I Miss You Guys

August 24, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Medium is new. It’s amazing, but it’s new. I hate change. The best part of Medium is that I don’t really have to use it. I can just copy and paste from Microsoft Word. The creature comforts are almost nonexistent, like easy to use lists. WordPress is so much more extensive that I can’t wait until the business makes enough money to buy a membership here as well. What limits you in being able to advertise on WordPress is that they want the money from the ads unless you’re paying them a subscription fee. It this point, I don’t have a big enough audience to support something like Google Ads, because it takes A LOT of clicks to even make one dollar. I am very proud of myself, though. On Thursday, I had made $2.99. Now, I have $3.77.

I am not an influencer by any means, but that’s a pretty good jump in terms of ad revenue for being on there a week. I don’t think that anything is going to take off overnight. I believe in just letting it sit there. I have 25 years’ worth of entries that are sitting on other servers for free. So, they can sit there and make money, or they can sit there and not.

I choose sit there and make money.

Because it is my dream to, in the words of Lindsay Lanagan, “sit around, smoke cigars, and own stuff.”

This is actually a childhood tale- Lindsay’s middle school answer to what one of her friends’ dads did for a living. We have repeated that as the ideal career for 20 years now. If you know First Colony, you just thought, “on brand.”

First Colony is kind of different.

You have kids with Saudi oil money whose parents buy them brand new BMWs when they’re too young to drive. As I remember, Rahim Puddin’head had a BMW. Rahim dropped a pudding cup off a railing at Lindsay’s school and it landed on her head, so we’ve called him “Rahim Puddin’head” since 1994.

In high school, you’re sometimes embarrassed if you don’t drive a nice car. I didn’t, and I was rarely bothered by it because I was lucky to have my own car at all. I would love to have another Mitsubishi Mirage (it was a sedan, not a sports car), but I think that getting a car would cripple me as a writer. Half my blog entries come from writing on the train and talking to Uber drivers.

I met a historian yesterday, so we were talking shop because we’re both nonfiction writers. I’m starting to branch out into more things, I just don’t have anything to show for it yet, because those are the documents I’m actually going to edit. 😉

You know I’m lying. AI will be editing them. I will be eating ice cream.

It’s all coming together because I’m managing to collate what I hear for the blog and what I read for my nonfiction papers. Reading AI is half the fun of research, because you can get it to present it in whatever style you want…….

I haven’t done it yet, but I think my favorite would be explain physics to me like I’m five. Answer in the style of Terry Pratchett.

It just makes learning fun. I don’t use it to autogenerate content, I use it for reading retention. I cannot remember an entire book verbatim, but I can certainly remember the fine points in a one-pager. Plus, the fine points make for wonderful headings so that you get a navigation pane you can go back to over and again. Styles in Microsoft Word are used like Cascading Style Sheets in web development. Microsoft Word just keeps track of the level you assign to the heading, so it’s really easy to do things like create a navigation pane in a PDF or a Table of Contents in Word.

All of that stuff matters to me, because readability is key. There’s a reason this web site hasn’t changed very much over the years. I like dark mode. Supergrover doesn’t. See? I can compromise. 😛

I write the blog entries in dark mode so that I can read them the way I want before I publish. You can set JetPack to dark mode in both Android and iOS, but I actually prefer using Microsoft Visual Studio Code on my desktop with the original Dracula theme. Instead of black or grey, it’s a grey/purple. Very, very easy on the eyes and the HTML/CSS/.ini files look great in the chosen colors.

There’s also several tutorials on how to get other Microsoft programs to do the Dracula color scheme in the GUI and in PowerShell (where it comes in the most handy, tbh).

All of it goes together, because it’s all of the tools I use to write. I am not very comfortable with talking to AI online. That’s why I use gpt4all or LM Studio to install language models on my own mini-PC. My creative ideas are going to stay with me.

It really is useful, and both my friend Jesse and I will attest to this. I’m a creative writer, Jesse is a visual artist.

In fact, Jesse went to HSPVA. The funniest thing I have ever seen at HSPVA bar none happened at his senior show. Like, this even beat out us getting shut down by the health department because Lordy Rodriguez put organs in jars for an art show or something…. Anyway, Jesse had this huge installation with a TV tuned to snow, with a BarcaLounger and a guy sitting in front of it, zoned out. There was all these wrappers and trash around him, so I watched some of the guests at his show add their trash to his art installation, thinking the trash for the party was part of the exhibit. I’m choking with laughter just remembering it.

There’s nothing like being able to write down old memories, not knowing if and when they’ll go. I may not be able to remember my whole life, but I have somewhere to go that will tell me bits and pieces. Snapshots of who I was, am, will be.

It’s an exciting time to be me, because I finally feel like a success. I am not working from survival mode, but abundance. I have everything I need right now. In my mind, more success will come with more money, and what I mean by that is a network of people to support a neurodivergent media group so that it’s not all on me every day. I’ve started a little bit of that, but hopefully there will be more in the future. I’d like to get into bigger things, but I don’t think that starting out with the big things is the way you’re supposed to do it….. very mixed results when I’ve bitten off more than I can chew before.

I’m trying to let the company unfold naturally, with people who really want to write. I’m finding that community at Medium, because it seems like I missed the memo to go there long ago. I don’t think it’s a problem. I ping them enough to get their attention. I ping everyone enough to get their attention, and sometimes I think they would be grateful if I didn’t love them quite so much. 😉

But that’s just me. If I love you, I don’t mask. I don’t take the time to figure out what it is I can do for you to make you more comfortable while I speak. I realized I was doing too much work for other people and it was slowly killing me. I am so much less depressed now that I know that I’m not bipolar. I don’t cycle like that. It’s meltdown and burnout because I have so many fewer spoons than most people. In every bodily system I have, there’s something rare about me.

I am lucky that Janie the Canadian Editor thinks that about my brain. She has said that I’m welcome to submit something to her editor, but pick carefully. Look, I write it. I don’t read it, okay?

Kidding, of course. I read myself all the time. It’s just hard to guess what someone else is going to like. I know what I’m not going to do, though. Write an article about anyone I know in Ottawa. National blowback is enough. Neighborhood blowback is enough. Writers are people who want to tell their stories and they don’t mean to hurt anyone, they just do….. it hurts to hear yourself painted in truth, painful and real, touching and funny.

Most people don’t see their 3D characters. They focus on what I wrote that day. But you generally don’t have to go far in either direction with my friends to see that if I was mad one day, I was ridiculously happy at another. I don’t paint people to go after them, but to show them as they are.

I am more Anne Lamott than “Harriet the Spy,” although I do like that book. Anne has that neurodivergent patois that I do, plus people like Aaron Sorkin, Jon Stewart, Richard Schiff, Matt Perry, Seth McFarlane, Ryan Reynolds, Mila Kunis, Matt Damon, Trevor Noah, and the list goes on. Good Will Hunting is every bit as fast and furious as anything Sorkin has ever written, and in the same beat. I absolutely know that even if Seth MacFarlane writes in complete silence, there’s a rhythm going in his head. The punctuation is silent, but you can hear it if you are also still.

It’s why I write in silence, in dark mode. I want to listen closer, not just to myself, but to the rest of the world. And in fact, I am already doubled over with laughter at Kamala’s possible victory speech….. “I love my new black job!”

One can only hope that that “president” is a DEI hire.

Minorities don’t get power from the majority. We get it by realizing we’re bigger than them….. both in character, and in numbers when all the -isms vote as one. None of the -isms are a monolith. But at the same time, most of us try not to bite the hand that feeds us, since it’s the only party not trying to to blame global warming on gay marriage.

Oops. My bad. Should I leave a note?

All of this is why I’m so interested in AI. If people would actually take the time to talk to it, they could talk about their problems in a safe environment and not look stupid with any question in the world. I’m compensating on it highly for practical things because I am a creative. I can’t use it to make alarms and things like that, but I can definitely brainstorm, edit, and keep conversations separate about different projects.

I want people to know what causes disease. I want people to know how the government works. I want people to know who the President is, at least. People knowing who’s Vice President is almost a lost cause, and Speaker is negligible. I’m not talking about Washington nerds like me. I’m talking about the average voter that only votes in a presidential election and doesn’t really follow other candidates at all.

I’ve slowed down on that because I’m actually more interested in global politics now- it doesn’t feel so close as neighbor against neighbor, as if a conflict across the world is easier to think about than a conflict at home because it is.

There are no short answers in life, and I have found that I don’t have any. Few are patient enough to sit with me while I find the right words, which I know aren’t the right words… but they’re the best I can do.

I’m not just pouring my heart out for me, but for other neurodivergent kids and adults. Representation matters. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but those that love me think of me as something precious to be savored.

I am not Lipton, baby. I am your Stash.

Questions for Famous People

April 26, 2024April 26, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been watching YouTube for the last few hours, and I have discovered some amazing things. The first was a show about drumming. They’d take a drummer from one genre and just throw them into another. My favorite was a professor of jazz percussion at Juilliard that got “Enter Sandman.” You get to listen to it one time without the drum track so you can think about what you want to do.

But I start watching YouTube and invariably I want to start creating for the web instead of watching other people do it. I was also thinking about “getting to tell Beyonce who I am,” and how arrogant that must sound. I went to The High School for Performing and Visual Arts in Houston, Texas and so did she. However, I left either one or two years before she got there. Had I graduated from HSPVA, I would have seen her every weekday for the maybe year and a half she was at PVA. She did not graduate there. Not graduating from HSPVA works out better for some than others.

So, by telling her who I am, I mean I could walk up to her right this minute and we’d have the best conversation because we know SO MANY people in common. For instance, one of the choir directors at HSPVA while we were there, Rob Seible, was my choir director at Bering UMC. That is just one example out of many. It would not be interesting to me to talk to Beyonce because of her fame, because I’ve done show choir. I was over it before it began. I am very happy to let her do her thing, and I honestly believe she would rather talk about HSPVA than how awesome she is for the thousandth time (not that she is not awesome).

I could walk up to Matt Mullenweg (founder of WordPress) and tell him that I had Doc Morgan for Jazz II and he would instantly smile. I am not sure that Matt and I have any friends in common because I believe he’s a little too much younger for our paths to overlap. That being said, HSPVA becomes quite a fraternity because there’s only a handful of schools like it.

In thinking about that, it started me down the road of “if you could talk to other famous people, what would you ask them?” It started out as a thought exercise in my head because I think I ask good questions. And, God forbid I have an unexpressed thought……..

John Brennan, former director of CIA

What’s a story from University of Cairo that’s not in “Undaunted?” It can be off the record if there’s hashish in it. (That was the most entertaining part of the book…….. not sure why he decided to come back from Egypt, because the way he described his life sounded like perfection to me.)

Margaret Cho

Tell me about all the queer people that have come up to you and said that you helped them through their childhood.

Ellen Degeneres

What is wrong with you? Life is so unfair when you have 370 million dollars and lack personal responsibility. The next stage for you is not “old, mean, and gay” because I have practically cornered the market. The next stage for you is to reflect on why you’re surprised your career is ending this way. You have never taken responsibility when the buck stopped with you, and then you blamed it on Hollywood. Trying to compare it to getting fired for Ellen is atrocious. You were not responsible for being gay, but you were damn sure responsible for your staff. No one “threw you away again.” You fired yourself.

Bill Gates

I don’t really have a question so much as an observation. How is it possible to love and hate you so much simultaneously? Windows is getting worse, but the world needs more people with money like you. The Gates Foundation is terrific.

Jose Andres

When did you hear about Tony? Who called and what time was it? Do you remember where you were standing?

Who are your guys? What’s your last meal?

What’s your favorite station? Who’s the best chef you ever had? What did they sound like? Do you know how to do pastry or do you hate it like the rest of us?

What’s your favorite brand of gin? (I once had a housemate who worked for him and he said that was Jose’s favorite.)

Anderson Cooper

Can we cook sometime? I think I can help you with your sensory issues.

Harry Wales

How are you doing? Not in that fake, American way or that fake, British way. Seriously. Level with me. How are you?

Kamala Harris

Is Lindsay behaving herself? (Harris: wait. You’re Lindsay’s sister?!)

Eminem

You talk a lot about “blowin’ ’em off and keep goin.’ How does one actually do that? What gave you the self confidence to say that your voice was your own?

Rachel Maddow

Do you think if we got out our high school pictures, we’d be wearing the same clothes? (Having walked up to her wearing the same clothes she’s wearing currently because have you ever seen us in the same room? Kidding. People confuse me a lot with her because we’re both queer and have brown hair…….. Like they confused me with kd lang as well.)

Chris Hayes

Every time I think of you I say Chris Matthews first. Do you also have that problem? Yes, uh-huh. Rachel and I do look alike. Thank you.

A High School Reunion I Liked

April 8, 2024April 8, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Recently it was my friend Norman and his wife’s anniversary, and I know she’s a lucky, lucky woman. That’s because when I said on Facebook that I couldn’t find Dr Pepper Zero, and two days later there were like 40 on my porch. It was then that I realized I’d made a horrible mistake. Ryan never bought me any Dr Pepper Zero. 😛 😛 😛 Kidding, of course, it was just a sweet gesture that I’ve always remembered it because it made me smile at a time I really needed it. So, when I heard it was his anniversary, I commented and told them both what a beautiful picture it was of them, happy anniversary, all that good stuff.

Later that night, Norman messaged me and we spent a long time catching up. Norman’s memory is all fucked up, because he thinks I wasn’t that bad compared to him. He’s actually one of the few people I knew in symphony that I thought actually would go pro. But he, like my dad, didn’t want to do the gig economy and ended up in tech (my dad went into ministry, but same deal- salary vs. contract).

My freshman year, Norman and I were the only trumpet players in the symphony. The next year, two others joined us, one every bit as talented as Norman, the other person I’m surprised didn’t end up in a symphony somewhere. Symphony playing is extremely refined, and they both had a sound like Maurice Andre, Wynton Marsalis when he’s playing baroque, and exactly none of the other trumpet players I’ve ever studied in my life except Wynton, because he’s a crossover between jazz and classical. Norman and I were from different backgrounds, but we had one thing in common. He liked to win at chess, and I liked to play. I don’t mean that he was ever mean about it, I mean that I’ve never won against him, and I don’t want to even try to beat him. What I have learned is that life is stressful and you should keep your chess engine on level one.

We reminisced about things we’d played:

Sleigh Ride (Norman was the horse)
Beethoven 7
Danse Macabre (Saint-Saenz)
Dvorak Cello Concerto (with Anthony Wheeler)
Blue Danube
Empire Waltz
Rodeo and Fanfare for the Common Man, Copland
Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet

There were a ton more that I don’t remember, because we sight read every Friday. Norman made me bust out laughing because he said I remember one day when we were transposing a minor third while in a fast tempo and we both just blew it and fell over with laughter.

Our biggest night was my sophomore year, Danny and Norman’s junior, and Laura’s freshman. We were GLADIATORS. The Dvorak Cello Concerto opens with a sectional fanfare in the fourth movement, and it was perfect. The trumpets had entered the motherfucking chat.

I would not be a very good trumpet player if I didn’t say it like that. I am a soprano, line cook, and trumpet player. I joke that with all that ego, I must be completely insufferable….. I mean, I joke about it, but it’s true.

It was just good to again, stretch out. Remember who Norman and I were then, at 15 and 14. Since he was a year older, we didn’t really hang out together, and I’d never thought he’d want to-

Until last night, when music made it seem as if no time had ever passed at all. When I hear his voice in my head, they still have the childhood lilt of his parents’ country. I’m not telling you where he’s from, but I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen that he had a Mercedes-Benz in high school (pronouncing it correctly), because in his country that is a perfectly normal, serviceable car for a brand new driver because I’m not sure that in their country they have other brands. 😉

Former Texans buy Blue Bell and Whataburger when they can get it. Former Marylanders always have Old Bay in the cabinet. When you immigrate from overseas, I doubt there are many parents trusting of American cars for them or their kids, even if they are better (how would I know? I don’t drive. 😉 ).

I thought I was so clever and sophisticated for figuring that out as a freshman. I also liked it because it was fire engine red, and then his younger brother started driving it as well…… his younger brother being an equally talented musician and someone I worked with in Jazz II.

Speaking of Jazz II, I told you that Robert Glasper and Jon Durbin (The Suffers) were in my class, but I forgot to mention Eric Harland, who is one of the most talented drummers I’ve ever met in my life. He is every bit the drummer that Jason Moran is a pianist, and I know this because they’ve been playing together since HSPVA.

This is what I mean about Doc Morgan birthing so much talent….. and also birthing me. 😉 Because I was in Jazz II with these guys, for me it’s enough to know that if I’d continued in college or if I’d been able to get into the Airmen of Note, I would have done all right. I would have had time to fix all my embouchure issues and be able to practice as long as I wanted without pain. I could go six hours at a clip no sweat in terms of hyperfocus on the music, but my lips gave out constantly. Just overworked to the point of tears because I had that high C out of nowhere five seconds ago, and now I’m fucking toast.

Sometimes what saved my ass was adrenaline. When I was frightened, my muscle memory kicked into place and I didn’t feel the pain as bad. It’s just good that marching contests and concerts weren’t even five minutes longer.

We did Rodeo with The Houston Symphony, and Norman told me that he still tells his kids he played with the Houston Symphony. I told him I use it as a non-sequitur all the time at parties. No one here knows me as a musician. So, if there’s a lull in the conversation, I’ll say, “I played with the Houston Symphony, you know.” Then I explain to them that my whole high school orchestra got to play with them for a concert and I wasn’t a soloist or anything. It is done with comedic effect, because I can claim being good at a lot of things. Trumpet playing is not one of them (at least not now). I will not say that I wasn’t good for my age back then, though. I think that’s because there’s nothing that can take getting into a school like HSPVA from me. I wouldn’t have gotten in if I wasn’t at least good enough to nail the audition, and the audition is the hardest part. It was also 14 minutes long. Not enough to fail to impress anyone. I waited until after the wedding to reveal my deficiencies, although it does make me feel quite a bit better about the fact that Norman and I both acknowledged my limitations and he really made me a lot better just by sitting next to me. It was one of the reasons I was ready to spit nails when I found out we were getting two more trumpet players in the orchestra. I mean, it ended up being fun, but I seriously needed that hour with Norman to myself.

As he got better, I did, and it’s because he was available to pay that much attention to me. Since I was the only person that could really talk to him, we spent long rehearsals playing chess in between invaluable trumpet lessons.

But, with Danny being just as good as Norman, I now had two people of elite caliber to teach me to be better. I think that’s because we all had a little bit of an ego that wasn’t easily hurt, it was just fun to lightly tease each other. The rest of the time, the ego was put away. We had shit to do. We were a section, and that only comes from talking to each other.

Just like I got to do last night with Norman…… the first high school reunion I’ve been to in a long time that I actually thought, “we should do this again.” We don’t get many high school friends like that, do we? Seriously, what a gift…….. grateful.

It’s Going to Be Okay…. Eventually

August 1, 2023August 1, 2023 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Write an open letter to your 15-year-old self.

Sometimes you see a writing prompt and you know it’s going to hurt. I’m going to be blessing and releasing a lot of pain. It’s not going to be easy, but I hope it’s going to be worth it.

Dear Leslie,

You are my precious, precious child and I wish I could protect you. You’ll learn to protect yourself, but it will take so long you’ll lose hope. Just when you think it’s never coming back, you’ll find the woman of your dreams. It’s not what you think. She’s safe. Do not fear her. You’ll know her by her suits and crap for work. She will hug you so tight all your pieces will glue back together. Please don’t be too jaded to let her. There’s going to be a lot more pain before It Gets Better. Love her to the best of your ability- it’s for life if you can learn to be kind even under stress because sometimes………..

Things Fall Apart

You need to learn about the Civil Rights Movement. I know you know what it is, but dig deep. You’re already thinking big thoughts. You want to be the Martin Luther King, Jr. of pink people. In some ways, you already are- but in order to be great, you’re going to have to find a way to be strong. You already know this, but I’m not sure you know how much. Those big thoughts will never go away, and you have a stunning ability to write and speak in a way that people will listen. The hard part will never be getting others to believe in you. The hard part is getting you to believe in both of us.

I know you’re fragile and broken. I know you don’t recognize love unless it destroys you. Just keep writing to deal with pain, and start taking Tylenol before school. The one thing I can tell you about the future is that we find out Tylenol also dulls emotional pain. The next three years will be the hardest of your life so far, and I’ll be 46 soon if that’s any indication. You’re going to grow in so many ways, but everything you know right now is not everything I know, and I cannot change anything because you are a child. It’s not our call yet. I know you don’t feel like a child, haven’t for a long time. But Leslie, you are…. even if this letter doesn’t convince you.

I know it will be hard for you to accept it as reality, but it is true. It will be true for a long time, longer than you thought possible. Just hang in. I cannot give you anything more specific, because if you don’t go through the hard parts, you won’t get where I am now. It’s all going to be okay if you can learn to walk through fire.

You are capable of leading your people, but you need to protect your energy until it’s time to step off a ledge. You will feel in your bones when it is time to jump. You’re a superhero, but no capes. it is very good advice. Live in the now, darling. It will be Incredible, and you think that being Incredible will come later, and it will in some ways. In others, you’re already the bravest person I know.

Being “out” at school is one of the most courageous things you’ll ever do. You will not be at your schools long enough to see what you’ve done, but it matters. People still talk about it as if you’re some sort of hero…… and yet, you’re just trying to survive. Stop listening to her music so you can hear your own. If you work hard, you’ll be as good as she is. There is no doubt.

If you work harder, you’ll be even better. Maybe don’t go to PVA for trumpet next year. I think you’ll have more fun in choir. Just don’t be a soprano. Be an alto if you want to survive. I know you already know this, but it bears repeating. You will turn out to be a lyric soprano, but it’s not your personality. Just “cigar and vodka it down” (that was a joke). Your inner diva will come out regardless when the right teacher comes along. You’ll be able to sing to the heavens while you’re in hell.

I can picture you walking the halls of High School for Performing and Visual Arts with your Walkman, because Jason Moran said that you needed to listen to everything and he had a Walkman, too. But only you and I know that it’s not jazz on the tape. It’s her.

I know this is the biggest heartbreak you’ve ever had, and there will be so many more. Some will be older, some will be younger… but if you’re not careful with picking a partner (this is a future word you will like), you’ll be exactly where you are now. Jumping up and down for an approval that will never come because of what has happened over the last two years. This will happen over and over until your person arrives, and even then it won’t go all that great. Just keep hope alive. With enough courage, you’ll gain a lot of respect. It’s just that no one will tell you that until years later. You’re going to think people don’t care about you, when in reality you’re their hero.

I need you to do something for me. I need you to take better care of Lindsay.

This is critically important. Tell her you love her in both words and actions. Protect her while you still can, because later on it’s her turn and you won’t want to feel like you haven’t done enough. You just don’t know how she’ll save you, and if I could tell you I don’t think you’d recover from the happiness. Through her, you’ll get to tell Jimmy Carper about the clock radio under your pillow, the story every teen in Houston has for him.

I know you’ve harbored a lot of pain. This is one of the things that will go right. She’s the best thing about your life. I know you already love her. Make sure she knows it goes to 11. If all goes according to the same plan, you’ll look up to her. Literally. I’m sorry, but you’ve grown as much as you’re going to grow. You’re going to be in her shadow, but I also know that you already know that’s where you want to be. Her shadow is The Grand Prize Game.

You’re going to get the new bike, Archway cookies, the Bun bars, AND the photogirrafic pimento.

Spoilers. However, I cannot tell you how much joy will come out of your pain. It’s coming out right now in this letter. That’s because you’ll learn how to look over your life as I have, like you’re doing right now. It’s going to change your life. Lean in, and enjoy the ride.

You’re just not there yet, but already know you’re a disaster in the PVA hallway- a ticking time bomb that’s about to go off….. but I checked with me and it’s still okay for you to tell your nemesis to go to hell. Remember that nemesis rhymes with emesis. Do with that what you will.

You’re going to vomit up emotions until you’re dry heaving, and then you’ll keep on doing it because you don’t know how to stop. You already have a good friend, though. Dianne is safe. You’ll love her more as the years go by, and realize you were on the wrong track. The extra N means that she is a better person, even if you can’t imagine that’s true.

She’ll pick you up in her little green Volvo and it will change your life, in what you think are small ways, but here is the secret to life. The small things are the big things……. because she knows what you refuse to acknowledge at home- and think you’re hiding at church. She will hear the distress in your voice when no one else does. Love her to the moon and back. Love her until you think you just can’t and then love her a little more. She sees you, Leslie.

Look for the people who see you. Always. I give you permission to walk away from anyone. Protect yourself, but not so much you can’t receive love.

If you keep that in your mind and keep writing, you will go places and see things you never thought you could. You’ll meet people that define you, because you’ll love yourself when you’re with them. Cut yourself some slack. You’re a pretty great kid. It’s okay to love yourself, too….. even when it seems selfish.

The only thing I would suggest is that when Dana invites you for Easter dinner, go.

Love,

…because I had to.

July 2, 2023 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

One of the things that makes me frustrated about this time in my life is how crazy this must all seem to the outside world because I can’t be any more specific that I can right now. It doesn’t make any sense why an Internet relationship would make me react this way, and I can’t give you any more than “if you knew, you wouldn’t think I was crazy at all.” Nothing in my life is as it appears, I can only show you what I can show you. I need to protect my beautiful girl as much as I’m protecting myself, and these entries are just for me. They are written so that I can tell what kind of progress I am making, but not telling her story. Please remember that you are missing at least 50%, and I am comfortable looking like a total wack job in front of the whole world. All I can do is rest in my belief that no one else’s opinion matters. You’re just looking at my reputation.

I am looking at my character.

If you cannot see the difference, then you’re probably not introspective. When you dive into yourself, you see the difference between what others think of you and how little it matters compared to whether you can look in the mirror every day. How others’ opinions don’t pay your bills. How no one else is going to save you, so you have to find ways to save yourself. It’s a tangled web I’m weaving. It looks from the outside like I’m a fly, but I built this web by hand in a rainstorm.

The fact that there’s a chunk missing doesn’t make me feel good, but it’s not my work to sit with that. It’s my work to look at what happened and why. I feel like it’s an important story…. Critically so as we slouch toward a digital society where everyone lives and loves like this to some degree. Also, it’s an important story, but not unusual. It is to people who haven’t lived on the net since ‘99, maybe…. If you look up “geek” in the dictionary, it’s just a picture of me and Wil Wheaton.….. where was I going with this?

It’s not an unusual story, or at least, it doesn’t begin in an unusual way. Our deal was to be confidantes. I love women, so that kind of shit made me catch feelings (an inconvenient truth). She loves women, too, but not in the same way. She caught feelings, too. They just didn’t match, and yet that doesn’t mean her feelings are lesser than. There is no such thing as “the friend zone.” Either you love someone and want them in your life, or you don’t. If you think otherwise, grow up.

I have always felt this way. It’s just that as my life starting spinning out of control, she was the unlucky recipient of shit rolling downhill, and it wasn’t pleasant for either one of us. She kicked my ass, daily, in a way that truly hurt for all the right reasons. I was in the hospital for a few days because I couldn’t get in to see a regular psychiatrist quick enough to deal with acute suicidal ideation, and it was my beautiful girl’s idea. Just move under your own power. I did, and I’ve never regretted it.

I haven’t regretted it to the point that think her strident, no bullshit personality could have saved other people struggling with depression as well, because depression uses the very best lies against you to make you powerless against your own thoughts. No one loves you. You’re too much. You’re so much no one will ever love you. No one will ever be able to put up with you.

I find it interesting that her words made me go to that place sometimes and lifted me out of it in others. It all depended on what my disease wanted out of me that day, and it was relentless. Neurotypical people want to save you, and there is no way to do that. It’s not that they’re incapable. It’s that they don’t know how to fight brain gremlins, and if we already feel like you think we’re too much, we’re not going to help you or even let you know what they are.

I got to that place with my beautiful girl. When she cut off her emotions from me, it didn’t feel safe to open up to her anymore. We weren’t dealing with our mutual brain gremlins anymore, which made me feel like a freak show most of the time. She’s neurotypical, which means that even our brain gremlins are different. But that doesn’t mean hers are less valid. It didn’t feel safe to have a sounding board that was just me talking to myself, because for as much as I got out of workshopping my issues, what makes me feel safe in a relationship is mutually diving into things. Feeling supported as well as supporting others. She supported me and wouldn’t let me support her, so I always felt like “the younger one.” I have bipolar and ADHD, which leads a lot of people to attribute my behavior to immaturity, when in reality, it’s just different. You don’t get the same behavior out of people who literally have no idea how to function in society.

It’s exhausting to feel like you’ve given 350% to something and it still looking like you’re in kindergarten because everything went wrong at once because of some fucking brain chemical or another. At night, I’m not relaxing. I’m paralyzed with indecision and it reads as lazy.

Here’s why it’s so much effort to be alive. I have to remember to do everything. Nothing becomes habit, nothing gets easier. The morning routine is hard every day. It does not “get easier once you get used to it.” Ever. You spend the same amount of energy on every task, every day.

Because I’m not just ADHD, my bipolar and anxiety remind me all the time of just how unacceptable that is, and it’s not something I can change. I just have to manage it. If I designed a house, it would have all my shit where I could see it, because my mind doesn’t store where things go. My mind doesn’t store the memory of where I put things, even if it was just a few minutes ago. I have very little peripheral vision, so I can drop something next to me and spend 20 minutes looking for it, because where I thought the thing dropped is several feet from where I thought it would be.

If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.

Speaking of my mother, it’s a shame that I didn’t get to have the relationship I wanted with her until the very end. I think all the time what it would be like to have my mom as my beautiful girl…. The one I look to for love because I can…. The one who’d die to protect me and I’d feel the same. I would never have traded one relationship for the other. It’s just a type of female friendship that my mother and I would have enjoyed.

I’m not sure that I mentioned what it was like seeing my aunt Nancy at my grandfather’s funeral. It was my father’s father, and I knew in less than a second that she hadn’t come for her. Of course Lone Star, Texas is a tiny town and they knew each other, but she was bringing my mother’s spirit even though it was the other side of my family.

I choked up and tried not to cry the minute she started talking. She could have read the phone book and I’d be sobbing. That’s because there’s about the same age difference between my mom and Nancy as there is between Lindsay and me, so their voices are for all practical intents and purposes, the same. That voice is still in my head days later, and I’m glad that she comes to DC all the time. My cousin Nathan is a doctor in Alexandria, VA, about 40 minutes from me.

My aunt still has a house in Lone Star, very near my grandfather’s on Starlight Lake. Our family has agreed to all chip in and keep the Lanagan house so we’ll be neighbors even if I’d originally come to spend time with my dad’s side of the family.

Here’s the thing about Lone Star, Texas.

It doesn’t seem ideal until you realize that with a fast internet connection and being able to buy land for a dollar, it’s not so bad. I’d never want to be that isolated full time, but I get it. If I could get an affordable lake house somewhere, that’d be the end of it for me, too…. It just wouldn’t be in Texas, and I’m not sure there are any lakes in this area where the houses aren’t a million dollars…. Wait. Scratch that. They were a million dollars in 2001. Now they’re seven.

The great thing about buying land is that if you didn’t have a lake before you bought it, you can just put one in. 😛

(Oh, that would be so fun. I’d love swimming in water with actual fish.)

So, you can do all that in bum fuck, Texas, and nothing on God’s green earth would tell me buying property there would work out well. I would hate the politics. I’d hate the struggle. I left all that behind because Lindsay is strong enough to work with those people and try to get them to change their minds. I am a nervous wreck when it comes to that kind of stuff. In this case, I think it helps her that she’s straight because she has more clinical separation than I do.

Maybe in ten years I’ll be grouchy enough to rejoin the cadre of Texans screaming to get their state back. Dallas, Houston, and Austin are tired. Get your shit together, Texas. I realize that in some ways, Austin is the problem….. but they have the same issue as DC. The government is conservative as shit, and the locals are actually smart.

Speaking of Texas, I reconnected with a high school friend from HSPVA that lives in The District, so he’s even closer to me than when he lived in Virginia. He posted on Facebook that he needed a house sitter because his regular one was unavailable, and even though we hadn’t talked in legit years, I thought, “this is an Honors Band friend. You gotta do it.” He felt the same way, so we spent some time together on Saturday. I met his partner, dogs, and corn snake. I think it will lead to more down the road, as we both have mutual friends here, as well as having gone to PVA, so our friends come through all the time.

I learned something I didn’t know, and that’s always fun. My 10th grade science teacher gave Beyoncé a C. 😛

I wasn’t there at the time. It must have been either the year I left or the year after, because I don’t remember whether B was two years behind me or three (yes, I am older than Beyoncé. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice).

Since I’ll be in The District all week, I’m looking forward to having a home base in the middle of everything. The house is indescribably close to the Metro, easier to walk from one to the other than drive because you can cut through parking lots. It’s also a classic DC row house, just the perfect house I’d have picked for myself had I wanted to live in the middle of the city all the time.

I do not regret choosing to live in the suburbs, because for what I pay, what I get is RIDICULOUS. I chose to have the smallest room in a GIANT house. I love having a real kitchen and not a shitty apartment galley. The only thing I would change is the stove- it’s electric and not gas. When we had to replace the stove, I asked if we could switch, but our kitchen isn’t wired up like that. No big deal. I have friends who will let me cook at their houses….. even if they have All-Clad, DANA. 😛

That is an old, old joke. Dana’s All-Clad set is heirloom. Her great grandkids wouldn’t have to buy new cookware, and I was there when they were new. It took Dana a little bit to trust me with them, and it became a running joke. Here’s a story she doesn’t know. I invited a woman over to hang out while she wasn’t home, another cook so I thought she was sane. I told her that Dana would freak the fuck out if she used steel wool on the pans, so please don’t. I come in the kitchen and there she is, scrubbing the fuck out of our pans with exactly the thing I told her not to use. I didn’t care if she wanted to “get away with it.” I bitched her out and we’re not friends anymore, mostly because she thought I was crazy for telling her what to do.

It was a “keep my wife’s name out your mouth” moment.

It’s ok, though…. That I looked crazy.

I did it because I had to.

Am I Being Punk’d?

April 28, 2023 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?

I take risks all day long. Up until now, I’ve been in relationships with women. I’m genderqueer on the outside, genderfluid on the inside. Stepping out my front door is an act of courage, and not cowing to the demands of what society puts on women is another. I do not owe it to the world to put on makeup.

It might not make me look like a drag queen, but I certainly feel like it sometimes. I’m just not used to it anymore. It doesn’t feel natural like it used to. It feels like paint. So, I’ll still wear some (occasionally), but only mascara, eyeliner, and a bit of lip gloss. Jeremy Renner was a makeup artist before he was on camera, and he said something that made sense to me. All you need is to frame your face.

I have cut foundation out entirely, because that’s where skin problems start. I had horrible systemic acne as a teen, and fixed it with Accutane. Since then, I’ve just taken care of my skin. I don’t really have to do much- soap and water is just fine, as long as it’s not the cheapest soap you can find. Right now, I’m using African black soap, which clears up acne naturally…. And yet, Dove works fine, too. All I’m saying is that I chose to clear up the problem with pills rather than a multitude of creams that probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway.

After a time, it became impossible to control my acne with just topical applications, and it was a risk taking Accutane at all. There were horrible side effects- bone pain in my back and legs, dry skin (which wasn’t that bad until it was my lips), and my emotions were all over the place. I wasn’t on any psych meds at the time, but it wasn’t unrelated, either. One of the primary warnings is suicidal ideation….. probably because it makes you feel so bad that if you’ve been on it, you know that some days death would have been a welcome relief rather than trying to stand up fifteen minutes in a row.

In the end, it was worth it and I would do it again. But while you’re going through it, there’s really no end in sight. It takes six months, at least, and if it’s bad enough, you have to do it twice. You’re basically trying to kill all the oil glands in your face. It works, but it is a bitch and a half.

It was most embarrassing having to say to people so often, “no, I am not pregnant. I am not planning on becoming pregnant.” No one was being mean to me, the effects on the baby would have been that severe. But of course, it tapped into my worthless feelings because I knew I’d never have a baby. That’s crazy talk. Keep in mind, I was like 19. I finally just started saying I was a lesbian, and it stopped cold…. And then lesbians just HAD to have kids and make it normal….. God, you guys. 😛

I was completely obsessed with myself, but not in terms of vanity. I hurt all over, from constant headaches to backaches to period cramps being ten times as bad. That kind of constant pain wears on you, and I was waiting tables at the time. Just pain on top of pain.

When I think of that time in my life, the pain resurfaces, but it’s filtered through the fact that I only had to endure it for a short while…. Maybe a year. But I know chemo patients who have had it less rough than that.

Now, I have really good skin, but other problems with my health that need addressing…. And that is a risk, too, just because I don’t like going to the doctor. I think I know everything. But as I’ve said before, being the best doctor you’ve got isn’t a ringing endorsement.

And the truth is that I hate going to the doctor because no one knows me in Maryland. Outside my little Texas bubble, I don’t have any connection to a medical family and doctors get pedantic with me right away…. Even when I say things like “I have Aleve at home and it’s not working. Could I try Celebrex?” Then the doctor will say something like how I don’t need anything that strong and I’ll say “I don’t need a stronger dose of anything. I need both the Cox-1 and Cox-2 inhibitors” and all of the sudden a light dawns AND I CAN SEE IT HAPPENING. “Oh, she wasn’t kidding when she said she came from a medical family. Maybe she does know something.”

I am not here to give medical advice to anyone. I know my own body… and I am perfectly fine with OTC pain meds 90% of the time. If I was asking for Tylenol #3 or Vicoprofen, I could understand a doctor’s hesitation. No one is trying to scam you for narcotics, dude. I have enough issues. I don’t want addiction to be one of them.

Plus, I’m an introvert, and I don’t like dealing with people. It is a necessary evil. So, if I am not in any danger and I already know what’s going on, I can treat myself within limits. I don’t need to go to the doctor for bad allergies or a cold. I don’t need to go to the ER because dollars to donuts my pain won’t be taken seriously and I’ll be given a prescription for 600mg ibuprofen when I CAN COUNT, thanks (regular is 200mg). The one thing I won’t do is argue, because I don’t want to be accused of drug seeking behavior. That means even when you’re *really* bad off, no one will pay attention to you. It’s The Boy Who Cried Wolf…. Even when it’s not.

It’s a risk to see a doctor because you’re working off a thousand assumptions that have nothing to do with you. The doctor is running heuristics on my pain as easily as I do with emotional situations. However, I have never had a doctor be compassionate enough to see that I needed more than over the counter medications and I’m not dumb enough to insist that’s what they should do. I grit my teeth a lot.

In fact, the one doctor who did think I was in that much pain didn’t go to medical school in the United States, and therefore, could hold my hand and do little else. I had a housemate from Nigeria, Franklin, and one night I was cooking for us. I managed to slice into my finger while cutting a raw sweet potato, and the knife came down on my finger with force…. To the point I was scared to cook for a while. Franklin said later that he should have taken me to the ER because I needed stitches. I told him he was right, but that I had enough experience in a professional kitchen that it wasn’t an emergency. It was Tuesday.

It took forever for the finger to heal, but luckily, no nerve damage. The only nerve damage is from before I was a cook. I was 16 and still living in the parsonage when I sliced my thumb while cutting a lime for my Diet Coke (yes, I was 100% That Bitch). I’m 45, and there’s still a dead spot on the palm side.

Learning to cook professionally was a risk because I knew I wouldn’t be spectacular at it, I’d just have a ton of fun. And I did. Even when I was injured, it was fine…. Most of the time. I won’t lie and say I was always Mama’s brave little soldier, but in that kind of pressure cooker, losing your shit has to be in very small increments. There’s no time for anything else.

The job that came with the best perks was working in a restaurant at the Portland airport, because I had a badge that let me walk directly onto the tarmac. It was refreshing to go and take a break and watch the planes, which you can do in an airport restaurant because you can look at the loads for the day and tell when the pops are going to be.

It’s also a big risk to take a kitchen job, because there’s always a definite start time. Good luck finding the end.

I had a love-hate relationship being the last one out, because the last one out is the first to get blamed in the morning. Part of it was petty day crew/night crew bullshit. Part of it is that I’m physically weak and forget a lot. So whose fault it actually was in each instance isn’t important. What’s important is that it was relentless. I couldn’t win either way. So, whether you believe I am the best cook or the worst, it still sucked to walk in to a laundry list of my failures…. Particularly when another cook told management that I was the one who left something out, and he did. I took the fall for his raw chicken sins.

Being a writer is a risk. People think I flippantly post things, and I sweat blood. I had to get into the habit of hitting post as soon as I was done with an entry, because to wait was to let imposter syndrome set in. Nothing would ever be good enough…. And it still isn’t, but you people are too kind.

I would like to take a risk and go sit with the bees, but I can’t today. They don’t like rain, and today it is big, fat drops. I’m not sure I would love it out there, either. But Magda has grown lavender in the side yard or at least a year, and the bees love it more than life itself. I just wanted to clear it up that we do not have a hive. I have not had an audience with my queen. I just know all her loyal subjects, who listen to me as if they have nothing else to do because they’re better at multitasking than I am.

If I wear my blue hoodie, I am more attractive to them. I can’t decide whether I like that or not. They’re never aggressive, not ever. I just have to decide how comfortable I am with bees on me… because if I make a bad move and it is misinterpreted, there is no “Undo” feature.

I’m just glad that we have a safe space for bees in our yard, because I feel emotionally connected to them in more ways than one. Claire talks to her bees in “Outlander,” which makes me feel like less of a crazy person for doing the same. And I’m a cook. The plight of the bees is mine as well. Incidentally, my favorite version of “Flight of the Bumblebee” is twofold. The first was hearing Wynton Marsalis on a recording. The second was hearing Clark Terry do it live in a master class.

Speaking of which, I love meeting famous people. It’s always a risk, but it pays off. I come away with an interesting story, some of them interesting enough where the famous person will remember me, some not so much.

I could tell that I tickled the hell out of Wynton Marsalis when I told him I’d been waiting my whole life to meet him…. Just stifling his laughter at how long that must have been in all of my 15 years.

It’s kind of fun being able to say that I met so many people at HSPVA before they were famous, because the part of them that’s not famous is what I like best.

One of my favorite random conversations happened at the pub where I worked before the pandemic. I sat down at the bar for an ice water and a shift drink, and asked the guy next to me what he did. He said, “I’m a sound engineer for NPR.” He said, “what do you do?” I said, “I sling hash for a living.” The fucking bartender said, “I thought you worked here. You didn’t tell me you were a drug dealer.” The NPR sound engineer laughed until he cried.

I couldn’t even breathe I was laughing so hard, because this bartender was young enough to be my son. “Slinging hash” had a different meaning in his world.

Moving to DC was a big risk, but it paid off because I get to have these conversations all the time. I am permanently stuck at the smart kids’ table, right where I need to be just to soak up information…. And not filling my ears with hot air. So much more interesting to talk to people who make the news than watching it at night or listening on the radio.

Also, not going to lie…. Pretty great standing in front of a gaggle of groupies and talking to Robert Glasper when he says, “SHIT! You from the crib…” Grabbed me and hugged me like Mr. Hattox’s history class was yesterday and not 30 years ago. We didn’t take a selfie that time, but I think I got one on the next tour. By the time I got to talk to Robert after the first time I saw him, we were both exhausted and I didn’t think either of us would look good, anyway.… nothing to put on the refrigerator, anyway. I prefer it. I didn’t capture the look on Robert’s face when he saw a high school friend. That look was just for me.

I think I’ve said this before, but I knew Jason Moran back in the day better than I knew Robert Glasper, but yet still a risk to go and talk to him because I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me or not. He absolutely did, and I felt silly for wondering. I told him that I’d written to one of his albums, Ten, for a year. He turned around to the whole band and said, “hey guys… she wrote to Ten for a year.” I was so honored, because it meant something to him that his music fueled me, and meant something to me that he thought it was important enough to tell the band.

One of the big risks I took in high school was attending Summer Jazz Workshop, where I got integrated into the Houston jazz scene. My one claim to fame is that I was the trumpet soloist when my band was on a local television show called “Black Voices.” It was hilarious because the “Black Voices” logo appeared, and then my big white face with even bigger glasses.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a prodigy at trumpet or anything else. I just decided to take a risk, because getting to be in the band at all was the point. I remember Doc Morgan, my jazz director at HSPVA, saying that he was going to miss me getting to do the traditional “senior tune,” where every graduating member of the band gets their own solo. I told him not to worry, that he’d featured me so much as a ninth grader that I felt like I already had mine… and it was true. I remember one solo that went extraordinarily well, and he said, “Leslie Lanagan… Ninth grade, ladies and gentlemen… NINTH GRADE.”

I peaked too soon, but it was worth it. I got the experience of a lifetime before being thrown to the wolves in marching band. That was its own special kind of risk…. But at least I only fell in rehearsal once. That is because I was marching backwards and either I ran into a bass drummer or he ran into me…. Unclear.

It was physical and alien, made torturous by the Texas heat. I do not regret the risk of staying in, of feeling embarrassed until I didn’t, allowing myself to suck at something until I didn’t. Being in the marching band was required to stay in the symphonic band, and came with a free trip to San Antonio, where we were presented The Sudler Flag, honoring the best of Texas music education…. And since my mom was a music teacher, she was already at the (Texas Music Educators Association, or TMEA) convention and got to hear me.

The last huge risk (huge) was preaching at Bridgeport, and I didn’t even do that until I was asked. No one really knew me, didn’t know where I’d come from, and didn’t expect anything. Sometimes, I was on fire (according to me) and sometimes I sucked (also according to me). But the thrill was becoming experienced at something I’d only watched from a distance…. And as it turns out, I’m like every preacher in the world. The sermon you think sucks is what everyone remembers, and the sermon you thought was gold is straight trash.

So that’s how I view this web site, too. It’s a risk, but I know that the very worst entry I write, someone will absolutely adore. Something I like will languish, because people don’t think the way I do, and thank God for that. Otherwise, I would be preaching to an echo chamber.

A risk all its own, and one that never pays off.

Working on My House

January 17, 2023January 17, 2023 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

I believe that most things are a house of cards. Humans aren’t strong enough to build everything right the first time… even me. I am glad that I have the strength to go back into the basement, and have so many stories that have gone through countless revisions over time based on telling them again and again (sometimes over and over to one person….. sorry about that, all y’all). Today I discovered a new level of dark. Luckily, I had a friend to guide me down, and then back up again.

We went to high school together. They were there. Leaving even their gender out because they wouldn’t want it to be known that they noticed.

They didn’t know it, but they were doing guided meditation. I closed my eyes and saw Carrie, my partner in that woman’s class. It was a health class, and we were “married” and caring for our egg child. I got lucky. All the boys were taken. Carrie was (and probably still is) a gorgeous girl. I knew she was straight. It wasn’t about that. For an hour a day, she was my arm candy. 🙂 James, Alex…. don’t tell her.

(note to my French Horn brassholes- I just made it up. Tell the others.)

As an aside, I am DYING thinking about how hard Sam will laugh at “brassholes.” She should know. She had a near miss in terms of almost marrying one. I absolutely thought she was the love of my life, and if you didn’t think I mourned that relationship, she hit me harder and deeper than she will ever know. That’s because I didn’t tell her what she did wrong. I didn’t care. Let’s just say that I got the thing I wanted, and in return, she hit and run. Take that phrase and run with it.

She absolutely devastated me. To get over it, I had to cut off all my emotions and pretend that she meant nothing to me, because she made for damn sure I knew I meant nothing to her. I blocked her on everything. E-mail, phone number, all social media. I was crushed. It was my first real relationship in seven years. Why wouldn’t that kind of thing destroy me? Do you have any concept of how long that is? I didn’t even get Leah while I was waiting for Rebekah. I was completely alone. Touch starved except for a few hugs along the way. Depressed. Down and out.

Sam and her kids were balm to a soul that needed them, and I can only say that now, when the outcome of that relationship no longer matters to me. She could have had me for multiple lifetimes, and she threw me away like the bird shit on a newspaper after one day in the cage.

Yet, the only way she’ll ever know how I feel is if she comes up in my yard. My dog bites, motherfucker. I reserve the right to be angry at any time. I also reserve the right to not.

That relationship still confounds me, I just don’t care enough to find out why. She didn’t want to get together to figure our stuff out, it was just over by text message. Why are you guys more concerned that I started dating Daniel so quickly when it wasn’t me that wanted to separate? Why are you guys on me about Daniel at all? Isn’t he a logical successor to be my partner after realizing what Dana had done?

On my very first date with Sam (sorry if I’ve told this story before, but it’s a card that needs to fall), she texts me to tell me that she’s sitting on my front porch. I run downstairs to meet her, and she’s adorable. My heart didn’t even take five seconds to assess the situation. Just a seductive, take your breath away fantasy from the moment I said “yes.” She matched me feeling for feeling, or so it seemed. I saw so much of myself in her. I thought that we’d be together so much longer than three weeks, but I did something. I just don’t care what it was, because it might not have anything to o with me at all. And since she’s not going to marry me, I don’t really care what it was that I did. I would correct my behavior if it mattered.

Back to why Dana even matters. She definitely shouldn’t, but she does. When she hit me, she installed a trigger. Sam’s fist coming at my face whether I wanted it to or not. I realized that I might never get rid of he tripwire, because Sam had fixed hers, but what about the next woman?

Just another reason why I trauma bonded to The War Daniel. He’s huge. He’s weapons trained. No one would ever fuck with me ever again. I have had enough of the bullshit in life and not enough enjoyment. So “noping out” to a different country and trying to make a life there is attractive to me whether Daniel comes or not. My top choices are Aberdeen and Phnom Penh. Two completely different cities, two completely different cultures. It’s just that I have friends in both places. Suzanne has known me for somewhere between 10 and 15 years. I don’t remember, but I do know that she was friends with both Dana and me. It’s not that she remembers Dana, it’s that she’s familiar with the story of my life so far.

My friend in Cambodia has known *of* me for a long time, but we’ve recently connected because I was brave enough to ask him if I could come and visit. I know I will go there first, just not when. The attraction to him is that he’s the exact opposite of Suzanne’s story. He’s only just finding out who I am. So obviously I need six months a year in both.

I have listened to all the sad music. It’s enough that I have to deal with idiots who think that I move really fast in dating. What in the actual fuck? Am I supposed to mourn people longer than the relationship actually lasted?

I broke up with Theresa because I had spent *weeks* planning the perfect first date and she told me that she was backing out and just wanted to talk on the phone “this trip.” No, baby. That’s not happening. We have done too much to go backward and reassess. It’s too hard and it’s too much. We’ve been talking for three weeks. If you can’t have a drink with me, it’s not happening.

That relationship was weird, too, because we were off to such a good start, and then I probably ran my mouth too much or something, because lots of people have no idea how INFJ people operate. They make plans, then contingencies, thn more contingencies. For instance, here was the process of cleaning my room this week. It was hell.

I’d been trying to organize little by little when the house caught fire and I needed to get it ogether immediately. I reserved maids over the Internet. First mistake. Two appointments. Two companies. Two no-shows. Finally, I contacted Hayat (landlady for those just joining us) and asked her to get her own handymen out here and I’d pay them. Even that tuned into a nightmare.

It’s all done now, except for the cleaning and designing. The paint cans and drop cloths are still all over everywhere. It’s painted bright white, like the marina where I wish I lived in Beirut. I’ll include a photo because it’s hanging in my living room. I want my room to feel the same way… that when I’m dreaming, I’m not in my own bed. I’m there.

While I am working on my ugly house of cards, I can dream of what it will look like when I am finished. I want a welcoming space, full of that same pure energy of white and teal and waves and sailboats…. though it isn’t for everyone, Beirut is my happy place. I have been Lebanese for almost eight years now. When I see it for real, I will fall.

….just like a house of cards.

Standing Up and Owning My Birthright

December 20, 2022December 20, 2022 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I just told my work in progress idea to the most perfect person I could have imagined, because he was a teacher at HSPVA. When you know people that are HSPVA quality students, when they come at you with a creative idea, they don’t say “where’s the money?” Matt Mullenweg created WordPress. Justin Simien created “Dear White People.” Mireille Enos starred in “The Killing,” and has had roles in “Good Omens” and “Big Love.” She won a friggin’ TONY for an Edward Albee where she played drunk. She won a friggin’ TONY and SHE GREW UP MORMON. Today I stood up an owned my birthright. This book is going to be fantastic. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something. I auditioned to the same school they did and I got in. Sit on that.

This was my Facebook post yesterday that got me going.

I feel like I should lay out a full analysis of what I’m currently dealing with and why…. not for you. For me. It’s my thing and you’re invited, because I’ll need it later. I’ve been delving into past writing to figure out where I’m going, and how the information about my gargantuan leaps in emotional growth that I see on these pages is informing my direction.

Romance is fine. I’m settled in myself. You can read all about it just by scrolling the home page for a few days’ timestamps. Sam was a loss, but everything else surrounding her departure prospered me. It wasn’t a good relationship, but it produced good content. I am never trying to be more popular and writing in that direction. I can’t. People aren’t logical enough to predict what’s going to be hot and what’s not. They’re emotional. If something grabs them, they’re going to share it. If it doesn’t, they won’t. There is no point in time at which I want to take on the burden of caring whether this web site gets a huge, international audience.

If I don’t keep my head down and be absolutely indolent about my need for validation, I won’t get successful. There is a direct line between caring how much people think and willing to be vulnerable enough to get people to read a blog in the first place. Most of my friends do not understand this, but strangers do. If you’re already here, I can guess some things about you that will resonate. But again, I’m just talking about likelihood, not fact.

If you’re into reading blogs, you have been since 2003. You are familiar with Mrs. Kennedy, Anil Dash, Heather Armstrong (and Jon by proxy), Jenny Lawson, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Gordon Atkinson, and most importantly, Ernie Hsuing. little. yellow. different. took off like a rocket. Oh, and how could I forget Wil Wheaton? My friend Chason and I have known about and interacted with Wil as a blogger since Jesus had our pager numbers. I wish I had taken a screenshot of his comment on Clever Title Goes Here, my old blog that was equally popular. I was talking about auditions or juries when singing, that they fill me up because when I’m singing hard rep and doing well, it feels like flying over the mountains. He said he felt the exact same way with acting. It made my day.

Later on, we met up at a book signing for “Just a Geek.” I introduced myself and when he put a name to a face, this is what he wrote in my book…… “Dear Leslie, Clever Inscription Goes Here. Love, Wil.”

To back up in time a little bit, I went to the High School for Performing and Visual Arts. I have known about Matt Mullenweg for years because back in the day, we were both in the Houston jazz community. That boy who went to my high school created WordPress, and here we are.

I went to high school with stars like Jason Moran, Robert Glasper, Chandra Evans, Debbie Allen, Mireille Enos, Justin Furstenfeld, and Beyonce was three years behind me. I’ve met her once, but I’ve never paid attention to her because back then, we were in high school. Seniors don’t normally take freshmen seriously, and the day I met her I had ditched school at Clements to take my girlfriend, Meagan, back to PVA to have lunch. There was a Happening (lunchtime concerts in which different Art Areas took over the common area to showcase).

So, we were all in the cafeteria and mingling. You think it was cool in retrospect for me? I haven’t talked to Meag in years. Wait until she reads this web site and finds out she met Beyonce and didn’t even know it.

Though Beyonce is cool and everything, I was in love with Miranda Bailey the moment I found out everyone called her “The Nazi.” Then Shonda Rimes gutted me emotionally by stretching the Hippocratic Oath to its limits and having to watch her wrestle with those decisions. She had to save a white supremacist, an ACTUAL Nazi.

The fact that Chandra Evans and I went to the same high school is way more important to me than Beyonce, and remember since Beyonce wasn’t Beyonce back then, she probably feels the same way about Chandra that I do. In terms of HSPVA legends, she’s always going to be starstruck at her birthright rather than promoting herself…. she’s just projecting that she’s hot shit as a marketing strategy, because the real girl is as quiet as me.

Starstruck at her birthright.

Yesterday, I stepped outside The Matrix and owned it. I nearly blacked out when I thought about the fact that I auditioned for the same school they did.

AND I GOT IN, TOO.

I am editing this entry to add something important. Here’s what HSPVA did to inspire this level of confidence. I listen to the Argo soundtrack on repeat every single day when I write so that I can tell you where every single note goes, along with chord structures because I took music theory. That music teacher was an anti-vaxxer and I lost someone crucial to my development to COVID. I got the idea to start doing that from another HSPVA student, the creator of WordPress, Matt Mullenweg, during his interview with Tim Ferris. He was a tenor sax player and had the same jazz director I did. I borrow structure from Jason Moran, the jazz pianist, all the time, because I wrote to “Ten” for a year. He was stunned and told his entire band that in front of me when we were laughing and joking after one of his concerts at The Kennedy Center. He had the same jazz director I did. Robert Glasper nearly came unglued the last time I saw him at The Reach, because back in the day he was just the goofy dude who sat behind me in history. He had the same jazz director as I did. I am addicted to “The Suffers.” Jon Durbin sat next to me in Jazz Band for two years. Moral of the story? Dr. Robert Morgan is directly responsible for making me a drooling fangirl over all of them, and he owes me money because it’s getting expensive.

The Trumpets Shall Sound

April 13, 2013April 13, 2013 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

There is no place that I would rather be than here on my writing couch. That is because yesterday, I helped a friend move (I have a truck, so…), and now I am so sore that my muscles are in revolt. Right now, resting is good. I’m trying to make it where the only thing that moves is my fingers. When this article drifts into nothing, you’ll know that even they have seized.

–

I took up trumpet somewhere along my sixth grade year. This is because when I was in fifth grade, I had braces on my top front teeth, and my dad thought it would be too uncomfortable for me to play trumpet. I started on what, in some parts of the country, is called a baritone, in others is called a euphonium, and in both cases are made of metal and hatred.

Interestingly enough, I was pretty good. Living in a small East Texas town where the band took up the front row of three cafeteria tables, you wouldn’t think that there would be much chance for advancement. However, my band director was a trumpet player, and so was my dad. Even though I had to pick up the finer points on my own, I couldn’t have had a better foundation for brass.

Again, though, the euphonium wasn’t cool. The moment those braces were off, I dropped it.

My dad was right. Trumpet wasn’t as easy, but I was going to learn how to play it if it killed me. That is because the idea of playing trumpet and the camaraderie on the bus is different than the reality. I never got my embouchure right enough so that my lips didn’t hurt after about 45 minutes. I could often be the best trumpet player in my school for fifteen minutes at a clip. I could figure out the notes and the rhythms and learn how to wail on the high notes, but it never lasted very long because I was in so much pain.

For the trumpet players reading this, I know you could have fixed me. It’s ok. You all think you can, and you should, because not to think so is not to have the audacity of a trumpet player. It’s in your nature. Go back to your cages and mama will be around with bananas if you’re good.

I also had gut-wrenching stage fright. I have no idea where this came from, no idea where it started. But you could listen to me practice and listen to me perform and wonder if it was the same girl. I was so much better when no one was watching me, especially my teachers, because I was kind of afraid of them (in a healthy way, I think).

I would like to joke that I suffered through trumpet lessons, but I didn’t. My teachers were fabulous and I didn’t listen to them and that’s why it felt like suffering. See, the problem was the way I rested the trumpet on my lips while I was playing. In order to fix the problem, I would have to completely overhaul it. My teachers and I came to this conclusion when I tried every mouthpiece known to God and man and I still couldn’t play for more than an hour. I also tried Carmex, no Carmex, Vitamin E, lidocaine, everything. 45 minutes.

I still play, actually, but because I still haven’t fixed the original problem, you will get six minutes of loveliness.

Because the audition only lasted fifteen minutes, I got into High School for Performing and Visual Arts. It was here that I met my hero.

Wynton Marsalis came to HSPVA for a master class, and I WAS IN IT! He played it all, from classical to blues, and when it was over, I went up to him and stuck out my hand. “Wynton,” I said. “I have waited my whole life to meet you.” Keep in mind that I am probably 15 years old. I have been waiting a long, long, long, time.

He handed me his horn so that I could look at it up close, and said, “Awwwwwwwwwww…. thank you, baby.”

It is no coincidence that my favorite jazz track is “From the Plantation to the Penitentiary.”