Eighteen Months

With my grandparents having returned from their mission this week I’ve been thinking about time. Eighteen months, to be precise. They left for the Scotland/Ireland mission in April of 2013. At the time I remember being afraid that I would have to get married without my grandma. Was I close to getting engaged at the time? No. Did I have a boyfriend at the time? No. Was there any boy that I even consistently texted at the time? Of course not, but hope springs eternal, and it's easy to imagine that Eighteen-Months-Older Rebecca will be a lot better at achieving things. 

Obviously I am not writing to you as Mrs. Whoever. I could’ve, is the funny thing. I mean, there was a dude who expressed a pretty serious interest in putting a ring on it. But our relationship ended in flames (thankfully only figurative ones), and now, as Daenerys said in A Clash of Kings, “Her only consolation was that least she’d had the great good sense not to marry him.” My grandma will be at my wedding, should I ever deign to give up my beloved cat lady label.

But what else has happened in the last eighteen months? I’ve been in two shows: Camelot and First Christmas. I’ve moved to a third house in the Murray area— my roommates and I just can’t seem to get away. I’ve shopped at the same Smiths for three years now. I drove to California and back twice, was introduced to RPGs, and bought a new car. (Goodbye, Cathy!) Taylor Swift came out with a new album, and it’s freaking brilliant.

 In the area of Netflix, which is a pretty significant area in my life, I added a lot of shows to my Watched By Rebecca queue. The most important? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I watched all seven seasons during the course of one glorious month in late 2013 on a gorgeous flat-screen television that was temporarily living at our house and fell deeply, deeply in love. My advice to you is don’t ever bring up Buffy, Spike, or Joss Whedon unless you are prepared for at least a two hour session of me obsessing over the most perfect show in existence. I met James Marsters!!!!! He touched me!!!! (I am not a person who uses multiple exclamation marks, but trust me when I say they are justified in this situation.)

I also discovered Avatar, Walking Dead, Supernatural, Switched at Birth, Lost, Better Off Ted, and The Office, in the realm of television. Lost was frustrating, Being Human (the UK version) was great, and I gave up on Downton Abbey. I’m six seasons into Supernatural, and The Office made me shed both tears of laughter and actual tears. 

I fell head over heels in love with a scrawny British late night host named John Oliver. His existence brings joy to my life. The obsession is real. He is literally my ideal man: British, feminist, bitingly funny. He has the same birthday as Shakespeare! I was destined to love him.

I switched jobs twice, first to a Brookstone in the airport and then to Western Governors University, a job at which I hope to stay for the foreseeable future. Nine to five, Monday to Friday, baby. No more 4:30 a.m. shifts for me!

I read one hundred and sixty-two books and kissed three boys. I watched a lot of Marvel movies. I’ve become deeply interested in social justice causes and become a lot more comfortable with the liberal sensitivities I’ve been struggling with since high school. I now wear the label of feminist, equal rights supporter, and pro-gun control with pride. I’ve decided that I am good enough, and although I struggle with this quite a lot some days, cool people seem to like me, and they must see some potential in me.

In some ways I feel like exactly the same girl who said goodbye to her grandparents eighteen months ago, but in others I feel like a completely different person. That’s the paradox of life, I guess: we never change, but we never stay the same. 

Raise Your Voice

Lately I've been talking a lot about Ferguson, and Eric Garner, and basically anything I can find about the issue of racial inequality in America, specifically as it regards to the police. It may be that people wish I would shut up. Well, I wish I could.

I would love to talk about other things, like my excited trepidation for the new Star Wars movie, going home for Thanksgiving, or my new obsession with a skinny Englishman named John Oliver. (He may someday be the subject of his own post because he is perfect.) I could tell you stories about dreaming that Stephen Colbert tried to hold my hand, or singing Annie in the elevator at work, or my recent introduction to X-Men. I've been learning about Ada Lovelace and performing a Christmas show and being baffled/pleased by a December so warm that I've been driving around with my windows down.

But just at the moment, I won't.

Right now I will use my voice, both online and in real life, to join in a discussion about social justice, because it is important. I strongly believe that it is vital for us to stand up when something is wrong, even it is controversial. All that it is necessary for evil to conquer is for good people to do nothing. And as a white person, I will never truly understand racism, but I can fight against it because I understand that it exists. If I see injustice in the world I am going to say something about it. This was not always true about me, but I learning that what people think of me is far less important than being able to live with myself.

There was a protest in Salt Lake City on Saturday night. I very much wanted to go, but I had a performance in the aforementioned Christmas show. This whole week I've been having a bit of a quarter-life crisis in the vein of, "How long would it take me to drive to Missouri? I have enough for  a plane ticket to New York. Do you think the protests in San Francisco are still on?" Because I want to be a part of it. I want to stand up and be heard. I want to carry a sign that says JUSTICE and march down a street to make a statement.

I'm not black. I can't chant "We can't breathe" or "We are all Mike Brown". I'm not oppressed by my race. But I want to be on the right side of history, and much more importantly I want to be one the right side of my humanity. I would never be the person who actively disparages the protesters, but I feel that I would be betraying myself to sit back and be silent.

You don't have to agree with us. But we will not apologize for our views and we will not be silent. I will have an open-minded discussion with you if you will have an open-minded discussion with me. But what it comes down to, in my mind, is that when it comes to human rights, the only change this country has ever seen has come from people who are willing to fight for it. I intend to stand up against injustice and inequality and say, "This is wrong." Because it is. My soul knows this, my mind knows this, my heart knows this.

"And say to those who blame us/ For the way we chose to fight/ That sometimes there are battles that are more than black or white/ And I could not put down my sword when justice was my right/ Make them hear you/ Make them hear you." -"Make Them Hear You", Ragtime

"Do you hear the people sing?/ Singing the song of angry men/ It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again/ When the beating of your heart/ Echoes the beating of a drum/ There is a life about to start with tomorrow comes" -"Do You Hear the People Sing?" -Les Miserables

The Audition Game

Auditions. Callbacks. Casting. It's a process that never stops being heart-wrenching. As an actor I'm used to rejection. I have to be. We all get rejected, over and over again, and spend a lot more time being not cast than cast. As my current show (First Christmas at the SCERA in Orem) goes into performances on Friday, I've started hunting for auditions again. I have four auditions lined up over the next two weeks, and each show is so different.It's anyone guess as to which one I'll end up doing, or if I'll be cast at all, because heaven knows that's not guaranteed.

Here's the thing: I hate auditions. I hate them more than almost anything else. They are evil things that violently assault your self-esteem and compress your value as a person into sixteen bars of a Broadway song. Even when you feel that you've nailed it, hit your selection out of the park, the anxiety sets in almost instantly. The rush of adrenaline lasts for three or four minutes, and then you all you can think about is,"Did I get it? Did I get it? Did I get it?"

If it were as easy as just saying, "I don't care if I get it or not. I did my best, and that's what matters" don't you think I would do it? I so wish I could do that! But if I didn't care, I would never audition. The ONLY way I can push myself to walk into a theatre clutching a headshot and my resume is to convince myself that I care A LOT. If I didn't tell myself that this show was the best opportunity to ever come along, that I belong  in this cast, that I am talented and capable and ready to blow away this director, I would literally never audition. So every time I hear about an audition I have to tirelessly talk it up to myself, and if it doesn't work out I have to immediately start back-pedal. The show wasn't right for me. The commute was too far. I'm still talented and capable even if they don't want me. Let me tell you, it is emotionally exhausting.

It's difficult because you never know why you didn't get called back or cast. And maybe it's better not knowing. Would I rather hear that it was because of my face or my voice that they couldn't picture me in the show? Is it better to be rejected for your acting or your dancing? It's all subjective; it could simply be that I looked like an old annoying roommate, or the director hated the show my song was from. You never know. Maybe it was your schedule, maybe it was your outfit, maybe you just weren't good enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe. You can drive yourself insane wondering why. You can't dwell on it, which is easy to say but harder to live. Because I care. I care a lot. My performing would suck if I didn't care. But there's always another audition around the corner. So every time I don't get cast I give myself twenty-four hours to sulk in bitterness before picking up the pieces of my ego and scheduling the next audition.

It's a rough game full of girls vying for the same parts and it never gets easy.

Rebecca Rereads The Hobbit

I wrote the following right after finishing The Hobbit. I just sat down and wrote down all my feelings. I haven't edited at all, so don't judge too harshly.

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How awesome was The Hobbit? I mean, pretty dang awesome. Freaking Gandalf. I just adore him. And I fell in love with Dori when he was all sassy and, “You almost chopped my head off with Orcrist—I’d like to see you not drop a hobbit!” He is my bro. As a main character Bilbo is approximately two hundred and thirty-nine times better than Frodo. The story is enchanting; I can wait to read it to my kids. It’s much more child-friendly than Lord of the Rings in the writing style. It’s a straightforward quest, with one main plot and one main goal: get that treasure. There is every needful ingredient for an adventure: stolen gold, many miles to journey, a noble company, elven and dwarfish songs, and of course, a dragon. We mustn’t forget the dragon. “Never leave a live dragon out of your calculations,” as Bilbo learned.

My grandpa is who got me into Middle Earth. He is a hardcore Tolkien fan. I remember him reading The Hobbit to me at six or seven. My grandpa is the best storyteller I know. Period. There’s no one I’d rather have tell me about Thorin, Smaug, and Bard. I am so grateful for those memories. As a child I was terrified by both Gollum and the giant spiders that beset the party in the forest. It’s one of their first trials—after the trolls—and I’m not ashamed to admit that at that point I would have turned around and been like, “Have fun with the rest of your suicidal mission! Rebecca out!” But luckily Bilbo is made of sterner stuff than I….must be that Took in his blood.

The end battle comes so unexpectedly. I mean, a lot of the ending is unexpected. Smaug is killed by a character we haven’t even been paying attention to; our heroes are completely oblivious to his demise until a little bird tells them. (Literally.) After all of Bilbo’s banter with the gold-hoarding dragon you kind of want him to be present when it all goes down. But that’s the reader in me speaking—as a player in the story I’m sure Bilbo was quite happy to be absent.

So the dragon is dead. Problem solved, right? Not so fast. The main obstacle might have been shot down, but the greed of man (and dwarves) is alive and well. Squabbling about ownership of this newly available treasure quickly erupts between the inhabitants of Laketown and our merry men. (That’s the one downfall of this book—there is not a single named female character. My feminist heart regrets this.) Thorin summons his kinfolk, the Elvenking arrives on the scene with his own army, chaos abounds. But disrupting this argumentative atmosphere is Gandalf, exclaiming that the goblins have suddenly appeared.

“What goblins?” you may ask. “Not the goblins that we left hundreds of pages ago?” The very same. Combined with the hideous Wargs they have come to wreak revenge for the death of their king. It may be construed as a fortunate event, again from a reader’s perspective. If a common foe had not appeared, who’s to say that our three “Allied” armies would not have spilled each other’s blood, in a civil war of sorts? Thorin was prepared to die to defend his gold, and Men have never been the most noble of creatures. Harsh words had already been exchanged between all parties, and bloodshed is not hard to imagine.

But that’s all academic, because the goblins did come, and a terrible battle resulted. Bilbo’s invisibility is both a help and a hindrance, the Eagles again save the day, and we lose three of our courageous dwarves: Thorin, Kili, and Fili. (For those of you who have only seen the movie, Thorin is the leader and Kili is the hot one.) I hated to see them go, but that’s one of those inevitabilities of war.

Humor in The Hobbit is one of my favorite things. The characters are real. There is that sibling mentality between the party members where they would defend each other to the death, but don’t you touch my stuff. Gandalf vanishes at his own convenience, Bilbo steals the Arkenstone (becoming an “honest burglar”) and everyone makes fun of Bombur for being fat. I had to struggle against laughing out loud as I read this at my desk on break.

I love this book. I love the talking ravens and Bilbo’s impromptu riddles and the bickering of the dwarves, and Gandalf in general. All I could think about as I reread this gem of a book for the first time in seven years was that I can’t wait to read this book to my children. I hope they are filled with the wonder of it as much as I was, and am, and expect to be again.

My thoughts on the Hobbit films maybe ought to be a whole ‘nother entry. I was initially quite excited to hear that Peter Jackson would be bringing this story to the big screen—the animated version was great, but somehow not as stunning as the New Zealand we all raved about in the Lord of the Rings films. But then it was announced that there wasn’t going to be a Hobbit film. There were going to be three. Some fans rejoiced, I groaned.

I don’t like “my” books being made into movies. It has seldom been done to my satisfaction. I especially don’t like them being made into blockbuster cash cows with love triangles and unnecessary Orc subplots and hot dwarves. (Okay, I don’t so much mind the hot dwarves.) It’s one of those sad instances where I so much wanted to fangirl over these films, but I always had the sinking sensation that it wasn’t going to happen. Martin Freeman was embraced by the internet as the unwilling protagonist of their dreams, but I don’t know. He just didn’t do it for me. We all love Ian McKellan, but he’s not as young as he once was. Was it strictly necessary to have the Necromancer, and Radagast, and the White Orc? And I doubt I’ll ever stop being angry about the love triangle inserted into part two.

Let’s face it, there is just not enough material in the book for three films. That’s part of why I love it! It’s a perfect one shot. It doesn’t need to be milked to put in every character that Tolkien ever wrote about. Reading the book brought back the simple joy that I had initially associated with The Hobbit, which I had lost watching Peter Jackson create twelve hours of footage out of a three hour movie.

To sum up a rambling and disjointed post, The Hobbit is enchanting and hilarious and seven hundred and eighty-two times better than the films.

Telling Stories

“For a story to truly hold attention, it must entertain and arouse curiosity. But to enrich life, it must stimulate imagination; help to develop intellect and to clarify emotions; be attuned to anxieties and aspirations; give full recognition to difficulties, while at the same time suggesting solutions to the problems. In short, it must at one and the same time relate to all aspects of personality, giving full credence to the seriousness of predicaments, while simultaneously promoting confidence in the self and in the future.” -Bruno Bettelheim

I have always been fascinated by stories. As a child I would run around during recess making up adventures for Peter Pan and other Disney characters to act out in my head. I did the same thing at home. I don't remember what the stories were about; they had no beginning and no end, I simply picked up where I had left off and quite literally ran with it.

It's always been easy for me to act like characters in books or movies are real. Their personalities leap off the page and make me feel like I've known them for years. I believe it's also my attraction to stories that draws me to theatre and the performing of it. To act out a story, to transpose it from words on paper to flesh-and-blood human beings, is the most magical of experiences.

Since mid-July I've been giving all my blood, sweat, and tears to Camelot, my current show. We started by circling up our chairs and doing a read through of the script. Blocking out scenes, practicing dance steps, drilling tra-la-las until I could sing them in my sleep.....my last two months have been consumed with Camelot. Tonight we add the most essential of ingredients: an audience. Until that moment, although we have added lights and props and costumes, we are only rehearsing, talking to ourselves. The only thing that will make this performance valid and successful is to tell a story to the people who have come to hear it.

Performing is not about me. It's about the audience. During my last show as a high school student our director told us, "Every audience deserves the best show." It's a paradoxical statement, because every performance is different; that's the magic of live theatre. And even though mistakes might be made, cues might be dropped, the show might not be the 'best', it is our commitment as actors that is crucial. I need to try and give the best show I have ever given every single night, because someone in that audience has never been told the story of Arthur, Lancelot, and Guenevere.

It's not only the people who don't know Arthurian legend that I want to touch. I want to touch the people who have already seen Camelot, but not like we are performing it. I want someone to look at us onstage and hear the message that we're trying to get across, truly hear it. This is our cast, this is our story, this is a version of Camelot that has never existed before and will cease to exist when we take our final bows.

 "This is the time of King Arthur, and we reach for the stars! This is the time of King Arthur, and violence is not strength and compassion is not weakness. We are civilized! Resolved: we shall live through this together, Excalibur…they…you…and I… and God have mercy on us all."

To be involved in the process of creating stories is a drug that never stops intoxicating me.

Netflix and Literature and Camelot, oh my!

Hello!

I have two topics I want to address.....maybe three.

First,
How addicting is Netflix? Quite a dang lot, is the answer, at least in my case. I've found myself in front of the television for more hours than I'd like to admit in the last few weeks binging on shows like Supernatural, Lost, and Walking Dead.  It's a little frustrating, because I never used to be this person. You know, the one who watched Lost when it was actually still relevant? I didn't have much access to television as a teenager, and so I filled my time other ways. But lately I've found myself with an excess of empty afternoons, and the lure of unlimited streaming.

There's a Doctor Who episode called "The Idiot's Lantern", the title referring to, you guessed it, a television set. I don't want to follows the glow of an idiot's lantern. While I'll be the first to acknowledge that there are brilliant writers out there bringing us multi-faceted characters, witty dialogue, and twisting plot lines, I don't enjoy the inherent passivity of watching television. There's a time and a place for television: to relax, to socialize, to see what the buzz is about zombies. I'm sure as heck not giving up my Netflix subscription. It has documentaries! But I've made a conscious decision, witnessed here, that I want to cut back on my media intake. It needs to be a non-priority in my life. I'm not going cold turkey, and if I relapse, so be it. It's a commitment to be made on a daily basis.

Second,
How awesome are books? In filling the vacuum left by cutting out Netflix I've read three books to completion in the last three days, one of which I've been meaning to get around to since high school. The Unpersuadables by Will Storr promised me "Adventures with the enemies of science" and it certainly delivered. Some of the personalities visited by the author claimed to be abducted by aliens, others would tell you what lives you'd previously lived, and some have spent their entire careers fighting for non-traditional medicines. The main thing I got out of this was a reminder that my viewpoint is one of billions, and all of us are wrong about something, although the ego-inflating biases I carry within will vehemently deny this.

Around the World in Eighty Days was pure delight. I'm not a huge Jules Verne fan, but this book is full of laughs and misadventure and it's no surprise that they've made it into a musical. (I'm glad to have seen it.) The chapter titles are priceless, and it's always fun to remember that 19th century Europeans were kind of obsessed with Mormons.

I could do a whole post on Kim Stolz's Unfriending My Ex. The writing style is very casual, but the subject is one I feel strongly about: social media and the effect that it has on our lives, specifically pertaining to my generation. Addiction is a strong word, but it's one I would use to describe how we cling to facebook, texting, and all manner of instant communications. I'm not great at condensing my thoughts, and I have a multitude of them running through my mind, so I'll just say that I think we could all benefit from putting the smartphones down in exchange for time with a friend or solo reflection.

Books are the bomb.

Third,
How excited am I to tell you about my new show? !!!! (Four exclamation points worth, apparently.) I'm two weeks away from opening Camelot at the Empress Theatre in Magna. I'll be appearing on Monday, Friday, and Saturday nights as Lady Catherine, and I'd love to see you all there! What is included, you ask? Frolicking, sword fighting, and marital infidelity, to name a few things. The singing and dancing ought to be taken for granted. We run September 12 through October 4, and it's the highlight of my life.

That's all for now, folks!

Thoughts on Theatre

Friends, I am in love with musical theatre. Truly, madly, deeply. There's no other way to describe my feelings. I haven't been in a show for over a year, and it's killing me. I keep a file on my computer called "Being in a show...." and it's filled with thoughts I've jotted down while in various shows over the past three years. Today I was reading over it and decided to share some of my thoughts here. I'm glad I have this mini-journal. Write things down while you are experiencing them, because memories fade faster than you'd ever think.

(I wish I'd put a date on these, but I didn't. The dates I give are estimates.)


April 2011
Being in a show is a bit like being married. Or maybe in a committed relationship. You are ecstatic at first, and soon steady into a constant flow with spikes of unspeakable joy. You commit a period of your life to it, including all of the time, energy, blood, sweat, tears, dreams, and work that you can must up. It changes you, and you don't mind. You do your best to leave your own mark on it as well. While involved, you don't badmouth your show. You might rant to a close friend or relative about qualities you'd like to change or spots that are rough in development, but you would defend your show's honor to the death. You are glad to have your show and its unique set of opportunities. A proper show will make you fall in love with different moments every single time your perform it. You are proud when a tough problem is overcome and frustrated on occasions change takes long than you'd like. Even when days are bad, you remind yourself of this experience you could have missed. You hear others complain about their lack of time and sleep and wonder why they don't love it like you do.


December 2011
A word of caution: each show you will be cast in comes with an expiration date. A date when the relationship is null and void whether you're ready or not. You know that this day will come, though you might not want to think about it. Although the freedom of choosing a new show has a whiff of intoxication in it, the vast plain of auditions can be frightening. And no one wants to say goodbye to something that they have dearly loved. But the wonderful times, people, and memories are something to hold onto when your heart is aching for its missing piece. Loving a show and its cast, like loving anything else, will cause you pain, but it is infinitely worth it.


September 2012
There are so many things I love about the rehearsal process. Performing is the ultimate goal, of course, but everything has to be carefully taught. I love being involved with learning. When everyone is on the same basic steps I don't feel so slow. I like having the time to laugh with cast members because something is funny and you are tired. I like being part of a group. It takes time, but one day you look around and realize that you fit in. You know people and they know you. Everything is coming together much better than you thought it would. And suddenly you find that you don't ever want it to end.


November 2012
I love being a part of something. Having somewhere to be doing something that I love with people that I love who know my name. What could be better? Thank heaven I decided to do this show (Hello, Dolly!). It was exactly, precisely, perfectly what I needed.


January 2013
I can't even bear thinking about Scarlet Pimpernel closing this week. I have a place with these people. We have been playing to sold out audiences, an experience quite new to me. I thought I loved this show before I was cast in it, but I had no idea. This cast, show, all of it came at the perfect time. I have been excited about it since the first rehearsal, but I had no idea how amazing we would become. This is my home.


February 2013
And just like that, Hell Week was over and done with. It's amazing how much more FUN performing is than rehearsing. I had forgotten-- this thrill is one of the many reasons I love theatre. Suddenly I can appreciate and enjoy this show (Big) anew.


 April 2013
"The path to heaven run through miles of clouded hell" -"It's Time" by Imagine Dragons. This lyric concisely sums up the difference between the last two weeks of rehearsal and the second it switches to performances. Friends. I am still not jaded to the fact that I have them. Gilbert and Sullivan still fill me with joy. And I still love pirates with all my heart.


May 2013
I love Pirates of Penzance. It puts a smile on my face even on the gray days. I love my cast. Really truly adore them. For what, we ask, is life without a touch of poetry in it?


July 2013
I need to be in another show. I don't think I can be completely happy doing anything else. I need to be around my theatre people. I need to sing and dance and laugh and be bone-tired exhausted, but love every minute of it. Auditions are terrifying but there is no other way.


September 2013
Some days I feel like the girl in a song I knew growing up.... "Anxiously a singer sits/ Waiting for her number to be called/ Hoping if she hears them say 'You're not that good'/ She'll know, deep down, they're wrong/ One more bad audition and she's vowed to pack it in...."
But the name of the song was "Believe in Yourself", and I'm trying to do that.



So not to leave on an emo note, but that was the last time I updated my little note. Theatre and the stories we tell there have been on my mind a lot lately, and I hope to have some good news next time I write.