Happy Merry Christmahanukwanzaakah

       There seems to be a fear going around that the rise of saying "Happy Holidays" in place of a more specific greeting signals an impending "War on Christmas." If I may, I'd like to set the record straight, from one Christmas enthusiast to another.
       I'm sure you're familiar with "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men," and all sorts of other Christmas buzz-words. We hear them pop up in all sorts of carols and Christmas movies, and it's not just because they sound pretty. They exist as a constant reminder of what the Christmas holiday is supposed to be about. It's a time in which we are called to put aside our hateful, selfish tendencies and join together in a spirit of warmth and brotherhood with all humankind, (and all animalkind, while we're at it). And while it's true that we, the keepers of Christmas, make up for a whopping 90% of Americans, "all humankind" does, in fact, include the other 10%.
       Making an effort to say "Happy Holidays" doesn't mean we can't still love Christmas. It's merely an effort to be all-inclusive in the spirit of this festive season. America is supposed to be this wonderful melting pot of cultures. (Not that it always is, but it's supposed to be.) So if we can appreciate each other's cultures during the rest of the year, then why shouldn't we do the same during the holiday season? On the other hand, if you're the type of person who hates other people's cultures in general, then we've got a much bigger problem on our hands.
       If you really must, just think of it like you're putting Thanksgiving and New Year's Eve into the mix when you extend your well-wishings.
       Now, there is a flip-side to this coin, and this is for my friends who don't celebrate Christmas. In recent years, I've become painfully aware of the fact that people take offense to things a lot more often than people mean offense. One of the best examples by far is when people take a simple holiday greeting and manage to turn it into a huge insult.
       If your biggest complaint about Christmas is how much it gets pushed by corporations, unfortunately there isn't much to be done about that at this point in time. Numbers don't lie, and because, as I said earlier, 90% of Americans do celebrate Christmas, companies are well aware that advertising Christmas will make them more money. This isn't to say they shouldn't make an effort to throw in a few nods to other holidays here and there, but, from a corporate standpoint, focusing too much on them just isn't going to turn a profit the way that Christmas does. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, even a lot of us Christmas types are getting pretty annoyed with the commercialization, and the fact that the Christmas season now begins in roughly the middle of October.
       Or maybe you're upset that the overwhelming presence of Christmas feels like an infringement of your right to practice, (or not practice), your own faith. Perhaps it's not as much about the holiday itself as it is that you think people are trying to convert you to Christianity. Well, as it turns out, half of the Americans who keep Christmas do so as a secular holiday, not a religious one, so hopefully that will ease your mind.
       Personally, I'm most concerned with the matter of the greeting. Again, I have absolutely no problem with saying "Happy Holidays," (even though I will never not find the joke at the beginning of this clip funny). However, given the fact that I have celebrated Christmas for all twenty-eight years of my life, there will always be times when my default setting will kick in and I'll wind up saying "Merry Christmas." And yet, while I say it with every intention of being friendly, (which is not always the easiest feat for a shut-in like myself), there are people who take great issue with it.
       Some people have this idea that, by saying "Merry Christmas," we're attempting to force others into celebrating our holiday, which, to me, seems almost as silly as claiming that saying "Happy Holidays" is the same as declaring war on Christmas. If I say "Merry Christmas," it's nothing more than an honest sentiment aimed to convey friendship and goodwill. It means only that I hope you have a merry time on the day that is widely recognized as Christmas by millions of people and the federal government. If you really think about it, even if you aren't partaking in the festivities, today is still Christmas Day. So, really, someone saying "Merry Christmas" to you is basically the same as someone saying "Merry December 25th."
       Similarly, no amount of me not celebrating Hanukkah will change the fact that it will be Hanukkah for eight days in December. And I feel like it would be a little bit ridiculous for me, when faced with a "Happy Hanukkah," to get all huffy and forcefully remind people that I'm not Jewish. I imagine I'd feel touched that someone took the time to wish me well, even if it was in honor of a holiday I don't observe.
       I guess what I'm trying to say is, whether you're holding your festivities for Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, Festivus, or anything else you choose, let's all try our best to spread the joy and love of the season, rather than letting ourselves get angry with the people who do. We're all celebrating, so we might as well celebrate together.
       Merry Today, everyone.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: "Silent Night" - Bing Crosby (Merry Christmas)

Some Call It Madness, We Call It Phamily Time

Well, we hope you all enjoyed our show, hope it was not anticlimactic
Now there's something we want you to know, and we don't want to sound didactic
But if there's one thing we can say
I know it sounds a bit cliché
There's no such thing as just an ordinary day

And you don't have to build a roller coaster
Just find your own way to make the most of these
Days of Summer
And dance to the beat of a different drummer
Just grab those opportunities when you see 'em
'Cause every day's a brand new day, you gotta Carpe Diem

And you don't have to build a roller coaster
Just find your own way to make the most of
Every minute
No more waiting for the right time, you're in it
Just grab those opportunities when you see 'em
'Cause every day's a brand new day, baby, Carpe Diem
Every day's a brand new day, baby, Carpe Diem
Every day's a brand new day, baby, Carpe Diem

Every day's a brand new day
Carpe Diem

Nosferatu: A Symphony of Mild Concern, Maybe

       In honor of Halloween, for my first Throwback Thursday, I'll be resurrecting a blog entry that I wrote back in 2010 and never posted. Once again, I'm a couple of minutes late, because I was trying way too hard to think of a bad vampire pun to add here, but it ended up being too much of a pain in the neck.

       I think people never realize the value of a good soundtrack until they've sat through a movie with a bad one.
       Seriously, think about it. In the best cases, we're not always consciously aware of the music playing under a film because it blends so well with the story itself. It helps to heighten our emotional reactions without sticking out like a sore thumb. It's only when a movie has a less than great soundtrack that you can't help but notice it. There you are, trying to get invested in the story, but there's all of this awkward noise getting in the way.
       It's difficult for me to find stuff to watch around Halloween because I don't do well with really scary horror flicks. This Halloween, though, I had the brilliant idea to watch a couple of classic silent horror films. What made it better was that my brother was in town, and I knew he'd be on board. On Halloween night, we settled on Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror. It started as a great plan, but the mistake I made was choosing to watch the version of Nosferatu that was available to stream on Netflix rather than ordering the DVD version ahead of time. Well, how could I have known? Being generally unfamiliar with the ways of silent films, I just assumed that all of the versions would be basically the same, or at least have the same music. How very wrong I was.
       If you, like me, were not aware, silent films back in the day almost always featured a live orchestra. I mean, now that I know, it seems incredibly obvious and I'm not sure why I didn't figure that out in the first place, but whatever. I didn't. I have since learned that there are multiple versions of Nosferatu in existence, each with a different score. One of them, (the one I meant to watch), has a soundtrack replicating the music that would have accompanied the movie when it was originally in cinemas. Another version features a gothic industrial soundtrack, and I've heard fairly good things about that one as well.
       And yet, out of all of the cool versions floating around out there, the one Nick and I got stuck with was the one with music sounding like it was played on a Casio keyboard from the 1980s, and some weird filter that made all of the scenes different colors, meant to enhance the intended emotion of each scene, or something like that. The actual result was that this iconic film, this self-proclaimed "Symphony of Horror" that was supposed to have terrified audiences when it premiered, was instead kind of a joke. Nick and I couldn't take it seriously, and I caught myself starting to fall asleep more than once. And all because the music took so much away from what should have been a legendary fright-fest.
       Moral of the story is, if you plan on watching a silent film, make sure it's the version with the correct soundtrack.

       UPDATE (10/30/2014): This Halloween, Netflix was streaming the version of Nosferatu with the original score. I gave it another watch, and I'm pleased to report that it's much more effective with an actual orchestra behind it. I was surprised to discover that this version still had the color filter, but it was somehow less jarring without the stupid Casio score. Also, I didn't fall asleep this time, so I got to see a few scenes I'd missed upon first viewing, and they turned out to be some of the scariest ones in the entire movie, which would partially explain why I was so underwhelmed the first time around. Granted, it's possible that Nosferatu may still not be considered terrifying by the standards of today's horror fanatics, but that's perfectly fine with me because I hate horror movies anyway and probably couldn't watch it if it were really that bad. It was still delightfully creepy, and I'm thrilled that I finally got to see it the way it was meant to be seen.

Here Lies Poor Old Jack OR My First (and Most Controversial) Movie Review

       I'm about to make a pretty startling confession. It's something I don't normally like to share with people, for fear that I'll get burned at the stake by nearly everyone I know, including my boyfriend and my best friend. But recently, this deep, dark secret has been weighing on me, and I'm not sure why. Maybe the lies have just gone on too long, or maybe I feel like I've given people a very wrong impression of me, but either way, it's time to get this off of my chest. I think that The Nightmare Before Christmas is just...okay.
       In case you're wondering, I don't have anything against people who love The Nightmare Before Christmas. I'm still expecting a whole lot of backlash, because I think almost everyone I've ever met is a huge fan. It's important to note that I do like watching it. When I was younger, I was right there with everyone else singing its praises. But as I got older, and as I watched it more, I started noticing several things that just didn't make sense. However, in spite of its flaws, I still find it very enjoyable. So no, I will not judge you if you're part of the 99% of the population who adores it. It's just that, if you try to tell me it's the most flawless, brilliant piece of cinema ever made, I'm going to have to disagree with you.
       First of all, the "love story" comes off as extremely forced. I'm getting this complaint out of the way first, both because it was the first thing that really stood out to me, and also because I worry that this is the one that will rattle the most cages, considering how many people think that Jack and Sally are the cutest little spooky couple that ever happened. Basically, I'm trying to get the most severe beatings over with right in the beginning. Anyway, it's pretty well-established that Sally has feelings for Jack. There are plenty of scenes throughout the movie showing her admiring him from afar. However, I have a hard time believing that there is any kind of a foundation for an actual relationship. The only arguably romantic moment between them comes when Sally sends Jack a basket containing a dead fish and a bottle of magic butterfly wine. But even then, she runs away before Jack has time to say anything to her. They only have one real conversation at any point, which consists of Jack effectively brushing off Sally's attempts to warn him about his Christmas being a terrible idea. And suddenly, at the end, they're singing about how they're "simply meant to be," and we're expected to just accept it. Unfortunately, it's not, as they claim, "as plain as anyone can see." It feels to me like they just decided to throw in a love story for the sake of having a love story. Even in Sally's own song, her unrequited love seems like nothing more than a footnote:
                     I sense there's something in the wind
                     That feels like tragedy's at hand
                     And though I'd like to stand by him
                     Can't shake this feeling that I have
                     The worst is just around the bend
                     And does he notice my feelings for him?
       And since we're on the subject of the music, I have to say at least a little bit about the songs. Mind you, I'm not talking about the score itself, which I honestly believe is one of Danny Elfman's finest. But while no one is arguing that Elfman is a talented composer, a brilliant lyricist he is not. Every once in a while, he manages to crank out some lines that sound fairly poetic, but most of the time, it feels like he's just trying to throw in words because he didn't have enough syllables to fill out a line, ("I am the clown with the tear-away face / Here in a flash and gone without a trace"), or he needed a rhyme, ("Kidnap the Sandy Claws, tie him in a bag / Throw him in the ocean and see if he is sad," which, let's be honest, doesn't actually rhyme), or he just wanted some more arbitrary Halloween-themed lyrics, ("Trick or treat 'til the neighbors come and die of fright"). At least three of the songs contain bits where people are just singing "la la la," sometimes for the entirety of the chorus. One of these songs, "This Is Halloween," also includes numerous repetitions of just the word "Halloween" over and over. This may only be me, because I'm an admitted grammar nazi, but every time I listen to "What's This," I can feel my eye twitching from the multiple grammar mistakes, ("They're gathering around and hearing story," or "The smell of cakes and pies are absolutely everywhere"). The good news is, the songs to lend themselves quite well to cool covers, and I like to listen to Nightmare Revisited on loop every October.
       Every time I watch Nightmare, I have more and more questions brought on by the continuity errors and all of the things that go unexplained. How can Jack be killed if he's already dead, like he says he is very early on? How does Jack wander (sleepwalk?) into the portal between Holiday Worlds without ever coming out through the door to Halloweentown? If Santa Claus comes from Christmastown to deliver toys to children, and the Easter Bunny presumably comes from...let's call it "Eastertown" to hide eggs in the human world, then what is the purpose of Halloweentown? Do they just pop out and scare people on Halloween, or do they just have some kind of a parade amongst themselves and then start planning for next year? Why does Jack get frustrated with the villagers for not understanding Christmas when he does exactly the same thing? What's up with Oogie Boogie, anyway? So he's a gambling addict who eats/is made of bugs (and maybe people)? Why is he the villain? Can you really have an outcast in a village that's already full of strange nightmare people?
       To be fair, a lot of the issues I have with this movie can probably be chalked up to a lack of time. I watched it a couple of weeks ago, and for the first time, I noticed that it has a runtime of just over an hour. I don't know enough about the making of the movie to know why it was so short, but Nightmare was truly the first movie of its kind, and the first stop-motion feature of that magnitude. It's entirely possible that the crew didn't have the time or resources to make such an elaborate production too much more than an hour long, and perhaps that's why the story suffered. Or maybe I'm being too nice, and it really was the product of terrible writing.
       Speaking of the writing, I need to clarify something. Tim Burton neither directed Nightmare nor wrote the screenplay. It was directed by Henry Selick, and written by Caroline Thompson. Burton was a producer, and the creator of the original characters and concept. I know this is a little nit-picky, but I like to give credit where credit is due.
       And of course, anyone who has known me for any amount of time is aware of how often superfans have ruined things for me. I have very little patience for all of the weird little Jack Skellington fangirls and fanboys, and it certainly doesn't help that a huge percentage of them weren't even born when the movie came out.
       Now, all of that aside, I'll still maintain that The Nightmare Before Christmas is a cute, fun-to-watch movie with a lot of redeeming qualities. As I mentioned before, it was definitely the first of its kind. Full-length stop-motion features may have existed before Nightmare, but none on such a grand scale. No other movie before that time involved such intensely detailed character animation, facial expressions, or set designs. It paved the way for a number of amazing movies like Coraline and ParaNorman. Even though the final story left a lot to be desired, the concept itself is very unique and endearing. And like I also said earlier, it has a fantastic score. Now, I know we like to poke fun of Danny Elfman's tendency to reuse a lot of the same elements in everything he writes, (with the lalalala lalalalas and the BOM BOM BOM BOMs and the deedleedeedlee deedleedeedlees), but he really does have a distinct and intriguing style that's hard not to like, and his Nightmare score was exceptionally well-written.
       So keep on truckin', all of you Nightmare fans. I salute you. I just...probably won't watch it with you multiple times in one year.

An Open Letter of Gratitude to Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh

Dear Dan and Swampy,

       I had the enormous privilege of getting to chat with you for a bit at this year's San Diego ComicCon. You most likely meet new people all the time, so it would come as no surprise if you don't remember me. What you might remember, though, is me telling you that for the past three years, I've been exceptionally blessed to be involved with Phineas and Ferb's Rockin' Rollin' Dance Party. I couldn't say much more about it at the time, because I was already feeling guilty for holding everyone up. Had I been given a chance to really sit down and talk with you, I would have told you exactly how much this show has changed my life.
       I don't just mean that because I've been with it for so long, or because it was my first "parade," or my first time opening a show. My life was changed by the people in it with me. They brought me out of my shell, and taught me not to fear just being myself. Over the years, I learned that many others in the cast were affected just as strongly. Though we were all different types of people with varying personalities, we christened ourselves a "Phamily." And despite our fears that our dynamic would dissolve as more people joined, the Phamily only grew with every new group.
       You know that our management has decided to close our show soon. As far as we knew, guests still came in droves to dance with us, so this seemed to come out of nowhere. But, alas, it was not our decision to make. After it happens, I don't foresee myself staying with the resort for much longer. The idea of leaving my job has been on my mind for a while, for several reasons, but hearing the news of the show's impending closure sealed the deal. I'm losing what has, for a long time, been one of my defining roles at my job, and it feels like just the push I needed to move on and pursue my writing career, (*hint hint*). My love for the show is a big part of what's kept me around, and once it's gone, it's bound to leave a void. My main comfort now is that I'll never lose my Phamily. We've formed a bond that will never be broken, no matter where our lives take us now.
       It's become tradition for people to flash mob the last number of the dance party. On the last show of our last day, friends, fans and former cast will be joining us, (some from out of town), to dance with us one last time. Ideally, it will be the flash mobbiest flash mob that ever flash mobbed. I mean, I intend for this thing to be so huge that there's no room left on the dance floor, and we end up having to take over the entire street. I'm letting you know because I'll never forget your reaction when I told you about my job, or the hug that Swampy gave me. If anyone should witness the impact this show has made, it's you. (And of course, the cast, crew, musicians, and anyone else who loves the show as much as you do.) If you feel the urge to join in, there are plenty of videos on YouTube to help you brush up on the choreography, because nothing in the world would make for a more epic flash mob (phlash mob?) than having our benevolent creators join in. You, after all, are a part of our Phamily, too. Then, feel free to give Ferb a giant hug, because he'll be crying on the inside. Not that he'll show it, really. You know how he is.
       If you'd like to swing by, I'd be happy to send you a direct message with the information. If it so happens that you can't make it, I still want you to know how grateful I am to the both of you, and everyone who makes Phineas and Ferb a reality. Every time the Phamily has laughed together, cried together, had parties, gone on vacations, and generally made the most of every day has been because of what you created. There would be no Phineas and Ferb's Rockin' Rollin' Dance Party without Phineas and Ferb. I owe so much to my Phamily, and we owe everything to you.

Love for 104 Days and Beyond,
Analisa Kate Hubbard

P.S. Give my love to Vince and Thomas, who will always be my boys.

P.P.S. Carpe Diem.

This Could Possibly Be the Worst Day Ever

Remember that blog I wrote about the show I do, and how I once had the crazy notion I’d stay with it through its entire run? Well...it turns out that notion wasn’t so crazy after all.

Early this week, management came to us with the thoroughly heartbreaking news that our show will soon be closing. I went into enough detail in my last entry for you to know exactly why this is such a crushing blow. What’s worse, though, is that the news seemed to affect the cast in a pretty negative way. Instead of unanimously supporting, celebrating and comforting one another, some people seemed in a rush to take every little comment very personally. In the past few days, rivalry and bad feelings that had been bottled up for a very long time suddenly came exploding to the surface, people were ready to jump on the attack at the slightest offense, a few people showed their long-dormant true colors, and our beloved Phamily seemed to be on the brink of a nasty storm.

Fortunately, it seems to have cooled down since the initial announcement, but there’s still a little bit of tension. I want us to be able to end this show on a good note. I want our Phamily to still be a Phamily even if we don’t see one another as much at work. I just pray I can help to encourage honest communication before we start losing Phamily members to simple misunderstandings.

The most common response I get to me breaking the news is people asking, “Why?” Indeed, why close a show that’s still relevant, popular, and generally better than several of the other shows at the resort? (No offense, friends who do those shows. I’m including one of my own in that group as well.) Theories abound, most of them budgetary, but even if the theories are correct, it doesn’t make much sense. But alas, it’s not my decision to make. The best we can do is make the most of what little time we have left.

Our last show will be at 3:30 PM on Sunday, November 2nd. If you don’t already know, it’s a tradition for people to flash mob the last number. I know many friends, fans and former cast will be joining us, some even from out of town, to dance with us one last time. I’m sincerely hoping so many people show up that there is no room on the dance floor and we have to take over the entire street. If we’re lucky and I succeed in my current mission, we might even have a special surprise. Either way, I would love very much to see as many people there as possible. We may be on our way out, but we can still make one hell of an exit.


CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: "When We Didn't Get Along" - Danny Jacob (Phineas and Ferb)

The Phondest Pharewell

The first week of this month was a little bit of an emotional one for me.

I perform in a few different shows for my job, and every one of them has its own unique appeal. My Sunday and Tuesday gig, for example, is special mainly because of my cast.

The show in question opened just over three years ago, with a cast of only twenty-one people, myself included. Now, I’m not about to claim that I’m the paragon of sociability, but believe it or not, there was a time when I was worse. You read that right, folks. I was once even more introverted than I am today. It didn’t help that this was my first time opening a show, so I felt, somehow, like I was suddenly in the big leagues, and I was not prepared for that kind of pressure. Plus, it was my first experience with any show under the jurisdiction of the Parade Department, and so I knew going into it that I wouldn’t know very many people.

During the rehearsal process, everyone was pleasant enough, and we all got along just fine, but I still spent any free time we had keeping to myself. From my point of view, the rest of the cast knew one another already, groups of friends were already formed, (or were in the process of forming, at least), and everyone was comfortable...except for me. I knew I would be the oddball of the cast, like I had been in pretty much every group I’d ever been a part of, and I was okay with it. The Land of the Outcasts was familiar territory for me.

But over the next couple of months, everything changed. Our cast started organizing get-togethers for us to get to know each other, and through these wonderful and hilarious (and occasionally embarrassing) events, a bond was formed unlike any I’d ever seen in a show cast, (especially at my place of business, which is typically full of high-school-grade gossip and drama). We had truly found a family in one another, so much so that we gave our cast the nickname, “The Phamily.” And as a result of being associated with this wonderful group of people, something miraculous happened to me. The walls I set up against the world began to crumble. I started discovering my own personality instead of trying and failing to adopt the personalities I thought people wanted me to have. When I was with my Phamily, I felt, for the first time, like I was really, truly me. It even started to carry over into my interactions with other people outside of the cast.

I’ve made lifelong friends in almost everyone who has ever been a part of that show, but there are a few who have made a particularly deep impact on me. A couple of my very best friends are people I met through being in that cast, including Amy.

Of everyone in my Phamily, Amy is the only one I remember being anywhere close to as nervous as I was during our first rehearsals. She was the only person with whom I was remotely at ease. She, too, came out of her shell in a big way in the months after our show opened. Over the last three years, we’ve discovered common interests, we’ve made each other laugh, we’ve seen each other cry, we’ve been elitist snobs together, we’ve confided in one another, and we’ve grown so close that we’ve made people question the actual nature of our relationship.

We got so close that we became somewhat of a legend amongst our cast. I say that knowing full well how cocky that sounds, and I apologize, but it's true. People always knew it would be an interesting day in the break room when the A-Team, (which is what we called ourselves), was together. Our shows were immensely fun to watch, both because they were crammed with movie and YouTube references, and because it was apparent that we had the time of our lives performing together. As new people joined the Phamily, they would watch us and tell me that our humor, camaraderie, and performance level were both inspiring and slightly intimidating. Most importantly, knowing that I’d be working with Amy made it easier for me to get out of bed in the morning and be excited about coming to work.

For a number of reasons, some of which I mentioned in my first blog post, I’ve been inching toward an end to my current job. I was fairly confident that I’d be able to hold out at least until the end of the holiday season, especially if I managed to get cast in some other shows I had auditioned for. And as recently as a month ago, I was secure in the knowledge that Amy would be right there with me, keeping me at least somewhat sane for the remainder of my time with the company. She and I had even auditioned for a show together, and as far as I knew, we were both just waiting for a phone call. That is, until she dropped the bomb on us at work one day.

She had also auditioned for another show, a show that would be touring around the world for eight months. And by the time she told the Phamily that she had gotten the contract, she had less than two weeks before it was time for her to leave.

Of course I was thrilled for her. She would be making new friends, traveling around the world, performing in exotic cities, and I knew she would have an incredible, life-changing time. But I have to admit, hearing that she would be leaving so soon, and that she wouldn’t get back until after I had planned to leave, was a little bit heartbreaking.

At the beginning of this month, Amy and I had our last day doing shows together, and it was a bittersweet day if there ever was one. Kevin had gotten the day off to come watch us, and spent the entire day either filming us, or dancing with us. (He plans to edit together a video of our shows, if anyone is interested in seeing it.) That day also (supposedly) marked our five-thousandth show, and our management team treated us to an amazing lunch of Hawaiian barbecue to celebrate, and so we got to have a little party backstage. That also meant that many people from our cast who weren’t working were coming by to visit, and several of them, including our show director, stopped by to watch and dance with us.

I had been worried about how I would handle the last show of the day, but for the most part, I held it together very well. I even managed to survive the ambush-hug I had planned for the end of the show. We almost made it all the way through without me breaking down, until the very last moment, as the gate was closing, when I felt Amy reach over and grab my hand. That’s when the tears started coming. (For the record, Amy responded to this by calling me “Cryalisa.” This is one of the many reasons why I love her.)

Two days later, Amy had her final day at work, and to make matters worse, she wasn’t the only one. Our friend Eddie would also be leaving our show after that day. It was one of my days off, but I came by for the last show, as did a few other members of the Phamily. After everyone clocked out for the day, a large group of us went out for dinner, followed by line dancing. (Never question how much I love these people.) We all spent the entire night going very rapidly back and forth between laughing hysterically and being moved to tears, but in the end, we all had a wonderful time, and I couldn’t have imagined a better send-off.

At some point during that week, it dawned on me why I was taking it all so hard. It wasn’t just the fact that Amy and Eddie were leaving, (though that, in itself, was difficult enough to swallow), but it was what their departure represented for me. As I mentioned earlier, we opened the show with a cast of twenty-one people. Out of those twenty-one, nine are still approved, and of those nine, only four or five of us still do the show on a regular basis. Eddie was the first person of his specific role to leave the show. And as far as my role goes, now that Amy is gone, I’m the only one left of the original cast who still has days in the show. Of course, I still love the entire Phamily, old and new alike. We’ve been extremely fortunate that, with every new group, we’ve remained a close-knit tribe with very little negativity between us. But that doesn’t change the fact that I feel like one of the last members of a dying species. I feel like nothing is the same as it was. It’s not necessarily bad, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s not the same. Once upon a time, I thought it possible that I would see our show through its whole run, from its first day to its last. Then again, that was back when I was still entertaining this foolish notion that a good portion of the original cast would be right there with me.

That was also back before it felt like the entire Universe was screaming at me to get out of my job and move on with my life. I was passed up once again for the roles I wanted. My body is in constant pain. I keep hearing ever-changing rumors that the show I do on Fridays and Saturdays will soon be closing indefinitely. I’m constantly being pelted in the face with more and more Frozen-related hype, and watching good things close to make way for about ten different Frozen attractions. Every day I hear about another new policy being implemented that seems to have been put in place for the sole purpose of making life difficult for the employees of our company, and making our customers even more spoiled and insufferable. Now my one ray of sunshine at my job is performing in Vietnam. (I know I still have one of my other best friends, Christian, but ever since his show days were changed last summer, we work together once in a blue moon, so that doesn’t help much). There is no longer any doubt in my mind that it’s time for me to leave, perhaps sooner than I expected. But until I find the path I’m meant to take, I guess I’ll just keep on making my Phamily proud.

It’s been several weeks now, and I still feel like it hasn’t completely sunk in. I’ll wake up on Sundays and Tuesdays and have that fleeting feeling of excitement, wondering if Amy will be with me, before I realize that there’s no chance she will be. While I’m at work, I’ll have a sudden urge to quote something really obscure and stupid, before I realize that no one will get the joke the way Amy would have.

Wow, that sounded pathetic. I'm talking like I'll never see her again, but I know that I will. We've been keeping in touch since she left, and I'm happy knowing that she's having such a good time. Plus, she'll be back when she's done with the tour. Maybe we won't be working together anymore, but she'll always be one of my best friends. And as weird as it may be that I'll never do a show with Eddie again, he's still around, and always up for a pharty. (No, that wasn't a typo...it's another ridiculous word we made up, meaning a Phamily party.) Over the last three years, several people have gone their separate ways, but through it all, we never forget that once you're part of the Phamily, you're Phamily phorever.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: "Quirky Worky Song" - Danny Jacob (Phineas and Ferb: Rockin' and Rollin')

That Was a Great Game

On November 29th, 2001, upon walking into my high school, my boyfriend at the time greeted me with the news that George Harrison had passed away. This was smack dab in the midst of my biggest phase of Beatlemania, so naturally, hearing that half of the greatest rock band in the world was now gone, I was shocked and upset. I allowed myself a couple of silent tears in the girls’ locker room.
On April 11th, 2007, while working on a paper in the Chapman University library, I received an email from Borders telling me that Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. had died. I had first been introduced to his work in an English class that, for me, redefined English classes, and ultimately helped me discover my passion for the English language. For that reason, I considered Vonnegut a tremendous influence on me and my chosen career. I was grateful to be alone inside a private study room when I received word of his death, because I once again shed a calm tear or two. It didn’t help that this was two days before my birthday.
On August 11th, 2014, I was at work, just finishing up my last show of the day. When we got downstairs, I hung up my tunic and reached for my phone to see if anyone had tried to get in touch with me while I was on stage. There, at the top of my Facebook news feed, was a status one of my friends had posted, saying, quite simply, “R.I.P. Robin Williams.” These days, Facebook hoaxes run rampant, and it’s common for me to do some fact-checking before believing that a celebrity is actually gone. For the first time, though, I caught myself thinking, “Dear God, please let this one be a hoax.” It wasn’t. And upon reading further, I found the circumstances of his death to be more upsetting than I could have expected. I felt numb the entire walk back to my car. Once I was on the road, away from my friends and free to get lost in thought, I felt a lump in my throat and the sting of tears in my eyes.

Up until last month, I’d never been prone to getting emotional about the deaths of celebrities. I’ve made exceptions for a couple of people who made a significant impact on me in some way, but even then, I never took more than a couple of minutes to grieve quietly before moving on with my life. After all, I never knew these people personally.

Furthermore, I’ve had a tendency to raise an eyebrow at people who acted like they did know whatever celebrity they were openly grieving. Now, I feel like I should clarify here, I’m not talking about world leaders or religious figures or people who made a truly profound impact on the world. People like Nelson Mandela or Mother Teresa or Pope John Paul II are in a category of their own, as far as I’m concerned. Right now, I’m purely talking about entertainers. I saw it happen primarily when Michael Jackson died. I was at work at the time, and even in the hours leading up to his death, the entire world seemed to be grinding to a halt. Every breakroom was packed with people glued to the television screens, so much so that I wondered if there was anyone actually out helping guests. When it was officially pronounced, people legitimately seemed to have a hard time doing their jobs for the rest of the day. Even now, years later, people continue to mourn and post tributes, especially whenever the anniversary rolls around. And up until last month, I just kept on wondering why.

Even when I found myself in the same situation, I still spent the first few hours after I got the news wondering why. Why was choking back the tears becoming more and more difficult by the minute? Why did it feel like there was this giant hole in my heart? Why did I get the urge to go buy a six-pack of beer and spend the rest of the evening doing nothing but drinking and binge-watching Robin Williams movies? Why did I feel this pressing need to call Kevin and ask to be consoled? Basically, why was I acting like I had truly lost a loved one?

When I called Kevin, (because I needed to, don’t judge me), I opened by warning him that I was about to sound a bit ridiculous. However, when I delved into my reason for calling, he reassured me that it wasn’t ridiculous at all. In fact, to my great surprise, he was feeling very much the same way. So we spent the next hour commiserating and trying to make some sense of our feelings. Kevin lamented that he couldn’t think of a single movie he’d be able to watch, at least for a while. He pointed out that so many of the iconic Robin Williams movies we grew up watching contain themes of staying young, or making the most of our brief time on this earth, or eternal life. Some even address death, manifesting in ways painfully close to what ended up coming to pass. Since that day, in all of the films I’ve watched in memory, I’ve noticed a few moments that, while meant to be throwaway lines or jokes, now hold so much more weight, and feel so much more grim.

At some point during that conversation, the reason for our unprecedented grief dawned on me as I heard myself say it aloud. We felt like a part of our childhood had died. My friend Dan had also put it pretty perfectly while we’d been walking to our cars after work. Robin had been such a constant presence while our generation was growing up that it was hard to think of him as human, as the kind of being who could die. He was just there, a staple of our childhoods who would always be around, always be making movies, always be making us laugh

Over the next couple of days, I found myself surprised and strangely comforted by the outpouring of grief and love on social media. There is always some level of response when a celebrity dies, but it’s typically more sparse and more varied. People within that certain demographic to whom said celebrity appealed will post statuses expressing sadness, but once that post is up, they move on with their lives. Those people who didn’t care much for that person feel the occasional desire to get snarky, if the tribute posts go on a little too long for their liking.

This was entirely different. Instead of a specific group of people, instead of a few kind words every few entries, this was my entire news feed, and what felt like every single one of my Facebook friends. This was a surge of heartfelt sentiments, old clips, touching stories, even an outreach to those suffering from depression. Many of the posts were simple movie quotes, ranging from the beautifully heartbreaking, (“You know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you, Peter Pan. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”), to the appropriately hilarious, (“I’ll be back but I’m coming as oil.”). Some weren’t quotes so much as silly references, (one friend heard about the circumstances of his death, and remarked that she would have preferred a run-by fruiting, while another refused to believe Robin was truly gone until someone rolled a five or an eight). And no matter how many of these statuses came pouring in, there wasn’t an ounce of negativity, not a single person telling us all to get over it. I heard stories of cruel people out there in the world posting things of an insensitive and even gruesome nature, but only from Internet trolls whose sole aim is to ruin everything. Not a trace of that made its way onto my own feed, or came from anyone I knew. The closest anyone came to it was suggesting that we stop grieving Robin and start celebrating him with laughter, because that’s what he would have wanted.

Never in my social media experience had I seen my feed so entirely taken over, (I suppose the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary came close, but most of you know how I feel about that nonsense), and never could I have expected that this kind of a surge would be so driven by love and mourning for a person that most of us had never met. Many people I know made observations very similar to my own, that it wasn’t typical for them to take the passing of a celebrity so hard, and that it felt like their childhood had died. It spoke volumes about his talent that his death could leave such a void in the hearts of millions of his fans. It spoke volumes about his character that he seemed to have touched so many of his fellow celebrities so deeply, not just in that he was a joy to work with, but in that he would give so much of himself to anyone who needed help, even when they didn’t ask for it. The fact that the entire world seemed to be in mourning made me realize what a huge loss this really was.
The actual details of Robin’s death only made it a more crippling blow. There was another quote someone used in connection with the tragedy, taken from the graphic novel Watchmen:

I heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life is harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world. Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says, “But doctor...I am Pagliacci.”

I heard a number of people expressing shock over the fact that Robin would commit suicide, and not just because he was rich or famous or other earthly things that people seem to value. Mostly it was because people couldn’t understand how someone so funny could be so depressed. Sadly, I wasn’t surprised by this at all.

I got to thinking a lot about an article I read a few months ago, a part of which discussed why the funniest people also tend to be the most depressed. This article had resonated pretty heavily with me. I feel awkward saying that, like I’m claiming to be hilarious, but on my most confident days, I like to think I have a gift for making people laugh. And I certainly sympathized with what the article said. People who are truly funny, (and I mean really witty, not just any schmo who knows how to evoke a cheap laugh), are often that way because we see things that other people don’t. Many things are funny because they’re true, and hence people with the power of observation can make people laugh simply by pointing them out. But while it’s a blessing, it’s also a curse. We see the humorous, but we also see the ugly, the bleak, and the mean. We can’t turn a blind eye to it the way other people can, and it’s far too easy to lose faith. The only hope we have is to recognize the humor as often as we point it out to others. Unfortunately, there are some who never learn how.

I’m going to digress slightly because I think it’s important to bring up the “Genie, you’re free” issue. After Robin Williams died, amongst the numerous posts, there were a few people who used the aforementioned line from Aladdin in his honor. Many took offense to this, saying that those who posted the line were glorifying suicide, and that they should be ashamed of themselves. As I try to write more, I’ll be aiming for a theme of understanding. I hope to teach people to listen to one another, and to try to recognize the real meaning behind someone’s words before jumping on the offensive. On that note, I don’t think we should be trying to shame people who were clearly going for a heartfelt sentiment with no malicious intent. That being said, it’s very true that people who are in a vulnerable state might interpret this homage as a way of saying that suicide will free you from your problems. This train of thought could be dangerous for someone suffering from clinical depression. I don’t think people need to be ashamed of themselves, because the intentions are clearly pure, but it’s good to be aware of the impact that those words could have.

On August 11th, 2014, I sat on the couch with a beer and watched Mrs. Doubtfire. I no longer had the strength to keep myself from crying, nor did I really care to at this point, and so I gave in and broke down into hysterical tears.

It’s September 11th, 2014. Over the past month, I’ve been running the gamut of Robin Williams movies, I’ve read/watched everything that has been shared through social media, (and have started compiling a list of everything I’ve liked, in case anyone is interested in checking it out), I’ve shared Genie Mimosas with other friends who felt the void just as much as I did, and I’ve let myself cry more than once. Now that I’ve had a good amount of time to process my thoughts and feelings, I’m here at my computer, letting it all out. I don’t quite know how this is going to sound, (especially for my friends who don’t share my beliefs), but I catch myself wondering if, now that he’s in a place where his mind is no longer clouded by depression, he can finally feel all the love he has, from family, friends, and fans alike. I even wonder whether or not he knows I’m writing this, and is in some way moved by it. Granted, I feel a little silly, but I wonder it anyway.
So Robin, if you are somehow aware of everything that’s going through my head at the moment, I want to bid you the fondest farewell, and say thank you for everything.  We’ll never have a friend like you.

CURRENTLY WATCHING - Hook

Here It Goes, Here It Goes, Here It Goes Again

I claim to be a writer. I say “claim to be,” because in the past *mumble mumble* years, I seem to have done very little actual writing. I haven’t worked on any books, I haven’t worked on any screenplays, I haven’t even gotten around to the simple act of blogging. Shame on me.

Why is this? Why is it that it’s so hard for me to do the very thing I swear is my passion and my life’s work? It could be partially that I’m still struggling to find a genre that fits me. It could be partially that I’m going through a quarter-life crisis. It could be partially that I was traumatized a few years back upon finding out that one of my mentors, a man whom I considered hugely influential in helping me discover my love for the written word, was a philandering jerk. I’m sure of a big part of it has to do with my tendency to get a little obsessive-compulsive at times, always needing to make sure I know what types of things to post to which social networking sites, and wanting anything I post from here on out to be consistent with the way I posted past blogs. But I think the most likely reason of all is that I’ve spent the last several years trying to play catch-up.

The constant to-do list seems to be a very basic staple of adulthood, so for me to have one isn’t unusual. It’s also not unusual for me, (or anyone), to fall behind every once in a while. We are, after all, only human. The problem arises when I’m unable to move past those things I forgot to do.

I have a fair few things on my to-do list that are meant to be regular tasks, things I intend to do on a daily or weekly basis. The best example I can think of is keeping up with a blog. There was a time when I vowed to my closest family and friends that I would send out an interesting update every single day. But, of course, as we all tend to do from time to time, I fell behind. I wasn’t content with the idea of just letting it slide and accepting that I wouldn’t send out an entry on that particular day, and so my to-do list grew. The next day, I planned to write a blog entry for not only that day, but the previous day as well.

That didn’t sound so bad, having to write two blogs instead of one. When I fell behind again, three didn’t sound so bad either. After days of letting myself fall behind, though, the idea of having to write five entries started to feel a little daunting, which made it harder to motivate myself to get it done. So I’d put it off again, and the vicious circle would continue until eventually, days turned into weeks, which turned into months, which turned into years. Any sane person would have thrown in the towel and started fresh long ago, but even when I had somewhere around seven hundred entries to write just to be up-to-date, I was still trying to convince myself that I’d be able to make it happen in time.

Eventually, there came a point where I had to admit the impossibility of the task I had set for myself. Still, I wasn’t willing to post current entries without first posting at least the highlights from the last couple of years. Instead of writing a blog for every single day that I’d missed, I resolved to pick out the most important events and topics of the last couple of years, and write blogs about those before moving on. Unfortunately, that would involve me digging through my calendar, (which was ALSO on my list of things I planned to catch up on), and maybe all of my past texts, to find anything particularly noteworthy.

Sometimes, as a joke, I blame this propensity to dwell in the past on my traumatic experience with math. When I was about halfway through high school, I hit a math wall, and found myself having a much more difficult time with it than I usually had with my classes. I couldn’t motivate myself, I didn’t study, and I fell behind. Unlike an English class, where you can skip a book, do poorly on a test, and then move onto the next assignment with a fierce determination to try harder, math builds on itself. Everything counts, and if you don’t learn even one little thing, you have to go back and master it before you’re able to progress. Back in high school, this gave me a lot of trouble, and I’ll never forget how frustrating it was trying to play catch-up just so I could pass pre-calculus.

If I’m being really serious, though, this is all most likely a result of my anxiety. Recently I found out that one symptom of anxiety is an inability to live in the present. Those of us who suffer from this disorder will spend crazy amounts of time and energy regretting things that happened in the past and living in fear of things that could happen in the future.

With all of that in mind, and having been searching high and low for ways to outsmart my anxiety, (preferably without the aid of medication), I wondered if forcing myself to start fresh and forget about catching up might be a helpful exercise for me. My hope is that, if I can let go of all of the blogs I never wrote, maybe I can retrain my brain to not focus so much on the past in general. Or maybe that’s a ridiculous theory, and maybe it won’t help at all. Either way, I’m willing to give it a shot.

I think the toughest part of this effort will be learning to live with the inconsistency. As I mentioned before, I can be a bit obsessive-compulsive about my projects. I’ll be starting this blog with a whole new location, a whole new format, and a whole new set of rules, and very little of it will be consistent with anything about blogs that I’ve done in the past. If I'm being honest, though, I've done this before. I had a couple of old LiveJournal accounts I left to rot, one because it’s full of a bunch of crap I cared about in high school, and the other because no one uses LiveJournal anymore. So I typically forget about them, unless I really want to go back and laugh at what an idiot I used to be.

So, having said all of that, I'm starting over. From here on out, I'll be focusing on what's happening in the present. Maybe I'll have a few Throwback Thursdays or Flashback Fridays or whatever the kids are calling them now, just so I can share the stories that were way too interesting to just forget. For now, though, here's the important information, for anyone I haven't talked to in a while who needs to be caught up on the basics:

As of last month, I've been living in Southern California for ten years. While I spent a good chunk of that time jumping around from apartment to apartment for various reasons, I've finally found what feels like a home in my current house. Next month, I will have been living here for three years with my roommate, Hayley, my cat, Gary, and a series of interchanging housemates to fill the other two bedrooms.

Those of you who know me well know that I have a history of not so great romantic relationships. I’ll go ahead and accept responsibility for this, but not because I’m blaming myself for the breakups, or thinking I made so many horrible mistakes over the years, (though I’m definitely not without fault in at least a couple of those situations). Rather, I attribute most of my relationship fiascos to the fact that I’ve had a tendency to pick some real pieces of work for my romantic partners. Fortunately, I’m pleased to tell you that it seems like I’ve broken that streak. My relationship with Kevin is the longest I’ve ever had, currently weighing in at a year and eight months. Though not without its rough patches, (because, really, what relationship doesn’t have a few speedbumps, particularly a relationship involving two people going through a quarter-life crisis, one of them suffering from clinical anxiety?), it has been by far the best relationship I’ve ever had as well. Kevin is consistently loving, supportive, sweet, affectionate, and funny. We make each other happy, we keep each other sane (most of the time...), we share probably the stupidest inside jokes, and it’s made for a pretty fantastic situation thus far.

While I identify as a writer, I have a full-time job as a show performer for a well-known theme park that I won't mention the name of, lest the social media team is watching me. It's certainly a unique job, and it has its wonderful moments, but after five years, it’s taken a real toll on both my body and my sanity. I'm hoping that restarting my blog will be a stepping stone to having an actual career. I’ve also found myself feeling a lot more inspired lately than I have in a long time, and so as long as I can get back in the habit of writing every day, I’ll have a few projects in the works. Best of all, I’m starting to feel like I’ve found a purpose with my writing. For a short time, I had a bit of an identity crisis, wondering what my true calling was, and whether or not I was even meant to be a writer. Now, I’m feeling like I have enormous power to create change for the better. But more on that later.

For now, I’d say you’re all good and caught up. I look forward to sharing my future adventures with all of you, and I’m sincerely hoping I can keep up with it this time.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: "Welcome to Jurassic Park" - John Williams (Jurassic Park - Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)