Van Buren, why do you have to be such a MOTHER F*CKER!

Holy. Crap.

I have a tremendous new crush.
On this man.

And the entire cast, crew, and anyone touching anything having to do with the musical in which he is currently starring. 

  

Sexypants, indeed.  And sexy lead, sexy supporting cast, sexy set, sexy lights, sexy props, sexy script, sexy music, sexy costumes, sexy musicians, sexy ideas, sexy levels of complete and total utter ridiculousness.  Sexy sexy sexy.  I have never in my life been surrounded by so much sexy.

See?

Most are calling it emo, but I'd consider it almost gothic.  Broadway's newest Emo (Gothic) Rock Opera about America's 7th President, presented with not entirely true factoids and haunting parallels to modern-day government.  How could this possibly go wrong?  In a world where American Idols, fallen has-beens and remakes of ridiculous Hollywood triumphs and flops seem to rule the Great White Way, it is SO REFRESHING to see and hear and experience something entirely new.  A contemporary look at early American history - I likes it a LOT.   

Because it all works.  Every second is beautifully scripted, brilliantly directed, effortlessly acted, and yet somehow nothing feels contrived or rehearsed.  This is a show that is literally bursting at the seams, every moment, every move, every second full of something new and absurd.  Just like every show I've ever raved about before, this is one that knows its audience and appreciates, but never apologizes for, its place.  If I had to complain about anything, it would be the unmemorable music and often lackluster lyrics, but I was too busy loving everything else to let that bother me too terribly much.  (Oddly enough, I recognized some of the chord progressions and a quick check in my playbill revealed why - it was written by Michael Friedman who also penned Gone Missing which is probably one of the other best shows I've ever seen.  Take THAT, musical snobbery!  pwned!)

I plan to groupie the hell out of this show.  And hopefully, eventually, work up the courage to stage door Benjamin Walker.  Yum.

Baby you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me

I "ran" a 5k this weekend. 
I came in 2038th.  Or, 8th from last. 
Now's the part where I try and soothe my bruised ego and remind myself that I didn't exactly try my hardest or give it my all, that I walked when I could very well have run, that I sat on top of the cargo nets and stared down in fear for too long, that I barely broke a sweat, that I found it more important to cross the finish line with Megan than cross it alone.  Could I have done better?  Yup.  Is that an excuse that doesn't matter because in the end, all that counts is what actually happened instead of what you say should have?  Uh huh.

But was this my last 5k? 

Not in the least.  The good news is, the whole point of training for the course was to knock my weight loss out of its 3 year hiatus and get things moving again, which I feel I did.  And.  I kind of WANT to keep running and not out of obligation or dread, but because I might be starting to like it.  Weird, right?

Doing this 5k taught me that if I could change anything about myself, I wouldn't be such a 'fraidy cat about not at all scary things and I especially wouldn't be so afraid of doing things alone.  And that if I'm not careful, I'm going to quickly become one of those people that receives eye rolls and hears "you're all talk, no action."

I don't want to ever be a spectator in my own life and spend all my time thinking about what could have been or should be.  This weekend, I remembered once again that I really to need to learn how to be present.  Be here now. 

Thankfully, this weekend was so much more than the course.  I needed to get out of New York City and away from work and rudeness and neediness and the noise and the rancid trash and the subway and my life and everything else that was giving me the urge to throw punches and hissy fits.  I spent too much money at Wal*Mart.  And Target.  I didn't fix my hair or put on makeup for 3 straight days and oddly enough, didn't mind.  I played with puff paint.  I had a lovely night in (near) Boston with Kim and played Phase 10, and then followed the race with an entirely spontaneous trip to Maine.  Why?  We had a car, 2 more days off work, and a free place to stay.  Why not go eat lobster and wear sweatpants and get to see stars?

Y'all.  I miss seeing stars and feeling grass between my toes and Wal*Mart and roadtrips.  I miss a lot of things that NYC can't exactly give me...
Then again, NYC is still very much my present so perhaps I'd best learn to appreciate it for what it is instead of resenting it because it's not what I wish it could be which is basically a metaphor for my entire life, really.    (There were a lot of unnecessary words in that last sentence.  Forgive me?)