J Corridor

Not long ago, a friend of mine posted some of her gorgeous photography on Facebook. The photos were of an engagement shoot. As I admired her lovely work, I realized that I recognized the man in each shot. Vaguely. Then I saw his name.

I had the same locker throughout my entire high-school career. It was on J corridor, the perfect location for sprawling out on the floor and doing homework, and for hanging out with friends during lunch hour. It was a central location so loved by my friends that three of us ended up sharing my locker, leaving notes on my locker door about the genius of Heath Ledger and the swoon-worthiness of certain never-to-be-mentioned church boys.

The boy with the locker beside mine was quiet. Timid. At least around me. I always felt guilty, the way my social circle would take over the space in front of his locker. Almost every day I'd have to move just to give him access to his belongings. He never once complained. He didn't even make a face.

I liked him. Not a "like" like. Just a quiet respect for a quiet guy I knew absolutely nothing about.

But thanks to Facebook and my online stalking skills, I now know that he's getting married. And that his boyish grin matured into an unexpected handsomeness. And I'm oddly excited for him. For somehow rising above the adolescent shyness and becoming an almost-husband.

Congrats, my J corridor friend. I apologize for the four years of inconvenience. And for the show tunes I'd sing at lunch. I hope you at least appreciated my cockney accent.

Because Hamlet Was Begging For a Sequel

I have a crush on Shakespeare. And I love Jesus. So you'd think Hamlet 2 would be right up my alley, no? I mean, it's the Bard meets Sexy Jesus...

Uh, yeah.

I have lived the high-school-drama-class experience that deserves both your mockery and pity. As I'm sure I will blog one day soon, my years with a possibly-inebriated and certainly insane drama teacher provide rather fertile ground for angsty storytelling. So the idea of a teacher, after failing in his stage adaptation of Erin Brockovich, writing the sequel to Hamlet to save the drama program is perfectly feasible. Believe me.

(And if you haven't read Hamlet, just know that a sequel is pretty much not possible. At all. Now go read Hamlet. Seriously, why haven't you? You're making Kenneth Branagh cry.)

Enter a time machine. Hamlet meets Jesus. Again, if you think this doesn't make sense, clearly you've never been to high school.

And as a Christian, I can take a hit or two. I won't boycott the movie. But I'd rather you take the jab at me, not at Jesus. Just like Saved. There was a lot of truth in that film. Uncomfortable truth. And like most comedies of this genre, I know that it will make fun of everyone. Not that this lessens the blow for some; but it does spread it out. (Hey, I know folks who didn't like The Passion's Jesus. And Jesus Christ Superstar was once scandalous. You can't win.)

Back to Shakespeare (perhaps the ultimate dead boyfriend).

Joel and I were talking about Romeo and Juliet the other day. About how we'd like to see a teenybopper adaptation that's all pink, happy, mildly woe-is-me and Amanda Bynes-ish and then-- BAM! It ends the way Shakespeare intended. Why haven't we seen this yet? I'm sick of "star-crossed lovers" that don't have their stars crossed.

That is all.

Long live 10 Things I Hate About You.