aplitlaney-blog

[aplitlaney-blog]

One of my favorite classes I took at Thornton Academy was AP United States History. I expected to learn what I would need to know for the college board test, a cut and dry course on the history of a country I call home. What I recieved was so much more, and what it taught me was a depth of knowledge on understanding the intricacies of the way minorities are treated in this country.

Mr. Parise is not afraid to stray away from the difficult concepts. Some teachers may hesitate to call the colonization of the United States territory a genocide, but he would not. Some may stray away from the true horrors of slavery, or struggle to make them seem less horrific. He would not. Mr. Parise dove into the difficult topics surrounding US history with composure and vigor. He would not ever let ignorance be an excuse his students could use. He denied every person in that classroom the privilege of ever being blind to a person's suffering in this country. What I discovered in that classroom was that I like history. It may seem surprising, but I wasn't aware of that before. Since then I have taken every AP history credit course offered at TA and devoted time and energy to understanding what came before me, something I never found particularly interesting before.

It's hard to put into words what Parise taught me, but I will try to convey that lesson learned. Parise taught me that everything is connected. I don't know if that was his goal, but it impacted me greatly. I always knew that our country had a racist undercurrent, even growing up white in Colorado, I could feel it. I could feel an undercurrent of intolerance of the lower social classes. I watched steady untrusting of the neurodivergent individuals in my family. I felt the division between men and women. This wasn't new knowledge to me. But what I started to discover was the way that these prejudices leech into every aspect of day to day life, I discovered the historical roots of these divisions, and I started to see them everywhere. I became smarter, I don't know how else to put it. I started to see the world around me through the holistic and connected view of history.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Our stage is new. It is fresh black wood when it used to be chipped paint and jagged splinters. Decades of tap shoes, set changes, dancing feet and monologues had, ostensibly, worn the poor thing to a pulp. It was the first day of my senior year when I rolled around on the shiny new exterior for the first time, excitedly exclaiming that I wasn't getting any splinters in my antics. I don't know if the old face of the stage is under the new one. Do you tear up the old wood or build on top of it? Is the old stage now a foundation for the occasions ahead? In any case, the old stage, the imperfect one that clung to the feet of young actors, regardless of whether or not it lurks like a solemn beast under the new stage, was a home for some of my brightest moments in my high school career.

I was an outsider when I came to Thornton Academy my sophomore year. After decades of bouncing from place to place I was slow to assume that Thornton Academy could be a permanent home. I assumed it was a year long fling. I joined the Theater Program as a quick fix to find an interim community. Theater kids are the easiest kids to fall in with when in a hurry. They are loud, over sharing, and easily distracted by shiny things. I avoided photos, told few people my name, and kept friendships surface level and fleeting. I wanted to act with my new friends for a year and then slip away silently like I had from so many other communities. Thornton Academy soon changed my plans. Slowly, I became more and more attached to a place and program that I had no intention of becoming attached to. What I discovered was not a community of surface level rag tag kids who had nothing better to do, but a group of kids intrinsically linked by a dedication to telling stories, and some very open hearts. Slowly, I found something akin to a home after two years of jumping from campground to campground in a red dodge pickup truck. Late fall of my sophomore year, I performed what is still one of my favorite roles to this day, and the theater teacher hugged me tight after opening night and told me that, no matter what, I had left a mark on that stage. What I felt was pure starlight. I kept reflecting back to the first moment I stepped on that stage under the lights and the gaze of an audience. I stumbled over the first few lines that opened the show, my tongue a big and foreign creature in my mouth. My heart was pounding. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. I wasn't aware of my own body. I couldn't feel my heart beating. I breathed with ease. I realized quickly what I was experiencing was a lack of anxiety. Comfort. For the first time since beginning my life on the road. I took my theater teacher's comment literally. After we closed the show and took down the test, I joked with a friend that if I was going to have to move in a year, now that I had fallen in love with this place, it better never forget me. They had a simple suggestion, which they promised would be just fine since we needed a new stage. In hopes of leaving a tangible mark on this place that had changed me in only a few months, I carved "The Zig" in tiny letters with a key into the upstage left corner during a lunch block and never spoke of it again. The fact that I, a self proclaimed road rat, was ready to leave a permanent and tangible mark anywhere, spoke volumes to the magic I felt in this new place.

[aplitlaney-blog]

the Beast in me honors the Beast in you

I too have ripped my nails off at the bed with my teeth, let the orange juice drip down my chin, paid good money for a bad haircut, bled in the back seat for lack of a tampon, got bent out of shape and stayed up too late and lied and been hell bent and stubborn and stupid and all bad decisions and loud noises.

I too didn’t know when to stop. I pulled the pin on the grenade, I didn’t smile, I wore the short skirt and the dark lipstick and I wore my hair down even when it was knotted and the roots were too long.

I stopped saying sorry. I said thank you instead.  

I started baring my fangs when they brushed their fingers against my skin and I stopped saying I love you when I didn’t mean it. I said it more when I did.

I let the Beast out. First on Tuesday afternoons when the sun was hot for the first time and then even on Sunday mornings.

I let the Beast out and the first thing it wanted to do was lead me here.

To say hello. To say thank you.

To say breathe when you’re told to hold your breath. To say hold your girlfriend’s hands when you walk somewhere. Kiss people’s foreheads when you hug them. Write poetry. Break pencils when you’re frustrated. Don’t clean you room. Draw pictures in the dust. Water your plants. Sing to them. Sing all the time. Take pictures. The Beast told me to do all that.

The Beast loves you. It’s rip roaring and tree climbing and big I love yous and all the little ways to say it. The Beast respects and hurts and went wounded for too long, and it wanted me to say,

The Beast in me honors the Beast in you.

[aplitlaney-blog]

J.K. Rowling and Retroactive Representation

J.K. Rowling and Retroactive Representation

J.K. Rowling has been the butt end of a lot of jokes the last week or so. After feeling the need to tweet out that, apparently, Grindlewald and Dumbledore were “doing it” in her fictional universe, twitter users and fans have taken to the internet to mock J.K. Rowling for her repeated habit of adding diversity to her stories that aren’t there in print. It’s happened before, first with J.K. Rowling tweeting that Dumbledore was gay the whole time, then again when Rowling responded to fans by assuring them that Hermione could be black and that it said no where in canon that she was specifically white-despite quotes in print of descriptions of her otherwise, unfortunately- and now finally this fiasco with Dumbledore and Grindlewald. While well intentioned, it also seems like Rowling is desperately trying to stay relevant in a society that is-finally-calling for more representation. Which begs the question, why not write it in in the first place?

If J.K. Rowling is so “woke” why didn’t she write in black girls and gay guys and same sex relationships? If she “imagined” Dumbledore as a gay man the whole time, why didn’t she just write it that way? Why does she need to tweet out her diversity retroactively? If it’s a matter of having since changed, and intends to right the wrongs of a white washed Hogwarts, why doesn’t she apologize and own up to crafting a sadly monochromatic fictional universe? Going back in 12 years later and bringing up events that didn’t canonically happen and that your young audience likely doesn’t want to picture isn’t the same as representation. It isn’t good enough. I love Harry Potter, and I do think that there are important themes in Harry Potter that deal with issues like racism or any form of diversity that can endanger a person’s social status or even life. I do think Harry Potter could have benefited from some diversity, yes, but I also think it was a product of its time, when a white author may not have been as concerned with making sure that their book was diverse.

I think it’s a bad move on Rowling’s part to keep diversifying her book retroactively the way she is. I’m not even sure she has a right to those character’s identities anymore. Once a book has come out, and movies have been made and its massively and commercially successful, does the author even have a say in the readers interpretation anymore? Doesn’t Rowling get whats on the page and thats it? After publishing, hasn’t she forfeited her right to butt in and say-oh wait, I forgot this detail? I think that might be the case.

At any rate, I’m glad J.K. Rowling seems to want to be any ally, whether its her rolling with he times, trying to remain relevant or a genuine changed spirit. But I also wish that she had written us the extravagant gay icon Dumbledore that she seems to have wished she had, or the black girl magic Hermione that so many girls could have looked up to. Because she’s right. It would have been really awesome.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Atonement Part 3

Briony's dream came true-she is a successful writer. But at what cost? Do you think Briony’s success is due to that first “story” she told?

I think that Briony’s success is in part due to the first “story” she told, because as she witnessed a real life dramatic story it started to shape her as a writer and wake her up to the realities of life. She became aware of the complicated nature of the multiple perspectives that influence every side of every story. This shaped her into a more intelligent and informed writer that understands the complexities of life and can tell them. Because she understands how misunderstanding makes everyone a victim now, she can write down stories that encompass every perspective.

Briony claims that the writer has the “absolute power of deciding outcomes” in what ways this is true? In what ways is this a creative misreading itself? Does she have absolute power? What about what “really” happened, in reality? Does she owe her reader “satisfaction” and “hope” rather than “bleakest realism?”

This contrasts with the reality of Robbie’s life and what Briony wishes had happened. Again this demonstrates that Briony creates unrealities as a means of purging her guilt, like she does by crafting an imaginary end to her story where Cecilia and Robbie are still alive. In a manner this is true, because novels and stories are mini realities unto themselves. But of course in another manner it is untrue and calls back to Briony’s naivety from part one. She has absolute power, but only in the realities she creates herself as a means of purging her guilt.

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Atonement Post 2

Briony notices “how much older” Robbie seems, and then thinks desperately, “Did everything have to be her fault?…Couldn’t it also be the war’s?” How has the war-both Briony’s experience as a nurse with wounded soldiers and Robbie’s “parade-ground posture,” his memories of battle, and his “toothbrush mustache”-affected the two of them, and how does it color their confrontation?

Their confrontation is colored by guilt and misunderstanding, paralleling the pervasive air of misunderstanding in the first part. Robbie does not understand the goodhearted nature of Briony’s mistake the way that Briony did not understand what Robbie and Cecilia were feeling. Moreover, Briony noting Robbie’s age is indicative of her guilt, noticing the physical loss of years that she has caused him.

Why do you think neither Cecilia or Robbie suspected Paul Marshall? Why were they so fixated on Danny Hardman?

Even Robbie and Cecilia are purveyors of the classism that Robbie fell victim to. This classism runs so deep, so subconsciously that they would never even consider Paul Marshall as the criminal, just assuming that it had to have been Danny Hardman. This is evident in the novel to demonstrate that Robbie has fallen victim not to a malicious crime, but a systematic oppression that keeps poverty subjugated, running so deep that everyone propitiates it.

[aplitlaney-blog]

A black out poem from a ruined copy of Catcher In the Rye from work today.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Making Something out of Nothing

A day ago, Complex was a hasty sketch of a production. Half formed characters played by uncostumed actors. Weeks ago, it was a bare stage. Two months ago, it was a script and a cast list. Two years ago, Complex, this world and set of characters now so tangible, didn’t even exist.

Of course in some odd way, every event in my life added up to me writing what would one day be the Thornton Academy 2019 regional one act. By no means am I claiming it’s a masterpiece, but it is also funny how every unfortunate or inspiring moment in my life crafted me to be the person that would write Complex, bring to life a busy street corner and a set of characters that would come to influence the lives of 45+ people. It would come to be Maddie’s directorial debut, David Hanright’s first student directed one act, many freshman’s first of many shows on the Thornton Academy stage. It will touch, if only in some minute way, the lives of the audience members who will see it. And in every way, I watched it from nothing into something. In every stage of its inception, Complex was the result of hardwork and collaboration, and though it started as a solitary thought process in my dorm room, it became a collaborative process that will remain one of the coolest things I did in high school. It is pretty amazing that human beings have the ability to create entire worlds like that out of virtually nothing, and I’m proud to have been a part of it.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Atonement Part 3 Questions

Why are we back to Briony (rather than Cecilia or another character)? How is Briony’s character developed in this part? Be specific and use examples.

At this point in the story, Briony’s perspective is necessary. We’ve witnessed her crime in Part One, and the consequences of that crime in Part Two. But the book is called Atonement. The consequences of her crime are devastating, and she must atone for them in Part Three. We get this, with her working in the hospital. Her life as a nurse in training begins to parallel the story of Robbie at war: the systematic stripping of identity, the horrors witnessed, the authority figures and continued failures. Briony’s hardships are self-inflicted and meditative, it allows for the reader to watch her try to grow and overcome the way she wronged Cecilia and Robbie in Part One.

What do we learn about Paul and Lola on page 366? What was your reaction as a reader? Why? Why does Briony say she’s “implicated in this union” and why does this trigger her guilt seemingly more than Robbie’s imprisonment?

On page 366, we learn Paul and Lola are getting married. Briony is shocked in the confirmation, not surprised at the reality. I had a similar reaction as a reader. In part one I was sure that it was Paul who had raped Lola, and expected him to fade away from the story, absolved of any sins by Briony’s lie. But it also makes sense that by continuing to exert this dangerous force over Lola’s life, and through the lies Lola has been fed and tells herself, that Lola and Paul could be wed. By marrying him, Lola could continue this lie to herself, or she could be continually manipulated by her abuser. Briony is of course implicated in this union because she accused Robbie of the crime that Paul committed and convinced Lola that it was not Paul. Maybe if Lola had waken up to the reality of her rapist, she would have not allowed herself to be continually manipulated by him. Briony is attacked by this familiar guilt at this situation because it has a very concrete implication, whereas she is left to wonder what exactly has happened to Robbie and Cecilia.

[aplitlaney-blog]

beauty or brains

“Beauty or Brains?”    Exclusivity wound tightly round and round a question, Without room to breathe, To strangle us into two boxes set out for girls. Gasping for breath, Constriction in labels, in norms, not meant for people People are meant to grow and spread and learn and be. They say, which one will you make your home. Base your identity upon Beauty in thinning hair and dull eyes and white, strained knuckles holding onto something unachievable, Smudged lipstick from smacking your mouth onto others, chipped nail polish from scraping it away waiting for the results on a test you didn’t know you were taking. Or Brains unappreciated because they speak to you in bodies too thick to hold a ribcage without sharp corners, Thoughts shunned because they didn’t make perfect sense to you, brains shoved aside because their revolutions were terrifying. Brains called “know it all” and “nerdy” and “boring.”   They say which one will you choose? Which box will you grow to fit until your bones crack under the pressure of the walls and your head splits with the agony of knowing you’ll never be good enough. We’ll say love your body while we transform our own into broken pipe dreams, Into nothing more than a vessel that we come to hate. You do not deserve your own hate. And the wrists of our minds have the bleeding lines that remind us of all the times we were called Ugly Or stupid. Ugly, or stupid, over and over Beautiful, or smart, over and over. Whore or know it all. Attention seeker or nerd.

Vain or lonesome. Looks or personality. You are so much more than these labels. We watch as our own kind are reduced to so much less than we are. “Beauty or brains?” Why the hell would I choose. Maybe we’re easier to understand if you tell us we can not be more than one thing. We can only love one thing. Is it easier for you to understand us when you can call us pretty and ditzy Or clever and unappealing. Is it easier for you to understand girls with fingers down their throats, forcing their bodies to eat themselves to attain their “beauty”, Girls with glitter stuck in the creases of their eyelids like dust even when noone is watching them, Girls with promises of perfection written on their faces in packed powder foundation, Girls with ankles strained from high heels, broken mirrors and flickering lightbulbs on vanity tables. Girls who are binge drinking, playing russian roulette with death, can’t seem to accept that their bodies are okay. Is it easier for you to understand these girls when you ignore the beautiful thoughts that spill from their heads Is it easier for you to understand these girls when you ignore that none of this show is for you Is it easier for you to understand girls with matted hair and unassuming faces and books clenched close to their hearts,   Girls who are not sugar and spice and everything nice, but hey, she’s smart I guess, Girls who search for something to make them feel whole in between paragraphs of books, Girls who are rough edges and smashed glasses and bared fangs “who would want that,” they say. Girls who are rioting in the street and girls who are revolutions and girls who are working for the future, right now. Girls you call unappealing. Is it easier for you to understand these girls if you ignore how gorgeous they are. Is it easier for you to understand these girls if you ignore that they didn’t need your opinion on their appearance anyway. We were told that we had to choose. We were told we could not be beautiful and read a book at the same time. We were told that beauty was vapid, and stupid, and temporary. But we were told that brains were lonesome, and unappealing, and bossy. We were told that beauty was the road you took when you hated your mind, And brains was the road you took when you hated your body, But we didn’t hate anything at all.

Until you told us to.

We fall in love with death. Hoping to be as beautiful as the grave Hoping the mortician will find us fuckable I know how to slit my wrist to let my secrets pour out too but it’s time for us to reclaim our bodies

They say “Pretty and smart, that’s a force to be reckoned with,” They say it like it’s rare. You are beautiful and you are brilliant. And that is not rare. You are more than the size of your waist and more than your IQ number Do not let them reduce you to anything less than starstuff. Black smudged around your eyes does not make you a bad person. Beauty does not make you vain. Smarts do not make you annoying, or unappealing, or lonely. Your books do not mean you are anything less than gorgeous. Your worth is not written in their misconstrued definitions of things you get to define for yourself. We are more than one thing. Do not let them reduce you.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Is Dolly Parton a Drag Queen?

Wikipedia defines “drag" as people, usually male, who dress in women's clothing and often act with exaggerated femininity and in feminine gender roles with a primarily entertaining purpose. Other sources define it as an exaggerated performance of femininity for the purpose of entertainment. The Queer Dictionary defines it as the exaggerated or heightened performance of gender, and includes the distinction that modern drag includes all genders performing all genders. Drag is historically understood to be cis gendered men dressing up as women. However, today drag has become more radically progressive. Cis gendered women dress up as men. Cis gendered women exaggerate performances as women-known as “bio queens”- non binary people exaggerate gender as a means of expressing distaste with the gender binary. As society questions what gender really means and if it is necessary, drag has not lost its prevalence. Naturally, once you begin to break down the gender binary, cis gendered men dressing up as women loses its meaning, loses touch with radical ideals which breaks down what “man” and “woman” really means. Today gender expression is very fluid. So drag becomes any exaggerated expression of what society has identified as gendered qualities as a means of criticizing or poking fun at that. Drag does not need to be rooted in the performer’s gender, rather in the performance art itself. So when you break down the meaning of gender, a woman exaggerating her gender can be performing drag.

So is Dolly Parton a drag queen?

Dolly Parton has been quoted saying “If I had been born a boy, I would be a Drag Queen.” And even quoted saying that “I once lost a Dolly Parton lookalike drag contest.” So its clear that Dolly Parton’s expression of her gender is not tied intrinsically to her biological sex, but is a performance she puts on out of artistic or aesthetic desire. There is no doubt that Dolly’s big hair, dramatic outfits and exaggerated bodily proportions are in line with traditional drag queen attire. In fact I’d be hard pressed to find a meaningful difference between a drag queen’s breast or hip padding and Dolly’s plastic surgery. Without a doubt, Dolly is exaggerating what it means to be a woman in the south for the purpose of entertainment. Dolly Parton transcends musicianship, she has created a stage character for herself that generations have identified with. Today Dolly is not just a songwriter but a character. Similarly, drag performers create a drag persona that their viewers can identify with and enjoy.

As for the queer ownership of drag performance, Dolly Parton has long been an advocate for the LGBT community, even in early years in her career in the South. She also has neither denied nor confirmed her own queer identity, instead owning that it isn’t important, a radical and progressive stance. She has also spoken out for the trans community, something that many LGBT advocates fail to recognize.

I think that as gender becomes more and more meaningless and people start to criticize its importance, the definition of drag will have to expand in order to stay relevant. And with that expanded definition, Dolly Parton is a drag queen.

[aplitlaney-blog]

The Climate Crisis? It’s Capitalism, Stupid

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/20/opinion/climate-capitalism-crisis.html

This article addresses the issue of climate change and affirms the prediction that our current way of life is unsustainable, and that the Earth may not survive the way that we treat it. However, this article differs from many current beliefs about the causes of climate change and how we can fight it. Rather than placing all the blame on individuals for not using plastic straws or driving cars, this article addresses the unsustainability of capitalism, and how it inherently prioritizes economic incentives over the environment. This author argues that the belief that composting or reusable bags will get us out of climate change is very harmful and halting any progress that could be made by making some serious changes to our economic structure and how we allow large corporations to treat the environment. The way that we produce is for profit, not sustainability, and the Earth may not survive that because our economic system allows it. The author is very blunt: capitalism is at the fault of climate change. Furthermore, the author argues that the reason we do not talk about climate change in this way is because the wealthy are holding steadfast to their wealth, so they push the blame onto individuals, convict them with a guilty conscious for not riding their bike to work.

I think this article is really interesting. We are generally taught that capitalism is synonymous with American patriotism, the American Dream and free will. And furthermore, that condemning capitalism and its prevalent failures is simultaneously condoning oppressive regimes like the nazis or definitively propping up socialism and communism. Socialism and communism have become very sullied dirty words in our society, meaning that movements that espouse leftist ideals like democratic socialism are immediately associated with the nazis or general facism.  I don’t think that’s fair. Capitalism has failed our country and has been at the root cause of many prevalent issues like drug addiction, nativism, climate change, and general dissatisfaction. And criticizing that and trying to think of new solutions has a dirty connotation.

This article opened my eyes up to the unsustainability of capitalism and the environment. Scientists have told us that we have 12 years before we reach the point of no return with climate change. Its very scary to think that the generation after me could witness the end of our planet. The threat has become very real. And this article, and other articles criticizing the free market and capitalism have made me think that there is little hope until our economic structure changes. It  is very scary to think that large corporations have managed to place the blame on citizens for not using plastic straws, while the top 1% destroys our environment. It is time to think of new solutions.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Why can’t young people enjoy things?

Last weekend, Netflix released it’s new, highly publicized and widely popular psychological thriller, Bird Box. It was immediately devoured by fans across the country and became a trending hashtag on twitter and instagram. It was a sensation: memes and challenges spread across the internet like wildfire. Over the course of the week of its release, everyone I spoke to had seen it, and loved it. I didn’t talk to one person who didn’t like it. Everyone was infatuated. In fact, once my friends and I completed it, we stood up to stretch and then promptly rewinded it and watched the whole movie over again. It was a hit.

When I enjoy a movie, I feel the need to find everything out about it. I read all of the director’s intentions, the budget, the screenwriter’s life story, the inception of the story. In my quest for knowledge, I also stumbled across reviews. Mind you, this is amidst one of the biggest internet reactions to a movie I’ve ever seen, topped only by Avengers: Infinity War (maybe). This was a widespread reaction to a movie like the internet had possibly never seen. Overnight, the movie had taken over every social media platform. And notably, it was mostly popular among teenagers and the younger generation. Yet the reviews were horribly. A measly 2.5 on rotten tomatoes- yet 89% of Google users rating it 5 stars and 45 million views on Netflix.

I refuse to believe the myth that teenagers and millennials have inheritly bad taste. I don’t think someone old enough to be deciding the rest of their future is any less likely to be able to determine a good movie from a bad movie. And call it conceited, but I do believe I have objectively good taste- despite my fascination in Dolly Parton’s children album and Gilmore Girls.

And with an all star cast like Sandra Bullock, Sarah Paulson and John Malkovich, I find it hard to believe that it’s the concept or crew that is inherently flawed.

So why the horrible reviews calling it uninteresting  trite and an unexecuted premise? I find it hard to believe that an uninteresting movie could inspire an entire internet challenge and spark intense conversations about what it means to be mentally ill, a mother, or the nature of the end of the world and how that ties to our current political climate.

The divide between public acclaim and critical reviews leaves me to blame critic’s view of the movie on a single phenomena.

Young people aren’t allowed to enjoy things.

It’s the same reason that much modern pop music is considered less valuable than the pop music of previous generations, or young adult novels, despite complex plots and beautiful writing are considered invalid sources of literature. Suits in high rises with PHDs and certifications decide that young people have invalid taste. And I’m sick of it.

45 million views and an internet wide debate is what defines a good movie. If people want to watch it, and it starts a conversation, and gets people thinking. Its a good movie. It has an interesting premise. It captivated its audience. No one was looking away from that screen.

If Bird Box had been released by traditional old media methods, rather than Netflix, which does not require old hollywood money or force screenwriters to jump through hoops, I bet it would have received better reviews.

But it was released by Netflix. A new media platform that threatens the way movies have been created forever. Anyone can submit a script to Netflix- and I mean anyone. Netflix has revolutionized the way that media is being created, and I bet that it threatens the old Hollywood execs who profit off of the way that things have always been done. So an excellent movie gets bad reviews. And I think its indicative of the way that our society views and dismisses young people’s opinions.

[aplitlaney-blog]

Some Kids

Some kids own their dumbstricken urban nights

And some kids dont know when to stop.

Dumb boys and dead girls and ashen footprints left in soot

Some kids would kill themselves for a shot

Some kids build homes in other bodies

But some kids will learn the chords to your favorite song

Without you asking them to

And some kids will draw on your wall in yellow paint

Dead boys and dumb girls with blank stares and aches and wins

Eat around their olives-Could never reach the top shelf-Never leaned to lie- Two stairs at a time

Some kids

[aplitlaney-blog]

Aislinn Travis and I discovered the song Brave Little Soldier by Dolly Parton in mid November. Amidst the stress of the fall play, college applications, and the general turmoil associated with being a 17 year old interested in the arts, Dolly Parton’s dulcet tones have soothed us daily.

A facet of our enjoyment has verged on irony. After all, the album cover proudly displays Dolly Parton (in all her glory) adorned in fairy wings atop a pedestal of “I BELIEVE IN YOU.” However, our genuine appreciation of these lyrics has come to represent a lot more for myself and the student body president.

Aislinn and I spend a lot of time in the car together. I am pathetically un-licenced and with out a car and Aislinn drags me all about the Saco metropolitan area in her silver Honda Civic. Between runs to Taco Bell and rides to school and work, starting every car ride with Brave Little Soldier has come to be a sort of tradition. If you didn’t think two senior high schoolers could scream Dolly Parton lyrics at the top of their lungs, you would be wrong. If you thought said senior high schoolers wouldn’t actively have tears streaming down their faces as they do so, you would be wrong. Funnily enough, what started as an ironic appreciation, has become our way of releasing our stresses, wins and losses, and daily anxieties and emotions, all backset by Dolly Parton’s soothing Tennessee-Belle accent.

I guess what I’ve learned from Dolly Parton’s children album is that the happiest parts of your life are going inevitably come from the strangest places. And that in every humorous enjoyment, there is a grain of something very true and wholesome. And that, ultimately, Dolly Parton cures many ails.

[aplitlaney-blog]

A reflection on a moment-

This is my favorite photo I have ever taken. Imperfect, low res, iphone and cropped into an unaligned square. My mother is a professional photographer and from a lineage of artists. She would be unimpressed. But it is still my favorite photo.

Myself and 12 other actors were fortunate enough to explore London and Stratford Upon Avon through the lens of Shakespeare for two weeks this summer. It was my first time across an ocean.

We left Thornton Academy at 5pm in our coach bus, not yet sick of each other, some giddy and some anxious about a first real time away from home. We arrived in Boston for our 9pm flight to be greeted with 3 hours of delays. We tried to sleep in haphazard piles of groggy teenagers on the airport floor. The seven hour flight was too special to sleep through. I was too excited to rest my eyes, enthralled by flight and by the excitement coursing through me. When we landed in Heathrow, London, it was sunny and time had passed us by in a very funny way. I still dont completely understand time zones, and all I know is that it was at that moment 2pm and I had gone 24 hours without sleep.

We hit the ground running. We had a show to catch at the Globe theater at 5pm and bellies full of airplane food that craved something better. We dropped our things off at the hotel and made our way, all 15 of us with our chaperones, to the River Thames. And suddenly we were exploring London.

I knew I had lost a sunrise and sunset. And I knew that I had crossed and entire ocean and was now wandering down sights I had seen in movies and TV shows from a young age. But nothing felt real. Like the exact opposite of a flash flood, or a groggy childhood scene in a halmark movie, everything was cast by a dim fog of magic. Disorientation. But also the intense feeling of the possible and the exciting. For the first time, I was experiencing the physical awareness of the world beyond our continent. The immense awareness of the grandure of the human population. That the entire surface of the earth had always been crawling with girls just like me, despite the fact that I had never seen them before.

As we wandered down the River Thames I thought these thoughts. A street performer blew bubbles along the sidewalks in search of stray coins. I would have dropped a few pence in his hat if I had any of the local currency. So instead I stopped a moment, and watched. And snapped my first photo on another continent, of a strange girl I’d never met, enjoying the same bubbles I was on the same river. And though I’ll never know her name, she will always be in my favorite photo, no matter where she is. And I think thats very special.

[aplitlaney-blog]

The Action of Gratitude

The last month, me and five of my friends have decided to make a practice of sharing nightly three things we are grateful for. Two of us are 17. One 18. One newly 15. Two 16. Nightly, I have the privelege of knowing what a recently 14 year old boy gets out of bed for.

Here is a collection of things my close friends have been grateful for between Halloween and now.

1) Stephen King

2) My fireplace

3) 28 hours until the weekend

4) Snow day

5) “bomb ass” smoothie

6) My parents

7) Protein powder

8) Dolly Parton

9) Got into college

10) My friend’s mom commented on my instagram

There were days when it seemed there was nothing to be grateful for. We would remind each other of the roofs over our heads and the heat in our homes, and our three gratitudes would be less specific. Some days, they would leap from our fingertips and into our groupchat with daring specificity and gratitude for each other’s gifts and kind words. Some days we would recognize that the act of recognizing our gratitude was enough to be grateful for. Always, when we were together we were excited to share out loud and listen to what makes our friends tick daily.

And every day I learned the small things that make my friends’ lives better. I learned how important going to the gym was to one, how large a role music played in one’s life. I learned to define my friends by their wins and not their loses.

I had to sit down every night and reflect on what made me happy instead of what made me sad. On beaten down days I had to physically manifest my gratitude for my mother or my dogs or my warm bed. Being lucky became an adjective I would describe myself with. And it got easier, and more exciting every night. Hearing that it was a 15 year old boy’s favorite nightly routine made my heart melt.

Most importantly, I learned that gratitude is an action, a pragmatic step, and not something to be passive about. Physically manifesting my gratitude through speech and writing, and knowing that other people were listening brought immense happiness to me through the stressful month of November. Passively recognizing gratitude is not as proactive as recognizing it head on. Because the more you thank yourself for the things in your life, the more you have to be thankful for.