Practice makes perfect

I think I’m having a “bad example of a Christian” kinda day. I was watching my Tivo’d “AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL” (I’m a reality show junkie and I admit it. I’m getting help.) There was a contestant….Ashley, or Stephanie….or Vanderpeep! I don’t remember…anyway, she was a self-proclaimed Christian. She kept saying over and over “I’m doing it for Jesus! I want to be a model for Jesus Christ!” And after ever little, tiny, contrived victory she would run around with her hands in the air screaming “Thank you Jesus Christ!” Of course, everybody hated her. I was mad at her as well, fo making Christianity look bad.

Later on that day…I sat eating Ruffles and suckin’ on a Caffeine Free Diet Coke, chatting with a college friend on Facebook. I paused for a moment so that I can skip over to a photo “comment conversation” in which one of my graduated seniors dropped the F-bomb. (All Caps…bold. Oh, yeah….the real deal.) So, being the upright, thoughtful Christian I am…I proceeded to tell her that she should consider a different line of communication and that I’d de-friend her if she didn’t.

I even snarled at a middle-aged man at church today because I didn’t like the cut of his jib.

What’s wrong with me!? Seriously. I find myself more and more EFFECTED by things that most would consider un-Christian like, and feel the need to lash out…and then I turn around a break the rules myself!

We all swear. All of us. I’ve stubbed my toe on the corner of my bed 74 times and each time I paint the walls with profanities! (Mrs. Ball always laughs at me too…which is a topic for another blog.) I’ve found myself finding great “release” after dropping an F-bomb. (And by the way, I’ve decided to give up golf.) I’ve done it! So what gives me the right to criticize? Some have gone as far to say that all Christians are hypocrites.

Remember those WHAT WOULD JESUS DO bracelets? (They came before those plastic yellow ones Lance Armstrong made famous.) They were trendy….and trite. But seriously, I suppose we’re all sinners and have a long way to go…but perhaps that’s the best way to revert to a more sensible state of mind. What would JESUS have us practice? Being loyal isn’t enough. Practicing what you preach should be the goal.

Of course those model girls were on the defensive from the beginning because Vanderpeep was so bloody demonstrative about her faith. She crammed it down their throat. Why? Who knows. Attention? 15-minutes of fame? Maybe she’s an alien. (I’m convinced all celebrities are.)

We can’t just force our beliefs on people…like Kanye grabbing the mic during an acceptance speech and making him look like the biggest jerk in the industry. As long as there is a single fan to stand and applaud him, people will continue to feed on attention and do what they think is right, instead of TRY TO PRACTICE what’s right in the eyes of the Lord. (I didn’t think Beyonce’s video was all that kickin’. Not enough to beam down from the mother ship and stomp on someone else’s moment, anyway.)

So…I suppose I should sum this up. I’m having a grumpy day. One of those days when you wish you had five more hours before bedtime so you can verbally assassinate “The Hills” and Katie Couric’s haircut…and kick the cat. And as I get older, I suppose in my vain efforts to remain connected to the mainstream vernacular, whilst simultaneously quickening my pace to a jog in my walk with Christ….I find myself backtracked, distracted and fooled. So instead of playing Rummikub with the other groaning Christians who have nothing nice to say…I’m going to double my efforts to practice what I preach. Practice makes perfect. It starts now.

I suppose the devil has a few tricks up his sleeve after all. He’s a limely bugga. (But notice I didn’t use the F-word. Pretty good, huh? DANG IT! I did it again! Okay, okay…it starts….now.)

THE NEW SCHOOL YEAR

I have one student who is not at ALL looking forward to this upcoming school year, because they are desperately trying to reinvent themselves, and the thought of potential social pressures is overwhelming. I have another who cannot wait to redeem themselves after closing the book on last year in that they affectionately refer to as an “epic fail.” There’s one more who sent me a Facebook message recently that simply read “I caaaaannnnn’ttttt wwwwaaaaaaiiiiittttttt!”

Me? I’m working on changing up my curriculum (a yearly ritual) while surfing for funny graphics to accompany my syllabi while I munch on Alka-Seltzer tablets.

*Sigh* School. School has always been one of two things to people. The best of times…or the worst of times. I have colleagues who rush to the photocopiers hours prior to the first day of school so that the new classroom rules handed to the masses are warm. (Present company included.) Then there are those who drag their feet, dust off the lesson plans and look forward to their pre-packaged cinnamon apple sauce at exactly 11:35.

I suppose there is a sense of stability in any ritual. We have lots to look forward to…but if history repeats itself, I’m sure the students will tote grumbles and disapproving looks around in their new bookbags. Seniors will walk tall for about 3 weeks and then set into the same groove as everyone else. We have paper stars and crosses lining the halls with students names on them, welcoming them back. No doubt, in the brew-haha of things, those warm hand-outs will turn cool, tote bags will be burdened with heavy textbooks giving students a different reason to grumble and those paper stars will fall to the ground and become part of the nighttime clean-up ritual. But, I still have hope regarding the spirit behind this year.

But, all in all, despite all of the worry and wonder, I’m rather looking forward to the future. You see, drama class can be very predictable. I tend to always have a handful of bright-eyed and bushy tailed hopefuls who legitimately look forward to specific instruction, the thrill of anticipation and a possible onstage leading role this time around. I tend to look forward to those students who have yet to find their talents, and throughout the course of the school year, watch them as they unfold into skilled performers. Then there are those that perhaps didn’t want Choir class, Art or Band. Those that find comfort in the fact that at least with Drama you don’t have to carry a saxophone or mess with clay. All of them are welcome and bring to the drama classroom a dynamic that always seems to surprise me.

I told my students once in the heat of conversation, that the second my job becomes boring to me, “I’m outta here!” I reflect on that often. My job isn’t boring, mind you…quite the opposite. I’ve yet to find a job that brings daily surprises like this one. (The other day I had a philosophical discussion with maintenance staff worker Mario, and I found a baby doll in my microwave with a sign that said “Goodbye Cruel World!” Ah…drama students.) But, all in all, I stand by my comment. Those that know me will tell you that I can tend to get a smidge enthusiastic when sparked, but this time I think my words rang true.

I think God has blessed each of us with a gift. Some of us have no idea what this is, but I will always encourage students to do what they love. Find something you’re good it, something that separates you and make you unique…something that brings you joy….and work hard on making that “what you do.” If you are working hard toward something you love, then you take pride in that work. There is nothing money can buy that brings you the true joy you find in the fulfillment of work you love to do. I recall the look on my parents’ faces when I said I wanted to be an actor. While they supported my efforts, I could tell that they had perhaps higher hopes. We cannot predict what is in store for each other, and I think journeys like “another year in high school” helps to reveal the plans God has for us. It wasn’t until I got a part time job directing a high school play that I realized what I wanted to do with my life. Never saw that coming.

I’m kinda watching PLANET EARTH with my wife while I write this. I love the show because I love animals…but I get sick to my stomach when I watch a mother elephant get lost in a sand storm, away from the pack. The narrator (and I suppose it doesn’t help that it’s Sigourney Weaver….I never like her, and I hated Ghostbusters II) informs us the certain outcome that will take place if she doesn’t find water, or safety in the pack soon. I wonder how many of our students are like that lone elephant: lost, only because there is sand in there eyes. My wife assures me that the follwoing segments will make me happy. (She’ Tivo’d the show.) The elephant quenches her thirst and finds her way back to the herd as rivers form from the rains months earlier and turn the parched Africa into a water world. (I suppose there were some good parts in Alien.)

I wonder if there is anyway I can find “water” from classes and experiences in the past that will ease the transition for some of those lost elephants. I’m sure I’ll meet the good, the bad…and the lost when I come up for air between “first day speeches.”  It’ll be an adventure, and I look forward to it. I wouldn’t go as far as saying “I caaaaaaaaannnnn’tttt wwwaaaaaaaiiiiiittttttt!” But I will say that there is a certain satisfaction of looking forward to something. God has big plans for us all this year and I look forward to those surprises…even if that something comes at 11:35….is pre-packaged…and tastes like cinnamon.

“My King and I”

Sitting through hours of “King & I” auditions, carefully watching every flinch and then transcribing my thoughts regarding their worth in a useful way so that the director can decipher my thoughts…is, quite frankly, exhausting. And this coming from a dude who would spend nearly every waking moment plotting, planning and executing live theatre.

One of the responsibilites as a board member for Signature Productions here in town is to support the effforts of the directors and staff during the audition process. Now I’m not the creative team for this one…but I did anticipate a little bit of paper shuffle in the process. I was shocked when they wanted me to sit in on auditions and evaluate with them. They didn’t have to ask me twice, and I took off my “helper” hat and popped my “director” cap on. (I put it on backwards….rally cap, I know, but I’m not directing, just offering my thoughts to the director. I thought it would be rude to actually wear my director’s cap in he usual fashion.)

Things went very well for the most part. Two of my students auditioned and I couldn’t be MORE PROUD of them if I tried. (I see them growing in front of my eyes…in height and talent.) In both of them I saw “something wonderful.”

Tonight was callbacks…which are always filled with jitters, anticipation, hopeful energy and excitement. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly actors turn into sharks when you dial up the pressure! Sheesh. But, overall they were an impressive group and I was glad to position the camcorder at them.

During my drive home, I was indeed “whistling a happy tune”…but I was also thinking about how stiff my neck was in relation to the audition process in general. How this one might differ from ones I might conduct…or in relation to Broadway turn-outs.

Those hopefuls, so full of excitement and nervous energy, standing in front of us…all they want is a chance. The glow of the spotlight is very cozy, and whatever life-altering ting brought them to the theatre that day to shed their outer skin and expose their raw talent to a table full of strangers, is enough to give anyone a stiff neck. I read somewhere that there is a constant 80% unemployment rate for working actors. Hm. Why do it, then? Why work so hard for a moment SO brief…all of which is at the mercy of the director’s subjective mind. Why do it? I can only think of one answer….because you love to perform. You love the CHANCE to find yourself in a position to challenge yourself to create something you didn’t think you could.

I’m working toward my next audition right now. It’s really hard to get up every day and force myself to do what it takes to prepare myself to the point that will boost me OVER the top and make myself a stand-out in the director’s eyes. But, I like the challenge…and I look forward to the audition. And I’ll kill it!

And if I don’t….that’ll give me something ELSE to look froward to. The evaluation…the re-group….the preparation….and the next audition…..where I’ll kill it!

What if you had to audition to be a Christian? Wouldn’t that make things interesting? I wouldn’t imagine God would want to be put in the same category as Simon Cowell…but suppose in order to deem yourself a Christian man or women, you had to “audition” in front of the one who was ultimately “in charge.” All of a sudden that would put a different spin on things, hmmm? People who would TRULY want to consider themselves a Christian would be doing homework, and stretching spiritual muscles that haven’t been used in a long time. Or, maybe they wouldn’t and say, “well…I’ll wait until the next audition. Besides, I don’t know what He’s looking for.”

I wonder what life would be like if Christians were as unbridled as an industry performer. Those performers who REALLY REALLY work hard to just get that opportunity to create. They’d have to prepare….strengthen themselves….study and work hard…and then when the pressure’s on and they were faced with adversity….spread the word of the Gospel. They may win they’re audience over….or maybe not. But, even then, that’ll give them something ELSE to look forward to. Apples and oranges? Maybe not.

Have you ever found yourself trying to make an impression on God? Trying to win him over with a good work, or feverish Bible study…or voluenteering at your church for everything under the sun? Have you found yourself patting yourself on the back? Are you sure that’s what God wants you to do?

I’d say 80% of being an actor is the preparation. What goes on before and after you step onstage. It’s hard work…thankless….and sometimes, unrewarding. But, you do it because you believe in the work, and you want to get better so that you can do more work. You want to create.

Shouldn’t that be the goal of our walks with Christ? Shouldn’t we strive to create clean hearts not only within ourselves…but in others as well?

As someone who wants to spread the word of God…I would hope nobody would perceive me as being “unemployed,” simply because I’m not sitting in a pew at church.

I suppose it’s wishful thinking to think that all the people I jotted down on my mental “who I would cast” list will make it into “The King and I.” But, who knows. I can say that some of them truly won me over! There was sparkle…there were golden moments….there was talent….”etcetra, etcetra, etcetra.” I’ll be honest, and say that I was living a little vicariously through them.

Acting is fun because if you use the talents God gave you to glorify him…always…then it’s a double whammy. You’re doing something you love…and you’re doing something He loves.

So, I’ll wait for that cast list to be posted to see if my prediction are true and I’ll continue to prepare for my next audition as well. And while I would never consider myself “unemployed” right now…I will say that I’m looking forward to the next audition…and I’m preparing and praying so that I may look good in the director’s eye….but mostly in my King’s eye.

Congrats to everyone who auditioned.

MAN’S WORST FRIEND

I’m telling you right now that this post is fueled by my passion for animals and the notion that all living things should be able to live healthy, loving lives. We live in a world where suffering occurs and I know this may ultimately seem like a pipe dream. Nonetheless, I feel strongly about this topic and ask that you listen to your own heart to come up with your own conclusions.

Michael Vick, former NFL quarterback is being considered for reinstatement into the NFL after being released from prison after serving a two-year sentence for running dog fighting rings. This makes me sick.

I’m a drama teacher at a school with a very successful, thriving sports program. I know (on a high school level) what it takes to build a successful, winning team…on and off the field. A player’s skill, training, approach, execution on the field and character off the field are just some of the considerations that a high school athletic director must manage when preparing a thriving young athlete for a potential college career on the field. It’s a long, complicated, drawn-out affair. One that I’m sure has no extenuating circumstances, like steroid use, recruiting, etc. (I say this with tongue firmly planted in cheek, although in my own school’s defense…I have never seen a sports program run with more integrity than Faith Lutheran’s.) You can open any newspaper in any city and find a story about teenage drug use…poor choices…unsportsmanlike conduct coming from both players and coaches.

With that said…imagine now the NFL. This isn’t community college…we’re not talking university level football, this is the big league. The very top. The very pinnacle of all things sports. Now…can you imagine the strings pulled and all of the gray areas that put together a professional sports program? The agents, the coaches, the publicists, etc. Everybody getting their two cents worth even before the player even gets a chance to open their mouth. It’s an amazing web of publicity, propaganda and poo-poo.

Michael Vick says he is a changed man. He says that two-years behind bars has given him a lot of time to think. He has gone as far as partnering-up with the Humane Society. Heh. That’s laughable. I cannot think of a more obvious publicity stunt if I tried. (Couldn’t find a picture of Vick birthing calves or nursing a baby goat on his own teet?) Even the president and CEO of the Humane Society Wayne Pacelle said that after sitting down with Vick and his representatives (because we all know that football players can’t so much as shake it after going pissy without a posse) he is no sure of his intentions with this partnership.

NOT SURE? It’s freakin’ crystal. It’s all about the benjamins my friends. It’s seldom ever about the game anymore. It’s about endorsements, TV spots, salaries and franchising. EVEN IF Vick desperately wanted to play ball again…and that was the root of his intentions….should he? Let’s look at it from a strict FOOTBALL perspective. This is a man that not only participated in dog fighting….he trained, raised, and RAN a dog fighting ring. That means he was the head of MANY dog fighting rings.

Let me try to accurately describe what dog fighting is to those that may be unclear on the topic. Thanks to the North Carolina Animal Resource and Educational Service for their very accurate description.

Dog fighting is a sadistic “contest” in which two dogs—specifically bred, conditioned, and trained to fight—are placed in a pit (generally a small arena enclosed by make-shift, plywood walls) to fight each other, for the spectators’ gambling and entertainment. Fights average nearly over an hour in length and often last more than two hours. Dogfights end when one of the dogs is no longer able to continue. The injuries inflicted and sustained by dogs participating in dogfights are frequently severe, even fatal. The pit bull terriers used in the majority of these fights have been specifically bred and trained for fighting and are unrelenting in their attempts to overcome their opponents. With their extremely powerful jaws, they are able to inflict severe bruising, deep puncture wounds, and broken bones. Dogs used in these events often die of blood loss, shock, dehydration, exhaustion, or infection hours or even days after the fight.

Now, before I tell you why Michael Vick should never step on a football field again, let me touch on a few points first.

This is my dog, Penelope.

She’s a loving, gentle, silly dog who I’ve had for 7 years. I love this dog very much and can’t imagine NOT coming home everyday to this gray muzzle and raspy bark. She’s a member of my family.

This Johnny, my wife’s dog.

We got Johnny from the shelter as a scrappy little stray. He has grown, and matured into the smartest dog I’ve every seen. He obeys commands, and is one of my wife’s best friends.

I want you to picture these two friendly fuzzy faces in an enclosed ring with a vicious, growling pit bull, bred specifically to attack anything that opposes it. These small dogs, that are often picked up off the street and out of people’s own front yards or picked up from “Free to a Good Home” ads, are carelessly used to train these monster dogs prior to a major fight. They are even called “Bait Dogs.” I’m not a blubbering wussy…but I get teary thinking about some inhumane, heartless, automaton selfishly pouncing on these type of dogs and then throwing their life away without thinking.

And let’s not forget that these fighting pit bulls are sacrificed as well. When one pit bull loses, then they pull another one from their training “camps” and build that one up to be the next monster.

There is absolutely NO REGARD to the well-being of the dogs, whatsoever.

Now let’s talk about the EVENT itself. Usually it is for gambling purposes. Ask anyone who has visit Las Vegas. Most of the people who enter the casinos wind up walking away from the casinos a little bit lighter in the wallet. So, it would be safe to assume that Vick was looking to make a little cash on this dogfighting ring.

One may argue that it was merely for entertainment purposes and compares this type of activity to UFC fighting. Let me just make one thing VERY VERY clear. In the UFC, human beings, with rational thoughts, willingly step into a ring to fight. Dogs are coaxed, trained, bred, and out-right forced to fight against their will. If a dog is raised to fight…bred to fight….trained to fight…and then sacrificed! I’m sorry…but if you compare that to anything remotely human…that’s the stuff horror films are made of.

Did you know that that a study showed that over 72% of known male serial killers had a history of killing or torturing innocent animals prior to turning to human beings?

Another thing is fascinating to me. Over 80% of all known dog-fighting ring criminals have children present in the home or in the actual dog-fighting “arena” at the time of arrest. Vick has three young children. While they weren’t on hand when he was taken into custody, you have to wonder if they were EVER around when the dog-fighting took place. The life of a football star is a busy one. One-on-one daddy time is limited.

Okay….with that said….Michael Vick was found guilty to running dog fighting rings. Guilty. He served his time, has publicly apologized and is willing to participate in public service including working with the Humane Society. ALL THINGS I think are fantastic steps on the road to recovery. BUT….there is a huge power struggle here. Dog fighting could be compared to rape, or murder in the sense that it is a submission thing. It’s a dominance thing. That is something that needs to be nurtured and watched carefully forever…not just 2 years.

If the NFL reinstates Vick, they are supporting his love for money….his drive to feed his obsession…they are taking him away from his children (which he has already neglected for two years and however how long before that)…and they are opening a flood gate welcoming all “reformed” criminals.

He says he’s served his time and is now “reformed.” The word “reformed” means nothing. That’s like saying you’re a Christian because you go to church. You can stand in a garage as well…that doesn’t make you a Chevy. He will forever have to work with this drive for money, power, and dominance. He will find little to not time for that earning $20 million on the football field and clubbing it up with groupies after each game.

I’m sorry, I can’t speak for Vick’s after-game activities….oh, wait! I can! They were proven to be CRIMINAL.

NFL…do the right thing. I’m not a member of PETA. And I won’t be dousing anyone with cow’s blood in protest or anything. I’m just an avid animal lover with a strong drive to try to do God’s will everyday. I try. I sin like everyone else…and I do wrong too. But I do believe that there needs to be consequence for all wrong doings.

I will be sick to my stomach if the NFL allows this man to play again. And mark my words, if they do, Vick will offer a statement THROUGH an agent, or publicist. He never has anything to say himself. Does anyone else have a problem with this?

Now, anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m not a huge football fan. But I’m a HUGE fan of doing what’s right.

I plead with you NFL commissioner….to NOT grant Vick’s request to play in the NFL again. Have we sacrificed our dignity for the sake of ONE quarterback…or are we chucking all morality aside like a “BAIT DOG?” Let another player that is training to be as good as Michale Vick was take his place.

I will say, let Vick be a part of the NFL, by all means…maybe let him commentate! Give him a forum to clear his name and prove his changed life…that would be cool. Vick wants in at any cost and if you hand him the ball and say welcome, you are slapping the justice system in the face and showing all un-found criminals that currently participate in the NFL that sure, it’s a doggy-dog world…but we disregard leash laws.

Do not let this fighting dog back into the ring.

**NOTE: I had a link to an online petition to the NFL comissioner asking him to consider not allowing VICK to play in the NFL. That petition has since been sent and is no longer available. I would ask all readers who were interested in signing that petition to instead pray about it, and spread awareness to help avoid animal cruelty. Word of mouth and support is the best form of awareness.

If you feel so moved, you can help with a monetary donation to the American Center for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Visit their website at: www.myaspca.org or you can call 1-888-612-8889.

One-Upped!

My wife and I celebrated my birthday Saturday. I got my Grandma’s card in the mail today…and there’s just something about an envelope-sealing kitten sticker that brings a smile to your face.

I can’t say I eagerly anticipate birthdays. I’m not much of a cake guy, really. I’ve always been a pie man…cherry or pecan. You can’t beat a sliver of pumpkin with a cuppa Joe either. But, this year wasn’t any big hoopla. My beloved surprised me with gifts (even though I told her not to) and we went out and feasted upon crab and over-steamed potatoes and enjoyed some music from my friend’s band RAVEN HILL. (They rocked.)

But as far as birthdays go, in general…I’ve never been a very sentimental guy. I suppose the tradition of a formal get-together including the gift unwrapping ceremony was never really my bag. I don’t like death…I like my life…and birthdays always “instill the fear of the shroud in me.” (To quote Jack Nicholson.)

I wonder if sometimes we do things backwards. I mean, if you think about it…nobody gets gifts at funerals. People send flowers…that in return wilt and die within three days. What a thoughtful reminder. At funeral receptions, people usually bring three-bean salads wrapped in their see-through condolences or a card with some perfunctory message about “a new life” or something. I suppose that’s nice in the big picture, but wouldn’t a funeral be the perfect time for an iTunes gift card or new clothing or a dinner out for a grieving parent, spouse or loved one? Perhaps I’m dwelling on the fact that I’ve always found the functionality of a birthday party a bit contrived, and funerals are too solemn. A celebration of life should be had at a funeral, and a birthday should be more of a toll-booth on the highway to heaven. A brief stop to take a look at yourself for a moment. It shouldn’t have to be a formal affair. I certainly wouldn’t feature three-bean salad. Not if it were the last food on earth.

I went and saw the Pixar movie “UP” the other day with a friend and have to say that it was the best movie I’ve seen in a while. (Which isn’t saying much since I’ve embraced my nonexistent movie-going social life.) But, still, Pixar tends to crank out highly enjoyable, crazy expensive flicks that are very, very marketable. Surprisingly, this one wasn’t necessarily like that. It was highly enjoyable with phenomenal animation…but it wasn’t a one-trick pony. There were no farting ogres or forlorn cowboy dolls, it was a simple story about a simple man. I can’t see them pushing old man dolls at Epcot after this one. Granted, like all good stories, it waved it’s magic wand to bring out the fantasty…but throughout the mayhem, the simple duel relationship between an old man and his love, and the old man and his goal to have an adventure…was perfect. I was hooked.  It was character-based rather than concept-based. I found myself engrossed in the old man’s adventure and I HIGHLY recommend the film to young and old.

I sometimes scratch my head and get angry at the wispy-ness of my once thick head of hair. I grow concerned with how tired I get after midnight. I can’t sleep in anymore. My internal clock buzzes around 9am. I luckily don’t have any gray hair yet…and the one I saw in my patchy goatee I plucked and burned with a match. (I think I heard a tiny scream.)  I’m taking a multi-vitamin now…which is recommended by my multi-opinioned doctor, and is nothing more than a white flag in my eyes. *Sigh* Yup…let’s face it kids, the big boy needs his power nap.

I didn’t take my thirtieth birthday hard. I was cool with it actually. I looked at it as a milestone. I was a force to be recognized with and I could properly use the term whipper-snapper without feeling out of my league at that point. But this year’s birthday…(and I’m not telling you how many I’ve had since, to my students, I’m eternally 28 years old.)…was different. It was solitary…and unnerving. Kinda like passing gas in church. Everyone around you knows it’s there. Nobody really acknowledges it…but afterward on the car ride home, everyone talks about it.

But, why should I be so concerned? Huh? I mean, who knows what’s in store for me tomorrow. My friend Chris has a saying that she spouts usually when she’s stressed:  “Maybe Jesus will come tomorrow and we won’t have to worry about a thing.” Who knows! Right? My brain could explode. A bulldozer could fall on me. I could get electrocuted by my $50, buzzing toothbrush. The neighbor’s dog could eat my neck. I could turn to stone! Anything can happen…and it won’t matter if it’s my birthday or not. It would be my time to go, and I will never see it coming.

I guess my unpleasant thoughts come from a “what if” perspective. I think about my life now and how blessed I am, and all the things I have done. Then I immediately think about all the things I’d like to do shortly after…and I sometimes feel that time is running out! But, perhaps that is a wildly “glass is half-empty” way of thinking. What is our life’s big adventure anyway?

With all the goals in the world (and I’m just thinking about mine…imagine the complex web of oft-dismissed goals of the world’s population) what will it all mean in the end? You can’t take anything with you…so why worry about it so much now.

So, why throw birthday parties? Are we saying “yea! No bulldozers fell on you this year!” Or is it truly a celebration of the day you were born? I think it should be a celebration of what you’ve done with your life. Good, bad, ugly….where ever you are, and whatever situation you are in…that one day a year you can say “dude…but look at all that you’ve done!”  And if you’re sittin’ in jail, or in the basement playing guitar hero with your only friend Buddy the hampster…then it’s a chance to say…”look at what I’ve done, and look at what I could do.”

Who care about the Costco cake with pasty frosting. Forget the rolls of streamers and the butterfly pinatas. (Is my family the only ones that do that?) Forget the gifts. They should really go to your mom anyway. After all she has to live with those purple veins in her legs.

But just like the old man in the “UP” movie, our big adventures is the every day. Everyday the Lord puts new things in our path so that we may endure and live and learn.Who knows what tomorrow brings. Crab legs? Rockin’ the night away to the tunes of a friend’s band? Three-bean salad? Who knows.

My birthday this year was a reminder that things are looking up.

I WANNA BE A “PRODUCE”-ER

It got to a blistering 108 degrees today in Las Vegas and I thought my beaded, metal necklace was going to burn a rope mark onto my chest as I walked through the parking lot.

I was at the grocery store getting the weekly goods and found myself spending a lot of time in the freezer section! Upon lugging our frozen waffles and crusty French bread home in doggy-walk bags, my wife and I decided to clean out the freezer. That’s when Emily found it! Not Jimmy Hoffa’s body… (I still truly believe the corpse can be found in the bottom drawer of my teacher’s desk at school)…but, rather,  a bag of frozen broccoli from 2006. We didn’t even live in this house in 2006…how did that happen!? It’s 2009. That’s three year old broccoli. (They say it loses it’s nutrients when you boil it. Hmm.)

Got me thinking: What ALL do we forget about? Mind you, I’m not digging for vast philosophy here…I’m merely suggesting that in our daily clouds that are muddied with Americano chugs, “sup” nods and dress shirt pressing, we have a lot tucked in our proverbial freezers that we forget about. It sits there…frozen. It was at one point in time something significant, or useful. Something that we planned for…desired….obtained or toiled over…and then forget. Tossed aside, cozy against the Otter Pops and Pizza Rolls.

EXAMPLE: How many birthday’s did you forget this year? (And the term “forget,” in this setting, refers to something that you didn’t plan for or look forward to. Not necessarily forgot completely.) I can’t remember how many times I’d be watching TV and see a Father’s Day commercial or something, and find myself going “hmm…Father’s Day must be coming up.” And it was Father’s Day. Or, I recall my mother saying to me, “your cousin’s husband just lost his grandmother. They we’re very close. A phone call would be nice.”  I forgot. I never called.

Yeah, that broccoli could easily be something that you purposely avoid…because it’s something you have to deal with and can’t be bother by the insignificance of it all. After all, who wants to eat broccoli anyway, right?

It might be the weekly war between the church pew and the snooze button. It might be the backyard lawn and the hedges that you can’t manage to find time to trim. It could be the “thank you” letter that you forgot to write….or PLANNED to write, but found that re-run of Scrubs more enthralling and the chaise much more comfortable.

That bag of 2006, frost-bitten broccoli could be anything.

I saw a dude pull into the supermarket as I was pulling out. He had a Great Dane in the back seat. I thought to myself  “he’d better not leave him in the car and run in.” Of course he didn’t…because if I didn’t think that, I would sleep at night. But, there ARE morons who do that sort of thing. For those morons…for some reason, at that moment…that broccoli is not as important as whatever he needs to do in the supermarket. People who leave pets in cars are immediately  inconvenienced and are too lazy to deal with it.

That broccoli could be one-more beer past the time you promised to be home. That broccoli could be the prayer forgotten about as you lie half-asleep, actually thinking about how you didn’t pray. That broccoli could be forgetting to say “thank you.”

Forgetfulness in general, is not a happy thing. I visited my two grandmothers last week in Michigan (and it was GREAT to see them both!) and one of them celebrated her 90th birthday. As we visited, I struggled in my communications with her using a college-ruled notebook and an over-exaggerated mouthing technique I call “BALLTALK.” (I usually talk that way anyway.) She’s forgetting a lot. It’s hard to watch someone you love struggle to find a single word so that they can complete their thought. It was a work-out for her.  She had so much to say…and with us living in Las Vegas, expressing herself otherwise is close to impossible. The visit was like watching her struggle to play that Clock Game on the Price is Right. She had to get all she wanted to say out, before time was up and we had to leave. Broke my heart.

The struggle with that sort of “forgetting” is something I can appreciate and lovingly forgive from a third party perspective. But, the “thoughtless” forgetting (for lack of better words) is something we should all strive to work on. It is closely related to a catch phrase that I find myself less willing to accommodate as I get older. It’s called “WHATEVER.”

I have a guilty pleasure. It’s called Judge Judy. I don’t know how to explain it. I certainly do not apologize for my TiVo-ing every episode. I don’t apologize for laughing at the litigants. I even like Burd the Bailiff.  I find great entertainment in watching Judith Sheindlind set traps for the defendants…and then watch them walk right into them. Boo-ya! It’s like a modern day, 12-minute Miss Marple. I try to figure it out before she reveals it. I don’t know….it’s a guilty pleasure.

I find myself in CONSTANT awe at how people get SO wrapped up in their own selfish lives. Granted, I’m no saint! I put off work today for a nap. I find loopholes and “easy way outs” all the time, just like the next guy. But, I can’t explain the number of times litigants simply don’t have answers to simple questions like “why did you do that?” or “when were you going to pay her back?” They truly don’t know…and don’t care. Strike that. They DO know…but hoped that “it” would expire, and then years down the road when someone noticed “it” they were hoping they would simply throw “it” away.  (Did you follow me there?)

I laugh and enjoy the show…and then go back to my own finger-pointing, sinful life doing the exact same thing in differing degrees.

Let’s call it “selective forgetfulness” or rather the need to find daily obligations conveniently forgotten. It’s not the right thing. It’s how dog’s get left in cars…teenage students get pregnant…and broccoli get left in the freezer. We know…we just don’t care ENOUGH to act.

What a sad existence. Hm. Makes me wonder what it would TAKE to light that fire under my butt TO care? I mean, I bought that broccoli in 2006…planned on eating it in 2006…and I imagine I saw it in there from time to time. It HAD to be moved from one house to another when we moved 3 years ago. Yet…I didn’t care enough to strap on my hounds tooth hat and portray “Sherlock Holmes and the case of the Expired Broccoli.”  It remained…comfortable…cozy….forgotten about in the recesses of my temperamental freezer. (Maybe the ice cubes are sending me hidden messages when I ask for cubes and get crushed.)

So, what’s the solution? Should we take a vow of of fresh produce? I don’t think it’s necessary. We’re human and change our minds often. Working out the details in life is something I think God would want us to do, right?

Onstage it’s our job as actors to find moments to make the structure of the story we’re offering live, and thrive…and extend to the receptive audience. The role is one thing…the relationship is another…but it’s the choices we make as performers that binds it all together, breathes new life into it, and propels it forward. If we start character analysis at the beginning of the process with a bag of broccoli…we can do whatever we want to with it…except forget about it. That would be like denouncing the stir fry in which it was originally intended!

I don’t think it’s a crime to change your mind. I think we live in a fast-paced world. It’s okay to feel bad that we can’t communicate effectively with our grandmas like we used to. It’s okay to struggle with a part onstage. It’s okay to find it “hard” to read the Bible, go to church and find time to talk with God. It’s okay.

Again, I’m not digging for vast philosophy here. I just think that we have a natural tendency to find it all too convenient to forget to clean out the freezer from time to time. We shouldn’t assume that nothing actually “goes bad” when it’s frozen.

TOP 20 MOST PATHETIC SIDEKICKS OF ALL TIME

When you’re backed into a corner in some hyper-exaggerated, super enhanced tale of super powers versus super evil…who will certainly swoop down and rescue you at the last second and save the day? That’s right! The faithful neighborhood sidekick. After all, the superhero has better things to do, right?

I never understood the reasoning behind a sidekick. (From the sidekick’s point of view anyway.) I mean…if you were a super hero who is obviously doing well and highly respected, why on earth would you settle for babysitting a second-hand, second-class super hero as a tag-along? You’d spend your precious time narrating city-saving plans in great detail when you could be freeing people from burning buildings. You answer questions that don’t need to be answered. There are two sets of tights to wash now!

Rarely do I think of super-side-kicks without getting rather annoyed about the whole affair. I mean…what’s SUPER about any of them. They’re nothing more that plot devices to further story lines, or joke setter-uppers.

With that said…I pay tribute to the most PATHETIC sidekicks of all time by presenting the TOP 20. Mind you this is my personal opinion…and yes, my list expanded beyond just these 20…so for all of you who are surfing the Internet for a good Mr. Green Jeans ribbing, move along. He’s number 21.

20. CHEWBACCA (Han Solo’s sidekick)

I am totally planning on waking up tomorrow morning to a small army of Star Wars ninjas at my front door ready to slice me in two with their plastic light sabers and over-sized social calenders for even suggesting Chewbacca is pathetic. But, face it…the dude is not very bright. He’s easily distracted, loud and obnoxious…and does anyone really buy the fact that his weapon of choice is a crossbow? (“He’s the hairiest Star Wars character yet. Let’s give him a weapon that would require the exposed firing mechanism to be completely unobstructed. Brilliant!”) On top of that, we never know what he’s saying! Sure, Jabba gets subtitles…but not the overgrown Chinchilla with a crossbow.  I think the REAL purpose of Chewbacca is to give Han Solo more sway, you know. He’s cool anyway…but with a giant bodyguard behind him who is fiercely loyal….shoot, I won’t mess with the guy. Would you?

19. ETHEL (Lucy Ricardo’s Sidekick)

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing more enjoyable than a blast from the past as we watch Lucy and Ethel cram chocolates into their mouths, or gawk over William Holden…Ethel earns a spot on my elite listing not because she can’t set up a joke for the lead, or because she isn’t remotely sympathetic. More so, I’m mad at her for marrying a man that is clearly her grandfather. Fred Mertz is the walking dead and Ethel is his crypt keeper. The whole situation isn’t the least bit funny. A funny old man is at least “use-able”…then we’re laughing at the situation because it’s just plain dirty. But, what the heck!? The whole thing is played off as totally convincing, and it is SOOOO not. As a result the whole situation just fails, big time. I wind up not liking Ethel because of it.  I’m a theatre dude, and I’m cool with the whole suspended reality thing…but, come on. Ethel will always remain an unfortunate CRYPT KEEPER!

18. ROBIN (Batman’s Sidekick)

Now, let me preface this one. I actually like ROBIN as a sidekick in a sense, but ONLY from a Batman television series perspective, for two reasons. One, my wife and I adopted our Great Pyrenees from a rescue shelter in California that is owned by Burt Ward and his wife. (GREAT people, by the way who I wouldn’t say a bad word about.) Secondly, in the realm of hokey television superheros, I think Robin has a place. Without a “Holy Hairspray, Batman” before the ensuing, captioned fist-fight, I think I would feel empty inside. It’s just hokey-pokey silliness, and silly = good in my book when done right. Now, Robin in the freakin’ George Clooney/Uma Thurman Batman remake disaster, that’s just plain dumb, dumb, dumb. (That goes for Silverstone’s pudgy Batgirl…and ANY sidekick that has “boy” or “girl” attached to their moniker.) So, for the record…cheers to Burt Ward’s Robin. Keep on soarin’! To all the other Robin’s out there…I give you the bird.

17. IGOR (Dr. Frankenstein’s Sidekick)

Granted, Marty Feldman can do just about anything and make me laugh, but we’re not talking about the “Eye-Gore” from the Mel Brooks film. Rather, Igor in general. It’s just a lumpy, dumpy, ho-hum character. The subservient, “jump when I say jump” type of character gets old quick, and soon you find yourself wishing he’d just pick up a snow shovel and clobber Dr. Frankenstein…or the monster…or a Bunsen burner….or something! Do something, you humped simpleton!

16. SMEE (Capt. Hook’s Sidekick)

Again, props to my friend Paul who played Smee opposite of my Hook. This has nothing to do with you Paul…merely the Smee from versions of the story onscreen. I have a hard time liking Smee, which I think is one of the author’s immediate goals. Smee seems to always be portrayed as a dolt. You know…a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Bob Hoskin’s Smee in “Hook” was the only thing remotely close to an onscreen interpretation I thought was what Smee should have been: a proud man in a coward’s clothing. That’s a struggle. That’s a sub-plot. That’s fun. A dolt is nothing more than a dolt…and that never does anything for me except leave me wondering if that stupid crocodile would like an after-dinner SMINT.

15. PATRICK (Spongebob’s Sidekick)

I want to be very clear: I do not apologize for this one. Patrick is quite possibly the most annoying character I’ve ever watched. He’s like a perfect combination of the most hyperactive ADHD 7-year old you can find…and…just about any methamphetamine.  This comment will hurt some people, I know. But if you truly are a die-hard Patrick fan, then you are used to the controversy that surrounds Spongebob in general. The whole show is about as controversial as pre-death Michael Jackson. (Too soon?) This, plus,  he looks kinda like a “naughty part” to me. That’s just wrong.

14. WOODSTOCK (Snoopy’s Sidekick)

Snoopy is so freakin’ cool. I love him. Why in the WORLD would he need a complaining, fuzzy sidekick who does nothing but spew forth indecipherable jibber-jabber? Plus, he looks half-drawn half the time. I don’t have anything personal against Woodstock (which begs the question of “Was someone high at the time the bird was drawn?”) it’s just he’s not needed. Trim the fat!

13. SMITHERS (Mr. Burns’ Sidekick)

I love the Simpsons, even if Family Guys continues to fuel the “silly” section of my brain with up-to-date media references and a constant flow of Broadway references,  Simpsons is still kinda cool. And to piggy-back that statement, Smithers is kinda cool. But, he’s totally pathetic. This lightweight, light in the loafers personal assistant to Mr. Burns is always shedding light on Burns’ crusty, unfocused attacks. He’s picked on, unappreciated, and unsympathetic because he never does anything about it. Who likes a masochist sidekick?

12. MINI ME (Dr. Evil’s Sidekick)

Okay…before I say that little people are funny (and I refuse to enter the “why the word midget is okay to say” debate)…let me just say that in the performance industry you have to understand your limitations in order to effectively market yourself. Little people have it easy in the sense that the demand is usually a short list. Ahhh…excuse me. What I mean to say is, little people are in demand and take advantage of these acting gigs to heighten their exposure…ah….sorry. Little people are funny!!!! They’re smaller than normal. They’re travel size!

Joking aside, you have to appreciate someone who can laugh at themselves which is exactly what actors do when they accept roles like “Mini Me.” But, beyond the subject of Little People actors (and the fact that those Mini Buffalo Ranch Chicken Burger at Jack in the Box look good without or without the Little People dancing around them)…Mini Me in general is yet another example of an under appreciated sidekick. Ask anybody why they like Mini Me. You usually get an intelligent response like, “he’s funny” or “cuz he’s smaller…and he’s funny.” It’s just a comedic bit that lasted beyond the normal length of a traditional bit which is one of Mike Myers’ trademarks: overextending himself. (Or, rather “under-extending” himself??)

11. TINKERBELL (Peter Pan’s Sidekick)

I’m assuming we’ve all been to the land of merriment and high marketing called Disneyland. My last trip I had a single goal: bring my wife back something with the Cheshire Cat on it. (Her favorite.) For the love of all that is holy…I couldn’t find anything more than a freakin’ key chain featuring the pink and pesky puss. The stores were infiltrated by floods of Tinkerbells! It was borderline ridiculous. I get it. Little girls wanna be a princess or a fairy. Fine. But, c’mon!!! Do we really need Tinkerbell toilet paper and Tinkerbell elbow pads?? (Both can be gift wrapped.) And what helps me round out the bottom portion of my top 20 list with this green fairy is the simple fact that she’s not very nice. Don’t let that smile fool you. Why Peter chose her as a companion is beyond me. I suppose everyone likes to be fawned over. (But, c’mon. How much fawning can one gal do at two inches tall?) She’s the epitome of that jealous girlfriend you had in high school that told all her friends to be mad and ignore you because you took of breath of the same air Betsy Jones did in math class. She’s mean! She’s the perfect commentary of how WRONG today young ladies are being raised. “Here you go girls….here’s a role model you can be proud of! Now get that tiara on! We’re gonna be late for our Sunny Apple Beauty Pageant. We’ll kill those hussies!”

10. PINKY (The Brain’s Sidekick)

There’s a lot to be said for the Anamaniacs series. I thought it was incredibly funny stuff, and they always hugged that line of trying to keep things educational, which I liked. Then there was the secondary storyline of “Pinky and the Brain.” What’s to be said about a Dr. Evil-like rodent and the dim-witted…borderline mentally incapacitated…sidekick. They were certainly funny…but the storyline got really old after the first second. We knew Pinky would mess things up. We knew the Brain would get angry and eventually caught because of Pinky’s shenanigans. We knew it. Plus, his name is first, which makes us think the Brain is the sidekick. So, for me…it was a predictable, abrasive, shove-the-joke-down-your-throat, attempts at bringing together a legit comic team. Leave the honeymooner bits to Ralph and Norton.

#9 VANNA WHITE (Pat Sajak’s Sidekick)

I love Vanna White. That doesn’t mean she’s not a pathetic sidekick. I recall watching a taped interview with Merv Griffin about how Vanna was hired. The good-ol’ boy proceeded to recount how he told his secretary to pick 12 random head shots out of hundreds and lay them on his desk. He walked in a pointed to one and said “that one.” From there, Vanna has lived countless years on television as a household sex symbol. She apparently never ages. She’s constantly in demand. She’s bloody rich and famous and has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. All she does is walk back and forth and flip letters. (Actually, now all she does is touch the screen and they pop up.) And all this opportunity, recognition, fame and celebrity was brought upon by one old fart’s libido. Gotta love the performance industry. Pathetic, isn’t it.

#8 TATTOO (Mr. Roarke’s Sidekick)

I’ll tell ya…as cheesy as Fantasy Island was, I still found value it the show. But the reason Tattoo is on my list…an rather high on the list…is because I always thought should I ever die after a terrible nightmare, it will be because someone like Herve Villechaize was standing over me with an axe waiting for me to abruptly wake from my shaky slumber. It’ll be like a dream about me being chased by an army of rabid bagels through some Jewish deli. In my frantic attempts to escape I’ll run into Sammy Davis Jr. He’ll be like “Who’s chasing you, baby? The Sesame? The Poppy Seed?” And I’d be like “I DON’T KNOW!!!!” Then I’d wake up! Tattoo, axe in hand, would say “It’s Da Plain! Da Plain!” And then he’d kill me.

#7 MARCIE (Peppermint Patty’s Sidekick)

It seems that every time Marcie and Peppermint Patty come up in conversation the subject of lesbianism is always suggested. I will not exercise lesbian jokes. Marcie was secretly in love with Charlie Brown and every true Peanuts fan will know that. Just because we never saw Peppermint Patty in anything but husky sandals doesn’t mean a thing. I live in the desert, I see that sort of thing all the time. They can’t ALL be lesbians! And it’s not that I’m not fans of sandals or anything. (Heck, I own a pair, doesn’t make me a lesbian….wait a minute….actually, I suppose I am a lesbian. *pondering* Hmmmm.  How the heck did I get on this topic!!) Anyway…back to Marcie. She’s the quintessential “follower.” She hangs on Patty’s every word and can’t wait to one-up her in intelligence. She’s the brains behind the brawn you might say, and everyone knows that the brains rarely get the recognition they deserve.

6. AL BORLAND (Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor’s Sidekick)

What a pathetic sidekick. Behind every funny man is a sidekick who sits frozen with a disapproving smirk on their mug. I used to hate the never ending banter between Al and Tim about the stupidest things. (I can’t believe I watched that show as often as I did. Those are hours I’ll never have again!! Darn you Jonathan Taylor Thomas and your stupid popularity!!) It was just a bad show that flourished in the post Cosby era that should have been cancelled as quickly as Tim Allen used to juggle dime bags. At Least Richard Karn (who played the role) landed a sweet deal with Family Feud after the show ended. “Survey Says? ERRRRRRRRRR!”

#5 TWIGGY (Buck Roger’s Sidekick)

Yeah…I can’t stand this character. “Be-de-be-de-be-de-be-de.” This character found himself on my list strictly because of the voice over. It’s like the Darth Vader thing all over again. Except this time the actor looks like he can’t even move in that suit. Seriously, doesn’t TWIGGY look like he’s gonna fall over half the time!? Just a terrible idea. Yet…people liked him. I don’t get it. It’s like Klingons, I suppose.  Armies of people memorize the the Klingon dictionary and find great joy travelling in packs and ordering Big Mac by saying “AGGGKKKPP. GUNNNG, POOOOG YAAAGGG!!!” Just…..WHY???

#4 PAUL SHAFFER (David Letterman’s Sidekick)

I would be remiss to leave Paul Shaffer off of my top ten list.  His less-than-sharp, more-than-cheesy segue music for late night guests is just…well…lackluster. His contrived laughter after every twinkle of Letterman’s eye drives me nuts and what’s with the giant, stupid ear plugs? Does he has swimmer’s ear? Does he take on water? Simply put, in a cage fight featuring  Ed McMahon and Paul Shaffer…McMahon would be the world champ (and I’m NOT just saying that because he’s dead) and Shaffer would be a bald pile of goo underneath the turnbuckle. A bald pile of goo with gigantic ear plugs. (If the guy is going deaf, I’m going to feel really bad now.)

#3 BOO BOO (Yogi Bear’s Sidekick)

Boo Boo opened the door for any undiagnosed couch potato suffering from depression. He’s the biggest ho-hum on television. Droopy Dog was ho-hum, but at least he was blue and had his OWN cartoon. But, Boo Boo, he’s just a downer. I feel depressed after watching a cartoon with him in it. He’s like,  “It’s okay to sponge off of your friends’ picnic baskets.  It’s okay to say that you’re worried, or sad, or gloomy. And furthermore, it’s okay to lumber around with a frown on your face and droopy eyes.”  Boo Boo is a sad little bear. (And I think he’s a “cutter.”) I feel sorry for him. Now that he’s old and gray, I hope he’s found some happiness in his life. But, truth be told, Boo Boo is quite pathetic and was Hannah Barbara’s biggest boo-boo.

2. ORKO (He-Man’s sidekick.)

Yes, yes…I know, Orko wasn’t officially He-Man’s sidekick. And C-3PO wasn’t Luke Skywalker’s. Whatever. He was “pretty much” his sidekick…so I’m going to count it. And NO, Kringer should not have made my list because as Battle Cat…he’s a freakin’ pimp. Orko is just annoying. He’s like that little nephew that won’t leave you alone at family functions. You know the type. You just can’t wait till he follows you into the backyard for a slice of watermelon so that you can trip him in the doorway. That’s Orko…I just WANT him to get comeuppance. Anytime he gets electrocuted or made fun of…or when one of his tricks doesn’t work…I’m like “yeah! Take that stupid hovering…thing.” ORKO…what a dork-o.

1.) SCRAPPY-DOO (Scooby-Doo’s Sidekick)

Words cannot express my utter hatred for this character. Scooby-Doo has never been, in my book, a television masterpiece. Yet, I watched and enjoyed. I think I was just totally hot for Daphne…but that’s besides the point. The whole show was a hot mess from day one, and it came to a screeching halt when Scrappy hit the scene. What an annoying little bugger. (Kinda like that chicken hawk twirp that bugged Foghorn Leghorn.) You just wanna smack ‘em. Scrappy remains the top of not only my Pathetic Sidekicks list, but also my “Most Annoying Television Characters list” and my “People I would Beat to Death with a Garden Weasel” list. Scrappy…”puppy power” your over-sized head off…these Scooby snacks are all mine!

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Well, that’s all folks…..there’s my list.

Sure you may think to yourself, “how dare he leave Barney Rubble off.” His laugh makes me laugh. “How dare he leave Fozzie Bear off.” I actually like his sad attempts at jokes. “How dare he leave Ernie off.” I consider Bert and Ernie one puppet. “How dare he leave Sancho Panza off.” Too literal.

I’d love to hear about your LEAST FAVORITE SIDEKICK. Perhaps there are a few out there I haven’t thought about.

BABIES: Lovely Lady Lumps. Check it out.

Jane and Rachael on our last outing.

I think it was right around the Lansing border, as we pulled out of the Old Navy parking lot when my niece began her rendition of “My Humps.” She’s three, and I don’t recall ever finding that particular song any cuter. It’s not even a cute song really. It’s got a good beat and you can dance to it…but put any lyric in the mouth of an innocent twerp…and you have what in the theatre we call “a moment.”

I love children. Contrary to what my students, or friends might believe, I truly, truly do. I always joke with my friends that the reason Emily and I don’t have kids is because we simply don’t have the space for another kennel. Or that the day the dishes and laundry get to a breaking point, then we’ll just hire some help, or have a child. I joke of course. Kinda.

I think there’s an old proverb that says “The soul is healed by being with children” and I’m reminded of the simple joys of being around small children every time I visit my sister and brother-in-law and have the pleasure of chillin’ with my peeps, Jane and Rachael.

Emily and I don’t want children right now for several reasons, all of which are none of any body’s business. I will attest that raising a child and giving them positive support, care and nurturing is the most important thing in the world, and (with the consideration that both of us come from broken families) we are very happy with our current schedules and routines and wish to expand on these personal endeavors prior to adding another living, breathing person to the mix. We both recognize the immense sacrifice having children brings and we’re not willing to go there yet. For the record, I do not feel the need to apologize for this.

Which brings me to my next thought: I think that it is every married couple’s responsibility to identify the right time to have children. (Or to have children at all.) The Bible says to be fruitful and multiply. I will say (until I’m blue in the face) that I’m a privileged man to work in the school that I do. But, I would be remiss to say that I don’t see neglect, carelessness and disregard in every other child, most of the time…in even the wealthiest of families. I look at my own family. I think I was raised well. I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t drink, I stayed in school and got good grades…we even ate at the dinner table together. For the most part mommy and daddy did well, I thought. (I will, however, choose NOT to discuss how they dressed me, which is the basis for another blog post and truly the reason I got into theatre. That’s for another day!) But, It wasn’t until my younger brother’s senior year that my parents divorced and I found myself in more ways than one, completely independent.

All too often children these days are expected to be independent before they should be. Bottom line. don’t assume that resilient young man is not in need of a kind word, or that head strong young lady doesn’t need guidance.  Unrealistic expectations and entitlement issues override the proverbial group hub and catch with dad in the side yard. It’s not fair. A child is an investment…not a purchase. You can’t strap a child in a car seat and then coast out on fumes into adulthood. It doesn’t work that way. Every freakin’ step of the way….every burp….every nap….every diaper…every homework assignment…every cent of lunch money…every curfew…every haircut….every boyfriend/girlfriend….everything!….is YOUR responsibility as a parent until they move out of the house. Somehow…someway…society has it tucked away in their Blackberries that it is okay to circumvent these demands. Raising a child and those integral moments (yes, that includes acts of defiance and temper tantrums) are not something you can TiVo and deal with later. The focus needs to be 100% on the baby…and all too often it’s about the baby daddy. I never want to be a “baby daddy.” (The mere fact that this catch phrase exists proves that the focus has shifted in a certain dynamic in our society from what is truly important.)

My wife would be the best mother in the world, and if our child is half as smart and half as pretty as she is, we’ll have a winner. But, I also want to do the right thing. I’m still working on me. I’m still working on our marriage. I’m still working on being an effective drama teacher. I’m still working on being an actor. I’m not ready to put these things in the back seat yet, and until I am ready, I think it would be selfish of me to bring a child into this world KNOWING that they would take a back seat to my goals. I think anyone has the right to call this selfish. Absolutely. I’ll take it. I’d rather take it like this…instead of being called selfish when I DO have a child.

Right now…my wife and I don’t want kids. Poo-poo to your heart’s content. (Don’t even start on the whole “clock is ticking” thing. In this fast-food, instant coffee world we live in, I don’t wanna hear it!) I assure you, our minds won’t change as a result of poo-pooing.

This decision is the reason we get raised eyebrows in church. It’s the fuel that burns the ever-present dropped hints from family members. It’s the bait that traps questions like “So, when are you two going to have a child” every time we hold a baby. Arrg.

It is no one’s right to have a child. It’s is no one’s responsibility. It is everyone’s great privilege. I take that very seriously.

I love the fact that you need a license to drive a car, buy a gun, sell a house, own a dog, or to go fishing…but no one needs a license to have child. Anyone with a certain appendage and a little bit of time has the opportunity, and all too often I see the product of rash, or in some cases, no preconceived thoughts.

If you pack your lunch for the day, you think to yourself…”hmmm, I think I’d like an apple. That Twinkie would be nice. Better have a sandwich. I do like peanut butter. Oooo, apple juice!” It’s a process. You know what you’re getting yourself into and you know what to expect later. You don’t strap a blindfold on and shove whatever you touch into an empty sack and hope for the best…which is what a LOT of people do, unfortunately.

I know my child will be a handful, because I was a handful. I know my child will have “issues”…because I have issues. I want to be thoughtful in the decision making process…in the hopes that maybe someday I will raise a child that will likewise be thoughtful. Maybe I’ll never get there, who knows.

So, don’t hope that this post will end in an announcement that Emily and I are having a baby. Ain’t gonna happen. Instead, please help to remember that not every couple is like you and your significant other. The curtains close in everyone’s theatre and people don’t always don’t get to see what happens backstage or in-between scenes, so don’t assume that everyone has the same plans for what will appear center stage.

Instead, trust that each couple (ones with a million rug rats, and ones with zero kids) are making the educated and thoughtful decision to do what is right. I’m not suggesting that everyone’s mind is hard at work, and until the teenage pregnancy rate goes down, I’ll never say that, but I will suggest that thought “processes” are happening in even the most unlikely of places and it’s no one’s job to identify and then critisize that. (Which is probably my ultimate criticism of any friend who has ever raised an eyebrow.) In our case, we’re ensuring our potential investment down the road, should we choose to go that route.

Sheesh, this turned out to be the defense’s closing statement! Well…..good. Whether or not you like it doesn’t matter. Everyone will judge just the same.

But, it is my hope that no one would assume I haven’t already thought about what it might be like for my own proud moment when my child breaks into Fergie’s latest and serenades a friend. I’ve thought about it…and for now I’m not ready. I’m happy listening to Rachael and provide my own backing vocals.

We’ll both be in the kitchen eating out of the sugar bowl.

A BURNING DESIRE

I suppose it was the night air, or the fifty mosquito bites on the nape of my neck that brought me back to reality the second I became a smidge nostalgic for my younger days and life in Michigan. I recall front porch screens that closed with a snap and bang, adventures in Cedar Point (America’s roller coast) and a taste for summer cocktails of Faygo and Deep Woods Off. (Shaken.) But, oh, do I love Las Vegas more. At least, I thought I did until I took a drive down a back road today.

Back then, it was the best of times…it was the worst of times, and I love remembering them. I love my family very much and it is good to see them again. Although I admit that sometimes the visits are too short  (burdened with the ever looming vacation itinerary) and the in-between times too long, I do think that in the world of crazed family situational comedies and tragedies, perhaps the more poignant visit is the most appropriate.

On this particular trip we flew first class. I feel no shame in writing about it. The pillows were of average airplane size, the Reuben/Chicken Salad menu options dwindled to merely Chicken Salad by the time they got to row 6, and my Bloody Mary tasted like feet. I’m sure someone in coach won the lottery. We all have our win falls and downfalls. Poo-poo on those who can’t see past the little curtain that separates things. Anyway…dropping into Detroit brought chilly winds, loving faces, and sprouting nieces who I swear are growing in front of me as I spend time with them.

The Zoo, Lake Michigan, Fireworks, Grandma’s Birthday and a Lansing Lugnuts game filled my dance card for the week and I was able to put my Vegas summer plans on the back burner for a while. (Even if they did indeed fit in my carry-on.)

Jackson, Michigan is a very interesting place and a perfect example of rural Mid-West. The culture shock isn’t terribly jarring, (even if songs from 5 years ago are still in the county’s top ten and going to one of two Starbucks within 60 miles is considered a “trip”) I argue everyone needs to take two steps backs every now and then and remember where they came from. Breakfast at the Bone Island Grille and sharing stories with my Mom and Grandma did just that, and I took off my sunglasses at the table and opted to drop the “out of town” act at least until the bill came.

For some reason this trip I found myself particularly interested in the surrounding areas of Jackson. The ones that had father and son, one-garage auto shops with signs that read, “Save a Squirrel, Check your Breaks” and Taste-E Freezes oozing with chocolate covered cherry compote. I noticed broken windows in broken down factory buildings, deserted fairgrounds and weeds hiding between cracks in the road.

When I came upon a weathered yard sign that read “Burning Barrels – $10″ I stumbled upon a whole different avenue of forgotten times. For those of you who don’t know, burning barrels are empty oil drums, stripped and painted for the sole purpose of rounding out the corner in your acre backyard, so that your family can take trash out every other day to burn. That’s right. Garbage men came around only once every two weeks…and it was relatively light work. Everything else was toted and burned. After a year or so, when the ashes get to around 2-inches from overflowing, you call up a handyman to come and tote the heavy bugger away, and you start over again.

Kinda crude in the age of fuel emissions and recycled Diet Coke cans I suppose. But for a young boy, growing up, it provided excitement to that occasional desire to hold a match to something and created an He-Man action figure death trap and a source of amusement. (Moss Man: R.I.P.) I had forgotten about watching those plastic bottles shrivel up and the Kleenex take flight into the air as a charred web of ash.

As I get older and find these visits “back home” to be more and more about finding time instead of catching up, I wonder how my life has changed from the days of the burning barrel. I like to think I’m wiser, but to this day in Las Vegas, twice a week mind you, I open my garage door and drag my trash 2-inches to the curb of my street…the same type of garbage, without a care.

We all have demons. We all have regrets. We all have things that weigh on our minds and hearts. There are things that need to be said…and things that need to be undone. And I all too often find myself willing and able to tote those fears, doubts, angers and griefs out to the road, knowing that if we reach the curb, we won’t have to worry about them anymore. We do that all too often with hopes, goals, promises and dreams as well.

If I were to manage these hopes, fears, ambitions, etc….strike the match and begin a blaze, for whatever reason…at least then I would be most likely to stand and watch the progress of my decision. Ponder….reflect….and then watch whatever I trashed wisp away into the air, or shrivel up and melt. At least then, I see it with my own eyes. At least then, when my burning barrel gets full…it’s my responsibility to figure out a way to remove it.

Deep stuff, huh? I thought so too. But, using a burning barrel as a metaphor isn’t the only thing I found interesting this trip. The innocence in my Grandmother’s and nieces eyes…the fervent desire to cling to precious time with her son in my mother’s smile….the practical need for an ant trap back home so my house sitter isn’t grossed out…all these things add to the stew I brew up every time I step on a plane back to Jackson, MI. As often as I roll my eyes every time someone might suggest I ever live in the Mid-West again…Jackson has always provided me with something that I can take home with me to think about.

I need to think about what I throw away everyday in my personal trash can, perhaps sift out the recyclables, and then make room in the back yard for a burning barrel once more. I think it is important to reflect on everything in the past, the present and in the future. All too often, because of time or space we forget how we once used to deal with things. Perhaps in the rapid fire age of drive-thru Starbucks and zoom zoom race cars we need a back road tour of how to slow down our decision-making.

At least then maybe I can appreciate the trips “back home,” enjoy a slow-paced itinerary, and be thankful for golden nuggets like a simple Jackson city burning barrel.

Help the “needy.”

Whoever invented the term “inner beauty” should be hunted down, bound with used Slinkies, towed to the nearest cul de sac and beaten with large sticks.

I know full well that by shouting from the rooftops that I’m a Dr. Phil fan will strongly effect my creditability in this posting. Some view this dude as a complete sell out, phony bologna with clinical advice as accurate as his painted-on smile. To a small degree, I agree. Anything on the boob tube needs a little make-up to remove the shine. But, in the big picture, I think Dr. Phil is a decent person who wants to do right, and puts things in the spotlight so that they can, at the very least, get attention. The dude makes a bundle doing so, granted…but I don’t think that deserves character lynching. That’s just being guilty of wanting to earn a really good living. Some of us would kill for some of that right now…so I won’t begrudge him.

Today he was talking about the “sexualization” of teens and how media is totally influencing those who do not have role models at home. I find this topic AMAZINGLY interesting. As a high school teacher in an upper-class, private high school I deal with student entitlement issues, social out casting and an overflow of arrogance as thick as the wallets they are used to receiving handouts from. It’s an uphill battle in some cases. But, you can’t get upset over things that ultimately aren’t within your control. These students are used to a certain way of life…and cannot be faulted for NOT thinking otherwise. They don’t know an “otherwise.”

I watched a promo for the upcoming Gossip Girl episode. (A show I admit I’ve never seen.) It showed a young man and women in bed…in a steamy, kiss-filled embrace followed by a discussion about how the girl might have accidentally married the boy’s best friend…and was he jealous??? Then it showed that they were in high school. They look 25!!

It’s farce. It’s all farce. It’s unrealistic to think of little Mary in my High School Drama class in a black thong (Why black? Well…I saw it on the commercial) in a steamy embrace…and talking about accidentally marrying someone because she replied “si” instead of  “I do” in a drunken stupor. It’s downright unimaginable.

I think it’s likewise unimaginable to think that ANY of my students are sexually active. But…and I’m impressing my “I suppose” theory here….I’m sure that’s not the case either. I bet there is a LOT I don’t know. To be blissfully naive sure seems nice on the onset, but when I look in the eyes of these kids who I have the pleasure of teaching everyday…do you want to know what I see? I see someone who has a fundamental void in their life that needs to be filled. Something is missing, and these impressionable hopefuls are filling these voids with what they KNOW. AKA: Gossip girl poo-poo.

I watch as they distribute off-hand insults on a daily basis. There are plenty of rolling eyes. Even their lingo. I’ve even used the word “creeper” in class. But, in a year that word will most likely follow suit to many other words of yesteryear (aka: “snap,” “Gangsta,” and “word”) and find a backseat to the next big trend. It’s a living, breathing, evolving mess of “whatever happens to stick to the wall at that particular moment.”

What they say…what they do…certainly what they wear…and how they “act” (in class, with friends, in social situation, and in gaining acceptance from members of the opposite sex) are all a part of this whirlwind of commitment that these “needy” students cling to. It’s what gets them through Anatomy class and any thing else that’s more than a mere speed bump in their day.

As a drama teacher, I have the great fortune of providing an outlet to students who are “needy.” Performance offers an opportunity to do something fun, in front of an audience, with the support of the ensemble that is usually followed by praise from the adult supervisor. Subconsciously isn’t that what every kid wants?

I watched as the parents of this 14-year old on Dr. Phil sat in a short skirt and tall boots, slathered in make-up as Dr. Phil and mommy argued about her rolling her skirt down to show her thong. Mommy retorted, “Well, it’s not her thong that she rolls..it’s her skirt and that’s what I have a problem with.”

I’m sitting there going….“how about NOT letting your 14 year old wear a thong.” Maybe I’m old fashioned. Maybe I’m conservative. But, I know I’m not crazy. I’m a full-grown man with eyes and ears in the public like everyone else. Everybody has innocent crushes with a make-shift celebrities. The media demands it. (And don’t say you DON’T. Do I even have to go there, you Twilight fans!!??)

But, must we surpass reason in order to supply evidence that we’re all “in tune” with what society throws at us? Have we forgotten our moral and personal, family standards…or are we just sitting on them because it’s easier than cooking a family meal and sitting down together to talk about how the day went?

Another thing…I’m NOT a parent, so one could make the argument that I have no basis for comparison…but, it seems to me that mommy dearest on the Dr. Phil show has her priorities completely out of whack! This is a young lady that is desperately seeking something…anything. And you’re arguing about her thong. Honestly. Mommy is complaining about how hot the sun is on Earth and she’s standing on Pluto! The big picture concern is that mommy is not in touch with her daughter.

What I think we all need is an outlet.  Something that takes us away from what is “expected” of us and allows us to do something for us instead. People have hobbies, have guilty secrets…but, until we can find a way to channel these “needs” that are suppressing what is truly deep down inside of us…instead of letting them control us like a robot to suit the demands of a PLASTIC society…then we will fill these voids our students with empty hopes and invisible promises.

With that said…I think parents need to be huge participants…no, no…ADVOCATES in helping to find and encourage these outlets.

Every night this last two weeks I’ve been putting make-up on in preparation for the onstage role I’m playing in Thoroughly Modern Millie. Tonight a young stage hand asked me with a roll of the eyes, “how long does it take you to do that usually.” I answered about a half hour. She couldn’t believe it. It’s hard work making every line…ever contour and feature fit the mold I’m trying to create so that I might offer an effective character. For the theatre…that’s time spent in preparation for a show. I argue, in life…it’s now different. Whether it’s make-up or self education, manipulation or transformation…that preparation time is something parents desperately need to be a part of.

People use the term inner beauty as a means by which to avoid what is being displayed outside. It’s totally misused. We all have the opportunity to be beautiful. Inner…outer…no matter what you want to label it…it’s all you. And just like the lingering MySpace photo of you holding a beer in a drunken frat party…what you put out there for the world to see…you can’t take it back! This “you” is the only one you get. You get ONE SHOT at life…make it beautiful.

Parents…they need your help. How else are they going to perfect those contours and features?

I’m right…and you’re wrong!

Fazoli’s has pretty decent food for an Italian Fast Food joint. I’ve always thought that the 10 minute wait in the drive-thru kinda contradicted the idea of “fast”…but all in all, I continue to offer my patronage to the place. It’s the site of today’s topic.

I pulled up to the window and received my food…and was curious as to why one soft drink was smaller than the other. “I thought I ordered two extra-large drinks,” I commented. What followed could be described simply as a one-way, minute-long, detailed commentary of exactly what I ordered, and why in the world I would even question such a thing, because obviously the drive-thru clerk is doing their job correctly and I’m not doing my job of paying attention.

I didn’t really answer back. I was flabbergasted. (Besides, I think they wanted me to answer back, and I wasn’t going there.) I received my food and drinks and drove away, too afraid to ask for the bread sticks they forgot.

What’s up with people lately? Cities, schools, small business and the like are being frosted with a condescending glaze of “right-fighters.” (An endearing term I respectfully steal from Dr. Phil.) Everyone is right…and don’t you dare confront them, lest you feel the lash of their scornful gaze and acidic rebuttals.

It’s not just adults in the workplace at 4pm on Friday at Fazoli’s…..named Jeff. More so, I fear we’re raising a society of right-fighters who are encouraged to stand firm. It borrows from the old adage of “if someone punches you on the playground…you punch back. That’s my boy!” These concepts, while strong-willed and I suppose in that regard, positive…are fueling an “age of entitlement” that will make everyone RIGHT…and everyone else WRONG, spinning us around in a never-ending rabbit season/duck season argument.

Conversation…and dare I say, confrontation is like a dance. It takes two to tango, whether your partner wants to dance or not! You cannot engage in an exchange if you’re too busy being right!

As a drama teacher, I’d say this is one of my biggest challenges when working with my students. Entitlement issues are always present. (On the onset of auditions…as they mature from freshmen to seniors and climb the ladder of ensemble member to leading role…even in the most arrogant student and quirkiest wallflower I teach.) They are challenged with the demands of the stage and what it takes out-audition others in heated competition for the opportunity to do what they love onstage.

They are also challenged with living in a fish bowl onstage…and off. In school they walk the halls as the Cat in the Hat, Blanche or Stella, Sweeney Todd and Sandy Dumbrowski. You need tough skin to change into P.E. clothes every other day elbow to elbow with your peers, being referred to as the Magical Mr. Mistofolees. It’s a burden. To counteract that…they wind up protecting themselves with confidence, that sometimes overflows into brazen arrogance and conceit. These wind up being entitlement issues and they present themselves the very first time a prop is taking from the drama classroom knowing that “Mr. Ball won’t mind.” They’re not being malicious…they are just overly confident. This is dangerous ground. That same student will display that same confidence when ensuring a customer at their first job, that they ordered it wrong…and what they’re receiving is 100% correct.

So, what’s the solution? That’s a tough one. As I look at my graying parents and remember my childhood punishments of yesteryear…I recall a strict environment where school work came first and being polite or not was NOT my decision to make. I recall soap in my mouth…canceled vacations…and my father literally “pulling the car over.” I would be remiss to suggest giving someone “the belt” but I don’t think that’s the solution.

We now have a generation of adults, my age, who are raising children that are the product of a “wanna be a better parent” rebound. Parents don’t realize that they can certainly be their son or daughter’s friend…but they have to be their parent first.

I had a student absent from class this week…they were on their fifth cruise this year with their parents. Fifth. Another, a junior, has been home all week, alone. His parents away on business. I was in Marshall’s the other day in the sock aisle and could not believe how a 12 year old was talking to her mother. I actually heard the b-word. I felt embarrassed for the mom, angered at the child…and in totally disbelief that the mostly one-way conversation lasted as long as it did. Suddenly formal, black dress socks weren’t that important to me anymore.

My parents never spanked me as a child. My dad did, however, tell me of this paddle he made out of particle board that he hung in the basement closet. He indicated how large it was, and he said he painted it green. Pretty much a horror story for a 6 year old.

He said that he hoped he would never have to use it. Thankfully, he never had to. Around the age of 17 years old, in a non-related, high-spirited conversation, I asked my father if I could see this paddle. He told me it never existed. I couldn’t believe it. It never crossed my mind that it was made up. While this may be the reason for my sometimes obsessive/compulsive behavior and midnight paranoia about locking the door downstairs… I’m sure of it……it was whole fully effect in hindsight.

My parents had a level of expectation for every avenue of my growing up, and not meeting that expectation was not an option. Did I fall short? All the time. I was a kid…they do that. But, that standard, that house-wide understanding that we were to be at the dinner table at 6pm for dinner (for instance)….that starchness that forced it’s way into my personal teen routine…that’s what is needed today.

Parents today are not evil. They’re not stupid. They’re not careless. They are just…in their minds….right. Who’s job is it to evaluate the individual family’s parenting skills? Where’s that rubric? As a teacher, you can give As and Bs…you can re-do a seating chart…issue a detention. You can even sit down and “have a talk” with a student. But, in the end, they go home to a set of parents who are less concerned about “dealing with the issue with their children,” and more concerned about “skirting the blame.”

Another incident occurred when a student in my school was caught drawing graffiti on the bathroom walls with a Sharpie and given a Saturday detention. The parents called a meeting with the administration to explain how it was the teacher’s fault for letting the kid out of class.

It comes down to ownership. If you’re working in a drive-thru….why are you there? Ultimately to offer service to the paying patron, right? You dishing out pasta for $7.00 an hour. You’re not selling Cadillacs! Is the argument, or rather, forced “right-fighting” worth it? What do you gain? Entitlement?

If you’re a student auditioning for a play, and you don’t get cast…do you issue formal complaints regarding the cast list and the director’s choice? (Trying hard to find loopholes in the process.) Or, do you figure it’s part of a bigger plan and then go back to evaluate your audition offering and see where you need improvement. One is a little bit more pride-swallowing and labor intensive. (Isn’t that part of the actor’s job description?)

As a parent, would you rather support your student’s efforts in working hard to succeed…and if they fail, be part of the up-hill climb as their biggest support in the hopes that they will turn things around and make it o the top? Or, would you rather send a scathing email…leave an insinuative voice mail….or assume the teacher is out to get your child? I assure you that one path is easier to do than another…and I assure you…if teachers didn’t want your child to succeed, then they would have gone into real estate.

The bottom line is, right-fighting doesn’t work. You’re not dealing with the root of any issue. Instead your glazing it over with a sugar-coating that nullifies any positive effort on anyone’s part.

I call it sweeping it under the rug. Some people refer to that as “dodging.” Today I called it, “get out quick before the angry Fazoli’s man eats your face.”

Take the high road next time. Talk it out and work toward a positive solution. Be a part of a solution to find a resolve.  Succumb to the fact that you just might be wrong.

Who needs an extra large soda and carb-filled bread sticks anyways?

AUDITIONS….Hit me BABY, one more time!

Tomorrow I will walk into a room and dash people’s hopes. I will force people to spew forth their inner-most fears and watch as they squirm in front of me. I will not hesitate in forcing a select few to step forward and swallow their pride. I will expect to see a huge amount of self-loathing, fear, resentment and depression. I will make kids cry tomorrow.

As you might have guessed…it’s time for the High School Musical auditions at Faith Lutheran again. (You thought we were going to war or something!) No, I LOVE auditions, but with it comes a stigma, and is ultimately followed by a small armyof wanna-b actors who “cannot understand!” I’ll have to make sure my brain is well-adjusted, and that my heart is left in my sock drawer that day.

This year we’re tackling many projects at once. It’s “SEUSSICAL the musical” this time ’round, and for those who are unfamiliar, let’s just say it is a spirited romp through the pages of Dr. Seuss. This is also the first H.S. Musical in the new Chapel/Performing Arts Center at Faith. Both challenges present uphill climbs and we will have numerous busy days ahead to say the least.

My wife just closed her play “CLUE” this weekend. What an amazing show. I couldn’t have been more proud of my wife. She remains a constant source of joy, hope and encouragement. I can only dream to have a show with 1/8 as much talent, thoughtfulness and fun as hers.  The students did such a good job too! The audiences seemed to really enjoy it, and the overall post-show commentary was peppered with “best show at Faith,” “very professional,” and “my favorite play I’ve ever seen” – like comments. She set the bar really high and that particular standard will make Seussical a very ambitious project!

So, why then am I looking forward to the onslaught of doe-eyed hopefuls tomorrow, ready to appease me with their riveting renditions of Andrew Lloyd Webber masterpieces and Sweeney Todd adaptions? Shouldn’t I be in the after-glow of the best play ever on the faith stage. Well, let just say that I’m looking at these auditions differently.

I believe every high school student needs the theatrical audition process. This isn’t just a recruiting statement for my classes. I’m happy when they show up, but truth be told a separation of wheat and chaff in the classroom is usually welcomed with open arms by the uber-sensitive teacher these days. Instead, I suggest that the fundamental routines  required of the every-day high school auditioner, is a test of will. It’s a self-disciplined, independent character building workshop. It’s something non-drama people DON’T DO.

How many times have you told someone you can’t sing…and then whale out “Womanizer” in the shower? How often do you proclaim to waddle on two left feet…and then nearly jazzersize in front of the mirror during your morning rituals? We all do. If you have vocal chords, you can sing. If you have muscles and can so much as twitch…you can dance. Some better than others….granted….but for the most part the shear opportunity to put yourself to the test is something that will FREEZE people with fear.

I had a young lady who talked to me yesterday about auditions who literally said “what happens if I faint…or pee myself?” I giggled, thinking she was joking. Her face was white. “Oh…you’re serious!” I said.

What do you do with that? I wasn’t sure…and to this moment, I don’t quite remember what I told her. I only know that this is someone who HAS to get in font of people or she’ll have a stroke if she’s ever in a room when a fire alarm goes off.

I had a friend who has this beautiful dog. Silky coat, beautiful eyes, shining personality. But, if it ever thunder stormed, the do would wet all over the house. It was just frightened of something that was completely out of their control.

Students need to break out of their shells. They need to be IN control…and the only way to test that is to put them into a situation that COULD spiral out of control. How are you ever going to learn how to swim unless you actually get into the water. You can read every book about swimming ever written…but it’s the experience, the practical application….the “nearly drowning” moment that helps you define those self-discipline boundaries.

The private school in which I teach has many students whose parents will NOT LET them audition for the musical, because they HAVE to do track or another sport or activity. These are the same moms and dads whose social life includes get-togethers with the other “richies” in the stands during these meets to “cheer their kids on” …or rather, “hang with the richies and count their diamonds and 100 dollar bills.” Scarcastic? Yes. Overly-dramatic? Sure. Accurate…..oh yeah.

In the Living Skills class at Faith, they have those creepy “real babies” that students tote around so that they can feel what it feels like to be a parent. They are forgotten about in dance class. Abandoned in the lunch room. Stepped on in the hall. It’s all rather silly…but it is a wonderful social distraction and the goofy names the kids give their dolls are really what’s MOST important, right? How far from these antics are some of the sheltering parents of the students in our school?

This may not even remotely apply to your school’s demographic. When I can count the number of Jaguars in the parking lot at Faith and find that the number exceeds that of the average zoo…then I suppose my controlled group would have to remain a smidge skewed. But, for all intents and purposes…I’d hope you’d agree that the average student needs to remain just that….well-rounded…well-adjusted….and average. Before they can be expected to excel in one thing…they need exposure to all things. That’s why P.E. was required of all students when I was in school. You wanna know what else was “required?” The rope! We all had to climb the rope. It remains a nightmare I re-live again and again.

Did I climb the darn thing? Nope. Can’t. But, I tried. Tried hard! I was made fun of. I was the dork. But, how I handled that situation was ultimately the biggest test of that particular unit.

So, as far as auditions are concerned…where does one go when the spotlight is on them? If they run into the wings, they’re masked, but people will still know they are there. Auditioning is everything that a true test of self-worth should be. It challenges you. It requires a lot from you. It puts the pressure on you. And then…it throws you curve balls. (I could argue that the “real world” to an average high schooler might be defined the same way.)

Dosen’t matter what role you get…what only matters that that you don’t look back with regret. If you prepare, and then execute…then you’ve completed your task. If you walk away with your head high…then you’re a success.

On the heels of a successful play…looking forward to a very busy musical…and anticipating a very emotional outpouring at auditions…I can hope to see tomorrow new faces with aspirations of greatness. I can also surely expect to see tomorrow the pool of lifeless, limp, cutetsy little beings. They’ll be in the hallways being stepped on by students, abandoned and made fun of.  Some of these “babies” will find their way onstage someday faced with the challenge of an audition. I guarantee they’ll walk away stronger. If not, they’ll at least be able to run to someone’s open arms who will coddle them and protect them. Either that, or they’ll pee themselves. Even then they get to change and be fresh again.

I assure you, even the best-kep Living Skills doll won’t even receive that benefit, audition or not.