Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

family

Powerless in New Jersey

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I am supposed to be in New Jersey.

Yesterday was the closing night of bro-in-law’s final high school musical. Three years ago he had never acted, and last night we were supposed to see him sing an act full of solo songs and take a bow for the final time on his high school stage. And not just him. We’ve watched his castmates transform from shy Sophomores to powerful performers, most of whom we’ll probably never see again.

However, there was the problem of the rain.

In Philly it was just oppressively dreary, but as our car crept northward through NJ it became obvious that the effects of the storm were a little more tangible in our adjoining state.

First, a flooded road. Then, a route with power lines hanging over the road at a precarious 45-degree angle over the asphalt. Next, a traffic accident. Subsequently, downed trees.

When we finally arrived in E’s hometown we discovered the entire township or borough or whatever it is was without power! Even the high school, as her brother informed us sullenly via text.

There would be no closing night.

We drove carefully into E’s family’s cul de sac, black as pitch. After commiserating about the show we ate dinner by candlelight. When we were done, I excused myself to the adjoining room to bang on an out-of-tune piano I’ve been promising to have tuned for years.

As I bashed through cover songs, carefully avoiding the most dissonant keys, I contemplated.

We had ascribed so much value and meaning to the closing night. We came for the opening weekend too, but the last show was supposed to be extra special. Now, it didn’t exist. No final hurrah for the cast to sing even better or for us to clap even louder.

We didn’t get a closing night, but I’m still just as proud of our brother. And, in retrospect, I clapped just as hard as I could clap when we saw him last weekend.

The significant thing was really how many times I’ve seen him bow over the past three years – and how proud and loud I have been the entire time.

The significance isn’t in the next moment – it’s in the last ones. It’s in the moments of progress, not just the destination.

We loaded up the car to head home rather than brave the blackout for the night. Two minutes from E’s house we noticed a Target sign, lit up in red.

The power was back.

Bathed in the neon glow of stores powering up from their slumber, I wondered about my moments. Am I living my life now, or waiting for the next chance to live it? Am I waiting for the next show to play better? Waiting for the right moment to kiss E like I mean it?

Our route home was flooded, and E wanted to turn back. I rested my head on her shoulder as we paused in the jughandle, awaiting our turn.

“Do you want to go home to Philly?” I asked her?

She nodded yes.

“Then we’ll find a way to get there.”

Adventures in Adulthood

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The past ten days have been an adventure – from the unreality of the Imogen Heap and Lady Gaga concerts to the front seat of our car parked in Chinatown a few hours ago.

It felt right to end it sitting on a bedroom floor with E, her sister with her delightful boyfriend, and appearances of an adrenaline-filled little brother and an exhausted dad, both visiting from the cast party downstairs.

I can find a myriad of reasons to be unhappy. I’ll grant that I used to be better at it, but growing up and getting things that you’ve always wanted for yourself takes the edge off. Still, even all married and with a fulfilling job and being a part time rock star I can make myself miserable. Just ask the me of two Monday’s ago.

I say that by way of contrast: when I’m happy, I know it. I clap my hands. I laugh. I love my hair. I say delirious things that get tweeted if Britt or Amanda are anywhere near me. I break out into Rent in the middle of E’s dad’s foyer, high school girls tittering as they walk past.

Those kids sealed the deal for me. I turned around to talk to E and between us was one of the leadz from the play – imperial and larger than life last night, but tiny, young, and fragile between us. I finally got to tell her how awesome she was. She grinned, thanked me, and then yelled, “Steeeeeeeve, where do I get water in your house?”

She was oblivious, moving through space effortlessly just like she did on stage last night. I never knew how to do that as a teenager. If I was happy, it was fleeting, and if I moved through space effortlessly it was because I forgot myself.

I could not have possibly pictured this life as a teenager, sitting on the floor with a partner and siblings I love, laughing louder than the combined forty teenagers downstairs.

Next time I’m feeling grumpy, awful, unhappy, hateful … just remind me about these ten days.

You are sitting next to my wife.

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I’ve now been married for a little over a quarter of a year.

It’s been really swell, aside from the part where I was really pissed off in France for a day or two. And the quality of gouda there more than made up for it.

We’re still the newest newlyweds in most of our social circles, so we’re still getting those ever-so-nebulous questions: “How’s married life treating you? / Is married life any different?”

At first I thought there was inherent comedy in the idea that something so simple as a wedding would have fundamentally altered the nature of our unbroken seven-year relationship.

On second thought, I realized that some things are different. People treat us as more of a team than they used to. I feel more responsible to be a (dys?)functional part of her family. We own a car!

Really, the biggest difference is the way we look at each other when we’re at home watching a movie. I can’t describe it. There’s just something knowing in the glance, like, “I married you just so we could sit around and do this for the rest of our lives.”

That’s a little too intangible of a nuance for elevator chat, so I usually tell people the biggest difference is that now when people sit down next to Elise on the train I say, “Excuse me, but you are sitting next to my wife.”

They usually move.

tune up #1

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OMG, I just realized that I have less than a month to practice RENT before our yearly Christmas Eve singthrough if I expect to perform any better than in prior years (although any practice I do will be mostly for naught, as I think Steve has unquestionably laid claim on the “best male vocals” title in our gathering).

At least I could bring big blown-up lyrics appropriate for blind old yuppies such as myself so that I don’t have to squint at the CD book again.

A Year In The Life

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Elise and I spent today in New Jersey for the same weekend and reason that caused me to quit NaBloPoMo last year – my brother-to-be’s fall play.

He’s come a long way in a year. Last year was his first time acting on stage; this year he had the final bow in a challenging, thought-provoking play, The Rimers of Eldritch.

Out in the audience Elise and had come a long way too. Last year when we were here it was most people’s first time seeing her engagement ring, and they were bristling with wedding questions that we hardly had answers to, let alone opinions. Today, our planning nearing completion, we traveled to New Hope to continue shopping for my wedding band.

I’m nervous about the band. I haven’t worn jewelry for a long time, not since I was younger when I bore a perfunctory cross from my grandparents. One day it fell off somewhere between home and school, never to be seen again. My mother bought me another for graduation, and I recoiled from the box. I didn’t want another cross; I had never worn it as a cross. I wore it as my grandparents.

Since then I haven’t worn anything.

I’m nervous about the band, and excited too, because I’ll be wearing Elise. We didn’t settle on a final ring today (in fact, I backslid on my prior decision), but while we were shopping I prevailed upon Elise to buy me a plain practice ring – just a small, comfortable, stainless steel band. I’ve had it on since one, on the ring finger on my right since Elise insisted I couldn’t wear my practice band on my actual finger.

I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m typically very conscious of my hands, of what I’m doing with them and if they are safe. Already I’m constantly fiddling – turning it, changing it from one finger to another, sliding it back and forth across my knuckle. My fingers don’t close the same way, and I rest my adjacent knuckles against it when I hold my guitar pick (it actually improves my form).

Two months from Monday I’ll put on the real thing.