Thursday, June 15, 2006

525,600 Minutes

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear.
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.)


  1. Oh, isn't it amazing to discover how much of oneself was quieted, suppressed, devalued, belittled, in ways both small and large, in a relationship that also had good, affirming aspects? Of course it had good, affirming aspects -- but that's never worth negating important parts of who you are.

    Walk into the middle of the street and give yourself a big Public Display of Affection!

  2. See, I would've told you if I had thought you didn't already know. But still, it was good right? RENT is one of my favorite musicals.

  3. Be aware of the rebound relationship -- It will take some time to regroup after your recent breakup.

  4. Anonymous1:55 PM

    FWIW, (my) Michael loved Rent. And I know rebound relationships are stupid, but I am not one to give advice in that area, since that's part of why I got together with Michael in the first place...I think everything depends on circumstance and the people involved. Don't go falling into something that's not right just to fill the hole, but don't discount something great just because of the timing either.

    Just be gentle and kind with yourself...but that's always good advice. ;)


  5. First of all, ditto what Billy said. Totally. It sucks when you stop or reduce doing things you enjoy because the sig other ain't into them. Story of my life sometimes.

    Second, does anybody have any proof that the rebound relationship is, in fact, as hopeless as we all seem to believe it is? My husband of five years, for instance, was a rebound.

    I'm just wondering. Is there truly a preponderance of empirical evidence against the rebound, or do we just think there is? Maybe it's like an urban myth?

    I know I've used the rebound excuse to, well, fuck someone without bothering to really vet him first. But if your rebound turns out to be awesome, where's the harm in that? Keep him!

    Also, damn that stupid not sunshine-and-light musical that made you cry!

  6. I actually had someone volunteer to be my "rebound intermediary" post-Fucknut before I launched myself back into the dating world. It helped quite a bit--but it takes a certain kind of chemistry to pull that off.