In December I was really struggling with the first part of my fiction project. I wasn't sure where I was going with the story. I had plans and character sketches and outlines, but I was really second-guessing myself. I didn't know if I was going to stay that course or move on to a less cumbersome path.
When I was in the midst of my crisis of confidence, I compared it to Alice facing the Jabberwocky in Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland. She isn't sure she'll be able to face her fears and do what needs to be done, to do what has been foretold in the Oraculum. In the midst of convincing herself her tribulations are all a dream, Alice is informed by Bayard that the Mad Hatter has been imprisoned by the Red Queen. She's determined to free her friend:
"We're going to rescue him."
The bloodhound shook his head. "That is not foretold."
"I don't care!" said Alice. "He wouldn't be there if it weren't for me."
Bayard stood up, his fur standing on end as he shivered anxiously. "The Frabjous Day is almost upon us. You must prepare to meet the Jabberwocky."
"From the moment I fell down that rabbit hole, I've been told what I must do and who I must be. I've been shrunk, stretched, scratched, and stuffed into a teapot. I've been accused of being Alice and of not being Alice. But this is my dream! I'll decide where it goes from here."
Bayard's claws dug into the ground. "If you diverge from the path--"
"I make the path!" Alice shouted.
Alice does her best to help her friend by infiltrating Salazen Grum, the castle of the Red Queen. Unpredictability ensues, and eventually Alice takes refuge at Marmoreal, the castle of the White Queen. She's overcome with self-doubt (as she's wont to do), and Absolem helps her remember who she is and what she needs to do.
I took a moment to quiet myself and my fears, thanks in part to the encouraging comments of friends and readers. (And also to an ego-boosting phone chat with Absolem.) In the stillness, I was able to listen to the characters and let them tell me where they wanted to go. I stayed on the tangled, difficult path, but I threw the map away. I knew there were landmarks to pass, certainly, and I managed to stay on track to those destinations. I was pleasantly surprised to realize that I didn't have to let the journey be as complicated as I had originally envisioned. I wasn't finding these characters; I was creating them. Their whispers in my mind were really my own, reminding me that I knew how to do this.
I finished the first, rough draft last night. 127,381 words. All mine, with the exception of a couple hundred that are quoted song lyrics. (It'll all make sense when you read it. I promise.) Today I got the first printed and spiral-bounded mark-up copy to start editing. I've read and reread most of it on my laptop screen several times now, but I need a hard copy to peruse and illuminate. I was taught how to be an active reader, and I'm trying to be an active writer, as well.
I still have a lot of work to do, both on this piece and on the rest of the project. But I feel elated to have accomplished this milestone. The Jabberwocky's head has definitely rolled to the side. I think I'm going to keep the armor for a little while longer and keep slaying while I can. I'd rather be polishing my Vorpal sword than drinking tea at a boring old garden party anyway.
I received a phone call today, a little bit unexpectedly. I had been waiting (kind of) to hear from this person, but the actual mechanics of the phone call--when it happened, where I was, etc.--were totally out of the blue. In a good way mind you, just unanticipated.
He said to me that he hadn't called because it hadn't been the right time. The stars hadn't been aligned for it, he said somewhat jokingly. He also prefaced this by saying that he's not all about astrology or anything.
This phone call made me think that I should go and read my horoscope for today, which I did. (I'm a Virgo, by the way. Screw that nonsense about changing signs. Don't get me started. And as the Amazing Sloan said, "Once a Virgo, always a Virgo!")
From Horoscope.com:
Some problems might arise with equipment that you use at home or with the structure of the house, Virgo. Appliances might go on the blink or the plumbing or electricity could require repairs. This could be a drag. It might involve staying home to wait for help. Still it must be done. Find a good book and settle onto the couch. You won't have to worry about this tomorrow.
The day is almost over and <knock on wood> nothing has broken in the house. (It's really hard to type with crossed fingers, by the way.) I still haven't ruled out curling up with a good book, though.
From ProAstro.com:
A surge of independence, a need for freedom, and an interest in trying new and different things may take hold of you. Unusual or unconventional behavior, an interest in the exotic or in eccentric friends. During this time period your thinking is intense and penetrating. You tend to become impassioned about your ideas, and you are inclined to feel very strongly about your ideas.
Oh, yeah, I'm all about the new and different today. I did have lunch at a new Vietnamese place. Then I spent some time with my friend Christine, taking pictures of trees on the side of the road at a busy, major intersection. (The knotholes and scars on the trees gave them interesting faces.) I'm definitely wrapped up in my own, intense head tonight. I feel very strongly about this.
From Astrology.com:
You need to let the day take you wherever it wants today, even if you’ve got serious reservations. Sometimes struggling just makes things worse, and this is definitely one of those days!
The day took me to IKEA, though I'm happy to report that I didn't buy anything. It also took me to the gym. I definitely didn't struggle too much--when the 100's were too hard, I just refused to do them.
From DailyHoroscopes.com:
There will be beneficial opportunities at work and through co-workers to help you capitalize on some moneymaking matters. A combination of intuition, common sense and a couple of inspired ideas will bring you the answers for which you have been searching. Your thinking is clear for any project you may care to attempt. Give a stretch to reach for the stars through your thinking. Possibilities are open this year and this month of January is a time of planning toward the direction in which you want to take your dreams. You will have the universe and its energies on your side. If you are ready for romance, it may be a scintillating stranger has turned your head! If you are free to involve yourself in a new relationship, now is the best time!
Lots of projects have been in process today, in lots of good ways. Including the original, blog-provoking phone call. Hopefully some of those will pan out in financially beneficial ways, for me and the others involved. This blog post has me stretching to the stars through my thinking, certainly. A scintillating stranger... hmmm.... (I need to talk to Absolem about this.)
From NYPost.com:
There is good and bad in everyone and if you keep that thought in mind today you should be able to stay on friendly terms with just about everyone. Try not to be judgmental -- it never leads to anything positive.
I've bitten my tongue a few times today. I've also reigned myself in and not sent some messages that I really wanted to send. I absolutely took a moment to imagine the recipient's reaction, how that could pan out, and thought better of it. I'm not in the mood to upend anyone else's psyche today, and I really don't want or need the bad karma. Sometimes I think I get too concerned with the good in people, though. I would also argue that remembering people aren't perfect has its own benefits.
But is there something to this idea of star alignment, or kismet or fate, or seemingly random events that have meaning?
I like to think so. I fully believe that we have lessons we're supposed to learn while we're here on Earth. I don't think it matters if we're learning them for use in another life, in the afterlife, or in this life--those uses can be equally significant. But I definitely believe things happen and people come into our lives for a reason, whether or not we ever fully understand what that reason is.
The problem for me, I guess, is that I tend to see the import of events and people where it may not actually exist. I will sometimes assign significance to things that may not necessarily warrant it. I'm sure some will argue that everything has importance. I don't know that I believe this human condition deserves a value of that magnitude, given the expanse of the Universe, both literally and figuratively. To believe that I will ever know the truth of that struggle seems the height of hubris. I find it best, for me, to acknowledge that there are huge questions that I will never be able to answer, or even to fully comprehend.
That doesn't mean I don't try every day, to strive a little bit to understand something outside myself and my own nature. I get off on seeing what makes people tick, on figuring out what drives them to do the things they do and to think the things they think. I love to see connections between external things and events, but I especially love to see connections within the people I know.
There are a couple of people in particular who are über-fascinating to me, and I love to spend time talking with them, just to be able to touch the beauty of them, even for a fleeting moment. What I find, though, is that sometimes it's incredibly difficult for me to pull back from that. I'm so mesmerized and enthralled that I want to stay in constant contact with them, but also with the fascination of them. The allure is, in and of itself, engrossing and sometimes rapturous.
These are the people whose horoscopes I will also read from time to time. Sometimes I think that maybe I will see something special that's happening in their inner lives. And sometimes I will see correlation between their horoscope and my own and hope that I'm not imagining the connection between them and me.
I like to imagine that my stars are aligned with those of certain others in my life, at least for a while. I know that such connections are often fleeting. But if it means I get to gaze upon the beauty of the synergy, to let the synchronicity of us pass through my fingertips even for a moment, I will revel in the glory of such ephemera.
And I absolutely bet I can find a horoscope that says it's supposed to be that way.
This popped up on my Twitter feed today. I know it's a reference to I Corinthians 13. Some of you may even be surprised to learn that the "Love is patient, love is kind..." passage was read at my wedding. DH and I chose it, when we got married in an actual church. (No. No lightning strikes, thank you very much.)
This "record of wrongs" has been a point of contention, as of late. Okay, so by "late" I mean for the last twenty years. I can't help it; I just have a great memory.
I can remember details, both large and small, about almost anything and everything. I know who gave me certain books, what clothes I wore for which grade-level school pictures, and exactly where I was standing or sitting or laying when specific life events happened. I can tell you exactly where I was and who I was with the first time I heard half the songs on my iPod. I recently went through a couple of giant boxes of Barbies to dole them out to the daughters of friends, and I could remember who gave me which dresses, which Christmas I got the bubble bath that I never actually used, and even who gave me which Malibu Barbie for my sixth birthday--the two being only distinguishable because the fake tan was partially scratched on the shoulder of one. (The scratched one came from Wes Smith, if you must know.)
The list goes on and on. There's so much minutiae crammed into this purple-streaked head that I'm surprised sometimes that there's room to fit any useful stuff.
The problem, if you want to call it that, is that I also remember the bad stuff. I remember sights and sounds related to traumatic events from my early childhood. I remember exactly what was happening when I got each of the calls that my grandfathers had died. I remember, in extreme detail, how a little piece of the ring DH bought me for our first Christmas broke off, the day he and I had our first fight in 1993. (I took it immediately as a bad omen and stopped wearing the ring. I wasn't letting that cosmic lesson go unlearned.)
That also means I remember all the things that people do that make me unhappy, for whatever reason. Every little slight, every perceived betrayal, every stab in the back--it's all here. It's like a laundry list of infractions sometimes. I don't mean for it to be that way; it just is.
DH has accused me more than once of saving them up and dragging them out into the light when it's time to fight. He's totally insane and totally right at the same time. I don't intentionally have a list of grievances that I keep in reserve, waiting until just the right moment to spring them on him. (Or you, if you're so special as to be on my No Fly List.) But I do always have a running tally of issues that went unresolved, for whatever reason. Until they've been addressed and confronted, I can't let them go. I just can't, physically. It's almost pathological.
So what is it about memories that are important? They're the recounting of who you are, good and bad, past and present. They can even give a little insight into who you will become. [Yes, I know those should both be 'whom', but it sounds funny, even on paper.] We use our memories to make ourselves.
When she first gets to Wonderland (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland), Alice is convinced she must have changed somehow, must no longer be Alice. She assumes that, because she can't remember who she is, she must be someone else. She meets the Blue Caterpillar (Oh, Absolem!), who questions her about who she is and challenges her to remember who she was.
For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, "So you think you're changed, do you?"
"I'm afraid I am, sir," said Alice; "I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!"
"Can't remember WHAT things?" said the Caterpillar.
"Well, I've tried to say 'HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE,' but it all came different!" Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.
Alice can't remember who she was, so she can't remember who she is. She has no personal context to draw upon and define herself, whether in relation to Alice or to anyone else.
Henri Bergson believed there were two kinds of memories: memories of habit and memories of personal events. He asserted that when a person commits a memory to habit (multiplication tables, for example), the memory becomes impersonal. But when the memory of how the habit was learned (the rhythmic droning of the multiplication tables in fourth grade math class), it becomes a matter of remembering the self, at least from the personal perspective.
That's the other thing about memories: they're highly subjective. Everyone has moments they recall with astonishing clarity, only to find that someone else remembers them completely differently. Personal perspective--dependant on physical locale and limitations, emotional state, and prejudices defined by previous experience--are highly influential on both the original imprints of incident and on their later recollection.
I realize that sometimes my recollections of events are totally tainted by own perceptions. Sobriety, emotional condition, etc., all directly impact how I remember an event. And sometimes, it's just easiest to remember something the way I want to remember it. Maybe it's a coping mechanism, making an event seem more palatable.
The real problem is when the not-forgetting becomes detrimental, whether to me or to my relationship with someone. DH is right that I tend to save these things up until the most heated, inopportune time. But when is the right time to bring up hurt? When is the appropriate time to tell someone, "Hey, do you remember that time you were a total ass to me? And you never apologized or told me why? Well, that's still bugging the shit out of me--can we talk about that during the next commercial break?"
I'm trying hard to be cognizant of those things that bother me and let him know when an issue is in imminent danger of becoming a weapon of future destruction. But I don't always see it coming. I may not realize how much something bothered me until it's too late, until I'm worked up about something else.
And sometimes it feels inappropriately good to lash out, to dole out the sucker punch, especially when I'm defensive and in danger of losing the argument. This is where my perception and misconception of a memory can be twisted to satisfy my ulterior motive.
I explained to DH recently that I had been working hard to confront my ghosts and let them go, including some issues that had been long-standing between us. I was surprised to learn that I was the only one who'd been rattling the chains binding me to them. DH didn't even realize there'd ever been a ghostly memory, let alone battled to look at us through the vaporous remnants.
Sadly, when confronted, my first instinct was to defend myself by listing all the grievances I'd forgiven and forgotten. The memories are there, always, but the emotional import I place upon them is pliable and transient. I can re-examine them from a new perspective and see if they're better suited to being a memory of personal event, or a memory of habit.
Love may not keep a record of wrongs, but hurt does. Hurt is rude and self-seeking, certainly. The best we can hope for is that love finds a way to quiet the hurt, to calm its proud, angry nature, and find a way to always trust, always hope, and always persevere.
My very favorite movie, ever, is John Cameron Mitchell's 2001 masterpiece Hedwig and the Angry Inch. It's a really spectacular film about soul-searching and pain and love and identity. The main character is a slightly-but-justifiably crazy blonde with an overwhelming affinity for glitter and rock 'n roll. You can't get much muchier than that! How could I not love her?
I started thinking about this movie toward the end of Iceapalooza 2011. It's not kid-appropriate, so I had to wait until they weren't around to watch it for the hundred-dozenth time. Last night, in a fit of self-indulgent moroseness, I curled up on the couch to get my glam and drag on.
The first thing I'm always struck by is how gorgeous the film is; it is deliciously beautiful, cinemagraphically, even in its grittiest moments. It's visually clever in its economy of field; sets are often small and cramped, and Mitchell is astonishingly efficient as using the small areas to their fullest effect. (Hedwig's play area in the oven in East Berlin is my favorite.)
The second thing that always blows me away is Mitchell's performance as Hedwig. It's a character he created originally for the stage play of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, then translated it to screen as writer, director, and lead actor. He is remarkably talented as both actor and singer in the film, and his performance garnered a 2001 Golden Globe nomination for Best Actor. (He also won a Best Director award at Sundance, along with numerous other accolades.) I remember watching the Golden Globes that year, which I rarely do, and thinking, "Wow! That's fantastic that such a performance got the nomination, but there's no way in Hell he'll win." I was right, of course.
The third thing that always kicks my ass is the music. The music and lyrics were written by Stephen Trask after he and Mitchell met quite by accident on a plane. Trask received an Obie award for the play, as well as a Grammy nomination for the film. For the production of the film, the musicians prerecorded the music for the songs and synced along during filming. Vocals, however, were done almost entirely live on set, to create a true feel of live performance. I can listen to this soundtrack over and over and still get something new from it every time.
As so commonly happens these days, I'm always on the search for Alice-y things to write about. Watching the movie again, I was struck by how much Hedwig is like Alice. So I started looking for other similarities between the two stories. Turns out, there's a lot.
The story that's told in Hedwig doesn't unfold chronologically. A lot of what the audience sees happens somewhat in flashback, as Hedwig is telling her story during her performances. For the purposes of comparison, I'm breaking it down into a neater timeline. (I still suggest you go watch the movie. Duh!)
[The best way to view Hedwig and the Angry Inch is to watch the movie, about 90 minutes, then watch the documentary "Whether You Like It or Not: the Story of Hedwig", then watch the movie again. It's amazing to see what they did with a $6,000,000 budget and some divine inspiration.]
SPOILER ALERT!
Hedwig is born Hansel Schmidt in pre-Wall Germany. He's the "slip of a girly boy" son of an American GI and an overbearing German mother, who flees to East Berlin as the Wall goes up, because, she says, it's better to be forever powerless than to be corrupted by your own power. Hansel grows up as flamboyantly as possible in this dark, austere environment.
"Our apartment was so small, that mother made me play in the oven. Late at night I would listen to the voices of the American masters, Tony Tennille, Debby Boone, Anne Murray who was actually a Canadian working in the American idiom. And then there were the crypto-homo rockers: Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, David Bowie who was actually an idiom working in America and Canada. These artists, they left as deep an impression on me as that oven rack did on my face. To be an American in muskrat love, soft as an easy chair not even the chair, I am I said, have I never been mellow? And the colored girls sing... doo do doo do doo do doo... but never with the melody. How could I do it better than Tony or Lou... HEY BOY, TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE!"
At the ripe age of 26, Hansel is sunbathing nude, surrounded by barbed wire and debris, when Sergeant Luther Robinson, stumbles upon Hansel and tells him that he's so pretty he must be a girl. Sergeant Luther plies Hansel with Gummy Bears, the brightly-colored, sweeter versions of the German Gummi Bears, then with other candy. They fall in love, and Luther wants to marry Hansel. To be able to get him out of East Germany, Hansel will have to prove he's a woman. Luther and Hansel's mom, Hedwig, hatch a plan to get a sex-change operation for Hansel, then to give the new her Hedwig's passport. "To be free," Mom-Hedwig says, "one must give up a part of oneself."
The operation goes horribly wrong. Hedwig's incision closes up, and she's left with the angry inch. Luther takes her to Junction City, Kansas, where he leaves her for another man on their first anniversary. Hedwig takes on odd jobs ("mostly the jobs we call blow") and babysitting to make ends meet.
While babysitting the infant son of a General from the nearby Army base, she meets the General's 17-year-old son, Tommy Speck. Tommy is instantly drawn to Hedwig and goes to see her perform at a local shop with her band, comprised entirely of Korean-born Army wives. Tommy and Hedwig begin a mostly one-sided sexual affair, but they also begin writing songs together for Tommy's burgeoning music career. Hedwig gives Tommy his new identity of Tommy Gnosis. Just as Tommy is finally beginning to accept the reality of what Hedwig is, he panics and leaves her. He goes on to become an internationally famous rock star, performing the songs Hedwig wrote.
Hedwig gets a new band, the Angry Inch, made up of Eastern European immigrants. She keeps all of their passports to keep them from leaving her. At some point she marries Yitzhak, played by Miriam Shore. (The juxtaposition of Shore soprano harmonies with Mitchell's tenor melodies is outstanding.) Yitzhak wants to be a woman, wants to be Hedwig in a lot of ways. He seems to love Hedwig even though he's scared of her, but he becomes more and more bitter about their relationship as the film progresses. He auditions for the part of Angel in a cruise ship performance of Rent, but Hedwig tears up his passport when he confronts her and tries to leave.
Hedwig hires a new manager, Phyllis Stein (Andrea Martin), and goes on a tour that shadows that of Tommy Gnosis. While Tommy plays huge arenas, Hedwig and the Angry Inch play at the neighboring Bilgewater's, a chain of family restaurants whose patrons are mostly offended and disgusted by Hedwig's show. She does develop a small following of loyal fans who surround her, wearing their own giant, yellow foam hair that mimics Hedwig's signature blond wig.
Hedwig has simultaneously filed a lawsuit against Tommy for stealing her songs. She tries to get close to Tommy ("You know how much I don't like that word, stalking"), to try to force him into admitting he stole her work. She becomes more and more irrational and bitter as her journey unfolds. One night, she reverts to working as a prostitute, and she is unexpectedly picked up in a limo by Tommy Gnosis. He eventually relents and apologizes for stealing her songs, which it turns out he never understood anyway. They argue and are in a car accident. The story becomes public, and the tables are turned.
Hedwig does her last real show, at the Times Square Bilgewater's, and goes fucking nuts. All the pressure and the drama and the strife culminate in this intense climactic performance where she violently rips off her drag while the crowd and the band are agape.
There's a sudden cut to an all-white room, everyone dressed in white, where Hedwig sings "Midnight Radio", a song of celebration of "all the misfits and the losers" of the world who are brought together by music through their own darknesses. Hedwig gives Yitzhak her wig, encouraging Yitzhak to go and be his dream. In the final moments, Hedwig is brought face-to-face with Tommy, alone on a dark stage, singing his version of "Wicked Little Town". Hedwig is now more Hansel in smeared make-up, having lost all of the female trappings. Hansel/Hedwig walks naked down a dark alley into the night. FADE OUT.
Okay, so back to this Alice analogy. We're working from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, being the original work from which all other Alices derive. The comparisons of Hedwig to Alice don't follow exactly in chronological order, either, between the movie and the book, so bear with me.
Hansel in East Berlin is a young Alice, playing in a world that bores her. He/she is distracted by the White Rabbit (Sergeant Luther) and follows him down the rabbit hole that is the crazy process of the sex change operation. Hansel is brave and reluctant about being with Luther, i.e. growing and shrinking, as he takes the brightly-colored Gummy Bears and the American candy bars. It's a total EAT ME/DRINK ME moment.
Hansel's mother Hedwig is the Mouse that Alice first encounters after she falls to the bottom of the hole. Alice has already been battling with the beginnings of the identity crisis, shrinking and growing to fit her round peg through the square door hole. She is huge and cries great, giant tears, then shrinks and is trapped in the pool.
"O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!" [snip] The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.
The elder Hedwig responds similarly to Hansel. She's never understood her son and why he can't just assimilate into the East German culture and relinquish his power to the forces that are greater than he. She seems to recognize that Hansel is drowning and helps push him to the dry banks, i.e. across the Wall to America.
The bands, both the one comprised of the Korean wives and the Angry Inch, are the birds on the bank and the other random, talking animals in the story. Their actions may have some momentary significance, but they mostly pass through the time as extraneous decoration to Hedwig's journey. She may interact with them, but it's often more to show dimensions of Hedwig than it is to illustrate anything about the musician. Much like the Dodo, the Dormouse, the Eaglet, etc.
Sergeant Luther (the White Rabbit) takes Hedwig (Alice) to Junction City, Kansas, and abandons her a year later in a trailer park. The trailer park is one of my favorite analogies in this whole comparison. I debated whether it was like the tea party (which is really Bilgewater's in all of its incarnations) or maybe the Queen of Hearts' croquet ground. But no! There's a not-so-well remembered scene in Alice where the white rabbit goes looking for the Duchess' gloves. He sees Alice and mistakes her for his maid servant, Mary Ann, and sends her into the house to get the gloves. She goes inside, but she starts to grow and gets so big that she's stuck in the house. A crowd outside the house throws rocks at her, which turn into little cakes that Alice eats and shrinks back to her normal size.
The trailer is the White Rabbit/Luther's house. Luther mistakes Hansel for a woman originally, and then still expects Hedwig to be a woman, even though the operation was botched. Hedwig gets stuck inside, trapped under the weight of her situation and her own identity. One of the best scenes in Hedwig happens here, the "Wig in a Box" performance. She sings about how she gets sad, not fitting in, and puts on different wigs to be different selves. The confident energy becomes so overwhelming that the sides of the trailer burst open to let her muchness out into the night.
Yitzhak is the Hatter. In Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, the Hatter explains to Alice that he and the March Hare are always stuck in time, having tea, because it's how he escapes decapitation by the Queen of Hearts for singing. Yitzhak often tries to sing his own song, in his own way, and is silenced by Hedwig. He is perpetually stuck in the maddening role of Hedwig's emotional punching bag. He is always seen wearing a bandana or a wig, never a bare head.
Phyllis Stein is the Cheshire Cat. She appears kind of randomly to tease and advise Hedwig. There's actually a deleted scene in which Phyllis has a cell phone switch installed into the roof of her mouth. To make her phone work, she has to click her tongue over and over. It's very reminiscent of the grin.
Hedwig's public crusade and attack against Tommy's plagiarism is very much like the trial in the King's court. The jury/public knows really very little about the actual facts and can only make judgments based on the absurdities they glimpse from time to time. There's a very large public gathering in the final Bilgewater's scene, which erupts into utter chaos, just like the Knave's trial.
Tommy Gnosis is certainly the Knave of Hearts. The Knave is put on trial for stealing the tarts. Tommy is accused of stealing Hedwig's tarts: her songs. Like the Knave, Tommy never really has a good explanation for what happens.
That covers most of the major characters, except my favorite: the Blue Caterpillar. Because I love the name Absolem that Tim Burton later gives the Caterpillar, I'm sticking with that for now. Absolem is a tiny, wiggling thing that obscures Alice's vision with his smoke screen. He taunts her and teases her, then tries to lead her toward the truth of her own identity. He builds and destroys her confidence and challenges her sexuality with his own phallic little body.
Do you get where I'm going with this??
Absolem, the Blue Caterpillar, is the Angry Inch. Not the band. The actual "one inch mound of flesh".
Hedwig is taunted and driven by the Inch, much as Alice is by Absolem. Both the Inch and Absolem control the relationship until the very end, when Hedwig and Alice respectively revolt against the madness surrounding them and wake from the crazy dreams they've been in.
And Hedwig certainly does wake. She becomes Hansel, reverting almost to his original form and state, though newly confident if unsteady.
Honestly, I was surprised by how many comparisons could be made between the two stories. Alice has been altered and changed and derived from so many times, that it's surprising when I see a new version of her. I have no idea if John Cameron Mitchell had any intention of having such parallels to Lewis Carroll. (I have searched online and found no reference to it anywhere.) Perhaps it works because Alice is so archetypical of the battle of the inner self with the outer perceptions.
No matter, Hedwig and the Angry Inch is a masterful telling of one girl's struggle to really find herself in the midst of chaos and confusion and misunderstanding, all set to a kick-ass soundtrack. It's something every girl can relate to, as well as a few men I know. The added glittery glam and fanciness just make it that much better.
I have this friend. I'll call them "CC". Male or female doesn't matter for the purposes of this conversation, though I fully recognize that gender can lend a strong hand to determining how a person behaves in any given situation. I'll stick with an inappropriate editorial "they" for now.
So CC isn't exactly what I'd call a fair-weather friend, but they are inconsistent. Almost transient in their friendship. Our friendship usually plays out at CC's discretion, but not always. I know the reasons for it, and I probably should have known them at the onset of the friendship. That doesn't make it any less frustrating at times.
It's all very Alice. (What isn't, right? Right??) Specifically, it's very Alice and the Cheshire-Cat.
Alice first meets the Cheshire-Cat in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland outside the home of the Duchess. All the craziness is ensuing with the screaming baby and the smoke-filled kitchen. Everyone is irritated and sneezing, except for the cook and the grinning cat, lying on the hearth. Alice comments to the Duchess that she never knew that cats could grin. The Duchess gets mad and flings the baby at Alice, then leaves to play croquet with the Queen.
Alice tries to calm the baby, who turns into a pig and runs away into the woods. Alice is surprised to see the Cheshire-Cat sitting outside the house in a tree.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she thought: still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.
Alice asks the Cat which direction she should go and he retorts that it depends on where she wants to get to. She doesn't care where--"then it doesn't matter which way you go"--as long as she gets somewhere. The Cheshire-Cat explains that one direction leads to the Mad Hatter, while the other leads to the March Hare. Either route will lead her to people who are mad.
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
They converse a bit more about why the Cat itself is mad, then about whether or not Alice will be playing croquet with the Queen. The Cat vanishes but suddenly reappears to ask what happened to the baby. Alice answers "just as if the Cat had come back in a natural way" that the baby turned into a pig. The Cat responds that he thought it would and disappears again. Just as Alice is deciding which way to go and why, the Cat appears again, asking if she said pig or fig.
"I said pig," replied Alice; "and I wish you wouldn't keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy."
"All right," said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
"Well! I've often seen a cat without a grin," thought Alice; "but a grin without a cat! It's the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!"
Alice goes on to the tea party with the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and the Dormouse. She journeys to the Queen's croquet ground and is invited to play the horrible game, using hedgehogs as balls and flamingoes as mallets.
She was looking about for some way of escape, and wondering whether she could get away without being seen, when she noticed a curious appearance in the air: it puzzled her very much at first, but, after watching it a minute or two, she made it out to be a grin, and she said to herself "It's the Cheshire Cat: now I shall have somebody to talk to."
"How are you getting on?" said the Cat, as soon as there was mouth enough for it to speak with.
Alice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded."It's no use speaking to it," she thought, "till its ears have come, or at least one of them." In another minute the whole head appeared, and then Alice put down her flamingo, and began an account of the game, feeling very glad she had someone to listen to her. The Cat seemed to think that there was enough of it now in sight, and no more of it appeared.
"I don't think they play at all fairly," Alice began, in rather a complaining tone, "and they all quarrel so dreadfully one can't hear oneself speak--and they don't seem to have any rules in particular; at least, if there are, nobody attends to them--and you've no idea how confusing it is all the things being alive; for instance, there's the arch I've got to go through next walking about at the other end of the ground--and I should have croqueted the Queen's hedgehog just now, only it ran away when it saw mine coming?"
"How do you like the Queen?" said the Cat in a low voice.
"Not at all," said Alice: "she's so extremely--" Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on, "--likely to win, that it's hardly worth while finishing the game."
The King becomes enraged that Alice is talking to a Cat who refuses to submit to the King's supposed authority. The Queen demands that the Cat's head be cut off, which triggers an argument over whether only a head can actually be beheaded. As often happens in Wonderland, the issue is never truly resolved before another nonsensical experience presents itself. Ultimately, Alice wakes from her dream of Wonderland and struggles to remember it before it fades into her reality.
It's very much like me and CC. Our relationship developed in its own nonsensical way, and it has pretty much followed suit since its inception. We are strangely kindred spirits who met in a peppery kitchen, for sure. CC appears when I least expect it and often when I most need it. In all fairness, they've been known to appear when I call. I will often ask them which way I should go, and just as often get the response of "that depends on where you're going," politely prompting me to look deeply at my own desires and drives and examine the impetus of my decisions. I know there's no use addressing them, though, until enough of them apparates to be able to see and hear me.
Like Alice, I can be exasperated with CC and then utterly delighted when they appear to share their impressions of the world with me. It's nice to have CC as a distraction from the day-to-day absurdities. They will just be there, asking how I am, as normal and incredibly caring as can be, then vanish just as quickly. Oddly, it all seems very natural.
The thing is, I really adore CC. Truly and completely. I don't want CC to ever not be there, so I tend to take on the difficulty of the relationship and accept it. I'm well aware of the strange nature of the friendship and revel in it when it's good and acceptable to my expectations. But I am wary of its long claws and great many teeth; I try to be respectful of how CC's purring could becoming growling at any time, depending on my perception of their madness.
Of course, there's the argument to be made that this post is a passive-aggressive attempt to garner CC's attention. Not so much. I would turn into a pig if I honestly thought CC ever actually read this. I know it's just not in their realm of plausability. It's also not an expectation I have of that relationship. I wish it were sometimes, but I know it's just not the branch CC hangs out on.
Mostly, I wish CC would stop appearing and vanishing so quickly, leaving me giddy with nothing more than a lingering grin.
So I'm having a crisis of confidence today. I'm in the middle of writing a fiction piece that's been brewing for a long time. I'd let it sit for ages, busy with life, I guess. I was a productive member of society, but I wasn't really working on anything for me. Until this past October.
For my birthday (August 27th, for future reference), Dear Hubby bought me tickets to see the Gracious Few in Atlanta at the Masquerade. I have been a LIVE fan since 1994 and had seen them dozens and dozens of times, under all kinds of circumstances. The official announcement of their hiatus (read, "break-up") in 2009 wasn't surprising in the least, but it was painful. All those years of built-up groupie energy were just... gone. At the end of their time together, the Gracious Few was born, made up of Chad Gracey, Chad Taylor, and Patrick Dahlheimer of LIVE, plus Kevin Martin and Sean Hennesy of Candlebox. (I was also a Candlebox fan, though not nearly to the same extent. Kevin was too much of a pretty boy for me (in the 1990's anyway, compared to Ed Kowalczyk and his shaved head).
So, anyway, the Gracious Few CD came out September 14th, and it sat on my desk for nearly two weeks before I could bear to open it. It was like meeting Dad's new girlfriend for the first time. I wasn't really sure I would tolerate it, let alone like it. What if she was a total strumpet? Where would I be then? When I finally did give it a listen, I fell head-over-heels in love. It's a really fantastic rock album. It's not alternative, it's not adult contemporary, just balls-to-the-walls rock. And it's really good. (Try it! You'll like it!) It's one of a handful of albums I have ever immersed myself in for weeks on end. My poor boys were subjected to it three and four times a day. Three months later, it's still my favorite playlist for working out--it makes me want to sweat!
DH and I went to the Masquerade, sat in the will-call line, made it inside. Six Shot Revival was surprisingly good and had some hard core fans in the audience. American Bang was fun. Then the Gracious Few came on. There were maybe 150 people there (based on what I saw when I turned around from the
front), nothing like the thousands upon thousands both LIVE and Candlebox have traditionally entertained. (Interestingly, TGF was playing in the Hell theater. GWAR was upstairs in Heaven. Their fake blood ended up dripping through the ceiling in Hell before the show was over. It was fucking weird.) I could go on ad infinitum (read, "ad nauseum") about why I loved that show and that music and that band. That was the first night I got to sing with Kevin Martin from stage. (Though I haven't seen the video or pictures, I grasp desperately to the hope that it didn't suck like it did in Chicago in November.)
Something happened for me after that night, though, that kicked my ass into gear. I went home and started writing again, working on this story that had been stagnating for two or three years. This all happened to be timed with the realization that I'd lost my muchness. DH let me check out of my life for a couple of days, and I went to Birmingham to see TGF again. I had a remarkable time hanging out with them the night before the show, just talking about anything and nothing. I holed up in my hotel for most of my two days in Birmingham and wrote. And wrote and wrote and wrote.
I realized I had some verisimilitude issues. I needed some details that I couldn't really research online, and I certainly didn't have the experiential knowledge to fill in the gaps I was finding. I took a shot in the dark and emailed Mr. Martin and asked if he would be willing to chat with me in Chicago, before yet another TGF show. I openly admitted that I didn't necessarily expect a response, let alone willing participation, but I was in a "nothing ventured, nothing gained" mood. To my delighted surprise, he agreed to meet with me. We met at the venue and talked for about an hour, the evening before the show. I had tons of questions, and he had unexpected answers for me. My brain churned for days, I emailed him more questions, and I was writing even more.
I was at less than 12,000 words at the first of October, leftovers from when this process had originally begun. As of yesterday, I'm up to 95,973, and I'm about two-thirds of the way through the story, I think. Here's the rub:
I can either continue on this path that I have laid out for myself and these characters, or I can backtrack and change direction all together. To go forward is new, but based on a concrete past determined by the choices I have already made, both in the story and in pre-production notes. The subject matter at this point is emotionally challenging and will continue to be so for a while. There will eventually be a good resolution; this is ultimately a love story. This path was planned long, long ago. The original snippets of story were written based on these ideas and this plan. But it's hard.
Or, I can go back and undo the harshest parts of the story and still continue on to the resolution. It would be easier, less likely to be judged harshly by the third-party eyes that will eventually be laid on it.
Do I want to paint the white roses red?
All day, I've been going back to the Jabberwocky. Tim Burton's version of the Jabberwocky, mind you, slain by Alice on Frabjous Day. The Jabberwocky is definitely the embodiment of my crisis of confidence, as it was for Alice. Her path to slaying the Red Queen's pet with the Vorpal Sword has been laid out in the Oraculum. Her path seems to have been decided by choices made in the concrete past.
Alice stared at the picture of the horrible monster that was winging its way toward them. She saw her golden hair flying as she wielded the Vorpal Sword, but she still couldn't imagine how it would feel--the thunk of the blade slicing into flesh, the scrape of its long sharp claws against her pale skin. She was not a killer. How could she kill anything...let alone Underland's most dreaded creature?
Overwhelmed, Alice turned and ran out of the courtyard. She bolted through the castle and out into the gardens until she found the hedge maze, where she threw herself onto a garden bench and wept.
"Nothing was ever accomplished with tears," observed a voice. Alice lifted her tear-streaked face and looked around.
"Absolem?"
Absolem, the Blue Caterpillar, is spinning himself a chrysalis to transform into a butterfly. Alice begs him not to go:
"I need your help. I don't know what to do!"
"I can't help you if you don't even know who you are, stupid girl."
But Alice does know. She tells Absolem, and reminds herself, of all the wonderful ways in which she is Alice Kingsleigh. She draws upon the power of that epiphany and straps on the armor and sword of the White Queen's champion. Alice steps up to slay the Jabberwocky. She comments to the Mad Hatter that it's an impossible task, but then she reminds herself that she sometimes believes "as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
The Jabberwocky doesn't see Alice as his enemy, though; that's the Vorpal Sword. Absolem tells Alice, "Remember, the Vorpal Sword knows what it wants. All you have to do is hold on to it." As Alice fights, she remembers the six impossible things she has learned while in Underland. And while she's working through her own issues of self-confidence, the Vorpal Sword continues to battle the Jabberwocky, seemingly of its own accord. Alice jumps in the air and slices the Jabberwocky's head off.
Alice was too exhausted to speak, but the dead creature's head seemed to say everything.
Alice always had the choice to not fight. The events detailed in the Oraculum weren't guaranteed to come true until they had actually happened. Even though she had the support of her talking animal friends, ultimately it was Alice's decision, as she learns before her battle:
"Alice," said the White Queen, "you cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours because when you step out to face that creature, you will step out alone."
I have the choice to not follow the illustrations of my Oraculum, to ignore the character sketches and story outlines that were decided so long ago, based on some inspiration that I may or may not remember. I don't have someone else to be my champion now. Perhaps I let my Vorpal Sword, my thoughts and words, run of their own volition and finish this battle. Can I believe my own impossibilities and let myself slay these misgivings?
This choice is solely and squarely on my shoulders. How I wish I could run to a hedge maze and cry! I'm sure my Absolem would remind me to not be stupid and to know who I am, were he not tangled in his own gilded chrysalis.
A friend of mine, Amanda, recently commented that she has moments of being small and petty. Another friend, Jason, retorted that it was okay to have moments of being small and petty, as long as you have days of being tall and pretty. (I hope the day comes when his daughter knows how lucky she is to have him for a father!)
It seems I have no middle ground as of late. I'm bouncing wildly between the tea and the cake. That's a central theme to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, her constant shrinking and growth, metaphorical for her identity crisis, of course.
Weeks ago, after Jason's profound comment, I decided to make a concerted effort to be tall and pretty, as often as possible. Like everyone, I have the baggage of my lifetime that can drag me down into the dredges of my own mind--sometimes, seemingly, in a matter of moments. I decided to reexamine the contents of that baggage, to unpack and repack those years and throw out the ones I didn't need any more.
I reshuffled and reorganized and faced a few things. I made a conscious decision to address some things from my past and to let them go. I was in a brilliant place of peace and happiness. I could have taught the world to sing! Tall, not small!
I was full of cake, to say the least, but got a little thirsty. I drank the tea. A lot of tea.
I had a series of intensely intimate conversations recently with a friend, my hookah-smoking Blue Caterpillar, Absolem, in part discussing some of the baggage that needed to be tossed. It was cathartic and gratifying to finally gain control of some of the things that had felt out of my reach for a very long time. I took a little too much of the mushroom offered by the Caterpillar, just like Alice, and became small with a long, serpentine neck that was craning to stay eye-to-eye with the Caterpillar. In my search for my own identity, I was completely ungrateful for the Caterpillar's gracious wisdom and concern. When I had eaten all of the proffered mushroom, I stomped my foot like an ugly, little girl and demanded more. Petty, not pretty.
Sometimes Alice would be small or tall because she chose the cake or the tea, and sometimes it would happen because others threw the cakes at her. Eventually she gives up the cake and the tea and recognizes that growth is just something that happens, to each at her own pace.
I can put on my best blue dress and go to the tea party. I can share riddles with my friends. I can even visit the Blue Caterpillar from time to time and partake of his hookah, assuming he still invites me. It doesn't mean I have to eat or drink.
And when the Caterpillar challenges me and asks me what size I want to be, I will reply like Alice, "Oh, I'm not particular as to size, only one doesn't like changing so often, you know."
In Tim Burton's amazing and beautiful Alice in Wonderland (2010), Alice returns to a Wonderland she barely remembers having ever known, while attempting to escape from an impending adulthood she doesn't want to know. Appalled that she can't remember where she came from, the Mad Hatter says to Alice, "You used to be much more... 'muchier'. You've lost your muchness."
I know how she feels. So many wonderful things happened when I became mom in 2001. I learned to love in entirely new ways. I learned to slow down and see life a little closer to the ground. I learned to make two different versions of the same meal at the same time, because there was no way in hell the baby was going to eat that.
What I didn't learn was how to keep in touch with myself. I know this is a common problem with mothers, perhaps with women in general, who are suddenly defined in new and exciting ways. But underneath the nursing bras and spit-up stains, there's still the 'muchier' versions of our old selves, trying desperately not to get lost in the shuffle.
I was married at the very tender age of 21 to a man I have loved my entire waking life. We spent a few years together, on our own, before deciding to have the first of the babies. Medical issues flared, eighteen months of shots and pills and craziness, and then we had the first boy. He was beautiful and difficult. He was perfectly flawed and wonderful. He was an extension of me, and vice versa. His younger brother came almost four years later. Same spit-up, different day.
Let me be very, very clear: I love my children. I have never once regretted having them. I chose to commit myselves to them from the time of their difficult and expensive conceptions and cannot imagine ever not living up to that obligation. What I could never have anticipated was that I would forget my own tea parties and talking animal friends. Or even how I used to order heads to be off.
As the Absolem the Blue Caterpillar said, "I can't help you if you don't even know who you are, stupid girl."
I know, I know. You can't swing a dead Cheshire Cat without hitting a blog. My hope is that you will be intrigued and want to remember your own youth, that you will join me as I journey back down the rabbit hole. Because as even the sometimes-insipid Alice learns, the journey is so much better with friends.
