the one about Neoteny

We were so silly, the four of us.

At about 2:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving Day, my three friends and I were in a Rite Aid drugstore in Santa Ana, California. We bought a few things, but we were there for a certain express purpose: to put on a spontaneous musical theatre performance. Not an hour earlier, we had decided to amuse ourselves by changing the words to the Beauty and the Beast song “Be Our Guest” to “I Need Drugs.” We then performed it at unsuspecting 24-hour locations. (Of course, the footage is on youtube. Of course not, I’m not telling you where to find it. In fact, half the freaks on youtube are capitalizing on what I’m about to blog today…)

The first drugstore’s employees gave us a standing ovation. (Granted, there were only two working at the time. But still generous, considering that our performance was completely unrehearsed.) We decided to try a Walgreens; the manager stopped us half-way through and kicked us out.

There’s something to be said about society’s repression of creativity and fun through making people feel foolish. It was difficult enough mustering up the courage to sing and dance in a drugstore!

I just finished one of the most fascinating chapters of nonfiction I’ve ever read: “The Importance of Looking Foolish” from In a Pit With a Lion on a Snowy Day. He mentions a study that found that 98% of children between the ages of three and five score in the genius category for creative thinking and another study that about 100% of first grade students consider themselves to be artists.

What happens? I’m sure you can look back on your own story and decide the answer.

I’ve always considered myself to be really youthful, and a lot of my friends help me stay that way. I love working with kids. I’ve always looked five years younger than I am. I own (slash love) a pair of Heely’s.

Still, I feel the pressure to seem “mature” and not “childlike.”

My new fav word is neoteny, meaning “the retention of youthful qualities by adults.”

World-changers have to get over the fear of looking foolish. And Jesus’ grace is the way to do that. (More to come on grace and the mind-changing message John Bevere gave at the Dream Center.) Jesus came to “proclaim that captives will be released.” This means more than freedom from sin; it also means getting us out of the psychological straightjacket we’ve gotten ourselves into.

I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven.

My fraternity name is “hiphoponpop” or “hiphop” for short. I’m almost always dancing to the music in my head, whether I realize it or not. People have called me crazy, fruity, whatever. But I’ve seen that most people, with the right song blasting, go crazy dancing. (Like Elaine doing her thumbs-kicks-dance on Seinfeld.) We may look crazy, but…

“Those who hear not the music think the dancer is mad.”

Who’s really crazy? Me? The dancer who doesn’t care what people think? Or is the people who can’t hear the music?

Jesus didn’t care what society thought of him; young kids don’t either; King David didn’t either. He said,

“I am willing to act like a fool in order to show my joy in the Lord. Yes, and I am willing to look even more foolish than this.”

I want to be willing to look foolish if it means living life to the fullest.

In update news: I have a place to live next semester. Yeay! Praise God and thank you for your prayers. I still need a job, though. So, keep praying!

A mere mortal

From the City of Angels

Livin his dream

the one about Misogyny

No, I'm not going to spend this blog crying about the women in my life. (And some are definitely worth crying about...)

But am I going to talk about my experience at Isabel Allende's lecture at Bovard Auditorium? Yes. To catch you up, if you're not an avid magical realism reader, Isabel is the daughter of slain (debated) Chilean President Salvador Allende who has written all sorts of famous works of fiction, including her famous The House of Spirits. Anyways, I went to hear her speech because I like the magical realism genre and because it was extra credit to go for my "Peoples and Cultures of the Americas" (aka "Studies in Brazilian Gay Porn") class.

She's a lovely woman, very intelligent, obvi. She's also a self-proclaimed feminist.

Gross.

Or so I thought before I went.

I think that she helped me understand at least the mindset behind some of the "girl power" talk that used to make me roll my eyes. Not that I agree with it all, neither do a lot of non-feminist women.

She began by talking about the importance of female energy. I completely understood what she meant. Us theatre students, we get a lot of talk about different "energy." In business, they prefer to call energy "attitude." It's all the same, really. But contrasting with the modus operandi of men, when women are under pressure, Isabel pointed out that they usually don't respond with violence. Instead, they respond with greater relational and emotional intensity. She didn't claim that this was better 100% of the time, but at least valuable 100% of the time. She is a feminist who advocates for more balance in masculine-feminine energy and for the protection of the women whose rights seems so invisible in most underprivileged countries.

Sounds so noble, doesn't it?

...Doesn't it?

Then I began thinking about all this stuff Biblically. *Sighs in relief as sanity returns* We all have different gifts (Rom 12), and yes we should choose peace whenever possible (also Rom 12). But I think that feminism in general looks to distort the lines of what gifts we all have. Instead of embracing feminine qualities and doing a good job of being women, feminism attempts to put men and women in each others' places. And yes, we do all have a "place."

I don't know that Jesus would ever "jokingly" tell a woman to get to "her place" in the kitchen. That's misogyny, and I'm pretty sure that's not so okay with the Son of Man, Word? *smiles at Christian pun* However, I do think that if a woman ever offered to make Him a sandwich, He would've said "You, woman, are a keeper!"

I'm sure more artistic or life news will be on its way soon. Til then, the new OneRepublic album is worth your money. Ryan Tedder is one of my heroes. He could be yours too.

A mere mortal

From the City of Angels

Livin his dream

the one about a Cast

I've noticed a few things.

First, I noticed that life's no fun when there's no off-limits. I look at some people's lives and wonder, "What if (s)he played sports like that? With no rules? No out-of-bounds? Why is life any different?" It isn't. People get hurt. No off-limits = no fun.

Second, I noticed the 150+ students from different Christian campus ministries who gathered at Tommy Trojan last Tuesday for four hours of prayer and worship. It was amazing seeing the hearts of God's children beating in sync with His own, taking a stand for the Prince of Peace and extraordinary spirit living. If you weren't there, you'll have to imagine for yourself the reckless Jesus-loving that was going on. Praise God for what He's doing on the campus of USC! (Cause He certainly isn't choosing to glorify Himself through USC football victories. *Weeps bitterly*)

Third, I've noticed that the 1992 film version of Michael Frayn's play Noises Off is fantastic! If you haven't seen it, I suggest you'll love it, but be forewarned of brief strong language. This film stars Michael Caine (always fantastic), Carol Burnett (wish my generation knew her), John Ritter (wish he was still around), Christopher Reeve (him too), Nicolette Sheridan (way before Housewives), Marilu Henner (new to me), a besotted Denholm Elliott (in his final performance before he died of AIDS), Julie Hagerty (poor thing), and Mark Linn-Baker (from Perfect Strangers).

Now...

When last I posted, I'd decided to audition for Urinetown. Here's the update: I sang 32 bars from "Ladies Choice" from the film version of Hairspray and--contrary to most auditions I've experienced--got to sing my second selection, "Family" from Dreamgirls. Probably thanks to the suspenders I wore...

Got called back.

Danced. It's *great* to be a dancer among non-dancers. Takes so much pressure off.

Sang. Awed by Hollman's Tony-winning harmonies. Whole thing took 4 hours.

Got called back...

for

the

lead.

This hasn't happened in five years--since high school's Guys & Dolls. Not gonna lie, this was big for me. I was nervous about singing that high B in my falsetto. Knew I couldn't belt and sustain the A-flat for 5 measures at the end of "Run Freedom Run." Plus I was called back with three other guys who are--no exaggeration--some of the most talented musical theatre artists in this university.

Last night was the callback. I was there singing for another 4 hours. Sang the best that I possibly could. Couldn't have asked for better. Not pitchy, no voice cracks, good character choices. I was honored to be there with *amazingly* talented people.

Before church (where Danny Gokey sang) this morning, I checked the cast list online. I wasn't cast.

At all.

And you know, I'm ok with it. Rejection is part of the life of an actor. Auditions are the actor's work; getting cast (perhaps paid) is the perk. (Sorry, Dad.) Plus, every time I'm rejected, I'm one rejection closer to being cast. I trust God will have work for me over the next couple months.

Meanwhile, I have two weeks of rehearsals before the Dance Co show goes up...

A mere mortal

From the City of Angels

Livin his dream

the one about a Season Finale

I'm only 22 (and three quarters), but I've been around the block enough times to know that life comes in seasons. "I feel change comin." --Lisa Gungor. This season is coming to an end.

And it's a good thing. God can't take me anywhere new if I've got my fingernails dug into the old with some kind of death grip. I'm so crazy blessed, and I'm staying in the area when I graduate, so I'll see a lot of my friends, still. But I can't help being sad and nervous.

Right now, I'm totally into new shows Glee and Modern Family. Glee has a small, but loyal cult following and Modern Family is the funniest new show on TV. (Community? Gag me. It's ridiculously unfunny... and I've been to community college!) Both shows are in their first seasons; neither is doing exceptionally well. I think of these shows and wonder where their future lies? Will they go on? Or will production cease at the end of Season 1? Some shows, i.e. personal faves LOST (Kate, marry me) and The Office (Pam, marry me), do well and their season finales launch the viewers into a prolonged angsty wait for the next season's premiere.

I want my season finale to be good one. One that launches me into the premiere of my next season. But right now, I've got some lions in the way: I still don't know where I'm going to live or where my money is going to come from, physically speaking.

Welcome to the life of an artist, right? *scoffs*

And I feel almost debilitated in acting on my future by not knowing these things. Freakin... ugh. Well, today, I decided that I can continue while not knowing. That's called faith. So, I signed up to audition tomorrow for Musical Theatre Repertory's winter production of Urinetown. Should be interesting.

Also, yesterday, the director of our dance show, Miranda Garrison, who "loves my work ethic" and cries a lot out of deep feeling, basically told me that I don't need to worry about breaking "in" to the industry. She said an agent will come in due time and that being "in" is a mindset.

Veddy eenterestingk. *smiles at typing in dialect*

Well, this artist needs to nap, shower, and go to rehearsal, so... until next time. =)

A mere mortal

From the City of Angels

Livin his dream

the one about Our Town

I'm unsettled. In my spirit. Unsettled.

Before I get to that, a quick update: my ADX friend's brain tumor is "very operable" which is good news. We'll know after her surgery tomorrow if it's benign or not. Please continue to pray. AGO and ADX had an awesome joint prayer sesh for her today.

Ok, so. *huffs readily*

I recently asked a girl if there was a work of literature that has changed her life. She didn't have one, but I had one in mind for myself--Thornton Wilder's Pulitzer Prize-winning three-act play Our Town. If you haven't read it, find a copy as soon as you're finished reading this blog, and read it cover-to-cover. It will change your life. (This is not an Angeleno exaggerating. If you *get* the play, it will change your life.) The plot is basically about George and Emily, next-door neighbor adolescents who fall in love in a small town in 1930s New Hampshire.

Then there's Act III. Emily's died during childbirth and she joins others who've died before her at the cemetery. Emily's ghost learns it is possible to relive parts of her past life and decides to relive her 12th birthday. She only makes it half-way through morning breakfast before she can't stand it anymore. She freaks out yelling how everyone should stop, slow down, look at each other, appreciate the faces in your life, and value life "every, every minute." She asks the Stage Manager whether anyone realizes life while they live it, and is told, "No. Saints and poets, maybe. They do some." It's a brilliant and eloquent piece of dramatic lit with one of the simplest, most powerful messages humanly possible.

But that's not what changed my life.

Simon Stimson changed my life.

In the play, he's the church organist and ersatz choir director who has a rep for being perpetually tipsy. Everyone gossips, looks the other way, and no one says anything to him. In Act III, we find he died by hanging himself in his barn. It's a small part, but Simon rang so true for me. There was a girl in high school, beautiful girl, who kept her hair buzzed, self-mutilated, and tried to commit suicide at least once while I knew her. While I was always nice to her, I never once told her about Jesus. Not once did I open my mouth and tell her about Love. It's my biggest high school regret. And Simon's character made me cry to God...

"Please. Please please, never let me be the person who says nothing."

Flashforward about five years to tonight. I was at Souplantation with five other Christian guys. At the booth next to our table was a very thin young guy... who may not always have been a guy. (Is it sick that we took a vote trying to decide?) He ate bowls and bowls of cookies and brownies and ice cream. Like, a revolting amount of dessert. We're pretty sure he was going into the bathroom and throwing it up. Then he'd repeat the process.

I sat in my seat for a long time. Trying to decide what on earth to say to him. "Do you need help?" "Do you want prayer?" "Are you okay?" All of it sounded so rude in my head. So socially unacceptable. I could not think of what to say.

So I said nothing.

Even after we left, I contemplated going back. I just, *sighs* I don't know where to point the finger or... I don't know. There are a few people in my life I felt God asked me to talk to, but I didn't because I was busy. This guy was simply because I didn't know what to say.

Father, next time, give me the words to speak... or the boldness to just start speaking, trusting You'll take over. Amen.

Okay, well, I'm songwriting tonight with up-and-comer Josh Cumbee. Update ya'll on that later.

A mere mortal

From the City of Angels

Livin his dream