Day LXX: Dryer

Reflection is a dangerous game to play with yourself.

When you're an overthinker--like myself--it's easy to trap your mind in teeny tiny death spirals of "what?" and "why?" A moment, caught on tape, reeling through your brain on one mortifying, endless loop. So many shoulds, so many coulds, so many woulds. All of them, reaching and falling, tumbling over one another like sheets in a dryer.

Laundry was a long process today. Blankets, shirts, underwear, towels, socks, jeans, pillowcases, linens, sweats: and that was just one of the loads. Too many things left untended, too many things left in the basket. Dormancy and lethargy are killers when it comes to washing and drying clothing.

A pen of mine made it in to the washer with my first load of apparel. A pilot G2, my favorite make of pen. Washed out and ruined, leaking like a open wound, I tossed it into the trash before more damage could be done. Peering over the gingham and flannel and denim, I was lucky to escape with just one itty-bitty mark on a rarely-worn v-neck which quickly found a new role as a kitchen rag. The rest: free from harm.

To toss aside your thoughts for another day is a great disservice to your sanity. But rolling with them in endless loops of uncertainty is toxic. Factor in an already neurotic personality and you've got days of self-inflicted torture. And that's the curse of the overthinker--you're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't.

So choose to wrestle. Choose to contemplate and mediate and digress and engage your thoughts until you've exhausted them, until you've exhausted yourself. Resolution does not come without work, so working to resolve is the lesser of two evils.

With any luck, the tumbling thoughts find a resting place somewhere on the continuum of comfort.

And what's better than climbing into bed, tucked safely beneath layers and layers of clean, warm sheets?

Day LXIX: Stroll

Something always brings me back to you...

Saturday.

Saturday night.

Saturday night on a cold and gloomy evening. 

Cuddle weather, I think they call it.

Saturday night once meant couches and slumber parties. 

Late nights and Golden Eye 007.

Grape Slushies and a movie with the dogs.

Sneaking a beer from the fridge or a swig of gin from the cupboard

The first time you tried weed, confused in a cabin that was more screen than wood.

Benders that started at three pm after class and all you could think about was getting caught, dashing through the woods, stumbling over feet that promised you nothing.

The library until four in the morning.

A condom wrapper and a question.

The gravity of a Saturday night: it's impossible to quantify.

...it never takes too long.

Day LXVIII: Revamped-Letters to You

Found this writing on an old blog and I wanted to share it. It's funny what four years can do for the spirit... Enjoy.

I was thinking back on this weekend and had this moment of realization: I haven’t narrated my life through a blog in a very long time.  I don’t think I’ve done it once since I’ve been back!  Sure, my blog is incredibly autobiographical—borderline too revealing—but I don’t think I’ve really used it as this summarizing diary or journal since my return to the United States.  When I was in the UK, I spent so much time reflecting on the day to day and just writing down what happened from point A to point B.  I guess I feel like life in Minnesota is just a little too mundane to write in the same way?  So what is that a reflection of then?  Is it my own unhappiness or boredom or busyness or laziness?  Maybe it’s none of these things(?)

Maybe the lack of narrative stems from the inability to write about my life.  I like to think I’m, at the very least, an interesting, rounded person that has a whole load of experiences to share and converse about.  I open dialogues and create moments, but, on the whole, I think that Josh Plattner’s life—in this present moment—is just a little storyless.  I think my existence is lacking character, lacking plot, lacking intrigue and passion and flow.

It never feels like that in the moment though…

It always feels like something grander is happening, like the world is just so lucid and unimaginably present.  I sometimes feel like I’m walking through frosting, like the air is made up of a tasty film of experience.  But when I sit down to think about what’s happened, what’s made everything so incredibly awesome over the last three months, last three weeks, last three days: I am at a loss.  I am bummed out; I am overworked and undermotivated.

Still, I have this idea.  I have this crazy, strange notion that if I experience everything like it is in the present, I will somehow recount how important every fiber of my life has been lately.  So I’d like to do this exercise that I’ve created.  Bare with me people, it’s a bit of a stretch.  I am going to write letters to friends, to professors, to acquaintances as if what’s being discussed in the letter is happening in the present.  The following letters are all about events that have recently taken place, but by writing about them as if it’s a present conversation, maybe I can find some of that life that so eludes me in personal reflection.

I might use names.  For that, I am sorry.  I don’t think it’s really fair to write public letters to people, and I will try my hardest to avoid over personalizing out of respect for anyone who does not wish to be mentioned in this most beautiful space.  Still, no promises, shit happens.

Sometimes: shit happens to you.  *Big Grin*

Dear Ladyfingers-

Please stop talking about my receding hairline.  I’m sensitive and I worry, now that my beautiful curly locks are all chopped and gone, I am going to realize just how much I relied on my hair for any amount of confidence.  Seriously, stop talking about it.  I am going shit my pants in fear.  There’s this mole I have on the left side of my forehead that is barely—and I mean barely—hidden by my fauxhawk curls.  Every once and a while, it peeks out and all I can think is: tell your parents you think it’s potentially cancerous and get that thing removed.  But then I realize that I would lose the hair in that area to get rid of it.  I think I would rather keep it hidden than face the idea of losing all of my buffer zone.  Oh, there’s another mole that is actually on the plane of my forehead, but I am slowly realizing that it’s not as ugly as I tend to think.  Still, stop.  When I ask you: DO I REALLY HAVE A RECEDING HAIRLINE?!, answer “no.”  Lie to me.  Tell me the falsehood.  Treat me with the respect of a white lie.  Just do it for my sanity.  You’ve already called me a mess four times tonight (ignoring your own drunkenness…) and I certainly don’t need to compound my lack of mental stability.

Also: child-of-mercy, you have brought me to tears four times tonight and I am done with the crying game.  You’ve awakened my spirit and spilt its guts onto this pillowcase.  And, shit(!), the pillow isn’t even mine.  I will ask you to remind me it needs to be washed—teardrops stain, right?—but you will shoot that idea down because you’ve been wearing the same underwear for four days and the notion of doing one’s laundry is about as foreign as it gets when you’re on spring break

The tears have been worth every pitiful moment though.  What I’ve realized tonight is this: I fell out of love because there was nothing left to fix.  And that was a moment of Aristotelian discovery, the best of all possible revelations.  It’s funny that you opened my eyes up without actually trying.  You said: at the end of the day, we’re here for you.  We’re here for you to do you and to show you that you are worth it.  And you are.  You are worth every goddamn cent.

So, dear friend, I will stop fixing what’s not broken, because that is no way to find what one is looking for.  I will stop patching the perfectly mended.  I will do me, because, at the end of the day, I’m only guaranteed this moment, this perfect second.

With all the love I can possibly offer,

Josh “Three-Dollar-Bill” Plattner

I think this is actually working!  I feel like the moment is happening all over again, like the day is frozen over in this spectacular moment of “I am alive.”

Dear 12-Year-Old,

I bought these P-Ball tickets an hour and a half before I got the text saying—more or less—“you’re too late.”  They sat in my lap for an hour until my legs fell asleep and my feet fell off beneath my desk.  I am not afraid to admit that I was angry and sad and cried like a small child because sometimes you feel utterly helpless in situations that you feel like you really screwed up.  But I want you to know that I don’t think that I screwed up by buying the tickets.  Really, I screwed up by not telling you right then and there that you were making the wrong decision, that you would be let down because there is no way that he could have ever been as fun as I am, or would have been.  Even now, when you’re showing off those dance moves in my room—if you can call them that—I cannot help but think, why didn’t I speak up?  But that’s neither here nor there because I took the path of least resistance; I sat back and let my tickets burn a hole in the denim of my back pocket. 

You should know that I bought those tickets because I thought (think) that there’s always room for possibility, for a smile, for Magic.  I would have toasted the night to new friendships and relationships, to a chance at getting rid of the fear of happiness.

I would have shown up.

I wish I knew the difference between St Paul and Minneapolis.

You were delightful tonight.  You were happy and full of energy.  You were the person I see all the time when I see you strutting around campus like you own the place—which you don’t, by the way!  But you were so smiley and it was nice to see because I sometimes forget that I am quite enjoyable to be around.  So thank you for awakening that it me this evening, for convincing me that I can be the person I am, even when he’s somewhat stifled by uncertainty.

You may not have had a great weekend, but Sunday’s been pretty great, yea?

Here’s to 3-0ing next time too,

Josh

Freedom is my favorite thing about writing.  You can type whatever you want, to whoever you want, whenever you want.  It’s just so non-demanding!

Dear Little Girl,

I don’t like it when you cry because you still look pretty and that, to me, is infuriating.  If only there were some part of you that lacked the charm and charisma that oozes from you all the time, maybe there’d be some redemption to those big, sad eyes that still shine so bright.  Alas, there is not.  You just don’t ever look poorly!

And fuck him, baby.  He’s a damn drunk fool and everything is going to work out for the best because it always has.  I know it doesn’t seem like it now, and that you can barely see straight enough to put the vacuum away in the right spot, but you’ll move on and get the hell out of here and find so much success.  It’s inevitable.  It’s a promise from this world to a deserving citizen.

I love you like a crazy person loves their hallucinations,

Rachel Dratch

 And for one last time, in a very quick, very personal letter:

Dear Batshit-Bonkers-Crazy,

My sentiments exactly.

Thank you for the utterly beautiful freedom I feel beneath these wings of mine.

Cheers.

Joshua Leo Plattner

For those of you who read along for the ride, but received nothing in the mail:

I Love You.

Sometimes, it’s just that simple.

Day LXVII: Precious

When spring arrives in Minnesota, forty degrees above zero means shorts and sandals. Conditioned by the dark, cold winter, any hopeful ray of sunlight becomes a godsend. The lakes become a destination, even layered in ice. Sunroofs are cracked, windows call the breeze, and smiles become a tad more genuine--as genuine as they can be in the passive-aggressive tradition of Minnesota Nice.

Harriet is flush with luxury--designer yoga pants, exquisite hair--regardless of how far you drift from the shore. Cedar echoes with laughter and reeks of local weed. Lake of the Isles sparkles in sunglasses and bounces with puppies and well-trained rescues. And Calhoun? Calhoun is packed. Packed with smiles, packed with wheels, packed with conversations, packed. Full. Stuffed. Packed.

It's a wonder that I choose the busiest lake for exercise. For whatever reason, I just find the run around Lake Calhoun to be the most exciting. And, perhaps more telling, the most distracting.

I've never been one to run indoors. That's why I balloon in the winter. It's hibernation Josh, if you will. Pleasantly plump for the winter, and ready to get outside in the spring. So when the chance to play in the warmth--a word here which means "the temperature climbs higher than freezing"--I happily grasp at the invitation.

Today was an "everything's coming up Josh" sort of day. The kind of Thursday that affords you a smile and wink, a generous nudge into a happier direction. And the run provided a delightful cherry to top it off. I struggled to pull my camera up while jogging to snap this photo, and I was surprised (pleasantly) to discover that the following picture turned out pretty well! Nevermind that I was shaking and sweating and lipsyncing, all of them profusely.

A small child, out on a lovely walk with her companion. 

What a precious day.

Day LXVI: Rupersized!

Good. Lord. 

There is a lot to cover when you watch three hours of your favorite television show. So, let's get into it!

8. Laganja Estranga (winner & eliminated)

 

Woof. This was a rough few episodes for this perpetually high, unquestionably talented queen. The entitlement and self-sabotage very evidently ripped her a new one in both main challenges. During the makeup shoot, her intimidation and lack of personality ate her alive. I didn't mind this terribly--as it gave Adore a chance to blow her out of the water--but it's annoying to see how such a strong performer can be so insecure and underwhelming when it comes to things she's not naturally interested in doing. I think Laganja really missed the boat on what this show could do for her and how much the challenges could foster and cultivate some growth in her as a queen. She was completely affected in her Meet the Queens video, and I don't think that attitude ever subsided. The comedy routine was actually painful to watch, and Michelle was 100% correct in her assessment: there was zero funny. Oddly, I wish Bianca would have worked with Laganja rather than Trinity: maybe we would have seen some goddamn maturity and grace. How fitting, too, that Laganja's inability to adapt or learn from Ru and the other girls, is precisely what sends her packing after lipsyncing to "Stupid Girls"...

7. Ben Delacreme (bottom two & bottom three)

Well, shit. After almost losing Ben in the first part of this week's rupersized extravaganza, my nerves were practically shot. When Ben and Darienne were forced to Lipsync for Their Lives after a horrendous commercial, Ru declared Darienne safe before eventually declaring both queens fit to stay in the competition. One miserable comedy routine later, I was certain that DeLa would be at risk again. Fortunately, she was safe and didn't have to perform under the microscope. Sadly, I think Ben's fall from glory really rocked her confidence. She was visibly defeated through a lot of the comedy episode and spent too much time over-analyzing her work. I am nervous that Ben's inability to rise back to the top of the pack will be indicative of his position in the competition. And that's a real bummer.

6. Courtney Act (bottom four & safe)

As one of my very favorites from the get go, it's hard to see Courtney fall so far down the ranks for me. She's incredibly polished, devastatingly pretty, and painfully talented. But Courtney has been on the downswing since her win in week four. She's been arrogant and condescending as of late, and it's not a great color on her. Joslyn called her out for it in Untucked, and I do not disagree. She's been pompous and rude, and I am none to pleased. She doesn't need to be so over the competition or above it all the time. She's been a force --and is clearly going to be one of the last three standing--but getting to the final stage of the competition doesn't mean a damn thing if your personality can't close the deal. 

5. Joslyn Fox (bottom four & bottom two)

This precious angel of a human being is incredibly lucky that Ben and Darienne did so poorly in their makeup ad. If it had been an individual judging, she would have been fine, but if she and Courtney had been in the bottom two? Oofta. I don't know if we'd still have the good ol' "wonk wonk" still around. There is not enough to say about Joslyn's integrity and spirit. She's a smart queen with a lot of love and adoration for her competitors, but isn't afraid to standout herself. Regrettably, I don't think her style translates to a level that is as elevated as the other competitors left, even Darienne, who I don't find to be particularly impressive in appearance on the runway. I don't think she should have landed in the bottom in the comedy challenge--Ben deserved to be there. That said, she delivered a lipsync that I did NOT see coming. She was so dismissive of Laganja and it gave me exactly what I needed. She's not going to win the title, but Joslyn is a SHOE IN for Miss Congeniality. 

4. Darienne Lake (bottom two & top three)

Darienne is not my favorite queen these days. She's abrasive and morose, teetering on the edge of hateful. Her obvious dislike for DeLa borders on toxic, and I am PRAYING that it's a result of editing, not Darienne being spiteful for no reason. Personal atrocities aside, I think Darienne did a great job in both episodes. She was definitely stronger than Ben in the challenge video (and in the lipsync), and her comedy routine was lovely. I don't have much else to say for Darienne, but I would like to see her return to her normal graces. I miss that funny bitch.

3. Trinity K. Bonet (top four & top three)

Well, my my my. This queen was certainly a surprise this week. Let's start with the comedy challenge. Her look was fan-freaking-tastic, easily one of my favorites on the night. She looked very much the part of an over-zealous entertainer. I loved her flippancy for race and poverty, and her running gag about being read to for food? Hilarious. In reflection, I questioned whether this performance was somehow amplified to be better than it actually was because of how poorly she's done in the past. I just don't think that's the case. She rose to the occasion and delivered a performance that was worthy of Ru's emotional choke-up during the judging. It's always nice to see someone achieve some genuine personal growth, too. Trinity had that in spades. In the makeup challenge, however, I thought she was incredibly over-praised. She very much looked the part of the hooker she was playing, but I thought she was so lackluster in her acting and delivery. And if she hadn't delivered such a strong comedy routine the following episode, I would have continued to assume that Trinity was incapable of humor or personality. It just did not deserve the love the judges were giving it. That said: the black and white runway look? Damn.

2. Adore Delano (winner & safe)

Adore is my favorite queen this season. Everything she does is doused in charm and goofiness; she's the queen that I would want to spend a weekend with because it would be such a party. She consistently shows these cracks of vulnerability that are delivered in a way that feels sincere and true to Adore's nature. They never feel like "pity me" moments or like they're attention seeking. I think she just wants to prove herself to Ru, the judges, and the other queens, and she wants them to understand how talented and well-equipped she is for this competition. She SLAYED the makeup challenge, just destroyed it. She was vapid and funny and delivered the best video performance out of any of the girls. Her runway look was INSANE, too. I felt like her comedy routine was a bit all over the place; her nerves clearly got the best of her. 

1. Bianca Del Rio (top four & winner)

No one came close to touching miss Del Rio this week, at least in the Comedy challenge. Ru hit the nail on the head: "You didn't just kill this challenge. It was mass murder." She has yet to miss a beat. She would have to be in the top for the remainder of competition to match Jinkx's level of consistency, but I can completely see it happen. What I like best about Bianca is her unyielding willingness to support her competitors. She doesn't shy from tough love or playful banter, and I think that's her strongest quality. She knows she has what it takes to win the whole damn thing, and she's wants to do it when every other queen is at the top of their game. And that is so admirable. Clearly the frontrunner at this point, I can't imagine a top three without Bianca. That said, she had no reason to call Laganja out in untucked for the events of four weeks passed. That was underhanded and unnecessary. She could have pulled her aside at any other point, individually, without causing the same intense reaction. Laganja was CLEARLY in a bad headpace, and while I don't think that's why Bianca chose that moment to call her out, it was a jab that didn't need to be there. Still, shine on Bianca, I will be rooting for ya.



Personal Ranking Week VII/VIII

Laganja Estranga
Trinity K. Bonet
Courtney Act
Darienne Lake
Joslyn Fox
Ben DeLaCreme
Bianca Del Rio
Adore Delano

Predicted Order of Elimination

Trinity K. Bonet
Darienne Lake
Joslyn Fox
Ben DeLaCreme
Courtney Act
Adore Delano
Bianca Del Rio

Day LXV: Goddess

They say prayer is good for the soul. 

Pray to Vishnu, to gods, to Martel, to Wakan Tanka, to Krishna, to God, to Gitche Manitou, to Confucius, to whoever will listen. Just pray, be absolved, be forgiven, be cleansed.

And that has always seemed like a nice concept.

When I was around twelve years old, I spent a lot of time in the church. I say "in the church" because that's the colloquialism we always hear for Christianity. As part of one of the most extreme sects of Christianity, the Evangelical Free sort, I was used to spending a lot of time figuring out what God's plan was for me, how I functioned in the world, and what I could do to spread the ministry of Christ out into the wide, wide world.

And then I was told gays didn't belong to God.

Which is a story for another time, I suppose.

Regardless, finding a higher power never found its way to the top of my priority list. I'd rather focus my energy being the best realized version of myself that I possibly could. So, since losing faith, I've spent a selfish amount of time trying to be the most impressive version of myself possible. I'm not sure that anyone ever gets there, but I honestly feel--for me--that I've made incredible strides since stumbling out of the clouds of heaven years and years ago. I don't rule religion out, per se, I simply acknowledge it's not for me, not for now.

Instead, I believe in the phrase of one of my favorite goddesses: RuPaul.

RuPaul watching from afar. 

If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love anybody else?

Day LXIV: Music

I let it fall, my heart, and when it fell you rose to claim it.

I set fire to the rain, watched it pour as I touched your face.

I set fire to the rain, and I threw us  into the flames.

           

Unfortunately, I clearly need new headphones. They do this weird scratchy thing every time I plug them into my iPod or laptop—you know? It may just be white noise, but I like to think that there is a tiny elf living inside the earbud and taking a small rake to the screen surrounding the sound buffer.

Yep.

It’s irritating. More irritating though? Having to spend money on new headphones. I am sure that I could find some cheap ones in the grocery store, or Target, or Best Buy, or whatever, but that’s still $15 I don’t want to spend on something that shouldn’t be broken in the first place! I mean, c’mon Apple, make a product that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve just wasted a whole-lotta-money.

(To be fair, my iPod and iPhone are actually great products and rarely have a negative thought about them.  Still: lemme complain! I don’t do it often, about trivial things, so maybe just this once? I think you’ll deal. If you can’t, click the red ‘x’ at the top of your screen on the right hand side. Sorry…that’s PC normative.  Actually: not all that sorry: Macs can K my A)

But for real, these damn headphones, which I have now discovered are only damaged in the left bud, are going to drive me up the wall. You know something is wrong when you cannot even bare to listen to the key change in “Don’t You Remember?” Speaking of…

Do you ever find yourself wondering: Who did this to you, Adele?  Who put you through all this pain?! Lately, I have been asking this question too often. See, her new album dropped a week or so ago and I have spent a large portion of time listening to her new tracks over and over and over again. Then I do this funky thing that I do with most music, I try and use it to narrate my life. 

(As an aside, when we were introducing ourselves in my J Term years and years ago, we were asked to give the standard name, major, and interests, but we were also asked to share a super power we’d like to have:

“My name is Josh. I am a Psychology Major and English Minor. I really like music and plays and novels and video games—the usual suspects if you will. If I could have a super power, I guess I would really like to have the ability to play a loud soundtrack to my life at all times.”

Clever, right?

Sure, I would probably choose shape-shifting if I didn’t feel like being interesting or like standing out in a crowd of students, but on the first day of class it’s very important to make a lasting impression, to assert yourself, to be that guy. Let’s just say I didn’t have much trouble.)

Yikes, that was quite the parenthetical!

Still, I have this funky habit of reading too far into lyrics and applying them to my life in ways that, often, do not warrant lyrical adaptation. Usually, the lyrical coating of my life reaches too far into meaning—I typically tap into things that aren’t really there. Now, I would like to assert that this is in no way a bad thing, just something that is rather typical of Josh Plattner. 

I read. I analyze. I over analyze. I freak out. I jump. I run. I realize. I sigh. I laugh. 

It’s a fun cycle, really, one that usually culminates in copious consumption of alcohol. To which I say: Cheers! 

I don’t know why I’m scared, I’ve been here before.  Every feeling, every word, I’ve imagined it all.  You’ll never know if you never try to forgive your past and simply be mine.  Dare you to let me be your—your one and only.  Promise I’m worth it to hold in your arms.  So come on and give me the chance to prove that I am the one who can walk that mile, until the end starts.

This is from “One and Only,” a track from Adele’s 21. It’s part of one of my favorite songs from the album. Anyway, it’s been ringing in my ears for the last few days--regardless of how very, very old it is--and I have been debating its application to my life. Part of me says: you’re crazy, Josh, this song has nothing to do with you presently. And other forces in me are literally bursting to scream these lyrics aloud in a cafe or on my way to work. That’s a nice gesture, right? A tad (read: monstrously) crazy, but still nice. And, terrifyingly, something I would actually do—I’m quite the romantic when I feel like it. 

In rereading that rambling above, I audibly giggled: sometimes I’m just a little whacked. 

Speaking of whacked, I’ve decided I would like to make out to some Beyonce or Ke$ha in the near future, or maybe some Azelia Banks? Nicki Minaj or The Elephant and the Whaler? 

Maybe I just wanna make out?

LOL. Adulthood.

For now, my mind does not wander from skeezy lyrics to debatably talented musicians—though I happen to be a fan of all the above. Instead, I find solace in reaffirming everyone’s individuality in this beautiful world of ours:

‘There’s nothing wrong with loving who you are’ she said, ‘because he made you perfect babe!’

Tonight, tomorrow, and forever.