525,600 minutes - how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love? How about love? How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love.
Last night, after finishing my laundry (2 loads! Yay!), I popped Rent into the DVD player and settled down for a night of musical watching. And crying. Why didn't anyone tell me this movie musical was so friggin' depressing? I guess I should have figured it out when I read the plot summary on NetFlix, but still ... gah! ... I was bawling when Angel died. I bawled again when Mimi said she saw Angel. Stupid tear-jerker movie musical.
Movie musicals are supposed to be full of sunshine and laughter. Sunshine! Laughter! Movie musicals are not supposed to make me cry, when I'm already feeling low. I re-ordered my NetFlix queue when John and I broke up so I would receive fun movies that wouldn't make me feel bad. I thought some musicals would cheer me up. Apparently, I was wrong.
John would have never watched this movie with me. He would have realized it was a musical and turned up his nose. He would say he was "low-brow." I would tell him that musicals are neither high nor low brow, so he would counter in his typical uncomfortable with his masculinity way that they were "chick flicks" or something like that. "It's OK for a man to like musicals," I would say, but I guess he was still too stuck on appearing straight (masculine?). Stupid straight-acting stereotypes.
In the end, I guess a core difference between us was that he viewed movies as purely entertainment (which is why I was able to enjoy classic films like Medea's Family Reunion while we were together); whereas, I view movies as not only entertaining, but occasionally uplifting and educational. I don't mind thinking during a movie, and I don't mind shedding a tear or seven when they make me sad.
I like plays. I like musicals. I like art and museums. I like to read and learn. I like to laugh and cry. I like to live joyfully.
I would like to meet someone who appreciates, rather than denigrates. I would like to meet someone who I could share these experiences with, rather than tell him about them afterwards. That's what I would like.
And, speaking of likes, Mike emailed yesterday. He suggested that for our date on Saturday evening we have a picnic on the Mall. A picnic! On the Mall! *swoon*
(ps. He also said last weekend that he was interested in seeing Christine Baransky in Mame at the Kennedy Center. Someone smack me before I fall for him.)