There is an unspoken art in many families that is mastered by some. Yet because of its unspoken nature, some of us get left behind in the mire. This is the art of moving junk.
When we were children we were constantly being told to "clean out your room" and that we will be severely punished if we did not obey and pick up all the junk off our floors. Now, be honest. How many of you, when you were asked to do this, simply gathered up your things and stuffed them in some strategic place - behind the dresser, in the closet, or pulled the classic under-the-bed number?
As we grow older though, we realize that that is not a very healthy way to live, and that half of the things we chuck behind the dresser or wherever, we actually use and miss when they are hidden so carefully. So, as we mature into young adults, yet while our parents continue to nag us about cleaning up our rooms, we laugh at ourselves and our previous foolishness. And we learn to move our stuff into neat piles in various corners of our room, or in artful sculptures on our dressers or desks.
Finally, when we are old and married and nagging children of our own (of which I know SO much about :P), we look back, hopefully smiling, at our own childhood days and how we too suffered and smarted when our parents vehemently request that we clean our room. But when we are remarking on how children never change, and how from age to age, they will ever be the same - how they will always be pulling the same stunts and excuses - we should be remarking on how we never change. One must admit that, where as we grow out of clothes and toys or books and decorating schemes, the one thing I don't think we ever grow out of is moving our junk around.
We don't realize it, but it becomes a sort of art. When we get rooms of our own, or even our own houses, we just get to spread it around a lot more. In one way, we become less skillful because we don't have to shove everything into one spot, we can spread it wherever we like so long as it looks orderly.
I, by a series of compelling events, was recently bound to rearrange my room. A conundrum sprawled itself before me. It took me two weekends to fully rearrange the wealth of my.... items. I spent much of my time standing in my doorway just thinking "where the hell am I going to move all of this? How am I supposed to fit this all back together without completely demolishing the house?" After almost a full days work, I finally have it almost all together.... I was obviously not gifted with the natural task with which some females are of decorating and furnishing a room.
But working on such a project always allows time for rumination. And as I was putting the last bits and piece of my life into a semi-logical order, I nearly laughed out loud to myself as I realized just what I was doing. I was doing almost exactly the same thing I was when I was seven. The only difference now is that we actually give it grown up names to the actions I was performing and I was actually putting dirty clothes in the hamper rather than behind my wardrobe. This is the art that no one dares breath a word about, and yet we all do so often. Laziness and a fondness for the things of the world make it hard for us to let go of these earthly things, that moths eat and thieves break into a steel. And so, we simply move things from one corner to the next, hoping that it will be less noticeable and more natural in one corner than in the other...
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Uganda's Hitler
I just recently come to the conclusion that the truth is, even though we have made spectacular leaps in technology, medicine, economics and the like in the past century, Man has not changed a bit since the day the Lord decided to see what he could make with a pile of dirt. (I know, I know. I'm a little slow on the uptake). I recently watched a movie that confirmed that there are at least two things in this world that have never changed. The first is Presidential campaigns. And the second is that there has always been a Hitler.
Idi Amin Dada called himself the "last king of Scotland" because he believed that he was the greatest pacifier of the world and that, because he was a friend of the British Isles, they would ask him to come in and rule their land for them as well as his own. (At least, that's how they put it in the movies). He believed he was truly restoring his country, and he had so much ambition, he believed that when he was finished he could do the same for other counties. And so, as President Amin (Forest Whitaker) traveled through Uganda, he promised the people there that while he was in office he would change Uganda. He would start new clinics to help those with severe medical conditions and severe financial problems. There would be work and food for everyone. There would be no more war (after of course, he disposed of some minor parties that he believed wished him dead). In a nutshell, he seemed to be promising them that their land "should be fair and all her people one." (Sound like anyone you have heard lately?) And yet somehow we were surprised to find that within a few months things had not changed at all. That all the new President's vows were empty and all a big show and things were actually sliding back into the well rather than racing up the mountain.
(NOTE: I am not, at this juncture, by any means bashing our President or those running for the office. I merely think it ironic that all around the world those who come into power can promise us the same things and in the end the same thing happens every time (at least to some extent). To some degree some promises are dropped by the wayside in a state of brokenness. Some of those in office just do it in a much more pronounced and obvious way than others).
President Amin could sweat talk the people until the day he died, if he was given the chance. He would promise them a sugar coated Uganda with chocolate syrup and even one of those embalmed cherries on top. With his deep, almost musical, voice booming over the heads of unsuspecting crowds, he told them, "I am the General of the Ugandan Armies, but underneath the coat, I am just like you." No wonder he won them so fast! Not only did he promise them paradise on a gold platter, but he did it with a mellifluous voice and humility too! (Course, I'm a sucker for beautiful voices, so I guess I can't speak for everyone). Yet underneath the neatly tailored army uniform, trimmed with tassels and medals was not just another Ugandan, it was another Hitler.
A dear friend once told me that "words are medicine." They can be used to heal or they can be used to kill, if they are given in the wrong prescription at the wrong time. Both Hitler and Amin must have known that, because that is what they did. They used their words like a drug on their people to give them a patriotic high so to speak. But overtime, the people began to feel the effects as it wore off, and they couldn't make the drug work anymore. After time the drug stops working and you have to turn to something else. But, when the people won't take the drug anymore, that puts the distributer out of a job causing them to turn somewhere else (to be exiled or die as Hitler and Amin eventually were).
So, I guess the question is, when the world is faced with Hitlers and Amins (not forgetting the Stalins and the Castros or even the Nero's and the Mussolinis!), how many people do they have to kill before we can see through the sugar coating? Why do we only allow those who would destroy us have the gift of rhetoric? Should not the "art of speaking well" be also given to those who would use it for the well being of others?
The last question then becomes, are we fated to always be cursed with tyrants and murderers as our captains? And the answer is yes, as long as there is still Sin and Satan in this world. But there is a solution to all of this that is often overlooked. "Wherever there is injustice, you will find us. Wherever there is suffering, we'll be there. Wherever liberty is threatened, you will find.... " not the Three Amigos unfortunately. Some one much, much more helpful. Though the world be broken and smashed by Satan and his host of generals, there is always going to be Christ with is arms stretched wide.
Idi Amin Dada called himself the "last king of Scotland" because he believed that he was the greatest pacifier of the world and that, because he was a friend of the British Isles, they would ask him to come in and rule their land for them as well as his own. (At least, that's how they put it in the movies). He believed he was truly restoring his country, and he had so much ambition, he believed that when he was finished he could do the same for other counties. And so, as President Amin (Forest Whitaker) traveled through Uganda, he promised the people there that while he was in office he would change Uganda. He would start new clinics to help those with severe medical conditions and severe financial problems. There would be work and food for everyone. There would be no more war (after of course, he disposed of some minor parties that he believed wished him dead). In a nutshell, he seemed to be promising them that their land "should be fair and all her people one." (Sound like anyone you have heard lately?) And yet somehow we were surprised to find that within a few months things had not changed at all. That all the new President's vows were empty and all a big show and things were actually sliding back into the well rather than racing up the mountain.
(NOTE: I am not, at this juncture, by any means bashing our President or those running for the office. I merely think it ironic that all around the world those who come into power can promise us the same things and in the end the same thing happens every time (at least to some extent). To some degree some promises are dropped by the wayside in a state of brokenness. Some of those in office just do it in a much more pronounced and obvious way than others).
President Amin could sweat talk the people until the day he died, if he was given the chance. He would promise them a sugar coated Uganda with chocolate syrup and even one of those embalmed cherries on top. With his deep, almost musical, voice booming over the heads of unsuspecting crowds, he told them, "I am the General of the Ugandan Armies, but underneath the coat, I am just like you." No wonder he won them so fast! Not only did he promise them paradise on a gold platter, but he did it with a mellifluous voice and humility too! (Course, I'm a sucker for beautiful voices, so I guess I can't speak for everyone). Yet underneath the neatly tailored army uniform, trimmed with tassels and medals was not just another Ugandan, it was another Hitler.
A dear friend once told me that "words are medicine." They can be used to heal or they can be used to kill, if they are given in the wrong prescription at the wrong time. Both Hitler and Amin must have known that, because that is what they did. They used their words like a drug on their people to give them a patriotic high so to speak. But overtime, the people began to feel the effects as it wore off, and they couldn't make the drug work anymore. After time the drug stops working and you have to turn to something else. But, when the people won't take the drug anymore, that puts the distributer out of a job causing them to turn somewhere else (to be exiled or die as Hitler and Amin eventually were).
So, I guess the question is, when the world is faced with Hitlers and Amins (not forgetting the Stalins and the Castros or even the Nero's and the Mussolinis!), how many people do they have to kill before we can see through the sugar coating? Why do we only allow those who would destroy us have the gift of rhetoric? Should not the "art of speaking well" be also given to those who would use it for the well being of others?
The last question then becomes, are we fated to always be cursed with tyrants and murderers as our captains? And the answer is yes, as long as there is still Sin and Satan in this world. But there is a solution to all of this that is often overlooked. "Wherever there is injustice, you will find us. Wherever there is suffering, we'll be there. Wherever liberty is threatened, you will find.... " not the Three Amigos unfortunately. Some one much, much more helpful. Though the world be broken and smashed by Satan and his host of generals, there is always going to be Christ with is arms stretched wide.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Long Beach
A distinct smell greeted me Thursday morning as I awoke on my sister's carpeted floor. Long Beach.... The delicate smell of ocean water consistently drifting over the squished houses and apartment complexes. All day I sat on the floor, now holding my niece, now writing letters, now playing with the cat, now simply enjoying the breeze. But as the day wore on, the less I could stand simply sitting there doing nothing. It was as if the wind was asking me to come out and play - to come out and explore as he does each day.
And so this evening I walk east, away from the setting sun. He gently blows the small whisps of hair out of my face, curling it ever so slightly. I stop to smell some small white flowers that grace a mission style house.
I continue to walk, met regularly with the pattern of white, pink and yellow flowers.
I stop in front a plain house, having nothing to say about it except for the distinct foliage that flowers the north side of the house. Bright hues of pink, red, yellow and apricot roses catch my eye. But there is one flower that makes me stop in my tracks and simply wonder. Amongst the bright cheery colors of summer and life is a small cactus-like flower whose color is foreign. It is a purple flower, yet not a lavender purple, or even an Eggplant purple - no it is but one shade lighter than black. It sticks out like the black sheep among a fold of pure white, innocent ones. Seeing it reminds me of the death that comes to us every year, of Ash Wednesday before easter, of Good Friday before the Resurrection.
But I must leave off my musings, for at the end of the walk stands a single solitary form. A middle-aged man is walking my way and I must not be idle about someone else’s house. His bare feet make gentle innocent chatter with the sun-warmed concrete. I must fight to hold in the laughter. “Here is a man” I thought to myself, “that probably keeps a very respectable job with a very quiet and respectable family, judging from the houses on the block, and he has the courage to walk down the side walk in a T-shirt and gym shorts - not afraid of what the neighbors and strangers think.” My joy and admiration for this complete stranger makes me want to skip past him, laughing.
A feeble smile starts to break from his face as we come closer to each other. As we pass, we exchange a nervous “hello” and “good evening.” (Now that we have passed, I wonder why it is so hard for me to conjure up these feelings of freedom and joy when I am with those who are so close to me. Why is it so easy to be fearless with strangers)?
I skip across the road and turn down ‘the street where they live.’ A very familiar smell tickles my nose as I pass one of the more run down houses, and I nearly burst out laughing as an image passes through my mind. An image of someone very close to me smoking a honey-coated pipe - discussing theology over scotch and tobacco in a perfect stranger’s house. It is a house whose floors are covered in the most revolting 70’s green shag carpet - A house darkened by cheep venetian blind, bathed in the smell of tobacco smoke and where Bud Light cans are hidden like Easter-eggs amongst the grass-like carpet and furniture.
I quell my fancies once again as I approach a man, shirtless and heavily bearded, watering his small plot of earth. As I approach the small mound upon which he stands as ruler, I could not get out any intelligent verbiage so I simply smiled at him, communicating with my eyes that I wished him as good an evening as I had. Though his beard and long white hair protected his face, I detected as I passed by, a small chuckle breaking through his weathered and time worn face.
I have arrived back at the front door. I sigh as my adventures for the evening have ended and I reach out for the button on the elevator. But anyone who was watching my next actions might have thought I touched a snake or heavily electrified piece of metal. I turned away from the elevator just as the heavy doors were sluggishly opening. I turned the corner and started bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I had too much energy now to idly ride the elevator to my final destination.
As I reached the front door, the breeze rushed past me, kissing my cheek as if to say goodbye. I turned and faced the god of wind as if to tell him not to utter such sounds, but perhaps he was only saying “until next time” - perhaps he will call me away tomorrow too. It was not so, though. For thus ends my adventures in Long Beach.
And so this evening I walk east, away from the setting sun. He gently blows the small whisps of hair out of my face, curling it ever so slightly. I stop to smell some small white flowers that grace a mission style house.
I continue to walk, met regularly with the pattern of white, pink and yellow flowers.
I stop in front a plain house, having nothing to say about it except for the distinct foliage that flowers the north side of the house. Bright hues of pink, red, yellow and apricot roses catch my eye. But there is one flower that makes me stop in my tracks and simply wonder. Amongst the bright cheery colors of summer and life is a small cactus-like flower whose color is foreign. It is a purple flower, yet not a lavender purple, or even an Eggplant purple - no it is but one shade lighter than black. It sticks out like the black sheep among a fold of pure white, innocent ones. Seeing it reminds me of the death that comes to us every year, of Ash Wednesday before easter, of Good Friday before the Resurrection.
But I must leave off my musings, for at the end of the walk stands a single solitary form. A middle-aged man is walking my way and I must not be idle about someone else’s house. His bare feet make gentle innocent chatter with the sun-warmed concrete. I must fight to hold in the laughter. “Here is a man” I thought to myself, “that probably keeps a very respectable job with a very quiet and respectable family, judging from the houses on the block, and he has the courage to walk down the side walk in a T-shirt and gym shorts - not afraid of what the neighbors and strangers think.” My joy and admiration for this complete stranger makes me want to skip past him, laughing.
A feeble smile starts to break from his face as we come closer to each other. As we pass, we exchange a nervous “hello” and “good evening.” (Now that we have passed, I wonder why it is so hard for me to conjure up these feelings of freedom and joy when I am with those who are so close to me. Why is it so easy to be fearless with strangers)?
I skip across the road and turn down ‘the street where they live.’ A very familiar smell tickles my nose as I pass one of the more run down houses, and I nearly burst out laughing as an image passes through my mind. An image of someone very close to me smoking a honey-coated pipe - discussing theology over scotch and tobacco in a perfect stranger’s house. It is a house whose floors are covered in the most revolting 70’s green shag carpet - A house darkened by cheep venetian blind, bathed in the smell of tobacco smoke and where Bud Light cans are hidden like Easter-eggs amongst the grass-like carpet and furniture.
I quell my fancies once again as I approach a man, shirtless and heavily bearded, watering his small plot of earth. As I approach the small mound upon which he stands as ruler, I could not get out any intelligent verbiage so I simply smiled at him, communicating with my eyes that I wished him as good an evening as I had. Though his beard and long white hair protected his face, I detected as I passed by, a small chuckle breaking through his weathered and time worn face.
I have arrived back at the front door. I sigh as my adventures for the evening have ended and I reach out for the button on the elevator. But anyone who was watching my next actions might have thought I touched a snake or heavily electrified piece of metal. I turned away from the elevator just as the heavy doors were sluggishly opening. I turned the corner and started bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I had too much energy now to idly ride the elevator to my final destination.
As I reached the front door, the breeze rushed past me, kissing my cheek as if to say goodbye. I turned and faced the god of wind as if to tell him not to utter such sounds, but perhaps he was only saying “until next time” - perhaps he will call me away tomorrow too. It was not so, though. For thus ends my adventures in Long Beach.
Monday, August 11, 2008
little pieces parts
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Afterthoughts
Well, I'm home again.
I sit on my bed looking out at the blue sky peeping through the smoke letting my thoughts meander back to North San Diego county - to my friends, to the games, the fun times, the life I had there. I wonder how I can transfer that life here. I was free there - I could play and be a different person there. But now as I sit 750 miles away from those who taught me to be fearless. I am afraid to play. I am afraid to be fearless.
Its a hard thing to be fearless. To truly not fear anything. To not have a protective layer of strong armor over my heart. I thought I was fearless before I left but then I realized that it was just courage. I had the courage to cover up my heart and not let anything really touch it.
What is the Actor's Academy really? Its a real playhouse. Its a place where people come not only to find out whether they want to be actors or not, or to gain more experience and training, but it is also a place where you are taught to live and love better.
Of course, its not just the place - its the people. Out of about 100 applicants, only 30 are carefully chosen. And these are not just the 30 best high school performers. They are not chosen because they look good or because they manipulated the people in charge. No they were chosen because of their commitment and their talent and their overwhelming desire to be in such a program. And it is with these people, this ensemble, that you work with for the next 5 weeks, that you learn to love and care for in the next 5 weeks. There are no divas or superstars among us.
Yes, I miss it - I miss it terribly. I miss the freedom, the trials, the laughter, the songs, the open arms and the shoulders to cry on should the need arise. But it is nice to be home and to know that I can go and play with them and they will be there.
I realize that I haven't really said much here. But you asked for my afterthoughts, and I know it sounds sappy, but there aren't many thoughts left, just feelings and those are much harder to type.
I sit on my bed looking out at the blue sky peeping through the smoke letting my thoughts meander back to North San Diego county - to my friends, to the games, the fun times, the life I had there. I wonder how I can transfer that life here. I was free there - I could play and be a different person there. But now as I sit 750 miles away from those who taught me to be fearless. I am afraid to play. I am afraid to be fearless.
Its a hard thing to be fearless. To truly not fear anything. To not have a protective layer of strong armor over my heart. I thought I was fearless before I left but then I realized that it was just courage. I had the courage to cover up my heart and not let anything really touch it.
What is the Actor's Academy really? Its a real playhouse. Its a place where people come not only to find out whether they want to be actors or not, or to gain more experience and training, but it is also a place where you are taught to live and love better.
Of course, its not just the place - its the people. Out of about 100 applicants, only 30 are carefully chosen. And these are not just the 30 best high school performers. They are not chosen because they look good or because they manipulated the people in charge. No they were chosen because of their commitment and their talent and their overwhelming desire to be in such a program. And it is with these people, this ensemble, that you work with for the next 5 weeks, that you learn to love and care for in the next 5 weeks. There are no divas or superstars among us.
Yes, I miss it - I miss it terribly. I miss the freedom, the trials, the laughter, the songs, the open arms and the shoulders to cry on should the need arise. But it is nice to be home and to know that I can go and play with them and they will be there.
I realize that I haven't really said much here. But you asked for my afterthoughts, and I know it sounds sappy, but there aren't many thoughts left, just feelings and those are much harder to type.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Here it comes...
Well my friends, this is it. The hurricane of tech week now charges toward us. There is no stopping it. Next week is the last week I will be here. :( I don't have much time (I must go study and prepare for finals and such like), but I have one quick note for you all. If you are desirous to come see our production of Tewelth Night you can come this next Wednesday or Thursday at 7:30 pm to the outdoor stage at Mira Costa College. Since this is a masked performance we have two casts, one which will act while the other is speaking. If you come Wednesday night you will see the Rosencrantz cast (the cast I am in) on stage and if you come the following night Guildenstern will be acting for you.
You will not have to purchase tickets. However, they will be asking for donations and such like at the door. Also, since it is outside, please bring lawn chairs and blankets. Hope to see you there!
You will not have to purchase tickets. However, they will be asking for donations and such like at the door. Also, since it is outside, please bring lawn chairs and blankets. Hope to see you there!
Friday, July 4, 2008
Happy 4th of July
HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY EVERYONE!
Hope you all have some fantastic and fun plans for this evening.
Well, I thought it was about time to give you all an update of what I've been up to. Classes have been fun and yet challenging. My instructors are constantly pushing me to make new discoveries about my characters or text. This past week and for all next week, myself and another girl are working on Act 4, Scene 3 from Othello, and we are constantly being pushed to understand the text better and better.
Miss Stienberg, you will be pleased to know that one of my favorite classes though, is our IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet) class. IPA is the pronunciation guide for a word that appears directly after a word in a dictionary. It is SO fun! No one else really likes it, but it was really easy for me to pick up. (Thank you St. Andrew's for making me take Greek and Latin).
I also told you that I would be posting some pictures, so here are a few.
These next few photos were taken the other night at the DelMar fair.
The first one is Aimee and Rachel and the second, going from left to right is Aimee, Justin (yes the same Justin I am staying with this week), and Karen. 
(This was taken just after we went on one of the scariest rides we had ever been on, thus the concerned looks).
.....
And this is Gedaly and Alexandra....
This is Eve and Sassan giving us a wonderful performance of Truly Bad Opera. (My apologies for the poor quality. They were moving too fast for me to catch a clear shot and we didn't have the house lights on).
For those of you who are wondering, Truly Bad Opera is an exercise we do to help us with calling (producing a rich, round, full voice for speaking). We were instructed to do the scenes we were practicing in our acting lab in operatic voices. Some of it is truly bad, but it is also the funnest and funniest thing ever. Once you get up on stage and start singing no one has any worries about what they sound like, or what notes are coming next. They just drop their jaw, breath deep and let it all out.
Anyway, that pretty much concludes the highlights of this week. Next week we have a guest instructor coming from Chile to work with us in the mornings on movement and choreography-like exercises. So that should be interesting. Right now though, I'm off to Balboa Park to hang out. (Some of you are wondering what I'm going to do when I come home and have nothing to do. My only answer is I better have some pretty full hours to keep me busy or yes, I will be very bored. :D). Until next time....
-E.
Hope you all have some fantastic and fun plans for this evening.
Well, I thought it was about time to give you all an update of what I've been up to. Classes have been fun and yet challenging. My instructors are constantly pushing me to make new discoveries about my characters or text. This past week and for all next week, myself and another girl are working on Act 4, Scene 3 from Othello, and we are constantly being pushed to understand the text better and better.
Miss Stienberg, you will be pleased to know that one of my favorite classes though, is our IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet) class. IPA is the pronunciation guide for a word that appears directly after a word in a dictionary. It is SO fun! No one else really likes it, but it was really easy for me to pick up. (Thank you St. Andrew's for making me take Greek and Latin).
I also told you that I would be posting some pictures, so here are a few.
These next few photos were taken the other night at the DelMar fair.
The first one is Aimee and Rachel and the second, going from left to right is Aimee, Justin (yes the same Justin I am staying with this week), and Karen. 
(This was taken just after we went on one of the scariest rides we had ever been on, thus the concerned looks)......
And this is Gedaly and Alexandra....
This is Eve and Sassan giving us a wonderful performance of Truly Bad Opera. (My apologies for the poor quality. They were moving too fast for me to catch a clear shot and we didn't have the house lights on).
For those of you who are wondering, Truly Bad Opera is an exercise we do to help us with calling (producing a rich, round, full voice for speaking). We were instructed to do the scenes we were practicing in our acting lab in operatic voices. Some of it is truly bad, but it is also the funnest and funniest thing ever. Once you get up on stage and start singing no one has any worries about what they sound like, or what notes are coming next. They just drop their jaw, breath deep and let it all out.
Anyway, that pretty much concludes the highlights of this week. Next week we have a guest instructor coming from Chile to work with us in the mornings on movement and choreography-like exercises. So that should be interesting. Right now though, I'm off to Balboa Park to hang out. (Some of you are wondering what I'm going to do when I come home and have nothing to do. My only answer is I better have some pretty full hours to keep me busy or yes, I will be very bored. :D). Until next time....
-E.
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