apronkid

Random fact of the day: I really want a tobacco pipe and rosary beads. I don't really want to smoke, but I just want to have a pipe around when I read and stuff. I only kind of sort of want to engage in meditative prayer... but I want to try it to see what it feels like.

But anyways, apronkid. Did I ever explain why I used this name on my blog? The name has to do with two things: 1.) The apron stage, or the apron of the stage and 2.) The apron that you where when your cooking or painting.

The apron of the stage is what juts out past the curtain. It's certainly the closest to the audience, and I think performers naturally feel more vulnerable there than anywhere else on the stage. What I post here I do intentionally in an attempt to step away from my comfort zone and admit things that I habitually hide from people. More often than not, I feel like nothing more than some dysfunctional kid trying to be normal. It takes conscious effort to pull out of the perspective and say "hey, you are who you are! it's okay." That's what I try to put out here: those odd dysfunctional type emotions and thoughts so I can sort through them and make them into something. You know this is the most effective journal I have? I think it's because I refuse to blubber here and talk about how depressing my life is haha, which is something I did when I wrote my life down in books. By presenting myself to an audience on a website, I am put in a position where I feel like I can be accountable to myself for what I say. Kids say lots of silly things. On this apron stage, it is me up here on deck and you down in the audience. You don't have to say anything, just know that your being there helps apronkid out :)

I feel a little silly about the second reason I used the name apronkid. When it comes to jobs that I've worked, I feel like I've always had to wear aprons. I wore an apron at the pottery store. I wore an apron at the smoothie place. I wear an apron at the bakery. I have a particular talent for making messes, so my aprons are always pretty grubby after a day's work. Yet every time it's the end of the day and that apron comes off, something magical happens. I peel off my disgusting apron and voila! I'm clean! There's nothing like it. I can hold that stained piece of clothing in front of me and say "wow, what a mess. i don't have to wear it anymore." And then I can just throw it in the hamper. No sweat. I can walk away clean.

And I can do that here on this blog you know? Everyday I have this apron on, and I muck it up with all the thoughts I'm thinking, dreams I'm dreaming, and stuff I'm stuffing. Then, at the end of it all, I can sit down on my computer and write it out. I walk away cleaner, happier, and as a more purposeful kid.

Kids need that kind of a way out because they have a tendency to muck everything up too. They're clumsy with their bodies, unfamiliar with the mechanics of life. In a child's wake could be stains, spills, crumbs... fires even, I guess. Give a kid an apron though, and he doesn't have to be afraid of making a mess and the adults angry. When the deed is done, he can pull the apron off and there's one clean kid with all the experience and no worse for wear.

So that's the name. It's special to me, and I'll keep it around :)

5 Songs I Will Inevitably End Up Playing At Least Once During A Run

I don't know if anyone else does this, but when I got running I usually end up playing the same song three or four times in a row. By the end of my run I've listen to like, five songs, hahaha!

There are a few songs I do end up listening to pretty much every run though, and it's kind of an embarrassing list. Naturally, I've decided to share them with you:

Hair (Lady Gaga)

Till The World Ends (Britney Spears, Nicki Minaj, Ke$ha)

Galaxies (Owl City)

These Are The Nights (Making April)

Love is Dead (The Lovemakers)

I usually play each song multiple times because I like to imagine what a music video would look like for each of them, and sometimes I don't like what I end up imagining so I have to start the song all over again and try again :P It's an amusing game to play while running!

I feel like I haven't posted anything weighty on here for awhile; I've just been posting silly little things that make me happy. That's okay, though! Something in my personality that I've started to pick up on is the fact that the creative in me tends to only manifest itself in times of stress/distress. That sleep sex issue I wrote about, like, my third post? Yeah, I ended up writing a one act musical during that time, when I felt the most bleak. I don't say that to boast, because the script is rather verbose, silly, and melodramatic (hmmm...), but I look back on it and see it as a way that I funneled all my black and frustrated feelings away from myself. It was kind of an emotional vomit. I know that's gross; but I feel there is a lot of cool art out there that is a result of the need just let something out and let it go.

So let things come and go as naturally as you can. I've felt in the past that I had this crazy obligation to the world that I needed to do something big, something that the world had never seen before. I don't think it was ambition because the drive never took me any where. It was more of this persistent, nagging feeling that I used to force myself into way too many projects and make myself miserable. I felt I owed something to the world, and I literally have made myself sick over the feeling before. Reflecting on it now, it was an awful cycle to be in! I'm trying to break that cycle.

I'd like to blame being Mormon, I really would, but I feel like that would be unfair. Sure, I think that I have used the same unhealthy self-motivation technique at Church. "I don't feel like reading my scriptures for 30 minutes every day, but I have to, I have to!" "I don't agree with what the prophet is saying but I have to agree, I have to agree!" I had to do the actions and I had to nod my head because I owed it to God. What? Really? That's what you owe to God Elliot? No God would appreciate empty actions or nods, at least that is my understanding. Again, I have been guilty of a very empty pattern that is spiritually unhealthy. And I've started to break that cycle too.

Anyway, these thoughts are all connected to and support a new trend in my life, and that trend is one of listening and acknowledging myself. No more projects that I don't want to do, and no more spiritual self-abuse. Life right now is listening to those inner cues, the sensation and motivation that is already in me. Maybe I will learn new ways to live; that'd be cool! I always enjoy a good discovery :)

The Eagle: A Closeted Action Flick

I watched The Eagle last night, and I have to say, I really enjoyed it! It was a good film for various reasons,  some of which were its camera work, sets, sounds and locations.


The locations were my favorite, I think; they were gorgeous! But lets forget about the northern highlands of Britain for a sec, because, um, well...

...Channing Tatum and Jamie Bell. Yes indeed :)


My enjoyment of this movie may or may not have been supplemented by this:

and this:

But I'm still not sure if they contributed to my liking this movie or not... Meh, maybe if I look at these pictures long enough I'll make up my mind.


*drool*


So yeah, anyway, Channing Tatum and Jamie Bell are the main characters of The Eagle, Marcus and Esca respectively. And I couldn't help but feeling that their relationship in this movie wasn't... well... platonic.


Like there was that time when they took turns being each others "slaves." (yeah, that happened)


And that other time when a half-naked Esca had to pin down a half-naked Marcus so the doctor could pull some fragments of metal out of his leg. (Marcus really liked it.)


And that time where they jumped off their horses and wrestled each other while they tumbled down a ravine because they were "angry." (think Princess Bride)


Oh, and let's not forget that other time that Esca caressed the wounded Marcus' face in the rain proclaiming that he would return to save Marcus. (like in Spider-Man, except sans kissing and being upside down... so actually, nothing like Spider-Man; scratch that.)


So are Marcus and Esca just really good friends? Nah, it's probably more along the lines of this: Channing Tatum and Jamie Bell Are Having Sex
(which is actually only a portion of this article: Channing Tatum on Why The Eagle Is Not Homoerotic Even If He and Jamie Bell Are Having Sex)


There is nothing like a good movie that plays for both sides. Seriously, my brother thought it was great and I thought it was great. He got the suspense, the drama, the guts and the adventure; and I got the suspense, the drama, the guts, the adventure and a new favorite fictional gay couple. Fantastic :)

Jenna Dewan everybody. Channing Tatum is married to her...

                                                ...That must have been one tough call.

6 Songs I Sing in the Shower

I make this face when I shower because showering is great!

The acoustics in my bathroom are fantastic, and I use them to my advantage :) Here are a few songs I like stretch my vocal chords with:


Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again (Phantom of the Opera)

A New Life (Jekyll & Hyde)

Lost (Michael Buble)

Angels (David Archuleta)

As Long As Your Mine (Wicked)

O Holy Night (Nathan Pacheco)

I have a thing for ballads. And Christmas. There is nothing like belting ballady, Christmasy songs at the top of your lungs, and the best part about doing so in the shower is that no one is there to hear you mess up! (Unless your doing a duet with another person, which my shower isn't big enough for.) If you do mess up, you just say, "oh, well, I was just singing in the shower..." (It's socially acceptable to sing badly in the shower.) Another plus is that no one calls you out when you make up the lyrics, and that's nice because I do so mercilessly.

All That I Want

Hooray for guest posts! I wrote a guest post for LGBT Voices: Breaking the Silence, a fantastic blog flavored with a smattering of unique and beautiful voices. My post is 'All That I Want' :

http://lgbtvoices.blogspot.com

Take a look! :)

P.S. The boys in Montreal are really cute. Bah!

Summer Words #3

Our eyes are heavy with big dreams,
they close to see again,
our silly and elab'rate schemes,
we made with childhood friends


who'd play with us in cherry groves,
and sing us both to sleep,
near shady brooks aways above,
the royal castle's keep


on afternoons that never ceased,
to thrill, excite; they teemed
with dragon caves! Mermaids that teased,
and goblin raids we creamed.


These days, our eyes are open wide,
it's harder to believe
what lingers, hazy deep inside;
shadows that slipped Time's sieve.


Etched permanent on tired eyes,
the innocent and pure
we accidently left behind
pursuing what's preferred...


Preferred? No, maybe that's not right.
This life just seems to be,
a To Do trail that fills our sight;
a unchecked box Grand Prix.


So close your eyes a little more
often, and you will find
this race's price is just a whore,
your soul's the daily grind.


Oh childhood friend rest on my eyes!
My eyelid's tramp tattoo
will win me back that holy ice
that melted: me and you.

Summer Words #2

This isn't a cry for help, just more of a invitation to listen to me vent through the absurdities of what has become my everyday life:


I was warned by my psychiatrist when I started taking Zoloft that I'd become something akin to a Dementor. (Those aren't his words; they're mine.) And I think he may be right. I've spent the majority of the last couple of days walking around my house wrapped in a blanket. The menacing effect usually associated with the presence of a cloaked figure is reduced to nothing, however, due to the fact that the blanket I've been cloaked in is polk-a-dotted in teddy bears.


I have become, as the Lindsay-Lohan-possessed-Jamie-Lee-Curtis of Freaky Friday so aptly puts it, a "funsucker." I have become increasingly blunt with everyone, and have retreated to the corners of my house to escape contact with anyone in my neighborhood. (That doesn't stop me from posting this where those same people can access my inner-most thoughts on the Internet; but hey, I know I'm hypocritical.)


I also feel like God has been speaking to me through Oprah Winfrey and Vogue. This has nothing to do with being a Dementor; it's merely a strange fact. I'm adding Miss Winfrey and the holy pages of Vogue to my non-existent list of mystic resources.


Honestly and most truly, though: I feel like crap. I get cheeky and weird when I feel like crap.


On the top of my list of To Do's is this melodramatic-sounding task: survive. I'm no Bear Grylls, thankfully (I believe the man to have a not-so-secret desire to be naked on camera in nature. ), so I don't think the task to be to difficult to achieve, but there it is. 


Have you ever read the poems of Charles Baudelaire before? I certainly hadn't, until I got one of those little poetry books from that public brothel of books, the library. I'm kind of stuck on The Albatross right now. Lovely, sad little poem.

...


Oh, yeah, now I remember what I was going to say about it. One thing I am feeling pretty good about is shedding some narcissism. I am the first to admit that I'm in love with myself, and that I hate myself too. I feel like I am a gaggle of bratty high school cheerleaders on the inside, complete with that ugly one that the other cheerleaders keep around so they feel better about themselves. I'm not sure what's triggered  this "shedding," if you will, other than my utter lack of motivation to do things. But I'm starting to understand more fully that the individuality that I feel isn't unique to me. Everyone feels unique; it's like The Incredibles. "Saying everyone is special is the same as saying no one is," or something like that. It's not really a sad thought; it's actually quite comforting. Our perceived uniqueness, like our imperfections, are common ground. We all have it, so we're all human.


 Right now, I just kind of want to exist and drift. Oh, and nap. Where's my teddy bear blanket?

Summer Words #1

Beware... Below is a verbal oil spill, and it will take months to clean it up. Might I suggest donating your hair to the cause?

I. Journal (This Book)

     I'm connected to this book. It is pretty much like a bead of sweat that formed between my eyes. It rolled down, from that place, past the tip of my nose, over my mouth, twisted over the nape of my neck, and has travelled down my spine. A salty wet trail; I can feel it and it is all mine. The breeze may amplify and subsequently dull the sensation. The rain? It will inevitably wash it all away. But this will always be mine: the residue between mine eyes.

II. Dim Little Lantern Dreams

     A room is filled with dusty air, and has a floor of glass. Oh! And a pedestal at its center. A dim little lantern sits (a lot) on that dusty pedestal, illuminating the little dark neglected by the moonlight and ignored by the shadows. It waits and glows in a cute attempt to be noticed, for the floor of glass is high above the world, and the world could see under its skirt, if only it were looking. Passersby hardly ever seem to care or wonder about a little glow in the sky's evening gown.
     I wouldn't worry too much, dim little lantern; just glow. Those who don't notice you now will never really know what they're missing in their dreams. What keeps me up so late at night is that my flame won't ever be as bright as yours... It's your little light that sets me free.
     So the crowds all jostle past that spot where I can look up and stare at you. There's only so much meaning in the horizontal life. I hope that I, soon, can be where you are little light; shut out all that's meaningless too, and (hopefully) be seen by someone as dissatisfied as me.

III. Life is Perhaps

     Is writing all this worthless? No, I don't think so. It all needs to come out somehow, somewhere. At least in this form I don't add baggage or tears to my load.
     It seems silly that this is what life is; a marked absence of something better that isn't ever satisfied. The more I consume, the more I feel empty. But such prosaic, well-known notions of wisdom don't absolve the issue.
     But perhaps I'm not the space that needs filling. Perhaps I'm the puzzle piece neglecting my space. Is it possible I'm an ignorant whole who's neglecting his part? Where is it then? Where do I want me? Perhaps like a chain whose links have all been prepared, the plan is to hold another's hand and reach out for a stranger's space. The linked human mind is better than just one, I know. So shall I hook on to the greater ones and let my ego go? Invite others to join me in this abstract quest? But wait...Who will hold my hand? I cannot write the rest.

IV. Binge

     An absence of hunger and still my mind wanders towards consumption. There is no abstention. There isn't a future. Just mindless self-gratification. Self-hate? Nah... Just empty space; pitiful empty space that needs a filling. A peach pie, as wholesome as it sounds, is only artery clogging like a traffic jam. I tap the wheel impatiently and fantasize of abandoning my vehicle and jumping ship. (Let's just let go. Please, let's Just. Let. Go. And so I will and do always!) But as soon as I snap back, and the traffic crawls again, I am alone with dark thoughts... and an aching stomach.