Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Jason Smith

Next in the Jim Series: When Jim fake auditioned for the school play

It was my sophomore year, so Jim was a brand new Freshman, and he and I decided to audition for the fall play. Ok, well, I decided to audition to be in the fall play...Jim had other plans. You see, Sarah and I were both not fans of our high school theatre teacher, and we had spent quite a bit of time talking about her inadequacy before Jim had gotten to Hylton. One of the greatest/worst things about Jim was his complete willingness to get on board without any research of his own. Jim trusted our opinions, so if we thought the teacher was crap, she was CRAP. An unlike me (and to his credit, it was a way better decision), he decided he was not going to suffer through crap just to be able to be in the school play.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to audition anyway.

When we tell people that Jim always lived for the story...this is actually a PERFECT example of that. He was simply going to do something so that later, he (and I!) could tell a story about it. And what a story it was...

The drama teacher, we'll call her Ms. D, decided that instead of a full play she was going to do two one acts. All we had to prepare for the audition was a one minute monologue. I performed the Sally monologue from "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown."

Jim performed this (start at 1:50):


No, but seriously.

The Ezekiel monologue from Pulp Fiction.

He told us what he was planning to do, so Sarah and I decided to sneak into the auditorium because we knew we had to witness this MADNESS. As we crawled in behind the seats so we wouldn't be seen, Jim walked into the auditorium with our friend Pogo (Patrick) in tow. He told Ms. D that Pogo was there because he needed a human prop to perform his monologue, and he also asked for a chair (for non-theatre people...the chair is typical in an audition...the human prop...not so much).

And then Jim...PERFORMED. I was crying through tears of laughter, not because he was bad, but because he was BRILLIANT. He had this monologue down pat. And the monologue did not end with the last word, oh no. He and Pogo followed through to the bitter end, fake convulsions and everything. It to this day is one of the most outlandish things I have ever seen. Again, for those of you who don't audition...this just...does not happen. Sarah and I were beside ourselves.

Jim then politely thanked Ms. D (who was speechless), and he and Pogo silently walked out of the auditorium. We spent the rest of the day recounting the story to everyone and laughing about how Jim had just screwed himself out of being in anything for the next four years, and that it was totally worth it.

AND THEN HE GOT CAST. AND GOT A PRETTY GOOD PART.

Jim decided why not see if there were any more opportunities to live for the story, so he decided to come with me to the first rehearsal. It was pretty basic, just a read through, except that Ms. D kept calling Jim "Jason" and he just never corrected her. He had absolutely no intention of coming to another rehearsal, so why make the effort?

After the next few rehearsals, when Jim didn't show up, Ms. D asked me to tell him he really needed to start coming because he was very important to the show. A few days later, she saw Jim in the hallway, ran up to him, and said:

"Jim!! Please, if you see Jason, tell him we really need him to come to rehearsal!"

Yes.

She thought Jim had a twin brother named Jason.

We STILL laugh about this. The next year when he was cast as Billus in South Pacific, she figured out that there was in fact just one person with that set of DNA at Hylton High School and that Jason Smith was just a figment of her imagination...let's just say she wasn't pleased.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Our last conversation

It's been a while.

There is so much going on right that it is sometimes too much to process. I have been wanting to blog for a while, but I haven't felt particularly inspired. Lately work has left me so fried that I can't even bring myself to think about writing, let alone actually do it.

Sarah is working on compiling people's stories of Jim for a special project, and I've been putting off compiling mine. Jim is the only best friend I've ever lost, and it's not always easy to have to recall memories of our past. It can be painful. I miss him. But after a really awesome couple of weeks of getting time with other best friends, I figured I wasn't being fair to him, to his memory. I wasn't giving him the time he deserves. I decided to sit down and start to compile. When you spend as much time with someone as I did with Jim, you gather a lot of stories, so I only have a preliminary list and I'm only just beginning to elaborate on them. Which gave me an idea.

I spend a lot of time telling people about my best friends that are still here, sharing their stories and what they mean to me. I tend to keep Jim to myself, or to people who he meant that much to too. But I think maybe it's time to start sharing some of my stories with people who maybe never knew Jim, and as long as I'm writing them down, why not use them here? It's something I'm doing either way, and what could be more inspirational to this blog than Jim?

So with this post, I introduce: The Jim Series. I cannot tell you how long it will last, how often I'll post, but I'm going to share some of my stories here. Some are meaningful, some are HILARIOUS, all are important to me, and important to who he was and is to me.

Why not start with a double whammy: Our Last Conversation

Jim was a man of action, not usually words. In our friendship, I knew I mattered to Jim not because he ever really said it, he just showed it countless ways. And that was always fine with me. I liked that our conversations were typically made up of banter, not flattery. It's ironic and beautiful that the last conversation we ever had was an absolute contradiction to the general terms of our friendship.

The week before Jim and Mrs. Smith died I gave a recital at JMU. It wasn't required for my degree but I had enough repertoire to give one and I really wanted to make more performance opportunities for myself than I was getting. I had the recital on December 11 of that year at Otterbein Methodist Church, where I sang for a church job. Almost all of my friends, several of my professors, and other people I knew in the community came. Jim was obviously one of them.

The week leading up to my recital I was completely focused on having everything ready (and passing the rest of my finals), so I didn't talk to Jim at all. What I didn't realize was that he was insanely sick that entire week, yet he dragged himself out of bed to make sure he made it to my recital. After it was over, as I was greeting and thanking people for coming, he came up to me and first introduced me to Emily, his girlfriend who I hadn't met yet, and then proceeded to say the nicest things he has ever said to me.

He first told me that he was so proud of me and that I sounded so amazing, and that he was blown away about how far my singing had come since he had last heard me. Then he told me he was just so happy that we were friends, that I meant so much to him and that he loved me a lot.

I completely taken aback by his candidness, but I thanked him over and over and told him that I loved him too and was also so happy we were friends. He told me he wasn't feeling great so I thanked him again for coming, gave him a big hug, and he and Emily left. It was the last time I ever saw him. For those of you who are new to me, my blog, my long history with the Smith family or the Smiths in general, a week later he and his mom were killed in their home by an armed robber.

I want to reiterate again how out of the ordinary Jim's behavior was. It's not that he wasn't normally a nice guy, or that he didn't say kind things, he absolutely did, he just wasn't usually gushy. At least not to me. I would have expected a "Yo that recital was the MAD NOTES" or "Seriously wtf let's get drunk to celebrate how TIGHT that was!" Maybe it was the cold meds, or maybe he just had a strange premonition that he needed to say it then and in that way. Either way, this conversation will mean the world to me for the rest of my life.

When someone dies it's natural to think about your last conversation with them, your last interaction. My last interaction with Mrs. Smith was completely opposite; she was driving me and Sarah crazy as we sat in the house two days before she died, trying to have a girl talk convo that was continually getting interrupted by Mrs. Smith going on and on about the goings on of the Hylton Choir Department. Completely typical...exactly what I loved about her. Conversely, that was absolutely the perfect ending for my relationship with her because it was true, it was real, it summarized so much about what she meant to me and how things were, how I'll always remember her.

What I love about my last interaction with Jim was that it summarized who he was. He was more than the kid who lived for the story. He was the kid who lived for the people he loved, the one who was willing to do everything for them. He was the guy who was always on board, always supporting you, whether it was at a recital or realizing your biggest and scariest dreams. He is one of my main examples of unconditional love. I treasure this moment, this glimpse of his deepest nature, and when I miss him most it is what gets me through.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

An updated and revised bucket list

So in October 2010, I wrote a Bucket List. I was feeling really down and out of control of my own life (not too out of the ordinary for a just out of college 22 year old, but I didn't quite realize that at the time), so writing down my goals helped me focus on hope and the future.

I've been feeling in a rut lately, and without hope, without direction. So I thought about this Bucket List. Maybe it's time to start crossing things off. But I reread it, and it needs revising. So why not now?! I'm trying this new thing where I stop letting fear get in the way of being me, especially the fear of damaging my pride. So I'm gonna be honest on this list. Maybe too honest. And there are things on here I might never get, and I might never do. Old me would have been afraid of looking like a failure later on because of it. But new me realizes that if you live a life of happiness, you can't fail. So maybe I won't do it all. But I'm gonna try. And I'm gonna do lots. And it's going to be amazing. And I'm gonna be happy, no matter what.

So without further ado, I admit to you, my hopes and dreams:

-Fall in love
-Read all of Jane Austen's books
-See the Vatican
-Visit Israel
-Cook an entire Thanksgiving Dinner on my own
-Visit South Africa
-Work on Broadway. There. I said it.
-Have red hair
-Run a marathon
-Go to Australia
-Go skydiving
-Have kids
-Learn how to ride a unicycle
-Learn how to juggle
-Visit every state
-Visit every continent
-Go on an Alaska cruise
-Fly first class
-Eat real gelato and pizza in Italy
-Go to Ireland
-Have $100,000 saved in a bank account
-Direct a musical
-Drive a car in England
-Become fluent in another language
-Do a multi-day hike
-Meet JK Rowling
-Go to Times Square for New Years
-Record a CD
-Take a cooking class with a legit chef
-Go para-sailing
-See an opera in Europe
-Go to the Met
-Be a guest lecturer
-Live at the Beach
-Live in New York again
-Master a cartwheel
-Perform for more than 2,000 people
-See a production of the Nutcracker
-See a production of Swan Lake
-Go to a Hollywood premiere
-Write a book
-Go to an Eagles game
-Watch the Eagles win the Superbowl (doesn't have to be in person...although that is ideal)
-Buy a house
-Have a wiener dog named Tucker (assuming I am not allergic...)
-Ride in a hot air balloon
-Make something go viral on the internet

And, as ever, MORE TO COME!

Monday, May 7, 2012

Schwartzy Speeches

So for those of you who've been paying attention, for the past two months I've been in the Workhouse Theatre's production of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. Yesterday was closing, which is always bittersweet, BUT it means that I can finally post the blog I've been waiting for since February!

Back story: I played Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre (Schwartzy), the youngest speller at the bee. She lisps, goes to a magnet elementary school, is up on her current events, is extremely liberal, and is raised by her two gay dads. Daniel Schwartz is one of them; he's the more effeminate of the two, and is usually played by the actor playing Mitch, who in our show was black (I promise, this is important information for several of my speeches). The other is Carl Grubenierre (hence...SchwartzANDgrubenierre as her last name), the no-nonsense, ambitious authoritarian played by the actor playing Leaf. It's revealed over the course of the show that they put a lot of pressure on Logainne, and for someone so young, she has a TON of anxiety over needed to please them. In the second half of the show, Schwartzy goes on a "rant." It's down to the final three spellers, and it's her turn at the mic, but before she's given her word, a cell phone goes off in the house. It ends up being another speller, Olive Ostrovsky, who is still waiting for her dad to show up to watch the bee. Since it's him on the phone, she asks if she can answer (TOTALLY against the rules). The bee's emcee, Rona Peretti, who is protective of Olive since she's all alone, interrupts the bee to answer the phone on Olive's behalf. This is highly irritating to Schwartzy, who not only is waiting to spell, but is a strict rule follower. It's written in the script that while she's waiting at the mic for Rona to finish the phone call, she goes on a rant. It also says the monologue must be re-written at least weekly, because it's supposed to be something topical in order to give off the impression that Schwartzy is just ad-libbing. Other than a few guidelines for what the monologue needs to include, as well as some examples Sarah Saltzberg (the original Schwartzy) wrote, it is completely up to the actress playing the role to create this rant.

This means that for the past three months, I've been writing a new Schwartzy speech every single week (and sometimes more than that). This has been quite the exercise for this "singer-first-actress-second" who balks anytime she sees an audition notice that requires a monologue with her 16-bar cut. But honestly, even though I stressed about these every single Friday, I absolutely loved this aspect of the role. As anyone who reads this blog knows, I really do love writing, and it was nice to be able to utilize that within a performance. Plus after two months of shows, I now feel WAY more comfortable giving monologues (ideally in a interdental lisp, but not all roles call for that...), so that's just an added bonus.

So this post is a collection of all of my speeches (for the most part). Every Friday I would have a panic attack realizing I had procrastinated writing the speech for the entire week, and I would open a blank email and wrack my brain (or Allison's) trying to think of what to talk about. I had a general system that developed over time, as you will see. The script had some guidelines: the topic needs to be current, it should involve Logainne's dads, and if at all possible, address something political. My formula was use the first sentence to segue into the topic (even if it didn't make a ton of sense, so I wouldn't read into the first sentences too much), make a political joke, a gay joke, potentially a racist joke (no one was spared, I guess), and have my final sentence include the words "Lady Gaga." This was so that Jeff, our "Vice Principal Panch," knew exactly when to cut me off. Once I finished writing, I would email every speech to Dan so that it lived in my sent mail folder. Then, backstage before the show, I'd pull out my phone and memorize it. What I have below was usually tweaked during the actual performance, either because it was Saturday and I was referencing something that happened on Friday (for instance, the 4/20 monologue had some tense changes to account for the change of day) or because I felt an urge to change something and just went with it. It also doesn't account for the pauses I took or reactions I gave, so you'll have to use your imaginations. I'm pretty sure there's a video somewhere of at least one of them, so when I get it, I'll post it!

I owe a lot of people thank yous for inspiring these speeches, so as we go, I'll add my commentary in this color. General disclaimer: I was writing this AS A CHARACTER. It does not necessarily mean these are my own opinions. Keep that in mind as you read. :)

Without further ado....I give you...SHANNON KINGETT'S SCHWARTZY RANTS:

February 28 (my first attempt at the speech, so please be kind...I promise they get better): This bee is about as reputable as the 2012 Oscar winners. You know there's something wrong with the world when a movie doesn't even need to have man's greatest achievement, the spoken word, to receive the highest award in cinema. Every year my dads host a themed Oscars party. This year was by far the best theme yet: "Hugo the Descending Artist". As great as the party was, I found the ceremony severely lacking. Cirque su Soleil is so 2007. The only choice my dads found acceptable was the award for Best Actress. Meryl Streep is basically worshipped by my dads. In our house, she's second only to Lady Gaga.

March 6 (the speech I used during tech week): This bee is about as successful as Lindsay Lohan’s latest attempt at salvaging her career. It’s a weekly tradition in our house to watch Saturday Night Live as a family. It’s the only time that my dads do not strictly enforce my usual 9 o’clock bed time. After whipping up our themed midnight snack of good-enough-to-steal-hummus and better-than-crack vegan brownies, we sat back to enjoy what would turn out to be an hour and a half of mediocre sketch comedy. Despite the fact that last week’s episode was panned by critics across the board, my Dan-dad, a longtime proponent of Lindsay, said that it was a big step towards recovery, and even wrote about it in his blog: “The Manifesto of a Black Gay Jew.” Carl-dad still says that SNL will never reach its fullest potential until they let Lady Gaga host. 


March 9 (opening weekend): This bee is as confusing as the explosion of news regarding Ugandan war lord, Joseph Kony. As a self proclaimed political activist, I support the use of social media to spread important information (follow me on twitter, @schwartzyspells!), but I find it pretty ironic that people believe retweeting Kim Kardashian is the way to incite global awareness. My dads were pretty inspired by the video though, so much that they decided to use the same medium to help spread their own political interests! So this week, in addition to prepping for the bee, we’ve been filming their first project, entitled: “Someday We’ll Find it: The Rainbow Connection”. My dads are the co-writers, and I’m the cameraman. It’s about 5 minutes long so far, and while there are some heavy hitting photo slideshows and statistics, most of it consists of a choreographed dance they do to Lady Gaga’s “Born this Way.”

March 16 (I was only in for one show this weekend, because we had an FSO concert that conflicted, so my understudy went in. She wrote her own speech, so I used this for the weekend of March 24 as well): This bee is about as insane as America's preoccupation with "March Madness." In my house though, we're not that into sports, mostly just politics and Perez Hilton.com. Though my dads and I are all blue-bleeding liberals, we have been following the elephant race with much interest. That's why for the past 6 months, we've been monitoring our own "Republican Trainwreck" brackets. It's a very exciting time now that we're into the final four. If you ask me, America's true madness lies in the very real possibility that Rick Santorum may take the GOP nomination. Talk about a Cinderella Story. My Carl-Dad thought Newt Gingrich was going to go all the way, but he's probably regretting that decision now! He said maybe Newt would win if his sister was a more of a lipstick lesbian rather than a butch bag, but I don't really know what those things mean. Dan-Dad says that no matter who's up for election, he's writing in Lady Gaga.

March 30 (this was hands down the easiest speech to write. I think it took me less than five minutes. What can I say, I was inspired! I had decided to write about The Hunger Games movie in combination with Dick Cheney's heart transplant until I happened to hear a radio story mentioning the lottery, and I just knew. This is probably my favorite speech that I gave the whole run): This bee is as crazy as the mania surrounding tonight's half billion dollar lottery. I think the only other time I've ever seen 7-11 that crowded was the day after Ramadan ended! Let's be honest though, the real gambling story of the week is America's willingness to gamble its sanity by allowing Dick Cheney to get a second chance at life. I plan on being an organ donor when I am old enough to get my license, but I also plan on adding an addendum next to that little heart that says: "Except for Republicans". My dads have both decided to try their luck at tonight's big lotto. Carl-dad says that if he wins he's spending the money on high-risk investments, but Dan-dad says his list is much shorter and simpler. He'd just buy Lady Gaga.

April 6: This bee is as insane as a kid at an Easter egg hunt. My Carl dad says that other than Arbor day, Easter is the gayest holiday there is. I find this somewhat contradictory to the religious basis of the holiday, but I guess not much about a pink bunny who delivers chocolate screams heterosexual. That's why we usually celebrate at the big gay Easter parade in New Orleans Louisiana, but this year we couldn't go because of tonight's bee. But it's definitely a cultural celebration for us, because My family isn't religious. The only things my dads worship are karaoke, grey goose martinis, and Lady Gaga.

April 13 (Two of the people in my cast, Anna and Amie, were just as obsessed with Titanic as me, so we went to see it in theatres on April 12, and it inspired this entire speech): This bee is about as well thought out as the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic. This weekend marks the 100th anniversary of the sinking of Titanic, and it's not a day that goes unnoticed in our house. We usually celebrate by visiting one of America's many Titanic museums or exhibits, but we couldn't go this year because of tonight's bee. On the car ride here, my Carl-Dad said it would have been convenient if the other spellers had to take the Titanic to get to tonight's bee, but I told him that if I had to wish a Titanic voyage on anyone, it would be Mitt Romney. Then we had a good laugh. Since we couldn't visit Orlando's Titanic Experience as planned, this week we went to the 3D showing of the James Cameron film. My dads said the 3D was good, but it would have been better utilized if Leonardo Di Caprio was the one doing the posing instead of the painting. We stayed all the way through the credits, because My Heart Will Go On is my Dan Dad's favorite song. He says that nothing could ever top it....well, unless Lady Gaga did a cover.

April 20 (at this point in the run, I was starting to develop major writer's block, so the BRILLIANCE of Allison Kinney inspired this speech): This Sunday is Earth Day, which means it's time for the annual camping trip my dads go on with their friends. I don't know why they always go two days BEFORE Earth Day, but they say that's their own way of celebrating. I asked if I could come this year but my Carl-Dad says the 420 camping trip is definitely not for children. I did get to help him pack the car last night though. I was surprised at how many bags of cheetos they were going to need for a one night trip! I always stay at my babysitter's house, and we celebrate Earth Day by watching Planet Earth or Captain Planet. Is it just me, or do all the villains in "Captain Planet" resemble the current leaders of the Republican Party? Whatever Al Gore might say, if you ask me, THAT'S America's actual Inconvenient Truth! On actual Earth Day, we're having a costume party, and my Dan-Dad's is totally best. It's made of REAL DIRT. He calls it "Mother Nature meets Lady Gaga."

April 27 (this speech was inspired by two people, one inadvertently and one in another stroke of brilliance. This was my only speech not centered around a current event. That morning I got a text from my friend Chris that told me to look at that day's Groupon, because one of the things you could buy was an inflatable shark that FLIES. We have a long running joke about inflatable sea creatures, plus that sounded AWESOME anyway, so I checked it out and was obsessed immediately. There was even a youtube video of said "Air Swimmers," which I then showed to anyone with eyes. The first person I knew I had to show was Ash, because I know how much she loves sharks...well, toothy predators in general. Then, later that day, when I was agonizing over a speech topic, she was the one who suggested the shark vid...which I adapted into this): This bee is as bizarre as the recent rise of Groupon. My dads suffer from what I call "Extreme Grouponing." They're both shopaholics, so it's hard for them to resist sales sent right to their iPhones. That's why as of this morning, we're the proud owners of a $25 inflatable remote control shark. But if you ask me, Groupon is as pointless as Newt Gingrich's recent race resignation (yeah Newt, like that was a shock). For instance, my Carl-Dad got a laser hair removal Groupon, and after he finished all the sessions, he still had all his hair! Well, at least where I could see it. And it's gotten to the point that people think my Dan-Dad is African American...but really, it's just too many Groupon Spray-Tans! I mean come on, his last name is SCHWARTZ. And trust me, it was the Harvey Milk assasination ALL over again when they realized they missed the Groupon for tickets to Lady Gaga.

May 4 (For closing weekend, I did a different speech every night! This was hands down my nerdiest speech of the whole run, and interestingly enough, the only time my character vocally acknowledged her speech impediment the whole run): This bee is as unorganized as the rebel alliance's first attack on the Death Star! My dads' best kept secret is their affinity for nerd culture. They love it all: Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Comic Book movies...I'm still pretty tired from last night's midnight showing of The Avengers. But their first and truest nerd love is Star Wars, so today is a pretty big day in our house. For all you newbs out there, today is Star Wars Day! Today is May Fourth...so May the fourth be with you! And YES. I said it that way ON PURPOSE. I think my favorite Star Wars character is Anakin Skywalker, aka the sith Lord Vader, because his character arch is the most compelling. You know...speaking of sith lords, is it just me, or is Emperor Palpatine a dead ringer for Dick Cheney? Anyway, my Carl-Dad's favorite character is Mace Windu. He says he has a thing for strong black men with purple lightsabers. My Dan-dad loves Queen Amadala, but I think that's because she's usually dressed like Lady Gaga.


May 5 (writing this one was hard because I did on the drive back from JMU graduation on Saturday. And I didn't write it so much as dictate it to Katie, who was riding shotgun. I'm a visual person so it was REALLY difficult for me to think and brainstorm out loud rather than on paper, so I think this was the longest it ever took me to write a whole speech. But Katie was awesome for doing this and helping me brainstorm!!!): This Bee is as inappropriate as America's fascination with Cinco de Mayo. Today is not only Cinco de Mayo but the Kentucky Derby, which means that currently I'm living in a broken home. We normally celebrate them both independently, but because they fall on the same day, it's created a lot of tension. Let's be honest, just like everything in life, this all boils down to racial discrepancy. On the one hand you have my Dan-dad wanting to celebrating his ethnic background, which by the way isn't even Mexican, and on the other you have my Carl-dad with his hats and horses, aka basically the whitest thing you can do as an American...well besides NASCAR. Either way, I think both are ridiculous. Animal cruelty versus people celebrating a national victory for a country that's not even theirs? Typical America. So I suggested a compromise. That's why before we came to the Bee, we had a joint celebration which my dads entitled "Cinco de Drinko". Everyone's race hats were sombreros and they placed bets with tequila shots instead of money. That's why we had to get out next door neighbor Mrs. Rogers to drive us to the Bee. It was so embarrassing; my Carl dad kept insulting Mrs. Rogers's cats and my Dan-dad wouldn't stop singing Lady Gaga.

May 6 (MY FINAL SPEECH! Not gonna lie, was not sad that this was the last time I had to do this IN THE SLIGHTEST. I was getting pretty sick of it. I wrote this yesterday morning in the dressing room in a COMPLETE panic. It was the longest I've ever procrastinated a speech. So this speech, appropriately so, was influenced by my entire cast! :D): This bee is as stereotypical as Mother's Day. We celebrate most holidays in the typical American way. A Christmas tree in December, Fireworks for Fourth of July, A 19 pound vegan tofurky at Thanksgiving...but, for obvious reasons, Mother's day is a little different in our house. Even though it's not till next week, I'm already excited. We start by waking with the dawn, and my Carl-dad leads us in morning yoga to honor our earth mother. Then we go to brunch, not because it's Mother's day, but because brunch is pretty big in the gay community. After that we take midday nap watching fox news. Nothing puts me to sleep faster than Glenn Beck! In the afternoon Dan-dad gives his yearly presentation on the year's most compelling Baby Mama. This year we're learning about Beyonce! Then after dinner they both give a joint performance honoring their Monster Mother--meaning they do a choreographed dance to Lady Gaga's "Born this Way".

And that's that! It was really a great run and I know I'm going to miss it a lot. Since it's only Monday, it hasn't really hit me that it's over, but I'm sure come Friday I'll be feeling some post-show blues. And hey, maybe one day I'll play this role again and will have to write even MORE speeches. GET EXCITED!

The cast of spelling bee:
(Back L to R) Anthony Williams at Mitch Mahoney (Dan-dad!), Amie Cazel as Olive Ostrovsky, Shannon Kingett as Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre, Ben Gibson as William Barfée, Eben Kuhns as Leaf Coneybear (Carl-dad!), Mary Omohundro as Rona Peretti, Jeff Davis as Vice Principal Panch.
(Front L to R) Harrison Lee as Chip Tolentino, Anna Jackson as Marcy Park

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

When meaningless becomes meaningful

I don't know how it happened guys, but the Disco has gone sappy. I SWORE I WOULD NEVER BE THIS WAY! I should probably do something really epic soon to give you all the comedy you CRAVE.

But for now...introspection.

I was born and raised in a devout Catholic household (don't worry, this story is not going to be about my intelligent departure from religion, nor is it going to be about how my favorite pastime is sprinkling the homeless with holy water...just keep reading). That means that in 7th/8th grade, it was time to prep for Confirmation, which is ultimately the last sacrament you MUST receive as a full blown, from-birth Catholic (the only ones left are marriage, holy orders, and absolution of the sick, three of which you will only receive if your life goes in any of those directions).

Sacrament prep varies slightly depending on where you go to church, but most of the time, you have to pick a patron saint and write a report about them. The kids who are lucky enough to be born with classic biblical names like James or Elizabeth usually have a pretty easy choice and write about St. James, or St. Elizabeth, but those of us named after rivers in Ireland have the challenge of finding a saint that appeals to our personal interests. In the report, you have to talk about the history of the saint, but also about why you picked them.

A habitual procrastinator, I am pretty sure I wrote my saint report the day before all of my confirmation stuff was due. So needless to say, I didn't put too much thought into who my patron saint was going to be. A week or two earlier, my mom asked me how my research was going, and I answered with the typical "Oh, it's going okay. I'm still indecisive about who I'm going to pick though, there's just so many good ones," knowing that this would be enough to appease her without probing any more questions. The truth was, the extent of my research thus far had been finding a list of saint names on the internet and seeing which name sounded coolest. Maybe my mom was smarter/more perceptive than she let on, because instead of letting the conversation end there, she gave me some direction.

She asked me if I had heard anything about St. Theresa the Little Flower (yes devout Catholics, I know that's not the correct way of writing her name, but I'll get to that). I told her "Yeah I think I read a little bit about her" (lies). She then told me a story about how influential said saint was in her own life, and why I might be interested in taking her name:

St. Therese has a prayer that you can do (which I later found out is called her novena), and it is said that if your prayer is going to be answered, you will see the sign of a rose within 9 days. When my grandma was sick with lung cancer, my mom's cousin said the novena and prayed that my grandma would get better. Exactly nine days later, she went out to dinner with her husband, and was seated in front of a stained glass window that was a picture of a rose (now that I think about it, I wonder if this dinner was in the west wing of the Beast's castle). A few weeks later, my grandma's cancer went into remission. Eventually, the cancer came back as a brain tumor, and this time my mom prayed a novena herself, but this time asked for my grandma to no longer suffer, whether that be through healing or through death. If I remember the story correctly, within the span of nine days, my dad randomly brought her roses after work one day, and a few weeks later, my grandma passed away.

As 12 year old Shannon wasn't a cynic nor a skeptic (yet), this story was SUPER impressive to me, so I decided why belabor my saint decision? This saint was as good as any and had a personal connection to my life. DONE AND DONE. I dug through my belongings, found my trusty children's book on saints that I got for Christmas three years before, summarized the four paragraphs in the book into one about her life, threw in the story about my grandma, and BAM! Saint report done.

Needless to say, one paragraph on her life that I based on information in a book written for 10 year olds was really not a thorough examination of the impact she had on the world. I didn't even know that she was actually called Therese, not Theresa. But it was good enough to get me on the "Getting Confirmed" list, so I thought absolutely nothing of it.

It wasn't until years later, when I was a Summer Friendship Director, that I realized how little I knew about my own patron saint, and how much the 7th graders I was working with DID know about theirs. Talk about embarrassing. As they told me the stories of their own saints, a lot of whom were child martyrs, or men and women who performed incredible miracles, I decided it was time I learned more about my own saint so I could talk about all of the epic things she did too.

The first thing I learned was how to actually say and spell her name. GOOD TO GO.

The second thing I learned was that St. Therese? Yeah. She didn't do anything epic. She became a nun super young, prayed a lot, was usually sick, and died of tuberculosis.

WHAT? THIS was the person who represented SHANNON KINGETT?! I was so mad at myself for not researching better, resulting in me picking someone so lame. I could have picked St. Maria Goretti! St. Agnes! Someone STRONG! Someone like ME!

This was Summer 2008, and it was a period of time of over-abundant faith in my life, as well as over-abundant arrogance. I of course kept this new knowledge of my saint and these opinions on her awesomeness to myself, as revealing them would have meant revealing my vast ignorance of the faith I had basically tattooed across my forehead. I patted myself on the back for learning EVEN MORE about Catholicism and went on my merry way.

I spent the next six months becoming an even more awesome Catholic. I started keeping a prayer journal. I volunteered with the youth group at the Catholic Church in Harrisonburg. I took a vow to quit drinking completely until my 21st birthday. I went to confession. I remembered all the Holy Days without having to be reminded by my mom. I was even arrogant enough to pray for an increase in faith, because I figured I was already such an awesome person in every other way, that the only thing that could make me better was to be even MORE faithful.

Then my best friend and my second mom got murdered.

A whole lot changed after that. In retrospect, my "faithfulness" was simply a combination of a very sheltered and relatively pain-free childhood (of which I am not complaining about whatsoever, I am eternally grateful and blessed) and a deep connection with the Holy Family community, a connection that had been reaffirmed by working there 60 hours a week for two summers. This was not true faith, and it was not strong enough to endure the absolute despair I was dealing with. I think the easiest way to explain it is to liken my life, security, and faithfulness to a house. So when the dust after this explosion of a tragedy settled and I attempted to see how bad the damage was, what I found was nothing. Absolutely nothing remained of my house, and it was like the builders had forgotten to put in a foundation, so I had absolutely no idea how to even try rebuilding. And to be honest, I didn't even know if the "land" was salvageable.

I was, figuratively, homeless for the first time in my entire life.

People react to tragedy's almost inevitable shake of faith differently. I know a lot of people who depart completely from their older ways of thinking. From what they used to be faithful to. They look for new answers, new solutions, thinking that their old way of thinking must have flawed. Other people cling even harder to what they believed before. They rebuild quickly (sometimes for the better, and sometimes foolishly so). I didn't do either of those things. Rather than quickly build a new house, or move to a new one, I decided just to chill out on my little plot of land and see what happened without anything to protect me from the elements. To be honest, it was because I was completely paralyzed. The shock of what had happened to two of the people I loved most was hard enough, but the shock of what that event had done to my spiritual life? I couldn't think, I couldn't move. So I just stayed still. Which, in a not figurative sense, meant going to church (sometimes) to go through the motions, but feeling and emotionally giving absolutely nothing.

Houses, simply put, provide shelter. They protect you from the elements. They protect you from danger. So here I was, completely unprotected for the first time. It was not long before doubt, cynicism, and skepticism crept in. Part of that was due to the situation, but part of that is inherently part of my personality anyway. I am cynical, I am skeptical, and I am logical far more than I am emotional. My friends joke that if I don't know something I immediately look it up, because I always need to KNOW. And I need to have proof.

So the questions that existed in the back of my mind probably my whole life came SCREAMING to the forefront, unhindered now that I had no roof to shelter me, and suddenly I was not paralyzed by shock, but by fear. What if I've been wrong this whole time? What if there is no God? Then what? The fear of death completely crippled me. What used to be infrequent feelings of discomfort that maybe came into my mind on occasion were now constant panic-attack inducing obsessions. I was not only hanging out on my homeless piece of land, I was covering my head with my arms, unable to move from the fetal position, terrified of what might happen. Basically unable to shield myself from the storm of doubt and despair. Incoherent and basically unconscious.

The death of the Smiths was like a bomb. Highly destructive but instantaneous. But what happened to me in the aftermath was like a Class 5 hurricane. Unrelenting. Unbearable. And never-ending.

But like after any horrible storm, eventually, the winds die down. It took me days, weeks, months, years, but eventually, I realized the storm was no longer raging. It was time to open my eyes, and look at how well I had fared on my shelter-less piece of land. Not well...but I was still alive. Still breathing. Miraculously, still able to stand, to walk. And when I realized I at least had those things to cling to, even if my house was gone, I knew I had a starting point. A road to recovery.

I could do an entire blog post on what my emotional and mental recovery road has been like. But right now, I'm talking about my spiritual recovery. It has taken me so, so, SO long, but I do think I've wrapped my brain around how far I fell, and how much rebuilding I need to do. And another fun lesson I've learned through all of this is that falling away from God and faith is quick and SO easy. Rebuilding faith? Sometimes it feels impossible.

It has only been very, very recently that I have been actively seeking out answers, and not just leaving the scary questions in my head to fester. And by recently, I mean last six months recently. I cannot just sit and wait to be healed, wait for faith to find me. I know now that this is an active journey, and one shrouded heavily in mystery. But I am by nature of person of action, and it feels like I'm finally getting back on track, simply by keeping my eyes open for signs, for answers.

Which is what inspired today's post. I can honestly tell you I had NO intention of ever telling anyone the depth of my troubles, let alone posting about it in a PUBLIC FORUM. But I was so inspired this morning that I knew it was what I had to do. Airing my insecurities is a way of letting them go. Acknowledging that pride is what has been forcing me to keep this to myself, to handle it alone, is comforting. Because I can master pride. So I recognize that like with anything, this is a step.

To bring this full circle, this is what inspired this whole post. Monday and Tuesday were rough days mentally. I'm not even sure why. But all the fear and doubt was back at the forefront. I did my best to shove it out of my head, while praying for patience, strength, and peace. This morning, my mom posted St. Therese's prayer on her facebook, a prayer I'm sure I've read before, but one that hasn't resonated with me until now:

May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing you are a child of God.
Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.


Not only were these the EXACT words I needed to read today, and not only are they perfect reminders throughout this time of rebuilding....but they are the words of MY patron saint. The "lame girl" who I "chose by accident and because of laziness." A sign?

This is something Shannon the skeptic, the cynic, and the doubter would dismiss. I'm pretty sure I wrote off a lot of signs throughout the past few years. But the newly forming Shannon-of-faith has a sneaking suspicion that choosing St. Therese was no accident. And man am I starting to see signs...everywhere. Divine Mercy Sunday was this past weekend...the story of Thomas, the doubter. The one who said he wouldn't believe Jesus had risen from the dead until he felt his pierced hands and side. He needed tangible proof. Sound familiar? And in the Roman Catholic missal for 2012, who is the Saint who has a quote listed for Divine Mercy Sunday? Twenty guesses: "You know well enough that Our Lord does not look so much at the greatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, but at the love with which we do them. -- St. Therese"

Suddenly, a meaningless decision I made at 12 has become something so unbelievably meaningful. I don't think I could have picked a better saint to be mine. Sure, I'm probably nothing like St. Therese. But the two qualities she exuded more than anything were unrelenting faith and a quiet humbleness. Two things I desperately lack and desperately NEED. This woman is in my life for a reason. And finally realizing this today is the strength I needed, the strength I prayed for. It won't last forever, and sooner rather than later, I know I'll be asking for help again. But for now, it is getting me through.

I'm not preachy about religion, or at least I try not to be. I respect the differences I have with others. I don't even like to talk religion most of the time, because it's something that is SO personal to me. So I'm not writing this post to prove anything. This is not a foray into evangelism. That's not who I am. But for whatever reason, writing about this journey I'm on is something I needed to do. I have no hidden motives, other than admitting that this is something I struggle with. And that I have to force myself to keep building FAR more often than I actually feel motivated to. And I know that I'm not the only person in the world with questions about spirituality, about God, about death. So I'm shelving my pride and admitting that I get lost...A LOT. Pride is a trap I fall into so much, and always to my own detriment (and the detriment of many, many others). Maybe this is a tiny, personal way of overcoming pride. Temporarily of course, but a step. A layer of brick in my new foundation.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Not a real update, but...

CHECK IT OUT! I added a best of section, with my favorite blog posts (so far...). I'm probably the only person who rereads this blog anyway, so let's be honest, this section is solely for my convenience.









BUT if you do feel so prompted, read these posts!!!!! ----------->

That way you don't have to sift through the hundreds of crap posts to read something mildly entertaining. ;)

MORE FUN COMING YOUR WAY SOON (which everyone at this point should know means in like, three months. I'm the worst)!!!!!!!!

Friday, March 23, 2012

March Updates!

So I need to write a fun, witty blogpost, because it's been a while, but I figured I'd update in the meantime. SO DON'T EXPECT THIS POST TO BE FUNNY. AT ALL.

Life is sweet. This weather is LITERALLY PERFECT. I'd like to thank Mother Nature as well as the state of Virginia for being particularly accommodating to me this winter. As most of you know, winter is close to the top on the long list of things that I hate (I should blog about that list, that alone would make for an excellent rant post), but honestly, you can't really call what we had winter. I was ALL ABOUT IT. So the fact that it's March and it's 80 degrees already is fine by me.

I also find that when the weather is nice, so is life in general. I feel like I, along with everyone I know is so CONTENT right now, which makes my post from like a month ago even more hilariously emo. It was probably cold that day. Not that life doesn't have room for improvement, everything does, but I gotta admit, I'm pretty happy lately! Of course I say that and soon everything will come crashing down. Oh to be cynical at the tender age of 23.

Mostly my life currently consists of FSO, shows, and filling my week days with a crapton of social interaction. I don't actually think I've blogged about this yet, but I'm in a production of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee right now as Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre (Schwartzy). Super tight. I haven't had a part this character-y since I was in high school, so it's been SO fun to be in that world again. It's also really bizarre to not be a "singer" in this show. Schwartzy's got a glorious character voice y'all, so this belter is temporarily on hiatus. Not gonna lie, it's nice knowing that despite the fact that I have no sleep today (what up Hunger Games at midnight), it totally doesn't matter.

It's so cool/weird being in this show at this point. Like with Hairspray, it's a show I SO wish Jim and Mrs. Smith could have been able to come to. This show probably even more so than Hairspray, because it was Mrs. Smith who "tricked" us into seeing it in New York back in 2006, and it was Jim who made me listen to the soundtrack for six straight months after we saw it. I feel like the producers should probably have paid those two some marketing proceeds for the word of mouth they spread. We were so obsessed. Senior Year of HS I had this stupid hand held tape recorder that I used to keep in my purse, and we'd record the dumbest crap EVER whenever we got bored (so....a lot). I still have it, and there's a recording of us screaming Chip's Lament at the top of our lungs. Awful, and HILARIOUS. If I could figure out a non-ghetto way to put that online (aka, pressing play and recording it on my iphone), I'd do it.

I'm not trying to be depressing, but I definitely have been missing them more than usual lately, largely due to this show. Hopefully I'm doing them proud. :)

You should all buy tickets! Considering that it's a professional production, tickets are RIDICULOUSLY cheap. COME SEE ME!

So show is my life on the weekend, and then during the week is when I try to see as many people as possible. Nice weather has meant lots of evenings in DC, which rocks. I've already seen The Hunger Games twice (stop judging it was awesome). Really my only complaint is that my room is in a state of disarray. But let's be honest, that's 100% my own fault. Oh and also I can complain that I literally just want to shop all day, every day, and I can't. Which is the government's fault for not giving me more money in my tax refund.

It's almost 5, so instead of continuing to ramble, I leave you with a little piece of this HILARIOUS gchat I shared with Daniel today (small back story, Sar has been an extra a couple times on Gossip Girl, which Dan is obsessed with). This is normally not something I'd blog, but it's too long to tweet and I was crying with laughter.

COME BACK DANIEL I MISS YOU TOO MUCH UTAH SUCKS:

2:09 PM Dan: sarahs gonna get chace my number when shes on Gossip Girl next
its official
me: dudei don't know how to tell you this
this is the last season of GG
Dan: shannon2:10 PM
DO YOU WANT TO MAKE ME CRY
me: i'm sorry!!!!!
Dan: WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT
me: YOU NEEDED TO HEAR IT FROM SOMEONE YOU LOVE!
Dan: I DIDNT EVER NEED TO HEAR IT
2:11 PM me: i think you would be more upset next year
when suddenly you couldn't watch it anymore
Dan: i think you dont know me at all
if you think 45 mins before i see hunger games is THE PROPER WAY TO BREAK IMPORTANT LIFE CHANGING NEWS

Monday, January 23, 2012

Being 23 is hard

Commence scoffs from everyone over the age of 35. And you know what, when I'm 35, I will scoff too. In 10-15 years when I read this blog post (not unlike when I found the diary I wrote at 14 and laughed until I cried) I will think "Shannon, you were an idiot and you needed to chill out," but this is young me telling old me to SHUT IT.

Because when I do look back, I will remember life events, and I will undoubtedly have experienced more hardship than I have thus far, but I will also have forgotten how hard life feels when you're 23. The problem with looking back is you forget that at 23, or at 14, you had no other frame of reference to compare life to besides the past...a past that feels far easier than the present. I spend so much time trying to be strong and toughing it out, but man, being in your 20's is emotionally exhausting.

I cannot recall ever feeling so utterly lost. It's different than being in a haze of grief. You know there's no road map to it, but the one reprieve you're given by the world is the fact that you are, in fact, grieving. But feeling lost when things are basically fine? In our society, that's inexcusable. You have to man up, get over it, and be a human being.

For the past, I dunno, 4 months, I've spent a lot of time learning about generations and reading about mine in particular. Most of what I've read has been relatively supportive of the mess us 20 somethings are sorting through. College loans exceeding income, why sex is the new standard of romance, technology teaching us instant but fleeting satisfaction, etc. All of these articles explain what we're living through, and they explain that it's not really our fault. Some of the articles are essays a lot like this, that speak from my point of view and for the most part, get my life pretty spot on. A few are critical, but as I am from the generation of exorbitant self-confidence, I don't pay those much mind. ;)

But they don't really help. Sure, it's nice to know that whatever affliction I seem to have, I'm not the only one cursed by it. That my quest for lasting happiness is not a new-found idea, and that I'm not on an untraveled path in my pursuit of it. I'm not alone in feeling mediocre. But that doesn't change the fact that I had expectations for my life, and by not meeting them, I feel like a failure. SO. MUCH.

When you're young your life is laid out simply for you. You go to school, you go to college, you work, you get married, you have kids, you work more, you have grandkids, you retire, and then...well, we all know how it ends.

But what you fail to realize is that these things don't always happen in the order you expect them to, the order that you were told they were...and that there is a heck of a lot more time in between the things at the back end of that list than at the front. Which leaves you with a lot of TIME. But no one really tells you how you're supposed to fill that time.

I'm 23, which means that I am broke. Always. I get ahead and suddenly I have to get new brakes on my car and bam. Broke again. So it's not like I have a lot of resources to occupy my time. So mostly I feel like I'm just waiting. Waiting for the next life milestone. And I'm not the type of person usually content to wait. I am a product of my generation...I'm used to instant happiness. So the fact that I'm still just waiting for happiness to "happen" to me is beyond frustrating.

There have been times that I have decided I will create my own happiness, rather than just waiting for it to happen to me. That's a gamble usually; sometimes it works, and other times it crashes and burns. Sometimes I wonder if I actually gain much by running from the waiting or if it's really just way of filling the time. Sometimes I find activities to distract myself. But the uncertainty that is life as a 23 year old is not something you can escape forever, and at the end of the day, that uncertainty is all you can think about.

They say you need to live for the journey and not for the destination. But what if you don't even KNOW your destination? How are you even supposed to attempt a journey when you don't know where you want to go?

So we wander aimlessly. Because we're expected to do SOMETHING in the meantime. And whether or not we admit it, that's what we're all doing. Even once we reach those milestones; when we get that job, or when we meet that Mr. Right, we continue to trudge along until we figure out our purpose. College was hard, but at least there was a goal and an end in sight. This is unmarked territory. This is the point where most of us are left to decide completely on our own what it is that's going to make us happy...and I think for most of us...we have no idea. No EARTHLY idea. So we either wait until we do, or we keep leaping until we finally land on happiness island.

I wish the end of this blog was Shannon's magical answer. Her well-crafted, thoughtful, poignant conclusion. How we can all combat the 20-something blues. But if I had the answer, I don't think this post would even exist. I am just as confused and lonely as the rest of my generation. For a Class A certified, self-proclaimed know-it-all, I don't have the answers. And that scares me. I won't accept the attempts at answers from my peers, and I won't accept the seemingly unrelatable answers from my elders. So what am I left with?

Not much. But I am left with my brain, my heart, and my future. One day, maybe as my 35 year old self looks back and reads this for fun, I'll eventually realize that a brain, a heart and a future? That's more than enough.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Speaking of reminiscing

This weekend I am foolishly flying to the coldest place on earth, aka the tundra, aka Ann Arbor, MI, for Sarah Davis's graduate voice recital. It will be fantastic and freezing. I'm dubbing this weekend "Reunion of Glory" because it will be the first time that Sarah, Ash, and Tjaden and I will all be together in over a year. And it will be the first time we've been together for more than just dinner since the week after we graduated (TINO). Needless to say, I cannot wait.

In preparation for this weekend, I decided to look back at the Haikus we wrote as baby freshmen in Diction class. The only way to get through the torture that was Diction was to entertain ourselves via alternative means. Sometimes this involved Disney Princess coloring books, drawing pictures of Dr. Rierson/other classmates (witness for yourself here, here, and here), and eventually, writing haikus. We passed a sheet around class after class, compiling said haikus. Tjaden even kept the sheet in a locket (geez we were so lame). Eventually when the year was over and we were finished with diction forever, I typed the sheet up and put it in a note on Facebook (remember those?). So today I spent a good half hour trying to figure out how to even FIND FB notes (timeline is confusing sometimes), and not only did I rediscover the glorious haikus (sorry, if we're not FB friends you're not going to be able to read that...but I forgot how much they referenced Creepy Makeout Boy!!!), but this GEM of a note...

Back story: Ethnomusicology was the last section of Music History we had to take, which we took in the Spring of 2009, or second semester Junior Year. Pedre Aponte, the teacher of said class, is a wonderful, wonderful man, but he might be the most impossible person in the entire world to understand. Epic fail South America. On the first day of class with him as our teacher, I distinctly remember Lauren Catron turning to look at me about five minutes into the lecture, with nothing but panic and confusion in her eyes as she asked, "Do you have ANY idea what he's even saying?!"

After that, it became common practice to show up (or not) and pay zero attention. You would just write down the stuff he put in the power point and pray that you somehow passed the class. One day, to entertain myself, I pulled out my digital camera. I turned off the sound, and browsed through the pictures I had recently taken. Once I got bored of that, I decided to take some new ones. I turned off the flash so no one would know I was being SO CREEPY and decided to take pictures. Pictures of the wall, of the front of the classroom, of my friends while they weren't paying attention, etc. It did not dawn on me that even when you turned the flash off on this camera that an orange light on the front would still go off anytime a picture was taken. It was pointed out to me once I took a picture of Pedro, as he happened to be staring DIRECTLY AT ME. This is how the conversation in front of the seventy person class went:

Pedro (in a heavy South American accent): So the charango....hey....did you just take a picture of me?!
Me: I....uh....what....huh? NO. I DIDN'T.
Pedro: Hahahaha that's very funny! So anyway, the charango...

My friends were beside themselves they were laughing so hard, but I was TOTALLY MORTIFIED. Here's the horrible, horrible proof.

Anyway, the point of this long and embarrassing backstory is because today I found this note that I wrote that day. After the picture "incident", Sarah Davis wrote a short story and I put it online. However, since the disco did not exist yet, I don't have it in a blog, so I'm fixing that today. It's basically amazing (note the Teen Girl Squad references...win!). I'd put the haikus in a blog too, except I'm pretty sure we're the only four people who find them funny. Anyway, without further ado, I give you:

The Story of Ethnomusicological Love

Written this morning by Sarah Davis in Ethnomusicology. Inspired by an EMBARRASSING event.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Shannon who had a secret desire to marry Pedro Aponte. Every day she woke up extra early to get good-lookin' so Pedro would think she looked sooooooooooooooo good! However, day after day, it seemed that her efforts were going to waste. Pedro was consistently paid more attention to some annoying girl named (sorry but I don't feel right putting this on fbook ...hilarious, but I don't even remember this girl's name, otherwise I would have just changed it to the original words. But she was definitely annoying). What a bitch!

One day, Shannon had a brilliant idea. She knew how she would win Pedro's latin-loving heart. She would learn SPANISH!! Day after day, night after sleepless night, Shan studied and prayed that her efforts would work.

Finally the day arrived. Shannon looked extra so-good that day just in case the Spanish didn't work. During the lecture Shannon got a little excited, however, and was caught sneakily taking a photo of Pedro (weirdo). Pedro asked to see Shannon in his office later. Shannon was filled with conflicting emotions...she was going to Pedro's office where she could speak Spanish to her heart's content!!!!!! But she was going to be questioned.

Shannon knew she just had to go in the office and be a baller. No time like the present. Shannon took a breath, opened the door...


....AND WAS EATEN BY A LION!


And that was the end. Well crafted, in my opinion.

This story also inspired a blog post I wrote two months later, in honor of my DHall crush and Joe Scott's birthday.



...this weekend is going to be awesome.


Man, I used a lot of links in this post.