July « 2009 « kirstenopstad.com

The way I have my YouTube account set up, I get an email anytime anybody makes a new comment on a video of mine. Usually, I’ll get a few emails right after I put out a new video. It’s great! The handful of faithful subscribers I have will drop a supportive line, or every once in a while, I’ll get some asshole telling me that I can’t sing and should probably quit now. I try to just take it with stride – most of my life consists of taking criticism with as much grace as humanly possible anyway.

Last night I get this email telling me I have a new comment on a video I posted two years ago of me singing a song I wrote, “holy ground (for lauren).” The comment reads:

“i love the lyrics and i pray that God will continue to use you for his Glory. Dont let anyone tell you your to young to live for God. Look how young david was when he became king. stay encouraged my sister in the Lord!!!!!! and SMILE!!!!!”

http://www.youtube.com/comment_servlet?all_comments&v=tFd9SohL71M

This song is a love song I wrote for my former-girlfriend Lauren a couple years ago. My girlfriend girlfriend. I mean, how would they know? Right? They might have been clued in by the parenthetical reference, the lyrics, or my reference to being a big gay atheist in other songs – but nope, they hear what they want to hear. I kinda love it, honestly.

A year ago I got a message from a couple of girls in the Southwest somewhere that wanted the chords to the same song so they could sing it at church. Rather than point out what the song was really about, I sent them the progression, gave them my blessing and enjoyed the irony privately. I don’t know if they ever sang it or not, but I hope they did.

I don’t go out of my way to make lyrics to songs vague or relatable. I figure, if I say what’s true for me, maybe people will get the idea and like it. I think it’s kind of beautiful that these religious folks hear the words to this love song and interpret it as a praise song for God. In the misunderstanding, it’s like they’ve accepted the gay thing. More than accepted, embraced. I love that.

And you know what? She’s right, I shouldn’t let anyone tell me I’m too young to live for God.

Food that touches other food is disgusting. Or at least, that’s what I believed for most of my young life. Mashed potatoes that are tinted purple and taste oddly like the cranberry sauce next to them on the plate, nasty. As a kid, the taste of unintentionally mixed together foods made me gag. To this day the thought of Jello salad on a real lettuce salad makes me a little queasy. Sweet should not touch savory, dry should not touch wet, and by no means should the main course ever touch dessert.

When my family lived in Orange County, we had these Tupperware plates that had convenient partitions for different parts of the meal. Like frozen dinners, they had a larger area for the meat, and three smaller areas for fruit, vegetables and dessert. I couldn’t have been more grateful for my mom’s obsession with plastic flatware. Meals weren’t stressful when they were served both simultaneously and separately. That is how dinner should be.

Sometimes I think that I am the same person I was when I was a toddler, the only difference being that instead of throwing tantrums and kicking my legs on the ground, I internalize the stress, have a neurotic overload, and occasionally unleash it in the form of anger and resentment toward the closet person who knows me well enough to forgive me for it later. Instead of stressing out about foods touching each other, I get anxious about introducing music friends to improv friends, work friends to gay friends, old friends to new.

First, to any friend of mine who reads this: I have categorized you. Before you get mad, it’s not a judgement thing, it’s a thing to keep me sane. For the last few years I’ve partitioning my life into several different areas: music and songwriting, lighting design for theatre, improv comedy, the person I’m currently in love with, family, and miscellaneous friends. Usually friends are connected to one of the main sections of my life: improv friends, music friends, old friends, my sisters, girlfriends, etc. Most of the time, I keep them strategically separated. That way I can be improv Kirsten around improv friends and singer-songwriter Kirsten at open mics and concerts. The worlds don’t mix, it’s simple, it’s easy.

Lately, my worlds have been colliding. Regular friends are appearing at shows, I’m writing music with improv friends, coworkers are referencing my life outside the office. How am I supposed to fight crime without my mask? What does Bruce Wayne do when he accidentally forgets to suit up before kicking the shit out of some petty thieves? (I know, mixing metaphors is almost as bad as mixing food and friends.) But really, at any given point in the day, I don’t know which version of myself I’m supposed to be. And it’s making me neurotic.

To face this fear of mine, I’m writing on the internet again. I’m giving everyone permission to read this, pretend like you needed it. (I would want permission to read yours, it’s just part of who I am.) I need to level the illusive partitions in my life. Everybody, let’s all get brunch together. I’ll even let the syrup get on the tofu scramble.