Dear Nick Jonas, you changed my life. No, seriously, you did.

I know I’ll probably be marked as a creeper for writing this, but I just figured I should come clean about something:  Nick Jonas is kind of amazing.  Considering my thoughts on Miley Cyrus (because after seeing Miley in a concert at work, I was NOT impressed), it may sound weird to admit that I think of Nick Jonas as a legitimate musician.  But music, like everything, shouldn’t be really tossed aside until you give it a try.

It all started the summer before my sister went off to high school.  We were home alone one night, and she asked, “Do you know the Jonas Brothers?”

I know of them.  I never really paid much attention.  Turns out, she had gone to one of their concerts and bought a CD.  She pointed to each brother on the cover, introducing them with name, age, and distinguishing characteristic.  She pointed to the shorted Jonas and said, “This is Nick—the cute one.”  I laughed.  Sure, Nick was a good looking kid, but that was the stock answer.  Jonas Brothers=Cute.

Then she started playing their songs.  Relatively unimpressive until a voice came on singing in a realistic (you know, not overly altered because of the computer-reanimated pop paradigm) voice singing in wavering tones “I’ll be fine.”  It wasn’t the typical song on the album, so I asked my sister about it.  It was baby Nick Jonas singing about how he learned he had juvenile diabetes.  Heartbreaking!  The song was sung with such genuine feeling that I decided never to make fun of a Jonas ever.

Things got more serious the next fall.  As any teeny bopper would tell you, Nick Jonas had dated Miley Cyrus (disapprove!  But anyway, that’s background for this anecdote)… My grandmother’s Family Circle had a picture of Miley Cyrus pretty much pole dancing at the Kids’ Choice Awards with some caption about role models and poor decisions.  A few pages after that was my new-found buddy-roo, Nick Jonas, talking about fundraisers for diabetes.  Whoa!  Holy difference right there in your face, Batman.  Ok, legit singer AND a rising public figure.  This is something I can get behind.

The most recent event in my Nick Jonas chain of events happened Saturday night...

The 25^th Anniversary Concert of Les Miserables was on PBS.  Total.  Geek out.  No, I had never seen the play, but I loved the music, knew the story, loved the characters… and there he was!  NICK JONAS!  As the romantic male lead!  Holy things in Heaven, can this be true?  Sure enough, there he was, plain as day, playing Marius in Les Mis.  Oh ho ho ho, I HAD to watch this!  As I expected, he was fantastic—beyond fantastic.  The song “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” had never brought tears to my eyes (yes, I have a heart of stone.  Yes, it’s a fabulous song.  Yes, I get it.) until Saturday night.  His stage presence was amazing, and that one song was worth the price of admission.

The damage has officially been done.  I am a huge fan of Nick Jonas.

I sent a text to everyone I thought would care (I’m noticing a theme in my posts… Elyse texted, and lemon bars were served.).  The text looked something like this:

OMG!!!! NICK JONAS IS PLAYING MARIUS IN LES MIS!!! I LOVE PBS!!! I LOVE IT!!! HE’S SO GOOD!!! OH MY GOSH!!!

Or something like that…

I received a series of angry texts that basically said, “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.  I thought you’d never like the Jonas Brothers.  I have no idea what your deal is.  Grumble grumble…”  So, for some inexplicable reason, I started defending Nick Jonas.  Which means, I pretty much explained what I just wrote in this post.

Basically put, Nick Jonas changed my life.  I went from the opinion of “sure, I guess I should give the teeny boppers a chance” to the opinion that “Nick Jonas is a legitimate everything.  I am so proud of him, and you have no reason to diss any of the Jonas brothers—especially him, without listening them.”  And all this, again, because of Nick Jonas.

Panic Name

I have a panic name.  I don’t think every girl does, but I certainly do.  It started because I’m tired of being called Elsie or Alice.  For instance, I was at a burger joint called Froggie’s, and they asked for my name.  I told them, straight up, and they wrote “Alice.”  Sure, it’s not the biggest deal in the world, but it drives me nuts.  Then there are cases where guys you REALLY don’t want to talk to ask your name.   Actually, I’d rather I didn’t have to talk to you at all, let alone give you any information about me.  In another case, a girl from my high school had it out for me, and she was in control of handing in names for the newspaper.   I ended up with a few ribbons at a track meet, so the next day the high school sports section said, “100 meter dash, 1^st place, Eliez Winkie.”
 
All right, seriously?  I knew something had to be done.

It took me a few years to realize what I needed to do: I needed a panic name.  As soon as I figured that much out, I was golden.  I started small.  Like at coffee places where they’d ask for a name.  Not MY name—a name.  So I became Stella.  Not for any particular reason, mind you, but it really comes in handy.  First off, nobody mistakes Stella for anything else.  In addition, people like to yell “Stella!” dramatically, to which I respond, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”  And just like that, I have a believable panic name.

 The most recent time I used this name was about a week ago at Wal-Mart.  I was standing in the checkout line when I realized someone or something was looking at me.  For all the world, it looked like a blonde, Rasta version of Sasquatch was smiling at me.  I smiled back and started staring at the beef jerky nearby.  Yep.  Sasquatch.  I texted a few people to say, “I think Sasquatch just smiled at me…”  I didn’t get any responses (my guess is, they all rolled their eyes and thought, “another Elyse text”).  I figured I was in the clear, so I walked out to my car.

Then I heard him.

“Dude, hey!” It was the Sasquatch! I said hello—he was already right next to me, so it’s not like I could ignore him.  I went into panic mode.  “Dude,” he said again.  I wish I was kidding about how many times he said dude.   “I saw you in the store,” he said.  “So I figured I’d just follow you to your car and introduce myself.”  Oh, how nice.  You followed me to my car.  That’s totally normal.  “Your name is?”  Stella.  “That’s pretty.  You live around here?”  Nope.  I’m live in Florida.  Just visiting my mom.  “Aww, well, nice to meet you, dude.”  He shook my hand and went away.  I took a deep breath and thought about what a horrible liar I am.  Oh well.  That’s what a panic name’s for.