Gethsemane.

Today in my teenage angst, I love me a good biopic. I always have. I love character development, and I love knowing that someone's story was important enough to put on screen. I love that they bring people closer to that person's life, and bring a broader understanding to what they did, and why they did it.

Last year, Alan Turing's phenomenal story and the greater implications of his life were presented in The Imitation Game. The outstanding transformation of Eddie Redmayne to Stephen Hawking was Oscar Winning. Other favourite biopics are Erin Brockovich, The King's Speech (tears), Milk (tears), and Capote - all, also, Oscar Winning Performances.

Jesus Christ Superstar isn't often counted as a biopic. It is, nonetheless, a biographical story. Andrew Lloyd Webber first put the life of Jesus on stage in 1970, and has been changing lives ever since! Just kidding. Most people don't take this work terribly seriously, which is probably fair. Have you heard the theme? It's pretty funny. But last year, I was helping Ben prepare for an audition for this ALW Retrospective, and he was singing Gethsemane. Please watch this video and let it change you as it has changed me.

Whether you see it as historical or mythical, Jesus' story is pretty incredible. This nice guy enters a society that is struggling with corrupt leadership, classism, and adherence to their previous religious laws. He starts to teach people how to be nice to each other and correct their religious behavior in a way that benefits everyone. The leadership of the time hates this, obvs, because it goes against what they've been saying, so they work out the best way to get rid of him. Thousands of people were like, this guy is it! We gotta listen! But the leadership said, not so much. He's trying to sabatoge our work! He's not of God! We need to kill him.

The story goes that Jesus, being divinely born (read: sent from God), knew that the leadership was going to react this way to his teaching. He knew that he was going to be killed. So as the time draws closer, he starts preparing his followers as to what to do when he's gone. Then, the night before, he has one last convo with God. That's what you saw in the video.

Okay, so this guy, Steve Balsamo, played the role of Jesus for like, less than a year. Which is honestly too bad. I feel like his conviction and commitment to the role is so whole, and his voice is . . . well. Hello. Not to mention, he brings to the forefront something the musical expands upon that isn't reallllyyy fully fleshed out in the gospel narrative: the interpersonal struggle of Jesus as he awaits his death. Did you hear the line when he says - talking to God -, "Then I was inspired (referring to the beginning of the ministry), now I'm sad and tired. After all I've tried for three years; seems like nintey. Why then am I scared to finish what I started? What you started; I didn't start it." I find this so affective in the way that it emphasizes the humanity and fear that Jesus experienced, just as I would have; but haven't.

I haven't experienced a lot of warranted fear in my life, but I appreciate things that bring me closer to understanding those who do. During Easter weekend - one of my favorite times of year - I think a lot about the fear Jesus experienced doing what he did. And I'm grateful for it.

Biopics guys. They make us better.

PS. This was supposed to go out yesterday - on Good Friday - and I know you're probably reading in on Easter Sunday, which then makes the timing weird. Please, excuse it. Watch the song anyway.

Thursdays and Fridays.

Today in my teenage angst, I had trouble logging into my blog. It had been almost six months since I'd done it and I forgot what my log in email was. I got a hot flash of anxiety and started thinking about how I was going to probably have to build a new blog. I immediately considered the benefits of this, but ultimately how much I didn't want to do it.

Luckily, Blogspot is built to deal with this kind of problem. I got in, and quickly made my gmail account a contributor. The real problem is that I made this blog before I had a gmail account. I find this reality to be astounding and a little upsetting. I've been blogging on Today in my Teenage Angst for eight years. In that time, my blog I've graduate from college, moved across the country, moved back from across the country, gained two neices, remained exorbitantly single, run three half-marathons, graduated from college again, moved out of my parents house, and decided upon a profession.

I'm just not sure how much you've heard about any of that. I'm bad at consistency. I'm bad a follow through. Do you know that I have a YouTube channel? Do you know that there's a segment in it called Today in Top 40, in which I analyze and promote the merits of Top 40 music, because I love love love Top 40 music? No; because I haven't told you. And maybe part of me doesn't want you to know. But the rest of me really does.

I typically work less on Thurdsays and Fridays. I rely on these days to be alone, run errands, do laundry, cook, etc. Life sustaining things. A lot of times, though, I just end up watching tv. So I decided I could probably do to devote these days to a little bit of work as well; content creation, to be more specific, but sometimes crafting, or writing a recommendation letter, or reading a book on the secret joys of buraucracy written by the person who coined the term The 99%. The cover is so pretty guys.

That was a several weeks ago, and this post is the first use I'm making of my Thursdays and Fridays. I guess I'm telling you about this so that I have some sort of accountability. Not that I think anyone is actually waiting for some sort of word from me on Thursdays or Fridays, but that is neither here nor there. I can do things, and I want to do them. So here I am.

Here's a photo from a concert I went to last night. I do not want to talk about the Say Something cover I heard and rolled my eyes at, or the hardcore cover of Taylor Swift's Trouble that I actually loved. I would rather the effort and love that went into those paper hanging things.

The aim is to see my time as something that is worth using, and not just sit around thinking about whether or not I have enough time to sneak in a nap. 

My Ten Year Old Self.

Today in my teenage angst, I write myself a letter.

My favorite stationery shop held an event that encouraged shoppers to stop and write a letter to their ten year old selves. I missed the event itself, but I feel like my heart, mind, and readers could have benefitted from the exercise. So I'm going to do it on my own.

Dear Hannah at ten years old,

Listen to me child. It is absolutely fine that your favorite outfit consists of offbrand tear-away pants and that strange sweatshirt that features Elmo and Grover (or was it Cookie Monster) hanging out above the beloved (?) Tommy Hilfiger flag. Wear it with pride, my friend, for you in it you
are comfortable, and happy. That is the best kind of outfit, and one that truly works. 

Within the next few years, you will feel, with increasing frequency, those uncomfortable feelings of terror that accompany everyday experiences. It's okay. This is called anxiety, and I want you to know that however you ennact that anxiety is entirely acceptable. What's not okay, though, is thinking that it's normal. It's not. It can be fixed. But you're going to have to ask for help. Feeling scared and sick all the time, isn't something that I want you to have to deal with, and while I understand that we would be an entirely different person if I had gotten help sooner, it's not something I want you to have to deal with.

I want you to stop comparing yourself to people. I know you don't even really know you that you do this yet, but you'll eventually become aware and wish you could stop. I want you to start realizing now that everyone is someone. Everyone is wonderful, and everyone is scared. Your feelings are not unique, so stop feeling so alone. Share. Believe me when I say that Karlie really does like you. The harder you try to make that true, the less she will be able to stand you. But don't worry, the two of you are still besties.

Stop planning your wedding. Despite the fact that you go to like twelve every year, stop imagining what yours is going to be like. The best part of a wedding is what comes after: marriage. Start focusing on that. Yes, calla lilies are really nice. You won't want them in fifteen years. 

Get to know yourself, Hannah, in every possible way. Experience all that you can. Listen closely, and read carefully. Read. This is a big one, considering the place we end up. Read widely. Read critically. Read for pleasure and for pain. Read what makes you laugh and that which has the power to elicit tears. Make lists and lists and lists of your favorite books. Own them all. It's worth it. Just read. 

I'll see you soon, Han. I love you. I hope you love us too. 

Love, Hannah at twenty-seven

P.S. Be nicer to mom. She's not doing anything wrong. You're not an easy pre-teen. 

P.P.S. DO NOT change your writing style next year. It will curse you for all future writing experiences.

P.P.P.S You're a giant weirdo. You're going to spend a lot of time in your teen years trying not to be one. Don't expend the energy. It's one of the best things you've got going for you. 

QCM 2014!

A little over a week ago, in a state of very high teenage angst, I ran the Queen City Marathon for the third time. Before you even think about it, I ran the half. People consistently asked me throughout my training if I was running the half or the full. I always react in appropriately to this question. I scoff and laugh and say, do I look like I'm running the full? I seem to think that everyone looks at my height and stride, and assumes I'm running the half. This is poor reasoning, however, because a girl I know ran the full this year and finished first in her age category. She is at least three inches shorter than I am. So. 

If you read this post from earlier in the year, you'll know a great deal of preparation went into the decision to run this marathon. Last year was rough, and while I knew the reason for that was a distinct lack of training, I wasn't sure I could even stick to a reasonable training plan. 

WRONG! I totally did it. I ran over a hundred and fifty miles (not kilometers (!)) in training and going into the day, felt outrageously prepared. And I was. 

The first eight miles were amazing. I ran so fast. So. Fast. It was so awesome. The first two songs that played on my QCM 2014 Playlist were N'Sync "It's Gonna Be Me," and NKOTB's "Step By Step." Furthering the awesome. 

I have supernatural abilities to predict the future. Apparently. 

The sun came out in full force, just in time to eat me alive and ruin all hopes of finishing well. 

This, as my third race, has formed into somewhat of a tradition. My sister comes with me to the race, I get mad at her because I'm so anxious, we fight a little, we laugh at how ridiculous it is that we do this, then I start running and she goes to Starbucks. A couple hours later, she makes her way back and waits for me to finish. She loves it; more than I do. It's weird. 

My best friend Karlie meets me at the finish too. The first year I ran, she was a surprise. I was running to the finish and she was calling at me holding her screaming six month old. Its the best and funniest picture.

So we did it again the next year. Paisley wasn't crying, but she wasn't super into the proceedings. She laughed at my fatigue.

This year, Karlie had a meeting at 11.30. I thought this meeting was at 11. So around Mile 11 (that time stamp is incorrect), I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it back in time. I was wilting under the weight of the sun and it's horrendous sensory impact. I realized I wouldn't get to take my picture with Paisley, and new to the scene this year, Vivian. At this realization, I started sobbing. You should know, that probably 90% of the participants on the course, are super caring. So there were a number of people, upon hearing my sobs, that stopped to make sure I wasn't running on a broken leg. If I had told them, I probably would have laughed. I texted Beth to tell her I was sobbing and why and she didn't respond. I realize now it was a little irrational. Karlie texted me to smarten up and finish. She would be there. 

This is Vivi. She appreciated the presence of grass. 

. . . on the ground. I kept it. 

Paisley running with me to the end was actually super hilarious. She was so into it, laughing and hopping along; at the beginning. It was a hundred yards to the actual finish line, which is a lot for such tiny legs. I picked her up and carried her across and had them place my medal around her neck. I thought she would like that, but she was overwhelmed by all that is the finish line, so she did not. Hahaha. Paisley, we will continue to do this, and one year we will get a legit and ideal picture. 

I went home and laid in bed. I had heat stroke. You know that feeling when you can feel your body radiating heat, but all you want is to be warmer? It was so brutal. I kept falling in and out of recovery sleep, which btw is the worst nap ever. I drank three liters of water. I didn't go to work the next day. FEEL SORRY FOR ME!!! 

But seriously, let's go back to my Mile Seven tweet. I felt so good. My body felt so good. I was so prepared. I just couldn't control the elements. So I knew, even as I was sobbing, I was going to do this again; and hope for rain.

PLUS! Next year is the 15th anniversary. That means extra awesome t-shirts! Probably. 

I was going to blog butttt . . .

Today in my teenage angst. I was going to blog . . . but . . .

Robin.

Today in my teenage angst, Robin Williams died.

If you know me at all, which you likely don't, you'll know I love celebrities. I think they have a really hard job, standing in the public eye, standing up to scrutiny, performing in the biggest way possible. Naysayers, those people we know and hate but inevitbaly are, only make it harder. I think we need to be really careful about the way we think about celebrities and evidence that thought.

Loving them as I do, I form attachments. In February, I was walking around Superstore when my dad texted me to see if I had heard about Philip Seymour Hoffman. He was gone. He'd been found in his apartment. PSH is my favorite actor; tied with Dustin Hoffman. I think he is such an example of versatility and brilliance on screen. My heart stopped when I read that text. I finished my shopping in a haze. As I got to my car, I climbed into the front seat and started to cry. I didn't stop sobbing for two more hours. I had to go to sleep. Now as I think of it, I laugh a little, because he is a complete stranger. I know him only in fictional situations. I hadn't known, up until that point, that he even had a drug problem. But for some reason, to me, he was it. I was alwasy so happy when he was cast in something. Because there was more; more to see, anticipate, and hold. I still can't believe he's gone.

I do not have this attachment to Robin Williams. My first encounter with his wonderful voice was Aladin, in 1992, in a theatre in Lethbridge, Alberta. I will readily admit, however, that I don't like Mrs. Doubtfire, and I've never seen Good Will Hunting. Even so, Robin Williams changed my life.

I did nine years of undergraduate education. I love education and the process and the power of influence from minds that are wiser than mine. I love that, when approached appropriately, I can come out of a semester in a course having had my worldview shaped and reformed forever. So obviously, the story of Dead Poets Society is close to my heart. The freedom of learning offered to the boys, through the teaching of Mr. Keating - played by Williams, is exactly this kind of worldview shaping teaching. Two scenes, as an adolescent, and then as a teen, and then as an undergrad, gave me an unceasing and irrefutable love for education and as a result changed my life.

First. A verrryyy young Ethan Hawke fights Mr. Keating as he makes him write a poem in front of class after not completing the assignment.

Second. Mr. Keating explains the goodness and life-sustaining nature of beauty, art, and consequently life. Here he quotes from what is now my favorite poem, O Me, O Life.

I identify so closely with the message and sentiment of Dead Poets Society, most of which is carried by and communicated through the character of Mr. Keating. This identifcation has changed my life. Robin Williams performance, as the life altering Mr. Keating, then, has changed my life. I cannot even express how sad I am about his passing. Especially considering the manner in which it happened. Especially considering the climax of the story of Dead Poets Society. This is to me, the most important part of this whole post, and something I need to reiterate. O Me, O Life presents a questioning of the difficulties in life that surround us all; our self worth, the worth of others, the world itself. Whitman closes the poem by asking a question and then responding.

. . . What good amid these [difficulties], O me, O life?

Answer. 
That you are here. That life exists and identity. 
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. 

I hope you can find your verse. I promise, it is within you to write one.

Summer Update (scorn face).

QCM Post