Do I Remind You of Someone You Never Met?

This blog post is for any fellow writers out there.

Do you ever think about the characters you've created for your stories, I mean really think about them, their lives, their personalities, the things you put them through for the sake of your plot, and do you ever feel like crying?

Maybe I take this too seriously, but I'll begin with an example of a story I wrote from the age of 16 and finished when I was 19, and am currently going through and revising so that it no longer reads like the mind-vomit of a fantasy-loving high schooler. The story as it stands is about 300+ pages in length, and though there are really only 4 characters I consider "principle," there are a dozen or more supporting and minor characters whose actions and fates all assist in the story's ultimate outcome. And despite there being so many of them, and aside from the fact that so, so many of them die before the end, I find myself loving them all. And I want you to love them too.

                                  Like this, only with less laughing and more crossbows.

Of course I never intended to have so many characters in the story, in fact the original idea was for a short story 'cause I was 16 and didn't know how to write a long book. It was originally going to end with a terrible misunderstanding that resulted in an unnecessary death and the remaining main characters going their separate ways on terrible terms. I was more curious how the story would turn out if the plot took a different turn, and then 300 pages later I found out, and made some new "friends" along the way.

There was a firstish draft I wrote when I was 16, but then I got a computer virus because that was around the time I discovered Limewire. So we rebooted the computer and I lost 80 pages of my book. So I take a break and write a different story, and when I get sick of that one I decide to revisit the fantasy story I thought was long gone. Turns out it being deleted was the best thing for it 'cause I was a slightly better writer this time around. It's interesting talking to my friends who have read it and telling them what parts of the story weren't in the original draft, particularly certain characters. It's like when I lent my friend the director's cut of Kingdom of Heaven and after he watched it told him what parts weren't in the theatrical cut. He had a hard time believing that the movie made any sense without the cut scenes. And honestly, the movie really didn't make much sense without those scenes, but that's besides the point. You see when I started the story the first time I was writing as I went, making up a main character on the spot and writing the first chapter, not knowing where it was going. As I went along I found an endpoint I could work towards, then it got deleted. In round 2, I knew exactly where I was trying to get to, and so I was able to have more freedom on the path there. I added some characters, created new plot points, and discovered all of those themes and metaphors that teachers tell you the authors intended to have. Here's a hint, those are almost always accidents. The ones that aren't are shitty books.

                                                                     Ahem.

But where was I? What am I trying to say? Oh right! So obviously I don't write a 300 page book in one sitting. I write a paragraph or a chapter here and there, then leave to do other stuff or go to bed. It was never while I was writing that I truly discovered a character. When I'm typing I just spell a name and describe what they look like, write some dialogue to move the plot along, leave it at that. It's when I'm in bed when I really think about some of them. I mean as people. What their personality is, why they do the things they do, what happened to them prior to the story. And this isn't pretentious writerly bullshit they feed you in school, I really think about this stuff. But it's not because I want the story to work, or because I want to create diverse, interesting characters, the characters literally are people to me. I know what makes them tick, I know what their parents were like, and I don't even put most of that shit into the story. For the more likeable characters, it gets to the point where I wish I could just pull them off of the page and hang out with them.

                                            Believe me, I wish it were more like this.

It's bad, man. I don't want to always be thinking about people who don't exist but they're there all the time. Because of this it can sometimes be really difficult when the time comes for said characters to die. Oh boy, that can sometimes be a tough job. There was this one character, when I thought him up he was just supposed to be minor, just be around, but I needed the main character to have a best friend in that section of the story and so I promoted him. Eventually I realized I wanted to have an unrequited love story going on and so I again promoted this character to the hopeless romantic in addition to the main character's best friend. In the back of my mind, however, his fate was always to be killed near the end of the story. When I decided he should die, he was a nobody. A background character. Even after his subsequent character promotions his fate hadn't changed, he still had to die before the story's final chapters, because frankly  I hadn't thought up anything he could do during those parts. Yes, he partly died as a result of my laziness. I've already had that talk with myself. So anyways, when the time came to type out his death scene, I was hesitant. "Maybe he doesn't have to die. I have the power to stop this," I told myself. But I held strong and wrote out his demise, and then I felt horrible. I had to stop and walk around for a bit. I know that sounds like such a J.K. Rowling thing to do, but it felt really weird to off a character that I'd been thinking about for so long. Maybe it was also the fact that he wasn't the only one who died in that scene.

                                                 "Hmm...still not enough death!"

Yeah, I killed off two kinda important characters in one go. Yes, I felt bad. And I wouldn't if, again, I didn't think about them so damn much. But dammit, they're so cool! There this other character, a girl, who was just kind of in the background here and there throughout the story. She never really did anything of note until this massive attack thing happens and this is when whoever's reading the story will start to get to know her. Through her struggles and acts of bravery the reader will start to think, "This chick, she's kinda cool." Then I pull the rug out from under you and kill her like I'm all, "Sucks to suck!" And admittedly, that was my intent all along, to make you just start to like this girl who seemed like a nobody and then have her die so you feel sad. That didn't make it any easier to write, though, I liked her too. Especially now during the rewrites where I'm thinking up a whole new backstory for her. I might even have a bit of a fictional character crush on her, which makes me feel slightly guilty about having her leg get blown off.

It's more than just those two, though. All of the characters I've invented (or "discovered" if I wanna sound douchy) I feel like I know through and through, and if I don't now I will eventually. Sadly, I have all of their fates mapped out and most of them die horribly. It's not 'cause I hate them, I just decided to kill them before I really grew to like them, and then I was stuck with a death scene I'd be forced to write, all the time trying to apologize to someone who doesn't exist, and who therefore is not actually dying.

                                                                     Whoa.

But none of that matters, 'cause everybody is sad when their favorite character dies in a book or movie. I just happen to feel like that about EVERYBODY. It's like, imagine if a part of you died every time a random soldier died in the Lord of the Rings movies. Welcome to my world. What's worse is when I find a song that I specifically identify with a character or circumstance in my story. I listen to the song "My Junk" from Spring Awakening, a song about the young characters in that show growing up and thinking about each other in romantic (ish) ways, and when I listen to it now I think, "Oh god, it's just like in my story, and just like in my story most of them are dead by the end!" Obviously I've added it to my "writing" playlist. I also recently heard the Scala and Kolacny Brothers cover of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters," and oh my god does that song make me think about the aftermath of the attack scene I mentioned before, especially hearing it from a choir. Hearing the right music puts a whole new spin on what I'm writing and who these characters are.

                                             Embedded so you too can feel my pain.

But anyways, I hope I'm not the only writer who goes through this, because if I am I'm either a freak or the best writer around, and I'm not particularly comfortable being either of those. Regardless, I hope that if I ever get this thing published you will all pick up a copy and forget all the spoilers I revealed throughout this. Please support a hungry writer, because my acting career isn't exactly keeping the power on. And if you also like getting attached to characters only to see them get horribly murdered, I highly recommend watching Game of Thrones.


With regrets,
Tyler


P.S. Who has two thumbs and just got cast as Roger in RENT? THIS GUY!!!

Dream Roles:

Completed:

Tybalt - Romeo & Juliet
Bernardo - West Side Story
and soon Roger in RENT

Still on the horizon are:

St. Jimmy - American Idiot
Moritz - Spring Awakening
Iago - Othello

One day the list shall be complete. One day...

The Little Insult That Could

Who here knows what an A-wing is? I surely can't be Facebook friends with anyone who hasn't seen Star Wars but I'll elaborate anyways. This is an A-wing:

That's right, it's that ship that nobody likes to use in Star Wars: Rogue Squadron 'cause its shields suck and its weapons are weak. Its one saving grace is that it's faster than the other ships, but who needs speed in a game where the goal is to blow space shit up? Essentially, if the A-wings were in a gym class, they'd get picked last. They're small and weak and can't do much damage. What chance do these things have against the Imperial armada, especially when they have the Super Star Destroyer, dubbed the Executor?

                            For a scale comparison, this ship's bigger than everything ever.

Oh wait, in the final movie Return of the Jedi, the Executor got taken down by one of those little fuckers. The rebels had destroyed the Executor's bridge deflector shield, pretty much painting a big fat red target on the ship's control bridge. Admiral Piett orders all power be directed to the star destroyer's firepower. Caught in the guns' crossfire is a random A-wing, who, in his final moments, steers his damaged fighter towards the Executor's shieldless control bridge and rams it head on. The bridge explodes and the Executor nosedives into the side of the Death Star and explodes.

                                                               "Too late!!!"

Holy shit, that was awesome! What a spectacular and brave final act by...that A-wing pilot. Huh? What? You don't remember his name? Everybody remembers Lando's name and he didn't do shit. Well, thanks to Wikipedia, I've learned that this random A-wing pilot's name was Arvel Crynyd, and his one line of screaming battlecry was portrayed by actor Hilton McRae, who you might recognize from nothing. Now going by traditional means, you would think they would've had the Executor taken out by a more significant hero, like Lando or Wedge. Or hell, why not an Ewok? But it was an unknown pilot keeping his shitty little A-wing afloat just long enough to help turn the tide of the battle. And you know what? I could give a shit about Luke or his sister-with-benefits. This man was my hero of the films.

It's something like that that just goes to show how little, seemingly insignificant things can make a huge difference. They can be so small, one has to really look back in order to see where the seed was first planted. Take the sitcom Friends, for example. Monica and Chandler hooking up in London and eventually marrying was awesome and seemed to come out of nowhere. Yeah, it really seemed like they were just talking in one scene and when it cut to the next, they were in bed together. How did that happen? Well, you may recall a minor event that led to Monica seeking out Joey for comfort sex but finding Chandler instead (it's a complex show). At Ross's wedding rehearsal dinner, Monica was feeling bummed out that her brother was getting married while she was still single, when suddenly a man IMDB credits as Older Guest approaches her and, after telling her how wonderful Ross is, then says, "My god, you must've been a teenager when you had him." Monica is Ross's younger sister, in case you're just that uncultured. And with that, Monica finally snaps and turns to Chandler, thus beginning their beautiful and, frankly, show-killing romance. Seriously, the show started to suck right around that point. Meanwhile, Older Guest can be credited as jumpstarting the eventual marriage of Monica and Chandler, and actor Heathcote Williams (good LORD, what a name) can forever claim to his friends that he was responsible for one of the series' biggest plotlines, to which his friends would presumably reply, "Shut the fuck up, Heathcote!"

Now, did the writers of Star Wars or Friends intend for their audience to look back at Arvel Crynyd and Older Guest and ponder the fate of their respective mediums without their minor acts of heroism? Probably not, but people like me (probably just me) have noticed and will never forget these important nobodies. Tiny acts like those can have huge effects later on, just like when that kid in high school quit the track team 'cause everyone was calling him slow. Ah, there's the moral he was getting at.

We say things to people we know everyday that mean nothing to us, but to their ears it could be lifechanging. Little insults or sarcastic remarks can slowly tear down a person's self-esteem. Not holding a door open for somebody one day could just be the final straw that was keeping that person's cynicism from leaking out, and now they hate humanity. Good job. Blowing somebody off when you were supposed to go to the movies could give that person the idea that nobody wants to be around them, if it happens enough times. Picking fun at any little thing about a person, such as their weight or their athleticism or the fact that they're wearing jorts, could lead to them giving up on socializing or quitting school or worse. Don't even get me started on the bullying crisis in America's schools and what results that produces.

                                                        But seriously, jorts = no.

During my middle school years, I was not a bully. I was too skinny. I was something worse, though. I was the bully's friend. You know, that skinny asshole who hides behind his giant bruiser buddy and flings insults at you. I was that, and I regret everything from that time. I stood by as my friends bullied the "losers" and just let it happen, all the while saying things to make it worse. I once told a kid that he should run away from home because it would be doing us and his family a favor. Christ, I said that? I don't know what that kid's doing now or where he is. He didn't actually run away from home, in case you were wondering, but I don't know what's become of him since we graduated. I'm very glad I stopped being that person once I got to high school, otherwise I could've evolved into full-on bully. And you know what they say, "No one's gonna cry on the very day you die, you're a bully." Ok, maybe only Shinedown says that.

But yeah, think about your actions and how, down the road, they could change a person's life. Maybe you tell someone in your creative writing class that you liked their story. Someday they might be a published author. Tell someone you like their jokes, they might turn into a renowned stand up comedian. Tell someone they have a good singing voice, then they may go on to embarrass themselves in an audition for The Voice. Everything goes a long ways. Just smile at somebody walking down the street and they might not kill themselves that day. And be mindful of the little things you say to bring people down, like when I rub it in my sister's face how I dominated our "A Year in the Life" Christmas card that year. Maybe she really gets jealous when it appears I did more than her that year. I'm not immune to the actions of others, either. Maybe somebody made fun of my music tastes years ago and now I'm embarrassed when people hear what I listen to. Maybe that same person also tried to tell me I couldn't act or sing even though he'd never come to any of my shows to see if I could or not. Maybe I don't draw anymore because he told me my drawings were shit. Think about it, then shut the fuck up, you moron. Who made you king of trends? Nobody likes you and you're gonna die angry, you fucking douchnozzle. Go drink detergent. Seriously. I won't care, and neither will anyone else.

                                               As you can see, I'm totally over it.

So in conclusion, remember, one small and random act can alter the course of everything. Whether it be an A-wing taking out a Star Destroyer or you calling a kid fat and him dropping out of school and joining the Navy, our current fates can always be traced back to one tiny seed planted in just the right spot, and my god did that come off sounding more sexual than I thought it would. But hey, I started out talking about Star Wars and ended with a pretty good life lesson. You see, that's writing.

Goodbybe,
Tyler

P.S. Still no word on my RENT audition. Is no news usually good news?

Best News of 2013 So Far:

New David Bowie album out in March!!!

Song of Myself (Except Not)

Have you ever had a song that you felt defined your life? If it's a song by Arcade Fire, you're a hipster douchebag. I'm kidding, of course. You're not a hipster. But hey, I've been there. I get so down sometimes that I have to turn to music written by someone else to really get in touch with how I feel. I just don't want to sort through three minutes of poetic bullshit to get there, so indie bands aren't quite my cup of coffee. I'd say "tea," but I hate tea. It's for hipsters and "singers."

But we've all hit those moments where it seems like there's nobody in our lives we can turn to, so who better to understand our pain and turmoil than famous billionaire musicians who have everything they've ever wanted?

                                "Naw man, I totally feel ya. Want some? I got tons of it."

I think there is a serious danger in connecting too well to music, though. See, I was down one summer, and so I listened continually to the Pink Floyd album The Wall. I mean, I had also just seen it in concert, so that was also a reason. But anyways, it's a concept album that tells the story of a rock star named Pink who grew up without a father figure and an overbearing mother, develops a hatred for authority after awful experiences in school, has a failed marriage, and eventually builds a metaphoric (or is it?) wall around himself so that he can separate himself from the world that had treated him so badly. I listened to this long album and found myself identifying with some of the lyrics, so much so that I started to feel like my life was being sang to me. Here's the thing: I am nothing like the character Pink, and share almost no qualities with the crazy bastard. As a whole the album is bleak and saddening, but that shouldn't make you feel like your life is too. Sure, the lyrics to "Nobody Home" have some resonance, but only in certain parts, not the entire song. Just because I can emotionally connect with it doesn't mean Roger Waters is singing about my life, and that was a trick I almost fell for.

                                                It's like a painting of my childhood.

Another famous concept album I took to listening to when I was feeling lousy was Green Day's American Idiot. Sure, there was a lot I could relate to in those songs, particularly "Wake Me Up When September Ends," but I can never say (well, never again say) that the album was "the soundtrack to my life." I don't recall moving from the suburbs to the big city and developing an alternate personality and hooking up with a girl who's name I don't even remember. I mean, not that I remember, at least. Certain lyrics here and there, however, do hit home with me. Can I say they define me? No, that's stupid. Nobody can define you but yourself, and certainly not Billie Joe Armstrong.

                                              A man who knows how to read people.

I realized that I felt sympathetic with those songs because they were telling sad and heartbreaking stories, not because my own life was a reflection of those characters. Your friend who cries every time "Hallelujah" comes on the radio will tell you he identifies with the song, but try asking him what the song's about and watch him say nothing. If you're a girl, however, he's just faking it to show he can be sensitive. It's okay to think he's a pussy, there's sensitive and then there's that.

I'm saying all of this to disprove those friends we have who will say "This is my song OMG!!!" or "This song is my LIFE!!!". Good to know their lives can be summed up in 3-4 minutes, they must be proud. It's perfectly alright to post song lyrics on Facebook that reflect what you're feeling, I do that. You know, just make sure you know what the song's actually about and that it's not about incest or anything. Also, is it just me or is it only the sad songs that people say are about their lives? Nobody's ever told me that "Call Me Maybe" was about themselves, but I get plenty of that about Adele songs. Maybe if her and Taylor Swift weren't such fucking buzzkills they'd have those relationships they always say they want, and so would their fans who "identify with them."

                                 "Let me sing to you about all my exes, then LOVE ME!"

Don't worry, I'm not bashing Adele or Taylor Swift. I have nothing but respect for Adele as a singer, and Taylor Swift...is also a musician. It will be a sad day when they finally find the love they always wanted, 'cause what the hell would they sing about then? We as a people need songs like those ones in order to let us know we're not alone in how we feel. Yes, coming back to my main point, it is good to identify with a song, but it is not okay to say it defines you. You listen to a Pink Floyd or a Green Day or an Adele song and you move on. What you do not do is play it on loop while you try and cut your wrists with a nail filer. Song lyrics do not tell us what we're feeling, we do that ourselves when we hear them. Only we can tell ourselves what's really going on. If we let another person's words influence us on our feelings and beliefs, then it may as well be one of Hitler's speeches.

                                           "California gurls are UNFORGETTABLE!"

The only exception to this is, of course, "Firework" by Katy Perry. That song is magic. And with that said, beware of those songs you say are about you. You just might sound like an asshole.

Keep on rockin' in Mid-World,
Tyler

P.S. Sorry for all the cat pics on Instagram.

New Year's Resolution:

Convince friends to all wear leather jackets.

Les Mis, No Internet, and a Kitty or Two

Hello again! Welcome to my two days late blog post! How devastated I was to wake up last Saturday morning to learn that the internet at our house was out and would not return until the coming Thursday. First of all, that meant I would miss my next blog post, and second, it really sucked. Because of this, I didn't really put much thought into what I would write about this week. After last week's post I was also kind of banking on the world actually ending. Now the day is here, my internet is back, and I haven't any real idea what to blog about.

                                                      Perhaps this can suffice?

Let's see, Christmas was earlier this week, and it once again passed by insignificantly, although I own slightly more DVDs than I did before. Seeing Les Miserables in theaters was about as excited as I got this week. By the way, fuck all you naysayers, that movie fucking rocked. Let's talk about that for a bit, shall we? I mean, it didn't leave out anything I really missed. Some song verses were cut but the only difference those cuts really made was that I noticed them, being a fan of the stage musical. As for the changes to the storyline, go look in the original Victor Hugo novel; those changes are straight from the source material. Eponine taking a musketball for Marius? From the novel. Enjolras and Grantaire being executed together in a final act of defiance? Exactly how it happens in the book. So theatre people, please, don't claim they changed the storyline when they actually portrayed those scenes as they were originally written. The movie managed to combine the novel and the musical into one coherent package. I rarely see adaptations get better than that. Although, I agree with everyone's criticisms of Russell Crowe as Javert; his version of "Stars" left much to be desired. However, Crowe absolutely nailed the songs "The Confrontation" and "Javert's Suicide," so I'd say that he made up for his low points. I got to see some of my West End favorites Killian Donnelly and Kerry Ellis in bit parts, and seeing Samantha Barks on screen after seeing her play Eponine in person was quite surreal for me. And nobody else should ever play Eponine. Seriously. She's the best. Honestly though, the only character I cared about being great was Enjolras, brought wonderfully to life by Aaron Tveit. Also, I never liked Marius as a character until Eddie Redmayne played him. He's the best Marius I've ever seen or heard, and I've seen the show twice and own three different cast recordings. Plus, he just looks badass. Sometimes I wish the story was just about Enjolras and Marius.

                  One of these men is definitely a new man crush, but I can't decide which one.

In other news, I watched Katy Perry: Part of Me and am even more in love with that girl than before. Count me in for her next tour. I also received news of auditions for a production of the musical RENT right here in Syracuse, so I will definitely be trying out for that. Seriously, if I could get cast as Mark or Roger that would literally be a dream come true. So yeah, that's what's been up with me lately.

You see, this is what being without internet does to someone. I don't care what our parents say, we literally cannot make it in this world without internet. It's not just Facebook either, which I love and never want to be without ever again, it's everything. I couldn't check my email, and there were emails I was expecting. I couldn't apply for any jobs for almost a week 'cause they're all online. I didn't know the address of the place I was going for an interview until my internet came back just in time for it. I couldn't do research for the books I'm trying to write. I felt so helpless and bored. Not just 'cause I spend a lot of time online, I couldn't download Kindle books without internet, so I couldn't even read to pass the time. Sure I could've gone out and bought an actual book, but I didn't have gift cards for books, I had them for Kindle. It didn't help that we got snowed in and my car tired fail in the snow, so I could hardly even leave my house. I was stuck at home with movies I'd seen hundreds of times and no internet access and no books. This lack of doing anything even prevented me from being productive in my writing. Creativity is fueled by being active and I just didn't have the resources to be so. So people, please, do not take the internet for granted. You need it more than you will ever know.

                                                            More than this.

                                                      But not as much as this.

So what have we learned this week? Theatre people are the worst critics, Katy Perry seems like a fun lady, the world sucks without internet, and cats are adorable. Since I will now have internet again at my beck and call I will strive to write a more resonating post next week, on time too. So stay tuned readers!

Surviving,
Tyler

P.S. Theatre friends, I love you, but Les Miserables was an awesome movie and I will not hear anything otherwise.

P.P.S. It's okay to just pick mold off of bread and still eat it, right?

Fond Memory from College:

When I got a 100 on a presentation for simply not giving a fuck. You really had to be there.

Last Night On Earth

So here we are, the maybe end of it all. In two days we'll find out whether the Mayans were correct or that we humans are just too awesome to be wiped out. I'm not a doomsaying zealot, but I'm not ruling out the small possibility that the rug could be pulled out from under us on December 21st (which, technically, going by the original Mayan calendar, already happened, but come on, have some fun with it). I know a lot of people that live by the "better safe than sorry" motive, so why shouldn't we adopt that for this 2012 apocalypse? What if it does all end on Friday morning at 6:11 A.M.? Would you want some things to be left unsaid? Places left unseen?

                         Would you let DVDs you borrowed go unreturned, Amanda Funiciello?

Now, I'm not saying I'm going to get on the first flight to Belgium and spend my remaining days in Bruges. Hell, I'm probably going to spend my potentially last night on Earth doing what I normally do: wake up at noon, go online for two hours, apply for jobs, eat, maybe change out of comfy clothes, maybe not, try to write, give up on writing, eat more, and wait until 1:00 A.M. when 30 Rock is on WGN. I will be hanging out with friends Thursday night though, so if nothing else I'll have that, and that will be good enough. Sure, I could cram a few bucket list items into my schedule and tell people things that have gone unsaid, but that just wouldn't be me. If I'm going out, I'm going out as myself. Also, I'm kinda lazy, so whiskey and a fire with my friends will be perfectly fine.

                                              Wouldn't we all like to go out like this?

Now, as this may very well be my last blog post ever, thinking of what to write about was more difficult than ever. I decided on the 2012 thing 'cause if this is my last post, I didn't want it to be about my favorite TV shows or shit like that. This has got me thinking, though, about what kind of mark I'll leave in the unwritten history of the world once it all ends. I mean, I know it won't matter since everyone else will be gone too, but let's say our souls survive and are just floating around in the debris of the exploded planet, like when the Millennium Falcon came out of hyperdrive into what was left of Alderaan. Let's say there's a heaven and we go there with nothing but all the time in the universe to reflect on our lives. What will stand out about our lives? Will we be satisfied with what we've accomplished?

                                          Depends on your definition of "satisfied."

I have unfinished novels that were never published, a measly two dream roles I've performed, relationships never pursued, and never got to see how Breaking Bad ends. But I don't focus on those things. I think about all of the friends I've had, the things I have done, and those rare moments where I feel like I've selflessly made a difference in someone else's life. Honestly, despite not yet leaving my mark on the world, I have a pretty decent life I can look back on, and five blog posts I can be proud of.

Some people can get hooked on having the perfect "last time." In my experience it never mattered whether something was done perfectly for the final time, because however it happened it was still the end. My final show at Canisius College was far from perfect; I missed a blocking move in the swordfight and offset the entire remainder of the choreography. My last day and night in London were entirely uneventful, and more sad than anything else. My time in my last cross-country race was much slower than my average pace. And so many of my final farewells to friends have ranged from being awkward to far too casual. Things rarely go perfectly when you really want them to, and you may be surprised to find that perfection comes when you're not planning it. You want to know how I spent the last hours before my college graduation? I was hungover as shit and my roommate and I cooked some tater tots and ate them off of the tray for breakfast, then hit the road blasting '90's alternative music out the open windows of his car. The people stuck in traffic with us hated us so much. And you know what? That was a more perfect morning than I ever could have planned. I could've done without still being slightly drunk throughout most of the ceremony, but whatever, nothing's totally perfect. Except of course the HBO show The Wire.

                                                                  And this.

So in essence, no matter what you try to do to make your last day perfect, no matter how many things you cross off your bucket list, no matter how perfectly scheduled your itinerary is, those are not what your last memories should be. If you can look back on your life happily, whether you've fulfilled your dreams or not, then that's all you need. Like I said, if the world ends as I'm sitting up in bed watching late night episodes of 30 Rock, or reading the nearest Stephen King book, or even brainstorming what I'll do the next day to really iron out that book I'm trying to write, then I'll be dying as I lived.

Whether we all wake up Friday morning or not, I hope you can all live your "last day" like any other, as long as you're happy doing it.

Signing off,
Tyler

P.S. RIP Donnie Andrews, the REAL Omar Little.

Last Request:

Can there please be a reunion photoshoot for The Wire? That Freaks and Geeks one in Vanity Fair really got me nostalgic.

Sing the Song, I Pray You

I was watching the Hurricane Sandy Relief Concert tonight on HBO, biding my time until Roger Waters eventually came on, and as soon as I heard the first booming notes to "In the Flesh," I was instantly taken back to when I saw Waters perform The Wall in Buffalo this past summer -- coincidentally my "conflict day" during Grease rehearsals, funny how that worked out. I remember that HSBC Arena was doing its shittiest to get everybody into the building on time, and my friend and I kept hearing music over the speakers and fearing the show had already started while we were still in line. So after sprinting up escalators and likely endangering the lives of those we shoved out of the way, we enter the darkened stadium. No sooner do we get inside when flames explode from the front of the stage and the magnificent "BOM BOM!" that starts off the first song of the album deafened my senses. From the moment I found my seat I sat back in awe and wonder at the show going on down on the stage below us, not only hearing but seeing my favorite songs being performed in front of me. That opening bass line in "The Happiest Days of Our Lives" chilled me to the bone, the saddening chords of "Mother" broke the dam holding back my tears, and the colorful projections during "Comfortably Numb" ensured I would never see anything more beautiful again.

                                                             Your move, God.

It's funny how music works, isn't it? I mean, when you think about it, it's people plucking strings and beating objects with sticks, and most times screaming words at you. Or whispering them softly, you know, if they're pussies. When did music first come about? Was it just a couple of cavemen fucking around with rocks and sticks and grunting?

                                                                     Yes.

Whatever the manner in which it was created, look at what it's become. From the olden days we have those catchy mandolin tunes and Irish folk songs. We have Beethoven and Mozart and Bach, and further down the road we have the birth of rock 'n' roll and pop. Then the beautiful era of '90s alternative, post-grunge, and not-punk, and nowadays we have Katy Perry, who no other '00s era musician can compete with. No, you can't argue against that. She's perfect. But of course, since its inception music has only been building its way up to its final form, and that form is Nightwish.

                                                           Music stops here.

Who is Nightwish? I'm not at all surprised you don't know. They are my favorite band; I've seen them in concert three times, twice in the same year actually. If I hadn't discovered their music on Youtube that one day in 10th grade, I'm pretty confident my life would not be the same today. I taught myself to sing by singing along with the male vocals. Their 2007 album Dark Passion Play helped get me through a rough senior year of high school, and their 2011 release Imaginaerum got me through another rough final year, this time in college. Can I explain just what exactly it is about their music that I love, or what about it instantly fills me with joy? No, I can't. I believe that if I could, I wouldn't be able to have that feeling anymore.

Stage musicals are another mysterious thing. Watching a so-so story unfold while singers and dancers perform in front of you somehow makes said story so much more enjoyable, you know assuming you're not watching A Chorus Line or The Music Man.

                                                               Or fucking this.

I remember first catching the musical bug watching my older sister act in her middle school show, an original musical written by the chorus teacher. I didn't always know what was going on, but I was having a hell of a fun time watching the dancing and hearing the songs. Next I watched the school do Guys and Dolls and then Annie and...dammit, I NEEDED to be in one of those things! So I get cast in my first show, Into the Woods, as an old man, at age 11. I don't get to sing but the whole experience was still really fun for me. Besides, I couldn't sing back then. But now I can so YAY! I've been acting in musicals ever since. And maybe one day, if I'm extremely lucky and work really hard, this will be me.

                                         Maybe I'll get a great part in a musical, too.

In musicals like some of my favorites, Les Miserables and American Idiot, certain scenes just explode when the music kicks in. "One Day More" at the end of the first act of Les Mis features every main character singing about their individual fates in the coming days and what choices they'll have to make. When a character runs out with a musket in hand and raises it above his head singing "One more day before the storm," it is just too much for my non-epic little mind to take. When that same character, in "The Final Battle," sings "Let others rise to take our place until the earth is free" right before he is shot to death, just the fact that he's singing it with such passion makes more of an impact than any mere spoken words ever could. The 9-minute rage fest that is "Jesus of Suburbia" in American Idiot creates an onstage scene of frustrated youth and dead-end lifestyles that no straight play or film could ever accomplish. Hell, even watching people shoot up heroin is more fun if it's in a musical. And finally, let's face it, would South Park: Bigger, Longer, & Uncut be even half as good without all of the musical scenes?

                                                                    No.

Not to mention those montages they have at the end of TV show finales would be AWKWARD without music playing behind them. Although, if there was no music they probably wouldn't make montages, and therefore Rocky and Top Gun would be unwatchable. I would certainly be down one of my very few hobbies without music, so let's all take a moment to thank our ancestors for the invention of music. Imagine your life today without it, especially those who love to play instruments or sing, particularly those getting their tonsils out soon (*cough* Katie Weber *cough*).

Now to wrap things up nicely, the world would suck without music. Fortunately, it's here to to stay, so by all means take it for granted. But while I stand by everything I have just said, fuck Glee. Just fuck it.

See you readers next week, possibly for the last time!

Singing as I finish this,
Tyler

P.S. No disrespect Katie Weber, I sincerely wish you a speedy and semi-painless recovery from your tonsillectomy. You do have such a beautiful voice.

Favorite Song of All Time:

"Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House. What's yours?

I Dreamed a...Something

Let's talk about dreams for a bit. Everybody claims to have dreams unlike everyone else they know, as if having weirder dreams is the new dick measuring. However, I am willing to bet that my dreams are the weirdest -- and possibly most masochistic -- dreams you will ever have heard of. And this isn't just me who thinks so. People I've described my dreams to have had similar opinions, usually after a brief period of stunned horror.

For one, everybody I talk dreams with has described that point when you realize you're in a dream. I have rarely to never experienced that, and when I do I use it to wake up immediately. Otherwise, just like Leo says in Inception, everything seems ordinary and uneventful in my dreams.

                                 Just an average Tuesday according to my subconscious.

Now bizarre imagery and impossible physics are a staple of your average dream, even if you don't realize it seems off at first. What separates me from my fellow dreamers? Well, dreams are supposed to be a place where you can achieve something you maybe never could in real life. In your dream you can land that job you've always wanted, or beat that guy you hate into a bloody submission. Maybe you get that girl or guy you've always wanted, whether he/she is a celebrity or just someone you know. You see, even in my dreams I am horribly and unfairly cockblocked by fate, that motherfucker. I don't even get to have sex in my dreams, how fucked up is that? In almost every case the girl is either killed, I'm killed, I have to fight a bad guy, she's tired, or I can't get to her in time 'cause I have to climb down some giant obstacle course that's floating in the sky. You know, typical stuff. I was in the same bed as Zooey Deschanel once and still nothing!

                                                    Literally not even in my dreams.

There was that one time I was approached by a prostitute wearing a bearskin cloak and we proceeded to levitate and have air sex, but halfway through she tells me she's been numbed by so much sex (WTF and EW!) that there was really no point in continuing. Yes, I got the boot from a bearskin-wearing flying hooker.

                                                    Like this, but surprisingly cooler.

But aside from lack of sexual satisfaction in dreams, there instances where even my subconscious tells me, "Yeah right!" I'm often faced with terrifying situations where I'm being shot at or chased by giant yetis holding spears. In a dream, you might find it within yourself to fight back and kill whatever's trying to kill you, right? Yeah, not me. My subconscious knows I'm a wuss and doesn't often try to bullshit me. I turn tail and run almost every time, like that time my friends and I were hunting Bigfoot and they all run on ahead of me to kill him. I stay behind and listen to their screams and death cries from afar. There have been times when I'm more adventurous in my dreams, but they usually end with me being killed or horribly murdered. The fucked up thing is, when I die in a dream I don't wake up. I stay dead, in the dream, just lying there on the ground. This can go on until I eventually wake up but for a while it's just me unable to move and looking up at whatever just killed me. Imagine waking up in the middle of the night after that.

                                     I would neither win this fight or be that well-dressed.

Another bizarre trait of my dreams is that when I'm paired with someone or in a group, I'll actually know maybe half of them in real life, and the rest are completely made up. And the people I do know are usually ones I'm not actually friends with or haven't spoken to in years. It's that or my friends resemble Neil Patrick Harris or Geoffrey Rush. Then there was that time I was hunting Osama bin Laden with West End sensation Kerry Ellis, the obvious candidates for the job.

                                          Saving the world with our awkward smiles.

But you know, while I often die or get don't get any, I have to say my dreams are pretty awesome. Most times I wake up wishing I could go back into the dream. Strangely enough, I sometimes succeed at this. If you would like to experience some of my dreams yourself, I highly suggest you check out the Notes section on my Facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/tyler.ianuzi/notes

In short, I love dreams, especially my dreams, 'cause they're better than yours. Also, seriously, read my dream logs. They're good reads.

Yes, this post was rushed and I couldn't think of anything to write. Expect more like this one, and possibly one drunk post in the near future.

See you all again next week!

Later,
Tyler

P.S. Are pants chains out of style?

Dream Stage Role:

St. Jimmy in American Idiot. I would literally murder you if it would get me that part.