from book six. I thought the ENTIRE plot about the Hallows was unnecessary and served absolutely zero purpose. I hated the exposition scene with Dumbledore in "King's Cross" and I didn't really care for the Snape/Lily chapter. I loved Ron and Hermione and seeing some growth in them. I love love love love Neville, and almost as much, I love Luna. I loved Kreacher. I loved HOW Ron and Hermione finally got together. I wanted a lot more Snape. I never liked him, in any book, but I wanted more. I was really underwhelmed, and I don't even like action books. That said? I don't think she could have written anything that I would have liked and I don't think any outcome would have satisfied me (although it's very hard to believe it was a truly horrific war with so few deaths). I wouldn't mind nixing that terrible epilogue. And I just have to say, best part of the WHOLE book was Molly coming at Bellatrix and calling her a bitch. It's really sad, though, when the death I was most upset about was Dobby's, when I hated him so much all along.

4) If you had to change your name, what alternate name would you select? Do you feel intimately connected to your name?

I do feel intimately connected to my name. There are times as a kid where I wished I had the last name Rozenberg (my mom's maiden name) instead of Feldman, and I collect long lists of names that I love, but I've never wished I had an actual different name. I used to want something more unique, but I couldn't tell you what, because to me, I am Rebecca. However, I was almost named Rivkah Michal (reev-kah mee-chal, ch being that hard h sound), which is my Hebrew name, and I would be content with that as my name too. That's not really a change, though, is it? There are names I love, but none of them are ME.

5) What cancelled television program do you wish could be revived (or, if you'd rather, would have lasted longer in the first place)?

There are two-- My So-Called Life and Popular. MSCL had so much to offer and I think it was going to go places that teen shows at the time hadn't gone (and maybe still haven't?). It deserved a longer life. I think it could have made a real impact, bigger than it did. Popular was just hilarious and clever and entertaining and I would love to see more.

Posted to Books & Hardly Working & Jew-mania & Mental Health & Mindless Entertainment & Miscellaneous & Nostalgia at 12:27 PM | Comments (3)

July 17, 2007

Goodbye, Hair, Goodbye

My hair is my BFF. No, seriously, it is. I've always been very attached to it. One of my earliest traumatic experiences was in first grade, when my mom decided to "trim" my hair herself and cut off six inches. Whether this was because she was finally follow through on her threat that "REBECCA MICHELLE, IF YOU DON'T BRUSH YOUR HAIR MORE OFTEN TO KEEP IT FROM GETTING SNARLY, SO HELP ME, I'LL CUT IT ALL OFF" or just that she had trouble trimming it evenly and kept cutting and cutting until it was all gone, I was devastated. In my head, my hair should have always looked like this:

Bye bye, long hair. Anyway, after that, I grew my hair right back out, and from then on, I had long hair (except for a brief period during which I was growing out a perm and cut it very short). Always. Long hair. In fact, by high school, I had a system down. Every August, I got my hair cut four or five or six inches, and then let it grow all throughout the year without any further attention. Occasionally I got one trim in the winter, but that was it. I had one hairstylist, Cindy, who knew me and knew better than to suggest anything as crazy as--gasp!--layers or a different length (damn you Jennifer Aniston, I would not be suckered into your crazy hair shennanigans). And all through college, I continued with this plan. Me and my long, straight hair that never came above my shoulders.

And then in college, something crazy came over me. My senior year, I suddenly decided that I was feeling good, I was ready to tackle the world, I was ready to declare that I was no longer emotionally stunted at age seven (my haaaaaaaair, mom, how could you?) and was ready for an Adult haircut. So in February, I made Lauren take a picture of my long, child-style hair:

and I trotted off to an unknown salon in Ohio to get it cut. Short. And I came home with this:

Now, upon reflection, I should have stuck with that. It was actually kind of a fun cut, I suppose, and a HUGE change, since I'd never had my hair shorter than my shoulders since sixth grade. But no, that wasn't short or drastic enough for me, so I went and had a girl who I worked with shorten it for me, resulting in this:

And I had fun with it, I truly did. Some days I straightened it. Some days I put a ton of stupid little clips in it. Some days I just let it be. It was a huge pain in my ass and took way too long to style, but I enjoyed it. For like two months. And then I wanted my hair back. And so I grew it, and it took a damn year and a half, but for my wedding, my hair was the perfect length:

And of course, then I just had to do something stupid. So two weeks after our wedding, I cut it, and I got those long sideswept bangs that everyone was getting at the time (see Rebecca? This is what happens when you follow a trend) and... yeah. Let's just say it wasn't good. And right then and there, I decided it was time to grow my hair out. And I mean, grow it out. I literally went two years without so much as a trim. I finally got it trimmed this past January, and that brings us to today. Which looks like this:

That's earlier today. The day my hair went away.

I donated my hair to Locks of Love today and as nice as it is to not feel like there's a small child hanging from my head when it's in a ponytail or something, I miss it. A lot. I haven't taken a picture of the new cut yet, but I will. It's actually longer even than the first cut I got my senior year of college, long enough for a short, perky ponytail. But man, am I feeling the loss.

All gone.

Posted to Nostalgia at 03:09 PM | Comments (0)

August 19, 2006

The #6 will be my new best friend

Starting Monday, when I begin my new job, I have to take the bus to and from work every day. I have a serious fear of riding the bus. Of all my fears and anxieties, I'd put it in the top five, easily. Part of this seems to be related to having AS or some other wonderful result of my genetic material, because Koby and my dad have the same fear. We've discussed it exactly once, and we independently had the same reasons for hating the bus. How do you know when to get off? How do you make sure the bus is stopping? What if you aren't paying attention? What if you're slow putting in your fare and the person behinds you gets upset? How do you get off without tripping over yourself in the aisles? Do people really pull that little cord or is that just something they do in the movies? What if the bus is ten seconds late, giving you the opportunity to have a full on mental breakdown over the possibility that the apocolypse has arrived or you've accidentally misread your watch and all the clocks in your house since waking up that day? And yes, I'm absolutely serious about those fears, especially the last one. I also personally have a fear of strangers, especially teenage boys, followed by grown men, followed by teenage girls, followed by anyone older than my parents. Anyone who wants to make conversation with me is scariest of all. I've ridden a public bus in Minneapolis only once, and on the way there, we were surrounded by shady men, and on the way back, we somehow missed the last bus of the night and ended up needing to hide out in Daytons until we could find a ride. I was with someone who was pretty street savvy for a suburban kid, especially since we were about 14, but I was terrified anyway, and I don't think she was particularly thrilled either. However, as much as my fear and hatred of all things buses may be passed on genetically, I also had a scarring experience in kindergarten that will forever mold how I think of buses. I was going home after school with my friend Ryan. We sat together on the bus, and he fell asleep. Despite the fact that I knew several other kids on the bus, I sat quietly in my seat and said nothing. When we got to his street, his twin sister and older brother got off. As I remember it, his sister may have even said something to me about telling their mom Ryan was asleep. I can't remember whether I tried to wake Ryan up or just sat there in a panic, doing nothing. Either way, when the bus route ended, there I was, sitting in my seat with Ryan still asleep next to me. The bus driver was very nice and drove us right back to his house, but the fact that I have such a vivid memory of this event tells me that genetics can't be the only reason that buses terrify me. By the way, I have almost no fear of subways. Trying figuring that one out.

Posted to Mental Health & Nostalgia at 04:06 AM | Comments (6)

August 11, 2006

The Tale of the Underwear Tag

I've been neglecting this website lately. The reason for that is that just about everything I've had to say has been a little too personal to share. I don't plan to ever use an online journal to air my angst again, although the drafts of previous attempts entries sitting in my Movable Type control panel suggest that 3 am is a time of day during which I don't have quite enough self control to follow through on that. At least I have had enough self control not to post them, though.

Anyway, because of this, I haven't said much around here lately. But today I was telling Lauren a story that she declared worthy of being shared on the internet. I personally find it amusing, but not quite that entertaining. However, I feel like I owe something to this site. I hate letting it sit, ignored. So here's my story.

Currently, I wear a brand of underwear that has little tags on the left side--my left side. I've been wearing this brand of underwear for somewhere around six years now, and since the day I bought my first pair, it has irritated me to no end. Not because it has a tag, although I'd rather it didn't, but because the tags are on the left. And I have a very good reason for that.

When I was little--I'm going to guess around five years old, because I actually remember this--I was having a hell of a time with my underwear. I could not for the life of me tell the front from the back. Nearly every day I put them on backwards only to have to take them off, turn them around, and put them back on. When I complained to my mom about that, she told me that the way I could tell was that the tag would be on my right.

Now, I don't know if she meant that the specific underwear she used to buy for me had tags on the right or if she meant that universally, underwear tags were on the right and things have just changed, but I took it as the latter. Could have been a little kid thing, could have been an AS thing, could have just been how she really meant it. Who knows.

All I know is that to this day, every single time I put on a pair of underwear the tag on the left, I'm reminded of the fact the world makes little to no sense.

Luckily, I'm used to that feeling.

Posted to Nostalgia at 12:33 PM | Comments (1)

July 21, 2006

A heavy entry for a Friday

This Sunday is visitors' day at Herzl Camp. I want to go. Badly. But I don't think I am.

It's hard to explain Herzl to someone who has never been there. It's even hard to explain my relationship with Herzl to someone who felt differently about it. Every summer, I was miserable. Of all the places in my life where I felt left out, lonely, and misunderstood, Herzl was the worst. Even the summers when I had great friends there, I was lonely and depressed. I begged my counselors to let me call home, I had anxiety attacks (even though I didn't know at the time that that's what they were) over certain activities, and I created the best excuses and found the best places to hide.

Every year, I swore I would never go back. And every year, I would wait anxiously for the sign-up forms to arrive in the mail and insist that we turn them in immediately to assure my place at camp. When I got to be too old to be a camper, I felt like I was losing part of my identity.

During my sophomore of college, I decided that I had too many regrets about things that shouldn't have been such a big deal. I started on my very cornily titled "journey to yes" that involved doing my winter term project at my old middle school and working on the BESY play. I left those experiences feeling much better about those places and really embraced the idea that if I could create a positive experience, I could wipe out the negative emotions--if not the memories--associated with those times in my life.

So I applied to work at Herzl. No one I went to camp with, not one single person, understood why I was doing it. I couldn't explain it. I just had to. And it started out really well. I learned that some people who I really hadn't liked as a kid turned out to be decent human beings. I discovered that I was capable of being friendly with a group of my peers who I had previously seen as the enemy. I met some absolutely amazing kids, a few of whom I'm still in touch with now.

But this was before I knew that I had AS and before I knew what to do to get through a rough day, and it didn't take long for me to start having anxiety attacks every few hours. I had to leave camp without completing the summer. In some ways, that summer was a success. In others, it was worse than if I had never gone. I guess that fits the pattern...

I haven't admitted to myself until very recently how much that experience affected me. I feel like I'm up against a brick wall, trying to walk forward but completely stuck by the idea that I still couldn't make it, even as a 20 year old. I feel like a pretty big failure. I wish I could go back and work there again, but without Lauren by my side, it's not going to happen, and I really am too old now.

Still, I have a lot of love for Herzl. It was a really big part of my life, even though I figure I've only spent a total of about 140 of the over 9300 days that I've been alive there. I truly love what Herzl is--a place for Jewish kids to live in a Jewish space and see Judaism on a daily basis as a regular part of their lives, where they can be away from most adults, take ownership of themselves and their identities, and have adventures. True, it's also a place where social norms are distorted, uncool kids never have a chance to feel good about themselves, and there are unwritten rules about being peppy and energetic that are oppressive to kids who just don't feel that way--but it made me who I am. It's had a huge influence on what I want to do with my life, both in terms of being a parent and in terms of a career.

And I want to go to visitors' day. I took Lauren to see the camp last year in May. There were about 10 people there, mostly young kids and their parents. I showed her around. I took her to every significant place and showed her every plaque I worked on. I sat on the mercaz and felt empty and I stood in the heavy dew and remembered. I have no good reason to go back now, but I can't let go. This time, if we go, there will be hundreds of people there celebrating Herzl's 60th anniversary. Several of my old campers as well as my future step-cousin will be there. It will still be hard and painful, but it'll be more real to camp.

But I can't go by myself. I need a friend to come with me and Lauren, who doesn't know camp herself. I can't face it alone. And no one wants to go.

Posted to Jew-mania & Mental Health & Nostalgia at 01:52 PM | Comments (2)

June 28, 2006

GO ARTS HIGH!

OH MY GOODNESS!!!

I just saw a commercial for the new season of Project Runway, so I decided to go check out the website for it. I was looking at the designers and saw, "Hey, that girl's from Minnesota." So I clicked on her and HOLY FREAKING COW, I WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH HER. We weren't friends, and since I sort of hid in the corners, she probably doesn't know who I am, but I definitely know who she is. She was a media major at the arts high school, and she always seemed very nice.

Everyone go check out Katherine Gerdes and root for her when the show starts.

Posted to Mindless Entertainment & Nostalgia at 11:38 AM | Comments (7)

May 26, 2006

dress to impress

Today I'm reading Kristy and the Baby Parade, which I remember as being one of my least favorite BSC books ever. And so far, that memory seems warranted. It's boring. I've been trying to speed-read through it (although to be honest, the next book, Mary Anne Misses Logan, isn't exactly a favorite of mine either) but it feels like it's taking forever.

But I just read something that made it all worth it.

See, one of my favorite elements of the BSC books was always when they described Claudia's clothing. I never noticed as a kid that they said things like "on anyone else, that would look stupid, but on Claudia, it looked great." All I knew was that Claudia was COOL and ARTISTIC and dressed WILDLY. And as I've been rereading these books, I've been cracking up at all the clothes and wondering why I thought they were so cool.

This book, though, has my favorite outfit in it. My VERY favorite. I remember reading about it and trying to recreate it and drawing it and loving it to death. So what was this magical outfit?

An oversized red button-down shirt with big black buttons, green leggings with white tie-dyed streaks (I always pictured those ribbed leggings that were really popular in the late 80s, for some reason--green with white stripes that looked like rings around her legs. I think I knew someone with pants like that.), and earrings that looked like watermelon slices. Because she was a WATERMELON.

How hot is that?

Posted to Books & Nostalgia at 11:30 AM | Comments (1)

May 10, 2006

Confronting my past

As I've mentioned about a million times, right now I'm reading all the BSC books in order. Today I read #32, Kristy and the Secret of Susan. I have to admit that ever since I started this venture, I've been anxious to get to this book, wondering what I'd think of it now.

When I first read Kristy and the Secret of Susan in 1990, it was the first time I'd heard of autism. I was fascinated. I decided, at 9 years old, that I wanted to work with autistic kids someday. That interest never disappeared. There was something I couldn't put my finger on about autism that made my stomach turn.

I didn't retain a lot of the actual information in that book, and now that I've reread it, I'm surprised that Ann M. Martin was willing to depict Susan the way she did. For most of the book, it appeared that Susan's life was pretty hopeless. It wasn't until the very end that Kristy understood that just because Susan was too developmentally needy to even go to a special ed day school didn't mean that her parents didn't hold out hope for her life. The book was clear that not all autistic children are savants, that IQ is pretty secondary, and that autistic kids have varying levels of communication abilities. The only thing the book left out, as far as I'm concerned, is how violent autistic kids can be when that's the only way they know how to communicate.

But somehow, reading it this time while understanding why I was so interested as a kid was a little depressing. A teensy bit of that is because I don't feel that great about having a disability that affects me so much, but more than that, I feel that desperate "no one will ever understand what it's like to be me" feeling that has made me feel so isolated on and off for my entire life. I know that everyone feels that way sometimes, but knowing that I have a disorder that my wife and friends will never really GET can be frustrating.

I'm glad I reread this book, but I don't think I'll be reading it again any time soon. I'm especially glad that I was introduced to autism this way when I was young, though. It was important for me. It made the whole thing less scary when Aspergers became a reality for me.

After all, if Ann M. Martin covered it, it couldn't be TOO horrible.

Posted to Books & Mental Health & Nostalgia at 12:44 PM | Comments (0)

April 20, 2006

Perspective

I'm destined to be a crotchety old woman, probably by the time I'm 28. I say a lot of stuff that sounds like "kids these days" and "what is the world coming to" already. I talk a lot about how much current pop culture and fashion suck, and I contemplate the changes in pricing in my lifetime on EVERYTHING.

So when I read this, in Baby-Sitters Club #3 (published in 1986):

"A small tab and a small popcorn, please," I said.

"That'll be a dollar seventy-five," replied the boy behind the counter.

I gulped. I'd forgotten how expensive things were in New York. At the theater in Stoneybrook, you can get a soda and popcorn for ninety-five cents.

I almost died. What's the world coming to?

Posted to Books & Nostalgia at 06:31 PM | Comments (1)

March 05, 2006

I bet you didn't expect an entry like this from me.

One of the top headlines in the Star Tribune for most of the day today has been Kirby Puckett's stroke. I've been checking regularly for any updates, although there really haven't been many. For the most part, the stories have been more about people's reactions and prayers.

I'm not big on praying for people, but I gotta admit that I'm keeping him in my thoughts. I can't speak for any other kids growing up in Minnesota around the same time I did, but Kirby Puckett was a pretty major part of my childhood. I was almost 7 during the 1987 World Series, and almost 11 during the 1991 series, and Kirby Puckett was a total star in my eyes. I was always into baseball, but I've never been interested in knowing players' names or stats. I knew that the Twins had Kent Hrbek, Chuck Knoblauch, Greg Gagne, Gene Larkin, and Rick Aguilera, but I just didn't care. Kirby Puckett, though, was another story. He was my baseball hero.

I couldn't tell you, for the life of me, what his stats were, what part he played in the series wins, or even his number. But I loved to watch him every time. I loved his homeruns. I loved him in the outfield. I loved how they said his name. If you don't believe me, I can dig out the cassette tape I made in first grade when I was home with the chicken pox during the World Series. In the middle of a tape of songs about Barbie and not scratching my pox was an entire song about my love for the Twins, especially Kirrrrrrrrrrrby Puckett!

He's the only professional athlete I've ever cared about. I was devastated when that sexual harrassment case came up a few years ago (in fact, it's completely verboten to bring that up in our household). He's my childhood sports hero, and the reason I collected baseball cards and loved Twins games all through elementary and middle school. He's only 44, and I really and truly hope he's able to make it through this stroke and surgery and recover fully. I'm sure he's got a lot of people pulling for him, but it sure couldn't hurt to add me to the list.

Posted to Minnesota & Nostalgia at 11:30 PM | Comments (1)

October 31, 2005

For my Pammylala

Today is my anniversary. Ten years ago today, Pam and I formed our real bond and moved from "friends because we both knew the same guy" to "friends because we liked each other." On Halloween my freshman year, I went trick-or-treating (for the last time) with Pam, Mary Beth, Andy, NickD, and NickM. I think. I'd known Mary Beth since 6th grade. Earlier that year, she started dating NickM. Then Andy asked me out. And Pam was friends with Andy, NickM, and NickD. So we just started... hanging out. But after I broke up with Andy (that relationship lasted 4 days), Pam and I just... clicked.

It started with phone calls that lasted hours. I usually spent them lying down on the center island in my kitchen. I have no idea what we talked about (other than the hilarity of my 4 day relationship with Andy). But we just... worked together.

Pretty soon it became a foursome -- me, Pam, Mary Beth, and Pam's friend from middle school, Jodi. Jodi lived "far away" but was still part of the group. We likened ourselves to the movie Now and Then, where I was Gabby Hoffman, Pam was Christina Ricci, Mary Beth was Thora Birch, and Jodi was Ashleigh Moore. In fact, the day I met Jodi we saw that movie and decided it right then and there. Each of us had individual relationships with the other three, and we had our foursome.

I think Pam and I spent more time together than anyone else. Mary Beth had strict rules imposed on her that kept her from spending a lot of time with us out of school or talking on the phone, and Jodi lived "far away". It's funny because I tend to base my friendships with people on being able to have emotionally intense conversations with them, but Pam and I were never that emotional together. I was, of course, because I was a drama queen, but our time together was more fun than anything else.

Pam is the one person in my life who I've just had FUN with.

When the end of October rolled around during our sophomore year, I found myself reflecting back and thinking about how far our friendship had come in that year. I wrote a funny rhyming poem about it, typed it up, and presented it to Pam on Halloween, marking it our "first anniversary." I did the same the next year, though after that, the poems fell off. Since then, we've acknowledged our anniversary every year. Some years she sends me a card. Some years we just make a phone call or drop an email. This year I sent her an ecard of a Story People that really reminds me of us (Kindred Spirits).

The thing is, our friendship has been all over the board. There have been times when we haven't been able to go more than a day without talking and times, like now, where we don't talk for months at a time. In fact, I haven't talked to her since the week before we moved, when she gave me the cutest gift ever. There are times when we do nothing but reminisce about how things were during those 2 short years that we went to the same school and times that we exist in the present. Sometimes she's a person I would confide in and sometimes I feel so distant from her. I take pictures of where I live whenever I'm out of Minnesota just for her (even though I'm pretty sure she doesn't remember that this website exists).

She remembers a person I sometimes wish I never was and sometimes wish I could be again. She knows my ugliest stuff and has seen me be a total bitch. She was the first person I came out to and held our foursome together when we were ripped at the seams. We've never really fought, but we have written stories, had sleepovers, taken hundreds of pictures, gone on adventures, filled entire notebooks with stupid notes, made up ridiculous nicknames, laughed too loud in public, and made more mischief together than I've made in the rest of my life combined.

She means so much to me, and I'm glad we have an anniversary to mark that.

Posted to Nostalgia at 11:32 AM | Comments (1)

August 29, 2005

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home..."

Yesterday I told Lauren that sometimes, I feel like the last two years at home were all a dream. Like I went home at the end of my senior year, stayed for the summer, and now now I'm back. Our wedding seems real, but nothing else does. Am I really sure I didn't dream Stuart and Mary's wedding? Am I positive that I have my masters degree? Was I really a full-time employee for a short period of time? It all seems like it didn't really happen. It's a frightening feeling, and I just can't shake it, especially as the town fills up with students. Kind of like I'm in Flight of the Navigator or something.

It's very confusing. So I'll move on.

SaraB got home yesterday. from her year in Japan+month of traveling. She's in Minnesota, so it's not like I'll get to see her, but I'm glad we'll get to talk more often. Like each of my other friends, there's a part of me that only Sara understands. I sent her a welcome home email and I'm going to wait for her to catch up on sleep before I bombard her with a phone call (breaking out that calling card), but I'm really excited to talk to her again.

Excited enough to post embarrassing teenage pictures.

Sara and me on Shabbat at Herzl in 1995:

Me and Sara at play practice for Sound of Music in 1996:

That's all I have to say today. Aren't you glad I spiced it up with pictures?

Posted to Minnesota & Nostalgia at 09:53 AM | Comments (0)

August 25, 2005

ugh, angst. feel free to skip.

The mind is so funny. I can already tell I'm going to regret posting this very angsty high school-ish post in the morning, but somehow, it's coming out anyway.

I just finished scanning my photo collection. All of it. Every photo that I've ever taken and still have. In labeling some of these files, I had to retrieve old yearbooks, which, of course, led me to read what people wrote.

There are people who I was sure I had stopped being friends with by age 12 who wrote heartfelt declarations about how happy they were to have me in their lives and assured that we were BFF three and four years later than I remember ever speaking to them. It's amazing. I know I should be laughing at the entire concept of "BFF" right now, mocking it and being all Oberlin-graduate-y about how childish that is. But that's not what I'm thinking about.

There's one person in particular -- I'll call her B for now -- who has caught my attention. I've known her since I was in preschool, and we were great friends all through elementary school. In my mind, that's about when we stopped hanging out. I remember her becoming friends with another friend of mine, A, and ditching me totally. I remember that I kept going to camp and she stopped. I remember that we got to middle school and we had very different friends. In my mind, our friendship ended then.

And yet... I have her school picture -- the wallet size, not the trading size -- all the way through ninth grade, and each one of them has a long message on the back about how we would always be friends. Then there are pictures of her on a family vacation with me in 1996, when I was 15. And more pictures of her, up until my very last day at Armstrong in 1997. How is that possible? How is it that, when my family told me I could only pick one person to come with us, I chose her? I remember our friendship being long over by then...

This has all made me spend a lot of time thinking about what would have happened if I hadn't gone to the arts high school. I don't regret that decision at all; in fact, it's the one thing other than my relationship with Lauren that I'm sure I've done right in my life. But would I still be in contact with these people who were a huge part of my life until I left? Even though those acquaintanceships were completely superficial and based on things like, "Ooh, you have Senor Mertens for Spanish 4th period too!" I just can't help wondering if I might still be in touch with these people who were around during really major life events.

I don't know why, but I have a sudden urge to call people's parents and ask for contact info, or to have my mom get it for me. I added two people on friendster who were childhood friends but who haven't been a part of my life in close to ten years. And B, who isn't on any of those stupid websites, is at the center of my attention right now.

Did I spend so much time thinking about how much people didn't like me that I missed out on having some kind of neat people in my life? Am I being pathetic? Am I just being me? The me that has been missing over the last three years as I've tried to care less to make everything hurt less? Is this leap, trying to find B and all these other people, just what I need to kickstart me back into being the real Rebecca who I haven't been for the last three years as I've let anxiety rule my life?

I don't care if I AM giving this too much thought and sounding all dorky. Maybe things were simpler in high school, even if they did suck. At least back then, we all sucked together.

Posted to Nostalgia at 12:36 AM | Comments (0)

July 22, 2005

flickr is frustrating

In the last 30 hours, I've consumed seven glasses of iced tea, two pieces of chocolate, and four wheat crackers. And a tic tac. It's a packing frenzy over here, and although I can finally say that we're about 75% done, I wouldn't mind squeezing a little eating in.

Yesterday I got to see my cousins who live in California. They're in town for a few days for my aunt's high school reunion, among other things. I last saw these guys in October, at our wedding, and nearly every one of them looks different. For instance, the 12-year-old is now taller than me.

The goodbyes continue. Pam came over this morning and gave me gifts she got me in Paris and London. She also gave me this little book she made:

I uploaded pictures of the whole thing (now at dotphoto because flickr makes my belly hurt) because it was so damn cute.

Posted to Miscellaneous & Nostalgia at 04:41 PM | Comments (0)