Pakistani Tim

I don't intend for it to happen. I don't wish for it to happen. Somehow, someway, it finds me. Drama - both good and bad. I've been told on numerous occasions that I should have video cameras following me around because I'm constantly finding myself in indescribable situations. My boss has been begging me to blog about them for as long as I can remember, but perhaps it's just because he wants to live vicariously through my crazy schoolgirl antics.

This past weekend, I found myself at what the kids are calling a "hip, dive bar" called Anvil. While minding my own business, talking to a friend on the patio as he smoked a cigarette, a nice man named Tim decided to take it upon himself to tell us his life story. Tim came to America from Pakistan, got married, had a son, decided to become a surgeon, got divorced and shouldn't have been out drinking because he had to move out of the house the next day and go see his son play soccer. That, and he kept on insisting that my friend looked like Peter Weller. Not normal Peter Weller, but Robocop Peter Weller. This then became an entire discussion about Robocop and similar movies from the 80's. Before I knew it, we were having a full blown debate about Robocop, the Terminator and all bands in the 80's worth listening to.

Perhaps I should backtrack here for a moment. When Pakistani Tim first introduced himself to us, I use the word "us" loosely. He introduced himself to my friend, not me. I said, "I'm Helenita." He ignored me completely, eyes fixated on Robocop. I tried every once in awhile to get a word in edge-wise, but my interest in the likes of James Taylor and the Beatles was quickly shot down with, "So, did you know they're making a new Predator film?"

Normally not one to be ignored, I was baffled by the exclusion in the conversation. Then it dawned on me that perhaps Pakistani Tim was, in fact, not interested in me at all. I guess his whole sob story was meant to attract the bright blue eyes of my male companion. While I was stuck in a daze, mulling this over in my head, Peter Weller somehow managed to escape the grasping conversation and darted inside to grab another drink, leaving me alone with Tim.

Not two seconds after he was gone, Tim asked me if I thought he was handsome. Complete and utter confusion washed over me and the only response I could muster was, "Well, I think the guy I'm here with is more handsome than you, so I'm gonna just go ahead and go inside." I guess I just don't have it in me to say, "Um, well, you see the thing is, you just spent the past 15 minutes talking to my friend about the Terminator, Robocop and the Cure while completely disregarding every single word that came out of my mouth. On top of that, you're like 15 years older than I am and going through a divorce. So, to sum it up, no I don't think you're attractive and I'm just gonna go." Wouldn't life be so much easier if we were able to just say what we thought? Exactly what we thought at the moment we were thinking it?

After we escaped the death grip of Pakistani Tim, we went back inside for a bit until the bar closed. Then, upon our departure, Tim was waiting outside for a cab. Apparently he'd been waiting about 20 minutes and couldn't wait any longer, so he managed to talk us into giving him a ride home. Despite the fact that we didn't want to give him a ride home, we're both nice people and he didn't live too far, so we figured, what's the worst that could happen? He talked our ears off the ENTIRE ten minutes it took us to get from the bar to his house and when we pulled up to let him out, he asked us if we wanted to come inside for some, and I quote, "Sweet ganja." I just gave my friend that look of, let's get out of here before we become the sick plot of a horror movie. And with that, he dropped me off at home and I couldn't have been happier to be in the sweet safety of my apartment without Pakistani Tim, Robocop, the Governator or Ah-Ha.

I lied. Ah-Ha was there when I got home, but I didn't listen to them.

Just Sing. Sing a Song.

When I was a little girl, my dad used to sing me to sleep with the Carpenters' song, "Sing" and I've always loved it because it just makes me smile. What's better when you're down than to just sing a song. I grew up singing and have always loved it. I used to go to a recording studio in the Houston Galleria and "lay down tracks" because, you know, that's what all the cool kids did then. And let's face it, I wanted to be a cool kid. I was in church choir and then joined HITS Unicorn Theater where I performed in musicals such as "Fiddler on the Roof" and "Godspell."

I then moved on to singing in the Glee Club in high school and was part of a 12-person ensemble called Spirit. This opened up a whole new world to me. I got to travel up and down the east coast, touring with my ensemble, singing at churches, schools and universities. My biggest and proudest moment was when we sang for the Queen's Jubilee Celebration in London. My choir director, the BEST choir director I've ever had the privilege of knowing and being conducted by, Carol Burnett, got a group of Spirit members - past and present - to join together in England. We performed at churches and music halls where the acoustics were beyond belief.

Once I got to college, things changed. My priorities shifted from singing to studying and, well, having fun in college. It wasn't until my last semester when I had electives to choose from and I decided to do dance and voice. While I rediscovered my love, I didn't have a venue for it outside of my voice lessons - and I didn't really try to find one. One thing led to another and I graduated and got into the working world and completely lost sight of the joy music and my singing brought to me.

So, thinking about the words of the Carpenters, I decided to get back into the world of singing back in April. I had a recital just about three weeks after I started singing again and sang an Italian aria that I had sung in high school. This past Sunday, I had another recital and decided to sing a song by one of my favorite composers, Cole Porter. His music is so lyrical and is composed so brilliantly. I joked with my voice coach that I feel like I truly found my Sondheim in Cole Porter.

The first time I sang "I've Got You Under My Skin" I knew I had to sing it for my recital piece. It just fit. I'd heard Frank Sinatra and Michael Buble sing it, but I just felt like the song meant something different to me. It's such a beautifully written song and from a woman's perspective, I felt like it needed to a little more romance and less of the upbeat jazziness that Sinatra and Buble brought to it. I love their versions, don't get me wrong, it just resonated with me a little differently. My voice teacher and I wanted to really bring that sultry romantic element to the recital, so we asked her husband to play the tenor trombone as well. It's so fun for me to get to hear it back with the trombone. I loved every minute of my performance and hope you enjoy it as well. One note: the memory card on my camera was full about halfway through the performance, so I had to work some iMovie voodoo magic in order to piece together the missing chunk of music, but hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Laugh

This video is awesome.  In the words of Ellen DeGeneres, "Laugh. Dance. Love."  Let's start with the laughing.  Here's to a great weekend, everyone!

My Big Break

And now for the newest addition to my past...a letter I wrote to Rosie O'Donnell.  And never sent.

October 18, 1998

Dear Rosie,

This is a tape I made at a small recording studio in Houston.  I live there, but I go to a boarding school in North Carolina.  Don't worry, I chose to come.  I wasn't a bad girl or anything like that.  I love your show and I've been wanting to be on it for a long time.  However, I've noticed that your show never seems to have kid talent with teenagers.  It generally only has little kids.  You see, it's my dream in life to become a Broadway star.  If I can't be that, then I really want to be a singer or do something with my music.  I've been singing for awhile.  I've also looked around for famous record labels to send a demo tape.  I just think that I need a big break somehow.  I love what you have done for the theatre in New York.  I think it's wonderful.  On this tape, I have recorded "The Fool" and "Part of Your World."  They are each on their own side  If you would, please listen to both of them and take them into consideration.  Thank you so much for your time.  I hope to hear from your show soon.

Helenita

This letter needs no explanation, but for those who don't know me, I'm gonna give one anyway.

  

I loved the Rosie O'Donnell show.  Just ask my mom, who unfortunately was forced to watch it every afternoon.  I watched her show back when she hadn't come out yet and instead declared her love for Tom Cruise at every available opportunity.

To be clear, I still love singing and, let's be honest, who wouldn't want to be a famous musician?  I admit my life would be easier if I had a bunch of money at my disposal and paparazzi snapping pictures of me doing something like picking my nose or my wedgie or forgetting to wear underwear...wait, what?  

I sing every chance I get...in the shower, in my car, in my room, at my sister's wedding, karaoke, etc.  I also sing in my office, much to the dismay of my co-workers.  So I guess all I'm trying to say is that although I don't have a career in music, I don't feel like I missed out on my dream.   I'm a celebrity in my own head.  Plus, I have my sisters and friends to capture those awkward moments on film anyway.

The Fifteen Year-Old Philosopher

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm sitting here attempting to write my first official blog.  You might ask how it's possible for a soon-to-be 26 year-old to never have been exposed to this world of online communities before now.  And, unfortunately, the only answer I have to proffer is that I just simply never had an interest in it.  I, like many others, didn't see why anyone would be interested in what I have to say.  But now that I'm here, I guess there's not much left to do than introduce myself to you.

While mulling over what to write about for my first blog, I thought I'd take a walk down memory lane.  That lane ended up being a stack of journal entries which began at the young age of fourteen.  Ah, fourteen.  You know, the age where everything around you is awkward and you hate your siblings. Your parents, no matter what they have to say, are always being unreasonable. You're rebellious. And your body has decided to abandon you and any hope you may have had of ever being socially accepted.  Yes, fourteen...what a lovely age to be.

What better time than puberty to bring you all into my life?  So, here is a piece I wrote while at my high school Freshman Retreat, the day after my fifteenth birthday.  We were asked to write what our "oil" would be.  The problem is, I don't remember if this was an oil and water-type of situation or more of a "the oil that lights your ever-glowing candle" situation.  I decided to share this particular piece with you because not much has changed in the ten years since I wrote it.  I still wonder the same things and have the same ideas about love and friendship.  I still have the same difficulties I had at fifteen of leaving the past in the past and trying to enjoy the present.  Maybe this trip down memory lane just goes to show that while my situations and circumstances may have changed over time, I remain, at the core, the same...

November 3, 1997

My oil would have to be the love I have for others.  It sounds conceited, but it's true.  I have a hard time truly getting mad at someone.  Loving everyone isn't necessarily a good thing.  It's very hard for me sometimes because I don't or can't understand the things that people do.  For instance, I don't understand how someone can make fun of another who is less advantaged just to make him/herself happy.  To me, that's just unexplainable.  It's kind of like someone who loves to swim and someone who hates to swim.  Both sides don't understand why the other does or doesn't like to.

Sometimes I do look back on things and wonder why it happened.  Maybe I didn't love them enough.  Was I mean to them?  Or I look at what I'm doing now.  Why is it so hard if I love so much?  Is it because I love that it is hard?  I can't honestly say that I love everyone.  I don't dislike them, I just don't cope with what they're trying to say because our view points are completely different.  Even a more simple question like...why am I writing this?  I know how I feel.  Maybe I'm writing it because I can look at it later and see my thoughts and feelings written down and understand them more or even write more.  Some things are unexplainable.  Is this for God to read?  I thought God knew what was going on in our minds.  Why does my strength in love have to be a weakness in everything else?  No matter what, I will always have to come back and read this, but the questions will still be unanswered.

Why can't I find who my true friends are until I go away and come back?  I wish my life were not so filled with problems and questions.  Why do there have to be people who don't understand that when you love somebody, your love for them never dies?  When they stop loving you, you don't necessarily stop loving them?  People give me such a hard time with that.  Our love may not be as strong as it was before, but it will never die completely.

I should not contemplate on things of the past, for they only depress me more and more.  I would like to be able to be happy in the present, but it is so hard when the past isn't finished.  The future is a mystery, while the past is sometimes an unsolved mystery.

The present is just a mere image.