AWESOME

On February 14th, 2014, I spoke with my brother on the phone.  It went something like this:

Zac: I can't wait for my birthday.  I want to see what you write about me on your blog.

Me: (externally) What makes you think you're getting a blog post?

Me: (internally)  ARHHGAHHHH!!!!  ZAC WANTS ME TO WRITE HIM A BLOG POST!!!  HE LIKES MY BLOG!!!!  HE LIKES ME!!!!

So here I am, on his birthday, pondering what I'm going to write about him, the 30 years he's been alive, and the 26ish years he's been my brother.

Zac is a little bit of an enigma, and most of the people in my life don't know he exists.  Apparently I give off an only child kind of vibe.  He is a man of mystery shrouded in a cloud of secrets.  No one really knows what he's doing or where he is, and that suits him just fine.

I am not here to talk about that Zachary, though.  I'm going to talk about the brother I have hero-worshipped and hated, cared about and competed with for my entire life.

Zac and I are like Shrek and Donkey.  That is my go-to simile, and I am sticking to it.  (I know that it doesn't shed my parents in a good light, saying they raised an ogre and an ass, but stay with me here.)  Most of my early years consisted of me following him around, singing, while he found me profoundly annoying, but still loved me.  I hope.  He's also large and scary looking, but that's beside the point.

Let it be known, Zac is awesome, and that's the post I'm going to write.  Zac, I know you're going to read this, so now I'm just going to address it to you.

YOU ARE AWESOME.  But you already know that.  Between the two of us, there is an obscene amount of self-confidence, and I like to think that I partly got that from you.  You wore whatever you wanted (the flame shirt), you rocked way cooler glasses than me (I'm catching up), and you have always owned your nerd-dom (thank you for my Star Wars education).  Whether you know it or not, whether you like it or not, you at least partially paved the way for my eccentricities and the ability to feel good about my weirdness.

Ugh.  I have so many thoughts, and I have no idea how I want to format this.  I'm completely over thinking how I want to present you.

Hokay.  Remember that time we were at Camp and (apparently) one of the campers said something that besmirched my honor, so you took all of his belongings from his bunk, piled them on the deck of his cabin, encased them in plastic wrap, tin foil, and duct tape, and then wrote on what looked like a giant left-over in ketchup?  Yeah.  That was awesome and probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

I love it when you get all big-brothery on me, even though it's rare.  Like when you came to Portland and declared that you were either going to buy me pepper spray or a two-by-four with a nail in the end.  I feel the pepper spray was a good choice.

Also, I'm pretty sure the best thing that has ever happened to us was me finally turning 21.  When it comes to drinking, you somehow manage to simultaneously be Yoda and Spartacus.  It's really impressive.  You have taught me the joys of a well crafted cocktail, and shown me that a person can drink at the Michigan Beer fest all day, take a power nap, and then party it up most of the night at Cliff Bells.

You know what it was like to grow up in 1825 Dorothea, and be raised by Jim and Debbie.  You know the tragedy of sharing that bathroom between four people.  You understand.

And when we both realized we liked Eddie Izzard?  Completely independently of each other?  That was a great sibling moment.

I think it's awesome that you can pick up and go somewhere new.  You're awesome for being one of the smartest people I know and not becoming a doctor or an engineer just because you could.  You're awesome for always chasing your happiness.  You work harder (and play harder) than anyone I know.

You're hilarious.

I want to hang out with you all the time in New Orleans.

Yes, we didn't/don't always get along.  Yes, you will always wonder why I don't eat more meat and I will wonder why you don't eat more veggies.  Yes, I resented you at times for being older, for being the boy.  But I've also felt honored to learn from your mistakes, to have the luck of having you to look up to.

Happy Birthday.

If I Only Had a Heart

There are a couple of different issues I want to address this St. Valentine's Day, all of which have to do with love.  Now, I'm not talking about romantic "in love" love.  That's a whole other beast that turns sane people into crazy ones and, if left unrequited, can tear a person apart.  On the flip side, it can be wonderful.  So I hear.  As I said, though, that's not the love I'm talking about here.  I'm talking about a more universal kind of love.

Today, on a day devoted to romance and being with the "one", I would like to make my case for love.

We need to take love off its pedestal.  A very thoughtful human once told me that.  It was a couple of years ago, and I don't know if he remembers saying it, but that concept has stuck with me.  We think that love is some limited commodity that is so exceptional that we must only dip into it for the very few.  That if we love too much or too many it somehow cheapens our love, makes it common in the worst way.  Which is idiotic.  Who came up with that idea?  Love doesn't "run out".  Love should be common.  That doesn't make it any less spectacular.

Also, by lifting love to such an elevated level, you have all of a sudden made love scary and/or creepy. Um… last time I checked, that's not what love is about.  If we make loving such a big deal, it's going to freak people out.  Again, not talking about romantic love.  That should scare you a little.  But the kind of love that links you to your family or friends should not be uncomfortable.  Loving the person sitting across from you on the bus solely because they are your fellow human being should not be weird.  We need to bring love down to our level.  Love should live among, not above, the masses.  

I think part of it has to do with people's view of themselves, and part of it has to do with the perceived pressures of attention.  Self-esteem is a tricky thing, and I don't have time to deal with the intricacies of the human psyche and how society has told us we are all unworthy.  It's time to get over it.  You are worthy of love, and you are loved.

You know what bothers me the most?  People who get picky about the type of love with which they are bestowed.  The ones who get mopey on Valentine's Day because they haven't found an individual who puts them first, and who they can put first in their lives.  What kind of signal does that give to all the people who do love you?  That the love of your friends and family isn't good enough?  Rude.  So you want to get married some day, or heck, go on a date.  Maybe if you embrace the love you already have it will make you a more attractive, lovable person for when someone "special" shows up.  And in the mean time, you'll be happier.  Just saying.

On to the unnecessary pressure people associate with love, whether it be physical, emotional, or otherwise.  Yes, most of the people I interact with are in the point in their lives where they are trying to find someone to "be" with.  Whatever that means.  Can we all just ease up on the pressure?  Please?  I'm talking to you.  All of you.  Parents, friends, random guy at the bar.  Chill out.  Stop making love such a serious business.  Love makes you happy, it shouldn't give you an eye twitch.  Moving on.

Next mini-rant.  Can we all agree that "friend" is a legitimate, healthy, loving relationship option?  Nothing makes my skin crawl more than having to explain that I am "just" friends with someone.  Talk about cheapening something.  It truly pisses me off.  Mom, Dad, I know you want me to be happy, which for some reason translates to "married", but having to qualify every interaction I have with a male as "just friends" or "gay" is quite irksome.  This goes for all of my (female/gay) friends, as well.  Just because most of you don't believe in a girl and a guy being honestly "just friends" doesn't mean I'm hiding my feelings from you/myself.  I enjoy spending time with straight males.  In a non-sexual, non-romantic way.  And I love them.  Because they are my friends.  So… stop.  I promise I'll tell you if I'm dating someone.  Just don't hold your breath.

I do, though.  I love my friends.  I think about them, I'm happy for their happiness, and I worry about them when something is amiss.  Isn't that love?  I love random people on the street.  I love popsicles and The Wizard of Oz.  I love snow and my family and hockey.  I love lots of things.  I think it's too bad that people are stingy with their love, or think "love" only applies to relationships that could eventually lead to an "I do".  Or that people don't express their love in fear that it will freak out the person on the receiving end.

So maybe this Valentine's Day we can take love off its pedestal and start reveling in the love around us.  Instead of focusing on the love you don't have this February 14th, you can embrace the love you do have.  Make today about your friends and family, or even someone you just bumped into.  Tell a friend you were thinking about them today, tell a friend you love them.

And then listen to the Muppets station on Pandora.  Muppets = Love.      

 

That Stupid Puppet

You know what crazy about acting?  You fall in love/hate/like/friendship and every other sort of emotion with people on stage in the course of an hour and forty-five minutes.

I think that's one of the reasons I really like acting.  I'm not a big "let's be emotionally bonded" type of person, but I can get little dollops of human connection while I'm acting, walking away from the whole experience safe and sound.  Want to hear something weird?  I fall in love with a stupid blonde puppet.  It is the most ridiculous looking thing in the world -- an inanimate object.  And I, also the extension of a puppet (though mine is brown and furry), fall head over heels for the thing.

For the course of the show, I barely look at the actor who has his hand up that puppet.  Eye contact is made with two googly eyes.  And yet, I am over the moon when he hands me a mixed CD, pissed off when I realize that "Fat-Bottomed Girls" was included on said CD, giddy about going on a date, jealous of the slutty puppet, ecstatic when he wants to be my boyfriend, and crushed when he breaks up with me.  IT'S A PUPPET.  (Does anyone else hold down the shift when writing in all caps, or does pretty much everyone hit the caps lock?  I always forget it's there.)  

But what does that say about the human mind?  To what level can we delude ourselves?  What is it that clicks on or off which allows a person to feel these feeling for a bit of fleece with hair?  And it can't just be me.  I mean, even if the other actors on stage aren't getting all mushy for my puppet, the audience is. Most of the audience members love the puppets.  And, let's be real now, EVERYONE loves the Muppets.  I read in the amazing book my amazing friend sent me about Avenue Q, and in a documentary about Elmo, that Muppet-esque puppets are so great because so many people can relate to them.  When they are funny colors and furry, no one is excluded.  When a puppet is green or blue or orange, it can be any race.  I think that is such a brilliantly simple concept.  Is that why it is so easy to connect to and relate with the puppets?  Are we seeing ourselves and others when we watch these shows?   

Another thing.  My mom, after seeing a photo of my puppet, told me that Kate Monster wasn't very attractive.  I think Kate is amazing and super cute.  In the aforementioned book, the creators of Avenue Q said that Kate Monster had body/self-image issues.  This was something I never associated with her character before, but like I said, I think Kate is great.  And here's a little quote from a local man's blog about her, "And who wouldn't fall in love with Fritsch's Kate, someone you want to wrap your arms around and keep from harm?"  I (usually) hate hugs.  Kate seems to need them. 

Acting is crazy.  Puppets are crazy. 

To My Mum

The other day I was thinking about makeup.

What does that have to do with my mom, or mothers in general?  Well, let me tell you.  I was walking down the street, thinking about how I really hate taking off makeup, and that I'm so happy that I don't feel as though I need to wear makeup to go out of the house.  And that made me think about how my mom doesn't wear a lot of makeup, either.  Because she doesn't need to.  She's lovely.  And then I started to think of just how lovely she is and all the amazing things she has done for me, which is appropriate seeing as it is Mothers' Day season.  Unfortunately, I did not have the time, nor the resources, to send her a gift this year (never fear, she got an excellent birthday present), but I still want to give her something.  So I decided to give her my first blog post after a bit of drought.

Thank you, Mom.  Thank you for not wearing a lot of makeup, and not inflicting on me some sort of beauty regime.  But also, when I needed to look good for college auditions, thank you for taking me to a high quality makeup counter, and treating me to that makeup.  As you said, since I didn't ask for any makeup until I was 19, it seemed okay to buy it for me.  I still remember that shopping trip.  Thank you for the makeup and the dresses.  Going out shopping was never really our thing, and that was a very successful, fun day.

Thank you.  Thank you for taking care of me every single time I got sick.  Which, as we both know, was ALL THE TIME.  It was probably no fun taking care of a little girl who managed to contract scarlet fever.  And walking pneumonia.  And is allergic to penicillin, but caught strep throat at least once a month.  Oh, and who would sleep through her own coughing attacks, while you laid awake.  You're a champ.

I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for all the times we didn't/don't see eye to eye.  I'm sorry about the time I didn't want you around for homecoming pictures.  I'm sorry about the times I came home after having a little too much to drink.  I'm sorry that I don't wear a helmet when I roller blade, and I know it makes you worry.  I'm sorry about the one year I thought it was a great idea to buy you goldfish for Mothers' Day.  And I don't mean the crackers.  I mean two live goldfish.  

But thank you.  Thank you for reading to me when I was little, even if it did always make you fall asleep.  Thank you for making the world's best cookies, which I'm still convinced are the reason I ever had friends growing up.  Thank you for making a killer apple pie, and for teaching me how to bake.

Thank you for the ability to say that I had only ONE store bought Halloween costume.  And for loving holidays as much as I do.  And embracing all that is Christmas.  Christmas is important.  Thank you for decorating the house so beautifully every year and playing Christmas music and making hundreds of cookies.  Thank you for always making sure that my birthday presents are always wrapped in birthday, NOT Christmas, paper.

Thank you for supporting my Wizard of Oz obsession.  And my acting obsession.  And almost all of my hair brained obsessions and choices.  Thank you for believing I am smart enough to be a doctor or a lawyer, and accepting that I have degrees in Public History and Musical Theatre Performance.  Thank you for letting me do whatever I wanted to my hair and coming to see all of my shows.  Thank you for staying up to help me finish homework and other projects I left too late.

Thank you for teaching me how to manage my money.  Thank you for teaching me how to craft, and the simple beauty of something made by hand.  Thank you for teaching me how rewarding doing something for some else always is.  Thank you for the night we watched "Big Business", and for all the times we kicked Dad out of the Man Cave so that we could watch "Cupcake Wars".

Thank you for marrying Dad, because we all know he would be dead in a ditch if you hadn't.

Thank you for being there for me these past 25 years.  I look forward to many more.

There are innumerable other things which deserve thanks, but let's save some for next year.

Love you.