Maybe a week after I got home, my mom, Kate, Hayley and I jetted off to Vegas. I had been there, once, before, but I wasn't of gambling or drinking age, so, it was an entirely different experience this time around. I will say, though, that I have never forgotten seeing the jousting show at the Excalibur when I was about 10 because you had to eat your whole meal with your hands. It was so satisfying ripping apart a Cornish hen with your hands, like a caveman or something. You can't eat like that often enough. It's fun.
Anyway, here are some pictures, followed by more reflections from the trip.
And... I'm a winner!
At Hakasan
At Hakasan
Overhead Acrobat
I really thought I would win on this machine, given my childhood Grease fanaticism, but, sadly, there was no love from Greased Lightnin'
Now, that's a hot chocolate!
Michael!
The "New York" Skyline
Magical fountains and a real rainbow!
Love the Bellagio flowers.
A New Fall Friend
Flamingos at Flamingo
Hayley's favorite slot machine, Bier Haus, of course.
And the family-favorite slot. It has the best graphics and music and dance moves.
Speaking of Michael Jackson, the whole reason we went on the trip was to see the Cirque du Soleil, One. It was seriously a life-changing event. We were all sobbing, even me, which was very surprising. There were several reasons why I felt so strongly about the show and I'm going to try to convey how emotional it was for me. I loved that they used real Michael Jackson video clips and images and songs. Although my whole family went to see the real deal concert before I was born, I never got to see him perform, so, I really felt the fact that this experience was the closest I would ever get to that.
As I was watching, I felt such an overwhelming sense of unadulterated appreciation and admiration for his talent as a performer. There is one person, above all, that I admire for his contribution to film, but that I also respect and idolize for his more general contributions to the world and the human race. Even that introduction doesn't do him justice, in my eyes. That man, as you may all know, is Charlie Chaplin. So, with that in mind, imagine a very responsive, emotional Taylor sitting in the very front row, already loving this show and just feeling so sorry that this talented person (Michael) is gone, now, never to be seen, again, but all the while feeling so appreciative of his work and talent and so on.
Then, the mood shifts and the music starts to the song, Smile. Michael Jackson did a cover of this song composed by Charlie Chaplin. At this, I got teary, but, then, huge floating projections of Michael dressed as Chaplin appeared onstage, like so:
Now, at the time, this was just too much for me to handle. I was actually holding my mouth with both hands to smother the sobbing, which is very unlike me! I know I must have looked like a crazy person, but what I was thinking was actually very sincere. I was feeling just complete admiration and appreciation, like I said, but when I started thinking about Chaplin and how much I would have loved to just be alive at the same time as someone like that, I just got really emotional. Then, I was thinking about how these two men would maybe love to know that they can still have such an affect on one girl. Maybe that's all anyone can hope for if they're creating something - that their work and even their lives will touch someone, before or after they're gone.
OK, so, after that, I composed myself and was enjoying the show, again, ...until the finale. So, they had this group of dancers doing a little group dance, really happy, really upbeat, and then, out of nowhere, there was this magical swirl of gold glitter dust... and there was Michael - dancing and interacting with them. It was an f-ing hologram! He would dance with them and then do another turn and disappear in to glitter dust, again. In a way, it was so hard to watch because you knew it wasn't real and you just wanted him to stay on stage, performing. And then he would disappear and you'd remember that it was just a hologram and that he wasn't coming back and that he really isn't ever coming back to dance and perform, again. And it was all so tricky, and I was just thinking, against my more logical judgement, "Come back!" and I just sat there wanting more of him and wishing that I was actually seeing the real thing. Finally, he appeared as a little boy with his arms outstretched toward the audience and slowly faded into gold glitter. And isn't that the tragedy that maybe killed him - feeling that people always wanted more of him.
I don't know. It was very emotional, but I really appreciated the experience of that show and I really recommend it.
Right after I got back to New York, I found out that my sister was going to be on this crazy, new trivia show that had the biggest prize in game show history. The rules of the show were really hard to understand because it was supposed to be a combination of Who Wants to be a Millionaire and Big Brother. One of the things I really respect about Hayley is that her success is so apparent. Long lost acquaintances from high school were even contacting me, just to ask if it was really her they had seen on TV last night.
I didn't feel jealousy, in the least, but I wonder what it would be like to be so explicitly accomplished, even to strangers - and to have fans! I feel like I'm pretty satisfied with the things I've been up to in my life, especially in the last year or so, but I wonder what it would be like for people I went to high school with to be amazed at something I did. I feel like if I do something cool, I might just blog about it or giggle about it when I'm walking down the street and I really treasure that relationship with myself (lame!), but I think that a lot of people wonder what it would be like to have some recognition on TV or in their industry.
Jessica and I went to the studio to watch Hayley and then had a drink, together, after the show.
After the show, all of the contestants came to Taproom. It was so weird to see them all off TV.
It took me a couple months to get over the homecoming funk. I didn't want to write a downer of a post, so I waited to report my whereabouts. A lot of big decisions have been made and, since my brain isn't bogged down and preoccupied with school work, I've had the opportunity to wrap my head around some new ideas. - First thing's first!
I got off the plane in New York and took a cab all the way through the city the night I returned home. When I was younger, like 10 years ago, my family would vacation to New York City. When we were on the way to the airport to go back to Indianapolis, I would get all quietly sad because I felt like I was leaving my home - where I was meant to be. I found a journal of mine a couple years ago from when I was 16 or 17 and the whole thing was filled with my countdown to the big move to New York and how great it would be to get out of Indiana and high school and so on. When I read that, I felt like my little teenage self would be proud of the six years I spent in New York.
That said, after I came home from Dublin, I didn't have the "at-home," belonging feeling I had enjoyed for so many years. I thought it was because I just didn't have anything going for me yet, like a job and apartment. Instead, after a a few months at home, I felt like it was time to move on. You won't believe it, but I moved back to Dublin! December 30th marked my exit, just in time to start a fresh new year in Dublin.
You may be wondering about the title of this post, but it all connects, I promise. So, here's what I was thinking. I was thinking a lot about my lack of identity when it comes to my ancestors and some sort of "homeland." Obviously, I know I'm American, but a lot of people ask, where your family is originally "from." I realized after living in Europe, that non-Americans might find this annoying, like, you're not really Irish or Italian or whatever. You're just American. I think people from the U.S. like to identify themselves and their families with some kind of ancestral homeland to feel more connected and to have a stronger sense of themselves. That might be obvious, but anyway! Over the last year, I've observed a lot of proud Irishmen and Irishwomen in their native habitat and I had some envious feelings about claiming some kind of geographic location as my home and my "people!" and all. I think I wrote about these feelings in the 50/50 post.
Then, I had a revelation! From what I know about my family history, which is not very much because there isn't one big major nationality, but a little of this a little of that going on on both sides, they were all city-dwellers. For the first time, I found a reason to identify with my ancestors! After visiting so many large, cool cities in Europe, and making the decision to relocate, I feel like I actually have something in common with my blood line, maybe even more so than sticking to one place and getting coupled off with someone from that same place. What I mean is, I found that I could identify with the lack of a geographic "homeland." It was all mixed up. I couldn't believe I had never thought of it like that before. I picture my ancestors as fearless adventurers, ready to pick up and meet new people and explore and try something new. This description might be a bit of a stretch, but, in a way, my mysterious and transient family history became a comforting and relatable explanation of my curiosity and, struggle is too strong a word, but something like that, with finding, feeling, and identifying my home.
I don't have a lot of old family pictures, but here's one of my mom's dad that I think is pretty cool. His hair looks like a rockabilly pompadour, but this picture is actually way before the 1950's. Just check out the button boots. I wish I had one of my dad's mom on my computer. She was quite the stylish lady - a role model of mine for sure. Anyway, I think this picture was taken some time between 1915 and 1920, but I'll have to double check.
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