Saturday, June 23, 2012
A slippery slope.
OK KIDS. So I was busy today: getting my haircut, goin g to BJs, and spending hours at Becca's. I'm sorry. But I will update tomorrow if I find time (I have a seven hour rehearsal for Bright Lights.) but I DO have topics to cover so it will be INTERESTIG.
Remind me never to try to blog from an iPhone.
Friday, June 22, 2012
I'm a strong bitch but I'm a weak bitch.
And today is yet another usual summer day.
This is going to be a great summer. Endless pizza, America's Next Top Model marathons, this is what summer is to Eric Gomez. I can't pretend I'm going to have this Phineas-and-Ferb-crazy-adventurous summer vacation. Although I may have understated how busy of a summer it will be. Road lessons, vacations, Bright Lights, camp, my driving test (holy God!) all while fitting in voice lessons where I can and seeing friends in the breaks I'm giving myself.
But there will be about three weeks of nothing. And this is when my diet will turn to pizza and freeze pops. This is when I inevitably fall asleep at 2 AM, wake up at 12 PM, hate myself for wasting my day but also love sleeping in. This is when I sing in my dingy basement even though it makes no difference whether I sing in my room or underground, my brother will still hear me. This is when I will pretend to shop for clothes online even though I know full and well I can't afford it.
This is when the blog posts get shorter; when I have nothing worthy of talking about to... talk about.
Tomorrow, I'll be better. I promise.
This is going to be a great summer. Endless pizza, America's Next Top Model marathons, this is what summer is to Eric Gomez. I can't pretend I'm going to have this Phineas-and-Ferb-crazy-adventurous summer vacation. Although I may have understated how busy of a summer it will be. Road lessons, vacations, Bright Lights, camp, my driving test (holy God!) all while fitting in voice lessons where I can and seeing friends in the breaks I'm giving myself.
But there will be about three weeks of nothing. And this is when my diet will turn to pizza and freeze pops. This is when I inevitably fall asleep at 2 AM, wake up at 12 PM, hate myself for wasting my day but also love sleeping in. This is when I sing in my dingy basement even though it makes no difference whether I sing in my room or underground, my brother will still hear me. This is when I will pretend to shop for clothes online even though I know full and well I can't afford it.
This is when the blog posts get shorter; when I have nothing worthy of talking about to... talk about.
Tomorrow, I'll be better. I promise.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Because EVERYONE loves detail.
I told you I'd be back.
First, I just wanted to point out, Woodland has its own Wikipedia page. Like, who took out the time to write a page about our school? Who wants to have that kind of time?
Moving on. So, it's my second day of summer vacation. I should start reading the 4 books for AP Lit that I haven't actually bought yet, or listen to the French broadcasts for AP French, which God knows why I'm even continuing this language when I haven't learned anything since Mrs. Hiscox, or I should start the Calculus packet, which seems the least daunting of the three. But, no, I'm here. Typing away on the keyboard missing the X button, The Price is Right playing in the background, waiting for life to begin.
There's so much I want to tell you. There's so much I neglected to talk about in the past eight months.
In the fall our school did a production of Stagedoor. In the spring we did Once on This Island. We received 10 Halo award nominations, and we won Best Specialty Ensemble in a Musical, (that's me guys that's ME!)
Tech week is rapidly approaching for Bright Lights; which seems much more hectic than last year. We've had maybe a month of rehearsals and our director just left to do a show in the Adirondacks and there's so many little kids and ugh. But it's ok. It'll all be ok.
Graduation was yesterday. And now I can talk about it in detail. Because everyone loves detail.
It was hot. Hot. The temperature was in the high 90s, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the courtyard was flooded with sunlight. The only shadows to be found were the ones casted from the spectators. But the heat was bearable. I survived. I survived.
The speeches ranged from the obligatory to the unexpected, to the originally-observational-and-witty-until-everyone-started-incorporating-YOLO-into-their-speech speeches. Chamber choir suffered from my ex-boyfriend's proximity to the microphone, who sounded uneasy and uncomfortable, and thus the entire chorus sounded uneasy and uncomfortable. The band was missing integral parts of both their sections and their spirits, as some chose not to come, and others chose to graduate. Well, not chose. But. Yea.
But these are just trivial parts of the evening. What I, and what I expect most everyone else, really came for was to see the seniors walk across the stage. It was strange. As much as I was upset that my friends were leaving, going off to respective colleges across the (predominantly New England area) country, I was also filled with a sense of closure. This is their final step as a high schooler. This is mine as a junior. This is me next year. This is them right now. This is okay. This is what's happening and this is the only way the future really happens, by accepting the present.
Of course, I will sorely miss the seniors that I call my friends, my best friends. To walk into Woodland next year missing such a large part of our spirit, will be a haunting and jolting realization. But, they aren't gone. They just aren't here. They're at college. They're growing up, they're finding themselves more than we ever could in these humid halls.
So, it's bittersweet.
But, hey, thank God it's summer amiright?
First, I just wanted to point out, Woodland has its own Wikipedia page. Like, who took out the time to write a page about our school? Who wants to have that kind of time?
Moving on. So, it's my second day of summer vacation. I should start reading the 4 books for AP Lit that I haven't actually bought yet, or listen to the French broadcasts for AP French, which God knows why I'm even continuing this language when I haven't learned anything since Mrs. Hiscox, or I should start the Calculus packet, which seems the least daunting of the three. But, no, I'm here. Typing away on the keyboard missing the X button, The Price is Right playing in the background, waiting for life to begin.
There's so much I want to tell you. There's so much I neglected to talk about in the past eight months.
In the fall our school did a production of Stagedoor. In the spring we did Once on This Island. We received 10 Halo award nominations, and we won Best Specialty Ensemble in a Musical, (that's me guys that's ME!)
Tech week is rapidly approaching for Bright Lights; which seems much more hectic than last year. We've had maybe a month of rehearsals and our director just left to do a show in the Adirondacks and there's so many little kids and ugh. But it's ok. It'll all be ok.
Graduation was yesterday. And now I can talk about it in detail. Because everyone loves detail.
It was hot. Hot. The temperature was in the high 90s, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the courtyard was flooded with sunlight. The only shadows to be found were the ones casted from the spectators. But the heat was bearable. I survived. I survived.
The speeches ranged from the obligatory to the unexpected, to the originally-observational-and-witty-until-everyone-started-incorporating-YOLO-into-their-speech speeches. Chamber choir suffered from my ex-boyfriend's proximity to the microphone, who sounded uneasy and uncomfortable, and thus the entire chorus sounded uneasy and uncomfortable. The band was missing integral parts of both their sections and their spirits, as some chose not to come, and others chose to graduate. Well, not chose. But. Yea.
But these are just trivial parts of the evening. What I, and what I expect most everyone else, really came for was to see the seniors walk across the stage. It was strange. As much as I was upset that my friends were leaving, going off to respective colleges across the (predominantly New England area) country, I was also filled with a sense of closure. This is their final step as a high schooler. This is mine as a junior. This is me next year. This is them right now. This is okay. This is what's happening and this is the only way the future really happens, by accepting the present.
Of course, I will sorely miss the seniors that I call my friends, my best friends. To walk into Woodland next year missing such a large part of our spirit, will be a haunting and jolting realization. But, they aren't gone. They just aren't here. They're at college. They're growing up, they're finding themselves more than we ever could in these humid halls.
So, it's bittersweet.
But, hey, thank God it's summer amiright?
Equally unflattering as it is an
accurate portrayal of our friendship.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
And they pull me back in.
Hey.
What's going on? With my life? What am I doing, writing on this blog that I haven't visited in eight months? On a laptop that's been chipped and cracked down to its bare bones? With unchecked notifications on the Facebook that I begrudgingly made four years ago? Why am I typing away when I know three people at most will see this (and I know exactly who), without a clear purpose as to what I'm really trying to say?
I'll tell you why. Feelings. My feelings are why I write.
My feelings are equivalent to this post: no clear subject; plot; direction. But, that's ok. Both these feelings and this post will not be forgotten, nor will they be concise. They're everywhere.
I felt like I needed to write. I've felt like I've needed to write for a while now. It never really crossed my mind that unearthing dear old Gomezziblog was what I needed.
It didn't cross my mind until a downhill-sloped, out-of-breath-conversationed, took-longer-than-I-thought-it-would stroll down to Main Street with Sam. It was the last day of the carnival, where the entire population of Beacon Falls inexplicably congregates around the Fire House. The carnival in and of itself isn't impressive by any means. The rides haven't been inspected by engineers in years, decades even. There is never a seat to be found. The fried dough you order never seems as good as the person's before your's. But the carnival isn't entirely a noun, it's a verb. To carnival. To walk across the carnival grounds and say hi to nearly every friend in the sophomore class. To take a picture in front of Ms. Shove's band to earn extra credit on your English final.
Anyway, Sam and I passed the carnival as she led me to a spot behind the "Fun" House, which looks more terrifying than fun. At least I've always thought so. There was a ground of red bricks, stone benches, and trees that reminded me all too much of our school's courtyard. I thought to myself This is a pretty space. But we didn't sit down. We didn't pause. She led me down a metal staircase where the toes sticking out of my flip-flops were met with sand. Water streamed ahead of us. A beach? In Beacon Falls?
Well, beach is probably too big of a stretch for inland Connecticut. It was a short patch of sand that met the Naugatuck river.
And Sam and I just stood there, backs resting against the silver fence. Sam keeps a journal that she writes daily entries in. I've always kind of been jealous, of how she can just jot down her feelings of the day's events, and it's there forever. She'll never forget the disbelief on our faces when Nick guessed the correct date on the milk carton in an intense game of Dicecapades. She'll never forget our wildly inappropriate responses to Why Did the Chicken.
I talked about my wanting to write again. How I never do anymore. How I feel like I need to. And that's when Gomezziblog entered the conversation.
That's why I'm here right now.
I wrote a little too much than I planned to. I started this post at 9:17 PM. It's now 10:00 PM on the nose. And there's still so much I want to talk about. I want to talk about graduation. I want to talk about how I'm sort-of-almost-kind-of-not-really-but-I-will-be a senior. I want to talk about the goodbyes I'll inevitably have to give. I want to talk about how I've changed in the past three years. I want to talk about my future. I want to talk about the present.
But somehow I got caught up in writing about the past. Woops.
Until tomorrow,
Eric.
What's going on? With my life? What am I doing, writing on this blog that I haven't visited in eight months? On a laptop that's been chipped and cracked down to its bare bones? With unchecked notifications on the Facebook that I begrudgingly made four years ago? Why am I typing away when I know three people at most will see this (and I know exactly who), without a clear purpose as to what I'm really trying to say?
I'll tell you why. Feelings. My feelings are why I write.
My feelings are equivalent to this post: no clear subject; plot; direction. But, that's ok. Both these feelings and this post will not be forgotten, nor will they be concise. They're everywhere.
I felt like I needed to write. I've felt like I've needed to write for a while now. It never really crossed my mind that unearthing dear old Gomezziblog was what I needed.
It didn't cross my mind until a downhill-sloped, out-of-breath-conversationed, took-longer-than-I-thought-it-would stroll down to Main Street with Sam. It was the last day of the carnival, where the entire population of Beacon Falls inexplicably congregates around the Fire House. The carnival in and of itself isn't impressive by any means. The rides haven't been inspected by engineers in years, decades even. There is never a seat to be found. The fried dough you order never seems as good as the person's before your's. But the carnival isn't entirely a noun, it's a verb. To carnival. To walk across the carnival grounds and say hi to nearly every friend in the sophomore class. To take a picture in front of Ms. Shove's band to earn extra credit on your English final.
Anyway, Sam and I passed the carnival as she led me to a spot behind the "Fun" House, which looks more terrifying than fun. At least I've always thought so. There was a ground of red bricks, stone benches, and trees that reminded me all too much of our school's courtyard. I thought to myself This is a pretty space. But we didn't sit down. We didn't pause. She led me down a metal staircase where the toes sticking out of my flip-flops were met with sand. Water streamed ahead of us. A beach? In Beacon Falls?
Well, beach is probably too big of a stretch for inland Connecticut. It was a short patch of sand that met the Naugatuck river.
And Sam and I just stood there, backs resting against the silver fence. Sam keeps a journal that she writes daily entries in. I've always kind of been jealous, of how she can just jot down her feelings of the day's events, and it's there forever. She'll never forget the disbelief on our faces when Nick guessed the correct date on the milk carton in an intense game of Dicecapades. She'll never forget our wildly inappropriate responses to Why Did the Chicken.
I talked about my wanting to write again. How I never do anymore. How I feel like I need to. And that's when Gomezziblog entered the conversation.
That's why I'm here right now.
I wrote a little too much than I planned to. I started this post at 9:17 PM. It's now 10:00 PM on the nose. And there's still so much I want to talk about. I want to talk about graduation. I want to talk about how I'm sort-of-almost-kind-of-not-really-but-I-will-be a senior. I want to talk about the goodbyes I'll inevitably have to give. I want to talk about how I've changed in the past three years. I want to talk about my future. I want to talk about the present.
But somehow I got caught up in writing about the past. Woops.
Until tomorrow,
Eric.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
This Was Not Very Raven
Welp. Here I am again.
I know, I've neglected you. I know, it's been months, I know, I've posted twice in all of 2011. But baby, I always keep coming back to you.
I don't really know why I decided to, though. I always have this urge to write. But I never really do. And this is why I'm confused.
There is just a lot coming at me at times. Growing up is stupid. The numerous trips to the DMV, rescheduling trips to the DMV, getting calls from my dad about the newest reason why he couldn't bring me to the DMV. Luckily that's all over with, I have my permit and I'm ready to HIT THE ROAD. Or the road is ready to hit me. Or I'm ready to hit everything.
I'm going to an open house tomorrow at WestConn. Western Connecticut State University. University, as in college. That's not cool. Like, I really don't think I'll have many problems adjusting or devising my major or anything, I just don't want to do all that. I'm perfectly happy not changing at all. It's not a good thing, to have such disdain over change, I know that. But it's something I've always had.
I hate saying goodbyes to things. I don't wanna say goodbye to my home, my friends, my life. I know I have a year and a half left still, but that's not the same for everyone. Knowing that the times I have left with my friends who are seniors are limited sucks. And I know one day I'll come back and read this and think how odd that I wrote saying goodbye to seniors as sucking, when future me is going to know what it's like to say goodbye to his junior friends, his sophomore friends, his friends of every age and ethnicity (well, mostly Caucasian.) And future me is going to roll his eyes at these jokes, give an embarrassed half-giggle, like, "Wow Eric, you used to think you were just so funny." But really. The future is like, upon us.
The future is like, upon us guys.
So this is pretty weird. But anyways, things are just, yea.
Wanna hear good things?
-We've had this entire week off because of power outages.
-I went to see In the Heights today and I ran into MacKenzie, who I haven't seen in months, and I was so happy because I miss her like crazy.
-My hair looks pretty good today.
And so with that, I say farewell. Talk to you later, in about 7 months or something.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
I'm Busy
Remember when I blogged? Those were the days, my friend. Back when life was simpler, everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt. Yea, good times.
I will admit, not all of that has changed exactly. Most everything is still beautiful, most nothing is hurt, but life, oh man has it gotten more complicated. Rehearsals for Bright Lights start Sunday, a fact that's rather upsetting as I'll have to go alone, without Mary, who suggested I audition with her, but in a twist of fate is now in Wales for the next nine days. Meetings for the National World Language Honor Society began last week, our initiation ceremony is the 28th. I've signed up for Woodland for Women Worldwide, an organization at my school that works to end sex trafficking all around the world, and we're doing pretty well. The Run for a Revolution put on by us is on the 21st of May, in which I'll be participating in a 2-mile walk. To prepare, Erika, Alyssa, Kate and I plan on walking together once a week (this week was postponed due to rain and Erika's not being at her house where we're supposed to meet. So.) On top of all this, there will be occasional and spontaneous meetings with the Drama club, for pizza-party-DVD-viewing gatherings to watch our production of Jesus Christ Superstar (oh, how I miss it!), discussing what we're going to do next year in terms of organizing, and a few rehearsals, as our cast is performing a song at the Halo Awards, as well as being eligible for awards (nominations aren't out yet.) And lastly, Emmaus starts on May 6th, and I can't be more excited. I just *am.* The potluck is on the 2nd I believe.
So yea, I've got a lot going on. But I think I'll be okay.
My miscellaneous projects for myself are getting there. The lyrics for Twins: A New Musical are near completed, just a couple more songs I need to write. I think I may have found the Lowdermilk to my Kerrigan. As in, I've found a composer for my lyrics. Erika plays piano and has been working on her own instrumentals, and I've been working on my own lyrics. And she's already been working on the backings for a song or two (not from the musical, I believe.) So that's really good.
I've also been adding a few songs to my catalog for a way-off-into-the-distant-future song cycle that could be done as my senior project. Nothing too impressive, don't worry.
You know what I just noticed? I'm not funny anymore.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Toothless Whores.
Well. This is awkward.
I know, I haven't posted since, like, last year. But hey, it happens. I've just kind of stopped blogging in general for a while. I don't really know why, but it's probably along the lines of me being lazy, and blogging requires some unrecognized effort.
But I feel like blogging today, because a certain "Samantha Martin", her magnificent entries, and general being inspire me.
So, here we are again. It's a friday night that feels like a tuesday, it's 20 degrees but feels like 50, and I'm thinking about things.
Maybe I could just kind of talk about my current projects?
Well, there's ANV
And Jesus Christ Superstar (I was cast as King Herod. Yay for being an awkward , flamboyant king who is constantly surrounded by drag queens. :T )
And constant analyzing over the current Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark debacle.
And finishing mid-terms, ending two of my favorite classes, and starting two new ones.
And probably the project I'm most proud of as of yet is TW!NZ: A New Musical. (Title is tentative, further details will be slowly leaked via internet resources.)
But I will leave you with this little gem.
"SAM: You'll ruin it
CAIT: How?
SAM: You'll tare it
You'll lose it
You'll rip it
Or more
CAIT: You toothless whore"
And with that, I'll be off. Because it feels like I've been writing this post for a half an hour, only to result in a total of 10 minutes and a couple paragraphs that will inevitably look much, much smaller than that when it's posted.
Stay beautiful.
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