Readiness

"Are you waiting for lightning,

A sign that it's time for a change?"

-- Steven Curtis Chapman, "Waiting for Lightning"

--

Some quick words before rehearsal:

Been trying to exercise daily. Like my pregnant co-worker, it's not yet showing, but I am feeling more energized on a regular basis, even though I wake up two hours earlier and do a lot more.

As a guideline, I'm following the Navy's physical regimen for candidates for the Officer Training Command. This means for my age group, I would be expected to do (each in two minutes) 71 push-ups and 87 curl-ups, and to run 1.5 miles in 10 min., 30 sec. The push-ups are going fine, and the curl-ups would be easier without this persistent gut (had it since high school), but it's the running that has been a killer. I ran around the block three times yesterday morning, and by the end my throat was so dry and my passages so full of mucus that I had to stop; all this, by the way, after having run .9 miles in 12 minutes.

Gotta do better. Been stretching before and after everything (no sense getting shin-splints in the dead of winter) and just the flexibility is reassuring. I keep remembering my junior year of college, when I was in the best shape I've ever been in, and that wonderful, exhilarating 10-minute chunk between four hours of modern dance and three hours of rehearsal. I felt like I was moving from hard labor to soft, and I want that feeling when I get ready to go to work in the morning: Great workout. Now what?

--

Got a new iPod. It's been a godsend during this whole process. So, oddly enough, has cabbage.

--

My sister is flying out here to visit me! She's leaving Omaha to spend her winter break with me in Cincy. I'm seriously excited, looking up all sorts of activities (Ballet? Theatre? Hockey?) we can do together in this city. Not only am I finding things to introduce her to, I'm also discovering more about the place where I live. If you want to learn about your environment, pretend you're about to teach someone else about it.

--

Rehearsal's approaching. Gotta learn these lines of narration. "And so Jack went back up the beanstalk..."

And so Chris goes back to work.

Okay

"No, no, no--we are Christians!"

-- a father, trying to schedule an audition for his daughter with The Children's Theatre

--

I'll try to reproduce this amazing conversation that I just had at work. The following takes place after I've been talking to a man, C., for about ten minutes about scheduling his daughter, M., for an audition this Saturday.

Note: I don't intend for this conversation to appear racist. However, I simply have to tell you that C. has a very thick accent and has trouble understanding English over the phone. Personally, I think the humor comes not from the ethnicity of the person on the other end, but because that person has clearly no idea what he is getting his daughter into.

--

Me: Sorry it took me so long to get back to you.

C: It's okay. So what does my daughter have to do for the audition?

Me: Well, there are a number of things. First, she has to perform a monologue.

C: A monologue?

Me: Yes.

C: Okay.

Me: This has to be less than two minutes long. Under two minutes.

C: Okay. Under two minutes?

Me: Yes.

C: Okay.

Me: She also has to prepare a song.

C: She sing?

Me: Yes, she's going to sing at the audition.

C: (worried) Oh...how long?

Me: About a minute.

C: Ten minutes?!

Me: No, sorry. One minute. About one minute long.

C: Okay.

Me: She needs to bring sheet music.

C: Sorry? What kind of music?

Me: The sheet music.

C: What kind of music?

Me: It's the paper that the music is written on.

C: Oh...okay.

Me: There will be an accompanist in the room with her. He will play her song while she sings.

C: Who?

Me: A piano player. That's why she needs to have the sheet music.

C: Oh...okay.

Me: He'll play the music while she sings.

C: Why does he do that?

Me: Uh...

C: She can't just sing?

Me: No, sorry, we don't allow acapella singing at auditions.

C: Who singing?

Me: She has to sing with the music.

C: Oh...okay.

Me: Okay. She may also have to dance a little bit.

C: Dance? Okay.

Me: Yes. Has she taken dance?

C: Oh...no.

Me: That's okay.

C: What has to be in the song?

Me: The song she sings?

C: Yes.

Me: She can sing about whatever she wants. Some kids come in and sing a Broadway song, and some kids come in and sing "Happy Birthday."

C: "Happy Birthday"?

Me: Yes. It's a big range.

C: What else?

Me: She also needs to have a headshot and resume.

C: Resume? What needs to be in the resume?

Me: We need contact information.

C: Okay.

Me: We also need her physical description. Eye color, hair color, height, weight, that sort of thing.

C: Okay.

Me: We also need to know what experience she has. If she's taken any classes in acting or singing, or done any performances.

C: Oh. She doesn't do that.

Me: Oh, that's okay. Has she ever done a play at school, or--

C: I will put her on the phone, okay? You tell her what she has to do at the audition, okay?

Me: O...kay.

C: (to his daughter) Here! Come here! You talk on the phone to this man.

Daughter: Hello?

Me: Hi, my name is Chris Stewart. I'm calling from The Children's Theatre. Your dad and I just scheduled an audition for you this Saturday.

D: Okay.

Me: He wanted me to tell you what you had to do in the audition.

D: Okay.

Me: First, you have to perform a monologue, and that has to be less than two minutes long.

D: (silence)

Me: So, under two minutes.

D: I don't get it.

Me: What don't you get?

D: What's a monologue?

Me: Oh, sorry. It's any time one person is talking on stage. So they could be talking to themselves, or telling a story...

D: Can it be two people?

Me: Well, that's when there's two or more people talking. A monologue means only one person is talking.

D: So...just tell a story?

Me: Well, as long as it's already written down. Like in a book, or a play. You could probably even pick a poem if it tells some kind of story. There's a lot of them on the internet, too.

D: Okay.

Me: Okay. The next thing is a song.

D: I have to sing?

Me: Yes. And you'll have to bring sheet music.

D: What music? Can I sing with a CD?

Me: No, you have to bring sheet music for our accompanist.

D: What?

Me: Our piano player. If you go into a music store and ask for the piano sheet music for your song, they should be able to help you.

D: Can it be for guitar?
Me: Maybe sometimes. But if you can find the piano music, that's best. Because our accompanist will be playing a piano.

D: Okay.

Me: And I told your dad about the headshot and resume, so that should be fine. Oh, have you ever done any dance?

D: Kinda.

Me: Okay. Well, we may ask to see some dance ability when you audition.

D: Okay.

Me: Think you can do all that for us?

D: Maybe.

Me: Okay...uh, do you know all the things you need to do?

D: Yeah.

Me: You remember everything?

D: No.

Me: Did you take notes?

D: No.

Me: You didn't? Did you write any of this down?

D: Na-ah.

Me: Oh. Okay.

D: I be fine.

Me: I'm sure you will. Well, I told your dad all of this, too. So you should be okay.

D: Okay.

Me: See you--

C: Hello?

Me: Hello, sir?

C: Okay. You told her everything she needs to know, right?

Me: I think so.

C: Okay. Where is your building?

Me: (I give him directions)

C: Okay. Is it a big building?

Me: It's...uh...medium.

C: Okay. Is it on the top floor?

Me: No, the auditions will be on the main floor. You'll probably see a lot of people around that door.

C: Yes, yes. What is it like?

Me: What does it look like?

C: Yes.

Me: It's gray. It has a tree out front. We have a signpost but there's no sign on it yet. We just moved.

C: Oh--you're not in the same building?

Me: Not the same as before.

C: This address is not the right one?

Me: No, that's the right one.

C: It isn't?

Me: (I give him directions again)

C: Okay. Good. What play will she be in?

Me: This is for our summer program.

C: When?

Me: This summer. July.

C: Oh...okay.

Me: Is that okay?

C: Yes. Okay.

Me: Okay. Well, we'll see you Saturday.

C: This Saturday, yes.

Me: Okay, then--

C: Can my son come too?

Me: You want your son to audition, too?

C: Maybe. What time?

Me: Well, it'll be a different time than your daughter's. Hers was the only slot open.

C: When can he come?

Me: How about in the afternoon.

C: Oh...okay.

Me: Okay, I have times available--

C: No. He won't like it.

Me: Oh. Okay.

C: She knows what she has to do?

Me: Yes. But I don't think she wrote it down.

C: No, she wrote nothing down.

Me: Right. Okay. Well, as long as you know what she has to do, we should be good.

C: I know?

Me: I hope so.

C: Okay.

Me: Okay.

C: Okay. Goodbye.

Me: Bye.

Visit

"Some veggies went to sea, sea, sea

To see what they could see, see, see..."

-- VeggieTales

--

Because I work part-time, and because I've logged so many overtime hours in the last two weeks, and because the finances of this place are such that overtime hours are de facto converted into extra vacation time--mandatory vacation time, even--I will be taking a few days off to make a leisurely, unconstrained-by-time visit to Hillsdale to see the Tower Dancers Concert.

I'll make a four-day weekend out of a three-day weekend.

--

Part of the reason for making the trip is to reconnect with the few college friends of mine still working on degrees there. Another is to see the Concert. But I think my biggest reason for heading back this time is to meet up with my mentoring professors, to grab meals with them, to discuss what's going on in their lives, and to ask for advice on what's going on in mine.

Italian

"If you gots the poison,

I got the remedy."

-- Jason Mraz, "The Remedy"

--

It's five o'clock on a Friday in January, I'm sitting at my desk, and I'm half-tipsy on Mission Street India Pale Ales, a sixer of which was the gift from my boss to me to celebrate our co-direction of the Black History Month show, Harriet Tubman, which had its dress rehearsal earlier today.

It's also been two weeks since my last post. Sorry about that. I've been busy.

A quick rundown:

For the first week back from the holiday break, I was doing my best to direct (notice I don't say "directing") a touring show. This meant stopping at a Pilot station halfway from Nebraska to here so I could get started on blocking, and it also meant a number of very late nights pondering entrances stage-right and exits stage-left. It also meant feeling like a fool during choreography rehearsals when the barrels were empty and the trickle ran dry, my creative juices verily sapped by hasty, wasty hours of making things up as I went along. But my boss intervened and the show was saved from mediocrity--or worse, unmitigated children's theatre failure--as she tweaked and fixed and cut and flipped entire scenes while I sat nearby, taking mental notes of all the faulty direction I had given in the preceding week. It was thrilling and humbling to watch as my boss, a woman with years of directing experience, isolated problems and pinpointed solutions with the ease of a master carpenter working a piece of wood.

All this, mind you, while I met with Navy recruiters and researched educational options in my spare time.

Remember: 2010 is going to be a big year for this squirrelly little Asian guy. The trick now is to make it big in a worthwhile way, and to refuse to be ashamed.

--

Started going to church again. It's the way I was raised and I like the person I am when I go to church and feel myself humbled before the Creator; it's as simple as that. Haven't found a "church home," as it's called in the Assemblies of God churches I knew growing up, but it's normal to bounce around a bit before settling into one's new religious digs.

The AoG service I attended (in Alexandria, KY) was disappointing and discouraging. The preacher--a tall, black-clad man with a microphone turned up way too high--snapped his fingers at the congregation twice during his sermon, saying, "Hey! Listen up! Listen to me!" He had all of the pomp and circumstance one expects from a sixth-grader leading Sunday school for the first time, and the me-me-me attitude of a third-world warlord. I will not return to that church.

This coming Sunday's destination: the AoG church in Montgomery, OH, about ten minutes from where I work.

--

Broke up with my girlfriend of 14 months, too. Had to be done.

--

One night about a week ago, I found myself convinced that I was going to enlist in the Navy and become a CTI, the military equivalent of a linguist. The prospect of learning another language on the government's dollar so inspired me that I rushed to the library and checked out a 6-CD multimedia series called "Teach Yourself Italian." In one hour, while watching a football game, I learned the numbers and days of the week. It was exhilarating! I marched around my small apartment, holding a glass of white wine with one hand, gesticulating like a Corleone with the other, practically shouting the words, "Cero, uno, due, tre..."

--

I haven't decided what I'm going to do to change my life. But I have decided that a change has to be made, and that's half the battle, I think.

Encouragement from family and skepticism from friends aside, I do know this: No one will make me the person I want to be, except for myself. Losing weight and getting into shape are not mere tricks of diet and exercise--they are rather the natural results of mentality. It's not as simple as the faith teachers say--"Think you will lose weight, and you will!"--but it is as simple as saying, I know what it takes to lose weight and get into shape; therefore, I will do those things that help me achieve those goals.

Further: I will do those things that make me the person I wish to be. I will act upon my beliefs, and I will refuse to prostitute myself to anyone, for any reason. I will retain my dignity along with my self-respect, and will strive to turn that respect outwards to my fellows and to my environment. I will live according to my ideas of virtue instead of another's idea of value.

--

Is it that simple? What will my friends think? Will I let people down if I turn from my talent towards a career with stability, higher income and the prospect of a good family future?

Along those lines, I want to say this. I feel as if some friends--not all, not many--are living vicariously through my success (if that's what you want to call it--I call it half-luck, half-settling) and will feel discouraged themselves if I stop doing what I set out two years ago to do. What I say to them is this: I'm simply trying to live my life. What I do defines not who I am. It doesn't define whether we'll be able to hang out and have a beer the next time I'm in town. But it does help to define whether I can finance my future children's education, what kind of car I'll drive in five years, and whether I'll be content or discontent with my choices down the line.

Food for thought: I'm growing tired of not having anything to show for my efforts. Today's events are indicative of old habits and life trends: For almost two years now, I've been working too long and too hard at a single project, seeing it to completion, and drinking away the reward.

No more. Something's gotta give. Something's gotta give back.

--

Like Jimmy Stewart in the holiday classic, "I've said too much." It's a half-hour later than when I started, and I've said many things I've wanted to say for days.

There's a certain nobility in taking a risk and branching out. There's a definite solace in starting over. And there's a lot of stuff you have to think about before you do any of those things. What I can promise is that I'll think it all over--a lot--before I make any real decision. I owe it to myself at this point to send out beacons and gather information; that's all I'm doing.

Pennies

"And now I'm caught in the air

It's a good life."

-- Mae, "Ready and Waiting to Fall"

Well, it's a new year.

Got the feeling, for the first time, that this year is going to be really good, special. Got a lot of changes to make, as always, and some of them are bigger than any I've ever made. That should be a frightening feeling, but instead, I feel startlingly okay.

I feel I am shedding the chip on my shoulder.

--

Parents bought a new car yesterday. Helped some poor car salesman get one sell closer to quota, I guess. It's a nice car, longer than it looks, gray outside and inside, with small behind-the-seat pockets and a concave backseat, the kind that curls your back in that firm, insistent new-car way.

We rode it to Rick's Cafe for the last meal of the year; I had the shrimp and scallops but I should have had the sirloin. Prior to the countdown, we Wii'd until 11pm, switched to old episodes of "The Beverly Hillbillies," then scanned basic cable channels for the straightforward ball-dropping ceremony. So many kissing folks after.

We toasted the future with sparkling white grape juice--this, instead of champagne. Ate green grapes, symbols of fertility and affluence. Had coins in all our pockets, promises of more to come. Returned to Wii-ing until the troops grew weary, then hit the hay.

--

Growing up, whenever we moved into a new house (and we did that a lot), my mom would take a handful of coins from the jar and walk around to each windowsill, placing a coin in each corner. I don't know if this was supposed to ward off evil spirits or financial ruin, or to invite money, or perhaps it was a sowing gesture, a planting of currency.

My mom has a lot of those superstitions. Drop a fork, a woman will visit; a knife, a man; a spoon, a child. An itchy left hand means you will receive money (left is passive), and your right means you will pay soon.

But the ones that for whatever reason make sense to me are the coin superstitions. I read somewhere that picking up pennies only brings good luck if they are heads-up, and only if you find them randomly. If you get change, any coin minted in your birth year is good luck.

--

A word about pennies: I'm not a fan. They get stuck under car mats and beneath furniture, and they fuse to carpets with gunky laziness. They are lost and discovered with little consequence, these browning copper circles. Many are mostly zinc: poser pennies. They are obsolete. Especially if they stop making them soon. 2010 will be a year in which less pennies are made. 2011 will be the last in which they are made.

But a word for pennies, too: The idea of them is beautiful, those small, forgotten bits of worth. Alone, they disappear, falling from meaning into corrosive mediocrity. In pairs, they seem fortuitous, and in large quantities they become priceless--at some magical point the setting aside of pennies turns from a habitual gesture of frugality to a conscious act of collection, of prizing, of seeing the potential of the mass, of giving to the penny more than it deserves. A penny saved, and all that; and what they won't tell you is that a penny is what you make it worth.

Years are pennies. So's this one. I want to make it worthy.