Greene Peace

Things that are cool...

2010-08-25T14:44:00.000-07:00

Let's dwell on the positive to get our minds off the "ground zero mosque" controversy. (It's NOT a mosque and it's NOT at ground zero, you idiots! But we're not talking about that right now...)

-I bought all the "Ocean's" movies last night for $10.00. (Those of you who know me know this means I'm skipping two meals this week.)

-Bernadette Peters is going to do "Follies" at the Kennedy Center.

-Once you're no longer a student, the end of summer is not a sad time. It means your TV shows are starting up again.

-I haven't had a Little Caesar's pizza since I moved to California. (This is a big step for me.)

-The place I'm moving into in Washington has a TV on the fridge door. I think. Isn't that cool? I don't think I'll ever use it, but I like to see my rent go to good use like that.

The "ground zero mosque" rant...

2010-08-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

I am freaking out about the controversy surrounding this Muslim community center in New York. (Check out http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,2011400,00.html if you don't know what I'm talking about.)
I don't have anything terribly interesting or original to say about it. In fact, I find it ridiculous that this debate is even happening. (Fair warning: anyone who uses the words "victory mosque" will receive a slap in the face from me.)
What's interesting to me is how passionately I feel about this. Maybe it's because it disrupts the romantic notion I've always had that things like Jim Crow laws and Japanese internment camps were behind us. Maybe it's because I belong to a religious group that has known its share of intolerance in a nation that pretends to believe in religious freedom. Maybe it's because I just finished reading "Fahrenheit 451," a book that makes me feel irate about everything. (Footnote: I dreamed last night that I was being chased by the cops for having a book of Calvin and Hobbes comics. Some people from church in a minivan reported me.) I've been getting increasingly restless over the last few days. Good thing I have a big dramatic move to look forward to or I might do something really outrageous. Like dye my hair blue or eat a whole pizza.
I've decided this sporadic shallow activism has to stop. From now on, apathy about everything. Just kidding. I'm going to become better informed, develop strong opinions about things, and rant about them on this blog. How does that sound?

May I return to the beginning...

2010-07-27T17:08:00.000-07:00

One fateful Saturday, Pat and Lisa Greene told their six-year-old son Matthew they were going to see a play. I liked the word "play" so I went along with the idea of being quiet and still in a strange place. It was "Rumplestiltskin" and I was called up on stage when they asked for a volunteer from the audience. And so it began.
We went back to that little theatre several times and I started doing shows at another community theatre (playing illustrious roles like Stewart Little in..."Stewart Little"). In 1998 Lola Agulair, a family friend, took me and her daughter Alex to see "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" at the Sacramento Music Circus. I'd heard about the Music Circus from a number of people, most notably my short-tempered director from numerous productions. The consensus was that I HAD to see a show there. Music Circus WAS (and really still IS) Sacramento theatre.
And so we went. It starred Eric Kunze and Mary Gordon Murray (who had a voice the likes of which I had never heard before)and I was AMAZED. Awed by the talent, delighted by the songs, boyishly in love with Potiphar's wife. If I didn't know it by then, this production clinched it: this was my future.
Fast forward. Double my age. And "Joseph" is back at the Music Circus. I have a degree in theatre and a somewhat impressive (for a 24-year-old recent graduate) resume. I have performed in "Joseph" and many other shows. I have a nametag (three, actually) from Music Circus. I'm on the cast list for two of their shows this summer and listed as an "Artistic Assistant" in all the programs. And I'm back at the same theatre seeing it again.
I know this show backwards and forwards but there are still some surprises. Richard Stafford's direction is whimsical and inventive and Maz Von Essen's "Close Every Door" blows Donny Osmond out of the water and is surprisingly stirring, even to someone like me who things the song is shallow and completely out of place in the show.
Still, my love affair with "Joseph" died out a long time ago. I think it's overdone, indulgent, repetitive, etc. Any "theatre person" has heard the critiques before and anybody else doesn't care. I couldn't help but wonder as I sat there, though, what happened to that bright-eyed kid who thought any professional production was flawless, any professional actor was a demigod or -goddess, and any show with upbeat pop-inspired music was a masterpiece worthy of repeated cast recording listening sessions.
I'm way smarter than I was when I was twelve. I've traveled the world, graduated twice, fallen in love, fallen out, read countless books, seen more theatre than fifty average people combined, and left things like "Joseph" (and "Phantom" and "Peter Pan" and, yes, "Rumplestiltskin") behind me. Way smarter. But happier?
Have I lost something, now that I can't sit transfixed by a sparkly musical? Analytical tendencies and overly-critical attitudes aside, I have to admit that some of the magic is gone. Now it's about creating that magic for others, others who will buy tickets and put food on my table. But to what end? Until they get smart enough not to be fooled anymore?
Not to say I don't love going to the theatre anymore. I'm going tonight. But as the overture began, the house lights went down and the gasp and hush fell over the crowd, I definitely envied the hushers and gaspers their heady anticipation. Half my life ago, I felt the same way, in the same place, with the same show. Now it takes more than colorful costumes and belted power ballads to get my heart racing.
Growing up, huh?

How can you read this? There's no pictures.

2010-07-01T16:46:00.000-07:00

This blog is GRAY. How BORING. Here are three pictures. (Or eight, sort of. The combo image really spoke to me.) I keep meaning to use more pictures on here so this is my way of making up for it.

Status

2010-07-01T15:55:00.000-07:00

Things are very rarely new. They're improved (VHS --> DVD --> BluRay, which I am NOT on board with, by the way), they're reinvented (the New Beatle, for example), or they're just regurgitated ("Shrek," --> "Shrek" sequels --> "Shrek" the musical --> and on and on). BUT I think there is something my generation has come up with all on their very own. Now, before we start getting excited or proud of our clever selves, wait to see where this is going...The Facebook status.
What is the "good ol' days" equivalent of a Facebook status? I submit there was none. What exactly the Facebook status has done for us? I cannot say. But it's ours and we use it...if not well then at least thoroughly. Here are some currently showing up on my page. (Names have been eliminated to protect privacy.)

----- what the hell is going on tonight PEOPLE!!!!
This alarms me. I assume this guy is just excited for his Thursday night and wants to see what festivities his friends have prepared for him. But, really? Four exclamation points? And let's think for a minute about the use of uppercase vs. lowercase letters. I really hope someone hangs out with him; it might be dangerous not to.

----- anyone want to go to a pub and learn about Narwhals with me next Tues at 7?
Wow. Huh. Okay. Congratulations, your life is more interesting than mine.

----- the vinegar is bitter.
Sometimes ambiguity is a great way to get attention. You'll find yourself alone at home on a Friday night posting something like "and there it goes" or "but it really was a giant panther" to make people wonder what's going on and, thus, remember you exist.

----- Needs to pack....!
What really puzzles me is the punctuation here. I have personally used "...?" many times, but "....!" was a mystery to me. The elipses seem to negate the exclamation point. After much consideration I decided it denotes someone falling off a cliff, their voice trailing off, followed by a crash/thud/splat at the bottom. In which case, I don't think this girl will be packing anything any time soon.

----- 29 days til my birthday!!
You just want to cry for these people.
(By the way, mine is in ten. Days. My birthday.)

The story of "A"

2010-06-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

As the dense fog of night abated, Natalie awoke to find that someone had absconded with her stamp collection. Though she typically abstained from alcohol, Natalie had made an exception the night before. Perhaps it was the surreal hovering mist, perhaps the veritable abyss of heartbreak and self-pity she seemed to be falling into. Dominic, her only companion for the evening, had laughed as she adulterated her vodka with water, assuming the role of advocate for moral irresponsibility.
Dominick, of course, was the most plausible suspect, he having been fascinated with the aesthetic of vintage American stamps since the fateful night she shared her obsession with him. The collection aggrandized her in his eyes and he had come by more frequently ever since. But Dominick was no thief and he had fallen asleep at the kitchen table after the previous night's binging had done nothing to alleviate his headache.
Precious stamp collections and wild drinking binges were a dangerous amalgamation but there was nothing ambiguous about what had happened between Natalie and her loyal downstairs neighbor. Maybe finding the stamps would ameliorate what was destined to be a painful morning anyway, the morning she would have to break her neighbor's heart.
His Chuck Taylors were charmingly anachronistic in her sleek modern kitchen and for a moment she considered letting him sleep. Waking him now seemed analogous to a stewardess rousing a slumbering passenger only to let him know there was turbulence ahead. Maybe last night was just an anomaly and he hadn't meant what he said; maybe the turbulence was past.
Deciding she wasn't ready to antagonize the only man who was yet to let her down, she resumed her search. Maybe it had been Esther, Natalie's elderly neighbor whose antipathy for everyone in the building could quite possibly lead her to break and enter and steal a valuable collection. Natalie suspected the doorman for a moment but realized his characteristic apathy would quench any inkling toward criminal activity. No, not the doorman, though she would keep him in mind if anyone needed to arbitrate a dispute between Natalie and Esther.
Dominic looked embarrassed as he woke up, his archaic ideal of chivalry having been broached by his unsolicited sleepover. She remembered the ardor with which Dominic had assured her she deserved much more than her ex-boyfriend could offer her. She remembered how he had searched for words to articulate how he felt about her, how he tried to assuage the shock with nervous smiles and shrugs.
"Good morning." Now it was Natalie's turn to smile nervously to attenuate what she was sure was a fierce hangover and fiercer embarrassment. Then, audatiously, "There's something I have to tell you."
He looked at her with an austerity she had never seen. "Is it about your stamps? Because I threw them out the window when I realized you could never love me."

(This story brought to you by the letter A. Yes, all of the GRE words in my book that start with A. Can you find them all?)

To review...

2010-06-29T11:27:00.000-07:00

CAPRICIOUS: changing one's mind quickly and often.
As in...The very fact that Matthew resumed studying GRE words after we all thought he had decided against graduate school demonstrates just how capricious he can be.

Let's get one thing straight: I have NOT decided to go to grad school. I can only say that there is ONE PROGRAM which really appeals to me, a program that requires the GRE for application. (This program would not require any student loans and would actually pay me to be a student so I don't consider it in the same category as the stuff I railed against in my last post.) Obviously, this is different from preparing for and applying to numerous schools, bent on getting accepted to and getting a degree from one program or another. I would be excited to go to this particular program because I think it would be good for me. And if I happen to get an advanced degree in the process, okay.

AMELIORATE: to make better; to improve
As in...Matthew looked forward to his upcoming move to Washington DC, certain that the change would ameliorate his situation.

I know, I know...Circumstances can't make you happy. In my defense, though, I am happy now in spite of some circumstances. It's not that I'm waiting to be happy again. I'm just recognizing that my situation could be better, NEEDS to be better, in fact. Much longer in Sacramento and I'll be stuck spinning my wheels and, consequently, miserable. So, eastward I go!

GREGARIOUS: outgoing, sociable
As in...Matthew, at times, has been known to be quite gregarious, but his social life has deteriorated significantly as of late.

Why does every social gathering available to me sounds so unappealing and painful? You mean I'm going to introduce myself fifty different times to fifty different people and regurgitate personal information they don't care about for an entire evening? You mean we're all going to take our shirts off and jump off a waterfall (honestly, how many opportunities to be emasculated could I possibly squeeze into one afternoon)? Does anyone think I'll give up a house to myself and a refrigerator full of string cheese for any of that? Yikes.

The straight dope and five reasons I don't want to go to grad school...

2010-06-26T17:36:00.000-07:00

I don't blog very much. I have promised many times that I will be better about this but I never seem to follow through. So I'm not making any promises or resolutions or witty remarks about how ironic it is that a writer like me doesn't like to write most of the time. I'll just get on with it.

(I will say this: haveing seventy-five blogs, or however many I have started and abandoned like a blogging baby daddy, is not ideal and I will only be posting here now. Maybe that way I will be able to...Nope, no promises.)

My life is very boring right now. By "right now" I don't mean "these days" or "as of late," though I do feel that way at times. No, I mean literally right now as I'm waiting for it to be 6:00 and, thus, time to go home from work. While we wait, let me share some things with you:

Allegedly, the best way to tell the difference between a muffin and a cupcake (note the subjectivity of the word "best" here) is to throw them aganst a wall and listen for either a "poof" or a "thud." This is for real, it came from the internet. If you're wondering if I'll be trying this while I have my family's house to myself this week, stop wondering.

I tried to play Werewolves with my extended family last week and my Grandpa, gotta love him, was NOT amused. You see, he was a werewolf and when he was prompted by the moderator to choose someone he wanted to kill he promptly closed his eyes and refused to play any more. This game, by the way, is awesome and if I had enough friends in Sacramento I would have people over to play sometime. It is not nearly as nerdy as it sounds but I don't know why I'm explaining myself to you anyway.

Does anyone accept Discover cards?

In the courtyard of the Music Circus there is a fountain. I've observed so many people focused intently on this fountain for long periods of time and have done so myself on more than one occasion. I only wish I could write something that could capture and hold people's attention so easily.

And now, for a list...Why I don't want to go to grad school. Yet, I should say, "Why I don't want to go to grad school YET." (This just in, I can't decide whether the voice I'm hearing at my right is a male or female. I'm turning my head to look...And it's a woman. Mystery solved.) Back to grad school. Or to NOT going to grad school. It seems like my receiving my MFA in something or other is a foregone conclusion: you get your bachelor's, you putter around for a few years with big dreams, you get your master's, you work for years at a job you hate to pay off your student loans you incurred in the process of getting your master's, you wake up forty, disillusioned, and sad. So anyway, some reasons I have:
1. It seems to be a foregone conclusion that I will. And so screw you, establishment. (I'm so hardcore.) Being successful without one is really the only way I can prove that you don't need one.
2. Staged readings with talkback sessions. Ever sat through one? Want a program that's based on doing a lot of them? Me neither.
3. Your mom goes to college. Okay, no. That is not my reason. I do, however, want to point out that the people who made that movie did so without a master's. And they have more money than you do.
4. Writing a thesis. See also being attacked by carpenter ants.
5. Because I'm so afraid I'm going to end up there anyway, despite my lists or supposed solidarity right now. It's going to happen, I just know it! And it really pisses me off!

It's time to not be writing this anymore. Thank you for coming and I might see you soon, I might not. Okay? No promises.

But I'll write again soon, really.

Bathsheba's Untimely End and Matthew's Promising Beginning

2010-05-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

A funny thing happened on the way to Sacramento. As those who follow my Tweets and Facebook statuses (stati?) can verify, I had a little adventure in Nevada on Thursday and Friday. (Oh, and lest we be misled, I am in no way bragging about the fact that I Tweet and Facebook, or that people follow me for that matter.) To make a long (and not very exciting) story short (and even less exciting) I broke down halfway between Winnemucca and Lovelock at about midnight on Thursday night. ("Matthew, what were you doing driving so late?" "That isn't safe!" "You need to be more careful!" Okay, we have all those taken care of; let's move on.)

So, the tow truck dropped me off at a strange little casino in Winnemucca where I stayed the night. (Pause for visual aid.)

The next day, the executive decision was made to cut our losses and abandon the car in Nevada so my dad came out and picked me up to bring me out to Sacramento.

My Friday morning/afternoon in Winnemucca led me to a lot of pondering and soul-searching. And, as is typical, planning and goal setting. I pulled out a notebook and started outlining the next phase of my life, detailing what I wanted to do with myself, where I want to end up, how I can achieve the lofty goals I've set for myself. I realized during this self examination that I need to stop thinking of my future and start thinking of the present: what am I doing right now to get what I want? I need to stop thinking of "paying the bills" and "building a career" as two separate things but believe that now is the time for the two to become one. And I felt that, despite this most recent curve ball, things are going to work out and life is going to be great.

I'm setting out to "walk on water," as it were. It might seem impossible but each step forward tells me it's not. The difference is that I won't let myself get caught off guard by the waves and the wind. I'm not going to go down pointless roads of "what-ifs." I'm just going to move forward, with or without a clear path, a set plan, a stable career, or a working car.

So, um, yeah. Bring it on, world.

My Graduation Speech

2010-05-02T11:53:00.000-07:00

Good morning, members and guests of the class of 2010. My name is Matthew Greene and I am one of the many graduates gathered here today. I am honored to be receiving a degree in Theatre Arts Studies with an emphasis in playwriting and directing and I’ve been asked to speak for a few minutes this morning.

I’ll cut to the chase. I’ll assume that everyone is honored and relieved to reach the end of a four (or, more realistically, five or six) year journey, and I don’t want to repeat the advice, the warnings, or the words of encouragement we’ve all been hearing since we applied for graduation. I’ll just share with you a certain thought that I think has entered the mind of every graduate here and refused to leave until we’d met its eye and let it sense our fear. This thought sounds something along the lines of: Several years and thousands of dollars later, I’m graduating with a degree in fine arts; have I just made a huge mistake?

This thought may have come to you, my fellow graduates, as you walked past the career fair in the Wilkinson Center on your way to another rehearsal in the Harris Fine Arts Building, or when you perused the want ads and suddenly felt decidedly unwanted. “Can you really make a career out of that?” and “How are you going to support yourself or a family?” are no longer fodder for uncles and aunts to ask us over Thanksgiving dinner. Now they comprise our reality, that crossroads we expect to hear all about at graduation ceremonies. Yes, today is an exciting day, a day for us to wiggle our way out from under the weight of childhood dreams, rehearsal hours, proficiency scores, and resume building to receive the diplomas we’ve worked so hard for.

But still there is the question: Have I just made a huge mistake? It’s true that we are a talented, gifted group of people. But the work we do can’t provide shelter or fuel or heat. You certainly can’t eat the things we create and I imagine we’ve all wondered if it’s even possible to sell them. Still, something brought us here and kept us out of the solace of the business school or the comfort of computer classes, something more than the whim of an eighteen-year-old freshman. For some reason we found that it was in the abstract, the poetic, or the land of onstage make-believe that the world started to make sense.

This is nothing new. We aren’t the first group of people to choose the impractical and the immaterial. Before there were editing rooms or critical theories or universities at all, there were stories told, music shared; art was created. This is more than escapism or the indulgence of a talented few. There is a basic human need that brought us to this point, one that, we hope and pray, will bring others to the work we create. There is something essential about what we do.

In talking of our essence, we remember that at our core we are made up of light and truth, of intelligence, which is distinguished in scripture as the glory of God. So, as the sons and daughters of a divine creator, children of light and truth, guided by the Spirit of Christ which “proceedeth forth from the presence of God to fill the immensity of space,” (D&C 88:12) every man, woman, and child on Earth needs what we as artists have the opportunity to share! “For intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence; wisdom receiveth wisdom; truth embraceth truth; virtue loveth virtue; light cleaveth unto light…” (D&C 88:40).

In other words, we are all, in one way or another, aware of where we came from and what we are made of. Mankind craves that intelligence, wisdom, truth, virtue, and light from whence we came in the same way we crave food. This is where we as artists come in. Elder Russell M. Nelson said: “Spiritually successful artists have the unique opportunity to present their feelings, opinions, ideas, and perspectives of eternity in visual and sound symbols that are universally understood. Great art touches the soul in unique and uncommon ways. Divinely inspired art speaks in the language of eternity, teaching things to the heart that the eyes and ears can never understand.”

We’re sitting in this particular convocation ceremony in this particular building because each of us has chosen this way of life, this particular road less traveled, because in the arts we found what we and everyone else in the world is looking for. Yes, I found God on my knees in prayer and in words of scripture. But I also found Him on the stage of a theatre, in the pages of a script, and in the electricity of an audience engaged.

Now we have another choice to make: the choice to use our gifts and the education we’ve received here to fill the world with light and truth. When we ask ourselves, “Have I just made a huge mistake?” we can answer with confidence and conviction that we have acknowledged the stewardship with which our Heavenly Father has entrusted us and made preparations as undergraduate students to continue His work on the earth with our gifts, our knowledge, and our intelligence. These are not “useless degrees.” These are a symbol of the commitment we’ve made to excellence, of the love we have for our God, our craft, and our fellow man.

It is the nature of faith that we surrender any supposed control of what the future may bring, how that audition will pan out, where we’ll end up months, even weeks from now. We do know this: we are committed to do what we know is right and we have faith that doors will be opened and ways will be prepared for us to do what we need to do. One thing is certain: as intimidating and hostile as the arts and entertainment industry may seem, it is nothing compared to the forces of good, the power of truth, and the light that fills the immensity of space. Now the work begins, and so does the fun. So, congratulations and good luck, my fellow members of the class of 2010.

A letter

2009-10-12T15:49:00.000-07:00

Dear guy sitting next to us in Biology,
I’m sorry you’re having a hard time focusing right now. To be honest, so am I and I guess it could be for that reason that Julie and I are talking about her boyfriend’s testimony of Café Rio instead of listening to the lecture about the water cycle. I learned about this in elementary school. We sang a song. We should do that now. No, I’m not being fair to you and yes, I do feel guilty. But let me explain…
Okay, so the truth is, I am having a hard time caring at all about this class. I’m about to get a BA in Theatre Arts Studies. Is there a more useless degree? Perhaps. But don’t rain on my pity parade. (Yes, I realize having a degree in theatre is better than not having any degree at all. But, that’s not what I’m talking about.) To get this degree I’m sitting through lectures that consist mainly of tangents and vacation photos. I should be more interested in al of this. I mean, isn’t biology mentioned specifically in the Doctrine and Covenants? The fact is, though, that I see this class as a hoop to jump through. Everyone, in fact, sees this class as a hoop to jump through because those who are actually going into biology are required to take a more intense class, one where the water cycle, I imagine, is a given. (Why am I irritated by the simplistic nature of this curriculum? It means I’ll get an A in here. So, I retract those grievances. Keep cycling, water!)
So, guy sitting next to us, I can only speak for myself but I’m having a hard time connecting this class to anything in the real world. Funny, isn’t it? That in a class all about the living world I have a hard time applying it to my life. But that’s the sad truth, I’m afraid. The truth is I need this class to get a degree that, if things go my way, I have absolutely no need for. My bachelor’s is necessary for my contingency plan, I suppose, but I quite feasibly will never list my undergrad work on a single relevant resume for the rest of my life. When looked at in that context, it’s tough to get too involved in the ramblings of the sweet old man giving this lecture.
I’m glad Julie and I have a class together, not because it will in any way enhance my academic experience in this class. In fact, maybe the fact that she doesn’t come to class sometimes is the reason I did marginally well on the first midterm (86%). The reason I’m happy she’s here to experience this with me is that we seem to provide a veritable “Balm of Gilead” for one another to help deal with the day-to-day annoyances of attending BYU. (Yes, guy next to me, I know I should be grateful for the opportunity to attend BYU. Yes. And I am, truly. It does not, however, change the fact that after four years here I still have an enormously difficult time connecting to the prevailing culture at this fine institution. This is no secret. And I think it’s okay. I’ll donate to the university if I ever sell a screenplay.) It’s during biology that Julie and I unload and manage to laugh about the silly little miseries that make us grit our teeth and roll our eyes any other time. It’s important. For both of us, I think.
But, guy sitting next to us, biology lectures are neither the time nor the place for this activity. You have the right to take notes and get good grades on the remaining two tests and who am I to stand in your way? I’ve gleaned from this lecture about as much information as I would have if I had stayed in the HFAC. Because that’s what I need: more time in the HFAC.
So, thank you, guy sitting next to us. Thank you for reminding me that I have yet another thing I need to work on. I’ve found I spend much less time than most of my dear BYU friends dwelling on my own failings and imperfections. I know they’re there but I tend to believe that simply dwelling on the good things I should be doing is much more effective than thinking about the fact that I’m not doing them as well as I should be. I probably shouldn’t sacrifice biology, healthy sleeping habits, and future financial security because I feel confident in my future as a playwright. And it’s good to be reminded. Even if I resent you and your fashionable wedding ring and thoughtful questions about swamplands in Brazil. That resentment won’t last long. Let’s not lose our heads.
Take care, guy sitting next to us. Kiss your wife and study your copious notes. I won’t ask you to email them to me. I’ll ask someone else. It’s a big class.
Your classmate,
Matthew

PS: The professor said the following a few minutes ago and I thought it was poetic. (See, I’m listening!)
What have we done with the Garden of Eden?
We plowed it and planted corn.

Getting personal

2009-09-25T17:49:00.000-07:00

I realize, of course, that no one wants to read a blog about how I wish I blogged more or explaining why I don’t. So, I won’t go into any of that. I’ll simply cite one excue I have and go from there.
I’m often surprised by the people who read this. Quite often I meet people who know more about me than I realize because they’ve read it on GreenePeace. Thus, I think I’m too careful about what I post. I omit names, gloss over details, or (most often) simply opt out of sharing anything that might be seen as too personal.
This may seem perfectly normal, but it puzzles me. The other night, a couple friends of mine and I were engaged in one of those late night conversations when secrets are divulged and everyone, for one reason or another, feels at ease sharing things hitherto unspoken. I often wish I had more secrets than I do, but I’ve found that I’m not one to shy away from sharing what little intrigue can be found in my sterile little world.
Why, then, am I so gun shy when it comes to blogging? In all honesty, it’s probably a petty excuse for not writing as often as I’d like to. And excuses are bad. That said, let’s proceed.

So, how am I these days? I think I’m doing alright. I really am immensely grateful for the blessings I have and realize how fortunate I am: I have a faith that renders the world in brighter colors than most people are able to see, I have family and friends whose love I can’t begin to doubt, I have more opportunities than I can handle to exercise and develop my talents, and I live in a comfort and a peace so constant that I find myself forgetting too often how well-off I am.

I’ve said before that I live my life in a perpetual state of frustration. This, however, doesn’t cheapen or discredit the wonderful things I’ve just listed. It means, though, that I am never satisfied. Hence the busy schedule, the perfectionism, the wild ambitions. This means, among other things, that I do not stop. Ever.
A friend of mine, upon hearing about the awesome opportunities afforded to me this semester, told me I’m a lucky guy. I know what he meant, but it was a little off-putting. I don’t like being described as “lucky.” “Blessed” is okay, but “lucky” implies the existence of some fortuitous lottery that I have somehow won. “Lucky,” in a way, discounts the Saturday nights spent at home writing, the sleep deprivation, and the countless hours a week spent in rehearsal. I am fortunate and I believe the stars aligned to a certain degree to afford me the favorable circumstances I needed to succeed as much as I have up to this point. That knowledge, however, only makes me work harder. From a romantic religious perspective, if Heavenly Father so stacked the deck for me to be able to succeed, I darn well better succeed. It means I have no time to spare, no time to waste. Whatever I’m doing now, however diligent or exemplary it may seem, is simply not enough. Nothing ever will be.
In the meantime, though, I’m happy. I like working hard, I like accomplishing things. I like the rare moments of “fun” mixed in, but I realize that if the rest of it weren’t enjoyable I’d have burned out long ago. This semester is going to be a busy one, but boy am I going to have a good time along the way.

I said last week, mostly in light of the onslaught of long to-do lists and frustration with the number of hours in the day, that I wasn’t going to date this semester. After all, my recent pursuits have fizzled out as a result of my busy schedule (and, in some cases, theirs) and, my friends assure me, a possible lack of interest. I find it difficult to fathom the possibility of finding enough time even for something casual. By the time it gets to Saturday night, my only “night off” of the week, I’m so tired that I don’t want to do anything but lie in bed, watch indulgent movies, and single-handedly eat a Little Caesar’s pizza.
Those who know me best, though, remind me that when I’m really interested in someone I manage to make the time necessary. I was in love once and it came at a time that probably couldn’t have been more inopportune. It was important enough, though, that I was willing to be creative and make necessary sacrifices (often of sleep) to ensure that there was sufficient time. Just thinking about that gives me confidence that I won’t become the zealous artist who is blinded to everything but his work. My work took a backseat once before and I’m sure it could happen again. It will just take a lot.
I like saying, “I was in love once.” It makes me feel worldly wise and reminds me of what might have been the happiest time in my life. (I can’t think of anything that tops it in recent memory, at least.) The whole experience left its mark on my life, quite a formidable mark at that. But that is the subject for another blog, one when I’m even less inhibited about sharing things.
On top of all that, I seem to have a tendency to gravitate toward really bad dating ideas. I’m smart enough to keep myself from indulging any of them, but still, it’s alarming.

Okay, that’s enough writing for now. Hopefully this will become more of a regular thing. But I won’t elaborate on that.

Seven confessions

2009-07-13T12:19:00.001-07:00

-There are three books I pretend I’ve read but never finished.
-I do not floss. Ever.
-I don’t think I’m as smart as my GPA indicates.
-I speed. Always.
-Sometimes I don’t like foreign films. In fact, sometimes I crave really stupid movies. I usually don’t give in, however.
-I judge people by their shoes more often than I like to admit.
-Sometimes I daydream about being a professional athlete. Really.

Psych out

2009-07-13T12:02:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in my psychology class working on a “group presentation” with a couple of guys I’m sitting next to. One of them is trying to explain why he, in spite of his white skin, deserves a multicultural scholarship because he’s a seventh generation Californian and only three generations ago California had barely become a part of the United States. I stopped myself from trying to correct any one of the absurdities in his logic, realizing that I’ve done nothing but argue with what he has said since our discussion began. He has, in fact, been wrong about nearly everything he’s said in the last ten minutes but he’s talking in the “I’m smart” voice, which has fooled our third group member into believing that if white people have higher SAT scores than minorities, then the palest white people must be the smartest. Am I in college? I wonder sometimes.
Okay, I’m being too harsh. He’s mentioned his (pale) wife several times and I have to bear in mind that this guy got a woman to fall in love with him. There has got to be more than meets the eye. I’m sure if I gave him a chance I could come to understand him better. I like to think I’m getting better at looking past what is initially off-putting and assuming there is something I can’t see. The old Matthew would roll his eyes and make a mental note not to sit in this row again. (Isn’t it weird how people tend to always sit in the same spots in a classroom?) However, the new Matthew is not so dismissive. I hope.
I think the guy sitting next to me (the neutral member of the group) has been reading this over my shoulder. I should be nicer.

A week in the life...

2009-07-06T01:59:00.000-07:00

I had the idea that maybe if I made blogging a weekly activity I would do it more faithfully. So, here's a quick summary of this last one.
The second week of classes went just swimmingly. (We should use that word more.) I actually have two tests during the coming week, but we won't think about that now. At the moment, I'm happy my English class is teaching me to be a grown-up and to read boring things. (Look, I'm sorry, Benjamin Franklin, but your autobiography is just too long.) I'm discovering some really interesting pieces of literature though. Well, not discovering since I suppose their inclusion in an anthology and on my syllabus makes their content anything but uncharted territory. Perhaps I'm just trying to make up for the years I've spent as a student avoiding reading substantial non-theatrical material. That must be it.
My psychology class is really interesting and I forgot how easy 100-level classes are. (Don't hate me, my young friends.) That means it's fun and interesting without being especially challenging. Which, sometimes, is quite nice.
What else, what else...I'm enjoying work. It seems that every time I work I discover more things that I don't know and I look forward to the day when I feel more comfortable with it all. It's something I really want to be good at so I'm willing to work for it. This job has me exploring career options that I'd never even considered before. Jake suggested the other day that he, Addi, and I each get a foster child to take care of and raise them in our student apartment. It was a funny proposition. (No, we're not going to do that.)
Other than that, I suppose there isn't much going on. I had a nice Independence Day yesterday. I went hiking with some friends and then another friend and I crashed a family barbecue in American Fork. It was fun being with a family, even if it wasn't mine. I tried to figure out why I don't see myself as particularly patriotic and I may have reached a conclusion. America as an entity doesn't mean a great deal to me. I love so many things about this country but I think I'd be just as happy living somewhere else where the same basic civil liberties were available to me. I appreciate and acknowledge the sacrifices made by those who made this country what it is but I see those stories more as chronicles of the strength of the human spirit than anything else. I admire William Wilberforce as much as George Washington but neither one for their citizenship in any particular nation. If that admiration makes me a patriot, great! If not, however, I might just have to accept that.
Anyway, that was weird. I finished off the week with a nice uplifting Sunday. Church was great today and this evening we had a little gathering at my place where cinnamon rolls were consumed and "Werewolves" was played. It was intense. I can't sleep, even though I have to be up in six hours. Yes, six. It's going to be a long week. I guess I'll go try again.

Shameless plug. For myself.

2009-07-02T00:51:00.000-07:00

So, I have a new blog. It's devoted to playwriting (as is a big portion of my life, if you didn't know) so check it out!

http://mgplays.wordpress.com

This is all that I ask for:

2009-06-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

(A record store. Matthew is browsing the used DVD’s. He looks frustrated. Girl approaches.)

GIRL
That’s a good one.

MATTHEW
Huh?

GIRL
“Annie Hall.” Isn’t that...
(Gets a closer look at the DVD case.)
Oh, “Annie.”
(Suppresses a laugh.)

MATTHEW
Yeah, I was just...

GIRL
No, no. By all means...

MATTHEW
Really, I was just looking to see when it was made.

GIRL
Uh huh.

MATTHEW
I wasn’t going to buy it.

GIRL
Because you already have it.

MATTHEW
Oh, come on.

GIRL
Or, let me guess, present for your girlfriend?

MATTHEW
If I had one of those, she wouldn’t be a fan of movies like this.

GIRL
Uh huh.

MATTHEW
You totally don’t believe me.

GIRL
No, I do.
(He gives her a look.)
Really, I do.

MATTHEW
(Handing her a DVD.)
Here’s “Annie Hall.” I mean, if you were looking for it.

GIRL
Oh, I wasn’t. I just...

MATTHEW
...couldn’t help noticing me noticing “Annie Hall?”

GIRL
Sorry, was that weird of me?

MATTHEW
No.

GIRL
Yeah, it was. And now you’re all embarrassed and denying your love of musicals...

MATTHEW
(Putting “Annie” back on the shelf.)
You’re not gonna let that go, are you?

GIRL
Really, I don’t usually...approach people like that.

MATTHEW
Well, for the record I love “Annie Hall.”

GIRL
Me too, I watched it when I was younger but I didn’t really get it. You know?

MATTHEW
Yeah, I was that way with “Ghostbusters.”

GIRL
You know I’ve never actually seen that whole movie?

MATTHEW
What?!

GIRL
I know!

MATTHEW
No way!

GIRL
It’s one of those that no one watches now because they’ve all seen it, you know? I think it’s on my Netflix queue.

MATTHEW
Yeah, I use that line. It’s alright, you know? You don’t have to watch it, I guess.

GIRL
Well, thank you.

MATTHEW
But you’re missing out. I actually just watched “Annie Hall” this afternoon.

GIRL
For the first time?

MATTHEW
Yep. I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately, got surgery last week.

GIRL
Oh really? What kind of surgery?

MATTHEW
(Beat.)
How about we change the subject?
(They laugh.)
Sorry, I don’t know why I brought that up.

GIRL
I don’t know why I asked. I don’t really need to know.

MATTHEW
You don’t want to know.
(Beat.)
So...

GIRL
(Looking at “Annie Hall.”)
You know what I love about this movie? That montage at the end, with Diane Keaton singing and, you know, all the cheesy moments from the movie.

MATTHEW
Yeah.

GIRL
I don’t know. And you remember all of that started with a game of tennis, and she gave him a ride, and it all went from there. It’s just interesting, you know, thinking you can find someone to...give yourself to. And it’ll be something so simple. I mean, in the movie...
(Beat.)
It’s a good one.

MATTHEW
Yeah...What’s your name?

GIRL
Jordan. And...

MATTHEW
Matthew.

JORDAN
Nice to meet you. Uh, yeah. I recommend that one.
(Starts to move off.)

MATTHEW
Anything else?

JORDAN
(Turning back.)
What?

MATTHEW
I mean, other recommendations?
(She gives him a perplexed look.)
Sorry, just...

JORDAN
Well, I looked through most of these used ones. Not much here.

MATTHEW
Yeah the buy two get one free thing presumes we can find three we want to take home.

JORDAN
Exactly.

MATTHEW
I actually did a couple times.

JORDAN
Me too.

MATTHEW
We must have snatched up anything worth buying.

JORDAN
Right.

MATTHEW
I mean...
(Looking at the DVD’s.)
“The Love Guru.” Really?

JORDAN
And the, what, seventh “American Pie” movie? How many of these do we need?

MATTHEW
It’s for a generation raised on “Land Before Time.”

JORDAN
(Laughs.)
Right.

MATTHEW
Yeah, this was a bust, I think.

JORDAN
Better luck next time.

MATTHEW
Hey, uh...This is kind of...But, what are you doing tonight?

JORDAN
It’s 9:45.
(Beat.)
Nothing so far.

MATTHEW
I mean, I could get your number and call you up, ask you out, and we could have a great time. But, what about now?

JORDAN
I’m intrigued. You didn’t have any plans tonight?

MATTHEW
Well, I was going to eat a pizza by myself, watch “Citizen Kane,” and probably write a blog about our society’s abysmal taste in movies.

JORDAN
Sounds like fun.

MATTHEW
Actually, I’d probably think about writing a blog but I’d just end up falling asleep watching “How I Met Your Mother” episodes from a sketchy Japanese website.

JORDAN
Side Reel?

MATTHEW
Wow, how embarrassing that you know that.

JORDAN
So, what did you have in mind?

MATTHEW
Uh, I...My plan really only got as far as “Wanna go out.” Do you like food?

JORDAN
I love it. I had dinner a couple hours ago, but...

MATTHEW
How about we split an app sampler at Applebees?

JORDAN
Ooh, that sounds great. Do you like the mozzarella sticks?

MATTHEW
They’re all yours.

JORDAN
Hmmm, maybe we could sub more buffalo wings.

MATTHEW
That’s what I like to hear.

JORDAN
Then what?

MATTHEW
Ummm...

JORDAN
See where the evening takes us?

MATTHEW
(Laughs.)
Wow, I’ve never tried that.

JORDAN
Neither have I.

MATTHEW
Sounds great.
(They walk together out of the store.)
Funny story, I was there with my buddy the other day and he thought our waitress was cute, but he was afraid she saw him checking out this other waitress...
(They exit.)

Just the perfect blend-ship

2009-06-01T23:26:00.000-07:00

This will be one of those sappy blog entries that makes people wonder who I am and what I’ve done with Matthew Greene. I hung out one night last week with a group of friends I haven’t seen for a while. It was a good time and I was happy to have the chance to catch up and see how life has been treating them. (You know, marriage, babies, missions, the basics.) I was glad to see they have kept in touch and a little disappointed that I haven’t stayed as close as they have. But most of all it made me reflect.
You see, this group of friends came into my life right when I needed them. And I do not want to sound like some overstuffed New Era testimonial in saying this, but I realized what a blessing their friendship was. I was going through what was indisputably the most difficult period in my life and I was determined not to let anyone know. I had moved into a new student ward and I was wary of diving into any social scene. A combination of health issues, personal struggles, and big disappointments gave me enough misguided motivation to keep to myself. My acquaintance with these few good souls (wow, what am I, one hundred years old?) changed that.
The really remarkable thing is that, barring espionage or supreme powers of perception, they had no way of knowing really what was going on with me. Of course, as we got to be closer friends I told them some of the gory details (and wouldn’t you like to know what they were) but for the most part they had no idea. I was just a guy in their ward who struck up a conversation at a “Linger Longer” and got roped into a “Dinner Group.” (I was not yet dead set against such singles ward festivities.) They weren’t trying to “reach out” or “fellowship” someone they thought was in trouble. At least I don’t think they were. (Not any more than people in general think I’m “in trouble,” that is…) The fact is, they were a group of fun people who liked to have a good time and shared their general love of living with everyone around them.
I didn’t realize it at the time and perhaps I didn’t think about it as fully as I should until the other night, but these friends, simply by being themselves and being able to show kindness and love to each other, lifted me out of the proverbial rut and helped me to have a better time than I would have thought possible that fateful Spring term, oh so long ago. They weren’t trying to be anything more than they were: good people and good friends. But that was exactly what I needed.
I got me thinking (because, really, what doesn’t?) about my own interactions with people. Often I find myself wanting to help people I think are having a difficult time. I’ll try to do exactly what these people did not: reach out, extend sympathy, offer advice, try to understand what they’re going through, etc. Perhaps we all just need to simply be cool and have a good time. I guess what I’ve realized is that when we’re doing that we’re giving more to those around us than we realize. And the nights when I think my time is better spent sitting at home and working on my latest project could perhaps be better spent just having fun with friends. Apparently, it makes a big difference
So, other then a public cyberspace “thank you” to any of those few and pround who know who they are, I guess this blog should serve to reaffirm my commitment to be a good friend to those few friends I have and the those I should be making. It’s also a reminder to all you tuning in at home that maybe we in being ourselves and loving each other are working miracles in the lives of those around us every day. And chances are, we have no idea.

Graveyard Shift

2009-05-06T14:21:00.000-07:00

I’ve found I’d rather watch my second choice TV show than endure the commercials they show on Lifetime. This should, perhaps, make me wonder why I want to watch Lifetime programming in the first place.
I’m working a graveyard shift tonight and I’m employing everything in my disposal to stay awake. My friend told me to write a blog entry of my late night thoughts. The night is still young but I figured I’d get started now.
I really need to pace myself. I think among the many lessons I’ll learn tonight will be the importance of saving either the box of cookies, the bag of chips, or the package of candy for a little later than midnight. Tasty as the Zours are they would probably be of more assistance when my eyelids inevitably start drooping to the point of slapping myself to stay awake.
1:41 AM: I just finished watching “Slumdog Millionaire,” a movie that I would recommend without hesitation to just about anyone. I love that there’s still a place somewhere for the unabashed optimism we see in Bollywood films. “Slumdog” deals with some tough stuff but there is a sense of destiny, of the universe conspiring for the good of our hero. And there’s just something cathartic about rooting for the underdog and watching him win a fortune AND end up with the girl of his dreams. Sometimes, things DO work out. We lose sight of that in the grit and cynicism that we often associate with real artistic merit. Maybe this fascination of mine has more to do with the fact that I’ve lost a good deal of my own cynicism recently than anything else. (This is thanks, fittingly, to the girl with whom I first watched this particular movie.) And I like to think that losing some of my “edge” doesn’t have to negatively affect my writing. Maybe happy endings can be beautiful too. There, I said it.
4:02 AM: Time is moving by astoundingly quickly. I’m supposed to check the kids every fifteen minutes to make sure they’re not sneaking out or up to anything other than, well, sleeping. I had a bit of a heart attack a couple hours ago when one girl decided to move from her bed to the empty bunk above her. I saw an empty bed and my career as a group home tracker flashed before my eyes. However, I found her and all is well. That was, up until now, the most interesting part of the night. And I hope it stays that way. “Ed Wood” was a fun show. I’ll probably watch one more movie to pass the time. What a great job!
6:13 AM: So, “City of Angels?” Not such a good movie. And it came so highly recommended by everyone who tried to talk me out of hating Nicholas Cage. I didn’t mind it much but I was severely underwhelmed by the whole experience. I am currently caught up in a “very special” episode of “Saved By The Bell.” Zach and Slater were suspected of smoking pot because, I mean, what could be more likely than that? Then they went around a circle and told stories about their friends who had gotten involved with various types of hard drugs culminating in Jesse’s (the one who isn’t Tiffany Amber Theissen) confession about her crippling addiction to caffeine pills. Why I am watching “Saved By The Bell” is a mystery to me. I must be tired. Especially since I’m blogging about it. Come to think of it, caffeine pills might be a good investment for future graveyard shifts. I’m just kidding, of course. The temptation to sleep wasn’t even much of a reality tonight. Maybe I’ve found my calling at last: staying up all night.

Life is good...

2009-03-20T13:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, now it’s time for the game. This one is called “What class is Matthew not paying attention to today?” And the answer is…World Religions. But, in my defense, I am paying a sort of half attention.
So, what is going on with me right now? I’ve noticed that this blog has become a sort of sounding board for my frustrations and confusions. At this point in my life, however, I am not feeling particularly frustrated or confused. I am pretty uniformly happy; see me for details.
ANYWAY, I think in an attempt to make up for the negativity that has pervaded my posts here, I’m going to try and concentrate on the positive for a few moments. What follows is a list of some reasons I have to be happy right now:
-New music. (That sounds like a “Ragtime” reference.) My latest iTunes purchase is “Poses” by Rufus Wainwright and I am FURIOUS I lived 22 years without it. (Never mind the fact that it came out last year.)
-Food discoveries. I HAVE to give a “shout out” to the Penny Royal Café, which is probably the coolest place in Provo and whose sandwiches are revolutionizing my life.
-“Berenice.” I am pretty proud of this show and I’m glad people are enjoying it. But to add to the happiness, it’s almost over! It’s bittersweet, but the enormous relief that will come on Saturday night almost eradicates the bitter.
-The weather. I forgot how much I love the sun.
-The exciting feeling you get as the semester winds down. A little bit of stress, a little bit of relief, and everything in between seems heightened in a way. Really.
-Friendly wagers with my roommates. We bet pizzas and Frosties back and forth. I am not ashamed of this, maybe because I always win.
-People who make you smile whenever you see them. If you don’t have one of them, I suggest you find one.
WHAT? So much happiness. This must be something of a shock for everyone who knows me. I blame the sunshine. But really, life is good. Have you noticed? If you’re not feeling so hot, maybe my list can give you some ideas: listen to Rufus Wainwright, eat at the Penny Royal, come see “Berenice” (shameless plug).
And I’ll have you know I took two good pages of notes while I wrote this. I’m beginning to think I learn best when I’m mid-blog. I guess we’ll see at the end of the semester…

A close encounter...read at your own risk...

2009-03-04T11:10:00.001-08:00

I’m sorry, I have to tell this story. It is not for the faint of heart.
The other day in the Cougareat (BYU’s food court) I witnessed one of the strangest displays I have ever seen. As I sat eating my five-dollar footlong, there was at a nearby table a boy and girl who seemed to have never touched someone of the opposite sex before. They were adorably awkward They made quiet conversation for a while, sitting across the table from one another and I relished in the discomfort of it all. These ugly ducklings seemed to be turning into swans in one another’s eyes as they sat in the crowded student centers with their forgotten teriyaki bowls. It was sweet. Then it got weird. All of a sudden, I looked up again and they had shifted position so they were sitting right next to one another. His eyes were focused so intently on hers that I thought she might burst into flames. I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing as his hand shakily made its way from his side to hers and hovered over her knee. This was bizarre and I was riveted. To my shock, the girl looked at him and NODDED. I kid you not! With the green light, the boy proceeded to lower his hand and rested it gingerly on the girl’s knee. She reacted with…delight and then returned the favor. Hands on knees. It could have stopped there and I still would have been quite disturbed. But it did not. At this point I averted my eyes for a moment and saw the table next to mine, its inhabitants also watching the unorthodox scene before us. A quick glance around the surrounding tables confirmed my presumption: we were all watching. The love fest was encircled by tables at which sat an audience of befuddled BYU students. Surely these two noticed they were the object of bewildered observation by more than a few. THEY DID NOT. They only saw one another. When my gaze made it back to the lunchtime spectacle she was guiding his hand slowly from her knee up to her shoulder. He put both hands on the girl’s shoulders and I was hoping for a minute that he would shake her out of her hormonal trance and she would do likewise to him. No such luck. The exploration continued. I tried to concentrate on their faces (though by this point trembling fingers had settled there) and I saw that accompanying the unbroken eye contact were occasional bits of dialogue I couldn’t hear. I don’t know if I have ever wished more fervently for super-sonic hearing than I did at that moment. My best guesses as to what was being said included gems like: “Touching? This is great! I can’t believe we’ve never tried this before,” “I wonder if anyone else knows about this,” or my personal favorite, “I really liked the knee, what else is good?” I’ll spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say, it took about five minutes for the make-out session to begin at which point the situation ceased to be fascinating and became just another PDA. Up until that point, however, they had out rapt attention. Try as we did, we could not look away. Like a train wreck. I looked around when the show was over at my fellow spectators and we breathed a collective sigh of relief that this macabre extreme expression of sexual frustration and twisted public display of…whatever that was had come to an end. I finished my sandwich and went back home to the HFAC, not quite sure what I had just seen.
I tried to tell myself that this had been a sweet scene of chaste physical expression of love. In a food court. At lunchtime. Sure. And it was none of my business, I know. Goodness knows, when you’re out in a very public place you can expect the degree of privacy you need to discover the body of your significant other. What?! I try to be understanding, but you know what? No. It was just weird.
PS: If you are reading this and you were one of these two Cougareat lovebirds, please contact me. I have a LOT of questions.

Stream of consciousness

2009-02-18T11:09:00.000-08:00

I don’t know why I so much do not want to be in my World Religions class right now. I woke up this morning completely uninterested in going to any of my various commitments today. I ditched my first class so I could swing by the HFAC and try and track down the hat I wore yesterday and left in D-341. I found it. Someday I’ll go to the HFAC to see my kids in shows. I think it might be nice not to feel at home in there. I have another year of HFAC-dwelling ahead of me and, really, I can’t complain about much.
That isn’t to say that I’m sure my children will do shows. I’m not going to force them into theatre by any means. But that’s neither here nor there.
The girl next to me is eating a peanut butter sandwich. I hate that. I hate whenever people eat in class. I mean eat anything, not just foods I’m allergic to. Okay, not everything. If you want to crack open a bag of Swedish Fish or sip on a Jamba Juice, have a party. But don’t bring your lunch into class. That bugs.
“That bugs?” I don’t say that. Who am I? The protestant reformation. Luther preached that the daily life should be a repentance. Just in case you were worried I wasn’t paying attention to the lecture that’s going on. I like that. The daily life should be a continual, renewed turning oneself unto God and living closer to His teachings. That’s a good way to look at it. Protestant as he was, this was probably in reaction to Catholic confession. I have a strange desire to go to Catholic confession someday. I’m just curious about the whole thing and I imagine it’s a romantic, liberating feeling. I took communion once. In Italy. I was also blessed by the Pope. I love Catholics.
I wish I could do that thing where you wear a long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved shirt. That never looks good on me. Someday I will be rich enough that I’ll never be thirsty. That would be my first order of business as a rich guy: Jamba Juice on demand for me and my kids. Who may or may not do theatre. I’m indifferent. I just hope I have some someday. I have to find a wife first. Ha! And that is a subject for another time.

More adventures in over-thinking

2009-01-26T14:53:00.000-08:00

Some more ideas I’ve been tossing around…
I started reading a book in the Freshman Academy office called “Generation Me.” It’s one of those books about my generation written by someone of my parents’ generation voicing the same complaints we’ve heard our entire lives. It was amusing if not totally edifying.
It did get me thinking. What is my generation? I was thinking about this in my Dramatic Literature class today. (Yes, it was a productive day for me in TMA 396.) Theatre majors spend two semesters dealing exclusively with what people have written about theatre. We look at theories, at criticism, at different movements in the history of performance. (We spend two other semesters just talking about this history.) We read plays but only incidentally, only to see how they illustrate, refute, confirm, or engage in some sort of dialogue with one theoretical idea or another. We report on assigned reading and try to prove we’ve understood the concepts presented. We sit at desks, listen politely, raise our hands, and engage in academic conversation.
Sound familiar? Probably, if you’ve ever been a student. I started thinking about the play “The History Boys,” a text that questions the validity of academia and examines how this all-too-familiar scene intersects with the ubiquitous “real world” we hear so much about. In one memorable scene, a teacher’s excitement about his student’s understanding of the Holocaust is met with hostility on the part of another instructor. When Irwin, in response to this student’s astute comment, exclaims “Good,” Hector responds: “No, not good. Posner is not making a point. He is speaking from the heart.” Bu that’s what we do, isn’t it? We make points, we prove our worth, our intelligence. We prove it to our professors, our peers, and most importantly (of course) to ourselves. We have learned from a young age that success, meaning, and some sort of transcendent worth comes from the classroom. I’m no exception to this rule. I tear up at the end of “Dead Poets’ Society” just like the rest of you. BUT, when the dust settles, what happened in that classroom means nothing if it is not followed by something meaningful, if those boys’ newfound self expression or sense of individuality does not lead them to lead good lives, to help others, to be productive, and to overcome the resistance they’ll meet out in the real world.
Granted, I am not saying that the classroom is a useless arena for self-discovery and enhancement. I am saying that I’m afraid that all too often it stops there. That’s where “my generation” comes into this. We are the inheritors of postmodern thought and have grown up with the assumption that questioning anything and everything was the norm. Actually, maybe more and ideal than a norm. My generation would bristle at the suggestion that the classroom or lecture hall was paramount. We are all about alternative methods of education and deconstructing the accepted behaviors and ideas in society. But what does that really mean? Are we still trapped by the legacy of the past that tells us that the pinnacle of understanding is a thesis or dissertation? We talk a lot about alternate schools of thought. But often that’s what we do. TALK. (“Yes, you’re absolutely right. We can’t take for granted that traditional forms of expression are the most effective. Why don’t you write a paper about that?”) So, what do we do? As someone who has played the game of academia (and quite successfully at that) for fifteen years, how do I escape this black hole of original thought? Is it worth playing the game to be able to have the chance to fix it? Or am I already a sell-out? Yes, I’m getting my degree. Yes, there is probably more school in store after that. But I have to keep asking myself: “Then what?”

I don't have a title for this

2009-01-26T12:00:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting in my Dramatic Literature class, thinking about life. Actually, I’m thinking about how much I hate Sam Shepard. I wonder sometimes if I can still call myself a theatre artist if I hate Sam Shepard. I also hate “Endgame.” I’m going to theatre major hell.
Lately, I’ve been reconsidering plans and dreams I have taken for granted for years. Mostly, I am tired of being an undergrad. I’m tired of trying to balance school and education. I’m curious as to how different my life will be in grad school. Will I still have to do silly little “response papers” and “reading reports?” Will I find myself wondering on a Saturday afternoon if I should take time away from writing the play I care about to do the class assignment that I don’t? Most of all, I wonder if my desire to get my MFA is tied more closely to my growing fear of going out into the “real world.”
When it comes down to it, I suppose, I’m either talented or I’m not. I’m either working hard enough or I’m not. Is it really prudent for a writer (who would be ill-advised to predict a future of plentiful monetary means) to spend several years and thousands of dollars to sit around a table and pontificate about every draft I write? I can’t hide behind a master’s degree once I’m out of grad school and greatly in debt. I need to improve, of course, but I don’t know if that’ll happen if I continue to spend all my time in a classroom.
Cynical? Maybe. I should, perhaps, adopt the role of the idealist and assume that all my dreams will come true when I get to Yale, NYU, New School, the Mischner Institue, or wherever I end up. Perhaps I should believe whole-heartedly that I’ll graduate from one of these exemplary institutions ready to revolutionize the literary and theatrical worlds. But I can’t buy it.
I’ve recently had a crazy idea bouncing around in my head, a wild hair, if you will. I want to be a high school teacher. I KNOW! I haven’t given up the dream of teaching at a college or university either. And I find myself passively looking for other employment opportunities, perhaps something part-time, something to tide me over while I’m making my way as a writer or director. Or something else.
It’s frustrating, but it’s kind of exciting. I have a little while until I need to make any real decisions. But they need to be made. Soon enough. Let me know if you have any guidance for me. But for now I’ll leave it at that.
Class is over.

A love letter to the theatre...

2009-01-09T00:37:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do. Let’s be honest, I’m not going to become a millionaire (unless I can indeed write the next “Twilight”-esque phenomenon) and theatre is not the easiest filed in which to carve out a life for oneself. I still have days when I consider throwing in the towel and becoming a civil engineering or business management major. However, today was not one of those days. Today was the antidote to days like those.
The designers came to the “Berenice” rehearsal tonight and gave their presentations to the cast to show what they’re looking at in terms of how the show will look sound and feel. (“Berenice” is a new script that I wrote/adapted, in case you didn’t know.) I listened to the director talk about how she sees the script and the story she wants to tell. And I heard the actors talking about their characters and the major themes that speak to them in the script I wrote.
This was an incredible feeling! People are sketching costumes for characters I created and scoring scripts full of lines that I wrote. People are finding meaning in something that I generated, something personal and close to me. I was honestly awestruck seeing the coming together of diverse talents to create something that will hopefully be a beautiful work of art. I put words on a page and for the first time I think tonight I saw what that can actually mean. Creative minds are coming together and synthesizing; I don’t know if there is much that is more exciting than that.
I love theatre. I love creation. I hope to create things of worth, things of beauty. I feel that this is something divine that I have been given, the ability, as Racine put it, to create something out of nothing. And, like I said, it’s nights like these that can get me through the frustrations that inevitably follow an obnoxious temperamental artist such as myself.

Learning the Rules

2009-01-09T00:35:00.000-08:00

(This is another piece I wrote for that creative writing class last semester.)

It must have been a strange day, the first time my father led me into a public restroom and introduced me to the amenities there. I can’t know for sure, but I imagine it was quite a relief; boys who are young enough to go in the women’s bathroom with their mothers are still old enough to be humiliated by it. I wonder what he said to me, or what I’ll say to my own son when the time comes. What’s funny, I suppose, is the fact that going to the bathroom is the most basic, most uncomplicated process I can think of. We’re born without inhibitions but that freedom is squashed soon enough and rules are gradually introduced. We are told when to go, where to go, and, as soon as young boys are brought into the bathroom, how to go.
Rules are important. I’ve always appreciated them and the comfort they seem to provide. I was never a Tom Sawyer or a Dennis the Menace. I was never “up to no good.” I liked to do what I was supposed to do; life was manageable then. I learned that in the bathroom, when your first choice urinal is taken, you take the one furthest from that in use. After that, you fill in, leaving a buffer zone between you and the man to your side. This presents an uncomfortable grey area for a law-abiding citizen such as myself who needs structure in order to feel at ease. Still, ruminating on options means loitering and another potential infraction. So a decision has to be made. I learned that your eyes face front and that before you turn to move to the sink, a decisive step backwards from the wall must be taken before truing to one side or another. (This is especially imperative in the unfortunate circumstances in which no “privacy barriers” are present between the urinals.) I think even Dennis the Menace would agree that these rules aren’t worth breaking. That is, if we ever discussed these rules out loud.
I’ve been told that when I was three years old or so, I would watch my mother iron. Always the inquisitive little tyke, I asked her one day if I could touch the iron. She told me I could not. As the story goes, I asked if I could touch the “white part” of the iron (the handle I knew full well was not hurting her) and she conceded. My curious little finger got closer and closer to the “hot part” until a quick burn met with three-year-old tears and a loving scolding from my mother. My finger swelled under cold running water and I determined in my young mind that the “hard way” is not the wisest choice when a lesson needs to be learned.
The “hard way” was often unavoidable, however. When I got a few years older, I would learn that I was not an athlete. My one-year tee ball career culminated in being awarded the “best dancer in the outfield” honor when my coach handed me the trophy my parents had paid for. I’ve wondered what possessed the man to crush a little boy’s athletic dreams with a single joke. I doubt this occurred to him, though. In a desperate attempt to find something to say, he must have remembered a fateful afternoon when his outfielder, in desperate need of a bathroom, couldn’t stand still and pay attention to the game. Little did he know, perhaps, that the snow cone at the end of the game was the only motivation keeping me out there. Even before the pizza and trophy party, I knew I didn’t share my teammates’ dedication to the sport. The other boys watched baseball games, spent hours a day playing catch, and knew terminology so mysterious and useful that I wondered why we never covered it in Mrs. Menz’s kindergarten classroom. With every trip or screw-up came an assertion that the baseball diamond was not the place for me. But the other boys stayed.
I remember little else about my life as a baseball player and even less about my early bathroom experiences; I do remember the same way walking into a crowded restroom that I’d felt in the Little League dugout: exposed, intimidated, under scrutiny. The bathroom isn’t a frightening place, but the same meticulous care is taken to avoid a misstep, one that might get you labeled as the “best dancer in the outfield.” That team party was forgotten for years, until it turned from a painful memory to an amusing anecdote. I was thrilled a couple years later as opening night of my first play approached. Excited as I was, I was careful whom I invited to the occasion. Boys don’t do plays and, though I’d seen plenty of men onstage, I knew this very well. The confidence that I’d found my niche was tempered with a healthy does of self-consciousness with regard to where I’d finally resolved to “belong.” I’d broken some mold. I was a maverick, an exception to the rule, and too young to feel anything but embarrassed.
I certainly wouldn’t say I never break the rules. I defy expectations and push boundaries when I feel secure in doing so. But for the most part I think there is strength in security. And rules give security. A calculated risk loses its flavor when rebellion becomes a habit and I take pains to ensure that the charm of a step out of line remains a “special occasion” of sorts. I often skip breakfast, I cut across the grass, I don’t brush my teeth on nights when I’m especially tired, and I eat Top Ramen far more often than I ought to. I’m ashamed, sometimes, by how fervently I want to “fit in.” But there is a time and place for living on the edge, I suppose. And I’m grateful for those who showed me the rules.
My dad is an obedient man. He’s also a strong man. He knows what to obey. He’s religious, and I’m fully confident that if he were in Abraham’s place I’d be tied up on the altar and he’d raise a knife in faith to sacrifice his son according to his God’s command. That thought is strangely comforting; the father taking care of me always had a Father taking care of him. And my dad follows His rules. He also likes to fall into line when convenient and when doing so doesn’t disrupt his highest priorities. When he steps up to a urinal, he faces front and takes a step back before turning to wash his hands. And my dad always washes his hands. I’m sure as I was running out of the bathroom to rejoin the rest of my family he made me stop at the sink and wash thoroughly. I have always trusted my father, and for the most part I still do what I see him do. He watches ESPN but he’s been at every opening night performance and has always made it clearer than the boys in the dugout ever could what it means to be a man. And I think that dancing in the outfield or loitering by the sinks can be forgiven. Some rules overrule the rest.

In Defense of the Innkeeper

2008-12-07T23:46:00.001-08:00

Every time I hear the Nativity story, I wonder about the innkeeper. There wasn’t room. I certainly don’t believe he was lying. I tend to think he was having a stressful night, knowing the “tax rush” was upon him. I’m sure he was pleased to see the revenue he did, knowing that it would help him feed his family, maybe buy his wife something nice. He was probably tired and weary of turning away travelers; Mary and Joseph were surely not the only ones who got there too late.
I wonder what he thought when he saw the unfortunate couple at his gate. It would be unfair to assume he had any inkling who these two were or Who would be born that night. He probably just saw a young couple that he couldn’t possibly accommodate. The woman was pregnant, very pregnant I imagine. He certainly couldn’t turn them away. To his credit, I believe, he found a place for them. Not an ideal place, but the only place he had.
What was he to do? No room. Honestly, no room. He couldn’t displace his own family and, with what limited understanding I have of the cultural context he found himself in, he couldn’t leave them alone with the strangers gathered in his inn. Order had to maintained, I can appreciate that. And I tend to think that if room could possibly be made he would have done so.
Dramatic portrayals of the innkeeper show his as an impatient man who heartlessly turns his back on the mother of the Savior. But I like to think he did all he could to help them. I hope he sent an employee to tend to the young mother. I hope he prayed for their safety. And I hope he visited in the morning to make sure all was well. He would have had quite a surprise.
Maybe I’ll write a play about him someday. About the difficult choices we’re faced with and the lose-lose situations the Savior came into the world to remedy. About the miracle that took place that night and this sad, misunderstood man’s part in the great drama of Christmas.

Thoughts on Priorities

2008-12-05T23:47:00.000-08:00

My dad told me that in Korea, people will always offer you more food after your first helping regardless of what they actually have in the kitchen. He explained that social protocol is to refuse taking seconds the first time it's offered, then to feel free to accept if they offer again. The reason for this is simple: it's polite for them to offer, but sometimes that's all it is. I've always thought this little song and dance routine was a bit unnecessary until I recognized it in my own life.
It's Friday night and I'm at home. Alone. Writing. (And blogging, apparently.) This is certainly not a singular occurrence, as anyone who knows me will attest. I turned down a couple of invitations in order to have this privilege, the most pressing of which wouldn't back down easily. There was a veritable tennis match of "I need to get some things done" pitted against "Whatever, hang out anyway." This went on for a while until we all accepted the inevitable.
Now, let me qualify this. I am not averse to hanging out. I can think of more ideal weekends, but this particular week is a busy one and I need any spare time I have to finish a couple formidable projects before the semester's end. Thus, I have to sacrifice spending time with people I really care about. I'm used to this. I wish sometimes it wasn't necessary to make such sacrifices but I also acknowledge the fact that if I wanted things to be different they would be. That said, I've decided that, while I have been successful in keeping the commitments I've had this semester, I don't intend to take on so much in the future.
Maybe I'll have less productive-but-unsatisfying weekends next semester. In the meantime, I'm grateful for friends who extend invitations, play the game, and gracefully accept defeat. And I hope they know that on nights like tonight I'd rather be with them. I just have stuff to get done.

BONUS: Just because I know that anyone who knows me will laugh heartily at this...My arm and shoulder are killing me. I pulled a muscle making a dramatic hand gesture. Yes. It's the truth. Muscle pulled from over-gesticulations. It could only be me.

Confession

2008-11-30T23:24:00.001-08:00

Okay, the answer to your question is: yes, I am thoroughly ashamed of how “tender” my last blog was. A couple friends were reading it in the other room and I heard an audible “awwww” when they were done. This is alarming. Especially since I wasn’t being dishonest by any standard. I produced an “awwww.”
The truth is, I like a girl. She probably knows this since I’m a very transparent person but she may not fully acknowledge the fact. Or she may be waiting for me to get the cajones to tell her myself. My head is reeling from a “holy-crap-I-really-like-this-girl” moment I had earlier this evening. It distracted me from the heavy-handed tragedy that is “Swing Kids” (this week’s Sunday night inspirational movie). I’m getting romantic again. It’s gotta be the cold weather…

Seventeen epiphanies and a slightly disjointed blog

2008-11-30T18:10:00.000-08:00

I haven’t blogged for a long time. It’s funny, because I think so often about things I should blog. They’re brilliant ideas too. Believe me.
I just got back from Thanksgiving break when I spent a week at home with my family. Yes, it was great, thank you for asking. There’s something about getting away from life as usual that allows you to sort through the various departments of your life and feel a desire to change. We should all take vacations. It’s good for you.
I had seventeen epiphanies during my sojourn in Sacramento. If you ask me what they were, I will not be able to tell you. They keep coming back to me when I’m reminded of something I figured out or some task I have resolved to do.
One such epiphany was of the “Carpe Diem” variety and is nothing we haven’t heard before. Still, it’s stuck with me this long and I’m determined not to let its idealistic little self out of my grasp. This new zest for life materialized out of reading two fantastic books: The Road and A Thousand Splendid Suns. In putting myself into the world of these stories, I realized that if each day may be your last or if the bombs may wipe you out at any moment, there’s no reason to hesitate. No, this isn’t an excuse for impetuous and irresponsible behavior. Rather, it’s an antidote to the undesirable aspects of my analytical personality. So, you know, the basics: tell your mom you love her, ask out the girl of your dreams, apply for the program you don’t think you’ll get into, etc. Like I said, we’ve heard it all before.
I’ve noticed some things about myself as well. I don’t like dessert much. I usually am peer pressured into eating it, but I’m maverick enough (thank you, Sarah Palin for stealing my word) to order fries at an ice cream parlor and otherwise break with accepted dessert protocol. Also, I have learned that I should never commit to writing more than two major projects at the same time. Unless there’s money. And I can drop the pesky classes that require work that seems irrelevant to my education. But that’s another blog entirely.
I need to get over my dream of being an actor. I’ve made choices that have started me on a different path and I know that I’m doing the right thing and headed in the right direction. Good. Still, all it takes is the sight of an audition notice or watching a top-notch performance to reawaken the little kid inside of me who wants to move to New York and make it big on Broadway. Perhaps I should stop doing my indulgent acting gigs that keep that unhealthy little dream alive. Or perhaps I need to make room for it somewhere; it’s obviously important to me.
There are some people who just irritate me. They’ve all earned this special place in my heart, make no mistake about it. What’s funny is the way I react to certain things they do (jokes made, Facebook status updates, etc.) because I have labeled them as annoying. I roll my eyes and chastise myself for having such uncharitable thoughts, but I’m sure if someone outside the “annoying box” did the same thing, I would react in a totally different way. Most interestingly, perhaps, I wonder if I have been put in this box by anyone I know and I am almost certain I have. There isn’t much I can do about this. So I don’t think too much about it.
Almost every day I drive past a sign advertising a florist’s shop where you can buy a dozen roses for $9.98. The price hasn’t changed since I first arrived in Provo and I’m a little ashamed to say that it makes me feel a little wistful when I see it. I think of who I might eventually buy those roses for. It’s been such a long time coming, I’ve got to make it count when it finally happens. And I firmly believe that it will. Maybe that’s because not believing won’t get me anywhere and Logical Matthew has figured that out. But I believe it nonetheless. I can find someone to take a dozen roses to. And if she knows me, she’ll know I wasn’t bargain hunting, but that for a reluctantly optimistic flower buyer, she has finally arrived. I hope she knows someone is waiting for her. And I hope she hurries up and gets here.

My Parents' Romance

2008-10-21T02:36:00.001-07:00

My parents met in high school. It’s only natural that they look at me and wonder what’s taking me so long. I’ve heard the stories and envy the simplicity of it all, the prelude to a marriage devoid of fights, twenty five years of holding hands like it’s the first time and still inspiring goofy smiles four kids later. I believe it started at church one Sunday when my dad leaned far back in his Sunday School chair to appear nonchalant to the new girl in town. Later, it’s been said they met up at a dance and she flattered him by asking if he played basketball for their high school team. The song was over but they kept dancing, I’ve heard, and my mom must have smiled to herself, fully aware that her basketball skills surpassed those she had called attention to. At least that’s what I gather.
Somewhere in the story is a roller rink, a genius invention for boys too cowardly to hold a girl’s hand otherwise. I know this because I’ve tested the waters in this setting myself. I went last year to roller skate with some new friends, determined to impress a girl there, but wound up in the emergency room with a broken wrist that took months and two surgeries to heal. Had I not needed urgent medical care, the object of my admiration may not have noticed me at all. As it was, my interests soon changed and I would try always to position myself on her right side so that enviable handholding could remain a distinct possibility uninhibited by the cast on my right arm.
I know my aunt had some interest in my dad, for a day or two at least. It’s strange when I think about it, when they spend Christmas morning or Thanksgiving dinner passing presents and gravy boats between them. But it was nothing even then, and time I’m sure has all but erased much memory at all of girlish crushes or the sisterly competition I’ve heard ensued. She offered to teach my mom to flirt to assert her superiority in the matter. When she’d invited Dad over, Mom popping popcorn on the stove in an outfit he claims to remember was a more tempting prospect than anything the younger sister had to offer. And on they went.
I’m sure I’ve heard all about the first date. Undoubtedly it was a group date and involved miniature golf or something similar. Had I the means I would like to watch it in all its awkward glory. I would like to see the first time he tried to hold her hand but ended up flexing his fingers and beating himself up like I’ve done more times than I recall. I’d like to see my mom come home, a ball of girlish nerves, and pace her bedroom to keep hold of fresh memories. I’d skip the first and subsequent kisses, and find the scene where they sit on the large front steps of my grandparents’ house, discussing marriage at the age of sixteen. And I could swallow my pride and resist the urge to roll my eyes, knowing how it ends.
I have a feeling it was not unlike a quirky romantic comedy, or a Wonder Years episode. And maybe it wasn’t too far removed from my own experience. I wondered in high school if I’d repeat history like my older brother had. But I had my share of finger brush-by’s and almost-kisses. And it’s better to imagine it. My dad insists still that his nightly popcorn ritual harks back to that afternoon he smelled it from the kitchen and saw Mom standing there. And I grew up with that, snagging a handful of popcorn from his bowl as he walked upstairs to bed, leading the woman with whom he’s still as in love with as ever. And I’ll get there, I guess.

On Top Ramen

2008-10-16T00:30:00.000-07:00

You can imagine the looks I got, a college age young man, making my way to the late night grocery store crowd to the checkout with little more than an enormous box of Top Ramen. Typical, they seemed to say. That’s men for you. Never mind the fact that I’d also picked up yeast for the foccacia I was planning on making the next day. I was a cliché.
Top Ramen is easy. Few people know how to make it right, how to keep the noodles from getting gummy and transparent and making the house reek of classlessness and sloth. When I boil water on my stove it smells like the house is burning down. I thought things might be different if we condescended to line to burners with foil but to no avail. The hot water goes over the noodles and salty pork flavoring, already waiting in the bowl. And it only takes a few pokes of the fork to soften your lunch to chewing consistency.
I set the box on the checkout conveyor belt and braced myself for the painful banter I’d undoubtedly have with the checker upon his discovery of my all-too-typical eating habits. The girl bagging my groceries, though, was in no way going to let me steal that man’s attention away from her. She had a flirtatious giggle or a mindless tease for every twenty-cent packet of soup he had to ring up. The girl behind me in line was quick to inform me that some canned peas or corn could help legitimize my meal choice and I wondered when she’d stocked up and if she’d waited until 12:00 am on a weeknight to avoid the looks of scrutiny and judgment.
I love food. Had I the means, every meal would be special. And there’s no way I’d waste time with any food item with “convenience” on the package. However, if I can fill up for two dimes and one bowl to wash I’m a happy man. I don’t brag about my simple peasant food, but if I can swallow sodium-heavy, processed, imitation Asian pasta, I can swallow my pride long enough to get through lunch.
I got home with three bags, two of which were filled with the Top Ramen whose box the bagging girl couldn’t seem to negotiate into a single bag without abandoning all sense of order and resorting to unceremonious dumping. She’d smiled coyly at the checker then and he took my credit card to swipe. The living room was full of friends who laughed politely at my tale and more scornfully at the contents of the bags. The reusable canvas grocery sacks that made me feel more socially conscious hung jealously on the wall in the laundry room. Not so jealous, perhaps, that they’d have been stuffed with embarrassing college food.
I’m not a cliché. I just eat Top Ramen. And someday I’ll stop being so ashamed. Or I’ll somehow find myself in a position where I don’t have to worry about price or dishes to wash by hand. And I wonder which will come first.

Some reflections

2008-09-28T19:16:00.001-07:00

I’ve been making bread since I was about eleven years old. My age has since doubled but still every time I knead the dough and set it aside to rise there’s a question in my mind as to what will really happen. When I come back an hour later and uncover the dough to find it doubled in size it’s always with some of the same eleven-year-old wonder I had the first time I tried my hand at baking.
I’m waiting for dough to rise. In about forty-five minutes I’ll go back to the kitchen and say a little prayer before I take the towel off the bowl and look inside. I thought a lot about faith today. Maybe faith isn’t so much the assurance that the dough will rise. Maybe it’s the mixing and the kneading that happen before. I’ve learned quite a few things in these tumultuous last couple of years of mine and one of the “biggies” is the knowledge that a loving Heavenly Father isn’t going to deprive us of the chance to walk out into the dark sometimes. He’s going to take off our training wheels, knowing full well that we might fall. And faith means dealing with it. I guess that lesson I’ve learned is this: faith means not knowing all the answers, and dealing with it.
Some of the Elders on the mission were so sure they’d become CEO’s and senators because “the Lord never forgets His returned missionaries.” Well, that’s certainly true but a mission doesn’t come with that sort of severance package. Life is going to suck sometimes, and the expectation that we’ll be coddled and protected from the crap the world is ready to throw at us is setting us up for a world of trouble.
Not that I’m unhappy, or that I feel like I haven’t been enormously blessed. However, I do not expect that life will always be a piece of cake. I’ll take it as it comes, but I’m sure things won’t always be as easy as they are now. And that’s life, right?
So we can have peace, we can have comfort, and we can have an assurance that all will work out. But it takes a while for the dough to rise.
PS: I was tempted to call this blog “Every hour I knead thee” just so I could imagine the groans and eye rolls (and screams and gouging out of eyes, depending on how well you know me…). But now I get to imagine it all anyway.

And now a poem...

2008-09-21T09:20:00.001-07:00

In conjunction with my last post, here's a poem I wrote for my Creative Writing class last week about on of the simple joys of being alone. (No, not loneliness, just being alone.) Oh, and PS, I'm not a poet.

Friday night

I might have heard myself chewing
if I hadn’t topped off
that silent space in my living room
with songs and the sounds of familiar dialogue. If I hadn’t
left the window open –

I might have shared, and let a slice or three
introduce themselves to a hungry new acquaintance
while I watched, hungrier still.

I would have closed the box and
let it hide while I talked to someone at the door.
No, he isn’t home. …If there was
someone at the door. Someone to follow
the delivery man. Yes, it’s all for me.

I wouldn’t have lied, or said tonight was not a bully,
if anyone had asked. But if I wanted
someone here, another hand, another mouth,
Could I have another slice?
I might have gone through names or thought
of extra large and more grabbing hands.

If someone came
and asked for me, I could have made room
on the couch that was too big for two
and opened up the box full of dinner getting cold.
I could invade the couch and
settle there for one night.

I can hear voices through the window
and I eat another slice, or three.

Hopeless

2008-09-21T09:17:00.000-07:00

I used to be more romantic. I only have to look back a couple years (or is it a couple months?) to find a time when Saturday nights were full of amorous possibilities and bouquets of flowers at the grocery store made me imagine who I could give them to. Now I walk past said flowers and wonder why they put them out by the checkout where they’ll be withered and brown by the end of the day. And I spend plenty of Saturday nights catching up on homework or working on some writing project or another.
I wonder sometimes what caused this change. It was after coming home from my mission, but before starting this semester. I’m pretty sure it was after I broke up with my last girlfriend. But was it before I went to London? Or after I started writing the play about the failed marriage? And where exactly can I fit in my recent run-in with a few dating nightmares you thought only happened in the first half of a chick flick? But really, trying to pin down a specific incident or cause would be futile. The fact is, I am no longer the hopeless romantic of yesterday.
“Hopeless romantic.” What does that even mean? I never thought “hopeless” was a positive term except, perhaps, in this context. But how can we account for that? I Googled “hopeless romantic” and came up with an entry in the Urban Dictionary that said this:
“This person is in love with love. They believe in fairy tales and love. They're not to be confused as stalkers or creepy because that's not what a hopeless romantic is. All hopeless romantics are idealists, the sentimental dreamers, the imaginative and the fanciful when you get to know them. They often live with rose-colored glasses on. They make love look like an art form with all the romantic things they do for their special someone.”
The funny thing? Hopeless romantics seem to have a lot more hope than the rest of us. I scoff at love songs and wonder sometimes if there is a someone for everyone. But the romantics believe that anything is possible. Their dream girl is just around the next corner…okay, the next corner. Okay, any corner now. Me? I’m beyond that. In my extensive life experience of twenty-two years, I have at least learned that anything worth having doesn’t come easily. Anyone who thinks that it does is, well, hopeless.
That must be it. The hopeless romantics didn’t coin the phrase themselves. People like me did. My roommate called me a “skeptical romantic.” I certainly still have faith in the power of love (thank you Huey Lewis) but I take it with a grain of salt. Or a pinch of salt. Or a tablespoon, depending on the day. But I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless. I wonder sometimes if I would want to trade two feet firmly planted for the ability to fly again. Even with the potential hazard of the inevitable crash and burn. (How’s that for hopeless?) But I’ll stay where I am for now. And who knows? That dream girl around the corner might just change my mind.

"What privilege?" The White Man's Denial

2008-08-13T13:53:00.000-07:00

(I wrote this for my sociology class. Enjoy...)

Perhaps we’ve grown tired of privilege. Perhaps entitlement is no longer in fashion. Perhaps the thousands of years of sitting at the top of the totem pole have created the blinded and apathetic white male we see today in abundance. Whatever the reason, these men are in denial and progress will be halted for as long as we refuse to acknowledge the inequality that persists even in this progressive world of ours.
Of course, few of the privileged few would be so bold as to deny the long history of oppression and ignorance that stains the history books and was still largely in effect even one generation ago. But that recognition must be tempered with a certain distance in order to ensure that we don’t have a crisis on our hands. The new generation of WASPs shakes its collective head woefully at the terrible deeds of our forefathers and celebrates the courage and forethought of Susan B. Anthony, Martin Luther King, and Cesar Chavez while skillfully dodging any responsibility to continue the fight they began. So long as those problems remain long ago and far away fairness and equal rights can be the watchwords of an increasingly delusional majority.
The fact of the matter is we do have a crisis on our hands. Not a new one by any means but a tired set of age-old problems that haven’t faded away as fully as we would like to believe. We still see alarming statistics such as the US Census, which states that only 34% of black children in the US are being raised in a married-couple family, compared to 75% of white children. We see from the same source that whites are almost three times more likely than Hispanics to receive a Bachelor’s degree or higher. And the census also shows that women earn a mere 71% of what their male counterparts receive in the workplace. Clearly, issues of race- or gender-based discrimination persist, so why the adamant refusal to acknowledge their very existence? The answer lies in the ethos of the group that benefits most from these startling numbers.
Having grown up in a white suburban family with three brothers and no sisters to speak of, I know these benefits well. I knew the color of my skin would never be a factor in determining my financial dependability. I could go shopping or out for a walk without the fear of being harassed. And I never thought twice about how frequently I saw politicians, news reporters, or successful businessmen who looked like me because it was simply what I had always known. Did I think of myself as privileged? Certainly, compared to the Rwandan refugees I saw on the news or the Indian prostitutes I heard about in school. But any suggestion that I had a head start compared to the girls in my classes or to my friends of other ethnicities would have fallen on largely deaf ears. This wasn’t my father’s or my grandfather’s America; this was the land of equality and liberty that our womanizing, slave-trading forefathers had envisioned. Best of all, this was a land where a young Caucasian boy in a Northern California suburb could go to school and move up in the world without the slightest guilt or second thought concerning those he had passed along the way.
It appears that no one told today’s white man that he couldn’t have his cake and eat it too. It is indeed an enviable position to have the upper hand in nearly every arena while looking at the rest of the world through the rose-colored glasses of insufficient social programs and innumerable excuses for the continuing trend of inequality. There is no guilt when we consider racism and sexism to be unpleasant relics of our past. Complacency has become the white male’s best defense. Still more alarming are those who push this complacency even further, venturing into the realm of underprivilege themselves. Unsatisfied with ignoring the cold hard facts, many of my advantaged brothers seize any opportunity to make themselves into the martyrs, blaming their own failures or inconveniences on Affirmative Action or other programs aimed at truly leveling the playing field (however imperfect said programs may be). As if white males didn’t have enough, they leap to take from disadvantaged groups the very right to claim disadvantage. Simply put, those who are entitled to more than a true meritocracy would allow are unwilling to surrender their advantages and at the same time are largely incapable of admitting that such advantages even exist.
Facing up to a pervasive social problem is a frightening thing. It disrupts the quiet apathetic life that I and the countless others like me have grown fondly accustomed to. It asks that we relinquish our privileges and open the collective blind eye we’ve turned to the problems around us. But if progress is to be made toward a truly just society, it’s a risk we’ll have to take.

Guess who's back...

2008-08-13T13:26:00.001-07:00

Okay, so I went an entire TERM of school without blogging. Shame on me. Let me briefly give some reasons why:

-Life is not NEARLY as interesting as it was in London.
-The G on my keyboard had been acting up and I wanted to give it a rest.
-I've just had a lot going on, okay?

Enough of that. For what it's worth, I've wanted to blog numerous time for the last few weeks. Let me tell you what you've missed.

THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN RACEWAY - Yes, I spent a day at the races. One July 5th. And it was everything you would expect. I think the only thing worse than hooking up with a girl on February 13th is spending the day after Independence Day with a bunch of NASCAR Dads and their families. We honored the courageous men and women who are "out there fightin' for our right to be here racin'." I must admit, I didn't realize that right was under attack but I understand the sentiment. I could accept the in-your-face-and-as-tacky-as-possible patriotism that pervaded the event. And I could accept the 90 minutes I spent in the snack bar line and realizing that calling obesity a "medical emergency" is anything but an exaggeration. And I could accept the fashion nightmares that I saw all day. (The next time you have an old American flag, call the Boy Scouts, don't sew it into a hoodie...) What really got me was the very end of the festivities, when the fireworks display was accompanied by a string of country music about the 9/11 attacks. Something about watching explosions and listening to "have we forgotten about Bin Ladden" (yes, that is supposed to rhyme) didn't sit well. On top of that, the fireworks were shot off close enough to us that flaming pieces of...something kept falling on us throughout the show. We were under attack. Good thing we have a militia full of soldiers fighting for our right to fireworks shows. (Disclaimer: I fully support the troops, so much that I'd love for them to come home soon.)

"I'M SO BUSY" - I've noticed that people who say this really aren't. The really busy people have better things to do than complain about how busy they are.

MY BIRTHDAY - Confession: I don't like my birthday. Apart from my family, no one does a thing for my birthday. I don't ask for much, but something more than a post on my Facebook wall is always nice. I have a yearly "maybe I have no friends" pity party every July 11 but I'm happy to announce that this year was a step up from the norm. People remembered! I love my new roommate and my new job and that certainly has a good deal to do with the birthday festivities they initiated. Plus, one girl bought me a Jamba Juice and another gave me chocolate and a card. And I must say that nothing makes a woman more attractive than remembering a birthday-starved 22-year-old. At least to me. So, it made a nice change. (And, yes, I asked both of those girls out.)

DANCE CLUBS - The day after my birthday a couple friends wanted to go dancing. And it took me about five minutes to remember why I hate dance clubs. It's the same in any environment in which people turn into animals (clubs, sporting events, mosh pits, DMV lines, etc.). We seem to want to escape reality so much that we turn up music to drown out conversation, turn off the lights, and pulsate to primal songs with banal lyrics that we would never really admit to liking. But in the dance club anything goes. People form uncomplicated semi-sexual relationships and girls stand in circles trying to out-sexy each other. We must really not like each other much.

THE OLYMPICS - I'm boycotting. Yeah, I'm one of THOSE...

Okay, well, that;s the short list of my recent insights. I'll be more diligent from now on. Seriously.

Adventures in Freshman Orientation

2008-06-22T20:26:00.000-07:00

I served (and by "served" I mean "was paid to work") as a Y Group Leader at Freshman Orientation this last weekend. I was in charge of leading the group of students who I'll be mentoring this coming term. Fortunately they're all pretty cool so it'll be a fun semester. Orientation, though, was an interesting experience indeed. Here are some highlights for those of you who didn't have this experience (or, like me, who somehow forgot about the madness...):
-We opened with a meeting all about how great BYU is and how lucky we all are to be here. This was the first of FOUR meetings like this. Yes, four. They all said the same thing and if you didn't leave that orientation feeling an overwhelming guilt, I suppose they didn't do their job. Now, I agree that BYU is wonderful and that we are indeed lucky to be here. However, let's not lose our heads.
-That night, the new students gathered in the Smith Field House for a celebration of the Honor Code. Hey, if seeing Jericho Road perform motivates you to shave every morning, good for you...or for Jericho Road, I suppose. What else did they use to brainwash...I mean, inspire the young BYU newbies? "Sieze the Day" from "Newsies," "Higher" by Creed (or a very enthusiastic and clean-cut cover band), and Mariah Carey's "Hero." Hey, whatever works.
-We folk danced which was embarrassingly fun. And, hey, getting paid to dance...
-We took the kids on a tour of campus. I pointed out the best food on campus, the best places to nap, the places to avoid, and the places to meet people. My partner covered the rah-rah BYU stuff.
-A professor told us all to save our neurons for math, not for porn. Yes, he said that and I was very happy about it.
-The event culminated in what is perhaps the pinnacle of the BYU experience: a dating game. This along with a Mario Cart tournament and, of course, a dance. Party-pooper that I am, I opted out of the fun. I can only hope that my freshmen had a good time. And got some phone numbers. Because that's what it's all about, right?
I could see members of my group growing pretty weary of beating the "BYU-is-great" horse and hope they can manage to be enthusiastic about the first day of classes. Speaking of which, I am really excited about the first day of classes. I'm such a nerd...

That's what I'm talking about!

2008-06-22T20:23:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd break into the multimedia approach to blogging because I need to share this. "Billy Elliot" has changed my life. Yes indeed.

Checkpoint Five

2008-06-19T19:56:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm back. But I have to finish my report...
THE CHALK GARDEN - This was a great example of a good solid production of a good solid script. There really wasn't any pretension here. It was just a good production. I have come to appreciate the bravery of doing the tried and true. When you do, you'd better do it well. And the Donmar certainly does it well.
AFTERLIFE - I was not a big fan. After the novelty of "Oh cool, he's telling the story of Max Reinhardt and Everyman at the same time" wore off, I was bored. It felt long, indulgent, and not up to snuff with Michael Frayn's genius work.
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR - This was just a lot of fun and I wondered why I've never seen or read this play before. It's simple and fun, not the intellectual feast of Shakespeare's other comedies, but it's a solid piece of writing.
TWELFTH NIGHT - I learned that I do NOT get tired of Shakespeare. We saw this after a Shakespeare final exam in the morning followed by the matinee of "Merry Wives." When it was over, I was aching for more Shakespeare! Good thing, too. If I'm going to be at this theatre thing for the rest of my life I had better enjoy it!
MAMMA MIA - See previous blog.
CHICAGO - Ditto. This show was very educational for me. It's interesting, though, to see that in order to sell it, it's marketed as a sultry sex romp full of hardbodies and sensual jazz music. Yes, it was all of those things but it really was so much more. Unfortunately, it's been playing for ten years because of the sex, not because of the theatrical brilliance that's there. Pity.
ROSMERSHOLM - This was the first time I ever saw Ibsen onstage. (A shocking confession, I know.) I understand now why he is hailed as a genius. Ibsen invented the "well-made play" that I strive to write myself and seeing his work performed so brilliantly (though not flawlessly) reinforced those ideals that I've been striving for.
STRICTLY GERSHWIN - Gershwin is America. Britain knows this but they put on one heck of a show. This reinforced the transcendent power of romance and beauty. There is a reason why we keep writing love songs and going to see chick flicks. They speak to us in the same way that Gershwin's ballads do.
LONDON ASSURANCE - I went to see this because it's an important piece of history, not because the play really drew me in. But, really, that's why I saw "Rosmersholm" as well. The difference: "Rosmersholm" is well-written. There, I said it.
DE PROFUNDIS - This was, I felt, a relatively one-note performance by Corin Redgrave, but a heartfelt one nonetheless. I actually wasn't quite captivated and realized that if Oscar Wilde had intended this piece of writing for performance he was more than capable of writing it that way. That said, it's quite a beautiful piece of writing and made me consider the "other hand" of the romance issue.
BILLY ELLIOT - I wondered if I would enjoy this as much as I had at first. My experience was largely the same but I cried more this time. This is a great show and it made a wonderful (and symmetrical) end to my adventure!

Hostel Environment

2008-06-16T15:21:00.000-07:00

I'm staying in a hostel for my last few days in London. I came here with a good deal of trepidation. I have heard as many horror stories as the next guy and have known some pretty unsavory people who swear by them. And one has to wonder how can they keep the prices so darn low anyway. As I discussed in my last post I'm quite alone here which honestly doesn't scare me...But if some hostel owners killed me in my sleep to sell my liver on Craig's List there wouldn't be anybody around to do a thing about it.
BUT I checked in nonetheless. Upon receiving my key I was given a list of good pubs, a coupon for the bar they have conveniently located here at the hostel, an invitation to join them on a tour of London's best pubs, and the assurance that drinking is more than welcome on the premises. (As if I hadn't figured that out already.)
All things considered, I suppose I'd be making more friends (since that's what hostels are for, right?) if I were indeed a drinker like the rest of this crowd seems to be. It's a very social environment as long as you're ten sheets to the wind. Me, I leave in the morning and come back late at night to sleep in my bed-cubicle. It's not a bad existence for a couple days and, hey, for twenty pounds a night who can complain? Still, it's a strange place. I avoid it as much as possible. In the meantime, if you happen to see any bits or pieces of me for sale on eBay, put in a good bid.
I'll be home tomorrow.

Table for one

2008-06-16T03:19:00.000-07:00

It's an interesting feeling to be alone in a foreign country. I mean, really alone. Everyone in the program has gone home and anyone I do know here (people in the ward, etc.) I have no way of contacting. Truly, I'm on my own.
It's a pretty empowering position, I've found. I wake up every morning with the full knowledge that I can do whatever I want to do. That said, I don't behave any differently, but without roommates to greet to classes to attend, the world (or at least the city of London) is my oyster.
Still, I can't decide if I like being alone. Sometimes, it's truly all I want. It's so nice to come and go as I please, to sit and read a book without having to force conversation with anyone, and to be able to experience the world on my own terms, unfiltered through the minds of well-meaning companions. On the other hand, however, it's lonely. When someone does something ridiculous on the subway, you laugh alone. When you're not sure where to have dinner, no one else can make the decision. When you see an amazing piece of theatre, you're hard pressed to find anyone who cares to discuss it. It's the little moments when you really realize how much you miss those well-meaning companions.
So, good and bad on both sides. A little solitude is important, though, and I have to say I am enjoying my quiet end to the London adventure. It's only a few days and, frankly, that's quite enough for me. Still, I've observed some interesting things about being alone:
-When you get dressed in the morning, it's for you. When you set out alone and don't plan on meeting anyone of consequence (i.e. someone to dress up for) it's tempting to simply throw on whatever is lying around and head out the door. I tried this. It's miserable. Self respect has little to do with how many people you have around.
-When you're out, you always have to occupy yourself. There's no one else to occupy you, so you substitute a novel, a notebook, or an iPod in their place. I noticed this not only with myself but with other loners I've observed recently. Even when we have no other people around, we are reluctant to be truly alone.
-You enjoy the world differently. You feel more a part of things when you're not in a group of people. Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk by Buckingham Palace and through St. James's Park. I really felt like I was a part of that park, that I belonged there, and that brought me a great deal of peace and comfort. I no longer identified myself as a member of a group, so there was nothing left but to identify myself simply as a piece of that beauty and serenity. It's a nice feeling.
-There is something absolutely liberating about being alone. Not just that you can do what you want to do and see what you want to see, but that you truly discover who you are. When no one is looking do you still give up your seat on the train? Do you take time at museums? Do you clean up after yourself? Stripped of all the external social forces, how do you behave yourself? This is the true measure of who you are and you can only discover it when you're alone.
I think the most interesting things I've observed through all of this is that we're never really alone (cheesy "Into the Woods" moment). We have to identify with something and when it's not a friend it may take the shape of a book, a park, or a stranger who needs help. At least it's true for me: I crave connection and find it where I can. So, I have one more day to myself. It'll be nice, but to be honest it'll be nicer when I'm with my family and friends again. "Me time" is good only in moderation.

"Mamma Mia" and "Chicago" - The shocking truth!

2008-06-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect to see so many West End musicals during my stay in London. They might kick me out of the elitist theatre snob club for this. However, I have learned a great deal from a lot of these experiences. These two musicals offered the biggest surprises.
I went to see "Mamma Mia" last night with relatively low expectations. I anticipated the simplistic plot, the corny dialogue, the overall campiness of the whole production. By the end of the show, the whole audience is on their feet dancing and having a great time and I must admit I was one of the jubilant crowd. (I mean, how can you NOT dance when you hear ABBA?) I was alarmed, though, by the blatant amorality of the whole show. This story (and I suppose I should use that term loosely) took place on a Greek island where there truly are no rules. The climax of the play consisted of the romantic leads dodging all responsibility and commitment in order to just go out and have a good time and the show was laced with sexual humor that was clearly there only to keep the audience (and the actors, no doubt) titillated. What truly bothered me about this show is that in the fanciful world of Greek resorts, ABBA music, and never-ending dance numbers, there are no consequences for one's actions. For that would get in the way of the fun. By the end, you get caught up in said fun so long as you check any morals at the door. They won't be challenged and there really isn't anything offensive in the show, but there is nothing real about it. I found myself dancing and singing along, but wondering what it was we were celebrating? Was it virtue? No. Was it iniquity? No. It was hollow, devoid of meaning. Pure fun. Perhaps it has its place, but I left the theater feeling not enriched or enlightened, but not offended or conflicted either. It was emptiness. When the ABBA music stops playing, you have nothing.
This afternoon I had a very different experience. Based mostly on the recommendation of a friend, I decided to see "Chicago" and was still unsure about that decision as the overture started to play. However, I was thoroughly impressed by what I saw. Here was a superbly written, brilliantly staged, and wonderfully acted piece of theatre that had something to say. I won't go into what that was (I'll let you go see the production yourself...with my recommendation) but I can say that it was an enriching, enlightening, and (dare I say) uplifting experience. Theatre should be a discussion. Maybe I agree with you, maybe I don't. But whatever you do, be responsible. Acknowledge that what comes up must come down. Be brave and say what you want to say well. We don't need any more lukewarm "Mamma Mia" experiences, as fun as they may be. I mean, that's what the ABBA Gold CD is for, right?

Checkpoint Four

2008-06-08T08:57:00.001-07:00

Another great week of theatre. Let's see what young Matthew learned this week...
ROMEO AND JULIET - I've found that I would rather a director give me a straightforward interpretation of a text than a half-baked "progressive" production. This production tried to be more than it obviously could be. I did appreciate seeing actors performing in the rain. The show must go on, right?
BRIEF ENCOUNTER - This reaffirmed for me the joy of theatre. It incorporated so many things and the several elements came together to make a great night of theatre.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE - Another lame Shakespeare interpretation. Although I don't think this had to do with treatment of a classical text. Really it went back to the complete lack of a director's concept. Moments were cool, but nothing unified them. Thus, it left most of us pretty cold.
TAMING OF THE SHREW - This was the first time I've seen a director do something responsible with this text. The sexism inherent in the play is disgusting and this production didn't shy away from that. Courage! Courage is essential for great theatre.
MAJOR BARBARA - Shaw has a way of making you question everything you hold to be true. This production was quite strong and was staged in such a way that the themes of the brilliant play came through loud and clear. It was great to see someone tackle a text in a new way.
THE VORTEX - I love Noel Coward. The set was hideous but I saw how strong actors giving a straightforward performance of a great play makes for great theatre.
THE DEEP BLUE SEA - I don't think the actors quite understood this text. They were all (well, mostly all) great actors but it just wasn't quite the right fit. It was, however, a thoroughly enjoyable production.

Checkpoint Three

2008-06-01T11:57:00.001-07:00

This week's treasures and... disappointments:
THE GOOD SOUL OF SETZUAN - This was a great example of epic theatre and showed how you can be faithful to a Brecht text without becoming a museum piece. It did want Brecht wanted to do, but from a different way and I very much appreciated that they didn't try to beat me over the head with how sophisticated they were.
THE COMMON PURSUIT - This show was nicely structured and the dialogue was taut and smart. I felt like it was a little too unclear because I didn't feel I got everything out of it that I could have. There was only so much there but even of what I could see, I felt like I missed something. I blame this on the writer (of course) and a lack of clarity.
THAT FACE - Awful angry college student writing. Polly Steiman wrote this when she was nineteen. And it shows. Completely irresponsible and not really worth writing about.
FAT PIG - This play started somewhere we've been so many times before ("Boy meets girl...") but took me somewhere I'd never been. It was completely enjoyable all the way through and I left the theatre desperately examining my own life and trying to sort out what I'd just seen. It was a great theatrical experience.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA - This was a good adaptation but I think this script (and most Shakespeare, actually) needs to be cut for performance. I saw how an imaginative director can enliven a text and create a strong show.
HARPER REAGAN - This was a deceptively simple play that prompted hours of conversation among the group I went with. I loved its structure and the gentle ways that its themes were discussed. Nothing was overt or heavy-handed, but it was all thoroughly dealt with.
FAST LABOUR - Sometimes a structure that I don't like can have good results. This play was not without it flaws, but I think it was relatively successful in what it set out to do. And it did it in a way I don't like. Interesting...

Reflections of a young writer

2008-05-25T14:27:00.000-07:00

Recently I saw a fiftieth anniversary production of Harold Pinter's play "The Birthday Party" at the Lyric Hammersmith theater. Basically, fifty years ago his first full length play was produced there and received terrible reviews. Though it closed after only eight performances, one critic astutely predicted that both Pinter and his play would be heard of again. Now, fifty years and one Nobel Prize later, his seminal work is back onstage at the same theatre, playing to sold out crowds.
I can only imagine how it feels to be Harold Pinter right now. The worldwide theatre community will be eternally grateful that he did not let the negative reviews get to him. His incomparable style was evident in "The Birthday Party" and, likely, was the very thing the critics lampooned. It was unlike anything they'd seen before and they had nothing good to say about it. However, he didn't change a thing. He kept on writing courageously and pushing the envelope as he had so boldly done with his unsuccessful debut and it's only in hindsight that we can see the value in that.
Neil Labute came to speak to study abroad students about theatre and his career as a writer. He urged us to be courageous in the theatre. He spoke out against playwrights who write tidy plays with few actor and simple technical requirements simply so that they can be produced. He said that a playwright needs to have something to say and they need to bravely say it how they want it said. Good theatre, he insisted, cannot possibly come about without risks. Risks like those taken by Harold Pinter.
Me, I worry too much about what people say or what I'm afraid they'll think. When I sit down to write I have these obnoxious little voices in my head saying "I don't get it" or "That's not funny" or "I don't like the ending." Sadly, I've let this get to me far too much and I feel my writing has suffered as a result. I don't take risks and I am not fiercely committed to my own work. And the time has come to change. If I want to make any waves I have to get in the water. (Wow, what an obnoxious cliche...) Seeing great theatre here has made me recognize the risks that are ALWAYS involved and the sublime joy that comes when one of those risks really pays off.

Checkpoint Two

2008-05-24T03:11:00.000-07:00

Alright, my theatre education continues...
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM - This was a staging that made me feel completely differently about this script. It was imaginative but didn't shove anything don your throat. It goes to show that theatre really is about play.
THE BIRD SANCTUARY - This script was not my favorite. The dialogue was indicative and the plot made little sense at all. When I surrendered my personal taste and allowed it to remain what it was rather than living up to my expectations I enjoyed it a bit more. I learned from this that you need to start with a good script and that we all have different tastes. ("Time Out" loved this play...go figure.)
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY - The staying power of good writers! Take that, nay-sayers! I was so happy to see this production and learned what "Pinteresque" really means.
FRAM - What you say shouldn't be obscured y how you say it. What this play had to say was significant but the manner in which it went about it was painful to sit through. It certainly made me think, though, about what power (if any) that the arts have in tackling real issues.
HELLO AND GOODBYE - A tight script and strong performances are thrilling. This play was centered on a relationship and two people driving very hard for two different things. What is more basic than that? And what could be better?
MICHAEL FRAYN LECTURE - Don't be afraid of failure, work hard, have fun, keep your feet on the ground.
THE PITMEN PAINTERS - Being a part of the target audience is good. I wasn't a part of this play's target audience and it showed. However, it was a good show. I learned, though, not to make things too easy. Don't broadcast your agenda for all the world to see. Just explore a theme.
GONE WITH THE WIND - Ummmm...This just wasn't very good. I saw the importance of slowing down to let your characters talk and let the audience get to know them. Otherwise, frankly, no one gives a damn.
GOD OF CARNAGE - I love plays where interesting people are thrown into an intimate setting and a sort of cage match ensues. This makes for great drama. I also learned that some of the most interesting characters are those who build up walls that get torn down as the story progresses, letting you see glimpses at a time of the real person lurking below.
ASPECTS OF LOVE - A soaring score paired with a soap opera plot. It was beautiful but I felt a little irresponsible loving it as much as I did. The moral implications of the story were kind of repulsive but I got caught up in the music and enjoyed myself. I guess it goes to show the power of music, even to the point of being deceptive.
THE CHERRY ORCHARD - Chekhov needs to be slow! This show could have been great instead of good if they just took their time. It was very good though.
WICKED - This show demonstrated the commercialization of avant garde theatre movements of the last hundred years. It was a little disturbing even, seeing the principles of epic theatre, expressionism, and the like exploited so drastically. Still, it was a good show and I'll have to make fun of it a LITTLE less now.
LIFECOACH - This was a delightful sweet comedy that shows how comedy can mollify an audience an prepare them to receive a very meaningful message. Good times.

The Princess Complex

2008-05-18T10:52:00.000-07:00

It’s an epidemic. It’s crippling beyond compare. And it’s preying on unsuspecting girls. The horror, the horror!
Yes, I know, I’m far too prone to dramatics, but I speak of the resurgence of mindless romance, of unchecked idealism, and of excessive “girly giggles.” I call it the “Princess Complex.”
Now, allow me to qualify this discussion. I obviously don’t want to be the pot calling the kettle black so I will be the first to admit that I suffer from a “Newsie Complex,” the condition of audacious little guys who want to change the world. I know several guys with a “Peter Pan Complex” or a “Charlie Brown Complex,” so no one is without fault here. But I digress.
So, what is the “Princess Complex?” As far as I can tell it operates on a foundation of boy-crazy giddiness that isn’t cute in bubbly preteens and is even less so in full-grown females. Those who suffer from this disorder see the world as a constant parade of distractions and obstacles blocking their view of whatever cute guys may be in the vicinity. The thing that gets them out of bed in the morning is the remote, magical possibility that “Someday My Prince Will Come” might be today. On special days they get to wear pretty dresses and entertain themselves dancing alone in front of the mirror. Aside from the pursuit of eye candy, their days are consumed by jewelry store windows, “Twilight” novels, salads with mandarin oranges and rose petals in them, and shows like “Gillmore Girls” and “Charmed.” They read Jane Austen, oblivious to the fact that she was making fun of them, and wait patiently for Mr. Darcy to come along and engage her in witty banter. Indeed, the life of the would-be princess is a simple one, a disconcerting cocktail of romance, idealism, and entitlement, wrapped up in a safely sanitized pretty pink bow.
Not that there is anything wrong with pretty dresses or Jane Austen (though I stick by my “Twilight” claim), but this unhealthy fixation must stop. “Enchanted” was fiction. Princess Aurora is not an acceptable role model. And princes don’t grown on trees. I suppose we can’t blame them. After all, they were raised to believe that someone would always come to their rescue, that happily ever after was a given, and that fairy godmothers, not hard work and inspiration, accomplished the impossible. We’re products of our generation, I’m afraid, and mine has produced more than its fair share of the aforementioned offending “girly giggles.” They ring in my ears, heralding the triumph of fluff in eclipsing good judgment, independence, and individual thought. Heaven help us all.

Checkpoint One

2008-05-15T16:07:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been here for two weeks now and have so far seen NINETEEN shows. I've experienced a lot of what London has to offer as well, but I really came here first and foremost for the theatre. I haven't talked much about the things I've seen so far but I've learned more about theatre in these two weeks than any classes could teach me. Here's a quick recap of my education so far...
BILLY ELLIOT - This show showed me the electricity that can be generated from one performance and renewed my faith in child actors. It was inspiring but still light and was undeniably fun.
THE 39 STEPS - Oh, the wonders you can do with four actors and a minimal set. This honestly was an extremely fun night at the theatre and it did not rely on anything flashy or excessive. This show made me think that if the bare bones can be this good on their own, why do we worry so much about dressing them up?
SMALL CHANGE - Another very minimalist production, but one that took my breath away. It was incredible to see what four actors and four chairs could do to an audience. The poetic language seemed to envelop us and kept me on the edge of my seat trying desperately to grasp some small piece of what I was seeing. This was great theatre.
THE LOVER AND THE COLLECTION - And it gets better. This was not only a masterfully written play, but it was staged so beautifully and acted so brilliantly. The subtext was dealt with so subtly but everything was ultimately so clear because of focused writing and brutally sharp performances.
RICHARD III - This showed me that new life can be breathed into Shakespeare without bastardizing the original text. And it called attention to the absolute betrayal you feel when you are no longer a passive observer.
INTO THE HOODS - Joy in theatre comes from not trying to be more than you are.
SLEEPING BEAUTY - The sheer brilliance and emotional cleansing that comes from pure aesthetic beauty.
WAR AND PEACE PARTS 1 AND 2 - First, don't try to pack a 1000 page novel into a night of theatre unless you're up to the task. Second, unless you have a lot to offer, do not have the audacity to ask six hours of your audience to tell a story that would have been better told if someone had read the CliffsNotes of Tolstoy's novel aloud from the stage. Also, a weak show can be kept afloat by stunning images. But not for six hours.
VISITING MR. GREEN - Obvious affectation murders an otherwise solid performance. And a lazy actor who skims over the subtext of a scene gives a shallow performance. I could see what was going on in the script but didn't get that from the performance.
THE YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING - This production showed me just how potent a single performance can be. Vanessa Redgrave took me to so many places just sitting in a chair center stage. I was also stunned by the brutal honesty of the writing. Simplicity and a lack of pretension kept this show from becoming heavy handed and unbearable.
KING LEAR - Seeing a Shakespeare play in the Globe made me think differently about Shakespeare's writing style. I know why he wrote how he did and how, in this space, his text really comes to life. Everyone who stages Shakespeare should have a clear understanding of the environment in which he worked. It all makes so much sense now.
HAPPY NOW - Witty banter is good fun but it keeps a narrative pretty superficial. I wondered sometimes if I was at the National Theatre of sitting at home watching an episode of "Will and Grace." The play undertook to deal with some cool issues but you had to break through the icy wall of cleverness to get to any honesty or humanity.
MARGUERITE - The first act appealed to the hopeless romantic in me and I loved it enough to overlook its shortcomings. Act Two slipped a bit more, but the musical embodiment of rapturous infatuation was incredibly pleasurable.
CHESS IN CONCERT - Again, great music gets your heart pounding like nothing else. And again, great performances can be incredibly thrilling.
NEVER SO GOOD - We always write for a specific audience. I didn't not quite get this play because it relied on British political history. I also realized that I much prefer intimate dramas to wide-reaching ambition projects.
PYGMALION - There was nothing innovative about this production. But it was riveting. It's humbling to realize again that they knew a thing or two back in the day.
SPAMALOT - Theatre can be FUN! Who knew?

Tate Modern

2008-05-10T15:24:00.000-07:00

My life was changed by the Tate Modern Art Museum. Honestly, I didn't expect to have the rich experience that I did. I walked past works by Jackson Pollock, Matisse, Monet, Picasso, and the like and found the experience quite emotionally exhausting. I sat in a room with six large paintings by Gerhard Richter for about thirty minutes, completely enthralled by what I was seeing. My hand started itching for a pen so I pulled out a notebook and let my thoughts spill out onto the page. I'll spare you most of the introspective musings but I will tell you this: I left that gallery with a much greater understanding of what art is but, at the same time, more confused than ever.
Modern art is infuriating. Really, nothing is more frustrating than not "getting it." It's right there, you see what everyone else sees, but you don't understand. Understand...What does that word even mean? It's a picture, what's to "understand?" Well, why did someone paint it? Why is it hanging here? And why can't I seem to get off this bench? But what happens when we really understand it? I suppose it's a meeting of me and the work I'm trying to understand but which one surrenders? Is it an effort to rationally compartmentalize what I'm observing? Does everything have to fit within the framework that I've set up for myself? Is "understanding" that fitting? No wonder I feel like I don't "understand..."
Or is it different? Is it acceptance? Is it a a bending, an adjustment of what I know, what I'm capable of, and the fitting of my own mind to the reality presented in front of me? Do I appreciate art because it speaks to an existing piece of me and reinforces that concept of who I am? Or is it because it is outside of me and I have to reach. Or, perhaps, I don't think I can reach that far. But I stretch, I grow, I become more.
It's absurd for me to assume that I can take everything in, that everything I see will fit into the entity that is Matthew. How arrogant! Understand? How can I? I haven't breathed the artist's breath or been through what brought him to this canvas. So how can I get anything out of what I see? Do I become him, as best I can? Is this why he created this? Is this why I create? Is this why God creates? Did the artist hope I would find a piece of myself in this piece or did he hope that I would find a piece of him? Can I find that, make it a part of myself?
That's it! That's why I go to art museums. That's why I go to the theatre. That's why I love experiencing and creating art! I become more. And when I create, I hopefully share something with the hopeless kids who sit, glued to benches, enraptured by the wonders they behold and infuriated by what is just beyond their grasp.

Grow up, will ya?

2008-05-07T16:11:00.000-07:00

A rant...
Okay. So the show we saw was not very good. So it was seven hours long. So some parts of it are downright laughable. So we're enthusiastic college students and we enjoy one another's company. But could we please stop acting like children?
I refer to several people who are a part of the Study Abroad program who seem to have no grasp on theatre etiquette or, really, any manners at all. At one point during tonight's performance of "War and Peace" there was a particularly brash non sequitur that took us all off-guard and sabotaged an already weak production. Now, class, what do we do at a moment like this? Sit still and shut up. Theatre is a communal experience and there is a certain degree of trust that goes into the gathering of audience and performers into an intimate space. A part of that unspoken agreement concerns your bridling of all obnoxious reactions. I was biting down on my hand to keep from laughing but a few choice girls who will remain nameless seemed to have no qualms whatsoever with regards to their incessant girly giggles. Heads turned, throats were cleared, and I wished I was with another group. My friend shared my embarrassment as did several others.
The same thing happened in "Richard III." At the emotional climax of an intense and magnificently acted scene between Richard and Elizabeth, Richard pulled her close and, to but it simply, kissed the life out of her. It was incredible and my heart was pumping, my veins flooded with the adrenaline that only comes in the heat of a great theatrical moment such as this. This was interrupted by the groans and giggles of many from our group. I suppose if it's not Giselle and Edward in "Enchanted," we are just not capable of handling a kissing scene. Yes, well, what did you expect? Did you really think the Royal Shakespeare Company was going to come sanitized for your protection? Did you think that theatre, real legitimate theatre, wouldn't ever make you uncomfortable? That's what art is! A disruption! Sometimes it's exceptionally beautiful but sometimes it's exceptionally painful or tragic or uncomfortable...What's important is that it's exceptional! And, oh, it is!
Now, I understand that I don't have the same taste as everyone else and that we don't all share the same interests on this trip (though I wonder what attracted some of these students to the London THEATRE program in the first place), BUT I think we're all mature enough to behave ourselves. Whether it's the utter brilliance of "Richard III" or the lackluster, unending saga that was "War and Peace," we can all be grown-ups about it.

If ballerinas ruled the world...

2008-05-06T18:04:00.000-07:00

Tonight we went to to the Royal Opera House and saw a performance of "Sleeping Beauty" which really was absolutely wonderful. I had some misgivings, I suppose, not because I dislike ballet, but perhaps because there are so many things to see that I would rather stick to performances that are more my cup of tea. I don't know much about ballet. I don't know when it's good, I don't know when it's bad (within reason, of course). All I know is that it's impressive and pretty. And I figured that's all you need to know.
"Sleeping Beauty" has a simple plot. Girl falls asleep, boy kisses girl, and happily ever after. We sat in the theatre, however, for three and a half hours watching a group of insanely talented performers wow us with the most enjoyable beating of the dead horse that I have ever seen. (By the way, a ballet based on several tutu-clad ballerinas actually beating a dead horse would be quite fun to watch. Maybe I'll write that...)
I think all ballet is by definition quite indulgent which perhaps is why we love it. We don't eat cheesecake because it's good for us and we don't go to the ballet to be mentally stimulated. We go to witness something gorgeous, something whose beauty transcends the simple plots and the overt theatricality of the performance. Sitting there being surrounded by Tchaikovsky's music and witness to feats that should be impossible for the human body, I realized how essential the tenets of ballet are for each of us to live a healthy, balanced life. Perhaps one of the reasons why I'm so delighted by tonight's performance is because I think there's a lot we can learn from the ballet. For example:
1. Simplicity. Something simple but still well-done is worth a thousand overly pretentious dramas, misguided Shakespeares, or overly indulgent comedies.
2. An appreciation of nature. Looking at these dancers I saw flowers blooming and waves crashing and wondered why I spend so many hours pent up inside.
3. Aestheticism. Some things are just pretty. And that's it. And that's okay. (Exhibit A: Jessica Alba.)
4. Romance. If a magical fairy wants to lead me to a sleeping princess who can only be awakened by my kiss, that's fine with me. Bring it on.
5. Beauty. God blessed His children with talents and it's an utter delight to sit back with your opera glasses and take it all in. Genius is inspiring.
So, the ballet was great. I was right, I didn't appreciate it like I appreciated "Small Change" or the Pinter plays. But it was a different experience. (And, be fair, who can beat a matinée of a Pinter play on the West End? And, by the way, yesterday I saw a piece of Mahler. Sort of.) I would recommend it to anyone. Almost.

I heart good theatre.

2008-05-03T17:11:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I feel like I've been in the wrong places my whole life. This city is full of wonderful theatre. I've seen six shows so far, all of which have been incredible theatrical experiences. The first two were previously mentioned. Last night I saw "Small Change" at the Donmar warehouse which was absolutely beautiful. I felt like fully grasping and comprehending that play is like trying to get a drink of water from a fire hose. There was so much to take in and it was a very enriching experience.
This afternoon we saw a matinee of two Pinter plays: "The Lover" and "The Collection." Pinter is one of my favorite playwrights and today's performances reaffirmed that love. He is incredible. Then we saw the RSC's production of "Richard III" which took me places I didn't think Shakespearian histories could. I'm not quite able to formulate an intelligible response to what I saw. It was simply (and literally) breathtaking.
There are some girls on this trip who have heard a few choice remarks escape my lips out of context who I am afraid seem to think I am some edgy, rebellious maverick which simply is not the case. (I'm sure most of my closest acquaintances could attest to that.) Hopefully soon they'll realize how utterly dull I really am. Then all will be well.
London contiues to astound me with its universal beauty and high "coolness factor" and I am so happy to be here. Life is good. Next week: more shows!

"Billy Elliot" and my first day IN London...

2008-05-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

It seems this website posts my entries with the time in Provo. Oh well. I don't care enough to change it.
Today was my first day spent entirely in London. Classes will be nice. Nothing life-changing or anything, but it'll be cool. Hey, it's six units. I was happy to see that I got a 3.9 GPA last semester. This means I won't lose my job with Freshman Academy. (It wasn't really a concern but it's good to know it doesn't have to be.) I rode the Tube 10 times today. Talk about starting out with a bang. i feel relatively confident doing the stuff I want to do. Anything I'm unsure of I can just figure out as I go along.
Now to business: "Billy Elliot" changed my life! Okay, a little dramatic there. But I honestly was BLOWN AWAY! The little kid who played Billy was a phenomenal performer and has reaffirmed my faith in theatre. The show was not without its problems but moments of it were so brilliant that I forgave its obvious shortcomings. I could go into a full review of the show but that would be self-serving and not very interesting. I was so touched by the theme of pursuing your dreams and escaping the monotony of life through art. If you ever, EVER have an opportunity to see it, don't hesitate.
"The 39 Steps" was a fully enjoyable evening of theatre as well. Not much to say about that, other than the fact that I loved it. London theatre is wonderful. I am so deliriously happy.

London: The Beginning

2008-04-30T23:50:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been more than a month since I blogged. A quick recap: "Drums in the Night" and finals happened, I went to California, and set sail (okay, airplane, really...) for London.
And here I am. My apartment just makes me laugh. We're on the sixth floor so it's a long hike up every morning. It's just the three of us in the flat: me, Mitch, and David. I was telling them that I'm happy things will be relatively chill on the guys' end. So far, things have been great. Our flat does look like the set of a Tim Burton movie and the shower seems to have been built for Hobbits, but I can't complain; I'm in London! I was immediately struck by how cool everything looks here. I'll restrain myself from taking too many pictures of things like brick walls and peoples' front doors; really, I can talk the talk but when it comes to actually taking pictures I can never manage it. Oh well...I forgot to pack a towel so to save money for theatre tickets I picked up a hand towel at the grocery store for a couple pounds and that will serve me just fine. After all, we have a midget shower so why not feel even more like a giant?
My only beef is with the food. (No comment as to whether or not that pun was intended.) Good heavens, have the British never heard of sugar? Or seasonings? Or reasonable prices? I bought the equivalent of sugar smacks at the grocery store but it's certainly turned out to be more smack than sugar. Oh well. Maybe this will cure me of my need for kick-you-in-the-mouth sorts of food.
All is well here. We're going to the half price ticket place today to go see a show. What will it be? Whatever they've got that isn't "Wicked." Yes, you heard me. And I'm off to the first day of class.

Top o' the mornin'!

2008-03-17T09:01:00.000-07:00

It's Saint Patrick's Day. And I am in a terrific mood. Yes, it's a Monday morning and it's much colder than I would prefer. But I'm smiling. I went to the temple this morning, I'm healthy and happy...
I don't know how to explain the tendency we have (myself included) to dwell on the negative in blog posts. Perhaps this is the perfect outlet for venting. Perhaps we're all just more negative than we should be. I don't know. But I'd like to be positive here today...
I am so happy to be a student at a university studying something I love. I am so grateful that I can wake up happy every morning and excited to go to class. I'm grateful that I live a life that is grounded in the truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and that I have that anchor to hold me strong through the storms of life. I'm grateful for friends who wish I wasn't always at rehearsal and for a family that misses me when I'm gone. I'm so glad that I live in this nation of peace and prosperity (relatively speaking, of course) where we are in a position to lift and assist others less fortunate than we. (Not a comment on current foreign affairs, mind you.) I'm happy to have a body that (usually) does what it's supposed to and access to medical care to fix it when it doesn't. I'm happy to have new couches in my apartment that I like even more than my own bed and the ceramic horse that guards us against evil spirits and vicious thieves. And I'm happy that my roommate went on a strange rampage last night securing all our windows and doors from potential break-ins. He cracks me up sometime...
In short, life is good. Let's all smile. And wear green today. Or I'll probably punch you. What a wonderful day...

Running

2008-03-13T22:48:00.000-07:00

I went for a a run. A jog. No, I'm not speaking metaphorically. I mean, I put on my sweats, grabbed my iPod, and hit the streets. Surprised? Me too.
I got back from my mission a year ago. Most people close to me know the story: I came home early, tried to get healthy, got no definitive diagnosis, and ended up being released after about four months of limbo. (See the "A Personal Essay" post for more insight into the delightful story...) I've clawed my way up from that demoralizing position over the last year and am happy with where I am in life. Things are going well. Much better than last year, at least. But my mysterious "condition" still holds me hostage, so to speak.
I am incapable of exercising for any period of time because of, well, complicated medical issues that I don't really want to go into. I've been seeing a lot of furrowed brows and hearing a lot of I-don't-knows in doctors' offices for the past year and have all but given up on the hope that the medical community could possibly offer me any answers. I've wondered if I'll have to resign myself to an inactive lifestyle for the rest of my days. Life is going well, but this particular situation was looking bleaker than ever.
Then I realized: I am not powerless! I alone have control over my body and I'm going to get back to normal or die trying. I'm not going to sit back and shrug off missed opportunities and deflated self-esteem due to some unquantifiable disorder that has baffled the best medical minds of Brazil, Sacramento, and Provo. If I can't nurse my body back into health, I'll beat it into submission. So, I went running. The run was short distance-wise but took a pretty long time, I must say. I only threw up a little and despite the clutching my side and gasping for air, I felt like the strongest man alive when I arrived again at my doorstep. Yeah, it sucks. But I'll do it tomorrow. For longer. And the next day. And the next.
I want my life back.

In defense of men

2008-03-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

Heard in Fast and Testimony Meeting:
“We men, we’re idiots. The women are smart and spiritual and have it all together. They condescend to be with us and I’m grateful for that. We men really don’t have anything going for us and there’s no way we could ever deserve our wives.”

Heard at work:
“The I.Q. of the room gets lower with every additional man who comes in.”

Heard in class:
“You can’t blame him. I mean, he’s a guy. Of course he’s stupid. What do you expect?”

Yes. They’re for real. You have undoubtedly heard the same kind of statements. And yes, all of these come from the mouths of modern, American, Mormon men. What do we learn from these astonishing remarks? (Other than the fact that I’m strange and compulsively write down the conversations of those around me…Beware!) That there is a vicious and destructive tendency toward the demoralization of men. To put it plainly: sexism.
What astonishes me, though, that this discrimination seems to be perpetuated principally by the men. Sure, “man hating” women may spout off similar slander, but I think we see more often than not that men continue to demean themselves. It is, as the king of Siam would say, a puzzlement.
Perhaps this tend comes from the “reparations phenomenon,” the idea that men, having subjected women to thousands of years of discrimination, oppression, and general inequality, that somehow equality will be achieved by turning the tables and allowing the men to become the punching bags. We see this idea manifest in many forms, notably the prevalence of “white guy” jokes in the media. If this were truly the cause I could let it roll off my back. If this reversal is what it will take to develop true gender equality I can let things like “According to Jim” go. However, I’m not convinced this is the case. First of all, the idea that further polarization will help us live together in peace is flawed in logic. Second, this “anti-male” sentiment is so widely embraced and actively furthered by the “victims” of its claims. And third, when it comes down to it, it isn’t the women, but the men, who benefit in the long run from this widely-circulated myth.
What’s to be gained by a man who undercuts the intellectual, emotional, and spiritual capacities of his sex as a whole? A great deal of slack. Though few would admit it, the “I’m a guy” line is something of a cure-all for a lot of women. Why even try to communicate with your girlfriend when the simple fact that you’re a guy and the admission of that simple fact will make any oversight okay? Why try to live a Christlike life when we can sit in Elders’ quorum and muse on how inferior we are to the Relief Society sisters and how hopeless it is to try and measure up? Sure you’ve got to swallow your pride for a moment but that’s a small price to pay for the universal antidote you’ve been given courtesy of the genetic lottery you won as soon as the doctor said “It’s a boy.”
Nowhere are we taught superiority or inferiority of one sex over another. No verse of scripture or discourse of modern prophets or apostles even hints at the fact that some of God’s children are better or worse than others based on gender. Different? Yes. Better? Absolutely not. Sorry to burst your bubble, my fellow “insensitive,” “forgetful,” “negligent” men. But the time for excuses is over. Let’s live up to what we as PEOPLE are capable of.

Reeee-JEC-ted!

2008-03-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

I just got rejected. Yeah, it happens. A friend of mine was sitting on the slab within listening distance and undoubtedly paid rapt attention to the whole conversation. Had I been in her position, I would have cringed for a second then quickly reached for my moleskine notebook and written down the whole ordeal. It would have ended up in one of the "romance is ridiculous" plays I so enjoy writing and I would have laughed at the high drama so readily found in every corner of the HFAC.
It sucks to get shut down. That doesn't really need to be said. In the last month I've suffered two pretty major disappointments in the relationship arena. I don't say this to complain; like I said, it happens. The two situations were pretty different and my reaction surprised me to be honest. The first girl had been sending all the right signals and all signs pointed to yes. It was about to the point when I was going to embark on the inevitable DTR when she pulled a u-turn and sent the message loud and clear that she wasn't as interested as she had let on. I suppose at one point the idea to act like a child and blow me off seemed like a good way to "let me down easy" but somewhere along the way it got lost in translation. On the upside, the whole ordeal made her entirely unattractive and, thus, pretty easy to "get over." Obnoxious, yes. But heartbreaking? Not so much.
I wouldn't say I'm "heartbroken" right now. Just...disheartened. The second girl also was sending all the right signals. More so than perhaps any other girl I've taken on a first date. Somewhere along the line between then and now, though, she changed her mind. I asked her out a few minutes ago and she was very frank and honest about her lack of interest. I smiled and told her we should just hang out sometime then. As friends. She smiled in response and we left it on a good note. Or so she thought. My friend sitting five feet away certainly had a pretty good idea of the hurt behind the cordial acceptance of defeat. But what else could I do, right? The funny thing is how much more it sucked this time. I couldn't hide behind the frustration, irritation, and dismissal of the ridiculous behavior I met with the last girl. This time there really wasn't anything to cushion the painful realization of one more "no" to add to the pile. Okay, it was ONE DATE. It really shouldn't matter this much. And it isn't the shattering blow I may have made it out to be. It just sucks. I'm grateful though for a mature girl who's classy enough to come right out and say what's going on. No games. No manipulation. Just plain unadorned rejection. And to think I said I would prefer it this way...

ACTF: The verdict is in...

2008-02-21T10:16:00.000-08:00

...And I won! It's pretty satisfying to say those two words: I won. Rarely can I say them so I'm afraid I enjoy it too much.
But yes, I am a national finalist now. This means a trip to Washington DC and an opportunity to workshop my script at the Kennedy Center. I mean, that's a venue I would get excited just to GO TO, let alone see my work onstage. So, yes, this is pretty much the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. The week was good. Tiring, but good. I got a random kiss in an elevator to top it all off which, if nothing else, is another great story. And I got a pretty nasty cold which I'm still getting over. Oh well... Life is good.

ACTF: The Beginning

2008-02-12T09:12:00.000-08:00

I got down to LA yesterday and I'm already in the swing of things. ACTF seems pretty exciting, if for nothing other than the performances we'll get to see. I'm waiting for auditions for my play to begin. I'm excited to see how it does. My director, Terry Petrie, seems cool and I know my dramaturg. I think the process will be a great learning experience for me. I see the actors out in the hall and it looks like a pretty excited group. Some obnoxious things are going on (personal life-wise) about which I will probably rant soon enough. But for now, I'm ignoring everything but the task at hand: taking full advantage of the opportunities afforded me here. I think it'll go well. Wish me luck at auditions.

Writer's block...I guess...

2008-02-06T09:04:00.000-08:00

I've been commissioned to write a play to be put on this summer. "Commissioned" means money. Does this help me to write more? No. I've actually been at a loss as to what to write for quite a while. I've finally set out on what has proven to be the best idea I have so far (which really might not be saying much) and it's shaping up nicely. It's typical of me, I must say. It deals with love and relationships in a cynical and pragmatic way. Surprised? You shouldn't be. For a confessed hopeless romantic like myself it's astounding to me that I am so inept at writing anything remotely idealistic or romantic. I suppose it's just as well. After all, there are plenty of people filling the modern media with unlikely stories of boy-meets-girl sensibility. Maybe someday I'll join their ranks.

Democrats

2008-02-01T16:06:00.000-08:00

Another letter to the editor that The Daily Universe (for some reason) deemed inappropriate for publication. This is in response to a claim made that one cannot be an LDS Democrat. Enjoy...

I am delighted to finally see some sense in the Readers’ Forum. Though we still have a long way to go, Friday’s “Immoral Support” was certainly a step in the right direction. BYU’s negligence in addressing this important issue is alarming and it’s time we all realize the truth: it is impossible to be a Democrat and an active member of the Church.
We all know that democrats openly support the desecration of the law of chastity and the slaughter of innocent babies, propagate the global warming myth which undermines all revealed doctrine concerning the Second Coming, question the motives behind our holy crusade in Iraq, and slander our pious leader George W. Bush. How can the Lord’s University put up with a secret combination like this? How can we tolerate a group of people who vote using a Ouija Board, who feast upon aborted fetuses, and who sacrifice a Republican virgin every month at the full moon?
It’s time we who support the laws and ordinances of the Restored Gospel take a stand against these wolves in sheep’s clothing and declare before the world that we will no longer support their unhallowed and iniquitous practices and beliefs. The time is coming when BYU applications will ask for political ideology in consideration for university placement and bishops will require proper political affiliation for temple recommend interviews.
Though a complete political cleansing is not yet possible, we can at least distance ourselves from those whose so-called convictions will lead us straightway into hell. We must stand united in purging this hallowed ground from the influence of the father of lies and those who choose to follow him. And there will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Ugh...

2008-02-01T15:43:00.001-08:00

It's time to vent. Indulge me...

Note to self: always be a problem SOLVER. This has been building up for quite some time and is usually compounded in gatherings accompanied by large quantities of sighs, small voices, complaints, and forlorn looks. I don't know why people continually see the need to find the problems in a situation and ignore any possible solutions. To those of you whose laundry lists of grievances include no plans for improvement I invoke the immortal words of The Eagles: "Get over it!"

On an unrelated note, can we please stop masking inadequacy with weirdness? I suppose a theatre major sees this more than most but I do not like the reputation the marginal few (or at least I HOPE they're not the majority) give to the "artsy fartsy" crowd. You can usually spot a bad actor/writer/director/etc. simply by looking for the one who can't fit in at parties. Yes, I know artists have a right to a sampling of eccentricities and I know that I am not the most normal man you'll find. But might we abandon the false notion that such abnormalities define our artistic merit? The argument could be made to the contrary. Please no more ridiculous outfits to try and stand out, no more strange outbursts in crowded restaraunts, no more belting "Wicked" at inopportune times. If you're an artist your work will speak for itself. If you're not...well, maybe that's why you're singing "Wicked." (Was that mean? It really is directed at no one in particular. Except perhaps Winnie Holzman.)

And finally, can we all stop being so cynical? I was talking to a friend the other day who couldn't understand how Oprah earned the respect she has. He was convinced that everything the woman does it a marketing ploy and that her activist humanitarian stance is merely a facade to keep herself in her position of power. You know, I don't know Oprah. Frankly, I don't think I've ever watched an entire episode of her television show. But why should we, a people who claim to be anxiously engaged in a good cause, tear down those who appear to be doing just that. Oprah doesn't have the market cornered on this. Anyone in the public eye who sets out on any altruistic endeavor has his or her motives immediately called into question. We scrutinize those people who are affecting positive social change more than anyone else, it seems. I'd like to, once again, throw in my two cents here: leave them alone. There's enough garbage to clean up and anyone engaged in doing what's right is at least going in the right direction. Let's be positive? Okay.

In Loving Memory...

2008-01-27T19:55:00.000-08:00

President Hinckley passed away. That's (quite literally) the news on the street. Initially, passing such significant news by text message (how I found out) seemed almost vulgar, but I think it's just a testament to the stature of the man. I don't think anyone alive was more loved than President Hinckley in his day. I feel like a close friend has left me but am overjoyed that he has reached the "finish line," so to speak. With all of our postulations I don't think we ever really realized that this day could come. But here it is. It is a solemn occasion but not a bleak one. I remember a time on my mission when I'd been in one city for what I felt was a very long time. I was working as hard as I could and knew I could continue to work as long as I was there. But, you know, deep down I really wanted a transfer. I was willing to do what the Lord had called me to do but I wasn't opposed to a change. I think that's how President Hinckley felt. He was old and tired, he missed his wife, but he would have kept giving everything he had for as long as it was expected of him. That is precisely what he did and that is precisely why the phone lines are jammed, text message inboxes are full, and the loss of one ninety-seven year old man is so widely felt. He was transferred. We'll see him soon. In the meantime we'll miss him but how grateful we are for a living church and continuing revelation through inspired men like him. I imagined myself crying a river and wearing black for a week but I fail to see the tragedy in the situation. He's with his wife, his friends, and millions of people who I'm sure have welcomed him with open arms.

A trip to the movies.

2008-01-22T09:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was MLK day and there was some sort of canned food drive at the dollars movies. We ended up going to the movies after FHE and I found myself suddenly sitting in "The Golden Compass." Aside from the concern that I'd turn into a God-killing atheist if I stayed too long in that theatre, the film completely lost me. It was one of those"at what point did this look like a good idea" moments. I convinced two of my friends to go "movie hopping" with me so we went to the theatre next door. The movie? "Beuwolf." Yes, "Beuwolf." Not that naked computer-animated fight scenes with strange sexual undertones aren't charming in their own right (actually, I take that back), but I immediately regretted my desire to explore. We ended up moving to the next theatre to catch the last ten minutes of "August Rush" a sweet but overblown music video. Watching Keri Russell almost made it okay, but I couldn't believe I had wasted an evening with such garbage... Please, let's stop creating and patronizing these heinous movies and support real art. Please?

Ode to being alone...

2008-01-20T22:27:00.001-08:00

I realized this morning how long it's been since I've been on a date. Okay, so for "normal" people it wouldn't seem that long. But a month is a long time for me. Especially at BYU. It surprised me that it's been this long because, well, I haven't really noticed it. Since my last date (which, consequently, was a breakup) I've barely been able to catch my breath in between all the things that have been going on. A quick recap:
-"A Christmas Carol" at the Hale. Every other night is a big commitment. And it means that the other nights are packed pretty full with everything I had to put off for the show. It paid well enough though.
-Finals. Yeah, college...
-Christmas Break. This was a relaxing week, but certainly no dating went on. Really, there aren't any prospects in Sacramento. Not that I've looked; perhaps the very fact that I'm only there occasionally and for a week at a time has something to do with it. Anyway, Christmas was great.
-Student SLAM. My most exciting writing "gig" to date. I flew back early from Sacramento in order to do this and boy was it worth it. I don't think I've ever been that stressed though.
-The start of the new semester. Boy did my professors decide to just jump in there and get us started. It makes me wonder how things will be by the end.
-Writer's block. Since the semester began, actually. Until last night I hadn't really made much progress in writing since SLAM. I'm doing better now.
-"Here to There." BYU's devised theatre project. About four hours of rehearsal a day which means I have to be pretty creative about when homework, writing, and the other essentials of life fit in.
Okay, so, you know, a lot. No time to date. My confidence such as it is, I figure any romantic success will require some serious concerted effort on my part and some sort of serendipitous miracle. Therefore, I'm single. Single in a transient sense. It certainly could be worse. In fact, I realize that if my social situation were much different I would have missed out on a lot of opportunities. So it would have to be worth it.
WANTED: Someone for whom I am willing to sacrifice participation in some pretty cool stuff. I'm not saying it won't happen, I'm simply saying that it hasn't yet. And for that reason I spend my Friday nights at rehearsals and my Saturdays at home writing.
In the meantime, however, I'm happy about how my life is going. Things are really shaping up for me and maybe now is the time to seize the opportunities for which I probably won't have much time in the future. I'll keep my eyes open though...

A Personal Essay...A looooong one...

2008-01-17T16:13:00.000-08:00

I wrote this for a contest and, since it's unlikely that I'll win anything, I thought I'd put it up here.

“The Lord is On Thy Side”

The flight didn’t seem very full. I wasn’t particularly happy to be onboard myself but I found my way to my seat and settled in for the long trip ahead. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep, nor would I have the presence of mind to read or otherwise occupy myself. As the flight attendants secured the doors for takeoff my thoughts were already soaring at thirty thousand feet and showed no signs of slowing down. The plane lifted off and I leaned my head against the window, watching the lights of Sao Paulo fade slowly into the surrounding darkness. It was happening. I was going home.

I’d spent the last twenty months laying out the principles of the gospel as simply as the in-flight safety instructions I’d just heard. There was an answer to every question and personal study every morning was a time to compartmentalize and make sense of teachings that had confounded the greatest of men. Life was laid out in the pocket planners we maintained so zealously and the salvation of souls fit neatly into the grids we diligently filled night after night. We were princes, messengers of truth, servants of God, spokesmen of the cure-all gospel. Now here I was, suddenly devoid of answers, suddenly boiling over with questions, battered and broken on a flight home. Missionaries had been hurt worse than I was. You didn’t need to know much church history to see that. But no one wants a companion who can’t walk. Sao Paulo was barely visible now, like a distant star you wished on as a child. I’d be home in no time.

I looked around. The cabin was quiet and the two other seats in my row remained unoccupied. This certainly wasn’t how I’d pictured my homecoming. My mother’s voice still rang in my ears, full of disappointment for me cloaked in the optimism that had kept a smile on my face for twenty years. She’d be happy to see me, as would the rest of the family, but the reunion would be bittersweet at best. I would see behind their welcoming smiles the very questions I was too afraid to utter myself. I would do my best to smile back at them and recount mission stories without feeing the sickness in my stomach that set in as the plane reached cruising altitude. I had been right about one thing: sleep wouldn’t come easily on this trip. I’m fairly certain that had there been anyone else seated in my row he would have gotten an earful of a young missionary’s tale of unlikely medical tragedy. I looked back at the two empty seats and felt, for the first time in nearly two years, completely alone.

I’d learned early on in my mission to appreciate the meaning of the words: “Be still, my soul. The Lord is on thy side.” I had heard a similar sentiment from my mission president as he bade me farewell earlier that day. I couldn’t remember all the times I’d shared that message with the people of Minas Gerais, Brazil. I loved to point out the promise in Helaman 5:12 that defines Christ as “a sure foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” and read the passage where He promises, “Wherefore, be of good cheer and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you” (D&C 68:6). The words had fallen countless times from my lips and I knew they were true. They were true for Vera who lost her job the day before her baptism. They were true for Danielle who wondered if she had the strength to follow Christ’s teachings. They were true for Maria whose determination to quit smoking at the age of seventy had taught me more than a thousand sermons ever could.

My fingers drummed restlessly on the armrest as I recalled their struggles and triumphs and wondered what I could say to them now. I closed my eyes in the first of many futile attempts to fall asleep as something unseen whispered into my ear the words that had buoyed me up through the tests and trials of missionary service: “The Lord is on thy side.”

Perhaps no other sentiment is as universally preached in the scriptures as that of Christ’s unabashed loyalty to those who follow Him. The Old Testament prophets spoke of him as “the Good Shepherd” and Isaiah prophesied: “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom…” (Isaiah 40:11). The Book of Mormon promises to the followers of Christ “a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God…” (Ether 12:4) and the New Testament is full of the words of the Savior Himself who prayed to His Father: “And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them…I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one” (John 17:22-23). Partnership with Christ seems to be the genesis of His entire gospel. “Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me,” He says, “for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matthew 11:29). This scripture conjures images of joint labor and invites all men to come unto Christ and work with Him toward our own perfection.

I had felt the Lord at my side as a missionary. Much of what I’d heard about mission life had been sugarcoated or romanticized but there was no denying the power with which I had felt infused as a full-time representative of Christ. Invincibility, though, proved to be a boyish delusion as familiar roads seemed longer and often-climbed hills seemed steeper than they had ever been. Walking became a greater burden with every passing day until I had been taken out of commission and moved close to the mission home for immediate care. I’d been infused with a sort of blind hopefulness and trusted that eventually I’d find a doctor who wouldn’t furrow his brow in confusion and a medication that would do more than make me want to take a nap. However, as time passed the situation grew bleaker and optimism became more a defense than anything else. I was working full-time in the mission office and walking with the assistance of a cane. I’d spoken on the phone with missionaries and ached to have a story of my own to tell, to speak with someone who wasn’t wearing a nametag, to feel like I’d earned the exhaustion that set in at the end of the day. The days were long then.

I reached up and adjusted the air conditioning on the panel above me, then turned my gaze to the darkened world outside the window. I strained my eyes to find any far-off pinpoints of light but soon gave up. I leaned back in my chair and listened to the hum and squeal of the cabin and the sounds of peaceful sleep around me. I began to pray but kept finding myself distracted from my own words. Prayer had not come to me as easily lately as it typically seemed to flow from the mouths of missionaries. I’d caught unintended worried looks coming my way from those who had accompanied my struggle and was frankly unsure of what my petitions to the Lord should be.

As prevalent as His promises to be faithful to His followers is the often-repeated scriptural assurance: “Ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (D&C 4:7). I’d learned, though, that prayer was not a means by which we place orders with the Lord, carefully informing Him of our own priorities and urgent needs. I would have loved to feel justified in asking God to grant me the health for which I’d been longing but I found myself on my knees day after day praying for the patience to learn His will and the courage to accept it. My words frightened me and as time went on the Spirit began to instruct me concerning what was to come. The reality of an early return home for more adequate medical care was an unwelcome guest whose presence was made known more and more each time I addressed my Heavenly Father in prayer.

Not surprisingly, then, the morning I found out the bad news didn’t come as much of a shock. As I knelt at my bedside on Friday night my thoughts wandered to the test results that would be in hand on Monday morning. A cold wave of anxiety washed over me and I opened my eyes to orient myself once again. The other missionaries were asleep and the house was quiet. Alone in the peaceful darkness I began again to offer up the feelings of my heart when I experienced something I’d never before felt. I’d read 2 Nephi 4:33 in which he pleads with the Lord, “wilt thou encircle me around in the robe of thy righteousness” but hadn’t understood what he had meant until that moment. My eyelids rested gently closed but I felt more surely than ever before: “The Lord is on thy side.” I’d felt of His love and knew that His hand guided the path upon which I would soon enough find myself.

And it was soon indeed. Monday morning rolled around and time itself seemed to be in a hurry to get through the uncomfortable waiting room, anxious walk into the doctor’s office, and confirmation of the fears that had been festering for days. I found myself in the passenger seat of President Johnson’s car knowing full well what the tears in his eyes meant. I had no sooner arrived back in the office, it seemed, than I had a plane ticket home for the next day and the surreal feeling that my entire world was about to change. We had a nice lunch the next day at the mission home. Sister Johnson made two pans of lasagna, one for the group and another exclusively for me. We laughed and it felt good to be surrounded by love. I was interviewed by President Johnson and driven to the airport where I said my last goodbyes. My flight was on time and, like I said, not too crowded at all.

I was grateful for the slices of sleep I managed in between racing thoughts and burning questions, as the plane grew closer to its destination. The last few days had been a lot to take in and certainly I needed my rest but more than that I needed that feeling of security and assurance I had come to associate with pure Discipleship. I wanted a comforting passage of scripture, an illuminating quote from a conference talk, a morsel of wisdom to feed my starving soul. The plane began to shake threateningly and a scratchy voice apologized for the turbulence. I thought back to nightly planning sessions and lessons neatly counted up, progress clearly made. I thought of scripture flashcards and zone conference devotionals, of ward mission plans and goals to make ten contacts a day. What had it all been for? Why couldn’t I feel that joy? And why did the answers seem out of reach?

I refastened my seatbelt and fingered the canvas strap nervously. What was it President Johnson had told me? “The Lord has a purpose in all of this.” The words of the Proverb came to me like a song: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6). The memory of my prayer Friday night felt like the welcome beam of morning light in the gloomy clouded skies outside the window. I rebuked myself for my sudden lack of faith but could not shake the desire to have something of the anchor upon which I had grown to depend. The body of the plane continued to nod and shudder as did many of its agitated passengers. I closed my eyes again and slumped down in my seat in an effort to get more comfortable.

Soon enough I found myself praying again. My eyes were closed and my mind was drawn up in a channel between my Heavenly Father and myself. I wanted answers. I wanted to know why I was on that airplane. I wanted to know why no diagnosis could be made, why no treatment had made the slightest difference in my condition. I wanted to know why my mission had been cut short when I had worked my entire life in preparation to serve. I waited in quiet desperation and again felt nothing. I asked again, pleaded even, that I be given some sort of direction, some means by which I could cope with the frustration that was quickly setting in. Just as I was about to resign myself once again to blindness and confusion I felt the gentlest tugging and the slightest warm sensation at my side. I recalled the words that had come to me earlier: “The Lord is on thy side.”

No answers came on the flight. The plane landed and I had no better understanding of what had happened than I had had twelve hours before when I boarded the airplane. But more than once I had felt the very real love of the Savior at my side strengthening me, even in my confusion and frustration. I felt it again as I painfully watched a crowd of missionaries heroically descending the escalator, their carry-on bags full of souvenirs for the family, and caught sight of my own family. They seemed just as happy to see their own gimpy missionary limping over to join them, also returning home with honor. I felt it radiate from my parents as they hugged me for the first time in twenty months and my little brothers as they bombarded me with the questions I knew were coming. I felt it again as I stepped into my home and spent the evening with the people I had so dearly missed.

I had spent twenty months wearing the Savior’s name proudly on my chest and had cultivated more of a relationship with Him than I could have understood the day I reported to the MTC. I learned that “all flesh is in (His) hands” (D&C 101:16) and that His love for us is deeper than we know. I learned that the invitation to “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32) is truly a call to work to become more like Him, to take His yoke upon us, and to keep His commandments. And I learned what may come of a close relationship with Him. As Job teaches, “Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace: thereby good shall come unto thee” (Job 22:21). All these things had been studied, pondered, and conscientiously recorded in the margins of “Preach My Gospel” but it wasn’t until I boarded that airplane that I truly learned what it means to acquaint myself with Christ.

If anything, the frustration I had experienced in the mission field was only a taste of what awaited me at home. Navigating the medical obstacle course in which I found myself anxiously engaged required the patience of Job and the wisdom of Solomon and concrete answers were few and far between. I amused myself at church by watching ward members rapidly calculating the time since I’d left home and pursing their lips in solemn contemplation. Of course they were always relieved to see my cane and liberally offered their condolences and medical counsel. Every decision seemed impossible to make as I constantly faced the conundrum of a standstill in life, held hostage by a mysterious ailment about which people seemed increasingly skeptical. And I learned that the last question a sick person wants to hear is, “How are you feeling?” Life was obnoxious and did not seem to be going anywhere at all.

Through all this, though, I learned that one Man truly can and does understand the perplexities of life and “know(s) according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12). After teaching to his disciples many precious truths, Christ said, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). In those moments when you feel truly alone you recognize that, in a very real sense, “The Lord is on thy side.” These “tender mercies of the Lord” (1 Nephi 1:20) are our support, our refuge, and our salvation. They are the reason why Paul exclaimed, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13) and the reason why I found myself where I did months after I walked through the jetway in the Sacramento airport.

It had been a season of unanswered questions and unwelcome answers. I’d seen my opportunity to return to the mission field all but pass away and knew that I once again had to trust in the Lord. I was still broken and my extended family had a litany of questions regarding my physical condition. We had spent the week in Nauvoo having a great time together. Grandpa had worried whether I was strong enough to baptize my younger brother and everyone seemed to look at me like something incredibly fragile. Nevertheless, months had passed since my restless plane ride and it seemed still more distant as I walked into the celestial room in the temple.

The quiet in the temple is almost tangible, almost has a taste to it. I moved through the room, looking into loving faces gathered together as a family. I took a seat by myself, with much to think about. Things had not gone as I had hoped and I suspect that a certain disappointment will lie in wait in the back of my mind for years to come. I’d been to Spring Semester at BYU and had experienced the unique highs and lows of my own personal limbo. I’d continued to seek answers to the questions that seemed more pernicious and persistent than any medical condition could be. I’d also been to the temple numerous times and took advantage of these quiet moments for personal reflection and meditation. I liked the quiet.

I ran my fingers gently along the upholstery of the arm of my chair and looked up. The chandelier glittered like thousands of twinkling stars filling an opulent sky. A thousand wishes to make. I still had little or no concrete knowledge concerning what would happen to me in the coming weeks, months, or years, but I felt a familiar assurance as I looked at the chair next to mine. It was empty, but I didn’t feel alone. I closed my eyes and felt the familiar warmth and heard the familiar words:
“Be still, my soul: The hour is hast'ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.”
I looked up and saw my parents smiling back at me. It had been a long couple of months but I had gained a friendship through the “disappointment, grief, and fear” of it all, a friendship with my Savior. I felt Him at my side.

Artistic Indignation

2008-01-04T10:33:00.001-08:00

At the end of fall semester, The Daily Universe, BYU’s campus newspaper, ran an article with movie recommendations for the Holiday Season: “National Treasure 2,” “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” and “Water Horse.” Naturally, I overreacted and wrote a letter to the editor. This is the gist of it:
You know, the last time I checked, we were in college. Mind you, I’m not vehemently opposed to any of these movies (as they seem relatively incapable of eliciting any emotional response whatsoever) but I continue to be disappointed with the prevailing tendency to infantilize college students who really should be pursuing art befitting the capacity of adults at a university. (Honestly, how many BYU students own a copy of “High School Musical?”)
I know, I know. I’m going to a Church-run school, but that makes this phenomenon all the more distressing. We are taught to “seek after” that which is “virtuous, lovely, or of good report, or praiseworthy” and many take this to mean that we should confine ourselves to children’s media. Obviously, there can be nothing uplifting or inspiring in a film that deals with real issues and explores significant themes, right? I beg to differ. We’re commanded not only to eschew the evil but to seek after the good. Merely the absence of filth does not make a work of art worthwhile; it is the presence of true, righteous principles that makes something truly “of good report.”
When you go to the movies looking for something to watch, why not go out to see “The Bucket List,” “Grace is Gone,” “The Kite Runner,” or any of the other myriad of films coming to a theater near you? We’ll wait and see if these titles meet the criteria and we’ll all use our best judgment, of course, but it’s time to act like the grown-ups we are and let a trip to the movies be the enriching experience it can be.

2008 - How will it be...

2007-12-30T13:51:00.000-08:00

Well, it's Sunday afternoon and my last day at home. Tomorrow I'll head back to BYU and begin my exciting year. I don't like making "resolutions" at the start of a New year, but it's always good to make goals. Here are a few of mine:
1. Find opportunities to serve people.
2. Write for two hours a day. For real this time.
3. Read more. Outside of class assignments.
4. Get the most out of every class.
5. Take FULL advantage of London.
6. Have a positive effect on everyone with which I come in contact.
7. Continue to attend the temple regularly.
8. Discover the world around me.
9. Experiment in writing fiction and poetry.
10. Brace myself for whatever surprises may (no, WILL) come my way.
Another big goal is to work all year to start a student run and directed theatre company in Provo. It's going to be a lot of work but if I can do that, this will be a productive year. I'm also seeing that there are plenty of opportunities presenting themselves for me this year and I'm going to do all I can to take full advantage of them and open doors that have been shut up until now. This year I will do great things.
I may also manage to make a relationship work. Ha ha...Reach for the stars, right?

Reflections on Christmas morning...

2007-12-25T13:01:00.000-08:00

Yep, it's Christmas. I'm at home with my family and it really has been a great trip. I'm happy to have a few days off in between CrazyFall and CrazierWinter (before we get to ExcitingSpring). Christmas snuck up on me this year but I'm glad it's here. I got a "Streets of London" map in my stocking; do my parents know me or what? My parents caved and got my little brother a "Wii" which has provided the entertainment for most of the family all morning. You know, it's great that my family is blessed enough to have a comfortable Christmas but it dawned on me this morning how true the cliches really are. This is not about the "stuff." (Though, "stuff" is great...) I'm happy to be here because we love each other and enjoy spending time together.
Okay, enough of that. Let's not get carried away with sentimentality here. Break is great. I'm glad we don't celebrate Christmas when Christ was actually born because I don't think any of us would want to barrel right on into the next semester without some serious time to recharge our batteries...I keep feeling like I should be doing something productive: writing, reading something (that isn't "Water for Elephants"), etc. But this week is dedicated to NOTHING. Can anyone relate to that? Can anyone NOT? I'm having writer's block anyway. Well, not exactly, I guess. I have TOO MANY ideas right now and can't seem to decide where to go from here. I'll figure it out...
Well, Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope your day is going as well as mine.

Progress Report

2007-12-19T01:35:00.000-08:00

I do feel terrible that finals weeks feels more like a vacation than anything else. The semester is drawing to a close and, consequently, so is 2007. In a week or so I'll check my grades and go one from there. But, as we all know, grades do not demonstrate much at all. One of my classes asks me to grade myself which I find to be a very interesting proposition and I'd like to take a moment to do just that now.

What Matthew has learned this semester:

1. Things will NEVER go as planned. Something inside of me drives me to make plans, but the truth is I can never predict or fully control the future. Through all this, I've learned to hold fast to the things I CAN control and simply enjoy the ride.

2. Life is full of difficult choices. And things are only going to get harder. It's not so much fun being a grown-up. But that's all part of the deal.

3. I am a writer.

4. I am an extremely fortunate man. I knew this already but it seems I need to re-learn this lesson every time things go wrong. Perhaps putting it in writing will help.

5. Relationships come and go but loneliness is always loyal. Wow, how depressing. It's a harsh reality, though. Get used to it.

6. Operate under the assumption that women ARE interested, rather than the assumption that they are NOT. This simple shift will take you places.

7. It does you no good to change who you are to appease someone.

8. Don't try to fool yourself. You're smarter than you think.

9. It doesn't matter how talented you are, you need to work like crazy if you really want something.

10. Nothing feels better than to be respected.

11. Painkillers are addictive. (No, it's not what it sounds like.)

12. Save yourself from heartache when you can. Sometimes a relationship is going nowhere, sometimes it should never begin in the first place. Sometimes you should get your hopes up, sometimes you shouldn't.

13. Reach out to someone who's having a worse day than you.

14. A's don't mean everything. But they feel good.

15. The most important friendships will keep themselves alive.

16. A little killer instinct goes a long way.

Child's Play

2007-12-12T10:34:00.000-08:00

It seems that no matter how old or developed we are, how mature we think ourselves to be, it all goes out the window when it comes to relationships. I recently observed a thirteen-year-old boy playing matchmaker with people much older than he. I laughed at this, wondering why self-respecting college students would listen to the advice of a kid in something so important. Then I realized that we grown-ups, mature and sophisticated as we may think we are, really haven't progressed much from the love lives we led as thirteen-year-olds. This kid's advice is as good as anyone's, really.
I stepped back and took stock of my own dating strategies: flirting shamelessly, making myself look better than I am, interrogating girls' roommates, and (most recently) following the advice of kids in junior high. I thought about myself at thirteen and the mad crush I had on a girl named Chelsy. Our "romance" started at a seventh grade band concert. She was the cutest girl in the trombone section. (The only girl in the trombone section, actually. But cute nonetheless.) Step one was to ask around about her to be sure she was my "type." (At thirteen I think the criteria was: bike-riding ability, love of candy, and an appreciation for "Boy Meets World.") Next, naturally, I befriended her little brother and got him to get me an "in" with his sister. I started spending time at their house and falling more and more in shallow prepubescent love with young Chelsy. I was sure to always be wearing my sweet high tops and cool "Rugrats" t-shirt whenever I knew I'd run into her and I made sure she was impressed by my intelligence and wit. My next step was to ask her friends how she felt and as soon as I had the green light I went full speed ahead. She finally told me how she really felt via a letter sent from girls' camp (that's right...girls' camp) and I was in heaven. Not only had my feelings finally been reciprocated, but I had mastered a pattern that has served me well (though that is debatable) until today.
So, here I am, in the same place and up to the same tricks. I wonder what Chelsy is up to, whether she’s still rocking the trombone, whether she has found a better way to navigate the waters of dating and romance. I doubt it. I don’t know if any of us have. I guess I’ll just keep on going. I’m about to step three now…

This Christmas

2007-12-10T22:02:00.000-08:00

I've always been very enthusiastic about the Christmas season. As a kid I continually pushed my parents to buy a tree earlier in December and to wake up earlier when Christmas morning rolled around. It seemed that we only had so much time and there truly wasn't a minute to lose. Even as a missionary I got caught up in the Christmas Spirit and wanted to spread that Christmas Cheer for as long as it was in season. The night of Christmas day was the saddest night of the year: it was over and I had another year to wait.
This year, though, there's no anticipation, no tree-trimming, and very little Christmas cheer to be spoken of. Mind you, this isn't to say that I'm unhappy; I'm just surprised that I'm not experiencing the extra helping of energy and eager anticipation that usually acts like a sort of drug for me around the holiday season. Maybe I'm finally growing up and losing my ties to insignificant traditions and meaningless commercialism that has become as much a part of the season as the Reason itself. It's a scary thought. There is certainly no reason to abandon something so positive and uplifting, though it seems I have. But maybe this year it's my turn to count myself among the magi. Let's face it, the shepherds had it easy: angelic visitations, a late-night choir concert in the sky, and a quick walk to the stable in Bethlehem. Sometimes, the journey is longer and the signs far more distant. Sometimes it's more difficult, but the longer the journey the sweeter it is when you finally reach your destination. Nothing has come easily this year. Not even Christmas. And that's okay.
Well, I guess there's no use going on about it. Christmas is coming on fast and if I can't watch "Rudolph" without rolling my eyes this year, I can still look forward to the end of a semester well-done, time with my family, and a the beginning of a new year. 2008 will be great. And Christmas '08? Who knows...

In the beginning...

2007-12-10T16:00:00.000-08:00

...There was a blog. Why am I doing this? This is absurd. Especially since I set one of these up last week and forgot my password. Okay, it's serious this time...
To be honest, this is mainly an attempt to make up for being such a terrible journal-writer. I figure this will help me find some sort of motivation to keep a record of my comings and goings. Maybe it's the false notion that someone out there actually cares about what I'm writing. Maybe it's the trendy nature of weblogs that attracts me. Whatever the reason, I'm sure this will prove to be an amazing and life-changing experience for us all...