So many side projects I want to throw myself into.

The newest? I found out that an acquaintance is working with ArtLoveMagic to produce a compilation of underground Dallas hip-hop. That’s a lot of words that make my brain go “SQUEE!” and they’re all smashed into a sentence together. Too much for me to resist. I want in. I’ve spent several hours today looking into the local scene, finding supportive venues and major players. A few evenings next week will be spent “networking,” which is also known as working up the courage to chat with strangers outside concerts and inside dive bars, trying to get a feel for personalities and interest levels.

Perhaps I should practice sounding like I know what I’m talking about, instead of “zomg there’s this THING! and people are DOING COOL STUFF! and I want IN! and let’s make it HAPPEN!” which is how I usually come across.

I think I know how my dog feels now, just “play play PLEASE PLAY LET’S PLAY! Is LIFE! And FUN! And WHEEEEE PLAY PLAY PLAY!!! ALL THE TIME WE NOW PLAY!!!“

But that’s what it boils down to, right? Pursuing something that makes your neurons fire so rapidly that smoke leaks from your ears cartoon-style? Getting worked up and passionate about a relatively obscure thing that many people have no interest in? Allowing yourself to disregard facts like:

a) wait, you’re a shy little white girl and you’re going to be terribly incongruous at an MC battle, and

b) networking means (oh shit) purposely starting conversations with people that you don’t know, and

c) you’re completely unfamiliar with the local music scene?

…yeah, that’s what this is about. “Exercises in applied passion” means I need to go and do, not just speculate and procrastinate and daydream about how neat it would be to have an involved, supportive, active community of (hip hop heads)|(local artists and art lovers)|(dog lovers)|(beer snobs)|(sex-positive people)|(animal rescue and welfare groups)|(insert descriptive noun of your choice here).

If you need me, I’ll be flailing excitedly at complete strangers. As far as alliance-making strategies go, this one’s proven pretty effective.

Most of my practical “life goals” are arbitrary and audacious. I fear failure, so I avoid setting goals. When I bother, they’re usually impractical and outrageous, and I kinda like ‘em that way.

Example: I don’t want to write a resume. So I’m not going to. I’m going to go through the rest of my life and get kickass job offers without worrying about condensing my life/career accomplishments and tailoring them to an audience.

Resume phrase: “Researched and implemented OSHA protocol for AAHA-accredited veterinary practice. Wrote protocol standards for employee handbook. Designated OSHA Safety Officer.”

What really happened:

Me: Is there anything I can help you with?

Boss: Actually… do you know anything about OSHA?

Me: Nope. But I can learn.

Boss: Ha! *hands over mountain of paperwork*

Did I do everything advertised in the resume phrase? Why yes. And I did it well. My casual confidence is usually a bluff, but I fool myself well enough to succeed.

For the record, I’ve picked up two jobs since declaring, “Pff, I’m not going to write a resume,” and the raises keep piling on.

It’s the phrase that sprung to mind to describe my reaction following Dan Savage’s “It Gets Better” project. For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, it’s a series of videos posted to Youtube started by a sex-advice columnist based out of Seattle, in direct response to the recent rash of teen suicides. The purpose of the videos and campaign? Simple. It gets better. Wherever you are, whatever hell you’re going through (and GBLT or straight, high school is hell), it. gets. better. I originally heard about the campaign through Emily Nagoski’s blog.

And it’s caught on.
It’s caught on like fucking wildfire.

It’s caught the attention of media pundits, teachers, coaches, parents, celebrities, lawmakers, and the President of the United States.

Less than a month after its inception, Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and Laura Bush (among so many others) have contributed to the It Gets Better Project. This is an example of transcending party lines, of fighting for acceptance and civility, of not requesting but DEMANDING an end to hatred. When I saw the number of videos, of views, I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat. Caught between choked laughter and the silly urge to just fist-pump and yell “WOOOOO!,” all I could do was smile.

This transcends sexual orientation. This, to me, is indicative of a greater shift in thinking towards love, away from small-mindedness and bigotry and injustice.

I was worried in high school that I’d “turn out lesbian,” not so much worrying about my actual preferences as facing the social stigma and isolation that came from identifying as anything other that normal. Time passed. Things got better. I think, even if I did identify as GBLT, it’d feel safer now than back then, and I applaud the bravery of anyone who can come to that realization as an adolescent and survive. I preferred martial arts to makeup. I was too shy to date. These (comparatively minor) things worried me. Seriously worried me. Glad my brain has grown up a bit since then. As for identification, I can say with confidence these days that I’m mostly straight, and I’m willing to fight tooth and nail for anyone who is or isn’t.

What I have the most trouble wrapping my head around is that sexual orientation still matters to people who aren’t directly involved. Maybe it’s my dismissal of the region’s dominant religion, maybe it’s my latent dirty hippie coming out, but really folks. It boils down to this – is anyone being hurt? Without their consent (edited for the s&m lovebugs in the house)?

No?

Then, dear people-obsessed-with-the-sexual-orientation-of-complete-strangers, please do the world a favor and a)shut the fuck up, b)direct your energy towards some other endeavor fueled by love and not ignorance and fear, and/or c)treat yourself to some much-needed psychological help.

A 28-year-old rapper and lyricist named Micheal “Eyedea” Larsen was found dead in his home this morning.

The dawning dread that this was not a stunt, that this was really happening, sunk in as I was driving home, re-reading the “eyedeaandabilities” tweet at a red light. It was a gut-punch realization of shock and genuine grief.

He was singular as an artist and a rapper, balancing frustration and intellect and intense emotion. He was my gateway drug, the clever lyricist that led me to explore and fall madly, fiercely, passionately in love with independent and underground hip-hop. His songs became relief, comfort, challenge, and inspiration.

I remember kneeling on the carpeted concrete floor of Gamestop, paralyzed as I finally digested the words of this harsh-voiced smooth-flowing music that, up till then, had just been background noise. Sensory memories of pacing across the parking lot at work, tears streaming down my cheeks as I listened to “Walking” over and over and contemplated painful choice. Running through River Legacy to the cadence of his rap, the words thrumming in my head as my feet hit the path.

Saw him in concert twice. I remember talking to him before and after the show, shaking his hand. I made him laugh by telling him, “This is great! I’ve suppressed my inner squealing fangirl long enough to have an actual conversation with you!”

Can’t begin to list all the lyrics of his that have gripped my heart. If “rest in peace” is too much to ask, rest assured that you’ve affected thousands of people in ways we’re still trying to understand, and your voice will stay strong.

I see the hurt when I look into your eyes
How you struggle to hold it and keep it bundled inside
It drives a dull blade deep in my heart; it makes me want to cry
So I offer you a hand to help wash away the rainy skies
I’m running out of words, but I haven’t yet made my message clear
So if none of this makes sense, I just want you to know I’m here
As a musician, as a friend, as a teacher, as a student
To grow and realize that everything is in constant movement
Each problem that we face is just a part of this movement
It seems helpless, but if we stick together we’ll get through it
And return to the essence from which we’ve been uprooted
And wake humanity from these illusions
The second you can look into the sky and see your own reflection
You know you’re headed in the right direction
The river ride ain’t always smooth, but with it I live
And everything is perfect, just the way it is

We gotta learn to see the beauty in each moment of life
Everyone has different paths and we’re seeking the light
The world is divided between peasants and kings
But the truth is everybody’s looking for the same thing
Now I want you to know
The role you play is part of the whole
Without you it couldn’t be, and I mean that with compassion
So if you need anything, I mean anything at all
I’m here for you; all you gotta do is ask, man

But underneath–underneath it all is this rolling-up-sleeves plunging-in, this cackling glee, this roiling molten flow of energy, this insatiable glowing fiery core of everything I strive to be.

That’s what takes over the rest of my brain, shatters fear like fireworks, pushes me out of sated and complacent, busts through resistance, leaves me gasping and eager and ready.

I’m the agent of chaos, the pretty little voice that whispers, why not, it couldn’t hurt too much, let’s do this, let’s do this now now now…

Rockapella is releasing a new album.
THIS MONTH.
First album in six years with completely original material.

Who are these guys? You know these guys.

I’ve seen them live twice (thanks again to an old friend!). My love of this group is pretty well-documented, and I’m tired of typing now, so here’s a few videos to tide you over until your freshly-ordered albums can be shipped to you.

We’re all faced with these dilemmas, these life-altering moments. We must consciously choose which path to continue walking, forever abandoning what could have been.

Sigh.

So the question is…
do I skip studying to go see Machete and then catch the midnight showing of Resident Evil: Afterlife (Milla Jovovich rocks my world), then attempt to function all day at work tomorrow on 4 hours of sleep?

or do I resign myself to my action-flick-less fate and hunker down and review my biology textbook until I fall asleep at a reasonable hour?

I’m paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of this decision.
Alas. Responsible adulthood. Sigh.

Could say something about the universality of emotion despite situational differences blah blah blah, but if you’ve felt the song, hey, words are superfluous.