I’ve Had The Time of My Life
Upon entering my last semester of college, I wanted to be conscious of every last that I had. My last choir class, my last Blue Hawk Records meeting, my last performance on the stage that I’ve called home for years now… and my last blog with a club that has changed my life.
After winter break this year, I returned to my off-campus house like there were no ‘lasts’ upon me. Even in the middle of January, it hadn’t hit me that I was a senior in college and my time at Monmouth would be coming to an end. The first day of classes rolled around, I drove to Woods for my weekly voice lessons with Professor Balme, and when I opened those massive, good-for-nothing heavy doors, it finally hit me like a sh*t ton of bricks.
I don’t know what happened in that moment — maybe I was just tired, but I stood in the doorway for a solid thirty seconds without moving (thank God the hallway was empty and nobody saw my eyes water) and realized that the next time I made my return to this building, I would be part of the alumni crowd.
I cannot believe I’m writing this down for the public to read, but here I stand, as a professional yapper. On Christmas Eve, December 24th, 2023, I was cursed with the most insufferable, most painful, most unnecessary hives. Where they came from, I did not know. The only thing that shooed them away was Zyrtec, but who wants to be on Zyrtec all the time? To deal with them in the comfort of my home was one thing, but for them to pop up at school, ohhh how the embarrassment would kill me.
I was sitting with HazeMediaKits and Princess Jammin’ (Mandie Hayes and Jill Bernstein of course), when the hives crawled all over my body like a disease in the middle of the Student Center. The busiest, most congested place on campus, where everyone could see me suffering. Sitting at one of the white picnic tables, I was questioning what hiding place was best, in the bathroom or under the pool table, when Jill offered her words of wisdom:
“Sam, you’re going to be fine, there’s obviously some reason that this is happening,” she said.
Mandie added, “I know it sucks right now, but you’ll figure it out.” Knowing how to communicate with my anxieties, Jill and Mandie had some way of getting through to me in that moment. Over hives — ridiculous, I know — but getting through to me when it comes to one of my many medical ailments is a feat that not many can conquer.
From that moment on, while the hives frequently found a way to worm their way into my days until mid-February, I stopped letting them ruin any good day I had. However, as a college student, it’s typical to have certain things ruin your day. And sometimes one day turns into five.
During the middle of this semester, I had a few consecutive days where I was not myself, and needed some type of change, but I was not exactly sure what that was yet. I then realized that to have some type of internal change, sometimes an external change can give you that push. I examined the hardwood floors in my bedroom and tried to gauge how easy it would be to scratch them up, and if they did get scratched up, how much money I would not get back from the security deposit. Then I did what anyone else would do and called up my favorite coastal cowgirl.
Sam Spano and I’s friendship is one of my favorite types of friendships — when you turn around, realize you are best friends, but have no idea how you became that way. I texted Sam with a simple “are you busy” and the next thing I knew she was at my house with me, listening to all my struggles.
“Okay you want to move your room around? Let’s do it, I can easily shift your bed to that wall,” Sam said. She was a hard worker, and the commitment to moving my furniture showed that.
Like I said previously, I had not been myself. I knew I was still in there, but it felt like I was in pieces, and nothing was syncing up right. There were cracks in the Sammy J system. But as Sam had me peeing my pants laughing, making jokes I probably shouldn’t write down to be published in this blog, I felt her stitching my pieces back together.
I’m going to be honest — Sam, the other half to my Sam Squared, my coastal cowgirl. I easily could have rearranged my room without you that night, but it never had anything to do with moving my bed against a different wall or swiffer-ing my floor. What I could not have done without your help, was restitch myself.
Let me take a minute to shove the tears back into my eyelids before the people in Offshore start staring.
Who would I be to not pay respect to the Ohio trip? What a week that was. Honestly, I dreaded the 8 hour ride there — I need a bed to sleep. I’ve never been able to sleep in a car, on an airplane, or anywhere else. I couldn’t sleep during a two day drive to Florida, so I knew the Ohio ride would not be any different. I was ready to get the groggy, sleep-deprived feelings out of the way. While I knew the ride would be fun considering the group of people we had with us, I felt it was fair of me to still want some shut-eye.
I was right. I did not sleep, the 8 hour drive there and back. But the things I would have missed had I closed my eyes.
I had to start documenting everything that was said; I had a quote list of over 50 phrases from the trip, most of them coming from the one and only Abby Garcia.
Oh, Abby, there’s so much to say about that girl. I was scared at first- she was on campus freshman year and I was home doing online classes, so all I knew was that she was a gorgeous sorority girl, with a stunning voice who made it onto a Blue Hawk album as a freshman. Why the Hell would she be friends with the theater kid who’s stuck living it home?
I had never been so happy to be wrong, and to be a president with her as we made the Laur K. Woo our White House. I sit here (still in Offshore), thinking how different Blue Hawk Records and Woods would be without her.
But don’t get it confused, she is a great, talented, beautiful person, but God, she is crazy. Some people have such a way with words, and her words make me laugh so hard I feel my ribs shake. For every comment about the scenery and for every time she thought a tollbooth was a prison, I keeled over in my seat. Sleep was for the weak.
Stopping at cemeteries for the solar eclipse is also not for the weak. I believe we were in the middle of Absolutely No Where, Pennsylvania when Professor George Wurzbach turned into a field of headstones with a sketchy little church next to it. We waited for the solar eclipse to start, and simultaneously wondered what ghosts were among us.
I remember looking around at everyone wearing their glasses, sitting on the gravel, and I thought two things. One, what other college club in the world does this kind of thing? And two, how the Hell am I in a cemetery yet I feel so safe right now?
Post-Ohio, everybody got into their crazy-mode. A choir concert here, my senior recital there, Jammin’ around the corner, and don’t forget about your graduation photos! While exciting, the dates were suffocating.
What a horrible, horrendous, absolutely and utterly inconvenient time to lose my voice. I was rehearsing for my senior recital in the theater with Maggie and Professor Balme, and was anxiously singing through all of my songs. Voice cracks, dryness, one cup of water to keep me going, and I had five days to feel better. I left the rehearsal wanting to cry, but didn’t because that would’ve hurt my voice even more.
You all know my luck with this. If you’ve known me since Fun Home, you know that I am able to develop the flu during the run of a show that I have the lead role in. Therefore, anything is possible. Simply put, I was incredibly anxious, and did not want anything to ruin the day that I had been looking forward to for months.
Most of the time, if not every time I’m anxious, I turn to my ride or die.
Somehow, three years later, Jill Bodiford is not sick of me yet. And I pray she never is. To have Jill Bodiford in your life, you constantly wonder, “Now what did I do to deserve her?” I thought this for a long time, and one day I realized that I’ll never know how I got so lucky. Instead, I should just be happy that I have that kind of friendship.
“Witches. Brew.”
Those were the two words she texted me when I brought my predicament to her. Jill had told me about her brew for a long time — how it heals your voice, soothes your throat, and is great to have when you're sick. But when she first told me the ingredient list a year prior, I decided it was too gross for me to ever have.
Not anymore. I was desperate, tired, on hour 6 of my 24 hour vocal rest and had little faith left. I sucked it up as Jill gave me the ingredient list again, I put on my big girl pants, and started drinking the Jill Bodiford Witches Brew twice a day. I honestly wish I knew about the drink years earlier. The taste grew on me, and my voice came back at the perfect time, the day before my recital. To be healed is to be drinking witches brew.
Only days later was my last performance on the Woods stage. I knew I would be crying throughout Jammin’.
Now, this story took place throughout the semester. Joe Rapolla, the head of our department that we all know and love, allowed me to sit in on the auditions for the next Blue Hawk Records album (Open 24 Hours). In the lobby, I walked up to Joe post-auditions after most of the class had left. It was late, but before I could say goodbye he brought something back to my attention.
“What I said a few days ago, would you actually want to do that? I was thinking of the Dirty Dancing song if you know it.” Joe was referring to when I was sitting in his office with him and Jill Bernstein. He had briefly suggested that we whip out a surprise duet at Jammin’, similar to how he and Nick Garrecht had shocked everyone with a One Direction song the year before.
Who was I to say no? Why would I ever pass that up? I gave him an eager yes in the lobby, and we were careful that nobody overheard. I would now be keeping the coolest secret I have ever kept, and from some of my best friends. As we began practicing with the band, more people obviously found out. As the Jammin’ Princess, Jill Bernstein was in the know. As the band came together, George Wurzbach, Nick Garrecht, Mike Viani, Cam Bacon, Jeff Mendez, Sam Carroll, Joleen Amer, and Amani Adelekan were sworn to secrecy.
As a musician, I constantly get these little reminders of “Holy crap, I love what I do.” When we all rehearsed “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life”, something in me rejuvenated every time. I don’t know if it was the sound of the instruments coming together, the blend of Joleen and Amani’s angelic harmonies, or the realization that something was coming to a beautiful end, but I had never felt so whole.
Feedback or no feedback I know for a fact that Joe Rapolla and I had all your jaws on the floor. Let me transparent — I cared about the feedback for a total of five seconds, if not less. When I think of that performance, I think about Jill Bodiford and Mandie Hayes’ freaking out over the surprise in the voms. I think about how I felt like a little princess in that pink flowy dress. I think about how damn cool it was that Joe could have asked to sing with anyone, and he asked me, so maybe I’ve done a few things right in the time that I’ve spent here. The feedback in everyone’s ears was the smallest part of that night.
Blue Hawk Records somehow plays a part in every good moment I’ve had the past four years. But that’s obvious, you all could have figured that out without me writing this final blog. Something that is good is just good, but something that is great will find you when things are bad. Blue Hawk Records is great.
Blue Hawk Records will be the friend that calms you down from your medical ailments. Blue Hawk Records will pull you back together when you’ve fallen apart. Blue Hawk Records is the Abby Garcia-banter in the midst of a long-ass car ride. Blue Hawk Records is the safety you feel in the middle of a random cemetery that you didn’t think you’d make it out of. Blue Hawk Records is the witches brew that gets you through any cold. Blue Hawk Records is the moment in the middle of mic feedback where you’re singing the phrase “I’ve had the time of my life” and have never meant it more.
Thank you Blue Hawk Records.
Love,
Sammy J